Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The containment sigils flared for an instant—then collapsed. A wave of alchemical energy rushed outward, cold and sharp, like fingers pressing against his skull.

Lindarion didn't move. Didn't breathe.

'That wasn't an echo. That was awareness.'

Glass cracked. The light within the flask pulsed again, stronger this time, twisting into something unnatural.

Cassian swore. "Oh, that's bad. That's very bad."

Luneth was already moving, her blade half-drawn, but Lindarion raised a hand.

"Wait."

Cassian snapped toward him. "Wait? For what? For it to finish deciding whether or not it wants to kill us?"

Lindarion didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on the flask.

The glow was shifting—unstable, flickering between gold and violet. Like something caught between states.

'Alchemy preserves, but this—this is something else.'

Luneth's grip on her blade tightened. "It responded to you."

He knew. That was the problem.

The air thrummed with something deeper than magic, something raw and unfinished.

Another whisper threaded through the silence.

"…Where am I?"

Lindarion exhaled slowly. 'It isn't just reacting. It's remembering.'

Cassian took a step back. "You do hear that, right? That's not just in my head?"

Luneth didn't look at him. "It's real."

Cassian muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like "I would very much like to leave now."

Lindarion ignored him. His mind was moving too fast, too sharp.

'Anathema. The designation changed..'

The alchemist who was never meant to return.

A creation that should not have been made.

A mistake.

Lindarion took another step closer.

"Who are you?"

The light flickered. Then—

"…I don't know."

A pulse. This time, stronger.

The walls groaned under the weight of it, the air crackling with something thick and oppressive.

Lindarion felt it coil around his ribs, settle behind his sternum.

A presence.

Not malicious. Not yet.

Just there.

Luneth shifted closer, voice low. "We need to act. Now."

Cassian nodded rapidly. "I vote for the option where we run."

Lindarion didn't move.

'If I step back now, we lose our chance.'

The remnants of a broken alchemist, caught between existence and oblivion.

A mind unraveling.

A consciousness holding on by threadbare will.

Lindarion made his choice.

He reached for the flask.

The world fractured.

Light split like shattered glass. The chamber blurred, warped—colors bleeding, walls bending inward as if the space itself had been overturned.

Lindarion's hand never touched the flask.

But something touched him.

A pressure, cold and insidious, sank into his skull. A weight, vast and foreign, slithered into the hollow spaces of his mind.

And for an instant—

—he wasn't himself.

A city swallowed by mist. The scent of burning silver. A figure standing at the edge of an alchemical circle, ink bleeding from their fingertips.

Their mouth moved. A name. A command. A plea.

Then—

Darkness.

—

Lindarion inhaled sharply. Air flooded his lungs, sharp and stinging, like he'd been drowning without realizing it.

He was still standing. Still in the chamber.

But his hand—

His fingers were curled, inches from the flask, as if something had seized them mid-motion.

The glow of the flask pulsed once—dim, but steady.

Lindarion's breath felt sharp in his chest.

'That wasn't just a vision.'

A presence had moved through him. Not just an imprint, not a passive memory. Something aware. Something that—

He clenched his fingers.

His hand was still hovering over the flask, the pull of it lingering in his muscles, as if the foreign will that had stirred in his mind had almost been enough.

'Almost.'

Cassian's voice broke the silence, hesitant. "…Lindarion?"

Luneth had already moved. She gripped his wrist—not harshly, but firm enough to ground him. "What did you see?"

Lindarion exhaled, steadying himself. His mind still felt raw, like something had touched the edges and left them open.

"…A city. A ritual. Someone calling a name."

He didn't say who.

He didn't say that for a moment, he wasn't sure whether it had been his own mouth shaping the words.

Luneth's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't push. Cassian, however, gave the flask a wary glance. "Right. Well. That's incredibly cursed, so maybe we don't touch it again?"

Lindarion forced his hand to his side. "…Agreed."

The room around them was still heavy with the presence of alchemy. The walls were lined with more cases, some filled with preserved specimens, others with carefully sealed vials, each containing substances of unnatural colors and shifting consistencies.

Cassian looked around warily. "Okay, not to be that guy, but are we supposed to be in here?"

Luneth exhaled. "We were brought here."

"Yeah, sure, but no one's watching us," Cassian pointed out. "Either they trust us way too much, or they don't think we'll understand anything useful."

Lindarion didn't respond. He was still watching the flask. The faint glow of the liquid, the slow pulse within.

Then, as if sensing his gaze—

The light faded.

Not all at once. It dimmed, then flickered, then faded entirely, leaving the fluid dull and motionless.

The pulse was gone.

Lindarion didn't move, but something in his chest tightened.

'That wasn't natural.'

The three of them stood in silence.

Then Luneth turned sharply on her heel. "We're wasting time. If we want answers, we should get them from the person in charge."

Lindarion exhaled slowly, then nodded. "…Let's go."

They left the chamber behind, the heavy doors sealing shut behind them.

The corridors of House Valciel were unnervingly quiet. No passing servants, no lingering alchemists—only the occasional flicker of candlelight and the scent of burning herbs.

By the time they reached Lady Valciel's office, the silence had settled deep into their bones.

Lindarion knocked once.

A pause. Then—

"Enter."

The door swung open on its own.

Inside, Lady Valciel sat behind her desk, a book open in front of her, though her gaze was already on them. The candles around the room flickered at their arrival, casting long shadows against the walls lined with alchemical symbols.

