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Home / Fantasy / The God of War Calen Storm / Search For The Truth
Search For The Truth
Author: Cindy Chen
last update2025-05-10 15:14:25

Taking a deep breath, Calen crossed the small room, his steps careful on the creaky wooden floor. The soft glow of moonlight filtering through the high, narrow window barely lit his path. His heart pounded steadily, not out of fear but out of a sense of anticipation. When he reached the door, he paused for a moment, his fingers lingering on the brass handle before he pulled it open.

An elderly man stood on the threshold, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. The man’s posture was slightly hunched, as if the weight of years had pressed down on his shoulders, but his eyes remained sharp and alert behind a pair of thin, wire-rimmed spectacles. His long, dark coat, typical of the palace staff, was meticulously clean despite the dusty atmosphere of the old library. For a fleeting moment, Calen’s muscles tensed, but as recognition dawned, he allowed himself to relax.

“Aldwin,” he greeted, his voice low but steady.

The old librarian adjusted his spectacles, peering more cl
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  • The Hunt Begins

    It started with whispers.Posters, hastily nailed to market stalls and village gates, bore the unmistakable sigil of the crown—the golden stag pierced by a sword. And beneath it, the name that once commanded loyalty, awe, and fear:CALEN STORM.“WANTED. BY ORDER OF THE KING. TEN THOUSAND GOLD ROYALS FOR HIS CAPTURE — ALIVE.”No crime listed. No justification. Only a decree.And yet, it was enough.Within hours, bounty hunters flooded the streets of Aerondale—some local, many foreign. Mercenaries, assassins, outlaws seeking royal favor. The scent of gold had drawn them like vultures to a battlefield.They moved in packs.They wore armor bearing no sigils—only leather dyed black, swords strapped to their backs, and cruel grins that meant business. Some rode warhorses bred in the frozen north. Others carried siege crossbows, nets woven with iron hooks, or enchanted traps imported from the eastern provinces.Even among the shadows, one name echoed louder than the gold reward:“The God of

  • The Confrontation

    The moonlight bathed the Queen’s chamber in silver, spilling through the latticework of the tall windows. Incense smoldered softly in a golden bowl near the hearth, filling the room with the faint scent of jasmine and myrrh. Velvet drapes billowed faintly in the midnight breeze. Everything was quiet—eerily so.Queen Elara sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate movements. Her reflection stared back at her with practiced poise: regal, calm, untouched by scandal. Yet beneath her serene expression, a storm brewed.She had already heard the news.Calen Storm—exiled. Branded a traitor. A fugitive of the crown.And yet, not a single flicker of fear showed on her face.Not yet.The door creaked open.She didn’t turn.She didn’t have to.She recognized his presence the moment it entered the room, like a drop of ink in clear water. Dark. Spreading.King Theron Ashford.He stepped inside with the slow, measured gait of a predator. His silhouette loomed behind her, out

  • The Traitor, Wanted

    The throne hall of Aerondale had never been so quiet. Despite the heavy velvet drapes, the polished marble floors, and the grand stained glass windows casting shards of morning light into the chamber, a chill had settled in the air—a palpable unease.The nobles arrived first, adorned in their family colors, some with gold-trimmed robes, others with ceremonial armor that clinked softly with each step. Soon after came the military commanders—broad-shouldered, grim-faced, many of whom had fought under General Calen Storm’s banner not long ago. And then, courtiers and ministers, clutching scrolls and ledgers, whispering urgently to one another behind fans and in corners. No one knew the reason for the sudden summons, only that it had come directly from the King’s hand.A tension hung over the room like a thundercloud refusing to break. Even the guards along the columns stood unnaturally stiff, their hands gripping spears a little tighter than usual.Then the heavy doors creaked open.King

  • Who Was She?

    The road to Eryndall had been long, winding through frost-laced forests and the steep rise of the Silverpeak mountains. As Calen Storm crested the final hill, the city unfolded before him like a storybook illustration—grandeur nestled in the snow, surrounded by towering walls of pale stone and crowned by the spires of the royal palace that shimmered in the late afternoon sun.Eryndall. The capital of the North. Cold, proud, and impenetrable—much like the bloodlines it protected.Calen tightened the woolen cloak around his shoulders as he approached the main gates, where a line of travelers had already formed. Armed sentries watched from the battlements, their gazes sharp beneath helms of polished steel. No one simply walked into Eryndall. Every name was recorded, every reason for entry scrutinized.When it was finally his turn, Calen stepped forward, heart steady but alert. A guard in a thick fur-lined uniform halted him with a raised hand.“Name?”“Calen,” he replied calmly. “Just a

