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

Far and wide across Sidralis, an uneasy mood settled into the hearts and minds of all the kingdom's subjects.

In the south, where the ocean churned against rocky cliff faces, the pubs and hotels were filled with rowdy arguments. Fishermen returned from weeks navigating the rough waves, their beards haggard and their throats parched, only to find that the fallen king had been replaced by an outsider—someone claiming to be 'true' royal blood.

"—Who's he to appear outta nowhere and claim he's the rightful king?"

"—It's right suspicions, that's what it is."

"—Didn't take this up when Xavier was king, now, did he?"

"—Bah! What do you care about the royals? You've never once had an opinion on 'em before now."

"—Yeah, he's right. Royalty don't give a shit 'bout us working folk. Doesn't matter whose damn face is on the coin, so long as it goes into my pocket."

"—Aye, that's the spirit! Oi, lass! Another round for the table!"

midday’s wane, midnight’s blood.