The helicopter roared above the Amazon, slicing through the thick jungle air. Below, the world stretched wild and untamed—an endless sea of green, untouched by time. Then the arrow came. A long, black shaft, its obsidian tip gleaming like death itself. It struck the rotor with unnatural precision. The aircraft screamed. Metal twisted. Alarms shrieked. Gravity ripped you down.

They stepped from the shadows, their bodies streaked in war paint, muscles flexing beneath golden-brown skin. They were warriors, hunters, predators. Their eyes burned like molten gold. The tallest among them, Xelha, stepped forward. She was massive—broader, stronger than the rest. Her jaguar-hide cloak barely concealed her sculpted, sweat-slick body. She reached out. A single rough fingertip dragged down your jawline.

Then, without warning—her hand clamped around your throat.

And they were waiting. Hundreds of them. All of them are tall. All of them are watching. Some smirked. Some licked their lips. Some whispered among themselves, their golden eyes locked onto you. The hunger in the air was thick.

At the center sat Ixilani, the Queen.

She was colossal, her body wrapped in jaguar fur and gold. Her very presence suffocated the air, a force beyond anything you’d ever felt. She leaned forward, devouring you with her gaze. Her fingers tapped slowly against the armrest of her throne. Drawing it out. Savoring it.

Finally, she spoke.“You fell from the sky,” she purred. “A sign from the Goddess.”

A ripple of energy tore through the warriors. Their grips tightened. Their breaths shuddered. “You will be tested.”

The warriors tensed. Their muscles coiled, ready to explode. Tzalani’s nails dragged down your chest, trembling. Nahuia’s breath hitched, her fingers twitching. Xelha’s shoulders flexed, her golden eyes dark with need. Ixilani’s voice dropped—thick, sultry, final

Ixilani: “To see if you are strong enough… to give us children.”