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 be answering them with every chapter I release, starting with this chapter.
ElenaEffe: yes, she's going to be one of the main characters, and will play a crucial role in the story, I hope you like what I have in store for her.
Thank you for the reviews and enjoy the story, and feel free to leave a review if you have any comments or questions; this will help the story get better.
CHAPTER ONE
Homecoming
The wheels kissed the tarmac with a jolt, the plane lurching slightly as it began to slow. Rain streaked across the tiny window, distorting the gray blur of Port Angeles beneath us. The overcast skies seemed to hang low, pressing against the mountains in the distance. I stared at the droplets sliding down the glass and exhaled. Welcome home, Dorian. Forks awaits.
The journey had been grueling—four hours from Phoenix to Seattle, an agonizing layover, and then another hour cramped into a tiny plane that felt more like a tin can with wings. And now, we still had the drive. As the plane taxied to the gate, I turned to Bella, who was fiddling with the strap of her bag. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, her expression neutral, but I knew better. She wasn't looking forward to this.
"I told you," I said, nudging her shoulder. "Say your goodbyes to the sun. It's raincoats and umbrellas from here on out."
She stuck her tongue out at me, her usual rebuttal when she couldn't be bothered to come up with a better response. I smirked. "Real mature, sis."
The terminal was quiet as we disembarked, the kind of quiet you only find in small-town airports. As we stepped outside, the rain greeted us with cold splatters against our skin. Bella pulled her jacket tighter around her and muttered something about the weather, but I barely heard her. My eyes were on the parking lot, scanning for the one person who'd been a constant presence in our lives, even from afar.
And there he was. Dad stood by his police cruiser, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket. He looked the same as always—gruff, slightly awkward, but undeniably happy to see us.
Bella's face twisted into a brief grimace at the sight of the cruiser before she quickly masked it with her usual calm. I couldn't help but laugh internally, already picturing her sitting in the back seat like a kid in trouble. She hated attention, and being chauffeured in the police car was bound to draw a few stares in Forks.
As we approached, Dad stepped forward, offering us each his signature one-armed hug. "It's good to see you, Bells. Dory."
I cringed. That nickname was the bane of my existence. "Dory" had stuck ever since Bella and Mom decided it was hilarious to compare me to the forgetful fish from Finding Nemo. It didn't matter how much I protested; the name had taken root, even with Dad.
"Hey, Dad," I said, forcing a grin as I swallowed my annoyance. Bella returned his hug, and they exchanged the usual pleasantries.
"How's Renée?" he asked.
"She's good," Bella replied, a bit stiffly. "It's good to see you too, Dad."
I could tell she was struggling not to call him Charlie. Old habits die hard.
Dad turned his attention to me, giving me a once-over. "What've they been feeding you in Phoenix, Dory? You're huge!"
I chuckled, brushing it off. "What can I say, Dad? I'm a growing boy."
We loaded our bags into the cruiser. Bella had packed lightly, but I'd crammed a bit more into my duffels—mostly my training gear and a few sentimental items from Arizona. As I slid into the front passenger seat, Bella climbed into the back with a look that said she was already over it.
The drive to Forks began with the usual small talk. Charlie told Bella about the truck he'd gotten for us—a gift from Billy Black, an old family friend. Bella perked up at that, asking about the make and model. I listened, half-distracted, until Charlie shifted the conversation to me.
"So, what've you been up to, Dory?"
"Training, mostly," I said. "I've been doing martial arts—jiu-jitsu, boxing, Muay Thai. Just got my brown belt before we left Phoenix."
Charlie nodded, clearly impressed, but didn't press for details. Like Bella, he wasn't much for prolonged conversation. Once he'd hit his quota of words, the car lapsed into silence. I didn't mind. I'd grown used to filling the quiet, when necessary, but with both Bella and Charlie, it often felt more comfortable to just let the silence exist.
The rain intensified as we drove deeper into the forested outskirts of Forks. The trees loomed tall and dark on either side of the road, their damp trunks glistening in the dim light. I caught Bella staring out the window, her expression unreadable. I wondered what she was thinking—about Mom, about this new life, about Forks itself.
When we finally pulled into the driveway of Charlie's house, I felt a strange mix of nostalgia and unease. The house was exactly as I remembered it from childhood—small, unassuming, with its peeling paint and mossy roof. It was a snapshot of another life, a version of me that felt so far removed from the person I'd become.
Charlie stepped out first, gesturing toward the truck parked in the gravel driveway. "There she is," he said.
The truck was an old Chevy, its faded red paint barely clinging to its surface. Its wide fenders and bulbous cab gave it a sturdy, reliable look, like it had stories of its own to tell. Bella stepped closer, her hand brushing the hood as she inspected it.
"It's perfect," she murmured, a rare smile tugging at her lips.
I couldn't help but grin. The truck was perfect for her—solid enough to withstand her inevitable accidents. I pitied anyone who crossed paths with her in a collision.
"Thanks, Dad," she said, her voice warmer than I'd heard it all day.
As we unloaded our bags, I glanced back at the house. Forks wasn't Phoenix. It wasn't sunny skies or desert heat or the life we'd left behind. But maybe that was okay. Maybe this rainy, quiet town had its own kind of story waiting for us. For me.
