Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The air hummed with energy, thick with the raw presence of magic. In the dim glow of a single floating orb of light, Elara sat cross-legged at the center of her room, her hands resting lightly on her knees, palms upturned as mana curled around her in slow, deliberate waves. The frost coiling from her fingertips spread outward, crackling softly as the temperature in the room plummeted.

The Zone of Chill wavered.

And then—it cracked.

A thin, hairline fracture split the frozen air around her, a jagged line of disruption in what should have been a seamless barrier of mana.

Elara inhaled sharply, her brow furrowing. Again?

She had been at this for hours, refining her mana control, pushing herself deeper into cultivation. But no matter how much she focused, no matter how precisely she wove her power, something always felt… off.

Her fingers curled slightly, tightening into fists before she exhaled and opened her eyes.

Her room was the same chaotic mess as ever.

The enormous library of books that lined the shelves—some stacked neatly, others toppling over in precarious piles—spilled onto the floor, pages marked and dog-eared from her relentless research.

The desk, covered with scattered notes and half-written theories, bore the marks of countless late nights spent pouring over spellcraft, trying to refine her techniques.

In the corner, old mana crystals, now drained of energy, sat piled in a heap, discarded after experiments gone wrong.

And yet, even amidst the disorder, this place was home.

Elara let out a slow breath, her eyes shifting toward the window. Outside, beyond the cold stone walls of the tower, the night stretched endlessly, stars glimmering in the sky like frozen shards of light.

Her chest tightened.

It had been six months since she had left Stormhaven.

Since she had been forced to leave.

She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to shake the thought away. Focus. She couldn’t afford distractions, not now. She had work to do. She had to get stronger.

Shifting her focus, she raised a hand. The chilled air around her stirred once more as she guided the mana inwards, compressing it, refining it. The Zone of Chill reformed around her, dense and sharper this time, colder than before.

Crack.

Elara’s breath hitched as another fracture formed in the mana field—this time larger.

Her irritation flared. Why? Why couldn’t she stabilize it? She had mastered this before, so why now, after everything, was it breaking apart?

Her heart pounded as she clenched her teeth, pushing the mana back into place.

But it was no use.

The ice cracked again.

It wasn’t her technique that was unstable.

It was her.

Her core was off-balance—her mana reacting to something beneath the surface, something she hadn’t been able to name yet.

And she knew exactly when it had started.

Her focus.

Her resolve.

Her determination.

It should all be the same as before.

And yet, the more she cultivated, the more she felt it.

The emptiness.

She scowled, shutting her eyes tightly as she released the mana all at once. The room thawed slightly, though the chill remained. Her shoulders sagged, frustration curling in her gut.

She knew what this feeling was.

A flicker of space twisted beside her, and before the mana even settled, a figure stood in its place—effortless, silent, as if the universe itself had merely rearranged to accommodate her arrival.

“….”

Elara barely flinched. At this point, she had grown accustomed to it. Her master had never been one for conventional entrances. If anything, Elara was surprised she hadn’t appeared in a more theatrical manner—maybe descending from the ceiling or stepping out from her own reflection in the window.

“Master,” Elara greeted, not bothering to rise from her seated position. Her voice was steady, composed, though the faint frustration from earlier still lingered in her tone.

Eveline Draycott, the Archmage of the Azure Tower, stood with an air of unshaken amusement, her deep indigo robes flowing lightly despite the lack of wind. The brim of her pointed hat tilted just enough to shadow part of her face, but her sharp, knowing eyes gleamed beneath it.

“Ah, my little apprentice,” Eveline mused, tapping her chin as she surveyed the frozen air still cracking from Elara’s failed cultivation attempt. “Breaking things again, I see.”

Elara’s eye twitched. “It’s not broken,” she muttered, adjusting her posture. “It’s… unstable.”

Eveline chuckled, stepping forward without a care as the remnants of the frost dissolved at her feet. “Unstable, hmm? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Elara exhaled through her nose, choosing not to dignify that with a response. Instead, she gestured vaguely toward her scattered notes, the layers of research she had been compiling. “I’ve been trying to refine my mana flow, but…”

“But you’re failing.” Eveline finished the sentence for her, her lips curving into a small, knowing smirk.

Elara scowled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” The older mage flicked her wrist lazily, and in response, the lingering mana in the room shifted. A soft glow pulsed through the space as if reacting to her presence, her mere will enough to command it.

Elara bit the inside of her cheek. This was the difference between them. No matter how much she trained, no matter how many spells she refined, standing next to Eveline was like standing next to an unshakable force of nature.

The Archmage turned her piercing gaze on her, and for the first time, her amusement faded, replaced with something quieter. More knowing.

“You’re distracted,” she said simply.

