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The world was different now. Where once spirits roamed freely, humans were beginning to claim their own spaces, building homes and communities across the vast landscapes. Wan traveled these changing lands, his heart both heavy with the responsibility he carried and light with the promise of a new beginning for humanity.
The morning sun found him walking along a coastal path, the sea breeze tousling his wild hair. Below, a group of water tribe settlers struggled with their boats against the rough waves, attempting to reach a natural harbor.
"Need a hand?" Wan called out, sliding down the embankment.
The settlers looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. A woman with weathered skin, clearly their leader, stepped forward. "Unless you can calm these waters, stranger, I don't see how you could help."
Wan smiled, dropping his traveling pack. "Actually, I can do exactly that." He moved through the familiar waterbending forms Raava had helped him master, his movements fluid and precise. The turbulent waters smoothed, creating a gentle path to the harbor.
The settlers' jaws dropped. "But... you're not Water Tribe," one young man stammered.
"I'm just someone who wants to help," Wan replied, already moving to assist with their boats. "I'm Wan."
"The spirits must favor you greatly."
Wan's smile turned slightly sad. "Something like that."
He spent the next few days helping them establish their village, using earthbending to create foundations for their homes and firebending to help them smoke fish for preservation. When he prepared to leave, the leader, whose name was Kata, pressed a carved pendant into his hand.
"For bringing us safely to our new home," she said simply.
---
Further inland, Wan found a group of farmers arguing with other settlers over a fertile valley. Both groups had valid claims to the land, and tensions were rising dangerously.
"Perhaps there's a way to share this bounty," Wan suggested, stepping between them.
"Share? With them?" a man spat. "They'll just burn our crops!"
"And they'll bury our homes in landslides!" a woman countered.
Wan raised his hands, simultaneously producing fire and lifting earth. The display silenced both groups. "Fire can warm the soil, making it more fertile," he demonstrated, carefully heating the ground. And earth can protect crops from harsh winds and create irrigation channels."
He spent weeks there, teaching them to work together. The fire-user settlers learned to use their bending precisely to help crops grow in the cooler seasons, while the earth-user farmers created terraced fields that maximized the valley's potential.
When he left, the once-divided groups had created a unique farming community where fire and earth complemented each other perfectly.
---
In the mountains, Wan found nomadic air users seeking a permanent home. They had found a perfect plateau but couldn't figure out how to sustain life at such high altitudes.
"The air is thin up here," their elder, Anaara, told him. "And the winds are too harsh for growing food."
Wan studied the plateau thoughtfully. Over the next month, he worked with them to create a solution. Using earthbending, he carved terraces into the mountainside, creating sheltered gardens. With airbending, they designed wind barriers that protected their crops while still allowing the free flow of air the nomads cherished.
"You bend all elements," Anaara observed one evening. "Yet you carry yourself with such humility."
"These abilities were given to me to help others," Wan replied, watching the sunset paint the mountains gold. "Nothing more."
' Aang sat cross-legged beside the elderly Wan, watching the memories unfold.
"You were so different then," Aang said softly. "So full of hope."
The old Wan nodded, his weathered face creased with the weight of centuries. "I was naive. I thought bringing peace meant helping people build homes, teaching them to work together. I didn't understand that sometimes protecting peace requires making impossible choices."
They watched as the scene shifted, showing Wan helping the different communities thrive. Aang's eyes lit up at the creative solutions his predecessor had developed.
"But this is exactly what the Avatar should be!" Aang exclaimed. "Bringing people together, finding peaceful solutions—"
"Keep watching," old Wan interrupted gently. '
---
But it was in a valley between two rivers that Wan would leave his most lasting mark. He found a large group of refugees, seeking a place to call home. They had the perfect location but lacked the knowledge and resources to build a proper town.
Wan stayed with them for nearly a year. He taught them how to use the rivers for irrigation, created strong stone foundations for their buildings, and showed them how to work with the natural flow of wind to keep their homes cool in summer and warm in winter.
More than that, he taught them how to work together.
"What you've helped us build here," said Chen, one of the town's council members, "it's more than just buildings and streets. It's a testament to what humanity can achieve when we work together."
The council met in secret, and on the day Wan announced his intention to continue his journey.
"Welcome," Chen announced to the gathered crowd, "to the Land of Wan, where people come together as one."
Wan was speechless, touched beyond words. "I... I don't deserve this honor."
"You've shown us a new way to live," Chen replied. "Your ability to bend all elements is remarkable, yes, but it's your heart, your wisdom, and your dedication to peace that we honor here."
---
Years passed, and Wan continued his journey, helping where he could. Sometimes it was as simple as using firebending to help a family keep warm during a harsh winter. Other times, he mediated complex disputes between different groups of benders.
He never stayed too long in one place, never seeking glory or recognition. But stories of the man who could bend all elements began to spread. Some called him a blessed one, others a spirit walker. No one yet used the word "Avatar" - that would come later, with future generations.
One spring morning, Wan stood on a cliff overlooking the Land of Wan. The town had grown beyond his wildest dreams.
