Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

"Do you know the story, young master?" the attendant asked.

Aurelian turned, curious. "The real one? Or the polished version?"

The older man allowed a faint smirk. "Let's begin with the one history books won't argue with."

He gestured toward a tall monument at the edge of the square—a towering figure carved from marble kissed with starlight, her outstretched hand holding a torch lit with eternal flame.

"That is Lysandra the First, founder of the Arcanis Empire. Mage-Queen. Flamebearer."

The fire in her hand flickered with golden light, its soft glow pulsing with ancient enchantment. People passed beneath it in reverence, heads bowed briefly in acknowledgment.

"Before Arcania was a city," the attendant continued, "this place was a shattered ruin, caught between the fractured kingdoms of the old age. Warlords, beasts, and rival mages all fought for dominion."

"And she stopped them?" Aurelian asked, already knowing the answer—but needing to hear it again.

"She united them. With nothing but her flame, her spellcraft, and a vision. She formed the Imperial Pact and founded the Imperial Academy here—on this very square—as a place where bloodlines would no longer be the only gateway to power. Where magic would be studied, refined, perfected… and used to elevate civilization, not destroy it."

Aurelian looked back at the monument, and for a moment, he could almost imagine her—Lysandra the First, her cloak billowing like storm winds, the fire in her hand not just a symbol, but a warning: Magic was not born to be hoarded. It was meant to be wielded wisely.

"The Festival of the First Flame celebrates that founding," the attendant said, voice quieter now. "Every year, the city reenacts her arrival, her speech, and the lighting of the torch—followed immediately by the Academy's gates opening to a new generation."

Aurelian watched the crowds again. Young hopefuls. Starry-eyed dreamers. And, somewhere within this sea, a few like him.

And a few like Selphine.

"I wonder," he said softly, "what Lysandra would say if she saw this place now."

The attendant said nothing. But his silence carried weight.

Not all dreams aged kindly.

A burst of laughter rang nearby—someone had conjured an illusion-dragon made of glittering glassfire, and children were chasing it as it weaved between stalls.

Then—

"Aurelian!"

The voice was unmistakable.

He turned.

And there she was—Selphine Elowen, standing at the base of the Founder's statue, arms crossed, long waves of silvery-auburn hair falling over her shoulder. She wore a traveling cloak cinched in royal violet, her eyes narrowed with mock annoyance.

"I knew you'd stop to admire something before coming straight to the square," she huffed.

Aurelian grinned, lifting a hand in greeting. "Come on, Selphine. You expect me to walk past the legacy of an empire without gawking a little?"

"Humph."

"Humph," Selphine repeated, her hands settling on her hips. "You promised you'd be here by midday. You're always late, Aurelian. Do you know how annoying it is waiting around like some lost noble's daughter?"

Aurelian lifted his hands in mock surrender, grinning with the easy charm that usually got him out of trouble. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. But this time, I swear—it wasn't on purpose. Traffic at the checkpoint was a nightmare. You know how it is during festival week."

Selphine narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced.

"Not good enough," she declared. "You still made me stand here listening to some third-rate bard talk about how Lysandra once turned a dragon into a chandelier."

Aurelian blinked. "Wait, what? That's not even close to the real—"

But she was already moving.

"Come on," Selphine interrupted, reaching forward and grabbing his wrist with a sudden, fierce enthusiasm. "You owe me for making me wait. We're exploring."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now! There's too much to see before the festival really begins—street shows, food stalls, spellsmiths showing off their junk—everything."

Aurelian glanced helplessly at his attendant, who only gave him a resigned nod. Behind Selphine, her own maid simply stepped back into the crowd like a shadow, vanishing with the quiet understanding that this wasn't a battle worth fighting.

Shaking his head with a rueful smile, Aurelian allowed himself to be pulled forward. "Alright, alright. I know I owe you."

"You do," Selphine said without turning around, her steps quick and deliberate. "So you better not start gawking at every mana lamp we pass."

Aurelian chuckled as they disappeared deeper into the square. "No promises. You know I'm just as curious as you."

"That's what worries me."

Around them, Virelan Square stretched out like a dream woven from color and light. Ribbons of floating fabric lined the walkways, casting shifting hues over the throng of wandering students, families, merchants, and street performers. Above, the projection crystals continued to shimmer with advertisements for the Festival of the First Flame, accompanied by soft chimes and recorded fanfare.

For these few days, before the Academy gates opened, the city was theirs to explore.

And the students—newly arrived from across the continent—would not yet be bound by discipline or dormitory walls. It was a tradition long upheld, one designed as much for indulgence as it was for economy. Local inns and estates profited handsomely, while the empire basked in a wave of commerce, tourism, and spectacle.

"It's clever, really," Aurelian mused aloud, weaving through the crowd beside her. "Delay our dorm placement until after the festival, and the city earns two weeks of uninterrupted gold flow."

Selphine glanced at him. "That's the first intelligent thing you've said today."

He gave her a sideways glance, a smirk twitching on his lips. "What was the second?"

"You haven't said it yet."

They laughed together, their steps light against the cobbles, trailing just behind the echoes of centuries and the warm pull of possibility.

In the shadow of Empress Lysandra's flame, two heirs of smaller names walked into the chaos—

not as rulers.

Not yet.

But as curious hearts bound to a city where legends had only just begun to stir again.