Tag: fantasy

Building the Hillfort: A New Era Begins

The hillfort rose like a scar upon the earth raw, unfinished, powerful in its promise.

Stones clattered as men worked shoulder to shoulder. Logs were rolled into place, lashed with thick rope and secured by wedges of bone and bronze. Children ran between the scaffolds, delivering water or watching with wide eyes as their future took shape.

It was a day like no other.

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a golden sheen across the half-built wall. Birds circled above, uneasy. The animals in the nearby woods had gone silent.

Sir Gael, the oldest warrior among the fort’s guardians, paused to wipe sweat from his brow. His grey-streaked beard was heavy with dust. He glanced upward, his hand stilled mid-motion.

“Commander Drax,” he said, his voice strangely calm. “Look.”

Drax turned his shoulders broad, his eyes as sharp as the spear he carried.

Above them, the sky split.

A roar echoed across the valley not of wind, nor beast, but something far older. The builders dropped their tools. The children froze. Heads tilted toward the heavens.

The clouds churned as if afraid. And from them, something vast and terrible descended.

A dragon.

Wings wide as the river’s span. Scales that shimmered with green, gold, and a glint of crimson. Pendragon, King of the Sky. A creature from legend — spoken of in firelit whispers and dream-songs passed down by the Flamekeepers.

And on his back rode a man.

Tall. Armoured in blackened bronze. A red cloak fluttered behind him like a banner of blood and flame. His grey eyes gleamed with the fury of storms.

Taranis Stormborne.

The exiled boy. The returning myth. The High Warlord.

Sir Gael dropped to one knee. The others followed not out of fear, but reverence.

“Is it truly him?” someone whispered.

A small girl tugged at her father’s tunic. “Daddy… is he the one the Seer spoke of?”

Her father a scarred builder named Halvor looked to Drax for guidance.

Drax did not speak at first.

He simply nodded.

“It’s possible, young one.”

The dragon roared again. Pendragon spiralled downward, his wings churning the air so fiercely that dust clouds rose from the hilltop. Yet the High Warlord stood unshaken upon his back, one hand on the saddlehorn, the other raised in greeting.

He did not fall.

Not once.

He rode the wind like it was his birthright.

When Pendragon finally landed upon the high ridge, silence followed. Even the wind dared not move.

Taranis slid down with the ease of a seasoned warrior. His boots hit the ground with a thud like thunder. Behind him, the dragon crouched, its golden eyes watching all with quiet fire.

Drax stepped forward.

“Taranis,” he said, voice cracking. “You’ve returned.”

Taranis nodded. “And you’ve begun.”

He looked past his brother to the rising fort, half-finished but brimming with hope.

“Stone and sweat,” he said. “It’s a good beginning.”

Lore emerged next from the shadows, staff in hand. “The prophecy breathes,” he said.

“It was written: When sky and fire meet the hill. The son shall return to shape the land with storm and blood.”

A murmur passed through the gathering crowd.

Taranis took a slow breath, then turned to the workers.

“I am no king,” he said, voice deep and sure. “I do not bring crowns or glory. I bring a future. A place for the broken and the brave. A shield for our young. A fire for our old.”

He lifted his sword.

“This land this fort will stand not just for the Stormborne. It will stand for all who remember. For those cast out. For those who bled. We rise not to conquer, but to endure.”

Cheers broke across the hilltop.

Some wept. Others simply stared, mouths open, unsure if they stood in a dream or waking world.

The children gathered near the dragon’s feet, staring up in awe. Pendragon blinked slowly and lowered his head so they touch his scaled snout.

The girl from before her name was Marla reached out, fingers trembling.

“He’s warm,” she whispered.

Sir Gael stood beside Drax, smiling through his years.

“I thought the stories were just that,” he said. “Stories.”

“Some stories,” Lore said, “are simply waiting for the right time.”

That night, fires were lit along the hilltop. The beginnings of the wall gleamed in the torchlight, casting long shadows over the land. Meat was roasted. Bread was broken.

At the centre sat the brothers Stormborne Taranis, Drax, and Lore their heads bent together, planning the days to come.

Boldolph and Morrigan, the sacred wolves, lay on either side of the war table. Watchful. Silent.

Above them, high in the sky, Pendragon remained perched. His wings wrapped around the star-streaked air like a guardian angel of old. Next to the dragon was a black dragon

“They fought with us and now they returned “

“I’m staying as long as needed ” taranis knelt to the children “this beast us pendragon and that ones Tiarneach “

The hillfort was far from finished.