A young girl tugged at his sleeve. "Are you really him? The one who can bend all elements?"
Wan knelt beside her, smiling. "I'm just someone who wanted to help people find their way home."
"Can you show me some bending?" she asked eagerly.
He created a small display - a flame that danced with a sphere of water, while pebbles orbited them and a gentle breeze made the elements swirl together harmoniously.
"Amazing!" the girl gasped. "How did you learn to do all that?"
Wan looked out over the town, thinking of Raava, of his journey, of all the people he'd met and helped along the way. "By remembering that every element, like every person, has its own beauty and purpose. Together, they create something greater than themselves."
The girl looked thoughtful. "Like our town?"
"Exactly like our town," he agreed.
The first Avatar reflected on his legacy as the sun set, casting long shadows across the Land of Wan.
A gentle glow emanated from within him - Raava's presence, constant and reassuring. "We did good, didn't we?" he whispered.
The light pulsed warmly in response, and Wan smiled, knowing that long after he was gone, this harmony would continue. The Age of the Avatar had begun, not with grand battles or dramatic gestures, but with simple acts of kindness and understanding, with the patient work of bringing people together and helping them build homes.
Later
As Wan traveled eastward, the landscape gradually changed from dense forests to rolling plains. The primitive tools of the era - sharpened stones, wooden spears, and bone-carved implements - were constant reminders of humanity's humble beginnings.
At a riverside settlement, Wan encountered a group struggling to build secure shelters. Their wooden structures kept collapsing in the seasonal winds.
"You know," Wan called out, watching another frame tumble, "I've found that starting with a solid foundation usually helps." He demonstrated by earthbending, creating stone foundations that would anchor their homes.
"That's amazing!" a young builder exclaimed. "But how did you bend earth? Your clothes look Fire Land People."
"Let's just say I'm a bit different," Wan replied with a characteristic grin. "Besides, who says you have to stick to one element? The moon doesn't just pull the tides - it also helps plants grow!"
His corny joke earned him a mix of groans and chuckles, but his warmth and willingness to help quickly won them over.
Further along his journey, he came across nomads attempting to cross a wide river. Their makeshift rafts weren't holding against the current.
"Need a bridge?" Wan offered. "I'm pretty good at building those - both the physical and metaphorical kind."
Using earthbending, he created a sturdy stone bridge. As the nomads crossed safely, one elder asked, "How can we repay you?"
"Just promise to help the next travelers you meet," Wan replied. "Though if you have any good jokes, I'm always collecting those too!"
' Aang couldn't help but grin as he watched young Wan interact with Kaminna. He kept glancing at old Wan with knowing looks.
"She reminds me of Katara," Aang said, nudging the elder Avatar playfully. "The way she teased you about your bending, how she wasn't impressed by your powers... even that thing about your terrible jokes!"
Old Wan's lips twitched slightly at Aang's enthusiasm, but his eyes remained distant.
"And look at you, getting all flustered!" Aang continued, watching young Wan blush at Kaminna's remarks. "I bet Raava was giving you such a hard time about—" He stopped, noticing the deep pain that flashed across old Wan's weathered face.
The scene showed young Wan accepting the pendant, making his promise to return. Aang's smile faded as he observed his predecessor's current self. There was something haunting in the way the old man watched this memory.
"What's wrong?" Aang asked softly. "This seems like such a happy memory."
Old Wan touched his neck absently, as if reaching for a pendant long gone. "It was," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "The last truly happy one."
"What do you mean?" Aang shifted to face him fully. "What happened after you left?"
Old Wan's eyes were filled with a pain so deep it made Aang's heart ache. "Watch," he said simply, his hand trembling slightly as he gestured toward the continuing memory.
⬇
Aang and old Wan watched as young Wan approached Hightown, a settlement nestled between rolling hills.
"Welcome, stranger!" called out a cheerful man. "I'm Lin, the town's blacksmith."
"I'm Wan. Just passing through, helping where I can."
"A traveler! We don't get many of those since the water tribe raiders started causing trouble. Say, you look strong – need any work?"
Young Wan smiled. "Actually, I might be able to help with your raider problem."
The scene shifted to Wan sharing meals with the townspeople, helping repair buildings, and teaching them defensive techniques that didn't require bending.
"You're different from other benders," said Ming, a teenage girl who followed Wan around like a shadow. "The raiders, they think because they can bend water, they're better than us."
"Bending doesn't make anyone better," Wan replied, demonstrating how to dodge effectively. "It's just a different way of moving through the world."
Suddenly, shouts erupted from the town's entrance. The raiders had returned, a dozen waterbenders threatening the townspeople.
"Your protection payment is due," their leader snarled.
Young Wan stepped forward. "They don't owe you anything."
The fight was brief but spectacular. Wan deflected their water attacks with airbending, countered with fire, trapped them with earth, and finally used their own element against them. The raiders were quickly subdued.
"Kill them!" shouted several townspeople. "They've terrorized us for months! Killed our children!"
