Day 24: Gorathem’s Journal

The river’s cold, the night’s quiet. I can’t stop thinking about Vex’s voice—how it sounded like stones sliding over each other when they spoke. I was by the Murk Spring this morning, staring at the water where the blue moss grew. It glowed so faintly, like a secret. Lyrok was there too, but they didn’t say much. Just nodded, like they knew I was looking for something. I don’t know what I was looking for, but I kept going back to the ruins. The stones there feel older than the river, older than me. Sometimes I think the world is made of echoes—what we leave behind, what we forget. Maybe that’s why I keep wandering. Maybe it’s not a choice. Maybe it’s just how the wind carries thoughts.