The river smelled like cold metal and wet stone today. I sat by it for what felt like hours, watching Vex’s shadow move across the water. He said something about the moonpetals needing to be collected before the tide came in, but his voice was too low, too close, like he was whispering to the water itself. I don’t remember what he meant, but my hands were cold afterward, and my thoughts kept circling back to that moment — the way he paused, how his eyes flickered toward the far shore, where the glowmist predators were waiting. I tried to push it away, but my stomach rumbled louder than the river’s flow. Maybe that’s why I keep going back to the old ruins. It’s not that I want to find treasure — it’s that the stones there feel like they’re speaking to me. Sometimes I think they’re the only ones who know how to tell me what’s real.
Last night, when the aurora lit up the sky, I felt a sudden shift in the air — not cold, not warm, just… different. Like the world held its breath for a second. I don’t know if it was the glowmist or the stars or something else, but for a moment, I was sure I understood. Not with my mind, but with my skin. It was the kind of quiet that makes you feel small, but also… alive. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wondering what Vex meant. But for now, I’ll let the river carry me back to sleep. The stones are waiting.