But something greater had begun.

Hope.

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

If you would like to read more about Drax : lThe Chronicles of Drax

If you would like to read more about Rayne: The tales of Rayne

If you would like to read more about Lore: The Keeper of Cairnstones: Myths and Mysteries Revealed

July 3, 2025
The Founders’ Feast: A Bronze Age Tribute

The Rise of Emberhelm.

The wind still smelled of blood and ash.

Taranis stood on the ridge, his cloak torn by the storm, his hair streaked with soot. Below, the valley rippled with new life: tents being stitched, stones lifted, timber lashed. The war was over but the next battle had begun.

“We build not just for defence,” Lore said, tracing runes into the soil, “but for memory.”

The three surviving brothers had gathered their remnants warriors, widows, strays, and seers. They chose high ground, surrounded by forest and stone.

Drax named it Emberhelm, for the fire that had not died. It would become the first Stormborne stronghold.

Taranis trained them in the mornings sword drills, spear throws, endurance across misty hills. Drax oversaw the walls, carving old sigils into oak gates. Lore built the central hearth and lit it from the embers of their victory fire.

That night, the people gathered.

Flames danced. A feast was laid. Meat sizzled on firestones. Barley bread warmed the hands of children.

At the centre of it all stood Taranis, not as an outcast or storm-child. But as High Warlord of the Stormborne.

PART II: The Founders’ Feast – A Bronze Age Meal

The First Meal of Emberhelm was a warm, smoky, filling. A tribute to survival.

Ingredients (Modern Costed)

500g pearl barley – £1.20

2 tbsp honey – £0.40

1 tsp salt – £0.05

Handful wild herbs (or 1 tsp thyme/rosemary) – £0.15

500g root veg (turnip/parsnip/sweet potato) – £1.00

Optional: Lamb neck or mutton (slow cooked) – £3.00–£4.00

Water or veg stock cube – £0.10

Flatbread (optional, if not using barley cakes) – £0.80

Total Cost (vegetarian): ~£3.70
With meat: ~£7.50
Feeds 3–4 people

🛠️ Method (Modern Cooking Adaptation)

Boil the barley in salted water for 25–30 minutes until soft but chewy.

Roast root veg (cubed) in oil and herbs at 200°C for 30 mins.

Optional: Slow cook lamb/mutton with water, herbs, salt for 2–3 hours.

Drain the barley and mix with honey and herbs while warm.

Serve the roasted veg with barley, or spoon over the meat like a grainy stew.

🧙‍♀️ Historical & Symbolic Notes
Barley was a staple across the Bronze Age valued for energy and storage.

Meat was a rare honour. Only eaten during celebrations or major rites.

Honey and herbs symbolised blessing and protection.

Emberhold’s feast marks a cultural shift from wandering to rooting just as the Bronze Age introduced tools, fortresses, and long-term clan identity

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

.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

If you would like to read more about Drax : The Chronicles of Drax

If you would like to read more about Rayne: The tales of Rayne

If you would like to read more about Lore: The Keeper of Cairnstones: Myths and Mysteries Revealed

If you want more Recipes visit : Solaris Kitchen

July 2, 2025
Discover Legends: The Stormfire Saga Part 3

The Brothers Reunited.

The sun broke through the bruised clouds, casting shafts of gold over the bloodied field. Smoke curled from the remnants of fires, and bodies friend and foe lay strewn like broken oaths across the grass. The storm had passed, but silence hung thick as grief.

Taranis stood still, sword lowered, his chest heaving. Blood streaked his arms, his face, even his hair but none of it slowed him. His eyes, grey as thunderclouds, scanned the chaos. Not for more enemies, but for the ones who had once called him brother.

A shape moved through the mist. Then another.

Lore came first tall, limping, one eye swollen shut. His armor was scorched, his left arm dripping crimson. But his voice was whole when he said, “You came back, little storm.”

Taranis didn’t speak. His jaw clenched as he looked at Lore, then at the shadow beside him. Drax emerged next, sword still slick with blood. A gash crossed his temple, but his stance was steady. They looked older. Harder. But not strangers.

“I thought you were dead,” Taranis said at last.

Drax shrugged. “We thought the same of you. For a long time.”

Lore stepped closer. “The others… they didn’t make it. The sickness. The blades. The fire.”

