Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The crowd began to disperse, slow at first, murmurs rippling through the leaves like wind shifting the canopy.

The air was still thick, charged with the weight of what they’d witnessed.

Even the birds that had perched along the high branches seemed to hold their breath. Lorienya hadn’t seen such restraint from one so powerful in centuries.

Lindarion stepped aside from the clearing, his boots pressing softly into the moss. He felt the pulse of the forest, gentle, rhythmic, like a heartbeat beneath his soles.

The mana of the world tree still flowed faintly through him, harmonizing with the life around him. It was different here: calmer, purer. For a moment, he simply let himself breathe.

The commanders lingered at the edge of the ring, still whispering.

"That power... it’s divine."

"Did you see how the shadows obeyed him?"

"It wasn’t even a duel, it was a message."

Lindarion heard every word, though his expression didn’t change. He could feel their reverence turning into something else, something more dangerous.

The same fear that once surrounded his sword was now softening into faith again.

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He turned his head slightly. "Commanders," he said, voice quiet but carrying across the clearing. They straightened instantly. "Respect is earned in silence. Let the lesson end here."

They bowed, murmured apologies, and dispersed with their soldiers in tow.

Only Nysha stayed. She hadn’t said a word since the match began. She stood by a tree, one hand pressed against its bark, crimson eyes studying him. Her voice was low when she finally spoke. "You didn’t have to make him look that graceful."

He looked at her, puzzled for a heartbeat. "Graceful?"

"You could’ve won in a blink," she said. "You wanted them to see something else."

He nodded faintly. "Fear makes them follow. Respect makes them grow. I’ll take the latter."

Her lips curved, just slightly, almost unseen. "And yet you hate being followed."

"I do." He exhaled, gaze distant. "But I can’t let them walk blind."

Ashwing’s voice crackled in his mind like a yawn. ’You’re too serious again. You should eat. Or nap. Or both.’

’You’re lazy,’ Lindarion answered.

’I’m efficient,’ Ashwing replied, his tone smug. ’Also, I smell berries somewhere. Can we get those?’

Lindarion’s lips twitched. ’You’re impossible.’

’And yet you’d be bored without me.’

He didn’t disagree.

Thalan approached again, slower this time, his exhaustion settling deeper into his frame. The staff tapped the moss softly as he walked. "Prince," he said, bowing again, "I meant what I said before. You honored me with that duel."

"You honored yourself," Lindarion replied. "The forest saw your resolve."

Thalan’s weathered face warmed with quiet pride. "Then may it remember this day well." He looked at the prince for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "Your movements... they weren’t of any elven school I’ve seen. They were too grounded, too, human."

Lindarion’s expression didn’t flicker. "I learned my foundations from many teachers."

"Hmm." Thalan smiled faintly. "Then I envy them."

The teacher turned to his students, clapping once. "Enough staring. Return to your lessons before the forest forgets your names."

The children scattered, some bowing quickly to Lindarion before hurrying off, others stealing glances over their shoulders as if still expecting his blade to move.

When the clearing was finally empty, the late light filtering through the leaves painted everything in gold. Lorienya’s peace returned, soft and unassuming.

Nysha stepped closer, arms folded. "They’ll talk about this for months," she said.

"They’ll forget soon enough," Lindarion murmured.

"No," she countered. "They won’t. You think they’ll forget the man who held back storms for their teacher’s pride?"

He didn’t answer. His eyes drifted to the treeline, where sunlight wove through the canopy. The silence stretched again, familiar, almost comforting.

Ashwing broke it. ’You’re brooding again.’

’Thinking,’ Lindarion corrected.

’Same thing, just less fun.’

’You’re supposed to be asleep.’

’And miss this? You’re glowing again, by the way. Like, actually glowing.’

Lindarion glanced at his hands. The faint golden trace of mana shimmered under his skin, fading as quickly as it appeared. "Residual flow from the World Tree," he murmured aloud.

Nysha raised an eyebrow. "You should learn to suppress it before the council sees you again. They already think you’re half divine."

He smiled faintly, humorless. "Half. I wonder which half they think it is."

Her shadows stirred at her feet, uneasy. "You’re different now," she said softly. "Not worse. Just... heavier."

He didn’t deny it. The weight of the World Tree’s blessing still coiled in his chest, a vast, silent power that hummed even when he stood still. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was simply there, like a second heartbeat.

"I’m fine," he said finally.

Nysha gave him one last look that said she didn’t believe him, then turned away. "Rest before sunset. Tomorrow, the council will want you again."

He watched her disappear through the trees, her shadow melting into the light.

The clearing emptied once more. The hum of insects rose, the song of the forest returning in full. Lindarion tilted his head back, watching sunlight spill through the canopy like strands of molten gold.

The peace of Lorienya pressed around him, gentle, quiet, deceptive in its stillness.

’Ashwing,’ he thought.

’Yeah?’

’Do you ever wonder how long peace like this lasts?’

The dragon’s voice softened, almost small. ’I dunno. Until something breaks it, I guess.’

’That’s what I fear,’ Lindarion murmured. ’That I’ll be the one to break it.’

Ashwing didn’t respond right away. Then, softly: ’You’re not like them, Lindarion. But that doesn’t make you a curse. It just means the world’s still trying to figure out what you are.’

Lindarion closed his eyes. "So am I."

He stood there for a long time as the forest dimmed into dusk. Fireflies began to gather, their soft lights floating between roots and leaves, the hum of mana blending with the rhythm of the night.

Far in the distance, he could hear the soft murmurs of Lorienya’s commanders gathered near the council glade. Their voices carried faintly on the wind, too distant to make out, but the tone was unmistakable. Respect. Awe. Caution.

He turned his gaze upward once more. The stars were beginning to pierce through the fading blue, glimmering above the canopy like distant eyes.

Tomorrow, they would come to him again with questions, offers, and burdens. For now, he let the world breathe.

And in that fleeting quiet, the prince of Eldorath finally allowed himself to be still, just another soul beneath the ancient trees, carrying both light and shadow, wondering which would wake first.