Batman and Superman are property of Warner Bros. and DC Comics.
Avatar: The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra are property of Nickelodeon and Viacom.
DAWN
Korra is four when they first find out.
Martha is woken by the sound of her daughter's shill screams and Hank's raucous barking drifting in through the window, taking only a few seconds to stir before she's bolting out of the bedroom in her nightgown, Jonathan slowly rising behind her. By the time she hears his footsteps thudding across the top floor, following her, she's opening the door and rushing out onto the porch.
The old oak tree, only fifty or so feet away from the house, is in flames, the vivid orange glow stretching up into the midnight sky. Martha takes a step back, cringing from the intense heat, before another scream overrides her survival instinct and brings her closer to the flaming oak. She shields her face with her arms, the heat nearly all-encompassing.
"Korra? Korra, where are you? Korra!" Martha screams, as the flaming tree's tallest branches, only a meter or so shy of the house, begin to snap and tumble down to the earth.
"Mommy!"
Martha looks around for the source of her daughter's voice, as Jonathan runs out onto the porch, letting out a fearful curse.
"Martha," Jonathan shouts, voice laced with rare terror, "where is she?"
The two spend a hellish minute ducking around the infernal oak, before Hank's barking draws them behind the barn, several hundred feet away from the house. Korra's curled into a ball, nestled between two spare tires as the dog rushes back and forth in front of her.
Martha scoops Korra up into her arms, feeling her daughter's arms lock tight across her neck, and turns back to face the tree. Korra cringes, turning away from the fire and shutting her eyes tight, still shaking with fear.
The next half hour is spent outside the house, waiting for the fire brigade as Martha, Jonathan and Korra watch the tree crumble, Hank curled at their feet, silently praying that an errant gust of wind won't send a flaming branch at their very wooden house, or anywhere near the cornfields beside the driveway.
They watch the inferno with a mix of awe and bitter confusion, and when the fire engine finally pulls into view, sirens screaming against the early morning light, the family lets out a collective sigh of relief. But, despite the fact that the house and the cornfields are undamaged, they can't help but feel some kind of loss at the sight of the blackened husk where the grand old tree once stood.
They attempt to put Korra back to bed once the fire crew leaves, but she doesn't sleep a wink – and neither do Martha or Jonathan. The fire has them on edge, and the only thing they can do is force themselves back into tried and tested routines in an attempt to ride it out. Jonathan and Martha sip black coffee at the kitchen table, and when Korra pads down the stairs, rubbing tired eyes and clutching a worn plush polar bear, they merely push out a chair for her, watching as she climbs onto it.
Her face is a mask of fatigue – understandable – but there's something else that confuses both parents; guilt. It's writ large across her body language, how she avoids eye contact, how any attempts to strike up a conversation receive one syllable replies. The two parents wind up staring their daughter down for several hellish minutes, watching as she works up the courage to reveal whatever's torturing her.
Finally, Korra holds out a palm, a single, bright flame blossoming to life. Martha shifts back in her chair, swallowing down her perfectly rational shock, whilst Jonathan's expression merely hardens.
"I did it," Korra murmurs, meekly. "I burned it."
Korra's circumstances are exceptional, both Jonathan and Martha know this – and they aren't about to hand Korra over to any kind of agency or social service. They're parents, and Korra is their child – simple as that. And they'll be with Korra no matter where that fire in her palm takes her.
However, that doesn't mean they can just smile and hug their way through this – there is the very real fact that their daughter can start fires with her mind. And short of letting their house burn down the next time Korra has a nightmare or throws a tantrum, or never letting her out of the house again, they're left with the unfathomable recourse of training Korra to control this strange, otherworldly power.
Jonathan and Martha waste weeks going over possible methods for helping Korra establish control, but the fact that they have no idea how Korra produces or manipulates the fire undermines every attempt.
Finally, when a rolling blackout leaves Smallville in darkness, inspiration strikes. The family moves around the house with candles carefully balanced in coffee mugs, and when Korra accidentally stumbles into the curtains in the living room, dislodging dust, she sneezes – and the flame of Martha's candle bursts with life, rising several feet into the air. She screams in shock, barely managing to hold onto the candle, but Jonathan's eyes light up with something more than candlelight.
The next morning, Jonathan sits down with Korra at the kitchen table, a lit candle placed in front of her. It becomes readily apparent that the flame rises and falls with Korra's breaths, and Jonathan challenges Korra to keep the flame at a steady, low level – then high, and then low again.
