Category: Visions of Janus

Good Afternoon, God eftermiddag, Prynhawn Da, Buenas tardes, Guten Tag, Добрый день (Author note)

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read yesterday’s Authors Note.

just a warning : This is NOT EDITED in anyway so there will be spelling mistakes and grammar issues., structure issues.

Why am I doing this?

The reason I’m saying hello in English. German, Russian, Spanish, Swedish and Welsh (I do apologise if I’ve spelt or wrote anything wrong)

The reason for it is those are the top countries in my stats for viewing my site.

THANK YOU

Thank you and USA youre number one. Thank you, and last night’s authors note had more likes than any other piece.

AI and Me

Well I’ve tried AI and still think even with all the errors. My writings probably better, than ai even though I use it to Polish my work it feels wrong.

Less human! Less capable of putting in what it takes to make the reader feel. SO after talking to my child who is a one of the biggest book nerds I’ve know. Someone who states don’t use AI they steal from other writers.

They are right but my stories are mine and double checked even triple checked not just through grammarly. But I also paste anything that I’m suspicious of direct into search engines manually check. If something worth doing it’s worth doing right !

The Plan Today

What’s on the plan today is easy 4 pieces.

This authors note

1 story – Three houses of Caernath part 7

1 poem – based on the eternal lords

1 article

1 recipe. Inspired by the bronze age

Where is my world based?

Someone asked me where are my stories / world based?

Worcestershire.

The House of Flame – Ignis.

Infact Emberhelm is based on the Malvern Hills and surrounding areas. Where I walked every weekend as a child and teen. An area stepped in history and folklore from Roman Britain to today.

Shropshire, Welsh marches and Staffordshire

The houses of Lore and Drax

Tempestas (house of storm) and Umbria (the house of shadow)

While Drax guards the marches with his armies of tempestas. Lore works his charms throughout his lands of Umbra. Taranis sits in the main house of Ignis. Soon to be joined by two others.

Again I spent hours walking not just around my village. But Cannock chase and Tettenhall woods, Walsall woods, cannock woods. I listened to historians, folklorists, read books on mythology, folklore, hauntings of the areas.

Other areas

I’ve walked Glastonbury Tor. (The hard way even ended up crawling at the top. But worth it and I proved to myself I can achieve the impossible. )

I’ve walked the long mynd (shropshire)where a village is said to have disappeared. The walks beautiful but not for those with mobility issues.

I’ve visited Wales (let’s face the truth at one point most of England was welsh). so when I include Welsh it more of a nod to ancestral heritage. My favourite place in Wales is Pembrokeshire.

Everywhere I go I’m learning not just the history but any folklore people are willing to share.

Growing up in Staffordshire gave me an opening to learn the Lore. Of not just my village but cannock chase and many other areas.

I was told “never put rough articles on your blog”. but when you don’t have funds for an editor for your articles where do you go?

Many indie writers told me once Grammarly but that’s ai isnt it? If anyone has any suggestions please let me know.

I’m learning and slowly starting to use my own raw writing on this site.

Have a good day, and to those in war torn areas or going through tough times. blessing and positive thoughts go out to you.

Please try to stay safe.

© StormborneLore. Written by Emma for StormborneLore. Not for reproduction. All rights reserved.

If this spoke to you, please like, share, and subscribe to support our mythic journey.

I wrote this directly into wordpress so absolutely no editing.

July 11, 2025
100 Tales from the Halls of Emberhelm 🐉

100 posts. 19 days. 6 tales a day.

From the first howl on the wind to the firelit feasts of Caernath, StormborneLore now stands tall a living archive of myth, memory, and meaning.

In these past 19 days, you’ve journeyed through:

✨ Poems of Spirit and reflections from wolves, dragons, outcasts, and gods
🔥 Tales of Hardship and Hope, stories born in darkness, rising toward the light
🍖 Feasts of the Ancients, recipes inspired by the meals of warriors, crones, and storm-born kings.
⚖️ Truths of Our Time articles echoing modern struggles: disability, injustice, survival, and healing

Each post is more than just a page — it’s a voice from the halls of Emberhelm.

“When all the world forgets us, we will still sing around the fire.” Taranis Stormborne

To every reader who’s wandered these halls, thank you. To every warrior, wolf, and flamekeeper yet to come welcome home.

StormborneLore
Fiction forged in myth. Truth written in fire.

