The morning sun peeked through broken shutters as Leia folded the half-finished cloak carefully into her satchel. Its weight was satisfying—not heavy like metal, but solid, grounded. Each layer she'd sewn over the past two days felt like part of her now. Like a second skin she was growing into.
She just didn't know if it would work.
Selene had offered to help test it, but Leia had shaken her head. If the cloak failed, she didn't want her mother getting hurt.
She needed someone who wouldn't ask questions.
Someone fast, reckless, and not afraid to hit.
---
Near the edge of the market, just behind the food stalls and metal racks, a group of younger teens were arguing over a set of dyed feathers.
Leia spotted him — the same boy who'd once called her Thread Girl. He was lean, maybe thirteen, but had quick arms and a cocky grin. They called him "Snip."
Leia approached cautiously.
"Hey."
Snip squinted. "You again?"
She held out a sweet bun wrapped in cloth. "I need a favor."
His eyes widened. "You bribing me with bread?"
"It's fresh," Leia added.
"Then you've got my full attention, thread witch."
Leia winced at the nickname. "Don't call me that."
Snip smirked. "Alright, seamstress."
She glanced around, then pulled the rolled cloak from her satchel and unwrapped it.
Snip let out a low whistle. "Whoa."
It shimmered faintly under the sun — dark green, with bronze edging. The inner lining was dull gray, stitched in tight arcs that almost looked like flowing runes.
"You made that?"
Leia nodded. "It's supposed to absorb impact. I need you to… test it."
He raised an eyebrow. "You mean hit you?"
"No," she said. "I'll wear it. You hit me."
Snip blinked.
"…Hard?"
Leia didn't flinch. "As hard as you can."
---
Minutes later, in an abandoned laundry courtyard, Leia stood at the center in the cloak. The hood hung behind her, and she had tied the front with her own handmade clasp — a stitched sigil of a spiral.
Snip cracked his knuckles.
"You sure?"
Leia nodded.
He stepped back, took a breath, and threw a punch.
Leia turned slightly, taking the blow against her shoulder.
THUMP.
She staggered — but stayed upright.
Snip gasped. "You didn't fall!"
Leia's shoulder ached, but the cloak had absorbed most of the impact. The weight of the layers shifted the force outward.
"Again," she said.
He swung faster. Harder.
This time, his palm glowed faintly — he had a minor vibration-type ability. Not strong, but enough to bruise.
The impact struck her back.
Leia grunted, knees dipping — but again, she didn't fall.
Snip stared at her, wide-eyed. "That thing's like armor!"
Leia lifted the edge of the cloak and felt the threads hum softly. Her wrist symbol pulsed faintly once more, as if responding.
"It's working," she whispered.
Snip whistled. "You could sell that. People would pay big for clothes like that."
Leia shook her head. "Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not ready."
She turned away, but Snip called after her.
"Hey—Thread Girl."
Leia stopped.
"…Yeah?"
Snip rubbed the back of his head. "You made something cool. Don't let them make you feel small for it."
Leia blinked, surprised.
She gave him a grateful nod, then slipped the cloak back into her satchel and left — heart pounding, shoulder sore, and spirit strangely lifted.
---
That night, she examined the cloak by candlelight.
Some stitches had pulled. The inner seam had frayed slightly.
But it had held.
For the first time, Leia saw her craft not just as survival…
But as power.