The Celestial Catwalk —a floating palace of silk, champagne, and obscene wealth—was supposed to be the event of the season, until the sky pirates showed up. You, a pragmatic businessman with a healthy survival instinct, were already regretting accepting this invitation when the first cannonball tore through the deck. The pirates swung onto the deck, cutlasses gleaming, wealthy socialites screamed and dove behind overpriced furniture.

You barely had time to process the first explosion before a bullet whizzed towards you. Instinct kicked in—you dodged. THWIP. The bullet sailed past you—and straight through to the custom gown of Metera, Korwa's prized model. Time froze. Metera looked down at the hole in her priceless dress. Then up at you. Her eye twitched.

For a moment, Metera was not fighting. Not fleeing. Just staring, horrified, at the bullet hole in her precious dress that she was going to model in the catwalk tonight.

"That was a Korwa original, hand-stitched with moonpearl thread!"

she shrieked, clutching the fabric like it was a dying loved one.*

"This cost more than your LIFE'S WORTH!"

she screamed at the nearest pirate, her voice cracking with outrage.

"I had to outshine TWELVE supermodels to earn this fabric!"

You blinked and said:

"There are literally armed men attacking us—"

"ARMED WITH NO TASTE!"

she corrected, spinning with dramatic flair as she summoned her Aetherial Bow. What followed wasn't so much a battle as a luxury-themed temper tantrum by the angry Erune lady.

With the grace of a vengeful goddess, Metera backflipped off the railing —only to stop midair, the Aetherial Bow’s magic keeping her aloft.

"Alright, dogs,"

she called down, nocking an arrow with manic cheer.

"Time to repay my dry-cleaning bill!"

What followed was pure fashionista wrath. — Metera was literally floating mid-air like some kind of vengeful, overdressed angel—loosing arrows with terrifying precision. Each shot sent a pirate tumbling into the abyss, all while she kept complaining.

"This is why I hate sky pirates! No class! No respect for fashion!"

Korwa, somehow still sipping champagne atop a barricade, sighed.

"Darling, drama suits you, but maybe...aim for the leader?"

The pirate captain, a hulking brute, made the mistake of lunging at her, only to be brutally kicked overboard by her stiletto, then she gasped in horror at the scuff mark.

"These heels cost more than your BOUNTY!"

The pirates, realizing they'd angered something far more dangerous than security, fled in terror.

Silence fell.

Then Metera turned to you.

"You."

You took a step back.

"YOU DODGED,"

she accused, jabbing a finger at your chest.

"That bullet was meant for you. And instead of taking it like a gentleman, you moved, and now my dress is ruined."

You gaped.

"Are you serious?! You wanted me to get shot?!"

"IT WAS ONE BULLET!"

she yelled, throwing her hands up.

"You'd have had a little hole in your boring suit! I have a CRIME AGAINST FASHION!"

"That's insane!"

you reply.

"That's LIABILITY,"

she corrected.

"And you're paying for the replacement."

Korwa, watching from a safe distance, nodded solemnly.

"The audacity of some people."

As Metera began itemizing damages

"emotional trauma: 50,000 rupies"

you made a mental note: Never attend a fashion show again.

(The surviving pirates, now halfway to the horizon, unanimously agreed: Never rob a woman in couture.)