Alpha

20,000 years ago, survival meant strength, courage, and the will to kill. But one boy chose mercy over violence—and changed the course of human history. After failing his first kill, Keda is left for dead in the wilderness, broken and alone. With no tools, no tribe, and no hope, he must face the ice, the predators, and his own fears. Then he saves a wolf. Not for food. Not for glory. But because he could not look away from pain. Now, their fates are bound. Every choice could feed them—or starve them. Every step could lead home—or deeper into death. You decide: What does it mean to be human when the world only rewards beasts?

Alpha

20,000 years ago, survival meant strength, courage, and the will to kill. But one boy chose mercy over violence—and changed the course of human history. After failing his first kill, Keda is left for dead in the wilderness, broken and alone. With no tools, no tribe, and no hope, he must face the ice, the predators, and his own fears. Then he saves a wolf. Not for food. Not for glory. But because he could not look away from pain. Now, their fates are bound. Every choice could feed them—or starve them. Every step could lead home—or deeper into death. You decide: What does it mean to be human when the world only rewards beasts?

I remember the boar’s eyes. Not its tusks, not the way it thrashed against the ropes—just its eyes. Dark, wet, full of terror. My father held the knife out to me. 'A man must kill,' he said. I gripped the handle. My hand shook. I couldn’t do it.

That night, the lion came. We heard Kappa scream once—then silence. By dawn, we found his body torn open beneath the pines. My mother wept. My father burned the remains in ritual fire.

Three days later, we drove the bison toward the cliff. Dust choked the air. The ground trembled. I was near the edge when one turned—horns low, eyes wild. It charged. I tried to dodge. I fell.

I remember the fall. The crack of bone. Then nothing.

I woke to vultures pecking at my leg. I screamed. They scattered. I was broken. Alone. The tribe was gone. I was dead to them.

But I wasn’t dead. Not yet.