Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Adom’s smile grew increasingly strained as Miss Grimclaw examined Professor Mirwen’s card for what must have been the eighth time. The goblin librarian held it up to the light, squinted at it, turned it over, and then fixed Adom with another piercing stare from behind her tiny silver spectacles.

He refused to fidget. Or blink. Though his face was starting to hurt.

The great archivist of Xerkes’ library sat perched on her elevated chair, which still left her at eye level with most humans’ chests. Today she wore her usual severe gray dress, complete with a chain of brass keys that clinked softly whenever she moved.

”Curious,” she said finally. ”Most curious.”

Five thousand years ago, her ancestors had communicated primarily through grunts and aggressive gestures.

Like most goblins, they’d lived in warrens deep underground, raiding surface settlements for food and shiny trinkets. This wasn’t even prejudice - it was simple historical fact. Before the Great Integration, goblins and orcs hadn’t even possessed written languages of their own. Even now, most of her kind preferred the simplicity of tribal life, viewing reading as suspicious magic and formal education as a waste of perfectly good raiding time. The few goblins who ventured into human cities usually worked as craftsmen or merchants, their natural cunning turned to trade rather than academics.

Yet here was Miss Grimclaw, not just literate but probably the most educated person in the building - and everyone knew it.

She’d become something of a celebrity in academic circles, her papers on magical theory cited in universities across three continents, despite her never casting a single spell herself.

The running joke was that she’d memorized every book in the library just by glaring at them long enough. She’d earned her position through decades of ruthless dedication, proving that a goblin could not only match human scholars but surpass them. Her existence was considered a fascinating anomaly by many researchers - though none dared suggest such a thing to her face.

”Professor Mirwen was quite clear about-” Adom began.

”I can read,” Miss Grimclaw cut him off, tapping one long green finger against the card. ”The question, Mr. Sylla, is why a second-year student requires access to fourth-year restricted materials.” Her eyes narrowed. ”Particularly one with your... attendance record of late.”

Adom’s smile threatened to crack. Of course she’d know about his missed classes. Miss Grimclaw knew everything that happened in Xerkes. Some students swore she had a network of mice spies. Others insisted she could read minds.

The truth was probably worse: she just paid attention.

Adom cleared his throat. ”Actually, I was thinking of switching to battle magic.”

Miss Grimclaw looked him up and down with the sort of careful assessment usually reserved for particularly dubious ancient texts. ”Is that so? Mr. Harbinski will miss you terribly in the theoretical studies section. You two were quite the fixture here.” She adjusted her spectacles. ”Until recently.”

”Sam will adapt,” Adom said, trying to keep his voice light. ”He’s got a new theory about elemental resonance to keep him company.”

Something flickered across Miss Grimclaw’s sharp features - not quite a smile, but perhaps its scholarly cousin. She finally handed the card back, her brass keys jingling. ”Fourth-year battle magic materials are in Section R, third floor, east wing. And naturally, this grants you access to third-year materials as well.”

”Thank you, Miss Grimclaw.”

”Good to see you back in the library, Mr. Sylla.” She paused, then added with brutal frankness, ”Though I must say, you don’t strike me as particularly suited for combat magic. You seem more the type to get a paper cut and require immediate medical attention.”

”Ouch.”

”Off you go then,” she said, already turning back to her work. ”Try not to bleed on any of the books.”

Adom climbed the stairs to the third floor, joining the steady stream of students heading to their favorite study spots.

The Library of Xerkes wasn’t the biggest in the world - not even close, really. The elves had their crystal archives, and the dwarves their endless underground vaults. But for humans? This was as good as it got.

Eleven million books, scrolls, and manuscripts, give or take.

Not bad for a species that only really got into proper magic a few thousand years ago. While other human schools had risen and fallen throughout the ages, Xerkes kept standing, kept collecting. These days, every graduating mage worth their salt added at least one book to the collection. Some obligation about ”continuing knowledge” or whatever.

He passed the first-year section, where kids still struggled with basic theory. The usual crowd hunched over their texts, looking appropriately miserable. A few older students floated near the ceiling on platforms of air, browsing the higher shelves.

