The Last Human: Unlimited Power, Unlimited Beauties

By the time Silverclaw appeared between the trees again, the sun had already started sinking toward the horizon.

Orange light spilled across the wooden rooftops, stretching shadows through the village and making everything look peaceful enough to belong on a postcard.

Unfortunately, Clyr and I did not look nearly as peaceful.

We came walking through the entrance damp from head to toe.

My hair was still wet. My clothes clung in places they had no business clinging. Clyr’s brown hair hung around her shoulders in moist strands, and every few steps she walked with the slightest limp.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Just enough for every Wolfkin with functioning eyes to notice.

Which, unfortunately, was all of them.

The first man we passed looked at me.

Then at Clyr.

Then at Clyr’s walk.

His ears twitched.

His mouth moved like it wanted to smile.

He wisely chose life instead.

I kept walking beside Clyr with the calm expression of an innocent man who had absolutely no idea why the village chief had returned from a hunting trip looking freshly washed, flushed, and mildly betrayed by her own legs.

Inside, I was fighting for my life.

Clyr, meanwhile, performed something even more impressive.

She transformed.

The shy woman from the river vanished the moment we entered Silverclaw.

Her shoulders straightened.

Her expression settled.

Her ears stood alert.

Chief Clyr had returned to work.

She stopped beside the central path and looked around.

”Has anyone seen Gran?”

Her voice was crisp, controlled, and authoritative.

I nearly turned around to check whether a second Clyr had arrived.

A villager pointed toward one of the storage sheds.

”He’s near the smoking racks, Chief.”

”Good. Tell him I need him. We brought back a Brown Boar, and I want the meat prepared before it spoils.”

”Of course.”

The villager hurried away.

I looked at Clyr.

She caught me looking.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed.

I pressed my lips together.

There were moments when self-preservation should be celebrated.

Gran arrived several minutes later and immediately asked about the hunt.

Clyr explained the Brown Boar.

She did not explain the river.

Nobody asked.

Again, excellent survival instincts throughout the village.

She released the carcass from her Dimensional Storage near the preparation area.

Preparing the Brown Boar became the rest of our afternoon.

I expected to be given something simple.

Carry wood.

Wash vegetables.

Stand somewhere decorative.

Instead, Gran handed me a knife and showed me how to trim meat properly.

I watched once.

Then my hands understood.

That familiar sensation moved through me again.

My grip adjusted.

My fingers learned the pressure.

The blade started following lines through the meat that I had not even known existed several seconds earlier.

Gran stopped what he was doing.

I kept working.

He stared.

I sliced another section cleanly.

Gran stared harder.

I looked up.

”Something wrong?”

”You said you’ve never butchered an animal.”

”I haven’t.”

”You are doing it correctly.”

”Thank you.”

”That was not praise. That was confusion.”

”Then thank you confusingly.”

He watched me for another moment before slowly returning to his work.

Then came cooking.

That should have been safer.

Back on Earth, my relationship with cooking had mostly involved pans, alcohol, questionable timing, and occasionally ordering food after accepting defeat.

But once Gran showed me how they seasoned the meat, how long different cuts needed over the fire, how they used crushed herbs and roots to balance the stronger flavor of monster meat, something clicked again.

Gran watched the entire transformation with the expression of a man witnessing a goat sit down and begin writing poetry.

He tasted the broth I had altered.

Then looked at me.

Then tasted it again.

”What?”

I asked.

Gran pointed at the pot.

”How did you know it needed that?”

I shrugged.

”It looked emotionally incomplete.”

”Food does not have emotions.”

”This one did. It was sad.”

Kol tasted it.

His eyes widened slightly.

Gran looked offended.

”He’s been cooking for less than an hour.”

Kol took another spoonful.

”Apparently that was enough.”

I placed a hand on Gran’s shoulder.

”Don’t take it personally.”

”I have cooked longer than you’ve been alive.”

”And your sacrifice built the road I sprinted down.”

”That doesn’t make me feel better.”

”It wasn’t supposed to.”

Night settled over the village while we carried long wooden tables outside.

Lamps were hung between buildings.

Plates and bowls traveled from hand to hand.

Musicians appeared as if food automatically summoned them.

Soon the center of Silverclaw filled with conversation, laughter, music, and enough roasted meat to make vegetarianism feel geographically impossible.

And, naturally, alcohol.

Someone placed a cup in front of me.

I drank it.

Someone refilled it.

I drank that too.

The pattern continued.

By my sixth cup, I felt completely normal.

By the eighth, still normal.

By the tenth, I had begun feeling personally insulted.

I stared into the cup.

”Do your job.”

Clyr sat beside me.

She glanced over.

”Are you speaking to your drink?”

”It has failed me repeatedly.”

”You’ve had enough.”

