Forks, Washington. Cloud cover: 98%. Rain forecast: inevitable. As always.
The woods stretched for miles, dense with pine, moss, and mist. The canopy swayed in the rhythm of the wind, whispering secrets in a language older than memory. Near the edge of the Cullen family estate, on a rise shielded from human eyes by old-growth trees and thick fog, a figure moved through the forest like a ghost through smoke. The moss beneath his feet didn't crunch. The leaves didn't rustle. He moved in harmony with nature, like a thought sliding through memory—silent and seamless, untouched by time.
Fifteen in body, older than most continents in soul, Kieran Vale Cullen crouched in the underbrush, fingers stained a dull crimson. Not with fresh blood, but with powdered deer plasma he was distilling from field samples gathered earlier that day. A small mobile cooler beside him emitted a soft hum, powered by a generator of his own invention. Its core was built from salvaged parts, jury-rigged into something resembling science fiction. Some components were things he remembered how to build. Others came to him in dreams—fragments of a life that felt both near and impossibly far. It was quiet work, repetitive and precise, and he enjoyed it. There was calm in routine, peace in precision. Here, in the forest, the world outside slowed down enough to feel manageable.
He wasn't hiding. Not exactly. But he wasn't looking to be found either. The forest gave him something the modern world couldn't: control. It didn't care about emotions or expectations. The soil didn't judge. The trees didn't ask questions. And the blood he worked with, at least, followed rules. A small comfort. Every equation had an answer. Every formula, a result. No lies. No masks. Just chemistry, structure, results.
The woods were sacred. Not because of their silence, but because of their honesty. The forest didn't pretend. It didn't posture or perform. Kieran liked it here. The isolation was a comfort, not a punishment. The tall trees and damp air were like a buffer between him and the endless questions that hovered in the periphery of his mind. Questions he had no interest in answering. Here, in the shadow of ancient trees, he didn't need to explain himself or filter his behavior. He could be exactly what he was: strange, brilliant, dangerous, and completely still.
He adjusted the mixture in his vial, his sharp eyes catching a reaction he hadn't seen before. A soft shimmer. Subtle. Delicate. He tilted his head, amused. Logged it. Something to examine later. The science grounded him. It gave structure to the strange rhythm of his existence. He preferred it over noise, over conversation. Chemistry was predictable. Reactions were honest. He liked things that made sense, that followed rules he could manipulate or redefine. In a life full of chaos, science was his cathedral.
Alice had mentioned the air felt strange lately. Her visions had gone cloudy, unpredictable. She chalked it up to something unusual on the horizon. But Kieran didn't care. He didn't try to guess the future. He had learned long ago that life didn't care about plans. Whatever came next, it would find him when it was ready. And he'd be ready enough when it did. For now, this was enough. The world was complicated, but his forest was simple.
Above him, a hawk wheeled across the sky. Kieran's red eyes followed its path, tracking the minute shift in its feathers as it dipped into a glide. A predator without apology. He admired that. Nature didn't worry about consequences—it simply moved. Kieran liked to believe he was the same way, though he knew deep down he was far more calculating. The hawk moved because it had to. Kieran moved because he chose to. There was a difference.
He wiped his hands on a cloth tucked into his jacket pocket. Irina had embroidered it—a tiny stitched wolf near the corner. He had called her out for it, of course, and she'd only laughed. She always found a way to push his boundaries, sometimes just to watch him smirk. Her presence was chaos wrapped in warmth, and somehow, he wouldn't have changed a thing. She understood him in ways no one else did. She let him be himself, unfiltered, unpredictable, unbreakable.
The breeze shifted. He caught a scent. Alice first. Then Edward. Then, faintly, Esme's perfume—lingering from a recent hug, maybe. Or from Edward's reluctance to completely separate from their mother's grounding influence. He stood without urgency, knowing they'd find him eventually. They always did. They knew his spots. His habits.
"He's over here," Edward called, voice low but not strained. Not urgent. Just announcing the inevitable.
Alice stepped lightly into the clearing, her expression bright as ever. "You're going to miss the next hunt if you don't head back soon."
Kieran didn't turn to look at her right away. "Still working."
Edward glanced around at the setup. "Still bleeding the forest in the name of science?"
"Something like that."
Alice crossed her arms. "Esme wants everyone back before dark. She says dinner isn't the same without the whole family."
Kieran capped his vial and stood, not in a rush. "Let's not keep her waiting, then."
