Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

”What the hell was that?!” Sam’s arms were flailing wildly. ”Since when do you fight like some- some kind of mystical warrior monk from the eastern mountains?! Did you secretly train with shadow assassins while I wasn’t looking?!”

Adom couldn’t help but chuckle. God, he’d forgotten how Sam could turn everything into some fantasy novel reference. ”It’s so nice to see you, Sam. I missed you a lot.” He opened his arms. ”Want a hug?”

Sam’s face contorted into an expression of pure confusion. The students around them exchanged glances, whispering behind their hands. Adom couldn’t care less.

”Why are you being so weird, dude?” Sam took a step back. ”Miss me? We literally share a dorm. We saw each other at breakfast.” He squinted. ”Did you hit your head? Because that would explain the sudden martial arts skills AND the weird emotional stuff-”

It had been decades for Adom though.

He just kept smiling, arms still wide open. ”Hug?”

”Come on. Stop it.” Sam looked around frantically. ”People are staring! This is NOT helping your reputation after that whole thing you just pulled and- and- stop looking at me like that! Why are you looking at me like that?!”

Adom didn’t budge, just stood there smiling.

”FINE!” Sam threw his hands up in defeat. ”One side-hug! Like normal people! Like bros do! Just- stop with the puppy eyes!”

Sam awkwardly shuffled closer, giving Adom the most hesitant, rigid side-hug in the history of side-hugs, complete with the mandatory two pats on the back that apparently made it more masculine.

The two-pat side-hug was so perfectly, awkwardly Sam that he had to bite back a laugh. Sixty years, and some things never changed.

He matched the awkward energy, giving his own two pats in return, playing along with the whole ”bros being bros” thing that had seemed so important when they were actually twelve. It was ridiculous and perfect and absolutely everything he needed.

”There. Done. Happy now?” Sam pulled back, adjusting his robes and eyeglasses like they’d been somehow disheveled. ”Can we talk about the fact that you just went full warrior-mage on Damus? Because that feels like the more pressing topic here.”

”Saw it in a book,” Adom said, grinning.

”What book? Because l-” Sam glanced around, suddenly very aware of the dozens of eyes still fixed on them. He hunched his shoulders slightly, that familiar nervous tic Adom had almost forgotten about.

”Hey, uh, maybe we should go to the library? Or the dining hall? You know, somewhere less...” Sam gestured vaguely at their audience.

”Wait.” Adom’s eyes lit up. ”Is Xerkes still doing that tomato soup?”

”Are you serious right now?” Sam’s jaw dropped. ”Xerkes’ tomato soup? The soup that literally has whole tomatoes floating in it? The one that made people actually cry? That soup?”

”That’s the one.”

”The soup that started a petition to ban it last term? The one they say violates at least three cooking regulations? The one that-”

”Yes, Sam. That soup. The awful one. I want some.”

”Did that punch scramble your brain? Because I distinctly remember you saying it tasted like ’someone boiled old boots in tomato juice and then forgot about it for a week.’”

Adom was already walking. Maybe his palate had changed after sixty years. Or maybe he just missed how horrifically bad it was. Sometimes you don’t appreciate truly terrible things until they’re gone.

”Are you coming?” he called back to Sam. ”I want to see your face when I actually enjoy it.”

”This is definitely brain damage,” Sam muttered, hurrying to catch up. ”We’re going to need to get you checked out. Right after you explain about that book. And the fighting. And why you’re suddenly craving food crimes.”

*****

”Urgh.” Adom’s face scrunched up as he swallowed.

”See? SEE? I told you!” Sam was practically bouncing in his seat. ”What did you think was going to happen?”

Apparently, sixty years hadn’t changed his palate at all. If anything, the soup was worse than he remembered - chunks of barely-cooked tomatoes floating in what tasted like hot water someone had waved a tomato at. From a distance.

No salt. No pepper.

”Ah, that feels nostalgic.” He took another spoonful.

Sam stopped mid-rant, staring at him. ”Are you... are you actually eating more?”

The dining hall of Xerkes brought back memories. Just like before, it had a glass dome ceiling. Blue fire orbs floated near the top, mixing with the daylight. Round tables were spread across three levels, connected by staircases and floating platforms. Plants grew everywhere - on the walls, in hanging baskets - and some of them would steal food when students weren’t looking.

