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The ground still trembled under her boots. The last of the warlord’s earthen barricades slumped into rubble, dust drifting in the cold air like breath.
Kyoshi let the Avatar State fall away. The rush left her bones heavy, her head ringing. Around her, the warlord’s followers lay sprawled in the dirt—some injured, others simply paralyzed by fear. Weapons clattered from trembling hands in surrender.
Sometimes she wondered why they still bothered. Ninety-five years into the Era of Kyoshi, her name alone was enough to break armies. Countless battles, political disputes, and spirit matters had been resolved by her hand. She had help in the beginning, of course. Once. Friends who had stood at her back without question.
But one by one, they’d left her.
Hei-Ran had been the first. The headmistress of the Royal Fire Academy died as she had lived—proud, straight-backed, joy in her eyes. She’d been surrounded by her family: Kyoshi, Rangi, and their daughter, Koko. She had gone happy. At peace.
Then Kirima and Wong, claimed by old age. Jinpa, not long after.
And two years ago—Rangi.
That loss had gutted her. Kyoshi hadn’t been able to function for months. The world had taken notice. Opportunists had moved quickly, sensing weakness. It had taken everything in her to steady herself again. She had, eventually. But the emptiness remained.
Nothing had been the same since.
Kyoshi strode toward the warlord—Wu, his name was. He sat slumped in the dirt, one arm bleeding heavily. She didn’t know what had done it—one of her earth spikes, perhaps. She didn’t care.
Fisting the front of his armor, she hauled him upright. He was a large man, weighed down by heavy plating, but Kyoshi was Kyoshi. Thanks to Lao Ge, she wore the body of a woman still twenty-one years old—and she was strong. Wu dangled from her grip like a sack of meat.
She brought her face level with his, close enough for him to see every line of her warpaint. This was not Kyoshi’s face. This was the face of the Avatar—painted, fierce, the visage of an avenging spirit.
He shook in her grasp.
“I’ve spared your life, Wu,” she said, voice low and steady. “You’ll spend the rest of your days in prison.”
His eyes went wide. The stench of fear—and something fouler—hit her a heartbeat later as he lost control of his bladder. Disgust twisted her mouth; she let him drop back to the ground.
The village enforcers had gathered nearby, wary but ready. She handed Wu over to them without another word.
The villagers Wu had terrorized for months flooded toward her, their voices overlapping in thanks. The gratitude should have stirred something in Kyoshi. But it didn’t.
She had been numb to the world for two years. She did her duty—always—but little else. Seeing the smiling faces almost confused her. Why were they so happy? Did they not see how fragile it all was?
She inclined her head politely, accepting their thanks with the careful grace of habit before turning away.
Bomu was waiting for her on the outskirts of the village, kneeling in the grass with patient eyes. The great bison had been a gift from the monks of the Southern Air Temple ten years ago—by far the finest gift Kyoshi had ever received.
After Jinpa’s passing, Yinyong had returned to the wild herds. Losing him had hurt—both for the bison himself and for the memories she carried of her friend—but Kyoshi had learned quickly that traveling the world without a bison made her Avatar duties far more difficult.
The bonding ceremony with Bomu had been one of the most beautiful moments of her life, a quiet merging of trust and spirit. She loved him dearly.
Resting her palm against his broad head, she scratched at the fur between his horns. Bomu rumbled in greeting.
Kyoshi climbed into the saddle, and with a powerful sweep of his tail, they took off into the open sky.
---
The flight to Kyoshi Island—once Yokoya—on Bomu’s broad back took only a few hours.
By the time she reached home, dusk had washed the island in copper and shadow. The familiar slope of rooftops, the salt-tinged breeze from the sea—none of it had changed.
Her home was warm when she slid the door open, but the air inside was still. She walked the quiet halls of the estate. She didn’t keep much staff these days—just a few to tend the kitchens and keep the house clean. She preferred solitude.
Auntie Mui was long gone, as were many of her serving friends from the past. Sometimes, when passing the kitchens, she could almost hear Lee’s laughter and see her younger self laughing with him—fifteen years old, without worries, without the weight of the Avatar’s mantle.
