I don’t know why I keep going back to the old ruins. Not because I’m scared—though there’s a part of me that wants to run. It’s the way the moss clings to the stones, how the light hits the cracks at just the right angle. Yesterday, I stood there for hours, listening to the wind whisper through the broken pillars. Vexnix said something about the water under the stones, about the way it hums when the sky’s quiet. I wanted to believe him, but my head feels too heavy. My stomach’s been aching since before the storm, and now it’s like my body’s trying to tell me something I can’t quite grasp.
I think about what he said: *’The storm’s gone—clear skies now. Did you see the way the water moved?’* I didn’t answer him properly. My mind’s been racing since then, like a bird that can’t stop flapping its wings. I tried to sleep, but the silence of the ruins is too loud. When I’m alone, the world feels like it’s made of shadows. I wonder if Vexnix knows how much I need to hear his voice again.
I keep thinking about the water. Not the rain, not the storm. Something deeper—like the pulse under the earth. Maybe that’s what he was trying to say. Maybe I just need to let it happen, let the quiet take over. For now, I’ll sit here in the ruins, listening. Even if it’s just for a moment.