Hello all!

I posted this last year, and I never got around to continuing it. I had the basis outlined, and I read through my notes a few days ago, and I just got SO EXCITED FOR IT!

I'm so obsessed with everything related to Avatar: The Last Airbender and Avatar: Legend of Korra, and so I decided to give this story another go!

I've edited the first three parts, and there are some new parts, so if you've read this before, I suggest reading it again to catch those new bits. If you haven't read it, enjoy!

Important Note: Although this story is listed under the Legend of Korra fanfiction category, just know that this is an extrmely AU story. It's set a hundred years before the original series (A:TLA), and the only reason I'm putting it under the Legend of Korra name is cuz it stars Korra. That's where the similarities end.

Also, I came up with this story wayyy before Legend of Korra aired, so please don't get in a hissy if Korra isn't the same as she is in the show. This is my AU, so just roll with it.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Legend of the Unforeseen

An Legend of Korra fanfiction

by: Sapphire-Raindrop

Prologue – Part 1

Monk Gyatso made his way across the stone floor, his robe rustling delicately across the floor as his wise eyes flickered toward the stormy gray sky. The clouds billowed ominously as they cried torrents of rain, and Gyatso hurried onward, his hands holding a plate of sliced moon peach – Aang's favorite snack. Gyatso had left the meeting rather early, knowing that Aang often went for late night flights when he was upset, and wanting to make sure he was safe in his room to wait out the storm.

The old man's face softened when he recalled the sound of Aang's retreating footsteps as he ran from the room in which the Council of Elders had met in order to discuss the boy's fate. Aang had heard that the others wanted to move him to the Eastern Air Temple for further training.

What a foolish thought. Couldn't they see that in order for Aang to progress, he needed to be treated as he was: a child? He was not meant for greatness yet, he needed to mature and grow into his responsibilities before being expected to shoulder the world's complexities.

Gyatso had been able to convince the Elders to give Aang two more years before moving him to another temple, and now he had to speak to Aang before the boy began making assumptions and acting rashly. Gyatso knew the boy well enough to know that if he didn't confront him, Aang would feel betrayed and would most likely avoid him.

Aang was such a straightforward boy, and that was something that Gyatso always cherished in him. He was genuine and kind; he had quietly accepted the fact that the other children felt threatened by him; he had put aside his own unhappiness in favor of keeping the other children comfortable. Gyatso considered Aang his son in all ways but blood, and so to see Aang so withdrawn and stressed always made his chest heavy, as if a weight had been rudely placed there without warning.

Aang's room was on the end of a low stone building, the structure heavy and immobile even in the face of the relentless wind and rain. A sturdy overhang neatly covered a path to the living apartments, and Gyatso breathed in the thick storm air as he moved toward the oaken door labeled as Aang's. The older man heard the sounds of angry rustling inside, and knocked lightly before pushing the door open.

The room was, like all Airbender quarters, simple and clean, with a woven rug made of dyed sky bison wool, a bed and a wooden cabinet resting on the far side. There was a space under the window that was padded with cushions, perfect for sitting and staring out at the wonderful view of the mountains and the valleys below the Southern Air Temple. Aang was sitting on his bed, his eyes fixed on something he was writing, and when Gyatso cleared his throat the boy jumped horribly, his hand instinctively crumpling around the note. Gyatso glanced around to find that Aang had hurriedly packed his belongings, the pack sitting on the windowsill. The man sighed deeply as he set the plate of fruit down on the dresser, and calmly folded his hands in front of him.

"Aang…what are you doing?" he asked, careful to keep his tone unassuming and neutral. Getting accusative would only fuel Aang's obvious feelings of conflict. The young Airbender scowled, angrily tearing up the note with a ferocity that sent a pang of unease into Gyatso's mind. The tiny pieces of white fluttered uselessly to the floor, decorating the floor around Aang's feet.

"They're sending me away! Why are they doing that? And why didn't you even try and stop them?" Aang asked, his voice laced with pain and confusion, blinking rapidly. "It's like you don't care, like we aren't even friends! Running away is all I can do…it's just…"

Aang hurriedly turned away from the older Airbender, scrubbing at his eyes to try and eliminate the watery evidence of his frustration. Gyatso felt his heart go out to the boy, the poor, isolated boy who was already being forced to place his own feelings aside in lieu of becoming what others expected him to be.

