The sun was a bronze disc hanging lazily in the sky, bleeding warmth across the prehistoric valley. A gentle breeze carried the scent of rich soil, overripe fruit, and the faint, smoldering tang of cooked sausage.
Troy Orbital, farmer, fire-wielder, and very recent harem-starter, sat on the flat stone he'd once used as a table. Now, with his house a broken pile of bamboo and thatch — it was his kitchen, dining room, and emergency nap platform all in one.
He was quietly chewing on a charred sausage link when she reappeared.
Ravaxara.
All seven-foot-five of red-scaled muscle and sharp-toothed smugness. Her wounds had healed into faint silver scars, like war-paint carved by time. Her tail lazily swished behind her, betraying something far less guarded than her usual bratty demeanor.
"You cook good," she said, licking the last speck of rice from her clawed fingers.
Troy nodded. "Thanks."
"And… uh, you're welcome," she added, awkwardly standing near the fire pit. "For last night. Even if you're still a twig man."
Her tone was mocking, but the tip of her tail flicked just a bit faster.
Troy didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he pulled up his system interface with a blink and muttered thought.
[System → Harem List]
Ravaxara
[Heiress to the Tyrannosaurus Tribe]
[Affinity: 79%]
[Title Unlocked: First Mate]
[Power Copied: GOD-LVL Endurance]
"Yeah," Troy sighed, rubbing his sore lower back. "This is... definitely something."
He winced, still feeling the phantom ache in places no man should ever experience aching from non-combat reasons. The cost?
All his sheep? Dead. Trampled. Vaporized.
His house? Obliterated like it had been caught between a meteor and a temper tantrum.
His dignity? Somewhere under a pile of broken furniture and emotional confusion.
"But you know what?" he muttered. "Best night of both my lives. No contest."
Ravaxara stretched, her scales catching the sunlight like blood-streaked gems. She downed a final helping of sausage and butter rice with a hum of delight, then stood up, brushing her claws together.
"I have to go. My tribe… they need to know I'm back."
Troy blinked. "You sure you're okay to travel?"
"I just broke a log in half by sneezing this morning. I'm fine."
She paused at the edge of the clearing and glanced back at him with a frown she tried to hide.
"And, uh... thanks again. I mean it, Twig—Troy. Seriously."
Then she was gone, bounding into the trees, the underbrush parting like grass before her power.
Troy exhaled, sitting alone with his thoughts and one surviving cow, wide-eyed and chewing slowly like it had seen war and barely lived to tell the tale.
"Alright, buddy," he said to the cow. "It's you and me now. And we need a new house. Maybe some reinforcements this time."
As he got up and began rummaging through his supply pile, a sudden sneeze caught him off-guard.
"Achoo!"
The cow mooed in alarm, nearly jumping over the woodpile.
Troy groaned. "Relax. Someone's just talking about me. Probably wondering what kind of monster would survive a night with a dino-brat."
Meanwhile…
In the heart of the Tyrannosaurus Tribe's Stone Ring, screams echoed.
"YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!"
A clawed fist smashed across a scaled jaw, sending the offending male tumbling into the dirt, gasping for breath. The gathered tribe warriors made no move to stop her.
Ravaxara, daughter of Chief Vorrok, heiress to the Tribe's warline, was back — and not happy.
"I fought Utahs! I crawled out of a bone pit! I bit my own arm out of a trap, and you were supposed to be my mate! You were supposed to come for me!"
The traitor spat blood and whimpered.
"You're… alive… I thought… they said—"
"You left me," she growled, standing over him. "You're not a mate. You're worm food."
She raised her claw. The tribe gasped.
One of the elders started to step forward — then stopped. Because they saw the fire in her eyes, the new glow in her scales, and something far more powerful: purpose.
She struck him once more. He didn't get back up.
Moments later, bruised and panting but unshaken, Ravaxara stomped into the Fertility Hall, where the air smelled of incense, flowers, and raw female dominance.
Sitting on a throne of bones and woven vines was Mammara, the Triceratops priestess, known for her patience, wisdom, and hips that could bench-press boulders.
"Ravaxara?" Mammara blinked. "You're alive?! By the eggs, child, you're—"
"I'm back. And I need to talk. But first, I… I think something's happening."
"What do you mean somethi—OH!" Mammara's eyes widened. "Lay down! Now!"
Moments later, amidst chants and rushing priestesses, a single egg was gently laid into a nest of moss, glowing faintly with pulsing warmth.
Mammara stared at it. Then at Ravaxara.
"Who… who's the father?"
Ravaxara, exhausted but glowing, whispered, "A human."
"A what?"
"He's got too much endurance. Fire 'magic'. He cooks food that makes your soul hum. He fixed me, inside and out."
"You're saying a human got you pregnant? And survived?"
"He's my Forever Mate," Ravaxara said firmly. "That makes him the King of our tribe."
Mammara stared, jaw slightly open, before bursting into a slow chuckle.
"Well… Gaia works in mysterious ways."
Back in Troy's clearing…
He was hammering together logs with a slab of ironwood and muttering to himself.
"No more cheap bamboo. I'm reinforcing this with stone, layered moss, AND shock-absorbing pine resin. I will have a love-proof bed."
His new cow — dubbed "Moo-Riarty" for its wise and judging eyes — watched silently.
Troy glanced over at the half-finished hut, then up at the sky.
"I'm not ready to be a dad, and hopefully I ain't one soon."
He didn't know the egg had been laid.
Didn't know a tribe was preparing to crown him.
Didn't know three powerful dino-women were about to converge on his valley.
All he knew was that he was tired, horny, and seriously running low on sausage ingredients.
But deep down, in a tiny flicker of pride, Troy smiled.
"Maybe being a twig man isn't so bad… when you've got fire, food, and freaky fate on your side."