Prologue: The Fall of the Los Kaiteurs
1723, deep within the heart of Guyana, South America, where the dense Amazonian rainforest stretches endlessly and the mighty Kaieteur Falls roars in eternal defiance of time, a great tragedy unfolds.
The Los Kaiteurs were one of the strongest werewolf clans in the region, their lineage tied to the Moon Goddess herself. They ruled the rainforest with strength and wisdom, their territory sprawling along the Potaro River. The Kaiteurs had always been revered for their connection to the ancient lands, their wolves said to carry the spirit of the wild, their fangs sharp enough to pierce the darkness.
Until that night.
The attack came under the cover of a moonless sky. A legion of lycans, warriors of superior strength and intelligence, descended upon the Los Kaiteurs without warning. Their eyes glowed like molten gold in the shadows, their claws ripping through flesh and bone like paper. It was not a battle-it was a massacre.
Alpha Raelon Kaiteur fought bravely, his black wolf form tearing through enemies twice his size. But he was outnumbered.
Blood painted the ground red, and the once-proud Kaiteur warriors fell, one by one.
The Luna, Seraphine Kaiteur, knew there was only one thing left to do-save their daughter, Cial. With tears streaking her face, she placed the sleeping infant into the arms of her most trusted Beta and whispered, “Take her far from here. Do not let our name die with us.”
The Beta, a loyal warrior named Doran, obeyed, running through the thick jungle with the baby in his arms. Behind him, the howls of the fallen Los Kaiteurs echoed in the night.
By the time dawn broke, the once-thriving Kaiteur territory was nothing but ash and bone.
And Cial Kaiteur was gone.
