Chapter 5 – Forks at Last

October 2004

The rain was waiting for them when they arrived.

It came not as a storm but as a gentle drizzle that clung to the windshield like misted glass, soft and persistent. The pine trees rose like ancient watchmen along the narrow roads leading into Forks, their limbs draped with moss, their shadows swallowing the light. The world here was quieter, softer, green and grey in equal measure.

Ren Bai stared out the window from the backseat, head tilted against the glass, watching the road bend through the endless trees. Even now, even after everything, Forks felt… familiar. Not from memory — not from any distant echo of his past life — but from something deeper, something cellular. It felt like a place that had waited for him.

His mother, Meilin, pointed out the old buildings as they drove through town, her voice gentle and wistful. "That used to be your father's school," she said, motioning toward the two-story structure at the far end of town. "He used to skip class just to sit by the river behind it."

His father, Jun Bai, chuckled softly in the driver's seat. "It was peaceful. Not much else to do in Forks, really."

Ren smiled, barely.

They were different now than they'd been back in 2000. They had lived and traveled and laughed, and wealth had touched them, but not changed them. The luxury was real — yes — but it had never eaten into their simplicity. They still cooked dinner together. Still washed dishes by hand. Still made each other laugh.

Still, Forks marked something new. Something different.

The road twisted once more, and then the trees broke open into a wide gravel path that led to a clearing. There, flanked by old cedars and overlooking a quiet inlet of water, was the new Bai estate.

It wasn't ostentatious. If anything, it was quiet in its grandeur — built with dark cedar siding, steel beams, glass walls that reflected the forest back upon itself. It rose three stories in a staggered design, its lines clean and modern, but its soul undeniably of the land. Large stones bordered the wraparound path, and a pond fed by a natural spring flowed quietly behind it, trailing into the nearby forest.

Ren stepped out of the car, the cool October air biting at his cheeks. He breathed in deeply — earth, pine, distant salt from the coast. It filled his lungs like memory. The drizzle softened against his jacket as he moved toward the house.

Inside, the mansion was exactly as he'd designed it.

He'd spent months refining the plans with the architect, overseeing every inch: the vaulted ceilings, the skylights above his bedroom, the open-plan kitchen with matte steel fixtures, the sunken living room with a fireplace wide enough to sit in. It was a dream etched in blueprints and made real by silence and patience.

But more than anything — it was his space. Their space.

Downstairs, beneath the main living area, sat his sanctuary: the garage.

It smelled like fresh oil and cold steel.

The garage was sprawling — enough for five cars comfortably — but Ren had claimed one corner for his private workspace. Tools hung neatly on shadow boards, labeled in both English and Chinese. Several welding masks hung on the wall, next to a reinforced workbench built to handle extreme heat and magnetism.

And in the center, like a living thing in mid-transformation, sat his Dodge Challenger.Stripped down to the chassis, its bones gleamed with half-finished reinforcements. The custom suspension still needed tuning. The engine — a hand-modified beast of his own design — lay nearby on a rack, waiting for assembly. The body panels had been dipped in molten chrome, cooled, then manipulated with subtle, invisible changes only he could make.

He ran a hand along the curved edge of the hood.

The metal whispered beneath his fingers, responding faintly, like an old friend stirring in its sleep. He didn't need to speak to it — not out loud. His mind did the speaking now. The atoms aligned at his will, reshaping themselves delicately when asked.

Since 2001, he'd grown in precision. Where once he could only bend metal like clay, now he could untangle alloys from one another, strengthen them, purify them, make steel that vibrated in tune with sound itself.

But he didn't flaunt it. Not to anyone. Not even to his parents.

This power, like his wealth, was private. It was his secret silence — something sacred. Something earned.

Ren's room overlooked the lake.

It was spacious, with two floor-to-ceiling windows framed in oak. One wall was covered in bookshelves, the other in LED monitors and custom servers that hummed faintly at all hours. His bed was simple — firm mattress, grey covers, no frills. A small bonsai tree sat on the windowsill. Alive. Tended.

That night, after dinner, he stood in his room with the lights off and stared out at the water.

The moon hung pale and full over the trees, casting a long reflection across the surface of the lake. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, and wind rustled through the branches.

Forks was quiet. But not empty. Not lifeless.

He could feel it, in his bones — in the water and the woods. A pressure just beneath the silence. Not threatening. Not yet. But present. Something other.

He didn't understand it, not fully. But he didn't fear it either.

It was like the edge of a blade — waiting, patient, promising something when the time was right.

Over the next few weeks, the final construction details were handled — tiling, insulation, the last of the solar systems installed. Workers came and went, speaking respectfully, noting how odd it was to see a young man so focused and silent.

Ren kept to himself. He took morning walks through the fog-lined woods, ate breakfast with his parents, and worked afternoons in the garage or on his custom-coded economic models that still ran quietly in the background — multiplying wealth in places no one could trace.

At night, he read.Not fiction, not much. Mostly mythology. Ancient Chinese texts. Old tiger lore. Fragments of Bai Hu legends, passed down through poetic fragments.

The more he read, the more a feeling settled in his chest. Not memory — not quite.But recognition.

He didn't question it.Not yet.

He visited Forks occasionally with his parents — trips to the local stores, hardware pickups, a few introductions. People were friendly. Guarded, but polite.

Word had spread quickly that the Bais were building a home on the edge of town. There was curiosity, but not intrusion. Their manners and privacy seemed to earn them a silent respect.

Ren paid attention to everything — the people, the layout, the strange sense that some places held a quiet tension in the air. The woods especially. They felt… old. And watched.

He wondered if anyone else felt it.

Late one evening, alone in the garage, he sat beside the half-finished Challenger and watched the moonlight play across its metallic frame. The light danced on every angle like it was drawn there, knowing.

He pulled out his sketchbook and began drafting again — new ideas for the car's core engine. Not just speed, but responsiveness. A design that moved like muscle and instinct. A machine that breathed with him.

The metal shifted slightly at his touch — a signal, subtle but certain. Like a tiger twitching in its sleep.

He smiled quietly, the kind of smile no one ever saw.

Upstairs, the house was dark. Only his room glowed faintly with light. His mother had long since gone to sleep. His father too. Only the woods remained awake — rustling, breathing, alive.

Ren stood by the window again, hands in his pockets, watching the shadows on the lake. The air smelled like rain.

In a few months, he would return to school — the last year of high school. He would blend in again, mostly invisible. But something had changed now. Something had shifted inside of him.

He could feel the pull of something bigger on the horizon.

Not danger.But destiny.

And for once, he was ready for it.