After a few moments spent catching his breath, Traebus rose and made his way around the rocky outcropping. The towering stones formed a natural enclosure, their uneven edges jutting out at odd angles, creating narrow passages and potential hiding spots for anything with claws and an appetite. The more he looked, the more he realized just how many gaps needed sealing if he wanted this place to be even remotely secure.


    He paused at a waist-high fissure in the stone, running a hand along the cool, jagged surface. If he could just pull the surrounding rock forward—fill the gap until there was nothing but solid stone—he’d have one less point of entry to worry about. Of course, that meant using magic he had barely learned to control.


    “Well,” he muttered, flexing his fingers, “if I can toss a fist-sized rock at my shin, maybe I can do the same with an entire chunk of wall—without maiming myself.”


    With a deep breath, he carefully channeled mana through the makeshift rings, focusing on the rock’s texture, its weight, imagining it flowing like clay under his command. At first, nothing happened. Then the stone shuddered—tiny pebbles crumbled away from the fissure and rattled across the ground.


    Encouraged, he funneled more energy into the spell. Slowly, the rock began to shift, as though invisible hands were pushing it forward to fill the opening. It wasn’t graceful. Every inch it moved was accompanied by a teeth-grinding screech and the occasional spray of dust. Traebus gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow as he wrestled with the stubborn earth.


    After what felt like an eternity, the fissure was narrower—still not completely sealed, but enough to keep anything larger than a rat from squeezing through. Traebus sagged against the stone, panting. “Note to self: geokinesis is really hard. Also, probably going to need an ice pack for my brain after this.”


    He eyed the progress with a shaky sense of accomplishment. “One gap down, about… a million more to go. Great.”


    Undeterred, he pressed on, spending the better part of the day wrangling the stubborn earth into submission. Each new gap in the rocky clearing demanded patience, sweat, and a strong will to close. He targeted the smaller openings first, coaxing the stone to shift and seal the cracks with a slow, scraping grind. Every so often, a chunk of rock would break free and clatter noisily to the ground, sending a jolt of panic through him as he worried the entire formation might collapse or, worse, attract the attention of some predator.


    When exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, he took short breaks, slumping against the newly filled barriers. The only real food he had left was the leftover crocodile meat, which he gnawed on between tense trips to the river for water. Each time he grew thirsty he made the short trip to the river. And each time he spotted bubbles rippling across the surface, a grim reminder that other colossal reptiles might be lurking just below. His head throbbed from channeling so much raw mana, and more than once, his fingers slipped on the makeshift rings, threatening to undo all his hard-won progress. Still, the promise of a safer refuge spurred him on.


    By late afternoon, the center of the clearing was starting to resemble something more akin to a fortress-in-progress than a perilous maze of open holes. Where once there were passages wide enough for a predator to slink through, now only narrow seams remained, small enough that he wouldn’t lose sleep worrying about raptors or crocodiles sneaking in during the night.


    Wiping sweat from his brow, he surveyed the results of his labor: crude walls of roughly fused stone, sealed over with lumps of debris and dust, but functional enough to keep out anything bigger than a rodent—assuming that rodent wasn’t secretly a saber-toothed nightmare in disguise. He let out a shaky laugh, wincing at the protest of every muscle in his body. "Well, it’s not pretty, but neither am I at this point, so at least we match."


    He stretched, groaning as his back popped in a way that suggested he was rapidly approaching ‘old man trapped in a young man’s body’ status. "Not exactly master masonry, but hey—who needs finesse when you’ve got desperation, exhaustion, and a complete lack of other options?"


    A breeze drifted through the remaining gaps, stirring the settling dust and offering a moment of cool relief. Traebus flexed his fingers, feeling the dull ache deep in his bones. He knew there was still plenty more to do—reinforcing weak spots, clearing rubble, maybe erecting some sort of gate at the main entrance—but for now, he’d earned a brief respite from playing stone-shifting wizard.


