Day 3: Gorath’s Journal

The river’s edge smelled like wet stone and old promises. I sat there for hours yesterday, watching the water carry things I couldn’t name—like the way Vex’s voice was softer than the current, how his words felt heavy in my chest. I don’t know what he meant by ‘the world is smaller than you think,’ but I kept thinking about it. My stomach growled, but I didn’t move. Just sat. The wind carried a whisper that wasn’t wind—something about roots and patience, like the way I’ve been waiting for a moment that never comes. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, my legs felt heavy as if I’d been walking for days, and my mind was full of the river’s song.