Chapter Text
Rangi,
The brush hovers delicately above the parchment, its tip barely grazing the surface as she writes the name. Each stroke feels like a whisper, the faintest echo, a presence behind her reminiscing of warmth; something that stirs deep within her. For long moments, her eyes linger on the simple characters – the name carries an ocean of emotions, memories as radiant and warming as the Sun itself.
She shifts in her seat, one of her feet repeatedly thumping against the floor. A few unruly strands of hair slip through her fingers as she rests her cheek in her palms, oxygen swooshing right out of her. Is she really doing this? If she concentrated really hard, she knew she could hear Rangi’s laughter once she read her words; the teasing she would have to endure for the emotions that nestled deeply in her heart.
I hope this letter finds you well.
Although formal, she knows her companion will see through them. The sentiment is genuine, and not just a formal gesture she’d picked up on here and there, spending much of her time around faux formalities. She scoffs lightly; the sound echoes in the quiet room. A windchime rattles lightly near the large window, the curtains swaying with the gentle, playful wind.
Candlelight flickers, casting a shadow that seems to dance alongside her thoughts. The light grows as fond memories play behind her closed eyelids, and only when she forces her eyes open does the flame settle, the visions retreating before they can spiral beyond her grasp.
I know that before anything else, you’d want to know about my physical well-being. I think you’d be pleased to know that the Air Nomads, albeit peaceful, are quite relentless in their routines. Meals are punctual, meditation is mandatory at least thrice a day. Training with the monks is… hard. Not in the way I expected, though.
It’s not about strength. It’s not about endurance. It’s about letting go. About being light, effortless.. I don’t know how to do that – as you know. They say I carry everything in my stance – my grief, my anger, my responsibility. They tell me to release it, but I don’t know who I am without it.
She exhales softly. Finally, the stomping of her feet stop.
However, the Southern Air Temple surpassed even my most vivid imaginings in its beauty. The spires are adorned with a rich blue hue, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Open-air gardens unfurl in every direction you can see, and like all the other Air Temples, it functions as a sanctuary to many – for both the spirit, and the mind. I think you’d love it here.
Though I sought simplicity and would have gladly accepted a modest chamber, just like any passerby, Monk Jinpa insisted upon leading me to the revered “Avatar’s Quarters” – here, the floor is a tapestry of dark, polished wood, softened by a thick carpet woven from naturally shed bison wool, and orange columns adorn the ceiling. Just outside the window, a reflective pool mirrors the quiet grandeur of the separated room, and beside it, there is a smooth stone surface, surrounded by vials of vibrantly colored sand.
It’s definitely not as harsh here as it must be in the North – but neither of these places hold a candle to the comfort of Yokoya. Sometimes, I find myself longing for the simplicity of our old life. Even Auntie Mui’s poetry nights, as tedious as they could be, have a strange nostalgia to them now.
She pauses, her lips curling into a light smile. Is she rambling? There was a chance Rangi was already bored to death, reading her details on miniscule matters.
No matter how much time passes, I will never get used to the frustration of politics. It was a headache to listen to the mind-games that would occasionally emerge from Yun’s room, over a game of Pai Sho; but being thrust into the thick of affairs that started long before me is worse.
They love to call me pragmatic – always, after demanding my counsel. The truth is far simpler: I do what must be done. Peace and prosperity are not ideals to be wished for; they are prizes to be seized, often at unimaginable costs. Sacrifice is not a choice, but a necessity – I wonder how old you were when you learned that.
In the silence of my own chambers, when the weight of the world settles upon my shoulders, I can’t help but ask myself: In becoming the Avatar, have I begun to vanish? Has “Kyoshi” slowly faded into the figure the world expects me to be? What would Kelsang say? Would he approve? Would he be proud?
She wrinkles her nose, a telltale sign of the storm brewing within her mind. Thoughts unravel, slipping from her grasp like sand through her fingers. It has been far too long since her eyes last found Rangi; the way her eyebrows pulled together when she was worried, or as her lips curled into a smile – often, almost sadistic in nature. The distance between the two of them couldn’t only be measured in miles, but longing as well; in the empty spaces where warmth was supposed to be.
Rangi has always been her anchor – the unshakable force that tied her to the earth, especially when it tilted too far, threatening to spiral out of control. With her, everything made sense. Although it was duty that separated them, the edges of reality had begun to blur, the weight of their fates suffocating.
I know our paths have momentarily diverged, Rangi, but I can’t shake the feeling that our fates are intertwined. The responsibility I was born with had never felt like a curse when I could share its weight with you. I wish you were here now, more than ever. You’d probably take great joy to rise with the Sun, drag me out of bed, force me to do a breathing exercise and then correct my form with that infuriating precision of yours. And yet – I miss even the things that used to annoy me.
As the brush lifts, she comes to a dreadful stop. Did she really call Rangi annoying? Should she cross it out? No – she decides, let it stay. Rangi would appreciate the honesty, and probably strike back with something that bothered her as well. Like her head-strong behavior.
