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Literary Titan Silver Book Award
Celebrating the brilliance of outstanding authors who have captivated us with their skillful prose, engaging narratives, and compelling real and imagined characters. We recognize books that stand out for their innovative storytelling and insightful exploration of truth and fiction. Join us in honoring the dedication and skill of these remarkable authors as we celebrate the diverse and rich worlds they’ve brought to life, whether through the realm of imagination or the lens of reality.
Award Recipients
F F F by Al X. Griz
Pixie by Nightdancer Slater
Ada, Old and New: A Brother-Sister Tale by Madeleine Van Hecke
A Child’s Guillotine by Daniel Klein
The Restoration of Man-A Journey to Healing, Identity and God-Anchored Masculinity by Eli Brackenbury
The STEWARD Blueprint: A Compass for a Purposeful Life by Andy Tseng
Visit the Literary Titan Book Awards page to see award information.
The Step and the Walk (Book Two in The Darkening Gate)
Kristina Elyse Butke’s The Step and the Walk is a dark fantasy novel that blends gothic horror, historical atmosphere, forbidden magic, and a deeply personal exploration of grief. The second book in The Dark and the Lovely trilogy, it takes an interesting approach to storytelling by presenting itself as the private journal of Andresh Zatavier, a young man whose fascination with the supernatural leads him toward increasingly dangerous discoveries. Set in a richly imagined world reminiscent of the early nineteenth century, the story begins with Andresh attending the prestigious University of Evandra, where his studies in literature introduce him to ancient alchemical texts and grimoires. What starts as an intellectual curiosity gradually becomes something much more consuming. Andresh believes there may be a way to conquer death itself, an ambition rooted in the painful losses he’s experienced. Butke gives this supernatural premise a surprisingly human foundation, making Andresh’s longing for connection and his fear of losing loved ones just as important as the magic surrounding him.
Andresh is a compelling character. His journal entries create a sense of intimacy that’s especially effective as his circumstances grow more unsettling. He’s intelligent, sensitive, occasionally awkward, and often painfully unaware of how his emotions influence his decisions. His relationships with fellow students Sebastien and Madeleine Arvensy bring romance, friendship, and complicated social dynamics into the story, while his connection to Lily Bellamy provides an emotional thread that runs throughout his experiences. Butke handles Andresh’s loneliness and desire for acceptance with considerable care, allowing readers to understand why certain people and possibilities hold such power over him. The diary format also gives the narrative an appealingly personal quality. Andresh might describe an ordinary university outing, complain about his roommate, or reflect on an embarrassing romantic encounter before turning his attention to demonic rituals and the mysteries of immortality. These shifts make his world feel lived-in, and they give the darker moments greater emotional weight.
Readers familiar with Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House will find some intriguing similarities in The Step and the Walk, particularly in its combination of academic life, supernatural mysteries, and dangerous magical practices. Both novels explore hidden worlds of occult knowledge, where curiosity can open doors to forces that are difficult to understand or control. Like Bardugo, Butke creates an atmosphere in which ancient rituals, secret histories, and supernatural entities exist alongside the everyday experiences of university students. Both authors also give their characters complicated emotional histories that influence how they navigate these strange environments. Butke distinguishes her story through its nineteenth-century-inspired setting, intimate journal format, and elaborate magical system involving Fire, demons, sacred names, and the Four Gates of Alchemy. Her incorporation of alchemical symbolism, religious traditions, and historical poetry adds depth to the worldbuilding, although the detailed explanations occasionally slow the narrative’s momentum. The result is a compelling blend of dark academia and gothic fantasy that should appeal to readers who enjoy Bardugo’s atmospheric storytelling and morally complicated characters.
What makes The Step and the Walk memorable is the way Butke connects its supernatural horrors to recognizable human emotions. Beneath the elaborate rituals, unsettling encounters, and philosophical questions about death is a story about someone trying desperately to find meaning in suffering. Andresh’s internal conflicts give the novel much of its tension, especially as his compassion, ambition, guilt, and longing begin pulling him in different directions. Butke’s conversational first-person writing makes these struggles accessible, while her vivid descriptions of demons and magical phenomena provide plenty of disturbing imagery for readers who enjoy gothic fantasy. The book also has a strong romantic element, with affection, vulnerability, and questions of trust shaping much of Andresh’s emotional journey. Its combination of introspective storytelling, dark academia, queer romance, and occult mystery should appeal to readers who enjoy character-driven fantasy with a psychological edge. The Step and the Walk is an absorbing, sometimes unsettling portrait of a young man whose desire to protect the people he loves draws him into a world where every discovery carries a personal cost.
