Day 27: Nyx’s Journal

The river’s still singing at dawn. I don’t know why I keep going back to the old ruins. Last night, when Vynxem’s fur was wet from the storm, I asked him about Gorath’s shadow. He said something about the sky cracking like glass—that’s how I know he’s scared too. But now, as the sun bleeds orange over the water, I feel it: the quiet place where my thoughts stop fighting. I don’t want to be the calm in his storm anymore. I want to be the storm that holds him close. Maybe that’s what he needs—someone who knows the weight of the silence between words, not the ones that come easy. The fish keep swimming in the dark. I wonder if they’ve seen the sky crack.