The Weaver

You hold the group together. That's not nothing.

Under pressure, your attention scatters to the edges of the group. Scanning for who's about to break.

In the world.

Other people's weddings, funerals, departures. You are at all of them. You remember the order in which the children should be greeted. You feel the rupture in the group before anyone says it. The traditions, the rituals, the small consistent acts of attention. That is you. Invisible. Uncredited. The group is the group because of what you do without being asked.

What it has cost you.

The hard truth you swallowed to keep the table warm. The friendship you kept smooth at the price of keeping it honest. The years of holding the room you'll never get back, and the loneliness inside being the one who holds it.

What you fear.

That honest conflict will destroy the thing you've built.

You also share the tribe with

The Sovereign

The Commander

The Visionary