Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The streets of Arcania pulsed with life.

Aurelian and Selphine strolled side by side, occasionally brushing shoulders as the crowd nudged them closer. They weaved through merchant stalls and temporary pavilions, each one gleaming with enchantments designed to catch the eye and loosen the coin pouch. Glass-spun birds chirped spellsongs overhead, darting between ribbons that floated unaided, tethered only by old ward runes glowing gently on the paving stones.

“Look at that,” Selphine said, pointing to a nearby vendor who was selling sweets shaped like tiny elemental spirits—fire, water, wind, earth—all dancing along the rims of cups.

Aurelian leaned in, curious. “That fire one looks like it’s got a personality.”

“It looks like you when you’re smug,” she said with a grin.

He opened his mouth in protest, but she was already tugging him toward the stall, her fingers slipping briefly into his sleeve before letting go as if it had never happened. He didn’t notice.

Their attendants followed from a distance—sharp-eyed, but unobtrusive. Selphine’s maid, quiet and watchful. Aurelian’s attendant, always a half-step behind, voice lowered into a speaking stone as he quietly alerted the guards assigned to watch the square perimeter.

“Too many people packed into one place,” the attendant muttered. “I don’t like it.”

“They’re just students and tourists,” Aurelian replied, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Exactly,” the man said. “Desperate enough. Ambitious enough. There’s always one who’ll try something stupid.”

But Aurelian only offered a half-smile. “We’ll be careful.”

The caution was valid—but so far, the capital glimmered with nothing but excitement.

Children rode shimmering constructs shaped like wolves and elk, chasing one another through fountains that shot mana-lit water in rhythmic bursts. Performers stood at every third street corner, casting illusion tricks or balancing atop floating platforms while crowds clapped and tossed enchanted coins into glowing jars.

Selphine paused before one such performer—a young man manipulating thin metal wires into animals that danced midair, held up by nothing but his magic.

Aurelian leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Is he casting without a focus?”

“He’s using movement-based glyphs,” Selphine replied, tone impressed. “Probably carving them into the wire directly.”

They lingered for a moment before moving on.

Selphine’s steps grew slower, more deliberate, almost as if she were waiting for something.

When Aurelian paused in front of a bakery cart, sniffing the scent of spiced frostbread, she tugged her hood slightly lower and leaned in beside him.

Her arm brushed his deliberately this time. Light. Hesitant.

He blinked once, glanced down at her hand. “You cold?”

“No,” she said, lips quirking. “But I could be.”

He nodded sagely. “I suppose we can find a cloak stall next.”

Her smile thinned as she turned away.

They wandered into a more shaded stretch of the plaza, where hanging lanterns floated in spirals overhead, casting warm orange light onto their faces. The crowd here had thinned—just enough for silence to take hold between them. Selphine tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then looked at him, waiting.

Aurelian looked upward instead, marveling at the lanterns.

“Do you think they’re going to release those on the final night?” he asked.

Selphine watched him. “Mhm. Lanterns carry the names of the academy’s founders and every valedictorian since. They’re released to honor their legacy.”

He nodded. “That’s beautiful.”

Selphine didn’t reply. She was still looking at him, but his eyes were already following the lanterns, caught up in some quiet wonder, entirely unaware of how her fingers had crept closer to his again.

She let out a quiet sigh and clasped her hands behind her back instead.

“Want to see the Moonwalk next?” she asked lightly.

“The what?”

“There’s a terrace along the ridge near the Spiral Nexus. They say it’s the best place to see the city lights stretch to the horizon.”

“Lead the way,” he said with a grin.

And she did.

Behind them, their attendants gave each other a knowing glance but said nothing.

After all, some lessons were better left unspoken—and some days were better when untouched by warnings.

Even if neither of them quite said it, or even realized it just yet, this…

was a date.

*****

The walk toward the Moonwalk was meant to be quiet. Peaceful. The kind of slow evening stroll that echoed with lanternlight and half-formed laughter, set against the hum of festival magic and the soft murmur of anticipation before the First Flame.

But halfway through the upper promenade, a sharp voice cracked the air—cutting clean through the festive ambiance.

“I said, move.”

Aurelian and Selphine stopped.

The commotion had gathered like a ripple in still water—people slowing, turning, backing away. A few whispered. Others simply watched.

At the edge of a café terrace overlooking the lower streets, a young boy stood—if it could be called that. He looked barely fifteen, his shoulders drawn inward, his hands clenched around a small satchel pressed to his chest. His cloak was modest, freshly cleaned but worn, marked with the humble insignia of a baronial crest. And beside him sat a girl, perhaps his sister, hair neatly tied back, her tea untouched.

Across from them stood three older boys—wannabe students, by the looks of them. Their tunics bore the ornate trim and jeweled pins of count-ranked houses, their postures exuding effortless arrogance. One had his foot on the bench beside the girl, leaning far too close. Another spun a silver coin between his fingers, letting it clink loudly against the table as he smirked.

“This section is for proper heirs,” said the first, his tone cold and dripping with disdain. “Not children of baron backwaters. You want to sit, go to the lower promenade with the vendors.”

“I—I paid,” the timid boy stammered, his voice barely above the surrounding murmurs. “The seat was open. I reserved it through the festival pass. I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean?” sneered the second noble, his voice a little too loud. “You didn’t mean to insult us? Because that’s what you did, rat.”

The third, still spinning his coin, gave a lazy grin. “Maybe he’s just confused. Maybe we should help him understand his place.”

Selphine’s steps froze. Her expression shifted instantly from relaxed amusement to a glacial sharpness.

Aurelian frowned. “Do you see—?”

“I see it,” she said. Her voice had gone flat.

The boy’s sister tried to rise—tried to speak—but the noble leaning toward her blocked her way, his boot scraping deliberately closer along the bench.

“Hey now,” he said with a mock-pleasant tone, “we’re just trying to have a conversation. You’re not going to run away, are you?”

Her lips pressed into a firm line, but she didn’t speak. Her eyes stayed locked on the timid boy, as if silently urging him to stay calm.

Aurelian’s brow twitched—just enough to betray the simmering tension tightening across his jaw. Selphine’s arms had folded across her chest, her fingers curled in a way that said more than words ever could.

Yet neither of them moved.

They watched.

They listened.

And they did nothing.

Because that—unfortunately—was what they had been taught.

“You mustn’t stir the nest unless you intend to burn it down,” Selphine’s mother had once told her during a court luncheon, voice smooth behind a glass of sapphire wine.

And Aurelian’s father—pragmatic to the bone—had offered a similar lesson.

“In this world, you cannot afford to draw blades for every wounded dog, son. Especially not when the hounds you’d offend wear gold around their collars.”

Still… his hand twitched.

A moment passed, then a whisper at Aurelian’s shoulder.

His attendant, ever nearby, had leaned in, voice low and composed. “Young master,” he said evenly, “I strongly advise against getting involved. House Crane has ties to the Western Council. The Cavendells manage three trade routes with your family’s interests. And Marenholt? Their patronage funded a quarter of your entrance nomination.”

Aurelian’s teeth clenched. “I understand,” he murmured.

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