Teng had a wonderful dream.

High among the clouds, he soared, weaving through the sky as the sky spirit tried to pull him down, laughing as he leapt from one cloud to the next, flying freely, where nothing bad could ever happen to him.

'You have to wake up, Teng,' his mother’s voice called softly, her warm hand brushing his face as he danced among the clouds, 'It’s time to share in the spirits’ gift.'

He startled, his eyes opening, and the sky, the clouds, the birds, the song of the wind—all were gone. His mother’s face hovered above him, her gentle green eyes looking down, her brown hair falling like a fur coat, tickling his face.

The light was fading, but it wasn’t yet night as the family of three left the hut, walking toward the center of the village.

Half-buried in soil and moss, the yellowish ribcage of the guardian jutted out. His mother had told him the guardian was the reason they could live safely here, for many beasts, though part of the spirits, were hungry and would try and eat them if they had the chance. This, she had said, was only fair for they ate the beasts in return.

Some time passed before all the families had gathered in front of the sleeping guardian and the grandpas and grandmas who tended the offering fires each day.

As afternoon faded into dusk, right before the sun dipped below the horizon and the dark one stirred across the sky and land, a great carcass was dragged into the circle of people. A massive tiger, so large that Teng’s eyes widened in awe, had been split apart and arranged on a large hide.

The grandpa leading the ceremony raised his arms to the sky, and silence swept over the crowd. His voice, rough with age and wisdom, echoed through the village. “We thank the spirits,” he began, his tone solemn, “for the bounty before us. By their will, we walk this land, breathe this air, and take in the essence of their children.”

He gestured toward the tiger. “The mountain spirit watches over us, its gaze firm like the snow atop its peaks. It grants us strength, and through the beasts that roam its ridges and valleys, we grow strong. Tonight, we honor the great tiger, a creature mighty and fierce, who lived beneath the spirit’s steady eye and drew life from its land.”

The villagers nodded in quiet reverence.

“The forest spirit, too, nurtured this beast, gave it a place to hunt, and made its heart beat with the same pulse that flows through every tree, every branch, and every leaf. By eating this tiger, we become one with it, and through it, we become one with the spirit that gives us life.”

The grandpa placed his hand on the tiger’s heart and raised it high for all to see. “This heart is where the essence is strongest. It holds the life of the tiger, the strength of the mountain, and the wisdom of the forest. We sacrifice this to the spirits to prove ourselves worthy of the their blessings.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“We are the lesser ones,” the grandpa continued, “but through the spirits we take the essence of the greater into ourselves. May this meal bind us to them and make us more than what we are."

With that, the grandpa lowered the heart into the flames at the foot of the sleeping guardian. The fire crackled and roared, sending sparks spiraling into the darkening sky, carrying their prayers to the spirits above.

As the heart burned and blackened, he withdrew his hand. It was untouched by the flames.

He pointed to the heavens, where the first stars began to glimmer. “And let us not forget the sky spirit. It watches from above, filling the air we breathe with life. It is the sky spirit that gave the tiger its fierce breath, its unyielding spirit, and its speed. As the tiger ran through the forest and over the mountains, it breathed the air of the sky, its lungs filled with essence."

The villagers lifted their heads to the sky in silent gratitude. Teng felt the cool breeze brush their skin and was sure it was a sign of the sky spirit’s approval.

The grandpa lowered his arms. “The mountain beneath us, the forest around us, and the sky above. All the spirits have given us this life. By this offering, we honor them."

Once the ritual was complete, all the villagers bowed.

Teng received his share of bone marrow from one of the grandpas and sucked it up eagerly. The butterflies fluttered and tickled him as they spread through his body. Three drops of yellow marrow and one drop of red were all he could have as it had to be shared equally among the children.

The rest of the meat was roasted over the fire as the gloom crept in and was divided among the families. After taking his fill, exhausted but satisfied, he flashed a bloody smile at his mother and father, who seemed just as content.

One by one, the families returned to their huts, each going to sleep with fire in their bellies and joy in their hearts.

###

The next morning, Teng woke early.

He had promised his mother he’d help cure hides, but after an offering as good as yesterday’s, his parents always sent him out of the hut saying they needed some time to talk. So, he slipped away, thinking he wouldn’t be missed, and made his way to his favorite spot in the world, from within the crevice overlooking the valley and the mountain range.

As he stood watching the view, a strange bird caught his eye. It was too big for a sparrow, smaller than a hawk, but faster—maybe even faster than a hawk.

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To his young eyes, it looked hurt. It dropped, then rose, rose and dropped.

He caught only a blur as it flew by, but he saw it land somewhere above him, on the cliff he had never fully climbed. He knew he shouldn’t go, but each time he turned back, his feet faltered.

The little birds, the mice, the monkeys—those weren’t dangerous. The village trapped them, and they often wandered into snares on their own.

But at dawn, or when dusk dimmed the day, he remembered, the uncles and aunties whispered of things children were not meant to hear. Beasts that did more than move, breathe, and hunt —these creatures could bend essence to their will, shaping the world around them in strange, mystical ways.

Teng laughed, shaking his head. "They're just trying to scare you. Bend essence? Shape the world? Mystical powers? Those are just stories to keep children afraid. You’re almost a man now!"

