Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 176: Miracle

The air had gotten colder again.

Not the murderous kind from the mountain, just the kind that reminded you boots had seams and winter didn't care.

The snow in the village had turned to a soft crunch, trampled down by enough footsteps to make it politely navigable.

The inn sat at the end of the lane like it had done something heroic. Probably hadn't. But it was warm, and it had chairs.

Lindarion shoved his hands in his pockets and let the others trail behind at varying degrees of exhaustion and carbohydrate overload.

Meren was hiccuping softly like he'd fought and lost a battle with a potato dumpling.

Ren had stolen something from the counter. Again. She was halfway through eating it. No one stopped her anymore.

Ashwing trotted beside Lindarion with a little too much confidence for a creature who had tried to eat soap this morning.

"Don't get used to being fed three meals a day," Lindarion muttered. "You're still technically a wild animal."

Ashwing sneezed a smoke ring that might've spelled disrespect in ancient draconic.

It was a quiet, tired kind of evening.

And then a voice.

"Wait!"

Small. High. Out of breath.

'What could it be now?'

Lindarion turned just enough to see the source.

A kid. Human. Maybe ten. Brown hair stuck in every direction, boots too big, cloak fraying at the edges like it had been someone else's first. He looked like he'd run across the village twice without breathing.

Ren froze mid-bite. "That's not ominous at all."

The boy skidded to a stop in front of Lindarion. Looked up. Eyes wide. No fear. Just desperation. Which was worse.

"You're the prince, right?"

Lindarion blinked. "That's… complicated."

"But you are," the kid said. "You're the elf prince. People were talking."

'People talk way too much.'

Lindarion resisted the urge to crouch. He hated crouching. It made his knees feel ancient. Instead, he tilted his head slightly.

"My mother's sick," the boy said, voice pitched somewhere between shy and desperate. "They said… they said a prince came. Elven."

Technically true. Technically dumb. "And you thought I was handing out miracles with breakfast?"

The kid flinched.

'Well, that came off rude.'

Great. Now he felt like a villain. Add it to the collection.

Ren leaned in, peering at the boy like he was an unfamiliar kind of bug. "How sick are we talking?"

"She can't walk. She hasn't opened her eyes since yesterday. We don't have any tonic left. The healer left town two weeks ago."

Lindarion exhaled through his nose. Of course she did.

"Please," the kid said, hands clenched in his too-short sleeves. "I thought maybe—maybe you could help. Because you're… special."

Behind him, Ashwing sneezed into the snow. Dramatic timing. Perfect.

Lira hadn't said anything yet. But she looked at him now. Not judging. Just watching.

He could ignore it.

He should.

He didn't.

"Alright," Lindarion said. "Lead the way."

The boy looked stunned for half a second. Then turned on his heel and bolted down the path like his legs were powered by sheer panic.

Meren muttered, "We're doing charity now?"

Ren elbowed him. "Shut up. This is his development."

Lindarion followed the kid through a narrow alley of frozen wood and crumbling stone, Ashwing trotting after him like a smoke-emitting shadow.

The house was barely standing. Roof patched with tarp. Windows fogged with grime. Inside, it smelled like damp wool and despair.

The boy pointed to the far wall. A bed, too thin to be useful, held the shape of a curled figure under a quilt.

That was it.

No incense. No prayers. No dramatic cries.

Just quiet sickness. The kind that crept in and stayed.

Lindarion stepped closer. Not fast. Just enough.

The woman looked young. Or she would have, if she didn't already have death painting shadows under her skin.

Her breathing was shallow. Not gone. But fading.

The boy hovered behind him like a thread about to snap.

Lindarion knelt.

He didn't reach for her.

Didn't need to.

Divine affinity wasn't loud. Not when done right. Not when wielded like a whisper instead of a banner.

'Let's see if this works.'

He let the power rise, soft and internal. No symbols. No glow.

Just heat, like sunlight that hadn't decided whether to burn or bless.

He let it thread into his palm, then lowered it near her chest. Not touching. Just close enough for the air to shift.

His eyes half-closed.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push nothing. Invite everything.

The warmth spread. Not from him. Through him. Like the world exhaled and forgot to be cruel for a second.

She stirred.

Faint. Barely a twitch. But her breath deepened.

Color returned to her face. Not all. But enough to not look ghost-made.

He stood without waiting further.

"She'll wake soon," he said. "Let her drink warm broth. No cold drafts. Keep her sleeping."

The boy blinked. "You—how—"

"I'm just good at pretending I know what I'm doing," Lindarion said flatly.

'Not like I can say I have multiple affinities.'

Behind him, Ashwing licked a soot smudge off the floor.

Ren leaned in from the doorframe. "You alright?"

"Peachy."

Meren squinted. "Did you do something?"

Lindarion turned. "I frowned very intensely at the sickness. It got scared."

Ren grinned. "Sounds legit."

'She knows.'

The boy stared at him like he was made of stars and poor decision-making.

Lindarion sighed. "Don't tell anyone."

"About what?"

"Exactly."

They left the house.

Snow had started falling again, soft and silent. Ashwing sneezed at it like it was personally offensive.

Lira caught his eye once as they walked back toward the inn. Not a question. Not praise.

Just understanding.

He hated that a little.

Because it meant she knew as well.

And that meant the rest of the group probably would soon, too.

And he was running out of things to keep secret.

But for now, the air felt warmer. His hands steady.

And behind him, a boy ran back into his house with hope rattling in his chest like it had just remembered how to beat.

Not bad.

Not bad at all.