The mist clung to the jagged cliffs of Norile like a wet shroud, mirroring the gloom that gripped the small Nordic kingdom. For two centuries, the House of Vane had ruled from the stone-hewn halls of the capital, Odenhaven. It was a kingdom of grim realities—a population of one hundred thousand souls clinging to a rocky, frost-bitten island in the North Atlantic. Their lives were dictated by the brutal cycle of the seasons: the deep-sea trawlers fighting the grey swell for co

Tom McCormick stood on the porch of his farmhouse in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania, his hands stained with the dark, rich loam of a morning spent tending the rows. He was a man of few words, cut from the same cloth as the men who had stood on this very land three hundred years prior. His boots were worn thin, his knuckles calloused, and his back carried the permanent curvature of a man who had never asked for a holiday. In the distance, the interstate hummed—a constant, r

The history books are written in ink, but the true record is written in blood—the Desposyni. For two millennia, the bloodline of the Nazarene had been the most hunted secret in human history. To the Vatican, they were a theological heresy; to the monarchs of Europe, they were the ultimate threat to the Divine Right of Kings. They were the kin of the Savior, those who carried the genetic and spiritual memory of a man who had stood against the crushing weight of the Roman Empir