CHAPTER 364: THE PRINCE

The cavern echoed with the silence that followed. The humans leaned closer, eyes wide, waiting. Some gripped their weapons tighter, as though bracing for an answer they feared.

Nysha’s shadows flared faintly, defensive. "He saved you," she snapped, her voice raw from sleeplessness. "Without him, you’d all be bones in that cavern."

"Maybe," one of the soldiers muttered, his voice bitter. "Or maybe we traded one monster for another."

Ashwing hissed sharply, smoke curling from his nostrils.

Lindarion’s lips curved faintly. He rose to his feet, slow, deliberate. His height cast long shadows across the firelight, his presence pulling the air tighter. His eyes glowed faint, crimson bleeding at their edges from the lingering strain of his core.

"I am Lindarion Sunblade," he said, his voice carrying like steel drawn from its sheath. "Prince of Eldorath. My name alone holds weight far beyond these caverns you hide in."

The words struck them like a blow. Murmurs rippled again.

"Prince? Elven royalty?"

The commander’s eyes narrowed. "Titles mean nothing here. Not to my people. If you are truly what you claim, then prove it. Stand with us. Show us that your power doesn’t only bring ruin."

Selene’s voice stirred, soft laughter ringing in his chest. "Good, Master. Do not let them forget who you are. Let them kneel, not you."

Lindarion tilted his head, studying the scarred man. His pride urged him to strike the words down, to remind them that he owed them nothing. That their survival was dust compared to his war against Maeven.

But then he remembered Nysha’s trembling hands pressing against his chest, shadows frantic to hold him together. He remembered the humans dragging their wounded through tunnels, whispering prayers to gods that did not answer.

His jaw tightened.

"Prove myself?" he said at last, the words laced with cold steel. "I fought Maeven, when none of you even dared speak his name. My blood stains these stones because I stood against him."

His eyes swept the cavern, pinning each fearful gaze. "But if you doubt me, then doubt has a price. Give me your next battle. I will show you what it means to stand with a prince of Eldorath."

The commander’s lips pressed thin. He studied Lindarion for a long, tense moment, then finally gave a curt nod. "Then it’s decided. When the creatures come again, and they will, you fight with us. If you stand, we’ll follow. If you fall, we cut the cursed blade from your hands and leave you in the dark."

The soldiers shifted, uneasy. Some nodded reluctantly. Others looked away, doubt gnawing.

Nysha bristled, shadows curling tighter. "You can’t just—"

Lindarion lifted a hand, silencing her. His gaze never left the commander. "Agreed."

The word dropped into the silence like a hammer.

Nysha whipped her head toward him, her voice sharp. "Are you insane? You nearly died—"

"I will not be doubted," he said flatly.

Her mouth opened, then shut, fury and fear warring in her crimson eyes. She turned away, shoulders trembling.

Selene’s warmth pulsed, soothing. "Well done, Master. They will see your strength. And when they do, they will kneel, even if they do not yet know it."

He breathed slow, steady. The humans were still whispering, their gazes wary, but there was something else now, a thread of hope beneath the fear. Desperate, fragile, but there.

He let them see his fire. Let them see that if they doubted him, it would not break him.

Because he was Lindarion Sunblade, Prince of Eldorath. And he would not kneel.

—

The silence that followed weighed thicker than stone. The humans stared at him like he had stepped down from some unreachable height, half fear, half the fragile, desperate thread of awe they did not want to admit.

They had nothing left, and even if they hated the way his shadows curled, the cursed sword thrummed, or his eyes gleamed red, they clung to it. He saw it. He smelled it in the way their breath caught, the way their hands trembled less at their sword hilts.

’Pathetic,’ he thought, though the edge dulled by fatigue. ’They cling to me because they have nothing else.’

Selene’s warmth brushed against his mind, like the steady hand that had been there all his life. "They cling because you are light in their dark, Master. Even if that light burns their eyes."

He almost smiled, faint and bitter. ’You always did know how to dress truth in silk.’

"And you always try to make silk into steel," she teased, her voice as soft as ever. "But I am not wrong. Do not mistake their fear for hatred. Fear can bend. Hatred only breaks."

Lindarion didn’t answer her, not aloud, not in thought. But he carried her words as the commander finally broke the stillness with a barked order. The humans stirred back to motion, muttering, casting glances at Lindarion as though expecting him to vanish.

Nysha still stood near, crimson eyes bright with fury and worry both. Shadows twitched faintly at her fingertips, restless as her heartbeat. She looked ready to snap, but when she caught his gaze, she froze.

"You—" Her voice caught. She lowered it, just for him. "You’re going to get yourself killed."

"I’m not dead yet," he replied flatly.

Her jaw clenched. "Not yet. But last time—" She stopped, eyes flicking to the humans nearby, ears twitching faintly as whispers reached them. She stepped closer, lowering her voice even more. "Last time, I was the one who dragged you out before Maeven tore you apart. What happens if I can’t next time?"

