"Does it hurt?" Valiant asked, dabbing antiseptic on the shallow cuts across Adom's shoulder.

They were back in Valiant's living room. The place looked different now—more alive. Extra lamps had been lit. Papers were spread across the table. A half-eaten celebration pastry sat abandoned on a plate. The room practically hummed with new energy.

"Not really," Adom replied, wincing slightly as the antiseptic stung. Surprisingly, it... didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. The cuts could have been much worse without [White Wyrm's Body]. They were already closing after less than an hour, and had valiant not insisted on the antiseptic, Adom wouldn't have done it.

"I've had worse."

"I know you have." Valiant's paws worked with surprising delicacy.

Zuni chirped from a nearby shelf, where he was methodically reorganizing Valiant's collection of small trinkets.

"Yeah, exactly what I was thinking," Valiant replied to the quillick. "This kid's really somehting."

"You understand him now?" Adom asked.

"No, but it feels rude not to respond." Valiant finished bandaging Adom's shoulder and stepped back to admire his work. "I can't believe we pulled it off. THREE major gangs in ONE night!" He spun in a circle, arms outstretched. "The Whisperers are back baby!"

"Don't strain yourself," Adom said dryly. "Your ego looks heavy."

"Oh, let me have this." Valiant hopped onto the table, dancing a little jig that sent papers flying. "Do you have ANY idea how long I've worked for this? My uncle spent YEARS building his network, and I lost it in weeks! And now—" He did a surprisingly athletic backflip. Huh. "—it's all back!"

"I'm happy for you." And Adom genuinely was. There was something infectious about the mouse beastkin's unbridled joy.

"We should celebrate!" Valiant declared, snatching up the half-eaten pastry. "I know a place that serves the best honey cakes in—"

"I need a favor."

Valiant froze mid-bite. "A favor? You just reclaimed my entire life's work, and you're asking for a favor like it's some big request?" He set down the pastry and planted his paws on his hips. "Name it. Anything. You want someone followed? Information on a noble? The crown jewels? I mean, that last one might be tricky, but—"

"I need information on the House of Merchants."

"Oh." Valiant's whiskers twitched. "That's... surprisingly reasonable."

Adom leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm establishing a guild. We have property, funding, but we need to secure a seat in the House of Merchants."

"Wait, YOU'RE starting a merchant guild?" Valiant blinked rapidly. "I thought it was just some research project for the Academy or something. You're literally thirteen."

"Almost fourteen," Adom corrected.

"And that makes it better how? Most kids your age are worrying about homework, not establishing merchant guilds and punching ogres."

"I'm not most kids."

"Clearly." Valiant rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So a merchant guild, huh? What kind?"

"Magical artifacts, mainly. Monster parts, rare components. Possibly some alchemical supplies."

Valiant's eyes widened. "That's... high-end merchandise. Very profitable, but also very competitive."

"Which is why I need information on who we're up against." Adom glanced around the room. "Your network reaches the merchant districts, right?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Valiant paused. "Actually, some bears probably don't. Zoo bears, for instance. Or bears in very urban—"

"Valiant."

"Right, sorry. Yes, we have eyes and ears throughout the merchant districts. After tonight, even more."

Adom nodded. "I need to know everything. Who holds the power in the House. Who can be bribed. Who can be reasoned with. Who's untouchable. Alliances, feuds, scandals—anything we can use."

"That's a lot of intelligence gathering," Valiant said, suddenly more businesslike. "But doable."

"There's more," Adom continued. "I want to propose a partnership. Once we establish the guild, I want your network to expand with us."

Valiant's ears perked up. "Expand? Like... legitimate business expand?"

"Exactly. Your people become our eyes and ears across the world. We provide resources, backing, protection."

"You're serious?" Valiant's voice had lost its usual manic edge, replaced by something quieter, more intense.

"Completely."

"My uncle..." Valiant looked away, blinking rapidly. "He always said the real dream wasn't just running an information network, but using it to actually change things down here." He gestured toward the window. "With enough resources, enough legitimate business, we could start making the Dregs better. Give people real work. Real opportunities."

"That's what I'm offering. The guild could invest in the Dregs. Infrastructures, jobs, security. I think there's a lot of potential here. Eren's a living proof of that."

Valiant studied him for a long moment, then his face split into a grin. "Well then, partner, consider the Whisperers at your service." He extended his paw.

Adom shook it. "Get me that information on the House of Merchants. We'll meet again in a few days to discuss next steps."

"A few days? I can have preliminary reports by tomorrow!"

"Be thorough, not just fast. We only get one shot at this."

Valiant nodded, trying to contain his excitement and failing miserably. "Right. Thorough. Quality over quantity. Got it."

Adom rose from his chair, feeling the fatigue of the night finally catching up to him. Zuni hopped from the shelf to his shoulder, settling into his familiar spot.

"You might want to consider getting some protection," Adom said, adjusting his mask back over his face. "You just became much more important to a lot more people."

"Protection?" Valiant scoffed. "I wouldn't need protection if I had electrical powers."

Adom laughed despite himself. "Still on that, are you?"

