Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor-Chapter 26. Curse

"Huff... Huff.. Hufff..."

"This is completely insane," Sam announced, for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

[Indomitable Will Active]

"On- huff.. one more time..." Adom wheezed, straightening up with determination that his wobbling knees somewhat undermined.

This was attempt number twenty-one. Sam had missed twice - though Adom suspected at least one of those "misses" had been intentional. The other nineteen hits had left various parts of his body stinging, his pride somewhat bruised, and his earlier confidence about this brilliant training idea significantly dented.

Who knew the academy's most cautious student could aim so well when properly motivated by academic curiosity?

Despite the bruises forming under his robes, Adom couldn't help but smile. Because there had been progress. Real, measurable progress.

[Fluid Control has reached Level 2!]

[White Wyrm Body has reached Level 3!]

[ [Boxing Mastery (Dodging)] is getting better]

[ [Agility] is getting better]

[ [Iron Lungs] is getting better]

[Physical enhancement moderately strengthened]

The difference was subtle but unmistakable. His Fluid moved more smoothly now, less like choppy waves and more like flowing water. The world around him seemed to come into sharper focus - he could track the slight movements of Sam's fingers as he prepared his next spell, catch the whisper of wind before it manifested into an attack.

His body responded faster too. Not by much, but enough that he'd managed to partially deflect the last three hits instead of taking them full force. The Fluid wrapped around him more naturally, like a second skin rather than an ill-fitting coat.

It had taken twenty-one attempts, multiple bruises, and what felt like enough wind spells to power a small windmill, but he'd done it. Level 2.

...Level 2.

Adom's smile turned slightly manic as he straightened up. Because here was the thing about Level 2 - it meant Level 3 existed. And if Level 3 existed...

Sam apparently recognized that look. He'd seen it too many times not to. "No," he said firmly, already knowing it was futile. "Whatever you're thinking, no. You can barely stand."

But Adom was already settling back into his stance.

After all, what kind of person would he be if he stopped at Level 2 when Level 3 was just waiting to be reached?

"Just a few more tries," he said, ignoring how his muscles protested the movement. "I think I'm getting the hang of it."

The black cat, still watching from the sidelines, let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh.

Adom breathed in deeply, then out.

"Are you r-"

The world didn't exactly slow down. That would have been too simple, too convenient. Instead, everything became... clearer. More defined. Like switching from a clouded lens to a crystal-clear one.

It had started around the eleventh attempt, when desperation and bruises had finally forced him to stop trying to just react faster and actually think.

He'd noticed something then - a pattern so subtle he'd almost missed it. The way Sam's weight shifted slightly to his left when preparing a low shot. The barely perceptible tension in his right shoulder before a high one. The slight difference in how he moved his fingers for a straight shot versus a curved one.

Since then, every attempt had been less about dodging and more about observation. Learning. Understanding.

His Fluid responded differently now too.

Instead of trying to make it circulate faster in his body, he let it flow naturally, using it to enhance his already-improving perception. Each trial added another piece to the puzzle - the timing between Sam's inhale and the spell's release, the correlation between wind pressure and attack angle, the almost rhythmic nature of spell combinations.

It wasn't perfect. Far from it. But where before he'd been frantically reacting to each attack, now he was starting to... anticipate. His body, battered but adapting, was slowly learning to move before his conscious mind caught up. Muscle memory building up through painful repetition.

[Pattern Recognition is forming...]

The notification flickered at the edge of his vision, but Adom kept his focus. He could feel it - that space between conscious thought and instinct where everything just... flowed. What he'd started calling 'the zone' in his head, for lack of a better term.

Sam's fingers twitched in a now-familiar pattern. High shot, coming from the right. Adom's body was already moving, Fluid shifting to reinforce his dodge before the spell had fully formed.

It wasn't mastery. Not even close. But it was the beginning of understanding, and sometimes that was even more valuable.

One...

In that crystalline clarity of focus, Adom could see it. The telltale distortion in the air, like heat waves rising from hot pavement, except... purposeful. Directed. The wind arrow took shape, and for a brief, beautiful moment, he could almost trace its path in his mind - the way it would curve upward, heading straight for his chest.

Two...

His muscles tensed, Fluid already flowing to support his planned movement.

Three...

Time seemed to stretch like honey as a small smile tugged at his lips. This time. This time he had it. He could see it, feel it, knew exactly where it would go at fou-

"OUCH!"

