The Legend of Korra: Book Five: Culminations
Author's Note: This story is intended to be an extension of the show's canon. I'm aware a cannon comic book exists, but I have not read it. This story is offered as an alternative.
In the Place-of-No-Places, It was.
It did not live. It did not die. It was.
Its siblings were not like It. They moved. And once, long ago, two Places had suddenly appeared in the Place-of-No-Places. Its light sister went to one point, and Its dark brother went to the other, and they, and the two unprecedented places, vanished. Leaving It in a Place-of-No-Places that once again properly resembled the name.
It was alone, but It was not lonely. It was.
It was torpid, but It was not ever to wake, for inert is what IT was.
So when suddenly, in a fuchsia brilliance, a third Place suddenly appeared in the Place-of-No-Places, It did not move towards it. It was not eager to leave, like Its combative siblings.
It was not eager for anything. It was.
But It was moved. It was drawn. For suddenly in the Place-of-No-Places, there was someplace to go.
Korra of the Southern Water Tribe, current incarnation of the Avatar, Vanquisher of Vaatu, Champion of Republic City, and so on and so forth… woke from her nap in alarm. She was filled with the sensation of someone standing over her, watching her sleep. But there was nothing but clear sky above. Lacking a threat, Korra's sense of being watched quickly faded. She yawned.
The spongy surface of a giant mushroom-tree had proven itself a comfortable mattress, and the bright sky above a more than adequate blanket. Weather was not exactly a thing in the Spirit World, as the surrounding environment tended to morph into a state reflective of the mood of the beholder. And Korra's mood was bright skies and balmy weather because this vacation: Was. Awesome.
And the reason it was so awesome was still asleep nearby: Asami Sato. The raven-haired young woman was friend, comrade, and confidant. Korra's eyes moved along Asumi's body. Tracing the lines of a lithe female figure which Korra had once found somewhat threatening, in a territorial sort of way. Back when they'd been inadvertent romantic rivals. But that was long ago. That juvenile love triangle having long since collapsed, thank the spirits.
But Asami's body was undeniably woman. While Korra's was a bit broader; A bit more muscular. Still female, of course, but… tomboy-ish. Enough perhaps of the masculine that any male partner of Korra's might see a woman like Asami and experience following eyes and swiveling neck. It was an old insecurity that no longer stung, but Korra had worried enough about it to remember the emotion with vivid clarity. But when she looked at Asami now, Korra didn't feel that old anxiety. She felt something… different. Something good. Something a lot like how she'd felt about a certain young fire-bender in Republic Stadium, all those years ago.
And look at how that had worked out. A frown crossed Korra's face.
The sunlight of the Spirit World dimmed slightly. Asami stirred in her sleep, a frown creasing over her lips, which were without lipstick. A new sight for Korra. Asami's makeup was practically a part of her face. There was some part of Asami's self-identity in that makeup, so Korra had been unsuccessful in convincing her that she didn't need to make herself up for hikes through the Spirit World. The lack of lipstick had been a hard-fought concession, and had so upset Asami in the end that Korra had abandoned further effort.
If Asami Sato only felt like Asami Sato with her make-up just so. Then so be it. Korra liked her for her, and had resolved not to broach the matter again.
And maybe Korra more-than-liked Asami. And Asami seemed to feel something similar. Or at least, she seemed to, as far as Korra was able to tell. There were certain looks. Certain… intimacies… that didn't feel like, say… a friendship with Bolin; Or like a working respect with Lin Beifong; or a romance-turned-friendship like with Mako. Please spirits, don't let this be like that last…
And whether it was a sign or simply dumb chance, Asami Sato stirred and awoke. She blinked open her green eyes, checked to see if Korra was nearby. Korra smiled at her, and wouldn't have been able to prevent herself from doing so if she'd wanted to. Seemingly satisfied that the universe was as it should be, Asami extended herself into a full-body stretch, like a cat in a sunbeam.
"How long was I out?" said Asami, rolling back onto her back to look at Korra.
"Who knows? But I just woke up myself," said Korra.
"So maybe a thousand years? We'll go back through the Spirit Portal and be in the future?"
It wasn't the first time Asami had voiced that particular worry. Apparently, there was some story from Asami's childhood that wasn't in the Water Tribe repertoire. Something about a man sleeping so long, all his loved ones and friends were long dead after he awoke. A tragic prospect, to be certain, but just a story.
"Time is weird here, but it's not that weird," said Korra, "We've only been in the Spirit World for about a week. Maybe a little less."
"How are you sure? The sun doesn't set. It moves, yes, but wherever it wants."
