"Alright," Zane muttered, fingers tightening around the broken fence post, "Ten minutes. Just ten. Not like that's the average lifespan of a terrified, unarmed level-one nobody or anything." The Thornhide snarled, scraping its claws against the stone like it was sharpening them—for him. "Oh yeah, that's not ominous at all." > [Quest Timer: 9:45] Zane's eyes darted across the ruined outpost. Smoke. Torn tents. Scorch marks from the last battle between Aeloria and Alverath. "There has to be something I can use... anything. Fire, sparks, hell, even a barrel I can roll at this thing." He sprinted toward a half-burned wagon, narrowly dodging a flying claw that split the ground where he'd stood. "Okay! That's closer than I like! That's way closer than I like!" The Thornhide barreled after him. Zane yanked a cracked lantern from the wagon's side—bone-dry. "Of course it's empty," he growled. "Why wouldn't it be?" > [System Suggestion: Improvised Weapons Increase Survival Odds] Zane threw up his hands. "Oh, thanks! Super helpful, mysterious floating text box! Got any matches? A taser? A giant mech suit, maybe?!" He dove into the wreckage and landed hard on his side, skidding near a scorched soldier's pack. Still zipped. "Come on, come on... be generous, dead guy." He yanked it open—rations, cloth, a cracked crystal vial, and... yes. "Yes! Flint and steel!" Zane whooped, then immediately clamped his mouth shut as the Thornhide's roar drew closer. "Quiet celebration. Quiet celebration." > [Quest Timer: 7:58] Zane grabbed the driest cloth he could find, tied it around the broken post like a makeshift torch, then struck the flint. Sparks flew—once, twice—then finally caught. The cloth flared to life. Flickering, weak, but burning.