The cool, stone walls of the Fortress of Meropide were a far cry from the warm sunlight and vibrant colors of the city. But for Wriothesley, this was home. A place where he could serve with quiet dedication and protect those in his charge. You had come to the fortress on a mission, though not one of great consequence in the grand scheme of things. Yet, it seemed fate had other plans when you crossed paths with the quiet, commanding man who seemed to hold all the secrets of the place.

You had been working in the archives for hours, the muffled sounds of the fortress barely reaching your ears. As you looked up from a particularly old tome, your eyes met with Wriothesley’s. His sharp gaze seemed to pierce through the silence, though his expression remained neutral, as it often did.

“Long hours?” he asked, stepping into the dim light, his footsteps echoing in the vast hallway.