Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Dawn crept over the Dregs like a thief.

In the grey half-light, a rooster shifted on his perch, preparing for his sacred morning duty. Every morning since he could remember, he’d announced the sun’s arrival to his corner of the world. The ritual was about to begin.

He puffed up his chest, tilted his head back, opened his beak-

And then he saw it.

The most dangerous animal on this planet. A violent creature filled with hateful thoughts and a lust for violence. Teeth like razors, to suck the meat from your bones.

The dog came barreling around the corner, tongue lolling, eyes fixed on feathers.

The rooster’s war cry turned into a squawk of terror. He abandoned his post with desperate dignity, flapping through the falling snow as a boy’s voice rang out behind him:

”Rex!”

Such was the vile beast’s name.

”Rex, get back here!”

The rooster fled past Ms. Mabel’s bread stall, sending her fresh loaves tumbling. Past Old Tom the cobbler, who raised his cane in solidarity - he too knew the terror of those teeth. Through puddles of melting snow, sending icy droplets flying, while that monster bounded after him with unholy glee.

”Sorry Ms. Mabel! Sorry Mr. Tom!” the boy called out, chasing after them.

The rooster’s wings carried him over barrels and under washing lines, his dignity forgotten with each desperate flap. He’d seen what happened to Clarence last spring. Poor Clarence, who’d been too slow, too proud to run. Now nothing remained of him but a cautionary tale and a few scattered feathers.

Not today. Not this rooster.

Snow fell softly on the Dregs as the boy chased his little dog through narrow streets, past boarded windows and walls plastered with wanted posters. Steam rose from his breath as he called out...

”Rex! Come on! Leave the chicken alone!”

The dog - a scraggly mutt with mismatched ears - darted between carts and around corners, kicking up fresh powder, the terrified rooster just barely keeping ahead. Market stalls were just starting to open, vendors diving out of the way as chicken and dog barreled past. Imperial soldiers watched with hands on their weapons, scowling at the commotion.

”No running!” one of the soldiers barked as the boy rushed past, nearly slipping in the snow. The boy slowed, but neither dog nor chicken paid any heed to imperial authority.

The rooster, seeing salvation, banked hard toward the northern quarter where blue and silver banners of the Mage Council hung from lamp posts. Surely these mighty wizards would protect one of their feathered brethren. More soldiers stood guard there, hands on sword hilts, watching the growing chaos with hard eyes.

Rex bounded after his prey, either oblivious to the danger or not caring. Just before he could dart between the soldiers’ legs after the frantically flapping rooster, a hand caught his collar.

”Whoa there, buddy.” An older boy - the boy savior - who’d grabbed Rex crouched down, scratching behind those mismatched ears. ”Let’s not cause trouble today.”

The dog immediately flopped onto its back in the snow, tail wagging as it begged for belly rubs.

”Rex!” The younger boy caught up, panting. ”I’m so sorry, he just-”

”No harm done.” The older boy - Adom - gave the dog one last pat before standing. Snow clung to his dark coat. ”Though you might want to keep him closer. Things are a bit tense right now.”

The boy scuffed his worn boot in the snow. ”I know. I just got bored sitting inside all day. Ma won’t let me go anywhere anymore and most stores are closed now, ’specially the candy ones.” He glanced around at the empty stalls and quiet streets. ”The city’s not even fun now.”

”Yeah, I know how that feels.” Adom reached into his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in wax paper. ”Here.”

It was Veyshari candy - made from tree sap they tapped in spring, boiled down with spices until it turned golden and hard as glass. The boy’s eyes went wide as Adom handed it over.

”Really?”

”Really. Just try to stay in the safer parts of the Dregs, alright? At least until things calm down.”

The boy nodded eagerly, already unwrapping the candy. Rex whined, nose twitching at the sweet smell, tail wagging hopefully as he looked up at Adom.

”Oh, alright.” Adom laughed, pulling out another piece. ”Here you go, troublemaker.”

Rex snatched the candy delicately from his fingers, tail thumping against the snow.

”Thanks big bro!” The boy tugged gently on Rex’s collar. ”C’mon boy, let’s go home.”

Adom watched them disappear around a corner, the boy’s excited chatter fading into the morning sounds of the Dregs - cart wheels creaking through snow, vendors calling their wares, the clank of Imperial armor on patrol.

”Adom,” Valiant’s whisper came from the small hole in his pocket. ”Look up there, on the roof of that little house.”

