The morning sun broke over the jagged spires of Oakhaven like molten bronze, piercing through the perpetual shroud of grey mist that hung over the lower district.
Kaelen Ashford stood at the edge of the Iron Docks, washing the dried grime of the beast stables from his arms at a creaking water pump. The water was icy, pulled directly from the underground subterranean runoff, but it washed away the scent of dung and stale straw. He dressed in his only clean clothes—a faded linen tunic that was two inches too short at the wrists and a pair of patched trousers tied with a fraying leather cord.
In his pocket, his fingers brushed against the small canvas pouch containing three silver coins and eight copper bits. It was every single coin he had saved over two years of backbreaking labor. The registration fee for the Grand Awakening Ceremony was precisely three silver coins.
If he failed today, he would not even have enough money to buy dinner.
"Heading up to the High Precinct, boy?"
Kaelen turned to see Old Bram, the dockside blacksmith, leaning against his forge door with a heavy hammer resting against his boot. The blacksmith’s face was lined with decades of soot and sweat, his broad chest rising and falling to the steady rhythm of his bellows.
"It’s time, Bram," Kaelen said, tightening the pouch at his belt. "Eighteen years."
Bram grunted, taking a long drag from a wooden pipe. A wispy ring of blue smoke curled toward the rafters. "Don't let those high-born bastards push you around up there. A beast is a beast, Kaelen. Even an Iron-grade stag eats better than a beggar in the gutters. Just pull something with four legs and a spine, and you’ll never have to shovel hip-dragon manure again."
"I'll settle for anything that bonds, Bram," Kaelen replied softly. "Anything at all."
"Go on then. The line at the Great Gate opens at second bell. Don't be late."
Kaelen nodded and turned toward the Grand Staircase—a massive, winding flight of three hundred stone steps carved directly into the white cliffs that separated the squalor of the Iron Docks from the opulence of the High Precinct.
As he climbed, the atmosphere changed drastically with every fifty steps. The damp smell of sewage and salt faded, replaced by the perfume of blooming sun-lilies and the fragrant smoke of sweetwood incense burning from the balconies above. The stone underfoot turned from slippery cobbles to polished white marble inlayed with brass runes.
By the time Kaelen reached the top of the stairs, the Grand Awakening Plaza opened before him in all its blinding glory.
It was immense—a circular amphitheater constructed from solid ivory stone, capable of holding ten thousand spectators. High above the plaza, banners of navy blue and gold fluttered in the morning breeze, bearing the emblem of the Royal Summoner Academy: a winged dragon coiled around a glowing staff.
At the center of the amphitheater stood five colossal pillars of black obsidian, each standing forty feet tall. Inscribed upon their smooth surfaces were thousands of intricate mana runes that pulsed with a rhythmic, ethereal silver light. These were the Primal Awakening Altars, ancient relics built by the Architects centuries ago to channel the world's ambient magic into a focused gateway to the Astral Void.
Around the altars, thousands of youth had already gathered.
The crowd was clearly divided into two distinct worlds. On the eastern side of the plaza, scions of noble houses stood in tailored velvet doublets and silk dresses embroidered with silver thread. They were surrounded by attentive guards, personal tutors, and proud parents displaying their own high-tier summons—radiant Frost Wolves with coats like spun glass, towering Stone Golems, and armored Griffins that preened their feathers atop golden perches.
On the western side huddled the commoners: children of blacksmiths, farmers, dockworkers, and street vendors. They stood in quiet, anxious groups, checking their clothes and whispering prayers to the System.
"Look at that, another street rat climbed up from the docks."
A loud, mocking voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. Kaelen didn't need to turn to know who it belonged to, but he looked anyway.
Walking toward him was Valerius Vance, the second son of House Vance—one of the wealthiest merchant clans in Oakhaven. Valerius was dressed in a crimson tunic trimmed with white fox fur, a jeweled dagger resting at his hip. Behind him walked two imposing house guards clad in steel plate armor, accompanied by Valerius’s father, a portly man whose fingers were thick with gem-encrusted rings.
Valerius sneered, waving a silk handkerchief in front of his nose. "Faugh! The stench of the stables follows you everywhere, Ashford. Did Garrick give you permission to crawl out of the mud today, or did you sneak out while the beasts were sleeping?"
Several noble youths nearby let out light chortles, casting amused glances at Kaelen’s worn tunic.
Kaelen kept his face neutral, his posture straight. He had dealt with Valerius for years; the noble boy frequently visited the beast stables to inspect his family’s blood-thoroughbred mounts and never missed an opportunity to humiliate the laborers.
"Today is the open awakening, Valerius," Kaelen said calmly. "Every citizen who reaches eighteen has the legal right to present three silver coins to the Altar."
