The morning after the anniversary celebration, I woke to an empty bed and a note on Edward's pillow.
Gone hunting with Emmett. Back by noon. Try not to miss me too much.
— E
I smiled, tracing the words with my finger. Even after everything—battles and losses and ancient judgments—he could still make me smile.
The chamber was quiet, sunlight streaming through the narrow window, painting golden lines across the stone floor. For a long moment, I just lay there, listening to the distant sounds of the stronghold waking up—footsteps in corridors, voices calling greetings, the ever-present hum of a community finding its rhythm.
Peace. Real peace.
It still felt strange.
I found Mira in the training yard, as usual, working with a group of young hybrids. She moved among them with a patience that belied her centuries of isolation, correcting stances, offering encouragement, celebrating small victories. The students adored her—I could see it in their eyes, the way they leaned into her attention, the way they worked harder when she was watching.
"You're good at that," I said, joining her as the session ended.
"I've had practice." She smiled, watching the young ones scatter. "And good teachers. Stefan would be proud, I think."
"He'd be proud of you. Full stop." I put my arm around her. "You've come so far, Mira."
"We've all come far." She leaned into me. "Together."
We walked through the stronghold, checking on various projects and people. The infirmary was quiet today—Carlisle sat with a young hybrid who'd arrived traumatized and withdrawn, his gentle presence slowly drawing her out. The library hummed with activity as hybrids and guardians studied side by side. The training rooms echoed with the clash of practice weapons and the laughter of those who'd found family in each other.
"It's beautiful," Mira murmured. "What we've built."
"It is." I squeezed her hand. "And it's just the beginning."
Cassandra found us at lunch, her eyes bright with excitement.
"I've been in the Archive," she said, practically vibrating with energy. "There's so much we haven't discovered—memories of hybrids from thousands of years ago, guardians who protected them, vampires who helped. Whole civilizations built around protecting our kind."
"That's amazing," I said.
"It's more than amazing—it's a roadmap." She leaned forward, her intensity palpable. "These memories show how previous hybrid communities organized themselves. What worked, what failed, what led to destruction and what led to survival. We can learn from them. We can build something better."
"Then let's do it." Mira's eyes were shining. "Let's learn everything we can."
The weeks that followed were filled with discovery.
Cassandra spent hours in the Archive, emerging with stories of hybrid communities that had flourished for centuries before falling to internal conflict or external threats. She documented their successes and failures, creating a comprehensive guide that would inform every aspect of our coalition's development.
Mira used this knowledge to refine our defenses, incorporating ancient techniques with modern strategies. She established early warning systems that would give us precious time to prepare for any attack, and created fallback positions throughout the stronghold in case our main defenses were breached.
I focused on community—on the daily work of building connections, resolving disputes, ensuring that every hybrid who came to us felt welcomed and valued. It was exhausting work, but also deeply rewarding. Every time I saw a young hybrid smile for the first time, or watched two former strangers become friends, I knew it was worth it.
Edward returned from his hunting trips with stories and small gifts—a smooth stone from a riverbed, a feather from an eagle's flight, a flower that bloomed only at high altitude. He'd press them into my hands with a smile, and I'd add them to the collection on our windowsill.
"One day," he said, "we'll have so many of these that they'll fill the whole room."
"I'd like that." I leaned into him, watching the sunset paint the mountains. "I'd like that a lot."
The first sign that something had changed came on a quiet Tuesday afternoon.
I was in the great hall, reviewing reports with Mira, when a young hybrid burst through the doors, her face flushed with excitement.
"There's someone at the gate," she gasped. "A vampire. She says she knows you—knows all of you. She says her name is—"
But I was already running.
Victoria stood at the stronghold's entrance, her red hair blazing in the afternoon light, her golden eyes bright with something I couldn't quite read. She looked exactly as I remembered—beautiful, dangerous, utterly unpredictable.
"Eleanor." She smiled—that enigmatic expression that could mean anything. "You've grown."
"Victoria." I approached slowly, my guards tensing behind me. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to warn you." Her smile faded. "The Luminari aren't the only ones watching. There are others—older, darker, more patient. And they've decided that your coalition is a threat that needs to be eliminated."
"Who?"
"The Obsidian Order." Victoria's voice was grim. "They've existed since before the first vampire. They make the Architects look like children playing games. And they're coming for you."
End of Chapter Four