The Ash Mountain Range, constructed from hues of black and red, winds and stretches across the center of the white continent.
At the end of the range, several golden smoke-thread dragons frolic and play, spewing the smoky air around them and ignoring the black-red bones at their feet—unaware of the impending danger.
The slender antennae of the scouting black soldier ants oscillate rapidly, estimating the distance between the legendary 'treasure' and their own army.
The vast black army, like a heavy stroke of ink, blots a corner of the white continent.
The hunt begins, subtly and without warning.
Pounce, bite, entangle, fight.
The bodies of the smoke-thread dragons seem exceptionally bulky and mighty to these tiny black ants. A swipe would pulverize, a knock would mash. Countless bodies of the black ants fell, nourishing and augmenting the height and length of the Ash Mountain Range.
Yet ants are never creatures known to retreat in the face of difficulties.
