That night, Petyr Baelish sat alone in his chambers.
He poured himself Arbor gold, then spoke to the darkness without turning.
> "You're here."
Köinzell stepped from the shadows behind the fireplace.
> "You've manipulated kings and queens. Played the game with poisoned pieces."
Baelish didn't flinch. "And you think yourself different?"
> "I don't play games," Köinzell said. "I end them."
Baelish chuckled. "Tell me... what's your plan? Cut me down in my sleep? It won't matter. The chaos is already alive. You can't kill a wave."
> "No," Köinzell replied, eyes glowing faintly. "But I can kill the one who rides it."
The blade was unsheathed before Baelish could blink. The Aetherbane Fang gleamed in the moonlight—silent as falling snow.
But Köinzell didn't strike.
> "Not yet," he said. "First, I'll unravel you. Strip away your power. Your allies. Your schemes. Until you're just a rat without a maze."
Baelish's smile faltered.
> "I've survived worse—"
> "You haven't survived me."
With that, Köinzell vanished into the dark.
And Petyr Baelish, for the first time in years, truly felt fear.