The last dinosaur snorted in disdain, his nostrils flaring as he turned his back on the strange metal structure. Whatever that thing was, it reeked of the world that had replaced his—cold, lifeless, and unnatural. His claws dug into the earth as he marched away, his tail lashing with irritation. The wind carried whispers of the past, of rustling ferns and the distant calls of his kin. He would not let this false hope distract him from his true purpose: to find the last remnants of his world, or to die trying.

He traveled for days, his body growing wearier with each step. The endless wasteland stretched before him, broken only by the occasional skeleton of long-dead trees. At night, he curled beneath the stars, his dreams filled with vibrant jungles and the warmth of the herd. But each morning, he awoke alone, the sun beating down on his scarred hide.

Then, one evening, as the sky burned red with sunset, he caught a familiar scent—one he hadn't encountered in decades. Water. Not the stale, muddy puddles he'd come across before, but fresh, flowing water. His heart pounded as he followed the scent, his steps quickening with desperate hope. The land sloped downward, and there, hidden in a narrow canyon, was a thin but steady stream, its surface glistening in the fading light. Around it, a few stubborn plants clung to life, their leaves a defiant green against the desolation. For the first time in centuries, he felt something stir within him—not just survival, but the faintest spark of joy.