The air crackled with residual energy as Rowan steadied himself. The Nexus Spire's hum had shifted, its rhythm chaotic but purposeful. The glyphs along its surface pulsed in synchrony with the shard in Rowan's hand, casting patterns of light across the plaza. The chaos of the battle was still rippling through the city—shouts, distant crashes, and the flicker of unstable glyphs echoed in the background.

  Kaelen rose slowly, his dark robes scorched but intact. His sharp eyes burned with determination as he took in the altered spire. Whatever Rowan had triggered, it was far beyond what even the Magister had anticipated.

  “This isn’t just about you,” Kaelen said, his voice low and taut. “You’re meddling with forces you can’t comprehend.”

  Rowan’s grip on the shard tightened. “I didn’t come here to destroy your city. But I’m not leaving without answers.”

  Kaelen’s expression darkened. “Then we finish this.”

  Before either man could make their next move, the spire itself reacted. The glyphs along its base flared brighter, their patterns shifting as they rearranged into new configurations. The hum deepened, a resonance so powerful it vibrated through the ground.

  The shard in Rowan's hand grew unbearably hot, forcing him to drop it. The moment it hit the ground, the shard emitted a beam of light that shot directly into the spire. The light spiraled upward, weaving through the glyphs like a thread pulling a needle.

  Kaelen stepped back, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done?”

  Rowan didn’t answer. He could feel the Riftwood’s whispers growing louder, clearer. The shard wasn’t just unlocking the spire—it was communicating with it, bridging a gap between worlds.

  The spire’s light intensified, and the beam from the shard expanded into a shimmering portal at its base. The air around the portal warped, distorting reality itself. Through the portal, Rowan glimpsed flashes of an ancient, twisted forest—trees with blackened roots and skies suffused with dark, churning clouds.

  Kaelen’s voice cut through the hum. “This isn’t just about the spire or the shard. That portal—it leads back to the Riftwood, doesn’t it?”

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  Rowan turned to face the Magister, his expression unreadable. “You tell me. You seem to know everything.”

  Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “The Riftwood is more than just a forest. It’s a scar—a wound in the fabric of the world. If that portal remains open, the imbalance will destroy Kethra.”

  The Riftwood’s whispers surged in Rowan’s mind. The threads are tangled. The balance must be restored.

  Rowan’s gaze shifted back to the portal. He hadn’t chosen this power, but it had shaped him nonetheless. And now it was demanding something more—something that would change everything.

  The sound of armored boots echoed across the plaza as a detachment of guards rushed toward the spire. Their spears glowed with enchanted light, and their faces were set with determination despite the chaos around them.

  “Magister!” one of them called out. “What are your orders?”

  Kaelen’s eyes flicked to the portal, then to Rowan. The tension in the air was palpable, the spire’s hum growing louder with each passing second. Finally, he turned to the guards.

  “Secure the plaza,” Kaelen ordered. “No one else gets near the spire.”

  The guards moved quickly, forming a perimeter around the plaza. But their presence did little to ease the growing tension. The portal’s energy was spilling into the air, its distortions visible even from a distance.

  Rowan stepped closer to the portal, his shadows rippling faintly as they responded to its energy. The Riftwood’s whispers pressed against his thoughts, urging him forward.

  Kaelen’s voice stopped him. “If you step through, you’ll doom this city.”

  Rowan turned, his expression cold. “And if I don’t, the Riftwood’s chaos spreads unchecked. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

  Kaelen’s gaze hardened. “Then tell me.”

  Rowan hesitated. For all his defiance, the truth of the shard’s purpose had only just become clear to him. The Riftwood’s power wasn’t just a burden—it was a tool to correct a world out of balance. But the price of that correction wasn’t something he could ignore.

  “I don’t know if this saves your city,” Rowan admitted. “But I know it has to be done.”

  Before Kaelen could respond, Rowan reached out. The shard’s light flared as he stepped into the portal. The world around him warped, the sounds of Kethra fading into the distance as the Riftwood’s dark embrace pulled him in.

  The portal collapsed behind Rowan, its light snuffed out in an instant. The spire’s hum softened, its glyphs returning to their original patterns. The plaza was eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of the city still reeling from the battle.

  Kaelen stood motionless, his sharp eyes fixed on the now-quiet spire. The Riftwood’s presence had vanished, but the scars it left behind remained. Whatever Rowan had done, it wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

  “Prepare the city,” Kaelen said finally, his voice low but firm. “This isn’t over.”

  The guards saluted, their movements brisk as they began to assess the damage. But Kaelen’s thoughts were elsewhere, following the shadow-bearer into the Riftwood’s dark depths.