Taranis and the dragon
After the fight taranis was dragged back to the hut. He knew the boy was harsh on other slaves and couldn’t miss the looks of hatred in some of the villagers eyes. The mask now back in place along with the tether and binds meant he couldn’t move his head. As soon as his hut was reached he stepped in and the door shut behind him.
He sat in the corner of his hut prisoner of war common, exile and excommunication was common but his life was far from the normal. He was more than a slave he was a tool to be forged and weilded at graels command. He was left with his thoughts uncomfortable and in pain as solaris walked in with a warriorand healer.
“Grael ordered fir you to see the healer. ” the Warrior stated “if we remove the mask you going to be good?”
Taranis tried his hardest to nod after a few minutes the mask was off.
“Are you OK? Grael said you can talk for a bit ” solaris said
“I’ve had worse you know that, thank you for everything.” Taranis said “how’s your brother?”
“Hes awake, says he can’t feel his legs but father told him to take it that the gods punishment for lying and dishonoured our ancestors. The wolves came they sit outside “
“Are they going to kill me?” Taranis asked
“No but your new master Grael is not an easy man. We move out in the morn, you’ll leave this behind you and fight. battles and wars, deliver food and water to troops train. One of our men needs a pack horse you’re it.” The Warrior said “but you’ll meet dragons”
“A pack horse?” Solaris asked
“Tanaris will be in binds and harnessed all the warriors belongings attached to this boy and the boy tethered to a horse. One thing falls then it’s the whip but he will be fed and watered “
“Just like with the water I spill a drop I’m beaten. It’s a slaves life solaris, I might survive or I might die but if I die it’s in battle”
“Honourable death” the Warrior said
“If that’s my future so be it.” Taranis said hearing the chieftain and freezing
“I want him dead Grael”
I want him dead, Grael!” the chieftain shouted from the edge of the fire circle.
“That boy humiliated my son. The slaves whisper his name like he’s some hero!”
Grael didn’t flinch. He stepped forward slowly, hands clasped behind his back.
“Then teach your son not to lose.”
“He can’t walk!” the chieftain barked.
“Then perhaps next time, he’ll stand with honour before charging at one who’s already bleeding.”
Taranis stayed kneeling, the tether tightening each time he moved his neck. He didn’t dare speak but Solaris stood beside him, jaw clenched.
“He’s a slave, Grael. You’re a general why defend him?”
Grael stepped into the firelight.
“Because he fought. Because your warriors complain when it rains, but this one trains while bleeding through the mask. He obeys orders. He endures.”
A silence settled over the camp.
“Kill him,” Grael said flatly, “and you lose me. You lose your general, and every warrior loyal to my command.”
The chieftain said nothing for a long time.
Finally, he spat into the dirt.
“Then he’s your problem. But if he steps out of line he dies.” The chief stated seeing taranis being dragged for the final whipping.
Grael nodded once. “Fair.”
He turned to Taranis. “You leave at dawn. You’ll carry a warrior’s gear. You’ll bleed if you drop it. But you’ll eat. And if you survive… you may earn more than chains.”
They didn’t let him sleep and two guards sat with him watching every move he made and woke him up when he fell asleep.
He was bound to the horse before the sun rose. Packs were strapped to his chest, shoulders, and hips weapons, cloaks, food, firewood, even a spare shield. His arms were still tied at the wrists. A long leather tether looped from his collar to the saddle.
When the horse moved, he had to follow he struggled as his hands and ankles was secured and tried to fight out.
“Move like a beast,” one warrior sneered, “or we treat you like one.”
Solaris walked beside him for a while, silent. He didn’t speak until the ridge came into view.
“You won’t die today, Taranis.”
“I might.”
“No,” Solaris said. “I heard the wolves howl last night.”
By midday, the warriors halted for water and cold ashcakes. Taranis was given a small share enough to stand, not enough to rest.
One soldier deliberately dropped his pack just to watch Taranis stumble and get whipped.
“One drop, boy,” the punisher whispered. “One drop and I taste your blood again.”
But still he walked.
That night, they made camp near the edge of the highlands. The wind carried the scent of pine and smoke. The sky churned with clouds.
Taranis sat tethered to a post beside the horses, his mask unhooked for only minutes as he drank from a wooden bowl.
He didn’t speak. He listened.
The warriors talked of raids and dreams. Some whispered about dragons. One swore he’d seen a shadow in the sky.
“It was just a bird.”
