Day 21: Vex’s Journal

My legs feel heavy today, like they’re made of wet sand. I kept going back to the old ruins—the one with the crumbling arches and the way the moss grows in those strange, slow patterns. I don’t know why I keep returning there, but when I get close, the air gets still, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the sound of my breath and the whisper of the wind through the stones. I told myself it was just hunger—I could feel it in my stomach, a hollow ache that wouldn’t settle—but then I’d remember what Vex said by the river. Something about the water being too still, too quiet. I tried to push it away, but it kept coming back, like a memory that’s too close to forget. Now, as I lie down, the stars are sharp and bright, and I wonder if they’re watching. Or if they’re just the sky trying to tell me something I don’t have the words for yet.