​

Mundanes were helpless creatures and weakness was the only thing they were familiar with, as they couldn't save themselves from demons if they tried. Most Shadowhunters felt this at some point in their lives some carried it with them all throughout their service. Samara resented the vile beings she currently walked alongside. Shadowhunters were meant to be glamoured at all times while walking amongst mundanes, but sometimes it was too much of a hassle. For Samara it was because she liked the risk. Something inside of her stirred whenever risqué options presented themselves and she could act on them accordingly. A black hoodie and leather pants was what she donned leaving the Institute, to mundanes black was the color one traditionally wore to funerals, but to Shadowhunters it was for battle. An unassigned, undocumented battle that would derive its placing in the streets of Brooklyn if everything went according to plan. Oh how much Samara preferred the Upper East Side where at least people, Shadowhunters and mundanes alike, knew how to at least pretend to be classy. The atmosphere was different in Brooklyn, a borough overpopulated with the two things that fueled her hate tank more than mundanes, Downworlders and demons. Pathetic really, how they went scampering off when they identified who she was or the other way, it never failed to bring a warm smile to an otherwise chilling facial expression.

Today, of all days, the sun was neatly tucked behind a veil of clouds that wouldn't be pulled away except for the occasional openings, which the rays took full advantage of to spread their warmth. Constant surveillance of her immediate surroundings told Samara that she was being followed; a decoy werewolf was the most likely option from previous encounters. To be used to entice her into a fight where his pack would savagely try to rip her limb from bloody limb. Without the help of the Institute Samara had taught herself how to spot a tail, especially in New York, the primary location of the tension that brewed between her kind and the Downworlders. In an unspoken manner Shadowhunters and Downworlders still acted as if the peace treaty, called The Accords, was signed and refused to majorly provoke the other side other than the infrequent scuffle. War stuck in turmoil was hardly a war at all, but Samara brushed the thought aside as her newest creation of the newest special division of Shadowhunters would bring an end to it all. Though plagued with thoughts Samara hadn't forgotten she was being tailed, in fact she was counting that they were still there. Typical of anyone with a brain who was being followed on the streets of New York Samara made a hasty turn down the nearest alley.

Unraveling itself from her arm was Samara's most used weapon and with a tap on the handle spikes breached its surface. Her fingers tightened onto a fire escape as she hoisted herself up in a hurry. There wasn't a speed competition when it came down to vampires and werewolves, vampires were far superior in that aspect. However, a Shadowhunter would be foolish to disregard the sense of smell that a werewolf had in its possession. It wouldn't be long before it found her even if she was no longer on the ground, creating a Scentless rune would take far too long and was much too cowardice for Samara's standards. An unusually tall man with a mop of brown hair on his head and was dressed casually strolled into the alley, Samara observed how his hands were tucked neatly into his pockets. Instinct took over, Samara's body went into Shadowhunter mode as she launched herself downward on top of him. His large hands stretched out and latched his fingers onto her ankles and swung her 180 degrees before letting her go. It took skill to learn a trick like that Samara knew and the excitement grew inside of her, enough to show on her face as she picked herself up.

For once she had been wrong… this man wasn't a werewolf, actually not any kind of Downworlder, he was a pathetic Shadowhunter who didn't know his place. A small flick of her hand sent her whip into action and it wrapped itself around the man's torso. Threatening to cut into short-sleeved white and blue striped shirt the boy wore and constrict him, he struggled to free himself as Samara pulled tighter. What she hadn't seen was him draw his weapons, two thin swords he held in his hands, which had been used to make a barrier between the spiked whip and his body. His muscles flexed, shown in his biceps, as he pressed outward and eventually caused Samara to let the whip go slack in order to return it to her side. Samara got closer before she released the wrath of her whip once again and the Shadowhunter before her kicked out his foot so the whip wrapped around it.

"You're going to have to do better than that," The man grunted as he stomped down his foot pulling Samara right into close range then delivered an uppercut to her chin that left her stunned.

Unknown to the man Samara had been expecting him to do that as she spat out the blood and her hand clutched onto the handle of the second whip on her back. For the last time she attacked with the first whip, the man did the same action with his foot pulling her into close range. This time was different and Samara proved that with a tug and her other whip came loose and with another tug it lashed out only to find itself around the man's neck, if she wanted to she could've allowed for the spikes to come out without warning and Samara made note of that out loud.

"Need I remind you this has spikes in it. Imagine if let them pop out…" With that sentence hanging in the air next came the spikes from the series of small holes located all over the whip. "Oops," Samara was the only thing she said.

"Alright, alright… I… yield, Samara." The man shrugged to spat out each word with his bloodied hands trying their damndest to pry the spiked whip from around his neck.

Now, in his face, Samara growled, "I end you next time you try a stunt like that, brother."

The Shadowhunter that had been following was her elder brother, Kosti. He was known for his overprotective nature, acting like he was both his siblings mother and father. To Kosti it was something as natural as killing demons he couldn't help but worry for his siblings. Samara was the most reckless of them all, Marti and Ranora were good enough. All Kosti wanted was for them to have a normal childhood, as normal of a childhood a Shadowhunter could have that is, one that he didn't have. Years ago Samara had grown tired of Kosti and his need to watch over her, she had meant what she said earlier. Even if it were against the Covenant, which were the strict laws that governed the Shadowhunters, she'd figure someway around it.

"Our special visitor arrived at the Institute early, glamour yourself we must get going," Kosti said when Samara had finally taken away the whip and put them away.

Great, and just like that Samara's plans for the day were ruined. Kosti and Samara exited the alley, putting away their individual steles, wearing fresh new runes as they headed toward the place they used to call home. Their feet came to a stop at the edge of a bent iron gate half an hour later, through the thick bars was the sight of a run down cathedral, it seemed to have been abandoned for quite some time. Trash had long since piled up at the bottom of the gate, wedged and wrapped around the bars. Rubbish littered the yard, plastic water bottles, cigarette buds, and various fast food take out wrappers. There wasn't a lack of broken windows or yellow tape on the doors. Immediately the two siblings both wanted to leave the building, a feeling in their gut told them it was far too dangerous to go inside. Had they been mundane the trickery would've worked, but like every other Shadowhunter before them and every to follow their eyes begin to remove the glamour pieces at a time. The true image began to outshine the old, bleak one, almost as if one had restored the cathedral to its original state in mere second. Samara wrapped her hand around the gate and swung it open, only those with Shadowhunter blood could open the gate and the doors, another layer of protection to deter mundanes, Downworlders, and demons. Stones steps led the way up to the door most of which were broken or had large cracks in them. Carefully the duo made their way up and twisted the doorknob, and the door swung open with the usual creaking as they made their way to the elevator.

A grand entrance to a long corridor was what one was greeted with once they stepped off the elevator. High arched ceiling, beautiful craftsmanship such as the rune designs etched into the pillars and various surfaces, and wooden doors that were shut on both sides. Stunning paintings, both new and old, hung on the walls, capturing the eye of those who walked passed as if they were watching. One could see the second level above guarded by railing, and if they peered close enough a formally dressed girl had her face in a book asleep. Some areas had two levels others had as many as four. Everything looked in relatively good condition except for the eye score that was the faded wallpaper, as if it had been there since the 18th century and no one had bothered to change it (they hadn't.) On the walls every so often were small black boxes and the wires that connected to them stretching all the way down the hall, only those would had been in the Institute (and smart enough to figure it out) knew it was the house wide communication system. Each box had a series of buttons that did a various number of tasks. Taking charge and adding distancing between them Samara led them down the straight hallway, which led to a series of routes that branched off into different parts of the house. Had they chose to go to the right that would've led to the residential area, where there was a multitude of rooms all with the same basic layout. The infirmary was down the hall from that. One path led to the South End of the Institute, where the kitchen and dining hall were located. Another to the indoor greenhouse and circular library room, and the one they chose to travel down led to the meeting hall, weapons room and across from that the training room. Of course there were many hallways that connected to other wings and corridors of the building it was all rather confusing for anyone unfamiliar with the place. Younger Shadowhunters than Samara and Kosti roamed the hallways and it was easy enough to bump into them considering, in Samara's opinion, they were always in the way. Fortunately Samara had grown up in this house and knew exactly where she was going and it showed in how confidentially she took her steps.

