The gates of the Temple of the First Shepherd swung open with a sound like rolling thunder.
Ashan squinted against the light pouring in — not sunlight, but the shifting, multicolored glow of clouds far below.
Beyond the threshold stretched an impossible landscape.
Mountains didn't rise here — they floated. Each peak hung suspended in the air, tethered by streams of luminous mist to the land below. In the distance, a vast ribbon of water curved through the sky like a silver serpent, its surface reflecting constellations that shouldn't have been visible in daylight.
The Sky-River Plains.
Ashan stepped forward cautiously, his boots sinking slightly into the soft, springy grass that blanketed the floating plateau. The calf trotted ahead, sniffing the air with delight, while the Nightfang Wolf padded silently at his side.
"Well," Ashan muttered, "either I've died and gone to heaven, or I've walked into the fever dream of a very drunk cartographer."
The wolf's ear twitched. "This is the border between mortal and divine realms. The beasts here are not bound by the same laws as the ones you've known."
"That sounds like your polite way of saying 'try not to die.'"
"Yes."
They traveled for an hour, the air warm but alive with a subtle, electric hum. Sometimes Ashan caught glimpses of movement in the mist — shadows too large to belong to ordinary animals. His whip hand stayed loose, but ready.
Eventually, the land sloped downward toward a wide, grassy hollow. Ashan froze.
They were there.
The herd.
Dozens of massive creatures grazed in the hollow, their bodies like a fusion of deer and dragon. Long, antler-like horns arched from their heads, shimmering with an inner light. Their scales caught the sun in colors that shifted from emerald to gold. And above them, flocks of small, winged serpents darted like sparks, weaving in and out of the beasts' horns.
Ashan's breath caught. "They're… beautiful."
The wolf's gaze was steady. "Sky-River Beasts. Guardians of the celestial waterways. If the temple sent you here, it's because you must guide them to the High Crossing before the Moon's Fade."
Ashan blinked. "Guide them? There's like… forty of them. Each bigger than a cottage. I've never even herded more than eight goats, and those didn't have glowing horns or snake friends."
"Then learn fast."
Before Ashan could retort, one of the beasts lifted its head. Its golden eyes locked on him. Then, with surprising speed, it let out a deep, resonant call. The rest of the herd looked up.
A shiver ran down Ashan's spine. The herd began to move toward him.
Not in a charge, but in a slow, deliberate approach, like a tide rolling in.
He took a step back. "Uh… they're not planning to trample me, right?"
"They're testing you," the wolf said. "If you can't hold their attention, they'll scatter — and you'll fail."
Ashan's hand found the Heavenly Whip. He hesitated for just a moment, then uncoiled it. The whip pulsed faintly in his grip, the starlight along its length brighter than before.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's see if this works on something that can swallow me whole."
He cracked the whip — not toward the beasts, but into the sky. The sound rolled like thunder, echoing across the hollow. The herd paused.
Ashan took a deep breath. This wasn't about fear or dominance — it was about connection. Back in the Forbidden Valley, the whip wasn't just a tool; it was a language.
He loosened his stance, let the cord swirl in slow, controlled arcs. The sound shifted — from sharp cracks to low, rhythmic snaps, like the beat of a drum.
The lead beast tilted its head. The winged serpents circling its horns stilled in midair, listening.
Ashan closed his eyes for a moment, letting the rhythm flow.
Not an order. An invitation.
When he opened them, the lead beast had stepped closer — close enough that Ashan could see his reflection in its golden eyes.
The calf bleated, almost shyly, from behind him. The lead beast's gaze softened — if such a creature's gaze could be said to soften — and it lowered its massive head toward the little creature.
A ripple went through the herd. One by one, they began to move in the same direction, following the lead beast's slow, steady pace.
Ashan almost laughed. "It's working."
"Don't lose the rhythm," the wolf warned.
For hours, Ashan guided the herd along the plateau's winding paths, across narrow stone bridges suspended in clouds, and past swirling pools where strange, translucent fish leapt into the air before vanishing again.
It wasn't easy. Sometimes a young Sky-River Beast would dart toward a tempting patch of glowing moss, or a sudden gust would scatter the winged serpents, spooking part of the herd. Each time, Ashan's whip sang out — sometimes sharp to pull them back, sometimes soft to soothe.
By the time the sun dipped low, staining the clouds crimson, the herd reached the edge of the plateau.
The High Crossing awaited.
It wasn't a bridge. It wasn't even solid. It was a current of pure light flowing through the air, arching between two floating peaks. Far below, the Sky-River roared, its silver waters catching the dying light of day.
The wolf's voice was low. "Once they step onto the Crossing, they will be beyond mortal reach. Your task is to see them all safely across before the Moon's Fade. If even one is lost…"
"I know," Ashan said quietly.
He stood at the head of the herd, whip in hand. The lead beast stepped forward — then paused, as if sensing something in the air.
The clouds above darkened.
From the far side of the Crossing, shadows began to gather. They weren't shaped like any beast Ashan had ever seen — amorphous, shifting, with eyes that burned a sickly green.
The wolf bared its teeth. "Sky-River Wraiths."
Ashan's grip tightened on the whip. He could feel the calf pressed against his leg, trembling.
"Well," he said, forcing a grin, "looks like it's time for the Shepherd to earn his title."
The first wraith hissed, and the herd stirred uneasily. Ashan stepped forward, whip raised, heart pounding.
The trial wasn't over.
It had only just begun.