English
Indonesia
Chinese (Simp)
Japanese
Korean
Spanish
Portuguese
French
German
ArabicHonkai Star Rail: Summoning the Chrysos Heirs — Chapter 1
Chapter 1: Reborn as the Pink-Haired Anomaly
“Ugh…”
A muffled groan slipped through the silence. Enveloped in the faint, ambient glow of pink and blue neon filtering through the room, a girl with cherry-blossom-colored hair struggled to push herself up from a sprawling, impossibly soft mattress.
Her consciousness felt submerged in thick, suffocating syrup. It took several arduous seconds of fighting through the mental fog just to break the surface. When she finally managed to pry her eyelids open, the world was a blurred, overlapping mess. Everything in her field of view shook and rippled, as if she were staring through a pane of flowing water.
She blinked hard, forcing the double vision to recede.
As her eyes finally managed to focus, the sight before her left her completely paralyzed.
This was a completely unfamiliar room.
Pale pink wallpaper lined the walls, contrasting with heavy, dark blue velvet curtains that were drawn tight to suffocate any outside light. An carefully designed ceiling lamp cast a soft, pearlescent white glow, illuminating the massive pink-and-blue bed while leaving the corners of the room steeped in shadow.
A strange, sweet fragrance—like crushed berries and morning dew—permeated the air. The mattress beneath her yielded with an elastic softness that was worlds apart from the rock-hard wooden boards of her old university dormitory.
‘Wait.’She raised a hand, pressing her fingertips firmly against her temples in a desperate, circular massage.’I must have stayed up too late grinding jades. This is just a hallucination.’
But as the seconds ticked by, the ambient chill of the air and the silk of the sheets remained undeniably real. No matter how hard she rubbed her eyes, the room refused to dissolve.
“What’s going on…” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “Where… is this?”
The moment the words left her lips, her entire body froze.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
‘My voice?!’
It was incredibly soft, dripping with a sugary sweetness and carrying the lazy, nasal lilt of someone who had just woken up. The sentence naturally curled upward at the end, making it sound devastatingly cute.
It was absolutely, unequivocally not the voice she had used for the past twenty years of her life.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through her lingering headache. She immediately lowered her head, her gaze sweeping over her own body.
Her breath hitched. There, beneath the fabric of her top, was the obvious, soft swell of a chest.
An unmatched terror seized her. Ignoring the throbbing pain echoing in her skull, she threw back the thin pink-and-blue quilt and stumbled out of bed. Her bare feet hit the floorboards, the sudden icy chill shooting up her legs and forcing her mind into a state of hyper-clarity.
Her frantic gaze swept the room, finally locking onto a European-style vanity mirror framed in ornate blue and gold, standing elegantly near the bed.
She practically lunged across the carpet, her palms slamming against the edge of the dressing table as she braced herself.
She stared into the glass.
The person reflecting back at her wore a loose, pale pink jacket, one side having slipped carelessly off a delicate shoulder to reveal a matching camisole underneath. A slender, exquisite necklace rested against her collarbone, rising and falling with her erratic breaths.
But the most striking feature was the hair—a cascade of vibrant pink that transitioned into a deep, ethereal blue at the ends.
Subconsciously, she leaned closer, her breath fogging the glass.
She stared into the girl’s eyes. They were impossibly clear and bright, swirling with the depth of a star-studded night sky. And resting right in the center of those irises were strange, diamond-shaped pupils.
She recognized this face. She knew it all too well.
“This… this is… Cyrene?”
Her voice trembled, the sweet syllables fracturing under the weight of her disbelief.
Slowly, she raised a trembling finger and gently touched her own cheek. In perfect synchronization, the stunning girl in the mirror mirrored the gesture.
The sensation of soft, warm skin beneath her fingertip was undeniably real. She jerked her hand back as if burned, her entire body locking up as her mind short-circuited.
After what felt like an eternity, her lips parted. “I’ve become Cyrene? This… this can’t be right.”
It was an absurd conclusion, yet the evidence was staring her right in the face.
‘Could I be dreaming? They say you can’t feel pain in a dream. Let’s test it.’
Hesitating for only a fraction of a second, she raised her hand and pinched her fair cheek with brutal force.
“Ouch!”
A sharp, stinging pain flared across her skin, prompting her to instinctively cradle her cheek. In the mirror, the girl’s delicate brows furrowed in a flawless display of distress.
She slowly lowered her hand, staring at the faint red mark blossoming on Cyrene’s flawless complexion. The last shred of her wishful thinking evaporated.
“There’s pain… it’s not a dream,” she murmured, her tone hollow and lost. “I’ve… really become Cyrene?”
She stared at the youthful features—this was clearly the Little Cyrene era of her design. A deep sense of absurdity washed over her.
“And I look exactly like her younger self… What on earth is going on?”
She closed her eyes, forcing her erratic heartbeat to steady, and dug into the chaotic depths of her mind, searching for any lingering fragments of memory.
Suddenly, the floodgates opened.
She snapped her eyes open. The confusion in her azure, diamond-shaped pupils instantly ignited into overwhelming grief and pure, unadulterated rage.
“I remember now!”
She gritted her teeth, her hands gripping the edge of the dressing table so hard her knuckles turned bone-white.
“To save up for her! I saved a full thousand pulls! I grinded day and night, lived frugally, eating instant noodles just to pull a complete unit!”
