Ayu moved swiftly through the plains.

Boots slicing tall grass.

Wind whipping past her helmet.

Overdrive enhancing her senses.

The scent of water hung in the air—fresh, clean.

To the east, the river shimmered beneath the morning sun, cutting through the wild like a silver blade.

Mist hovered low.

And in the distance—

Thuds. Heavy. Rhythmic.

A herd.

She crouched.

The earth vibrated beneath her feet.

Dozens of massive creatures.

Scaled hides. Serrated tails.

Long-necked grazers, flanked by bipedal hornbeasts with claws thick as machetes.

To her left, a low trill—barely louder than breath.

Zheek, the feathered jaguar-man, crouched low.

He clicked his tongue twice. Ready.

Ahead, Koma, the bull-headed spear-wielder, gave a throaty snort and scraped his hoof against the dirt.

They move first. We circle.

Ayu didn't speak.

She ran.

Silent. Swift.

Grass parted around her. The wind shifted. She angled toward it.

A hunter barked once from the right—sharp, guttural.

Ambush in five.

Another howl followed—drawn-out, rising.

Split the herd.

Then—

Boom.

Koma charged first.

The plains cracked under his weight.

The dinosaurs scattered.

Ayu surged in.

Her body blurred.

The first beast turned—snout wide, tusks gleaming.

Too late.

Ayu slid under its belly—

Grass scraping her arms—

And sprang up behind it.

Her blade carved a clean line across its hind tendon.

The creature howled—crashed sideways.

Thud.

Dust exploded.

She didn't watch it fall.

She bent backward—

A tail whipped through the air and passed above her chest.

Ayu rolled forward and leapt.

Elbow cracked into the throat of a smaller biped.

Its scales split.

It reeled back.

She stabbed.

Once—deep into its shoulder.

Twice—under the jaw.

The creature collapsed.

Behind her, Zheek let out a screech—

Warning.

A shadow loomed.

Ayu twisted—

A massive jaw—rows of jagged teeth.

The jaw snapped where her neck had been.

She felt the gust of breath blast past her ear.

She was already sprinting up its snout—

Left foot gripping ridge, right heel smashing into its eye.

It shrieked.

Koma met it from the side—spear plunged through its ribs.

Blood sprayed the grass.

Ayu flipped off the beast's head mid-roar—

Landed beside another hunter, wolf-faced and bloodied.

She gave a nod.

He grunted back.

Then pointed.

The herd was broken.

A massive one—nearly twice the others—was charging toward the river.

Stampeding through brush and stone.

Ayu dashed.

The ground blurred beneath her.

Wind roared.

The creature roared louder.

She caught up to its flank.

Koma was already leaping onto its back.

Zheek swung from a branch ahead.

Three others circled wide, throwing smoke gourds.

Ayu launched.

Her body twisted mid-air—

She landed on its shoulder, blade out, feet braced.

The beast screamed.

She stabbed—deep, between scale gaps—

Then again—again—

Blood spilled down its side.

It reared up.

She held on.

Snarled.

Overdrive surged.

She slid down its neck—

Flipped—

Drove both feet into its skull.

BOOM.

The creature fell.

Cratered the bank.

Ayu stood on its head.

Breathing steady.

The hunters howled in victory.

She smiled back at them.

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They really liked praising her, but she was used to it by now. They were a good bunch. Koma could be a bit stupid at times. Zheek was noisy and overly active. But they were good lads.

Ayu leapt down from the beast's skull, dust swirling at her landing, blood mist hanging faint in the morning air. She opened the wound with her blade and reached inside—

Stage 1 – 9.657%

A slight wave of freshness flushed through her chest, her limbs, her breath. She exhaled slow.

The others were already preparing the haul. Big blades came out. The meat steamed in the cold wind as they carved the beast into slabs, each over a hundred kilos, strapping them to thick robes coiled across their backs.

Ayu helped too. Sweat mixed with dust. Her hands, bloody to the elbow, gripped bone and hide and sinew. They worked fast. Precise. No one wasted anything.

By the time the sun tilted, they were marching back. Each step was heavy with weight, every breath steaming in the crisp air. The river murmured beside them as they followed the narrow path home. Birds circled above. The scent of meat and blood trailed behind them like a flag.

