Alec sat still in his room, but his thoughts churned. The conversation he overheard about the imprisoned waterbenders wouldn't leave him.
He wasn't strong. Not yet. And certainly not a hero. The world, as far as he could tell, already had its saviors. Chosen ones. He was just… here. A mistake, maybe. A misplaced piece.
The system may have granted him power, but it didn't give him purpose.
And yet, something about this wouldn't let go.
He stepped out into the street alone.
The wind carried sea salt and woodsmoke. People recognized him now — or at least, they noticed. Some nodded politely. Others gave him space. Whispers trailed behind.
"That's the boy from the teahouse, isn't he?"
"Blind, but walks like he sees everything."
"I heard he's cursed. His eyes—someone said they're unnatural."
"Hush. Don't say such things aloud."
A child tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Mama, why's that man wear a blindfold? Is he a ghost?"
"No, no, just… some people are born different. Don't stare, love."
He heard every word. He always did. But he said nothing.
No one knew what lay beneath the blindfold. The color he was born with — clear, unmistakable blue and red. Eyes that could draw trouble in this nation where waterbenders stirred unease. He had to keep that part of himself hidden.
He kept walking, playing the role.
Deliberately hesitating at street corners. Using his cane loosely. Turning his head as if to listen, not see.
Eventually, he reached the coast.
The seaside near Ember Leaf wasn't vast or loud — more like a soft edge of the world. The sun had started to sink, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet. Waves rolled in gently, brushing the dark sand with hushed sighs.
Alec stood still for a long while, his breath syncing with the tide.
He felt the sea's rhythm — like something ancient and calm, yet powerful. It eased something in him.
But the unease returned with every reminder: captured benders, rebel cells, slavery, war. The world hadn't stopped burning. It had just gotten quieter about it.
He needed to act. To move.
And maybe, just maybe… that started with Iroh. The man wasn't just a kind stranger. If Alec's memories were right — and they often were — Iroh was part of something greater. The White Lotus, as far as he remembers . Secret Club of Expert.
But even with that connection, Alec knew he couldn't do this alone.
He needed others. A group. Fighters. Thinkers. People not easily broken.
But how?
He turned back toward town, letting the sea wind trail behind him. The last of the sun dipped under the horizon. Shadows stretched long and low.
By the time he reached the market square, the streets had thinned. Most vendors had closed up, but the town's corners still hummed with rough life.
Especially one.
Just past the eastern well, an alley turned dark.
Locals avoided it. Children dared each other to peek in. It was known — and not kindly.
And Alec's luck, it seemed, was particularly cruel tonight.
Two figures emerged from the alley just as he passed.
One short and lean, with fast eyes and twitchy fingers. The other was broad-shouldered, his breath fogging in the cold, a club loosely slung over one arm.
"Well well, what's this?" said the tall one. "A little night stroller, huh?"
"He blind?" the lean one muttered, eyeing the sash. "Or just pretending?"
"Does it matter?" the tall one grinned. "Blind coin's still coin and this boy also looks quite good. He will sell at good rate."
Alec took half a step back, fan still hidden at his side.
The smaller man whispered to the other, loud enough for Alec to hear: "Easy grab. No noise. Maybe he's got something good under that sash."
Then it hit — a familiar ping in his mind.
[System Quest Initiated: Survive the Ambush]
→ Objective: Choose your path.
– Run [35% success rate]
– Surrender [High risk]
– Fight [??%]
→ Reward : Depend on choice
Alec's jaw clenched.
This wasn't a choice. Not really.
He could run, maybe. But they'd follow. He could surrender — but to what end?
The system already knew the truth.
He cursed softly under his breath. "Of course you'd do this now," he muttered at no one.
Then — a flicker behind him. Some quite movement.
But Alec didn't turn. Whoever it was, he had more immediate concerns.
The tall thug cracked his knuckles. "What's it gonna be, boy?"
The lean one stepped closer. "You don't wanna get hurt. Hand it over and walk away — well, stumble."
