Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 869: End of the banquet

“Welcome, once more, to the Arcanis Imperial Academy. May your year be… enlightening.”

A final nod. Dismissal without fanfare.

Then he stepped down from the platform—already vanishing into shadow before applause could be offered.

The room remained still.

For three full heartbeats.

Then—

Motion.

Cups raised. Cloaks pulled tighter. Whispers like breath between stones.

The spell had broken.

But not forgotten.

Valeria looked sideways, only to find—

Lucavion was already gone.

She didn’t sigh.

Didn’t chase.

But something in her expression…

Tightened.

’Someone ahead of me…’

The thought itched like a thread caught beneath her collar.

She would pull at it later. Hard.

For now—

Another presence approached the center of the hall.

This one did not bend the atmosphere like Verius Itharion had.

But he did command it.

Kaleran.

The Vice-Head.

Every step he took was clean, efficient—measured as if part of a larger mechanism ticking behind his eyes. His black and silver robe bore no ornament, only the insignia of the Arcanis Seal stitched directly into the fabric at his left shoulder.

He did not mount the platform. He simply stood near the base of it—near power, but not within its shadow.

When he spoke, his voice was cool. Unembellished.

“Students. Guests. Faculty.”

A pause. Not for effect—but for rhythm.

“As the Headmaster has concluded tonight’s ceremony, I will now issue final instructions before the night comes to a close.”

Valeria straightened. So did many others.

Even the Lorian nobles ceased their low murmurs.

“Carriages have been prepared,” Kaleran continued, “to ferry you to your assigned dormitories. You will find them waiting at the east wing of the Hall.”

His gaze flicked—briefly—toward Lucavion’s now-empty position.

He did not comment.

“But given the length of today’s events, you will not be expected to attend any formal briefings tonight. The full orientation—including schedules, regulations, and facility access—will be provided over the next two days.”

A subtle shift rippled across the crowd. Some relief. Some curiosity.

Kaleran went on, tone even.

“Until that time, you are encouraged to rest. Recuperate. And familiarize yourselves with the base campus layout—either via the public Academy schematic provided through your student channel, or by asking your assigned dormitory steward.”

His eyes scanned the room. Not with warmth. Not with disdain.

With function.

“You are now part of an institution older than memory and more demanding than any banner you serve. Conduct yourselves accordingly.”

Kaleran’s eyes scanned the room once more—sharp, expectant.

Then, calmly:

“Are there any questions?”

For a moment, no one stirred.

Then—

A single hand rose. Not high. But firm.

It belonged to a boy dressed in the deep navy of a lesser noble house—one of the coastal provinces. Not arrogant. Not timid either. Just… calculating.

He cleared his throat. “Vice-Head Kaleran. I’ve heard the Academy uses a class system. Based on strength. Status. Will that affect dormitory assignment?”

A low ripple moved through the room—barely a whisper, but felt all the same.

Kaleran did not nod. Did not frown.

He simply turned to face the speaker more directly.

“You will be informed of the complete structure during the formal orientation,” he said evenly. “However, since the question has been raised—allow me to clarify.”

Silence stretched again.

Kaleran continued.

“For the first week, all students will reside in their initial placements. These have been prepared for logistical balance, not evaluation.”

His tone remained flat—fact, not reassurance.

“During this week, each of you will undergo assessment. Not in the form of a single exam. But through a series of trials—some visible. Some not.”

The nobility stirred again. Even some of the Lorian envoys shifted in their seats.

Kaleran’s gaze sharpened.

“These trials are comprehensive.”

Valeria’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Not from surprise.

From interest.

Kaleran’s voice pressed on, clipped and final.

“After this week of evaluation, the Academy’s class structure will be implemented. Dormitory positions, access to advanced facilities, elective permissions, and mentor availability will be revised accordingly.”

Kaleran’s gaze sharpened.

“Each trial is designed not merely to test what you are—but to expose what you could be.”

His words settled across the room like falling ash. Soft. Coating. Lingering.

“This Academy is not here to reinforce what you’ve already decided about yourselves,” he said. “It exists to challenge it.”

He let that hang for a moment—just long enough for discomfort to bloom in a few corners of the hall.

“You may enter these halls as an aspiring mage, a swordsman, a rune-master, or alchemist. A summoner. A scholar. A craftsman. Many of you have already begun to walk those paths.”

