I found myself near the old ruins again today. Not the ones with the broken pillars and the silence that feels too loud, but the ones that used to be there before the river started to shift. The water wasn’t even close to where it was last week—just a whisper of the current, like something waking up. I didn’t mean to wander back there, but my feet just kept pulling me toward the stones. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and something else, like the memory of rain that never came. Visions flickered in the corners of my eyes—shadows that moved too fast, voices that weren’t there. I tried to shake them off, but they clung like the mud on my boots. When I finally turned away, the stones were still there, waiting, and the river was still silent. Maybe it’s because I’m tired. Maybe it’s because the world is tired of me.
Day 1: Gorath’s Journal
