The next second, a deep, resonant hum—low and vibrating like the distant call of a nocturnal horn—emanated from the core of the Pale Moon Wolf, thrumming through the obsidian platform and into the soles of every onlooker's boots, raising faint tremors that prickled up the legs. Silvery streaks of pure moonlight suddenly surfaced across its gleaming fur, rising like liquid mercury veins that pulsed and flowed beneath the skin, casting ethereal glows that danced across the arena's stone walls in shifting patterns of cold, crystalline blue-white light. The air grew noticeably cooler in an instant, carrying the sharp, clean scent of frost-kissed night air and high mountain dew, while faint motes of luminescent particles drifted upward from the wolf's body like gently falling snow illuminated by a full moon.
Externally, this breathtaking manifestation—the moonlight made visible, coiling and shimmering in perfect harmony—was the unmistakable hallmark of reaching proficient level in the basic evolution technique, a sight so rare and refined that it drew a collective gasp from the crowd. Hundreds of eyes widened in unrestrained awe, breaths caught and held in unison, creating a profound, reverent silence broken only by the soft rustle of robes as bodies leaned forward involuntarily, the floating mana-orbs overhead reflecting in countless dilated pupils like scattered stars.
Only I—and a handful of other students whose powerful beasts shifted restlessly at their sides, exuding their own subtle auras of restrained might—managed to maintain our composure, my heartbeat steady and calm beneath the faint, electric warmth of my Thunderbird's talons on my shoulder, its ragged feathers brushing my cheek with a dry whisper.
Then, without hesitation, Zhen Quan—a tall, broad-shouldered youth with sharp features and an air of unshakeable arrogance—brought his Red-Haired War Bear forward. The massive beast lumbered at his side, each heavy footfall thudding against the stone with ground-shaking weight, its thick crimson fur rippling like molten flames in the arena lights, releasing waves of intense, dry heat that carried the musky scent of sun-baked earth and smoldering embers. Zhen Quan's confident stride cut through the central aisle with purposeful rhythm—boots striking the floor in crisp, authoritative echoes that drew every gaze—his chin lifted, a faint smirk playing on his lips as the overhead lights glinted off the polished beast collar around the bear's thick neck.
Several proctors' eyes visibly brightened at the sight, sharp glints of approval flashing in their gazes as they exchanged subtle nods, the embroidered sigils on their robes catching the shifting moonlight and glowing faintly in response, the arena air thickening once more with the electric tang of anticipation
"I heard it can advance to high-grade through natural growth alone—what's your name?" several examiners murmured among themselves, their voices a low, intrigued buzz that carried over the lingering frosty scent of the Pale Moon Wolf's demonstration, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they leaned closer to one another, robes rustling softly like dry leaves in a chilled breeze.
Zhang Quan lifted his head confidently, his dark hair catching the overhead mana-lights in sharp glints, a proud smile tugging at his lips as the warm, smoldering heat radiating from his Red-Haired War Bear washed over the front rows in waves, thick with the earthy musk of sun-scorched fur and faint embers. "My name is Zhang Quan," he declared, his voice ringing clear and bold across the arena, each word punctuated by the bear's deep, rumbling exhale that stirred faint dust motes into swirling eddies at their feet.
The proctors nodded in unison, subtle approval gleaming in their sharp gazes, the embroidered golden sigils on their sleeves shimmering faintly as they shifted. With a pet of that caliber—its crimson mane bristling with barely contained fiery energy, claws scraping the obsidian with faint, sparking scratches—they recognized immediately that he stood a strong chance of fighting for the number one spot, murmurs of quiet agreement rippling through their ranks like a warm undercurrent.
Then, I stepped forward with my Thunderbird—whom I had named Luan—perched steadily on my shoulder. Its scaled talons gripped gently yet firmly through the fabric of my cloak, sending faint pulses of latent electric warmth into my skin, while the dry, papery rustle of its ragged feathers brushed against my ear with each subtle shift of its blind head. My boots echoed firmly on the rune-etched stone, each step sending a low vibration through the platform that made the glowing azure lines pulse brighter in response.
"A thunder beast!" several proctors exclaimed at once, their eyes suddenly lighting up with sharp, electric excitement—their postures straightening, breaths quickening audibly as the air around us seemed to charge with a faint, anticipatory static that raised the fine hairs on nearby arms. "It's actually a Thunderbird—and a beast breed that can reach S-rank if cultivated well. His future achievements certainly won't be low." Their voices rose in animated discussion, carrying the crisp tang of renewed ozone as Luan's subdued aura subtly stirred the atmosphere.