When they reached the village—

Cheers.

Praise.

Like always.

But more to her.

Always more to her.

She gave nods. Small smiles. Nothing loud. Nothing big. Just enough.

They liked her.

Respected her.

Expected her.

She could live with that.

Later, by the fires, she sat with her sword across her knees. It was full of dents. The edge was dull. The weight—too light now.

Ever since stepping into the Second Body State… everything had shifted. Her balance. Her power. Every move felt like her sword dragged behind her, like it didn't keep up anymore.

She looked at the others' weapons—bone spears, hooked claws, heavy-bladed axes.

Yeah, no thanks.

She wasn't going to swing a spine or jab with a fang. She was used to the sword now. Changing would feel… off.

Still—she needed a solution. A new sword, maybe. Or at least a reforging.

Her armor too—

The waves didn't keep up with her body anymore. She could still accelerate some motions, but only to a point. Hits still got through. Some joints were cracking. A few plates were dented deep.

Too many close calls.

She needed gear that matched her now. That matched the new stage.

As her thoughts spiraled, Zheek crawled over on all fours like a big cat sneaking into someone else's nap. His tail was swinging like a whip, side to side. Fast.

He bowed low—forehead nearly brushing the dirt, grinning like an idiot.

Yeah.

He was weird.

Good.

But weird.

"Elder calls."

Ayu blinked.

"Now?"

Zheek nodded. One sharp jerk.

"Now."

He didn't wait. He just turned and loped off like a happy predator, weaving between the fire pits and hide tents without so much as a sound.

Ayu rose with a quiet sigh, sliding her blade back into its sheath. She followed.

The fire behind her faded with each step. The center of the village was quieter at night—muted and still. Most were asleep, curled beneath hides or tents. A few guards paced near the watch posts, their eyes flicking toward her as she passed, then away.

They all knew where she was going.

A narrow stone path twisted through the heart of the village, flanked by two rows of woven banners that danced faintly in the breeze. Bone charms hung above, clinking softly with each gust like whispers of old prayers.

At the end stood the largest hut. Taller than the rest, it was marked with fang-shaped carvings and layered leaves hardened into something close to scale. It stood like a waiting mouth, quiet and expectant.

Zheek was already kneeling outside, head lowered, tail coiled still for once.

She approached.

The elder's voice drifted out from within, low and certain.

"Enter."

Ayu stepped through the hide curtain—

And stopped.

There was someone else.

He was tall—well, taller than most in the tribe. Just a little more than her, maybe five foot six at best. But the air around him felt heavy. Not loud or threatening. Just dense. Like standing in front of something big and coiled, waiting to move.

His body was wrapped in a patchwork of layered hide and metal plates, fitted together so tightly it looked grown, not worn. But it wasn't the armor that held her gaze—it was his face.

Striped. Not painted.

Real fur. Orange and black, slicked back into a rough mane that followed the line of his neck and jaw.

Half-man. Half-tiger.

Eyes like glass—sharp, golden, unblinking.

His arms looked lean at first glance, but when he moved, even a little, the muscles beneath his skin shifted like wound cables. There was no wasted bulk. No show. Just power. Controlled and efficient.

Refined strength.

Ayu didn't need instinct to know.

This man was strong.

Stronger than the elder.

Stronger than her.

The elder turned slowly.

"This is Tall Sky," he said, voice calm but full of weight. "Warden of the Eastern Teeth."

Tall Sky didn't speak. He looked at her once. Then nodded.

Ayu felt her shoulders pull back. Her chest tighten.

Right.

This wasn't just a call.

It was a test.

Or maybe something more. More formal. More layered.

She waited. Silent.

The tiger-man's tail flicked once.

Then—just for a heartbeat—

He smiled.

The elder stared at the fire for a while, letting it speak before he did.

Then he said, quietly, "You strong, Ayu."

"You fight like storm. Like river when it breaks rock."

She stayed quiet.

"You help this tribe."

"You hunt. You lead. You protect."

"You bring luck. You bring fire."

The flames flickered in his old eyes.

