Jyang's feet ached as he stared up at the towering gates of the Dagger Monastery. Carved from obsidian stone and lined with silver inscriptions, they shimmered in the sunlight like the blade of a god.
The field outside the gate was filled with a hundred eager candidates, boys and girls from distant valleys and hidden cities. Some wore polished robes of old schools, others looked like they'd been raised by wolves. Jyang… well, Jyang had his scarf, his boots, and a frog on his shoulder.
Ursu looked around. "So many try-hards. You sure you belong here, rock-burner?"
Jyang grinned nervously. "I mean… no. But that's never stopped me."
Before he could say more, a boy brushed past him. Same height, darkish skin, fluffy black hair tied in a bun. His robes were simple, but his eyes were sharp, curious—and when they met Jyang's, time seemed to slow. Jyang's cheeks flushed instantly.
Ursu snorted. "Ohhh, someone's blushing."
"What?! No I'm not!"
"You've got a crush on Bun Boy."
"N-no it's nothing like that!"
"Kid, I live on your shoulder. I know every heartbeat."
Just then, a loud GONG silenced the crowd. The monastery gates began to creak closed. A few latecomers rushed forward, only to be slammed back by the force of the Vratsu barrier that shimmered across the gate.
A line of monks stepped out into the courtyard. Their presence alone stilled the air. Among them stood one with silvery hair, tied in a half-knot, with deep-set eyes and an aura that made the earth seem to hum. He wore the same robes as the others, but something about him radiated… purity. Power.
"That's the Rinpoche," someone whispered. "The reincarnated master of the Dagger Monastery."
The monks raised their hands, and wind swept across the stone yard.
"Candidates," the eldest monk called out. "You stand before the gates of transformation. Three trials await you."
Jyang felt his heart leap.
"First," the monk continued, "is the Walk of Mirrors. A path where your reflection will speak. Some will lie. Some will reveal truths. If you cannot walk forward, you will not proceed."
"Second, the Fire Within. A chamber where fear and desire burn together. There, you must listen to your Vratsu—not just bend it."
"And third, the Torma of Chen. You will be given sacred powder and tools. Sculpt a Torma that calls the Protector Chen. He will only appear to the one whose spirit resonates strongest."
"Only twenty of you will pass."
A murmur passed through the crowd.
"But first," the elder said, "the affinity test."
Candidates stepped forward one by one. Glowing orbs floated above the monks' palms, revealing each person's natural Vratsu affinity—water, flame, wind, metal, nature.
When it was Jyang's turn, the orb barely flickered. A faint crackle of static and a touch of green… then it died.
"No strong affinity," one monk said coldly. "Rejected."
Jyang stood still, shame washing over him. But before he turned to leave, a voice interrupted.
"Wait."
It was a younger monk with a calm voice and sharp features—handsome, with a chiseled face and a soft but serious air. His name was Lama Nyenpo.
"I'll allow him to enter."
The other monks turned. "But he has no major affinity."
"That doesn't mean he has no Vratsu. He has something… rare."
Nyenpo met Jyang's eyes and gave a small nod. "Don't waste it."
Jyang swallowed hard and stepped back in line.
Ursu whispered, "Okay, now I've got a crush."
"Shut up," Jyang muttered.
And so, the trials were about to begin.