A group of Native American warriors stand on the golden sands of a secluded beach, their dark silhouettes outlined against the shimmering ocean waves. Their muscular forms are poised in tense anticipation, gripping long wooden spears adorned with feathers and carvings. Their deep, watchful eyes are fixed on the horizon, where a massive Spanish colonial ship with towering masts looms in the near distance, its sails billowing under the weight of the ocean wind. The unmistakable Red Spanish Cross is emblazoned on the white fabric, a stark symbol of foreign arrival. Behind the warriors, the lush, untamed jungle rises with thick foliage, towering palm trees, and vines draping from the dense canopy. Sunlight pierces through the stormy clouds above, casting a golden glow on the misty treetops. The air is heavy with humidity, the scent of saltwater and wet earth mingling with the distant call of tropical birds. The ocean stretches infinitely beyond, its deep blue surface rippling under the weight of an approaching storm. Dark clouds roll in from the horizon, and a distant rumble of thunder echoes across the waves. The Spanish ship, partially veiled by mist and sea spray, appears both majestic and ominous, its cannons lining the deck like silent threats. The warriors, clad in loincloths and traditional garments, have war paint streaked across their faces, their bare feet sinking into the wet sand. Some hold their spears upright, while others have them angled toward the sea, ready for whatever comes next. Their stance is unyielding, a powerful display of unity against the unknown force that approaches their land. <lora:CinematicStyleFlux_v1:1>