Aang stared for a moment at the package lying on his table. His hand stretched out to touch the package, but he pulled away before he made contact. He sat back in his chair, half laughing at his dread, but the other half entertaining it.

It can't be from Katara. He thought to himself. No, no. the paper is wrong, there's no note, and it looks so hastily thrown together. He ran his hand up and down his face, grating his fingertips against his finely shaped beard. It looks like something Sokka would throw together. Or Toph. But they're both in the city. if they wanted to give me something, they'd just hand it to me in person. He sighed.

No normal person would look at a simple package with such scrutiny. They'd simply open it. But Aang was not a normal person; he was the Avatar. More than a few assassins had tried to kill him with packages such as this. One would be assassin only failed because the explosives hidden inside had went off prematurely, costing the life of one unfortunate courier. Another was laced with dried flakes of poisonous leafs that only failed because Aang was quick enough to brush them away with his bending.

But those attempts had been directly after the war, from embittered soldiers and mercenaries who feared what their life would be like without a steady stream of war to profit from. The war was so long ago that it seemed like a distant dream, a nightmare to be forgotten. Though he occasionally dealt with revolutionaries and criminals who would love to take his life, he found that only a few had any degree of competency.

An assassin…he thought to himself. Would make it look like a package I'd want to open. They'd make it look like an actual package. They'd use a real courier and not some hobo who needed a few coins for a meal.

He thought back to the man who had given him the package. He was a disgusting thing; the smell alone had made Aang sick to his stomach. He smelt of ash and feces, of sweat and garbage. His clothes, what little he had, consisted of a pair of pants with only one leg still intact. he was kept covered by a patch job of blankets, paper, and pelts. Given his age, pale skin and amber eyes, Aang was sure he was a disenfranchised soldier that the Fire Nation was forced to apologize for and forget.

He reached out and ran his hand over the paper. It was a simple brown packaging the city's post office had a tenancy to use. He pressed harder. The package was no doubt made of wood, or perhaps some kind of ceramics. He leaned forward and picked up the box. It was an arm's length width wise, a perfect square. For depth, it was about half an arm's length. It weighed a few pounds, but Aang was sure that was mostly the box.

He shook it slightly, and he heard a soft thump of whatever was inside hitting the edges. He shook it again, and he swore he heard the ruffling of papers.

Could this be a package from the government? He thought to himself. Maybe Zuko had it sent to me, inconspicuously. He sighed. Either way, I have to open it.

Before more thoughts of assassins and criminals entered his mind, he quickly ran his hand under the seams of the paper, and tore off the wrapping. Underneath was a wooden box. It had been painted red, and the Fire Nation insignia sat at the top.

He smiled, impressed with himself for accurately guessing its origins. He undid the strings on the top and took off its lid, revealing a series of documents piled within.

He grabbed a few, but was immediately surprised to see the dates on the top. The Fire Nation used "Eras" to record time, and the Eras were measured by the rule of the Fire Lord. Going by a Fire Nation calendar, the year was the 20th Year of Zuko, twenty years since he had taken the reigns and began governing the Fire Nation.

The dates on the Fire Nation papers were dated between the 30th and 32nd Year of Azulon. Aang did the math in his head for a moment. This was during the war. About fifty years into it. He read the title of a folder as he pawed through the papers.

Project: Otherworld.