Reincarnated as an Elf Prince
Chapter 208 - 208: Realization

"Water?" she asked.

He nodded. "Ashwing's half inside it."

"Of course he is."

He knelt near her. The ground was packed, frost-thin. He pressed a hand to it, then pulled his palm away and focused.

He didn't need flint. Didn't need friction.

He just needed heat.

Mana bloomed through his fingers, controlled, focused. He let it slip into the earth, just enough to evaporate the surface moisture. The frost hissed away from the dirt.

He raised his hand again.

This time, a thin line of flame snapped across his palm.

He touched it to the dry twigs Lira had gathered from the edge of the clearing.

The fire caught immediately.

Not large.

Not wild.

Just enough.

Lira leaned back as it flared, arms crossed. "Trying to show-off?"

"Efficient."

She didn't argue.

Lindarion sat across from her, legs stretched, gloves off. The heat soaked into his fingers fast, bringing the sting of blood returning.

Ashwing hadn't moved.

The sound of water came in slow intervals from the trees, just the stream lapping at his legs.

"Never thought I'd fly on a dragon," Lira muttered.

He looked up. "You handled it."

"I faked it."

"Looked the same from the front."

She smirked. "Next time I scream, I'll do it louder."

"No promises there's a next time."

The fire popped once. Sparks jumped, vanished in the air.

Lira pulled her knees up and rested her arms across them. "You think he's done changing?"

Lindarion stared into the flames. "Not even close."

"He's already bigger than any beast I've seen."

"He wasn't built for moderation."

She didn't ask what that meant.

Didn't need to.

Ashwing stirred in the distance. Not awake. Just shifting in the water, tail curling around the edge of a half-submerged rock. Steam rose again, steady now. He wasn't cold. The stream wouldn't freeze tonight.

Lira tilted her head slightly, watching.

"You think he understands what he is?"

"No."

"Do you?"

Lindarion looked into the fire a little longer than he needed to. "Not yet."

Silence settled. Not heavy. Just mutual agreement that nothing they said would make this simpler.

The fire burned clean. It fed easily, the affinity doing its work in the background. No smoke. No flicker. Just warmth where the cold couldn't follow.

Ashwing exhaled once, deeper than before. Then stopped moving.

He'd curled in on himself. A half-ring of muscle and scale near the streambed, wings layered like a shield over his back. His breath hit the air in slow, ghosted bursts. That was sleep. Real sleep.

Lindarion didn't know if dragons dreamed.

But if Ashwing did, it wouldn't be about mountains or treasure.

It would be about burning too bright, too fast.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"We'll need to move at first light," he said.

Lira nodded. "If we're lucky, we're still in Caldris."

"And if not?"

"Then the next kingdom gets a dragon sighting."

He sighed.

A short one.

Not tired.

Just thinking too loud.

The flames flickered lower now. Not fading. Just steadying.

They'd hold till dawn.

—

The first thing Ren noticed was that the inn was too quiet.

The second was that it was too cold.

She sat up fast, hand already reaching for her sword. The edge of the bench groaned beneath her, but nothing else moved. Meren snored softly in the next room. Ardan's bedroll was still full. No creak of boots. No whisper of frostwind through the shutters.

She stood. Slowly. Stiff from the flightless sleep.

Coat on. Sword buckled.

The third thing she noticed was that Lindarion's door was open.

Not cracked. Not kicked.

Just open.

Her stomach dropped.

The hallway was dark. A draft moved through the boards like breath, cold, slow, wrong. She stepped lightly, boots muffled by the warped wood. The others didn't stir. Not yet.

The door at the end of the hall swung slightly.

She pushed it open.

The room was empty.

Bed untouched. Window wide open.

Not shattered. Just opened.

Ash flakes drifted in from the ledge. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something else, mana. Old and burned down.

She stepped to the window and leaned out.

No footprints.

But the barrel below had fresh cracks. The rim was still dripping.

Someone had jumped.

She muttered under her breath. No drama. Just a word she'd save for later.

Then she turned and went to the stables.

Because if Lindarion was gone, Ashwing should still be—

She stopped walking.

Then ran.

The stables were half-ajar. Straw scattered. No dragon.

Not even heat.

Just empty air.

"Seriously?" she said aloud.

Then louder. "You took the damn dragon?"

No answer, of course.

Ren stepped back from the stall, stared up at the roof of the inn, then at the horizon beyond the trees.

Nothing but sky.

And somewhere out there—

a prince, a dragon, and a killer had vanished together.

She clenched her teeth.

Meren was going to panic.

Ardan was going to sulk.

And she was going to find a twelve-year-old with too much magic and no sense of warning the group before they vanished into the cold.

"Perfect."

—

Ren didn't knock.

She kicked Meren's door open with the flat of her boot.

He sat up fast, hair sticking in all directions, eyes wide with zero coherence. "Whuh—what? Is it happening again? Are we dying?"

"No," she said. "But we're missing two elves and a dragon."

That got him moving.

He scrambled out of his blanket, nearly tripping over the bed frame. "They're gone?"

"Gone," she confirmed. "Window. No trace. Ashwing too."

Ardan's voice came from the other room, dry and very awake. "You sure they're not downstairs?"

Ren looked over. He was already sitting up, arms folded, eyes like stone.

"They left last night," she said. "Window's open. Barrel's cracked. Dragon stable's empty."

Meren's breathing picked up. "Did something take them? Are they kidnapped? Oh gods. Was it that Herald again? Are we next?"

"No," Ardan said.

He stood, slow but deliberate. Pulled his coat on, checked the sword at his side without looking at it.

"They weren't taken," he continued. "If they were, there'd be signs. And none of us would be breathing."

Ren crossed her arms. "So what, they just walked out without telling us?"

"Flew out," she corrected herself.

Ardan didn't flinch. "Then it was planned."

"That's not exactly better," Meren muttered. He'd pulled on a boot backward and was trying to fix it without falling over.

"They didn't vanish to be reckless," Ardan said. "Not her. Not him."

Ren watched him. "So?"

"So we don't follow."

Meren stopped. "Wait, what?"

"If they left quietly, it's because they didn't want us involved. Or slowing them down."

"You think they'll be fine?"

"No," Ardan said. "But they chose it anyway."

Ren rubbed her temple.

She hated how much sense that made.

Still hated that it was happening.

"So what do we do?"

"We wait," Ardan said. "We heal. We rebuild. And if they don't come back…"

He paused.

Didn't finish.

Meren looked between them.

"…then what?"

Ardan didn't answer.

Because they all knew.