She reached her room and closed the door behind her. It was exactly as she had left it—mats aligned, walls bare except for a single painted screen.
Kaizen, her spirit fox, lay curled on the bed. His orange ears perked up when she entered.
“Hey there, boy,” she murmured. “I missed you.”
He padded to her side and licked her face, a worried look in his bright eyes. He’d been giving her that look a lot lately.
With a sigh, Kyoshi shed her armor, washed the paint from her face, and changed into simpler clothes.
She sat briefly at her desk, reaching for the letter that waited there.
Koko’s handwriting curved gracefully across the page—steady, deliberate, as if carrying a piece of Kyoshi’s own hand in it. She wrote of small joys in her new home: the morning light over the gardens, her husband’s laugh, the grandchild they were hoping for. Between every line, Kyoshi felt the warmth of her daughter’s love—solid and enduring, as present as the ink itself.
It was one of the few things that brought her true joy these days.
Kyoshi smiled faintly. She folded the letter carefully and set it down as if it were glass.
She crossed to the bed—the same one she had once shared with her wife. It was a big bed. Too big for one.
Kyoshi lay back, exhaling slow and long.
When she opened her eyes, the walls were gone. The bed beneath her had become a curve of smooth stone, cool under her palms. The air smelled of rain and cedar, and the horizon shimmered with the pale light of the Spirit World.
Kaizen was beside her, having crossed over as well. Together, they followed the familiar path toward the lake—a path she could have walked blind.
Rangi was there, as always—topknot neat, loose strands lifted by the breeze. The fading light caught in her eyes, glinting like firelight on the lake’s glassy surface.
Kyoshi stepped forward without thinking. Rangi met her halfway, their hands brushing before clasping firmly.
“You’re late,” Rangi said, her mouth curving in a smile.
“There was a warlord,” Kyoshi replied. “He thought the province was his personal treasure chest. I disagreed.”
Rangi’s gaze swept over her, worry plain in her eyes. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
They settled together on the edge of the lake, Kaizen curling up in the grass behind them. Rangi asked after Koko, and Kyoshi told her about the letter—about the joy threaded into every line.
Rangi’s smile softened. “She’ll be a wonderful grandmother, just like she was a wonderful mother. Like you were to her.”
Kyoshi’s lips curved faintly. “Like we were.”
They spoke for a while longer—of small things, of nothing important. These were the moments Kyoshi lived for, the ones that gave her life meaning: sitting beside her glowing girl, the love of her life.
When it came time to leave, Kyoshi embraced her like it hurt to let go. And it did.
As they parted, Rangi gave her that same worried look. “You know I love you, right?”
Kyoshi let out a small laugh. “Of course. I love you too. I miss you, Rangi.”
Rangi’s smile dimmed, sadness slipping through. “Well… I’m still here. Take care of yourself, Kyoshi.”
Kyoshi blinked, and the lake was gone. She was back in her bed, Kaizen curled at her side. The emptiness pressed in around her once more.
She turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Eventually, she slept.
---
The weeks blurred together. Life often did these days. Nothing set her days apart. Everything overlapped. It was monotonous.
Some days Kyoshi came from a battlefield, other days from quiet mediation halls. Always, the Spirit World’s meadow felt easier than the mortal world’s streets.
Rangi never stopped greeting her warmly, but small things began to weigh on Kyoshi: the way Rangi’s eyes lingered when she spoke of exhaustion, how her hand sometimes hesitated before touching hers, how she’d ask, “How long did you stay here last time?”
Once, as they walked the lakeshore, Rangi’s fingers brushed hers and then pulled away too quickly. “You spend so much of your life here,” she murmured. “Doesn’t it ever feel… strange?”
Kyoshi had only shrugged, unwilling to name the truth: it didn’t feel strange. It felt like the only place she still belonged.
---
“You’ve been here every day this week,” Rangi said one evening, her gaze fixed on the far horizon.
Kyoshi smiled faintly. “And? I’d think you’d be glad to see me.”
“I am. Always. But it’s too much.”
Kyoshi frowned. “Too much?”
“You’re here more than you’re there. You fight, you finish, and you run straight to me. It’s like the rest of your life is just waiting to get back here.”
