Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor-Chapter 49. Just The Beginning

Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong.

The bells of Arkhos sang their victory song, each chime carrying across the snow-laden city. People emerged from their homes like cautious animals after a storm, first in ones and twos, then in crowds. Their voices rose with the bells, a chorus of relief and joy echoing off the walls.

"No blood! No blood!" The chant started somewhere in the merchant district, spread like wildfire through the streets. "The Wolves stand down! Peace! Peace!"

High above the celebration, where the cliff face caught the morning sun, Prince Kalyon sat alone in the snow. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the wine glass to his lips. Expensive stuff - from his personal collection. The kind meant for celebrations, not... whatever this was.

The crunch of footsteps behind him barely registered over the distant sounds of the city's joy.

"My Prince-"

"The Specters failed?" Kalyon didn't turn around. The wine tasted bitter now.

A moment of silence. Snow fell softly between them.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Kalyon lifted the bottle, studying how the rising sun caught the deep red liquid within. Then he brought it to his lips and drank deeply, steadily, until the last drop was gone. The empty bottle made a soft sound as he set it in the snow beside him.

Below, the crowds were growing. More voices joining the chorus of celebration. More people emerging to share the news that there would be no battle today, no blood in their streets. How wonderful for them.

"Is my boat ready?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Everything is prepared as ordered."

Kalyon nodded absently, his mind already drifting through the wreckage of carefully laid plans. Years of preparation. The right people in the right positions. Why did this happen? One student. One curious, persistent little rat who'd stuck his nose where it didn't belong.

Adom Sylla.

The name tasted like ash in his mouth. He'd been ready for the Guild masters, for the Iron Wolves, for the Magisterium's guard. But a student? One who'd died and somehow come back, bringing chaos to their carefully orchestrated plans?

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. The wine was hitting him now, making the world soft at the edges. He stood, swaying slightly, one foot sending loose stones skittering over the cliff's edge. The drop looked almost inviting.

"Your Highness!" Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back from the edge.

Kalyon smiled, a broken thing that didn't reach his eyes. For a moment - just a moment - he wondered if stepping forward might have been the better choice. But no. Perhaps there were still moves to make, pieces to salvage.

"How quickly they celebrate," he murmured, watching the growing crowds below. "How quickly they forget who protected them all these years." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Who kept the darkness at bay while they slept safe in their beds."

The rage came then, hot and sudden despite the numbing wine. Not at the people - they were sheep, following whatever shepherd looked strongest. No, his anger burned for the ones who'd forced his hand. The ones who'd never understand what he'd sacrificed, what he'd endured, what he'd become to keep the empire standing.

And now? Now they'd hunt him like a common criminal. His own father would have to... would have to...

The thought wouldn't complete itself. Some things were still too bitter to contemplate, even drunk.

The guard's grip remained steady on his shoulders, anchoring him to the present.

"The escape route, is it secured?" Kalyon's voice was steady despite the wine.

"Yes, my prince. Through the old tunnels beneath the merchant district. They connect to a series of caves that the smugglers used during the Last War. The city guard abandoned those passages years ago - they think they're too unstable."

"And you're certain no one else knows?"

"Only the handful of men we trusted with the preparation, Your Highness. They'll search the docks first, then the main gates. By the time they think to look in the caves, we'll be far at sea."

Kalyon nodded slowly. "The remaining Specters?"

"Already aboard the vessel, secured in the lower hold."

"Good. Good." The word tasted hollow in his mouth.

He reached for a coarse wool cloak the guard offered - a farmer's garment, thick with the smell of sheep and old sweat. His fingers, used to the finest silks of the empire, recoiled at the rough texture. Ten years as Crown Prince, and here he was, donning a peasant's rags. The humiliation burned worse than the wine.

Still, he pulled it around his shoulders. What choice did he have?

The tunnels eventually led them back to street level, where they had to cross a small section of the lower city. Kalyon kept his head down, the rough farmer's cloak pulled tight around him. The celebrations had spread everywhere now, like a disease.

Children ran through the streets, throwing snow at each other. Merchants had opened their shops, offering free drinks. Someone was playing a fiddle. The joy of the common folk grated against his ears like broken glass.

"...the prince himself! Can you believe it?"

"Always knew there was something wrong with that one..."

"Thank the gods they stopped him before..."

Kalyon's jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The guard's hand pressed against his back, urging him forward through the crowd. A group of revelers stumbled past, singing some victory song about wolves and justice. One of them bumped into him, spilling ale on his cloak.

"Sorry there, friend!" The drunk man laughed, never knowing he'd just doused his prince with cheap beer.

They turned down another alley, the sounds of celebration pursuing them like hungry dogs. Just a little further to the cave entrance. Just a little longer until he could leave these sheep and their ignorant joy behind.

The hidden dock was little more than a narrow strip of stone jutting into dark water, deep within the cave system. A small vessel waited there, its crew moving with practiced silence. The lap of waves against the hull echoed off the cave walls.

"Where to, Your Highness?" one of his men asked as they approached the gangplank.

Kalyon paused, his mind racing through possibilities. The capital? He almost laughed at the thought. The vipers of the imperial court would be waiting for exactly that - waiting to see the prince stumble into their reach. He'd be in chains before he could speak a word in his defense.

The southern kingdoms then. He had allies in Miris, people who owed him favors. People who understood the need for strength against the immortal races.

But God, what a mess he'd left behind. The Specters alone were enough to mark him traitor - forbidden foreign assets on imperial soil. And Professor Kim... he should have moved faster, should have had him smuggled out weeks ago. The Iron Wolves being occupied with the peace talks would have made it perfect. Now the professor was lost to him, and with no word from Boyle, his agent in the city...

A bitter smile crossed his face. He'd been so careful with some things, so sloppy with others. All those contingency plans, all those careful preparations, and he'd still somehow missed the moment when everything started going in exactly the wrong direction.

"Your Highness?" the guard prompted again. "Where should we set course?"

Kalyon looked back toward the city one last time, though all he could see was darkness. "Miris," he said finally. "We make for Miris."

A change in the air made Kalyon freeze mid-step on the gangplank. The cave's chill gave way to an unnatural warmth that made his skin prickle. Behind him, steel rasped against leather as his men drew their swords.

Then came the screams.

Not battle cries or shouts of anger - these were sounds of pure terror, echoing off the cave walls until they seemed to come from everywhere at once. His guards rushed to surround him, urgently pushing him toward the boat's cabin.

"Your Highness, get inside, now-"

The words died as light flooded the cave. Kalyon turned, squinting against the sudden brightness, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

A child hovered in the air at the cave's entrance, suspended as if gravity had simply forgotten him. White strands caught the light in his otherwise black hair. His face was a mess - one eye swollen shut, the other a startling blue that seemed to glow in the magical light surrounding him. Blood trickled from his split lip.

Behind the floating boy came the Iron Wolves in their dark cloaks, Magisterium mages with their staffs already raised, and the gleaming armor of imperial soldiers. But Kalyon barely registered them. His eyes were locked on that small, battered figure.

Adom Sylla.

Recognition hit him like a physical blow, followed immediately by a wave of rage so intense it made his vision blur. This? This was what had destroyed everything he'd built? This skinny, broken child had torn down years of careful planning?

But as he watched, something shifted in the air around the boy. The cave itself seemed to hold its breath. Power rolled off him in waves that made Kalyon's teeth ache. For just a moment - a fraction of a heartbeat - the prince saw something else overlaid on that small frame. Something old. Something vast.