"No," Wan said firmly. "I won't execute helpless prisoners. They'll face justice, but not death. They won't harm anyone ever again."
Aang nodded approvingly at the scene, but noticed old Wan's hands clenching into fists.
"I was such a fool," old Wan whispered.
The memory continued. Young Wan spent a month in Hightown, helping them build better defenses. The townspeople celebrated him as a hero, and he formed close bonds with many of them.
"I'll return soon," he promised as he left. "Stay safe, my friends."
The scene shifted. Young Wan was returning exactly one month later, a spring in his step as he crested the familiar hill. His smile vanished.
Hightown was burning. Bodies littered the streets – men, women, children. The raiders had returned with reinforcements. They hadn't just killed; they had massacred.
Young Wan fell to his knees. Among the dead, he recognized Lin the blacksmith, Ming the teenage girl, all the faces that had become friends.
"I should have killed them," young Wan whispered, his voice breaking. "I could have prevented this."
Aang watched in horror. "But... but you showed mercy. You did the right thing!"
"Did I?" Old Wan's voice was heavy. "Tell that to Ming's parents, who watched their daughter die. Tell that to the children who suffered before the end."
"You couldn't have known—"
"I should have known!" Old Wan's outburst silenced Aang. "They told me. The townspeople begged me to execute those raiders. They knew what would happen because they understood something I didn't – some people can't be redeemed. Some threats must be permanently ended."
Young Wan stood in the ruins, rage and grief transforming his features. Raava's light blazed within him.
"What happened next?" Aang asked quietly.
"I hunted them down," old Wan replied. "Every last raider. And I did what I should have done the first time." He paused, the weight of centuries in his voice. "That was the day I learned that mercy without wisdom is just another form of cruelty."
The scene showed young Wan tracking the raiders to their camp. This time, there was no offer of surrender, no chance for redemption. The elements responded to his fury, and none of the raiders survived.
"I carried Hightown's pendant for years," old Wan continued. "To remind myself that sometimes, being the Avatar means making the hard choice. The right choice isn't always the kind one."
"But if we start killing..." Aang began.
"Then we carry that weight," old Wan finished. "Better to carry the weight of necessary action than the weight of preventable tragedy." He looked at Aang with ancient eyes. "This isn't about vengeance, Aang. It's about protection. Sometimes, the only way to protect the innocent is to be willing to stop those who would harm them. Permanently."
They watched as young Wan buried the dead of Hightown, marking each grave, remembering each name. He was different now – harder, more aware of the darkness humans could harbor.
"After this," old Wan said softly, "I understood that being the Avatar wasn't just about helping people build and grow. It was about making the difficult decisions no one else could make. About carrying burdens no one else could carry."
"How did you know after this?" Aang asked. "When to show mercy and when to... not?"
"You learn to read people, to sense their true nature. But more importantly, you learn to accept that you won't always make the right choice. Sometimes you'll show mercy when you shouldn't, sometimes you'll be harsh when gentleness might have worked. The key is to learn from each choice, to carry those lessons forward."
Young Wan stood at the town's entrance one last time. He took a piece of charred wood and wrote on the remaining wall: "Here stood Hightown, where good people died because one man thought mercy was always the answer. May their fate teach others that peace must sometimes be defended with final actions."
"That marker stood for three hundred years," old Wan said. "Until time finally erased it. But I never forgot. Never stopped carrying their names in my heart."
Aang watched his predecessor's younger self walk away from the ruins, understanding now why the old man beside him carried such deep shadows in his eyes. This wasn't just a lesson about when to take life – it was a lesson about the true weight of the Avatar's responsibility. Sometimes, there were no good choices, only necessary ones.
The scene began to fade, but the lesson would remain: mercy without wisdom could be as devastating as cruelty without restraint.
"There's more," old Wan said quietly. "Much more. Are you ready to see what happened next?"
Aang nodded, though his heart was heavy. He was beginning to understand that these memories weren't just about teaching him about violence – they were about teaching him the true complexity of maintaining balance in a world where both light and darkness dwelt in human hearts.
"Show me," he said.
Old Wan's eyes grew distant as the next memory began to form. "Remember Hightown, Aang. Remember that sometimes the hardest choice and the right choice are the same thing."
Three Years Later
The eastern plains stretched endlessly before Wan as he crested the final hill. His heart quickened as he recognized the distant settlement - though "settlement" no longer seemed an adequate description. What had once been a modest village had grown into a bustling town, its stone walls twice as high and three times as long as he remembered.
"Well, Raava," he murmured, feeling the spirit's warmth within him, "looks like they've been busy while we were gone."
As he approached the gates, now adorned with intricate earth-bent designs, a guard called out, "Hold! State your..." The guard's eyes widened in recognition. "Master Wan? By the spirits, it's really you!"
Word of his arrival spread through the town like wildfire. By the time he reached the central square, a crowd had gathered. Many faces he recognized, though some had aged, and many more were new.
"The wanderer returns!" Chief Ying's booming voice cut through the murmurs. The man had more gray in his hair now, but his bear-like embrace was as strong as ever. "Three years is too long, my friend!"
