The New York Institute felt like a labyrinth, its corridors twisting and turning like the mineshafts back in District 12, but instead of coal dust and darkness, there was polished stone and the hum of something ancient. I followed Maryse through a maze of hallways, Kyle at my side, his presence both reassuring and unnerving. My head was still spinning from the infirmary—Nephilim, forbidden runes, demons. Words that belonged in a fever dream, not my life. But the weight of the pendant against my chest, its crescent moon symbol now dull but heavy with secrets, told me this was real. Too real.
Mira's face haunted me with every step. Her tear-streaked cheeks, her small hand slipping from mine as the Peacekeepers dragged her away. I'd promised to protect her, to keep her safe from the hunger and the Reaping, but here I was, worlds away, surrounded by strangers who thought I was some kind of magical anomaly. I clenched my fists, the sword I'd used against the Ravener demon still strapped to my side, its unfamiliar weight a reminder of the fight I'd survived. I wasn't helpless. I'd find a way back to her, no matter what it took.
Maryse stopped at a set of double doors, their surface carved with intricate symbols that glowed faintly, like embers under ash. "This is the training room," she said, her voice crisp. "If you're to stay here, you'll need to learn what it means to be a Shadowhunter. Your instincts are impressive, but instinct alone won't keep you alive."
I nodded, though my stomach twisted. Training meant staying, and staying meant more time away from Mira. But arguing with Maryse seemed about as useful as arguing with a Peacekeeper. Her eyes, cold and calculating, reminded me of Effie Trinket's forced smiles—authority wrapped in a veneer of civility.
Kyle pushed the doors open, revealing a cavernous room that took my breath away. The ceiling soared high above, supported by stone arches that looked like they'd been carved by giants. Mats covered the floor, stained with what I hoped wasn't blood, and racks of weapons lined the walls—swords, staffs, crossbows, and things I couldn't name. Dummies riddled with slashes stood in one corner, while a sparring ring dominated the center, its edges marked with chalk. The air smelled of sweat and steel, but there was something else, a faint buzz that made my skin prickle, like the pendant's energy amplified tenfold.
Isabelle was already there, stretching with a grace that made her look like a panther. She wore the same black leather as Kyle, her whip coiled at her hip like a sleeping snake. Alec leaned against a wall, cleaning a dagger with a cloth, his blue eyes flicking to me with guarded curiosity. Two other Shadowhunters, a boy with spiky blonde hair and a girl with a scar across her cheek, were sparring in the ring, their movements a blur of speed and precision.
"Welcome to the fun part," Isabelle said, flashing a grin that was equal parts welcoming and mischievous. "You handled that Ravener like a pro, so let's see what else you've got."
"I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted, my voice quieter than I meant. "I've never fought anything like that before."
Kyle snorted, crossing his arms. "Could've fooled me. You stabbed that thing like you were born with a blade in your hand."
I shot him a look, unsure if he was mocking me or not. His face gave nothing away, but there was a glint in his eyes that made my stomach flip. I pushed the feeling down. Focus, Lilia. This wasn't the time for distractions, no matter how annoyingly intense his gaze was.
Maryse stepped forward, her presence silencing the room. "Lilia, your rune suggests you have Nephilim blood, but without training, you're a liability. Shadowhunters are warriors, bound by duty to protect the mundane world from demons. Your world—Panem, you called it—may be different, but the principles are the same. Survival requires discipline, skill, and sacrifice."
The word *sacrifice* hit me like a punch. I'd sacrificed everything for Mira—my childhood, my safety, my future. And now I was here, expected to fight for a world I didn't understand. "I'll learn," I said, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. "But I need to know I can get back to my sister."
Maryse's expression softened, just for a moment. "We'll explore the portal magic that brought you here," she said. "But it's unstable, tied to that rune. Until we understand it, you're staying put."
I swallowed hard, nodding. It wasn't the answer I wanted, but it was something. A thread to hold onto.
"Let's start with the basics," Isabelle said, tossing me a wooden staff from a nearby rack. "No blades until you know how to move without tripping over your own feet."
