Friends, readers, and potential victims of insomnia, gather ‘round. I have a confession to make. Remember that epic fantasy trilogy nestled on your shelves, the one that took two decades, and enough spilled ink to fill an ajatar’s bath? The one I vowed would be the final chapter in the saga of the Harrow? Well, hold onto your enchanted broadswords, because the rumors are true, I’ve wandered back into those thorny woods.

Let me assure you, this wasn’t some grand artistic epiphany, no divine bolt of inspiration cleaving my skull. It was more like a persistent itch, a whisper carried on the wind from a land I thought I’d left behind. At first, it was faint, a mere murmur suggesting unfinished threads, unanswered questions dangling like cobwebs in the Harrow’s forgotten corners. But the whispers grew louder, insistent, until I found myself scribbling notes, mental mutterings to myself as I read books, walked, shopped, did whatever – the very picture of a man possessed by a vengeful muse.

So, what could possibly lure me back to that world of treacherous wizards and bloodthirsty hordes of evil beasts? Was it the allure of returning to familiar characters, dusting off their well-worn cloaks and sharpening their rusty wit? Or perhaps the itch to explore those unexplored corners of the map, to delve deeper into the Harrow’s hidden histories and untold legends?

There’s a bit of truth to both, I admit. But the real pull, the siren song that dragged me back to the oars, was something more visceral. It was when I wrote the short story for the complete volume of The Harrow Saga, recently published. It was the feeling that the story wasn’t quite finished. Not because there were loose ends – I’m a firm believer in closure. No, it was the lingering sense of potential, a melody hummed but never sung, a world brimming with new characters and stories yearning to be told.

The Harrow, you see, is more than just a setting. It’s a living, breathing entity, a tapestry woven from countless threads of history, magic, and human folly. And like any tapestry, it has folds and wrinkles, hidden pockets where secrets and adventures lay tucked away. In revisiting the Harrow, I’m not merely picking up where I left off. I’m venturing into those hidden pockets, exploring the lives of different characters, delving into ancient conflicts hinted at in passing whispers.

Think of it as an epilogue, but not the dusty, “happily ever after” kind. This is an epilogue with teeth, a whispered coda that promises twists and turns, new heroes and villains, all dancing upon the stage of a world forever changed by the events of the trilogy.

And to be honest, a part of me relishes the challenge. Twenty years spent in the Harrow have honed my skills as a storyteller. I’m bolder now, unafraid to explore darker corners, to let the shadows bleed into the light. This isn’t the wide-eyed adventure of the trilogy. This is a return visit, a deeper dive into the soul of a world I thought I knew.

So, join me, dear readers. The winds of the Harrow are rising again, whispering tales of forgotten heroes and unearthed mysteries, in a new Harrow novel titled The Child of Fire. I, for one, can’t resist the call. Join me, if you dare, on this unplanned pilgrimage. Let us unravel the mysteries left behind, let us witness the rise of new heroes, let us celebrate the return of old friends. For the whispers are louder than ever, and they promise a story unlike any we've heard before.

Until next time, may your journeys be filled with wonder, your battles worthy of song, and your endings, whether happy or bittersweet, always complete.

Yours in words and magic,

The Reluctant Wanderer of the Harrow

PS. But know dear friends and readers, I’m also near the end of completing At the End of It All,

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