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 Brightwell stood outside the ruined building as Rosweiss Metropolitan Police roped off the area. An effigy of the Holy Order lay beside her feet, inky shadows still clinging to the metal.

The church itself had been ravaged by the Deep, churned from the inside out; the shadows had torn apart pews, shattered windows, and sliced through bodies with abandon.

"Sorry for calling you out here on such short notice, but we really need all the help we can get."

A young, fresh-faced RMP sergeant stood beside Lynn, her cheeks looking a little green. Her black hair was curled into a bob, and her jacket was open to reveal a white shirt clinging to her stomach. Her skin was olive-brown—perhaps she was of Rastian descent—and she easily stood a full foot higher than Lynn, thanks in part to her high-heeled boots.

and the crows gather.