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Chapter Text

Prologue

The night Maia was born, the wind howled against the walls of the healer’s hut like a hungry spirit. Snow battered the shutters, and the moonlight came in silver through the cracks. 

Inside, the air smelled of metal and smoke, and the cries of a newborn piercing through the winter storm.

Her mother’s breath had already stilled. The healer whispered words of apology, but the only one who could hear was the man kneeling beside the low bed, her brother, a simple seamster with tears in his eyes and grief in his hands. 

He looked down at the tiny bundle, so small she seemed made of nothing but tiny breaths.

The baby’s wailing stopped as suddenly as it began. Her eyes opened, bright and unblinking, and for a heartbeat the world itself seemed to hold its breath. The lamps flickered, the wooden walls creaked, and the storm outside shifted its voice.

When they stepped out into the night, the blizzard should have swallowed them both whole. But the snow bent strangely around him, eddies of white sweeping aside as if the storm itself had chosen to cradle the child. The wind hissed in his ears, not cruel, but murmuring, carrying voices he could not understand. 

Voices more ancient than humans themselves.

He stumbled through drifts, clutching the baby to his chest, half-blinded by grief. The snow curled away from her face, never touching her. His tears froze before they fell.

By the time he reached the low-lit cluster of huts, the storm had gentled into a hush, as if in deference. Villagers stepped from their doors, silent, watching the man return with a motherless child in his arms. 

He did not speak. He only held her tighter, as though she were both a burden and a lifeline, and disappeared into the night again.

And so Maia entered the world. Cradled in sorrow and shielded by a storm. 

Her first lullaby the grieving breath of the elements themselves.

---

The village was quiet under its blanket of white. The kind of cold that made even the dogs curl tighter in their furs. Maia’s uncle had brought her outside to play in the daylight, thin though it was, while he mended nets by the firepit.

“Stay close,” he said, his voice rough with warning. His eyes were on the knots in the rope, but his hand tightened as if he could hold her in place with the sound alone.

She nodded, though her gaze was already drifting past the line of huts, to where the snow lifted in small whirls like dancers. The wind hummed against her ears, soft and coaxing, and Maia tilted her head. It almost sounded like a song.

She shuffled away, mittened hands outstretched, the fur-lined hood of her coat bouncing with each step. The air nipped at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. The snowflakes didn’t sting; they spun toward her, circling her ankles, darting ahead like a close friend.

By the time her uncle looked up, she was gone.

Maia followed the drift of white past the edge of the village, where the ice rose in blue mounds and the sea’s breath came in through cracks in the shore. The wind swirled, tugging at her hood, laughing in a voice that wasn’t quite human.

And then she saw it.

At first it seemed like a trick of the light: a shimmer above the snow, bending like heat over ice. But it grew clearer with each heartbeat. 

Shapes of pale blue and silver, something between a fox and a flame, its body flowing like water and scattering snow with every step. Two eyes glowed like distant stars, and though no pawprints marked the ground, Maia felt the earth beneath her tremble.

She stared, breath frosting in the air.

The spirit tilted its head, watching her in silence. Then it stepped forward, and the snow curled protectively around her boots, rising in tiny ridges to keep her steady. 

For a moment, Maia thought she heard words in the wind. Something low and kind, like a whisper through a hollow. She didn’t understand it, but she felt them, deep and certain, as if they belonged to her.

Behind her, a shout broke the spell.

“Maia!”

Her uncle’s voice, sharp with fear, cutting through the air.

The spirit dissolved in a burst of snowflakes, scattering into the air so quickly it might never have been there at all. Maia blinked, heart still thrumming, as her uncle came running, breath ragged, pulling her into his arms.

He scolded her between gasps, telling her never to wander, never to leave his sight. But Maia hardly heard him. Her small hands clutched at his collar, her wide eyes fixed on the dancing flakes still drifting down, certain that what she had seen was a secret meant only for her.

—

The snow was falling soft and steady, each flake drifting slow as a sigh. Maia sat on the low stone step of the courtyard, her legs tucked beneath her, watching the white world blur into silence. Her uncle Taron had told her to wait there while he went inside the great house to speak with the Chief about a new commission.

“Stay here, Maia,” he had said, his rough hand smoothing the fur at her collar. His voice always carried worry, even in small things. She nodded obediently, her large silver eyes fixed on his face until he disappeared through the carved doorway.

For a while, she sat very still, listening. The snowflakes seemed to come alive if she watched long enough, swirling and spiraling in playful eddies. She reached out a mittened hand, and the flakes drifted toward her palm, gathering there in a way that felt almost deliberate. Maia’s lips parted in a quiet smile.

Then came a sound that shattered the hush.

A heavy thump, followed by a small, furious cry:
“Ugh! Why won’t you work!?”

Maia blinked, head tilting. The sound came from beyond the courtyard, just out of sight. She hesitated, remembering her uncle’s warning, but curiosity tugged stronger. Rising, she padded across the snow, her boots sinking deep, following the frustrated noises until she rounded a corner.

There, in a wide patch of trampled snow, stood a girl about her own age. Stocky, with dark hair tied back messily, she faced a small pool of half-frozen water. Her arms sliced through the air, and the water leapt, then collapsed in a sloppy splash that soaked her boots.

“Stupid water!” the girl yelled, stamping again. “I said MOVE!”

Maia froze, silver eyes wide. She had never seen someone fight with water like it was an enemy. She watched, silent as the snow around her, as the girl tried again and again, growing red in the face with effort.

Then the girl spun around, and spotted her.

“You!” she barked, pointing. “Are you spying on me?”

Maia’s breath caught. She shuffled back a step, small hands waving about. “N-no,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, like snow landing on fur. “I was just… watching.”

The girl squinted, suspicious. “Well, you shouldn’t just watch people when they’re training. It’s rude.”

Maia’s eyes flicked to the pool of water, then back. “You’re… forcing it,” she said gently. “Maybe you should feel the water instead. Not fight it.”

For a moment, the girl just stared, mouth open in shock that someone her size dared to correct her. Then she grinned, all teeth and mischief. “Oh yeah? If you’re so smart, then you show me.”

Maia rocked back on her heels, suddenly shy. “I… I don’t know if I can…”

“C’mon!” The girl’s eyes shone with fierce challenge. “Show me.”

Slowly, Maia stepped closer to the pool. She took a deep breath, crouching down, her mittened hand hovering above the surface. She didn’t push, she just listened, the way she always did. The cold hummed in her fingertips, the water shivering under the ice as she reached out.

She raised her arm, and the pool stirred. A ribbon of water rose, trembling, then spun slowly around her body in a delicate swirl. Maia’s eyes softened. With a small flick of her wrist, the ribbon snapped forward, stretching into a neat whip before falling back into the pool.

Silence.

The other girl’s mouth fell open. Then she clapped her hands together, laughing loudly. “That was amazing! I’m Korra!” she declared, chest puffed. “We should be friends since we’re both cool and stuff.”

Maia blinked, startled by the sudden turn in the girl’s voice. “…Maia,” she whispered.

“Maia,” Korra repeated, grinning wider. “Good name. You better come back here, okay? You have to show me more stuff!”

Before Maia could reply, Taron’s voice cut across the courtyard: “Maia.”

He stood by the doorway, a bundle of furs under one arm. His eyes flicked to Korra, and Maia saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle unease of a poor man standing before the daughter of the chief.

“Time to go,” he said firmly.

Maia gave Korra one last small smile before hurrying back to her uncle’s side. As they walked away, Korra cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted after them:

“Don’t forget, Maia! Come over sometime! We’re friends now!”

Maia glanced back once. Korra stood in the snow, waving both arms like she was trying to command the whole sky. The silver of Maia’s eyes caught the snowlight as she turned back, tucking the memory close, as if it were something precious.

—

The walk back through the snow was hushed. Maia padded beside her uncle, clutching the edge of his coat, the weight of Korra’s laughter still ringing in her ears. Taron’s stride was steady, his broad shoulders bent slightly against the cold wind, though his silence pressed heavier than the weather.

Inside their small home, a low-roofed hut with fur-lined walls and the smell of dried fish lingering in the air, Taron set down his bundle of fabrics. He lingered by the firepit a moment before finally turning to her.

“What were you doing with the chief’s daughter?” His voice was quiet, but it carried a question.

Maia froze in the act of pulling off her mittens. Her grey eyes flicked up, uncertain. “I was… just playing with the water with her.”

Taron went still. His jaw tightened, and for a long moment he only looked at her. Finally, he asked, “What kind of playing?”

Maia shifted her weight, the words small on her tongue. “She was trying to make the water move. I showed her how. I was… helping.”

A long sigh escaped him, heavy as stone. He rubbed a hand down his face, across the stubble of his jaw. “Maia…” His voice dropped lower, softer, as if he feared the very walls might overhear. “You don’t want to draw too much attention.”

Her cheeks warmed. She hugged her arms around herself, eyes dropping to the packed snow floor. “I wasn’t trying to,” she whispered.

“I know.” His tone softened, though the crease between his brows remained. He stepped closer, crouching so they were nearly eye to eye. His large hand settled gently on her shoulder. “I just… I won’t lose you too. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Maia’s lips pressed together. The sadness in his eyes pulled at her small heart until she nodded. “I promise.”

For a moment they stayed like that, the firelight dancing on his tired face and her solemn one. Then Taron exhaled, letting the tension ease. He ruffled her long brown hair, straightening with a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“Now,” he said, brushing the mood away with practiced gentleness, “what do you want for dinner? Seal stew, or should I make the flatbread with dried fish?”

Her expression brightened just a little. “Flatbread,” she said quickly, almost like it was a secret treat.

He chuckled, turning toward the cupboard. “Flatbread it is. But only if you help.”

Maia climbed onto the low stool, watching him gather ingredients. The earlier heaviness faded into the rhythm of small and familiar sounds. The crackle of the fire, the scrape of a knife, the soft hum Taron carried under his breath. 

And though the memory of Korra’s laughter still lingered in her mind, it was her uncle’s quiet presence she leaned into, warm and steady against the winter night.

Chapter Text

The morning broke clear and pale, the horizon drawn thin where the gray sea met the gray sky. Maia walked at her uncle’s side, his pack of fabrics slung heavy over one shoulder. The village stirred around them. Wooden doors creaking open, smoke rising from chimneys, voices weaving into the rhythm of another day.

Taron stopped outside a hunter’s lodge, giving her a look.

She nodded without any words said, but her eyes were already wandering. Drawn to the sparkle of light on the water, the laughter of children playing near the shore. When Taron disappeared inside, she lingered only a heartbeat before stepping away.

The village unfolded around her, alive with movement, but shadowed behind storms. Women knelt by baskets of fish, their hands moving quickly as they salted and cleaned a fresh catch. A pair of old men argued by the pier, their voices sharp but their eyes glinting with amusement, as though the quarrel was only a familiar dance. A group of children raced past her, shrieking, dragging sleds behind them. Maia paused to watch, her lips curving at the trail of laughter they left in their wake.

The sea called next. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, where the waves slapped against the pilings. The air was briny, sharp in her nose, the wind curling fingers through her hair. She leaned on the railing, silver eyes fixed on the rolling swells.

It always felt alive to her. The sea. She could hear its moods if she listened: today it was restless, whispering secrets in a thousand overlapping voices. She dipped her hand into the water and felt its cold nip her skin, yet even in the bite there was something welcoming.

“Cold, isn’t it?”

Maia glanced up. A fisherman stood beside her, his face worn, nets piled at his feet. He gave her a smile, tooth gap wide, before hefting his nets and moving on.

She watched him go, then turned her gaze back to the sea. The sunlight broke through a passing cloud, scattering across the water in silver threads. For a moment, Maia imagined she could see shapes just beneath the surface. Something pale and glimmering, too fluid to be ice. A flicker of movement, gone as quickly as it came.

A shout broke her reverie. Across the square, a woman scolded her son for stealing bread from a stall. The boy’s face twisted, caught between guilt and hunger. Maia’s brow furrowed. She felt the contrast at times. How harshness, kindness, and need all tangled together in the village like threads of the same net.

She tucked the thought away quietly, as she always did.

The boy and his mother’s voices faded into the murmur of the square. Maia lingered by the pier a moment longer, then drifted back toward the heart of the village. Her steps carried her slowly, without plan, her gaze catching on everything, the gleam of fluorescent beads in a trader’s stall, the sweet smoke curling from a baker’s chimney.

Then she saw it.

A tall wooden doorway stood apart from the noise, carved with swirls that looked like waves. Above it hung a sign she couldn’t read, but the smell of old paper and ink drifted out when someone passed through. Curiosity tugged her forward.

Inside, the air was hushed, heavy with dust and candle wax. Shelves rose along the walls, crammed with scrolls, bound books, and maps curling at the edges. Only a handful of people sat scattered at low tables, their heads bent in study. The space felt different than the square outside, as if time itself moved more slowly here.

Maia wandered between the shelves, her fingers trailing the spines of scrolls stacked in neat rows. She pulled one down at random, unrolling it carefully. Lines of dark ink danced across the parchment in strange, curling shapes.

She frowned. The shapes meant nothing. Just marks.

Her cheeks warmed as she rolled it back up, glancing around to make sure no one noticed her failure.

“Looking for something special, dear?”

Maia startled, clutching the scroll. An older woman stood nearby, her hair streaked white and bound in a loose braid. Her eyes were soft, lined at the corners, and her voice held the warmth of a winter fire.

“I…” Maia’s throat tightened. She hugged the scroll to her chest. “I wanted to read. A story.”

The woman tilted her head. “And what kind of story would you like?”

Maia hesitated, then whispered, “The kind with spirits.”

The woman’s smile deepened, but she did not laugh. “That sounds like a good story indeed.” She studied Maia for a moment, then asked gently, “Can you read these words?”

Maia shook her head quickly, embarrassment flooding her. “No. I don’t know how.”

The woman only nodded, as though this were the simplest thing in the world. “Then perhaps you’d like to learn?”

Maia blinked. “Learn?”

“Of course. Stories should belong to everyone. Not just to those who can read the marks.” She held out a hand, her gesture kind but expectant. “Come. Sit with me.”

Something inside Maia fluttered. She let the woman guide her to a low table by the window, where snowlight filtered in. The woman fetched a simpler scroll, rolling it open, pointing to each symbol with a patient finger.

“This one is the word for ‘water,’” she said. “Would you like to try?”

Maia leaned in, her brow furrowed with concentration, tracing the shape with her small finger as the woman murmured guidance. The marks began to lose their mystery, slowly becoming something she could almost understand.

Time slipped by unnoticed, the quiet broken only by the scratch of quills and the woman’s soft encouragement.

When Taron finally appeared in the doorway, his expression was taut, searching. Relief softened his features when he saw Maia safe at the table. He approached quickly, bowing his head slightly to the older woman.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low. “She should have told me where she was.”

The woman waved a hand as if brushing away his worry. “She has a hungry mind. Don’t fret too much. Let her come back soon.”

Maia looked up at her uncle, hopeful.

Taron hesitated, then gave a small nod. “If she wishes.”

The woman smiled, eyes twinkling. “Then I’ll expect you, Maia.”

Maia clutched the edge of the table, her heart swelling at the thought. For the first time, the marks on the scroll no longer looked like secrets kept from her.

—

The snow outside had begun to melt in patches by the late afternoon, leaving the narrow village streets slick and speckled with mud. Maia’s boots were damp, her long brown hair a tangled curtain across her shoulders, streaked with bits of snow and dust. Her coat was frayed at the cuffs, and one mitten had a small hole near the thumb. She didn’t care; she only cared about arriving at the library on time.

When she pushed open the heavy door, the familiar scent of parchment and ink washed over her like a warm embrace. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching the dust motes in lazy golden columns.

“Ah, Maia,” Suyin said softly from behind a low counter stacked with scrolls. Her braid fell over one shoulder, and a small plate of desserts rested near her hand. Damp cinnamon buns, sweetened seaweed tarts, and a few tiny fried pastries. “You’re a bit windswept today. Come, warm yourself and have something to eat before we begin.”

Maia’s grey eyes lit up. She sank a little bow and whispered, “Thank you, Suyin. Thank you so much,” before hurriedly taking a small bun and nibbling carefully. She chewed in near silence, savoring the sweet warmth, and cast occasional glances around the library, as if the shelves themselves were watching.

Suyin chuckled softly, folding her hands. “You’ve been exploring again, haven’t you?”

Maia’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Just… the village.”

“Good. Curiosity is the best beginning.” Suyin led her to a table near the window, where the snow outside reflected faint blue light across the wooden surface. She unrolled a large, illustrated scroll and let it rest between them. 

The paper was old, the ink faded in some spots, but the illustrations danced like they had been drawn yesterday. Lion turtles with shells covered in ancient cities, humans gathered around them in awe, stars hanging low in the sky above.

“Do you know,” Suyin began, voice low and soft, “how villages first came to be?”

Maia shook her head, eyes wide, clutching the edge of the table.

Suyin’s eyes glimmered. “Long ago, before the nations were as they are now, the world was… wilder. Humans were small and scattered, and the spirits were closer, but also more wild and unpredictable. And the animals… well, they were enormous. Not like the foxes you sometimes see in the snow, or the fish in the rivers. But great, towering beings that could swallow a man whole if he was careless.”

Maia leaned closer, the chill forgotten, caught entirely by Suyin’s voice.

“The lion turtles were the oldest of them all,” Suyin continued, gesturing to the drawings. “They roamed the land freely, massive as mountains. Each one carried a city upon its back, cities of humans, learning, and magic. You see, humans could not yet bend the elements, they were wild themselves, vulnerable to storms and beasts alike. But the lion turtles… they could give humans a gift.”

Maia’s small fingers traced one of the turtles, feeling the curl of its drawn scales, the tiny domes of the city on its shell.

“Water, earth, fire, air,” Suyin whispered. “The turtles chose wisely, granting humans the ability to bend, to survive, to create. But always, the humans had to learn balance. Too much fire, and they would burn themselves. Too much water, and they would drown. Too much pride, and the spirits would wander away. But the turtles were patient, guiding humans toward harmony.”

Maia’s eyes drifted to the window, imagining a turtle slowly stepping across the plains, the snow and wind twisting around its massive legs, humans bowing on its back, the sky wide and bright.

“And then, there was the greatest gift of them all,” Suyin said, lowering her voice, leaning closer, “a spirit chose a human to carry all four elements: water, earth, fire, and air, so that balance would live in one heart. That human became the first Avatar, and the cycle has never ended.”

Maia’s lips parted slightly. The story felt alive, like the snow outside had paused to listen. She wanted to ask questions, to know everything at once, but something in Suyin’s steady gaze told her to sit quietly, let the story sink in.

Maia’s lips parted, still tingling from the story, and her silver eyes shone with restless curiosity. “Suyin…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “what did the spirits look like? Were they like animals or shadows? Or… or like the snow?”

Suyin’s eyes crinkled with a quiet smile. “Ah… some are like animals, yes. Foxes, turtles, wolves, birds of every color. But others… others are harder to name. They can be wind that laughs through the trees, water that dances on its own, shadows that guide travelers through the mountains.”

Maia’s brow furrowed, leaning closer to the older woman. “Could they talk?”

“Sometimes,” Suyin said softly, stroking her braid. “Sometimes they sing or whisper, and sometimes they speak in riddles. And sometimes… well, you only know they are there because you feel them, or the world moves in a strange way around you.”

Maia’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. “Could I… see them? Could I meet one?”

Suyin’s gaze softened, almost wistful. “Some children can. Some adults never do. It is not always the seeing that matters, but the noticing. Listen closely. Watch the edges of the snow, the tips of the waves. The spirits are often there, if you only look.”

Maia’s curiosity deepened like a flame that could not be kept at bay. “What about the big ones? The ones that travel between worlds? Could they help people? Or… fight?”

Suyin chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Ah, little Maia, the spirits are more curious than you or I can imagine. Some help, some challenge, some simply watch. No one can ever know them all.”

Maia’s eyes grew wider. “But… what about the ones that are really old? The ones that lived before the nations? Or the ones that choose humans for special things?”

The older woman’s smile faded into a thoughtful frown. She leaned back, gazing at the swirling snow through the window, as if she could see the answers floating somewhere out there. “There are stories, yes. But some things, we simply do not know. Not yet. Not fully.”

Maia’s lips parted, ready to press further, but Suyin held up a gentle hand. “Keep asking, little one. Keep exploring, keep looking. Maybe one day, you will find your answers yourself.”

Maia’s shoulders sagged a little, realizing that some mysteries were beyond her reach, for now. But she smiled faintly, bright-eyed and determined.

Suyin stood, straightening her robes, and shook her head with a quiet chuckle. “Go home now. The night is deep, and even spirits rest sometimes.”

Maia bowed slightly and tucked the words into her heart, as if they were a precious treasure. “Thank you, Suyin,” she whispered, backing toward the door.

The older woman watched her go, eyes soft and thoughtful, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement at the child who asked more questions than anyone could answer. Outside, the snow swirled gently around Maia as she stepped into the evening, carrying the echoes of stories, spirits, and possibilities with her.

—

The village streets had grown quiet. Smoke curled faintly from chimneys, lanterns flickered in windows, and the last children’s laughter had drifted off toward their homes. Maia’s boots crunched softly on the snow as she made her way toward the outskirts, her small figure swallowed by the dim glow of early evening.

The sun had dipped low, leaving the horizon a pale, frozen line. Shadows stretched long across the huts, blending with the patches of snow and ice until the edges of the world seemed uncertain, as if the village might dissolve entirely if she looked too long.

Maia paused on a rise overlooking the frozen river. She felt a tremor in the air. Not the bite of a frosty chill, but something quieter, a rhythm beneath the wind. Her silver-blue eyes narrowed, scanning the distance. There, a shimmer, faint and shifting, like a ripple of moonlight across the snowy expanse.

She tilted her head. The wind tugged at her hair, and the snow at her feet swirled in tiny eddies, almost beckoning. Her heart thumped with curiosity and a flicker of fear. She took a careful step forward, then another, following the faint shimmer, the hush of the village behind her.

The path grew narrower, bordered by the skeletal shapes of trees stripped bare by winter. The quiet deepened, almost too deep. 

She could hear her own breath puffing in small clouds, the scrape of her boots against packed snow, and something else… a soft, almost imperceptible hum, as if the air itself were vibrating.

Maia stopped, breath held. A movement caught her eye: a flicker of silver, darting among the reeds, leaving no footprints. She leaned closer, her fingers twitching, wanting to reach, wanting to touch.

The shimmer pulsed, like it knew she was watching. A faint scent of salt and something wild, something alive, brushed against her senses. Her pulse quickened, but the fear was tempered by fascination. Slowly, almost reverently, she stepped off the path and into the snow, following the glimmer.

The world around her seemed to hush further, the night pressing closer. Shadows shifted in strange ways; the branches of the trees bent lightly toward her as if watching. She felt eyes, countless invisible eyes, and a thrill ran down her spine.

Then, a soft chittering sound, like tiny bells or ice crystals colliding, came from just ahead. Maia froze, silver-blue eyes wide. The shimmer coalesced, just for a moment, into a small, delicate shape: a fox, its body translucent, flickering like moonlight on water. Its eyes gleamed, luminous and knowing, and it lingered, just enough for her to feel the weight of its gaze.

Maia’s lips parted, but no sound came. The fox, or spirit, whatever it was, tilted its head, and the snow around it curled gently, rising to cushion her boots, as if the world itself were holding its breath.

And then, as quickly as it appeared, it flickered away, leaving only the soft whisper of the wind echoing in the trees.

Maia stood still for long moments, her chest rising and falling, her heart a steady drum. The village felt distant now, ordinary and human, while the air around her hummed with the hint of something ancient and alive.

Finally, with a shiver, she began the slow walk home, the shadows stretching long across the snow. Every step seemed to echo with possibility. Something had stirred, and Maia knew that she would follow it again if given the chance.

The village lights glimmered faintly ahead, pinpricks in the evening snow, signaling the warm hearth waiting for her at home. Maia’s boots crunched quietly, but something in her chest throbbed with restless excitement. She glanced over her shoulder at the familiar path and then, almost without thinking, slipped down a narrow alley that led toward a small frozen stream she knew.

The world felt softer here, quieter. No lanterns, no voices, only the hush of the settling snow and the low whisper of the wind through the bare branches. 

Maia crouched beside the stream, her silver eyes scanning the surface. The ice wasn’t thick enough to skate safely, but thin ribbons of water threaded through it, shimmering in the last light.

She raised a mittened hand tentatively. The cold brushed her fingers, but she didn’t try to push or pull the water. She listened. The stream gurgled beneath her touch, responding subtly, as though aware she had come to play.

She shifted her weight, and the stream responded. Thin threads of water lifted from the surface, twisting gently around her wrist. The snow near her feet swirled in tiny eddies, lifted like feathers by the air that seemed to hum with her presence. Maia’s heart quickened with delight.

She experimented cautiously, guiding a small mound of snow into a swirl above her palm. It spun slowly, glinting with ice crystals in the fading light, then arced forward like a playful ribbon, landing softly without breaking. Her lips parted in a small, amazed smile.

She twirled another handful of snow, shaping it carefully, letting it slide between her fingers, and felt the subtle tug of air as it danced. Every movement was slow, measured, and somehow magical.

The longer she played, the more she felt connected, the snow and water responding not to commands, but to her attention, to her focus and curiosity. She imagined the spirit she had glimpsed earlier, its luminous eyes watching, encouraging her, and a thrill of understanding stirred inside her.

She laughed softly, a little breathless, spinning snow and shaping ribbons of water in delicate arcs, until a faint creak from a nearby roof startled her. Maia froze, silver eyes wide. The village was still, but her imagination whispered of eyes in the dark, of spirits hovering just beyond sight.

Shaking her head with a chuckle at herself, she let the snow settle and the water return to its frozen path. She brushed the powder from her coat and turned back toward home, careful to leave no trace of the little dance she had shared with the elements.

By the time she slipped back onto the main path, the glow of her uncle’s hearth was warm and welcoming. But inside, Maia’s heart still hummed with the memory of spinning streams, dancing snow, and the faint, flickering presence of a spirit.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp, the village streets already buzzing with the muted clamor of daily life. 

Maia’s boots crunched along the snow as she made her way to the library for her lesson with Suyin, her braid swinging loosely over one shoulder, cheeks still pink from the cold. She hummed softly to herself, the memory of yesterday’s bending experiment warming her thoughts.

Then she heard it, sharp, cruel laughter, punctuated by a small shout of fear. Maia froze, her grey eyes scanning the street, and saw a group of older children clustered around a smaller boy. His shoulders hunched, his hands drawn close to his chest, as though making himself as small as the snow-dusted ground beneath him.

“Give it here, dirtling!” one of the bigger boys sneered, yanking at the boy’s thin coat. The coat was patched and fraying at the edges, the sleeves a little short. Another kicked at the snow near his boots. “Think you can just wander here without paying attention?”

Maia’s stomach twisted. She had noticed the differences in the village for years. The warmth of well-made coats & the pride of children whose parents worked for the wealthier merchants or passing travelers. These children were loud, confident, their voices echoing the superiority they had been taught at home. “We’re better than you. We go to the academy, you don’t,” one boy had boasted earlier that week, the words still fresh in Maia’s mind.

The smaller boy shivered, not just from the cold. His mother worked long days at the docks, his father was often away hunting seals, and the children of the wealthier families treated him as if he were invisible or worse, like a nuisance. 

His fear wasn’t just of the blows, it was of the contempt passed down from adults who whispered to him, subtly or not, that he didn’t belong.

Without thinking, Maia stepped forward. Her hands opened, calm but resolute. Her voice, soft but firm, carried across the quieting street:

“Stop. That’s not right.”

The bigger children turned, smirks twisting their faces into mockery. “Oh? And who’s going to make us stop? You?” one sneered, the taunt sharpened by the lessons he had learned at home: that strength and privilege gave him the right to dominate.

Maia didn’t falter as she stood her ground, eyes sharp as she scanned them over.

The boys hesitated, just a fraction, their confidence flickering. One of them, eager to assert his power, raised a small hand, forming a splash of water in the air, ready to strike. But the water leapt forward… and stopped midair, curling strangely, almost refusing him. It hissed slightly before falling harmlessly to the ground.

Maia’s silver eyes widened. The boy’s jaw slackened, astonishment flashing across his face.

Another boy stomped forward, his pudgy arms whipping through the air, almost as if trying to force the element. But the small display fell just as soon as it started, the boy growling at the water.

Maia reached her palm open at the puddle, a thin stream trickling up and toward her.

One of the boys laughed, “haha, and what do you plan on doing with–” but his words were cut short as the stream reached out, whipping a few inches from his face.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Maia asked, her gaze steel. Their eyes were wide as they stepped back, before they turned quickly and ran off.

Maia sighed, letting the water fall back to the ground, before reaching her hand toward the boy. He flinched for just a moment, before his cheeks dusted and he got off the ground. “You… you stopped them. How did you…?”

Maia shook her head gently, brushing snow from her sleeves. “They were wrong to think they could treat you like that.”

The boy blinked, a flush of relief and admiration coloring his pale cheeks. “Thank you… I’ve never had anyone do that before.”

Maia smiled faintly, glancing toward the path to the library. “I… I’m late for my lesson,” she murmured, tugging her braid back over her shoulder.

“Wait! Will I see you again?” the boy called after her.

“Maybe,” she said ominously, silver eyes bright.

And with that, she sprinted down the lane.

—

The library smelled faintly of parchment and warm tea as Maia hurried inside, cheeks pink from running and snow melting into her braid. Suyin looked up from a stack of scrolls, her expression calm and knowing.

“Ah, Maia,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You look… thoughtful. What brings you in such a hurry?”

Maia hesitated, silver-blue eyes flicking down. “Something… Some kids were bullying a boy. They… I tried to stop them.” Her voice trembled slightly, a little angry.

