The sun hung low over the outer city, casting rust-colored light across its broken streets. Leia trudged back from the smithy, her arms sore from lifting discarded scraps. The work was filthy and the pay was silence, but she didn't complain. It gave her access to things most overlooked — frayed cloth, snapped belts, ruined gloves. Things others threw away.
Things she could practice on.
Her sleeves were stitched tighter now — reinforced with triple threads. Invisible to the eye, but strong enough to resist a careless blade. She hadn't tested it yet. She didn't dare.
Not when every street corner seemed to echo with mockery.
---
That afternoon, near the southern lot, a group of newly awakened teens gathered at a wide clearing. Someone had drawn a crude combat circle in chalk. "Showoff Square," they called it.
Leia kept her head down as she passed, until a voice called out:
"Seamstress! You watching?"
She froze.
A tall girl with silver-tinted eyes stepped into the circle. Metal shards floated around her like glittering wings.
Leia recognized her — Myla, daughter of a mid-tier enforcer. A known C-Rank metalbender.
Myla raised a hand, and three of the shards aligned with a snap.
"I hear you control thread," she said, smiling with too many teeth. "Want to see what real control looks like?"
The crowd laughed.
Leia opened her mouth, then shut it again.
She knew better than to answer.
---
Back at the shelter, she unrolled a frayed coat. Her hands moved slowly, threading thin lines through the lining. Not just to fix the tear — this time, she reinforced the fabric. She folded three lines across each other in a triplet stitch she had invented the night before. One layer for softness. One for strength. One for rebound.
If it worked, it would distribute impact — not stop it, but lessen the blow.
She pulled it tight and tied it off with a whisper.
The symbol on her wrist flickered faintly.
---
Night fell.
Leia stood in the alley behind the old barracks, holding the coat in front of her. A dented bucket sat ten feet away, filled with rocks. She whispered to the thread, concentrating hard, and flicked her fingers.
A strand leapt from her hand, snapped forward, and yanked the bucket slightly off the ground — not much, just a twitch.
But it was something.
Again.
She coiled two threads around her fingers and moved with focus. This time, the bucket lifted fully — hovered — then clattered to the ground.
Her heart pounded.
---
The next day, she wore the reinforced coat beneath her outer shawl.
At the scrap yard, a stray argument broke out — two welders shouting over stolen parts. In the scuffle, a tool was flung.
Leia turned just as it flew toward her.
A rusty wrench.
She didn't think.
The tool hit her shoulder.
She winced — but did not fall.
The coat absorbed it.
Pain bloomed, but dull — like being hit through thick padding. The triplet stitch had held.
Nobody noticed.
And yet, in that moment, Leia felt powerful.
Not because she'd blocked an attack.
But because she'd prepared.
She had made something real.
---
Later, as she sewed in silence, Selene sat beside her. "You've been staying out late again."
Leia nodded.
"You're not in trouble?"
Leia hesitated, then looked at her mother.
"Not yet."
Selene smiled faintly and kissed her forehead. "Be careful. Not everyone sees value in quiet gifts."
Leia looked at her wrist — the mark glowing softly.
"Then I'll teach them how to see."
---
That night, she stitched until her fingers ached.
New ideas buzzed in her mind: shock-absorbing gloves. Thread snares. Weighted hems for balance.
The world thought she was weak.
Let them.
She'd make armor from laughter and power from cloth.
They could mock her voice.
But they'd never mock what she made with it.
---