The day came sooner than expected.
Oscar just clocked six years old when the Spirit Hall elders gathered in the great cathedral, their robes rustling like waves beneath the stained-glass windows. Outside, bells tolled in deep rhythm, announcing the start of the annual Awakening Ceremony.
Dozens of children stood nervously in the vast chamber, each brought by hopeful parents, servants, or teachers. Some fidgeted, some whispered prayers, some clung to their families with pale faces. All of them dreamed of becoming Spirit Masters.
At the very front, Bibi Dong sat upon the throne of the Supreme Pontiff. Her presence alone silenced the hall. Her expression was cold, unreadable, but her gaze often lingered toward a single boy who stood apart from the rest.
Oscar.
Clad in simple white robes embroidered with golden thread, his small figure radiated a quiet composure. Unlike the other children, he did not fidget. He did not whisper. He simply waited, his back straight, his eyes calm.
It made him stand out all the more.
Whispers rose among the crowd of elders and officials.
"That is the adopted son, isn't it?"
"To think the Supreme Pontiff would make such a declaration…"
"I wonder what spirit he carries. If it's mediocre, her reputation will suffer."
Bibi Dong ignored them. Her trust in Oscar was firm, though she herself longed to see the truth.
The ceremony began.
One by one, the children stepped forward, placing their hands on the Awakening Stone—a crystal that pulsed with light, drawing forth the martial spirits hidden within their souls. A few summoned bright weapons, a few radiant beasts. Some, less fortunate, revealed nothing more than farm tools or ornaments.
The crowd judged swiftly. Some faces lit with pride, others darkened with despair.
And then, finally, the officiating elder called out, "Oscar."
The hall grew quiet.
Every eye turned toward the boy as he walked forward. His steps were unhurried, his face expressionless, but his very stillness seemed to command attention.
He placed his small hand upon the Awakening Stone.
The crystal flared.
A ripple of energy surged outward, washing through the hall. The other children gasped, stumbling back. Even the elders leaned forward, their brows furrowing.
The first martial spirit emerged.
A faint glow gathered at Oscar's palm, shaping into something small and familiar—a sausage.
For a moment, silence. Then laughter broke out from the younger disciples.
"A sausage?!"
"That's… that's a food spirit!"
"After all the mystery, he awakens that?"
The elder who conducted the ceremony looked uneasy, glancing toward Bibi Dong. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes sharpened dangerously.
Oscar remained calm. He studied the sausage in his palm with quiet interest, then closed his hand.
The laughter died as the Awakening Stone flared again.
A second glow burst forth, this time from deep within his chest. A pearl of pure light floated out, shimmering with an aura that felt endless, infinite. It hovered above his palm, radiating a soft brilliance that filled the hall with warmth.
The laughter stopped instantly.
"What… what is that?" an elder whispered.
"A second martial spirit?"
"Impossible! He's still a child!"
The pearl pulsed gently, and for a brief moment, every elder felt as though the stone floor beneath them might bend to the boy's will, as though creation itself lingered in that light.
And then, before they could recover, it happened again.
The Awakening Stone cracked.
A roar—low, ancient, draconic—echoed through the chamber. The air shook as a colossal shadow unfurled behind Oscar, towering and immense. Though faint, though incomplete, the outline was unmistakable: a dragon, vast and terrible, its eyes glowing like twin suns.
The pressure dropped like a hammer. Children collapsed to their knees, clutching their chests. Elders staggered, their spirit power erupting in defense.
The Dragon God's roar faded, but silence clung to the cathedral like frost.
Children pressed to the floor, unable to breathe. Elders stood pale, their spirit power still trembling. Even the officiating elder who held the Awakening Stone could barely steady his hands.
Three martial spirits.
A sausage that seemed laughable, yet strangely resilient.
A pearl that pulsed with infinite possibility.
And the shadow of the Dragon God, a being whose very name carried the weight of myth.
The crowd could not reconcile the images.
A food-type… and a god?
"How… how is this possible?" one elder stammered. His robes quivered as though they weighed a thousand pounds. "The rules of the world don't allow it. Triple martial spirits… it should be impossible."
Another elder's lips tightened. "This is no accident. Supreme Pontiff, this child—"
"—is my son."
