Chapter 556: Then make example.

A/N: Stormcallers have their own language, every tribe does, but for ease, everything will remain in English.

…

The Ashen Heights was a big land.

Yes, it was abandoned by the rest of the world, but that did not mean the land itself was simple.

In fact, the very reason the Heights was abandoned by the world was because most of the world did not understand it.

The Heights had a far more complicated terrain than any other island—so complicated that the rest of the world decided they wanted nothing to do with it.

The plains where the Velmourns resided did not have even half the complications other places had.

Other places such as the Stormcallers’ camp.

The Stormcaller camp sat higher than the clouds themselves.

Up here, the wind never rested. It screamed through stone gaps, climbed into bone and teeth, and made every torch burn low and… desperate.

Their halls were not built for comfort. They were built to survive storms that could rip a man off the ground.

Their settlement was not a town in the normal sense.

It was a chain of shelters and stone terraces carved into the side of the tallest peak, like scars cut into the mountain. From far away, it looked like a dark crown wrapped around the cliff face. Up close, it looked like a place built by people who had accepted one truth early in life—

The mountain was their enemy, and also their home.

The Stormcallers did not build wide streets. They built narrow paths, because wide paths gave the wind room to run. Their walkways hugged the rock, protected by low stone walls.

Thick ropes were tied from post to post, so a person could hold on when the gusts came without warning. Some paths were nothing more than carved steps with iron hooks hammered into the wall for hands.

Most of their structures were half-caves.

Stone fronts. Wooden doors that opened inward. Roofs that slanted low so snow would slide off. The richer homes had outer layers made from dark feathers and treated hide, wrapped around the stone like armor. When lightning struck nearby, those feather layers fluttered and hissed like living shadows.

The highest terraces held the most important places.

A watch platform where scouts stayed day and night, faces wrapped with thick cloth, eyes always scanning the white distance below.

A lightning pillar—an iron rod planted into the peak, surrounded by carved runes—meant to “invite” storms and “read” them.

And no, it was not safe. At all.

Burn marks ran down the stone around it; that alone was enough to show how dangerous it truly was.

But the Stormcallers treated those scars like holy signs.

Lower down were the living terraces.

Fires burned inside small pits cut into stone, always covered by a metal frame so the wind could not steal the flame. Smoke escaped through narrow cracks and vents, so it did not announce them from a distance.

Food was simple—dried meat, salted strips, hard bread made from tough grain that could survive cold storage, and bitter mountain herbs.

They hunted cliff beasts and trapped sky-birds. They stored water as ice in deep pits, then melted it slowly over careful heat.

Stormcallers’ children learned to climb before they learned to run.

They learned to tie knots, to read clouds, to listen to thunder and know whether it meant danger or opportunity. They played with small feathers and bone charms that carried storm symbols, and even in games, they practiced moving quietly—because loud steps on a mountain could mean death.

They also lived by signs.

If clouds gathered in a certain shape, elders would call it a warning. If lightning struck twice in the same place, they called it a message.

They believed storms gave visions, and some of them truly acted like they saw things others could not.

When a storm rolled in, they did not hide like frightened people.

They watched.

They listened.

They… waited for the mountain to speak.

And today, it spoke.

Today, the clouds were low—so low that they felt like ceilings—and that was a message.

Something had happened.

And because of that—

The Stormcaller leaders had gathered in the meeting hall.

Their Meeting Hall was inside the mountain.

A deep chamber carved into rock, where even the wind couldn’t do anything.

The corridor leading to it was narrow, turning twice so sound could not travel far. Cold water dripped from the ceiling in slow beats; gemstones were dim.

At the center of the room, a fire pit glowed like a red eye.

Around the fire sat the Stormcaller leaders.

They were dark-haired and lean, built like runners and climbers. Their skin showed old frost-burn scars. Storm-symbol tattoos wrapped their arms and crept up their necks, jagged lightning lines, swirling clouds, thin circles like storm eyes.

Black and heavy feather cloaks hung from their shoulders, layered in a way so the wind slid off them.

