When he opened his eyes, an intense heat wrapped around him — and his body... it wasn't his anymore.
His hands were rough and calloused. His skin was darker. Tribal symbols covered his arms from wrist to shoulder. Bracelets of bone and leather strips encircled his wrists. A strange heaviness pulled at his neck. He looked down and found a necklace made of animal teeth and stone beads.
An odor of unimaginable filth hung in the air.
It was coming from him.
The surface he was lying on was hard and uneven. Rock.
He tried to sit up. A violent wave of nausea pinned him back down. He tried again — and stumbled without even understanding why. Again and again, same result. This was the first time he had ever taken this long to adapt to a host body. Him, of all people — considered a prodigy among his graduating class of explorers.
He was in a cave.
The walls were covered in hand-drawn paintings made with pigments completely foreign to him. He could make out figures of men behind drawings of creatures that weren't entirely unfamiliar. On the ground sat containers fashioned from animal skulls, filled with substances that smelled sharp and looked worse. Peter was completely at a loss. Minutes ago he had been in the Alliance's facility, inhabiting Darek's body. And now here he was — in yet another body, in a place unlike anything he had ever known.
Then his internal interface flickered weakly to life.
— Connection quality: Poor. Available energy: 20%.
— Host body: Oonak. Role: Chief and Shaman of the Woolak Tribe.
— Period: 12,000 BC.
"12,000 BC?!"
But instead of the words he expected to hear, what came out of his mouth was a deep, guttural growl. He was the first one startled by it.
How did I end up here? How do I get out? Have the agency noticed I'm gone? And if they have — can they even reach me?
Every question hit at once. Then came a splitting headache, followed by stomach cramps. The cave tilted around him. He doubled over and vomited — a sharp, acidic mixture with chunks of half-digested meat. Almost certainly the last meal of his host.
Once the worst had passed, he decided to at least get some air. He hauled himself upright, gripping the cave wall. His feet trembled beneath him like they belonged to someone else. This jump had been the most brutal he had ever experienced. He stumbled, got up, stumbled again, got up again — over and over — until finally, slowly, his legs agreed to carry him. He moved toward the only exit: a narrow gap in the rock that let in a thin sliver of pale light.
When he stepped outside, the world hit him all at once.
An endless landscape stretched before him. A vast, wild prairie rolled out in every direction, thick with tall grass and dense brush. Snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks cutting into a sky of deep, almost unreal blue. The air was heavy — damp and earthy, like the ground was still breathing.
From his vantage point, he spotted figures that looked exactly like his current form — the perfect fusion of ape and human. Each one bore tattoos along their body. Peter's — or rather Oonak's — were far more intricate, covering most of his frame. A mark of rank.
The moment some of them saw him, they let out cries — raw, animal sounds that tore through the silence of the plain and rippled outward. Others who hadn't seen him yet but heard the calls joined in. The scene was unlike anything Peter had witnessed — a pack responding to its leader. His face went cold with sweat. The nausea he had barely conquered roared back. He turned and retreated into the cave, breathless.
What do they want? Why are they screaming like that?
He forced himself to breathe.
Calm down. Two hours ago I was inside the Alliance's building. Now I'm in the Stone Age, surrounded by things I can't even classify. "If everything goes well, you'll be back in twenty minutes," she said. Mira — if I ever make it out of here, I'm making you pay my rent for a full year.
He stayed inside for a long while. Then his stomach reminded him it existed.
I'm actually hungry, he thought.
He searched every corner of the cave. Nothing edible. Not even close.
I'll have to go out. But if I go out, I have to deal with them.
His stomach growled again.
I really don't have a choice.
He stepped back outside. Two goals: find food, and find some clue about how to get back. As he walked, the creatures scattered around the area moved aside without protest. Most of them dropped to their knees, muttering words he didn't recognize.
"Azraden liba Oonak."
The words were foreign at first — but the more he heard them, the more something in his host's memory began to stir. Images and fragments surfaced, half-understood, like trying to read in a dream.
Growing tired of being approached from every direction, he moved away from the crowd, trying to avoid drawing more attention. Then a large, imposing figure called out to him.
"Razas, Raz… on King — where are you going, alone like this?"
Peter said nothing.
"Medis liad… I go with you."
Peter wanted to say no. But he knew from experience that whether he agreed or not, this one would follow regardless. He'd dealt with that type before. He gave in.
They walked from hut to hut until the nameless figure stopped in front of one. Peter stopped too. Three women sat outside, laughing among themselves. The man called to them with a wave. They rose immediately.
All three dropped to their knees.
"Our greetings, Chief. Our greetings, Warrior Oudra."
Oudra. So that's his name. That'll make things easier.
The warrior turned to Peter.
"My King — make your choice. They are beautiful, are they not?"
Peter stared.
He had come outside to find food. He had half-guessed what Oudra had in mind, but not this directly. He was speechless. The women smiled, clearly pleased, tilting their heads in his direction.
And for one brief, inexplicable second — he felt something.
How is that possible? Me? Attracted? And by— No. That's not me. That's the host. That has to be the host, he told himself firmly.
"I'm not in the mood," he said. Which was the truth — mostly.
Under normal circumstances, these beings would have sent him running. But he had spent enough time in the cave thinking it through. He was past that.
The warrior let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"You do this to me every time, my King. When will you decide to have offspring? We need strong warriors — and everyone knows a great warrior comes from a great bloodline."
"You're dismissed, Oudra."
The warrior obeyed without pushing further.
Peter turned back toward the cave. With everything that had just happened, he had forgotten to eat entirely. Inside, he exhaled deeply. He had been tense for every step of that walk. He tried, genuinely tried, to make peace with his situation.
It wasn't working.
How was he supposed to get out of this?
He made a decision: until he found a way back, he would do his best to fit into this primitive world. He would play the role. He had no other choice.