Suyin set the scrolls aside and gestured for Maia to sit. “I see.” Her voice was gentle, without surprise or judgment. “And what did you feel when you tried to stop them?”

Maia fidgeted, then admitted quietly, “Anger… and sadness. I don’t know. It felt like something inside me moved. And then it didn’t hurt me.”

Suyin nodded, leaning back in her chair. “You are learning something important, Maia. The world has brightness, and it has darkness. Sometimes the darkness comes from within people, shaped by their families, their pride, or their fears. But that doesn’t mean there is no hope. That doesn’t mean you are powerless.”

Maia listened, frowning, twisting a braid between her fingers. “But why does it happen at all? Why do some people hurt others?”

Suyin’s eyes softened. She leaned closer, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of a scroll. “Because good and evil are two sides of the same coin. One cannot exist without the other. A river is not just calm waters; it has rapids too. The wind is not only gentle breezes, it can uproot trees in storms. Without contrast, without challenge, light has no meaning, and kindness cannot shine.”

Maia’s gaze drifted to the window, watching the snowflakes swirl like tiny dancers in the sunlight filtering through. “So… the bad things make the good things… better?”

Suyin nodded slowly. “Yes. And sometimes, what seems cruel or unfair teaches strength, empathy, and courage. You felt the boy’s fear, and you acted anyway. That is a spark of understanding that not all can reach. And the water, the way it moved around you, was only responding to your intent. You are learning, even if you do not yet understand the depth of it.”

“So, it’s like balance?” she asked.

Suyin’s smile was soft, almost wistful. “Exactly, little one. Balance is not simple. It is not fair. But it is everywhere. And when you learn to feel it, truly feel it, you can act in ways that honor it, even in the small things. Even in stopping a bully.”

Maia leaned back, eyes distant, thinking of the boy, the water, and the swirl of motion and choice. She could almost see it. The interplay of light and shadow, of intention and consequence, flowing like a stream through the world.

Suyin reached over and ruffled Maia’s messy braid gently. “Now, take a deep breath. The world is wide, and your place in it is just beginning. Learn what you can, notice what you can, and never stop asking questions. Some answers may come quickly, others may not come at all. And that is as it should be.”

Maia nodded slowly, absorbing the lesson like snow catching in a quiet hollow. “I… I’ll try,” she whispered.

Suyin’s eyes twinkled again, a hint of mischief beneath the wisdom. “Good. Now, let us see what the lion turtles would have thought of your courage today.”

And with that, the room filled with soft chatter and the scent of warm pastries, the world outside falling away for a little while, leaving only stories, snow, spirits, and the slow, deep pulse of learning.

—

The sun had climbed high, bright and clear against the pale winter sky, but the snow still held a quiet chill. Maia’s braid was loose, her coat dusted with flakes from the morning walk, and her boots left faint prints in the glistening paths as she wandered beyond the main village streets.

She had just finished another lesson with Suyin, her mind buzzing with stories, and the strange, invisible threads she had been learning to notice. Lately, she had been practicing quietly, bending the snow and water near her home, trying to feel the spirits Suyin had spoken about, trying to imagine the lion turtles and the balance of the world.

Her boots crunched over a hidden trail that led toward the cliffs by the river, a place she had only ever glimpsed from afar. The air grew colder here, sharper, and the wind carried whispers through the skeletal trees, as if teasing her curiosity.

She paused at the mouth of a small cave, hidden by a thicket of ice-laden branches. The opening was narrow at first, widening inside to a hollow chamber where the walls glimmered faintly with frost. A strange hush filled the space, like the world had leaned in to watch. Maia’s silver-blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.

She stepped inside, letting the door of the outside world close gently behind her, muffling the village bustle. The cave smelled of wet stone and crisp cold, and small icicles clung to the ceiling of the cave, catching the small beam of sunlight that filtered through the opening.

Maia knelt beside a pool of half-frozen water at the cave’s center. She held her hand above the surface, feeling the subtle vibration of the water beneath her palm, trying to remember Suyin’s words: balance, intention, notice.

Slowly, she coaxed a thin ribbon of ice to rise from the surface, twisting it gently between her fingers. The snow at her feet swirled in response, forming delicate eddies, and she let a small thread of water arc in the air, shaping it into a loop before it dropped softly back into the pool.

The cave seemed to respond, the icicles quivering, the air humming faintly, as though the spirits she had glimpsed before were watching, curious and approving. 

Maia’s lips parted in a quiet smile. The world here felt alive.

She practiced for what felt like hours, her movements slow and intentional, letting the water move rather than forcing it. She tried forming shapes, lifting small ribbons of snow, curling the water around her hands, even spinning tiny eddies that danced like miniature storms. Each motion was mirrored by a faint, almost imperceptible vibration in the cave, like silent applause from a hidden world.

At one point, she closed her eyes and let the water guide her, letting it sense her intent. She imagined the bullies from yesterday, the fear in the smaller boy, the balance between right and wrong, and the water responded, twisting in gentle arcs, protective and fluid, almost like it understood her thoughts.

When she finally opened her eyes, the cave was quiet again, the pool still and glimmering. She sat back on her heels, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed with cold and exertion. A small icicle had fallen into the pool with a faint plink, sending concentric rings across the water’s surface.

A shiver ran down her spine, not from cold, but from the wonder of it all. She whispered softly, as if speaking to the spirits themselves, “I’ll keep learning. I’ll find the balance.”

The afternoon sun slanted through the cave entrance, painting the walls with pale light. Maia took one last look at her little practice pool, brushing snow from her sleeves, then stood and stepped out into the world, the village visible in the distance, ordinary yet brimming with unseen currents.

Every step home was lighter, almost buoyant, as if the water and snow and wind had left a small part of themselves with her. Reminding her that even a small girl could move more than just snow.

—

The late afternoon sun filtered through the library windows, painting the stacks of scrolls in a warm amber glow. Maia shifted nervously on the small stool beside Suyin, her braid loose and a few stray strands falling into her eyes.

“Is something on your mind, little one?” Suyin asked gently, noticing the hesitation. Her hands rested on a stack of scrolls, though she hadn’t opened them yet.

Maia swallowed, twisting her fingers together. “I… I wanted to ask you something about… the water. About bending.” Her voice was quiet, almost afraid to break the calm of the library.

Suyin’s eyes softened. “Ah… your bending,” she said with a faint sigh. “I suspected as much. You feel it, don’t you? Even before you knew the word.”

Maia nodded eagerly. “Yes. I… I can make it move. I’ve been trying to… I don’t know… learn it properly. Can you help me?”

Suyin’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I am not a bender, Maia,” she said softly, a note of melancholy threading her voice. She motioned for Maia to sit beside her, patting the space on the table. “I once had a daughter,” she said, eyes drifting to a far window, “who could bend. She was extraordinary, even at your age. But she… she did not live long.”

Maia’s small hand rested gently on Suyin’s. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Suyin shook her head slowly, a small, wistful smile tugging at her lips. “No need. That was the way of the world, and of spirits. But she left behind something, a memory, and these.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a bundle of scrolls, yellowed with age but carefully preserved. “These are exercises, stories, and practices for waterbenders. Nothing grand, but they helped her when she was learning. I think… perhaps, they can help you too.”

Maia’s eyes widened as Suyin laid the scrolls carefully on the table. She traced the water symbols with a reverent finger, feeling an almost tangible pulse beneath the ink.

Suyin leaned closer. “I cannot show you bending myself, Maia. But I can guide you in understanding the spirit of the water. Listen to it. Respect it. Feel it as part of yourself, not something you command.”

Maia nodded, absorbing every word. “I can try,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement and reverence.

“You can,” Suyin said firmly, a warmth in her gaze. “And I will be here to help you think, and to imagine. We can walk this path together, even if I cannot bend the water for you.”

For a moment, the library felt almost sacred, the quiet air wrapping them in a cocoon. Maia realized she had never felt so understood. She smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Suyin reached over, squeezing her small hand gently. “Remember this: bending is not only about power. It is about balance, patience, and feeling the world around you. You already have that. You only need guidance now.”

Maia’s chest swelled with quiet pride and determination. “I’ll practice,” she promised softly.

Suyin nodded, a tear glimmering in the corner of her eye, quickly brushed away.

Maia gathered the scrolls carefully, feeling the weight of the stories of loss and hope. Of the secret journey she had just begun. And for the first time, she felt that she was not alone.

—

The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, gilding the edges of the snow with pale gold. Maia carried the bundle of scrolls close to her chest as she slipped quietly away from the village streets, seeking a place where no one would disturb her.

She found a small clearing near the river, partially sheltered by a cluster of ice-crusted pines. The snow here was soft, untouched, and the faint hum of water beneath the frozen surface whispered to her, as though inviting her to play. She knelt in the snow, brushing it aside to make a small circle, and unrolled the first scroll with trembling hands.

The scroll described a simple exercise: feel the water, let it move as it wishes, guide it without forcing it. Maia read the words slowly, savoring each stroke of ink, and then closed her eyes.

She lifted her hand above the half-frozen stream, recalling Suyin’s instructions. “Listen,” she whispered to herself, “feel it, don’t command it.”

A faint ripple rose beneath her palm. She shifted slightly, letting the current respond to the subtle movements of her wrist. Slowly, tiny threads of water lifted, curling into arcs that shimmered in the pale sunlight. The snow around her swirled gently, like soft applause.

Maia’s lips parted in a quiet smile. 

The scroll instructed her to try a small circle, spinning the water around her hand. She concentrated, feeling the flow, the pull and tug of the frozen stream beneath the ice, and the snow that responded with gentle eddies. The circle rose, trembling at first, then steadied, curling like a ribbon of liquid glass.

She exhaled slowly, eyes half-closed, letting the moment stretch. 

The wind shifted, brushing her hair across her face, and she felt the pulse of the world around her.

Maia’s confidence grew. She let the water extend outward like a whip, tracing patterns in the air before dropping it gently back into the stream. The snowflakes swirled in response, some lifting briefly into small, playful spirals.

She opened her eyes, watching the reflections in the pool of water she had shaped. Maia laughed softly, breath misting in the cold air.

The wind picked up slightly, swirling snow around her, and for a moment, she felt completely at one with the elements.

—

The hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the small cabin. Snow pressed against the windows, muffling the village sounds outside. Maia stepped inside, boots dusted with snow, the scrolls tucked carefully under her arm.

Taron looked up from the workbench where he was measuring fabric. “You’re back late,” he said, voice gentle but curious. “How were your lessons with Suyin today?”

Maia hesitated for a moment, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Good, she told me stories again,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “About the spirits, like usual.”

Taron nodded slowly, folding a piece of cloth. “Hm. Did she teach you anything new? Something you can use?” His gaze lingered on her, subtle worry flickering in his eyes, though he tried to mask it.

Maia shifted, glancing down at her boots, then back at him. “She gave me scrolls,” she said quietly. “Stories and exercises. For… practicing.”

“Practicing what, exactly?” Taron asked, curiosity sharpening slightly. His hands paused mid-fold.

Maia’s silver eyes met his for a brief moment. “Water,” she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear. Then she added, faster, “Not like dangerous stuff,  just learning to… feel it.”

Taron blinked, a faint frown forming. “Feel it?” he repeated, voice careful, steady. He knew better than to push too hard, but his protective instincts stirred. “And… it listens to you?”

Maia nodded, shrugging lightly, cheeks warm. “Sort of. Like it wants to help, if I’m careful and I’m… respectful.” She looked down again, brushing a few snowflakes from her sleeves. “I’ve been practicing a little, in the clearing by the river. No one sees me.”

Taron exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. He could sense something shifting in her, but he didn’t want to scare her, or risk the wrong attention being drawn. “I see,” he said softly. “Well… I trust you’ll be careful. That’s all I ask. You don’t want anyone noticing.”

Maia smiled faintly, leaning back against the wall. “I will,” she promised. “I just like learning. It’s… nice.”

Taron knelt slightly to meet her gaze, his expression softening. “I know it is. And I… I’m proud of you, even if I don’t always understand it. Now let’s see. What do you want for dinner tonight?”

Maia laughed quietly, the tension melting. “Something warm,” she said, settling down beside the hearth. And for a moment, the world outside felt quiet and safe, just her and Taron, and the small, extraordinary pulse of magic she was beginning to discover.

—

The cabin was quiet, the snow pressing gently against the windows, when Maia drifted into sleep. At first, the world was ordinary, dim shadows stretching across the walls of her small room. But then a flicker of movement caught her eye, a small, glowing figure, fox-like and radiant, darting through the air.

Instinctively, she rose, though her body was weightless, floating above her bed. The fox spirit twirled through a silver mist, leaving trails of sparkling light in its wake, and Maia followed, stepping into the mist as if it were water.

The world shifted around her. Snowflakes glowed softly, frozen midair, and the ground beneath her feet shimmered with icy patterns, fractal and intricate. 

Trees made of frost stretched impossibly tall, their branches bending in delicate curves, and streams of water hung suspended like crystals. The air hummed with life, whispers, laughter, and faint melodies that seemed almost like language.

Other spirits appeared, curious and playful. A small turtle-like spirit paddled through the air, its shell glowing with soft golden runes. A fox spirit like the first spun alongside her, and luminous birds circled above, singing notes that lingered like tiny bells. Maia’s silver eyes widened with delight and awe.

She followed the first fox spirit into a hidden glade, where snow glimmered like powdered diamonds and the water in the streams reflected the sky in impossible colors: deep purples, greens, and silvers. The spirits danced around her, some brushing her hair, others guiding her hands to trace patterns in the air. Every movement she made caused ripples in the snow, gentle waves of light, and the water curled obediently around her fingers, playful and alive.

Maia laughed softly, spinning a swirl of snow in her hand and letting it drift into the air. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice carried on the wind that swirled magically around her. The fox spirit nudged her forward, leading her to a frozen pond where the ice reflected stars that didn’t exist in the sky outside.

Kneeling by the pond, she dipped her hand into the surface, and the water responded as if it had been waiting for her touch, shimmering with the colors of the dreamy sky. Every flicker, every movement, felt alive, as though the spirits themselves were teaching her the language of the elements.

But just as she reached out to touch a shimmering bird spirit, the light began to dim, and the fox spirit’s glow faded. Maia felt a tug, like the gentle pull of a current, and then the world softened, the air warming, the colors dimming to the pale light of dawn.

She woke slowly, blinking against the morning light that spilled through the cabin window. Her heart still raced with the echoes of the dream, and her silver-blue eyes widened as she looked around her small room. The snow outside was ordinary again, the village silent, yet she could feel the memory of the spirits.

A small smile curved her lips. “They’re out there,” she whispered to herself, voice soft as the wind. “And I’ll find them someday.”

Chapter Text

The village streets were quiet in the late morning as Maia wandered past the market stalls, listening to the muffled chatter of merchants and the distant cry of gulls over the river.

She rounded a corner too quickly, eyes caught by a glimmer of sunlight on ice, and collided headfirst with a familiar force.

“Oof! Watch where you’re going!”

Maia staggered back, blinking, and looked up to see a girl with bright eyes, strong shoulders, and an expression equal parts exasperated and mischievous.

“Korra?” Maia said, startled. It had been years since she last saw the chief’s daughter.

Korra’s frown softened slightly when she recognized Maia. “Well, look who it is. Sneaking around again, huh? Thought you vanishished.”

“I wasn’t sneaking.” Maia laughed, brushing snow from her sleeves. “But I am sorry for not coming by again…”

Korra smirked and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You can make it up to me, let’s hang out. You’ve got a few hours before anyone notices I’m gone.”

Maia nodded, curiosity sparking as she didn’t typically hang out with anyone her age. 

She followed Korra to a small courtyard near the river, where patches of ice shimmered under the sun. The two girls stared at each other for a moment, each measuring the other, before Korra bent her knees slightly and raised her hands, summoning a small splash of water from the stream.

“Show me what you’ve got,” Korra challenged, grinning. “Come on, Maia.”

Maia hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. She lifted her hands, letting the small eddies of snow and ice around the courtyard curl into gentle arcs, spiraling toward her fingertips. The water responded smoothly, almost playfully, forming a loop in the air before dropping softly back to the stream.

Korra’s eyes widened in surprise. “Whoa. You’ve gotten really good!”

Maia smiled faintly, feeling a quiet thrill. “I… I’ve been practicing.”

For a while, they let the water and snow swirl around them, Maia moving with quiet precision, Korra with bold, energetic force. The air between them seemed to hum, the elements bending and swirling as if they were watching the girls’ playful rivalry with amusement.

After a few moments, Korra flopped onto the snow, panting. “Ugh… I hate being stuck in the house all the time. Everyone expects me to be perfect, to train, to sit still… it’s like I don’t even get to decide anything.”

Maia watched her, silver eyes wide. “That… sounds hard.”

Korra flopped onto her side, snow dusting her hair. “It is. I just want to… be free. Explore. Bend the way I want, not the way people tell me to.”

Maia nodded thoughtfully. She had felt that freedom in her own quiet way, walking alone, feeling the spirits, coaxing water and snow with her hands. “I can’t really tell you what to do. But I think your destiny is your own, don’t let anyone try to control you.”

Korra’s eyes met hers for a moment before a smile filled her youthful face. “I think I’ll take your advice oh wise one.”

Maia rolled her eyes before extending her hand, helping Korra off of the snowy ground. “Wanna practice some more?”

Korra stood up with excitement as she took a stand opposite from Maia.

The small courtyard near the river was alive with movement. Maia and Korra had been practicing for nearly an hour, snow and water swirling around them in playful arcs. Korra’s movements were bold, aggressive, full of energy, while Maia’s were precise and fluid, but sharp.

From a distance, a figure watched quietly. Kya stood at the edge of the courtyard, hands folded, observing the two girls with calm, measured attention. 

Something about the way the taller girl moved, the way she felt the water, made Kya’s chest tighten. There was power here, rare and subtle, and she could sense it even from afar.

Maia’s ribbon of water coiled in a gentle spiral around her fingers, and she felt the faint tug of something unseen, an energy she couldn’t name.

Korra grinned, sending a small wave of water toward Maia. “Catch this, Maia!” she called.

Maia dodged and spun the water around herself in a playful counter. They laughed, the sound light and bright. But then, she noticed Kya stepping closer, the measured, observing presence unmistakable.

Korra’s grin faltered slightly. “Uh… I–uh… I might have snuck out,” she admitted sheepishly, glancing at the approaching woman.

Kya smiled warmly but firmly. “Who is your friend?” she asked, voice gentle but curious, eyes fixed on Maia.

Maia froze, grey eyes meeting Kya’s. A strange, unplaceable ache rose in her chest. A flicker of sadness, of longing she couldn’t explain. Her small hands twitched slightly, as if reaching for a memory that wasn’t quite hers. There was a deep familiarity in Kya’s gaze, soft yet knowing, and Maia’s lips parted, but no words came.

Kya’s smile softened further. “You have quite some strength,” she said, almost to herself. Then she straightened, looking at Maia with gentle insistence. “Would you like to come with me for tea? I’d like to hear about your practice.”

Maia hesitated, the ache in her chest still lingering. She shook her head slowly. “I… I should get going. My uncle will be worried.”

Korra pouted slightly but nodded. “Don’t forget to come back, okay?”

Maia gave a faint smile, glancing once more at Kya. “Goodbye,” she whispered, and turned toward the path home, boots crunching softly in the snow.

Kya watched her go, a faint sadness in her eyes.

—

The village streets were quiet, the late afternoon sun dipping low behind the distant hills. 

Maia walked slowly, boots crunching softly in the snow, dark eyes half-lowered as she replayed the encounter with Kya in her mind. There was a warmth there, a flicker of connection she couldn’t name, and a subtle ache that tugged at her heart.

Lost in thought, she almost didn’t notice the movement at the edge of the path, a small shimmer, darting between the shadows of the pines. Her heart skipped a beat as recognition bloomed: the fox spirit.

It paused for a moment, luminous eyes catching hers, then twirled gracefully in the air, leaving a trail of sparkling light that seemed to beckon her. Maia hesitated for only a moment before following, curiosity overriding caution.

The fox led her along a narrow path that twisted through snow-dusted pines, deeper into the quiet woods than she usually ventured. The air was crisp and tinged with magic, carrying faint whispers she couldn’t fully comprehend.

As they walked, Maia felt the pulse of the world beneath her feet. The snow shifting slightly under her weight, the frozen river murmuring beneath its thin crust, the wind curling gently around her. Every step seemed in tune with the spirit guiding her, a delicate dance.

Finally, the fox stopped before the same small cave nestled at the base of a rocky hill, partially hidden by frosted evergreens. The entrance glimmered faintly, the snow around it swirling as if alive.

The fox circled once, then looked at her expectantly, luminous eyes bright. Maia knelt in the snow, silver eyes wide, and whispered, “You… want me to come in?”

The spirit dipped its head, tail flicking gracefully, as if urging her onward. Taking a deep breath, Maia stepped closer, feeling the warmth of the hidden cave against the chill of the evening. She had no fear, only a sense of belonging, as though this place had been waiting for her.

Maia knelt at the cave’s entrance, feeling the subtle hum of the hidden world, when the fox spirit’s glow shifted. At first, it was a faint ripple in its light, almost like a shadow passing over a sunbeam. Then, the spirit’s movements became sharp, twitchy, and erratic. Its luminous eyes flicked around, tail whipping in short, jerky motions.

Maia frowned, her fingers pausing in the snow. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, eyes narrowing. The playful, guiding presence she had always felt was gone, replaced by something restless and uneasy.

The fox darted closer to her, circling wildly, then leapt into the air, letting out a faint, high-pitched shriek of energy that made the hairs on Maia’s arms stand on end. Snow swirled violently around them, like tiny storms caught in the confined entrance of the cave, and the air hummed with tension.

Maia’s heart pounded. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself, and remembered Suyin’s lesson: “Spirits take on the energy of what surrounds them. When the world is out of balance, they reflect it.”

Her chest tightened with sudden understanding. Something was wrong. The fox spirit’s aggression was a warning, not a guide.

“Wait…” Maia murmured, rising to her feet. Her hands hovered above the swirling snow, feeling its tension, its agitation. She closed her eyes briefly, letting her senses expand, and felt the faint pulse of unease drifting from the village itself, like a ripple in a pond.

Her stomach clenched.

Without hesitation, Maia backed away from the cave, stepping carefully over the swirling snow and ice. The fox spirit’s shriek followed her, echoing through the rocks, a frantic warning and a plea. 

She didn’t look back.

—

The village shuddered in the cold night, snow stained faintly by the scattered remnants of disrupted water and ice. From her hiding spot behind the frozen wall of a collapsed stall, Maia’s grey eyes widened as chaos unfolded.

Figures cloaked in shadows moved with deadly precision, attacking anyone who dared resist. Villagers screamed, bending what little water or fire they could muster in desperation. She saw a group of water benders rise from the frozen river. Young, untrained, and trembling, but they fought fiercely. Arcs of water collided with precise, violent force, spraying ice shards that cut through the night air.

Maia’s chest tightened as she watched. Every movement was magnified in her mind: a boy flung through the air by an unseen hand, landing hard in the snow; an older woman trying to protect her home, only to be struck down as the intruders pushed forward; a father screaming warnings at his children, helpless against the precise strikes of unseen enemies.

She clenched her fists, snow swirling nervously around her as if sensing her fear. The fox spirit’s fur bristled, sparks of light darting frantically, circling Maia protectively. But even its presence couldn’t stop the suffering.

Her mind screamed but her body remained frozen. She couldn’t step out, couldn’t reveal herself, couldn’t stop the carnage with her limited power. 

The helplessness was suffocating. 

She had practiced bending endlessly, but nothing had prepared her for the raw, immediate violence of the world.

The water benders fought fiercely, summoning whirlpools and waves of ice, holding the line as best they could. But the hooded operatives moved like shadows of death, fast, calculated, and cruel. One young bender tried to strike an intruder with a whip of ice, only to be thrown against a wall, groaning as snow sprayed around him. Another opened a spout of water in desperation, but it fizzled in the cold, absorbed and countered by the masked attackers.

Maia felt the spirits wail softly around her, faint cries carried on the wind, echoes of the fear, pain, and imbalance in the village. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to feel the flow of water, the pull of the snow, trying desperately to locate a path where she could help. But everything was too chaotic.

A scream cut sharply across the courtyard. Maia turned, seeing a child frozen in terror as an intruder advanced. Her fingers twitched instinctively, and a small eddy of snow lifted from the ground, curling toward the masked figure, but the attempt was weak, barely enough to distract. The man laughed, cruel and low, and the child screamed again.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, the attackers withdrew, melting back into the shadows like smoke. The water benders stood panting, bruised and bleeding, trying to gather survivors. The snow was trampled and stained, frozen streams disrupted, the air thick with fear and cold.

—

The village was quiet but tense, the usual evening bustle replaced by murmurs, hushed cries, and the scraping of snow and ice as villagers helped one another recover. 

Maia walked slowly through the streets, silver-blue eyes scanning the faces around her, some frightened, some wounded, all shaken. She could feel the lingering pulse of distress in the air.

Her boots crunched softly over snow mixed with ice and mud, and she pressed her hands together to keep from trembling. The helplessness still weighed heavily on her chest.

A familiar voice broke through the quiet. “Maia! Maia, are you alright?”

Taron’s face appeared at the edge of a toppled cart, worry etched deep into his features. His eyes scanned her quickly, taking in her unbruised yet snow-dusted form, then the haunted look in her eyes. 

“You’re safe, thank the spirits,” he murmured, his voice shaking slightly. He reached out, gripping her shoulders, knuckles white with tension. “Don’t ever scare me like that. Are you hurt? Tell me you’re alright.”

Maia hesitated, then nodded softly. “I’m fine, just… tired,” she whispered. Her voice was small, almost lost under the quiet murmurs of the village.

Taron’s grip loosened slightly, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. He looked around, noticing the damage, the villagers helping one another. He exhaled shakily. “What… what happened here? Who–” His words faltered as he caught fragments of whispered conversation passing through the village.

“…they’re looking for the Avatar…”

“…Red Lotus…”

“…the child hiding… it’s been too long…”

Taron’s face went pale, jaw tightening, fingers curling until his knuckles were white again. His gaze returned to Maia, dark with protective fury. “We’re going home. Now,” he said, his voice low and urgent. There was no room for argument, no patience for discussion, the world beyond their small village had reached them, and he could not let her linger in it.

Maia’s mouth opened, a faint protest rising, but she found she had no energy to argue. Her chest still ached with the echoes of the battle she had witnessed and the helplessness she had felt. Slowly, silently, she nodded, letting her uncle guide her away.

As they walked toward the edge of the village, the whispers seemed to follow them. Faint and lingering, full of warning. Maia didn’t understand everything yet, not the Red Lotus, not the search for the Avatar, not even the full scope of her own abilities. But she could feel it: the danger was real, the world was larger and darker than she had imagined, and she had to be ready.

—

Maia lay curled beneath a thin blanket, the chill of the night pressing in from the small window of their cabin.

Tears ran freely down her pale cheeks, silver eyes staring at the ceiling. Her breaths came uneven, shuddering, a child’s grief tangled with something deeper: the awareness that the world could be cruel, and that she might one day have to face it in ways she didn’t yet understand.

Slowly, exhaustion overtook her, and sleep claimed her.

In the dream, she found herself in a frozen landscape of impossible beauty. Snow fell in delicate spirals, suspended in the air like crystals. The trees glowed faintly, their branches adorned with luminous frost. Streams of water rose and danced without gravity, forming intricate shapes and patterns that pulsed with life.

And there, at the center of it all, the fox spirit appeared again—but its form was larger, ethereal, its energy brighter and more intense than she had ever felt. It beckoned her forward with a swirl of glowing snow. Maia’s bare feet carried her across frozen rivers, and everywhere she looked, spirits of all shapes. Birds of fire, serpentine water creatures, silent wolves of mist, watched her with curious, intent eyes.

“Why are they afraid?” Maia whispered, her voice echoing like wind through the ice.

The fox circled her, tail painting trails of silver light through the air, and she felt a pulse of understanding, not words exactly, but a feeling that the world’s pain was reflected in her own heart. Somewhere, far away, unseen hands had tipped the balance.

Then, before she could take a step closer, shadows flickered along the edges of the frozen landscape. Figures moved silently, dark and precise, their intentions unmistakable. The fox’s glow grew jagged, its form tense. Maia instinctively reached out with her hands, feeling water swirl in response, but the shadows pressed in, unstoppable.

A chill surged through her chest, a silent warning. She knew, even in the dream, that these forces were dangerous and clever. Always searching, always testing.

And then, as the shadows advanced, the vision dissolved into the gentle hum of snow falling outside her window.

—

The sun was low in the sky, casting pale golden light across the village as Maia trudged through the snow toward Suyin’s home. Her steps were slow, boots heavy, and her shoulders hunched. 

Suyin opened the door before Maia even knocked, a warm smile on her face that didn’t hide the concern in her eyes. “Maia,” she said softly, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Maia managed a faint, tired smile. “I… I just didn’t want to be alone.”

Suyin nodded, guiding her to a small table by the window. The snow outside swirled gently, frozen in the soft light, and Maia’s gaze lingered on it for a moment. Finally, Suyin broke the silence.

“You know,” Suyin began carefully, “many people have started to feel that things are out of balance. Some people have been searching for the Avatar for a long time. And right now…” She let her words hang. “No one has found them yet.”

Maia’s brow furrowed. “Why is it so important? What does the Avatar do?”

Suyin sighed, leaning back in her chair. “The Avatar… is a bridge between the elements and the spirits. They keep the world in balance. When the world is unstable, the Avatar is meant to restore harmony. That’s why everyone looks for them.”

Maia’s eyes widened. “But the group that attacked the village, why would they want the Avatar?” She hesitated, whispering the words like a frightened thought.

