Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 178: Knock Knock

Ardan didn't say anything. Just got up and nodded once toward the stairs before heading that way, silent boots on creaking wood. Probably to sleep in a corner with his eyes open and a knife under the pillow.

Lira remained seated. For a while. She looked like someone who didn't get tired so much as quietly shut down in phases.

Lindarion stood slowly. His legs agreed. Barely.

He gave her a look. A soft one.

"Coming?"

She blinked. Just once. Then nodded and followed.

No goodnights. No bedtime routines. No emotionally significant bonding.

Just stairs, footsteps, and the creak of old floorboards that definitely had opinions.

The rooms upstairs weren't fancy.

One had three beds crammed into it with a chair that was absolutely cursed. Another had two beds and a window that whistled in high wind like it was performing for tips.

They split without discussion.

Ashwing followed Lindarion like a slightly judgmental shadow, tail tapping against the wood in a slow rhythm. As if he had memorized the acoustics already.

Inside the room, the bed was firm. The blankets scratchy. The pillow suspiciously lumpy. But it beat the floor. Or snow. Or existential despair.

He sat on the edge of the mattress. Let out a long breath.

Ashwing jumped up beside him. Spun once. Settled. Head on Lindarion's thigh like this was a nightly routine and not a bold improvisation.

The fire affinity in his chest hummed low. Steady. He didn't need it right now. But it was there. Warm like memory. Alive like instinct.

He looked out the window once.

Just snow.

Still falling.

He didn't speak. Didn't move.

Eventually, he lay back, one hand on the dragon's back, eyes half-lidded.

No big thoughts. No dramatic monologues.

Just the quiet weight of full stomachs, heavy limbs, and the kind of peace you didn't question too hard in case it noticed.

Sleep came.

Quiet.

Unforced.

—

Knock. Knock.

Of course.

Because clearly, sleep was a luxury. Not a right.

Lindarion peeled one eye open. Ashwing remained dead to the world, draped dramatically across the lower half of the bed like some tragic romantic heroine who had been denied dessert.

Another knock. Soft. Even. The polite kind of persistent.

He pushed himself up, blanket slouching off his shoulders. The room wasn't cold, but the way the wooden floors sucked warmth out of your bones definitely counted as betrayal.

He opened the door.

'Lira…?'

No cloak. Boots unlaced. Hair fraying just enough to prove she wasn't made of glass. She looked calm. Which in Lira terms meant she'd already made peace with whatever disaster she was about to walk into.

Lindarion raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. Ashwing committed a war crime before we went to sleep?"

She didn't smile. She also didn't argue. She just stepped past him and into the room like this was a completely normal time to visit.

Lindarion shut the door with a sigh. "If this is about watch rotations, I'm rejecting the draft."

"It's not."

She hovered near the window, eyes flicking once to Ashwing's vaguely snoring form before settling back into something unreadable.

Silence.

Not tense. Not awkward. Just… Lira-shaped.

Lindarion crossed his arms. "So?"

"I saw what you did."

"You'll have to be more specific. I do a lot of things. Most of them reluctantly."

"The healing. With the boy."

'Oh. Right. That.'

He shrugged, casual. "He was scared. It helped."

"You didn't use your fire affinity."

"I also didn't juggle or dance. Should I have?"

She gave him a look. Not sharp. Just… focused.

"You barely even focused. That wasn't just a light affinity or a low-tier affinity. It was something divine."

Lindarion didn't flinch. But something inside his stomach did that thing where it tried to casually launch itself into his throat.

'I know she has high awareness but this is wild.'

He looked away. Pretended to study a crack in the wooden beam overhead. "It was just a trick."

"No. It wasn't."

Another beat of silence.

Ashwing twitched, rolled over, and flopped a leg across Lindarion's pillow like he'd claimed it in a legally binding sleep treaty.

Lira didn't move.

"You're hiding them."

He didn't answer.

"Not just one," she continued. "More."

Lindarion let out a slow breath through his nose.

'How does she even know?'

"Do you want me to deny it?" he asked.

"No."

"Do you want me to explain it?"

"Also no."

That surprised him.

Just a little.

She finally turned to face him fully. Her eyes were calm. No accusations. No suspicion.

Just understanding. And maybe something else underneath it. Something older.

"You don't need to tell me," she said. "But don't lie about who you are. Not to us. Not to yourself."

He hated that.

Mostly because it wasn't wrong.

He dropped onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. Ashwing made a noise that could only be described as lizard indignation.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

"I know."

"I'm not even sure what to do with all of it. Half the time it just sits there like it's waiting for me to have a meaningful battle."

Lira raised an eyebrow. "So… next century?"

He rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."

She stepped toward the door. Paused with one hand on the frame.

"If you ever need to use it again," she said without turning, "you don't have to explain it to me."

Then she opened the door and left.

Just like that.

No goodbye.

No dramatic exits.

Just one more quiet truth dropped into the pile of things Lindarion wasn't sure how to feel about.

He looked down.

Ashwing was upside down now. One eye barely open. One wing twitching.

"Don't look at me like that," Lindarion muttered. "You don't even have affinities."

Ashwing burped.

Smoke.

Faint.

Sassy.

Lindarion pulled the blanket back over himself and lay down.

The bed was warm.

Too warm.

He didn't care.

Sleep came slow.

But it came.

—

Morning hit like a wet sock to the face.

Not because anything dramatic happened. No explosions. No screaming. Not even a single bandit-related inconvenience.

Just light. Streaming in through the window like it owned the place.

Lindarion squinted at the sunbeam falling across his face. Rude. Uninvited. And somehow brighter than his will to live.

Ashwing was still asleep. Upside down. Legs in the air like some tragic fire-lizard reenacting the death scene of a soap opera character.

Lindarion slowly peeled himself upright.

Every muscle protested. Not in pain. Just principle. He'd made the mistake of existing and his body wanted him to know about it.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was doing that uncooperative thing again where it decided gravity was optional.

Fine.

Whatever.

He didn't need to look like royalty today.