Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1018: The Quiet Between Laughter

The Grand Dining Hall had never felt smaller.

Light spilled from the chandeliers in waves of gold and silver, striking polished marble and mirrored plates until the whole room shimmered like it was underwater. Voices rose in layered chatter—hundreds of students talking at once, all riding the same nervous current that followed every exam.

Forks clinked. Mana-lamps hummed. A few plates even sparked faintly where overeager apprentices had tried to warm their food with residual spells.

At the long center table near the windows, Selphine had already claimed her usual seat. Back straight, sleeves immaculate, she cut into her roast with an almost surgical calm.

“Half the hall’s talking about that second question,” Marian said, waving a piece of bread in vague emphasis. “You know, the one with the triangle glyphs? I swear they wrote it just to make us cry.”

“Then it worked,” muttered Toven from two seats down. He looked exhausted, eyes shadowed, collar half-unbuttoned. “I thought it was a geometry test. It was a geometry test.”

“Everything’s a geometry test if you’re bad enough at magic,” Mireilla said dryly, not looking up from her bowl. The faint steam from her stew framed her expression like smoke—neutral, mildly unimpressed.

Marian gasped theatrically. “Rude.”

A few students nearby chuckled. The twins, Quen and Valen, had taken it as an invitation to pile on.

“She’s right, though,” Quen said between mouthfuls. “I thought I’d drawn the glyph perfectly, but then the page screamed at me.”

Valen laughed, loud and sharp. “Because you drew it upside-down.”

“It looked right from my angle!”

Selphine sighed through her nose, delicate, refined. “I pity whoever sits next to you during practical trials. You’ll both end up setting your hair on fire.”

“That happened once,” Quen protested.

“Twice,” Valen corrected.

Selphine arched a brow. “My point stands.”

Across from her, Aurelian leaned back in his chair, the faint smirk that always preceded something quietly cruel forming at the corner of his mouth. “Well, at least we’ve confirmed one thing.”

Mireilla looked up, curious. “And that is?”

“That the Academy’s standards are flexible enough to accommodate… optimism.” He lifted his goblet in a small toast to the twins, who groaned in perfect unison.

Even Cedric cracked a faint smile, though his posture remained as steady as ever—straight-backed, hands folded neatly by his plate. His food sat mostly untouched. He looked like someone waiting for an absent commander.

Marian noticed first. “You’re staring at the door again,” she said, following his gaze toward the far end of the hall where new arrivals trickled in. “Still looking for Elowyn?”

Cedric’s expression didn’t shift. “No.”

“Probably collapsed somewhere after the exam,” Aurelian offered lazily. “Or picked a fight with an instructor. Hard to tell which he prefers.”

Selphine didn’t look up from her plate. “He’ll appear when he wants to be seen.”

Her tone was neutral, but her eyes flicked once—almost involuntarily—toward the upper level of the hall where the chandeliers swayed in their faint mana-wind. Nothing. No flash of that infuriating grin. Just light and murmuring voices.

Toven frowned. “That’s creepy.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The laughter rolled on, a little looser now—nerves thinning under the comfort of routine. The air smelled of roasted herbs and ozone from the mana-lamps. Conversation blended into a steady hum that filled the high arches like a single living thing.

Then the noise shifted.

Since the certain silent knight finally had a sight of relief.

Elara had entered his sight after all.

Her steps were soft, measured—neither hurried nor hesitant.

She carried no tray at first. Just that same composed calm she’d worn since orientation.

Marian noticed her first. “Oh—there you are!” she called, waving both hands like she might summon her with enthusiasm alone.

Marian grinned as Elara approached the table, her voice rising above the chatter. “Where did you disappear to? We looked everywhere after the exam!” She leaned in conspiratorially, elbow nudging Mireilla. “Don’t tell me you fell asleep in the lecture hall. Again.”

Elara’s expression didn’t waver, though a faint curve touched her lips as she slid into the empty seat beside Cedric. The hum of the hall pressed close around them—cutlery, laughter, the murmur of mana lamps overhead—but somehow, the space at the table seemed to quiet when she spoke.

“I wasn’t far,” she said evenly, reaching for a goblet of water. “Just needed a little air.”

Marian tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully. “Air? In this heat? The courtyard’s probably boiling.” Then she gasped, turning her grin toward Cedric with all the drama of a stage actress. “Ah, I see how it is. Reilan’s been waiting for you, you know.”

Cedric stiffened almost imperceptibly, the hand resting near his plate curling into a fist before he forced it to relax. “Marian,” he warned, low.

“What?” Marian laughed, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. He’s been guarding that seat like a knight waiting for his lady’s command—”

“Marian,” Mireilla said flatly, not looking up from her stew. “Enough.”

But the tease had already landed.

Elara turned her gaze to Cedric, eyes meeting his for a single, still moment.

Then she smiled, soft and composed.

“It was nothing,” she said finally, setting her goblet down with quiet precision. “I stayed behind to clear my head. The exam hall was… a bit loud, that’s all.”

