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“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”

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It wasn’t fun having the Sight, and being able to see the things that just shouldn’t exist. It was annoying because no one else could see what I could, or bothered to try. Not my classmates at school. Not my two, closest friends in the whole world. No one. Just me, and Solomon, the warlock who took me in after my parents died.
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Solomon Dume was an imposing character, to say the least. He was also a prominent and formidable warlock who took pity on me because I could see his tail. He plucked me off the streets, gave me a room and welcomed me into a world that I wasn’t supposed to know about. One that had more than enough magic, demons, and angels with a thing for leather, for some reason.
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To prying eyes, I was his young assistant. Pulling my weight in his shop in exchange for a roof over my head. And despite that little white lie, Solomon never let me anywhere near his dealings. Especially those that involved angels. In his words, I might have some Fey blood in me, but not nearly enough to get involved in anything Downworld-y.
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And, as much as I’d like to say I went against Sol’s warning and stuck my nose in a spellbook, I didn’t. And even if I wanted too, I couldn’t. Sight or no Sight, I was still a mundane. A mundane who still had haunting nightmares about the demons who took everything from me. One who couldn’t get over the guilt of running away to the sound of their raw screams in the night.
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Solomon created a decent replacement life for me, and I wasn’t going to mess that up for anything. Not willingly, at least.
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The older I got, the more apparent it was that I wanted nothing to do with the so-called Shadow World. And this change faced some resistance. Solomon was astonished by my lack of interest in meeting an angel. He grappled with why I’d favour going to football practice over watching him cast powerful spells. And what teenager would choose to do mundane homework when visiting the Spiral Labyrinth. That last one did happen, but it sold the point.
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I was preparing for my blissfully ignorant life as a mundane. Solomon said that the more I tried not to see, the less that I would see. He promised that one day, I’d just wake up as mundane as a mundane could be, and I looked forward to it. I was doing everything to remove any doubt that it would happen. And, I was preparing for a future without Solomon in it. Sol took that last bit hard, but he understood better than most. And, like a good foster warlock, he supported me.
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Unfortunately, this was going to be a promise that he couldn’t keep. I was out with my friends that night. And though my Sight was on its way out, I couldn’t help seeing them. A swarm of demons so thick, it looked like rain clouds over Downtown. I didn’t hesitate to run to the heart of it all. And it was all because of a note Solomon had left behind. Don’t wait up for me. Have some business Downtown. It was all centred in a gutted-out building. Inside, a battle raged, and Solomon was in the thick of it.
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Engulfed by the new textbook definition of mayhem. I was momentarily distracted when a stele rolled over to me. For the first time in years, curiosity got the better of me. I picked it up, just as one of those flying demons tackled me to the ground. I hit my head and saw black, but I was alright. Minus the demon smell stuck in my nose, Solomon assured me that I'd live to fight another day. Another promise.
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I tried to go back to the life I was slowly transitioning into. I really did try hard, and with Solomon’s help too. But things were different. My waning site was back and working like a charm. What’s more, my stunt proved that there wasn’t Fey blood in my veins. The blood of an angel did. It was several generations removed, that much Solomon could confirm, but it was there. It was why I was able to activate the sword I failed to return. A fact that hadn’t escaped its intimidating owner.
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She wasn’t at all angry. She wore a smile on her face as she exchanged pleasantries with Solomon. Still bearing evidence of the previous battle. Looking more and more imposing the longer I stared at her. Eventually, she turned to me, shook my hand, and waited for me to return her blade to her. She thanked me, turned to leave, and my heart fell. This was likely the last time I’d be this close to a Shadowhunter. After all, I had my life to get back to, a university to enrol in, and my sexuality to explore.
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It would have been a decent life, and I would have been happy. And yet, just thinking about it and contrasting it with what it’d witnessed confirmed that I didn’t want it. Half aware of what I was doing, I called out to the departing Shadowhunter. She stopped, turned, and smirked not at me, but at Solomon, who wore the brightest grin ever. Apparently, they’d wagered on how long it’d take me to admit that I wanted it. Solomon won, wagering less than thirty seconds.
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Once again, I hurt Solomon’s feelings with how hastily I packed just enough of my possessions. He made another promise to handle the life I was leaving behind. Then he sent me on my way with a handful of warnings and something that’d bring me right back home if I changed my mind. I knew that I wouldn’t, though, but I hugged him as if I might.
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It took some time to adjust, but I grew to consider Idris my home now. I’d ascended and was just as much a Nephilim as my classmates at the Academy. And once I’d acclimated, I thrived better than what others might have expected. Like a sponge, I soaked up every drop of my new history, customs, and beliefs. Though I wasn’t the best at it, I more than just held my own with a sword. However, I was peerless when I had a throwing knife in my hand.
