Reincarnated as an Elf Prince
Chapter 210 - 210: Arrival (1)

Ashwing hadn't moved in over an hour. His breath rose slow and deep, curls of steam drifting from his nostrils. Each exhale warmed the frost around his massive frame. He was asleep, but not unaware.

Lira sat with her legs stretched out, back against a broken slab of stone. She hadn't asked how far the Academy was.

Because she knew he didn't know.

Lindarion crouched near the fire's edge. He flicked a small ember back into the pit with his finger, watching the heat spiral up.

"We're close enough now," he said. "By sky, maybe a few hours."

She didn't answer at first.

Then.

"They'll see us coming."

"I know."

"You think they'll recognize you from that high up?"

"No. But they'll recognize the dragon."

Lira tilted her head. "And what happens when they panic?"

"They won't," Lindarion said. "Not once they realize who it is."

She raised a brow.

He corrected, "Who I am."

That hung in the air for a second.

"You're the missing prince," she said flatly. "They'll have questions."

"Let them."

"They'll assume you were kidnapped."

"I was."

"And you're flying back on a full-grown dragon with a dark elf and no escort."

He sighed. "Which is why I'm telling you now: let me speak first."

She made a short sound in her throat. Not quite a laugh. "Sure. We'll pretend you're still good at diplomacy."

Lindarion stood, stretching out a shoulder. "I'm not walking through the front gates. I'm flying over them with a flaming lizard the size of a cottage. That's already past diplomacy."

"They might attack first."

"They might salute."

"You're really gambling on that?"

"No," he said. "I'm gambling that they'd rather explain themselves to the crown than bury its heir."

Lira stood too. Her cloak flared slightly as she moved. She didn't reach for her weapon, but he could tell her fingers were counting exits.

She looked toward Ashwing.

"He's too big now. They won't believe he's safe."

"He isn't."

That made her pause.

Lindarion looked her straight on. "But he listens."

They both watched the dragon shift, one wing twitching, claws sinking slightly into thawed earth.

"We descend directly," Lindarion said. "No detour. No stealth. If we try to sneak in with something this size, we will get skewered on reflex."

Lira nodded once. "And if they try anyway?"

He shrugged. "You do what you do."

She smirked. "Better."

The wind picked up slightly. It tasted like morning.

Ashwing stirred. Not fully. Just enough to say, He heard all of it.

—

Ashwing woke like a switch had flipped.

One moment stillness.

The next, his head rose, wings stretched wide, claws dug into soft earth with a low, grinding sound. Steam poured from his nostrils in short bursts. Not hostile. Just awake.

Lindarion stepped into view.

"Time to go."

The dragon blinked once, slow and even, then lowered himself.

Lira was already checking the straps on her pack. She didn't speak. Just moved. She stepped up onto Ashwing's foreleg and climbed without hesitation, pulling herself into position behind the wing joint.

Lindarion followed. The climb was easier now, practiced. His hands found the same notches, same rough points of scale. Ashwing adjusted slightly under their weight but didn't react beyond that.

The sky above had started to pale.

Not light yet. But less dark.

He took a breath and leaned forward, one hand flat against Ashwing's neck.

"East," he said.

Ashwing launched.

No roar. No buildup.

Just power.

Wings slammed once, twice and they were airborne, the ground disappearing under them like a sheet being pulled back.

Lindarion felt the drop in his chest, the rush in his ears. Cold wind bit into his collar, his sleeves. Lira leaned forward into the motion, her hands gripping tight behind him.

Ashwing climbed fast.

The trees blurred beneath them. The forest shrank to shapes. Then to shadows. Then to nothing but a ribbon of green-grey behind their tail.

No conversation. No need.

They had their heading now.

Straight east.

Straight home.

And straight into whatever waited for them on the other side.

—

The sky turned silver as they crossed into Veldoria.

Lindarion didn't need a map to know. The trees below changed first, taller, older, straighter than the ones in Caldris.

Guard towers dotted the hilltops in clusters of threes. Their torches burned in tight formation, clean flame. Organized. Controlled.

They were approaching Eldenholm.

He leaned lower on Ashwing's back. The wind wasn't as vicious now, but it was still loud. His hands had gone numb again, even through gloves.

Lira stayed quiet behind him, one hand braced against the rise of Ashwing's shoulder. Her breath didn't shake. Her grip didn't slip.

She hadn't spoken since takeoff.

Neither had he.

There wasn't anything worth saying.

Ashwing dipped lower, unprompted.

A subtle shift, barely ten degrees. But deliberate.

He'd seen something.

Lindarion followed his gaze.

There it was.

Rising from the far edge of the forest: the towers of Evernight Academy.

Stone-gray, steep, impossible to miss against the sky. Banners hung from the upper spires, still whole. Still moving.

No scorch marks.

No siege.

No ruins.

The Academy had endured.

Lindarion exhaled through his nose. His jaw was tight.

'They rebuilt. Or maybe… they never fell.'

Ashwing adjusted again, wings pulling tighter. They were closing distance fast now. Too fast.

Lindarion tapped twice against the scales near his neck. "Ease up. Glide."

Ashwing responded instantly.

The wind pressure dropped. The angle leveled.

They weren't diving anymore, they were presenting themselves.

The landing came next.

And with it, the welcome.

Whatever that meant now.

—

Loric didn't like his morning shift.

Too early. Too cold. Too quiet.

The tower view was always the same, rows of pines, mist over the lower fields, the Academy rooftops stretching behind him like a well-pressed blanket.

He adjusted his scarf for the fourth time and leaned over the rail.

Then squinted.

Something moved in the distance.

Fast.

Low.

He frowned. Birds didn't move like that. Not at that size. Not at that angle. The shape rose. Wings spread wide. Too wide. Way too wide.

He blinked once.

Twice.

The shape kept coming.

Now it had color.

Not feathers.

Scales.

Gold and deep iron. Sunlight catching off sharp angles. And riders. Two of them. One tall, one small.

He stepped back from the rail and shouted down the stairwell. "Someone get Captain Veylen—now!"

Footsteps thundered below.

Loric looked back at the sky.

The shape was clearer now.

A long tail.

Powerful limbs.

A jaw that could snap a carriage.

His mouth was dry.

"That's… that's a dragon," he muttered.

Then again, louder, like saying it would make it less ridiculous:

"That's a dragon."

And it was coming straight for them.

The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!