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

30 MINUTES BEFORE FIRELIGHT

Tia Alessia was imprisoned in a small, dirty servant's quarter.

An Apostle stood inside the room, expressionless as ever, watching her every movement as she fretted back and forth. The bedroom—which also contained a toilet, kitchen, and a washbasin—was so confining that she felt her chest constrict after just a few moments. Or maybe the claustrophobia stemmed from anxiety gripping her heart, threatening to empty her stomach of its contents.

Tia sat on the edge of the hard, uncomfortable bed. A far cry from the luxury on display in the rest of the manor. Clearly, Duke Andrew cared little for the comfort of his staff—but then again, that hardly surprised her. Lords were all alike—no matter if their station was gained through blood or through wealth.

blacker than sin.