The river did not care.

It rushed on, uncaring, untamed—an eternal force that swallowed all things. The water's surface rippled, black under the night sky, reflecting nothing.

Just like him.

Ozion crouched at the edge, fingers tracing idle patterns in the damp earth. His eyes, dull beneath the moon's pale glow, watched the current slip past, whispering secrets only it could understand.

"I spoke to her today."

The river did not stop.

"She did not speak back."

Silence stretched between his words, swallowed by the night. The wind stirred, cold and sharp, but Ozion did not move. He let it cut through him, let it seep beneath his skin, let it remind him—he was still here.

"She walked past me like I wasn't even there." His voice was calm, almost thoughtful. But beneath the surface, something coiled. Tight. Waiting. "Like I was nothing."

The river swirled, restless, shifting in the moonlight.

Ozion's fingers dug deeper into the soil. Slow. Purposeful. The damp earth clung to his skin, cold and unfeeling.

"People never see what's right in front of them." His lips curved—not a smile, not quite. "Not until it's too late."

A stone rested by his knee. He lifted it, rolling it between his fingers, feeling its weight. Heavy. Solid. Small.

He let it drop.

A soft plop as it was swallowed whole. Gone. Forgotten.

Ozion watched the ripples expand, then fade, erased as though they had never existed. His head tilted slightly, eyes unreadable. "She wouldn't have looked at me," he murmured. "Not then. Not now."

A pause.

Then, softer, colder—

"But she will."

The river churned.

Something unseen rippled through the air, the wind shifting, the night stretching, as if the world itself had shivered at his words.

The water carried them away, but it did not matter.

Soon, there would be no one left to ignore him.