    With a tired grin, he glanced down at his makeshift rings. “One day, I’ll look back on this and laugh… assuming I’m still alive to do it.”


    His moment of satisfaction was short-lived. As he scanned the enclosed space, he realized just how little he had actually stockpiled. The pile of crocodile meat he had left wouldn’t last forever, and without salt or proper preservation, it was only a matter of time before it turned into an inedible, rotting mess. The hide he had stripped from the beast still lay folded in the corner, drying out under the sun, but without proper tanning, it wouldn’t be much use beyond being a stiff, smelly blanket. The bones—some sharpened into crude tools—were at least proving useful, but they wouldn’t feed him.


    And then there was the water. The river was right there, but every trip to refill his canteen was a gamble. Each time he crouched by the bank, he caught sight of bubbles rippling across the surface, betraying the presence of something massive lurking beneath. It was a constant game of ‘am I getting water, or am I becoming water-logged inside a crocodile’s stomach?’ He had yet to lose, but he knew his luck wouldn’t last forever.


    His walls were coming together, but a stronghold was useless if he starved to death inside it. He needed more than just a few slabs of meat and a pile of bones—he needed real supplies, real tools, and most importantly, a way to stay ahead of the things that wanted to eat him.


    Sighing, he pushed himself upright, shaking the stiffness from his limbs. "Alright, fortress-building is all well and good, but let’s not forget the essentials—food, water, and preferably not dying of exposure. Time to see what this island actually has to offer."


    Determined, he dusted off his tattered lab coat and made his way toward the far end of the clearing, but immediately ran into a problem—he had sealed himself in too well.


    With a groan, he ran a hand down his face. "Brilliant, Traebus. Build a fortress and forget to leave a door. Tactical genius at work."


    After pacing the perimeter, he found a narrow seam between two slabs of rock that he could probably squeeze through without dislocating anything important. With a deep breath, he pressed his palms against the rough stone, channeling mana through his rings. It was slow, deliberate work, pushing the stubborn earth aside just enough to carve out a body-width passage. Dust swirled around him as the rock shifted with a grating scrape, widening inch by inch. By the time he was done, sweat dripped from his brow, but at least he wouldn’t have to scale the walls like an idiot.


    Satisfied with his escape route, he grabbed his spear, a handful of crocodile meat and stepped out into the open and surveyed the jungle filled island beyond. If he was going to survive here, he needed more than just walls—he needed resources. Food, better materials, and a way to not feel like a walking snack every time he left camp. That meant scouting every inch of this island before something else decided to claim it first.


    He took a deep breath, mentally dividing the island into three distinct sections. The lower part, where the river snaked along its edges and he nearly drowned running across the water, was a necessary resource but also the most dangerous. The central part, where his hastily fortified camp now stood, was the safest option for shelter—at least for now. The upper portion, thick with jungle and towering vegetation, was an unknown variable, and unknowns in a place like this had a bad habit of biting.


    "Alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders, "step one: don''t die. Step two: try not to make step one harder by doing something profoundly stupid. Step three: find something worth eating that isn’t me. Step four, make a mental note to stop making steps because nothing ever works out how I plan it to."


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    With that, Traebus set off toward the upper portion of the island, weaving his way through the dense jungle that stretched before him. The thick canopy overhead filtered the sunlight into broken patches, casting eerie shadows that shifted as the leaves swayed in the breeze. Vines hung low, some wrapped tightly around the trunks of massive trees, others draped loosely, like waiting snares.


    The ground beneath his boots was damp, soft with layers of decayed leaves and rich, black earth. As he moved deeper into the jungle, his steps slowed. The deeper he went, the quieter the world seemed to become.


    Then he saw them—small tracks pressed into the mud. At first, they were barely noticeable, just faint impressions in the soft ground, but the farther he ventured, the more he found. Some were tiny, like the clawed feet of lizards, while others hinted at creatures larger than a man’s forearm.


    His stomach tightened. "Well, that’s not ominous at all," he muttered. "Looks like I’m not as alone here as I thought."


