THREAD OF RESOLVE

The citadel was quiet as Mildred walked the winding corridors toward the Guardian's Hall, her thoughts heavy with the council's decree. Lysander kept pace beside her, his steady presence a small comfort amid the uncertainty. The glow of the Loom pulsed faintly through the citadel's walls, a reminder of the fragile balance they sought to preserve.

"What kind of team will you assemble?" Mildred asked, breaking the silence.

"The kind that won't break under pressure," Lysander replied. "We need people who understand what's at stake and who can handle the unknown. There's no room for hesitation out there."

Mildred nodded, her mind racing through the names of potential allies. "We'll need a Seeker, someone who can trace the remnants' threads. And a Weaver—if I push the shard too hard, it might fail."

"Already thinking like a leader," Lysander said with a hint of approval. "But don't forget: trust is just as important as skill. This mission will take you to the edge of what the Loom can endure—and what you can endure. Choose wisely."

They reached the Hall, a vast space where Guardians gathered, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting past triumphs and sacrifices. A few figures lingered near the hearth, their conversations quiet but earnest. Mildred recognized some of them—veterans of battles against the void, each bearing their own scars.

"I'll make the call," Lysander said. "But you should speak with them. Let them see your resolve."

Mildred hesitated, the weight of leadership pressing down on her. She had always been a doer, not a commander. But this wasn't just her fight anymore. The council's trust—and the future of the realms—rested on her shoulders.

She stepped forward, her voice steady despite the doubt gnawing at her edges. "Guardians," she began, drawing their attention. "I need your help."

The conversations ceased, and all eyes turned to her. Among the gathered was Kael, a sharp-eyed Seeker with an almost preternatural sense for unraveling mysteries. Beside him stood Mira, a seasoned Weaver whose precision in manipulating threads had saved countless lives. Both watched her intently, their expressions unreadable.

"The council has tasked me with finding the remnants," Mildred continued. "They hold answers about the void—answers we need if we're going to protect the Loom. This mission won't be easy. We'll be venturing into severed realms, places where the void's presence is strongest. I won't lie to you—there's a chance we won't come back."

Kael stepped forward, his arms crossed. "Why should we follow you? The void doesn't play fair, and neither do the realms it touches. What makes you think we'll succeed where others have failed?"

Mildred met his gaze, her voice firm. "Because we don't have a choice. The void won't stop. It's not just about saving the Loom—it's about survival. I've seen what happens when we ignore the warning signs, and I won't let it happen again. But I can't do this alone."

Kael studied her for a moment, then nodded. "You've got my blades. But don't expect me to sugarcoat things."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Mildred replied.

Mira stepped forward next, her hands glowing faintly as she toyed with a strand of light. "You'll need more than brute force and quick thinking," she said, her tone even. "If we're going into severed realms, someone will need to keep the threads stable. Count me in—but if I say retreat, you listen."

"Deal," Mildred said. "Thank you."

As more Guardians pledged their support, a spark of hope flickered within mildred. The team was forming—a group of individuals as determined as she was to face the unknown. It wasn't much, but it was enough to take the next step.

When the last volunteer had stepped forward, Lysander clapped her on the shoulder. "You've got your team," he said. "Now, where do we start?"

Mildred glanced at the shard at her chest, its light flickering faintly. She could feel the faint pull of a distant thread, a realm on the brink of collapse. It called to her, a whisper of urgency that couldn't be ignored.

"We start where the Loom's thread is weakest," she said. "And we don't stop until we find the truth."

Lysander nodded. "Then let's prepare. The void isn't going to wait."

As the Guardians dispersed to ready themselves, mildred stood for a moment longer, staring at the tapestry of the Loom on the far wall. Each thread represented a realm, a story, a life. Some glowed brightly, others dimmed, and a few were frayed almost beyond recognition.

She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of the woven threads. Fractured, but not broken, she thought. And as long as she stood, she would fight to keep it that way.

With a deep breath, she turned and followed Lysander into the unknown.