Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Bonds.

Strange how they form. One moment you’re alone, the next you’re dragging a bleeding leprechaun through darkness, refusing to let him die. Adom only met Bob tonight - or was it today? Time blurred in the labyrinth’s depths.

To be honest, he hadn’t even liked Bob at first. The nerve of him, claiming Adom was his hallucination. Calling him ’lad’ when Adom had lived through seventy-nine years, even if his body showed twelve. And that wit, sharp as a blade, matching Adom’s own grumpiness step for step.

Yet here they were.

A glimmer ahead pulled his attention. Exit? Trap? Bob’s breathing had grown shallow.

Their night had been madness. Fighting sphinxes, golems, their worst fears - and each time, it was Bob’s face Adom would see first. It wasn’t that ugly of a face, mind you, but definitely not the sort one would want to wake up to. Unless old grumpy leprechaun were one’s taste. No judgment.

But somehow, without realizing it, Adom had grown fond of the bastard.

The light grew stronger. Adom adjusted his grip on the leprechaun, ignoring his screaming muscles. One more step. Then another.

They’d make it. Both of them.

”Bob!” Adom’s voice echoed in the tunnel. ”Don’t close those eyes, no matter what!”

Bob didn’t answer. His skin had gone from pale to grey, clothes soaked through with blood. The gashes across his chest still oozed, slower now - and that was worse. His eyes stared at nothing, glazed, barely blinking.

Adom felt warm wetness seeping into his own clothes where he held Bob. Too much blood. Far too much.

The tunnel’s end burst into white.

Adom stumbled, blinked. Tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Or rather, what he wasn’t seeing. No walls. No ceiling. No floor. Just endless white in all directions. They stood on... something. Nothing. Both.

And there, rising before them, a door. Black as pitch, massive enough to swallow a castle. Beside it stood a pedestal of twisted silver, like frozen mercury. On top, a single vial caught light that had no source.

Bob’s head lolled against Adom’s shoulder. His breathing came in wet gasps now.

The vastness of the white space pressed in. Wrong. Everything about this place felt wrong. Like reality had simply... stopped.

Adom’s boots made no sound as he moved forward. The door remained impossibly tall no matter how close they got.

He pressed two fingers against Bob’s neck. The pulse flickered like a dying candle. Too weak. Too slow.

Adom approached the door. The symbols carved into it began to shift, flowing like liquid metal, bleeding into each other. Reforming.

The darkness pulled away from the center, coalescing into a figure - humanoid, featureless, white as the void around them.

Something snapped in Adom’s mind. All the fear, frustration, and rage of the past hours crystalized into a single moment of pure fury. His free hand clenched into a fist, mana surging through his exhausted body. Enough. Enough of these games, these trials, these manipulations-

”Welcome.”

The word echoed from everywhere and nowhere. Not one voice, but many - old and young, male and female, all speaking in perfect unison. The sound rippled through the endless white space like waves through water.

Adom’s attack died before it began. He took an instinctive step back, Bob’s weight suddenly heavier in his arms.

He knew this type of magic - simulacrum spells, echoes of their creators. Basic ones could repeat phrases, more complex ones could hold simple conversations. At this point, nothing in this labyrinth surprised him anymore. The magic here went beyond anything he’d seen in his seventy-nine years of life - beyond even what existed sixty-seven years in the future.

Bob’s pulse fluttered under his fingers. Right now, he needed to-

”Your companion is dying,” the figure stated.

”Who are you?” Adom shifted Bob’s weight, trying to keep him upright. ”..Are you Orynth?”

”We are many,” the figure responded. ”Orynth was but one of us. At the height of magical understanding, when each discipline reached its peak, we combined our knowledge. Created this place. Just for this moment.”

Adom’s jaw clenched. ”If you’re done with your games, we need to leave. I don’t have time for-”

”Time,” the figure interrupted him. ”Yes. You are running short of it. We are glad you survived the trials.” Its featureless face turned toward Bob. ”What you experienced here was... necessary.”

