I didn't rest for long.
After my body recovered enough to stand without collapsing, I returned to the heart of the Southern Air Temple. The place felt different now—lighter, almost wary, as if the stones themselves sensed what I had become.
Air was next.
The Fire Nation had done its best to erase the Air Nomads, but they hadn't been thorough enough. Hidden chambers, sealed meditation halls, and forgotten vaults still held knowledge they had missed—or deemed worthless.
Scrolls lined the walls.
Not many.
But enough.
Airbending theory was nothing like fire. It wasn't about dominance or expansion—it was about absence. Letting go. Redirecting rather than overwhelming.
Surprisingly, it came easily.
Almost too easily.
I read the scrolls slowly, absorbing not just the techniques but the philosophy behind them. Where fire demanded will, air demanded clarity. Where fire pushed, air yielded.
And I understood immediately why the Air Nomads had been such terrifying opponents.
I stepped into the open courtyard.
Inhaled.
Then moved.
The wind answered.
Not explosively—precisely. A controlled current wrapped around my body, lifting dust, banners, and loose stones into a gentle spiral. I adjusted my stance instinctively, shifting weight with perfect balance.
I smiled faintly.
"…So that's how it's supposed to feel."
Within hours, I was gliding across the courtyard on cushions of air, redirecting momentum with minimal effort. Footwork that would have taken years to master unfolded naturally beneath me.
Airbending didn't resist me.
It cooperated.
The Sharingan made it obscene.
I could see airflow before it moved—pressure differentials, microcurrents, the exact moment a technique would destabilize. Every mistake corrected itself before it could even occur.
Talent like this was rare.
No—unprecedented.
Even in the Naruto world, Indra Ōtsutsuki had stood at the apex of genius. He had invented ninjutsu at twelve—created an entirely new system of power through intellect and intuition alone.
That same talent now flowed through bending.
Different rules.
Same brilliance.
By the end of the week, I wasn't practicing forms anymore.
I was refining them.
Removing unnecessary movement. Combining air's redirection with fire's pressure. Testing how airflow affected flame temperature and stability.
I wasn't just learning bending.
I was evolving it.
I stood atop the highest spire of the temple, robes fluttering gently in a wind I wasn't consciously controlling.
"My talent might be the greatest this world has ever seen," I said quietly.
Not arrogance.
Just observation.
"And I haven't even begun yet."
Far away, something ancient stirred—uneasy.