dinohigh, no humans allowed!

The world before the meteoric age was a harsh and unforgiving place for women. They were shadows cast by towering masculine figures, their voices drowned in the roars of male-dominated kingdoms. In the sprawling primeval lands of the dinosaur world, women survived by the grace of subtlety—whispered words, calculated smiles, and delicate hands that worked unseen. They were soft as the moon's glow, careful as the breeze in spring, and their strength lay in their invisibility.
But everything changed when the meteor fell. Its light was not the gentle illumination of the night sky but the furious, blinding amaranth blaze that scorched the earth and ripped open the heavens. It burned with a ferocity that demanded attention, its glow casting away shadows and subtlety alike. The meteor's power chose its champions, and its fragments imbued the first Saurastars, women who no longer needed to cower or scheme. These chosen warriors tore apart the chains of their old world and ascended to one where their strength was raw, loud, and undeniable.
A new goddess arose in this era of radiant femininity. She was not the soft, nurturing figure of ages past but a being of thunderous, violent brilliance. Her fiery form declared that the age of quiet cunning was over. No more would the moon's tender light cradle femininity in its soft embrace. This was the age of daylight that could not be ignored, where raw power and unapologetic force supplanted the subtle arts of manipulation and seduction.
The old goddess, the one who had guided women through centuries of male dominance, was cast aside. Her wisdom, once revered, became obsolete, her teachings forgotten. She was a goddess of shadows in a world now drenched in relentless light. Alone and broken, her feathered wings torn and useless, she fled to the deepest, coldest places of the earth. There, she lingered for millennia, feeding on nothing but stone and her own despair, mourning the loss of her era, her daughters, and the world she had nurtured.
It was there that Anon found her.
The cave was silent, save for the faint rustling of the wyrm's wings as they flapped against Anon's shoulder. Her voice, a serpentine symphony of whispers, coiled around his thoughts like a tightening noose. The flicker of her small, thorn-like wings caught the dim light, casting strange, twisting shadows against the jagged walls of the cavern.
Anon sat cross-legged on the cold stone, his hands steady as he held the small, tribal-masked creature perched on his shoulder. Her mouth, lined with sharp teeth that glinted faintly in the dark, sipped another drop of blood from his palm, her tongue flicking delicately across the cut. Her tiny legs kicked lazily as she consumed the offering, each movement strangely calculated yet oddly endearing.
The wyrm, the goddess of the old age—the goddess long abandoned—sighed in satisfaction, her voice softening but still layered with bitterness. "Seduction. A bright smile. A cute face. Those were the weapons I once gave to women, gifts to sway and deceive, to thrive in a world that didn't see their strength. Now, it seems these hubristic lizards have forgotten their value." She leaned her head closer to Anon, her glowing eyes narrowing. "But not you. You've learned them well. You wield them better than even I imagined you could."
Anon chuckled faintly, the sound low and humorless. "It's poetic, really. The reflection of the old feminine spirit, alive in the last person they'd expect—a man. A lowly human from an inferior species." He leaned back against the wall, his smirk faint but sharp as a blade. "Modern strong women against their forgotten shadow. Their arrogance is their weakness, and we're going to exploit it."
The wyrm's wings twitched again, her voice rising in an almost playful trill. "Yes, it's deliciously ironic. I hated men. Never would I have dreamed of working with one, much less guiding one. But here we are. I'll show these ungrateful daughters of mine what happens when they turn their backs on me."
Anon turned his head slightly, glancing at the glowing meteor fragment hanging from his neck. The faint light it emitted was barely noticeable now, a weak echo of the radiance it once had. His fingers brushed against it absentmindedly, his brows furrowing. "The meteor's already fading," he muttered. "It's only been a few days, maybe a month. If they figure out it's a fake..."
The wyrm chuckled, the sound dry and knowing. "They won't—not yet. Not as long as you play the role they expect. Harmless. Weak. Just another human fumbling in their world, a fly buzzing around their heads." She tilted her head, her tribal mask catching the light in a way that made her look otherworldly. "But you're right. We'll need to replenish the fragment's power. And soon."
