I set my backpack down on the floor, leaning it against the short-legged bed. Then I took a proper look around my new room, trying to take it in slowly.
It felt old in the best way: rounded walls of pale plaster, low dark beams overhead, and the air carrying that comforting scent of sun-warmed wood and fresh earth. Next to the little round window stood a small table, its edges nicked and worn from years of use. Outside, I could see the gentle bustle of the Shire — tidy gardens, hobbits tending flower beds, the distant curve of another hill dotted with round doors. On the window ledge sat a trio of clay pots, each holding plants that looked half-forgotten but stubbornly alive.
The bed itself was obviously made for someone shorter. The blanket barely reached past my knees; I'd probably have to sleep with my legs hanging off the end, but somehow that didn't bother me as much as it should have.
After a moment, I crouched down and unzipped my backpack, checking what had come with me. A couple of shirts and spare clothes, two plastic water bottles, my electric toothbrush and a half-used tube of toothpaste. But no phone charger. And, stranger still — no phone either. I pawed through every pocket, every fold of fabric. Nothing.
Weird. But there wasn't much I could do about it now.
I stood, hesitated, then sat on the little chair beside the window. Resting my elbows on the table, I pressed my palms against my forehead, willing my brain to make sense of things.
What do I remember?
I was going on holiday. Sitting on the plane. I'd leaned back, closed my eyes for a nap —
Then I was here.
My brow creased. Wait… where was I going?
Silence. Just a blank stretch of fog. I pushed harder, as if that would force something into shape.
Nothing.
My chest tightened. I lowered my head into my hands, fingers pressing hard against my temples. Okay, okay… my name.
Thomas. That felt right — solid, like something carved in stone.
But Thomas what?
No surname came. No whisper of the city I'd left behind, no memory of what country had stamped my passport. It all felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
Just Thomas. Only Thomas.
For a long moment, I stayed like that: head bowed, breath coming slow and shaky.
Then a gentle knock on the door broke the silence.
I lifted my head, blinking in the light. Bilbo stood there, a polite sort of concern on his face.
"You look a bit calmer now," he offered gently. "I thought… perhaps you'd like some tea? And a bite to eat? Always helps me when things feel turned upside-down."
My voice came out steadier than before. "Yeah. That… that sounds good. Thank you."
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. "Come along, then," he said, stepping back to let me out into the warm, book-lined halls of Bag End. "Fresh bread, honey, and a pot already steeping."
I pushed myself up, the knots in my chest loosening by a thread. At least for now, tea and company were something I could hold onto.
Especially with Bilbo, of all people. It felt strangely unreal to sit across from him in person — someone I'd only ever seen on a screen, in stories I never truly believed could be real.
But still, there I was: seated at his table, the wood worn smooth by years of quiet meals and morning teas. My gaze wandered over the food he'd laid out: a small loaf still steaming faintly, a dish of golden honey, and a pot of dark, fragrant tea that curled steam into the warm air of the kitchen.
Bilbo caught my eye and nodded encouragingly. "Go on. Help yourself — it's for you, after all," he said gently, while he poured a cup of tea into a plain ceramic mug and set it before me.
I nodded back, my fingers slightly unsteady as I reached for the bread. I tore off a piece, dipped it into the honey, and took a bite.
Warm. Soft. Sweet in a simple, honest way that felt comforting in a place so far from anything I'd ever known. My shoulders loosened a little with each chew, the tightness in my chest easing.
When I'd finished the first piece, I glanced up and caught Bilbo watching me, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He liked this, didn't he? Seeing someone enjoy food he'd prepared. There was a quiet pride there that made this all feel, somehow, less impossible.
But then it happened.
My vision shimmered — like heat haze rising from stone — and for a heartbeat, the world itself seemed to crack open. Colours spilled out: gentle ripples of gold, soft threads of warmth curling around Bilbo, drifting slowly with the rhythm of his breath. The table, the walls, even the teapot shimmered with faint auras, old and comforting.
And somehow — impossibly — I knew what I was seeing.
Qi. Not just any Qi, but the living spiritual energy from Touhou. I shouldn't have known that. I'd barely heard the name, never played the games or read the lore. But in that moment, the understanding settled into my mind as naturally as breathing. This was aura sight: the power to see the invisible flows that filled every living thing.
Bilbo's Qi pulsed gently around him: warm, steady, touched by curiosity and the quiet hum of a mind always half-turning over words and stories. There was a slight thread of tension, too — mild worry over this stranger now seated at his table.
My heart thudded. The shock of it nearly sent me toppling off the chair. For a second I almost wanted to look deeper, to see what lay beneath that warm surface — but instinct clawed at me, panic rising. I pulled back, forcing the vision away.
The colours dulled and disappeared, leaving only Bilbo's kitchen: round walls, low beams, the faint scent of tea and warm bread.
I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the mug before me. Qi. From Touhou. How do I know this?It was like someone had whispered it into my mind — not in words, but as a certainty sunk deep into me.
Across from me, Bilbo didn't seem to notice anything odd. He just finished pouring himself tea, looking over with polite curiosity and that same smile.
Inside, my thoughts churned. Qi. Aura sight. Tai Chi. Powers this world didn't have. From a different world or universe all together. What did that mean for me?
For the first time since I'd arrived, I felt something spark beneath the confusion and fear: a thin, thread of hope.
Later, when I was alone again the soft clink of teacups coming from the kitchen, Bilbo pottering somewhere deeper inside the house — I let myself try it.
I closed my eyes. Breathed in.
And just like that, I could feel it.
Qi.
It wasn't just inside me it was around me. In the air, in the old wooden walls, in the ground beneath the floorboards. But within me, it moved differently. Smooth, alive, like wind and warm water. I focused on my right hand, and the Qi shifted — obedient, fluid. It flowed like breath through my arm, filled my palm with a quiet strength.
I opened my eyes slowly, heart pounding.
And then… I turned my attention inward.
I could feel it.
Starfang.
It blazed there like a second sun, distant but impossibly close, buried in the deepest part of me. Its Qi was different — not just powerful, but pure, brilliant, and ancient. A presence that wasn't quite sentient, but felt... noble. Watchful. Like something that had chosen me, and was now waiting patiently for me to use it.
The moment I focused on it, Starfang's energy stirred.
It reached out to me.
Not with words — with warmth, fire, yes, but not the kind that burned. It was the fire of purpose, of will. I reached back instinctively, unsure what I was doing — but something clicked.
Qi met Qi. We intertwined.
And the moment it happened, I felt it moving through me. Starfang's essence flowed into mine. It was like someone running a hot cloth across my soul — not pain, just a release of something I hadn't known I was carrying. Dullness, fog, fear — all of it burned away.
My Qi shifted with it.
I was brighter now. Sharper. More fiery, but in a way that made me feel whole. Alive in a way I hadn't realized I wasn't. As the energy slowly settled I wondered what tommorow would look like and whether I would eventually understand what was happening to me. At least I didn't feel scared anymore, now I was just confused, befuddled and in awe.