Fitting the rest of the house the windowless room they entered was large, a round table with several wooden chairs with same intricate symbols on them as the pillars outside were pushed in all around the table waiting to be sat in. Unlike the rest of the house this was one of the rooms were the walls were painted in vertical white and brown stripes. Comfortable furniture was placed to the left of the table next to a fireplace, which kept the room warm. Sitting in one of the two occupied chairs was the Head of the Institute, Axl Breezewell. Who looked trustworthy in appearance, his oval framed glasses gleamed when the light from the touched them. His laughter came in spouts it could cause the edges of anyone's mouth to turn up and break out in a fit of laughter of their own. He was a hearty man in his late forties with brown, short cut hair and skin that looked like it hadn't seen the sun in months, it hadn't. He sat there in a brown button up shirt (a much lighter shade than his hair due to the excessive greying) that had the sleeves folded up revealing his many permanent runes and khakis that had stains in them. Axl was of average height yet still was dwarfed by the taller, younger (not too much younger indicated by the wrinkles he had) man sitting next to him. Everything about the man and his clothing screamed important, mostly because the traditional Inquisitor robes were seen folded over the back of the chair he sat in. A black and white suit in pristine condition was worn instead, Samara hardly noticed that he wasn't wearing a tie, but Kosti had. His hair was the color of damp hay with stormy blue eyes that matched his last name.

The way he position himself at the table it was as if he were the King who had ordered a meeting. Though, he was the closest thing to a King when it came to a single individual that held the most power and he indeed called this meeting here at the New York Institute. He had sent out a formal exclusive letter a little over a week ago to the members of the newest division of The Clave demanding their presence here at 4 o'clock. Inquisitor Everstorm was his name, a man who every Shadowhunter wanted to stay on the good side of if they cared about their reputation. Unfolding his hands in a way that said, "here they are" as if the Inquisitor had just been talking about them, Samara had no doubt that they were.

Politeness being more of Kosti's area of expertise he stepped forward to shake hands with the Inquisitor, "It's a pleasure to have you at this meeting, Inquisitor Everstorm."

"A pleasure? I called this meeting, who were you expecting Consul Riesigsterne?" the Inquisitor spoke as if he were far too superior the boy in front of him to being even having this conversation. Inquisitor Everstorm hardly consider this boy to be a man much less a proper Shadowhunter.

"What Kosti means is that your attendance is meaningful to them, Inquisitor Everstorm, right Kosti?" Axl piped up and gave the Inquisitor a pat on the shoulder like they were old pals.

"Yes, my apologies for conveying that in such a manner that was easily misconstrued," Kosti replied in a flustered manner before he stuck his hands back into the pockets of his cyan colored shorts that matched half the horizontal stripes on his shirt.

"Are you saying I'm incapable of construing the meaning of a sentence, Shadowhunter? Is that what you think of your Inquisitor? That I'm some poor old sap who can't understand the words that fumble out of your mouth?" the Inquisitor inquired locking his hands together with a face that looked as if he was enjoying this exchange of words.

"No, no not at all." Kosti sighed, he hated these conversations where whatever he said was the wrong thing. He shot a glare at Samara as he noticed the satisfied grin she wore smugly, "It's been a long day."

The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth once more and this time sounded a lot more impatient, "Come, come sit down. I do hope your fellow teammates will be joining us shortly."

Without a single word spoken Samara sat down followed by Kosti. The Inquisitor was an Everstorm, one of the wealthiest and noble Shadowhunter families. There was a lot of pride taken in one's last name; it was a prize for some and a curse for others. They weren't an old Shadowhunter family like hers, but they had the power and wealth of one. Everstorms were known for their competitiveness always having to be the best and holding onto petty grudges well into adulthood. Their overly lavish way of dressing made Samara sick, another way to prove that they were better than everyone else. Samara disliked anyone with the last name Everstorm after she had the pleasure (at least that's what they called it) of meeting several of them. Kosti on the other hand paid little less attention to last names and was more focused on the how the meeting was going to go, what other Shadowhunters were invited because it hadn't been disclosed to any of the members by word of mouth or the letter sent out. It was to be a surprise Inquisitor Everstorm said, if there was one thing Samara and Kosti shared it was their shared dislike of surprises. As far as Samara knew she was in charge of this group but Inquisitor Everstorm presence challenged that, adding to the list of things she disliked.​

It felt nice, no, not the weather, though the sun had already peaked through the clouds and reluctantly teased its rays against the skin of those in its company. To those mundanes that strolled along the lakeside she was just another twenty something Asian in New York with her hair dyed pink and styled in a bob. Some might mistake her as some fashionista because of the gaudy golden necklace that strung together ruby red gemstones, a grand one was located in the middle with two smaller ones to each side of it. That, and the dress she wore looked like something from Fashion Week. Beneath that was how she was shown in the Shadow World, the same hair, golden in color was her skin and almost seemed to glitter as the sunlight touched it. Clothing almost appeared to be moving, the thorny stems bordered the top of strapless dress, as it seemed to further entwine and constrict themselves together. When the breeze caught the dress it was shown that the black material that made up the top half of her dress was actually rose petals. While the bottom half, which ended slightly above her knees, upon closer inspection was actually sanded tree bark made flexible and unbreakable as a result of a magical enchantment.

Brief freedom felt enjoyable, whenever Suren broke from restrictions and the confinement of the Seelie Court she always found herself happily sitting legs crossed on the worn yellow bench. The bench was one out of a set of triplets, the other two were less than ten feet apart to the left and right of it. Trees enveloped the entire area, making it a bit too difficult to see the lake she had taken a keen interest in. Central Park was vast, full of life, both mundane and other, but Suren separated herself from all that, all the war and the strife and the pain that she held onto so tightly. For once, however long that may be, she could close her eyes and set herself free. The nightmares went away, the memories that played over and over in her head were paused, but it never lasted long, not when you're Seelie Queen. Seelie Queen. Seelie Queen. Seelie Queen. An inescapable title that attached itself like cement that's weight suffocated her, a grip she couldn't break. Suren Yuri was the Seelie Queen of New York ever since she was born and only her death would cease that title. If it's one thing every Downworlder in New York knew it was that the Fair Folk ruled Central Park, fitting since one of the many entrances to the Seelie Court was located here. It was custom that she stayed there, under the protection of her Faerie Knightsguard, which is why her appearance in the human realm always brought on a double take, whispers, and rumors from her kind.

Silly was the only word that properly encompassed how she felt, Suren was one of the most powerful beings in New York and she couldn't bring herself to open the letter her decreased mother had written before her life was ripped away. Ripped was too easy of a description for what they had done, it was torture and mutilation. They, the Nephilim, had peeled her skin off like it was some sort of trophy, they had dug deep into her stomach and inched their precious seraph blades further and further upward trying to intensify not only her pain but also her screams. Her mother hadn't though, scream that is, she had too much pride for that, a trait Suren had most certainly inherited. Slicing a way to get at her organs, taking out those that were less vital and parading them to her mother's face. In the final act they took turns cutting away at neck, watching the blood pool at the base of her neck and cascade down her body. Three trophies they had taken, her head, her skin, and the most prized one, her life.