"I'm sure. I can feel it. It's an Avatar thing."
Asami's eyes narrowed in amused suspicion. "An Avatar thing, huh?"
"That's right."
"Well then, almighty Avatar… where are we going today?"
Korra turned to look to the east. Or at least, what she was calling east today. Direction and distance was about as inexact as time in the Spirit World. Yet like how Korra knew roughly how much time was passing, she also knew where the three portals to the physical world were in relation to her current position. She could feel them. Like a giant, vibrating buzz that hovered just beyond the visible horizon. Two relatively close together in one direction, where the older portals existed near the Tree of Time; and the third portal in the opposite direction: The strange accident of Kovira's super weapon run amok.
"I think we'll get to Iroh's cottage today," said Korra, having the vague sense she was right. She'd been there before, after the old general had rescued her from an early misadventure in this strange otherworld.
"Iroh?" said Asami, "You mean General Iroh? Lord Zuko's uncle?"
"Yeah."
"He isn't dead?"
"No. Well, sort of. He left his body and moved here permanently. So his body is long gone, but-"
Asami suddenly stepped forward and grasped Korra's arm. "Korra! Is my father here, too?"
Mr. Sato, perhaps in an act of redemption for prior sins, (or perhaps just to save his daughter, Asami,) had sacrificed himself to help defeat Kovira and save Republic City- what was left of it, anyway. He was a duplicitous enemy; One of several madmen Korra would prefer to forget, but could not. Not if she wanted to accept her past and learn from it, rather than be haunted by it.
Ironically, that healthy mental concept was a boon from a different defeated enemy: Korra's mind conjured a vision of a bearded, robed man sitting cross-legged in mid-air. Floating meditatively in darkness, alone and chained to the earth.
"Korra! Hello?! Is my dad here?" said Asami, her eyes still sparkling with new hope.
"What? Oh. Um.."
Was there a good way to say this? Should she lie? No. False hope would be far, far worse than a lack of tact. Maybe she was overthinking it. Just go right at the truth. Face it head on. That always worked, right? It did. Eventually, anyway.
"No, Asami. I'm sorry." said Korra, worried over the pain she was about to cause. "Your father isn't anywhere in the Spirit World. This isn't the afterlife, whatever and wherever that is. Iroh came here in his own way. Like an astral projection, but… permanent. He didn't die and then his soul came here. Human souls go somewhere else." Mostly, anyway- but Korra thought it best to keep that last part to herself.
Sorrow etched itself over Asami's angular features, and she turned away with glistening eyes. The clear sky around them abruptly clouded, thunder rumbling in the unseen distance. Asami's distress was affecting their surroundings. Korra urgently reached forward and pulled her into a hug. Mr. Sato's death was still a fresh wound, and the sudden sunrise and sunset of hope must have torn open the scab. Korra, having learned silence was sometimes comfort enough, held Asami as the tears ran their course. The rumbling thunder faded, but the clouds still gathered. A light sprinkle of rain danced along Korra's arms.
After a time, Asami pulled away, her eye-shadow in streaks down her face. "Sorry, Korra. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, but it happened so suddenly… I thought I was about to see him again."
Korra, unsure of what was right to say, settled on a simple: "It's okay. I understand."
The platitude seemed to serve, however. Asami began to focus herself, steadied her breathing, wiped her face, and then reached into her travel pouch. 'Pop' went the case of her hand-mirror and Asami was all business as she evaluated her makeup situation and set to whatever repairs she found necessary. It was the surest sign of an Asami who was in control and ready to move on. Once she was done with her repairs, anyway.
Meanwhile, Korra hunted through her own pack to find breakfast: fruit concentrate bars. It was petty fare, but dense and high energy. The perfect travel food. Still, Korra was hopeful Iroh would lay out a banquet for them, despite their unannounced visit. She had not spent much time with the old general, but he seemed to revel in the small pleasures of life- or… afterlife, in this case. Visitors would surely just be a welcome excuse for Iroh to enjoy more food, more tea, and other such harmless hedonism. Korra could go for a slice of that one cake she saw a few years ago.
'Click' went Asami's mirror. She was closing up, almost ready to go. A chill wind rustled through Korra's hair. It would be a wet, cold hike if they didn't repair the weather. Asami needed to cheer up, but how to do it? Korra just needed to be bright and happy, and that would pass to Asami, right?
Asami was standing up, resettling her travel pack on her back. "All right, I'm ready."
"You bet you're ready!" shouted Korra, taking a dramatic stance, "Ready for another day of stunning adventure!"
Silence. A deadpan look.
