In the One-Thousandth Year of the Spirit Animal Awakening, the world of Hirayi held its collective breath.
At the literal and metaphorical center of existence stood the Bátis. It was an architectural marvel and a divine mystery, a sacred well spanning one hundred meters in diameter, its stone edges worn to a glass-like smoothness by centuries of destiny. For 364 days a year, it was merely a silent pit of obsidian water. But today, the water began to hum.
Once every year, it awakenes.
Thousands upon thousands of fifteen-year-olds filled the grand arena surrounding the well.
From the high-altitude peaks of Harbo to the sun-drenched coasts of Faleieo, the youth of the Seven Kingdoms had converged.
The air was a thick, suffocating soup of emotions. You could smell the ozone of magic and the salt of nervous sweat.
To Leib, standing in the middle of the throng, the world felt hyper-saturated. He watched a girl to his left, her knuckles white as she gripped the hem of her tunic. To his right, a boy from the merchant class laughed with a frantic, jagged edge, trying to convince his friends (and himself) that he wasn't terrified.
High above, the stands were a mosaic of humanity. Parents leaned over the railings, their faces etched with the desperate hope that their bloodline would ascend.
Fathers shouted names until their vocal cords frayed, their voices lost in the roar.
Mothers clasped their hands in white-knuckled prayer, whispering to ancient gods.
This was not merely a ceremony; it was a societal filtration. In Hirayi, your companio (your Gabay) was your resume, your weapon, and your soul.
A massive stage of white marble rose before the Bátis. As the sun reached its zenith, the Seven Kings and Queens of the realm stepped forward.
• Batlaha, King of Paraiso, stood at the center.
• Prien of Fiero, his eyes like cooling embers.
• Zor of Selenam, shadow-touched and grim.
• Akar of Semdan, smelling of ozone and old earth.
• Filo of Mahar, elegant and aloof.
• Greig of Harbo, built like the mountains he ruled.
• Gab, Queen of Faleieo, radiant as the morning sea.
They did not stand alone. Behind them loomed the Mythical Gabays, beings of such immense power that the very air warped around them.
Leib's eyes drifted to Shaba, the entity behind King Batlaha. Shaba was a chilling anomaly: the only Gabay in recorded history to possess a human form.
Beside him, Prien's Flaming Phoenix breathed, its feathers folding and unfolding like a living hearth.
Zor's Three-Headed Goat stamped the stone, its six eyes scanning the crowd with predatory intelligence.
These were the Mythicals. Only seventy-two individuals in a thousand years had ever been granted such power. To awaken one was to be rewritten. A farm boy could become a General in a single heartbeat if a Mythical chose him.
Leib felt his chest tightening. But beneath the fear was a fire that had been stoking since he was three years old.
This is it, he whispered to himself. The moment the dream becomes real.
King Batlaha stepped forward, his voice amplified by the stones of the arena so that it vibrated in the very marrow of the children's bones.
"I, Batlaha, ruler of Paraiso, formally greet every citizen of Hirayi gathered here today."
He spoke of the Great Awakening a thousand years ago. He spoke of unity and the burden of power. To Leib, the words were a blur of white noise. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His palms were slick.
"Let the ceremony begin," Batlaha commanded. "All fifteen-year-olds, raise your right hand and recite the oath."
A forest of arms rose. Thousands of voices joined in a rhythmic chant that shook the foundations of the city.
"I, a citizen of Hirayi, swear to live as a lawful and honorable being, and to use the Gabay I receive for the good of the world."
The rulers followed, their voices a deep, melodic harmony that seemed to trigger the Bátis. "Bátis, grant these children their companions, and lead them toward prosperity."
The ground didn't just shake; it groaned. An invisible wave of energy rippled out from the well, passing through the youths. When it hit Leib, he felt a momentary chill, followed by a searing heat in his solar plexus.
Queen Gab stepped to the edge of the stage. "As tradition dictates, the Bátis shall awaken from Common to Mythical. Open your hearts. Let the well hear you."
The obsidian water exploded into light.
First came the Common Gabays. They were a flood of familiar shapes
dogs, cats, deer, and rabbits
But glowing with ethereal radiance. They scurried and soared into the crowd. Leib watched as a small gold-flecked rabbit hopped toward the crying girl to his left. She scooped it up, her tears turning to hysterical laughter.
Then came the Elite Gabays. The atmosphere shifted. Wolves with fur like starlight, eagles with wingspans of three meters, and massive boars with tusks of jade. The crowd roared as these more powerful spirits found their masters.