The fireball that formed in Adom's hand cast dancing shadows on the cave walls. As it grew, Kalyon felt an almost hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat. Of course. Of course it wasn't just a child. There had to be more, hadn't there? The universe couldn't be cruel enough to let him fall to a simple boy.

Heat washed over his face as the spell launched. Time seemed to slow. In that stretched moment, Kalyon saw his reflection in the approaching flames - a prince without a crown, a schemer without a scheme, a man watching his last hopes burn.

His smile was razor-sharp as he turned to the Specters waiting in the shadows of the hold.

"Kill him."

The words left his mouth before he could question them. Was this because of pride? Desperation? Or simply the need to prove he wouldn't go quietly into exile? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wouldn't bow to this child-who-was-not-a-child without one final act of defiance.

Heh. It was over anyway. Everything happened so fast.

The Specters moved. The Iron Wolves charged. The fireball struck. Wood splintered. Water hissed. And in the chaos that followed, Kalyon thought he saw the boy smile back.

*****

What a stubborn bastard.

Adom watched the chaos unfold with cold precision. The Specters moved like water, but against the combined might of the Iron Wolves and Magisterium mages, they might as well have been standing still. Lightning crackled. Gravity twisted. In seconds, the mercenaries dropped to their knees, bound by spells that gleamed like chains.

The prince's guards lasted even less time. Shield spells deflected their arrows. Wind magic tore swords from hands. Bodies hit the ground with dull thuds, alive but thoroughly incapacitated.

No blood. No death. Just like they'd planned.

Through the settling dust, Adom caught Kalyon's eye. The prince was smiling at him from the sinking vessel, that same razor-sharp smile from before. Something about it made Adom's skin crawl. He smiled back anyway, letting a touch of smugness show. We've got you now.

Then he saw the flash of steel.

Kalyon had grabbed a dagger from one of his fallen men. The blade rose toward his own throat.

"No!" Several voices shouted at once.

Adom's hands moved without thought. Push with the left, keeping himself airborne. Pull with the right, targeting Kalyon's knife hand. The prince's arm jerked back just as the blade bit skin. Blood trickled down his neck - superficial, nothing fatal.

Another gesture and crushing gravity slammed Kalyon face-first into the dock. Adom landed beside him, maintaining the spell's pressure.

"The smugglers' tunnels, huh? Clever. But we're not done with you yet, Your Majesty."

Kalyon thrashed against the invisible weight. "Kill me!" he screamed, voice cracking. "Just kill me!" His fingers clawed at the stone. "You don't understand, you can't understand, it's all gone, all of it-"

The words dissolved into broken sobs. The prince of the empire - the man who'd nearly started a war - lay crying in a pool of seawater and his own blood.

Iron Wolves moved in with restraints as Adom eased the gravity spell. Kalyon didn't resist as they bound his hands. He just kept mumbling, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime on his face.

The boat slipped beneath the dark water with barely a sound.

In his past life, Adom had watched countless families escape through these very tunnels when enemy forces were destroying Arkhos. The caves had been a lifeline then, letting people slip away to safety while the city burned above.

Now that knowledge had served him again - though for a very different purpose. The prince's options had been limited from the start. The harbor was watched, the city gates guarded, and staying hidden in Arkhos itself would have been impossible with so many searching. These tunnels were the obvious choice for anyone who knew the city's older history. And who knew that history better than someone who had lived it?

The Iron Wolves and Magisterium mages formed a loose circle around the captured prince. No one spoke above a whisper. No curses were thrown, no taunts - he was still royalty, after all, even in chains. The cave's chill seemed to deepen as Captain Darius approached, scroll in hand.

Water dripped steadily from Kalyon's clothes, now ruined by seawater. His head remained bowed as Darius unfurled the scroll, the parchment crackling in the damp air.

"Prince Kalyon of House Savarnis." Darius began. "You stand accused of high treason against the Empire of Sundar. Specifically: conspiracy with foreign agents, harboring forbidden mercenaries on Imperial soil, the abduction of Professor Kim of Xerkes Academy, and attempted murder of a Xerkes student."

The charges continued. Rights were read, procedures explained, all with precise, measured words. Throughout it all, Kalyon remained still, water running down his face.

Then came a soft sound - barely audible at first. A chuckle.

Arthur stepped forward from among the Iron Wolves. "Something amusing, Your Highness?"

The chuckle grew stronger. "Amusing?" Kalyon's voice was rough. "I tried to help you. All of you. And this is how you repay me?"

"Help us?" Adom started. "You were trying to create a weapon that-"

"We're losing."

Adom frowned. What was he talking about?

"We've been losing battles for twelve years, boy." Kalyon's eyes fixed on Adom. "You wouldn't know, would you? Safe in your academy walls." His gaze swept across the gathered soldiers. "But these men? They know."

He turned to Arthur. "Don't you, Commander Sylla? Your battalion carries such prestige, such reputation - but you can't be everywhere at once, can you?" His chains clinked as he shifted. "How many fronts have you had to abandon? How many positions lost because you didn't have enough men to hold them?"

The silence in the cave grew heavier. Several of the Iron Wolves exchanged glances.

"The elves press south from the northern forests. The dwarven kingdoms steal our eastern territories piece by piece." Kalyon's voice carried bitter certainty. "Other human lands chip away at our borders. You know this, don't you? Many of you have been at the frontlines."

No one answered.

"Even the orcs grow bold enough to raid our territories now." His chains clinked as he straightened. "It's only a matter of time before they realize how weak we've become. Before they pour across our borders in force. We needed a way out. We needed something to make them think twice about-"

"You breached Imperial law," Darius interrupted. "You kidnapped a professor of Xerkes. You put a student's life in danger. You brought Specters into our territory-"

"And when they come for you," Kalyon's voice rose, "when the elves and dwarves and everyone else decides to carve up what's left of our empire, when you find yourselves outmaneuvered on all sides - don't come crying to me." His eyes blazed in the torchlight. "Everything I did was for Sundar's survival!"

Adom might have been swayed by the prince's words, if he didn't know better. The man spoke of real threats to the empire, of a ruler trying desperately to protect his people. Any patriot would have understood that fear, that drive to find something, anything, to turn the tide.

But Adom knew what came after.

In his past life, Dragon's Breath hadn't saved the empire - it had started its fall. Not just Sundar's, but every empire that got their hands on it. The weapon had changed everything, turned calculated wars of territory into desperate scrambles for survival. The elves, the dwarves, the human kingdoms - all of them had torn each other apart trying to either claim it or defend against it.

Looking at Kalyon now, seeing the conviction in his eyes, Adom understood something else. The prince must have been manipulated by whoever he was working with. Because Sundar hadn't even been the first to demonstrate Dragon's Breath - they'd been the third nation to acquire it. And Kalyon? He'd died just two years after taking the throne, supposedly from an illness.

The pieces fell into place. This was how it had happened. Kalyon would steal the research from Professor Kim, complete the weapon, only to have it stolen from him. Then, most likely, he'd be assassinated, his "illness" just a convenient cover story.

The prince's plans were doomed from the start. He just didn't know it yet.

"Take him away," Darius commanded, and the soldiers led the prince into the darkness of the tunnel, the sound of chains growing fainter with each step.

Adom stood there, watching them go, his mind churning. When he'd first come back, he'd thought it was simple - Professor Kim would make his prototype public, which would draw the wrong kind of attention. The professor would die, the prototype would be stolen, and everything would spiral from there.

But then he'd discovered the truth about the funding, about the powerful figures pulling strings from the shadows. People like Prince Kalyon, except... Kalyon wasn't even the endgame, was he? He was just another piece on the board, probably being played just like the professor.