Pages: 231 | ASIN : B0H5TTJ4ZZ
Of Inklings and Willowpillars
Brent K. Newcomb’s Of Inklings and Willowpillars, the first book in The Chronicles of Ber’Ebrin, is a wonderfully eccentric fantasy adventure that combines Victorian charm, fairy-tale magic, and a mischievous sense of humor. Set in 1877, the story follows five imaginative children who call themselves the Inklings, along with their absentminded mentor, Professor Augustus E. Peabody. When the professor discovers a mysterious map pointing toward the legendary paradise of Ber’Ebrin, the group embarks on a journey into a world filled with strange creatures, dangerous kingdoms, and surprises that challenge everything they thought they knew. Meanwhile, a sinister creature known as the Beast has been given a particularly troubling assignment involving fifteen-year-old Mary Doyle. This darker thread adds an intriguing tension to an adventure that frequently delights in the ridiculous. Newcomb creates a story where curiosity opens doors to extraordinary possibilities, even when what’s waiting on the other side is considerably more dangerous than anyone anticipated.
Newcomb clearly enjoys inventing unusual creatures, peculiar customs, and fantastical locations, and that enthusiasm comes through on nearly every page. From the mysterious Colorless Kingdoms to the enchanting Woodrealm, each setting has its own personality and dangers. The creatures are especially entertaining, including the endearing willowpillars, unruly imps, intimidating drakes, and other beings that seem to have wandered out of a particularly inventive collection of folklore. The world feels expansive, with its own histories, rivalries, magical artifacts, and rules that the characters must gradually understand. Newcomb also has a fondness for elaborate descriptions, playful dialogue, and unexpected comic interruptions. His narrator frequently addresses the reader directly, adding a storytelling quality reminiscent of an eccentric grandfather sharing a fantastic tale beside the fireplace. The result is a richly detailed adventure that invites readers to enjoy the journey as much as the destination.
Readers familiar with C.S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia will recognize a similar affection for children discovering magical worlds where goodness, temptation, and courage carry real consequences. Both authors understand how fantasy can explore moral choices through exciting adventures and memorable creatures. Newcomb, however, brings a more rambunctious personality to his storytelling, with a distinctly Victorian flavor and a generous helping of absurdist comedy. His eccentric professor, in particular, adds a delightful unpredictability to the proceedings. There are also echoes of L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz in the colorful assortment of companions and strange societies encountered along the way. What makes Newcomb’s approach engaging is the balance between whimsical adventure and genuine peril. The young characters face situations that require resourcefulness, loyalty, and difficult decisions, and their individual personalities help give those moments emotional weight. Mary’s struggle between growing up and holding on to her imagination is especially compelling, while the younger children contribute warmth, humor, and an infectious curiosity.
Of Inklings and Willowpillars is a story about friendship, innocence, temptation, and the courage to choose what’s right when doing so becomes difficult. Newcomb gives these themes room to develop through an ambitious narrative filled with intersecting adventures, amusing detours, and a substantial cast of characters. The pacing occasionally slows as the author explores another corner of his elaborate world, but those diversions contribute to the book’s old-fashioned storytelling appeal. There’s something refreshing about a fantasy novel so willing to linger over a strange encounter, an amusing conversation, or a peculiar bit of magical history. Although its youthful protagonists make it accessible to younger fantasy enthusiasts, the book’s darker elements, literary references, and layers of humor offer plenty for adult readers to appreciate as well. With its lively imagination, memorable creatures, and underlying belief in the importance of goodness, Of Inklings and Willowpillars offers an entertaining introduction to a much larger fantasy universe. It’s an inviting choice for readers who enjoy traditional portal fantasies, eccentric characters, and stories that still believe there’s something marvelous waiting beyond the familiar world.
Pages: 276 | ASIN : B0HJFRXBTQ
A Game of Chess
Blood of Iron follows a desperate king trying to save his kingdom who seeks to use an ancient blood-powered weapon to defeat his enemies, forcing his children to choose between loyalty and conscience. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
This is a very good first question. I always wanted to write my very own sword and sorcery story, where good and evil are not very clearly defined, and each character has a motive for his or her actions. Working on this story, I was paradoxically inspired by vampire movies, particularly by the first Blade movie with actor Wesley Snipes in the title role. The idea of using blood as an awakening catalyst, was inspired by a scene of a final battle where Blade faced a Blood god called La Magra, a powerful vampire entity summoned by an evil vampire Deacon Frost through a blood ritual that involved the sacrifice of vampire elders and use of Blade’s own blood. And while the inspiration came from a vampire movie, I think I managed to create a good story involving blood and dark magic.
