EBOOK
About
A throne of lies.
A city burning from invisible flames.
A prince of ash.
The stage of revolution is set by ghostly hands, their whispers echoing through streets slick with soot and sorrow. Dranwarren rots from within--its people divided between the promise of rebirth and the comfort of ruin. Into this decay walks Caelib Haribasko, heir to a legacy steeped in sin. Once the prince of a gilded house, now the voice of a dying kingdom, he returns not to rule but to atone.
Yet some fires do not forgive. Beneath the cobblestone streets, old cults stir, bound by blood and belief, their faith wound tight around the city's heart. Every alley hums with their presence; every neighbor hides their mark. And as Caelib seeks to raise the people from the ashes, he finds their chains are older--and closer--than any crown could ever reach.
Guided by those scarred by the throne's cruelty, hunted by those who still serve its shadow, he must uncover where his mother's sins end and his own begin. In Dranwarren, mercy is a weapon, and truth burns brighter than flame.
The revolution will not roar with cannons or crowns. It will whisper, soft as breath through stone. And when the last ember fades, the city will decide what kind of prince rises from the ashes or if he was ever meant to rise at all.
A city burning from invisible flames.
A prince of ash.
The stage of revolution is set by ghostly hands, their whispers echoing through streets slick with soot and sorrow. Dranwarren rots from within--its people divided between the promise of rebirth and the comfort of ruin. Into this decay walks Caelib Haribasko, heir to a legacy steeped in sin. Once the prince of a gilded house, now the voice of a dying kingdom, he returns not to rule but to atone.
Yet some fires do not forgive. Beneath the cobblestone streets, old cults stir, bound by blood and belief, their faith wound tight around the city's heart. Every alley hums with their presence; every neighbor hides their mark. And as Caelib seeks to raise the people from the ashes, he finds their chains are older--and closer--than any crown could ever reach.
Guided by those scarred by the throne's cruelty, hunted by those who still serve its shadow, he must uncover where his mother's sins end and his own begin. In Dranwarren, mercy is a weapon, and truth burns brighter than flame.
The revolution will not roar with cannons or crowns. It will whisper, soft as breath through stone. And when the last ember fades, the city will decide what kind of prince rises from the ashes or if he was ever meant to rise at all.