Luna's awakening was not gentle.
She gasped, lunging upright—not on a hospital bed, but on cold, polished stone. The air smelled of incense and ozone, not sweat and beer. Her clothes were gone, replaced by simple white robes of rough silk.
What the—?
She was in a vast, marble-floored hall, lined with stone pillars carved with swirling clouds and… musical notes? Tall windows let in beams of sunlight, illuminating floating particles of dust that shimmered like tiny stars.
"Awake, little songbird?" A melodic, male voice echoed.
Luna spun. A man in flowing azure robes stood nearby, his long hair tied back, a stringless guqin floating beside him. His eyes held a galaxy of amusement.
"Where am I? Who are you?" Her voice came out hoarse, yet… clearer, richer than before.
"This," he said, gesturing around, "is the Vermilion Phoenix Sect, one of the great musical cultivation sects of the Azure Dragon Continent. I am Elder Melodious Wind, and you…" He stepped closer, peering at her. "…are an anomaly. You fell from the sky yesterday during our 'Heavenly Chorus' ritual. With no qi core, no cultivation… yet you radiate a strange resonance."
Cultivation? Qi? Luna's head swam. Was this some VR prank? A coma dream?
Before she could speak, a commotion erupted outside. Shouts. A discordant, jarring sound like shattered glass vibrated through the hall.
Elder Melodious Wind's face tightened. "The Silent Sword Immortal has returned early from his hunt… and he's injured."
The great doors burst open. Two disciples supported a tall man in silver and white robes, blood staining his side. His face was pale, sharp, and unbearably handsome, with eyes like frozen lakes. He held a gleaming, cracked guqin in one hand—a sword in the other.
But what struck Luna was the sound.
From his wound, she didn't hear pain—she heard music. A fractured, tragic melody, weeping into the air. It was the same sound she'd felt when her mother was diagnosed, when her heart broke on stage.
Without thinking, she hummed.
It was a soft, wordless lullaby her mother used to sing. A simple tune of comfort.
As the notes left her lips, the shimmering dust in the air danced.
Tendrils of gentle, silver light spiraled from her mouth, weaving toward the injured man. The disciples gasped, leaping back.
The Silent Sword Immortal's icy eyes snapped to hers.
His shattered melody… began to harmonize with hers.
The bleeding slowed. The crack in his guqin shimmered, sealing slightly.
Silence descended, heavier than before.
Elder Melodious Wind stared at her, his earlier amusement replaced by awe and fear. "A Life-Restoring Harmony… without formation, without a core… just raw, emotional resonance."
The Silent Sword Immortal shook off the disciples and stood straighter, his gaze never leaving Luna. He raised a hand and, in the air, wrote with glowing qi:
'What are you?'
Luna's heart hammered. She looked down at her hands, then at the pendant that had somehow reappeared around her neck—the red jade microphone, now warm and pulsing softly.
I'm not in Kansas anymore, she thought wildly. And my voice… is magic.
She met his frozen gaze, a spark of her old defiance rising.
"I'm a singer," she said, her voice steadying. "And I think… I'm hopelessly out of tune with this world."