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Home / Fantasy / The God of War Calen Storm / A Moment of Suspense
A Moment of Suspense
Author: Cindy Chen
last update2025-03-17 20:53:12

Calen’s heart pounded so violently he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. Each heavy beat was a warning—this was it.

Queen Elara Wynn moved with the deliberate, unhurried grace of someone who had never once doubted her authority. Her golden gown, embroidered with intricate silver threads, shimmered under the morning sun, and each step she took seemed to demand reverence.

He forced himself to remain still, his hands clenched at his sides beneath his leather gloves. His fingers ached from the pressure, but he dared not relax them.

If she recognized him, it was over.

He was one man, outnumbered and surrounded, in the heart of enemy territory. His only defense was his disguise. No sudden movements. No eye contact.

The soldiers standing beside him held their heads high, their backs straight, their expressions resolute. They belonged here. Their loyalty to Rivermoore was evident in the way their chests swelled with pride as the Queen passed.

Calen, on the other hand, was an intruder.
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  • The Archives

    Shadowmere – The Observatory TowerThe air was thick with dust and candle wax. Ancient tomes lined the circular chamber of the High Archives—some so old their bindings had fused with the shelves. It had been years since anyone had stepped this far into the forbidden tier of Drakhtarion records.But Serenya Draeven moved with purpose.In her hand was a scroll of ancient items of the royals. And one word had haunted her since:Pendant. Calen talked about it before he left Shadowmere. He mentioned about the vision, about a girl named Carmen, about Aldric Storm. What is it?Serenya’s fingers brushed along the rows of weathered spines until she found what she was looking for: “Relics of Flame: The Oathbound Artifacts of Drakhtarion.”She opened it with care.The pages crackled. And there, inked in faded crimson and gold, was the sketch of a sigil—a stylized flame wrapped in a spiral of light, embedded into a teardrop-shaped pendant.Her heart skipped.“The Heartfire Sigil: a relic forged d

  • The Whispers Beneath

    The mist thickened with every step.What had once drifted in harmless tendrils now writhed like living things—coiling up the walls, creeping along the floor, slick and sentient. Carmen’s boots splashed into a shallow puddle. She froze.“There wasn’t water here before…” she whispered.Calen crouched, touching the ground. A smear of dark, viscous liquid clung to his fingertips.“Shadow ichor,” he said grimly. “Residual essence from old magic. The seal is bleeding.”“Wonderful,” Liora muttered. “So now the temple’s leaking ancient demon juice. Perfect.”Then the air shifted. Not visibly—but Carmen felt it. A tug in her chest. The corridor didn’t twist, and yet… something was off. The stone felt farther. The air, heavier. Time slowed.Calen stopped. “Wait.”“What now?” Liora said, low and sharp.His eyes narrowed. “The corridor—it’s longer. Too long.”They turned. The archway behind them had vanished into shadow. And the exit ahead... gone.“We’re not in the same space anymore, are we?” C

  • The Echo and the Warning

    The corridor behind the containment chamber grew colder with every step. The walls no longer merely loomed—they pressed, as if the ancient stone itself wished to push them back, to choke out the trespassers that dared awaken what lay beneath. The air felt dense and old, steeped in centuries of silence and dust.Each footfall echoed unnaturally, as though the sound traveled further than it should, returning distorted, like memories with too many teeth.Calen’s palm shimmered faintly with stormlight, the golden crackle casting trembling shadows across the damp stone. It barely held the darkness at bay.Carmen walked close behind him, her breath clouding faintly now. “This place feels… wrong,” she whispered, her voice soft but tense. Her hand brushed along the wall, fingertips finding grooves that felt like claw marks.“It felt wrong three hallways ago,” Liora muttered behind them, her fingers resting on the hilt of her dagger, eyes scanning every corner. “Now it feels cursed. Like the w

  • A Coffin

    Drakhtarion’s Hidden TempleThe air grew thicker with every step they took. A weight hung in the atmosphere—not just the musty scent of dust and stone, but something older, something that hummed faintly against the skin like the charge before a lightning strike. The narrow corridor pressed in on them, the walls slick with moss and condensation. Roots snaked from the ceiling like skeletal fingers.The flame in Calen’s palm flickered as if reacting to the dark around them, burning a pale gold that barely pushed back the oppressive shadow.Carmen walked close behind, her other hand gripping the pendant now slung around her neck. It pulsed faintly in response to Calen’s magic, warm against her chest. Her eyes darted along the walls—every crack in the stone felt like it might open its eyes.Behind her, Liora huffed, boots squelching softly in the damp. “I’m going to be real honest, this is exactly the kind of place people die in tragic, ancient poems. You know, ‘and so they wandered into t

  • Kill Him

    Shadowmere — The War CouncilThe great obsidian hall of Shadowmere was filled with the murmurs of power.Blue fire crackled in suspended braziers along the walls, casting dancing shadows over the ancient symbols etched into the black stone. Around the round table of dragonbone, the Elders of Drakhtarion had gathered—hooded figures, old and powerful, some scarred by war, others untouched by time.Aelion Draeven stood at the head of the chamber, his silver eyes sharp with tension. Beside him, Serenya's fingers glowed faintly from a residual tracing spell, her brow furrowed.“We all felt the disturbance,” Aelion began, voice echoing across the stone chamber. “The seal on Tharstan’s prison is fracturing. And Calen Storm… he is the cause.”A murmur rippled through the room.One of the elders—Maevin Thorne, lean and hawk-eyed—spoke first. “Then we must act. If Tharstan still festers in that prison, and Calen carries his blood, it is only a matter of time before the darkness finds him. And u

  • I Hate Your Ancestors

    Pain.That was the first thing Calen felt—a deep, bone-thudding ache across his back and shoulders, as if he’d been trampled by a herd of stampeding warhorses. His head throbbed, his limbs were stiff, and there was a faint ringing in his ears.But he was alive.Groaning, he slowly pushed himself up from the cold, uneven stone beneath him. Shadows loomed above—jagged and ancient, carved into arching walls that disappeared into darkness. The faint glow of the pendant Carmen had used earlier still flickered near his chest, casting long golden pulses into the gloom.He blinked.Carmen and Liora lay crumpled nearby, unconscious, their limbs splayed awkwardly on the stone floor. His breath caught, and he scrambled over, dropping beside them.“Carmen… Liora…”Their chests were rising. Thank the stars.Still, they weren’t waking.Gently, Calen reached out. His hand shimmered with soft arcs of electricity—controlled, delicate. With utmost care, he let the storm energy spark lightly against the

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