Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor-Chapter 19. (Trying To) Move On

"Is he breathing properly?"

"I think he is."

"Damn. He looks better without his glasses."

"I think so too."

"Shh, he needs some rest, guys."

"Poor thing must be exhausted."

"Did anyone tell Headmaster Meris?"

"Sam's handling that."

"Has he moved at all since they brought him in?"

"Just mumbling sometimes. Something about a labyrinth."

"And leprechauns."

"I think he cursed death for some reason."

"Fever dreams, probably."

"Let him rest. Come on, let's give him some space."

"Someone should stay though."

"I'll take first watch."

"Wake me for second."

The door opened.

"Out! All of you muscle-brains, OUT!" Miss Thornheart's voice cut through the room like a thunder spell. "The boy needs rest, not an audience! He has severe fatigue, not a performance slot!"

"But Miss," Diana's voice cracked with emotion, "he felt so weak that he went hunting just to prove to us he was strong. How admirable..."

That's not what happened at all, Adom thought, maintaining his perfectly crafted fake sleep-breathing rhythm.

"I know, right?" Hugo's glasses clinked as he nodded. "Pushing himself so hard... reminds me of when I first started. Remember when I tried to lift that enchanted boulder?"

"The determination..." Phil whispered reverently.

"The spirit..." Harry added.

"The complete disregard for personal safety..." Petra finished.

Adom fought the urge to frown. They'd constructed an entire narrative in their heads and were now fully committed to it.

Miss Thornheart let out a long-suffering sigh. "You can all admire his supposed heroics when he's discharged. Now, out!"

"Yes, Miss Thornheart..." they chorused, shuffling towards the door.

"Thank you for taking care of him," Hugo said earnestly.

The club members shuffled out, murmuring promises to return with potions and fruits.

Adom cracked one eye open slightly - and immediately regretted it. Biscuit, Miss Thornheart's perpetually excited Sunhound, was staring right at him, tail beginning to wag. He snapped his eye shut, but could feel the dog's breath getting closer.

Don't bark. Don't bark. Don't bark.

"Biscuit. Come here, you silly thing," Miss Thornheart called.

The padding of paws moved away, and Adom heard the infirmary door finally close.

Miss Thornheart's long-suffering sigh followed them out.

After they left, Adom heard her mutter, "Biscuit, you almost gave him away." A pause. "And you, young man, can stop pretending to sleep now."

Biscuit's tail thumped against the floor in agreement.

Adom groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry about that, Miss Thornheart."

"Well," she said, adjusting a potion bottle on the bedside table, "I suppose playing dead was easier than explaining to that lot that you weren't actually wrestling bears in the forest to prove your worth."

Biscuit waddled over and plopped his head on Adom's lap, drool already forming a small puddle on the white sheets.

"They're good kids," Adom sighed, absently scratching behind the dog's ears. "They just have a... unique way of showing it. I think."

"Unique is one word for it," Miss Thornheart snorted. "Last month they tried to sneak in an entire weight rack because one of their members had a cold. Said something about 'gains waiting for no virus.'"

"I can only imagine," Adom muttered, stroking Biscuit.

"Indeed," Miss Thornheart said, measuring out a green liquid into a small cup. "Though I must say, you're an... unexpected addition to their little family."

Biscuit shifted his weight, making the bed creak as he tried to climb further onto Adom's lap, despite being far too large for such an endeavor.

"Biscuit, manners," Miss Thornheart scolded. "Here, drink this. It'll help with the fatigue."

Adom accepted the cup, eyeing the viscous liquid dubiously. "What is it?"

"Nothing as exciting as whatever heroic quest your club members have invented for you," she replied dryly. "Just a simple restorative. Though I'm sure they'd prefer to believe it's distilled Troll blood or something equally dramatic."

"Don't even joke about that," Adom muttered under his breath, then quickly downed the potion.

The potion tasted like chocolate-flavored mud with an undertone of something oddly spicy - not entirely unpleasant, but definitely medicinal.

"Anyway," Miss Thornheart said as he drank, watching him with sharp eyes, "what exactly did you get yourself into? There's no beast on this island capable of doing... this," she gestured at his general state of exhaustion, "to a second year of this school."

