Bonus Scene: Velzeria and the Painting That Lived

Reincarnated as a Background Character — Boss Fell in Love With Me

Bonus Scene: Velzeria and the Painting That Lived

The tower stood in serene silence, an imposing structure that had witnessed the rise and fall of countless destinies.

This was not merely silence; it was the kind of profound stillness that follows cataclysmic events, a quietude birthed from the reverberations of gods being rewritten, and prophecies crumbling under the weight of their own futility. It was a hush, heavy with the remnants of liberation — the kind of peace that spoke of upheaval and transformation.

And within this pregnant silence, Velzeria found herself walking alone.

Gone was the crown that once adorned her head, a symbol of her forceful reign. No longer did she summon swirling ash or licking flames with her movements, the powers that had defined her existence now a distant echo. With every step she took, her boots made not a single sound upon the intricately crafted mosaic floor, as if she were a wandering spirit that had lost its anchor.

Only the gentle breeze, whispering through the narrow corridors of the tower, acknowledged her presence.

She stopped in front of a wooden door that stood slightly ajar, the faint illumination of the room beyond casting a soft glow against the dim surroundings.

From within, the air was infused with the comforting scent of dried paint mingling with the freshness of clean linen — a heady blend that spoke of creativity and solace alike.

Velzeria, however, did not choose to knock. Instead, she took a steadying breath and stepped inside without hesitation, crossing the threshold into a world of warmth and tranquility.

The room was imbued with a sense of life, filled with artifacts that spoke of moments lived and cherished, yet eerily still, as if time had slowed down to honor the essence of the place.

And there, standing proud on the easel by the window, was an extraordinary sight:

The Dream.

Iris's final masterpiece.

The painting that bore the hallmark of a sky so self-centered it seemed to exist only for itself.

The gentle hill, swathed in a soft embrace of colors.

A tree — oh, but not just any tree — a delicate creation made entirely of paper leaves that fluttered like whispered secrets.

And the sunlight pouring down upon it, unburdened by the expectations of meaning or purpose, simply glowing with an ethereal beauty.

Velzeria found herself captivated, her gaze fixated upon the canvas for what felt like an eternity.

Longer than she had initially intended, time slipping through her fingers like sand.

The painting represented all that her world had never allowed her to embrace: a gentle touch, a strange allure, and a sense of pointlessness that radiated with a breathtaking beauty, leaving her grappling with emotions she barely understood.

As if drawn by an invisible force, she stepped closer, though she refrained from touching the surface of the painting.

Instead, she allowed the colors to dance in her eyes, reflecting a spectrum of feelings she had long buried within herself.

In a moment of reverence, she whispered, almost involuntarily, the words tumbling from her lips like a prayer:

"This shouldn't exist."

The declaration carried the weight of wonder, verging on disbelief — a heartfelt acknowledgment of a miracle.

On a small table adjacent to her, amongst brushes and the pigments of creation, sat an unused brush.

Spotless and pristine, it seemed to await an artist who had yet to find their muse. Next to it, folded neatly, was a scrap of parchment bearing the unmistakable elegance of Iris's handwriting.

"If you ever want to add something, I left a space for you under the tree."

Heedless of time, Velzeria stood in contemplation for a long moment, absorbing the significance of those words.

With a deliberate motion, she slowly seated herself in the wooden chair, the creak of its joints breaking the silence, a sound that resonated not of physical fatigue but of deep, emotional weight.

For the first time in her tumultuous life, she found herself gripping the handle of the brush.

Her hands, so adept at destruction and chaos, hesitated as they hovered above the vibrant palette.

But then, gathering her courage and allowing her heart to guide her, she made a single, unpretentious stroke.

Beneath the delicate tree with its paper leaves, she marked her presence, but not in a commanding fashion.

It was a whisper of a stroke, neither bold nor flawless, merely a shadow.

Her own shadow, resting upon the canvas, embodying a quiet resilience rather than the weight of her past dominion.

After that solitary act—a mere shadow drawn against the vibrancy of the world—she set the brush down, feeling as though she had released a breath she had been holding for too long.

She stood up, the sensation of empowerment mingling with newfound vulnerability, and turned away without ceremony.

Before stepping back through the door, her gaze lingered on the painting, taking in the transformation it had undergone with her addition.

With a soft and sincere whisper, she spoke once more:

"Thank you… for letting me be here."

Outside the door, Iris stood hidden, her heartbeat a subtle reminder of her presence, an awareness delicately wrapped around the moment.

She never spoke of it.

Never drew attention to the brushstroke that now adorned her masterpiece.

Instead, she allowed it to remain untouched, considering it a sacred mark of change.

It had not belonged to her; it was Velzeria's first gentle act of peace, and she understood its profound significance.

[Bonus Flag: "The Painting Now Carries Two Shadows"]

Velzeria's Status: Healing

Iris's Status: Trusted

Raze's Status: Watching from the hill, smiling, a guardian of newfound harmony.

To be continued...