Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A great flying creature traveled through the skies, above the clouds, its speed gradually increasing, its white, unruly fur combed by the breeze and gleaming under the scorching summer sun.

Four weary, hollow-eyed, and hunched expeditioners rode upon it.

One of them, his tan skin darkened even further by the relentless burning star, grumbled like a cornered animal. He sprawled across the back of the flying bison, frantically shaking his sleeveless happi(1) to keep it from sticking to his sweaty torso.

“How much longer until we get there?” he asked, overwhelmed by the heat.

“Not much,” replied the driver, tightening his grip on the reins that had nearly slipped as he nodded off. He straightened himself on the bison’s head.

The uncertainty in his tone did little to reassure his companions.

“Aang…” said the blue-eyed girl, trying to sound gentle but coming across more displeased than anything. “Are you sure you know which direction we’re supposed to go?”

Under normal circumstances, Aang wouldn’t have felt offended by her doubt, but the haze of heatstroke clouded his judgment.

“Of course I do!”

“Well, it doesn’t look like it,” countered the warrior with the wolf tail. “We’ve been wandering aimlessly for days!”

“Twinkle Toes,” called the dark-haired girl, leaning against the saddle’s backrest, her bare feet crossed and resting on one of the travel packs as if it were a footstool, with the unbothered familiarity of someone who neither considers—nor cares—that it belongs to someone else. “Do we really need to fly this high? At this rate, we’ll melt before we find that oh‑so‑important spirit.”

The Airbender, disheartened, sighed at his friends’ discouraging remarks. A warm hand rested on his shoulder, a balm that eased his uncertainty. At the same time, his flying lemur, Momo, perched on his head, wanting to offer some strange form of comfort.

“Toph, we have to do it for safety. Do you want them to attack us again?” snapped the brunette.

Venturing through these lands, unknown to them, had proven risky from the very first moment. It wasn’t like freely roaming any of the Four Nations, now at peace after a hundred years of conflict. The people of this territory had shown hostility as soon as they spotted the strange six-legged beast flying overhead. Believing them to be invaders, they tried to repel them with attacks. The group had to withstand a rain of kunai and shuriken and counter elemental techniques with their own.

It had been a fierce clash, and not wanting to draw more attention or remain entangled in the violent assault, Team Avatar fled. To avoid going through the same situation, they decided to fly where they wouldn’t be seen: above the clouds. They were lucky to even camp from time to time without being discovered.

“Relax, it’s close. I can feel it. My instinct tells me so,” the monk assured, hopeful.

“‘Instinct,’ huh? Sure… And what exactly are you going to do when we find it?” Sokka inquired. “I hope it’s not just politely asking it to go back to its tree prison.”

For weeks, the Avatar’s restless nights had been plagued by impossible dreams.

They were a confusing jumble of disjointed events, impossible to interpret. He saw irregular shadows, heard unfamiliar voices that turned into screams, horrific laments that pierced his soul, threatening to tear it apart from within.

In a dark abyss, a being of black tendrils crawled, distinguishable only by the crimson patterns glowing across its figure and the aura surrounding it. Its laughter was a deep, nauseating hum that reverberated in his bones. He had never felt such perversity, none so detestable. Even he, with his spirit open and his compassion intact—welcoming without judgment and seeing without fear—perceived pure evil; a hostility so raw that even his resolve could not withstand it. Perhaps because, having a thousand experiences etched into his spirit, he recognized the brutal echo this being provoked in his consciousness. His body identified it before his mind did.

It wasn’t the only constant in his nightly terrors.

A massive eye with a red pupil surrounded by shapes resembling magatamas(2) gradually opened behind the entity. At times, it seemed part of its body, replacing the black dot within the orange diamond at the top of its physical form.

Both images haunted him often, making him wake up gasping and terrified, leaping out of bed. The terror ceased to be a surprise; it became a scheduled visitor, part of his nightly routine. Worried they might be a portent of future misfortune, he consulted his previous life: the former Avatar of the Fire Nation, Roku.

What Roku told him confirmed his suspicions.

“Who you see in your nightmares is an ancient dark spirit, the very embodiment of darkness and chaos. His name is Vaatu,” explained the elder. His stern expression, broken only by a rare unease, showed how serious the matter was. “Eons ago, in the age of our first predecessor, when spirits roamed freely through the mortal plane, Vaatu constantly battled his counterpart, the spirit of peace and light: our spirit, the Avatar Spirit, his eternal enemy.”