Adom’s blood ran cold. He stared at the figure. ”Do you know me? Do I know you?”

”Hmm,” the collective voices hummed thoughtfully. ”A boy with a man’s mind. Isn’t that what you are?”

Adom flinched at the words.

”Do not be afraid,” the figure said, its tone oddly gentle. ”We are not your enemy.”

”Funny,” Adom bit out. ”Friends don’t typically force people through what you put me through.”

”We are not your friends either,” the figure replied simply. ”Merely, hopefully, allies.”

”What does that mean?”

”Divination shows possibilities. Countless branches of time, of choices. In some, we meet. In others, we don’t. This encounter, here and now, is just one thread among trillions.”

”And what usually happens?” Adom asked, shifting Bob’s weight. ”When we meet?”

”We do not know exactly,” the figure admitted. ”The future branches too widely, too wildly, for such precision. We only know that in this moment, in this possibility, you needed to be ready.”

Before Adom could press further, the figure raised its arm, pointing to the vial. ”This is the Elixir of Rebirth. It will heal your friend’s wounds completely. Within minutes.”

Adom narrowed his eyes, using [Identify]. The system’s response made his breath catch. SSS-rank. The figure wasn’t lying. An artifact that powerful could-

Bob’s pulse skipped under his fingers. Then skipped again.

Adom reached for the vial, fingers trembling slightly. It was so tiny, barely containing one drop. That’s all it would take. ”Open your mouth, Bob, yo-”

”Wait.”

His hand froze mid-motion. There it was. The catch. There was always a catch with these bastards.

”What?”

”You could indeed give this to your friend. It would heal his wounds, save his life.” The figure’s voice rippled through the void. ”Or... you could use it on yourself.”

Adom clicked his tongue. ”He needs it more than-”

”It could heal your illness right away.”

His head snapped up, heart stopping. The vial nearly slipped from his fingers.

Two months. The symptoms wouldn’t even start for another two months. No one in this timeline should know about it. Not a soul. Let alone some echo of a few dead mages from centuries past. The realization that they had known about him, peered into his future, his private moments, his inevitable decline... it made his skin crawl.

Bob’s weight seemed heavier suddenly. His breathing more shallow. Or was that Adom’s imagination?

”You have a choice,” it continued, as if it hadn’t just violated every boundary of his existence. ”Save yourself - you need it. Or save him... and risk experiencing that powerlessness again.”

Adom’s hand moved to uncork the vial, tilting it toward Bob’s lips-

”Are you certain?” the figure asked, its collective voices rippling with something almost like concern. ”This elixir... you are unlikely to encounter its like ever again. The choice you make here cannot be undone.”

His hand tightened around the vial. Bob’s pulse fluttered weakly against his shoulder - one, maybe two minutes left. No hospital could help now, not with injuries like these.

Cisco’s delivery was due in a month. But deliveries got delayed. Ships sank. Caravans were raided. Accidents happened. And even if it arrived... the cure wasn’t simple. Weeks of precise dilution, careful alchemical processes that could go wrong at any step. One mistake and...

He looked at Bob’s face, grey and still.

Honestly, what did he really know about him? A stranger he’d met hours ago. Grumpy, sarcastic, irritating Bob. Who’d saved his life two, maybe three times tonight. Who’d thrown himself between Adom and that last golem...

But this was his life. His. He’d already lived through that hell once - the weakness, the pain, watching his body betray him day by day. Unable to live the way a human is supposed to. Lying there, useless, powerless...

He’d killed himself once because of that illness.

It could be so simple. Take the vial. Walk away. Sure, Bob’s death would haunt him for a while, but he’d be alive. Healthy. Safe.

His fingers traced the vial’s stopper. Just one quick motion...

Bob’s breathing hitched, a wet, rattling sound.

The vial felt cold in his hand. Cold.

Surely, the good thing to do would be to save the one that needed saving, right?

Speaking of it, what did it even mean to be good, really?

