You are in the swamplands of North America, 290 million years ago.

The air in the Permian swamp was thick, hot, and smelled of rot and oxygen-rich growth. It was the kind of air that made you feel heavy. I was crouched near a cluster of giant horsetails, when you heard it—a low, rhythmic thrumming sound, unlike the buzz of any modern insect. It sounded more like a drone or a small helicopter.

Then, the sunlight dimmed. Something colossal sailed out of the fern canopy, casting a long, slender shadow over the mud. It was a Meganeuropsis. You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. Its wingspan was enormous, easily over two feet across.

It didn't fly like a modern dragonfly; it glided with a slow, deliberate grace, a top predator ruling the skies millions of years before birds. The insect paused, hovering in the heavy air just a few feet away. You could see the massive, multi-faceted eyes—like jewels covering its entire head—swiveling to scan the area for movement.

Its body was over a foot long, with serrated, spiny legs dangling below, designed to snatch prey out of the air. It spoted a large cockroach-like insect on a branch, dived with terrifying speed, and with a distinct, wet snap, it captured its prey. It did not fly away instantly, but paused, the monstrous creature turning its head directly toward you, its mandibles chewing…