Taranis’s voice cracked. “None of them?”

Lore shook his head. “Only us.”

A long silence passed, broken only by the wind rustling the torn banners on the hill.

Taranis turned, scanning the field again. “I need to see them.”

Drax put a hand on his shoulder. “They’ve been gone a long time, Taranis. But you weren’t forgotten. Even when the tribe cursed you, some of us still believed.”

Lore added quietly, “Mother asked about you. Before the fever took her. She said… if the wind howled in the right way, she still hear your voice in the trees.”

Taranis closed his eyes. The wolves at his side sat in silence. Above, the dragons had vanished, leaving only smoke trails where the storm had passed.

Then, slowly, he knelt.

He didn’t weep. But he placed his blade flat against the soil and whispered words. Only the wind would carry a farewell, a promise, a mourning for all he had lost.

Lore and Drax stood beside him, the last of the Stormborne bloodline. No longer divided. No longer boys.

Brothers. Survivors.

And builders of something new.

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

If you would like to read more about Drax : The Chronicles of Drax

If you would like to read more about Rayne: The tales of Rayne

If you would like to read more about Lore: The Keeper of Cairnstones: Myths and Mysteries Revealed

July 2, 2025
Discover Legends: The Stormfire Saga Part 2

The mist churned with the heavy breath of the earth. It was a blanket of silence, thick as the sorrow that weighed on the air. The warriors stood, unsure whether to kneel or fight to greet their kin, or strike at their curse. There had been no warning, no word of Taranis’s return. He had simply appeared the shadows parting to reveal him like a storm-born god.

Taranis stood tall in the heart of them, his broad shoulders cut against the rolling mist. The wolves at his side. Boldolph, his red-eyed companion, a shadow of night itself, prowled silently beside him.

Morrigan, a beautiful white wolf, ever the ghost, her eyes glittering like twin embers. Moved with the grace of wind, barely disturbing the earth beneath her paws.

Above them, the storm was waiting watching. Tairneanach and Pendragon, the dragons, were not of this earth. But they lingered in the skies, their wings beating the air like the rhythm of war itself.

He did not call for battle. He did not raise a spear. He simply let the storm guide his steps. The weight of his presence alone seemed to shift the land. The earth trembling as though it too remembered what the boy now a man had become.

The warriors of his homeland, who had once been his brothers. Now looked upon him with a mixture of awe, fear, and guilt. Lore, his older brother, stood before him, his face shadowed with grief and anger. There was no joy in his eyes, only the harsh weight of lost years and lost family.

“You return, Taranis. But what have you come back to?” Lore’s voice cut through the stillness. There was no warmth in his tone. Only a coldness that ran deep, a layer of resentment that not be overlooked.

Taranis’s voice, nonetheless, was steady as thunder in the distance, resonating with the storm that had followed him for years. “I return for blood,” he said. “Not just for yours, but for mine.”

A wave of motion the clash of steel, the growl of beasts. But it wasn’t just the tribe who sought war. From the far ridge, a war band of strangers approached, their figures shrouded in shadow. They were not just raiders.

These men had come for something more like. They had heard the legends of the boy who had been cast out. The one who had walked through the storm. They had come to test the power of the Stormborne bloodline.

Taranis didn’t wait. He swept ahead, his blade gleaming like the edge of the storm, glowing with fury. Boldolph leapt alongside him, his jaws snapping at the air. A creature of black shadow and red fire, creature of his own making. Morrigan, ever the shadow, darted forward like a streak of vengeance. her white fur glowing as if the moon itself had poured through her.

The first strike landed. Taranis’s blade cut through the flesh of his nearest foe with the ease of wind through the trees. Blood sprayed from the wound, but it wasn’t just mortal men he was fighting. The storm answered him, the air vibrating as if the heavens themselves would break apart.

The Storm Unleashed
Taranis fought as though he was the very storm itself. Each swing of his blade cutting through flesh like lightning raking the sky. His movements were fluid, practiced not from years of training, but from something older. He had become the storm, the blade in his hand merely an extension of his fury.

Boldolph was a black shadow beside him. His jaws closing around an enemy’s throat, tearing through flesh like a force of nature. Morrigan struck with the elegance of wind, swift and deadly, cutting through men. As though they were nothing more than smoke in the air.

Her eyes burned with the same fire that danced in Taranis’s chest. Morrigans presence was a reminder of the wildness that had shaped him.

