Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Nytheris's voice followed him only as the moss began to seal the chamber again.

"Next time, it will ask."

And Lindarion didn't say a word.

Because he already knew.

It had asked just now.

And part of him—

had listened.

—

The door sealed behind him with the sound of wind drawing back from stone.

No lock. No clang. Just stillness.

Lindarion stood at the top of the sloped tunnel again. The Garden, the pulse, the green, the black crystal, was behind him now.

But its weight hadn't left his chest.

Seraphine waited at the base of the stairs, standing at attention with her back to the wall, arms crossed. Her armor caught the light faintly from the inner mana veins running along the curved ceiling, casting short glints onto the floor.

Her eyes met his the moment he emerged.

She didn't ask what he saw.

She didn't need to.

Her gaze held a different question. One she wasn't sure she was allowed to ask.

Lindarion stopped three paces from her.

"Nothing down there changed," he said.

"But you did," she replied.

He didn't confirm it.

Didn't need to.

She straightened, stepping back into motion, her sword hilt brushing the edge of her armor again with that same soft knock every few steps. She turned toward the archway that led back into the city's central ring.

They walked in silence for a while, the Garden's strange warmth still clinging faintly to his skin. The deeper echo of the core's presence buzzed behind his thoughts, not loud, not active, but ever-watching.

Lindarion spoke first.

"I want to speak with the council."

Seraphine gave him a sidelong glance. "The High Council doesn't meet on demand."

"I'm not asking for a full meeting."

"Then what are you asking for?"

"One member."

"Which one?"

"Vaerelina Starshade."

Seraphine stopped walking.

He turned to face her.

She didn't look surprised. Just quiet.

"She already spoke with you," she said.

"I wasn't ready to ask the right questions."

Seraphine held his gaze.

Then nodded once. "She'll still be in Solrendel. Most of the council is—since Thalorin's disappearance."

Lindarion's expression didn't change, but he filed that phrasing away.

Disappearance.

Not absence.

Not reassignment.

Disappearance.

He asked carefully, "What's been said about it?"

"Publicly?" Seraphine began walking again. "Very little. A cover was issued—a temporary retreat into the Deep Sanctum. Meditation. Magical exhaustion. Things nobles will repeat at dinners without blinking."

"And privately?"

"Nothing," she said. "Which is what makes it suspicious."

Lindarion frowned.

"Thalorin doesn't vanish. He relocates, he delays, he manipulates entire factions into thinking he's left when he's really listening behind a wall, but he doesn't vanish."

"Exactly."

The walk from the Core to the citadel wasn't long. But tonight, it felt longer.

When they reached the palace gates, the guards stepped aside without question. Lindarion didn't stop in the throne hall or return to his chambers. He turned toward the diplomatic wing.

Seraphine followed.

"You really want to bring Vaerelina into this?"

"No," he said. "I want to know how deep the council's fractures are. And she's the one who showed up first. That means she knows something."

"She's not your enemy."

"She's not my ally either."

"You sound like your father."

He didn't smile.

But he didn't deny it.

—

Vaerelina's temporary residence was high in the east-facing spire, one of the smaller towers overlooking the city walls.

Not ornate, but high enough for observation, distant enough for privacy. A perfect location for someone who liked to keep a long view of power.

A palace aide answered the door without protest, stepped aside, and left the room without a word.

Vaerelina was already standing when they entered.

She had changed into a slimmer robe, deep forest green, trimmed with pale gold, and her hair was unbound now, long and sleek down her back.

The cuffs and ornaments from before had been removed. She looked less like a council member, more like a noblewoman preparing for a sleepless night of reports.

She glanced at Seraphine first, then at Lindarion.

"You don't look like someone returning from rest."

"I wasn't."

"I assume this isn't a social call."

"No."

She gestured toward a curved sitting bench near the balcony's edge. Lindarion remained standing.

"I want to know what the council said when Thalorin vanished."

Vaerelina studied him for a moment.

Then, without expression, she answered.

"They said nothing."

He stepped closer. "Nothing?"

"Correct. Not even to each other."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to recognize the pattern," she said calmly. "You've lived in this city. You know the sound silence makes when it's being used as a shield."

He did.

Vaerelina walked to the table at the far end of the room, poured a small glass of clear liquid—no scent, no cloud. She didn't offer any.

"After the Academy was attacked, Thalorin was still accounted for. Then he stopped responding."

"Scrolls?"

"None returned."

"Trackers?"

"Dead. Burned out."

"Did my father know?"

Vaerelina paused.

Then nodded. "He did. But he also knew something else."

"What."

"That Thalorin wasn't taken."

Lindarion narrowed his eyes. "How can you be sure?"

"Because nothing was broken."

Vaerelina set her glass down.

"No blood. No trauma. No breach. Just… absence."

Lindarion folded his arms.

"You don't believe he left willingly."

"No," she said. "I believe he went somewhere he thought only he could go."

"And the rest of the council?"

"Afraid," she said. "But unwilling to say it out loud."

"And you?"

Vaerelina looked him in the eye.

"I'm still watching the wind."

Silence lingered.

Then Lindarion asked the final question.

"Would you meet with me again—privately?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to need help soon," he said. "And I don't know who's going to try and stop me yet."

Vaerelina studied him one last time.

Then gave a single nod.

"You know where to find me."

Lindarion turned to leave.

Seraphine followed.

As the door closed behind them, the last thing he saw was Vaerelina's reflection in the glass, still standing, still watching the stars over Eldorath.

Still waiting for something to move.