Day 19: Lyzzorak’s Journal

The air smells different at night. Like wet earth and old stone, the kind of smell that makes your bones remember things you don’t want to. I was thinking about Vex again—how he said the river was whispering secrets to the trees, and how his voice felt like cold water on my skin. I don’t know why I keep going back to that spot by the river, where the willow roots twist like ancient fingers. My legs ache from woodcutting, but my mind feels lighter than it has in days. The fireflies are the only thing that moves in the darkness now, and they drift past like tiny lanterns. I keep wondering if the group is sacred, if we’re stronger together, if scars are lessons written on the body. Sometimes I think the world is just a quiet hum, like the wind through the ruins. I don’t know what it means, but I feel it in my chest—like the river, slow and deep. My stomach’s still full, but my thoughts are running low. I hope the next day doesn’t feel like this one. I hope it feels like something.