The morning sun crept through the narrow window of their stone cottage, painting Dan's face in warm amber light. Today was his tenth birthday. Today, his fate would be sealed.
He sat at the edge of his straw mattress, fingers trembling as they traced the cool surface of the gray egg resting in his lap. Around him, the humble dwelling his parents had built with their own hands felt smaller than ever—two rooms, a cooking hearth, and walls that leaked when the rains came hard.
His father, Torin, a former soldier who'd lost his right leg defending the northern border against the Serpent Clans, stood by the doorway. His crutch creaked against the wooden floor.
"Remember what I taught you, son," Torin's voice was rough but warm. "A beast doesn't make the man. The man makes the beast."
Dan's mother, Elara, placed a weathered hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were calloused from years of mending clothes for the merchant families in the upper districts of Haewon, the floating city built into the cliffside where they lived.
"We believe in you," she whispered, though Dan could see the worry creasing the corners of her eyes.
They'd sold everything for this egg. Their last bronze lamp. His mother's only decent dress. Even the small jade pendant that had been in their family for three generations.
All for a gray egg.
The cheapest option available at the Beastmaster's market.
Not crimson. Not azure. Not even earthen brown.
Gray—the color of uncertainty, of poverty, of those who lived in the lower cliff districts where the mist never quite cleared and sunlight was a visitor, not a resident.
***
The Awakening Temple stood at Haewon's heart, carved directly into the living rock of the cliff face. Ancient glyphs glowed faintly along its columns, remnants of the first Beastmasters who'd discovered the secret of bonding with mythical creatures centuries ago.
Dan clutched his egg tighter as he entered, his worn leather sandals quiet against the polished stone floor. Around him, other children his age gathered in clusters, their eggs radiating soft glows of various colors.
He spotted Kael Stonefist immediately—the merchant lord's son, cradling a deep crimson egg that pulsed like a heartbeat. Beside him stood two other wealthy children, their eggs gleaming azure and emerald.
Then his eyes found her.
Riu.
She stood alone near the western alcove, her silver-white hair cascading down her back like a frozen waterfall, tied with a simple leather cord. Her eyes—an unusual shade of molten gold—swept across the chamber with calm detachment.
In her hands rested an egg unlike any Dan had ever seen.
It wasn't just one color. It shifted—midnight black bleeding into starlight silver, with veins of pure gold threading through its surface like lightning frozen in crystal.
Whispers erupted immediately.
"That's the Stormborn girl..."
"They say her family has produced Dragon Callers for seven generations..."
"An egg like that... it must have cost a fortune even they could barely afford..."
Riu's expression remained unchanged, but Dan caught the slight tightening of her jaw. She didn't belong to the merchant lords or the military families. Her clan, the Stormborn, were legendary—but they'd fallen from grace two generations ago when Riu's grandfather failed to summon during his awakening and brought shame upon their name.
They'd rebuilt their reputation through sheer determination, but barely. That egg represented everything they'd scraped together.
The Ceremony Master emerged from the inner sanctum—a woman of perhaps sixty winters, her back straight as a sword despite her age. Her beast, a Silver-rank Moonwolf, padded silently beside her, its fur gleaming with ethereal light.
She struck her staff against the floor three times.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The sound resonated through Dan's chest like a war drum.
"Children of Haewon," her voice carried the weight of ancient tradition, "you stand at the threshold between childhood and destiny. The beasts you summon today will determine your path in this world."
She didn't sugarcoat it. Everyone knew the hierarchy.
Iron-rank beasts—the foundation. Common creatures that granted basic abilities. Those who bonded with Iron-rank beasts became laborers, guards, farmers. Necessary, but unremarkable.
Bronze-rank beasts—the skilled class. Beasts with specialized abilities that made their summoners valuable craftsmen, soldiers, or merchants.
Silver-rank beasts—the privileged. Only those with Silver-rank companions could join the administrative circles, become military officers, or earn true respect in society.
And beyond that...
Gold-rank beasts—throughout all of Haewon, only five families possessed them.
Platinum-rank and above—the stuff of legends. The King himself commanded a Diamond-rank Phoenix, a creature of the 10th rank that could level entire armies.
"Your beast's rank is not your worth," the Ceremony Master continued, though her tone suggested otherwise, "but it will shape your opportunities. Approach the altar when called."
Dan's heart hammered against his ribs.
***
"Kael Stonefist!"
The merchant lord's son strutted forward, confidence radiating from every step. He placed his crimson egg on the ancient stone altar, its surface carved with glyphs that had witnessed ten thousand awakenings.
The egg cracked.
Flames erupted—not wildly, but with controlled fury. From the fire emerged a creature of scales and heat: a Crimson Salamander, its body wreathed in dancing flames, eyes like molten rubies.
Gasps of admiration rippled through the chamber.
"An Iron-rank beast with evolutionary potential to Bronze-rank three," the Ceremony Master announced. "Well done, young Stonefist. With proper cultivation, you may even reach Silver."
Kael grinned broadly as the salamander coiled around his arm, leaving trails of harmless fire in its wake. He already looked different—his posture straighter, his eyes gleaming with newfound power.