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Unquestionably, my instructors felt that I was a welcomed addition to the corps. Even if they failed to show it. Some of my classmates, however, felt otherwise. They took issue with the fact that I had a Downworlder as my foster parent. They took offence whenever I talked about or stood up for Solomon and the few other Downworlders I knew. And they especially hated the fact that I regularly question the continued use of the label – Downworlder.
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I was ganged up on a lot, but I broke my fair share of noses, wrists, and ribs. When asked to explain the incident, I always liked for them. I didn’t want to risk losing what I’d found. I looked forward to the day when I returned to New York, a full-fledged Shadowhunter. It was the life that I chose, and shitty kids and their bigoted parents weren’t going to take that from me. From then on, I kept my head down and my hands clean, though I never bothered to keep my mouth shut.
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And despite taking the longer route, I graduated faster, and with high honours, than the other mundane recruits. For it, it was expected that I’d join the elites at the Scholomance, but I wasn’t interested. I’d had my fill of elitist, intolerant Shadowhunters, and opted to continue my training at the Seoul Institute, in Korea. And it was the best decision I ever made. New York could wait a few more years. Not like the City was going anywhere.
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Without a doubt, the Seoul Institute was where I needed to go, even if just for a year or two. Ruth and Lester, the Korean couple who ran the Institute, welcomed me as if I was their long-lost son. Without any children of their own, Lester had an excuse to put his cooking skills to use. And Ruth loved spending time honing my marksmanship and my swordsmanship. I couldn’t pin it at first, but then it dawned that Ruth and Lester reminded me of my parents. And then I spiralled because it’d been a while since I thought about my mom and dad.
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Dedicating myself to my sworn duties helped lift my mood. Lester helped, but regularly sending me out on patrols, trusting me with Downworlder-related investigations, and dispatching me to clear out some wayward demons. Ruth turned me into a killing machine. I mastered the art of knife throwing and had become an expert swordsman under her careful tutelage. The icing on the cake, though, was knowing that they felt just as strongly about Downworlders as I did.
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That brings me to my contribution towards lifting my mood. I started running in circles with a warlock named Hakkun Djin, and his vampire lover, Lee Gyongsi. They took me to all of the best fey clubs for drinks and an endless night of flirting. I impressed Djin’s warlock friends with my stories about Solomon and what little magical knowledge I’d gleaned. And, I regularly slept with an eager werewolf who preferred to go by just Kun.
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It was the best two years of my life, so far. Unfortunately, I had a promise to keep. The new head of the New York Institute was expecting me, and Solomon was preparing a massive Welcome Home party for me. I hated leaving Seoul, but I made a promise to go back. Besides, if there was ever an institute that I’d want to run, it’d be that one.
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It felt unusual returning to New York City as Aristotle Foxblood. Solomon very much approved of my change in name. He gave me the biggest hug ever, relieved me of my burdens, and introduced me to a house full of guests. Mostly strangers with a few familiar faces thrown in. After I'd had my fill of merriment, I moved into the New York Institute and introduced myself to the person in charge. Before I could even settle in, I already had my first assignment. The haste was thanks to the glowing recommendations received from the Heads of the Seoul Institute.
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I got to work, and I kept working ever since. I upheld the rules of the Clave, without compromising my beliefs that Downworlders weren’t what most Shadowhunters were content to believe. In doing so, I'd inadvertently positioned myself as the Institutes most effective liaison with the Shadow World. This earned as many raised eyebrows as it did nods of approval. Regardless, I carried out my duties as efficiently and as effectively as possible.
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The following years were a mixed bag of hellish, uneventful, and “did that really just happen”. I worked up way up through the ranks, befriended like-minded people, and tried to have as much fun as I did back in Seoul. Though I couldn’t always visit, I always sent Ruth and Lester birthday cards, and anniversary gifts. One birthday, they sent me the wildest looking birthday card, a brand-new pair of throwing knives, and a letter suggesting that I join the Council.
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On the surface, it was making sure that the Seoul Institute could pass to me when they were ready to retire. Below the surface, Ruth and Lester were just as aware of the growing negativity towards Downworlders from other Shadowhunters. Precisely, the ones who’d spent their entire, pampered lives in Alicante, and acted like they owned the world. For things to improve, the Downworld presence on the Council needed more Shadowhunter support, and they thought I’d be a good fit. In true parental fashion, they acted before telling, and I had no objections.
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It took some doing, but I pulled it off. The Foxblood name was a fixture in enough circles for my reputation to precede me. With their trust, the local Enclave voted me onto the Council. Nothing could have made Solomon any prouder. Except finally meeting Ruth and Lester when they popped over to congratulate me. The four of us sitting down for dinner and talking about life was surreal. It was nice having my entire family under one roof. Even if for just one celebratory night.

[attr="class","bioline"]aristotle foxblood

[attr="class","bioline"]ares

[attr="class","bioline"]twenty six

[attr="class","bioline"]cismale

[attr="class","bioline"]pansexual

[attr="class","bioline"]shadowhunter

[attr="class","bioline"]council member

[attr="class","bioline"]october 27th

[attr="class","bioline"]lee hoseok [wonho]

[attr="class","bioline"]alias - reddy

[attr="class","bioicon"]