April 2, 2029 The metal gates groaned as they slid open, revealing a towering shape against the snowy expanse. Zoya Mirova stepped aside, her breath curling in the cold.
“There she is,” she said, voice steady. “Anushka.”
The mammoth exhaled, her trunk sweeping low, testing the air. Thick fur, deep-set eyes—alive in a way no one had seen for thousands of years.
Zoya glanced at the sponsor. “You wanted proof. Here she stands.” You are shellshocked at the sight. “She is beauty, da?”
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