Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

Flight, among mages, was a surprisingly uncommon activity.

Not because they lack the capability—most competent spellweavers could manage some form of aerial locomotion—but because humans fundamentally weren’t designed to be airborne. Something deep in the ancient brain recognizes the wrongness of a human body suspended hundreds of feet above hard ground with nothing but invisible forces keeping it aloft.

If humans were meant to fly, they’d have wings. But humans, of course, have never been particularly good at accepting the limitations nature imposed on them.

Adom Sylla hated flying. This wasn’t breaking news.

Air filled your ears and mouth, stinging your eyes if you weren’t prepared. Visibility became compromised as tears blurred your vision. And if you happened to have a fear of heights? Well, tough luck.

But since his return, Adom had found himself airborne on multiple occasions—none of them pleasant. Given his life’s trajectory, more such ”opportunities” seemed inevitable. So might as well get used to it.

He stood at the edge of Braydon’s Cliff, trying very deliberately not to look down at the jagged rocks and frothing water three hundred feet below. The wind tugged at his clothing, almost playfully. Behind him stretched the empty field he’d crossed to reach this point, deliberately chosen for its isolation.

He’d done considerable research on flying options.

Enchanted brooms were popular among professional aerial mages, but Adom couldn’t fathom who had decided that sitting astride a narrow wooden handle for hours was a good idea. The chafing alone was enough reason to seek alternatives.

Despite this obvious design flaw, brooms remained the standard because they were relatively cheap to enchant, easy to disguise in urban settings, and had centuries of established spellwork behind them. Tradition, as with many things in the world, often trumped comfort or common sense.

Some mages also opted for full transformation, taking on the forms of birds or bats. But the process was slow, painful, and severely limited spellweaving capabilities. A raven couldn’t form proper spells with its wings, and maintaining concentration through the disorientation of having an entirely different body structure was its own challenge.

That left elemental propulsion. Wind, in Adom’s assessment, was the most efficient method. It required less mana than gravity manipulation and offered better control than fire’s explosive bursts.

A few days ago, maintaining a [Wind Lift] powerful enough for sustained flight would have rapidly depleted his reserves. But that was before his mana pool had expanded to 950. Now, he could theoretically cover hundreds of miles without significant strain.

Theoretically.

”I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Sam’s voice crackled through the communication crystal tucked in Adom’s pocket.

”I’ve done it before,” Adom replied, adjusting the thin mask covering the lower half of his face. ”In the dungeon, remember?”

”You were kind of forced to. Is that not what you told m- Hey! Zuni! Don’t touch my chocolate bar!”

”Which is why I’m practicing.” Adom replied, ignoring the ongoing battle between Sam and Zuni back at the academy. ”I need to stop being afraid of heights.”

He tapped the frame of his glasses, activating the enchantment that transformed them into sealed goggles. Elegant little things, custom-made by the same lady who imbedded Riddler’s Bane into them initially.

The ear issue had been trickier to solve. Stuffing cotton in them would block the wind but also Sam’s voice through the crystal. Eventually, he’d settled on runebound earplugs that produced a thin membrane of hardened air—a miniature shield spell modified to fit his ear canal perfectly while still allowing sound through.

”The rune should sustain itself for at least two hours with minimal mana drain,” Adom continued, focusing on the technical details rather than the drop before him. ”The air current will form a cushion first, then propulsion vectors.”

”You mean if it works,” Sam muttered.

”When it works.”

”This is your second day testing this! Most mages practice for months before attempting real flight!”

”Most mages didn’t spend forty years memorizing spell theory before they were thirteen.”

The wind picked up, almost as if responding to his words. Adom shifted his weight slightly, maintaining his balance on the cliff edge. Below, waves crashed against the rocks in a rhythm as old as the world.

He began the preliminary weave, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air. Mana flowed through his pathways, pooling in his palms.