I caught the staff, its weight lighter than the sword but still foreign. "I'm not clumsy," I said, a spark of defiance flaring. "I've hauled coal sacks heavier than this."
Isabelle laughed, a bright, infectious sound. "Oh, I like her," she said to Kyle, who rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "Let's see if you can back that up."
The next hour was a blur of sweat and frustration. Isabelle was relentless, guiding me through stances, blocks, and strikes with a mix of encouragement and brutal honesty. My body ached, my arms trembling from the effort, but I pushed through, driven by the same stubbornness that had kept me alive in District 12. Alec joined in, demonstrating how to pivot and dodge, his movements fluid but precise. The blonde boy, Jace, and the scarred girl, Clary, watched from the sidelines, occasionally calling out tips or teasing me when I stumbled.
Kyle stayed on the edges, his arms crossed, but his eyes never left me. It was unnerving, like he was waiting for me to prove something—or fail spectacularly. When Isabelle finally called a break, I collapsed onto a mat, my chest heaving. "You're trying to kill me," I panted, wiping sweat from my brow.
"Not yet," Isabelle said, tossing me a water bottle. "You're tougher than you look, Lilia. Most newbies would've quit by now."
I took a long drink, the cool water soothing my throat. "I don't quit," I said, my voice firm. "Not when people are counting on me."
Kyle finally approached, crouching beside me. "You're not bad," he said, his tone grudging. "But you're holding back. You're fighting like you're afraid to break something."
I glared at him, my temper flaring. "I'm fighting like someone who's never held a staff before. What do you expect?"
"I expect you to stop thinking like a victim," he said, his voice low but cutting. "You survived a demon. You portaled across worlds. Whatever's in you, it's not ordinary. So stop acting like it is."
His words stung, but there was truth in them. I'd spent my life surviving, scraping by, but this was different. This wasn't about dodging Peacekeepers or sneaking extra rations. This was about power—power I didn't understand but could feel simmering under my skin, like the pendant's glow waiting to ignite.
Before I could respond, a sharp pain lanced through my chest. I gasped, clutching the pendant, which was suddenly burning hot. The room vanished, replaced by a vision so vivid it felt like I was living it. I saw a woman—my mother, younger, her blonde hair tied back, her face fierce but kind. She stood in a circle of Shadowhunters, their black gear stark against a snowy landscape. The pendant hung around her neck, its rune glowing like a star. A man with dark eyes and a scar across his jaw stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. "We can't stay, Elara," he said, his voice urgent. "The Clave will hunt us. The rune's too dangerous."
"I won't let them take her," my mother said, her hand resting on her stomach—pregnant, I realized with a jolt. Me. She was talking about me.
The vision shifted, fracturing like glass. I saw my mother again, older now, in District 12, her face gaunt as she pressed the pendant into my hands. "Keep it safe, Lilia," she whispered, her voice weak. "It's who you are." Then darkness, and a scream—hers, mine, I couldn't tell.
"Lilia!" Kyle's voice yanked me back. I was on the floor, the pendant searing my palm, its glow fading. Kyle's hands were on my shoulders, his face inches from mine, his eyes wide with something close to fear. Isabelle and Alec hovered nearby, their weapons drawn, as if expecting an attack.
"What happened?" I croaked, my throat raw.
"You tell me," Kyle said, his voice tight. "You went rigid, then collapsed. Your rune was glowing like a damn beacon."
I sat up, my head pounding. "I saw… my mother," I said, the words tumbling out. "She was a Shadowhunter. She had the pendant, and she was running from something—someone called the Clave. She said it was dangerous."
Maryse, who'd entered during my vision, went still. "The Clave," she repeated, her voice low. "If your mother was Nephilim and fled, that explains the rune. But it doesn't explain how you ended up in another world."
"Panem's not exactly a vacation spot," I said, my voice bitter. "If she was running, it makes sense she'd hide there. No one asks questions when you're starving."
Kyle's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "We need to know more," he said. "If the Clave's involved, this isn't just about you. Forbidden runes don't just disappear—they're hidden for a reason."
