Kima wasn't sure when the crushing weight of fear and exhaustion overtook her. One moment, she was trembling in the grip of the Wind Sentinel's airbending-induced calm, tears spilling silently down her cheeks as the sky bison soared into the heavens. The next, the relentless rush of the wind and the sway of the bison beneath her lulled her into unconsciousness.
When she awoke, it was to a pale, muted light streaming through an unfamiliar window carved into smooth stone. The air was cold but smelled clean—too clean, as if she were perched high above the world where no earthly scent could reach. Her body felt heavy, the aftermath of her fear and the unnatural calm forced upon her still lingering in her muscles.
Blinking rapidly, she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The room was spacious but austere, its walls etched with delicate patterns of swirling air currents. A simple bedroll was laid out beneath her, and a low table held a steaming cup of tea alongside a neatly folded robe in pale orange and yellow. Her own clothes, damp from her earlier chores, were gone.
Before she could even make sense of this, the door creaked open, and he entered. The Wind Sentinel.
His expression was unreadable as he carried a tray of food into the room, setting it down on the table with deliberate care. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and steady.
"You're awake. That's good. The flight took longer than I anticipated—storm winds over the mountains." He stepped closer, his movements fluid, as if carried by the air itself. "You're at the Southern Air Temple now. A sacred place, where you'll find purpose and peace. This is your new home."
Kima recoiled instinctively, pressing her back against the wall. Her throat felt tight, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke. "I don't belong here."
The Sentinel crouched beside her, his eyes softening with what seemed like genuine concern. "You belong wherever the Empire decides, Kima. But don't misunderstand—this isn't a punishment. You've been chosen for something greater." He gestured toward the tea and robe. "Eat, drink, and rest. You'll need your strength."
Her tears began anew, the enormity of her situation crashing over her. "Please," she choked out, "just let me go. My family—they'll be so worried. My brother—"
He raised a hand, a gentle but firm motion that silenced her. "Your family will be safe, and your tribe will prosper. You've ensured that by coming here. They'll see the benefits soon enough. You're doing a noble thing, Kima."
She shook her head, sobbing quietly, but his expression didn't waver. He reached out as if to comfort her, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder. "I know it's hard now, but in time, you'll understand. The Air Empire rewards loyalty and service. And you, my dear, are already proving to be quite the asset."
Her stomach churned at his words, the reality of her captivity settling deep in her bones. The Sentinel stood then, his presence towering yet strangely calm. "I'll leave you to rest. When you're ready, I'll show you around. There's much to learn here, and much for you to do."
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Kima remained frozen where she sat, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of what lay ahead.
For the first time in her life, she felt truly and utterly powerless.
Kima sat in silence long after the Sentinel had left, the room's stillness pressing down on her. Her fingers clutched at the blanket draped over her, her mind spinning with the weight of his words. Your tribe will prosper. The promise rang hollow in her ears, drowned out by the vivid memory of her mother's smile, her brother's laughter. Would they truly be safe? Or had this all been a cruel manipulation to ensure her compliance?
Her gaze shifted to the robe folded neatly on the table, its colors a stark reminder of her captors. She felt a wave of revulsion, but her shivering body betrayed her; the thin undergarments she wore were no match for the biting chill of the high-altitude temple. With shaking hands, she reached for the garment, pulling it over her head. It was softer than she'd expected, the fabric lightweight but warm, and that only deepened her unease.
The tea sat untouched. Her stomach twisted at the thought of consuming anything provided by them.
Minutes bled into an hour, and eventually, the Sentinel returned. He entered without knocking, his presence filling the room with an unsettling calm. "You've changed. Good," he observed, his eyes flicking briefly to the untouched tea. "But you haven't eaten. You should."
Kima didn't respond, her jaw tight as she glared at him.
He sighed, almost as if disappointed. "You're stronger than most. I admire that." His tone was gentle, almost coaxing, as he stepped closer. "But strength alone won't sustain you here. The Air Empire values cooperation. I hope you'll come to see that."
She turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze.
Undeterred, he extended a hand toward her. "Come. It's time to see the temple. Staying locked in this room won't help you adjust."