Tears of sheer frustration welled in her starry eyes. “And the result? I was set up by MiHoYo! I hit hard pity every single time! Every fifty-fifty was a loss!”
“A thousand pulls down the drain!” Her voice cracked into a pathetic, adorable sob. “Not only did I have zero jade left for the weapon banner, but I didn’t even manage to max out her Eidolons!”
The final memory flashed before her eyes with crystal clarity: her computer screen displaying a mocking E5 Cyrene, sitting right next to an empty S0 Light Cone slot.
In that fateful moment, the sheer cocktail of anger, resentment, and despair had transformed into a soaring, blood-boiling grudge. Her vision had gone black, and her consciousness had plummeted into the abyss.
“So…” Cyrene released her death grip on the table, her arms hanging limply at her sides as a look of utter gloom settled over her stunning features. “I… because my gacha pulls failed, I got so angry… that I literally died of pure rage?”
As the lingering resentment of her failed pulls faded, a tidal wave of embarrassment crashed over her.
Cyrene covered her face with both hands, her toes curling against the floorboards.
‘This is too humiliating!’
“I’m sorry…” she whispered to the empty room. “I’ve disgraced the noble seniors who were sent flying by Truck-kun while saving people… I’ve brought shame to the vast, proud community of fellow transmigrators…”
Taking a few deep, shuddering breaths, she slapped her own cheeks with both hands to snap out of it.
“Alright, calm down! Now is not the time to dwell on my pathetic death!”
The absolute priority was figuring out where she was.
Cyrene shifted her attention, her diamond pupils scanning the room with renewed focus.
“A bedroom full of girlish charm.” She padded over to the desk, her slender fingers trailing across the smooth surface. A sleek desktop computer sat quietly on standby.
She picked up the smartphone resting by her pillow. The screen flared to life, demanding a password or facial recognition.
“Modern tech products… the furniture colors are all pink and blue. The original owner must have been a fanatic for this aesthetic,” she analyzed in a low murmur, turning the device over in her hands.
Suddenly, her fingers froze.
A spike of ice shot up her spine, making her scalp tingle with dread.
“Wait a minute!” Her voice trembled. “Even though this room doesn’t look like Cyrene’s residence in Amphoreus from the game… that doesn’t mean she hasn’t moved!”
“And Amphoreus has technology similar to mobile phones, too.”
Just because the game hadn’t explicitly shown desktop computers didn’t mean the world of Amphoreus lacked them.
If this really was Amphoreus…
Just thinking about the apocalyptic disasters, the Memoria anomalies, and the cosmic horrors that plagued that world made Cyrene’s throat run dry. Her heart felt as if it were being crushed in a vice.
If she had transmigrated as the actual Cyrene right into the middle of the main plot… wouldn’t that be starting on absolute Hell Mode?
Driven by sheer panic, Cyrene dropped the phone onto the bed and sprinted to the window.
She grabbed the heavy velvet curtains and yanked them apart.
Outside the glass lay the deep, sprawling canvas of the night.
The pitch-black sky was dotted with sparse, distant stars. Below, streetlights cast a warm, orange-yellow glow, perfectly outlining the paved asphalt roads.
Not far away stood a cluster of modern high-rise buildings, their countless lit windows merging into a brilliant sea of urban life. A few cars cruised down the street, their taillights dragging long crimson streaks through the dark, accompanied by the faint, muffled sound of a horn in the distance.
It was a familiar, peaceful, utterly mundane urban cityscape.
The unbearable tension drained from Cyrene’s face in an instant. Her legs gave out, and she slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of pink fabric.
“Whew…”
A long, shuddering sigh of relief escaped her lips as she wiped a bead of cold sweat from her forehead.
“It’s the modern world… not Amphoreus,” she breathed.
As long as she wasn’t trapped in that high-risk, god-forsaken universe, everything would be fine. She could handle a modern world.
Having confirmed her basic safety, her otaku instincts began to flare up again.
Since this was a transmigration… there had to be a Golden Finger of some sort, right?
“Logically speaking, transmigrators always come with a standard-issue system. Or at least a status panel…”
Cyrene scrambled up from the floor, dusting off her camisole. With a hint of nervous hesitation, she called out softly to the empty room:
“Great System… are you there?”
Before the final syllable even faded from the air…
The room reacted.
The pearlescent ceiling lamp instantly snapped off, plunging the bedroom into absolute, suffocating darkness.
Immediately after, a violent sensation of weightlessness seized her. Cyrene felt as if the floor had simply ceased to exist. She was in mid-air, with absolutely nothing beneath her feet to anchor her.
She cried out, her sweet voice echoing as she instinctively flailed her arms in the dark, her fingers grasping desperately at thin air.
Just as the terror of falling threatened to overwhelm her, the pitch-black void before her eyes violently twisted.
The pink-and-blue bedroom was gone.
In its place was a vast, boundless, and breathtakingly beautiful cosmic expanse.
Countless stars twinkled in every conceivable direction, converging into a flowing, radiant galaxy that stretched into infinity. Ethereal cosmic dust drifted past her like thin, glowing veils, while the majestic outlines of slowly rotating nebulae illuminated the distant dark.
Cyrene found herself suspended in this endless void. There was no ground beneath her feet, yet her body stood perfectly firm, anchored by some unseen force.
Absolute silence reigned, with only the shifting, brilliant starlight silently testifying to the sheer, terrifying vastness of the cosmos.