Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 762: Thoughts

“All right,” he said, voice low but clear. “It’s time.”

A soft chime echoed through the Sanctum’s upper halls—confirmation that the carriage had arrived. Somewhere beyond the doors, servants moved into silent formation, their footfalls barely registering as more than a breath.

“You’ll take the Ascendant Carriage,” Kaleran continued, eyes sweeping across them with a last, tactical once-over. “It’ll bring you to the banquet hall’s east wing. The entry’s timed—on cue, not early. When the horn sounds, you walk. Not before. Not after.”

His eyes moved across the four.

Then landed—predictably—on Lucavion.

“…Don’t cause any trouble.”

Lucavion tilted his head with the slow grace of a man who had already weighed the worth of a thousand kinds of trouble. “I’ll try.”

Kaleran narrowed his eyes. “Try harder.”

Vitaliara on Lucavion’s shoulder twitched one ear in what might have been shared skepticism.

Behind him, Mireilla gave a low snicker. “He’s wearing blacker than death and walking in with a blade taller than a noble’s ego. You expected him to blend in?”

Kaleran ignored her. Mostly.

Caeden stepped forward first, his coat brushing his legs like discipline made tangible. “Let’s not keep the Empire waiting.”

Elayne followed in his wake, fan now half-open—not to hide, but to control line of sight. Toven bounced lightly on his heels, hands in his pockets, a grin itching at the edges of formality.

Lucavion lingered a moment longer, casting one glance at the tall mirror to his left.

He didn’t preen.

He didn’t check.

He watched.

As if making sure the reflection would walk in with him.

Then he turned.

The doors opened.

A silver-and-black carriage sat outside—sleek, rune-lined, with an emblem of the Sanctum gleaming across its polished flank. The footman bowed wordlessly, opening the door with clockwork precision.

One by one, they stepped inside.

****

The inside of the carriage gleamed like the interior of a warlock’s treasury—lacquered obsidian inlay along the frame, floating golden sigils etched in motion along the ceiling, and seats upholstered in deep crimson velvet that practically embraced you when you sat. The magic embedded in the lining subtly shimmered beneath their bodies, automatically adjusting heat, posture, and pressure. A spell matrix woven into the carriage’s interior stabilized every motion—no creaks, no jolts, not even a ripple across their cuffs or cloaks.

It was too perfect. Too polished.

Lucavion hated it already.

Mireilla slid into her seat with one boot up, lounging like the daughter of a scandal and a festival. Toven was busy trying to figure out how to turn the armrest into a drink holder. Caeden sat with folded hands, silent, already preparing himself like this was a battlefield. Elayne said nothing—but her gaze touched every angle of the carriage with calculated precision.

Lucavion took the last seat—beside the window.

And leaned.

The glass was cool against his knuckles as he rested his chin near it, his eyes tracing the faint silhouettes of the upper Sanctum towers reflected in the distance. They blurred as the carriage began to move—slow, ceremonial, like every revolution of the wheels had been timed to a drum he couldn’t yet hear.

’So, it is starting…’

The words rose in his mind, weightless and weighted all at once.

What he felt right now—there was no word for it. No phrase in the Empire’s tongue that could capture the tangle behind his eyes.

Anticipation.

Because this was the moment. The real beginning.

Not just of the Academy’s parade of prestige—but of the novel’s stage. Of the path carved by Shattered Innocence. And the path he’d already begun twisting out of shape.

This was the first ripple.

And also—

A strange numbness.

Because tonight, he’d see the one.

The one who had nearly ruined everything.

The one who had turned his world sideways without even knowing it.

The one whose name wasn’t yet known to these students with the things she did… but whose choices had already stolen years of his life.

Heh…

A sound escaped him—half exhale, half sneer. Not bitter. Not amused.

Just…..

Tired in the way only time-travelers and wounded survivors ever truly understood.

“What?”

Mireilla turned toward him, brow raised. She’d caught it.

Lucavion didn’t move from the window.

“You look strange,” Mireilla said after a pause, eyeing him from beneath half-lowered lashes. Her voice wasn’t teasing, not fully. Just laced with something… curious.

Lucavion’s gaze stayed on the passing reflections. “Strange how?”

“You weren’t like this before,” she replied, more softly now. “You didn’t brood this hard. Not even when the exams came in three waves and Kaleran personally tried to kill us with etiquette lectures.”

Lucavion exhaled a low breath—neither agreement nor denial.

“I’m a changing man,” he murmured, tone light, dry.

“…Whatever,” Mireilla said, slumping back in her seat and stretching her legs out like she was trying to push the tension out of her bones. She didn’t press. Not because she didn’t care.

But because she did.

And knew better than to ask a man staring at his own shadow to name the shape of it.

Lucavion’s fingers tapped once against the window glass.

And then—

[Are you scared?]

The voice drifted in from beside him. Not loud. Not sharp.

Just there.

Vitaliara’s question, soft as breath and twice as sharp, slid beneath the armor he wore across thought and posture.

’What?’ he answered, too quickly.

[You heard me.]

’I’m not—’

[Lucavion.]

His name. Just his name.

And suddenly it wasn’t a question anymore.

Just a mirror.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to glimpse her perched form from the corner of his eye. Her paws rested still against the velvet, her tail curled neatly, eyes like glimmering green flame.

[You’ve faced blades, poison, curses, and the collapse of a future you never wanted. And yet you flinch more at this moment than all the others.]

[Is this one of those?]

Lucavion blinked once, his gaze still fixed beyond the glass as the outside world blurred into golden streaks and velvet silhouettes.

’One of those?’

[You were like this,] Vitaliara said slowly, [when you stood across from that one.]

A beat passed.

’Who?’

[Aldric,] she replied, her voice quiet, but sharp at the edges. [Knight of the Wind.]

Lucavion stilled.

It wasn’t the name that made his throat tighten. It was the memory. That one cold dusk beneath the hollowed banners, where honor had teeth and failure had a heartbeat. He’d faced Aldric with his blade steady—but his soul unsure. And even now, all these lives later, the echo of that moment lingered in his bones.

His eyelids dropped closed.

’Yeah…’

The word wasn’t a confession.

Just a release. A slow exhale of thought he hadn’t meant to let slip.

’What are you doing?’ he thought bitterly to himself. This moment—this quiet, wheeling carriage ride—he’d braced for it. He’d walked himself toward it step by step.

And now?

Now he was showing his fault lines to Vitaliara, of all people.

’How embarrassing…’

A soft breath left him, and when his eyes opened again, the smirk was back. Smooth. Slight. Masked just right.

’You speculate too much,’ he said inwardly, brushing the edge of her gaze with the flicker of practiced bravado.

Vitaliara didn’t look convinced.

But she didn’t press either.

She just blinked slowly. Her eyes like green coals.

[You always say that,] she murmured, [when I’m right.]

And then she curled back into the velvet, tail flicking once.

Lucavion tilted his head back against the glass.

The weight in his chest didn’t fade.

But the sharpness dulled.