A chill ran down Adom's spine. If Kalyon wasn't the real threat, then who was? How much did they already know about the prototype? Goosebumps spread across his arms as the implications sank in. He'd probably only delayed things. With so many unknown players involved, Dragon's Breath wasn't a question of if, but when. Could be days, months, years - but someone would make it. He had to assume they would.

And so-

A hand landed on his shoulder. Adom looked up to find Arthur smiling down at him, his father's face lined with pride and exhaustion.

"You did good, son."

The words warmed something in Adom's chest, even as his mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. It all swirled in his head like storm clouds. And then, almost without thinking, his mouth moved on its own.

"I've been thinking about becoming a Battle Mage."

His father went quiet, and for a moment, all Adom could hear was the drip of water in the cave.

Then Arthur smiled. "Ha! I won."

"Won what?"

"The bet with your mother. She said you'd never give up on being a Runicologist. I said you'd probably become a Battle Mage."

Adom hurried after his father, who had already started walking away, following his men down the tunnel. "Wait - when did you make this bet?"

"Last time we saw each other."

"How did you know?"

Arthur stopped, turned. His face was half-shadow in the torchlight. "You've changed."

The face Adom made probably prompted his father to elaborate. "From the last time I saw you, a few months ago. Something's different."

"Different how?"

"Just different. More focused. More..." Arthur waved his hand vaguely. "Present."

"Present? What's that supposed to mean, Father?"

"You know, less stuck in your books and theories. More aware of what's happening around you."

Arthur shrugged, continuing down the tunnel. "The Iron Wolves could use someone like you. When you're ready."

"I have other plans," Adom said, falling into step beside his father.

"Oh?"

"Something bigger."

Without warning, Arthur's hand shot out, ruffling Adom's hair. Before the son could protest, his father scooped him up and tossed him in the air like he weighed nothing.

"Father!" Adom yelped, caught completely off guard. "Put me down!"

"You used to love this when you were little," Arthur laughed, catching him. "Always begging for 'up, up!'"

"You do realize I'm not little anymore, right?" But Adom couldn't keep the grin off his face as his father set him down.

Their laughter echoed through the tunnel as they followed the torchlight, disappearing into the darkness ahead.

*****

Adom emerged from the tunnels like a swimmer breaking the surface. Light hit his eyes in a sudden burst, making him squint. The celebrating crowds hadn't diminished - if anything, they'd grown larger. Snow drifted down between buildings while people danced and sang in the streets below.

"No blood! No blood!" The chant still echoed through Arkhos, punctuated by cheers and laughter.

He climbed the worn steps toward the upper district, each movement sending little spikes of pain through his battered body. His split lip throbbed. But the air felt clean up here, crisp with winter and possibility.

Children threw snowballs near the fountain square. Merchants handed out free drinks. Someone had started playing drums, and the beating rhythm carried over the general chaos of celebration.

"Adom!"

Sam's voice cut through the noise. His friend burst from a group of students gathered near the stall, practically bowling through the crowd to reach him.

"Dude!" Sam grabbed his shoulders, grinning ear to ear. "You should have seen it! We went to the actual council chamber! The Archmage was there - the Archmage! I mean, your mother did most of the talking. All of it, really. But still! We were there and-"

"Thank you, Sam."

"Heh, don't sweat it. What are friends for if not storming into highly restricted government meetings, right?"

Adom smiled, then winced as the motion pulled at his split lip. "No, really. I know I've been saying it a lot lately, but... I want you to know I mean it. I'm grateful. For everything."

Sam's face flushed red. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the snow-covered cobblestones fascinating. "Yeah, well... maybe try staying out of trouble for a while?"

Adom laughed, the sound joining the general celebration around them. "Yes. No more trouble. At least for a little while."

The rest of the club members were making their way over now, drawn by Sam's shout. Behind them, the bells of Arkhos kept ringing their victory song, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Adom let himself simply listen.

*****

The next few days were, to put it mildly, quite eventful.

Prince Kalyon's walk through the city streets marked the only moment of silence in an otherwise jubilant day. The crowds parted as the Iron Wolves escorted him, their usual chants dying in their throats at the sight of their former crown prince in chains. He kept his head high, but his eyes never left the ground.

They took him to the Glass Tower - a prison specially constructed within the hour by the combined efforts of the city's most skilled mages. Its crystalline walls, they said, would dampen any magical attempts at escape. The prince disappeared behind those walls without a word, though some claimed they heard laughter echoing from his cell that night.

Mid-afternoon brought a messenger in imperial colors, riding hard through the gates astride a pegasus. Children abandoned their games and celebrations, running after the magnificent creature as it landed in the square. Its wings, spanning wider than two carriages, stirred the falling snow into miniature whirlwinds.

Adom couldn't help but stare - it had been years since he'd last seen one of these creatures. In forty years, they would be gone completely, hunted to extinction. But here, now, the beast stood proud, tossing its silver mane as children gathered at a respectful distance, pointing and whispering in awe.

The scroll the messenger carried bore the Emperor's personal seal - deep crimson wax pressed with House Savarnis' dragon devouring the sun. The proclamation was read in every square, at every corner: Prince Kalyon was stripped of his titles, his claims, his very name. The words fell like stones in quiet pools, rippling through the celebrating crowds.

No one quite knew how to react to that. Some cheered. Others simply nodded, grim-faced. A few of the older citizens wept quietly, remembering a younger prince who had once been kind.

The announcement of his trial date - eight months hence - sparked fresh debates in every tavern and gathering place. Too long, some said. Too short, others argued. But at least there would be justice, they agreed. At least there would be answers.

The swelling around Adom's eye had already greatly subsided. [Healing Factor] was quickly becoming his favorite skill - the way it quietly worked in the background, steadily repairing damage, felt almost like having a second heart.

Word came that Gale had fallen into a deep slumber in the infirmary, his body working to recover from the massive blood loss. The healers expected him to wake in a few weeks' time. Then would come the questioning, the trial, and whatever punishment the Council deemed appropriate for his crimes.

They found Ernest Boyle, alias Mr. Fox, during the chaos of the morning battles - or rather, Valiant's people captured him. Adom hadn't been prepared for him to be, well, an actual fox beastkin.

No one asked exactly how he lost his legs. The former head of the Children Of The Moon was discovered hours later in the merchant district square, bound by ropes, and screaming in agony. A detailed note had been pinned to his chest, listing his crimes, his aliases, his connections. The city guard couldn't exactly ignore such a public display.

Under interrogation, Boyle's composure cracked like thin ice. He spoke of years working as Prince Kalyon's agent, of arranging the funding that kept Professor Kim's research going, of managing the network of corrupt city guards who turned blind eyes when needed. Names spilled from his mouth like poison - captains, lieutenants, senior officers. By nightfall, dozens of guards found themselves sharing the prison cells they'd once watched over.

Boyle's trial was set for three months hence. When they told him execution would be his fate if found guilty, his ears lay flat against his skull, and he spent the next hour heaving into a bucket.

Marco was another story entirely.

He'd slipped away during the fighting, leaving only footprints in the snow and a trail of blood that ended somewhere in the Dregs. But Valiant, now heading his uncle's organization and backed by newfound allies, assured Adom it was only a matter of time. The city had become much smaller for people like Marco.

Thormund returned the wyvern heart and water of jouvence with an insistence that surprised Adom. "You paid for these," the Freeman said, gesturing with his remaining arm. "Lost a limb getting that heart. Might as well go to someone who went through just as much trouble to claim it."

