The Northern wind had a way of erasing softness from a place.
It pressed against the academy walls as if testing them, slid along flagstones in thin, invisible currents, and lingered in the hollows of breath. The Awakening Plaza was built of dark stone that retained cold even beneath the pale winter sun, and the lanterns arranged along its perimeter burned with steady blue flames that neither flickered nor smoked.
Lin Zhiteng stood among the students awaiting their turn, hands folded behind his back, posture straight but unstrained. He had positioned himself neither at the front nor the back of the queue. He did not see advantage in either extreme.
The Awakening Platform lay at the center of the plaza, carved from a disc of pale stone veined faintly with silver mineral lines. A circular array had been etched into its surface, filled carefully with powdered crystal. When inactive, it appeared no more remarkable than frost traced into geometry. When active, it revealed truth.
Around the plaza sat spectators—families wrapped in fur-lined cloaks, minor clan envoys, merchants hoping for future alliances. On the raised western steps stood the Northern Awakening Master, his grey hair tied neatly, his gaze steady and impersonal. Two academy instructors held ledgers at his side.
Today was not a competition.
It was a declaration.
At fifteen, every student would attempt to awaken their Innate Beast. The result did not determine destiny, but it set direction. One's Power Stage at awakening—Iron, Bronze, Silver—measured the strength of spiritual foundation. The beast that responded measured potential.
Those were not the same thing.
Many in the crowd did not understand the distinction.
The Awakening Master raised his hand. The murmurs quieted.
"Place your palm upon the array," he instructed evenly. "Do not force. Do not resist. Let the response come naturally. Your Power Stage will stabilize according to your current foundation. The beast that answers reflects your potential, not your present strength."
That final clarification was deliberate.
He began calling names.
One by one, students stepped forward.
The array flared pale blue for most. Manifestations formed above the stone—clear, translucent shapes of beasts that hovered briefly before dissolving back into light.
A Bronze-stage youth manifested a rock-armored tortoise of Uncommon potential. A Silver-stage girl called forth a swift grey hawk of Rare potential. A boy at Iron stage struggled, his manifestation unstable; the array steadied him, but only barely.
The instructors recorded each result carefully:
Power Stage.Beast Potential estimation.
Zhiteng observed without visible reaction. He tracked breathing patterns, the duration of manifestation, the stability of light. Some beasts appeared crisp and defined. Others seemed thin, as though the gate between soul and form was narrow.
A subtle shift in the crowd's posture drew his attention.
"Bi Xueyun."
The name traveled like a thread pulled through fabric.
Bi Xueyun stepped forward from the line, her movements measured and unhurried. Her presence was refined without ostentation. Though she cultivated in the North, the subtle cut of her cloak and the insignia at her sleeve spoke of central influence.
Near the steps, a man in white with silver-threaded trim watched closely. His aura was restrained but unmistakably disciplined. A representative of the Bi Clan, and likely an Awakening specialist himself.
Xueyun placed her palm upon the array.
The platform reacted immediately.
The pale blue glow deepened into silver-white, and faint green threads pulsed through the etched channels like veins beneath ice. The temperature in the plaza seemed to drop, not sharply, but distinctly.
Above the array, a shape formed—delicate at first, then precise.
A fox.
Its fur shimmered silver-white, yet beneath it glowed a faint jade radiance. Its eyes were clear, composed, and far older than the body they inhabited. One tail unfurled.
Then a second.
The crowd's murmur quieted into reverent silence.
A third tail began to manifest, and the array's light shuddered.
The fox's outline flickered—not weakening, but straining, as though too much form pressed against too narrow a gate. The jade glow intensified, splitting into faint echoes behind it, as if additional tails existed beyond the visible.
Xueyun's breathing remained controlled, but tension tightened across her shoulders.
The fox's gaze shifted toward her.
For a moment, the manifestation expanded, not in size, but in presence. The lantern flames dimmed slightly in response. Several spectators took involuntary half-steps back.
The Northern Awakening Master's hand rose, fingers angled toward the array. The silver-green surge steadied beneath his influence, forming a stabilizing ring that prevented collapse.
