Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 982: Meeting

Lucavion’s stride was unhurried—measured in that careless way of his that always made it hard to tell whether he was thinking too much or not at all.

The crowd at the entrance had already thinned; most of the students were either whispering about her test or pretending not to. His figure slipped past them easily, black coat catching the light in brief, fractured flashes before fading back into shadow.

Elara didn’t move right away.

Her body knew she should—knew she should walk, breathe, do something—but she just stood there, half-hidden in the corridor’s pale glow.

Her mind was still tangled around what she’d seen.

When he’d looked at her—really looked—something had changed. She’d noticed it, just barely, in the short span of a heartbeat: the shift in his gaze, the faint narrowing of focus, like he was seeing past her face and into something he shouldn’t have recognized.

Not suspicion.

Not anger.

Just… knowledge.

’What was that?’ she thought, frowning faintly. ’That was…definitely a change? Did he notice something?’

She told herself she was overthinking, that it was only exhaustion, that the light from the sphere was still messing with her vision. But the question clung to her anyway, stubborn and quiet.

’What did you see, Lucavion?’

Her gaze lingered on his back as he moved farther down the hall. Then, just before he turned the corner, he stopped.

He didn’t turn immediately—just shifted his weight, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Are you leaving?”

The words broke the hum of mana still hanging in her ears. His tone was simple, light—like he was asking if she wanted the last cup of tea—but the question didn’t sound like a question at all. It held no demand, no invitation. Only absence.

Elara blinked. “Hm?”

He gestured vaguely toward the door. “You’re done here.” A pause. “Makes sense you’d head out.”

The way he said it made something in her chest tighten in confusion. Normally, people—normal people—expected reciprocation. He’d stayed through her test. Watched her fall apart and pretend she hadn’t. The polite thing would’ve been to walk with him.

It would’ve been natural for him to expect

that.

But he didn’t.

There was nothing expectant in his face. Just quiet understanding, or perhaps a kind of deliberate distance.

’Strange.’

“See you later then,” he said easily, already turning back toward the testing hall.

And as he started walking again, his hand lifted—just a lazy motion, a small half-wave that caught the light and disappeared in the next step.

Elara stood there for a moment longer, the echo of that simple gesture sinking into the silence between them.

The decision to move came too suddenly—an instinct more than thought.

One heartbeat she was standing still; the next, she was stepping forward, half-formed words caught somewhere in her throat. She didn’t even know why—to ask him something, to stop him, to chase the faint ripple of tension he’d left behind.

But she didn’t make it far.

Her shoulder struck something solid.

The impact jolted her backward a half-step, her balance shifting. A hand—hers—twitched upward by reflex, though the apology never left her lips.

“Watch wh—” the voice started, low and edged, but it cut itself short.

The stranger she’d collided with turned his head, and for the briefest instant, she saw what she’d hit: a young man, tall, neatly built, with the kind of presence that wasn’t loud but commanded. His face was almost unfairly symmetrical—clean lines, sharp jaw, a mouth that didn’t seem to understand softness.

But that wasn’t what caught her attention.

It was the ornaments.

A chain of gold, fine and intricate, glinting faintly at the edge of his collar. Rings—two, maybe three—fitted with stones that weren’t decorative, but enchanted. Even the cuffs of his coat shimmered with faint embedded sigils. Every piece screamed of something expensive, the kind that didn’t have to prove itself because everyone already knew what it meant.

He was someone of standing. Not noble-student standing. Higher.

Elara blinked, still steadying herself. “I—”

Then she saw his eyes.

Amber. Sharp. Beautiful in a cruel way. And beneath that surface gleam, something cold—a measuring detachment that chilled more than the frost in her veins.

“Oh,” he said finally, voice altering—sharper first, then curiously softening. His expression shifted, as though something had just clicked into place. “You’re that girl.”

The words landed like a small weight against her ribs.

She froze. “…Sorry?”

He tilted his head, studying her more closely now, the corner of his mouth curving into something between recognition and faint amusement. The way he said that girl—as though he knew her somehow?

’No, it can’t be like that.’

Elara’s pulse stuttered.

The words—that girl—hung in the air, strangely heavy, pulling threads she thought she’d already buried deep.

Her body was still raw from the test, her nerves singing with that faint echo of light that hadn’t entirely left her veins. Every sound, every gaze, felt amplified, too sharp to separate from the noise in her head.

And this stranger—this man—looked at her the same way Lucavion had a few minutes ago: not with curiosity, but with recognition.

Her stomach tightened. ’No, it can’t be like that. He doesn’t know. He can’t know.’

But her thoughts wouldn’t settle. They looped, restless, circling the same impossible worry. Because lately it didn’t take much—a name, a color, a tone—for old memories to rise again.

And this felt too close.

What she didn’t realize—not yet—was that it wasn’t her mind betraying her this time. It was her mana.

Old power carried remnants of the self that shaped it.

Memories are not supposed to cling to energy, that is something a scholar would say most likely, yet that is not the case.

Mana itself is a power that transcends the realm of physics, and expectation has the possibility of happening.

Fractured once, reassembled under foreign hands, her core now carried echoes of the Elara who had been before: impressions, instincts, fragments of identity buried in frost and light.

When she felt seen, it wasn’t paranoia—it was resonance.

But she didn’t know that. Not yet.

The silence between her and the young man stretched. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, toward the hall’s exit, almost unconsciously seeking something—someone—familiar.

Lucavion was gone.

The corridor was empty where he’d been, only the fading echo of his steps left behind.

Something in her chest gave a small, involuntary tug—like gravity misfiring. ’Strange.’ It wasn’t comfort she felt, but something adjacent to it.

The kind of steadiness that made sense of chaos, even when the steadiness itself was dangerous.

Before she could untangle it, the young man spoke again, and his voice snapped her attention back.

“Don’t look so startled,” he said, tone calm, deliberate. “I was at the hall just now.”

She blinked, wary. “…The testing hall?”

“Yes,” he said simply, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. “The Crystal Hall. I watched your affinity test.”

Her pulse lurched.

“You…”

He nodded once, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not every day someone manifests frost and light. Especially not as a secondary alignment.” His amber eyes caught the light, gleaming like molten metal. “It’s a rarity. A beautiful one, I’d say.”

Elara felt her throat dry.

She blinked, wary. “…The testing hall?”

“Yes,” he said simply, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I watched your affinity test.”

Her pulse lurched.

“You…”

He nodded once, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not every day someone manifests frost and light. Especially not as a secondary alignment.” His amber eyes caught the light, gleaming like molten metal. “It’s a rarity. A beautiful one, I’d say.”

Elara felt her throat dry.

So that was it. That was what he meant.

That girl.

The one who had drawn light out of the frost.

Not Elara Valoria. Not the ghost she thought he saw.

Just Elowyn Caerlin, the new curiosity of the week.

And yet, even with that clarity, something about his voice—the smooth, unhurried certainty of it—made her uneasy.

It wasn’t flattery.

It was interest.

He paused then, as if remembering something halfway through studying her face.

The smile that touched his mouth didn’t quite reach his eyes—it was measured, deliberate, practiced.

“Ah,” he said lightly, tone shifting toward something almost courteous. “I forgot to introduce myself.”

He inclined his head just slightly, enough to be polite but never submissive. “My name is Cassiar Vermillion.”