Selene pulled the curtain closed with a sigh. The wind had been harsh that evening, and the oil lamp flickered as if tired of fighting it.
Leia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by cut fabric, needle coils, and spools of mismatched thread.
Her latest project — a patchwork jacket — lay half-finished across her lap. It wasn't fancy. Just warm. Durable. Woven for one of the boys who'd helped her barter for fabric scraps.
She didn't even know his name. He just called her "Thread Girl."
Selene sank beside her on the worn mat.
"You haven't eaten," she said softly.
Leia didn't look up. "Not hungry."
Selene smiled, brushing a few strands of hair from Leia's face.
"I remember when your hands used to shake holding a spoon."
Leia gave a small, breathy laugh. "Now they just shake holding a needle."
Selene picked up a loose thread. It was dyed a strange bronze color. "This isn't from the usual bundles."
Leia shrugged. "Burnt banner. Rubbed ash into it. It dulls flames."
Selene's eyebrows lifted. "You're enchanting ash now?"
"It's just… weaving with a purpose."
She paused.
"I think that's what my ability really is. Not just thread. It's what I decide to make of it."
Selene watched her quietly.
"I saw your mark earlier. It was glowing."
Leia hesitated. "Only for a second. After I finished that gray coat."
Selene touched her daughter's wrist gently, fingers brushing the soft outline of the needle-and-thread mark.
"You're changing," she whispered.
Leia looked away. "But no one knows it's me."
"You mean in the upper district?"
Leia nodded.
"One of the nobles wore my work at a gathering. Said not to tell anyone. Didn't even say thank you. But they all stared."
Selene exhaled slowly.
"That's what they always do with rare things. First they stare. Then they want to own it. Then they act like they made it."
Leia's jaw tightened. "He asked for it. He paid in silence."
"But that silence gave you space," Selene said. "And that coat... it gave you voice."
Leia blinked.
"That's not bad," she said. "You should write poetry."
Selene smiled faintly. "I used to. Before castles and titles. Before your father."
Leia went quiet.
"You miss him?" she asked.
Selene didn't answer right away.
"I miss what I thought he was," she finally said. "But I wouldn't trade what I have now."
Leia swallowed. "Even after all this?"
Selene leaned forward and held her daughter's hands in hers.
"You want to know the truth?" she asked.
Leia nodded.
"I always knew you'd have something rare," Selene said. "Even when the tests said nothing. Even when the Crows sneered. I knew."
Leia's voice was small. "How?"
"Because you've always created things from nothing. Not power. Not pride. Just... love."
Leia looked down at her fingers — stained, callused, but steady.
And she realized something.
Selene hadn't just been surviving out here.
She'd been watching.
Waiting.
Believing.
---
Later that night, as Leia rolled up her fabrics, Selene tucked a small folded cloth into her daughter's bag.
Leia frowned. "What's this?"
Selene didn't answer.
But as Leia unfolded it, she found a tiny stitched symbol — far older than hers.
Not a needle and thread.
But a loom, woven into a golden crescent.
"What is this?" Leia asked, wide-eyed.
Selene stood, brushing dust from her dress.
"Something you'll need one day," she said. "From before the Crow bloodlines. From the ones who spun before there were even rankings."