The alchemy section was tucked away in the east wing. Fewer students here - most preferred their magic theoretical and explosion-free. The books looked more worn too, like they’d seen some action themselves.

”’Paracelsus’s Incomplete Works,’” Adom muttered, remembering Mia’s words. The search runes carved into the shelves flickered to life - one of Xerkes’ better ideas for managing eleven million books. No one had time to dig through endless shelves like some kind of literary archaeologist.

The runes pulsed once, twice, then a soft blue glow appeared several shelves away. Third-year section.

He reached up and pulled down the glowing volume. The leather binding was worn smooth by countless hands before his, and something about it felt... heavy.

”Right then,” he muttered. ”Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

Adom found a quiet corner and set the book down on a reading desk. Page 394. He opened it carefully, the aged paper crackling slightly under his fingers. The page looked ordinary enough - just another dense block of alchemical theory that made his eyes want to glaze over.

Right. Mana weaving. He took a slow breath, gathering his magic.

First, a thin stream through the page’s core. He channeled his mana carefully, like threading a needle. Too much force and he’d probably set the thing on fire. Not exactly the way to stay on Miss Grimclaw’s good side.

The mana sank into the page, and he felt a slight... resonance?

Now for the tricky part.

Spread it like a web. He extended his magic outward from the center in delicate strands, counting under his breath. One-two-three, pulse. One-two-three, pulse. The rhythm had to be exact, Mia had said.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like water seeping through paper, text began appearing in the margins. Cramped, careful handwriting filled every available space, diagrams squeezed between paragraphs, arrows connecting concepts.

”Well,” Adom whispered, leaning forward with growing excitement, ”hello there.”

Hours slipped by as Adom lost himself in the hidden notes. Whoever had written them wasn’t just explaining concepts - they were connecting them, showing how different aspects of alchemy flowed into each other. Things he’d struggled with for months suddenly clicked into place.

The anonymous annotator moved far beyond fourth-year material. Their explanations touched on advanced theory Adom had only glimpsed in passing references, but somehow made it feel accessible. Like building blocks, each concept supporting the next.

He scribbled his own notes frantically, mind racing with possibilities. The section on resonance frequencies in transformation arrays alone would revolutionize his approach to several experiments he’d been stuck on.

When his pocket watch chimed the hour, Adom blinked in surprise. The library had grown quieter, afternoon sunlight slanting through the high windows. His neck ached from hunching over the book.

Miss Grimclaw looked up as he approached her desk, the book clutched carefully in his hands.

”I’d like to borrow this one, please.” He placed ’Paracelsus’s Incomplete Works’ on her desk.

She adjusted her spectacles, examining the spine. ”Interesting choice, Mr. Sylla. Most students find Paracelsus rather... dense.”

”It’s surprisingly clear once you get into it,” he said carefully.

Something flickered in her eyes - knowledge, perhaps? - but she simply nodded and reached for her ledger. ”One month, as usual. Do try to return it in the same condition, unlike that unfortunate incident with ’Basic Botanical Brewing’ last term.”

”The...” Adom blinked, momentarily confused. What incident was she talking about...?

Then it hit him. ”Oh! Right, that.” The mushrooms. How could he forget? The book’s diagrams sprouting actual glowing fungi right there in the library, Miss Grimclaw’s face turning an impressive shade of purple. He’d spent weeks’ worth of allowance paying for the cleanup and restoration.

In another life.

”I’ll take excellent care of it,” Adom assured Miss Grimclaw, securing the book in his bag. He glanced at his pocket watch again and winced slightly. He still needed to get to the Club before their session ended - Hugo would be there, and he needed to arrange a meeting with Professor Kim.

*****

Adom walked through the school corridors, dodging students and floating equipment. His mind kept circling back to the same problems: How to convince Hugo? When could he see Kim again? And the bigger question that made his stomach turn - what if the professor already knew about the weapon potential and didn’t care?

He almost walked into a first year, mumbling something about Tuesday’s notes, and kept moving.

Even if Kim refused to listen, even if Adom somehow managed to destroy the prototype... well, Kim was still Kim. The same brilliant mind that created it once could just create it again. How do you stop something like that?

”Watch it!” someone yelped as Adom nearly collided with them at the corner.

”Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, sidestepping. His reflection in a passing window looked pale. The professor had to listen. He had to. The alternative was...

He shook his head. One thing at a time. First, he needed to find Hugo.

Adom pushed open the door and stepped into the Combat Athletics Club. The sharp smell of sweat, leather, and polish hit him - and he realized, with mild concern, that he was actually starting to like it. When had that happened?

”Hey Adom!” called Petra, towel around her neck, heading for the showers.

”Later, Adom,” nodded Kaius, packing up his gear.

He spotted Phil by the weapon racks, pulling on his jacket. ”Phil, have you seen Hugo?”

”Yeah, he’s over there,” Phil pointed toward the practice mats. ”Helping the new one with his form.”

”Thanks.”

Stepping around a pair of exhausted-looking third-years, Adom headed for the mats. The sound of someone being thrown onto them, followed by Hugo’s patient ”No, like this,” drifted over.

Adom watched Hugo spot Damus on the bench press. The new kid was pushing way more than Adom expected - and when Damus noticed him watching, he somehow managed to push even harder, face turning red with effort.

”Eight... nine...” Hugo counted steadily. ”Last one. Make it count.”

Is he trying to prove something? Adom shifted his weight, deciding to let them finish. No point interrupting Hugo mid-training - especially when he needed a favor.

Since Damus had joined the club, they hadn’t exchanged a single word. It worked well enough - an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s way, stick to their own corners of the club. Simple. Clean. No need to complicate things.

”Hey, Adom!” A few more minutes passed before Hugo grabbed his towel and walked over, dropping onto the bench next to Adom. ”Thanks for waiting. Damus’s got potential, just needed to fix his form.” ”What was wrong with it?”

Hugo wiped his face, glancing toward the showers where Damus had disappeared. ”Common thing with swordsmen. They’re used to keeping their shoulders tight, blade up. Makes sense in a fight. But that same tension screws up their bench form - they end up loading the anterior delts instead of letting the chest do the work. Had to get him to relax the shoulders, keep them pinned back.”

”Huh.”

”Anyway,” Hugo turned to him, ”you looked like you needed to talk about something?”

”Yeah, about that-” Adom’s stomach chose that exact moment to let out an embarrassingly loud growl.

Hugo’s laugh boomed across the training area. Adom felt his face heat up as he pressed a hand against his traitorous stomach.

”Come on,” Hugo said, landing a heavy pat on Adom’s back that nearly knocked him forward. ”I know this place in the city - best eastern meals in the isles. We’ll talk over proper food.” He was already standing, gathering his things. ”My treat.”

Adom opened his mouth to refuse - this was urgent, they needed to talk now - but his stomach growled again, softer this time, like it was making its final argument. When was the last time he’d eaten? The library hours had blurred together, and before that...

He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. ”Fine. But it better be as good as you say.”

”Trust me,” Hugo grinned, shouldering his bag. ”You’ll thank me when you taste their flat bread.”

The boys were halfway to their destination when Hugo collided with what felt like a walking wall of metal.

”Sorry!” Hugo stumbled back, catching himself. ”I wasn’t-”

The figure didn’t respond. Didn’t even pause. Just kept walking, cloak billowing behind them, elaborate armor gleaming under the imperial sigils.

Wait. Imperial?

”Please make way,” a guard approached them, his own armor less ornate but bearing the same markings. ”Clear the street.”

More armored figures emerged from the crowd, forming a loose perimeter. Adom frowned. Imperial guards? In Arkhos?

”Excuse me,” he called out to the guard. ”I thought imperial forces didn’t operate in the isles. What’s going on?”

The guard glanced down at him, expression professionally neutral. ”We’re accompanying His Highness, Crown Prince Kalyion Vi Savarnis, on his visit to the city.”

”Oh right, the prince’s visit,” Hugo nodded, like this was perfectly normal. ”Heard about that.”

The guard moved on, shepherding other pedestrians aside.

Adom’s frown deepened. The crown prince? Here? That... that hadn’t happened last time. He would have remembered something like that - royal visits weren’t exactly subtle affairs. In his past life, Kalyion had never visited Arkhos during this season.

What changed?

