BrettMichaelOrr

“You can bring back everyone you’ve lost. It will only cost your sanity.”

The king is dead, murdered by an interloper from the future—a manic copy of his own son, hellbent on forcibly reversing a disastrous timeline. The true Damian Roswald—a hedonistic crown prince bereft of magical talent—finds his comfortable life upended by his father’s murder and assassins from his own future.

“There are none left who can judge us, so we must be our own executioner. That is the cursed fate of those few named Damian Roswald.” 

With politicians plotting his demise, his royal cousins scheming for the empty throne, and warring churches tearing the grieving city apart, Damian must accept the tragedy of his countless futures—or else, find himself doomed to repeat them. But can a mere mortal decide their own fate in a world governed by almighty angels? 

“Find me, Damian Roswald. And I’ll tell you why the stars fell.”

For three centuries, even the wisest men have accepted that the night sky was once populated by ‘stars’—until a terrible calamity plunged mankind into a Dark Age. From the darkness, the Roswalds rose to power, but few know that the first crown was forged with the blood of a slaughtered god…

Damian must endure countless tragedies and the consequences of his own future actions to reach the peace he desires—but could the true threat be hiding not in his future, but in his own distant past?

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A Thread of Broken Fate

A crushing wave of Deepshadow pummeled into Damian and sent him crashing through the church's front door.

Timber gave way with a hideous screech, and the blinding light of daytime burned into his retinas. His body collided with something softer than a door, and then he was rolling down the sloping street. Rough cobblestones ripped open his shirt and tore into his arms, small pieces of gravel lacerating his skin.

Damian gasped, his body reeling from the attack.

His bones ached like steel twisting beneath sheer weight; his muscles were weak, blood blooming beneath his skin in ugly bruises. His forehead had taken a direct slice from Cardinal's blade, and crimson dripped through his eyebrows, masking his vision.

His ears rang, a distant echo reaching him through the ringing fog.

silver crimson black (2)