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

"Dammit kid, you're gonna give me an ulcer one of these days."

Prince Leon leaned against the open courtyard door, a lit cigarette hanging between his lips. A trail of gray smoke curled lazily towards the blue sky. Warm sunlight filtered through the leaves of a large evergreen, casting dappled shadows over Damian as he sat on a wooden bench.

He glanced at his uncle, then returned his attention to the bubbling water fountain in the center of the courtyard. Small birds tittered and hopped about, pecking at the ground. There weren't many quiet and peaceful places in a city as large as Rosweiss, but the central courtyard of Rossheim Palace offered a brief respite from the hell of the world outside.

"…Sorry for causing trouble," he said, his eyes downcast.

"Who you apologizing to? 'Cause it sure as hell shouldn't be me."

midday of a requiem.