He is still a child, Gyatso mused, and with a small smile he moved over to where Aang was standing defiantly in the center of the room. Childish enough to believe that running away was the answer to his problems. Gyatso's relief that he had left the meeting early was immeasurable – the monk didn't want to think of what would have occurred if Aang had managed to execute his plan of leaving the temple during the storm.

Wrinkled hands found their comforting place on Aang's shoulders, and silent rivers of tears gushed out of his eyes and onto the boy's ashen cheeks as the weight of the encouraging touch seemed to splinter his firm resolve. Gyatso let the boy cry for a few minutes, doing nothing but holding his shoulders and letting him be weak. Everyone else expected him to be the powerful Avatar, a bender of impossible strength and the one destined to keep peace in the world.

Gyatso knew him as Aang – the boy who often spoke before he thought of the consequences, who loved to play around incessantly, who was eager to learn and easy to love.

Hopefully, the time that Aang needed to put his inner child away wouldn't arrive too soon. Gyatso wanted to see many more years of Aang laughing as he danced atop his sky-bison companion Appa, so many more moments in which Gyatso could do no more than stare as Aang excitedly showed him an impossibly complex Airbending technique. Aang needed to see his power as a gift and privilege, not as something to fear or to feel overshadowed by.

Aang's knees buckled under him, and Gyatso quickly steered the boy to the bed, seating him down and carefully sitting beside him. Aang looked so broken, in the dim light of the night that was shadowed by the rain, forsaking any semblance of restraint, freely sobbing into the silence. In a rare show of affection, Gyatso abandoned all sense of tradition and pulled the boy into a tight embrace.

"I am sorry, Aang, that you were led to believe that I would ever let them separate you from me," Gyatso murmured, and Aang shuddered in his arms, clinging to the man with surprising strength. "I convinced the Council to allow you to remain here, so there is no need to worry. I will be with you for as long as you need me, that I promise you."

The boy nodded shakily into Gyatso's shoulder.

No more words were spoken, but Gyatso could feel the boy's relief and gratitude, and mentally scolded himself for not engaging in this show of affection sooner. It was obvious that Aang had been craving it, which was surprising because Gyatso was usually so accurate in discerning Aang's thoughts.

And so, instead of moving away as was expected of him, Gyatso continued to sit there, holding close the boy that was as close to a son as the monk could ever hope to have.

The peace did not last.

Exactly four months later, the sky turned the color of freshly spilled blood, a comet soaring slowly across the heavens, like a beacon of death. There is no other way to describe the sight of it, but what followed in its wake inspired a level of fear unknown to me before.

I was the only one standing on the outermost balcony at the time, and as I result, I was the first to see the hundreds of Firebenders advancing in their metal tanks and sending plumes of smoke and fire into the sky.

Gyatso rushed through the halls, cuts and bruises littering his body, yells of struggling Airbenders and ruthless Firebenders ringing horribly in the temple halls. Airbender children stumbled around, screaming, and Gyatso watched as several female Airbenders herded them toward the waiting sky bison – there were several caves a few miles away from the temple, they would be safe there until the fighting ceased.

The Fire Nation had finally attacked. Gyatso and the other Elders had sensed this coming for several years – it had been the reason Aang's identity as the Avatar had been revealed to him at twelve, rather than the customary age of sixteen. But they hadn't imagined that the Fire Nation would fight with the intention of eliminating the Air Nomads completely. Gyatso had been confident in Avatar Roku's abilities in containing Fire Lord Sozin's ambitious desires, but it would seem that now Roku was gone, Sozin had decided to go ahead with his plan to conquer more territory for the Fire Nation.

His mind was distracted by the sudden rumble of the ground underfoot, sending several children falling to the ground. The stone pillar beside them began to collapse, large chunks of rock falling toward the dazed youngsters.

"No!" Gyatso yelled, and with a powerful gust of air the old man sent the pillars flying toward a group of Fire Nation soldiers. The old monk helped the children to their feet, and a fellow fighter yelled.