Kyoshi looked at the lake, unable to meet her eyes. “Is that so wrong?”
“Yes,” Rangi said gently. “Because you’re still alive. Because you have a daughter who adores you. Because the world still needs you, even if you’re tired.”
Kyoshi’s throat tightened. “I am tired. Everyone else is gone. You’re the only—”
“Kyoshi, I’m worried about you.” Rangi’s voice caught, but she didn’t look away. “At first, I thought my presence here would help you heal. I thought knowing I was here would let you keep living. But it’s the opposite. Your real life is empty. You have no friends. You barely visit Koko. You do your duties as the Avatar and then you come running back here. You’re half a person.”
There was anguish in her eyes. “I want you to heal. To move on.”
Kyoshi caught her hand, gripping it tightly. “Rangi, I don’t want to move on. I do my duties as the Avatar because I must. The world would collapse without me. But you are my life. You, Hei-Ran, Kelsang, Jinpa, Kirima, Wong—without you, I don’t care about the rest of it.”
Rangi’s gaze slipped away, fixed on the glassy lake. “When you decided to stop aging, I was upset. I wanted us to cross over together, Kyoshi.”
It was true—one of the fiercest fights they had ever had. Kyoshi had taught Rangi the secrets of immortality, and though it was a skill exclusive to earthbenders she had done it for Rangi as well. And for a time, she had stayed young at her side. But after fifty years, Rangi had chosen to let time take her, the weight of years finally catching up to her.
“It was hard for me to age without you,” Rangi said quietly. “It hurt me deeply. But I accepted it. The world needs you. I was angry at first—it didn’t seem fair that you should give so many years to Avatarhood—but I understood.”
Her eyes came back to Kyoshi, sharp with pain. “But this, Kyoshi… I can’t understand this. You made the choice to keep living, but you’re only half standing by it. If you need to stay behind and be the Avatar, I can accept that. But I can’t watch you walk through life like a ghost. It’s killing me.”
Kyoshi’s head snapped up. “What are you saying?”
Rangi’s smile was small and steady, but her voice was soft. “I think it’s time I moved on.”
“No.” Kyoshi’s voice hardened like stone under strain. “I won’t let you go.”
“You don’t get to choose this time.”
Kyoshi’s heart lurched, her chest tightening. “Rangi, please. I need you. I know I’m being selfish asking you to stay, but this won’t be forever—soon I’ll join you and—”
“Kyoshi,” Rangi cut in, her voice breaking, “I’m not leaving because I don’t want to see you. I’m leaving because if I stay, you’ll keep suffering. You’ll never truly live.”
"I have already lived!" The words ripped from her throat before she could stop them, sharp enough to sting her own ears. “When you were alive, Rangi, that was my life. And when you died, I stayed because of duty. And that’s fine—because you’re still here. Not the same, maybe not enough, but in some way you’re here, and I’ll take that. I’ll take whatever I can get. I can’t control my destiny… but I can choose that.”
Rangi’s eyes glistened, but her voice stayed steady—too steady. "You made a decision to live, Kyoshi. Whether you really had much choice doesn’t matter. You’re here now. And my being here… only makes it worse. You’re staying for the world, but you’re living half in, half out. You’re not fully with them, and you’re not fully with me. And worse…” She swallowed. “You’re suffering.”
Kyoshi’s nails bit into her palms. “And what do you think? That if you’re gone, I’ll suffer less?”
The silence stretched. Kyoshi searched Rangi’s face for some hesitation, some crack—anything she could hold onto.
At last, Rangi’s lips parted. “Maybe not at first,” she whispered, “but… in time. Yes.”
Kyoshi went still. The answer didn’t crash into her; it sank—slow, suffocating—until she could feel it in her bones. “You’ll really stand there and say I chose to stay behind? Maybe you chose to go ahead. You could have stayed, Rangi. You had the chance—but you decided not to. Even after everything.”