”By the way, where are your eyeglasses?”

Adom blinked.

Ah. That explained why everything had been slightly blurry.

In his time, they had developed a complex artifice-enhanced spell for vision correction - it had taken decades to perfect the layered runes and enchantments needed to handle different types of vision problems. But that was still twenty years away from being created, and another five again from being perfected.

Now, he’d have to make do with regular eyeglasses. ”Must have lost them during the thing with Damus this morning. I’ll check the found objects later.”

”Speaking of Damus...” Sam leaned forward. ”What was that all about? Seriously?”

”Sam.” Adom set down his spoon. ”Starting today, we’re going to fight back.”

”We?”

”Yes, we.” Adom grinned. ”You wanted to know about those spells, right?”

”Uh, yeah?”

”An adventurer mage taught them to me. I’ve been practicing in secret.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. ”What? Who? What other spells did you learn? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

”She made me promise not to tell anyone.” Adom’s smile turned mysterious. ”But... she had floating white hair and galaxies in her eyes.”

Sam stared at him for a long moment. ”Why are you doing this?”

”Doing what?”

”Bullshitting me.”

”I’m not though.”

”Right. You’re saying you talked to a girl? You?”

Adom froze for a second. He’d expected Sam to not believe him anyway, but not the reason of his disbelief.

”Wait,” he said, ”that’s the only thing you retained from what I said? I told you she had white hair and literal galaxies in her eyes. Galaxies, Sam.”

”But she was a girl? Pshh, right.” Sam’s face couldn’t have been more serious if he tried.

Right. That’s who they had been - two awkward, bookish nerds who could barely string two words together when a girl walked by. God, this was embarrassing. He’d somehow forgotten that part of his past self.

Adom laughed.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

”Excuse me?” A hesitant voice interrupted them. ”Are you going to finish that?”

Adom turned to find a round-faced boy hovering by their table, his black robes bearing a single red line on the shoulder - a first year. Blonde hair fell into clear brown eyes, and his cheeks were slightly flushed, either from the stairs or from gathering the courage to approach upper-years.

Something about the boy’s jovial expression tugged at Adom’s memory. Do I know this guy?

”The soup,” the boy clarified, pointing at Adom’s bowl. ”If you’re not going to...”

”Please, save me from myself.” Adom pushed the bowl toward him. ”I’m Adom, by the way. This is Sam.”

”Leo!” The boy plopped down beside them, already reaching for the spoon. ”I saw what you did earlier, with that barrier spell. That was incredible! Was that really a multilayered weave? We’ve only just started learning basic patterns in Professor Kern’s class - you know, ’straight lines for Push and Pull, direction matters more than force.’” He mimicked their professor’s droning voice perfectly.

Sam snorted. ”Oh man, Kern’s still using that line? When we were first-years, he made us recite it before every practical session. ’Direction before force, focus before flow.’”

”It was a multilayered spell,” Adom cut in, watching Leo attack the soup with surprising enthusiasm. ”Double hexagonal pattern with flow variation.”

Leo’s eyes went wide, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. ”But that’s third-year material! Are you taking special classes as a second year?”

”That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Sam said, grinning at Leo. ”Our mysterious prodigy here won’t tell me where he learned it. Says a warrior-mage taught him during summer break.”

”Really? Could you teach me?” Leo blurted out. ”I mean, not the advanced stuff, obviously, but maybe some tips? The professors keep saying visualization is key, but honestly, I’m still struggling with keeping my line straight for Push spells.”

A glob of soup dripped from his forgotten spoon, and a vine darted down to catch it before it could hit the table.

”Where are you at in Fundamentals right now?” Adom asked. ”Still working on basic Push?”

”Yeah. We just finished the first chapter in Kaveth’s Primer. ’Forces and Control.’” Leo grimaced. ”We’re supposed to master pushing at different strengths before moving to Pull spells next week.”

Sam perked up. ”Ah, the control exercises? Learning to push a feather without sending it flying across the room?”

”Exactly,” Leo sighed. ”I either barely move it or blast it away. Can’t seem to find the middle ground.”

”The grimoire’s focusing phrase helped me with that one,” Sam offered. ”’Gentle as a summer breeze, steady as a river’s flow.’ Really helps calibrate the force. I still use it sometimes when I need extra precision.”

