The rain was coming down in buckets, the kind that stings your face and turns everything into a blurry mess. Akira wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, but it didn't help—snot mixed with rainwater, and he sniffed loud, hating how it echoed in his head. His sneakers were soaked through, one lace undone and dragging in the mud like it was trying to trip him.

  "Why me?" he muttered, voice cracking halfway through. The wind snatched it away anyway. "What the hell did I even do?"

  He was up on that stupid cliff overlook, the one kids dared each other to bike to back in middle school. His legs shook from the cold, or maybe from standing there too long. The hoodie—gray, thrift store find with a hole in the pocket—stuck to his skin like glue. He could've zipped it up, but whatever. Numb was better than feeling the chill crawl in.

  A flash of lightning lit everything up for a second. There he was: seventeen, skinny as a rake, black hair plastered flat, staring down at the scatter of lights that used to be home. Mom's apartment block on the left, the convenience store where he bought Pocky after school. Now it all looked tiny, fake, like a model someone kicked over.

  "They didn't give a shit," he said to no one, throat raw. "Not when I came home with a split lip. Not when I stopped eating for a week."

  He dug his nails into his palms. Hurt, yeah, but it was his hurt. Real. Better than the nothing that had been building inside for months.

  The storm was loud, but that voice in his head was louder. Kaito's voice, always Kaito, with his dumb smirk and the way he leaned in too close.

  "Jump already, Akira. Who's gonna miss a weirdo like you?" It played on loop, from that day behind him always. "Survive the fall, and maybe we'll lay off. Chicken out, and you're done anyway."

  Akira snorted, a wet, ugly sound. "Survive? Yeah, right. From up here?" He peeked over the edge. Rocks down there, sharp-ish, but mostly just wet and mossy. A rusty beer can glinted in the lightning. "You just want me gone. Fine."

  His hands balled up tighter. Knuckles probably white, but he couldn't tell in the dark. One step. That's all. No more getting cornered in the halls, no more "draw this, freak" while they laughed and shoved his sketchbook in the toilet. No more lying awake at 3 a.m., phone glowing with ignored messages, wondering if anyone would notice if he vanished.

  "At least it'd stop," he whispered. "At least... yeah."

  Tears came then, hot for a second before the rain cooled them. He swayed—wind pushing, or maybe his knees giving out. For a blink, it felt lighter. Like, screw it, this is mine to end.

  He breathed in, shaky. Let go of the edge he'd been gripping. Foot slipped on a loose rock. He lurched forward, arms pinwheeling like an idiot in a cartoon. The hoodie rode up, cold air hitting his stomach. Wait, no—

  Falling. Fast. Wind screaming past his ears. He clipped a bush or something—thorns raking his arm. His phone slipped from his pocket, tumbling away with a faint buzz. Probably Dad's old text "Call your mother."

  'This is it. No big drama. Just'

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The moment he hit to the stone. World around him blurred and the pain keeps growing and suddenly his body feels numb.

  Thud!

  'Ow, shit, this hurts already.'

  Eyes squeezed shut. Rain still pelting. Then—smash. Shoulder hit first, a crunch that lit up his whole side. Head bounced off something hard. Breath gone. Blood in his mouth, metallic and warm. Legs twisted wrong. He tried to move a finger—nothing.

  Pain faded quick, weirdly. Cold creeping in. A buzz in his ears, like static from a broken radio. Whisper? Maybe. Couldn't tell.

  Everything quiet. No storm. No nothing.

  Then a thump. Low, deep, like a bass drop from far away. Another. Pulsing. Alive?

  I blinked awake and—nothing. No dirt, no pain, no body. Just white. Everywhere. Like someone cranked the brightness on a busted TV and left it there.

  A woman sat on a couch that had no business floating. She looked like one of those phone filters come to life—perfect skin, glowing goldish eyes and blonde hair wearing a white cloak on her body. She smiled like she'd rehearsed it in a mirror.

  "You're dead, kid. Relax. Not Hell. Yet."

  I opened my mouth to answer. Sound came out, but it wasn't my voice. It was thin, echoey, like talking through a tin can. I tried to lift a hand—nothing happened. Looked down. No hand. No legs. Just a floaty ball of light where I should be.

  "What the actual f***," I said, except the orb just pulsed brighter. "Where's my body?"

  "Back on the rocks. Smashed. Gone." She shrugged, like she was telling me I'd lost a sock. "That's your soul now. Cleaner this way."

  'Cleaner. Right. I wanted to punch something, but I had no fists.'

  The light flickered like a bad bulb.

  "Why me? I didn't sign up for—" I stopped. What was the point? She'd seen the cliff. She knew.

  She leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You hurt enough for ten lifetimes. I'm giving you a redo. Different world. Same soul."

  "Redo?" The orb flared. "I wanted out. Not a sequel."

  "Tough." She flicked a finger. A gold symbol spun in the air behind her, humming like a fridge. "Everyone there gets a skill. You get two."

  "Skills?" I laughed—well, the orb buzzed. "Stop this already I am not interested just decide?" "

  "First one: Echoes of the Forgotten. It allows it's user to see the past of a limited area of it's surroundings."

  Second finger. "Void Reclaim. Someone hits you with their power? Grab it. It's yours now. Theirs is gone forever. But if it's too strong…" She made a squish motion. "You'll be dead."

  "Great. Russian roulette with superpowers."

  She ignored me. "Grow fast or die messy. Your call."

  "Wait—I still don't understand a single damn thing what is happening and how do I even—"

  "Figure it out." The white cracked. Colors swirled under me like a drain. "Live this time, Akira. Or don't. Up to you."

  I tried to scream. Got sucked down instead.

  ---

  Warm. Smelled like milk and baby powder. Something soft pressed against my cheek. I blinked—everything blurry, giant shapes, too-bright light. Arms. Tiny arms. My arms?

  A woman's face loomed, dark hair, purple eyes wet with tears. She was humming off-key. A guy beside her—silver hair, goofy grin—wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  "Our little Leo," she whispered.

  They named me Leo. Not Akira. The name fit in my mouth like it'd always been there.

  The guy—poked my forehead gently. "Look at those eyes. All you, Selene."

  "And the hair Caden," she laughed, voice cracking. "Silver already. Just like his dad."

  He stared cluelessly. They stared back with love in their eyes. But he had no clue he remembered dying. But no clue He could still taste blood and rain.

  Inside, something stirred. Two sleeping things, coiled tight.

  He didn't cry. Just watched. 'Okay,' he thought. 'Why am I stuck in this world. Anyway Let's see how this goes. I accepted my second life after all I doesn't have choice.'