”Counterargument. I am painfully sober.”

Gran laughed from across the table.

”Maybe humans really are monsters.”

”Finally, someone respects my culture.”

The truth was becoming increasingly clear.

Alcohol simply was not affecting me anymore.

Whatever had happened to my body in this world had apparently given me supernatural tolerance.

Fantastic in battle.

Terrible at parties.

I was starting to miss getting properly drunk.

I sighed.

Clyr looked amused.

”You actually miss being intoxicated?”

”Deeply.”

”Why?”

”Because terrible decisions have a richer flavor when you can blame chemistry.”

”You make terrible decisions while sober.”

”Exactly. Now I have no defense.”

Music played nearby.

Several villagers danced.

Gran had reached the storytelling phase of drinking, which I was beginning to understand was the natural evolutionary stage between cheerful and unconscious.

He leaned back with his cup.

”I traveled once, you know.”

Kol looked at him.

”Here we go.”

Gran ignored him.

”When I was younger, I thought I would see the whole kingdom.”

I rested my chin on one hand.

”Ambitious.”

”I packed supplies, took my best spear, and left Silverclaw alone.”

Clyr smiled faintly.

”I remember hearing about that.”

”I reached Inizio’s capital.”

”How far?”

”Several weeks traveling carefully.”

That caught my attention.

Several weeks.

This world suddenly felt larger than the small patch of hills and forest I had been living inside.

Gran drank.

”The capital was enormous. Stone walls taller than anything here. Streets filled with merchants, soldiers, nobles, travelers. Shops selling things I’d never seen.”

”Sounds good so far.”

”It wasn’t.”

”People there were different. Nobody trusted strangers. Everyone was always trying to sell something or prove they were important. The rulers were worse. Nobles walking through streets as if the ground belonged to their boots.”

I smiled.

”Ah. Rich people.”

Gran frowned.

”What?”

”Universal species.”

Clyr hid a laugh behind her cup.

”Honestly, seeing different places sounds good.”

The thought came out more sincere than I expected.

Gran noticed.

”So travel.”

I looked at him.

He shrugged.

”I hear there are cities larger than Inizio’s capital. Other kingdoms. Islands where the people have scales. Forests where Spriggans gather in numbers large enough to fill the sky with wings. Deserts filled with ruins older than our kingdom.”

My attention sharpened.

Okay.

Now he was selling it.

Gran continued, ”There are foods you’ve never tasted, creatures you’ve never seen, people who live in ways we would find strange.”

I smiled.

”That sounds dangerously appealing.”

Kol snorted.

”You speak as if Caled isn’t already a traveler.”

The table grew slightly quieter.

Kol looked directly at me.

”You’ll leave eventually.”

There was no accusation in his voice.

Just certainty.

”You don’t belong to one village.”

I looked toward Clyr.

That happened automatically.

She was holding her cup with both hands.

No surprise.

No hurt.

No sudden tightening around the eyes.

Nothing.

She looked like someone who had already reached this conclusion long before anyone said it aloud.

Clyr met my gaze.

”This world is enormous, Caled.”

Her voice was calm.

”Keeping someone like you inside Silverclaw forever would be cruel.”

I tried smiling.

”Someone like me?”

”A restless person.”

”That sounds much nicer than irresponsible.”

”You are also irresponsible.”

”There she is.”

Clyr smiled.

”You ask questions constantly. You look at anything unfamiliar as if you want to take it apart just to see what happens.”

”Sometimes putting it back together is optional.”

”Exactly.”

Her smile softened.

”You shouldn’t stop because you’re comfortable here.”

I had spent so much time enjoying the fact that I was alive again that I had almost forgotten how many questions remained unanswered.

Why was I here?

How had I arrived?

Why could I copy physical techniques and abilities after seeing them?

Why had humanity disappeared from Aphrodasia thousands of years ago when billions of humans were very much alive where I came from?

A small Wolfkin village was unlikely to contain those answers between the firewood pile and Gran’s alcohol reserve.

Clyr must have seen something change in my expression.

”You need to discover what happened to you,” she said.

I looked at her.

”And what you want.”

She held my gaze.

”I might be part of your journey, but I shouldn’t become the wall that stops it.”

Then she smiled.

Not sadly.

Gently.

That somehow hurt more.

Gran immediately ruined the moment.

”A very sweet part of the journey.”

Clyr turned her head.

The Chief Look activated.

Gran froze.

I had faced Hyenakin slavers with less fear than he displayed in that moment.

He cleared his throat.

Then emptied his entire cup in one heroic swallow.

”Excellent drink.”

Kol looked away to hide his smile.

I laughed.

But the idea stayed with me.

Leaving Silverclaw.

Traveling.

Searching.

Eventually the music stopped.

Families went home.

