Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

The portal felt like drowning in reverse.

Instead of water rushing into his lungs, Adom was suspended in something that might have been liquid warmth—a stream of lukewarm current that carried him forward without effort. For the first time since he'd started using magical transportation, his stomach wasn't trying to crawl out through his throat. No vertigo. No sense of being turned inside out. Just this gentle, flowing sensation that made him want to close his eyes and drift.

The phoenix egg pulsed against his chest, its rhythm different now. Slower. Almost like breathing. And then he heard it—not words exactly, but sounds that felt like they meant something. Soft chirps and trills, muffled as if coming from underwater. Was it trying to communicate? He couldn't tell. The sounds were soothing, musical, like a lullaby hummed by someone who'd never learned the proper words.

This was nice. Really nice.

He could stay here, floating in this warm current, listening to the egg's strange song, forgetting about witches and transformed monsters and friends in chains and—

Fresh air slammed into his face like a bucket of ice water.

The gentle warmth vanished. Reality crashed back with all the subtlety of a falling anvil. Adom tumbled through open space for a heartbeat before hitting something soft that definitely wasn't stone.

Booo.

There was grass. Real grass that smelled like earth and rain and growing things.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring up at branches heavy with red apples. The sky beyond was pale blue, streaked with actual clouds instead of the purple nightmare of the Fae Realm. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, warm and ordinary and absolutely wonderful.

"Ow," someone groaned nearby. "Me head feels like it's been used for hammer practice."

Bob. Adom turned his head and saw the leprechaun sitting up slowly, one hand pressed to his forehead. His normally pristine green coat was torn and dirty, and there was still dried blood on his collar from where Seraphine's creature had held a blade to his throat.

"Could have been worse, I suppose," Bob continued, squinting at the apple tree. "At least we're not dead. Though give me a moment to be sure about that."

A few feet away, Thorgen was making considerably more noise about his arrival. "Bah! Cursed magical nonsense! Give me a good solid bridge any day over this portal rubbish. And where's me axe? Did those foul creatures take me axe?"

Artun rolled to his feet and brushed grass off his coat and immediately began checking his weapons. "Well, that was fun. We should definitely do it again sometime. Maybe when I'm dead and can't feel anything."

Zara was already standing, calm as if she'd simply stepped through a doorway instead of fleeing a realm of nightmares. She surveyed their surroundings with the attention of someone who'd learned not to assume safety just because the immediate danger had passed.

"Everyone in one piece?" she asked.

Adom sat up, still clutching the phoenix egg. The flames around it had dimmed but not disappeared, creating a faint glow against his chest. He looked around for the dryads and found... nothing. No silver bark, no autumn leaves, no voices speaking in harmonious chorus.

"The dryads," he said. "Where are—"

A sharp chirping sound interrupted him.

Adom looked down. Zuni was sitting in the grass beside him, making the rapid-fire chirping sounds that had been his only form of communication for months. No words. No philosophical observations. No complaints about dramatic timing or requests for proper discourse.

Just chirping.

The shift was jarring in a way Adom hadn't expected. In the Fae Realm, Zuni had been... different. Articulate. Sarcastic. A tiny creature with opinions and wit and a vocabulary that put most scholars to shame. Hearing that cultured voice emerge from something the size of a particularly ambitious mouse had rewritten Adom's entire understanding of his companion.

Now, looking at Zuni making urgent little sounds while gesturing with his tiny paws, Adom felt like he was seeing two different creatures occupying the same space. The eloquent philosopher and the small, chittering animal. Both real. Both equally Zuni.

It was more disorienting than the portal had been.

"What's he saying?" Artun asked, noticing Adom's stare.

Adom reached out withwhat he now called his 'druidic sense'. The mental bridge formed, and suddenly Zuni's frantic chirping resolved into words.

"Are you quite alright? Because I must say, that was absolutely the most traumatic experience of my admittedly brief existence, and I do not recommend we repeat it anytime soon. Or ever, really. The sensations were most disagreeable, and I believe I may have temporarily lost consciousness."

Zuni paused in his chirping to clean his whiskers, then continued with even more urgency.

