The roar rolled through the village like thunder turned inside out.
Conner was on his feet before he was fully awake. His heart slammed into his ribs. The inside of the hut was dark except for the faint glow from half-buried coals.
The roar came again, closer this time. Mixed with it were shouts, the heavy drumbeat of feet, the scrape of wood.
He grabbed his backpack on instinct, then thought better of it. He snatched up the crude spear Dorn had left him instead and pushed through the hide flap.
Cold night air hit him like a bucket of water.
Torches burned along the inside of the wall, their flames small and frantic. Shadows twisted across the clearing. People ran toward the gate, grabbing spears, clubs, bone axes.
Another roar, followed by a harsh choking sound and a high, panicked scream from something that was not human.
Conner felt the sound in his teeth.
He sprinted toward the wall, feet slipping in the cool dirt. His perception upgrade turned the darkness into layers instead of a solid black sheet. He could pick out faces, weapons, the outline of the stakes.
He shoved through a knot of gawking children and saw the pit.
The trap had gone off perfectly.
A creature the size of a small car writhed inside the hole, impaled on three sharpened stakes. Blood poured from its chest and flanks, black in the torchlight, steaming in the cold air.
It looked like a nightmare forged out of three different animals. Its body was lean and muscular like a big cat, covered in short, dark fur striped with pale gray. Its forelegs were longer than its hind legs, tipped with curved claws. Its head was wrong, stretched forward into a narrow snout filled with too many teeth. Two long fangs jutted down from the upper jaw like spears, slick with its own blood.
It thrashed, claws scraping at the dirt wall, trying to climb. Every movement drove the stakes deeper. The wood creaked but held.
Dorn stood at the edge of the pit, spear in both hands, eyes cold. Rava was beside him with her club, lips pulled back from her teeth in a hard grin. Three other warriors held torches and extra spears.
Garr pushed through the crowd, his presence parting people like a wave. He took one look at the thing in the trap and let out a short, sharp bark. A word like a verdict.
The fighters moved as one.
Dorn stepped to the edge of the pit, picked his moment, and drove his spear down, straight toward the creature's shoulder where it joined the neck. The point punched through flesh with a wet crack.
The beast shrieked. It twisted, snapping at the spear shaft, jaws clamping down with enough force that Conner could hear wood splinter. Blood sprayed, speckling Dorn's chest and face. He did not flinch.
Rava moved in when the beast reared up, lunging toward Dorn. She swung her club down with both hands like a hammer. The studded bones at the head smashed into the creature's skull. There was another crack, thicker, heavier. One of its eyes burst wetly. The head snapped sideways.
Another warrior hurled a spear into its exposed throat. The point vanished up to the shaft. The creature spasmed, legs kicking, claws tearing trenches in the dirt.
Conner felt his stomach lurch. The brutality was fast and practiced. There was no hesitation. No ceremony.
Just survival.
The beast's movements slowed.
Its final roar turned into a rattling wheeze. Its chest rose once, twice, then stopped. Blood pooled at the bottom of the pit.
The smell hit them all at once. Hot, coppery, raw.
Someone gagged behind Conner. He could not blame them. His own gorge rose, but he locked his jaw and focused on breathing.
The system chimed at the edge of his vision, calm against the chaos.
Defensive trap kill recorded.
Community defended from the predator class: Night Stalker.Crafting Points: +4Total Points: 8
Stonefang Clan Defense Rating: Slightly improved.
Rava wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand like it was sweat. She turned toward Conner, eyes bright.
She pointed at the dead beast, at the shattered cover of the pit, then at him. She grinned widely and flashed her teeth.
"Well done," she might as well have said.
He managed a tight smile and a half shrug.
Garr stepped up beside them and peered into the pit. The firelight carved deep lines across his face. He studied the stakes, the depth, the way the creature lay.
Then he rested a big hand on Conner's shoulder.
It was heavy. It felt like a stone being set in place.
He said something that sounded like a short speech, his tone carrying over the gathered clan. His spear pointed once at the pit, once at Conner, then swung in a slow arc to include the rest of the wall.