He fell in step between them. Neither spoke as they moved through the trees, and that was fine by Kieran. He didn't need to fill silence with words. Not when everything that mattered lived just beneath the surface. He could hear the way Alice hummed when she walked, a faint melody only someone like him would notice. Edward's gait was even, measured, almost too quiet. But he noticed. He noticed everything.
The Cullen house emerged from the mist like a memory. Sleek, glass walls framed by timber and quiet light. From a distance, it seemed to float between the trees—too perfect for something built by human hands. It was still, calm, and yet always alive. Home. A strange word for someone who'd never really had one before now.
Irina stood on the porch. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowed. Foot tapping. Her hair was untouched by the wind. She had that expression again, the one that meant she was worried but hiding it under irritation.
"You left without telling me again," she said.
Kieran offered a lazy smile. "I was collecting samples."
She held out her hand without responding. He dropped a sealed capsule into it. The shimmer caught her eye, and her posture softened.
"Still perfecting the structure," he said.
"Naturally," she replied, leaning in to kiss him. It was possessive and unapologetic. He returned it, calm and amused. Let her think she was winning.
Inside, the house pulsed with quiet energy. Rosalie perched at the edge of the couch, polishing her nails. Her expression unreadable. Emmett lay sprawled beside her, flicking through channels, barely paying attention. Jasper stood by the window, unmoving, his gaze somewhere past the horizon. Always the watchful soldier.
Alice glided through the space, pausing now and then to straighten a picture frame, or a vase. She said nothing. She didn't need to. Her silence was its own signal.
Carlisle appeared in the hall, coat still damp from the mist outside. "Everyone here?"
Edward descended the stairs with a nod. "Now we are."
Esme leaned in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. "Let's not make a fuss tonight."
Rosalie exhaled, sharp but wordless. Emmett simply shrugged.
Kieran lingered at the edge of the room, a silent observer as always. He didn't interrupt their rhythm. He just listened. Took it in. This was his family, whether he looked like their son or their shadow. And in a way, he was both.
The light outside dimmed further. Fog thickened against the glass.
Irina leaned toward him, voice low. "Still feel it? The tension?"
Kieran nodded once. "Yeah. But I'm not worried."
The night pressed on. Eventually the house quieted, each of them slipping away to their respective corners. Edward sat brooding on the roof. Alice vanished to her sketchbooks. Carlisle returned to his study. Esme folded laundry she didn't need to wash. Rosalie and Emmett disappeared into the garage. Jasper never moved from the window.
Kieran made his way down into the lower level of the house—his lab. A space built with reinforced steel and glass. Climate-controlled. Organized chaos. Here, everything had a place. Everything had a function. He passed rows of experimental chambers. Cooling tanks. Molecular isolators. The hum of machines was the closest thing to peace he knew. Science was his sanctuary. It didn't require masks or diplomacy.
At the far end, a long shelf stood empty. Next to it, blueprints. Scattered notes. Drafts of something yet to exist. A menu of ideas waiting to be born. He stared at them for a long time. The framework of thoughts. The ideas waiting for the right moment to materialize. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a decade from now.
He reached out, let his fingers trace the edge. He didn't know why he hadn't finished any of them. He just knew it wasn't time. Not yet.
Across town, a girl zipped her last suitcase.
She looked at the clouds with a frown she didn't understand. Just a feeling. Just air pressure. Just something.
Kieran felt it too. Not in his bones. Not in his gut. But in the space behind his thoughts. A stillness that came before change. A sense that the atmosphere had leaned in a little closer, waiting for someone to speak first.
He didn't brace. Didn't prepare.
He just smiled to himself.
Let it come.
He had better ones to serve.
Bella
Phoenix, Arizona. The sun beat down on the cracked driveway, painting everything in dry gold and sharp shadows. Heat shimmered off the hood of her mom's old red pickup as Bella Swan shut it with a soft, final thud. Her fingers slipped slightly on the metal—damp with sweat, or maybe nerves. Probably both.
She hated being the center of attention. Hated fuss. Big changes made her uncomfortable, and this move—this uprooting—was the biggest yet. She wasn't the kind of person who made bold choices. She didn't like change. She didn't want it. But she was going anyway.
She was leaving Phoenix. Leaving the warm light, the palm trees, the dry air, the life she'd built with her mother. She was leaving her school, her friends, and a weather pattern she could depend on. She was going to Forks. The rainiest town in the entire United States. Charlie's town. The place where the clouds never lifted, and the scent of rain hung thick in the air like a second skin.