"Furthermore, I believe this ordeal entitles me to compensation. Specifically, I would like sweets. Not want—deserve. There is a significant difference. After what we've endured, I have earned the right to something pleasantly sugary. Perhaps those little honey cakes from the market? Or candied nuts? I am not particular about the exact nature of the confection, but I do insist that it be of high quality. None of those stale biscuits you tried to pass off as treats last week."

"He says he's fine," Adom told Bob. "And that he wants sweets."

"Deserves," Zuni corrected emphatically through the mental link. "The distinction is crucial to my argument."

Adom was about to respond when something obvious hit him. He looked around at his scattered companions, did a quick headcount, and...

"Wait. Where's Cyrel?"

Artun jerked his chin toward the cliff edge without looking up from inspecting a nick in one of his daggers. "Over there. Been staring at the sun since she landed. Haven't seen anyone do that since my uncle went mad from drinking bad wine."

Adom turned and spotted her silhouette against the bright sky. She stood still at the very edge of the cliff, her face tilted upward.

Good. It seemed like she was having a moment, so he did not reach out.

Now that the immediate panic had passed, Adom actually looked at where they'd ended up. The landscape was familiar—rolling hills, distant farmhouses, the characteristic stone walls of the Borealis duchy. They were back in Law's territory, standing in the exact spot where that strange tree had been planted years ago.

He reached out and touched the bark. It felt normal enough—rough, solid, warm from the sun.

"We made it safely, young guardian."

"The portal held true," came Daphne's familiar voice from within the tree. "We are grateful for your protection during our escape."

"Though it pains me to leave our sanctuary after fifty thousand years," came the smallest dryad's voice, heavy with sorrow. "That tree was our heart, our first home."

"Sister," Daphne's voice carried gentle comfort. "All things flow toward change. Rivers carve new paths. Seasons turn. Even we must sometimes plant new roots."

"The sanctuary served its purpose," the third voice added. "Now this tree will be our home, and we will tend it well. New beginnings from old endings."

Thorgen looked around, clearly hearing the voices but seeing nothing. "They're in there, aren't they? The tree ladies?"

"We are spirit-bound to our tree now," Daphne explained. "We dwell within, though we may manifest when we choose."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The air shimmered, and three translucent figures appeared around the trunk—the same dryads from the sanctuary, but somehow more solid here, more real.

"I know Daphne," Adom said, "but I never did learn your names properly."

The smallest smiled sadly. "I am Clio."

"And I am Thalia," said the one with the deeper voice.

They solidified for a moment, smiling at the group, before fading back into the rustling leaves.

"Who's there?!"

The shout came from somewhere downhill.

Adom turned toward the voice and spotted a familiar figure making his way up the hill. Ben moved with the careful pace of someone whose knees had been reminding him about his age for the past decade, but his grip on the walking stick was firm and his eyes were sharp as they scanned the group of strangers gathered around his tree.

The old farmer stopped about twenty feet away, close enough to talk but far enough to run if these turned out to be the wrong sort of visitors.

"Ben," Adom called out, raising one hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "It's me. Adom."

Ben squinted, leaning forward slightly. His grip on the walking stick shifted. "Adom? That you, boy?"

"It's me."

The old farmer's posture relaxed by exactly one degree. "Well, I'll be. You've grown some since I last saw you. Though that was what, two months back?" His eyes drifted over the rest of the group. "And you've brought friends."

Adom glanced at his companions.

They looked exactly like what they were--a group of people who'd recently escaped from something unpleasant and weren't entirely sure they were safe yet.

"It's a long story," Adom said. "And I'm sorry for just... barging in like this. Could we talk? I promise we're not here to cause trouble."

Ben studied him for a long moment. Whatever he saw in Adom's face seemed to satisfy him, because his shoulders dropped another notch.

"Long story, eh?" Ben's mouth twitched. "Well, those are usually the interesting kind. Though interesting and good aren't always the same thing."

"I know. And I'll understand if you want us to move along. But..."

"But you look like you've been through something that used its boots on you pretty thoroughly." Ben shifted his weight, considering. "And you're holding something that's glowing, which suggests this story of yours might be longer than most."

