CITY OF STARS AND SHADOWS
Lexie Herondale is almost a year old, and although she's as much of a troublemaker as a child of Clary Fairchild and Jace Herondale could be, they couldn't be happier. Meanwhile, Simon and Isabelle find starting their own family to be an impossible task, and Alec and Magnus deal with the ordinary trials of raising their boys—and receive a challenge in the form of a young new warlock who is eager to be Magnus's student. All seems well among the Shadowhunters; but Clary is not untouched by the ghosts of her past, and when she gets pregnant again, she is forced to grapple with her trauma.
As Clary struggles to come to terms with her past, trouble is brewing in Downworld. A new force is rising that endangers the Shadowhunters' very existence...and when an old foe returns to threaten the peace they've found, Jace and Clary will be tested like never before, learn what it means to lose themselves and each other, and discover just how far they'll go to protect their family.
Please MIND THE TAGS! This is a somewhat dark story, so please take care of yourself and do not read if the content may be triggering to you.
Tags/warnings: major character death, graphic depictions of violence, rape implied, rape of a minor character, pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, postpartum depression, PTSD, trauma, grief, angst, hurt/comfort, tragedy, nightmares, kidnapping, infant death, infanticide, infant illness, chronic illness, suicide ideation, suicide, miscarriage off-page, infertility, disability, ableism, ableist language, amputation, body horror, hopeful ending
A/N: Welp, I seem to have pulled a George R. R. Martin.
Sooo I know I said the sequel would be "coming soon" in the last chapter of City of Smoke and Dust, but it turns out it takes a pretty long time to write a 577-page, 216,000-word story. City of Stars and Shadows is also considerably more complex than its predecessor (and almost double its length!), and it took me nearly a year of outlining before I even began to write. I'm so sorry about the delay (of *checks notes* FIVE YEARS?!), but I hope it's worth it!
As with CoSaD, this story follows my own canon, which does not include some details from the later books in the Shadowhunter Chronicles. See Book One for the full explanation. (Also, you should probably read CoSaD if you haven't already, because this story will make very little sense otherwise.)
IMPORTANT: This story features mature topics such as PTSD (spanning over multiple chapters), rape, infant death, and suicide. I will include a trigger warning in the relevant chapters for the latter three topics. I also ask that you read the tags/warnings carefully, as this story does get somewhat dark. As always, reader discretion is advised.
With all that said, please enjoy City of Stars and Shadows!
Prologue
You are chosen.
It was a simple enough idea; he planted it in the boy's head as he slept, wove it into his dreams. The words appeared in the open spaces in the boy's consciousness, in the silence between his breaths. You are chosen, he whispered. You will be the savior. Your world depends on you.
"I am chosen," the boy murmured. In his dream, he stood on a circular stone dais with an onyx pedestal jutting from its center. A copse of trees encircled the clearing, forming a smooth ring around the dais with their blackened trunks and leafless branches. The sky above him was littered with stars, more stars than he had ever seen in his life, and in a wild rainbow of colors so vivid that he almost couldn't believe the place existed.
He was alone to his own eyes, but he felt the presence of his guide like a gentle hand on his shoulder. A crooked branch, torn from the surrounding trees, appeared in his hands; he broke it cleanly in two, and with the red sap that spilled from within it, he began to mark a design on the surface of the stone. Like a marionette pulled by some unseen force, he danced across the dais, slashing with the broken branch until he had drawn a perfect pentagram.
A satchel appeared at the boy's hip, hanging heavily from his shoulder. He traced the outlines of the objects through the cloth, counting them. Then he reached inside, shuddering as his fingernails grazed hard, slippery muscle. He wanted to run, but no sooner had he completed the thought than his guide said soothingly, You must be resilient. Remember, you have done no wrong. You serve a greater cause.
"I am chosen," said the boy, a little more strongly.
Yes, his guide said.
With shaking hands, the boy drew a human heart from the satchel. He placed it at the top of the pentagram where it glistened blackly in the starlight. He moved around the circle, arranging a heart at each point of the pentagram. Having emptied the bag, he cast the cloth aside. His fingers left bloody prints on the burlap.
Now his breath was coming in short, excited bursts; he knew what he had to do, as if it were a childhood memory he had simply forgotten until now. He went to the trees, gathering slim, flexible branches, and began to weave them together. The thorns of the branches pricked him and his blood mixed with the sap, painting his hands red, but still he continued to feverishly twist the branches until at last he had formed a basket. He stepped into the pentagram and placed the basket on the pedestal. The onyx darkened, as if it were absorbing all the light from the stars and channeling it into the basket so that it radiated power. The boy trembled with awe.
But now he was at a loss. He stared at the basket, wondering what it was meant to contain. And the answer came to him, as easily as the ritual had. He staggered back, horrified.
"No," he whispered. "I can't."
You must, said his guide. Without it, your world will cease to exist. You are the savior. You must put aside your doubt.
"But how can this be right, Master?" said the boy helplessly.
It is for the greater good. If you do not do this, they all will perish.
And in the gaps in the forest, the boy saw faces, so many faces he had never known existed, and faces he longed to see, and faces of lovers and families. And then he saw what he must sacrifice. He averted his gaze.
No, his master said. Look at them.
The boy looked around at those who were his kin, those whom he was tasked with saving. It all felt too onerous, too frightening. He was only one person. How was he meant to prevent their demise?
You are chosen, said his guide again. It is your destiny. And you will not be alone.
Several of the faces came into focus, people he didn't yet recognize but whom he knew would become his allies. He let out a breath. He would not be alone. He would have people behind him, people who knew beyond a doubt that what they were doing was right.
Do you trust me, my child?
The presence of his master enveloped him like an embrace; he felt all of his fear dissipate, drawn away by the one who would be beside him on this journey, his ardent supporter and beloved mentor.
"I trust you, Master," said the boy, just before he slipped into a deep slumber. The dream dissolved, leaving behind nothing but blackness and a single figure, his fingers still tangled in the silvery threads of the boy's dreams.
Leviathan smiled.