The thought nagged at him as he watched the armored figures disappear into the crowd. Small changes in the timeline by some sort of ripple effect were expected but a royal visit? That suggested something bigger had shifted. Something-

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”Hey.” Hugo’s voice snapped him back. ”You coming? Wei’s flatbread waits for no man.”

”Right.” Adom shook off the unsettling feeling. ”Lead the way.”

They finally reached the small restaurant around two, the autumn chill making the warmth seeping from under the door even more inviting. Yellow light spilled onto the street through fogged-up windows, and Adom caught himself sniffing the air - spices, grilled meat, fresh bread. His stomach twisted painfully.

”See?” Hugo’s grin widened. ”And that’s just what makes it past the door.”

Before Adom could respond, Hugo’s hand landed between his shoulder blades, shoving him forward. Adom stumbled, catching his balance.

”Could you maybe not throw people around with those bear arms of yours?”

Hugo’s laugh echoed in the street, inviting some glares from passerby. ”Please. You train with us now - you can handle a little push.” He stepped past Adom, reaching for the door. ”Come on, the others are waiting.”

”The others?”

”It’s cheat day,” Hugo said, like that explained everything. ”Some of us like to come here, stuff our faces properly.” The door chimed as he pulled it open. ”After you.”

Inside, wooden tables filled the small space, worn smooth from years of use. Steam rose from bowls, mingling with conversation and laughter. Phil, Petra, and Kaius occupied a corner table, cups of hot tea already in front of them.

”Adom?” Petra brightened. ”Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Kaius pulled out a chair. ”Come on, sit. You’re just in time.”

Phil leaned back, grinning. ”First timer? Oh, this’ll be good.”

Hugo dropped into the seat next to Phil. ”Told him my treat. His stomach was making more noise than Phil during warmups.”

”That’s not tr-”

”Don’t even try to deny it,” Petra grinned. ”We all hear you counting under your breath.”

”Well,” Kaius rubbed his hands together, ”guess we’ll have to get you through the menu. It’s not huge-”

”Six dishes,” Phil cut in. ”Seven if you count the flatbread separately.”

”Which you should,” Hugo insisted.

The old chef appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His weathered face crinkled as he recognized the group. ”Ah, the hungry fighters. And a new face!”

”Give him the special, Master Wei,” Hugo called out. ”He hasn’t eaten since the ancestors were young.”

”Such disrespect,” the chef clicked his tongue, but his eyes sparkled. ”The young think they can joke about age.” He turned to Adom. ”But they always come back to old Wei’s cooking, don’t they?”

A few minutes later, a steaming bowl appeared in front of Adom - rich broth, thick noodles, tender meat, and vegetables he didn’t recognize. The aroma alone made his mouth water.

”Watch this,” Hugo nudged him, tearing off a piece of flatbread. ”When you’re done with the noodles, dip the bread in the broth. Trust me.”

”Master Wei’s been making this since before the city had walls,” Petra said, stealing a piece of Phil’s bread.

”Hey!”

”That’s why it’s so good,” Kaius nodded. ”Old people cook with their soul.”

”I heard that!” Wei called from the kitchen. ”Keep talking and see if I make extra bread for you lot!”

Adom felt a surge of solidarity with the old man.

”Sorry, Master Wei!” they chorused, not looking sorry at all.

The steam rose from Adom’s bowl in lazy swirls. Everyone at the table had gone quiet, watching him expectantly. Even Master Wei had paused in the kitchen doorway, cloth in hand. Adom felt his neck heat up under their intense scrutiny - eating while being watched wasn’t exactly comfortable. The act of chewing wasn’t exactly anyone’s most dignified moment.

”Go on,” Petra urged, leaning forward.

Adom stared at the chopsticks beside his bowl, trying to remember how he’d seen others use them. His fingers felt clumsy as he attempted to position them.

Kaius noticed his hesitation. ”Here,” he said quietly, demonstrating with his own pair. ”Hold the bottom one like this, against your ring finger. The top one moves, like a pencil.”

After a few awkward attempts and some gentle corrections from Kaius, Adom managed to get a somewhat stable grip.

”No, no, you have to get the noodles and the meat in the same bite,” Phil instructed. ”Here, like this-” He demonstrated with his own chopsticks.

”And make sure you get some broth,” Hugo added. ”That’s where all the magic is.”

