It was unusual for a person to visit to his quarters during these hours, where the midnight oil burnt the greatest and the moon shone the brightest. Erlander had lost count of of many hours he had spent upon this desk, and when he did realise it was already night – his hands were already stained in countless of ink blots from writing so many letters to other nobles of various dynasties, as well as to other realms in the Known World. There was a particular Heartonian noble house that requested his aid not too long ago, and he felt somewhat terrible that he was only replying now after about two or three weeks since their request – but that was the price they had to paid for the help of one of the most powerful, if not – the most powerful man in the world.
When the door to his quarters swung open, he was greeted by the sight of a boy in dark blue sleepwear, the clothes loose and now sticking to his body. The breeches he wore were of the same colour as well, and the lantern that he held within his left hand burnt brightly. At the edges of the door, Emperor Erlander, second of his name, could spot his guards with axes in hand – still standing by as this boy came in.