Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

More tents stretched into the trees. More firelight. Faint wind tugging at thin banners strung between branches. The elven camp was awake, but tense, quiet in the way cliffs are quiet before falling.

He saw a group of archers lining up in silence, practicing drills in the mist. None of them laughed.

He looked up at the sky.

Overcast.

Clouds layered like stone ceilings.

He lowered his voice, thinking more to himself now.

"If we don't gather the others now, they'll wait too long. Then they'll fall. One by one."

Ashwing exhaled, slow and quiet.

"And if they don't listen?"

Lindarion turned away from the sky.

"Then we do it without them."

No fire. No oath. No fanfare.

Just fact.

He'd burned too many bridges already.

He didn't need more permission.

Only time.

And not much of that left.

—

The testing field wasn't much.

Just a ring of flat earth near the southern edge of the camp, where the trees opened wide enough for duels without burning half the forest down.

The ground was already scarred. Scorch marks. Torn patches. A snapped tree trunk near the edge. Someone had been training here before the war ever started. Now, the space was his.

A small crowd of elves, soldiers, scouts, a few officers, stood in a crescent near the back.

Some watched with quiet interest.

Some didn't bother hiding their skepticism.

'They're not wrong to doubt me,' Lindarion thought. 'Most of them only know me from whispers or paintings. Not much use in a fight.'

Ashwing sat just behind him in small form, wings folded, tail flicking once in the dirt like a slow metronome.

"You're not gonna kill them, right?" the dragon muttered.

"Not unless they try to kill me first," Lindarion said under his breath.

He stepped into the center of the field and turned to face the group.

Jaren Vell stood off to the side, arms crossed.

Lindarion nodded once. "One at a time. I'm not judging rank. I'm judging survival. Come if you want. Leave if you don't."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then someone stepped forward.

He was broad-shouldered, dark hair in a tight braid, jaw set in challenge. Probably forty, maybe fifty. Still young by elven standards, but old enough to carry scars. A long scar curved over his left knuckle.

"Name?" Lindarion asked.

"Thalen Vos."

"Affinity?"

"Earth."

Lindarion tilted his head. "Alright. Show me what you can do."

Thalen didn't wait.

With a short breath, he crouched low, planting one palm to the dirt. A sharp ripple passed through the ground, like a pulse. The packed soil under Lindarion's boots shifted.

Then rose.

A curved ridge of earth, like a broken shield, shot upward to slam him off balance.

Lindarion didn't step back.

He raised his hand instead.

Lightning crackled once, tight, precise, and arced down through his palm into the rising mound.

It shattered on contact.

Dust bloomed.

Thalen didn't stop. He dropped both arms to the ground this time, and two more stone ridges jutted up to either side, angling to trap.

Lindarion moved forward.

A flick of his wrist.

Another crackle of pressure, not even a full bolt, and the stone cracked mid-rise, crumbling like clay struck from within.

He stopped two steps in front of Thalen.

Didn't speak.

Just let the lightning whisper through his fingertips again, faint now, barely more than a shimmer.

The soldier held his ground.

But he didn't try a third strike.

He exhaled through his nose and stepped back.

"Good form," Lindarion said, lowering his hand. "But predictable. You overcommit."

"Wasn't trying to win," Thalen muttered. "Just trying not to die."

Lindarion nodded once. "That'll do."

He looked past him.

"Next."

A second elf stepped forward.

This one was slimmer, short, sand-blonde hair, no armor. She wore leather, not plate. Scout, probably.

"Name?"

"Rei."

"Affinity?"

"Wind."

He arched a brow. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"You're the first one I've seen in this camp."

She didn't answer.

Just stepped into the circle, boots light.

"Alright, Rei," he said. "Let's see it."

The air shifted almost instantly.

She didn't raise her hand or make a show of it—but a thin gust curled around her ankles, then climbed toward her shoulders.

Then she moved.

Fast.

Almost too fast.

'Not bad.'

She went for his right side with a low kick, riding the wind for speed.

Lindarion caught it with one palm, not with power, just control, and redirected the momentum outward. She rolled with it, twisting mid-air and landing three paces back.

Then flicked her hand once.

A blade of wind, thin and nearly invisible, cut toward his side.

He pivoted.

It missed by an inch.

"Better," he said.

"Still didn't hit," she muttered.

"That wasn't the point."

She raised a brow.

He stepped past her. "You used your affinity like a whisper, not a hammer. That's what'll keep you alive. You're fast. And patient."

She didn't smile, but she didn't argue either.

As she stepped back into the crowd, quiet murmurs started at the edges. Some were impressed. Some just skeptical.

Ashwing's voice slipped into his mind again. "That one's good. Still think it's a waste of time?"

"I don't," Lindarion said. 'Not anymore.'

He turned toward the group again. "Anyone else?"

Three more stepped forward this time.

No hesitation.

The crowd was shifting.

Something was changing now.

Not much.

But enough.

Lindarion rolled his shoulders once. Lightning whispered again through the edges of his bones, ready, but patient.

This was just the start.

He still had to see what this camp was really made of.

And more importantly—

Who could actually keep up when the real fight came.

—

The light was dimming fast now. The treeline behind the dueling field burned gold, all those low-hanging clouds bleeding the last of the sunset across the sky. But the crowd hadn't moved.

They stood in a loose half-circle around the packed dirt ring, quieter now. Not tense. Just attentive.

'Good,' Lindarion thought. 'That means they're learning.'

He nodded once.

"Next."

A pair stepped forward this time. One tall, one stocky. The tall one had a burn across his jaw and moved like he was used to being underestimated.

"Which one of you's first?"

The tall one shrugged. "We go together. We train that way."

Lindarion raised an eyebrow. "You want me to fight both of you?"

The shorter one grinned. "Unless you're worried."