"Always will be," Valiant replied with a theatrical sigh. "One lightning-wielding mouse could change the world, I tell you."

"Try to be discreet."

"I'm the soul of discretion!"

Adom gave him a look.

"Okay, fine. I'll be extra careful. Extra, EXTRA careful."

"That's all I ask. Goodnight, Valiant."

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"It's morning, actually."

"That too."

As Adom stepped outside into the early morning light, Valiant called after him: "Hey, Adom?"

He turned back. "Yes?"

Valiant was standing in the doorway, suddenly looking smaller and oddly vulnerable. "I know I said this already, but, uh, thanks. For everything. I really mean it."

The sincerity in his voice caught Adom off guard.

"You're welcome," he replied simply.

Valiant nodded once, then his usual manic energy returned. "Now go get some sleep! You look terrible! And don't forget—The Whisperers and Adom's Mystery Guild, partners in crime!" He paused. "Well, not actual crime. Unless necessary. Which it probably won't be! But if it is—"

Adom closed the door.

*****

Adom yawned as he pushed open the door to his dorm room.

Morning light streamed through the hallway windows behind him. His muscles ached. The cuts on his shoulder stung. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep for a week.

Instead, he found Sam on the floor, arms trembling slightly as he pushed himself up and down.

"Forty-eight... forty-nine... fifty..." Sam grunted, holding the position at the top of the last push-up for a moment before looking up. "Well, look who's back."

"Damn. Fifty in a row?" Adom closed the door behind him, Zuni hopping from his shoulder to scurry across to his own little nest of blankets in the corner.

"Fifty-two, actually." Sam sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. "You missed morning count."

"I was busy."

"I noticed." Sam reached for a small towel draped over his bed. "Busy avoiding 'the talk,' perhaps?"

Adom winced. "I know how this looks."

"You don't have to feel obligated to tell me anything." Sam dabbed at his face and neck. "Honestly, I shouldn't have pressed—"

"No, no, it's not that." Adom dropped onto his bed, springs creaking under his weight. "I just..."

He exhaled slowly. The truth was, he'd been thinking about this moment for days. What to say, how to say it, whether to say anything at all.

It was a risk. A huge one.

The fewer people who knew his story, the safer he'd be. If the wrong person found out about his regression, about the future he remembered, about his abilities... they could twist it, use it against him. They could mark him as dangerous, unstable, a threat.

So far, only his parents knew the full truth. Bob knew most of it. And now...

Sam.

Trustworthy, loyal, uncomplicated Sam.

Would he even believe it? Would he think Adom had lost his mind? Would it ruin their friendship?

"You look awful, by the way." Sam's voice cut through Adom's thoughts. "No offense, but you look like you got dragged through the entire Undertow backwards."

"Thanks for the assessment."

"Maybe you should stay in today. Skip classes."

"That bad, huh?"

"It's mostly theory lessons anyway." Sam shrugged. "Nothing you can't catch up on."

"Yeah, I was planning to take a sick day regardless." Adom rubbed his eyes. They felt like they'd been scrubbed with sand.

Sam stood, stretching his arms over his head. "Well, if you need anything—"

"Sit down." The words came out more abruptly than Adom intended. "Please."

Sam paused, then slowly lowered himself onto his own bed, facing Adom. "Alright."

"What I'm about to tell you might sound crazy." Adom found himself staring at the floor, unable to meet Sam's eyes. "Hell, even I still have questions about how it happened."

"You're making me nervous."

Adom looked up, meeting Sam's gaze directly. "I'm a regressor."

Sam's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I died."

"You... what?" Sam's voice rose slightly, confusion evident.

"Not for long," Adom added quickly, realizing how that sounded. "I mean, I died when I was seventy-nine. In the future. Then I met Death, and she sent me back."

"She?" Sam repeated. "Death was a woman?"

That's all you got from that?

"She appeared that way to me." Adom continued, deciding to not chang the subject. "It's different for everyone. Could be a man, a boy, a truck, whatever."

"A truck?"

"It's a sort of vehicle that won't be invented for another fifty years or so."

Sam didn't respond. He just stared, his expression unreadable.

Adom took a deep breath. "In my past life—or future life, I guess—things went badly. Really badly. The world basically went to shit."

"Went to... okay." Sam's voice was carefully neutral. "And Death sent you back to fix things?"

"Sort of." Adom shifted on the bed. "Look, in my original timeline, I was sick. Weak. Unable to do anything. I lived through the rise of the World Dungoen. Watched as the world tore itself apart with new powers nobody understood how to control. I was too old to develop Fluid abilities, so I just... watched."

Sam remained silent, but his eyes never left Adom's face.

"By the time I was seventy-nine, more than half the world's population was dead. Civilizations had collapsed. The few mage enclaves that survived were under constant attack. I had nothing left. So I killed myself."

"You killed yourself," Sam repeated flatly.

"Yes. And that's when I met Death." Adom's fingers absently traced patterns on his blanket. "She offered me a deal. Come back, try again, get a second chance—but with knowledge that could help me change things."

