As the mana trickled from his fingertips into the lizard’s tiny frame, a strange sensation gripped him. It wasn’t the usual push-and-pull of spellcasting—it was something deeper, something connected. His mind wavered, and suddenly, he wasn’t just casting a spell—he was feeling.
A wave of sensation crashed over him, foreign yet unmistakable. A dull, throbbing ache. Weakness. The concept of hurt, radiating from the little creature as if it were a thought given form. For a split second, he wasn’t just looking at the injured lizard—he was inside its pain, his own breath hitching at the rawness of it.
Traebus gasped, his fingers twitching as he almost pulled back. But the connection held, fragile yet undeniable. This wasn’t just healing—it was understanding.
He swallowed hard, his heart hammering. "Okay... that’s new.
The strange empathic connection pulsed between them, raw and unfiltered. Traebus steadied his breathing and leaned into it, letting his awareness flow deeper. The lizard’s pain wasn’t just an abstract concept anymore—he could feel where the injuries were, the dull ache of bruised ribs, the sharper sting of torn muscle, the sluggish, heavy pull of exhaustion pressing against every fiber of its small body.
With slow, deliberate movements, he focused his mana toward those points. He willed the energy not to surge, not to burn like it usually did, but to mend. A soft warmth spread from his fingertips, the magic settling into the wounds like a slow-moving tide. The lizard’s breathing hitched, and for a moment, Traebus feared he had done something wrong.
Then, gradually, the smallest of shifts—the tiny body beneath his hands grew steadier, the trembling less pronounced. The creature’s pain didn’t disappear, but it dulled, the sharpest edges smoothed over. He could feel the bones knitting, the torn muscle beginning to weave itself back together, sluggish but steady.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he fought to maintain control. It wasn’t like combat magic, where he could let the energy explode outward in a single devastating burst. This was delicate, careful, like threading a needle while blindfolded. He had never healed something before—not like this, not with this kind of understanding. The process took more out of him than he expected, draining the last vestiges of his mana reserves.
The lizard stirred, its tiny claws twitching against the stone. The empathic link flickered, the overwhelming sensation of hurt fading just slightly. Traebus exhaled in relief.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a full recovery. But it was enough.
He sat back on his heels, shaking his hands out to dispel the lingering tingles of mana fatigue. "Alright, little guy," he muttered. "If I wake up and find out you’re suddenly breathing fire or something, we’re gonna have words."
Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, but Traebus knew he couldn’t afford to stop yet. Leaving the small lizard to rest on the flat rock, he forced himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as the last remnants of mana fatigue clung to him. His camp was gone, his supplies scattered—or buried—and he needed to recover whatever he could before moving on.
The other small lizards, still buzzing with nervous energy, trailed behind him as he sifted through the wreckage. As he moved, a strange awareness settled over him—something subtle, like whispers just at the edge of hearing. At first, he ignored it, assuming it was just the lingering effects of the empathic link. But the longer he walked, the more the sensations solidified.
They weren’t words, not exactly, but concepts—flickers of instinct and emotion. Hunger. Caution. Safe here?
He stopped, blinking down at the little creatures watching him expectantly. The feelings weren’t coming from him—they were theirs. His mind reeled at the realization. Somehow, whatever connection had formed during the healing wasn’t gone. It had spread.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Great. Did I fry something in my brain, or is this what happens when you push magic too far? Maybe I scrambled myself just enough to understand these little freeloaders."
He frowned, watching the lizards as they trilled and shifted around him, their emotions brushing against his mind like faint echoes. It wasn’t just nonsense—there was intent there. Communication, in its rawest form.
He sighed, shaking his head. "No. Not freeloaders. Not anymore. You lot earned your keep today."
A thought flickered through his mind—if he could receive emotions and impressions from them, could he send them? He closed his eyes for a brief moment, focusing on the feeling of searching, of seeking something lost. His mind formed the vague concept of tools, supplies, find, and he pushed it outward, not knowing if it would even work.
The small lizards froze, their frills flicking slightly as if they had just heard something unspoken. Then, to his surprise, a soft ripple of understanding returned—an odd, instinctual recognition of his intent. Their movements became purposeful, and they scattered, darting between the debris with renewed energy, chirping excitedly as they began to rummage through the wreckage.
Traebus watched, stunned. "Huh. So that actually worked."
One of the lizards proudly dragged a half-buried length of metal tubing free from the rubble, its tail wagging slightly as it deposited the find at his feet. Another pawed at a pile of shattered stone, unearthing one of the crude obsidian blades he had made days ago.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a slow grin creeping onto his face. "Alright, I take it back. This might actually be useful. Let’s see what else you guys can dig up."
As the lizards scattered through the debris, Traebus turned his attention to a more immediate concern—fire. His body still ached, his mana reserves were running on fumes, and the cold humidity of the jungle was starting to seep into his bones. He needed warmth, light, and a way to cook whatever he could salvage from the massive corpse currently cooling in the ruins of his camp.