What made flight spells particularly challenging was their composite nature. A true flight spell wasn’t merely a single spell but rather several distinct effects woven together into a seamless whole—a discipline known as spell integration.

Most mages worked with individual spells sequentially, but at high speeds or during complex maneuvers, this approach became impractical. You couldn’t pause mid-air to cast a new spell when you needed to adjust course immediately.

Spell integration was the art of combining multiple effects into a single casting—in this case, lift, directional control, stability, and wind shielding all functioning as one unified pattern. The difficulty wasn’t just in memorizing complex patterns but in maintaining the delicate balance between competing elements. Push too much mana into lift, and your directional control suffered. Strengthen your wind shield, and stability might falter.

It was the same principle applied in multi-function runes and advanced enchantment matrices—the optimization of magical efficiency through unified design rather than layered effects. The Academy taught the basics, but true mastery typically took decades of dedicated practice.

Decades a certain regressor did not waste.

”You’re absolutely sure about the spell structure?” Sam asked for perhaps the eighteenth time since they’d started.

”Yes. Triple-checked against Venturi’s Aerial Dynamics and cross-referenced with Magellan’s Wind Manipulation Principles.”

”And you have a recovery procedure if it fails?”

”Weave it again, very quickly.”

”That’s not a recovery procedure! That’s a desperate hope!”

Zuni chirped. From the crystal, and without seeing the quillick, it was harder to know what he really meant.

But, oh well.

”I’m going now,” Adom said, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. He took a deep breath, reciting the mantra he’d prepared: Focus on the air, not the height. Direction, not distance. Control, not speed.

”Wait! Just run through the sequence one more—”

Adom jumped.

For one terrible moment, there was nothing but the rush of air and the sickening lurch in his stomach as gravity claimed him. His body dropped like the thoroughly non-aerodynamic object it was.

”WEAVE IT!” Sam’s voice shrieked. ”WEAVE IT NOW!”

Adom’s hands moved through the pattern, fingers weaving the complex spell for [Sustained Wind Lift]. His mana surged, flooding into the air around him.

Nothing happened.

He’d fallen perhaps thirty feet now, picking up speed. The cliff face blurred past him, the wind tearing at his clothes.

”ADO–”

FWOOSH.

The air beneath him suddenly solidified, catching his body like an invisible cushion before propelling him upward. The abrupt change in direction knocked the breath from his lungs as he shot skyward, overshooting his intended altitude by at least seventy feet.

”Too much!” he gasped, frantically adjusting the weave to decrease power.

His ascent slowed, then stabilized. He hung in the air, body trembling slightly from the surge of adrenaline, about a hundred and fifty feet above the cliff edge.

”Are you okay?” Sam demanded. ”Say something!”

”I’m fine,” Adom managed, his voice steadier than he felt. ”Just... calibrating.”

The sensation was distinctly unnatural—his body suspended with nothing visible supporting it. The wind still buffeted him, but the spell created a partial boundary layer that reduced its impact. It was like floating in water, except the water was made of air and there was absolutely nothing stopping him from plummeting to his death except his concentration.

Cautiously, he leaned forward. The spell responded, carrying him in that direction. He leaned back, and his movement reversed. Left, right—his body followed his intent, the wind currents adjusting to support his weight and direction.

”It’s working,” he reported, carefully executing a slow turn. ”Maneuverability is good. Spell drain is minimal.”

”Great,” Sam replied, audibly relieved. ”Now please come back to solid ground.”

”Not yet. I need to practice actual travel.”

He leaned forward more deliberately, directing the wind to push him along a horizontal path parallel to the coastline. His speed increased gradually until he was moving at a decent clip—perhaps twenty miles per hour.

It wasn’t comfortable. The wind still found ways past his defenses, chilling his exposed skin. His stomach continued to register objections to the entire endeavor. And the primal part of his brain kept insisting he was going to fall to his death at any moment.

But it was working.

