Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Stone gave way to crystal.

From a distance, it looked like the spine of a fallen god—towers jutting into the heavens, some angular like blades, others coiled like the spirals of ancient runes. What began as a typical skyline of fortified walls and watchtowers soon unfolded into something far stranger. Gleaming pillars of translucent ore rose from the ground, interwoven with veins of blue mana-light that pulsed in slow rhythm, as if the city itself had a heartbeat.

Streets were alive with movement: spell-driven carts hummed past stone roads that reassembled themselves after every step, glowing faintly beneath the weight of enchantments. Children danced between floating lampposts that flickered with aetheric fire, their laughter mingling with the soft whir of automaton sentries patrolling the edges of the noble district.

And at the city’s heart—neither a castle nor a cathedral—rose the Spiral Nexus.

Not built, but grown, the structure twisted skyward like a tree spun from glass and silver. Layers upon layers of platforms spun around its core, each suspended by leyline stabilizers, each reserved for a different order—mages, scholars, artificers, the elite. Here, gravity bent at the will of invention, and the very rules of reality folded to accommodate the ambitions of its residents.

But beneath that dazzling wonder, there was something else.

Crowded alleys nestled between old stone merchant halls, still untouched by progress. Their residents lived amidst the echoes of a time before the Empire’s “Revolution of Arcanum.” They watched the advancements above with eyes that knew awe and suspicion both—because magic had not come to all equally.

Just then, a voice cut through the ambient hum of enchantments and distant chatter.

“Waaah… So this is the capital.”

It was not loud, yet it echoed with a kind of wonder only a newcomer could muster—unfiltered and earnest. The voice belonged to a young man seated inside a polished carriage, his face pressed just slightly against the crystal-pane window, eyes wide as they scanned the surreal skyline.

He didn’t blink as a group of winged familiars soared above, trailing banners of animated ink. Nor did he flinch as a procession of spell-forged statues marched down a parallel road, each carrying the crest of one noble house or another. If anything, his curiosity only deepened.

“Isn’t it dazzling?” he whispered, almost to himself.

From across the carriage, his attendant responded, a composed man dressed in sharp navy livery embroidered with the faint silhouette of a phoenix curling around a crescent moon. “Yes, young master. This is Arcania.”

The young man leaned forward, fingers tapping absently on the glass. “It’s… bigger than I imagined. Brighter, too. I thought cities smelled like ash and steel.”

“Some still do,” the attendant replied with a faint chuckle. “But not this one. Arcania’s scent is different. It smells like ambition.”

Outside, the roads were alive with carriages of all shapes and sigils—some bearing the insignia of ancient clans, others marked with newer, rising houses. They moved in near-perfect synchronicity, guided by glyphs etched onto the stone beneath them. Each vehicle glided without so much as a jolt, and above each noble’s carriage, a small arcane seal flickered like a banner in the sky.

Their own crest—a phoenix with a spiraling crescent at its back—flashed briefly as it was scanned by an aetheric checkpoint. The light blinked green, and their path opened without delay.

“So many of them,” the boy murmured, glancing at the rows of gilded carriages ahead, behind, beside. “Are they all here for the same reason?”

“Yes,” the attendant answered, his voice turning more solemn. “The Arcanis Imperial Academy. Admission season has begun. And this year, the competition will be fiercer than ever.”

The young man leaned back, fingers brushing against the lapel of his robe—a newer piece, tailored hastily just a week before departure. Despite his rural upbringing, he wore the garment with quiet pride. The insignia over his heart gleamed just as brightly as the ones outside, though the fabric still carried the scent of simpler lands—open grass, firewood, and ink.

He didn’t speak for a long moment, gaze locked on the distant Spiral Nexus as its layers spun like an eternal hourglass in slow, calculated motion.

“…Will it change me?” he asked at last, not turning away from the view.

His attendant paused, then replied, “Everything here changes you, young master. The question is whether it bends you—or sharpens you.”

The boy smiled, a subtle tug at the corners of his mouth that made him look younger than he already did.

“I want to make a lot of friends,” he said simply, the earnestness in his voice standing in quiet contrast to the looming grandeur beyond the window. “Not just from the noble houses, either. I want to meet people who’ve seen the world—people who’ve bled, who’ve dreamed. People who look up at the Spiral and see something more than just… power.”

The attendant didn’t speak, but his gaze softened, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since they passed through the capital’s gates.

“I came here with a lot of things in mind,” the boy continued, tapping lightly against the windowpane as another carriage soared past—one marked with a golden wolf crest, its frame rimmed with enchanted bronze. “Stories. Legends. Magic. Maybe even a few childish dreams. But still, I want to see where those dreams lead.”

“And they’ll lead somewhere,” the attendant said quietly, “if you can keep them alive.”

Outside, the roads began to converge, each route spiraling inward toward the academy’s entrance quadrant—an immense circular plaza paved with mana-reactive crystal. The road shimmered faintly beneath their carriage, glowing in soft gradients as other vessels passed over it.

“This year feels… different, doesn’t it?” the boy asked, his voice lowering, as if the change in the wind had whispered it first.

“It is,” his attendant replied. “For many reasons.”

They both watched in silence as a new wave of carriages entered the city, their sigils unfamiliar. One of them, sleek and dark, bore a foreign emblem—an imperial hawk clutching a sunburst. The flag above it shimmered with a woven enchantment, its text glowing in Lorian script.

“The Loria Empire,” the boy said, reading the glyphs aloud. “They’re sending students?”

His attendant gave a slow nod. “As a gesture of goodwill. The war is over, but peace must be seen, not just signed. This is the first time Lorian envoys—and their youths—will step onto Arcanis soil not as invaders, but as guests. Or at least… that is what the Empire hopes.”

The boy’s eyes widened as he leaned forward. “Do you think we’ll have class together? That we’ll actually train, compete, live together?”

“If the Academy allows it,” the attendant replied, a touch warier now, “then yes. But goodwill does not erase history. Some noble houses still remember the war with fresh wounds. There will be tension.”

“I see…”

But the boy didn’t frown. If anything, he seemed more eager now—like the possibility of challenge had only deepened his anticipation.

“I want to talk to them too,” he said. “To the Lorian students. I want to understand them. What they think. Their traditions.”

“Then I’ll talk anyway,” the boy said with a quiet laugh, “until they do.”

The attendant chuckled faintly. “You’ll either make many friends—or gather quite a few enemies.”

“Isn’t that just the same thing, but with different timing?”

But even as their laughter settled, another procession entered the plaza from a separate road—less adorned, simpler, the enchantments along their path humming differently. The carriages were smaller, made of hardened oak and spell-thread cloth. Their sigils weren’t of noble houses but of towns, trade guilds, and occasionally… no crest at all.

“Those are…” the boy’s voice drifted as he stared.

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