Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 123: On The Move

The fire didn't move much. Just small flickers licking sideways in the wind, too low to crackle, barely enough to glow. Smoke hung in the branches like an old cloth someone forgot to take down.

Lindarion stood a few paces out. Still. Hood down. Shoulders relaxed. Not hiding, but not offering anything either.

He watched the treeline, the patterns in the snow, the shift of shadows.

Behind him, someone scraped out a bowl. Metal against tin. Soft voices passed around the flame, dull and tired.

No one called to him.

'Good.'

The cold settled in slow, almost patient. It started at the boots, climbed the laces, moved up the legs like it knew the way. He let it. A little pain meant the blood still moved.

[Greater Core Recovery: 21%]

Breathing felt better. Ribs gave a little more. Whatever damage sat under the surface, it wasn't spreading.

The wind shifted. Not sharp, but colder now, dragging the scent of boiled roots and ash. Then came footsteps. Light. Close.

He didn't turn.

"Didn't mean to bother," the younger trader said. "Just figured it's warmer by the fire."

Lindarion kept his eyes forward. "It's quieter here."

The man nodded behind him. "Yeah. Can't argue that."

He didn't move any closer. Just stood there holding a dented tin cup, watching the same trees.

No questions. No false warmth. Just presence.

Lindarion stayed quiet. Still listening. Still scanning the dark between branches.

The trader sipped from his cup. Let the silence stretch.

"You ever notice how quiet makes some people nervous?"

Lindarion didn't answer.

"I used to think it was the cold that got to people first," the man went on. "Now I think it's just the space. The stillness. They don't know what to fill it with."

'He's not wrong.'

"I like it," Lindarion said.

The man gave a soft exhale. "Thought so."

He turned after that. No lingering. No polite excuse. Just walked back and dropped into his place beside the fire like nothing needed explaining.

Lindarion didn't move.

He kept watching the trees. Listening to the snow settle. Watching how the dark didn't press in—it just waited.

'That one's been cold before. Real cold.'

He stayed a while longer, not thinking. Not feeling.

Just breathing where the heat didn't reach.

—

The fire dropped lower. Just embers now, flicking red in the ashes. One of the women rolled over in her bedroll and pulled her coat higher.

Lindarion hadn't moved.

He'd stepped back toward the camp when the wind picked up. Sat near his pack, not close to the others, not far enough to draw attention.

Ardan lay with one arm folded under his head. Eyes closed. Breathing slow. Not asleep.

They'd both been on too many roads to pretend.

Lindarion pulled the scarf a little higher, covering the edge of his jaw. The cold had settled harder after dusk. Not sharp anymore. Just constant.

'Won't be snow tonight. Just freeze..'

He let his gaze drift over the trees again. Nothing moved. The shadows stayed where they should. The mule shifted once under the tarp, then went still again.

From the fire's edge, the old trader's snoring turned. Wet and irregular.

Time dragged slower at night.

Ardan didn't open his eyes when he spoke.

"You don't sleep easy."

Lindarion didn't look at him.

"Neither do you."

Ardan didn't answer. Just exhaled once through his nose. The wind picked up again. Dry leaves skittered against the wagon wheel.

No one else stirred.

Lindarion reached into the outer pocket of his coat. Pulled a thin strip of dried root between two fingers. Bitter, but clean. He chewed slowly, not for flavor.

Something to do with the jaw. Something to keep the thoughts from stacking too fast.

[Greater Core Recovery: 23%]

The taste settled behind his teeth like old copper. He didn't mind.

Somewhere out in the trees, a branch snapped.

Not close.

Not weightless either.

He didn't reach for the blade. Not yet.

Ardan shifted again. Eyes still closed.

"You hear that?"

"Yeah."

"Does it worry you?"

Lindarion waited a beat.

"No."

"Me neither."

Neither of them moved.

It didn't come closer.

The sound didn't repeat.

Lindarion leaned back against his pack and watched the treeline a little longer. Eyes half-lidded. Muscles relaxed.

Still not sleeping.

'If something wanted to get close, it would've already.'

He didn't say it aloud. Ardan already knew.

A soft groan came from one of the younger traders. Nothing urgent. Just a sound made by someone whose spine didn't forgive hard ground anymore.

Lindarion shut his eyes, just for a breath.

Let his mind go quiet.

Not asleep. Just still.

Waiting for the next sound to matter.

—

The sky lightened slowly. Not a sunrise. Just a long gray stretch across the trees. No color. No warmth.

The fire was out.

One of the traders stamped out the last black curl of smoke with the heel of his boot. The others moved without much talk. Hands stiff from cold. Rope bundled tight. No one lingered.