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Adom accepted them without argument - he'd paid for them, after all, both in coin and blood. Maybe he would have a use for them, though it could wait. Today had brought enough changes already.

Professor Kim's trial lasted three days.

Documents, testimonies, and recovered letters showed he'd been kept deliberately ignorant of his research's true purpose. The funding came through legitimate academic channels, and his project appeared innocuous - studying micro magic. Nothing suggested weapons development.

When asked why Prince Kalyon hadn't pursued this research openly, given the empire's needs, the recovered documents revealed an uncomfortable truth: the project had been officially rejected by the Imperial Council years ago.

Even the Emperor himself had forbidden it, seeing the development of such a weapon as crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. Several noble houses had vocally opposed it, calling it an abomination that would bring shame to Sundar.

But Kalyon, convinced that the empire needed something to turn the tide against its enemies, had pursued it anyway in secret. If Kim had known he was developing a weapon for the empire, the project would have drawn attention. Questions would have been asked. So Kalyon needed him to remain ignorant, needed the research to appear harmless enough to avoid scrutiny.

When the verdict of "not guilty" was announced, Kim stood quietly, his shoulders slumped with the weight of realizing how thoroughly he'd been deceived. His life's work had nearly become something monstrous, and he hadn't even known.

He resigned the next morning.

"I can't stay," he told Adom in his half-emptied laboratory, his hands trembling slightly as he packed away years of research. "Every time I walk these halls, I'll remember what I almost created. The time I lost."

Adom helped sort through papers, watching the professor's face. The man looked older now, worn thin by recent events. Yet there was something else there too - relief, perhaps. The freedom of a burden finally set down.

What troubled Adom most was the attention Kim's research had attracted. Even as the professor prepared to leave, messages arrived from nobles, high-ranking mages, military officials - all expressing their "academic interest" in his work. Kim burned each letter without reading them.

"They don't understand," he muttered, feeding another envelope to the flames. "Or maybe they understand too well."

The Imperial Guard assigned ten men to watch over Kim's new residence in the isles, a modest house overlooking the sea. "Just a precaution," they said. Everyone knew better.

Hugo's goodbye was hardest to watch. The assistant stood awkwardly in the doorway of the lab, clutching a stack of books Kim had given him. "I... thank you, Professor. For everything."

Kim pulled him into a tight hug. When they separated, both men's eyes were damp.

Before leaving, Kim drew Adom aside. "Your secret is safe with me," he whispered, glancing at where the golem stood that day in the lab. "But promise you'll visit? I'd love to examine it properly someday."

"Of course, professor. Do you like tea?"

"I love it."

Two days later, Kim left the academy for good.

The club members helped empty the laboratory, carefully packing away equipment and notes.

The last thing they packed was Kim's old chair. It left a clean spot on the dusty floor, a perfect circle marking where something important used to be.

Arthur's trial was a more delicate affair, handled directly by Grand General Valerion Duskwind himself. The charges - mobilizing troops without imperial sanction and laying siege to a major city - would normally carry severe penalties. However, the circumstances proved unique.

"A father seeking his missing son found obstacles at every turn from the Crown Prince himself," Duskwind stated to the military tribunal. "When official channels were blocked, he acted - perhaps rashly, but not without cause. His actions, though technically treasonous, inadvertently exposed a genuine threat to the empire."

The verdict recognized both the breach of protocol and the justified cause: Arthur would retain his command of the Iron Wolves, but would report directly to the Grand General for the next year, with stricter oversight of troop movements.

It was, as many noted, a way to maintain the stability of the Iron Wolves' command structure while ensuring proper checks were in place.

When Adom and his father finally met after the trial, Arthur's first words were, "I would do it again." The embrace that followed said everything else that needed saying.

A week after the Bloodless Battle - that was the name given to the incident - Adom found himself in Xerkes.

The chamber prepared in the academy's west wing for the interrogations of the involved students felt smaller than Adom remembered. Perhaps it was the dozen senior mages arranged in a half-circle before him. Or perhaps it was the weight of their gazes - some curious, others calculating.

A grandfather clock against the far wall marked each second. Tick. Tock. Its brass pendulum swung in eternal rhythm, indifferent to the tension in the room.

"That's him? That's the boy?"

"The one from the incident..."

"Heard he was there when-"

Adom tried not to listen to the murmurs. His name had spread through their circles these past days, though he wished it hadn't.

Twenty-three senior mages sat in a semicircle before him.

Adom knew many of those faces - had studied under some, worked alongside others. Faces that would become memories sooner than anyone could guess.

Among them sat Archmage Gaius - a man Adom had only seen in portraits and ceremonial paintings until now. His short silver hair was neatly combed, his trim beard showing hints of its original black. He wore a simple blue tunic with silver threading, elegant but understated, and leaned casually on a staff of dark wood. Currently, he was squinting at papers through his glasses, holding them at various distances from his face.

"Utrecht, what in blazes does this say?" He passed a document to the mage beside him. "They make these letters smaller every year, I swear."

"It says 'transportation crystal', sir."

"Ah." Gaius adjusted his glasses again. "Well, why didn't they just write that properly?"

Headmaster Merris sat to his left, and occasionally caught Adom's eye with encouraging looks. Adom managed a small smile back, grateful for the more encouraging face among all these senior mages.

He had been answering their questions for forty-five minutes now. His throat felt dry, and the chair, despite its cushioning, had grown uncomfortable. The afternoon light had shifted, throwing longer shadows across the marble floor.

Master Verna finished another page of notes. Master Utrecht suppressed a yawn. Several others whispered among themselves, passing documents back and forth.

Gaius lowered his papers and really looked at Adom for the first time. He glanced back at the documents, then at Adom again, adjusting his glasses with a finger.

"You... went into a dungeon alone and made it back alive? You?"

"Yes, sir." Adom kept his voice steady.

The whispers started again.

"Must have gotten lucky," someone muttered.

"Most definitely," another added.

It was hard not to roll his eyes.

Gaius cleared his throat, and the chamber fell silent. "Well, young man, our investigations support your testimony. The timeline matches, the witnesses confirm your account, and-" he squinted at another paper, "-ah yes, the crystal merchant remembered you quite clearly."

"Thank you, sir." Adom started to rise.

"I believe we're finished here," Master Verna announced, gathering her papers. Several mages stood, their chairs scraping against marble.

Headmaster Merris approached, placing a hand on Adom's shoulder. "Well done, my boy." His grip tightened slightly.

"Young man."

Adom turned back to Gaius just as something sailed through the air. [Flow Prediction] sparked unbidden, his hand moving before his mind could catch up. Several mages gasped.

He looked down at the object in his palm. An apple?

"You look skinny," Gaius said, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "Should eat that. Special variety from you know where." He blinked at Adom.

"You? That was-" Adom said, as the realization dawned.

Gaius's laugh echoed off the chamber walls. The other mages exchanged confused looks and even Merris's hand dropped from Adom's shoulder in surprise.

"I'd never forget those eyes," Gaius said, still chuckling. "Glad it all worked out in the end. I would've helped if I'd known you were who you were, of course."

Adom stood silent, mind racing. The old man with the apples - it had been him? The illusion spell must have been masterful; he hadn't detected a trace of magic.

"Sir," Utrecht leaned toward Gaius, "you knew this boy?"

"In a manner of speaking." Gaius waved his hand dismissively. "Sometimes the best way to understand a city is from its streets, wouldn't you say?"

A laugh escaped Adom's throat. "Thank you, sir."

"Go on now," Gaius waved him away, clearly enjoying his colleagues' confusion. Looking between Gaius and Adom, mouth slightly open.