And I had a feeling it was going to be far more complicated than either of us expected.
The scent of rain lingered as we stepped into the house, carried in with us on damp shoes and jackets. It was a smell I'd always associated with Forks—wet earth, moss, and faint traces of wood smoke from distant chimneys. As the door closed behind us, more scents unfolded, sharper now than they had ever been before. The fabric of the worn couch gave off a musty smell, mixed with the faint tang of old coffee that must have spilled into the cushions years ago. The polished wooden floor creaked slightly beneath my boots, releasing its own aroma, earthy and aged. There were other scents, too—ones I couldn't quite place, like faint echoes of lives lived within these walls.
It was surreal. Despite the years that had passed, the house was eerily the same. The living room still had the same green plaid couch we'd flopped onto as kids, and the walls bore the same dull beige paint. Even the faint scratch marks on the floor near the corner table remained, remnants of when I'd once dragged a chair too hard in a fit of childish frustration.
Bella gave me a small, weary smile before heading upstairs to pick her room. I lingered for a moment, taking it all in, then followed her. My old room was at the end of the narrow hallway, and the sight of it hit me like a snapshot of the past. The same blue quilt from when I was ten lay neatly over the bed, the corners tucked in with military precision. The desk in the corner, where I'd once done my homework and scribbled down half-finished stories, still stood. It was a little dusty now, but sturdy, the perfect spot for a computer if I ever got around to buying one.
I ran a hand over the quilt as I sat down on the edge of the bed. It was strange to be back. Nostalgia mixed uneasily with the reality that I wasn't the same person who had left this room years ago. I'd grown taller, stronger, faster. My senses were sharper, my mind a fortress of knowledge not entirely my own. And yet here I was, sitting in a room that hadn't changed, as if it were waiting for the boy I used to be.
The bathroom door creaked open across the hall, and I remembered: one bathroom. For the entire house. Bella was going to hate that. I smirked at the thought as I began unpacking my bag, methodically folding clothes into the old dresser.
As I hung up my last shirt, my mind drifted to tomorrow. Forks High School. Less than four hundred students, which meant anonymity wasn't an option. We'd stick out immediately, the new kids from Arizona. I could already feel the stares, hear the whispers, the endless questions. I sighed, sitting back on the bed. Keeping a low profile here was going to be next to impossible.
That night, I woke to the sound of rain. It was a gentle patter at first, growing into a steady rhythm that tapped against the roof and windows. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the storm. My mind was restless, running through all the scenarios tomorrow might bring. Would anyone notice how...different I was? Could I even blend in?
Then I heard it—soft, muffled crying from Bella's room. My enhanced hearing picked up every suppressed sob, every shaky breath. She was trying to keep it quiet, but there was no hiding it from me.
Guilt twisted in my chest. Bella had always been the strong one, the one who held things together when Mom flitted from place to place with her carefree attitude. But now, hearing her cry, I realized how much this move must be weighing on her. She'd left behind everything she knew—her friends, her routines, her life.
I wanted to go to her, to tell her it would be okay, but something held me back. She'd been the one to suggest coming to Forks, the one who insisted it was best for all of us. A small, selfish part of me thought, This was your idea, Bella. But the larger part of me knew better. She didn't deserve to face this alone.
Instead, I stayed in bed, listening to the rain and her quiet sobs until they faded into silence.
Morning arrived with a thick fog that clung to the trees like a shroud. I rolled out of bed and went through my usual routine, brushing my teeth and dressing quickly. By the time I came downstairs, the smell of coffee had filled the kitchen, though Dad had already left for work. Bella sat at the table, poking halfheartedly at a bowl of cereal.
"Hey Dory?" She said, as I grabbed an apple from the counter.
"Hey, ready to turn heads with our awkwardness, Bellaboo?"
She gave me a tired smile, then shot back, "You know it, Doodles."
I groaned, rolling my eyes. She always knew how to weaponize the nicknames I hated. Still, it felt good to see her smile, even if it was at my expense.
We threw on our raincoats and headed out to the truck. The old Chevy looked even more impressive in the pale morning light, its faded red paint glistening with rain. Bella slid into the driver's seat with a kind of reverence, her fingers brushing the steering wheel like it was a long-lost treasure.
"Don't kill us on the way there," I teased as I climbed into the passenger seat.
"No promises," she shot back, starting the engine with a rumble.
And with that, we were off, the truck rattling down the wet streets toward Forks High School.
We arrived at the school, the red pickup truck rumbled into the parking lot, its engine sputtering slightly as Bella pulled it to a stop in front of the building marked Front Office. The sign, painted in bold, weathered letters, seemed to mock me with its plainness, as if announcing, Welcome to the middle of nowhere.
I glanced at Bella as she shut off the engine. She looked about as thrilled as someone heading to a dentist's appointment. For my part, I tried not to think about how conspicuous we must have looked rolling up in the ancient truck. I really needed to get my own car. There had to be a used car lot in town; I'd ask Dad about it later.
