You are in the woodlands of North America, 13,000 years ago.

The wind was howling across the valley, carrying the scent of pine and impending snow. You were tracking a small herd of bison when you saw them scatter—not from you, but from something far more terrifying.

On the ridge above you, a bear stepped out from behind a stand of black spruce. Your breath stopped. It didn’t just walk; it lumbered with a long-legged, menacing fluidity that didn't seem to fit its massive frame. It was easily twice the size of any bear you had ever seen. Its massive snout, swinging back and forth wasn't long like a brown bear's; it was incredibly broad and blunt, with eyes set far apart, looking right at you with cold intelligence.

The bear stopped about forty yards away. You were paralyzed. Then, it stood up on its hind legs.

It didn't just rise up; it felt like a building tearing itself from the ground. Towering nearly over 12 feet high, the shadow it cast over the tundra was absolute. It didn’t roar like a movie monster. Instead, it made a low, vibrating rumble that you felt in your chest cavity, a sound that conveyed utter dominance.

You were trapped in an open, grassy clearing—its hunting ground…