Aetheric Chronicles: Reborn As An Extra

The Valerian Hall loomed ahead, a stark contrast to the chaos consuming the city. The once-vibrant streets beyond were shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by distant flames and the occasional screech of abominations wreaking havoc. But here—at the Hall—there was an unnatural calm, as if the destruction beyond had been held at bay.

A shimmering golden barrier encircled the entire area, pulsating with a soft hum, creating a visible, magical dome that separated the Hall from the world outside.

No abominations, no grotesque weremonkeys, not a single monster dared approach. The creatures, repelled by an unseen force, kept their distance, slinking back into the shadows. It was an eerie, almost sacred tranquility, standing in stark contrast to the ruin spreading through the rest of the city.

But something was wrong.

All the guards—elite, battle-hardened men and women tasked with protecting the influential figures within—lay scattered across the ground.

They weren't dead, nor injured. There were no signs of struggle or violence. Instead, they appeared to be asleep, slumped against the gates and ornate pillars, their chests rising and falling softly as if lost in some unnatural dream. Their weapons remained untouched in their hands, but their eyes stayed closed.

Inside the golden barrier, there was no panic—just silence.

---

Inside the Hall, the atmosphere was far from calm.

The vast chamber, draped in opulent tapestries and gilded decorations, was filled with figures of immense power and influence.

The rich.

The elite.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Lords, ladies, merchant kings, and even the hidden rulers of the Black Market. Their faces, pale in the dim glow, were glued to massive screens lining the walls.

The screens displayed the horrifying scenes of the city's destruction: fires raging through once-prosperous streets, monsters rampaging unchecked, and the defense forces scattered. The room echoed with whispers, the tension palpable as they watched their empire crumble in real-time.

One screen showed the City Lord, red-faced, issuing desperate orders to panicked soldiers. His gestures screamed of helplessness. Another showed the Generals, their faces grim, trying to organize a counterattack—yet it was clear they were losing ground.

"The fools!" a voice hissed, cutting through the murmurs. A man dressed in luxurious silks, his face twisted with rage, slammed his fist against the table. "How could they let it come to this? Where's the Principal? Where are the city's defenses?"

"They're all useless!" another snarled. "The defense force, the generals—they should be stripped of their titles!"

As voices grew angrier, a few others trembled in the corners, too frightened to speak. Hands shaking, they clutched their expensive robes, helpless despite their wealth.

And then, seated in a shadowed alcove, was Nymera—the Black Widow. Her sharp features were framed by a veil of darkness, and her eyes glittered coldly as she watched the chaos unfold. A thin smile tugged at her lips. Unlike the others, she wasn't panicking. No, she was calm, calculating. Watching with unsettling detachment.

"Let them burn," Nymera whispered, her voice barely audible but chilling to those nearby. "The weak will perish, and only the strong will rise from the ashes."

Several of the other elites glanced her way, their expressions uneasy. But no one dared challenge her. Nymera's power was more than gold or influence—it was something bigger, something even the most powerful feared.

The room buzzed with accusations and curses, some aimed at the city's leadership, others at each other. Tensions simmered, threatening to explode.

Then, the large, ornate doors at the far end of the hall creaked open.

"..."

Silence fell.

Every eye turned to the entrance, where a veiled figure stepped gracefully into the room. Her slow, deliberate steps echoed through the tense hall, the air seeming to shift in recognition of her presence.

Despite the chaos outside, she moved with serene confidence, ethereal yet commanding. Her veil, thin and delicate, concealed most of her face, yet her beauty was undeniable. A faint shimmer danced across her pale skin, and her dark violet gown, embroidered with silver, seemed to ripple with an otherworldly grace.

She paused at the center of the hall. Her presence was imposing, though strangely gentle. Without saying a word, she had silenced every voice, every curse, every whisper.

It was Evangeline.

Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the room, assessing the gathered crowd. No one dared meet her gaze for long, except for Nymera, who watched with amusement, a slight smirk curling her lips.

Evangeline allowed the silence to stretch, letting the weight of her presence settle over the room. Then, with a voice as soft as silk yet laced with undeniable authority, she spoke.

"Is this the strength of those who claim to rule the city?" Her words sliced through the silence, sharp and deliberate. "Fear? Chaos? Panic?"

Several of the elites flinched at her words, guilt flashing across their faces. Others, like Nymera, remained unfazed, their eyes locked on her with cold curiosity. They weren't the ones in charge of defense and commanding, so they didn't feel responsible at all.

Evangeline took a step forward, her veiled face tilting slightly. "The city burns," she continued, her tone unwavering, "and you sit behind these walls, cursing the weak."

Her eyes narrowed, her voice lowering to a near whisper. "But tell me… what will you do about it?"

Her question lingered, heavy and suffocating. The gathered elites exchanged nervous glances, their earlier fury dimming under the weight of her gaze.

No one spoke.

Some wanted to retort, to curse her—but rumors about her... about those who crossed her disappearing mysteriously... her wealth and mysteriousness... stopped their tongues.

They could only swallow their pride and look away.

As the silence dragged on, the tension in the air thickened. Evangeline's piercing gaze swept across the room, waiting for a response that would never come.

The powerful, once bold, now shrank in their seats, their eyes darting between the screens and each other, unsure of what was expected of them—or what Evangeline would do next.

Nymera, still seated in her shadowed alcove, broke the silence first, her voice a low purr that seemed to slither through the room.

"Why don't you tell us, sweetie?" she said, leaning forward slightly, her sharp smile gleaming in the dim light. "What would you have us do? What are you going to do? After all, you're not one to simply watch things burn unless you see an opportunity in it, right?"