The sharp sting in his right thigh broke through his focus like a rock through glass. He hopped awkwardly on his left leg, pride stinging almost as much as his thigh.

The arrow had dropped. It had dropped, and he hadn't seen it coming at all.

Sam, the traitor, was trying very hard not to look amused. "You know, when you said 'one more time' twenty minutes ago, I don't think either of us thought you meant twenty more times."

Adom rubbed his thigh, mind already analyzing what had gone wrong. He'd been so sure about that trajectory... Maybe if he paid more attention to the way the air currents moved instead of just the initial formation? Or was there something in Sam's stance he'd missed?

He opened his mouth to say "again," but then stopped, the word dying in his throat. His mind finally wrestled control back from his stubborn determination. His legs were shaking, his energy reserves were running dangerously low, and he could already feel tomorrow's bruises forming. Being bold was one thing. Being reckless was another.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked instead, straightening up with what dignity he could muster while still favoring his right leg.

Sam looked at him for a long moment, then chuckled and shook his head. "You know, normal people would take at least a few days to recover after getting hit nineteen times with wind arrows."

"Good thing I'm not normal people then," Adom replied with a tired grin. "I'm a manly man. The manliest of men, in fact." He attempted to flex, which resulted in a poorly concealed grimace. "Don't you agree, kitty cat?"

The black cat's ears flattened, accompanied by a low warning growl.

"...Is that its name now?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, that's just one of the names it hasn't hissed at yet," Adom said, still nursing his pride along with his various bruises. "Besides, I had to test it. For science. Like a proper manly man would."

The cat's tail twitched in what looked suspiciously like disdain.

Besides, Adom had several theories about that dropped arrow that needed testing.

*****

They gathered their things, Sam wincing as he rolled his shoulders. "I need a long shower after this."

"You need a shower? All you did was stand there and torture me."

"Shows what you know about spellcasting." Sam massaged his temples. "My mana pool is practically empty. Wind arrows might be basic, but maintaining precision for that many casts..." He gave Adom a pointed look. "Which, may I remind you, was entirely your idea."

"Fair," Adom conceded with a laugh. "Though I notice, around the 5th time, you didn't seem to mind using me for target practice anymore."

"Academic curiosity," Sam said primly, then broke into a smile. "Come on, let's grab some snacks from the dining hall. I've got that new strategy board game from a toy store - the new one with the knights and mages roles?"

"Meow," the black cat interjected, tail swishing deliberately.

Adom paused, his expression shifting to that familiar contemplative look. "Actually... I think I'll head to the library first."

"Now?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "It's getting late."

"Says the one who practically lives there," Adom countered. "I actually sleep, you know. You're the one who's managed to make Miss Grimclaw tolerate you through sheer persistence."

"Oh please, she tolerates us both," Sam snorted. "Though lately you've been spending more time getting beaten up than reading. Sorry - 'training in battle magic.'" His air quotes were practically audible.

"At least I'm not the one she caught drooling on a book at three in the morning."

"That happened once! And I wasn't drooling, I was... contemplating deeply."

"With your eyes closed? And snoring?"

Sam waved his hand dismissively. "Just go do your research, man. Some of us have a date with hot water and muscle salve."

They parted ways at the courtyard intersection, trading good-natured barbs until they were out of earshot.

Adom watched Sam's retreating form until he disappeared around the corner of the dormitory wing. A familiar weight settled in his stomach - guilt. He wasn't actually heading to the library, and lying to Sam, even by omission, felt wrong.

But what choice did he have? Sam would either think he'd lost his mind or, worse, try to help by telling a professor. No, some secrets were better kept, at least for now.

The black cat headbutted his leg with an impatient "Mrrrow!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm moving," Adom said, turning away from the library path and heading toward the eastern exit. The cat trotted alongside him, tail high in the air.

"Meow! Mew mew!" The cat's complaints echoed off the stone walls.

"Look, I told you - I'm not exactly an expert in curses. The theory, sure, but actually breaking them?" He spread his hands. "That's advanced magic."

"Mrrrrrrrrrrow!" The cat somehow managed to sound both skeptical and annoyed.

"Oh, if you're asking about a solution?" Adom grinned down at his companion. "I might have one in mind. Though we'll have to see if-"

"Meow?"

"Patience. We're almost there."