Selphine’s fork paused mid-cut. “Loud?” she echoed, skeptical. “It was silent as a tomb.”

Elara’s eyes flicked toward her, the faintest amusement breaking through her calm. “Then perhaps I was listening to something else.”

Aurelian smirked. “Mysterious as ever.”

Marian propped her chin on her hand, eyes glinting with mischief. “By the way,” she said, dragging out the words like she was baiting a fish, “did you happen to see Lucavion anywhere?”

Elara’s fingers paused around her goblet.

“Lucavion?” she repeated, tone light—just light enough to pass for casual, though the brief stillness between the syllables betrayed something more. Her brows lifted a fraction, eyes composed, unreadable. “No. Should I have?”

Marian shrugged, her grin growing. “You tell me. No one’s seen him since the exam ended. Not even the twins—and they’re like bloodhounds for gossip.”

“We are not,” Quen protested, already chewing through another bite.

Valen raised a brow. “Speak for yourself.”

The table broke into a wave of laughter, but it faltered almost as quickly as it began. The sound around Elara felt softer now, quieter—like the air itself had taken notice of her answer.

Selphine’s fork moved once more, slow, deliberate. “You didn’t see him,” she said—not quite a question.

Elara’s gaze met hers for a moment—steady, polite, practiced.

“No,” she said again. “I didn’t.”

Something flickered in Selphine’s expression, the faintest tightening around her eyes before she returned her attention to her plate. “Interesting.”

Mireilla caught it, of course. She always did. Her spoon stilled mid-stir, but she said nothing, merely watching as the conversation found its rhythm again.

Marian leaned back, clearly satisfied enough with her little victory of stirring the calm. “Well, I’m sure he’ll show up eventually. He always does—usually right when someone’s complaining about him.”

Aurelian chuckled, dry and low. “So any minute now, then.”

“Probably,” Marian said cheerfully.

Selphine dabbed her lips with her napkin, the faintest curve forming at the edge of her mouth. “In any case,” she said smoothly, “the written exam wasn’t particularly complex. I suspect the evaluators were simply trying to weed out those who can’t tell a containment glyph from a teacup.”

“That rules out half the hall,” Aurelian murmured.

“More than half,” Mireilla added.

Marian groaned, slumping in her seat. “I still think that second section was unfair. Spellform theory? On a written test? That’s just cruel. My quill literally burned out halfway through.”

“Because you were using it to doodle in the margins,” Selphine replied without looking up.

Marian gasped. “I was visualizing!”

“If what you said was true, your visualization must have looked like a rabbit with wings,” Valen said.

Quen grinned. “A cursed one, at that.”

Marian threw her napkin at him, missing spectacularly. “You all mock genius when you see it.”

Aurelian raised a brow. “That’s not what we’re seeing.”

The laughter returned, rolling easy around the table, warm and familiar. For a few breaths, the strain of the day seemed to melt away under the clinking of glasses and shared amusement.

Elara found herself smiling—quietly, almost absently—as she took another sip of water. The calm in her chest surprised her.

Mireilla glanced over. “You seem confident,” she said, half-curious, half-approving.

Elara tilted her head, eyes glinting faintly in the chandelier light. “I am. The exam wasn’t difficult.”

“’Wasn’t difficult,’” Marian repeated in mock outrage. “Listen to her! I spent the last hour convincing myself that writing my name correctly counts as partial credit.”

Elara’s smile softened. “I’m sure you did fine.”

“Lies.” Marian pointed her fork accusingly. “You’re just being polite because you finished early and walked out like you owned the place.”

Selphine hummed, clearly entertained. “She did finish early. I saw the results courier leave that wing ahead of schedule.”

“See?” Marian groaned. “Prodigy behavior. It’s unfair.”

“It’s preparation,” Elara said lightly, setting her fork down with the same neat precision she always carried. “Evel—my mentor—believed in making things harder than they needed to be. After that, these exams feel almost… merciful.”

Selphine regarded her over the rim of her goblet. “You’re lucky. Most mentors are more interested in preserving their own methods than challenging them.”

Elara’s gaze softened with something that wasn’t quite nostalgia—something deeper, more private. “She wasn’t like most.”

The table quieted for a heartbeat—not awkwardly, but with the quiet reverence that sometimes followed sincerity when it slipped past one’s defenses.

Then Valen cleared his throat. “Well, as long as no one here failed spectacularly, I say we celebrate survival.”

“Seconded,” Quen said immediately.

Mireilla’s lips quirked. “You celebrate after every exam.”

“Consistency is key,” Quen said proudly.

Marian lifted her glass, smirking. “To surviving academic torture!”

They all raised theirs—some with enthusiasm, some with irony. Elara lifted hers last, the crystal catching the lamplight as she murmured softly, “To surviving.”

The toast rippled down the table, laughter following after.

Outside, the night thickened over the Academy’s towers, the windows catching only faint glimmers of the moonlight. Students continued to filter in and out of the hall, but that one chair—his chair—remained empty.

Elara’s gaze drifted toward it once, her expression unreadable.

He hadn’t come.

Maybe it was better if that was the case.