Chapter 8: Not the End, But the Beginning

Natasha's mother's first marriage had been intense, while the second one was much more stable—though bordering on dull. Her husband worked in the city, and she served as a sheriff in a nearby town. On holidays, the five of them would travel together. Life wasn't ideal, but it wasn't bad either.

"Should we try giving them more chances to interact?" Natasha casually suggested, gesturing with her chin toward the middle-aged man and woman chatting happily in the distance.

Bella was startled—that went against her own values. She wanted to protest, but knew her words held little sway.

"Freedom in love, freedom in marriage—don't question it, it's all about freedom!"

She sighed. "Do what you want. I don't care."

Natasha, too, was feeling melancholic. "Since following my mom, I've transferred schools four times. How's your school, by the way?"

Rolling her eyes, Bella replied, "I'm literally on the way to transfer right now. How do you think it is? I'll let you know when I get there."

Their whispering still caught the attention of the adults.

The man with the pencil mustache quickly stood up. He seemed to want to hug Bella, but their years apart had created distance. Combined with his introverted nature, all he managed to say was:"Hi, Bella. Are you okay?"

"Hi, Charlie," Bella replied calmly.

The two didn't seem like father and daughter—more like polite acquaintances. But Charlie didn't notice anything off. This had always been how they interacted.

They had once argued over how Bella should address him. Charlie won that debate, insisting she call him "Dad" in public. What she called him in private didn't matter.But Bella, unaware of that history, simply used what she found in her predecessor's journal and called him by name. Charlie, thinking she must be traumatized from the plane crash, didn't dwell on it.

With little else to say, the Swans said goodbye to Natasha and her mom. They had to go sign a stack of non-disclosure agreements preventing them from leaving the country or talking to the media.

"Bye, Charlie.""Yeah, bye, Samantha."

Natasha flashed a "call me" gesture at Bella as the father-daughter pair left.

After signing numerous confidentiality documents, Bella didn't forget the other survivors she had saved.

Though a group chat couldn't be formed, she gave out her MSN contact to many. At her suggestion, they created a support association: "Flight 180 Survivors Mutual Aid." Its mission was to help victims' families—and, using its name, hire lawyers to sue the airline for compensation.

Bella wasn't used to using MSN. But in the year 2000, Facebook didn't exist yet—so she had no choice.

Traveling from Phoenix to Seattle took about four hours by plane. Then, a small local flight and an hour's drive would get her to Forks. That was the air route.

But she remembered something about a "40-day safety period." Maybe the American Grim Reaper had been influenced by democracy or the Bible—40 days symbolized death.

That period might be safe, but Bella refused to fly. She preferred wasting time on a train rather than setting foot in an airport.

Trains were much slower, but Charlie didn't complain. It was completely understandable. After going through such a horrifying crash, who would want to fly again? So, sighing, he went to buy tickets and took his daughter north by train.

After the Swans left, Natasha's family of five also departed.

They had been dragged into this situation purely due to the FBI's political motives. They weren't even victims of the crash. Instead of suing the airline, they received a check for $100,000 from Stark Industries—part hush money, part thank-you payment.

Even Natasha's brooding stepfather smiled when he saw the check. Free money. The family was thrilled.

Other survivors gradually left as well. The brown-haired beauty Claire Redfield was picked up by her brother—a tall, muscular man with a sharp gaze and intimidating presence.

"I'll get some friends to help investigate. My guess is this was caused by some kind of missile. There's a clue somewhere in the passenger list."

Chris Redfield was a tough soldier, skilled in modern weapons and hand-to-hand combat. He believed the crash was the result of advanced military tech—his view aligned with the FBI's.

Others, however, had different opinions.

Professor John Grey, carrying his luggage alone, left the hotel. At the corner, he stepped into a stretched Lincoln.

"Charles, old friend, thank you for picking me up."

Inside sat a bald man in a navy-blue suit, wheelchair-bound, with a signature warm smile—Professor Charles Xavier, leader of the mutants.

"What you described over the phone was... unusual. I had to see it for myself."

John Grey, trusting his friend's abilities, asked, "Have you found anything? Please tell me—it could save hundreds of lives."

Charles spoke slowly, unsure how to explain."I've examined the crash site. It wasn't Erik. And it certainly wasn't Jean, who's still at the school. It wasn't any mutant I know."

"I detected only one thing—a wild, chaotic psychic force. Its thoughts were scattered, unstable... I've never seen anything like it. I'll need to investigate further."

He paused."Perhaps Ororo's powers can uncover more. I'll ask her to return to the U.S. soon."

Those who relied on weapons saw the world through combat. Those with powers saw it through abilities.

The Flight 180 incident wasn't the end—it was only the beginning.

Bella's journey to Forks went smoothly.

Forks is located in the northwest corner of Washington State, on the Olympic Peninsula. Why the settlers named it that—whether out of love for sports or ancient Greece—is lost to time.

The peninsula is cloaked in clouds year-round, with endless rain and barely any sunshine. Rainfall there is intense.

Bella's mom couldn't stand the dreary weather. That's why she took her few-month-old daughter and moved south. From then on, Bella returned every summer until she turned 14.

It had been four years since she last came to Forks.

And now, the drums of destiny were once again beginning to beat.

(End of Chapter)