That not so important character turned out to be important

Shaun slouched in the worn leather chair of his study, . The book in his hand—The Palace of Misery—felt heavier tonight. Not because of its weight, but because of the sheer absurdity it contained. He flipped a page, his eyes lazily scanning the names that shaped the so-called "main story."

He scoffed. "Main story." What a joke.

"Five miserable souls thrown together to save the world," Shaun muttered, his voice flat, dripping with mockery. "How original. Let's see what fate's rigged for them."

Ash, the Crown Prince.

He tapped the page with a finger, landing on the sketch of Ash. "Ah, Ash. Our golden boy with a heart full of daddy issues and a head full of bad ideas. Hides his trauma behind arrogance and temper tantrums. Classic." Shaun chuckled bitterly. "You want to kill your father and torch the whole family, huh? Bold. But here's the thing: burning bridges only leaves you stranded. But sure, set the world on fire. Just don't cry when you're the one choking on the smoke. well i am not one to speak do i"

Lyra, the Duke's Lost Daughter.

Next was Lyra. "Lyra. Poor little powerhouse. Can conjure anything out of thin air except a life worth living." He leaned back, smirking. "Born with a gift that makes everyone hate her. Abused, isolated... sounds like a dream, doesn't it? All she wants is to be normal." Shaun's gaze hardened. "Newsflash: there's no 'normal.' Especially not for you. This world doesn't do happy endings. You're either useful or disposable."

Darius, the Fallen Knight.

His eyes drifted to Darius. "Oh, look. The brooding knight with a moral compass no one asked for. Redemption arc incoming." He rolled his eyes. "Trying to atone for past sins, huh? Let me save you some time: it's pointless. Redemption's just a fancy word for too little, too late. But hey, cling to that sword of yours. Maybe when it's rusted and useless, you'll finally get the hint."

Elara, the Blind Seer.

Then came Elara. "The blind seer. Oh, the irony. Can't see a damn thing but somehow knows everything." He smirked, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "Visions that drain her life. Cursed bloodline. Tragic, really. Almost poetic. But here's the kicker: all that insight, and it still won't save her. Knowing the future's a curse, not a gift. Especially when you can't change it."

Kael, the Runaway Mage.

Finally, Kael. "Kael. The rebellious know-it-all. Thinks he's clever, and to be fair, he probably is. But intelligence doesn't mean much when the universe is rigged against you. Smart enough to see the game, but not smart enough to quit playing." Shaun's smirk faded. "Spoiler alert, genius: the house always wins."

He closed the book with a dull thud, letting the silence settle around him. The flames from the lamps flickered, casting ghostly shapes on the walls.

"And then there's me," Shaun muttered, eyes distant. "The wildcard. The outlier. Stuck in someone else's story without an invitation." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "No grand destiny. No prophecy. Just a guy watching the circus burn down. Hell, I'm not even part of the tragedy. I'm the guy selling popcorn to the crowd."

He let out a low, humorless laugh. "It's funny, isn't it? They'll fight, bleed, and die for a world that doesn't care. A world that's already written their endings in blood and disappointment. Flightless birds, flapping their wings in a cage. Desperate for freedom they'll never have."

Shaun stood, walking to the window. The night stretched out endlessly beyond the glass, cold and indifferent. Just like everything else.

"Good luck, heroes," he whispered, voice laced with mockery. "Hope you enjoy the view from the cage."

With that, he he returned to the quiet solace of his books.

"Ah, here we go," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "A side character enters stage left. Female. Hired as a maid. because why not everyone love some fanservice right." He let out a dry laugh, devoid of humor. "Of course. Because what's a tragic fantasy epic without a snarky, abusive sidekick? Gotta keep the tone 'balanced,' right?"

He read further, eyes darkening as the story unfolded.

"She's not just here to 'brighten the mood.' Oh no. She's here to make my life hell. All in the name of comedy."

"She'll insult me, mock me, all under the guise of 'witty banter.' And everyone watching will have a laugh ." He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Poor Shaun. The butt of the joke. The 'comic relief' punching bag.

He stopped by the window, staring out at the quiet night. "Then,, she'll steal an artifact I haven't even found yet and hand it over to the one of the heroes she had crush on. No apologies. No guilt. Just plot progression." His voice turned icy. "What a charming little arc."

Shaun turned back to the book on the desk, flipping it shut with a decisive snap. "Yeah, no. Not happening." His gaze hardened. "I'm not hiring a walking trope. Let her find someone else to torment. This mansion doesn't need a jester."