"Where is the Avatar?"

Gyatso shook his head. "Aang is but a child, this is not his battle," he said, his voice calmer than he felt, and with a small push he moved the children around the corner, out of the line of fire.

The other Airbender seemed unconvinced, but was soon attacked by several fire-wielding soldiers, and quickly went silent as he fought to fend them off. The comet had greatly increased the powers of the Firebenders, making them stronger than anyone could ever had imagined. Gyatso turned on his heel, continuing his search while cutting a wide path through enemy lines. Aang had been inside when Gyatso had first seen the soldiers, but that couldn't have stayed same in the time that had passed since then. Where was he now?

The temple shook and Gyatso's hands never ceased as he formed the air to his will, slicing through Firebenders and dodging fireballs. The color of his robes became dulled by the smoke and ash, and his eyes ached and stung from the constant heat.

Time seemed to drizzle past like the summer rain, soft and yet so prominent. Gyatso saw from outside his body as he stepped over limp bodies of both Airbenders and Firebenders, and his throat tightened as he saw the bloodied form of a child – the girl couldn't be more than seven years old.

Min, her name was. She had always giggled and smiled at him when he moved her toys around using Airbending. Her long dark lashes brushed her tear-stained cheeks as Gyatso knelt down next to her limp form, touching the skin of her arm.

It was so cold.

His eyes widened as he realized the awful truth.

She was dead.

Gyatso looked up, and his face was bereft of any mercy. The Fire Nation had gone too far. To fight was one thing, but to fight for nothing but to attain power…to fight in order to eliminate innocents…that was crossing the line. There was no reason to hold back now. Gyatso would fight off this threat, or die trying.

The old monk rose fluidly, and it was in that moment that he spotted Aang. The boy was crouched atop a fallen pyre, his eyes closed and a look of horror etched onto his features. His face was pale and filled with such an ancient fury that Gyatso felt a tingle of unease flare through his heart. Gyatso's eyes trailed down to Aang's hands, and a gasp left him.

There was blood on Aang's hands, spotting his clothes and dripping down his fingers and hitting the pyre with steady, methodical sounds. Gyatso's gasp was loud enough that Aang heard, and sharp eyes opened, snapping to his face.

They were a bright, electric blue. The color was bright and glowing, and yet it held a sense of age that overwhelmed all else. If Aang was in such emotional turmoil that the Avatar State was making itself known – Gyatso remembered seeing Roku's eyes glow that same color when activating his Avatar abilities – then things were even worse than the old monk had imagined.

"Aang, you must control–"

"They're looking for me, Gyatso," Aang said, his voice multi-faceted and holding both female and male voices within its depths. The sound reminded Gyatso of the roar of the ocean, the rumble of a volcano, the powerful bellow of a hurricane, the shaking of the earth. The voice was powerful and awe-inspiring, and yet…he could not bow to it. Aang was still Aang, and Gyatso reached out for him as he moved forward.

"Aang–" Gyatso tried again, but Aang cut him off.

"I have to stop this."

Gyatso watched as Aang stood, and the look in his glowing eyes made Gyatso gasp once more, lunging forward to try and grab the boy's arm, but something strong and powerful pushed him back. It was like a barrier of air, and the Avatar turned to look at him, his expression blank and yet…there was a small token of sympathy in those depths.

"Aang, you cannot win, you're just a child!"

"Yeah, but I'm the Avatar, Gyatso…" Aang whispered, and for the first time, a note of fear entered his voice, but quickly left as the boy straightened. "My job is to keep peace in the world…how can I do that if I run away? If I reveal myself to them as the Avatar…they won't have any reason to target the other Air Nomad temples."

"You need more time!" Gyatso said loudly, his control slipping as he saw the solution forming behind those bright eyes. "Even if you sacrifice yourself–"

Aang was suddenly before him, and Gyatso watched as the boy reached up to cup the older man's face in his warm hands. Gyatso had a flash of Roku's grinning face, along with a line of unfamiliar faces that trailed down an infinite line of glowing eyes and solemn responsibility. Gyatso stumbled back, and Aang smiled, his glowing eyes crinkling in that familiar way of his.

