When he entered the council hall again, the air shifted almost imperceptibly. The Lorienyan lords, gathered in quiet conversation, fell silent as soon as they felt him step through the archway.

Even Vaelthorn and Sylwen paused, their senses instinctively bowing before the quiet power that now radiated from him.

Vaelthorn straightened. "Prince Lindarion. You return from the Tree."

Lindarion inclined his head. "I do."

Sylwen's green eyes softened. "We felt… something. A change in the roots. What did you see?"

Lindarion paused. He could still hear the echo of Elyndra's voice, the pulse of divine fire threading through his veins. But to speak of it would invite questions, questions he wasn't ready to answer.

"The Tree showed me its memory," he said finally. "And it judged me worthy to walk beneath its light. Nothing more."

Vaelthorn studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Then you carry its blessing. Such things are not given lightly. You may find Lorienya listens to you more readily now than before."

"I do not seek to rule your people," Lindarion said. "Only to understand what's happening beyond your borders. I'll move south soon."

Sylwen frowned. "So soon? You've barely rested."

"I have no time to rest. The longer I wait, the deeper Dythrael's roots spread."

There was silence. The council knew better than to argue.

When the meeting ended, Lindarion stepped out once more into the evening air. The canopy had begun to glow faintly with the bioluminescent petals that bloomed at dusk. Below, children's laughter echoed faintly, small, fragile reminders that peace still existed somewhere in the world.

He leaned against the railing overlooking the lower city, his gaze distant. For the first time since returning from the Tree, he allowed himself to feel the weight of what had changed.

The divine and the mortal inside him no longer sat apart, they wove together, like flame and root. It wasn't merely power. It was life reborn.

And deep down, beneath that steady calm, he could feel something stirring. A hunger not for destruction, but for purpose.

Ashwing rested his head against Lindarion's arm. "You're thinking too much again."

"I have a right to," Lindarion murmured.

"Yeah, but you always look like you're about to break the world in half when you do it."

He actually chuckled softly at that. "Not today."

"Good." The dragon yawned. "Because I like this place. It smells like cinnamon and old leaves."

Lindarion's gaze drifted toward the southern horizon, where the forest ended in a distant haze. Somewhere beyond that line, Luneth and his mother still waited, trapped, perhaps suffering, perhaps worse. The thought twisted in his chest like a blade, but he didn't flinch from it.

Soon, he would move.

Soon, Lorienya's peace would end.

But for this night, he let himself breathe. Just once.

The stars shimmered faintly overhead, reflected in the faint gold of his eyes. And though the city below hummed with life, none could hear the heartbeat that pulsed inside him now, steady, ancient, and unyielding.

The heartbeat of a prince who had touched divinity and returned still human enough to care.

The next morning broke beneath a veil of mist. The first rays of dawn pierced through Lorienya's canopy, scattering into beams that danced upon the mossy platforms and the crystal lakes below.

Birds sang from high branches, and for a brief, delicate moment, it felt as if nothing in the world could touch this place.

Lindarion stood on one of the high terraces overlooking the southern expanse. His cloak fluttered faintly in the cool air, his expression calm yet distant.

The city behind him stirred with gentle activity, elves moving about their morning routines, laughter of children echoing faintly between the trunks, but he listened to none of it. His gaze was fixed on the horizon.

Ashwing perched along the railing beside him, wings half-open, watching the clouds. "You're going to leave soon."

"I am."

The dragon's tail flicked. "You don't sound like you want to."

"I never wanted to," Lindarion said quietly. "But wanting has little to do with what must be done."

Ashwing puffed out a small sigh of smoke. "You sound like an old man again."

Lindarion didn't smile. He was studying the wind currents beyond the treeline, noting how the mist thinned the farther south he looked.

The forest there grew darker, denser, and the faint shimmer of corruption was visible now to his sharpened sight. The World Tree's protection ended long before that horizon.

He turned as footsteps approached. Nysha appeared from the upper path, her crimson eyes sharp, her cloak brushing against the moss.

Behind her followed two Lorienyan captains and one of the human commanders from the refuge below. Their faces were tense.

"Prince Lindarion," Nysha said. "The scouts returned at dawn. No sign of Maeven's direct forces yet, but something's moving in the southern woods. Quiet. Fast. They say the trees themselves are changing."

Lindarion's jaw tightened slightly. "Changing how?"

"The roots are blackened. Leaves grey. There's no decay, it's like they're alive and dead at the same time."

One of the captains stepped forward. "We think it's a spreading mana blight. Old magic, maybe. Not natural."

Lindarion's eyes flicked toward the south again. The memory of the World Tree's warmth pulsed faintly in his veins, answering that distant corruption with silent rejection. "How far?"

"Less than a week's march, my prince."

"Then we move in two days."

Nysha's brows rose. "Two?"

"The longer we wait, the harder it will be to contain."

The human commander shifted uneasily. "Contain? You mean to fight whatever's causing it?"

Lindarion turned to him, golden eyes steady. "Do you see any other who will?"

No one answered.

He let the silence stretch, the forest whispering faintly around them. Then he turned back toward the railing, resting one hand upon it. His white hair caught the sunlight as it rose, glimmering faintly like threads of starlight.

"Prepare rations and mounts," he said. "We'll move light. No more than fifty soldiers. I'll lead the vanguard."

One of the captains bowed deeply. "At once, my prince." They left swiftly, their boots barely making a sound against the living wood.

Nysha stayed behind. "You're not going to tell them about what happened in the World Tree, are you?"

"No."

"They'll notice sooner or later. That kind of power doesn't hide easily."

"They'll notice when they must."

Her gaze narrowed slightly. "You're not the same man who came into this forest, Lindarion."

He met her eyes. "No. I'm not."

"Then tell me," she said quietly, stepping closer, "when you look south, when you see what's coming, do you still believe you can walk this path alone?"

Lindarion didn't answer immediately. His hand brushed the railing, tracing the faint veins of mana running through the wood. "I was born alone. I was forged alone. But that doesn't mean I walk without purpose."