He poured himself a glass of water, taking a slow sip, savoring the quiet. "They expect me to play along. Smile through the humiliation. But I don't owe this story—or anyone in it—anything."

Shaun sighed, snapping the book shut with a sharp clap. "Enough of this drivel for one day. The sheer stupidity is exhausting." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple as if warding off a headache. "Doesn't look like 'Shaun' even matters until the academy arc kicks in anyway. Why would I? No point diving headfirst into trouble if I can dodge it entirely not to forget i dont even plan on going to that stupid academy ."

With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he slid the book back into its secret compartment. "No more studying. Not for this garbage." He stood, dusting off his hands as if shedding the story's weight, and walked out, ready to move on to something far less irritating.

As Shaun made his way back from the study, lost in thought, he almost bumped into someone standing awkwardly in the hallway. He halted, looking down to find Rosie—the girl from the camp—nervously clutching a bundle of wildflowers.

Rosie: "Huh, hey… you're the guy who bought flowers from my shop! Wait—" She paused, her eyes widening. "I was told only the master of the house is on the third floor. Does that mean you're…? Oh! I-I'm sorry for my rudeness, sir."

Shaun: "No need. I'm not the 'big guy' you're imagining. Just an ordinary boy." His voice carried the usual detachment, as though none of this mattered.

Rosie: "No, young master, you're… you're really a great person! Helping us, saving the townfolk—it's more than kind! I can't even describe how grateful we all are."

Shaun: "I said it's not that great." He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, did you need something? Business? Or are you having some problem?"

Rosie: "No, young master, nothing like that. It's… probably silly. I just wanted to show my gratitude for your help. I picked these flowers for you. Please… take them."

Shaun stared at the flowers for a beat, his expression unreadable. "Flowers, huh?" His tone was flat, bordering on amused but without any real warmth. He plucked them from her hands, holding the bouquet gingerly, as if handling a fragile but ultimately pointless object. "Thanks, miss. I'll be sure to… put them somewhere."

Rosie beamed, oblivious to the subtle mockery in his words. She gave a small curtsy and darted off down the hall, clearly pleased.

Shaun watched her go, then glanced at the flowers. "What am I supposed to do with these?" he muttered, shaking his head. "Maybe I'll put them on my growing pile of meaningless gestures." With that, he continued his walk, tossing the flowers onto a nearby table without a second thought.

The forest stretched out like an endless maze, its dense foliage cloaked in shadow. Lyra's breaths came in short, sharp bursts as she stumbled through the underbrush, her heart hammering like a war drum. The sound of hooves and shouts echoed behind her, but the trees and darkness offered a fleeting sense of refuge.

Her bare feet were bruised and cut, but she couldn't stop. Not now. Not ever. Every step was a desperate gamble for survival. The knights in their gleaming armor had long abandoned subtlety, crashing through the woods like a hunting party scenting blood.

Knight Commander (distant shout): "Find her! The Duke's orders are clear. Bring her back, alive or otherwise!"

Lyra's jaw clenched. Alive or otherwise. She knew what that meant. She'd seen what her father's men did to those who defied him. She wasn't going back.

She ducked behind a massive, moss-covered oak, pressing her back against its gnarled trunk. Her hands trembled as she fought to quiet her breathing. Her fingers glowed faintly, the raw magic pulsing just beneath her skin, a dangerous beacon if she couldn't control it.

Lyra (whispering to herself): "Not now. Please, not now."

The power surged, itching to break free, but she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, grounding herself in the pain. Stay hidden. Stay small.

A branch snapped nearby. Her head whipped around, panic surging. A knight loomed just feet away, scanning the area with cold, calculating eyes. 

Lyra crouched lower, her pulse deafening in her ears. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, her power coiling like a viper ready to strike.

Knight: "I know you're here, girl. You can't run forever."

He took another step closer.

Lyra closed her eyes, willing herself to disappear into the shadows. Just a little longer. Let him pass.

A rustling sound from the opposite direction caught his attention. He turned, sword raised, and moved away. Lyra exhaled shakily, but the relief was short-lived.

She bolted from her hiding spot, darting deeper into the forest. Twigs clawed at her arms and legs, but she pushed forward, ignoring the pain. Ahead, she spotted a narrow ravine, its depths obscured by mist. Without hesitation, she leaped, landing hard on the other side and rolling to absorb the impact.

The knights halted at the edge, their torches flickering ominously.

Knight Commander: "Spread out! She's cornered herself."

Lyra (muttering): "Cornered, huh?" She allowed herself a bitter smile. "We'll see about that."