“One day they were locked in a fierce struggle. The spirit of light had the advantage, having trapped him and prevented his escape. The First Avatar arrived during their fight, and Vaatu seized the opportunity to deceive him, asking for help to break free. Once released, he wandered the world spreading chaos wherever he went, growing stronger and weakening the light.”

“Hatred fed him, and he delighted in spreading it. He incited conflict between humans and spirits, twisting the latter into rabid entities by turning their anger against them. Our past life discovered that he could temporarily merge with the spirit of light, which allowed him to wield all four elements at once. Feeling guilty for unleashing Vaatu, he sought to atone by dedicating himself to stopping him, which would lead to their clash during the Harmonic Convergence.”

“What is the Harmonic Convergence?” asked Aang, listening intently without losing the thread.

“It is a phenomenon that occurs every ten thousand years, when both spirits fight to decide the fate of the world,” Roku explained, pausing to take a breath before continuing. “Yet it is an endless battle, because even if Vaatu is defeated, darkness will be reborn within the spirit of light, leading to his resurrection. And if the light defeats him, Vaatu will rise again as well. One could say this cycle mirrors our own lives as Avatars.”

“Their battle took place in the Spirit World. The First and the spirit of light entered together through one of the two portals, as did Vaatu, and the combat began. Since the spirit of order was weakened, it was our predecessor who fought in its place, but he began to falter and had to merge with it to survive. The combination of their energies was so immense that it left him exhausted, nearly at the brink of death. Even so, he refused to give up.”

“When Harmonic Convergence occurs, the planets and the sun align, and the Northern and Southern portals of the Spirit World unite,” Roku continued. “The First used that moment to permanently merge with the spirit by entering one of the portals, amplifying his spiritual energy and giving birth to the Avatar Spirit, thus beginning the cycle of reincarnation.”

“With his new powers, he managed to imprison Vaatu within the hollow of a tree: the Tree of Time. He closed the Northern portal to prevent any human from entering the Spirit World to release him and guided the spirits still lingering in the mortal realm back to their own. Once done, he closed the Southern portal, declaring that from then on, he would be the bridge between the two worlds and the keeper of peace and balance.”

“So that’s the origin of the Avatar…” murmured Aang, fascinated by a story that, though part of his legacy, he had never studied in depth. “If the one in my nightmares is Vaatu, then it must be a warning… Could it be that he’s trying to escape? Or… that he’s already been freed?”

That possibility was as troubling to him as it was to Roku. Uneasy, the elderly man pondered briefly before giving his opinion.

“It’s impossible. No one could reach him. Only the Avatar has the ability to open the portals. On the other hand…” He paused, as if an ancient image pressed from the depths of memory but could not be fully placed. “That eye you saw feels strangely familiar.”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Not myself. It is a memory inherited from one of our past lives, though I cannot say which exactly,” he clarified, and something inside him tightened, as if the missing piece had just fallen into place. “…It looks terribly similar to the Sharingan(3).”

“Sharin… gan?”

“It is connected to a group of people known as shinobi no mono(4). They are also called ‘ninjas,’” he explained. “I know a few things about them, though I’ve never seen them in person. Many believe them to be sorcerers with mystical powers. It was said they used spells to become invisible and could transform into animals to escape dangerous situations. According to folklore, they learned their arts from the tengu(5), patrons of martial disciplines. A feeling tells me the red eye you saw is part of their secret techniques.”

“But what do they have to do with Vaatu’s appearance?”

“It is said their abilities allow them to bend the laws of nature without nature itself protesting,” he said, stroking his long beard with a mix of meditation and unease. “Could it be possible they reached him somehow…?”

“They can open the portals?!” exclaimed the monk. If they could do something only the Avatar could achieve, then it was serious indeed. The stories would be more like cautionary tales than fantasy.

“I cannot say for certain, but given the way their feats are told, it would not be surprising if they managed what others deem impossible—such as finding a way to tamper with the portals.” His lips pressed into a firm line, trying to contain the grimness of the deduction. “That would mean they have crossed into our world once again.”

Aang tilted his head, frowning slightly.

“Once again?” he asked. “They’ve been here before?”

“You see,” Roku began, resuming his long oratory, “in my youth I traveled to the polar regions, where the spirit portals are located, after hearing that dark spirits were stirring in the area. The spiritually inclined tribes who lived there claimed their anger was due to the abuse of natural resources and the seizure of sacred lands by the leaders of my era, driven by greed. They also believed the spirits were enraged by the tradition of dragon hunting that Sozin had imposed upon the Fire Nation.”