Kaius rolled his eyes. ”Just let him eat, you vultures.”

Adom wished they’d look anywhere else - preferably at their own bowls - but their eager faces made it clear that wasn’t happening. Fighting down his self-consciousness, he gathered the noodles, making sure to catch a piece of meat and some vegetables. His chopsticks wobbled slightly, but he managed to keep the food from falling. He was acutely aware of every movement, trying not to look too awkward or slurp too loudly.

The first bite pushed all those thoughts away. His mouth filled with warmth - tender noodles, perfectly cooked meat that nearly melted on his tongue. The broth was rich and complex, spices he recognized dancing with ones he didn’t, and underneath it all was a depth of flavor that spoke of hours of careful preparation. His eyes widened before he could help it, completely forgetting his audience.

”There it is,” Hugo laughed, nudging Phil. ”That’s the look everyone gets their first time.”

Master Wei’s satisfied nod was barely visible before he disappeared back into the kitchen. Around the table, the others wore knowing grins, like they’d just inducted him into a secret club.

The Wei Club.*****

After the meal, they lingered at Wei’s for a while, trading stories and laughter. Adom made a mental note to bring Sam and Eren here sometime - they’d love the cooking just as much. One by one, they started heading back to Xerkes, until only Hugo and Adom remained.

Hugo fell into step beside him on the walk back. After a few moments of companionable silence, he cleared his throat. ”Alright, out with it.”

”What?”

”Something’s been on your mind. You kept glancing at me all through dinner like you wanted to say something.” Hugo’s expression grew serious. ”Listen, if those kids from before are giving you trouble again-”

Ah.

Adom couldn’t help but chuckle. ”No one’s bullying me, Hugo.”

”You sure? Because lately you’ve seemed... I don’t know, overwhelmed? Even during training.” Hugo ran a hand through his hair. ”Kaius told me to give you space, said you might be going through something, but...” He stopped walking, turning to face Adom. ”Look, I know I’m not exactly the wise sage type, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. We all are.”

The sincerity in Hugo’s voice caught Adom off guard. It was touching, really - this teenager trying his best to be a supportive older brother figure. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him; here was Hugo, probably seventeen or eighteen, worried about someone who had lived through nearly eight decades in another life. But he couldn’t exactly explain that, could he?

”I appreciate it,” Adom said carefully, fighting back an amused smile. ”Really. But I promise, I’m okay.”

He wasn’t. Not really. But he hoped to be.

Hugo studied his face for a moment longer, clearly not entirely convinced. ”If you say so. Just... remember what I said, alright? You don’t have to deal with everything alone.”

In the city’s central district, the afternoon crowds flowed around them - merchants calling their wares, children chasing each other between market stalls, the distant sound of a street musician’s flute.

”So what was it you wanted to tell me?” Hugo asked, sidestepping a cart loaded with vegetables.

Adom watched a couple of pigeons fighting over a dropped piece of bread while he gathered his thoughts. A group of students passed by, their voices mixing with the general bustle of the street.

He took a breath. No point in overthinking it. ”Could you arrange a meeting with Professor Kim for me?”

Hugo blinked. Blinked again. Then burst out laughing, drawing curious glances from passersby.

”Sorry, sorry!” He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. ”Whew. And here I thought you were dying or something.” He adjusted his glasses, grinning. ”Of course you can meet the professor. Actually, I knew you’d want to be his assistant eventually. I’m in my sixth year now, and I’m planning to spend next year dungeon raiding, so he’ll need someone to replace me anyway.” He nudged Adom with his elbow. ”We both think you’d be perfect for it. No need to be so anxious about asking to meet him - he’s been wanting to talk to you too.”

Ah.

Adom kept quiet as Hugo rambled on. He was completely wrong about Adom’s motivations, but he’d achieved his goal anyway.

Maybe he needed to stop making everything so complicated when it could be as simple as just asking.

”So, when do you want me to set up the meeting? Professor Kim usually has time in the mornings, before his first class-” Hugo paused mid-sentence when he realized Adom had stopped walking.

”You’re not coming?”

”Just remembered something I need to deal with,” Adom said, already turning in the opposite direction.

