CHAPTER 451: BENEATH (1)

He had chosen not to rest.

Something in the pulse of the roots kept calling to him, not in sound, but in rhythm. Every few minutes, the energy beneath the ground shifted slightly, like a wave breaking against unseen shores.

It wasn’t hostile. Not yet. But it was restless, like a dreamer beginning to stir.

The prince’s thoughts drifted.

He remembered Sylvarion, the city of white stone and silver trees, home of Princess Luneth. The way her voice could still a hall of warriors, not through command but through presence.

Her words had been measured, always sharp but never cruel. And behind that frost lay something rare: warmth so deep that she feared to show it.

He had seen it only once.

When the war council of Eldorath and Sylvarion had met to decide whether to strike at Dythrael’s fortress, she had stood beside him, the northern winds weaving through her pale hair. "If you fall," she had said quietly, "the world will lose its compass. Do not make me live in that silence."

And then she was gone, taken in the night, along with his mother, by Dythrael’s dark vanguard.

The sound of distant laughter broke the memory.

Below, elven soldiers gathered around training fires. Some practiced in pairs, others shared stories or songs, their voices lilting through the forest like the soft strings of a harp.

It reminded him of old campaigns, of camaraderie before battle. The peace before dawn.

He descended the spiral bridge slowly, not wishing to disturb them but unable to ignore the pull of their energy.

As he approached, a few soldiers noticed and rose, bowing with that instinctive reverence that still felt strange to him.

"My prince," one said, a young captain with silver bands on his braids. "You honor us."

"At ease," Lindarion replied gently. "I came only to observe. Continue as you were."

The elves obeyed, though their movements carried a sharper edge now, every stance more precise. The prince’s mere presence drew out perfection, an unspoken desire not to fail in the eyes of one who had touched the divine.

He watched their forms, the arcs of their blades, the flow of mana through their limbs. Their synchronization was impressive, but he could sense where the current faltered, where fear disrupted flow, where pride stiffened movement.

"Your hearts lead your hands," he said suddenly. "But your fear leads your hearts."

The captain froze mid-strike, turning toward him. "My lord?"

Lindarion stepped closer, the air around him rippling faintly with the quiet hum of mana. "Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the stillness that stands beside it. If your mana trembles, so will your blade."

He lifted his hand slightly. "Here."

The captain hesitated, then raised his sword, expecting an attack. But Lindarion merely placed his palm near the blade.

"Now," the prince said softly. "Strike."

The elf obeyed.

The sword moved swiftly, but the moment it entered Lindarion’s aura, it slowed. Not by will, not by magic that restrained, but as if the air itself had thickened, taming its edge. The blade trembled, halted, then eased downward of its own accord.

Gasps rippled through the soldiers.

Lindarion withdrew his hand. "That is what control feels like. Not domination. Harmony."

He gestured for them to continue their drills. "Again. But this time, follow the rhythm of your breath, not your fear."

And as they obeyed, the clearing began to shift. The sounds of steel on steel softened, flowing into a strange, steady rhythm, the same pulse he had heard beneath the roots. The same ancient cadence.

Something clicked in his mind.

He looked down at the soil beneath their feet. Mana threads glowed faintly through the moss, tracing unseen pathways that led deeper toward the south.

The disturbance wasn’t random, it was aligned. Reacting. Perhaps even communicating.

The world tree wasn’t just defending itself, it was listening.

Ashwing stirred on his shoulder, blinking sleepily. "Mmm. You’re thinking too loud again."

Lindarion’s golden eyes stayed fixed on the faint patterns beneath the moss. "The forest responds to intent. These soldiers’ movements, they’re waking it up."

Ashwing yawned, small sparks of mana flickering between his teeth. "You mean the forest is watching them train?"

"Yes," Lindarion murmured. "Watching... and remembering."

He straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. "It’s learning their rhythm, like a heartbeat syncing with theirs."

Ashwing tilted his head. "That doesn’t sound bad."

"It isn’t," Lindarion said, though his tone carried the weight of something unspoken. "Unless something else listens through it."

The dragon blinked. "You mean—"

"Shh," Lindarion said quietly, gaze lifting to the far horizon where the stars wavered faintly.

For a heartbeat, the entire forest seemed to hold its breath.

Then a low vibration rolled through the ground, deep, distant, ancient. Not a tremor, not a quake, but a note. A resonance that traveled through roots and stone, brushing his bones like a whisper.

The soldiers froze mid-motion.

"Prince?" the captain asked, voice trembling slightly. "What was that?"

Lindarion didn’t answer immediately. He listened, truly listened. The pulse had changed. Not random now. Intentional. The earth was answering something... or someone.

Ashwing’s wings flared slightly. "That wasn’t the World Tree, was it?"

"No," Lindarion said quietly, the golden light in his irises brightening. "That came from beneath it."

The soldiers exchanged nervous glances, their mana flaring instinctively.

Lindarion exhaled slowly, centering the flow of his own power. The disturbance was faint, but unmistakable now, a presence pressing lightly against the edge of the world’s heartbeat, curious and cold.

"It begins," he murmured.

The captain swallowed. "Should we raise the alarm?"

"Not yet," Lindarion said. "You’ll only rouse panic. Continue your drills, as before. The World Tree will draw strength from your rhythm."

As he spoke, he extended a hand, brushing his fingertips against one of the living roots protruding through the soil. A faint glow spread outward, soft and steady, harmonizing with the elves’ movements once more.

The tension in the air eased slightly, though the memory of that dark resonance still lingered like an echo.

Ashwing’s voice was low. "You’re not going to sleep tonight, are you?"

Lindarion’s eyes stayed fixed on the trembling lights beneath the moss. "No," he said softly. "There’s no rest while the forest dreams of war."

And as the night deepened, far beyond the reach of elven sight, something vast shifted beneath the world’s roots, stirring to the rhythm of the prince’s calm heart.