A dark storm was brewing over Kyoshi Island, a phenomenon that visited the humble home of Avatar Kyoshi once in a few years, often carrying terrible things in its belly.
"It is late," thought Orah as she watched the dark clouds approaching from the door of the dojo. She smoothed her Kyoshi Warrior uniform and rearranged her headdress, then wrenched her golden eyes from the storm and turned her attention back to the dojo.
In her thirty years of life, she had seen many red stains like the one in the middle of the training field, but none had struck more grief in her heart like this one. Tears filled her eyes as the unspeakable horror that had unfolded in this very place a few hours ago came back to life to haunt her mind. She almost fell to her knees as her strength failed her against the waves of sorrow, but someone caught her in the final moment.
"Are you alright?" The gentle voice of her sister restored some of Orah's power. She was Izumi, a lively woman of the same age, with deep blue eyes and a long, wavy brown hair. In her hands, she held a small box and a Kyoshi Warrior uniform. The latter had red stain marks around its collar.
"I will manage," answered Orah numbly. "What are those?"
Without saying a word, Izumi threw the box and the uniform into the dojo.
"Her writings and her clothes. Koko wants nothing to survive from her."
"Her writings?" Orah made a step towards the box to see what was it all about, but Izumi held her back.
"Mad ramblings that would only upset you even more."
Orah's eyes narrowed. That box had probably become the most hated object of the whole island. She did not have to see Izumi's expression to know that this was the case.
"Is it everything, then?" Izumi nodded. "Shall I begin?"
Another nod. Orah licked her drying lips, and walked away from the dojo with Izumi following her closely. Shadows engulfed the large, two-story building behind them as the storm clouds finally reached the island, the last sunlight skimmed over its roof and down to the door – Orah would have sworn that it disappeared when it touched the red stain.
She took a wide stance and began to gather her power. The air shimmered around her and the grass charred at her feet. Then, with a single punch, Orah unleashed her firebending, a massive ball of white-hot flame shooting out of her hand and hitting the dojo straight on. Most of the building was instantly vaporized, its wooden walls and frame turned into ash in a moment, leaving only some of the roof intact.
What remained from the dojo after this attack quickly collapsed into the flames and was reduced to nothing within minutes. Orah's guess was that maybe a handful of ash would be left behind. She unleashed all her power with this strike, all her pain, all her hatred, focused into a fire blast meant to immolate the dojo, the stain, the box, and all those shadows playing around them.
It was done. The taint was purified with fire, and soon it would fade from memory, and even those who could remember it would chose to not do so.
None of this would matter.
It was done.
And nobody could do anything about it.