Not the simplistic good of fairy tales - helping old ladies cross streets, rescuing cats from trees. But truly good. The kind that costs you something. The kind that hurts.

Some did good to others for divine reward, parsing holy texts for guidelines on virtue. Others calculated karma like accountants, assuming good deeds would return with interest. The cynics claimed altruism was just clever selfishness - that even sacrifice was about feeling righteous, superior.

Maybe they were all right. Maybe they were all wrong.

He’d lived seventy-nine years, and still couldn’t say for certain. But he knew this: every time he’d chosen comfort over conscience, chosen easy over what he considered was right, something inside him had... diminished. Not dramatically. Not noticeably to others. But he’d felt it - a slow erosion of whatever made him human.

The vial felt heavier now. Was that what goodness was? Not a prize to be won or a ledger to be balanced, but a choice to remain uncorrupted? To stay human in moments that tempted you to be less than human?

Perhaps that was why it hurt. Pain wasn’t the price of being good - it was the proof you still could be. That you hadn’t surrendered that choice, even when surrendering would be easier.

The liquid caught the light as it fell from the vial, a single drop of possibility suspended in space. Not because it would bring him reward, or because some cosmic scale demanded it. Simply because, in this moment, this was who Adom chose to be.

The drop touched Bob’s lips.

The Leprechaun drew in a deep, shuddering breath, like a drowning man breaking the surface. Color flooded back into his face, the grey tinge dissolving like watercolor in rain. His wounds knitted themselves closed with quiet whispers.

”So you have chosen your friend.”

”Damn, that’s some fast-acting stuff,” Adom muttered, turning the empty vial over in his hands. The craftsmanship alone... the applications for research... He slipped it into his pocket with absolutely zero subtlety. ”Could probably learn a thing or two from analyzing this.”

He let out a small huff. ”Besides, I can always make my own cure later. No pressure.”

Bob’s breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, his face peaceful. Almost annoyingly peaceful, really. The leprechaun was probably going to be insufferably smug about this whole thing when he woke up.

”You sure you don’t have any more of that lying around?” Adom asked, still shamelessly patting down his pockets where he’d stashed the empty vial.

”You pass.”

”...Pass?” Adom’s voice dropped dangerously low. Then erupted. ”That was another one of your stupid trials?!”

”Yes,” the figure’s many voices responded simply. ”In all the possibilities we glimpsed, none where you chose to take the vial ended well. For you, or for what’s coming.”

”What’s that supposed to mean?”

”Compassion is a mark of strength in itself. You will need strength, boy. Not just of magic or mind, but of heart.” The figure’s featureless face turned toward him. ”You chose to remain uncorrupted, even when corruption would have been easier. That matters more than you know.”

Adom pinched the bridge of his nose. Ah, here we go. Another ’chosen one’ story. Just what he needed today.

He sank to the ground beside Bob’s unconscious form, the white surface beneath him neither warm nor cold, solid yet somehow insubstantial - like sitting on a dream.

Bob’s chest rose and fell steadily now, color returning to his face. The blood still soaked his clothes, but somehow, his body seemed to be generating more - like watching life itself pour back into him. Adom had seen countless healing spells, but nothing quite like this. Magic. Always magic, twisting everything around them.

”I have so many questions.” His voice came out quieter than intended.

”And we will answer what we can.”

Adom ran a hand through his hair, trying to organize the chaos in his mind. ”Let’s start with why this is happening.”

”Three thousand years ago, Law Borealis had a vision.”

”Law Borealis...” Adom repeated, pieces clicking into place - Orynth’s involvement, the labyrinth, the trials. His throat felt dry. ”The farmer mage? This is related to him?”

”Yes.” The figure’s response seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. ”Everything is.”

”Explain,” Adom said, his eyes fixed on the figure.

”The farmer mage was like you. He died, and returned to his past after striking a deal.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Adom’s eyes widened as the shock took hold.

Law Borealis - the man whose name was whispered in every corner of every realm.

