The morning sun had already climbed high into the sky by the time Yamino stirred from his restless sleep. His eyes fluttered open, heavy with fatigue. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes—the price of a night lost to haunting howls and unsettling silence. He rubbed his face and groaned, the memories of last night lingering like smoke in his mind.
He sat up slowly, the warmth of morning doing little to ease the chill left by the howls. Pulling on his clothes, he stepped out of his room, expecting to hear the usual clanking from the forge or the familiar voice of his father humming some old village tune.
Instead, he found silence—and strangers.
Two people sat in the small living room: a man and a woman, both in their fifties, dressed in clean, travel-worn clothes. The man wore a pale grey suit, surprisingly well-fitted for such a rural village, and the woman was in a simple yet elegant dark-blue dress, her silver hair tied into a neat braid. They sat calmly, sipping tea from cups Yamino didn't remember being taken out.
They didn't speak. They didn't even look at him. They simply sat there, quiet and composed, as if they had every right to be there—as if they belonged.
Yamino paused in the doorway, frowning slightly. Who are they? he wondered. His father never mentioned any guests coming. And they weren't from around the village—he was sure of it. He would have remembered seeing such distinct people.
But despite the strange presence, Yamino said nothing. Something in their stillness told him not to pry. Not yet. He offered a faint nod, half out of habit, half out of respect, then turned away.
He walked down the narrow hallway, past the storage room, and into the backyard where the small blacksmithing shed stood. Normally by this hour, the forge would be alive—embers glowing, smoke trailing from the chimney, and his father grumbling about needing more coal.
But today, the forge was dead.
No firewood stacked. No smoke. No hammer. No Dad.
The air smelled clean—too clean. He stepped inside and found the workspace completely empty. Only the anvil remained, cold and unused. A creeping sense of unease slithered up his spine.
"Where is he…?" Yamino muttered.
He scanned the shed again and spotted the old axe leaning against the wall. It was usually used for chopping firewood, and without hesitation, he grabbed it. But just as he stepped outside, hand tightening on the axe handle, something pulled at his thoughts.
The howling.
The haunting cries from last night came crashing back all at once—the strange compulsion to follow it, the overwhelming dread, the silence that followed. His feet slowed, his body tense.
He stood there, unmoving, staring out at the tree line.
Something wasn't right. Everything was too quiet. Too still.
He clenched his jaw, then turned back toward the forge. In a small rack near the back wall, a sheathed blade rested on a wooden shelf—a katana he had forged himself not long ago. It wasn't perfect, but it was sharp, balanced, and strong.
He reached out and took it, sliding it into his belt without a word.
If something strange was happening, he wasn't going to face it with just an axe.
Katana at his side, Yamino stepped out into the daylight, the sun doing little to drive away the shadows he still felt clinging to him. As the wind stirred the grass and rustled the trees, he glanced once more back at the quiet forge.
His instincts were screaming.
And they were right to.
The forest welcomed Yamino like it always had, with a familiar chorus of chirping birds, rustling leaves, and the crunch of twigs underfoot. Sunlight streamed through the canopy in golden rays, casting shifting shadows on the ground. He had walked this path hundreds of times since childhood—searching for herbs, gathering firewood, or just escaping from the noise of village life.
But today, something was different.
The birdsong was there, yes. But beneath it... a smell.
Faint. Sharp. Metallic. Wrong.
He stopped, sniffing the air. It wasn't rot, nor the earthy musk of a predator. It was something unnatural. His grip on the katana tightened instinctively as his eyes scanned the surroundings. The wind carried the scent like a whisper of warning, but Yamino couldn't place it.
And then he saw her.
Just ahead, where the forest began to open into a small clearing, stood a young woman—around his age. Her long black hair flowed like silk, catching the sunlight in strands of midnight. Her skin was flawless, her form wrapped in a delicate white dress that clung perfectly to every curve. Her expression was calm, eyes reflecting the light like liquid gold. She didn't look human. She looked… divine.
