The climb grew steeper with every step. The Road of Winds twisted upward until the group could barely see the ground below—only clouds moving like white rivers. Horses grew nervous. Temir grew more nervous. Kanykei grew annoyed by Temir's nervousness.
"When I die," Temir said shakily, "please tell my mother I died honorably."
"You're not going to die," Kanykei muttered.
"Then tell her I died dramatically."
"Temir."
"Okay, tell her I died quietly, but make it sound brave."
Even Arslan almost smiled.
They finally reached the plateau: a vast ledge carved into the side of a sheer cliff. And there it stood—
the Cloud Monastery.
Not a building, not exactly.
More like a cluster of pale stone halls suspended above the clouds, connected by narrow bridges that swayed gently in the wind. Mist curled around carved pillars. A giant bronze bell hung from an archway, unmoving, as if waiting.
Ayisulu's breath caught.
The air here felt different—sharper, clearer, and heavy with something ancient.
But Snow-Mouth didn't stop to admire the beauty. They approached the first bridge and tapped their staff three times on the stone.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the mist stirred—and three monks stepped out of it.
They wore grey robes tied with rope belts, their heads shaved, their faces calm but unreadable. Each carried a long wooden staff.
One of them spoke.
Slowly.
Sternly.
"No princes."
Arslan blinked. "Pardon?"
"No princes," the monk repeated. "Turn around and descend the mountain."
Temir whispered, "Ohhhh boy."
Erlan smirked. "I like them already."
Arslan crossed his arms, not moving an inch. "I'm not leaving her."
The monks' expressions did not change. They looked at him like he was a noisy goat.
"A prince here," the tallest monk said, "is nothing but a distraction."
"He's that in the valley too," Kanykei murmured.
Arslan inhaled sharply. "She needs me."
One monk stepped forward until he and Arslan stood face to face.
"You are loud."
"This is my normal voice."
"You take too much space."
Arslan stiffened. "What does that mean?"
"It means step back."
Erlan coughed to hide a laugh.
Snow-Mouth stepped between them. "He is with us. He stays."
The monks looked at Snow-Mouth differently—almost respectfully, almost warily.
"You."
Their tone shifted.
"You return."
Ayisulu turned sharply.
"Return?"
Snow-Mouth didn't answer.
The monks bowed their heads.
"Cloud-blood walks again."
Temir mouthed "cloud-blood?" at Kanykei.
She shrugged. "Probably means they're weirder than we thought."
Ayisulu looked at Snow-Mouth. "You were part of this place?"
Snow-Mouth's voice was quiet. "Once."
Arslan stepped closer to her—protective, uncertain. "What does that mean?"
"That I left," Snow-Mouth said simply, "and they expected I would never return."
The monks finally addressed Ayisulu directly.
"You carry the wind's burden. You are welcome."
Ayisulu opened her mouth to thank them—
Then the monk added, "For now."
"Comforting," Erlan muttered.
The monks gestured for Ayisulu to follow. Arslan tried to move with her, but the tallest monk lifted his staff, blocking his path.
"No princes."
"I'm not leaving her," Arslan growled.
Ayisulu reached back, touched his arm lightly. "I'll be safe. Just for a moment."
Arslan's eyes softened, but only barely.
"I'll be waiting right here."
"You say that like I'm going to run away."
"I say that because someone might try to drag you into another cloud-beast."
"Okay, fair."
She smiled—softly, apologetically—before following the monks.
Arslan stood stiff as a statue, jaw locked, hands balled at his sides. Erlan came to stand next to him.
"You handled that well," Erlan said.
Arslan glared. "What does that mean?"
"It means you didn't stab anyone."
"That was an option?"
"No."
"Then I handled it well."
Meanwhile, Ayisulu crossed the first swaying bridge, wind curling around her ankles like a greeting. The monks led her into a hall shaped like a narrowed crescent, its windows open to the sky. Carvings of spirals, feathers, and eyes covered the walls.
A single monk waited inside—older, calm, his gaze deep as a dark lake.
When he saw Ayisulu, he inhaled sharply.
"The wind remembers you."
Ayisulu's heart fluttered. "I don't… understand."
"You will." He beckoned her closer. "Tell me what you dream."
Ayisulu recounted the visions—the burning horizon, the red veil, the masked woman, the broken land, the crying wind. The monk listened without blinking.
When she finished, he pressed his palm gently to her forehead.
A sudden warmth flooded her.
Images burst in her mind like lightning—
A tower of clouds—broken.
A circle of masked figures—chanting.
A falcon of fire—descending.
A prince—falling.
Ayisulu gasped and jerked back.
The monk stepped away as if burned.
"So," he whispered. "It begins again."
Ayisulu held her chest. "What—what did I see?"
The monk turned toward the clouds, his voice heavy.
"A warning," he said.
"And a choice."
Ayisulu trembled. "What choice?"
The monk looked at her with sorrow.
"Who you will save."
Her breath caught. "Save? Who?"
But he didn't answer.
And somewhere behind her, on the monastery steps, Arslan suddenly shivered—
with the instinct that fate had just moved against him.