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

I really built the perfect prison, didn't I?

Leon Roswald took a long drag on the single cigarette he'd been allowed for the day.

With no windows or light to tell the time, and solid walls that blocked outside noises, he was trapped within the cage of his own mind well before the physical barrier that blocked his escape.

It would have been easy, perhaps even a relief, to allow himself to slip over the edge of madness; to drift away on the currents of grief and misery, and become a mere husk of his former self.

Some small part of his soul, growing larger by the day, just wanted to curl up on the thin mattress and forget about it all—the past that he'd endured, the sins he'd shouldered, the future he'd built with bloodied hands.

the future we (fear).