Astraea regarded her calmly, violet eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light of the room. There was no hostility in her gaze, but there was no warmth either—only an unsettling depth, like she was studying every thread of Bella's soul.
"You are Bella," Astraea asked softly, her voice carrying a melodic resonance that didn't seem to belong in the mortal world.
Bella stiffened. "How do you know my name?"
Astraea didn't answer immediately. She took a single, fluid step forward, the motion so precise it felt practiced over centuries. Bella instinctively stepped back until her shoulder brushed against the dresser, her breath catching in her throat.
"Charlie Swan allowed me to use your space," Astraea said at last, her voice quiet but deliberate. Her glowing violet eyes drifted slowly across the room, noting every detail, every trace of the girl's presence. "I am thankful for the kindness."
Bella could only nod stiffly, watching as the strange, impossibly beautiful girl gave a single, measured nod in return. Then, without another word, Astraea turned and glided from the room with the same unearthly grace, closing the door softly behind her.
Bella stared at the door long after it clicked shut. She thought absently—she's even more beautiful than Rosalie.
---
Astraea descended the stairs silently, her mind turning over what she had just learned about the brown-haired girl.
Her mind has been tampered with.
It was obvious the moment Astraea brushed the surface of her thoughts. Whoever had done it had left a residue—a fractured edge that didn't match the girl's natural state. But it was sloppy, unrefined. Too imperfect to have been intentional.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Edward Cullen.
From the fragments of memory she had skimmed, the boy's ability to read thoughts was simply the most visible effect. He wasn't even aware of the deeper influence his power carried, how it seeped into the minds around him and left marks.
She stepped into the quiet living room, the soft creak of the floorboards echoing faintly through the house.
"Vampires and shifters," Astraea murmured, her voice low, carrying the weight of intrigue. "A world with such things… how fascinating."
Her attention shifted toward the kitchen, where the faint clatter of utensils and the unmistakable scent of overcooked food reached her senses. She moved silently to the doorway and paused, observing Charlie Swan at work.
He was hunched slightly over the stove, brow furrowed, grumbling under his breath as he wrestled with a pan that was clearly giving him trouble. Astraea tilted her head, skimming his surface thoughts effortlessly. He was focused on not burning dinner, relying on half-remembered tips from cooking shows he had watched without much interest.
The memories gave Astraea enough of an idea of how this planet's culinary arts functioned. Basic. Structured. Simple patterns and timing.
She stepped into the kitchen.
Charlie startled so hard he nearly dropped the spatula. "Whoa! I swear you don't make a sound," he said, clutching the utensil like it might defend him from his guest.
Astraea ignored the comment. Her eyes flicked over the stovetop, the ingredients strewn across the counter, the faintly smoking pan. "You are… struggling," she observed softly, as if stating a fact.
Charlie exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, well, cooking isn't exactly my strong suit. I usually rely on frozen dinners, and Bella's the one who actually makes things edible." He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. "I'm just trying to get something together for the three of us tonight."
Astraea stepped closer, glancing over the ingredients with calm precision. "I will handle it," she said simply.
Charlie blinked. "You… want to cook?"
"Yes." Her tone left no room for debate. "I have enough knowledge to attempt it."
Charlie hesitated. He didn't want to admit he was relieved by the offer, but he was. "Okay," he said finally, handing her the spatula. "Just, uh… don't burn the house down."
Astraea didn't respond to the joke. She simply moved into place at the stove, glancing once at the burner before turning it down to the proper heat. Her movements were smooth and deliberate as she gathered the vegetables, rinsed them, and began to chop with unerring precision.
Charlie leaned against the counter, watching as she worked. It was strange seeing this girl—this otherworldly girl—perform such a mundane task, but she moved with an instinctive grace that made him step back without realizing it.
"Ever cooked before?" he asked, his voice softer this time.
Astraea stirred the pan slowly, her pastel hair brushing against her shoulder as she replied. "Not here," she said, her tone quiet, almost thoughtful.
Charlie didn't ask what she meant.