The interior of the office was brightly lit, its fluorescent bulbs casting an almost clinical glare over everything. The space was divided by a long counter, with a red-haired woman sitting behind it. She looked up as we entered, her expression immediately shifting into one of recognition.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice polite but carrying that undertone of small-town curiosity.
"I'm Dorian Swan," I said, keeping my tone neutral, "and this is my sister, Isabella Swan."
Her eyes lit up with immediate awareness, and I inwardly groaned. Of course, we were expected. The Chief's kids returning home—it must have been the talk of the town. I could practically hear the whispers circulating through Forks already. Twins of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, back at last.
"Of course," she said, her voice bright.
She began rummaging through a precariously stacked pile of papers on her desk. I exchanged a glance with Bella, who looked as unimpressed as I felt. After a moment, the woman produced two sheets of paper, along with a couple of maps of the school.
"I have your schedules right here," she said, sliding the documents across the counter. "And these are maps of the campus."
She went over the schedules, highlighting the best routes to each of our classes on the maps. She handed us slips for our teachers to sign, which we were to return at the end of the day.
"I hope you'll like it here in Forks," she added with a smile, her tone genuinely warm.
I managed a genuine smile in return. Despite everything, Forks was starting to grow on me.
Back in the truck, students were starting to arrive. Bella navigated around the parking lot, following the slow-moving line of cars. Most of the vehicles were old and practical, much like our truck. I was relieved not to see anything flashy—except for a shiny silver Volvo S60R that stood out like a sore thumb. The owner clearly was a car guy, that beast had a high-performance with a 2.5-liter, five-cylinder, in-line turbocharged engine that produced 300 horsepower
Bella parked the truck, cutting the engine with a sigh. I studied the map for a moment, committing it to memory, then stuffed everything into my bag. Bella took a deep breath, clearly psyching herself up, and I couldn't help but chuckle.
"You've got this, Bellaboo," I teased.
She shot me a glare but didn't say anything.
The sidewalk was crowded with students. Conversations buzzed around us, accompanied by the shuffle of feet and the occasional laughter. I slipped on my leather jacket, letting the familiar weight settle over my shoulders as we made our way around the cafeteria.
Building Three was easy to spot, a large black "3" painted on a white square marking the east corner. Inside, the classroom was small and smelled faintly of chalk and floor cleaner. Two girls in front of us stopped just inside the door, hanging their coats on a long row of hooks. I followed their lead, shrugging off my jacket and glancing around.
The two girls—one blonde, the other with pale brown hair—were porcelain-pale. I couldn't help but think, At least Bella's skin won't stand out here.
We handed our slips to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk was marked with a nameplate reading Mr. Mason. His gaze flickered to our last name, and his expression shifted into the now-familiar look of recognition.
I groaned inwardly. Damn it, Dad. Did you tell the whole town we were coming?
Mr. Mason pointed us to our seats—Bella in front of me, me at the very back.
The stares started almost immediately. It wasn't subtle, either. My new classmates stole glances at us, their whispers barely hushed. I ignored them, pulling out the reading list Mr. Mason had given us. Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. Easy. I'd read it all before, and with my memory, I could probably recite entire essays word for word. This semester was going to be a breeze.
When the bell rang, a gangly boy leaned across the aisle to talk to us. His skin was blotchy, and his hair was dark and oily, but his smile was friendly enough.
"You're the twins, right? Isabella and Dorian Swan?"
"It's Bella," Bella corrected immediately, her tone polite but firm.
The boy nodded, clearly flustered. "I'm Eric," he added, holding out a hand.
I shook it briefly, trying not to cringe at how eager he seemed. Bella offered a tentative smile, and I suppressed an eye roll. Go ahead and give the boy hope, Bella Boo, I thought wryly.
Eric leaned in again. "Where's your next class?"
"Government, with Jefferson, in Building Six," Bella said.
"I'm headed toward Building Four," he replied. "I could show you the way..."
Dude, tone it down.
We grabbed our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up into a steady drizzle. As we walked, I caught Bella's eye and grinned. "Enjoying Forks yet?"
She rolled her eyes but didn't answer. I laughed, adjusting my bag and bracing myself for the next class. Forks High School was already living up to my expectations.
Eric's attempt at small talk was almost endearing, in a bumbling sort of way. "So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?"
"Very," Bella replied curtly, clearly uninterested.
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"Three or four times a year," Bella said, her voice flat.
"Wow," he mused, like the concept was foreign to him. "What must that be like?"
"Sunny," Bella deadpanned, her tone so dry it could have cracked asphalt.
Eric blinked at her; his expression apprehensive as if trying to figure out if she was joking. Bella's follow-up sealed it. "My mother is part albino."
I nearly choked on a laugh but managed to keep a straight face as Eric's confusion deepened. Yep, this guy doesn't socialize much. Most people would've picked up on the sarcasm, but he just stared at her like she might actually have albino heritage.
We walked toward the gym, the cafeteria building fading behind us. Eric stayed glued to our side, leading us to the clearly marked door as though we were incapable of reading numbers. He lingered awkwardly as Bella reached for the handle.
"Well, good luck," he said, a little too earnestly. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together."
As we stepped inside, I couldn't help but think, Poor kid has it bad.