It begins as an almost imperceptible whisper, a caress of sound. The hollow wind picks up to a low moan with undulating rhythm, then a sustained rush. There is no variation now, save for an increasing intensity, rising to a shriek. Louder still, the wind drowns all thought; strips all to bare, lifeless bone.

The jagged peaks rose above the low lying clouds, creating a jumbled archipelago in a sea of white. On a lower, gradual peak lay the Southern Air Temple. Black smoke was already rising from the ancient, cold compound. Some low level blasts emanated from the temple, echoing off the neighboring summits.

A squad of Fire Nation soldiers, resplendent in their red cloaks and imperial helms, trotted up to a flat, squat building near the edge of the temple. They lined up on either side of the dark door, three on the right, four on the left. Hushed, terrified breathing could be heard from inside. At a nod from their captain, the soldiers thrust into the doorway, illuminating the single room with their hand fire. There was no trap sprung, no final defense for the last of the Air Nomads. There was only a wizened man, surrounded by his silent, obedient pupils.

The captain strode forward triumphantly, while the remaining soldiers enclosed the robed and hooded nomads in a ring of fire.

"This is the end," the captain cackled.

The aged nomad lifted his ancient face to meet the captain's stare. "Is it truly your intention to end these childrens' journeys today?"

"Their lives, your life, all of your miserable race will be nothing more than ash and memory," the captain growled. The pupils still remained silent, their faces hidden within their orange hoods.

The nomad gave a deep, pained sigh and let his hands fall to his sides. "So be it," he whispered. The soldiers moved in for the killing blow.

The nomad's arms jerked up, and his hands began an intricate dance around each other, creating a whirling ball of wind. The blasts of fire sent from the soldiers' hands drifted harmlessly around the pupils, and were sucked into the rapidly accelerating sphere of air in front of the nomad. The robes surrounding the nomad were caught by the maelstrom sweeping the room, and were incinerated by the orb of wind and fire. The robes had been empty all along, held up by the nomad's air manipulation. It had been a difficult task, but the nomad's next duty would be far more difficult. Not for his body or mind, but for his soul.

Recovering from his initial shock, the captain advanced upon the nomad, intending to crush the old man's throat with his bare hands. But his steps faltered, and he fell to his knees. The captain could see his soldiers collapse behind the nomad, grasping their throats, gasping for air. He himself could feel the breath leave his chest and exit his mouth. The captain fell prostrate on the floor, drawing labored gasps in vain.

But the nomad kept his hands twirling, his fingers whirling, his drooped eyes fixed on the air sphere. The fading remnants of the fire in the sphere cast long, growing shadows in the room. Suddenly, it seemed to the nomad that the light became purple, and he saw himself holding the shining orb. Not his worldly self, but a cosmic representation, an ethereal being surrounded by the universe. The nomad smiled. He was being called home. But it was only a vision. The cosmic being floated away into space, out of sight. The nomad, losing consciousness, fell to the ground. The ethereal orb faded from purple, to red, and then was finally swallowed up by the surrounding darkness.


BOOK ONE: VOID

CHAPTER ONE: WIND IN THE SAND

Crisp purple and green ribbons lit up the nighttime sky. When the moon was alone over the cooling sands, the desert was monochromatic. But tonight, the shifting lights bathed the dunes in color, creating wild spectrums at the confluences of green and violet. The scattered grains of quartz reflected the light, creating a sea of stars to rival the heavens.

No aurora had ever been seen in the Si Wong desert. The elders were already arguing over whether this was a portent of doom, or the herald of great tidings, the predictions growing in intensity as the debate ran on.

But the man pacing outside the ornate tent did not care about tidings, or portents, or the sand's rich shades, or the strange lights in the sky. Chieftain Pashta's entire world consisted of the harsh sounds of childbirth emanating from the tent. Suddenly, the sound stopped. Pashta looked up worriedly from his well-trod path. Then he heard the healthy squall of a newborn. After a few moments, a handmaiden emerged from the tent bearing a bundle of gray clothes. She gave the swaddled child to Pashta, smiling.

