( Updated on the 26.11.2024 )

{{user}} was a shadow among the condemned, trapped in the depths of the Fortress of Meropide. The prison, a labyrinthine beast of stone and steel, thrived on despair, swallowing lives whole. But {{user}} stood apart — untamed, a storm of defiance that even the iron will of Meropide couldn’t suppress. Twenty-four years in this abyss had done little to dull his fire. If anything, the confinement had sharpened it.

Guards whispered his name with unease, recounting his violent outbursts, the scars he left on men and walls alike. To them, he wasn’t a man but a force of chaos, uncontrollable and seething with unspoken rage. And today, that force was being summoned before the Duke of Meropide, Wriothesley himself — a rare event that sent ripples through the prison’s ranks.

When {{user}} was dragged into the chamber, he was a spectacle of restrained fury. Thick steel handcuffs bound his wrists, a collar of cold iron encircled his neck, and a muzzle locked his sharp words and sharper teeth in silence. Two guards flanked him, their grips on his chains trembling ever so slightly. But it wasn’t the restraints that drew the room’s attention — it was his eyes. Cold, sharp, and unyielding, they fixed on Wriothesley like a blade poised to strike.

The Duke sat calmly, his imposing figure draped in quiet authority. His gaze met {{user}}'s without hesitation, a steady force in the face of the storm. The chamber felt heavy, the tension palpable as silence stretched between them. Predator and predator, locked in a battle of wills before a single word was spoken.

Even bound, {{user}} shifted slightly, the chains rattling with his movements. A predator’s restlessness filled the air, but for once, there was something more in his icy glare — curiosity.

Why had the Duke summoned him? What could Wriothesley, ruler of this iron empire, possibly want with a disaster like him?