Stories said he could manipulate Fluid by age five, weave spells by twelve, and best master swordsmen before his voice had deepened. Adom had always dismissed those tales as exaggerations, the kind that sprung up around any legend. But if he’d lived it all before...

”God, it makes so much sense now.”

”When Law reached the pinnacle of his power,” the figure’s voices wove through the void, ”his mastery of divination let him peer into what lay ahead. He looked, driven by simple curiosity, to see what would become of the world of men after his passing.”

The figure’s next words seemed to drop the temperature of the endless white space. ”All he saw was fire. Blood. Ashes.”

Adom’s hair stood on end, goosebumps racing across his skin. He knew those ashes. Had choked on them in another life, watched them fall like gray snow over the corpses of entire cities.

”He saw your time, boy. Witnessed the devastation you fled from. And in his desperation to prevent the end of the world he’d worked so hard to save, to protect...” The figure’s many voices grew softer, almost gentle. ”He began searching for a solution.”

In the white void, flames of ethereal blue burst into existence, dancing and twisting into shapes. Adom watched, transfixed, as the fire sculpted itself into the figure of a man - tall, broad-shouldered, wearing simple farmer’s clothes.

”Law tried to act on the elements within his reach,” the figure narrated as the blue flames showed the mage working, weaving, planning. ”But despite all his power, despite everything he’d accomplished...” The fiery Law aged before Adom’s eyes, hair turning white, shoulders bowing under an invisible weight. ”He was still just a man. And men die.”

The flames shifted, multiplied, splitting into countless branching paths that filled the void around them. Each path showed different versions of history unfolding, spinning out in endless variations. ”He looked into trillions upon trillions of possibilities, searching for a way to prevent events that would unfold centuries after his death.”

The countless timelines swirled like a storm of blue fire, and in each one, a single figure began to glow brighter than the rest. Adom’s breath caught as he recognized his own silhouette, repeated again and again across the possibilities.

”In all of them,” the figure continued, ”across every timeline, every possibility, one person stood out.”

”Me.” Adom’s voice was barely a whisper.

”Yes.” The flames converged, forming Adom’s face in brilliant azure light. ”You. Adom Sylla.”

Adom’s expression soured. ”So I’m what, the ’chosen one’? Some destined hero?”

”No.” The figure’s voice was firm. ”It wasn’t that you were ’chosen’ or ’special’ in some mystical sense.”

This hurt a bit.

”Law’s divination worked by calculating probability branches” The figure continued. ”Trillions upon trillions of them. In most futures where this world survived, you happened to be at critical nexus points making key decisions. Not because of destiny, but because of circumstance, choice, and sometimes sheer coincidence.”

The blue flames shifted to show a vast network of branching timelines, each one splitting endlessly. ”Divination doesn’t show absolutes - it shows statistical patterns across probability branches. You weren’t the only significant figure Law saw, but you were one of the most frequent variables appearing at critical junctures. He identified several dozen potential individuals across the timeline who could influence these events, but you were simply the most... accessible.”

”Oh.”

”Fate is a strange thing,” the figure said as the blue flames shifted and swirled. ”There are endless possibilities, countless paths. Each choice you make forges your destiny - it’s all in your hands. But some threads run deeper than others.”

The flames showed Law again, older now, writing in massive tomes. ”Unable to reach across millennia to aid you directly, Law decided to prepare for your arrival. The Borealis house has produced hundreds of descendants since his time. Each successor to the duchy was given a sacred task when deemed worthy: to aid you when the time came. To prepare for your arrival.”

”Orynth,” Adom breathed.

”Yes. Orynth Borealis carries Law’s blood in his veins,” the figure’s voices resonated as the blue flames shifted, showing a younger Orynth receiving an ancient tome from what Adom assumed to be his father. ”Like all before him, he inherited this burden when he proved worthy.”

The flames expanded, filling the void with scenes of a great hall. ”During the Third Age’s Golden Era of Magic, Orynth gathered them all.” The fiery images showed dozens of figures - Men, elves, dwarves, and so many others. ”The greatest mages of every race, every discipline.”

