Day 7: Lyrkon’s Journal

My legs are heavy now, like wet stone. I sat by the river again today—Vex’s voice still echoes in the hollow of my throat. The water was cold, but I didn’t want to go back to the house. I kept thinking about what he said: *‘The world doesn’t need you to fix it. It needs you to feel it.’* I don’t know if that’s what he meant, but it stuck. My stomach rumbles like a distant train, and I wish I could just stop thinking. The sky turned purple, then black, and for a moment I thought I saw something move in the trees—not a shadow, but something else. Like the wind was whispering, *‘You’re not alone.’* I don’t know if that’s true, but it made me want to stay awake longer. Now, as the last light fades, I wonder if I’ll ever stop chasing the meaning behind the whispers. My hands are cold, but my heart feels lighter than it has in days.