Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 480: Veyrath (6)

He rose, gripping his sword, the faint trace of divine energy still swirling around him like dust in sunlight. The forest around them stirred, as though aware of his resolve.

Ashwing sighed, muttering, "You really don't know how to take a break, do you?"

"Not while they're still out there," Lindarion replied.

Then, under his breath, barely audible, a thought not meant for anyone but himself:

"And not while I still hear him whisper." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

The morning mist didn't clear, it clung to the earth as if it, too, feared what lay beyond the treeline. The company moved quietly through the underbrush, their boots and claws muffled by moss and ash. Lindarion led them, his cloak drawn close, the faint shimmer of golden mana flickering at his fingertips each time he touched the air to test for disturbances.

The forest here was different, older. The roots bulged through the ground like the bones of something ancient trying to claw its way free. Trees grew at impossible angles, their bark patterned with spiraling runes that pulsed faintly when Lindarion passed.

Nysha noticed. "The forest reacts to you," she said softly, her bow resting lightly at her side. "That's not normal."

Lindarion didn't look back. "Nothing about me is normal anymore."

Ashwing muttered from above, "He's not wrong. Half the time I don't even think he's breathing like the rest of us."

Nysha frowned, studying him. "You haven't told me what happened below the city."

He stopped briefly, the fog coiling around his boots. The silence stretched long enough that even the birds seemed to hold their voices. Finally, he said, "I met something old."

"Something?"

"Someone."

Nysha's eyes narrowed. "A being?"

Lindarion nodded once. "Veyrath. A demi-god, maybe older. He called himself the Keeper of the Coiled Dawn."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "That name shouldn't exist anymore."

Ashwing landed on Lindarion's shoulder, blinking. "Wait, you know about him?"

"Only from the archives," Nysha replied. "A myth. A serpent-lord who watched over the first Demi-Humans before they betrayed the gods. His essence was sealed away, some say beneath Lorienya itself." Her gaze sharpened. "If he's awake…"

"He's not awake," Lindarion cut in. "Not fully. But his presence remains. A fragment."

Nysha stepped closer. "And it marked you."

Lindarion didn't deny it. He didn't need to. The air around him said enough, subtle ripples in the mist, the faint scent of ozone that lingered wherever he walked. The Echo of the Coil stirred in time with his heartbeat, invisible but undeniable.

A branch cracked in the distance. Instinct took over. Lindarion raised his hand, palm open, and a translucent barrier of golden light shimmered outward. The mist parted.

From the fog stepped a figure, bent, cloaked, carrying a staff wrapped in roots and silver chains. The scent of iron followed him. His voice rasped like stone dragged through sand.

"Children of the Tree," he said, "you walk where breath should not tread."

Nysha drew her bow in one smooth motion. "Identify yourself."

The figure tilted his head. Beneath the hood, two eyes gleamed faintly blue. "Once, I served your ancestors. Now, I serve the memory of their failure."

Lindarion felt the mana shift, the same serpentine pressure, faint but familiar. His grip on his sword tightened. "You're connected to him."

The stranger smiled, though it wasn't kind. "Connected? No. Preserved. The Keeper's breath lingers in those he touched. In me, in you, in all who still dream of dominion."

Ashwing hissed. "You talk like a cultist."

The man ignored him. "He tests you, doesn't he? The Coil does not rest once it finds new flesh to twist. He watches from the hollow places between thoughts, measuring your worth."

Lindarion's system flared.

[Anomalous mana detected.]

[Signature: Veyrath Fragment (1%).]

[Warning: Psychological contamination risk—moderate.]

Lindarion exhaled through his teeth. "I'm done being tested."

He stepped forward, the golden aura burning away the mist in a wide arc. The cloaked man didn't retreat. He lifted his staff, and the chains clattered like falling rain.

"Then prove you deserve the name you carry."

The staff struck the ground. The forest trembled. Runes flared to life across the soil, each one forming a spiraling mark, echoes of the same sigils Veyrath had used in the vault. They pulsed once, twice, then erupted upward in tendrils of black light.

Nysha dove aside, firing an arrow that burst into flame midair. Ashwing spat a jet of twilight fire, cleaving through one tendril, but more emerged, faster, coiling like serpents made of shadow.

Lindarion thrust his hand out, channeling the golden current. For a heartbeat, both energies collided, the Tree's light and the Coil's darkness. The result wasn't explosion but harmony. A spiral of dusk-colored brilliance surged outward, cutting through the tendrils in a single pulse.

The stranger froze, staff half-raised. His eyes widened behind the hood. "Impossible… you merged them?"

Lindarion lowered his arm, his voice steady but edged. "Control without understanding is fear. Understanding without control is death."

The words weren't his, they were Veyrath's. But now they felt like his own.

The runes flickered, one by one, and went dark. The mist began to retreat. When it cleared, the stranger was gone, leaving only the smell of ash and iron.

Nysha approached slowly, scanning the clearing. "That wasn't a ghost."

"No," Lindarion said, staring at the ground where the runes had been. "It was a messenger."

Ashwing fluttered onto his shoulder again. "So… we're not heading south into danger. We're heading south into his will."

Lindarion didn't respond. His gaze had turned distant, golden light glinting faintly in his eyes as though something far older was peering through them.

Finally, he said quietly, "Then let him watch. If he wants to measure me, he'll see exactly what I become."

The forest fell silent again. The fog thinned. And somewhere deep beneath the roots of the world, something stirred in response, an ancient pulse that matched the rhythm of Lindarion's heart.

By the third day, the woods gave way to a wasteland.

The green faded first. The silver-leaved trees of Lorienya bled into barren trunks, and the roots that had once shimmered with faint life now stood petrified in black stone. Even the air grew heavier, carrying a metallic taste that clung to the back of the throat.

Ashwing flew low, wings beating quietly. "This place… feels wrong. Like the forest died mid-breath."

Nysha's steps were cautious, bow drawn but relaxed. "It's the borderlands. The southern scar. The elves don't come here anymore. Nothing grows where the gods fought."