Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

”It bit me! That thing just bit me!”

A shrill voice echoed through the sunlit classroom as a gangly third-year student backpedaled frantically, nearly tripping over his own feet. His right index finger was clutched dramatically in his left hand, though there wasn’t a visible mark on it.

”Mr. Tanner, please control yourself,” Professor Elowen said with the weary patience of someone who’d witnessed this exact scene dozens of times before. ”The quillick did not bite you. They physically cannot bite – they have grinding plates, not teeth.”

The quillick in question – a round, four-legged creature about the size of a large squirrel – peered up from the desk with enormous amber eyes. Its body was covered in soft spines that resembled quills but were actually more like fine fur. It made a gentle chirruping sound and bobbed its head inquisitively.

”It definitely bit me,” Tanner insisted, but with noticeably less conviction.

”What you felt,” Professor Elowen explained as she approached the student’s desk, ”was the quillick’s sensory bristles. They use them to identify potential bond-mates.” She reached down and allowed the small creature to nuzzle her palm. ”See? Completely harmless.”

From his spot three rows back, Adom suppressed a sigh.

The class was only fifteen minutes in, and already he was questioning his decision to take Basic Bonding. The classroom itself was unlike any other at Xerkes – more greenhouse than lecture hall, with living plants growing along the walls and ceiling, and desks made from unvarnished wood that still seemed to be alive, small leaves occasionally sprouting from their edges.

It was all very... druidic. Which was exactly what he’d signed up for, of course. But somehow, watching a thirteen-year-old nearly faint over what amounted to a magical hamster hadn’t featured in his expectations.

”Now, if everyone would please return to the bonding exercise,” Professor Elowen continued. ”Remember, quillicks are empathic. They respond to your emotions, not just your actions.”

Adom glanced down at his assigned quillick, which sat motionless on his desk. Unlike most of the others, which ranged from sandy brown to light gray, his was an unusual deep blue color with silver-tipped spines. While the other quillicks in the classroom were actively exploring their desks or cautiously interacting with students, his just... sat there. Staring up at him with a vacant, fixed smile.

”Look at you,” Adom muttered, fighting a grin despite himself. ”Not a thought behind those eyes, huh?”

The creature’s permanent smile—a trait quillicks evolved in safe, rank D dungeons where predators were scarce—made it look perpetually delighted even when it was clearly confused. Its head tilted at a wrong angle when Adom waved his hand, like its neck mechanics weren’t quite working right.

It was undeniably adorable—in that ”bless your heart” kind of way. While the other quillicks demonstrated proper quillick intelligence, his seemed to have missed several developmental milestones.

”They’re ignoring me,” complained a girl to Adom’s right – Merin, he thought her name was. A third-year elementalist with perpetually ink-stained fingers. ”Is that normal?”

”It means they’re assessing you,” replied the boy beside her, who Adom recognized as Jace Daffri, another third-year with an almost encyclopedic knowledge of magical creatures. ”Quillicks are more cautious than most familiar candidates. They need to be sure.”

”Sure of what?” Merin asked.

”That you won’t abandon them,” Jace said simply. ”They bond for life. Once a quillick chooses you, that’s it. They’re yours until one of you dies.”

Adom pondered this as he observed his own quillick. It was still staring. Definitely not thinking of him abandoning it. Actually, it was not thinking at all.

Poor sweet thing.

Professor Elowen circled the room, observing each student’s progress. She was tall and willowy, with auburn hair that reached her waist and seemed to move slightly even when she was standing still. Rumor had it she was part dryad, which was absurd, since it was biologically impossible for humans and dryads to reproduce.

”Mr. Sylla,” she said, pausing at his desk. ”You haven’t attempted to make contact yet.”

It wasn’t a question, but Adom felt compelled to answer anyway.

”I was giving it space,” he replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue. ”It seemed... elsewhere.”

