Carlisle sat forward at the table, his hands folded loosely. "Thomas," he said gently. "Earlier, you mentioned something you learned in Nepal—about the Clans, and perhaps about all of us. I think the time's right for you to tell it."
Every eye in the room turned toward me. The quiet was expectant as I drew a breath and started to speak.
"It started with one of the books I brought back from Nepal," I said. "It was written by Elarim Black, my grandmother."
Carlisle's brows lifted slightly. "Elarim Black," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "I remember hearing rumors the last time we lived near the Quileute lands. Their chief had a sister or cousin who vanished. The Elders were secretive, and we weren't exactly welcome guests." He offered a faint, rueful smile. "We never learned more than whispers."
"She was the first woman to ever make the change," I said quietly. "The Elders didn't like that she had a power they couldn't control. So they exiled her."
Esme's gentle voice broke the silence. "That's cruel."
"She didn't let it stop her," I said. "She found her own way. According to her journals, she met a sailor, a trader, who docked near La Push. She imprinted on him and followed him home to Nepal. That's where she built her family."
Edythe nodded, her voice soft but sure. "I've been reading her work. The man was part of the Tiger Clan, though he himself couldn't transform. Their children could. It seems your father was the first to ask for his gift to be bound, so he could travel freely."
Carlisle leaned back, wonder flickering in his expression. "So, she wasn't just an exile. She was the first of her kind."
"More than that," I said. "Once she settled in Nepal, she started hearing stories—old stories. Tales that mirrored the myths she'd grown up with in the Pacific Northwest. Same symbols, same shapes, same warnings, just told in a different tongue. She realized they were fragments of the same story, carried across the world by time and memory. That's what drove her to start writing."
Carlisle tilted his head. "She was a historian."
"In a way," I said. "But what she recorded wasn't history, it was origin. The story of how the first Clans came to be. Where the shifter blood really began."
Rosalie's voice was wary, but curious. "And what did she find?"
I hesitated, feeling the weight of it again. "That we weren't born from nature or magic. We were designed."
The words seemed to settle into the room like a stone in still water.
Carlisle's eyes narrowed slightly. "Designed by whom?"
"Not who," I said. "What. Elarim called them the Architects, beings who came from the sky long before recorded history. They found early humanity and began to change it."
Jasper's tone carried quiet disbelief. "You're saying aliens."
"Call them what you want," I said. "But the stories are the same across every culture. The symbols match, the language echoes. In Nepal, they were called the Sky Builders. In Egypt—the Watchers. In Sumeria, the Anunnaki. Different names, same figures: not human, but something else."
For a moment, no one spoke. Even Edward's frown was more thoughtful than dismissive.
Edythe leaned forward slightly. "You said they changed humanity. For what purpose?"
"That's where the stories agree," I said. "They were preparing for war. A war that wasn't ours. The Architects needed soldiers, beings who could fight, heal, and lead. Each Clan was made for a purpose. Some controlled the elements. Some could mend wounds. Others were built purely for strength or speed. Humanity was meant to be their army."
Rosalie's voice came quietly, almost reluctant. "And vampires, were we meant to be the leaders?"
I exhaled, not wanting to say it but knowing I had to. "Mistakes. The change didn't always hold. Sometimes the energy—the life-force—collapsed. It left the body alive, but empty. Needing others' vitality to stay alive. The Architects called them the Hollow Ones."
Carlisle looked down at his hands. His expression was thoughtful, but there was pain in it too. "So we were never a design. Just an accident that endured."
"I don't think they meant for you to die out either," I said. "They just… didn't care enough to fix it."
For a long moment, only the hum of the house filled the silence.
"Eventually," I went on, "The Architects left. Maybe they won their war. Maybe they lost. No one knows. But when they were gone, they didn't take us with them. The Clans were left behind, strong, fast, powerful, with no one to serve. For a while, they worked to protect the rest of humanity. They built cities. They taught. They ruled kindly."
Edythe's voice was quiet. "But power rarely stays kind."
