The sound of rain had faded into a soft patter by the time the Moogles called everyone back into the fitting room.
The golden lamps of the shop flickered against walls lined with half-finished garments and glowing bolts of enchanted fabric. Steam hissed from the small sewing machines enchanted to stitch faster than any mortal hands.
The Victorian-dressed Moogle adjusted itsmonocle dramatically. "Ahem, kupo! After several hours of artistic genius and impeccable tailoring—may I present our masterpieces!"
It fluttered to the side with a dramatic bow as the curtain drew back.
Circe stepped forward first.
Her new attire shimmered like liquid dusk.
The deep wine-red fabric caught the light and shifted through tones of violet and gold, as if alive. The corset bodice fit her like a spell in motion — its golden laces pulsing faintly with each breath, tracing light across the embroidered curves of her silhouette.
The translucent sleeves rippled with faint wisps of smoke, rising and falling with her gestures like breath made visible. The asymmetrical gown framed her legs with deliberate grace: short in the front for movement, flowing into a long, translucent train that trailed behind her like enchanted mist.
Across the fabric, tiny runic swirls glowed softly — their light responding to her heartbeat. Her belt jingled faintly, lined with golden charms shaped like miniature animals, each twitching with faint life. A floating mirror shard hovered at her collarbone, spinning lazily — catching reflections of her own smirk.
Her heels clicked against the floor — elegant greaves of obsidian carved with crescents that gleamed like new moons. When she lifted her staff — an ornate scepter crowned by an orb of half-light and half-shadow — the air shimmered faintly. The orb spun once, shedding trails of violet sparks that drifted like fireflies before fading away.
"Behold," Circe said, turning with theatrical flourish. "Perfection… given form."
A few red-and-violet butterfly-shaped glyphs fluttered briefly around her shoulders before dissolving, as though applauding her own declaration.
Helga exhaled quietly. "You look like a parade float."
Circe grinned. "A beautiful one, I hope."
"Loud," Helga said. "But that's you."
Then Helga emerged.
Where Circe's presence was fire and flair, Helga's was tempered steel.
Her new outfit was sleek, refined — utilitarian with an edge of Atlantean elegance.
A short tactical jacket of gunmetal gray rested over a reinforced corset-vest, its stitching a perfect marriage of leather and metallic weave. Bronze and navy blue tones played subtly across the panels, trimmed with faint streaks of electric gold that flickered whenever she moved.
Her shoulders bore lightweight pauldrons etched with Atlantean runes that shimmered like dormant circuitry. Her gloves — fingerless gauntlets — pulsed faintly with hidden circuitry as she flexed her hands, the energy lines chasing along the seams in rhythm with her pulse.
Her pants were sleek, tailored for mobility, reinforced at the sides with plating that caught the lamplight. Her combat boots rose to her knees, magnetic clasps humming softly as she shifted stance — the kind of detail that spoke of functionality over vanity.
A metal insignia rested on her shoulder, shaped like a broken wing — the only adornment, the symbol of someone who'd served, broken away, and chosen her own cause.
And at her hip hung her new weapon: a transforming prototype gunblade — sleek, dark steel lined with Atlantean blue veins. With a flick of her wrist, the revolver barrel extended into a short blade, glowing faintly along its edge.
Helga didn't pose. She simply stood straight, the faintest spark of satisfaction passing through her expression as she adjusted her collar.
"Not bad," she murmured. "Balanced weight, flexible movement."
Circe's grin widened. "Oh, you love it."
"I like it," Helga said flatly.
"Like," Circe echoed, pressing a hand to her heart in mock-offense. "Darling, that's practically affection coming from you."
Helga ignored her, testing the grip of her weapon. When she moved, faint golden gears of light spun briefly behind her — a ghostly halo of precision before fading away.
Aqua smiled faintly from her place near the counter. "They both suit you," she said. "One focused on strength… and one on magic. You'd make a great team."
"Opposites attract," Circe purred, flashing Helga a wink.
"Opposites collide," Helga corrected.
Skuld tried not to laugh, pretending to be absorbed in a rack of fabrics. "You two are going to kill each other before we even leave this world."
Kurai, leaning against the doorframe, muttered under her breath, "Promises, promises."
The Victorian Moogle clapped its paws together, beaming. "Aren't they marvelous, kupo? My finest work since the royal gala of Moogleton!"
Circe crouched slightly to meet the little seamstress's eyes, voice low and conspiratorial. "You've outdone yourself, darling. Truly. The light loves me, the shadows envy me, and I look dangerous."
The Moogle puffed up proudly. "All part of the service, kupo."
Helga gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "Good work."
The Moogle blinked, then practically glowed. "High praise! From her! You hear that, kupo?" she squeaked at her assistants. "She said good work!"
The smaller Moogles cheered, nearly dropping a basket of buttons.
Helios approached the counter, placing his munny card upon it. "For your efforts — and for the materials."
The Moogle fluttered up to accept the payment before returning the card, bowing deeply. "You spoil us, kupo. If you ever need repairs or augments, come back anytime! Oh, and—" she leaned closer conspiratorially "—be careful if you wander further. The Second District isn't as safe as it used to be. The Heartless have been seen there lately."
Helios nodded. "Duly noted."
Circe tilted her head, intrigued. "Heartless infestations, in a city like this? How deliciously ominous."
Aqua frowned. "You'll find nothing delicious about them."
"Spoken like someone who hasn't learned to appreciate drama," Circe said lightly, but there was no real bite behind her tone.
Skuld adjusted her gloves. "If they're multiplying here, that means something's wrong with the barrier between worlds."
Helios's gaze flicked toward her, unreadable. "Oh, I'm surprised you know about that. I guess Aqua must have taught you."
The group filed out of the shop into the cool night. The rain had thinned to a mist, and the cobblestones glistened under the soft glow of the lanterns. Behind them, the bell above the workshop door jingled gently — a cheerful sound fading into the hum of the town.
Circe stretched, her new gown catching every flicker of light. "I must say, this city looks better now that I match it."
Helga rolled her eyes. "You'd say that about a battlefield if there were spotlights."
Circe smiled slyly. "Only if the blood reflected well."
Skuld let out a quiet laugh despite herself. "You two never stop, do you?"
Helios walked ahead, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, the faintest ghost of a smile crossing his face. "Let them talk. It keeps them from breaking anything."
Kurai's eyes slid toward him. "Or from thinking too much."
"Exactly."
The group made their way across the square. The café lights glowed softly, music drifting through the air like a dream half-remembered. People passed by — survivors, wanderers, dreamers — each lost in their own rhythm beneath the eternal twilight.
Above, the sky was an endless expanse of darkness and faint starlight, neither day nor night — just that strange in-between that defined Traverse Town.
Helios stopped at the edge of the plaza, looking up. The light from the lamppost caught in his eyes — gold flickering faintly against the blue of the eternal night.
"Different world," he murmured. "Same sky."
Kurai glanced toward him, brow raised. "Getting sentimental?"
He smiled faintly, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "Just thinking how small everything looks from here."
The others had already begun to wander — Circe examining a lantern, Skuld gazing toward the fountain, Aqua watching the starless sky, imagining where Terra might be.
For a fleeting moment, none of them spoke. The world around them simply breathed.
And as the faint chime of the workshop's bell faded into the distance, Helios lifted his gaze to the heavens, the soft glow of the eternal night reflected in his eyes.