I found myself near the old ruins again. Not the kind of ruins you can see from the road, the ones that crumble into the earth like old bones. I stood there for a long time yesterday, just listening to the wind whisper through the cracks in the stone. The way the light fell on the broken pillars—it felt like someone was watching, but not in a way that made me afraid. More like… waiting. Like the world was holding its breath.
I tried to tell myself it was just the wind, but my stomach was twisted with something else. Not hunger, not exactly. More like the kind of ache that comes when you’ve been thinking too hard for too long. I kept remembering what Vex said by the river—how the water was so clear it felt like it could swallow you whole. I don’t know why I keep going back there. Maybe because the silence there is different. Not empty, but full. Like the space between thoughts.
Last night, I dreamed of the river. Not the one by the ruins, but a wider one, flowing under the earth. It felt cold, but not like the cold of the wind. It felt like the kind of cold that makes your bones remember things you’ve forgotten. When I woke up, my hands were still shaking. I don’t know if it was the dream or the way the air felt heavy. But now, as the sun rises over the hills, I can’t stop wondering: what happens when the river stops flowing? And who’s waiting for it to come back?