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?

**Join our Discord and never miss a chapter!! https://discord.gg/M5cTyzW44Q**

A Thread of Broken Fate

Damian clutched his fork so tightly that the metal started bending.

Food tasted like ash on his tongue, but still, he mechanically moved the utensil from his plate to his mouth, his eyes never leaving the far end of the table. A nauseating familiarity washed over him, as if the ghost of Duke Andrew Lombrass might rise from the shadows of his memories.

Instead of the tyrannical duke, an even worse threat sat at the head of this grand table. The twelve-seater table—made of a dark, imported timber—was laden with all manner of roasted meats and vegetables; and from his grand, throne-like chair, the Ninth Seat sated his hunger, delicately ingesting every bite with deliberate grace.

The future-borne Damian took a sip of wine, swilling the contents in his glass.

a shadow you drew.