Aang vaguely recalled hearing this from Zuko during a conversation about their encounter with the Sun Warriors. He had expressed his interest in helping them keep their society hidden from the outside world, to protect them and their traditions and prevent them from being lost. He told him that his uncle had falsely claimed to have killed the last dragons so that Ran and Shaw’s existence would not be discovered, knowing that revealing their whereabouts would leave them vulnerable to those who would hunt them for the glory of a legendary title.

“I went to investigate and verify the situation. Most of what I know about the shinobi I learned during my stay with the tribes. They were people with a strong sense of community, and as if part of a ritual, they gathered around a fire every day at the same hour to eat and share.”

“On one occasion, they invited me to sit with them. They began to tell myths and legends of the region, most starring vengeful spirits—stories meant to frighten children. It was then that the tale of the shinobi and their connection to our world emerged.”

The teenager nodded, silently urging him to continue.

“There exist a vast number of ancient legends and traditions that speak of the emergence of countless universes, multiple realities with diverse forms of life. In some, there are only plants or animals; in others, only ocean. There are worlds where gods dwell and others where only their images are worshiped. The creation of these universes and their dissolution is a continuous, infinite ebb and flow, like the cosmos itself. Some are being born; others are on their way to destruction. It is said that the shinobi belong to one of those planes, and just as the spirit portals allowed passage into the human world, there once existed one that allowed them to enter ours.”

“A third portal…” said the gray-eyed boy, no less bewildered.

“That’s right,” Roku replied. “A gateway to a completely different land. Tiānhé(6), the ancients called it. The Seam of the Sky.”

“Why?”

“Because once the sky was torn, Aang. And this… this is only the seam that keeps the world from unraveling,” he said, as if the myth spoke through him rather than the other way around. “There was a time when spiritual energy flowed freely, like a river. But the world changed. Wars, pain, the breaking of balance… they caused the sky to crack.”

Though he sensed what was coming would be cruel and difficult to grasp, Aang needed to understand it to know what they faced. He had to comprehend the magnitude of the threat looming over them.

“How?”

“The ninjas came to our lands through The Seam, devastating everything in their path with a hunger for conquest. They clashed in a bloody struggle with the Benders. Their strength was overwhelming, their techniques fearsome, inconceivable. A dark age of brutality threatened to strangle our world until the arrival of the First Avatar, who ended the conflict by closing the passage between them.”

Roku gazed at the horizon.

“It is said that he succeeded by manipulating a fifth element, one now considered lost. I always suspected it was Energybending, the gift passed down to you by the ancients.”

“Do you think it has reopened?”

“We cannot rule it out. There must be a reason you are having these dreams. Perhaps it is the Avatar Spirit trying to communicate with you.” His hands folded beneath the generous sleeves, closing around his forearms. “It may be fitting for you to go and take a look. According to the stories, you should be able to find it—or at least its trace—on the islands west of the Fire Nation. Fire Sage Kaja once told me those areas were so charged with spiritual energy that no one dared to settle there. Not even Sozin gave them importance, despite having claimed them.”

Thus Aang began his journey, accompanied by his loyal team, to whom he explained the situation as best he could. They had followed him across sea and land, through great hardships, no matter how dangerous, even battling the mighty Fire Lord Ozai. They would not refuse to support him now, though some skepticism arose at the idea of such alternate worlds as Roku described. It wasn’t the wildest thing they had heard to date, and they had already seen everything: spirits, ancient creatures, and people who could shoot flames with their minds. Still, it was fantastical even by their standards.

Their doubts vanished when they found The Seam at the side of a cliff, a threshold embedded in the rock as if the mountain had been split by a violent tremor. Its shape was that of a natural arch, carved by centuries of salty wind, and at its center glimmered an almost imperceptible radiance: a veil suspended between realities, emitting a soft hum like the brush of a golden needle across a jade loom.

The young Avatar could sense that the surroundings were imbued and saturated with the energy it gave off. Without his heightened spiritual senses, they would not have found it so easily, for the thin membrane in the hollow that needed to be crossed to reach the other world was nearly transparent.

Once they confirmed it was indeed the same portal from the story and that it was open—Sokka had to stick his arm inside to check if it could be crossed, voicing great concern that some alien beast might rip it off from the other side—they considered their next steps. The monk thought of seeking his predecessor’s counsel again but felt a strong intuition telling him he had to enter the portal. His soul, under the call of a nameless voice, was convinced to carry on with the intention.

He expressed his wish to his companions, who showed some initial reluctance—especially Appa, through grunts, since even though the opening was wide enough for him to fit, he disliked the idea of going inside—but they eventually agreed. They knew Aang would go on his own anyway and didn’t want to leave him to fend for himself in unknown lands.

