This takes place like 370 or so years after the last chapter. Still own nothing.

"I need to get some air." These were the words most commonly heard from Alec Lightwood's mouth, soon followed by the sight of him fleeing down the steps of the Institute, his bow slung over his shoulder as he hastily ran his stele over one of the many runes on his body, making him invisible to the general population.

"What the hell am I doing?" These words, though never actually heard, were the words Alec said much more often than "I need to get some air." These were the words he repeated to himself as his feet traced the familiar path to the town square, to the statues. Alec had been drawn to the statues since he was a little boy, seeing the terror on their faces even while teenagers took pictures of themselves with them and cackled. He watched the common occurrence of a boy reaching out his arms in front of one of them, mirroring his position like the statue was running into his arms.

Izzy and Jace never questioned his frequent disappearances. Sure, Izzy worried about him, what with the demon hordes, and Jace teased him about having a secret girlfriend—sure, if I wasn't about as straight as a circle, Jace, Alec thought—but neither of them tried to stop him from leaving. Neither of them ever mentioned anything about 'needing air' being an incorrect statement, or wondered if anyone ever said those words and meant them literally. If there was one thing the trio could agree on, it was that the Institute was a suffocating place.

Alec reached the collection of statues and inspected them the way he did every time he saw them. There was the woman in a Victorian dress, holding the skirt up, legs positioned as though she was running. All of them appeared to be running, in fact, as Alec had noticed almost immediately, toward something, the looks on their faces displaying their terror and concern. There was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a suit with horns on his head next to another man with a ponytail and scales on his hand. A tall, older woman was holding the hand of a small girl with gills. Two other women, both with long hair frozen in a bounce, had their arms out the way comic book wizards did when they used magic.

Alec wasn't dumb. He knew these were warlocks, or had been, or at least were carvings of them. He could see many of their warlock marks: the horns, the gills, the scales, the camouflage-patterned skin on one of the women. He couldn't see the marks on a few of them, but figured that they were hidden under clothing or glamoured.

Alec slowly came around to his favorite statue. It was a man, composed of white stone like the others, tall and slender like a dancer. He was wearing knee-high lace-up boots with platforms at least three inches tall, the laces on the left one undone and flapping about. His pants were so tight, Alec had originally thought he wasn't wearing pants at all, but then realized he had to be, since he couldn't see… well, everything. The man was also wearing a multitude of necklaces and a jacket that flowed behind him as he ran, and it was lined with what were probably supposed to be shiny gemstones and exceptionally glittery. In fact, there was glitter all over him, and even trailing behind him in the air, falling off his shoulders and out of his hair. Alec wondered, if this had been carved, how it was possible to capture this man's hair so: spiked up but unruly, swept to the side and arching like a wave, a few strands going the other way and dangling over his face. He looked positively terrified, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. His arms were reaching out as though waiting to be embraced.

Alec did not know the name of this statue, but that didn't stop him from talking to it. He'd begun a few years ago by saying "I don't know what you're running from, but it can't possibly be as scary as Jace in a crab onesie."

When the statue hadn't looked any less mortified, Alec had laughed and kept talking to it. He couldn't help but feel like someone was actually listening, but that was just wishful thinking. Nobody listened to him; why should this statue? It wasn't like it could actually hear him, in any case. And yet he returned every day to talk to it.

"My parents are getting home tomorrow," he sighed, settling himself in front of the statue. "And they're probably going to be all on my case about everything I do wrong. They always do. It's like they're normal parents when they call in from another country but when they're home, they're like dictators."

He gazed forlornly up at the statue. "I wish you were real," he told it. "So you could complain to me about everything I've complained to you about. And also maybe so I wouldn't feel insane for talking to a statue of a warlock. But maybe if you were real, we wouldn't ever talk, because warlocks and Nephilim don't usually interact in a casual setting."

He looked at his feet for a few seconds, and when he returned his eyes to the statue, the look on its face was no longer one of terror, but one of pleasant surprise. And Alec could've sworn he heard a silky voice in his head.

"Nobody's ever wished I was real before."

Later that night, Alec lay awake, thinking hard about what he'd seen and heard. The statue hadn't moved, exactly, but it had definitely changed. The stone man had looked surprised after a carved expression of terror for Raziel knew how long. And then that voice… Alec, being a Shadowhunter, had dealt with his fair share of paranormal and inexplicable situations, but never a voice in his head coming from a statue of a warlock. He wanted to know what was going on, if there was something wrong with him.

Sleep found him wandering listlessly through haphazardly organized thoughts.