He just watched as the kitchen, usually filled with his clumsy noise, settled into Astraea's calm rhythm.
The kitchen filled with the quiet, steady rhythm of Astraea's work. She stirred the pan with practiced ease, adding pinches of seasoning she remembered from Charlie's thoughts. The sizzling of the food filled the small space with a warm aroma, masking the faint hum of energy that prickled at the edge of her senses.
She felt it first as a shift in the air—subtle, but distinct.
Astraea paused mid-stir, her head tilting slightly.
Something moved outside.
She set the spatula down slowly, her glowing violet eyes narrowing as her awareness reached beyond the walls of the house. The woods surrounding the Swan residence were dense, but to her perception, the trees did little to conceal the signatures she was sensing.
Several of them… circling.
Their movements were deliberate, coordinated, and heavier than any wild animal's. One signature was fast and low to the ground—quadrupedal. Others were taller, fluid, predatory in their stillness. The scent of them carried faintly on the wind through the open kitchen window, a mix of cold earth and something metallic, something unnatural.
"Vampires," Astraea murmured softly, almost with curiosity. Her voice was no louder than the quiet sizzle from the pan. "And the shifters… watching them. Interesting."
She glanced toward the living room, where Charlie had stepped away, likely fiddling with something in the garage. For a fleeting moment, she considered slipping out into the night, confronting the shadows head-on.
But she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.
Her body was still weakened. She was not at full strength, and engaging would be unwise while this house contained two mortals who could not defend themselves.
Instead, Astraea stepped lightly to the window and looked out into the dark tree line. She could feel them there, watching, waiting.
She let her power flicker beneath her skin, just enough for them to feel the faint echo of it radiate outward—a silent warning.
The movement in the woods stilled.
For a moment, all was silent. Then the unseen watchers withdrew, retreating deeper into the forest until the faint traces of their presence faded entirely.
Astraea closed the window with a soft click and returned to the stove.
She stirred the pan again, her face calm, but her thoughts sharpened with focus.
The refrigerator door clicked open with a low hum as Charlie grabbed a can of soda. He shut it with his elbow and turned, only to pause as he saw Astraea calmly stirring something in the pan.
"You, uh… cook too?" he asked, slightly surprised.
"I've studied it," Astraea replied without looking up.
Charlie popped the tab on his drink. "Well, can't complain. Smells good in here."
She gave a soft nod, her face neutral, eyes focused on the pan.
Charlie leaned against the counter and took a sip. A few seconds passed in silence before he glanced at her again, brow furrowing slightly.
"You always this quiet?" he asked.
Astraea glanced at him now, her expression unreadable. "I speak when necessary."
"Right," Charlie muttered. "Just curious. You don't seem like… I dunno, most teenagers. Or people, really. You don't talk much, don't show a lot on your face. Even Bella's got more expression these days—and she's barely hanging on."
Astraea blinked once, slowly. "I have limited energy," she said. "Until I recover, wasting it on emotion or unnecessary speech is… inefficient."
Charlie blinked. "Huh. That's honest."
"I dislike lies," Astraea said flatly.
There was a pause. Then—
Charlie gave a short, dry chuckle and took another sip. "Alright, then. You're… weird, but polite. I can live with that."
She nodded once in response, turning back to the stove.
But then, almost as an afterthought, she added softly, "When I'm restored… I may speak more. Smile, even. I enjoy helping others. But not when I'm… this depleted."
Charlie studied her for a moment. There was something oddly endearing beneath all that calmness—like she wanted to be softer, warmer, but couldn't afford to be right now.
"Well," he said, pushing off the counter, "if you decide to smile later, fair warning—it'll probably freak Bella out."
"I'll be sure to warn her first," Astraea replied dryly, though a faint shimmer of amusement sparked in her eyes.
Charlie shook his head with a tired half-smile and left the kitchen, soda in hand.
Twenty minutes later,
The soft scent of garlic, herbs, and something gently simmering filled the kitchen. Charlie stood awkwardly at the counter, still unsure how Astraea had managed to turn what little they had in the fridge into something that smelled edible—more than edible, actually. It smelled good.