Professor Elowen’s lips quirked in a small smile. ”A diplomatic answer. But the exercise requires participation, not just observation.” She gestured to the quillick. ”Extend your hand, palm up, about six inches away. Let it come to you if it chooses.”

Adom sighed, then reluctantly extended his hand as instructed, palm up and hovering six inches from the quillick. ”Like this?”

The blue quillick stared at his hand for a long moment, head tilting at an impossible angle that made it look like its neck had an extra joint. It blinked its amber eyes slowly, one lid closing slightly before the other, creating an oddly asymmetrical wink.

Then, without warning, it shuffled forward and gave Adom’s palm one long, enthusiastic lick.

Adom couldn’t help but chuckle. The sensation was somewhere between sandpaper and a wet paintbrush.

”Well, at least it’s friendly,” he said, looking up at Professor Elowen. ”Though I think mine might be... special.”

Jace leaned over, examining the blue quillick with academic interest. ”Is it sick or something? I’ve never seen one move like that.”

”Yeah,” Merin chimed in, ”it’s like its head’s not attached properly.”

The quillick’s permanent smile remained fixed, but its spines flattened slightly against its body.

”Students,” Professor Elowen said sharply. ”Please be mindful of what you say. These quillicks are raised here at the academy and understand Common perfectly well. They may not be able to respond verbally, but they comprehend your words—and can be hurt by them.”

Merin’s cheeks flushed. ”Sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean—”

”It’s not me you should apologize to,” Professor Elowen interrupted gently.

Merin turned to the blue quillick. ”I’m sorry,” she said, looking genuinely contrite. ”That was thoughtless of me.”

The quillick’s spines relaxed slightly, though it remained focused on Adom.

”Mr. Sylla,” Professor Elowen continued, ”your quillick is perfectly healthy. Zuni here—” she indicated the blue creature with a gentle gesture, ”—simply processes the world differently than most quillicks. He’s a bit slower to respond to new stimuli, but his empathic abilities are actually more developed than average.”

Adom looked down at the quillick—at Zuni—with renewed interest. ”So he’s not... impaired?”

”Only if you consider heightened sensitivity an impairment,” she replied with a smile. ”Zuni has successfully paired with three previous students, though none proved compatible for a permanent bond. He’s quite selective.”

Zuni chose that moment to emit a high-pitched squeak while staring directly at Adom. The sound was so unexpected and so perfectly timed that several nearby students snickered.

Professor Elowen’s lips twitched. ”He also has excellent comedic timing.”

”Was that a joke?” Adom asked, eyebrows raised.

”Quillicks have a unique sense of humor,” she replied diplomatically. ”Consider it a good sign that he’s comfortable enough to express it with you.”

As she moved on to help other students, Adom looked down at Zuni, who was now preening his silver-tipped spines with an air of innocent satisfaction.

”So,” Adom said quietly, ”you’re not as simple as you’re pretending to be, are you?”

Zuni paused his grooming to give Adom what could only be described as the quillick equivalent of a shrug, before resuming his vacant, tilted-head smile.

Professor Elowen finally returned to the front of the classroom, gently tapping a small wooden rod against her desk. The sound it made was like rain on autumn leaves rather than the harsh rap of traditional classroom discipline.

”Now that you’ve all had a chance to meet your potential companions,” she said, ”I want to clarify the expectations for this course. You’ll have the entire semester to work with your assigned quillicks and develop a bond—if one is meant to form.”

She gestured to a row of elegantly crafted small cages along the wall, each made from living branches that still sprouted small leaves.

”You’ll be taking your quillicks with you after class today. Each of you will receive a carrier and care instructions. This practical experience is essential—bonding doesn’t happen in scheduled hour-long sessions twice a week. It requires consistent interaction and understanding.”

A hand shot up from the back row.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

”Yes, Mr. Ferris?”

”What if they run away?” asked a nervous-looking boy with glasses. ”My last attempt at keeping a pet ended with a lizard living in the dormitory walls for three months.”

