Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The academy loomed ahead, all sharp spires and arrogant symmetry, its silhouette indifferent to their return.

The gates didn't creak. The wind didn't shift.

Cassian cleared his throat loudly.

"Do we knock? Ring a bell? Chant the headmaster's true name into the void and hope it doesn't answer back?"

'Is he actually dumb..?'

Lindarion shook his head as Luneth stared, dust still clinging to her armor, as she rolled her eyes. "It's a school, not a cursed relic."

"Disagree. The bathrooms alone scream necromancy."

Lindarion stepped past them both, the seal from Lady Valciel still tucked into his coat.

He raised a hand—not in invitation, just to silence the bickering—and pressed two fingers to the doors.

A subtle surge of mana, old and marked with authority, responded.

The doors opened without ceremony.

The halls of the main tower were too clean. No footsteps echoed. No students passed by. This was the Headmaster's office—quiet in a way that wasn't peaceful.

Cassian muttered, "Feels like we're walking into an intervention."

"No one cares enough about you for that," Luneth said dryly.

They entered the office without being summoned.

And there he was.

Headmaster Thalorin.

Lounging in his high-backed chair like it was a sun-soaked recliner.

Feet propped on his desk, silver-threaded robes half unbuttoned, a cup of something steaming in one hand, and a faint musical hum slipping from his lips.

He looked less like the head of the most feared magical academy in the kingdom, and more like a well-fed fox halfway through his afternoon nap.

"Well, well," Thalorin said, grinning as he glanced over the rim of his cup. "I expected at least one of you to come back in more pieces. Congratulations on subverting my betting pool."

Cassian blinked.

Luneth blinked harder.

'Who would've thought.'

Lindarion didn't blink at all.

"…Headmaster," Luneth said cautiously, bowing with the stiffness of someone unsure if protocol still applied.

"Luneth. You're so formal." Thalorin gave a casual wave of his fingers. "Come now. You survived a horror outside time and space. Relax a little."

Cassian muttered, "Pretty sure my intestines are still haunted, Headmaster"

"And yet you're still charmingly loud. A miracle."

'Wish he was quiet instead.'

Lindarion stepped forward and placed the sealed parchment on the desk with quiet precision.

Thalorin didn't look at it.

Not at first.

His eyes were on Lindarion.

Not calculating. Not cold.

Amused.

"Well?" the Headmaster asked, smile twitching. "Did the city swallow you or something? You finished the assignment, I'm assuming."

Lindarion's jaw shifted slightly. "Yes, it's done."

A flicker. The tiniest spark of something unspoken passed between them. It wasn't magic. It was history.

"Oh, it's done?" Thalorin leaned forward now, his tone dancing somewhere between mockery and fondness.

"You sound like you did chores, not survived contact with an alchemical aberration that should not exist."

"It tried," Cassian said, hopping onto one of the guest chairs and swinging a leg over the armrest.

"It really tried. Good effort, honestly. Headmaster, it could delete ice. Like—conceptually. I don't even know if I'm still cold."

Thalorin gave him a blank look. "You've always lacked temperature regulation.

"That explains the sweating," Cassian muttered.

Luneth, watching Thalorin closely now, frowned. "…You're being unusually relaxed…Headmaster."

"Unusually?" Thalorin tilted his head. "Lindarion brings back horrors. He always amazes me whenever he does something. He's just a damn miracle kid."

Her frown deepened. "You speak to him like—"

"Like an old friend?" Thalorin interrupted, smiling. "A terrible habit. I've been trying to break it recently."

'Might as well just tell them that I'm your disciple whilst you are at it..'

Lindarion's eyes didn't move. His posture remained formal. "The report."

"Yes, yes." Thalorin finally lifted the parchment, broke the seal with a flick of his nail, and scanned the contents.

For a brief moment, the room darkened. The magic in the ink pulsed—a curse warning, encoded by Valciel herself. Thalorin read it without flinching.

"…Ah. So she confirmed it."

Lindarion didn't respond.

Thalorin sighed and dropped the page on his desk like it was a napkin.

"Well then." He clapped his hands once. "You're all officially alive, impressively traumatized I'm assuming, and inconveniently competent. Time to return to your regularly scheduled classes."

Cassian squinted. "Return to what?"

"Classes," Thalorin said, tone light. "And, for some of you, remedial training. Specifically—mana circulation. Nyx is expecting all of you."

Cassian paled. "Already?"

"She asked to evaluate every first year. She wants to see who's fallen behind." Thalorin grinned. "And who's been hiding actual talent."

Luneth folded her arms. "A test?"

"She called it a demonstration," Thalorin said, standing up. "But Professor Nyx doesn't observe unless she's planning to humiliate someone."

Cassian groaned. "I knew we should've died in the city."

'This dumbass never shuts up does he.'

"Cheer up. If you faint mid-demonstration, it'll at least be memorable."

Lindarion turned to leave.