He gathered the driest scraps of wood he could find—shattered beams from his destroyed shelter, splintered branches caught in the wreckage—and began stacking them into a small pit. With a flicker of determination, he struck a piece of obsidian against the metal tubing the lizard had recovered, sending sparks into the dry kindling. It took longer than he wanted, but eventually, tiny embers caught, smoke curled into the air, and flames licked at the wood.
The moment the fire roared to life, he turned toward the immense carcass of the fallen predator. He walked toward it, blade in hand, staring up at the sheer size of the thing. Even in death, it was an imposing, terrifying sight. The sail along its back had been partially crushed in the impact, and its massive limbs sprawled out like a felled titan.
"Well," he muttered, rolling his shoulders, "guess it’s time to eat like a king."
He got to work, cutting deep into the beast’s thick hide. The obsidian blade, enchanted for sharpness, sliced through with surprising ease, though it still required considerable effort to carve off sizable portions. The scent of raw meat filled the air, mingling with the lingering smoke from the fire.
As he worked, the small lizards began to return, dragging their various findings—twisted bits of metal, scraps of fabric, even an intact piece of his old gauntlet. But they weren’t just scavenging—they were watching. Their curious eyes followed his every motion, their heads tilting at the rhythmic movements of his knife.
Once he had cut several thick slabs free, he carried them back to the fire. Without ceremony, he tossed a few onto the hot stones near the flames, letting them sizzle and sear. The rich scent of cooking meat filled the air, and almost immediately, the lizards began trilling excitedly, their tails flicking in anticipation.
Traebus smirked. "Yeah, yeah, you earned it."
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
One by one, he doled out generous portions, tossing pieces toward his new companions. They caught them eagerly, their frills flaring with excitement as they tore into the fresh meat. With a satisfied nod, he cut one final slice and carefully placed it beside the injured lizard, still resting where he had left it.
He let out a deep breath and sat back near the fire, watching the flames flicker. For now, at least, they had warmth, food, and—against all odds—a small sense of home again.
But safety was still a fragile illusion, and exhaustion clawed at him like a living thing. He let out a slow breath, glancing around at the lizards, their small forms illuminated by the flickering firelight. They were content for now, but the jungle never stayed quiet for long.
Traebus rubbed his temple, then focused his mind. The link was still there, faint but steady. He pushed out a simple concept—watch, alert, danger—hoping they would understand.
A few of them stiffened, their frills twitching, and in return, he felt a ripple of recognition. A wordless promise. They understood.
"Alright then," he murmured. "You lot keep an eye out. Wake me up if something tries to eat us."
The lizards trilled in response, some perching atop scattered debris, others slinking into the undergrowth. Satisfied, Traebus let his body sag against the warmth of the fire.
Sleep took him in an instant.
When Traebus woke, the fire had long since burned down to cold embers, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke in the damp morning air. But another scent lingered—one far more concerning. Blood. It wasn’t thick in the air, but it was there, sharp and fresh.
His muscles tensed as he sat up, instinctively reaching for his blade, only to pause when he felt a warm weight pressed against his side. He glanced down, his eyes widening slightly.
The injured lizard was curled up against him, its small frame nestled against his ribs, its breathing steady. But something was off.
It was bigger.
Not just a little bigger, but nearly twice the size it had been the night before. Its scales had taken on a slightly richer hue, and there was a faint, residual warmth where his hand had once rested while healing it. The magic had done something more than just mend wounds—it had accelerated something within it.
Traebus blinked blearily at the creature, then exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "Well… guess I really don’t know what I’m doing with healing magic." He hesitated, watching the lizard’s steady rise and fall as it slept. "And if you do end up breathing fire, let’s try not to test it on me, alright?"
Carefully, Traebus eased himself away from the sleeping lizard, mindful not to jostle it too much. It let out a soft, sleepy trill but didn’t stir beyond that. He exhaled in relief and pushed himself to his feet, his muscles stiff from the night spent against the hard ground.
As he stretched, the other lizards perked up, their heads tilting in unison before they darted closer, watching him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright, I get it. Breakfast time."
He crouched near the remnants of the fire, grabbing the obsidian blade and slicing into one of the thicker cuts of meat from the night before. The scent of cold, cooked flesh wasn’t as enticing as a fresh meal, but it would do. As he carved, he thought about his dwindling supplies and the undeniable fact that he needed to move. Staying here, in a crater where something else bigger and meaner might decide to visit, was asking for trouble.
As he split the meat into portions, he felt a strange ripple in his mind—home, safety, new place.
He froze, looking at the lizards as they blinked up at him. The impression came again, fainter but insistent. They weren’t just watching him anymore—they were suggesting something.
He exhaled through his nose and smirked. "Alright, I get it. This place is a lost cause. We need to move." He focused for a moment, pushing back a thought of searching, traveling, finding a new home into the link. The lizards stilled, their frills twitching in response before a wave of agreement rolled back at him—yes, move, safer place, new home.
Traebus let out a slow breath. "Glad we’re on the same page, then. Let’s find somewhere that doesn’t get flattened by giant lizards every other day."
First, though, he needed to deal with all this meat. If they were moving, he couldn’t just leave it behind, and carrying raw slabs through the jungle was a great way to invite every predator within sniffing distance. He needed to preserve it.