July 10, 2025
Why I Write and How You Can Support Me

Support the creative journey of StormborneLore through shares, likes, and engagement.

StormborneLore is a personal, creative project not a business. It was born from my love of myth, history, and storytelling… and it gives me a way to express myself despite the challenges I face day to day.

I live with disabilities. I currently receive PIP and LCWRA, which help cover my basic needs. I don’t make any money from this site nor do I expect to in the immediate future.

But what I do get… is purpose.

Creating these stories, poems, and legends takes time, effort, research, and heart. And the best way you can support me right now isn’t with money it’s with likes, shares, comments, and follows.

A hand giving a thumbs up next to a laptop displaying a fantasy landscape with a dragon and a castle, emphasizing the importance of engagement in creative projects.

🕯️ Every Click Makes a Difference
Your engagement whether that’s a like on a post, a follow, or simply sharing my work with others helps me see that what I’m doing matters. It shows me someone is reading. That this world I’m building is seen.

So if you’ve ever:

Liked a story or poem

Shared a link with a friend

Left a comment

Subscribed to the blog

…just know: you’ve already supported me more than you realise.

Looking Ahead: Plans for future support options to enhance StormborneLore.

🔮 Looking Ahead
I may eventually add a small donation button (like Buy Me a Coffee) to help with

Site and hosting costs

Basic tools like a printer or laptop

Saving for long-term essentials (not luxury just stability)

If or when that happens, I’ll be completely transparent and I’ll always keep the content free and accessible to all.

A heartfelt message from the creator of StormborneLore, expressing the importance of writing and community support.

✍️ Why This Matters
StormborneLore is my way of contributing something real. I can’t always work in the traditional sense. But I can create. I can write. And with your help, I can keep going.Thank you for reading. Thank you for being here.

— Emma
Creator of StormborneLore

Further Reading

About the author (update)

July 6, 2025
StormborneLore Hits 50 Posts.

Join the Celebration!

We’ve Hit 50 Posts!
Thank You for Walking the Path of StormborneLore

Celebrating 50 posts with a fierce dragon and wolf, representing the adventurous spirit of StormborneLore.

Today, StormborneLore quietly crossed a threshold: 50 published posts.

Fifty stories, poems, recipes, and fragments of forgotten myth all stitched together by firelight, exile, and a will to survive.

Each one shaped by history, hunger, and hope.

To those who’ve walked with Taranis, wept with Morrigan, watched the storm, or tasted the wild thank you.
You are part of this.

If you’ve ever felt like the thirteenth son, the outcast, the cursed or misunderstood these stories are for you.

💬 Join the Fire
Have a favourite post? A character or creature you connect with?
Comment below, or explore the archives:

📜 Read the Latest Story

🐉 Meet the Dragons

🍲 Cook from the Stone Age

🐺 Walk with the Wolves

Here’s to the next 50 and to the storm that never forgets its name.

© Written and created by Emma for StormborneLore. Not for reproduction. All rights reserved.

July 2, 2025
A Child’s Destiny Unfolds

My uncles and father stood within the sacred ring of fire. The smoke curling into the twilight sky as the elders sat in silence. Each wore the furs of their lineage, feathers braided with bone and bark, their eyes sharpened by decades of judgement. The fire crackled with unease not just heat, but the energy of something unseen, something stirring.

Father stood tall, one hand resting on the haft of his ceremonial spear. He was prepared not just as a warrior, or chief, but as a father. A father standing between his blood and the storm.

“Your son broke the sacred law,” spat Elder Bran, his voice like dry bark in winter. “He entered the hut of an ostracised man without escort. That law is older than your title, Chief Conan.”

“He must be punished,” added Elder Tarn, slamming his staff into the scorched earth. “Compassion does not absolve disobedience. Rules are not bent for favoured blood.”

A silence fell taut as a bowstring before Drax stepped ahead. Gaunt, but no longer wild, his words rang with clarity.

“He saved my life.”

Gasps and murmurs broke across the council. Even those who had long abandoned hope for Drax looked at him now with flickers of wonder, or wariness.

“I would be dead if not for him,” Drax continued. “I felt it something leave me. A darkness burned away. I am… clear.”

Lore moved to stand beside our father. “He is barely one year old,” he said. “Yet he speaks in tongues, walks like a hunter, and heals the broken with words no one taught him.”

