Rowan lingered in the shadow of an arched stone bridge, his hood pulled low as he watched the city move around him. Kethra was vast, its streets winding like a web that stretched in every direction. Above, the Nexus Spire loomed, its arcs of energy casting faint shadows that rippled like water. The shard in his pocket pulsed faintly, its rhythm steady but insistent, like a heartbeat calling him forward.

  But Rowan wasn’t ready to answer yet.

  He leaned against the cool stone, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. Merchants bartered loudly in the square beyond, their stalls bursting with colorful wares. A group of city guards moved purposefully through the throng, their polished armor reflecting the sunlight. And high above, the faint silhouette of an airship hovered, its shimmering sails catching the light.

  The city was alive, its rhythm almost hypnotic. But Rowan wasn’t here to marvel at it. He was here to understand it—and to avoid being seen.

  The Nexus Spire drew Rowan’s attention again. Even from this distance, he could feel its power—a hum in the air, subtle but undeniable. The shard’s pulse had quickened when he approached it earlier, and the faint whispers at the edge of his mind had grown louder.

  Whatever the spire was, it wasn’t just a source of power. It was a keystone, holding the city’s intricate web of magic together. The glowing glyphs that lined the streets, the enchanted lanterns, the barrier protecting Kethra from outside threats—they all stemmed from the Nexus Spire.

  But power like that didn’t come without cost. Rowan could feel it in the air, a faint unease that gnawed at the edges of his senses. The shard’s pulse wasn’t just guiding him—it was warning him.

  Far above the bustling streets, in a chamber near the top of the Nexus Spire, a figure stood before a pool of still water. The room was circular, its walls etched with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The figure was cloaked in deep blue robes, their face obscured by a hood. This was the Oracle of Kethra, a seer whose visions had shaped the city’s path for centuries.

  The water rippled, though no hand disturbed it. Images began to form: shadows rippling through the city, a tower collapsing in a storm of light, and a dark figure standing amidst the chaos. The Oracle stiffened, their breath catching.

  “Bring the Magister,” the Oracle said, their voice trembling but resolute.

  A young acolyte bowed and hurried from the room, leaving the Oracle alone with the pool. The visions shifted again, showing the Nexus Spire wreathed in shadow, its light dimming as the city below fractured.

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  “The shadow-bearer,” the Oracle whispered. “He’s come.”

  In the heart of the government district, a man stood at the edge of a balcony, his gaze fixed on the Nexus Spire. Magister Kaelen was a tall, imposing figure, his dark robes embroidered with shimmering glyphs that marked him as one of the city’s most powerful mages. His sharp eyes seemed to pierce the very air, and his presence exuded authority.

  A faint tremor in the city’s magic had caught his attention. It was subtle—almost imperceptible—but Kaelen trusted his instincts. He turned as the acolyte arrived, bowing low.

  “The Oracle has summoned you, Magister,” the acolyte said.

  Kaelen nodded, his expression unreadable. “Lead the way.”

  Minutes later, Kaelen stood before the Oracle, his arms crossed as he listened to their words. The prophecy was dire, its implications chilling. A shadow-bearer, tied to the Riftwood’s dark magic, had entered the city. The visions didn’t show his purpose, but they made one thing clear: the Nexus Spire was in danger.

  “If this shadow-bearer threatens the Spire,” Kaelen said, his voice calm but firm, “he threatens all of Kethra. The city cannot function without its power.”

  The Oracle’s gaze was distant, their voice faint. “He carries a burden that could fracture the balance. But whether he means to destroy or save, I cannot see.”

  Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He disliked ambiguity. “Then we’ll find him before he decides.”

  Rowan slipped through the city’s lower districts, keeping to the shadows. He avoided the main thoroughfares, his steps deliberate as he mapped out Kethra’s labyrinthine streets in his mind. Every turn, every alley, every bridge—he committed them to memory, building a mental blueprint of the city.

  The shard’s pulse was weaker now, its rhythm steady but less urgent. That suited Rowan fine. He needed time to plan, to observe.

  He stopped in a quiet courtyard, its cobblestones cracked and overgrown with moss. A weathered fountain sat at its center, its water barely a trickle. Rowan crouched by the edge, dipping his fingers into the cool water as he considered his next move.

  The spire was the shard’s destination—of that, he was certain. But storming into a place like that without a plan was suicide. The guards alone would be a problem, not to mention the mages who surely protected the city’s heart. And then there was the question of the shard itself. Its power felt tied to the Spire, but why? What did it want him to find?

  Rowan closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. The shadows stirred faintly at his feet, sluggish but responsive. He would move carefully, staying undetected until he understood the spire’s secrets. The shard had brought him this far—he wasn’t about to squander its guidance now.

  As Rowan stood, the faint hum of the spire reached his ears again, carried on the wind like a distant melody. It was beautiful, but there was an undercurrent of discord, a subtle wrongness that made his skin prickle.

  Far above, in the Nexus Spire, the Oracle watched the city with a heavy heart. And in the government halls, Magister Kaelen prepared his search, his mind already crafting spells to root out the shadow-bearer.

  Kethra’s threads were tightening, its balance shifting. The storm was coming, and Rowan stood at its center.