When she didn't move, he leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I understand you're frightened. But I assure you, this temple is a place of peace and safety. A sanctuary."
Kima's body betrayed her again. The lingering effects of his earlier airbending command still dulled her will, and despite her inner turmoil, her legs moved as if on their own. She rose unsteadily, her head bowing in defeat as she followed him out of the room.
The corridor beyond was carved from smooth stone, its walls adorned with intricate patterns that depicted swirling winds and soaring bison. The air felt thinner here, cooler, and eerily silent except for the soft sound of their footsteps.
As they walked, the Sentinel spoke, his tone conversational but laced with an unsettling undercurrent. "This temple is a marvel of our empire's ingenuity. It was once a place of enlightenment for airbenders alone, but now it serves a greater purpose. A pillar of the Empire's strength, prowess and unity."
She bit her lip to keep from retorting, her hands trembling at her sides.
He continued, oblivious or indifferent to her discomfort. "Your presence here, Kima, is part of that purpose. Non-benders like you are rare gifts—capable of grounding us, reminding us of the world beyond our bending. You'll find your place here in time. And when you do, your tribe will be proud."
The corridor opened into a grand hall, its ceiling vaulted high above, with massive windows that framed the endless sky. A group of airbenders moved silently through the space, their robes billowing like wisps of smoke as they passed. None of them spared Kima a glance, their expressions serene and distant.
The Sentinel gestured to the hall with a sweeping motion. "This is where our teachings take place. You'll learn much here, should you choose to embrace it."
Kima stopped walking, her voice trembling as she finally spoke. "I don't want to be here. I didn't choose this."
He turned to her, his expression softening. For a moment, he looked almost...kind. Almost. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But sometimes, the path we don't choose is the one we're meant to walk. Trust me, Kima. In time, you'll see the wisdom in this."
Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she didn't reply.
The Sentinel's hand rested briefly on her shoulder, his touch light but firm. "You've had a long day. I'll show you to your quarters. Tomorrow, we'll begin."
Kima followed him once more, her heart heavy with despair. She had no idea what "begin" meant, but she knew one thing for certain: this place, with all its beauty and calm, was nothing short of a prison.
The Sentinel led Kima down another long corridor, this one dimly lit and narrower than the grand halls they had passed through earlier. The air here felt heavier, and the walls were plainer, devoid of the intricate carvings that seemed to celebrate the Air Empire's dominance. The sound of her footsteps echoed faintly, the soft scuff of her shoes against the stone the only reminder of her presence.
Finally, they arrived at a thick wooden door reinforced with iron bands. The Sentinel paused, turning to her with a faint smile. "This will be your living space for now. You won't be alone—there are others here who've found a place within the Empire. They'll help you adjust."
Kima said nothing, her stomach twisting with unease.
He opened the door, revealing a communal living area bathed in soft light from small, high-set windows. The room was spacious but spartan, its furnishings practical rather than comfortable. Long wooden benches flanked a central table, where several women sat quietly, their voices hushed as they worked on various tasks—mending robes, sorting herbs, or simply staring into the distance.
Kima's eyes darted across the room, taking in the diverse faces. She saw women from every corner of the world: a Water Tribe woman with her hair tied in a single long braid; an Earth Kingdom girl, barely older than herself, her hands calloused from years of labor; a Fire Nation woman with striking amber eyes who sat apart from the rest, her posture stiff and guarded.
Their gazes turned toward her as she stepped inside, their expressions ranging from wary curiosity to subdued resignation.
"You'll stay here," the Sentinel said, his voice gentle but firm. "The women here are valued contributors to the temple. They tend to the daily needs of the airbenders, ensure the temple runs smoothly, and provide companionship. I trust you'll find your role in time."
Kima swallowed hard, her mouth dry. "And if I don't?"
The Sentinel's smile didn't falter, but there was a coldness behind it now. "You will. It's only a matter of when."
He stepped back, allowing her a final glance. "Rest for now. I'll return tomorrow to check on you." Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing through the room.
Kima stood frozen, her heart pounding as the reality of her situation sank in.
One of the women at the table, the Water Tribe woman, rose and approached her cautiously. Her dark eyes were kind but tired, her voice soft as she spoke. "You're new."