Really good.
She didn't talk much as she cooked. Her movements were smooth, focused. Not robotic, just… precise. Like she'd watched a hundred hours of food preparation and distilled it into instinct. Charlie had tried to offer help once, but after almost dropping the salt into the sauce pan, he decided hovering from a distance was the safer option.
From upstairs, soft footsteps padded down.
Bella entered the kitchen slowly, her hair loose over her shoulders, her expression wary but curious. Her eyes drifted to the table, already set with mismatched plates, a clean towel serving as a makeshift napkin, and three forks. It was simple but intentional.
"I didn't know you were cooking again," Bella said, glancing between her dad and Astraea.
"I wasn't," Charlie said quickly, pointing a thumb at the girl now ladling something into bowls. "She did this."
Astraea placed a final bowl on the table, steam curling from its surface. It was a thick, creamy soup—root vegetables, a hint of spice, and something earthy Bella couldn't quite place. On the side, she'd baked biscuits, slightly uneven but golden.
Bella blinked. "You cooked this?"
Astraea gave a soft nod, brushing a strand of pastel-colored hair behind her ear. "It was the least I could do. For your shelter. And your father's fridge."
Charlie sat down heavily. "Well… hell, I'm not complaining."
They ate in a rare kind of quiet—one not filled with tension, but something slower. Restorative.
Bella took her first bite, expecting something weird. Foreign. But the flavors were warm and balanced, nothing too strong. Comfort food.
"This is… actually really good," she admitted, surprised. "Where'd you learn to cook?"
Astraea tilted her head, her spoon pausing mid-air. "From observation," she said simply. "There was a man with spiky hair and loud catchphrases. He seemed... trustworthy in culinary matters."
Bella stared. "Wait… you mean Guy Fieri?"
Astraea blinked once. "Is that what they call him?"
Charlie chuckled under his breath. "Well, that explains the bold flavors."
Astraea offered no clarification, only returning to her meal with quiet efficiency. She had no intention of revealing how she accessed information. Letting them assume she'd watched Earth media—somehow—was easier.
Bella glanced at her again, curiosity still piqued but uncertain how to ask more without sounding crazy.
As the meal continued in relative quiet, Astraea occasionally glanced at Bella.
There was a difference now—subtle, but distinct.
The fog that had once clouded the girl's mind had lifted. Earlier, when Astraea had brushed against Bella's consciousness, she'd felt the residue of something else there. A subtle distortion, like warped glass over a clear image. Not malicious, not deliberate. Just… careless. Lingering influence. Astraea had dissolved it with barely a thought, instinctively restoring what had been dulled.
Now, Bella's thoughts moved with more clarity. Her emotions—though still bruised—felt more her own.
She had become grounded again.
Astraea's eyes lowered slightly, her expression unreadable. So the boy doesn't even realize he manipulates… how crude.
She stirred her spoon absently through her bowl. Vampires. Wolf-shifters. Curious constructs for a planet so young.
The knowledge she'd gathered in fragments—local myths, instinctive thoughts, subtle emotional traces—pointed to something more ancient lingering beneath this sleepy town's surface. Forks was no mere backwater. It was a faultline of hidden things.
Astraea looked up again, meeting Bella's eyes for a moment.
After dinner, Astraea quietly rose from her seat and placed her bowl in the sink. She gave Charlie a polite nod, then Bella, before silently stepping away. She didn't say where she was going, but her movements carried quiet purpose.
Charlie exchanged a glance with his daughter, but neither spoke. They let her go.
The screen door creaked softly as Astraea stepped out onto the porch. Cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying the crisp scent of pine and damp earth. Crickets sang gently in the distance. Beyond the tree line, shadows moved with the wind.
She sat on the wooden steps, bare feet resting lightly on the cool planks. Overhead, the sky stretched open—vast, clear, and scattered with stars. The moon hung high, pale and quiet, casting soft silver light through the trees.