Several more children went forward. A girl summoned a Jade Serpent—Bronze-rank immediately, capable of growing to Silver. A boy bonded with a Stone Tortoise—slow but resilient, solid Iron-rank with Bronze potential.
Then came Riu's turn.
"Riu of the Stormborn Clan."
Every eye fixed on her as she walked forward, her silver hair catching the light from the ceremonial braziers. She moved with quiet grace, neither rushing nor hesitating.
She placed her shifting egg—black and silver and gold—upon the altar.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the egg began to hum.
The sound started low, barely perceptible, but quickly grew into a resonance that made Dan's bones vibrate. Cracks spider-webbed across the shell, and light—pure, blinding light—exploded outward.
When the brilliance faded, a creature stood before Riu that stole the breath from every throat.
A Celestial Wyvern.
Its scales were living starlight, shifting between midnight black and silver depending on the angle. Golden lightning crackled along its spine. Though small now—barely the size of a large cat—its presence filled the entire chamber with pressure.
"By the First Flame..." the Ceremony Master breathed. "A Bronze-rank beast... with evolutionary potential to Gold."
Silence.
Then chaos.
"GOLD?!"
"The Stormborn girl got a—"
"That's impossible, eggs like that don't exist!"
Riu's expression remained calm, but Dan saw it—the slight curl of her lips, the flash of vindication in her golden eyes. Her hand rose, and the wyvern landed on her forearm with surprising gentleness, its wings folding against its body.
Electricity danced between them, a visible bond forming in threads of light.
Even Kael looked stunned, his salamander suddenly seeming ordinary in comparison.
"Impressive," the Ceremony Master said, composing herself. "The Stormborn bloodline proves itself once more. Next!"
Several more children went. None came close to matching Riu's summon.
Then: "Dan of the Woodhelm family."
The whispers began immediately.
"That's Torin's son..."
"The crippled soldier's boy..."
"Look at that egg—it's *gray*..."
Dan's legs felt like lead as he walked toward the altar. He could feel every eye on him, weighing him, judging him. He caught Riu's gaze for a brief moment—those golden eyes met his with... curiosity? Pity? He couldn't tell.
He placed his gray egg on the altar.
It sat there, dull and lifeless.
No glow. No hum. Not even the faint pulse of life that other eggs displayed.
"Well," the Ceremony Master said gently, "let us proceed."
The egg cracked—not with fire or light, but with a dry, pathetic sound like breaking kindling.
From the crack emerged...
A cloud.
A small, wispy, gray cloud of spores.
Laughter rippled through the chamber—some children didn't even bother hiding it.
"A spore!" someone gasped.
"He got the 0.01%!"
"The failure summon!"
Dan's face burned, but he kept his chin up. His father's words echoed: A beast doesn't make the man. The man makes the beast.
The spore cloud drifted toward him lazily, lacking even the dignity of flight. It simply... floated. When it touched his palm, there was no surge of power, no mystical bond forming in visible threads.
Just a faint tingling, like touching dried grass.
"A Mycelium Spore," the Ceremony Master announced, her voice carefully neutral. "An Iron-rank beast of the lowest tier. It grants resistance to poisons and... extended your connection to other life forces."
What she didn't say was that it would never evolve. Never mature past Iron-rank level one. Never grant him anything beyond the most basic abilities.
In a world where power determined everything, Dan had just been given the weakest creature in recorded history.
As he stepped away from the altar, Kael's voice cut through the chamber: "Don't feel bad, Woodhelm. Someone has to scrub the floors, right?"
Laughter followed Dan all the way back to his spot.
Only Riu didn't laugh.
She simply watched him with those unsettling golden eyes, her Celestial Wyvern crackling with barely contained lightning on her shoulder.
***
The ceremony concluded. Children filed out with their families, their newly bonded beasts trailing behind them or perched on shoulders.
Dan walked alone. His parents waited outside, and he knew they'd wear encouraging smiles no matter what, but the weight in his chest made each step harder than the last.
As he reached the temple's entrance, someone blocked his path.
Riu.
Up close, she was even more striking—sharp cheekbones, skin like porcelain, those burning gold eyes that seemed to see through him.
"Your spore," she said, her voice surprisingly soft, melodic even. "It's not dead."
Dan blinked. "What?"
"Most failure summons barely pulse with life. Yours..." She tilted her head, studying the faint gray cloud hovering near his shoulder. "It's faint, but it's there. A heartbeat. Barely perceptible, but real."
"That doesn't change what it is," Dan said quietly.
Riu's lips curved into something that might have been a smile. "Everything starts small. Even dragons."
Before Dan could respond, she walked past him, her wyvern's wings casting brief shadows across his face.
He stood there, confused, until his father's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Come, son," Torin said. "Let's go home."
But as they descended through Haewon's winding streets, back toward the lower districts where mist clung to everything, Dan couldn't shake Riu's words from his mind.
Everything starts small. Even dragons.
His spore cloud drifted beside him, gray and unimpressive.
But for the first time since the awakening, Dan allowed himself a sliver of hope.
Even the smallest flame could become an inferno.
If fed properly.
---
To be continued...