The murmurs in the crowd changed color. The sharp fear at being woken by a roar shifted to a rough satisfaction.
Conner did not understand the words, but he heard the meaning in the sound:
He helped. The trap worked. We are not as weak as we were yesterday.
The system agreed.
Community morale increased.
Affinity: Stonefang Clan → Emerging Trust.
Conner's chest tightened with a strange mix of pride and pressure.
Trust was good. Trust meant they would listen when he said "dig here" or "build this." It also meant that if he messed up, people could die.
The joy of seeing the trap work held for only a moment.
His upgraded hearing picked up something else.
A soft, distant crunch, out beyond the wall. Then another. Light but heavy enough to be more than a rabbit.
He turned his head, eyes narrowing, looking past the torches toward the tree line.
The forest was a black wall, but his eyes caught the faint suggestion of movement. A branch swayed that the wind had not touched. A shadow shifted.
Conner's skin prickled.
"Something else is out there," he said without thinking.
Rava glanced at him, following his gaze automatically. She saw only darkness at first. Her brows drew together.
Conner lifted his spear and pointed toward the section of wall where the second pit waited, still untouched. He tapped his ear, then the air, and made a low growl in his throat.
Rava's expression sharpened. She hissed a word toward Garr.
The clan leader stiffened slightly. He motioned for silence.
The clearing went quiet.
Even the torches seemed to hush.
Conner held his breath.
There. The soft scrape of claws in dirt. The faint crack of something stepping on a fallen branch. The noise came from the right, near the second pit.
Garr gave a small hand signal. Two warriors slipped away into the dark, moving along the inside of the wall. Rava stayed, but her grip tightened on her club until her knuckles whitened.
Conner's heart pounded. He felt completely exposed in the torchlight. He wanted to drop to his belly, to make himself smaller, but he forced himself to stand still.
A new sound cut through the night.
A wet, thick snuffling, like a pig crossed with a bear, but deeper. Something sniffed at the air beyond the stakes.
Conner's mind drew a line between the dead beast in the pit and whatever was smelling it.
Of course, it wanted a free meal.
Branches rustled. The sound moved closer.
Conner could not see it yet, but he could hear the weight of it. He judged the angle, the distance to the second pit.
He felt every second stretch.
Rava muttered something low in her throat, almost a growl.
Conner's fingers tightened on his spear. His brain ran stupid calculations. Distance to the wall. Time to close it. How fast could that thing move if it charged? How fast could he?
Something moved at the edge of the torchlight.
A thick, heavy leg stepped into view between the stakes, covered in rough plates that looked like a cross between scales and bone. Claws like hooked shovels dug into the dirt.
The rest of it followed.
This one was different from the first. Its body was lower to the ground, armored along the back with bony plates. A long tail dragged behind, stiff and studded with growths. Its head was squat and triangular, with a wide mouth full of blunt teeth built for crushing. Its nostrils flared, sucking in the scent of blood from the pit.
The system flashed.
Hostile detected: Plated Boreal Crusher (Adult)Threat Level: HighTendency: Scavenger / Opportunistic attacker
The creature grunted and shambled closer to the wall, distracted by the easy feast below.
It reached the first pit and stopped, head swinging down, sniffing the dead night stalker. It made a satisfied rumbling noise.
Then it stepped right over the pit on its short, sturdy legs, heading toward an open gap between stakes.
Toward the second pit.
Conner felt a strange, cold clarity slide over him.
He glanced at Garr. The elder watched, still as stone, eyes sharp. He would not rush. He wanted to see where the new trap would earn its value.
The creature shuffled forward, head low.
Conner went rigid.
It was going to step wide. Instinct, maybe. The way it moved, its weight distribution, the length of its legs. It would miss the pit by inches and drive straight into the stakes, forcing its way through.
He did not think.
He moved.
He grabbed a burning torch from a young man standing nearby and heaved it up and over the wall before anyone could stop him.