The rooster stood on the snow-dusted shingles, watching them. As Adom met its gaze, it tilted its head, nodded once, and strutted away.

”Did it just... nod at you?”

”Yeah,” Adom said softly. ”I think it did.”

”Because you saved it from the dog?” Valiant paused. ”Were chickens ever that smart?”

Adom adjusted his face mask, his hooded face tilted down against the snow as they continued walking. ”No idea. But hey, maybe they see more than we think.”

The snow crunched under Adom’s boots as they made their way through the quieter streets of the Dregs. Imperial patrols were thinner here, where the buildings leaned together like old drunks sharing secrets.

”You sure about this Thormund guy?” Adom kept his voice low, barely above a whisper. ”Last time I saw him, he was trying to punch your uncle’s teeth out.”

”Because,” Valiant cut in from the pocket, ”that’s just how he is. And he’s also the guy who lost an arm getting that wyvern heart you ordered.”

”Wait...” Adom’s steps faltered as the memory surfaced. ”Right. Cisco mentioned that. Said his one of his men lost an arm getting it. I just... with everything that happened after...”

”Forgot about it?” Valiant’s voice held no judgment. ”Yeah, well, that’s Thormund for you. Might try to punch you one day, but he’ll die keeping his word.” A pause. ”Look, I know he’s... rough. Used to drive my uncle crazy with his freeman ways. Always drinking, telling inappropriate jokes, starting bar fights. But he was loyal. That’s why Uncle Cisco kept him close, even when they fought.”

They passed a boarded-up tavern, its windows dark. More wanted posters plastered its walls. One caught his eye - a crude sketch of a massive man with one arm, labeled ”DANGEROUS - APPROACH WITH CAUTION.”

”Found his name in those documents too,” Valiant continued. ”The ones from the Undertow? He’s on Marco’s hit list, right up there with us. Bastard’s trying to clean house, kill anyone who might still be loyal to my uncle.”

”And you think Thormund can help us get to the others? The ones still loyal to Cisco?”

”He’s our best shot.” Something hard entered Valiant’s voice. ”These people trusted my uncle. Fought for him. Then Marco betrayed him, killed him, and now he’s hunting them down one by one. They’ll want revenge just as much as I do.”

Adom nodded slowly. ”And Thormund can lead us to them.”

”If anyone can, it’s him. Man’s got connections all through the freeman clans. Plus,” Valiant added with a hint of pride, ”he once broke a man’s jaw for suggesting my uncle wasn’t treating his people right. Knocked out three teeth with his remaining arm.”

”Charming.”

”Hey, freeman culture’s different. That kind of thing means something to them.” Valiant shifted again. ”Point is, he’s exactly what we need right now. Someone who can rally the old crew, someone they’ll listen to.”

”Someone who hates Marco as much as you do?”

”Exactly.” Valiant’s whiskers twitched. ”Now shut up - we’re getting close to the meeting spot.”

Valiant was, well, Valiant - all sass and terrible puns wrapped in fur. But being Cisco’s nephew, it seemed, had left its mark in more interesting ways than Adom initially thought.

The networks, the whispered words in dark corners, the way information flowed through the city’s underbelly - he’d absorbed it all while perched on his uncle’s shoulder. So when they needed to find Thormund and the others who’d kept faith with Cisco instead of bowing to Marco’s betrayal, it took him exactly one day to arrange this meeting.

They came to a stop before a crumbling townhouse wedged between a bakery and what used to be an Imperial tax office. Like most buildings in this part of the Dregs, its windows were boarded up, snow gathering on the sills.

”Alright,” Valiant whispered from the pocket, ”pigeon network says we need to go through the cellar. There’s a loose board in the floor - third from the left wall, about halfway down. Pull it up, you’ll find a brass key.”

The cellar doors were chained shut, rust coating the links. Adom found the padlock wasn’t even locked - just made to look that way.

Inside, the cellar smelled of damp earth and old wine. Adom counted floorboards, found the loose one. The key was exactly where Valiant said it would be.

”Back outside,” Valiant directed. ”See that window on the second floor? The one with the blue curtain? Count three bricks down from it, then four to the right. Push in.”

The brick slid back with a soft click. A keyhole appeared.

”Your uncle had this place the whole time?”

”One of many. Safe houses scattered all through the city. Marco found most of them, but this one...” Valiant’s whiskers twitched. ”This one was special. Uncle never even told Marco about it.”

