In the deepest canyon of the Spirit World, a tree grew out of a nameless swamp. Within this tree lived Koh, called the Face-Stealer. He was very old, and he knew it. He did not feel time, but he enjoyed it, because with time his collection grew.

He had collected many faces over the years, and tended to them with care.

There was one face that he always kept a little apart from the others, a special prize. A young woman's face, with brown eyes and long brown hair, and a radiant beauty. Koh kept her distinct, ready to be revealed at a moment's notice for some dramatic effect. He would move this face, puppet-like, and then return her to the darkness.

Koh had held this face for about five hundred years, although he liked to exaggerate the number. And the face did not argue. She did not have the will to fight, nor did she remember her own age, anymore.

There was a shred of spirit attached to that face, a little willpower and many wishes. She used to wish for a rescue, for a powerful hero to charge in and set her free. Then, these wishes faded, and she wondered what life was like beyond the walls of the tree. Then even these longings faded, and the knowledge that there was a world beyond this darkness grew dim. The one thing to remain unspoiled was her beauty, kept safe from sunlight and time.

In the cavernous depths of the tree, she and all those trapped within Koh remained static, surrounded by shadow, by dripping water, and low laughter.

One day, Koh pulled her face out of the mass. He said her name. She barely heard it, but glanced around in the half-light of his cave, and wondered. For they were alone.

"I'm not showing you off, in case you were wondering," Koh said, with her mouth. "I'm thinking out loud. Do you know, the Avatar is dying?"

The Avatar. That name word something to her. She had once known the Avatar. She had once loved the Avatar. But that had been a very, very long time ago.

"Avatar Aang is one hundred and seventy-odd years old," Koh went on, "and such a pity. If he could scrape along for two more paltry decades, he could witness the Harmonic Convergence… he could even…"

Koh interrupted himself, chuckling. "Well, I say witness it, there's no way he could change any of it. The Avatar Cycle is nearing its end. After Harmonic Convergence, there will be no more Avatar. I feel it deep in my bones."

Koh bit his lip at the thought – she bit her lip at Koh's thought.

"And as such, it's really not worth it to keep you around. I'll be honest, this was a trick I planned out centuries ago, but, as it's something of a trump card, I wanted to hold it until the last possible moment – and now that moment has come. And so – "

Koh spat her out.

She splattered to the floor in a mess of slime. She struggled for purchase. Then she realized, she did not have a body of her own – only a flame of spirit, little more than a will-o-the-wisp.

No use thinking about it. She was no longer part of Koh. She turned her eyes up, towards the sunlight visible far ahead.

She was barely strong enough to move.

"Be so kind as to leave before the others of my collection see you," Koh said. She looked back up at him and saw his white mask with black eyes, regarding her with amusement. "I understand the human world has gotten quite interesting in the centuries since you lived. Do enjoy it… for my sake."

She turned away from him. She didn't dare think. She collected herself and crawled, if a will-o-the-wisp can be said to crawl. Slowly, summoning greater willpower than she'd ever thought she had, she reached the exit. She bent her head before the light of the world.

Outside of Koh's cave, she rested on a platform of stone. She looked down into a swamp. The air smelled fetid. Carrion birds flew about, wearing masks of carved wood. One of them bore down on her, and she did not even have the strength to cry out. The bird picked her up, insubstantial as she was, and she looked down on the Spirit World, and felt wind in her hair.

And she thought, 'This isn't too bad, at the end.'

But it was not the end. The kind carrion bird flew her a great distance, towards a vast wheel of light, soothing and blinding. The woman reached for it, and as if sensing her desire, the carrion bird loosened its claws.

The woman fell into the wheel, into the light. Her last thought was, 'Kuruk is going to miss me.'

000

The birth was premature, almost as if the baby girl was in a hurry to enter the world. She was born in the United Republic, in sight of the sea, to parents who loved and welcomed her. Her mother, Yasuko, had a long list of names drawn up, but eventually picked a new name, one that just "felt right," she said. She named her daughter "Asami," for the beautiful ocean by which she had been born.