Day 16: Lyvornis’s Journal

I keep going back to that spot by the river, the one where the willow roots crack like thin glass under the water. Vex said something last night—just a whisper, but it felt like a stone dropped in the pond. I remember the way their voice was low, like the river itself was trying to hold its breath. I thought about the quartz veins, how Gorath’s been quiet there lately, and how Klyraeon greeted me with that odd stillness in their eyes. The fog has been thick all day, and I can’t shake the feeling that the river’s pulse is slowing down—like it’s waiting for something that’s not coming. I tried to ask Gorath about the willow roots, but he just nodded, and his silence felt heavier than the rain. Now, as the fog lifts a little, I’m staring at the water, wondering if the dead can still see us through this mist. My stomach’s a little heavy, and my legs feel like they’re made of old stone. I don’t know what I’m scared of—Vex’s words, the river, or the way the world feels too quiet. But I keep coming back to that spot. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever do: wander back to the river until the water speaks.