Faizah Silk

When Elias wakes in a cave deep in the desert, his memories are lost—until a song rises unbidden, stirring something ancient within him. The melody unlocks his past, revealing a single, burning purpose: vengeance. His wife was murdered, and the woman responsible—Seraphine, the Veil-Singer—must pay the price.  
Armed with a mysterious harp of forgotten power, Elias embarks on a journey across a world teetering on the edge of ruin. What begins as a personal mission for retribution soon unravels into something far greater. The harp’s music does not merely recall memories—it rewrites fate, bending reality itself. And Elias is not the only one who seeks to control it.  
As he gathers unlikely allies—a rogue with secrets of her own, a storyteller who knows too much, and a woman tied to the Veil’s hidden truths—Elias discovers that the harp was once used to shape the world. Its final song was left unfinished, and now, the forces that once wielded it are stirring from their slumber.  
When Elias finally confronts Seraphine, he realizes too late that their battle was only the first note in a much larger symphony. The harp’s awakening has called him to something older than gods, something that was never meant to return.  
Now, the fate of the world rests on a song yet to be written.  
As war looms and the fabric of reality begins to fray, Elias must make an impossible choice: continue his path of vengeance or wield the harp to mend the song of creation before it is lost forever.  
But fate is never so easily played.  
And some songs demand a terrible price.  
The Harp of Astra is a sweeping epic of fate, music, and redemption. It is a story of vengeance turned destiny, and a melody that will echo beyond the end of time.

The Harp of Astra

The voices came from all directions. The figures did not attack, but they blocked the path ahead, swaying like reeds in an unseen current. 


Elias’s breath caught. These weren’t like the warriors from before. These were something else. Something unfinished. 


Alina’s dagger flashed in her hand. “What are they?” 


Joran raised his sword. “I don’t care. If they move, I’m cutting them down.” 


The figures shifted at his voice, their hollow eyes turning toward him. 


The harp vibrated against his back, its strings humming without being touched. 


Elias took a deep breath. Then he asked, “Who are you?” 


Then, in a voice like wind through dry leaves, they spoke. ”We are the forgotten.” 


Elias felt the weight of their presence, the sheer emptiness of what they were. They had no bodies, no form, only memories bound in the ash. 


The Forgotten & The Spire of Astra