Elara stiffened. “I—”

“No excuses,” Eveline cut in, waving a finger. “No clever rebuttals. No misplaced defiance.” She tilted her head. “You know I’m right.”

A cold lump settled in Elara’s throat, and she looked away.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Eveline didn’t push her. She never did—not in this way. She simply waited, patient as always.

Elara clenched her fists, then exhaled. “…I thought I had control over it.”

Eveline’s gaze softened—just slightly. “You did,” she said. “But you left something behind in that city.”

Elara’s breath hitched, her mind flashing unbidden to him—to that battlefield, to the way the vortex had swallowed him whole. To the silence that followed.

“You’re losing yourself in the questions, aren’t you?” Eveline murmured, her voice quieter now. “Wondering if you could’ve done something differently. Wondering if it was your fault.”

Elara said nothing, but she didn’t need to.

Eveline’s gaze didn’t waver, her piercing eyes locking onto Elara with the weight of something far more than simple observation. It was as if she was peering through her, dissecting every thought, every hesitation buried beneath the surface.

“There are things in this world you cannot control, Elara,” Eveline said at last, her voice carrying an unusual softness beneath the usual sharp edge. “Sometimes, no matter how much effort you put in, how much strength you gather, how much you prepare—fate simply takes its own course.”

Elara’s breath caught slightly, but she didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. She knew that. She had lived that.

Her master’s words were nothing more than a confirmation of what she had already been forcing herself to accept. That sometimes, despite everything, you still lost. That you were still powerless.

Still weak.

Elara clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palm.

“But,” Eveline continued, stepping closer, “that is not your problem right now.”

Elara lifted her gaze at that, her brow furrowing.

“You are on the verge of breaking through to five-star,” Eveline stated, a note of quiet finality in her voice. “But you are holding yourself back.”

Elara stiffened.

She knew that. She had felt it. The way her magic surged erratically, the way her mana control was just slightly off balance. The way her instincts screamed that she was close—so close—to stepping into something greater, but something inside her refused to take that step.

It wasn’t just a mental block.

It was doubt.

Lingering emotions she hadn’t yet let go of.

Eveline studied her carefully before exhaling through her nose in mild exasperation. “Well,” she said, “we will deal with that soon enough.”

Elara tilted her head slightly, sensing a shift in the conversation. “What do you mean?”

“Get ready,” Eveline said simply.

Elara frowned. “Ready for what?”

Eveline’s smirk returned, but there was something sharper behind it, something firm and immovable.

“The academy is about to start,” she said. “And you are enrolling.”

Silence.

Elara blinked once. Then twice.

“What?” she said, her voice flat, as if she had misheard.

Eveline’s smirk widened just slightly, her sharp eyes glinting with something knowing—something that made Elara’s irritation spike before she even said the words.

“Did you forget the time?” Eveline asked, her tone laced with amusement. “I seem to recall you being quite excited for the academy. Don’t tell me…” She tilted her head, tapping a finger against her chin. “One single man changed your view of life?”

Elara snapped her gaze toward her, her jaw tightening as something hot and instinctive flared in her chest. “That’s—” She cut herself off, forcing herself to exhale sharply, pressing her lips into a thin line.

No. She wouldn’t let herself be baited.

But—had she truly lost track of time?

Her thoughts spun as realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. It had been months. She had buried herself so deeply in cultivation, in pushing her magic to the limit, that the days had blurred together. She had started this at early four-star, and now—now she was on the very edge of breaking through to five-star.

It had been fast. Faster than most mages could ever dream of. And yet… she had stalled.

Her body was ready. Her mana was surging, screaming to evolve.

But she couldn’t step forward.

Not yet.

Her doubts—her emotions—had kept her locked in place.

She knew that. She hated that.

Elara inhaled deeply, regaining her composure. Her lips curled into something like a smile—but it was cold, distant, her eyes dark with something unreadable. “Of course not, Master,” she said smoothly. “I haven’t forgotten why I’m here.”

The Grand Academy.

The center of excellence.

The place where nobility and the most talented of magic users gathered. The place where her targets resided.

Adrian.

Isolde.

The people who had cast her aside, who had ruined her life, who had stolen everything from her.

This was the very reason she had trained. The reason she had forced herself to grow stronger, to climb, to survive.

Nothing—not even a single man—was going to change that.

Eveline observed her for a long moment, her smirk curving into something softer. “Good,” she said simply, folding her arms behind her back. “Because I expect results, Elara. If you’re going to the academy, then you will be the strongest in your class. I have no interest in watching my apprentice waste her time.”

Elara’s grip on her emotions tightened. Waste her time?

No.

She would not waste a second.

She would take back everything.

And if her doubts still clung to her?

She would bury them in ice.