Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1047  The quiet between the steps

Elara refused to give him a single piece of the truth he was fishing for.

Especially when her heart still ached with another memory—one far older than Valeria’s flustered panic, one she had buried deep and kept hidden even from Cedric.

Stormhaven.

The training field.

That cold morning where the tides had risen early.

The scent of iron and frost.

And Lucavion—no, Luca—turning toward her with that same look Valeria had described.

Unorthodox.

Challenging.

Annoyingly perceptive.

Moments ago, Valeria had asked him how he knew what it felt like to fight beside Elara.

And Elara’s heart had skipped—sharp, instinctive, betraying a truth she had worked carefully to contain.

‘Because it already happened.’

‘Because you fought with him once.’

‘Because he saw you fight before he knew who you truly were.’

She had concealed Stormhaven from Lucavion. She’d even tried, desperately, to bury it beneath her own memories. But hearing Valeria ask the question…

That was when her heart had betrayed her.

Lucavion hadn’t reacted then—at least not visibly. But even now, she could feel tension creeping into her shoulders just thinking about it.

Annoyed, Elara adjusted her satchel strap again, more forcefully this time.

Lucavion gave her a sideways glance, as if amused by the gesture. “You seem troubled.”

“I’m not,” she replied curtly.

“You always say that.”

“And you always ask unnecessary questions.”

He chuckled softly. “Touché.”

Elara kept her gaze forward, forcing the storm inside her into silence. She couldn’t let him see what his presence stirred in her—not the recognition of Valeria’s vulnerability, not the painful echo of Stormhaven, and certainly not the unsettling awareness that some part of him might still be able to read her in ways she wished he couldn’t.

Elara did not allow the silence to stretch. Silence with Lucavion meant vulnerability—an opening he slipped into with too much ease. So she spoke before he could redirect the conversation, her tone deceptively calm.

“You and Valeria seemed… awfully close,” she said. “More than she conveyed.”

Lucavion didn’t turn his head, but she felt his attention shift toward her. It was subtle, like the way the air sharpened before snowfall. “Did she say something interesting?”

“That’s not an answer.”

He hummed under his breath—a quiet sound, neither dismissive nor indulgent. “And what would you like me to say, Elowyn?”

The use of her mask irritated her more than it should have.

“That depends,” she replied. “How close were you two?”

Lucavion walked a few steps before answering, each footfall slow, measured. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of his usual theatrics.

“She told you what mattered.”

Elara frowned slightly. “That wasn’t my question.”

“No,” Lucavion agreed. “But it is the only answer you’re going to receive.”

She looked at him then—truly looked—and found no mischief in his expression. No smirk. No feigned innocence. Just a kind of guarded neutrality that felt more calculated than anything he’d said at the dining table.

“You’re not even going to elaborate?” she pressed.

“It isn’t my place.” His tone remained even. “If Valeria told you the nature of our connection, then that is the version she chose to share. I won’t overwrite it. And if there are parts she didn’t speak of…”

He paused, not dramatically, but with the faintest shift of weight in his stride.

“…then those parts aren’t mine to give.”

Elara blinked once—slowly.

That was unexpected.

Lucavion never withheld details like this. Never missed the chance to twist a story, embellish a moment, or weaponize information with a smile. Yet now he stood beside her resolute and almost… respectful?

It didn’t make sense.

‘He also didn’t explain how he knew me,’ she realized.

‘Not really.’

When Valeria asked him directly, he deflected.

When Elara asked now, he deflected again.

It wasn’t simply secrecy. It wasn’t discretion either.

It was… pattern.

A pattern she recognized too well.

‘The less others know, the easier it is to move the pieces.’

‘The fewer details shared, the harder it is to unravel his lies.’

‘This is calculated.’

It fit him perfectly.

Lucavion’s mask was not merely charm.

It was structure.

A carefully woven web of half-truths and omissions that made it impossible for anyone to see the full shape of him.

