Settling onto the flattest rock he could find, Traebus examined the iron ore he had gathered, rolling a rough chunk in his palm. He sighed. Without a proper forge—or, at the very least, a way to generate enough heat to smelt it—this was just a heavy rock. That meant no iron tools, no reinforced weapons, and no armor anytime soon. "Well, that’s disappointing," he muttered. "Guess I’ll have to shelve the ‘blacksmith extraordinaire’ fantasy for now."


    Still, he wasn’t entirely out of options. If he couldn’t smelt the iron, maybe he could mold it another way. With enough force, mana, and sheer stubbornness, he might be able to shape the raw metal into something useful. The obsidian, however, was a different story. Unlike iron, which resisted magical infusion without proper forging techniques, obsidian was an ideal mana conductor. It absorbed energy effortlessly, holding enchantments longer than most materials, which made it the backbone of low-level magical weaponry.


    He turned the shard in his hand, watching as it reflected the dim firelight. When infused with mana, it wouldn’t just stay sharp—it could slice through materials far beyond what its brittle nature would normally allow. If he refined its edges with precision and bound it with a proper enchantment, it could become something far deadlier than a simple stone blade. A tool of precision, not brute force.


    Traebus eyed the materials before him, tapping his fingers against his knee. "Alright, new plan: brute force craftsmanship. Not ideal, but let’s see if I can at least make something that won’t fall apart the first time I swing it."


    He set to work, starting with the obsidian. Holding the forearm-length shard in his hands, he focused mana through his rings, channeling energy into the stone to sense its natural fractures. Unlike metal, obsidian wasn’t something that could be hammered or bent—it had to be worked with precision, chipped and flaked along its weakest points.


    He breathed deeply, steadying his hands as he directed his magic into the jagged edges, applying just enough force to coax the stone into breaking in a controlled manner. A thin crack spiderwebbed through the surface, and with a soft snap, a clean sliver flaked away, leaving behind a sharper, more defined edge. Encouraged, he repeated the process, carefully shaping the shard into something functional.


    It wasn’t easy. The first few attempts were disasters—one misjudged fracture sent a shard flying dangerously close to his eye, and another split the entire piece in half, leaving him cursing and starting over. But through trial and error, he managed to carve the obsidian into a long, curved blade, its glass-like surface gleaming in the firelight. The edges were dangerously sharp, capable of slicing with minimal effort, and its natural affinity for mana meant it could be enhanced further with the right enchantments.


    Satisfied, he turned the blade in his hands, admiring his handiwork. It wasn’t perfect, but considering his lack of tools and refined techniques, it would do. Now, onto the iron.


    Once satisfied, he moved on to the iron. Since smelting wasn’t an option, he had to take a different approach. Instead of melting the ore, he concentrated on softening it just enough to reshape it. With deep concentration, he funneled mana into the lump of metal, heating it from the inside out. The surface glowed faintly, the iron pliable for only a few moments before cooling too quickly to be malleable.


    Cursing under his breath, he repeated the process in small increments, working the metal little by little. He managed to flatten one piece into a rough plate, which could serve as an armor panel or a reinforced backing for one of his obsidian blades. Another chunk he elongated into something resembling a primitive chisel—crude, but functional.


    Taking the iron plate and the sharpened obsidian blade, he pressed them together, envisioning them merging into a single, durable weapon. With slow, careful channeling, he guided mana through the materials, fusing them at the edges. The iron plate acted as a spine, reinforcing the fragile obsidian so it wouldn’t shatter under pressure.


    The moment the bond solidified, he turned his attention to enchanting. He carved rudimentary runes along the iron plate, their etched lines glowing faintly as he pushed energy into them. The first enchantment enhanced the blade’s cutting edge, ensuring it would slice cleanly instead of chipping away. The second focused on durability, hardening both materials so they could withstand more abuse.


    As the last rune settled into place, the entire blade gave a soft hum, its dark edge reflecting the firelight in a way that sent a satisfied thrill through him. He grinned, turning it in his hands. "Now this is a proper knife."


    He gave it a few experimental swings, the balance surprisingly decent despite his crude methods. "Alright, I wouldn’t call myself a master craftsman just yet, but at least I won’t have to fight with a glorified stick anymore."


    His gaze flicked toward his spear, still little more than a sharp rock strapped to a sturdy branch. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, you’re next. One day, I’ll upgrade you into something that doesn’t look like I stole it from a particularly underwhelming barbarian museum exhibit."