Kima nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
The woman gave her a faint smile. "I'm Anik. Don't worry, you'll get used to it here."
"Get used to it?" Kima managed, her voice cracking.
Anik's expression faltered for a moment before she placed a reassuring hand on Kima's arm. "It's not as bad as it seems. We look out for each other. You'll see."
Behind her, the Earth Kingdom girl called out, her tone bitter. "Don't lie to her, Anik. She deserves to know the truth."
Anik shot the girl a warning glance but said nothing.
Kima felt her legs wobble and sank onto one of the benches. Her eyes roamed the room again, noticing the small alcoves along the walls that served as sleeping spaces. Each alcove was curtained off for privacy, but the thin fabric did little to conceal how cramped and bare they were.
A Fire Nation woman, the one sitting apart, finally spoke. Her voice was low and edged with steel. "Don't let them break you," she said without looking up from the piece of fabric she was stitching. "That's what they want."
Kima's chest tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. The weight of her situation felt unbearable, and the room seemed to close in around her.
Anik knelt beside her, her voice a quiet whisper. "We'll help you, I promise. Just...stay strong."
But Kima didn't feel strong. She felt lost, trapped in a place where her life no longer belonged to her, surrounded by strangers who bore the same hollow look in their eyes. As she stared down at her trembling hands, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever see her family again—or if she was already forgotten.
Kima sat on the bench for a long moment, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The quiet murmurs of the women around her faded into the background as she struggled to steady her breathing. She couldn't stay like this—paralyzed, helpless. Forcing herself to her feet, she decided to take in her surroundings, hoping the movement might anchor her in some way.
The room was larger than it had first seemed, though it was stark and utilitarian. The walls, carved from the same pale stone as the rest of the temple, seemed to trap the cold. A small hearth in one corner gave off a faint warmth, its flames flickering feebly as though struggling to survive.
Kima's gaze drifted to the alcoves along the walls, each one barely wide enough for a single sleeping mat and a folded blanket. Some were occupied, curtains drawn, while others remained empty. She hesitated, unsure where she was supposed to go.
Anik must have noticed her uncertainty. "You can take one of the open spots," she said gently, gesturing toward the alcoves.
Before Kima could respond, another voice spoke up. "There's a space next to me."
Kima turned to see the Water Tribe girl who had been mending clothes earlier. She looked younger than Kima, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with short-cropped black hair and a face that bore both weariness and defiance.
"I'm Sena," the girl said, nodding toward a curtained alcove near the far corner of the room. "You can sleep there. It's better to have someone close, anyway."
Kima managed a small nod, gratitude mingling with a gnawing ache in her chest. She followed Sena to the corner, where the girl pulled back the curtain to reveal two simple mats side by side. A threadbare blanket was folded neatly at the foot of each.
"It's not much," Sena admitted, sitting cross-legged on her mat, "but it's better than nothing."
Kima sank onto the mat beside her, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Sena shrugged. "We have to stick together. They don't care about us, not really. But if we watch out for each other...well, it makes things a little easier."
Kima nodded again, though she didn't feel reassured. She glanced at Sena, who had already begun stitching at her fabric again, and then lay back on the mat. The stone beneath her was hard and unyielding, even with the thin padding of the mat, but it was the least of her concerns.
As the room fell into a quiet rhythm of hushed voices and the occasional clink of tools, Kima stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing.
She thought of her mother's warm smile, the way Suna always knew exactly what to say to soothe her fears. She thought of Arrluk's mischievous grin and the way he'd proudly declared that he could take on the airbenders himself. Her chest tightened painfully as the memory of their faces blurred with the realization that she might never see them again.
Tears spilled from her eyes, rolling silently down her cheeks. She clenched her hands into fists, willing herself to stay quiet, but the ache in her heart was overwhelming.
She didn't belong here. This wasn't her life.
Sena glanced over, her sharp eyes catching the movement. "It's okay to cry," she said softly. "Everyone does at first."
Kima swallowed hard, wiping at her tears. "I don't want to be here," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"None of us do," Sena replied, her tone bitter. "But you'll survive. You have to."