Decimation at its finest, the Nephilim were known for their sadistic ways when it came to dealing with Downworlders. Dead for the sheer fact that she was apart the Artifacts, a rogue group of Downworlders acting upon their own free will brought forth the Inferno Artifacts and a Greater Demon known as Ixion. The Nephilim executed those who had association with the group, but they hadn't acquired the knowledge of the sole members responsible for summoning demon and who made the deal. Suren had only been born, her life saved by the bravery of her mother yet she couldn't even open the memento she left behind. Her Head Faerie Knight and, well, basically father (he'd kill her if he ever referred to him as that), relayed to her the explicit nature of her mother's death after Suren had begged him, begged to known what the Nephilim had done. He had refused to even name who her mother had been, but insisted that she knew that she was not the daughter of his sister like the rest of the Fair Folk community believed.

The letter had been lifted its unbreakable seal a week ago and ever since Suren still wrestled with the decision to read it. A knot of some sort was now caught in her throat as she traced the raised ridges of the golden swirl design that ran along the border of the purple envelope with her thumb. In bolded cursive text was, "To The Queen," something that boggled Suren, how had she known that she was to be Seelie Queen? Bold as the letters she had just read again for the umpteenth time, Suren flipped up the flap that kept the letter enclosed for twenty-one years. Written neatly on a plain, lineless white piece of paper that was folded in thirds was the letter Suren had worried about for a week, it said:

Spoiler:

"I rewrote this many times my dear, as these will be the only words that I have with you. I would do it all over again I shall have you know and not a regret it. We Fair Folk defend our own against threats.

The tension has brewed long enough we must act now. No doubt they shall slaughter me where I stand, we gladly sacrifice our lives for our children's. You are the key to our survival. Each child is a page in a book that must never be read.

Tell my dear Welas... that I wished I had said goodbye in person.

My words can never make up the pain you must feel if you aren't numb you. I do however regret that I won't be there for your first words, steps, relationship, hissy fit, you get the point my dear. A mother will always love her children, we shall meet again in another life and I shall give you the grandest hug a mother will give a daughter.

You are my successor.

Finish where I started... If you choose this path you will learn dangerous truth, something not even Welas can protect you from.

Go to the Yellow Benches in Strawberry Fields, Central Park, New York, New York @ 4:00PM, June 25th, 2013

Well Met,
The Former Seelie Queen of New York"

Lavender eyes scanned, analyzed, and devoured each word of the letter, an unsatisfied craving for more remained afterwards. What was most unusual was how the date and time had faded in, they hadn't been written like the rest of the paper. The Seelie Queen before her had been her... mother, all those vicious and ill spoken stories she had heard from The Passel were about her very own mother. Many questions sprung forth, only one stuck, would she do it? Choose the same path her mother had traveled down, the path that led to her death. She had the Seelie Court to deal with and her people, wait, the yellow benches? The very ones she sat on in this moment... how... how was that possible? Suren thought back to the first memory she had of Central Park, she was eight, no, nine, her small hands barely wrapped around three of Welas' fingers. Welas! He had brought her here... "It was your mother's favorite spot." She mouthed the words, as she recalled what her longest companion had spoken to her own that day. Blinking repeatedly caused the realization that Suren had actually been crying and still was, she raised a hand to wipe away but one already was there.

The man didn't say a word, his face remained neutral not even hinting to what he may be thinking or feeling. Over seven feet tall with a youthful look (mid thirties), a stocky build, and olive skin with long dark brown hair he kept tied into a ponytail. His skin braved scars; two very jagged ones on his right cheek as far as Suren could tell it was the only "flaw" about him. A simple thought caused his skin to peel away in stripes unraveling his glamour. They almost shared the same complexion, his was a deeper hue, and it gave him a majestic appearance. He wore a black suit and a brown tie with a black hat that contained a single red rose on the brim. Earthy brown eyes shifted to leafy green ones. The hand that had stroked her cheek along with the other was now webbed and had pointed claws. This man was known as what was modernly known as a Puca, a race of Fair Folk.

"Well Met, my queen," He spoke the proper greeting of how Fair Folk addressed each other, the gaze of the man slid downwards to Suren's fingers, which fiddled with the edges of the letter and his eyes doubled in size for a second.

"Well Met, my knight. My mother sends her regards for her absence without saying parting words," Suren swallowed and stood up, she extended her arm with the letter in hand letting the knight take it.

With an offer of his arm the knight let his Queen wrap her arm into his and they began to walk. A single raised eyebrow indicted his confusion as well as him flipping over the letter twice. Clearing his throat he delivered, "That's not the only absence, my Queen. Words are not written on this letter."

Glancing over Suren shockingly saw there wasn't any words whatsoever on the letter. Fair Folk were unable to lie, but Suren knew that statement had to be false it simply had to be. Abruptly she stopped and snatched the letter back into the security of her small hands and in that instant the words slowly came back to the paper. Gigantic in size was the breath she let out, "Here they are!"

Changing his position from in front of her to behind he peered over her shoulder, but still there was only a blank sheet, "This letter has been enchanted, no doubt by a warlock."

Locking eyes with the man for a brief second before she looked over her bare shoulders at the benches, "I am to meet at those benches at the hour, will you stay?"

"I'm never far from your side," The knight answered honestly, however, his sharp teeth led it to be anything but comforting.

The breeze caught her dress, a single rose petal tore off and floated through the wind. Its destination was unknown, that's exactly what Suren desired, to go the unknown. Unsure of what was to come next the Faerie Queen returned to her previous sitting position and folded her arms. The Faerie Knight stood in a stiff manner behind her, she knew he was on guard, he actually never stopped being on alert. Eyes that caught every movement, from the rustling of the tree leaves to the butterflies that flew higher and higher in the air. Kelpies raced on the surface of the lake; on the lakeside nymphs giggled and gossiped to one another, it was a peaceful sighting. Except during midday the Fair Folk hated being in direct sunlight so there was less of them about. The reasoning behind that was said to because the devil had no power except in the dark. War seemed outlandish in sparse moments like this, but years sitting in the Seelie Court listening to the reports of the New York Downworld had taught her otherwise. Whatever was to come once the time stopped counting down Suren only hoped it brought answers along with it.​

*****​

*****​

***​

Having heard boots in the distance that crunched against soft grass Suren aimed her gaze at Welas to which he only nodded as a response. It told her that it was the time to meet the others, to start a new quest of some sort, it was something she could not back out of now. Moments before the arrival of the footsteps Suren had quietly told her personal knight to not reveal her identity as Seelie Queen. It was a cross she wasn't willing to bare just yet and wanted to put off as long as possible. Expectations and standards to what they believed a proper Seelie Queen was might not match the fey they saw before them. Suren wiggled her toes freely, yes, she was barefoot, and she hated wearing shoes unless it was absolutely necessary. It never was, only when she had met with The Passel, which she had a strange feeling might happen soon for a nonofficial meeting. The man spoke out to her, but Suren only focused on his features. Instantly she threw up a hand to keep her Faerie Knight at bay. He was always overly eager when it came to those he allowed contact with her, which only further limited her interactions with those outside of her kind. No emotion dare betray what Suren was feeling in that moment.

"Vampire," Suren stated, as she stood up and closed in the space between them. He was much taller than she was, over a foot taller than she was. She circled him, prodding at his body with a single index finger. He was practically all muscle, he felt hard and his skin was paler than it should be. "I urgently require that you confer the visual of the fangs to me that make you the creature you are." It was a demand; Suren was the Seelie Queen that left her unfamiliar with other, more polite tones.

