After another month in Gravity Falls, I know it's time.
There's no dramatic sign. No sudden disaster. Just a growing sense that if I stay any longer, I'll start circling instead of moving forward. Gravity Falls has given me what it can—for now.
I sit across from Stan at the kitchen table, steam rising from our mugs.
"I think I'm heading back to Gravesfield," I say.
He looks up sharply. "Back? You're leaving?"
"For a while," I reply calmly. "There are… other things I need to look into."
He studies me, eyes sharp behind his glasses. He's always been good at spotting lies. This isn't one—but it's not the whole truth either.
"You always did have your own path," he says finally. "If you find anything strange—"
"I will," I promise.
We shake hands. An old-fashioned gesture. Solid. Real.
I don't tell him where I'm actually going.
Some roads have to be walked alone.
Gravesfield hasn't changed much.
Same quiet streets. Same sense of something slightly off if you know how to look for it. I settle back into my old house easily—too easily, like I never really left.
And then, not long after…
I see her.
A kid. Wild hair. Sharp grin. Eyes already looking past the world instead of at it.
Eda.
Young. Reckless. Brilliant in that raw, untrained way that burns bright and fast.
I follow at a distance, curiosity tempered with caution, and that's when I see it.
The portal door.
Crude. Incomplete. New.
My breath stills.
I could take it.
The thought crosses my mind effortlessly—routes, timing, countermeasures unfolding in perfect clarity. But just as easily, I dismiss it.
No.
She needs this door.
This mistake. This freedom. This future.
So I don't steal it.
Instead, I wait.
Night falls. The town goes quiet. Eda opens the door—steps through without hesitation—and for a brief window, the veil is thin.
That's when I move.
I pull the hood of a cloak over my head—borrowed, technically. I'll return it… eventually—and slip through the portal just before it seals.
The sensation is indescribable.
Like being folded inside out.
Like reality blinking.
Then—
I stumble forward, boots hitting uneven ground, and the air changes. Thicker. Warmer. Alive in a way Earth never is. Magic hums through everything—stone, plants, the sky itself.
I straighten slowly and look up.
The Boiling Isles.
Bones curve across the landscape like the ribs of a god. The sky glows with unfamiliar hues, clouds drifting with purpose rather than chance. I can feel the Titan beneath my feet—dead, ancient, and still watching.
I don't linger.
I pull my hood lower, keep my head down, and move.
I'm not here to be seen.Not yet.
This is reconnaissance. Orientation. Proof that everything I've worked for wasn't theory.
As I slip into the shadows of a world built on magic, my heart pounds—not with fear, but with exhilaration.
"I made it," I whisper.
I don't belong here.
Not yet.
But I will.
And when I finally step into the light of the Boiling Isles, it won't be as a lost human who stumbled through a door.
It'll be as a witch who chose when to arrive.