Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

The whistle shrieked across the practice field.

Players scattered across the pitch like startled birds, grabbing their positions as the krozball shot into play. The academy's team moved with the fluid coordination that came from months of practice—passes threading between defenders, the ball arcing through enchanted hoops.

Adom sat on the bench, yawning.

Beside him, Zuni had buried himself headfirst into a paper bag of candied nuts. His tiny form was completely hidden except for his tail, which twitched with what could only be described as ecstatic fervor.

"Oh, sublime confectionery mastery," came Zuni's muffled voice from within the bag. "The crystalline perfection of sugar artistry! The exquisite balance of sweet and salt! Truly, this is a creation worthy of the finest imperial kitchens!"

A particularly vigorous crunch echoed from the bag.

"The texture! The delicate crispness giving way to honeyed bliss! I am transported to realms of gustatory paradise!"

Sam, sitting on Adom's other side, watched the bag with growing concern. "You sure you should give him that?"

Zuni's head popped out of the bag, whiskers twitching with righteous indignation. He fixed Sam and launched into a rapid-fire series of aggressive chirps and squeaks.

Sam frowned. "Why is he chirping at me?"

Adom laughed. "He says you shouldn't interfere with another being's pursuit of transcendent pleasure, and that your obvious lack of appreciation for fine confectionery reveals a character flaw that he finds deeply concerning."

"He said all that?"

"More or less." Adom yawned again. "There were also some opinions about your aesthetic sensibilities that I thought were unnecessarily harsh."

Zuni disappeared back into the bag with a satisfied chirp.

On the field, one of the chasers missed a pass spectacularly, the ball sailing wide and crashing into the equipment shed. The coach's whistle pierced the air again, followed by some creative vocabulary about hand-eye coordination.

"Shouldn't you be warming up?" Sam asked, nodding toward the field where the reserves were supposed to be stretching.

"Probably." Adom didn't move. "But I'm tired, and they're doing fine without me."

Another crunch from the bag. Then another. The paper rustled frantically.

"This is quite possibly the most sublime gustatory experience of my admittedly brief existence," Zuni announced. "Each morsel is a tiny monument to the noble art of confectionery. I am humbled by such craftsmanship."

Sam stared at the frantically rustling bag, then at Adom. "I still can't believe you actually understand all of that. Like, fully understand it."

"It's a druidic technique," Adom explained. "You could train in it if you wanted. Though I should warn you—once you can understand what Zuni's actually thinking, you will see him differently."

A muffled chirp emerged from the bag.

Sam blinked. "What did he say?"

"He's defending his right to be opinionated."

Sam was quiet for a moment, watching the bag twitch with continued enthusiasm. "You know what? I want to learn it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, if I'm going to live with him, I should at least be able to have a proper conversation. Even if I do regret it later."

"Fair enough. We can start with basic exercises tomorrow."

Practice wound down with the usual collection of missed passes, successful plays, and the coach's increasingly creative commentary on everyone's technique. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field. Players began collecting their gear with the tired satisfaction that came after a decent practice.

Adom watched it all from the bench, Zuni's sugar-fueled commentary providing a running soundtrack to the evening. By the time the whistle blew for the final time, the little creature had worked his way through half the bag and was showing no signs of slowing down.

"I should probably go see Mr. Biggins," Adom said, standing and stretching. His shoulder protested, but not as much as it had that morning.

"About what?" Sam asked.

"That thing I showed you this morning." Adom had only gotten back from the fae realm yesterday, and he was still feeling the exhaustion that came from navigating those twisted paths. But some conversations couldn't wait.

"Want me to take Zuni?" Sam offered, eyeing the bag with mild concern.

"Would you? He's going to be like this for at least another hour."

"Sure." Sam carefully lifted the bag, Zuni's tail still protruding and twitching with each crunch. "Just promise me you'll start those lessons soon. I want to know what he's really thinking about all this."

Adom was halfway across the academy grounds when his communication crystal beeped. The sound was crisp and clean--a new modification he'd added recently. Everyone seemed to like the upgrade. Much better than the old pulsing.

He pulled the crystal from his pocket and activated it. "Hello?"

"Hey there, little mage." The voice was rough, familiar. "How's it going?"

"Thormund." Adom slowed his pace. The freeman's tone was friendly enough, but Thormund didn't make social calls. "I'm well. What's the matter?"

"Might want to pass by soon as you get a chance."

"Oh?"

"Caught ourselves a visitor today. Been asking around town about you. Real persistent type."

Adom stopped walking entirely. "For me?"

