The sun had barely risen over the rolling hills of Lianzhou when the first shrill cries rang through the village. Children ran toward the ceremonial grounds, their laughter mixed with awe and anxiety. Today was a ritual day, a day every fifteen-year-old awaited and feared. Every child would attempt to summon their spirit animal. Some were chosen by foxes with cunning eyes, cranes with silent grace, or tigers with burning pride. But some failed.
Liang Chen tightened the sash around his waist and forced a smile. He was eighteen now, three years past the official age of the ritual, yet he had never found his spirit animal. No fox, no tiger, no dragon. Not even a gentle dog or nimble cat. Nothing. And the shame of it clung to him.
He slipped past the crowd, keeping his gaze low. Mei Lin, his childhood friend, waved from the edge of the crowd, her eyes bright but worried. She had known his secret for years, had promised never to tell. That promise had been his anchor through countless sleepless nights.
"You'll be fine today," she whispered, falling into step beside him. "No one will notice."
Liang Chen shook his head. "At eighteen? People will notice, Mei Lin. They always notice."
"You're not alone," she said firmly. "I'll be here. And so will Zhou Wei." She glanced at the tall boy trailing a few paces behind, his expression calm but alert. Zhou Wei had always been protective of Liang Chen. Loyal, strong, steady, the kind of friend who could face a tiger without flinching.
Liang Chen forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. "A lion would have chosen me by now if it wanted to. Or maybe I'm not worthy."
Mei Lin flinched at his words. "Don't say that. You—" She stopped, catching herself. To say more would be dangerous; there were ears everywhere. Villagers loved to gossip, and the court enforcers loved to punish. A boy without a spirit animal was considered a bad omen, a disgrace, a threat.
The ceremonial grounds stretched before them like a golden sea of banners and incense smoke. The elder priests waited in a circle, their long robes flowing as they chanted ancient words. Children of all ages knelt in anticipation, holding hands over bowls of sacred water. Liang Chen took a deep breath and knelt among them, the rough stone cold beneath his palms.
When the chanting began, a hush fell over the crowd. The younger children gasped as small orbs of light flickered in front of them, the sign their spirit animals were choosing. A fox leapt out from the mist and curled around a laughing girl; a crane landed gracefully upon a boy's shoulder. Liang Chen closed his eyes.
Nothing.
Minutes dragged. Beads of sweat traced his temples. He tried to force concentration, tried to reach into the hidden corners of his soul. Still nothing. He felt the stares of the villagers, of the priests, like invisible daggers. His heart pounded.
Then, a shadow passed over him. A ripple of cold air. He opened his eyes. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw a pair of golden eyes watching him from the mist, eyes that burned like fire and commanded the air itself.
"Liang Chen," a voice hissed from the side. He turned, startled. One of the older boys, tall, cruel, and quick with insults, was pointing at him. "Still nothing? Hah! The disgrace of Lianzhou!" Laughter erupted around him.
The priest's chant faltered as murmurs rippled through the crowd. Liang Chen's face burned. He forced himself to stay kneeling, trembling. The humiliation was unbearable. If the spirit animal had not chosen him by now, there would be consequences. Exile, scorn, perhaps worse.
"Step forward," the lead priest commanded, voice booming. "The boy without a spirit animal must be bound for the middle grounds. The king will judge him."
A cold wave of fear hit Liang Chen. The middle grounds were a place of punishment, where those deemed unworthy were paraded before the kingdom. His mother's face appeared in his mind, her proud smile, the tears she would shed. He could not fail her. He could not fail himself.
Two enforcers seized him by the arms. Mei Lin grabbed his hand briefly, a silent plea for courage, before letting go. Zhou Wei's grip tightened, but he too was forced back. Liang Chen's knees scraped against the stone as they dragged him through the crowd. Whispers followed him.
As he was led to the center of the middle grounds, he felt an impossible heat ignite within him. The wind shifted. A low rumble, like distant thunder, began to echo through the mountains. The crowd froze. Even the priests paused in disbelief.
And then, he heard it. A roar. Deep, commanding, golden. It vibrated through the earth, through his bones, and into his soul. The roar of a lion.
The golden light of a massive lion shimmered into existence behind him. Its eyes locked onto Liang Chen. The crowd gasped, screams and whispers colliding in shock. The enforcers stumbled backward, their grips faltering. The priests fell silent.
It was his spirit animal. The lion. Forbidden. Sacred. The sign of a king.
Liang Chen stumbled to his knees, overwhelmed. The lion lowered its massive head, brushing its mane against him. A warmth spread from his chest outward, suffusing him with strength, courage, and an undeniable sense of destiny.
The people of Lianzhou stared, stunned into silence. The king's emblem had been seen, by everyone, and it had chosen Liang Chen.
His mother's tears fell freely now, but they were tears of pride, of recognition. The impossible had happened. The boy cast out as a disgrace had been chosen by the king's spirit.
Liang Chen rose slowly, meeting the lion's gaze. He felt power, fear, and hope mingling in a way he had never known. The kingdom would never forget this day. And neither would he.
The roar of the lion echoed again, this time louder, declaring to all that Liang Chen was no longer just a boy without a spirit animal. He was the boy chosen to lead, to rise, to rule.
And the kingdom would have to bend before him.