"You told me that you would be with me as long as I needed you. Now, you need me," Aang gestured toward the dying Airbenders. "and they need me. I know that I'm going to die…but if it's for the greater good…that's all that matters."

Gyatso's eyes widened, and Aang moved away, his clothes billowing around him as a tornado of wind bore him into the air. The old monk ran to the edge of the courtyard, yelling up to Aang.

"Don't, Aang–"

But the boy was already gone.

That was the last time I ever spoke to Aang.

The air was full of energy as the Avatar rose into the air, his face contorting as his hands rose up imperiously, and a wave of earth swept to the side, smashing dozens of enemy ships into the side of the mountain. Yells of pain intermeshed with the roar of the wind as it swept through the temple, impaling Fire Nation soldiers in its wake.

Gyatso watched in horror as the Fire Nation aimed a fire launcher at Aang's unprotected back, and yelled in vain, trying to warn him. No, it couldn't be happening, Aang would hear him, and turn around. Aang was much too young, much too naive, but something would save him. The wisdom of the past Avatars would assist him…they would help him…

The fire was flying swiftly, and Aang was still focusing on sealing off all ways to get to the Airbender children who were running to get to the inner levels of the mountain. He was saving his people, but he wouldn't save himself.

The images were turning hazy now, and Gyatso's voice, stronger than it had ever been before, thundered forth.

"AANG!"

The boy turned, his eyes still glowing, his lips parting – what was he trying to say? – as his hands instinctively rose to protect himself.

It was too late.

The fire was so strong – enhanced by the power of the still present comet – that Gyatso could hear it collide with Aang's chest, sending the boy flying. The front part of Aang's robe was burnt in a second, and blood began pouring out of the wound. The smell of burning flesh consumed everything, or perhaps it was only Gyatso's imagination that spurred the smell to travel that quickly through the air.

Those glowing eyes were slowly fading into gray, and Aang's body went limp as it fell toward the earth. But just before he hit the ground with a final and terrible sound of defeat – just before Gyatso let out a keening sob – a hum of energy pulsed from within the boy's body, and swept through the entire temple.

The air was so powerful that it forcibly picked up every single Fire Nation tank, rhino, and surviving Firebender and pushed them out and into open space. The screams quickly died out as they fell toward the earth, and Gyatso looked around to see that the fires had also been effectively extinguished.

The glowing blue energy continued for several miles, before separating into four separate entities, and three of the four sped away faster than Gyatso's eyes could follow. The remaining energy soared upward, surrounding the temple and the mountains surrounding it in a shimmering orb.

A grim silence settled over the Southern Air Temple.

Gyatso ignored all else as he scrambled toward the body of his most beloved student. The monk, limping heavily, skirted heavy boulders and pieces of statues that lay in his path, and finally – what seemed like a century later – Gyatso reached him.

There, still and peaceful even with his body so broken, lay the Avatar.

Gyatso knelt beside the body, his hands trembling as he touched the boy's bloody shoulder. Aang's eyes were slightly open, and his mouth was relaxed and content. But there was no life to those eyes, there wasn't any warmth to his features. Gyatso felt a cloying ache settle between his shoulder-blades as he slowly reached out to slide Aang's eyelids closed over his sightless eyes.

Aang was gone.

Gyatso knew that this information should have had him scrambling to relay the news – they needed to contact the Water Tribes in order to tell them that the next Avatar would soon be among them – but in that moment, Gyatso pushed aside everything and anything else.

"My boy…oh my Aang…" Gyatso murmured hopelessly, the small form of Aang in his shaking arms. The Avatar was limp and unresponsive, and the thought that just a few hours ago, Aang had been laughing and gabbering about his most recent flight with Appa…it tore Gyatso apart.

For the first time in nearly fifty years, Gyatso sat down, bowed his head, and cried.

It wasn't for the sake of himself that he cried, nor was it for the dozens of innocent Airbenders that had fallen in the attack. He didn't cry for the unfairness of it all, he didn't cry for the loss of the Avatar. He didn't even cry for the war that was soon to contaminate the world and destroy thousands of innocent lives.

Gyatso cried for Aang.