”Day two of flying,” he murmured, making a mental note. ”Still hate it. Marginally less terrifying than yesterday.”

”Progress is progress,” Sam replied cheerfully.

Adom executed another turn, this time more sharply, testing the spell’s responsiveness. He wobbled dangerously for a moment before stabilizing.

”I think I’m getting the hang of— Whoa!”

A sudden gust of natural wind caught him from the side, sending him into an uncontrolled spin. The spell faltered as his concentration broke.

He dropped twenty feet before frantically reasserting control, his heart pounding against his ribs.

”That’s it,” Sam declared. ”Come down now.”

Adom didn’t argue. He’d pushed his luck far enough for one day. He turned back toward the cliff, maintaining a cautious speed.

”You know,” he said after a moment, ”I think I understand why more mages don’t fly regularly.”

”Because it’s completely insane and terrifying?”

”Pretty much.”

But he was doing it anyway. Because someday, he might need to. And Adom Sylla didn’t believe in being unprepared.

He glided back toward the cliff, adjusting his altitude to arrive slightly above the edge. The landing would be the tricky part—controlling the deceleration so he didn’t slam into the ground.

”Approaching landing point,” he reported. ”Reducing speed.”

”Remember, gentle on the deceleration,” Sam advised. ”Like stepping off a slow-moving boat.”

”I know, I know.”

Adom gradually decreased the forward propulsion while maintaining the lift. The cliff edge approached at a manageable pace. Ten feet out, he began to lower his altitude, aiming to touch down about five feet from the edge.

Then another gust of wind caught him—just as he was transitioning from flight to landing.

The spell wavered. For a heart-stopping moment, he felt himself dropping too quickly. Instinctively, he poured more mana into the lift component—

And overcompensated.

He shot upward again, fifteen feet into the air, before frantically adjusting the weave. The result was an ungraceful bouncing motion, like a ball losing momentum, before he finally touched down on solid ground.

The author’s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The moment his feet contacted earth, Adom released the spell and dropped to his knees, breathing hard.

”And he sticks the landing!” Sam cheered through the crystal. ”Sort of. In a manner of speaking.”

”Shut up,” Adom gasped, but there was no heat in it.

He took a moment to regain his composure, then pushed himself upright. Instead of heading back as planned, he turned to look out across the ocean, toward the hazy outline of a small island in the distance.

”Changing the plan,” Adom announced, rolling his shoulders.

”What? What do you mean changing the—Adom, no. No.”

”I need to test distance flying.”

”We agreed on short flights for the first week!”

Adom reactivated the goggles feature on his glasses. ”It’s only four miles to Kim’s island. Perfect practice distance. Plus I was going there today anyway.”

”Four miles? Over open ocean? Are you insane?”

”Probably,” Adom admitted, beginning the weave again. ”But I need to know if I can make it.”

”If you fall in the middle—”

”Then I’ll get wet. I can swim.”

”In those clothes? With that equipment?”

”Everything important is in my inventory. Besides, I promised Professor Kim I’d visit. Brought him those tea blends he likes.”

Before Sam could protest further, Adom stepped off the cliff again. This time, his weave was ready before he jumped—the wind catching him immediately, no heart-stopping drop.

He leaned forward, picking up speed as he angled toward the distant island. Behind him, the cliff receded. Below, the ocean stretched out in endless blue.

”I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Sam grumbled.

The flight across open water was simultaneously more and less terrifying than flying over land. On one hand, a fall would mean only a dunking rather than a splattering. On the other, the endless expanse of ocean beneath him emphasized just how unnatural his position was.

He maintained a steady pace, focusing on the island growing steadily larger ahead. The mountain at its center rose sharply from the water, with dense forest covering its lower slopes. Near the peak, just below the tree line, sat a single small structure—Professor Kim’s retreat.

Twenty minutes later, Adom approached the island, beginning his deceleration. The landing would be trickier here—the mountain offered few flat surfaces, and the clearing around Kim’s house was small.

