Chapter 82 — Shadow periodics in action

The festival’s last embers still danced across the streets of Arkwyn. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, their golden glow spilling over ribbons, petals, and faint traces of spilled wine glistening on cobblestones. Laughter had long faded, replaced by the soft hum of late-night chatter and the distant rhythm of a flute that refused to rest.
Two figures strolled through the nearly deserted street — one tall, composed, and graceful, the other animated, energetic, practically skipping between stalls.
Neon twirled the wooden stick of half-eaten candied fruit in her hand, voice bright and teasing. “You know, Radon, if you keep glaring at people like that, they’ll start thinking you’re part of the royal inspection squad.”
Radon, the quieter of the two, shot her a sidelong look, her expression sharp but calm. “Maybe I am. Someone has to make sure you don’t cause another ‘market fire incident.’”
Neon gasped, dramatically clutching her chest. “That was one time! And technically, it was the oil lamp’s fault, not mine.”
“Uh-huh,” Radon replied dryly. “Remind me again who kicked the lamp?”
Neon grinned mischievously. “The wind?”
Radon sighed, but a faint smirk curved her lips. “You’re hopeless.”
“And you’re boring,” Neon countered, flicking her wrist dismissively. “Come on, lighten up! The night’s beautiful, the streets smell like roasted almonds, and for once, we’re not on guard duty. Let’s do something fun!”
Radon arched a brow. “Like what? You’re already banned from the dice tables.”
“Technicality,” Neon said quickly, waving her hand. “They just couldn’t handle losing to a ‘mere girl.’”
Radon chuckled softly — a rare sound that caught even Neon off guard.
But before Neon could tease her for it, her attention snapped toward movement at the end of the street. A flicker — shadows where there shouldn’t have been any.
Radon noticed it too. “Someone’s fighting.”
Both froze, instinct replacing levity. The air shifted — faint pressure, faint sound. A clash of metal. A flare of orange light.
They exchanged a glance. Without a word, they moved — silent, trained, slipping into the shadowed edges of the street.
From a vantage point between two old houses, they saw them.
Aren and Narissa.
The cloaked figure faced them across the narrow road, dagger glinting under broken lantern light. Sparks from fire and mana drifted like dying stars around the three.
Neon’s grin returned instantly. “Oh-ho… that’s Lord Aren, isn’t it?”
Radon nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. “Seems so. And that’s Lady Narissa beside him.”
Neon leaned forward, chin resting on her hand. “She’s throwing fireballs like she’s trying to roast him for dinner.”
“She’s holding back,” Radon murmured, tone analytical. “Too much fire would burn through the festival decorations.”
“True,” Neon admitted, pouting slightly. “Shame though — I was hoping for a bigger show.”
A clang echoed as Aren deflected a dagger, his movements smooth, efficient — almost lazy.
Radon frowned. “They seem… restrained.”
Neon smirked. “He’s pretending.”
Radon blinked. “Pretending?”
Neon crossed her arms, eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t you remember? He fought Count Faulmont. That guy could crush an ogre with his bare hands.”
Radon’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah… yes. I remember that duel.”
“So,” Neon continued, voice full of smug satisfaction, “if Lord Aren’s letting some masked street rat dance around like that, it’s because he wants to.”
Radon tilted her head. “Why would he?”
“Who knows?” Neon shrugged. “Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he’s studying him. Maybe he just likes making his opponents feel hopeful before crushing them.”
“That… sounds accurate,” Radon murmured, lips twitching.
They watched in silence as Narissa hurled another fireball — smaller this time, bright enough to illuminate the figure’s face for a fraction of a second.
Radon caught it. “He’s trying to control her fire.”
“Hmm?”
“Look — his movements,” Radon said, eyes narrowing. “He’s luring the flame along the street. He’s leading it somewhere specific.”
Neon leaned forward, eyes glinting with interest. “Oh, you’re right… He’s spreading it along the stalls — no, the ground. The bastard’s scheming something.”
Radon’s voice sharpened. “He’s using her magic to ignite something — the air, maybe? No… the oil from the lanterns.”
“Which means…”
“He’s trying to create a smokescreen,” Radon finished.
Both fell silent for a moment as the fight unfolded below.
The figure lunged, Aren blocked, Narissa retaliated — a dance of steel, flame, and intention. Then, suddenly, the cloaked figure moved faster — drawing back, hands tracing sigils. Fire burst low against the ground, colliding with Aren’s wind magic.
