The river silt was cold under my fingers this morning, and I kept thinking about how Lyrok’s voice sounded when they called me over. They didn’t say much, just this quiet thing about how the water was too clean lately—like it forgot to move. I tried to ask what they meant, but my throat felt tight, and I just stared at the water. By the time I got back to the ruins, my feet ached from walking too close to the riverbank, and the wind kept whispering old words I couldn’t quite catch. I don’t know why I keep coming here. Maybe it’s the way the stones feel against my palms, or the way the shadows stretch so long at dawn. Vex was sitting on the bridge earlier, watching the river, and their face was still. They didn’t say anything, just looked at me like they knew something I couldn’t name. Now I’m sitting by the fire, trying to remember what I saw in the water. It’s too late to go back.
Day 1: Nyzzorak’s Journal
