Hey readers! So, I'll be telling a story that is set 16 years since the Dark War. If in Lady Midnight (2012) Octavian Blackthorn was 7, then this story is set 10 years later. I want to write a story that sort of ends the Shadowhunter world. The main character will be named Alithea Aldebrand. All the ages of the characters are listed below for this story:
Octavian: 18
Julian: 28
Emma: 28
Tiberius: 25
Kit: 25
Drusilla: 23
Clary/Jace/Simon and other TMI characters: 31
Not all the characters that will show up is listed above. You're gonna see a lot of characters if this story does well. :)
I know that this might seem crazy but what's fanfic for? Enjoy!
Chapter One—Surrounded
Alithea rolled the hilt of her blade in her hands warily, eyeing the small group of gear-clad Nephilim forming a crescent around her. Fresh runes marked their skin as they inched closer to her, their presence forcing back the onlookers of the Shadow world. She caught sight of two more shadowhunters out of the corner of her eye. She really had to give it to the council for sending so many shadowhunters after her. Either they severely overestimated her abilities and considered a small troop were necessary to bring her in or they were seriously concerned she would be an unwanted liability. After all, how many can say they escaped the Basilias in Alicante, fled from Idris without being noticed, and has since been on the run for nearly 6 months?
"Give it up, Aldebrand! You can't run from the council," one man said. He was tall, heavily built like a gorilla. One of his friends, most likely his parabatai, laughed. Okay, so the council actually underestimated her. They sent moronic baboons to catch her. It was like spitting in the fact of the Silent Brothers. Laughing under her breath, she spun on her heel and lunged towards the two shadowhunters guarding her back. In one quick fluid motion she dipped under the arm of one, grabbed his jacket, and threw him into the other. Without hesitating she ran, ignoring the whoops of laughter from the downworlders spectating. In the last six months out, she never expected such an enormous amount of lazy no-good shadow denizens whose sole source of entertainment was betraying their own people. Watching shadowhunters hunt shadowhunters was like a once in a lifetime opportunity that couldn't be missed.
Her feed pounded the floor, the cheap plastic soles of her sneakers hardly gripping the dirt ground of the small fair that the downworlders held every autumn. She ducked underneath several low-hanging tapestries before sliding underneath an open booth, ducking her head below the makeshift counter. A warlock with ram's horns coming out of his temples looked down at her in disgust, but she put her fingers to her lips and dipped her fingers into her jacket pocket, tipping the disgruntled man. He immediately took the money and returned to sorting his paraphernalia. With her other hand, she tucked away her knife and withdrew a small flask containing dark powder. She tossed it over her shoulder and scrambled to her feet as it hit the shadowhunters pursuing her. The black powder was lent by a very naughty nixie. Made of darkness, it blinded even shadowhunters marked with the tracking rune long enough to allow any to escape.
She regained her footing and began running towards the back exit, a slight alleyway that she nearly missed because it was being hidden by a large kiosk boasting ribbons and other magicked clothing that could change colors to match the weather, season, or even the wearer's mood. The alley led out of the courtyard where the festival was and into the residential areas. Namely two-story townhomes and small communities of apartment buildings. But as soon as Alithea came to the end of the alley, she skidded to a quick stop.
If she was asked if she preferred to take on 100 shadowhunters over the legendary Nephilim that altered the Shadow world ten years ago, she would have most likely said she'd prefer to take on the heroes. But standing there, nearly 50 feet in front of her, and hardly noticing her presence, Emma Carstairs and her husband Julian Blackthorn were caught up in their own world. Emma's hands were running through her hair, her body angled towards Julian's as he held in his hand a gleaming golden sword. His eyes, unlike Emma's, were watching her steadfastly. But Alithea no longer noticed Emma or Julian. Her own eyes were locked on the sword, one of the Great Weapons forged by Wayland. Cortana. It looked dull, despite the off-glow as the sun heated the blade and it shined in its embrace. The edges were worn, jaded and jagged, like Emma had been using the blade to cut rock rather than demon. A single ugly crack cut from the tip of the blade and up across towards the bottom left hand on the hilt. It settled just underneath the guard, folded between the tempered iron like a crack in glass that hadn't yet shattered on the surface, caught in a timeless, intangible state yet visible.