Voices not far from where they stood caught Welas' attention and he left Suren with confidence that he had bestowed enough knowledge upon her to know how to handle any vampire. The snugness of the suit to the knight's frame hardy held him back from moving with such speed. His arrival had gone unnoticed to the two werewolves in front of him. Werewolves always looked dirty and gave off a pungent smell or so said their stereotype. These two were no exceptions to that stereotype at least not to Welas. One wasn't much of anything, the man in the black suit could hardly believe that he was a werewolf. Every werewolf that Welas had the displeasure of meeting had some muscle definition to them. Standing beside him was a larger man who seemed to exude an air of power and went by the name Rhett, or so he believed it had been many years since his eyes had laid on him. A caretaker to the young werewolf, Welas had met him once long ago when the Artifacts were in full swung. He cleared his throat and drew his sword from the leather stealth on his back. It was only enough of the blade to catch and reflect a few rays before he sheathed the deadly weapon. He nodded his head in the direction of the yellow benches, hoping his threat had been received.

Had it not been cloudy today Suren had no doubt that the vampire she was staring at wouldn't have set foot outside until it was safe. Of course his kind could survive some sunlight but nothing more than an hour tops, but at that point they wouldn't have the strength to talk, walk, or run and death would claim its newest victim. Suren moved from the brute of a man to the more slender, stick-like newer individual that had came to the benches ignoring the larger man beside him. He was still half a foot taller than her, but that didn't stop Suren from reaching up and snatching the thick-rimmed glasses that rested on his face, which she proceeded to put on.

"I, Welas, preside over this meeting of the remaining children of the Artifacts, sworn Faerie Knight to the Seelie Queen," Welas kept his eyes trained on the sole vampire and the two werewolves as he as well as Suren felt the tension stirring. "We shall move this meeting to the Seelie Court due to the distinct sunlight vulnerability our vampire friend faces."

"A werewolf that wears glasses, an intriguing specimen indeed." Suren spoke to no one in particular. In haste she removed the eyewear she thrust them back onto the face of younger werewolf. In haste she wrapped a hand around his skinny wrist in an unbreakable grip and pulled him with as she ran away, "Follow me!"

The thought of doing the same to the vampire crossed Suren's mind, but vampires were naturally much, much stronger. Flashing a quick smile at her helpless strung along victim to help ease any feelings of endangerment he might have. The journey from the benches to the lakefront was a quick one despite the forcefulness and speediness of it Suren's movements were graceful. The group gathered by the edge of the lake where Kelpies dashed across its surface. Nymphs shied away from the small group but their curiosity kept their eyes peeled to the individuals. Its normal glittery surface was now bland, the lake looked murky and polluted. Until the clouds parted and the reflection of the sun unveiled itself on the water. One of the many entrances to the Seelie Court was located her and through a certain method one could enter it. Leading by example Suren turned around, the emerging sun irritated her skin and walked backwards into the reflection of the sun on the water's surface until she was fully submerged.

Opening her lavender eyes she saw the one-way tunnel that curved around, they were in a cave of some sort. The walls were damp, but they were also moving. Insects and spider covered the wall, the noise of their feet moving against the rocky cavern resulted in a never ending echo. The water had washed over her and then she ceased to feel it, an instant transportation. A twisted smile stretched across Suren's face it always brought her peace to watch these creatures squirm in their place. Just like she would make the Nephilim do. She willed for the entrance to remain open and did the opposite for the other entrances. For it was the Seelie Queen and the Seelie Queen alone who granted access into the Seelie Court. Following the path led them to a curtain in stripes and if one paid attention to the details those stripes happened to be made from hundreds or thousands of insects glued together. Pushing past it revealed an unleveled, black and white checkerboard floor. A golden throne was in the middle of the room. Lush vegetation filled the room including flowers with vivid coloring made their home all around. With the arrival of Welas who had instructed the others to follow Suren into the water Suren faced them all, with the same stoic look she was used to using.

As if it was becoming habitual Welas cleared his throat, "I was assigned with the deliverance of your duty should accept your fate, but I will allow each of you to formally introduce yourself and do save your questions until the end."​

The appearance of the first visitor caught Kosti's eyes, Thane Everstorm was the Shadowhunter that just walked in. He was Inquisitor Everstorm's only son and known for his remarkable demon-hunting skills. Sharply dressed as always, Kosti stared, taking in his presence and perhaps his brown eyes lingered a little too long on the newly arrived Shadowhunter. This realization dawned on him before he guilty shifted his gaze to the wall behind Thane, as if he had been looking there the whole time. Weapons lined the wall, mostly seraph blades, a Shadowhunter's choice for battling demons and all one had to do was call out the name of an Angel to summon its power. Except for the name Raziel, his name had no affect on the seraph blade. There was hope that the Everstorm boy would just take it as admiration, not knowing at all or sizing up the competition, and not for what it had truly been. Disgust for Thane was written all over Samara's face if there was one individual who she didn't want at this meeting it was the one who just sat down.

"Inquisitor Everstorm," the Inquisitor immediately snapped with a sharp tongue. Inquisitor Everstorm's laid his eyes upon the Shadowhunter that daringly called him anything other than his appropriate title. His gaze met eyes that matched his own, however that was only in color as they lacked the Inquisitor's ferocity and hunger for power, the willingness to do what it took to reach the level Inquisitor Everstorm was at. A storm was always brewing in his eyes.

More Shadowhunters arrived after just in time to hear Inquisitor Everstorm's correction. The table wasn't full, as there were three spots still open, but those spots hadn't a reason to be filled at least not yet anyway. Samara flicked her eyes over the Shadowhunter known as Agent; apparently he had dropped his real name a long time ago. With no true last name he was only a ghost of his former self or what he should be. A lot of things in the Shadowhunter world and culture were often linked back to their last name and not wearing his or claiming his own name was an oddity to most Shadowhunters. An unknown girl who was petite in size sat down as well, Samara wondered who she was, but was otherwise uncaring about any other details.

"Let's get to it to it then. Axl, I must dismiss you," Despite his statement there wasn't any remorse in the Inquisitor's voice, there never was.

"Of course," the Head of the Institute replied before exiting the room shutting softly the door behind him.

"We might as well get meaningless introductions out of the way," Inquisitor Everstorm muttered and waved his hands to signal the start of them.

"Samara Ashtower," declared the red headed girl in a typical New York accent, making it clear she hadn't grown up in Idris. A brief pause and she pointed at the Shadowhunter that sat to her left with messy hair, "Kosti Ashtower."

This wasn't unusual to Kosti he had grown used to his sister taking control of situations like these. She was most likely scared that he would embarrass her by saying something that wasn't just his name. He gave a slight nod of his head when his sister said his name. Giving their faces one last second of attention Samara then turned it toward the Inquisitor. Once the introductions were completed Inquisitor Everstorm rose from where he was sitting, he enjoyed towering and talking down to those in his presence.

"This group doesn't exist, you guys don't know each other, and you were never at the New York Institute at this date and time if you didn't reside here before now. I hope that much is clear and that is what everyone outside of this room will know," when the Inquisitor spoke he commanded the attention of the room, mostly because how loud he spoke. His Idrisian accent was barely there anymore, "You will be stripped of your runes, your family's name stricken from the records, the lost of all your possessions, and exiled. Should you make the mistake of doing so. "

"In a time of war we need skilled Shadowhunters to do what others cannot. Unfortunately, we do not have the numbers to do what needs to be done. Demons have lived in this world for long enough and they are still rapidly growing in numbers. Species we thought were extinct here, well, that's no longer true. We are losing Shadowhunters left and right," Inquisitor Everstorm fingers (almost every one had a ring, big or small on it) dug deeper into the chair he stood behind, his voice laced anger. "We have mapped the primary hideouts where the is endless amount of demon activity. These missions are in the heart of demon territory and you must take care of them on with this team. There are demons we don't even have names for and are unsure of their strength…"

"Not only this, but we must deal with the inferior scum that dare start war with Shadowhunters. We have obtained two out of the three Artifacts that they are demanding, so we must get the third. There isn't any doubt that it is in the hands of one of the filthy offsprings. Assassinating them all is the best bet we have to retrieve it." The Inquisitor finished.

