Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 664: Breach Protocol

The morning light broke soft and gold across the city's old stones, but the table at the inn's private courtyard felt off without her.

Aurelian kicked at the worn flagstones under his boot, watching the lazy swirl of his untouched tea. Selphine sat across from him, back straight as always, her plate barely touched, gaze distant.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

The festival banners still fluttered overhead, whispering in the late summer breeze. Somewhere down the street, the sound of a market bell rang out, bright and cheerful. It felt out of place. Too light.

Finally, Aurelian sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "She's still not coming down?"

"No," Selphine said, her voice clipped. "And she told the staff to refuse anyone at her door."

He grimaced. "Gods. Not even a note?"

Selphine shook her head. "Just that she was 'resting.' And to leave her be."

The word resting tasted like a lie between them both. Not the kind Elara told often—she was too sharp, too self-contained for that kind of deception—but the kind you said when you needed to put a wall up fast before something broke inside you.

Aurelian picked up a slice of spiced bread, then dropped it again without taking a bite. He exhaled through his nose.

"It's about him, isn't it?" he said quietly, voice low enough that no passerby would catch it.

Selphine didn't answer right away. She traced the rim of her cup once, absently, before replying. "Lucavion."

The name hung there for a moment, unsaid and yet heavy.

"That was what she called him," Aurelian continued. "The boy with the cat. The estoc. The one who made her—" he hesitated, searching for the right word. "Change."

Selphine's eyes flickered—something unreadable flashing through the ice-blue depths—but her voice remained smooth. "It's not like she spoke about him often."

"No," Aurelian agreed. "But you could see it. In the way she flinched when certain names came up. In the way she looked at the scrying field yesterday... like the past had just climbed out of the grave."

He folded his arms over his chest, frowning into the sunlight.

"I didn't think Elowyn could look like that."

Aurelian leaned back further in his chair, his arms folding tight across his chest, eyes narrowing against the soft noon light that bled through the courtyard.

"To us," he said slowly, like each word had to be weighed before leaving his mouth, "Elowyn always seemed… unshakable."

Selphine nodded once, a sharp tilt of her chin. "Confident."

"Prideful," Aurelian added, a half-smirk ghosting over his face. "But in a way you couldn't hate her for. She earned it. She knew she was good."

"She is good," Selphine corrected mildly.

"She's smart, too," Aurelian said, tapping a finger idly against the side of his cup. "Talking magic with her... it's like trying to keep pace with a river when you're still learning how to swim."

There was a thread of fondness in his voice, unhidden.

Selphine's lips pressed into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I always thought nothing could rattle her," she said. "Not nobles. Not trial combat. Not even facing down half the council."

Aurelian exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief. "And then we saw her yesterday. The way she—" He stopped himself, fingers curling slightly against the rim of his cup. "The way her face changed."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, listening to the distant hum of festival-goers, the laughter of children somewhere beyond the inn's stone walls.

"She looked like someone who'd seen a ghost," Selphine said finally, voice soft.

Aurelian glanced at her sideways. "What do you think he was to her? Lucavion?"

Selphine's fingers tightened briefly around her cup, her gaze cutting sharply across the courtyard. She was quiet for a beat longer than necessary.

"I don't know," she said at last. "And I don't think we're meant to. Not yet."

There was no judgment in her tone. Just understanding.

Maybe even a little pity.

Aurelian sighed, raking a hand through his hair again until it stood messily askew. "Yeah," he muttered. "You're right. If she wanted to tell us, she would have."

Selphine inclined her head, the matter sealed between them with the finality of a blade sheathed.

They would not pry.

Not because they weren't curious—stars above, they were—but because something about the way Elara had disappeared behind her own door said more than any explanation ever could.

Some wounds weren't ready for air.

Some storms had to pass alone.

And so, without further word, they let the conversation drift away like smoke, lost to the afternoon breeze.

Waiting.

Waiting for her to come back to them in her own time.

Aurelian finally sat back with a resigned sigh, reaching for the spiced bread he'd abandoned earlier. "Well," he said, tearing a piece free, "no point in brooding over ghosts."

Selphine lifted her cup again, her posture relaxing by a hair's breadth. "Agreed. We might as well enjoy what's left of the festival."

The decision, unspoken but mutual, settled over them easily. They turned their focus back to their plates—the careful arrangement of roasted meats, sweet-salted fruits, and soft breads that had grown cool in the morning light.

Beyond the courtyard, the city continued in full splendor. Festooned with banners of deep crimson and gold, Arcania thrummed like a living heart, every street pulsing with music, laughter, and the low crackle of festival magic. Phoenix motes drifted lazily overhead, little flares of mana given form, as artisans hawked their creations and children wove spell-threaded charms into their hair.

They ate slowly, savoring the quiet, savoring the sliver of peace that the afternoon offered.

"It's strange to think," Aurelian said after a while, wiping his hands on a cloth, "that the entrance exams will be over in just a few more days."

Selphine nodded. "According to the officials, five more days at most. They'll wrap up by the full moon."

"And after that…" Aurelian's smile turned a little sly. "The Academy's Opening Banquet."

Selphine's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Where the nobles get to pretend they aren't terrified of the commoners they just admitted."

Aurelian laughed under his breath. "Not just the commoners. This year's different."

Selphine's gaze sharpened. "You mean the Loria delegation."

He nodded. "Students from the Loria Empire. Royals, no less. Arcanis managed to finalize the treaties, so now they're sending their first wave of 'promising heirs' to integrate into our Academy." freēnovelkiss.com

Selphine's fingers tapped once against her cup. "And they'll be at the Banquet."

"Along with the highest-performing candidates from the entrance exams," Aurelian added. "The best of the commoners. The heirs of the Great Houses. And now... royalty from Loria."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "A convergence like that? It's not just about celebration. It's a statement. A warning and an invitation, wrapped up in wine and pleasantries."

Selphine's expression remained cool, but her eyes gleamed. "A powder keg waiting for a spark."

Aurelian chuckled low, shaking his head. "A powder keg, she says. Listen to us. We sound like bad poets at a funeral."

Selphine allowed herself a small, sharp laugh, tipping her cup slightly in a mock-toast. "If the world insists on giving us drama, we might as well narrate it properly."

Their quiet amusement bled out into full laughter between the two of them, easy and sharp-edged, like old friends who found a grim kind of comedy in the inevitable.

A few festival-goers at nearby tables turned to stare—some blinking over half-finished drinks, others exchanging looks that said 'Who in the stars are these poetic weirdos?'

One little girl even leaned toward her mother and whispered, "Are they actors?"

Aurelian caught it and grinned wider, tossing Selphine an exaggerated, conspiratorial look. She just sipped her tea coolly, utterly unbothered.

Their laughter faded naturally into the afternoon breeze—and just as it did, the illusion screens around the square flickered.

The background music—soft harp strings piped through enchanted conduits—stuttered.

Then—

A sharp, clean chime echoed from every broadcast tower.

The illusion feeds stabilized, the image sharpening into view, and across the top of the projection burned a new set of sigils, glowing a deep, ominous crimson:

[BREACH PROTOCOL: ACTIVE]

The exam suddenly became hard for everyone.