Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra - Chapter 899: Orient

Chapter 899: Orient

Selphine’s last words hung in the air like the final chord of a song no one quite wanted to end.

For a moment, no one spoke. The misted cobblestone path between them seemed to hold its breath. Even Aurelian, who usually broke silences with some sharp little barb, let it stand.

Then—

“Wait, what?”

It was the twins. Both at once, of course—though one’s voice pitched upward in disbelief while the other’s dropped lower, like they were splitting the reaction between them.

“You’re telling me,” the first said, eyes flicking between Selphine and Elara, “that our Professor Selenne—”

“—the one who wears that plain little twilight cloak like she bought it from a traveling peddler—” the other added.

“—is that Selenne?”

Their tone made it sound almost like a conspiracy.

Marian leaned forward slightly, her braid shifting over one shoulder. “You mean to say she’s an Archmage? The Archmage of Starlight? And no one thought to mention this?”

“I just did,” Selphine replied, dry as frost.

The twins exchanged a look—one of those perfectly mirrored glances that carried the full spectrum of sibling outrage. “You can’t just drop that into casual conversation like it’s the weather.”

“She did,” Aurelian murmured, clearly amused.

Elara kept her expression mild, but inwardly she traced Selphine’s story again, slotting its details against the fragments Eveline had once let slip. So that’s the measure of her… No wonder the air changes when she enters a hall.

“Why’s it never in the Academy’s announcements?” Marian asked. “I mean, if she’s that famous—”

Marian’s brows knit slightly, her voice dipping lower. “Still… why wouldn’t the Academy broadcast something like that? You’d think they’d have her name etched across the east gate by now.”

“That’s the part I don’t get either,” the quieter twin said, his tone almost conspiratorial. “If she’s such a legend, why keep it quiet?”

“Maybe they can’t,” the other twin offered. “Maybe there’s some political reason—”

Aurelian gave a faint huff. “Or maybe she just doesn’t care.”

Marian tilted her head. “Not caring is one thing, but keeping an Archmage’s identity under wraps? That feels… deliberate.”

They might have spiraled deeper into speculation—layering theory over theory, voices edging toward a mix of awe and intrigue—but the conversation died the moment the air shifted.

Not the weather. Not mana.

Selenne’s eyes.

She had turned her head just enough for her gaze to cut across them, steady and unblinking. No raised voice, no gesture, no need for theatrics—just a glance, razor-sharp and impossibly calm. The kind that didn’t need to say silence, because it was already there.

The twins shut their mouths in perfect synchrony. Marian straightened slightly, hands folding behind her back. Even Dellen, who could talk through a landslide, let the last word in his throat dissolve.

Without breaking stride, Selenne faced forward again.

And that was when the view opened.

The mist gave way to a vast, sunlit expanse—a campus so large it felt like a city hidden inside the Academy’s walls.

Their path fed into a wide stone avenue lined with banners, each thread woven with faintly glowing sigils. At the far center, rising above all else, stood the main lecture hall—a towering circular structure crowned with a spire of silversteel. Threads of light ran along its surface, converging on the highest point like rivers flowing toward the same sea.

The sunlight caught in the silversteel spire, scattering faint arcs of color over the crowd as Selenne’s voice rose—clear, even, and pitched just enough to carry over the hum of dozens of footsteps.

“This,” she said, her gaze sweeping across the gathered first-years, “is the heart of the Academy’s instruction. The central lecture hall—most of your foundational classes will be here, regardless of department. History, theory, cross-discipline mana studies… anything that does not require your specialization’s facilities will be taught within these walls.”

Her cloak shifted as she raised a hand toward the sprawling ring of structures beyond. “The Academy is divided into dedicated sectors. To the west—” she indicated a low fortress of black stone, its surface marked with the faint impact scars of countless training bouts— “are the Close Combatants’ halls. Physical cultivators, martial specialists, anyone whose primary discipline is grounded in bodywork and direct engagement.”

Somewhere in the crowd, a student with shoulders like a brick wall grinned, clearly pleased with his placement.

“To the east,” she continued, pointing to a cluster of elegant spires capped with slow-turning crystal prisms, “is the Magicians’ wing. Elementalists, enchanters, and structured spellcasters work here. You will see the prism arrays refracting both sunlight and spelllight—they stabilize ambient mana flows for certain high-output techniques.”

Several heads tilted upward, following the prisms’ lazy rotation.

“North-east of the main hall are the Rune Researchers,” she said, indicating a latticework of slender towers etched with runes that shimmered in and out of sight. “They handle glyphwork, formation studies, and all things that bind magic into physical permanence.”

Her hand shifted southward. “There—Alchemists. You’ll know their block by the colors in the steam. Try not to breathe deeply when the vapors run green. Their refining labs are extensive, and yes,” her eyes flicked to a cluster of students already whispering, “accidents do happen.”

Finally, she gestured toward a serene set of marble halls, their copper roofs gleaming. “And the Scholars’ quarter. Archives, research offices, and the lecture theaters for advanced theoretical work. If you’re looking for silence, you may find it there… or you may find an argument about the definition of silence itself. Proceed with caution.”

A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the group.

Selenne let her hand fall back to her side. “Now—questions.”

Hands shot up from all over the gathered students, not just Elara’s group but clusters from other dormitories as well. Somewhere off to the left, Lucavion stood with his own contingent—posture easy, eyes half-lidded, though Elara noted the subtle way his attention fixed on Selenne.

A boy from another block spoke first. “Professor—are the facilities open to everyone, or only to their department members?”

“You may request supervised access outside your department,” Selenne replied without pause. “Approval depends on merit, not whim. Do not expect to stroll into the Rune towers because you ’feel like learning something new.’”

Another student—a girl with an alchemist’s belt already strapped at her hip—called out, “Is it true the Scholars’ quarter has texts from the First Epoch?”

“Yes. And no, you may not read them until your instructor clears you.”

More hands. “How often do we train with students from other departments?”

“As often as the curriculum demands, and more often if you prove worth pairing with.”

Each question was answered in the same unhurried cadence—never clipped, but never indulgent. Even the more ridiculous queries (“Are the floating rocks near the Rune towers dangerous?”) received a factual reply.

“They are contained phenomena. Unless you actively provoke them, they will not fall on you.”

That earned a few nervous chuckles.

Elara listened without speaking, her gaze drifting briefly across the crowd—catching Lucavion’s profile, Aurelian’s quiet smirk, the twins’ darting eyes as they tried to absorb everything at once. All these moving parts, she thought. And only one center to the web.