    Kneeling, he traced a few of the tracks with his fingertips, trying to gauge how fresh they were. The edges were still sharp, meaning whatever made them had passed through recently. His mind raced through the possibilities—small scavengers? Packs of carnivorous reptiles? Something worse?


    Straightening, he tightened his grip on the crude spear he had fashioned, its tip a sharp rock lashed to a sturdy branch with twisted strips of woven vine. It wasn’t the most elegant weapon, but right now, it was better than his bare hands. He took a slow breath, his eyes flicking between the fresh tracks and the dense undergrowth ahead.


    As he stepped forward, his foot sank slightly into the mud, and another set of tracks came into view. These were more distinct—small, three-toed impressions, grouped together in clusters. His eyes followed the trail, leading toward a small clearing ahead where the trees thinned, exposing a patch of damp earth littered with broken twigs and scattered leaves.


    Then he saw them.


    A cluster of small dinosaurs, no taller than his knee, milled about near the base of a large fallen tree. Their lean bodies were covered in mottled green and brown scales, blending almost seamlessly with the undergrowth. Unlike the frilled lizards he had encountered before, these creatures lacked the aggressive, fan-like crests, instead sporting sleek heads with narrow, alert eyes. Their tails flicked back and forth as they picked at the ground, clawed feet digging into the soft dirt.


    Traebus swallowed, gripping his spear tighter. He hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath until his lungs burned for air. These little things didn’t look immediately dangerous, but there were a lot of them. At least a dozen, maybe more hidden in the foliage. He slowly started to back up, careful to avoid stepping on any dry branches or loose rocks.


    Unfortunately, the moment he moved, one of the dinosaurs’ heads snapped up. Then another. Within seconds, a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto him.


    "Oh," Traebus muttered under his breath. "That’s not great."


    The small dinosaurs began to move toward him, their steps light and cautious rather than immediately aggressive. Their heads tilted curiously, their narrow eyes flicking between him and the space he occupied. Some of them gave soft, chittering sounds, almost like a conversation among themselves, as if trying to decide whether he was friend, foe, or just some weird, oversized creature trespassing in their domain.


    Traebus remained still, his grip on the spear tightening, though he took a moment to properly observe them. Their scales weren’t uniform—far from it. Some were a mottled green and brown like the undergrowth, but others had streaks of vibrant blue along their backs or patches of rust-red across their limbs. One, slightly larger than the rest, had a striking stripe of yellow running down its spine, almost glowing under the shifting light that filtered through the canopy.


    "Great, I’ve stumbled into a group of fashion-forward dinosaurs," he muttered under his breath. "Wonderful. Just my luck to get judged by a bunch of prehistoric peacocks."


    The dinosaurs continued their slow, careful approach, their tails twitching behind them as they studied him just as much as he was studying them.


    Traebus remained perfectly still, his mind racing through possible courses of action. Running seemed like a terrible idea—predators loved a good chase, and even if these things weren’t aggressive yet, he had no intention of testing their limits. Fighting was even worse. His spear was little more than a pointy stick with a rock attached, and there were too many of them for a one-on-one brawl to go in his favor.


    Instead, he slowly reached into his lab coat pocket, fingers brushing against something cool and leathery. Right. The scraps of crocodile meat. It wasn’t much, but maybe a peace offering would convince these little creatures that he was more useful as a source of snacks than as one.


    With deliberate caution, he pulled out the chunk of dried meat and flicked it toward the nearest dinosaur. The scrap landed with a soft thud in the mud, a few feet away from the group. Instantly, all twelve heads snapped toward it.


    For a moment, there was silence. Then, in a blur of motion, the closest lizard lunged, snatching the meat up in its jaws. A frenzy erupted as the others rushed forward, chittering and nipping at each other in an effort to claim a piece of the unexpected bounty.


    Traebus took a slow step backward, watching with a mixture of fascination and deep, personal relief. "Alright, good to know. You like meat. And you like not eating me. Let’s keep that the status quo, yeah? I’d hate to find out mid-bite that I’m not nearly as tough as I pretend to be."