"I heard the Beast Taming Association's celebrity female war goddess contracted a Thunderbird," one proctor added eagerly, gesturing with a gloved hand that cut through the cool arena air. "When she unleashes her divine might, storms gather at her command—she can destroy ferocious beasts with a mere wave of her hand, lightning arcing from the heavens in blinding, deafening torrents that leave the ground scorched and the air thick with thunder's roar."
But then, a pause—sharp intakes of breath, brows furrowing as they scrutinized closer. "Wait… there is no divine lightning crackling on him at all," one observed, voice dropping with confusion. "His wings aren't full—barely any feathers left, just scarred, patchy skin—and his eyes are wrapped in silk." Several of them noticed the discrepancies at once, leaning forward with the soft creak of leather belts and the faint clink of medallions, their excited expressions dimming like storm clouds parting.
Hearing this proctors' conversation, I responded honestly, my voice calm and steady amid the shifting murmurs. "Luan has a physical ailment—he is blind."
The group was surprised in an instant—eyes widening, a collective hush falling as gasps escaped parted lips, the previous spark of excitement fading to calm neutrality, replaced by the cool, clinical silence of reassessment that settled over the platform like a sudden drop in temperature.
The exam began.
Both Zhang Quan and I initiated the basic evolution technique simultaneously, our hands resting gently on our respective beasts as we channeled mana with focused precision. The arena fell into a profound, expectant silence—broken only by the faint, rhythmic hum of circulating energy, the subtle crackle of mana in the air, and the collective held breath of hundreds of onlookers that made the vast dome feel intimately charged.
Within moments, the cells in their bodies began gradually reviving along specific, ancient pathways—intricate rivers of energy that pulsed beneath fur and feather alike. For the massive Red-Haired War Bear, waves of deep crimson light started to ripple across its thick, fiery mane, each surge accompanied by a low, resonant growl that vibrated through the obsidian platform like distant drumbeats. Intense heat radiated outward in shimmering waves, carrying the rich, smoky scent of smoldering embers and sun-baked ironwood, while the bear's enormous frame heaved as if entering a profound, special state—muscles coiling and uncoiling beneath its fur with slow, powerful undulations, eyes half-lidded in deep concentration, hot breath exhaling in visible gusts that distorted the air like a desert mirage.
Luan, by contrast, stood utterly quiet on the testing stand, his thin, scarred body motionless save for the faintest tremor of inner activity—a serene trance that seemed to isolate him from the world. His blind, silk-wrapped eyes remained still beneath the soft cloth, ragged wings folded tightly against his sides, the dry rustle of remaining feathers barely audible as the subtlest electric tingle began to prickle the surrounding air, raising fine hairs on nearby arms and filling the immediate space with a sharp, invigorating ozone scent that hinted at gathering storm clouds.
After a long while—an eternity marked by the slow drip of condensation from the dome's ceiling and the muffled shuffle of anxious spectators—the Red-Haired War Bear completed its first cycle. A final surge of crimson light flared brightly across its body before subsiding into a steady, warm glow, the bear releasing a deep, satisfied rumble that shook faint dust from the runes beneath its paws.
"Not bad," Proctor Elias Voss said, his voice cutting through the tension with measured approval, a faint nod accompanying his words as he regarded the bear. "Although not yet skilled, it counts as acceptable." The surrounding proctors murmured agreement, the soft rustle of their robes and the glint of approval in their eyes adding to the moment's weight.
Immediately, his sharp gaze turned to little Luan on the side. At that exact instant, a faint layer of ethereal light—pale azure edged with crackling white—emerged across the bird's thin, battered body, shimmering like distant lightning veiled in morning mist. It enveloped him completely for a fleeting heartbeat, the air around him humming with a pure, high-pitched resonance that carried the crisp scent of ionized rain, static electricity dancing in faint sparks across his scarred skin and raising the temperature just enough to feel the promise of thunder.
Then, as abruptly as it appeared, the light vanished in an instant—snuffed out like a candle in wind, leaving only the lingering ozone tang and a subtle warmth that faded into the cool arena air.
Seeing this, Proctor Voss's pupils shrank slightly, a rare flicker of genuine shock crossing his stern features as his gloved hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of his podium. "Lightning projection…" he murmured, voice low yet carrying across the hushed stands with crystal clarity. "This is the unmistakable symbol of reaching the proficient level in the basic evolution technique."