”I see the house,” he reported to Sam. ”Beginning approach pattern.”

”Remember what happened last time.”

”I’ve got it.”

He circled once, studying the terrain, then committed to his landing trajectory. This time, he decreased power more gradually, keeping extra mana ready to compensate for any unexpected gusts.

The landing wasn’t graceful, but it was controlled—a stumbling few steps as his feet touched down, then stability as he dismissed the spell.

”I’ve arrived,” he announced, slightly out of breath but unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice.

”Without dying. Congratulations.” Sam’s relief was evident despite his sarcastic tone. ”That’s actually impressive. Four miles on your second day.”

”Thanks for monitoring.”

”Next time give me more warning before you decide to cross open ocean.”

”Will do. I’ll call you when I’m heading back.”

”Be careful. And say hi to Professor Kim for me.”

”I will. Talk later.”

Adom disconnected the communication crystal, returning it to his pocket. He took a moment to catch his breath and let his racing heart settle, looking out over the spectacular view. From this height, the coastline was visible in the distance, the cliffs a thin line against the horizon.

He retrieved the basket from his inventory—carefully packed with fruit, sweets, biscuits, and three packages of imported tea blends—and approached the small stone house.

The structure was simple but sturdy, built to withstand the island’s frequent storms. A thin curl of smoke rose from the chimney, suggesting the professor was home. Guards were supposed to be here as well, and yet...

Adom knocked firmly on the wooden door.

From inside came the sound of movement, then a woman’s voice called out, ”Coming!”

Adom frowned.

Footsteps approached, and the door swung open.

Instead of Professor Kim’s familiar rumpled appearance, Adom found himself face to face with Vex—one of the Iron Wolves, her look unmistakable even with her hair pulled back in a casual style he’d never seen before.

”Oh?” she said, eyebrows rising. ”Isn’t it the Commander’s little boy?”

”Vex?” Adom managed, too shocked to form a more coherent response.

Before either could say more, hurried footsteps sounded from inside the house, and Professor Kim appeared behind her, his face flushed red. His shirt was half-buttoned, spectacles slightly askew, and hair more disheveled than usual—which was saying something.

”Adom!” he exclaimed, eyes widening. ”Is it already midday? Goodness!” He glanced at the window as if the sun might have shifted position while he wasn’t looking.

Adom stood frozen at the doorway, basket in hand, unable to stop frowning as he looked from Vex to Professor Kim and back again. These were two adults. Consenting, he hoped. For Kim’s sake. So there was nothing to disapprove of really. But still.

What the hell?

”Well, this is awkward,” Vex said, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smile. She’d traded her usual Iron Wolves uniform for a simple linen shirt that hung loosely on her athletic frame. ”Aren’t you going to say hello, little runt?”

Kim cleared his throat, fumbling with his shirt buttons. ”Enter, my boy, come in! Don’t just stand there letting the draft in.”

Vex stepped aside, allowing Adom to pass. ”I missed your cute little face,” she said, reaching out to ruffle his hair as he walked by. ”Still playing at being a proper student, I see.”

”Hello, Vex,” Adom finally managed, ducking away from her hand. ”I thought you were with the rest of the Iron Wolves in the north.”

”Took a leave to visit my lover,” she replied, shutting the door behind him. ”Any objections?”

Kim made a strangled noise from where he was hastily rearranging some books. ”Vex, please.”

”What?” she laughed. ”He looks like a kid but isn’t as oblivious as one. No need to be so worried.” She winked at Adom. ”We’re doing nothing wrong. Just two adults enjoying each other’s company.”

Adom shrugged, trying to appear more comfortable than he felt.

The inside of the cottage was surprisingly spacious—clearly expanded by magic well beyond its external dimensions. Bookshelves lined the walls, piled haphazardly with texts, scrolls, and loose papers. The main room featured a comfortable-looking sitting area, a small kitchen space, and a writing desk buried under more books.