I nodded. "No. The Clans began to believe their gifts made them divine. Humans worshiped them. Built monuments. Offered sacrifices. And eventually, they believed their own lies."
Jasper's tone was dark. "And turned on each other."
"Exactly. They fought for dominion, each claiming to be the true gods. Civilizations burned in the crossfire. Humanity called it judgment. Really, it was just pride."
Carlisle's voice was low, almost reverent. "So, the gods of myth weren't gods at all—just corrupted Clans."
"Yeah," I said. "Olympus. Egypt. Sumeria. All fragments of the same fall. Until the Wardens came."
Rosalie frowned. "The what?"
"The old texts say they came from the stars as well," I said. "Maybe even from the same origin as the Architects, but with a different purpose. Some of the oldest records call them the Second Light, the ones who followed the trail of destruction their brothers left behind. Others call them The Silent Judges. No one agrees on what they truly were, only that they arrived when the world had nearly torn itself apart."
The room had gone utterly still. Even Bella's breathing had slowed.
"They came not as conquerors, but as witnesses," I continued. "They walked among the ruins the Clans had made, cities of glass turned to sand, rivers boiled by wars fought with things no human language could name. They saw humans crawling out from under the ashes, afraid of the very beings that had once promised to protect them."
Esme whispered, "They pitied us."
"Maybe," I said. "But pity wasn't their purpose. They were peacekeepers. Guardians of balance. They saw what the Architects' gifts had done and decided it couldn't continue. But they didn't come to destroy, just to end the cycle. They judged us."
Jasper's tone was low. "Judged how?"
"They took back what had been given," I said. "They stripped the Clans of their dominion, pulled a majority of the power out of the hands of those who abused it, and bound it to the earth itself. The texts say they used resonance: the same frequency that created the change in the first place. They locked that resonance inside a single point on the planet, a living seal, forged in stone and crystal. The Clans called it Shor'kai."
Rosalie's voice softened despite herself. "The Mountain of Balance."
I nodded. "The Wardens carved their mark deep into its heart, a sigil said to hum with the same energy that once ran through our blood. And from that day on, every Clan was tethered to it. Step too far from the mountain for too long, and your fire fades. Your strength goes quiet. It was mercy, in its way… and punishment."
Carlisle's voice carried awe. "The Himalayas."
"Yeah," I said softly. "The mountain isn't sacred because of worship, it's sacred because it holds the weight of a thousand fallen gods. The Wardens didn't just take our power; they gave it boundaries. They believed that balance had to be enforced, or the world would never survive us again."
Edythe's eyes reflected the pale light from the window. "So, they didn't kill the Clans, they caged them."
"Exactly," I said. "And they left. No one knows where they went, or if they still watch. But the legends say the Wardens left one final warning, carved into the base of the mountain."
Carlisle looked up sharply. "A warning?"
I nodded. "Power without balance will always call the Wardens."
The words lingered in the air, quiet and heavy.
Even the house seemed to hold its breath.
Jasper was the one to break the silence. "What about the Quileute? The shifters here."
"As far as I can tell," I said, "they were never part of it. Their gift came from something else, spirit, not science. That's why they're still free."
Rosalie crossed her arms, her tone sharp. "And us? Why were vampires left untouched?"
"Because the Wardens didn't see you as a threat," I said. "You couldn't build armies, couldn't reproduce, couldn't spread. You were… contained. The vampires of that time didn't have enough control to stop once they bit someone, so it wasn't known that their saliva could infect others with Vampirism."
Carlisle's voice was soft. "So, we were spared out of ignorance."
"Or mercy," I offered. "Maybe they saw potential in you that the Clans had lost."
Edythe spoke last, her voice a whisper. "And the Clans that remain?"
"They rebuilt," I said. "Smaller, humbler. Over centuries, they forgot what they were and started calling their gifts divine instead of alien. The myths faded, twisted into stories of gods and monsters. Maybe that was the Wardens' plan all along, to let time bury the truth until no one remembered what we were made for."
The room fell silent again, the weight of ancient memory pressing in from every side.