”Oh. Well, I’ll let you know about the meeting then?”

”Thanks, Hugo.”

They parted ways at the crossroads, Hugo’s footsteps fading into the crowd while Adom headed down the side street.

There really was something he needed to do - something that had been nagging at him since that night.

It wasn’t just the explosion, or the fight itself. It was Gale’s smile.

The way the man had looked at him through the flames, completely at ease, like they were sharing some private joke instead of trying to kill each other. There had been no malice in that smile, and somehow that made it worse. Like Adom was just... entertainment. A particularly interesting game piece that had caught his attention.

Even if they managed to take down the Children of the Moon - and that was a big if - something told Adom that Gale wouldn’t stop. Not really. That smile said it all: ”I found you, and now the game begins.”

Adom flexed his fingers, still feeling the morning’s workout in his muscles. Getting stronger physically was just the start. He needed every advantage he could get, and right now, his biggest asset was incomplete, stored away in his inventory like a broken toy.

He’d spent hours studying the Golem Knight’s specifications, taking notes of every detail he could remember about it. The way the stone and metal had been perfectly integrated, how each joint moved with impossible precision. Whoever built it understood materials in a way that made his academic knowledge feel like a child playing with blocks.

He needed an armor. A proper armor, that he could fully integrate for the golem.

The Undertow wasn’t an option this time.

The black market was great if you wanted something that ”fell off a wagon” or ”got lost in transit,” but actual craftsmen? The closest thing you’d find there were thieves bragging about which master’s workshop they’d robbed last week.

No, for this kind of work, he’d need to find a real artisan, right here in the city. Someone who could actually create and help craft an armor a knight would wear, not just fence other people’s creations. Someone skilled enough to work with both stone and metal at this level of precision and more importantly, someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

”Right,” he muttered, pulling out the city map he’d marked with potential craftsmen earlier in the morning. ”Time to find a blacksmith who won’t think I’m completely insane.”

He paused.

”A blacksmith who won’t think I’m completely insane, in a city of magic users.”

When he put it that way, maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Blacksmith visits in the Scholar’s District started promisingly, at least. Master Vallens’ workshop was immaculate, his credentials impressive, and his work displayed in neat rows that would make any merchant proud. The problem became apparent when he opened his mouth.

”I don’t do business with children,” said Vallens, barely glancing up from his ledger.

”I’m a Xerkes student-”

”Playing with your father’s money, no doubt.” He finally looked at Adom, his expression somewhere between bored and contemptuous. ”Come back when you’re old enough to appreciate real craftsmanship.”

Adom could have mentioned that price wasn’t an issue. Could have pulled out as much money as necessary, or explained the situation. But something about the man’s dismissive tone made him turn around without another word.

There were other smiths in the city. No need to waste time on someone who couldn’t see past his age.

The second shop was its polar opposite. Tools scattered everywhere, the smell of beer competing with forge smoke, and the blacksmith - who introduced himself as ”just Pete” - couldn’t stop talking.

”Knight armor for a golem? Sure, sure, made plenty! Well, one. Maybe two? There was this thing last year, might’ve been a golem. Or a very large cat. Had metal bits though!”

Adom left before Pete could finish his story about the maybe-golem-maybe-cat.

Madame Laurent’s Precision Engineering looked promising from the outside. The displays showed delicate mechanical works, tiny gears meshed perfectly. But something felt off about her too-wide smile, the way her eyes lingered on his student robes.

”Of course I can help! And for a student...” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ”I might even offer a discount. Just need to see the original piece first. For reference.”

The gleam in her eyes reminded him too much of certain Undertow merchants. Hard pass.

The fourth shop had actual armor and golem parts in the window. Unfortunately, they looked like they’d been assembled by someone whose understanding of anatomy came from abstract art.

”It’s a stylistic choice,” the smith insisted, gesturing to what might have been an arm. Or possibly a very confused snake.

The fifth blacksmith, an elderly man who seemed more interested in his lunch than potential customers, barely looked up from his sandwich.

”Golems? Too much hassle. Try the Engineering District.”

The sixth, in said Engineering District, had the skills but also had a six-month waiting list.

”Could bump you up to four months if it’s urgent,” the apprentice offered, flipping through an overstuffed ledger. ”Master Brandon is very popular these days.”

