Pendragon Cycle Brett Cooper

Brett Cooper never believed in fate. He believed in flux, in the slippery current of time that Halla’s travelers rode like surfers on a cosmic wave. But as he stood on a rain-lashed cliff in what should have been Cornwall, 2026, he felt the familiar tug—the territory’s cough, a glitch in the flume.

The battle was brutal. Brett helped carry wounded. Morgaine sang a song that turned the tide—not magic, but memory , calling the old gods of the soil to rise in mist and confusion. pendragon cycle brett cooper

“Not again,” Brett muttered, checking his ring—the traveler’s ring Bobby Pendragon had given him in another life. It was cold. Dormant. He was stranded. Brett Cooper never believed in fate

“For Halla.”

Brett looked at the boy who would be king, at Morgaine with her sea-gray eyes, at the territory that had almost been unmade by doubt. The battle was brutal