Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 983: Meeting (2)

“My name is Cassiar Vermillion.”

The syllables fell neatly, smoothly, with the kind of weight only old families carried.

Elara felt the name settle against her like a slow, spreading chill. Vermillion.

Of course she knew it. Everyone did. The Vermillions weren’t just noble—they were influential. Old money, old blood, and older politics. Their domain sat close to the capital’s inner circle, tied to trade routes and the Tower Council itself.

“Vermillion,” she repeated quietly, more to herself than him.

The name carried too much history to sound harmless.

She remembered the records—Eveline had made her memorize the major houses once, for “self-preservation disguised as courtesy.” The Vermillions had always stood out. A Marquis house by title, but their influence reached well beyond their supposed station.

Rune mages.

Masters of enchantment and artifice.

They were the ones who supplied the empire’s artifact market—blades, seals, wards, conduits. If a kingdom ran on power, Vermillions owned the ink that signed its contracts.

Her gaze drifted briefly to the chain around his throat, the sigil-work glinting faintly against his collar. The rings, the embroidery, even the faint humming threads sewn into the seams of his gloves. She could sense it now—mana, contained and balanced.

They weren’t ornaments.

They were tools.

’So that’s where all of that comes from,’ she thought, narrowing her eyes faintly. ’Each one probably a ward or limiter. Layers upon layers of wealth turned protection.’

And then, quietly, another thought crept in—hesitant, dangerous.

’A Vermillion…’

Her pulse quickened, though she kept her face smooth. ’Isn’t this—’

“—so you have heard of my family.”

The voice cut cleanly through her thoughts. Cassiar was watching her again, that same light curve to his mouth—a man too used to catching people mid-thought.

She blinked once, recovering. “It’s hard not to.”

His smile widened, slow and unbothered. “You’re right.”

There was no arrogance in it. No need for one.

He said it like a truth carved in marble, immutable, self-evident.

Elara met his gaze again, steady now, though she could feel the quiet hum of danger beneath his civility. The kind that didn’t shout threats but wove them, softly, elegantly, like silk thread through glass.

Cassiar tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but polite. “And you are?” he asked, though the tone made it clear he already knew the answer.

Elara recognized the formality for what it was—a performance. Still, she inclined her head with equal composure. “Elowyn Caerlin,” she said. Her voice came out steady, soft but deliberate.

His eyes flickered briefly, acknowledging the name with an almost imperceptible nod. “Elowyn,” he repeated, tasting the syllables. Then, with a faint curl of amusement, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she replied automatically.

For a breath, silence lingered between them—not awkward, but heavy in that way polite conversation often was when neither party trusted the other.

Then Cassiar’s gaze sharpened, though his tone stayed conversational. “Tell me something, Miss Caerlin. Were you aware of your light affinity before today, or did it just… manifest during the test?”

The question hit too directly.

Elara blinked once, careful not to let her pause stretch long enough to look suspicious. “No,” she said finally, her tone measured, calm. “I wasn’t aware. It was unexpected.”

It wasn’t a bad lie. She made sure it wasn’t defensive—just the kind of answer that suggested confusion wrapped in humility.

Cassiar studied her for a heartbeat longer, then smiled.

Not wide. Not friendly. But with a kind of approval that felt like a touch too cold.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Her brows drew slightly together. “Interesting?”

He met her eyes again, and this time the faint smile reached them—but it didn’t soften him. It only made him look more intent.

“Yes,” he said simply. “You’re interesting.”

The words shouldn’t have sounded like anything more than an idle observation.

But the way he said them—low, quiet, deliberate—felt more like a verdict than a compliment.

And Elara, despite herself, felt a faint shiver of instinct—one that told her Cassiar Vermillion wasn’t merely curious.

Cassiar lingered for a moment longer, his expression unreadable yet strangely composed—like someone weighing possibilities, not people.

Elara kept her posture steady, her hands loosely folded before her, every inch of her body tuned to the quiet between their words.

He didn’t speak again at once, and that silence almost felt intentional. A deliberate pause to let her wonder what he was thinking.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, soft and unhurried. “Well,” he said, adjusting the cuff of his coat, his movements elegant and precise. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you.”

She blinked once. “Keep me?”

He smiled—small, polite. “You have the air of someone who still has too much on her mind to be stopped in a hallway.”

“…I see,” she replied slowly.

Cassiar stepped past her, the faint scent of something metallic and faintly sweet—enchantment residue—lingering in the air as he moved. Just before he passed, he glanced back, and the sharpness in his amber eyes softened into something more knowing.

“Something tells me,” he said quietly, “we’ll be seeing each other again. Often.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even a prediction.

It sounded like a certainty.

And before she could form a reply, he was already gone—his figure vanishing into the curve of the corridor, the faint glint of gold fading with him.

Elara stood there for several seconds, the echo of his footsteps fading into the steady hum of the Academy’s wards.

“…”

She let out a slow breath, rubbing her thumb along her palm. “What was that interaction just now?” she murmured under her breath.

Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears—careful, edged with something between disbelief and fatigue.

The man had been… strange. Not openly threatening, not even hostile. But something about the rhythm of that conversation left her uneasy.

Still—she exhaled, pressing her fingertips to her temple—he hadn’t recognized her.

That mattered.

“He didn’t find out,” she whispered to herself, quiet relief unfurling in her chest. “He didn’t find me.”

Her pulse was still a little too fast, her face faintly warm from the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. With a soft sigh, she drew a bit of mana into her fingertips. A whisper of frost gathered there, cool air brushing against her skin as she traced it along her cheek and neck.

The chill sank into her skin, calming the heat in her face, stilling the slight tremor in her pulse.

And with that small comfort, the thought crept in—’Isn’t this good?’

This was what she’d come here for.

To study. To rebuild. To connect.

To slip between power and shadows until she was strong enough to take back what she’d lost.

’Yes.’

Her lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something close.

But then, a flicker of realization crossed her mind. ’Wait… wasn’t I—’

The thought trailed, uncertain, like a half-forgotten sentence. Something tugged at her memory—something about following.

Then the noise hit her.

A wave of sound rolled down the corridor, sharp enough to cut through her thoughts—voices, tense and tangled, growing louder with every second. The kind of noise that could only mean one thing at the Academy: gossip breaking into chaos.

“What? What’s going on?” someone hissed from a nearby stairwell.

Elara turned her head slightly, catching fragments of conversation bouncing off the marble walls.

“…I told you, no one can be that strong—”

“—it’s too consistent, can’t be natural—”

“—what, you think he has an artifact? That bastard—”

And then she heard it.

The name.

“I knew it,” another voice sneered from around the corner. “That commoner Lucavion—he must have been cheating.”