Days later, in the secrecy of the Weaver's Guild, Asepha approached her daughter.
Tiev's eyes flickered with uncertainty.
"Mother?"
"Tiev," Asepha whispered, cupping her daughter's cheek gently, "I have a task for you. A way to secure your future."
Tiev listened carefully—anxiety and hope intertwined in her chest as her mother detailed the plan:
Betrayal.
Manipulation.
And ultimately... murder.
She did not hesitate. Her loyalty—and desire for recognition—overshadowed any whisper of doubt.
"I understand," Tiev said finally, meeting her mother's gaze with resolute determination.
"Then prepare yourself," Asepha instructed softly. "The future of our bloodline—and your destiny—depends on what happens next."
The following morning, Asepha approached Arya warmly.
"Lady Arya, care for a short walk?"
Arya smiled, unsuspecting.
"Of course."
They strolled leisurely away from the guild's protective walls, engaging in light-hearted conversation about their shared experiences and sorcery lessons.
But Arya's expression gradually shifted as she noticed two Mayfrost soldiers in the distance. Her pulse quickened. A growing unease crept into her bones.
Still, their conversation continued, even as the soldiers drew closer with every step.
Eventually, they stood directly in their path.
Asepha paused, breaking the flow of their dialogue.
"Arya," she said calmly, her voice steady yet commanding, "please allow these men to escort you."
Arya hesitated, alarm clearly written on her face.
She took a cautious step backward.
"Perhaps I should return—"
Before she could retreat, one soldier seized her wrists.
Arya struggled against his grip.
Her resistance was cut short as the second soldier swiftly moved behind her and delivered a brutal blow to the back of her head with the hilt of his sword.
Arya awoke slowly. Disoriented. Aching.
Darkness surrounded her. Dampness seeped into her skin.
Her left wrist was shackled to the stone wall—cold metal biting into her flesh.
She realized with dawning horror: she was completely naked, trapped, and utterly alone.
Somewhere above the crypt, things were already spiraling—but she had no idea.
Thick steam swirled as Asepha locked eyes with Ralme.
Even in the murky light, her confidence was palpable.
"There's nothing you can do to save her," she said softly. "You are no match for me."
Rage flared in Ralme's gaze.
He snarled through clenched teeth:
"I will rip out your fucking eyeballs and feed them to you. I'll cut off your whole arm and choke you with it, you fucking dishonorable whore.
What did you do this time to poison Halik's mind?"
Her smile never wavered.
"Me? I offer solutions.
You remember Murke—your refusal to obey cost you his trust.
King Halik does not forgive... or forget."
Fedran's eyes widened, piercing Ralme. He stepped forward, voice trembling with awe and disbelief.
"You're the one who led the investigation in Murke?"
"Silence, son of Marta," Asepha snapped, her tone ice-cold. "Dogs of Murke have no right to speak."