"... are you doing a Bolin impression?"
Korra winced. "Uh- I was trying to cheer you up. But I guess enthusiasm isn't my thing."
Asami laughed, a musical sound loud in the surrounding silence. "No, it really isn't." But she was smiling. The clouds around them were dissipating. Sunshine was glowing again around them. "But I appreciate the idea."
They were ready to move. The mushroom-tree was only a couple meters tall, but Korra used it as an excuse to pull Asami in by the hip. Asami gave one of those smiles that sent confusingly enticing lightning through Korra' body. Then they stepped off the edge of the mushroom together.
Korra felt the air along her skin, willed it to move, willed it to bend itself before her and Asami's falling feet. In a puff of dust, a cushion of wind halted their fall and set them gently to the earth.
Zaheer remained secluded in the underbrush as he watched the Avatar and her companion venture forth from the mushroom-tree. He would wait for them to gain some distance before breaking cover and following, as was his habit these last few days. It was obvious to him that the two young women were not on any sort of urgent mission, but simply traveling for some frivolous reason. And that apparent frivolity was what held his current attention.
Korra and the brunette were far enough away now. Zaheer uncrossed his legs, stood, and started after them, moving quietly at a safe distance. It was an easy task for someone trained by the White Lotus since childhood. A childhood of training, of discipline. No time for frivolity or trivial adventures. Oh, no. There was duty. Just duty.
Prison provided ample time for self-reflection. And most recently, Zaheer meditated exclusively on the concept of duty. From childhood, he'd had his duty to the White Lotus. And as a teenager, he discovered the secret sect within the secret sect: the Red Lotus. Zaheer heard their message, and he had agreed that the White Lotus was too mutated from its purpose. It was not sharing knowledge. It was not aiding the people of the world. It was finding Avatars, protecting Avatars, serving Avatars. Slaves to Avatars was all they were. Slaves to a tradition thousands and thousands of years old, all focused on a battle between two powerful spirits which seemed utterly and hopelessly arbitrary.
After several months of circular arguments with himself, Zaheer had finally accepted that he'd just been an angry teenager. Plain old, everyday mad youth. Mad at his duty, and mad at whatever forced that duty upon him: the White Lotus, and of course, the Avatar. All the Avatars. The entire system of rebirth, itself. And why? Because he'd been a teenage boy who was tired of monasteries, vows, and being bored out of his mind. He'd wanted to have fun. He'd wanted to go out at night, like the normal people he saw in markets and villages. He'd wanted, without knowing at the time, someone special to share life with. He'd wanted to get laid, spirits have the truth!
Teenaged Zaheer got none of what he wanted. No justification for his endless duty. No release valve to ease the pressure his teenage hormones put on him in his constrained, unchosen lifestyle. So damn right he'd joined the Red Lotus. Damn the White Lotus. Damn the Avatar. And come to think of it, damn duty itself. And damn all things that forced duty upon others. Nations. Governments. Rulers. Damn them all for their exploitation, their domination, their enslavement. The only obvious answer was to burn it all down, starting with the Avatar cycle itself. Such was the conviction in Zaheer's young mind, and his elders were greatly pleased with his zeal. His ascension to leadership in the Red Lotus was swift.
Angsty folly. That was Zaheer's honest self-evaluation of his own existence thus far. An angry, secluded fool with delusions of grandeur. He and his followers failed their very first operation: kidnap the juvenile Avatar. 13 years of solitary confinement followed, but then, in a weird twist of fate, a once-in-ten-millenia event suddenly granted Zaheer airbending. And with that new power, he'd almost turned the grand delusion into reality.
Almost.
But he'd been defeated again. Captured. Imprisoned. Locked away from sight and thought by officials too self-righteous to have decency or the fucking guts to just kill him and get it over with!
Zaheer's foot stepped on a dry branch, sending up a loud crack in the surrounding forest. He froze, watching the preceding women for reaction. Korra and her companion continued on their way. They hadn't heard the snap. Zaheer took a deep breath, centering himself.
Calm. Calm. Focus.
Anger was still a weakness. A foe to wrestle. There was nothing to do back in the physical world, where his body quietly floated, alone in the dark of his subterranean prison. Nothing to accomplish. No way to better himself. So Zaheer continued his monkish habits, learned from childhood: he trained his mind, he explored himself, and he ventured far and wide in the Spirit World while he did so. Without that escape, he would certainly lose himself to despair and madness.
And while there was much for Zaheer to be angry about, he'd been surprised to find Korra the Avatar was not in that category. When she'd defiantly appeared in Zaheer's cell, boldly claiming to not be afraid of him, seeking closure to whatever was troubling her... Zaheer read her like an open book: Her face, her body, her voice all told him she was terribly afraid of him. She was crippled and desperate.
