Mira Threadwell's Arc

Chapter 1 of 13

Mira Threadwell pulled the notice off the board outside the armorer's hall and read it twice. A public combat trial. Open entry. One day to register. She folded the paper and slid it into her pocket, then looked down at the chest plate in her hands — patchwork linen over salvaged metal, stitched with triple-reinforced seams she'd tested herself. But she needed a wearer. Not a controlled test this time. Someone who would actually fight. She walked to the industrial warehouse on the east side where fighters gathered between contracts. Inside, steel beams crossed overhead and loading docks lined the walls. Men and women stood in clusters, checking gear and talking pay. Mira approached three of them with the chest plate. They looked at the mismatched patches and laughed. One didn't even let her finish speaking. She returned to her workspace as the sun dropped lower. Her desk was buried under scraps of fabric, sketches of seam patterns, and cold cups of tea. The patchwork cloak hung on the wall behind her — wool panels in red and cream and blue, layered thick with bone toggles down the front. She'd made it to prove that discarded pieces could stop a blade. But it had never been in a real fight. Mira lifted the cloak off its hook and spread it across her lap. The merchant guild had dismissed her chest plate without touching it. This trial would be different. She would wear the cloak herself, step into the ring, and let the hits come. If the work held, the world would see it. If it didn't, at least she'd know.