“This is what troubles us!” snapped Elder Ysra, rising in her many-layered cloak of ash and iron charms. “Power like this does not come without price. The last child marked by the storm brought famine, flood, and war.”

“We do not know what mark he carries,” my father replied, eyes level. “But I will not see my son punished for compassion.”

Ysra stepped ahead, face drawn like flint. “It was not just compassion. It was prophecy in motion. And prophecy unguarded is wildfire in a dry forest.”

Behind them, Morrigan and Boldolph stood watch just beyond the fire’s reach. The black wolf growled low, a rumble of warning. while Morrigan’s gaze stayed fixed on the chief’s hut where Taranis slept, gripped by fever.

The fire hissed and popped. Somewhere nearby, a nightbird called.

Elder Bran raised his staff. “The child shall remain under close watch, isolated from others but housed within the chief’s care. He will be marked not as cursed, but as unknown. No more unsanctioned visits. If he breaches this again”

“We will not exile a babe,” my father growled.

“No,” said Ysra coldly. “But we may exile what grows inside him.”

The flames danced higher, wind tugging at the circle as if the fire spirits themselves had stirred.

Lore bowed his head slowly. “Then we shall walk the knife’s edge between reverence and fear. But mark my words if you turn on him too soon, you lose more than trust. You lose the only light left.”

As the council slowly dispersed, dusk settled like a shroud. The camp held its breath. Only the crackle of fire and the quiet steps of retreating warriors broke the silence.

Later, beneath the stars, young Nyx turned to our father. “So what happens now, Father?”

“Isolation. No one speaks to him unless permitted. He’ll be watched not as punishment, but out of fear. They don’t understand what he is. And people fear what they do not understand.”

“If we don’t talk to him… won’t that break him?”

Conan’s voice was low. “That is what I fear most.”

Just then, the elders returned with the boy. His fever had broken. Taranis walked unaided into the firelight, eyes drowsy but glowing faintly.

“What is going on?” Conan asked, rising quickly.

“He entered the eternal sleep,” Elder Ysra whispered. “But then… he came back.”

Even the fire seemed to pause.

Thank you for reading if you enjoyed please like, comment and subscribe for more.

Futher Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 29, 2025
The Healing Flame

Taranis stood before Drax, his bare feet silent on the cold earth. A soft golden light shimmered around his small hand as he reached up and gently placed it on Drax’s forehead. His voice was quiet, yet steady words none had taught him falling like raindrops from his lips.

“The dragon and the wolves told me,” he said, eyes glowing faintly with an ancient knowing.

Lore stepped forward, startled. “The dragons? You mean a tribe, little one?”

But Taranis did not answer. Instead, Drax stirred, groaning as colour returned to his face. His eyes fluttered open lucid for the first time in moons and the golden glow around Taranis vanished. The boy collapsed into Lore’s arms, suddenly limp but breathing.

Lore caught him, heart pounding. He looked back at Drax, who now sat up slowly, blinking into the firelight.

“What were they doing to you, Drax?” Lore asked, still holding his youngest brother close.

Drax’s voice was hoarse, but calm. “Cleansing the darkness. They say I must walk the coals soon burn the madness away.”

Lore frowned, tightening his grip on the child. “Well… this little stormborn saved your life. Whatever you believe, that’s truth.”

Just then, Conan their father, the chief appeared in the doorway, drawn by the strange stillness and the fading light.

Taranis stirred, his head against Lore’s chest. “My fault, Father,” he murmured in a drowsy voice. “He was hurting… so I fixed it.”

Father stepped ahead slowly, kneeling before them. His eyes flicking from the barely conscious Drax to the sleeping child in Lore’s arms. His voice was heavy.

“He’s only one year old… and he’s healing the broken?”

Lore nodded. “He called it the gift of wolves and dragons.”

Conan exhaled, rubbing his weathered jaw. “Then we’d best prepare. Whatever storms are coming, they’ll start with him.”

“You calling the council father?” Drax asked “I will be punished he’s just a child “

“You have many matters to deal with Drax. little Taranis actions his disobedience to rules not to come here and what ever he did to you will be dealt with in due course a water cleansing, more gathering to keep him from wandering “

“How do you feel brother?’ Lore asked

“Clear minded, like what ever was heavy in me is gone. I feel love for the little one shame for wanting him dead. I’m not expecting you to trust me”

“Trust is earned, ” father said and looked to two men ran. “let him out but no contact with the others no binds this time. I see his food is low let him gather but watch.”