Adom looked down at the phoenix egg. The flames had dimmed to barely visible wisps, but there was still that soft pulsing light beneath the shell.

"Yeah. About that."

Ben was quiet for a moment, his eyes moving from face to face. Bob managed a weak smile. Thorgen nodded curtly. Artun touched two fingers to his forehead in a casual salute. Zara simply waited.

And Cyrel was still looking at the sun.

"Right then," Ben said finally. "Come on down to the house. We'll put some tea on and you can tell me this long story of yours. Just..." He pointed his walking stick at the group. "Don't do anything magical near my chickens. They're still upset about the last time someone weaved spells around here."

He turned and started making his way back down the hill, calling over his shoulder, "And try not to freak out the goats. They've got delicate constitutions."

*****

The tea helped. So did sitting in actual chairs instead of on cave floors or running through nightmare forests. Adom found himself sinking into the worn cushions of Ben's kitchen chair and realizing just how tightly wound he'd been for the past few days. In his pocket, Zuni stirred briefly, making a small chirping sound before settling back into sleep.

Ben bustled around his kitchen. The old farmer didn't push for details, just set out cups and fetched honey and generally gave them space to breathe.

"So," Ben said eventually, settling into his own chair with a grunt of satisfaction. "The Fae Realm, you said?"

"Portal opened up there," Bob offered, warming his hands around his cup. "Wasn't exactly pleasant travel."

"Never is, with those places." Ben nodded knowingly. "Had a cousin once, got pulled into one for what felt like a week. Came back three months later with stories that'd curl your hair. And speaking of which..." His eyes settled on Thorgen's bandaged stump. "That looks fresh."

Thorgen glanced down at where his right arm ended just below the elbow. "Aye. Nasty beasts in that place."

Adom blinked. The dwarf's tone was about as casual as if he'd mentioned a splinter.

"And you're just..." Adom gestured vaguely at the missing limb.

"Bah." Thorgen waved his remaining hand dismissively. "Arm's gone, not much to be done about that now. Though I'll be having words with the metalworkers back home. Been meaning to commission some improvements anyway."

"Improvements?" Ben asked.

"Oh aye. Dwarven craftsmanship, you understand. Spring-loaded mechanisms, hidden compartments, maybe a retractable blade or two." Thorgen's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Could be better than the original when I'm done. You should visit sometime, see proper smithwork."

Bob nearly choked on his tea. "You want to upgrade to a weaponized arm?"

"Why not? If you're going to lose a limb, might as well make the replacement interesting."

Ben was staring at Thorgen with something approaching awe. "You people certainly have different ways of looking at things. Course, I just tend the duke's crops and livestock. The folks up at the castle probably see all sorts.""

"People adapt," Artun said quietly. "Or they don't."

Zara nodded agreement, though she was watching the windows more than the conversation.

Ben's attention drifted to Cyrel, who sat perfectly still in her chair, mask back in place, hands folded in her lap. She'd accepted the tea but hadn't touched it.

"You alright there, miss?" Ben asked gently. "You look like you've seen something that disagreed with you."

Cyrel nodded once. Just a single movement.

Adom found himself studying her. Seraphine's child, who'd been away for thirty-four years but looked barely older than him. What was that story? What had driven her to leave?

"She doesn't talk much," Bob said, covering for the awkward silence.

"Some folks don't," Ben replied easily. "Nothing wrong with that. Tea's good for thinking, anyway."

The afternoon drifted by in a strange sort of peace. Bob regaled Ben with carefully edited stories from their travels, leaving out the more horrifying details but keeping the adventure. Thorgen sketched designs for his future mechanical arm on a piece of paper Ben provided. Artun helped with dinner preparations, moving around the kitchen like he'd been doing it all his life.

Cyrel remained quiet, occasionally turning her head toward the window, watching the light change.

By the time evening settled over the farm, the knots in Adom's shoulders had finally loosened. The phoenix egg had stopped pulsing entirely, just resting warm and still against his chest. Zuni had woken briefly to accept some crumbs from dinner before curling back up in Adom's pocket.

