The wind came, from the distant Teyvat, bringing light, passing through the snow-capped mountains.
I sat in front of the window, watching the white of the Dragon Ridge Snow Mountain slowly spread out at the end of the map. The wind’s footsteps were very light, and it quietly brought a name: Chaska.
She was like a leaf of the wind, light, lonely and resolute. She flew in the air, and when her bow was drawn, the wind stopped breathing. She was not a warrior, she was a child of the wind, born to grow up in the sky. Her attack was not power, but a search, the softest dialogue between her and the world.
I closed my eyes and heard the sound of her arrow feathers cutting through the air, just like a person finally learned to speak after silence.
Another name is Olorun. He is the sound of lightning falling in the middle of the night, and the broken sentences in the wind. He came from afar, perhaps from a world without color. He carries secrets, like every child who grows up alone. His lightning is not a roar, but a flashback of memories. He stood between light and shadow, as if he didn’t know which side he was closer to.
That Villette and Zhongli also came back. They are characters in the old story, one is water, wrapping everything, and the other is rock, silent. They are like two old trees in my hometown, you can lean on them when you are tired. Their return is not for fighting, but to remind us that no matter how far we go, there is still a place to turn back.
And the snowy mountains are still cold. Cold like a dream that is unwilling to be told. It is a poem that we cannot reach, a gap between languages, and a kind of beauty that we have not yet understood.
The wind blew over and told me: You can prepare.
So people began to collect the crystals of creation, as if they were packing for a long journey. Treabar became a reliable post station on the journey, the lights were always on, and the shopkeeper always smiled and said: “Hurry up, the wind will wait for you.”
But I know that the wind will not wait for anyone. The wind never stops for anyone, it just passes by, like time, like those people and characters we have missed.
This time, the wind brought Chaska, Olorun, Navilette and Zhongli. What about next time? Who knows. Maybe a new name, maybe an old dream.
I am not in a hurry to draw cards, nor am I in a hurry to become strong. I just stand at the foot of the mountain, watching the snow, listening to the wind, and then quietly write down the story of the wind.
The snow is still falling. The night of Teyvat may be gentler than reality.