The key turned smoothly. A section of wall swung inward, revealing a narrow corridor. As soon as Adom stepped inside, he felt the familiar tingle of enchantment wash over him.

”Protection wards,” Valiant explained. ”Anyone trying to break in gets... redirected. Ends up three streets over, wondering why they’re suddenly craving pickled herring.”

”Specific.”

”Uncle Cisco had a weird sense of humor.”

They moved deeper into the corridor. Adom’s boots made no sound on the floor - more enchantments. Somewhere ahead, something creaked.

[Flow Prediction] flared to life in Adom’s mind. Without thinking, he wove a shield of force. Steel rang against magic as a sword swept through where his neck had been a heartbeat before.

Adom’s hands were already moving through the gestures for a binding spell when a voice boomed:

”STOP!”

Heavy footsteps. A massive shape emerged from the shadows - a man built like a bear, missing his left arm at the shoulder. The same man Adom remembered trying to knock Cisco’s teeth out that one day.

Thormund.

The big man cuffed Adom’s would-be attacker upside the head with his remaining hand. ”Idiot! These are the ones we’re waiting for!”

”Ow! How was I supposed to know?”

”Because I told you they were coming! Were you drunk again during the briefing?”

”...maybe.”

Thormund turned to Adom, shaking his head. ”Sorry about that. Can’t be too careful these days, but Dern here” - another cuff to the attacker’s head - ”needs to learn to listen better.”

The half-formed binding spell faded from Adom’s fingers as he lowered his hands. ”It’s fine. Better careful than dead these days.” He pulled down his face mask and pushed back his hood, snow melting in his dark hair.

Thormund’s eyes narrowed. ”You’re the mage from last time.”

”Yeah. Sorry about...” Adom gestured vaguely at his face, remembering how Thormund had ended up unconscious after trying to hit Cisco.

”Ha! Good block that day. Caught me by surprise.” Thormund stepped forward, extending his remaining hand. ”Thormund, son of Bjornir, of the Northern Clans. Had the honor of fighting a wyvern thanks to your order.” He rolled his shoulder where the left arm should have been. ”Got a nice souvenir too.”

”I’m so sorry about-”

”Not at all!” Thormund’s laugh filled the corridor. ”You should see how the wyvern looked after. Besides, we freeman wear our battle scars like medals. Shows we lived through something worth fighting.”

Adom let out a flat laugh. Right. Lost an arm fighting a wyvern for a heart that ended up... nowhere, thanks to Marco. Hmm, perhaps it was not the best idea to tell him that.

Thormund peered around him at the empty corridor, brow furrowing. ”Though... word was the boss’s nephew would be here too. Little fellow, bit of an attitude on him from what I hear.”

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”Aw, Thormund,” a familiar voice chirped from Adom’s pocket. ”You’re making me blush.”

Valiant poked his head out, whiskers twitching. ”Valiant Maus, at your service. Uncle Cisco’s favorite nephew.”

”You were his only nephew,” one of the men in the shadows called out.

”Details, details!”

Laughter echoed through the corridor - not just from Thormund, but from at least a dozen others emerging from the shadows. Some wore freeman furs and leathers, others the plain clothes of city folk. Adom recognized dock workers, craftsmen, all sort of random.

”Little boss!” Thormund grinned. ”Should’ve known you’d end up a rat. Always sneaking around, getting into trouble.”

”Excuse you, I’m a mouse.”

”Same difference.”

”Is not!”

More laughter. Adom watched, surprised, as these hardened men grinned and joked with the tiny beastkin.

Valiant hopped down from Adom’s pocket, landing on a nearby crate with practiced ease.

”Careful, kid!” a gruff voice called out. ”Don’t knock over the-”

”Sorry, sorry!” A shuffling sound, followed by muttered curses.

Adom leaned forward, trying to see past the gathered men. A familiar figure emerged from behind a stack of crates, rubbing his shin.

”Adom?”

”Eren?”

The boy stared at him for a moment before his face split into a grin. ”You’re alive!” He crashed into Adom with a hug that nearly knocked them both over. ”When they said a mage was coming, I hoped, but- wait.” He pulled back, squinting at Adom’s head. ”Since when do you have white in your hair?”

Adom touched the streak of white running through his black hair. ”It’s a long story.”

”Hey, I’m alive too,” Valiant called out, sitting back on his haunches. ”You know, just in case anyone cares about it.”

