The War Was Over
Republic City lay behind them—broken towers, silent streets, smoke rising over the bay.
In the chaos of his unmasking, Amon had freed his brother Tarrlok from the prison on Air Temple Island.
Now, the two of them fled across the Mo Ce Sea in a stolen speedboat heavy with Equalist gear and spare fuel.
Neither spoke. The engine hummed. Waves hissed against the hull.
Two brothers—bound by blood, and by everything they had destroyed.
Amon was the first to break the silence.
"I'm sorry for what I did to you," he said quietly. "For everything. None of it mattered in the end."
He looked straight ahead, eyes distant.
"But maybe we can start over. Somewhere far from here."
He turned slightly, a flicker of hope softening his face.
"Just the two of us. We can still live free."
Tarrlok didn't answer. The wind tugged at his hair as he stared down at the fuel tank between them.
His hand reached for an Equalist glove lying on the deck.
He slipped it on, the metal tips catching the dim light.
Amon noticed, but didn't move.
Tarrlok unscrewed the gas cap. The sharp scent of fuel filled the air.
"It'll be just like the good old days…" he murmured.
He hesitated, his voice soft.
"…Noatak."
Amon smiled faintly, a tear sliding down his cheek.
Tarrlok pressed the trigger.
A spark.
A flash of white.
Then silence.
⸻
The Naraq Settlement
Far to the north, beyond the frozen seas, lay the Naraq Settlement—one of the smallest and most isolated frontier communities of the Northern Water Tribe.
Carved into the ice cliffs and glacial plains overlooking the Mo Ce Sea, the settlement spanned thirty miles of frozen coastline.
Its people—fisherfolk, hunters, ice-cutters, and waterbenders—clung to the old ways.
Blizzards often sealed off entire districts for days. Temperatures dipped below −50°C in the deep freeze.
Life was hard, but steady. The cold demanded strength, and those who lived here had plenty of it.
⸻
In one of Naraq's twelve clusters, five homes stood apart—low, sturdy structures built to withstand the punishing winds.
One of them, a broad single-level dwelling half-sunken into the permafrost, sat quiet beneath the pale glow of morning.
Inside, seal oil lamps burned low, filling the air with the scent of smoke and furs.
In a small back room, a baby lay in a cradle carved from driftwood and lined with wolf pelts.
The child stirred, tiny fingers flexing, eyes slowly opening.
What was strange was not his calmness—but the faint trace of awareness in his gaze.
How am I still alive…?
The thought came from none other than Noatak.
Somehow—impossibly—he had returned.
Reborn into his own infancy.
How or why, he couldn't begin to guess. Perhaps it was a dream. Or punishment. A cruel loop forcing him to relive every mistake and loss.
But soon, Noatak realized: this was real.
He could do nothing but wait, quietly watching—the glow of the lamp, the shimmer of frozen walls, the soft drip of melting frost.
Then came footsteps.
Slow. Gentle.
A moment later, warm hands lifted him from the cradle. The familiar scent of furs, the soft sway of movement, and then—her face.
Seya.
His mother—young again. Her eyes full of warmth, her smile bright with love.
"Ah… Noatak, you're wide awake!" she cooed. "My little one—did you sleep well?"
She rocked him gently, humming as she began to feed him.
For a moment, his mind twisted with disbelief and embarrassment.
He was a grown man—aware of every detail—but the body's instincts were stronger.
The milk was simple and warm. Comforting. His mother smiled down at him, eyes half-closed, humming softly.
Later, she carried him to the hearth, wrapped in pelts. The room glowed faintly orange.
She began to hum again—a lullaby from a time he could barely remember.
Noatak felt something stir inside him.
Grief. Longing. Peace.
It had been so long since he'd seen her alive. So long since he'd felt this warmth.
He closed his eyes. For the first time in years—perhaps in a lifetime—he allowed himself to rest.
He remembered what it felt like to have a family.
Before everything changed.
⸻
Ten days passed.
Nothing much had changed. His life followed the same quiet rhythm—sleeping, drinking, dreaming.
He had grown used to the helplessness of a newborn's body. The small humiliations no longer surprised him.
But today, something changed.
While Seya was feeding him, a faint light appeared in the air—silent, floating before his eyes.
A set of words formed.
⸻
[Host: Noatak (Amon)]
[Race: Human]
[Identity: Naraq Northern Water Tribe Resident]
[Age: 1 Month]
[Physicality: 0.1 (Average healthy human: 10)]
[Chi Quantity: 500 (Average range: 50–100)]
[Current Attribute Points: 0]
⸻
Noatakfroze.
The glow reflected faintly in his mother's eyes, yet she didn't react.
She couldn't see it.
Only he could.
He studied the strange display. Simple. Clear. A summary of his being—body, energy, age.
Nothing more, nothing less.
He didn't panic. After everything that had happened, a floating interface hardly seemed strange.
He examined it carefully.
'Physicality: 0.1. Makes sense,' he thought. 'This body is still growing.'
But the Chi value caught his attention.
Five hundred.
Far higher than any normal human.
"Why is it so high?" he wondered silently.
Then the idea came.
Maybe my Chi from before carried over… on top of what I already had.
It was the only thing that made sense—and it was a good thing.
Chi determined everything.
Endurance, power, bending potential. The more Chi one had, the longer and stronger they could bend.
Most people trained for years just to raise their Chi slightly. But to be born with it—to inherit it—was a gift.
That was why his father, Yakone, had once favored him. His talent had always stood above others.
Now, it seemed that talent had returned. Stronger than before.
A faint smile crossed his thoughts.
This changes everything.
For ten days he'd done little but think. Remembering his old dream—to take away bending and make the world equal.
But that dream had failed. It was naïve, impossible.
The Avatar had proven that.
This time, he would take a different path.
Not to erase power, but to reshape it. To bring order—true order—under one law, one rule, one empire.
A world where the strong and the weak lived by the same principles.
Where equality wasn't just an idea, but a reality built through structure and will.
An empire that no nation—or Avatar—could break.
The Equalist Empire.