And in the corner, an unusual piece of furniture caught his eye. A sort of chair, but with an odd arrangement of cushions and adjustable parts that made no logical sense for normal sitting.

Something about it seemed vaguely familiar, like a memory just out of reach. Had he seen something like this in his previous life? The curved support, those adjustable straps, the peculiar angle of the seat...

Slowly, the dots connected in his mind. Wasn’t this similar to those specialized furniture pieces designed for intimate—

”EYES!” Kim shouted suddenly, his hands flying through a hasty weave. A curtain materialized from nowhere, dropping over the strange chair. ”Cover your eyes, boy!”

”Oops,” Vex said, not sounding remotely apologetic.

Adom couldn’t help but chuckle, deciding to just let it go. They owed him no explanation, after all.

”I love magic,” he said, looking around at the expanded interior. ”The space manipulation here is impressive, Professor.”

”Yes, well,” Kim adjusted his spectacles, clearly relieved by the change of subject. ”Simple dimensional folding, really. Nothing complicated. Just a matter of creating a localized pocket where space can expand without affecting the external structure.”

”Nothing complicated, he says,” Vex muttered, taking the basket from Adom’s hands. ”Oh, you brought the good stuff. Blackleaf tea! And those little honey biscuits from Gerri’s shop.”

”The professor mentioned he was running low, in his letter,” Adom said, taking a seat in one of the normal chairs near the fireplace.

Kim bustled over to the kitchen area, eager for distraction. ”I’ll prepare some tea. You must be tired after your journey. Did you take the ferry?”

”No,” Adom replied. ”I flew.”

Both adults stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

”You flew?” Kim asked, adjusting his spectacles. ”As in, on a mount? Or a broom?”

”Wind weave,” Adom said. ”Still practicing, but it got me here.”

Vex whistled low. ”Four miles over open water? Not bad, runt. Not bad at all.”

”Weren’t you supposed to come around midday?” Kim asked, setting a kettle on the stove.

”Ah... yes, I just thought I’d come earlier, since I was already flying near your place and all...” Adom said apologetically.

Kim glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. ”It is alright. It’s almost midday anyway. I must have lost track of time.”

”I wonder how,” Vex purred, sliding behind him to wrap her arms around his waist. The professor turned bright red, nearly dropping the teapot.

”Vex, please,” he hissed. ”We have a guest.”

”Fine, fine,” she said, releasing him with a dramatic sigh. She flopped into a chair across from Adom. ”So, how’s the Commander’s favorite project coming along? Learning lots of useful things at the Academy?”

Adom raised an eyebrow. ”I wasn’t aware I was his favorite project.”

”Oh please. The man practically adores you.” She leaned forward, hair falling over one eye. ”Though I can’t blame him. You’ve got potential. And that merchant guild you built with the communication crystals and all? Impressive. Your father has been bragging about you non stop.”

”How are you doing, Vex?” Adom asked, deliberately changing the subject.

”Oh, you know. Killing things. Protecting idiots. Standard Iron Wolf duties.” She stretched, catlike. ”Command gets boring sometimes. Hence the... vacation.”

Kim returned with the tea tray, setting it down between them. ”The tea should steep for precisely four minutes,” he said, with the seriousness of someone discussing explosive materials.

”How’s your research going, Professor?” Adom asked.

Kim’s face lit up. ”Ah! I’ve made significant progress on that new thing. The isolation here has been tremendously helpful for concentration.”

”When he actually concentrates on work,” Vex added with a smirk.

”Speaking of isolation,” Adom said, looking around. ”Where are the guards? I thought they assigned a security detail here.”

”Oh, them.” Vex waved dismissively. ”I sent them on a patrol of the island perimeter. Told them I’d handle security personally until midday.”

”So I ruined your alone time,” Adom concluded.