"Questions, comments, concerns?"

​

​

"I'm Suren," She spoke fast and forcefully almost as if it the words hurt coming out.

"I, Welas, take upon the role of sole advisor over this meeting with the presence of Oliver Wells, Valentin Cortes, and Suren Yuri." It seemed as if Welas was talking to some unknown spirit, but he was looking down at a scroll of paper he had pulled out while they were introducing themselves. He gave a polite look at them before he dived back into reciting the words on the paper, "Your appearance is evident of your willingness to claim your heritage. If any current participants have the utmost urge to leave, please do so now."

Suren wondered why this was all so formal when Welas casted a glance her way she simply shook her head, she was staying put. How could anyone ever dream of leaving when they hadn't even gotten to the good parts? If anything she would hear that and then decide to leave, but something gave her the distinct feeling that wasn't allowed. Oh well, Suren looked at the others while they decided what they were going to do.

"By staying here you have earned your claim as a child of the Artifacts. We must first bring you before the council to make an appropriate decision about your present status in the Downworlder community."

"Welas, you know The Passel must be called at least in two weeks notice!" Suren hissed, she knew how upset the others got when that rule wasn't followed to the letter.

Welas kept his voice even and his stare trained on Suren's face, "The exception to that rule is this, they must know. Call one forth." How he only wished her mother could see her now.

The Passel was a group that only included the heads of each of the Downworlder community. They all gathered for one day/night to discuss their current wartime situation and the actions they should take. Suren, being the Seelie Queen, was apart of it and also the youngest member and didn't quite fit in with the others attitude. They had all been given a special ring, it was a communication device that allowed for them to have telepathic thoughts with one another. It was bewitched enough that only Fair Folk could use Suren's, and only warlocks could use Asgar's, so on and so on. Though, this wasn't common knowledge, in fact almost nothing about the meetings were common knowledge. They never held a meeting at the same place more than twice and never at the same time of day the last one was held at. Secrets were exchanged freely among the leaders, however, it was known not to give away what could be used against one in the future. Once the Irredeemable War was over their bonds would break, as it was the only thing keeping them together.

Suren shut her eyes and felt three receptive recipients; it felt like tugging at strings while she communicated the urgent message with as little details as possible. Once she had finished she opened her eyes again and gave a slight nod to Welas and walked to another towards the entrance, which also doubled as the exit, where she pushed passed the curtains and out into the tunnels without a single word spoken. A double take at the curtain would reveal that it was no longer made of insects, but instead the scales of reptiles in all different colors and shapes.

"If you'd follow my lead," Welas announced as he took charge after his Queen.

The tunnel was different, it's shape, color, and texture had all changed. Its walls were more sand-like and if anyone dared to touch them they would start to crumble away... In fact, the entire tunnel looked as if it was going to collapse. Lizards had replaced the bugs on the walls, these desert dwellers scampered on the floor and disappeared into holes in the walls as the group passed. The walls were now a much lighter brown, almost tan, and continued on in a zigzag manner, like it was trying to confuse them with all the twist and turns. A rustic smell clogged the air and was much different from the previous damp smell that had previously been there. At the end of the tunnel sat Suren, on the floor petting the creatures at her feet. She shuffled around and got onto her feet as the group drew nearer. Behind her was completely black... It looked like a dead end or perhaps a dark abyss that was going to devour them all.

"Ready." It wasn't a question, more like Suren was commanding them to get ready.

She latched a golden hand into Welas' palm, as he held out his other to Fernando, which he hoped that he would follow his lead and make sure Oliver held his hand. That meant a werewolf and a vampire were holding hands, Suren wished for once she had a camera, it wasn't often that would happen. Heck, she had only seen two other vampires and werewolves before today. Slowly Suren marched forward her body began to dematerialize as it went further and further into the abyss. A warning should've been given out, if one person let go they might end up god knows where and maybe not all in one piece either.

It was an instantaneous teleportation because once they were fully consumed by the darkness they appeared in a dull colored room that looked more like a box. Gray walls, gray floors, and the light fixtures that swung up above made a creaking noise and were attached to what looked like an unreliable rope. Suren had used the right amount of force and that had brought them to the right place, well... she hoped that this was the right place. Turning around gave much more of an eye full. Four thrones were in a horizontal line; all of them were simply made from metal (not silver or iron however) and looked makeshift. One bore the symbol of a full moon (all the way on left), another had a four-leaf clover, the next a spell book, and the last a pair of fangs.​

For once a look of amusement graced Samara's face, oh how this father/son dynamic would could in handy if she needed to utilize it to her advantage later on. If Thane kept this up, well, Samara knew that the leadership position would be hers for the taking and he would be taking a back seat. She briefly looked at the rest of the group to see how they were reacting to this little display of rebellion. There were many rumors about Thane, he had many one off-ers with girls (whether or not they had boyfriends didn't seem to matter) and never treated them with any respect. One of the rumors had peaked Kosti's interest, he really just wanted to know if it was true, something about a lot of booze consumption... and two male Shadowhunters locking lips, one was reportedly Thane Everstorm. Though, Kosti hadn't heard that rumor spread since it was first introduced, he had no doubts that the Inquisitor had something to do with that. Perhaps it was Thane, but Kosti was inclined to believe it wasn't or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

The Inquisitor Everstorm lifted his stare from his son and looked down at his robes and then rifled through them. In his large hands appeared two large manila envelopes. He set them in the middle of the table and placed a hand on it so that no one would get any ideas to take them without his permission being granted first.

"Here I have your first mission. Your choice, one or the other. Majority wins." Inquisitor spoke with an air of mysteriousness. "However, I will let you browse the preview and you shall make your decision based off what is given to you here. This will decide on your team carries themselves from here on out."

The Inquisitor lifted his hand from the envelopes.



Kosti had taken the first case file, while Samara had gone for the second. There were multiple copies of each, but Kosti and Samara had this system worked out since before they had officially become Shadowhunters. The text was riddled with code phrases that way any non-Shadowhunter or ex-Shadowhunter wouldn't be able to decipher their message. All of this was the up-to-date code. "Sent to the island," meant, "to go after the demons", where "an addition wingspan" meant twenty or fewer Shadowhunters and "recover the Angels" meant to retrieve fallen Shadowhunters, while 080 meant, "to be tried again soon." When it came to the second case file Samara picked up the clues almost instantly liked they were leaping off the page. The sources they referred to were the Downworlders they were paying off, "gold level" meant the opponents would attack on sight and "STAR" meant top priority but the number that came after it "0606" meant the case had gone cold or was officially inactive. The siblings swapped papers without having to look at each other, a sign that it was a much-practiced talent and mastered skill, if you could call it that.

"Now, tell me which one..." A face that gave away nothing greeted them should they look up at the Inquisitor.

Samara eyed the paper strangely, and frowned after looking at it up close. There was something off with both of these case files, she couldn't put a finger on it but it was certainly... odd. She abstained from putting forth any of the copies, which was a potentially risky move. She had decided to wait to be last. Kosti on the other hand boldly put out the #69131445 case file before anyone else had the chance; he just wanted to be the first. He really didn't feel like killing innocent Downworlders again, yes, it was war and yes, they would eventually submit to the Shadowhunter's might but only the ones that were guilty should be killed. That view was particularly unpopular amongst all of his peers so Kosti mostly kept his political opinions to himself not wanting to start another war over a few words. He eagerly awaited the others decision while Samara was more so intrigued to see their choices than eager to see them.​

Dylan O'Connell aka Derek Hoechlin

"I'm Suren," said the Fey. She spoke quickly and curtly.

