Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The air outside the World Tree carried a hum, soft but heavy, as though every particle of mana bowed to a rhythm only it could hear. Lindarion walked through it with measured steps, the golden shimmer of his irises faint but undeniable, his hair now pale as woven moonlight.

The elves who had gathered still knelt, their voices hushed into silence as he passed them. None dared raise their eyes until the gleaming doors closed behind him.

The forest breathed in slow reverence. Every rustle of leaf, every chime of wind through branch seemed aware of him.

Ashwing perched on his shoulder, claws digging lightly into his tunic. His tiny lizard form looked absurdly out of place next to Lindarion's changed presence, but his tail twitched with quiet agitation.

"You feel weird," Ashwing muttered in his head, his voice boyish, a little whiny. "Like… like you're not just you anymore. It's… it's too big."

Lindarion didn't answer at once. His steps carried him back toward the Lorienyan settlement, where his companions had been housed for the night.

He could already sense them, Nysha's shadows curling in restless motion, the commander's pacing like a caged wolf, the humans muttering in low, suspicious tones.

He drew a breath, steadying himself. The mana in his veins pulsed like fire and water intertwined, threatening to spill outward. Even controlling his presence took effort now.

"…Yeah," he murmured to Ashwing at last. "Too big for me too."

When he stepped into the camp clearing, every voice fell still.

The humans froze first. A young woman sharpening a blade stopped mid-drag, staring wide-eyed as the torchlight caught his hair.

A boy carrying a bundle of firewood dropped it with a clatter. Even the wounded, wrapped in cloth, turned hollow eyes toward him as though woken from a fever dream.

Nysha was the first to move. Her shadows stirred sharply, her crimson eyes narrowing.

She took a step forward, but not in welcome, her body tensed like a bowstring, as if preparing for a strike she wasn't sure she should make.

The commander's jaw clenched. He had spent years choking down suspicion, hardening himself against false hope.

Now, faced with this apparition, he did not bow, but neither did he draw his blade. His hand hovered near the hilt, frozen between instinct and awe.

Lindarion stopped in the center of the camp. The firelight danced against his pale hair, against the faint shimmer that clung to his skin like he carried starlight beneath it.

His gaze swept across them all, humans weary of blood, shadows twitching with distrust, whispers pressing at the edges of silence.

He let the quiet stretch until it grew taut. Then he spoke.

"It's me." His voice was low, calm, but it carried like steel ringing in a hall. "Lindarion of Eldorath. The same as before."

The words did not break the silence. They deepened it.

Ashwing broke it first. The little dragon hopped off his shoulder and onto a nearby stone, flicking his tongue and chirping out loud for once, something he rarely bothered with. "Told you he was shiny now."

A ripple of uneasy laughter almost escaped the humans before dying in their throats.

Nysha's eyes narrowed further. "You expect us to believe nothing has changed?"

Lindarion met her gaze without flinching. "Everything has changed. But not who I am."

She searched his face as though looking for the cracks, the seams where the boy she had followed through shadow and fire might have been replaced by something else.

Her shadows whispered restlessly at her feet, but she said nothing more.

The commander stepped forward at last. His voice was hoarse, torn between reverence and suspicion. "What… happened to you?"

Lindarion's gaze drifted past him, toward the towering silhouette of the World Tree rising in the distance, its branches like veins of light cutting through the dark. He exhaled slowly.

"The Tree tested me." His voice was steady, each word deliberate. "It weighed me. And it gave me strength." Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novèlfire.net

Whispers surged through the humans like a tide breaking, words half-heard, fear tangled with awe.

"Blessed…"

"Chosen…"

"World Tree…"

The commander's hand twitched, fingers curling into a fist. "And why would it choose you?"

Lindarion's eyes returned to him, sharp as drawn steel. "Ask it yourself. But the answer will be the same: I was already chosen the day I was born."

The words landed heavy. Some of the humans flinched as though struck, while others bowed their heads lower, as if the truth of it pressed on their very bones.

Nysha's lips parted slightly, shadows stuttering in their rhythm. She knew his bloodline, his claim. But to see it confirmed, wrapped in the Tree's blessing, unsettled something deeper.

Lindarion softened his tone, his gaze sweeping across them all. "You followed me this far. You bled beside me. That hasn't changed. But from here forward—" He drew in a breath, the golden light in his irises flaring faintly. "—I will not ask for your faith. I will demand it. Because the path ahead will break anyone who wavers."

The humans shifted, some drawing breath sharply, others lowering their eyes in submission. The commander stood rigid, his jaw tight, but he did not speak against him. Not now.

Nysha's voice finally broke the tension. "And if you break first?"

The words cut like knives through the quiet. The shadows swelled around her, daring him to answer wrong.

Lindarion's gaze locked with hers. His hand tightened on the sword at his hip, shadows curling faintly along its edge. "Then I'll break standing. And I'll take the path down with me."

The fire cracked, spitting sparks into the night. The humans shuddered, not at the words but at the conviction behind them.

Ashwing hopped back onto his shoulder, tail flicking. "Told you," he said aloud, almost sing-song. "Same Lindarion. Just shinier."

This time, a few of the humans did laugh. Quiet, nervous, but real. It broke the suffocating tension for just a breath.

Lindarion let them. He did not smile, but his shoulders eased slightly.

He turned toward the commander at last. "Prepare the people. We won't linger here long. When dawn comes, we march."

The commander hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. His voice was firm, though edged with unease. "Yes… Prince."

The humans dispersed slowly, whispers rippling like leaves in wind. Some knelt as they passed, others touched fingers to foreheads in reverence. A few watched with suspicion still carved into their eyes, but none dared defy.

Nysha lingered the longest, her shadows curling like smoke. She stepped close, her voice low so only he could hear.

"You burn brighter," she murmured, crimson gaze sharp. "But fire that bright consumes itself."

Lindarion tilted his head, the golden flare in his irises catching the firelight. "Then stay close enough to see it through."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, the shadows stilled. Then she turned away, vanishing into the camp's dark edges.

Lindarion stood alone with Ashwing on his shoulder. The little dragon nipped lightly at his ear. "They're scared of you."

"…Good." His voice was quiet, steady. "Fear holds better than hope."

Ashwing tilted his head, confused. "But don't you want them to like you?"

Lindarion's eyes lifted toward the looming silhouette of the World Tree. His chest ached faintly, the weight of its blessing heavy in his veins. "…I want them to live."

Ashwing blinked, then curled up against his neck, muttering, "Still weird. Still you."

The night settled over the camp. Whispers lingered, prayers half-muttered, fears half-swallowed. And at the heart of it all, Lindarion stood silent, the glow in his irises burning faint against the dark.