The Night the Ring Shattered
The night smelled of rain and iron.
From the outer wall, Taranis could taste the storm before it broke sharp on the air, heavy in his bones. The valley below was black save for the faint glint of torchlight far beyond the river. The strangers from the ridge had come at last.
“They’re not raiders,” Drax said, joining him at the wall. “Too few for a siege. Too disciplined for a skirmish.”
“Too confident to live,” Taranis replied, though the set of his jaw told another story.
By the time the first horn blew, the outer gate was already under assault. Not a roar of chaos, but the steady, hammering rhythm of a trained force. Boldolph and Morrigan were first to meet them teeth bared, fur bristling, their snarls rolling over the walls like distant thunder.
Then the sky tore.
Pendragon and Tairneanach came from the dark like living fire. Wings swept low, scattering the first wave of attackers into the river. For a heartbeat, the night belonged to Emberhelm.
But then a cry from the inner courtyard.
Nessa, blade in hand, burst from the shadows. “Caelum’s chamber is empty!”
Taranis didn’t think he moved. Past the gate, through the melee, cutting down the enemy commander’s guard one by one until steel rang on steel. The man was quick, his armour unfamiliar banded metal, curved like river reeds, not the crude plates of the hill tribes. A shadow of Rome in the making.
Behind them, the wolves fought on. Boldolph took a spear to the ribs and kept moving. Morrigan’s howl was the last thing many would hear before the river claimed them.
Inside the sacred circle, Lore’s voice rose over the clash an old chant to bind the enemy’s will. Draven tried to hold the stones, his hands trembling against the carved runes. Rayne was nowhere to be seen.
The duel was short and brutal. Taranis drove his blade through the man’s chest, wrenching it free as lightning split the sky. But in that moment, the circle of stones shook. One the thirteenth stone cracked down its face with a sound like the earth breaking.
Pendragon roared once more, then wheeled away into the storm. Tairneanach followed. Neither would be seen again.
When the gate finally closed, the field beyond was strewn with the dead ours and theirs. Boldolph lay on the bridge, Morrigan beside him, the river taking their last breath.
And in the quiet after, Caelum was found untouched, but with a strip of strange iron tied to his crib. A mark, a warning, or a promise.
Taranis stood in the ruins of Emberhelm, rain running from his cloak, watching the storm move east.
“I will find who brought them to our gates,” he said.
From the shadows, Rayne’s voice answered, almost too soft to hear.
“You won’t have to look far.”
© 2025 Emma Hewitt. All rights reserved.This story and all characters within the StormborneLore world are the original creation of Emma Hewitt. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or scholarly works.
Further Reading
The Chronicles of the Gold Ring… Chapter One
The Chronicles of the Gold Ring Chapter Two
The Chronicles of the Gold Ring Chapter Three.
StormborneLore 