The title came with no jewels.
No fanfare.
No applause.
Just blood on her gloves and silence in the vault.
Sloane was now the High Threadbearer — not because she wanted the power, but because she'd killed the only other person who could bear it.
---
The Crimson Coronation
There were no crowns in the resistance.
Instead, a cape.
The Crimson Drape.
Woven from the threads of fallen rebels, soaked in ceremonial dye that shimmered between blood-red and ember-gold. Tradition said it must never be touched by anyone except the wearer.
Sloane stepped toward the platform, the drape waiting like a curse.
Cassien stood beside her.
He hadn't spoken much since Amara's disappearance.
"You hesitate," he said, low.
"I don't deserve it," she replied.
"Exactly why you must wear it."
The cape attached itself to her skin like breath — no clasps, no pins.
It recognized her.
The Hall of Echoed Threads, hidden beneath the ruins of a luxury mall in Sector V, lit up as the resistance bowed.
But not Cassien.
He stepped back.
---
The Challenge
That night, Ari came running with a datapad.
"They issued a challenge," she said. "House Valor."
"Who?" Sloane asked, though she already guessed.
Cassien stepped into the light.
"My father," he said. "Duke Adryan of Valor."
Former Commander of Fashion Law Enforcement.
Now turned Champion of the Emperor's private regime.
He'd sent an open-thread duel request — a televised, ritual combat fought through fashion and power. One-on-one. No escape. To be aired across all networks.
Sloane laughed bitterly. "He wants to humiliate me."
"No," Cassien said. "He wants to test you."
"And you're okay with that?"
Cassien's silence was an answer.
---
The Rift Between Them
Later, in the Warloom Room, Sloane confronted him.
"You're pulling away."
"You're rising too fast."
"Do you want me to fail?"
He looked up, dark eyes flickering. "No. I want you to survive."
She touched his collar, fingers brushing over the monogram he'd once hidden from her: C.A.V.
Cassien Adryan Valor.
He took a step back.
"If you wear the Crimson Drape into that duel," he said, "you'll be making yourself the symbol of rebellion. There's no returning to normal after."
"I don't want normal," she said. "I want justice."
Cassien's jaw clenched. "Then don't expect me to stand by and watch."
---
Preparation: Designing for War
Sloane retreated into her design chamber.
She called in the Threadweavers.
She designed not a dress, but an armor-gown.
The bodice fused kinetic energy converters with silken memory-fabric. The hem carried bladed threads — a whisper of death in every step.
But the core of it all?
A piece of her mother's wedding veil.
The one that survived the fire.
It would be her emotional anchor — her hidden power.
A symbol of all she'd lost… and what she'd now become.
A crownless queen in crimson.
---
The Duel: Broadcast Across Galaxis
The arena was pure white.
Glass floors. Hollow silence. 100 billion viewers.
Duke Adryan entered first — in full Valorian Battle Couture. An obsidian coat with woven AI reflexes, shoulders plated with royal crests, and a scarf that shimmered with every oath he'd sworn and broken.
Then Sloane stepped out.
And the crowd gasped.
Because her gown wasn't just armor.
It was defiance stitched into elegance.
Power in every thread. Rage in every ripple of fabric.
And sewn into her back?
The name of every fallen resistance member.
They circled each other.
Then charged.
---
Fabric Clashed Like Fire
Adryan's coat sent sonic shockwaves — enough to flatten entire armies.
Sloane's gown absorbed them.
Her hem danced across the floor, cutting power conduits.
He reached for her with a gauntlet laced with binding cords — if he touched her, she'd be forced into stillness.
But she twisted, tore off her sleeve, and used the veil beneath to blind him.
One second.
That's all she needed.
She lifted her hand.
The dress responded — its neckline stiffening, reshaping into a blade-point collar.
She leapt.
Landed.
And whispered, "This is for the ones you burned."
---
Aftermath
The blade-collar struck.
Adryan staggered, wounded, but not dead.
Protocol allowed Sloane to finish him.
But she paused.
She turned to the camera.
And let the world see her hesitation.
"Mercy," she said, "is a luxury power forgets."
She spared him.
Walked away.
The resistance signal lit up every major feed.
They weren't just rebels now.
They were a movement.
---
But Behind Her…
Cassien knelt beside his father.
The Duke whispered something into his ear.
Cassien's face went pale.
He looked up — not at his father.
But at Sloane's retreating back.
Something had shifted.
And next time?
He might not follow her so easily.