Chapter Text
The boards creaked under Sylas’s feet, causing him to freeze in place. He held his breath as he waited.
No noise from below.
He held his sigh of relief, his ascent up the tower stairs had not awoken his master, the wizard Antor Windlight.
With a controlled shove, he opened the door to the hexagonal space that was his master’s study. It was nearly pitch black. The skylight which revealed the starry night above provided little light. It was a moonless night, after all.
Sylas lifted his candle to his lips, blowing a small breath of dark orange fire onto its wick. The faint orange glow revealed the busy shelves lined with books, reagents, and ingredients for rituals and alchemy.
He squinted at the shelves, dragging a finger across the spines of the thick books, which were arranged by subject matter and wedged in tightly. The shelves seemed to sag with their weight.
The tome titled “Daemons” was what he was after. He didn’t know when it was written, but he could tell by the oily stains on the leather and faded ink, it was likely one of the older books in his master’s collection. He imagined it must’ve been from a time when demon summoning wasn’t as warned against as it is now.
Sylas did not know why his master had it, beyond preservation. Even still, why have it among your other books and not some glass case?
With a firm grip and pull, he pried it from the shelf. The books that surrounded it tipped over to fill the gap. It was as if they were breathing a sigh of relief that they had a little space from their neighbors.
It was much heavier than anticipated, and nearly caused him to fall to the floor. With every ounce of muscle within his body, he lugged it over to the desk and placed it down with a thump. The dust upon it was so thick it caused him to cough.
He pulled the cover back, revealing the title. He had spent months meticulously studying the older spellings and grammar to understand the text. Although he had a bare-bones grasp on it, he was at a point where he could guess what a certain words and paragraphs meant.
As he pushed a stack of pages to the side, using great strength to do so as one hand held the candle, he dragged his finger carefully over the pages. With extra caution, he made sure that only this nail would make contact, and barely at that. Old parchment could be ruined by body oils, as his master warned.
He tapped the page when he found the chapter he was looking for, which was a section providing figures of rune circles and an incantation for summoning any random, but singular demon.
The ritual called for the following: Ash, dried flower petals (unspecified, he chose trumpet creeper. It felt right), and “at least two candles, but as many as one can find is preferred”.
Lastly, it called for some sort of sacrifice. The book assured that “any living being shall doth. From an insect to thy own kin.” with the added advisement underlined for emphasis that “the significance, and personal relationship to the life placed 'i the middle of the circle is the greatest determining factor on what answers thy bid ! it is ill-advised to pick something thou are loath to lose, as thou may be ill prepared to banish what thou summon!”
Following the instructions, he mixed the ash and petals together, placing candles down in empty ink pots (he couldn’t find proper holders) around the circle which he poured out from the mixture.
He connected each candle with a six-point-star, and stood up to survey his work. Any life would do…
Over in the skylight was a cobweb. Pulling up a chair, he stood up precariously on his toes. Reaching into the web, he grabbed a lantern beetle. It buzzed and struggled, barely holding onto life.
For a second, it relaxed in his grip. Tentatively, and impulsively, he opened his hand. The bug stood there, occasionally buzzing it’s weakened wings which were unable to generate lift.
It might’ve been projection, but he could feel the breath of relief the bug was taking. With a careful pinch, he gripped one of the legs. Its little barbs stuck into the pad of his thumb, as if the two were shaking hands despite their respective size differences.
Putting his sentiment aside, he ripped the leg away. One by one, he pulled its limbs away. He was careful to only pry off legs. He didn’t want to rip open the abdomen, as the bug would surely die. The wings buzzed frantically as it flopped around in his palm in his desperation.
His stomach twisted. Watching this diminutive creature use what remaining strength it had to fight for it’s life. Just as he was, in a sense.
Finally, he pried off the elytra. He did it quickly, ignoring how they resembled his own wings. The large beetle sat like a dead weight in his palm. It’s light was now pulsing slowly.
With a gentle hand, he placed it onto the floor in a motion that one would use if placing a duckling or similarly cute baby animal onto the ground.
He stood back, and took a deep breath before closing his eyes and reciting the incantation.
“On this lightness night, I call to thee! Spirits depraved! I require thou’s assistance for thee, as the benevolent ones have failed me!”
A huge gust of wind whipped around him, as if the skylight had been flung open. He opened his eyes to see complete black. The lingering smell of smoke in the air was quickly overtaken by a foul stench, like that of decay.
An arm wrapped around the boy’s shoulder, pulling him into a chest. Dizzying, foul breath wafted across his face as a deep voice spoke right into his ear,
“Hey, you rang? I never thought a dragon would call!” followed by the sickening crunch of the light beetle being bitten in half.