Professor Elowen smiled. ”These aren’t pets, Mr. Ferris. Quillicks are intelligent companions with their own agency. They won’t ’run away’ unless given good reason.”

She moved to the large illustration board behind her desk, waving her hand over it. The blank surface came alive with images of various people interacting with plants and animals in different settings.

”Today’s introduction is just the beginning. Before we proceed further with bonding practices, it’s important you understand what you’re working toward. What does it mean to be a druid in our magical tradition?”

The image on the board shifted to show a woman with her hand pressed against a massive tree trunk, a soft green glow emanating from the point of contact.

”Contrary to some popular misconceptions, druids are not shapeshifters, nor are they solely wild magic practitioners. At their core, druids are Whisperers—communicators and mediators between the sentient world and the natural one.”

The illustration changed again, showing a network of glowing threads connecting a druid to surrounding plants and animals.

”The foundation of druidic magic is resonance,” Professor Elowen continued. ”Every living thing produces a unique mana signature—a rhythm, if you will. Druids learn to attune their own mana to these rhythms, creating harmony rather than dominance.”

She traced a finger along one of the illustrated threads, causing it to pulse brighter.

”This resonance allows for communication, enhancement, and occasionally, direction—though never control. A true druid doesn’t command nature; they request cooperation.”

Adom found himself genuinely interested despite his initial skepticism.

The concept triggered memories from his previous timeline—where druids were feared battlefield mages who unleashed terrifying natural forces against their enemies. Not numerous, but extraordinarily lethal when provoked, a skilled druid could rally dryads and awaken treants, turning the land itself into a weapon. Alongside elementalists, they ranked among the deadliest magical practitioners in terms of sheer destructive capability, despite their typically peaceful, nature-protective philosophy.

”The ability to sense these natural rhythms varies from person to person,” Professor Elowen said. ”Some are born with heightened empathic sensitivity—what we call natural affinity. Others develop it through practice and disciplined study.”

She gestured to the quillicks scattered throughout the classroom.

”These companions are your first step. Quillicks have remarkably clear mana signatures—easy to detect even for beginners. They’re also naturally empathic, which means they’ll actively try to connect with you if they sense genuine interest.”

Professor Elowen waved her hand again, and the illustration shifted to show a detailed diagram of mana flow between a person and a quillick.

”Druidic resonance works through three primary channels: empathic projection, mana synchronization, and intent amplification. We’ll be focusing on empathic projection first—your ability to consciously direct your emotional state toward another living being.”

She paused, looking around the classroom.

”This is not emotional manipulation. The distinction is crucial. You cannot—and should not try to—force feelings onto your companions. Rather, you’re creating a bridge that allows natural emotional exchange.”

The professor had barely finished her instructions when a hand shot up from near the windows. It belonged to a stocky boy with close-cropped hair who Adom recognized from his Tactical Studies class—Dorn Velis, known for his blunt questions and even blunter opinions.

”Professor,” Dorn said, not waiting to be called on, ”I don’t understand how we’re supposed to ’project’ emotions. That’s not logical. Emotions are internal states, not... things you can throw at someone.”

A few students snickered, but Professor Elowen nodded as though it were a perfectly reasonable question.

”An excellent point, Mr. Velis. The terminology can be misleading if taken too literally.” She walked back to the front of the classroom. ”Would you mind if I used you for a quick demonstration?”

Dorn shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. ”I guess not.”

”Thank you. Please come up here.”

As Dorn made his way to the front, Professor Elowen addressed the class. ”Mr. Velis has raised an important question that many of you are likely wondering about. How does one ’project’ something as intangible as an emotion?”

Dorn stood awkwardly beside her desk, hands shoved in his pockets.

”Empathic projection involves three distinct components,” Professor Elowen explained. ”First, mental focus—the ability to clearly identify and isolate a specific emotion within yourself.”

She gestured for Dorn to stand facing her.

”Mr. Velis, could you think of something that makes you feel genuinely curious? Not just intellectually interested, but truly curious—that feeling of wanting to discover something new.”