Lamps disappeared one by one.

Gran was escorted away after attempting to explain to a chair why it lacked ambition.

I should have slept.

Instead, I walked toward the outer edge of the village.

The night was clear.

Stars covered the sky.

Thousands of them.

Maybe more.

Some formed patterns I did not recognize.

A pale moon hung above the hills, bathing the damaged barricade and distant grasslands in silver.

I stood there with my hands resting on the wooden railing.

For once, my brain had no joke ready.

Annoying.

I heard footsteps behind me.

Soft.

Measured.

I knew who it was before she spoke.

Clyr stopped beside me.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

She looked toward the sky.

”The stars are beautiful tonight.”

I followed her gaze.

”Yeah.”

Clyr rested her forearms against the railing.

”There’s an old saying among the Wolfkin.”

”This sounds dangerously philosophical.”

She smiled.

”Do you want to hear it?”

”Always.”

Her eyes returned to the stars.

”They say the sky connects travelers.”

I glanced at her.

”How?”

”No matter how far someone goes, the stars remain above them. Two people separated by mountains, kingdoms, or oceans can look upward and still be beneath the same sky.”

Her voice softened.

”So when you miss someone, you look at the stars and remember they can see them too.”

I stared at her.

She finally looked over.

”What?”

”I’m adjusting.”

”To what?”

”You saying something romantic without threatening me afterward.”

Her ears twitched.

”I can be romantic.”

”I have evidence now.”

She bumped her shoulder against mine.

”Idiot.”

”Much better. Balance restored.”

Clyr smiled.

Then her expression turned thoughtful.

”Don’t tell me you’ve become so comfortable here that you’re considering staying forever.”

I placed a hand against my chest.

”Unbelievable.”

”What?”

”You seduce me, feed me, give me somewhere to live, and now you’re evicting me.”

”I’m not evicting you.”

”This feels like a very polite eviction.”

”You know what I mean.”

I did.

She looked back toward the hills.

”You aren’t someone who can belong to one place forever.”

I opened my mouth.

She added, ”Or one woman.”

I slowly closed it.

”That part sounded personal.”

”It was factual.”

”Ouch.”

Clyr smiled.

There was no bitterness in it.

That surprised me.

I studied her profile.

”Did I at least make you happy?”

She looked at me immediately.

”Yes.”

No hesitation.

No joke.

”These days with you have been some of the happiest I’ve ever had.”

That struck deeper than I expected.

Clyr continued before I could say something stupid enough to defend myself emotionally.

”And I knew from the beginning you’d leave eventually.”

”From the beginning?”

She nodded.

”Maybe not the first hour.”

”Good. The first hour I looked at your thighs.”

”I remember.”

”Historical moment.”

She ignored that.

”But after learning what you were like, yes.”

A mischievous smile slowly appeared.

”Why do you think I gathered my courage so quickly?”

I blinked.

She looked almost proud now.

”I knew I couldn’t spend months waiting for you to notice me.”

I stared at her.

”Clyr.”

”What?”

”Did you speedrun seducing me because you thought I had an expiration date?”

”I don’t know what speedrun means.”

”Doesn’t matter. The answer is apparently yes.”

Her smile widened.

”I wanted you before you left.”

I laughed softly.

”There it is.”

”What?”

”That side of you.”

Her cheeks colored, but she did not retreat.

”I like her.”

”You shouldn’t encourage her.”

”Too late.”

She stepped a little closer.

”You might be the only person who ever sees her.”

I looked at Clyr.

We stood quietly together.

Eventually I breathed out.

”Fine.”

Clyr raised a brow.

”Fine?”

”If you’re this committed to throwing me into the wilderness, I’ll eventually go.”

She smiled.

”But not yet.”

”No.”

I turned toward her.

”I’m staying a little longer.”

”Why?”

”I still have unfinished business here.”

Her expression changed instantly.

The sweet smile transformed.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

”Oh?”

I knew that look.

I had created a monster.

Clyr stepped closer.

”Are you saying you’re not finished with me?”

I stared at her.

Then pointed.

”That.”

”What?”

”That expression.”

She smiled wider.

”What about it?”

”You’ve become dangerous.”

”You said you liked this side of me.”

”I do. I’m also beginning to understand my responsibility in creating it.”

She laughed quietly.

I shook my head.

”Bad girl.”

Clyr moved until only a small space remained between us.

Her fingers brushed against my shirt.

”So...”

I already distrusted the tone.

”Yes?”

”Do you want to stay here?”

I looked around the silent edge of Silverclaw.

”Define stay.”

Her eyes sparkled.

”Or should we return to the river and continue what we started earlier?”

I stared at her.

For exactly one heartbeat.

”River.”

She laughed.

”That quickly?”