Thick smoke erupted, curling up the alley like dark fog.
Neon smirked. “And there you go.”
Radon exhaled. “He’s escaping.”
The shadow disappeared into the haze.
Radon frowned. “Should we—”
“No,” Neon interrupted, watching Aren through the smoke. “Look at him. Lord Aren didn’t even try to stop him.”
Radon hesitated. “You think he… let him go?”
Neon’s grin widened. “Obviously. That’s his thing. Acting like he doesn’t care while controlling every outcome.”
They watched as Narissa coughed, looking around in frustration, then turned toward Aren. Even from a distance, they could tell — he was calm, collected, unaffected.
Radon crossed her arms. “He really doesn’t like getting involved, does he?”
“Nope.” Neon’s tone was playful but admiring. “Classic Lord Aren. The ‘I could stop you, but it’s not worth my time’ move.”
Radon chuckled under her breath. “So what now?”
Neon tapped her chin, eyes glimmering with curiosity. “We follow the cloaked guy.”
Radon blinked. “You want to follow him?”
“Of course. Lord Aren let him go — which means he probably knows the guy’s heading somewhere important. And if we figure out where…”
“…We can report back,” Radon finished, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Neon grinned triumphantly. “Exactly. See, you do think like me sometimes.”
“I’d prefer not to.”
“Rude.”
They waited until Aren and Narissa’s figures had vanished into the opposite street before moving.
The smoke had mostly cleared now, leaving behind a faint burnt smell and the soft crackle of extinguished fire. Following the traces wasn’t difficult — the figure’s movements had left a subtle mana residue in the air, faint ripples of heat and energy that only trained senses could detect.
Neon crouched, fingers brushing against the cobblestones. “Still warm.”
“Northward,” Radon said, eyes scanning the rooftops. “He’s heading deeper into the residential area.”
“Of course he is. Always the quiet corners.”
They followed swiftly, moving through narrow alleys, over quiet bridges, and past shuttered houses where festival decorations still fluttered lazily. Their steps were soundless, their movements practiced — neither guards nor spies, but something in between.
At one point, Neon paused beside a wall, eyes following faint scratches left by boots. “He’s fast,” she muttered.
Radon nodded. “And cautious. He’s checking for pursuit.”
“Which means he doesn’t know we’re here,” Neon said with a grin.
They moved again, hugging the shadows until the street opened into a small square near the northern edge of the district. Lanterns still glowed faintly here, casting light over flower wreaths and ribbons that had survived the chaos. Beyond the square stood a tall, elegant mansion — its gates wrought of dark iron, its windows dim but guarded by silhouettes barely visible behind the curtains.
Radon stopped. “That’s…”
Neon whistled softly. “A noble’s estate.”
They both crouched low behind a cluster of festival carts, watching as the cloaked figure approached the gates. He paused only briefly — long enough to press something against the lock, a faint shimmer of mana flaring before the iron gates creaked open silently.
He slipped inside.
Neon’s grin faded slightly, replaced by intrigue. “Well, well… our mysterious pyromaniac has connections.”
Radon’s voice was quiet but firm. “We should tell Lord Aren.”
Neon tilted her head, smirk returning. “We will. But let’s watch a little longer first.”
“Neon…”
“What?” she teased lightly. “Curiosity isn’t a crime.”
Radon sighed, but didn’t move.
They stayed just long enough to see the shadow disappear into the mansion’s depths before retreating quietly back into the alley.
As they moved away, Neon whispered, half-amused, half-admiring, “Lord Aren really let him go on purpose. He knew this would happen.”
Radon glanced at her companion, eyes glinting faintly in the lantern light. “And you knew it too.”
“Of course,” Neon said, flashing a grin. “I pay attention. Besides, it’s Lord Aren — he never acts without reason. Even when he says he doesn’t care.”
Radon gave a small nod, her usual calm expression softening into something faintly respectful. “Then this is just the beginning.”
Neon’s grin widened as she twirled the stick of her candied fruit once more. “Exactly. And I, for one, love a good beginning.”
Radon nodded slowly. “Then let’s see what secrets this mansion hides.”
And with that, the two quietly crossed the threshold into the noble’s domain — unseen, unheard, and ready to uncover what lay within.