Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 168: A Baby (3)

The dragon sneezed.

It wasn't cute.

Okay, it was a little cute.

But mostly it was wet. And it left a smear on his boot that looked suspiciously like molten spit.

Lindarion stared at it in betrayal.

The dragon, who remained nameless and deeply unconcerned with manners, blinked once and went back to sleep. Its tail did the slow curl-pulse thing again, thudding lightly against the ground like it was having a dream about winning.

'Fantastic. First it claims my leg. Now my boot. At this rate, I'm going to be the proud owner of a dragon-themed rash.'

Ren had moved closer. Too close. She was lying on her stomach now, chin in her hands, looking at the dragon like it was a puzzle she meant to solve with pure audacity.

"What if it thinks you're its mom?"

"I am not its mom."

"Would explain a lot."

"I'm eleven."

"It's around the same age as you."

Lindarion stared at her. Then at the dragon. Then at the ceiling. "This cave was a mistake."

"I like it," Ren said. "The vibes are weird. Like something used to live here and died of awkward silence."

"Possibly while someone made bad jokes."

"Rude."

Meren rolled over with a grunt. He'd built himself a nest out of spare cloaks and what looked like one of Ardan's backup tunics. No one had stopped him.

Ardan was too busy pretending not to be part of this group, standing like a disgruntled statue at the far end of the cavern with his arms crossed and his back to everyone.

Meren blinked up at the ceiling. "So did we decide if the dragon is staying?"

"No," Lindarion said.

"Yes," Ren said at the same time.

Lira didn't say anything. Which was worrying. Silence from Lira was either judgment or long-term planning. Or both.

The fire crackled once. Just once. Like it had been eavesdropping and wanted to contribute.

Lindarion shifted slightly. The dragon whined. The tiniest sound. Like he'd offended it by daring to move his leg.

He sighed. "This is my life now."

Ren grinned. "You'll get matching outfits soon."

"We're not naming it."

"Too late. I'm naming it."

"No."

"Frostbite."

Lindarion blinked. "That is the worst name I've ever heard."

"It's topical."

"So is hypothermia."

"That was my second choice."

He looked over at Lira.

She didn't blink. "Frostbite is a bad name."

"Thank you."

"But it's better than naming it Flamey."

Lindarion pinched the bridge of his nose.

The dragon lifted its head, snorted again, and then bit the edge of his glove.

Gently.

As a treat.

"Fine," he muttered. "You want a name? How about Ashwing."

Meren raised his hand without lifting his head. "Seconded."

Ren tapped the dragon's head like she was knighting it. "Welcome to the disaster club, Ashwing."

The dragon yawned again.

Then fell over sideways.

Still asleep.

Still warm.

Still somehow smug.

Lindarion let his head thunk back against the wall.

'Ashwing. That's not terrible. Sounds vaguely majestic. Definitely better than Frostbite.'

He closed his eyes.

Tried not to think about the fact that a baby dragon had adopted him in a cursed cavern during a blizzard.

Tried not to think about what it meant.

Tried not to think.

Period.

The dragon curled tighter around his leg and sighed.

Of course it sighed.

He muttered, "I hate this."

Ashwing snored.

Lira smirked.

Which, frankly, was more terrifying than anything else that had happened all day.

—

The next morning started with a claw in his ribs.

Not metaphorical. An actual, talon-shaped prod from a baby dragon that apparently didn't understand personal space.

Lindarion opened one eye. Ashwing sat perched on his hip like a smug heater with wings. The dragon blinked slowly. Then sneezed directly into his scarf.

Perfect.

'If I die of magical pneumonia, someone better write that on the gravestone.'

He shoved the little beast gently to the side and sat up. His back cracked like someone stepping on old wood. His legs didn't feel like legs. More like stiff excuses for mobility.

Ashwing padded in a circle once. Then flopped back down on Lindarion's feet with a content little huff.

Ren was still asleep. Or possibly pretending. She was curled into a loose ball by the dying fire, one arm flung dramatically over her eyes like a stage actress who had just fainted from heartbreak.

Meren snored quietly, half-covered by a blanket and what looked suspiciously like someone's coat that definitely wasn't his.

Lira was already standing.

Because of course she was.

She leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, cloak draped in a way that looked accidental but probably wasn't. Her gaze slid over to Lindarion.

"You slept."

"That's what people do at night."

"You didn't look like you would."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

She didn't smile. But the corner of her mouth might have twitched. Maybe. Hard to tell with her face. It was basically carved from the same rock as the cave.

He stretched out his arms. The stiffness didn't go away, but it relocated. Which was progress.

Ashwing yawned on his feet.

"Is this a permanent thing now?" he asked.

"He likes you," Lira said.

"Lots of creatures like things. Doesn't mean I want them wrapped around my ankles while I'm trying to survive an avalanche."

"He's warm."

"I'm warm."

"Exactly."

He scowled. "You're enjoying this."

"A little."

Ardan stood near the entrance again. Completely awake. Probably had been all night. Because sleep was for mortals and emotionally adjusted people.

He turned slightly toward them.

"Storm's easing. We should move."

Ren made a sound somewhere between a groan and a curse. "Already?"

"We wait too long, the ridge will ice over."

"Let's risk it."

"No."

Lindarion stood, stretching his arms once more. Ashwing jumped off his boots and followed with the same unbothered air of a cat who knew it owned the house.

Meren stirred, looked around, blinked twice, then slumped back down again.

"Wake him," Ardan said.

Lira didn't wait. She just grabbed a loose corner of Meren's blanket and yanked it.

Meren flailed upright. "I'M AWAKE—"

"You weren't," Lira said.

"I was just resting my—what's the word—existence."

Ren patted his shoulder as she walked past. "You're doing amazing."

He looked around blearily. "Why is the dragon still here?"

"Because Lindarion's heart is a furnace of kindness," Ren said.

"No," Lindarion said flatly.

"Yes," Lira agreed, deadpan.

Meren pointed at Ashwing. "What does it eat?"

"Unclear," Lindarion said. "Possibly sarcasm."

Ashwing chirped like it was agreeing.

The group started packing up. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't fast. It involved a lot of swearing under breath and a dramatic amount of cloak shaking.

Lindarion adjusted his pack again. The strap still bit into the same spot, but now he had a dragon tail wrapped around one ankle. Bonus weight.

The air outside was brighter now. Still cold, but less like it wanted to kill them personally.

Lira stepped out first. Snow crunched beneath her boots.

Ren followed, dragging Meren by the sleeve.

Ardan nodded once to Lindarion.

He stepped out last.

Ashwing followed. No leash. No command. Just… there.

'Great. I have a follower. What's next, a theme song?'

The trail stretched ahead again. Frost clung to the edges, but the path was clearer now. The kind of clear that meant trouble was just farther away, not gone.

Lindarion pulled his scarf higher.

No words. No jokes this time.

Just the quiet press of cold and the weight of warm scales at his heel.