No.
They couldn't be dead, could they?
Thoughts raced through the man's head as he walked the ancient steps up the mountain. The steps looked recently used, imprints of boots and armor in the fine dust. As he reached the top, his stride quickened and soon he was running up the steps two at a time. What he saw at the top was a horror that he had to cover his eyes from.
Air Nomad bodies were scattered about, followed by a few Fire Nation skull masks and helmets. The Eastern Air Temple's residents were dead. Every single one. He briefly considered travelling to the other temples, but determined that the outcome would be the same.
Death.
"Oh, my friends," whispered the man, moving slowly towards the center of the temple. He was a spiritual brother of the Air Nomads and had many close, personal friends whom were monks and sisters. He had come to the temple for peace to meditate, after trekking through the Earth Kingdom, he longed for the silence of the temples. That would have to wait.
Day by day, the bodies were moved to an alcove at the bottom of the mountain, where they would lay forever. He cleaned up the rest of the temple as well, fixing the broken columns and doing the best he could with the larger pieces of rock that had fallen.
He sat down to relax, assuming the lotus position. As he did, a vision entered his mind of a young boy with blue arrows sitting across from him while slurping a bowl of goop. His gray eyes opened as he realized the meaning of the vision.
He, Pathik, was to mentor the Air Nomad-born Avatar with his knowledge of spiritual enlightenment. Nodding to himself, he decided he would wait.
And wait he did, for another one hundred years.