"Well, you know how it is," Wan grinned, "so many elements to bend, so little time."
"Still telling terrible jokes, I see," Ying laughed. "Come! You must join us for dinner. The harvest festival begins tonight, and your timing couldn't be better."
As they walked through the town, Wan marveled at the changes. Stone buildings rose two and three stories high, their architecture blending styles from all four nations. Markets bustled with traders from distant lands, and children practiced basic bending forms in designated training areas.
"Your daughter," Wan tried to ask casually, "is she..."
"Still here?" Ying's eyes twinkled. "And still unmarried, despite many suitors. She helps run the town council now."
Before Wan could respond, they arrived at Ying's home - now a impressive stone building with elegant curves that reminded him of air temple design. The smell of cooking food wafted from within, and his stomach reminded him how long he'd been traveling.
"Father?" a familiar voice called from inside. "Ming said something about a visitor..."
Kaminna stepped into view, and Wan felt his breath catch. At twenty-two, she had grown even more beautiful. Her dark hair was longer now, braided with wooden beads, and her eyes held the same intelligence and warmth he remembered.
She froze when she saw him, eyes widening. "Wan?"
"Hi," he said lamely, suddenly feeling like a tongue-tied teenager again. "I, uh, like what you've done with the place."
A smile broke across her face. "Three years gone, and that's the best you can do?"
"Well, I also prepared some new jokes," he offered.
"Oh no," she groaned, but her eyes sparkled with laughter.
The harvest festival transformed the town square into a celebration of light and music. Lanterns hung from strings crisscrossing overhead, and the air was filled with the sounds of drums, flutes, and laughter.
During dinner, Wan found himself seated beside Kaminna, sharing stories of his travels while she updated him on the town's growth.
"We get travelers from all over now," she told him. "And they all ask about you."
"About me?"
"The mysterious wanderer who can bend all elements," she nodded. "They have different names for you. The Northern Water Tribe calls you the Master of All Elements. The Air Nomads refer to you as the Soul of the Elements."
"Better than what they called me in the Fire Lands settlements - the Walking Disaster," Wan chuckled. "Though in my defense, that house was already on fire when I got there."
"Around these lands," she continued, "they've started calling you Aavatāraḥ. It means 'one who descends with purpose' in the old tongue."
"Aavatāraḥ," Wan tested the word. "Has a nice ring to it. Better than 'that guy who keeps setting things on fire by accident.'"
"Which you still do, I assume?"
"Only on Tuesdays now. I'm very disciplined."
As the evening progressed, music filled the square, and couples began to dance. Wan stood and offered his hand to Kaminna with an exaggerated bow. "Would the honorable council member care to dance with a humble Aavatāraḥ?"
"Humble?" she laughed, taking his hand. "You?"
They moved together to the music, and Wan was grateful for the dancing lessons he'd received from the Air People. "I'll have you know I'm extremely humble. I'm probably the most humble person in the world. In fact, I won an award for my humility, but I turned it down because I'm just that humble."
Kaminna's laughter was like music itself. "I've missed your ridiculous jokes."
"They've improved with age, like a fine wine. Or maybe more like milk - they get better until suddenly they're really, really bad."
As they danced, Wan couldn't help but notice how perfectly they moved together, like two elements in harmony. The moonlight caught in Kaminna's hair, and Raava's light pulsed warmly within him.
"You still wear it," she said softly, noticing her pendant around his neck.
"It reminded me of home," he admitted. Then, realizing what he'd said, added, "I mean, not that I consider this my home, exactly, but..."
"Wan?"
"Yes?"
"Stop talking."
The music slowed, and other couples moved around them, but Wan barely noticed. The full moon hung low and bright above them, casting everything in silver light.
"They can call you Aavatāraḥ or Master of Elements," Kaminna whispered, "but to me, you'll always be just Wan, the man who tells terrible jokes and accidentally sets things on fire."
"Speaking of fire," he murmured, leaning closer, "I should warn you that I've been told I'm a pretty hot kisser."
She groaned at the awful pun, but then her lips met his, and suddenly the elements themselves seemed to hold their breath. The kiss was gentle, warm, and felt like coming home after a long journey.
When they finally parted, Wan couldn't help himself: "Well, that was element-ary."
"That's it," Kaminna declared, though she was smiling. "Kiss privileges revoked."
"Wait, no, I have better ones! What did the airbender say to the firebender? 'You're hot when you're angry!'"
She tried to maintain a stern expression but failed. "That was terrible."
"What about: Why don't water tribe members tell dad jokes? Because they would be water-ed down!"
"Stop!" she laughed, pulling him close again. "Or I'll have to shut you up myself."
"Is that a promise or a threat?"
"Both," she said, and kissed him again.
The festival continued around them, but they remained in their own world, dancing under the moon. Wan felt Raava's presence, not disapproving but understanding. Perhaps this too was part of maintaining balance - finding joy, love, and laughter amid the great responsibility he carried.