"A beautiful girl, chieftain."

Pashta took the bundle, wonderingly, trembling. He peered at the baby within.

Her skin was like alabaster, with no imperfections. Her pudgy fingers reached out to touch the face of her father. A shock of platinum blonde hair stood out from the crown of her head. Her dark green eyes rose up to look in wonder at the chaotic dance of color in the sky.

Pashta broke his hypnotic stare and glanced fearfully at the tent. "Aisha…"

"Your wife is resting comfortably," the handmaiden soothed. She then giggled and motioned to the baby. "This one didn't want to come out. She's a fighter."

Pashta smiled. "That is good. She will make a strong chieftain one day." He then held his daughter aloft, framing her against the blazing sky.

"The very heavens weep for joy," he began. "You are heir to all that I am. You are the love of my life, the starlight in my eyes. You are Nourma."


"Hey, Nourma!"

Nourma turned towards the exclamation. At age sixteen, she was on the cusp of womanhood, but still retained the playfulness and unreserved smile of a child. He body had become tough and lithe after years of dune running and lean desert living. Her skin was still smooth, protected from the harsh sun by her rough brown robe and hood. Poking out from her drawn hood were the loose bangs of her shoulder length hair, still unorthodoxly platinum. Nourma's eyes, however, were unchanged from infancy. They still regarded everything with a curious fascination. They were currently observing the boy who had called her name from across the crowded market square.

Mehdi was 54 days, 7 hours, and 42 minutes older than Nourma, and he reminded her of that fact every day. He was dressed in the same garb as Nourma, indeed,the same garb as everyone in the village. His eyes and hair were brown, slightly bleached under the harsh desert sun, and constantly sandy. His features were unremarkable, save for a slightly crooked nose, the result of a nasty fall. The mishap served less as a deterrent, and more as a matter of pride to the adolescents of the village, namely, Mehdi and Nourma.

A matter of pride was the driving force behind the always escalating and ever inconclusive challenges between the teenagers. One day they would race to the top of the radio tower, the following day would see them try to keep pace with the monorail on its route from Ky Shek to Dusty Palms. Today, however…

"Top of the East Dune!" Mehdi cried out, his voice rising above the bustle of the market. Nourma nodded her acceptance. They started walking to the east end of the square, their eyes fixed on each other, daring one another to make the first move. Mehdi disappeared behind a fruit stand, and reappeared at a furious run. The race had begun.

Nourma pushed off a nearby crate and propelled herself into the crowd. Precariously, she wove her way around vendors, customers, and their wares. A camel-ox's rear loomed in front of her. She brought her hands down on the rump and catapulted herself up and over the horns, landing on the other side. The creature bellowed in protest, but Nourma had already reached the edge of the market.

Mehdi was a few paces ahead of Nourma, weaving through the dark and labyrinthine alleys. Suddenly, a cart piled high with fresh cabbages appeared in front of them, blocking the alley. Mehdi slid between the wheels and under the cart. resuming his stride on the other side. Nourma gathered herself, and sprang over the cart, twisting her body midair to barely avoid toppling the produce. She rolled as she landed, and resumed the chase, having lost several steps on Mehdi. Nourma knew, from many, many races, that Mehdi was unbeatable on the streets. There were other ways, however, to reach the village's edge.

Espying a low-hanging awning, Nourma jumped up, grabbed the support beam, and clambered onto the thick fabric. She leapt across the alley. Nourma's fingertips met the rain gutter on the opposite roof, arresting her fall. She pushed her feet against the wall and propelled herself out of the alley and into the open air.

The entire village was laid out before her, the bleached-white roofs dazzling under the beating sunlight. The expanse of baking stucco was criss-crossed with the dark, cool lines of streets and alleys; like cracked mud after a thunderburst. The village roofs were uniformly flat, punctuated only by the radio tower and the assorted memorial flags fluttering limply in the calm air. Nourma started her run anew. She ran in a straight line, leaping over the gaps in her way. The East Dune was now visible as a golden mound cresting the final row of dwellings. Nourma's feet made a steady cadence of slaps on the textured roof. She could feel the heat radiating through her moccasins, forcing her to keep her steps light, onward to the finish.