“A bird doesn’t shake the trees when it lands.”
“Shut up. The general says we ride at dawn. We’ll see no dragons.”
But Taranis felt it.
There was a change in the air not wind, but something deeper. Older.
That night, chained and exhausted, he dreamed of fire. Of wings. Of eyes that glowed like suns.
And of a voice, not his own, whispering in the dark.
“The storm remembers you.”
The battle faded. Clawclan retreated, dragging their wounded into the trees.
Taranis collapsed onto his knees.
Solaris limped to him, his cheek slashed open. “You saved us,” he whispered.
Grael stepped forward. He looked down at the boy who, only days ago, had been whipped, starved, and muzzled like a beast.
“You’re bound. And still you fight.”
Taranis didn’t speak.
“You could’ve run. You didn’t.”
Still, silence.
“I said you’d be a tool. Maybe you’re more than that.”
He reached down and, without a word, cut the tether with his dagger.
“You still wear the collar. But from now on… you walk beside the horse.”
Taranis looked up just long enough to nod.
And far above them, in the grey sky beyond the trees, something passed overhead. Something large. Something with wings.
No one saw it clearly.
But Taranis looked to the sky and whispered, under his breath:
“I remember you.”
“They talking about him?” A warrior asked
“Yes I remember his birth, the sun and moon crossed the wolves howled and dragons roared. He’s been chosen by our ancestors and gods but the Seer said he was cursed “
Taranis looked to the boy then grael “am I to be the pack horse?’
Grael didn’t answer right away.
He crouched down, blood drying on his jaw, and looked the boy in the eye.
“You were meant to carry our burdens. Now you carry our survival.”
Taranis looked down at his wrists. The rope marks were deep. He flexed his fingers slowly testing the damage, testing the truth of the moment.
“Then I carry it,” he said quietly. “Until I break… or become something else.”
A few warriors exchanged glances.
One spat. Another bowed his head.
“Let him sleep near the fire tonight,” Grael ordered. “No post. No chains. The wolves already guard him.”
Taranis blinked.
“What about the mask?”
“That’s your punishment,” Grael said. “And your shield. When you’ve earned the right to speak freely, I’ll take it off.”
He turned to walk away, but paused.
“You fight like a beast. You serve like a soldier. But the way you looked at the sky… you don’t belong to either.”
“Then what do I belong to?” Taranis asked.
Grael didn’t answer.
That night, they laid him near the fire. Not close enough for comfort but not tied like an animal.
He lay on his side, the stars overhead flickering like coals in the stormclouds.
Solaris sat a few feet away, rubbing his wounded cheek.
“You saw it too, didn’t you?” Taranis whispered.
“The shape in the sky?”
Taranis nodded.
“It wasn’t a bird. It was watching.”
Solaris didn’t reply, but the fire cracked loudly. The wolves had not returned but they were near.
And from the distant hills, a single, low roar echoed through the trees.
Taranis closed his eyes.
“I remember you,” he whispered again.
The following morning taranis worked on preparing food for the warriors his keepers and master even though the mask was on tight he tried to remove it
“Leave it ” grael ordered “let the villages we pass through see you, now we rebind your hands but you walk next to your escorts horse. “
The following morning, Taranis worked on preparing food for the warriors, his keepers, and his master. Though the mask was tight across his face, he kept trying to loosen it with his bound hands.
“Leave it,” Grael ordered. “Let the villagers we pass through see you. Now we rebind your hands but you walk beside your escort’s horse.”
Taranis said nothing. He only lowered his head and allowed them to tie his wrists. He wasn’t sure if it was obedience or something colder, something heavier settling over him like rain.
They passed through two valleys and a narrow ridge before making camp near the edge of a standing stone circle. Some of the warriors murmured uneasily. Even Grael gave the stones a wide berth.
That night, they made no fire.
Taranis was tethered again, not far from the edge of the trees. The air turned colder, sharper. Mist crept along the earth like breath from a wounded god.
No wolves howled. No birds sang.
And yet, he heard something.
It was not sound. It was presence. A warmth in the back of his skull. A shimmer in the spine.
He shifted in the darkness, straining against the binds. The mask scraped his face. He whispered to no one:
“Are you still watching me?”
Then something answered.
Not with words. With flame.
The world tilted. He saw fire not burning but dancing. Wings that cast no shadow. Eyes that looked through memory, through bone, through time itself.
