Leia sat by the broken window, watching light flicker through a dusty pane. She held the red thread again — the same one she'd used to protect that boy — and let it drift gently across her fingers.
This time, there was no pressure.
No fear.
Only rhythm.
Thread flowed smoothly now, like it remembered her thoughts before she even formed them. She looped it through air, stitched a torn handkerchief mid-air, and wrapped a small pebble inside a spiral of silk until it hovered for a heartbeat before falling softly to the ground.
It was nothing compared to the firestorm abilities of the nobles. Or the gravity benders who could crush bricks with a nod.
But it was hers.
And it listened.
---
Selene returned with two stale buns and a soft smile. "Managed to charm the baker's boy."
Leia took her half gratefully and sat beside her mother on the floor. They ate in silence.
After a while, Leia spoke. "I've been practicing something."
Selene looked at her.
Leia hesitated, then unrolled her sleeve.
The needle-and-thread symbol shimmered faintly on her wrist, pulsing like the heartbeat of a secret.
Selene's eyes softened. "You weren't imagining it."
"No." Leia looked down. "But it's… just thread. People will laugh."
Selene reached out and held her daughter's wrist. "Let them laugh."
Leia blinked.
"You don't need to shout to shake the world," Selene said. "Some people do it with whispers."
---
That night, Leia crept out with her scraps again.
Behind the laundry shed, she found an old training post used by guards — a wooden stand wrapped in straw.
She tied a string to her wrist, closed her eyes, and breathed.
The thread responded — slithered forward, split, and bound the post in three tight coils. Then, with a flick of her finger, she pulled one side and heard the wood creak.
Not break. Not splinter.
But bend.
Her lips parted in quiet awe.
She did it again — this time using a different stitch, the one she'd read once in her father's study: a tightening knot made for armor binding.
The thread slid around the post and compressed inward — enough to leave a dent.
Small.
But it was a start.
---
She wiped sweat from her brow and looked up at the starless sky.
She would face rejection.
People would laugh. They always did.
But power wasn't what they thought.
It didn't have to explode to be dangerous.
It didn't need gold to be valuable.
It just needed intention.
Leia looked down at her hands — scarred, scratched, trembling slightly.
They were hands of a worker. A lowborn. A castaway.
But she would sew her name back into this world.
One stitch at a time.