"Legal right?" Valerius scoffed, stepping closer until he was only a few paces away. "Rights are for those who can afford them. What do you think you’ll summon with that low-born blood of yours? A sewer rat? A common field beetle? You’re wasting three silver coins that could buy you stale bread for a month."
"Valerius, enough," the elder Vance interjected smoothly, though his eyes held the same dismissive coldness as his son's. "Do not waste your breath on common dirt. The Grand Overseer is taking the podium. Prepare yourself. House Vance expects nothing less than a Gold-Grade beast today."
Valerius straightened his tunic, casting one last disdainful glare at Kaelen. "Watch closely from the back, Ashford. I’ll show you what a real Summoner looks like."
Kaelen said nothing as Valerius strutted back toward the front row of the noble section. He slowly exhaled, steadying his heart. He couldn't let Valerius provoke him. Today was too important.
Dung shoveler or noble scion... before the Altar, the System makes no distinction, Kaelen thought, clenching his fist. It only measures blood affinity and mana resonance.
A deep, reverberating tone echoed across the plaza as a massive brass bell tolled from the central spire.
The murmuring crowd fell instantly silent.
Atop the raised stone dais overlooking the five obsidian pillars stepped a tall man clad in flowing robes of deep purple and silver. Across his chest hung a heavy medallion depicting an open book and a flaming sword—the mark of a Grand Overseer of the Royal Summoner Guild.
"Citizens of Oakhaven!" Overseer Malakor’s voice boomed across the amphitheater, amplified by acoustic mana runes carved into the surrounding walls. "Eighteen years ago, you were born into this world without form or bond. Today, the System calls upon your spirit to reach across the Astral Boundary and summon your lifelong companion!"
A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd of young men and women. Hands trembled; breathing grew ragged.
"Remember!" Malakor continued, his sharp gaze sweeping over the thousands of faces below. "Your first summon dictates your destiny! A Bronze-grade beast grants you entry into the Craftsman Guilds! A Silver-grade beast earns you a place in the City Watch or Merchant Vanguard! And a Gold-grade beast or higher..."
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Malakor paused, a faint smile touching his lips. "...earns you immediate full scholarship to the Royal Summoner Academy in the High Capital, along with nobility status for your household!"
Cheers erupted from the eastern side of the amphitheater, where the noble youths stood.
"Let the Awakening Ceremony... begin!" Malakor raised his staff, its crystal tip flaring with brilliant violet light.
Below the dais, a dozen acolyts dressed in white robes stepped forward, opening heavy leather-bound ledgers to record the names and outcomes of every candidate.
"Group One! Step forward to Altar One through Five!"
Five candidates immediately walked onto the raised circular platforms surrounding the obsidian pillars. Kaelen watched intently from his position in the middle of the commoner section.
The first candidate, a nervous farm boy, placed his palm against the central groove of the obsidian pillar. He closed his eyes, his knuckles turning white as he funneled his awakening mana into the stone.
The runes along the pillar flared to life, glowing with a dull grey light.
HUMMMMM—!
A spatial rift opened three feet above the altar floor—a jagged tear in reality smelling of sulfur and wet earth. A moment later, a brown, fuzzy creature the size of a dog tumbled out onto the stone, shaking its head and squeaking pitifully.
A translucent system notification hovered above the pillar for all to see:
[SUMMON SUCCESSFUL] [SPECIES: MOLE-RAT] [TIER: BRONZE-GRADE] [COMBAT RATING: 14]
The boy’s shoulders slumped. A Bronze-grade mole-rat with a Combat Rating of 14 meant a lifetime of underground excavation work or farm tilling. Still, the boy bowed to the acolyte, accepted his wooden registration tag, and led his squeaking rat off the platform. It was a humble result, but it was a bond nevertheless.
As the hours passed, candidate after candidate stepped onto the altars. The outcomes varied wildly.
Most commoners summoned Iron or Bronze-grade beasts—Wind Hares (CR 8), Horned Toads (CR 12), Iron-Claw Badgers (CR 22), and Wood-Spitters (CR 18).
Occasionally, a bright flash of blue light would illuminate the plaza, signaling a Silver-grade summon. A blacksmith’s daughter summoned a Flame-Tailed Fox (CR 65), drawing applause from the crowd and an approving nod from the acolytes.
Then came the turn of the noble scions.
"Candidate Valerius Vance! Step up to Altar Three!"
A surge of murmurs rippled through the amphitheater as Valerius stepped onto the central platform with arrogant confidence. He sneered at the crowd, flipped his cape back, and pressed his right hand firmly against the obsidian pillar.
