Eden
Copyright© 2026 by Uruks
Chapter 1: First Breath
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: First Breath - Adam wakes up in a prehistoric jungle teaming with dinosaurs and other dangerous beasts. He doesn't know who he is or where he came from. All he knows is that he is a human man, his name is Adam, and he has to fight to survive. Utilizing superhuman strength and uncanny intelligence, Adam starts asserting his dominance to become the Ultimate Alpha Predator. However, his ambitions are complicated by the arrival of the beautiful woman known as Eve, the first human Adam has ever encountered.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Science Fiction Alternate History Post Apocalypse Robot Rough Big Breasts Nudism Violence
Awakening...
The light was a physical blow, a white-hot needle that drove into his skull and forced a hiss from between his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut, then cracked them open again, a sliver at a time. His world resolved from a blinding glare into a dappled, shimmering chaos of green and gold. He raised an arm, a limb he somehow knew was his, to shield his face. The hand that blocked the sun was large, the skin smooth and pale, the fingers long and perfectly formed. He flexed them, watching the tendons move beneath the skin like wiring beneath a casing. His will commanded, and they obeyed. The connection was absolute.
A sound. Not the light. A whisper, then a rush, a cool sigh that stirred the hair on his arms. The wind. It rustled a colossal canopy of leaves above him, each one a different shade of emerald and jade, turning the sunlight into a shifting mosaic on the forest floor. He was lying on his back, pressed into a mattress of cool, damp grass that tickled his skin. The air was thick, heavy with a perfume he had no name for, a sweet, earthy musk of damp soil, blossoms bursting with nectar, and the green, living scent of chlorophyll baking under a sun that felt close enough to touch. The sheer volume of sensory data was staggering. It was a torrent pouring into a mind that was an empty vessel, and yet it was not overwhelming. It was ... intoxicating.
He sat up, the muscles in his abdomen and back coiling with effortless power. He had no memory. No name, no past, no origin. There was only the now. And yet, as he watched a flock of birds explode from a high branch—a riot of sapphire, crimson, and gold that defied any logic he could comprehend—he knew words for them. Birds. Flock. Blue. Red. They were harmless flitting things, their chirping a delicate music that scored the deeper, guttural hum of the jungle. He catalogued their forms, their flight patterns, the way their beaks cracked open seeds, with an analytical precision that felt as innate as his own heartbeat.
His attention turned inward. He looked down at himself. He was tall, his body a roadmap of hard-earned muscle and thick sinew. He was a machine built for power, for force. Every line of him spoke of speed and strength. And he was naked, his skin bare to the sun and the breeze. He passed his hands over his own flesh, pressing into the solid mass of his pectoral muscles, the ridges of his stomach, the dense cords of his thighs. The skin was warmer than the grass, alive. He ran a hand over his scalp, feeling a thick thatch of hair there, the same shade as a drying bloodstain.
Another sound. Different. A steady, musical gurgle. He turned his head, his senses sharp. A brook. The water was so clear it was almost invisible, flowing over smooth, multicolored stones. He rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion, a tower of pale flesh against the green. He approached the water’s edge and peered down. He saw it then. A shape in the water, large and pale, and the tension shot through him like an electric charge. His heart hammered against his ribs. Instinct, pure and primal, screamed at him to fight or flee. Every muscle coiled, ready to spring.
But the shape did not move. It mimicked him. It tensed when he tensed. He took a hesitant step back. The shape receded. He crept forward again, a low growl building in his chest.
He dipped a toe into the water, and the shape’s toe touched his. And in that instant, understanding crashed over him. A wave of heat flooded his cheeks. Foolishness. It was him. His own reflection, a trick of the light and water.
He knelt, the tension draining away, and studied the face in the crystalline pool. It was handsome. The word arrived unbidden, attached to the strong line of his jaw, the rugged symmetry of his features. His skin was flawless, unmarked by scar or blemish. His hair was thick and wavy, the color of fire, and his eyes ... his eyes were the same shocking, brilliant red. They were not the eyes of a simple animal. They shone with a depth of focus and intellect that felt both alien and familiar. He reached up and felt the skin of his face, the rasp of stubble on his jaw, confirming the reality of the reflection.
