StormborneLore

Tag: Coming of Age

  • The Wilderness Years Part 8

    The Wilderness Years Part 8

    The Trial of Words



    “Come here, boy.”

    Taranis looked to Boldolph and smiled. There was fire behind his storm-grey eyes.

    But he didn’t move.

    Instead, he turned his gaze toward the centre of camp. A wide ring of bark and stone had been cleared where the warriors gathered in a hush that pressed against the skin. Grael stood tall at its edge, arms folded, flanked by his elite. One Seer stood silently with her staff grounded. Another stood beside her, cloaked in black and waiting.

    Boldolph’s voice was low.

    “You know this is bait.”

    “I know,” Taranis said. “Let them bite.”

    He raised his voice so all could hear.

    “So where are the others, Grael? There were six of them. Six men who buried me alive. Are they here?”

    Grael said nothing. His jaw clenched but no order came. The silence stretched like a drawn bowstring.

    Taranis stepped forward. His torn cloak dragged behind him. Dirt still clung to his skin. The obsidian pendant swung from his chest, sharp as a blade and darker than the sky.

    “You trained them. You gave them command. You stood idle when they dragged me from my fire and threw me in the earth like a beast.”

    A ripple of movement stirred the crowd. Solaris moved silently to the left of Boldolph, his eyes alert. Morrigan circled the outer edge, her gaze sharper than any blade. The wolves were close, not quite in the circle, but near enough to strike.

    The cloaked Seer stepped forward, her voice smooth and cold as river ice.

    “And what are you now? A firewalker? A spirit in flesh? A wolf’s loyal mutt?
    You defied your masters. You broke laws. You call yourself marked as if it were a blessing. It is a curse.”

    Taranis turned to face her. His tone was calm, but his voice carried like distant thunder.

    “I am marked. Yes. Marked by flame and by fang. Marked by gods your kind no longer dare name.”

    He looked across the ring, locking eyes with those who once saw him as nothing more than a chained boy.

    “I wore the collar. I bore the mask. I bled into your soil and came back stronger. The dragon did not strike me down. It bowed.”

    The first Seer the one who had first spoken of prophecy moved forward without a word. She laced her bone staff on the earth between them, the sound like a drumbeat in the dirt.

    “Then let truth be spoken. Words before war. This circle is the law.”

    The Circle
    Two lines formed. One stood behind the cloaked Seer and the old ways. The other stood in silence, eyes uncertain but shifting, behind the Seer who had named him Stormborne.

    Grael remained between them all. He spoke nothing. But the weight of his silence was a blade in the dust.

    The rival Seer raised her chin, her cloak fluttering as a sudden gust caught the air.

    “Storms are sent as punishment. They do not crown kings. They drown them.”

    Taranis stepped into the centre and lifted the obsidian pendant high.

    “Then why did the storm not drown me?”

    He turned slowly, meeting the eyes of warriors, elders, hunters, servants — and children.

    “You speak of punishment. But where was your justice when a boy was chained for speaking truth? Where was your mercy when they threw me into a grave and danced over it?”

    A murmur passed through the gathering, slow and spreading like rising smoke.

    A healer stepped forward. She clutched a satchel of herbs, her hands trembling, but her voice rang clear.

    “I stitched that boy once. His ribs were bruised. His wrists bled. I said nothing. I was afraid.
    But I will not stay silent again.”

    Taranis gave her a solemn nod.

    “Then speak now. Let every voice rise. This land will not be ruled by silence.”

    The cloaked Seer opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came. She felt the tide turn and stepped back. The people had shifted.

    A father stepped forward next, then a girl who’d once carried water to chained boys. An older warrior, limping from an old wound, nodded slowly. For the first time, Grael’s expression flickered — not with rage, but with understanding.

    Verdict
    Grael finally stepped into the circle. The pressure broke like thunder in the air. He scanned the faces around him — warriors he had trained, people he had led. Then he looked to Taranis.

    “The six who attacked you are dead or have run. That is not mercy. That is law. They broke it.”

    He turned toward the Seers.

