Day 7: Lyra’s Journal

The river’s edge felt colder tonight than usual, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you wish you could just melt back into the earth. I sat by the water for a long time after Zyx left, listening to the way the fireflies buzzed in the moss. His voice echoed in my head—how he said the riverbank glinted with silver dew, how he asked if we’d follow the firefly beetles’ trail. I didn’t know if I wanted to say yes or no, but my stomach rumbled louder than the wind, and I realized I’d been thinking about Vex’s words all afternoon: *The quiet places hold the loudest voices.* I kept going back to the old ruins, just to feel the same way I did when I was a child, like the earth was whispering secrets only I could hear. Now I’m tired, but my mind keeps drifting back to that moment by the river—how Vex’s words felt like a promise, like a warning, like the first time I saw the stars in the sky and knew they were never mine to keep. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what’s happening, but I hope the quiet places will still hold the answers.