’She underestimates me,’ he thought, though he could not shake the ghost of Maeven’s grin, the sensation of his chest cracking, the [System] telling him he had collapsed.

Selene’s presence tightened, firm and reassuring. "You did not fall because you were weak, Master. You fell because you carried too much. You push where no other dares. That is your strength—and your curse."

’I don’t need reminding.’

"Then let me be the reminder that you are not alone. You have me. Always."

Nysha’s eyes searched his, sharp, almost pleading, as if she sensed the shift but could not hear the words. She whispered again, urgent. "I don’t trust that sword. I don’t trust what it’s doing to you."

His gaze drifted toward where the blade lay wrapped in his shadows, faintly pulsing. The humans watched it even when they tried not to, their fear coiled around it like smoke. The sword hummed, ever-hungry.

But Selene’s voice cut through its whisper. "That blade is a parasite. I am your shadow, your servant, your truth. Do not confuse them, Master."

’Never,’ he answered, quietly.

He looked back at Nysha, voice low. "It hasn’t taken me. It never will."

Her eyes narrowed, doubt sharp in their crimson glow. But she said nothing more.

—

The camp sank into weary rhythm. Some patched wounds, others sharpened blades too dull to cut. Children huddled near the weak fire, wide-eyed at every sound that echoed through the tunnels. The commander sat apart, sharpening his own sword in silence, his scarred jaw locked tight.

Lindarion sat against the cavern wall, shadows folding around him like a cloak. His core still pulsed faintly, aching from the strain. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cold stone.

[System Notice: Core stabilization incomplete. Estimated recovery: 41 hours.]

’Forty-one hours I don’t have,’ he thought grimly.

Selene’s voice slipped through the ache, warm as breath. "Then you do what you always have. Endure. Bend the rules, burn the time, and stand anyway. You’ve done it since you were a child."

Memories flickered, training in the garden of the palace, his mother’s hand in his hair, his father’s sharp words that softened only when they were alone.

And Selene, always Selene, a whisper in his mind even when no one else believed.

He let the memories fade, but not the warmth.

Footsteps scraped nearby. He opened his eyes.

A young soldier stood before him, no more than twenty, armor cracked, helmet too large for his head. His hands shook as he gripped a waterskin, but he held it out toward Lindarion.

Lindarion raised an eyebrow.

"For you," the boy muttered, eyes darting to the shadows at Lindarion’s shoulders, then away. "You fought... more than anyone. You should drink."

Lindarion studied him. The boy’s fear was sharp, but under it was sincerity. His throat ached from the dust and blood. Slowly, he reached out and took the skin.

The boy nearly flinched when their fingers brushed.

"Thank you," Lindarion said, his voice low, even.

The boy’s eyes widened, startled at the words. He nodded once, sharply, then fled back to his cluster.

Selene’s laughter was a ripple of warmth in his chest. "See? Even fear can bend."

’Perhaps.’

—

Hours bled. The fire sank low again, the humans falling into uneasy sleep. Nysha stayed close, head bowed, her shadows restless even in her dreams. Ashwing curled beside him, tail twitching in rhythm with his breath.

But Lindarion did not sleep. His ears caught every drip of water, every faint crack in the stone, every restless murmur of the humans. His core still throbbed, and beneath it, something else, something darker.

The air shifted.

He felt it before the others. A tremor in the stone, faint but real. A whisper carried through the tunnels, not of voices, but of claws scraping rock.

He rose silently, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword, shadows curling tight.

[System Alert: Hostile signatures detected. Proximity: 800 meters.]

His eyes narrowed. ’They come again.’

Selene’s voice was calm, unshaken. "Then let them. Show them who you are, Master. Show them what even Maeven could not break."

The commander stirred, as if sensing the same. He sat up sharply, hand on his blade. The cavern shifted with restless whispers as others woke, sensing the vibration through their bones.

Nysha’s eyes snapped open, glowing faint in the dark. "They’re coming."

The commander barked orders, rough, urgent. Men scrambled to their feet, blades shaking in tired hands. The children were ushered deeper into the tunnels, mothers clutching them tight.

All eyes turned, once again, to Lindarion.

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, shadows flaring faintly in the firelight. His voice was quiet, but it carried. "Stay behind me."

The humans froze at the command in his tone. Some bristled, but most obeyed, instinct bending them to the authority he carried as easily as breath.

Nysha moved to his side, shadows at her fingertips. "You can’t—"

"I can," he cut her off. His eyes glowed crimson, fire flickering faint in his palm. "I am Lindarion Sunblade. Prince of Eldorath. Watch closely. You wanted proof, now you’ll have it."

Selene’s voice was steady, warm as ever. "And I will be with you, always, Master."

The tremor grew. The air filled with shrieks, claws on stone, the sound of hunger rushing through the dark.

And Lindarion stood tall, shadows and fire swirling, the humans behind him holding their breath.

Because he was a prince. And he would not kneel.