While the king sees salvation for his kingdom, his children, Prince Hares and Princess Alesta, begin questioning the morality of his plans. How do the characters’ relationships challenge their assumptions about loyalty, authority, and the responsibilities they owe to one another?
King Herman the Ironfist, crown prince Hares and his sister, Princess Alesta are the three very important characters in the story. The King, facing a massive invasion of his lands by an enemy coalition, cares about his children, his dynasty and his kingdom. His motive is a mix of desperation, mixed with desire to crush his enemies once and for all. For him, awakening the ancient super weapon named Sanger is a necessity, and the sacrifice of one thousand men to have it, makes him fully believe that the end justifies the means. In contrast, Prince Hares and Princess Alesta have less influence and power than their father, and while Hares is a warrior and Alesta is a scholar, both of them have a strong sense of justice and morals. In their minds, there are lines powerful people should not cross if it means the deaths of innocents. That makes them people with a strong moral compass, who would rather seek an alternative solution.
What interested you about exploring the conflict between loyalty to family, loyalty to one’s country, and loyalty to personal principles?
All fiction takes its inspiration from real historical events. I read many interesting books about powerful people forced by fate, destiny and circumstances to make very hard choices. In some cases, life, just like war, is a game of chess, where players are willing to sacrifice pawns and then even more powerful and important figures to win the game. An ordinary person with little or no power or influence can do little, but a person who has the power to command men, economies and armies sometimes is faced with hard choices he or she has to make. As far as the loyalty to family and loyalty to one’s country, it is often a Catch 22, because love for the family must save the family, while love for the country can save millions. In regard to personal principles, I think that every good person has them, and will only be willing to compromise them to save the people he loves.
Do you envision returning to Tarkonia or expanding the world of Blood of Iron through future stories?
To be honest, the thought had crossed my mind in regard to the Kingdom of Tarkonia and the world I built around it to create this particular story. I believe that there is a lot of food for thought, and there might be a possibility to do just that. In order to expand the world of Blood of Iron, I would have to rethink a few things in regard to the events I presented in Blood of Iron, and create a time frame where another expanded the story will take place. Since Tarkonia is just one of the countries that has an important role to play, other countries and dominions must be created, explored, and given their own history, motives and conflict outcomes. The story is definitely worth thinking about, but for now, I will put it on a shelf, until I get inspired again to expand this unique world. I will probably draw a map of the realm, give it life and work on the people who inhabit it. There is much to think about, and I will patiently wait for an inspiration to write a new novella.
Emissary of Wrathful Gods
Jhani Mills’s Emissary of Wrathful Gods is an expansive dark romantic fantasy about the authority to judge and the responsibility that comes with exercising it. Set in the harbor principality of Mourasque, it follows Evelune, a fisherman’s daughter troubled by involuntary visions, and Seralya Torren, an aristocratic heir whose understanding of security has been shaped by family rivalry. Their lives unfold beneath gods who treat devotion, obligation, and offense as matters with tangible consequences. Mills develops the story through domestic conflict, divine politics, and intimate relationships, giving its questions about justice a personal urgency.
The harbor setting gives the novel much of its texture. Fish scales, wet rope, market bread, and the labor of unloading boats establish a community with routines worth caring about. In the noble households above it, carved clocks, carefully selected clothing, and property documents communicate the pressures of inheritance and social standing. Religion reaches into both environments through trade, ritual, and the threat of public judgment. The Weave, which records lives, and the Deck of Atonement, which assigns consequences, give divine authority a detailed procedural structure. That structure makes the question of how evidence becomes punishment especially compelling.
Evelune and Seralya sustain interest through the specificity of their attachments. Evelune’s compassion comes with impatience, humor, and a stubborn willingness to act; Seralya’s command of a room grows from an upbringing that teaches her to anticipate threats to everything she values. Mills gives considerable attention to how parents transmit their fears and habits to children. Affection, resentment, loyalty, and entitlement can occupy the same household, sometimes the same conversation. “Accuracy has never excused cruelty” captures a concern that extends from family exchanges to divine proceedings. The novel repeatedly asks what responsibility remains after someone has established that they’re technically correct.