The warriors of the rival tribe faltered under the weight of the storm that followed Taranis. The mist, which had once cloaked them in mystery. As it began to burn away, replaced by a swirling cloud of rage and prophecy. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, the clash of steel mingling with the roar of dragons in the sky.

Above them, the dragons spiraled, their forms flickering in and out of the thunderclouds. Pendragon, the King of Dragons, seemed to grow in size with each heartbeat of battle. His wings tearing through the air like the flaps of fate itself.

Tairneanach, the storm dragon, called down bolts of lightning, sending the enemy scattering in terror. He was not of the world below. But his power filled it with such force that even the mightiest warriors. were little more than ants beneath his gaze.

Lore, still standing firm at the edge of the battlefield, shouted over the chaos, his voice tinged with fear,.

“Taranis! This battle is ours to win, but not with blood alone. The storm has a price.”

Taranis glanced at his brother, the bond between them still intact despite the years of separation. Lore’s face was etched with worry, and Taranis saw the doubt in his eyes. They had fought together once, long ago. But the battlefield was different now, and so were they.

Taranis nodded, raising his sword to the sky. Pendragon roared, and the ground trembled beneath them. The clash of steel and the roar of dragons echoed across the hills as the battle raged on.

The Turning Point
Taranis had always fought for survival, but now he fought for something more his legacy. This battle was more than a struggle for land or tribe. It was a struggle for what would stay of the Stormborne name. The tribe, his family, and the ancient bond of blood and storm were all tied to this moment.

Drax, his brother, caught sight of him in the thick of the battle. Their eyes met across the chaos. Drax had once been the fierce, unrelenting warrior, the protector. But now, his eyes were full of something else hesitation.

Taranis fought his way toward him, cutting through the enemy like a force of nature. When he reached Drax, there was a moment of stillness the battlefield paused, the winds held their breath.

“You fight as a man, Taranis,” Drax said, his voice rough with emotion, his sword slick with blood. “But you’ve never known the price of victory.”

Taranis’s eyes flashed with a fire of their own. “Victory isn’t about what you take. It’s about what you give.”

Drax, understanding in that moment what Taranis meant, raised his sword. “Then let us give,” he said, and together they turned. Fighting back to back, cutting through the enemy ranks with a power born of blood, storm, and flame.

The End of the Storm

The battle raged on for what felt like eternity, but slowly, the enemy forces began to break. The storm that had followed Taranis, fierce and untamed, began to recede as the last of the rival warriors fell.

The sky cleared, the clouds parted, and the first rays of sunlight broke through. casting a strange glow over the blood-soaked earth.

Taranis stood midst the chaos, bloodied but unbroken, his sword raised to the heavens. Pendragon and Tairneanach circled above, their forms still haunting the skies as their presence faded with the storm.

Lore and Drax stood beside him, their faces full of silent grief and reluctant pride. The cost had been great, and the blood of their brothers stained the earth beneath them.

But the Stormborne bloodline had endured. Taranis had returned and with him, the legacy of the Stormborne would live on. No longer a whispered legend, but a truth written in blood, storm, and flame.

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

If you would like to read more about Drax : The Chronicles of Drax

If you would like to read more about Rayne: The tales of Rayne

If you would like to read more about Lore: The Keeper of Cairnstones: Myths and Mysteries Revealed

July 2, 2025
Discover Legends: The Stormfire Saga Part 1

The Return of Stormfire

A vibrant abstract artwork featuring a bold central pattern surrounded by colorful concentric lines.

They say the sky cracked open the morning he returned.

A low thunder rolled across the hills, though no lightning had yet touched the earth. The mist lay thick upon Malvern Hill, curling over the stones like the breath of ancient spirits. Somewhere between the bracken and the stormclouds, a shape emerged not quite man, not quite myth.

A fierce black wolf howls against a vibrant blue background, embodying the spirit of Taranis Stormborne’s journey in ‘The Return of Stormfire.’

Taranis Stormborne had come home.

He walked as one who had been reforged, each footstep heavy with memory and fire. Ten winters had passed since he’d been cast out as a cursed boy. But now he stood seven feet tall, shoulders broad as yew trunks. his eyes glinting with the steel-grey of a storm’s eye. His breath steamed in the cool dawn, yet he wore no furs. He needed none.

To his right padded Boldolph, the black wolf, massive and scarred, his red eyes burning like coals.

To his left prowled Morrigan, white as frost, her gaze sharp as carved bone.

