This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The morning mist clung to the cobblestones of Ravenhollow like ghostly fingers, reluctant to release their hold on the ancient village. Elara Thornwick pulled her woolen cloak tighter around her shoulders as she made her way through the narrow streets, a wicker basket filled with freshly gathered herbs swinging gently at her side. The familiar scent of rosemary and lavender wafted up from her collection, a comforting reminder of the work that had defined her family for generations.

At nineteen, Elara possessed a rare gift for healing that surpassed even her grandmother's legendary abilities. Her fingers seemed to know instinctively which herbs would soothe a fever, which roots would mend a broken bone, and which flowers would ease the pain of a troubled heart. The villagers often whispered that she had magic in her blood, though such talk made her uncomfortable. Magic was a dangerous thing in their realm, where the Crown's Inquisitors roamed the countryside seeking those who practiced the forbidden arts.

As she rounded the corner near the village fountain, Elara nearly collided with Mrs. Blackwood, the baker's wife, whose face was etched with worry lines deeper than usual.

"Oh, Elara, thank the stars I've found you," the older woman gasped, clutching at her apron with flour-dusted hands. "It's my youngest, Tommy. He's taken with a fever that won't break, and his breathing is labored. The village physician has tried everything, but nothing seems to help."

Elara's heart immediately went out to the distraught mother. Tommy Blackwood was barely six years old, a cheerful boy who often helped his father carry loaves of bread to the morning customers. "Take me to him at once," she said, her voice steady despite the urgency she felt.