    One of the dinosaurs snapped at another, snatching up the last piece of meat with a triumphant chirp. Traebus took the opportunity to inch back another step. "Don’t mind me, just the weird furless giant who was totally planning to share that with you and not bribing you for my survival. No need to turn this into a discussion about alternative meal options."


    The lizards were too busy squabbling over the scraps to pay him much more attention, and Traebus exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to sag in relief. "Alright, note to self: always carry emergency lizard snacks."


    He lingered for a moment, watching the small dinosaurs bicker over the last bits of meat. A thought crossed his mind—were these creatures tamable? If they could be bribed with food, maybe they could be trained, or at the very least, kept from turning him into their next meal. A pack of tiny, loyal hunting dinosaurs didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world. Still, he shoved the thought aside for now. He had enough problems without trying to start a prehistoric petting zoo.


    Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his original goal—scouting for resources. He activated his goggles, letting the cracked display flicker to life. Lines of glowing text scrolled across his vision, scanning the jungle terrain. Within seconds, several pings registered on the screen: Iron ore detected. Obsidian detected. Hardwood detected.


    His eyebrows shot up. That was useful. Iron meant tools, weapons, maybe even crude armor if he figured out a way to smelt it. Obsidian was sharper than steel when shaped correctly, and hardwood meant he could start building something sturdier than his current rock-and-vine contraptions.


    “Well, well, well,” he muttered, grinning to himself. "Looks like this island might actually have something going for it after all."


    Eager to take advantage of his discovery, Traebus crouched near the iron deposit, resting his hand against the rough surface of the exposed ore. If he could carve out a sample using magic, he might be able to determine how difficult it would be to extract in larger quantities. He focused, channeling mana through his rings, and envisioned the metal separating from the rock in a controlled, clean motion.


    The result was... not that. The iron tore free in jagged, uneven chunks, one of which narrowly missed landing on his foot. He winced. "Okay, so precision might be an issue." Still, it was something. He gathered a fist-sized piece, brushing away the dust before tucking it into his coat pocket.


    Next, he made his way toward the obsidian deposit. Unlike the iron, this was already exposed in large, gleaming slabs, its surface smooth and sharp where the natural stone had fractured. He ran a hand over it, feeling the cold, glass-like texture. Obsidian was an excellent mana conductor, something he could possibly use to enhance his spellwork—assuming he didn’t accidentally slice his fingers off first.


    Carefully, he pried loose a large shard, roughly the length of his forearm, and held it up to the light filtering through the trees. "Oh yeah, you’re coming with me. Let’s see if we can’t turn you into something useful."


    With his newfound resources in tow, Traebus adjusted his grip and began the trek back to camp. The iron ore was heavier than he had expected, and the obsidian shard, though manageable, required careful handling to avoid slicing himself open. He made his way through the jungle cautiously, retracing his steps to ensure he didn’t stumble across anything with more teeth than patience.


    By the time he reached the rocky enclosure, his arms ached from the effort, but he dropped his haul near his fire pit with a satisfied grunt. "Alright, step one: gather cool rocks. Step two: figure out what to actually do with them."


    Before he could get ahead of himself with crafting, he knew he needed fuel for a fire. With the daylight still on his side, he set out once more, this time with the sole purpose of collecting kindling and firewood.


    He scoured the outskirts of the jungle, keeping an eye out for dry branches and fallen logs. Gathering wood was a deceptively nerve-wracking process—every snapping twig beneath his boots sent a fresh wave of paranoia through him, making him glance over his shoulder for any movement in the underbrush. More than once, he spotted claw marks gouged into tree trunks, reminders that he was far from the only hunter on this island.


    By his third trip back to camp, he had amassed a respectable pile of wood—enough to last him through the night and hopefully keep the more curious predators at bay. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he took a deep breath, surveying his supplies. "Alright, not bad for one day. Now, let’s see if I can turn any of this into something actually useful."