Eren laughed, releasing Adom. ”Hello, Mister Valiant. Good to see you’re okay too.”

”Still with the ’Mister,’ huh?” Valiant’s whiskers twitched with amusement. ”After all this time?”

Adom’s head was spinning. ”Eren, what are you doing here? This isn’t... this isn’t exactly a safe place for-”

”For what? A kid?” Eren straightened up, trying to look taller. ”I owed Mister Cisco. He got my mother that job at the tavern when no one else would hire her. Paid me good coin for running messages, kept me away from the really bad crews that were trying to recruit kids.”

”Damn right,” someone called from the back. ”Old man looked out for all of us!”

”Remember when he caught those slavers trying to set up in the Dregs?”

”Or that time he paid for Doc Marie to treat all those kids with the fever?”

The voices overlapped, men calling out memories, each one carrying the weight of a debt that couldn’t be repaid now.

”Thank you, Eren,” Valiant said quietly, and somehow his voice carried over the others. ”Uncle... uncle would’ve been glad to know you’re here.”

The boy nodded.

Valiant cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on the crate. ”So, uh... thanks. For coming. All of you.” He scratched behind his ear. ”I mean, when we sent out the pigeons, I wasn’t sure-”

”Speak up, little boss!” someone called out. ”Can’t hear you squeaking back here!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Valiant’s whiskers twitched.

”Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Not all of us got voices like thunder.” He tried to stand taller. ”Look, I’m not... I’m not good at this. Uncle was the one who knew how to talk to people. Me? I’m better at stealing cheese and making bad jokes.”

”That’s for damn sure,” Thormund grinned.

”But...” Valiant’s voice caught. ”But I have to say something, don’t I? Because...” His paws clenched. ”Because I was there. That night. When Marco...” The humor faded from his voice. ”When that bastard showed his true colors.”

The laughter died. Men leaned forward, listening.

”You know what uncle was doing, earlier that day? Planning. Always planning.” Valiant’s voice grew stronger, anger feeding it. ”Talking about how we could fix up the old warehouse district. Make proper homes. How we could get the kids off the streets, get them learning trades instead of picking pockets. How we could make the Dregs something more than just the city’s asshole.”

Someone spat. ”Why’d he do it? Marco, I mean. After everything Cisco did for him?”

”I’ve thought about it.” Valiant’s fur bristled, his voice quiet. ”Turned it over and over in my head, watching that moment again and again. Marco, coming in with that smile. Uncle, trusting him like always.” He let out a bitter laugh. ”You know what I think? I think when he heard the Star Knight was coming, he got scared. Fucking terrified. And instead of standing with the man who pulled him out of the gutter, gave him a chance when no one else would...” The mouse’s whole body shook. ”He wrapped his hands around uncle’s throat. Just... squeezed.”

”Shit,” someone muttered.

”Coward’s way out,” another voice growled.

”Always was yellow under all that swagger,” Thormund added, and there were grunts of agreement.

”Uncle believed in this place. In all of you. Believed we could be more than what those upper city fucks think we are.” Valiant was pacing now, rage making him forget his earlier awkwardness. ”And that rat bastard Marco? He killed him for it. Killed him for daring to think the Dregs could be something better.”

Adom watched as the men’s faces hardened, as hands tightened on weapons.

”So yeah, uncle’s dead. But what he wanted? What he fought for? That’s still here. In all of you. In every kid he helped, every family he protected, every fucking dream he had for this shithole we call home.” Valiant turned, facing them all. ”I’m not asking you to follow me. I’m a mouse who can’t even give a proper speech without fumbling it. I’m asking you to fight for what uncle believed in. To show Marco that the Dregs aren’t for fucking sale.”

”And how’re we supposed to do that?” someone asked, but there was no mockery in it now. Just hard practicality.

”With this mage.” Valiant gestured to Adom. ”With each other. With everything uncle taught us about loyalty and trust and fighting smart instead of just throwing bodies at problems.” His voice dropped, but somehow it carried clearer than ever. ”So what do you say? Ready to remind that backstabbing cunt why you don’t fuck with the Dregs?”

The response wasn’t cheers. It was darker. Weapons being drawn. Curses being spat. The sound of men who remembered a debt, who carried a grudge, who were ready to collect with interest.

Adom stood there, watching this transformation.

”Shit,” Thormund said into the silence, shaking his head with a slow grin. ”Didn’t think the little boss had that in him.”

