—Haha! We won!
—We finally won!
—We won! We won!
Inside a temple perched on a mountain peak, four young bald monks celebrated their victory with their arms raised and wooden staffs clashing in the air. They wore the red and yellow garb of the Air Nomads, and their bare feet echoed against the polished stone floor as they jumped around a fifth boy, who watched them with his arms crossed and a barely contained grimace of frustration on his face.
This last monk had an appearance that immediately distinguished him from his companions. His eyes, as clear blue as the autumn sky, gleamed with a competitive spark that had not yet died out. A distinctive sky-blue arrow tattoo covered his entire bald head and extended down to his forehead, and on the backs of both hands he bore a pair of identical tattoos, arrows pointing toward his fingers.
The other children formed a circle around him, laughing joyfully.
—We beat you, Aang! Finally we beat you!
—It's about time!
—Nobody likes losing all the time!
Aang pressed his lips together. He opened his mouth to retort, but the other children had already turned around and were running back into the temple, their laughter echoing through the stone corridors until it faded into the distance.
—Aang.
A hand rested gently on his shoulder. Aang turned and found himself face to face with the wrinkled, kind face of an elder monk who had approached without a sound. He wore an orange kasaya over a saffron-yellow robe, and a necklace of wooden beads hung across his chest. The same blue arrow tattoos that adorned Aang's head marked the elder's bald pate, and a long white mustache fell on both sides of his face, framing a warm, fatherly smile.
—Remember, Aang —said the old man, lowering himself to the boy's level—. As an Airbender, it's important to know when to show restraint. Even if you have the power to win.
He placed his wrinkled hand on Aang's bald head and looked into his eyes. There was infinite tenderness in that gaze, that of a master who saw in his student much more than just a disciple.
—You are the Avatar, and many count on you… count on you… count on you…
The master's last sentence repeated and stretched in Aang's ears. The words elongated like a distorted echo, bouncing off the walls of his skull again and again. His master Gyatso's face began to blur, and a crimson glow, intense and unnatural, illuminated the sky above his head.
Aang spun on his heels. A chill ran down his spine as he looked up, hypnotized by what he saw: an enormous ball of fire, a miniature sun falling from the sky, leaving behind a trail of black smoke and a deafening roar. The heat hit his face even before the ball struck the ground.
The impact was apocalyptic.
A thunderous boom shook the entire mountain. The temple walls cracked, and fire spread in all directions like a voracious beast, engulfing everything. The air became unbreathable, thick with smoke and ash.
—What is happening?!
Aang spun around, disoriented. The flames devoured the temple that had been his home, licking the stone columns, consuming the tapestries and manuscripts, collapsing the ceilings he had so often flown through. The fire crackled everywhere, and with it came the screams.
—Where is the Avatar?
—He left! He ran away!
—What? —Aang looked toward the voices, confused—. I'm here!
But no one saw or heard him.
—Where did the Avatar go?
—We need the Avatar!
—Aang! Where are you?
A familiar figure emerged through the flames. Gyatso, his master, walked with difficulty among the rubble, searching for him. His robe was singed and soot stained his face, but his eyes remained the same: full of concern.
—Master Gyatso! I'm here! —Aang shouted, waving his arms—. Don't go, wait!
But the old man could not hear him. Gyatso turned and walked into a wall of fire, and the flames swallowed him as if he had never been there. His voice echoed for a moment longer, calling Aang's name, and then faded.
—What is happening?!
The flames suddenly engulfed Aang. The heat scorched his skin, but in the next instant, the ground beneath his feet ceased to be stone and became water. Dark, icy water that swallowed him completely. He sank, surrounded by bubbles, his lungs burning and his arms flailing uselessly as he tried to reach the surface. Above, farther and farther away, the crimson glow of the fire still shone through the water like a furious eye that refused to close.
—I'm... I'm here! I'm here!
Aang woke up screaming.
He sat up abruptly on his traveling blanket, his chest heaving and his heart pounding against his ribs. Beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead and trickled down his arrow tattoos. The air around him had swirled into a small spiral of wind, an unconscious reflection of his fear that dissipated as soon as he regained awareness.
He was no longer a child. His face had lost the roundness of childhood, and his features had sharpened into those of a young adult. The same sky-blue arrow still adorned his head and hands, but his eyes now carried a weight that had not been there before.
He took a deep breath. The smell of fresh grass and mountain breeze filled his lungs, and little by little his heart began to calm.
A sharp squeak sounded next to his ear.
—Hi, Momo —Aang murmured, managing a tired smile.
A small lemur with large ears and white fur with brown spots climbed onto his shoulder, carrying a small toy ball in its hands. Momo tilted his head and offered him the ball, as if he knew his friend needed a distraction.
Behind Aang, an enormous shadow slowly rose. A large white bison with a blue nose and six massive legs yawned loudly, shaking its flat, fan-like tail. Appa trotted over and, before Aang could react, gave him a huge lick that sent him rolling across the grass.
—Okay, okay! —Aang laughed, spitting out a bit of bison drool and raising his hands in surrender—. I'm awake!
He got to his feet and brushed himself off. He grabbed his red cloak and threw it over his shoulders.
—I know, I know —he said, responding to Appa's insistent grunt—. We have work to finish.
He adjusted the cloak around his neck and looked toward the horizon. The mountains stretched before him, snow-capped peaks and green valleys fading into the morning mist. Somewhere, beyond those summits, lay the remains of what had once been his home.
With an agile leap, he mounted Appa's back. Momo squeaked and settled on the bison's head.
—Let's go back to our old home.