The cold bit. A constant, gnawing ache. Elias shivered, huddled with the others. Smoke stung his eyes. The small fire offered little warmth against the Pliocene wind. Bellies rumbled. Hunger was a dull drumbeat in his skull. Weeks of lean hunting. The herds had moved. Game was scarce. --- A small cough. His gaze flicked to Grok, the elder's youngest. Grok's skin was pale, eyes sunken. Weak. Too weak. Elias felt the familiar tightness in his chest. A useless emotion here. He needed to act. The others just shivered, waiting for the inevitable. Or for a miracle. Elias knew miracles didn't exist. Only calculated risks. His mind ran through scenarios. Past knowledge: seasonal migrations, geological features, animal behavior. He recalled the "Epochs" map segments. A narrow gorge, several days' travel. There, in a sheltered pocket, hardy evergreens often held fruit. Even late in the season. --- No one would follow him. Not this far. Not without a clear trail. He rose. Bone-deep weariness clung to him. But the image of Grok's pale face spurred him on. "I go," he grunted, pointing roughly east. "Look." Muttering. Shakes of heads. Even the elder, Thok, looked away. Too cold. Too dangerous. Elias ignored them. He was used to it. He grabbed his crude spear. A sharpened branch, tipped with fire-hardened flint. Better than nothing. --- The journey was a blur of aching muscles and biting wind. Days bled into one another. He tracked. He listened. Every snapping twig, every distant cry, a potential threat. He subsisted on roots, bitter berries, and the occasional scrawny rodent. His "mana" reserves, normally a subtle hum, were a constant, demanding whisper. He kept them banked. This wasn't a game for reckless expenditure. Then, the gorge. A cleft in the earth, scarred by ancient water. Wind howled above. Inside, a relative stillness. And a scent. Sweet, earthy. He pressed on. --- There they were. Small, hardy shrubs. Red berries, almost hidden by thick leaves. Salvation. He grabbed a handful. Bitter, but packed with nutrients. He ate. Slowly, deliberately. Replenishing. But another scent hit him. Sharp. Feline. And fresh. He froze. His hand instinctively went to his spear. A low growl vibrated through the rock. Close. Too close. --- He crouched, eyes darting. Rocks, scrub, shadow. Where? Then he saw it. Not a sabertooth, but a *Dinofelis*. Smaller, stockier. Still deadly. It was watching him. A tawny blur against the rock, muscles tensed. Its eyes, golden slits, locked onto his. This was a kill zone. The berries were its territory. He was an intruder. His heart hammered. A primitive fear clawed at his throat. His body screamed *run*. But his mind, cold and calculating, refused. He couldn't just run. Not with Grok's face burned into his memory. He needed these berries. --- He felt the familiar thrum. A deep, resonant hum behind his eyes. The "mana" pulsed. He weighed the risk. This was it. Full activation. He closed his eyes for a split second. *Release.* --- The world shifted. Colors sharpened, edges defined. The *Dinofelis*'s tawny fur wasn't just tawny; it was a complex pattern of browns and creams, each strand catching the light. The faint scent of pine resin, damp earth, predator musk – everything intensified. Sounds became distinct: the rustle of individual leaves, the distant drip of water, the cat's shallow breathing. His body tightened. Muscles coiled, ready. His mind worked at blinding speed. Escape routes. Attack angles. The cat's likely pounce trajectory. He saw the shift in its weight, the almost imperceptible twitch of its tail. Too slow. He had a fraction of a second. --- He moved. Not at the cat. Towards the thickest patch of berries. A feint. The *Dinofelis* lunged. A blur of power. Claws extended. Elias ducked, rolled. His mana-enhanced senses allowed him to predict the impact, to twist just enough. The cat’s paw grazed his shoulder, tearing a shallow furrow in his skin. Pain flared, immediate but distant. His mind processed it as a data point. He scrambled, scooping handfuls of berries into the skin pouch he'd prepared. Fast. Faster than he thought possible. The cat snarled, regrouping. It was confused. This wasn't how prey behaved. --- He didn't run. Not yet. He stood, spear point aimed. His eyes, burning with a strange clarity, locked onto the cat's. He let out a primal roar. Not from fear, but from a surge of desperate, amplified adrenaline. The *Dinofelis* hesitated. Prey didn't roar back. Prey ran. This was wrong. Its instincts warred with the anomaly. This was his chance. He backed away, slowly, pouch clutched tight. Never breaking eye contact. The cat watched, a low rumble still in its throat. Its golden eyes narrowed. --- He reached the gorge mouth. Turned. Ran. The mana drained from him in a rush. The world dulled. Colors faded. Sounds blurred. The ache returned, magnified. His legs felt like lead. Each breath was agony. He didn't stop until he collapsed, hidden by thick brush, miles away. Gasps wracked his body. His shoulder throbbed, a dull, constant fire. He clutched the pouch. Full. Nearly bursting. He had done it. --- The return journey was a nightmare of exhaustion. He stumbled. Fell. Clawed his way upright. The wound festered. Fever began to set in. Yet, he pressed on. One foot in front of the other. Grok's face. The hunger in the others' eyes. He emerged into the small clearing of their camp. Limping. Shivering. The fire was almost out. Embers glowed weakly. The small group huddled together, gaunt and silent. --- A head lifted. Thok. His eyes, normally dull with resignation, widened. Then the others saw him. Gasps. Whispers. Elias dropped the pouch. It spilled. A riot of red berries tumbled onto the frozen earth. A sudden scramble. Hands reached. Fingers plucked. They ate. Devoured. A frenzy of hunger. The low grunts and chomping sounds were music to Elias's ears. --- He sank to the ground. The fever was a roaring inferno now. Thok knelt beside him. His gaze lingered on Elias's shoulder wound. Then on his eyes. A strange intensity there. "You... found," Thok rumbled, holding a handful of berries. His voice held a mixture of awe and something else. Something Elias couldn't quite place. Grok, eyes bright with renewed energy, crawled over. He offered Elias a berry. Elias managed a weak smile. He ate it. The bitter taste was a blessing. --- He drifted in and out of consciousness. The fever raged. Images flashed: the *Dinofelis*'s snarling face, the blinding speed of his mana, Grok's small, hopeful face. He heard whispers. Not just the wind. The hominids talked. About him. His strange return. His wound. The berries. "He... ran fast," one voice. "Eyes... burned," another. "Not like us." --- His body burned. His mind fought to make sense of the fragmented words. They were seeing. They were questioning. He felt a hand on his forehead. Thok's. The elder's face was a blur. But his gaze was sharp. Unsettling. "What you are, Elias?" Thok whispered, his voice low, guttural. No accusation. No fear. Just profound curiosity. --- Elias couldn't answer. His throat was raw. His body was a vessel of pain. He closed his eyes. But he felt the weight of Thok's gaze. And the dawning suspicion in the air. His secret, so carefully guarded, now hung by a thread. The mana had saved them, but it might just have doomed him. --- The night deepened. The cold returned, relentless. But the whispers continued. His name. The berries. The speed. The burning eyes. He was different. They knew. He was no longer just Elias. He was a mystery. A potential danger. Or perhaps, a god. Either way, his existence among them was now irrevocably changed. A distant howl pierced the night. Not a wolf. Something larger. Closer. He opened his eyes. The pain was still there. But a new fear, colder than the wind, had settled in. He wasn't just battling hunger and predators anymore. He was battling scrutiny. And the wilderness had a thousand eyes.

A Glimpse of the Impossible