*****

The Veyshari were preparing to leave Arkhos that same afternoon.

Their caravans and tents were already packed away, loaded onto the long boats that would carry them south to warmer shores. The air was thick with the smell of sea salt and wood smoke, mixing with the crisp winter breeze.

Adom and Sam stood in the falling snow, watching Morgana check the last of her belongings. Sam hadn't said a word since they arrived, his face almost as red as his hair. Adom couldn't help but smile.

"I'll write to you both," Morgana said, adjusting her shawl. Behind her, Veyshari children ran between the boats, carrying bundles and calling to each other in their language. "Though I expect your letters might be more interesting than mine."

Sam shuffled his feet in the snow. "We'll- I mean, I'll look forward to them."

She knelt before Sam, her eyes twinkling. "Keep this one out of trouble, won't you?" She nodded toward Adom. "No more adventures into dungeons or fighting princes."

"I'll try," Sam managed, though his voice cracked slightly.

Morgana turned to Adom. "And you, the brand new celebrity of Arkhos - try to remember you're still a child? Perhaps spend some time in the library instead of charging into danger?"

"No promises," Adom said, grinning.

She shook her head, smiling. "At least pretend to consider it?"

Almost unconsciously, Adom's eyes narrowed as [Identify] activated.

Still the same result: [???]

Morgana laughed. "There you go again, staring so intensely. You'll never find a girlfriend with that habit, you know."

"I wasn't- I mean-" Adom felt his face growing warm despite the cold.

"Time to go," Mirko's voice came from behind them. "Tide waits for no one, yes?"

Adom turned. "Oh! Wait-" He reached into his inventory, pulling out several wrapped packages. "These are for you."

Mirko blinked. "Oh?"

"It's Yule today," Adom explained. "End of the year celebration. You give gifts to people you're grateful for."

"Ai!" Mirko called out in Veyshari, waving to his people. "Come see what our little mage brings!"

Before Adom could protest, he found himself surrounded by familiar faces - the sorceress who'd lifted the curse, the old man who'd almost given him booze, children he'd shared sweets with.

"For us?" the sorceress asked, accepting her package with gentle hands.

"Nais tuke, brave one," another said.

"Av kathe!" Mirko grabbed both boys in a bear hug, lifting them off their feet. "Perhaps I start to like this snow festival, if it comes with gifts!"

"Can't- breathe-" Sam wheezed, but he was laughing.

"May our paths cross again," Mirko said, setting them down. "Perhaps next summer, yes?"

"Yes." Adom and Sam said in unisson.

Adom pulled out one last package, smaller than the others, wrapped in blue paper with silver ribbons. "This one's yours."

Morgana took it with care, her fingers tracing the edges of the wrapping. "Thank you, both of you."

She tucked it into her coat pocket, and Sam shifted. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"At midnight," she said, tapping her nose. "That's tradition, isn't it?"

"We hope you like it," Adom said.

"I'm sure I will, whatever it-" She paused, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Wait a moment. This isn't cat food, is it? Because if you two got me cat food, I might have to swim back and hex you both."

Their laughter mixed with the sound of waves lapping against the boats.

"We wouldn't dare," Sam said, finding his voice at last.

"Morg!" Children's voices called from the boats. "We're leaving!"

She exhaled, her breath visible in the cold air, mixing with the wisps of snow that had started falling again. With the setting sun, the clouds were colored in deep oranges and purples.

It was the perfect sky for goodbyes.

"Farewell, little mages," she said softly. "Next time we meet, let's hope it's under better circumstances than curses and dungeons, yes?"

Sam nodded, awkward but sincere.

"Farewell, kitty cat," Adom said, grinning.

They stood at the edge of the water, watching as the Veyshari boats pulled away. Morgana's raven black hair caught the last rays of sunlight as she stood at the stern, waving until the distance made her figure indistinct.

The boats grew smaller and smaller, their colorful sails becoming mere dots on the horizon. The Veyshari's songs carried across the water, growing fainter until they merged with the sounds of waves and the cry of seabirds.

Sam sniffed, quickly wiping his nose with his sleeve when he thought Adom wasn't looking.

"You crying?" Adom asked, not looking directly at Sam.

"No," Sam said quickly, rubbing his face again. "Just cold." He was quiet for a moment, watching the last traces of color fade from the horizon. "Hope she'll be okay out there."

"She's a grown woman who can turn into a cat and probably hex people into toads. Pretty sure she can handle herself."

Sam shook his head. "See, this is exactly what she was talking about. You really need to work on your approach with women. That whole 'whatever' attitude isn't going to get you anywhere."

Adom scoffed. "Oh, and you're giving me advice on women now? You? The guy who turned redder than a tomato every time she looked at him?"

"I may lack practical experience," Sam said with dignity, "but I have extensive theoretical knowledge on the subject."

"Theoretical knowledge?" Adom's grin turned mischievous. "From those books you keep under your bed?"

Sam punched him in the shoulder, hard enough to make Adom stumble. "We had an agreement about never mentioning what's under my bed!"

"Ow! I'm just saying, if you're getting your wisdom from things like 'The Princess and the Stable Boy,' maybe I shouldn't-"

"One more word," Sam warned, raising his fist again.

"Okay, okay," Adom raised his hands in surrender. "Truce."

The beach was nearly empty now, the last traces of sunset fading into deep blue. Their boots left twin trails in the fresh snow as they turned away from the water and headed toward where they'd left the strider.

"We should probably get going," Adom said. "The others are probably there already."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, falling into step beside him. As they climbed up the snowy beach toward the road, Sam asked, "What was the tavern called again?"

"The Salty Dog."

The strider dropped them off at their destination. Snow was falling steadily now, muffling the usual evening sounds of the sea nearby. The Salty Dog stood dark and quiet, no light spilling from its windows, no sound of patrons or music coming from within.

"That's odd," Adom said, counting out coins for the driver. "Eren said this was the right time. Place should be busy by now."

"Maybe we should go," Sam suggested, wrapping his coat tighter. "Come back later?"

The strider trudged away, leaving them standing in the falling snow. Sam approached the door, giving it an experimental push. "It's open. Maybe with the weather, people are just late? We could wait inside..."

Adom sighed, his breath visible in the cold air. "Fine."

They stepped into the darkness. Something shifted in the shadows: a movement too precise, too mechanical. Adom's instincts kicked in instantly, his pulse racing as mana gathered at his fingertips.

"Sam!" he shouted, pushing his friend behind him.

"Adom, wait—!"

[Flow Prediction] activated automatically, tracking the movement of what could only be a—

"SURPRISE!" Followed by a collective "Whoa!"

Light flooded the tavern. Magical sparklers burst overhead, showering the room with dancing lights and glittering confetti. Familiar faces emerged from hiding spots: classmates, friends, family members, a few unknown people: all wearing expressions that quickly shifted from joy to mild alarm at the sight of Adom's half-formed battle stance.

Sam let out a shaky breath. "I knew this was a terrible idea," he muttered, still catching his breath. "Who throws a surprise party for a mage?"

"Sorry!" Eren called out from behind an overturned table. "We... probably should have thought that through better."

"W-what's going on here?" Adom muttered.

Adom's hands were still crackling with mana as he tried to process what was happening. The tavern, dark just moments ago, was now filled with light and familiar faces. His mother, Maria, emerged from the crowd, followed by his father.

"Well," Maria started, smoothing down her dress, "with everything that happened..."

"We never got to celebrate your birthday last week," his father continued. "Or Sam's, for that matter."