Suyin’s expression darkened, her voice quiet. “Not everyone wants the Avatar to succeed. Some people believe differently. They think balance… or power, can be forced. They think they can change the world on their own. Some see the Avatar as a threat to that idea.”

Maia nodded slowly, feeling the chill of understanding creep into her chest. The world wasn’t just complicated, it was dangerous. She pressed her hands together, trying to calm the tension coiling inside her.

Maia exhaled softly, letting a fraction of the tension leave her shoulders. After a moment, she asked, “Can we continue the lesson? Maybe if I focus on something else, it’ll feel normal again.”

Suyin’s lips curved in a small, understanding smile. “Of course. Let’s focus on what we can control. Everything else… we’ll face when the time comes.”

And so, the lesson began. Snow spiraled gently in the courtyard outside, curling with the rhythm of their movements. Maia’s hands moved through the familiar flow of water, her mind easing into the comforting cadence. Though the world beyond the village was dark and dangerous, here, under Suyin’s guidance, for a few hours at least, Maia could breathe.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low over the village, painting the snow-tipped rooftops in soft amber and gold. Maia’s boots crunched lightly against the packed snow as she walked beside Korra, who seemed to glide through the streets with confidence, brown hair bouncing in her usual unruly way.

The villagers’ eyes lit up as Korra passed, smiles bright, polite bows, greetings called out. Maia noticed, of course she noticed, but she didn’t let it bother her. 

Silver eyes swept over the same people. Some barely acknowledged her presence, muttering a polite nod or nothing at all. A small smile tugged at her lips. She had never been the sort to crave attention. She was happy to walk quietly, unseen if she liked.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Korra said, glancing at her friend, hands tucked into the pockets of her fur-lined coat. 

Maia’s gaze lingered on a group of children practicing small snowbending tricks near the market. “I just like to watch sometimes,” she said softly.

Korra grinned, nudging her playfully. “You’re such a weird kid. I like it. Weird in a smart way. I don’t think anyone else would notice half the stuff you do.”

Maia let a faint smile curl at her lips.

They walked a little farther, snow swirling gently in the wind, sparkling like dust. Korra kicked lightly at a snowdrift, sending crystals dancing. “I like learning with you.”

Maia felt a small warmth in her chest at the comment. She had never really had a friend who didn’t judge her, who didn’t look at her abilities and think her odd or weak. “I like learning with you too,” she said quietly. “It’s… fun. You make it fun.”

Korra grinned, letting the snow swirl around her fingers, a small trick she had picked up herself. “Promise me we’ll practice together every chance we get. Even if we annoy everyone else.”

Maia’s silver eyes twinkled with amusement. “Even if we annoy everyone else.”

For a moment, the village seemed quieter, softer, as if the snow and wind themselves were leaning in to listen. And Maia, walking beside Korra, felt a small, steady sense of belonging.

The sea stretched endlessly before them, a ribbon of silver and blue under the pale afternoon sun. Waves crashed rhythmically against jagged rocks, sending up sprays that glittered like tiny stars in the winter light. The wind carried the salt tang of the ocean and the faint hum of something else. Something Maia could feel, more than hear, brushing against the edges of her awareness.

Maia pulled her coat tighter around her thin frame, eyes scanning the rolling waters. “If you look closely, really closely,” she said softly, “you can see them. Spirits. Some come out when you least expect it.”

Korra’s brown eyes widened, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Spirits, huh? Show me! I’ll summon one!”

Maia shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You can’t summon them. They’re alive. They choose when to show themselves. You have to watch, not push.”

Korra rolled her eyes but crouched by a tide pool anyway, splashing the water with exaggerated gestures, pretending to call the spirits. “Come on, spirits! Show yourselves! I’m ready!” She laughed, sending droplets flying toward Maia.

Maia ducked instinctively, snowflakes and sea spray mingling in the air. “Korra! Stop, it’s not like that!” Her voice was firm but gentle, tinged with amusement.

Korra froze mid-splash, looking up at Maia with mock innocence. “What? I’m just talking to them! You said they like attention!”

Maia shook her head, brushing a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “They don’t like attention. They notice when someone respects them, or doesn’t. You’re too loud. They’ll hide from you.”

Korra grinned, crouching down again, more quietly this time, trying to mimic Maia’s careful stance. “Okay, okay, teach me then. How do you see them?”

Maia knelt beside the water’s edge, letting her hands hover just above the tide. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the wind brush across her face, the salt tang filling her senses. Slowly, she reached out with her awareness, feeling the currents beneath the waves, the faint energy of the spirits riding the wind, twirling above the breakers.

“See?” Maia whispered, opening her eyes slowly. The water shimmered oddly, and for a moment, the foam above the tide twisted into shapes that looked like small frosted birds and fish, fleeting and graceful. “They’re there. You just have to notice.”

Korra’s mouth fell slightly open. “Woah, you’re serious. That’s… amazing. I never… I mean, I thought they were just stories.” She leaned closer, excitement and awe bright in her eyes.

Maia smiled faintly, watching the fleeting spirits swirl around them. “Most people don’t see them. But they’re always here. Always. You just have to slow down and really look.”

The waves rolled in lazily, silver tips glinting in the weak afternoon light. Maia’s hands rested lightly on her knees, her gaze distant, tracing the motion of the water as it rose and fell. The memory of yesterday’s chaos lingered in the corners of her mind, a soft, uneasy hum beneath her consciousness.

She glanced at Korra, who was crouched a little ways off, tossing small stones into the waves. The girl’s face was bright, open, yet Maia could see a shadow of thought behind her eyes.

“…Korra,” Maia said quietly, her voice just above the whisper of the wind, “are you… curious about the Avatar?”

Korra froze mid-toss, stones suspended in the air for a heartbeat, then landed with a splash. She shrugged, eyes flicking to the horizon. “I mean… yeah, I guess.” Her tone grew quieter, almost hesitant. “My parents, they really wanted it to be me.”

Maia tilted her head slightly, silver eyes soft, studying her friend. “Really?”

Korra nodded, letting her hair fall over one eye as she stared at the waves. “But secretly? I’m a little happy it isn’t. I mean…” Her voice grew low, thoughtful, almost confessional. “…it’s a lot of responsibility. People would be telling me what to do my whole life. You were right, I like making my own choices. Even if it means messing up sometimes.”

Maia’s gaze fell to the water curling around her fingers. She traced the patterns absently, letting her mind drift. The thought of being known, recognized, measured against expectations, settled in her chest with a quiet weight. She felt the pull of it, the lack of freedom, the constant eyes watching, the obligations pressing down.

“I think I understand,” Maia said softly, voice thoughtful. “It’s not just about bending or power, is it? It’s… being seen, always. And never fully free.”

Korra glanced at her, expression open, almost surprised by the depth in her usually quiet friend. “Yeah, exactly. I mean, you can have all the power you want, but if you don’t get to decide anything, what’s the point?”

Maia let out a slow breath, grey eyes reflecting the silver shimmer of the sea. She felt a twinge of recognition, something instinctual, as if the thought of being so visible and constrained touched a part of her she hadn’t fully understood yet. She didn’t speak further, simply watching the waves, listening to the soft hum of the spirits in the surf, feeling the subtle thrum of the world beneath her fingertips.

And for a long while, the two girls just sat quietly together, letting the wind and the water speak.

Chapter Text

A few years had passed quietly.

The village slept when Maia stepped beyond its last ring of snow-packed huts. Breath fogged before her, rising and fading into the pale dawn. She adjusted the strap of her satchel, heavy with dried fish, herbs, a few coins, and the bone-handled knife her uncle had pressed into her palm the night before.

He hadn’t come with her. He had stood in the doorway, broad-shouldered and tired-eyed, warning her of cracked ice and storms that struck without warning. Be careful, he had said, voice thick with things left unsaid.

“I will,” she’d promised.

Now there was no one left to hear her but the wind.

The ice road stretched ahead like a white ribbon across the tundra, shining faintly in the morning light. Beyond it lay Wolf Cove, she had heard the name all her life, but never seen it with her own eyes. Her uncle had gone out there a few times, on business, always leaving Maia with an aunty next door. He would sometimes bring back presents, small trinkets which she marvelled at.

Her boots crunched softly against the frozen path, each step swallowed quickly by silence. The howl of a neverending snow storm swirling around her.

But it wasn’t true silence. Sometimes the wind seemed to shift in strange currents, circling her shoulders as though it were curious. She could almost hear whispers in it. Fragments of syllables, no language she knew, brushing the edge of her mind. She tried not to flinch. Her uncle always told her not to listen too closely.

Still, she couldn’t help it.

There was something alive in the air, trailing her, walking with her.

For hours, the landscape barely changed. White dunes of snow rolled endlessly, broken only by the jagged teeth of icebergs frozen mid-drift, and the occasional black dot of a hunting raven overhead. She let her thoughts wander with the horizon, wondering what Wolf Cove would be like. 

Crowded, she imagined. Loud. She was never a big fan of the noise that came with big hubs. She preferred the blissful quiet of her small village, but she knew it would be ignorant. To leave the world to suffer while she played in the snow.

By midday, the sky grew restless. The wind cut sharper, rattling her hood and stinging her cheeks. Gray clouds rolled over the horizon, swallowing the pale sun. For a moment, the path blurred, snow lifting in sudden flurries that seemed to twist into shapes. One gust curled like a serpent, scales of frost glittering before dissolving. Another arched like a fox leaping, vanishing before its paws touched the ice. 

Maia slowed her steps, watching, unsure if the spirits were following her or if it was only her imagination playing with snow and shadow.

The storm passed as quickly as it came, leaving a brittle calm.

By nightfall, the world had transformed. The sky unfolded into ribbons of green and violet.The northern lights dancing, bending and flowing as if they were spilled across the stars. 

Maia stopped walking, chest aching, and lowered herself to the frozen road just to watch. The colors shimmered faintly against the ice, casting ripples of light over her boots. She thought of stories she had overheard as a child, of ancient spirits crossing the sky to watch the world below.

For a breathless instant, she thought she saw a figure walking across the lights themselves, a silhouette with broad shoulders and a staff, before the image broke apart into shifting green waves.

The wind softened, brushing her face with almost human gentleness.

“Never alone,” Maia whispered, voice trembling.

The rest of the journey blurred into exhaustion and wonder. She walked until her legs burned, chasing the faint glow of lanterns on the horizon. Wolf Cove. A true city of the South, larger than anything she had ever seen.

And as the auroras rippled high above, Maia felt both infinitely small and strangely chosen, as though the road itself had been waiting for her.

The lanterns she had chased through the dark became towers of flame and smoke when she reached them. Wolf Cove rose from the ice like a small kingdom, its walls of snow and stone rimmed with banners that snapped in the wind. Torches burned bright at the gates, casting long shadows across carved archways that seemed impossibly tall to Maia’s village-born eyes.

She stepped inside and was swallowed whole.

The air was thick with scents she had never known, fish oil smoking in braziers, sweet sealberry syrup poured over steaming breads, and the sharp tang of hides being tanned. 

The marketplace stretched before her in a frenzy of color and sound.

Hunters stood tall, wearing cloaks of wolf fur and collars stitched with colorful beads and bone, their weapons gleaming proudly at their hips. Traders from across the ice haggled in booming voices, hands flying as they bartered over ivory carvings and glimmering obsidian blades. Carvers worked openly at their stalls, knives flashing as they shaped whale teeth into delicate charms. Healers called out in softer tones, offering bundles of dried herbs, polished amulets, and steaming cups of bitter tea for frostbite or sleeplessness.

Children darted between the stalls, their laughter rising above the roar, while the families of chiefs and warriors passed with their heads high, their clothes embroidered in silk thread from faraway lands.

Maia froze at the edge of the crowd.

Everywhere, the press of bodies and voices crashed around her like a tide. She felt the weight of her satchel pressing against her ribs, the smallness of her own patched cloak compared to the wealth stitched into the garments around her.

It wasn’t only that.

The noise of the market seemed to move through her rather than around her, as if she were transparent, less human than the rest. The air was warmer here, crowded with breath and smoke, yet she still felt a chill in her bones.

Maia pushed deeper into the market anyway, weaving between stalls, forcing herself forward. She studied every detail with careful eyes: the way the hunters’ laughter shifted when a poorer fisherman walked by; the way the merchants flashed accessories heavy with silver; the way the thin, quiet ones at the edges looked down when they passed.

This was the world outside her village. Loud, crowded, brilliant, but already divided.

Her chest tightened. Where do I belong in this?

She slowed near the frozen shoreline that cut across the city’s edge, letting the noise fade behind her. Beneath the ice, the sea whispered. If she listened hard enough, she swore she heard ripples, saw faint streaks of blue light darting below, spirit-fish slipping just beyond reach.

Maia wandered past the heated bustle of the main square, letting her silver eyes drift over every stall. She felt the tug of hunger in her stomach and remembered the small pouch of coins her uncle had pressed into her hand before she left the village.

A nearby stall smelled of roasting seal and sweet baked bread. The vendor, a round-faced woman with soot-smudged hands, smiled at her as Maia approached. She offered a small bowl of steaming meat and root stew. Maia handed over a few coins, careful not to draw attention, and accepted the food with a quiet, grateful nod.

Maia hunched over her bowl, letting the steam curl around her face as she took cautious bites. The chatter of the market swirled around her, voices overlapping in a tangle of haggling, laughter, and the scrape of wooden carts. It was in this hum that she caught fragments of conversation. Small, hurried, meant for attentive ears but loud enough to reach her.

“…again in the northern villages… they say the farmers are refusing the governor’s new taxes,” a woman whispered to her companion, voice tight with worry. “The militia had to step in… it’s getting worse each season.”

“And Republic City?” a man countered. “The factories grow taller, but the older districts complain. They say the industrialists care nothing for tradition. They want to reshape the city itself.”

Maia’s fork froze mid-bite. She had only heard whispers of Republic City in stories, a distant place of tall buildings and crowded streets. But now, through the hurried tones of strangers, it became real, a place filled with disputes, progress, and conflict.

A few stalls over, another hushed exchange reached her:

“…and the spirits,” an older trader said, voice low and urgent. “They’re stirring more often. Some say it’s the imbalance, others say the young ones aren’t respecting the old ways.”

Maia’s hand trembled slightly as she put her fork down. The world she had left behind, the quiet life of her village, seemed small and fragile compared to this wider, noisy reality.

Maia lingered near the edge of the market, finishing the last of her stew. The voices around her ebbed and flowed like water, carrying fragments of arguments and gossip, until something else caught her attention: a shimmer at the corner of her eye, pale and quick, darting between crates and shadows.

She froze. Spirit. It was small, flickering like a candle flame, moving in ways no human could. Without thinking, she followed, weaving through the narrow aisles between stalls.

The shimmer led her past merchants and traders, past children darting between legs and laughter, until it slipped between two buildings and vanished. Maia stopped, peering into the alley, her breath rising in small clouds. It was gone. No ripple, no glow, no whisper. Only the muted sound of the market behind her.

She exhaled slowly, feeling both disappointment and relief. She had wanted to follow, to know what it wanted, but the alley ended abruptly in a wooden wall.

Turning away, she noticed a small inn tucked against the far side of the square, its windows glowing warmly against the deepening twilight. She climbed the worn steps and slipped inside, greeted by the scent of wood smoke.

A portly woman with a friendly smile checked her in, and Maia was soon led up a narrow staircase to a room on the second floor. The bed was small and stiff, the blankets thin but warm. Maia set down her satchel and walked to the window, pressing her palms against the cool glass.

The market below had dimmed into patches of light and shadow. Lanterns glimmered in the streets, smoke curling from chimneys, and the distant waves of the frozen shoreline glinted silver under the emerging moon.

Maia’s silver eyes followed the horizon, and for a long while, she said nothing. The world was larger than she had ever imagined. Spirits, humans, politics, unrest. The edges of reality and imagination intertwined. 

Maia lay beneath the thin blankets, the quiet of the inn pressing around her like a gentle wave. Her eyelids grew heavy, and the rhythmic creak of the wooden floor beneath her room blended with the distant wind across the frozen shore. Slowly, her breathing deepened, and she drifted.

The ice of the shoreline melted away. Light shifted, soft and golden, until she was no longer cold but warm, standing in a field that stretched endlessly under a sky the color of amber and rose. Grass swayed around her in gentle waves, though no wind stirred. 

Flowers of impossible colors. Deep violet, pale silver, and golden blue, lifted their heads as though they recognized her, bending slightly in her direction.

A small brook traced a sparkling path across the meadow, water singing a quiet melody as it tumbled over smooth stones. Birds with feathers like liquid sunlight darted between the trees, their calls harmonizing in a gentle chorus. The scent of honey and earth filled her nose, grounding her even as the scene seemed to hum with magic.

And there, seated cross-legged atop a gentle rise, was a boy in orange and yellow robes. His head was shaven, and the arrow marking his forehead glowed faintly in the soft light. He was meditating, yet the air around him seemed alive, swirling in subtle currents that bent the light and grass around him.

He opened his eyes and looked directly at her. Maia felt a strange certainty in that gaze, a recognition that reached across time and space. Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came. The world hummed softly,  a melody she could feel in her chest.

“Do you wanna sit with me?” the young boy's voice called out, a gentle smile on his face. Maia opened and closed her mouth before shutting it with a resounding click and giving a simple nod. She walked forward, stopping a few feet from the boy, and sat on the ground.

The ground was warm, and the grass blades brushed across her palms, a new sensation, different from the icy contrast of the south pole.

The boy only watched calmly as the girl in front of him watched him curiously.

“Um. May I ask… what are you doing in my dreams?” she asked quietly.

The boy blinked a few times before chuckling slightly. “Why do you assume this dream is yours?”

Maia looked at him, thrown off by the question. It was her dream, right? She was the one that had fallen asleep. But as she gave another look around, she realized that she couldn’t have imagined this place. She had never been outside of the south pole. So it made more sense for the dream to belong to the young airbender. “Oh. Do you know why I’m in your dream then?”

The boy only shook his head again. “Why do you separate you and I?”

Maia grew a little frustrated at the question, sighing deeply. Was this buy just playing jokes on her? “Could you stop speaking in riddles please? I’m just trying to understand where I am.”

The boy tilted his head at that, smiling gently. “Alright, alright. You’re in the spirit world.”

Her eyes widened. “The spirit world? But how did I get here? …How did you get here?”

A breeze blew past them, almost whispering in her ears as it carried colorful petals across the field and into the wide expanse of the blue sky.

The boy stared at her for a moment, before his whole body seemed to shimmer, taking a new form. Instead of the young boy who was in front of her, an older man sat across from her, the same tattoos shimmering blue in the light. “I’m afraid I brought you here.”

Maia jerked back a bit, confused by the sudden change. “B-but why? Why me? I’m not an airbender. I’m not anyone special, why do you need me?”

The man regarded her quietly before quirking a brow.

Maia looked away as her cheeks warmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man chuckled again. “I think you already know enough. And you’re smart enough to figure out the rest.”

Maia looked back at him, her mouth quivering slightly. “So it’s true? I’m the avatar?”

He looked at her for a moment, before nodding once. 

The girl began to feel tears prickle at her eyes. She had known for a while that there was something different about her, but she was unwilling to admit it most of the time. The avatar was supposed to be someone special, someone the world respected, but she felt so small compared to the rest of the world. In fact, she felt small just in the presence of her village. “But why? Why did it pick me?”

The man tilted his head before sighing, brushing off a petal from his robes. “That’s not really how this works. You weren’t picked. You were always meant to be the avatar. We were.”

Maia regarded the man a little closer, looking at his appearance before her eyes widened. “You’re Avatar Aang.”

The man smiled again at that. “You’re quick kid.”

Maia felt her eyes widen as a smile stretched across her face finally. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I’ve heard a little about the stories of Avatar Aang and how he saved the world.” She knelt onto her knees, pressing her forehead to the ground. “Thank you.”

The man’s eyes widened as he lifted the girl's head from the ground. “I’m really nothing special,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Not special? You saved the entire world!” she spoke loudly, her eyes wide.

Aang sighed, shaking his head. “We did. And it wasn’t just us, there were so many other people I couldn’t have done it without.” The man spoke as his eyes seemed to get lost in memories.

Maia’s eyebrows scrunched. “Why do you keep saying we?”

Aang sighed. “A lot of stories fail to understand reincarnation. They wish to separate the avatars and their lives. But the truth is, we are all one soul. You are me. And I am you.”

Maia paused at that as she processed his words, slowly nodding her head.

Aang reached forward, poking her forehead with two fingers. “Don’t overthink it now, you’ll understand in your own time.”

Maia reached up to her forehead, before letting her hand drop, looking at the blades of green grass which sat beneath her. “What am I supposed to do?”

Aang leaned back slightly, before looking up at the sky, watching as shadows swam across its expanse. “I suppose it’s up to you. But…”

“But the world needs my help.”

The man met the girl’s silver eyes, watching her for a moment. “In a matter of words.”

Maia nodded, before getting up slowly. “Well, I guess I have things to do.”

Aang laughed slightly as he watched the girl take a few steps back, brushing the petals off of herself. “Remember. You can always ask for guidance. From me. From the spirits. From yourself.”

Maia turned her head toward, smiling softly before closing her eyes. Allowing herself to drift into the soft wind.

She jolted upright, sweat beading on her brow. Outside, the moon cast pale light over the frozen shoreline. The inn was quiet now, its warmth a soft barrier against the chill of the night. Pulling her cloak tight, she slipped out a side door and down the icy street, careful not to wake the innkeeper.

The air bit at her cheeks, bracing and clean. She made her way to the frozen shoreline, the black ice stretching like polished glass beneath her boots. Above, the stars shimmered cold and bright, mirrored in the ice beneath her.

Kneeling, she pressed her palm against the surface. Beneath, the water stirred faintly, responding to her touch. Ripples of pale blue light glimmered and twisted, moving like living threads under the frozen barrier.

Maia’s breath caught. It watched her, she was certain of it, tiny pulses of awareness brushing against her own. A pull she could barely name.

Finally, she whispered into the cold night, voice trembling just enough for the wind to carry it:

“I’m the Avatar.”

The ripples stilled for a moment, then surged gently beneath her hand, as if the water itself were answering in a language older than words. Maia’s chest tightened. She didn’t understand, could not translate, but she felt it in her bones: that thread of something greater, a connection that had chosen her before she could even choose it for herself.

And for the first time, alone on the frozen shore, Maia allowed herself to wonder not just at the world, but at what she might become within it.

Chapter Text

The sun hung low and pale in the early afternoon sky, casting long, soft shadows across the bustling streets of Wolf Cove. Maia’s steps were slow, her movements languid from the restless night and revelations. 

Her silver eyes scanned the edges of the market, taking in the newly familiar scents and sounds, but the sparkle of the open fields in her dreams still lingered behind her lids.

As she wandered past a cluster of stalls, a snippet of conversation caught her attention.

“…Master Healer is teaching a lesson today, yes, right by the southern docks,” said one merchant, adjusting the straps of his patterned orange satchel. “They say she’ll show how to treat frostbite and minor injuries… all the young apprentices are gathering.”

Maia paused, curiosity piqued.

She followed the voices without drawing notice, weaving through traders and children at play. 

Maia edged closer, ducking behind crates and the legs of bustling market-goers until she found herself at the outskirts of the circle. The healer’s students knelt patiently, hands hovering over bowls of water, murmuring soft incantations. Maia crouched low, fascinated, her silver eyes tracking every movement, every ripple that danced across the surface.

A stern voice cut through her awe.

“You there,” said Healer Atka, her gaze sharp yet not unkind. Maia froze. The woman’s eyes studied her closely, as if seeing straight into the young girl’s curiosity. “Do you wish to try?”

Maia’s throat went dry. She nodded, almost without thinking. The woman beckoned her forward.

“Place your hand in the water,” she instructed, lowering a shallow bowl toward her. In it floated a tiny seal pup, its flippers trembling, eyes wide with discomfort from a mild frostbite. Maia hesitated, heart pounding.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand over the water, feeling its chill seep into her skin. She closed her eyes, reaching out not with force, but with awareness, letting the water listen, letting it flow around the pup’s tiny body. 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the swelling began to ease. The water shimmered faintly beneath her palm, glowing as though it understood.

Atka’s brow lifted. “Do you feel it?” she asked quietly.

Maia nodded, wide-eyed. “I… I think it knows what to do.”

Atka placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Healing isn’t only bending water,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “It’s bending pain, energy. Guiding it, easing it. Remember that, and you will learn far more than any exercise could teach you.”

Maia’s chest swelled with a mix of pride and awe. She withdrew her hand slowly, and the seal pup flopped happily onto its side, untroubled for the first time that day.

After the seal pup was settled, Maia remained kneeling at the edge of the circle, watching intently as Healer Atka moved from student to student. She demonstrated the gentle coaxing of water, sometimes combining it with whispered instructions, sometimes merely guiding hands over a patient’s wound. Every movement seemed deliberate, careful.

Maia’s silver eyes followed every ripple and shimmer, noticing how Atka’s hands seemed to shape not just the water, but the comfort it brought. 

One young apprentice struggled to ease the swelling in a frostbitten hand; Atka knelt beside her, whispering, “Listen. Water will follow your intent, but your intent must be pure. Pain cannot be forced away.” Maia felt her own chest tighten at the thought, the care.

Time passed in a blur of murmurs, trickles, and shimmers. Maia didn’t speak, didn’t want to disturb the quiet magic of the lesson, but her mind recorded everything: the way water curved around a bruise, the soft words that seemed to travel through the elements, the patient breaths of healer and apprentice alike.

Finally, Atka straightened, surveying the circle. Her gaze lingered on Maia. “You’ve been watching carefully,” she said, voice low but carrying a weight that made Maia straighten in surprise. “Tell me… who are you? You do not speak often, yet your eyes follow every motion.”

Maia swallowed, feeling the heat rise to her pale cheeks. “I… I’m Maia,” she said quietly. “I’ve never learned this before.”

Atka’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Curious. You have the patience to listen where many would rush.” She paused, considering her next words. “Tell me, Maia… have you ever tried to bend water before this?”

Maia nodded. “A little."

Atka nodded softly. “Water listens to those who listen to it. That is the beginning of true understanding.” She studied Maia for a long moment. “If you are willing, I would have you return. There is much to teach you, far more than a single day or a single lesson.”

Maia’s heart fluttered. “I would like that,” she whispered truthfully.

“Very well,” Atka said, nodding. “Return tomorrow. And bring patience with you.”

Maia lingered for a moment longer, absorbing the weight of the invitation. Then, with careful steps, she rose and quietly left the circle, her mind alive with curiosity, her hands tingling faintly as if the memory of the water’s warmth lingered on her skin.

—

A couple weeks later…

—

The warm light of the healer’s workshop spilled across the wooden floor, casting long shadows that flickered with the sway of lanterns. 

Maia knelt beside a small boy whose arm had been twisted while climbing over icy rocks. Her hands hovered over the swelling, and the water in the shallow basin responded instantly to her touch, shimmering and flowing with her subtle guidance.

Atka watched silently from across the room, her sharp eyes softened by a trace of admiration. “You’ve improved tremendously, Maia,” she said, voice low but carrying genuine pride. “Your touch, it’s precise now. Confident, but careful.”

Maia didn’t respond immediately, focusing on the boy’s arm. The water curled around the bruise, easing it subtly, carrying warmth and relief. She finally glanced up, meeting Atka’s gaze. “I’ve been practicing every day,” she admitted quietly.

Atka stepped closer, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “You’ve come a long way in such a short time. May I ask what brought you here in the first place? Why healing?”

Maia hesitated, fingers still brushing the water. “I’m from a small village. I want to learn to help where I can,” she said carefully, not wanting to reveal too much of herself.

Atka’s brow arched in surprise. “From a humble village? I would not have guessed it. Most who come here are apprentices from larger towns, already exposed to some training, some knowledge. You have had little, yet your understanding is natural. What made you want to learn?”

Maia paused, considering. She traced a finger through the water, sending gentle ripples across the basin. “I don’t really have a reason,” she said finally. “I suppose… I wanted to know more about bending.” Her voice was soft, honest. “Nothing grander than that.”

Atka studied her silently, then inclined her head. “A simple answer, mostly true. Curiosity is often the most powerful teacher. It does not ask for reward or recognition, it only asks for attention and care.”

Maia felt warmth creep into her chest at the praise, but it was tempered with the quiet ache of distance, she knew she would not stay here forever. Atka seemed to sense it.

“And you, Maia,” Atka continued gently, “will you remain here much longer? Or do you intend to continue on?”

Maia hesitated, brushing a stray strand of brown hair from her face. “I’ll probably continue on soon,” she admitted.

Atka nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. The world is wide, and there is much to learn beyond these walls. But the moon festival approaches. It would do you good to stay another week, to celebrate, to learn not only healing but the rhythms of life here.”

Maia blinked, surprised. “The moon festival?”

Atka smiled, a rare softness in her usually firm expression. “Yes. It is a time of reflection, of honoring the cycles of nature and spirit. If you stay, you’ll see more than lessons, you’ll see the heartbeat of this place.”

Maia’s lips curved in a tentative smile, agreeing.

Chapter Text

​​Maia stood before the small wooden mirror in her room at the inn, her breath fogging the worn glass. Carefully, she lifted the hair pin Atka had given her, a delicate piece carved from pale driftwood, etched with tiny spirals that shimmered faintly in the lantern light. She pinned her long brown hair back, fastening it with a soft click. For the first time, she felt herself part of something ceremonial, however small.

The last few weeks passed in a blur of discovery. She had learned the subtleties of healing, and the quiet patience needed to coax life from both elements and people. She thought of the small seal pup, the injured villagers, and the gentle encouragement Atka had offered at each turn.

And yet… she did not feel like she belonged. 

Wolf Cove was vibrant, bustling with families who had roots in the city, children who laughed and played without worry, and traders who knew their place in the world. Maia, pale-skinned and silver-eyed, always felt just a little removed, like a shadow walking along the edges of the light.