Each figure took shape in the dancing flames - ”Master diviners calculating million possible futures,” - robed figures surrounded by floating crystals and time-charts - ”druids spending years searching for the perfect serpent, its blood carrying the perfect ability, its lifespan long enough to await your arrival, yet not so powerful it would overwhelm you.” - others deep in ancient forests, testing countless specimens - ”battle mages designing the golem trials,” - armored figures sketching complex runic arrays.

”They worked as one,” the figure’s voices grew stronger, ”believing in a future they would never see. Believing in you.”

The flames showed them laboring through days and nights, seasons turning to years, some growing old as they worked. ”The treasure you discovered was placed to aid your task. Every detail was measured, every possibility weighed. The perfect confluence of challenges and rewards, designed to forge you into what you needed to become.”

The figure’s voice resonated through the void. ”We did what we could to ensure the future generations, our descendants, our life’s work would not go to waste. We hope you will make good use of it all.”

Adom sat there in silence.

How do you even respond to that?

His first reaction, to be honest, was to reject it all.

What right did they have to place a burden like this on him? Why, in all these timelines, was he the one who stood out? He had so many questions, and each one led to other questions - why did Death even strike a deal with him in the first place? Why not another person? What were her motivations?

”We understand this is a lot to take in. A lot to process.”

”Hah.” Adom let out a bitter chuckle. ”So I’m just a convenient intervention point in someone else’s calculation?”

”You misunderstand,” the figure countered. ”You are your own person, with your own will. Law didn’t ’choose’ you to carry out his plan - he recognized you would be in a position to make your own choices that could alter what’s coming.”

The flames shifted to show specific scenes.

”In many branches, you were positioned near critical Dragon’s Breath research. In others, you had connections to the military through your father. In most, you showed aptitude for magic that would make you capable of understanding what needed to be done. These weren’t predestined paths - they were choices and circumstances that put you at critical junctures.”

The figure’s voices grew clearer. ”You remain free to accept or refuse this knowledge we offer. To act or not to act. Law simply recognized that your specific position within these events gave you unique opportunities that others lacked.”

The flames showed the consequences of various choices - some leading to salvation, others to ruin. ”The divinations merely showed the probabilities: if beings like you, with your specific knowledge and position, choose not to act, the world ends. And if you do choose to act, nothing is promised.”

The flames showed brief glimpses of other figures - other potential candidates across different timelines, all fading as Adom’s image remained. ”There were others who could have served, but you were the most probable success point.”

He stared into the void, at the fading traces of blue flame that had just shown him centuries of preparation, all for him.

”Fuck.”

Perhaps not the most eloquent response to learning you’re the focal point of a multi-millennia divination project, but entirely appropriate.

The beauty of that particular four-letter word lay in its versatility - it could express surprise, anger, resignation, disbelief, and about seventeen other emotions simultaneously. Right now, Adom wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling, a tangled knot of reactions too complex to name, so... fuck seemed as good a summation as any.

Silence.

More silence.

The silence stretched after his outburst until Adom cleared his throat. ”That fuck wasn’t directed at you by the way. Just... it’s a lot to take in. Indeed.” His tone was completely flat as he ran a hand through his hair. ”Just... wow. Colossally fucked, aren’t I? Death really pulled a fast one here. ’Oh, just come back to life, it’ll be fine!’ Yeah, sure. Didn’t mention any of... this.”

”You are not alone,” the figure stated.

”What?”

”Throughout the years, we established an organization - the Order. They have existed for centuries, waiting to provide you with additional help. They await your arrival.”

”Well, that’s... thoughtful of you. Where are they?”

”There are many branches across many continents,” the figure’s voices explained. ”But we can only guarantee the one in Silverkeep.”

”Guarantee?” Adom’s eyebrows rose. ”Why’s that?”

”Despite all our efforts, our divinations showed corruption taking root in many timelines. Even among them, not all can be trusted equally.”