Adom finished the last drop, suppressing a shiver as warmth spread through his limbs. "I wasn't careful enough. Went there already tired."

Miss Thornheart retrieved the cup, her hand lingering in the air for a moment. "So... it really was hunting?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you sure?"

Adom gave her his most genuine smile, the one that usually worked on most teachers. "One hundred percent."

"Hmm." The word hung in the air like a particularly stubborn cloud. She tucked the cup away in her apron pocket with deliberate slowness, her expression suggesting she'd rather believe Biscuit had suddenly developed the ability to do advanced arithmetic.

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"Well then," she said finally, straightening her apron with practiced precision, "you'll be excused from classes for the next few days. Hunting hazards are, after all, among our valid absence reasons."

"Thank you, Miss Thornheart."

"Just..." she paused at the door, Biscuit reluctantly trailing after her, "do try to be more careful with your... hunting next time."

"Woof!"

"Goodbye, Biscuit!" Adom waved.

Once alone, he let out a deep sigh and sank back into the infirmary bed. The events of the past day played through his mind like a poorly rehearsed theater performance. Two hours of walking back to Xerkes, his legs feeling heavier with each step, the buildings of the city finally appearing like a mirage in the distance.

Then... nothing. Just the vague memory of stones rushing up to meet him, and concerned voices floating around his head.

They'd sent word to his parents - well, to his mother, at least. Father was probably halfway across the empire by now, doing whatever it was that Imperial Knights did when they disappeared for months at a time. He remebered he had a mission at the Twin Peaks at this time. Mother, though... she'd probably come from Kati, no doubt about it.

Trust him to finally get a visit from her by practically collapsing in the middle of the street.

A wry smile crossed his face as he stared at the infirmary ceiling. Communication crystals. That would be his next project - assuming he could figure out how to extend their range beyond the current pathetic distance.

It was almost funny how such a basic concept hadn't been properly developed yet. Sure, there were some prototypes floating around, but they were about as reliable as trying to train a cat to deliver messages.

Adom lazily opened his status window, the familiar blue interface materializing before his eyes:

[Name: Adom Sylla]

[Level 6]

[Race: Human]

[Class: Mage]

[Mana Pool: 197/600]

[Life Force: 134/225]

[Active Skills] (3/10)

[Mana Manipulation] (Magic) Lvl 408

[Boxing Mastery] (Common) Lvl 1

[Fluid Control] (Uncommon) Lvl 1

[Passive Skills] (3/10)

[Indomitable Will] (Transcendent) Lvl 1

[White Wyrm's Body] (Rare) Lvl 2

[Spiteful Fighting Spirit] (Rare) Lvl 1

[Unique Skills]

[Identify]

[Merged Skills] (0/10)

[Physical Condition: Fatigued*]

[Active Quest]

[The Race Against Time]

Find a cure for Lifedrain Syndrome before symptoms manifest

Time Limit: 2 months, 16 days, 10 hours, 37 minutes

Adom glanced at the quest timer in his status window: [2 months, 16 days, 10 hours, 37 minutes]. "Heh." The sound wasn't quite a laugh, wasn't quite a sigh.

He reached into his inventory and pulled out the empty vial. When he uncorked it, he caught a faint but distinct scent - strange and complex, like herbs and something metallic, with an undertone he couldn't quite place. Sweet? No, not exactly. Whatever it was, the smell was barely there, just molecules clinging to the glass.

He held the vial closer to his nose, trying to capture every nuance. Somewhere in those lingering molecules lay the key to its recreation - theoretically. But theory and practice were entirely different beasts, especially in alchemy.

Creating a formula from residual molecules was like trying to rebuild a castle after it had crumbled to dust. You might have all the basic components there, but understanding how they originally fit together was another matter entirely.

The precise timing of each reaction, the exact temperature at each stage, the specific stirring patterns - none of these left their mark on the final product's molecular structure.

Worse still, alchemical processes weren't just about physical and chemical reactions. They involved mana flows and magical catalysts. Those ephemeral aspects left no trace in the remaining molecules, like trying to determine a dancer's choreography by looking at their footprints in the sand.