She pressed her hand to the ground, channeling the last of her strength. The earth beneath her trembled, roots surging upward to form a dense, thorny barrier between her and the knights.

Their curses faded as she stumbled into the deeper shadows, her vision blurring. She needed rest. But rest meant death. She couldn't afford either.

Lyra (to herself): "Keep moving. Just a little more."

The forest swallowed her whole, leaving only the echoes of pursuit behind.

The sun was beginning to set as Lyra ran, her small feet stumbling over the uneven forest floor. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath came in short, panicked gasps. She had to escape. Had to. The knights were after her again, and this time, there was no one to help her. Her father's men were relentless, and even though she was just a little girl, they would not hesitate to capture her.

The deep, dark forest ahead of her offered a fleeting sense of hope. She didn't know where it would take her, but anywhere was better than back to the mansion and the cruel life that awaited her there.

She paused for a moment, crouching behind a tree, her small chest rising and falling rapidly. She could hear the knights' voices in the distance, faint but growing closer. They were too far to see her, but she couldn't risk making a sound.

Lyra (whispering to herself): I can't let them catch me. I just... I just need to get away. Where do I go?

Her mind was racing. Where can I go? She had never been outside the Duke's estate, had never left the guarded walls of her home. The forest was a vast unknown, and for a moment, fear gripped her. But she pushed it down, gripping a small branch for support. I'm not going back. I can't.

Her tiny hands clenched into fists, determination burning in her young eyes. She had been taught to suppress her power, to hide it, but that didn't mean she didn't have it. Lyra had the ability to create—create objects, manipulate elements—though she was still learning to control it. Her father had seen it as a weapon, forcing her to use it for his bidding. But now? She didn't want to use it for him. She couldn't.

She took a deep breath, gathering herself. Her clothes were already dirty, covered in mud and the remnants of her flight, but that didn't matter. Focus. Focus.

Lyra darted forward again, her small legs working as fast as they could carry her, pushing through the underbrush and over the uneven terrain. She had to keep moving.

Lyra (thinking): I need to find somewhere they won't look for me. Somewhere far. Maybe... maybe north?

Her thoughts briefly wandered to the northern parts of the kingdom. But could she make it that far? She was just a child. A scared little girl.

As the thought passed, doubt crept in. What if I can't find it? What if I fail?

But then, she shook her head, trying to focus again. I can't go back. I won't. I can't live like that anymore.

She continued to run, deeper into the woods. The trees around her grew denser, casting shadows that made the world feel even darker. She needed to find shelter soon—it would be nightfall soon, and she had no idea how to survive in the forest alone.

Her mind raced, her little feet carrying her further into the unknown. The knights were still close, but she had to keep going, had to push herself. The forest was her only chance for freedom.

She stumbled and fell, catching herself on the ground. Her knees scraped against the dirt, and she winced, but the pain was nothing compared to the fear of being caught. She quickly rose, ignoring the sting, and continued her flight.

Lyra (thinking): I don't want to go back. I won't go back...

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest darkened, but Lyra didn't stop. She couldn't afford to stop. Every rustle of the leaves, every distant footstep, made her heart race faster. The knights would find her if she faltered.

Lyra (thinking): "I'll be okay. I'll find a way. I'll be free."

Lyra sprinted through the dense forest, her small legs carrying her deeper into the shadows. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, and her breaths came in quick gasps, but she couldn't stop. Not now.

Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the trees. Her heart raced as she turned, spotting a massive wolf emerging from the underbrush. Its yellow eyes glowed with hunger, and its mouth was twisted into a snarl.

She froze for a moment, panic rising in her chest, but then she clenched her fists, steadying her breath. I can't let it get me.

The wolf lunged toward her, its massive form closing the distance quickly. Lyra's heart pounded in her ears as she raised her hand, trying to concentrate. Her hands trembled, but she felt the heat deep within her—raw, untamed, burning with potential.

With a sharp cry, Lyra thrust her palm toward the wolf, summoning the flames within. Fire erupted from her fingertips, spiraling toward the beast in a burst of intense heat. The wolf howled in pain as the flames scorched its fur, its body writhing in agony.

The air around her crackled with the heat of her magic. The wolf staggered back, its fur smoldering, its eyes wide with fear. Lyra pressed her advantage, pushing the flames higher, stronger. The wolf yelped, turning tail and sprinting into the forest, its howls fading as it fled from the fire.

Panting heavily, Lyra lowered her hand, the last flickers of flame dying out. She felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, but she stood her ground. She had survived.

I won...

With one last glance at the retreating beast, Lyra turned and continued deeper into the forest, her mind fixed on one goal: escape.