”Chief, I am many things. Indecisive in this particular category is not one of them.”

We slipped out of the village beneath the stars.

The forest was different at night.

Quieter.

Cooler.

Moonlight leaked through the branches in pale ribbons, catching leaves and flowers with silver edges.

By the time we reached the river, the place looked completely transformed from that afternoon.

The water reflected the night sky.

Stars trembled across the surface with every passing ripple.

Flowers along the bank had opened, just as Clyr had promised, pale petals glowing softly beneath the moon.

I looked around.

”Okay.”

Clyr glanced at me.

”What?”

”You win.”

”About?”

”This place being better at night.”

She smiled.

”I told you.”

”Don’t become arrogant.”

”You?”

”Exactly. There should only be one professional.”

Then she kissed me.

No shyness this time.

No nervous preparation.

Her hands found me with certainty while mine pulled her close.

The river carried away the rest of the conversation.

Clothes were abandoned on the bank.

Cool water closed around us.

Moonlight painted her wet skin in silver while her brown hair darkened against her shoulders.

We kissed beneath a sky full of unfamiliar stars.

Sometimes slowly.

Sometimes with all the restraint of two people who had already proven restraint was not a shared talent.

At one point I lifted her against me in the shallows, and Clyr wrapped her legs around my hips without needing to be asked. The playful look in her eyes lasted right up until our bodies came together.

Then her expression broke beautifully.

Her breath caught.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders.

My name left her mouth in a shaky little sound that did absolutely irresponsible things to my remaining self-control.

I held her there while the river moved around us, every motion sending ripples away beneath the moonlight. Clyr clung tighter as our rhythm found itself. Her forehead pressed against mine. Her eyes kept opening just long enough to find me before closing again whenever the feeling became too much.

”Still want me to keep going?” I whispered.

She answered by pulling me into a kiss hard enough to qualify as legally binding.

Fair.

I kept going.

Her breathing grew louder against my mouth, then turned into open moans she made no effort to hide. The sound traveled over the river and into the trees.

Somewhere nearby, an unfortunate nocturnal animal probably reconsidered its choice of neighborhood.

When the tension finally overwhelmed her, Clyr trembled in my arms and buried her face against my neck, saying my name like it had become the only word she remembered.

That pushed me over the edge not long after.

I held her tightly through it, both of us breathing like we’d just survived a sprint nobody had bothered scheduling.

And that was only the first time.

Her laughter mixed with the river whenever I said something stupid.

Her breath caught when humor stopped being useful.

The sounds between us became softer at first, then less controlled as the night deepened.

There were no thin village walls this time.

No neighbors.

No need for her to bury every reaction against my shoulder.

Only water, trees, moonlight, and the two of us.

I learned every little change in her breathing.

Every way she held me when sensation became too much.

Every look she gave me when embarrassment lost another battle against desire.

And Clyr learned too.

Fast.

Far too fast for my long-term survival.

At some point, she whispered something against my ear that made me stop moving just long enough to stare at her.

She smiled innocently.

There was absolutely nothing innocent about the sentence.

I accused her of corruption.

She blamed me.

The prosecution had excellent evidence.

We lost track of time.

Once became twice.

Twice became a number I stopped responsibly counting.

We rested against the riverbank, talked beneath the stars, then found excuses to touch again.

Hours moved quietly around us.

The moon traveled across the sky.

The forest settled deeper into night.

I gave her everything I could.

Not just hunger.

Not just desire.

Something gentler slipped into it whether I wanted to admit it or not.

Every kiss felt different knowing there would eventually be a road leading away from Silverclaw.

Every time she held me tighter, some part of me understood that this was temporary.

Maybe that was why neither of us wanted to waste the night.

Clyr knew I would leave.

I knew she expected me to.

Neither of us tried turning the moment into a promise we could not keep.

We simply had each other.

For now.

And for once, that was enough.

By the time exhaustion finally began winning, I had lost any reasonable awareness of how many times we had returned to each other.

I only knew that Clyr was still there.

Wet hair.

Warm skin.

Wolf ears twitching whenever I whispered something outrageous near them.

That mischievous private smile she claimed nobody else would ever see.

My arms around her.

Her arms around me.

Somewhere during that night, the strange world around me stopped feeling quite as foreign.

Not because I understood Aphrodasia.

I absolutely did not.

I had enough unanswered questions to open a dedicated department.

But because my first real connection here had a name.

Clyr.

The woman who had offered me shelter when I was nobody.

The chief who had ordered me out of danger.

The woman who had watched me reveal myself as human.

The first person here who had looked at the possibility of me leaving and refused to turn it into a cage.

The moonlight stretched across the river.

Clyr kissed me again.

I held her close and let the rest of the world disappear for one more night.

My Clyr.

My first experience in this world.