The men nodded no one other
a selected group of tribal elders. Had been permitted to talk to my brother for months. Now the discipline was slowly lifting. The men moved their heads indicating for him to move out still not a word broke.

“Now ostracism starts he outside being watched and we can see him but he can’t interact with us?” Nyx asked

“Yes if he talks to us or the tribe he will receive harsher punishment. One of which was decided to remove his tongue As I’m not killing my own kin. He either follows the council and gets well or he will remain how he is until he dies” father said with a heavy heart “this is the first time I’ve seen him in months and your mothers not seeing him like that a once big strong man now skin and bones this isn’t just punishment for him but for us “

I never thought of it like that the cheif and his wife punished for their sons actions. A powerful man within our tribe powerless to protect his son against the elder councils decisions. After a while we carried the little one out and to home. The largest hut of them placing him on his bed.

That night a meeting was called the elders had demanded with my father. But little Tanaris was still sleeping crying in his sleep and burning up.

I walked to the edge of our camp “BOLDOLPH WHERE ARE YOU” Lore shouted seeing a giant of a wolf beautiful black like the nights sky with a gold five pointed star and red fiery moon on his chest and red fiery eyes

Boldolph strode over putting his head in mine nudging it

“You’re upset young one” Boldolph said his mind connection with mine

“I am my friend, your the tribes sacred ally. Your wiser than you know but did you tell my brother Taranis how to heal?” Lore asked the wolf

“I did ” a small grey wolf lowered his front half as if bowing to Boldolph. “I’m sorry sire, I heard the bright one crying and sought to help him. He missed Drax “

“He hardly knows Drax, father forbade any meeting between them unless Drax was bound and flanked by men. You had no right to interfere silver ” Lore replied

“He ran straight in to the condemned mans hut. Pure disobedience when I called him to stop. Drax could have killed him but my brother used the chant Drax said its like a heavy weight was lifted. Now Taranis is sick with fever .

“Your father?” Boldolph asked glancing angry ar the white wolf

“The tribal elders have called council I’m worried this weakens fathers position. If they lose trust in father, if they consider my baby brother ” Lores voice dropped as he looked to the earth

Boldolph launched at silver growling and teeth bared ready to rip the older wolf apart but a pure white wolf red five pointed star and gold sun on her chest

“STOP THIS ” she snapped at the other wolves parted

“Morrigan it’s an honor to see you again “Conan said kneeling to her level “Boldolph let’s wait for council if my family and I find ourselves displaced then kill silver by all means if it makes you happy”

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 29, 2025
Life and Prophecy: The Birth of Taranis Stormborne

Birth and Celebration

The Naming

The women of the tribe had already begun preparing the celebration.
Only the finest foods would be offered on this special night the night of my brother’s birth.

The birth of Taranis Stormborne.

In the woods, the younger children laughed as they filled baskets with berries, blackberries and raspberries, bilberries (wild blueberries).
elderberries (cooked only), hawthorn berries, rose hips, crab apples, and sloes from the blackthorn.

Their chatter echoed with pride
a new life meant strength for the tribe.

The women worked in quiet rhythm.
Hazelnuts, acorns (leached to remove tannins), beech nuts, pine nuts, and the seeds. Young leaves of nettles
were piled high beside bundles of wild garlic and sacred greens.

I saw my mother’s sister lay a sprig of rosemary at the fire. Not for seasoning but for blessing.

“Hey, young Lore,” someone called, grinning.
“You coming hunting? Father says we’re after red deer and boar, fox, grouse, even river salmon. Only the finest meats for your mother and father. A new chieftain has been born!”

“Father’s naming him tonight? I’m coming!” I said, breath quickening.
I tried to keep the smile off my face, but it broke through anyway.

I was seventeen — broad-shouldered, proud, still hungry to prove myself.
I grabbed my spear and cast a glance back at my brothers and father.

our father, stood straight as an ash tree his expression unreadable.
Part of him was already in the cave, beside my mother and the child.
The rest of him… watched the woods.

I ran to join the others, my heart pounding. Together, we hollered and sprinted into the deep forest
a forest older than memory.

But as our laughter faded behind us,
a silence settled.

And then…
that chill again.

