The Cloudspire Arena was nothing like Ashan expected.
He'd pictured a grand stone coliseum with banners snapping in the wind, the roar of a mortal crowd. Instead, the arena floated in a sphere of shimmering light, suspended above the marketplace. Its walls were made of shifting mist, and every sound — from footsteps to whispers — carried perfectly, no matter the distance.
Hence the name.
Lira led Ashan, the calf, and the wolf through a side entrance. The corridor opened into a preparation hall where fighters of every kind waited. A hulking four-armed beast polished an axe the size of a tree trunk. A hooded figure traced glowing symbols in the air, their fingers moving faster than Ashan's eyes could follow.
"Don't make eye contact," Lira murmured. "In the Arena of Whispers, every opponent studies you before the match. If they think you're nervous, they'll exploit it."
Ashan nodded, trying to look casual. Which, for him, meant leaning against a wall and pretending he wasn't staring at a man whose entire body appeared to be made of molten glass.
An announcer's voice — deep, resonant, almost like the arena itself was speaking — echoed through the mist. "Next bout: Challenger Ashan of the Mortal Realm!"
Ashan froze. "Uh. That's me, right?"
The wolf shoved him forward. "Go. And remember, the whip answers only to confidence."
He stepped into the arena, the mist curling back to reveal the floating platform at its center. The crowd — or whatever passed for a crowd here — was a strange mixture of flesh and spirit. Some were seated in shadowed balconies, others hovered in the air, their forms translucent.
His opponent materialized across from him: a lean figure in emerald armor, carrying a curved blade that pulsed with green light.
"Name's Ravel," the man said, his voice carrying easily through the air. "I like to finish fights quick. Saves everyone time."
Ashan managed a grin. "I'm all for quick. How about we skip to the part where you trip and I win?"
The crowd chuckled — or maybe the arena made it sound like they did.
A chime rang. The fight began.
Ravel moved first, blurring forward. Ashan's instincts screamed, and he snapped the Heavenly Whip from his shoulder. The silver cord cracked, a ripple of force pushing Ravel back a step.
But the man recovered instantly, circling. "Nice artifact. Shame you don't know how to use it."
Ashan swung again, but Ravel ducked under and slashed low. Sparks burst where the blade struck the platform.
He retreated, heart pounding. The whip felt alive in his grip, its handle warm. Almost… impatient.
Confidence, the wolf's words echoed in his head.
Ashan inhaled, eyes narrowing. He stopped thinking about fighting and started thinking about herding.
When Ravel charged again, Ashan sidestepped, the whip cracking near the man's feet — not to hit, but to guide. Like steering a stubborn goat. Ravel stumbled right into the calf, who lowered its head and rammed him with surprising force.
The crowd roared.
Ashan pressed the advantage, each crack of the whip pushing Ravel where he wanted — never straight on, always to the side, into the calf's reach or the wolf's feinting snaps.
Ravel's movements grew ragged. "This… is ridiculous!"
Ashan grinned wider. "It's called teamwork. You should try it sometime."
One last whip-crack wrapped around Ravel's ankle. Ashan yanked, pulling the man off balance. The calf charged again, and Ravel tumbled backward, his blade skidding away.
The arena pulsed with light. "Victory: Ashan of the Mortal Realm!"
The mist walls closed in, lifting him from the platform and setting him gently back in the preparation hall. Lira waited, arms crossed but a faint smile on her lips.
"You survived," she said. "Better than that — you won. The wagers were in your favor. You've just earned enough cloud-coin to buy safe passage for now."
Ashan sagged against the wall. "Great. Next time, let's not pick the option where people try to stab me."
The wolf padded forward. "You proved you can fight without losing your wits. That's worth more than coin."
Ashan looked down at the calf, who blinked up at him, utterly calm. "Guess we're not so bad a herd after all."
As they left the arena, the mist above shimmered, projecting their match for latecomers to see. Ashan caught a glimpse of himself — whip in hand, smiling like he belonged there.
And for the first time since stepping into the divine realms, he wondered if maybe… he did.
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Author's Note:
If you've been enjoying Journey of the God Shepherd, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Which moment in the arena fight was your favorite? Leave your comment — your feedback keeps Ashan's journey alive.