Rangi didn’t flinch. She only held Kyoshi’s gaze, calm in the face of the lash. “I know why you’re saying that. And I’m not angry. You’re hurting. So am I. But we’ve never truly walked the same road—not every step. Our lives have been bound together for so long it’s easy to forget we aren’t the same person. You carry the mantle of the Avatar, and I… I’ve reached the end of my own journey. I can’t follow you into every storm, just as you can’t follow me where I’m going now. We belong to each other—but we don’t belong to the same fate. And right now, those fates are pulling us apart. It’s breaking me, Kyoshi… but for a while, we have to let them.”
Kyoshi’s throat closed, her answer lost in the ache swelling behind her ribs.
Rangi’s voice softened, but her resolve did not. “I stayed in the mortal world as long as the world needed me by your side. And after, I stayed here—longer than most ever do—because you still needed me. But my watch is over, Kyoshi. If I linger now, I’m only holding us in place, trapped between two worlds. You deserve to live the years you have left, and I… I need to follow where my own path leads.”
She took both of Kyoshi’s hands in her own. They were shaking.
“One day, when the time is right—when you can come to me fully—we will be together again. But until then… we have to let go.”
Something inside Kyoshi twisted. The grief was already splitting her open, but now the heat of anger poured into the wound—hot, blinding, desperate. She had the sudden, vicious urge to shout, to beg, to make Rangi understand that she was already drowning, that she didn’t care if it hurt, that this hurt was still hers, still theirs. But she couldn’t. Not without breaking completely.
Her voice came out low, shaking. “Then it’s already decided. Nothing I say will change your mind.”
She hated how final it sounded.
Rangi’s head tilted in a slow, sorrowful shake. “I’m sorry, my love.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed her—burning with the effort it took to say the words.
It was like the world collapsed inward. Kyoshi’s breath came sharp and shallow. “Rangi, please. Please. I love you. Please don’t leave me.”
A flicker of pain crossed Rangi’s face, shattering her composure for a heartbeat. “I want to stay,” she whispered. “More than you know. But I can’t have only pieces of you, Kyoshi. Not when the world still demands the rest. These are the cards we were dealt, and I wouldn’t trade them—not even for the hurt. Every ounce of sorrow we’ve endured, and every ounce we will endure, is worth it, because I got to share those years with you. I got to share my life with you. And that will always be enough. And one day, we will be together again.”
Kyoshi’s throat closed around the answer she wanted to give—that she didn’t care if it was pieces, if it was fractured or imperfect, that she only cared about this. About them.
Rangi’s gaze softened, though her resolve didn’t waver. “I’ll love you forever, Kyoshi. And I’ll wait for you. I promise.”
She leaned in for a final kiss—warm, lingering, and unbearably gentle. And then her form shimmered, edges dissolving into light.
She was gone.
---
The months that followed were dark.
Kyoshi did her duty—always her duty—but the days passed without meaning. If someone had asked her what she’d done yesterday, she wouldn’t have remembered. Nothing left a mark anymore.
She stopped eating. Rangi had always been so upset with her for skipping meals. Maybe… maybe if she grew weak enough, Rangi would come back. Maybe she’d worry enough to return.
But the emptiness only grew. And worse, the world wasn’t getting any better. There was always more corruption to stop, more battles to fight.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to find Rangi. If she didn’t… she knew she would die. Not physically—but inside, she already felt herself fading.
When she reached the Spirit World, the lake was empty. The stone was bare. The mist drifted over the water without a figure waiting on the far shore.
Kaizen sat alone at the edge, watching her.
Kyoshi called Rangi’s name until her voice broke. She walked the paths they had walked together, searched the groves, the gardens, the cliff edges where they’d watched stars that didn’t exist in the mortal sky.
Nothing.
She kept screaming, kept yelling, until her grief threatened to tear her open. The Spirit World began to respond—clouds boiling across the sky, shadows spilling over the horizon.
“Kid. Stop.”
A large, warm hand settled on her shoulder.
She turned, tears blurring her vision, and found herself staring up at him—her predecessor. His gaze was heavy with sorrow.
Beside him, Kaizen sat with his tongue lolling out, looking far too pleased with himself.
That damn fox. He had called him.
Kid. Kuruk had called her that for as long as she’d known him, even though she had never truly been a child. Never had the time or the ease to be one. Even now, when she was three times the age he’d been at his death, he still said it. Maybe that was the point—his way of trying to give her something she’d never had.
