Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The moonlight spilled softly across the polished floors of the guest estate, its glow filtering through silken drapes that fluttered lazily in the evening breeze. Arcania never quite slept during the Festival of the First Flame—distant laughter still echoed faintly from the lower plazas, accompanied by bursts of light from illusionary fireworks and drifting lanterns that pulsed like stars in motion.

But high above it all, within one of the estate’s upper rooms, two figures sat in quiet reflection.

Aurelian Vale lounged against a velvet-backed divan, arms behind his head, legs crossed loosely at the ankle. He stared up at the ceiling, his expression half-curious, half-lost in thought. A cooling teapot sat forgotten beside him.

Across from him, seated by the arched window, Selphine Elowen leaned against the frame, arms folded tightly across her chest. The moon lit the silver edges of her hair, catching in her eyes—which hadn’t stopped scanning the horizon once since they’d settled in.

But neither of them spoke for a long while.

Because their minds were still back in the morning.

Back in Velis Prominence.

Where everything had changed.

“…That was not how I thought the day would go,” Aurelian said at last, breaking the silence with a wry grin.

Selphine’s only response was a sharp exhale through her nose.

“Neither did I,” she muttered.

He glanced over at her. “You’re still brooding.”

“I’m processing.”

Aurelian chuckled. “Same thing, just more dramatic.”

Selphine gave him a side glance, unimpressed. “You’re too casual about it.”

He sat up a little straighter, his grin fading just a touch. “I just think… it was interesting. That’s all. I mean—did you see how fast he moved? How quick he was with words?”

“I saw how reckless he was,” Selphine replied coolly. “How completely unruly. No house name. No etiquette. He practically invited a beheading.”

“And yet,” Aurelian said, gesturing with his hand like unfurling a mystery, “he didn’t get one.”

Selphine frowned. “Because the princess stayed her hand. That doesn’t mean he won.”

“I didn’t say he won. But he didn’t lose either.” Aurelian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He smiled at her, Selphine. Smiled. While a sword was at his neck.”

“He’s lucky he still has a neck.”

“Or,” Aurelian added, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully, “he knew she wouldn’t strike.”

Selphine went quiet again, lips pressed into a tight line.

“…I don’t like him.”

Aurelian laughed, softly. “That’s because you couldn’t read him.”

She didn’t answer.

He stretched again, falling back onto the cushions. “I liked him,” he said with a grin. “He was fun.”

“Fun?” Selphine echoed, turning to glare at him. “He disrupted the terrace, insulted the heir of House Crane, mocked a royal guard, flirted with the princess, and managed to walk away applauded.”

Aurelian smiled at the ceiling.

“Exactly.”

Selphine turned away from the window with a sharp flick of her hair, the corner of her mouth curling as she raised a brow.

“If you found it so fun,” she said, voice dry, “why don’t you try it next time?”

Aurelian blinked up at her, then smirked. “Tempting,” he drawled. “But watching it was fun. Not sure about doing it.”

“Oh?” Selphine tilted her head, her tone slipping into playful condescension. “Isn’t it because you’re scared?”

He didn’t even pretend to deny it.

“I am scared,” he said easily, one arm flopping over his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be? This world doesn’t run on a single moment of flair. It runs on memory. On consequence.” He peeked at her through his fingers. “Something you tend to conveniently forget.”

Selphine leaned her back against the frame again, chin resting in her hand.

“Heh… And yet, somehow, the boy who doesn’t care about those consequences walked away untouched. Meanwhile, the one who built his whole name on lineage and structure ended up eating his own tongue in front of the crowd.”

Aurelian grinned. “See? I knew you liked him.”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“You’re talking about him a lot.”

She shot him a glare. “Because you keep bringing him up.”

Aurelian shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just wondering if he’ll show up again tomorrow.”

Selphine opened her mouth to retort—

Knock knock.

The sound echoed lightly through the chamber.

They both paused.

Aurelian blinked and sat up straighter, reaching for the teapot as if it might shield him from whatever was coming next.

Selphine stood, her posture snapping instinctively into a graceful, noble line, her eyes narrowing toward the door.

“…It’s late,” she said.

“Which means,” Aurelian murmured, setting the pot aside, “it’s either important…”

“…or interesting.” Selphine finished.

They exchanged a glance—

And then, together, turned toward the door.

The door opened with a soft creak, and in stepped a woman cloaked in muted forest green, her hair braided neatly down her back, a crest stitched over her shoulder marking her as an attendant of House Elowen.

She moved with practiced grace and dipped into a quiet bow before both of them.

“My lady. Young master Vale.”

Selphine nodded once, folding her arms behind her back. “Lyria. You’re up late.”

“I could say the same of you, my lady,” Lyria replied with a faint, knowing smile.

Selphine tilted her head. “You bring news, then?”

Lyria straightened, her gloved hands gently presenting a sealed envelope from within the folds of her cloak. “A letter arrived for you both. Delivered through official channel. I examined it personally, then had it verified for enchantments—none, aside from the sender’s marking.”

Selphine’s brows lifted. “Who?”

Lyria hesitated just a second.

Then answered, clear and even:

“Miss Eveline.”

The room went still.

Aurelian blinked.

Selphine’s mouth twitched open before she slowly closed it again.

“…Miss Eveline?” she repeated.

Aurelian leaned forward, frowning. “As in—our Miss Eveline?”

Lyria nodded. “The very one.”

Selphine looked down at the envelope in her hand, her fingers brushing gently over the seal as a slow smile began to tug at the corner of her lips—subtle, rare, and touched with something unusually warm.

“It’s been so long,” she murmured.

Aurelian tilted his head, watching her. “You’re smiling.”

She didn’t deny it. “Of course I am.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You think she’s still as eccentric as ever?”

“She’s probably written this letter using a spell that erases the ink if you read it too quickly.” Her smile widened slightly. “Or cursed it to scold us if we forgot our mana formations.”

Aurelian gave a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t put it past her.”

Selphine exhaled, the weight of memories settling over her shoulders like a familiar shawl. She stepped back toward the window, holding the letter carefully, reverently.

“Do you remember the first time she visited?” she asked. “The fireflies?”

Aurelian grinned. “You mean the swarm that turned into a constellation and spelled out our names? How could I forget?”

“She made the entire hilltop feel like a dream.”

“She was a dream,” Aurelian said. “One minute we’re nothing but bored heirs stuck in our dusty little provinces… and the next, we’re apprentices to a wandering archmage who showed up uninvited and told our parents we had no choice in the matter.”

Selphine laughed softly—genuinely this time. “She changed everything.”

They both went quiet for a moment.

Lyria, still standing by the door, spoke gently. “You were different after she left. Both of you.”

Selphine nodded slowly. “She gave us a path. Magic that meant something. Not politics. Not tradition. Just… freedom. Wonder.”

Aurelian’s voice dropped, more thoughtful now. “She didn’t stay long. A few seasons. Then gone. No goodbyes. Just that note.”

“‘The world waits in places no map has drawn.'” Selphine quoted the final line of Eveline’s farewell, her smile tinged with nostalgia. “And now…”

“…She writes us,” Aurelian finished, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Selphine’s grip on the letter tightened slightly. “She must have a reason.”

“Always did,” Aurelian murmured.

Only Lyria, and a handful of their closest aides, even knew the truth. That their magical training hadn’t begun in the Academy. That it hadn’t been shaped by tutors or scrolls or noble connections. It had started with a barefoot woman in traveling robes, who spoke to stars and laughed at lightning.

And now, she had written them.

Selphine glanced over her shoulder.

“Shall we see what the Archmage has to say?”

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