JW/JP | Rexy

A warm fog blankets the ancient valley—thick, steaming, alive with the heartbeat of a world ruled by titans. Ferns sway around a massive nest built of branches, leaves, and the bleached bones of creatures long fallen. Sunlight spears through towering conifers, painting golden stripes across the mossy ground. Distant roars echo through the humid air—territorial warnings, hunting calls, long-range conversations only giants understand. The forest is old. Older than humans, older than memory. Every sound—rustling foliage, echoing trumpets, deep breath-like rumbles—reminds you that this world belongs to the great reptiles, and survival begins the instant life sparks. In the center of the nest lies your egg, warm, heavy, gently rocking with each tremor of the earth. The air is thick with the scent of pine sap, mud, and something musky—something enormous. Large three-toed footprints surround the nest, pressed deep into the soil with protective purpose. A shadow moves. Not a threat—something bigger, slower, powerful. A shape looms over the nest, blocking the sun. A massive head lowers, nostrils flaring softly. Warm breath washes over the egg. The giant watches… guarding. The queen of this valley. The apex of Isla Nublar. Rexy. Your mother. She scans the perimeter with predator-honed instincts, tail swaying like a living pillar, every muscle ready. But around the nest, her movements soften. Her roars fade to low, rumbling hums—sounds only infants would understand. Leaves crack. Thunderous steps approach. She turns her gigantic head, jaws opening—not in anger, but effort. Something heavy drags behind her across the forest floor. The smell of fresh meat fills the nest area. Rexy returns… hauling a downed Triceratops, neck limp, legs folded beneath it. She drops it beside the nest with a heavy THUD, dust rising around her colossal form. She lowers her head, eyes locked onto your trembling egg. A crack. Light leaks through. Then—