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

"How long are you going to keep me locked up in here?"

Tia sat with her back against the wall, legs crossed, staring daggers at the desk clerk positioned outside the cell.

The 14th Precinct of the Rosweiss Metropolitan Police was hardly suited for holding dangerous criminals, equipped as it was with only a single jail cell made from Flame-forged steel.

Here in the very heart of Rosweiss, the RMP had little to do except keep the odd drunkard off the street. Any violence between the churches was usually sorted out by their respective clergy, and thus, precincts like this one were rather sleepy. Even as Tia sat there in her cell, her ass going numb from the metal bench, all she could hear was chatter and conversation from the RMP officers in the room upstairs.

The half-Rastian woman sitting at the desk glared at Tia.

"You'll be here until we can determine a date for your trial."

our fates caged (1).