Not the kind that comes with wind or storm. No, this cold was the kind that clung to your bones. The kind that made birds quiet and your breath feel too loud.

Something was watching.
But nothing moved.

Still, we pressed on.
The Naming Feast had to be worthy.

“I hope he survives,” I muttered, trying to sound casual but Nyx heard the worry in my voice.

“Drax is furious,” he said under his breath.“He thinks the prophecy’s come true.”

He didn’t say what the prophecy meant but we both knew the stories.

A child born under eclipse.
A name written in fire.
A brother… destined to break us or save us.

Suddenly, Nyx raised a hand.
A deer just ahead.

I nodded once, crouched low, and let my spear fly.
A perfect strike.

Nyx gave the bird-call whistle to alert his father. We hauled the carcass back to camp together.

The others returned soon after.
The fire was lit. The meat laid out.
Herbs were thrown onto the flames
and their smoke curled skyward.
in a spiral that reminded me of a dragon’s breath.

Tonight, my baby brother would be named.
But even as the tribe gathered in joy.
I couldn’t shake the feeling
that something was coming through the trees.

© written by ELHewitt

Further Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 27, 2025
The Legend of the Fire That Ran from the Sky

A painted stone representing fire hitting the earth near standing stones – abstract art.

The Fire That Ran from the Sky.

Long before the clans gathered,

beneath the Roaches ridge, before the stones were marked with names, the sky itself betrayed the earth.

It began as a night without stars. A quiet so deep the wind dared not breathe.

Then flames tore across the heavens.

The elders called it the Fire That Ran from the Sky. A burning serpent of light and death that raced faster than the eyes follow.

From the hills near what the future would call Staffordshire,. the clans watched in horror as the blazing serpent descended, striking the land with a terrible force. Trees exploded into firestorms; rivers steamed and boiled.

Smoke curled upward, blotting out the moon.

When the fire touched the great wood, the earth shook and cracked. A great chasm opened, swallowing whole herds and warriors alike.

In the days that followed, the sky rained ash. The air was thick with the scent of burning flesh and ancient sorrow.

But from the ruins, life stirred anew.

The clans, scattered and broken, gathered under a new oath to honor the fire that had destroyed and forged them.

They built great stone altars on the hills. Each year they held a vigil, lighting fires that mirrored the serpent’s dance across the sky.

It was said that those who dared to look into the flames see the fire’s spirit a fierce. ever-burning heart that chose the worthy and cursed the false.

And so, the Fire That Ran from the Sky became legend, a warning, and a blessing.

A story whispered by those who survived the night. Those who vowed never to forget the power of the storm that shapes all things.

When the fire’s fury faded, the world was silent and broken.

The great wood once thick with ancient oaks and whispering leaves lay scorched and blackened, its heart beaten by flame.

Smoke still curled from the ground, and the air tasted of ash and sorrow.

The clans that survived wandered through the ruin, their footsteps heavy on the brittle earth.

Marak Storm Eye, then a young warrior, knelt beside a fallen tree stump. Its bark cracked and bleeding resin like tears.

“We must live,” he said, voice raw but fierce. “This fire has taken much, but it has not taken our will.” he said looking to his people.

Those around gathered roots and herbs. As they began learning which plants heal scorched flesh and which cleanse the bitter smoke from their lungs.

Around him, others nodded, their faces grim. From the ashes, they hunted the beasts that had fled or died.

At night, they huddled close to small, careful fires. The warmth giving comfort. While their new altars whispering prayers to the sky and earth, asking for mercy and strength.

It was in this time of hardship that the first whispers of the Thunder Child were born. For some said the fire had marked the land, and the clans, with destiny.

And so, from ruin, the storm-wrapped promise of a new age began to stir.

The Fire That Ran from the Sky

Thank you for reading!

© written by ELHewitt

Futher Reading

Exploring the Library of Caernath: Eras of Lore

June 23, 2025
Exiled at Eight the story of Taranis Stormborne.

Exiled at Eight tells the story of Taranis Stormborne.

A flicker of life enters a world that is both brutal and beautiful. From the moment chieftain Connor held the little boy wrapped in wolf fur, he knew his son was different.

The baby’s bright grey eyes sparkled with curiosity and wonder, hinting at future heartache, nightmares, and beauty.Five Years Later

“He’s alone again, I see, Drax,” Knox said to his best friend and the chieftain’s son.