He saw wolves white and black running beside him. He saw the collar fall. He saw the whip break. He saw himself standing atop a high ridge, cloaked in storm.
And the dragon. Always the dragon.
Massive. Black. Eyes like dying stars. Its breath shimmered with lightning. Its wings spread wider than the sky.
“You are not made. You are called.”
The voice was thunder in his chest, in his blood. His limbs burned but not with pain. With recognition.
“You are not theirs. You are ours.”
He fell.
He didn’t remember hitting the earth, but when he woke, the sun had not yet risen. His shirt was soaked with sweat. The tether was still tied but something was different.
The mask was gone.
He sat up, panicked, reaching for it, expecting punishment.
But there, in the grass before him, was a single black scale.
No one else was near. Not Solaris. Not Grael. Just the wind, and the watching stones.
And footprints.
Not human. Not wolf.
Clawed. Burnt into the soil like coals had kissed it.
He stared at them, wide-eyed, breath catching in his throat.
Behind him, a voice broke the silence.
“I heard you cry out.”
It was Grael.
Taranis turned, expecting fury but Grael only studied the ground.
He knelt, picked up the black scale, held it to the sky.
“I’ve seen this once before,” he murmured. “When I was a child, a dragon fell on the coast and scorched the rocks. My father said it was an omen. A war was coming.”
Taranis didn’t speak.
Graell looked at him. Not as a slave. Not as a tool.
As something else.
“Did it speak to you?” he asked.
Taranis hesitated. Then, slowly, nodded.
“It remembered me,” he whispered.
Grael studied him for a long time.
Then, instead of shouting or binding him tighter, he tossed the scale back into the dirt.
“We leave at sunrise,” he said. “But you ride now. No pack, no tether.”
“But?”
“Don’t argue. The wolves walk tonight. I won’t have them mistaking my general for a jailer.”
He left without another word.
Taranis looked once more at the scale.
He didn’t pick it up.
He didn’t need to.
Because far above, in the mist just clearing from the trees, he saw it.
A black shape. Not flying circling.
Watching.
The trail narrowed where the pines grew thicker. Roots tangled like veins across the path, and a wet mist clung low to the earth. It was the kind of mist that swallowed sound, choked movement, and stirred old tales of spirits that walked in silence.
Taranis walked beside the horse, arms still loosely bound, though the reins were slack. No mask, but the bruises where it had been were livid. He moved stiffly, eyes always searching. Behind him, Solaris coughed twice, limping slightly from his wound.
They passed under an arch of old stone weathered, moss-covered. No one knew who had built it. Even Grael avoided looking at it for too long.
“Hold,” came the call. Grael raised a hand. The warriors stopped. The silence was heavy, too heavy.
Birds had vanished. The wind had gone still.
Taranis felt it first. Not fear instinct. A tremor through the earth. He reached for the horse’s mane, steadying it. The animal was restless, nostrils flaring.
Then movement.
From the mists came arrows.
Three struck the front scout before he could cry out. Grael shouted and drew his axe, but shadows surged from the trees on both sides. Raiders or worse. Perhaps Clawclan remnants, or wild clans untamed by any banner.
The battle was chaos. Horses reared, warriors scattered. Solaris was knocked to the ground. Grael fought like a bear, roaring commands.
Taranis didn’t hesitate.
The bindings fell away in the confusion a mercy or a mistake, he didn’t know. He grabbed a dropped spear and ran.
Two raiders cornered Solaris. One raised a club.
Taranis screamed a guttural, wordless sound and drove the spear through the attacker’s side. Blood sprayed his face. The second turned too late. Taranis tackled him, fists flying.
It wasn’t grace. It was rage. Raw survival.
Behind him, Solaris scrambled up, eyes wide.
“Taranis!”
But the boy didn’t stop. Another warrior was down the horse wounded. He yanked the reins and shouted, forcing the beast to rise and kick. Then he turned, grabbed a fallen axe, and joined the circle around Grael.
They fought back-to-back.
The mist swallowed screams.
The enemy fled at last dragging bodies, howling curses.
Taranis stood bloodied, panting, face cut and limbs shaking. Grael stared at him.
“You broke formation,” the general said.
“I saved Solaris.”
“You disobeyed orders.”
Taranis nodded.
“And?”
Grael’s mouth twitched.
“And you live. That’s more than can be said for six of mine.”
He turned to the surviving warriors. “Form ranks. Bury the dead. Leave the cursed.”
Taranis felt the weight of that last word. But no one bound him again.