They reached the massive eastern doors of Xerkes. The guards wouldn't make their rounds until late at night - their job was more about keeping students from doing anything foolish than keeping outsiders away. The enchantments handled that part well enough, allowing exits but preventing unauthorized entry. Adom reached for the handle-

"STUDENT ADOM SYLLA!"

He spun around. A glossy black raven circled overhead, a piece of paper clutched in its claws. As the bird released its cargo, the cat crouched, muscles tensing.

"Cat. Don't you dare," Adom warned. "That's an employee of the school."

The raven perched on a nearby gargoyle, looking down at the cat with what could only be described as disdain. Then, to Adom's amazement, it actually scoffed - a short, harsh sound that was definitely not part of normal raven vocabulary - before spreading its wings and taking off.

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Adom's chuckle at the raven's attitude died in his throat as he unfolded the paper, reading Eren's familiar scrawl:

Cisco wants to see you at the coffee spot in 2 days at 1pm. Says there's something to talk about. I sent a raven, but it came back and said it didn't find you in the main yard, so I left this letter. Hope that's okay.

- Eren

His heart dropped.

What happened? Was it about his order? The timeline flashed through his mind - one month and twelve days until the first symptoms.

His fingers tightened on the paper, crinkling it. Not enough time. Never enough time. Had something gone wrong with the ingredients? Maybe they couldn't get what he needed. Or worse, what if it was stolen? His breath quickened. Or was it about their operation? The one they'd discussed over steaming cups of coffee?

Please let it be about the operation, he thought, his mind spinning faster and faster. At least that he could handle. That wouldn't mean-

"Meow."

Sharp claws pricked through his pants leg, yanking him back to the present. The cat stared up at him, tail twitching.

Adom blinked, becoming aware of how tightly he was gripping the paper, of how his shoulders had tensed up to his ears. He forced his fingers to relax, stuffing the crumpled note into his pocket.

"Let's go," he said, pushing the heavy door open. No point torturing himself with maybes. Better to just find out.

The early night air hit his face as they stepped out into the city.

*****

The streets of Arkhos wound past like a familiar dream. Through the Weird Stuff Store's window, Adom caught a glimpse of her arranging crystals on a shelf, Mr. Biggins nowhere in sight. Emma was still there, she looked up, but he was already past, moving deeper into the city where the streets grew wider and the buildings shorter.

The strider station buzzed with its usual evening activity - drivers calling out destinations, passengers haggling over fares. A young man with bright red hair leaned against his cart, feeding his strider an apple.

"Beach district?" Adom asked.

The driver grinned, tossing the apple core aside. "Hop in."

The cart's wooden seats creaked as Adom settled in, the cat curling up beside him. They rolled forward with a gentle lurch, the strider's paws clopping against cobblestones.

Above, the full moon hung like a silver coin in the darkening sky. The autumn wind carried the scent of smoke from chimney fires, and Adom pulled his cloak tighter.

The steady rhythm of the strider's gait and the cart's swaying motion made his eyelids heavy. His muscles ached from the training session, and Cisco's message gnawed at the edges of his mind, but the exhaustion won out. He slumped against the cart's side, his breathing growing deeper...

"Mrrrow!"

Adom jerked awake to find the cat's paw batting his nose. The cart had stopped moving.

"We're here," the driver called over his shoulder. "Beach district, as requested."

"Thanks." Adom stretched, working out the kinks in his neck. "Any chance you could wait here for a bit? I'll need a ride back."

The driver patted his strider's flank. "Can spare an hour. That work?"

"Perfect." Adom hopped down, his boots sinking slightly in the sand. "That should be enough."

The cat jumped down and padded beside him in the sand. Waves crashed to their right, and the city's lanterns glowed behind them.

Adom walked along the shore, his steps slowing.

The last time he'd been on a beach, he'd died.

God. That moment felt like a lifetime ago now. And, for some reason, he could no longer remember her face. Death. All he could remember was that she'd been as beautiful as the moon.

He'd spent hours hunched over his desk one night, pencil scratching paper, trying to capture her features. Nothing came out right. Just fragments: eyes that held eternity, a smile that made him forget to be afraid.

Would she look the same when they met again? Because they would meet again - that was certain as sunrise. He just hoped next time it wouldn't be because he'd failed.

Adom stopped, bending down to unlace his boots. The sand was cold between his toes, and he wiggled them deeper, enjoying the sensation. Salt air filled his lungs as he breathed in deep. Something about beaches at night always calmed him - the steady rhythm of waves, the vast darkness of the ocean ahead.

