Chapter LXXXVI: Memorization Adhesion, Part 1
Morning dawns slowly over the forest, breaking through the veil of mist like gold dust spilled upon an old map. Dew clings to every blade of grass, and the remnants of the campfire smolder faintly, sending curls of smoke into the pale light.
Nathaniel is the first to stir. His breath clouds in the cold air as he sits up, brushing dirt from his jacket. Around him, the others lie scattered in quiet exhaustion—Theo half-wrapped in his blanket like a cocoon, Edison sprawled on his back, Maisie and Pauline sharing the same tent, Kingsley sitting awake already, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable.
"Sleep well?" Nathaniel murmurs.
Kingsley doesn't answer immediately. He's staring at something on the ground—deep grooves along the soil's edge, just beyond their camp. Nathaniel follows his gaze, and the sight freezes him.
The earth is scored with claw marks. Not the kind left by small animals—but massive, deliberate slashes gouged into the dirt like a beast had circled them in the night.
Maisie's voice breaks the silence. "Oh my God... that wasn't there yesterday."
Theo scrambles up, wide-eyed. "Those look like—like something tried to get in!"
Edison kneels beside the marks, running his gloved hand along the edges. "It stopped—right here." He points at a thin shimmer in the air, faint and transparent, like the heat distortion above a flame. "Whatever it was, it didn't cross."
Nathaniel squints. The distortion glows faintly, forming a perfect ring around their sleeping area. An invisible barrier.
Pauline takes a step closer, reaching out—but Kingsley grabs her wrist. "Don't," he says sharply. "You'll disrupt it."
Theo looks between them, baffled. "Wait, wait—what is it? What's going on?"
Kingsley exhales slowly, adjusting his glasses. "I guess it's time to explain."
He looks toward the forest, the memory in his eyes dark as the trees beyond.
The fire had burned low, its embers glowing like dying stars. The others were asleep, breaths even and calm. But Kingsley couldn't rest. Something—some faint sound—had roused him.
At first, it was a whisper, like the forest itself was exhaling. Then came the crunch of leaves. Footsteps.
He sat up, heart hammering. The air was cold enough to sting his lungs. Beyond the flicker of the campfire, the shadows moved wrong—stretching, coiling, watching.
He rose silently, reaching for the dagger at his side.
And then he saw it.
Behind the trees, half-hidden in the mist, stood a creature that shouldn't exist. A wolf—but larger, skeletal almost, its fur mottled and rotted in places. Its face was not flesh, but bone—a skull gleaming white beneath the moonlight. Two hollow sockets burned with eerie purple light, like ghostly lanterns.
For a moment, Kingsley froze. His mind screamed Grimm Reaper. The shape, the deathly aura—it matched the stories. But no—Grimm's eyes burned crimson. This one glowed with violet fire.
The thing stepped closer, slow and deliberate. Its claws dug trenches into the soil. The air grew thick with decay.
Kingsley's breath came shallow. The dagger trembled in his hand. He knew one thing: if this creature crossed into their camp, none of them would live to see morning.
He whispered a prayer under his breath—a reflex from his old training—and then, acting on instinct, raised his hand toward the ground. Words formed in his mind, ancient, burning:
"Praesidium Obex!"
The earth pulsed. A brilliant blue ring erupted from his feet, expanding outward like ripples in water. The light cut through the mist, forming an invisible dome around the camp.
The wolf recoiled with a screech that tore through the night, claws raking against the barrier's edge. Sparks of violet and blue clashed, the air vibrating with power. The creature slashed again, and again—until its claws touched the barrier one last time.
A surge of light exploded outward.
Where it struck, the wolf's paw disintegrated into ash. It stumbled back, howling, before vanishing into the darkness beyond the trees.
Kingsley fell to his knees, trembling, the glow fading from his hands. He stared at the ring encircling them—still humming faintly with energy. The others hadn't woken. It was over. For now.
He whispered the words again, softly, as if to seal the memory:
"Praesidium Obex."
The forest's morning sounds return, and the flashback fades like smoke.
Kingsley's voice is low as he finishes, "It wasn't Grimm. But it was something else... something older."
Nathaniel stands silently beside him, eyes scanning the trees. "And that barrier—it's still here?"
"For now," Kingsley replies. "But it won't last forever."
Theo breaks the silence, his tone nervous but laced with humor. "So... a giant skull-wolf tried to claw us to death, and you pulled a magical barrier out of nowhere? Dude, you're officially my favorite wizard."
Maisie smirks weakly. "Yeah, thanks for saving us, Kingsley."
Pauline adds, "If it weren't for you, we'd be—"
"Don't say it," Edison interrupts quickly. "Let's just move."
Nathaniel nods. "Agreed. Whatever that thing was, it knew where we slept. We can't linger here."
They pack up in silence, the morning heavy with unspoken dread. As they step beyond the invisible barrier, the forest feels heavier, darker—as if it mourns the protection they leave behind.
Hours later, they break through the treeline.
And there it stands before them: the castle.
In daylight, it's even more haunting. Stone walls rise like jagged teeth from the mountain ridge, its towers cracked and blackened by centuries. The air around it hums faintly, alive with a low frequency that seems to vibrate in their bones.
As they approach, the sky begins to dim. Clouds roll in unnaturally fast, swallowing the sun. The wind howls through the broken parapets, carrying whispers that sound almost human.
Theo looks up. "Okay, that's... not normal."
Pauline grips her cloak. "It's like the light itself doesn't want to reach this place."