Behind her, the little yellow house buzzed with low-level chaos. Renee kept pacing in and out of the front door, adjusting things that didn't need adjusting, looking for anything she might've missed. Phil stood off to the side, doing his best to look supportive and invisible all at once. He was trying not to seem relieved. Bella didn't blame him. If she were him, she'd be glad too. Glad she wasn't dragging a moody teenage daughter around during baseball season.
Renee darted down the steps with Bella's backpack clutched to her chest like a life vest.
"You almost forgot this," she said, pressing it into Bella's arms like she was handing over something sacred.
Bella offered a tight smile. "Thanks, Mom."
"It's only for a little while," Renee said, her voice too cheerful.
"I know," Bella said, pulling away gently from her mother's hovering hands.
"You'll call when you land?"
"Yeah. As soon as I see Charlie."
"And if you need anything—"
"I'll be okay."
Bella wasn't trying to be brave. She was trying to be logical. Calm. It was easier that way. No crying. No dramatics. Just facts. This was what made the most sense. She didn't belong in Phil's fast-moving, travel-heavy life, and Renee deserved to follow her heart. Bella had decided to do the grown-up thing: let them be happy. That didn't mean it was easy. It just meant it was right.
The airport was a blur. Everything buzzed around her—people rushing to gates, the constant hum of overhead announcements, the squeak of suitcase wheels and the smell of recycled air. She drifted through it all in a fog, head down, hoodie up, doing her best to be invisible.
The flight itself was long and uneventful, but every minute felt heavier the closer they got to Washington. The plane's window was cold against her cheek. The desert faded into mountains, and soon the only color outside was gray. As they descended into Port Angeles, the clouds looked like they had sunk to the ground, swallowing the town in silence.
Forks.
Even the name sounded damp.
The airport was small and quiet, just like she remembered. As Bella stepped into the terminal, a chill bit through her jacket. It smelled like rain and old wood. She scanned the terminal quickly.
Charlie Swan stood near the baggage carousel, just as she expected. Still tall, still broad-shouldered in that sheriff's kind of way. His hair was grayer than before, but not by much. His mustache was the same. When his eyes met hers, they softened a little.
"Bells," he said, voice rough but warm.
"Hey, Charlie."
They did the half-hug thing. Brief. Awkward. Familiar. It was fine. They weren't huggers. That was understood.
"Got your bags?" he asked.
"Yeah." She lifted them with ease.
"Truck's right outside. Let's beat the next rain wave."
She followed him to the parking lot. The cold hit her more fully once the automatic doors whooshed open. Everything smelled like pine and asphalt and damp leaves. Her boots made soft scuffs on the wet concrete. She tried not to shiver.
The ride to Forks was mostly quiet, save for the rhythm of the wipers on the windshield and the occasional soft grunt from Charlie. The trees outside were a blur of greens and browns, towering overhead like ancient watchmen. Rain tapped the roof like a slow metronome. The silence didn't bother Bella. She found it comforting. Familiar, even.
Charlie cleared his throat as they turned down a winding road. "Got your room all set up. Just like it was. Didn't touch your stuff."
Bella nodded. "Thanks."
"Oh—and I tuned up the truck. Figured you'd want to be able to drive yourself around."
That made her blink. "You still have it?"
"Runs just fine," he said, like that explained everything.
They pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was a small, two-story thing tucked between tall trees and overgrown grass. The porch creaked as they stepped onto it. It looked the same. Exactly the same. The same place she'd left behind all those years ago, caught in a time loop of rain and silence.
Her room was just how she remembered it. Pale blue walls. Lace curtains. A bed that squeaked when she sat on it. The dresser still had the same old mirror, slightly warped. The closet smelled like cedar. She dropped her suitcase by the door and sat.
The silence pressed in. But it didn't feel bad.
She unpacked slowly. One piece at a time. Her books on the shelves. Clothes in the drawers. Laptop on the desk. The routine helped.
Outside, rain whispered against the roof.
She sat by the window and watched the drops streak down the glass. Forks was exactly what she expected. Quiet. Gray. Unmoving. Like a photograph that never changed. But beneath all that, something tugged at her—a flicker of unease she couldn't name.
No tears. No second-guessing.
Just breathing.
This was her new normal. For better or worse.
Forks waited outside.
And far beyond the trees, deeper than the forest's hush, something else was waiting too. Something she couldn't see. Not yet. Something ancient. Unfolding. Silent.
Bella didn't know that yet.
Not today.
Today was just the beginning.