    By the time he finished, his head ached from overusing mana, and his fingers were covered in dust and fine cuts. He sat back, looking at his handiwork: a sharp obsidian knife, a few arrowhead-sized shards, a crude iron plate, and a chisel-like tool. Not the most refined craftsmanship, but better than nothing.


    He exhaled heavily, turning the newly crafted blade over in his hands. "Alright, let’s take stock here. I’ve got a knife made of glorified glass glued to a hunk of iron with magic, crafted by a man whose last professional endeavor involved not dying. Yep, this is fine."


    He ran a thumb over the edge, watching as it gleamed in the firelight, its razor-sharp obsidian edge reflecting flickering orange hues. "You know, if someone had told me a week ago that I’d be sitting in the middle of a prehistoric nightmare, playing caveman blacksmith with magic and sheer willpower, I would’ve laughed them out of the room. And yet, here we are."


    He turned the knife in his hands, feeling the crude but functional balance. "Honestly, it’s almost impressive how far I’ve fallen. One week ago, I had actual tools, electricity, and a solid roof over my head. Now? I’m out here forging weapons from rocks and pretending that’s normal. Pretty sure this is how supervillains start."


    He sighed and rolled his shoulders, wincing at the soreness that had settled in. "At this rate, by next week, I’ll be wearing a loincloth and talking to random circular objects with faces painted on them."


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    He stretched out his legs, wincing as his muscles protested. "Well, at least I haven’t lost any fingers. Small victories."


    With a tired sigh, Traebus leaned back against the rock, letting his body go slack as he gazed up at the sky. The vast expanse above him was a shifting canvas of deep blue and golden hues, the setting sun casting long shadows over the trees. He let the cool air settle over him, welcoming the momentary relief as the throbbing ache in his skull gradually dulled.


    Just as his mind began to drift, he caught the faintest rustle of movement above him. His instincts screamed at him to not move too quickly. Instead, he shifted his eyes upward—


    —and found himself staring directly into the curious face of a small dinosaur, its narrow snout hovering mere inches above his forehead.


    Traebus went completely still, blinking. The little lizard blinked back, its head tilting slightly as if trying to decide what, exactly, it had just stumbled upon. Its nostrils flared, sniffing, its bright yellow eyes locked onto his.


    "...So," Traebus whispered, barely moving his lips. "You come here often?"


    The small lizard let out a soft, trilling sound, a rhythmic vibration that traveled down its throat and into its slender chest. It held his gaze, its unblinking yellow eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and caution. Its nostrils flared again, releasing a brief puff of warm air against his forehead. To his mild surprise, it didn’t reek of decay or the gut-turning scent of raw meat—just a faint, earthy musk, like damp leaves and sun-warmed stone.


    He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Huh," he murmured under his breath, keeping his movements slow. "Well, at least you don’t smell like death. Points for that."


    Slowly, carefully, he raised a hand, fingers hovering just above the creature''s snout. It didn’t flinch, nor did it snap at him. Encouraged, he gently brushed his fingertips against the smooth scales of its head, feeling the subtle ridges along its brow. "Huh. Not as slimy as I thought you''d be. Points for that."


    The moment stretched, almost peaceful in its absurdity. Here he was, scratching the head of what was very likely an ancient murder-bird’s distant cousin, and for once, nothing was trying to eat him.


    Then, a sudden rustling in the undergrowth beyond the stone wall, shattering the moment. The lizard’s head snapped upward, its body going rigid. With an abrupt chirp, it jumped upward, landing lightly on the ground before darting toward the edge of the clearing. Within seconds, it had slipped through a narrow gap in the rock wall and vanished into the jungle.


    Traebus blinked at the empty space where it had been. "Well," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his face. "Guess that’s the end of my first friendship on this island. Rude."


    Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his fortified clearing. While it was certainly more secure than sleeping out in the open, the gap he had left for an entrance was starting to feel like a liability. With a grunt, he stood and stepped toward the opening, pressing his palm against the rock beside it.


    Focusing his mana, he willed the stone to shift, forcing the dense rock to slither and grind against itself as it took shape. The shifting stone let out a deep groan, the sound vibrating through his bones as it coalesced into a thick, heavy slab. He guided it slowly, molding the rough edges into something more structured, reinforcing its sides so it wouldn’t just collapse if something big decided to lean on it.