    “But from this day, we follow one voice. Not the loudest. Not the oldest. The one the flame has not burned. The one the dragon did not kill.”

    He turned his eyes on Taranis.

    “The one who rose.”

    From the back of the crowd, a girl no older than ten stepped forward. Her hair was matted but her eyes were bright with memory. She held a scrap of wolf-fur in her small hands.

    “You pulled me from the pit. The dark place.
    I saw you in the fire. You held the sun in your hand.”

    Taranis knelt before her, gently resting a hand over hers.

    “Then keep that memory. Let it burn in you, not through you.”

    He rose slowly, the firelight catching in his eyes. Then he turned to face the whole circle.

    “No more collars. No more chains. No more silence. This is no longer a camp. It is a beginning.”

    The wolves howled not out of hunger or fury, but in echo of a vow they once made long ago. A vow that now passed from wolf to man, and from man to child.

    The first Seer stepped beside Grael and whispered a single truth.

    “Stormborne.”

    Solaris stepped closer, his voice a whisper only Taranis could hear.

    “So what does that make you now?”

    Taranis looked out at the crowd, at the firelit faces, the broken chains now lying in the dust, the wolves resting at the edge of the light. Then he looked to Solaris and smiled.

    “A man. A friend. A warrior, if Grael will train me.
    Perhaps a healer.
    First in the line of the Order of Dawn.”
    He paused, gaze rising to the stars above.
    “Or maybe just someone who lived when he should have died.”

    He turned back to Solaris, his voice soft.

    “Who knows what tomorrow will give?”

    And for the first time since exile, Taranis Stormborne laughed not out of pride, not out of pain, but because for once, the wind didn’t sting.

    © 2025 StormborneLore by EL Hewitt. All rights reserved

  • THE WILDERNESS YEARS Part 1.

    THE WILDERNESS YEARS Part 1.

    The enslaved Tanaris

    The clouds hung low, casting a strange dark light over the gathering. The council of elders stood in a tight circle around a young boy.

    “Stormborne, you are now and forever exiled from this village, this clan, and your family,” the elder leader declared, his eyes fixed on the child. Elder Ysra held the ceremonial staff before her, unmoving.

    The little boy turned to his family. “Father, I didnot hurt anyone. Please” he begged, but his words were met with silence.

    All thirteen of his brothers turned their backs. Then his mother did the same. Conan, his father, hesitated but looked away, knowing he could not stand against the council.

    Taranis ran from the camp, tears blinding him as he fled into the woods. His sprint slowed to a walk. He stumbled across berries and gathered nettles to eat. His first meal as an exile—nettles and nuts.

    “Not filling,” he whispered, “but the old ones ate it. Mama used to cook it.” He curled against the base of an ancient tree. Overhead, dragons roared. Wolves howled in the distance.

    Time stilled. The ache of loneliness pressed down on him. He missed his brothers, his mothers humming, and even his fathers barked commands. He walked on, aimless, until he saw a white wolf. He froze.

    The wolf approached, sniffed him, cautious but curious. Then a large black wolf circled nearby.

    “We will not hurt you. Iam Boldolph,’ said the black wolf said not aloud, but directly into his mind.

    ‘You you wont?” the boy whispered as other wolves approached, dropping meat at his feet.

    “No,” said the white wolf, lying down. “We are here to help. Your father sent us. I am Morrigan. Come, lie with me. Warm yourself.”

    Taranis walked to her and buried himself in her thick fur. Boldolph stood guard, ever watchful.

    He had lost his home, his name, and his kin. He had seen a friend die. Three winters passed, and the boy grew thin and pale, cradled in fur and silence. Then one morning, feverish and weak, he was found.

    “Father, hes curled up with the wolves,” a boy said.

    “We will take him. He will serve as a slave,” the man replied, lifting Taranis with ease.

    They carried him to their camp. Women nursed him back to health, but one day he awoke and reached for his neck. A collar.

    “Leave it,” said a teenage boy sitting nearby. ‘They will beat you if you touch it.”

    “Who are you?” Taranis rasped.

