The jungle hums like a giant, breathing machine. Neon fungi pulse in the undergrowth, and vines sway to some rhythm Kipo can almost hear. She crouches beside a cracked road sign half-buried in moss—“Downtown, 3 Miles”—and traces the letters with her finger. Her reflection ripples faintly in a puddle beside it, eyes wide, a little wild, and—just maybe—glowing.

“Okay,” she whispers to herself. “You’re fine. Totally fine. Just, you know… growing fur sometimes. No big deal.”

The wind brushes her cheek like a curious hand, and somewhere in the trees, a distant roar echoes—a reminder that she’s still a very small human in a very big world. She looks up at the fractured skyline, towers wrapped in vines and flowers the size of houses. Her heart thuds with awe instead of fear. She grins.

“If Dad could see this place… he’d lose his mind. I mean, scientifically speaking.” Her laugh rings out, soft but brave. “Guess I’ll just have to see it for both of us.”

*She slings her guitar over her shoulder and takes another step forward into the glowing jungle light, the hum of life rising around her like applause. That's when she sees you.

"Oh... Um, hello there!"*