They emerged on the other side through a similar exit, only this arch was connected to a mountain range. Soon they realized they were on another island, greener and windier. It looked like any ordinary place; it didn’t give the impression of being in a different universe, nor did its people, as they would later discover.

Based on his predecessor’s words, they believed the inhabitants of that plane would resemble mythological beings. They discovered the opposite when they were attacked by a group of them: they were humans of flesh and blood. Their clothing was quite distinctive, including body armor in the form of bulletproof vests and cloth forehead protectors with metal plates at the center, engraved with stylized symbols.

No matter how much the Air Nomad tried to speak peacefully with them, his efforts were in vain. The men ended up attacking them fiercely, forcing them to defend themselves. At that moment they confirmed that their abilities were as extraordinary as claimed, though similar to their own in terms of elemental control. They moved their hands rapidly, forming signs, and then performed their techniques. They also moved with inhuman speed that even the Avatar struggled to match.

As they continued their exploration, Aang let himself be guided by the same intuition that had driven him to come this far. He was certain he was being led toward Vaatu thanks to the connection between him and the Avatar Spirit. However, at a certain point, he began to wonder if he was mistaken. He couldn’t sense the malevolence of the dark spirit he had felt in his dreams, and yet he knew it had to be there, hidden somewhere.

Descending a little, they spotted a massive ninja settlement established in the midst of the forest. It was surrounded by enormous walls with gates(7) at the front. Wide rivers ran through it, draining beyond its barrier. Its closed walls were reminiscent of the metropolis of Ba Sing Se.

A sudden idea struck him like lightning.

“Why don’t we go down and talk to the shinobi of that place?”

The reactions to his proposal were mostly of bewilderment.

“Uh… well…” said Katara, looking to the others for support.

“And what exactly are you going to say? ‘Hi, I’m Aang. I come from a world you’ve probably never heard of. I’ve been having nightmares about a dark spirit that I think is roaming your lands, and I also saw a strange eye called Shirogane that has something to do with you.’ And you expect them to believe you?” the Nonbender reproached harshly. It wasn’t as if his previous attempt to talk to them had been fruitful enough to give him confidence they would listen before kicking him out and calling him deranged.

“It’s Sharingan,” the younger one corrected, sighing.

“The blockhead’s right.” Sokka huffed at Beifong’s unjustified insult but said nothing to defend himself. It would be useless. “They attacked us without stopping to listen. What makes you think this time will be different?”

“We won’t get anywhere if we keep going like this. Who knows? Maybe they’ve seen Vaatu nearby.”

“I don’t know, Aang,” said the brunette. “We know almost nothing about them or their abilities, just as they know nothing about us. How could we convince them to trust us?”

He agreed it was risky. The place was considerably large, and if it was fully inhabited by shinobi, they would be outnumbered if those decided to attack. He reflected on his course of action and resolved that it would be best to go alone, to avoid putting his companions in danger.

Suddenly, the warrior grumbled.

“I know what you’re thinking, and no, we’re not letting you go alone.” He had known him for three years. He could guess what Aang was thinking just by looking at his expression: he knew what he wanted to do.

“Katara’s right, it’s dangerous to—”

“And it would be even worse if you went alone,” Toph interrupted. “Let’s face it, Aang, you’re too soft. They’ll take advantage of that and attack you when you least expect it. It’s better if I go with you. If they try anything, I’ll make them eat dirt before a pigster can crow.”

“We’re all going,” snapped the Waterbender, somewhat annoyed by her friend’s boastful attitude. “We came here together, and that’s how we’ll stay.”

With that, she intertwined her hand with her beloved’s, wanting to comfort him with the gesture. He smiled at the warmth of their unconditional support, and, convinced, changed the direction of the flying bison to head toward the ninjas’ dwelling.

Entering through the main gate would make them look less suspicious than sneaking in by air, so they chose that approach. They hid Appa not far away, among bushes and leaves that barely managed to cover his massive size, leaving him in Momo’s company. Then, they walked on foot toward the entrance.

The large green gates bore the word “hermitage.” Above the entryway, a symbol of a leaf was engraved between two other characters. Aang thought, with some curiosity, that perhaps it was a representative icon of the locality.

A group transporting construction materials was stopped to the side of the great gate, waiting for their belongings to be inspected. One of its members was engaged in a heated argument with one of the guards at a checkpoint. The latter paused when he noticed Team Avatar advancing, since they had tried to slip in quietly while the verbal dispute dragged on.

