Prologue

Oliver squeezed his green eyes closed. His small arms were wrapped tightly around his little sister, Jane. She was crying and confused. There were so many other children, and yet they weren't allowed to play, or go outside. Oliver didn't quite grasp what was happening, but he knew that it was danger. His grandmother had carried Jane the whole way in one arm, holding his hand with her other. They had run harder than Oliver had ever run before, and all the way from the Foxtrot Estate outside the city. Luckily, it wasn't too far from the city, because by the time they had stopped, Oliver had been winded.

"Don't let your sister go," Grandma had told him once they were settled in. They were in the back corner, away from any windows. His grandmother had then brushed some of his unruly light brown hair from his face and kissed his forehead, before repeating with Jane. "Stay right here."

Oliver nodded as she stood up. "I love both of you, so much," she said. She then pulled out her Stele and began to draw runes on her arms. In all of Oliver's life, living with her since he was four, he had never seen his grandmother draw a single rune on herself. The ones she did have were old, faded. But, all the adults Oliver had seen were in gear, all runed up. A few of the older kids, ones that had trained, stood near the door, runes all over their bodies, but even Oliver could see that they were shaking, afraid.

"Are we going to die?" Oliver heard a boy, maybe a year younger than he was, ask what appeared to be his older sister.

"No, we're not," the girl said. She held a sword, but had only two runes on her.

Oliver sat shaking, making sure he didn't cry, and holding onto Jane with all his might. If he let go, she'd go running, looking for their grandparents. Oliver didn't know what was happening outside, but he could hear swords hitting and screams and he knew it was a battle. If Oliver let go, Jane would run into a battle and get killed.

The screaming was what alerted Oliver that the enemy had broken through. It was hard to tell if the red that they wore was their clothing or blood.

Oliver wrapped his arms tighter around Jane as she screamed. He was only seven, he couldn't fight off fairies or Shadowhunters. They were closing in and Oliver didn't know what to do.

And then his grandmother was there again. There was blood splattered across her face, but she didn't seem to notice, or just didn't care. She had a sword drawn, holding it with her right hand as her left arm dangled helplessly at her side. Oliver marveled as she spun, her sword cutting deep into the side of one of the Endarkened Shadowhunters. There was a squelching sound as she drew it back and turned to fight another off.

"Grandma!" Oliver yelled as he noticed the Endarkened Shadowhunter she had sliced into wasn't dead. He lifted his sword, staring at the two with no emotions in his eyes. But, as his sword fell, his grandmother inserted herself between the sword, and her grandchildren. She fell down, and did not move as the puddle of her blood spread, soaking Oliver's shoes.

"No!" Oliver yelled, and this time he pushed Jane behind him, standing in front of her small form. The Shadowhunter did not care as he lifted his sword again. Oliver closed his eyes and waited for the killing blow.

It didn't come.

When he opened his eyes again, a red-haired man stood before him, wearing jeans and a blue and red Mundane shirt. The Shadowhunter that had slain his grandmother was dead, and all the man held was a small knife.

He knelt before Oliver. "Are you all right?" He asked, his voice gentle.

Oliver nodded. "Behind-"

He hadn't even finished speaking and the man had spun around, kicking a fae down. The creature went sprawling, and then another sword took off its head.

All of a sudden, the red-wearing Shadowhunters all fell at once. The Fae all ran. And the man disappeared as well.

It would be nine more years before Oliver would see the man again.