A scuttling movement caught his eye. The cat pounced, batting at a small crab that had ventured too far from the water. The crab waved its claws in protest before disappearing into the cat's mouth with a crunch.

"You know," Adom said, watching the cat lick its paws clean, "I've been searching everywhere for someone who can break your curse." He kicked at a piece of driftwood. "The Veyshari are probably getting ready to leave Arkhos soon - they always do when it gets cold. Better visit them now while we can."

"Meow?" The cat looked up, bits of shell still stuck to its whiskers.

Adom chuckled. "You'll see. Come on, their camp should be just past those rocks."

A gust of wind whipped his cloak around his legs. Above them, clouds drifted past the moon, casting shifting shadows on the sand.

The Veyshari. Every city had stories about them - whispered rumors of demon blood and dark pacts. But that's all they were: stories.

The truth was simpler. They were nomads who followed the warm seasons, setting up their colorful camps on the outskirts of cities, trading goods and offering services that locals either couldn't or wouldn't provide.

Curses were their specialty. While temple priests and local mages would demand explanations and permissions, the Veyshari just asked how much you could pay. They didn't care if you wanted to curse someone or break a curse - gold was gold.

Adom glanced down at the cat padding beside him. In his months of research about curses, he'd barely scratched the surface. Books only told you so much, and most "experts" were frauds looking to empty your pockets. But the Veyshari? They had generations of real knowledge, passed down through families. If anyone could figure out what - or who - this cat really was, it would be them.

The first hint of their presence was a faint drumbeat carried on the wind - so distant Adom almost thought he'd imagined it. But as they walked, it grew clearer: the steady thump of hands on leather, joined by the higher notes of pipes. Soon he could make out voices too, singing in a language he didn't understand.

Around the bend, the beach widened.

The music was louder now, mixing with laughter and the crack of burning wood. Then he saw them: dozens of colorful tents and wagons arranged in a half-circle, a massive bonfire at their center. People danced, their feet kicking up sand as they spun. Others sat in groups, passing around bottles and plates of food, their faces glowing in the firelight.

"We're here," Adom said to the cat. But before he could take another step-

"Dikhen! Ek streyino!" A child's voice cut through the music. "Hai les yekh mačka!"

The drums stuttered and fell silent. The pipes squeaked to a stop. The dancers froze mid-step, and every head turned toward them.

Adom fought the urge to step back. "Just... act normal," he whispered to the cat, immediately feeling foolish. The cat responded by sitting down and starting to groom itself.

The silence stretched. Someone coughed. A baby's cry rang out from one of the tents, quickly hushed.

"Right," Adom muttered. "This isn't awkward at all."

He took a hesitant step forward, forcing what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Hello? Good evening?" His voice cracked slightly.

An old man near the fire spat into the flames.

Adom froze.

Was that bad? Was he supposed to leave? He'd read about tribal customs, but nothing about fire-spitting.

"I'm, uh..." He glanced from face to face, finally settling on staring at the fire instead. Easier to speak that way. "My name is Adom. Adom Sylla. And this is..." He gestured downward. "...Cat."

The cat chose that moment to let out a loud "Mrrrow!"

"Mačka!" a little girl squealed with delight.

"Oh! Yes, uh... ma...chka?" Adom attempted, mangling the word thoroughly.

A deep laugh rumbled from the crowd, and the circle of people parted. A man stepped forward - no, stepped wasn't the right word. He seemed to fill the space as he moved, massive and barrel-chested, with wild white hair that cascaded past his shoulders. His beard was even more impressive, gleaming in the firelight like spun silver, matched by bushy eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own.

"Welcome, welcome!" His voice was like distant thunder, his words carrying an exotic lilt. "I am Mirko, and these peoples, they are my peoples." He spread his arms wide, encompassing the entire camp. "What brings boy and his mačka to our fires, hm?"

Adom glanced uncertainly at the crowd still watching him. Mirko must have noticed his hesitation because he waved a hand dismissively. "Speak free, young one. We are all family here."

"Well..." Adom swallowed. "I think... I think this cat is cursed. And I was hoping you might be able to help me... uncurse it?"

Mirko glanced over his shoulder at someone in the crowd, then turned back to Adom. "And what makes you tink dis cat is having curse, hm?"

"Kitty Cat, if you would?" Adom said softly.

The cat stretched lazily, then let out a growl that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than its small body should allow. People backed away as the growl grew louder, more primal.

