The silence that followed Alec's stark warning was heavy, pregnant with unspoken truths. Aang, his earlier exuberance completely extinguished, looked at Alec with wide, questioning eyes, a flicker of fear and confusion.
Katara and Sokka, their faces grim, stood by, their presence showed the gravity of the moment.
Alec met Aang's gaze, his own eyes serious, devoid of any jest. He knew this conversation would be painful, perhaps even devastating, but it was a necessary cruelty. The truth, however bitter, had to be faced. He took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words, aiming for clarity without stripping away the inherent kindness that still resided within him.
"Aang," Alec began, his voice low and steady, "the world you knew, the world you left behind... it's gone. A hundred years have passed since you were frozen in that ice. A hundred years is a long time, Aang. Longer than most people live. Think of it like this: imagine a tree. A sapling, small and vulnerable, growing into a mighty oak. That's how much time has passed. Generations have lived and died. Empires have risen and fallen."
Aang's eyes widened, a dawning horror creeping into their depths. "But... but my friends? My teachers? Monk Gyatso?"
Alec's gaze softened, a profound sadness in his eyes. "Aang, when you ran away, you were a child, scared and overwhelmed. You were trying to escape a burden you didn't understand. But in that time, the Fire Nation... they didn't stop. They launched a war, a war that has raged for a century. And the first place they struck, the first place they sought to extinguish, was the Air Nomads."
He paused, allowing the words to sink in, watching the subtle shifts in Aang's expression. "You knew the stories, didn't you? The legends of the Fire Nation's cruelty, the whispers of the Air Nomads' disappearance. But hearing a story, Aang, is like looking at a painting. It's a representation, an interpretation. Seeing it, feeling it, walking through the ruins of your own past... that's a completely different experience. It's a wound that bleeds, a scar that aches."
Aang's lower lip trembled. He looked at Katara and Sokka, their faces etched with a profound sorrow that mirrored Alec's words. There was no denying it. The truth, however painful, resonated with an undeniable authenticity.
He had clung to a flicker of hope, a desperate, childish wish that his family, his people, might still be alive, hidden away somewhere. But the solemn faces before him, the quiet gravity of Alec's voice, told him otherwise. The hope, fragile as it was, began to crumble.
"No," Aang whispered, his voice barely audible, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. "No, it can't be. They can't be... gone."
Alec knelt before him, his gaze unwavering. "Aang, I know how you feel right now. The weight of a century, the loss of everything you knew... it's an unbearable burden. But what you do after knowing this, how you choose to carry this pain, that will define your future. It will define the kind of Avatar you become. Will you let it crush you, or will you let it fuel your purpose?"
Just as Alec was about to continue, to offer more words of solace and philosophical guidance, Aang's eyes, wide and tear-filled, darted past Alec, fixing on something in the distance. A gasp escaped his lips, a choked sound of recognition and despair.
His gaze was locked on a small, detached building, partially obscured by the lush greenery, a building that, even from this distance, was unmistakably an Air Temple structure. And near it, a faint, almost imperceptible, shape.
"Monk..." Aang whispered, his voice trembling with a raw, primal grief. He didn't wait. He didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, a blur of motion, his small frame propelled by an agonizing mixture of hope and dread. He ran towards the remains, towards the silent testament of his lost past.
Alec knew, with a sinking heart, that his carefully constructed words, his gentle attempts to prepare Aang, had been in vain. The sight of the temple, the silent promise of a devastating truth, had overridden everything.
He sighed, a sound of profound resignation. He had done all he could. Now, it was up to Aang. He ran after him, calling his name, Katara and Sokka close behind, their own faces etched with concern.
They found him sitting before a skeleton, its bones bleached white by the relentless sun and wind, yet still retaining the posture of a monk in meditation. The tattered remnants of an Air Nomad robe clung to the bones, and a simple, beaded pendant, bearing the familiar Air Nation symbol, lay nestled amongst the ribs. It was Monk Gyatso, his beloved elder.
Aang's small frame trembled, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering inches from the ancient bones, as if afraid to disturb the sanctity of the final resting place.
He gazed around, his eyes scanning the familiar architecture of the temple, the spiraling towers, the serene courtyards, all now eerily silent, devoid of the vibrant life he remembered. The profound emptiness, the chilling silence, screamed a truth far more devastating than any words Alec could have uttered.
Then, a change. Subtle at first, a faint shimmer in the air around Aang. His arrow tattoos, usually a vibrant blue, began to glow with an ethereal, pure white light. The light intensified, spreading across his entire body, until he was wreathed in a blinding aura.
He rose slowly, effortlessly, into the air, his eyes, once filled with tears, now glowing with the same incandescent white. The air around him, once still, began to stir, then to swirl, then to rush inward, a powerful vortex of destructive energy, pulling everything towards him. It was the Avatar State, raw and untamed, a force of nature unleashed.
Alec, however, saw none of this. His unique sight, attuned to heat and energy, perceived only a sudden, overwhelming surge of raw power emanating from Aang, a chaotic maelstrom of spiritual energy that threatened to tear the very fabric of reality.
He felt the air being violently sucked inward, the temperature dropping drastically, a chilling void where Aang once stood. He knew, with a primal certainty, that Aang was losing control, that this uncontrolled outburst of power could devastate the entire temple, perhaps even himself.
His mind raced, a thousand calculations flashing through his consciousness. He had to stop it. He had to break Aang out of this state, before it was too late. He didn't know what was happening, couldn't see the glowing eyes, the rising form, the spiritual connection. He only saw the destructive potential, the imminent catastrophe. And in that moment, his instincts, honed by a past he couldn't fully recall, took over.
"Aang!" Alec roared, his voice cutting through the rising wind. He launched himself forward, his hands erupting in a powerful stream of fire, not with anger, but with a desperate, urgent intent. It was a focused, precise blast to shock and bring Aang back from the brink.
The fire streaked through the swirling air, a vibrant orange against the encroaching spiritual void. It struck Aang, not with a searing impact, but with a sudden, jarring force. Aang's head snapped up, his glowing eyes locking onto Alec.
And in that instant, Alec saw it. Clutched tightly in Aang's hand, a Fire Nation helmet, its distinctive crest a stark, brutal symbol of the very force that had annihilated his people.
Alec's heart plummeted. He had messed up. Terribly. He had tried to help, to intervene, but in Aang's grief-stricken, Avatar State-fueled mind, his fire, his presence, his very being, must have been perceived as an attack, a continuation of the Fire Nation's brutality. The helmet, a relic of the past, now a symbol of Aang's rage, was the final, devastating piece of the puzzle.
"Aang!" Alec cried out again, his voice filled with a desperate plea, a desperate attempt to explain, to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding that had just opened between them. "It's me! Alec!"
But Aang heard nothing. His glowing eyes, once filled with an innocent wonder, now burned with an ancient, terrifying fury. He extended his hand towards Alec, this time not in friendship. The air around Alec solidified, a crushing force that lifted him effortlessly from the ground, suspending him in mid-air, helpless.
Then, with a violent flick of Aang's wrist, a sharp, invisible blade of air shot towards Alec, a silent, deadly projectile. It was a direct attack, fueled by a century of grief, a century of rage, a century of loss. Katara and Sokka, witnessing the terrifying display, their voices choked with fear and disbelief, screamed, "Alec! Aang!"