Authors notes
Hello readers how are you.
The last Edenian is a reworking of Swansong, which was riddled with errors and had a complicated plot that was difficult to follow. This is the simplified version, which has fewer distractions and more coherent events. A few characters have been modified or completely swapped out.
I apologize in advance to those who enjoyed the original Swansong story and followed.
As a budding writer, your reviews are very important to me, so I will start responding to them in the Author Notes Section with the upcoming chapter.
Enjoy the story, and feel free to leave a review if you have any comments or questions; this will help the story get better.
PROLOGUE
You want to know my story? Fine. Before we dive into the here and now, I need to take you back to the moment everything changed—when I changed. So, sit down, put your feet up, and let me take you through the last four years of my life.
My name is Dorian Swan. I have a twin sister, Isabella Swan—but don't let her hear you call her that. She'll give you the death glare and a lecture about how she "prefers Bella." Our parents? Charlie Swan and Renee Dwyer. Salt-of-the-earth cop dad and free-spirited artist mom. They divorced when Bella and I were little. Bella got most of the attention—being similar in personality to my mom and all, even if she'd deny it—and I was just the quiet one tagging along in her shadow.
I was... well, let's just say I wasn't exactly a catch. Pale, five-foot-six, as skinny as a rake, and with the hand-eye coordination of a blindfolded toddler. Confidence? Not my strong suit. My body seemed like it was designed to betray me at every turn. Every misstep was a tumble into something sharp or solid. My collection of scars could've been a scrapbook of all my failed attempts to be normal.
Turns out, Bella wasn't much better. Clumsiness must've been genetic because she was just as prone to accidents. At least I wasn't alone in our shared Swan awkwardness.
But there was one thing I loved: hiking. There's something about the solitude, the quiet of the forest, that let me escape. Out there, I didn't have to worry about tripping in front of classmates or saying the wrong thing. It was just me, the trees, and my thoughts.
Four years ago, one of those hikes turned my world upside down.
It was a cool evening, the sun dipping low, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. I was on my way back, the trail crunching softly under my boots, when something in the sky caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a shooting star—a streak of light cutting through the dusky sky. But this wasn't a fleeting moment of beauty. The light grew brighter, hotter, and then boom.
The ground beneath me trembled as something crashed, not far from where I was. My heart was racing. Most people would've turned tail and run the other way. Me? I guess curiosity got the better of my common sense. I followed the glow through the trees, my feet stumbling over roots and rocks, until I found it.
A crater, still smoking. The air was heavy with the scent of scorched earth. My breath hitched as I stepped closer, peering into the shallow pit. At the center was a jagged rock, but it wasn't just a rock. It was... alive.
A strange, gray liquid oozed from a crack running along its surface, shimmering faintly in the dim light. I should've walked away. I should've run. But no, like the clueless idiot I was, I slid down into the crater for a closer look.
I don't know what I thought I'd find. Maybe I wanted to feel like one of those explorers you read about in books. Or maybe I just wasn't thinking at all. I reached out, my fingers hovering over the liquid. It looked so smooth, almost like mercury, but alive somehow.
The moment my hand got too close; it moved.
Fast.
Before I could pull back, the liquid shot up my arm like it had a mind of its own. It felt cold—freezing, actually—and I froze too, panic tightening my chest. "No, no, no!" I yelled, clawing at the stuff as it spread over my skin. It moved with purpose, covering my arm, my chest, my legs, until it had swallowed me whole.
I couldn't breathe. The cold was everywhere, piercing and unrelenting. My vision blurred, and just when I thought I'd pass out, the cold vanished.
The goo was gone. Or, no—it wasn't gone. It was inside me.
I stumbled back, gasping for air, my head spinning. That's when the images started. They hit me like a tidal wave, flooding my mind with things I couldn't explain.
Distant worlds with skies that burned green and oceans that shimmered like glass. Strange, alien landscapes filled with creatures I couldn't name. Memories of beings that weren't human, humanoid in shape but with eyes like burning coals, their faces twisting in pain as they were consumed by the same liquid. And then... silence.
When I came to, I was lying at the edge of the crater, staring up at the night sky. The stars looked... different. Clearer. Brighter. My heart pounded as I sat up, my body buzzing with an unfamiliar energy. Something had changed.
No. Everything had changed.
That was the moment I stopped being the clumsy, scarred kid no one noticed. That was the moment I became something... more. But it wasn't until later that I'd understand just how much I'd gained—and what it would cost me
Days after my encounter with E.T., the changes began. Subtle at first, but unmistakable. Bella and Mom didn't notice much; at thirteen years old, everyone just chalked it up to a growth spurt and the hormonal roulette of puberty. But I knew better.
