Today was their tenth birthday. Today, luck would decide their fate at this tender age… Their future hinged on this moment.
Today, they would contract their beast.
The Ceremony Master stood at the altar, his robust frame imposing in the temple’s light.
His beast, evolved to Silver rank level 2, pulsed with a subtle argentine glow. The beast had matured after reaching the 5th rank, an achievement few could match and even fewer could surpass.
He struck his staff against the floor, the sound echoing through the ancient halls.
“The Ceremony of Ten Years begins now. The beasts will take the mana poisoning your young bodies and save you,” he announced, his voice carrying the weight of tradition.
“Remember, your beast’s rank determines your place in our society. Iron for the slaves, Bronze for the workers, Silver for the privileged.”
He didn’t mention the higher ranks. He didn’t need to.
The 7th rank, Gold 1.
Throughout the entire city, only five families possessed Gold-rank beasts, and the only living human with a Platinum creature was the king himself.
The only one with a beast of the 10th rank.
♢♢♢♢
A red egg rested on the altar.
The boy who had placed it there positioned himself in the center of the circle.
The egg cracked.
It began to glow, and then…
“A Crimson Salamander!” The Ceremony Master’s announcement pierced through the temple as Ron Blackfire’s red egg burst into flames. From the ashes emerged a scarlet creature, its scales gleaming like living embers.
Whispers of amazement turned to cheers as the tiny salamander opened its mouth and spat a perfect sphere of fire that danced above Ron’s outstretched palm.
An Iron-rank beast at its lowest… but with vast potential.
Not only could it easily rise to Bronze rank, but with proper cultivation, it could even reach Silver.
The kind of creature that opened doors, that with proper investment could transform a mere student into someone destined for comfort and privilege.
Ron’s smile widened, already tasting his future among the elite. With his family’s proper cultivation techniques, his salamander would undoubtedly reach Silver rank, guaranteeing him a place among the upper-middle class.
Even now, freshly hatched, it granted him great strength and the power to conjure fireballs at will.
“Next!” the Ceremony Master announced.
Ren’s heart stopped beating for an instant.
It was his turn.
The metallic taste of fear flooded Ren’s mouth as he stared at his gray egg on the stone altar.
Around him, dozens of eggs glowed in other children’s hands with promises of better futures, deep blues, vibrant greens, intense reds. Most guaranteed at least a Bronze-rank beast at maturity, and the most expensive ones promised creatures with evolution potential up to Silver level 3.
Only his was gray.
The gray egg barely pulsed in Ren’s trembling hands. A pathetic heartbeat so weak he had to hold his breath to feel it.
Today, this miserable egg, the cheapest available, would chart his destiny, decide his place in the world.
All his parents had been able to get him, after selling their last sellable possessions, was this gray egg.
Not white. Not black. Not even brown. Gray.
The color of failure.
Laughter and congratulations for Jin still echoed in the temple as Ren approached the altar. His gray egg looked even smaller now, following the magnificent display of the Crimson Salamander.
Ren mentally reviewed the possibilities for the thousandth time, clinging to hope.
There was a 5% chance of getting a marsh frog. It wouldn’t be as impressive as a fire salamander, but with the right cultivation technique, a frog could reach the highest Bronze rank, a “mature” level 2 marsh frog.
But he knew it was asking too much; the probability was too low… He had resigned himself.
Ren would get the common plant.
Yet even the common plant with its 95% probability wouldn’t be the end of the world.
An Iron-rank beast that, well cultivated, could reach the lowest Bronze rank, and by avoiding maturity with a secret technique, some people had even managed to take it to Bronze level 2.
It wouldn’t be easy, he’d need to invest every coin earned to buy the secret cultivation technique, work twice as hard as others, but at least he could earn an honest living in the end.
It would mean a decent life, the chance to repay his parents even a fraction of what they had sacrificed for him.
But the egg had 3 options.
People called it the failure’s egg not because it usually gave a mediocre and weak plant… They called it that because of those who had the misfortune of drawing the third option.
First option: the plant of the mediocre poor people, 94.99% probability.
Second option: the frog of the lucky poor people, 5% probability.
And then there was that tiny, terrifying 0.01% possibility: a spore.
The spore of the unlucky poor people.
The weakest creature ever recorded, incapable of even maturing completely within the Iron rank.
In other eggs, the lowest possibility, that 0.01%, that 1 in 10,000 chance was a magnificent creature with Silver or Gold potential.
In this one, it was hell.
Practically a death sentence in a world where power was everything.
“Look at the failure’s egg!” Klein Goldcrest’s mocking voice cut through the air like a whip. “I bet it can’t even summon a decent frog!”
All the children laughed.
Ren kept his gaze fixed on his egg. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how worried he was.
“Silence!” The Ceremony Master’s voice resonated beneath the ancient stone arches. “Remember, this is the most sacred moment of your lives. The instant you cease being mere children to become tamers.”
Ren closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pitying looks and barely contained laughter. His gray egg rested on the altar like fate’s mockery, its weak pulse barely perceptible under his trembling fingers.
The Patinder’s son. The boy with the gray egg.
The morning’s first sunbeam pierced through the temple’s stained glass, and his egg began to glow.
Or at least, that’s what Ren wished he could say.
His egg barely emitted a dim glow, so weak that several children had to squint to confirm it was really glowing at all.
Please, he begged silently, anything but the spore.
The egg cracked.
It didn’t explode into flames like Ron’s. It didn’t open in petals of light like this morning’s blue egg, from which a water horse had emerged.
It simply… cracked.
A dry, pathetic sound, like a twig snapping.
And from the crack emerged…
A small cloud of gray spores.
The laughter began before the creature finished materializing.
A spore.
The weakest beast ever recorded in the history of summonings. A being so insignificant it didn’t even qualify as a complete Iron-rank monster.
“Silence!” ordered the Ceremony Master, but there was poorly disguised amusement in his voice. “Ren Patinder, extend your hand and receive your companion into your body for the first time… It will cure the excess mana in your body.”
The cloud of spores floated lazily toward Ren’s outstretched palm. It weighed nothing. Emitted no heat. There was no sign of the mystical bond that was supposed to form between beast and tamer.
It just… floated there. Gray. Useless.
“The 0.01%,” someone murmured in the crowd. “He really got the 0.01 percent.”
Ren kept his head high as he descended from the altar. His parents had sold everything for this moment. They had worked double shifts.
He wouldn’t give these brats the pleasure of seeing him cry.