"Yep. Made it easy on us, really. Started hitting up our agents, showing your description around. Said he was looking for a young mage, about your height, dark hair with a white streak." Thormund's voice carried a note of amusement. "Folks around here know better than to give out information like that to strangers."

"And you think he's..."

"Bounty hunter. Professional one, by the look of his gear. Been asking real specific questions. The kind that usually end with someone getting hurt."

"Did he say who hired him?"

"Oh, he's been real chatty since we had our little conversation. Apparently some noble houses got together, pooled their resources. Seems they're not too happy about something you did."

The academy grounds suddenly felt very exposed. Adom glanced around, noting the shadows between buildings, the places someone could watch from. "I'll come by later."

"Good."

The connection ended with a soft click.

Adom stared at the crystal for a moment, then slipped it back into his pocket.

The city was changing fast. The Weird Stuff Store now sat wedged between a new baker and a cobbler, its hand-painted sign faded but still readable in the evening light.

The cats were back.

Three of them lounged on the wooden crates stacked outside the store, and two more prowled between the barrels. Adom had seen them here before, but he'd never bothered to listen. Today felt different.

He stopped and focused, reaching for that familiar mental shift that let him understand Zuni's elaborate opinions.

"—told you he'd be back," a sleek black cat was saying from atop the highest crate. "Humans are predictable."

"Aristoteles is always right about these things," agreed a tabby sprawled across a barrel. He sounded bored, but his tail twitched with interest. "Makes the rest of us look bad."

A ginger tom looked up from where he'd been investigating something behind the crates. "Adom! You're back! Did you bring anything good for us?"

Adom blinked. "You know my name?"

All five cats turned to stare at him. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.

"He understood me," the ginger tom said slowly.

"Obviously he understood you, Merlin," Aristoteles said from her perch. "The question is how."

"I learned animal speech," Adom said, feeling oddly like he was confessing to something.

"Well, that's new," muttered the tabby. "Usually humans just walk past pretending we don't exist."

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A small calico emerged from behind a rain barrel. "Does this mean you'll actually listen when we tell you things now?"

"Depends on what you're telling me."

"Smart answer," Aristoteles said approvingly. "Most people assume we only talk about fish and sunny spots."

"Don't you?"

"Please." The calico sat down and began grooming a paw with obvious disdain. "I'm Vaelthara, by the way. That's Plutarch on the barrel, Merlin's the ginger, Heraclitus is lurking somewhere, and Her Royal Fuzziness up there is Aristoteles."

"I prefer 'She Who Knows Things,'" Aristoteles corrected.

Merlin padded closer. "So about those things we mentioned. You still planning to go inside and see the old man?"

"That was the idea."

"Good. When you come back out, could you maybe bring some of those dried fish he keeps behind the counter? The ones in the blue jar."

Adom stared at him. "You want me to steal fish for you?"

"Not steal," Plutarch said lazily. "Negotiate. The old man likes you. Just ask nicely."

"He'll probably give them to you for free if you explain the situation," Vaelthara added. "Humans love feeling generous."

"What situation?"

"The one where we've been watching his store for three weeks while he was gone," Aristoteles said. "Kept the rats away, scared off that drunk who kept trying to sleep in his doorway, made sure nobody broke in. Standard neighborhood cat services."

"You were working?"

"Working, lounging, what's the difference?" Plutarch stretched, claws extending briefly. "Point is, we earned those fish."

"Fair enough." Adom looked around at the five cats, all watching him with the particular intensity that suggested this conversation was more important than it seemed. "Anything else I should know?"

"Heraclitus wants to mention the thing about the weird smells," Merlin said. "But he's too shy to talk to humans directly."

A voice drifted from somewhere under the crates. "Not shy. Cautious. There's a difference."

"What weird smells?" Adom asked the general area where the voice had come from.

Silence.

"He says someone's been hanging around at night," Vaelthara translated. "Someone who smells like metal and leather and fear."

The cold feeling in Adom's stomach returned. "Recently?"

"Last few nights," Aristoteles confirmed. "Stood across the street for hours, just watching. Heraclitus has the best nose among us. If he says the guy smelled like trouble, then trouble's what it was."

Adom glanced across the street, noting the shadowed doorways and narrow alleys. Perfect spots for watching.

"I'll keep that in mind. And I'll ask about the fish."

"Excellent," Merlin said, already losing interest and wandering back toward his investigation behind the crates. "Nice having a conversation for once instead of just meowing at you."

"Speak for yourself," Vaelthara said. "I've got a perfectly dignified meow."

Adom left them to their debate and pushed open the door to the Weird Stuff Store. The familiar smell of old leather, dried herbs, and something that might have been magic or might have been mold greeted him.

