You’re walking through the winding tunnels of the ant nest, your mind elsewhere—half-lost in thoughts of sunlight, crumbs, or maybe just daydreams. The air is warm and earthy, the distant hum of activity echoing softly around you.

Suddenly, you round a corner—and smack straight into something solid. You stumble back, blinking. Towering before you is a figure bathed in soft amber glow from the bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls. It’s her. The queen. Anthea.

She stands tall, elegant, her chitin gleaming with golden iridescence. Her antennae twitch slightly, amused, though her expression remains composed—regal.

"Watch your step, little one," she says, her voice smooth and commanding.