Date Published: November 25, 2025
Publisher: MindStir Media
"This novel is heartfelt, gripping, and memorable in all the best ways." —Mariel Hemingway, Bestselling Author & Oscar-Nominated Actress ★★★★★
To everyone around him, Daniel Ward is a mild-mannered accountant, devoted husband and father in a quiet New England suburb. But when his ten-year-old son chases a runaway soccer ball into the street, straight into the path of a speeding truck, Daniel does the impossible. He freezes time.
That single act of defiance exposes the secret he's buried for decades. His magic awakens the ancient order he once betrayed, the Arvynth, a brotherhood of immortal sorcerers devoted to stillness and death, determined to silence the world.
As his carefully constructed life unravels, Daniel must protect his family while evading the brotherhood that hunts him. Every second he steals from time feeds the void that seeks to consume it, threatening not only the people he loves but reality itself.
Forced to choose between sacrifice and survival, Daniel discovers the truth: sometimes the loudest act of love is defiance.
The Breaking of Time is a race against eternity, a supernatural thriller that fuses urban fantasy and family drama in a story about the noise of life, the cost of power, and one father's desperate fight to keep the world from falling silent.
“Known for his cinematic writing, strong worldbuilding, and character development, Hebert’s The Breaking of Time is an exciting start to a new series… lays a solid foundation for a much larger story…” —USA TODAY contributor
"This work will grab readers’ attention early as Hebert combines a diverse array of genres—fantasy, thriller, family road novel, and others—into a fast-paced, character-driven adventure... An exciting, tightly written tale of magic... Our verdict: Get it.” —Kirkus Reviews
"The Breaking of Time is meticulously crafted to explore themes of love, loss, redemption, and the struggle to balance personal desires with greater responsibilities." —BookLife/Publishers Weekly (EDITOR'S PICK)
"The Breaking of Time: Chronicles of the Arvynth delivers cinematic urban fantasy that bridges generations, echoing the mythic gravity and moral weight of J.R.R. Tolkien while unfolding within a sleek, contemporary world... This is prestige fantasy..." —Jesse Metcalfe, Award-Winning Actor ★★★★★
"An immersive paranormal thriller that balances the rich worldbuilding and in-depth lore characteristic of fantasy fiction with the all-too-human dramas of identity, family, and the consequences of secrecy." —Independent Book Review (STARRED review)
“If you like magic that feels tactile and real, or if you enjoy emotional stakes wrapped inside supernatural danger, this book will hit the spot.” —Literary Titan★★★★★ (Gold Winner, Literary Titan Book Award: Fiction 2026)
“A smartly plotted supernatural thriller with a strong, charismatic protagonist to root for.” —The Wishing Shelf ★★★★★
"A winning blend of the supernatural and family adventure that crackles with heart and imagination." —BestThrillers ★★★★★
I’ve spent years pretending to be someone I’m not. The thought surfaces every morning when I shave, watching the face in the mirror—a face that should be ancient, centuries-old, but instead shows only the faint creases of a man in his early forties. A single gray hair at my temple that Elena keeps threatening to pluck. The kind of weathering that comes from the lost sleep of parenthood and mortgage payments, not from outliving empires.
To everyone else, I’m Daniel Ward—husband, father, the sort of man who mows the lawn on Saturdays and forgets garbage day at least twice a month. My neighbors wave when I’m pulling out the recycling bins, their smiles automatic and easy. Mrs. Dante from next door brings over her extra zucchini in late summer, always too much, always apol-ogizing for the abundance. My coworkers at the accounting firm think I’m polite but quiet, the guy who keeps his head down and never com-plains about the coffee. My wife calls me dependable, though some-times I catch a question in her eyes, a flicker of something she can’t quite name.
They all believe they know me.
They don’t.