Handsome. Why would that word surface? How were these words—jungle, bird, water, handsome—popping into his head, giving him a framework to understand a world he was experiencing for the very first time? He did not have the answers to the questions churning in the silent void of his mind, but he had one. He was handsome because he was the physical ideal. He was strong, capable, vital. In his prime. But why? Wasn’t there an order to these things? A smaller, weaker version of himself was supposed to come first. A word for that version tickled the edge of his consciousness, but he pushed it away. There was no time for that. All that mattered was the now. The here. The jungle.
Jungle. The word arrived with a payload of meaning. Danger. Predators. Jungles held things that ate other things. Eat. Another word. A companion to thirst. The moment he thought of it, his throat was a desert, his mouth a dusty cave. Without conscious thought, he dipped his hand into the pool, blurring his reflection into an abstract swirl of red and white. He scooped up the cold, clear liquid and brought it to his lips. The water touched his tongue and an explosion of pure, unadulterated pleasure rocked him. He had not realized the intensity of his thirst until the word recalled it. He drank greedily, the water spilling down his chin and chest, a shock of cold against his sun-warmed skin. He gasped, a laugh bubbling up from his chest, a sound of pure, unthinking joy.
Joy. Another word. This one seemed different from thirst or danger. It served no purpose that he could discern, and yet he felt it as keenly as he felt the water’s life-giving power. It was a paradox. The water sustained his body, but the joy sustained something else, something nameless within him. He wondered if the absence of joy would feel like thirst, a hollow ache, and if he should avoid it.
Sated, he stood and scanned his surroundings, marveling anew at the breathtaking beauty of this place, a world so vivid it felt unreal. He glanced down, between his legs, at the long, thick appendage that confirmed his biology. He was a man. Yes. But that was a category, a species. It was not an identity. He needed a name. He didn’t know how he knew, only that he did.
And then, as if in answer, a word came to him. It felt different from the others. It arrived not as a piece of data, but as a proclamation. Sacred. Unshakeable. Adam. Yes. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew, with every fiber of his being, that his name was Adam.
The name settled over him like a second skin. Adam. It was a foundation stone in the shifting chaos of his new world. With an identity, however tenuous, came a purpose: to understand the territory that was now his. He began to walk, his bare feet silent on the loamy earth, his long strides eating up the ground.
The jungle was a living library, and the words in his head were the catalog. He passed a fern with fronds as wide as his outstretched arms, the label Osmunda appearing in his mind. He saw a giant conifer with bark like reddish armor and knew it was a Sequoia. A flash of iridescent blue skimmed through the undergrowth, and he identified it as a Morpho butterfly. He knew the names of things that had no business being in the same place, that had been erased from the planet’s memory long ago, but to him, it was simply the way things were. He saw a pack of dog-sized creatures with saber-like canines skulking in the shadows and knew they were Smilodons. He noted them with a detached analytical interest, tagging them as danger and avoid.
The scent of water grew stronger, mingled with a new, musky aroma of animal and dung. He followed it, pushing through a curtain of hanging vines into a clearing that opened onto a wide, slow-moving river. And there they were.
Creatures that dwarfed anything he had yet seen. A herd of great, shaggy beasts with thunderous hooves and massive, curved horns. Bison. The word arrived with a sense of scale. They were mountains of muscle and hide, their dark brown coats thick and tangled. The young, smaller and redder, played butted heads and frolicked near the water’s edge, their energy a stark contrast to the placid, heavy-lidded demeanor of the adults. Adam was fascinated. He had never seen creatures of such immense size and power. They were the undisputed masters of this clearing.
But he was a new thing in this world, and his presence was a disruption. A low bellow rippled through the herd. Heads lifted, dark, liquid eyes fixing on him. The playful calves scattered, rushing to the safety of their mothers. A wave of panic passed through the animals, and most of them broke and ran, their heavy bodies thundering across the plain, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt.
But one did not run. It was the largest of them all, the lead bull. It stood its ground, lowering its head, a plume of vapor snorting from its nostrils. It stamped a front hoof, the impact a dull thud that Adam felt through the soles of his feet. It was a clear, undeniable challenge. And in response, something ancient and electric surged in Adam’s blood. Exhilaration. Here was a test. A worthy one.
