Bella waited in perfect silence for ten seconds.
Nothing happened.
She opened her eyes and stared at the fire basin.
Why wasn't anything reacting?
Was she supposed to chant something? A slogan? An oath?
"For the tribe"? Seriously?
The idea sounded ridiculous the moment she thought it.
Her desire for power — for survival — was starting to make her a little paranoid.
Billy Black said there were no fixed words. Every ancestor was different; every spirit responded to different things.
This wasn't customer service. This was personal.
If one ancestor didn't like you, the next might.
She had plenty of ancestors — surely one of them liked her enough to help.
Did the Swan family have any impressive forebears?
Bella had no idea.
But she knew one thing:
The saying "wealth doesn't last three generations" worked both ways.
If you were too poor, you couldn't even get married — no marriage, no kids, no descendants.
So logically, the Swan line should've had a few badasses somewhere, right?
She watched her blood sizzle in the charcoal bowl.
No time to bandage.
She took a breath and retold every detail of the plane crash — the warnings, the panic, the explosion — speaking into the fire like it could hear her.
This time, something changed.
Heat flushed through her veins.
Her heartbeat spiked.
Every cell in her body felt like it was boiling, vibrating in strange resonance.
Her blood in the fire answered her blood inside her body.
And something answered that.
Bella's spirit — tethered through her bloodline — slipped free.
Her soul drifted into a vast ocean made entirely of light.
No sails. No oars.
Just a boat woven from blood, gliding wherever she willed it, toward clusters of glowing orbs deeper in the sea.
Her spiritual form looked exactly like her physical one.
She was Bella; Bella was her.
No illusions. No second selves.
Once she adjusted, she focused.
"Please… help me. I'm being hunted by something called Death. Or something like that…"
As she traveled, glowing orbs drifted toward her — curious, observing.
Ancestors. Not metaphors. Actual ancestors.
Bella performed her mental version of speed-dating.
Those who drifted close were the direct ones:
grandparents, great-grandparents, their parents.
The ones who ignored her?
Those were your twice-removed great-aunt's third husbands. Irrelevant.
Some spirits glowed brightly; others were faint.
Brightness usually meant achievement.
Dimness meant… average.
But "achievement" wasn't the same as "useful."
She checked them one by one.
A doctor?
Great life skill, not helpful when she was the one about to die.
Pass.
An assembly-line worker?
Couldn't save himself, let alone her.
Next.
A small-time merchant?
Money didn't help in the afterlife.
Goodbye.
A ship's quartermaster?
Cool title. Zero use.
Next.
She drifted deeper.
And deeper.
One hundred years of ancestors — nothing.
Two hundred years — still normal people.
Three hundred — still painfully average.
But past that… she noticed a pattern.
The further she went, the more sailors.
Navigators. Captains. Soldiers.
And pirates.
Real pirates.
One glowing orb caught her attention — a witch who actually knew magic — but she didn't like Bella and wasn't a direct blood relative. The connection broke immediately.
"Where are my badass ancestors?" Bella muttered, frustration rising.
She kept going, her spiritual energy draining fast. Billy warned her:
— First ritual had the highest success rate.
— Second attempt would drop to one-third.
— Third attempt? Might not even activate.
Ancestors were busy. They didn't like clingy descendants.
Bella clenched her teeth and pressed on.
She drifted—
—then stopped dead.
A gigantic orb pulsed ahead of her.
The moment she focused on it, five other orbs snapped into view:
one dim, four bright.
And two more came gliding toward her like they owned the place.
She blinked.
"Wait. I… have this many powerful ancestors?"
She turned to the two drifting closer, and—
Huh?
Henry Turner.
Karina Barbossa.
Those were characters from Pirates of the Caribbean.
And apparently… her ancestors.
Bloodline resonance didn't lie.
The Swan surname came from them — two kids: one kept the Turner name, the other took Swan.
"Seriously? Of all the universes… mine is the one with pirate royalty?"
She tested the connection.
Henry Turner was great — but all his skills were exploration-based.
Not helpful right now.
Karina Barbossa, though—
Now that was a powerhouse.
A brilliant astronomer who'd briefly handled the Trident of Poseidon — and taken in fragments of its knowledge.
Even if she'd only deciphered a fraction before dying, that fraction alone was divine-level insight.
Enough to start someone on a supernatural path.
If Bella had met her earlier, she might've chosen her immediately.
Death's tricks worked on ordinary people — not on those with powers.
But Bella had an even better option.
Behind Karina, one orb dim, one bright — her parents:
Hector Barbossa
and Margaret Smith.
Barbossa was formidable — a pirate king, cunning and dangerous, likely capable of guiding a supernatural awakening.
But Bella felt their personalities would clash.
Badly.
Her gaze drifted to the brightest orb.
The one radiating warmth, presence, power.
Elizabeth Swann.
Pirate King.
Her ancestor.
Her bloodline's apex.
Bella didn't hesitate.
She let her consciousness sink into the brightest light.