“By the angel.” Chantelle suddenly staggered forward, and overwhelming pain seizing her. She swore as the pain went on for a while. She clutched the side of the library table, breathing hard. The pain was subsiding, and Chantelle heard footsteps, so she forced herself to sit on the floor, biting her lip down as the pain went away.

***

Zachary found Chantelle in the library, snuggled up with a book. The Institute’s library was huge, and Chantelle did a good job of managing it. She was sitting next to a HoloPlant, and Zachary flung himself down next to her.

“What’ya reading?”

Chantelle glanced up. “How to Kill a Vampire.”

“Wow. Vampires? Never thought you would study, and be so bloodlust.”

Chantelle smiled. “It’s not that bloodlust. It’s a fictional novel, about a girl having to kill her brother after he became a vampire. Turning was a disgrace, and she knew her brother would rather die than become one of them. A mundane wrote it.”

“Well, the author has no idea how right he is. Turning is a disgrace. But people think immortality is cool.”

“Oh, don’t be so harsh, comrade. People hardly Turn on purpose anymore. And it’s a ‘she’. The author is Cressida Mclambre. She isn’t my favourite, but she’s 17, too.”

“That reminds me. You’re turning 18, and you need to take your Shadow Trials soon.” Zachary said, and he was right. In the year 2050, the Council decided that Shadowhunters should take a test to see if they deserve to be Shadowhunters. Once, Shadowhunters were nearly extinct, but thanks to an Iron Sister, a device was created to see if one could Ascend, and they could find out before they drank from the Mortal Cup.

To be a Shadowhunter, it had to run in your blood. Either that, or you Ascend. Ascension was a risky process, for one could die in the process. When a Shadowhunter wishes to marry a mundane, that mundane is entitled to Ascension, nowadays, more selected people could Ascend too. The Iron Sisters are a communal organization of female Shadowhunters that forge weapons for their kind. The Iron Sisters are considered the female counterparts of the Silent Brothers, albeit more secluded. They reside in the Adamant Citadel, where they live in almost total solitude and speak only, and occasionally, to female Shadowhunters. Thanks to the Iron Sister’s creation, more mundanes could Ascend without fear that they die. Hence, there were more and more Shadowhunters, and the Clave now could afford choosing which Shadowhunters they wanted to serve.

“Yeah. Ares’ is 5 days away, mine 10. It’s a big thing.” Shadow Trials took place on your 18th birthday.

“Oh come on. We all know you’ll pass. You and Ares are like the best Shadowhunters, and even if you fail they’ll probably make an exception, since you’re Chosen. Hey, how does Chosen Channy sound?”

Chantelle laughed. “Don’t push it, comrade. And it gives me more reason to be nervous. Because I’m Chosen, everyone will expect me to pass. What if I don’t?”

Zachary looked serious now. “If you don’t pass, no one ever will.” He said genuinely. Just then, the HoloPlant next to Chantelle flashed briefly.

“Hey, that thing’s busted. I’m so going to complain about this.”

“You know, once there were real trees and plants, before people killed them all. Now, we have to use these stupid hologram ones to replace nature. Thanks a lot, ancestors.” Zachary reached out for the HoloPlant, and his hand went right through it, since it was just a projection.

“And SoyBurgers. Like, we hardly get any real meat.”

“Why are you complaining? You’re half-vegetarian, I’m the one who loves meat here.” Zachary teased. “Have you seen Ares?”

“He left with Mabel, the visitor.” Chantelle replied, and Zachary raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Zach. She’s what? 12?”

“Whatever. I wanted to get a drink with him.”

“Get Andre a fake ID then. He looks 18.” Zachary and Ares both had fake IDs, though it barely mattered. Zach’s birthday was a month away and Ares’ soon. Andre was 16, but he could pass off as 18 easily. Anyway, almost everyone in Los Angeles had fake IDs these days, as long as you were lucky enough to look around that age range. And the places we went to, they barely checked.

