Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The dawn in Lorienya was unlike any Lindarion had seen.

It wasn't just sunlight breaking through leaves, it was light refracted by the World Tree, filtered into gold and emerald shards, spilling down in rivers that painted every moss-covered stone with radiance.

The forest hummed, alive in ways other lands were not. Birds sang with voices clear as bells. Flowers opened like lanterns. Even the air tasted clean, sharp with mana.

Lindarion rose with the light, though he hadn't truly slept. The blessing of the Tree still pulsed through his veins, too strong, too restless.

He stood at the balcony of the wooden guest house they had given him, looking out over a city woven into branches.

Rope bridges swayed between colossal oaks, homes carved directly into bark spiraled up toward the sky, and laughter echoed faintly below.

It wasn't the laughter of soldiers or survivors. It was children's laughter.

Ashwing stretched on the railing beside him, tiny body curling and uncurling. "They're watching you, you know," the dragon muttered in his head, tail flicking.

Lindarion didn't need the reminder. He had already felt their eyes, small, curious, unafraid.

A shuffle came from the walkway outside his door. Then a whisper. Then a squeal of quickly stifled laughter.

He turned slightly. And there they were.

Three Lorienyan children stood clustered at the entrance, caught between bravery and terror. The oldest, a boy of maybe ten, had hair the color of autumn bark and a wooden practice sword strapped to his belt.

Beside him stood a girl with leaves braided into her long brown hair, holding a basket nearly as big as her.

The youngest, a small boy no older than five, clung to her skirts, his wide eyes fixed on Lindarion as though staring at a ghost.

They froze when he looked at them.

The older boy swallowed and blurted out, "Are you the one the Tree blessed?"

The younger gasped and tugged at his sleeve. "You're not supposed to just ask!"

Lindarion let the silence hang for a heartbeat. Then he nodded once. "Yes."

The girl's basket shifted in her arms as she stepped forward, her courage steadier than the boys'. She lifted the lid to reveal bright fruits glowing faintly with mana. "These are for you," she said, her voice shy but clear. "Mama says when someone is touched by the Tree, they must be welcomed with gifts."

Ashwing chirped out loud, leaning toward the basket. 'Sweet!'

Lindarion took one of the fruits, turning it in his hand. Its skin shimmered faintly, golden veins running across its surface. He looked back at the girl. "And what is your name?"

She blinked, surprised to be addressed. "L-Liora."

The older boy straightened, puffing his chest. "And I'm Caleth. I'll be a great swordsman one day."

The youngest peeked out, whispering, "Teren…" before hiding again.

Lindarion nodded slowly. "Liora. Caleth. Teren." He let their names linger, grounding them. "Thank you."

Caleth took a step forward, his eyes fixed on the sword at Lindarion's hip. "Is it true you can cut through stone? The elders said the shadows bowed to you."

Ashwing snorted in his head. 'Careful. If you say yes, he'll ask for a duel.'

The boy's hand already hovered near his wooden sword.

Lindarion's golden irises caught the morning light. "Yes. But it is not something to brag about. Power without purpose is just destruction."

Caleth frowned, considering that, but his gaze still burned with restless envy.

Liora quickly stepped in, glaring at him. "Don't bother the prince. He's busy."

"I'm not busy," Lindarion said softly. "Not today."

The words slipped out before he thought them through. Yet as soon as he spoke, he felt something loosen in his chest.

For the first time since entering Lorienya, he wasn't marching, commanding, or bleeding. He was standing in sunlight, being asked about his sword by a boy too young to hold one properly.

Liora tilted her head. "Would you… come with us, then? To the glade? We play there. And the elders won't scold if you're with us."

Ashwing's tail flicked excitedly. 'Yes. Yes. Let's go. I'm bored.'

Lindarion hesitated. A prince of Eldorath, newly bound to the World Tree, walking into the woods with children? But then again, he remembered another life.

A boy in white fencing gear, laughing with friends after training, pretending he wasn't afraid of the next match. A boy who never got to grow past seventeen.

"…Show me the glade," he said at last. This text is hosted at novel·fire·net

The children's faces lit up. Caleth grabbed his hand without hesitation, dragging him along the walkway. Liora hurried after, Teren stumbling with her.

Ashwing leapt to his shoulder, cackling in Lindarion's mind. This is gonna be good.

The glade lay at the edge of the Lorienyan settlement, where the trees opened into a wide circle of grass bathed in sunlight.

Wildflowers swayed in every hue, and butterflies drifted lazily through the air. A small brook cut through the field, its water clear enough to mirror the sky.

"This is where we duel," Caleth announced proudly, pointing to a patch of trampled grass. "I always win."

"You do not," Liora retorted, rolling her eyes. "He cheats. He hits Teren too hard, and then I have to stop him."

"Do not!"

"Do too."

Lindarion stood at the edge, the sunlight warm on his pale hair. His hand rested loosely on the hilt of his sword, though not in readiness, more in habit. For a moment, just a moment, he let himself breathe.

Ashwing hopped down into the grass, pouncing at a butterfly. He missed, tumbled head over tail, and chirped indignantly. The children laughed, their earlier shyness forgotten.

Liora offered Lindarion another fruit from the basket. "Here. You should eat. The Tree's blessing must be heavy."

He accepted it, taking a slow bite. Sweetness flooded his mouth, sharper and richer than anything grown outside this forest. Mana sparked faintly against his tongue, seeping down his throat.

The children crowded closer, questions spilling in.

"Is your hair really white now forever?"

"Can you show us a spell?"

"Do you talk to the Tree?"

"Why are your eyes gold?"

He answered only some. "Yes." "Not now." "The Tree listens more than it speaks."

As for the eyes, he said nothing.

But the laughter, the questions, the way Teren tugged at his sleeve asking if he could ride Ashwing, none of it was suspicion, none of it was fear. They weren't treating him like a weapon, a savior, or a threat. Just… a man who had stepped into their world.

For the first time since his return to the surface, Lindarion felt something like peace.