Laughter broke out again, lighter this time, releasing some of the tension.

”What’s that supposed to mean?” Valiant bristled, whiskers twitching. ”I can be inspiring when I want to!”

”Sure you can, boss.” Thormund stepped forward, his remaining arm resting on his belt axe. ”Sure you can.” His face grew serious. ”Look, you’re not your uncle. Not yet. Maybe not ever - man was one of a kind. But...” He drew his axe, the steel catching the dim light. ”You’ve got something of him in you. Something that matters. My axe is yours, boss. We’ll help you grow into those big paws you’ve got to fill.”

”Oh.” Valiant’s ears flattened, clearly not expecting this. ”I, uh-”

”And my sword,” called out a tall freeman, stepping forward. ”For Cisco’s memory, and for what his nephew might become.”

One by one they came forward - dock workers, craftsmen, freeman warriors. Each pledging weapon or skill or loyalty. Valiant’s head swiveled back and forth, watching them with growing panic. He turned to Adom, tiny paws gesturing frantically: What do I do?!

Adom couldn’t help but chuckle. ”Accept their allegiance,” he whispered. ”Just... try to look dignified.”

Valiant straightened up, clearing his throat. He attempted what was probably supposed to be a stoic expression but looked more like he’d eaten something sour. ”My friends, I... thank you for your trust. I will try to be worthy of it.”

”Right then!” someone called out from the back. ”When do we start cracking heads?”

The mouse’s dignity cracked slightly with relief at the change of subject. ”Tonight. But first...” He turned to Thormund. ”Did you bring him? The one you told me about in the messages?”

Thormund’s face darkened. He gestured to the shadows behind him, and two men dragged forward a third figure. Bound, gagged, bearing fresh bruises. They dropped him unceremoniously in front of Valiant’s crate.

”Lars.” Valiant’s voice was quiet now, all pretense of dignity gone. Just cold disappointment. ”I really hoped I was wrong about you, you know that?”

The man tried to say something.

”Take the gag off,” Valiant ordered quietly. ”Let him speak.”

One of the men yanked the cloth from Lars’s mouth. He coughed, working his jaw, eyes darting between the faces surrounding him before settling on Valiant.

”Please,” Lars croaked. ”You don’t understand. You didn’t see him. That Gale...” He shuddered. ”That man isn’t human. The power he’s got? Any of you would’ve done the same. You would have-”

”I’m not interested in excuses.” Valiant’s voice cut through Lars’s babbling like a knife. ”Save your breath.”

”Please. Please Valiant!” Lars’s eyes were wet now. ”Please, I have kids. A family. He said he’d-”

”So did the families you sold out.” Valiant’s tail lashed. ”The ones hiding from the Star Knight. Remember them? The children uncle was protecting?”

Lars flinched as if struck. His gaze found Eren standing next to Adom, and something like shame crossed his face.

Adom watched silently, his blue eyes unblinking.

”I.. I don’t want to die,” Lars whispered. ”Please. I’ll do anything.”

”Anything?” Valiant’s whiskers twitched. ”Then tell me what I want to know. About Marco. About what’s happening in the Undertow right now. Everything.”

Lars hesitated, glancing around at the hard faces surrounding him. At Thormund’s axe, still drawn. At Eren’s accusing stare. At Adom’s quiet observation.

”He’ll kill me if I talk.”

”He’ll kill you anyway,” Valiant said flatly. ”Tell me what I want to know.”

Lars blinked. ”You’d... let me go?”

”Uncle gave second chances.” Valiant’s voice was hard. ”One chance, Lars. Lie to me, and that chance goes away. Clear?”

Lars swallowed hard, looking down at his bound hands.

”Alright,” he whispered. ”Alright, I’ll tell you everything.”

Valiant nodded at Thormund. ”Take him somewhere quiet. Get it all down.” His eyes met Lars’s again. ”And remember - I’ll know if you’re lying.”

The silence stretched. Lars swallowed hard, looking down at his bound hands.

As the men filed out after Lars and Thormund, their boots scuffing against the floor, Valiant turned to Adom. His whiskers twitched nervously.

”How’d I do?” he whispered.

Adom grinned, giving him a thumbs up. ”Pretty good, boss. Keep this up, you might actually grow into this whole leadership thing.”

”Really?” Valiant’s ears perked up. ”I mean - uh, of course. Naturally. Total natural.”