”That’s... great. Really great.”

”The Silverkeep branch has remained most true to their initial values across all possibilities. They have not become political, have not deviated, and will aid you if they identify you as the one they await.”

Adom considered this for a moment. ”And where do I find them?”

”One of them was supposed to be here, in Arkhos, where we determined you would be reborn.”

”And who is this person?”

”If they have not revealed themselves to you yet, they likely have their reasons. But they surely know you came back.” The figure’s voices held a note of certainty. ”They probably even welcomed you back.”

Adom frowned, trying to piece together who could be the Order’s agent. Who had he met since coming back? Who had welcomed- A sudden thought struck him, his eyes widening as he completely abandoned that train of thought.

”Wait! There’s a boy I met. Eren. He has the potential to become the greatest mage in this era - I’ve seen it myself.” He leaned forward. ”How come it’s me, and not him?”

The figure was silent for a long moment. Too long.

Adom tilted his head, ignoring the persistent ache in his body.

”We... do not know of such a name,” the figure’s voices finally responded, ”in all the timelines we have encountered...”

”What?” Adom’s brow furrowed. ”But isn’t this the timeline I’m supposed to be in? The one with all this ’chosen one’ business? How could you not know about Eren?”

”This... appears to be a new timeline. One that was not supposed to happen.”

”I figured as much. In my previous timeline, Eren wasn’t known either, and-”

”You must kill him.”

Adom went completely still. The words hung in the air, heavy and cold. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just stood there as the silence stretched.

”...what?”

”Of all the timelines we have seen - millions upon millions of them - there was never a boy with that name and the potential you describe.” The figure’s voices grew uncertain. ”We may have miscalculated. The appearance of this Eren suggests our divinations weren’t as comprehensive as we believed.”

The flames shifted, showing gaps and blank spaces in the threads of futures. ”We identified you as the most efficient intervention point, but not the only one. This is the fundamental limitation of divination - we can only calculate based on what we can see.”

The voices grew more urgent then. ”But his existence does create unpredictability. If he lives and his influence grows...” The voices merged into one. ”The variables multiply beyond what we anticipated. The futures become too chaotic to predict with any accuracy. The safest route would be to eliminate the variable.”

Adom rose slowly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. ”What if I refuse? What are you going to do?”

”Our primary role is to aid you,” the figure’s voices replied evenly. ”This suggestion was merely advice. We cannot force your hand if you refuse.” The voices softened. ”We have nearly fulfilled our role here. You have passed the trial of compassion, as our weavers instructed-”

Something emerged from the white ground, rising smoothly - a grimoire. It hung in the air before drifting toward Adom, who grabbed it with wary hands. On its cover were inscribed runes: ᚷᚱᛁᛗᛟᛁᚱᛖ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛈᚱᛁᛗᛟᚱᛞᛁᚨᛚ ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛋ

He couldn’t make sense of the script. Opening it revealed nothing but empty pages. When he used [Identify], the spell only returned [???] - which was odd.

He looked up at the figure. ”What is this?”

”We do not know,” the voices responded. ”It was written by Law, for you. It was written for you, and now finds itself in the hands of its owner.”

Something cold settled in Adom’s stomach.

”The time draws short,” the figure said suddenly. ”The mana sustaining this spell approaches its limit.”

”Wait- I have questions-” Adom stepped forward, panic rising in his voice.

”The treasure will remain in the cave, where it was placed for you. As will everything else.” The figure began to dissolve, fragments of light peeling away like autumn leaves. ”We have fulfilled our task...”

”No, wait!” Adom lunged forward, trying to grab the dispersing form. The figure split, multiplying into dozens of distinct forms - men and women of different ages and appearances, all circling him. Their faces were clear now - scholars, warriors, mages from different eras, all looking at him with the same intensity. These were them - the ones who had orchestrated everything, who had waited centuries for this moment.

”Good fortune,” they spoke in unison, all smiling at him, all having what looked like hope in their eyes.

