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

Lynn knocked softly on the bedroom door.

When there was no reply, she let herself in, finding the hearth burning low and a thin beam of silvery moonlight slipping between the curtains. Two evenings from now, the moon would vanish entirely, and the darkest night of the year would descend upon the world. The Firelight celebration would be held in every city across Sidralis, lighting countless bonfires and praying fervently to keep the Deep at bay throughout the long, cold night.

The sleeping girl stirred but didn't wake.

Coppery curls were spread across the pillow, and the sheets had become disheveled in her sleep—perhaps a nightmare of sorts. Although she wore a nightgown, the material had ridden up on her exposed leg, revealing a motley patchwork of bruises on her upper thigh.

Lynn bit the inside of her cheek and tasted blood.

the duty we must betray.