Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The place was little more than a long room with a warped counter at the far end. A single candle guttered in a tin holder, barely lighting the faces of the men hunched over their drinks. Conversations didn't so much stop as they quieted to a low, suspicious murmur.

Behind the counter, a thick-shouldered man with pale grey skin polished a glass with the same rag over and over. His red eyes tracked Lindarion's every step.

"You're not from here," the man said flatly.

Lindarion ignored him and scanned the room. "Karvek."

The man's expression didn't change, but the hand holding the glass stilled. "Don't know him."

Lindarion stepped closer, his boots loud on the warped floorboards. "You're going to try that answer again. Slower, so you can think about it."

One of the drinkers at the nearest table stood, a hand resting on the hilt of the curved blade at his hip. "We don't give out names here, stranger."

Lindarion didn't answer with words. His left hand flicked, and a faint line of golden light, Divine affinity, shimmered in the air for less than a heartbeat. The man's blade hand spasmed violently, his sword clattering to the floor as he gritted his teeth in pain.

Gasps and curses rippled through the room. Someone at the back moved for the door. Lindarion raised his gaze and let a small, cold smile touch his lips. "If he leaves, you all die."

The man froze mid-step.

Slowly, Lindarion turned back to the barkeep. "I'm only going to ask once more. Where is Karvek?"

The barkeep's jaw worked. Then, without a word, he glanced at one of the tables near the back.

The man seated there was older, with a weathered face and a coat of dark leather that had seen too many knife fights. He didn't move as Lindarion approached, didn't even look up from the drink in his hand.

"I'm told you have information for sale," Lindarion said.

"Information costs," the man replied, his voice like gravel.

"I'm not paying."

For the first time, the man looked up, and that was his mistake. Lindarion moved. One hand slammed the man's head down onto the table with enough force to splinter wood, while the other pressed a thin line of lightning against the back of his neck, the crackle of power sizzling in the air.

"I'm not here for your prices," Lindarion said quietly, bending closer so only the man could hear. "I'm here for Veyras. And you're going to tell me every step between me and him before I decide to see what your bones look like from the outside."

The man's breath hissed between his teeth. "You're insane."

"Correct. Now start talking."

—

The man's cheek was still pressed into the splintered wood when Lindarion spoke again.

"Maeven," he said slowly, as if the name were a blade. "Dythrael. Tell me where they are."

Karvek's breath hitched, just enough to be noticed. "Don't—don't say those names here."

"Why not?" Lindarion leaned harder on the back of his neck until the man's knuckles whitened on the tabletop. "Because you're afraid someone might hear? Or because you know exactly where they are?"

Karvek's voice dropped to a rasp. "They're not here. They don't stay in cities. They have… places."

Lindarion felt the faintest ripple in the air, the subtle twitch of someone shifting in their seat, the tension of a room deciding whether to act. He kept his eyes locked on Karvek's, his senses brushing out just enough to taste the mana around them. Most of the patrons were nothing special, a few with weak flame or stone affinity, one with a barely awakened wind spark. Nothing he couldn't crush.

"Where," Lindarion repeated.

Karvek's lips twisted in something between defiance and fear. "You think they're just waiting for you? You think they haven't planned for someone like you to come sniffing?"

Lightning crawled along Lindarion's fingers, sinking into the man's skin. Karvek gritted his teeth, the cords in his neck straining.

"Every moment you stall," Lindarion said, his tone as calm as a hanging noose, "is a moment I decide how much of you to leave intact."

The barkeep muttered something in their local tongue, harsh consonants and clipped vowels, but Lindarion's system caught only fragments. Danger. Fool. Dead already.

Karvek's breathing grew shallow. Finally, he spat blood onto the table and spoke. "North-east. Beyond the Spine. There's an old fortress, no name anymore. That's where they gather."

"And you know this because…?"

"I move things. Supplies. People."

"Slaves," Lindarion said flatly.

Karvek didn't answer.

The room had gone silent enough that Lindarion could hear the faint clink of a dropped coin rolling to a stop somewhere in the shadows.

"How far?" Lindarion pressed.

"Three days' ride, if you know the roads. If you don't—" Karvek gave a humorless laugh that turned into a cough. "—you'll be carrion before you get close. The land itself will kill you."

Lindarion released him abruptly. The man slumped forward, coughing, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"You've been useful," Lindarion said, his voice colder than before. "I'll remember that when this city burns."

He turned for the door, the room's tension following him like a physical weight. No one tried to stop him, not yet. Ashwing shifted under his cloak, a warm coil of muscle against his ribs, as if sensing the storm in him.

Nysha was waiting outside in the narrow alley. One glance at his face and she fell into step beside him without a word.

"Did you get it?" she asked finally.

"Yes," Lindarion said, scanning the rooftops as they walked. "Now we see if it's true."

—

The fortress loomed like a carcass of stone. Black walls jutted from the jagged cliffside, weathered by centuries of wind that carried the salt and ash of distant volcanic shores. No banners. No movement. Only the yawning gates, hanging half-broken on rusted hinges, gaping like a mouth that had forgotten how to close.

Ashwing glided low over the crags, wings cutting the wind in slow, deliberate beats. The air grew heavier the closer they came, pressing against Lindarion's skin like unseen fingers. Nysha shifted uneasily behind him on the saddle, her hand tightening on the ridge of Ashwing's scales.