I started Erebus Works because I wanted to make something that could stand on its own, even after I’m gone.

A story that doesn’t rush, that takes its time with people, with choices, with consequences. Something original, not just in what it tells, but in how it feels to sit with it. We want to go deep enough that it begins to feel real.

There’s a quiet standard we hold in our heads. The kind of care where nothing is done halfway.

We want to make something that people don’t just read and move on from. Something they stay with. Something they talk about, argue over, carry with them without noticing. Something that slowly becomes part of how they see things.

At the same time, we don’t know if we’ll reach that. We question it constantly—whether we’re good enough.That doubt stays with us while we work.

If this work ends up meaning something to someone—if it gives even a small sense of belonging, or stays in their mind longer than expected—that’s enough.

And if someday, someone looks back and sees where it began, and feels something real from it, then it was worth doing.