Kima turned away, unable to respond. She lay there in the dim light, staring at the wall as the hours stretched on. Sleep refused to come, her mind replaying every moment of her capture, every word the Sentinel had spoken.
The promise of safety for her tribe, the reward for her compliance—it all felt like a cruel joke.
Her body ached with exhaustion, but her heartache was worse. She felt hollow, broken in a way she didn't know could be mended.
Eventually, the room grew quieter as the other women drifted off to sleep, their breathing soft and even. But Kima remained awake, her eyes wide in the darkness, waiting for a dawn that felt impossibly far away.
A soft, melodic tinkling filled the air, gentle but insistent, rousing Kima from the shallow, restless sleep she'd finally managed to find. The sound seemed to float around the room, growing louder as it reverberated off the stone walls.
Kima blinked groggily, her body heavy with exhaustion. For a moment, she forgot where she was, her mind grasping for the familiarity of home. But the sight of the stark, unfamiliar room brought it all crashing back.
"Wind chimes," Sena muttered from the mat beside her, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. "That's how they wake us up every morning. You'll get used to it."
Kima stared at her, bewildered. "Why chimes?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Sena shrugged, already reaching for her neatly folded blanket. "Airbenders like to keep things...airy, I guess. Come on, we have to get moving."
"What? Why?" Kima asked, her stomach sinking.
"It's time for morning prayer," Sena explained, her tone matter-of-fact. She handed Kima a folded cloak made of lightweight fabric, its pale gray hue blending with the muted colors of the temple. "Everyone has to go. If you don't, they'll notice."
Kima stared at the cloak in her hands, a lump forming in her throat. "I'm not going," she said quietly, her fingers curling into the fabric. "I don't believe in—"
"It doesn't matter what you believe," Sena interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. "This isn't about faith. It's about survival. They'll be watching, and if you stand out..." She trailed off, her expression grim.
Kima swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the cloak. The thought of participating in some ritual she didn't understand—let alone one tied to the people who had taken her—made her stomach churn. But Sena's warning hung heavily in the air.
"They expect obedience," Sena added, her voice softening. "If you don't give them that, they'll find ways to make you regret it. Just...pretend. It's easier that way."
Kima hesitated, torn between her instinct to resist and the cold reality of her situation. Finally, she nodded, the fight draining out of her.
Sena gave her a faint, approving smile. "Good. Come on, I'll show you where to go."
The two of them joined the other women, who were already filing out of the room in a quiet, orderly line. The wind chimes continued their soft melody, echoing down the corridor as they walked. Kima clutched the cloak tightly around her shoulders, her steps faltering as they entered a vast chamber bathed in pale morning light.
The space was breathtaking in its simplicity. Massive stone arches curved high above, and the floor was inlaid with intricate patterns that seemed to mimic swirling air currents. Rows of cushions were arranged in concentric circles around a central dais, where a nun stood, her saffron and orange robes flowing gently as if caught in an unseen breeze.
The women moved to their designated spots, kneeling on the cushions with practiced ease. Sena nudged Kima toward an empty spot beside her, whispering, "Just follow my lead."
Kima knelt awkwardly, her knees pressing into the thin cushion. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her heart pounding as the nun stepped forward, her hands clasped loosely in front of her.
"Good morning, sisters," the nun began, her voice soft but carrying easily through the chamber. Her tone was calm, almost musical, and it reminded Kima of the way the wind would sometimes hum through the crevices of the icy cliffs back home. "As we gather this morning, let us remember the sacred gift of air—the breath of life that connects us all. No matter where we come from, we are bound by this universal truth: the air we breathe is shared, a symbol of unity and harmony."
Kima's stomach churned at the words. Unity and harmony? She couldn't reconcile the sentiment with the chains she felt around her spirit.
The nun's peaceful gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on each woman as though to draw them into her calm. "In the Air Empire, we strive to honor this connection, to embrace the balance and freedom that air represents. You have all been chosen to partake in this sacred path, to serve a purpose greater than yourselves. I understand that this journey may feel unfamiliar, even difficult. But in time, you will come to see the beauty in it."