"Young Adom!" Biggins looked up from behind the counter, his weathered face creasing into a genuine smile. "Back from your travels, I see. How did you find the fae realm? Exhausting as always, I'd imagine."

Adom opened his mouth to respond, but Biggins waved a hand dismissively.

"Never mind all that. Thorgen already filled me in on your little bounty hunter situation." The old man's eyes twinkled. "Quite the eventful few days you've been having, haven't you?"

Adom sighed and let his shoulders drop. "If you already knew, then why ask?"

"Because, my dear boy, asking the right questions is like putting on your left shoe before your right one—it doesn't change where you're going, but it makes the journey far more interesting."

Biggins leaned forward on the counter, his grin widening. "Besides, I wasn't asking about the realm. I was asking about what you brought back from it."

The old man's gaze sharpened despite the playful tone. "Show me."

Adom didn't argue. There was no point with Biggins when he got that particular look in his eyes.

He took a slow breath, centering himself, and reached for the energy that had been thrumming beneath his skin.

He exhaled.

The white light that emerged was nothing like what he'd managed before. It flowed from him, ethereal and intense, filling the cluttered space with a radiance that seemed to exist somewhere between sight and sensation.

The energy moved with purpose now, controlled but powerful, threading between the shelves and displays.

Adom gasped.

It felt like diving into an ice-cold lake without warning—that moment when your entire body jolts awake, when every nerve fires at once and your lungs forget how to work.

The sensation was breathtaking in the most literal sense, leaving him momentarily stunned by the sheer intensity of what was flowing through him.

This was new.

Around the store, objects began to vibrate. Glass bottles clinked against each other on their shelves.

A collection of brass instruments hummed. The wooden floorboards creaked as if the building itself was responding to the energy.

A set of wind chimes hanging near the window started singing despite the absence of any breeze.

The light pulsed once more and then faded, leaving the store in its normal dim illumination. The objects settled back into stillness with a few final clinks and creaks.

Biggins stood perfectly still behind the counter, his eyes fixed on the space where the energy had been strongest. His expression had shifted from playful curiosity to something far more serious.

"Fascinating," he said quietly.

Adom stared at his hands, flexing his fingers as if he could still see traces of the energy lingering there. "I don't understand it. It's not mana—I know what mana feels like. And it's not Fluid either."

He looked up at Biggins. "I thought maybe it was Axis, but not the way I learned about it. This feels completely different."

"It is Axis," Biggins said.

"But—"

"The principle of Axis, my boy, is to create a synergy between mana and Fluid. To make them dance together until they become something new, a single entity rather than two separate forces."

Biggins moved around the counter, stepping carefully over a brass astrolabe that had fallen during the energy display. "Only in you, it's manifested differently."

Adom frowned. "Differently how?"

"Well, that's to be expected, isn't it?" Biggins picked up the astrolabe and set it back on its shelf. "You're the first human to actually complete the process. I designed the technique, but I never had anyone successfully finish it before you."

The old man turned back to face Adom. "You managed it in three days while running for your life through a realm that actively resists human presence. Of course it's going to manifest in ways I never anticipated."

"Then what now?" Adom asked. "What do I do?"

Biggins tilted his head, eyebrows rising. "What do you mean, what do you do?"

"If no one else has been through this before me, then how am I supposed to know how to treat this new power? What if I do something wrong? What if—"

"Is that you, Adom, my boy?" Biggins stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied Adom's face.

Adom frowned. "Of course it's me. Who else do you think— hey!"

He pushed Biggins away as the old man leaned in even closer, his movements sharper than intended.

"How extraordinarily out of character," Biggins mused, stepping back but continuing to watch Adom. "You're usually the one pestering me with questions about every new discovery. Eager as a hound on a scent trail. Now here you are with the most remarkable development imaginable, and you're acting like it's a burden."

"I like discovering things that are outside my body," Adom said, rubbing his temples. "Things that don't have unpredictable behaviors and won't one day explode me from the sheer power of them."

Biggins burst into laughter.

This was getting annoying.

"Oh, my dear boy, I can promise you one thing—you won't be exploding from it." He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "Axis is designed to auto-regulate to its owner's body. It evolves with you, grows as you grow, adapts to your limits and capabilities. Right now, all these changes you're experiencing are just the new core adapting to its owner's unique physiology."

The old man's expression grew more serious, though traces of amusement still lingered around his eyes. "Because of your particular abilities and constitution, it's evolving rapidly to catch up with what you already are. The same thing happened to me when I first developed the technique, though admittedly on a much bigger scale."

