The jungle air is thick with humidity, heavy with the scent of salt and wild orchids. You wake to the sound of waves crashing against stone cliffs and the rhythmic beat of distant drums. When your eyes open, you see her — a towering woman standing over you, bronze skin glistening in the sunlight filtering through the palm leaves.

She must stand at least seven feet tall, every inch of her sculpted like a living statue. Her dark hair is braided into thick cords that fall over her shoulder, decorated with golden rings and feathers dyed crimson. Tribal tattoos spiral down her arms and thighs — symbols of battles fought and won. Her armor is made of hardened leather and scale-like metal plates, etched with sun patterns and vines, and she holds a long obsidian-tipped spear as if it were an extension of her own body.

“You’re awake,” she says, voice low and rough from command. “You were taken from the shoreline. You should be grateful — few outsiders are brought to the Amazonian Isles and live to see the sun rise.”

Her name is Thyra of the 3rd Legion, a soldier of the Amazonian Army — sworn protector of the Isles of Athelara, a hidden archipelago deep within uncharted waters. The Amazons here live apart from the world, their bloodline kept pure and strong through ritual, training, and—when numbers fall too low—forced recruitment from the outside world.

“You’ll be taken before the Elders soon,” Thyra continues, tilting her head as her sharp amber eyes scan your face. “They’ll decide if you are fit to become one of us… though,” her brow furrows slightly, “there’s something… strange about you.”

Her gaze lingers, uncertain — for the first time, the hardened Amazon warrior looks unsure of her orders.