The Threadbound Saga
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James Grey died on a Wednesday.
Not a glorious death-not the kind sung by bards or mourned by queens. It was a quiet, ugly thing. A truck, a storm, a slip on wet concrete. One second he was muttering about cheap umbrellas and overdue rent... the next, he was weightless.
Then, darkness.
And then... not.
He awoke in fire and mist, his breath stolen by the scent of burning cedar and crushed starlight. A sky split between endless day and eternal night stretched overhead. Mountains taller than any skyscraper clawed at the twin moons. Monstrous shapes stalked the edge of the forest. And standing before him, carved in opposing stone-half obsidian, half pearl-was a throne.
"Welcome, mortal," said a voice. Deep. Ancient. It vibrated in his bones. "You are chosen."
Then came a second voice. Softer. Harsher. Like broken glass whispering. "You are cursed."
James clutched his head. Two voices. Two presences-pulling at his mind like wolves fighting over a carcass.
:: I am Apollyon, :: one thundered, cold and consuming. :: Lord of Darkness. You are mine, vessel. ::
:: And I am Orphidion, :: the other rang out, a blade of brilliance. :: Lord of Light. Chosen one, bear my will. ::
"Am I dead?" James croaked. "Or just insane?"
:: Both. :: the voices said in unison.
In this world, gods do not speak from temples or thunder from the skies. They whisper. They fight. And now, they live inside the skull of a man who never wanted to be a hero.
James Grey must navigate a world ruled by divine warlords and ancient beasts, where mortals are pawns and monsters are made from belief. His only weapons: the clashing divinities that share his mind... and the growing suspicion that he may not be their puppet after all.
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