Thomas couldn't sleep anymore.
He'd recovered memories from a life he didn't remember living. The Men of Letters. The hunts. The supernatural world.
And he'd seen the journals. The prophecies. References to future threats. Things coming. Bad things.
He sat in his study at 3 AM, reading Patrick's oldest journals.
"The Darkness gathers. The seals weaken. By the next century, barriers between worlds will fail. We must prepare. We must build. We must protect."
Thomas closed the journal.
He didn't know what The Darkness was. But he knew it was real. His brother Henry had prepared for it. Patrick had prepared for it.
Now Thomas needed to do the same.
He called Bruce.
Morning light filled the war room they'd set up in the basement.
Large blueprint of Wayne Manor spread across the table. Every entrance marked. Every window noted. The basement highlighted in red.
"Demons can't just walk in," Thomas explained to Bruce. "But they can be invited. Or they can find weak points. Cracks in the supernatural defenses."
"So we seal the house father, ," Bruce said looking at diagram.
"We seal the house. Make it a fortress. No supernatural entity enters without permission." Thomas pointed at the main entrance. "We start here."
" Father, did you find ingredients?" Bruce asked.
Thomas looked at his son. "It's not quick work, yeah i found the right shop"
Pennyworth had already cleared the staff. No one would question what they were doing in the mansion. The Wayne family did unusual things.
Thomas and Bruce stood at the front doors.
Chalk was already mixed. Special chalk—ground bone, salt, and crushed silver. According to the Men of Letters records, this mixture held supernatural weight.
"The circle needs to be exactly seven feet in diameter," Thomas said, measuring with string. "Not six feet eleven inches. Not seven feet two inches. Exactly seven."
"Why that specific measurement?" Bruce asked.
"Because the Men of Letters wrote it down. And they knew what they were doing," Thomas replied.
He began drawing the protective circle. His hand moved carefully. Steady. The chalk line was perfect.
Once the circle was complete, Thomas added the interior symbols.
A triangle pointing upward. A pentagram inside it. A horizontal line dividing the circle in half.
"The triangle is protection," Thomas explained as he drew. "The pentagram is power. The line separates the mortal world from the supernatural."
Bruce watched him work. "How do you know all this?"
"The memories. They're coming back. Muscle memory. Legacy of winchenster" Thomas finished the line. " Father, must have trained me before I lost my memory in childhood, memories are fading."
"You don't remember the training?"
"No. My instincts remember." Thomas stepped back. "Now the seal."
He took a vial of salt and angel blade—special salt from the Dead Sea. Salt that had been blessed by Men of Letters decades ago.
Thomas poured the salt around the circle's perimeter. Continuous line. No breaks.
"Salt is a barrier," Thomas said. "Demons can't cross salt. Neither can most supernatural creatures."
"What can cross it?" Bruce asked.
"Humans. " Thomas finished the salt line. "Now the intention."
He stood in the center of the circle and placed angel blade in it and closed his eyes.
"Only humans may enter this space," Thomas said, his voice steady. "No spirit. No angel. No demon. No supernatural being may cross this threshold without invitation."
The salt glowed. Faintly. Just for a moment.
Then it stopped.
"It's done," Thomas said while used the wrifact
Over the next three days, Thomas and Bruce worked on every window in the main house.
Smaller circles. Smaller sigils. Precision that took hours for each one.
The library had twelve windows. Twelve circles. Twelve sets of sigils.
Bruce's muscles started to ache from the repetitive work of drawing perfect geometric shapes.
They worked in silence for a while.
The basement was the most important.
The bunker entrance was here. The archive. The vault with Men of Letters artifacts.
If demons found the basement, they'd find everything.
Thomas drew a large circle at the basement door. Larger than the others. More complex.
Additional symbols inside. Runes that meant "barrier." Runes that meant "death." Runes that meant "forbidden."
"This one is stronger," Thomas told Bruce. "Only humans who belong here can pass through."
"How do they know they belong?"
"Blood. A drop of blood from someone marked by the ward recognizes other marked people. It's a Men of Letters security system." Thomas pulled out a knife. He pricked his finger and let one drop of blood fall into the salt circle.
The blood sank into the salt. Disappeared.
The entire circle glowed. Gold light. Just like Bruce's spider mark.
"Your blood is connected to the ward now," Thomas said. "You can pass. Any of our team that we mark with protective sigils will also be able to pass."
"What if someone without the mark tries to enter?"
"The ward stops them. It doesn't harm humans. But it makes them unable to move forward. Complete paralysis at the threshold." Thomas looked at Bruce. "It's effective. Tested by the Men of Letters for a thousand years."
On the sixth day, the wards were complete.
Every entrance. Every window. Every vulnerable point. All sealed. All protected.
Bruce understood. The mansion would feel different now. Safer. Protected by forces the world didn't understand.