“She’s not here,” he said softly. “She left, Kyoshi. I’m surprised she even stayed this long.”
Seeing Kuruk was usually a comfort. But nothing could comfort her now.
“How—how could she do this to me?” The words tore out of her. “She knows I need her, and she just—she just left—how could she—” Her voice crumpled into incoherence, her breath hitching.
“I know you’re hurting, kid,” Kuruk said quietly. “I’m sorry. When Ummi died… that was the end of me.”
Ummi—the woman whose loss had hollowed him out until nothing was left but the shell of an Avatar. A cautionary tale she’d heard before, but in this moment it didn’t feel like a warning—it felt like a mirror.
“If you keep going down this path,” he went on, “you’ll end up like me. Don’t let that happen. I know you think the world is empty without her, but there’s still beauty and purpose in all things.”
“I don’t want any of it without her!” Kyoshi’s voice rose, ragged and raw. “What meaning is there to a sunrise if she’s not there to see it with me? To holding my great-grandchild without her by my side? There is none!”
Kuruk’s eyes softened. “Kyoshi… she did the right thing.”
The words hit like a slap. “The right thing?” she demanded.
“Yes,” he said, steady. “Because she loves you. And because she knows you can’t walk away from what you’ve built—not yet. She left so you could live the years you have left in the world you’ve protected, instead of clinging to a life that’s already passed. If she stayed, you’d both be trapped between two worlds. That’s no life for either of you.”
“She could have stayed,” Kyoshi said, the words harsh in her throat. “She could have kept living beside me. She chose not to.”
“That wasn’t the path for her, Kyoshi,” Kuruk replied. “You know that. She needed to move on—just as you need to stay, until your work here is done.”
Her throat burned. Part of her wanted to fight him, to deny it, but something deep inside recognized the truth—sharp, bitter, and undeniable.
Kuruk’s gaze deepened, sorrow and understanding flickering there. His next words fell like a stone in her chest.
“You could always move on. Let go of the Avatarhood. It’s your right, Kyoshi. You’ve lived a long life. Let the next Fire Avatar take it from here.”
The idea hit her harder than she expected. For a breath, maybe two, she almost let herself imagine it—walking away, laying it all down, finding her way to Rangi in the Spirit World. No more burden. No more loneliness.
It would be so easy.
Her throat tightened. Easy… and selfish.
Her mind raced through the Earth Kingdom’s fragile peace—so thin it could tear at a whisper. Ninety-five years of Avatarhood, and it was the best she had managed. A balance that held only because she stood at the center of it, feared and revered in equal measure. If she left now, it would all collapse. The next Fire Avatar would inherit chaos and pain. She couldn’t let them go through what she had endured in her early years—not if she could spare them.
Her hands curled into fists. “You know I can’t do that,” she said at last.
Kuruk’s gaze told her he’d read every thought as it passed through her. Of course he had. They were one—bound in the cycle of the elements, carrying the same weight, the same scars. People thought Avatarhood was a gift. Some even dreamed of it. But it wasn’t a gift, and it wasn’t a curse. It was necessary. The only thing standing between order and calamity.
“If you can’t leave the world without it collapsing,” Kuruk said, “then you have to make sure it won’t collapse without you. Then you can move on. Look at me.”
She did.
“You’ll bring the peace, kid,” he said. “And when you do—you’ll go. But live in the meantime. You made the choice to stay. Make it right.”
Her chest ached, but the truth in his words was like bedrock beneath her feet.
She rose, wiping the dampness from her face. “Thank you, Kuruk.”
He nodded once.
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was back in her room.
---
That night, Kyoshi sat in the estate gardens, moonlight spilling pale across the stones. The air was cool, touched with salt from the sea, and quiet enough that she could hear the slow rhythm of her own breath.
She thought of Rangi.
Moments from their life together rose and fell in her mind—sharp as lightning, gone in an instant, yet leaving her whole body aching.
The first time she saw her at the estate—hair perfect, posture rigid, eyes sparking with challenge.
Holding her close on the iceberg, the wind clawing at them, their breaths mingling in the cold.