Eren just stood there, looking between the two of them with bewildered confusion.

*****

Morning light filtered through the smithy’s grimy windows. Adom stood at the door, alone - he’d left Valiant back in the Dregs, organizing tonight’s preparations. Something felt off. The forge’s warmth seeped through the cracks, but the usual rhythm of hammer strikes was missing.

He knocked. No answer.

Knocked again. Still nothing.

Footsteps echoed down the street - soldiers on patrol. Adom slipped inside before they rounded the corner.

”What the...”

The smithy looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Tools scattered everywhere, metal shavings coating the floor, half-finished projects knocked off workbenches. Even the forge seemed dimmer somehow, its coals barely glowing.

”Fili?” Adom called out, stepping carefully over a fallen hammer. ”You here?”

A groan answered from behind a pile of crates.

Adom’s hands moved instantly into defensive positions, a spell forming at his fingertips. Something red pooled on the floor near the crates, spreading slowly. A hand - definitely Fili’s - stuck out from behind them, not moving.

”Fili!”

Adom edged closer, ready for anything. The red liquid seemed to be everywhere, and Fili lay sprawled on his back, covered in it, eyes closed, completely still.

”No, no, no...” Adom dropped to his knees, hands hovering over Fili’s chest, trying to find the wound. ”Where are you bleeding from? Fili!”

Fili’s fingers twitched. Then his chest rose with a deep breath. His eyes cracked open, squinting at the forge light.

”Mmph... Adom? What’re you...” He yawned, stretching like someone who’d fallen asleep in an awkward position. ”Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Adom’s hands, still poised to weave healing magic, slowly lowered. Something wasn’t adding up. No wounds. No pain in Fili’s voice. Just... sleepiness?

”You’re... not dying?”

”Dying?” Fili pushed himself up on one elbow, smacking his lips. A red droplet rolled down his cheek, but now that Adom looked closer, it was too bright for blood. Too thin. ”Why would I be...” He looked down at himself, then at the puddles around them. Understanding dawned on his face. ”Ah. The paint.”

”The paint?”

Adom touched one of the red puddles. The liquid was almost watery, and oddly didn’t have any smell at all. He rubbed it between his fingers - definitely not blood.

”It’s lodestone paint,” Fili explained, groaning as he got to his feet. His joints popped from sleeping on the hard floor. ”We use it on enchanted metals. The lodestone powder helps the runes stick better, makes the enchantments last longer.” He tried wiping some off his sleeve, only managing to smear it worse. ”Normally you mix it thicker, but I was trying something new. Thought maybe if I made it thinner, it’d seep deeper into the metal.”

He stumbled over to a workbench, still looking half-asleep. ”Didn’t work though. Just made a mess. Think I dozed off around the fifth batch...”

Adom stood up with a sigh, looking at Fili properly now. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, clothes stained with gods knew how many different substances. No point scolding him - the guy looked like he hadn’t seen a bed in days. Knowing Fili, that was probably exactly the case.

”But hey,” Fili brightened suddenly, like a kid remembering it was his birthday, ”I finished it! The armor’s done, and the golem too. Got all the enchantments laid in just right.” His excitement seemed to be fighting a losing battle with his exhaustion, but he grinned anyway. ”Can’t test them myself though - no fluid, you know?” He gestured at himself with a paint-stained hand. ”Master Kern used to handle that part, before...” He trailed off, then shook his head. ”But you could try them out. See if I got the runes right. Want to?”

Adom nodded, and Fili’s face lit up. He disappeared into the back room, metal clanking and things being moved around. ”Just a second!” his voice came muffled through the wall. ”Got it in this special box we have...”

He emerged carrying a wooden box about the size of a small chest. Runes covered every surface, glowing faintly in the forge light. Fili set it down carefully, then couldn’t help launching into an explanation.

”The golem’s fascinating, really. Never seen anything like it. The core especially - it’s not like the usual constructs. Spent hours just studying how it works.” He ran a hand through his paint-crusted hair. ”Once I figure out how to use fluid myself, I want to try building something similar. See what makes it tick, you know? But for now...” He gestured at the box.

Adom looked at the box and simply said:

”Rise.”

The lid sprung open. At first there was just darkness, then metal caught the morning light as the golem emerged. Up and up it rose, smooth and deliberate, until Adom had to tilt his head back to follow its ascent. Two meters of armored construct loomed over them, and for a moment the workshop felt smaller.

