Dr. J'an
This account is attributed to Wa'j of the Gray Wings, recorded approximately one year and four months prior to the Tàiyáng campaigns against the mountain powers.
At this time, no formal declaration of war had been made.
However, subtle environmental irregularities—particularly those observed by wind-readers—suggest that large-scale movements had already begun beneath the surface of recorded history.
The wind speaks.
It always has.
Not in words.
Not in thought.
In movement.
In pressure.
In the way it touches the wings and either flows…
or resists.
Today—
It resists.
I stand at the edge of the high cliffs, where the mountains stretch endlessly and the air never rests.
My wings remain half-open, letting the currents move across each feather.
They should be smooth.
Predictable.
Instead—
They falter.
Just for a moment.
Then continue.
I shift slightly.
Test again.
There.
A break.
Small.
Barely noticeable.
But wrong.
I close my eyes.
The mountains breathe slowly.
They always have.
Warm air rises.
Cool air falls.
A cycle older than memory.
But now…
It feels like something within that rhythm is… delayed.
Not stopped.
Not yet.
Just…
late.
Footsteps approach behind me.
Measured.
Familiar.
I fold my wings slightly and lower my head.
"Master Fuxi."
He comes to stand beside me.
His presence is steady, as always.
Grounded.
Certain.
His gray wings rest calmly at his back, unmoving—
yet I know he feels the wind as I do.
"You are observing," he says.
"Yes, Master."
I hesitate.
Careful with my words.
"The currents are… uneven."
He looks out over the mountains.
"They are changing."
His voice carries no concern.
Only certainty.
"With respect," I say, slower now, "this does not feel like change."
A pause.
"It feels… mistimed."
That word feels closer.
Not broken.
Just… not aligned.
Fuxi glances at me briefly.
"You have improved," he says.
That is not agreement.
"That is why you must be cautious."
I bow my head slightly.
"Yes, Master."
The wind brushes past us again.
A slight delay.
Then it moves as expected.
"You must remember," Fuxi continues, "the wind is not separate from the world."
"Yes, Master."
"When people move," he says, "when nations shift… when intent gathers…"
"The world reflects that."
That makes sense.
It always has.
But still—
"…this feels different," I say quietly.
The words leave before I can stop them.
Silence.
I lower my head further.
"…forgive me."
Fuxi exhales softly.
"You are not wrong to question," he says.
Relief—
brief.
"But you are early."
That stops me.
"…early?"
"Yes."
He looks out toward the distant lands.
"Change does not arrive all at once."
"It begins… subtly."
"In ways most will not notice."
The wind moves again.
This time—
perfectly.
Smooth.
Normal.
As if nothing was ever wrong.
"…I understand," I say.
And this time—
I almost believe it.
Almost.
We stand there in silence.
Below us, the lands move as they always have.
Caravans.
Messengers.
Small groups shifting between territories.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing alarming.
Just the quiet motion of a living world.
"Continue your observations," Fuxi says.
"Yes, Master."
He turns and walks away.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Certain.
I remain at the cliff.
The wind continues to move.
Normal.
Predictable.
As it always should.
But I do not close my wings.
Because I felt it.
Even if only for a moment—
Something was not aligned.
And though it has already passed…
I cannot shake the feeling that whatever caused it…
has not.
8 MONTHS AND 1 YEAR BEFORE WAR