Chapter 436: Intense Density
As they crossed a vine bridge toward the upper sanctum, a group of commanders approached. They saluted, but their faces carried unease.
The eldest among them spoke first. "My prince, patrols near the northern fringe report strange growths, trees blooming out of season, soil too warm to touch. Some of the younger elves call it a blessing, but others fear corruption."
Lindarion nodded slowly. "It’s neither. It’s the roots expanding.
Keep your men back until the pattern stabilizes. No torches—light interferes with the resonance."
The commander bowed, though confusion shadowed his eyes. "As you will."
When they left, Thalan sighed softly. "They fear what they cannot understand."
"They always will," Lindarion said. "But fear keeps arrogance at bay."
They reached the central terrace, where the great crystal pool reflected the night sky. Lindarion gazed into it long and silent.
Beneath the stars mirrored on the water, faint outlines of other realms flickered—distant forests, deserts, cities long lost. The World Tree’s vision was stretching. He could almost see through its eyes.
[ Integration: 42 percent ]
[ Warning: Mana density rising beyond safe ratio. ]
He clenched his fists. "It’s spreading too fast."
Ashwing lifted his head. "You could stop it, couldn’t you?"
"Stopping it would mean severing what we’ve built. The Dual Flow, the soldiers, even Lorienya’s life itself. The forest breathes with me now. To halt that is to choke it."
"Then what do you do?"
Lindarion exhaled. "Guide it."
He closed his eyes, letting his awareness sink into the roots again.
The sensation was overwhelming, like diving into an ocean made of light.
Thousands of presences brushed against his mind: elves, trees, animals, rivers, even the faint spark of insects. All connected, all alive within the same current.
He didn’t control them; he listened. And slowly, the surge began to calm.
The golden overglow dimmed to a soft gleam, balanced once more with the natural green.
Thalan watched in silent awe. "You do not command. You harmonize."
Lindarion opened his eyes. "That is the only rule worth keeping."
The teacher bowed deeply. "Then Lorienya stands ready to follow that rule."
Later, when the city finally slept, Lindarion returned to the upper terrace.
The moon hung low, and the air smelled of rain. He felt the pulse again, steady, calmer, but still vast beneath his feet.
Ashwing dozed beside him, murmuring faintly in dreams.
Lindarion looked out over the sea of leaves, the world aglow with quiet unity, and for the first time since his transformation, he allowed himself a moment of simple wonder.
The forest had accepted him, not as ruler, but as resonance.
The demi-dragon marks were reawakening through his veins; the elves were evolving alongside the trees; and somewhere deep below, that sealed black seed waited, patient.
Not yet, he thought. Not until they’re ready.
The wind carried the scent of blossoms that had never existed before, fragrant, luminous, born of balance.
And far beneath, the pulse of the World Tree whispered its reply:
Then teach them, Child of Light and Shadow. The roots remember, and the sky listens.
Lindarion smiled faintly. "So we will learn together."
The night stretched onward, silver and gold intertwined, one breath, one rhythm, one vast living world slowly waking under the prince’s hand.
The moon hung pale above Lorienya, its light cascading through the interwoven canopy like thin silver veils.
Below, the soldiers of Eldorath and Lorienya moved in the great clearing, their armor glinting faintly beneath the soft glow of the forest’s natural luminescence.
The air thrummed with the rhythm of steel against steel, but it was no longer the chaos of mismatched steps and uneven strikes.
The troops had begun to move as a single body, each motion linked by something invisible, a rhythm Lindarion had quietly carved into their bones over the past weeks.
He stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, his white hair catching the moonlight. Ashwing lay coiled lazily around his shoulders, head resting on one arm.
The dragon’s golden eyes half-lidded as he murmured into Lindarion’s thoughts, his tone a mixture of pride and irritation. "They’re getting better. Still slow, though."
"They’re not dragons," Lindarion replied calmly. "Nor elves born for battle. They’re learning what it means to fight with intent."
Ashwing huffed, a small plume of smoke curling from his nostrils. "Intent doesn’t stop claws."
"No," Lindarion said, eyes narrowing slightly as one soldier adjusted his footing before deflecting a blow that would’ve floored him a week ago. "But it gives purpose to the strike that does."
The soldiers began to shift into a formation, their practice now guided by Thalan and several Lorienyan captains.
Wooden weapons clashed against each other in deliberate arcs, and the faint shimmer of mana followed their movements, clumsy, but growing steadier. They weren’t just swinging anymore. They were weaving.
Lorienyan instructors called out soft commands in the lilting Elvish tongue, and humans echoed them, their voices rough but earnest.
Each movement formed a verse in a language older than any of them knew, a song of coordination and will.
Lindarion turned as Nysha approached, her cloak whispering against the grass. The faint light caught in her crimson eyes as she stopped beside him. "You’ve turned them into something resembling soldiers," she said. "I didn’t think it was possible."
"They did that themselves," Lindarion said. "I only reminded them what it feels like to stand for something."
Nysha’s lips curved slightly, though not quite a smile. "You’re still bleeding nobility. Even after everything."
Lindarion didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the clearing. A young human woman, Arlen, if he remembered right, had taken to leading her squad through the drills with surprising precision.
Her movements were sharp, measured, her eyes alive with something fierce. She’d been the first to step forward when the humans began training with the Lorienyan guards.
Now, she moved with the grace of one who had begun to understand the rhythm of mana.
Ashwing tilted his head. "She reminds me of you, back when you couldn’t stop hitting trees for practice."
Lindarion’s brow lifted faintly. "I didn’t hit trees."
"You did," Ashwing said cheerfully. "And you got angry when the bark didn’t break."
Nysha smirked. "Now that I would’ve liked to see."
"Enough," Lindarion muttered, but the faintest trace of warmth touched his voice.