Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 139: Talking Trees (1)

Ren squinted at the marker again, arms folded across her chest. "Do we keep going? Or stand here debating the historical significance of a stick?"

"I vote moving," Meren said. "Respectfully."

"No one asked for a vote," Lira said.

Ardan's hand hovered near his side. He hadn't drawn his blade, but the tension in his fingers said he might. Not out of panic. Just habit.

Lindarion stood again. The air was colder by the post. Not wind. Just colder. Like the trees themselves didn't want to breathe near it.

He adjusted his scarf and stepped ahead, slow. The path narrowed through two split trunks leaning toward each other like they'd argued centuries ago and never stopped.

The snow was quieter here.

His boots didn't crunch as much. More like pressed. Each step sank with a soft sigh.

Behind him, Ren followed without a sound. Meren trailed her, grumbling under his breath, something about cursed forests and missing breakfast. Ardan brought up the rear, gaze scanning every tree with the quiet patience of someone who'd made peace with paranoia.

Lira didn't follow right away.

Lindarion glanced back.

She stood in the same spot, near the post, one hand brushing its edge.

She was frowning.

Not a big one. Just enough to crease the space between her brows.

'What's she thinking…'

She looked up, met his eyes. No explanation. Just a nod, and then she moved, stepping lightly between the trunks to rejoin them.

He turned back to the trail.

The snow rose in uneven patches now, like something had shifted beneath it. Roots maybe. Or worse.

The trees closed again.

Lindarion slowed. Not out of fear. Just instinct. Something about the silence here didn't feel like waiting.

It felt like watching.

He let his mana sense stretch. Just a little. A thread of presence brushing outward, searching for pressure.

There was something.

Not mana.

Not hostile.

Like a presence that didn't want to be known yet.

He let the thread go. No reason to prod it harder. If it meant harm, it would've shown itself already.

Behind him, Ren leaned slightly forward.

"You feel that too?"

He nodded.

"Good," she muttered. "I hate being the only one creeped out."

Meren whispered, "Can we not call it creepy? Let's use words like scenic. Serene. Peaceful."

Ren rolled her eyes. "Sure. It's scenic. Like a graveyard is scenic."

Ardan didn't speak.

Lindarion kept moving.

Each step felt measured now. Like the ground was waiting to be proven trustworthy. The sword at his side rested easy. The scabbard brushed his thigh with every motion. Not heavy. Just present.

'We're being led somewhere.'

Not by force.

But the trail ahead curved too naturally. The branches parted too neatly.

The forest wasn't guiding them. But something in it had decided to stop getting in the way.

That wasn't comfort.

It was permission.

He didn't know which was worse.

As they kept moving moss muffled their steps.

It had been frost just minutes ago. Hard dirt, roots like ribs. Now it felt wrong. Damp and too soft underfoot, like the ground had decided to breathe.

Lindarion slowed first.

His boot pressed down and didn't bounce back. Just sank a little.

'That's not normal.'

The light changed too. It wasn't darker. Just thicker. Like green glass had been stretched across the sky while no one was looking.

He looked up.

The branches above were the same. Still. But the glow between them had shifted. The sun filtered through like it belonged to a different season.

Behind him, Meren stepped and made a wet sound. Then another one that sounded more offended.

"I don't like this," he muttered. "This is how old people in stories get cursed."

No one answered.

Ren had already slowed. She didn't reach for her weapon, just tapped two fingers against her coat like a nervous rhythm. Like the forest might echo it back.

Ardan turned a little.

"Stop."

They did.

Even Lira stopped. Her stance didn't shift much, but her eyes did. She looked at the trees the way people looked at old weapons, like they weren't dangerous yet, but they remembered how to be.

Then something creaked.

Low. Deep. Like breath through broken ribs.

It didn't come from above.

It came from ahead.

Lindarion turned.

The tree stood maybe twenty feet out. Thick trunk, bent hard to the side like it had grown around something long gone. Its bark was ridged. Covered in lichen that looked almost silver in the filtered light.

And then it moved.

Barely.

Just the lean of one branch. The slow shift of roots curling deeper into moss.

No wind.

No leaves falling.

Just movement.

Ren whispered, "Ah."

Lindarion frowned. "Ah what."

Lira didn't take her eyes off the tree. "Don't draw your weapons."

He didn't move. "Why."

"Because that's a Grathil."

Meren blinked. "What's a Grathil."

"They're not trees," Lira said. "Not exactly."

Ren took one slow step to the side. Her boots barely made a sound. "They're watchers. From older forests. The kind that remember things."

"They're alive?" Lindarion asked.

"Obviously," Ren said.

Meren raised his hands. "Okay. But like… alive alive? Or possessed by nature spirits and waiting to murder us alive?"

The Grathil's branch dipped.

Not toward them.

Just downward.

Slow. Careful. Like it was sighing.

Lindarion didn't like how his fingers had already started curling near his sword.

'Relax. It's a tree. A weird, twitchy, possibly sentient tree. But still just a tree.'

The Grathil moved again. Its roots shifted and made a soft crumbling sound in the soil.

Then another movement followed.

A second one. Slightly taller. Bark split down the middle like armor. Its limbs arched higher.

Ren nodded once. "There's more."

"Of course there's more," Meren whispered. "There's always more."

Lira finally spoke again.

"They're not angry."

"Yet," Meren muttered.

"They want us to follow," she said.

Lindarion squinted. "You got all that from a wiggle?"

"They communicate through movement."

"Fantastic."

The moss ahead had flattened slightly. Not like footsteps. More like something had leaned there and never left.

The second Grathil turned, slowly. Its upper branches stretched toward a darker part of the forest. Toward what looked like another path. A hidden one.

Ren was already moving.

Lindarion didn't ask if it was a good idea.

He just followed.