I woke up drowning.
My lungs burned as I coughed up water that tasted like starlight and ash, each heave wracking my body with pain that felt too real for someone who'd just been consciousness without form. The sensation of having a body again was overwhelming—weight, texture, the sharp bite of cold against my skin. I was solid. Physical. Alive in a way that Luna's void hadn't allowed.
My hands slapped against stone, fingers scraping against something smooth and freezing. I blinked water from my eyes, vision blurry and distorted, seeing only shapes and shadows moving around me.
More coughing. More burning. My throat felt raw, like I'd swallowed broken glass along with the black water. I rolled onto my side, retching, but nothing came up except more of that metallic-tasting liquid that glowed faintly silver in the dim light.
"Breathe." A voice, unfamiliar and measured. "The first resurrection is always the hardest."