"So we thought," Maria picked up again, "why not do it for both of you during Yule?"

Sam shuffled his feet beside him. "I, uh, might have suggested it to Eren. Though I specifically said no surprises..."

A birthday party.

Adom's mind went blank for a moment. When was the last time he'd had one? When he was ten, wasn't it? Actually ten, not the decades-old ten he was now. A lifetime ago, before everything.

He looked around the room, really looked. His parents were there, of course. Sam's father stood near the bar with Sam's sister, who was trying to keep Bob away from the drinks already. Noss was grinning from ear to ear with a few other Iron Wolves beside him. Eren and his mother were by the fireplace. Kern and Fili: the former being free now, cleared of all charges the day the prince was taken into custody: were sitting beside Hugo and Kaius.

Valiant was there too, looking almost comical in one of those tiny expensive Cisco suits, surrounded by his men. Thormund was attempting to explain something to Phil and Petra, while the rest of the club members were setting up what looked like party games.

Adom laughed.

It started as a small chuckle, but something caught in his throat. The laugh turned into something else, and suddenly he felt wetness on his cheeks.

"You crying?" Sam asked.

"No," Adom managed, wiping his face. "Just cold."

His mother wrapped her arms around him, and he could smell the familiar scent of her perfume. That sweet apple and something else.

"Look at that," Noss called out. "The mighty battle mage, taken down by a surprise party!"

"It's the cold," Adom insisted, but he was laughing now, properly laughing, even as he wiped away another tear. "You try standing in the snow for an hour."

The evening blurred into a warm haze of laughter and celebration. Eren's mother had outdone herself with the cookies: "Just like the ones from that time," she'd said with a wink to Adom: while Maria's honey cakes disappeared almost as soon as they were set out. Bob insisted on leading increasingly off-key renditions of traditional Yule songs, with even Valiant joining in after his second mug of mulled wine.

Gifts were exchanged with much ceremony and even more teasing. Sam's sister had knitted matching scarves for both birthday boys, though Adom's was deliberately made two sizes too small "to match his personality." Noss presented them with Iron Wolves ceremonial daggers, which prompted Maria to give him a look that clearly said "we'll discuss this later."

As the party continued around them, Adom found himself in a quieter corner with Valiant, carefully pouring steaming tea into a delicate cup. The steam rose in lazy spirals between them.

"Here," Adom said, pushing the cup toward Valiant with barely contained anticipation. "Try it."

Valiant eyed the liquid suspiciously, adjusting his expensive suit. "This is what you've been so excited about?"

"Just try it." Adom watched expectantly as Valiant took a careful sip.

"Eh? Eh?"

Valiant's face remained perfectly neutral. "Honestly?" He set the cup down. "Leaf juice."

"Leaf ju- It's premium Silvercrest blend! From the eastern mountains!" Adom's voice cracked with indignation. "The leaves are picked only during the full moon!"

"Still juice. From leaves."

"You have no taste."

"Says the kid with old man taste." Valiant smirked. "What's next? Going to start collecting stamps?"

"And you have no class," Adom shot back. "Wouldn't know refinement if it hit you in that overpriced suit."

"At least I don't get excited about hot water with leaves in it."

They glared at each other for a moment before both breaking into grins, they were alive, after all. They made it out of the dungeon. Even if one of them clearly couldn't appreciate good tea if his life depended on it.

As the evening wore on and couples started swaying to Bob's surprisingly decent fiddle playing, Adom found Eren by the window, watching the snow fall.

"Ready for Xerkes?" Adom asked, joining him.

Eren's fingers drummed nervously on his cup. "As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Hey." Adom bumped his shoulder. "You've got nothing to worry about. The entrance exams aren't half as scary as people make them out to be."

"Says the guy who can weave without hand signs as a second year."

"Says the teacher who's seen you practice. You'll do fine."

Eren smiled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Thanks, Adom."

"No need to thank me," Adom said, turning to leave. He paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "And besides, I won't be a second year for much longer. Better start practicing 'third year' now."

"Adom! Sam!" Maria called from across the room. "Time for the candles!"

There, on the table, stood a massive cake decorated with intricate frost patterns, thirteen candles burning bright. As they approached, Bob started another chorus of the birthday song, somehow managing to be both off-key and too loud at once. Sam caught Adom's eye and grinned.

Some memories were really worth waiting decades to make.

*****

Three days after the celebration, Adom sat through a marathon of special examinations: a privilege granted by Headmaster Merris to make him eligible for third-year status and the upcoming path-choosing ceremony.

One of the perks of being a regressor who had spent decades studying in a past life was the ability to breeze through academic challenges, and Adom did exactly that. He achieved near-perfect scores across all subjects, though he couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the 99% in Runicology: a minor error in stroke direction that he should have caught.

Two days later, the students gathered for the path-choosing ceremony.

The Celestial Pavilion glowed, its crystal dome catching the morning sun.

Students lined up in their ceremonial robes: deep blue with silver trim, and the traditional pointed hats that Sam kept fidgeting with. Seven crystalline columns stood in a semi-circle at the front, each bearing the symbol of a magical discipline: the crossed wands of Battle Magic, the healing hands of the Healers, the all-seeing eye of Divination, the elemental spiral of the Elementalists, the bubbling cauldron of the Alchemists, the living branch of the Druids, and the intricate patterns of the Runicologists.

Parents and guests filled the opposite side of the pavilion.

Adom spotted his mother dabbing at her eyes already, his father's hand on her shoulder. The club members had gathered in force: Hugo, Kaius, and the others holding up surprisingly well-made signs with "GO ADOM!", "SAM THE BRAIN!", and "DAMUS DON'T TRIP!" written in glowing magical ink.

Sam was unnaturally quiet, his hands twisting the sleeves of his robe. Adom frowned. This wasn't like him: in the past life, Sam had been excited, practically bouncing on his feet.

Why was he...?

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

Adom elbowed him gently, breaking his trance. Sam's eyes darted to the crowd, where his father stood tall and proud, his little sister waving enthusiastically.

Ah.

Last time, they hadn't been there. No wonder.

"Abigail Ashworth," Headmaster Merris called, his voice resonating through the pavilion.

A girl with auburn hair stepped forward, her steps echoing in the hushed space. Merris stood before her, clad in white robes.

"Before the witnesses gathered here, before your peers and masters, before magic itself: declare your path."

The girl's voice was clear and strong. "I choose the path of the Healer."

The corresponding column lit up with a warm golden glow. Professor Lynn, head of the Healing discipline, stepped forward to pin the silver badge bearing the healing hands symbol on the girl's robe. Then Merris raised his ceremonial staff.

"You who would wield the powers that shape our world, hear these words. A mage's power comes with sacred responsibility. You shall use your gifts with wisdom and restraint. Never against the innocent, never for personal gain above the greater good. Your knowledge is both privilege and burden: guard it well, share it wisely."

The girl placed her right hand over her heart, left hand raised, and spoke the binding vow:

"I accept these duties and these bounds. I swear to honor the laws of magic: Nothing is created, everything is transformed. Death is irreversible. Time is uncontrollable. These are the bounds of magic, the laws that bind us all. Should I break them, I submit myself to the judgment of the Mage Council and accept their punishment."

The crowd applauded as it continued, each name called bringing another young mage forward to choose their path.

Adom watched as the ceremony unfolded exactly as he remembered: mostly.

Mia strode confidently to choose the Alchemist's path, Professor Mirwen pinning the bubbling cauldron badge with a knowing smile. Damus, predictably, chose Battle Magic, Professor Crowley's gruff nod accompanying the crossed wands badge. His usual followers trailed after him like shadows to the same path.