The torch arced through the dark and landed with a burst of sparks a few feet in front of the creature, bouncing once before rolling to a stop.
Flame flared.
The beast jerked back with a startled grunt. Firelight washed over its armored plates. It shook its head, huffing, offended.
Its eyes were fixed on the torch.
Right between itself and the second pit.
It lunged forward to stomp it out.
Conner held his breath.
The ground under its front leg vanished.
The cover of branches and grass broke with a crack like snapping ribs. The creature roared, legs flailing, and crashed into the pit in a spray of dirt and sparks.
This pit was narrower than the first, deeper. It fell hard. The stakes did their work.
A long spike punched up through its belly. Another drove into the thick muscle of its leg. A third cracked against one of the bony plates and splintered, but the force drove the creature sideways, pinning it at an angle.
It screamed, a low, grinding sound that shook the wall.
The clan did not hesitate.
Garr barked an order. Warriors surged along the inside of the stakes, jabbing spears down. The beast thrashed, tail smashing into the far wall of the pit. The spikes shook. Dirt rained down. Blood splashed the sides.
"Stay back," Rava snapped at Conner when he moved closer without thinking. She shoved him behind the line of spears with a strong hand.
He stumbled, then caught himself, teeth clenched.
He watched.
They were not clean about it. They did not have to be. They stabbed and hacked, using weight and anger, until the creature's bellows turned into gurgles and finally into silence.
When it was over, the pit held another dead monster.
The smell doubled.
Conner realized he was shaking. The adrenaline left his hands numb.
The system chimed.
Adaptive tactic used.Trap success is influenced by direct action.Crafting / Tactical Points: +5Total Points: 13
Skill Unlocked: Tactical Insight (Lv. 1)You are beginning to understand how to use terrain and tools together.Minor bonus to planning complex builds and combat setups.
Garr turned toward him.
The old man did not smile, but something in his eyes had changed. He nodded once. A small, short nod, like the click of a lock opening.
Conner nodded back, breath still coming fast.
The roars from the pits faded into the night. Only normal forest sounds crept back in, cautious at first, then more confident.
Within half an hour, the bodies were being worked on. The Stonefangs wasted nothing.
Some people lowered themselves into the pits with ropes, cutting strips of meat and passing them up. Others worked at the edges, planning how to widen the pits slightly without collapsing the walls.
Conner helped where he could, hauling ropes, steadying stakes. Every time he looked down at the dead creatures, he felt a shiver of disbelief.
This was real. He had helped kill things that did not exist in any textbook. His trap had ripped a hole in the night and turned it into a barrier.
At some point, the old medicine woman appeared at his side as if she had grown out of the dark. She shoved a cup of something warm into his hands. The liquid tasted bitter and sour at the same time, but it calmed his racing heart.
She tapped the bone token on his chest once and grunted. Approval, or at least, "You did not die. Good."
By the time the worst of the work was done, the sky in the east had faded from black to deep blue. The first hint of dawn cut a lighter line along the horizon.
Conner staggered back to his hut, feeling like he had been awake for three days. He barely managed to kick off his shoes before he dropped onto the furs.
Sleep hit him like a rock.
He dreamed of pits.
Of teeth reaching up from the earth. Of people falling instead of beasts. Of the ground opening under his own feet. He woke with his hands clenched into fists and sweat cold on his back.
Light filtered into the hut. The fire had burned down again.
It was morning.
He sat up slowly, muscles protesting. Every bruise from the night before made itself known. His throat was dry.
The system hovered patiently.
Rest complete.Minor fatigue recovered.Wounds: None serious.
Points: 13
Conner let out a long breath and rubbed his face.
Thirteen points.
He could use those to turn himself into something closer to the monsters outside. Stronger. Faster. More durable.
He could pour them into community upgrades instead and try to drag this village a tiny step toward safety.
He could try to split the difference.
He opened the Community tab.
Community: Stonefang ClanPopulation: 57Defense: Low (Improving)Food: ModerateShelter: Basic
Available Upgrades:– Basic Fortification (Tier 1): 8 Points– Food Preservation (Tier 1): 5 Points– Simple Training Routines: 3 Points
He frowned.
