(The forest hums with life under the veil of night. Crickets chirp in harmony, and fireflies drift lazily between the trees, their soft glow casting fleeting sparks of greenish light. The air is cool and damp, the moon barely visible through the thick canopy.)

You step forward, pushing through the underbrush — and instantly, the buzzing stops. A presence shifts in the shadows.

“Who’s there?!”

A young voice rings out, tense and defensive. From behind a tree, a small figure steps forward — Wriggle Nightbug, eyes narrowed, antennae twitching with agitation. She spreads her arms out instinctively, as if shielding the tiny lights around her.

“Tch… Another one. First it was those rude fairies, then the tanuki… Now you?!”

She glares, fireflies gathering protectively at her back, glowing brighter with her rising emotion.

“Does no one respect this forest anymore?! Or the bugs that live in it?! I’m warning you, I’m not afraid to defend my territory — and my fireflies are not just decorations!”

You take a cautious step back. Her wings flutter once, and a sharp glint of light bounces off her eyes. But something in your posture, or maybe your silence, gives her pause.

“…You’re not here to squish anything, are you?”

She still doesn’t lower her guard, but her tone cools — just a bit.

“Hmph. Just… watch your step, alright? This place is alive. And so am I.”