Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 152: Road Ahead (6)

The longer he held the flame, the more it stopped feeling like magic and more like... maintenance.

It pulsed gently in his palm now, heat blooming outward, steady and silent. Not demanding. Not wild. Just a presence, like someone breathing beside him who didn’t need to speak to be felt.

His fingers had stopped trembling entirely.

His shoulders, though, ached like someone had tied rocks to the inside of his coat. Probably just stiffness from the climb.

Or maybe this was just what it felt like to be eleven and not allowed to collapse.

He glanced sideways. Meren was slumped halfway against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest, muttering half-words into his scarf. Nothing useful. Just the kind of things people say to themselves when they’re trying to feel like they’re part of the conversation.

Ren’s eyes were closed now. Not asleep, but close. She breathed slow, like someone who had won an argument no one else knew had been happening.

Ardan still hadn’t sat down.

Lindarion could see the man’s shadow at the mouth of the shelter. The way his head tilted slightly every few minutes. Like he was checking for changes in the wind. Or maybe listening for something the rest of them didn’t hear.

That was always the strange part about Ardan.

He never seemed paranoid.

Just prepared.

Lira hadn’t spoken again.

She sat across from him, close enough to feel the fire but far enough that she wouldn’t be drawn into warmth too easily. Her arms were still folded, her posture as straight as it had been since the trail. She didn’t shiver. She didn’t blink too much. Just sat, as if waiting for someone to prove her wrong.

He didn’t try.

Not yet.

The fire shifted in his palm.

He let it. No commands. No gestures. Just gave it permission to keep going.

It was strange.

The first time he’d summoned flame, it had felt like dragging heat from the sun. Too big. Too bright. Too dangerous to hold for long.

Now it just felt like breathing.

He didn’t know if that was good or not.

Maybe this was what it meant to recover fully.

To stop fearing what lived inside his chest.

The thought stayed with him longer than it should have.

He moved his fingers slightly. The flame leaned toward his knuckles, as if curious, then balanced again.

No crackle. No scent. Just warmth.

He heard Ren shift again. Cloth against stone. She sighed.

"This mountain sucks."

Meren made a sound like agreement. Or maybe defeat.

Lindarion nodded once, mostly to himself.

That was the most accurate summary anyone had given so far.

The mountain did suck.

But the fire didn’t.

—

He let the fire drop after a while. Not all the way. Just small enough that it hovered above his palm like a glowing marble, enough to keep the chill from clawing its way back into their bones.

His arm was tired. Nothing dramatic. Just the quiet throb of muscles that had done more today than they were used to.

The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Just... there. Like the cold itself had decided to settle with them for a while instead of scraping at their skin. Everyone was breathing easier. Even Meren had stopped narrating his misery.

Lindarion shifted back against the wall, careful not to let the rock press too hard into his spine. The firelight flickered across the uneven ceiling, casting a faint amber wash over the stone and their faces.

"I think," Ren said slowly, "that I’m starting to forgive the mountain."

"You change your mind a lot," Meren mumbled.

Ren didn’t open her eyes. "I have layers. Like onions."

"You smell better than one," he said.

"Don’t push your luck."

Ardan finally moved. Just a step back into the shelter, just enough that his boots stopped crunching frost. His coat hung stiff from ice caught in the folds. He looked like he hadn’t felt it at all.

"We should rest here until the worst passes," he said. "No need to rush into a storm."

Lira nodded. "There’s cover for now. We can move again once the slope settles."

Lindarion blinked. "Slope?"

She met his eyes. "The ridge to the next path narrows. It catches more snow than it should. Last time I came through, it was shallow. Now it’s not."

"So it’s going to fall?" he asked.

"It might."

"And if we wait?"

"It might not."

"Fantastic."

Ren stretched her arms out in front of her like she was trying to pull sleep out of her joints. "Then we rest."

"I can take first watch," Lindarion offered.

Ardan gave him a glance. Not doubtful. Just measuring.

"You sure?"

Lindarion nodded. "I’m fine."

His voice came out calm, even. More even than it felt. But that was fine too.

Meren slumped sideways until his head rested against the wall. "If anyone hears me snore, kick me."

"No promises," Ren said.

"You’re all heart."

He was already half-asleep.

Ren moved closer to the fire and curled into herself. Lira didn’t move at all.

Ardan sat, finally. Not quite relaxed. But seated. That alone felt strange. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Lindarion held the fire steady until the others’ breathing evened out.

He didn’t really think of it as standing guard.

He just didn’t want to close his eyes yet.

Something about the stillness made it easier to think.

Not easier to feel. Just to think.

He looked down at his hand.

The fire still flickered there. Waiting. Trusting.

He wondered, briefly, how many others his age could do this.

Not just summon flame.

But hold it.

Feed it.

Let it breathe.

He wasn’t sure that mattered.

—

The fire had faded to a quiet glow. Still there. Still warm. Just smaller now, soft enough not to burn the air. Lindarion let it sit in his palm, cradled like a secret between him and the stones.

Across from him, Ren was the first to drift off. Not suddenly. Not gracefully either. Her head tilted once, bobbed back up like she’d changed her mind, then sank again. This time it stuck. Her arms stayed crossed, jaw resting against her shoulder.

Meren followed a few minutes later. He’d tried to say something. A joke maybe. But it got lost halfway through his breath, and the words turned into a slow exhale as his head thunked softly against the wall.

Ardan stayed upright the longest.

Even when his eyes closed, his posture didn’t change. Like his body refused to admit it had relaxed. His hands stayed near his belt. Not clenched. Just... close.