CHAPTER 43: A DAY IN CAERWYN

Mana-filtered sunlight spilled into the suite’s high-arched windows, catching on polished crystal fixtures and gilded furniture with quiet grace. The luxury hotel in the heart of Caerwyn, capital of Velmora, felt more like a noble’s manor than a temporary residence.

Silken drapes whispered in the breeze. Somewhere below, aethercars hummed across canal bridges while enchantments sang faintly from the city’s arcane infrastructure.

Alaric stood by the balcony, sipping a cup of morning tea distilled from elemental snowbuds. Its subtle bite was more meditative than refreshing, which suited him. Behind him, the others stirred lazily.

Aurevia practiced sword forms in silence, blade whispering through the air—graceful, restrained, and precise, like the noble lady she refused to act like.

Cellione sprawled across the velvet couch, flipping through a glossy pamphlet titled "Caerwyn’s Explosive Delights: A Tourist’s Guide to Arcane Mayhem" and muttering things like, "They better let me detonate something."

After ascending to the [4th-Circle]. Celliones thoughts have become increasingly Destructive. Her personality is changing according to her affinity.

This happens to the people who has extremely high affinity towards an Element. So much so that their personality starts to change and leans towards the nature of their affiliated Element.

Serineth on the other hand had claimed the corner of the couch beside Cellione, legs tucked under her, her usual timid air replaced by quiet contentment.

She held a cup of cinnamon-laced cocoa, steam rising gently as she took a long sip.

With the others, her posture was open, her shoulders relaxed—there was no shyness in her smile, only comfort.

Virellen had left before dawn, at Alaric’s request, to speak with her father—Caelthorn Veyron Crydias, a name once heavy with both nobility and coin. She’d gone with a grin and a wink, mischief dancing in her gray eyes.

She didn’t return until the sun had climbed high, bursting through the suite doors like a gust of wind in human form.

"He’s in,"

Dhe announced, tossing her gloves onto the nearest chair without breaking stride.

"Dinner tonight at the Crydias estate. Just us and dear Father. Hope you’re ready."

Alaric nodded once.

"Thank you."

Then, without another word, he turned toward the others.

"Get ready. Let’s tour the capital before dusk."

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Caerwyn moved like a city that knew it was watched—graceful, radiant, and effortless.

Broad boulevards shimmered under the light of floating crystal globes, and bridges arched over glowing canals where enchanted boats drifted, some carrying nobles in enchanted robes, others steered by animated golems.

Buildings curved like spellwork—marble kissed with gold, towers braided with vine-covered glyphs.

Shops along the main thoroughfare flaunted magic-infused wares behind enchanted glass. Perfume vendors waved incense that adjusted scent based on the buyer’s mood.

Street magicians levitated themselves atop floating scrolls, drawing crowds with illusory beasts that prowled midair.

They blended in only because they didn’t try to stand out. Alaric walked with the quiet gravity of someone born to command, his gaze unreadable.

Aurevia walked beside him like a blade sheathed in dignity—elegant posture, aloof eyes, responding only with subtle nods. Cellione flitted from shop window to bakery stall like a butterfly in a field of spellblossoms.

Serineth stayed close to the group but moved with her own rhythm. She chatted softly with Virellen and occasionally teased Cellione back, her voice warm and free of hesitation.

A little quieter around strangers, yes—but with her circle, she glowed.

"That bridge up ahead?"

Virellen said as they approached a canal.

"The locals call it the Aetherwalk. They say if you stare into the water long enough, you see your past lives."

Serineth tilted her head, peering down at the softly glowing currents.

"I don’t know... I think I’d be a stormcloud. Or a sleepy bat."

"A bat that reads too much,"

Cellione snickered.

"Better than a rabbit that explodes everything it touches,"

Serineth shot back with a smile.

They passed a row of illusion stalls where animated stories unfolded inside crystalline cubes. One showed a battle between molten beetles and frost wolves. Another featured a sky pirate falling for a golden-winged angel. Cellione stopped for ten minutes.

"I’d watch that,"

She said with a gleam in her eye.

"You are that,"

Serineth muttered, nudging her with her shoulder.

"Minus the wings."

Aurevia raised a brow.

"And the grace."

Virellen laughed.

"You people are going to get us banned from half the district."

Farther down, a merchant hawked self-brewing teacups that chirped when your water reached the perfect temperature. Aurevia inspected one in silence, then placed it down and said simply,

"Too inefficient."

"She means it’s ugly,"

Virellen stage-whispered, earning a subtle flick to the forehead.

They paused at a floating park built into an elevated plaza, where arcane glyphs lifted grassy terraces above the street. The benches hovered inches off the ground, humming faintly.

Trees swayed even without wind. Children played tag under the watch of golem-nannies shaped like armored ducks.

