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 lay on the table, unmoving.

A white sheet covered her body to preserve her modesty, but the Priests had been unable to fully clean the grime and blood from her face. Laying there, still as stone, her expression had frozen into one of shock.

"Let me get this right," Damian said hoarsely, putting a finger to his head. "You're saying Lynn isn't actually dead?"

He stood in an infirmary room of Hearth Hospital—a dedicated facility owned and operated by the Flameguard to treat their soldiers. The attending nurse—a Hearthmaiden, to use her religious title—bowed her head slightly.

"It's as I said, Your Highness. Captain Brightwell shows no sign of waking, nor does her blood pump or her lungs breathe. Yet the Flame still smolders in her breast. She is being kept alive by the Angel's will alone."

Damian's hands curled into tight fists and he tasted blood.

line in the sand.