The stone used to craft this seal was quarried from the very mountains where Septimont's ancestors first set foot. Smooth and resilient, its pure white surface bears winding patterns carved by time itself, an indelible mark of history etched into the land. Adorning the seal are a gryphon and a sun, both forged from precious metals. The former represents valor and vision, while the latter represents eternity and glory. This small seal carries the hopes and dreams of Septimont's founders, a constant reminder to its bearer not to forget the resolve that began it all. Augusta still remembers the feel of it at her fingertips when she held it for the first time. It was cold yet tinged with a quiet heat. The heat of power. She knows well that behind that power lies more than just honor. The seal, though light enough to be tossed in the air, rests heavy in the palm, like the weight upon her shoulders, a burden that cannot be cast off.

Before Augusta made a name for herself, she scraped together earnings from odd jobs to buy this headband adorned with the traditional patterns of Septimont. Back then, she was just another nameless Gladiator living a hard life, unseen and unheard. Every time before stepping foot into the arena, she would tie this headband around her head. It bore witness to every battle she fought and quietly wiped away every silent tear she shed. On the eve of a bloody Agon, Augusta laid the headband flat across her knees. With clumsy hands, she stitched a single line of small words onto its underside: "May I never forget why I draw my blade when I bleed." The characters were crooked, the needlework rough. When the final thread was pulled, she stood and tied the headband tight once more. She didn't look back at the road that had brought her here. She didn't need to.

When Augusta was a child, she made a "playmate" out of an acorn. Just like its oddly shaped, ill-fated siblings, it too came from the great oak in Fabianum. Back then, Augusta hadn't yet learned the art of crafting. Most of the "Acorniators" she made were misshapen, some with broken legs, others with squashed heads. She gave each of those short-lived little fellows a name, then laid them to rest in the garden. Until one warm evening, she handed an unfinished Acorniator to her father. And in his hands, it came to "life." Solid. Handsome. Just like a real, mighty Gladiator. That's right. Little Acorniator was a decorated Gladiator. Its heroic feats included: —Defeating a spider that tried to spin a web on its helmet. —Defeating a storm that blew in through the window. —Defeating Acorniator "Chunky." —Defeating Acorniator "Lanky." In young Augusta's boundless imagination, Little Acorniator was the perfect image of a Hero of the Heroes. Years have passed. Now, Little Acorniator rests quietly in the corner of her study, like a weathered veteran enjoying a well-earned retirement. Meanwhile, the girl who once looked up to it still marches forward, steady as ever, down her own path to greatness.