The skies had opened up in full blast above the small remote town of Raven-Hallow, the rain drenched the narrow stone cobbled streets in a mere few seconds, the raindrops bounced and danced off any solid object it managed to reach. Things were always quiet in the town, it had just over a thousand residents, and roughly sixty percent of that population were pensioners wanting to spend the rest of their lives in peace away from the bustling cities away from the busy streets, filled with the working population, ten  percent of the towns residence were middle age people, a few newlyweds that had set up home briefly until they had worked up enough money to move on, not that there was a lot of job opportunities going around, there was a few shops, a vintage book shop that was owned by Mr Terry, a seventy six year old man who had been running the shop for well over thirty years, he was roughly five foot nine, wore big thick square shaped glasses, pale grey hair flowed on top of his head, people only saw it if he took his hat off to greet the elder ladies of the town on his way home from work, he looked quite young for his age, his apparent secret to staying young was keeping out of the way of the young ones and mind one’s own business only getting involved if absolute necessary. There were a few small end super markets and groceries big enough to keep the town stocked with fresh food, the next town Silver-Wein was fifty eight miles away, the space between the two towns was nothing but vast space and trees, not the ideal place you want to get stuck although there is two petrol stations between the towns they often are abandoned.

Each town around the country had something about it that makes it different and interesting. For Raven-Hallow was the Institute, a tall grey building with many towers and spires, with it’s dark stone walls and stained glassed windows, it functions like an embassy in an mundane government, it was built at the top of the town on hallowed ground that has always been heavily warded. Their purpose? It is the home for the Nephilim commonly known throughout the modern societies as Shadowhunters, the doors to the institute remain locked to those lacking Nephilim blood, the blood can be drunk from the mortal cup, a cup believed to be guarded by the angels, or you get the genes from Nephilim parents, the reverse regarding the doors is the same, the doors will open up to anyone possessing Nephilim blood regardless of where they have travelled from. There are Institutes all over the world, each building is visually different, designed to fit in with it’s surroundings as to not bring too much attention to itself, for example in Raven-Hallow to outsiders the building looks like a giant outdated cathedral, despite this all buildings are built the with the same materials and in the same conditions, the mortar that is used for the buildings’ stones are always mixed with blood of Shadowhunters, the wooden beams that adorn the rooms are made from rowan and the nails holding it up are of silver, iron or in some cases electrum. Each of the larger institutes in the world has the room to house hundreds of Shadowhunters although a majority of hunters do not live at an institute permanently, most buildings have only a small number of permanent residents. In the tiny town of Raven-Hallow there were a few young adults who called Raven-Hallow Institute their home. The thing that makes it different from the rest however, was that it was an academy training the current and next generation of hunters.

“Are you not eating that?” Ella Aspen-Weather looked up from her unfinished plate of