Bella pushed the chief's wheelchair along the dirt path the Quileute had carved through the trees, deeper into the reservation.
"Did something… happen to me?"
She guessed the middle-aged man might've noticed something—something she herself couldn't feel. No warnings. No instincts. No signs.
She'd saved people at the airport. The last thing she wanted was to bring death and catastrophe into the Quileute land.
Her idea was simple—honestly, naively simple: use the tribe as a bridge and see whether she could talk to whatever "Death" had caused the crash.
Asking Death to pay for its crimes was impossible—American law wasn't that powerful.
But maybe "Death" wasn't a Western concept at all.
Maybe it was some kind of old Aztec or Mayan deity.
And the Quileute had their own guardian spirits, their own totems.
Maybe—just maybe—spirits didn't fight their own kind.
Maybe you could talk things out.
"How nice would that be?" she thought.
"There is indeed something," the chief replied simply. He didn't elaborate. Instead, he asked:
"Bella, do you know the history of the Quileute tribe?"
I know you turn into wolves, she thought silently.
The Quileute wolves weren't the movie monsters people imagined. They were humans until vampire scent triggered the ancestral bloodline—then they shifted into giant wolves.
Wolf form was wolf; human form was human.
No half-wolf, half-human hybrids walking upright.
Honestly, it reminded her of a Druid shapeshift from a video game.
She kept her answer safe:
"Jacob said your tribe has a proud history—that you started as a great people."
Safe, flattering, and impossible to criticize.
The chief chuckled softly. No wonder his idiot son was head-over-heels. This girl was charming, polite, and—well—beautiful.
He sighed quietly.
He'd help her if he could. For Charlie's sake. For his son's sake.
Then his tone turned solemn.
"Your misfortune isn't gone. Something… something beyond science is still watching you."
Bella's stomach tightened.
"I'll leave tonight. I'll explain everything to Charlie and Jacob." She sounded firm, decisive.
But Billy Black waved a hand.
"No, child. That's not what I mean."
"Quileute is a small tribe now. Much of our inheritance is lost. What I'm about to say—keep it secret. Even from Jacob. Even from Charlie."
"I won't tell anyone."
Billy rested a hand on the bark of a towering old tree.
"This tree was already tall when my grandfather was young. Our memories go far… our knowledge comes from the Maya. We believe everything has a spirit. We believe our blood carries spirit. You have spirit. I have spirit. Even the one who caused the plane crash is a spirit."
Bella paused, trying to decode his meaning.
He spoke of Death with zero respect.
Billy saw her confusion and clarified:
"Our beliefs are nothing like yours. The roles of gods change. Some tribes still hold a 'god-killing' ritual—during festivals, they write the names of outdated or conquered gods onto food and eat it.
So whether that thing—the one who caused the crash—is alive or dead… it has nothing to do with us."
Bella blinked.
This Native American pantheon was complicated.
She'd never studied it.
A complete blind spot.
But compared to Odin, Zeus, and the Christian God…
Yeah, the native ones got fired a lot. Brutally.
Billy tapped his forehead.
"Old men ramble. What I mean is—Quileute can't help you. You're not of our blood. Our ancestral spirits won't answer you.
But your ancestors might.
You can ask them for strength."
Bella stared at him, stunned.
Her ancestors were… normal people. Farmers. Clerks. Immigrants. Human in every sense.
"Our ancestors don't have supernatural powers…"
Billy burst out laughing.
"Of course they do. You just haven't found them yet. If you search with patience, they'll protect you."
He pulled a cloth bundle from the back of his wheelchair.
"The ritual is simple. But you must understand your strengths. Ancestral spirits aren't omnipotent—focus on what's in front of you. Don't make wild wishes. You're a smart girl.
You'll survive this."
He handed her the bundle, then slowly wheeled himself back toward the village.
Bella hurried home, unwrapped the bundle, and found the items simple:
— some dried yellow seeds
— a white animal fang
— several pots of colored paint
— a wrinkled sheet of A4 paper, edges torn
The sheet spelled out the entire ritual—in English, probably because the chief worried she wouldn't understand otherwise.
She read every line twice.
It was basically the idiot-proof version. No explanation of how it worked—just steps and warnings.
She had to find a quiet place.
Forks wasn't exactly brimming with sacred silence.
And she definitely wasn't going back to Quileute land.
They had their own ancestral spirits.
Calling a Swan ancestor over there would feel like…
declaring war.
North was the tribe.
South was the Cullen coven.
Definitely not going there.
Original Bella had dreamed of becoming a vampire—this Bella had no such suicidal ambitions. Marvel vampires were lower tier.
So she'd do the ritual at home.
She read the steps again. Twice.
Still idiot-proof.
When Charlie left for work, she began.
She placed a small bowl of charcoal on the floor and lit it.
Then she mixed the seeds with paint. The mixture was meant for her face. No rules—just paint it on.
Bella stared into the mirror.
A dot here.
Another there.
Some lines.
More lines.
Eventually, she connected everything.
She looked like she'd entered Sage Mode from Naruto.
"This better not ruin my skin…"
It was hideous.
But survival over beauty.
She picked up the fang and sliced her palm.
Blood dripped into the burning charcoal.
Bella closed her eyes.
And waited for the spirits of the Swan family to answer.