Author: Nick Blade

@nickbladeauthor.bsky.social

1836 Followers 3241 Following

Author of the upcoming epic fantasy trilogy, *The Land of Nowhere*. Subscribe to my newsletter and read the first chapter free: http://NickBlade.com

Just SIXTEEN days?! Sixteen more days until The Rift and The Reckoning is out in the world! March 10th (which also happens to be my mother’s birthday!) marks the beginning of an epic journey, and I couldn’t be more excited for you to experience it. I wrote this entire trilogy last year, and all three books will be rolling out over the next few months. This is just the beginning, so mark your calendars and get ready to step into The Land of Nowhere. Drop a 🔥 if you're excited!
Even still, I’m tired. So tired. The kind of tired that no sleep can fix. It’s not just the weight of the blade in my hand or the scars on my body—it’s the faces. The ghosts that follow me. The ones I failed, the ones I couldn’t save, the ones I sent to the other side with my own hands. I’m tired of carrying them all. And yet, I keep going. Because I have to. Because if I stop now, everything I’ve done will have been for nothing. But once this is over—if I survive—I’m done. No more battles. No more blood. I’m done. I’ve told myself that before, but this time I mean it. When this is over, I’m laying my sword down. For good.
Fear is revealing. It leaves you bare and exposes your weaknesses to those around you. It strips away the layers of composure, of control, until all that’s left is the raw, trembling truth beneath. Fear is honest—brutally so. In its grip, we can’t hide who we are. It claws at us, sharp and relentless, forcing us to confront the parts of ourselves we spend a lifetime trying to bury. But fear is clever. It doesn’t always show itself as terror or panic. No, it’s far more insidious than that. It’s shame dressed in rage, doubt cloaked in fury. Anger becomes the mask we wear, a shield we raise against the world, and even against ourselves. We lash out because we’re too afraid to admit what’s really gnawing at us inside.
Her eyes, the same ones that watched over me my whole life, are now fading. They hold all the stories, the laughs, and the tears of a lifetime. They tell me of her love, her pride, and her unyielding belief in me, even as life dims in them. It is a look that says, “Be brave, my child, even when the world falls apart.” And in that moment, as the shadows of oblivion close in, a surge of emotions overwhelms me. Love, loss, and regret—a storm of feelings I can’t quite grasp. My heart aches with a pain so profound, so absolute, that it eclipses everything else. The man’s laughter and the surrounding chaos fade into the background. There is only her, my anchor, my guiding star, slipping away.
On the exterior, I’m a hard man. I’ve earned the whispers people say about me behind my back. I strike fear into the hearts of brave men because of the things I’ve done, the people I’ve killed, and the trials I’ve overcome. Yet, in matters of the heart, I’m as vulnerable as anyone else, maybe more so.
And then it’s me. I feel it start at the edges, a tingling numbness that creeps inward, hollowing me out. My arms, my legs, my chest—all fading, unspooling, as if I’m being erased from existence, my very essence scattered into the void. My memories splinter, each one tearing away with a sharp, silent ache. I cling to the thought of them, of who they were, of who I was, but even those memories twist, to distort, slipping from my grasp as the void presses in. In one final, excruciating moment, I am nothing. No name, no past, no future. Just a single, vanishing heartbeat suspended in emptiness.