Lindarion had stood before the others stirred. He didn't stretch. Didn't rub his arms. Just watched the quiet routine of people trying to make distance before midday.

Ardan stepped beside him with his pack already slung. He nodded toward the tree line.

"We move."

Lindarion followed.

They didn't say goodbye. The traders didn't call out after them. No farewells. Just the soft grind of the wagon wheel starting up behind them.

They crossed the packed snow where carts had flattened a groove. Then passed the edge of the trail where the prints turned thin again. The cold hadn't softened. But the wind held back.

[Greater Core Recovery: 24%]

Ardan walked a few paces ahead, not talking. Lindarion matched the distance on instinct. There was something different in the pace now. Not urgent, but more direct.

They followed the trail for half an hour before Ardan shifted.

The path bent to the east, where old branches arched low and the roots thickened like veins under the ground. Ardan stepped off it without pause, down a faint offshoot half-covered in frost and dry needles.

Lindarion said nothing. Just followed.

The new path climbed again, slow and steady. Smaller trees. Older stones. No wheel marks.

He moved beside Ardan now, not behind. Breath visible between them.

"Shortcut?"

"No."

Lindarion waited.

Ardan didn't add more.

So he looked instead.

The trees had thinned slightly. Not cleared, just loosened. The canopy here let in more sky. Still flat, still gray. But higher somehow.

Lindarion caught the smell of dry pine under the frost.

"Used to be a scouting route," Ardan said.

"Used to be?"

"No one maps these anymore. Not enough bodies."

Lindarion scanned the ground. The trail was hard to spot if you didn't know it. Just a hint of where others had once stepped, decades apart.

"You remember them all?"

"No," Ardan said. "Just the ones that saved time. Or lives."

They kept walking.

Another branch cracked somewhere far off. Lighter this time. Bird or fox.

The incline steepened. Ardan didn't slow. Lindarion's ribs pulled tighter again but didn't stab. His lungs stayed steady.

He didn't speak again until the trail bent around a black stone ridge and narrowed beside a long drop.

"You take this way often?"

"No."

"Then why now?"

Ardan walked another few steps before answering.

"Because I don't like the road ahead."

They didn't stop.

The path narrowed again, tighter this time. A long stone ridge rose to their left. Sheer, jagged. Veined with old frost. On the right, it dropped off into low brush and the black line of a dry riverbed far below.

Lindarion moved slower now. Not tired. Just careful.

The trail here wasn't made for carts or patrols. It was carved by steps. Hunters maybe. Scouts. The kind of travelers who didn't want to be followed.

He felt the air shift before he heard it.

Not wind exactly. But something quieter. Like the trees were holding their breath.

'It's way too still.'

Ardan didn't look back. But his hand slid to the front of his coat. Not drawing. Just checking.

The path angled sharply, almost sideways against the slope. They stepped single file.

Lindarion paused once at a bend.

There was something in the dirt ahead.

A crushed length of moss. New. Still green under the frost. And beside it was half a bootprint. Small. Worn sole. A runner's heel.

He didn't speak. Just crouched and looked closer.

Ardan stopped beside him.

"You see it too."

"Not yours."

"No."

He straightened. Looked ahead.

The ridge climbed higher now. The path followed it. No more cover.

"Fresh?" Ardan asked.

Lindarion nodded once. "Recent."

Ardan didn't ask how he knew.

They kept going.

The next sign came sooner. A scuff mark on a flat stone. Dragged heel. Same direction they were heading.

Lindarion shifted his weight slightly. The movement eased his coat back just enough to free his left side. Habit.

They passed an old marker stone. Its surface blackened with weather. Something scratched near the bottom, barely legible under lichen.

Ardan didn't stop to read it. Neither did Lindarion.

At the next bend, Ardan slowed.

He lifted a hand.

Not a signal. Just stillness.

Lindarion listened.

A single flake of frost broke loose and skittered down the stone face above them. Then silence again.

He stepped close to Ardan's side.

"You hear anything?"

"No."

"That's the problem."

The trail ahead dipped down into a low pocket of stone. Like a shallow basin. Hidden from view until you were right on top of it.

Lindarion looked at it for a long time.

'Trap ground..?'

No birds. No wind. No sound of water.

He took one step forward, slow. Then another. Nothing moved.

Behind him, Ardan adjusted his stance slightly. He hadn't drawn a weapon. But his coat fell open just enough to show the edge of the hilt.

Lindarion crouched near the top of the basin. Looked for any movement. Any trace of warmth. Nothing.

Then he saw it.

Half-buried in the frost. A strip of torn cloth.

Dark red.

He didn't speak.

Just pointed once, and stood.

They both looked down into the hollow.

Empty.

But not clean.