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 leaped from one cloud to the next, flying freely, where nothing wrong 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 and walked toward the center of the village.

  Half-buried in soil and moss, the guardian's yellowish ribcage 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. She had said this 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 the 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 solemnly, "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 we grow strong through the beasts that roam its ridges and valleys. Tonight, we honor the great tiger, a mighty and fierce creature who drew life from its land."

  The villagers nodded in quiet reverence.

  "The forest spirit, too, nurtured this beast and gave it a place to hunt. By eating this tiger, we become one with it; 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 for all to see. "This heart is where the essence is strongest. It holds the tiger's life, the mountain's strength, and the forest's wisdom. We sacrifice this to the spirits to prove ourselves worthy of their blessings."

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

  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 following day, 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.

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  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.

  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 his feet faltered each time he turned back.

  The little birds, mice, and monkeys weren't dangerous. The village trapped them, and they often wandered into snares alone.

  But at dawn, or when dusk dimmed the day, he remembered the uncles and aunties whispering 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 sights on the climb. His hands held hard to the rock; his fingers found the cracks, the ledges, and the tiniest slivers of stone. The rock was incredible, like damp dirt after a storm, soothing the sun's heat 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 earthy, raw smell of the stone filled his nose, mixing with the salty tang of his sweat. The cliff was sharp and jagged in places but smoothed in others, worn by wind and weather.

  Occasionally, 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 calm 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, their 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, and 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 and 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. This may be where the spirit lived, and he may be the first to meet it.

  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.

  Some distance away, against an outcrop, a small blue shape lay curled. It was about the size of the monkey that had chased Teng 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, more profound 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.

  Though close to death, the bird 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. Fly free in the clouds."

  He tried to twist its neck, quick and clean, like twigs snapping 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 assertive? Was it so blessed by the spirits? Stroking it again, he sighed. "I'll stay with you until the end."

  Of course, he would 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 he 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 wind's song. 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 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 tiny and pink, stripped of its feathers. The bones slid out easily, and the meat was soft and easy to chew.

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

  The flavor was sharp, wild, and alive. Teng 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, warmth, or gentle flutter. Instead, it felt like ants crawling through his veins. His body jerked as the essence surged, burning through him. His hands spasmed, and 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.