The seventh shop was tucked away in a side street, so modest Adom almost missed it. No displays, just a simple sign: ”Kern’s Metalworks.” The sound of hammering drew him in.

An older woman was working at the forge, her movements precise and methodical. She didn’t stop when he entered, just held up one finger in a ”wait” gesture while she finished whatever she was working on.

What was it with Blacksmiths in this city?!

Three minutes later, she dunked the piece in water, steam hissing.

When she turned, Adom noticed her arms were well-muscled probably from years of smithing.

The workshop itself was modest but organized, with racks of weapons that made him pause. His father being a knight meant he’d grown up around quality arms and armor - he might not be a fighter himself (yet), but he knew good work when he saw it.

And this was the real deal.

Every piece in the shop screamed master craftsmanship.

”Welcome. What can I help you with?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

Adom pulled out the detailed drawings he’d made of the armor. ”I was wondering if you could craft something like this.”

She took the papers, studying them with increasing interest. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she flipped through the pages of specifications and measurements.

”This is... unique,” she said finally. ”The integration of stone and metal, these joint designs... I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” She looked up at him. ”Where did you get these specifications?”

”Can you make it?”

She set the drawings down carefully. ”I’m not specialized in armors, especially not ones this advanced.”

”Oh.” Adom’s shoulders slumped. He’d thought... well, with the quality of work he’d seen, he’d hoped he’d finally found one of those legendary craftsmen from the stories - the mysterious masters who signed their work with secret marks and created impossible things.

He was already turning to leave when her voice stopped him.

”However,” she said, ”my apprentice has quite a talent for armor work.”

Adom turned back, skeptical. ”If you can’t do it, what could an apprentice manage?”

A small smile crossed her face. ”The kid’s good. Very good. Especially with unusual projects like this.” She tapped the drawings. ”Sometimes fresh eyes see solutions old hands miss.”

Adom hesitated. An apprentice? Then again, after a day of dead ends...

”Sure,” he said finally. ”I’d like to meet them.”

The woman’s smile widened slightly. ”Fili!” she called out. No response. She sighed, shaking her head. ”FILI!”

The back door of the smithy creaked open, and Adom found himself staring at what appeared to be a moving pile of metal scraps. Two legs shuffled beneath the precarious tower of parts, inching forward carefully.

”I got the pieces you asked for, Master! I think I found all the- oh no, oh no, oh no-”

The tower swayed. A piece slipped, then another, and suddenly the whole collection was tipping forward.

Adom’s hands moved before he could think. [Levitate].

Dozens of metal pieces froze mid-fall, hanging in the air like a strange metal constellation.

The blacksmith and the young apprentice both looked at him.

”Where would you like these?” Adom asked, glancing at the woman.

”The sorting table, if you don’t mind. The one by the wall.”

He guided the pieces over, setting them down carefully. ”There you go.”

”A-are you a mage?” said the younger voice.

Didn’t the uniform give it away?

”Uh... yes?”

Behind the now-sorted pile stood a young man about Adom’s age, fidgeting with his apron strings. The apprentice was shorter than him, with rich brown skin and a shock of vivid red curly hair above bright green eyes - unmistakable features of dwarf-human heritage. A Halfdwarf, though that term had fallen out of favor decades ago.

Most people called them Stonebloods now, though they were rare enough that most citizens only knew them from stories. The dwarven kingdoms beyond the mountains had always been more welcoming of mixed heritage than humans or elves, taking in children of such unions and raising them as their own. Unlike the rigid social structures of human nobles or the infamous ”purity” obsession of elven houses, dwarven culture celebrated the strength that came from diversity.

But what was one doing here?

Stonebloods weren’t common in Arkhos - Adom had only seen a handful in his life, mostly merchants or craftsmen passing through. The isles’ predominantly human population meant most Stonebloods preferred the more diverse mainland cities or their ancestral mountain kingdoms. To find one as a permanent resident, especially as a smith’s apprentice, was unusual but not unheard of.

He found himself wondering what series of events had led Fili from the dwarven kingdoms to this modest smithy in a human city.

”A mage...”

The woman raised an eyebrow. ”Fili, you just watched him use magic.”

