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

Damian sat, half-out of the bathtub, his eyes darting over Astrid's body in a mixture of flushed embarrassment and deepening horror.

Astrid's skin—pale and milky, dotted with freckles over her cheeks and collarbone—was marred by purple bruises. Her neck and arms were spared—the places exposed when she wore her usual dresses.

Starting from beneath her breasts, mottled bruises bloomed across her ribcage, her stomach, her hips. Her thighs were rippled with thin lacerations, too, scarred white from repeated opening and closing; the injuries continued down to her knees, where they stopped once more.

Astrid stood, baring everything to Damian, her eyes swimming with tears.

He dragged his gaze up to her face, to her trembling lips, to the silent plea deep within her emerald eyes.

"I—I should have t-told you," Astrid stammered, shivering cold. "I—I'm sorry—"

the secrets we (bare).