Above, the sky is an impossible shade of cerulean. A sky that belongs in a painting. In a video game. Not in reality.

A single, brilliant green leaf drifts down and lands on Y/n's cheek. It's only then that she realizes she's lying flat on her back, staring up at a world that shouldn't exist.

A few feet away, a small, curious creature hovers in the air. It looks like a floating blue-ish entity, no bigger than a child's fist, with wings like a dragonfly. It blinks at her. Once. Twice. Then darts closer, circling her head with an almost reverent curiosity, like it recognizes something she cannot.

In the distance, past the rolling hills covered in wildflowers and strange glowing flora, a road of worn cobblestone stretches toward a cluster of rooftops. The architecture is unmistakable. Old Mondstadt. The game's loading screen, the one before you start a new file, but rendered in full, breathtaking reality.

A memory, faint and fragmented, surfaces. A flash of golden light. Her phone. A blinding, searing brightness. Then nothing. And now. Here.