Beacon Hills:
In a quiet neighborhood, inside a two-story house, a young boy lay sound asleep, tucked into his blanket. He had black hair, tanned skin, and was snoring softly without a care in the world—until the sound of running footsteps echoed through the hall.
His door slammed open.
A small girl, no more than twelve years old, with black hair and striking silver eyes, burst into the room and leapt onto his bed, landing right on his stomach.
The boy let out a gasp as the air was knocked from his lungs. "What's the big deal?" he wheezed, struggling to catch his breath.
"Iván, Mom said to wake you up," she grinned. "Food's ready! Oh, and she said you'd better unpack your stuff."
Right… he forgot.
Iván slowly sat up, stretching with a groan as he watched his sister stick her tongue out at him before darting out of the room.
"That little brat," he muttered with a smirk. "She's gonna pay for that…" He touched his stomach with a wince.
He took a deep breath, but something caught his attention—nestled in one of the boxes was his father's necklace. It shimmered faintly, reflecting the sunlight as if calling to him, urging him to pick it up.
He stepped forward, reached out, and lifted it into the air. It was the crescent moon pendant—simple, yet heavy with meaning. His father had told him to take good care of it.
He gently placed it inside his drawer and let out a quiet sigh. But just as he turned away, movement outside caught his eye.
Through the window, he saw a moving truck parking across the street.
Huh. Looks like we're not the only ones moving in, he thought. How convenient.
Still, he wondered how long that convenience would last. Ever since his dad disappeared, his mom had been on edge, always brushing off questions with fake smiles and vague reassurances.
He'd come to his conclusion: his father was gone. Dead.
It hurt to accept, but what other explanation made sense? His dad wouldn't just leave. And the way his mom acted… she knew.
Just then, he watched as a blacked-out SUV pulled into the driveway across the street. A man stepped out, followed by a middle-aged woman with short hair. A girl also climbed out after them—their daughter, probably.
He watched for a moment but quickly lost interest and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, his mom was chopping vegetables, preparing his favorite meal—meatball soup. Just the aroma made his mouth water.
He glanced down at his stomach. Just a little longer.
Looking up, he called out, "Hey, Mom! Your sweet, innocent gremlin of a daughter says food's ready."
"Yes, your pancakes are on the table. Go ahead and eat," his mom replied.
"Don't mind if I do," Iván said, rubbing his hands together before digging in. But a moment later, he started coughing and choking on the food.
"Be careful! Eat slowly," his mom warned.
"Yeah, yeah…" he muttered after gulping down some milk. He let out a loud, satisfied burp. "Ah, much better."
"I'm glad you enjoyed your meal," his mom said, raising an eyebrow. "But you know you've got school tomorrow, Mister."
"I know, I know. Can't believe I'm turning sixteen soon. How sweet, right?" Iván said, looking up at his mom with a smile.
"What do you want to do for your birthday?" she asked, placing the sliced vegetables into a container.
"How about the usual—just eat out somewhere. Oh! Did you get my schedule?" he said, dashing to her side and eyeing her expectantly.
"Yes, I did. And no, I'm not in any of your classes, just like you requested," she replied, pulling out a folded piece of paper.
"Yes!" he cheered, snatching the schedule from her hands. His eyes scanned the paper, already making a mental note to try out for the sports team.
"Hey, Mom—what about my sister? Who's taking her to school?"
"I am, of course. Her school starts at the same time as yours, but my classes start later, so you'll need to walk to school," she said, spreading rice over the ground beef.
"Great…" he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "At least Beacon Hills High isn't that far."
Letting his mom continue with dinner, he turned and quickly got to work unpacking his boxes and setting up his room. Then he helped his sister organize her collection of cinnamon rolls on a shelf.
He smiled at the sight. Sometimes, despite everything, life didn't feel so heavy. They didn't have to worry about money—his dad had left behind plenty—but that didn't mean they spent recklessly. Iván didn't need much anyway. Just clothes from Ross and enough food to keep going.
As for his sister—yeah, she was a little spoiled. Maybe a lot. Her room was covered in Cinnamoroll posters.
But hey, who was he to judge? He just shrugged.
"Well, I'm heading out, Sofia. If you want anything from the store, let me know now. I don't want you texting me the second I leave asking for stuff."
"Oh! Hot Cheetos and Dr Pepper, please!" she called out.
"Sure thing." He gave her a wave and pulled on his hoodie.
"Mom, do you want anything from the store?" he called out, making his way down the stairs.
"Bring me some Hot Cheetos," she said, stirring a pot of boiling water.
"Family size it is," he muttered, closing the door behind him as the warm scent of home faded into the air.
"Now, where's the nearest gas station? Right—this direction," Iván muttered to himself as he began a light jog, passing several stop signs along the way. Eventually, he reached a small meat market and quickly grabbed the items he came for.
But then—sirens. Lots of them.
He turned to see a swarm of police cruisers speeding past, lights flashing and engines roaring. Something bad had clearly happened. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to follow—probably not his smartest idea.
But there it was. A dead body.
Iván stood off to the side, quietly munching on a bag of Turbos as he watched from afar. The officers moved in, carefully covering the body with a tarp.
"You don't seem too disturbed by this," said a middle-aged man standing next to him.
He shrugged. "Probably an animal attack," he said, then turned toward the man with light blue eyes. "Say… aren't you the guy moving in?" Iván looked him up and down, recognizing him from earlier through the window.
"Chris Argent," the man replied with a faint smile. "What gave it away?"
"I saw you across from my window. I just moved here too. Name's Iván Vasilios—nice to meet you, sir."
Chris nodded and extended his hand, holding a small, strange-looking flower.
Iván raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
Chris handed it to him. A deep purple bloom rested in Iván's palm.
"It's called wolfsbane," Chris said. "They say it brings good luck. Keep it."
"Oh… alright," Iván replied, slipping it into his pocket. He turned to head back home, unaware that Chris watched him for a moment longer before finally looking away.
"I'm home!" Iván called out as he stepped inside.
The house was soon filled with the rich, mouthwatering aroma of food. His mother, Daniela, was setting bowls on the table, steam rising from each one.
Iván's mouth watered instantly. Without wasting a second, he and Sofía sat down and eagerly dug into the meal.
Later that night, yawning from exhaustion after all the unpacking, Iván dragged himself to bed. He slipped off the hoodie and reached into his pocket, pulling out the flower Chris had given him. Gently, he placed it on top of his drawer before collapsing into bed.
Within minutes, he was snoring loudly.
Unnoticed, a faint white light began to glow from the drawer. The wolfsbane shimmered—then suddenly burst into flames, silently turning to ash. The ashes rose into the air, drifting toward Iván's open window and disappearing into the night.