And Valeria—earnest, straightforward Valeria—had clearly never noticed.

Elara’s chest tightened again.

He didn’t slow his stride, but his voice softened by a degree so subtle she wasn’t sure she imagined it.

“Her past with me isn’t your concern,” he said.

Her frown deepened. “So you decide what should or shouldn’t concern me?”

“Not at all.” He finally turned his head toward her, eyes glinting with a faint challenge. “I’m simply telling you that the story she carries is hers. Not mine.”

It wasn’t the answer she expected. It wasn’t even the type of evasion she expected. It felt… principled. But Elara had learned long ago not to trust the appearance of principle from him.

‘You’re hiding something,’ she thought.

‘And you hide it not because it protects her… but because it protects you.’

Because if he revealed too much, the gaps would become visible.

The contradictions easier to spot.

The lies easier to unravel.

Elara looked ahead again, refusing to let him see any shift in her expression.

“So that’s it, then?” she said quietly. “No elaboration?”

“Correct.”

“No details?”

“None.”

She let out a slow breath. “Selective silence.”

“Selective truth,” he corrected.

Elara almost scoffed. “The two are not so different.”

“Oh, they are,” Lucavion murmured, returning his gaze to the path ahead. “Silence misleads. Truth—when shaped well—guides.”

She resisted the urge to stop walking.

That was a philosophy she understood too well.

And despised.

‘Of course,’ she thought bitterly.

‘This is how you kept Stormhaven from tangling with your real identity.’

‘This is how you kept me from realizing who you were.’

Her fingers curled around her satchel strap again, grounding herself.

Lucavion continued walking as if the conversation held no emotional weight at all.

But Elara could feel the shift.

A faint, unwelcome heat beneath her ribs.

Not affection.

Not trust.

Something closer to cold clarity.

‘I knew Valeria was vulnerable.’

‘But now I know she’s blind as well.’

Whatever past they shared, whatever closeness Valeria still felt—it existed within a narrative curated by Lucavion. Crafted by him. Controlled by him.

And Elara’s own past with him—Stormhaven, the sparring, the strange familiarity—rested inside that same careful architecture of half-truths.

Annoyance prickled beneath her skin.

Not just at him.

At herself.

For almost reacting.

For almost slipping.

For almost letting him read her when she should have known better.

Lucavion glanced at her again.

“Anything else you’d like to ask?” he said lightly.

Elara steadied her breath. “No.”

Then she straightened her shoulders, drawing in a quiet breath that she hoped would settle the frayed edges inside her. She needed the mask back—the composure, the neutrality, the distance she had so carefully crafted for “Elowyn.” Today had poked too many holes through it, let too much of her seep through.

No more of that.

She forced her voice steady, controlled. “I understand why you would withhold details,” she said. “In your place, I might have done the same.”

Lucavion’s eyebrow rose in mild surprise—not mockery, just curiosity. “Would you?”

“Yes.” She kept her gaze forward. “A story belongs to the one who lived it. It’s not my role to demand what you won’t give.”

That wasn’t entirely true—not emotionally, not morally—but it sounded mature, diplomatic. A line Elowyn Caerlin would say. A line that created distance rather than revealing anything real.

Lucavion’s smile curved slowly, faint but unmistakably pleased. “How responsible of you.”

“I’m not being responsible,” she countered quietly. “Just practical.”

“Hm.” His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer. “Practicality suits you.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t trust her tone.

Inside, her thoughts twisted sharply.

‘Responsible? Practical? No. I’m trying to salvage the mask I let slip today.’

‘Valeria saw too much of me. Worse—he saw too much.’

‘That was not supposed to happen.’

She held her breath for a heartbeat, then released it slowly. Her expression smoothed over. The faint tension in her jaw eased. Her step returned to its typical rhythm—measured, composed, detached.

She was Elowyn again.

When she finally spoke, her tone was level, almost cool.

“This conversation is unnecessary. We have exams to focus on.”

Little did they know, a reunion was awaiting them right there.