A/N: I decided to rework this chapter a bit. When I read it over, I realized it was quite a ridiculous first chapter, in both its length and the particular material it covered. I also realized that I had no idea where the story was going, so I rethought some of my original concepts. Please enjoy and review!

Disclaimer: In writing this fanfiction, I do not attempt to make any profit, nor do I claim any affliation with anything to do with Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Chapter One

The temple was silent at this hour, it's inhabitants asleep, the sparse trees swaying gently in the mountain wind. The stone was cool, what little heat the sun provided that day had long since left. The night was clear, enabling the watchers that never slept, the stars, to observe the only thing still moving, a solitary figure on the northern plaza.

He drew a deep breath, and shakily expelled it, circling his arms to bend the air to his will, despite the leaden feeling in his limbs. The gust, which under better circumstances would have formed into a powerful semicircle of wind, simply faded away. The figure stood stock still, as if unwilling to believe it. Another thing dear to his heart had left him. His airbending ability, the talent that his whole life had been built around… what was he worth without it? He buried his face in his hands, whispering through his sobs.

"Roku, why did you leave?" The grief and anguish of the death of a beloved friend pressed down upon him, rendering his limbs immovable. "How could you! We needed you! I needed you! And now you're gone…." His shoulders shook.


Seated crosslegged in the lotus position, his attempts at meditation were interrupted by a voice.

"Gyatso…." He opened his eyes to find Htsao, one of his fellow elders, at the door of his chambers. Bowing in the traditional morning greeting, Htsao spoke again, "The pupils are waiting, Gyatso." The other monk turned his head and closed his eyes. His bending…. but what did it matter anyway? A life had been snuffed out. The Avatar was dead. Roku was dead. How could he instruct young novices if he didn't even know the answers himself? Misinterpreting his fellow's silence, Htsao became exasperated. "Look, I know you were a close personal friend of the Avatar's, but you must not let emotions tether you. Life goes on. You can't just sit here a---"

"It's not that, Htsao." With an effort, he looked his colleague in the eye. "Somehow… I have lost my bending." Surprise and shock passed over Htsao's face. "Please go inform the novices that there will be no lessons today."

Recovering himself, the monk retreated out the door, searching for the proper course of action. Gyatso's sudden inability could have major repercussions. The chief elder of the temple was growing old, and the Avatar was dead. Making his decision, Htsao swept through the corridor in the direction of the inner sanctuary.


Four of the five stools were filled. From his position on the sanctuary floor, Gyatso glanced toward his empty place, an exceedingly disheartening omen. Htsao, seated on his stool, surveyed the scene with satisfaction. The chief elder Ismaya raised his ancient head, a sign that he had come to a conclusion. Ismaya had led the temple wisely and well for a very long time, even by Air Monk reckoning. He remembered Avatar Kyoshi, and there were few living who could say that. The other monks revered his experience and spiritual wisdom. He had lived through the death and birth of an Avatar before; they were confident in his ability to lead them now.

"This is indeed a serious matter. But the question we should be asking ourselves, brothers, is why?" Ismaya's ancient and failing eyes moved to the monk before him. "Monk Gyatso, have you any idea what the source of this affliction is?" Remaining standing before his equals on the floor of the inner sanctum, as was his right, Gyatso spoke with effort,

"I discovered my inability shortly after I heard the news of Roku's d--- the news." The monk seemed to want to avoid thinking about the precise nature of that news.

Ismaya replied, "Gyatso, I know you grieve. We all grieve," He said, indicating the elders with a trembling hand. "But you must put those feelings behind you. If trouble breaks out, we will need your skills, Gyatso. We need you."

The monk respectfully countered, "My father, Avatar Roku was one of my oldest and dearest friends. You cannot ask me to let go of his memory, to simply pretend that our friendship never existed."

"My son, you must not let your grief tie you down. Accept the fact that Avatar Roku is dead with logic. Separate your feelings from your duty."

Gyatso looked away. "I am sorry….. I cannot. I will not."

Ismaya's eyes were sad.

"In my opinion, " Htsao interrupted, rising from his stool, "Brother Gyatso is letting his grief for the Avatar cloud his judgment." The other elders, mildly shocked at Htsao's breach of etiquette, nevertheless murmured their agreement. Gyatso stood with dignity, his expression unchanging.

"Brother Htsao," Ismaya murmured, "If you have any more to say, I would suggest taking a place on the floor, or else I cannot allow your words to affect my judgment on this matter." Wincing slightly at the mild rebuke, Htsao relinquished his stool and strode over to where Gyatso stood, his robes flowing around him, the very image of a tranquil and obedient monk.

"You are letting your heart rule your mind, my brother. Your emotions are binding you, making you unable to see the truth, to think with logic. The Avatar's passing is tragic, yes. But the world is what we should be concerned about. Our personal feeling should be placed to one side, where they belong." Htsao turned to the council. "I ask you, is this behavior that should be upheld by the Air Nomads? It is outrageous and irresponsible!"

"I beg to differ." The monk in question spoke calmly. "We have many differences, Brother Htsao, and this is one of them. My feelings are not something that can be discarded at the merest whim. They are a part of who I am." The monk stood up straighter, his robes swirling at the motion. "If they tether me to the very ground, then so be it! If emotions are un-Nomadic, as you, my brother, seem to suggest, then maybe it's time that the Nomads changed a bit!" Gyatso was no longer calm. His eyes were blazing and his hands were clenched. The elders were really shocked now, their serene façade abandoned. Htsao inwardly congratulated himself as he bowed his way back to his stool. He had played Gyatso and his wayward emotions perfectly. The other three elders of the council were not inclined to the philosophy of change in any way, shape, or form. When the time came for the three-symbol necklace to move to the next bearer, their choice would be obvious.


Some miles to the east, a man was traveling steadily towards his destination. He was one of the few who had not heard the news that was sweeping the world. The man patted his steed encouragingly as they soared over the first foothills of the Patola Mountains. The wind caressed his face gently, as this particular wind had done many times before. It ruffled his hair as if in affection. But the thin mountain air seemed to whistle straight through his guru tunic, down to his very bones, regardless of the mild sun now coming through the clouds. Remembering his cargo, sure to be feeling the cold more than he, the man vaulted nimbly over the bison's head to the saddle.

There they were, the results of his painstaking labor. Three babies, wrapped snugly in linen, placed in woven baskets of cane, only their small faces exposed to the elements. The first two were asleep, but the third was staring into space, with that inquisitive attention unique to very young babies. When the man followed the infant's gaze, he realized that the clouds were what held his charge's attention. Those as yet unformed phantasms, their destiny unknown even to themselves. Neither young, for they had drifted in the sky since the beginning of time, nor old, for they renew themselves with every shower. The stuff of the heavens, the very material that dreams were made of. Smiling at the infant's apt choice, Pathik vaulted back to his former perch. He took back up the reins. With any luck, and the help of the winds, they would arrive before nightfall.