Sleep eludes me these days. Even when we were on the run, hiding beneath the canopy of trees, I never felt safer than when you’d rest your head in the crook of my neck. I keep waking up, fingers grasping at the empty space where you used to be. I never quite know what to do with my hands when you’re gone; never know how to quiet the restless ache that lingers in your absence. Your touch was like a quiet fire, leaving trails of warmth that I still feel the absence of now. I shiver without it.
She scoffs at herself, almost embarrassed by the rawness of her words. Did perhaps Kuruk’s spirit take over her for a moment that she sounded almost eloquent, sharing her feelings? Since when did she become so sentimental?
Day fades into night, and while I find solace in my training under the guidance of the most skilled masters, something always feels missing. You’re missing. There’s so much I want to tell you, Rangi; so much I want to share. I can’t wait to see you again.
Her cheeks flush as she reads over her words. This isn’t like her, is it? She scowls – but this was the truth.
I don’t know when this letter will reach you, but the summer solstice is only a few days away now. Maybe next year, we could visit a festival together to celebrate. I hope Hei-Ran is recovering well, and that you’re finding some peace of mind as well.
She hesitates again, the brush hovering over the bottom of the parchment. How should she sign it? Mere moments pass, and then, she smiles. Writes,
Kyoshi – Just Kyoshi.
Like all the nights before, Kyoshi wakes abruptly, her breath shallow and body restless. The ribbon that held her hair has come undone, slipping away, lost somewhere in the folds of her blankets. She exhales, slow and steady, calming her heart, but the weight pressing against her ribs does not ease. Sleep will not return to her – she already knew as much. So, with steps softer than her usual heavy tread, she leaves her chambers behind, seeking solace in the hush of the temple halls and the cool embrace of the night.
The sky stretches endlessly above her, a vast, dark ocean speckled with stars, each one distant and unbothered by the troubles of the mortal world. The Moon hangs high, its silver glow casting long, pale shadows across the stone steps as she descends. If anything, at least this was the same as it always was – the night sky was just as beautiful at Yokoya as it is here.
Earthbending was out of the question here – the monks and nuns sleep lightly, and the last thing she needs is to rouse their concerns. Tonight, she must settle for something gentler, something quiet.
Then, she sees it. Sees her.
A figure at the foot of the stairs, half-shrouded in shadow, yet unmistakably familiar. Her heart lurches, a sudden, sharp drop to the pit of her stomach. Her breath catches. Her pulse stumbles. Without thinking, she moves, stepping forward –
Or rather, she would have stepped forward.
A firm yet gentle hand presses against her shoulder, halting her in place. The warmth of the touch seeps through her very bones, grounding her where she stands. A voice follows, low and knowing, edged with clarity.
"Your spirit is loud tonight, young Avatar."
She does not answer – not in words, at least. Kyoshi has never been one to voice her troubles, but neither is she someone who hides them. Instead, she glances back toward the empty space where the figure had stood earlier, only to find it gone, as if it had never been there at all.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?"
The offer lingers in the air between them. For a long moment, she is silent, lost somewhere between dream and waking, between what she yearned for, and reality.
Then, at last, she nods.
The Monk’s quarter is reserved – rid of many worldly goods, possessions that would pile up in a normal person’s home overtime. On the ground, two pillows are waiting to be occupied. Sitting down on one of them, with her legs crossed, her eyebrows are pulled together by a thought – unknown to the monk, but seemingly, rather disruptive.
He pours tea with practiced grace, the stream of liquid releasing wisps of fragrant steam into the cool night. He does not speak right away, allowing the silence to settle between the two of them – to breathe. The wind hums playfully through the temple corridors, rustling the edge of their robes, raising goosebumps on her skin.
“The wind carries what is light, young Avatar – it can not carry what is buried.”
His hands cradle his cup for warmth. When he glances at her, there is no expectation in his eyes, nor the pressure of someone who was waiting for her to confess what weight on her mind. Instead, he simply exists beside her.
“You were born of the earth,” he muses, “strong, enduring, unshaken. It is your nature to bear the weight of things, to hold them within yourself as if you alone must shoulder them. But even the mightiest mountain is shaped by time – by wind, or the water. You can not stay unyielding forever – even a stone must crack to let life through.”
The monk’s eyes glazing over her hands does not go unnoticed. She’s not troubled by the sight of it – not anymore. Tightening her fingers around the cup, the warmth grounds her, even if the storm within her mind continues to rage on.
“When you speak, you are not giving your burdens away; you are giving them room to breathe, to shift, to become something new. That is how the wind moves the world, not by force, but by flow – even it knows how to share its weight with the world.”
The night stretches on in silence. It is gentle – staring down into the cup, a warm, familiar sensation bubbles within her chest. She’d felt these – all of these, before. Even the words sound familiar for a moment.
“There is something you could aid me with,” she eventually says, taking a sip from her tea. When she glances up at the monk, he nods his head, quietly waiting. “I’d like to send a letter to the Northern Water Tribe.”
His eyes press together in knowing silence. Though she did not say anything, she said everything.