"How does that even work?" he muttered. "You do not just drop points on a village and watch it grow walls by itself."
He tapped Basic Fortification to see more details.
A description unfolded.
Basic Fortification (Tier 1)Unlocks advanced blueprints and instincts related to:– Reinforced walls– Defensive ditches– Guard platforms– Alarm systems
Community members will more easily understand and adopt defensive structures.
So not magic walls. Knowledge. Patterns. A nudge inside the minds of everyone here so that "sharp sticks in a line" becomes "layered defenses" without a fight.
That he could work with.
He checked Food Preservation.
Food Preservation (Tier 1)Unlocks improved methods for:– Smoking and drying meat– Basic underground storage– Rough pottery containers
Slight reduction in waste and spoilage.
And Training Routines.
Simple Training RoutinesClan members learn more structured ways of practicing combat and endurance.Minor increase to average fighting ability over time.
Conner sat there, chewing the inside of his cheek.
In the long term, all of this mattered.
In the short term, another night like the last few, with more predators sniffing around, could kill dozens.
He thought about the pits. How well they had worked. How few they had. How exposed the rest of the wall still was.
He looked at his own Body panel.
Strength 1. Endurance 2. Perception 1.
He had 13 points. He could throw 8 into Basic Fortification and still have 5 for himself.
The choice felt big, like stepping off a cliff.
He imagined trying to survive alone out there, away from the village. He pictured himself running through the trees with his stats at 5 or 6, faster, stronger, but alone. Surrounded by monsters that did not care what his numbers were.
He pictured the pits again. The way the clan had moved to finish what the traps had started.
He exhaled.
"Okay," he whispered. "We do this together."
He tapped Basic Fortification (Tier 1).
Points: 13 → 5.
The effect was not visual. The huts did not suddenly sprout walls. The stakes did not magically grow thicker.
The change happened inside his mind instead.
He saw the village from above, like a simple blueprint. The ring of stakes. The gaps. The weak angles. His mental map filled in with lines showing where ditches could go, how extra stakes could be staggered in front, and where short platforms could be built for archers.
He saw how the pits could be arranged in zigzag patterns instead of random spots. How a simple line of rattling bones or stretched hide could serve as an alarm when touched.
Ideas snapped into place with a satisfying click.
A faint ripple seemed to pass through the village outside. It might have been his imagination, but he heard a few people arguing about the wall in more structured tones than before, not just "sharp" and "strong" but "here" and "too thin" and "make higher."
The system confirmed.
Basic Fortification (Tier 1) acquired.
Defensive blueprints upgraded.
The Stonefang Clan is now more receptive to complex fortifications.
Community Defense: Low → Low+
Small, but real.
He used 2 of his remaining 5 points on Strength Lv. 2.
Points: 5 → 3.
Heat rushed into his muscles again. He flexed his hands. The furs beneath him felt lighter. His body felt like someone had turned the gravity down a notch.
He saved the last 3 points for later. Training Routines tempted him, but he wanted to see how the day went first.
Conner grabbed his shoes, pulled them on, then slung his backpack over his shoulder. He stepped out into the daylight.
The village was already busy.
The pits had been turned into messy work sites. People were hauling chunks of meat away. Others had laid out the creatures' hides to scrape clean. The armored plates from the second beast had been stripped off in big slabs and leaned against a hut, each one as big as a shield.
Kids ran in groups, their play now involving exaggerated versions of last night's events. One boy pretended to be the night stalker, roaring and leaping, while two others jabbed him with imaginary spears, and a third pretended to fall dramatically into an invisible pit.
Rava caught sight of Conner and waved him over.
She was standing near the armored plates, hands on her hips, talking animatedly to Dorn and a couple of other warriors.
She slapped one of the plates with her palm when Conner approached. It made a dull, solid sound.
"Konner," she said, then rattled a string of words he did not catch, ending with a clear "Gron" and a sharp gesture at the wall.