But Adom found himself smiling anyway. After all, the impossible just meant nobody had done it yet. And he had something most alchemists didn't - a desperate need to succeed.

Wait. Actually, most alchemists had that. It was probably why there were so few mages specialized in the field.

That, and the fact that many of them were notorious criminals. If Adom remembered correctly, 37% of all deviant mages were alchemists. He'd heard of one father who merged his own daughter and dog together, trying to create the perfect chimera. He was executed for his transgression.

But still. Desperation. That was the key word here.

Adom slipped the empty vial back into his inventory. He'd have to speak with Professor Mirwen about this - though explaining why he needed help recreating an Elixir of Rebirth without revealing why would be... interesting. Still, she was probably the best option.

His thoughts drifted to his labyrinth loot.

Among the various items, what really caught his attention was the monocle he'd found near the Sphinx's remains. He pulled it out carefully, turning it over in his hands.

[Riddler's bane]

He held it up to his eye, peering through the pristine lens. For a brief moment, the world seemed to shift, like text overlaying reality, before the magic settled into a gentle hum.

"Knowledge," he muttered. "The Sphinx was all about knowledge."

He studied the monocle thoughtfully. The design was elegant but impractical for regular use. Perhaps he could have it integrated into a proper pair of glasses? That would be far more convenient, and less conspicuous than walking around with a monocle like some noble gentleman.

He carefully wrapped it in a soft cloth before storing it away in the inventory.

Adom stretched as his mind wandered to his more pressing tasks. The golem in his inventory needed studying. Speaking of inventory, he should tweak the ring a bit more. Then there was the book of Law, the mysterious person from the Order. Ah, he also needed to see the Headmaster about Eren's sponsorship, and somehow get closer to Professor Kim without seeming too obvious about it.

Hmm. Maybe he should take a week like he said the last time. These could wait.

Maybe he could-

The infirmary door creaked open, interrupting his thoughts.

"Oh, you're awake!" Sam stood in the doorway, arms full of fruits, his round glasses slightly askew. He pointed at Adom with his elbow, trying not to drop his load.

"Hey Sam," Adom smiled at his friend's familiar awkwardness.

Sam shuffled in, depositing his burden on the bedside table. "The whole school's talking about you again, you know. They're saying all sorts of things."

Adom couldn't help but laugh. "What sort of things?"

"Well," Sam adjusted his glasses, clearly excited to share the gossip, "some say you fought a monster. Others swear it was three monsters. And I heard one first-year claiming you wrestled a bear, but nobody's believing that one, thankfully."

Adom chuckled. If only he knew... "People have active imaginations."

"Oh!" Sam jumped slightly, as if shocked by his own forgetfulness. "I brought you fruits!" He gestured at his earlier delivery - apples, oranges, and what looked like a bunch of purple berries that were probably from the school's greenhouse.

"Thanks, Sam." Adom grabbed an apple, biting into it. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

They ate in silence for a moment before Sam's expression turned serious, his earlier excitement fading. "Hey... are you really planning to become a battle mage instead of a runicologist?"

Adom paused mid-bite. "Been thinking about it. Yeah, probably will."

Sam nodded slowly, picking at a berry. "You've changed so fast lately, I barely had time to adjust." He looked up. "You said you were going to see Mr. Biggins yesterday. I'm assuming he didn't beat you up?"

"Honestly?" Adom let out a dry laugh. "I wish it was that simple."

"Look," Sam set down his fruit, "I respect that you've made your choice and want to stick by it. But there won't be much of a choice left to make if you die trying to do... whatever it is you're trying to do." He met Adom's eyes. "If you want to talk about what's suddenly going on with you - well, I'm your best friend. You can tell me."

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He paused, then furrowed his brow. "Wait. This isn't one of those situations where you think you're your best friend's best friend, but you're not, is it?"

Adom chuckled despite himself. "No, you idiot. You're my best friend too."

"Oh, okay. Just making sure." Sam popped another berry in his mouth, then grimaced at its tartness. "These are not as ripe as they look."

"You know what I could really go for?" Adom sat up straighter. "Some honey cake."

