Edmund Promise writes speculative fiction because reality’s magic system is boring and its plot holes are confusing. He lives in a sun-drenched basin trapped between desert and sea with his family and a collection of bladed weapons he is forbidden from swinging indoors—a rule he regards as a direct assault on both his creative process and his dignity as an author.

A firm believer that writing is humanity’s closest reflection of God, Edmund published his first book at nine. He has spent the years since building ever-more-ambitious worlds, only to discover that balancing a fictional economy is the fastest way to prove he is, in fact, still an apprentice to the Creator. 

When he isn’t constructing (and occasionally detonating) intricate worlds, Edmund wields a guitar with far more grace than his decorative weaponry. Between chapters, he ruthlessly dissects books, films, and any plate of food unfortunate enough to land in the “mediocre” category.

He is driven by the ambition to craft a story so compulsively readable that he gets personally banned from every evil empire in existence—and, for good measure, at least three Michelin-starred restaurants.