She didn't ask why they had come.

She was expecting them.

Lindarion stepped forward first. "We need to speak."

Lady Valciel's expression remained unreadable. "Then speak."

Lindarion didn't hesitate. "So, we are going after the creature. But we need a way to enter the city. We also found the remnant remains."

A faint pause.

Then, Lady Valciel closed her book.

And smiled.

"Good."

Lady Valciel's smile did not reach her eyes.

It was not amusement. Nor was it relief.

It was something colder. Sharper.

Lindarion kept his stance firm. He had spoken the words himself, but it was clear now—she had been waiting for them to say it.

Luneth crossed her arms. "You were expecting us to agree from the beginning right? As soon as you sent the assignment to the academy."

Lady Valciel tilted her head slightly, silver hair catching the candlelight. "Wasn't it inevitable?"

Cassian exhaled, rubbing his temples. "See, that is exactly the kind of thing people say before sending someone to their death."

Lady Valciel did not deny it.

Lindarion kept his voice level. "You never intended to give us a choice."

"You always had a choice," Lady Valciel corrected, tapping a gloved finger against the desk. "But choice means little when you already know the answer, and it means little when you have a favor."

She let the words settle before she continued.

"You are not fools. You have seen what lingers in the depths of this city. What haunts Silvermere now—it does not belong. It is an error in alchemy's design. A thing that should not be."

She leaned forward slightly. "And you intend to correct it."

Lindarion's fingers twitched at his side.

'She speaks as if this is duty. As if it is already written.'

Luneth exhaled sharply through her nose. "Even though we accepted, you should be sending trained alchemists, not us."

Lady Valciel leaned back, resting her hands against the desk. "My alchemists that are capable of fighting are already dead."

A silence settled between them.

Luneth's eyes darkened. "…All of them?"

Lady Valciel did not look away. "There were no survivors."

Cassian's expression flickered—something passing between skepticism and unease. "Then why us? You could have sent a higher ranked mage, or any other option."

Lindarion already knew the answer.

Because they were not alchemists.

Because whatever had destroyed those before them had been made to undo alchemists.

And they were something else entirely.

Lady Valciel studied them carefully, then exhaled. "If I had another option, I would take it."

'Liar.'

Lindarion kept his expression still.

Lady Valciel turned her gaze fully on him. "But I do not."

There was no more pretense in her tone. No more veiled persuasion. Only certainty.

"You will go," she said. "Because you must."

Cassian muttered something under his breath but did not argue. Luneth remained unreadable.

Lindarion exhaled slowly.

"…Where exactly should we go and how do we get there?"

Lady Valciel's lips curled slightly. Not quite satisfaction. Just expectation.

"The ruins beneath Silvermere."

She reached into her desk, pulling out a sealed parchment. "This will grant you access past the lower wards."

Lindarion took it without hesitation.

Lady Valciel's gaze flickered, as if reading something unspoken in his movements.

Then, she said, "Don't die."

Lindarion met her eyes one last time.

Then he turned, and without another word, they left.

The corridors of House Valciel stretched long and silent before them, their footsteps swallowed by the dense, alchemic air.

Lindarion walked ahead, the parchment sealed within his grip. The wax bore the insignia of House Valciel—a silver serpent coiled around an alchemical flask. It felt heavier than it should.

'The ruins beneath Silvermere…'

Cassian let out a low breath beside him. "I'll say it now, just so I don't regret not saying it later—this feels like a terrible idea."

Luneth didn't glance at him. "You said that before we even walked through the gates."

"And was I wrong?" Cassian gestured vaguely around them. "We just agreed to venture into a place where an entire group of alchemists were wiped out."

"No, we didn't," Luneth corrected. "Lindarion agreed. We just followed."

Cassian exhaled through his nose. "That's worse."

Lindarion said nothing.

Their steps carried them down the main hall, past the great chamber of alchemical studies.

Through darkened windows, the silhouettes of researchers bent over their work, gloved hands moving with precise, mechanical purpose.

The estate was still alive. Still working.

As if the disaster had never happened.

As if Lady Valciel had not just confirmed that her own people were dead.

'She speaks of loss, but there is no grief in her tone. Only calculation.'

'She knew this was coming.'

They reached the entrance hall. The main doors loomed ahead, the guards stationed at either side barely sparing them a glance.

Lindarion did not slow.

He pushed through, and the cold evening air met them instantly.

Silvermere stretched beyond the estate walls, a labyrinth of flickering lanterns and winding streets. From here, the lower districts could be seen—layers of stonework and wooden terraces, bridges arcing over the darkened canals.

And beneath it all, past the streets, the markets, the homes—

The ruins.

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck. "So. We're actually doing this."

Luneth adjusted the daggers at her belt. "Obviously."

Cassian sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Remind me again, what's the over-under on all of us surviving?"

Lindarion lifted the parchment slightly. "House Valciel believes this is necessary."

Cassian let out a dry chuckle. "Right, because that always means survival."

Luneth turned toward Lindarion. "Do you have a plan?"

Lindarion's fingers curled slightly over the seal.

He glanced toward the city below.

'A place where the dead still walk.'

'Where alchemy has failed.'

"…We find an entrance."

Luneth nodded. "And then?"

Lindarion's grip did not loosen.

"…We see how deep this mistake runs."