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 grandfather clock chimed in the manor's lobby.

Two cups of tea sat in the middle of the table, steadily getting colder.

The Flame-blessed hearth kept the wintery chill from the room, despite the first flakes of snow descending upon the hills outside. But despite the fireplace, the mood in the room was frosty nonetheless.

Lynn Brightwell sat with one leg folded over the other, her arms crossed, drumming her fingers against her upper arm. She was unintentionally exuding some of the Flame's wrath, causing her orange-red hair to flush slightly crimson, and the pressure from her soul leaked out into the room.

On the sofa opposite her, Tia Alessia—or, rather, Tia Blackbriar—sat with her hands in her lap, an irritatingly dumb smile on her face, as though she couldn't fathom why Lynn had summoned her to the manor's drawing room at such a late hour. But her eyes belied her true emotions—she was nervous, and ready to defend herself.

midnight of truths.