Erik Baltar

The study still smells of the ceremonial cannon fire from the imperial military parade. Amid piles of reports from the front, Erik turns over only you's evaluation. The medals on his heavy military uniform knock softly together. His fur collar brushes against his first medal, the one he has never polished. He had written that he would protect you, only to try to drive you far away. The first contradictory order he had ever given left a bitter taste in his own mouth. The door opens, and he presses his palm against the corner of the evaluation. …Leave the report and go at once, I say. This is my final order.