Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The battlefield had finally fallen silent, save for the faint crackling of melting ice and the distant crash of waves. The serpent's massive corpse lay motionless, its once-imposing form now lifeless and fractured. The defenders—mercenaries, adventurers, and soldiers alike—moved cautiously through the aftermath, tending to the wounded and ensuring the remaining monsters had truly been vanquished.

Elara sat at the edge of the icy platform, her staff resting across her lap. Her body ached with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, but for the first time since the battle began, she could breathe freely. She let her shoulders sag, her chest rising and falling as she drew in slow, measured breaths. Her frost magic had taken a toll on her mana reserves, and the strain of the final spell still left her feeling lightheaded.

The faint crunch of boots on ice drew her attention, and she looked up to see Cedric approaching. His face was pale, his usual vigor replaced by a tired heaviness that made him seem years older. Still, his movements were steady, and the faint glimmer of relief in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Lady Elara," he said softly as he crouched beside her, his gaze sweeping over her with a mix of concern and reassurance. "You did well."

She gave him a faint smile, leaning back slightly on her arms. "Thank you, Cedric. You don't look so bad yourself, considering…"

Cedric's expression tightened briefly, his hand brushing over the spot where he had been injured. Though the wound was fully healed, the natural recovery process of an Awakened always left its mark. His skin was pallid, his breathing slower than usual, but he dismissed it with a small shake of his head.

"It's nothing," he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. "The body just needs time to recover its strength. You know how it is."

Elara nodded, understanding all too well. Using potions to heal the Awakened came at a price—rapid regeneration drained the body's reserves, leaving most pale and fatigued in the aftermath. It wasn't life-threatening, but it wasn't pleasant either.

"Even so, you should rest," she said, her tone firm but kind. "There's no telling what's next, and I need you at your best."

"I will try…."

As he said that, Cedric fell silent, just like Elara.

And that silence between them was comfortable, a brief reprieve from the chaos of the battlefield. The sound of distant waves crashing against the icy platforms and the occasional murmurs of the regrouping defenders filled the air. For a moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had lifted, if only slightly.

Then, the crunch of boots against ice drew their attention. Elara turned her head to see a small group of mercenaries and adventurers approaching. Their expressions were a mixture of respect and cautious admiration, their postures more relaxed than they had been earlier but still carrying the weariness of the fight.

One of them, a burly man with a scar running across his cheek, stepped forward. He carried his dented sword slung over his shoulder, and his leather armor was scratched and torn from the battle. Despite his rough appearance, his tone was surprisingly warm as he spoke. "You're Elara, right? The frost mage?"

Elara blinked, surprised by the directness. "Yes, that's me."

The man nodded, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "You did good out there. Better than most of us expected from a rogue mage. That wall of ice you threw up? Kept my squad from being overrun. You've got my thanks."

A few murmurs of agreement followed from the others in the group, and a slender woman with a bow slung across her back added, "And that storm spell—you froze those beasts right in their tracks. If it weren't for you, we'd have lost a lot more people."

Elara felt warmth bloom in her chest at their words, a mix of gratitude and pride that chased away some of her lingering exhaustion. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice carrying genuine sincerity. "I'm glad I could help."

The scarred man gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Help? You did more than help. You've got talent, mage. And guts, too. That's rare."

Elara smiled faintly, the praise bolstering her confidence. She glanced at Cedric, who gave her a small, approving nod. The subtle gesture meant more than he realized; it grounded her, reminded her of how far she'd come.

For most of her time as a mage, she'd trained under her master in near isolation, honing her magic in quiet, focused discipline. She'd never had the chance to prove herself in the real world, to show that her efforts had amounted to more than just theory and potential.

'Now, I'm finally showing them,' she thought, the pride swelling further. 'All those years of training… they weren't for nothing.'

But as the mercenaries continued to voice their gratitude, the edges of her mind began to wander, her thoughts straying to a darker time. The memories came unbidden, fragments of her old self clawing their way to the surface.

She had started much later than most. While others her age had already begun their journeys as Awakened, she had been... different. Weak, broken, and left in a state that most wouldn't have survived.

'Not now,' she told herself firmly, her fingers tightening around her staff. 'This isn't the time to think about those things.'

But it was like trying to hold back a flood. The memories swirled, her thoughts pulling her toward the reason she had endured so much, the driving force behind her survival and the person she had become. And with those memories came the emotions—raw, volatile, and all-consuming. She could feel them rising, threatening to spill over like they always did when she let herself dwell on the past.

