Heinz was uncomfortable.
He wasn't used to wearing these kinds of clothes—layers of dark silk traced with golden embroidery, patterns curling like fire across the fabric.
The material clung and shifted with every movement, whispering against his skin like it had a will of its own.
A jeweled clasp secured his mantle, the deep red stone catching glints of light whenever he shifted his stance. Delicate chains of gold draped across his chest, weaving down to a belt set with crimson gems, each piece crafted to draw attention rather than conceal.
Even the cuffs at his arms felt suffocating, weighed down with ornate designs and glowing jewels that reflected the lantern light.
It wasn't just an outfit. It was a display. A statement.
Heinz tugged at his sleeve for the third time, jaw tightening.
He was used to his usual all-black Concordian attire—sleek, sharp, and practical. No glinting ornaments, no unnecessary weight, no flash.
Just what he needed to move, to fight, to command.