Dorn frowned in concentration. After a moment, his expression shifted subtly, his eyes focusing somewhere in the distance.

”Good,” Professor Elowen said softly. ”Hold that feeling. Now, the second component is mana channeling.”

She raised her hand, palm outward, about a foot from Dorn’s chest. A faint emerald glow appeared around her fingers.

”Your personal mana naturally carries your emotional signature—it’s inseparable from who you are. However, most mages are trained to neutralize this aspect of their magic for consistency in spellweaving. Druids do the opposite—we consciously enhance and direct these emotional qualities.”

The glow around her hand intensified slightly.

”I’m now drawing my mana into my palm, but instead of forming it into a spell structure, I’m allowing it to remain fluid while concentrating on matching the emotional state I perceive from Mr. Velis—in this case, curiosity.”

The class watched in fascination as the green glow began to pulse rhythmically.

”The third component is projection—extending this emotionally-charged mana outward in a controlled manner.” She slowly moved her hand closer to Dorn. ”May I?”

He nodded, looking both nervous and intrigued.

When her palm was an inch from his chest, the green glow extended outward like tendrils of morning mist, gently connecting with him. Dorn’s eyes widened.

”Whoa,” he said softly.

”What do you feel?” Professor Elowen asked.

”It’s like... my curiosity got bigger,” he replied, sounding surprised. ”Like you’re... echoing it back to me, but stronger?”

Professor Elowen smiled and withdrew her hand, the green glow fading. ”What you experienced was a simple harmonic resonance. I detected your emotional state, matched it with my own mana, and created a bridge between us that amplified the shared feeling.”

She turned to address the whole class again.

”The mana serves as both detector and carrier—it’s the medium through which the emotional connection forms. It’s not about ’throwing’ your emotions at another being; it’s about creating a shared space where emotional states can harmonize.”

She gestured for Dorn to return to his seat.

”This process is entirely different from mental manipulation or emotional control. You cannot—and should not try to—force a creature to feel something it doesn’t. You’re offering connection, not imposing your will.”

A girl near the front raised her hand. ”So we’re making... emotional bridges with our mana?”

”That’s an apt metaphor,” Professor Elowen nodded. ”In beginning practice, these bridges are fragile and temporary, requiring concentration to maintain. With experience, they become more stable and natural.”

She walked back toward her desk, where her own familiar—a small, iridescent creature somewhere between a hummingbird and a dragonfly—hovered.

”For many of you, this will feel strange at first. Our educational system tends to emphasize the separation of emotion from magical practice, treating feelings as distractions rather than potential assets. You’ll need to unlearn some of those assumptions.”

A tiny familiar landed on her outstretched finger, and without any visible effort or change in her demeanor, they clearly communicated—the creature bobbing and buzzing in what appeared to be a response to an unspoken question.

”What you just witnessed wasn’t telepathy,” she explained, ”but rather such a well-established empathic bridge that we no longer need conscious effort to maintain it. Sylph and I have been companions for over thirty years.”

She gently stroked the tiny creature’s back with her fingertip.

”Quillicks are particularly well-suited for beginning practitioners because their natural empathic abilities make them receptive even to clumsy attempts. They actively try to complete the connection—meeting you halfway, so to speak. They also provide immediate emotional feedback, helping you refine your technique.”

Adom glanced down at Zuni, who was watching him with those intelligent amber eyes, head still tilted at that slightly wrong angle. Was the little creature already trying to form a connection with him? The thought was both intriguing and slightly unsettling.

”For today’s practice,” Professor Elowen continued, ”start simple. Focus on curiosity or gentle interest—emotions that aren’t overwhelming or potentially distressing to your companions. Place your hand near your quillick, focus on the feeling, and imagine your mana as a soft light extending from your palm.”

She walked between the desks again, observing as students began their attempts.

”Don’t be discouraged if nothing seems to happen immediately. Like any skill, this takes practice and patience.”

