An Extra's Rise in a Romance Fantasy Novel-Chapter 35: Leaving for Starhallow [1]

I didn’t rest after the bead threw me out. My body felt stronger, but my mind was still echoing with the weight of that place. The shadows. The pressure. The hours that weren’t hours. My heartbeat hadn’t fully calmed when I started moving around the cottage, gathering what little I had. A few dry rations. The training blade. A waterskin. Nothing impressive, but enough to walk with.

Sylveon watched me from the corner of the room, tail low, eyes tracking every motion.

[You’re really leaving now?] he asked quietly.

"Yes," I said. "The Valorian soldiers are heading here, then staying is the worst thing I could do."

He didn’t argue, but Instead, he trotted close and pressed his small body against my leg.

[Then I’m coming with you. I’m not staying here alone. That week with you... it was good. And fun. And you don’t look at me like I’m something strange. So... I’d rather stay with you.]

The words hit softly. Not dramatic. Just honest. I crouched down and pulled him into a short hug, one hand ruffling the fur between his ears.

"Alright," I said. "Come with me."

He let out a happy puff of breath. [Good.]

I had barely stood back up when the cottage door creaked behind me. I turned.

Elijah—Rowan—stepped through the doorway, limping a little. His injuries looked worse now that morning still hadn’t come. Deep shadows under his eyes. Bruises swollen and dark. But he stood straight.

"You’re leaving," he said.

"I am."

He nodded once, jaw tightening. His hand flexed at his side, then curled into a fist.

"I won’t be," he said. "I’ll stay."

He drew in a long breath, then spoke like he was forcing each word out of something rotted inside his chest.

"I’ve wronged too many people, Leon. More than I want to admit, and more than I can count. I kept telling myself I had a noble reason. That I was fighting for the oppressed, for the forgotten, for those crushed under the empire’s boot. But the truth..." He shook his head. "The truth is that I wasn’t fighting for freedom. I was fighting for her."

His fingers dug into his palm so hard the knuckles went white.

"I convinced myself that no one would help me if they knew my real goal wasn’t liberation but reclaiming Isolde—the Empress I couldn’t have. The woman I was too powerless to protect. The one I lost because of my own weakness... and my own blind devotion."

He looked down, voice cracking in a thin line—not dramatic, not performed. Just human.

"So I lied. I deceived. I used people who trusted me. I pushed Seraphina into danger without telling her why. And she paid with her life."

Sylveon’s ears lowered, and the room felt heavier.

Rowan laughed a short, broken breath.

"I was delusional enough to think the Duchess would hand me the location of Isolde in exchange for Wyrm venom. As if greed could ever be bargained with honestly. As if she wouldn’t try to kill me once she got what she wanted." He wiped a hand over his face. "I walked right into her trap."

The laugh came again—this time harsher, like he was laughing at a version of himself he despised.

"I can’t undo any of it. I can’t bring her back. I can’t erase the lives that collapsed because I was too fixated on a woman who probably forgot I ever existed." He raised his eyes to mine. "But I can still choose what happens next."

"And you want to die here?" I asked.

"No," he said. "But I won’t run anymore. Valorian soldiers are coming. They’ll expect me to flee. And I won’t. I will face them here, in this place I ruined with my decisions. I’ll meet the consequences I kept avoiding."

He didn’t sound brave. He didn’t sound fearless. He sounded like a man who finally understood that survival without purpose is hollow.

I studied him for a moment and felt a sharp, tired truth settle in my chest.

"It’s easy for you," I said quietly.

Rowan blinked, surprised.

"It’s easy to make choices like this," I continued. "Because fate already gave you a path. You’re the male lead of whatever story this world thinks it’s writing. People will rally around you. Doors will open. Miracles will happen. When you fall, something will catch you. That’s how the world bends around people like you. Even your failures push you toward your purpose."

My voice stayed level, not resentful—just factual.

"But me?" I shook my head. "I’m someone fate never planned for. My path isn’t built. I have to carve every inch of it with my own hands. And if I stumble, there won’t be any miracle waiting beneath me."

Rowan stared at me like he had never thought of himself that way.

Sylveon stepped closer to my leg again, silent.

I pulled a cloak over my shoulders, adjusted the strap on the small pack I’d assembled, and walked toward the door. The night outside was still dark, no hint of morning. The air felt sharp, a reminder that time mattered.

Valorian soldiers would arrive soon.

Urgency pressed on me, but not fear. Fear was pointless now. A path had to be walked, and mine pointed forward.

Sylveon hopped beside me, ready.

I reached the door and paused.

Rowan stood behind us, framed by the dim candlelight, looking at me like he wanted forgiveness but wasn’t stupid enough to ask for it.

"Rowan," I said.

He lifted his eyes.

"No good you do now will erase the evil you committed."

He flinched—not deeply, not visibly enough for most people to notice, but I saw it.

"But doing only good from now on," I continued, "can stop more evil from happening. The future is the only thing you can fix."

Rowan swallowed, as his fist loosened.

"That’s enough," he said softly.

I nodded once, as Sylveon trotted past me, ready to leave.

I stepped out into the night with him, the cool air brushing against my face, the grass shifting gently under the breeze.

Behind us, Rowan Vale stood alone in the doorway of a cottage that wasn’t meant to survive the morning.

And we walked forward—toward Starhollow, toward awakening, toward whatever fate would try to throw at a man who refused to follow the story written for him.