Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 477: Veyrath (3)

Lindarion stared at the fading visions. The Tree’s pulse, always faintly echoing in his mind, felt heavier now, denser. He could feel its rhythm under his skin, in his breath. It wasn’t malevolent... but it was vast, endless, indifferent.

He sheathed his sword slowly. "If what you say is true, then why warn me? What do you gain?"

Veyrath turned away, his voice like velvet stretched thin over old scars. "Because I was once like you." He reached out, pressing his hand against the wall of the vault. The runes nearest his touch flared gold, then dimmed again. "Chosen. Blessed. Fed until I was nothing but the will of another. And when I tried to cut the roots that bound me..."

He looked back, eyes gleaming with bitter amusement. "...they made me their keeper."

A long silence fell.

Ashwing’s tail coiled tightly. "So what—you want pity? Forgiveness?"

"No," Veyrath murmured. "I want to see if you will end the cycle—or repeat it." His gaze met Lindarion’s again, burning through the dim light. "Show me, heir of Eldorath. The next time we meet, will you stand as yourself, or as the Tree’s shadow?"

Before Lindarion could respond, the air fractured. Veyrath’s form began to unravel into ribbons of light, each one dissolving into the runes etched into the vault.

Ashwing darted forward. "Wait! You didn’t even—"

But the last thread of the demi-god’s essence vanished, his voice echoing softly through the silence:

"Remember, child of two fires... all roots lead downward."

Then he was gone.

The vault fell still again. The oppressive energy lifted, replaced by the faint hum of the Tree’s distant heartbeat.

Lindarion exhaled slowly. His system flickered back into stability.

[Foreign energy signature: Dissipated.]

[System Note: Residual divine essence absorbed—fragment locked.]

[Subroutine awakened: ???]

Ashwing hovered beside him, frowning. "That guy gives me the chills. You think he was telling the truth?"

Lindarion didn’t answer immediately. His golden eyes were fixed on the faint scorch mark where the drop of his blood had vanished. "Truth or not," he said quietly, "he wanted me to question it. That’s what makes it dangerous."

Ashwing tilted his head. "So what now?"

Lindarion turned, the glow of the runes reflecting in his eyes like twin suns. "Now," he said, "we keep moving. Southward."

He placed a hand on the vault’s cold surface. For a fleeting moment, he felt the faintest echo of Veyrath’s power, ancient, coiled, waiting. Then he withdrew his hand.

The doors of the sanctum opened with a low, rumbling sigh, releasing a breath of cool air scented with dust and forgotten centuries.

Ashwing fluttered to his shoulder. "Next time, can we not talk to divine snake gods before breakfast?"

Lindarion’s lips twitched. "No promises."

They stepped out into the light. Behind them, deep in the earth, something vast stirred once more, quiet, patient, watching.

The vault’s doors sealed behind them with a sound like the exhale of a dying god, deep, final, resonant enough to send a tremor through the ground. Lindarion stood in the half-light of the cavern corridor, his blade resting loosely in his grip, eyes still reflecting the echo of the encounter.

Ashwing stretched his wings and hissed under his breath. "I swear, this place has more ghosts than air. Tell me again why we couldn’t have just gone around the creepy snake temple?"

Lindarion didn’t answer. His mind was still half-tethered to what Veyrath had said, the way his voice had carried through the runes, through him, as if it wasn’t speech but truth pressed directly into his blood.

The World Tree feeds.

He could still feel that rhythm, faint, like a heartbeat under the earth. It wasn’t malevolent. It was simply... constant. Living. Hungering.

[Residual essence detected.]

[Integration attempt: Passive synchronization active.]

[Fragment origin: Divine—Veyrath.]

[Effect: Unknown.]

The system’s quiet hum threaded through his thoughts. He ignored it for now, but his mana field pulsed once, faint gold ripples spreading outward.

Ashwing noticed. "You’re doing that thing again. The glowing. You sure you’re not about to explode or something?"

Lindarion glanced down at his palm. Light shimmered faintly beneath his skin, not chaotic like before, but steady, contained. "No. It’s... different this time. Calmer."

Ashwing squinted. "Different how?"

"Like it’s learning me," Lindarion murmured. "Or remembering something I’ve forgotten."

They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing off the glassy walls. The further they ascended, the more the air changed, warmer, brighter, carrying faint traces of life again. Moss returned in glimmers of emerald, clinging to cracks in the stone. Water trickled from the ceiling in thin rivulets, whispering through the quiet.

When they finally emerged into the open, Lorienya’s light greeted them, filtered through the upper canopy, gilded and soft. The transition from the vault’s darkness to the forest’s glow was almost painful.

Ashwing blinked rapidly. "Ah, much better. I can breathe again."

Lindarion tilted his head back slightly, letting the light touch his face. But it didn’t feel the same. The world above felt... thinner, somehow. The air lacked the density it had before. Or perhaps it was him who’d changed.

The system flickered again.

[Internal resonance shift detected.]

[Warning: Minor divergence in core pattern.]

[Advisory: Possible divine contamination.]

"Contamination," Lindarion muttered. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Ashwing glanced up. "What?"

"Nothing," Lindarion said quickly. He looked out across the treeline, where the horizon burned faintly gold. "We’re done here. Let’s move."

But as they started southward again, the shadows of the forest seemed to lean closer, subtly, almost imperceptibly, but enough that the air thickened. A faint tremor ran through the ground, then faded just as fast.

It was as though the forest itself had taken note of him.

By dusk, they reached a clearing surrounded by the colossal roots of the World Tree. Lindarion rested there, sitting atop one of the massive roots, his blade resting across his knees.

Ashwing curled into a coil beside him, still restless. "You’ve been quiet since we left that vault. Don’t tell me you’re thinking about what he said."

Lindarion’s gaze flickered, but he didn’t deny it. "He wasn’t wrong."

Ashwing looked up sharply. "You can’t seriously believe that the Tree—"

"—feeds?" Lindarion interrupted softly. "You felt it too, didn’t you? That pulse when we were inside? It wasn’t just mana. It was something older. A current that doesn’t end."