Korra catches on surprisingly quick, and the family celebrates with a sickly sweet treat at the nearest ice cream parlour - nevermind that the nearest one is halfway on the way to Metropolis, and the cost of gas alone would make Jonathan and Martha pale, even on their best day, but this is different – this is the first scrap of refreshing normalcy in a world that was steadily slipping from their grasp.
Then, later that night, Korra drenches Martha as she splashes around in the bath, sending a tendril of water snaking around the ceiling of the bath before it crashes down. Martha comes down the stairs trailing water, leaving a laughing, oblivious Korra behind her, and locks eyes with Jonathan.
"Guess what?"
They end up making games of it all. Korra's a competitive, precocious child, and they reason that if Korra knows how to send a globe of water or a clump of earth through a hoop, she should know how not to. If Korra can juggle building blocks along air currents and have a battery of candles rise and fall with her off key singing, her fine control should be enough that Martha doesn't get a phone call saying that Korra's blown off the ceiling off the kindergarden with a miniature cyclone, or that she sneezes whilst playing with Hank and doesn't set the poor dog alight.
And for several, blissful years, things go almost completely according to plan. There are no incidents, no phone calls, no accusations of witch or antichrist or demon child – although if Korra's report cards are anything to go by, Martha reasons she doesn't need to bend fire to her will for that particular accolade – and the years pass by, painfully normal.
It doesn't last.
Korra's fourteen, and awfully teenage, but instead of temper tantrums and blasting loud music, she opts for brooding on a wide variety of topics, ranging from the fact that her abilities make her fundamentally different from the rest of the human race, to the question of what exactly was Pete trying to get Lucy to do behind the gym shed?
After a long, boring summer day spent sequestered in stuffy classrooms, Korra sits alone, staring out the window at the sun hanging lazily in the sky. The other teenagers chatter eagerly around her, and finally, Pete – rotund and red of hair – seems to grow tired of the contemplative loner act.
He slaps Korra on the shoulder, and she flinches, turning to face him.
"So," Pete chirps, glancing between her and Lana, who's doing her very best to remain unseen – Korra sympathises – "you joining any of the clubs this term? Lana's doing track."
Korra turns away, suppressing a sigh, and Pete bristles slightly.
"What about basketball?" He suggests. "Bet you'd look good in the kit…"
Korra grimaces, but doesn't move. The bus begins to cross over a river, the bridge high above, the water below treacherous.
Pete slaps Korra's shoulder again, sharp and insistent.
"Come on. What you waiting for?"
Several seconds pass, before Pete turns away, shaking his head. Korra doesn't miss the muttered "Bitch."
The front right wheel of the bus blows out with a sudden crack, and the driver curses, eyes wide, as he struggles to maintain control. Cars veer out of the way as the bus slides back and forth across lanes, the sound of blaring horns and screaming teenagers melding together as the bus crashes through the barrier and hurtles down into the water below.
The water's up to waist level in mere moments, freezing, and Korra turns left and right in her seat, watching as Lana clutches her forehead, bleeding from the crash, as Pete – where is Pete –
The water's still rising, and the smaller, younger kids are already up to their necks. Korra takes one last look around at the horrified faces, and rises from her chair, half walking, half swimming towards the back of the bus. She forces the rear door open, and disappears without hesitation into the rush of water that spills in,
Several seconds later, the bus breaks the surface of the river, pushed up and out onto the soggy bank as the water beneath it swells and forces the vehicle out. The water drains from the bus as quickly as it came, leaving spluttering, shuddering teenagers in its wake. Lana and the others collect themselves, then realise two of their number are still missing. They turn, and watch as Korra emerges from the depths, hair and clothes plastered to her skin.
She and Lana stare at each other for several moments, before Korra turns back to the water, and hurls herself back in. Teenagers crowd around the rear exit, watching anxiously – and within moments, Korra emerges again, hauling all one-hundred ninety pounds of Pete Ross to the surface.
"My son was on that bus, Jonathan," Pete's mother insists. "He saw what Korra did – how she saved his life, the lives of everyone there!" Her eyes are wide with biblical fervour, her hands too steady, too self-assured for Jonathan's liking on the cup of tea Martha hands her.
"Now," Jonathan begins, attempting to salvage the situation, attempting to fix what can't be fixed, "I'm sure what he saw was just –"
"It was an act of God, Jonathan," Pete's mother says, unflinchingly. "And everyone else on the bus saw! The Lang girl, even!"
Jonathan's eyes flash over to the nearest window – he can make out Korra sitting back against the withered, warped stump of the old oak.