Alec's grip tightened on his fan.
The decision was already made.
The taller thief stepped forward, swinging the heavy club in a lazy arc. "Last chance, blind boy."
Alec didn't answer. His fingers brushed the edge of his fan, still sheathed in cloth at his side. His feet shifted subtly, finding the slight slope of the cobblestone alley. Behind him, crates, barrels, and broken masonry gave the space its maze-like shape.
The lean one moved first, fast and low — aiming to flank.
Alec let his weight fall backward.
The club swung forward with a heavy whoosh, missing his chest by inches. Alec rolled to the side, landing hard on a stack of crates that tumbled, throwing up dust. He came up crouched, one hand sweeping the fan free in a smooth arc.
The tall thug turned. "Feisty!"
Then came the spark.
A low hiss — and a stream of flame burst from behind the smaller thief. Not from Alec.
The lean one was a firebender.
Alec's breath caught. Strong but crudely trained. It can be seen from his control over those fames..
He spun sideways as the fire splashed against the stone, heat licking his boots. His sash singed slightly.
"A bender?" Alec muttered. "Fine."
The lean thief grinned. "Didn't expect that, did you?"
Alec dashed behind a cart, fire searing past his shoulder. He slammed the wheel as he passed, sending it tumbling sideways — a moment's barrier.
From the corner of his eye, he tracked the tall one's footsteps, heavy and predictable. Alec threw his fan open and kicked off a stone ledge, vaulting over the firebender's head.
The bender turned mid-flame. "He's not blind," he hissed. "Nobody moves like that."
"Then why the blindfold?" the brute growled.
Alec landed, crouched. "Because you can't see the truth anyway."
The bender turned again, fire lashing out in a burst.
Alec ducked, then slammed his palm to the ground — heating the stone below. It cracked, uneven now. The brute lunged, slipping slightly.
The alley's narrowness played to Alec's advantage as limited room meant smaller flames, predictable movement.
The fight turned fast and dirty.
The tall thief caught Alec's side with a glancing blow, the club crunching into his ribs. Alec hissed but used the momentum — spinning with a low sweep, tripping the man. He rolled and kicked hard, knocking the club away.
The bender lit his hands again — two small arcs of fire swirling in his fists.
Alec stood, panting. His sash was burned in places, and his legs trembled with fatigue.
But his grip on the fan never wavered.
Then it came, an opening.
The firebender overcommitted with a high swing. Alec dropped low and surged forward, slipping past the flames. His fan snapped shut.
Click.
And then —
Blinding Lash.
A scorching wave of invisible heat burst from the fan's edge—swifter than a deer, sharper than a blade. It tore through the space between them. The attack drained a significant amount of his strength.
The bender screamed, falling - the attack too fast to block, too strange to predict. The tall brute, scrambling to stand, froze in place as Alec turned, breath ragged.
Another step.
Another snap of the fan.
The lash coiled around his chest — heat and pressure — before striking with finality.
Both men dropped.
Smoke curled upward, faint and acrid.
Alec stood still, swaying slightly. His lungs burned. His hands trembled. Blood - his or theirs - stained the stones.
He dropped to one knee, drawing a breath. The fan cooled in his grip, metal faintly humming.
The alley fell silent.
Only the sound of distant waves and the occasional clatter from the market remained. Alec stood, his body aching in a hundred small places.
He didn't feel victorious.
Just… alive.
Barely.
He turned slowly, walking out of the alley. No one had seen. No one had screamed.
The town, as always, ignored what it didn't want to know.
By the time he reached the Ember Leaf, his steps were heavy. His sash was torn. His blindfold, half undone.
But he still wore it.
Still played the part.
He reached the kitchen utterly exhausted. Linya saw him in this condition and came to support "What happened child, Who this to you?" her voice filled with worry and anger. This was his last memory before fainting onto the floor.
His fan lay beside him, quiet.
[Ding , Reward has been issued ...]