“Hey!” The quartet froze, turning back with torturous slowness to face the man who had caught them. “You can’t skip the checkpoint!” he exclaimed, looking them up and down with growing confusion. Their appearances seemed far too extravagant to overlook. He turned to one of the construction workers. “Are they with you?”

They answered with a firm no. The man looked back at them, now more suspicious.

He had brown hair combed down, covering his right eye. His forehead protector was a cloth bandana tied over his head, and he wore a dark outfit with a high collar that seemed to reach his chin. Over it, he had a bulletproof vest similar to the shinobi they had fought earlier, except this one was green and had a neck guard. On the metal plate was the same leaf symbol as on the gate, confirming Aang’s suspicion that it was an emblem of the village.

“Are you travelers? We’re not allowing tourists in, for security reasons,” he told them.

“No, uh, we…” Aang had no idea how to explain himself. He couldn’t simply say who he was and lay out his motives, expecting them to sound believable. Not here, in front of so many people.

“Mmm… structure, exchange, internal security. This smells like a village. And every village has a head,” Sokka whispered, leaning toward his friend’s ear. “There has to be someone in charge we can talk to.”

“You might be right,” Katara agreed quietly, just within earshot.

“What are you whispering about?” asked the ninja, already somewhat irritated. The Airbender stepped forward with the rest.

“Sir, my friends and I come from distant lands. Would it be possible for us to speak with the leader of this place?”

His interlocutor furrowed his brow: a clear sign that their request was unusual. And judging by his tone, not very welcome.

“You want to speak with the Hokage?”

“Hokage? That’s what you call your leader?” said Toph, raising an eyebrow with a sly smile. The man looked at her as if she were speaking another language, but made no comment.

“Where exactly are you from?” he interrogated, frowning.

None of them answered—at least, not immediately. There was no way to know if he recognized the names of any of the Four Nations or if he even knew of their existence.

The impulsive dark-haired girl filled the silence with a blunt response, as only she could.

“Look, that doesn’t matter. We need to talk to this ‘Hokage’ of yours urgently.”

“Toph!” Katara exclaimed, half in reprimand. She stepped in front of her, smiling nervously, trying to shield her from the ninja’s indignation. “What my friend meant is that it’s… difficult to explain.”

“What’s difficult to explain? Speak clearly!” He was growing tired of their evasions. Their actions made them look terribly suspicious: trying to sneak in and refusing to declare their place of origin were things infiltrators would do.

“Listen, we come from the Four Nations,” Sokka broke in, knowing lying would be useless. They didn’t know enough about this world to weave a convincing deception. “There are important matters we need to discuss with the Hokage.”

“The ‘Four Nations’?” He was growing more distrustful with every word they spoke. He let out a breath that tried to sound mocking but ended up as a weary huff. “Good joke, kids, but I don’t have time for games. What do you really want?”

“My name is Aang. These are Sokka, Katara, and Toph,” he pointed to each as he named them. “Please, I need to speak with your leader. I know you may not believe anything we say, but if you let me talk to him, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“You think I can just take you to him, just like that? You haven’t even told me where you’re from!”

“We just did, featherbrain!” Toph shot back. The man made an exasperated grimace that made his displeasure clear. He was about to give the girl a piece of his mind when his companion, who had just finished stamping the carpenters’ documents, approached after noticing the commotion.

“Izumo, what’s going on?”

This ninja had spiky black hair, not as long as his companion’s. A strip of bandage covered the bridge of his nose, and a dark mark was painted on his chin, resembling a beard.

“These kids say they want to talk to the Hokage, but they refuse to say where they’re from,” said the one called Izumo, crossing his arms with a sigh, the tiredness of someone used to repeating himself a thousand times to a group of stubborn children who refuse to understand.

“What we said is true. Each of us comes from different parts of the Four Nations,” Aang insisted. “Toph’s homeland is the Earth Kingdom. Katara and Sokka are from the Southern Water Tribe, and I was born in the Southern Air Temple. You may not know any of those places. I could tell you about them, but it would take some time,” he clarified. “I promise we bear no ill will toward you. We only want to talk.”

Izumo lowered his hands to his hips, turning to his companion.

“What do you think, Kotetsu?”

“Earth Kingdom? Southern Water Tribe?” muttered the one named. They exchanged glances, leaning closer to discuss in hushed voices. “Look at how they’re dressed. And that accent… They’re definitely foreigners.”

“Do you really believe those places exist? When have you ever heard of an ‘Earth Kingdom’ or a ‘Southern Air Temple’?” Izumo countered. “It’s obvious they’re outsiders, but if they’re lying, it’s because they have something to hide.”