And in that moment, Zaheer had experienced a revelation: there was no oppression of the world by the Avatar. There was only this young, traumatized girl trembling before him. Such was the great oppressor demonized by the Red Lotus: a scared child he'd failed to murder. And Zaheer had realized that all his life, his obsession, had been spent putting tears in the eyes of a child who hadn't chosen to be the Avatar. Just as he himself hadn't chosen to join the White Lotus.
Zaheer had Awakened in that moment, all his wasted youth a bad dream. Born again. And in his infancy, Zaheer christened his new life by freeing Korra from the trauma his unborn self had inflicted upon her. And then he'd slept. Slept long and productively, examining the nightmare of his past self, finding the errors and missteps along the path.
An angsty teenager without conviction. A rebel without a cause. A fool who looked for a simple solution to a problem he didn't understand. In short: an anarchist. But a proactive one, so far as the Earth Kingdom was concerned. He'd destroyed the entire government by murdering their tyrannical Queen. But that hadn't really been a success, either. From what Zaheer understood from his gossiping guards: the population found itself even more oppressed by the lack of laws, struggling daily against criminals and other selfish types which exploited the chaos and broken law enforcement. And the answer to all that banditry: Kovira the Uniter. A force of tyranny greater than the old monarchy ever was, granted power by a populace so frustrated with anarchy that they gladly handed up their freedom for the relief of security.
But Korra the Avatar had fixed that mistake. Zaheer's great oppressor thus gifted freedom to the multitudes that the Red Lotus had "liberated". Was this not the magic of the Avatar? The true purpose of the Avatar cycle? The balancing of the skew Zaheer had created! The White Lotus were not out-of-touch slaves to the Avatar. They understood. They had recognized the correct path and pushed for it. It was the Red Lotus which had gone wrong, and it was angsty, horny, frustrated teenage Zaheer they'd ensnared to a false path.
That past Zaheer was not the Zaheer which now stalked Korra and Asami's steps through the Spirit World. His suddenly obsessive vigil only intermittently broken by the need to return to his physical form to maintain his own life force.
This Zaheer's voyeurism was a bored curiosity, not a malicious hunt. And when this Zaheer stood over the two young women when they slept, watching the steady rise and fall of their breasts, he did so out of concern, and he warded off prowling predatory spirits who circled the women when they chose foolishly exposed campsites. For 13 years, Zaheer had safaried in the Spirit World, escaping the imprisonment of his physical body. He, more than anyone alive, knew its ways and hazards, and how to combat most of them without the need for bending.
And so, like he'd done for many days already, he silently followed the women like a shadow, and when they descended into Iroh's valley, he found himself a secluded nook to wait and watch.
Iroh's cottage was in the middle of a verdant valley, sitting cozily within like a single colored egg in a hay basket. It seemed miles away, but in the strange ways of the Spirit World, distance was fuzzy. Perhaps greased by Korra and Asami's desires, the landscape flowed around them, and in seemingly no time at all, they'd arrived. Nestled amidst flowing long grasses, a white cottage rested in the sun, its roof angled and tiled in common Fire-Kingdom architecture. In the yard, a circular table was shaded by a circular reeded umbrella. Three chairs sat expectantly around.
"This is it, I assume," said Asami, her eyes wandering the property.
"Yes, just as I remember it," said Korra, remembering that brief dreamlike moment years ago. "But that table used to be bigger."
"Should we knock?"
But just as Korra looked towards the cottage's front door, it opened, and a rotund old man emerged with a large tray complete with tea set, small cakes, and plates.
"Ah, hello," said Iroh, a satisfied smile on his face. "I had a feeling I would have company today. And you're just in time for tea."
Korra no longer felt her past lives, but she felt the same emotions as when she first met the old man in the dark woods: safety and unquestionable benevolence. She smiled happily, that same feeling inside her again. "Iroh, it's good to see you again."
"And you, as well," said Iroh, lumbering his way across the short lawn with a contented smile on his face. "And you have a friend with you? Good!"
"Yes, this is Asami Sato," said Korra.
Asami stepped forward and bowed. "It's good to meet you, Sir Iroh."
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Sato. And Iroh is just fine. I'm not a Sir anymore," Iroh laughed as if that latter fact still gave him joyous relief. "You are most welcome. Please, have a seat, both of you."
Asami and Korra took chairs while Iroh calmly put down his tray in the center of the table. "So, Sato is the name," chattered Iroh in his sedate voice, "That sounds like an old, old Fire Kingdom name."
