Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The song of the forest lingered in Lindarion's ears long after it had faded.

By the time he reached the central bridge that wound toward Lorienya's heart, the light had already shifted, no longer morning gold, but the pale shimmer that meant the sun was passing its peak. The air was cooler, the sounds quieter. A city at peace, though too silent to be entirely at ease.

Nysha fell a half-step behind him as the guards of the High Council bowed and stepped aside.

The chamber beyond was grown, not built, hollowed from the trunk of an ancient tree so vast its inner walls pulsed faintly with green veins of living mana.

Silver moss draped the ceiling like constellations. The King and Queen of Lorienya, Vaelthorn and Sylwen Ironbark, stood before the council table surrounded by their advisors and the murmuring glow of spirit-lights.

The hum of power from the World Tree still ran faintly through Lindarion's body, but he dampened it before stepping inside. Even among elves, the air around him seemed to bend slightly, subtle, like heat on stone. Whispers stirred as soon as he entered.

"Prince Lindarion of Eldorath," one of the councilors announced formally, though his voice cracked.

"Enter."

Lindarion bowed his head. "Your Majesties." ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ N0velFire.ɴet

Vaelthorn studied him carefully, not with distrust, but with the wary respect of someone standing before a lightning storm that had chosen, for the moment, not to strike. His voice was deep, bark-roughened, calm. "You have caused quite a stir among my people."

"I meant no disturbance," Lindarion replied evenly.

"You awakened something greater than disturbance," Sylwen said softly. Her voice carried that ancient elven gentleness that could soothe or shatter depending on its edge. "The World Tree itself stirred when you entered it. Its roots thrummed through every grove. You must know this."

Lindarion inclined his head, golden eyes steady. "It called to me, Your Majesty. I answered. Nothing more."

A ripple of unease crossed the chamber. The elder to the queen's left, narrow-faced, silver-haired, leaned forward. "And yet the calling of the World Tree has not been heard since the Age of Dawning. Forgive me, Prince, but one does not 'answer' a voice that even the First Elves could barely comprehend."

Nysha's eyes flicked toward the man, her crimson gaze sharp as a blade. But Lindarion's expression didn't shift.

"Perhaps," he said, "it wished to remember what it had once guarded. The balance between fire and life."

That silenced the room for a breath. Even Sylwen seemed to weigh his words with care.

Vaelthorn finally spoke again. "We did not summon you to interrogate your bond with the World Tree, though it has… consequences. There are matters we must address."

The King gestured, and one of the commanders, a lean elf with braided hair and a scar running across his jaw, stepped forward, carrying a wooden tablet carved with runes. "Reports from our southern wards," he said. "The mana currents are changing. The barrier around Lorienya still holds, but the flow beneath the roots feels… wrong."

Sylwen added quietly, "Something stirs beneath the land, faint, but growing."

Nysha shifted slightly beside Lindarion. Her voice was calm, but it cut through the air like a whisper of steel. "You believe it's Dythrael?"

The councilors exchanged uneasy glances.

Vaelthorn shook his head slowly. "We do not know. The name you speak is foreign to us, and we pray it stays that way. But disturbances such as this seldom arrive without intent."

Lindarion stepped closer to the table. The living wood rippled faintly under his touch, recognizing the mana within him. "Then you feel it too," he murmured. "The imbalance. Something deeper than corruption."

"Yes," Sylwen said. "Like a wound that refuses to heal."

For a long moment, the chamber fell into thoughtful silence. The only sound was the faint hum of the roots and the creak of branches shifting far above.

Finally, one of the younger councilors cleared his throat. "If war comes again, Lorienya cannot remain hidden behind its barrier. Even the sanctuary must act."

Another elder frowned. "We have not fought since the Sundering. To bare blades now would—"

"To die more cleanly when the shadow reaches us?" Nysha cut in.

The murmur that followed was instant, outrage, disbelief, fear.

Sylwen raised a hand, silencing them, but her gaze remained fixed on Nysha. "You speak boldly for one not of our kin."

Nysha bowed slightly, her voice low but unflinching. "I've seen what happens when caution turns to blindness, Your Majesty. You live under the World Tree, perhaps the last pure bastion of mana left in this age. But if you wait too long, purity becomes isolation. And isolation dies first."

The silence that followed carried weight. Even Vaelthorn didn't answer immediately. His eyes turned toward Lindarion, as though seeking the unspoken thought behind her words.

"She speaks truth," Lindarion said finally, voice calm but resolute. "Dythrael's reach may not yet touch your roots, but the shadow that feeds him is already in motion. If you wait for it to find you, you will fight on ground already poisoned."

Sylwen's eyes softened with something almost like sorrow. "Then what do you suggest, Prince of Eldorath?"

Lindarion straightened. The faint golden shimmer in his irises deepened. "Let me leave Lorienya and chart what lies beyond your southern border, with your blessing. If the wound beneath your land grows, I'll find its source before it festers."

Vaelthorn's brow furrowed. "You would risk leaving sanctuary when the world beyond burns?"

"I was born to stand between fire and life," Lindarion said simply. "And I do not burn easily."

A hush fell again. The elves exchanged long, wordless glances, the kind of silent debate that only centuries of living together could forge.

Finally, Sylwen spoke. "We will not command you to stay. Nor will we forbid you. But if you go, know that the path beyond these trees no longer belongs to the living as it once did."

Lindarion inclined his head. "Then I will tread lightly."

When the council was dismissed, the murmur of their voices followed him out of the chamber like wind through dry leaves. Nysha stayed silent until they reached the walkway overlooking the heart of the city.

"You really don't rest, do you?" she said finally.

"I'll rest when the land does," he replied.