Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 162: Freezing Trail (6)

He didn't realize how much tension he'd been carrying until it started to let go.

Lindarion dropped into a crouch near the edge, one arm resting across his knee. He let the cold rock press through his gloves. It felt real. More real than most of the past few days. Not sharp. Just there. Steady.

The lake below shimmered faintly, even under the clouds. Not like water. More like glass someone had tried to polish and then gave up halfway.

He watched a line of trees bend slightly in the wind, their shadows too long for the sun's position.

That was the thing about climbing mountains. You could lie to yourself about how close you were to the end, but once the land opened up like this, there was nowhere to hide. It was honest in a way the cities never were.

He wasn't used to it.

Behind him, Meren collapsed in a dramatic sprawl against a lumpy patch of snow and groaned.

"I think my soul left halfway up the last slope."

Ren dropped beside him with a grunt. "Maybe it got tired of your whining."

"Maybe it got frostbite and gave up."

Ardan remained standing, arms crossed, gaze still sweeping the edge of the pass like a man expecting the rocks to stand up and ask him for a fight.

Lira hadn't moved since she first looked out. Her cloak shifted once in the wind, just enough to show the hilt of one of her knives tucked against her side.

Lindarion glanced at her.

She wasn't smiling. She never did. But something in her shoulders had eased. Slightly. Enough that he noticed.

He turned back to the view.

'Almost there.'

He could feel the words. Not in his throat. Just in his chest. A dull weight that kept trying to rise up and turn into something more important.

He didn't let it.

It wasn't the end.

Just a checkpoint.

Still, it was hard not to let the thought settle somewhere deep behind his ribs.

They weren't dead.

They weren't lost.

They had a direction again.

That meant more than most things.

Ren picked up a chunk of snow and tossed it over the edge. It disappeared almost instantly into the drop.

"I'm not climbing back up this, by the way," she said.

"Noted," Lira replied without turning.

"I'll fake an injury."

"You already do."

"Then I'll fake a new one."

Meren coughed. "I think my ankle twisted five minutes ago. It's probably gone now. Just frost holding it in place."

Ardan muttered something that might have been a prayer. Or a threat. Or just him remembering what peace and silence used to feel like.

Lindarion leaned back, palms braced against the stone.

The fire affinity hummed quietly inside his chest. Not hot. Not aggressive. Just alive. He didn't need it now. But it helped knowing it was still there.

He reached into his coat and pulled a small strip of dried fruit from one of the inner pockets. It had gone stiff from the cold, but he bit into it anyway.

Sweet. A little sour.

It tasted like the kind of thing you only remembered eating after you realized you hadn't died.

He closed his eyes for just a second. Not to sleep. Just to breathe.

Lira's voice came quieter than usual. Not soft, exactly. Just less sharp.

"There's a trail down the eastern side. Narrow, but walkable."

Ardan nodded.

Ren groaned. "Do we have to go today?"

"No," Lira said. "But we should."

Meren didn't even argue this time.

Lindarion opened his eyes again and let the sky fill his view.

—

The rock under him had stopped feeling like ice. It was still cold, but the kind of cold he could forget about for a minute or two if he didn't move.

If he just sat there, arms draped across his knees, letting the wind pull at the edge of his scarf.

Lindarion stared out at the drop again. He couldn't see the bottom. The trail curved down behind a steep wall of broken stone and thin ice, all of it lined in frost that looked like it could snap if you even breathed wrong.

His legs didn't want to stand again. His shoulders didn't either.

Meren let out a pitiful sigh from the floor.

"I vote we build a new home right here."

Ren poked him in the side with the toe of her boot. "You wouldn't last two days without a bath and a bed."

"I have both in my imagination. It's called mental resilience."

Ardan stood motionless with his arms still crossed. It wasn't that he looked comfortable. More like he'd just stopped pretending he needed comfort at all.

Lira was the only one who hadn't spoken since they stopped. She shifted her weight slightly, arms folded now, gaze tracing something down the side of the slope like she could already see the route ahead.

She didn't turn. Just spoke.

"We go down now."

Ren groaned like someone had punched her in the stomach.

Meren lifted his head with visible effort. "No celebratory break? No five-minute nap? I'm willing to cry if that helps."

"Save the crying for when we're at the bottom," Lira said. "It'll echo more dramatically."

Lindarion pushed himself to his feet, slow.

His knees popped. He ignored it.

He brushed off the back of his coat and adjusted the strap of his pack again. It still bit into the same spot near his collarbone. Nothing he could do about that now.

The fire affinity sat quiet inside his chest. Dormant, but steady. Like an ember that didn't need fuel, just patience.

He didn't want to waste it on himself.

Not yet.

He stepped toward the edge with the others, letting the crunch of frost beneath his boots say everything his mouth didn't feel like contributing.

The trail down was narrow. Maybe two feet wide in places, carved along a ridgeline that looked like it regretted ever existing.

Ice clung to the edge of the rocks like it had nowhere better to be. Some of it cracked quietly under the wind, a soft sound that still made his jaw tighten.

Lira turned to face them now. Her eyes met his first.

"It's steep. And winding. But the snow thins once we're a quarter down."

"How far is the bottom?" Ren asked, already dreading the answer.

Lira's lips twitched. Not quite a smile.

"A day. Maybe two."

Meren made a noise that didn't resemble any known language. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

"Wonderful," Ardan said flatly.

Lindarion looked down at his gloves. The edges had started to fray from the cold, the leather peeling at the fingertips. He tugged them tighter anyway.

He didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

They were moving again. That was what mattered.

He took the first step after Lira, boots landing with that quiet scrape of stone meeting determination.

The wind didn't push back this time.