"I think this is blowing it a bit out of proportion…," Martha chimes in, all for naught.
"No, it's not. And this isn't the first time Korra's acted strange – remember the bonfire? Or last winter, when the rainstorms hit?"
Jonathan can only listen to the woman telling him Korra is some kind of holy child for so long before he has to get out of the room. He excuses himself under some false pretence he doesn't care to put much thought into, and heads outside. When he steps out onto the porch, Korra isn't against the tree stump, rather sitting on the back of the truck, legs swinging slowly, awkwardly, her long chestnut locks somewhat distressed from anxious but gentle tugging.
Jonathan lingers beside the truck for several moments, silent, and he can't help but remember the first of these confrontations, all those years ago when Korra first showed him and Martha her fire.
"Korra...," he breathes, swallowing. "We talked about this."
She draws in on herself in front of him, hugging her knees to her chest.
"I know," she mutters. "But –"
"There's no but about it, Korra," Jonathan cuts her off, his tone far too harsh for several moments. He curses himself, and tries to compose himself before he speaks, to school himself into something his daughter will be more receptive to.
"Korra, you need to keep this side of yourself a secret…," Jonathan finally breathes.
"I couldn't just let them die in that river…," Korra murmurs, loosening up somewhat, lowering her legs.
Jonathan's at a loss for words. "I…maybe you should have," he mutters.
Korra fixes him with a surprised, almost disgusted look. Jonathan shrugs, helpless, and runs a hand through his hair, sighing.
"Look, Korra, I'm just a farmer, I'm just a father – what you are is something else entirely…I don't know how this goes, the other dads, they make sure the kids come home before curfew, they…rent the prom outfits, they...when the world finds out about you, what you can do it's gonna change everything. Our beliefs, our notions of humanity, everything…"
"So I'm not a kid, then?" Korra turns, stepping off the truck and rounding on Jonathan with aggression and fear seldom seen. "I'm…big and confusing and I'm gonna change things? What does that even mean? What am I?"
Minutes later, Jonathan grunts as he pulls back the chain exposing the cellar of the barn. Korra could probably do it with ease, she's frighteningly strong for her age and weight; but Jonathan feels it's his duty as a father to show his child this. He'd have Martha here if he could, but someone needs to keep Mrs. Ross at bay.
He flicks on a flashlight as he steps down into the musty cellar, Korra following him closely. To the immediate right is a corkboard, peppered with newspaper clippings of UFO sightings, lights in the sky and similar phenomena. The tabletop below is littered with old pens, scraps of paper and unused tools.
In the centre of the cellar, lies a boxy form, covered by a tarp. Jonathan waits by the stairs, and lets Korra move forward, run her fingers over the tarp, and finally pull.
Underneath is a crib, a cot seemingly carved from yellowing bone. The sides and interior are draped in dust covered furs, and the bone is painted with a mix of what Korra can recognise as Chinese symbols and emblems she can't place.
"We found you in this...," Jonathan begins, watching as Korra traces the shape and curves of the crib with tentative, disbelieving fingers. "Martha was tending to the crops during the winter solstice, and then there was this…light…a beam stretching into the sky. Lit up everything for miles around. We followed it to the source, and when it vanished, it left you. We thought the government were going to come around, maybe some UFO chasers, but…no-one ever did."
Korra turns back to her father, only to be handed a roll of rich navy cloth. "You were bundled in this blanket," Jonathan goes on, trying to ignore Korra's obvious signs of discomfort.
One way or another, Jonathan thinks, she has to know.
"Martha says that blanket was made for you by…by your mother. I asked her how she knew, she said she just did. Women just know things sometimes," he shrugs, waving it off. "But we got your name from it."
Korra turns the blanket over in her hands, watching as Chinese characters, embroidered in rich silver thread, catch the low light.
"Martha took a bit of Chinese in college – she was able to translate that into Korra," Jonathan elaborates. His daughter swallows, her grip on the blankets loose. Jonathan shoves his hands into his pockets, moving closer to the crib.
"We chipped off a fragment of the crib – it's made of bone. But I took it to a biologist at Kansas State – DNA wasn't from any animal or creature on record," he murmurs, watching as Korra turns to him, eyes widening. "It's a way of saying that it's not from this world, Korra. And neither are you."
Korra hunches over slightly, dropping the blanket to the floor, hugging herself.
"You're the answer, Korra. You're the answer to 'Are we alone in the universe?"