  • Calen Will Fall

    The towering double doors of the royal audience chamber groaned open, revealing the vast, vaulted hall bathed in golden candlelight. High above, chandeliers swayed gently, casting flickering shadows across the marble floor and the crimson banners of Aerondale that hung solemnly from the ceiling. At the far end of the chamber, seated on a throne of obsidian and gold, King Theron Ashford regarded the intrusion with a heavy gaze.His crown gleamed under the light, a silent symbol of absolute power, but the man beneath it looked weary—worn by long councils, war reports, and preparations for a royal marriage that was meant to solidify his legacy. His fingers were still dusted with ink from royal decrees, and his expression hinted at thinly veiled irritation as he looked up from the stack of documents before him.He was tired. And the last person he expected—perhaps even wanted—to see tonight was Lord Evan Drake.At the threshold, Evan stepped into the hall with slow, deliberate strides. He

  • Evan And His Evidence

    Harlan’s face twisted with rage, but the tremble in his voice betrayed the fear he tried desperately to hide.“You insolent wretch!” he spat, voice rising in a shrill bark. “How dare you lay hands on my men—how dare you defy me!”But his body betrayed him—his fists clenched tight, knuckles white, yet his legs subtly shifted backward, as if preparing to retreat. His pride clashed with his instinct to run.Calen stepped forward slowly, his presence composed, unthreatening yet impossible to ignore. His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath the surface.“I didn’t come here to start a fight,” he said, eyes locked on Harlan’s. “I only did what anyone should—stopped a defenseless woman from being dragged into a carriage against her will. I’ll make sure she’s safe. Then I’ll be on my way.”There was no boast in his words. No arrogance. Just quiet conviction.Harlan scoffed and straightened his coat, trying to regain composure, though the flush on his cheeks spoke volumes.“Pathetic,” he

  • Is That All?

    Harlan, still glaring daggers at Calen, staggered forward and shoved him hard with both hands. To his utter disbelief, Calen didn’t flinch or step back an inch. Instead, he stood there, steady and unmoved—like a great oak rooted deep in the earth. The sudden immovability made Harlan’s face flush with a mix of embarrassment and simmering rage. Just then, a muffled chuckle from one of Harlan’s own men broke the tension, only fueling his fury further.“You think you’re tough, do you?” Harlan snarled, his voice thick with wounded pride. “I’ll teach you what it means to respect your betters.”The crowd of men surrounding them, once quick to mock, exchanged uneasy glances. From the beginning, they had all assumed Calen was just a weak, insignificant peasant—an easy target for their scorn. “Look at this idiot—thinks he’s a hero just because he won’t fall over,” one scoffed loudly. Harlan’s cruel grin deepened as he stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “You don’t belong here, village fo

  • Let Her Go!

    Aldric’s face grew sad, his form flickering like a candle about to go out. Calen tried to reach out, desperate to hold onto the moment, but before he could say anything more, his father turned away and began to fade into the shadows.“Father!” Calen shouted, but Aldric didn’t respond. The figure simply vanished, dissolving into the thick mist until there was nothing left but silence.Calen jolted awake, his body tense and his breathing uneven. He sat up, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, trying to make sense of the dream. The sky outside had turned pale with the first light of dawn.Realizing he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, Calen decided to get ready. He grabbed his travel pack, set his father’s sword carefully on the table, and took a deep breath to calm his racing thoughts.After splashing cold water on his face and taking a quick bath to refresh himself, Calen put on his traveling cloak and secured his sword at his side. The earlier unease lingered, but he pushed it as

  • Father! What Happened?

    Calen finished his meal and rose from the table, pulling his hood a bit lower. As he turned to make his way to the stairs leading to the guest rooms, someone bumped into him—hard. He staggered back a step, glancing up to see a man dressed in fine, embroidered robes, the kind only worn by officials or nobles. The man’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glazed—clearly drunk.The man swayed, pointing an accusing finger at Calen. “Watch where you’re going, you filthy commoner!” he slurred, his words tinged with the arrogance of privilege.Calen remained calm, bowing his head slightly. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to—”“Didn’t mean to?” the man cut him off, his voice growing louder. “You bump into me and think an apology is enough? Do you know who I am? I’m a high-ranking official from Eryndall! How dare a peasant like you lay hands on me!”The inn fell silent, all eyes turning toward the commotion. Calen kept his head down, suppressing the urge to retaliate. He knew that starting a fight her

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