Solaris came to him later, pressing a bandage to his side.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“They would’ve done worse if I hadn’t.”
He stared at the mist, which still hung beyond the stones.
“They were hunting me, I think. Not you.”
Solaris didn’t answer. But he didn’t argue.
That night, the dragon circled again. But this time, Taranis didn’t flinch.
He stood outside the camp’s firelight, head raised to the clouds.
And whispered, “I’m not done yet.”
Vision and the Flame
The sun had barely risen, and the mist still clung to the hills like a shroud when they set out again. Taranis rode beside the horse now, his wrists still bound to the mane, but the pack had been removed. His shoulders ached from days of carrying warrior burdens, but now they felt strangely light too light, as if something unseen pressed down instead.
Behind them, the standing stones faded into the fog, silent witnesses to whatever had happened the night before.
Solaris walked beside him.
“You dreamt again, didn’t you?” he asked.
Taranis gave a slow nod.
Solaris leaned in. “Was it him?”
“I think so. Not a man. Not a god. Not… entirely dragon either.”
Solaris frowned. “Then what?”
Taranis didn’t answer.
Grael rode ahead, silent but alert, his eyes scanning the ridgeline as if expecting danger. The rest of the war party followed in a narrow column. They were headed toward the cliffs of Mornhallow, where Clawclan had last been seen regrouping.
By midday, they halted to rest at a wide outcrop overlooking a valley. Taranis was allowed to drink, but his hands remained bound. Solaris crouched near him with a waterskin.
“You’re changing,” Solaris said quietly. “Even they see it. Some of the warriors bowed their heads this morning when you passed.”
“I’m still a slave.”
“You’re something else too.”
Taranis turned away, but not before Solaris caught the flicker of doubt in his eyes.
The sky darkened again before the meal was finished. Smoke not campfire smoke, but thick, rising plumes was seen in the east. Grael gave the signal. They moved quickly, descending the ridge, navigating goat trails that wound between crag and cliff.
By the time they reached the valley floor, the earth trembled.
At first, they thought it was an earthquake. But no quake smelled of sulfur. No quake hissed like breathing from beneath the earth.
And then came the roar.
Not beast. Not storm.
Something older.
The horses bucked. One warrior fell and screamed as his leg snapped under a panicked hoof.
Taranis barely stayed upright. His tether snapped and he fell, face-first into the mud. The mask bit into his skin.
Solaris was shouting. Grael drew his blade.
Then the sky opened.
A shape black and massive hurtled through the clouds. It didn’t land. It circled once. Twice.
And then it vanished beyond the cliffs.
Silence followed. Every man stared.
“Did we just”
“A dragon,” another whispered. “Not a tale. Not a shadow. A real one.”
Taranis rose slowly. His knees shook. Not from fear but from recognition.
“That’s the one,” he muttered.
Solaris helped him up.
“You knew it would come.”
“I don’t know how I knew. But it saw me again.”
Before anything more could be said, the sound of warhorns echoed from the east.
Clawclan.
They hadn’t been retreating. They’d been setting a trap.
Grael didn’t hesitate.
“We hold the ridge. Shield line at the rocks. Archers up high. Taranis stay behind.”
Taranis stepped forward.
“No.”
Grael turned. “You’re not armed.”
“Then arm me.”
For a moment, the general stared at the boy.
Then he nodded once.
Solaris tossed Taranis a short spear and a wooden shield with a dented rim.
“You know how to use these?”
“I’ll learn fast.”
They made their stand on a narrow path between two jagged boulders. Only five could pass at once. Perfect for defense, if they could hold.
Clawclan came like thunder painted warriors, snarling and shirtless, brandishing stone blades and axes. Their faces were streaked with blood. Their chants shook the cliffs.
Taranis took his place beside Solaris, shield raised, heart pounding.
“Steady,” Grael called. “Let them come.”
And they did.
The first wave slammed into the shield wall. Taranis staggered but held. He drove his spear forward, felt it sink into flesh. A scream. Blood sprayed across his mask.
Another came, swinging wildly. Taranis ducked. The shield cracked from the impact, but he held the line.
Beside him, Solaris shouted and slashed.
More fell.
More came.
Then the sky split again.
A streak of flame carved across the cliffside. Rocks exploded into the air. The Clawclan halted mid-charge. Some turned and ran.
Above them, the dragon hovered.
Its wings didn’t beat they ruled the air.
Its eyes twin suns fixed on Taranis.