The third tail halted halfway into form.
The fox's presence condensed.
One tail remained fully visible. The second lingered faintly. The rest receded into potential rather than disappearance.
The manifestation dissolved into light.
Xueyun lifted her hand.
The instructor recorded calmly, though his pen paused for a fraction of a heartbeat.
"Silver Stage. Beast potential estimated at Emperor grade. Manifestation partially sealed."
The words moved through the crowd like a restrained shockwave.
Emperor-grade potential.
Not strength. Not dominance. Potential.
The Bi representative inclined his head slightly, though his eyes betrayed calculation. The Northern Awakening Master observed without comment.
Xueyun stepped down with steady composure. As she passed Zhiteng, their eyes met briefly. No embarrassment lingered there—only acknowledgment of something larger than either of them.
The Awakening continued.
Iron-stage youths with Common beasts.Bronze-stage cultivators with Uncommon and Rare potentials.A single Gold-stage prodigy manifested a Noble-grade fire lion that roared with clean force.
Then the instructor called:
"Lin Zhiteng."
The whispers that followed were different in tone.
"Orphan."
"Academically strong."
"No clan."
"Steady temperament."
Zhiteng stepped forward.
He did not hurry. He did not slow.
When he placed his palm on the array, the stone felt colder than expected, not from temperature, but from depth.
For a brief instant, nothing occurred.
Then the pale blue glow rose, indicating Silver-stage stabilization.
A few spectators lost interest.
Beneath the blue light, something shifted.
The glow did not change color. It deepened, as if the surface brightness concealed a darker undercurrent.
The air around the platform thickened subtly.
Mist gathered above the array, not rising sharply, but coiling inward.
A curved outline emerged—vast, smooth, and difficult for the eye to measure. Scales suggested themselves within the vapor, dark and muted, absorbing lantern light rather than reflecting it.
The manifestation did not fully form.
It could not.
What appeared was only a fraction, a contour pressing against limitation.
An eye opened within the mist.
It was not aggressive. It was not luminous.
It was aware.
The pressure in the plaza shifted. Not crushing, not violent—territorial. As if space itself recognized boundaries.
The Northern Awakening Master's posture straightened.
The Bi representative's expression sharpened.
No one spoke the word that hovered unformed in several minds.
The outline shifted slightly, then stilled.
The presence felt less like a creature and more like an expanse of water waiting for tide.
Zhiteng's breathing remained steady. He did not attempt to force clarity. He did not retreat from the weight. He allowed it to exist.
The mist receded gradually, not collapsing, but withdrawing with deliberate restraint.
The array's glow returned to normal.
Zhiteng lifted his hand.
Silence lingered one breath longer than expected.
The instructor cleared his throat.
"Silver Stage. Beast potential estimated… Divine grade. Classification pending."
The final phrase was cautious.
Divine-grade potential did not imply immediate power. It implied ceiling. It implied depth.
The crowd reacted unevenly—some skeptical, some unsettled, some unwilling to believe the array's estimation.
The Awakening Master studied Zhiteng closely.
"Do you feel instability?" he asked.
"No," Zhiteng replied calmly.
"Pain?"
"No."
"What do you feel?"
Zhiteng considered before answering. "Weight. But it is stable."
The old man's gaze lingered a moment longer.
"Weight is acceptable," he said. "Instability is not. Step down."
Zhiteng returned to the line.
Xueyun regarded him thoughtfully.
"That was not common," she said quietly.
"Neither was yours," he replied.
Above them, the banners stirred as the wind shifted direction.
The Awakening continued for the remaining students, but the atmosphere had changed.
Two Silver-stage cultivators.One Emperor-grade potential, partially sealed.One Divine-grade potential, incompletely manifested.
The North had gained something that morning.
Whether it was blessing or burden remained to be seen.
Far beneath the academy's stone foundations, deeper than cellar or frost line, something ancient adjusted within its sleep—not awakened, not summoned, but no longer entirely unaware.
The tide, though still distant, had taken note.