She tugged her cloak around her shoulders, the soft folds brushing against her fingers. “I’ve learned a lot here,” she whispered to herself, tracing a fingertip over the wood of the hair pin. “But it’s not mine.”

Outside, the wind stirred faintly, carrying the scent of sea spray and the distant hum of the village preparing for the festival. Maia paused at the door, listening. A faint whisper, almost like a memory, brushed against her mind. She smiled softly, a hint of longing.

“Time to go,” she murmured. With one last glance at her reflection, she stepped into the cool afternoon, hair pinned neatly, cloak wrapped tight, carrying both her curiosity and the quiet weight of being a stranger in this lively, glittering world.

The streets of Wolf Cove had transformed. Lanterns swayed from wooden posts, glowing like captured stars. Bright banners rippled in the wind, and the scent of roasting fish, sweetened breads, and spiced teas filled the air. Music drifted from every corner: drums, flutes, and the soft hum of voices joining in song.

Maia walked slowly, eyes wide, letting her silver gaze drift over the crowd. Children ran past in bright furs, squealing as they tried to catch lanterns bobbing above their heads. Merchants sold hand-carved trinkets and delicate charms, while healers demonstrated minor remedies, their hands gliding over willing patients.

She noticed the subtle layers of life around her: the laughter of families who clearly had deep roots here, the careful gestures of apprentices practicing their craft, and the wanderers, like herself, who lingered at the edges, curious but cautious.

Beneath the laughter and bustle, she saw movement that others did not. Pale blue lights shimmered along the water channels and frozen puddles, rippling like tiny spirits dancing in time with the music. She froze for a moment, a soft smile tugging at her lips, and whispered under her breath: “Hello.” The lights seemed to flicker in response, weaving in subtle arcs around her feet.

Maia wandered closer to the shoreline, where the festival’s lanterns reflected in the ice and water. There, she could hear whispers. Faint, layered, as if the voices of the spirits merged with the music of the festival. She reached out a hand, letting the chill of the ice curl around her fingers. The water seemed alive, responsive to her presence.

A group of children chased one another along the docks, their laughter mingling with the call of distant seabirds. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a pale shimmer darting between the lanterns, like a spirit weaving through the crowd. Maia shook her head slightly, smiling to herself.

The festival carried on around her: music, light, warmth, and laughter, and Maia walked through it, quiet, observant, and alive with wonder. For all her outsider-ness, she felt the first stirrings of connection to a world much larger than her village, and a sense of curiosity that would not let her rest.

Maia turned a corner, weaving past a group of laughing children chasing lanterns, when a familiar voice called out.

“Maia?!”

She looked up to see a shorter but sturdier figure bounding toward her. Korra, older now, strong and confident, grinned broadly, hair tied back, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Korra,” Maia said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. She had not expected to run into anyone she knew in a city this large.

“You’ve… changed!” Korra exclaimed, stepping closer before her face turned a little sad. “I’m sorry I stopped visiting, my parents moved us without warning. I would’ve told you, I swear!”

Maia shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s alright. I’ve been busy anyways.” Her tone was calm, measured. Quieter than Korra’s exuberance, but steady.

Korra raised an eyebrow. “Busy, huh? You always were curious. Come on, tell me! What have you been doing all these years?”

Maia glanced down the festival streets, then back at Korra, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Mostly learning. Healing, practicing my bending, trying to understand… the world.”

Korra’s eyes widened, impressed. “Healing? That’s… wow, Maia. That sounds amazing. You’ve gotten serious, huh?”

Maia nodded. “I’ve been trying. There’s so much to learn.” She paused, then added, softly, “what about you?”

Korra laughed, a little teasing. “Well, at least you’re not just sitting around in the village. I’ve just been training, my parents enrolled me at Master Pakuku’s Waterbending School. It’s boring most of the time, but I guess I’m getting better.”

Maia smiled gently, grasping Korra’s shoulder. “As long as you’re happy.”

Korra blushed slightly before gesturing with her head. “You want to explore with me… like old times?”

Maia nodded before falling into step beside her, following the confident rhythm of Korra’s strides. They passed stalls of vibrant fabrics, intricate carvings, and roasted fish, their scents mingling in the crisp winter air. Maia observed quietly, but Korra pointed out people and small details with excitement, making jokes and teasing in that familiar way that made Maia feel both entertained and comfortable.

“You still see things differently, huh?” Korra asked at one point, glancing at Maia’s silver eyes as they watched pale blue lights flicker across a frozen puddle. “Like seeing stuff no one else does?”

Maia smiled faintly, letting her gaze linger on the subtle spirit shimmer. “I notice what others don’t. Sometimes it’s enlightening. Sometimes… sad.”

Korra nodded, thoughtful for a moment.

They walked on, side by side, past festival games and music, laughter echoing off the ice and lanterns. The crowd thinned as they moved toward a small square where a few children had gathered, sitting cross-legged on the frozen ground. An elderly woman, bent but vibrant, leaned on a carved wooden cane and spoke in a soft, melodic voice.

“Long ago,” she began, her eyes glimmering in the lantern light, “before the nations were fully formed, there were two spirits: Tui, the Moon, and La, the Ocean. They watched over the waters and the tides, guiding life with their dance of push and pull.”

The children leaned forward, captivated. Maia and Korra paused a few steps back, listening intently. Maia’s silver eyes reflected the lantern glow as she pictured the luminous Moon Spirit gliding through the night sky and the deep, rolling Ocean Spirit swelling beneath her feet.

“Tui pulled the tides gently, whispering to the waves, teaching them patience. La pushed with strength, shaping rivers, streams, and currents. Sometimes they clashed, sometimes they swirled together in harmony, but always they maintained balance,” the woman continued, her voice rising and falling like water itself.

Korra nudged Maia with an elbow. “Sounds like us,” she whispered with a grin. Maia smiled faintly, feeling a quiet reverence stirring in her chest.

The woman’s voice softened. “It is said that waterbenders learn from them: the gentle pull, the steady push. To bend water is to listen to both forces, to respect the flow and the resistance, and to understand that each has its purpose.”

“Remember, children,” the woman concluded, “the Moon and Ocean are always present. They guide the tides, the waters, and even our hearts, if we are willing to see and feel.”

Maia inhaled slowly, letting the story settle like mist around her. “Do you think… they’re really watching?” she murmured to Korra.

Korra shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Maybe. But if they are, I bet they like to test waterbenders.”

The crowd around them began to shift as the woman walked away, leaving the children whispering excitedly as Korra cleared her throat.

“Hey… want to see where I live?” she asked, her voice bright with a mix of pride and hesitation. “The royal palace. It’s not far.”

Maia blinked, surprised. “You live in the palace?”

“Well, yeah,” Korra said with a grin, her tone half boast, half explanation. “My dad’s the Chief. Which basically means he’s busy all the time, but-” she broke off, shrugging. “It’s home.”

Maia gave a small, polite nod. “I’d like to see it.”

Korra’s grin widened, and she started leading the way through the lantern-lit streets. The noise of the festival slowly fell behind them, replaced by the quieter hum of guards on patrol and the soft lapping of water under the ice canals.

After a stretch of silence, Korra glanced sideways. “So… how long are you staying? Here, I mean.”

Maia hesitated. “Not long. A few more days, maybe.”

“Oh.” The brightness in Korra’s voice faltered. She kicked a bit of snow as they walked, suddenly frowning at the ground. “Figures.”

Maia tilted her head, studying her. “You sound disappointed.”

“Well…” Korra muttered, then stopped herself, cheeks coloring faintly. “I just thought… I don’t know. It’s nice having you around.”

Maia was quiet for a beat, then spoke softly, almost before she realized the words had formed. “You could always come with me.”

Korra froze mid-step, staring at her. “What?”

Maia looked almost startled herself, eyes widening slightly before she turned them back to the snow. “I just meant… if you wanted to. To see things. Beyond the South.”

Korra’s mouth opened, then closed. She gave a little laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Spirits, Maia, don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” Maia replied simply, her voice steady even as her chest tightened with the weight of the words.

For a long moment, Korra just looked at her. The quiet between them felt heavier now, not awkward, but charged. Finally, Korra shook her head, her smile a little sad. “I can’t. Not yet. My family…they expect me to be here. To learn. To train. Maybe one day, when things are different.”

Maia nodded slowly. “That’s for the best.”

But her voice carried a note of disappointment too, quiet enough that Korra almost missed it. Almost.

Korra shoved her hands into her sleeves, her boldness dimmed to a softer honesty. “Still… if I could, I think I’d go. With you.”

That pulled the faintest curve of a smile from Maia’s lips. “Maybe one day, then.”

“Yeah,” Korra said, and her grin came back, brighter, easier. “One day.”

They rounded a bend in the road, and suddenly the palace loomed before them, carved into the ice cliffs with towers rising like frozen spears against the night sky. Its walls glowed faintly in the moonlight, draped with banners of deep blue and white.

Korra stopped, letting Maia take it in. “Well… here it is. The Southern Water Tribe’s finest.”

Maia stared up at it, silent, her silver eyes reflecting the shimmer of the ice walls. She felt small, but not in a way that diminished her. More like she was standing at the edge of something vast, a reminder of how much of the world she still hadn’t seen.

Beside her, Korra shifted nervously, almost shy now that she’d shown Maia her home. “What do you think?”

Maia glanced at her, the corner of her mouth softening. “It suits you.”

Korra blinked, caught off guard, then let out a laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The palace gates stood tall before them, guards bowing their heads as Korra strode forward with casual confidence. Maia followed a step behind, quiet, her gaze drinking in the carved walls and the deep blue banners fluttering in the cold wind.

Inside, the corridors glimmered faintly with the glow of lanterns. The air smelled faintly of seal oil and snow. Korra walked as though she belonged here, chin high, steps loud. Maia, by contrast, moved lightly, careful not to disturb the hush of the halls.

They rounded a corner, and nearly collided with two figures.

“Korra.”

The voice was warm, firm, tinged with reproach. Kya, water-blue robes draped loosely over her frame, crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Snuck out again, didn’t you?”

Korra winced, grinning sheepishly. “Uh… maybe.”

Kya’s gaze shifted, landing on Maia. For a moment, recognition flickered. “And this must be your friend,” she said, her tone softening. “We met a few years ago, didn’t we? You’ve grown.”

Maia bowed her head slightly, unsure how to respond to the sudden attention. “Yes, ma’am. Briefly.”

Before she could say more, another figure stepped into view, an elderly woman with silver hair tied in long braids, eyes bright and steady as the moon.

Katara.

Her gaze landed on Maia, and the air shifted. For a moment, the noise of the palace faded. Maia’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know why, but something in her chest ached, like remembering a song she had once loved but forgotten.

Katara’s expression faltered, just slightly. Then her smile bloomed, gentle and welcoming. “And who might you be?”

Maia lowered her head, forcing words past the tightness in her chest. “Maia, from the southern coast. A… friend of Korra’s.”

Korra piped up quickly, “She’s been at the festival with me! I wanted to show her the palace.”

Katara’s eyes lingered on Maia for a moment longer, studying her with an intensity that made Maia shift under the weight of it. Finally, Katara nodded. “Welcome, Maia. Any friend of Korra’s is a friend of ours.”

Kya’s lips curved into a small smile. “You picked a quiet one, Korra. She balances you out.”

Korra flushed. “She’s not that quiet.”

Maia said nothing, though a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

Katara’s gaze softened further as she addressed Maia. “I hope you’ll join us for tea before the night ends. The halls can be overwhelming for someone new, but tea makes everything warmer.”

Something about the offer struck Maia deeply, almost painfully: warmth, safety, belonging. She managed a small nod. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

The group began moving together down the corridor, Korra chattering about the festival while Kya teased her gently. Maia walked beside them, but her thoughts stayed with Katara’s gaze. How it had seemed to see her, past the surface, touching something older than her thirteen years.

The palace sitting room was warm and soft with lamplight, a contrast to the vast, cold corridors outside. Cushions were scattered across the floor around a low table where steam curled from a carved kettle. The smell of dried herbs and sea salt hung in the air.

Katara poured the tea herself, her hands steady despite their age. “Travelers always say the South grows colder every year,” she said with a faint smile. “But I think it’s just us growing older.”

Korra snorted. “Or maybe they just don’t know how to dress for the snow.”

Kya shook her head, lips quirking. “That’s because you still forget your gloves half the time.”

Korra opened her mouth to retort but caught Maia’s quiet smile, and suddenly she flushed, sinking back into her cushion.

Katara passed a cup to Maia last. Their fingers brushed for a moment, brief, but enough to make Maia stiffen, her chest tightening as if she’d just touched something both familiar and impossible. Katara, too, faltered, but she recovered with a gentle smile.

“You’re not from Wolf Cove, are you?” Katara asked softly.

Maia shook her head, her silver-blue eyes lowered. “No. A smaller village to the south. This is the farthest I’ve ever come.”

“That explains it,” Katara murmured, almost to herself. There was something in the way the girl carried herself, not just shyness, but a kind of stillness that Katara recognized but couldn’t name.

Korra leaned forward, breaking the quiet. “She’s planning to travel,” she said, almost proudly, as though Maia’s choice reflected on her too. “She wants to see more than just the South.”

Katara’s brows rose slightly. “Is that so? At your age, that takes courage.”

Maia hesitated before answering. “I don’t know if it’s courage. I just feel like I need to…to see what’s out there.”

For a long moment, Katara’s gaze lingered on her. It wasn’t just scrutiny,  it was memory, a soft ache in her chest, as though she had heard these words before in another lifetime. 

Katara sat back, her tea cooling in her hands, watching the three of them with a mixture of fondness and something heavier, a thread of memory tugging at her. Every so often her eyes returned to Maia, as if drawn without choice.

When the cups were nearly empty, Katara spoke again, carefully measured. “After tea,” she said, “I’d like to show you something, Maia. I think it may help you, if you’re truly set on wandering beyond here.”

Maia’s heart lifted in both curiosity and unease. She bowed her head slightly. “Thank you.”

The tea had gone cold by the time the cups were set aside. The hum of voices outside drifted faintly in, the festival still alive with drums and laughter.

Korra stretched, restless as always, and turned to Maia with a grin that didn’t quite hide her shyness. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Maia shifted her hands in her lap, searching for words. “I’m glad too,” she admitted softly. “It… feels like a long time since the village.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll miss you.”

Korra’s grin faltered. For a moment, she looked very young again, unsure of herself. “But we’ll see each other?”

“I hope so,” Maia whispered. Then, with a small, earnest smile: “But I’ll always remember this.”

Something in her tone made Korra quiet. She nodded, too forceful, as if bracing against sadness. “Well, then we’ll just have to meet somewhere else. The world’s big, but not that big.”

Maia gave a small, crooked smile, and Korra’s cheeks flushed before she stood quickly, brushing off her clothes. “Come on Master Kya,” she muttered, her usual boldness returning.

Kya rose, giving Maia a knowing look but saying nothing. She only touched her shoulder gently as they passed. “Safe travels, Maia,” she murmured, then followed Korra back toward the festival lights.

The room fell still.

Katara remained seated a moment longer, watching the girls go. Then she looked to Maia, her expression thoughtful, softened by time and memory. With a slight tilt of her head, she beckoned. “Walk with me.”

Maia followed her down a quieter hall, the hum of the festival fading into silence. They entered a chamber lit by a single oil lamp, shelves of scrolls and carved boxes stretching along the walls. Relics of history, of journeys long past.

Katara moved with reverence, tracing her hand along the shelves until she stopped before a lacquered chest. She opened it and pulled free a bundle of worn maps, edges curled with age. Spreading one across the table, she smoothed it flat and turned it toward Maia.

“The world is wider than most ever see,” Katara said softly. “If you mean to travel, you should know where its rivers, mountains, and coasts can take you. A guide. Though it will never tell you everything.” She offered the parchment into Maia’s hands. “Some things, you’ll have to discover yourself.”

Maia accepted it carefully, bowing her head. “Thank you. I… don’t know if I deserve this.”

Katara smiled faintly. “Deserve has little to do with it. It’s about whether you’re willing to see.”

A pause lingered. The lamplight flickered, painting their faces in amber and shadow.

Then Katara’s gaze grew distant, heavy with unspoken memories. “There’s something about you,” she murmured. “A stillness. An echo. I’ve only felt it once before, long ago.”

Maia’s breath caught. She gripped the map tighter, her silver eyes uncertain. “I don’t understand.”

Katara studied her, sorrow and recognition mingling in her gaze. Her voice lowered, almost reverent. “Maybe not yet. But I think… I think you will.”

Silence pressed between them. Maia lowered her head, about to let the words pass unspoken, the easier path. But something inside her resisted. She lifted her gaze again, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I already know.”

Katara’s brow furrowed gently, curiosity and caution mingling. “Know… what?”

Maia hesitated, as if afraid to disturb the still air of the room. Then, steadying herself, she said, “That I’m the Avatar.”

The words seemed to ripple through the chamber, louder than the festival drums outside.

Katara closed her eyes for a moment, her breath trembling. When she looked at Maia again, her expression was tender but unbearably sad, the kind of sadness that came not from disbelief, but from memory. “Then you’ve seen him,” she said softly.

Maia swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on the parchment. “In dreams. In flashes. A boy, man, in air nomad robes. He says we are the same."

Katara’s hands curled in her lap. For a moment, the lamplight reflected in her eyes, wet with something unspoken. “He was…” Her voice faltered, softened. “He was my dearest friend. My family.”

Maia’s chest ached at the weight in her tone. She whispered, “I don’t remember everything. Just pieces. But when I dream of him, it feels real. Like I’m borrowing someone else’s life.”

Katara reached out, resting her hand gently over Maia’s. “It isn’t borrowed. It’s carried. You don’t have to be him. You only have to be you.”

The warmth of her hand lingered like an anchor, grounding Maia as the enormity of her own words settled in.

Katara let go, leaning back with a long breath. “Keep the map,” she said finally. “Not because you’re the Avatar. Because you’re you, and you deserve to see the world.”

Maia didn’t trust herself to speak. But she smiled, small, fragile, but real. She clutched the map against her chest, gave Katara the smallest of nods, and turned toward the door.

When she stepped back into the cool night air, the festival lights and voices washed over her again. Laughter, drums, firelight, the ordinary world. But the echo of Katara’s words lingered within her, steady as the tide beneath the ice.

Chapter Text

The morning air carried the bite of salt and ice as Maia stood on the dock, her pack slung over one shoulder and the rolled map Katara had given her pressed carefully inside. The sea stretched endlessly before her, glittering under a pale sun, the horizon blurred by a faint mist.

Only a handful of travelers waited with her. A family of three huddled close, their furs patched but neatly kept. Two traders argued over crates lashed tight with rope, their voices sharp, echoing against the wooden planks. A lone hunter stood apart, spear resting at his side, staring out at the water.

Maia shifted her weight and pulled her cloak tighter, feeling the weight of yesterday pressing faintly in her chest. Katara’s words. The way Korra’s face had brightened when they’d spoken, and dimmed when they’d said goodbye.

She tried to focus on the ship itself,  a dark silhouette in the distance. Sails straining against the wind, growing steadily larger as it approached. But her thoughts kept circling. The world suddenly felt bigger than she had ever imagined, and she wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a threat.

For a brief moment, she glanced down at her own reflection in the black water below the dock. The surface trembled with the movements of the tide, shifting her silver eyes into something unfamiliar. Almost spirit-like.

“See the world.” Katara’s voice echoed in her memory.

The ship gave a low, hornlike call as it neared the dock. The family stirred. The traders bent to gather their things. Maia inhaled the sharp air and straightened, her pulse quickening.

This was it, her first step into a wider world.

The ship rocked gently as Maia stepped onto its deck, her boots meeting wood slick with sea spray. The sailors moved briskly around her, ropes tightening, sails snapping overhead. She kept to the side, eyes scanning the passengers who had already settled in.

There were more people than she expected. Families wrapped in dyed furs that weren’t Water Tribe blue, merchants guarding boxes that smelled faintly of dried fruit and strange spices, even a wandering monk in pale robes whose shaved head glistened under the weak sun. Their voices blended into a low hum of accents and cadences she didn’t recognize, weaving a fabric of lives larger than her own.

Maia slipped toward the far edge, where a long bench ran beside the railing. She set her pack at her feet and unrolled the map Katara had given her, weighing it down against the breeze with careful fingers.

Ink stretched across aged parchment: oceans, rivers, mountain ranges, forests. The Southern Water Tribe sat like a small mark at the very bottom, already shrinking in her mind as the ship pulled away from the dock. Before it, the Patola Mountains were drawn sharp and jagged, a cluster of peaks rising just inland from the Southern Air Temple.

Her eyes lingered there. She’d heard little of the Air Nomads beyond old stories, whispers of temples clinging to impossible cliffs, of monks who bent the wind as if it loved them. The dream of the airbender, Aang, pressed at her memory, the warmth of his smile against the field’s endless green.

Maia traced the path north with her fingertip. From the Patolas, roads wound deep into the Earth Kingdom: Kyoshi’s islands, tangled swamps, and beyond them, the great walls of Ba Sing Se. Each place, a story waiting to be walked.

The bench swayed with the ship’s rhythm, and Maia pressed her palm flat against the wood to steady herself. She looked back once, the sprawl of Wolf Cove already shrinking into nothing against the endless white of the south. Then she turned forward.

The sea wind tugged at her hair, cold but alive. For the first time, she felt herself moving with it.

“You’ve been staring at that thing forever. Planning to memorize the whole world or something?”

She blinked up. A boy stood over her, maybe a couple years older, with a lean build and restless hands that fiddled with the strap of his worn satchel. His clothes were Earth Kingdom green, though patched and travel-stained, and his dark hair stuck up in tufts as if even the wind couldn’t keep up with him.

“Sorry,” Maia said softly, folding part of the map back. “Did you need this seat?”

“Nah. Just bored.” He dropped onto the bench beside her without waiting, stretching his legs out. “Haven’t met anyone close to my age in weeks. You from down south?”

Maia hesitated, then nodded. “A small village. South of Wolf Cove.”

“Figures,” he said. “You’ve got that… snow look.” His eyes flicked to hers, lingering on the silver that caught the light. “Though I’ve never seen eyes like that before. Pretty strange.”

Maia tilted her head, half amused, half cautious. “You’re strange too,” she countered.

He grinned. “Fair enough. Name’s Jian.”

“Maia.”

He tapped the railing with his knuckles, restless energy radiating from him. “So…are you a bender?”

The question came blunt, curious, almost childlike. Maia paused, then nodded once.

“Water, right?” Jian guessed. “Has to be. Everyone here’s water.”

For a moment Maia only looked at him, lips twitching as if holding back a laugh at his certainty. Finally she nodded again. “Water.”

“Thought so.” He leaned back with a satisfied look. “I’m an earthbender. Not much to show off on a ship, though.” He stomped lightly on the wooden planks, then shrugged. “Feels like being half myself, not having ground under my feet.”

Maia glanced at him sidelong. “I think I’d feel heavy with it. Stuck.”

“Stuck’s better than floating away.” He smirked, then added more quietly, “Besides, home doesn’t leave you much choice. If you can bend, they find you.”

Maia frowned. “Find you?”

“Conscription,” Jian said, with a sharpness in his voice that didn’t match his easy grin. “They wanted me digging trenches and building walls for someone else’s war. So I ran.”

She watched him for a long moment, hearing the weight under his words. Then she turned her gaze back out to sea, the horizon silver with morning light. “So now you’re floating too,” she murmured.

Jian laughed, a rough, warm sound. “Guess I am. Maybe that makes us both drifters.”

For the first time since boarding, Maia let her shoulders ease. She folded the map and tucked it away, glancing at him sidelong. “Then you won’t mind the company.”

He leaned back, smug and content. “Best thing I’ve heard all voyage.”

And just like that, a seed of friendship took root.

—

The wind had died down, and the ship creaked under the lull of the waves. Around her, travelers were curled on benches and bundles of blankets, the hum of snores and whispers mingling with the gentle slap of water against the hull. Maia’s eyelids drooped, heavy from the excitement and anxiety of the day, and she leaned back against the railing, the map folded beside her.

Sleep claimed her slowly, softly, and the frozen world of the Southern Water Tribe faded away.

She found herself walking again through icy tundras, the pale sun glinting off endless snowfields. The wind whispered in her ears, carrying the songs of long-forgotten spirits. Her boots barely touched the frozen ground, and the world seemed both immense and intimate, alive beneath her careful steps.

And then she saw him.

A man stood at the edge of a jagged ice ridge, water curling around his ankles like ribbons of living glass. His hair was long and dark, framing a face both kind and weathered, eyes deep as the northern seas. He looked at her with a quiet intensity, yet there was a softness there too, a familiarity that made her chest ache.

“You’re far from home,” he said, voice low, almost a song carried by the wind.

Maia hesitated. “I’m traveling.”

He nodded, and the ice beneath them seemed to respond, shifting in subtle waves. “Do you know who I am?”

She shook her head, though a flicker of memory stirred deep in her mind, a feeling she couldn’t quite name. “I’ve heard your name. Kuruk… Avatar Kuruk?”

“Mm,” he said, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. “I see much in you, Maia. You walk with the world’s weight lightly, yet it presses on you.”

She looked down at her hands, as if she might see it reflected there. “I feel things. I see things. Spirits and people alike. Sometimes I don’t know which is which.”

Kuruk stepped closer, the ice singing faintly beneath his boots. “That is the gift, and the burden, of our path. You feel what others cannot. The currents, the tides of the world, they move with you, even when you do not yet know their shape.”

Maia’s throat tightened. “I don’t know if I can do it. Be… the Avatar.”

He studied her with a depth that seemed to reach through time itself. “You are not alone. Not in life, not in spirit. Every step you take echoes in the lives that came before you. And in them, you will find guidance.”

She took a tentative step forward. “How do I know I’ll be ready?”

He reached out, just above her shoulder, and the ice rippled beneath them like water disturbed by a stone. “You will never be fully ready. But you will act. You will listen. And when the world calls, you will answer, as we always have.”

For a long moment, the wind was silent. Maia felt the echo of countless footsteps in the snow, voices whispering from past lives. She breathed deeply, letting the chill touch her skin.

Kuruk’s gaze softened. “Rest now. The journey is long, and the world waits.”

As she blinked, the ice, the wind, and the whispers faded. She awoke with a start, curled on the ship’s bench, the cold night air brushing her cheeks. The map lay beside her, crumpled slightly, and the stars above reflected faintly on the dark waters.

 The first hint of the storm came as a low growl over the waves. She sat up fully, hair sticking to her damp cloak, and saw Jian already perched on the edge of the deck, eyes scanning the horizon. His dark hair whipped in the wind, and his brownish-green cloak flapped around him like a banner.

“Storm’s coming,” he said, voice tight with excitement and concern. “Looks like it’s gonna hit fast.”

Maia nodded, gripping the railing. The air was thick with electricity; the sky churned with gray and silver, clouds whipping themselves into chaotic shapes above. The ship pitched and groaned under the rising waves, and travelers scrambled to secure ropes, lash down crates, and find shelter.

Then a sudden shriek cut through the wind. A small boy, no more than eight, had slipped on the slick deck. A crashing wave caught him off guard, and he tumbled overboard with a cry.

“NO!” Jian shouted, lunging toward the rail, but his hands grasped nothing but air.

Maia didn’t think. She leapt from the deck, feeling the cold bite of the ocean wrap around her as she hit the water. The storm was a roaring beast around her, waves clawing at her, wind lashing her face, snowflakes turning to slush as they stung her skin.

The boy floundered, panicking, and Maia reached for him, letting her waterbending flow through her instinctively. The water responded as if alive, wrapping around the boy like a cradle, holding him steady against the furious current. She kicked toward the ship, guiding him with a ribbon of ice and water that lifted and nudged him upward.

“Pull him in!” Maia’s voice carried above the storm, tense and urgent.

Muscles burning, lungs straining, Maia forced the boy toward the deck. She felt the water resist, tossing them this way and that, but she pressed her mind against it, coaxing it with the same quiet control she’d been learning with Atka. The deck loomed, and with one final surge of bending, she lifted them both onto the wooden planks.

The boy coughed and gasped, shivering violently, and his mother grabbed him immediately, tears streaking her cheeks. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” she cried, pressing him against her.

Jian came around from the other side of the deck, whistling low in admiration. “I’ve seen waterbending before,” he said, leaning close. “But that was impressive.”

Maia shivered from cold and adrenaline, teeth chattering. Jian didn’t speak again, he simply unwrapped his thick jacket from around his shoulders and draped it over her, his fingers brushing briefly against hers.

“Thanks,” she murmured, almost inaudible against the roaring wind.

Jian nodded, eyes dark and wide with respect and a little awe. “Don’t mention it. You saved him.”

—

The storm gradually lost its fury, leaving behind a steady drizzle that tapped softly against the wooden roof of the ship’s small cabin. Maia and Jian had found a corner away from the more crowded sections, wet cloaks draped over their shoulders, hair plastered to their faces. Steam from hot tea offered by one of the ship’s attendants curled lazily in the damp air, carrying a faint scent of herbs and salt.

Maia held her cup carefully, savoring the warmth that seemed to seep into her frozen fingers and bones. Jian watched her for a moment, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I think the storm just made you a legend,” he said quietly, gesturing toward her damp cloak.

She only stared down into the cup, the reflection of the cabin lights dancing like tiny spirits on its surface. “It was instinct.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Instinct, huh? That’s not fair. You make it sound easy.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t. Not easy.” She glanced out the small window, watching the gray waves flatten under calmer skies. In the distance, jagged peaks rose against the dim sunlight breaking through the clouds, the Patola Mountains. White-capped and stark, they were at once imposing and beautiful.

