It had been a few weeks since Lady Lysa Arryn’s sudden death had sent shockwaves through the Vale, leaving everything in turmoil. Mya Stone, accustomed to the unsettled air of the region, had not yet fully processed the news, but the uncertainty weighed heavily on her. The Vale was now under the careful watch of Petyr Baelish, and life at the Gates of the Moon had begun to shift.

Mya was just finishing a round with the mules, ensuring their supplies were ready for the trip, when she saw a young man approach. He was dressed in the livery of a lord, a messenger or guard perhaps, his face drawn with business.

"Are you Mya Stone?" he asked, the young woman.

"I am," she answered, brushing her hands against her leather trousers, her expression unreadable. "How can I help?"

The man nodded. "My lord, would like your services for our climb to the Eyrie. We’ve heard you’re one of those who knows the paths best. The path is treacherous, and the gate guards recommended you."

Mya studied him for a moment, she couldnt name the sigil on his chest. She looked back at his face. "And who is your liege lord?"