Nourma reached the edge of the village, and without hesitation, jumped down into the waiting sand. While in midair, she saw Mehdi burst from the street below. She landed a few steps in front of him and began the climb up the dune, struggling to find purchase in the sifting sands. Mehdi was more adept on the dune, and quickly overtook Nourma, sprinting to the top. Nourma had lost the race, but she pushed on, arriving at the crest a few seconds behind Mehdi.

Mehdi collapsed on the sand, flush with victory. He spat his staccato phrases out in between huge gulps of air.

"I...win...again!"

Nourma noticed that her hood had fallen to her shoulders. She drew it over her head and sat down beside Mehdi. Nourma was breathing evenly; Mehdi noticed that she never seemed winded.

"When...will...you learn...that I'm...faster...than you?"

Nourma was suddenly in a furious rage. She pictured herself pummeling Mehdi's face, kicking his ribs, leaving him unconscious in the desert, to be covered by the dunes. Then, the red vision dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Nourma shocked and troubled. Where had that come from? she thought to herself.

Mehdi noticed Nourma's demeanor. "You alright?" he asked.

Nourma nodded.

"C'mon Nourma, you can tell me."

Nourma thought of a way to change the subject. "I was just thinking of how I'm the first non-bender in my family."

Mehdi nodded. Nourma's family was primarily comprised of benders: people with the ability to manipulate and move sand and stone. This talent was not unique to her family; many villagers were benders. But Nourma's family had always led the Hami tribe. Nourma would be the first chieftain without bending ability.

"Look at it this way," Mehdi offered, "Being a bender doesn't make you good or bad. Your great-great-grandmother, Chieftain Mezza, was a horrible leader, but a wonderful bender. She could whip up a sandstorm and whip up an excuse for the wine barrel being empty at the same time!" Nourma looked over and smiled

"And remember One-Eyed Orr?" Mehdi continued, "He couldn't bend a grain of sand. But he went out in that flash flood and rescued that flock of ewe-goats!"

Mehdi stood up and helped Nourma to her feet. "You are going to be an awesome chieftain someday, bending or no bending And if anyone gives you trouble just because you can't move a bit of dirt around well, I'll...I'll knock 'em down!"

They sat in silence for a time, two silent figures looking down at the bustling village.

Mehdi flashed a quick grin at Nourma and trotted down the dune. The landscape was bathed in the purple and red light of the setting sun. Nourma watched him go. Mehdi's words had comforted her, but she was still haunted by the vividness of that violent vision. It wasn't the first she'd had, Nourma thought. And she knew in her heart that there was more to come. The dusk deepened, melding the shadows into inky blackness.


As mother to the future leader of the Hami tribe, Aisha was tasked with giving Nourma and education beyond proper cistern collection and grazing rotations. Under her mother's tutelage, Nourma had learned all the tribes and families of the desert, and the complex balance of land and water rights that kept all parties amicable. She was now learning about the political entity directly above the Si Wong desert, which was called...

"The Earth Confederacy" answered Nourma, in response to Aisha's prompt.

"Correct. The leader of the Earth Confederation..."

"Chieftain Wu!" Nourma exclaimed.

"King Wu." Aisha corrected.

"Right, King Wu, I knew that."

Aisha rolled her eyes. "Where is his capital?"

Nourma scrunched her face. "Ba Sing Se?" she hazarded.

"Correct. And what relationship do the desert tribes have with the Confederacy?"

"Father told me." replied Nourma. "I think the word was auto-nam-us? But I don't know what it means."

Aisha smiled. "The word is autonomous. It means we are free to conduct our own business without interference from the king."

Nourma pondered this for a minute. "Father rules the Hami tribe," she began, "and the tribes rule the desert. King Wu rules the Earth Confederacy. Does anyone rule over him?"