With a grunt, he got to work, gathering stones and arranging them into a makeshift smoker. It wouldn’t be perfect—without salt, true preservation was going to be tricky—but smoke and ash would have to do. He stacked branches, forming a rough frame over the pit, then draped strips of meat across it, letting the low heat and rising smoke begin the slow process of drying and curing.
As the first wisps of smoke curled into the morning air, he turned his attention to another problem—transport. He had little left, and what he did have needed to be packed efficiently. He ran a hand through his dirt encrusted hair, sighing. He needed something to carry the food, something to haul the few remaining tools he had salvaged. Strips of leather from the old crocodile hide might work, if they were still intact. Maybe he could fashion a sling or a crude pack—assuming he had enough time before they had to leave.
Before he could think too much on it, another ripple of thought reached him through the link. A sense of movement, travel, destination—not his own thoughts, but from the lizards. They were waiting, expecting him to follow.
He snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You guys have a plan. Just let me make sure we don’t starve on the way there."
Then he froze.
We.
The realization hit him like a falling stone. He wasn’t just thinking about himself anymore—he had a group. And if he needed to carry supplies, so could they.
His eyes drifted toward the massive carcass of the fallen predator, its thick hide still intact despite the catastrophic landing. There was enough leather and tough skin there to outfit a legion of people. Creating a few makeshift backpacks and pouches for himself and the lizards would barely make a dent in what was available.
He grinned, shaking his head. "Well, guess it’s time for arts and crafts. Hope you guys like custom-fitted luggage."
With the smoker slowly working through the slabs of meat, Traebus turned his attention to the hulking carcass that had nearly wiped him off the map. He grabbed his obsidian blade and got to work slicing into the thick hide, peeling away broad sections of leathery skin. The sheer size of it was staggering—it was like trying to skin a moving truck with a pocket knife.
He cut away manageable sections, laying them out over the smoothed stone near the fire. The lizards watched, their frills twitching in curiosity, but he ignored them for now, focused on his task. First, he needed straps—long strips that could be bound together for harnesses. Then, he carved out rectangular chunks, cutting slits to thread the leather strips through.
His first attempt was an absolute disaster. The pack was lopsided, barely holding together, and when he tried to tie it around one of the lizards, the whole thing slipped off and flopped to the ground like a deflated balloon. The lizard he’d chosen for the test subject trilled in what he was pretty sure was laughter.
"Alright, I get it. Not my best work," he muttered, tossing the failed attempt aside. "Apparently, I should’ve paid more attention to textile engineering instead of blowing things up. Noted."
He took more precise measurements this time, eyeballing the rough size of the lizards and adjusting the cuts to better fit their frames. Another attempt, another failure—this time, the straps were too loose, and the whole thing twisted the moment the lizard moved.
By the third try, though, he had something functional. A simple pouch, tied snugly against the lizard’s back with crisscrossed straps. When the lizard took a few tentative steps, the bag stayed in place. Traebus grinned.
"Alright! We have a winner. Welcome to the first-ever prehistoric fashion show."
He started crafting more, making a few smaller packs for the lizards while working on a much larger one for himself. It wasn’t elegant, but it would do the job. And considering his last attempt at ‘gear crafting’ had involved broken tech and a near-death experience, he considered this a resounding success.
Traebus, fully focused on securing the last strap of a newly crafted lizard pack, didn’t notice the large presence looming over his shoulder. His hands worked diligently, threading the leather through the last loop before sitting back to admire his craftsmanship. As he leaned back, he bumped into something firm, warm, and very much alive.
His entire body went rigid as a deep, amused rumble filled the air. Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head.
A massive, scaled head was mere inches from his own, golden slit-pupiled eyes staring at him with eerie intelligence. The lizard he had just finished outfitting was utterly forgotten as his brain stalled. Then, with perfect comedic timing, both he and the large creature jumped in opposite directions—he yelped, tripping over the leather strips, while the lizard flared its frills and scrambled backward with a startled trill.
Heart hammering, Traebus shoved a hand through his hair and exhaled shakily. "You cannot sneak up on people like that! There are rules! Social boundaries! Personal space!"
The large lizard blinked slowly, then let out a low chuff that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
"Oh, great. Now you’re mocking me."
Before he could fully process the situation, another ripple of sensation hit him—stronger, clearer than anything he’d felt from the smaller lizards. Amusement. Not vague curiosity, not raw instinct, but something sharper, almost humorous in its tone.
He froze, staring at the large lizard as realization settled in. The smaller ones had given him flashes of intent, basic impressions—but this was different. This wasn’t just a feeling; it was a deliberate response, a distinct reaction to his frustration.
Traebus narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you think this is funny, huh? You’ve been watching me struggle with these little satchels for the past hour, and now you decide to make an entrance? That’s real considerate."
The big lizard exhaled through its nostrils in a way that almost sounded smug. Another wave of amusement pulsed through the link, stronger this time. It knew exactly what it was doing.
He ran a hand down his face, groaning. "Fantastic. I haven’t even left the jungle, and I’m already the butt of some overgrown reptile’s joke. Lizard tamer my ass."