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

Chaos reigned in the stairwell of the River Tower.

Vivi screamed as blood spurted from the open arteries and ruined muscles of her right shoulder. SWD officers dropped into firing positions, their rifles discharging bolts of pure flame into the corridor beyond; pitch-black spears and daggers flew through the open doorway, striking a young Flameguard and sending him tumbling over the railing. His body smacked into metal railings all the way down, the crunch of breaking bones echoing through the building's interior.

"All soldiers, defensive formations!" Titus roared, taking charge immediately. He slammed his flaming mace into the concrete, and an Angelic shield rippled to life, sealing the doorway. Shards of shadow slammed into the feather-woven wall, but for now, the barrier held.

too many wounds, not enough scars.