"No, I'm not," Korra breathes. "I'm Korra. I'm your daughter, Mom's daughter –"
"Korra, sweetheart –" Jonathan steps forward, encircling his daughter in his arms. She hugs him tightly, hiding her face in his jacket as he whispers against the top of her head. "You are our daughter. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. But you're also so much more. And I have to believe you were sent here for a reason. All these abilities, these gifts, one day it's gonna all make sense, and when that day comes, you'll have to stand proud in front of the rest of the human race or not."
As days turn into weeks, into months and then into years, it becomes readily apparent that Korra doesn't leap at the opportunity to embrace her newly discovered roots. Despite the fact that she readily takes up Chinese, albeit upon subtle insistence from Martha, she buries herself in All-American culture and sports with a desperation that isn't lost on either of her parents.
However, as she grows older, that too is lost to her. Over the course of her sixteenth summer, her strength rapidly increases, to the point where she's able to bench-press a five-ton car without much effort. Once she's able to lift one in each hand, she finally gives, and abandons all of her athletic pursuits. Jonathan wonders if it's because there's no challenge in the games anymore – Martha believes it's out of fear that Korra may end up exposing herself, or worse – hurting one of the other players in the process.
Korra's nothing short of dramatic about it, though. Despite putting on a brave face as she boxes away her football, basketball and MMA gear, Martha finds Korra furiously contemplating incinerating all of it in a frustrated rage, and it's only after she convinces her daughter otherwise that Korra collapses against her, weeping bitterly.
Both Jonathan and Martha come to the painful realisation that they're losing their daughter, and watch helplessly as Korra seeks other escapes. The typical teenage hurdles of alcohol and drugs are a frightening possibility, but Martha is nearly bowled over by relief when she realises the reason Korra's staying out so late.
Boys.
And girls.
She doesn't want to confront Korra about it – it's a perfectly normal teenage thing to do, but she is afraid that Korra's naturally volatile personality won't handle the rollercoaster of romantic angst as well as other teenagers do. Jonathan shares her concerns, but they decide to give their daughter the benefit of the doubt, and make a point of watching her from afar, only intervening if they decide they absolutely must.
Over the course of several months, the two find out several things about their daughter's preferences; firstly, that she doesn't discriminate between male or female; secondly, that she's fiercely loyal to whoever she happens to be seeing at the time; and thirdly, that she has something of an obsession with black hair.
Nearly every boy or girl that she's with has to have a head of lustrous black hair. It seems like such a minor detail, but after years of watching their daughter struggle with atypical challenges and circumstances, Martha and Jonathan take a disproportionate amount of joy in the fact that Korra has a type.
Still, she isn't so head-over-heels for anyone that she trusts them with the truth about herself. Korra confesses one night, watching the sun disappear behind the horizon from a seat on the porch, her father sat beside her, that it feels like she's lying through her teeth about who she really is, to people that deserve to know everything.
Jonathan doesn't know how to properly phrase an educated reply, so he simply tells Korra to go with her gut, and silently prays in the days afterward that Korra doesn't. The thought that Korra should never love another that much leaves an awful, bitter taste in his mouth, but this is Midwestern America – he's seen how Korra masterfully dances around revealing her sexuality to less approving parties, but there isn't much she can do against the likes of Mrs. Ross and her like-minded friends, who regard her like they would an oncoming storm.
Halfway through her eighteenth year, both Martha and Jonathan are relieved to see that Korra's finally settled down. Her grades, whilst far from flawless, linger in the high B's and low A's, and she takes interest in both the study of both Ancient Civilisations and Journalism. Korra tells Martha at one point that Journalism is a field that could let her do something to help the world at large. How she'll go about that, Korra hopes, will become apparent as she pursues it into college.
However, it seems that Korra doesn't need to wait that long to gain an introduction to the field – a small competition held amongst the school's Journalism class results in Korra and several others winning a trip to Metropolis – to get firsthand work experience at the Daily Planet. By the time she makes it home to tell her parents, Korra is practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.
Both Martha and Jonathan are happy for her, but they can't deny the apprehension about letting Korra out of their reach for a week. Still, they pack her bags, her clothes and her laptop with the silent resolve to let her have this, at least. They wave her off with wide smiles, praying the tall skyscrapers and bright lights of the city won't bring out anything unusual in their daughter.
Korra spends most of the bus ride in comfortable silence, flicking through the Daily Planet website, learning what she can about the paper and its staff. Of particular note is their star reporter – one Lois Lane, two-time Pulitzer winner. Korra remembers analysing her articles for several assignments – they were engaging, and when they weren't exposing corporate secrets they were drawing attention to injustices in every corner of the globe.