The bull bellowed again, a sound of pure territorial rage, and then it charged. It was a juggernaut, two tons of pure fury, the ground trembling beneath its onslaught. Adam’s body moved without thought. He dropped low, diving to the side as the bull thundered past. He felt the wind of its passage on his skin. The beast, unable to stop, smashed its head into a collection of granite boulders nearby.
The sound of the impact was a deafening crack, stone shards flying. Adam watched, astonished, as the bull shook its massive head, largely unfazed by the collision. It was a being of incredible, brutal force.
It turned, its small eyes burning with intelligence and malice, and charged again. This time, Adam was a fraction of a second too slow. He tried to dodge, but the bull’s horn caught him square in the ribs.
The impact was cataclysmic. He was lifted off his feet and thrown through the air like a discarded doll. He slammed into a thick tree trunk, the force of the blow making the entire trunk groan. He slid to the ground, the tree teetering ominously above him. He tried to draw a breath, but his lungs wouldn’t work. Pain.
It was a white-hot fire, a universe of agony centered in his side. It was overwhelming, a sensation so total it blotted out all thought. He looked down and saw a gruesome wound in his torso, a deep, bloody puncture where the horn had pierced him. His breath hitched, coming in short, sharp gasps. Terror, cold and sharp, pierced through the pain. But then, rising up from the depths of that terror, came something else. Anger. A white-hot, pure rage. He had done nothing to this creature. He had been observing. Why did it hate him? The question was irrelevant. The bull did hate him. Its glare promised a final, fatal charge.
Retreat was a logical option. His body screamed at him to run. But Adam did not feel like running. His own hatred would not allow it. He was a creature of strength, and to be wounded, to be made a victim, was an offense he could not abide.
He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the searing agony that radiated through his torso with every movement. The bull saw him rise and huffed, a sound of disbelief and renewed fury. It lowered its head and charged once more.
This time, Adam was ready. He set his feet, bracing himself. As the bull closed the distance, he dropped his center of gravity and reached out, his hands closing around the base of the bull’s massive, horn-crowned head.
A war of titans ensued. The bull’s strength was immense, a relentless, animal force that shoved him backward, his feet digging deep gouges into the dirt. Adam’s muscles screamed, his sinews stretched to their limits. The creature was a furnace of pure power, but Adam was a machine of perfect leverage and unbending will. He held his ground, but he could feel his stamina fading, the wound in his side bleeding freely, weakening him. He had to end it now.
His mind, cool and analytical even as his body burned with effort, dissected the bull’s anatomy in a nanosecond. He saw the joints, the vertebrae, the points of weakness in the thick column of its neck. He shifted his grip, one hand sliding up to cup the beast’s jaw, the other bracing against the back of its skull. With a roar that tore from his own throat, he wrenched his body in a violent, twisting surge.
A sound like a massive branch snapping in half echoed through the clearing. The bull’s body went rigid, then limp, its eyes glazing over as its neck broke. It crashed to the earth in a heap of bone and muscle.
Adam stood panting, his body slick with sweat and blood, a wave of triumphant exhilaration washing over him. The bull was dead at his feet. He looked from the carcass to his own wound, and the concept of waste entered his mind.
The bull had died for a reason: to test him. Its life was over. Its purpose was served. Now, what was his purpose? He felt a primal urge, a deep instinct that told him this death should not be in vain. There was something he should be doing, something to do with the meat, the hide, the—
A howl split the air. It was a long, mournful sound that spoke of hunger and the hunt. Before Adam could process the sound, before he could even turn, they were on him. A pack of huge, gaunt wolves materialized from the treeline, their grey coats matted and scarred. Each one was almost as large as he was, with yellow eyes that burned with a feral, intelligent hunger. One lunged for his throat, another for his legs.
Adam felt fear again, a cold dread far more potent than when the bull charged. This was not a single challenge. This was a coordinated attack. This was death, and it had come in a pack.
The world dissolved into a storm of fur, teeth, and fury. The first wolf lunged, a blur of grey muscle and yellowed fangs aiming for his throat. Adam reacted, not with thought, but with the honed instinct of a survivor. He twisted, the wolf’s jaws snapping shut on empty air inches from his neck, and drove his elbow down with the force of a piledriver. There was a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage, and the wolf yelped, its body collapsing.
