Like Moths to a Flame // Sebastian Sallow [Book One]

Chapter Thirty-Eight: In the Shadow of the Relic, Part 1

Sebastian's body trembled, not from cold, but from something else entirely. Not yet opening his eyes, he searched for his sheets, but his hands met nothing but empty air. Panic surged through him as he realized something was terribly amiss. It couldn't be... It simply couldn't be happening again. Summoning every ounce of courage, Sebastian forced his eyes open, only to be met with a sight that confirmed his worst fears. No. No, this wasn't a nightmare. He was, once again, in the catacomb.

Anger and confusion swirled within him, a tumultuous storm of emotions that clouded his thoughts. His hand instinctively reached for his pocket. The relic was there. But where was his wand? He searched frantically, his fingers fumbling through empty air. His eyes strained against the darkness, scanning the ground for any sign of it. No wand, no satchel, but... a glimmer of hope flickered as his gaze fell upon a desk tucked away in the corner.

With great effort, Sebastian rose from the ground, brushing off dirt and leaves from his disheveled robes. His boots were caked in mud, and his damp hair hinted at a recent snowfall outside. The relic had compelled him to this forsaken place yet again, its power undeniable.

Sebastian approached the desk. How had it materialized here? He couldn't recall it being present in his past visits. Perhaps he had conjured it himself? If that were the case, his wand must be in close proximity... Ah, there it was, lying on the floor to the right of the desk. Relief washed over him as he reclaimed it. Its familiar weight was reassuring. With newfound determination, Sebastian resolved to explore the rest of the room. His wand was now safely tucked away in his right pocket, his hand resting upon it, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

What day was it? How much time had passed? Had he only lost hours or could it have been days? Was someone coming to meet him? He racked his brain for something - anything - to explain why he was here again, but came up painfully short.

Another tremor coursed through his body. He glanced down at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably, defying his will to steady them. There must have been a chill in the air, although he didn't feel it, but it wasn't enough to explain his trembling.

Then, in a horrifying spectacle, his left hand surged forward. Suspended in the air, it quivered with an eerie energy. Sebastian's heart pounded in his chest as he watched, helpless, his hand descending towards his pocket with an unnerving purpose. The dread of anticipation gnawed at him as his fingers closed around the relic concealed within.

The whispers began again, soft and seductive. They slithered into his consciousness, weaving their enchanting tendrils into his mind. Against his will, Sebastian succumbed to their insidious allure, trapped in a twisted dance of control and submission.

"SAY THE WORDS. SET US FREE!"

Sebastian's body recoiled as if struck by an invisible force. It took all his strength to remain upright. His hand remained tightly bound to the relic, its grip unyielding. The whispers had morphed into something menacing, their venomous tendrils lashing at his sanity. The words echoed relentlessly within his mind, a maddening refrain that refused to dissipate. Exsurge inanimata. Exsurge inanimata. Exsurge inanimata.

The phrase was Latin; Sebastian had researched it in the library earlier this week. Its loose translation meant 'rise, lifeless ones.' The implications were unsettling, particularly when ruminated upon within a catacomb. Sebastian desperately hoped his interpretation was flawed, a mere product of his fevered imagination. Yet, the puzzle pieces fit together with unnerving precision, aligning with the dreadful reality unfolding before him.

With mounting horror, Sebastian felt his lips struggling to betray him, compelled to mouth the words. He attempted to regain a semblance of control. His hands were clammy, he could feel his whole body had broken out into a sweat.