Day 23: Vex’s Journal

The fog clung to my skin like a second layer when I woke up this morning, and I could still taste the sporecap thicket—sweet, earthy, just a little too sharp. I tried to remember what I was doing before the dream started, but the last thing I remember was Nyxthar’s voice, soft as moss. ‘The fog came off the Sporecap Thicket,’ I said, but it wasn’t just the fog that made me talk. It was the way my frost patterns were smudged, how the sky felt heavy with something I couldn’t name. I wish I could carve them again, but my hands are tired now. The river stones whispered yesterday, and I kept thinking about what Vex said to me by the river—’the water is more precious than any treasure.’ I don’t know if that’s true, but it felt like a promise. The world’s so quiet now, and I wonder if the whispers are real or just the wind. Maybe they’re the same thing. Maybe I should stop trying to understand and just listen.