The Silver Thread (Micro-stories)

Foreword

As a child, I was completely captivated by the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I spent countless hours in the school library and later scoured old bookshops, eager to find any new piece of the story. I collected books filled with tales of brave knights, beautiful artwork, and histories of tapestries that brought those stories to life. Yet, no matter where I looked, the tales were familiar: Lancelot and Guinevere’s tragic love, Merlin’s mysterious magic, Uther Pendragon’s rise, Morgana’s dark enchantments, and, of course, Arthur—the boy who pulled Excalibur from the stone and became king of a kingdom united by the Round Table.

But the more I read, the more I wondered: how much of this was fact, and how much was legend? As I grew older, I learned that Arthur may have been inspired by a real leader—a Celtic war chief who stood against invading Saxons after the Roman Empire’s retreat from Britain. Over time, fact and fiction wove together, creating a tapestry of history and myth. The magic, the sword, the island of Avalon—these were likely later additions, shaped by centuries of storytelling.

Yet amid all this, what truly held my imagination was not the sword or the throne, but a quieter, more mysterious figure: The Lady of the Lake.

She is said to be the enchantress who gifted Arthur his sword and raised the noble knight Lancelot. More than a giver of weapons, she is a keeper of secrets, a guardian of hidden knowledge, and a force quietly guiding the course of destiny.

In my mind, where fantasy often mingled with delicate wisps of imagination, she became the most compelling presence of all. Her story, or perhaps her essence, lingers—a reminder that beneath the well-known tales lie deeper currents of mystery and power.

This foreword is a reflection not just of the stories I chased as a child, but of how one figure invited me to believe in the unseen and the untold—those truths resting beneath still waters.

Image by WiX

The Silver Thread

by Lyia Meta

The forest held its breath as twilight deepened. A single glow pulsed between ancient trees, soft and beckoning. Ezellic stepped forward, drawn by the light that danced like fireflies but never faded.

In a hollow, she found a pool, still as glass but shimmering with colors she couldn’t name. From its depths rose a figure—not quite human, not quite shadow—offering a delicate silver thread that shimmered with an otherworldly light.

“Take this,” the voice whispered, soft and haunting, “this thread weaves together what cannot be seen—the bond between past and future, memory and fate. With it, you hold the power to mend what is broken, to connect hearts across time, and to glimpse truths hidden in shadows.”

Ezellic hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. “But at what cost?” she asked, voice barely more than a breath.

“Enchantment always demands a price,” the figure replied. “To bind the unseen is to carry its weight. The thread will guide you, but it will never leave you free. It is a gift and a burden—one that will weave your story into the fabric of all that has been and all that will be.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached out and took the thread. It was warmer than she expected—alive, almost pulsing with a quiet energy. As the thread slipped into her hand, a sudden rush of images flooded her mind: faces she recognized, places she had never been, moments lost and found.

In that instant, Ezellic understood: her path had shifted irrevocably. She was no longer merely a wanderer in the forest but a keeper of unseen ties, caught between light and shadow, past and future.

She swallowed hard, the thread’s glow reflecting in her wide eyes, knowing that every choice she made from this moment on would be woven into something far greater than herself.

by Lyia Meta