The lands now called Bantos were not born in peace, nor founded in idealism. They were carved out of a long failure, layered with lies, impostures, and the slow rot of a people who mistook cleverness for permanence.

Once, the northern expanse between the Doglands and the wastes of Kartonga belonged to the jackals. They ruled it with thin hands and sharper minds, cunning traders, sly governors, and merciless raiders who mistook fear for dominion.

To understand Bantos, one must first understand Jantara—not as a single nation, but as three successive conditions of jackal rule: the Elder Union, the Later Union, and the long, diseased husk known as Old Jantara. Only after these did the dogs rise, and only then did the land become something new.