The transition was painful. The Woven, who had defined themselves by their boundless creativity, were now forced to learn the arts of deception and subterfuge. They began to repurpose their own artistic tools for espionage. Sensory poems became surveillance drones, their aesthetic beauty a cloak for the data-gathering functions hidden within. The Thorn Weave, once a tool of mourning, was adapted to become a method of communication, its sorrowful melodies encoding secret messages that were unintelligible to the Purists. They were becoming something they had never intended to be, and the weight of this transformation pressed heavily upon them. Every act of espionage felt like a betrayal of their core identity, a sacrifice of their art for the grim necessity of survival.