"Hmm, honey cake. I like Homer's."

"Want to come with me tomorrow?"

"Sure, but-" Sam's eyes widened suddenly. "Oh! Speaking of tomorrow - Headmaster Meris wants to see you. Seemed pretty urgent actually. Said if you don't go to him, he'll probably come here."

"Good timing. I needed to see him anyway."

"Yeah?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"There's this kid I want to sponsor."

"Oh?" Sam leaned forward in his chair. "What's so special about him?"

"He's a two-circle mage."

Sam laughed, then grabbed another berry. "No, seriously, what's special about him?"

Adom just looked at him, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Sam's chewing slowed. The smile on his face started to fade as he studied Adom's expression. "Wait." He swallowed. "You're serious?"

"Mhm."

"You're bullshitting me."

"Not even a little bit."

"A two-circle mage."

"Yep."

"A two-circle mage."

"I'll introduce you. You'll see."

Sam threw a berry at him. "You know what? I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore by your lies. Next week you'll probably tell me you found a dragon in the library basement."

"Don't be ridiculous," Adom caught the berry. "Dragons prefer towers."

"I hate you sometimes."

"No, you don't."

"No," Sam sighed, "I really don't. But I'm starting to think I should."

*****

The next day...

The art of making honey cake was, according to Homer, "quite simple, really." A statement that managed to both overstate and understate the complexity of the process simultaneously. Sure, the basic recipe was straightforward enough: flour, eggs, butter, and, of course, honey. Mix them together, add a pinch of this, a dash of that, bake until golden brown, and voilà - honey cake.

Except it wasn't that simple at all.

The secret - and many people didn't know this - lay in the honey itself. Not just any honey would do. No, it had to be honey from bees that fed specifically on the violet-gold blossoms of the Sundarian moonflower. That's a lot of words. These delicate flowers only grew in patches blessed by fairy dust - or rather, the powder that naturally fell from fairy wings during their morning dances.

...Which, when you thought about it, was essentially fairy dandruff.

Okay. Best not to dwell on that particular detail.

The resulting honey had a particular shimmer to it, almost like liquid sunlight, and when baked into the cake, it created something that was less a dessert and more of a religious experience.

Adom lifted a spoonful to his mouth, letting the cake melt on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut, and a small, involuntary "Mmmmm" escaped his lips as he wiggled slightly in his chair.

Bliss.

Sam watched this display with a mixture of amusement and secondhand embarrassment. "I know it's good," he said, shaking his head, "but why do you have to make it weird?"

"Been way too long since I had this." Adom took a sip of his orange-cardamom tea, wiggling again at the taste. "Life is so good sometimes."

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam said dryly, watching his friend's display of pure culinary joy.

"Homer, you've outdone yourself," Adom called out to the rotund man behind the counter, who was humming contentedly while arranging fresh pastries.

"Aww, you're too kind," Homer beamed, his round face flushed with pleasure. He patted his considerable belly. "Quality control is very important in this business, you know."

Sam glanced around the cozy shop, with its worn wooden tables and perpetual smell of baked goods. "Didn't you say Eren would join us?"

"Yeah, left a message with the ravens. If anyone comes asking for him, they'll direct him to the weird stuff store. That's where we're heading after this."

"You're still obsessed with that Mr. Biggins thing, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Adom said, stirring his tea thoughtfully. "Need to check something."

The thing about cryptic messages in magical labyrinths was that they rarely lied. Someone from the Order knew who he was and could help him - that's what he was told. And out of all the people he'd met since coming back, Mr. Biggins stuck out like a sore thumb that had been deliberately painted neon green and decorated with tiny bells.

First, there was the weirdness. Not the normal kind of weirdness that came with being a magical shopkeeper (though there was plenty of that too), but the calculated kind. The kind that felt like a mask worn by someone who knew exactly how weird they were being.

Second, there was the mystery. The way he seemed to know things he shouldn't, say things that made sense only in hindsight. Thinking back, he did tell 'Welcome Back' to Adom, when he went there after coming back.

And third - well, who just hands out high-grade elixirs to students and then conveniently disappears? That wasn't just weird, that was suspicious with a capital 'Sus.'