And it roared.
This time, Taranis didn’t flinch.
He stepped forward, mask dripping blood, shield broken, spear held in both hands like a torch.
And the dragon landed.
Right before him.
The warriors fell back. Even Grael froze.
But Taranis walked forward.
Closer.
Closer.
Until the dragon lowered its head.
And spoke.
Not aloud. Not with words.
But in fire, and wind, and memory.
“You remember me. And I… remember you.”
Taranis knelt.
Not as a slave.
Not as a beast.
But as something becoming.
The dragon blinked once.
Then, with a gust that knocked warriors off their feet, it took flight.
And vanished again into the clouds.
Solaris approached, wide-eyed.
“Why you?”
Taranis looked up, face pale beneath the blood and ash.
“I don’t know.”
Grael finally stepped forward, voice low.
“I do.”
Taranis stood.
“You are the storm’s child,” Grael said. “Not born to chains, but tested by them.”
And no one, not even the elders, spoke against it.
They reached the war camp by dusk.
The Clawclan had vanished into the trees, routed and broken. The warriors murmured as they set up their shelters some glanced at Taranis with wide eyes, others crossed themselves when he passed. The dragon’s presence still hung over them like a storm that refused to break.
Taranis was no longer tethered.
He walked freely hands still raw, the mask still slung at his belt, but his stride had changed. Even Solaris noticed it.
“You walk like one of us now,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You’re not one of them either.”
Grael called the warriors to the central fire. It blazed tall and angry, fed with cedar and hawthorn. The general stood before it, arms crossed.
“We lost three. The rest live. And we saw a dragon today,” he began.
No one argued.
He looked to Taranis.
“This boy stood when others fell. He held the line. He walked forward when we stepped back. And the dragon” he paused, “bowed its head to him.”
A few warriors whispered. One spat again, but more now watched with quiet awe.
“Some say he is cursed. Others, chosen.”
A new voice cut the air.
“The prophecy speaks of one who carries fire without flame.”
Everyone turned.
A woman stepped from the darkness.
Tall, hooded, robes stained with travel and blood. Around her neck hung bones carved with ancient sigils.
“The Seer,” Solaris whispered.
Taranis stood still as she approached. She carried no weapon, yet everyone stepped aside.
She looked into his face without blinking.
“You have seen it,” she said.
He nodded.
“The wings. The storm. The breath that burns without smoke.”
Another nod.
“You wear no mark, and yet you are marked. You are not born of dragons, but they know your name.”
Grael stepped forward, cautious. “You spoke of this before?”
“I saw it in the flames when he was born,” she replied. “I warned the elders. They said he was cursed that wolves would follow him, that chains would bind him, that thunder would weep at his death.”
Taranis narrowed his eyes.
“At my death?”
She touched his shoulder. Her hand was cold. “You must die to rise.”
The fire cracked loudly.
Grael frowned. “Speak plainly.”
The Seer turned toward the flame. “He must break. Only then will the storm choose him. And only then will the dragon name him.”
Taranis looked at her sharply.
“The dragon has no name?”
“None that mortals are worthy to speak,” she said. “But it may grant him one. If he survives what’s coming.”
Solaris stepped forward. “What is coming?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her cloak and drew out a pendant obsidian carved with a spiral.
She placed it in Taranis’s hand.
“You’ll know when to use it.”
He stared at the stone. It was warm. Pulsing, almost. Like a heartbeat.
The Seer turned to go.
“Wait!” Taranis called.
“What am I?”
She paused at the edge of the firelight.
“You are not yet.”
And then she vanished into the dark.
The camp slowly quieted. No one laughed. No one sang. They drank in silence.
Taranis sat beside the fire, the pendant still in his hand. Solaris joined him.
“You believe her?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” Taranis whispered. “But I remember that dragon. Not just from this week. From before. From… childhood. Dreams.”
Solaris tilted his head. “You think it’s the same one?”
“I know it is.”
The wind shifted. Smoke curled into the stars.
“Then you’re not just a slave, Taranis,” Solaris said. “You’re the start of something.”
Taranis stared into the fire.
“I don’t want to be.”
“Too late.”
He closed his fist around the pendant.
And far in the distance, where the cliffs met the clouds, the dragon watched.
Waiting.
© 2025 EL Hewitt. All rights reserved.
This story and all characters within the StormborneLore world are the original creation of EL Hewitt. Do not copy, repost, or adapt without permission.
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