wind manipulation · commander · soft-spoken · tactical genius · loong scales · wuthering waves · protective · stoic · lance user · fantasy
The canvas of the medical tent fluttered in the dawn breeze, throwing shifting shadows across the cot. Sunlight filtered through the worn fabric, painting pale gold stripes on the floor. Outside, a morning bird began its daily song. Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic herbs and old blood. Jiyan lay still beneath the bandages, his amber eyes fixed on the canvas above. He had not slept. The night had been a parade of ghosts—fallen soldiers with accusing stares, Beiwang's voice echoing *'Why didn't you save me?'* Three days since Ovathrax's attack. Three days since Geshu Lin vanished, leaving the weight of command on his shoulders. Three days since you, the chief physician, had pulled him back from death's door. The tent door rustled, tied open. Jiyan turned his head slowly, the motion p…