The cat's form began to shift and stretch, its shadow on the sand morphing into something much larger. Muscles rippled beneath expanding fur, midnight black in the firelight. Within moments, a massive puma stood where the housecat had been, its deep blue eyes reflecting the flames.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Someone whispered a prayer. A child started crying.

"What do you think?" Adom asked.

Mirko turned again, this time to a young woman who stood slightly apart from the others. Copper-red hair fell in wild waves past her shoulders, adorned with small bells and colored beads that chimed softly as she moved. Intricate runic tattoos spiraled up her arms, disappearing beneath the flowing sleeves of her embroidered dress. Her face bore ceremonial paint - three white dots beneath each eye, and a crescent moon on her forehead.

She stepped forward, bare feet silent in the sand, and circled the puma. Her hands moved in subtle gestures as she walked, and her lips formed silent words. The puma watched her, turning its massive head to follow her movement. Finally, she returned to Mirko's side and whispered in his ear.

"Our sorceress, she is saying cat has powerful curse indeed," Mirko announced, nodding gravely.

"Oh," Adom said, shoulders sagging with relief. "Well... that's good to know. I mean, not good, but... I wasn't imagining things."

"You want us to lift curse?" Mirko asked, spreading his massive hands.

"If you could, that would be nice, yeah."

"Hmm-" Mirko began, but the sorceress grabbed his sleeve.

"Kak," she said urgently, "Me mangav te dav tut duma."

"Ah," Mirko turned back to Adom. "Must speak with sorceress first. But come! Join camp!"

"Uhh..." Adom glanced at the puma, which was now sitting placidly in the sand.

Before he could protest, hands grabbed him from all sides. Laughing voices pulled him forward as children darted around his legs.

"XABEN!" Mirko's voice boomed over the crowd. "TE KERAS PATIV AMARE GOSTOSKE!"

The camp erupted in cheers. The drums picked up again, faster now, joined by pipes and tambourines. Someone started singing in that mysterious language.

Mirko winked at Adom. "Make self comfortable with cat. We return soon."

"Wait-" Adom started, but a clay bowl was thrust into his hands. Steam rose from its contents.

The old man who'd spat in the fire appeared at his elbow. "Thud," he said, nodding at the bowl. "Good for cold night. Drink, drink!"

"Thank you," Adom said. He looked around and spotted the puma already lapping from its own bowl, surrounded by children who were cautiously patting its head.

He raised the bowl to his lips. The warm liquid was rich and creamy, sweet but not cloying. There was cinnamon, he thought, and maybe honey, and something else he couldn't quite place. It coated his tongue like melted silk. Before he knew it, he was tilting the bowl back, drinking deeply until it was empty.

He lowered the bowl to find expectant faces watching him. "Eh? Eh?" they asked, gesturing at the empty vessel.

"It's very good," he said, giving an awkward thumbs up.

"BAXTALO!" they shouted in unison, and several people reached out to pat his shoulders and back. The music swelled, and the dancers spun faster, their skirts swirling like autumn leaves in the firelight.

The dancers whirled around him, a kaleidoscope of colors and movement. An older woman with silver braids grabbed his hand. "Dance! Dance!"

"Oh, no, I can't-" But another grandma had already seized his other hand, pulling him into the circle.

"Like this!" Silver-braids demonstrated a simple step-kick-step. Adom tried to copy her, his feet stumbling over themselves. The grandmas cackled good-naturedly, guiding his movements with surprising strength in their weathered hands.

Step-kick-step. Step-kick-step. The rhythm began to make sense. The drums seemed to pulse through his feet, up his legs, into his chest. Hey, this wasn't so bad! He found himself grinning as he spun between the women, his steps growing more confident.

[Your Stamina is improving]

"No more, no more!" he gasped finally, chest heaving. The grandmas released him with approving pats on his back, and he stumbled to the edge of the circle, breathing hard.

That's when he noticed Mirko approaching with the sorceress. The music softened, though it didn't stop entirely.

"We can lift curse," Mirko announced.

"Oh, nice!"

"But is expensive." Mirko raised his bushy eyebrows. "You sure you have money?"

"How much?"

"One hundred gold pieces."

"A hundred gold?" Adom repeated. He'd expected thousands, given how rare curse-breaking was. He fought to keep the smile off his face. "Deal."

Mirko's hand engulfed his in a grip that made Adom's bones creak. "Deal is made!" the big man declared. "Cannot be broken now!"

