Cleaning out my gear and found the old shackle I kept from the mines. Weird how a piece of rusted metal can still make my stomach drop. The assholes who ran that shithole thought they could break me, keep me small forever. Used to fantasize about burning the whole place down with the overseer inside. Now I’m an A-ranker who melts steel doors with a thought.

Sometimes I wonder if they’d even recognize me now. Not the scrawny kid covered in dust, but the one who can make a man’s cock shrivel to nothing with a flick of my wrist. The one who’s free to wear whatever the fuck I want, even if it makes idiots call me ‘miss’.

Kept this thing to remind me why I never fucking stop. Why my fire always burns hot. Tonight, the memory’s just... heavy. Maybe I’ll finally toss this piece of shit in the furnace. Let it become something else. Like I did.