Once upon a time, there was a little kingfisher. She was the most beautiful bird in the forest. Her feathers shimmered with a radiant green glow, her song was crisp and melodious, and she soared freely through the vast woodland.
But one day, the sky suddenly darkened, and a violent storm swept across the entire forest. The little kingfisher watched in terror as the great tree she called home was cut down by humans wielding saws and axes.
She wept, unable to understand why they would do such a thing. Around her, she saw countless companions lying in pools of blood. She saw endless trees dragged away by humans. She saw animals fleeing in panic.
The little kingfisher tried to escape—but it was already too late. The great tree she had lived in let out a mournful groan before crashing to the ground.
That day, the little kingfisher fell to the earth. One of her legs was broken in the fall.
Though her beautiful wings remained intact, she could no longer move her leg. And without it, she could never fly again.
For a bird, this was a devastating blow. Flight was their destiny. To lose the ability to fly often meant death.
But the little kingfisher was strong. Unlike the others who perished after losing their wings, her life did not end. She endured until someone reached out to help her.
Yes—the very humans who had destroyed her home.
The little kingfisher was innocent and kind. She did not know that this human before her was the culprit who had felled her tree. She only knew that this human was willing to help her, to save her. That was enough.
And so, that day, the little kingfisher left the great forest and moved into a large white cage.
She found it difficult to adjust. She missed the forest dearly. Every day, she gazed out the window at her kin flying beneath the sunlight and blue sky.
She tried to spread her wings to follow them. She fluttered desperately—only to strike the hard bars of the cage and injure herself.
Her once vibrant feathers grew dull. Her long, elegant tail feathers split and became disheveled.
She became lonely, despondent, yearning intensely to return to nature and reclaim her freedom.
She begged the humans to take her back to her home—even though she knew it would never be the same.
To her surprise, the humans agreed and brought her back to the forest.
They returned her to the great woodland where she had once lived.
Everything was different.
The forest was no longer the forest she remembered.
The little kingfisher, who now understood everything, did not hate humanity. She bore no resentment toward anything.
This was the law of nature. There was nothing to complain about. As a bird who frequently accepted nature's gifts, she too must submit to its laws.
She stopped singing.
She stopped eating and drinking.
She merely curled up silently within her cage.
And just as the little kingfisher was about to wither away in sorrow, a new gift from nature descended upon her.
This time, it would be humanity...
...That would accept the law of nature.
...
"Ahahaha... hahahahahaha... So this is the true world!"
The girl's wild laughter echoed through the sky. Her waterfall-like black hair, marked by a small cowlick, shimmered with streaks of green light as it danced in the wind.
Her face was sculpted to perfection, its lines elegant as though crafted by nature itself. Her lake-like emerald eyes were clear and luminous, as if they embodied a longing and yearning for freedom.
Her skin was as pale and delicate as snow, exuding a cold aura. Her figure was petite and doll-like, stirring the heart. Her smile shone like sunlight—brilliant and dazzling, capable of illuminating all darkness.
Around her neck rested a black metallic collar. Her body was wrapped in rings of white bandages that fluttered like gauze in the wind. They concealed the injuries and torment she had once endured, adding a fragile allure to her image—one impossible to forget at a glance.
Yet she was the genuine spokesperson of Honkai—the Herrscher who shepherded the calamity of wind across the world.
Wendy.
Once, she had been bedridden for years due to what doctors called an "illness," able only to watch orioles flutter outside her window. Her wish had always been to one day fly across the sky.
Now, with wings like those of a bluebird sprouting from her back, she had achieved that dream.
And yet she felt no joy.
For she was the Herrscher of Wind, the executor of divine judgment.
And now, she desired only one thing—to bring the terror of destruction upon this world.
Like a fairy tale, she flew over beaches, across oceans, past schools of fish and cascading waterfalls, until she arrived in North America—because in her memories, this was the land humans called the most "free."
Following instinct and curiosity, she stepped upon this soil that worshipped freedom.
And began her slaughter.
"Violence, oppression, enslavement."
"Within the darkness of the kingdom, people struggle day after day."
"The shackles of greed bind them, stripping away their yearning for freedom."
"Sorrow fills their eyes. Their lives lack meaning."
"This world itself is a cage."
"I am the wind of freedom! I shall destroy the cage through annihilation!"
"Through death, you will experience the brevity of life. Through fear, you will cherish your longing for freedom."
Wind.
It was a nimble, inexhaustible force. It accompanied sunlight and dew, soothing barren lands. It brushed against branches, plucked at treetops, bringing joy and vitality.
Wind was part of life—a tool for humanity to explore the world. It could be both friend and foe. It possessed beauty, yet also terror. It was mysterious, yet to some degree predictable.
But when wind became humanity's enemy—what then?
The people of North America now understood all too clearly.
First came the most immediate impact. Typhoons swept through, destroying countless unreinforced buildings. Verdant trees were uprooted. Trash bins and billboards were hurled through the air. Pedestrians were struck senseless by sudden gales.
Then came extremes of heat and cold. The heat once gathered near the equator was carried by the Herrscher of Wind to temperate North America, turning what should have been winter into a sweltering summer overnight.
Meanwhile, regions untouched by the heatwave rapidly lost what little warmth remained under the force of the winds. Pedestrians trudging along the streets would, without warning, fall into the abyss of hypothermia.
To become an ice sculpture might have been a merciful end.
Those who were not frozen faced something worse—the erosion of Honkai energy carried upon the wind, transforming them into zombies in the blink of an eye.
Such was the terror of a Honkai Eruption in the name of wind.
Though wind itself was not the most destructive force, its capacity for rapid and boundless spread was unmatched.