Cellione collapsed onto the grass with a dramatic sigh.

"No training, no fights, no getting frostbitten in a forest. Just city air and spellfood. I approve."

"Weakness,"

Aurevia murmured, settling beside her with refined poise.

"Don’t act like you’re not enjoying yourself, Big Sister. "

Cellione shot back.

"I’m enduring it gracefully."

"That’s what fun is."

Serineth reclined beside them, eyes half-lidded.

"I can’t decide if you two are best friends or rivals."

"Yes,"

They both said at the same time.

Virellen grinned and tossed Serineth a candy orb of spun mana.

"Good observation earns snacks."

"Mmm. Bribery. My favorite language."

They stayed there until the sun dipped low, gilding the city’s rooftops with molten gold. The air was warm, the chatter soft.

A moment stolen from the demands of status, duty, and everything still waiting at the dinner table.

Soon, they would meet Thalric Velmorian Crydias, a man as eccentric as he was dangerous in the world of trade, and whose cluttered mind hid a diamond core of cunning.

But for now, they wandered Caerwyn not as pawns or heirs, not as blades or mages.

Just as people.

And for Alaric—watching them all in silence, a soft smile behind his eyes—it was enough.

***

The sun dipped low over Caerwyn’s skyline, its rays slipping through the enchanted glass panes of the luxurious hotel suite. Golden light spilled across velvet drapes and polished marble, painting everything in a warm, nostalgic hue.

The city stirred below—luminous canals glowing softly, arcane streetlamps blooming to life like stars awakening one by one.

Virellen had left earlier to prepare her family estate. She’d gone with a confident smirk and a breezy,

"Don’t start the party without me,"

But beneath her usual bravado was a sense of duty she rarely wore aloud.

That left the three of them.

No one had bothered with anything lavish. No ornate gowns, no jewelry imbued with charm spells. Certainly nothing revealing. All three girls dressed with deliberate modesty, choosing comfort and grace over spectacle.

Not out of insecurity, but preference. They didn’t need to flaunt anything—they carried beauty the way a sword carries danger: quiet, elegant, and impossible to ignore.

Cellione, bold as ever, wore a dark crimson blouse tucked into high-waisted slate trousers, her figure sharp but unexaggerated.

A tailored coat hung from one shoulder, and her long blonde hair was swept into a ponytail that framed her confident, violet eyes. She leaned against the window, arms crossed, tossing occasional snark across the room.

Serineth, comfortably nestled in her own corner of quiet, wore a soft charcoal-gray midi-dress with embroidered cuffs and a silver ribbon at the collar. Her green hair was braided loosely down her back, and her bright blue eyes scanned a book in her lap—until she chuckled softly at something Cellione said.

Around strangers, Serineth might’ve seemed timid. But here? With the people she trusted? She was warm, relaxed, and quietly expressive, like a song that only revealed its verses to those who listened with care.

And then, Aurevia.

She stood by the mirror adjusting the buckle of her navy coat-dress. The silver belt wrapped cleanly around her waist, its polish mirroring the light in her crimson eyes. Her long white hair, loosely braided and pinned to one side, shimmered like spun moonlight.

The recent breakthrough in her cultivation had left a visible mark—not just in her aura, but in her bearing. She had always carried herself like nobility, but now there was something sharper beneath the surface. Stillness forged in frost.

She looked breathtaking, but in a way that made one hesitate to breathe at all.

They hadn’t dressed to impress.

And yet, together, they looked like visions pulled from three separate myths—each one timeless, untouchable.

A knock.

The door opened to a formally dressed hotel attendant. He bowed deeply.

"A carriage has arrived for Lord Alaric Aurelian and his companions. Sent by the Crydias estate."

Alaric rose from the armchair near the hearth, coat already in hand.

He gave the girls a once-over, expression unreadable, but his eyes lingered a moment longer on each of them.

"Shall we?"

Cellione smirked.

"I don’t know, are you emotionally prepared for a dinner with Virellen’s dad?"

Serineth gently elbowed her.

"Let’s try not to scare him before dessert."

Aurevia simply turned, wordless and regal, walking with a calm that silenced the room without trying to.

They descended together.

Outside, the carriage waited. Crafted of polished duskwood with elegant aether-rune inlays, it gleamed without boasting.

The sigil of House Crydias—three serpents coiled around a gem—was etched into the door, subtle but unmistakable.

The driver tipped his cap as they approached.

"Welcome, Lord Alaric. Mistresses."

They stepped inside, one by one, the soft creak of the leather seats the only sound as the doors shut behind them. The carriage pulled away, wheels humming over stone and starlight.

The skyline of Caerwyn receded behind them—beautiful, distant.

The estate of a messy merchant patriarch waited ahead.

And so did the next unfolding.

-To Be Continued