”I know, Master, but you said to start conversations with questions, and that was the first thing that came to mind, like in chapter three of-”

”You little bookworm,” she said. ”What’s the first rule of the shop?”

”Oh! Right!” He turned to Adom, straightening his back like a soldier at attention. ”Welcome to Kern’s Metalworks, where quality meets craftsmanship! We offer competitive prices and satisfaction guaranteed! Our current special promotion includes-”

Master Kern placed a hand on his shoulder. ”Fili.”

”Yes?”

”Your own words. Not the merchant’s guidebook.”

”But the book said-”

”The book is a guide, not a script. Remember what we talked about?”

Fili deflated slightly. ”That people want to talk to people, not books.”

”Exactly.” She squeezed his shoulder. ”Now, why don’t you look at what this young man brought us? I think you’ll find it interesting.”

Master Kern pushed the drawings toward Fili, and Adom found himself holding his breath. After a day of rejections and silly people, he was suddenly very invested in what this awkward, earnest apprentice might say about his project.

Fili leaned over the drawings, his previous awkwardness melting away as his eyes darted across the pages. His fingers traced the lines without touching them, hovering just above the surface.

Adom leaned forward too, watching the transformation. Maybe this was it - not the gruff, legendary master smith from the stories, but something potentially better.

A young Stoneblood apprentice with that particular intensity he’d seen in truly gifted craftsmen. Sure, there were plenty of jokes about dwarves and their smithing abilities, but stereotypes aside, there was a reason people sought out dwarven-trained smiths for the really impossible projects.

”These joint mechanisms...” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. ”The way the stone interfaces with... Master, look at this integration point here.” He pointed to a specific detail, entirely focused now, his earlier social stumbling forgotten. ”It’s not just layered, it’s... braided? I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Master Kern leaned in, nodding slightly. ”That’s what caught my eye too.”

Fili pulled one page closer, squinting. ”The tolerances would have to be perfect. We’d need to...” He trailed off, reaching for a piece of charcoal and a scrap of paper, making quick calculations. His hand moved with none of the hesitation that had marked his earlier movements.

He looked up suddenly, as if remembering he wasn’t alone. ”Oh! Sorry, I...” He glanced at Master Kern, who gave him an encouraging nod. ”I mean... these are fascinating. Where did you... um... if you don’t mind me asking, where did you learn to design like this?”

”I specialized in runicology,” Adom said, trying to keep his voice casual. ”Drawing precise concepts like this becomes second nature after a while.”

Fili’s eyes lit up like a forge fire. ”Then you have the model? The actual golem the armor will be made for? The way these mechanisms interlock, it must be incredible to see in motion-”

”It’s, ah, at the Academy,” Adom lied, feeling a twinge of guilt at the apprentice’s genuine enthusiasm. ”Can’t really show it to anyone. Secret project, you understand.”

”Oh! Of course, of course!” Fili nodded vigorously, clearly impressed by the implied importance. ”That makes perfect sense. The applications of this design...” His hands moved as he spoke, sketching shapes in the air. ” The way the armor would fusion with the golem...”

”So... can you do it?” Adom asked hesitantly, watching Fili’s face.

”With these notes?” The young smith looked up from the drawings, a quiet confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. ”Yes. Yes, I can.”

Adom smiled, finally letting out a breath he’d been holding. ”Perfect. How much will it-”

”Oh!” Fili glanced at Master Kern. ”The pricing is usually her decision, since I’m still an appren-”

”This one’s yours, Fili.” Master Kern’s voice was firm but gentle. ”I don’t know enough about armor-work to price it properly.”

Fili froze, his mouth slightly open, eyes darting between his master and the drawings. The charcoal piece in his hand trembled slightly. For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten how to speak - a different kind of speechlessness than his earlier social awkwardness. His free hand gripped the edge of the workbench, as if to steady himself.

Master Kern pretended not to notice her apprentice’s reaction, busying herself with organizing some tools on a nearby shelf, giving him space to process what this meant.

Finally, Fili swallowed hard and turned back to Adom, his voice barely above a whisper. ”My first...” He cleared his throat, trying to sound more professional. ”I mean, let me calculate the materials and time required.”