Jack sat by the remains of his first kill, his hands stiff from the cold as he worked to carve out usable parts from the megaceros. He knew that eating raw meat could be dangerous, but without fire, he had little choice. He cut thin strips and chewed cautiously, the taste raw and gamey. His stomach protested at first, but hunger quickly won over revulsion.
His mind turned to the long-term problem—he needed proper tools if he was going to survive. The crude spear had served its purpose, but he needed something more durable. With no modern materials at his disposal, he had to rely on nature. He scavenged through the nearby forest, searching for stones that could be shaped into blades. He found several pieces of flint and began the painstaking process of knapping them into sharp edges by striking them against a larger rock.
Frustration set in as he failed several times. The first few attempts shattered the stone into useless fragments. But Jack refused to give up. He remembered documentaries he had watched about early humans—how they crafted their tools with patience and skill. Adjusting his technique, he struck at an angle, chipping away precise flakes. Eventually, he shaped a serviceable knife and a few smaller cutting tools.
With his new blade, he returned to his kill, carefully removing the hide. He needed warmer clothing, and while it would take time to prepare, the thick fur could be a lifesaver. He scraped the inside of the hide with his flint knife, loosening the membrane that would need to be treated to prevent stiffening. He had no chemicals, no modern tanning solutions—only time and instinct.
Next, he turned to his spear. He needed a better one, a weapon that could give him a real advantage against the beasts of this era. He searched for a sturdy branch and, using his flint knife, shaped it into a smooth, sharp point. But he wanted more. If he could attach a stone tip, it would make the spear deadlier. He heated one end of the wood over a small fire pit he had managed to start with dry moss and friction, then split the tip. Wedges of flint were carefully inserted and bound in place with sinew he had stripped from the megaceros.
By the time he finished, he held a weapon that looked like something straight out of a museum display—except this one was real, and his survival depended on it.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jack sat beside his dwindling fire, exhaustion threatening to overtake him. His fingers ached, his stomach still felt empty, but he had taken another step toward mastering this world. He wasn't just a lost traveler anymore—he was adapting. And if he wanted to survive, he would need to keep learning, keep pushing forward.
Tomorrow, he would test his new tools. And tomorrow, he would take another step toward conquering the Ice Age.