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Home / Fantasy / The God of War Calen Storm / The Vynorian Soldiers
The Vynorian Soldiers
Author: Cindy Chen
last update2025-02-28 22:10:05

As they stepped into the smaller inspection area, Calen immediately sensed the shift in atmosphere. This was not just a routine checkpoint—there was an air of strict discipline here, a presence that demanded obedience without a single word needing to be spoken. The soldiers waiting for them were different from the gate guards. Their uniforms, though still the same deep blue, bore intricate silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs, a clear mark of higher-ranking officers.

But the most striking detail wasn’t their uniforms. It was the soldiers themselves.

Every single one of them was a woman.

Calen had seen his fair share of female warriors in Ardenfell—battle-hardened women who fought alongside men, their skills unquestionable. But these soldiers were something else entirely. They weren’t merely strong; they carried themselves with a quiet, effortless confidence that suggested years of rigorous training. They were tall, lean, and undeniably powerful, their forms wrapped in fitted
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  • 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

  • Into The Darkness

    The storm of spirits did not relent.They poured from the trees like living smoke—howling, writhing, shrieking with voices like shattering glass. Their forms flickered between shadow and flame, half-shaped by memory and malice. Dozens of them, maybe more, filled the forest behind the riders in a storm of black mist and crimson eyes.Their wails clawed through the night, scraping the mind like cold nails across steel. Branches splintered and leaves turned to ash in their wake. Phantom swords, burning with spectral fire, lashed out at anything they passed. One blade came so close to Calen’s head that he felt the wind sear his cheek.He clenched his jaw, refusing to look back again—he could feel them behind him, their hunger like a knife between his shoulders.His palm surged with power.Crackling arcs of golden lightning danced between his fingers, humming with barely restrained fury. With a cry, he threw his hand back and unleashed a spiraling arc of stormfire that lit up the trees lik

  • The Shadows That Hunt

    The wind in the clearing had died, as if the world were holding its breath. Even the trees stood still, their leaves frozen mid-rustle. Only the flicker of firelight remained, casting long, wavering shadows across the mossy ground and the gnarled trunks surrounding them.Carmen knelt beside Calen, her breath shallow, one hand hovering just above his chest. His skin was clammy, his brows damp with sweat. The golden glow that had blazed from his body minutes ago was gone—faded into the air like mist at sunrise.“Calen…” she whispered, voice trembling.No response.Liora stood a few steps away with her arms crossed, frustration and unease written across her face. She shifted her weight from one boot to the other and glanced at the treeline like it might bite her.“Okay,” she said flatly, “either he’s unconscious or he's really committing to this tragic-hero nap thing. I vote we leave him and bolt before the next magical abomination shows up.”Carmen shot her a glare and gently shook Cale

  • It Cracked

    Deep beneath the scorched highlands of Drakhtarion, where shadows pulsed like living veins beneath ancient volcanic stone, something stirred.Within the obsidian vault that had once sealed Tharstan—the Mad King, the Sorcerer of the End—an ancient ripple throbbed through the enchanted bindings. Forged in sacrifice and sealed by blood, the magic had endured for centuries, unmoving, unyielding. But now, the sigils etched into the bedrock flickered violently. Glowing lines twisted and screamed against themselves.One of the central runes fractured with a soundless scream. Thin as spiderwebs at first, then splintering into a jagged break. Arcane chains writhed. The silence broke.From within the pit, something exhaled.The darkness—the remnants of Tharstan’s soul—twitched. It tasted something distant but familiar, like a scent on a dead wind.A pulse.A golden storm.A name whispered into the marrow of the world:Calen Storm.High above, in the obsidian towers of Shadowmere, the sanctum of

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