Written By B

There are stories that begin with a bang—swords drawn, fates entwined, a world in peril. Krompus is not that story.

This is a different kind of journey. One that hangs out in alleyways and empty doorways. That murmurs and recalls only in shards.

I started writing Krompus as a fun exploration of memory, identity, and the weight of survival. An ode to a good friend of mine. It’s not a romance. There’s no magic spell to break. No hero in shining armor. Just a man who cannot die—and no longer remembers who he is.

The excerpt below is taken from the prologue, where we meet a nameless wanderer, a ghost among the living. It’s not the beginning of his life. It’s simply the moment he chooses to speak.

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Excerpt from the Prologue
They think immortality is like winning some kind of award.
A coin of gold placed in your hands by fate. But the truth is colder. Quieter. It tears you down in places you didn’t know could wear thin.

My name isn’t my name. Krompus. Not really. But it’s the one I’ve held onto the longest.

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This book has become a personal favorite—maybe because it walks a line between the real and the forgotten. Between myth and memory. If you’ve ever wondered what it might mean to live too long… this story might be for you.