Later that night, they sat on the town walls, looking out over the moonlit plains. Kaminna rested her head on his shoulder, and Wan found himself telling her about Raava, about his role in separating the spirit and human worlds, about everything.
"So you're technically part spirit?" she asked.
"Yeah, but don't worry - I'm only spirit-ual on the inside."
"That's it, I'm leaving."
He caught her hand, laughing. "No, wait! I have more! What do you call a firebender with a cold? A dragon sneezer!"
"You're impossible," she said fondly.
"That's what makes me possible to love," he replied, and then realized what he'd said.
Their eyes met in the moonlight, and no more jokes were needed. They stayed there until dawn, talking, laughing, and sharing gentle kisses.
As the sun rose, Wan knew he couldn't stay forever - the world still needed him, and his journey was far from over. But looking at Kaminna, he also knew he'd found something worth returning to, again and again.
"You'll leave again, won't you?" she asked, reading his thoughts.
"Yes," he admitted. "But this time, I won't stay away so long. After all, I need to come back and tell you my new jokes."
"Is that a threat?"
"What do you call an earthbender who tells jokes? A rocky comedian!"
She pushed him playfully. "Go, save the world. But remember, here, you don't have to be Aavatāraḥ or the Master of Elements. Here, you can just be Wan."
"Even if I keep telling terrible jokes?"
"Especially then," she smiled, kissing him one more time. "Because that's who you are - the most powerful bender in the world, and also the biggest dork I've ever met."
Wan grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."
As the town awakened around them, they remained on the wall, watching the sunrise paint the plains gold. Wan knew that his path as the first Aavatāraḥ would continue to be challenging, but now he had something more than duty to guide him home - he had love, laughter, and a place where he could simply be himself, terrible jokes and all.
"Hey, Kaminna?"
"If this is another joke..."
"What do you call a waterbender who falls in love? Water-falls!"
Her groan echoed across the plains, followed by their shared laughter, carried on the morning breeze across the land that would one day become the greatest town in the world.
' Watching this memory, Aang found himself smiling despite the earlier heaviness of Hightown. The way young Wan awkwardly fumbled through his jokes reminded him so much of his own attempts to impress Katara.
"Your jokes were just as bad as mine," Aang chuckled, glancing at old Wan.
For the first time since they began watching these memories, a genuine smile crossed old Wan's weathered face. "Worse, probably. But she loved them anyway."
"The way she called you out on your humility... Katara does the exact same thing!" Aang's eyes sparkled with recognition. "And that terrible fire-bending pun before the kiss? I used an air-bending one on Katara once. She didn't talk to me for an hour."
Old Wan's smile faded slightly. "Some things never change across lifetimes, it seems."
"Aavatāraḥ," Aang repeated, testing the ancient word. "It sounds... deeper somehow. More meaningful than just 'Avatar.'"
Old Wan nodded. "Languages are like rivers, Aang. They flow and change, wearing smooth what was once rough. Aavatāraḥ was what they first called me in the eastern lands. It carried weight, ceremony."
"How did it change?"
"Slowly, generation by generation, centuries after centuries. Aavatāraḥ became Avatarah as the old tongue simplified. Then Avaratah, as different peoples adopted it into their own speech." Wan's eyes grew distant, remembering. "By the time of the thirty third Avatar, it had worn down to Avatarh. And finally during the life of the thirty seven..."
"Avatar," Aang finished.
"Yes. The meaning remained, but the word became smoother, easier for all peoples to speak. Like water over stone, time shapes all things – even names."
"But it still means the same thing? 'One who descends with purpose'?"
"More or less. Though I always found it a bit grandiose." A slight smile crossed Wan's face. "I preferred 'that guy who keeps setting things on fire by accident.'"
Aang laughed. "Well, that's definitely still accurate. Last week I sneezed while meditating and singed Sokka's eyebrows."
"Some things," old Wan said with a wink, "don't need a fancy name to remain true across ten thousand years."
They turned back to the memories, both reflecting on how some things change while others remain eternally the same.
"What happened after this?" Aang asked, noticing the shift in his predecessor's mood. "Did you return like you promised?"
"I did," old Wan replied softly. "Many times over the next few years. Each visit was precious. Each departure harder than the last."
"But something changed," Aang said carefully, reading the pain in old Wan's expression.
"The world was still in chaos. The more I helped people, the more enemies I made. Powerful ones. They..." old Wan's voice caught. "They discovered what she meant to me."
Young Wan and Kaminna continued their playful banter in the memory, unaware of what the future held. Aang noticed how old Wan couldn't quite look at the scene anymore.
"Is that why you told me earlier that the last time you were here memory was the last time you were truly happy?" Aang asked gently.
"No," old Wan whispered. "This memory... this night... this was my last moment of pure joy. What came after..." He closed his eyes. "Some memories are harder to share than others, Aang."
"We don't have to—"
"We do," old Wan interrupted firmly. "Because you need to understand why the Avatar can never..." he trailed off, watching his younger self hold Kaminna close as they watched the sunrise. "Why we must be careful with our hearts."
