Kaelen returned to the Nexus Spire with swift, deliberate steps. The faint hum of its energy resonated through the stone walls, but it wasn’t the spire’s power that occupied his mind—it was the shadow-bearer. The confrontation in the alley had left no room for doubt: Rowan was a threat, and he wasn’t going to back down.

  The spire’s glyphs flared faintly as Kaelen entered his study, a spacious chamber lined with shelves of ancient tomes and magical artifacts. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface cluttered with scrolls and crystalline devices. Kaelen waved his hand, and a glowing orb floated from the desk to hover before him.

  The orb flared with light, projecting a faint map of Kethra onto the air. Threads of glowing energy connected various points on the map, representing the magical flow that sustained the city. The spire was the nexus, its threads radiating outward in precise patterns. But Kaelen’s sharp eyes focused on the faint disturbance near the lower districts—a ripple caused by the shadow-bearer’s presence.

  Kaelen’s expression hardened. He hadn’t been able to assess Rowan’s full strength during their brief encounter, but the Riftwood’s mark was unmistakable. It was a power that corrupted as much as it granted, and if left unchecked, it could unravel everything.

  Kaelen moved to a cabinet built into the wall, its surface inlaid with glowing runes. He placed his hand on the cabinet, and the glyphs responded, their light shifting as the door swung open. Inside were rows of vials filled with shimmering liquids, each labeled with intricate symbols. Kaelen selected two vials—one red, one blue—and set them on the desk.

  The red vial contained ignis vitae, a volatile potion that heightened magical output at the cost of physical strain. The blue vial held flux stabilis, designed to anchor his magic during high-intensity casting. Together, they formed the foundation of Kaelen’s strategy: overwhelming precision.

  Kaelen was no brute-force mage. His magic wasn’t about raw power—it was about control, the careful weaving of threads to create spells that operated with surgical efficiency. The glyphs on his robes were a testament to this: protective enchantments layered with runic amplifiers that allowed him to adapt to his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses.

  He wasn’t just preparing for a fight. He was preparing to dismantle the shadow-bearer’s power piece by piece.

  Kaelen stepped onto a circular platform at the center of his study, its surface etched with intricate glyphs. He raised his hands, and the air around him shimmered as threads of energy coalesced into a network of runes. The glyphs flared brightly, their light forming a dome of protective magic.

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  The wards were one of Kaelen’s most advanced creations—adaptive barriers designed to counteract specific types of magic. They could absorb kinetic force, deflect elemental attacks, and disrupt unstable energies like shadow magic.

  Kaelen adjusted the runes, tuning the wards to the Riftwood’s unique frequency. The spire’s hum grew louder, responding to the changes as the wards synced with its magic.

  The Nexus Spire wasn’t just a source of power—it was a sentient presence, ancient and enigmatic. Kaelen placed his hand on a crystalline console near the platform, its surface glowing faintly as it activated. The spire’s hum deepened, and a faint voice echoed in Kaelen’s mind, layered and indistinct.

  He comes.

  Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “I know. He’s marked by the Riftwood.”

  The shadow-bearer threatens the balance.

  Kaelen exhaled slowly. The spire’s sentience was limited, its responses cryptic, but its warnings carried weight. The balance it referred to wasn’t just about Kethra’s magic—it was the equilibrium that kept the city functioning, the threads of power that connected its people, its defenses, and its resources.

  “I’ll stop him,” Kaelen said, his voice calm but firm. “He won’t reach you.”

  The threads fray. Beware.

  The voice faded, leaving Kaelen with a faint ringing in his ears. The spire’s warnings were unsettling, but they also solidified his resolve. Rowan wasn’t just a threat to Kethra—he was a disruption to the very fabric of its magic.

  Kaelen returned to his desk, spreading a map of the spire’s lower levels across its surface. The spire’s defenses were formidable, but they weren’t infallible. Rowan’s ability to manipulate shadows would make him difficult to predict, and his Riftwood-enhanced powers added an element of volatility.

  Kaelen marked potential chokepoints on the map—narrow corridors where Rowan’s mobility could be limited, areas where the spire’s glyphs could be manipulated to restrict shadow magic. He considered the shards of information he’d gathered from their brief encounter: Rowan’s shadows were responsive but sluggish outside the Riftwood’s influence, and his strength was tempered by caution.

  Kaelen’s strategy was simple: force Rowan into situations where his power was a liability, not an advantage. If the shadow-bearer relied on unpredictability, Kaelen would counter with precision.

  Kaelen moved to the balcony of his study, his gaze fixed on the city below. The flames from the market square had been extinguished, but the unease they caused lingered. The spire’s light pulsed faintly, its energy rippling through the air like a warning.

  Kaelen’s thoughts drifted to the Oracle’s prophecy. The shadow-bearer’s purpose was still unclear—destruction or salvation, the threads didn’t say. But Kaelen couldn’t afford to take chances. The spire was the heart of Kethra, its magic the lifeblood of the city. If Rowan threatened that balance, he would stop him—no matter the cost.

  “Let him come,” Kaelen murmured, his voice steady. “The spire and I will be ready.”