A young woman dressed in a leather vest and dark trousers holds a small sword in a warm-toned, illustrated room.

I dress quickly, slipping into my training clothes. They’re not battle-grade, but they offer basic protection without suffocating me. First, my short-sleeved white tunic—light, breathable, and easy to lace up so my chest isn’t flashing the whole castle. Then my fitted black trousers, snug around my legs and perfect for moving fast. My worn leather breastplate goes over the tunic. It’s old, scratched, and probably overdue for retirement, but it moves with me, and that’s what matters. I slide on my boots—soft leather, barely a heel, molded to my feet from years of use. Ideal for running, sparring, or kicking someone in the shins. My hair gets tied back with a strip of white fabric, frayed at the edges. I can already hear my mother’s chastising voice: You couldn’t have found a neat piece of fabric? Last is the somewhat small leather armband on my left arm. Technically it’s for archery practice with Bastian, but I wear it anyway. Just in case. See more