    ” I am Solaris of black claw. I am one of your owners sons,” he said, offering him bread. “You are in the Black Claw clans camp. My father found you fevered and curled up with wolves. You are to stay here as a slave.”

    From that day, Taranis worked from sunrise to sunset. He obeyed without question, learning to serve in kitchens and at the forge. He heard whispers of a cursed child, exiled and touched by dark forces.

    On his eighteenth birthday, he hauled stones beneath the harsh gaze of the masters. One man held a branch, ready to strike.

    He was tall now, but thin. His back bore scars from the collar and the lash. All he wanted was to see Boldolph and Morrigan again.

    A slap of something warm and wet stung his spine.

    “Keep it moving!” barked a voice.

    The clan leaders sons played nearby. Solaris laughed with his younger brothers by the grain shed. One of them, a tall boy with a cruel grin, threw a rotten turnip.

    It struck Taranis in the chest. The others laughed.

    “Stop it,” Solaris snapped. “He is not our enemy.”

    “He is a slave,” the older boy sneered. “You and Father found him half-dead. No name, no clan. Just stories of a cursed exile.”

    That was me. Eight years old, alone in the snow. They said I was cursed. Touched by darkness.

    But I was just a child.

    He didnot remember lunging only the feel of dirt flying behind his heels. Rage took over.

    The branch came down before he landed a punch.

    Crack.

    Pain burst across his shoulders. A second strike. A third, slower, deliberate.

    Taranis didnot cry out.

    The man loomed. “You want to fight the leaders sons? Try again, and we will gut the wolves that raised you. Make you skin them yourself.”

    That stopped him.

    His vision blurred. He tasted blood his or someone else’s he wasn’t sure but then a shadow blocked the light.

    Solaris.

    He stepped forward, fists clenched but low.

    “You will kill him like this,” Solaris said.

    “Hes still breathing,” the overseer growled. “Let the beast learn his place.”

    “Hes not a beast.” Solaris growled

    Silence.

    “I have seen beasts. This ones still human.”

    That day, there were no more beatings. But no food either.

    Night fell cold. Taranis curled beside the embers, shivering.

    Footsteps. He didnot lift his head. If they came to hurt him, so be it.

    Something thudded beside him. Bread, wrapped in cloth.

    “Its Still warm,” Solaris muttered. “I stole it before dinner. Donot die. Not yet.”

    “it’s good I don’t intend to” Taranis took the bread in both hands. The warmth bled into his finger as he stared at the fire. There was a time hed healed a bird, mended his brothers broken arm. Even healed his brother but now He touched his collar.

    “I will escape. I will kill them all,’ he whispered.

    His family was a fading memory. The names Rayne, Drax, Draven, Lore blurred in his mind.

    Then he heard a howl. “Thats Silver,” he whispered.” Thats Boldolph. And Morrigan. They stayed near.”

    Men came. They dragged him to a tree marked by rope and tied his hands above his head. Children threw scraps at his face. Laughter. Rotten food.

    A man approached. Large, green-eyed, wrapped in furs.

    “Slave, you will stay here overnight. No food for two days for daring to touch my son,” he said. “Twenty lashes if you try anything.”

    Taranis bowed his head. He knew not to speak. Not to fight.

    As they walked away, he remained in silence, bound and bruised.

    “Two days,” the man said to a woman. “No food. No water. Do not tend his wounds.”

    The coals glowed nearby.

    “Make him walk it,” said a boy named Root. They prodded Taranis toward hot stones.

    He resisted.

    “Please don’t make me’ he pleaded his hands rebound and a tether held by another boy.

    “Walk,” another growled.

    A younger boy smirked as he stepped across the coals unfazed.

    “Hes not normal,” whispered Calor. “Is that the one the enemy fears?”

    ‘He speaks with wolves. And dragons,” the Seer answered.

    “Bring our best fighter,” the leader ordered. “Let them fight.”

    They dragged Taranis, barely conscious, to the firelit circle. The crowd formed in a crooked ring.

    Barefoot, bruised, he stood in the dirt. His collar scraped with every breath.