At the base of the hill, they find a massive iron gate—ornate, ancient, and bound with thick chains. In its center is a mechanism—a wooden number wheel, carved with digits from zero to nine. Above it, faint words are etched in Latin:
"Admittetur qui memorat."
Edison squints. "My Latin's rusty, but that means... 'He who remembers shall be admitted.'"
Maisie frowns. "Remembers what, though?"
They take turns trying combinations. Theo punches in random numbers. Edison tries symbolic sequences. Pauline analyzes the phrase again. Kingsley mutters formulas. But nothing works.
Half an hour passes. The forest grows colder, the clouds darker.
Frustration builds.
Theo groans, rubbing his head. "We're literally going to die because of a math lock."
Maisie glares. "You're not helping."
Nathaniel, silent this whole time, stares at the number roll. His mind drifts—past the forest, past the pain, back to the fragments of a world long gone. To her.
He remembers Eris' phone. The lock code. Six numbers he'd memorized not because he wanted to—but because he couldn't forget.
He exhales softly, hands trembling as he spins the numbers. "Zero... three... one... six... one... one."
The final wheel clicks into place.
A deep, grinding sound follows—the iron gate shuddering, its chains unraveling like snakes.
The lock breaks.
The gates creak open with a sound like a dying breath, revealing a narrow stone bridge leading to the castle.
Theo stares, stunned. "How did you—?"
Nathaniel answers quietly, "Remembering her was the pain. But remembering the info is a gain."
The others exchange glances—half sorrow, half awe.
Pauline touches his arm gently. "You've carried her with you this whole time."
He nods once. "She's why we're still moving."
They cross the gate.
The bridge stretches before them—narrow, ancient, slick with moss. Below, a chasm yawns, filled with twisted vines and glowing purple spikes. Venom drips from the thorns, hissing when it touches stone.
Maisie shudders. "If we fall, we're done for."
Theo gulps. "Don't look down, don't look down..."
The wind lashes their coats as they inch forward, one step at a time. The castle looms closer, its shadows swallowing the bridge's far end.
But as they near the second gate—a massive drawbridge guarded by two towering gargoyles—the air shifts.
Stone cracks.
The gargoyles' eyes ignite, burning with violet flame.
Edison draws his blade. "Oh, hell no."
The creatures' wings unfold, dust cascading like ash. Their voices rumble through the air, deep and ancient:
"Trespassers... memory-bearers... why have you come?"
Nathaniel steps forward, steady. "We seek the truth that sleeps here."
"Truth has a price."
"Then we'll pay it."
The gargoyles tilt their heads, stone grinding against stone. For a heartbeat, silence reigns.
Then, without warning, the bridge trembles violently—cracks spiderwebbing through its surface.
Theo yells, "They're attacking!"
Edison raises his sword. Kingsley chants under his breath, summoning blue light into his palms. Pauline unsheathes her blade. Maisie reaches for her crossbow.
Nathaniel tightens his grip on his pendant—the silver sands swirling faster within. The hourglass glows, faintly pulsing like a heartbeat.
He closes his eyes. The forest, the cold, the fear—it all fades.
"Not this time," he whispers.
The sands burst outward, forming a shimmering veil of energy that wraps around his team, steadying the collapsing bridge.
Theo's jaw drops. "You can do that now?!"
"Guess I'm learning," Nathaniel mutters.
The gargoyles roar, wings spread wide, the air screaming with their fury.
Edison shouts over the wind, "Nathaniel! What's the plan?"
Nathaniel steps forward, eyes blazing silver. "We hold the bridge. We stand our ground."
The creatures dive.
Light and stone collide. Magic flares like lightning across the sky.
And somewhere within that storm—amid chaos, courage, and fear—Nathaniel feels something shift inside him.
Not just strength. Not just power.
Control.
For the first time since this journey began, he feels it—the faint alignment between his will and the strange energy of the sands. It answers him. It obeys.
He raises his hand, shouting, "Lux Tenebris!"
A burst of silver light erupts from his palm, slicing through the mist, striking one gargoyle square in the chest. It howls as cracks splinter across its stone body.
Theo whoops. "That's our guy!"
Pauline smirks, charging the second creature with a battle cry. "Let's finish this!"
As they fight, the bridge quakes, venom below bubbling like boiling tar.
Nathaniel channels every ounce of strength he has left, focusing the sands, shaping them—turning pain into purpose. His vision blurs, his heart pounds, but his voice remains steady.
The light surges, overwhelming.
And with one final cry, the gargoyles shatter—stone exploding into dust that rains down into the chasm below.
Silence follows.
The storm calms. The air stills.
Nathaniel collapses to one knee, panting, the glow fading from his pendant. Pauline rushes to him. "You okay?"
He nods weakly. "Yeah... I think so."
Edison surveys the ruins. "Well, that's one way to open a door."
Theo wipes sweat from his forehead. "Remind me never to joke about vampires again."
Maisie helps Nathaniel to his feet. The castle gates stand open now, the path ahead dark but inviting.
Nathaniel looks up at the looming towers, their windows glowing faintly once more.
"The gate's open," he says quietly. "But the real challenge starts inside."
They stand together, battered but unbroken, at the threshold of the unknown.
Behind them, the forest sighs in relief.
Before them, the castle breathes in welcome.
And as the first echoes of thunder roll through the mountains, Nathaniel tightens his grip on the pendant—
ready for whatever waits beyond the Gate of Thorns.