Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Jaren Vell stepped into their path before Lindarion could say anything.

His coat was torn at the sleeves, blood dried along the edge of one glove, and there were dark lines of smoke still rising from the ruin behind them. His sword wasn't drawn, but it might as well have been. His stance said it all.

"You're not going back there," Jaren said.

Lindarion didn't stop moving. "Get out of the way."

Sylric stepped beside him, eyes narrowed, mouth unusually quiet for once.

Jaren didn't budge. "This isn't a discussion. We barely survived that wave. The walls are gone. We're down to half our numbers, and that was just the first breach."

"You saw what came through," Lindarion said. "That wasn't a breach. That was a message."

Jaren's jaw clenched. "And you want to answer it alone?"

"They took her."

His voice cracked slightly on that.

Not loud. Not breaking.

Just real.

Jaren frowned. "I know."

"You don't," Lindarion snapped. "You didn't see how fast it happened, neither did I. Sylric heard her scream. He was this close to her. And then she was gone. He took her like she weighed nothing."

Sylric stared at the tree line, jaw tight. He still hadn't spoken.

Jaren exhaled. "And if you go after her now, you'll join her."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be."

Lindarion stepped forward.

"I watched him knock me across half the capital with one hit. I got back up. He took a girl with more raw ice mana than anyone I've ever met. And I'm not letting that be the last time anyone sees her."

Jaren shook his head. "You think this is about her?"

"Yes."

"No. It's about that thing they woke up under the palace. You felt it. Don't lie."

'Of course I felt it.'

The pressure.

That soul-hollowing gravity. Like the world was being slowly tipped toward something it couldn't fight.

"I know it's awake," Lindarion said. "I know they finished the runes. I know Edric's not Edric anymore. But that doesn't mean I sit here while they use her as leverage."

"You think it's about leverage?"

"I don't care what it's about," Lindarion snapped. "She's not bait. She's not a token. She's not part of their game."

"And what if she is?" Jaren said, voice sharp now. "What if that thing—they called it Dythrael, didn't they? What if it chose her? What if going in now just gives it exactly what it wants?"

"Then it'll regret choosing her," Lindarion said. "Because I'm coming anyway."

Silence.

Ashwing stirred slightly from his shoulder.

Jaren finally muttered, "You're insane."

"I'm angry."

"There's a difference."

Lindarion walked past him.

Jaren caught his sleeve.

"I'm not finished."

Lindarion turned, eyes hard. "You are now."

Behind them, Sylric muttered something low under his breath. "He's gonna start glowing again."

Jaren's hand tightened. "I'm saying this for the last time. We don't know how deep that ruin goes. We don't know what it is. And we don't know if she's even still alive—"

Lindarion didn't flinch. "She is."

"You're guessing."

"No. I know."

Jaren stared at him.

No words.

Just silence.

And for a second, maybe less, he understood. The way Lindarion held that truth like a blade, not a hope. Not denial. A choice.

Ashwing curled tighter along his arm, gold-and-black scales shimmering faintly. "If we're going, go now," he whispered through the bond. "I can still trace the gate's imprint."

"Then trace it," Lindarion said.

Sylric finally broke his silence. "You're both cracked. You know that?"

"Yes," Lindarion said.

And then to Jaren: "I'm not asking you to come."

Jaren's mouth twitched. "Good. Because I'm not."

"But I am asking you to hold the damn line."

Jaren snorted. "Now you ask."

The two stared at each other a moment longer. Then Jaren finally stepped back.

"One hour," he said. "That's how long I give you. After that, I assume you're either dead or need reinforcements."

"You won't want to follow."

"I never do."

Lindarion gave a small nod, then turned toward the clearing where the pressure was still thickest. The air shimmered faintly where the portal had collapsed. But Ashwing's claws twitched again.

"Here," the dragon said. "It's weaker now, but still open. I can widen it. For a minute."

"Do it."

Lindarion reached into his coat, tightening the straps around his chest. No armor. No gear. Just fists, mana, and a promise.

Sylric rolled his shoulders. "You know I'm only doing this because I owe her, right?"

"I don't care why."

"Great. Just checking."

The air cracked open.

A pulse. Like a heartbeat from the wrong direction.

Ashwing hissed, wings flaring. "It's unstable. I don't know where we'll land."

"I don't care."

Lindarion stepped in.

The portal swallowed them.

And the clearing went still.

Jaren watched the space for a long moment.

Then turned and shouted, "Double the perimeter. No one sleeps until we get eyes on what's happening under that ruin. Move!"

Soldiers ran.

The wind shifted.

And somewhere deep under the surface of the world, the creature that had once been Dythrael opened its eyes again.

—

The first thing she noticed was the cold.

Not the sharp, mountain kind. Not wind or rain or stone.

This was clean. Too clean. Like every bit of air had been washed of scent, weight, and warmth. It made her stomach twist.

Luneth's eyes opened slowly.

Ceiling.

Not sky. Not tent canvas. Not rubble.

Just smooth, pale stone arched overhead, dimly lit by whatever passed for light down here. The kind of glow that came from runes, not torches. Controlled. Contained.

She didn't move at first.

Her arms were numb.

Her legs, worse.

When she finally sat up, she realized why.

There were bindings. Not metal. Not rope. Something else. A dark shimmer wrapped just below each wrist, like shackles made of mist. They didn't squeeze. They just were. Too real to be illusion, too strange to be real.

Her fingers flexed anyway.

'Still breathing. Still conscious. That's something.'

She looked around.

The room was circular. No corners. One door, no handle. A long slit across the top of the far wall let in a weak blue glow from what looked like mana veins. They pulsed slightly, in and out. Like the walls were breathing.

"Hello?" she called, voice steady.

Nothing.

Luneth closed her eyes for a second. 'Okay. Taken. Not dead. Sylric saw it. Lindarion will—'

Her jaw clenched.

She hated that thought.

That reflex.

'Don't sit here waiting to be saved. You're not a child.'