"Well," Ben said as they finished cleaning up from dinner, "I've got plenty of room if you folks want to stay the night. House gets lonely with just me rattling around in it. The duke's got his own staff up at the castle, but down here it's just me and the animals most days."

"That's generous of you," Zara said.

"Very generous," Bob agreed. "Been a while since I slept in an actual bed."

"Bah, I'll take a roof and four walls any day," Thorgen added.

Ben looked pleased. "What about you, lad?" he asked Adom.

"I need to get back to the academy," Adom said, touching the egg gently. "Need to get this somewhere safe."

"That the glowing thing you've been carrying?"

"It's... a rare bird. Sort of."

Ben raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Fair enough. Academy's got good protections, I hear."

"It does." Adom stood.

"You take care of yourself," Ben said, gripping Adom's shoulder briefly.

"Thank you."

Cyrel still sat by the window, perfectly still.

He'd have questions for her eventually. But not tonight.

Adom stepped away from Ben's farmhouse and looked up at the darkening sky. A strider would take two hours to get back to Xerkes. But flying...

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

White energy erupted around him like controlled lightning. It wrapped around his arms, his legs, settled into his bones with that familiar rush of power. He looked down at his hands, watching the energy dance just beneath his skin.

Definitely needed to have a conversation with Biggins tomorrow.

He tried placing the phoenix egg into his inventory, but the system immediately rejected it.

[You cannot put live creatures into the inventory.]

"Right," he muttered, sighing. He turned back toward the tree where the dryads now lived. "I'll be back soon."

The leaves rustled in response, a gentle whisper that might have been words if he'd been close enough to hear them.

Adom checked his pocket. Zuni was still there, a small warm weight against his ribs, breathing steadily in sleep. He tightened his grip on the phoenix egg against his chest and slowly lifted off the ground.

The flight spell felt different now. More controlled. Less like being flung through the air and more like actually flying. His balance had improved dramatically since those first terrifying attempts weeks ago.

He rose higher, the farmhouse shrinking below him, and then shot forward through the night sky.

The flight to Xerkes took ten minutes.

Ten minutes of wind rushing past his face, of the landscape blurring beneath him, of the phoenix egg pulsing steadily against his chest like a second heartbeat. The academy's towers appeared ahead, their magical lights cutting through the darkness.

He landed in the courtyard with considerably more grace than usual, though his legs still wobbled slightly as the white energy faded. Exhaustion hit him. The past few days felt like they'd aged him months.

The main gates were still open—they always were, for students returning from late studies or evening activities. The guards nodded at him as he passed, recognizing him despite his disheveled appearance.

By the time he reached his dormitory, Adom was practically stumbling with fatigue. He knocked on his door.

"Who's there?" came Sam's voice from inside.

"It's me."

"Adom?" The voice rose in surprise. "Dude!"

Footsteps hurried across the room. The door swung open, revealing Sam's worried face. He took one look at Adom and winced.

"Ooh. That bad?"

Adom nodded. "Hello, Sam."

"Come in, come in." Sam stepped aside, ushering him into their shared room. "You look like you've been—what's that?"

He was staring at the phoenix egg, which had begun glowing softly again in response to being inside the academy's protective wards.

"It's a phoenix," Adom said simply.

Sam's eyes went wide. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Sam opened his mouth, clearly bursting with questions, then seemed to register Adom's exhausted expression. "You know what, I'd really like to hear about the Fae Realm and everything, but you look like you need to rest. Like, for real."

"I'll tell you everything tomorrow," Adom promised, grateful for his friend's perceptiveness.

"Sure thing." Sam moved to his desk, putting away what looked like a letter. "Just get some sleep, okay?"

Adom noticed his name on the envelope. "Is that for me?"

"Oh, this?" Sam held up the letter. "It's for both of us, actually. From Morgana."

A smile broke across Adom's tired face. "How's she doing?"

"Apparently she left the Veyshari. She's traveling around the world now, seeing the sights, having adventures." Sam's tone suggested he found this simultaneously admirable and terrifying.

"I hope she's not in trouble," Adom said, settling onto his bed with the phoenix egg still clutched to his chest. "For some reason, she seems to be looking for it."