“World of his own, father says. He’s different from us,” Drax replied, glancing at his little brother before shielding a strike.

“Nice try,” Drax smirked.The chieftain and his wife watched Taranis, worry and stress etched on their faces. Neither knew how to handle their youngest son, who paled in comparison to his brothers.

Taranis was a tall child, standing almost five feet, muscular from birth a blessing many remarked on. His striking grey eyes were like a stormy night. In contrast, his brothers were broad-shouldered and hardened by years of hunting and battle, already warriors in training.

One cool morning, as the damp scent of earth and pine filled the air, Taranis wandered near the edge of the forest. “Everything you see is ours, my son the woods, the green fields,” he recalled his father’s voice in his mind.

The more he walked, the louder the birds sang and the more he heard the roar of Pendragon, the king of dragons.

The howl of Boldolph whistled through the trees as he picked up a stone and threw it in the air. Suddenly, the stone flew from his hand and struck a small black bird.

It fell silent, wings broken, heart still. Taranis ran to the young bird, tears streaming down his face. Kneeling beside it, he pressed his hands gently on its broken wings, willing them to heal.

As time seemed to slow; the forest quieted. Miraculously, the bird shuddered and breathed, gradually returning to life. With a flutter, it soared free again.

The chieftain raised an eyebrow as he looked to his people, then back to his son.

“What is dead should stay dead,” one man stated.Soon, the entire community murmured in hushed tones.“ENOUGH,” the chieftain said, addressing the council of elders.

“Sir, we will call a meeting,” Janus stated. A woman with clouded eyes and a trembling voice approached quietly. She gazed deeply at the boy and spoke a chilling prophecy.

“The boy who mends what death has touched shall walk a path both blessed and cursed, a flame born of feather and storm.”Taranis looked at the old woman with a defiant smirk and his deep grey eyes, as if he wielded a storm at any moment.

He didn’t understand it, nor did he care.

“He’s old enough to train as a guide with the spirits,” another man said. “He’s five; he’s a man now.”

“No, he’s a man who can work, but he must follow his brothers and me as warriors and hunters,” Chieftain Connor stated.

The year passed quickly, and everyone focused on the warring neighbors while crops failed, turning life upside down. At six years old, the harshness of life hit hard.

When men and women charged the camp, and the clash of spears echoed.

Within minutes, the noise stopped abruptly on both sides. With uncanny fierceness, Taranis moved like a whirlwind of rage and grace. His strikes were swift and precise, as if guided by a primal force beyond his age.

“It’s like he’s a god,” Lore said, while his brothers watched in awe and fear, uncertain of what this meant for their youngest brother.

Beneath the warrior’s fire, though, was a boy barely understanding the cost of blood and death.

“I helped protect us, right, father? I’m good?” Taranis asked, but he stopped when Drax pulled him away, aware of how fear could lead people to do stupid things.

“I’m a warrior, not a seer!” Taranis cried as he was taken away.“Shh, little brother. You’ve seen too much for one day.”

“From today, my son Taranis will train with his brothers. Should another fight arise, he will be ready,” Chieftain Connor said. Another war came, but this time it was one they wouldn’t win.

As the years went by, he trained and grew into a skilled fighter. At eight years old, he stood on the hills as his friends developed coughs and fevers like never seen before, while the village was struck by a shadow darker than any blade.

A sickness crept through the children like a silent predator.Mothers wept, fathers raged, and the once vibrant laughter of youth faded into silence and sorrow. Soon, the people began to whisper, like cold wind slipping through cracks.

Was this the curse Janus spoke of? Was Taranis’s strange power a blight upon them?

“Exile Taranis!” one voice boomed. “Execute him!” another shouted. “Sacrifice him to appease the gods!”As time passed, more voices joined in as fear turned to blame, and blame hardened into calls for exile.

“We find, for the sake of the clan, we must exile Taranis,” Janus said.

Taranis stepped beyond the only home he had ever known. As he looked back at his brothers and father.

“I didn’t do it. Please, this isn’t because of me,” Taranis pleaded. But the forest that once whispered secrets now felt endless and cold.

Alone, he battled with the cruel balance between lost innocence and a destiny forced upon him.Yet beneath the storm of doubt, a fierce flame burned a hope to find meaning, reclaim his place, and someday heal what had been broken.

written and copyrighted to ELH

Further Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

written and copyrighted to ELH

June 22, 2025