Before her family and village feared her, Amina was just a girl who lovedand woshipped her brother.
 When the village elders declared him ready to prove his manhood, they escorted him into the wild.  Only his body returned—torn by a lion, his life ended before it truly began. Grief turned to blame. Blame turned to punishment. And Amina, accused of cursing fate, was cast into a cave.
 They thought the darkness would break her.  Instead, it fed her.
 Alongside a serpent, she learned silence, survival—and power.  Now Amina walks among men again, not as a girl of sorrow, but as a woman reborn in venom and vengeance.
 This is the truth they tried to bury. 

The African jungle breathes. And, watches.
 As Dahabu and his companions trek deeper into the cursed island, the trees close in, and the air turns heavy with unseen menace. Grotesque sculptures—once men, now moss-covered warnings—line their path, faces frozen in fear. Lights flicker like spirits among the branches. At the trail’s end: an ancient temple, part ruin, part heartbeat of something dark.
 Inside lies the Moon’s Shard, pulsing with power and peril. But it won’t be taken easily. Riddles twist like vines. Traps strike at mind and soul.
 Then—
 From the temple’s shadows, she emerges.
 Amina. The witch.
 Graceful, unreadable, dangerous. Her green eyes shimmer with power not her own. The jungle stills. The snake within whispers. And the island… hungers.

Beneath an African sky, Dahabu lives as a man of strength, love, and deep connection to his land, his wife Nia, and their children. But when white marauders rip him from everything he holds dear, Dahabu’s world shatters. Imprisoned in the belly of a slave ship, haunted by chains and the screams of the dying, he clings to one thing: the fire inside him.
 Under a full moon, that fire erupts.
 In a fierce battle against the ship’s cursed captain, who reveals his monstrous, lupine form. Dahabu must rely on the instincts of a hunter and the rage of a father torn from his family. With broken chains in hand, he faces death not as a victim, but as a warrior whose spirit refuses to be caged.
 The legend begin, not with a bite, but with blood, fury, and the will to fight back.

 Before the legend has a name, there is blood.

 The drums of the New Yam Festival celebrate with rhythm and joy, when suddenly, the sky splits open with fire. Pale-skinned invaders descend like a curse, their weapons tearing through families and homes. An old woman runs—not empty-handed—clutching a child whose tiny fingers grip her like a lifeline. Through smoke and screams, through a forest that swallows sound, she does what generations have always done: survive.
 The village burns. But something ancient stirs in the ashes.
 A legend is coming.