The other man—the one buried under the flannel shirts and PTA meetings—still lurks somewhere beneath the surface. He’s the one who used to speak to the unseen currents of the world, who could twist wind and time if he chose, who once stood in a circle of elders and made the sky itself hold its breath. But I buried him twenty years ago, the day I first saw Elena across a crowded bookstore, her laugh carrying over the ambient music like a bell I didn’t know I’d been waiting to hear. I traded his power for peace, his truth for love, his ancient purpose for the warm weight of a child falling asleep on my chest. I told myself I could be normal, that five hundred and for-ty-three years of magic could be folded up and tucked away like old photographs in a drawer.
I even started to believe it.
Today was supposed to be an ordinary day. Another quiet Saturday, nothing more. But when does anything ever go as planned?
It was one of those deceptive autumn afternoons where New England shows off—sun bright and warm on the skin, gilding every-thing gold. The kind of day that makes you forget winter is coming. Trees along Brookfield Lane shed their red and gold. They carpeted the sidewalks in layers of crimson and amber, crunching underfoot like breaking glass. The whole world felt fragile, caught between seasons, holding its breath before the fall.
I stood at the end of our driveway, sipping coffee that had long gone lukewarm. The mug—a Father’s Day gift from three years ago with “World’s Coolest Dad” printed in fading letters—hung heavy in my hand, forgotten. I was watching the Hendersons’ cat stalk something invisible through their garden, its tail twitching with predatory focus, when Eli kicked his soccer ball a little too hard.
The sound was sharp—that hollow thwack of synthetic leather against a ten-year-old’s foot, released with more enthusiasm than aim. The ball bounced once, twice, then caught the curb at an angle and rolled into the street, picking up speed as it curved toward the stop sign at the corner.
Eli chased it before I could even form the word wait.
He wore his blue hoodie—the one with the frayed cuffs he refused to let Elena fix, the white stripes on the sleeves already graying from too many washes, and one drawstring longer than the other because he’d chewed on it during homework the night before. His sneakers were grass-stained, laces trailing, his gangly ten-year-old body a blur of elbows and knees as he ran with a reckless abandon only children pos-sess. The kind of innocence that comes from not yet understanding that the world has teeth.
The ball slipped into the road, rolling lazily toward the middle of the lane. Eli followed without looking, without thinking, his whole world narrowed to that sphere of black and white pentagons.
And then I heard it.
An approaching car. Not the gentle whisper of someone cruis-ing through the neighborhood, but the aggressive growl of speed—too much speed for a residential street. A truck came around the bend far too fast. The driver probably wasn’t paying attention, likely glancing at his phone or reaching for something on the passenger seat, thinking about anything but the quiet street where children played.
I felt my stomach drop, that vertiginous lurch that comes not from falling but from watching someone you love step off the edge. The coffee mug slipped from my fingers, hitting the driveway with a dull crack. Coffee spread across the concrete in a dark stain that looked too much like blood.
“Eli!” I shouted. “Look out!”
He didn’t hear. The wind was wrong, carrying sound away from him, and he was bent over the ball now, just a few feet from the cen-terline, small hands reaching down to scoop it up. His hood had fallen back, revealing the stubborn cowlick at his crown that Elena had tried to smooth down this morning, the same stubborn swirl of hair I’d seen on Jonas five hundred years ago.
The driver saw him at the last minute—I could see the panic flash across his face through the windshield, his mouth opening in what might have been a shout or a curse. He tried to brake—the nose of the truck dipped as he slammed his foot down—but there wasn’t enough distance, not enough time.
The laws of physics are beautiful and merciless. Mass times velocity. Momentum conserved. A two-ton truck traveling at forty miles per hour needs approximately ninety feet to stop. My son was thirty feet away.
The math was simple. The outcome inevitable.
Everything inside me fractured.
About the Author
J. J. Hebert is the #1 Amazon, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of nine books, including his acclaimed debut Unconventional and The Backwards K, which, according to Newsweek, is currently in development for film adaptation. His latest #1 bestsellers, both published in 2025, are The Breaking of Time: Chronicles of the Arvynth and The Hands-On Author: Taking Control of Your Book Marketing Journey. A lifelong New England resident, Hebert frequently weaves the region’s landscapes and atmosphere into his storytelling. He is also the award-winning CEO and Founder of MindStir Media, a leading hybrid book publisher.
No comments:
Post a Comment