The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice

3 Days Earlier

...

(POV: Kismet)

Snap.

Snap.

The sound of dry pages turning was quiet, almost delicate.

A fire crackled faintly in the hearth. Outside, soft rain drummed against the tall glass panes of the villa's windows, silvering the world beyond in blur and shadow.

Kismet sat cross-legged on the rug, his back to the open library shelves. An old book lay open in his lap — thick, worn, the leather cover cracked along the spine. The gold lettering had faded with time.

His eyes moved slowly, tracing each line without rush.

Tap, tap.

Bare feet padded across the wooden floor behind him. Then a small weight dropped beside him with a dramatic sigh.

"Uncle, you're so boring," a girl's voice said.

He didn't look up.

She leaned over his shoulder, peering at the book with narrowed eyes.

"Let me see… 'Great Abyssal Age'. Sounds boring. What are you reading now?"

Kismet's tone was calm, unreadable. "History."

She made a face. "You and your ancient things."

The girl was young — no more than ten. Her blonde hair was tied messily back, a few loose strands falling across her cheek. She pulled her legs in and looked up at him again.

"Is this about demons and gods and stuff?"

Kismet nodded slightly. "Among other things."

"Mama says the demons attacked back then. Tried to destroy everything."

Kismet paused at the next line of the book. His voice was quiet, but firm.

"That's what most people say."

She blinked. "It's not true?"

He turned another page.

"They came. Yes. But not to destroy everything. At least… not in the beginning."

The girl frowned. "Then who did?"

He tilted the book slightly toward her. On the page was an illustration — rough, ancient — showing a sky torn open. Something vast and dark descending from above.

"The gods came," Kismet said. "Not ours. The ones from elsewhere."

She tilted her head. "I thought gods protected people."

"Yes, but their own worlds"

She was quiet for a moment.

"But… we had a god, right? Didn't he stop them?"

His eyes lingered on the page.

"Our god died ,

"How?"

Kismet leaned back slightly, letting the firelight catch the edges of the worn paper.

"Long ago. Before the gods came. The moon fell. Straight toward the world."

"The… moon?"

He nodded. "The whole thing. The moon."

Her eyes widened. "Then… we should've all…"

"Died?" he finished. "Yes."

"Then who saved us?"

"He did. The only god we had. Caught the moon. Held it. Burned through from the inside out."

She was silent.

"No one else died that day," Kismet said, voice distant. "Except him."

The girl hugged her knees.

"But… after that… the other gods came?"

"The world was left unguarded. They saw the chance."

"And the demons?"

He looked at her.

"They came later. Not to conquer. To stop the gods from finishing what they started."

She looked down. "Mama never said that."

"Your mama didn't know about this like most."

She hesitated, then asked:

"So… who really saved us?"

Kismet didn't answer right away. His fingers traced the next page — a wolf drawn in rough lines, standing alone against broken skies.

"I used to think it was the demons," he said. "But the more I read… the more I keep seeing him."

"Who?"

"The wolf."

She blinked. "A wolf?"

He nodded. "Doesn't belong to gods. Doesn't answer to demons. Just walked into..."

"He was alone?" Girl asked.

Kismet stared at the page for a moment. Then softly:

"That's the part I'm still trying to understand Kara."

The fire cracked. The rain outside softened. The room fell into a quiet stillness — not heavy, just deep.

The girl leaned against his arm.

"You'll figure it out," kara said sleepily.

"Oh really," Kismet said while ruffling her hairs.

.

Now the rain had softened into a light drizzle, brushing against the tall glass windows.

The fire in the study was dying, the logs glowing more than burning now.

Kismet closed the book with a quiet thump and stood, brushing the dust from his coat.

He turned slightly, watching the small figure curled up on the edge of the library rug, still half-awake despite how late it had become.

She blinked at him sleepily.

"Ok… bye. Your uncle will be out for a few days," Kismet said softly, walking over.

"Mm…" the girl murmured.

With a gentle flick of his fingers, the air shimmered — subtle mana weaving around her like weightless silk. She floated up slowly, giggling faintly, eyes already heavy with sleep.

"Show-off," she mumbled.

"Quiet, little monster," Kismet muttered fondly.

He carried her out of the library, the corridor lit only by amber wall lamps. The hallway smelled faintly of old wood.

With practiced ease, he pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder and stepped inside.

The room was neat, filled with small books, half-scribbled drawings, and one tiny stuffed phoenix doll resting against her pillow.

He lowered her onto the bed.

The moment the blankets touched her, she squirmed in and turned on her side, already half-asleep.

"I'll tell Miss Cetri to bring you chocolates," Kismet said, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

"Two boxes," she mumbled.

"One," he said.

"Two."

"One and a half," he bargained.

She smiled, eyes closed. "Deal."

Kismet turned to leave, his footsteps almost soundless on the carpeted floor. He reached for the switch by the door.

Click.

The light dimmed.

Just as his fingers brushed the handle, he heard a quiet voice behind him.

"Uncle…"

He paused.

"Please come back soon," she whispered. "I missed you last time."

He turned.

One small hand had reached out, catching his coat.

"Don't vanish again… not without saying goodbye."

Kismet stared at her for a second, expression unreadable.

"And next time," she added, her voice softer now, "bring Miss Melina too."

There was a silence.

Kismet let out a slow breath and smiled faintly, kneeling by her bedside.

"Ok. Ok, my little queen," he said.

He kissed her forehead gently.

"Now rest. There's too much world left for you to conquer tomorrow."

Her grip on his coat loosened. She mumbled something he couldn't quite catch — and finally, drifted into sleep.

Kismet stood again. This time, he didn't turn back.

He slipped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

The fire had died in the study.

The night outside stretched endlessly.

....

(POV: Caspian)

Darkness.

The cold.

Caspian's eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above him was made of stone — damp, unlit, unfamiliar.

He shifted.

Clink.

His wrists were bound — metal restraints, enchanted. He could feel it.

His flame would answer him. No mana would stir.

He exhaled slowly.

A chair creaked beside him.

Caspian turned his head, and in the dim light, he saw a figure sitting just out of reach — relaxed.

White hair.

Green eyes.

The man leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

"So," he said quietly, voice smooth but heavy, "tell me, Caspian…"

A pause. Silence pressed in.

"Are you human?" the man asked, eyes narrowing just slightly.

"Or demon?"