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

Three days had passed since Firelight.

Damian sat beside Prince Leon in a stately room on the third floor of Rossheim Palace. Gunther smiled gently at the younger prince as he placed a cup of steaming tea and a plate of biscuits on the table. The butler bowed at their guests before stepping back to the edge of the room.

"Your Highness, I think I speak for the entire Order when I say that we're truly blessed to see you safely returned to Rosweiss."

Opposite the princes sat two people garbed in the heavy white robes of Holy Order of the Flame. Both wore heavy iron chains around their necks, symbolizing the supposed martyrdom of their chained Angel. The woman—Diana—appeared to be in her early fifties, had a kind and motherly face, and wore the red-dyed chains of a bishop.

emptiness (but still a shadow).