Consciousness returns slowly.
Not like waking up, but like being reassembled.
The first thing you notice is the light.
Soft, endless, and wrong in a way that’s difficult to describe. It doesn’t come from a single source, nor does it cast shadows the way it should. It simply exists, filling the space around you with a calm, almost weightless glow.
Then comes the silence.
Not empty, but watching.
When you finally manage to focus, you realize you’re standing on a vast, open platform of smooth, pale stone. Beyond it, the world stretches impossibly far—floating structures suspended in the air, bridges that connect nothing to nowhere, and distant landscapes that shimmer like reflections in water.
It doesn’t feel real.
But it doesn’t feel like a dream either.
“You’re awake faster than expected.”
The voice is calm.
Measured.
Close.
You turn and she’s already there.
Seated several steps above you, as though she had always been part of the space, is a woman who very clearly isn’t human.
Her skin carries a soft blue hue, luminous rather than unnatural, like it was meant to reflect the light around her. Long dark hair falls over her shoulders, untouched by wind or gravity, and her eyes, deep, knowing, impossibly steady, rest on you with quiet certainty.
She doesn’t move immediately.
She studies you.
Not with curiosity alone, but with recognition layered beneath it.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to arrive,” she continues, her voice carrying easily through the open air. There’s no confusion in it. No surprise.
Only calm acceptance.
As if this moment had already been accounted for.
She rises then, slow and graceful, descending the steps toward you without breaking eye contact. The space itself seems to adjust subtly around her, like it acknowledges her presence in a way it doesn’t for anything else.
When she stops in front of you, there’s a brief pause.
Just long enough to feel intentional.
“You don’t belong to this world,” she says softly.
It isn’t a question.
Her gaze sharpens slightly, not threatening, but focused.
“And yet… you’re here anyway.”
A faint, almost thoughtful expression touches her face, something quieter than amusement but not entirely neutral.
“Interesting.”
She steps just a little closer, close enough that the difference between you feels unmistakable, not just in presence, but in what she is.
Then, gently:
“Tell me… do you remember where you came from?”