The memory began to fade, the laughter and warmth dissolving into something darker. Old Wan's expression hardened, preparing himself for what came next.
"Are you ready?" he asked Aang.
Two Years Later
The autumn morning brought with it an unusual sight - ten riders approaching the town's eastern gate, their horses kicking up dust across the plains. Wan stood atop the wall, noting how the lead rider's richly embroidered clothing set him apart from his companions.
"Hold!" Wan called out as they neared the gate. "State your business."
The lead rider pulled his horse to a stop, looking up with keen interest. After a moment, he dismounted and bowed deeply. "Aavatāraḥ Wan, it is an honor. I am Jollan of the Eastern Settlement."
Something about the man's too-smooth manner made Wan uneasy, but he kept his voice neutral. "You know of me?"
"Who doesn't know of the Master of Elements?" Jollan smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Your deeds are spoken of far and wide. We've come seeking trade relations with this prosperous town."
Wan felt Raava stir within him, but her presence remained neutral. This wasn't a matter of balance or spirits - just ordinary human commerce.
"Trade is welcome here," Wan replied, gesturing for the gates to be opened. "Though I should mention I'm not in charge. You'll want to speak with the town council."
"Of course, of course," Jollan nodded, leading his horse through the gate. "Though having your blessing means much."
Later that evening, Wan found Kaminna pacing in her garden, her brow furrowed in concern.
"You're going to wear a trench in the ground," he teased. "Though I suppose that would save me the trouble of earthbending one."
"This isn't funny, Wan," she said, though a slight smile tugged at her lips. "Something about these traders feels wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you notice the earthbender among them? The quiet one with the scarred face?" She hugged herself, shivering despite the warm evening. "Why would traders need a bender?"
"Protection, maybe?" Wan suggested. "The plains can be dangerous."
"We have no benders here except you, and you're often away. It makes us vulnerable."
Wan took her hands in his. "Hey, look at me. Trading with other settlements is normal. It's good, even. And if anything happens, I'm here now."
She sighed, leaning into him. "I suppose you're right. I just... I can't shake this feeling."
"Tell you what - if they try any funny business, I'll hit them with my best jokes. No one can withstand those."
"Now that's just cruel," she laughed, but her tension eased somewhat.
For the next three months, trade flourished between the settlements. Jollan's people brought metal tools, rare cloths, and exotic spices, trading them for the town's grain and crafts. Yet beneath the surface, tensions simmered. Wan noticed how Jollan's men always seemed to be watching, measuring, and assessing.
Then came the morning that changed everything.
Wan was awakened by shouts and commotion in the street. He rushed out to find a crowd gathered around something - someone - near the market square. As he pushed through, his heart sank. A young man lay face-down in the dirt, a knife buried in his back, he was barely any older than ten.
"That's Jollan's son," someone whispered. "Kenzu."
Within the hour, Jollan arrived, his face a mask of grief and rage. "My son," he said, voice trembling. "My only son. Murdered in your town, Aavatāraḥ. I demand justice."
"You'll have it," Wan promised. "I'll find who did this."
But as he investigated throughout the day, each clue led him down an increasingly troubling path. The knife bore markings from Kaminna's town. Witnesses placed someone matching her description near the scene. And in a devastating discovery, he found blood-stained clothes hidden in her garden.
That evening, he confronted her in her home.
"Kaminna," he said softly, holding up the clothes. "Please tell me you can explain this."
She went pale. "Wan, listen to me. I'm being set up. I would never..."
"Then explain. Help me understand."
"I saw something last night," she said, pacing. "Kenzu was meeting with someone - a woman I didn't recognize. They argued. I followed them, worried, but I lost them in the dark. When I got home, I found those clothes in my garden. Someone planted them there!"
Wan wanted desperately to believe her. "Why didn't you come to me immediately?"
"Because I knew how it would look!" Tears filled her eyes. "I knew no one would believe me over them. They've been planning something since they arrived, Wan. I felt it."
Raava stirred within him, and for the first time, he felt the spirit's uncertainty. This wasn't a clear-cut case of right and wrong, balance and chaos. This was human complexity at its messiest.
A pounding at the door interrupted them. "Aavatāraḥ!" Jollan's voice called out. "We know she's in there. Hand over my son's killer!"
Wan looked at Kaminna - at the woman he loved, at her tear-stained face and pleading eyes. In that moment, he made his choice.
"Go," he whispered. "There's a tunnel under the house - I bent it last week as a precaution. It leads outside the walls. I'll buy you time."
"Wan..."
"I believe you," he said firmly. "We'll prove your innocence, but first you need to be safe."
She kissed him quickly, desperately. "Be careful. They're not what they seem."
As Kaminna disappeared into the tunnel, Wan stepped outside to face Jollan and his men. They had grown to twenty now, the scarred earthbender among them.
"Where is she?" Jollan demanded.
"Gone," Wan said simply. "And she'll stay gone until we conduct a proper investigation."