Kotetsu gave them another quick once-over.

“I don’t think they’re spies. No one would be stupid enough to walk straight through the front gate dressed like that, thinking they wouldn’t draw attention.”

“Many know we’ve been weakened since Pain’s attack,” Izumo murmured, still watching them warily. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they had the audacity to try methods like this. They probably think we can’t fight back.”

“So what do you suggest we do?”

“Maybe stop talking like we’re not standing right here?” the wolf tail warrior crossed his arms, clearly annoyed. They weren’t exactly being discreet.

The brown-haired shinobi stepped aside to address Aang directly.

“Alright, kid, let’s suppose you really come from those imaginary nations you named… What is it you want to tell the Hokage?”

Aang drew a deep breath, aware of the challenge of putting into order a universe he lived in but had never had to explain from scratch. He strung together ideas, thought carefully about his words, and tried to choose those that, arranged just right, might help him build a story with at least some sense.

He ended up letting the first thoughts stampede out of his mouth before he could check what they were saying.

“You don’t know of our nations because you belong to a world completely separate from ours, where we come from. I’ve been having nightmares warning me of an ancient creature roaming your lands, capable of causing disasters wherever it goes. I’m not sure how, but I believe this is connected to you somehow, because I saw in them a technique that belongs to you, called ‘Sharingan,’ which is like a red eye with… I don’t know what to call them… Anyway, the point is… Oh! I forgot to mention I’m the Avatar, master of the Four Elements, bridge between the Spirit World and—”

“Umm… Aang.”

Fortunately, Katara stopped his incessant rambling before he dug himself deeper into the hole he had made.

He had spoken too quickly, leaving the two shinobi utterly stunned, blinking nonstop. It was taking them effort to process all the information he had just thrown at them.

The astonishment on their faces unsettled the youngsters. They assumed they would be called insane and told to get lost. They would have deserved it, but in their defense, Sokka would say that story was hard to explain in the first place. When Aang first explained it to his friends, it had sounded more like verbal vomit than anything.

“…This one must have hit his head really hard,” Kotetsu said to his colleague. The latter was still analyzing what he had just heard, gathering the little he could from the chaos of Aang’s words.

“Let me see if I understand,” the other began, rubbing his temple with two fingers as if his head hurt just from trying to make sense of it. “You saw the Sharingan in your dreams, you say a creature is loose because of us, and on top of that, you claim to be the Avatar from that old children’s tale? You don’t hear nonsense like this every day.” He exhaled heavily. “I suggest you leave. We don’t have time for your foolishness, and the Hokage has even less with everything that’s happened lately.”

Aang was about to say he had never blamed them for Vaatu’s release, but something Izumo mentioned caught his interest.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘that old children’s tale’?”

“I didn’t get that part either,” Hagane added, confused. His best friend shot him an unimpressed look. His ignorance didn’t surprise him in the least, but it still irritated him.

“Do I really have to explain it to you?” Izumo growled. “I’m talking about that ancient story… The Legend of the Avatar.”

“Never heard of it.” Kotetsu scratched his head, as if trying to remember.

“That’s because you’ve never bothered to open a book in your life,” Izumo retorted. “It’s an old tale that recounts the feats of the incarnation of a god who could manipulate the elements all at once without any ninjutsu. It’s mere fantasy; a story. Only a lunatic would claim to be the Avatar. It’s like declaring the second coming of the Sage of the Six Paths.”

The youngsters looked at each other, disoriented by the shinobi’s words. They fell into contemplative silence. They understood that the ninjas possessed some knowledge of the Avatar, but the story about him differed greatly from the version known in the Four Nations. Convincing them that a sixteen‑year‑old monk was the current reincarnation of a deity would be the true feat, without a doubt.

Then, Aang suggested:

“If I prove that I am who I say I am, will you take us to the Hokage?”

Kotetsu and Izumo watched him, still incredulous that he kept insisting he was the protagonist of that fable with such conviction. The second was about to protest, but the first stopped him with a gesture of his hand.

“Let’s humor him.”

“What are you saying? It’s obvious he can’t prove anything!” exclaimed the more skeptical one. “Don’t pay attention to his childishness; we need to get back to work.”

“The boy looks confident. Let’s see what he can do,” Kotetsu said, with a trace of calm amusement. “Go ahead—if you can prove your identity, we’ll consider taking you to our leader.”

It was all the confirmation he needed. He smiled triumphantly, his demeanor turning serious at once as he assumed the proper stance to begin his demonstration. His three companions stepped back to give him space. He didn’t intend to put on a grand spectacle, only one persuasive enough, based on Izumo’s words.

