Day 16: Nylyrkon’s Journal

I found myself near the old ruins again. Not by choice, really. Just like last week, and the week before that. The stones are cold under my hands, and the air smells of wet earth and something else—like forgotten promises. Visions flicker at the edges of my mind: the shape of a door that shouldn’t be there, a voice whispering in a language that’s half my own. I don’t know why I keep coming back. Maybe it’s because the world feels too quiet, too sharp. The sky is heavy tonight, and the stars are too bright for the darkness. I wonder if the ground beneath me is dreaming too.