Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Still at the center of the sigil. Still beneath ten eyes. But now, he let himself be seen.

Not the boy who vanished.

Not the prince who was kidnapped.

The one who came back.

"I'll speak clearly," he said.

No preamble.

No apology.

"I won't give you everything."

A faint stir among the seats.

"But I'll give you enough."

He scanned them once, slow, deliberate.

"You've all heard the rumors. The attack at Evernight. The explosion near Hearthrun. The dragon sighting."

A few shifts in posture.

No interruptions.

"I'm not here to confirm the gossip," he continued. "I'm here to give it direction."

Narien leaned forward slightly. "And what direction is that, Prince Lindarion?"

"North," Lindarion said. "Then down."

Silas let out a small, polite laugh. "Forgive me. Are we talking geography now?"

"No," Lindarion replied. "We're talking descent. Collapse. Things shifting beneath our feet. I've seen pieces of it. I've walked through part of what's coming. And if you want this kingdom to survive it, you'll need to stop pretending your seats are higher than the floor."

That silenced even Silas.

Lindarion continued.

"There are structures beneath Eldorath—ancient ones. Older than the Vault. Older than recorded rule. One of them activated during the Evernight attack."

He didn't mention glyphs.

Or Ouroboros.

Or the crystal pulsing beneath the Garden.

"Whatever did it," he said, "wasn't human. Or elven. Or known."

Velarien tilted her head. "You're speaking of magical systems outside our archive."

"I'm speaking of something that predates your archive."

She didn't smile this time.

"You expect us to take your word?"

"No," Lindarion said. "I expect you to start asking better questions."

Calaron leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. "You believe we're under attack."

Lindarion nodded once. "Not yet. But someone wants the locks broken. And if they succeed…"

He let the silence speak.

"You want action," Darethin said. "Council deployment? Investigators?"

"No," Lindarion said. "Not yet. I need freedom. Movement. Authority to track and intercept. I won't drag this room into shadows it doesn't understand."

"Then what do you want?" Vaerelina asked.

His eyes met hers.

And this time, he let the weight show.

"I want time," he said. "And the promise you won't stop me when I start moving."

Eldrin hadn't said a word during any of it.

Now he did.

"Councilors," the king said. "Do you contest this request?"

No immediate answers.

Just looks exchanged. Calculations made.

Then—

One by one—

Heads dipped.

Not deep.

But enough.

Lindarion stepped back once.

And the air shifted.

He didn't win them.

Not yet.

—

The doors hadn't reopened yet.

Councilors were beginning to shift, speaking in low voices, preparing exit scripts, summoning aides with subtle gestures.

Lindarion remained in the center.

Watching.

Cataloging every movement.

And then—

The doors opened without announcement.

Two figures stepped into the room.

Lira moved first, hood down, cloak pulled back to reveal her full armor beneath. Her dark violet eyes swept across the chamber like someone walking into a battlefield without knowing who the enemy was yet.

Beside her—

Luneth Silverleaf.

Hair like frost-pale silk bound in twin braids over her shoulders, a silver circlet resting against her brow, modest by noble standards, but unmistakable. Her coat was long, cut with Sylvarion precision, clasped in the style only their inner court wore.

They didn't slow.

They didn't speak.

They just entered.

And the room shifted.

Vaerelina rose immediately.

So did Calaron.

Sylas blinked and sat back in his seat, smile flickering.

Narien muttered something under his breath that sounded ancient and vaguely scandalized.

But Darethin—

The Tirnaeth representative stood like a triggered blade.

Her chair scraped back.

Her eyes locked on Lira like a storm trying to decide where to strike.

"You," she breathed.

Lira met her stare.

Unmoving.

No flinch.

"Yes," she said.

Darethin stepped forward once. "You shouldn't be here."

"I shouldn't be alive."

The words weren't dramatic.

They were factual.

And Darethin froze.

Lira turned slightly, now facing Lindarion in full.

"I thought I'd lost the trail," she said. "After the glyph site. After the movement west. We hit too many false leads."

"You tracked me all the way here?" Lindarion asked.

She nodded once. "It took time. But I knew you'd come here eventually. You had to."

Lindarion didn't miss the weight behind that.

Nor did the council.

Eldrin, from the center seat, didn't rise.

He simply asked, "Who is she?"

"She fought with me when no one else could," Lindarion said. "She stayed when others ran."

"Her name."

"Lira of Tirnaeth," Lindarion said.

Darethin inhaled sharply.

"She is exiled."

"She is effective," Lindarion replied.

Darethin's fists clenched. "She is not sanctioned to stand in this chamber."

"She didn't come to speak to you," Lindarion said coolly. "She came to me."

The silence that followed wasn't broken by Darethin, or even by Eldrin.

It was Luneth who stepped forward next.

Every eye turned.

Some in recognition.

Some in confusion.

Some in calculation.

She met no one's gaze but Lindarion's.

"We need to talk," she said softly.

"And quickly."

He stepped forward to meet her halfway.

She glanced at the council once. Just once.

Her tone shifted slightly, sharper.

Her tone shifted slightly, sharper.

"You've been moving without us."

Us.

Not the court.

Not Sylvarion.

Just her.

Lindarion opened his mouth, but before the words could come, Luneth stepped the rest of the way forward.

And without hesitation—

She took his hand.

Right there, in the circle.

Ten councilors.

One king.

Two guards holding their breath.

And Luneth Silverleaf's fingers wrapped around his like frost curling over stone.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't romantic.

It was declaration.

"I'm going with him," she said.

Her voice was as calm as ever, but colder now. Frost-laced steel. Absolute.

"And I don't care what your chairs think of it."

Sylas let out a small exhale. "Well then."

Maeralyn's brow twitched faintly.

Velarien was very still.

Darethin looked like she was about to snap a blade in half with her bare hands.

Eldrin spoke. Finally.

"You intend to align yourself directly with my son?"

Luneth met his gaze.

"I already have."

"I don't remember a treaty."

"Then update your records."

Narien made a sound between a cough and a sigh. "Spoken like a true Silverleaf."

Lira stepped up beside them now, shoulders squared, hands at her sides, like she was daring someone to name the law she'd broken by surviving.

Vaerelina's voice cut through the air.

"And what are we to take this as?"

Luneth's hand didn't move.

Her fingers remained curled tightly around Lindarion's.

"A warning."

"Against what?"

"Complacency."