The masked guardian's words echoed through the vast, golden hall like the toll of a bell.
Ashan felt them in his chest, as if the air itself had weight.
Beyond the dais, the starlit whip shimmered faintly, casting ripples of pale light across the stone floor. It wasn't just beautiful — it was oppressive, a reminder that whatever power it held was not meant for ordinary hands.
The calf at his side bleated softly. Ashan could feel the tremor in its small frame. The Nightfang Wolf, in contrast, stood taut and silent, golden eyes fixed on the guardian.
Ashan swallowed hard. "Alright," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "Let's get this over with."
The masked figure stepped forward. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if every gesture was meant to test him before the trial even began. Its voice was like dry wind sliding over stone.
"Your trial is simple to name, but not to endure. To claim the Whip of the First Shepherd, you must face the one thing that cannot be broken by force — your own soul."
Ashan frowned. "Sounds vague. Can't we just have a wrestling match instead?"
The guardian ignored him. "Step into the circle."
At a motion from its hand, golden light bloomed in the center of the hall, forming a perfect ring inscribed with symbols Ashan didn't recognize. Some were shaped like beasts, others like the phases of the moon, and at the very center, a stylized whip coiled in on itself.
Ashan hesitated. "If I step in there, I'm not going to explode, right?"
The wolf gave him a look. "Only one way to find out."
"Comforting," Ashan muttered, and stepped inside.
The moment his boot crossed the line, the air changed.
The warmth of the golden hall vanished. He was standing in a vast, gray expanse, the floor smooth as glass, the sky an endless churn of storm clouds. The calf and the wolf were gone. So was the guardian.
Ashan spun slowly. "Alright, this is creepy. And also… weirdly quiet."
A voice — his own voice — spoke behind him.
"You think you can carry the whip? You can't even carry yourself."
Ashan turned, and froze.
Standing a few paces away was… Ashan. Same face, same clothes, but the eyes were colder, the posture heavier.
"Great," Ashan muttered. "An evil twin. Classic."
"Not evil," the double said. "Just honest."
Before Ashan could reply, the double moved. Faster than his eyes could follow, it was suddenly in front of him, fist aimed for his chest. Ashan barely twisted aside, the blow grazing his ribs like a hammer swing.
The shock knocked him back, but he managed to regain his footing. "Okay… guess we're doing this the hard way."
He drew the Heavenly Whip. Its familiar weight steadied his nerves. With a sharp motion, he lashed at the double — only to watch the weapon pass through the figure like smoke.
Ashan's stomach dropped.
"You can't beat me like that," the double said calmly. "Because I am you. Every failure you've run from. Every cowardly choice you've buried. Every time you looked away instead of acting."
"Yeah, well," Ashan growled, "you forgot 'every sarcastic remark I've ever made,' so I'm already better than you."
But his words rang hollow even to himself.
The double attacked again, this time with the whip — an identical copy that sparked with silver light. The crack split the air like a thunderclap, and the ground beneath Ashan's feet fractured.
Pain flared in his shoulder as the tip grazed him. It wasn't a physical wound — it burned deeper, as if something inside him had been torn.
"You doubt yourself," the double said. "You pretend you're just a simple shepherd, but you know the truth. You want more. You want to rise — but you're afraid you'll never be enough."
Ashan's breath came faster. He tried to lash back, but his whip felt heavier now, sluggish in his hands. The gray sky pressed down, the glassy floor seemed to tilt, and every part of him screamed that this was pointless.
For a moment, he almost dropped the weapon.
Then a sound broke through the storm — faint, but clear.
The bleating of the calf.
Ashan's head snapped up. The sound was coming from somewhere far beyond the gray horizon. It was weak, frightened, but real.
He tightened his grip on the whip. "You're wrong," he told the double. "I'm not enough — yet. But I'm not alone, and I don't get to stop just because I'm scared."
The double tilted its head, almost curious.
Ashan's whip pulsed — once, twice — and then the Second Fang unfurled, the lightning-cord wrapping around the double's weapon. Sparks flared where they met, not just light but something deeper — like threads of memory and will colliding.
Images flashed in Ashan's mind: tending his flock in the rain, carrying the calf through the storm, standing against the Sky Vulture. Moments where he had acted not because he was fearless, but because stopping was never an option.
The whip blazed, and the double's form began to unravel, pieces of smoke peeling away in the wind.
"You can't destroy me," it said, voice fainter now. "I am part of you."
"I know," Ashan said. "But I get to choose who's holding the whip."
With a final crack, the Second Fang struck, and the double dissolved completely.
The storm faded. The gray world peeled away, and Ashan was standing once more in the golden hall. The calf was pressed against his leg, the wolf at his side. The masked guardian watched from the dais, unmoving.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then the guardian inclined its head.
"You did not win by strength, but by will. That is the mark of an unbroken soul."
Ashan let out a shaky breath. "Great. Can I have the shiny whip now?"
The guardian's tone did not change. "Not yet. The First Whip is more than a weapon. To wield it, you must prove you can command not just beasts and foes, but fate itself. This was the first step. The next will take you beyond these mountains."
Ashan groaned. "Of course it will."
Still, as he turned to leave the circle, he noticed something.
The Heavenly Whip at his side felt different — lighter, more responsive. And when he coiled it, a faint shimmer of starlight lingered along its length.
The wolf glanced at it, then at Ashan. "You've changed," it said simply.
Ashan looked toward the great gates of the temple. Somewhere beyond those peaks waited the next trial. And for the first time since this whole insane journey began, he felt… ready.
At least, mostly ready.