Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Sylwen’s fingers tightened subtly against the carved armrest of her throne. "We would have felt this if the seals were truly breaking."

"You are feeling it," Lindarion said evenly. "You simply do not recognize the tremors yet. The pulse of mana through the forest is unstable, the streams shift and slow. It begins subtlely. Then the air thickens. Then the roots quiver."

There was silence.

One of the human commanders, General Arven, cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but if the Tree falters, what of the forests beyond? Wouldn’t Lorienya itself—"

Vaelthorn raised a hand. "Peace, General." His gaze never left Lindarion. "What do you propose, Prince of Eldorath?"

Lindarion’s golden eyes gleamed faintly in the chamber’s light. "We must scout the southern reaches beyond the emerald valleys. The Tree’s guardian named that place as the source of the shift. Something there draws mana unnaturally, feeding, perhaps. Draining."

Ashwing’s tail curled around Lindarion’s neck. "And probably not politely."

A few heads turned at the small voice, but none spoke. Even now, no one questioned the dragonling perched on the prince’s shoulder. It was simply part of his presence, like the calm before a storm.

Sylwen rose slowly from her throne. "Do you understand what you’re asking, Lindarion? The southern valleys lie beyond our domain. Those lands were sealed after the Cataclysm. Even our roots dare not dig there. No one who’s entered has returned."

Lindarion inclined his head. "Then perhaps it’s time someone did."

Vaelthorn’s gaze was sharp, searching. "You mean to go yourself."

"I do."

A long silence. The council exchanged uneasy glances.

Thalan stepped forward. "My prince, forgive me, but you’ve only just given this sanctuary stability again. If you fall or vanish, panic will take root. And if something does stir in the south, it will not wait for you to return."

Lindarion’s eyes softened. "That is why I leave before it awakens fully. If I am correct, this imbalance will spread. The Tree can withstand much, but if its mana flow collapses, Lorienya will no longer be untouched."

Sylwen’s lips pressed thin. "You speak as though the forest itself will burn."

Lindarion didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the balcony overlooking the endless green. The wind carried whispers through the leaves, soft, almost mournful.

Finally, he said quietly, "If it is not stopped, it will."

The silence that followed was long and heavy.

At last, Vaelthorn exhaled slowly, as though conceding to a truth he had already known. "You are your father’s son, Lindarion. Always seeking the darkness before it finds the light."

He motioned to one of the attendants. "Prepare supplies and scouts. Ten riders will accompany the prince south. Lorienya will not send him alone into the unknown."

Lindarion shook his head once. "No. I will go alone."

That brought a stir of protest immediately. Thalan’s staff struck the floor. "That is madness!"

Lindarion’s gaze met his calmly. "If I bring soldiers, whatever sleeps will wake faster. Mana draws to mana. I must go as one flame, not a beacon."

Vaelthorn studied him for a long moment, the faintest glimmer of reluctant respect flickering through his ancient eyes. "You will not be swayed, I see."

"No," Lindarion said quietly. "But I will return."

Sylwen’s voice was quieter now, almost gentle. "Your father once said those same words."

Lindarion looked at her, really looked, and for a heartbeat, there was a flicker of something in his eyes that wasn’t divine calm but simple grief. "Then perhaps it’s time one of us made them true."

The chamber fell silent again.

At last, Vaelthorn inclined his head. "Very well. You leave at dawn. The forest will know your passage. And may the Tree’s light not abandon you."

Lindarion bowed slightly. "Nor you, my king."

He turned and left the chamber, his cloak whispering behind him, Ashwing silent now, small claws clutching his shoulder.

As the great doors closed, Thalan released a long breath. "You’ll let him go alone?"

Vaelthorn’s answer was quiet. "You cannot hold the tide with hands, Thalan. The boy was never meant to be still. Even the Tree knows it."

Sylwen’s gaze lingered on the door. "And if he fails?"

The king’s reply came low, almost to himself. "Then the age of leaves ends, and fire takes root."

Outside, the night wind stirred through the boughs. Lindarion stood beneath the canopy, eyes lifted toward the stars burning beyond the branches.

Ashwing shifted against his neck. "You’re not really going to sleep, are you?"

"No."

"Thought so." The dragon sighed. "You always do this. Walk into danger. Brood. Don’t eat. It’s a miracle you’re alive."

Lindarion’s lips curved faintly. "Then perhaps miracles favor the reckless."

"Or the lonely."

He didn’t answer. He only turned his gaze southward, where the horizon shimmered faintly with gold and shadow. The winds were shifting again. The mana tremors were no longer faint.

Somewhere beneath the land, something vast exhaled.

The dawn came pale and heavy. Mist clung low between the roots of the World Tree, silvering every leaf and web with dew. The air was quiet, not peaceful, but expectant, as though the forest itself held its breath.

Lindarion stood on one of the high terraces that spiraled from the trunk’s flank, the golden light of morning catching faintly on his white hair.

His armor gleamed only where it needed to, polished but unadorned, the mark of someone who wore it not for display but for purpose.

The breeze whispered through, carrying the hum of mana that rolled faintly under his skin, answering to his core’s deep pulse.

Ashwing yawned from his perch on the railing. "I hate mornings. They always mean you’re about to do something dangerous."

Lindarion smirked faintly. "You prefer afternoons because you’re too lazy to fly before noon."

The dragonling huffed. "That’s called energy management."

"Of course it is."

From behind, footsteps approached, the measured tread of someone trying not to sound anxious. Nysha emerged from the fog’s edge, crimson eyes sharp even in the softened light.

She wore her travel cloak, though her shadows trailed tighter around her feet, unwilling to stretch far from her body.

"You’re really going through with this," she said.

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Lindarion didn’t turn immediately. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

Her gaze hardened. "I’d call you a liar."

"Then there’s no point pretending." He finally looked at her, his expression calm, but his tone gentler than usual. "You’ll stay here. Keep the others steady. The humans trust you more than they do any elf."