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

Anger clouded his vision, propelling him down the hall.

Shadows lengthened behind him, darkening the Flame-blessed lighting. Tia's pigtails flicked behind her head, and her maid's dress took on an inky blackness. Her face was set in a grim line, her duty as a servant of the royal family, and as a child of the Deep, compelling her with the same vigor as Damian.

After seeing Astrid to bed, Damian had donned his royal regalia—his jacket with golden trim and epaulets—and as he marched down the hallways, the nighttime staff snapped to attention. He exuded a powerful aura of determination and regnal wrath—none dared stop him or question him.

Damian reached Nicholas' door and kicked it open, blowing out fragments of timber.

The marquis sat behind an ornate desk, writing out letters by the glow of a gas-lit lamp.

the injustice we fear.