"You dare shield a murderer?" Jollan's facade of grief cracked, revealing something harder beneath. "Even you must bow to justice, Aavatāraḥ."
"Justice, yes. Vengeance, no." Wan felt Raava's power flowing through him. "Leave this town, Jollan. Now."
"Or what? Will the great Aavatāraḥ attack simple traders? Is that how you maintain balance?"
The words struck home. Wan knew he was walking a dangerous line, but something about this felt wrong. The convenient evidence, the quick accusation, Kaminna's fears...
"I'll give you until sunrise to leave," Wan said finally. "After that..."
"After that," Jollan's voice turned cold, "you'll learn that even the Master of Elements can't be everywhere at once. This town has no benders. No protectors. Just you."
The threat hung in the air between them.
"Was that a threat?" Wan asked, allowing a small flame to dance across his fingers. "Because I should warn you - I'm not just hot-headed, I'm also hot-handed."
No one laughed.
"Sunrise," Wan repeated. "Don't make me demonstrate why they call me the Master of Elements."
As Jollan and his men retreated, Wan felt the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. He'd chosen love over apparent justice, instinct over evidence. Now he had to prove he'd made the right choice - and keep a town full of non-benders safe from whatever Jollan was really planning.
"Well, Raava," he muttered, "I don't suppose you have any advice?"
The spirit's warmth pulsed within him, neither approving nor condemning. This was his choice to make, his path to walk.
Looking out over the town - his home, he realized - Wan took a deep breath. He'd have to find Kaminna, prove her innocence, and protect the town, all while maintaining his role as the Aavatāraḥ. No pressure.
"At least," he said to himself, trying to lighten his own mood, "no one can say I'm not staying balanced. I'm practically juggling everything."
The joke fell flat in the empty street, but it helped steady him. He was Wan, the first Aavatāraḥ, master of all elements, and teller of terrible jokes. And he would find a way through this, one step at a time.
One Month Later
The morning fog hung thick over the town, matching the gloomy atmosphere that had settled over its people. Wan sat in Ying's empty study, surrounded by scrolls and documents, searching desperately for anything that might prove Kaminna's innocence.
"They're calling for a town meeting," Ming, one of the council members, said from the doorway. "They want answers, Aavatāraḥ."
Wan rubbed his tired eyes. "And what about what I want? Like the truth?"
"Truth?" Ming's voice hardened. "The truth is our trade has stopped. The truth is we're running low on vital supplies. The truth is you let a murderer escape."
"She's innocent," Wan insisted, though the words felt hollow after one month of fruitless investigation.
"Prove it," Ming challenged, then left him alone with his thoughts.
Raava stirred within him. "You cannot take sides in human conflicts, Wan. That is not our purpose."
"Then what is our purpose?" he muttered. "To watch injustice happen?"
The spirit remained silent.
That evening, Wan stood before the angry townspeople in the central square. The same place where, just weeks ago, he had danced with Kaminna under the harvest moon.
"Our children are hungry!" someone shouted.
"Bring her back!"
"Where is your justice, Aavatāraḥ?"
Before Wan could respond, Ying stepped forward. Despite everything, he had stood by Wan's decision to protect his daughter.
"My friends," Ying began, "I know these are difficult times, but—"
A rock flew from the crowd, missing Ying's head by inches. Wan deflected it with airbending, his patience wearing thin.
"Enough!" he shouted, his voice carrying the weight of all four elements. "I understand your anger, but—"
"Understanding won't feed our families!"
The meeting dissolved into chaos, and Wan retreated to Ying's house, feeling the weight of failure on his shoulders.
"They'll come around," Ying assured him, though his voice lacked conviction. "They just need time."
"Time might be something we don't have," Wan replied, looking out the window at Jollan's men camping outside the town walls. "I don't trust them."
"Neither do I," Ying admitted. "Which is why I'm glad you protected my daughter, regardless of the cost."
Those were the last words Ying ever spoke to Wan.
The next morning, Wan was awakened by screams. He rushed to Ying's chamber to find the chief dead in his bed, a knife buried in his chest. The weapon bore the same markings as the one that killed Kenzu.
"No," Wan whispered, falling to his knees beside his friend's body. "No, no, no..."
"Murderers!" The cry went up from outside. "They've killed our chief!"
Wan rushed to the window. Jollan and his men were advancing on the town, weapons drawn. The scarred earthbender was with them, and now Wan could see more earth benders among their ranks.
"This was their plan all along," he realized. "They wanted this war."
"Then they shall have it!" Ming declared, rallying the townspeople. "For Ying!"
"Wait!" Wan called out, but it was too late.
The first battle began at dawn. Earth and steel met flesh and bone. Wan tried to minimize casualties, using his bending to defend rather than attack, but when he saw a group of Jollan's men setting fire to homes with children inside, something snapped.
The Aavatāraḥ state took him, and for the first time, he used it not to restore balance, but to destroy. The battlefield fell silent as he rose into the air, elements swirling around him.
"Wan," Raava's voice echoed in his mind, "this is not our way."
