Today was their tenth birthday, and today, luck would decide the course of their lives. At this tender age, fate was not a matter of choice, but of chance. Today, they would contract their beasts.
The Ritual Conductor stood at the altar, a robust, imposing figure in the temple's stained light. His own beast, evolved to Silver rank level 2, pulsed with a faint, silvery glow. It had matured beyond the 5th rank—an achievement few tamers could ever hope to match, let alone surpass.
He struck his staff against the floor, the sound echoing through the ancient hall.
"The Rite of Bonding begins now!" he announced, his voice heavy with tradition. "The beasts you contract today will consume the mana poisoning your young bodies and save you. But 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.
A beast of the 7th rank, Gold 1, was a legend in itself. Throughout the entire city, only five families possessed Gold-rank beasts. As for Platinum, the 10th rank, the only living human to command such a creature was the king himself.
A vibrant red egg now rested on the altar. The boy who had placed it there took his position in the center of the summoning circle. The egg began to glow, and then—
"A Scarlet Drake!" The Ritual Conductor’s announcement pierced the reverent silence as Cole Emberheart’s red egg burst into flames. From the settling ash, a scarlet creature emerged, its scales gleaming like living embers.
Whispers of amazement swelled into cheers as the tiny salamander opened its mouth and spat a perfect sphere of fire, which danced harmlessly above Cole’s outstretched palm.
An Iron-rank beast at its lowest level, but its potential was vast.
It could easily reach Bronze rank, and with proper cultivation, perhaps even Silver.
This was the kind of creature that opened doors, the kind that could transform a mere child into someone destined for a life of comfort and privilege.
Cole’s smile widened, a confident smirk that already tasted his future among the elite. With his family's cultivation techniques, his salamander would undoubtedly reach Silver rank, guaranteeing him a place in the upper echelons of society. Even now, freshly hatched, he could feel its power flowing into him—a surge of strength and the innate ability to conjure fire at will.
"Next!" the Ritual Conductor boomed.
For a terrifying instant, Leo’s heart stopped.
The metallic taste of fear flooded his mouth as he stared down at the dull gray egg he held.
Around him, dozens of other eggs pulsed with promise—deep blues, vibrant greens, intense reds. Most of those would guarantee at least a Bronze-rank beast. The most expensive ones held creatures with the potential to evolve all the way to Silver level 3.
His gray egg, by contrast, barely pulsed. It was a pathetic, feeble beat, so weak he had to hold his breath just to feel it in his trembling hands.
This miserable egg, the cheapest one available, would decide his entire future. It was all his parents could afford, bought only after selling the last of their meager possessions.
Not white, not black, not even a lowly brown. Just gray.
The color of failure.
The echoes of laughter and congratulations for Finn had not yet faded as Leo made his way to the altar. In the shadow of the Scarlet Drake’s magnificent debut, his gray egg looked smaller and more pathetic than ever.
For the thousandth time, Leo ran through the possibilities, clinging to a shred of hope.
There was a 5% chance of a marsh frog. It was no Scarlet Drake, but with the right cultivation technique, it could reach the highest Bronze rank, a mature level 2. But he knew better than to hope. The odds were too slim. He had already resigned himself to the most likely outcome.
He would get the common plant.
Even that, with its 95% probability, wouldn't be the end of the world. An Iron-rank beast that, if cultivated well, could reach the lowest Bronze rank. With a secret technique to avoid its maturity, a few had even managed to push it to Bronze level 2.
It wouldn't be easy; he would need to invest every coin he earned and work twice as hard as everyone else. But it was a chance at an honest living. A chance to repay his parents for a fraction of their sacrifice.
But the gray egg had three possibilities.
It wasn't called the failure's egg because of the common plant, as mediocre as it was. It earned its name from the third option.
First option: the plant, the 94.99% certainty for the mediocre poor.
Second option: the marsh frog, the 5% chance for the lucky poor.
And then there was the third, the tiny, terrifying 0.01% possibility: a spore.
The mark of the truly unlucky.
It was the weakest creature ever recorded, a being so pathetic it couldn't even reach maturity within the Iron rank.
In other eggs, that one-in-ten-thousand chance was a magnificent beast with Silver or even Gold potential.
In this one, it was a curse. In a world where power was everything, it was a death sentence.
"Look at the failure's egg!" The mocking voice of Mark Bright-Shield cut through the air like a whip. "I bet it can't even hatch a decent frog!"
Laughter erupted from the other children.
Leo kept his gaze locked on his egg, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
"Silence!" The Ritual Conductor's voice thundered beneath the ancient stone arches. "This is the most sacred moment of your lives. The instant you cease to be mere children and become tamers!"
Leo closed his eyes, shutting out the pitying looks and stifled laughter. He placed the gray egg on the altar. It felt like a mockery of fate, its weak pulse a faint tremor beneath his trembling fingers.
The Stonehand's son. The boy with the gray egg.
The Elara's first sunbeam pierced the temple's stained glass, and his egg began to glow.
Or so Leo wished he could say.
In truth, his egg emitted only a dim, hesitant light, so weak that several children had to squint to see it at all.
Please, he begged silently. Anything but the spore.
It didn't explode into flame like Cole's egg had. It didn't open in petals of light like Elara's blue egg, from which a water horse had emerged.
It simply… cracked.
The sound was dry and pathetic, like a twig snapping underfoot.
And from the fissure emerged not a creature, but a small, drifting cloud of gray spores.
The laughter started before the cloud had even fully formed.
The weakest beast in the recorded history of summoning. A being so insignificant it couldn't even be considered a complete Iron-rank monster.
"Silence!" the Ritual Conductor ordered, though his tone held a poorly disguised amusement. "Leo Stonehand, extend your hand. Receive your companion into your body for the first time, so it may cure the excess mana."
The cloud of spores drifted lazily toward Leo’s outstretched palm. It weighed nothing. It emitted no heat. There was none of the mystical energy that signaled a bond forming between beast and tamer.
It just hovered there. Gray. Useless.
"The 0.01 percent," someone murmured from the crowd. "He really got it."
Leo kept his head high as he walked down from the altar. His parents had sold everything for this. They had worked themselves to the bone.
He would not give these spoiled brats the pleasure of seeing him cry.