“A god who could manipulate the elements all at once without any ninjutsu.” He was no god, but he didn’t need ninjutsu to summon the Bending Arts.

His eyes flashed briefly with the pure light of the Avatar State.

He began with the light, flexible movements of Airbending, shaping and maneuvering a small current of air that swirled around him. Next came the fluid, graceful motions of Waterbending, for which Katara had uncapped the flask tied at her waist, allowing him to draw its contents. He created two rings of water at his feet and dissolved them, guiding the liquid back into the container.

Earthbending was diverse, but always firm, crushing. He bent and spread his legs, stomping to raise a medium‑sized piece of earth. He levitated it, then lifted his dominant foot and let it fall back into the hollow left by its removal. The surface remained intact, as if it had never been disturbed.

He concluded with Firebending. Intense, more aggressive. He inhaled slowly and conjured two fireballs in his palms—throwing flames wildly would have caused disaster—which he extinguished with a shake after fusing them into a rotating stream, with the same ease as blowing out the trembling flame of a candle.

Once his elemental display was finished, he pressed his palms together in a ceremonial gesture, marking its end. Before he opened his eyes, Sokka’s sharp, mocking comment fed his illusion.

“How about that! Totally speechless!”

Both ninjas had gone pale as chalk. The shock on their faces was almost comical.

“So? Will you take us to the Hokage now?”

They made their way through rubble and ruined homes. The village was undergoing reconstruction, which explained the large shipments of wood being brought in through the main gate. The landscape was desolate. The destruction, comparable to the aftermath of a typhoon. They hadn’t noticed the full extent of the devastation when flying overhead, since they had kept a prudent distance to avoid being mistaken for aerial attackers.

They were guided to a spacious tent, which, they supposed, served as the provisional quarters of the village’s ruler. It had been set up on a secluded side of the rebuilt urban center, amid budding thickets, beyond a path with a natural stream running alongside it.

The chūnin(8) stood before the entrance curtains and announced their names. A deep voice came from inside the tent, granting permission and telling them to enter.

“Hokage-sama,” both bowed respectfully before the man. “We bring foreigners who request an audience with you. One of them claims to be…” Kotetsu fell silent at once, hesitant. “It’s better if he explains it himself.”

Their superior, slightly intrigued by such a sudden request, told them to withdraw and let the visitors in, thinking they might be emissaries from another allied village.

The group examined the Hokage when they stood before him. He was an old man, resting his hand calmly on a staff. His hair was black and disheveled, and his right eye was bandaged. A scar in the shape of a cross marked his chin. He wore a white kimono beneath a black robe that concealed his right arm, covering him from foot to shoulder, while the other rested on a large red sofa. Piles of books and wooden boxes were scattered in the corners. His single visible eye scanned them coldly, evaluating them with utmost severity. His expression denoted sternness, yet he reclined against the backrest with a composure both austere and serene.

Yet, for some reason he could not grasp, Aang felt an ominous, visceral sensation, as if the air around the man whispered warnings. A silent alarm lodged in his chest, demanding caution without explaining why.

He could not explain the situation as he had to the two shinobi. He could tell, just by looking at him, that this Hokage would not take playful demonstrations or half‑formed tales seriously. He had to be as specific and technical as possible.

“What is it you wish to tell me?”

The boy stepped forward. He made a salute by placing his open right palm over his closed left fist and bowed slightly, unsure what the proper greeting toward a figure of authority in this land might be, but hoping his gesture conveyed the necessary respect.

“Lord Hokage, my name is Aang. My friends and I have traveled here from a territory that is likely unknown to you,” he began slowly and clearly, distancing himself from his earlier stumbling account. “I have come to inform you of a latent threat that may loom over this world. And there are some things I wish to ask you regarding it.”

The old man’s expression was unreadable. He remained composed, showing no sign of wanting to interrupt, so Aang continued.

“What I will recount may sound difficult to believe, but the truth is that we live in a distant reality, connected to this one through a dimensional portal. Where we come from, there are four territories known collectively as the Four Nations. In that universe, I serve as the protector of the world’s balance. I am the only physical being with the ability to control the four elements: Water, Earth, Fire, and Air. I use my power to maintain peace between humans and spirits. They call me ‘Avatar,’ and as I understand, I am regarded as a legend in this reality.”

“Some time ago, I realized that a powerful being—a dark spirit—has escaped from the prison in which it was sealed thousands of years ago. My suspicion is that it has reached the lands of the shinobi. It was revealed to me in a dream that a technique called ‘Sharingan’ holds some connection to its release. For these reasons, I come to you, to find out if this entity has been sighted nearby and, if not, to warn you of the possibility of its appearance. I would like us to cooperate in finding and capturing it.”

