Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra-Chapter 629: Protagonist, and her change

The rooftop was cold, kissed with early morning frost, the wind curling between spires and stone towers as if reluctant to greet the sun. The capital—Arcania—lay sprawled below in a web of domes and arches, silvered by dawnlight. Even from this distant rooftop, the city buzzed faintly, its breath steady, its pace eternal.

Elara stood at the edge, her cloak rippling around her like a banner of shadowed ice. She hadn't spoken in minutes.

Behind her, Eveline's silhouette remained still, hat tilted low, her arms folded as she looked down at Arcania with a familiar, unmistakable expression.

Scorn.

"The outside changed," Eveline murmured, voice just loud enough to cut through the rising wind. "But the inside? Still the same gilded rot wrapped in prettier robes."

Elara turned her head, just slightly, and caught the subtle twist of her master's lips. Not quite a frown. Not quite a sneer. Something deeper, older, carried in that glance toward the city's heart.

"You don't like it here," Elara said softly.

"I detest it," Eveline replied without hesitation. "Its towers reach toward the stars, but its roots have never left the gutter. Arcania has always been a city of masks. Even revolution couldn't tear them off—just made them more fashionable."

The wind shifted, blowing strands of Elara's pale hair across her face. She didn't push them away.

Eveline stepped closer, her voice quieter now. "I won't be able to stay. Not here. Too many eyes. Too many games. And far too many people who'd like to ask questions I don't feel like answering."

Elara nodded. She understood. Of course she did.

Still…

She turned, abruptly, and without a word, stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her master's waist.

Eveline blinked—visibly surprised. Her arms remained at her sides for half a beat longer than they should have. But then they lifted, almost awkwardly, and settled gently over Elara's shoulders.

It was a rare thing between them.

Rare… but not unwelcome.

"I'll be fine," Elara said, her voice muffled in Eveline's robe. "Don't worry about me."

Eveline exhaled, resting her chin lightly atop her apprentice's head. "Of course I'll worry. You're about to dive into a pond full of snakes."

"I know how to freeze snakes."

"Don't freeze all of them. Some of them are useful."

Elara laughed—quiet and small. "I'll try."

A moment passed.

Then Eveline stepped back, just enough to look her in the eyes. "No soft-hearted nonsense once you're inside," she said, tapping Elara's forehead with a gloved finger. "You are not there to find closure. Or guilt. Or answers. You're there to learn. To grow. And to remind them exactly what they threw away."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I'd be disappointed if you had."

The teleportation circle beneath Eveline's feet shimmered then, soft and sharp like a silver breath. The runes were almost invisible in the frost—quiet, elegant, efficient.

"You're going to do just fine, Elara," Eveline said, her tone suddenly warmer. "But don't look for me in that city. I won't be there."

"I know."

Elara will reply with a smile, though Eveline will continue watching it.

…"Commoners," Eveline finished, her voice dry as frozen ash.

She watched the stream of lesser carriages flowing in, some stuttering as they passed through the city's scanning enchantments, others slowed by the sheer volume of traffic. No banners, no proud insignias. Just plain wood, faint mana-signatures, and hopeful eyes inside windows that didn't gleam.

From this rooftop, Arcania looked like a jewel—but to Eveline, it was still the same flawed crown resting on a broken throne.

She exhaled, arms folded as her gaze swept the crystalline skyways that bridged the city's tiers. Mana formations pulsed in seamless intervals, arcane displays humming to life across mirrored towers. Each glyph cast brief illusions—diagrams of the entrance trials, details for the public, shifting brackets for the commoner examination scheduled two days hence.

Spectacles, all of it. An illusion of fairness wrapped in academic ritual.

Her nose wrinkled faintly.

"Show them lights and spinning glyphs," she muttered, "and maybe they'll forget that the weight of the gate is different for each hand that pushes it open."

Behind her, Elara remained silent—but she stepped closer.

She didn't need to ask what her master was thinking. The hatred for this place ran old in Eveline's blood, twisted deep into her bones. Elara had heard the stories, pieced together from snatches of bitter wine-drunk mutterings and sleepless nights at the tower. Arcania had never been kind to her master.

And yet here she was. Because of Elara.

"I won't be able to stay," Eveline repeated, though this time her voice was softer. Not bitter. Not cold. Just… resigned. "Not for long. And not often."

Elara didn't argue.

She knew.

This city watched too closely. Dug too deeply. Its towers gleamed with ambition, but its foundations were built on secrets and schemes. And Eveline—unapologetic, brilliant, and infamous—was a fire they couldn't help but try to bottle. If they knew she was here…

She turned toward her master, and then—without quite realizing why—she smiled.

It wasn't a warm smile. Not the kind she gave to strangers, or the quiet polite ones she offered to instructors. It was colder than that. Colder, but steady.

Her lips curved faintly, her gaze distant.

"I haven't forgotten why I'm here."

Eveline looked over, eyes narrowing with mild interest.

"I remember," Elara said, "the reason I asked to be trained. The reason I crawled out of that alley five years ago. It wasn't for comfort. Or power for power's sake."

"No," Eveline murmured. "It was for vengeance."

The word fell between them like a blade, sharp and cold.

Elara nodded.

"I was just… distracted. But that's over now."

A brief silence.

Then, unexpectedly, Eveline smiled.

"There she is," she said, tilting her head. "My little frost witch."

Elara snorted softly, looking down at the glowing paths that led to the academy district. The students would be arriving soon—those with names carved in marble, those with dreams pressed into trembling hands.

Among them, she would walk.

Not as a daughter of the Duke.

Not as a forgotten exile.

Not even as Eveline Draycott's disciple.

But as Elowyn Caerlin—a name born of necessity, and perhaps, one day, something more.

Her voice was low when she spoke again, the words barely louder than the wind curling past her.

"Will you watch me, Master?"

Eveline's smirk returned, that glimmer of magic flashing in her star-ringed eyes.

"I always do."

And then, without warning, her presence flickered—folding in on itself with no burst of light, no dramatic surge of mana.

One moment she was there.

The next, only the frost remained.

Elara stood on the rooftop alone once more, gazing down at Arcania as the Spiral Nexus began its slow, luminous turn.

The storm had come.

And this time… she would be the eye of it.