Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 981: Confirmed

’No.’

She said in her heart.

Yet….

And yet…

Those eyes.

They weren’t looking at Elowyn Caerlin.

They were looking at something that shouldn’t exist anymore.

Elara forced herself to move, to let the stiffness drain from her shoulders. The sphere had gone dark again. The instructors were distracted with notes and readouts, the crowd already murmuring about someone else’s reaction.

Perfect.

She stepped back from the testing station, her pulse drumming a little too fast, and crossed the few meters separating them. Lucavion didn’t shift his stance as she approached, but the moment she was close enough, he tilted his head slightly, studying her face.

“Your face doesn’t look that good,” he said, tone casual but eyes still too sharp. “That thing mess with you?”

Elara managed a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t scraped her throat on the way out. “It’s a side effect,” she said. “Nothing serious.”

Her stomach chose that exact moment to twist in protest. She swallowed it down, willing the unease to stay hidden.

Lucavion’s gaze lingered a moment longer, then softened—not quite sympathy, more like quiet assessment. “You look like someone who’s been breathing the same air too long.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Maybe.”

He glanced toward the exit, where the crystalline light fractured into the gentler hues of the courtyard beyond. “Want to get a breath of fresh air?”

For a heartbeat, she almost refused. Too dangerous. Too revealing.

Then again, standing here wasn’t helping either. The air in the Crystal Hall felt too close, too full of echoes.

“…Wouldn’t be bad,” she said finally.

Lucavion’s grin returned—soft this time, almost normal. “Come on then, Elowyn.”

He stepped aside, letting her move first. The shift of the door wards brushed against her skin as she passed, and the rush of cooler air outside met her like a sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

But the quiet that followed wasn’t peace. It was that same unease—the weight of his gaze still lingering, and the faint, treacherous spark of light still pulsing faintly beneath her ribs, like a secret that refused to stay buried.

*****

Lucavion walked a step behind, then slowly matched her pace—hands tucked into his coat pockets, gaze drifting from the walkway ahead to the girl beside him. Her breathing was quieter now. More measured. But he could still feel the subtle tension in her shoulders, like her spine hadn’t quite stopped bracing for something that never came.

She didn’t speak. Not yet. But she didn’t need to.

Indeed.

His thoughts came quiet, unsmiling.

There wasn’t a trace of doubt left in him now. Not even the faintest flicker.

Not after that.

The affinity test had been one of the earliest defining moments in the novel’s first arc—buried in the background, barely given half a page. But he remembered the phrasing. Remembered the flicker of surprise the instructors couldn’t hide. The frost first—sharp, defined, natural. Then the light came late, like a memory the body wasn’t sure it could trust anymore.

It had played out the same way. Almost exactly.

Just as the book described Elara Valoria’s reawakening.

’So. Frost and light… both delayed, but unmistakable. Just like the scene in Chapter four.’

He glanced sideways again, watching the way she kept her gaze forward, jaw slightly clenched like she was willing herself not to think too loudly.

’One could say it’s because her core was abolished, and Eveline restructured her. That’d make sense. As much sense as anything else here.’

He let his gaze slip back to the path.

But it’s not a theory anymore.

She was Elara.

No matter what name she wore now.

She was walking beside him.

And the world just hadn’t caught up yet.

A faint breath slipped from his nose, almost a scoff.

’Funny. You spend so long trying to escape your name, only for your mana to betray you in a room full of watchful eyes.’

He didn’t voice it. Didn’t dare.

Her shoulders were still too tight. Her silence was armor.

Let her pretend she was still Elowyn Caerlin.

’No need to ruin the fun now, is there?’

The wind brushed lightly against them, rustling the edges of their coats as they walked, but Lucavion barely noticed. Not really. His steps were steady, his posture lazy as always, but inside—his thoughts had fallen sharp, quiet, exact.

That light…

He narrowed his eyes slightly, not at her, but at the memory of what he’d seen—the way it had flared after the frost, late but undeniable. The way it lingered beneath her skin. The way the hall had shifted, just for a moment, as if the world itself had paused to listen.

In the book, Elara hadn’t been surprised.

Frost first. Then light. The noble instructors had murmured about dual-affinity, about genetic traces of Valorian bloodlines. And Elara had accepted that with quiet composure—no alarm, no confusion. It had made sense. The Valoria family did possess light affinity, however rare. Her mother’s side, if he recalled right.

But…

Lucavion exhaled softly, slow and sharp.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

That wasn’t the whole truth.

Not the real one.

She’s not a real Valorian.

He looked at her again—not her expression this time, but something beneath it. The way her mana had unfurled. The way it had reached out, rather than just flaring inward.

The resonance hadn’t been one-sided.

When that white light formed—

A flicker. A whisper.

My own core had stirred.

Buried beneath layers of suppression, healing mana webs, and the intricate lattice that Vitaliara had helped him forge just to stay functional.

Even through all that—

It had moved.

Not violently. Not disruptively. But a ripple had passed through it, like starlight kissing the surface of a deep, still lake.

That was not just light.

It was starlight.

Not the Valoria family’s birthright.

But Gerald’s.

After all, Lucavion had also witnessed that, though it had been a long time since then…

Lucavion’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth twitching with something unreadable.

If that’s the case… it fits.

And Gerald…

Gerald was starlight.

Just like Lucavion.

So that’s what I felt.

It wasn’t just familiarity. It wasn’t recognition from the novel.

It was resonance

.

A quiet, involuntary echo between two cores sharing the same ancient affinity.

Just then…A sharp pinch snapped him from the drift.

Lucavion flinched—not dramatically, just a quick twitch at the side of his ribs. But it was enough. His head snapped around to face her, and his eyes met hers directly—hazel, rich and clear despite the shadow still lingering at the corners.

“What?” he muttered, more reflex than question, voice low, almost amused.

Elara stared back, unfazed. “Where are you going?” she said, one brow arched with clinical precision. “Your examination’s at three. Remember?”

He blinked.

Right.

His exam.

He stopped walking, the realization washing over him like a belated tide. Heh… I did forget, didn’t I?

He gave a lazy exhale through his nose, brushing a hand through his hair like the thought had simply slipped past him, nothing more.

But her gaze didn’t leave him.

Not for a second.

Still too sharp. Still too steady.

He tilted his head, taking in the small, almost imperceptible tightness at the edge of her jaw. The way her fingers had curled in a little, too relaxed to be casual.

“What were you thinking about? You looked lost.”

’Ah.’

There it was.

She was probing.

Her voice was calm, her posture neutral—but her silence had weight now, subtle and heavy in all the right places.

Lucavion’s eyes softened, just slightly. Not pity. Just recognition.

’Heh…’

Are you wondering if I’ve discovered your identity?

He almost smirked. Almost.

But he didn’t let it reach his mouth. Not fully.

Instead, he looked at her with that same crooked ease, letting just the faintest glimmer of mischief flash through his expression.

“Worried about me?” he said lightly.

“You looked like you were about to walk straight past the south wing,” she replied flatly. “So yes. A little.”

“Mm.” He nodded once, eyes still on hers. “Appreciate the concern.”

She didn’t reply.

She didn’t have to.

Because she was still watching him.

And for once, he didn’t look away. He let the silence hang there, suspended in the space between their breaths, before he finally turned toward the direction of the hall again.

“Three o’clock, huh,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Then, with a smile that meant both everything and nothing at all:

“Don’t worry, Elowyn. I’ll behave.”