A nameless bar stands where roads, worlds, and survivors intersect. Patrons arrive carrying stories they can't put down: storms of blood at sea, forests that eat, carnivals built from laughter and bone, battles where death repeats until meaning breaks.
Each tale is told three ways.
First by the storyteller.
Then by the bar itself, which groans, grows, and carves the memory into its walls.
And finally by Early.
Early is not a hero. He insists on that. He speaks plainly, shrugs at the impossible, and treats survival like coincidence. Where others describe apocalypse, he remembers inconvenience. Where witnesses swear he died hundreds of times, he recalls getting away early and helping a few people on the road to something worse.
As the stories accumulate, the bar changes. Tables appear. Beams bend. Vines and flowers creep outside, shaping a name the patrons begin to use: Early's Bar. The place owns the stories. It may own Early too.
When the patrons finally ask for his full account, Early delivers a six-part reckoning. The tales are no longer separate. They become one continuous passage through fire, ash, marrow, salt, and noise. Each horror follows the next in brutal order, until the truth of survival is unavoidable.
And when it ends, Early tells it one last time. Short. Simple. Almost kind.
The Tales of Early is a dark fantasy collection about storytelling, memory, and violence treated without spectacle. Brutal in detail. Calm in voice. A book where the loudest horrors are spoken quietly, and kindness is the rarest act of all.