Just before he reached the door, Thalorin spoke again—voice softer now, laced with something older.

"You felt it, didn't you? With Lady Valciel."

Lindarion paused. "…I did."

Thalorin smiled faintly, almost like a secret.

"Good."

No more was said.

They exited into the empty hall in silence.

—

The hallway leading to the training annex buzzed faintly with mana residue, like it remembered the spells flung through it. It wasn't welcoming. Not anymore.

Luneth adjusted the strap on her vambrace as they turned the final corner. "She's going to single someone out. Probably Cassian."

"I accept my fate," Cassian said, resigned. "Bury me under the mana field. Tell my story. Embellish liberally."

'What story… you coward…'

Lindarion didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

He could already feel Nyx's presence leaking through the indoor training room—razor-sharp, barely leashed, the way some animals wait just behind iron bars.

The doors were open.

No creaking. No ceremony. Just exposure.

Inside, students were already gathered. Advanced Combat Theory—though today, clearly, there would be no theory.

Nyx stood at the front, her back turned, drawing a diagram of a human body in precise white chalk. Veins of mana were etched across the limbs, core, spine.

As they entered, she paused, eyes sliding over them.

"Late," she said, without turning.

"We were with the Headmaster," Luneth offered.

Nyx gave no sign she heard.

Instead, she placed the chalk down gently, then turned, brushing one gloved hand free of dust. "Good. You'll need that excuse for the burns you're about to suffer."

A ripple of unease passed through the room.

Cassian whispered, "Gods, she's in a bad mood…"

"She seems to be, yes.." Luneth replied.

Nyx took a step forward. Her heels echoed.

"A couple days ago, I taught you the basics of mana circulation. Passive. Controlled. Combat." Her gaze swept the room like a guillotine's edge. "You were told to practice. To strengthen your control. To refine it."

She clasped her hands behind her back.

"Today, we see what stuck, and how much you actually practiced."

No one moved.

Nyx smiled. It was a lovely, terrifying thing.

"A volunteer," she said.

Silence.

Then the famous boy…Jack Valerian, raised a hand with the self-confidence of someone who hadn't yet suffered public disgrace…or just didn't care and thought he was the best there is.

"Excellent." Nyx beckoned him forward.

Jack jogged into the open, cracked his neck, and drew mana into his palms. His core flared visibly.

"Controlled circulation," Nyx said. "Enhance your speed. Your reflexes. Dodge this."

She snapped her fingers. A bolt of shimmering energy shot toward him.

Jack barely dodged. He staggered to one knee, panting.

"Hm." She turned. "Next."

Two more tried. Both failed to maintain focus while redirecting their mana. One flinched before the strike even came.

"Are you panicking?" Nyx asked sweetly. "That's good. Terror helps carve lessons into the body."

Cassian groaned under his breath. "This is going great."

Nyx's gaze locked onto him. "Cassian."

He flinched.

"…Come up."

He made a noise like a dying animal, then shuffled to the center.

Nyx tilted her head. "Combat circulation. Arms and legs. Full flow."

Cassian took a breath and flared his core—loud, showy, inefficient. He forced mana into his limbs, trembling slightly from the strain.

Nyx flicked her fingers.

The bolt caught him mid-dodge, sending him sprawling backward.

"Better," she said mildly. "Still sloppy."

Cassian groaned from the floor. "Technically that was a hit."

Nyx turned, ignoring him completely. "Anyone else?"

'I'll do it.'

Lindarion stepped forward.

It wasn't dramatic. No flair. Just a single step into the ring.

Nyx's eyes narrowed. "…You think you're ready?"

'I am ready.'

He didn't answer.

He just moved.

His body began glowing in lines—barely visible to anyone without the sight for it—mana flowing like clockwork gears across muscle, bone, and nerve.

Nyx didn't wait. She launched three bolts in quick succession.

He sidestepped all of them. Not ducked. Not dodged. Sidestepped. Perfectly timed.

Another flurry followed.

He parried one with the edge of his hand, reinforcing it mid-motion. The crackle of impact fizzled harmlessly across his skin.

The room went silent.

Nyx exhaled slowly.

"…Again," she said, voice lower now.

Ten strikes. Lindarion didn't just block them. He moved like he'd seen them before. Every shift of muscle was reinforced. Every movement waste-free.

He stopped.

Mana stilled.

Nyx stared at him for a long, unreadable moment.

"…You maintained Combat Circulation during movement, impact, and redirection," she said quietly. "All without bleed."

Cassian, still on the floor, muttered, "Okay…he's still the number one first year for a reason…"

Nyx ignored him.

Instead, she turned back to the class.

"This," she said, pointing toward Lindarion without ceremony, "is what you are all meant to be."

A pause.

"Dismissed."

The students began filing out, some wide-eyed, others silent.

But Nyx called out, "Lindarion. Stay."

'Stay?'

He didn't react with words. Didn't nod. He simply remained still as the others left.