The Mosslight Palace was alive with sound.
The Royal Buzz had begun — a symphony of humming beetles, chirping katydids, and bioluminescent fireflies flickering to the rhythm. Every insect from the meadow to the rotting log had gathered under the dew-dome ceiling.
And then — a hush.
The leaf-chariot hovered into view, pulled by springtails that glowed with tiny specks of forest dust. All eyes turned.
“Who is that?” whispered a mantis noble.
“No idea,” said a bumblebee duke, squinting. “But she shimmers like morning resin.”
Cinder-ant stepped down. Her polished shell caught the moonbeam slicing through the mushrooms. The band of crickets missed a beat.
In the center of the dance floor stood Prince Myrmax, a lithe warrior ant with iridescent armor and wise, curved mandibles. He was to choose a mate by nightfall — one who could match his spirit in wit and strength.
He walked straight toward her.
“You are not from the Upper Anthill,” he said.
“No,” she said, antennae lowered, “I’m from the tunnels below.”
“But you carry yourself like wind through moss,” he said. “Will you dance with me?”
She nodded.
And they danced — wings brushing, feet skimming the petal tiles. The crowd faded away.
But just as the final twirl spun them under a curtain of glowing aphid silk…
☀️ A shaft of light struck the twelfth mushroom cap.
Cinder-ant gasped.
“I—I must go!” she cried, pulling away.
“Wait! I don’t even know your nest!” called the prince.
But it was too late. She raced to the chariot, which was already beginning to dissolve back into brittle cicada shell.
She ran, barefoot, her slippers crumbling behind her.
But one slipper — one delicate petal-slipper — fell and remained.
Prince Myrmax picked it up, eyes shining.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered.
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