Asami bowed her head in recognition. "I believe so. But my family immigrated away several generations ago. My father was born in Republic City, and so was I."
"Oh, ho. Is that so?" said Iroh, setting cups in front of Asami and Korra. His eyes flickered away to the distance and he froze for a moment. Then he straightened up and squinted into the distance. "Is there another person in your company?"
"No," said Korra, her eyes following Iroh's gaze. Far off, on the edge of the valley, someone was waving their arms at them, even going so far as jumping in the effort to get their attention.
Asami was also standing. "Who is that?"
Korra squinted, focused on the figure, filling herself with the desire to see more clearly. And in the manner of the Spirit World, the figure suddenly seemed closer. It was a man in robes, with a thick beard and scarred face. A look of intense ferocity was on his face and he was yelling something. Korra knew who it was in an instant, that face having haunted her for three years.
"It's Zaheer!"
"Who?" said Iroh.
"Zaheer!" hissed Asami, reaching for her power glove. "How did he escape?"
"I don't think he did," said Korra, anxiety and anger rolling through her mind. Twilight suddenly descended on Iroh's little valley. "He must be projecting himself here."
"What could he want?"
"I don't know, but it can't be good."
"Now, now," said Iroh, "Don't jump to conclus-"
Zaheer sat and watched Korra and her companion traverse the valley, himself obscured by the long grass. The fire nation cottage was their obvious destination. Zaheer had never seen this place, not in all his explorations of the Spirit World, but the Avatar seemed to know where she was going. There didn't seem to be any threat in this place. The entire area was filled with a calmness Zaheer found comforting.
Time passed. Korra reached her destination and what appeared to be an old man emerged from the cottage to meet them. They all walked towards the small table in front of the building. Zaheer let his gaze wander over the countryside. The waving grasslands seemed to run for an indeterminate distance, broken only by the hint of a dark forest beyond the opposite side of the cabin. He sighed and resolved to return to his physical body, he'd been projecting for too long already. Then, his eyes wandered into the sky.
And locked on something far, far above. A grey something. A small grey something. A spirit perhaps? Zaheer frowned and stared at it a moment, filling himself with the desire to see more clearly, and so he did. Then he felt his body go cold with a dread he'd never felt in his life.
Zaheer shot to his feet in alarm, his eyes not leaving the object in the sky. He knew what it was. He knew the ancient Air Nation texts. So he knew it was not small. No. It was vast, but still very far away. But it was falling. Falling ever closer. And when it arrived, everything everywhere would end.
"Avatar!" screamed Zaheer, his voice cracking with the effort. But the cottage was far, and he had no idea how far his voice carried in this place. He waved his arms at the distant cottage, but the women and the old man were gathered about the table, no sign they'd noticed him. "Korra!"
Zaheer stole a glance back upward and saw that smaller orbs had broken from the larger grey mass, and they were falling too, but falling much faster. Zaheer began leaping, waving his arms in desperation. The Avatar could not be lost. Must not be lost! Or there would be no hope at all!
"Avatar!" screamed Zaheer, his throat seeming to tear with the effort. "Get away!"
Korra and the others were looking in his direction. Zaheer was encouraged. They saw him. Surely, Korra would recognize him. That would bring her out for a fight, if he knew the young woman at all. And that would at least get her moving.
Then an enormous grey globule fell atop the cottage, the small table, and the Avatar and her companions, swallowing them all.
"No!"
Zaheer looked upward in rage, then in shock. He dove to the side. Another grey globule thudded to the ground where he'd just been standing. It plopped down, jiggled slightly like a giant mound of thick pudding, and then went still. Zaheer regained his feet, eyes to the sky. More globes were falling, a heavy, fat rain.
If only he could use his bending and reach the cottage! But as it was, Zaheer knew he had already projected far too long. He couldn't afford to hike across an entire valley, now dotted with the grey globules, and even more falling. He needed to return to his physical body, and more, he needed to warn the Avatar's allies. Warn the world, lest the very end of everything arrive unseen and unexpected.
With a growl of frustration, Zaheer closed his eyes, centered his spirit, and vanished.
When Zaheer opened his eyes again, he found himself in his dark cell.
"Guards!" he screamed. He willed himself toward the cell door, lost somewhere in the darkness before him. His body flew through the air, then jerked to a stop in a clank of chains, his ankles shackled hopelessly to the stone floor.
"Guards! Guards! The Avatar! Guaaards!"
His voice echoed around and around in the darkness, but it was as much a prisoner as he was.