Chapter 1

"There is no need to be frustrated, Avatar Aang, sometimes it takes many days for the dousing to work," the elderly woman said, attempting a soothing tone of voice.

Aang's face was pale and hard, the dousing fire casting menacing shadows over his features. Katara watched the old fortune teller continue her process silently. Over these past few months, Aang has gotten more impatient. Perhaps it was Bumi's violent death, or maybe his attitude finally caught up with his age. Whatever the reason, he would go into a melancholy state where he wouldn't let anyone into his tent, or he would simply refuse to speak, glaring at anyone who attempted to make conversation with him. Other than that, he had little emotion, joking half-heartedly, or sitting, blatantly absentminded.

Now he clenched his hands into fists, standing ridged in his spot by the fire. Katara watched him uneasily, afraid -as she had recently started being- of him going out of control. But that's ridiculous, she thought. That wouldn't happen. Aang's not like that, he has more self-control. But as she watched his scowl grow more bitter with every slow, trembling movement the fortune teller made, her reassurances began to sound faint.

Sokka and Suki stood hand-in-hand as usual, next to Toph who had labeled the situation "stupid" multiple times before curling up and falling asleep on the ground. Appa snored great, rumbling snores far off behind the fortune teller's farmhouse.

Suddenly the fortune teller's head jerked back. Her small, delicate frame became still. Her hands that had been hovering over the fire, "dousing", shook. One hand drifted in Aang's direction, and the fortune teller pointed one boney finger directly at him.

Aang's already pallid complexion seemed to frost over. His eyes lost their blistering frustration, and suddenly became cold and vacant. The fortune teller opened her mouth, her eyebrows raised into the scraggly hair hanging in front of her forehead. She made a hoarse noise in the back of her throat and fell towards Aang. He grabbed her by the shoulders, supporting her as she continued pointing at him, saying-

"YOU. It's…you. You will never be you until you remember. Remember the fire; you must remember the fire and the water. The fire in the water. She would remember, oh yes, she would, if only she were here." Aang looked terrified by the woman's words. He looked as if he were very close to dropping her now-convulsing body; he wasn't even looking at her now. Sokka took action, pulling the woman up by her forearms. She shook him off, sinking to the ground, covering her face with her hands.

Katara rushed to Aang, who couldn't seem to find his voice. He took a breath, dropping to his knees. Something in his slate-grey eyes broke loose, and he was gasping for breath.

Aang's POV

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a hurricane raged. A hurricane of terrible things like memories and emotions that I can't recall. I felt Katara clutching my arm, shouting for me to listen to her, asking what the old woman had said, and I saw a blurry image of the old woman on the ground, rocking back and forth.

I couldn't feel these outside things as much as I could feel what was going on in my head. Noises rang out as clear as if they were real. Where had these words come from? I've never heard these sounds before.

An image rose in the storm clouds of memories. A man. Dark and terrible, he loomed over a figure crumpled on the ground. The figure… was….I couldn't see, but maybe it was…me. This man had something in his hands (a sword?), and he was staring, no, glaring at my limp form, helpless and pathetic. He raised the sword high above his head, plunging it into the cluster of shadows at his feet. My stomach flopped.

I could feel my physical body sway to the side, then topple over. I was completely in my head.

The man looked furious. He didn't stop jabbing my body on the ground until I was screaming and arching my back in pain. I could feel the pain even though I was watching. It was like the sword was burning through my body and into my very soul, killing that, too.

As the image crept closer, I could see my expression –drenched in sweat, I clenched my jaw, lips parting in a snarl that resembled an animal's. Suddenly my eyes were open, pupils dilated to the point of complete darkness throughout the iris.

My hand shot up, snake-like, wrenching the sword from the man. The tyrant jumped back in shock, drawing another sword –this one slimmer- from a sheath beneath his robes. The man and I engaged in a deadly game of tag, whoever dies last wins.

I was doing fairly well, especially considering my left hand was clutching my side, which was bleeding heavily. All of the sudden, I dropped to my knees, my shoulders sagging in defeat as I bent my head over my wounds.

The man took advantage of my weak state, taking one lithe stride towards me. He once again raised the sword above his head, preparing to take one last-

Before the man could move another inch, his face froze in shock. He looked uncharacteristically baffled, and then he looked blank, dead. Because he was.

Protruding from his elaborate, dark colored robes was the glinting, narrow end of a dagger. The dagger disappeared, and the man fell, the sword falling from his hands.

I –in my strange, vision self- looked in awe at the person standing over the dead man's body. This person was lean and wiry, wearing almost as elaborate clothing as the other guy had. The clothes were familiar to me somehow, and I realized that this was because the time this vision is set in was my time, before the iceberg incident. His hair, dark as the night around him, covered his face as he looked down at the corpse at his feet. Something in my mind stirred. What is this exactly? What am I seeing? The man nudged the dead body with his foot, taking a look at his dagger. Suddenly the feeling of de ja vu hit me harder than one of Toph's exercises. This wasn't a vision, it was a memory. When my dream/memory self breathed a sigh of relief, the young man looked up, and I recognized him.

He was…me.