Rowan slipped into one of Kethra’s quieter districts, where the bustling crowds gave way to narrow streets and unassuming buildings. Here, the air felt heavier, charged with the faint hum of concentrated magic. The shard pulsed weakly in his pocket, its rhythm slowing as though waiting for something.

  At the end of the street stood a modest building marked by a worn sigil: an open book framed by a crescent moon. The sign swayed gently in the breeze, its faint glow suggesting enchantment. Rowan paused, his gaze narrowing. The building’s wards were faint but carefully constructed, meant to discourage casual entry without raising suspicion.

  He stepped closer, his shadows coiling faintly at his feet. Whatever lay inside, it called to him in a way that felt both foreign and familiar.

  The air inside the building was cool and dry, carrying the faint scent of aged parchment. Shelves lined the walls, packed tightly with scrolls, tomes, and loose sheets of paper. The faint hum of glyphs etched into the wood suggested preservation magic, keeping the archive in pristine condition despite its apparent age.

  Rowan moved silently, his eyes scanning the room. A single lantern glowed faintly on a nearby desk, illuminating scattered papers and an open book. But it wasn’t the room that caught his attention—it was the figure bent over the desk.

  They were young, perhaps only a few years younger than Rowan himself. Their dark hair was tied back loosely, strands falling into their face as they scribbled in a notebook. Their clothing was practical, marked by faint ink stains and scorch marks—someone used to working with both words and magic.

  Rowan stepped closer, his shadows rippling softly. The figure stiffened but didn’t turn.

  “You’re quiet,” they said, their voice calm but sharp. “But not quiet enough.”

  Rowan’s lips twitched faintly. He let his shadows recede, stepping fully into the lantern’s light. “You’re observant.”

  The figure finally turned, their sharp features illuminated by the glow. Their dark eyes studied Rowan carefully, flicking briefly to the shard pulsing faintly in his pocket. “And you’re not from here.”

  Rowan crossed his arms. “Neither are you.”

  They smirked, though it didn’t reach their eyes. “Touché.”

  The figure leaned back against the desk, their hands resting casually at their sides. But Rowan noted the faint glow around their fingertips—magic held in reserve, ready to strike if needed.

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  “What brings you to the Hall of Records?” they asked. “Most people come here for historical curiosities, not… whatever it is you’re after.”

  Rowan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let his gaze drift to the bookshelves, scanning the spines of the nearest tomes. “You work here?”

  “Sometimes,” they said with a shrug. “The name’s Elias, by the way. Scholar, occasional researcher, and—on rare occasions—a problem solver.”

  Rowan raised a brow. “And which of those roles are you playing now?”

  Elias tilted their head, their smirk returning. “Depends on whether you’re a problem or not.”

  Rowan chuckled softly, though his expression remained guarded. “I’m just passing through.”

  Elias didn’t press further, but their gaze lingered on Rowan, as though trying to piece together a puzzle. “Passing through a magical archive in a city like Kethra? You’re either very curious or very lost.”

  Rowan said nothing, turning back to the shelves. His fingers brushed against the spine of a thick tome, its surface faintly warm to the touch. The glyphs on its cover glowed briefly at his touch, as though reacting to the shard in his pocket.

  Elias straightened, their casual demeanor faltering for a moment. “Careful with that one. It’s… temperamental.”

  Rowan glanced at Elias, noting the faint edge in their voice. “You know what it is.”

  Elias hesitated, their fingers twitching faintly as though resisting the urge to intervene. “It’s a record of the Nexus Spire’s creation. Or, at least, that’s what the scholars claim. But it’s written in a language no one fully understands—not even me.”

  Rowan’s brow furrowed as he opened the tome, its pages filled with dense, swirling script. The shard pulsed faintly in response, its glow illuminating a fragment of the text. For a brief moment, the letters shifted, forming shapes Rowan almost recognized before dissolving again.

  Elias stepped closer, their curiosity outweighing their caution. “Interesting. It doesn’t usually do that.”

  Rowan closed the book, his expression unreadable. “What else do you know about the spire?”

  Elias hesitated, their sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Not as much as I’d like. It’s a marvel of magical engineering—powerful enough to sustain an entire city. But there are… inconsistencies. Gaps in its history. And rumors.”

  “Rumors?” Rowan pressed.

  Elias leaned against the desk again, their fingers tapping idly against the wood. “Some say it wasn’t built by mages at all. That it was discovered—an artifact left behind by something older, something the gods themselves couldn’t control.”

  The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Rowan’s jaw tightened, his grip on the shard firming. The Riftwood’s whispers felt louder now, threading through his thoughts like a warning.

  Elias straightened, their expression shifting back to its earlier casualness. “If you’re looking for answers, you won’t find them here. But if you’re looking for trouble… well, you’ve already found it.”

  Rowan smirked faintly. “Trouble finds me, not the other way around.”

  Elias laughed softly, though the sound carried a hint of something deeper—amusement, perhaps, or recognition. “Fair enough. Just be careful, stranger. Kethra has a way of chewing people up and spitting them out.”

  Rowan nodded, slipping the tome back onto the shelf. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As he turned to leave, Elias called after him. “If you need a guide—or a translator—you know where to find me.”

  Rowan didn’t look back, but his mind lingered on the encounter. Elias was clever, perceptive, and clearly tied to the city’s deeper currents. Whether they were an ally, a threat, or something in between remained to be seen. But Rowan wasn’t one to leave loose ends unexamined.