Professor Elowen checked the time on a small sundial-like device embedded in her desk. ”We’ll end a bit early today to give you time to collect your carrying cases and care instructions. I look forward to seeing how your connections evolve before our next session.”

She gestured to a stack of parchment on her desk. ”Please take one care guide on your way out. The quillick carriers are along the wall—select one that seems to appeal to your companion.”

The room filled with the sounds of shuffling papers and chattering students as everyone gathered their belongings. Adom folded the parchment guide into his pocket and approached the wall of carriers, selecting one made from blue-tinted branches that seemed to match Zuni’s coloring.

He set the carrier on his desk and opened the small door. ”Alright, Zuni. Time to get in.”

Zuni stared at the carrier.

Then he looked back at Adom.

Then he looked at the carrier again.

Then back at Adom, his permanent smile somehow managing to convey absolute refusal while maintaining its cheerful appearance.

”Come on,” Adom said, gesturing to the open door. ”It’s just until we get to the dormitory.”

Zuni didn’t move. Just kept staring with that fixed, vacant smile.

”You’re adorable, but seriously, get in the cage.”

The quillick tilted his head at that impossible angle, as if to say, ”I can’t understand you when you speak nonsense.”

Adom sighed. ”Fine. We’ll try again.” He pointed directly at the carrier. ”This. You. In. Now.”

Zuni blinked slowly, first one eye, then the other, in that unsettling, uncoordinated way of his.

”Is there a problem, Mr. Sylla?” Professor Elowen appeared beside his desk, lips quirked in amusement as she observed the standoff.

”Zuni refuses to get in the carrier,” Adom explained, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt.

The professor chuckled. ”Ah, yes. I should have mentioned—Zuni doesn’t do cages.”

”He doesn’t... do cages,” Adom repeated flatly.

”Some quillicks have preferences. Zuni’s are particularly pronounced.” She glanced at the blue creature, who was now grooming himself pointedly, as if to say the discussion had nothing to do with him. ”You’ll need to carry him.”

”Carry him? How exactly?”

”Extend your arm,” she instructed.

Adom did as she asked, holding out his right arm parallel to the desk. Zuni immediately stopped his grooming and examined the offered limb with great interest. After a moment’s consideration, he waddled forward and climbed onto Adom’s wrist, his small claws gripping the fabric of Adom’s sleeve.

With surprising agility—especially given his earlier awkward movements—Zuni scampered up Adom’s arm and settled on his shoulder, pressing close to his neck.

”Oh,” Adom said, surprised by the warm weight. Despite his spiny appearance, Zuni felt soft and oddly pliant against his skin, like a living stuffed toy.

The quillick bumped his head against Adom’s jaw, the contact sending a strange, pleasant tingle through his nerves—not unlike the static shock from touching metal on a dry day, but somehow... friendlier.

Adom couldn’t help laughing. ”That feels weird.”

”Sensory bristles,” Professor Elowen reminded him. ”They’re gathering information about you. It looks like Zuni has taken a particular interest.”

”Is that good?” Adom asked, reaching up cautiously to stroke the quillick’s back. The spines flattened under his touch, revealing just how soft they actually were.

”Very good,” she replied. ”Quillicks are excellent judges of character. They don’t waste energy on people they don’t feel connected to.”

”Well, I hope we get along,” Adom said, oddly touched by the creature’s apparent preference. ”Can I leave the carrier here, then?”

”Keep it for now,” Professor Elowen advised. ”You might need it for certain situations, even if Zuni prefers direct contact.”

Adom nodded, tucking the empty carrier under his arm and heading for the door. Outside in the corridor, he shifted the carrier to free his hand and pulled out the care instructions, scanning them quickly.

”Says here you like peanuts,” he told Zuni, who squeaked in what sounded like enthusiastic confirmation. ”I know a good spot in the city that serves candied ones. I need to go there to meet Yann today. Interested?”

The quillick squeaked again, pressing closer to Adom’s neck.

”Let’s go, then.”