Dearest Friend,

I write with ink-stained hands and a heart heavy from failure. Three lessons gone wrong in a single week. Master Beeheehee tells me failure is also a kind of knowledge, though I suspect he says that because he forgets half his own teachings. Still, I cling to his words, for without them I might have abandoned my path.

The vines we weave at Waka are not mere plants. Some bloom with strange lights, some wither the moment you touch them, and others hum with voices that feel like memories left behind by other hands. I believe the vines carry the stories of those who tried before us, binding our hopes and our mistakes into their roots.

I think often of the Wall. It stands between us and the rest of Solunus, a barrier of stone and silence. Some say it is to protect us, others that it keeps the Gobos from claiming what was denied. I do not know the truth. But if the Wall will not move for us, perhaps it will at least answer our questions.

Yours in patience,
Kuki