The afternoon sun spilled golden light over the courtyards of Tungsten Keep, glinting off rows of drying armor and silver-threaded cloaks. The air carried the faint scent of wet stone, soap, and pine....the usual perfume of the laundry court.

Mio hummed as she worked, her fingers masterly stitching a tear in Valia’s battle tunic. She sat cross-legged on a smooth slab of rock, her short frame almost swallowed by the heap of clothes around her. Stray threads clung to her leg like cobwebs of ...