Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 881: Main

The carriage wheels murmured against the cobblestone road, the night outside layered in soft mist and arcane glows. Mana-lanterns hung from polished brass sconces flickered with steady, gentle light, illuminating the path back toward the residential towers that climbed like spines behind the Academy’s east wing.

Inside, the carriage was crowded but not tense—still warm with the echo of conversations and tentative camaraderie spun from the social swirl of the banquet.

Elara sat near the rear window, her hand propped beneath her chin as she watched the mana fog roll past. Her shoulders were relaxed, but her eyes remained alert, flicking once toward each new voice, each shift in tone. She wasn’t anxious. But she wasn’t off-duty, either.

Opposite her, Selphine leaned with meticulous poise, already discussing logistical concerns with the same authority she’d used when ordering wine three hours earlier. “Block 7-A has reinforced warding. That’s not by chance.”

“No,” Aurelian agreed, lazily stretching out one leg. “That’s them drawing a perimeter around the ones they want to watch most. Us.”

Cedric let out a short breath beside Elara—less amusement, more dry acknowledgment. He didn’t speak much during the ride, but his presence was quietly grounded. One hand rested on his knee, the other subtly near the hilt of the blade he technically wasn’t allowed to wear. His eyes moved when hers did.

The four of them—Elara, Cedric, Selphine, Aurelian—had been placed in the same dormitory block. A coincidence no one believed.

The others in the carriage had filtered into their orbit throughout the night: Marian from the Varnholdt coast, who asked intelligent questions and laughed with her entire face; the Linwen twins, sharp-edged and theatrically attached to each other; and a boy named Dellen who couldn’t seem to shut up but managed to do it charmingly.

“It’s still strange,” Marian said now, her voice bright. “All of us in one tower? I thought room assignments were supposed to be random.”

“Oh, they are,” Selphine replied coolly. “If you’re uninteresting.”

The carriage shifted slightly as it passed over a wider stone bridge, the runes beneath the wheels thrumming with faint kinetic enchantments. Outside, the Academy’s towers loomed closer, their tops vanishing into the fogged twilight. Block 7-A, the students’ temporary haven and silent prison, stood at the edge of that rising skyline.

Inside, the chatter began to shift.

“Did you catch the announcement before dessert?” Dellen asked, halfway through unwrapping the sugar-glazed fig he’d pocketed from the banquet table. “A full week of assessments starting tomorrow. Combat, theory, spell resonance, the whole package.”

“You sound surprised,” Selphine said dryly, not looking up from the trim of her gloves. “They’ve done this for the past three decades. Every new term begins with a thinning of the herd.”

Aurelian smirked, leaning his head back against the side paneling. “And yet the herd still looks surprised each time.”

Marian exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “We just got here. A little grace period would’ve been nice.”

“No such thing here,” Cedric murmured beside Elara.

“That sounds familiar,” Elara said, her voice quieter than the rest but sharpened by clarity.

They all looked at her.

Marian leaned forward, her expression open. “What about you, Elowyn? Any thoughts on being run through the gauntlet on day one?”

Elara met her gaze without hesitation. “It’s expected. And it’s useful.”

A pause.

“I’d rather know where everyone stands now than wait until it’s already too late.”

Selphine’s mouth quirked slightly. “Practical.”

Cedric said nothing, but Elara could feel the subtle shift in his stance—approval, maybe. Or understanding.

Aurelian hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t seem fazed.”

Elara glanced toward the window again, watching the ghostlight flicker over the mist-covered garden paths below. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the glass—hazel eyes, chestnut hair, an expression far calmer than she felt.

Inside, she was still unraveling the evening in thin, deliberate threads.

The banquet had been loud. Brilliant. Cloaked in laughter and perfumed illusion.

But she hadn’t been part of it.

She had watched it.

Every sip of wine, every courtesan’s curtsy, every carefully phrased challenge masked as flirtation—it had unfolded before her like a staged play. She’d watched nobles circle like falcons dressed as peacocks. And among them—like fixed points in a moving storm—Adrian and Isolde.

Adrian had looked every inch the prince. Collected, radiant, the eye of a silent gravitational pull that made courtiers lean forward without knowing why. Isolde had been perfect. As always. Sculpted grace. Forged innocence. The crowd had adored her.

And neither of them had seen her.

That, more than anything, had steadied her.

She had thought it would be unbearable. That rage would claw up her throat like bramble thorns. That her hands would shake. That she’d have to force herself to smile through clenched teeth.

But she hadn’t.

She hadn’t needed to.

They hadn’t looked at her. Not once.

The girl they’d cast down was gone, and the stranger in her place—this poised, quiet “Elowyn”—was just another minor baron’s daughter with calloused hands and sharp eyes. No one saw through it. Not even them.

And that, strangely, had made everything easier.

’I thought I’d burn with it,’ she thought. ’But instead… I’m cold. Cold and clear.’

When she spoke again, her voice was level. Steady.

“I’ve trained for worse. If the Academy thinks it can shake us with a few trials and weighted grading curves, it’s welcome to try.”

Marian let out a breath. “Well. I guess that settles that.”

Aurelian chuckled. “Our dear Elowyn doesn’t blink easily, does she?”

Aurelian’s chuckle lingered, warm and just a shade too smug. He leaned back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other, and tilted his goblet slightly toward Elara.

“Well,” he said, his grin sharpened by something that hovered between amusement and mischief, “I suppose it’s to be expected. You are the disciple of our Master, after all.”

The words slipped into the air like a pebble dropped in still water—small, but deliberate. They didn’t echo loudly, but Elara caught them with the full weight of their meaning.

Her gaze snapped to him. Not theatrical. Not flaring with fire.

But sharp.

A cold, knife’s edge glance that cut the distance between them with perfect precision.

Aurelian flinched—slightly. Not from fear, but from the realization that he’d stepped somewhere he shouldn’t have. The way her eyes locked onto him wasn’t angry.

It was a warning.

Pure and quiet and final.

Selphine glanced between them, brow arched.

Marian blinked, curious now. “Disciple? Wait, what master—?”

Aurelian cleared his throat too quickly. “It’s a joke,” he said, waving a hand in the air like he could dismiss the moment with gesture alone. “You know, how she acts so composed, so perfectly trained all the time. Makes the rest of us look like we’re still fumbling with spellbooks.”

Elara’s stare didn’t falter.

But she said nothing.

Not here. Not now.

Aurelian gave her a small, appeasing shrug. “Honestly,” he muttered, “I meant it as a compliment.”

Selphine leaned forward slightly, eyes still on Elara, something unreadable flickering behind her expression.

Marian grinned. “Compliment or not, I want a teacher like that. If you’ve got secrets, Elowyn, I expect a few of them to spill eventually.”

Elara offered a faint, cool smile. One that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Secrets lose their power when you hand them out like candy.”

Marian laughed. “Fair.”

Selphine’s gaze lingered a second longer before she settled back, arms folding. “Still. Must’ve been one hell of a teacher.”

Elara didn’t reply.

But her fingers curled once beneath the table—remembering the exact way Eveline’s voice had echoed through her spine, the scent of ozone and steel, the quiet, brutal tenderness of instruction forged in pain and purpose.

A hell of a teacher, yes.

Yet, she was also a hell of a figure.