Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 924: I forgot something....

Across the lacquered table, conversation bloomed in uneven clusters—some quiet, some edged, some awkward with the stiffness of unfamiliar limbs. Cutlery clicked in patterned rhythm, platters passed back and forth with tentative civility.

Selphine was murmuring something to Aurelian, her hand ghosting over the rim of her goblet, eyes constantly moving. Marian watched Mireilla with thinly veiled suspicion, while Caeden sat in stiff silence, his plate dutifully full.

Even Quen and Valen—typically a two-man orchestra of noise—kept their antics measured, as if even they could feel the strange tension threading the air. No one quite knew what this was yet. Not enemies. Not friends. Something in between.

And Elara... Elara ate in silence.

Fork to plate. Bite, chew, swallow.

Mechanical.

Deliberate.

But her eyes—her mind—were far from the meal.

Because across from her, a devil sat grinning.

Lucavion.

Animated, charming, loud without being obnoxious. He was speaking to Toven now—of all people—gesturing with an empty glass in one hand and a bread roll in the other like some drunken prince holding court. Somehow, he made even crumbs look charismatic.

A crooked grin danced on his lips, effortlessly threading itself through each conversation like a well-worn ribbon. Jokes flicked off his tongue. Compliments, too. Just enough irreverence to keep everyone guessing. No one too safe. No one quite immune.

And the worst part?

He was good at it.

Elara’s gaze lingered—sharp, calculating, still. Fork stilled on her plate.

How can he sit there... like that?

Like nothing burned. Like he hadn’t once stepped over people’s wreckage with a sword in his hand and blood in his footprints. Like the world was still whole, and he hadn’t helped break it.

Stormhaven.

The memory prickled behind her ribs like thorns beneath silk.

Back then... when she knew him as Luca...

He was like this too.

Silver-tongued. Effortless. As if the world bent slightly to his tone, like it wanted to be persuaded by him. He could charm senators into silence and make generals laugh like old friends. He walked halls lined with war strategies and betrayal like they were gardens he’d grown himself.

But even then—even then—there had been moments. Breaks in the surface.

Quiet ones.

She remembered them. Against her better judgment, she remembered.

When the games faded. When the audience left. When it was just the two of them, standing on a balcony with blood dried on their cuffs and exhaustion hanging between them like smoke.

In those moments, he had not laughed.

In Lorian—cursed Lorian—he had not laughed at all.

He’d been... silent. Not stoic. Not unreadable. Just empty in a way she hadn’t known how to answer. The boy with a thousand words, suddenly having none. Like something had carved the heart out of him and replaced it with cold.

She saw him then. In that dim firelight. Hands still stained, sword at his back, eyes shadowed not by night, but by something that never lifted, not even when dawn came.

He’d looked so tired.

And now—now he grinned over bread and banter, laughing like ghosts hadn’t followed him into this new life.

Which face is the real one?

The one that danced through chaos like a prince in a masquerade?

Or the one who stood at her side, silent and blood-spattered, watching a city die with nothing left to say?

Elara didn’t realize how long she’d been staring until his voice slipped across the table, soft as oil over water.

”You’ve been like that for a little while now.”

She blinked. Met his eyes.

Lucavion’s grin didn’t falter. But there was something in it—something just sharp enough to prick if you looked too long.

”Perhaps our little Elowyn is allergic to something?” he continued. ”The roast? The wine? My face?”

A few heads turned. Not all. Just enough.

Elara lifted her goblet slowly. Sipped.

Then set it down with perfect composure.

”I was just wondering,” she said calmly, ”how someone can eat so much and still talk this much. It’s a mystery of biology.”

Lucavion’s eyes gleamed. ”Ah, concerned for my health. How touching.”

”More like confused why no one’s smothered you with a napkin yet.”

He leaned forward slightly, chin propped on one hand, elbow resting just enough on the table to be infuriating.

”Elowyn, you wound me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been plotting my demise since the appetizers.”

”Plotting implies effort,” Elara replied coolly. ”I was just hoping your mouth would finally tire itself out.”

A muffled laugh slipped from Quen, quickly covered by a cough. Selphine arched a brow in silent amusement. Even Aurelian’s lips twitched at the corner.

Lucavion leaned in a fraction more. ”Darling, if I waited for you to laugh, I’d turn to stone before dessert.”

”Then I’d finally get some peace.”

Before he could retort, a voice cut cleanly through the air—measured, sharp.

”You were going to explain how you knew them.”

Lucavion turned his head, and sure enough—Mireilla.

Her voice had been quiet, but there was nothing casual about it. Her gaze was fixed, her tone clipped—not suspicious, not aggressive... just sharp. The kind of edge used more for carving truths than drawing blood.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence with theatrical slowness. ”Ah, Mireilla. I was wondering when you’d circle back to that.”

Her stare didn’t waver.

Lucavion made a lazy gesture toward Elara, reclining slightly with that infuriating ease. ”As fate would have it, she found me first. Go on, Elowyn. Tell them our tragic tale of moonlit chance and accidental chemistry.”

Elara didn’t roll her eyes.

She didn’t need to.

Her sigh did the work for her.

She set her fork down with the same calm precision she used in all things, then met Mireilla’s gaze with steady neutrality.

”Yesterday. After the banquet,” Elara said. ”Everyone else had gone. I stayed behind to think. He showed up.”

”That’s it?” Mireilla asked, brows raising slightly.

Lucavion leaned in again. ”Well, technically there was a very moving exchange involving shadows, stars, and emotional repression—”

Elara shot him a look that silenced him instantly. He gave a small, innocent smile. Toothless. But barely.

”That’s it,” Elara repeated. ”We spoke. That was all.”

Mireilla’s gaze didn’t leave her. ”You seem familiar with him. Like you’ve known him longer.”

Lucavion gave an exaggerated shrug. ”See? I told her this exact thing. She refuses to believe I just have a naturally magnetic personality.”

”You’re misunderstanding,” Elara said flatly. ”He’s like this with everyone.”

”Unapologetically,” Lucavion added, raising his goblet in mock toast.

Mireilla studied them both for a moment longer, then leaned back slightly, expression unreadable. ”I guess so.”

”I’m relieved,” Lucavion said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. ”Any longer and I thought you were going to ask if we shared childhood trauma and matching tattoos.”

Mireilla snorted once. Barely. But it was real.

And the moment, like so many that Lucavion orchestrated, shifted—just a fraction, just enough. The tension that had clung to the air like static lightened. No declaration of trust, no sealing of friendships. But the edge dulled.

Aurelian passed the bread basket toward Caeden. Marian gave Toven a sidelong glance that was more curiosity than challenge.

And across the table, Elara—finally—picked her fork back up.

But her eyes lingered on Lucavion just a breath longer. Not hostile. Not soft.

Just watching. Still asking the question she hadn’t voiced.

Which version are you right now?

And how long will it last?

But then—

A voice cut through the warmth.

Calm. Crisp. Measured.

”Lucavion,” Cedric said.

The sound wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It threaded through the table like a cold draft slipping through a sealed hall.

Lucavion turned slightly. The grin remained, but it no longer touched his eyes.

Cedric wasn’t even looking at him. He was mid-conversation with Caeden—something quiet, thoughtful, anchored in that usual understated stillness of his—but his next words made the entire table pause.

”Didn’t Archmage Selenne order you to report to her chamber?”