Sena's hand brushed lightly against Kima's, a silent reminder to stay still. Kima clenched her jaw, her body stiff as the nun stepped back to the dais.
"Now, let us offer our gratitude for another day," the nun said, her hands rising gracefully to form a meditative pose.
The chant began, low and rhythmic, carrying the same hypnotic cadence as before. The women bowed their heads, their hands resting lightly on their thighs. Kima followed, her movements stiff and reluctant, but she dared not disobey.
As the prayer continued, Kima's thoughts raced. The nun's words replayed in her mind, stirring a mix of anger and despair. How could they call this unity? How could they speak of balance while tearing her away from her family, her home?
When the prayer finally ended, the nun raised her hands, and the room fell silent. The women stood in unison, their movements fluid and synchronized. Sena tugged gently at Kima's sleeve, guiding her toward the exit.
"See? Not so bad," Sena murmured as they walked. "Now we get breakfast. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."
Kima nodded numbly, her mind too overwhelmed to form a response. The line of women moved down another corridor, the scent of fresh bread and steaming tea wafting toward them.
As they entered the dining hall, Kima realized with a sinking feeling that this was her new reality. Each step she took felt heavier, the weight of her circumstances pressing down on her like an unrelenting wind.
The soft sound of wind chimes continued to drift faintly through the halls as the group shuffled into another section of the temple. Kima kept close to Sena, her mind spinning with unease as they walked in silence through the high-ceilinged corridors.
The dining hall was as stark and serene as the rest of the temple. Rows of low wooden tables were arranged neatly on the smooth stone floor, surrounded by thin cushions for seating. Above them, the open design of the room allowed sunlight to filter through the intricate latticework of the walls, casting delicate patterns across the space. The air carried a faint scent of herbs and something earthy, comforting, and warm.
Large communal platters were already set out, bearing a variety of dishes that reflected the Air Empire's austere but resourceful lifestyle. There were bowls of thick barley porridge, steamed buns filled with savory root vegetables, and plates of roasted squash drizzled with honey. A small selection of dried fruits and nuts was laid out alongside pitchers of herbal tea and jugs of fresh water.
Kima hesitated, unsure of where to sit or even how to feel about the simplicity of the spread. Sena nudged her gently and guided her to a spot near the corner of one of the tables.
"It's best to stay with the group," Sena murmured, settling down beside her. "It's safer when we're all together."
The other women moved with quiet efficiency, sitting in small clusters. Some exchanged soft words, while others remained silent, their gazes downcast. A few air acolytes, both men and women, walked among them, refilling pitchers and ensuring everyone had enough food.
Kima glanced at the bowl placed before her, steam curling up from the thick porridge within. A small wooden spoon rested beside it. She didn't feel hungry—her stomach was still twisted in knots—but the sight of everyone else eating made her reach for the spoon automatically.
As she stirred the porridge absently, Sena leaned in closer. "Eat, even if you don't feel like it," she whispered. "They'll notice if you don't, and it's better not to draw attention."
Kima nodded slightly, lifting a small spoonful to her lips. The porridge was bland but warm, its subtle flavor reminding her of simpler times back home. She swallowed hard, fighting back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.
Around her, the room was filled with the quiet clink of wooden utensils against bowls and the occasional murmur of conversation. The air felt heavy despite the open design, a silent reminder of the unspoken rules that governed this place.
When breakfast ended, the nun that led the prayer entered the hall and clapped her hands softly, signaling that it was time to leave. The women began to rise, clearing their dishes with practiced ease.
Sena placed a comforting hand on Kima's arm as they stood. "Stay close to me today," she said quietly. "I'll help you get through this."
Kima nodded, her voice caught in her throat. She didn't know what the day would bring, but the weight of her new reality settled deeper in her chest with each passing moment, threatening to suffocate her.
A/N: I thought this was a good way to introduce some of the Air Nomad culture within this universe. I also wanted to show how living in the air temple is, the basic routine of the women and how things are generally run. Also since people might ask, no, the women aren't the same as the air acolytes (I'll go a bit more into them later), but they both serve different purposes as you'll see. But I hope this chapter was interesting and that you liked it!