Food has always been one of the problems in the beast world. Whether the tribe is big or small, the problem with food scarcity will never go away. One of the reason is, most carnivorous tribes uses too much energy hunting and working. Even eating starchy food is not enough. Another reason is, carnivorous beast men has different digestive system. Their body cannot digest fibrous plants and food, they are simply built to hunt and eat meat.
This makes Aiden's task, planting seeds, a near-impossible challenge. First, farming is culturally alien to most beast men, who rely on instinct and tradition to hunt rather than cultivate. Second, agriculture in a primitive world is grueling without tools, irrigation, or even basic knowledge. And third, the crops here are unfamiliar from the ones Sera knows from earth.
Aiden had tried to plant the seeds, but not even a day has passed by, the seeds were eaten by the birds. He tried planting it deep, but someone had told him it must not be too covered in dirt. Farming sounds easy, but for Aiden who never touched the soil to plant, it was impossible. Aiden knows nothing about farming at all.
Aiden thought of copying the others. He had watched them closely. How they tilled the soil, how they moved with quiet rhythm and purpose. But just as he began to learn, the orders came down. The tribesmen assigned to farming were suddenly told to stop interacting with him. No explanations. No warnings. Just silence.
It was Lukas.
Aiden knew it. The man had made no effort to hide his disdain. Lukas wasn't just waiting for Aiden to fail, he was orchestrating it. He wanted Aiden to suffer, to waste time and energy until frustration broke him. Farming required patience, endurance, and hope. Lukas was betting Aiden had none of those left.
Aiden sat down, his legs heavy with exhaustion. His eyes scanned the area, not aimlessly, but searching, analyzing. The fields around him told a story. The soil in the other plots was thick and moist, dark with water and life. His own was dry, cracked, and stubborn. The difference was stark. Water flowed freely in their fields, forming shallow pools that glistened under the sun. His land was parched, untouched by irrigation or care.
But what truly caught his attention was the strange wooden contraption the others used, a mobile device, crude yet clever, that plowed the soil and planted seedlings in one fluid motion. It rolled across the field like a beast of burden, guided by ropes and muscle, its wooden arms digging and pressing with rhythmic precision. Aiden didn't understand how it worked, not fully. But he saw its efficiency. He saw its potential.
If no one was going to help him, then he would help himself.
He stood, brushing the dust from his hands, his gaze fixed on the device. He would recreate it. Piece by piece. He would study its movements, sketch its form in the dirt, gather wood and rope and whatever else he could scavenge. He would fail, probably more than once. But he would learn.
Because if Lukas wanted him broken, he would have to try harder.
Aiden wasn't giving up.
Lost in his thoughts, Aiden didn't notice the soft crunch of footsteps behind him.
Sera had approached quietly, her gaze following his—fixed on the wooden tractor that sat idle in the distance. She recognized the look in his eyes: curiosity laced with frustration, the kind that came from being shut out and underestimated. She knew that feeling well.
She had designed that tractor.
Back when her voice barely registered in council meetings, when her ideas were dismissed before they were heard. She had handed the design to Lukas, believing he'd present it on her behalf. He did, but never mentioned her name. The council approved it, the device was built, and Lukas took the credit. Sera never corrected them. She was proud of the invention, even if no one knew it was hers.
"It's a tractor," she said softly, stepping beside Aiden.
He jolted, startled by her presence. No one had spoken to him in days. Not since the decree. Not since Lukas made it clear that helping Aiden was forbidden. Her voice was unexpected, almost comforting. But he didn't let his guard down.
"You're not supposed to talk to me," he said, his tone flat but edged with something vulnerable.
"I know," Sera replied, her eyes scanning the dry soil around him. "But at this rate, you're not growing anything."
Aiden's jaw tightened. He remembered the seeds. The lifeless, brittle things that never sprouted. Sera had known they were dead. He felt betrayed.
"How did you know the seeds were dead?" he asked, voice low. He needed clarity. He needed to know if she was part of Lukas's game, or someone he can trust.
Sera didn't flinch. "I'll be honest. Lukas got those seeds from me. I didn't know he'd give them to you. I thought they were for testing. That's why I'm here. I'm trying to help."
Aiden studied her face. There were mixed emotions behind her eyes, guilt, regret and resolve.
"How can I trust you?" he asked.
"You don't have to," she said plainly. "Not yet. But I can help you. Whether you trust me or not, that's your choice."
She turned her gaze back to the tractor. "You want to recreate that?"
Aiden hesitated. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to build something that worked, something that proved Lukas wrong. But he didn't speak.
Sera crouched beside him, pointing to the structure. "The mechanism's simple. See those two wheels? They steer and drive the motion. As they turn, they power the plow underneath. That long rectangular piece at the front? It's a seed chute. It lowers the seedlings into the soil with each rotation. It's moving and planting, all in one."
She glanced at him. "It's not perfect. But it works. And I can show you how to build it."
Aiden looked at her, the silence stretching between them. He didn't know if she was an ally. But she wasn't walking away. And that, for now, was enough.
"You know its mechanism so well, it's amazing," Aiden said with a chuckle. "Almost like you designed it yourself." He meant it as a joke, but the compliment lingered in his tone.
Sera didn't respond immediately. Her smile was subtle, almost secretive, the kind that hinted at truths left unspoken. She didn't confirm or deny it. Instead, she glanced once more at the tractor, then back at him.
"Anyway," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "we can meet tonight if you want to build that."
Before Aiden could reply, she turned and walked away, her wave casual and her departure swift.
He watched her go, a strange feeling settling in his chest. Something didn't quite add up. That smile. Her knowledge. The way she described the mechanism with such ease. It wasn't just familiarity, it was something more.
Was I right?
The thought crept in, quiet but persistent. Was she the one who designed it?