They finished their desserts, thanking Homer as they left. The baker was already occupied with a fresh batch of doughnuts, humming what sounded suspiciously like a sea shanty while dusting them with sugar.

The bell above the Weird Stuff Store jingled as they approached. The usual crowd of cats lounged on the windowsill - the orange tabby stretching lazily, a new calico giving them an imperious look, though Adom noticed the black one was absent.

"I'm telling you," Sam said as they entered, "you're being dramatic. Mr. Biggins isn't some evil mastermind. He's probably just a weird old man who-"

"Welcome to the-"

Sam's mouth snapped shut so fast you could almost hear his teeth click. He suddenly became very interested in a shelf of color-changing quills that had never caught his attention before.

"Oh hey Emma, how're you doing?"

"Hey Adom!" Emma's bright voice came from behind the counter. "I'm doing good, you?"

"Can't complain. How's the new job treating you?"

While they chatted, Sam continued his bizarre exploration of the store's furthest corners, examining items he'd never glanced at twice before - crystal paperweights, self-sorting bookmarks, and was that... a shelf of enchanted sock puppets?

Best to ignore him.

"You seem more comfortable here now," Adom noted, watching Emma confidently reorganize a display of mood-sensing bookmarks.

"Yeah, it's getting easier," she smiled. "The store's becoming less of a mystery every day. Though..." she lowered her voice, glancing at a particular shelf, "I'm pretty sure the third shelf is haunted. Things keep moving around when I'm not looking, and sometimes I hear whispers..."

"And Mr. Biggins?"

"Still not back." Emma shrugged. "But I think he shouldn't be away any longer."

"Tell me..." Adom leaned against the counter. "Is Silverkeep where he traveled to?"

Emma's forehead wrinkled in thought. "You know, I don't think he ever..." She trailed off, looking past him with a puzzled expression.

Adom frowned and glanced back. Sam was pretending to be deeply fascinated by a collection of singing teacups, though his ears were distinctly pink.

"Is your friend... alright?" Emma asked, trying and failing to hide an awkward smile.

Adom caught himself laughing as realization dawned. Of course. They were still teenagers, weren't they? Well, physically at least. Sam was acting exactly like what he was - a teenage boy trying very hard to look cool (and failing spectacularly) in front of a pretty girl.

Although... Adom had noticed lately that his adult mind seemed to be gaining ground over his teenage body. The mood swings were easier to control, the hormonal impulses more manageable. Which was, quite frankly, a relief. Being almost 80 and getting flustered around a 12-year-old girl would have been... well, let's just say "problematic" would be putting it mildly.

Adom grabbed three frosties. "These too, Emma. One's for Eren."

They thanked her and headed out, Sam practically speed-walking through the door.

"You know," Adom started, while giving treats to the cats, a grin spreading across his face, "for someone who claims to be smooth with-"

"Dude," Sam burst out suddenly, "introduce me. Please."

Adom nearly dropped his frostie. "Hold on. You actually like her?"

"Was that not obvious?"

"Sam," Adom said, in what he realized was definitely his 'old man giving life advice' voice, "if you like a girl, you don't get creepy around them. You either talk to them, or leave. There's no third option where you lurk around pretending to be interested in..." he squinted back through the window, "singing sock puppets."

Sam fell silent, staring at Adom with an increasingly bewildered expression. Then, out of nowhere: "Seriously, what the fuck happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" Adom asked, licking his frostie with exaggerated innocence.

"Don't play dumb." Sam jabbed a finger at him. "Two months ago, you were the one getting weird around girls. Now you're giving dating advice like some... some..."

"Wise old man?"

"I was going to say pretentious know-it-all, but yeah, that too." Sam narrowed his eyes. "It's not just that. You're different. The way you talk, the way you act... Even the way you eat that frostie is different. You used to inhale them. Now you're savoring it like it's some fancy wine."

"People change-" Adom started, but Sam grabbed his shoulder, making him wince. His muscles were still very sore.

"Teach me."

"What?"

"If you've somehow cracked the code on how to not be a complete disaster around girls, teach me. I'm tired of turning into a walking catastrophe every time-"

"Uhh... Adom?"

