Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The silence stretched until it became unbearable, a living thing pressing down on the clearing. Even the leaves overhead seemed to hold their breath, as if the forest itself awaited his verdict.

Lindarion let it linger. Let them feel the weight of it, of him. His voice, when it came, was not loud, but it carried, each syllable striking like steel across stone.

"Stand." Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novelFirｅ.net

The word rippled through the crowd. The elves hesitated, as though the command itself were sacred, then rose in near-unison. Their movements were reverent, every gaze fixed upon him with an intensity that threatened to smother.

Lindarion's golden irises swept over them. He did not smile, nor soften.

"I am Lindarion of Eldorath," he said, each word deliberate, measured. "But that name alone no longer defines me. The World Tree has seen fit to lay its mark upon me, and through it, upon all of you."

He paused, letting the meaning sink in. Even Ashwing's usual quips had fallen silent inside his mind.

"This is not blessing without burden. Power has been given, and with power comes expectation." His hand rose slightly, the faint glow of the World Tree still coiled within his veins, spilling faint radiance into the dusk. "The Tree has chosen me to walk a path that leads beyond war and ruin. But make no mistake, ruin will try to follow. It always does."

A murmur coursed through the elves, hushed but fervent, their eyes wide.

"You look to me now as if I were more than flesh. I am not." His voice sharpened, cut with truth like tempered steel. "I bleed. I break. And if I fall, so too will your faith."

The words struck them harder than any boast could have.

He let his hand drop to his sword hilt. "But know this. If ruin dares approach your forests, if shadow creeps near your roots, I will be the blade that cuts it down. I will not run. I will not yield. That is my vow to you."

The silence afterward was not emptiness but a roar contained, an ocean before the tide. Elves straightened, spines stiff with something new, not just reverence, but conviction.

At the front, Vaelthorn and Sylwen exchanged a glance, their faces unreadable, though Lindarion caught the flicker in the king's eyes: recognition. The kind a warrior had when he saw another take a step no return would follow.

Ashwing stirred at his shoulder. 'You sounded like a real king just now,' he whispered in Lindarion's thoughts, half-teasing, half-awed.

Lindarion's jaw clenched. His gaze swept the elves one final time, then he turned from them, the glow still humming faint beneath his skin.

"I did not come here to rule you," he said, his back to them, his voice carrying regardless. "But if you follow me, do so not for me. Do it for Lorienya. For Eldorath. For every forest, every river, every soul this world still clings to."

The words hung like a blade driven into earth.

And though he had offered no command, the elves bowed their heads once more, not forced this time, but chosen.

The air outside the World Tree still thrummed with power, its golden veins casting brilliance across the faces of the gathered Lorienyan elves.

Every eye, every bowed head, pressed into Lindarion's mind like a weight. Even the silence was not silence, it was expectation, reverence, fear.

Lindarion's voice had been steady when he spoke, commanding the crowd to rise, but already he longed to retreat from the suffocating gaze. He turned to the Ironbark king and queen, his words low and cutting through the tension.

"I would speak with you alone."

Vaelthorn exchanged a glance with his queen. Sylwen's golden-brown eyes narrowed briefly, sharp and calculating, before she inclined her head. "So be it. Follow us."

The crowd parted at their gesture, an unbroken line of bowed figures giving way. Lindarion moved through them like a blade through water, his white hair catching the last flicker of light from the Tree.

Ashwing shifted on his shoulder, the small lizard's claws pricking through fabric, his voice whispering in Lindarion's mind with the soft childishness that never seemed to fade.

'They're staring holes in you. Like you're a statue, or food. I don't like it.'

Lindarion's lips barely moved. 'Neither do I.'

The procession was silent save for the creak of leather boots on the high platforms that wound around the great trees.

The Lorienyan guards fell in behind them but halted at the edge of a living bridge woven from roots. Beyond it rose a hall of bark and silverwood, branches curling overhead to form a natural crown.

"Here," Vaelthorn said, his tone clipped.

Inside, the chamber was dim, lit only by pale blue fungi and strands of fireflies caught in crystal orbs. No councilors, no attendants, only the three of them, plus Sylwen's quiet hand resting on her husband's arm as though to still him.

Lindarion stepped into the center and stopped. The glow from the fungi cast his features in stark relief: the golden irises that had not been there yesterday, the pale hair that gleamed like frost. He no longer looked like the prince who had entered their wood. He looked other.

Vaelthorn circled once before him, slow and deliberate, his heavy robes brushing the floor like the shifting of roots underground. "So it is true," he said at last. His voice was low, carrying the cadence of one used to command. "The World Tree has chosen you."

"It did not ask permission," Lindarion replied evenly.

Sylwen tilted her head, her gaze keen. "Nor does it ever. But few are granted what you have been given. White hair, golden eyes, a resonance that bleeds into every living thing near you. Do you understand what this means, Prince of Eldorath?"

"I understand enough." Lindarion's fingers twitched at his side, resisting the urge to rest on his blade. "The Tree offered strength. I accepted. Nothing more."

Vaelthorn stopped circling, facing him fully. "Strength such as yours does not come without chains. The Tree has marked you, and through it, you are tied to Lorienya. Every elf in this land will feel its call when you pass. You carry the weight of their reverence whether you will it or not."

'Sounds like they want to put a leash on you,' Ashwing piped into his mind, his mental voice muffled by the faint crackle of childish giggling. 'Do you think they'll try? Because I can bite them if you want. I'd miss, but it'd be funny.'