"But this place… too small for you."

Ayu looked down.

"You don't belong in little hut forever."

"You walk fast. You climb fast. Your future… too bright."

He looked toward Tall Sky.

"I call him. From far tribe. Big tribe. Many clans. Many warriors."

"You go there. Grow more. Learn more. Maybe… maybe they help find your people."

Ayu's breath caught.

"You still look. I see it. In eyes."

She nodded, barely.

"Your strength not normal. Not just good. Rare."

"You need others who can match you. Teach you. Train you. Travel far."

"You need tribe that walks at your speed."

Ayu stepped forward, chest tight.

"Old one…"

He raised a hand.

"You are always one of us."

"Even if you go far. Even if you change."

"You still part of this place."

"You carry us. In your hands. In your fists."

"And we… we speak of you. In fire stories."

Ayu bowed low. Deep.

"Thank you."

"I… words are hard."

"But thank you."

"You took me. Trusted me. Taught me."

"How to speak. Hunt. Live."

"Your tribe. Your story."

"You let me fight."

"You are strong. You are good."

She paused. Swallowed.

"I come back."

"I swear."

"When I do… I bring others."

"My friends. My partner."

"They will like you."

"He will like you."

She smiled through the burn behind her eyes.

The elder reached over, placed one warm hand on hers.

"You have strong heart."

"Keep it," the elder said, voice softer now. "Even when body changes. Even when fire burns."

Ayu nodded, slow and firm. Her throat ached, but she didn't speak.

Tall Sky watched from the side, silent as ever. He didn't shift. Didn't blink. Just gave her one small nod.

She returned it.

Then bowed to the elder—low and steady, both hands to the earth one last time.

When she rose, her heart was full.

And with that… they left.

And now… where does this go?

Lukas turned the component slowly in his hand. Bronze alloy, dense and compact, with tiny etched veins for EM conduction. The whole piece pulsed faintly under his fingers—traces of stored field memory from previous cycles, still lingering.

He tilted it slightly, letting the amber light from the workshop skylight run across its ridged surface.

The Azcoyatl, as they called themselves, had rather refined tools. Machined by hand, but calibrated to absurd tolerances. The way pieces locked together without adhesives or fasteners—pure pressure geometry—it was like assembling a puzzle that expected you to think four moves ahead.

Lukas knelt beside the baseplate again.

Three layers of composite plates, precisely spaced by obsidian bearings and spring-loaded joints. The main framework—his framework—sat on top like a skeletal ribcage. Thin, dense, resilient. Heat-diffusing grooves cut into the underside. Two of them were cracked.

He frowned.

Still too much thermal load on pulse spike. He needed to redistribute it—maybe taper the emission curve before discharge. Or remap the coil distribution entirely. Which meant redoing the pulse chamber alignment from scratch.

He sighed and opened his sketchbook.

Thirty-seven drafts.

Most were iterations of the same core structure—arms, legs, and dorsal mount. But every time he solved one issue, two more emerged. Actuator lag on fast twitch. Vibration echo in the waist rotation. EM bleed across the magnetic grip. And the worst one: spontaneous de-sync in the pulse-to-feedback timing loop.

He stared at the last page. Notes written in shorthand only he could decipher.

He'd nearly cracked it last night. Nearly. But the right arm's servos had locked mid-test, and the whole rig buckled under its own weight. He'd spent half an hour taking it apart, another hour calibrating it back to baseline.

Now he adjusted the socket angle on the elbow, shaving off a single micron with the fine stone blade the Azcoyatl had gifted him. Even the tools here were unfamiliar. He missed precision lathes.

He turned the wrist socket into place, connecting the fine spiral-jointed spine cable. A click, then a low hum.

The power feedback jittered—then leveled out.

Lukas arched an eyebrow.

That was new.

He adjusted the internal gyros again—subtle corrections to counter torque loads—and watched as the arm flexed slightly under its own balance.

Then he tried the regulator.

He slotted the control crystal into the chest core. The node blinked.

No overload this time.

He tapped the activation panel. The entire frame vibrated softly.

The construct was still incomplete.

But it was getting there.

Lukas smiled faintly.

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