Ever since inexplicably waking up in a dog's body, Albert had been wandering this vast, empty grassland—no humans, no landmarks, nothing to give him a sense of scale. He'd assumed he was just a really big stray dog.
But there was no way a dog could be bigger than a giant elk. Or a brown bear. Right?!
Albert unconsciously stood up in shock. The bear crouching in the distance immediately turned and bolted.
"Since when do bears run from dogs?!" His brain short-circuited. He didn't even think to chase after it.
"I remember the largest dog breeds—Saint Bernards, maybe? Shoulder height of about 90 centimeters, weighing up to 90 kilos. Gentle, smart, easy to train. But Irish elk were over two meters tall at the shoulder and weighed 600 kilos . Even a small brown bear is smaller than that. A dog the size of an elk? That's impossible! "
Smack!
Albert lifted his paw and looked at the crushed mosquito beneath it. "...How big is this mosquito, really?" Without a ruler, he had no way to tell.
"If this mosquito is actually huge, then it makes sense that the lizards here are so fat. But wait—does that mean I'm some kind of giant mutant dog ? Am I three, maybe four meters long from nose to tail? Weighing almost as much as an elk?! That's not a dog—that's like the white wolf from *Princess Mononoke*!"
A horrifying realization hit him.
"Damn it... if that's true, then if I ever run into humans, they'll shoot me on sight as some kind of monster!"
Albert howled at the sky, clutching his head with his paws. "No way, man! I wanna go back to civilization! Even if I'm a dog, I'd rather be digging through trash cans in the city than stuck out here!"
After coming to terms with being a dog, he'd already given up on returning to his human life. But living in the wild? Hell no. He was a homebody—he'd never even left his hometown for college! The thought of returning to the modern world still clung to him, even if it meant being a stray. With his intelligence, maybe a kind-hearted human would take him in.
After all, dog food had to be better than raw, parasite-ridden wild meat, right?
But... if he really was this big—bigger than a brown bear, closer in size to the white wolf from *Princess Mononoke*—finding a human to adopt him was out of the question.
Who could even afford to feed a dog this size? Even Huskies had bankrupted police stations!
And any normal person would probably call the cops the moment they saw him.
The night air grew colder, but his thick fur kept him warm. Still, his heart felt ice-cold . He longed for the comforts of his old life—the freedom, the convenience, the takeout. He'd never realized how much he had taken it all for granted.
His stomach growled.
"...What time is it? Are the delivery guys still working? I could really go for some pizza right now..."
As exhaustion overtook him, Albert's eyes slowly closed, tears and drool mixing on his furry face. That night, beneath the vast, desolate grassland sky, he had a long, vivid dream.
At first, it was paradise. He feasted on all kinds of food, indulging in flavors he thought he'd never taste again. But then, the dream took a dark turn.
He was no longer a small-town guy from inland China. Instead, he was born into an impoverished, primitive tribe in an unknown land.
When Albert opened his eyes inside the dream, he saw a dark, greasy tent—not the kind from picturesque travel documentaries, but a crude, slanted shelter of felted wool draped over rough wooden beams. No soft rugs, no cozy bedding. Just coarse animal hides spread over the dirt floor.
His body ached, his back and buttocks stinging as if he'd been lying on burlap. He let out a small noise, and an adult figure scooped him up.
A clay pot rested on stones, boiling with milky sheep's milk. A smaller figure sat nearby, feeding the fire with thin branches.
The two adults spoke. Their language wasn't Japanese, English, or anything Albert had heard in movies or documentaries. Yet, somehow, he understood them:
"…Will he survive this winter?"
"…He should. We'll trade for more sugar when the merchants come… It's my fault he was born so weak…"
Before Albert could process what that meant, the dream shifted.
Now, he was a child, running through a cluster of slanted tents. But no one played with him. The others were busy—tending fires, weaving cloth, sharpening tools. In the distance, vast herds of sheep and cattle roamed the grasslands.
The dream changed again.
Albert sat alone in the same tent, staring at the clay pot over the fire. It looked much older now, darkened with years of use.
A familiar figure entered—Bentley. Albert called his name, but Bentley only looked at him with sad, tired eyes. Then, silently, he pulled Albert into a tight hug.
Suddenly, voices filled the tent—urgent, tense, angry.
"…The warriors who went out are all dead… Our tribe's strength is gone…"
"I told you we shouldn't have gotten involved…"
"The royal camp promised us five thousand sheep and cattle, but the eastern tribe only gave us eight hundred!"
"We can't stay here. We must move west…"
"…But—"
"Enough. We must protect what remains of our people…"
Albert woke with a jolt.
The pale morning sky stretched above him. His chest rose and fell, his mind racing, struggling to process what he'd just experienced.
Reality hit him like a punch to the gut.
The deer carcass lay nearby, untouched by scavengers or predators—thanks to his mere presence. But the swarm of flies crawling over its broken skull and the jagged cuts he had made…
The sight nearly made him gag.
Gritting his teeth against the disgust, Albert swatted at the flies and hacked off the deer's head, along with the parts that had been exposed to the insects. He slung the remaining carcass onto his back and trudged forward, determination etched on his face.
"If Bentley and the others left the tribe heading west, then going east should lead me back to their camp…"
Exhaustion and hunger gnawed at him, but Albert pressed on until he could no longer ignore the pain. He stopped to rest, forcing down a few more pieces of raw deer meat, despite the nausea that rose in his throat. Each bite felt like swallowing a piece of his pride.
Then, with gritted teeth, he dug a shallow pit to bury the carcass, hoping to keep the flies at bay. Afterward, he began his search.
From the memories of his host, Albert knew that Bentley and some tribesmen left every autumn to trade with merchants. That meant this lush grassland was already in the early stages of fall. Sure enough, after some effort, Albert found a few dry shrubs. He dug them up, roots and all, and carried them back to where he'd hidden the deer.
But shrubs alone wouldn't be enough for a fire. He needed wood. Trees were easier to spot, so Albert set off in search of them. He eventually found an old, dry tree with cracked bark and, using his weight, snapped off several branches. After a couple of trips, he had a decent pile of firewood.
"Now for the hard part…"
Albert arranged some smaller branches into a teepee shape and crushed the dry shrubs into kindling. His claws scraped across a thicker branch with dry bark, collecting fine shavings. Placing the branch on the ground, he pressed one end down with a paw and quickly dragged a claw across its surface.
"Sparks! It's working!"
Hope surged through him. Albert quickly scattered the bark shavings and kindling onto the branch, holding his paw over the pile. With a fierce determination, he scraped rapidly, the sharp screech of wood against wood echoing in the silence.
Tiny sparks flickered in the air... but the pile remained cold.
"Ugh, if only I had some dry corn husks or something!"
Frustration threatened to choke him, but Albert refused to give up. He tried again, and again, scraping, sparking, and puffing until, finally, smoke began to curl from the shavings.
Albert carefully gathered the smoking pile and placed it beneath the teepee of branches. He leaned in, exhaling gently to coax the flame.
The smoke thickened… and then died.
Albert sat back, staring in silence, his heart sinking.
Tears welled up in his eyes, but he wiped them away angrily, refusing to let despair take hold.
He tried again. And again.
Scraping. Sparking. Puffing. Scraping.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the kindling caught fire. A small flame flickered to life, curling and twisting, eager to spread. Albert stared at it in stunned disbelief, his chest heaving with relief.
"I finally understand how the first humans felt when they discovered fire," Albert whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Tears streamed down his face, but they weren't just from frustration. They were from awe—at the fire, at his perseverance, and at the sheer weight of his survival.