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

We’re trying to build something long, patient, and honest. A story that doesn’t rush, that takes its time with people, with choices, with consequences. Something original, not just in idea, but in how it feels to sit with it. We want to go deep enough that it starts to feel real.

There’s a quiet standard we hold in our heads. The kind of care where nothing is done halfway. Where every page means something, even if it’s small. Where you don’t pretend to be great—you keep working until it becomes true.

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, whether we can actually say what we’re trying to say, whether it will land the way we hope it does. That doubt stays with us while we work.

But we keep going.

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.