Chapter Text
Alec Lightwood could not stay still.
Perhaps his proposal had been rushed, even if Alec did not doubt his love, but the timing. Yet Magnus was suffering. The future they could have had had been torn away from both of them. Alec did not know whether it had been the second loss that destroyed him, or whether Magnus had finally realized how much he had lost in order to save Alec.
But Magnus was suffering, and he would continue to suffer until that pain turned into hatred. It remained to be seen whether that hatred would be directed outward or, far more worryingly, inward.
Alec had said that relationships required commitment, and he would not step back from that commitment just because the relationship had become too much, too quickly.
Alec loved Magnus. And sometimes love required sacrifice.
Canceling a date with Magnus, using an obligation to the Clave as an excuse, Alec withdrew to the Sacristy beneath the Institute, dating back to the time when Jonathan Shadowhunter was still alive.
Alec had always been proud to serve where Shadowhunter had once served. To carry his vocation like a title.
Now, he would have to carry his faith.
He entered with the wooden disk in his hands.
With white chalk and a stele, Alec began carving the great Circle of the Seven Archangels into the floor. Every line was reinforced with a rune of Power, one of Vision, and one of Strength.
He lit seven white candles, each placed before the name of an Archangel.
And finally, he knelt at the center of the circle, closing his eyes and praying.
“For the blood of Raziel that flows in our veins.
For the Covenant that gave birth to the Shadowhunters.
I do not summon demons.
I do not make pacts with Hell.
I call upon those who serve the Light.
If my cause is just…
hear my plea.”
The seven candles began to flicker, without extinguishing, until everything became perfectly still, like the moment between sleep and waking.
Alec’s runes began to glow. One after another, patiently, calmly, until the sigil illuminated from the outer edge inward, reaching the center where Alec remained kneeling, perfectly still.
The air had become almost impossible to breathe.
Then the air turned pure, and Alec opened his eyes.
It was beautiful. Alec had no other words to describe what he saw. The clear forest, the wild animals, the flowing stream.
Everything spoke of peace, harmony. Of a blessing.
“Those who willingly cross the Threshold never return unchanged.”
The voice made Alec turn toward the one who had spoken.
The being who stood before him was tall, imposing, too perfect to be natural. Built from lines of force, he stood in a posture that did not acknowledge gravity.
He was blond, his eyes a glassy blue, looking at Alec yet not truly seeing him—or perhaps seeing him too well. A face without wrinkles or imperfections, yet also without human warmth.
A radiance surrounded him, clinging to his garments like a second skin, unable to separate itself from his presence.
Finally, enormous white wings appeared, stealing Alec’s breath away.
“It has been since the time of the Mundane I once blessed with my blood that such faith has not reached me, Alexander Lightwood,” the angel, Raziel, spoke. His voice left his mouth but reached Alec’s mind. “The Threshold is not for all, yet even I cannot resist pure faith.”
“Angel Raziel,” Alec bowed his head, then lowered himself and knelt. “I have come to ask a favor of you.”
“What you ask, it is possible,” Raziel murmured. “But every request demands a price. Clarissa Fairchild learned that at her own expense.”
Alec clenched his jaw, unwilling to mention that it had been Jace who paid the price. Alec would have used the Gift to bring Magnus back, but if Clary had paid attention to any of Alec’s lessons, she would have learned on her own that there is always a price. Perhaps she would have asked more precisely.
“I have not yet said what I have come here for,” Alec replied, lifting his gaze and daring to meet the angel’s eyes.
Raziel burst out laughing.
It sounded like bells ringing, birds singing at dawn, and Magnus’s heart beating at dusk.
“My son,” Raziel said after his laughter faded, “your heart, your mind, and your soul are screaming for your love.”
“What?” Alec asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Stand up, Alexander,” Raziel replied, gesturing for Alec to rise. “There is no reason for you to remain on your knees.”
After a moment of hesitation, Alec stood.
His gaze never left Raziel’s.
“A mortal cannot endure loving as an angel loves,” Raziel murmured. “And yet you, my child, love as only an angel can love. Fiercely, intensely, with an eternal fire that cannot be extinguished.”
“Please,” Alec said. He had never begged anyone, and yet Magnus made him lose all pride. What did his own dignity matter if Magnus was suffering? “Give Magnus back his magic and his immortality.”
Raziel tilted his head, studying Alec. Perhaps he was judging how honest Alec’s prayer was. Or how desperate his love had become.
“Magnus Bane will be happy again, my child, with time and your presence,” Raziel said.
“He will never be happy again,” Alec shook his head, remembering Magnus’s broken sobs. “He may adapt, but Magnus does not deserve to fade and wither. Not because of me. Not because of Asmodeus.”
Raziel nodded slowly. “There is a price. I can take back the magic and immortality Asmodeus took from Magnus, and return them to him.”
“Thank you,” Alec exhaled, overwhelmed by relief the moment Raziel spoke those words, that promise.
“There is a price,” Raziel repeated, fixing Alec with his gaze. “Are you willing to pay it?”
“For Magnus, there is no price I would not pay,” Alec said, swore, and Raziel nodded.