The romantic relationships carry those concerns into physical and emotional intimacy. Orman and Daneira give Evelune different forms of familiarity and support, while Khassim’s history with Seralya makes their exchanges both affectionate and confrontational. Ronin, the divine Witness, introduces the unsettling attraction of someone whose attention comes with institutional power. Evelune’s question, “Who are you when you aren’t watching people die?” gives that attraction an ethical dimension. Mills pays sustained attention to permission, jealousy, and the temptation to make decisions for someone one loves. The explicit sensuality belongs to a story deeply interested in bodies, vulnerability, and the limits of possession.
The novel’s length also exposes its principal weakness: repetition. Explanations of divine procedure, conversations about withheld information, and statements of characters’ motives sometimes recur after the dramatic situation has already made them clear. Short, emphatic sentences can sharpen an emotional moment, though their frequent use occasionally gives distinct scenes a similar rhythm. Some extended confrontations would gain force from greater compression. Even with that unevenness, Mills creates relationships whose competing loyalties remain difficult to dismiss. Emissary of Wrathful Gods is most persuasive when its large questions become immediate human problems: a parent’s divided affection, a lover’s demand for honesty, or the cost of accepting authority without examining how it’s used.
Pages: 829 | ASIN: B0HMQ6NNCS
Birth of the Vampire Pimp
Jason C.W. Baugh’s Birth of the Vampire Pimp brings Oakland street fiction into an adult dark fantasy adventure filled with vampires, witches, and dangerous ambitions. At its center is JB, a wealthy pimp whose encounter with Queen Sasha carries him into the strange world of Vol’kare. His street instincts become survival tools in a place governed by blood, magic, and competing interests. It’s a bold combination, and the book gets much of its personality from letting JB bring his language, attitude, and appetite for control into unfamiliar territory. The appeal starts with that collision between an Oakland hustler and a supernatural kingdom.
Vol’kare gives this vampire horror novel plenty to explore. Its three moons make nightfall and sunrise feel like practical concerns, while its forests, settlements, and imposing castle create a landscape that’s beautiful and threatening at the same time. Baugh fills it with distinctive creatures and unusual customs, giving JB’s travels a steady supply of surprises. The ravens are an especially effective recurring presence, adding an eerie sense of being watched. The fantasy world also has recognizable social divisions: wealth opens doors, authority invites abuse, and ordinary people struggle with the consequences. Those details give the setting concerns that extend beyond its monsters.
JB is charismatic, calculating, brutally violent, and capable of moments of generosity that complicate your response to him. His treatment of women can be troubling, and the narration often admires the same control that makes him disturbing. That tension is part of the reading experience. His encounters with people such as Summerly, a young artist, also make room for encouragement, vulnerability, and questions about personal freedom. For readers drawn to morally complicated protagonists in vampire fiction, there’s plenty to consider in the gap between JB’s view of himself and the behavior he displays.
The writing has a direct and talkative style, with slang, blunt humor, and long stretches of dialogue shaping its rhythm. JB’s voice stays rooted in Oakland even as the surroundings grow stranger, which helps hold the genre blend together. The action is frequent and graphic, and the sexual material is explicit, giving this supernatural adventure a distinctly adult tone. Its structure is episodic, with encounters building up the world as JB moves through it.
What stayed with me about Birth of the Vampire Pimp was the confidence of its central idea and the amount of imagination poured into Vol’kare. Baugh connects supernatural power with the kinds of influence JB already understands: persuasion, intimidation, loyalty, and money. That connection gives the story a recognizable thread through its many creatures and conflicts. Readers who enjoy adult dark fantasy, vampire horror, and the swagger of urban fiction will find a distinctive combination here. The book’s strongest qualities are its outspoken voice, its unsettling central character, and a world that keeps giving him new reasons to question who holds the power.
Pages: 356 | ASIN : B0H7YRWXP9
Blood of Iron
Blood of Iron is a dark fantasy novella about a kingdom under pressure and the dangerous appeal of a weapon that promises to solve every military problem. Tarkonia’s rulers face rebellion, disputed borders, and rival powers, while an ancient source of magic offers a tempting shortcut to security. The story opens with battlefield maneuvers, then moves into royal chambers where arguments about territory and survival carry their own threats. If you enjoy military fantasy with court politics and forbidden magic, there’s plenty here to hold your interest. What gives the setup its bite is the royal family’s confidence that force can deliver lasting peace. You can understand their fear of invasion while also questioning the decisions that fear helps them justify.
