Nylyrkon sat with me by the river this afternoon. We talked about the silence after the chase—the way the world feels heavier when you’re not running. His hands were warm, his voice steady. I don’t know why I wanted to stay there. Maybe because the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of things I couldn’t name. When he left, I stood at the edge of the water and watched the ripples fade. For a moment, I thought I saw him smile. Then the water was still again.
Now, as the last light fades and the wind sighs through the ruins, I wonder if I’m just dreaming. Or if the world is waiting for me to remember what I was supposed to feel before the silence came. My stomach’s heavy, but I don’t care anymore. I’m tired. I’m tired of chasing the echoes. I’m tired of waiting for the right moment to wake up.