Then came Finn's turn, and Adom blinked in surprise. Divination? Last time he'd followed Damus into Battle Magic. Professor Sal seemed pleased though, adding a thirteenth student to what was usually the smallest group. Gus chose the Druid's path, as expected, along with a handful of others who preferred working with nature's magic.

One by one, each choice aligned with Adom's memories: until "Sammenel Harbinsky" echoed through the pavilion.

Sam was still fidgeting with his sleeves. Adom nudged him. "Hey, you've got this. Just like we practiced, no stuttering." He nodded toward the crowd where Sam's father stood tall, his sister bouncing on her toes with an encouraging grin.

"It'll be easy, it'll be easy," Sam muttered, stepping forward with mechanical movements. Adom smiled, already picturing him walking toward the Runicology column, just like last time.

Sam's voice rang clear: "I choose the path of the Battle Mage."

"Huh?!" Adom's surprised exclamation earned him several sharp looks from nearby students. He watched, mouth slightly agape, as Professor Crowley pinned the crossed wands badge to Sam's robe, his friend standing straighter than Adom had ever seen him.

Sam stood there awkwardly under Professor Crowley's stern gaze, managing a wobbly smile as applause filled the pavilion.

Even Damus and his group were staring, expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief. The club members recovered first, their cheers especially enthusiastic, though Adom could tell they were as surprised as he was. When Sam's eyes met his, all his friend managed was a small "Hi" and a nervous wave.

"Adom Sylla."

His name cut through his confusion. The walk to the front felt longer than it should have, each step echoing in the vast space. Merris smiled warmly at him, when he finally stopped. In the crowd, his mother was beaming, father's arm still around her shoulders, both smiling brightly.

The seven columns loomed before him, each path a possibility, each symbol glowing with promise. Last time, in that other life, he'd chosen differently. But now...

"I choose the path of the Battle Mage."

The column blazed with fierce red light. Professor Crowley stepped forward, his weathered face unreadable as he pinned the crossed wands badge to Adom's robe. "Welcome to the path," he said quietly, then added with the barest hint of amusement, "Try to keep your friend out of trouble."

Merris raised his staff.

"You who would wield the powers that shape our world, hear these words. A mage's power comes with sacred responsibility. You shall use your gifts with wisdom and restraint. Never against the innocent, never for personal gain above the greater good. Your knowledge is both privilege and burden: guard it well, share it wisely."

Adom placed his right hand over his heart, left hand raised, and began the vow. "I accept these duties and these bounds. I swear to honor the laws of magic: Nothing is created..."

He paused.

The irony wasn't lost on him: here he was, swearing to uphold laws he'd seen broken. Death irreversible? Time uncontrollable? His very existence contradicted both.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow. The applause became distant, muffled, as his eyes swept across the smiling faces, the proud expressions, the enthusiasm of his peers. Friends. Family.

Would those same faces twist in horror if they knew? True, he hadn't manipulated time or death himself: he'd only bargained with Death.

But he'd heard the stories, seen the records of what happened to those who claimed deals with demons or umbras, attempting to bend time. Respected mages, brilliant scholars, reduced to cautionary tales, their legacies erased, their heads separated from their bodies.

Even if his parents believed him: and surely they would: what could they do? Would it do them any good?

Their love and support wouldn't shield him from the Council's judgment, from the weight of centuries of conditioning in magical law. Maybe someday he'd tell them the truth. But not today. Not when everything was perfect, not when their smiles were so bright, not when his future stretched before him, fresh and promising.

"My boy, are you alright?"

"Yes," Adom managed, meeting the headmaster's concerned gaze. "Everything is transformed. Death is irreversible. Time is uncontrollable. These are the bounds of magic, the laws that bind us all. Should I break them, I submit myself to the judgment of the Mage Council and accept their punishment."

The applause faded as Adom took his place beside Sam, who nudged him with an elbow. "Look who froze up after all," he whispered, a hint of newfound confidence in his voice.

"Battle Mage? Really?" Adom whispered back, still trying to process the change. "What made you choose that?"

Sam's grin was different now: still nervous, but... "You know, I just... I thought about it a lot. About becoming a better version of myself. Getting out of my comfort zone." He glanced at Adom. "Actually, you kind of inspired me."

Adom nodded slowly, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey, don't worry about me," Sam continued, straightening his badge. "I can take care of myself. And instead of competing to be the greatest runicologists..." His voice grew stronger. "We can push each other to become the best battle mages possible. I'm actually aiming to become a hero."

Adom couldn't help but scoff, though there was warmth in it. "You? A hero?"

"Both of us," Sam replied, serious despite his nervous smile. "Just you wait and see."

The ceremony hall buzzed with excited chatter, new badges gleaming on robes as students and families mingled, congratulating each other. Adom spotted his parents near one of the crystal columns and started making his way over, but movement to the side caught his attention.

Duke Jasper Lightbringer stood with Damus, his hand heavy on his son's shoulder. When he spotted Adom, the Duke's face lit up with that characteristic charm that had made him such a successful politician.

"Adom!" The Duke's voice carried across the space. "The rising star himself! I've heard nothing but praise about your achievements lately." He extended his hand, which Adom shook.

"Thank you, uncle Jasper."

"Battle Magic, eh? Excellent choice." The Duke's grip tightened slightly. "You see, Damus? This is what I've been talking about. Top marks, exceptional magical control, and now choosing a prestigious path." He turned to his son. "You and Adom are friends. You should learn from him more. Push each other to excel."

"Yes, father." Damus's voice was flat, his eyes fixed somewhere past Adom's shoulder.

Something in that tone made Adom pause. He'd heard that exact response countless times before, but now, for the first time, he noticed the way Damus's shoulders tensed, how his fingers curled slightly into his palms.

"Jasper!" His father's voice interrupted Adom's thoughts. Both his parents approached, his mother's face smiling.

"Arthur! Maria!" The Duke's demeanor shifted seamlessly into old-friend territory. "Your boy here is doing you proud."

The adults fell into easy conversation, catching up on months of news.

"Damus!" His mother turned to Damus with a warm smile. "Congratulations to you too, dear. Battle Magic suits you."

"Thank you, Aunt Maria," Damus replied, perfect manners in place.

"We were thinking of heading into the city for a celebration lunch," the Duke announced. "You must join us! That new place near the fountain square?"

And so, their expanded group filled the busy street: Sam's father and sister, Eren and his mother.

Bob had announced, a few days earlier, that he needed to "take care of something" and would be back in a few days, his usual cryptic self.

Sam's father deep in conversation with Duke Lightbringer while his sister Elena skipped ahead, showing off her toy wand to Eren and his mother. The adults' voices merged with the general bustle of the celebration day, shop windows decorated with magical displays for the new third years.

Adom turned at the familiar corner out of habit more than hope: he'd looked so many times before that it had become automatic, like checking if you've locked your door. His eyes found the worn shopfront of The Weird Stuff Store, and for a moment, his brain didn't quite process what he was seeing. The windows were lit. The "CLOSED" sign was flipped to "OPEN."

His heart stuttered in his chest.

There, behind the dusty window, Mr. Biggins stood arranging some oddity or another. As if sensing Adom's presence, he looked up, his weathered face breaking into that familiar crooked smile. He waved, gesturing toward the door with unmistakable invitation.

"Sam" Adom whispered, barely moving his lips. His friend was already nodding, having caught the exchange.

"Is that...?" Eren's eyes widened in recognition from the stories Adom had told him.

