Tempest Novels & Stories

Lacey angrily moves over to the chipped green door, her stomping steps pounding out a tempo in the silence of the room, and she pulls the door open with unneccesary force, letting the frigid cold air into the room as it rushes past her. The blast of cold takes her breath but it does not manage to cool down her white hot anger that is balzing like a wild inferno inside of her.

Brie Tempest Valley is everything I’d been told it would be. It’s rocky, mountainous, but with flat, sprawling beaches with pristine, white sand that shimmers against the shallow, turquoise water. Palm trees bend at odd angles along the beach as the sunset sets the small village in shades of gold and crimson. Small houses made of wood stick out of the trees and along the rocky rise of the mountain. The village spirals upward against the mountain, small trails connecting each house and shop.

"Tempestas arcano veni, nubes atrae surgant! Fulmen et tonitrus oram capitulum!" As if answering his call, the once serene sky transformed into a canvas of darkness. Thick clouds billowed and swirled, obscuring the sun and casting an eerie shadow over the forest. A deafening clap of thunder reverberated through the air, sending tremors through the ground beneath us. The winds roared with newfound vigor, howling in a tempestuous dance. Armand's men were caught off guard, stumbled, and faltered, their composure shattered by the raw power of nature unleashed.

GOD WAS MOVING. He was moving his chess pieces so accurately, and no one could tell what was next. "Burn it," he ordered before sipping wine from his glass. His voice was calm, just like the wide ocean before him. Santorini mornings had always been perfect anyway, more so, his mansion there. Whitewashed houses line the most beautiful mountain in the world, meeting the blue Aegean waters as they calmly hit the shore. It was heaven with a demon living in it.

How am I supposed to break through to someone who won’t even acknowledge me? I shake off my tumultuous thoughts as I begin to fly over Nepal, the wind in my feathers and the sun beating down as I soar through the clouds. Suddenly, I feel that unmistakable surge of frigid, cold vacantness that sends a shiver down to the tips of my tail feathers. I feel the static electricity that lingers in every calamus on my body, begin to flare, ready to ignite my wings into an electric powder keg. I home in on the location of the surge and dive in its direction. As I allow gravity to propel me closer to the ground, unease engulfs me when I realise a surge of this magnitude is highly irregular. The last ti

Chapter Seventy-seven [ The soundtrack when Tempest] Ernest recalls the Bible verses in which Jesus exhorts His disciples to have courage during a storm while they are fishing on a boat. Jesus calms the storm while teaching His disciples to have faith. Later, Ernest remembers the song and plays it for his family on his smartphone. “When the storm is raging high, I won’t run, I won’t hide. Every trial, every fight is a call to stand and rise. Not by might and not by sight, but by faith I press ahead.

POV: Rhea Mooncrest "Do you feel that, Queen? The way the sky wants to break for you?" Silas stood at the mouth of the cavern, his scarred silhouette framed by a sudden, violent flash of lightning. The storm had come out of nowhere, a tempest of black clouds and screaming winds that tore through the Whisperpine Forest. Rhea stood deep in the shadows of the cave, her breath hitching as the thunder rumbled in her very bones. The Hex of Desire, amplified by the raw, chaotic energy of the storm, was no longer a dull ache; it was a rhythmic thrumming in her blood that demanded to be answered.

The tension in the office was as awkward as the connection between the Pacific Ocean and Atlantic Ocean. “You're joking right? No way that womanizer is becoming my brand ambassador. What the hell, you know I shouldn’t even indurge with the creative industry not to talk of Central cee” Teyana fumed with rage. Jerome took a step forward as he tried to convince her. “This is the creative industry” Jerome slammed the desk. He rubbed his palms trying to calm his temper.

The silver winter that had blanketed Oakhaven for weeks finally culminated in a "Century Storm"—a meteorological \bm{Anomaly} that turned the Atlantic into a churning wall of white. The wind didn't just howl; it screamed, a high-frequency vibration that rattled the ancient floorboards of the flower shop and threatened to pull the shingles from the roof.

​The storm did not break so much as it bled away, leaving the ocean smooth, heavy, and black as oil under the first pale grey line of dawn. ​Through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the master suite, the horizon looked like a slate wiped clean of chaos. Inside, the quiet was absolute, broken only by the low, steady thrum of the auxiliary engines beneath the floorboards—a deep, mechanical heartbeat that signaled the Vesper Sovereign had survived the sea.