Ethan Moore woke up to the smell of wet fur and… was that mammoth pee? His head throbbed like he’d been run over by a history textbook, and his first thought was not “Where am I?” but:
“Who the hell stole my Patagonia jacket?!”
Because he was lying on a bed of straw, wrapped in a patchy animal hide that smelled like someone had wrestled a wet dog and lost.
When his eyes adjusted, he realized he was not alone.
At least twenty people in filthy fur skirts were staring at him like he was Netflix’s latest release. Their hair looked like it hadn’t met shampoo since the Ice Age (which, judging by the decor, might actually be the case).
One wide-eyed boy pointed and shouted something that sounded suspiciously like: “GAAAH!”
The crowd gasped. A woman dropped a bone she was chewing on. A man thumped his chest and fell to his knees.
Ethan sat up, blinking. “Uh… hi? I’m Ethan. Oxford University, Department of Anthropology? You guys wouldn’t happen to have Wi-Fi, would you?”
No answer. Just more kneeling.
Another man stepped forward, older, gray-bearded, with blood on his lips. He looked like Gandalf if Gandalf had been mugged by a bear. He raised a shaky finger and pointed at Ethan. His voice was ragged but clear:
“Chieftain.”
The entire cave erupted. “Chieftain! Chieftain!”
Ethan almost choked on his own tongue. “Excuse me?! Did I hear that right? Chieftain? As in… boss? CEO? Look, I’ve never even been class president, okay? I once tried to run a Dungeons & Dragons campaign and everyone quit halfway through!”
But nobody was listening. The old man—apparently the current chief—coughed blood into the snow, grabbed Ethan’s wrist, and croaked, “Fire… gone. Tribe… needs… you.” Then, very dramatically, he collapsed.
The crowd burst into tears. Women wailed. A muscled guy punched the wall. Someone shouted, “The sky sent him!”
Ethan: “Whoa, whoa, time out. I’m not from the sky. I’m from London. Well, technically Oxford. And I’m not a sky god, I’m just really good at trivia night.”
But already two hunters lifted him by the arms—like he weighed nothing but unpaid student loans—and paraded him toward the center of the cave.
They shoved him onto a throne. Well, not a throne. More like a big log draped in what smelled suspiciously like saber-tooth underwear. A crude torch flickered beside it, sputtering low. And then Ethan realized—oh crap—the torch was their last fire.
And it was dying.
The muscled guy with the angry eyebrows stepped forward, jabbing a spear at the embers. He barked something in Caveman Language, then pointed at Ethan.
Mira—the only one who seemed to understand some English—leaned in. Her face was smeared with ash like she’d been trying out for Kiss. She whispered: “He says… you must relight the Heartfire.”
Ethan blinked. “Relight? You mean… make fire? With what, sarcasm?”
Mira tilted her head. “You are Sky Chieftain. You know the secrets.”
Ethan laughed nervously. “Lady, the only thing I know how to ignite is my student debt. I don’t—” He stopped. His hand brushed the pocket of his ripped jeans. His glasses. The lenses were intact.
An idea as stupid as it was desperate sparked in his brain. “Okay,” he muttered, “time to channel my inner Bear Grylls.”
He motioned for dry grass. Confused, the tribe piled a heap in front of him. He adjusted his glasses, angled them toward the torch, praying for sunlight. Miraculously, a thin beam cut through the cave mouth. The grass smoked, curled, and then—poof!—a tiny flame bloomed.
The crowd screamed. Someone fainted. A kid peed himself in awe.
Ethan coughed dramatically, waving his hands. “Uh, behold! Fire 2.0. Limited edition. Please don’t try this at home.”
The flame caught the torch, and suddenly the whole cave was glowing again. The tribe fell flat on their faces.
“Chieftain!” they chanted. “Chieftain! Fire God!”
Ethan wanted to cry. He’d literally just done the world’s nerdiest science experiment, and now he was a god.
Angry Eyebrows guy stepped closer, eyes gleaming with fanatic devotion. “Next,” Mira translated, “he says… you must show them more miracles.”
Ethan gulped. “More? Like… what, juggling? Wi-Fi?”
But the tribe was already chanting. Staring. Waiting.
And that was when Ethan realized: If he couldn’t keep the miracles coming, this gig as “Sky Chieftain” was going to end with him roasted on a spit.