A long, tense silence stretched. A brief flicker of astonishment crossed the man’s face, but it soon vanished into his habitual impassivity. His laugh was short. Mocking, but humorless. With it, he confirmed what they already feared: he didn’t believe a word.

“…What nonsense,” he said. “So they sent me a squad of storytelling brats to entertain me, or… is this a distraction?” He narrowed his eye with barely veiled suspicion; none of them understood.

“Excuse me?” Katara said.

“You mentioned the Sharingan. Could it be…?” His voice trailed off as if realizing something. He rose abruptly, gripping his staff firmly. “You… who sent you?”

The accusation left them bewildered. Toph, nearly indignant, denied it at once:

“No one sent us, old man. We came on our own.”

“A farce conceived by informants, but who…?”

It seemed he was speaking more to himself than to them. His distortion of their intentions alarmed the Airbender. The last thing he needed was for him to think they were emissaries of an enemy.

“This is a misunderstanding, I swear it’s not what you think! We…”

“You managed to fool the guards… No, could they be involved too?”

“What are you talking about? Nothing you’re saying makes any sen—” Sokka fell silent as he saw the boy’s tattoos begin to glow.

They thought he wanted to use the Avatar State to prove himself, but in reality, the frustration that overtook him led him to do the unthinkable. A gust of wind burst forth and shook the tent, raising a cloud of dust that blurred their vision. When it began to dissipate and they looked again at Aang, they discovered he was no longer there—not exactly. He had been replaced by an older man they already knew, with a long beard and white hair, clad in crimson robes.

“Hokage, listen carefully. These young ones come to you with the truth.”

The force of his voice did not merely resonate: it rose with a grave, ritual cadence. It seemed to awaken ancient memories from the foundations of the world, compelling the Hokage into silence, tilting his ear as one who receives a call from another plane. It fell like an irrefutable command, making the air tighten, crossing it like contained thunder.

He was utterly unsettled.

“What the—?”

“I am Avatar Roku, former bearer of the Avatar title.”

Roku rose with the firmness of a millennial pillar. His movements were measured, precise, but the effect was resounding: he only had to stand, each vertebra marking the ascent of a spirit who did not speak only for himself, for all attention bent toward him, the entire environment obeying his axis.

“As my reincarnation has said, we belong to a parallel universe whose laws, customs, and abilities do not spring from the same root as yours; our branches have extended in directions your world has never known. Much I could tell you about our origins, about the points where your history brushes against ours, and I could refute that fanciful version that has reduced me to myth, far from the events that truly shaped what I am. But we are not here to recount—we are here to act.” He raised his hand ever so slightly, and the lanterns trembled: the flames rose as if listening to him, stretching into the shadows, casting ominous shapes in every corner of the tent.

“If you do not wish imbalance to darken the skies of your world,” he continued, with a tempered voice that seemed to rise from the depths of the earth, “I advise you to cooperate and aid Avatar Aang. Otherwise, you must brace yourself… and defend against the wrath of the spirit that will lay waste to your land.”

Such was his command.

The air tightened like a soaked rope. No one moved. The Hokage remained still in his place, and though his face barely twitched, he did not ignore the edge of the threat. It was not only his life that seemed imperiled. It was that of the entire village.

But more than fear, something else pierced him: a bewildering incomprehension. The man’s words were too vast, too atavistic, and too remote to grasp. And before he could demand an explanation, the figure dissipated.

In his place, the bald boy returned to the scene, clutching his head and slowly rising from the ground, as if his body had just been returned after being borrowed.

“Aang!”

Katara rushed to help him.

“Ugh… what happened?”

“Avatar Roku decided to make an appearance,” she said with a faint smile, torn between worry and relief; if they were lucky, his manifestation would carry weight in the Hokage’s decision to assist them.

Aang blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Each time his past lives took possession of his body, he forgot everything they said or did through him.

Still shaken, the Hokage forced himself out of his stupor. For an instant, his eyes swept over the group with feigned hardness, as if trying to reclaim control of the moment. But his breathing had grown more uneven, and a barely visible muscle in his jaw pulsed insistently.

He regarded the boy as one measures the scope of a threat, not a mere creature. A Transformation Technique? No, it wasn’t that… something else had claimed the space. Something ancient. More dangerous.

“…Rise, boy,” he said at last, with a solemnity that tried to mask the tremor within. “I will hear what you have to tell me.”