Korra hopes she'll run into her at some point in the trip, provided they don't waste her and the other's time with tours and sightseeing trips around the city. By the time the bus pulls to a stop outside a three-star hotel, Korra's already written up three pages of questions she has for the reporter.
She and the rest of the group are sheparded into their rooms, and after leaving their bags behind follow the Journalism teacher out onto the streets again, to begin the trip into the centre of the city, where the Planet awaits.
Korra's been to Metropolis several times before – but those visits were long ago, the most recent one being when she was twelve. Now the city seems like so much more as Korra takes her surroundings in, often having to dash to catch up to the teacher. Every corner bursts with activity, far more lively than Smallville on its best days. Sunlight glints off the windows of the towering buildings, and even across the bay, smoggy Gotham City seems attractive in the early afternoon light.
When they finally arrive at the Planet, Korra's already got her phone out, taking pictures. She spends at least a solid minute photographing the bronze globe inside the lobby before the teacher has to call out to beckon her over to the elevator. If Korra's bothered by the chuckles and whispers of her classmates, she doesn't show it – she's too busy waiting for the elevator doors to open out onto the newsfloor.
When they do, the teacher makes sure that the group doesn't go anywhere – after slowly shepherding them out into the middle of the room, they wait for several minutes until their liaison, a short, bright eyed woman with straight black hair and the name Jenny Jurwich on her press badge comes to greet them.
Korra hangs on her every word, and already has a notepad out, scribbling in anything that could be of the smallest importance. Despite the fact that Jenny's clearly stalling for time as she leads them around the building on a terribly long tour, and artfully dodges as many questions as she can from the wide eyed students about meeting the staff or maybe even writing their own pieces, Korra's still engaged even as her classmates turn most of their attention to their phones.
However, after two days of getting virtually nothing in the way of meaningful work, Korra's patience finally wears out. She splits off from the group, ducking away under the pretence of a bathroom break, before heading towards the newsfloor again.
Korra's found that as long as you look like you know where you're going, and don't appear lost or hesitant, you won't stick out all that much in the workplace; but on her second lap of the newsfloor, a deep, rough voice calls out to her, from inside the editor's office.
Korra stays still for several moments, apprehension bubbling in her gut, before she strides in, head held high and chin pointed outwards.
Perry White, the editor of the Daily Planet, regards her like one would a particularly interesting piece of belly button fluff. He narrows his eyes at her, looking her over, almost as if he's trying to decipher all there is to know about her. Finally, he speaks after what feels like a small eternity.
"There a reason why you're not with your group, kid?"
His rough, forward tone is difficult to respond to at first, and Korra stumbles over her reply, cursing the stutter that finds its way into her voice.
"Y-yeah. Yes…sir," she manages, beginning to squirm underneath the man's piercing gaze.
"Which is?"
"…I'm trying to do some actual work," Korra replies, taking pride in the fact that she doesn't trip over her words.
Perry frowns, as if he's having difficulty comprehending Korra's words. It makes her feel incoherent, moronic, and she barely manages to stop the indignant scowl threatening to form.
"But…you're not here to actually do work, kid. You're here to see how to do it," Perry retorts, settling his elbows on his desk and leaning forwards. "I mean, did you get impatient or what?"
"I wanted to…," the words die in Korra's throat as she grapples with the idea of what she really wants to do, the idea that's been driving her for years now.
"I just want to make a difference, sir," Korra finally announces, expression and tone resolute.
"Make a difference?" Perry echoes, raising his eyebrows. "You sound like Lane on her first day." He rises from his chair, and begins to slowly pace around the office, circling Korra like a predator eying fresh game.
"I'm gonna give you a piece of advice, kid, if only because I admire the brass you have to come striding into the newsroom like you own it," Perry begins. "You wanna make a difference? Don't do this."
Perry indicates the men and women working beyond his office, typing furiously to meet deadlines, shuffling photos, answering phones and chugging a seemingly infinite supply of coffee.
"Inevitably, for most of you hopeful youngster types, this quickly becomes just work, just a paycheck. Nevermind that print's dying, nevermind that some activist or personality gets more than their fair share of attention because they type buzzwords the loudest – it's far too difficult to get to a point where people are willing to listen to you these days."
Korra listens, steadily bristling all the while. "So you think I can't handle all of this?" She murmurs, narrowing her eyes at the editor, who shakes his head.
