Chronicles from the Author

It's been quite a journey since I first started writing about Anya, Bjorn, and Elara. What began as a simple adventure story has grown into something much more complex... a deep dive into a world where magic itself is wounded and heroes must grapple with impossible choices.

The more I write in Aerthos, the more I realize how the central concept of the Sundering affects everything. It's not just background lore... it shapes how magic works, why societies are fractured, and why the characters struggle with trust and belonging. Everything flows from that one catastrophic moment three millennia ago.

What I've Learned

Epic fantasy is a marathon, not a sprint. Every chapter needs to balance character development with world-building, personal stakes with cosmic ones. I've rewritten some scenes dozens of times, trying to get the voices right... making sure Bjorn sounds like a gruff exile, Anya like a sharp-tongued survivor, and Elara like someone who sees patterns others miss.

The hardest part has been maintaining hope in a broken world. These characters live in the aftermath of an apocalypse, but they're not giving up. They're trying to heal what can be healed and protect what remains. That balance between darkness and hope is tricky to get right.

Thanks to everyone who's been following along. Your interest in this world keeps me motivated during the difficult revision days.

I've been working on what I call the "Character Voice Pass" for the past two months, and honestly? It's been one of the most challenging aspects of writing this book. When you're deep in the flow of writing, it's easy to let all your characters sound like, well, like you.

But readers deserve better. Anya shouldn't sound like Bjorn, and neither should sound like Elara. Each needs their own lexicon, their own rhythm, their own way of seeing the world.

The Breakthrough

My breakthrough came when I created character "taglines"—core phrases that capture each character's essence:

• Bjorn: "Stone holds. I hold."
• Anya: "Every debt gets paid. One way or another."
• Elara: "Threads endure, even when frayed."

These became my North Star for every piece of dialogue. Bjorn uses stone and battle imagery. Anya thinks in terms of debts and shadows. Elara speaks of threads and patterns. Suddenly, their voices became distinct not just in tone, but in the very way they conceptualize the world.

"Don't go dying, stone-man. I didn't sharpen my knives just to drink alone." (Anya)

That line used to be much more generic. Now it's unmistakably Anya... sharp, caring despite herself, and tinged with the fatalism that comes from growing up in Greygate's undercity.

Fantasy readers are sophisticated. They've seen magic systems that run on scientific principles, magic that costs years of life, magic that's coded into genetics. So when I started building Aerthos, I knew the magic system had to feel both familiar and fresh.

The answer came from the world's central tragedy: the Sundering. Three millennia ago, the Ancients broke reality itself. Magic didn't disappear... it became dangerous. Like trying to weave with a tapestry that has cuts and tears throughout.

The Weave as Character

In a way, the damaged Weave is almost a character in its own right. It fights back against those who try to manipulate it. It has moods and preferences. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it cuts the person trying to channel it.

This gives me incredible dramatic tension. When Elara reaches for the Weave in a crisis moment, both she and the reader know it might work perfectly—or it might unravel her from the inside out.

Magic has consequences in Aerthos. It always has a price. And that price isn't just energy or components—it's the risk that reality itself might fray a little more each time.

Every writer has that moment. You're deep in the middle of your story, past the excited energy of the beginning but not yet able to see the finish line. You read what you've written and think, "This is terrible. No one will ever want to read this."

I hit that wall hard this month. Deep into Echo of the Sunstone, and I was convinced I'd wasted months of my life on something fundamentally flawed. The plot felt convoluted, the characters seemed to be talking in circles, and the magic system that had seemed so elegant in outline felt clunky on the page.

What Changed

I did what every writing guide tells you not to do: I started reading from the beginning. Usually, that's a recipe for endless editing loops. But this time, something different happened.

I remembered why I fell in love with these characters. Anya's bitter jokes that hide real pain. Bjorn's unwavering loyalty despite being branded an oath-breaker. Elara's determination to heal a world that many believe is beyond saving.

The prose wasn't perfect—first drafts never are. But the heart was there. The story mattered. These characters deserved to have their tale told properly.

Sometimes the most important thing a writer can do is keep going. Not because the words are perfect, but because the story is true.

Worldbuilding is a dangerous rabbit hole for fantasy writers. You can spend years crafting languages, mapping continents, and writing histories that span millennia—and never actually write the story.

But some worldbuilding is essential. Readers can sense when a fantasy world feels thin, when it exists only to serve the plot rather than feeling like a living, breathing place with its own logic and history.

The Sundering as Foundation

Everything in Aerthos flows from one central event: the Sundering. Three thousand years ago, the Ancients tried to transcend mortality by merging their consciousness with divine power. They failed catastrophically, shattering reality itself.

This isn't just background flavor... it shapes everything:

• Why magic is dangerous and unpredictable
• Why the different peoples (humans, dwarves, elves) live in isolated enclaves
• Why divine relics are both precious and feared
• Why the current age is called the "Age of Reclamation"

I love worldbuilding that emerges organically from character and conflict. The Sundering gives me that... a single historical event that explains the current state of the world and drives the central conflict of the story.

"The world remembers being whole, even if we've forgotten how to heal it." (Elara)

That's the heart of Aerthos right there. A world that's broken but not dead. Wounded but still worth fighting for.

When I started writing Echo of the Sunstone, I thought I was writing a treasure hunt story. Three rogues find an ancient artifact, cult wants to steal it, adventure ensues. Simple, right?

Except stories have a way of growing beyond your initial vision. What started as a plot-driven adventure became something deeper: a story about found family, about choosing to care for something bigger than yourself, about healing both personal and cosmic wounds.

The Unlikely Trio

Anya, Bjorn, and Elara shouldn't work together. A cynical thief, an exiled dwarf, and an idealistic elf? On paper, it sounds like the setup for a tired fantasy trope. But that's exactly why I wanted to dig deeper.

Anya uses cynicism as armor against a world that's never shown her kindness. But underneath the sharp wit and sharper knives, she desperately wants something to believe in.

Bjorn was cast out from his people for putting family before duty. Now he's found a new family—one he'll defend just as fiercely.

Elara believes the world can be healed, even when all evidence suggests otherwise. Her optimism isn't naive—it's a choice she makes every day despite the pain it costs her.

Together, they're stronger than the sum of their parts. And in a world as broken as Aerthos, that kind of bond might be the only thing powerful enough to prevent another Sundering.

I've been putting off starting this blog for months. There's something intimidating about documenting a creative journey before you know how it ends. What if the book never gets finished? What if it's terrible? What if no one cares about Aerthos or the Age of Reclamation?

But I've realized that the uncertainty is exactly why I should document this process. Win or lose, success or failure, this is the journey of creating something from nothing. That's worth recording.

The First Line

Every story starts somewhere. For Echo of the Sunstone, it started with a single image that wouldn't leave me alone: a thief crouched in shadows, watching an ancient artifact pulse with silver light, knowing that touching it would change everything.

"Anya had stolen many things in her life, but she'd never stolen a piece of the gods."

That's how it all began. One sentence that opened the door to an entire world.

I don't know where this journey will lead. I don't know if Echo of the Sunstone will find readers who connect with Anya's struggles, Bjorn's loyalty, or Elara's desperate hope. But I know the story deserves to be told.

The Age of Reclamation begins now.