The spirit was dark beyond any doubt. It floated like a specter with only dim red eyes that appeared and then were gone into the shadow. At what looked to be its shoulder a raven hawk was perched.
"You must be the spirit of the Solstice's future." Varrick said to it. It did not answer though it's bird let loose an awful shriek.
"I have to be honest I'm more afraid of you than any of the other spirits."
Again the bird shrieked.
"Well come on then. Let's get this going. I don't have all night you know."
The spirit turned away and floated into the darkness of the room. As Varrick followed the room became a city. The city moved them faster than they walked as though something was accelerating their steps. They walked for only a moment before they stopped in a room beside a small fireplace. It was hardly a room but more of a shack but three people gathered here like it was a home.
"When did he die?" One of them asked.
"Oh I wouldn't know. Probably sometime last night." The person who answered was a fat older woman with a mop of hardly cared for hair. Varrick knew her as Mrs. Dilber, his housekeeper and nothing more. She did her job and stayed out of his way and that was all he could ask for.
"Do you think there's going to be a funeral?"
"Maybe. I think I'd go if there was a lunch." Said one of them.
"I don't even think that would be enough." Said the other. "What do you think happened to his money?"
"Probably gave it all to his company. I know he didn't give any of it to me."
"Since were on the subject look what I got," Mrs. Dilber lifted a bag beside her chair and dumped it on the floor. It held a pencil case, buttons, an expensive brooch or two, and a long crumpled row of bed curtains.
"You just took them down with him there and everything?" One of them said astonished.
"Well you know what people say about taking it with you. If he's not going to enjoy it I might as well." The three of them laughed, Mrs. Dilber the loudest of all.
"Dilber you're fired!" Varrick shouted as though she could hear him. What kind of person steals from a man who was obviously dead? And by the look of his things very well off. But another moment more and he recognized those curtains and that pencil case and those buttons as his own.
"Spirit, are these my things? Have i died?" The spirit was silent, "and these people don't even care?" The spirit shook his head and the raven hawk flapped its wings. "Well there has to be someone out there that feels something for my death. Show them to me."
The spirit spun and the room changed entirely. A woman he never knew sat at her sewing while her children played with wooden toys on the floor. A husband appeared looking worn and ragged but there was a spark of guilty pleasure in his eyes.
"Is there any news?" She said standing and putting her work aside and taking his hands.
"Yes." He hesitated, "he's dead now," the two were nothing but smiles as they embraced and kissed.
"What about our debts?" The wife finally asked.
"His successor is a kind young man. He offered me a deal. It shouldn't be long before this is all behind us."
"This isn't what I meant at all!" Varrick all but shouted at him. He had asked to see an emotion and all he saw was the happiness his death brought the family. "Show me a sad face or something. Anyone sad about a death. Show me that."
Again the spirit spun and the two were moved outside. The night was thick with fog and there was no moon. Through the mist he saw a small group of mourners clustered around a grave. As Varrick stepped closer he saw a kneeling man at the foot of the grave and recognized it to be Bolin.
"My brave little man," he said with a voice heavy with grief. His brother knelt beside him to embrace his shoulders. Bolin put a hand on his arm but he might as well have not been there. Behind them Asami and the avatar both wore black dresses of mourning. They held hands as they watched the brothers. Helpless to change anything.
"Little Yonten," Varrick almost whispered the name. "Without the medicine he needed he did not survive." Varrick was stricken so harshly that he did not even remember to complain about wanting to see sadness connected to his death rather than just any of them.
The spirit turned Varrick away towards a different grave. No one stood there. No one mourned or cried. The spirit raised what Varrick would call a hand and pointed to the stone.
"I can't look at it," Varrick said, "I'm not strong enough for it." But the spirit pushed him forward until he fell on his knees before the grave. There etched in the stone he saw his own name printed. Iknik Blackstone Varrick.
"Please spirit," Varrick all but begged, "is this the way things are, or the way they could be?" The spirit only shook, "Talk to me. Why even bother me showing this if I can't change it?"
The spirit began to circle him slowly. The raven hawk managed to always be staring at him.
"Spirit I've changed!" Varrick said on his knees. "You've shown me the truth of the Winter Solstice. I'll keep it in my heart always. I'm not the bitter man I was a night ago. Please spirit tell me this can change. Tell me it can change! I need to know!"
The spirit fell towards him then, enveloping him in his embrace the spirit was soft and felt of cloth and sheets.