Born not in shadow,
but storm-split light.
With wolves at his side.
and fire for breath,
He walks between day and the deepening night,
A child of healing, a whisper of death.
They called him cursed, they called him flame,
Yet none could deny the spark in his palm.
He bore no weapon, he sought no fame
But the winds bent low to kiss his calm.
When Drax lay broken, minds turned black,
Taranis reached, and thunder wept.
The fever fled, the soul came back
And the child collapsed, as the forest slept.
Now they watch him with fearful eyes,
This babe who speaks in ancient tongue.
Yet storms do not ask if the fire should rise…
They rise because the world’s begun.
Thank you for reading.© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.
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