The palace was in chaos. The Tourney of the Hand had begun, and the city celebrated knights, fools, and banners. Noise muffled secrets. Laughter covered schemes. The perfect time for death to walk unnoticed.
Köinzell moved like a ghost through the Red Keep's shadowed halls, his Aetherbane Fang wrapped in cloth and silence. His target was not a knight nor a lord—but a queen.
Cersei Lannister.
Her crimes were whispered across the stones of Westeros—incest, treason, manipulation of kings and kingdoms. Köinzell had seen empires fall to less.
He entered through the narrow servants' passage near Maegor's Holdfast, bypassing guards and hidden traps. Elven agility let him cling to ledges, melt into shadows, and vanish in plain sight.
At last, he arrived.
Queen Cersei lay alone in her solar, dressed in a crimson robe, sipping from a jeweled goblet. Moonlight glinted across her golden hair as she read a sealed raven scroll.
She didn't see the figure behind her.
Didn't hear the wind shift.
Didn't feel the room darken slightly as Null Eclipse silently activated.
The Aetherbane Fang unsheathed with no sound. No resistance.
A single slash — clean, swift, and final.
No scream came. No struggle. Only a sharp exhale and the soft clink of the goblet hitting the marble floor.
Cersei Lannister died in silence, her throat opened by a blade forged of starfire and god-killing ore.
Köinzell stood over her, eyes cold.
> "A corrupt tree cannot bear good fruit."
He did not linger.
When he vanished into the night, only moonlight remained — and the smell of spilled Lannister blood.
---