Dawn broke over the Antarctic wasteland as Pengo made his final trip to his secret cove. Today was the Great Gathering, and his flippers trembled with both excitement and fear as he surveyed his collection. Hundreds of rocks, each one personally selected, filled the small ice cave. Some sparkled with embedded crystals, others bore unique patterns carved by centuries of ocean currents. Together, they represented months of dawn-to-dusk diving, countless close calls with predators, and more determination than any penguin had ever given him credit for.
"Today will be different," he whispered to himself, the words forming a small cloud in the frigid air. "Today they'll have to see me."
Moving the rocks would take multiple trips, even though he had chosen a presentation spot closer to his cove than the colony's usual gathering place. As he waddled back and forth with his precious cargo, the sun crept higher in the sky. Other penguins began to appear on the horizon, carrying their own offerings. Each time he passed them, their whispers followed.
"Is Little Pengo actually participating?"
"How adorable. He must have found a pile of pebbles somewhere."
"This should be entertaining."
Pengo ignored them, focusing instead on his task. His muscles ached, but he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when he was so close. With each trip, his pile grew larger, taking shape stone by stone. By the time the Great Gathering officially began, Pengo's collection towered over him—over everyone.
The colony gathered in a wide circle, their murmurs of mockery gradually giving way to stunned silence. Pengo stood beside his mountain of rocks, his chest puffed out as much as his small frame would allow. For the first time in his life, he felt tall.
Then she appeared. Aria waddled gracefully through the crowd, which parted before her like waves around an iceberg. Pengo's heart thundered against his ribcage as she approached. The morning light caught her feathers just so, making them shimmer like fresh snow.
"Aria," he managed to squeak out, his voice carrying in the unusual quiet. "I... I gathered these for you."
Her eyes traveled up the impressive pile, and for a moment—just a moment—Pengo saw something like wonder in them. But then Maximus stepped forward, his shadow falling over Pengo like a cold cloud.
"You can't be serious," Maximus sneered. "You actually think you have a chance with her? Look at yourself!"
Aria's expression hardened, the wonder replaced by something worse than disgust—pity. "Oh, Pengo," she said, her voice carrying across the now-silent gathering. "Did you really think some rocks would make up for... well, everything else?"
The first stone hit him from behind, catching him off guard. He stumbled forward, nearly falling face-first into the ice. Before he could recover, another rock struck his side. Then another. And another.
"How dare you?" someone shouted. "How dare you think you're worthy?"
His own carefully gathered stones, each one representing a triumph, a moment of pride, now rained down upon him like frozen hail. He tried to shield himself with his flippers, but they were too small to offer much protection. Through tear-blurred eyes, he watched as his magnificent pile was dismantled, stone by stone, each one turned into a weapon against him.
"Please," he gasped, tasting blood. "Please stop."
But they didn't stop. Not until his pile was scattered and he lay broken on the ice, his black and white feathers stained crimson in places. Only then did the colony begin to disperse, leaving him alone with the ruins of his dreams.
"Let this be a lesson," Maximus called back over his shoulder. "Know your place, Little Pengo!"
The sun set, painting the ice in shades of red and gold. Pengo hadn't moved. Couldn't move. The cold began to seep into his bones as darkness fell, and he wondered if this was how it would end—alone, surrounded by the very rocks he had so proudly gathered.
That's when he saw it—a faint glow emanating from one of the stones near his head. At first, he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or perhaps the last rays of sunlight catching a crystal's face. But the glow intensified, and the rock began to crack.
A wisp of ethereal light emerged, swirling upward like aurora australis, taking shape into a towering, translucent figure that regarded him with ancient eyes.
"Well, well," the figure spoke, its voice like warm wind over ice. "Wait— you're not human? Oh well, who cares. What would you like to wish for, little penguin?"
Through swollen eyes and bloodied feathers, Pengo looked up at the magical being. In that moment, all the years of mockery, all the cruel laughter, all the sideways glances and whispered jokes crystallized into a single, burning desire.
"...I want to be big."
The genie's form swayed slightly. "... Big?"
"VERY BIG." Pengo's voice grew stronger with each word, fueled by a lifetime of humiliation.
"How big?"
Pengo stretched out a trembling flipper, pointing to the massive mountain that had watched over their colony for generations. "As big as that mountain!"
"Oh dear, you penguins are far more simple minded than the humans. That's a very bad idea, are you sure?" The genie's light dimmed with concern.
But there was no hesitation in Pengo's reply, no doubt in his heart. His voice rang out across the ice, carrying all his pain and determination in four simple words:
"I want to be a big Pengo!!"