But there was no time to savor the victory. Dozens more were on him. They chased him from the bull’s carcass, their coordinated attack driving him back toward the treeline. The rest of the bison herd, already panicked by the first fight, scattered in a blind, thundering stampede. A few wolves broke ranks, their greed overriding their pack discipline, and descended on the fallen bull. Adam watched in horror as they tore into the thick hide, their powerful jaws ripping away huge chunks of flesh, staining their snouts and fangs a deep, arterial crimson.
And then, understanding dawned, cold and sharp. They were eating the bull. They were drawing strength from his bulk. That was what he should have been doing. It was his kill. His prize. They were stealing it from him.
A roar of pure, unadulterated outrage tore from his throat, a sound that was more beast than man. He charged back into the fray, swinging his fists like wrecking balls. A wolf that had been gorging itself on the bull’s haunch was sent flying, its body limp before it even hit the ground. Some of the wolves flinched and scattered, but most did not. Instead of yielding, they turned their full, collective wrath upon him.
Pain washed over him anew, a fresh wave of fire as fangs and claws raked his body. A set of jaws clamped onto his left calf, the teeth sinking deep into the muscle. He screamed, a sound of pure agony, and kicked out with his other leg, feeling the wolf’s jaw break under his heel. Another sank its teeth into his shoulder, its claws digging into his back for leverage. He reached back, grabbed the creature by its scruff, and tore it away with a spray of his own blood, then flung it bodily into its packmates.
The pain and the fear were a tidal wave, threatening to drown him, but the anger returned, a white-hot sun burning in his chest. It was a fire that consumed his fear and replaced it with a singular, brutal purpose: to destroy. He fought back with a vengeance that was terrifying in its intensity. He tore them apart, his hands finding throats and spines, his fists pulping heads and breaking ribs. He beat them into a bloody paste on the forest floor, his movements a whirlwind of calculated, lethal violence. He sank his own teeth into the neck of one that lunged for his face, the taste of hot, coppery blood filling his mouth, a savage, metallic tang that fueled his rage.
The battle was a mutual annihilation. The wolves inflicted horrible damage, his body a canvas of deep punctures and ragged gashes. But Adam was stronger, his flesh tougher, his will indomitable. One by one, the wolves fell. Those that weren’t slain, their pack broken and their alpha dead, were finally forced to retreat.
Adam stood panting, his body a throbbing map of agony. He wiped a smear of blood from his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The surviving wolves had gathered at the edge of the clearing, their forms a shifting, ghostly presence in the shadows. They watched him, their growls a constant, menacing chorus. He growled back, a low, guttural sound that promised more violence. His eyes fell upon the bull, its guts now a glistening, steaming pile, exposed by the wolves’ frenzied feeding. He didn’t hesitate.
He strode to the carcass, tearing a thick, bloody strip of muscle from the haunch with his bare hands. The meat was tough, sinewy, and primal. He bit into it, his own teeth acting as knives. He had never tasted anything so rich, so vital. He savored the flavor and the struggle he had endured to earn this precious, life-giving meat. He kept his eyes locked on the wolves as he ate, his jaw working, his body coiled and tense. He never relaxed for an instant. The wolves waited, a patient, starving audience, hoping he might tire, or let his guard down, giving them one more chance to pounce. Adam had no intention of giving them that chance.
Suddenly, a new sound split the air. It was not a howl, but a roar. A deep, bone-rattling basso profundo that vibrated up from the soles of his feet and shook the very air in his lungs. It was big, it was powerful, infinitely more so than the bull had been. The wolves in the trees froze, their growls dying in their throats. Their ears twitched, their heads swiveling as one toward the sound. In an instant, they were no longer interested in Adam at all. Another moment later, they turned and fled, their terror so palpable they ran away whimpering, their tails tucked between their legs.
Adam was left alone, bleeding and panting, wondering what could possibly frighten a pack of such fearsome predators. He didn’t have to wonder for long. THUD. THUD. THUD. A heavy, rhythmic thudding resounded through the trees, each impact a seismic event. It was the sound of colossal footsteps. The snap of colossal trunks echoed through the jungle as trees, giants in their own right, were smashed aside under the weight of something enormous. Then, pushing through the last of the prehistoric foliage, a head appeared.
