To my readers — my fellow dreamers, rebels, and believers in broken crowns and burning thrones,
It’s been a long time since I posted here. Longer than I meant. Longer than I thought I could afford. And yet… here we are. Weeks have passed in silence, and I know that silence has weight. Especially when it comes from someone who’s always had a story to tell. If you’re reading this now — thank you. Just thank you for still being here.
I’ve started and deleted this post so many times. I didn’t want to write it when I was angry. Or numb. Or bitter. But I also didn’t want to pretend I was okay when I wasn’t. The truth is, the person behind Tales of Varestal has been going through something that no amount of fantasy, swords, or rebellion could prepare him for.
The past couple of months have been some of the hardest of my life. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve always found strength in being open with you guys, and I won’t stop now — even if being vulnerable scares the hell out of me.
Most of you may know I’m a father. My daughter, Elisia, is everything to me. She’s the reason I fight, the reason I get out of bed some days, the reason I even started writing again when my world felt dark. But right now, I’m fighting just to see her. I’ve been dragged through a legal nightmare, twisted in court by false statements, buried under paperwork and delay after delay. At one point, I was told it could be five years before I’m allowed to see her again — five years. She’s only seventeen months old now. She won’t even remember me. And that… that nearly broke me.
I’ve had to sit in courtrooms and hear lies spoken about me like they were gospel. I’ve had to deal with the fear that she might grow up thinking I didn’t fight for her — when I’m giving everything just to hold onto the chance. I’ve missed her first steps. I’ve missed sleepy cuddles, goofy giggles, new words. And every day that goes by, I feel that distance stretch further.
There were nights I couldn’t write. Nights where I didn’t eat. Nights where the only thing that kept me from disappearing completely was reminding myself that she will know who I am one day — if not now, then later. Through my words. Through these stories. Through the fight I’m still standing in.
But let me be honest: I’ve also felt like a fraud. Like I’ve been hiding behind characters and kingdoms while my real world burns. I tried to keep writing Where the Prince Lay Dying. I tried so hard. I opened the document again and again. I stared at the blinking cursor. I tried to pick up where I left off with Lucian — tried to walk him through those palace halls again. But everything in me was too heavy. The words wouldn’t come.
I know many of you have been waiting for the next chapter. Waiting for the next war, the next betrayal, the next quiet moment where grief meets beauty. And I hate letting anyone down. But I made a promise to myself a long time ago — I will never give you a half-hearted story. Not one I wrote just to “keep up.” Tales of Varestal means too much to me. It’s more than a project. It’s a piece of me. And I can’t give it what it deserves when I’m barely holding myself together.
So I’m taking a break. A real one. Not just a “break from blogging” or “I’ll post soon” kind of break. A step back from Varestal, from writing in that world, from carrying its weight when I can barely carry my own. I need to feel human again before I can breathe life back into these characters. And I hope you’ll still be here when I return.
That said… I haven’t stopped creating completely. When the world started feeling too dark, I turned to something a little brighter. A short comic project — 10 pages of vibrant imagination and childlike wonder. A story about dreaming. About magic and mischief and being a kid again. I worked with simpler characters, smaller stakes, softer colors. And for a moment, it reminded me that stories don’t always have to bleed to matter. Sometimes they can heal, too.
It felt strange at first — to step outside the shadows of Varestal and into something lighter. But it also felt good. Necessary, even. Like I was remembering a part of myself I had forgotten.
Still, the world I built — our world — never left me. I still think about Dravengarde’s crumbling towers. I still hear Selene’s whispered prayers in the dark. I still see Cassian standing over the Obsidian Throne with a crown he never was ready for. And I still ache for Lucian — lost, dying, and slowly clawing his way back into life.
They’re all waiting. And I’ll come back to them. I promise.
But right now… I need to come back to myself first.
I need to sit with my pain. I need to face what’s happening in my real life — the grief, the anger, the helplessness, the small moments of strength. I need to fight for my daughter. I need to learn how to breathe again without guilt. I need to let myself exist without constantly trying to turn my wounds into something poetic.
So this blog may stay quiet for a little while longer. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll post things here that aren’t chapters — maybe just thoughts, updates, even fragments of healing. But I wanted you to know the truth. I wanted you to understand the silence, not mistake it for abandonment. I haven’t quit. I haven’t stopped caring. I haven’t disappeared.
I’m just surviving. And sometimes… that’s enough.
If you’ve read this far — truly, thank you. Thank you for your patience. For your loyalty. For your kindness. You are not just “readers” to me. You’re the people who believed in a world I made out of ash and heartbreak and fire. You’ve been here through every twist, every reveal, every broken promise and silent vow. You’ve carried these stories with me. And now, you’re helping carry me.
So thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you for allowing me to step away without fear of being forgotten. Thank you for not demanding more than I can give right now. Thank you for reminding me that I am not just a writer — I’m a person. And that’s allowed to mean something, too.
When I come back — because I will — I want to do it with full lungs and an open heart. I want to tell the rest of Lucian’s story. I want to see how Varestal ends. I want to build something beautiful from everything I’ve endured.
But first, I need to keep going. One day at a time.
Still here. Still fighting. Still yours,
— E.J. Cordoue
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