The ship groaned as it maneuvered closer to the dock, ropes creaking under the strain, and sailors shouted commands over the lingering drizzle. Maia’s stomach fluttered at the sight of solid ground, and yet a part of her hesitated , stepping off meant leaving behind the small comfort of the ship, the shared warmth of its cabin, and the relative safety of floating between worlds.

Jian followed her gaze. “First time seeing mountains like that?” he asked, voice soft.

Maia nodded, her eyes tracing the cliffs where snow still clung in stubborn streaks. “I’ve seen hills before… but nothing like this. It’s bigger than I imagined.”

The ship nudged closer to the dock, bumping gently against the worn wood. Crews called out as ropes were thrown, hooks secured, and the anchor dropped. Water sloshed quietly against the hull, and a few other travelers began to disembark, boots thudding against the wet planks.

Maia finally stood, gripping her pack, and let herself be pulled toward the railing. The air smelled of wet stone and pine, sharp and alive. Her heart thudded as she took her first real glimpse of land beyond icy tundras.

The ship settled fully against the dock, ropes secured with a final tug.

Chapter Text

Maia’s boots crunched against the wet stone dock as she took a careful step forward, eyes scanning the jagged peaks of the Patola Mountains. The wind tugged at her cloak, and she paused, letting it settle.

“Hey,” a voice said from behind her.

She turned slightly, seeing Jian leaning against a post, hands in his pockets, a grin plastered across his face.

“You’re… following me,” Maia said, her voice calm but firm.

“I’m wherever you’re going,” he said casually, shrugging.

Maia stopped, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re serious?” Her tone was quiet, measured, but there was a flicker of irritation beneath the surface.

“Absolutely,” Jian replied, still grinning. “I figure you might get into trouble, so someone’s gotta–”

“Someone?” Maia interrupted, voice sharper now. “You mean you.”

Jian held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m not exactly volunteering to babysit. I just… thought it might be fun to see where you’re headed.”

Maia let out a low sigh, looking back toward the mountains, hands folding across her chest. “Fun? You call following strangers through storm-battered docks fun?”

He laughed, clearly not bothered. “Yeah. And don’t pretend you’ve never wanted company. Even waterbenders get bored.”

She shot him a side glance, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not bored. I’m focused. And I prefer to be alone.”

“Alone,” he echoed, leaning closer with a smirk. “Yeah, but alone can be lonely. And I’m great company. I promise.”

Maia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’d better not slow me down.”

“Slow you down? Never,” Jian said, mock-saluting. “I’ll be your shadow. Your heroic, amazing shadow.”

Maia shook her head, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself. “Fine,” she said quietly. “But keep quiet. I don’t need your heroics.”

“Quiet, got it. Mostly,” Jian said with a grin, falling into step beside her. “Mostly quiet. But seriously, you’re going to love the mountains instead of snowy slush. Just wait until you see the cliffs up close.”

Maia kept her gaze forward, letting the mountains draw her attention. The path wound upward, narrow and slick with melting snow, the jagged peaks rising like silent sentinels around them. Jian’s boots crunched loudly against the ice-dusted stones, his arms swinging easily as he kept pace with Maia, who moved with careful, deliberate steps.

“So… where are you heading?” Jian asked, breaking the silence.

Maia sighed. “The Southern Air Temple, for now.”

Jian’s eyebrows shot up. “The Southern Air Temple?”

Maia nodded, her eyes fixed ahead. “Yes. Just passing through.”

“Just passing through?” he repeated, eyebrows still raised. “That’s… kind of bold. They don’t usually let outsiders in.”

She glanced at him briefly, expression unreadable. “I have my ways.”

Jian laughed softly, shaking his head. “Your ways, huh? Sounds mysterious. Do tell.”

Maia returned her gaze to the mountains, letting the words hang in the air. “It’s nothing important.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, smirking. “I’ll take that as a ‘you’re not telling me.’ Fair enough. But at least tell me why an outsider would even want to go there.”

Her voice was quiet, almost contemplative. “Curiousity.”

Jian rolled his eyes, but pretended to consider this. “Curiosity’s good. I’m all for it. Me? I’ve been running most of my life. From conscription, from my father who thinks I should be someone I’m not. I travel because… well, I have to. And because it’s the only way I feel free.”

Maia glanced at him, a faint flicker of understanding passing in her silver eyes. “I see.”

“That’s my life story, in about thirty seconds,” he said with a grin. “And yours?”

She shook her head lightly, the corner of her mouth tilting up just slightly. “Not much to tell. I travel to see the world. That’s enough.”

Jian laughed, throwing up his hands. “Mysterious, huh? I like it. Keeps things interesting.”

Maia allowed a small exhale, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Are you…always this talkative?”

“Depends on the company,” he said, winking. “You, for instance, seem to enjoy silence. Good companion for a talker like me.”

She didn’t answer, just adjusted the strap of her pack and let her gaze drift to the peaks above, snow glinting in the weak sunlight. Jian kept pace, occasionally pointing out interesting rock formations or the distant trails of mountain goats.

As they walked, the banter softened into quiet conversation, punctuated by the occasional laugh at Jian’s jokes or Maia’s rare, sharp retorts.

The stream gurgled quietly as they followed it into a small clearing, snow melting in patches along its banks. Maia set down her pack, kneeling beside the water. She cupped her hands, lifting a small swirl of water, letting it dance over her palms. Her focus was absolute, each movement deliberate, every ripple a conversation between her and the water.

Jian flopped onto a nearby rock, brushing snow from his sleeves. “So… what’s the point of this stuff anyway? Just moving water around?”

Maia didn’t answer, her hands tracing a slow, fluid pattern through the stream. Tiny arcs of water rose, then fell, glinting in the weak sunlight.

“You gonna talk to me, or just… hypnotize the river?” Jian asked after a moment, grinning.

Still, no answer. Jian leaned back, watching her movements with mild amusement. After a few seconds, he stood, dusting snow off his pants. “Fine. I’ll do my own thing.”

Before Maia could question him, he crouched low, fist slamming into the dirt beside a large rock. The earth trembled under his hands, small stones leaping into the air. With a flick of his wrists, he guided the stones into arcs and spirals, shaping them with practiced precision.

Maia blinked, letting her hands fall from the water. She had never seen Earthbending, so deliberate and grounding. Her silver eyes followed the stones as they spun, landing with muted thuds along the bank. For a moment, her concentration faltered entirely, and she just watched.

“You know how to do that?” Maia asked softly, tilting her head.

Jian laughed, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “Of course I know. Not like I get much choice in the matter. Came with the family. Had to train whether I wanted to or not.”

She nodded slowly, her mind wandering. Earthbending. She could feel it. The potential in her hands, the same pull she felt with water, only heavier, denser. She had never tried, but the sensation was unmistakable. A flutter of excitement touched her chest, quickly restrained by habit.

“You’re… pretty good,” she admitted quietly, still watching.

Jian grinned, clearly pleased with the rare compliment. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. That water stuff… it’s like it listens to you.”

Maia allowed a faint smile to tug at her lips, returning her attention to the stream. The water flowed easily around her fingers, almost like it was alive, her movements coaxing it into swirls and ribbons, subtle, elegant. But her thoughts kept flicking back to the stones Jian had moved, and the strange pull she felt toward the solid, stubborn earth beneath her feet.

For the first time, she wondered what it might feel like to try, really try, her other bending. Not yet, she told herself, not yet. 

But Maia paused mid-motion, her hands still wet from the stream, as she noticed a figure moving along the trail a few meters away. The monk from the ship, the quiet one, was walking slowly, staff in hand, eyes scanning the mountains as if listening to something only he could hear.

Jian didn’t seem to notice, still focused on shaping the stones, and Maia was glad for that. She hesitated, taking a careful step forward, then another, keeping her movements light, almost silent against the snow.

Her silver eyes studied him, curious. There was something about the way he carried himself, a calm precision, that reminded her of a wind-blown tree. Her fingers twitched, itching to test the subtle currents of air around him, but she restrained herself.

When she finally reached a respectful distance, she spoke softly. “Hello.”

The monk turned slowly, eyes meeting hers. There was a faint smile, kind but knowing, as though he had sensed her coming. “Hello, traveler,” he said, voice smooth like a gentle breeze. “Are you lost, or have you chosen this path?”

Maia glanced back toward Jian, who had finally noticed the monk standing a few meters away. He raised an eyebrow, looking between her and the figure, curiosity written across his face.

“I’m going somewhere,” Maia said carefully, her voice quiet but steady. “To the Southern Air Temple.”

The monk’s eyes brightened, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “Ah,” he said warmly. “A noble destination. The mountains are patient, but the temple’s halls teach more than the peaks themselves. Would you like to join me?”

Maia hesitated, her instincts cautious. But something about his calm presence, the ease with which he seemed to move through the mountains, made her nod. “Yes,” she said.

Jian huffed from behind her, crossing his arms. “Wait, what? I don’t even know this guy, and you’re just going to follow him?”

“I said yes,” Maia replied, tone even, though her lips twitched with a hint of amusement at his indignation. “He seems… knowledgeable.”

Jian groaned dramatically. “Fine. But if he makes me meditate or chant or whatever, I’m blaming you.”

The monk chuckled softly, his voice like wind rustling the pines. “Meditation is optional, young man, but observation is necessary. Come, walk with care. The path is long, and the mountains are old, they teach those who listen.”

Maia adjusted her pack and fell in step behind him, Jian reluctantly following. She kept a small distance, studying the monk as he moved with fluid grace, his staff tapping lightly against the snowy trail.

Jian muttered under his breath, “I swear, you find the strangest friends.”

Maia glanced at him, expression calm and stoic. “Must be why I’m friends with you,” she said softly. He grumbled again but said nothing further, falling into step beside her.

The monk’s gaze swept over both of them, kind but perceptive, as if he could sense the different ways they each moved through the world. “The temple awaits,” he said, voice carrying a note of quiet invitation. “And there, you may learn not only of air, but of the spirit that moves through all things.”

—

After hours of winding through the lower slopes of the Patola Mountain Range, the trio finally reached the broad, snow-dusted plateau at the base of the Southern Air Temple. The ancient stone archway rose before them, carved with swirling symbols that hummed faintly in the wind. Two young acolytes stood at attention, their robes crisp and pale, faces a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“Halt,” one of them said, stepping forward. “Who approaches the temple?”

The monk stopped a few steps back, his staff tapping lightly against the stones. “Friends,” he said warmly. “These two are with me.”

The acolytes exchanged a glance. “With you?” the second asked, narrowing his eyes. “Do you have permission to bring outsiders to the temple?”

The monk’s smile remained gentle, almost playful. “All travelers seeking to learn the ways of the air are welcome under my guidance. These two are here for that purpose.”

The acolytes hesitated, scanning Maia and Jian. Maia stood quietly, silver eyes wide, expression calm but unreadable. Jian, on the other hand, shifted his weight, arms crossed, looking like he was already plotting sarcastic commentary.

“Very well,” the first acolyte said at last, giving a small nod. “Follow the rules of the temple. Any disruption will be your responsibility.”

Maia inclined her head politely, and Jian muttered something under his breath about rules being “optional suggestions.”

Beyond the archway, a massive, gentle creature lay curled among the stones: a flying bison. Its broad, flat tail twitched, and its eyes blinked slowly, calm and aware. Maia froze, awe written across her face. She had read of them in stories, but seeing one in person was almost overwhelming.

“Do you… ride it?” Maia whispered, barely audible.

The monk chuckled. “Yes. They are patient companions, if you respect them.”

Jian leaned forward, squinting. “Patient companions, huh? Looks like a giant pillow with horns to me.”

Maia shot him a faint, stoic glare but couldn’t hide the hint of a smile.

The acolytes helped guide them onto the bison’s broad back. Maia settled carefully, her hands lightly brushing the fur. She felt the creature’s subtle pulse beneath her palms, steady and grounding, as if it could sense the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

Jian plopped onto the bison beside her, arms crossed again. “So… this is air travel, huh? Didn’t expect my first lesson in flight to be on a furball.”

Maia’s lips twitched, but she remained quiet, eyes scanning the plateau below. The mountains stretched endlessly, their slopes shimmering under the late afternoon sun. Snow drifts curled like smoke from hidden cliffs, and distant peaks seemed to hum in the wind.

The monk whispered a soft command, and the bison unfurled its massive wings. The ground fell away. Maia felt the wind press against her cheeks, tug at her hair, and lift her spirits as easily as it lifted the flying bison. Her stomach fluttered with exhilaration, heart beating fast but steady.

Jian yelped, gripping a horn for balance. “Okay, okay, yeah! I did NOT sign up for this much adrenaline today!”

Maia allowed herself a small laugh, the sound carried away on the rushing wind. She looked down at the sprawling mountains below, feeling simultaneously small and infinite. She had never imagined the world could move like this, so free.

The monk’s calm voice broke through her reverie. “Look closely, young traveler. Every gust, every ridge, every curve of the land tells a story. The air speaks to those who listen.”

Maia’s silver eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze drifting over the peaks, the snow, and the faint whispers of wind that tugged at her hair.

The flying bison’s wings beat steadily, carrying them higher into the crisp mountain air. As they crested the final ridge, the Southern Air Temple revealed itself, clinging to the cliffs like a fragment of cloud made stone. Whitewashed walls gleamed faintly in the sunlight, sweeping curves of rooftops echoing of ancient pasts. Golden prayer flags fluttered in the wind, catching the light, and distant chimes rang softly, carried on the breeze.

Maia’s silver eyes widened. Every curve of the walls, every spire, every carved symbol seemed alive, vibrating with history and quiet energy.

The bison touched down on the wide stone landing, and Maia carefully slid from its back, her boots crunching against the snow-dusted platform. Jian followed, muttering something under his breath about how “walking is much safer than flying any day.” Maia didn’t respond, her gaze still tracing the temple’s architecture, noting the subtle repairs and additions made after the century-long war.

A few scattered monks moved through the terraces and courtyards, robes flapping gently. They carried bundles of scrolls or swept the stones, eyes serene yet aware, as if they could sense every movement in their sacred space. Maia felt a faint stirring in the air, a quiet hum of the spiritual energy that seemed to linger in the temple.

Their traveling monk guided them forward, staff tapping softly against the stone. “The temple you see has been rebuilt since the war,” he began, his voice calm, carrying over the wind. “Avatar Aang himself helped restore it. Monks have settled here again, seeking balance and harmony after the century of conflict. It is a place of learning, reflection, and respect for the spirits.”

Maia listened carefully, absorbing every word, every detail. She walked a step behind Jian, taking in the sweeping terraces, the courtyards filled with stone lanterns, and the serene meditation halls. She could almost feel the presence of those who had trained here long ago, the hum of past airbenders lingering like faint footprints in the wind.

“Each stone, each carving, carries history,” the monk continued, leading them toward the central hall. “The air teaches patience. It teaches perspective. To move with it is to understand the flow of life itself.”

They paused at a wide terrace overlooking the valley below. The wind tugged at her hair, cold and bracing, and for a moment she allowed herself to simply breathe it in. Jian leaned on the railing, arms crossed, but even he seemed subdued by the sheer scale and serenity of the place.

“This is incredible,” Maia said softly, voice almost lost to the wind.

“It is,” the monk agreed, smiling gently. “And there is more to see, more to learn. But always remember: the temple is not just walls and halls. It is the life you bring into it, the patience you cultivate, and the respect you hold for the world and the spirits around you.”

Maia nodded, letting the words settle. She felt small here, yet strangely at home, like a fragment of something larger, something timeless.

The monk led them along winding stone paths, terraces overlooking the valley now shrinking beneath them. The air grew thinner, sharper, and quieter. 

Maia followed closely, her silver eyes scanning the carvings along the walls and the distant curling clouds that seemed almost close enough to touch.

They stopped before a pair of massive wooden doors, darkened by age but polished smooth from decades of care. Intricate carvings of swirling clouds and stylized air currents adorned the surface, etched so deeply that they seemed almost alive in the shifting sunlight. Maia’s gaze lingered on the doors, curiosity tugging at her.

“You see something of interest?” the monk asked gently, noticing her pause.

Maia nodded, though she didn’t speak immediately, her eyes tracing the carvings as if they might whisper their secrets.

“These doors lead to the Air Temple Sanctuary,” the monk said, his voice low and reverent. “It is a sacred place, open only to the Avatar or an airbending master. Inside lies knowledge and power, centuries of teachings kept from all but those who can truly understand them.”

Maia’s heart quickened. She took a small step closer, almost instinctively, drawn to the mysterious weight behind the doors.

“There is only one airbending master in the world right now,” he continued, his tone calm but tinged with gravity. “Avatar Aang’s son, Tenzin. The responsibility is immense, and the teachings are guarded carefully. Only those with the gift, or those who carry the legacy of the Avatar, may ever hope to enter.”

Maia’s breath caught slightly, her silver eyes darkening for a brief moment. She stared at the doors, feeling the echo of all the past Avatars, the weight of their knowledge, and the burden they carried. A small pang of sadness tugged at her chest. So few could reach this height of mastery, so few could truly understand.

Jian, sensing her hesitation but never one to stay silent, muttered behind her, “Well, that’s a little annoying, isn’t it?”

Maia glanced at him briefly, expression calm but tinged with melancholy. “It’s for a purpose. The Air nation already has so little, what’s left should be preserved.”

The monk’s eyes flicked to her for a moment, noting the subtle intensity in her posture. He said nothing, merely nodded.

Maia lingered a few steps behind the monk as they continued to explore the terraces and courtyards of the Southern Air Temple. Her gaze drifted repeatedly toward the massive wooden doors of the sanctuary. Even from this distance, the carvings seemed alive to her.

“The carvings… do you think they’re spirits?” she murmured quietly, more to herself than to anyone else.

Jian, walking beside her, snorted softly. “Spirits, statues… same thing, right? They’re just really fancy rocks, if you ask me.”

Maia gave him a sidelong glance, faintly amused but mostly absorbed in her thoughts. “They’re more than that,” she said. “They feel aware.”

The monk, walking ahead, did not comment but gave a small, approving nod over his shoulder. He had seen the spark in many young travelers who could sense what most could not, and he recognized it in her, the quiet attunement to the world beyond the visible.

They wandered past carved archways, meditation terraces, and courtyards where incense smoke curled lazily in the afternoon sun. Maia’s eyes caught every detail: the faint etchings on the walls, the worn stone steps where generations of airbenders had practiced, and the serene expressions of the statues scattered throughout.

At last, the monk led them to a modest room in one of the temple’s guest quarters. A simple mat and blankets were spread out on the floor, and a small shelf held a few bowls and a kettle. Jian flopped down onto one of the mats with a dramatic groan.

“Finally, somewhere to sit,” he muttered, rolling onto his back. “I swear my legs are gonna fall off from all this walking and flying.”

Maia allowed herself a small smile, quietly kneeling on her mat. “It was… peaceful,” she admitted, though her thoughts lingered on the sanctuary, on the statues, on the hum of energy that seemed to emanate from the temple itself.

Jian’s voice broke her reverie. “So… what do you think of all this? The flying bison, the temple, the fancy statues that totally ignore us?”

“It’s quiet,” Maia said softly. “But I can feel it. There’s something here. Something important.”

Jian rolled his eyes playfully, though she could see he was a little impressed. “You sound like some monk already. Calm and mysterious, hiding secrets.”

Maia didn’t respond, her attention returning to the window where the valley stretched below, clouds rolling across the peaks like a soft, endless sea. She felt the air stirring, gentle but alive, and for a moment she imagined the sanctuary behind the doors, the carved faces of past Avatars gazing out at her, almost as if they were waiting.

—

The room was quiet now, the small fire reduced to glowing embers. Jian had finally fallen asleep, his snores soft and uneven, and Maia’s silver eyes flicked to the window. The moonlight spilled across the terrace, illuminating the massive wooden doors of the Air Temple Sanctuary in pale, silvery light.

Her heart beat a little faster. She had spent the day wandering the temple, drinking in the wind and the ancient carvings, and now curiosity gnawed at her. Slowly, carefully, she rose from her mat and crept toward the terrace, each step deliberate, silent.

The doors loomed above her, dark and foreboding, yet alive with possibility. She stepped closer, letting her fingers brush the carvings, feeling the hum of energy beneath her fingertips. She took a deep breath, centering herself, and whispered to the empty night.

“Let me feel you.”

Air. She reached for it, not with strength, but with her awareness. She focused on the currents of the mountain, the way the wind whispered through cracks and over ledges. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the air stirred. She guided it with her hands, imagining it wrapping around her, swirling, listening. A tiny current lifted a loose leaf at her feet. She smiled quietly.

Encouraged, she tried again, letting herself sink deeper into the sensation. The air responded, curling and twisting, forming a small gust that knocked against the carvings on the doors. Her eyes widened with delight, just a little, a taste of the impossible.

She took a bolder breath, expanding her focus, and pushed harder. The air swirled around her like a living thing, tugging at her sleeves and hair. And then, suddenly, a blast surged forward. It caught her off-guard, sending her tumbling backward onto her ass with a surprised grunt. The carved horns on the doors rattled faintly but remained shut.

Maia’s hands shook slightly as she steadied herself on the cold stone floor. The blast had knocked her back, but she took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She let her senses reach outward, feeling the air as if it were a living thread weaving through the mountains, brushing her cheeks, swirling over the carvings, and tugging at the ancient horns of the sanctuary doors.

She imagined the air not as something to control, but as something to listen to. She raised her hands slowly, guiding the currents with care, letting them respond to her intent rather than forcing them. A gentle swirl formed in front of her, curling and twisting in the moonlight.

Her focus sharpened. She breathed in, feeling the pulse of wind around the temple. The way it shifted through every ledge, every crack, every carved horn. Slowly, gracefully, she channeled the currents toward the door.

A soft hum filled the air. The carvings seemed to vibrate. And then, with a whisper of rushing wind, the doors began to swing open. Light spilled from the sanctuary beyond, illuminating the terrace with a pale glow.

Maia stepped back, a hand still raised in awe. She hadn’t expected it to work, not so perfectly, not so immediately. A smile crept onto her face, quiet and small, almost shy. The wind swirled around her, tugging gently at her hair, carrying the faint scent of incense and old stone from the sanctuary.

Maia stepped carefully through the threshold of the sanctuary, the soft gusts of wind from the open doors brushing her hair back. The space was vast, filled with shadows and the faint scent of old incense and stone. 

Statues of countless figures rose before her, carved in precise, dignified poses. Their faces were serene, their eyes gentle, yet she felt an almost electric familiarity, as if she’d known them all before.

She moved slowly, reverently, her footsteps quiet on the polished stone floor. As she walked, her eyes began to trace a subtle pattern: earth, fire, air, water, earth, fire, air, water. A rhythm emerged in the arrangement, a flow that her intuition recognized even before her mind could label it. It was then she realized, the figures weren’t just random. They were all connected. Each one a chapter in a living cycle. 

Each one, a past life of hers.

A quiet awe settled over her. She traced her fingers through the cold air, imagining the power and responsibility contained in each pose, each silent expression. She could almost feel the echoes of their actions, their struggles, their triumphs, as if the statues themselves whispered across time.

She walked to the end of the swirling pattern, where the air bending statue stood with gentle authority. Her breath caught. It was Aang. The serenity in his pose mirrored the dream she had long ago, the warm green fields beneath a sunlit sky. Maia felt the pull immediately, a shift in the air around her, and suddenly the sanctuary fell away. She was no longer on the stone floor, but standing barefoot in the same expansive field she had glimpsed in her dreams. The wind was soft and warm, the grass brushing her legs. The sky was wide and infinite.

Aang stood before her, eyes calm, smiling faintly. “You’ve been doing well,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle warmth.

Maia swallowed, feeling a mixture of wonder and unease. “I’m trying,” she whispered.

He nodded, his expression growing more serious. “There are forces moving in the world that seek imbalance. They push, they take what should be in harmony and try to bend it to their will. You may not feel ready, but you must understand, you are the Avatar. You are the thread that ties these elements together. You are the guardian of balance.”

Her stomach tightened. “But…what can I do? I don’t know enough… I–”

“You’ve done this before,” Aang interrupted gently, placing a calm hand in the air, not touching her but grounding her presence. “In past lives, you’ve faced challenges just as great, just as dire. You are capable of doing it again. You have everything you need within you, and more importantly, you are never truly alone. I am here. And all the Avatars before me, they are with you, guiding you.”

Maia exhaled slowly, the weight of the words settling over her like a blanket of both comfort and responsibility. She looked at him, silver eyes wide, seeing the unbroken line of guidance that stretched across lifetimes. She was small in this vast world, yet the field beneath her feet hummed with an unseen strength, urging her forward.

“You must remember,” Aang added softly, “balance is never passive. It asks courage, patience, and wisdom. You are ready to begin, even if the journey feels too large for one lifetime. Trust in yourself. And when you falter, know that we are always here, just as we always have been.”

Maia nodded, a quiet determination blooming within her. She could feel the weight of her duty, yes, but also the connection to every life that had come before her. The wind caressed her hair, lifting her spirits even as it reminded her of the road ahead. Slowly, she let the vision fade, and the stone floor of the air temple sanctuary returned beneath her feet. 

She blinked, disoriented, trying to steady herself, only to realize she was no longer alone. A circle of monks had gathered, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe, fear, and disbelief.

Maia’s chest tightened. She had felt the power of the Avatar flow through her in that dream, but she hadn’t meant for anyone to see, hadn’t even realized she’d entered the Avatar State. 

And now, the evidence of that power, subtle gusts of wind, the faint shimmer of energy lingering around her hands, was plain for all to see.

One monk stepped forward, voice trembling. “The…the Avatar. They’re here?”

Another whispered, almost reverently, “I thought…I thought the cycle had not yet returned…”

Maia felt heat rise to her pale cheeks. She had never wanted to be noticed, never wanted attention. She lifted a hand weakly, a small smile flickering on her lips. “I’m just…a traveler,” she said softly, trying to downplay the moment. “I was… practicing, nothing more.”

But her words did little to quell the astonishment in their eyes. A hush settled over the sanctuary. Some monks bowed deeply, others knelt, and the air itself seemed to thrum with a subtle, expectant energy. 

She swallowed, feeling both embarrassed and strangely moved. Even as a quiet, reserved girl from a distant village, she was the center of their hope and expectation. She realized, in a small, uneasy way, just how much the world looked to the Avatar for guidance, for reassurance.

Her gaze drifted to the statues lining the sanctuary, and she understood why the cycle mattered so profoundly. Every one of those figures had been looked upon in this same way, awed, relied upon, revered. And now, in some strange, inevitable continuation, it was her turn.

Maia took a slow breath, trying to collect herself. “I…I’ll leave you to your duties,” she murmured quietly, stepping back toward the edge of the sanctuary. “I’m just…passing through.”

But even as she said it, she felt a subtle pull in the air around her, a reminder that she could never truly hide from what she was. 

The monks continued to watch as she left, their expressions a mix of curiosity, respect, and hope. For the first time, Maia caught a glimpse of what it meant to be the Avatar, not just the power. But the responsibility, the reverence, and the impossible expectations that came with it.

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn crept through the paper screens, brushing the stone room with pale light. Maia stirred, the woven mat rough beneath her cheek, and blinked the sleep from her eyes. For a moment, it was peaceful, soft birdsong, the faint hum of temple bells somewhere beyond. Then memory came crashing back.

Her eyes drifted sideways. Jian was sprawled half-off his mat, mouth open, snoring in the most ungraceful way possible. She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched with faint amusement. 

Then, unbidden, last night flickered in her mind. The sanctuary, the monks’ stares, Aang’s careful warnings.

Her amusement faded. She pressed a palm against her forehead, groaning softly. They know. Spirits, the monks know I’m the Avatar.
And Aang’s words, heavy as stone, whispered again in her memory: Forces are moving. Balance must be kept.

She sat up slowly, tugging her hair back and weaving it into a braid with practiced fingers. Without her outer coat, she felt lighter. The Southern mountains weren’t nearly as harsh as the frozen South she’d left behind. Still, that heaviness in her chest remained.

Behind her, Jian stirred, grumbling something unintelligible. He rubbed his face with both hands, his dark hair sticking up in every possible direction.

“...Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Maia looked over, one brow raised. His hair looked like he’d fought a storm in his dreams and lost.

“Get up,” she said softly but firmly. “We have things to do.”

Jian cracked an eye open, squinting at her as though she’d just demanded he lift a mountain. “Things? Like what? Breakfast? Because that’s the only thing I’m willing to do right now.”

Maia shook her head, tying off the end of her braid. “More important than breakfast.”

“Impossible,” he muttered, flopping back dramatically onto his mat.

She sighed, but there was a small warmth in her chest at the normalcy of it. The simple banter, the way he treated her like just another person, not… whatever the monks saw last night.

She nudged his foot with her own. “Come on. Before I leave you behind.”

That got his attention. Jian sat up fully, hair still wild, squinting at her with mock offense. “Leave me behind? Please. You’d miss me too much.”

Maia raised an unimpressed brow but didn’t answer. She only turned and moved toward the door, braid swinging lightly down her back.

The corridor opened wide as Maia stepped out, Jian trailing close behind while tugging at the wrinkles in his tunic. Morning light poured through carved stone archways, illuminating the halls of the Southern Air Temple. A hush seemed to follow her footsteps, soft murmurs slipping between the robed monks who passed.

The first one she met paused mid-stride, eyes widening before bowing low. Another monk across the way stilled, then bent at the waist too, pressing his palms together.

Maia’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t slow her pace, didn’t say a word, only lowered her gaze, braid swinging forward as though it could shield her. Don’t look. Don’t encourage it. Keep walking.

But Jian noticed.

He slowed, glancing from Maia to the bowing monks, then back to her. His voice dropped to a hiss. “Uh…what’s that about?”

Maia didn’t answer. Her jaw set, and she picked up her stride, the soles of her boots clicking more firmly against the stone floor.

