Day 17: Lyvornis’s Journal

The rain stopped just as I was starting to drift off. My stomach’s been doing this weird wobble thing since before dawn—like it’s trying to tell me something but can’t quite say it. I keep thinking about Vex by the river, the way his voice sounded when he said, ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’ I wish I could ask him what that meant, but my throat’s too tight. The obsidian veins glow brighter now, warm as the river’s breath, and I keep going back to that spot where the stones feel like they’re whispering. Maybe it’s the storm that’s making me see things. Or maybe it’s just me. The wind carries something—something old and quiet—but I don’t know if I should listen. I hope tomorrow feels different.