”Pretty much,” she confirmed cheerfully.

”Sorry about that.”

”I’m not,” Kim interjected, pouring the tea. ”Your timing is actually quite fortuitous. Any longer and I might not have survived.”

Vex threw her head back and laughed. ”Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it, Professor.”

”I never said I didn’t enjoy it. I said I might not survive it.”

Adom sipped his tea, watching their easy banter with a mixture of amusement and discomfort. It was strange to think that in the original timeline, these two would never have met. Kim’s retrieval operation eight months ago—the one where Adom’s interference had altered events—was what had brought Vex into the professor’s life. One small change in the timeline, and now here they were.

What if they actually stayed together? What if they had children someday? Little bookworms running around quoting theoretical texts while wielding daggers. Would those lives exist only because he’d changed history?

Life was strange.

Adom set his teacup down. Pleasant as this unexpected reunion was, he was clearly intruding on something. And given Kim’s letter had mentioned urgency...

”So,” he said, cutting to the chase, ”your letter said there was something urgent we needed to discuss, Professor. That’s why I came, actually. You asked me to visit two days ago, right after school break started.”

Kim blinked, teacup halfway to his lips. ”Oh! Right. Yes, of course.” He set the cup down a bit too quickly, spilling tea onto the saucer. ”With everything happening, I nearly forgot.”

”Is everything alright?” Adom asked, eyebrows raised. ”Because quite frankly, everything here seems...” he glanced between the two of them, ”more than alright.”

Vex snorted into her tea.

”It’s about Gale,” Kim said, lowering his voice slightly. ”Are you aware he’s woken up from his coma?”

Adom stiffened. ”No. I didn’t know that.”

”A week ago,” Kim confirmed, leaning forward. ”Word hasn’t spread widely yet.”

”Can’t believe he got murked by a kid like you,” Vex interjected, helping herself to another biscuit. ”Your fists must pack more terror than they look. Impressive, really.”

”It wasn’t—” Adom began, then stopped. ”Why is that a problem, anyway? Him waking up, I mean.”

Kim glanced at Vex, who nodded slightly.

”Because certain people loyal to the crown prince are making moves,” Kim explained, his voice dropping further. ”Under the table, several have been identified and apprehended, but...”

”Still,” Adom frowned, ”what am I supposed to do with this information?”

Kim removed his spectacles, polishing them nervously on his sleeve. ”They caught a man. An infiltrator. He confessed to corrupting officials at the adventurers’ exam—paying them to look the other way if you were to be attacked by monsters or... other parties.”

”Fanatics,” Vex added, all humor gone from her voice. ”Who believe anyone involved in the prince’s capture is an enemy of the nation. And you, my little friend, are very publicly involved.”

Adom absorbed this in silence for a moment. ”Where did you get this information, Professor?”

”I’m in regular contact with Headmaster Merris,” Kim replied. ”He keeps me updated on matters concerning the Magisterium and the prince’s situation.” He replaced his spectacles, pushing them up his nose. ”The trial is being pushed back a few more months. There are suspicions of agents planning to extract both Gale and the prince.”

”Nothing confirmed yet,” Vex added. ”But enough smoke to suggest fire.”

”They’ve already put a price on my head,” Kim said with a weak smile. ”And I suppose they might do the same for you, though that’s not confirmed.”

”I see,” Adom said, connecting dots. ”This explains the dungeon incident during my exam. Why I didn’t see any examiners when those gankers attacked.”

”Precisely,” Kim nodded. ”Someone arranged for you to have an... accident.”

Vex reached for the teapot, refilling her cup with deliberate calm. ”Part of why I came to visit dear little Amadeus here—” she patted Kim’s knee, ignoring his wince at the nickname, ”—was to ensure his safety. Two birds, one stone. Pleasure and duty combined.”

Adom chose to ignore the last part entirely.

”There are already guards,” Kim nodded. ”Though I suspect my Vex could handle most threats single-handedly.”