Bibi Dong's voice cut through the hall, cold and absolute. She rose from her throne, her violet robes trailing down the golden steps. Each step echoed like a drumbeat, silencing the chamber further.
Her gaze swept the hall, freezing every whisper.
"Remember well," she said, her tone sharp as a blade, "mockery has no place here. What you witnessed today is not a curse, not an accident. It is destiny."
Her eyes burned, not just with authority, but something more—something maternal.
"From this day forth, Oscar is the heir of Spirit Hall."
The words dropped like thunder. Elders bowed in silence, though their eyes still flickered with disbelief, with envy, with fear. The younger disciples followed, their knees hitting the floor, their voices unsteady but unified:
"We greet the Young Lord of Spirit Hall!"
Oscar stood at the center of it all, bathed in colored light from the stained glass. The pearl shimmered softly above his hand, the faint outline of the dragon still coiled within his shadow. His expression did not change. Calm. Collected. Proud, but never arrogant.
To him, the voices of submission were just noise. The only thing he listened to was the whisper within his mind.
[System synchronization complete.]
[Balance unlocked: Martial Spirit Evolution.]
[Congratulations, Host.]
His lips moved faintly, almost as if to himself. So this is the path I must walk.
The ceremony ended in disorder. Children were dismissed quickly, their faces pale and eyes wide, their dreams eclipsed by the boy who stood untouchable. The Awakening Stone, cracked from the force of his spirits, was carried away by trembling attendants.
Yet even after the hall emptied, murmurs spread like wildfire.
"A triple martial spirit child exists?"
"He carries the Dragon God's aura… what does that mean for the continent?"
"Will he bring salvation, or disaster?"
Whispers could not be contained, not even in the heart of Spirit Hall.
That night, the Supreme Pontiff Palace was quiet. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows into Oscar's chambers. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his pearl resting lightly above his palm, glowing with a soft radiance. The sausage lay beside him—ordinary in appearance, yet faintly pulsing with vitality.
His eyes were closed, his breathing steady.
The dragon's presence lingered faintly in his blood, slow and heavy, like a beast slumbering at the bottom of an endless abyss.
The door creaked softly.
Oscar opened his eyes.
Bibi Dong stepped inside, her steps soundless on the polished stone. She stood for a moment, watching him, her usually cold expression touched with something softer.
"You are not surprised," she said at last.
Oscar tilted his head slightly. "Should I be?"
Her lips curved faintly—whether into a smile or something else, it was hard to tell. "Most children would cry. Or laugh. Or scream."
"I knew there was something in me," Oscar replied calmly. "I felt it even before the ceremony. Today only gave it shape."
His composure made her chest tighten. For a moment, she was reminded of herself in her youth—unflinching, steady, unwilling to show weakness.
But unlike her, there was no bitterness in his eyes. Only balance.
"You will have enemies," she said quietly. "Many. Inside and outside Spirit Hall. Today's revelation will not be forgotten."
"I know," Oscar said. His fingers brushed the pearl gently, and its light rippled like water. "But I will not fear them."
Silence lingered between them.
Then Bibi Dong moved closer, kneeling before him so that their eyes met. Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
"Oscar," she said softly, "you are my son. Remember that. Whatever storm comes, whatever shadows rise, you will not face them alone. Even if the world stands against you, I will stand beside you."
For a moment, the mask of the Supreme Pontiff slipped. Beneath it was a woman who had lost too much, endured too much, yet found in this child a piece of warmth she thought gone forever.
Oscar met her gaze steadily. His voice was calm, but the words carried weight.
"I understand, Mother. But I want you to know—I will grow strong. Strong enough that you will never have to protect me. Strong enough that no one can ever hurt us again."
Her breath caught.
She studied his face, the quiet determination written there, the pride that was not arrogance, the gentleness that was not weakness.
Finally, she pulled him into her arms.
"Then grow, my son," she whispered. "Grow until the heavens themselves must bow to you."
The pearl's light reflected in the window, casting their shadows long and intertwined.
Far beneath his calm exterior, Oscar felt the Balance System hum, its voice softer now, almost like a lullaby.
[First Balance Point available.]
[Awaiting Host's choice.]
He did not answer yet. For now, he simply leaned against the warmth of the mother who had chosen him, and allowed himself a moment of peace.
Tomorrow, his path would begin in earnest.
But tonight, he was only a child—Bibi Dong's child.