They both turned around. Eren stood there, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, watching them with careful eyes. He had that way of appearing silently that came from growing up having to be aware of your surroundings at all times.

"Eren! Perfect timing." Adom extracted himself from Sam's grip. "This is Sam, my best friend. Sam, this is Eren."

"Hey there!" Sam's entire demeanor shifted to something warmer, more welcoming. "Adom mentioned you're interested in magic?"

Eren nodded slightly, accepting the frostie Adom handed him with a quiet "thanks." He studied it for a moment before taking a small, cautious bite.

"Sam here," Adom said, "is what we call a berd."

"A what now?" Eren asked, the frostie making his words slightly muffled.

"A book nerd," Sam explained, rolling his eyes. "It's what this idiot calls anyone who actually studies instead of running headfirst into trouble."

"Says the guy who tried to charm his own shoes and ended up stuck to the ceiling for three hours."

"That was ONE time-"

"Or when you tried to enchant your quill to take notes for you and it wrote love poems to your sandwich instead?"

Eren's lips twitched slightly at that one.

"At least I didn't try to use a levitation spell on myself and crash into Mrs. Peterson's prize-winning petunias," Sam shot back.

"That was before-" Adom caught himself. "Anyway, Sam knows more about magical theory than anyone else in our year. He could teach you the foundations while I handle the practical stuff."

"If... if that's okay," Eren added quietly, glancing at Sam.

"Are you kidding? Finally, someone who might actually appreciate proper magical theory!" Sam's enthusiasm was genuine, if a bit overwhelming. "We can start with the basic principles of energy flow, or maybe the way different emotions affect spell shaping, or how to properly visualize the patterns - oh! And the really fascinating bit about how intention shapes magical resonance-"

"Maybe let him finish his frostie first?" Adom suggested, watching Eren's eyes grow wider with each technical term.

"Right, sorry," Sam grinned sheepishly. "I get excited about this stuff. We can start with whatever you're comfortable with."

Eren relaxed slightly, taking another bite of his frostie. "Thanks. I'd... I'd like that."

"Great! Now that that's settled," Sam turned back to Adom, "you still haven't explained how you went from 'crashes into flowers' to 'dispenses ancient wisdom' in three days."

"Ancient wisdom? I just told you not to be creepy!"

"Don't-"

"Whoo.Time flies, kids," Adom cut in, checking the position of the sun. "I've got that thing with Headmaster Merris today, so I need to run."

Eren shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them.

"Hey," Adom said quietly. "Sam's a good guy. You'll be comfortable around him in no time. Besides," he grinned, "I wanted my two favorite nerds to know each other anyway."

"I resent that classification," Sam protested.

"Sure you do," Adom called over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving the two of them with their frosties.

*****

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Headmaster Meris's office was exactly what you'd expect from a senior teacher - mahogany desk, green leather chairs, walls lined with bookshelves, and that perpetually ticking clock that seemed determined to make awkward silences even more awkward.

Tick. Tock.

Twenty minutes. Just the clock and two students, one fuming, one trying not to smile.

The morning sun filtered through tall windows, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. Perfect weather for a lecture about proper conduct and the importance of maintaining dignity within academy grounds.

Adom glanced sideways at Damus, who sat with his arms crossed, jaw working like he was chewing on particularly bitter words. It was strange, seeing him like this. As kids, they'd been inseparable. Running through the Lightbringer castle grounds, sharing lunch, planning adventures...

Come to think of it, Adom had never really had the opportunity to talk to Damus much ever since he returned.

Well, if they were going to sit here anyway...

"Sooo," Adom drawled, "that fist technique of yours. Pretty solid."

Damus's jaw clenched. "Don't talk to me."

Teenagers. Ugh.

"You know," Adom continued quietly, now watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight, "we never really talked about it. How you just... changed one day. Started pushing me around. What happened there, Damus?"

The silence stretched. Damus's jaw worked, but no words came out.

"No?" Adom nodded slowly. "Alright. Then let me tell you what I think, and we can be done with this."

