A blinding white flash.
A roar like twisted metal.
The sickening weightless lurch of impact.
Luna didn't even have time to scream before everything went dark.
---
She woke to the smell of salt, cedar, and earth.
Her cheek scraped cold gravel. Her lungs spasmed. Her pulse thundered.
She blinked up at the peeling paint of a gym's back wall. A mural of a beautiful forest on it with the words "La Push" scrolled across it.
She sucked in a breath and looked down, a 'Class of 1998' graduation sash across her chest.
'That's not right.'
She went to touch it only to notice her hands—
weren't her hands.
Her skin was darker.
Her arms stronger.
Her hair—heavy, black, falling over her shoulders like a waterfall.
"No… no, no, no—"
Had she transmigrated? Into someone in Washington? In 1998?
Then the pain hit.
A migraine like a sun detonating behind her eyes.
Rwo sets of memories crashed together.
Leah Clearwater — running barefoot across the beach, laughing with Seth, teasing Embry and Jacob, tying her graduation sash that morning—
And Luna Moore — university student, quiet, sarcastic, a lover of sci-fi and fantasy, a believer in fate but not destiny.
Their lives collided, twisted, merged.
Her breath hitched.
"Leah?"
The voice split her heart open.
Sue Clearwater rushed around the corner, her eyes sharp with mother-terror. She dropped to her knees beside her daughter.
"Baby, what happened? Did you faint? Leah—look at me."
Luna tried to sit up. Her limbs were trembling.
"I… just dizzy, Ma."
Wrong.
Wrong.
WRONG.
Leah never said Ma.
Never said Mom.
She always said Momma.
Sue's gaze narrowed instantly.
"You're talking strange."
Luna panicked internally.
She'd been in this body for two minutes.
Before she could come up with a lie—
A shadow fell over them.
Harry Clearwater stepped into view.
His broad silhouette blocked the afternoon sun. His face, usually calm and warm, was tight with worry.
But his eyes — his eyes held steady, unshakeable affection for his daughter.
"Sweetheart," Harry said, voice impossibly gentle, "you scared us."
Luna's throat clenched.
Because Leah's heart responded — aching, relieved, fiercely attached.
She swallowed hard. "Dad… I'm fine. I promise."
Harry frowned. "You don't look fine."
"I just need food," Luna tried. "And water. And maybe… sleep for five years."
Sue and Harry exchanged a look.
That was not Leah humor.
[SYSTEM BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED]
The world pixelated. The sound of the ocean warped. A hum filled her skull like a phantom engine.
A blue-tinted interface slid into her vision.
She gasped, flinching violently.
Harry stepped forward immediately, steadying her shoulders.
"Whoa—easy, Lee. You're shaking."
Luna forced herself to breathe through the sensory overload as the HUD finalized:
[SYSTEM BOOTED — SURVIVAL ANCHOR ONLINE]
[Identity Synchronization: 12%… 43%… 100%]
[New Host: Leah Clearwater (Reincarnated Past Life: Luna Moore)]
[Dimension: AU Twilight]
[World Threat Level: HIGH]
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
No.
No.
This was—
She knew this world.
Leah Clearwater didn't graduate yet in canon.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
She wasn't supposed to—
More text flickered onto the screen:
[MISSION UNLOCKED — "Stabilize Your New Identity"
Tasks:
-Avoid suspicion from family (0/1)
-Complete a normal daily routine (0/1)
-Anchor emotional core (0/1)
Reward: 50 SC + Passive Skill
(Emotional Grounding — Minor)]
The interface burned out like a blown circuit.
Luna staggered.
Harry caught her again.
"Sweetheart," he murmured, concern threading through every syllable, "talk to us. What's going on?"
He wasn't pushing.
Wasn't demanding.
Just steady. Present.
A father who loved deeply.
It hurt.
Luna swallowed. "I think I overdid it today. I'm really tired."
Sue didn't fully buy it. But she put an arm around her daughter anyway.
Harry gently brushed a hand down Leah's back the way only a father could — just reassurance, no pressure.
"Let's get you home, yeah?" he said softly.
Luna nodded.
Harry guided her toward the truck, his hand warm on her shoulder, grounding her in a way her exploding identity needed desperately.
Behind her eyes, the System flickered again:
[Mission Progress: 4%
Advice: Your father is perceptive. Do not underestimate him.]
Leah —Luna —Whoever she was now— She sat between her parents in the cab of the old Ford, trembling quietly.
New world.
New body.
New fate.
And already, she was one wrong word away from shattering everything.
But as Harry kept glancing at her with that soft, unshakeable fatherly worry—
She realized:
She wasn't alone.
Not yet.
Not ever, if she could help it.