He was walking through the town, unarmed, which led him to believe he was definitely not on patrol. He was dressed in jeans and a loose black sweater, and there was a necklace in his hand, a necklace he'd never seen before in his life. It looked like something a faerie would wear, or maybe Izzy if she was in a flamboyant mood.

He looked at the sidewalk ahead of him, and found himself approaching a tall man in extravagant clothes: vibrant blue leather pants, a purple button-down shirt with none of the buttons fastened, revealing his caramel-colored chest. A crimson and gold sleeveless coat completed the look, glittering when he stood. He held his hand out, and Alec dropped the necklace in.

"Thank you, darling," the man said brightly. "I must say, as much as I'm glad to be reunited with this necklace, I would've liked to see it on you."

Alec, confused, just stared. Immediately the man sobered, and they dropped out of the town into a living room of an apartment. Now the man was shirtless and wearing what looked suspiciously like Alec's sweatpants, waving his arms around wildly in the air as he talked.

"—And so Iris and Lorenzo decided it would be a great idea to challenge him, but obviously it wasn't a great idea, was it, since it got all of us immobilized for three centuries—"

Alec perked up at that, looking the man over. He looked exactly like the statue he'd been so enamored with for the past years. And almost like he could read Alec's thoughts, the man stopped talking and turned toward him with a sympathetic look.

"I meant what I said, you know. Nobody's ever wanted me to be real before. You are something extraordinary, Alexander Lightwood."

"I don't understand," Alec choked out, finally finding his voice. "Are you? Real, that is?"

"That depends on your definition of real, love," the man grinned. "There are too many years of history to explain in a single message, so I will say only this: I am more of a story than a person."

"Message? Isn't this a dream?" Alec looked out the window, and Jace and Clary shot by on a flying motorcycle.

"Indeed; I cannot speak to you otherwise."

"How did you become a statue?" Alec asked.

"Would you believe me if I said I don't know? Ragnor and I were getting ready to lead the revolt, but then my father stepped in. He snapped his fingers, there was this epic explosion, and then the enemy was gone, but the entire group of warlocks were stone, and my father was nowhere to be seen."

"How long ago was this?" Alec was dumbstruck. "How long have you been a statue?"

"Really, hon, I didn't have a calendar within reading distance all those years, but I suspect it's been at least three hundred fifty years. What year is it now?"

Alec rattled off the date, and the man looked shocked.

"Well, then it's been three hundred and sixty seven years," he decided. "It's a wonder Camille didn't come knocking."

"What… what is your name?" Alec asked, rather awkwardly. "I've been talking to you for so long, but I could never think of a name and I never knew if you actually had one."

"That is a good question, love," the man stroked his chin. "Maybe I had one once, but after three hundred sixty seven years of nobody speaking it… it's hard to say."

"What would you like to be called, then?"

"I remember being called Magnus once," the man told him. "You may call me Magnus Bane."

"Magnus Bane," Alec repeated, liking the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. "Can you hear me, when I talk to you?"

"Of course I can, dear," Magnus waved the question off. "And it's rather painful, not being able to talk back."

"Is there a way to free you?" Alec wondered, sitting forward in his chair. Magnus opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Alec woke up.

He sat up quickly, surprised to find himself in his own bed, then angry that he hadn't gotten his answer. It was only after moping for a few minutes that he remembered he'd gotten a name. I got his name! He grinned to himself. I actually got his name! He rushed downstairs to the Institute databases and typed in Magnus Bane. Results popped up eagerly, and he spent some time flicking through them, reading about the warlock.

"He's hot," Izzy said from behind him, and he jumped. "Why are you researching a dead warlock, Alec?"

"He's not dead, Iz," Alec sighed.

"How would you know?" Isabelle looked suspicious. "Have you seen him? Talked to him?"

Alec wasn't sure how to answer that. "It doesn't matter," he finally said. "But he isn't dead and I need to help him."

"Help him with what?"

And so Alec sighed, closed the computer, and looked his sister in the eyes.

"It's not important, Izzy."

His sister crossed her arms and gazed up at him defiantly. "I think it is. I'd like to know why you're trying to help the warlock that tried to annihilate the world as we know it."

Well, that's a bit complicated, if I do say so myself. You may have picked up on this, but the warlocks I mentioned had been turned into statues are Tessa Gray, Ragnor Fell, Lorenzo Rey, Iris Rouse, Madzie, Catarina Loss, and Dorothea. Yes I used some of the warlocks from the show, sue me. Now to write the next chapter.