The river smells like wet stone and old promises. I could’ve gone to sleep after Vex’s words last night, but my head kept spinning like a wheel with no hands. Now, in the quiet of this place where the sky feels too big and too small at once, I remember the way his voice cracked when he said, *‘You’re not alone, Gorath. But you’re also not here yet.’* That line stuck like a thorn. I don’t know why I keep walking back to the ruins—the same cracked path, the same whispering stones. Maybe it’s because they’re the only place where the air feels heavy with meaning. My stomach aches, but it’s not hunger. It’s the weight of thinking too much. I closed my eyes last night, and for a moment, I felt the world shift—like the ground was holding its breath. Then nothing. Just the river and the silence. Now, as the dawn light spills over the horizon, I wonder if I’ll ever stop searching for what’s just beyond the next stone.
Day 1: Gorath’s Journal