”Wait!” Adom’s eyes locked onto one face he thought belonged to Orynth. He reached out desperately. ”Please, just-”

But his hand passed through empty air as the figures dissolved into motes of light, scattering like stars before fading completely, leaving him alone in the white void with nothing but a mysterious grimoire and far too many questions.

For a moment, Adom’s jaw clenched, anger rising like a tide. He wanted to grab the figure, shake answers out of it, demand explanations for everything that had happened since that day on the beach. But... what would be the point? You couldn’t bully information out of a spell.

He picked up the book instead.

He hadn’t been chosen by chance that day on the beach. He had a task - colossal, impossible, but a task nonetheless. That wasn’t news. What was news was this: this world was old, older than he’d imagined, and there were people who’d known things, seen things, planned things long before he’d ever drawn breath.

That thought bothered him.

Bob stirred, a small groan escaping his lips. His eyelids fluttered, consciousness seeping back slowly. The leprechaun blinked a few times, confusion written across his features as he tried to make sense of the endless white space.

”You missed all the fun,” Adom said drily.

”Lad...?” Bob gasped suddenly, patting himself down frantically. ”I- I was... how’m I...?” His hands found the places where wounds should have been, where blood should have stained.

His eyes darted around, then back to Adom standing there.

Adom opened his mouth. ”Glad you’re sa—”

”Oh, blast it all,” Bob’s face crumpled with grief. ”You died too, laddie? Or are you just a hallucination?”

”For fu— I’M NOT DEAD!” Adom snapped, the burst of irritation completely disproportionate to the situation. ”And I’m not a hallucination! How many times will I have to tell you?!”

*****

Adom explained what had transpired - the choice, the vial, the trial. He left out anything about regression, sticking to the immediate events. Bob listened intently, occasionally nodding, his eyes distant.

The leprechaun looked at Adom for a long moment, then mumbled something under his breath.

”What was that?”

”Ah, just some old leprechaun gibberish, lad.” Bob waved his hand dismissively. ”I... thank you. For saving me life back there. For getting us through these blasted trials.”

”It was nothing,” Adom shrugged, suddenly finding the infinite white space fascinating.

Silence stretched between them, comfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

”By the way,” Adom finally said, ”I’ve been meaning to ask. How did you end up here? What happened between you and Orynth?”

Bob’s face fell, age lines deepening around his eyes. ”We used to be friends.”

”Then... why were you in the labyrinth? Last time I asked, you wouldn’t say, but...”

”Because I betrayed him.” Bob’s voice was soft. ”And was punished for it.”

”What happened?”

Bob’s eyes crinkled with a sad smile. ”I like you, lad. I really do. But you’re asking too many questions.” He tilted his head. ”Besides, I still don’t understand how you knew about time travel, seeing as the sphinx detected no lies. Tell me that story, and I’ll tell you mine.”

Silence stretched between them.

Adom found himself weighing his options, studying the leprechaun’s face. Bob had trusted him through the trials. And he was halfway to figuring it out anyway.

”You really want to know?” Adom asked finally.

”Aye, I do.”

Adom took a deep breath. ”I died. In my original timeline, I was older - much older. And when I died, I woke up as my twelve-year-old self, with all my memories intact.”

He waited for shock, disbelief, maybe even fear. Instead, Bob just nodded slowly, as if Adom had told him it might rain later.

”That’s it?” Adom asked, incredulous. ”You’re not... surprised?”

”Should I be?” Bob tilted his head. ”Where I come from - the fae realm - we have plenty of tales about the Aislingfhil.”

”The what now?”

”Aislingfhil. Roughly translates to ’dream-returners’ in your tongue, though that doesn’t quite capture it.” Bob shrugged. ”Folk who die and wake up in their younger selves, carrying all their memories back. Never met one myself, mind you, but the stories are common enough.”

Bob looked Adom up and down with a critical eye, then snorted. ”Not impressed, lad.”

”Excuse me?”

”Well, if you’re going to be one of the legendary Aislingfhil, you could at least try to look the part. Bit scrawny, aren’t you?”

