This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

The ancient spires of Drakenheart pierced the storm-darkened sky like accusatory fingers, their once-gleaming surfaces now scarred by decades of war and neglect. Kira Stormwind pressed herself against the cold stone of the watchtower, rain streaming down her face as she gazed upon the capital city that had once been the jewel of the Seven Kingdoms. Now it lay in ruins, its streets empty save for the occasional patrol of the Usurper's black-armored guards.

The prophecy had spoken of this day, though few had believed the old words when they were first uttered by the Oracle of the Silver Lake centuries ago. "When the last dragon's flame grows dim, and shadows claim the Scaled Throne, a child of two bloodlines shall rise to restore the ancient compact between drake and crown." The prophecy had seemed little more than legend until three months ago, when King Aldric the Just had fallen to his brother's treachery, and Lord Commander Malachar had seized the throne for himself.

Kira's hand instinctively moved to the leather satchel at her side, where the Crown of Scales lay hidden beneath layers of rough cloth. The ancient artifact hummed with barely contained power, its surface warm to the touch despite the bitter cold of the mountain air. She had carried it faithfully since the night of the coup, when her mentor, the court mage Eldred Moonwhisper, had thrust it into her arms with his dying breath.

"The dragons grow restless," came a voice behind her, startling Kira from her reverie. She turned to see Garrett Ironhold, the last loyal knight of the royal guard, his weathered face grim beneath his hood. "The villagers in the lower valleys speak of strange lights in the sky, and roars that shake the very mountains. Vyrak the Ancient stirs in his slumber."