“I think he pulls strings. Doesn’t even need one. Want to come?”

“Why not, comrade?” Chantelle smiled, but Lesley, a mundane who worked for us Shadowhunters, burst in suddenly.

“Lady Lightwood summons you.” Normally, Zach would snort about how Lesley spoke as if she were in the old times, but they all saw her clouded expression, that meant something was terribly wrong. And they ran to the main area. A big crowd gathered, and Chantelle recognized Marissa in the front, sobbing, Laressa holding her back, looking too shocked to cry. Chantelle and Zachary exchanged a look. Pablo...? But no. This was more concerning than Pablo, more concerning for them both.

“Consul.” They bowed as their eyes flickered from Consul Whitelaw, the leader of Shadowhunters, to Marissa, who squatted on the floor. Marissa was cupping something close, and Chantelle bent down to her height.

“Marissa?”

“He was like a brother to me…” Marissa choked between sobs.

“Who?” Chantelle asked, her hand on Marissa’s back. “Ares?” Chantelle turned to the Consul, who was expressionless.

“Chantelle Carstairs,” The Consul boomed, and he had the kind of power to silence the crowd. His voice echoed, and demanded attention. “I’m afraid something… unfortunate has happened to your… parabatai.” He spoke the word with suspicion, as if she suspected they were more than that.

Surprisingly, Chantelle’s voice was steady, although fear was shown in her eyes. Fear, something rarely seen from Chantelle. “What happened to Ares?”

“It was such a… pity, for he was the best Shadowhunter of this generation I must say, following the footsteps of Jace Herondale.”

“JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.” Shocking everyone, Chantelle said through gritted teeth. It was rude to do that to the Consul, and no one expected the Chosen One, the child they respected, to have such a flaw.

“Chantelle!” The Consul’s assistant hissed, but the Consul dismissed this.

“Ares Herondale is dead.”

4 words, 4 words was all it took, for the world to come crashing down. Dead, her parabatai dead. The boy Chantelle sometimes forgot was not invincible, the boy who helped teach her how to fight, the boy who went with her everywhere, on every adventure, the boy whose joy she shared.

“Dead..?” Zachary repeated, gulping. Chantelle had already crumbled to the floor, unsure if she cried, but she wanted to cry, for crying was something the living could only do after the death of someone that was loved. Ares was like family to Chantelle, the only family she had and ever needed. She thought there wouldn’t be anything worse than this, but how wrong she was.

If a Shadowhunter died in battle, he would be buried in the Silent City, for the Silent Brothers to draw their energy from, because even after death, the Nephilim shall continue to serve. At least, if Ares died fighting, he would be a warrior, he could die of honor. The first time Chantelle stepped inside the Silent City, she had complained the place freaked her out.

“Get used to it. It’ll be your home after death.” He had laughed.

To be buried in the Silent City, it was like a reward for a Shadowhunter’s service, for protecting both the mundane and Shadow World.

If Ares died like that, it would be easier. More honorary.

But perhaps he wasn’t even entitled to that.

“I saw him doing it myself, along with some Council members.” The Consul seemed indifferent, even as Chantelle clutched at her heart, which was breaking into a million pieces.

To be buried, to die an honorary death, you must only die of battle, not resorting to suicide or Turning. Both suicide and Turning was a disgrace to the Nephilim. If you committed any of the two, you will not be missed. Shadowhunters cannot be allowed to miss you and mourn your death.

Suicide was one of the worst things Nephilim could possibly do.

Never had Chantelle expected the next words that left the Consul’s mouth.

The Consul placed his thumb below her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Chantelle.” Chantelle stared up, eyes watery.

“Ares didn’t die in battle.” He said mercilessly.

Somehow, Chantelle managed to speak. “You can’t mean…”

“I mean exactly that.” He looked straight into her eyes, almost a challenge, a warning that she must not shed a tear more.

“Ares committed suicide.”