Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Vitaliara let out a small breath through her nose, her tail flicking once before settling.

[Fine. I won’t nag.]

Lucavion smirked. ‘You say that, but I can already hear the next lecture forming in your head.’

[Hah.] She perched more comfortably on his shoulder, stretching her claws lightly against the fabric of his coat. [If I thought you were running in blind, I would lecture you.] Her emerald eyes glinted. [But you’re not stupid—just reckless.]

Lucavion chuckled under his breath. ‘Reckless? Me? That’s harsh.’

[Oh, shut up. You know exactly what I mean.]

Vitaliara had learned something about him over time—he wasn’t the type to rush into something without calculating the risks. He played at being reckless, at throwing himself into danger with that damnable smirk, but beneath that?

Everything was measured.

If he was walking into a fight under-leveled, he already had a way out. If he was gambling on an unknown factor, he had at least three countermeasures in place. It wasn’t that he avoided danger—no, he invited it. But only when he was certain he could survive it.

At least she hoped so….

*****

Caius sat on the edge of the small bed in the servant’s quarters, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.

He hated this.

Absolutely fucking hated this.

He had spent years working as a mercenary, surviving in the underbelly of Varenthia, clawing his way up from the filth of the streets to something better. Or at least, something not as shitty.

And now?

Now, he was stuck playing lapdog to some smug bastard with a pretty face and a terrifying sword arm.

His eye twitched as he thought about it.

Draven hadn’t technically said, “Caius, you are now Lucavion’s personal servant,” but fuck, it sure as hell felt that way. Every time Lucavion looked at him with that unreadable smirk, every time he suggested something instead of outright ordering it, Caius knew—he was being fucking played.

“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

If he had any sense, he’d walk away. Cut his losses, disappear into the city, and pretend he never met Lucavion, Draven, or any of this bullshit.

But he couldn’t.

Not with Draven breathing down his neck. Not with the knowledge that, if Lucavion did do something crazy, it would be his ass on the line.

He let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

‘How the hell did my life turn into this?’

A low rumble shook the floor beneath Caius’s boots.

Then—

BOOM.

The distant roar of an explosion echoed through the city, followed by another—closer this time. The ground trembled slightly, the faint vibrations crawling up his spine like a bad omen.

His head snapped up.

“What the hell?”

He shot to his feet, already moving. His instincts screamed at him—something’s wrong.

Bursting out of his small quarters, he rushed down the hall, feet pounding against the wooden floor as he made a beeline for the main residence. He barely noticed the details of the house anymore—the well-kept interior, the fine furniture—none of it mattered.

He needed to get to Lucavion.

His pulse pounded in his ears as another explosion rocked the city, casting an eerie orange glow against the night sky.

Caius gritted his teeth, shoving the door open.

Caius shoved the door open, his pulse hammering in his ears.

The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching along the walls from a single lantern.

And there, sitting with the same damnable ease as always, was Lucavion.

But he wasn’t idle.

SCHLINK.

The sound of metal sliding against a whetstone filled the air.

Lucavion’s black eyes flicked up toward him, sharp and deliberate.

“You…” His voice was slow, almost bored. “Why did you enter without permission?”

Caius’s mouth twitched.

“Seriously?” He gestured wildly toward the window, where the faint glow of fire painted the night sky. “Don’t you hear that?”

Lucavion didn’t stop sharpening his blade. “I do.”

“Then—”

“Then?”

Caius’s hands clenched into fists. “Will you not look for it?”

Lucavion finally paused. His gaze settled on Caius fully, his fingers still resting against the blade.

“As you can see,” he murmured, his voice carrying that same insufferable amusement, “I will not.”

Caius stared at him, completely bewildered. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Lucavion leaned back slightly, resting his blade on his knee. “Very.”

Another explosion shook the city, sending vibrations through the floorboards. The distant echoes of shouting were beginning to rise.

Caius gritted his teeth. “Then what the hell are you going to do?”

Lucavion exhaled lightly, as if mildly entertained by the entire situation.

Then—his lips curled into a smirk.

“If you want to make a name for yourself,” he said smoothly, “this is your chance.”

Caius blinked. “What?”

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, his black eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

“Leave now,” he said, voice calm. “Go to one of the places with those explosions.”

Caius stared at Lucavion, frustration mounting.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped. “Why are you acting like this isn’t a big deal? The city’s burning outside!”

Lucavion exhaled lightly through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching as if Caius’s anger amused him.

“You,” he said, his voice smooth, “are the one who lives in Varenthia. You must already know the rules of this city.” He tilted his head slightly. “Why are you acting like a country bumpkin?”

Caius twitched.

‘This fucking—’

Lucavion continued before he could even form a response.

“You should understand this better than anyone else,” he mused, running his whetstone against his blade once more. “This city thrives on chaos. And when something like this happens, there are only two choices—” He looked up, his black eyes glinting in the lantern light.

“You move, or you get trampled.”

Caius clenched his fists.

He knew that. Of course he knew that. He had lived by that rule for years. In a city like Varenthia—where mercenaries, gangs, and cutthroats ran the streets—there was nothing worse than standing still.

If word got out that, while others were fighting and making their mark, he had just stayed put like some coward waiting for orders…

Things would turn ugly.

Fast.

He ground his teeth together, hating that Lucavion was right. Hating even more that this bastard was saying it like he was giving him a lesson.

Caius let out a sharp breath, rolling his shoulders. “Tch. Fine.”

He turned on his heel and stormed toward the door.

Lucavion didn’t stop him.

Didn’t say anything else.

Lucavion remained seated, his fingers idly turning the paper Draven had given him. The lantern flickered, casting long shadows across the walls.

“Not yet, it seems,” he murmured, exhaling lightly.

A voice came from his side, smooth and knowing.

[You sound almost disappointed.]

Lucavion smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Do I?”

Vitaliara’s emerald eyes flickered as she adjusted her position, her tail curling lazily. [You do.]

Lucavion exhaled through his nose, folding the paper neatly before setting it aside. “I suppose I was hoping for something… clearer.”

[Dreams are rarely clear,] she pointed out. [They are reflections—warped, fleeting.]

Lucavion hummed. “You think it will work?”

Vitaliara’s gaze lingered on the artifact resting nearby, its crystalline core pulsing with faint light. [That depends.]

He raised an eyebrow. “On?”

[What you really want to see.]

Lucavion chuckled, leaning back slightly. “And here I thought you were done with lectures.”

Vitaliara stretched her claws slightly, her tone unreadable. [It’s not a lecture. Just a reminder.]

Lucavion’s gaze drifted back to the artifact, watching the slow, rhythmic pulses of color.

A tool that could reveal someone’s location through dreams.

But only if the memory was deep enough.

Just then, the Emberwood paper burned.

A faint ember at first—then a sudden, voracious flame, consuming the delicate parchment within seconds. The heat flared unnaturally before vanishing, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of curling smoke.

Lucavion’s fingers stilled against the artifact.

The time had come.

The flickering lantern cast jagged shadows along the room’s walls as he reached for the crystalline fragment, feeling the familiar pulse of mana shifting within its depths.

His grip tightened just slightly. The rhythmic pulse of light within the artifact quickened, reacting to his touch, the shifting colors becoming more erratic—like something alive, stirring from slumber.

Vitaliara, perched on his shoulder, watched silently.

[This is it, then.] Her voice threaded through his thoughts, calm but laced with something unreadable.

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, his smirk faint but unwavering. “It would seem so.”

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment before channeling his mana into the artifact.

The world around him dimmed.

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