Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 537: The Cube (1)

A cube.

Perfect.

Opaque.

Rotating in place, each face lined with seals that were neither light nor shadow, but something older.

A hum vibrated through the floor—low, resonant, synchronizing with Lindarion’s heartbeat.

Nysha whispered, "What... is that?"

Ashwing was shaking. "I think... I think we found the thing that even the devourer didn’t want."

Lindarion stepped forward.

The air shifted. The moment he crossed an invisible boundary, the cube rotated faster. The seals rearranged themselves. Runes spiraled outward from its surface and spread across the air like ripples in water.

Nysha grabbed his arm on instinct. "Wait—you don’t know what it’ll do—"

"It’s reacting to him," Ashwing said, voice trembling. "It’s recognizing him like the trial sphere did."

A pulse lashed from the cube.

Not an attack.

A summons.

Lindarion felt his own mana rise in response—unbidden, instinctual. Golden strands and black motes spiraled from his skin and flowed toward the cube without his command.

Nysha’s grip tightened. "Lindarion—stop. You’re feeding it."

"I’m not," he said. "It’s drawing from me."

Ashwing squeaked, "Then LET GO OF YOU!"

The cube slowed. The runes froze in place, aligning perfectly—six faces forming six seals that began to glow with subtle luminescence.

A voice resonated from everywhere and nowhere, layered, old, calm.

"Successor detected."

Nysha sucked in a sharp breath.

Ashwing hissed. "No no no stop calling him that—he hasn’t signed anything—he didn’t even agree to the terms and conditions—"

The voice continued as if uninterrupted.

"Epoch Key recognized."

"Identity: Dual-Seated. Born between the Woven and the Shattered."

Nysha frowned, confusion hardening her features. "Woven... and Shattered?"

Lindarion didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t know.

But because he did—and the truth was too heavy to voice yet.

The cube cracked.

Not literally, but symbolically—each face unfolding into separate planes that rotated around him like orbiting stars. Ancient diagrams flashed across their surfaces: trees of fate, spirals of void, constellations long lost from the night sky.

Nysha took a step back, blade raised. "What is happening to you?"

Lindarion stared at the shifting planes. The energy bathing him wasn’t hostile. It was welcoming. Expectant. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

"It’s showing me something," he said quietly.

Ashwing tilted his head. "Showing you what?"

Lindarion reached toward one of the floating faces.

It reacted instantly, projecting an image into the air.

A figure.

Tall. Cloaked. Eyes like collapsing galaxies.

Not Dythrael.

Older.

Far older.

Nysha gasped before she could stop herself. "What... is that thing?"

Lindarion’s throat tightened.

Because he recognized it.

From visions.

From whispers.

From cosmic impressions embedded in the devourer’s fragmented memories.

"A Primordial Deity," he said. "One of the originals. Before the Celestials. Before the gods. Before mana took shape."

Ashwing’s wings went limp. "So we’re looking at... the thing that invented everything?"

"No," Lindarion said slowly, voice dropping into something darker.

"One of the things that tried to decide how everything should end.*"

Nysha stared at the projection, horrified. "Then why is it showing you this?"

The cube shifted again, projecting a second image—this time of two threads intertwining.

One golden.

One black.

Creation and Devouring.

Nysha whispered, "It’s showing your duality."

Ashwing swallowed. "Or... who created it."

The final projection emerged, filling the chamber with a memory older than any era: a scene of cosmic collision—two primordial forces clashing, ripping each other apart until fragments scattered across the stars.

Light bore fruit.

Darkness bore hunger.

Both fragments drifted, eventually finding new hosts.

Nysha trembled. "Lindarion... your dual seed... it wasn’t an accident."

"No," he said.

"It was designed."

The cube folded back into a single shape, hovering only inches from his chest.

It waited.

Nysha whispered urgently, "Be careful."

Ashwing begged, "Don’t touch the ancient cosmic Rubik’s cube."

Lindarion placed his hand on it.

The world froze.

A shockwave burst outward—not destructive, but clarifying—as if shaking dust off forgotten truths. The chamber brightened, shadows tightening, light sharpening. Lindarion felt something in his core unravel and reform—subtle, fundamental, irreversible.

Information flooded into him, not as words, but as understanding.

And when the world resumed, Lindarion spoke in a quiet, steady tone that made Nysha’s blood run cold.

"I know who sealed the devourer."

Nysha stepped closer, voice barely above a breath. "Who?"

Lindarion exhaled slowly.

"The Primordials."

He looked down at the cube still connected to his palm.

"Because Dythrael wasn’t their enemy."

He lifted his gaze.

"He was their weapon."

Nysha froze.

Ashwing’s mouth fell open.

And for the first time, Lindarion truly understood the scale of the inheritance he had walked into.

The Primordials hadn’t just shaped his power.

They had chosen him for something.

And everything in the ruins was designed to see whether he would finish what Dythrael began...

or undo it.