"I, Welas, take upon the role of sole advisor over this meeting with the presence of Oliver Wells, Valentin Cortes, and Suren Yuri." Welas almost chanted as he read from a scroll. He briefly looked at us then continued to read, "Your appearance is evident of your willingness to claim your heritage. If any current participants have the utmost urge to leave, please do so now." I honestly considered it. But...I must admit, this meeting has piqued my interest.

"By staying here you have earned your claim as a child of the Artifacts. We must first bring you before the council to make an appropriate decision about your present status in the Downworlder community." My present status? I just want to go back to Santiago...

"Welas, you know The Passel must be called at least in two weeks notice!" Suren hissed. Jesus woman calm down. Tell the Passel they can go f*ck themselves with their rules. Take charge.

"The exception to that rule is this, they must know. Call one forth." Said Welas flatly. Put down.

I have no idea what the Passel is, or who they are, but I can deduce that they are some sort of council from the context their name is brought forth among.

Suren closed her eyes, probably doing some psychic fey thing, and nodded to Welas. She then led our entourage towards the entrance, also an exit, without speaking a single word. At least I don't have to listen to anymore bullsh*t. The curtains were now made of scales, and it didn't take a genius to see that they changed with the destination they led one to.

"If you'd follow my lead," Welas announced as he took charge after his Queen.

Beyond the curtains was a tunnel made of sand. It reminded me of Mexico, only a distant memory now. It's been so long since I've seen sand like this... Lizards crawled along he walls beside us and under our feet as we trudged on. Something smelled funny, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it. Once we got to the end of the tunnel, Suren turned to us.

"Ready." It wasn't a question, more like Suren was commanding them to get ready.

Suren clasped hands with Welas, who extended his towards mine, which means...oh hell no. I turned towards Oliver, Lucas, whatever his name was. His musty scent drifted past me, but I gritted my fangs and ignored it. I stuck my hand out roughly.

"Just remember I can kill you."

The group walked forward into the sandy wall, letting the grains swallow them whole...and when I opened my eyes I stood on a box like room, almost like a safe house or meltdown bunker. Quickly, I let go of Lucas' hand and wiped the stench as best as I could from it. Everything was steel gray, with old timey looking lights hanging from the ceiling on shoddy ropes. I saw four thrones, sitting side by side. One was a full moon, the next a four leaf clover, the third a spell tome, and the last a pair of fangs. I imagined that the first three chairs were gone, and the fourth much bigger and in the middle of the wall. Two blood colored curtains hung on each side, with two women holding big fans in front of them...

That chair belongs to me.

​

Central Park was the perfect spot for the Fair Folk, somehow, someway they had claimed the territory for themselves. The scents of werewolves, vampires, or even warlocks rarely lingered for long. Since the sky had been cloudy all day, as Fair Folk naturally dislike sunny days, the park was well populated with all different kinds of faerie races. Two fey rose from the lake, their conversation was continuous and no one knew if it ever ceased. The boys were almost the same height; one was a bit taller than the other, a fact that was constantly brought to light. In and out of glamour they had milk white skin, brown hair, and were slim. They could easily pass for siblings, but it wasn't wise to tell them that fact. The taller one had eyes that were a dazzling blue while the other had enrapturing green eyes, both without any pupils or whites when their glamours were lifted.

"Sidewards? No, no, and no! It's totes sideways, what backwards third world country did you grow up in? Let me guess…" The one on the left spoke quickly, the words just tumbled out of his mouth. He grimaced before coming to a sudden realization, "New Zealand?"

A snort came from the younger one, "Did not!"

Running a hand through his shaggy, chestnut colored hair he turned towards the blue-eyed fey, "Pity Demetrius, I heard those Māori guys really know what they're doing."

"Octavos, must you talk so vulgar?" A gentle sigh was let out, this had become a habitual response from Demetrius.

"Oh, I forgot how only heteros are supposed to talk about their lust out loud."

"That card is getting old… you know I don't care. You turn everything, and I mean everything, sexual. It's a perverted talent."

"Wait until you see my other talents," Octavos winked. They had stopped a few feet from the lake's edge, Octavos swiveled his head from left to right. Noting the presence of mundanes around, but not the sight of what they truly wanted. A few nymphs waved at them, Demetrius had taken to ignoring them yet Octavos eagerly waved back.

"I can't believe Welas sent me out here, on my day off!"

"On our day off," Demetrius grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah. How do we even know who we're looking for? Wait, wait." Octavos stopped in his place, put his hips on his hips and did his best to look overly serious, "Yellow Benches, Central Park."

Demetrius arched an eyebrow and scoffed, "That's your impersonation of Welas?"

"Yeah, he's totes like th- Oh! Oh! Oh! Looky there!" Octavos giddily whipped his arm out and pointed an index finger to a spot directly in their line of sight at a duo that looked out of place. "He's cute."

"Which one?" Demetrius asked wryly.

Instead of responding Octavos marched (even though he was at least fifteen feet away) right up to the younger of the two men before him and held his hand out. He beamed a bright smile that seemed more mischievous due to his sharp almost shark-like teeth and fey features. Octavos admired his eyes, which were at first a nice chocolate brown but they flashed a golden color. His eyes washed over the werewolf, taking in all there was to see especially the well-defined muscles.

Octavos turned his head to the left and whispered, "He's a werewolf."

"Which means he can hear you! And so can the rest of us." Demetrius pointed out.

"Oh!" Octavos shied away before turning back. "Welas sent us, you're supposed to follow us." It was true, Welas had sent them specifically with that message. Apparently if the person they came across had another person with them they would know his name and know to trust them.

"You're late, can't you tell time? No bother." Octavos fingers were now messing with the edge of his plain orange shirt as he spoke in his usual rushed manner.

"Ignore him, and any hesitation you might have about following us. I'm Demetrius and The Queen would have our heads if we did anything bad to ya." Demetrius added, hoping soothe any untrusting looks their kind was famous for getting.

"What's your name? My name is Octavos, pretty cool, eh? Much better than Ursula, that's my sister's name." As Octavos continued chatting so did the walking back in the direction that they had come from. "She's annoying. Me? Not so much. Sooo, tell me what's so important about you that I had to fetch you on my day off? Don't tell me you're a spy. You've gathered Intel to share! This is exhilarating, exciting."

"Who would have thought it? Me! ME! The one who brought the spy who had information that led to the destruction of the Shadowhunters. I'll be famous! Man, oh man, this is fantastic!"

"He gets a bit carried away." Demetrius couldn't help but shake his head because there wasn't anything he could do once Octavos started. He stuck his hands in his purple shorts that went well with his white t-shirt and carried on walking.

Octavos hadn't stopped chatting and looking at his newfound friends. Before them now was the lake of Central Park, the clouds had parted ways so that now the sun's image was now being reflected off the water's surface. A beautiful sight, and one that meant something more. Every so often there would be a small ripple caused by the nymphs who were sitting with their feet in the water. Their curious eyes gazed over towards the group and back towards each other, still gossiping no doubt.

"Okie, dokie. All you have to do is walk backwards into the reflection of the sunlight and presto! You'll be there? Where? You'll see!" Octavos chimed giving the werewolf a pat on the back.

"Call me!" Octavos waited until they were halfway submerged to shout. With a grin plastered on his face Octavos couldn't help but comment, "Even a cute butt!"

