Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 958: Culinary of flags

”...That’s not a virtue, Marian. That’s a culinary red flag.”

Cedric, who had until this point remained stone-silent on the matter of food, tilted his head very slightly. ”Do you... actively prefer dry crust and under-seasoned filling?”

”I don’t like surprises in my food,” she said, tone far too solemn. ”The seasoning blends in the mage-tier dishes? There’s a texture to that sauce that feels sentient. I don’t trust anything that looks like it could form opinions.”

Selphine let out a small, strangled sound. ”It’s truffle oil, not a mind-flayer.”

Marian just kept walking, hands tucked behind her head. ”We all have our lines.”

Aurelian, baffled, muttered under his breath, ”Yours just happens to be flavor.”

They walked on, winding through the lantern-lit corridors toward the central courtyard, laughter trailing behind like drifting smoke. The day’s tension had unraveled almost entirely now, replaced with the warm edge of rising familiarity—a group of students bound not by belief, but proximity. By timing. By the fact that they hadn’t yet fractured under the weight of their secrets.

Elara let herself enjoy it—for a few steps.

Then the wind shifted again.

Cold. Dry. Carrying the faintest hum of magic from deeper inside the Academy walls. A reminder that soon, orientation would become trial. Names would leave parchment and enter records. Points would begin to stack. Ranks would begin to shift.

And failure would stop being theoretical.

She looked ahead, past the glow of the courtyard lanterns, where a courier golem was posting glimmering scrolls along the notice wall—schedules. Assignments. Rotations.

Marian’s voice broke through the silence beside her. ”Bet you ten credits you’re in the early magic assessment block.”

Elara didn’t answer.

Not yet.

Her gaze stayed on the scrolls, narrowing.

Because one of them was already glowing faintly with her name—Elowyn Caerlin—etched higher than most.

And something about the way the magic pulsed didn’t feel like a standard schedule.

Not at all.

The group slowed as they rounded the corridor, the lantern-light pooling golden across the polished stone. The notice wall ahead still shimmered with newly-pinned scrolls, but Marian’s attention had already wandered back toward her companions.

”So,” she said, stretching her arms overhead in a careless arc, ”what about Lucavion and the others? They’re probably heading out for lunch soon as well. Though, maybe it is classified as dinner now?” Her grin curled, sly in its ease. ”Wouldn’t it be better if we just ate together again? You know—keep the whole merry band intact.”

Elara’s stride faltered.

Just a second—barely enough for anyone but the closest to notice. But Selphine did. Aurelian, too. The stillness of that one step lingered like a misplayed note in an otherwise smooth performance.

Then Elara nodded, calm, controlled, her voice even. ”That... makes sense.”

”Does it?” Selphine’s brow arched as they walked, her tone sliding into something light but pointed. ”Funny, considering this morning—”

The temperature dropped.

A curl of frost licked across the flagstones at Selphine’s feet, delicate spirals etching into the stone like veins of white marble. Thin mist bled from the seams, ghosting around her boots before dissipating into the air.

Selphine stopped mid-word.

Elara’s eyes met hers, unflinching. No words. Just that calm, glacial glare—sharp enough to cut and cold enough to remind anyone with sense that she could flay a person with silence alone.

Selphine only smirked faintly, though her hands shifted back into her sleeves. Her eyes lingered on Elara’s back, sharp but thoughtful.

’So quick to guard. Almost too quick. Interesting.’

Marian, who had been stretching like a cat just moments before, caught the exchange immediately. Her head tilted, eyes flicking from the frost curling away at Selphine’s feet to the sharpness in Elara’s stare. ”...This morning?” she asked, voice quick with curiosity.

The twins perked up like hounds catching a scent. Quen leaned in from behind, brows raised high. ”What morning?”

Valen grinned, already enjoying the flavor of it. ”Oooh, did something happen?”

Even Cedric, steady as a carved obelisk, turned his gaze toward Elara. His steps didn’t falter, but his attention fixed fully, waiting. Watching.

Elara’s lips curved—not into warmth, but something thinner, sharper. And then, suddenly, she laughed. Light, quick, practiced. ”Nothing.”

The sound slipped through the corridor, breaking just enough of the tension that a few students walking nearby didn’t look twice.

