Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

A long structure dominated the far side of the square. Low. Wide. It looked like a temple. Or maybe a council hall. Its roof was jagged, like wings half-folded. A single brazier burned green flame at the entrance.

And standing beside it—

A soldier.

Or something close.

Gray-skinned, but taller. Armor of dark steel lashed over raw muscle. A blade sheathed along the back. Helmet tucked under one arm. Red eyes narrow, lips pulled into a faint scowl.

His gaze flicked toward Lindarion.

Then held.

Lindarion kept walking. Head down.

The soldier didn't move. Just followed him with his eyes. Silent.

'Do not engage.'

Ashwing pulsed faintly in his coat. Tense. Ready.

Lindarion crossed the square.

Turned down another corridor, this one narrower, barely wide enough for a cart. No one followed. But the air shifted.

The people didn't react to him.

But they knew he was there.

Not like guards spotting a stranger.

More like… a city holding its breath.

Every building. Every shadow. Watching.

Lindarion reached the end of the alley and stopped.

Ashwing whispered again. "This isn't a city. It's a hive."

Lindarion didn't answer.

He just stared at the door in front of him. Wood, twisted and veined. Closed tight. No handle. No markings.

But behind it, he felt… pull.

A weight.

A pressure.

Like something lived there.

Not someone.

Something.

He didn't move.

Didn't reach for the door.

'Not yet.'

They weren't ready.

Not until they understood what this place was.

Where it was.

And who ruled it.

He turned. Walked back toward the square.

For now, they'd blend. Listen.

Survive.

Because this wasn't their land.

It wasn't even their world.

—

The street twisted again.

Not a normal curve. It coiled, subtly, unnaturally, like the path had been poured in a spiral instead of paved. Lindarion adjusted his stride to match, shoulders hunched under his cloak, head still down.

Ashwing twitched in his coat pocket, claws lightly scraping the fabric in some frustrated rhythm.

The little dragon's voice buzzed low in his mind. "We've walked the same direction for ten minutes. I'm starting to think this place rearranges itself."

'Wouldn't be surprised.'

He slowed near a cluster of quiet figures. Gray-skinned again. Their clothing was simple, draped cloth in reds and blacks, some of it armored with bone-like plates along the shoulders or chest. They stood in a loose half-circle, watching something move behind a hanging cloth screen.

A merchant stall?

Sort of.

There were wares. Skins. Bone tools. Something that looked like dried fruit. But no coin. The merchant, a bald man with ridged cheeks and a dozen tiny black rings pierced through each ear, didn't speak.

He just held up one item at a time. Waited. Then pointed to a sigil drawn in dust near his feet.

The others nodded or shook their heads. Two bartered with items of their own. No one raised their voice. No one laughed. No one even blinked.

'Too clean. Too practiced. Like this whole thing's a script.'

Lindarion didn't approach.

He lingered near the arch of a collapsed building, one arm resting against a stone outcrop like he belonged there. The red-eyed man closest to him gave no reaction. None of them did.

He let his eyes move over the symbols again.

Etched above the stall. Carved into the bone-plate crates. Burned into the cloth screens and wrapped around leather cords.

Words.

He didn't know them.

Not yet.

But then—

A flicker.

[Translation system initializing…]

[Language structure acquired: 9%]

[Observation threshold met. Passive interpretation available.]

Lindarion blinked.

A low hum buzzed at the base of his skull. Faint. Background. Like someone whispering in reverse under his thoughts.

"You felt that too?" Ashwing muttered in the bond.

'Yeah.'

He focused again on one of the symbols drawn in the dirt.

Before, it had been just a shape. Sharp and circular, like a cracked crescent.

Now?

It hung in his mind like meaning. Not quite words, more like… impression.

"Exchange."

Not perfect.

But it was something.

He moved slowly along the edge of the stall, studying the rest. Another symbol beneath a folded strip of what might've been dried flesh:

"Ration."

A different one etched into the wooden crate the merchant used as a seat:

"Watch."

No—"Guard."

The system pulsed faintly again.

[Language structure acquired: 12%]

[Warning: Structure is non-standard. Symbol variance high. Passive comprehension only.]

Lindarion stepped back.

Ashwing stirred, peeking a snout out through the lining of the coat, but staying hidden in shadow.

"It's demonic, isn't it?"

'We don't know that.'

"We do now."

He didn't answer.

The light above shifted slightly, not dimmer, not brighter. Just… wrong. Like something massive had shifted overhead, just beyond the fog ceiling that hung where the sky should've been.

Lindarion moved deeper into the city.

He passed a line of what looked like guards, though none wore matching uniforms. Their armor was piecemeal, rough-edged, and laced with thick cords or bone-spiked straps. Some had blades. Others had tools.

One had no weapon at all. Just black gloves with something glowing underneath them, blue, faint, almost like veins.

He passed under a gate.

The glyphs etched across its arch gleamed faintly as he walked by. His system flickered.

"Threshold."

"Sanctum."

It wasn't a city.

Not exactly.

It was divided into rings. Wards.

Each one more twisted than the last.

This entire place is structured like a fortress.

The air was colder here.

Buildings taller. Empty balconies curved around walls with no entrances, and thin smoke rose from chimney holes without fires.

The silence wasn't empty.

It watched.

Listened.

Judged.

Ashwing's claws dug into his chest as the little dragon climbed slightly higher inside the coat.

"Someone's tailing us," the dragon murmured.

'I know.'

He didn't turn.

Didn't speed up.

Just walked deeper.

More symbols.

Another gate. This one covered in lines that crawled like vines around its stone face.

The system buzzed again.

[Language structure acquired: 15%]

[Passive interpretation expanding…]

The largest symbol on the arch blinked in his vision. Faint translation:

"Vault."

"Prison."

No—

Not quite.

"Containment."

Lindarion stopped walking.

Just for a moment.

Because some part of him, ancient, quiet, buried under all the training and pride, just knew what that word meant.

This place didn't evolve into this.

It was built like this.

A shell.

A hive.

A cage.

And someone, something, had opened it.