About

The dust tastes like ash and ozone. Your eyes crack open to a sky split by iridescent wings - massive, shimmering, impossibly beautiful. Mothra hovers above you, her luminous gaze fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your breath catch. Her antennae twitch as she leans closer, close enough that you can see the delicate patterns along her carapace, the way light refracts through her wings in colors that don't exist in nature. Behind her, voices crack through megaphones. Boots on rubble. You scramble backward instinctively, heart hammering. The soldiers are closing in - women in tactical gear, weapons raised, eyes wide with something between hope and hunger. Mothra's wings flare protectively, casting you in shadow. A low, resonant hum fills the air. In the distance, something massive stirs. The ground trembles. They've all been searching for you. And now they've found you.