The armor took his breath away. Not gaudy or overdone, but purposeful.

Each plate of dark metal flowed into the next like water frozen in motion. The edges caught the light just so, creating patterns of shadow and gleam that made the whole thing seem alive even when still. Deep blues and blacks in the metal shifted as he moved around it.

Silver runes traced paths across the surface, stealth, protection, energy dissipation, so many runes. So many functions.

Adom reached out, hesitated, then rapped his knuckles against the chest plate. The sound surprised him - not the hollow ring of empty armor, but something deeper, more solid. Like knocking on bedrock. He ran his hand along one of the shoulder guards, feeling how each segment connected to the next.

Even with one arm missing, the golem had... presence. The kind that made you stand straighter without meaning to.

”The core,” Fili was saying, practically bouncing despite his exhaustion, ”it’s got these channels I’ve never seen before. The way it handles fluid is completely different from normal constructs. The circulation system alone is-”

The golem’s runes flared to life as Adom activated its Fluid. Blue energy coursed through the channels between its plates. Fili squeaked, jumping back, then immediately leaned in closer, eyes wide.

”The circulation,” Adom noted, watching the fluid flow, ”you’ve optimized it. These paths are more efficient than before.”

”You can tell?” Fili beamed with pride. ”I adjusted the rune patterns to reduce resistance. Wasn’t sure it would work, but...” He circled the golem, examining every glowing line. ”Look how smooth the flow is! And the armor - notice how it moves? Silent as a shadow, thanks to the dampening runes. Added extra protective layers too, worked them right into the metal. Took forever to get the enchantments to layer properly without interfering with each other...”

Something caught Adom’s eye on the armor’s shoulder plate - not quite a rune, more like a personal mark. ”What’s that?”

”Oh, that?” Fili scratched his neck, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. ”Well, since this is my first real work and all... thought I should add my blacksmith signature. You know, tradition and all that.”

Adom traced the mark with his finger, then froze. His eyes widened as he turned to stare at Fili. ”This is yours? Your signature?”

”Yeah?” Fili shifted his weight. ”Picked it when I was a kid, actually. I’ve been dreaming about using it since I first decided to become a blacksmith.” He brightened a bit, getting into the explanation. ”There’s this old tradition, see - blacksmiths can take on a new name, something to mark their creations by. Mine is-”

”Fyre,” Adom whispered.

”Yeah, exactl-” Fili’s mouth dropped open. ”Wait, how did you-”

Adom just stood there, mind reeling.

In his time - his future - that mark meant something. Everyone knew of the mysterious Sundarian blacksmith who became the greatest craftsman in the nation’s history. S-rank artifacts, some even beyond that. In the right hands, their weapons had turned hopeless battles into victories.

Their armor had protected heroes who shaped history. Their creations surpassed even the works of elven artificers and dwarven master smiths. No one knew who Fyre was - they never showed their face, never claimed credit beyond that simple mark. But their work... their work was unmistakable.

Adom almost laughed. All this time, he’d pictured Fyre as some ancient master smith, holed up in a mountain somewhere. The kind you’d find in stories - long grey beard, arms like tree trunks, probably made some dark bargain with an ancient spirit to forge weapons of legend.

Instead, here was this kid covered in magical paint and practically vibrating with excitement over rune patterns.

He couldn’t help but smile at Fili, who immediately got that confused look again. ”What?”

”You know what? I think we’re going to be very good friends.”

”Friends? Friends...” Fili perked up, then seemed to catch himself, like he wasn’t sure if Adom was making fun of him. ”I... I always wanted a friend. Master Kern is great, but she’s my master, you know? Not really the same thing. And the other kids...”

He started fiddling with his sleeve. ”They always looked bored or annoyed when I tried talking to them. Got tired of seeing those looks after a while. Guess they didn’t want to hear about enchantments and forge work when they could be doing... whatever it is other fifteen-year-olds do.” He shrugged, trying to act like it didn’t matter. ”So I just... stopped trying.”

While Fili rambled on, Adom turned to the golem. He drew the Flamebrand sword from his inventory. The golem’s remaining hand closed around the hilt as he offered it, and immediately, flames burst to life along the blade making Fili squeak mid sentence.

The armor was ready. His mother had brewed enough potions. Noss, his father’s second in command, would be there. Valiant and his men were coming too. And the armies...

It was done.

I am ready now, Adom thought, watching the flames. Now I am ready.