He always loved to read on the hill. Not only was it an escape from the obsessive chatter and meaningless gossip of civilization, but it reminded him of his childhood. Even as he lay on his back, cherishing each word that fluttered off the worn, battered novel he held, memories of playing hide and seek, scraping his knee on the rich green fields, and even the tragedy of loss scarred the back of his mind, like a tattoo engraved on his brain.  

Rarely did he get the pleasantry of being alone and excluded from society, so he held onto each second as one would dangling from a cliff. His eyelids fluttered as the crisp, humid breeze of the distant ocean current brushed against his cheeks, which were red from the cold. Much to his annoyance, he had to brush his dark hair out of his eyes as he-as well as his heart- gave a sudden jolt, digging his mind deeper into the book as it threw yet another surprise at him. 

His mind seemingly pieced the scene he was reading through into a vivid image, until he wasn't just reading the book, he was living it. He could feel the hot sun-though it was shaded and hidden by grey clouds-he could see the merchant reaching for the gun, he could feel as the main character gave a thrilling leap across the building, desperately trying to reach the distancing carriage. Though he was now on his side, his body appearing calm, his heart rate seemed to be racing along with the story, it quickened as mysteries began to unravel, seemed to skip a beat as characters were faced with hard choices. 

He'd been reading on the hill for several hours now, and his neck was beginning to ache from holding it in the same position for so long. He wore a stele at his side, which dug at his ribs as he glanced up into the sky. The clouds had shed their bright, sheep fur like appearance to become dark and wispy, and he could tell that a storm was coming. Which meant it would probably be smart to start his long walk home. 

Then again, he was a mere six pages until the next chapter. Seeing as he simply could not end without finishing the chapter, he rolled over again, so his chest was pressed against the thick grass, and fiercely began reading.  

Five chapters and six position changes later-one that included him uncomfortably arching his back over as to prevent the sudden pounding rain from meeting the pages of his book- he was nearly done with the book. All around, lightning and thunder clapped in the distance, partnered with some heavy rain. To some, this would indicate a sense of discomfort, but to him, it only made things more exciting. It wasn't until the ground underneath him gave a sudden lurching shake did he realize it wasn't the thunder and lightning that was causing the deep, gravelly boom in the distance. 

His Shadowhunter training seemed to kick in, and he was on his feet within seconds, assessing his surroundings. London was visible in the distance, and scattered houses and barns surrounded him. It wasn't until his sharp eye noticed the strange looking cloud around twenty meters away did he begin to rush down the lushly green hill. Technically, he should have been slow and cautious, seeing as he'd sneaked into private property to read dramatically on the hill, but his wandering mind latched itself onto the twisting mass a few meters ahead. 

Looking like an upside down tornado, a swirling black whisk of clouds had formed a reasonably large hole in the ground, propelling pellets of dirt and minerals into the air. Around him, various sheep had scattered, blindly racing away from the strange tornado like clouds. As a particularly questionable wet sludge landed on his cheek, he grabbed onto the closet thing to him-which happened to be a panicking sheep-and held on as a mix of rocks and dirt and hurricane like wind attacked his body. 

His heart seemed to be racing as fast as the winds blew around him as he squinted through it all, barely able to see the dark purple, lighting like vines of light twining together into what looked like a doorway. It was some sort of portal, but where from? And who was attempting to teleport into the middle of England's country side? 

Not knowing how long he grappled onto the wildly panicking sheep-which had gone limp in his arms either from heart attack of lack of breath due to his tight hold, his dirt and grass smudged face managed to gaze upwards as the wind came to a jerking halt. 

A young man stood there, his dark eyes assessing the scenery with mild interest. He wore gear, which was tight against his broad shoulders and chest, as if he'd stolen them from someone smaller than him. He had pale white hair, and as his unnaturally dark eyes rested on the boy holding the limp sheep, his curved lips sneering. "Who are you?" 

The boy blinked, before quickly straightening up and attempting to look presentable. "Err...Will. Herondale..." He cleared his throat, aware of the boy's eyes on him. Sliding back into his social personality, he pointed his chin up and smiled a bit awkwardly as he said, "I hope your not some sort of angel sent to lightning bolt me out of existence due to my scandalous life choices?" 

"My names Sebastian Morgenstern." the boy replied with a wicked grin, "What did you say your last name was?"