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

—Damian ripped his blade from the Friar's body.

He staggered and vomited, hot bile spilling over his lips and splattering onto the floor of the church. Scorching flames roared around him, jumping between the shattered pews and filling the building with a thick, cloying smoke.

He coughed, gasping for breath, one arm pressed tight over his mouth.

Damian's eyes were wide as he scanned the church, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of the last few minutes—no, the last hour of his life.

That's right, I sent Tia back to the Palace after we teleported. Agwe and Elijah sent the Wings here, to this church, and I followed them. And then the Wings, they—

midday of a (scarlet) shattering.