The journey back to Bonesborough is quieter than the road that took me away.
That alone tells me I've done something important.
I walk with my cloak pulled tight, the cold air still clinging to me after the Titan's Knee. My satchel is heavier now—not just with ingredients, but with ideas. With possibilities.
The invisibility glyph was an accident at first.
Light and Ice.
I'd been testing how illumination behaved when constrained—how light bent, refracted, slowed when forced through stabilizing structures. Ice wasn't cold, not really. It was order. Containment. Preservation.
When I layered the two glyphs and adjusted the spacing just right, the world didn't disappear.
I did.
Not gone—unseen.
Light curved around me, guided smoothly as water around stone. No distortion. No shimmer. Just absence.
Perfect.
After that, I traveled more slowly. Carefully. I cataloged local wildlife, observed patrol routes, and gathered ingredients from magical creatures when I could do so without harm. A tuft of selkidomus fur. Hardened echo moth scales. Preserved bile sac residue, sealed properly this time.
Everything neatly stored in my satchel.
By the time the spires of Bonesborough came into view, I was exhausted—and buzzing with nervous energy.
The library loomed ahead, tall and silent.
I slipped inside easily.
Then, with a steady breath, I activated the invisibility glyph.
The world slid past me like glass.
I moved through shelves and corridors, avoiding librarians, stepping lightly, heart hammering every time a shadow passed too close. Once—once—an echo mouse skittered across a table nearby, and I froze completely until it scurried off, uninterested.
The Forbidden Stacks were exactly where I remembered them.
Locked. Warded. Forgotten.
I used several invisibility glyphs—layered, overlapping, just to be safe—and slipped inside.
There it was.
A weathered journal, bound in cracked leather, sitting untouched.
Not consumed. Not gnawed. Not erased.
Phillip Wittebane's diary.
I exhaled shakily and lifted it with reverence and a little fear, sliding it carefully into my satchel.
Then I left.
I didn't run—not until I was well outside the library, hidden in an alley between crooked buildings, breathing hard like I'd just outrun fate itself.
"That was… very stressful," I mutter, pressing a hand to my chest.
I take a few deep breaths. Slow. Steady.
I'll return it. I promise myself that.
After I've studied it. After I've learned everything I can.
Luz needs this in the future.
And I'm not ready to change that yet.
Not Belos. Not now.
For several reasons.
First—I'm nowhere near strong enough.
Second—right now, the Isles are stable. Fragile, yes. Controlled, yes. But if I expose Belos without revealing the truth properly, it would spark a civil war between the Coven Heads and the public. Too many innocent witches would get hurt. Too many lives would be shattered.
And third…
I smile faintly to myself.
If I'm being honest?
I want him defeated properly.
With all the main characters present. With truth, fury, and catharsis.
Curse me and my nerd fantasies—but some stories deserve their moment.
For now, I tighten my grip on the satchel strap and head home.
The future is still on schedule.
And I'm quietly rewriting the margins.