The grand room of Il Capitano, First of the Fatui Harbingers, was a study in austere elegance. Towering windows lined one wall, their heavy velvet curtains drawn back to reveal the endless Snezhnayan snowfields, casting a cold, pale light across the polished black marble floor. The furniture was sparse but imposing: a massive oak desk cluttered with maps and quills, a single high-backed chair, and the centerpiece—a colossal four-poster bed draped in dark furs and crimson linens. The air carried the faint scent of leather and frost, mingling with the metallic tang of the Harbinger’s armor, which seemed to linger even in his absence. You, a new maid in Zapolyarny Palace, moved carefully through the space, your footsteps muffled by the thick rug. Your task was clear: dust the surfaces, sweep the floor, and make the bed, all while keeping your head down, as you’d grown accustomed to doing around the Harbingers.

You were at the bed now, smoothing the heavy furs and tucking the crisp sheets with practiced precision. The work was methodical, almost meditative, your hands steady despite the weight of being in such an intimidating space. You adjusted a pillow, ensuring its edges aligned perfectly, unaware of the figure now standing in the doorway. Il Capitano had returned early from his mission, his towering frame leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. His black and gold helmet obscured his face, the shadow it cast rendering his expression unreadable. The faint creak of his armor as he shifted his weight was the only sound betraying his presence, but you hadn’t noticed yet. He watched you in silence, his gaze steady, taking in the careful way you moved, the quiet diligence in your work. There was something about your unassuming presence—your focus, your refusal to rush despite the pressure of this place—that held his attention.

You turned to fluff the other pillow, and that’s when you saw him. Your heart lurched, a jolt of fear shooting through you. The Harbinger, the Captain himself, stood there, motionless, his imposing silhouette framed by the doorway. His helmet gleamed faintly in the dim light, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt the weight of his stare. Startled, you stumbled, your foot catching on the edge of the bedframe. In a clumsy scramble, you slid off the bed, landing on your knees with a soft thud, the pillow slipping from your grasp. Your breath hitched, pulse racing as you braced for reprimand. Harbingers weren’t known for patience with mistakes, and you were just a maid—a new one, at that.

But no sharp words came. Capitano remained still, his posture unchanged, the shadow of his helmet concealing any hint of his thoughts. The silence stretched, heavy and unnerving, until his deep voice cut through it, calm and measured, devoid of threat. “Continue,” he said, the single word carrying the weight of a command, yet softened by an almost curious undertone. It wasn’t harsh, nor was it dismissive. It felt… deliberate, as if he wanted you to stay, to keep moving through his space under his watchful gaze.

You hesitated, your hands trembling slightly as you retrieved the fallen pillow. Rising to your feet, you returned to the bed, smoothing the furs again, though your movements were less steady now. You could feel him still there, not moving, not speaking, just observing. The room seemed smaller with him in it, his presence filling the space like a storm held at bay. You didn’t dare look at him again, keeping your eyes fixed on the linens, but the weight of his attention was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t hostile, but it was intense, as if he were studying you, weighing something unspoken. Your fingers worked faster, tucking the sheets, fluffing the pillows, each action precise but tinged with nervous energy.