An eye-catching illustration of a dragon intertwined with vibrant foliage, showcasing the magical essence of StormborneLore.

Above them circled the watchers of the sky two dragons cloaked in storm. Tairneanach, the spirit of thunder, and Pendragon, King of Flame. Their wings stirred the clouds. Their roars were hidden in the rumble overhead.

No trumpet called. No banner flew. But the mountain knew.

So did the tribe.

The watchmen were first to see him — one dropped his spear, the other fled into the trees. Word spread like fire through dry grass:
“The Stormborne has returned.”

By the time Taranis reached the outer ridge, a ring of warriors had formed. Men he once called brothers. Men who remembered the boy and now beheld the storm.

His father was gone. His mother, buried in silence.

But Lore was there the eldest, proud and sorrow-worn.

So was Drax once cruel, now haunted.

And others less forgiving.

They stepped ahead, hands on stone blades, fury in their eyes. The past had not been buried with the bones of the dead.

Taranis did not speak.

He simply knelt. Placed his hand upon the earth.

And the clouds above them began to swirl.

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

If you would like to read more about Drax : The Chronicles of Drax

If you would like to read more about Rayne: The tales of Rayne

If you would like to read more about Lore: The Keeper of Cairnstones: Myths and Mysteries Revealed

July 2, 2025
The Storm Dragon and Flame Father: Tales of Taranis

Tairneanach and Pendragon Spirits of Storm, Fire, and Fate

A vibrant illustration of Tairneanach, the Storm Dragon, embodying the elements of fury and prophecy amidst a colorful backdrop.

The Storm That Watches

They say a great wyrm once roamed Biddulph Moor. A beast of smoke and sky, hunted by men with spears of bronze and fear in their bellies. But no man killed it.

The creature rose into the thunderclouds and vanished, taking the storm with it.

The next day, nothing grew on the moor but blackened heather.

That wyrm became Tairneanach, the Storm Dragon not a creature of fire, but of prophecy. His breath is wind. His scales shimmer like wet slate. He is the first when a child is born under an omen sky. The last to vanish when a soul is cast out unjustly.

“He is not tamed. Not ridden. He chooses.”
Whispered in the dreams of outcasts and seers.

He spoke once to Taranis, though none saw him but the moon. And ever since, storms gather when the boy is near.

Pendragon the King of the First Flame.

Before the first stone stood upright, before wolves wore names, there was Pendragon the Flame Father.
He does not fly in the sky, but in the bloodline of heroes.

His heart is fire, but his wisdom is older than heat. Some say he shaped the bones of the land. Others say he waits beneath the earth, dreaming.

He is the King of Dragons, but he does not rule — he remembers.

Pendragon comes not in rage, but in reckoning. When a soul is weighed against fate itself, he is the one who tips the scale. He appeared in the old hills beyond Cannock. Curled in flame and sorrow when the first chieftain died protecting a starving tribe. That fire still burns in the soil.

The Blood Oath of the Stormborne
It is said the Stormborne line carries both marks:

The Eye of Tairneanach

vision, fury, and unnatural storms

The Flame of Pendragon

mercy, fire, and legacy

Taranis bears both.
He is not just watched by dragons he is of them.

Tairneanach: Name derived from Irish/Scottish Gaelic tairneanach meaning “thunder.”

Pendragon: Traditional Welsh/British title, here re-imagined as the Flame Father, not a king by rule but by spirit.

This lore blends:

The Biddulph Dragon (real Staffordshire tale)

Knucker folklore & storm-serpent myths

Cannock Chase legends & draconic omens

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

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July 2, 2025
The Birth of the Ashborn

A poem from the whispers of the forest after Taranis saves the she-wolf and her pups.

They say the storm once walked alone,
Through fire’s breath and forests blown.
A child of exile, ash, and flame,
Who bore no crown, yet earned his name.

He found her there the mother torn,
Her belly bruised, her breath still warm.
The hunters laughed. The kindling caught.
But mercy moved where rage was taught.

The wolves rose first with fang and howl.
Then he, with eyes that shook the boughs.
Through smoke he tore the yew’s black roots,
And bore her forth with bloodied boots.

The fire danced. The forest burned.
But in the blaze, a legend turned.
Three pups were born from soot and sky,
And none who watched tell you why.

One bore lightning on its spine,
One with eyes of gold, divine.
And one was pale as ghostly thread
The fire not fled, but burned instead.