    Next, he carved out a pair of crude hinges directly into the rock wall, ensuring the slab could pivot instead of just being a glorified boulder he had to shove aside every time he wanted to leave. A simple stone bar, shaped from a chunk he had split off earlier, slid neatly into place as a locking mechanism. Not the most elegant craftsmanship, but at least now he had a door that didn’t involve moving half a mountain whenever he needed to get in or out.


    He stepped back, wiping the sweat from his forehead and admiring his work. The door swung with a satisfyingly heavy resistance, scraping slightly but locking firmly into place. He gave it a few testing pushes, nodding approvingly. "There. Now the only thing sneaking in here is going to need opposable thumbs, a crowbar, and an extremely patient attitude."


    As he admired his work, the sky rumbled ominously, the deep roll of thunder vibrating through the air. Traebus frowned and glanced up. The sun was still shining, not a cloud in sight.


    He exhaled sharply. "Oh good, the weather here is just as sane as everything else. Guess I should expect it to start raining upward next."


    Grumbling under his breath, Traebus turned his focus back to his camp. "Great, love that. Nothing like eldritch weather to keep things interesting. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up to snow that burns or fog that whispers my secrets."


    Deciding he’d rather not wake up drenched—or worse—he set about creating a crude overhang to shield his little fortress. He pressed his hands against the rough stone, summoning the last reserves of his mana to coax the rock into moving. The stone resisted at first, sluggish and unyielding, like a stubborn mule refusing to budge. Traebus gritted his teeth, forcing more energy through his rings, and slowly, the wall began to shift, grumbling like an old man woken from a nap.


    The slab extended outward in jagged increments, shuddering with every inch it grew. Sweat dripped down Traebus’ temple as he carefully shaped the ledge, reinforcing its base to keep it from collapsing under its own weight. His vision blurred at the edges, a telltale sign of magical overexertion, but he pressed on, carving out just enough of an overhang to shield his camp from rain—or whatever nightmare storm the island decided to throw at him next.


    By the time he finished, he was lightheaded, his breath coming in uneven gasps. He stumbled back, staring up at the rough, uneven covering he had created. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t even remotely symmetrical. But it held. That was good enough.


    “Alright,” he muttered between ragged breaths. “Congratulations, rock. You win the award for ‘most stubborn thing I’ve dealt with today.’”


    The effort left him gasping, his vision swimming for a moment as the toll of the day’s work hit him all at once. "Okay, yeah. That was definitely a mistake."


    Staggering slightly, he grabbed his flint and struck a spark into the small pile of kindling he had collected earlier. The first few strikes were clumsy—his fingers trembled with exhaustion—but eventually, a glowing ember caught in the dry fibers. He cupped his hands around it, gently coaxing the flame to life until it spread through the twigs and small branches. Soon, a modest fire crackled before him, sending flickering shadows dancing across the uneven stone walls of his camp.


    With a groan, he all but collapsed onto the ground beside it, rubbing his temples. The pounding in his skull was a clear warning—he had pushed himself too hard. Mana depletion wasn’t like physical exhaustion; it left an ache deep in his bones, a hollowed-out sensation in his chest, as if part of him had been wrung dry. Overuse could be dangerous, even lethal if he wasn’t careful. He had gotten away with it this time, but he needed to pace himself.


    His eyes drifted to the salvaged mana gem embedded in his ring assembly. The once-glowing crystal was now completely dull, drained of every last scrap of energy. He exhaled sharply. "Well, that’s just fantastic. One day in, and I’m already out of juice. Just me, my fire, and a very dead rock. Great. Gonna have to recharge you in the morning the old fashioned way."


    He stretched out, wincing as his sore muscles protested. He needed rest—real rest—before he even thought about trying to recharge the gem or attempt any more magic. Curling up near the fire’s warmth, he let out a slow breath, muttering to himself. "Alright, weather gods, listen up. I am so done for today. You wanna mess with me, you’re gonna have to wait until morning. Deal?"


    The fire crackled in response. He sighed and closed his eyes, sleep dragging him under within moments.


    "Alright, weather gods, listen up. I am so done for today. You wanna mess with me, you’re gonna have to wait until morning. Deal?" He let out a heavy sigh, stretching his aching limbs before curling up beside the warmth of the fire. Within moments, exhaustion overtook him, dragging him into much-needed sleep.