Fractured Rune just hit 50 orders since its January 20 release. Five. Zero. That may not sound like much in a world where bestseller lists exist and algorithms demand blood sacrifices, but in indie author land this is A Thing. This is fifty real humans who saw a queer, anti-theocratic, mildly unhinged epic fantasy and went, “Yes. That one. I will put this in my brain.” I am vibrating at a frequency normally reserved for malfunctioning machinery.
If you bought it, read it, recommended it to a friend like a literary cryptid whispering in the dark, or quietly downloaded it and vanished into the mist like the Bograz himself, thank you. Truly. You are the reason this book exists outside my hard drive. Every single order feels wildly personal, like someone walked into my house, pointed at my feelings, and said, “I’ll take those.”
And now that this strange, lovely little milestone has been achieved, I am feral with anticipation to share Book 2. It is meaner. More political. The gods are still awful. The consequences are louder. I cannot wait to throw it at you lovingly. Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. Onward we go.