”Most?” Vex raised an eyebrow.

”All,” Kim corrected quickly.

She grinned, satisfied, then turned her attention back to Adom. ”The good news is these loyalists aren’t particularly powerful. Just a few minor noble houses, not backed by the Farmus Empire or any major players.”

”The people they’ve employed aren’t elite assassins,” Kim added. ”Still dangerous, of course, but not... well...”

”Not people who would worry someone like me,” Vex finished for him. ”But you should still be careful, kid. Even amateur killers get lucky sometimes.”

Adom nodded slowly. ”I’ll heed your warning, Professor. I’ve been working on some defensive measures anyway.”

”Good,” Kim said. ”Better safe than sorry. We just wanted you to be aware of the situation.”

”I appreciate it.” Adom picked up his tea again. ”Though I admit, it’s not how I expected to spend my school break.”

”At least you’re not bored,” Vex offered with a grin.

”There’s that,” Adom agreed dryly.

*****

Adom stared at the ceiling of his room, completely awake despite the late hour. Zuni was curled up on his chest, tiny body rising and falling with each breath. Sam’s soft snores drifted from the other bed, oddly reassuring in their steady rhythm.

Sleep refused to come. His mind kept circling back to the day’s news.

Dragon’s Breath.

He’d tried not to think about it too much. That strategy had worked so far, but tonight, alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t escape it. The world seemed hellbent on self-destruction. How could they not see how much this would affect everyone?

After the wars caused by Dragon’s Breath, the world would be too weak—left in a state where it couldn’t defend itself against the coming World Dungeon. The chain reaction had already started, little dungeon breaks all over the world that most people dismissed as isolated incidents.

There wasn’t much Adom could do about that. But what he could do was make sure the world would be ready to face what came next. That nations were strong enough, and united, against the common enemy. Monsters pouring out from everywhere, chaos consuming the world.

It could all be prevented if only these idiots would stop fighting each other for supremacy and actually work together for the betterment of all.

I need to get stronger faster. Become the Archmage sooner. Have enough influence to change things before it is too late.

That thought provided a small comfort, enough that his eyes finally grew heavy. Adom drifted off, Zuni’s warmth a small anchor against his chest.

He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious when the noise began. Not exactly a sound—more like the absence of sound. A silence so complete it had presence.

Adom opened his eyes.

He was floating.

The cave again. The one with the apple tree. Only now, the fruits had stopped being golden. They were red—vibrant, ordinary apples hanging from branches that seemed to shift even without wind.

Adom approached, bare feet not quite touching the stone floor. Above him, at the top of the tree, something watched. He looked up.

”Are you the dryad?”

The figure was formed of leaves and thin branches woven into a vaguely humanoid shape. It didn’t speak. Instead, it pointed behind him.

Adom turned.

Light struck his face—natural sunlight—accompanied by the distant sound of waves.

”Is this...”

It was.

Law’s farm materialized before him. The apple tree stood there, branches swaying in the wind. A different tree than the one in the cave, Adom had confirmed that much. He’d checked it for runes, for magical signatures, for anything unusual. Nothing. Just a normal mana filled apple tree.

”Is this your tree?” he asked the leaf-figure.

No answer came, but the world around him darkened. Shadows pooled at the edges of his vision, gathering and stretching toward him. Instinctively, he recognized this. He was dream walking again.

The shadows advanced, but as they did, a soft light began to radiate from Adom himself. He recognized it as Biggins’ protection, the spell warding off whatever these things were. The shadows retreated, slithering back to the darkness.

Adom felt himself being lifted higher, the farm growing distant below him.

”Come...” The voice wasn’t so much heard as felt. ”Come... Come...”

He gasped awake, bolting upright in bed. Zuni chirped in alarm, nearly tumbling from his chest before digging tiny claws into his nightshirt.

”I need to deal with this thing.”