He did not need a translation.
Armor for the wall.
He ran his fingers over the plate. The surface was rough but even, thicker along one edge where it had overlapped others on the creature's back. It was heavy, but not too heavy for a couple of strong Stonefangs to lift and set.
He pictured them lashed to the stakes near the gate, or used as reinforcement at weak points. Where claws and teeth might hit first.
His Tactical Insight nudged him, small but steady.
"Yeah," he said. "We are going to make something out of this."
Rava raised an eyebrow, not understanding the words but recognizing the tone.
Dorn thrust a spear into Conner's hands.
This one was better made than his old, crude branch. The shaft was straight, smoothed by many hands. The stone point was chipped to a sharp edge, lashed tight with sinew. It had been used and repaired before.
Dorn tapped the spear, then his own chest, then Conner's.
He grunted a single word.
"Train."
Conner swallowed.
"Now?" he said.
Dorn thumped his chest again and squared his shoulders.
Rava laughed.
Within minutes, the center of the village had cleared a space. People gathered around, some working with one eye, others just watching openly.
Conner stood facing Dorn, spear in sweaty hands, heart thudding.
He had wanted this. If he was going to survive here, he had to learn to fight like they did, not just throw ideas at walls.
That did not mean he was ready.
Dorn spun his spear once, easy and controlled, then planted the butt against the ground. He waited.
Conner remembered a few basic moves from a self-defense class he had taken for a single semester and then quit. He had liked the theory more than the bruises.
He took a stance anyway. Feet shoulder-width apart. Spear held across his body.
Rava stepped between them and rattled off some instructions in her language, pointing at Conner's feet, his grip, and Dorn's posture. Some of the nearby warriors chimed in.
Conner adjusted, trying to copy Dorn's stance. Lower. Knees bent. Spear butt anchored by his back leg.
Rava finally stepped aside.
Dorn did not attack immediately.
He walked forward slowly, spear low, watching Conner's eyes, his shoulders, his hands. He flicked the spear toward Conner's leg with a casual motion.
Conner jerked his leg back. Too far. His balance wobbled.
Dorn smacked the shaft of Conner's spear hard enough to rattle his teeth.
The blow did not even aim for his body. It was just a test.
"Do not flinch," Conner muttered to himself.
Dorn circled him. The man moved with a panther's grace, heavy but smooth. He gave Conner a few slow, telegraphed jabs, letting him block them, letting him feel the rhythm.
Spear tip. Shaft. Butt. All parts were dangerous.
Conner's arms burned. His fingers ached from gripping too hard. Sweat stung his eyes.
Then Dorn's movements changed.
He came in faster.
His spear darted toward Conner's shoulder. Conner blocked, but too wide, overcommitting. Dorn twisted his wrists and slammed the butt end of the spear into Conner's ribs.
Pain exploded along his side. The hit knocked the air out of his lungs and his feet out from under him.
He hit the dirt hard.
The onlookers laughed, not cruel, but amused. This was a familiar sight to them. A young man is getting thrown on his face in the training circle.
Conner lay there for a second, gasping, staring up at the sky. A small cloud drifted lazily overhead, unaware.
He rolled to his knees and pushed himself up.
He did not quit.
Dorn's expression did not change, but something in his eyes softened by a fraction.
They reset.
Again.
And again.
Dorn knocked him down at least a dozen times. Clubbed him in the shoulder, swept his legs, hooked his spear aside, and opened him up. Each time, Conner got a little slower to hit the ground. A little faster to get back up.
His upgraded strength and endurance kept him from collapsing outright. If he had tried this when he first arrived, he would already be in a heap.
His perception did work, too. He started to notice tiny shifts. The way Dorn's shoulders dipped before a low strike. The way his feet planted when he was about to commit. The angle of his wrists.
His Tactical Insight kicked in, turning those observations into predictions.
The thirteenth time Dorn lunged, Conner moved a half second earlier. Instead of blocking the strike directly, he stepped sideways, sliding his spear to redirect the blow.