"You seem confident enough. Driven, if I'm being generous," he replies. "I'm not saying you can't – just that you probably won't follow through with this. And in all honesty, I won't blame you. You'll be spinning your wheels for years before you get anywhere close to being heard," Perry concludes, sitting back in his chair with a grunt.
"You want to make a difference? Go out and collect for charity or something. Wager you'll change more out there than you would in here. Now get out of my office and off this floor before I have you ejected from the building."
Korra spends the evening in as dignified a huff as she can manage. She's dour all the way through lunch and dinner, but finally, she boils over and decides to take a breather, evading her teachers and leaving the hotel with her hood drawn up and her headphones blasting at a dangerously loud volume.
She walks without direction or purpose, simply trying to come to grips with the fact that the editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet basically told her to give up on her dreams and aspirations for the simple fact that she probably wouldn't get there.
What kind of ass-backwards reasoning is that? Korra seethes, giving a wayward drinks can a fierce kick.
Before long, she's in a somewhat seedier part of town, and she can't help but wonder if she's walked all the way across the bay into Gotham without realising it. The anger in her gut has simmered down now, replaced with the all-encompassing, directionless fact that she has no idea where she is and it's the middle of the night.
Korra decides to come back the way she came, and retraces her steps as best she can. As she makes her way across a mostly deserted bridge, pitch-black water flowing beneath, she catches sight of something suspicious – a thirty-something redhead is being pursued at a distance by a group of at least seven men.
Korra's face tightens, and she presses on. They're probably just a group of guys out on the town, she reasons.
However, that reason is quickly dashed when one of the men rushes up to her, and after a few seconds of confrontation, moves to grab the woman's arm. For his efforts, he receives a blast of pepper spray to the face, and Korra swallows as she watches the rest of the men run forward, surrounding the woman.
Korra looks around, searching for help that isn't coming, and then looks back at the woman as voices begin ringing through her head, deafening.
You have to keep this side of yourself a secret.
You want to make a difference?
You'll have to stand proud in front of the human race or not.
Flames blossom to life in Korra's hands, and she leaps forward with a shout. Two of the men turn, their faces quickly twisting with shock and fear, shadowed by the bright flames as Korra punches out. The fire lashes at their feet, and causes the gang to scatter as Korra stands in front of the woman, defiant.
One of the men produces a knife – as he lunges towards her with a wild swing, Korra knocks him back onto his rear with a firm blast of air, the knife clattering out of reach. Two more attempt to seize her arms, but find themselves hurled away, up and over the sides of the bridge as Korra's unnatural strength becomes apparent.
A quick flash and click distracts Korra for the briefest of moments, and she glances back at the woman.
Is she taking photos? Korra wonders, incredulous, before she turns back to the remaining men just in time to see one of them produce a revolver. Her eyes widen, and she reaches out towards the road, before pulling back and tearing a chunk of asphalt out, hefting it in front of herself like a shield.
The gun's crack is nearly deafening in the relative silence of the night, bullets crunching against Korra's impromptu shield as she presses forward, before hurling the chunk of rock towards her attacker. The man squawks as the projectile slams into him, knocking him back and leaving only one more man, who promptly turns around and breaks into a sprint, panting as he leaves Korra and the other woman behind.
Korra exhales, and turns back to the woman, who opens her mouth to speak, before another crack echoes out. Korra whirls around, backing up as the gunman from before fires again and again, inaccurate but still dangerous. She all but shoves the other woman out of the way as bullets spark off the metal railings to her side and behind her, and as she unleashes one last tongue of fire to blister the man's hand and leave him howling in pain, a bullet clips a signpost directly beside her face and sends her stumbling back, blind with shock.
With a yell and a stunning lack of coordination, she stumbles back over the railing and into the freezing waters below.
When she comes to, she's not alone – there's someone hovering above her, but the shape is indistinct, marred by the splitting headache seemingly intent on hollowing out her brain. Korra groans, and holds a hand in front of her eyes for a moment, but when she lowers it, the form has disappeared.
Korra curses, and sits up slowly, the ground wet beneath her hands, shifting as she moves, almost like-
Snow?
Korra pulls herself to her feet as quickly as she can, and looks around frantically. Metropolis in the nighttime is gone, replaced with neverending icy plains as far as the eye can see, the sun beating down on her from above. Her eyes widen, and she looks around, fear and anxiety building to breaking point.
"Hello!" The voice comes, from nowhere.
Korra yelps, and stumbles back, landing flat on her ass in the snow, searching for the source of the voice.
"W-who said that?" She calls, swallowing and trying not to collapse in a terrified, undignified heap.
