The dense canopy of the ancient forest loomed above, letting only slivers of sunlight pierce through. The air was thick with the scent of moss and the distant calls of unseen creatures. Among the shadows, a figure moved with the precision and grace of a predator.

Ogata, a prehistoric hunter, moved silently through the underbrush. His lean, muscular form was adorned with simple yet functional clothing made from animal hides. His black hair was slicked back, and his piercing black eyes scanned the surroundings with unyielding focus. Slung across his back was a primitive bow, crafted meticulously from yew wood, and a quiver filled with arrows he had fletched himself.

Stopping to listen, Ogata picked up with his acute senses the faint rustle of leaves—a sign of movement. He crouched low, blending seamlessly with the forest floor, his fingers lightly brushing the ground for any vibrations. He knew this forest like the back of his hand; every tree, every stream, every hidden path was etched into his memory.

A deer. He could see its outline through the foliage, grazing unaware of the danger lurking nearby. Slowly, Ogata reached for an arrow and nocked it onto his bowstring. With a deep breath, he drew the string back, his muscles taut and ready. Time seemed to slow as he aimed, his focus narrowing down to the single point where he intended to strike.

With a swift release, the arrow flew through the air with deadly accuracy, striking the deer in its heart. The animal staggered and fell, its life quickly ebbing away. Ogata approached his kill with a mixture of respect and indifference—this was survival.

Kneeling beside the deer, he began to work efficiently, skinning and gutting the animal with a flint knife. As he worked, he couldnʼt help but think about the tribeʼs current situation. Food was always scarce, and tensions were rising among the clans. The hunt was not just about survival—it was about maintaining balance and asserting dominance.