The pillar did not merely glow—it roared.
Lines of brilliant, fiery gold light raced up the forty-foot obsidian surface, blindingly bright. The ambient air temperature around Altar Three soared, making the nearest spectators shield their eyes from the sudden wave of heat.
ROAAAAAR!
The spatial rift that tore open above Valerius was massive, rimmed with crackling orange lightning and swirling inferno. From within the rift stepped a magnificent quadrupedal creature—its scales like polished rubies, its head crowned with two backward-curving horns, and flames dancing along its long, whipping tail.
[SUMMON SUCCESSFUL!] [SPECIES: CRIMSON FLAME DRAKE] [TIER: GOLD-GRADE] [COMBAT RATING: 380!]
"Gold-Grade!" an acolyte shouted, his voice trembling with excitement. "A Crimson Flame Drake! Combat Rating three hundred and eighty!"
The noble section erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. Valerius’s father beamed with immense pride, while Valerius himself raised his chin high, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He turned toward the crowd, his gaze deliberately sweeping until it locked onto Kaelen at the back.
Valerius mouthed three words across the distance: Beat that, rat.
Overseer Malakor leaned over his balcony, nodding in genuine admiration. "Excellent! House Vance produces another finest warrior! Record it—Gold-Grade Flame Drake!"
Valerius stroked the scaled snout of his roaring drake, receiving a golden velvet cloak from the acolytes—the mark of a guaranteed entrant to the Royal Summoner Academy.
The ceremony continued for another two hours, but Valerius’s summon remained the undisputed highlight of the day.
As the sun reached its zenith, casting short, sharp shadows across the ivory stone, the line of commoners steadily dwindled.
Finally, the acolyte at Altar Five called out the next name on his parchment list.
"Candidate Kaelen Ashford! Step forward to Altar Five!"
A quiet hush settled over the immediate vicinity. A few dockworkers in the back shouted words of encouragement—"Show 'em, Kaelen!" "Good luck, kid!"—while the noble youths snickered softly among themselves.
Kaelen took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp autumn air. He unbuttoned his pouch, walked up the steps of the altar, and handed his three silver coins to the waiting acolyte.
The acolyte swept the coins into a wooden chest without a second glance. "Place your right palm flat against the central rune plate. Do not pull your hand back until the pillar completely dims. Understood?"
"Understood," Kaelen said.
He stepped onto the center of the circular rune circle. The stone beneath his worn boots felt cool, yet vibrating with an intense, latent energy that made the hair on his arms stand up.
Kaelen raised his hand. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of eighteen years of struggle, hunger, and silent endurance.
He pressed his palm flat against the cold black obsidian.
Hummmmm...
Instantly, the world around him seemed to vanish.
The roar of the crowd, the smell of incense, the sight of Valerius watching him with a smirk—everything dissolved into a vast, pitch-black sea of pure magic.
Deep within his chest, Kaelen felt his spiritual core awaken. A thin, pale thread of mana surged from his heart, down his arm, and directly into the obsidian pillar.
For a moment, nothing happened.
The pillar remained dark.
A collective murmur began to stir among the onlookers.
"Is the pillar broken?" "No... look at his clothes. He probably doesn't even have enough mana to light a candle." "Tsk, what a waste of three silver coins."
Valerius chuckled quietly from the front row, crossing his arms. "As expected of a dung shoveler."
On the dais, Overseer Malakor frowned, reaching for his quill to sign a failure mark on the ledger. "Insufficient mana resonance. Prepare to mark candidate as—"
Before Malakor could finish his sentence, the ground beneath the plaza suddenly shuddered.
It wasn't a flare of gold light like Valerius had summoned, nor was it the bright blue of a Silver-grade beast.
The five forty-foot obsidian pillars did not glow with light.
Instead, they began to turn blacker—absorbing the surrounding sunlight until shadows pooled across the ivory floor like spilled ink. The ambient temperature dropped drastically, turning the warm afternoon breeze into an icy, biting gale.
High above the altar, a strange, distorted line appeared in the air—not a clean spatial rift, but a cracked, bleeding fracture in reality that smelled of ancient dust, dried blood, and petrified bone.
Inside Kaelen’s mind, a cold, mechanical voice echoed—a System prompt unlike any he had ever heard before.
[PRIMAL SIGNAL DETECTED...] [MATCHING RESONANCE WITH ANCIENT ARCHIVE...] [SEARCHING FOR ERASED BLOODLINE...]
Kaelen gasped, his hand frozen against the pillar. He couldn't pull away even if he wanted to.
The fracture in the sky opened wider, and from the deep, forgotten abyss of space and time, a tiny silhouette began to fall toward the altar.