The dinosaur lowered his snout to the ground, his keen senses filtering through layers of dust and decay. His claws scraped gently at the cracked earth, revealing faint impressions beneath—something had passed this way. Not recently, but not so long ago that the marks had vanished entirely. His pulse quickened. The tracks were small, delicate, almost birdlike, but with a strange, unfamiliar gait.

He followed the trail, his massive body moving with quiet precision. The wind shifted, and with it came that faint scent again—something alive. His muscles tensed as he rounded a jagged outcropping of rock, and there, nestled in the shadow of a crumbling cliff, he saw it: a shallow depression in the earth, lined with dried strands of grass and feathers. A nest. Empty now, but unmistakable.

His throat tightened. Had something survived? Something else? He crouched, running a claw along the edge of the nest, feeling the brittle remains of eggshell fragments. They were old, but not ancient. Could there be others? Or was this just another cruel whisper of hope in a dead world? The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the wasteland, and for the first time in centuries, the last dinosaur felt something stir inside him—not hunger, not exhaustion, but something far more dangerous: curiosity.