”You don’t have to use the words,” Adom added, noting Leo’s surprised look. ”It’s all in the head, but they’re in the grimoire for a reason. Same with the hand movements - they’re training wheels, helping you build the right mental pathways. Once those are solid, you can weave with pure intent.”

”Like Professor Kern’s demonstration last week?” Leo asked eagerly. ”He moved like five different objects at different speeds, all at once!”

”Exactly.” Adom drew another line, letting mana particles dance visibly along it. ”But before you get there, you need to master the basic forms. Have you been doing your daily weaving exercises?”

Leo shifted uncomfortably. ”Well...”

”They seem pointless, right?” Sam grinned. ”Just tracing lines in the air over and over, practicing different pressures. But trust me, they work. My fine control was terrible until I actually committed to doing them properly.”

”Want to try pushing something light now?” Sam continued. ”We can walk you through it. Right, Adom?”

”Well...” Adom considered for a moment. ”Every spell has its own geometric pattern. The simpler the pattern, the easier the spell. As you know, Push and Pull are the most basic - just straight lines. That’s why they teach them first.”

”The trick is,” Adom continued, ”mana particles want to follow certain paths. They’re like... you know when sunlight hits dust motes?” Leo nodded. ”Imagine those dust motes actually wanting to form shapes. The straight line is just the simplest shape they can make.”

Sam leaned forward. ”I’ve never heard it explained quite like that.”

”Right. So when you’re struggling with your Push spell, you’re probably trying to force the mana. Don’t. Just...” Adom drew another line, slower this time, and Leo gasped as tiny motes of light followed his finger’s path. ”Show it where to go. The particles will do the rest.”

”Want to try a basic Pull spell?” Adom asked.

Leo straightened up, nearly knocking over his spoon. ”Right now?”

”Why not? Just remember - don’t force it. Visualize the line, feel the mana, and...” Adom gestured encouragingly.

”Here,” Sam leaned forward, ”the trick that helped me in first year was thinking about what you want to happen. Don’t focus on the mana yet - just think about what you want. Intent.”

Leo raised his hand, face scrunched in concentration as he attempted to Pull the soup bowl. His fingers twitched, but the bowl didn’t move.

”Your line’s wobbling,” Adom said gently. ”Try this - close your eyes.”

Leo did.

”Now, open your palm,” Sam added, ”and think about reaching for that bowl. Just... feel the distance between you and it.”

”Oh, I’m starting to get it.”

”Good,” Adom said. ”Now visualize the path to it. A perfectly straight line, like a string connecting your palm to the bowl.”

”I... I think I see it,” Leo whispered, eyes still closed.

”Perfect. The mana particles will want to follow that line,” Adom explained. ”Now, keeping that image in mind, make a smooth, straight movement with your hand - like you’re pulling on that string.”

Leo took a deep breath and drew his hand back in a clean, straight motion. The bowl slid smoothly across the table toward him, stopping right at his fingertips. His eyes flew open in delight.

”I did it!” He beamed at them both. ”I really did it!”

”Nice work,” Sam grinned. ”Clean movement, clear intent - that’s exactly how it should look.”

”And I said this before, but with practice,” Adom added, ”you won’t even need the hand movements anymore. The mana will respond to your intent alone. That’s how more experienced mages can weave without gesturing - but for now, the movements help train your mind to direct the mana properly.”

”Leo!” A voice called from across the hall. ”We’re going to be late for Fundamentals!”

”Coming!” Leo scrambled up, somehow having already finished most of the soup. ”Thanks for this! And, um, if you ever have time to help a first-year...” He let the sentence hang hopefully.

”We’ll see,” Adom said, finding himself smiling at the boy’s earnest enthusiasm.

”Thank you!” He shouted one last time to them, before disappearing in the sea of students.

Sam sat back with a satisfied smile. ”You know, I always wanted to be that cool senior who helps the little ones. Guess we’re doing it already.”

”We’re second-years,” Adom pointed out, amused.

”Details, details.” Sam took a spoonful of his soup and grimaced. ”Ugh, it’s gone cold.” He traced a quick square pattern in the air, and a warm glow settled over the bowl. ”Besides, remember how lost we were last year? Would’ve killed for some friendly advice beyond ’direction before force, focus before flow.’” He affected Professor Kern’s monotonous drawl again.

