Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Snow clung to the back of his coat.

Not from walking.

From being tossed onto the courtyard path like a sack of regret.

Lindarion stood, brushing himself off with what little pride hadn't been knocked loose. Luneth hadn't moved from where she stood under the arch, one hand still half-raised in case he tried anything else stupid.

"You were kidnapped," she said. Not a question.

"I got better," he muttered.

Her brow didn't move. "You were gone for weeks."

"I counted."

"And now you're standing here. No letter. No report. No warning."

He nodded once. "All true."

Lira stood behind him, silent, arms crossed. Sylric was leaning against a wall like this was a coffee break.

Luneth looked at them both, then back to him.

"You came back alone?"

"No."

Her gaze sharpened.

"I came back with Lira and Sylric," he clarified. "And a few answers. But not enough."

She took a step closer.

The wind shifted between them, sharp, cold, not unnatural, just there.

"You shouldn't be walking around like nothing happened."

"I'm not."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I need your help."

That landed.

She blinked, just once. Her mouth didn't open. Her posture didn't change. But the fact that she didn't answer right away told him more than anything she could've said.

Lindarion kept going. "I'm putting something together. Quiet. Off-record. There's no banner, no crest. I'm not taking orders from Evernight or Eldenholm."

Luneth studied him in full now.

Not like a classmate.

Like a threat.

Or maybe, like a chance.

"You trust me with this…?" she asked.

"I trust that you'd rather freeze an enemy than let them speak."

She tilted her head. "And what exactly am I joining?"

Lindarion hesitated. Not long. Just enough.

"I'll explain everything. But not here."

A pause.

Then, finally, she nodded.

Just once.

Sharp. Precise.

"I'll come."

—

Luneth didn't ask where they were going.

She just fell into step beside him like they hadn't missed weeks of each other's lives, like he hadn't vanished during an attack, and like she wasn't still watching him from the corner of her eye.

Lira walked behind them, silent and unreadable as ever.

Sylric trailed a few steps back, boots dragging slightly like the road owed him sleep.

They left the academy walls behind, cutting between outbuildings and empty courtyards, following a narrow side path that led toward the old practice cliffs.

No students came out this far anymore. The air smelled sharper here. Colder. Pine and stone and distant storm.

Luneth glanced sideways once. "Are we going to walk all the way to vengeance?"

"Almost there," Lindarion said.

She didn't reply.

The trees opened.

And there, coiled between stone pillars, wings tucked like collapsed sails, golden-scaled back rising and falling with slow, controlled breath, Ashwing.

Luneth stopped walking.

Lindarion didn't say anything.

Ashwing blinked once, then lifted his head.

Steam curled from his nostrils.

Luneth didn't step back.

Didn't speak.

But her eyes narrowed. Not in fear, just adjustment. She catalogued the creature like a puzzle she hadn't expected to solve today.

"You didn't mention that," she said calmly.

"Didn't fit into the first sentence," Lindarion replied.

Ashwing let out a quiet growl, almost amused.

Lira stepped forward, hand brushing Ashwing's side in passing. "He doesn't bite unless prompted."

Sylric shrugged. "Even then, it's usually justified."

Luneth stared at the dragon a moment longer.

Then, without looking away she said. "Alright. You have my full attention…."

Lindarion finally allowed himself a breath.

"Good. We'll need it."

—

They left the city by back trail.

Not through the gates. Not with paperwork. Not with fanfare.

Just wind, old stone, and Ashwing's shadow stretching long across the hills.

Sylric led.

Of course he did.

He didn't explain where they were going, not in detail. Just grumbled something about "people who owe him coin or a scar" and headed northeast.

They walked the first stretch. Ashwing followed above, circling like a stormcloud with wings.

Luneth walked behind them, silent as a second shadow.

She hadn't said more than two words since seeing the dragon.

Not fear. Not awe.

Just calculation behind her eyes, like she was solving an equation no one else saw.

Lindarion watched her once, briefly.

She caught it.

Didn't speak.

Didn't smile.

Just kept walking.

They moved into the hills by nightfall. Frost collected on the edges of pine bark. Sylric led them into a ravine where the trees grew too tight for Ashwing to land.

"Here," he said, kicking aside a fallen log. "This is the spot."

"A meeting?" Lindarion asked.

Sylric shook his head. "A drinking den. For very specific people."

He knocked twice on the mossy stone behind the log. Then kicked it.

The ground shifted.

A hatch opened.

Warm air spilled out, smoke, sweat, oil, and steel.

The kind of smell that said "leave your pride at the door and keep your blade where we can see it."

Lira was already stepping forward.

Lindarion followed.

Luneth came last, silent, pale in the firelight. Her eyes swept the room the moment they entered, twelve steps wide, seven bodies inside, every one of them armed.

The nearest man at the bar looked up and muttered, "Well, I'll be cursed. Sylric Lirandel's alive."

Sylric didn't blink. "Barely."

The man grinned. Half his teeth were gold. His eyes were pale green and wrong, too clear for someone this deep in smoke.

Lindarion felt Luneth shift behind him. Not tense. Just… tuned.

Sylric turned to the group. "Everyone, this is Lindarion. He's royalty. He's also planning to get half of us killed."

No one laughed.

Not yet.

But the tension cracked just enough for chairs to scrape back and interest to rise.

"Let's talk contracts," Sylric said.

And the room sharpened.

—

The fire pit burned low, casting sharp light and long shadows across mismatched chairs and too many weapons.

Lindarion stood near the center of the room. Not by choice. Just because every pair of eyes had decided that's where he belonged.

One of the mercs stepped forward.

Broad-shouldered. Dark red hair tied back in a rough knot. One eye cloudy, the other too sharp. Axe strapped across his back, not ornamental. Used.

He didn't ask for a name.

He just pointed. "You're the prince."

Lindarion didn't flinch. "I'm the one offering coin."

"Titles don't buy loyalty," the man said.

"I'm not asking for loyalty. I'm asking for precision."

The merc stepped closer.

Lira didn't move, but her hand found the strap on her scabbard.

Luneth stood against the far wall, half-shadowed. Eyes unreadable.

Sylric exhaled. "Here we go."

"You want precision?" the merc asked.