He set his sight on the climb. Hands holding hard to the rock, his fingers found the cracks, the ledges, the smallest slivers of stone. The rock was cool, like damp dirt after a storm, soothing the heat of the sun on his back.

His heart thudded like a drum, slow, steady, strong. He pressed himself against the stone, feeling its rough edges scrape against his skin.

As he climbed, the smell of the stone—earthy, raw—filled his nose, mixing with the salty tang of his sweat. The cliff was sharp, jagged in places, but smoothed in others, worn by wind and weather.

Now and then, a stone bit into his hand or foot, but he kept moving. The wind tugged at his clothes, playful, teasing, like a spirit testing his balance. But Teng kept climbing, gripping the rock with clenched fingers.

Halfway up, the stone jutted out over the forest like the belly of a beast. Teng pressed his cheek to the cool surface, catching his breath.

The sun burned his back like stones baked in the midday heat. His muscles ached, his skin stung, but still, he climbed.

Above, birds cried, the calls sharp and shrill, echoing in the wind like the cries of hawks. The forest below was a whisper. The earth felt far away now, distant. The air here was sharp, clear, clean—like the first breath of morning.

Soon, he came to a gap between two jagged rocks. His foot kicked loose a pebble, sending it tumbling down. He watched as it bounced, once, twice, the sound crisp and clean like bone hitting wood. It disappeared into the void below.

Teng leaned over the edge, heart pounding faster.

“Still a long way down,” he muttered, smiling. The wind whipped his hair, pulling it across his eyes like the hands of a child.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his legs and pushed onward. The stone was sharper now, his hands itched from cuts and burned from fatigue, but he hardly noticed. His thoughts were on the top, on the bird waiting there. His muscles felt like tightened tendons, straining with each pull.

Finally, he reached the top—a flat patch of stone glowing in the sunlight.

He imagined the mountain spirit might rest here, basking in the warmth. Maybe this was where the spirit lived. Maybe he would be the first to meet it.

Maybe they could play, like he had played with the sky spirit in his dreams.

He pulled himself over the last ledge and collapsed.

Above him, the sky was clear, blue, endless. When he finally looked around, he spotted the bird.

Against an outcrop, some distance away, a small blue shape lay curled. It was about the size of the monkey that had chased him once. He walked toward it slowly.

The bird stirred, but barely. Its breath was shallow, weak. Its feathers were a deep, rich blue—like water, but darker, deeper than any blue Teng had ever seen.

He knelt beside it, studying the bird. Though small, he imagined it soaring, strong and majestic. He pulled out the sharpened bone he had kept hidden beneath his wrap.

Carefully, he turned the bird over, avoiding its beak. The beak was white—whiter than bone. He had never seen anything like it. He gasped when their eyes met.

The bird, though close to death, stared back at him with an intelligence that made Teng feel small. It knew it was dying.

Teng sighed, sheathing the bone. He sat beside it, gently placing it in his lap. The sun beat down, sweat rolling off his skin. He felt the bird’s breath against his stomach. It seemed to relax. He stroked its feathers, gazing out over the land.

“Sorry, little bird,” he whispered. “I’ll end your suffering. You’ll soar with the sky spirit again. You’ll fly free in the clouds.”

He tried to twist its neck, quick and clean, like the snapping of twigs in his hair. But the bird barely moved. Frowning, he tried again.

Nothing.

“What in the spirit’s name?” he muttered, lost for words. How could a bird so small be so strong? Was it so blessed by the spirits? Stroking it again, he sighed. “I’ll stay with you, until the end.”

He would, of course, eat the bird once it returned to the sky spirit's embrace. To honor life, was to let it go to waste. A part of him did not want the bird to die. It was a beautiful, intelligent creature, something he simply knew by heart. But it was dying, and he could do naught but hold it in his arms.

After a while, he dozed off, the bird’s shallow breathing keeping him company in the sun and the song of the wind. When he woke, the bird was still. Its heart had stopped.

With a sigh and a sad smile, Teng began plucking the feathers. He wondered what had attacked it—a hawk, perhaps? It wasn’t an ordinary bird, not with a body so strong. He would have brought it to his father, but he wasn’t supposed to be here.

Besides, he wanted to grow strong like his father. The bird’s essence would help.

When he finished, the bird’s body was small, pink, stripped of its feathers. The bones slid out easily. The meat was soft, easy to chew.

Teng bit into the meat. The moment it touched his tongue, juices flooded his mouth.

The flavor was sharp, wild, alive. He swallowed, feeling the warmth spread through his chest. His hands trembled as his senses exploded.

Like always, he relaxed, sinking into the rhythm of eating. He devoured the flesh, each bite more satisfying than the last. The blood, warm and thick, slid down his throat.

But this time, there were no butterflies. No warmth. No gentle flutter. Instead, it felt like ants crawling through his veins. His body jerked as the essence surged, burning through him. His hands spasmed, his limbs twisted, like they belonged to someone else.

His vision blurred, the world fading to light and shadow. He tried to breathe, but his chest was tight, like something inside was waking up.

Then, without warning, a deep weariness washed over him. His eyelids drooped, and despite the chaos inside, sleep pulled him under.