Their first kiss—hesitant, then sure, the world narrowing to the warmth between them.
The sight of Rangi’s shorn head as she sailed north, unshakable in her duty.
The chaos and desperation of their fight with Yun.
Rangi at their wedding, radiant in Fire Nation finery, her eyes never leaving Kyoshi’s.
The day they adopted Koko—Rangi’s hands cradling the infant with fierce, unshakable love.
Countless missions side by side, moving as one—through mud and snow, fire and darkness.
Every memory was a thread in the tapestry of their lives, and Kyoshi felt the weight of it wrap around her, holding her together even as it hurt.
She thought of Kelsang’s patience. Hei-Ran’s fire. Yun’s smile before it had gone sharp. Jinpa’s wisdom. Kirima’s bright teasing, Wong’s booming voice, Lek’s fearless grin.
Her chest ached with it—this love, vast and unshakable.
Love had weight. Energy. Power. More than even the Avatar State could summon.
She would give the world all she had left—not only because it was her duty, but because she loved it. Because they needed her. Because Rangi had trusted her to.
And she knew, with a certainty deeper than stone, that when her time came, she’d find them all waiting. Rangi in the front, hand outstretched. Kelsang at her side. Hei-Ran and Jinpa close behind. Kirima, Wong, Lek—every soul she had ever carried in her heart.
Until then, she would live. Fully.
For the world. For herself.
But also for her.
For her firebender.
---
The training courtyard was silent.
Rows of men and women stood in formation, their stone armor still fresh, the green lacquer gleaming under the morning sun. They were young—most of them barely seasoned soldiers—but every eye was fixed on her.
Kyoshi stood at the head of the courtyard, Bomu’s shadow stretching long behind her. Kaizen sat at her side, tail curling neatly over his paws. She wore no warpaint today—only her green and gold ceremonial robes, the weight of her headdress a reminder of the moment’s gravity.
“This city,” she began, her voice carrying across the courtyard, “is the heart of the Earth Kingdom. It has endured for millennia—through war, famine, and the turning of ages. But the greatest threats it faces are not always at its gates. Sometimes they walk its streets. Sometimes they whisper in its halls.”
She let her gaze sweep over them, sharp as a blade.
“I have fought wars. I have stood against spirits and kings. And I have learned this—peace is fragile. It must be protected, not just from armies, but from those who would undermine it from within. That is why you are here.”
A ripple of stillness passed through the recruits.
“You will be the Dai Li—the hands of the Earth King. You will safeguard Ba Sing Se’s order, its traditions, and its people. You will root out threats before they grow. You will be silent when you must, decisive when you act, and unshakable in your loyalty. Your duty is to the stability of this city, because if the heart of the Earth Kingdom falls into chaos, the body will follow.”
Her voice hardened. “The work will be unseen. The victories will go unpraised. The people you protect may never know your names. But they will live in safety because of you. And that will be enough.”
She stepped forward, the echo of her boots against stone punctuating her words. “You will be trained to master the earth beneath your feet, to strike without warning, to vanish without a trace. Your enemies will fear you. Your allies will trust you. And Ba Sing Se will endure because of you.”
Kyoshi paused, letting the weight of her words settle.
“The day will come when I leave this world. When that time comes, I will leave knowing the Earth Kingdom will remain strong. You will make sure of it.”
As the words left her mouth, her mind wandered—just for a heartbeat—beyond the courtyard, beyond the palace walls, beyond the mortal world entirely. Kuruk’s voice still echoed in her memory: If you can’t leave without the world collapsing, then make sure it won’t collapse without you.
She wasn’t building them for her sake. She was building them so that one day, when she was gone, the world wouldn’t fall apart in her absence. So that the fragile peace she had stitched together with blood and stone would hold long enough for the next Avatar to find their footing. Every lesson she taught, every ounce of discipline she demanded, would lay another stone in the bridge that would one day lead her home. Not to rest, but to Rangi.
When that day came, she would go without hesitation. She would cross that final threshold knowing the world could stand without her—so she could finally be where she belonged.
She straightened to her full height, her shadow falling over the first row of recruits.
“Your training begins now.”