Leon Stevens had never liked beer, but his friends didn’t care.
“It’s your twenty-first, man. No excuses,” Jordan said, shoving a pint into his hands.
The table roared approval. Tasha slapped him on the back. Even the stranger in a paper crown at the next booth lifted a glass in salute. Leon forced down a swallow, made a face, and endured the chorus of cheers.
They stayed too long. By the time the group spilled out onto the street, Leon’s head was buzzing and his ears rang from music. The night air was cold, and he let himself drift a few steps behind the others while Jordan argued with the rideshare app.
Leon watched his breath fog in the streetlights. For once, he felt like things were about to start, twenty-one, finally legal, maybe finally lucky. Tasha had been flirting with him all night, or at least he thought she was.
A car engine roared. Tires screeched.
“Hey where exactly is the next place we are going? Not to sound old, but I want to be closer to home if I’m gonna drink any more than I already have.”
He turned. Headlights swung across the street, weaving toward the sidewalk.
“Hey! Watch it!” Tasha shouted.
The car didn’t slow down. It swerved closer. Leon froze, half a step behind his friends. The lights filled his vision.
He heard Tasha and Jordan both scream something at him but he couldn’t move his body.
The impact stole the air from his lungs. His body lifted, slammed against metal, then his head made contact with concrete. His chest collapsed from the pain. Voices shouted his name, muffled, fading. His eyes narrowed to a tunnel of light. He knew it was coming, but why didn’t he move?
Leon tried to breathe and got nothing. Then the world went black, aside from a single floating purple wisp. He thought it looked like a soul you would collect in a video game, but soon that vanished.
—
Air tore into his lungs. He coughed hard, clutching at stone instead of asphalt.
He lay on the floor of a wide, circular room. The ground was marked with faintly glowing patterns. Around him were bones stacked in neat piles, skulls, femurs, ribs, all sorted like firewood. Candles guttered in iron holders, throwing unsteady light. The air was dry and sour.
Leon pushed himself onto shaky elbows. His clothes were different: rough shirt, coarse trousers. No shoes. His ribs didn’t hurt anymore. His head spun.
A woman stood just beyond the circle of light. She was tall, her black hair braided down her shoulder, her robe dark and formal. Her expression was steady, sharp, and without warmth.
“Good,” she said. “You breathe.”
Leon blinked at her. His throat felt raw. “Where am I?”
She tilted her head, studying him as if he were an animal in a cage. “Alive enough to speak. Acceptable.”
“Alive? I…..” He grabbed his chest, remembering headlights, the sound of metal, the way his lungs had collapsed. “I got hit by a car. I was dead.”
“You were,” the woman said calmly. “Now you are not.”
Leon’s pulse hammered. He staggered to his feet, glancing around. Shelves of jars lined one wall. A table of tools stood nearby. Everything smelled like dust, wax, and blood or iron he couldn’t tell. The piles of bones made the room feel crowded.
The woman stepped forward, keeping her hands folded. “I am Cassandra Betravia. You were recovered for a purpose.”
“Recovered? What the hell does that mean, and again, where am I?”
“It means,” Cassandra said, “you are here because my work required it, there’s much you will learn in time.”
Leon stared at her, then at the glowing circle on the floor. His mouth was dry. “You dragged me here?”
“I called. You answered.” She spoke as if it were simple fact. “What matters is whether you are useful.”
Something scraped across the floor. A short, battered sword slid to his feet, the blade chipped and red with rust.
Leon looked down at it, then back at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me, I just died and now I’m alive, in a body that is definitely not mine, and I’m surrounded by bones and candles… this has got to be a dream, or a nightmare.”
“Pick it up,” Cassandra said. “Before the fight begins.”
Leon stared at the sword at his feet. The leather wrapping on the handle was worn down, the blade pitted and dull. It looked like it belonged in a scrapyard, not anyone’s hand.
He folded his arms. “I don’t think you understand. I just got hit by a car. I’m not exactly in fight-shape, and this looks real, I wouldn’t want to accidentally cut you.”
“Pick it up,” Cassandra repeated. Her voice didn’t rise, didn’t change.
Leon didn’t move but he felt his body being compelled.
She extended one pale hand toward the bone piles. Something shifted in the shadows. The sound was faint at first, like twigs clattering together. Then bones rolled, clicked, and locked into place. A skull tilted up, empty sockets glowing faintly blue.
The pile pulled itself upright into a man-shape. Ribs snapped into a cage. A rusted sword clattered into its grip as though it had been waiting.
Leon’s mouth went dry. “This is not funny.” “TASHA, JORDAN!” He yelled.
“I wasn’t trying to be,” Cassandra said. She pointed at him without ceremony. “Kill him.”
The skeleton lurched forward, blade raised.
Leon snatched the sword off the ground just in time to block. Rust screeched against rust, the impact jarring his arms so hard his shoulders ached. The skeleton shoved, forcing him back. He almost tripped over the glowing chalk lines on the floor.
“Are you insane?” he shouted, straining against bone and steel.
“Survive,” Cassandra said simply. She didn’t move from her spot.
The skeleton’s strength surprised him. Its empty sockets flared as it hacked down again. Leon staggered, barely raising his weapon in time. Sparks jumped where the blades collided.
His stance was terrible. He swung wide, too slow, too sloppy. The skeleton ducked the first strike, parried the second, and jabbed forward. The point scraped across Leon’s side, tearing cloth and skin. He hissed in pain, panic surging hot in his chest.