Then, with a gasp, Sam’s spoon suddenly froze halfway to his mouth, his shoulders tensing visibly. He stared intently at his soup as if it held the secrets of the universe. Something about his friend’s deer-in-spellfire expression triggered an inexplicable surge of anxiety in Adom’s gut. He fought it down, irritated at his body’s betrayal.

”What–” Adom started to turn.

”Don’t,” Sam squeaked. A blush crept up his neck. ”It’s... it’s Mia Storm.”

”Hello, boys.”

Sam managed a slight nod, his eyes still fixed downward. His mouth opened briefly as if to speak, but nothing came out.

Around them, Adom noticed the familiar signs - a boy nearly spilling his drink while pretending to read, another one trailing off mid-sentence, several others suddenly finding reasons to fix their hair or straighten their uniforms.

Oh. Right. Her.

Silver curls, bright eyes, that little smile that suggested she knew something amusing about the world. The girl who would grow up to become the youngest Chief Alchemist in imperial history.

The girl he’d spent three years pining after like a particularly pathetic puppy.

Looking at her now was like looking at a photograph of someone’s kid sister. Had he really written poetry about those eyes? Actually sat in Advanced Thaumaturgy composing internal sonnets about the way she held her quill?

The human brain was a fascinating and terrible thing.

”Oh, hello Mia. How’re you doing?” Adom said. Still impressed at how young she looked. In another timeline, this little one would become the youngest chief alchemist in history, only to fall during the catastrophic Dungeon Break of Valanya. He was 26 at the time when he heard the news.

Sam let out an audible gasp, making both Adom and Mia turn to look at him.

”Is he okay?” she asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

”He’s practicing to be a mime,” Adom said automatically, his mouth running on autopilot while his brain tried to sort out which memories belonged to when. ”Very method.”

The corner of Mia’s mouth twitched. ”Actually, Adom, I was looking for you.”

That was new.

Their most meaningful interaction had been when she’d sneezed and he’d dropped his entire lunch tray. He didn’t even know she knew his name back then.

”Found me.”

”Your glasses.” She pulled them from her bag. ”From the duel? You left them behind when Damus, um...” She made a vague exploding gesture.

”Thank you,” Adom smiled, taking them back. ”You spared me a trip to the lost objects office.”

”My pleasure,” Mia said, then added with a slight tilt of her head, ”It’s actually the first time I’ve seen you without them. It suits you pretty well.”

Sam gasped again, louder this time.

Adom sighed, shooting his friend a look before turning back to Mia. ”Thank you. I–”

”Mia!” One of her friends called from across the cafeteria. ”We’ve got five minutes!”

”Oh, right - I have Healing next,” she said, then paused. ”Aren’t you in that class too?”

Adom opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. Was he? The class schedules blurred together - this was so long ago he couldn’t remember. ”Different section,” he said finally, hoping he wasn’t lying.

”Ah, that explains why I haven’t seen you there.” She adjusted her bag. ”I should go. Talk later?”

”Yeah, bye,” Adom replied casually.

As Mia walked away, Adom turned back to find Sam staring at him with an expression that could only be described as religious awe. A fresh wave of remembered anxiety washed over him - that old, familiar feeling from his first time through adolescence. The boy’s palms were actually sweating. Seriously?

This problem would need to be addressed.

”You okay there?” Adom asked, trying not to smile.

Sam’s response was muffled by the table. ”How do you just... talk? Like that? To her?”

This too was strange.

Sam just felt like Sam. The age gap that should have been there, the distance an accomplished adult should feel from a kid’s concerns and friendships and problems—none of it existed.

Sitting here felt exactly like sitting with his best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

”Sam. She is a normal person,” Adom said.

Sam looked like this answer had personally offended him. ”She’s Mia Storm.”

”She’s also twelve.”

”Thirteen, actually. Her birthday was two months ago. 5th of Govin. It’s-” Sam stopped as he realized what he’d just admitted and turned red.

They stared at each other.

Damn. We used to be weird.

”Stop judging me,” Sam muttered.

”I’m not judging.”

”You’re making a face.”

”This is my normal face.”

”Aaaah...” Sam buried his head in his hands. ”I need to fix this.”

Yeah, Adom thought, this would definitely need fixing too.