The Institute had never felt so hollow. The battle at Renwick's Ruin had ended, but the scars it left behind ran deep. The grand hall, usually buzzing with quiet conversations and the shuffle of books and weapons, was silent now. The air was thick with unspoken words, grief, and the lingering scent of burned ozone from heavenly fire.
Clary sat near one of the tall windows, staring out at the city. The lights of New York glittered in the distance, so indifferent to the storm they had just weathered. Her fingers traced absent patterns on the glass, her thoughts looping back to one name over and over again.
Orion.
She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to break down. He had been there—fighting, protecting, standing between them and death itself. And now, he was gone.
Simon sat beside her, his expression troubled. "He's not dead, Clary," he said, as if trying to convince himself as much as her. "He's… he's too stubborn for that."
She swallowed hard, her voice tight. "Then where is he, Simon?"
Simon hesitated, looking away. "Maybe he's just… lost in haven or hell."
Jace stood near the war table, arms crossed, his golden eyes shadowed. His usual cocky arrogance was absent, replaced by something heavier. "Lost," he echoed bitterly. "Or taken. Or worse."
Clary shot him a glare. "You don't know that."
Jace exhaled sharply. "No. I don't. And that's the problem." His fists clenched. "I should know. I should have seen something, done something—"
"You did what you could," Alec interrupted, stepping into the room. His face was pale, his usually controlled demeanor cracked at the edges. "We all did."
Jace turned on him. "And it wasn't enough."
Isabelle entered next, her whip coiled at her hip, her dark eyes stormy. "None of us expected that thing—the Avatar of Satan. Not even the Clave." She turned to Alec. "Did they say anything yet?"
Alec hesitated before answering. "The Clave is… unsettled."
Jace let out a sharp laugh. "Unsettled? That's one way to put it. We fought an avatar of prince of hell, barely survived, and Orion—" His voice caught for a second. He shook his head. "And now we have no idea where he is after his body disappeared."
Magnus Bane strolled in, his usual flamboyance subdued. The warlock leaned against the edge of the table, his cat-like eyes flicking over them all. "The Clave isn't just unsettled," he murmured. "They're scared."
Alec frowned. "Scared?"
Magnus gestured loosely with one hand, summoning a floating rune in golden light before letting it flicker out. "They know something was different about that battle. About Orion."
Clary sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"
Magnus rubbed his temple as if weighing his words. "Orion wasn't just strong. His presence altered the flow of battle. He wielded weapons he had no right to understand. He sensed things no normal Shadowhunter—hell, no normal being—should sense. Even I couldn't read him fully." His lips curled slightly. "And I hate not knowing things."
Jace frowned. "Are you saying Orion isn't human?"
Magnus tilted his head. "Oh, he's human. Just… not entirely."
A heavy silence followed. Clary looked down at her hands. "He saved us. More than once."
Magnus gave a soft, tired chuckle. "Yes, he did. And that's the problem."
Alec's brows furrowed. "Why would that be a problem?"
"Because," Magnus sighed, standing straight, "when someone that powerful enters the board, everyone starts paying attention. The Clave, demons, gods, pantheons—" He gave them all a pointed look. "Orion was already important. But now, he's a threat."
Jace cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it."
Clary's stomach twisted. "So what? They're going to hunt him?"
Magnus shrugged. "Not yet. The Clave doesn't make rash moves. They'll want to observe first. Figure out what he is." His gaze sharpened. "And so will Valentine."
Simon shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, speaking of that guy—what's he up to?"
Magnus' smirk was humorless. "Plotting, obviously."
Valentine's Perspective
Deep within a hidden stronghold, Valentine Morgenstern stood in front of a table covered with ancient texts, diagrams, and runes burned into parchment. The Mortal Cup sat before him, its power humming softly.
His fingers traced its surface as he stared into the distance, replaying the battle in his mind.
Orion.
He had been an anomaly from the moment he appeared. Strong, intuitive, impossibly skilled—and yet, not one of them. Not a Shadowhunter, not a Downworlder. Something else.
Something ancient and not any demigod as he had in kis knowledge.
Valentine's lips curled into a smirk.
"Curious," he murmured.
Beside him, one of his followers shifted uncomfortably. "What should we do about him?"
Valentine exhaled slowly. "We wait."
His follower frowned. "Wait?"
Valentine's smirk widened. "He's not ours yet. But he will be if he is alive."
His eyes gleamed with dangerous amusement.
"Everyone has a price," he murmured. "Even him."
Back at the Institute
The night pressed in, heavy with uncertainty. Clary remained by the window, watching the city that now felt like a stranger.
Simon placed a hand on her shoulder. "He'll come back."
She closed her eyes, nodding. "I hope so."
Jace lingered at the door, his jaw tight. "When he does, we need to be ready."
Magnus sighed, stretching. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be interesting when he does."
Alec crossed his arms. "And if the Clave tries something?"
Jace met his gaze. "Then we protect him."
No one argued.
Orion was gone. But he wasn't lost.
And when he returned, the world would have to be ready.
For whatever he had become.
The Clave – Fear of the Unknown
Deep within Idris, the Council convened in the grand chamber, their voices hushed but urgent. The stone walls bore the weight of their unease.
"He wasn't one of ours," a high-ranking official murmured. "And yet, he fought as if he had been trained for centuries."
"The question is what trained him," another countered. "Or who."
Maryse Lightwood stood rigid, her gaze sharp. "The boy was an ally. He fought against the Avatar of Satan and saved Shadowhunters. That should be enough."
A slow, measured voice cut through the air. "Should it?"
All eyes turned to Consul Malachi.
"Orion is not Nephilim. We have no record of his bloodline. His father's lineage is uncertain. His mother is an enigma. And yet…" He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "He wields abilities beyond our understanding. Tell me, should that be enough?"
Silence.
A woman in silver robes cleared her throat. "There are whispers among the warlocks. Some say his presence distorted the flow of magic itself. That even fate does not touch him."
Another voice spoke, quieter, more uncertain. "Then what is he?"
Malachi leaned back, his expression unreadable. "A question we must answer before it is too late."
A long pause. Then:
"Do we consider him a threat?"
No one answered.
But the silence was answer enough.
End of Volume 1.
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