"I did," the voice replies, from behind her this time. Korra slowly turns, and looks up at the tall figure behind her, dressed in red and yellow saffron silks. The man is bald, but fresh-faced, with a neatly groomed chinstrap and what appears to be a blue arrow tattooed onto his forehead, pointing downward.
Korra swallows, and rises to her feet, locking eyes with the stranger.
"I realise this must be startling – take your time," he advises, a twinkle in his eye. Korra blinks, still off-balance from the whole city-now-icy tundra deal, but manages to find the mental faculty for a few words.
"Who are you?" Korra murmurs.
The man smiles softly. "I am your predecessor, Korra. His spirit. My name is Aang."
Korra's eyes narrow in confusion.
"Predecessor?" Korra echoes, brow furrowing as she struggles to understand. Suddenly, the idea - that this man, who's appeared from nowhere and is claiming to be a spirit, might know something about her – occurs and steadies her stance.
"Do you…know me? Who I am? What…I am?" She breathes.
Aang nods, still smiling.
Korra swallows.
"I don't know where to start," she mumbles, looking around nervously. "I have so many questions. Where do I come from? Why can I do what I do?"
Suddenly, their surroundings shift, and Aang and Korra are standing atop the precipice of a great mountain, staring down at an expansive city below. Flying craft, similar to blimps, dot the skyline, and a tall statue stands tall on an island in the middle of the bay.
"You came from a world much like Earth," Aang begins, "but smaller. Less diverse, and yet, at the same time, immeasurably different. Our race has the unique ability to harness one of four elements to our needs – be it fire, air, water or earth. And it is the Avatar's sole ability to harness all four simultaneously."
Korra takes a moment to stare down at the city, before replying. "So…," she begins, turning back to Aang, "I'm this…Avatar?"
Aang nods. "Yes. Avatar Korra."
Korra murmurs the title to herself, feeling how it rolls off her tongue, acclimatising herself to the idea. "And you're Avatar Aang, then?" She asks, watching as Aang nods, his gentle smile constant.
"The Avatar exists to maintain balance between the Four Nations – the Fire Nation, Earth Empire, Air Nation and Water Tribes," Aang says, as the mountain top and city below begin to fade away. Korra looks around, raising her eyebrows as it's replaced by a vision of Aang sitting at a large table.
This new Aang seems younger, fresher, his beard absent as he negotiates between a tall, pale man in red and gold with an angry burn scar over the left side of his face, and a smaller, less imposing man in green and yellow silks.
"So what happened to you?" Korra asks, watching as the three men at the table remain oblivious to her and the older Avatar.
"Time, Korra," Aang replies, his smile finally disappearing from his face. "Time is the one enemy even the Avatar cannot defeat. I passed away in middle age due to…complications in my youth. That's when you were born."
The setting changes again, and suddenly, Korra and Aang are shadowed by firelight. They're inside a cramped, dark hut made of wood, clay and animal skins, and a furious storm rages outside. In front of them, a tall, imposing man with dark skin, dressed in blue fabrics and white furs fawns over a woman in bed with the same dark skin and hair, dressed in only a thin blue slip, cradling a crying bundle of fabric to her breast.
Korra's eyes widen, and she steps forward, one hand coming up to cover her mouth as she struggles to comprehend what she's seeing. Even though it was painfully obvious at an early age that she was adopted, Korra's spent a lifetime calling Jonathan and Martha her parents. Seeing her birth, seeing these two people who brought her into existence and gave her a name – it's very difficult to rectify with what she accepts as reality.
Aang notices her discomfort, but keeps talking. "You were born to Tonraq and Senna of the Southern Water Tribe. At this point, neither of them knew you were the Avatar, only that you were their daughter. As was tradition, you would not discover your true purpose until sixteen years of age, and from there you would be taken to be trained in the four elements."
But obviously, something went wrong, Korra surmises. She turns back to Aang, affecting as composed an expression as she can.
"What happened?" She asks, and watches as Aang's expression becomes grim.
"An anarchist cult – the Red Lotus – somehow managed to divine your true nature only months after you were born. They were intent on either capturing and raising you to champion their beliefs, or killing you," he murmurs, and Korra swallows, flinching as the interior of the cabin turns into a vision of Tonraq and Senna trekking through a blizzard, the months-old Korra secure in her mother's arms beneath several blankets and furs.
"They hunted your parents across the nations, and, after many months, they realised they couldn't protect you forever. They travelled to the Northern Water Tribe, and used ancient rituals to spirit you worlds away."
