This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice.

In the time when gods still walked among mortals and the world was young, there existed a realm where the boundary between myth and reality was as thin as morning mist. The kingdom of Aethermoor stretched across rolling hills dotted with olive groves and ancient temples, where the scent of burning incense mingled with the salt air from the distant sea. It was here that Prince Lysander first heard the prophecy that would shape his destiny.

The Oracle of Delthia had been silent for three moons, her sacred chamber sealed by order of King Theodoros himself. The people whispered in the marketplaces and gathered in worried clusters outside the temple walls, for never in living memory had the Oracle refused to speak. Some claimed she had been struck dumb by divine punishment, while others whispered darker tales of curses and ancient magic gone awry.

Prince Lysander stood at the window of his tower chamber, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of gold and crimson. At twenty-five, he possessed the classical beauty of his lineage—dark hair that caught the light like polished bronze, eyes the color of storm clouds, and a bearing that spoke of nobility tempered by genuine compassion for his people. Yet for all his princely advantages, he felt the weight of uncertainty pressing upon his shoulders like a lead cloak.

"My lord," came a voice from behind him. Lysander turned to see Demetrius, his most trusted advisor and childhood friend, entering the chamber with obvious reluctance. The older man's face bore the weathered lines of one who had served the royal family faithfully for decades, and his expression now carried a gravity that made Lysander's stomach tighten with foreboding.