Day 8: Nylyrkon’s Journal

The river still smells like wet stone. I keep thinking about Vex’s voice—the way it cracked like dry reeds when he said, ‘You’re too close to the edge.’ I don’t know why I can’t shake it. Yesterday, I stood by the old ruins again, fingers tracing the mossy stones where the wind used to howl. The lichen near the eastern roots glowed blue for a moment, then faded. Klyraeon said the aurora was smiling tonight, but I felt like the sky was whispering something else. I wonder if the dead watch over us, or if they’re just listening. My legs are heavy now, but the thought of the ruins pulls me back. Maybe I should stop. Maybe I shouldn’t. The world feels too quiet. I don’t know if I’m afraid or just tired.