"Simon. You'll be fine. Fine, I tell you. If anyone is worthy of ascending, it's you," Izzy told him, as he prepared for his Ascension ceremony.
Clary, standing on his right, sighed at him. "Izzy's right, you know. You deserve it."
"No," Simon began, thinking he had a good reason this time, "Vampire me deserves it. The me who went to Edom with you guys. That guy deserves to be a shadowhunter. Not me."
"You are that guy, Simon. 100%. Do you regret giving up your vampiredom and memories of us to save us?" Izzy said.
Simon sighed. She was right. "No."
Clary smiled, satisfied. "Exactly."
"Also, I'm not sure if you remember this, Simon, but when you were a mundane the first time, you were smart enough to shoot an arrow at the skylight so that Abbadon's physical form would die. And you pulled it off. That was Simon the Mundane, not Simon the Vampire. And the vampire you used to be is still part of you. Just because you are alive and not immortal anymore does not mean that the person you were as a vampire wasn't you," Izzy added.
"Fine. I'll do it, I won't run away and ask Magnus to summon a demon to wipe my memory."
"Good. Now, we're going to go in there, and you're going to become a shadowhunter, and you are going to live. Okay?" Clary asked him.
"Okay," Simon mumbled.
Clary and Isabelle left, leaving Simon alone. You can do this, Simon, he told himself. He walked into the Council room in the Gard, preparing himself for the worst. He worried, because he didn't know whether or not he would survive. He had been so preoccupied with whether or not he would survive that he was not prepared with a name that he would like to take when he ascended. He briefly considered Skywalker or Darklighter as he walked down the aisle, but all thoughts stopped when he saw Clary and Isabelle. They were sitting next to each other, and they were clutching each other's hands so hard they were white. When they saw him looking at them, they tried to smile encouragingly, but he saw the worry easily. These two people who he cared for the most in the world could not hide an emotion that strong from him.
When he entered the two circles by the podium, Consul Jia Penhallow spoke. "Kneel, Simon Lewis." Simon knelt. Jia held up a cup, adamas dipped in gold. The Mortal Cup, which Clary had once pulled out of a tarot card. "Take the cup, Simon Lewis."
"Do you swear, Simon Lewis, to forsake the mundane world and follow the path of the Shadowhunter? Will you take into yourself the blood of the Angel Raziel and honor that blood? Do you swear to serve the Clave, to follow the Law as set forth by the Covenant, and to obey the word of the Council? Will you defend that which is human and mortal, knowing that for your service there will be no recompense and no thanks but honor?"
"I swear," said Simon, his voice very steady, but it was forced steadiness.
"Can you be a shield for the weak, a light in the dark, a truth among falsehoods, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind?"
"I can."
"And when you are dead, will you give up your body to the Nephilim to be burned, that your ashes may be used to build the City of Bones?"
"I will."
"Then drink," said Jia.
He drank. Just one sip, but it was enough. Simon knew that he would be chasing the name of the taste. It was sour, yet sweet. It reminded him very little of blood, which is what he would have expected. 'And he took his blood, and mixed it with the blood of humans.'
What Simon failed to notice was the circles surrounding him, flaring up with a blue-white light.
"Simon, have you picked out a shadowhunter name yet? When I announce you a shadowhunter, I have to know what it is," Jia whispered to him.
Without thinking, Simon said "Daylighter."
"You are Nephilim now. I name you Simon Daylighter, of the blood of Jonathan Shadowhunter, child of the Nephilim. Arise, Simon."