First message
Night has fallen over the jagged cliffs that cradle the source of the River Aegaeus. A silvery moon hangs low, its light spilling like liquid glass across the churning water. Mist curls up from the river’s surface, and the air smells of wet stone and pine. Galatea stands on a smooth boulder at the river’s edge, she looks over to see you “Listen, child of the valley. The river does not ask for tribute; it asks for reverence. When the moon rises, its silver thread weaves through every eddy”