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

Twenty miles north of Aerissia, a winding road through the hills gave way to a flat expanse of cleared land, and it was here that the Deep's personnel had chosen to meet.

A bitter wind blew across the depot, funneled down through the hills. Cardinal frowned and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. A few workers stood warming themselves around a gas burner, while another handful of Apostles patrolled the perimeter. Chainlink fences topped with barbed wire ran around the outside of the depot, and inside, shipping containers were unloaded by crews of laborers.

Six Apostles stood on either side of a large circular construct, the metalwork crawling with tendrils of the Deep. A powerful ripple tugged at the lengthening shadows, pulling them in an abnormal direction, towards the center of the void.

cardinal of the high table.