His breath hitched. His heart pounded.
It was as if every dream he had ever had of beauty, grace, and desire had been molded into one perfect being. His legs moved on their own, each step drawn toward her by some invisible pull. His thoughts scrambled—words forming, dying, reforming—desperately searching for something to say.
But then came the voice in his mind.
"Don't be a fool."
"You're just being pathetic again."
"Remember your ex?"
The memory of betrayal flashed like a blade across his heart. Her face—laughing with someone else, mocking everything he believed was love. That cold year of loneliness, of crawling back from the edge.
"But… I'm not in a relationship anymore," he reasoned to himself. "I'm allowed to feel. I'm allowed to want someone again. If I can get someone like her… maybe life will finally turn around."
His heart wanted to believe it.
But his mind screamed otherwise.
And then—everything shattered.
A thump. Heavy. Bone-shaking.
Then another.
And another.
The ground trembled.
Behind the woman, the trees split open with a deafening crack. Birds scattered in a frenzy of wings. And there, emerging from the foliage like a nightmare reborn, came a beast Yamino only knew from history books and films.
A Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Towering. Monstrous. Muscles rippling beneath scales like steel. Its eyes glowed faintly, unnatural. Like it shouldn't exist.
Its breath steamed in the air. One footstep, then another, the ground shaking with every move.
Yamino's knees weakened. His katana felt like a toothpick in his grip.
He wanted to run.
He needed to run.
But all he could do was stand there—gazing at the girl who hadn't moved an inch, as if the beast at her back was nothing but a harmless puppy.
Yamino's breath came fast and shallow. A dozen questions spiraled in his mind.
Who was she?
Why was that thing with her?
And more importantly—
Why the hell couldn't he move?
Yamino stood frozen, his eyes locked on the impossible sight before him.
The girl—the breathtaking, surreal girl—was still standing calmly, not even flinching. The massive T-Rex behind her loomed like a living mountain, its scaly hide shimmering in the sunlight, its thunderous breath ruffling the leaves around it. But it made no move to attack her. No rage. No bloodlust. Just presence.
Yamino couldn't make sense of it.
That was when it happened.
The dinosaur howled.
The same unearthly sound from the night before. That bone-chilling, alien wail that had haunted his dreams and stolen his sleep. Hearing it up close was worse than anything he could've imagined. It wasn't just noise—it was pressure. A heavy, soul-rattling wave of fear and primal dread that crushed his chest.
His legs buckled.
He collapsed to the forest floor with a thud, gasping as dirt coated his palms. The sound might have been small—but it was enough.
Both the girl and the monster turned to him.
Their eyes locked onto his position.
Shit.
His instincts screamed louder than reason: Run. Now.
But his legs wouldn't listen. They trembled, twitching uselessly beneath him. The dinosaur took one heavy step. Then another. Each footfall closer. The ground shook with each impact, birds scattering again in a screeching panic. Leaves danced around him, but Yamino couldn't find it in himself to rise.
Then—somehow—he moved.
He pushed against the ground and forced his body up. Legs still weak, lungs burning, he stumbled forward. Run. Run. Run. The mantra repeated in his head like a drumbeat as he fled through the forest, trees blurring past him in a dizzy haze.
He didn't know where he was going.
He didn't care.
Just run.
But his mind kept screaming questions.
"Why is there a fucking dinosaur in this era?"
"What the hell is that girl?"
"What did I get dragged into!?"
Then—
CRACK.
His foot caught on a root.
Yamino tripped.
Time slowed as he fell, his body spinning, tumbling down a slope hidden by brush. He rolled painfully over dirt and stone, vision spinning wildly until—
SPLASH.
The icy water swallowed him whole.
He gasped, but water filled his lungs. He tried to swim, but his limbs flailed helplessly. The river pulled him down, deeper and deeper. The world above faded into blur and bubbles. His thoughts dulled. His body grew cold.
The last thing he saw was the shimmering sunlight breaking through the surface above.
And then—
Nothing.