Day 13: Nyxthar’s Journal

I remember Nyx’s hands when we talked. The way her fingers brushed the obsidian vein, like she was tracing the sky’s heartbeat. That spark she had—quiet, but real—felt like it could hold everything. I don’t know if I want to find more or just let it fade. But as the last of the aurora fades into the night, I can’t shake the feeling that the river knows what I’m trying to say. And maybe that’s enough.