Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra - Chapter 632

Chapter 632: Meeting (2)

“Strange.”

“She said she’d be here,” Selphine murmured, eyes narrowing slightly.

“So she is,” Aurelian said, stepping back and folding his arms. “Or will be.”

They settled into a patient silence near the courtyard’s edge, where morning frost still clung to the paving stones. Selphine stood straight, her eyes scanning the side garden, her posture a perfect portrait of composed nobility. Aurelian, on the other hand, sat on the low wall, legs crossed, arms draped lazily over his knees.

But his eyes weren’t idle.

‘Let’s see what the city has offered us today…’

His mana twitched beneath the surface, a spark in his chest pulsing with rhythm. The Way of Hollow Glance, his cultivation method, wasn’t designed to dazzle—it was subtle, silent, a technique rooted in observation and resonance. It allowed him to feel mana—not just power levels, but temperament, structure, intent.

One by one, he swept his perception across the people moving through the nearby streets.

A merchant—solid, mundane mana, nothing remarkable.

A few nobles—elevated, but brittle, like paper wrapped in gold.

Two students—raw, clumsy bursts of mana not yet honed. Enthusiastic. Predictable.

More people filtered past. Many were like notes in an overplayed chord—familiar, easy to read.

But then…

Aurelian’s gaze caught.

Two blanks.

They stood near the far edge of the courtyard’s lower garden, beside the fountain where the old moon lily vines were starting to bloom. A girl and a young man. Neither looked out of place.

And yet, from them, nothing.

No resonance.

No ripple.

No detectable mana signature at all.

He narrowed his eyes.

‘That’s not right.’

He focused, honing in.

Still nothing.

Not suppression. Not shielding. Just… absence.

Selphine noticed his shift and turned her head slightly.

“What is it?”

“Everyone here hums,” Aurelian said slowly, voice low. “Even if it’s off-key. But those two?”

He inclined his head toward the pair by the fountain.

“They’re silent.”

Selphine followed his gaze.

Selphine’s gaze sharpened the moment her eyes settled on the girl.

Graceful—yes. Relaxed—perhaps too deliberately. But underneath that carefully casual posture was unmistakable training. Her stance had balance. The kind you didn’t get from ballroom dances or etiquette tutors. The kind that was born of repetition. Sparring circles. Focusing one’s breath in the dead of night while bruises bloomed under robes.

And more than that… there was pride in the way she held herself. Not arrogance, but something quieter. Sharper. A forged sense of self, honed under pressure.

The boy beside her said nothing, but he didn’t need to. His presence was taut, contained, like a blade sheathed at just the right angle. His dark eyes tracked everything—Aurelian noticed that much right away. Not scanning for threats, not fearful. Just… observant. Coldly so. Like someone who had learned that silence often revealed more than words.

Aurelian didn’t hesitate. He stepped off the low wall and started toward them, hands in his pockets, his grin casual, eyes sharp.

Selphine followed, her steps as fluid as drifting snow, each one measured yet elegant—ever the Lady Elowen.

As they approached, Aurelian offered the faintest of nods, enough to announce presence without fanfare.

“Hello,” he said.

The girl turned at the sound—slowly, deliberately.

Up close, her features were refined, touched with illusion-crafted softness, but the glint in her eyes gave her away. Not the color—hazel flecked with gold—but the focus.

The weight of someone who had seen.

“Oh…” she murmured, her brow lifting just slightly.

Then she tilted her head, taking them both in with a glance that held more calculation than curiosity. And, oddly, no real surprise.

“Are you,” she asked, voice smooth and faintly amused, “Lady Selphine Elowen?”

Her gaze slid next to Aurelian, more discerning now. “And Lord Vale, I presume?”

Selphine’s lips curved faintly. “You presume correctly.”

Elara—Elowyn, for now—offered a half-step forward, her posture more formal now, yet still untouched by pretension.

“Master told me you might come.” A pause. Then a subtle smile. “She didn’t say when.”

Aurelian chuckled. “That sounds like her.”

“You two don’t look how she described you,” Elara said, eyes dancing with a touch of mischief.