Selphine’s smirk returned, cool as the air she’d just weathered. She slid her hands deeper into her sleeves and gave a small, deliberate nod. ”Yep. Nothing.”

”Eeeeh?” Quen dragged the sound out dramatically, his grin infectious. ”That’s too suspicious. The two of you, agreeing? No, no, no—you don’t get to say ’nothing’ and expect us to just walk away.”

Valen jabbed his elbow into his twin’s side but was just as gleeful. ”Exactly. If it really was nothing, you wouldn’t sound like conspirators.”

”Conspirators,” Aurelian muttered dryly from the rear, though his gaze lingered on Elara with that same unblinking curiosity.

Marian clasped her hands together, eyes alight. ”Spill. Right now. I refuse to believe there wasn’t something.”

Selphine’s tone slid like silk over steel: ”Nothing really.”

Elara echoed, with that same faint laugh, though her eyes betrayed a spark of warning. ”Nothing at all.”

The twins groaned in unison, throwing their heads back.

”Lies.”

”Absolute lies.”

But Elara only brushed a strand of dark hair back over her shoulder, the illusion still flawless, her poise reset as if no frost had ever touched the stone. Selphine, beside her, mirrored the act with a shrug that dared the others to push harder.

The moment slipped back into rhythm. The corridor stretched ahead, lanterns flickering gold, the chatter resuming with a restless ease.

But Cedric’s eyes lingered longest, steady, sharp, and unreadable.

******

The Grand Dining Hall buzzed louder than before, the glow of chandeliers spilling silver-blue light across the polished marble. The air was thick with roasted spice, warm bread, and the faint hum of enchanted wards keeping every dish perfect.

This time, the groups had merged without much ceremony. A table long enough for twenty had been claimed, the polished blackwood reflecting goblets and platters as though the feast itself were doubled.

The seating had shifted.

Lucavion lounged in his usual fashion, one arm draped over the back of his chair, a careless grin dancing at his lips. But this time, Selphine sat directly across from him, posture straight as a blade, her sharp eyes fixed on him as he idly tore into a piece of golden bread.

The others filled in naturally: Marian between Aurelian and Elara, the twins occupying one end like two sparks bouncing against each other, Cedric settled on the opposite corner with his steady silence, Caeden near the center, Mireilla and Toven side by side with equally unreadable expressions.

Conversation stirred quick enough—first on the food, then drifting inevitably back to the topic that had hung in every hall since morning.

”The rules are... stricter than I thought,” Marian said, fork clinking lightly against her plate as she waved it for emphasis. ”Credits, demerits, divisions, assessments. Feels more like a military academy than a school.”

”Because it is one,” Mireilla said flatly, breaking her bread in half without looking up. ”They just dress it in silk and chandeliers. The rules are there to remind us we’re not here to play.”

The conversation carried on around the table, branching off into speculation and jest, the twins’ laughter sparking in short bursts, Aurelian’s dry commentary threading through like a steady counterpoint.

But Selphine wasn’t listening. Not really.

Her gaze had fixed on Lucavion across from her, the boy lounging with that insufferably effortless grin, as though none of this—the rules, the warnings, the trials—applied to him at all.

From the moment he’d appeared on the broadcast of the entrance exam, her eyes had caught on him. Not just him—his effect. Because Elowyn, who measured everything, who never flinched, had reacted. Just slightly. Just enough.

And now, sitting across from him, Selphine felt the same spark of curiosity tugging sharper.

Lucavion.

She rolled the name over in her mind, slow, deliberate.

This name....

Selphine set her fork down with deliberate quiet, fingers folding neatly against the polished blackwood of the table. Her eyes never left him.

”Lucavion,” she said, tone smooth, precise, but carrying a pointed edge. ”May I ask something?”

Across from her, Lucavion’s head tilted lazily, that devil-may-care grin flashing as though he’d been waiting for it. He didn’t even pause in tearing another piece of bread free, crumbs scattering like sparks.

”Feel free,” he drawled, leaning his cheek against his palm. ”Curiosity is a virtue. Sometimes.”

Selphine’s mouth curled faintly, the shadow of a smile that was more blade than warmth. She let the silence stretch half a heartbeat longer before asking—calm, sharp, measured.

”Are you from the Lorian Empire, by any chance?”