Summoned Villainess: Rise of an Extra

There were no tears. No farewell for a stranger, for someone that was causing so much confusion among innocent people. 

So, she just kept on walking; she mounted the horse offered to her awkwardly, with the body still unfamiliar, but she managed it. The guards formed a protective ring around her, and within moments, they began to move.

The road south stretched out like a scar across the kingdom.

And Rinley, the branded villainess of Valderyn, rode into exile.

But deep in her chest, something stirred.

A sensation that didn't belong to her.

A memory not yet hers whispered:

"This is not the end."

And she knew then, with a cold certainty, that whoever they were making her, Rinley deThare was to be or had been.

She wasn't finished yet; she would not just let them make her into something she was not or had nothing to do with, she would get to the bottom of it, whether they liked it or not. 

As they moved forward, the capital receded behind them like a vanishing wound.

Rinley did not look back again. The hooves of the caravan's mounts beat a slow, steady rhythm along the well-paved royal road. She sat high in the saddle, body swaying slightly with each step, eyes fixed on the landscape ahead.

She would not let herself look small in their eyes.

Even if, inside, her thoughts were a tangled mess.

Villain. Cursed. Exiled. Serathein.

Each word was a stone thrown into a churning sea of half-formed thoughts. She didn't know the crimes they spoke of. Didn't know why this was happening to her, whether it was the gods or whatever forces were at play, had shoved her into. But it was clear the kingdom hadn't just punished the girl.

They had buried her.

And under something she had, not even a gist of, not yet at least.

The city gave way to countryside quickly. Stone turned to dirt, then to grass. On one side of the road, rolling fields of wildflowers danced in the breeze, their colors vibrant and alive. On the other, steep hills climbed into dense pine forests, shadows thick even in daylight.

Small villages flickered past, nestled between low river bends and pale mountains in the distance.

Here, the whispers were quieter, things felt much more at peace than they were in the capital she had woken up in.

Children peeked out from behind fences. Men paused their tilling to stare. Women carrying baskets of herbs pulled their shawls tighter when the caravan passed.

They didn't know her name. But they saw the guards. They saw her strange leg; all of it was enough to guess. 

Villains always came with stories.

Rinley sat straighter, hands resting calmly on the pommel of her saddle. She refused to meet their stares. The guards around her hadn't spoken directly to her since the ceremony, but their glances, cutting sideways, lingering too long, were beginning to fray her nerves.

She heard them.

"She doesn't look like a warlord's daughter…"

"That prosthetic. Did you see the marks on it?"

"There was frost on her saddle when we stopped."

That last one made her blink.

Frost?

She turned her head slightly and glanced down, just enough to catch the dull gleam of her leg under the cloak. Still solid and for some reason, it was still humming faintly under the runes.

She clenched her jaw and looked away.

Hours passed them on the road and finally, the sky grew restless.

It started subtle, the wind shifting directions more than once, tugging her hood off, then pushing it back. First warm, then cold. The sun vanished behind a moving wall of pale gray, only for it to pierce through again moments later with a sharp brightness.

A strange unease prickled up her spine.

One of the guards behind her muttered something about the weather gods fighting again.

But Rinley knew better.

It wasn't just the wind.

Her wrist was throbbing.

Beneath her sleeve, the skin burned in a soft pulse. Not pain, something deeper. Like an echo. Like something ancient trying to remember itself through her blood, which was a thought she did not like, especially with all that has happened so far. 

The weather responded again as they kept on moving forward not paying attention to it, but she was and for some reason, she was getting a bad feeling.

To the right of the path, the air grew colder, snow-dusted mist rolling off the distant hills, creeping low and white.

To the left, the wind shifted warmer, carrying the scent of fire lilies and iron.

The caravan slowed, when they realized it, however it seemed as though they had seen it before, it felt almost normal to them, but then again, this world was that of magic, one that she was not used to and it would take her some time to get there.

One of the guards looked skyward.

The woman with the scarred brow and braids rode forward, her voice low. "Keep your eyes sharp. Something's stirring."

Rinley didn't speak.

Because she felt it too.

Not a beast. Not an enemy. Something else she could not quite understand. 

As they rode forward, the mark on her wrist flared beneath her skin, and a sudden gust of opposing winds struck the party from both sides. The horses bucked and whinnied, rearing slightly, several guards drew their weapons instinctively, although no foe had appeared.

A burst of frost swept through the path in front of them, followed immediately by a wave of heat. Where the two collided, the grass sizzled into steam, and the dirt cracked.

"What—?" one of the men choked out, eyes wide.

But Rinley already knew, the land seemed to be responding to something or someone, which made a sense of dread wash over her, she did not want more complications, not when her mind was already wrapped around the incident and the role she had been thrown into. 

Maybe the land here was responding to that turmoil within. The one with no name yet. The one whose memories hadn't surfaced of what she was accused of or what they had forced upon her out of their own fear or maybe something else, but she knew her presence now pulled at the very threads of the world.

She touched her wrist, wincing as the mark pulsed again and her eyes narrowed in wonder.