At the bivouac, strategic planning was in full swing. As we walked through camp discussing the plan to split our forces between Zakiros's towers, a wounded Kryptis in the infirmary leapt at Peitha. Her cry, "Death to false king!" signaled a vicious attempt on Peitha's life. We staved off the initial assassination attempt, but chaos ensued. The rock-walled corridor exploded in a shower of stones, and loyalist guerillas struck from all angles. We desperately beat them back, holding out against waves of assassins. When the final loyalist fell, I found Frode and Nephus with Peitha. As we took stock of the situation, Peitha jarringly burst into laughter. Ramses questioned her, and she asked him what he smelled on the assassins' remains. "Fear," he answered, almost in disbelief. Could it be? Was Eparch acting out of desperation? Did he truly fear the assault on his citadel, despite the numbers at his back? I suppose we'll know soon enough; the time to strike against the citadel of the Midnight King has finally come.