Behind her, Jian’s confusion only deepened. “Seriously, Maia. They’re bowing to you. Did you, like, save their temple while I was asleep? Or–” He stopped dead in his tracks, pointing at another monk who had stopped mid-conversation just to incline his head as Maia passed. “See? That! That right there! Why are they–?”

“-Don’t,” Maia cut in, her voice soft but edged with steel. She didn’t look at him. Her hands curled slightly at her sides.

Jian blinked, caught off guard. “...Don’t what?”

“Don’t ask,” she murmured. “Not right now.”

He frowned, clearly unsatisfied, but he followed anyway, quickening his steps to keep up with her.

They emerged into the main grounds, the air alive with the sound of spinning prayer wheels and the flutter of banners strung across the open courtyard. Younger acolytes carried baskets of food between the kitchens and the dining hall, pausing mid-run to bow clumsily before darting on their way. The older monks gave her space, some with awe in their eyes, others with cautious study.

Before she could snap back, a familiar voice cut through the courtyard.

“Maia.”

It was the monk who she had seen last night before she emerged from the sanctuary, an older man with kind eyes and a voice that carried without effort. He stepped forward, bowing his head with quiet respect.

“The elders wish to speak with you,” he said.

Maia froze, the weight of the words pressing down on her chest. For a moment, she almost said no. But the monk’s gaze was steady, patient.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She turned to Jian. “Wait here.”

He blinked at her. “Wait here? You’re just gonna–what, leave me in the courtyard?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

Jian threw his hands up, groaning dramatically. “Oh, sure. Just abandon your loyal traveling companion so you can go have mysterious, secret meetings.”

“Jian.” Her tone carried enough warning that he stopped mid-rant.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “Fine. But you better tell me something when you get back.”

She only gave him the faintest smile. Then she followed the monk toward a tall set of carved doors at the far end of the grounds, her steps echoing against the stone.

Behind her, Jian muttered under his breath. “This place is way too dramatic.”

Maia paused at the threshold of the elders’ chamber, and drew in a slow breath, before pushing the doors open.

The room was simple, its wooden floor polished smooth, prayer flags swaying faintly in the high rafters. Three monks sat cross-legged at the far end, their robes a deeper saffron than the acolytes outside. They rose when she entered, bowing slightly.

“Avatar,” one of them said, voice warm with respect. “Welcome.”

The title made her flinch inwardly, though her face smoothed into something calmer. She gave a small bow in return. “Masters.”

They gestured for her to sit, and she lowered herself onto the mat before them, hands folded tightly in her lap.

For a moment, there was only silence, the flutter of flags filling the space. Then one of the monks leaned forward. “We must ask…why has the Avatar not revealed herself to the world? Many believe the Avatar has not returned. In these uncertain times, hope grows thin.”

Maia’s gaze fell to the floorboards. The question hung heavy, one she had dreaded. Slowly, she drew a breath, lifting her eyes to meet theirs.

“Because others would interfere,” she said at last, voice soft but steady. “If I revealed myself now, there would be expectations. People pulling me from every direction. That would keep me from doing what I have to do.”

The monks exchanged glances, thoughtful but not dismissive.

One folded his hands. “The Avatar is more than a person. You are the embodiment of balance. To those who suffer, your very presence is a promise of peace. Without that symbol, despair takes root.”

Her fingers curled against her knees, then slowly uncurled. Her throat felt tight. “I… I understand. Truly, I do. But I’m not ready.”

The monks were quiet, waiting.

Maia closed her eyes, then exhaled a long, slow sigh. When she opened them again, there was a steel in her gaze. “I am still learning. I’m listening to the voices of those who came before me. My past lives. They guide me, even now.”

The eldest monk’s eyes lit with quiet wonder. “Then you’ve spoken with Avatar Aang?”

Maia hesitated, the memory of the open field still vivid in her mind. She nodded, cautious.

“What did he say?” another asked, voice full of reverence.

“That the world is shifting,” Maia replied, words falling slowly, as though she weighed each one. “That balance is fragile. That… it’s my duty to keep it.”

A hush fell over the chamber. The monks bowed their heads in acknowledgment, reverent smiles flickering across their lips.

“You are walking the same path he once walked,” said the eldest. “We will not force your hand. If you wish to remain hidden, so be it. We will keep silent.”

“You may stay here as long as you need,” added another. “This temple is yours, as it was his. And when the time comes, we will do what we can to aid the Avatar.”

Maia felt her chest loosen, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding spilling free. She bowed low, her braid slipping over her shoulder. “Thank you. For your trust, and for your patience.”

They inclined their heads, and the eldest monk offered a final blessing: “May the wind carry you where you must go.”

When Maia stepped back into the hall, Jian immediately straightened, eager and restless. He looked at her face, searching for answers.

“Well?” he asked, voice pitched low but insistent. “What was that about?”

Maia only shook her head and started walking. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Jian groaned, jogging a step to keep up. “You can’t just say that after having a secret meeting with monk elders!”

Her lips quirked, the faintest trace of amusement breaking her stoicism. “Then stop asking.”

Instead of turning toward the guest quarters, she veered down a quieter corridor, her steps steady, purposeful. Jian noticed the shift and frowned, hurrying after her.

“Uh… we’re not going to breakfast, are we?”

Maia didn’t answer. She kept moving until the hall opened into the wide landing before the Air Temple Sanctuary. The great wooden doors loomed ahead, sealed shut once more. The carvings in their surface seemed almost to breathe in the torchlight, alive with centuries of history.

She stopped a few paces from them, shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath. Then she glanced back at Jian, her expression serious.

“I don’t want a reaction.”

He blinked. “...What does that even mean?”

Instead of answering, Maia drew herself tall, grounding her stance. She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle. A current stirred around her, soft at first, then growing into a subtle rush. Jian felt it tug at the edges of his sleeves, tousling his already messy hair.

Then, she exhaled, directing the breath with her hands. A controlled surge of air shot forward, slamming into the great horns built into the doors.

BOOOOM.

The sound reverberated through the chamber as the ancient mechanism groaned to life. Slowly, ponderously, the Sanctuary doors creaked open, dust and light spilling out in equal measure.

Jian’s jaw dropped. His eyes went wide, his mouth working soundlessly like a fish gasping for air.

Maia turned her head, her face calm but her eyes betraying a flicker of nerves. She sighed when she saw him. “I told you. No reaction.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Finally, a hoarse whisper escaped: “You…you’re–”

She cut him a look, already stepping into the vast chamber beyond.

The word stuck in his throat, but the truth clicked together in his mind with the force of stone snapping into place. The airbending. The waterbending. The monks bowing. The elders asking for her.

“You’re the Avatar,” he breathed, awe and disbelief tangled together.

Maia didn’t confirm, didn’t deny. She only walked deeper into the sanctuary, her braid swaying behind her like a banner. With a helpless, breathless laugh, Jian scrambled after her.

“Spirits above,” he muttered. “Of course you are.”

The air inside the sanctuary was cooler, still, carrying the faint scent of dust and old stone. Rows upon rows of towering statues stretched in spirals, their eyes carved with quiet intensity, their presence heavy with centuries of watching.

Jian slowed as soon as he stepped through the threshold, his footsteps echoing too loudly in the vast chamber. His head tilted back, mouth parted, as he turned in a slow circle.

“These are… wow. They’re kind of creepy,” he whispered, though his voice still bounced off the high stone walls. “It feels like they’re all staring at me.”

Maia’s pace was steady, deliberate, her gaze drifting across the stone faces with something between reverence and recognition. She stopped before one of the statues, her fingers brushing lightly against the carved base.

“They’re not just statues,” she said softly.

Jian froze mid-step, eyes darting from her to the towering figure nearest him. “...What do you mean not just statues?”

Her braid shifted as she glanced back at him, her expression as even as ever. “They’re my past lives.”

He blinked. “Your what?”

“My past lives,” she repeated, turning her eyes back to the stone airbender whose robes had been worn down by time. “The Avatars before me.”

Jian’s jaw dropped again, and he scrambled a little closer, gawking between her and the rows upon rows of figures that stretched into the dark. “You mean all of these… all of them were you?”

Her shoulders rose in a slow shrug. “In a way.”

He ran a hand through his hair, utterly floored, staring up at the stone faces as if they might blink back at him. “Spirits. I thought meeting you was already the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, but this is insane. You’ve lived hundreds of lives? Thousands? You’ve–”

“Jian.” Her voice was calm, but it cut through his ramble.

He stopped short, blinking at her.

Maia’s expression stayed still, unreadable, though her eyes softened just slightly. “Right now, I’m just Maia.”

The silence hung between them, the weight of the sanctuary pressing down, until Jian finally exhaled a laugh that cracked into a grin. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Just Maia,” he muttered, still staring at the statues. “Sure. Alright.”

Jian eventually wandered a few paces behind her, still staring in awe at the endless rows of figures. But Maia stopped walking.

Her boots scuffed against the stone floor as she came to a halt before the last statue in the spiral. An airbender man, with a staff in hand, his stone-carved smile gentle but steady. Avatar Aang.

Something in her chest tightened. The memory of his voice from last night lingered at the edges of her mind, those cryptic words about balance, about dangers ahead.

She lowered herself to the floor, settling cross-legged, palms resting lightly on her knees. Her braid slipped over her shoulder as she tilted her chin up to look at Aang’s likeness one last time before shutting her eyes.

Jian shuffled awkwardly nearby, his voice hushed but confused. “Uh…? What are you–”

“Quiet.” Her tone was soft, not unkind, but final.

He blinked, then backed off, leaning against a column. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, muttering under his breath, “Right, meditate in front of a giant creepy statue, totally normal…”

Maia inhaled slowly. The sanctuary’s stillness pressed in around her. The air smelled faintly of incense, of stone warmed and cooled a thousand times over the years. She focused on her breath, letting the rhythm settle her heartbeat.

She thought of the way Aang’s presence had felt: a pull, like a current of air tugging at her spirit. She reached for it again. At first, there was only silence, the usual storm of her own thoughts, but she pushed deeper.

Balance.
Hope.

Each word lingered like ripples in a pond, and she followed them inward, past her nerves, past her doubts, toward something brighter.

Her body stilled. The faintest swirl of air brushed across her cheek, not from the open doors, but from within her, coaxing her further. She exhaled, hands loosening, and let herself sink.

The sanctuary around her blurred into darkness.

Then light.

An open field stretched before her, the same one as before. The grass waved in a breeze that smelled of spring, and standing in the middle, staff in hand, was Aang. His eyes crinkled with kindness as he smiled at her.

“You came back,” he said gently, as though he had been waiting.

Maia drew in a breath of the meadow’s crisp air. It smelled real: grass, earth, sky. She steadied herself before meeting his eyes.

“I came back,” she said quietly. “Because I didn’t understand your warnings. About imbalance. About danger.”

Aang’s smile softened, but his shoulders seemed heavier than before. He exhaled, a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a weary laugh.

“It’s what it always has been,” he said. “There will always be someone. A new enemy, someone trying to tip the world into chaos for their own power. That part never changes.”

Maia’s brows knit together. “Then how do I stop it? How do I get the power to fight them?”

For the first time, a spark of humor flickered across Aang’s face. He chuckled lightly and gestured toward the open sky.

“That part is obvious. Master the elements–”

“No.” Maia cut in sharply, her voice edged with frustration. “Not that. I mean the Avatar State.”

The laughter left his expression at once. He grew quiet, his staff lowering until its end rested on the grass. His eyes searched hers before he gave a small, grave nod.

“The Avatar State,” he repeated slowly. “That’s… more complicated.”

Her chest tightened. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, his tone careful, “it’s when the Avatar is at their most powerful. Every past life, every ounce of bending, flowing through you at once. But it’s also when the Avatar is at their most vulnerable.”

Maia frowned, unease crawling through her. “Vulnerable how?”

Aang hesitated, his mouth pressed into a line. Finally, he answered.

“If you’re killed while in the Avatar State, the Avatar Cycle ends. There would be no next life.”

The color drained from Maia’s face. Her hands clenched in the grass. “What? That can’t–”

He raised a hand gently, his eyes full of calm. “I’m not telling you this to frighten you. Only to warn you. So you’ll respect the power and the risk. You need to understand both.”

Her breathing came faster, but slowly steadied as his words settled.

“So what should I do?” she asked, softer now.

“You focus on the elements,” Aang said firmly. “That’s your path. Learn them. Balance them. But remember, the Avatar State will always be there when you truly need it. It’s part of you. Reaching for it is the same as reaching for us.”

He gave her a small, encouraging smile, like a teacher urging a nervous student forward. “We’ll always be here when you call.”

Maia sat in silence, the weight of his words pressing heavy but certain in her chest. Finally, she nodded once. “Thank you.”

Aang dipped his head in return. “You’re welcome.”

The meadow blurred, the sound of wind rushing in her ears. She blinked–

–and the sanctuary’s stillness returned. The cold stone beneath her, the endless statues around her. She was back in her body.

Her eyes opened.

“Uh…” a voice cut into the silence, shaky with awe. “Do you always glow when you meditate?”

She startled, twisting her head to see Jian standing a few paces back, eyes wide like saucers, his mouth halfway between gaping and grinning.

Maia groaned softly and pushed herself up off the floor. Her knees felt stiff. “It’s part of the weirdness that comes with the Avatar title.”

For a beat, Jian just stared. Then he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Weirdness. Right. You go all starry-eyed, and that’s just weirdness?”

Maia brushed dust from her palms, not meeting his gaze. “Would you prefer I call it responsibility?”

“No, no, weirdness works. Keeps it casual.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, trying to look serious.

Maia shot him a sidelong look, lips twitching despite herself. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding?” Jian said, spreading his hands. “My new travel companion just happens to be the Avatar. I think that makes me, what? Some kind of sidekick? Legendary best friend?”

She rolled her eyes, turning toward the doors. “You’re insufferable.”

He fell into step beside her with a grin. “Insufferably charming, though.”

Maia sighed, pulling the heavy doors shut behind them. The thud echoed down the stone halls, sealing the sanctuary once more.

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” she muttered.

Jian leaned closer, still smirking. “Then what word would you use?”

She glanced at him, silver eyes cool, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a small, reluctant smile. “…Loud.”

He laughed, not the least bit offended, and together they walked back down the quiet corridors of the Southern Air Temple.

Chapter Text

The sky stretched wide and endless, pale gold against the rolling backs of clouds. Maia gripped the smooth handle of the staff, the wood warm in her palms, and leaned into the wind.

The glider’s orange sails snapped open with a whoosh, catching the air. For a moment, she wobbled, heart tight in her chest, but then the current lifted her, carrying her upward.

Below, the Southern Air Temple shrank into neat clusters of tiled roofs and courtyards. Beyond it, mountains rolled like waves, their green ridges fading into mist.

And around her, enormous shadows glided: the bison herd, their fur catching the sunlight, tails swishing lazily as they rode the same currents she did. One dipped lower, rumbling in its throat, and Maia laughed, actually laughed, as she guided her glider to follow its slow arc.

On the temple grounds, Jian shaded his eyes with one hand, staring up in disbelief. “She’s actually flying,” he muttered, half to himself. The monk beside him chuckled softly.

Maia angled her staff, tilting into the descent. The wind roared in her ears, pulling her braid loose and whipping strands across her face. She pulled up just in time, the glider snapping open again, and the air caught her like a cushion. With a final sweep, she circled down toward the courtyard.

Her boots hit the flagstones, knees bending with the impact. She folded the staff closed, pressing it to the ground for balance, and exhaled slowly.

The herd rumbled above, their shapes drifting back toward the peaks. The world felt hushed in their absence.

Jian clapped slowly, grinning wide. “Not bad for a girl who grew up in an ice cube.”

Maia arched an eyebrow but said nothing, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

The monks exchanged approving nods. One of them murmured, “She learns quickly.”

Jian leaned against the stone railing, watching Maia with a grin. “I’m still not sure why you put yourself through all that… flying nonsense.”

Maia didn’t reply immediately. Her glider still folded at her side, her hair wind-tossed. She glanced toward one of the monks standing a few paces off, his hands tucked into his sleeves, eyes calm and unreadable.

“You have learned well,” he said, his voice gentle but carrying weight. “But your journey continues. Before you leave, we have a gift for you.”

Maia frowned slightly. “A gift?”

The monk reached into the folds of his robes and produced a small, perfectly round apple. He handed it to her. She held it, turning it in her hands, letting the air swirl around it as if testing its weight in the currents.

“What is this for?” she asked.

The monk chuckled softly, nudging her in the direction of the herd of air bison grazing in the courtyard below.

Her eyes flicked between the apple and the bison. Slowly, realization dawned. She felt a small, warm tug in her mind, and suddenly a vision flashed across her thoughts: a young boy with a bright smile, sitting atop a large, gentle bison, holding an apple in his hand.

Maia blinked and shook herself, returning fully to the present. She took a deep breath, holding the apple firmly, and stepped toward the herd. The bison were massive, their fur catching the morning sun. She waited, motionless, the apple extended.

A smaller bison, its eyes wide and curious, approached. She held her breath as it sniffed the apple, then took it delicately into its mouth.

A quiet murmur of approval ran through the monks. Jian whistled softly.

The monk beside her clapped quietly. “She is yours now.”

Maia crouched slightly, keeping her gaze gentle and steady. She stroked the bison’s fur, feeling the warmth of its massive body. “What should I call you?”

She paused, studying the animal’s large, trusting eyes. Then a small smile curved her lips. “Lumo,” she whispered.

The monk nodded, his expression serene. “A fitting name for a companion of the Avatar.”

Jian grinned, shaking his head. “Of course you pick some philosophical name.”

Maia just smirked faintly, letting her hand rest on Lumo’s neck. For the first time, she felt a weight of legacy and a spark of joy. A connection that went back generations of airbenders, a bridge between her present and all who had come before.

—

Maia moved with quiet efficiency, securing their small belongings into leather packs and straps on the seat of Lumo’s back. Jian hesitated beside the bison, hands brushing the animal’s fur, as if afraid to disturb it.

“Come on,” Maia said softly, crouching to offer him a lift. “It’s okay. He won’t mind.”

Jian glanced at her, then back at Lumo, before finally stepping forward and letting her guide him onto the bison’s back. Lumo shifted slightly under their weight, a low, contented rumble vibrating through her chest. Maia’s hand lingered on the bison’s neck for a brief moment, feeling the warmth and steady heartbeat beneath her fingers, before she swung herself onto the saddle.

She sat there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, letting her eyes drift over the sprawling temple. The rebuilt structures gleamed pale against the green and gold of the mountainside, wind whispering through the terraces. Monks were beginning their morning routines, some glancing up and nodding in acknowledgement as she looked on.

For a moment, time seemed to still. The hum of the courtyard, the distant cry of a bird, the faint rustle of wind across the terraces. Maia breathed deeply, feeling the calm settle into her chest. She felt gratitude for this place, for the teachers who had guided her.

Jian nudged her gently, breaking her reverie. “We should go before we really get caught up in nostalgia,” he said with a crooked grin.

Maia smiled faintly, letting herself relax. She leaned forward slightly, resting a hand on Lumo’s soft, warm fur. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It’s time.”

With a gentle shift, Lumo’s hooves left the ground. The wind swept through Maia’s hair, carrying the scents of the mountains and the temple. She felt the lift beneath her, the subtle currents guiding the bison’s powerful flight.

One last glance behind her revealed the temple in its quiet morning splendor. She swallowed the pang of sadness, storing it somewhere safe in her heart, and let her gaze drift forward, to the path that lay ahead. Jian clutched the straps beside her, leaning into the rush of wind, and even in his hesitant excitement, there was a spark of trust.

Maia exhaled, a small, peaceful smile tugging at her lips. She was leaving the place she had grown to love, but she was ready, ready to see the world, ready to step further into her destiny.

The Southern Air Temple fell behind them, a gleaming silhouette against the mountains, as Maia, Jian, and Lumo soared toward the horizon, carrying a quiet promise with them.

—

Jian squinted at the map Maia had spread across Lumo’s back, the folds of parchment flapping slightly in the wind. “So… where exactly are we headed next?” he asked, shading his eyes with one hand.

Maia traced a finger along the route Katara had given her. “Kyoshi Island,” she said quietly, her silver eyes scanning the details.

Jian groaned, letting his head fall back. “Ugh, back to the Earth Kingdom. Figures.”

Maia rolled her eyes, barely hiding the twitch of a smile. She kept her attention on the map, though her eyes flicked to Jian for a moment.

“So… are you permanently dressing like a monk now?” he asked after a pause, nodding toward her robes.

Maia glanced down at herself. During her stay at the Southern Air Temple, she had adopted the soft, flowing fabrics of the monks. The orange-hued robes clinging lightly as she moved, easy and practical for bending and travel. She met Jian’s curious gaze and shrugged slightly.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she said evenly. “People are less suspicious of monks.”

Jian gave a low whistle, smirking. “Yeahhh I can see that. Definitely less suspicious than a water tribe gal with airbending.”

Maia smirked faintly at that, then returned her gaze to the horizon. Jian leaned back, the wind tugging at his hair as they soared above the mountains. They moved on in silence for a while, the soft whoosh of the airbison beneath them carrying them closer to their next destination.

The edge of Kyoshi Island eventually rose before them, cliffs dipping sharply into the sea below. Lumo’s hooves clattered softly against the rocky shore as Maia guided her air bison down, landing with practiced ease. The scent of saltwater and wild flowers mixed in the breeze, carrying with it a freshness that made Maia take a deep, steadying breath.

Leaping from the bison’s back, her silver eyes widened as she noticed giant koi fish springing from the shallow waters nearby, their scales glinting like molten gold and bronze in the sun. She stepped closer, hand brushing gently along Lumo’s thick fur. “Easy, girl,” she murmured, patting her bison’s neck.

Scanning the nearby foliage, Maia found a few fruits. She held them out for Lumo, who sniffed cautiously before taking them in her mouth. The bison’s soft, satisfied snort made Maia smile, a quiet comfort after the long journey.

Jian rolled onto the ground, hands behind his head, letting the solid earth press against him. “Ahhh… finally,” he sighed, stretching his legs. “Flying is exhilarating, sure. But I could get used to just being horizontal.”

Maia allowed herself a small laugh, watching the waves break against the rocks as Jian eventually sprung back up. Even here, on the outskirts of the island, the world felt alive: the whisper of the wind, the shimmer of the koi, the pulse of Lumo beneath her fingers.

Eventually they walked onward. The path through Kyoshi Island narrowed as Maia and Jian approached the entrance to the village. Two Kyoshi Warrior guards stepped forward, their intricate green-and-white face paint catching the sunlight, ceremonial robes rustling with every movement. Their stance was rigid, every motion calculated, eyes sharp and assessing.

“State your business,” one of them said, voice cool and commanding. She scanned the pair: an earthbender boy and a girl dressed like a monk, riding a large, gentle bison. “Travelers?” he asked again, narrowing his eyes.

Maia pushed herself slightly from Lumo’s back, hands brushing the bison’s fur. “Just travelers,” she said, her tone calm but careful. She felt Jian tense behind her, clearly ready for confrontation.

The other guard cocked her head. “And how do you have a bison?” she demanded. “I thought only an Airbender could have one, and you’re too young to be the Avatar’s daughter.”

Maia’s silver eyes flicked to Jian, who raised an eyebrow and muttered something under his breath. She almost laughed internally. “Oh,” she said lightly, “Lumo just really took an interest in me. Guess I’ve got a way with animals.” Her lips twitched at the corner, just enough to show a teasing hint.

The guards exchanged a look, scrutinizing her carefully. For a moment, the air seemed taut, as if the bison itself were holding its breath. Then, with a subtle nod, they stepped aside.

Jian let out a low whistle, clapping slowly. “Bravo,” he said, grinning. “I’m going to have to step up my lying skills if we keep running into people like that.”

Maia just shook her head, a faint smile brushing her lips as they passed into the village. She felt Lumo’s calm presence beneath her, steadying her as the sounds and smells of the Kyoshi village: fish, smoke, and wooden homes, enveloped them.

Jian wandered ahead a little, peering into shops with obvious curiosity, while Maia let her gaze drift across the village, taking in details both human and subtle.

As they rounded a small bend in the path, Maia froze. There, in a sunlit courtyard, stood a tall bronze statue of a stern-faced woman, fan in hand, eyes gazing forward as if watching over the village. Maia’s breath caught. She felt drawn to it. Something familiar tugged at her chest, a quiet hum in her mind she didn’t fully understand.

“Whoa…” Jian whispered from beside her, equally impressed. “She’s big. And kinda scary.”

Before Maia could respond, a woman approached them, her robes simple but neat, a ceremonial sash hinting at her connection to the Kyoshi Warriors. “Beautiful isn’t it,” the woman said softly, nodding toward the statue. “That is Avatar Kyoshi, one of the most powerful and respected Avatars in history. She defended this land and these people with her life, keeping balance and justice when it was needed most.”

Maia stepped closer, running a hand along the smooth bronze surface, feeling the aura of authority and power. “She feels strong,” Maia murmured, almost more to herself than the woman.

“She was,” the local continued. “It is said her presence is still felt here, that her spirit walks among us when the world is in need. Many of our warriors train to honor her strength and wisdom.”

Maia’s silver eyes flicked to Jian, who was leaning against a nearby railing, watching her with a smirk.  “Thinking about joining the warrior squad, or are you just staring at statues again?”

Maia exhaled, her fingers brushing the bronze again. The words lingered in her mind as she looked up at the sunlit figure of Kyoshi, feeling a quiet determination stir within her.

Jian tilted his head. “You planning on causing a little trouble already?”

Maia’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile, but her eyes stayed fixed on the statue before she turned and started walking further on.

Maia and Jian wandered down a narrow lane lined with small wooden shops until they spotted a cozy teahouse tucked between two larger buildings. The aroma of steeping herbs and freshly baked bread spilled into the street. Jian nudged her with a grin. “Tea? Or are we too fancy for a little cup of warmth?”

Maia let a small smile tug at her lips. “Tea sounds fine,” she said quietly, her eyes drifting for a moment to the glinting bronze of the Kyoshi statue they had left behind. 

Inside, the teahouse was warm and bustling. Wooden beams crisscrossed overhead, and steam curled from mugs filled with fragrant blends. They found a quiet table near the window, giving them a view of the marketplace outside. Jian flopped into the seat opposite her with an exaggerated sigh. “Finally, a break. Soooo, are you going to try Earth next? You’ve got water, air…what’s left?”

Maia blinked at him, thrown off. She hadn’t really thought past water and air, and the question hung in the air heavier than the steam rising from her cup. She stared into the tea, swirling it absentmindedly. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, almost to herself.

Jian leaned forward, eyebrows raised, a faint nervousness in his expression. “Well,  if you want… I could, you know, help you? Train you? Only if you want.” His voice was hesitant, as if the idea of offering guidance made him vulnerable.

Maia looked up at him, meeting his earnest gaze. Her lips curved into a soft smile, losing a little of the edge she often carried. “Maybe I’ll try eventually,” she said quietly. “It would help to have someone to show me the basics.”

Jian’s eyes lit up like a spark. “Yes! Okay, we’ll make it fun. Nothing too serious at first, I promise.”

Maia sipped her tea, letting the warmth settle into her chest. She glanced outside for a moment, thinking about the Kyoshi statue, the Warriors, and the stories of strength they carried. A quiet thought crystallized in her mind: maybe there was something she could learn here. Something beyond bending.

The murmur of other patrons faded into the background as Maia considered the possibilities. She realized that while she had always trained and wandered alone, there was value in observing, in learning from others, even from places she had just discovered.

Jian reached across the table and nudged her playfully. “You’re thinking too hard again. Tea’s supposed to be relaxing, you know.”

Maia let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but genuine. “Maybe,” she admitted, eyes flicking back toward the window. “But sometimes, thinking is the only way to know where to go.”

Jian grinned and leaned back, letting her thoughts linger. And as the tea cooled in her hands, she decided she was ready to see what lessons Kyoshi Island had in store.

—

Late that afternoon, Maia left Jian near the bison, Lumo contentedly munching on some fruits she had found, and made her way toward the large, open building where the Kyoshi Warriors trained. The rhythmic thud of wooden fans striking the floor and the sharp snap of swift movements reached her ears even before she approached. She lingered in the shadow of a nearby wall, peering inside through the open doorway, careful not to draw attention.

Inside, the warriors moved as one, their fans extending and retracting with precision, each strike flowing into the next. Their movements were fluid, almost like water at first glance, yet every motion was grounded, weighted, deliberate: an embodiment of earth itself without using any bending. 

Maia watched, enthralled, the grace and strength of the warriors resonating with something deep inside her.

For several minutes, she simply observed, letting her eyes track each subtle shift and snap of the fans. Then a voice, firm and unyielding, called from the doorway. “Hey! You there! Come out of the shadows!”

Maia froze, a small grimace crossing her face. She stepped forward reluctantly, the sunlight catching the orange and brown folds of her robe. The warrior at the door, likely the leader, crossed her arms and studied her. “And why would a monk be lurking outside our training hall? What could you possibly be watching for?”

Maia paused, caught off guard by the question, before a small chuckle escaped her. “I was just curious,” she said softly. “I’ve heard a lot about Avatar Kyoshi and the Warriors of this island. I wanted to see for myself.”

The warrior’s expression softened slightly, though her stance remained firm. “Curiosity is good, but you mustn’t disturb our practice. You may watch from inside,” she said, motioning to the far corner of the room. “Mats over there. Sit quietly.”

Maia hesitated for a moment, bowing her head in gratitude, before slipping quietly inside and settling onto the mats. She watched the warriors move again, her breathing syncing subconsciously with the rhythm of their training. Each flick, spin, and stomp impressed upon her the discipline and dedication it took.

She stayed there in quiet observation, feeling an odd mix of reverence and inspiration. Even without touching the fans herself, the motions spoke to her, showing that strength could be expressed with elegance.