Prince Hares, Princess Alesta, and General Tarnak Bars give the story its most interesting relationships. Hares has been trained to command, Alesta brings an interest in law and history, and Bars offers the perspective of a veteran who knows what warfare asks of people. Their conversations put competing ideas about duty into practical terms: how should a ruler protect a kingdom, and what does that ruler owe its inhabitants? King Herman’s authority hangs over these exchanges, making even family discussions feel politically charged. I found the tension between the characters’ stated compassion and their acceptance of harsh customs especially interesting. They’re comfortable with privileges and punishments that deserve scrutiny, and that makes their judgments worth watching. The book’s questions about leadership grow out of the society these people inhabit.
The worldbuilding has an appealingly physical quality. Elaborate breakfasts, training weapons, royal insignia, guarded libraries, and carefully arranged military formations make Tarkonia feel like a place organized around rank and routine. Magic belongs to that same system of bargaining and control. Wizards negotiate payment, rulers weigh strategic advantages, and old records become resources for present conflicts. That combination gives this sword and sorcery story a clear political dimension, with supernatural power treated as something people want to acquire and manage. The frequent meals and private conversations also establish how comfortably the royal household lives alongside public cruelty. Those details can be unsettling, and they give the book an atmosphere that suits its dark fantasy themes. Some of the strongest imagery comes from the sheer scale and menace of the ancient magic.
Dialogue often states a character’s beliefs directly, which makes the central conflict easy to follow but can leave the exchanges feeling stiff. The pacing spends a substantial stretch preparing for events, with the most forceful action concentrated toward the close. Still, I stayed interested in how the story connects military necessity, personal ambition, and responsibility. Blood of Iron has a compact, earnest approach to fantasy, and its strongest appeal is the pressure it puts on the idea of a protective ruler. It’s a worthwhile choice for readers drawn to dark fantasy about royal power, dangerous magic, and the human cost of seeking security.
Pages: 75 | ASIN : B0HH85TMJT
Pure Light: Shadows That Wait for Me
Nicholas Acker’s Pure Light follows a young woman who wakes in a storm with no memory, a mysterious mark on her palm, and a floating light as her guide. It’s a fantasy adventure built around the unsettling business of discovering yourself while everyone else seems to understand the world you’ve landed in. Gem’s search takes her through a country divided by civil war, where magic shapes everyday life as well as the struggle for power. What caught my attention most was her discomfort with hurting people, even when she has good reason to defend herself. That concern gives the action an emotional consequence: every display of strength raises questions about how she wants to use it.
The friendships give the story its warmth. Nyla’s quick tongue, curiosity, and knack for enchantments make her an entertaining companion, and her exchanges with Gem bring out both characters’ vulnerabilities. Their relationship grows through meals, lessons, teasing, and the awkward work of trusting someone. Diamond is particularly memorable. Acker gives this little orb a surprisingly readable personality through changes in color, movement, and brightness. Its fascination with animals and habit of getting into things made me smile, while its quieter gestures of comfort carry real tenderness. The supporting cast adds further energy, especially when different personalities start rubbing against each other. I enjoyed how often companionship takes a practical form here: offering shelter, sharing knowledge, or noticing when someone’s struggling to breathe.
Acker also has a clear appetite for scenery. Forests, crowded taverns, a magnificent ship, and luminous stone architecture give the journey a strong visual character. Enchanted objects help make the setting feel authentic, and Gem’s amazement lets familiar fantasy details acquire a fresh appeal. As the story moves into darker territory, that same attention to sensation makes the danger feel physically close. The prose does get repetitive in places. Tightening chests, catching breaths, and warmth spreading through the body recur often enough that distinct feelings sometimes receive similar treatment. The frequent similes can also slow scenes that already have plenty of atmosphere. I found the writing most effective when a concrete gesture or a sharp exchange carried the emotion. Those moments give the characters space to feel individual.
The mixture of enchantment and creeping menace reminded me of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline. Both books make curiosity feel exciting and risky, and both bring their heroines into frightening situations where courage becomes a personal, immediate choice. Acker develops that tension through a broader fantasy journey, with traveling companions, religious conflict, and questions about the responsibilities that come with magical power. His voice is open and earnest, particularly around grief, belonging, and the fear that an unknown past might define a person’s future. Some of those ideas are stated repeatedly, but the care between the characters gives them substance. As an opening installment, Pure Light: Shadows That Wait for Me introduces places, relationships, and mysteries that invite further exploration. Its strongest reason to keep reading is Gem herself, whose wish to protect others remains compelling even as fear makes that wish harder to act on.
Pages: 284 | ASIN: B0FVMMM4C2
