The shard’s pulse quickened, its rhythm sharp and insistent as Rowan left the tavern. The air outside was cool, but tension coiled in his chest. Something had shifted, a subtle wrongness threading through the city’s hum of magic. The shadows at his feet rippled faintly, mirroring his unease.

  Rowan moved carefully, sticking to the quieter streets of Kethra’s lower districts. The shard’s pulse wasn’t a guide this time—it was a warning. He could feel it in the air, the faint prickling at the edge of his senses. Someone was looking for him.

  And they were getting close.

  In the Nexus Spire, Magister Kaelen stood before a glowing glyph etched into the wall of his study. The glyph pulsed faintly, responding to his whispered incantation. It was a detection spell, attuned to the shadow-bearer the Oracle had warned him about.

  Kaelen’s jaw tightened as the glyph flared briefly, pinpointing a location in the lower districts. The shadow-bearer wasn’t moving toward the spire—but he was still within the city. Kaelen clenched his fist, the glyph’s light reflecting in his sharp eyes.

  “Close the net,” he ordered, activating the communicator crystal on his desk. “I want every guard in the lower districts. If he’s there, we’ll find him.”

  Rowan felt the shift before he saw it. The guards in the lower districts had doubled, their patrols tighter and more focused. He slipped through the alleys, his sharp gaze noting every change in the city’s rhythm. Lanterns glowed brighter in certain areas, their glyphs responding to the magical disturbance Kaelen’s search had created.

  Rowan’s mind raced. The spire’s defenses were formidable, but the guards patrolling the lower districts weren’t nearly as prepared. If he stayed where he was, he would be cornered. He needed to move—but he couldn’t afford to act without a plan.

  Rowan found a quiet corner in a crumbling courtyard, his back pressed against the cool stone wall as he considered his options. The shard in his pocket pulsed faintly, its rhythm steadying as if sensing his focus.

  The spire’s outer defenses were too heavily guarded to breach directly, but the airship dock offered a potential entry point. The docks were active at all hours, and the constant flow of goods and personnel created openings for someone skilled enough to exploit them.

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  But reaching the dock without drawing attention would require more than stealth. Rowan needed a distraction.

  Rowan moved quickly, his shadows curling faintly at his heels as he made his way to one of Kethra’s many market squares. The area was quiet at this hour, the stalls empty and the streets largely deserted. But the glyphs etched into the walls still pulsed faintly, their magic maintaining the city’s flow of energy.

  He stopped near a merchant’s stall, his sharp eyes scanning the area. A set of barrels stacked near the corner of a building caught his attention. They were marked with a faint sigil indicating that they contained enchanted oil—a volatile substance used in crafting.

  Rowan crouched by the barrels, his shadows coiling around his hands as he worked. The glyphs responded faintly, their light dimming as Rowan used his shadows to break the seals without triggering the protective wards.

  He stepped back, his shadows retreating as the barrels began to leak their contents. The oil spread quickly across the cobblestones, its faint shimmer catching the light of a nearby lantern.

  Rowan turned and slipped into the shadows, moving to a safe distance before releasing the lash of shadow he had been holding. The lash struck the lantern, knocking it to the ground and igniting the oil in an instant.

  Flames roared to life, consuming the barrels and spilling into the square. The glyphs on the nearby buildings flared brightly, their magic reacting to the disturbance. Rowan didn’t linger to watch the chaos unfold—he was already moving toward the airship dock.

  The dock was busier than Rowan had anticipated. Workers moved quickly, unloading crates from a hovering airship while guards patrolled the bridge leading to the spire. The shard in his pocket pulsed faintly, its rhythm steadying as Rowan observed the scene from a nearby rooftop.

  The workers were too focused on their tasks to notice anything amiss, but the guards were alert, their enchanted spears glinting in the light of the dock’s glowing glyphs. Rowan studied their movements, noting the timing of their patrols and the positions of the airship’s crew.

  He waited until one of the airship’s loading ramps was momentarily unguarded. The workers were distracted, their focus on securing a particularly heavy crate. Rowan moved quickly, his shadows rippling around him as he slipped onto the ramp and into the airship’s hold.

  Inside the hold, Rowan crouched among the crates, his breath steady as he listened for signs of pursuit. The airship’s hum was faint but constant, its magic keeping it stable as it hovered near the spire.

  The shard pulsed again, its light faintly illuminating the hold. Rowan’s jaw tightened as he slipped deeper into the ship, moving toward the faint glow of glyphs that marked the path to the spire. He couldn’t stay hidden forever—once the ship docked, he would need to act quickly.

  But for now, he had gained a foothold. The spire was within reach, and Rowan’s plan was in motion.