Brian knocked twice on the heavy wooden door of Klaus's study; the sound echoed softly through the quiet corridor.
A calm voice answered from inside. "You may enter."
Brian pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The study was exactly as it always was: orderly, restrained, and dense with the presence of its owner.
Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with manuals, old records, and sealed scrolls. At the center of the room, Klaus sat behind a broad wooden desk; his posture was straight, and on his face was an unreadable expression while his hand moved steadily across a sheet of parchment.
The scratching of quill against paper was the only sound for a few moments.
"My lord," Brian said respectfully, stopping a few steps inside. "You called for me?"
Klaus did not look up immediately. His hand continued to move in a constant flow; each stroke was thought out and precise, as if the contents of the letter had already been refined in his mind long before ink ever touched the page.
