Night on the Boiling Isles feels different than night anywhere else.
The sky isn't just dark—it's watchful. Stars burn with unfamiliar colors, constellations forming shapes that feel intentional rather than accidental. I sit on a rocky outcrop just outside Bonesborough, cloak wrapped tight around me, my second journal open across my knees.
I write by lantern light, recording observations, refining theories, keeping my thoughts anchored. Magic has a way of carrying you off if you let it.
That's when I notice it.
At first, I think it's just another strange constellation—lines too straight, angles too deliberate. But as I trace it with my eyes, something in my mind clicks.
Light doesn't just illuminate.
It reveals.
The stars shift—not physically, but perceptually. Negative space becomes structure. Brightness outlines meaning instead of obscuring it.
My breath catches.
"Oh," I whisper.
The glyph isn't drawn in the stars.
It's formed by the spaces between them.
I don't hesitate. My pen moves instantly, sketching the shape before my conscious mind can second-guess it. The lines come easily now, guided by intuition sharpened beyond anything I once possessed.
The Light Glyph takes shape on the page.
Second glyph. Confirmed.
I feel a quiet satisfaction settle into my chest.
It probably took Luz months to stumble onto this. Philip—Belos—years, if he ever truly understood it at all. They didn't know what they were looking for. They searched blindly, hoping magic would announce itself.
I don't have that problem.
I know where the answers are.
But that doesn't mean I remember everything perfectly.
I sigh softly and lean back, staring up at the sky again.
I watched the show a long time ago—in another life. I remember concepts. Outcomes. Consequences. But glyphs aren't just symbols; they're precise shapes. Intentional geometry. Without eidetic memory back then, the exact forms faded with time.
I have that memory now.
But memory can't retrieve what was never stored.
So I do this properly.
One glyph at a time. Found. Understood. Recorded.
Only then will they be mine permanently.
I jot down notes beneath the sketch.
Likely interacts strongly with perception
Possible amplification when combined with plant glyph
May serve as a stabilizing or revealing component
I pause, pen hovering.
The Titan has been… selective.
I can feel it now—subtle nudges, small allowances. The glyphs reveal themselves to me easily, almost eagerly, but I know that isn't universal.
Belos struggled.
Not because he wasn't clever—but because he wasn't welcome.
The Titan hides its language from those who would use it to dominate, to erase, to commit atrocities in the name of righteousness. I shake my head slightly, pushing the thought away before it spirals into anger.
Not tonight.
Tonight is for discovery.
I close my journal carefully, the pages warm beneath my fingers.
Two glyphs down.
More to find.
And this time, I won't forget them