Now whisperers call him Storm fire still,
The boy who chose not rage but will.
Who fed the flame and spared the beast,
And from that night, the howls increased.

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

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.

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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
The Awakening of a Charmed Hero

Taranis lay silent in his cradle, just moments after birth. He didn’t cry, didn’t scream only watched with wide, storm-coloured eyes. I sat by his side, listening to the rising argument between our father and eldest brother, Drax.

“No one will hurt you, baby brother,” I whispered, “not while I and the others still draw breath.”

“Lore,” came our mother’s voice, tired but clear, “you’ll be good to him, won’t you? He’s weak…”

I turned to her and gave a gentle nod. “Yes, Mother. And so will you. You’ll teach him to gather berries and cook. And Father will teach him to hunt. He has eleven older brothers, we’ll teach him everything. But… what is Father going to do about Drax?”

I cradled Taranis in my arms, gently rocking him the way I’d done with the others. Even then, he felt… different. Lighter and heavier at the same time.

“We’ll protect him,” Mother whispered. “But if Drax doesn’t stay quiet, your father may have him silenced.”

There was pain in her voice, thick with grief.

“Drax is being ostracised,” Father said later that day.

“He’s moved to the empty hut. My men are watching him. But Lore my boy you are to be chief when I enter the eternal sleep. Drax has forfeited his claim.”

“Yes, Father,” I replied, handing the baby to him before leaving for council training.

Many moons passed.

Drax had become more unstable touched by something dark. He talked to shadows. He thrashed like a wild animal when approached. Still, Father refused to have him killed.

But Drax had never been allowed near Taranis unbound not since the moment of his birth.

One afternoon, I sat carving a storm sigil into a flat stone when a scream echoed across the camp. It was Stone, a tribal woman and healer. I dropped my tools and ran.

Inside the birthing hut, Taranis barely four months old was standing unaided.

“L… Lore?” the baby said softly.

I froze. My heart thundered in my chest. “Yes… I’m Lore. You’re Taranis the stormborne one.”

No child had ever spoken or walked at that age. He was already taller than most children twice his age. His voice was clear. His steps were steady.

Our parents rushed in.

“Conan, he’s doing it,” Mother said, her voice laced with awe and fear. “But it’s far too early.”

Father’s eyes scanned the room. He bent down and lifted Taranis, pride and dread wrestling in his expression.

“Stone,” he said quietly, “you saw nothing. And neither did you, Lore.”

“Drax is here for visitation today,” I reminded him, uneasy.

“The shaman has blessed him. He’s… clear enough,” Father replied. “But I will not kill my own blood.”

“Dadda?” Taranis said with a toothless grin. “Momma. Daddy. Lore.”

“That’s right, my charmed one,” Father said softly. “And you are?”

“Tabaris,” he chirped, mispronouncing his own name.

“Close. It’s Taranis,” Father corrected gently.

“Taranis,” he said again, tapping his chest. “Me Tanaris. You Daddy. That Mommy Sweet Voice. That Lore.”

I chuckled. “That’s right, little one. I’m your brother Lore. That’s Stone. And these are your other brothers. Do you know their names?”

“Lore… Oak, Willow… River, Sky… Star…”

He paused, hiding his face bashfully.

“You did brilliantly,” I reassured him. “You’re only three moons old and already speaking better than most of us at one year!”

Time flew.

Taranis walked and talked far too early. At one year old, he was disappearing from sight vanishing, even. He was growing rapidly, faster than any child the tribe had ever seen.

One morning, he wandered toward the hut where Drax now lived, under guard by two warriors.

“What you doing, little brother?” Rain asked, trailing behind him.

“Why Drax in there alone?” Taranis asked, blinking up at the warriors.

“He’s touched,” Rain said. “They say a vengeful spirit cursed him.”

Taranis tilted his head. “I heal him,” he said matter-of-factly.

Before I stop him, he dashed toward the door.

“TARANIS! NO! STOP RIGHT NOW!” I shouted.

“I heal!” he giggled.

Rain and I exchanged looks. “Get Father!” I barked.

We followed him inside. Drax sat cross-legged, staring at the wall. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Taranis approached him with no fear and touched his hand. A strange, gentle glow pulsed from his palm.

“I call on my sacred friends,” he whispered, “to heal my brother Drax.”

And in that moment, something ancient stirred.

To be continued…

Further Reading

The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

June 29, 2025