The stone tip scraped along his arm, leaving a shallow line of pain instead of punching into his chest. He grit his teeth and kept moving.
He stepped in.
He brought the butt of his own spear up and forward, aiming for Dorn's hip.
Dorn flowed around it like water, turning the motion aside with his free hand. His palm thumped Conner's chest and sent him sprawling again.
But he did not look bored anymore.
Rava whooped once, clapping her hands.
"Konner!" she shouted, equal parts encouragement and mockery.
Conner lay on his back, panting, chest burning. He laughed once, breathless.
"Yeah, yeah," he wheezed. "I am working on it."
The system pinged quietly.
Combat practice registered.Skill Progress: Improvised Weapons → Spear Familiarity (Lv. 1)
Minor boost to handling spears.
Dorn extended a hand.
Conner stared at it for half a second, then grabbed it. Dorn hauled him upright in one smooth pull.
"Konner," Dorn said, tapping his own chest, then Conner's, making a stabbing motion toward the distant forest. He added a word that sounded like "hunt" in any language.
Conner blinked.
"You want me out there with you already?" he asked.
Dorn just grunted and pointed at the pits, at the dead monsters, at the wall.
Rava translated in her own rough way, gesturing big.
She mimed Conner building, drawing circles, then stabbing. Her hands spread wide, like catching a big animal. She slapped her chest and bared her teeth.
They did not want him to be a warrior like them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
They wanted him to be what he was.
A builder who did not stay behind the wall when things got ugly. Someone who stood close enough to the danger to make his designs real.
Conner swallowed and nodded slowly.
"Okay," he said. "But if I die, I am haunting you."
Rava did not understand the words, but she laughed anyway.
The rest of the day blurred into work.
Conner spent hours near the wall, marking spots, explaining with broken gestures where new ditches and second rows of stakes should go. Basic Fortification made it amazingly easy to get his ideas across. People seemed to understand his rough sketches faster than before.
They dug shallow ditches in front of the wall in key sections, piling the dirt up against the stakes to thicken them. They drove extra-sharpened poles in angled lines, creating a crude barrier that would force anything incoming to slow down, pick its way, and expose its underside.
They lashed the armored plates from the second beast to a section near the gate, forming a rough shielded choke point.
At one point, Conner used his Reinforced Spear blueprint for real.
He found a strong, straight sapling and cut it down. He used his multitool saw and a sharp stone to shape it, smoothing the shaft and tapering the end. He selected a good stone from the pile, chipped it carefully with another rock until it took a leaf-shaped form with a wicked edge, then lashed it to the shaft with strips of leather. He finished by adding a small counterweight near the butt end made from a smooth rock and some wrapped hide.
The system liked it.
Reinforced Spear crafted (Quality: Good)Crafting Points: +4Total Points: 7
He tested the weapon, swinging it a few times. It balanced beautifully. The point gleamed in the sun.
Rava eyed it with open appreciation.
She grabbed it out of his hands, spun it once, then stabbed it into a practice stump. The stone head bit deep.
She yanked it free and handed it back with a satisfied grunt.
His spear now. His work.
That felt good.
By late afternoon, the village looked subtly different.
The wall was thicker in places. The pits were more integrated, marked for villagers but hidden from outside eyes. Simple platforms had gone up behind two stretches of stakes, providing raised positions for spearmen or stone throwers.
The Stonefangs moved through it all with an ease that surprised Conner. The moment they understood the purpose of a structure, they treated it like it had always been that way.
Basic Fortification was doing its job.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Garr called an end to the building for the day. People were tired. Tools and hands both needed rest.
Conner's whole body ached. His arms were lead. His brain hummed with plans he did not have the strength to execute yet.
He sat at the edge of the clearing, near the pits, gulping water from his bottle. The air had cooled. Smoke rose from cooking fires. Meat sizzled. The smell made his empty stomach growl again.
He stared out at the trees.