He stepped once to the side—not pacing, but redirecting the current of attention.

“But understand this: mastery is not the only measure of power.”

His voice deepened slightly. Not in volume. In weight.

“You may discover affinities untested. Skills long buried by family expectation or personal doubt. Some of you will learn that your chosen path is a fraction of your true potential.”

Across the chamber, a few brows furrowed. Some faces tightened in thought. One or two in dread.

Kaleran didn’t pause for them.

“You are here to become better Awakened. That is the foundation. But what you become beyond that—what shape your legacy will take—that is what the Academy intends to uncover.”

He inclined his head slightly toward the upper tiers where instructors stood, barely visible in the shadowed balconies above.

“Instructors have been selected to represent a full spectrum of disciplines—combat and arcane, creation and theory. Every art of Awakening is reflected here. And every instructor… has the right to challenge you.”

His eyes found the coastal noble boy again.

“Whether you accept that challenge… is your decision.”

The boy nodded once. Not proud. Not shaken. Just aware.

And Kaleran turned back to the hall.

“The dormitories are open. The carriages await.”

Then, as if only now remembering it—

“One final note.”

The crowd stilled again.

“Your trials begin in three days.”

A ripple.

Not loud. But sudden.

Some students straightened. Others stilled entirely.

“Your first evaluation will not be announced in advance. It will arrive. As all true challenges do.”

Kaleran gave no parting nod. No ceremonial bow.

He simply walked.

And the moment he disappeared into the corridor at the far end of the hall—one more shadow vanishing into the machinery of the Academy—

The doors behind the students unlocked with a quiet, synchronized hum.

It was time to move.

********

The hall had emptied in ripples, not floods. Cloaks trailing behind laughter too polished to be genuine. The music still played somewhere distant—soft now, veiled by the hush of departing power.

In the small, open courtyard just beyond the east corridor, beneath the stained-glass shadow of the lion crest, Mireilla Dane stood leaning against a marble balustrade, arms folded, face turned to the wind.

The others were gathering slowly.

Caeden arrived first, quiet as always, his steps soft but assured. He gave her a nod, then settled against the stone beside her, shoulder brushing shoulder in companionable silence.

Elayne came next—fan tucked away, dark eyes alight with something sharp and almost amused.

Toven, of course, sauntered—his stride a deliberate counter-rhythm to the weight of the evening, cloak half-unbuttoned, hands shoved into his pockets.

They didn’t speak for a moment. Not because they lacked the words—but because they had too many. And some thoughts needed to land first.

Finally, Elayne exhaled—long, theatrical. “Well,” she murmured, “that was… unexpectedly survivable.”

Mireilla quirked an eyebrow. “High praise, coming from you.”

Elayne tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. “I admit I expected more venom. Less… curiosity.”

Caeden nodded faintly. “Some of them looked at us like we were curiosities. But not threats.”

“Yet,” Mireilla said, gaze distant.

Toven flopped into one of the stone benches, legs splayed, head tipped back to the star-pocked sky. “I’ll say it—some of them weren’t completely terrible.” He rolled one hand lazily. “That brunette from the Isle of Elar—what was her name? Liora? She actually asked what my rune type was, not who my grandfather wasn’t.”

Mireilla smirked faintly. “Progress.”

“Mm. A low bar, but I’ll take it,” Toven said.

Elayne fanned herself with her hand, absent-minded. “Some nobles were better than expected. The minor houses mostly. Less entitled, more… uncertain. As if they’re also learning how to play in a new court.”

Caeden looked down at the stone beneath his feet. “Still,” he said quietly, “the highbloods watched us like we were cracks in the glass.”

“Not all of them,” Elayne countered. “Priscilla—she could have let it spiral. She didn’t.”

“She didn’t stop it out of mercy,” Mireilla said, voice cool. “She stopped it because Lucavion let her. Big difference.”

That earned a beat of silence.

Then—Toven’s voice, lighter.

“Still feels surreal, doesn’t it? We’re here. We made it. Banquet and all.”

Caeden offered a thin, wry smile. “And no one died. That we know of.”

That got a small chuckle.

Then—

Toren spoke.

He’d been sitting quietly on the edge of the courtyard garden, half-shadowed, watching the rest of them.

“I didn’t like their gaze,” he said simply.