Astraea tilted her head back, her long hair catching the glow. She closed her eyes.
This was the closest thing to peace she could find in this realm. The Aether here was faint, but it was still starlight. Still moonlight. It would suffice. With time, her strength would return.
She breathed in slowly, allowing her mind to still.
No more contact tonight. No more analysis. The questions about vampires and shifters could wait until another cycle. For now, her only task was to recharge—to soak in the light of the heavens, to ground herself.
She folded her hands in her lap and sat motionless, the light wrapping around her like a calm veil.
The porch creaked softly beneath her as Astraea remained still, bathed in the moonlight's gentle glow. The stars above were not her stars—not the constellations she once knew—but their light still held familiar threads. Thin traces of Aether pulsed in the air, slow but steady. Healing. Restoring.
And yet…
Her eyes opened, faintly luminous in the dark. She wasn't alone.
At first, it was only a shift in the wind. The crickets paused. The trees stilled.
Then, from the edge of the woods, something moved.
Astraea didn't react, only turned her head slightly, gaze steady.
It stepped just barely into the clearing, half-shrouded by the shadow of the trees. A large wolf. Gray fur dusted with hints of silver, its amber eyes locked with hers. It didn't growl. Didn't approach. Just watched.
A moment passed.
The wolf tilted its head, as if trying to make sense of her.
Astraea stared back, unmoved.
Its presence was not hostile—at least not yet. But it was curious. Aware. More than a beast. Something old stirred in its aura, something tied to instinct and heritage. The kind of presence that only emerged in creatures that lived too close to magic for too long.
"A guardian…" she murmured, barely audible.
The wolf's ears twitched.
Then, without sound, it turned and slipped back into the forest.
Astraea remained seated, expression unreadable. The stars overhead continued to shine. The wind stirred again.
She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, "This planet hides more than I thought."
And resumed her silent vigil beneath the moon.
The cool night air passed gently across her skin, but her thoughts were elsewhere—rooted in the mind of the human girl who had unknowingly opened a door to this world's deeper mysteries.
Astraea had sifted through Bella Swan's surface memories, never going too deep, only enough to piece together the puzzle. The vampires Bella had once surrounded herself with were not like the ancient blood drinkers of legend. They were refined. Tempered. Organized. But what interested Astraea most weren't their customs—it was their gifts.
A family of immortals where each possessed unique abilities: the ability to read thoughts, to glimpse the future, to manipulate emotion. Crude, yes. But familiar. Echoes of powers Astraea herself once wielded with ease.
Lesser strands of what I am, she thought.
The vampire process fascinated her—how venom reshaped the mortal form, preserved it, altered it, and enhanced it. A violent evolution tied to instinct, blood, and desire. A transformation that could yield psychic traits. It was a system she had never encountered before, and that alone made this world worthy of deeper observation.
But it was Edward Cullen's power that puzzled her most.
He could hear thoughts—most thoughts. And yet, with Bella, he could not. Her mind, for reasons unknown, had been closed to him. Impenetrable. And yet… Astraea had seen something else.
Though he could not read Bella's thoughts, he had touched them—again and again.
She frowned, eyes narrowing at the stars.
That persistent brushing—his will pressing again and again against her mental wall—it had not been without effect. Astraea now suspected that this repeated contact had slowly influenced Bella's mind. Not enough to control her directly, but enough to nudge, to weigh, to weaken.
And when he left her—abruptly, decisively—that severing may have unbalanced the fragile structure left behind.
The shutdown wasn't just heartbreak. It was mental exhaustion. A crash.
A collapse.
He didn't know, Astraea thought. He didn't mean to. But power used without awareness is still power misused.
She tilted her head toward the dark canopy of trees beyond the porch.
It would take time for Bella to recover—time and distance from his influence.
But there were still threads tugging at the girl's fate—subtle, frayed connections Astraea could sense but not yet name.
The balance here was delicate. Fractured, but not beyond mending.
Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon as she murmured, "Perhaps this 'school' Charlie Swan mentioned will bring me some insight as well."