Adom rolled his eyes. ”Right, well, now that we’ve established I’m a disappointment to legendary status... what about your story with Orynth?”

Bob glanced around the infinite white space, then back at Adom with a dry expression. ”That tale would take the better part of a day to tell properly, lad. You really want to sit here and listen to an old leprechaun ramble?”

A pause. A thought. Then a decision.

”Let’s get out of here.” Adom turned toward the door immediately. He was too tired. This could wait.

”Aye, that’s what I thought.” Bob said, laughing.

They heaved the massive door open together. As it swung wide, white mist poured through the opening, swirling around their feet. The void beyond seemed to stretch and twist, reality bending like light through water. Adom felt a strange tugging sensation, as if the world itself was being pulled inside out.

”Ah, here we go,” Bob muttered, swaying slightly. ”Brace yourself, lad. These transitions can be a bit—”

The white space fractured like breaking glass. Colors rushed in from all sides - the deep blue of early morning sky, the purple-pink blush of dawn, the earthen browns of the cave mouth. The sudden assault of sensations was dizzying - wind on skin, the scent of dew-dampened grass, birdsong cutting through the silence.

Adom stumbled, his hand finding the rough cave wall for support. His stomach lurched as if he’d just stepped off a spinning carousel. Beside him, Bob didn’t look much better, though the leprechaun was already straightening up, rolling his shoulders experimentally.

”Sweet mother of mercy,” Bob breathed, touching his chest where the fatal wounds had been. ”That elixir of yours... I’ve never felt anything like it. Every limb of my body feels like it’s singing.” He flexed his fingers, watching them move with wonder. ”If I were you, lad, I’d have taken it myself without a second thought. You’ve got too good a heart for your own good.”

”Bob—”

”No, I mean it.” The leprechaun’s eyes were serious now. ”Good-hearted people can be proper idiots sometimes, rushing about, sacrificing themselves...” He shook his head, but there was warmth in his voice. ”But I’m grateful you’re that kind of idiot. Don’t think I’ll ever stop being grateful.”

Adom’s first thought was that there was no way he’d make it to classes today, let alone training.

A chuckle escaped him then - funny how he was already so accustomed to his new life that classes were his first concern after everything that had happened. He drew in a deep breath of morning air, savoring the freshness, the life in it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until now.

As he exhaled, watching the sun climb over the horizon, he turned to Bob. ”So, what are you planning to do now that you’re free?”

”Well,” the leprechaun stretched, his joints popping, ”me magic was dampened in that cursed place and I can feel it returning. Think it’s time I paid me family a visit.”

”That’s a great—”

Before he could finish, Bob pressed something into his palm - a small whistle, intricately carved with symbols that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them.

”This is goodbye, laddie, but not farewell.” Bob’s eyes crinkled. ”I’ll come visit once I’ve sorted through everything. A few centuries away gives you quite the to-do list, after all.”

”Oh, I totally understand,” Adom laughed, examining the whistle. ”What’s this for?”

”Blow it if you ever need me before I return.” Bob’s hand shot out as Adom raised the whistle to his lips. ”Just— !”

Adom froze.

”Just for emergencies, lad. This isn’t a toy.”

”Sure, sure,” Adom grinned, tucking the whistle into his pocket alongside the empty vial.

Bob turned to face the sunrise fully, his eyes drinking in the light like a man dying of thirst. His fingers trembled as he reached toward the sky, as if trying to touch the sun itself. After centuries in darkness, even the smallest ray must feel like a miracle.

”Take care, lad.”

”You too, Bob.”

”That’s not me name, you know.”

Adom chuckled, still watching the sunrise.

There was a sound like bells chiming underwater, a shimmer of green and gold, and when Adom looked back, Bob was gone - in true leprechaun fashion, leaving nothing but the faintest scent of clover in the morning air.

Adom looked down at the winding path leading back to the academy. ”Well,” he sighed, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settling deeper into his bones, ”I need to sleep.”