If Latro’s wound-driven forgetfulness and the way his daily scroll entries keep shifting what’s true hooked you in Soldier of the Mist, you’ll love how Axl and Beatrice wander a Britain smothered in literal forgetfulness. Like Latro’s meetings with Hermes and river spirits, rumors of ogres, knights, and a dragon blur into memory—until the truth behind the fog (and their own past) hits with quiet, devastating force.

Latro’s self-written record is your lifeline in Soldier of the Mist—you only know what he writes before he forgets. The Red Tree gives you that same intimate, uneasy closeness: Sarah Crowe’s found manuscript, with editorial notes and gaps, draws you into a diary where the writer might be misreading (or rewriting) reality. As with Latro’s scroll, what’s omitted or misremembered becomes the real mystery.

If you loved how Latro walks through post-Plataea Greece seeing gods in the crowd—chatting with divinities as naturally as with Spartans—Lavinia offers a kindred spell. Lavinia speaks with the poet who’s writing her fate and moves through the world of the Aeneid where omens, river gods, and destiny shape every step, blending myth with lived, historical texture.

Latro’s search for who he was before the wound—piecing it together from yesterday’s ink—finds a lyrical echo here. Rush That Speaks reconstructs his life through stories and half-remembered truths, and the tale’s final turn reframes everything you thought you understood, much like realizing Latro’s encounters and alliances may not mean what they seem.

If Wolfe’s meticulous Greece—its city-states, shrines, and soldier’s life—enchanted you, Kay’s mosaicist Crispin journeying to the glittering heart of an empire will scratch the same itch. As Latro navigates Spartans and Athenians with gods at the margins, Crispin moves through chariot factions, court maneuvering, and sacred art, in a world so textured you can smell the incense and stone dust.