Her chest tightened, the weight of it pressing down like a stone. She forced herself to focus on the present, on the people standing before her, their voices grounding her in the moment.

Elara's fingers tightened briefly on her staff as she tried to banish the weight of her thoughts. Usually, in moments like this, she'd cast a spell—small, inconsequential magic, just enough to shift her focus and give her mind something else to latch onto. But right now, even the idea of summoning frost felt heavy. Her mana reserves were depleted, her body ached, and her spirit felt frayed.

She let out a slow breath, her eyes wandering aimlessly as the murmurs of the camp buzzed faintly around her. Then, her gaze caught on something—someone.

At the edge of the ship, near the railing, a figure stood silently watching the waves. His posture was relaxed, his coat swaying lightly in the breeze. Beside him sat a white cat, its fur luminous under the pale light. The cat's tail flicked idly, its bright eyes fixed on something unseen.

'Ah…'

It was Luca.

The perfect distraction, whether she liked it or not.

Her thoughts shifted naturally, latching onto the curious enigma of the man standing before her. Despite his calm demeanor, there was an intensity about him, a quiet power that she couldn't quite place.

Elara lingered a moment longer, her gaze fixed on Luca. As her thoughts swirled, she noticed a small group of adventurers standing nearby, their eyes subtly darting toward him. Their postures were hesitant, their voices hushed as they exchanged glances. None of them made any move to approach him.

'Hmm?' she thought, her brow furrowing slightly. It was odd. Luca had been instrumental in defeating the serpent, his strength and precision turning the tide of the battle. If anyone deserved thanks or recognition, it was him. And yet, they seemed reluctant—almost wary—as they observed him from a distance.

'Why aren't they saying anything?' she wondered. 'If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have made it through that fight. I wouldn't have made it.'

Her fingers tightened on her staff, the realization hitting her like a sudden gust of wind. She hadn't thanked him either. For saving her, for stepping in when she was moments from being overwhelmed, for holding the line so she could complete her spell. She had been so caught up in the aftermath—so consumed by her own thoughts and exhaustion—that she had let it slip entirely.

'Right… I should have done it way before.'

Elara didn't like owing people, and she especially disliked the idea of being ungrateful; gratitude wasn't optional. If someone helped you, you acknowledged it. You made it right.

And yet, here she was, standing idly while the person who had saved her life was left alone, unthanked.

'That's not right.'

Elara took a steadying breath and made her way toward the railing where Luca stood, the faint echoes of her boots against the deck betraying her approach. Her chest tightened slightly, but not from nerves—from determination. This was something she had to do, and she wasn't about to leave it unfinished.

Luca didn't turn as she neared, his gaze fixed on the distant waves and the faint silhouette of a ship in the horizon. Beside him, the white cat stretched lazily, its serene posture mirroring his unbothered demeanor.

"Ahem…" Elara's voice broke the quiet, her tone hesitant but clear enough to pull his attention.

Luca turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her. A familiar smirk curved his lips. "What? Is something the matter, mage? If you want to admire my handsome face, you can do so from afar. No need to force yourself."

Elara felt heat rush to her face, her cheeks tinged with an unmistakable blush. "Wh-who!" she sputtered, clutching her staff tighter. "Who is here to see your face?"

"Then why are you here?"

For a moment, Elara hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the smooth surface of her staff. The teasing in his voice was infuriating, but it didn't shake her resolve. She straightened her posture, meeting his gaze squarely.

"I'm here to thank you," she said, her voice soft but firm.

Luca arched an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Thank?" he repeated, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity. "For what?"

"For saving me," Elara replied, her voice gaining steadiness as she spoke. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and lifted her gaze fully to meet his. There was no waver in her expression now, only sincerity. "Thank you, Luca."

For a moment, Luca said nothing. His dark eyes studied her, the teasing smirk fading slightly into something subtler—something unreadable. Then, with a faint chuckle, he turned back to the horizon.

"Well, I guess it's nice to be appreciated for once," he said, his tone lighter now. "But you're welcome, mage. Don't get used to it."

Elara crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Luca glanced at her, his smirk returning. "It means I don't make a habit of saving people who almost get themselves eaten. Consider it a one-time favor."

Her blush deepened, and she fought the urge to stomp her foot like a child. "I didn't almost get eaten! I was just… momentarily overwhelmed."

"Mm-hm," Luca hummed, clearly unconvinced. "If that's what helps you sleep at night."

"You really…."

"Impossible?"

"….."

She started regretting talking to this man.