Leon shoved hard, shoulder-checking the thing. Bones rattled, but it didn’t fall. It only staggered back one step, then raised its sword again.
“Come on,” Leon muttered, gripping the hilt tighter. His palms were slick with sweat. “Think. Do something.”
The skeleton swung overhead. Leon ducked under, the blade cutting the air where his head had been. He drove forward, jamming the edge of his sword into the creature’s ribs. It stuck. Bones cracked, but the skeleton didn’t collapse. It yanked itself free with unnatural strength, knocking Leon sideways.
His back slammed against the stone floor. Pain shot up his spine. The skeleton loomed above him, sword angled down.
Leon rolled. The blade crashed into stone, sparks snapping. He scrambled up, heart hammering. His body screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go.
“Any tips?” he shouted at Cassandra.
She didn’t answer.
The skeleton lunged again. Leon raised his blade to block, but instead of catching it straight, he swung at the arm itself. The strike was ugly and wild, but luck favored him, the bone cracked. The arm dangled loosely, sword clattering to the floor.
Leon didn’t think. He tackled the creature, driving it back into the bone pile. They hit the wall with a clatter of breaking ribs and snapping vertebrae. He raised his sword two-handed and brought it down on the skull.
The first strike cracked it. The second shattered it into shards along with the sword. The blue glow in its sockets winked out instantly.
The skeleton collapsed into a heap, lifeless again.
Leon stumbled back, chest heaving, sword hilt in his hands. His side stung from the shallow cut, and his knees felt weak enough to buckle.
He looked up at Cassandra. She hadn’t moved an inch. Her arms were folded now, her gaze fixed on him like he was a specimen in a cage.
Leon lifted the sword, pointing it at her. “What the hell was that?”
Her expression didn’t change. “A test.”
Leon’s arms shook as he lowered the sword. His breath came in ragged pulls. His side burned where the skeleton’s blade had nicked him, and blood dampened his shirt.
“Congratulations,” Cassandra said. Her tone was flat, like someone announcing the time. She crossed the chamber and knelt at his side. Before he could pull away, she pressed a cold hand against the wound. A chill spread through him, crawling beneath the skin. His cut sealed shut, leaving only a faint line.
Leon flinched. “That was—what did you just do?”
“Healing,” she said. “Of a sort. You’re stable.”
He dropped the sword with a clang. “You dragged me here, made me fight your Halloween decoration, and now you’re what, my personal magically medic? Start explaining.”
Cassandra stood, looking down at him. “Very well. You are Leon Stevens, yes? That is the name of the soul I called.”
He blinked. “Called? Try hit by a car.”
“I required a soul. Yours was—available.” She began pacing, voice calm and steady. “But a soul alone is useless. It must be bound to a body.”
Leon’s stomach sank. “So… this body isn’t mine.”
“It belonged,” Cassandra said, “to someone you would have probably admired. Ser Alard Dreamon. Champion of the Guild. Slayer of Astragol King of the Drakes. His name will still carry weight in this country.”
Leon froze. “And now he’s gone.. I am alive in another persons body.”
“Yes. People will notice his absence soon enough. Which means we cannot allow you to walk the world with his face, and definitely not his unique Dragon Slayer class. We’ll need… adjustments.” She crossed to a table where three thick tomes sat, each one glowing faintly. She set them down in front of him, their covers etched with different symbols.
“One of these will bind to you, shaping your abilities. Berserker, Ranger, or Red Mage.”
Leon eyed the books, then looked at her. “You’re serious?”
“Entirely, and the sooner you accept that you’re not gonna understand everything, the sooner you can start living, so to speak, again.”
He knelt, brushing his fingers over the covers. Berserker radiated aggression, red, violent runes. Ranger was green, marked with arrows and beasts. Red Mage gleamed with crimson-and-silver script, sharp and elegant.
Leon smirked faintly. “Red Mage. Easy choice.”
Cassandra arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
“It’s versatile. Some magic, some swordplay, Jack of all trades.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I used to run Red Mage in the Concluding Myth series. Best build in the game for solo play.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I have no clue what you are talking about.”
“It’s a video game,” Leon said. “Back home. Forget it, guess I’m not the only one who is confused about things.”
“Done,” Cassandra said. She pressed her hand to the Red Mage tome. It flared, then dissolved into streams of light that wrapped around Leon, sinking into his skin. His body trembled as heat spread through his veins. When it faded, he felt… sharper. Different.
Cassandra stepped back, watching closely. “It’s locked in now. Your path is chosen. Do not regret it.”
Leon flexed his hands. Power hummed faintly at his fingertips, strange and unfamiliar. “So… I’m stuck here. In someone else’s body. Playing adventurer.”
“You exist because of me,” Cassandra said. “Never forget that. If I end the spell, you vanish.”
“So you end the spell and I go back?”
“Yes, you go back to being dead, so either live or don’t.” She scowled, “and don’t make me force you, I can control your body, if you decide to make this any more difficult.”
Leon clenched his jaw. He wanted to argue, but the truth was obvious: without her, he had nothing and it seemed like he didn’t have much choice.
Cassandra turned away, her robe brushing the floor. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, you begin proving you can survive outside this room.” She pointed towards a small cot. “Not that you actually need any sleep, but I’m sure you want to digest all of this.”
Leon stood there, staring at his hands, feeling both stronger and smaller than ever.