Before anyone could respond, an alarm blared through the Institute, a piercing wail that made my ears ring. Red lights flashed along the walls, and the air grew heavy, like the prelude to a demon attack. Alec was already moving, his bow in hand. "Wards are down," he said, his voice sharp. "Something's trying to get in."
"Again?" Isabelle muttered, uncoiling her whip. "This is getting old."
Maryse's eyes locked on me. "Stay here," she ordered, but I was already on my feet, the staff in my hands. I wasn't about to sit this out, not when I'd just seen my mother's face, heard her voice. If this place held answers, I'd fight for them.
Kyle grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful. "You're not ready," he said, his voice low. "You barely survived the last one."
"I'm not hiding," I snapped, pulling free. "If this is my world now, I'm in it. All the way."
For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Fine. But if you die, I'm not explaining it to Maryse."
We moved as a group, the Shadowhunters' steps silent despite the chaos. The alarm grew louder as we reached the main hall, where the double doors rattled like something massive was slamming against them. Jace and Clary joined us, their faces grim. "It's not a demon," Jace said, his golden eyes narrowed. "It's something else. Human, but… wrong."
"Wrong how?" I asked, my grip tightening on the staff.
"Like it's been tampered with," Clary said, her voice tense. "There's magic on it—dark magic."
The doors burst open, and my breath caught. Three figures stood in the threshold, their silhouettes backlit by the flickering streetlights outside. They were human, or had been once. Their skin was gray, their eyes glowing an unnatural red, and their movements were jerky, like puppets on strings. They wore tattered uniforms—Peacekeeper uniforms, I realized with a jolt, the same white armor I'd seen in District 12. But these weren't Peacekeepers. Not anymore.
"What the hell?" Kyle muttered, his dagger gleaming as he stepped forward.
One of the figures lunged, faster than should've been possible, its clawed hands aiming for Isabelle. She dodged, her whip cracking, but the creature barely flinched as the lash tore through its arm. Alec fired an arrow, hitting it square in the chest, but it kept coming, its red eyes fixed on me.
"Lilia!" Kyle shouted, tackling me out of the way as the creature's claws raked the air where I'd stood. We hit the ground hard, his body shielding mine, and for a split second, I was hyper-aware of his warmth, his breath against my neck. Then he was up, pulling me with him, his dagger flashing as he slashed at the creature's throat. Black blood sprayed, and it collapsed, twitching.
The other two attacked, one charging Jace and Clary, the other coming for me. I swung the staff, my training kicking in, and caught it in the jaw. The impact jarred my arms, but it stumbled, giving Alec time to fire another arrow. This one glowed, and when it hit, the creature screamed, its body disintegrating into ash.
The third was down seconds later, Jace's sword buried in its chest. Silence fell, broken only by our ragged breathing. I stared at the Peacekeeper uniforms, my heart pounding. "Those were from Panem," I said, my voice shaking. "How are they here?"
Maryse's face was a mask of fury. "Someone's bridging worlds," she said. "And they're using dark magic to do it. This isn't just about your rune anymore, Lilia. This is war."
I clutched the pendant, its weight heavier than ever. My mother's voice echoed in my mind—*It's who you are.* But who was I? A girl from District 12, a Shadowhunter, or something else entirely? All I knew was that the answers were tied to this place, to the rune, to the monsters wearing Peacekeeper armor. And I'd fight through hell to find them.
Kyle stepped closer, his shoulder brushing mine. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
I nodded, though my hands trembled. "I have to be," I said. "For Mira."
He didn't say anything, but his hand rested on my arm for a moment, warm and steady. It was enough to keep me grounded, at least for now.
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**Author's Note**
Holy wow, Shadowhunters! 😱 Chapter 3 is here, and things are HEATING UP! What did you think of Lilia's vision and those creepy Peacekeeper-zombies? 😈 Any guesses about her mom's past or what's up with Kyle's whole "I've got your back" vibe? I'm living for your theories, so drop them in the comments! If you're vibing with this, please smash that vote button and add *Flames of the Shadows* to your library—I'm aiming for weekly updates, and trust me, the next chapter's gonna be wild. Thanks for reading, you absolute legends! 💖
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