Even when they sat still, they looked ready to move.

*Picture of Stormcallers*

*Picture of their settlement*

But the Stormcallers weren’t the only ones inside the meeting. They were with… other people.

Cloaked… figures.

There were three of them, and one look at them was more than enough to realize they were not Stormcallers.

Their robes were dark, their hoods were pulled low, their hands stayed hidden, and their oversized cloaks covered their faces so well that none of their features were visible. It was almost as if looking at them was a taboo in itself.

*Picture of cloaked figures*

Finally, after a minute-long silence—as if everyone in the room had been waiting for something—

One of the Stormcaller Leaders spoke up in the Stormcaller tongue.

“Scouts confirmed. Stonefangs not at old place. They gone.”

“So report true.”

Another Leader’s jaw tightened.

“They inside the Wall.”

And the instant those words were said, a sudden wave moved through the room.

Anger.

Disbelief.

And…

Disgust.

“Stonefang… with Velmourn?”

Another leader asked, as if the words themselves felt wrong.

“How? Why?”

“They hate Velmourn more than we,”

A woman leader said.

“Fought for years. Kill each other. Now they share fire?”

The cloaked beings did not speak, but the air around them felt heavier, as if the room bent toward their silence.

A Stormcaller elder leaned closer to the fire.

“This not Stonefang thinking,”

He said.

“This is outsider.”

“Flying Man,”

Another leader said quietly.

Yes, even the Stormcallers knew that name now.

They had heard how he defeated the Stonefangs once. How he created a literal wall of flames to stop the war.

How he forced the Stonefang Chief to retreat.

“That outsider has influence,”

The woman leader said with a solemn look.

“Stonefang with him. That is… dangerous.”

Another leader, who had heard Fraza’s report, spoke in a solemn tone.

“There more.

Inside Wall, they had food.

For Velmourn and for Stonefang.

Warm food. Real rations.”

The leaders stiffened.

“That not possible,”

One leader snapped.

“Velmourn starving. Not enough food. Not enough food all year. Even less food in winter.”

“Then outsider makes food.”

Another leader narrowed his eyes.

“Or steals it. Or… lies.”

“Must be fooling Stonefangs,”

The eldest leader spoke as a matter of fact.

“Velmourn use Stonefang. As shields. Feed them today, cut tomorrow.”

“Stonefangs fools.”

The woman leader let out a cold laugh.

“Trust outsiders for few days food.

Did not trust us.”

A few leaders nodded. All had a disgusted, mocking gaze, as if looking at something lowly.

“Should have died outside.”

Someone muttered.

“At least they die Stonefang.”

And the rest nodded in unison.

“But they not weak.”

The leader who communicated with Fraza spoke.

“They caught Fraza.”

“Lucky.”

Another dismissed it.

Catching a traitor wasn’t a big deal, plus, Stonefangs were fools— they didn’t know how to hide anyway.

This was the reason the Stormcallers didn’t just believe the report; they had their scouts check everything.

And just when the Stormcallers were still in the middle of their discussion—

“Then make example.”

One of the cloaked figures spoke in a cold, chilling tone, not caring about interrupting them. The Stormcallers did not mind either; at this point, they were used to it.

What was more amusing, however, was the fact that these cloaked figures spoke the main world’s language, and a crystal they held changed it to Stormcaller tongue.

The Stormcallers flinched at those words.

“An example…”

The elderly Stormcaller repeated carefully.

“Yes. An example.”

The cloaked being nodded.

“So others do not copy them.

So no tribe thinks they can join hands with outsiders and live.

So fear stays where it should.”

He spoke; the artifact he held translated, and the air in the room became… even tenser.

The Stormcallers could see how this would affect them—how, if other tribes did the same as the Stonefangs, everything they had been preparing for would fall apart.

How everything they had risked would be lost. How they, together with their families, would lose their lives.

So they…

They decided.

This wasn’t the time to argue.

This was the time to do what they were being told.

“We make example,”

The Stormcaller Chief agreed.

And in the dark, the cloaked figures stayed silent.

As if they had already decided how the example would look.

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