The Oracle’s chamber was silent save for the faint hum of magic that pulsed through the air. The circular room was lined with shelves of ancient tomes, their spines marked with symbols no one had dared translate in centuries. The scrying pool at its center shimmered faintly, its surface still but alive with latent energy.

  The Oracle stood motionless before it, their blue robes pooling around their feet like water. Their hands rested lightly on the edge of the pool, the delicate fingers trembling slightly. The visions had come again, stronger this time—darker.

  They exhaled slowly, their breath stirring the surface of the pool. The ripples formed shapes: a spire collapsing, a city engulfed in shadow, and a figure standing at the center of the chaos, their face obscured.

  “The threads are fraying,” the Oracle murmured, their voice a soft lament. “Kethra’s balance is breaking.”

  The chamber’s door creaked open, and a young acolyte entered, her expression tinged with unease. “Magister Kaelen has arrived, Your Grace.”

  The Oracle turned, their hood casting a shadow over their face. “Send him in.”

  Kaelen entered the chamber with the confidence of someone who rarely waited for permission. His dark robes swept the floor as he walked, the glyphs embroidered along their edges faintly glowing. His sharp eyes took in the Oracle’s still figure, lingering briefly on the scrying pool.

  “You sent for me,” Kaelen said, his tone even.

  The Oracle gestured toward the pool. “The visions are worsening. The shadow-bearer is here, Magister. I’ve seen him.”

  Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer to the pool, his gaze fixed on its shimmering surface. “What did you see?”

  “Destruction,” the Oracle replied. “The Nexus Spire falling, the city consumed by chaos. And the shadow-bearer at the center of it all.”

  Kaelen folded his arms, his expression hardening. “You’re certain it’s him?”

  The Oracle nodded. “The Riftwood marked him. He carries its power, its burden. If he’s here, the spire is in danger.”

  Kaelen’s mind raced. The Nexus Spire wasn’t just a source of magic—it was the lifeblood of Kethra. Its destruction would cripple the city, leaving it vulnerable to outside forces and internal collapse. But his focus lingered on the Oracle’s final words.

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  “If he’s here, why hasn’t he struck yet?” Kaelen asked. “What’s he waiting for?”

  The Oracle’s gaze turned distant. “I cannot see his intent. But the Riftwood chose him for a reason. He may be here to destroy—or to save.”

  Kaelen’s lips pressed into a thin line as he turned away from the pool. The Oracle’s ambiguity was as frustrating as it was typical. Visions, prophecies, threads of fate—they were tools, but they were incomplete. He preferred facts. Tangible threats. Enemies he could see and counter.

  Still, the Oracle’s words lingered. If the shadow-bearer truly carried the Riftwood’s mark, then he was more than just a rogue mage or a wandering thief. He was a force—one that could tip the city’s fragile balance in any direction.

  Kaelen glanced back at the Oracle, his voice measured. “I’ll increase the guard at the spire and begin a search of the lower districts. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”

  The Oracle’s gaze sharpened. “Be careful, Magister. The shadow-bearer is not an enemy to take lightly.”

  Kaelen’s expression darkened. “Neither am I.”

  After Kaelen left, the Oracle remained by the pool, their thoughts heavy. The visions were growing clearer, but with clarity came dread. The Nexus Spire wasn’t just the city’s keystone—it was a tether to something older, something the gods had tried to bury.

  The Oracle knelt by the pool, their hands trembling as they touched its surface. The ripples formed shapes again, this time showing the shadow-bearer in motion. He moved through the city with purpose, his shadows coiling around him like living things.

  But then the image shifted. The spire’s light flickered and dimmed, and the city’s magic began to falter. The balance broke, and chaos reigned.

  The Oracle closed their eyes, exhaling shakily. “He’s not just a threat to Kethra,” they whispered. “He’s a threat to the threads themselves.”

  Kaelen strode through the halls of the Magisterium, his expression grim. The other magisters avoided his gaze, their murmured conversations falling silent as he passed. He reached his study, closing the door behind him with a flick of his hand. The glyphs etched into the wood flared briefly before settling, ensuring his privacy.

  He moved to his desk, spreading out a map of Kethra. The city’s districts were marked with precision, each street and alley meticulously recorded. Kaelen’s fingers traced the path of the Nexus Spire’s influence, from the wealthy upper districts to the sprawling lower levels.

  The shadow-bearer was hiding somewhere in the city, but Kaelen didn’t believe in random chance. The Riftwood’s power didn’t simply wander—it sought purpose.

  He reached for a small crystal set into a silver frame, activating the magical communicator. A faint image of a guard captain flickered into view, their armor gleaming faintly.

  “Double the patrols in the lower districts,” Kaelen said, his tone curt. “And send word to the wardens. I want any sign of unusual magic reported immediately.”

  The captain nodded. “Yes, Magister.”

  Kaelen deactivated the crystal, his gaze hard. If the shadow-bearer wanted the Nexus Spire, Kaelen would ensure he faced more than just glyphs and wards. He would face the full force of Kethra’s defenders.

  But beneath his resolve, a faint unease lingered. The Oracle’s warning echoed in his mind.

  “He may be here to destroy—or to save.”

  Kaelen didn’t trust fate. But he couldn’t ignore it, either.