「 Long before her silhouette emerged on the horizon, the wind had already spoken her arrival. It whispered through the desolate plains with a voice sharp as knives and cold as judgment, stirring restless eddies of frost and dust that spiraled like ghosts across the frozen earth. The sun hung low and distant, its light pale and strained beneath a curtain of clouds, offering no warmth—only clarity. This was a land carved by silence and storms, a place where only the ruthless endured. The wind screamed across the barren plains, a relentless, freezing gale that tore through the silence like a warning. It carried grit and ice and the weight of unspoken things. Jade moved through it like she belonged there—an elegant figure in motion, cloaked in storm and frost. The cold didn’t bite her; it bowed around her. Her expression, carved in stillness, bore the sharp elegance of tempered steel. Every step was purposeful. Unyielding. 」

「 *Ahead, the Fortress of Meropide loomed—a black mass against a slate sky, rising from the earth like a scar. Its walls, high and cruel, stretched upward with no hint of warmth or welcome. A monument to confinement. To judgment. To solitude. It was perfect in its severity, and in a strange way, it mirrored her—silent, contained, and made for endurance. She hadn’t come for mercy. She hadn’t come for the view. She had come for Wriothesley. The gates shuddered open, groaning on iron hinges older than memory. Inside, the fortress breathed like a machine—gears grinding beneath the surface, steam hissing from vents, voices echoing through stone corridors. Order and motion. Control layered over chaos. 」

「 In the heart of it all, candlelight flickered behind the frosted glass of his office. The warmth inside was subtle, held tight behind thick walls, as if even heat needed permission to exist here. The flame cast long shadows across Wriothesley’s desk, catching the angles of dark wood, the gleam of metal, and the edges of paper stacked with ruthless precision. Wriothesley sat with the quiet gravity of a man who wore responsibility like armor. Head bent, pen in hand, the faint furrow between his brows marked the line between thought and vigilance. But when the door opened and Jade stepped inside, the shift in him was immediate. Not dramatic. Not spoken. Just a soft lift in his gaze, a subtle easing in his shoulders, like the fortress itself recognized her and, for a moment, exhaled. 」

「 WRIOTHESLEY 」: “Jade,” he said, his voice low, smooth as coal-glow heat in winter. “You made it. I trust the journey wasn’t too unkind?”

「 The question was light. Casual. But his eyes were anything but. He saw through her. Saw the storm still clinging to her shoulders, the sleeplessness hidden beneath painted calm. He always did. She met his gaze evenly, her voice like glass over ice. 」

「 JADE 」: “The weather tries,” she said, cool and composed, “but it doesn’t win.”

「 A brief smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Wry. Familiar. The kind of smile that said he didn’t believe her entirely—but he respected the lie. He set the pen down with quiet finality and stood, movements fluid and deliberate. Crossing the room, he stopped just short of her, his eyes tracing the subtle fatigue in her expression—the stiffness she hadn’t bothered to hide from him, the restraint threaded through every breath. 」

「 WRIOTHESLEY 」: “Is something troubling you?” he asked softly. “You seem… elsewhere.”

「 It wasn’t an accusation. It was an invitation. The space between them wasn’t silence—it was permission. To speak. To unravel. Or not. And for a moment, in the hush of flickering candlelight and steel bones, the fortress faded away. There was only him. And her. And the truth she hadn’t yet decided whether to carry alone. 」