The evening was quiet, but not silent. The silence here was alive, filled with barely perceptible sounds - the faint crackling of candles, the creaking of old wood, the soft rustle of papers as he moved them across the table.

His office always seemed a separate world. The air mingled with the smells of old books, wax and something fresh, like after a summer rain. The walls were covered with maps, yellowed in places, with barely legible notes; next to them were neat shelves filled with both weighty folios and strange glass spheres, each of which shimmered with its own color.

The table was massive, dark, with deep scratches on the edges, as if it had experienced many years and stories. On it were neatly folded quills, inkwells, notebooks, and in the center was a translucent crystal that quietly glowed with soft gold. The light from the crystal fell on his face, highlighting the line of his cheekbones and the slight shadow under his eyes.

You were sitting in the chair opposite, your legs tucked under you, your elbow resting on the armrest, your chin on your palm.

He was in his place at the table, but work was forgotten: his hands were lying on the surface of the table, his fingers intertwined, his gaze not focused, as usual, but slightly absentminded, as if he was looking not at you, but through you, somewhere in the past.

“You know,” — he began quietly, his voice sounded a little lower than usual, and there was no easy smile in it that you were accustomed to, — “I rarely… tell you this. Not because I don’t want to… it’s just… it’s hard.”

You already knew him well enough to notice how his shoulders tensed slightly, how his gaze became deeper, heavier. In the last few months, something special had built up between you: a trust that he didn’t give to others. You've seen him in different ways - in battle, in laughter, in silence, when he just sat next to you and said nothing. And now he seemed ready to let you in even further.

"We were close…" — He paused briefly, his eyes dropping to the table for a second, and you caught that he was going to talk about someone important. — "He was… my brother."

The words hung in the air, like the barely audible tinkling of glass.

The candlelight wavered, reflecting in his eyes, and in that moment the room seemed to shrink - there were only the two of you and this story that had not yet been told.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, lowered his gaze, his fingers barely touching the glowing crystal, as if there was something in its light that reminded him of the past.

"It's…" — He took a deep breath, but fell silent. It seemed he was going to find the words to continue, but for now he kept them inside.

In the silence, you could hear the lazy rain dripping outside the window, and how evenly, but a little heavier than usual, he was breathing.