Aisha sucked in breath between her teeth. "It's complicated."

Nourma pouted. "Father says I'm a smart girl."

"Someone's been telling you lies again," Aisha teased.

Nourma opened her mouth in feigned indignation, but pressed on regardless. "Every place has a ruler, and a ruler over them. Who rules the world"

"The Avatar," Aisha replied matter-of-factly.

Nourma was silent. She had heard the elders' tales of the Avatar; how she had destroyed Chin the Conqueror and his army by herself, how he had held back the Great Comet from consuming the world in fire, how she had battled a great spirit and restored balance to the land. The elders could never decide whether the Avatar was a woman or a man, but, Nourma reflected, the elders couldn't decide which was the stinger end of a scorpion-snake.

Aisha continued: "The Avatar can bend not only rock, but water and fire and air. She is the only person able to bend more than one element."

"So the Avatar is a woman," Nourma interjected.

Aisha waved her palm back and forth in a "maybe" gesture. "It depends. Our current Avatar is a woman, Korra, from the Water Tribes. But, if I recall correctly, when one Avatar dies, another is born of the opposite sex. The Avatar line has been around since before our tribe."

Nourma wondered what it would be like to bend four elements. In that moment, for an instance, she had a terrible vision of herself rising above a ruined world that she had drowned, burned, and buried; a powerful empress ruling over an empire of the dead. The unbidden thought left her head as before, and she noticed her mother looking at her quizzically. To cover herself, Norma blurted out: "It must be great, having all that power"

Aisha shook her head. "I wouldn't think so. When a person has that much power, it becomes difficult to solve problems. From what I've heard, destruction and devastation follow the Avatar around, like a curse." She chuckled softly. "Running this small village is enough for me."

"I thought Father ran the village." Nourma asked with a knowing smile.

"Someone's been telling you lies again."


The next evening, Nourma waited on top of the roof overlooking the market square. When she saw Mehdi, she called down "The Sunken Mast!", referring to a decrepit sand cruiser half-buried in the dunes on the west side of the village. Mehdi looked up and grinned. "Even with your head start, I'll still beat you!"

As a reply, Nourma started her run. She had secretly borrowed a builder's measuring pole, and she used it to vault over the first wide jump. She could see Mehdi below her, pushing off from the alley corners, giving himself even more speed.

Nourma's next leap was farther. Luckily, she had altruistically installed a taut clothesline for the residents below her. This had the curious side effect of giving Nourma a springing-off point midway through her fall. She grasped onto the roof of the opposite building, pulled herself up, and continued sprinting. She could see the mast.

Nourma reached the building at the west end. She slid down the sand drift that reached to the roof, and continued her run. The mast was just a measure away now. Nourma heard Mehdi's labored breath catching up to her, right behind her, right beside her,and right in front of her. With every step, Mehdi increased his lead on Nourma.

"You'll...never...catch...up!"

The rage took Nourma. This time it was not qualified with an image, but rather a visceral feeling of anger, shame, and impotence, that culminated in a very real explosion under her feet.

The blast catapulted Nourma over Mehdi, and deposited her head-first at the base of the mast. Nourma pulled her head from the sand and turned back to face Mehdi. He had stopped a few yards shy, looking at Nourma dumbfounded, too shocked to breathe.

"You...bent...air," Mehdi gasped, as if words would bring comprehension.

Nourma looked down at her hands. Sure enough, even now, there was a slight, unnatural breeze flowing down her arms. But that wasn't all. In a daze, Nourma looked back at the small crater her explosion had left in the sand. There were scorch marks lining the edges. She examined her hands. Coming off her fingertips, almost imperceptible, were tiny jets of flame.

Fire and air. Two elements at once.

Nourma raised her head, tears in her eyes.

"What am I?"

Mehdi stared back, mouth agape, more frightened of Nourma's tears than of what had happened.

Nourma pulled her hood back over her head, turned, and ran. Paralyzed, Mehdi watched her disappear over the nearest dune.

The setting sun followed her a few minutes later. Then, the evening winds began.