As the last of the Kyoshi Warriors filtered out, their fans tucked away, the room finally quieted to just the faint hum of the wind outside. Maia rose from her corner, brushing the mats with her hands as she prepared to slip out, her heart still lingering in the rhythm of the warriors’ movements.

“Wait,” a firm voice called, stopping her mid-step. She looked up to see the leader standing near the doorway, arms crossed and one brow quirked in curiosity. “Before you go, did you learn anything interesting?”

Maia felt her cheeks warm. She glanced down, fidgeting slightly, before meeting the leader’s gaze. “Your training… it’s amazing,” she said softly. “The way you move, how you fight so well without bending. It’s graceful, precise.”

For a moment, the leader’s expression softened into a hint of pride, a subtle smile tugging at her lips. She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck thoughtfully. “Hmph. You’ve got eyes for detail, I’ll give you that,” she said. “Alright… I suppose I could show you a few steps. But only a few.”

Maia’s eyes widened, a quick, eager nod escaping her.

The older girl shook her head slightly, as if scolding her own impulsive generosity, but gestured toward the center of the hall. “Then pay attention. The fan isn’t just a weapon, it’s an extension of your body, of your intent. You don’t just strike with it, you flow with it. Every movement connects to the next, every turn of your body guides it.”

Maia stepped carefully into the middle of the hall, her hands reaching out for the fan the leader offered. It felt surprisingly light, almost alive in her grip. The warrior demonstrated slowly, holding the fan out and spinning with smooth precision, the edge cutting through the air in a whisper. “Now you try,” she instructed.

Maia mimicked the movement hesitantly at first, spinning the fan with one hand while letting the other guide her balance. The leader watched closely, correcting the angle of her wrist, the tilt of her elbow, the step of her foot. “No, no, let your center guide it. Think of the fan as part of you, not separate from you. It moves where you intend it to, not where you push it.”

Slowly, Maia began to feel it, the subtle resistance of the air, the weight of the fan syncing with the movement of her own body. Each spin became more deliberate, each step flowing into the next. She could almost feel the energy of the room shifting, her motions creating small gusts as she moved, her body and the fan a single unit.

The leader demonstrated a twirl, a step forward, and a sweep, and Maia mirrored it, hesitant at first but growing more confident. “Yes, yes, like that!” the warrior encouraged, her voice softening into admiration. “You’re finding it. Feel it. The fan isn’t just a tool, it’s a statement. It’s how you extend your will without speaking.”

Maia nodded, taking a deep breath, letting her body relax into the rhythm. The motions became almost second nature, the way she spun, stepped, and guided the fan felt like a dance, precise, yet elegant. Each swirl carried a grace she had never experienced before, and she realized the subtle connection between strength and poise, something the Kyoshi Warriors had mastered long before her.

Maia’s confidence swelled as she felt the rhythm of the fan flowing through her. She twirled once more, and on impulse, thrust her hand forward with a decisive flick of the wrist. A sudden gust of wind surged from the fan, scattering tatami mats and rustling the leader’s robes.

The warrior froze, eyes narrowing sharply. “What was that?” she asked, taking a cautious step back. Her tone was calm, but there was a weight to it, an undercurrent of a question.

Maia’s cheeks flushed. She clutched the fan tighter, aware that she had no plausible explanation for what had just happened. “I…I got carried away,” she murmured, trying to sound casual.

The warrior’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and calculating. “Carried away?” she repeated, tilting her head. “That was airbending. And you’re not one of Master Tenzin’s children, are you?” Her voice was quiet but firm, carrying an unspoken weight. “If you can bend air, then you… you must be the Avatar.”

Maia’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t deny it without lying outright, and she wasn’t ready to reveal everything. She straightened, forcing a calm expression. “ I guess the wind just responds to me more than I expected,” she said lightly, keeping her tone neutral.

The warrior’s eyes didn’t soften, they stayed sharp, weighing every movement, every word. Finally, she gave a slow nod, but the tension remained. “Be careful with that. The world is always watching.”

Maia exhaled quietly, her heart still racing. She knew she had been caught in more ways than one, but the thrill of the air bending lingered, a potent reminder of the path she had yet to fully embrace.

Maia returned the fan to the warrior, her hands steady but her mind still buzzing from the lesson, and from the unspoken tension about her airbending. The warrior took it, her eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing the girl before her. Maia waited, the silence stretching, wondering if she’d just crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

Then, after a brief pause, the warrior shook her head, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Keep it,” she said, handing the fan back. “Take care of it. It’s more useful in the hands of someone who can actually bend, especially air.”

Maia blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness. The stoic mask she usually wore softened just a little, and she allowed herself a faint smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice carrying a rare warmth.

With that, she turned and walked back toward Luma and Jian, feeling a mixture of awe and comfort. The fan, light in her hands, now seemed less like a tool and more like a reminder of what she could become, and the trust she had just been given.

—

That night, Maia lay beside Lumo, the soft warmth of the bison grounding her after the long day. Her eyes closed, and soon she drifted into sleep.

In her dream, she found herself standing atop a jagged cliff, the wind whipping around her. The sky blazed with the light of a rising sun, casting golds and reds across the mountains. 

Before her, a figure moved with effortless power.

Avatar Kyoshi.

She bent the earth as if it were nothing more than sand, lifting mountains and rolling them into shapes, her movements precise yet wild. Maia’s breath caught at the majesty of it all.

Beside Kyoshi, another figure appeared. A woman surrounded by flames, her movements graceful and fierce, fire dancing along her arms. Maia watched, mesmerized, as the two women moved together in harmony, bending their elements not as tools of war, but as extensions of themselves, as if the world itself were their instrument.

The vision shifted, showing glimpses of towns saved, spirits guided, and the balance of the world preserved. Maia felt the power and responsibility of the avatar pulse through her, echoing through time. Yet, amidst it all, she felt a thread of connection, these past lives, paths she had walked, and they were waiting to guide her when she needed it most.

Chapter Text

The midday sun beat down as Maia guided Lumo along the dusty road that wound into Gaoling. The city stretched before them, built in layers of pale stone and carved terraces, its gates busy with traders, carts, and wandering travelers. 

The sharp, earthy scent of clay and metalwork hung in the air, mixing with the sounds of merchants calling their wares and children darting through the crowd.

Jian walked a step ahead, his shoulders square with something between pride and unease. His boots pressed firmly into the ground, each stride deliberate, as if the earth itself recognized him. “Feels strange being back on Earth Kingdom soil,” he muttered, glancing around at the stone walls and bustling plazas. “My element, my people, yet I’ve spent more time running than belonging.”

Maia said nothing at first, trailing after him in her orange-hued robes, her eyes flicking from the sharp edges of tiled roofs to the square solidity of stone markets. The ground beneath her felt unyielding, heavier than the flowing air currents she had spent weeks trying to master. 

Every step carried a faint resistance, and she couldn’t help but think how unlike it was to the sky. Earth doesn’t bend… it endures. The thought unsettled her.

The market swallowed them quickly: rows of stalls spilling with baskets of fruit, stacked pots, weapons, and fabrics dyed in deep greens and browns. One table in particular caught Jian’s eye, and Maia followed his gaze. Carved figurines, etched medallions, and painted scrolls all bore the same unmistakable crest: a stylized badgermole. The vendor was in the middle of a story, voice rising with pride.

“…Toph Beifong herself, born right here in Gaoling! The Blind Bandit, the greatest earthbender of her age! Without her, the Avatar never would’ve defeated Fire Lord Ozai. A true legend!”

The crowd murmured in agreement, some bowing their heads as if paying respect.

Maia lingered, her eyes falling on a weathered portrait of a small, fierce-looking woman standing beside Avatar Aang and his companions. The artist had painted her with her feet planted wide, arms raised in command over towering slabs of stone. There was no mistaking her strength, even in a simple likeness.

Jian nudged Maia with his elbow, a grin tugging at his mouth. “See? Earth Kingdom produces legends. Beifong put Gaoling on the map. No pressure or anything.”

Maia didn’t smile, but her gaze lingered on the portrait longer than she meant to. 

Jian had to tug Maia away from the vendor’s stall, the crowd still murmuring about Toph Beifong. “C’mon,” he said with a grin. “If you think this is impressive, wait until you see where she lived.”

Maia raised a brow. “Where she lived?”

“The Beifong estate,” Jian said, as if the name alone explained everything. “You didn’t think they’d just tear it down after she left, did you? No, no. The place is practically a shrine now. Half museum, half…I dunno, fancy school.”

They wove through the narrow streets, past rows of stone houses, until the road widened and gave way to towering gates of carved marble. The Beifong crest, a flying boar, was etched deep into the archway. Guards waved them through, accustomed to curious travelers.

Inside, the estate unfolded in a spread of manicured courtyards, ponds, and training yards. The main house rose tall and elegant, its pale walls gleaming against the afternoon sun. Where once it might have been closed off to all but nobles, now the place bustled with students and historians, their voices carrying through the air.

They followed a guide through one of the galleries, its walls lined with scrolls and displays of Toph Beifong’s life. Maia moved slowly, her eyes trailing over each detail. One case held the simple green tunic and pants Toph had worn in her early youth, patched and worn but still preserved. Another showed sketches of the infamous “Blind Bandit” persona. 

Jian stopped in front of a plaque describing her escape from the estate, his grin widening. “See, that’s what I like about her. Rich family, fancy estate, but she sneaks out to go wrestle in dirt pits. Total rebel. Maybe you’ll get some ideas.”

Maia gave him a flat look. “Hardly.”

“You sure?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “I can see it now. The mysterious monk girl, secretly entering Earth Rumble under an alias. The crowd chanting your name…”

Her lips pressed thin, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “Ridiculous.”

They moved on, the guide stopping before a metal display case filled with twisted bars of iron and copper. The plaque beneath read: Toph Beifong, the first metalbender. From her discovery came an entirely new art, one that reshaped the Earth Kingdom forever.

Maia lingered there, staring at the jagged pieces of warped metal. The idea that someone had expanded bending itself, it was staggering. If Toph had pushed the boundaries of what earth could be, what was expected of the Avatar?

Jian nudged her again, softer this time. “Look at her. She changed everything, and she didn’t even want the spotlight. You don’t need to be the next Beifong. But who knows, maybe earth will come to you in the same way it came to her.”

Maia didn’t answer. Her fingers brushed lightly over the metal fan tucked at her side, the gift from Kyoshi’s warrior. So many lives, so many legacies pressed against her, yet she was only beginning.

They left the gallery in silence, stepping back into the wide courtyard. Jian stretched his arms and glanced around. “So. Next stop, Earth Rumble? You know I have to see this.”

But the brightness in Jian’s eyes made her shake her head. “Not now,” she added, voice quieter, weariness slipping through. “I’d rather have some quiet.”

Jian tilted his head, studying her face for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough. Tea and sightseeing can wait.”

They left the estate grounds, weaving back through the streets until the clamor of the city thinned into open air. At the edge of Gaoling, past the last clustered houses, Lumo was waiting in the shade of a tree near the hillside. The sky bison let out a soft, low bellow when she saw them, her tail swishing like an oversized cat’s.

Maia’s features softened immediately. She hurried forward, resting her hand against the warm fur of Luma’s muzzle. “Good girl. Did you behave while we were gone?”

Lumo huffed, nudging her shoulder.

Jian laughed, dropping heavily to the grass beside them. He stretched out his arms and legs as though he hadn’t walked in weeks. “Ahh, finally. Grass, air, quiet. Much better than dusty old plaques.”

Maia sank down beside him, fingers combing absentmindedly through Luma’s fur. But her mind was elsewhere. The image of Toph bending not just earth, but metal, lingered in her thoughts. Strength, resilience, all things that still felt foreign to her.

She hesitated, then glanced sideways at Jian. “...Could you show me?”

He blinked. “Show you what?”

“Earthbending,” Maia said, the word clipped as though she feared it might break apart if she said it too slowly. “You know it. I don’t. If I’m supposed to learn, maybe I should start.”

For a moment, Jian just stared at her. Then a grin spread across his face, smug and sharp. “Ohhh, so now you want my help?”

Maia scowled faintly. “Do you want to or not?”

“Oh, I’ll help,” Jian said quickly, already bouncing to his feet. “But don’t think I’m letting you forget this moment. The great little avatar, actually asking me for bending lessons.” He puffed out his chest and struck a mock-serious stance. “Alright then. First lesson in the glorious art of earthbending.”

Maia rolled her eyes but stood, brushing grass from her robes.

Jian stomped once, firmly, the ground vibrating under his heel. “Rule one: you can’t dance around like you do with air. Earth doesn’t flow, it waits. You want to move it? You stand your ground and push it your way. Solid. Simple.”

He gestured for her to copy him. Maia set her feet apart and tried to mimic his stance. It already felt wrong. Too rigid, too heavy. Her body longed to shift, to pivot, to breathe.

“Good. Now, plant yourself. Imagine your feet sinking into the ground, like roots.” Jian squatted low, pressing his palms against the earth. “Feel it. Don’t let it shove you, don’t move away from it. You move through it.”

Maia clenched her jaw and pressed down, but the earth only felt cold and unyielding under her skin. No current, just stillness. She shifted her weight without meaning to.

“Don’t dodge!” Jian barked, snapping upright. “That’s not earth. Stand there. Take it.”

“I am,” she shot back, trying again. This time she forced her feet flat, her knees stiff. When Jian motioned for her to shove forward, she thrust both hands out. A small rumble answered beneath the dirt, then fizzled, nothing more than a shiver.

Maia flinched, instinctively hopping back.

Jian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You can’t keep skipping out of the way like a leaf in the wind. Stop running. You have to hold your ground.”

Maia bristled, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are,” Jian retorted, planting his hands on his hips. “The second it pushes back, you flinch. Earth doesn’t care about flinching. It just is. You either push through it, or it shoves you aside.”

She tried again, stubborn now. Stance wide. Hands steady. She stomped like he did, pushing forward with every ounce of breath in her lungs. The earth trembled a little beneath her heel, but again, it slid away, her body twitching to the side as though avoiding an invisible blow.

The ground stilled.

Maia’s chest heaved, frustration catching in her throat. “It’s not working.”

Jian’s smugness had faded into a mix of irritation and pity. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not going to happen in a day. Air’s all about moving around what’s in front of you. Earth’s the opposite. You’ve gotta dig in. Learn to take the hit before you give one back.”

Maia’s gaze dropped to her feet, pressing into the dirt. The weight of the earth felt foreign, suffocating even, but she didn’t step away.

“I’ll get it,” she murmured, more to herself than him. “Even if it takes me forever.”

Jian studied her for a moment, then nodded once. “Good. Keep that fire. That’s half the fight.”

She said nothing more, but as the sun sank behind Gaoling’s walls, Maia remained where she was, feet pressed firmly into the earth.

For once, she didn’t move.

Chapter Text

The next day, Gaoling was already buzzing with anticipation. Shouts echoed through the streets, vendors were pushing carts piled high with roasted nuts and skewered meats, and banners in shades of green and brown flapped overhead. The energy seemed to pour from every cobblestone, pulling the crowd toward a single direction: the Earth Rumble arena.

Jian practically bounced on his heels, tugging Maia along with the current of people. “Come on, you have to see this,” he said, his grin wide and boyish. “It’s a tradition here. Earth Rumble is legendary. This is where Toph herself got her start.”

Maia let herself be pulled forward, though her steps lagged. The noise pressed in from every side. It was chaos, a kind of energy that pushed instead of flowed. She found herself wishing for the soft stillness of the Air Temple, for the slow rhythm of snow in her icy village.

“This… is a lot,” she muttered, dodging a particularly enthusiastic boy waving a painted sign for his favorite competitor.

Jian only laughed, practically glowing. “That’s the point! Earthbenders don’t do quiet. You’re about to see the best of the best, all in one place.”

They rounded a corner and the arena came into view: a massive stone amphitheater, its walls carved straight from the cliffs. The roar of the crowd inside surged like an ocean, spilling into the streets. Maia stared, wide-eyed, her stomach twisting at the thought of willingly walking into that storm of energy.

Still, Jian pressed forward, buying them a spot near the front. Maia inhaled slowly, bracing herself.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and excitement. Stone pillars ringed the circular pit where two competitors squared off, and the crowd above stomped and cheered, their voices rattling the walls.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” boomed the announcer, his voice amplified by a little earth pedestal he stood on. “Prepare yourselves for the clash of titans! On the left, the Stone Pillar!”

A massive man stomped forward, flexing his bulging arms as he roared. The crowd went wild, chanting his name. He slammed his fists into the ground, sending a wave of rocks jutting up around him in a show of power.

“And on the right, the reigning champion of Gaoling, Steel Toe!”

The crowd erupted again as a lean fighter in heavy boots vaulted into the ring. With one sharp stomp, he split the arena floor in a jagged line straight toward the Stone Pillar. Dust shot upward in a geyser, and the fight began.

Maia clutched the edge of her seat as the two brawlers collided. Steel Toe launched himself forward with another stomp, trying to sweep Pillar off his feet, but Pillar only laughed, lifting a giant slab of rock like it was a toy and hurling it across the pit. The stone shattered against Steel Toe’s crossed arms, sending him skidding back.

The crowd screamed with delight. Some shouted bets, others waved flags. Jian leaned in close to Maia, his eyes shining. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Earthbending raw and loud!”

In the ring, Steel Toe recovered, grinning wickedly. He slammed his heel down, a stone boot forming around his leg. He dashed forward, each step cracking the ground, before spinning in a kick that smashed Pillar’s shoulder. Pillar staggered, the crowd roaring with every impact.

“Earthbending isn’t about grace,” Jian said over the noise, smirking at Maia. “It’s about holding your ground, taking the hit, and hitting harder back.”

Maia winced as Pillar retaliated, slamming both fists into the dirt. A wall of stone surged up beneath Steel Toe, flinging him high into the air. For a moment, the champion was weightless, arms flailing. The crowd gasped.

Then Steel Toe twisted midair, slammed both boots into the falling stone wall, and shattered it with a deafening crack. Dust exploded through the arena as he landed in a crouch, fists raised.

The crowd went wild. Coins flew, children screamed with joy, and Maia found herself leaning forward despite herself, her pulse quickening.

The announcer bellowed, “And that’s Earth Rumble!”

The crowd was still buzzing after the last fight, stomping their feet and chanting for the next challenger. Vendors pushed through the aisles, selling roasted nuts and rock-candy on sticks, voices lost under the roar of hundreds of people.

Maia sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, trying not to get jostled. Jian was leaning so far forward she thought he might fall over the railing.

That’s when she noticed a small figure weaving through the crush of bodies. A child, no more than six or seven, with wide eyes and dirty cheeks, slipping under elbows and between legs like a shadow. No adult trailed after them.

The kid popped up beside Maia’s row, staring. Not at the fighters, not at the announcer, but straight at her.

Maia shifted uncomfortably under the child’s gaze. “...Can I help you?” she asked, low enough that Jian didn’t hear.

“You’re not from here,” the kid said plainly, eyes scanning her orange robes, the beads at her wrist, the calm way she sat compared to the stomping crowd. “And you’ve got a fan. Only Airbenders have those.”

Maia’s heart skipped, but she forced a small, polite smile. “Maybe I’m just a simple monk.”

The kid didn’t look convinced. They squinted, tilting their head. “You feel weird. Different. Not like other people.”

Jian finally noticed, turning with a frown. “Uh, hey, where are your parents, kid?”

The child shrugged, never taking their eyes off Maia. “Don’t have any here. Don’t need any. I know what I saw. I’m gonna follow you.”

Maia blinked. “What? No, you should–”

But the announcer’s booming voice cut her off, the next fight starting with a thunderous stomp that shook the whole arena. The crowd surged to its feet, cheering, and in the chaos the kid had already slipped into the seat right beside Maia, small legs swinging, eyes still fixed on her.

Jian groaned. “Great. We’ve got a tagalong.”

Maia rubbed her temple, glancing sidelong at the child’s stubborn little face. Something about their blunt honesty made her uneasy, and curious.

—

The crowd spilled out of the arena in waves, voices echoing down Gaoling’s narrow streets. Dust rose in the air, banners flapped overhead, and vendors were already hawking cheap replicas of the moves they’d just seen.

Jian was still buzzing with excitement, hands flying as he reenacted one of the finishing moves. “-and then wham, straight through the stone wall! Did you see her face? Classic!”

Maia trailed behind, half-listening, her head still pounding from the deafening cheers. She just wanted quiet.

But quiet wasn’t what she got.

The little kid from earlier popped out of the crowd like a stray turtle-duck, scampering right up to her side.

“How’d you get a bison?” the kid demanded, chin jutting up like they deserved an answer.

Maia blinked down at them. “Didn’t we already–”

“You don’t look like a monk. Not really.” The kid squinted, like they were trying to see straight through her.

Jian burst out laughing. “Ha! I like this one. Sharp eye.”

Maia shot him a glare, but that only made him grin wider.

“Can you bend?” the kid pressed on, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Show me something!”

Maia stopped walking, fixing them with a look she usually saved for Jian. “No.”

The kid crossed their arms, clearly not convinced. They fell back into step anyway, tiny feet pattering against the cobblestones.

Jian leaned closer, smirking. “Guess you’ve got a shadow now.”

Maia groaned softly, pulling her braid over one shoulder as if that could shield her from the child’s relentless gaze. Still, she didn’t chase them off. Something about the kid’s stubbornness, too much like her own, kept her from saying the words.

Instead, she walked on, the odd little trio drawing stares as they headed deeper into Gaoling.

—

The crowd outside the Earth Rumble thinned as the night deepened, lanterns flickering in the dusty streets.

From a balcony overlooking the main square, a stocky man leaned against the railing, arms crossed. His nose was crooked from too many fights, his knuckles scarred from brawls. He wasn’t smiling.

Down below, his eyes tracked the two travelers, one in orange robes, the other in patched Earth Kingdom clothes, trailing an air bison through the edge of the market. They didn’t belong here. 

He spat into the street. “A monk and some village boy? Sticking out like bad mortar.”

A second figure stepped out of the shadows inside the room, a lean woman with jade-green face paint smudged from the night’s fighting. One of the undercard Earth Rumble brawlers, still rolling her sore shoulder.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” she muttered, eyes following his.

The man’s mouth twisted into something like a grin. “That girl ain’t no monk. And if she’s walking around Gaoling with a flying bison, she’s worth watching. Worth taking, maybe.”

The woman arched a brow. “The arena’s full of out-of-towners, and you want to stir trouble with some kid and her pet?”

“She’s not just some kid.” He nodded at Maia’s distant silhouette, the way she carried herself, steady, cautious, with a presence he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore. “There’s something stranger about her.”

The woman frowned. “You’re saying she’s a bender?”

“I’m saying she’s trouble. And trouble’s either a threat…” He tapped his knuckles against the wooden railing, slow and heavy. “…or an opportunity.”

Below, Maia glanced around once, as though she felt the eyes on her, then turned back toward the quiet road leading out of the square.

The man pushed away from the railing, his decision made. “Keep an eye on them. If they’re worth something, we’ll know soon enough.”

The shadows swallowed the two gang members again, leaving the market alive with laughter, clattering dishes, and the faint, fading sound of a child’s curious questions.

—

The lanterns in their small rented room cast long shadows over the packed bags and Lumo’s soft snores. Jian was sprawled across a blanket, muttering half-hearted encouragements as Maia knelt on the floor, fists gripping the packed earth around a small stone slab.

“Root yourself, push, resist…” Jian’s voice droned, but Maia’s movements remained stiff, her airbending instincts resisting the grounding, heavy motions he demanded. The slab barely budged.

She let out a frustrated sigh, wiping sweat from her brow. “I don’t get it. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe it’s not supposed to feel right at first,” Jian mumbled, already half-asleep.

Maia rolled her eyes and tried one more time, focusing on the stone beneath her hand, imagining it as something alive, pliable yet firm. The stone barely trembled. She groaned, sinking back on her heels.

Then, faint giggles drifted from outside the door. She frowned. Her ears caught the sound of small, clumsy stomps on the wooden floor, followed by a whispered imitation of her movements.

“Root… push… resist…” came a tiny, high-pitched voice.

Maia froze, recognizing the cadence immediately. She pushed herself up and crept to the door. Peering out, she spotted the kid from the rumble crouched in the shadows, imitating her frustrated postures and heavy breathing.

Her lips twitched against her will. “Are you seriously copying me?” she whispered, part amused, part exasperated.

The child’s eyes widened. “I just wanted to see if I could do it like you…”

Maia shook her head slowly, exhaling. Despite the irritation, a strange warmth grounded her.

“Keep practicing,” she said softly. 

The kid nodded eagerly and scampered off into the dark, leaving Maia alone again with the stubborn slab of earth and the quiet, grounding knowledge that, no matter how clumsy she felt, she was moving forward.

Chapter Text

Maia sat cross-legged on the dirt floor, her hands hovering over a small mound of packed earth. Jian stretched nearby, still half-asleep, muttering about how his “expert coaching” has yet to produce results.

Maia clenches her fists, focusing. She tries again to lift the mound, imagining it flowing with her intent, bending to her will. But the earth barely shifts. Her airbending instincts betray her, she twists and dodges instead of anchoring and pushing.

Jian sits back on his heels, scratching his head. “Maybe you’re overthinking it… or underthinking it. Or maybe, the earth just doesn’t like you yet.” He smirks, though his voice holds no real bite, he’s enjoying the process.

Maia lets out a low sigh, frustration clear but contained. “It’s not about liking me. I just…can’t do it.” Her voice is quiet but firm, tinged with that edge she always carries.

The two lapse into a tense silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of small stones sliding against each other as Maia tests her focus. Outside, the town hums to life, traders shouting, children running, a distant clang of metal.

Maia finally leans back, wiping sweat from her forehead. She catches Jian watching her, eyebrows raised. “I’ll get it,” she mutters, more to herself than him.

Jian chuckles softly. “Yeah, you will. But maybe we need a new approach. You’ve been stubbornly trying it your way too long.”

Maia narrows her eyes in mock suspicion. “Oh? And what do you suggest?”

Jian grins. “Who knows? I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

Maia grumbled, before falling to the floor.

—

Maia sighs, letting her frustration melt into the afternoon air. She wipes the dirt from her hands and decides to take a walk through the village, needing the shift in scenery as much as a break from her stubborn earth mound. The streets are alive with the usual chatter.

She drifts toward a small alley where old scrolls are stacked outside a modest shop. Curiosity pulls her in, and she crouches to pick one up, brushing her fingers over the faded symbols. She barely registers the crisp scrape of boots against stone behind her.

“Studying the local history, are we?” a low, smooth voice interrupts.

Maia straightens, squinting at the figure before her. A woman stands there, tall, muscular, a scar slicing across her cheek. 

“Yes,” Maia replies cautiously, her voice clipped.

The woman steps closer, tilting her head with curiosity. “You’re not from around here, are you? Your robes, you’ve seen more of the world than most kids your age.”

Maia narrows her eyes, suspicious. “I’m nothing special,” she says curtly, returning her attention to the scroll.

The woman chuckles, a warm but slightly dangerous sound. “If you say so. But don’t think that people don’t notice things. Like that bison of yours, for instance.”

Maia’s grip tightens on the scroll, though her posture remains composed. “It’s nothing of your concern,” she says evenly, trying to keep her tone neutral.

The woman raises her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your studies.” She pauses, giving Maia a last, appraising glance, a faint smirk tugging at her scarred lips. “Enjoy your travels.”

With that, she strides away, disappearing into the bustling street, but her eyes flick once more over Maia, sharp and measuring. Maia exhales slowly, letting her shoulders relax, but a flicker of unease lingers as she watches the woman’s retreating form.

As Maia turns back toward the scrolls, she feels a small tug at her robe. She glances down to see the little boy from yesterday, eyes wide and curious, holding onto her sleeve.

“Hey! Wait, wait, where are you going?” he chirps, bouncing on his heels. “Do you know that woman? What scrolls are those? Can you read?”

Maia sighs softly, keeping her gaze forward, deliberately ignoring him as she walks away. The questions come faster than she can dodge them, tumbling over each other like river stones in a rush.

“Why don’t you answer me? Are you going somewhere important? Can you show me a trick?”

Her patience snaps. She stops and turns slightly, her tone sharper than she intended. “Enough!” she says firmly. “I don’t have time for little kids.”

The boy flinches, hurt flashing across his small face. He drops her sleeve and scurries off, muttering under his breath.

Maia exhales, feeling a pang of guilt immediately after. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but the frustration she’d been holding had overflowed. Her shoulders slump, and she murmurs to herself, “I really need to control my temper…”

—

Maia and Jian sit on the edge of the camp, Lumo resting nearby, her great head brushing the ground as she hums softly. The air was calm, the sounds of the village drifting faintly on the wind. Jian leans back, watching Maia fidget with a small rock in her hands.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says gently, breaking the silence. “What’s wrong?”

Maia hesitates, staring at the rock as if it might answer for her. “I’ve never been this frustrated,” she admits finally. “Bending always comes easy to me, it’s never been like this.” She swallows, then sighs. “And…I was a little mean to that kid today.”

Jian nods slowly, letting the words settle. “Yeah… I get it,” he says quietly. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders, and sometimes it just comes out wrong. Don’t beat yourself up too much.” He reaches over, giving her shoulder a gentle, grounding squeeze.

Maia offers a faint, almost shy smile in response, appreciating the small comfort. They sit together in silence for a moment, the soft breeze from Lumo’s presence brushing against them.

Then, a sharp rustle overhead catches their attention. A messenger bird swoops down, a small scroll clutched in its talons. It lands lightly on a nearby rock, tilting its head as if waiting.

Maia and Jian exchange a glance. Maia reaches for the scroll, feeling a flicker of curiosity. She carefully unrolls the scroll, her fingers tightening around the parchment. Her eyes scan the words, and her stomach twists.

"If you want the boy back, meet us at sundown. Come alone, or he pays the price."