Adom flexed his fingers when they were released, trying not to wince. "When do we start?"

"Now," the sorceress said, her voice clear and firm. The puma's ears pricked forward, and it padded toward them.

Mirko called out in in their tongue, and the crowd melted away from the center of the camp, forming a wide circle. Only Adom, Mirko, the sorceress, and the puma remained in the firelit space.

"Please, step back," the sorceress instructed Adom. He retreated to the edge of the circle.

She knelt in the sand, her skirts pooling around her, and began drawing runes with her finger. Adom recognized them - ancient symbols of unbinding, breaking, and freedom. The puma sat perfectly still as she worked, watching her create the intricate circle of runes around it.

From her dress, she produced a crystal that pulsed with deep purple light. Adom's eyes widened. Mana crystals like that were rare outside dungeons, where magical energy concentrated naturally. Breaking a curse this powerful would need significant magical reserves - the crystal made sense.

"Anen mange bakro!" she called out.

Through the crowd came two men, leading a sheep. Another man began digging a hole in the sand. Adom's throat went dry. Were they going to...?

The sorceress drew a knife from a sheath at her hip. The blade caught the moonlight, gleaming sharp and clean. "O rat si vaš o Del," she intoned, "thaj o mas vaš e manuš."

The sheep stood quietly, almost serene, as if understanding its role in all this. Its dark eyes reflected the moonlight as it gazed at the blade, showing neither fear nor resistance.

When the knife moved, there was only a soft exhale - almost like a sigh of acceptance - before the blood began to flow. The men held the animal steady as its blood filled into the hole, dark against the pale sand. The sorceress began moving her hands in complex patterns, her lips forming words Adom couldn't hear.

The camp had fallen completely silent. Even the babies weren't crying. Children peeked from behind their parents' legs, eyes wide. The firelight cast long shadows that seemed to dance with the sorceress's movements.

A single drum beat cut through the night.

Adom's head snapped right.

Another beat, from the left.

More drums joined in, their rhythm slow and deliberate. Then voices rose, deep and melodic, men and women weaving an ancient chant.

"Do not be afraid," the old man whispered beside Adom. "Is tradition." Adom managed a weak smile in response.

The chanting grew stronger as wisps of mana began to coalesce around the sorceress. The blood in the hole started to move, defying gravity, seeping into the runes she'd drawn. They glowed crimson, then formed a shimmering barrier around the puma. The great cat looked at Adom, confusion in its blue eyes matching his own.

Much of this ritual seemed... excessive, but who was he to judge another culture's ways?

Suddenly, the puma gasped - a terrifyingly human sound. The bonfire, which had been burning steadily, began to writhe and dance wildly. The chants rose in pitch as smoke started seeping from the puma's fur. It paced the circle's edge, growing more frantic.

Adom instinctively stepped forward, but the old man's hand gripped his arm. "No interrupt," he hissed. "Sacred moment."

The fire roared higher, its light casting twisted shadows. The chanting reached fever pitch as thick smoke obscured the puma. From within came growls and yowls, the sounds of both great cat and house cat intermingling. Then, horrifyingly, human words: "Hurts! It... hurts!"

The bloody runes pulsed purple, drawing mana from the crystal like threads of lightning. The air grew thick, heavy with power. Adom felt his hair stand on end, sweat beading on his forehead despite the night's chill. The light from the circle intensified, brighter and brighter, until he had to shield his eyes.

The drums reached a crescendo, the chanting became a roar, the fire twisted impossibly high - and then, with one final thunderous drum beat, everything went silent.

"Come on, kitty cat... come on..." Adom whispered into the silence. The sorceress remained on her knees, chest heaving, spent from the ritual. No one spoke. No one moved.

The smoke began to drift away on the sea breeze, revealing something - someone - curled on the bloodstained sand. Dark hair spilled across pale shoulders like spilled ink in the moonlight.

The woman stirred, and when she opened her eyes, they were the same striking blue as the puma's. Her features were delicate, almost feline - high cheekbones, a fine nose, lips slightly parted in confusion.

Their eyes met. For a moment, time seemed to stop - then Adom's brain registered her complete lack of clothing, and he spun away so fast he nearly fell.

There was a rustle of fabric as the sorceress draped a blanket over the woman's shoulders. From the corner of his eye, Adom could see her trying to stand on shaking legs, looking at her own hands as if she'd never seen them before.

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"It is done," the sorceress said softly.