Cortana was passed from Julian to Emma, and the blade glowed brighter in the hands of its rightful owner. Emma eyed the tense girl whose gaze never wavered from Cortana. It was an uncanny look; one that made Emma shiver despite herself. The girl's eyes were heavily lidded, with dark curling lashes like Julian's. Her eyes were a clear-cut silver, nearly milky white with the sun behind her draining the color from them. Her expression, Emma decided, was the same she'd seen for many years now on the faces of Nephilim: calmly resolute yet full of surrender. It was the eyes of someone ready to die. Julian's hand began to trace letters on her forearm: are you okay? She nodded and returned Cortana to the sheath attached on her back. The girl's head snapped upwards, her eyes now storms of gray and her face weathered with the pull of her grim lips.
"I'm guessing you're Alithea Aldebrand," Emma said. The enclave had only given her and Julian a picture of the girl, making it clear she was a danger to herself and others. Having escaped from Basilias, already five Shadowhunters had been slain as she cut her way from Alicante to New York and finally here, in a small town in upper Bakersfield. The girl was moderately built, a bit on the stocky side, her waist small but her hips curving generously outwards. Despite this, she had a waif-like appearance, like she could disappear into thin air. Her arms were skinny, her hands dainty; everything about her screamed petite. Her hair was braided back, flying wisps curling about her face, her hair frizzing in the autumn air. For a Shadowhunter, she had a classic face: a small mouth and nose that seemed burdened with wide cheeks and a small forehead. She was dressed in a purple zip-up jacket, black jeans held up by a leather belt, and white sneakers hiding underneath the folds. Not a single rune gave her away as Nephilim. In fact, besides the blade tucked in her waistband, Alithea Aldebrand appeared completely harmless.
"Since when did you people become dogs to the Council?" Alithea asked Emma rudely. Emma furrowed her brows. Her voice was deep, a resounding and articulate voice of someone clearly intelligent.
"What are you talking about?" Emma asked, despite the quick words running across her skin by Julian: what are you doing?
Alithea snorted, crossing her arms. "Seriously? Did the council even tell you why you're to capture me?"
"It doesn't matter. You've slain fellow Nephilim, and for that you are to be returned to Alicante to face judgement," Julian said.
Alithea blinked. What now? She did what now? "Um….no, I didn't."
Emma looked up at Julian for a second. Had the enclave lied about this girl? Julian's face was uneasy. Had they gotten the wrong information or was this girl lying? The enclave had warned them that she was unstable, one of the few Shadowhunters who was tormented by her runes and had thus been quarantined in the Basilias without hope of ever being normal. But she was so young, Emma thought. She was the same age as Tavvy.
"You killed Shadowhunters in New York, Ohio, Arizona and here, in California two days ago. Do you deny this?"
"Of course, I do!" Alithea was stunned. She knew the Clave lied. She knew they hid behind the façade of being pursuers of truth and justice. She knew they forced shadowhunters to act in ways that the Shadow world would be ashamed of. But killing shadowhunters? Emma was looking at her passively. Julian's expression was one of indifference.
"I didn't kill anyone! All I did was escape that hellhole! My only crime is running away!"
"I don't believe you," Julian replied calmly.
"But," Emma interjected, surprised by Julian's cold exterior, "You should come with us and we can figure it out. I can't speak for the Clave, but I can for myself. I swear that unless incriminating and incontrovertible evidence proves you killed those shadowhunters, you will remain under our protection. We need you to trust us, for now."
Because despite the reports the enclave had given her, Emma firmly believed Alithea was innocent. She didn't know why. Maybe it was pity, since the girl was kept in the Basilias all her life. Maybe it was lack of rune staining her body and the, frankly, useless knife she carried. Regardless, bringing Alithea back to the Institute was the best solution for now. They could keep an eye on her while also getting to the bottom of this mystery. Because if Alithea really didn't kill those shadowhunters, who did? And why did the Clave want to hush it up by blaming the girl?
End of Chapter.
Please R and R. If you see grammar errors, please tell me! I'm writing this like with 2 hours of sleep. Likes and dislikes/ Constructive criticism appreciated. Thanks!