Again, the surroundings change. Tonraq and Senna stand at the rim of a pond inside a cramped, green oasis which is itself inside of an expansive, icy dome. Out on the water, a cradle of bone drifts, surrounded by golden light – and inside, the infant Korra sleeps, even as she and the cradle melt into shimmering gold. Suddenly, the entrance to the dome, crudely obstructed by a frozen wave of water, explodes inwards.
As the two parents turn around to face their pursuers, the crib and the child inside vanish, golden flecks of light disappearing into the water. The image melts away, leaving Korra and Aang at the top of the mountain once more, the city beneath them.
Korra's expression is tight, fraught with barely contained emotion. "You've told me all this…," she begins, her voice shaking slightly, "but this isn't my world. Not anymore – and I don't think I can bring balance to the one I'm on now. I don't even think I can bring balance to yours."
Aang reaches out, and rests his hands on Korra's shoulders. The hands feel alarmingly real for someone who claims to be a spirit.
"Earth is different from our world, it's true," he begins. "But ultimately I believe that's irrelevant. The Avatar is a concept, a symbol, an ideal of balance and hope." Korra meets Aang's resolute gaze, and thinks on these words.
"If you want to make a difference to the lives of people, Korra, that's what you can bring them."
Days later, Korra steps off the bus, to the chorus of reprimands from her teacher. The Kent Farm lies several hundred feet away, but she turns and begins to walk down the road, Aang's words still racing through her mind.
"The possibilities are endless, Korra," Aang had said. "Your physical passage through the depths of the spirit world has enhanced your bending, strengthening your muscles, your skin."
When Korra finally stops walking, she looks over a deserted, barren field of dirt, the crops of this particular plot having died long ago.
"You've grown stronger here than any Avatar before you. But the only way to know how strong is to keep testing your limits."
Korra sets her bag down, and steps onto the field. She stares up at the clear blue sky, the clouds and the sun drifting far above, challenging her, taunting her.
Korra stares down at the dirt beneath her, then back at the sky. She grits her teeth in concentration, and jumps. The earth beneath her explodes and shatters, propelling her high. She arcs through the air, rising at least a thousand feet. Before long, however, the ground is rising up to meet her again, and Korra swallows, her eyes widening –
The earth craters and warps beneath her, almost like a trampoline as she unconsciously bends it to absorb her impact. Too high on adrenaline to stop now, she launches herself again, rocketing upwards, several hundred feet higher than previous.
An idea blossoms at the back of Korra's mind, and as the wind whips at her face and hair, she raises her arms in front of her. She wills air to push her onwards and upwards, and for several, glorious moments, she can feel herself rising, soaring through the sky.
A breathless, giddy laugh escapes her, but it quickly morphs into a scream as she plummets back down to the ground, crashing into the dirt and sending up a tall cloud of dust and soil.
Korra pulls herself up out of the new crater, spitting out dirt and wiping mud from her arms and chest. She sighs, and stands on the rim of the crater, the sky still beyond her.
"At the core of the Avatar's being is the struggle for balance. When you finally realise this, and finally master all elements – you will accomplish wonders."
Korra closes her eyes, and lowers herself to one knee, resting her fists on the ground. She focuses not only on the earth beneath her, the air all around, and the fire in the sky and in her gut. The ground begins to tremble, then shake –
Korra rockets upwards, the ground exploding beneath her as she shoots up into the air, fire streaming from her feet and hurling her higher and higher into the air. Air currents push her onward, and she arcs through the air, flying.
She lets out a youthful, irreverent shout of excitement as she turns and soars north, across the wide expanse of Kansas farmland. She arcs and turns, spins and loops, fire and air working in tandem to propel her throughout the sky.
And as she does, her eyes glimmer with unnatural white light, finally building to the point where she shoots across the horizon with such blinding speed that she leaves a sonic boom in her wake.
Lois Lane waits at one of the many office printers in the Daily Planet newsroom, and when the machine finally finishes printing out her documents, she retrieves them as quickly as she can, hurrying back to her desk and hunching over then, almost protective.
She thumbs through the photos of several days ago, running her eyes over the figure in the hooded sweatshirt, fire streaming from their fists, earth bending to their will and shielding them from gunfire.
"Now…," she breathes, setting the photos out in front of her, "What the hell's your story?"
So, this is the second of hopefully many more chapters to come. As should be obvious this is going to alternate between Korra and Asami's POV, setting, etc. The timeline is also going to be a little screwy - but hopefully I can write this thing in such a way that you can keep up. Read and review!
