Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 173: Village (3)

"I've always been curious," Lindarion said, voice even. "Why do so many of you hate elves?"

The man's eyebrows lifted, like he hadn't expected an answer. Which, fair. Most elves didn't ask. Most humans didn't explain.

"You really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

The man crossed his arms. "You're not like us."

"Not the strongest argument. Neither is a bear."

"Some of your kind act better. Smarter. Always keeping to your trees and towers. Think that makes you special."

Lindarion tilted his head. "So it's a vibes thing."

"It's a power thing. You live longer. You've got magic in your blood. But when war breaks out, who bleeds more?"

Lindarion didn't answer right away. Mostly because Ashwing had decided to chew on a bootlace and he was trying not to trip.

The man kept going. "Humans build. Elves hide. We claw our way out of dirt. You get kingdoms handed down through bloodlines like heirlooms."

There it was.

Not hate.

Just the usual cocktail of fear and history with a garnish of insecurity.

Lindarion met the man's eyes. No smile. No threat.

"You're not wrong," he said.

That caught him off guard. Slightly.

"But let me offer something," Lindarion added. "Just because we didn't start the fire doesn't mean we're not standing in the smoke."

The man frowned. "That supposed to mean something?"

"Probably not. I'm eleven. Most of what I say is poetic nonsense."

He stepped past the man without waiting for a response. Ashwing followed, tail high, chewing on a twig now. Upgrade from bootlace.

Lindarion didn't look back.

He didn't need to.

He'd heard this before.

He'd hear it again.

The difference was, this time, he didn't feel like apologizing for it.

Inside the inn, the warmth hit like a slow punch. Ren looked up from where she was dealing cards to a very unimpressed Lira and a half-asleep Meren.

"Make any friends?"

"Deep emotional bonding," Lindarion said flatly. "We're starting a book club."

Ashwing hopped up onto a bench, curled into a ball, and sighed like the world was too heavy for his small scaly heart.

Lindarion sat beside him.

And for once, didn't correct him.

—

Raleth's hands moved slowly over the scroll. Not because he was unsure. Just because haste made mistakes, and he didn't enjoy repeating himself. Or paperwork. Or most things.

The communication parchment was already primed. Embedded with a low-grade enchantment to the Eldorath court's relay system. It pulsed once under his thumb. Warm. Expectant. Slightly judgey.

He sighed. "Yes, yes. I'm touching you. Calm down."

The room was quiet. A small chamber in the village's central hall, mostly used for weddings, announcements, and the occasional chicken tribunal.

The walls smelled like old cedar and disappointment. A painting of some heroic figure hung crooked on the far side. Probably a founder. Definitely not a good one.

Raleth shifted in his chair, adjusting his robes. He'd had better mornings. He'd also had worse. This one landed somewhere between an unexpected guest and diplomatic migraine.

The dragon had nearly incinerated the welcome mat. The elf prince had asked actual questions. And somehow, Meren hadn't exploded yet.

Progress.

He pressed two fingers to the glyph on the scroll and let a thread of mana feed into it.

The parchment sparked once. Then glowed a soft blue. A thin veil of illusion shimmered up from the surface, forming the translucent image of a faceless court scribe.

Raleth cleared his throat.

"Message for Eldorath Internal Affairs, Status Code Three-Seven-One. Personal identifier: Raleth of Dalglen Watch. Position: Acting Warden."

The scribe blinked. Didn't speak. Just waited. As all good scribes did.

Raleth kept going.

"Prince Lindarion Sunblade has arrived safely at the village of Hearthrun, under escort. No injuries. No known pursuit."

He hesitated. Then added, "He also has a dragon."

The scribe didn't react. Probably because they were an illusion. Or emotionally dead inside.

Raleth exhaled through his nose.

"Small. Young. Not hostile. Yet."

He let that sit for a moment, then continued.

"The prince is traveling with a group. Identities confirmed: Lira of Tirnaeth. Ardan, from the Kingdom's court. Two human exiles. No significant disturbances aside from mild property damage."

Another pause.

"By the dragon. Not the prince."

He sat back. Let the mana drip a bit slower now. His fingers tapped the wood of the chair. Not a habit. Just something to do so he didn't start swearing out loud.

The scribe finally spoke. A voice like polished wood and suppressed judgment.

"Do you believe the prince is safe to continue traveling?"

Raleth considered lying.

Then didn't.

"I believe he's safer than most rulers in their own courts. And significantly less likely to start a war."

Another pause.

"The dragon may start a fire, though."

The scribe gave a mechanical nod. "Report acknowledged. Relay complete. This log will be sealed and filed."

The scroll pulsed. Then burned.

Clean. Smokeless. Like it had never existed at all.

Raleth leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath through his nose.

"Well," he muttered, "that's someone else's problem now."

He stood slowly. His knees made a sound like betrayal. Outside the window, snow still drifted past the rooftops. Calm. Deceptive.

He watched it for a few seconds.

Then turned and walked out.

—

The warmth of the inn felt almost suspicious.

Like it knew they didn't belong here and was trying to lull them into a false sense of comfort before something terrible happened.

A spilled drink. A spilled secret. A spontaneous tavern brawl where Ashwing set the curtains on fire.

Again.

Lindarion leaned against the bench, one arm draped over the backrest, trying to convince his shoulders they weren't made of stone.

Ashwing curled at his side, still pretending to be a normal pet and not a walking furnace with wings. His tail twitched every few seconds. Possibly dreaming about chasing goats. Or eating them.

Ren flicked a card at Lira's forehead.

It bounced off.

"You blinked," Ren said.

"No," Lira said.

"You did. Your right eye twitched. That counts."

Lira said nothing.

The next card vanished mid-air.

Ren blinked. Looked down. Her hand was empty. The card was not coming back.

"Okay. So she's cheating now."

"I'm done," Lira said, standing up with the kind of finality usually reserved for sentencing.

Ren sighed like a defeated storm cloud and slumped against the table. "I liked her better when she didn't participate."

"You say that about everyone," Meren mumbled from his slouched position, half-asleep and probably drooling onto the wooden floor. "Even me."

Ren poked his leg with her boot. "Especially you."

Lindarion didn't say anything.

Just took it in.

The sound of a hearth crackling somewhere behind the bar. The faint clatter of dishes being stacked by a harried innkeeper who probably hated their entire group. A storm still raging outside, muffled to a dull hiss against the windowpanes.

Peace.