After completing all the remaining requirements designing my character's skills, writing her companion quests, and even creating a companion to travel with I finally reached the end of the setup process. Each step was strangely meticulous, as if the system wanted me to pour a piece of myself into every detail. I spent hours adjusting tiny things that probably wouldn't even matter once I was inside the world, but I couldn't help it; every choice felt permanent, meaningful.
And yet, out of everything I had done, nothing consumed me more than the character creation and the writing of my lore. It wasn't just about appearance or numbers it felt like I was defining my very existence, piece by piece, word by word.
Finally completing everything.
["Character creation complete... now transmigrating user 'Elena' to Honkai: Star Rail aboard the Astral Express... Finalizing Character Info..."] the system said in its usual emotionless mechanical voice.
Suddenly my vision turns black as bright lines of various colors stark across my vision as I heard the system's voice rang out and a blinding light flash across the field, completely blinding me.
["System welcomes user 'Elena' to the universe of Honkai: Star Rail, system wishes the user a grand time"]
As the system's voice fades out and the various colors and the blinding flash of white color slowly disappear, I felt my whole body fall and suddenly I felt something soft beneath me.
When I slowly opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a ceiling I didn't recognize. Warm light spilled through an intricately designed glass fixture, scattering soft patterns across pale cream walls. For a moment, I simply lay there, the haze in my mind slowly lifting, trying to piece together where I was—or who I was supposed to be.
The bed beneath me was soft, a faint coolness still clinging to the light green blanket draped over my body. The air carried a quiet warmth, touched by the gentle scent of tea, polished wood, and the faint bitterness of coffee that must have cooled hours ago. Somewhere nearby, I heard the soft ticking of a clock, steady and calm, like a heartbeat.
I sat up slowly, taking in the rest of the room. It was neither extravagant nor plain—just comfortably lived-in. A mahogany desk stood near the window, its surface cluttered with open notebooks, a few scattered pens, and a steaming mug still half full and a . Shelves lined one wall, filled with neatly stacked books and small glass containers that caught the morning light.
In one corner, a dark mahogany piano stood with quiet dignity. The wall above it held a creamy white violin, suspended neatly beside a golden-framed harp whose strings shimmered softly in the glow. Another desk sat nearby, this one smaller, crowned with a round mirror rimmed in brass. Beside it, a wardrobe stood slightly ajar, the edge of a white doctor's coat peeking through.
It was clearly my room, yet it felt so unfamiliar. The air itself felt different soft, calm, and far too peaceful to belong to the life I remembered. It was an odd feeling, standing in a place that seemed to exist only in the quiet corners of my imagination.
This was the kind of room I had always wanted in my previous life warm, elegant, filled with the things I loved. But life had been too busy, too demanding for dreams like that. Between endless shifts and sleepless nights, I never had the time to shape my space into something that truly reflected me.
Back then, my room had been crowded with sound systems and scattered medical papers. Music was the only luxury I allowed myself. It was something I could improve with money, not time. It was the one thing that didn't require my presence, only my yearning.
Approaching the wardrobe, I pulled out a white coat and slipped it on, straightening the collar as the faint rustle of fabric filled the quiet room. The mirror beside the wardrobe reflected my movements — the neat folds of the coat, the soft light spilling across my face. I adjusted it carefully, tugging at the sleeves until it sat just right on my shoulders.
That was when a few sharp knocks echoed from the door, followed by a familiar, cheerful voice.
"Elena! You're still sleeping, aren't you?"
March's tone carried that usual mix of playfulness and mock scolding. Before I could respond, the door slid open with its soft mechanical hiss.
Sure enough, she peeked in, leaning against the frame with a bright grin. "Oh, you're already up! Hurry, Elena—Pom-Pom made breakfast ages ago! You're the only one who hasn't eaten yet!"
Her voice was so full of life it almost felt like it brightened the room on its own. Watching her, I couldn't help but feel a strange warmth — the kind of feeling that made the surreal seem almost ordinary. The girl I once only saw through a screen now stood before me, real, alive, and full of color.
I smiled softly, stepping closer and placing my hand gently on her head. Her hair felt smooth and cool against my palm as I gave her a slow, affectionate pat.
"Good morning, March," I said quietly.
March blinked up at me, her eyes widening before a faint blush colored her cheeks.
"E-Elena, stop treating me like a kid!" she huffed, puffing her cheeks in a pout. Then, crossing her arms, she added, "If you don't hurry, I'll eat your breakfast myself!"
I let out a small laugh, amused by her energy. "Then I suppose I should hurry before you do."