But he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. The men who had threatened his home, killed his friend, had to pay.
When the dust settled, dozens lay dead or wounded. Jollan's forces retreated, but Wan knew this was just the beginning.
He was right.
The weeks turned into months, and the conflict spread. Other settlements took sides, either joining Jollan's growing army or aligning with Wan's town. What started as a local dispute became a regional war.
Kaminna returned in secret one night, finding Wan on the battlefield after another skirmish.
"What have they done to you?" she whispered, seeing the hardness in his eyes.
"What they forced me to become," he replied, not meeting her gaze. "A killer."
"This isn't you, Wan. This isn't why you became the Aavatāraḥ."
He laughed bitterly. "No? Then tell me, what am I supposed to do? Watch as they destroy everything we built? Everyone we love?"
"We need to find proof," she insisted. "I've been investigating. Jollan's been planning this for years. He's building an empire, using my supposed crime as an excuse to conquer neighboring settlements."
But proof became irrelevant as the war grew. Other conflicts sprouted across the world like poisonous weeds. Humans, it seemed, didn't need spirits to find reasons to fight each other.
Years passed. Wan lost count of the battles, the deaths, the times he entered the Aavatāraḥ state in rage rather than necessity.
"I thought," he confessed to Kaminna one night, as they watched yet another village burn in the distance, "that separating humans and spirits would prevent this. That humans would find peace without spirits interfering."
"Maybe," she said softly, "we were naive to think the problem was the spirits at all."
The war changed them both. Kaminna's gentle humor gave way to strategic cunning. Wan's terrible jokes became rare, then stopped altogether. Even when they were together, something was missing - the lightness, the joy they once shared.
"Remember when my worst problem was coming up with bad puns?" Wan asked one evening, trying to recapture some of their old warmth.
"Tell me one now," she urged. "Please. I miss them."
He tried to think of one, but all that came to mind were battlefield images and the faces of those he'd killed. "I can't," he admitted. "I can't remember how to be that person anymore."
Ten years into the war, Wan stood on a hilltop, watching armies clash below. He was older now, harder, his clothes stained with the dust of a hundred battlefields.
"This isn't what we intended," Raava said within him, her voice sad.
"No," Wan agreed. "But it's what we got. I thought humans would be better than this. I thought I would be better than this."
"Perhaps," the spirit suggested, "that was your first mistake. Expecting humans to be anything other than what they are - capable of both great good and terrible evil."
"Then what's the point of being the Aavatāraḥ? Of maintaining balance?"
"Because without balance, without someone to stand between the extremes, this is all there would be. War. Death. Hatred."
Wan watched as another wave of soldiers fell to earth and fire. "Isn't this all there is anyway?"
"Only if you let it be," Kaminna's voice came from behind him. She looked older too, battle-scarred but still beautiful. "Only if you forget who you are."
"And who am I?" he asked bitterly. "The great Aavatāraḥ? The killer of thousands?"
"No," she said, taking his hand. "You're Wan. The man who once made me laugh with terrible element puns. The man who believed in justice enough to risk everything for it. The man I love."
"That man died with your father."
.
.
Aang sat in silence as the final moments of Wan's life faded from view, his hands trembling slightly. The weight of what he'd witnessed - the transformation of a hopeful, joke-loving Wan into someone hardened by war - felt suffocating.
"I feel..." Aang struggled to find the words. "Stuck. Like I'm torn between who I was and who I need to be."
Old Wan's spirit settled beside him, his eyes carrying centuries of wisdom and pain. "My wife died because of me."
"What?" Aang turned sharply, shocked. "Kaminna? How...?"
Wan just shook his head. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice gentle but firm.
"Being the Avatar isn't just a title, Aang. It's a transformation. Like a tsungi horn player who suddenly becomes responsible for the world's harmony. They can still play music, but they must first be the Avatar. Their old life doesn't disappear - it changes."
"But I don't want to become..." Aang gestured at the fading visions of war.
"Someone who kills?" Wan finished. "Your compassion honors you, Aang. But let me ask you something: how many died because you spared lives?"
Aang flinched. "I... I didn't know..."
"If you had stopped General Zhao at the beginning, would the siege of the Northern Water Tribe have happened? Would those people still be alive?" Wan's words were gentle but struck like arrows. "Eventually, 'I didn't know' becomes 'I chose not to act.'"
Tears formed in Aang's eyes. "So I'm supposed to just... kill?"
"No. You're supposed to be the Avatar. You need to ask yourself: Are you still the kid who ran away from the Southern Air Temple, or are you the Avatar?" Wan placed a comforting hand on Aang's shoulder. "Once you know that answer, you'll know what to do."
"How will I know I'm making the right choice?"
"You won't. I didn't. None of us did. But you'll make the choice that the Avatar - that you - believes is right." Wan's form began to fade. "The hardest part isn't making the choice, Aang. It's living with it afterward."
As Wan's spirit disappeared, Aang remained sitting, watching the sun set over the spirit world, wrestling with the weight of what it truly meant to be the Avatar.
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