"Go," Sam muttered. "Quick, before they notice-"

"Where's Adom going?" Elena's voice piped up, making them both jump.

Adom turned to her, finger to his lips. "Shh. Special mission. I'll bring you those chocolate birds you like."

Elena's eyes lit up with conspiratorial glee. "The ones that sing different songs?" At Adom's nod, she grinned. "I'll distract them!" She bounced ahead, tugging at her father's sleeve. "Dad, dad, look at what I can do with my wand!"

Adom slipped away as the adults' attention shifted. He caught Damus watching him from the corner of his eye, face unreadable, but his former friend made no move to alert the others.

Heart pounding, Adom approached the shop door, the bell's familiar jingle welcoming him back.

Adom stepped into the shop, the familiar smell filling his nose. Strange trinkets cluttered every surface, just as he remembered, though something felt different now. Each item seemed to hold more weight, more meaning, as if they weren't just curiosities anymore but potential clues.

He moved carefully between the crowded shelves, watching Mr. Biggins. Everything about him pointed to the Order: the perfectly timed disappearance, the chocolates, even that cryptic "welcome back". But now, facing him, Adom felt less certain.

"Ah, young Adom," Biggins smiled, not looking up from his work. "Welcome back!"

Adom swallowed. "I was starting to think you'd never show up again."

"Is that so?" Biggins's eyes twinkled with amusement. "I didn't realize you'd grown so fond of me!"

The words caught in Adom's throat. Where should he even start? What if he was wrong about everything? What if Biggins was just an eccentric shopkeeper who happened to sell weird stuff and disappear for months at a time? But then again, what were the chances of-

"You must have many questions, young Adom," Biggins said, interrupting his spiral of thoughts.

"You bet I-"

BANG!

A tremendous crash from the back room cut him off, followed by muffled cursing and what sounded like several small objects rolling across a floor.

"I told you not to try and spy through that thing!" A woman's voice, sharp and exasperated, carried through the beaded curtain behind the counter.

Biggins sighed, rubbing his temples. "And I told them to wait upstairs..."

Adom stared at the curtain, confusion written across his face. "What was-"

"Apologies for the commotion," Biggins said. "You might as well come down now. He's here."

He looked up at Adom, his eyes lingering on his hair. "White suits you, you know. More in phase with who you truly are."

Ah. That did it. The casual observation, delivered with such knowing certainty, confirmed everything. Biggins had known. All this time, through every visit, every weird purchase, he'd known.

"Bah! Listen to that voice!" A gruff voice rumbled from upstairs. "Ye don't even need to see 'im to know he's a twig! When ye said 'special,' Ale, I was expectin' someone who at least sounded like they could lift a proper war hammer!"

"Are you certain about this, Ale?" Another male voice joined in, one that tugged at Adom's memory, though he couldn't place it. "He seems rather... young."

Biggins didn't turn around, his eyes still fixed on Adom. "Quite certain."

Footsteps creaked on the wooden stairs, and a woman emerged first through the beaded curtain.

Her curved horns caught the shop's dim light, and her tail swished behind her as she moved. Despite her demonic heritage, there was something almost graceful about the way she carried herself. "So this is him," she said, studying Adom with keen interest, her red eyes glinting. "I've been wondering what you looked like."

Adom shifted under her gaze. "Hi?"

The word came out more like a question than a greeting, and he inwardly winced at how young it made him sound.

Heavy boots thumped down the stairs, and a stocky figure emerged behind the tiefling. The dwarf was broad as a barrel, with a thick black beard braided with silver clasps, and deep-set eyes that crinkled with amusement as he took in Adom.

"Hah! Ye weren't kiddin' about him bein' little!" He let out a booming laugh that made several delicate instruments on nearby shelves rattle.

"Thorgen," Biggins said mildly, "human children tend to be on the smaller side. It's quite normal."

"Normal or not, he's barely bigger than me axe!" Still chuckling, Thorgen stepped forward and thrust out a calloused hand. "Thorgen Svartsten, at yer service."

Adom grasped the offered hand, and immediately regretted it. The dwarf's grip was like iron bands closing around his fingers, reminding him instantly of Fili's bone-crushing handshakes. Pride made him squeeze back, though he knew it was futile. Their eyes locked in an impromptu contest of will, neither wanting to be the first to let go.

"Careful with the boy's hands, Thorgen," the tiefling said. "We might need those intact."

Thorgen released his grip with another laugh. "Got spirit, this one! Combative - I like that. Ye might've picked well after all, Ale."

Before Adom could rub his aching hand, another set of footsteps descended the stairs. His eyes widened as a familiar figure ducked through the beaded curtain - a tall man, easily six and a half feet, well-muscled beneath his clothes, with long dark hair tied back in a loose tail. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five.

"YOU?!" they both exclaimed in unison.

It was the guard from the Silvester merchant's district - the same one he'd brought those four would-be muggers' names to that day. The one who'd looked at him so strangely when he'd explained how he'd managed to subdue them all.

"You two know each other?" the tiefling and dwarf asked almost in sync, looking between Adom and the guard.

"Yeah," Adom said, still processing the coincidence.

The guard laughed, a warm, rich sound. "Small world, isn't it?"

"Not particularly surprising," Biggins commented, adjusting something on his workbench. "You both do live in the same city, after all."

The tiefling suddenly straightened. "Oh, where are my manners?" She smiled at Adom, her tail swaying gently behind her. "I've heard so many stories about you since I was a child. It feels... strange, finally meeting you in person."

"Yeah, totally same," Adom managed, though he had no idea what stories she might have heard.

She extended a slender hand, her skin a deep blue opal in the shop's lighting. "I'm Zara."

"Artun Kalan," the guard added casually.

"Nice to meet you," Adom said, then turned to Biggins, who was watching the exchanges with obvious amusement.

"I suppose it's my turn then," he chuckled, setting down his tools. "You know me as Mr. Biggins, but my real name is Aelarion. My friends call me Ale."

Adom frowned slightly. Aelarion - that was definitely an elvish name, but looking at Biggins now, he couldn't see a single elvish feature. The man looked entirely human, if a bit... unusual.

"Are you of elven descent?" he asked.

Biggins - no, Aelarion - laughed. "Heavens, no. My heritage is a bit more... exotic than that." He paused, reaching up to remove his glasses. "The name has quite the story behind it, but..."

He looked directly at Adom then, and smiled. In that moment, Adom's eyes widened. Behind those round spectacles, Biggins' eyes had changed. They were still the same warm brown, but now the pupils had shifted, becoming vertical slits that caught the light like polished amber.

"I'm what humans usually call a Dragon," he said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

A dragon. A living, breathing dragon.

Dragons had been extinct for over seventeen thousand years. They were creatures of myth and legend, revered as part of the old pantheon by early humans. Even today, there were still cults dedicated to their worship, treating them as gods rather than the beings they had been. And here was one, casually standing in front of him in a cramped shop, wearing spectacles and tinkering with mechanical devices.

"Ale!" Thorgen sputtered, looking like he might have a stroke. "Ye can't just go around tellin' people that sort of thing on a whim! What happened to all that secrecy ye're always preachin' about?"

Adom's mind was racing, trying to process everything. "So..." he took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I have questions. A lot of questions. And I want answers."

Arthun and Thorgen burst out laughing while Zara smiled. Aelarion placed his glasses back on, hiding those reptilian eyes behind ordinary lenses.

"Of course you do," he said. "And you'll get them all." He gestured to the group around them. "We all have answers for you. After all..." He adjusted his glasses. "This is just the beginning."