He turned in his chair, facing Damus properly. "You disappointed me. Not because you stopped being my friend - people grow apart, it happens. But because you turned into exactly the kind of person we used to make fun of. Remember Lord Carston's kid? The one who used to push around the servants?"

Damus's fingers dug into the armrests.

"But you know what?" Adom continued, his voice dropping lower. "Your reasons don't really matter anymore. What matters is this: the next time you try something like last time? I'll break your jaw." He was relaxed now, almost casual. "That scared kid who let you do whatever you wanted is gone. And he's not coming back."

"Is that a threat?" Damus's voice came out hoarse.

"I like to think of it as a promise." Adom stretched his legs out. "Leave me alone, Damus. Find someone else to torment. Because this?" He gestured between them. "This is over."

The clock kept ticking. Outside, students walked past the window, their shadows briefly darkening the room.

"How..." Damus finally spoke, his voice uncertain. "How did you change like this?"

"People change," Adom said simply. That was the perfect excuse for a regressor, really. "Especially when you bully them every time you're bored." He smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. "Funny how that works, isn't it?"

The thing about childhood trauma is how it lingers, seeping into the cracks of your adult life when you least expect it.

In Adom's first life, this moment - this conversation - never happened. The resentment festered, quiet and constant, even decades later when they both wore different titles. Damus, the legendary Sword Saint, defender of the realm. Adom, the brilliant but sickly magical researcher.

Two successful men who could never quite look each other in the eye at state functions.

Funny how time changes perspective. Seventy-nine years of life had taught Adom that sometimes closure doesn't come with grand gestures or dramatic confrontations. Sometimes it's just sitting in an office with morning sunlight streaming through the windows, finally saying the words you should have said decades ago.

The weight of it all - the humiliation, the anger, the betrayal - seemed lighter now, dissolving like those dust motes dancing in the air.

It wouldn't fix everything, of course. Damus would still be Damus, and old habits die hard. But the rules had changed, and they both knew it. No more cornering in empty corridors, no more casual cruelty disguised as noble privilege. Just two people who used to be friends, now carefully maintaining their distance.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Headmaster Meris's boots clicked against the wooden floor. Time to face the music about proper conduct and maintaining dignity within academy grounds. Adom almost wanted to laugh - he'd already had his most dignified moment of the day.

"Adom, my boy! And young Damus!" The voice was warm and scratchy, like well-worn leather. Both boys rose automatically.

Headmaster Meris was barely visible behind the stack of scrolls he was carrying, his wild gray hair sticking out at odd angles around the parchments. He bumped into his desk twice before managing to deposit his load, sending a cascade of loose papers floating to the ground.

He ignored them completely, instead attempting to scale his oversized chair. His first try ended with him sliding back down, his feet dangling for a moment.

"Ha! They really make these chairs too tall these days," he said, adjusting his vest with dignified nonchalance. "Must be all those giants joining the faculty."

Adom and Damus exchanged a quick glance, their mutual discomfort momentarily overshadowed by the shared experience of watching their respected mentor struggle with furniture. Their polite smiles weren't entirely fake.

On his second attempt, the Headmaster managed to scramble up, though several more papers went flying in the process. He settled into place, his feet nowhere near touching the ground, and finally Adom could properly see him.

Headmaster Meris looked exactly as he always did - like someone had taken a brilliant researcher and shrunk him in the wash. His beard was as unruly as his hair, both shot through with gray that seemed to have appeared overnight sometime in the past decade.

His eyes, though, were sharp and clear behind his round spectacles, carrying that particular gleam that appeared whenever he was working through a particularly fascinating problem.

Adom felt the familiar surge of admiration he'd had since his fourth year, when he'd first started studying under the man who'd revolutionized modern runecology. The Headmaster's office walls were covered in awards and commendations, most of them gathering dust while their owner focused on his latest research instead.

Headmaster Meris gestured at the chairs in front of his desk, his silver rings catching the light. "Sit down, sit down, my boys. We have quite a bit to discuss."

The Headmaster tapped his fingers on the desk, a rhythmic pattern that Adom recognized from countless research sessions. It always meant the Headmaster was organizing his thoughts.

"Thank you, sir," Adom said, settling into his chair. Damus followed suit, his movements stiff.

