Peony danced beneath the lanternlight, the cool night air clinging to her skin. Music surged in her veins. Every twirl, every leap, sent her skirts flaring like crimson flames. Eyes watched her from the crowd—good. That was the point.
She glanced toward the goat beside her and gave it a cheeky smile. "Want to help?"
It bleated, trotting in a circle.
She struck her tambourine with a sharp rhythm. The goat sprang to life, prancing beside her as if it had been trained for this all its life. Cheers erupted. Malleus raised a brow, amused yet puzzled.
Faster and faster she danced, losing herself in the rhythm. Laughter bubbled around her like wind in spring grass. Her final pose froze in perfect silence—then the crowd exploded with applause.
Jamil startled as the last chime of her tambourine echoed through the square. That sound—it struck a nerve. Familiar. Ominous. It reminded him too much of—
No. Not now.
He scanned the crowd. Everyone was cheering, laughing, completely unaware. But... where had the dancer gone?
He moved quickly, weaving through revelers until he reached the musicians. An older man adjusted his trumpet, smiling broadly.
"Excuse me," Jamil said. "The girl who just danced—do you know her?"
"Oh, the one in red?" the man chuckled. "No idea. Asked around. Seems no one does. Probably a tourist."
"She used a traditional style, didn't she?"
"Sharp eye! Yeah, haven't seen dancing like that in decades. No fixed steps—just rhythm, improvisation, emotion. Pure instinct."
Jamil nodded once. "Thank you."
"Not joining the dancing?"
"I'm just passing through," Jamil murmured.
As he turned to leave, he felt it again—an odd tingle. Not magical, but... alert. Primal.
He drifted behind the festival tents, quiet as shadow.
Then voices. Low. Male. Angry.
"You sure about this?"
"Yes. The others didn't last a day. But the mayor's body vanished."
Jamil's eyes narrowed. A body?
"Something's off. There's energy nearby…"
"You and your 'spiritual energy.' It's just a goat."
"Shut up. I felt something. Stay sharp. They might've recovered one of their own."
"Who cares? Poison their water—they'll fold."
"Idiot. We want information, not attention."
Movement. Someone exited the tent.
Jamil stepped back—but too late.
A hand clamped over his mouth. A lithe figure pulled him into the shadows.
A woman. Pale, long-haired. Dressed plainly, but her presence was razor-sharp. Her eyes flicked over him. Assessing. Not afraid.
She released him once the coast was clear.
Jamil tensed. "Who are you?"
"Someone trying to keep you alive," she said evenly. "Forget what you heard. Leave now. They'll hunt you if you linger."
"Even if I stay silent, people will get hurt. Who are they?"
She paused. "That's not my place to tell. But their reach runs deep. Government. Nobles. Even some schools. Don't trust the city's protection."
"And you expect me to trust you?"
"No," she said. "Which is why I brought this."
She handed him a small crest.
His eyes widened. The mayor's family seal. He'd seen it in the Chamber of Mirrors—official. Genuine.
Her voice dropped. "The real mayor is safe. My master made sure of it."
Jamil hesitated. "What's your name?"
"I don't give it lightly."
He stiffened. "So I'm supposed to follow a stranger?"
"You're not following me." She stepped back into the dark. "You're walking away with your life."
And with that, she was gone.
A moment later, Jamil found himself back in the square. The music swelled again. Lanterns danced in the wind.
He looked around—no sign of her.
But he couldn't shake the chill she left behind.
Something about her had been… different. Not just dangerous—calculated. Calm, but ruthless. She reminded him of someone who had nothing left to fear. Someone who'd already walked through fire.
And yet—
Something about her presence pulled at him. Against his will.
He clenched a fist. Unacceptable.
"Jamil-senpai?" Deuce waved from the plaza. "We're heading back."
"Right," Jamil murmured, casting one last glance at the shadows.
But there was no one there.
Behind the tents, the goat trotted back to Peony's side.
"Well done, Sage," she whispered, crouching to stroke its fur. "You did great. We'll find you extra herbs tonight."
A soft hum echoed nearby.
"Master," said a low voice. Zhang Li appeared, dropping to one knee. "I've returned."
Peony straightened, lips quirking. "Report."
"I distracted the vice dorm leader, as instructed," Zhang Li muttered. "And no—I didn't kick him."
"You wanted to."
"…I restrained myself."
Peony giggled.
Zhang Li offered a scorched notebook. "Taken from the abandoned tower. Nothing useful, I'm afraid."
Peony flipped through it quickly, her expression tightening. "No... this was planted."
Zhang Li revealed a second bundle. "Also: documents from the Headmage's office."
Peony took them silently. Her brow furrowed as she read, then relaxed slightly. "Better. Good work."
"Shall I check on Master Tropin's condition?"
"Yes. Return once you've confirmed he's safe."
Zhang Li vanished.
Peony lingered near the edge of the plaza, moonlight gleaming on her half-concealed profile.
Later that night, she ducked into a quiet bakery still open for the festival. Her long hair had been tied up again, face half-covered beneath a scarf.
She laid the documents across the table.
The smell of roasted sweet buns filled the air. Waitstaff peered nervously from behind the counter—her presence was too still. Too sharp.
The manager, an older woman with kind eyes, brought her a coffee without being asked.
Peony looked up, startled.
"On the house," the woman said gently. "You look like you need it."
Peony offered a rare, grateful smile. "Thank you."
She sipped.
Bitter. Strong. Exactly what she needed.