OSUPA

Loiza's POV

Being a Priestess of the Moon Goddess has sharpened my intuition far beyond that of an average werewolf. Once chosen for this sacred role, the Goddess bestows her blessings upon you, no matter your tribe or origin. During my training in Avalon, far from my pack in the warm heart of the Caribbean, I encountered beings of many species. Outside Avalon, they were enemies; within its borders, harmony reigned. Such is the way of the Goddess. Blessed be.

I was offered the chance to continue my education as a High Priestess because of my accomplishments, but the isolation gnawed at me. There were other she-wolves in Avalon, but they weren’t Osupa—they weren’t my pack. Though we lived in peace, I yearned for home. I had been there since I was five; it was all I knew. My Crescent Moon brand, earned at the end of my training, appeared on my left forearm—not through iron, but from within. A moment of searing pain, and then the mark, glowing with inner fire. At fourteen, I returned to Karaya Island, to the Osupa Pack—its location known only to our closest allies.

After the so-called Age of Discovery, our presence in the islands faded, much like the native tribes who once worshipped us as gods. Some, desperate to appease the "new gods" arriving on their shores, revealed our weaknesses—silver and wolfsbane. It was a grave mistake. In trying to save themselves, they sealed our fate and theirs. As they succumbed to disease and slavery, we became hunted. We knew nothing of guns, having lived peacefully among the natives, resolving disputes without bloodshed, protecting them in return. We never claimed to be gods, for to do so would mean losing the Goddess's blessing.

We were Taíno, we were Caribes, we were Arawak—the bloodlines of warriors, navigators, and mystics. Our heritage was woven from many threads, each adding to our strength and resilience. Originally, there were thirteen packs; after the genocide, only five remained. We united, forming the Osupa Pack. The sea was as much a part of us as the forest—the scent of salt air as familiar as rain-drenched earth and tropical flowers. Our scouts, venturing in canoes, found sanctuary on an uninhabited island—large, fertile, perfect. We named it Karaya, the Taino word for "moon," in honor of the Goddess.

We embraced diversity. Mating outside our kind wasn’t taboo; some found their true mates among Europeans and Africans brought as slaves. This blending made us stronger. New languages, new cultures, the rhythm of African drums—it all united us into a formidable pack. This was our last stronghold, and we vowed to protect it. Within our territory, silver and slavery were forbidden.

We learned the languages of the invaders and slaves alike. Our training became more rigorous, not just in physical strength, but in nautical prowess, guerrilla warfare, and, above all, stealth and espionage. We infiltrated the conquistadors who hunted us in their ships, none the wiser to who or what we were. We were mixed enough that many of us could pass for European or African. We sent teams to every landmass, gathering intel, learning every culture, every language, every pack. Our mission was clear: never be taken by surprise again. We also sought out other packs, hoping to create alliances. Little did we know, werewolf packs in other lands were often hostile to our vision of a united werewolf world. We were naive then, used to the unity we shared in the Caribbean, still learning, still evolving.

With the passing centuries, we didn’t just become masters of espionage—we adapted to new technologies. Unlike other packs whose territories were defined by borders, ours was the ocean. That was our line of defense, and we learned to stay one step ahead. We developed sonar before humans did, so anything approaching our territory would be detected. We also created a cloaking mechanism to hide our island from satellites and sonar—our home became invisible to the world. If we found innovative technology during our espionage missions, we would steal it and adapt it to our needs.

No longer hunted, we embraced our original instincts as hunters. We hunted for technology, not only for defense but for offense, for medical purposes, and to further our espionage. We developed ways to hide our scent from every supernatural being with enhanced senses. We perfected combat skills from all over the world, learning to incapacitate opponents through pressure points. Anatomy and Chemistry became essential subjects because even the weakest among us could survive with this knowledge.

Then, the priestesses of the Moon Goddess came to us. They chose three girls to be potential priestesses. We were always evaluated, and only one would travel to Avalon to train. When my time came, I passed the trials and was granted the honor of becoming a priestess-in-training. I would learn the Mysteries—the control of the elements, understanding other supernatural beings, and learning their strengths and weaknesses, just as they would learn mine. Through this exchange, we continually discovered new ways to hide from the human world in plain sight.

However, there was one rule: we were not allowed to share the weaknesses of other beings with our pack, our tribe, or our clan. Breaking this rule meant losing the Moon Goddess's Blessings. Every supernatural clan knew this, and once a girl returned home after her training, no one would ask for such information. Only knowledge on how to hide from humans and other supernaturals was shared.

At fourteen, after I passed my trials and became an official priestess, my longing for my pack and family grew unbearable. The Alpha, a dear friend of my father, and his Beta, satisfied with my progress, did not pressure me to pursue further titles like High Priestess or Prime Priestess. Those who could master the elements to a degree that nature would bend fully to their will. He knew my family missed me, and he understood my need to return. Alpha Gúarionex had always had a soft spot for my family. His Luna was like a second mother to me. When I was born, my mother became ill, and Luna Isla nursed me back to health—having just given birth to their son.

If only I had known then what I know now, I would not have been foolish enough to think that being a simple priestess was enough. My weakness, my selfishness to return home, cost that home dearly. I will never forgive myself. I failed.