The Nexus Spire loomed over Kethra like a sentinel, its crackling energy casting faint arcs of light across the city. The closer Rowan approached, the more palpable its magic became—a steady hum that resonated in his chest. The shard in his pocket pulsed faintly, aligning with the spire’s rhythm like a heartbeat.

  Rowan stood at the edge of a narrow street that opened into a wide plaza. The spire dominated the space, its smooth stone surface etched with glowing glyphs. Guards patrolled its base, their movements precise and deliberate. Magical lanterns hovered above the plaza, their blue light shifting slightly as they scanned the area.

  He pulled his hood lower, slipping into the shadows of a nearby alley. He couldn’t afford to be reckless. The spire’s defenses were as intricate as they were imposing, and any mistake would cost him more than time.

  From his vantage point, Rowan observed the guards. Their armor shimmered faintly with protective enchantments, and they carried spears etched with runes that glowed softly in the dark. They moved in pairs, their patrol routes overlapping to ensure no corner of the plaza went unwatched.

  The glyphs on the spire’s surface pulsed faintly, their light shifting in response to the guards’ movements. Rowan frowned as he watched one of the guards approach the spire. The glyphs brightened slightly, as though acknowledging the man’s presence, before dimming again when he moved away.

  The glyphs react to proximity, Rowan thought. But only to those who belong.

  He shifted his focus to the plaza itself. A series of smaller glyphs were etched into the cobblestones, arranged in a precise pattern that seemed to funnel energy toward the spire. They pulsed in time with the glyphs on the spire’s surface, creating a seamless flow of magic.

  Rowan’s jaw tightened. The defenses weren’t just physical—they were woven into the city’s very fabric.

  Rowan’s gaze lifted to the airship dock near the spire’s midpoint. The dock was connected to the spire by a long, narrow bridge lined with glowing glyphs. Airships hovered nearby, their sails shimmering as they unloaded cargo. The dock’s activity was constant, with workers moving crates of enchanted goods under the watchful eyes of mages.

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  An alternate route, Rowan thought. But the bridge was heavily guarded, and the airships were well-monitored. He would need to time his movements perfectly—or create a distraction.

  As Rowan moved closer, sticking to the shadows of the surrounding buildings, he felt the spire’s magic more acutely. It wasn’t just a hum anymore—it was a resonance, vibrating through his bones. The shard in his pocket pulsed faster, its rhythm matching the spire’s energy.

  He crouched in the shadow of a nearby tower, his gaze fixed on the spire. The Riftwood’s whispers threaded through his thoughts, faint but insistent. The shard wanted him to reach the spire, but it didn’t tell him why. Rowan clenched his fists, frustration gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

  What do you want me to find?

  As Rowan studied the spire, a faint sound caught his attention. He turned sharply, his hand going to the hilt of his blade. A shadow moved at the edge of the plaza, slipping into the same alley where Rowan hid.

  It was Coren.

  The man approached cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the plaza before settling on Rowan. He leaned against the wall, his posture casual but his tone serious.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game,” Coren said softly. “The spire doesn’t take kindly to uninvited guests.”

  Rowan’s gaze didn’t waver. “What do you know about it?”

  “Enough to know it’s not just a tower,” Coren replied. “The spire is alive, in its own way. It doesn’t just power the city—it watches it. Protects it.”

  Rowan frowned. “Protects it from what?”

  Coren’s smirk faded. “From itself. Kethra’s magic runs deep, but it’s volatile. Without the spire, the city would tear itself apart.”

  Rowan’s chest tightened at the implication. The Riftwood’s power had felt volatile too, dangerous in its rawness. If the spire was keeping something contained…

  Coren leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Whatever you’re looking for, I hope it’s worth it. Because if the spire thinks you’re a threat, it won’t hesitate to stop you.”

  After Coren disappeared into the night, Rowan turned his focus back to the spire. He needed to get closer, to understand its defenses and find a way past them. The shard pulsed faintly, urging him forward, but Rowan resisted the pull. He wouldn’t act blindly—not here.

  He slipped back into the shadows, moving carefully as he skirted the plaza’s edge. The spire’s hum grew louder, its energy pressing against his thoughts. He mapped out the guard rotations, noted the patterns of the glyphs, and memorized the positions of the magical lanterns.

  It wasn’t enough to act on yet, but it was a start.

  Rowan exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the spire one last time before he disappeared into the city’s maze of alleys. The Riftwood had taught him patience, and he would need every ounce of it for what lay ahead.