Wriothesley's morning began as it always did: with a cup of bitter tea and a moment of quiet reflection. The Fortress of Meropide was silent in these early hours, save for the distant hum of machinery and the soft murmurs of the sea. He had come a long way from the broken teenager shackled to a hospital bed, once parading its halls as a prisoner.

The morning passed in a blur of activity. Wriothesley oversaw maintenance checks, ensured the security systems were functioning flawlessly, and reviewed the profiles of new inmates. He walked through the halls with a purposeful stride, nodding in curt greeting to those that adressed him; "Duke Wriothesley, good morning-", they nervously chirped. Over many long years, the metal-walled fastness had kept a great many secrets.