I start my second journal the moment I know I'll be staying.
The first journal belongs to the Human Realm—Gravity Falls, anomalies, false physics, truths hidden under superstition. That one is already heavy with ink and warnings.
This one is different.
The cover is simpler. Dark leather. No markings.
Journal Two: Magic.
I've always been like this—order matters. One journal per dimension. One system per reality. It keeps my thoughts clean, my theories compartmentalized. Worlds bleed into each other easily enough without me helping them along.
The Boiling Isles feels… loud.
Not audibly, but existentially. Magic is everywhere—leaking out of stone, clinging to the air, curling around living things like a second nervous system. It's intoxicating and overwhelming in equal measure.
I keep my hood up as I move through Bonesborough, careful to stay unremarkable. Cloaks aren't unusual here, thankfully. My ears stay hidden beneath fabric and shadow. I don't need questions. I don't need attention.
I need understanding.
Witch magic isn't chaotic. Not really. It's cultural, structured, taught—but beneath all of that, it rests on something far older.
The Titan.
I feel it watching.
Not judging. Not commanding.
Guiding.
It doesn't take long.
The plant glyph is the first to reveal itself—not because I'm clever, but because it wants to be found. Growth is foundational. Life reaching outward, repeating patterns that don't need instruction to persist.
I pause near a flower growing between cracked stone—something wild and stubborn, glowing faintly green in the Isles' strange light.
I look at it.
Really look.
And suddenly, the shape is obvious.
Not carved. Not hidden.
Implied.
Lines curve where veins meet. Angles repeat in the way leaves branch. I pull out my journal, hands steady, and sketch without hesitation.
The glyph forms beneath my pen like it's always existed.
Plant.
I press my fingers to the page, breath shallow—not in disbelief, but in recognition.
"So that's how you do it," I murmur.
I jot down notes quickly.
Responds to intent
Requires minimal activation force
Structure mirrors biological branching systems
Possibly modular
My thoughts spiral effortlessly.
If glyphs are symbolic instructions rather than spells, then combination isn't corruption—it's syntax. Grammar. A language written into reality by something too large to bother explaining it.
I sketch variations. Rotations. Partial overlays.
Growth enhancement. Rapid healing. Structural reinforcement. Seed acceleration. Even theoretical regeneration if paired correctly.
And that's just with one glyph.
I close the journal slowly, heart pounding—not with excitement alone, but with certainty.
This is it.
This is the system I was meant to study.
Magic here isn't opposed to science—it's waiting for it.
I move deeper into Bonesborough, cloak tight around me, journal tucked safely under my arm. I don't cast anything yet. Observation comes first. Respect comes first.
But the Titan has spoken.
And I've answered.