It was reptilian, immense, at least twenty feet off the ground. It was a head of nightmare and myth, a construction of bone and fury. A long, muscular muzzle, lined with teeth the size of daggers, opened slightly as it tasted the air. A single, reptilian eye, the size of Adam’s fist, swiveled in its socket and fixed on him. It was a golden, unblinking eye, a disc of ancient, predatory intelligence that held no malice, no anger, only a cold, calculating hunger.
Adam stood up, his own wounds, his own rage, his own existence, forgotten. The blood on his skin grew cold. He was a mouse caught in the gaze of a god. Completely, utterly petrified, he found himself in the presence of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
The roar that echoed through the jungle was not a sound; it was a physical event. It was a seismic vibration that shook the marrow in his bones and turned the air to thick, soupy pressure. The sheer volume of it was an assault, and the predatory intent behind it was a tangible force that crushed the breath from his lungs. The smell that accompanied it was worse than the sound—a suffocating stench of death, rotting meat, and a dry, dusty scent like a forgotten tomb.
The T-Rex took a step, its massive, three-toed foot sinking into the earth, and the ground shuddered. Its eye, a reptilian orb of cold, golden judgment, remained locked on him. Adam’s entire being screamed at him to run. It was the first pure, undeniable terror he had ever felt, a primal emotion embedded in his cells that screamed that he was prey.
The beast roared again, a blast of hot, foul air that smelled of decay and ancient slaughter. It lowered its head and charged. Adam fled. He didn’t think; he simply moved, and in that moment, he discovered a new facet of his own nature. His speed was phenomenal, his muscles coiling and releasing with explosive, impossible power. The jungle, which had moments ago been a rich tapestry of life, became a green blur as he sprinted. He didn’t just run; he flowed, his body a lithe missile weaving between colossal trunks. He leaped, his legs propelling him twenty feet into the air, and his hands found purchase on the rough bark of a Sequoia. He climbed, not like a man, but like an ape, scaling the towering tree in a series of powerful, bounding leaps, swinging from branch to branch with a grace and agility that defied his size.
From his perch a hundred feet up, he watched the T-Rex skid to a halt where he had been standing. It huffed, a sound of frustration, its massive head swiveling. Its gaze fell upon the carcass of the bull. Its interest in the fleeting, agile creature in the trees evaporated. Food was present. The creature ignored the smaller wolf corpses, stepping on their bodies with a sickening squelching sound. It ambled over to the kill, lowered its head, and its jaws, caverns of bone-splintering power, sheared through the bull’s ribcage as if it were paper. The sound was a wet, percussive crunch. With a few gulps and a toss of its head, it ripped off half the carcass, swallowing it whole. Within minutes, there was almost nothing left but a stain on the grass.
Adam watched from his high vantage point, his knuckles white as he gripped the branch. A cold, sharp anger began to cut through his fear. That had been his kill. He had earned that meat. He had bled for it. This ... this monster had simply taken it. He looked down at his own body, at the network of wounds the wolves had left. They were still bleeding, but not as much as they should have been.
More strangely, the searing fire of pain from his injuries was already dulling, receding to a deep, throbbing ache, as if his flesh were actively knitting itself back together. The observation sparked a dangerous thought.
He knew, with a cold, analytical part of his mind, that he could not defeat such a creature in a straight fight. It was too big, too powerful. But something in him, a reckless, prideful instinct, compelled him to test his limits. To discover exactly where he fit in this brutal new world.
His anger won. He launched himself from the tree, a red-haired meteor dropping from the sky. He landed with a thunderous impact in a clear space near the beast, his knees absorbing the shock with a deep bend. The T-Rex turned, its golden eye widening in surprise at the audacity of this tiny creature returning for a second round.
Adam attacked first. He didn’t waste a moment. He sprinted forward, not at the head, but at the creature’s thick, powerful leg. He drove his shoulder into the colossal shin with all his might. There was a solid thump, and the T-Rex let out a grunt of annoyance, stumbling a single step. Adam had bruised it. He had actually hurt it.
