Theron Lysandros author

 Some days, writing hurts — Not because of what you're trying to say, but because your body simply won’t follow. It’s been two days now. Two days where the weight of my own body crushes every attempt at motivation, every spark of creativity. The pills make everything slower, heavier. My mind is too fogged to chase new stories. I move through daily tasks like a machine set to low power — not living them, just executing. And yet, I type this. Slowly. Each key is heavier than the last. I’m writing this not to complain, but to remember: this is part of it too. The days when the words won’t come, when the stories hide, when being human takes precedence over being a writer. I hope this fog lifts soon. I hope the stories come back. Until then, I wait — quietly, and a little heavier.

 I didn’t write The Fire Prince’s Bride to tell a love story. I wrote it to survive one. This book holds more of me than I meant to give it. Not just because of the sleepless nights or the obsessive rewrites, but because it became the place where I buried a version of myself I couldn’t carry anymore. Kael is what happens when fire doesn’t get to grieve. Ariadne is what happens when silence becomes the only safe language. And the Egg—the impossible heart of the story—is that aching question: What do we do with the power we were never meant to have, but can’t let go of? I burned through versions of this book. I changed entire arcs. I fought the temptation to give it a “clean” ending. Because that’s not how fire works. And I wanted this to feel true . This isn’t just a romantasy. It’s a requiem for inherited pain. It’s about wanting someone without consuming them. About choosing to stay even when the past begs you to run. If you’ve ever loved someone in silence, If you’v...

 The lake wasn’t always here. Once, before the dam, there was a village called Elmbrook—a scattering of stone cottages, a crumbling chapel, and a road winding through wildflowers. Now, everything slept beneath sixty meters of green-black water, its secrets held in the silt and silence. No one visited the reservoir at night. Locals whispered of lights flickering on the lakebed and songs rising through the fog. Sometimes, an old fisherman would mutter about the faces he’d seen—pale and distorted, pressed to the glassy surface, mouths moving in slow lament. But stories were only stories, and money is money. So when the message came—“Relic rumored in old Elmbrook. Easy money. Split four ways.”—they didn’t think twice. Four city friends, weekend thrill-seekers, and amateur explorers: Rory , sharp-tongued, the one who always led the way and cracked the first joke, Isla , history nerd, with old maps and nervous laughter, Kiran , restless, who craved danger l...

 These are not herbs for potions. These are not herbs for potions. These are presences with petals. Plants that feel, recall, and breathe with you. This herbarium holds no cures — only companionship in green .   🪻 Nublia A violet flower that never opens when stared at directly. Touching it brings a soft ache, like a memory that no longer hurts. Shape: Five curled petals Color: Violet with translucent hues Property: Evokes gentle, sorrowless memories Use: Infused to remember what once mattered Note: Opens only in trust, not in study. 🪞 Vereluz A plant with mirror-leaves — but they do not reflect the forest. They show you something you need to face. A forgotten dream, a decision avoided. Shape: Tall stalk with disc-like reflective leaves Color: Deep green with silver sheen Property: Reveals inner truths Use: Used for inner guidance Note: Not all reflections are kind. 🍄 Latiris A heart-shaped fungus that pulses when so...

 There are no monsters here. Only presences. Some float. Others hum. A few may watch you quietly from the canopy. This bestiary was not made for battles. It was made for companionship . 🫧 Lysari They have no wings, but they float. Their body changes shape depending on what you feel — golden spirals when calm, smoke when uncertain. They respond to emotion, not movement. Nature: Emotional shapeshifter Function: Reflects and amplifies nearby feelings Note: Very sensitive. May reveal unspoken thoughts. 🌫 Murn It looks like smoke trapped in form. Wherever it passes, sound softens — birds hush, leaves hold their breath. It never touches, but its presence eases everything. Nature: Sound-dampening, intangible Function: Balancer of noisy spaces Note: Feeds gently on ambient noise. 🐟 Tikk A moss-green amphibian with blinking eyes and an impatient bounce. It sings when magic is near, and wherever it steps, moss begins to bloom. Nature: Reactive c...

When I finished The Crystal Debt , it felt like I’d poured not just a story onto the page, but an entire world of wounds, lost names, and the weight of memory. It’s a novel obsessed with one question: what happens when power isn’t simply inherited, but stolen—or even forgotten? For months, I lived among ashes and crystals, haunted by that tension between identity and oblivion. Reading it now, I see that what I most wanted to convey was uncertainty—the push and pull between the self and all the echoes that came before. The characters (Kaien, Löez, Narel…) aren’t just mages or wanderers; they’re fragments of memory fighting not to disappear. The central conflict isn’t good vs. evil, but the right to remember—and to choose what part of the past gets to define us. But not everything turned out as I hoped. With some distance, I can see several areas where I would have done things differently: Narrative pacing: The novel can move heavily at times, especially in the first half. Out of f...