Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 148: Road Ahead (2)

Lira stopped near one of them.

"This is the place."

Ardan dropped his pack with a quiet grunt. "Rest?"

She nodded. "Fifteen minutes."

Meren collapsed like it had been an order from the heavens.

Ren found a rock and claimed it instantly, stretching both legs out like a smug cat.

Lindarion didn’t sit.

He walked to the edge of the ledge. Looked down at the slope behind them. It wasn’t dramatic. Just long. A mess of brush and stone and cold that didn’t feel quite done chasing them.

He felt it again. That quiet weight in his chest.

Not fear.

Not anticipation.

Just awareness.

His affinities were back. All of them. Settled now. Calm.

No flare. No strain.

But they were there, just under the skin. In the breath. In the pause between thoughts.

He closed his eyes. Let the air touch his face.

Ren whistled behind him.

"Careful, prince. You look poetic. The wind might fall in love with you."

He opened one eye.

"Then it should buy me dinner first."

She snorted. "You wish."

The breeze picked up.

Lindarion didn’t move.

The climb wasn’t over. The mountain hadn’t finished. But for the first time since it began, his body didn’t argue with the path.

And neither did his mind.

—

The cold wasn’t clever.

It wasn’t hiding behind trees or sneaking into their cloaks like some cunning curse. It just existed. Pure and quiet and growing.

Lindarion shifted his weight forward and stepped over a ridge in the path. His foot slid for half a second before catching. He didn’t stumble. Just reset his footing and kept going.

The stone had turned glassy beneath the layer of snow. Each step felt like testing a frozen lake one boot at a time.

Behind him, Meren was breathing too loudly.

Not panicked. Just uncomfortable.

Ren’s voice floated from the back, muffled by her scarf. "We should’ve packed fur-lined boots."

Ardan replied without looking. "We weren’t supposed to be halfway up a mountain this week."

"Still. My toes are negotiating surrender."

Lira moved past them both. Not fast. Just clean. Her steps didn’t slide. Her eyes didn’t flick sideways. She walked like the cold owed her something and hadn’t paid up yet.

Lindarion kept pace with her.

The path bent slightly again, winding to the left between two slanted outcrops. Snow had piled high in the corners. Someone’s boot would vanish there if they weren’t careful.

The sky above was washed in a flat grey. Not a storm. Not clear. Just tired. The kind of weather that didn’t care if they reached the top or froze trying.

His fingers flexed once inside his gloves. Warm, for now.

’We’ll need to stop soon again. Fire or shelter. Or both.’

But no one said it. Not yet.

Ardan reached the top of the bend first. He stopped. Just stood there, facing forward, breath curling faintly.

Lindarion joined him.

The slope ahead widened again. Just enough room to move without holding your breath every step.

More snow here. Less wind. It had drifted in thick along the rock wall, building a low, uneven hill across their path.

Ren kicked it once with her toe. Then hissed and muttered something rude.

"Still snow," she said. "Still cold. Still up."

Meren trudged after her. "I think I can see my ancestors in the frost."

"No one cares," Ren said.

Lindarion looked ahead.

The path didn’t vanish, but it faded. Each turn climbed just a little steeper. The angle pulled at the knees now. Every step required thought. Not just strength. And the snow kept falling.

Not heavy. Just constant.

He pulled his scarf tighter.

His breath stayed steady. His legs didn’t shake. His core felt quiet. Strong. Balanced.

The sword at his side had gone cold again. Metal did that. He didn’t mind.

Lira turned toward him, eyes narrowing slightly.

"You slowing?"

"No."

"Good."

They walked.

One pace.

Then another.

No one complained now.

The mountain had taken their words and buried them somewhere beneath the snow. Only the crunch of boots and the soft hiss of wind remained.

Lindarion didn’t mind the quiet.

It made room for his thoughts.

’I’m not tired yet.’

’I’m not slowing.’

’We’ll make it past this ridge.’

And then?

He didn’t know. But he trusted the next step.

—

His scarf was damp now.

Not wet enough to freeze stiff, not yet. But enough that each breath he took felt like dragging in a fistful of ice. He exhaled slow, steady, keeping the pace measured. Letting his lungs keep rhythm with his steps.

The snow had gone from a thin dusting to a slow, smothering fall.

Not flurries. Not flakes.

Sheets.

It drifted sideways in long, heavy strokes, like the sky was trying to erase the mountain one layer at a time.

Lindarion blinked snow from his eyelashes. He could barely see Ren anymore. She’d gone ahead by a few steps, coat drawn tight, shoulders hunched like she was ignoring how much the cold bit.

Meren stumbled somewhere behind. The thud of his boots said he’d fallen again, but no one stopped.

Ardan’s voice came low. "Keep moving."

Lira didn’t say a word.

She moved just ahead of him now, slower than usual, but not from fatigue. She was watching again.

Always watching. The snow didn’t cling to her the same way it clung to everyone else. It slid off her shoulders like it had been told not to bother.

Lindarion watched the slope ahead. It climbed more now. The trail curved under a sharp ledge that jutted out like a frozen fang.

Snow piled high near the base. The kind of pile that could hide a rock. Or a drop. Or nothing at all.

He tightened his grip on his pack strap. Shifted it higher up his shoulder.

’It’s too cold for this.’

The thought came lazy. Not dramatic. Just real. Honest in the way only misery could be.

His toes were numb.

He couldn’t feel his ears.

Still, his steps stayed even. His balance didn’t waver. His core, deep in his chest, kept pulsing low and calm.

Mana wrapped close to the skin now. It helped. Not warm, but alive. It kept the cold from settling in too deep.

Lira stopped ahead. She turned just enough to glance back. Her eyes narrowed at the others. Then met Lindarion’s.

She pointed toward a break in the wall just beyond the ridge. A dip between two leaning stones, half-covered in snow.

He nodded once.

She stepped through it.

He followed.

The snow deepened with that single step. Past his calves now. Dragged at his knees. It made every motion loud. Sluggish. Like wading through silence that didn’t want to be disturbed.

They all followed. One by one.