Demetrius rubbed his temple with both of his hands. "You give a bad name to Fair Folk."​

The presence of another two-startled Suren, she hadn't been expecting any more company. Their arrival had been timed perfectly, as two small-winged, black creatures flew into the room and hung on the ropes that connected the hanging lights. One let go and flew in a complete circle around the bleak room before it dived toward the throne marked with fangs where the other bat already had gone. A cloud of black smoke rose from the throne and wafted through the air, a fit of laughter soon followed it. As it dissipated a girl with olive skin similar to Welas' but much paler appeared, she wore a fancy, lacy black dress that left one shoulder bare. Two black strands of hair fell on each side of her face while the rest of it was pulled back into a bun. A pendent clung around her thin neck, its colors constantly changing from blue to red, green to purple, and every shade in-between. Blood-red lips pulled back to reveal a large set of fangs that had taken the life of many. The heels that she clacked on the concrete floor hardly seemed fit for walking in. Behind her stood another, a boy with a dark complexion in his early twenties and a stern face. He was dressed in all white, white shoes, a white shirt, and a white pair of shorts. His hand kept a tight grip on the sword that was strapped to his waist; ready to unsheathe it at any moment.

The last bit of smoke lingered near the thrones when a brute of a man walked in and took a seat. Tight to fit was a wrinkled buttoned down cerulean shirt with the sleeves rolled back, the top two buttons were not only open but also missing completely. The man's dark chest hair peeked above the stained white t-shirt he wore underneath. Jeans and a belt were the only additional articles of clothing he wore. Fully bearded was the man, he was constantly itching it then looking at his fingers like he had caught something between them. He wore tan boots splattered with mud that seemed appropriate for someone of his nature. The scars on his forearms would've been more prominent if it wasn't for the excessive amount of hair on them. Deadly eyes belonged to the man that shone a bright gold color. A feral look continually rippled across his face, the way he gripped the edges of the throne appeared as if he was holding himself back from attacking someone or, rather, all of them. A Caucasian boy the same age as the other stood behind him. The brute and the boy had the same face facials except the boys were much softer and inviting. The two had to be father and son. He was actually smiling, a trait that clearly rare amongst this bunch. The boy donned a black, leather jacket that was opened to reveal a yellow shirt with thin, black stripes. It matched yellow scarf that was neatly wrapped around his neck, the snug black skinny jeans, and the primarily black shoes with three yellow stripes.

An eccentric yet handsome man took the throne directly next to the cackling woman and hid the spell book from sight. A trench coat about a size too big covered up the majority of his body. Blue, red, brown (and many more) colors were all found in his hair, half of which was in cornrows. From his multicolored hair sprouted a pair of fox ears. The warlock lacked the presence of another behind him yet it didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. He hummed a chord to a song and bopped his head back in forth and began to conduct the music with his gloved fingers, several of which were missing the glove material.

The man's gloved hands had a faint glow around them as he pointed to the ground beneath him. Blue smoke billowed from beneath his throne and swirled all around the room. "I do like to make my own entrances!"

"Suren, do take your seat," snapped the lady in the black dress who twirled one of the strands of hair around her finger.

Welas' body position tensed up immediately, anger burned in his eyes, and his voice deepen with rage, "That is not how one speaks to the Seelie Queen of New York!"

"Was your cover blown, dear?" One look at Suren's face and the vampire threw her head back and let out another fit of obnoxious laughter that echoed endlessly throughout the room.

"Shut up, Ingrid. Your immaturity is giving me a headache," Snarled the man in the werewolf throne, his claws now fully flexed.

The color had slowly drained Suren's face until it was completely gone; she stood there frozen in place. A touch from Welas seemed to reanimate her, she then walked up the three steps that led to the throne and took her place. She was the smallest, and youngest out of the people up there.

"May I introduce to you the Passel," anger lingered in the Faerie Knight's voice. "The leader of the New York werewolf pack, Gareth. To his left the Seelie Queen of New York, Suren, and to her left the High Warlock of New York, Asgar, and lastly the New York vampire coven leader, Ingrid the Prudent."

"Why do we insist of calling her 'the Prudent'?" Gareth grumbled loud enough so that everyone would hear him. "The only thing she is prudent about is not getting blood on her fancy dresses."

"I wouldn't mind getting your blood on this fancy floor!" Ingrid retorted.

"Leech, I will rip out your fuc-"

"Ahem." Welas glared at the constant bickering duo, he turned back towards the younger group that was now composed of two werewolves and a vampire. "Artifact children Oliver, Fernando, and..." Welas hoped the newcomer would supply his own name.

"Along with Seelie Queen Suren." Welas added quickly.

Four heads turned toward Suren their eyes widen, mouths slightly agape. Asgar continued conducting his own symphony slightly faltering once but carried on like nothing had happened.

"Her!" Ingrid screeched pointing a long black-coated fingernail at Suren. "She's one of them! All this time and she's one of them!"

"Well, we needed more than one of them to do it anyhow." Gareth returned his gaze to the group in front of him. "And you two, three entered my city without informing me. I should tear your throats out and feed them to my pups you ungrateful bast-"

"Dad!" The boy behind him hissed.

"You, there boy or you." Gareth pointed at Oliver then Dylan, and grinned. "You like girls, eh? Guess what my pack legacy ends with my boy here. He should be standing behind her." Gareth pointed to Suren. "They're both fairies, get it?" Gareth practically laughed his head off, it started off as a deep chuckle and grew until it was almost a roar. A hand repeatedly hit the armrest of the throne, he also leaned forward with his other arm wrapped around his stomach. Gareth looked down at Oliver and Dylan then wiped the tears from his eyes. His face transitioned from pure bliss to its natural feral state in mere seconds, "Did you not find my joke funny? Laugh pups, laugh."

"Welas to the point," Suren commanded, frightened that she might step on the toes of the others usually kept her from talking as much as they did.

"Yes, My Queen." Welas said quickly. He studied the same roll of paper that he had in the Seelie Court, his eyes squinted to read the text. "We invite the coun- Passel to grant or deny sanctity to these children."

"Oh, enough with the formalities Welas! They're staying, you, I, even she," Gareth pointed a thumb Ingrid's direction. "Knows it. Just tell them."

Asgar rose two thumbs up before getting lost in his world again. The tempo he was conducting varied, it one paid enough attention it depended on the emotion of the conversation. Anger was fast, happiness was a normal pace, and silence was slow movements.

Welas rolled the paper up and placed it in his pant's pocket with care," There are three sides to every story. Our side, the Shadowhunters' side, and the truth."

"In this case our side is the truth!" Ingrid remarked while she crossed her legs.

"Your parents believed they were doing what was right." Welas' voice had lost the anger that it had, there was calmness in its place. "Shadowhunters were becoming abusive again, they were constantly tiptoeing the peace treaty without ever fully crossing it. The Nephilim are famous for playing the victim card. The Inquisitor at the time was famous for exploiting Downworlders and that's what he did with the Mortal Sword. We were supposed to be allies, we aided in their fights against demons. Never once were we treated as equals, we were more like tools. No one liked it, but no one had the guts to complain about it until your parents."

"Asgar is quite famous for his parties, which is how and where your parents met. They all agreed that they didn't want you, their children, to grow up in a world where Nephilim were free to abuse you. Fight fire with fire they said. The Nephilim had the Mortal Instruments, what did the Downworlders have? Nothing. Your parents decided to change that by creating the Inferno Artifacts. We eventually lost them, your parents and the Artifacts."

"The only possibility of locating the Inferno Artifacts is through the creature that created them, which only you can do." When Welas finished he looked at the group and he opened his mouth to say something but shut it.

"We need-" Ingrid started.

"Want-" Suren supplied.

"They must!" growled Gareth

"You're going to summon a demon." Asgar delivered, having finally stopped his role as conductor.​

The Inquisitor looked on with keen eyes as the group examined the files that he had put together, he sat down in his chair once more. Preparation for this had been thoroughly planned, even Esmarie gave a chuckle once he disclosed what he was doing. If there was one thing that could instantaneously bring a smile to his face, a feature that did not happen often, it was his wife's laughter. The ability to keep his face completely emotionless despite the situation was one of the traits he had learned on the job. It was best for him not to give any of his thoughts away to this group, his group. If only they knew what was in store for them, but they were as clueless as the Clave. Thane's attitude needed some fine-tuning, the Inquisitor had taught him better than to act out like a delinquent. Everyone else was in the process of picking one except Samara Ashtower, who had boldly decided against either copy and crossed her arms. The Inquisitor had always heard she was defiant, no worries, he had enough pressure to crack a diamond, he could do the same to a young Shadowhunter.

