Skywalkers.

  Elites of the Sky Children tribe. Sky warriors were the common combatants, tempest warriors the elite warriors, but the skywalkers were different. They had fighting abilities equal to tempest warriors, but were also sent out to scout and achieve other tasks needed. A tempest warrior stayed near the tribe often, they were akin to its shield and sword; however, a skywalker was everything else and often left the tribe for tasks involving far-off lands.

  Every tribe had their ways, their own elites much like the tempest warriors and skywalkers. While Skyheart began his preparation for his trial to become a skywalker, other tribes had begun their own trials. As agreed, those sent on their trials were sent to find the Eye. To keep Validus and other external threats blind, those sent on the trial were only told of their task at the last moment, and those who knew were few. The fate of the Stormy Isles truly rested in the hands of the newest generation.

  Yet which generation did not have at least one great crucible? It was from such times that heroes would emerge. Heroes are timeless, and without them, how would these old tribes have lasted for so long? The Netherking Whispering Shadows, bane of Titanspawns, slayer of mad demons, friend of wise demons, brother to spirits, was merely one of such great heroes throughout time.

  In a rocky domain within the stormy isles, another possible hero would begin their story. Where towering walls of natural rock rose on either side like the ribs of some ancient giant, the Rockpounding Tribe made their home; this place was known as Rockfang Pass. Houses had been carved directly into the cliff faces, their windows and doorways hollowed from the living stone. Rope bridges spanned the gap at various heights, creating a vertical village that used every inch of the canyon walls. Below, the pass road wound between the cliffs, worn smooth by countless generations of feet.

  At the base of the eastern cliff, a gathering had formed. Elder Rockspitter stood with several other tribal elders, all wearing the traditional brown and grey robes reinforced with plates of polished stone at the shoulders and chest. Their weathered faces showed the same determination as the rocks they commanded.

  Before them stood Hardheaded, holding the appearance of a seventeen-year-old and built like the stones he would one day master. His bald head gleamed in the morning sun, and his tanned skin stretched over muscles earned through years of training, all for the moment he would become a Rocktalker. At six feet tall with shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway, he looked every inch a son of the Rockpounding Tribe. His expression remained stoic, jaw set with the stubbornness that had earned him his name.

  “The trial of earth awaits you,” Elder Rockspitter said, her voice carrying the weight of tradition. “You must reach the Grinding Peaks and receive the blessing of Rorerrak, the stone spirit. Only then can you call yourself a true Stonebreaker.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I understand, Elder,” Hardheaded replied, adjusting the straps of his traveling pack as he struggled with the spirit’s name. “I shall find Ror... Rorak... the stone spirit.” His outfit was practical - reinforced leather vest over sturdy cloth, with metal-studded bracers and thick boots meant for rough terrain.

  “Remember,” another elder added, stroking his grey beard, “the earth teaches patience. Do not rush.”

  Elder Rockspitter snorted. “With that hard head of his, I’d be more worried about him trying to punch through any mountain that gets in his way.”

  The elders exchanged glances, each thinking “that sounds like what you would do, Rockspitter,” but they had not lived to reach their old age by speaking words that might put their lives at risk.

  A few chuckles rose from the gathered tribe members, but Hardheaded simply nodded. “I’ll complete the trial and gain the blessing. Then I shall continue my journey - do not worry.”

  “Then go,” Elder Rockspitter said, though her stern expression softened slightly.

  With final farewells, Hardheaded turned and began his journey down the pass road. The walls of home fell away behind him as he moved into the wider world.

  The terrain changed as he traveled. Rocky ground gave way to scrubland, then back to stone as he climbed into the foothills. By midday, he’d reached the heated fields that marked the border between Rockpounding and Fire Heart territories.

  Steam vents hissed from cracks in the ground, sending up plumes of scalding vapor. The air shimmered with heat, and the acrid smell of sulfur burned his nostrils. Hardheaded wiped sweat from his bald head, grimacing as another geyser erupted nearby.

  “Damn heat,” he muttered, skirting around a bubbling mud pool. He looked toward the distant red rocks where the Fire Heart Tribe made their home among the volcanic flows. “How can those Emberquills live here? Just because they can control fire doesn’t mean they become heat. I’m a Terraquill but I still have skin and blood, not rock skin and pebble blood.”

  He pressed on, eager to reach cooler ground before nightfall.

  As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, Hardheaded finally found a suitable camping ground. A small grassy area nestled between weathered boulders offered protection from the wind and a clear view of the approaches.

  He set down his pack and stretched, joints popping after the long day’s walk.

  It was time to make camp.

  He brought his hands together, feeling the power of his Terraquill. He pressed his palms to the ground, and a soft thumping noise like a beating heart sounded.

  The earth responded immediately. Stones burst upward in a rough circle, growing and merging until they formed walls about six feet high. Another gesture brought forth a flat slab that tilted at an angle, creating a simple but effective roof. Within moments, he had his rock shelter.

  As he channeled his Quill, his senses expanded through the ground beneath him. Every stone, every shift in the earth became clear to his perception. And there - a disturbance in the pattern. Footsteps trying to move quietly across stone, but to a Terraquill user, they might as well have been ringing a bell.

  His eyebrow rose. “Lustful Flame,” he called out without turning around. “You can come out now.”