The beast responded with a speed that belied its size. Its tail, a thick, muscular bludgeon tipped with bone, whipped around with a sound like a cracking whip. Adam saw it coming and threw himself backward, but he wasn’t fast enough. The tail caught him in the midsection, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying through the air. He crashed through a thicket of ferns, the air knocked from his lungs. Before he could rise, the T-Rex’s massive, three-clawed foot stomped down, pinning his leg to the ground. Adam roared in pain as he felt bones strain under the impossible pressure.
Then the head descended, the jaws opening wide, a gateway of serrated daggers. The jaws snapped shut around his torso.
The pain was beyond comprehension. It was a universe of pressure and piercing agony as the teeth, each one the size of a dagger, sank deep into his flesh, puncturing muscle and scraping against bone. But the beast did not get the clean killing bite it wanted. In that split second before the jaws crunched shut with their full force, Adam’s hands shot up. He grabbed the upper and lower jaws, his fingers finding purchase on the slick, gums and the rough bony ridges. He strained, every muscle in his body screaming, his biceps bulging as he fought against the hydraulic force of the monster’s jaw muscles.
Blood poured from his wounds, drenching him. With a grunt of pure, desperate effort, he forced the jaws open just enough to create a sliver of light. He twisted his body, wrenching himself free, the teeth ripping huge chunks of flesh from his sides as he escaped.
He ran. He didn’t look back. He ran with a speed born of terror and agony, his body a riot of pain. The T-Rex, surprised and perhaps a little wary of this strangely resilient prey, gave chase for a few thundering steps before losing interest, its small brain already calculating that the energy expenditure wasn’t worth the meager meal.
Adam stumbled blindly through the jungle, more dead than alive, a nightmare of blood and wounds. He ran until his legs gave out, collapsing into a heap of exhaustion. He lay there for what felt like an eternity, his breath ragged, his body trembling. He processed the day’s events: the bison, the wolves, the bull, and finally, the king. He knew he could not defeat the T-Rex. Not now.
But the instinct that had driven him to attack had given him an answer. He was stronger than most, but not the apex. He had rivals. Rivals who surpassed him in raw power. One day, he vowed, he would find a way to surpass the T-Rex.
But for now, he was tired, and his wounds, though already beginning to clot, ached with a profound intensity. He wandered for hours in a daze as the sun slowly dipped below the canopy, surrendering the sky to the deep purple and bruised orange of twilight. The jungle’s nocturnal symphony began to swell around him. He found a small, secluded cave, its entrance hidden by thick foliage. He crawled inside, the cool stone a balm against his fevered skin. He lay down on the dusty floor, his body a canvas of countless wounds, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Some Time Later...
Consciousness returned not as a gentle rising, but as a violent jolt. Adam’s eyes snapped open, and the world was a sudden, sharp reality. He was in a cave, the air cool and still, carrying the scent of damp limestone, ancient dust, and the faint, coppery trace of his own dried blood. The stone floor was hard and unforgiving against his back. For a moment, he lay there, the memory of the previous day a chaotic nightmare of teeth, claws, and bone-shattering impacts.
He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting with a deep, phantom ache. He looked down at his body, expecting to see a ruin of torn flesh and gaping wounds. What he saw instead made him stare in disbelief. The horrific network of injuries was gone. The deep punctures from the wolves, the massive bruise from the bull’s horn, the gaping, shredded holes where the T-Rex’s teeth had ripped into his torso—all of it was gone. In their place were faint, silvery lines, thin as spider silk, crisscrossing his skin. They were scars, yes, but they were the scars of battles fought a lifetime ago, not hours. He ran a hand over his ribs, feeling the smooth, unbroken skin. The flesh was whole. The fire was gone.
He rose to his feet, a fluid motion that held no trace of the agony that had crippled him. He flexed his arms, feeling the incredible power coiling in his biceps and shoulders. He felt alive. More than alive. He felt invigorated, revitalized, as if the ordeal had not broken him, but tempered him like steel in a forge. He was stronger than he had been before the fight. The realization settled in his mind with the cold certainty of a physical law: he healed. He healed fast. He was not just strong; he was durable. Resilient.
He walked to the mouth of the cave and stepped out into the morning. The jungle was different now. It was no longer a chaotic, intimidating unknown; it was a realm of quantifiable beauty and latent danger. The rising sun, a brilliant golden orb, burned away the last of the night’s mist, illuminating a world that shimmered with impossible life.