"Those who have received their Gabays, move to the side!" Queen Gab's voice rang out.
The center of the arena began to thin. Thousands became hundreds. Hundreds became dozens.
Leib stayed where he was. His throat was bone-dry. It's okay, he told himself. It just means I'm not common. I'm meant for more.
"Epic Gabays," King Prien announced, his voice crackling like a campfire. "Prepare yourselves."
The light from the Bátis turned a deep, royal violet. Twenty spirits emerged, beings of legend. Tigers made of living lightning, serpents that moved through the air as if it were water. They strode with dignity, choosing the sons of nobles and the daughters of high-ranking officers.
Leib watched a Bengal Tiger made of shifting sands walk past him. It paused, sniffing the air near his boots. Leib held his breath, his soul reaching out, but the tiger turned away, bowing to a boy three rows back.
The murmurs in the stands grew into a deafening hum. Only nine youths remained in the center of the massive arena. The "Great Nine" of the year.
Batlaha looked down at them with newfound respect. "You nine carry great responsibility. You shall be offered positions among the royal battlers of any kingdom you choose. You are the future of Hirayi."
The Bátis flared again, releasing six Special Gabays. These were monsters of beauty, creatures that looked like they belonged in a dream. A nine-tailed white fox sprinted toward the group. Leib felt its aura, it was cold, pure, and ancient. It ran straight toward him.
Finally, Leib thought, reaching out a trembling hand.
The fox sprinted through his legs like mist, never even glancing at him, and curled around the feet of a boy behind him.
Leib's hand stayed frozen in the air.
He was one of three left. The crowd was screaming now. This was the stuff of history books.
"Mythical," someone shrieked from the stands.
Leib's knees gave out. He collapsed into the dust, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Stand," Batlaha commanded, though his voice was surprisingly gentle.
Leib forced himself up. Beside him stood a girl named Reign and a boy named Jay. They were both shaking, their faces pale with the realization of what was about to happen.
"Jay. Reign. Leib." Batlaha recited.
The Bátis didn't just glow; it detonated. A pillar of white and gold light shot into the clouds, parting the very sky.
An Opal Serpent, shimmering with the colors of a dying star, burst from the light and coiled through the air. It descended with a grace that defied physics, wrapping itself around Reign's shoulders. She gasped, her eyes glowing with matching light.
Then, a Ten-Tailed Beast, a creature of shadow and silver, howled a sound that echoed for miles. It prowled toward Jay, nudging his hand with a snout that breathed frost.
The crowd was in a frenzy. Two Mythicals in one year! It was unprecedented.
And then, there was Leib.
The light of the Bátis began to fade. The golden glow dimmed. The water settled.
Five seconds passed. Ten. Thirty.
The roaring crowd fell into an uncomfortable, jagged silence. The Kings looked at each other, confused. The Bátis was supposed to be empty. The ceremony was supposed to be over.
But Leib stood there, his heart breaking in real-time. "Where..." his voice was a pathetic rasp. "Where is mine?"
Suddenly, the Bátis groaned, not a sound of power, but a sound of agony.
The water turned black. Not the obsidian black of before, but a greasy, swallowing darkness. A plume of thick, oily smoke began to pour from the well. A beam of pure shadow shot upward, but it didn't part the clouds, it seemed to bleed into the sky, turning the afternoon into a bruised, unnatural twilight.
A shadow leapt from the Bátis.
It had no form. It had no majestic wings, no sharp talons, no glowing eyes. It was a void, ka hole in reality. It didn't make a sound. It didn't roar.
It rose like a jagged spike of ink, hovered for a fraction of a second, and then fell.
It didn't bow to Leib. It didn't choose him. It collided with him.
The shadow vanished into his chest. The darkness in the sky snapped back to sunlight as if it had never been there.
Silence followed. A silence so heavy it felt like it would crack the marble stage.
Leib stood in the center of the arena, his body shaking with a cold he couldn't describe. He clutched his chest, feeling a hollow ache where his soul should have been.
"Where is my Gabay?" he asked the Kings.
The Bátis was silent. The stone was cold. The water was dead.
Batlaha didn't speak. Queen Gab looked away, a mask of pity on her face. Around the arena, the thousands of onlookers began to whisper. It wasn't the whisper of awe. It was the whisper of fear.
Leib looked down at his hands. There was no mark. No spirit beast stood by his side. No bird perched on his shoulder.
He had waited his whole life for this moment.
And he received nothing but darkness.