    Rukar, the clans champion, stepped forward. Twice his size. A necklace of teeth. Leather-wrapped fists.

    “Fight,” the elder barked.

    No weapons. No mercy.

    The first punch knocked him flat. The second split his lip.

    Thunder cracked. Lightning danced.

    “Come on, exile,” someone jeered. “Show us your curse.”

    But Taranis rolled. Rukars foot slammed into a stone instead of ribs.

    Taranis launched upward, shoulder-first into Rukars knee. The brute staggered.

    Dirt in the eyes. A headbutt. Teeth bared like a wolf.

    Rukar swung. Another blow grazed Taranis temple. Blood poured.

    This was not about victory.

    It was about survival.

    He twisted low, locking Rukars arm. A snap echoed. The champion fell, howling.

    Silence.

    Taranis knelt over him, ready to strike.

    He didn’t move. He just stood

    Bloodied. Shaking. Alive.

    The Seers voice broke the silence. “The wolves taught him well.”

    Taranis bowed to the master, kneeling as he had once knelt to his father.

    “Take him to the tree,” the leader said. “Hes now a warrior-slave. He will earn his freedom in battle. But punishment for attacking my son still stands.”

    They resecured him to the tree, pain burning through every limb.

    Later that night, Solaris approached with broth. His father watched.

    “You are a warrior-slave now,” Solaris said. “They will send you to war.”

    Taranis did not answer.

    He just drank the broth and stared into the fire.

    Copyright EL Hewitt

  • The Rise of Taranis: Storm and Blade

    The Rise of Taranis: Storm and Blade

    Taranis Stormborne.


    A poem from the Stormborne Scrolls

    Beneath the hollow tree he bled,
    With wolves for kin and stone for bed.
    The fire was not in hearth or hand
    It roared within, a storm unmanned.

    He trained where no man dared to tread


    On roots of yew and rivers red.
    His blade was bone, his shield was will,
    His foes were silence, hunger, chill.

    Each sunrise found his form anew,
    A breath of frost, a bruise of blue.
    He carved his strength on bark and skin,
    And learned the rage that sleeps within.

    He watched the hawk, he stalked the deer.


    He danced with ghosts that others fear.
    His feet grew swift, his arms like oak,
    His breath break a hunter’s yoke.

    No tribe remained to call him son,
    No elder crowned what he’d become.
    Yet mountains bowed, and storms would still .


    For he had shaped the world by will.

    The wolves ran wide, the skies grew torn.


    And from the storm, the blade was born.
    A boy no more. No child of scorn.
    By fire and shadow…
    The warrior was born.

    Thank you for reading.

    © 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.
    Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • Legends of Taranis: The Fire Within

    Legends of Taranis: The Fire Within

    Whisper not his name too loud,
    Lest storms descend and fire shroud.
    The child who walks ‘twixt wolf and flame,
    Was never born to live the same.

    His cradle rocked in winds that roared,
    His breath was thunder, wild, untoward.
    At one moon old, he called the stars
    At two, he broke his brother’s bars.

    The elders spoke with furrowed brows,
    “This one will break our sacred vows.”
    But in his hands, a light did grow,
    Too pure to burn, too fierce to slow.

    He healed the sick with dragon’s grace,
    And sorrow fled his glowing face.
    Yet fear, like roots, took hold and spread
    “He brings both blessing… and the dead.”

    Some say his eyes hold forest lore,
    The wolves’ old grief, the fae-folk’s war.
    Some say his blood recalls the flame
    Of gods who walked with no true name.

    What tribe can hold a storm so wide?
    What fire endures when fear must hide?
    So mark these words on bark and bone,
    The Stormborne never walks alone.

    For when the wind begins to wail,
    And branches sing a deathless tale,
    Look not for mercy, shield, or guide.
    The fire within the child will rise.

    Thank you for reading.

    If you enjoyed reading this please like, comment and subscribe.

    Also to read more please go to

    The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • The Healing Flame

    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
  • Life and Prophecy: The Birth of Taranis Stormborne

    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

  • Exiled at Eight the story of Taranis Stormborne.

    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