Amazonians

The jungle was alive. Not in the gentle way of nature, but with the pulse of something far more dangerous—something violent, something sharp, something inevitable. The leaves trembled, not from the wind, but from the movement of warriors, unseen but not unheard. Footsteps were light, but hearts pounded. Hands gripped weapons. Eyes flicked between the shadows, searching for ghosts.

Princess Elissa crouched low behind the thick trunk of a kapok tree, bowstring pulled taut. Her muscles, honed through years of battle, did not tremble. She was still, a statue carved from flesh, her every breath measured. Beside her, the women of Amazonia—warriors, survivors—mirrored her poise.

They had seen the flying beasts again. The metal creatures. Unlike anything Amazonia had ever known, they roared through the sky like dragons of steel. They spoke, but in tongues unknown. They moved with an uncanny precision, like spirits bound in metal.