He continued, detailing his regression, his memories of the future, the chaos that would come. He explained his accelerated development, his unusual skill with magic, his behavior as of late his plans and preparations.

He told Sam about his parents, about Bob, about his time at the Academy. How he was trying to gather allies, build resources, prepare for what was coming.

"So when you made that potion in the alchemy in class," Sam interrupted, "when you seemed to know exactly what to do..."

"I'd seen it done before. In my previous life."

Sam fell silent again, processing.

Adom continued his story, explaining more about the future—the technologies, the conflicts, the changes both wonderful and terrible. How the emergence of Dragon's Breath would upend the world's power structures. How unprepared they all were.

Finally, after nearly an hour of talking, Adom fell silent.

Sam hadn't moved throughout the entire explanation. He sat perfectly still, barely even blinking, just listening and absorbing.

The silence stretched between them, growing heavier by the second.

Adom watched his friend carefully. He trusted Sam to keep his secret, that wasn't in question. What had stopped him from revealing himself earlier wasn't lack of trust, but fear—a lingering, irrational fear born from the shock of regression. Fear of rejection, of disbelief, of somehow making things worse by sharing his knowledge.

"Say something," Adom finally said.

Sam took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Well," he said, "that explains a few things."

"You're not freaking out?" Adom asked, genuinely surprised by Sam's calm reaction.

Sam adjusted his glasses, pushing them higher on his nose with one finger. "Well, I had several theories. Time travel was one of them."

"Time travel."

"I knew you were still Adom, but also... not Adom. See what I mean?"

"Mm-hmm."

Sam's composure suddenly cracked. He leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. "This is absolutely mind-blowing! Do you realize the implications? The metaphysical ramifications alone are staggering!"

"Keep your voice down," Adom hissed.

"Sorry, sorry." Sam lowered his volume but couldn't contain his enthusiasm. "It's just—wow. I know why you hesitated to tell anyone. The world's stance on temporal manipulation is extremely clear. People have been executed for merely attempting theoretical time travel spells."

"Hence my caution."

"But this is different. You didn't cause it. Death herself—or itself, I suppose—intervened." Sam's hands moved as he spoke, gesturing excitedly. "Your sudden behavioral changes, your advanced abilities, your seemingly impossible knowledge—it all fits a regression hypothesis perfectly."

"You actually believe me."

"Of course I do. A simple head injury couldn't possibly account for such fundamental changes. The statistical probability of someone spontaneously developing your level of skill is approximately one in seven-point-three million, according to Professor Nembrecht's research on prodigies."

"You calculated the odds?"

"I had time to think." Sam suddenly gasped. "Oh! Oh! You didn't say anything about me in the future! What was I like as an adult? I probably died before you, but still. Was I tall? Did I grow taller than you? Did I have a wife? What was her name? Did I become a researcher like I've always wanted?"

Adom fell silent. He looked at his friend's eager face, the excited gleam in his eyes, and felt a weight settle in his chest.

"Sam," he said quietly.

Something in his tone made Sam's smile fade. "What is it?"

Adom offered an apologetic half-smile. "You killed yourself during our fourth year at the Academy. Because of the bullying."

"Oh." Sam's voice was very small. "That's... that's darker than I imagined."

The room felt suddenly still. Zuni, sensing the shift in mood, chirped softly from his corner.

"I'm sorry," Adom said. "I shouldn't have—"

"No." Sam straightened his shoulders. "I'm not the same Sam who would do that."

"Sam—"

"I mean it." His voice was firm now. "I'm determined to be the best version of myself. This just gives me more reason to try harder." He suddenly got up. "I will go above and beyond!"

"That was incredibly cringy."

"I know, right?" Sam grinned, adjusting his glasses again. "But I meant it. Anyway, since you're technically an old man now, don't you get bored hanging around with a kid like me?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that." Adom started removing his shoes and glasses. "But that's a story for another time."

"Fair enough." Sam watched as Adom stripped down to his underwear, exposing a few more shallow cuts and bruises across his torso. "Where did you get all those, by the way?"

"I'll tell you about that tomorrow." Adom yawned widely. "It's been a long night."

He collapsed onto his bed, feeling the familiar bone-deep weariness that came from using his abilities extensively. Every time he pushed his skills—especially [Healing Factor]—it drained his energy reserves more and more.

"You look like you're about to pass out," Sam observed.

"Acute observation." Adom's eyelids felt like they had stones tied to them. "Wake me if the building's on fire. Otherwise, assume I'm dead."

"Technically, you already were."

"Shut up, Sam."

"Sleep well, old man."

As consciousness slipped away, Adom felt an unexpected lightness. Telling Sam had been easier than he'd expected. No drama, no disbelief, just... acceptance. And maybe a bit too much enthusiasm.

He should have done it sooner.

His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he'd forgotten to tell Sam about Cass and the merchant guild.

Tomorrow, he decided. He'd explain everything tomorrow.

Then he was gone, pulled under by exhaustion, while Zuni chirped softly in the corner and Sam quietly returned to his push-ups, counting under his breath.

"One... two... fifty-three was my record. I can do better... three..."

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