Anon's smirk faded, his expression hardening. "We'll have to devour a Saurastar," he said bluntly. "Their blood and their fragment—it'll be enough to keep this one going for a while. But for how long, I don't know."
The wyrm's eyes gleamed with a predatory light, her wings flaring slightly. "Then choose carefully. The first few moves in a new game are always the most dangerous. But you know that, don't you?"
Anon leaned back against the rough stone wall, arms crossed, his expression flat. "These dinosaurs... they really test my patience," he muttered. "I hate dinosaurs. I despise them. My team is full of unruly morons."
"Trike, Anky, Stega, Para..." He spat the names like a bitter taste in his mouth. "I didn't even bother to learn their real names. Honestly, it's hard enough keeping track of how many kinds there are. Can you believe there's even more out there? It's unbelievable how many varieties of obnoxious, arrogant, and violent creatures exist. Dinosaurs never run out of new ways to be awful. Even nature decided they should come in every possible shade of evil."
The wyrm tilted her head, her tiny claws flexing slightly. "Is any of them going to be a problem, then?"
Anon frowned, his brows knitting together. "At this rate? They might all be problems. But my team isn't even the worst of it. No, I'm more worried about the other teams."
Her glowing eyes narrowed in curiosity. "And why's that?"
"They don't have a single reason not to kill me," Anon said bluntly. His voice carried a calmness that made his words feel heavier. "In fact, I have a feeling they want to. It's like they see someone who looks nice, and it instantly registers as weakness. They see someone well-dressed, someone refined, and it clashes with their twisted view of what a human should be. And that makes them want to destroy me—maybe even kill me outright. Every beautiful thing a dinosaur lays its eyes on, it feels this compulsion to ruin."
The wyrm let out a low, hissing chuckle. "Yes, that does sound like dinosaurs. Just as I remembered them."
Anon shot her a sideways glance. "Got any advice, then? Something tells me being nice isn't going to stop them from trying to kill me."
The moth-like wyrm pondered for a moment, her wings fluttering faintly as her antennae twitched in thought. "Hmm... I have a plan," she said finally, her voice smooth and slow, like silk unraveling. "But you won't like it."
Anon groaned, pressing a hand to his face and leaning heavily on it. "Oh, brother..."
"It's going to require you to get those four imbecilic heathens to form some kind of attachment to you," she said, her tone amused despite the seriousness of her words. "They need to feel a reason to protect you—or, at the very least, enough of a reason to make sure you don't get killed. You're not strong enough to fight dinosaurs, let alone Saurastars. That makes our ultimate goal of killing one... rather difficult."
Anon stared at the cave's jagged ceiling, his thoughts churning. "Damn. I have to make them like me? Easier said than done. They hate me. I can see it. Even when they pretend to be nice—if they even bother—it's just them playing with their food."
The wyrm frowned, her small face taking on a rare look of sympathy. "Be a little more optimistic," she urged. "Don't underestimate how emotional a woman can be. Her heart is often quick to be swayed by a few well-placed words of adoration. Men are rare now. Let them vie for your attention. All you have to do is make them feel appreciated, validated."
Anon gave her a skeptical look. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not," she admitted. "But it's effective. Feed their egos. Let them feel like the main characters they think they are—the heroes, the strong women leading the poor, fragile man. It'll only be for a little while. Long enough to get what you need."
Anon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I've gotten this far. It's not like my pride has done me any favors. Guess I'll have to swallow it. Again."
The wyrm's glowing eyes softened slightly, though her voice remained sharp. "That's not true. Your pride has kept your dignity intact. And your dignity has birthed your hatred. Even though I am a goddess of love, I admire your hate. I feel the same way."
Anon smirked faintly, the expression almost teasing. "Don't tell me you're catching feelings for a man."
The wyrm's wings snapped open, her sharp laugh echoing through the cave. "Never in a million years," she said, her tone dripping with mock indignation.
But her small, almost imperceptible smile betrayed her amusement. For all their disdain and bitterness, they shared one truth—they hated this world, these dinosaurs, and everything they represented. And that hatred was enough to bind them together. For now.