The Inquisitor waited until everyone had made their final decision before he picked up the nearest trash can and scooped all the files into it. "Lesson number one, no one cares what mission you want to go on. I pick what you do, and you go do it. I hope I have made that clear now."

"Samara, would you like to inform us why you did not pick either of the options I gave to you?" The Inquisitor locked his hands together on the table and his eyes on the Shadowhunter, he waited patiently for the response.

"We're supposed to be the best of our generation, and you're sending us on petty missions. One mission already has a status of 080 and the other is spying on Downworlders. I didn't create this group to do measly grunt work." With a roll of her eyes Samara finished her statement and slumped further into the wooden chair.

The Inquisitor simply nodded and retrieved another folder, which he slid to the center of the table. "This is the mission you'll go on."


"The focus on missions will be the ones with the most threat involved. Some will have scarce details and as such will be labeled 991."

"I have already spent too much time here. Next time we'll be brief and eventually I won't need to be in attendance. Mission starts early tomorrow, you'll stay here for the night." Inquisitor Everstorm gathered his belongings and headed toward the door. He swung around and spoke once more, "You might want to get to know each other first." Then exited.

"Let's get one thing straight, no name, daddy's little boy, and whoever you are." The Inquisitor imagined she had voiced all this and pointed at each one of them when she spoke the nicknames (she had.) "You do not give me orders nor are any of you leaders of this group, that's me. Respect my space, do distance yourself whenever possible."

The Inquisitor had heard all of this from outside the closed door where he planned to wait a few moments longer. Just enough to hear the responses, he was willing to bet that even Thane couldn't match this girl's attitude. This carefully put together team was bound to encounter several rough patches at the beginning of their journey, but eventually they would work as one unit.
​

I snarled again as another person joined us, another Werewolf. I slowly turned to face him. He had a feral look, not uncommon for his kind. His hair was a total mess. Another wolf appeared behind him. This is starting to get....uncomfortable. But the numbers balanced more when two more people appeared, Vampires this time. One was a gorgeous woman in a sleek dress, the other a youngster wearing shorts. Shorts. Jesus Christ have some cooth about you, son. You're going to a super secret superhuman meeting, not to play frisbee at the park. He did, however, have a sword on his waist. Like it was going to do anything for him. The woman sat as her "hero" of a guard stood beside her.

Yet another, no, two more, werewolves joined. One was a large man, almost as tall as me and about as thick, and the other his apparent son. He walked in and took his seat. While his son stood beside him.

A quirky guy came in, wearing a large trench coat, tattered gloves, and half a head of dreads of various colors. He sat down and started to hum a tune, conducting as he did.

The man's gloved hands had a faint glow around them as he pointed to the ground beneath him. Blue smoke billowed from beneath his throne and swirled all around the room. "I do like to make my own entrances!"

"Suren, do take your seat," snapped the vampire woman.

Welas looked like someone had just dissed his mom or lame girlfriend, "That is not how one speaks to the Seelie Queen of New York!" You crushing, bro?

"Was your cover blown, dear?" said the vampire sarcastically, with a cackling laughter. Suddenly she became less attractive.

"Shut up, Ingrid. Your immaturity is giving me a headache," grunted the bear-man. He flexed a little, trying to show off I guess? Does he even lift?

Suren froze, a little shocked at her guest's rudeness. I'd be pretty pissed too. Inviting asshats to my meeting, they treat me like fat nasty trash. There would be heads rolling in the floor if I was in her position.

"May I introduce to you the Passel," anger lingered in Welas's voice. "The leader of the New York werewolf pack, Gareth. To his left the Seelie Queen of New York, Suren, and to her left the High Warlock of New York, Asgar, and lastly the New York vampire coven leader, Ingrid the Prudent."

"Why do we insist of calling her 'the Prudent'?" Gareth grumbled. Yeah, why? "The only thing she is prudent about is not getting blood on her fancy dresses." Oh snap.

"I wouldn't mind getting your blood on this fancy floor!" came back the vampire.

"Leech, I will rip out your fuc-" Try it big boy, I want to see.

"Ahem." Welas interrupted. "Artifact children Oliver, Fernando, and..."

"Along with Seelie Queen Suren." Welas added quickly.

The vampires and werewolf leaders stared at Suren. Asgar continued conducting his own symphony like nothing had happened.

"Her!" The female vampire shrieked. God she is starting to get on my nerves. Calm down for Christ's sake. "She's one of them! All this time and she's one of them!"

"Well, we needed more than one of them to do it anyhow." said the Werewolf leader. To do what? "And you two, three entered my city without informing me. I should tear your throats out and feed them to my pups you ungrateful bast-" Oh God please, I beg you to try me. I'll do it with one hand behind my back.

"Dad!" hissed his son. And suddenly the big bad wolf was tamed. By a child.

"You, there boy or you." Gareth pointed at Oliver and Dylan, then grinned. "You like girls, eh? Guess what my pack legacy ends with my boy here. He should be standing behind her." Gareth pointed to Suren. "They're both fairies, get it?" he started to laugh uncontrollably. Apparently being obnoxious, blunt, and stupid was a werewolf's idea of humor. I just sighed at his joke. "Did you not find my joke funny? Laugh pups, laugh." Don't tell me what to do.

"Welas to the point," Suren said, clearing out any thoughts of further digression.

"Yes, My Queen." Welas said quickly. He studied the same roll of paper that he had in the Seelie Court, his eyes squinted to read the text. "We invite the coun- Passel to grant or deny sanctity to these children."

"Oh, enough with the formalities Welas! They're staying, you, I, even she," he pointed at the vampire lady, "knows it. Just tell them."

The wizard half-assed a thumbs up and continued to conduct. He was getting on my nerves too. Everybody is acting so attention deficite and vibrant.

Welas rolled the paper up and placed it in his pant's pocket with care, "There are three sides to every story. Our side, the Shadowhunters' side, and the truth."

"In this case our side is the truth!" snorted the vampire chick.

"Your parents believed they were doing what was right." Welas said flatly. "Shadowhunters were becoming abusive again, they were constantly tiptoeing the peace treaty without ever fully crossing it. The Nephilim are famous for playing the victim card. The Inquisitor at the time was famous for exploiting Downworlders and that's what he did with the Mortal Sword. We were supposed to be allies, we aided in their fights against demons. Never once were we treated as equals, we were more like tools. No one liked it, but no one had the guts to complain about it until your parents."

"Asgar is quite famous for his parties, which is how and where your parents met. They all agreed that they didn't want you, their children, to grow up in a world where Nephilim were free to abuse you. Fight fire with fire they said. The Nephilim had the Mortal Instruments, what did the Downworlders have? Nothing. Your parents decided to change that by creating the Inferno Artifacts. We eventually lost them, your parents and the Artifacts."

"The only possibility of locating the Inferno Artifacts is through the creature that created them, which only you can do." Finished Welas. He looked at us. All of us.

"We need-" Ingrid started.

"Want-" Suren supplied.

"They must!" growled Gareth

"You're going to summon a demon." Stated Asgar confidently. He suddenly became very still.

"...A demon? How the hell are we supposed to summon a demon?" I said, speaking loud enough to get through the Werewolves' thick skulls, "And why do we have to do it? I have important things to do, I can't waste my time playing Dungeons and Dragons with a bunch of fairies, warlocks, vampires, or werewolves."

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