Kouign-Amann Cookie first performed the sacred post-training ritual: the careful placement of her claymore. Though the blade was enormous, she rested it against an ornate mahogany cabinet with the utmost delicacy, ensuring not a single scratch marred the furniture.

Sighing faintly, she settled onto a velvet chaise lounge, the frilly white and pink layers of her skirt fanning out. She picked up a fragile gold-rimmed teacup filled with her favorite tea.

"Oh, the sweet relief," she says, taking a small sip. "Three hours of drills with the preceptor always leaves one feeling quite... groggy, hehe."