"Now then," Meris began, leaning forward slightly, "I heard some rather interesting news a few days ago. Something about two of our brightest students deciding to redecorate the west wing with spells and blood." His tone was light, but his eyes were keenly focused on both of them. "Would either of you care to elaborate?"

"That's correct, Professor," Adom said. Damus remained silent, his jaw clenched.

"I see." Meris stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You know, when I was appointed to oversee this academy's matters, I made a promise to myself. I told myself I would never be the kind of administrator who sees students as problems to be solved." He picked up a crystal paperweight, turning it in his hands. "But I find myself quite concerned when two young men with your potential resort to throwing spells in the hallways."

He set the paperweight down with a gentle click. "The rules about dueling aren't arbitrary, my boys. They exist because every year, some brilliant young mage thinks they can control more power than they're ready for. And every year, we have to explain to parents why their child is in the infirmary."

Adom felt heat rise to his face. Was there a need to talk about the bullying? He wondered. Beside him, Damus shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Meris asked, looking at them both in turn.

"Yes, sir," they mumbled in unison.

"Excellent!" Meris clapped his hands together, his whole face lighting up with a smile that made Adom's stomach drop. "Then you'll be happy to know I've arranged for you both to spend some quality time together."

Both boys' heads snapped up.

"Oh come now," Meris laughed. "Did you think this would end with a simple scolding? No, no, my boys. I believe in practical solutions." He rubbed his hands together, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "And I have just the thing in mind."

Adom was curious. Uneasy, but perplexed.

"I see you've joined quite an interesting club, Adom my boy."

Adom slumped in his chair. "...oh no."

"What?" Damus turned to look at him, confusion clear on his face.

"Now, now, don't make such faces," Meris chuckled, bouncing slightly in his oversized chair. "And young Damus, you're not in any clubs yet, are you?"

"No, sir," Damus straightened his spine. "I've been focusing on my swordsmanship."

"A noble pursuit indeed!" Meris stroked his beard. "Though, as you know, the Swordsmanship club doesn't accept second-years..." His grin widened. "Which is why I thought you might join young Adom in his club."

"Professor, with all due respect," Damus said stiffly, "I'm not interested in spending my time with books-"

"Oh!" Meris's eyes lit up. "But who said anything about books?" He turned toward the door. "Hugo, my boy! You can come in now!"

The door opened, and Adom felt his stomach drop as Hugo ducked to fit his massive frame through the doorway. The sixth-year adjusted his glasses, his muscles rippling under his uniform as he moved.

"Young Damus," Professor Meris gestured grandly, nearly falling off his chair in the process, "meet Hugo, president of the Combat Athletics Club. I believe you two will have quite a lot to discuss."

Adom stared blankly at the wall behind Professor Meris's head. Next to him, Damus's knuckles went white against the armrests of his chair.

Hugo's broad smile did nothing to ease the tension. Damus protested, of course - vehemently. But Headmaster Meris had that particular gleam in his eyes that meant his mind was made up, and no amount of "but sir" or "my father will hear about this" would change it.

Adom found himself fighting back a smile. He hated the the idea but watching Damus squirm made it almost worthwhile. It was petty, really, and probably proved his immature side was still very much alive and kicking. Unfortunately.

After a few more minutes of Hugo explaining the club's schedule and Damus looking increasingly horrified, Meris finally started wrapping things up.

"Actually, sir," Adom said, just as they were about to leave. "There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Damus's head snapped toward him, eyes wide with what looked suspiciously like fear. Probably thinking Adom was about to report the bullying.

"Privately, if possible."

"Of course, my boy," Meris nodded. "Hugo, young Damus, if you wouldn't mind..."

Once the door closed behind them, Meris settled back in his chair. "Now then, what's troubling you? And speaking of troubles - where are your eyeglasses? I heard you got into quite a situation during that hunting expedition..."

"Just a small mistake," Adom waved it off. "Won't happen again."

"I should hope not." Meris leaned forward, fingers steepled. "What's on your mind?"

Adom took a deep breath. "It's about a boy I'd like to sponsor."

The Headmaster's eyebrows rose, disappearing into his wild gray hair.