Her heart skips a beat. The handwriting is jagged, threatening. She glances at Jian, whose eyes have gone wide, reading over her shoulder.

“They have the kid?” Jian asks, his voice tight with disbelief.

Maia swallows, her jaw set. “Yes.” Her usual calm, measured tone carries an edge of steel.nShe feels a flash of guilt for snapping at the boy earlier. I let my frustration show. I can’t let him get hurt because of that.

She rolls the scroll tightly and tucks it into her robes. “We don’t have much time. We’ll get him back.”

Jian exhales sharply, trying to mask the worry in his face. “Alright… what’s the plan?”

—

The sun hangs low, bleeding orange across the sky as Maia and Jian approach the hilltop. Shadows stretch long across the rough terrain, and a tense silence hums between them. Maia’s eyes sweep the area, landing immediately on the tall, scarred woman from earlier. She’s flanked by a dozen rough-looking bandits, each sizing Maia up, waiting for the exchange.

Jian whispers urgently, “Maia…maybe we should–”

Maia cuts him off with a small shrug, her jaw tight. “It’s fine. We can do this.”

The woman steps forward, the boy held firmly in her grasp. He glances at Maia, wide-eyed, unsure but trusting. Maia hesitates a beat, then steps forward, every movement deliberate, calm. Jian mirrors her motion for a moment, then relaxes, trusting her lead.

The woman jabs a finger toward Maia. “Your move. Hand over yourself, and he’s free.”

Maia’s gaze flicks to Jian. He nods almost imperceptibly. Her lips curve slightly, not a smile, but an acknowledgment. She looks back to the boy, then meets the woman’s eyes, stepping closer.

The boy bolts toward Jian the instant Maia takes the step, sprinting into his arms without looking back. The woman catches Maia with an iron grip, holding her steady. Her eyes gleam with smug satisfaction, thinking she has the upper hand.

But Maia’s gaze is calm, calculating. She meets Jian’s eyes, and he returns a subtle nod. That’s all the signal she needs.

With a sharp stomp, Jian drives his foot into the ground. The earth groans and explodes upward, a thick wall of dust and debris shooting between them and the bandits. Visibility drops instantly, choking the horizon in swirling earth.

Maia flexes her fingers, ready. She senses the currents of air around her, feeling the subtle shifts in the dust cloud, the pressure of the ground beneath her. Every breath is measured, every movement controlled. The bandits’ shouts are muffled, their confusion palpable.

The dust churned around them like a living wall, shadows and muted shapes twisting in the thick haze. Her fan was in hand, gripped firmly. She tilted it, guiding a rush of wind that sliced through the swirling dust. The blast slammed into a group of bandits, sending them sprawling backward.

She pivoted quickly, sending a second gust, this one sharper, more controlled, forcing another bandit into the earth. Every movement was deliberate, the air flowed where she wanted it, bending and swaying like an extension of her own body.

Jian stomped again, raising small mounds of earth to block the bandits’ line of sight, funneling them into her currents. She leaned into her bending, focusing, feeling the rush of power as the dust whipped around her.

“Keep moving!” she shouted to Jian, her voice cutting through the chaos.

A pair of bandits lunged blindly toward her, swords swinging. Maia twirled her fan, redirecting a spiral of wind that caught them mid-lunge, tossing them into the dust cloud with a muffled grunt. Another bandit charged from the side; Maia snapped her fan downward, sending a vortex that lifted him off his feet and buried him in the swirling debris.

She could barely see, but she could feel. Every step of the bandits created subtle shifts in the dust. With each brush of air, she pushed them back, controlled their movements without ever truly touching them.

The dust began to thin, settling into the grooves of the hill. Maia’s eyes darted through the haze. Jian was a short distance away, bruised and battered, clearly knocked out. He couldn’t help. Her stomach clenched.

The woman from earlier held the little boy in her strong arms. The child squirmed and kicked, trying to escape, but the woman’s grip was unyielding. Maia’s chest tightened. She raised her hands, but the woman’s earth bending was faster. Walls of jagged stone erupted with each of Maia’s attempts, blocking her air strikes.

“There’s nothing you can do now,” the woman said, her voice calm, almost taunting.

Maia’s frustration flared, and she lashed out with gusts of wind again and again. Each time, the earth responded, slamming back at her, forcing her to dodge. Her breathing grew rapid. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the solid weight beneath her feet. Ground yourself.

Slowly, deliberately, she pushed her awareness into the earth, letting it flow through her. The dirt, rocks, and gravel shifted at her command. Stones surged forward to shield her, then tumbled toward the bandit as her first deliberate earth bending. The strikes didn’t topple the woman, but they made her hesitate. For a brief moment, surprise flashed across her face before a grin spread.

“The Avatar,” the woman muttered, excitement creeping into her tone. “This is getting more interesting.”

Without warning, she tossed the boy across the ground. He hit the dirt but rolled, unscathed, scrambling to safety. The woman’s focus was entirely on Maia now. She hurled earth attacks with relentless precision.

Maia twisted and leapt, deflecting most with controlled blasts of air from her fan, occasionally reinforcing them with short bursts of earth. But a jagged chunk struck her shoulder, sending her crashing to the ground. Dizziness clouded her vision. She looked up as the woman advanced, towering and unrelenting.

Heart hammering, Maia steadied herself. She gripped her fan, letting her awareness flow outward. She surged upward with a precise combination of air strikes, knocking the bandit off balance. The woman stumbled, skidding across loose dirt, and Maia scrambled to her feet.

Her gaze fell to a narrow stream nearby. She drew water with careful precision, swirling it into a sharp, freezing arc. The liquid solidified around the woman, trapping her mid-step. Ice clung to her arms, holding her fast.

Maia’s chest heaved as she stared down at her opponent. Dust clung to her robes, sweat streaked her face, and cuts marred her arms, but the fight was over. The little boy blinked at her from a safe distance, and Maia felt the weight of exhaustion settle around her shoulders, but she had protected him.

A low groan came from behind her. Maia turned just in time to see Jian stirring, sitting up with a dazed expression and rubbing his jaw.

“Ugh…what happened?” he grumbled, his voice rough but laced with irritation more than pain.

Maia couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking her head. “You really knocked yourself out, huh?” she said, her voice gentle but amused.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the little boy approaching. His eyes were wide, a little teary, and he ran straight into her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Thank you! You saved me,” he stammered.

Maia hugged him back, awkward but tender, her hands resting on his small shoulders. “I’m sorry too. You’re safe now,” she said quietly, her usual stoicism softening for just a moment.

Jian, still half-dazed, blinked and shook his head. “You took down all those bandits?”

Maia grinned, her eyes sparkling. “I earthbended,” she said simply, letting the word hang in the air.

Jian’s jaw dropped. Then, after a beat, he let out a low whistle, his confusion replaced with approval. “I knew you could.”

The little boy peeked up at her, eyes wide and shining. “Are you… are you the Avatar?”

Maia’s grin softened into a patient, quiet smile. She ruffled the boy’s hair gently and winked.

Jian shook his head, muttering under his breath, “I swear, traveling with you is never boring…”

Maia laughed softly, a rare, warm sound, feeling the relief of the moment.

—

The first light of morning glinted off the rooftops of Gaoling as Maia and Jian loaded their belongings back onto Lumo. Dust still clung to their clothes from the fight, but there was a sense of quiet triumph in the air. Maia lingered a moment longer, her gaze sweeping over the city she had just defended.

Jian nudged her gently. “Hey,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips, “the boy’s safe. I found him a home with some people in town. He’s going to be fine.”

Maia’s lips curved into a small, serene smile. She nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of relief. “Good,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the wind brushing the edge of the city walls.

She turned to Lumo, brushing her hands over his fur. The air bison snorted and stamped, as if sensing it was time to move on. Maia climbed onto his back, feeling the familiar, grounding presence beneath her. Jian clambered up behind her, still smirking despite the lingering bruises.

The city of Gaoling fell away beneath them, the wind tugging at their clothes and hair, carrying them higher. Maia let her gaze drift toward the horizon, feeling the freedom of the skies.

Chapter Text

The air grew thick and humid as Maia guided Lumo lower, the foggy canopy stretching endlessly beneath them. Jian squinted through the mist, uneasy. “Why does it feel like something’s pulling us down?” he muttered, his grip on the saddle tightening.

Maia’s eyes scanned the map Katara had given her, the Foggy Swamp marked boldly in ink. Clearly, it was important. She didn’t know why, but the pull she felt wasn’t just from the air currents, it was almost magnetic.

The swamp’s gnarled trees and hanging moss passed below like ghosts in the fog, and the soft croaks and chirps of distant creatures echoed faintly. Lumo shivered slightly, instinctively slowing her flight. Maia’s brow furrowed, curiosity sharpening. “Stay alert, Jian. There’s something different about this place.”

Jian swallowed, looking around nervously. “Different is one way to put it. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

They drifted lower, mist curling around them. With every passing second, the pull intensified, tugging at her chest, urging her downward. Maia’s hand tightened on the glider’s strap, her other hand instinctively resting on the braid at her neck. Curiosity and caution warred in her chest. 

The swamp spread wider before them, stretching beyond sight, fog twisting and writhing as if alive. Jian looked pale. “Uh…maybe we should circle back–”

Maia shook her head, eyes narrowing in determination. “Not yet. I need to know why this place is marked. Something’s here for a reason.”

The swamp seemed to inhale as Maia guided Lumo down through the thickening fog. Each step the bison took was muffled by the damp moss and shallow water below, the soft squelch echoing faintly in the heavy air. Mist curled around their legs like living fingers, obscuring the gnarled roots and twisted trees that jutted from the swamp. The smell of wet earth and decomposing vegetation hung in the air, rich and pungent, making Maia wrinkle her nose.

“Feels almost alive,” Jian muttered, eyes darting nervously. His voice sounded small in the oppressive quiet, swallowed almost instantly by the mist. “I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s like the swamp knows we’re here.”

Maia didn’t answer. Her silver eyes, normally sharp and reflective, now seemed wide and watchful, scanning the distorted shapes around them. She felt the pull again, something in the swamp was reaching for her, and she couldn’t tell if it was a warning or an invitation.

Lumo stepped carefully into a shallow pool, water lapping at her hooves. Ripples spread outward, and in their reflections, the fog seemed to twist unnaturally. Maia blinked, catching the faint shimmer of shapes beneath the surface: elongated, indistinct figures, darting in and out of sight.

“You see that too, right?” Jian whispered, voice trembling slightly.

“I think so,” Maia said, cautiously. Her hand instinctively brushed against the braid at her neck, grounding herself. “But it’s hard to say what’s real.”

The swamp pressed closer as they walked, the fog thickening until the world beyond a few feet vanished. Suddenly, a strange shimmer flickered in the air ahead, colors bleeding into one another. Maia’s stomach flipped as the shapes solidified into vague humanoid figures. They were tall, elongated, and impossibly thin, faces blurred, reaching for her with slow, fluid gestures.

She blinked, and the figures were gone. Yet the air still pulsed with an almost imperceptible rhythm, like a heartbeat vibrating beneath the ground. Her senses screamed that the swamp was alive in a way she had never felt, as if it had a consciousness older than any city, older than any forest she had known.

Jian took a step backward. “Uh…Maia? Maybe we should leave.” His voice was steadier than his face, but she could see the tension in his posture.

Maia shook her head, stepping forward. “No. I can feel something important here. Something Katara wanted me to see.”

As they moved deeper, the hallucinations intensified. Shadows danced at the corners of their vision. Glimpses of figures in long robes, bending shapes of water and air into patterns that vanished the instant they tried to focus. The fog twisted, sometimes forming archways of branches that weren’t really there, or showing glimpses of broken, decayed temples just beyond the mist. Every time Maia reached for them, the images dissolved like smoke.

She could feel a subtle vibration under her feet, faint and rhythmic. She knelt briefly, pressing her hands to the wet moss. Her bending instincts tingled, not just water, not just air, something else stirred. The swamp was speaking to her through the elements, and she could feel it, if only barely.

“You’re not scared?” Jian asked, voice small. He lagged slightly behind her, glancing around with wide eyes.

Maia exhaled slowly, trying to calm the rising pulse in her chest. “It’s a little strange. But I think it wants to show me something.” Her words were quiet, almost a whisper to herself.

Then, the hallucinations changed. The shapes around them began to take form. Images of her past, subtle flashes: herself in distant villages, in moments she didn’t remember, mingling with past lives she had barely glimpsed before. A feeling of déjà vu pressed on her mind, each image accompanied by a whisper that wasn’t entirely in the air.

Maia froze, heart hammering. She blinked, and the vision was gone, replaced by the looming silhouette of a massive cypress, its roots tangled and curling like fingers, half-submerged in the foggy water. But now she felt the pull more strongly than ever, as if the swamp itself were urging her forward, testing her.

The fog thickened again, clinging to them like a living thing. Out of the mist, she caught glimpses of movement: a small, luminous creature, vaguely frog-like, hopping across a log before disappearing again. Tiny glimpses, almost playful. She reached out with her senses, feeling the faint pull of the swamp in the currents of air and water around her.

“This place…” Maia whispered. “It’s not just a swamp. It’s like a spirit. A living, thinking thing.”

Jian’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re saying the swamp is alive? You’re not, like, crazy, right?”

Maia gave him a fleeting smile, a glint of excitement in her silver eyes.

The fog pressed thick around them, curling like smoke through the twisted trees. Maia’s focus was on the subtle shifts in the swamp, but she began to notice something strange: Jian was lagging behind, his usual cocky stance replaced with a tense, distracted shuffle.

“Jian?” she called softly, turning her head.

He didn’t respond. His eyes were wide, glazed over, and he was staring past her, at something she couldn’t see. A shiver ran down her spine. The fog swirled around him, thickening unnaturally, and for a moment, she felt the tug of something intangible, an echo of the swamp pulling him as it had her.

Jian’s pace slowed until he was almost drifting, his feet barely touching the wet earth. Then, without warning, he stepped off the path and into the shallow water, moving deeper into the fog. Maia’s heart leapt. “Jian! Wait–”

But her words dissolved into the mist. The swamp seemed to bend around him, cloaking him in hallucinations. Jian froze mid-step, his breath catching. In the swirling fog, images from his childhood flickered before him: a crowded marketplace back in the Earth Kingdom, a stern conscription officer pointing at him, the faces of his family staring anxiously. Shadows of his younger self darted through the scenes, laughing, crying, running. Each vision bled into the next, disorienting and vivid.

He reached out instinctively, as though he could grab the memories from the air. His fingers brushed the fog, and for a moment, it solidified into shapes: a younger version of himself, crouched on a hill, hiding from soldiers. His heart pounded, and the fear of those old days, long buried, surged back.

Maia, sensing something amiss, pushed Lumo forward, breaking through the fog, calling his name again. “Jian! Come back!”

He blinked, startled, as the hallucinations flickered like mist in a wind tunnel. For a moment, he saw her, her silver eyes, calm and steady, and it anchored him, pulling him back from the ghost of his childhood fears. He shook his head, clearing the images that had him mesmerized. “Wha–what…?” he whispered, voice trembling.

Maia rushed forward, keeping her movements careful in the treacherous swamp. “The swamp, it can pull you in, show you things you didn’t even know you were hiding,” she said softly. “You have to hold on to something real, or it won’t let go.”

Jian’s chest heaved. He looked around, the hallucinations receding but leaving his pulse racing. “I thought I was…somewhere else,” he muttered, glancing at her with a mixture of awe and fear. “It showed me…everything I was running from.”

Maia nodded quietly. “It does that sometimes. It wants to test you, show you the truths you can’t ignore.”

He swallowed hard, then cracked a small, uneasy grin. “Great, just what I needed. My own swamp therapy session.”

She allowed herself a faint smile before motioning for him to move. “We keep going. But stay close this time. The swamp isn’t done with either of us.”

—

The swamp was quiet, the fog thickening around their small campsite as twilight deepened. Jian crouched beside a patch of soggy bark, rubbing sticks together with increasingly frustrated motions. Sparks hissed and died immediately.

“Everything’s wet,” he muttered, throwing his hands in the air. “I can’t start a fire.” He looked at Maia, eyebrows raised, as if the answer should be obvious.

Maia simply stared at him, shoulders shrugging, silver eyes reflecting the dim light. “What do you want me to do?”

He waved his hands dramatically, a grin creeping onto his damp, slightly muddy face. “Oh, mighty Avatar, can’t you… fire bend? Make this less miserable for the both of us?”

Maia blinked, tilting her head. Then she shook it softly, letting out a faint sigh. Jian groaned, flopping back onto the wet ground with a dramatic thump. “Figures.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she glanced toward the dark water of the swamp, its surface rippling as though alive. Without a word, she stepped into the river, the cold water enveloping her in a refreshing embrace. She submerged herself fully, letting the currents press against her, washing away the grime of travel.

When she surfaced, her hair clinging to her face, she began to practice her waterbending. Hands slicing through the river, forming streams that twisted and arced at her command. The water responded to her will, swirling around her in elegant, fluid motions. Jian watched from the shore, soaked through, arms crossed, pretending to be unimpressed but secretly leaning forward to see her techniques.

“Try not to flood the swamp,” he called out. His tone was teasing.

Maia shot him a side-eye but continued practicing, gradually losing herself in the rhythm of the water. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed shadows, small, fleeting, darting shapes between the trees. Not solid, but not entirely illusions either. The mist warped and shifted around them, and they moved as though watching her.

Her heart skipped slightly. Memories of her childhood flickered in her mind, times when she had seen spirits flit through the world, moments of wonder she had almost forgotten under the weight of her duties. For a long moment, the curiosity that had once burned in her eyes returned.

She dipped her hand into the river again, feeling the spirits in the air around her, noticing their subtle movements. “Well,” she muttered under her breath, voice dry, “apparently even swamps have opinions now.”

Jian, leaning against a tree and brushing wet leaves from his hair, squinted at her. “What? You talking to swamp ghosts? Or is this another one of your ‘look at how mysterious I am’ moments?”

Maia didn’t answer directly. She let her hand trail above the water, coaxing a stream upward, letting it ripple like a signal. Shadows moved closer, just enough to be felt rather than seen. Her lips quirked, a faint smile tugging at her face. “Maybe I’m just imagining things. But either way, don’t look so smug. You’d be scared if you could see what I see.”

Jian laughed, shaking his head. “Scared? I’m not scared. Just mildly unsettled. I mean, swamp spirits, really?” He gestured broadly at the mist curling around them. “You should’ve warned me before we flew straight into the other side.”

Maia rolled her eyes, turning back to the water. The shadows lingered, hesitant, curious. She allowed herself to notice them fully, her senses stretching again, remembering the way the world used to feel when she had paid attention. The eerie quiet of the swamp wrapped around her like a cloak: strange, mystical, and alive.

For the first time in a long while, Maia felt her wonder bloom again.

—

Night draped the spirit world in a quiet, velvet darkness, but it was no ordinary darkness. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every flower glimmered with a soft internal glow, painting the world in gentle, shifting hues of green and gold. Maia blinked, disoriented for only a moment, before marveling at the scene. She had been here before, briefly, but never like this, never fully awake in the spirit world.

The air smelled sweet, alive, carrying faint whispers that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Tiny spirits darted through the luminescent flora, their bodies whole and delicate, not just faint outlines like she had glimpsed in the mortal world. They swirled around her, buzzing with curiosity, flitting close enough for her to see the tiny glimmers of eyes and the faint pulses of their forms.

Her heart lifted with wonder. “So this is what it’s like,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She took a careful step forward, the soft glow of the spirits illuminating her path through the undergrowth. Every movement felt sacred, every breath filled with the deep hum of life that had persisted long before humans.

As she wandered, however, a sense of unease crept in. Some of the animal spirits had no faces, their emptiness made her skin prickle, yet she couldn’t look away. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze following one particularly large faceless deer that slipped through the mist.

Curiosity drew her forward. The deer-like spirit moved toward a cave mouth shrouded in shadow, its glow dimming at the threshold. Maia stepped closer cautiously. The air grew cooler, damp with an earthy scent that hinted at stone and ancient roots. She peered into the darkness, and for a heartbeat, nothing stirred.

Then she heard it: a faint, scraping sound, like many small legs moving in sync. Her breath caught. She leaned forward, straining to see, and the darkness seemed to shift, revealing a massive, centipede-like form crawling across the cave floor. Its body undulated smoothly, each segment slick and shiny, disappearing into the blackness of the cave’s depths. Maia froze, unsure if she should step back or continue.

A sudden motion caught her eye. A single face had appeared, attached unnaturally to the segmented body, moving independently as if examining her. Its eyes were sharp, intelligent, curious. The mouth twitched into a faint, almost polite smile, or at least, that was what it seemed. Maia recognized it immediately from the stories she had learned as a child. This was Koh. The face stealer.

Her pulse quickened, but she did not run. There was something compelling about him, a magnetism of the uncanny. He tilted his head slightly, the many-segmented body shifting with fluid precision as it observed her. “Curious,” he seemed to say, wordless but palpable in the oppressive quiet of the cave. “The avatar in the flesh. I wonder how long you’ll last before showing a crack.”

Maia’s stomach churned, but she kept her footing, letting the glow of the plants behind her outline her silhouette. “I’m not afraid,” she said quietly, more to steel herself than to convince him.

Koh tilted his head, as if weighing her words, then chuckled: a low, sinister, and almost playful sound. “Not afraid? Good. That makes the game far more interesting.”

The cave seemed to tighten around her, the faint glow of spirits flickering as if drawn into the tension between them. Maia’s gaze swept along his segmented body, noting the slow, almost teasing movements. Even in his apparent amusement, there was undeniable power, a predator’s grace lurking beneath every motion.

She took a cautious step forward, drawing on her growing confidence. “I’m not here to play games. I want to understand this place, the spirits.”

The face’s grin faltered for only a moment, then returned, sharper this time. “Understand? Such noble words. Careful what you seek, little Avatar.”

Maia swallowed, feeling the weight of the eerie, luminous forest pressing in, the faceless spirits watching silently. She realized then that Koh wasn’t merely observing, he was challenging her, prodding at the edges of her resolve.

With a slow exhale, she lifted her chin. “Then I’ll take the risk,” she said, steadying herself, trying to meet his gaze with more confidence than she felt.

Koh’s face tilted, the faintest hint of approval, or maybe amusement, flickering in his eyes. “Excellent,” he murmured. 

And in that instant, Maia understood: the swamp, the spirits, even Koh himself, were tests. Not enemies, but mirrors of her own courage and control. She wasn’t just a visitor here. She was being measured. And she would need every ounce of focus to navigate what came next.

The cave breathed with shadows, the face on Koh’s segmented body tilting toward Maia in curiosity.

“You wander through the fog,” Koh said, his voice soft but sharp, “yet some hands seek to unravel what the world holds together.”

Maia frowned. “Who are you talking about?”

Koh’s many faces shifted, some grinning, some serious. “A scarlet wind rises quietly, sowing chaos under the guise of freedom. They move unseen, striking when the world is most unguarded.”

She narrowed her eyes. “A warning?”

“Call it that, if you like,” Koh hissed. “Those who call themselves saviors may topple what they wish to protect. Watch carefully. Trust the wind, but not those who hide in plain sight.”

Maia felt the weight of his words, the urgency behind the metaphor.

“One last thing,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper, “they seek to fracture the order of nations, to bend the cycle for their own design. The red petal moves quietly. Step wisely, little Avatar.”

And with that, Koh retreated into the shadows, leaving the glowing plants and faceless spirits around her to pulse softly in the night.

—

Maia groaned as Jian shook her awake, squinting against the misty morning light. “I’m awake” she muttered, reaching out instinctively and sending a small jet of water toward his face. Jian yelped and ducked, shaking his head. “Just wake up!”

With a reluctant sigh, Maia rolled onto her side and sat up. The fog hung low over the swamp, curling around the mossy trees and tangled roots. That’s when she noticed the figure: an old woman, sitting cross-legged on a sturdy rock platform above the water, hands resting on her knees. Earth Nation clothing, muted and practical, but with a certain worn elegance.

“Umm…hi?” Maia said, her voice awkward, unsure how to greet someone so quietly commanding.

The woman didn’t rise or smile, she just lifted a single brow. “Is this typically how you greet your elders?” Her tone was sharp, but not unkind, more curious than confrontational.

Maia and Jian exchanged a glance. Jian shrugged, trying to hide a grin, while Maia shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to proceed.

The woman grumbled. “It’s not everyday the swamp gets visitors. I see you’re a waterbender, but what I can’t seem to understand is the air bison.”

Maia glanced at Lumo, the air bison still half-asleep, blinking with groggy eyes.

Jian grinned into his palm, looking away slightly.

The woman’s head turned to him. “And you. You’re a little scrawny for an earthbender.”

Jian’s jaw dropped, before he crossed his arms over his chest. “What would you know of earthbending you old hag?”

Maia slapped him across the back of his head. “You can’t just speak to that, especially not to elders.”

The lady viewed the whole exchange, her gaze almost wistful before she cleared her throat and stood up. “Watch it young man. I practically invented earthbending.”

Maia looked at the woman again, feeling her own hint of familiarity. Her short stature. Her confidence. Her age. Her apparent blindness by the silver of her eyes. “You–You’re not Toph, are you?”

The woman, Toph, regarded Maia for a moment. “Even if you’re observant, that doesn’t explain how you would know that. Have I met you before, young lady?”

Maia glanced at Jian for a moment, his eyes now wider as he stared at Toph. 

“In another life,” Maia finally spoke. Vague, but enough for the woman to understand.

Toph paused at this, before walking closer and stopping a few feet before Maia. “Twinkle toes?”

Jian burst into laughter, clutching at his stomach. “That’s definitely one way to call her.”

Maia sighed, but the nickname sounded familiar. “I’m the avatar, yes.”

Toph seemed to pause for a moment before sighing deeply and grumbling. “I’m getting too old for this. Great, another avatar I have to help. Most people would find one enough, but I get stuck with a second.”

Maia crossed her arms over her chest. “Thank you. But I don’t need any help. I’m fine with water and air. And Jian is teaching me earthbending. I’ve got the whole avatar thing figured out.”

Toph stomped once, and a small wave of earth traveled quickly at Maia, sending her off balance and tumbling to the ground. Jian gaped before laughing again, clearly enjoying the girl being put in her place for once.

Maia rubbed her butt as she got back up. “Yeah, okay. You’re obviously a great earthbender, but–”

“-But nothing,” Toph cut her off, her silver eyes boring into Maia. “You’re barely an avatar, you’re a child with a big ego. You need to learn to listen.”

Maia felt her face twist. “Listen? I see everything, more than anyone else at least. You don’t get to tell me when to listen.”

Toph just sighed again, shaking her head. “You think you’re listening, but you’re not. What have you really accomplished? Who can really rely on you? Aang was younger than you when he saved the entire world, while you’re still learning the basics.”

Maia’s eyes began to tear at that. She had never had someone talk to her like that before. She took a step back, Jian almost reaching out to stop her, before she leapt up into the tall trees with her bending, leaving the scene quickly.

Jian turned to Toph, anger visible on his expression. “Why would you say those things to her?”

Toph just humphed. “I’m just being helpful.”

“I thought you were some amazing earthbending master. But you’re just some bitter old lady,” Jian spoke those words before taking Lumo, and going into the swamp, ready to search for Maia.

—

Maia’s tears blurred the mist around her as she propelled herself higher into the trees, twisting and leaping with airbending. Every branch, every vine a temporary foothold, a way to escape the sharp sting of Toph’s words. She knew, logically, that the old woman was right, she was still learning, still untested, but it hurt more than she expected.

The swamp seemed to close in around her, the fog weaving through the gnarled trees like ghostly fingers. She barely noticed the sounds of birds or the distant croak of frogs; her mind was entirely wrapped around the idea that she hadn’t done enough, that no matter how far she’d come, she was still so small compared to the weight of her duties.

The swamp seemed to guide her, or maybe she was just following instinct, until the landscape shifted and opened into a massive clearing.

Before her stood a great tree. Its trunk was enormous, wider than any building she had ever seen, and its canopy stretched high, vanishing into the mist above. Its roots sprawled outward, twisting and curving like the veins of the world itself, dipping and surfacing across the swamp, merging with the water and earth. She approached slowly, reverently, and when her fingers brushed against the rough, wet bark of one massive root, a shiver ran through her.

It was as if the swamp itself was alive, every ripple of water and sway of moss communicating in a language beyond words. She could feel the movement of the roots beneath her hands, the heartbeat of the swamp, the way it pulled moisture and energy through its vast system. The interconnectedness was overwhelming, almost spiritual, it made her heart race.

That was when she heard a familiar voice, muffled through the mist but unmistakable.

“Maia! Hey, are you okay?”

Jian emerged from the fog, stepping carefully over the gnarled roots until he reached her side. His usual teasing grin was softened, replaced by concern. “I was worried when you just…took off,” he said.

Maia didn’t answer immediately. She let her hands rest on the root, eyes closed, feeling the subtle hum of life beneath her fingertips. The world seemed to breathe with her, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a kind of grounding she hadn’t realized she needed.

Jian crouched beside her, cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know she was…harsh,” he said quietly, glancing toward her with empathy. “But you don’t have to prove anything to her, or anyone right now. You’re allowed that.”

Maia opened her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. There was a faint sheen of tears left on her cheeks, but her expression had softened. She gave a small, almost shy nod. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I probably needed to hear it tho.”

Jian smiled gently, still holding her shoulder for a moment before letting go.

Maia finally pulled her hands back, brushing the wet moss from her palms. She took a deep breath, letting the energy of the Great Tree settle into her, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. “Alright,” she said softly, almost to herself, “let’s head back.”

Jian chuckled lightly, relief and a hint of teasing in his tone. “You won’t run away this time?”

Maia glared at him playfully before responding. “I’ll try. But no promises”

Together, they stepped away from the roots, leaving the pulsing, breathing mass of the Great Tree behind.