Leo's POV
I was a ghost long before I ever saw a real one.
In middle school, I learned how to disappear in plain sight. Walk the corridors hugging the walls, drop my gaze at the first sign of trouble, make myself invisible. It didn't always work—some days the bullies found me anyway. A shove here, a stolen lunch there. A textbook dumped in the trash. I'd retrieve it in silence, hugging it to my chest like a shield. At home, I never told my parents. They had their own plans for me, their own pressures: get top marks, be a "prodigy," make them proud. I was an only child carrying the weight of two broken dreams.
By high school I'd perfected the art of avoidance. Teachers praised my grades but forgot my name. Classmates borrowed my homework answers but never invited me to parties. I was lonely in a sea of people. My refuge was the library—dusty shelves, endless books, worlds where someone like me could be a hero. I devoured stories of magic and courage, imagining for a moment I could be brave too. But then the final bell would ring, and reality returned: Leo the nobody, scurrying home alone.
My parents expected me to become someone important, but I didn't even know who I was. On the worst nights, I'd stare at the bottle of pills in the medicine cabinet. Just a handful, I thought, and all the noise—my parents' disappointment, the bullies' laughter—would finally go quiet. I came close once. One winter evening, after a day of public humiliation in gym class, I locked myself in the bathroom with shaking hands and tear-blurred eyes and I did not want to be here, I wanted to run away but all I did was cried myself to sleep in the school bathroom.
The next thing I remember, I found myself somewhere else entirely—a place of monsters and trials, where that desperate wish swept me into a nightmare and a second chance all at once. First joined Ren, who's eyes were like a wild beast trying to recover after being caught offguard. Then came another weirdo who talks to live rats joined us.
By some cosmic joke or mercy, I found myself in a world where I wasn't a ghost. I had power, however small. I had allies—friends, even—like Ren and Aren who listened when I spoke. For the first time, people needed me. And I… I needed that feeling.
*********************
I chuckled at the thought as I turned a corner and nearly collided with Ren himself. Speak of the devil. Ren's eyes widened a fraction in surprise—practically a dramatic outburst by his standards.
"I was just coming to find you," I said. "Where's Aren?"
"Causing minor trouble, I expect," Ren replied, deadpan. Then he tilted his head, noticing the sheaf of notes in my hand and my probably disheveled state. "You found something."
"Plenty," I nodded. "Where can we talk?"
Ren jerked his chin towards the tavern across the way. "They're keeping a table for us. Mira insisted."
Of course she did. Ever the hospitable one, even on the eve of potential doom. We started towards the tavern. As we walked, I gave Ren the highlights: the old battle here, Wind Commander Harael, Soul-Stealer's curse, the wind domain… His lips tightened at the mention of the Soul-Stealer. I wondered if that name meant something to him personally, but he didn't elaborate.
Just as we reached the tavern door, I hesitated and caught Ren's arm. "Ren... the record said none survived with their souls intact where those two fought. If both the Wind Wraith and the Necromancer appear tonight—"
He met my gaze calmly. "Then we'll do what we must."
His tone was resolute, like stating that water is wet. Sometimes I envied his utter certainty, his straightforward acceptance of battle. For me, the planner and thinker, the weight of what-ifs was always heavier.
We stepped inside the tavern. The warm smell of stew and the low murmur of villagers greeted us. I spotted Aren at a corner table, animatedly chatting with a couple of farmers as if they were old friends. Likely pumping them for any strange sightings or gossip, judging by the intent look on his face and the way one farmer was gesturing with wide eyes.
He looked up and waved us over enthusiastically. I braced myself. Time to share what I'd learned, and piece together our next moves—preferably before the storm that's been brewing finally breaks.