The goo had rewritten me.
It started with my skin. The pale, almost translucent tone that had matched Bella's perfectly since birth darkened to a warm, sun-kissed tan. I looked like I'd just returned from surfing in California, even though I hadn't stepped foot outside of Arizona's dry heat. My face was still mine—still recognizable—but different. Sharper, more symmetrical, like some cosmic artist had refined every detail with a precision brushstroke. I could hardly recognize myself in the mirror.
Then there was my body. Gone was the gangly, scarred mess of limbs I'd been used to. My frame filled out in ways I hadn't thought possible. Muscle carved itself into me, lean and hard, like the compact build of a gymnast. I went from the clumsy kid who couldn't catch a ball to someone whose reflection could've graced a fitness magazine.
At first, I was stunned. Then, I was hooked.
It wasn't just about looking different. Feeling different was the real shocker.
The first time I noticed my speed, it was during gym class. The coach blew his whistle, signaling a hundred-meter dash. I started running, my mind lost in the rhythm of my feet pounding the track. When I crossed the finish line, the entire class stared at me, mouths agape. I'd finished before anyone else had even reached halfway. I brushed it off with an awkward laugh, but that night, curiosity got the better of me.
I snuck out of the house and found an empty stretch of road. I ran—faster and faster—until the world around me blurred into streaks of light and shadow. I wasn't just fast. I was impossible. By the end of the night, I'd clocked myself against a Lamborghini on the highway... and won.
Strength was another discovery. That one came accidentally. I'd been helping Mom move a piece of furniture, but when I gripped the coffee table to shift it, my hands went straight through the wood like it was cardboard. I tested myself in secret after that, pushing my limits. I lifted cars like they were toys, overturned boulders like they were pebbles. My greatest feat? Hoisting a train carriage off its tracks. I laughed the whole time—until I tried running with it and smashed into a stationary train. That explosion made the news. "Gas leak," they said. Sure. Let's go with that.
But it wasn't all physical.
My mind changed too. I'd always been a decent student, a bit of a nerd even, but now? Everything came so easily it was almost boring. My brain was a supercomputer, solving equations, memorizing books, and analyzing problems in ways I'd never imagined. I developed photographic memory and could solve calculus problems before the teacher finished writing them on the board. Even smell became an analytical tool. I could scent fear, stress, even lies clinging to someone like perfume.
And then there were the psychic powers.
At first, it was subtle—like a soft buzz of energy surrounding my mind. I didn't know what it was until I accidentally projected a thought into someone else's head. Watching their startled reaction was both hilarious and terrifying. Reading thoughts was harder; it took effort and focus. I couldn't read Bella at all, though. Maybe it was our twin bond or her stubborn nature, but her mind was an impenetrable wall. Telekinesis was laughable at best; I could move pebbles, paperclips, and not much else. Still, the thrill of it all made me feel like a superhero.
For four years, I kept my secret. I trained in silence, mastering my abilities and pushing my limits. I dove into martial arts—Brazilian jiu-jitsu, boxing, Muay Thai—channeling my newfound strength and speed into something disciplined. By seventeen, I'd grown into my new self, standing tall at six feet two with a fighter's build. My hair hung in loose waves to my shoulders, and I wore clothes that fit my muscular frame just snug enough to remind me how far I'd come.
Bella? She didn't share my enthusiasm for self-improvement. I tried to get her into exercising with me once. It ended with her spraining her ankle and glaring at me like I'd betrayed her. Lesson learned.
Life changed again when Mom met Phil, her baseball-playing boyfriend. They were good together, but his career meant constant travel. After a long talk (and several of Bella's patented tantrums), we agreed to let Mom live her life with Phil. We'd move to Forks, Washington, to stay with Dad. It wasn't just about giving Mom space; Bella needed stability, and I... well, maybe I just wanted a change.
The morning, we left, the air was warm—seventy-five degrees with a perfect cloudless sky. Mom drove us to the airport with the windows down, the wind rushing past. I leaned out, taking deep breaths of Phoenix's dry air, cataloging the scents I'd never realized I'd miss.
"Take care of your sister," Mom said, hugging me tightly at the gate. Her words carried more weight than she realized.
"I will," I promised.
As the plane ascended, I stared out the window, watching the Arizona desert fade into the distance. I wasn't just leaving a place. I was leaving the only version of myself Bella had ever known. Forks didn't know it yet, but everything was about to change. So was I.