Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 146: Boring Road

He glanced sideways.

She didn’t look tired.

Just quiet.

’How much control does that take?’

She caught him watching. Met his eyes for a second. Then looked forward again.

No expression. No warning. Just a flicker of something unreadable, the kind of thing you only noticed if you were already trying too hard.

He looked away first.

The trail bent to the left and narrowed again. The rock underfoot shifted from snow to hard-packed gravel. The sound of their steps changed with it.

Meren cleared his throat.

"Do we... say anything?"

Ren didn’t turn. "To who?"

"I don’t know. The universe maybe?"

"You want to say a prayer for idiots with knives?"

"I want to feel less weird about watching people melt."

"No one melted," she said. "They just stopped being relevant."

Lindarion frowned. "That’s not better."

Ren flashed him a crooked grin. "Depends who you ask."

They reached a cluster of stone markers, flat slabs, carved smooth by time, sticking up in uneven lines like broken teeth.

No writing. No moss. Just standing there like they were watching something they’d already seen too many times.

Lira paused there.

The rest kept walking.

Lindarion stopped. Not far. Just enough to glance back.

She stood between two of the stones, one hand resting on the hilt of her knife. Not drawing. Just touching it like a reflex.

Her eyes were somewhere else.

Not lost. Not dreaming. Just far enough away that he felt like if he called her name, it might echo before she heard it.

He waited.

She didn’t move.

’Whatever she’s remembering... I don’t think I want to know.’

But he still waited.

Eventually, she stepped forward again. No words. No look back.

He fell in beside her.

Didn’t say anything.

Just matched pace.

The rest of the group had moved ahead now. Their voices came faint over the wind. Ren teasing. Meren complaining. Ardan not bothering to stop either of them.

The trail evened out. The mountain dropped into a long slope of shallow rock and thin brush. Somewhere up ahead, a ridge dipped toward the treeline again.

Lindarion could smell pine.

That, at least, felt normal.

He exhaled, steady. No frost on the air. His core stayed calm. No alerts. No updates.

Everything was working. No pain. No pressure. No fatigue dragging behind his eyes.

He flexed his fingers once. Mana stirred lightly under the skin. Fire, if he asked for it. Lightning, if he wanted to be loud about it. Darkness too, though his felt colder. Less... personal than Lira’s.

She hadn’t spoken since.

He looked at her again.

Still no exhaustion.

Still no regret.

Just a person with too many edges and nowhere soft to stand.

And she walked like she’d never needed softness anyway.

—

The path didn’t rise or fall for a while.

Just a long stretch of broken rock where the wind scraped by in low, bitter waves. Enough to sting the cheeks if you didn’t keep your scarf high. Enough to pull a coat tight if you’d forgotten how to layer properly.

Lindarion breathed into the cloth anyway.

His mouth was dry. Not from thirst. Just from silence. The kind that settled after something big and refused to move again.

Up ahead, Ardan pushed forward like nothing had happened. Like bandits had never existed. Like they hadn’t just seen seven people erased off the face of the mountain.

’He’s definitely done this before. Too many times. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.’

Ren was further ahead, hands behind her head, humming a tune that probably didn’t exist. Her coat fluttered with every third step, like it wanted to run ahead of her.

Meren trudged behind them both, a little slower now. He wasn’t limping, not quite, but something about the way he walked looked cautious. Like the mountain might decide to bite his ankles.

Lira walked next to him again.

Not close. Not far.

Just within reach if he said something.

He didn’t.

The sword on his hip was quiet. Heavy in a good way. Like it belonged there. Like it had made up its mind about him.

He adjusted the strap of his pack again, pulling it tighter against his shoulder. The old leather creaked faintly.

The silence stayed.

Not awkward.

Just thick.

No birds. No insects. No sound.

’This place doesn’t remember how to be alive...’

He glanced sideways again.

Lira’s eyes weren’t on the path. They were on the ridge above them.

Watching.

Always watching.

He spoke low.

"Do you feel anything?"

She didn’t look at him.

"Not yet."

That was somehow worse than yes.

They kept walking.

The slope curved ahead, narrow and edged in jagged stone. The group started spacing out again. Ardan in front. Ren somewhere in the middle. Meren and Lira hanging back.

Lindarion moved just a little ahead of her now.

The wind shifted.

Colder. Not stronger. Just carrying something new.

He turned his head slightly.

"Smoke," he said.

Lira didn’t answer.

But he heard her footsteps pause.

They stopped at the ridge bend. The ground dropped into a shallow basin ahead. Rocks like teeth. Frost in all the wrong places. And, curling just above one of the flat stones—

A thread of smoke.

Thin. Pale.

Not campfire thick. Not cooking.

Something older. Something distant. Like the tail end of a ritual someone forgot to put out.

Ren’s voice came soft from up ahead.

"Well. That’s not ominous."

Ardan said nothing.

Lindarion stepped forward.

Not fast. Not loud. Just enough to see over the ridge.

The smoke rose from a small pit surrounded by stone markers. Same kind as before. Carved. Blank. Half-buried in frost.

He couldn’t see anyone.

But he didn’t trust that.

His hand drifted toward his sword again. Not drawing. Just... ready.

The pulse of mana stayed low. Stable. Like it was waiting for a command.

Lira stopped beside him.

"I know that smell."

He looked at her. "Good or bad?"

"More like something old."

Not the answer he wanted.

But maybe the only one they’d get.

Ren crouched near one of the stones. She didn’t touch it. Just stared at the edges.

"Who leaves smoke burning in the middle of a dead path?"

Meren spoke up behind them.

"Someone with a really bad hobby."

Ardan’s fingers brushed his coat. Not threatening. Just habitual.

Lindarion exhaled.

The air didn’t feel colder now. But something in his chest had.

Not fear.

Just awareness.

They weren’t alone.