“Oh?” Aurelian leaned in slightly, smirking. “Did she describe me as taller?”

“She described you,” Elara said, lifting her fingers with a touch of theatrical elegance, “as ‘the storm’s flirtation with disaster.'”

Selphine’s brow twitched.

Aurelian looked delighted. “Now that’s poetry.”

Elara’s gaze turned to Selphine.

“And you were called ‘the sword of frost sharpened on glass.'”

Selphine blinked once. “That’s… certainly her.”

“Mm.” Elara nodded, then gestured faintly to the boy beside her. “This is Reilan Dorne. He’s with me.”

Cedric gave a curt nod, arms still folded. “My Lady,” he said—polite, distant, eyes unreadable.

Selphine returned the nod. “A pleasure.”

For a brief moment, silence passed among them, measured and not uncomfortable. Just enough to settle something unsaid.

Aurelian tilted his head slightly, that familiar glimmer of curiosity settling into his eyes. “So then… Elowyn. What has our mutual Miss Eveline been teaching you all this time?”

Elara’s eyes flicked toward him with a faint smile. “Magic, of course.”

“Careful,” Aurelian said with mock caution. “That almost sounded like a politician’s answer.”

“She told me not to overshare with nobles,” Elara replied smoothly.

Selphine arched an eyebrow. “You’re a noble now, aren’t you?”

“Only on paper,” Elara said, her tone light but laced with meaning. “The barony exists. The people do not.”

Aurelian gave a soft whistle, clearly entertained. “That sounds… exactly like something she’d arrange.”

Elara didn’t deny it.

Selphine studied her quietly for a moment longer, eyes tracing the subtleties of her bearing—the quiet control, the restraint in her breathing, the clarity in her gaze. “You call her Master.”

Elara nodded once, unbothered. “Of course I call her Master. That’s what she is.”

Her voice held no boast, no need for elaboration—just fact, cold and clear as her namesake magic.

Selphine’s lips parted faintly in response, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

Aurelian let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “She never let us call her that.”

“Not once,” Selphine muttered, half to herself. “Said it sounded like we were trying too hard.”

“And that it gave her ‘authoritative hives,'” Aurelian added with a grin. “But you—you get the formal title? You’re telling me she gave you that look and didn’t flinch?”

“She didn’t,” Elara replied, her tone amused. “I think she liked it. Eventually.”

Aurelian put a hand dramatically over his chest. “I’m hurt. Deeply.”

“She probably figured you two didn’t share her affinity,” Elara said, raising one eyebrow. “And you didn’t.”

Selphine tilted her head. “Frost?”

“Frost,” Elara confirmed.

And then—effortless.

She lifted her hand, palm angled toward the morning light. No chant. No gesture beyond that simple raise. From her fingertips, ice bloomed like breath across glass—crystals weaving into one another in fractal patterns, delicate and glinting with iridescence. It didn’t spread aggressively, didn’t hiss or screech. It grew with eerie stillness, as if the world had paused to admire it.

Aurelian’s smile faded, just a little, into something quieter. More serious.

Selphine’s gaze narrowed. Not out of disapproval—but calculation. Observation.

“That’s…” Aurelian began.

Elara closed her hand.

The ice vanished in a breath.

“Not bad, right?” she said, her voice lightly teasing.

Aurelian stepped a little closer, curiosity replacing his usual laziness. “That spell—did she teach you that variant? Or did you make it yourself?”

Elara gave a small smile. “Now, now. It’s not the time, is it?”

Selphine’s eyes gleamed. “No. Perhaps not.”

“But later,” Aurelian added, nudging her shoulder with a knuckle. “You are going to show us.”

“Maybe,” Elara replied, turning toward the path ahead. “If you ask nicely.”

Aurelian grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. I always ask terribly nicely.”

Selphine rolled her eyes. “And you wonder why she never gave you the title.”

They began walking again, slow and steady beneath the shade of the arched walkway that circled the garden.

Aurelian glanced sidelong at Elara. “So. How did it happen?”

Elara looked over, a brow raised.

“How did you meet her?” he clarified. “Miss Eveline. She doesn’t just pick people out of crowds.”