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 blinked slowly, surfacing from a dreamless sleep.

In the moments immediately after waking, he became aware of an immense pain throughout his body; a dull ache that permeated his limbs and gripped his chest.

He slipped one hand beneath the covers of the bedsheet, and found stiff bandages pulled tightly around his ribs, with more bandages wrapped around his arms. Dimly, he realized that someone must have used the Aspect of Vigor on him, but with no Flame in his Soul, it seemed like only the gravest of injuries had been treated.

Damian couldn't afford to lay there and wallow in misery. He was patched up, but in unfamiliar territory; presumably, someone skilled Flame-blessed was nearby.

Are they my ally? Or someone wanting me for my name? Did my cousins make it out alive? And where's the Ninth?

He had too many questions, and he'd find no answers laying in bed.

another unfamiliar ceiling.