They swayed gently in the evening breeze. Birds fluttered from branch to branch. Somewhere far off, a deep, distant call rolled across the land. Not a roar this time. Something more like the long note of a horn.
Rava dropped down beside him, tossing a strip of cooked meat into his lap.
He flinched, then caught it with his free hand. It was hot and greasy. He bit in without asking what animal it had come from.
The flavor exploded on his tongue. Smoky, rich, faintly gamey. Better than anything he had eaten from the campus cafeteria.
Rava chewed her own piece, watching the tree line with the same wary attention he had.
She pointed with her chin.
"Skyroot," she said.
Conner frowned.
He looked at the trees, then at her.
She tapped her head, then traced a line in the air, like a branch reaching upward. She pointed east, beyond the forest.
"Skyroot," she repeated. Then she spat to the side and made a face somewhere between annoyance and caution.
A name. A tribe, probably.
"Skyroot Clan," Conner said slowly.
She caught the word "Clan" and shrugged, close enough.
She pointed to the south next.
"Redwater," she said, dragging her finger along her forearm where veins ran. She made a slashing motion, then shook her head like someone talking about a bad neighbor.
Another name. Another set of people who were not Stonefang. Not friends, not exactly.
Conner's curiosity flared.
He pointed to himself. "Konner."
He spread his arms wide, turning slowly, sort of miming "world" or "where." Then he shrugged dramatically, hands up.
"I am from far away," he said. "Very far."
Rava watched his little show with amusement and confusion.
She pointed down at the dirt under them. She said "Stonefang" with simple finality.
He got the message.
Here and now mattered more than the impossible distance to where he had come from.
He nodded, letting it go.
Tal joined them a little while later, moving carefully, hand pressed to his side. His bandage had been redone with clean cloth and herbs. He lowered himself to the ground with a hiss through his teeth but managed a cocky grin anyway.
He held up his hand, palm out.
Conner slapped it.
Tal said something short, probably some version of "You did well."
Conner pointed at Tal's side and then at himself, raising his eyebrows.
Tal snorted. He slapped his chest and said his own name with extra weight.
"Tal."
Then he mimed leaping onto a beast's back and stabbing it. He winced halfway through the motion, hand flying to his ribs, but he finished the act anyway.
Rava rolled her eyes and slapped him lightly on the back of the head.
Conner laughed.
The system chimed once, softer than before.
Bonding with key community members is progressing.Future cooperation in hunts and projects has slightly improved.
As the sky darkened, a cold wind swept across the clearing. People drifted back toward their huts. Fires burned lower. The hum of the village turned into a quieter murmur.
Conner stood and stretched, feeling every muscle complain.
He looked at the wall one last time.
The pits. The thicker stakes. The rough armored plates near the gate. It was still primitive. Still fragile in the face of the biggest things out there.
But it was better than it had been two days ago.
He had made a dent in this world.
His world had been textbooks, circuits, and problem sets. This one was blood, bone, and the raw edge of survival.
He should have been terrified.
He was.
He was also… awake in a way he had not been in years.
As he turned toward his hut, something caught his eye.
Beyond the trees, far off in the darkening eastern sky, a faint, unnatural glow pulsed for half a second.
Not lightning. Not fire.
A tight, white flicker. Like a small hole punched in the air had opened and closed in silence.
His breath hitched.
The lab. The reactor. The flash that had taken him.
The glow winked out before he could be sure he had seen it.
The system did not comment.
The forest went back to being just a wall of black.
Conner stared for a long moment, heart moving from the slow, tired beat of work to a faster, sharper rhythm.
He was not the only strange thing in this world.
Whatever had dragged him here might still be working. It might be dragging other things. It might be tearing at the seams.
He turned back toward the village lights.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "First, we fortify this place. Then we hunt dinosaurs. Then we figure out what the hell is wrong with the sky."
His bone token thumped lightly against his chest as he walked.
The Crafting System sat quietly at the edge of his vision, waiting for the next thing he would build.
The night came down around Stonefang like a heavy blanket full of teeth.
This time, the wall was a little sharper.