Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

”Opre!” someone called from the bow. ”More speed!”

The winter winds grew stronger.

The Veyshari boats had left Arkhos four hours ago, the city’s lights now just a dim glow on the horizon. Morgana sat at the stern, watching the moonlight play on the dark, cold waters. She’d been waiting for this moment, when the crew would be busy with their tasks and the other passengers settled in for the night.

She looked at her hands again - a habit she couldn’t shake. Every morning she’d wake up checking, a lingering fear from those years trapped in feline form. But there they were, five fingers on each hand, skin instead of fur. Human. Still human.

The package from the boys sat in her lap, its blue paper catching the silvery light. She’d promised to open it at midnight, and the moon told her it was time.

Morgana smiled, thinking of them. Sam, with his awkward stuttering and endless books. Adom, with that strange intensity in his eyes, like he was carrying the weight of something far bigger than himself. She hadn’t expected to grow so attached.

Her fingers traced the silver ribbon. As a cat, she’d sensed something different about Adom from the start.

An aura, a kind of energy that drew her to him despite her usual wariness of humans. She’d followed him for days, watching from rooftops and alleyways, trying to understand what made him different. Even through the clouded consciousness of her cursed form, something about him had felt... right.

How strange, she thought now, that of all the children in Arkhos, in the world, she’d been drawn to Arthur Sylla’s son. The world truly was small.

The paper fell away easily, revealing a small wooden box with intricate carvings. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay a necklace - gold and silver intertwined in delicate patterns. At first glance, it looked like a beautiful piece of jewelry, but as she turned it in the moonlight, she noticed the runes etched along its length. Subtle, almost hidden in the design, but definitely magical in nature.

A note fell from the wrapping:

”Merry Yule! Since you’re gonna be travelling the world, we thought a little protection artifact would be necessary. Write us often!

- Adom and Sam.

Morgana laughed, the sound carrying across the water. Those boys... they’d somehow known exactly what she needed. She clasped the necklace around her neck, its weight comfortable and reassuring.

”Why you not tell them truth?”

The voice made Morgana turn. Mirela stood in the shadows, her shawl pulled tight against the winter wind. The young sorceress moved closer, her bangles tinkling softly with each step.

”They are children,” Morgana said simply, her fingers still touching the necklace.

”Children who have magic.” Mirela settled beside her, dark eyes reflecting the moonlight. ”Children who might help.”

Morgana shook her head, watching a wave catch the light. ”They couldn’t have done anything. Not with this.”

”Then why not tell his Dadroy?”

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”His what?” Morgana frowned.

”Ah, how you say...” Mirela gestured vaguely. ”The one who brings child to world. Man who raise child.”

”Oh. Father. You mean father.” Morgana shook her head with a small laugh. ”My Veyshari has gotten quite rusty after so long.”

”Yes, father. Arthur.” Mirela’s eyes fixed on her. ”Strong man. I see him. He have power.”

A bitter smile crossed Morgana’s face. ”That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell him.” She looked down at her hands again, human hands that still felt strange sometimes. ”He would have recognized me. And then...” She trailed off, letting the sound of waves fill the silence.

”More trouble than worth?” Mirela suggested.

”Something like that.” Morgana closed her eyes, feeling the gentle rock of the boat. ”I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

The sorceress was quiet for a long moment, then reached out and touched the necklace. ”Pretty thing. Boys care for you.”

”Yes,” Morgana whispered, her throat suddenly tight. ”They do.”

”You could stay,” Mirela said softly. ”With clan. We take care of our own.”

Morgana watched a cloud pass over the moon, casting the deck in deeper shadow. ”You saw my life when you broke the curse. You know I can’t.”

”Yes.” Mirela pulled her shawl tighter. ”I see why you leave. But still, I offer.”

The waves lapped against the hull, a steady rhythm in the quiet night. Morgana’s fingers traced the runes on her necklace - it felt strange wearing jewelry again. The weight of it, the cool metal against her skin. Once, she’d worn rings and pendants without a thought, playing with her mother’s pearls while servants dressed her hair. If someone had told that little girl she’d spend the next decade eating scraps and sleeping in alleys...

Her hand clenched around the necklace. That life felt like a dream now. But the anger... the anger was real enough.

”I am going to kill him.”

Morgana felt Mirela’s eyes on her, that steady, unsettling gaze the sorceress had. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the waves and the distant voices of the crew. She wondered how she must sound to the Veyshari woman - speaking so easily of murder.

Finally, Mirela spoke, her voice low like she was sharing a secret. ”In our stories, there is man who kill his brother. He want brother’s woman, brother’s gold.” She pulled her shawl closer, the winds blowing stronger. ”He succeed. Nobody know what he do.”

The sorceress leaned back, eyes distant. ”But blood... blood have memory. It cry out to great god. And great god...” She paused, glancing at the dark waters. ”Great god always answer.”

Morgana looked at her. ”...And?”

”He curse man.” Mirela said. ”Make him walk paths of hell, always seeing brother’s face in dreams. Man try to run, try to hide. But curse follow. His children born dead. His crops die. His hands...” She stretched out her own hands in demonstration. ”His hands only bring suffering now.”

A gust of cold wind swept across the deck. Mirela turned to face Morgana directly. ”To spill own blood is greatest sin. Once you start on this path...” She shook her head slowly. ”You not stop until death take you. This is way of things.”

”If your story was true,” Morgana said quietly, ”then the Emperor would have suffered for killing his brother. My father.” Her voice grew harder. ”And yet there he sits, growing fat on his throne while—”

”You blind.” Mirela stood. looking down. ”You think Emperor not cursed? Look at him. He kill own blood, and now he trust no one. Sleep with guards, fear poison in every cup. His son grow cruel like snake. His empire crack like old pottery.” She adjusted her shawl. ”But you want walk same path? Is your choice.”

The sorceress turned away, her steps soft on the wooden deck. Just before disappearing into the shadows, she paused. ”Remember. Curse already working on him. Question is - you want same curse for yourself?”

Then she was gone.

Morgana watched the waves a while longer, her fingers still tracing the runes on her necklace. Blood for blood. Curse for curse. That was all there was to it, in the end.

A particularly large wave crashed against the hull, spraying her with cold droplets. Morgana didn’t wipe them away. Let the water soak her clothes, let the wind chill her bones. She’d known worse. Much worse.

In the days since becoming human again, she’d seen what her uncle’s rule had done to the land. The brutality of Kalyon’s soldiers in the streets. The disappearances. The fear in people’s eyes whenever the Imperial Guard passed by. The same cruelty that had stolen her father’s life had spread through the Empire like a disease, touching everything.

This wasn’t about revenge.

It was about setting things right. Her uncle’s death wouldn’t just be justice for her father - it would be justice for every person who’d suffered under his rule.

But first, she needed power. Real power. The kind that could challenge an emperor.

And she was going to get it.