This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The morning mist clung to the cobblestones of Elderwood like a lover's whisper, reluctant to part from the ancient streets that had witnessed countless tales of magic and wonder. Elara Moonweaver pressed her nose against the frosted window of her family's apothecary, watching the sleepy town slowly come to life. At twenty-three, she possessed an ethereal beauty that seemed to glow from within—silver hair that caught moonbeams even in daylight, eyes the color of storm clouds, and skin pale as morning frost.

"Another restless night, my dear?" Her grandmother's voice drifted from behind the counter, where Grandmother Sage was already grinding herbs with practiced precision. The elderly woman's knowing eyes held secrets as old as the mountains surrounding their town.

Elara turned from the window, her gossamer dress flowing like liquid starlight. "I dreamed of him again, Grandmother. The man with golden eyes and shadows that follow his footsteps."

Grandmother Sage paused in her grinding, concern flickering across her weathered features. "Dreams of strangers often carry meaning in our bloodline, child. The Moonweaver women have always been blessed—or cursed—with the gift of foresight."

The bell above the apothecary door chimed melodiously as their first customer of the day entered. Mrs. Hartwell, the baker's wife, bustled in with flour still dusting her apron and worry creasing her kind face.

"Oh, Sage, thank goodness you're open early," Mrs. Hartwell exclaimed, her breath visible in small puffs. "It's my youngest, Timothy. He's come down with the most peculiar fever. His temperature rises and falls like the tides, and he speaks of seeing creatures that dance in the corners of his room."

Elara exchanged a meaningful glance with her grandmother. In Elderwood, such symptoms often indicated exposure to magical energies—something that had been occurring with increasing frequency over the past few months.