Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1038  His Name Between Them

The dining hall opened before them in a wide sweep of polished stone and warm lamplight. The vaulted ceiling—inscribed with soft glow-runes—cast a gentle radiance over the long rows of tables. Mid-morning was an awkward hour; too late for breakfast, too early for lunch. Because of that, the space was comfortably sparse. A few students lingered over late meals, hunched over notebooks or talking in low voices, but there was no crowd to navigate.

A welcome reprieve after the dome’s chaos.

The aroma wards carried scents of roasted chicken, broth, freshly baked rolls, seasoned rice, sweet root sautéed in butter, and three varieties of spiced soup. The Academy never failed in reminding students that, for all its harsh expectations, it had the resources of a small kingdom.

Valeria and Elowyn moved along the buffet line, selecting food with quiet efficiency. Elowyn took a modest assortment—vegetables, a bowl of creamy soup, and a small serving of rice. Valeria chose grilled meat, roasted greens, and a piece of bread still warm enough for steam to drift from its crust.

Only once they had their trays in hand and found an unoccupied table near the side windows did Valeria finally voice the question that had been circling her thoughts since the dome.

She sat, setting her tray down carefully, then looked at Elowyn across the table. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Elowyn glanced up from unfolding her napkin. “What is it?”

“Your magic.” Valeria kept her tone even, not forceful, not interrogating. “I could tell it was different from the ice techniques I’ve seen.”

Elowyn paused. Just for a breath. Her fingers stilled, then resumed their motion with deliberate calm. “You could tell?”

“I may not be a mage, and theory was never my strength,” Valeria said, “but I’ve watched people use Frost Vein, Iceprint, Snap Freeze, all the usual forms. And what you cast today… didn’t resemble any of them. Not in structure. Not in behavior.”

Elowyn lifted her spoon, turning it absently between her fingers. “Different how?”

Valeria thought back to the swirling shapes, the curved lattices, the way the frost had seemed to respond to Elowyn’s intent rather than a fixed pattern. “Your magic moved,” she finally said. “Not in the way most ice does. It had flexibility. Flow. It looked like something shaped for the battlefield, not the practice yard. Instinctive, not rigid.”

Elowyn looked down at her soup for a moment, then set the spoon gently against the bowl. “…You’re observant.”

“It wasn’t difficult to notice,” Valeria replied.

Elowyn stirred her soup once, watching the spoon trace quiet circles in the creamy surface. For a moment she didn’t answer. Not evasive—simply choosing her words with care.

“…It started as an accident,” she said finally. “Or desperation. I’m not sure which.”

Valeria’s eyes sharpened just slightly. Listening.

“I learned the same things everyone else learns,” Elowyn continued. “Circles, forms, ranks. Higher-tier spells with rigid structures.” She lifted the spoon, then paused mid-air, expression faintly distant. “But then….I felt like high-ranking spells were not easy to access and certainly were not that easy to execute for me. You don’t have time to shape perfect lattices. You don’t have time to think.”

She set the spoon down.

“So I changed how I approached it.”

Valeria leaned forward just a fraction. “How?”

Elowyn exhaled. Calm. Controlled. “I started breaking my spells apart,” she said. “Taking simpler forms—low-ranked, safer, more flexible—and twisting them. Letting them move with me instead of forcing them into strict shapes.”

Valeria listened, absorbing every word. Elowyn’s explanation wasn’t technical. It wasn’t a scholar’s lecture or a practitioner’s prideful breakdown of innovation. It was simple, almost understated—yet the implications were anything but.

Taking low-ranked spells and breaking them apart.

Twisting foundational forms into something adaptive.

Letting magic move with her instead of forcing it into textbook symmetry.

Valeria had never heard a mage describe spellwork like that.

Most tower-trained casters worshipped structure. They leaned on theory, on diagrams, on tradition. Even the practical ones dragged their pride behind them like an extra cloak. Elowyn’s approach, however, felt… freer. It didn’t match anything Valeria expected from a noble-raised mage or an academy-built prodigy.

It reminded her of someone else entirely.

A faint flicker of recognition stirred in her chest.

‘Lucavion.’

She hadn’t thought of it at first, but now the resemblance was unmistakable. Not in personality, not in manner, but in method. When she met Lucavion in Rackenshore, and then in Andelheim, he hadn’t fought like a noble swordsman. His footwork refused to adhere to any polished tradition. His grip shifted when needed. His blade didn’t follow a set pattern—it followed opportunity.

Adaptive. Efficient. Improvised but not sloppy.

Self-taught, yet sharp enough to cut down men who trained their entire lives.

She still remembered how disjointed he’d looked the first time she saw him fight, only to realize, moments later, that the disjointedness was intentional. It let him move in ways no opponent expected.

Elowyn’s magic felt like that.

Not identical, but born from the same place.

Necessity.

Instinct.

A refusal to be bound by inherited forms.

Valeria’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. The thought settled with surprising clarity.

‘So she’s that type too.’

It wasn’t a category Valeria used often, because people like that were rare enough to count on one hand. People who didn’t improve by polish or instruction, but by dismantling and rebuilding the fundamentals on their own terms.

People who felt like outliers in whatever discipline they entered.

People she could not easily predict.

She set down her fork, attention returning fully to Elowyn. “Your method is unusual,” she said, her voice quiet but sure. “But it makes sense. And it explains the way your spells move.”

Elowyn lifted her gaze. “Does it bother you?”

“No.” Valeria shook her head once. “It just… stands out. In a good way.”

Elowyn held her expression steady, though something softened in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Valeria didn’t add anything more, but the conclusion was already formed in her mind. Solidified, even.

Elowyn Caerlin wasn’t just competent. She wasn’t just adaptable. She wasn’t even merely talented.

She belonged to the same rare category as Lucavion—people who learned differently, created differently, and moved through the world on a quieter, sharper wavelength that wasn’t easily measured by rank or lineage.

And that was…. interesting to be exact.

Valeria wasn’t the type to linger on feelings she couldn’t categorize, but Elowyn’s approach to magic—and the instinct underlying it—sat in her mind with a quiet weight. Not threatening, not intrusive. Simply present.

They continued their meal at an unhurried pace, conversation easing into a natural lull. The soft rattle of tableware and the muted hum of distant chatter filled the hall, leaving enough space for thought without slipping into discomfort.

Elowyn finished a spoonful of soup, set her utensil down, and studied Valeria with a calm, almost contemplative expression. Not scrutinizing—more like someone checking the temperature of water before stepping in.

“So,” she said, tone deceptively casual, “what is your exact relationship with him?”

Valeria stilled.

Her fork didn’t fall. Her posture didn’t shift. Only her breath paused—just a second, barely noticeable—before she resumed movement with controlled precision.

“…Him?” she echoed, though she already knew exactly who Elowyn meant.

Elowyn didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. The subtle emphasis, the slight tilt of her head—there was only one person whose presence had intersected both of their lives enough to warrant that question.

Lucavion.

Valeria forced herself not to react too visibly. She took a quiet sip from her glass, letting the cool water steady her thoughts before she answered.

“What makes you ask that?” she said, tone neutral but not cold.

Elowyn rested her chin lightly on her hand. “After all that…. Come on now? Of course I would be curious.”

Valeria felt that she was put in a hard situation.