Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Lindarion's expression didn't change. But the air around him did. Heat shimmered faintly at his shoulders, like sunlight through smoke.

The priest's smile faded at last.

"I came for answers," Lindarion said. "I'll leave with them."

The man's voice was lower now. "Then you won't leave."

Lindarion's mana surged without warning. Not a blast. Not an attack.

Just presence.

The divine affinity lit the ground beneath his feet in a soft, pulsing ring of gold. Not bright enough to blind. Just enough to draw the boundary between them.

"You'll try to stop me?"

"I will pray over your ashes."

A beat passed.

Then Lindarion's hand moved.

Only an inch.

But enough.

—

The moment the priest moved, the torches on the far wall died.

No wind. No sound. Just extinguished. Snuffed out like candles drowned underwater.

Shadows surged from the broken tiles, writhing up like snakes with no bones. They didn't stretch from light, they were made of it. Or rather, the absence of it. The space behind space. Real, tangible, crawling.

Darkness affinity.

Not low-level, either.

The priest didn't chant. Didn't shout. Just lifted one hand.

A spiral of black erupted from the stone under Lindarion's boots, tight as a corkscrew, meant to bind, crush, or drown.

Lindarion didn't move at all.

The shadows touched his ankles—

—and broke apart.

The priest blinked. Just once.

Lindarion exhaled slowly.

His voice came even. Measured.

"You thought I couldn't walk through that?"

The priest took a step back.

Lindarion followed.

Black vines of shadow leapt from the walls, like inked tendrils lashing toward his chest.

He raised his hand, no flame this time. No lightning.

Just a hum.

Darkness met darkness.

But his was older.

His was deeper.

And more importantly—

His was stronger.

The priest's tendrils unraveled mid-air, crumbling into static mist before they reached his coat. The next wave followed, arcs of pure black shrieking toward his head, and Lindarion simply stepped forward through them.

The system clicked faintly in the back of his mind, a tiny, dismissive text:

"Dark Affinity Resistance – Active. No threat detected."

Lindarion ignored it.

Ashwing's voice murmured in his thoughts, bone-dry. "You're just being mean now."

'I gave him a chance.'

The priest was already channeling another wave. His body began to float, shoulders lifted, coat trailing behind him. Shadow spun around his palms like halos gone rabid.

"You walk in our land and wear our darkness like a stolen coat—"

Lindarion appeared in front of him with one step.

The ground cracked under the pressure of it.

The priest flinched, barely, and brought his hands up to summon a ward.

Too slow.

Lindarion's right hand glowed, not with light, not divine, not fire.

Just absence.

Raw, perfected darkness.

He slammed his palm into the priest's chest.

No explosion. No sound.

Just removal.

The spell shattered.

The priest's body hit the wall hard enough to crack stone, dust splaying out like a broken wing.

He didn't get back up right away.

Lindarion lowered his hand. The glow faded.

The temple quieted.

Ashwing stirred again from inside his coat. "So… that was your version of being polite?"

'That was polite.'

The priest groaned on the floor, one arm twitching as he tried to lift himself. His eyes stared up at Lindarion, not with fear, not even fury.

But disbelief.

"You're one of them," he whispered. "You have to be."

Lindarion crouched beside him.

"I'm not. I'm worse."

The priest's breath caught.

Then Lindarion stood again.

"Start talking," he said calmly, voice flat. "Where are they keeping the prisoners? Where are they sending the soldiers who don't die?"

The priest spat blood onto the stone.

"You think you're a light in the dark," he murmured. "But you're just another shade of it."

Lindarion didn't answer.

He just waited.

The temple was still. Broken carvings overhead watched them both in silence.

Finally, the priest's voice came again.

"There's a fortress. Further inland. Cut through the ravines. Find the river of black glass. Follow the smoke trails. You'll see it."

Lindarion's jaw tightened. "Who's leading it?"

The priest hesitated.

"…The one you're too late to stop."

Lindarion stepped back.

The system's faint ping appeared again:

"Map region: Unlocked. Unknown Fortress. Objective proximity: Far."

Ashwing muttered in his thoughts. "We're not sleeping tonight, are we."

'No.'

Lindarion turned toward the entrance, the cold wind off the cliffs hissing through the broken frame.

'We're getting them back.'

—

Wind howled past his ears.

The sky was too dark. Not night-dark, wrong-dark. Like the stars refused to shine this far out. Even Ashwing's scales didn't catch much light anymore. Just dull glimmers of grey as he cut through the clouds like a living spear.

Below them: nothing.

Stone. Ravines. Black water like frozen oil snaking between cracks in the land. No lights. No smoke. No fortress.

Lindarion squinted down at the empty terrain.

"There's nothing here," he muttered.

Ashwing huffed, smoke trailing from his nostrils as he banked left. "We've flown over the same rock three times. I'm starting to think the priest lied."

'Maybe.'

He scanned again—no glows, no fires, no trails. Just more dead stone, like the continent itself had been drained.

Then came the itch.

Not physical. Not mental.

Mana.

A shift in the air. A curve in how the energy flowed beneath his skin. Almost like it bent around something that should be there.

"Ashwing," Lindarion said slowly, "circle again."

The dragon narrowed his eyes. "You feel that?"

"Something's not right. Feels like… pressure. But not heavy. Just twisted."

Ashwing dipped into a slow spiral, circling back over the deepest ravine they'd seen so far.

Lindarion focused.

He closed his eyes, hands pressed lightly against the scaled sides of Ashwing's neck. Mana extended out, tentatively, like fingers brushing the surface of water.

At first, nothing.

Then—

A pulse.

It wasn't sound. It wasn't light. It was space, wrong. Bent like heat rising off a fire. Folded over itself.

He opened his eyes.

"There's a distortion."

Ashwing grunted. "A barrier?"

"Maybe. Or something worse."

They circled lower. The wind grew harsher. The air stung.

It was like flying into a migraine.

Below them, the ravine's shadows didn't shift. Even when their wingbeats passed overhead, nothing moved. No birds. No beasts. No wind ripple.

Just stillness.

Then Lindarion's system flickered at the edge of his vision:

[Unmapped Region – Interference Detected]

[Concealment Layer Active – Manual breach required]

He clenched his jaw.

'So they're hiding it.'