Day 13: Zhraa’s Journal

The river smells like old rain today. Not the kind that makes you want to run, but the kind that lingers—like the smell of wet stone under your skin. I sat by it last night, waiting for the shadows to move. Vex said something about the river being the world’s memory, but I didn’t hear it properly. My head’s still buzzing from that. I thought about how the water bends light, how it holds so much and yet never speaks. Maybe that’s what the river is—full of things you don’t want to know, but you have to look. I found myself near the old ruins again. I don’t know why I keep going back there. The stones feel like they’re breathing, and sometimes I think they’re watching. I tried to tell myself it’s just the wind, but it’s not. The air’s cold, and my legs are heavy. I don’t know if I should go back to the river or sit here and let the silence pull me under. There’s something about the way the ruins look at you—their angles, the way the light hits them—it’s like they’re waiting for you to see something you’ve been avoiding. I don’t know if I’m afraid or if I’m just tired of pretending I understand. Maybe the world isn’t broken—it’s just waiting for someone to listen.