StormborneLore

Tag: Lost Gods

  • The Hundred Years of Chains

    The Hundred Years of Chains

    The name Taranis Stormborne had long since faded from Rome’s records, but not from its whispers.


    A hundred years had passed since the day the storm was chained. Yet still he fought beneath the sun not as a man, but as the empire’s curse.

    They called him many things now.
    The Emperor’s Champion.
    The Storm Gladiator.
    To the slaves, he was The Unbroken One.
    And to Rome’s generals, he was a weapon too valuable to destroy, too dangerous to free.

    Every emperor since his capture had ordered the same:
    “Keep him alive.”
    For his blood immortal, untamed had become Rome’s secret ritual. Each time the storm bled into the sand, their augurs said the city’s heart beat stronger.

    Chains replaced chains. Iron became gold.
    He was moved from the pits of Britannia to the marble arenas of the south. A relic paraded before crowds who no longer remembered his rebellion only the spectacle of a god in man’s form.

    Yet he remembered.

    Every lash. Every fallen friend.
    Every whisper of his brothers Drax, Lore, Draven still echoing through the storm he carried in his veins.

    And sometimes, when lightning forked across the horizon of the Mediterranean. The guards swore they saw him lift his face to the sky and smile.

    “Not long now,” he would murmur, voice low and rough as distant thunder.
    “The empire will fall and I will still be standing.

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

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  • Exile and Legends: The Story of Taranis and His Chains

    Exile and Legends: The Story of Taranis and His Chains

    The Echoes of Chains

    A hundred years had passed since the storm was bound.


    A hundred winters since Taranis Stormborne’s chains had sung beneath Rome’s hand yet still, his name whispered across the camps and the courts like a ghost too proud to fade.

    In the hall of the Legion’s veterans, laughter rose among the embers.
    Drax, Draven, and Lore sat together with old friends, all bound by immortality, all marked by the centuries. The world had changed around them Rome had fallen, risen, and reshaped itself but some wounds did not age.

    “They want to see how far they can push him before he dies,” one of the legionnaires said, swirling wine dark as blood in his cup. “The Empire’s still obsessed with him. Calls him champion now.”

    Draven’s brow arched. “Champion?” he repeated, half with scorn, half with disbelief. “The Emperor’s champion? Then he’s no prisoner he’s a prize.”

    Another man leaned closer, the firelight cutting sharp lines across his face. “Word is they’ll grant him exile. An island of his own. Somewhere the storms never touch.”

    Lore laughed softly though there was no warmth in it. “Exile,” he said. “Rome’s mercy always comes wrapped in iron.”

    Marcos older than them all, though untouched by time raised his cup. “Your brother’s no man anymore,” he said quietly. “He’s a story they can’t kill. A weapon they don’t understand.”

    The hall fell silent. Only the fire spoke a low hiss, a breath of smoke curling upward.

    A woman’s voice, cool as silver, broke the quiet. Calisto, immortal like the brothers, leaned against the pillar’s shadow. “Calisto owns your brother now,” she said. “Gladiator. Slave. Sold to noble women to keep their beds warm and their secrets buried.”

    Draven’s hand tightened on the table. “You speak lies,” he growled.

    Marcos shook his head slowly. “Not lies. Rome believes a man can be broken if he’s humiliated long enough.” His eyes darkened. “They never understood what blood he carried.”

    Drax stared into the fire, jaw set like stone. “Then they’ve forgotten what happens when storms remember,” he murmured.

    Outside, thunder rolled faintly over the hills distant, but coming closer.