The clear light of the moon shone off the rocking waves, glimmering as if in imitation of the sparkling stars.
The breeze, chilled as it was from the barren glaciers of the south, coated even the roughest waves in a momentary sheen of ice, constantly cracking and dissolving against each other. The wind, carried as it was by the moonlight, reached past those waves, onto the solid surface of the great field of ice. Ice crystals blew about in its passing, flurrying and scattering before the course of the windstream, gradually gaining strength as it went along, buffered from below by the ever-present ice.
The power built until it had become a tangible force, scouring the barren surface of any snow that had dared fall from the sky, smoothing the rough edges of ice blades and chasm ridges. It soared on and on, farther and father into the heart of the South, the ever-present wind becoming a rushing gale. Anything living heard its approach, and tried to find what shelter it could glean from the barren surfaces. Whenever one was unsuccessful, the wind regretted its own passing, its stealing away of the heat from the living things.
But the gale, guided by moonlight, was seeking something.
Something that could withstand it.
Soon it reached the outskirts of the ruins. Structures, seemingly made from the ice itself, as if drawn from the very air, lay in piles upon the ground. Their broken forms had been melted and re-frozen countless times over the years, but the remnants remained. The gale swept over the remnant of a watchtower, small piles of wind-scattered bones half-submerged in the frozen ice, unable to hide the scorch marks that had left them there. The forces of the wind and light swept through the ruined structures, searching, searching.
They left the faded village and came to the rows of crystal graves. Within each was a perfectly preserved body; men, women, and children. Their bodies still retained the wounds that had killed them, and many were burned, their clothing and skin blackened. They were all dressed in the blue of the people of the Water Tribe.
The gale moved onward; it was not seeking the dead, but the cursed.
It came to the wreckage of a great iron ship. It had been locked in place by the very ice it had once so firmly crushed. The wind passed the broken armored forms at its base and swept up the tilted ramp. It fell upon the ice-cracked deck, jagged spears of ice and blasted metal still remaining from the furious energies that had scoured its surface.
There, the gale found what it had sought. A being was on its knees, facing northward, head lowered. Surging forward in sudden exultant power, the sweeping winds crashed against the lone form.
The moonlight watched.
The gales drove and spun and carved, the ragged blue clothing of the being whipping about it in the sudden whirlwind. It slammed against it, again and again, trying desperately to sweep it to the metal of the deck, to show the being the barren power of the Southern winds. It tore, bit, and ripped at the ragged being, screaming its solidarity to the skies above and the frozen sea below.
The being did not even take a breath.
Their powers exhausted, the wind fell back, confused. Its strength, gained over a hundred miles, had been repulsed.
As it had been for over five years.
The moonlight was satisfied. This was the being that it had sought. It took the form of those that walked the earth, a form it had not used in millennia. As the form coalesced, it smiled. Long pale hair swirled around kind features, a robe of the purest white drifting about it. The Spirit of the Moon, the Goddess of Mercy, lifted a gentle hand, and covered the being in the warm winds of spirit that were so much kinder than those of the barren plain. "Daughter of the sea, receive my peace and hear my words."
The demon girl raised her eyes towards the Spirit. They were blue, glowing with an inner light. They were filled with despair that was deeper than the ocean, and pain that was sharper than the blades of ice in her hands. Her lovely face- lined with that despair and pain—was framed by tangled and ragged brown hair. But two thin braids, woven through with blue thread, were still visible. "What do you want from me, Spirit?" she whispered, voice raw and jagged.
The Spirit's smile faded. "Why do you remain here?"
The girls' eyes narrowed, the demon marks on her face glowing with the same energy as in her eyes. "I am alive, and my family is dead. I would honor their graves with my own…" her voice cracked. "But I cannot die."
The Spirit allowed itself to drift closer, almost touching the surface of the broken vessel. "Perhaps… you are not meant to die, daughter. Perhaps the universe has other plans for you."
"I want no part in such plans," the girl spat, her hair falling around her eyes. She did not bother removing it.
"There is a monk," The Spirit's voice was tempered by patience but reinforced with firmness. "He has been called by the Avatar to journey to the Thunderclap Monastery, seeking to end the curse on the people of this land." The Spirit paused, a small smile gracing her features. "The curse that is upon you, daughter. He is in need of protection, and companionship."
"Why should I?" The girl rejoined, baring her sharp canines. "Tell me why I should leave the graves of my people, to complete my failure before them."
"So that you may have a reason to live," stated the Spirit calmly. The girl's eyes narrowed in anger, but the Goddess met her gaze unwaveringly.
The girl's breath caught in her throat, and her hardened exterior collapsed. She bent to the deck, the glowing eyes clenched against the tears that threatened to fall. "I am not worthy to protect any life, Spirit. My grandmother, my brother, everyone I have ever known, fell because I was not strong enough to protect them! You would entrust this monk's life to me, she who has fallen in every possible way?" The last word was meant to be a growl, but it came out choked.
The Spirit knelt to the deck, allowing her frame to become physical. She took the girl in her arms, ignoring the shocked stiffness that spread through her. "I would have no other," the Spirit whispered. The girl remained still in her supporting arms, the tears still not falling. But she did not reject the embrace. "There is much damage in you, daughter…" The spirit stated. "It is deeper even than the curse that marks your face. The path to peace will be long. Do you accept the call?"
The girl nodded silently. The Spirit stood, holding out her hand, and a gleaming staff formed from the ever-present light of the moon. A slim blade marked its tip, and ancient writing inscribed its hilt. "This is Xiangyao. He will guide you to where you will meet the pilgrim on his journey." The girl took the haft of the blade numbly, looking up at the Spirit. "You remember your true name, correct?" The girl nodded. "Do not forget it. I shall give you a new one, in time, to protect you. If you are faithful, you will gain the peace you seek. You may even find things you have lost."
Her eyes were still marked with pain. But now, it was not alone, sharing her mind with determination and resolve. The girl stood, the light of the blue demon marks growing in strength until they met the moonlight itself in power. "I will find your monk, spirit. I will protect him." She stated, resolve filling her words.
Yue—the Goddess of Mercy—nodded, a smile gracing her features. "I know you will. May harmony follow in your footsteps." The Spirit watched the girl launch herself down onto the ice, where a stream of vapor rose from the speed of her passing. The gales would be no match for her.
And may heaven itself bless you… The Spirit faded back into the winds and light.
...Katara.