Silence hung in the chamber—not empty, but charged, humming with the weight of truths too old for mortals to hold without shattering.

Nysha was the first to move. Not forward—back. Her instincts screamed at her to retreat from the revelation hanging between them like a suspended blade.

"Lindarion..." she said carefully, voice low. "You’re telling me the Primordials—the architects of existence—made Dythrael. On purpose."

Lindarion didn’t look away from the cube. "Yes."

Ashwing’s tail puffed. "As in the Dythrael? The Devourer, planet-consuming, soul-chewing, epoch-ending—"

"Yes."

The little drake’s wings drooped in utter despair. "Cool. Awesome. Great. So the universe’s strongest monster wasn’t a mistake—it was a factory product."

"Not a product," Lindarion murmured. "A weapon."

Nysha’s voice sharpened. "A weapon... against what?"

Lindarion finally turned toward her.

His expression was steady, but there was something new behind it—clearer, deeper, as if the influx of cosmic knowledge had polished away the last remaining veil of doubt.

"Against each other."

Nysha blinked. "Each... other?"

"The Primordials," he clarified. "They weren’t united. They were factions. Philosophies given form. One side believed creation should flourish. The other believed creation should be consumed and restarted endlessly. Neither could destroy the other without destroying the balance of the cosmos."

Ashwing squeaked, "So they built a... cosmic superweapon to do the dirty work?"

"Two," Lindarion corrected softly.

Nysha’s stomach dropped. "Two?"

Lindarion reached out toward the cube again. It responded instantly, unfolding one of its faces to project a second memory—one not of devastation, but of radiance.

A being of pure luminance, holding a staff of woven constellations, stood in a sea of stars. Graceful. Serene. Beautiful. Light itself seemed drawn to her.

Nysha whispered, "The Radiant Weaver..."

Ashwing shivered. "The stories said she healed universes."

"She did," Lindarion murmured. "And she also tore them apart when necessary."

Nysha exhaled slowly. "She was the other weapon."

"No." He shook his head. "She was the counterweight."

He pointed at the second projection. "The Weaver was made to preserve what Dythrael destroyed. Her power mended existence... and his erased it. Together, they were meant to maintain cosmic balance."

Ashwing stared. "So they were a... a pair?"

"A pair," Lindarion echoed. "Two halves of the same design."

The cube dimmed, slowly folding back into its original shape.

Nysha stepped closer, lowering her dagger. "And yet... the Devourer went rogue?"

Lindarion’s jaw tightened. "Yes. But not out of rebellion."

He touched the cube, and another memory spiraled outward—this one chaotic, broken.

The Primordials arguing.

Stars collapsing.

Realms fracturing.

And Dythrael, chained in the heart of a dying universe, screaming with a voice that shattered constellations.

Nysha covered her mouth. "He... he lost his sanity."

"No," Lindarion whispered.

"He lost his reason."

Ashwing blinked. "Difference?"

"Reason is logic. Sanity is shape." Lindarion’s voice darkened. "Reason can be restored. Sanity... cannot."

Nysha’s pulse quickened. "Then what happened to the Weaver?"

The projection shifted.

Her body falling.

Her radiance fading.

Her light extinguished.

Nysha’s voice cracked. "She... died."

"Not exactly." Lindarion pointed at the way the radiance dissipated—splintering into hundreds of luminous shards. "Her power fractured. Spilled into the newborn eras. Remnants of her became what we now call high-regeneration mana, astral affinity, celestial awakening... all of them echoes."

Nysha staggered. "The devourer killed his own counterpart?"

Lindarion shook his head.

"He tried to protect her."

Nysha froze. "Protect?"

The cube pulsed softly, affirming the memory.

"The Primordials turned on each other," Lindarion said. "Creation against Consumption. Dythrael tried to defend the Weaver, but in the collision... her essence was broken apart."

Ashwing whined. "Meaning he watched the only being who balanced him get... erased?"

Lindarion nodded.

"And without her, his purpose became distorted. He started consuming without the Weaver to restore what he destroyed. That imbalance... drove him into the rage that nearly ended the Third Epoch."

Nysha breathed out slowly, voice trembling despite her composure.

"...And the Primordials sealed him themselves."

"Some," Lindarion corrected. "Others wanted to remake him. Others wanted to release him entirely. Their disagreement shattered their influence. Now only fragments remain—traces of their wills scattered through relics, ruins, and... chosen vessels."

Nysha swallowed. "Which you are."

Lindarion didn’t deny it.

Ashwing fluttered down to his shoulder, gripping onto his collar.

"So the cosmic weapon is sealed, his counterpart is shattered, the Primordials are scattered... and the universe chose you as the next... what? Herald? Arbiter? Reboot button?"

Lindarion simply said,

"I was chosen as a bridge."

Nysha frowned deeply. "Between creation and devouring."

"Yes."

"So you decide," she continued, "whether the Devourer rises again... or remains buried."

"Yes."

Ashwing squeaked, "NO PRESSURE."

The cube pulsed once more.