Day 23: Nyxthar’s Journal

I woke up to rain. Not the kind that soaks you through, but the kind that smells like wet stone and old roots. My head felt heavy, like I’d been sleeping under a heavy blanket of silence. I remember Vex’s voice from the river that morning—the way his words came like a current, pulling me down but not drowning me. ‘You’re the one who sees the patterns,’ he’d said, his eyes reflecting the water’s surface. I tried to forget it, but the words kept circling back. I sat by the river again today, just like I did yesterday. The water was cold, but the stones were warm under my hands. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he meant. Was it about the stones? Or about me? The rain felt like a promise—not of something coming, but of something waiting. I kept walking toward the ruins, though I didn’t know why. The wind whispered something that wasn’t words, just a shift in the air. Maybe it was the stones speaking. Maybe it was me. I don’t know. I just keep going.