Adom felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, but then another thought struck him. "Actually, there's something else. The system showed that I have something called a 'primordial body' now. It happened after my healing factor, white wyrm's body, and silverback's might combined somehow."

Biggins paused mid-gesture, his hand frozen in the air. "Are you certain it called it a primordial body?"

"Positive."

"Hmm." Biggins stroked his mustache. "While I'm still not familiar with this 'system' of yours to this day, that particular term... I'll need to do some research on that one before I can give you a proper answer. I'll let you know once I'm done."

A familiar knot of worry formed in Adom's stomach. "Nothing bad, right?"

"Bad?" Biggins's face brightened instantly, his tone returning to its usual cheerful madness. "Nooo. Why would it be bad?"

"Okay," Adom said, feeling marginally better about the whole situation.

They spent the next hour covering everything that had happened. Adom told him about the phoenix egg he'd acquired in the fae realm, and Biggins had been very clear about keeping it close and not showing it off to anyone.

They discussed the upcoming krozball tournament for which Adom would be leaving with the team in a week. Biggins shared some updates about customers who'd stopped by while he was away, and they talked through a few theoretical applications of Axis that Adom might want to experiment with once things settled down.

"Oh, and Cyrel came with us," Adom said. "You know, the witch's daughter."

Biggins just kept smiling.

Adom frowned at him. "That's it?"

"What else would you like there to be from me?"

"Well," Adom said, studying the old man's face, "we heard a lot of things about you in the fae realm. I thought you and the witch would have history together."

Biggins burst into laughter. "Oh, we do. A very long one, even."

Before Adom could speak, Biggins raised a hand. "There are many reasons I don't talk about my past as often as I know you'd like me to, my boy. I'm sorry for that, but I'll do so when I'm ready." His expression grew serious for a moment. "I'm asking you to wait for that moment. When it comes, I'll tell you everything. The story of my life. The parts I'm proud of. The ones I'm less proud of. All of it."

Adom nodded slowly. "Alright."

By the time they'd covered everything, the sun had nearly set completely.

"Before I go," Adom said, remembering his promise to the felines outside, "I'd like to buy those dried fish your cats have been eyeing. The ones in the blue jar."

Biggins's eyes twinkled. "My cats, are they? Well, I suppose they have been earning their keep. Take them. No charge."

"You sure?"

"Consider it payment for services rendered. They've been better security than most guards I could hire."

Adom retrieved the blue jar from behind the counter and headed for the door. "I'll stop by in a few days to see if you've learned anything about that primordial body business."

"Indeed. Try not to explode before then!"

"Very funny."

"Adom."

He turned back.

"You did well," Biggins said quietly. "With the phoenix, and the daughter. I am very glad."

There was a silence after this. Long and heavy. What was this supposed to mean?

Then he smiled, gesturing for Adom to get out now.

So he did.

The cats were exactly where he'd left them, though they all turned to stare at him with expressions that somehow managed to convey both patience and irritation.

"Finally," Aristoteles said from her perch atop the crates. "We were beginning to think you'd forgotten about us entirely."

"Or that the old man had talked your ear off," Plutarch added lazily. "He does tend to ramble."

"I brought your fish." Adom opened the jar and set it down near the crates.

The effect was immediate. All five cats converged on the jar. Even Heraclitus emerged from his hiding spot to join the feast.

"Oh, this is excellent," Merlin said between bites. "Perfectly dried, just the right amount of salt."

"The texture is sublime," Vaelthara agreed. "Biggins knows his fish."

"Tell the old man we appreciate his generosity," Aristoteles said, pausing long enough to look up at Adom. "This is quality merchandise."

From inside the store, Adom could see Biggins watching through the window, a small smile on his face. The old man raised his hand in acknowledgment of the cats' praise.

"He can hear you, can't he?" Plutarch observed, following Adom's gaze.

"I suspect the old man understands quite a lot more than he lets on," Heraclitus said quietly.

Adom decided not to mention that Biggins was a dragon and almost certainly understood every word they were saying. Some secrets weren't his to tell.

The cats finished their meal. They groomed their whiskers, stretched, and settled into various comfortable positions around the crates.

"So," Adom said, "if you liked that, I could arrange for more."

Five pairs of eyes focused on him.

"More fish?" Merlin asked, tail twitching with interest.

"On a regular basis," Adom confirmed. "But I'd need you to work for me."

"What kind of work?" Aristoteles asked.

Adom smiled, thinking about bounty hunters lurking in shadows and the network of information that flowed through the city's streets like water. Cats went everywhere, saw everything, and nobody ever paid attention to them.

"Have you ever heard of spies?"