The road was long, cracked, and dusty—an endless vein through the jagged hills that led to the outer fringes of a small Earth Kingdom town called Dalu. Fang Yuan walked alone, shoulders slightly hunched from exhaustion, his bare feet coated in dry dirt. The sun hung overhead like a ruthless overseer, casting long shadows in the late afternoon light.
His stomach growled again. He ignored it.
It had been two days since he left the nameless forest where he'd first awakened in this strange world. Two days of walking without direction, living on river water and the occasional bitter root he could stomach. He knew where he was—this was the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender, post-war, a fragile peace resting on tired shoulders.
But he didn't know why he was here. Not yet.
As he approached the town gates, the scent of baked bread and roasted meat filled the air, sharp and mocking. Dalu was not large—maybe fifty or sixty buildings clumped around a stone plaza—but to someone who hadn't eaten properly in days, it may as well have been Ba Sing Se.
The guards at the entrance didn't pay him more than a glance. One spat off to the side, the other scratched his chest beneath leather armor, watching with bored eyes as Fang Yuan passed through. His clothes were worn and caked in travel grime—he looked like a common drifter, not worth even a warning.
Perfect.
The market square bustled with life. Vendors yelled about fresh peaches, polished stones, handmade cloaks. People bartered, shouted, laughed. A child cried over a dropped pastry. Somewhere nearby, a street performer sent tiny rocks spinning into the air with an earthbending flourish. The crowd clapped. No one noticed Fang Yuan.
He was just another nobody.
The scent of food became unbearable. He stopped at a vendor selling rice balls wrapped in leaves. His mouth watered as the woman placed steaming bundles into baskets for her customers.
"How much?" he asked, voice hoarse.
The woman glanced at him, eyes drifting down to his dirt-streaked tunic. "Two copper pieces."
He reached into his pocket. Nothing. Not even lint.
"...I don't have money."
She frowned. "Then you don't have food."
"I can work," he offered. "Unload crates, clean stalls—anything."
A man behind him snorted. "This isn't Ba Sing Se, peasant. No one pays beggars for lifting buckets."
The vendor woman waved him away with the back of her hand. "Go on now, before you scare off the paying folk."
Fang Yuan nodded silently and turned away, his stomach twisting in protest.
He wandered the edges of the square, slipping into an alley between two buildings. The cool shade was a small mercy. He sat with his back to the wall, knees drawn up. The murmur of the town faded behind him. He needed a plan—food, shelter, something. The past few days had been a blur of instinct. Now he needed control.
But the world would not wait.
Footsteps echoed down the alley—more than one set, deliberate and slow. Fang Yuan opened his eyes as three figures stepped into view, casting long shadows over him. All three were boys, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Their clothes were rough, patchwork—worn from travel but hiding muscle underneath. One carried a wooden staff strapped to his back, another had a belt with small pouches, and the third grinned with a mouthful of crooked teeth.
"Look what we have here," the crooked-tooth one said. "Stray dog sniffing around town."
Fang Yuan stood slowly, his face unreadable. "I'm not looking for trouble."
"Well," the one with the staff said, "that's too bad. Trouble's looking for you."
They surrounded him casually, like predators toying with their meal. The boy with the pouches stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.
"You new here. You stink like road dust, and that makes you interesting," he said. "Let's see if you're carrying anything worth our time."
"I'm not," Fang Yuan replied. "You'll find nothing."
"Then we'll look anyway."
The pouch boy reached for him. Fang Yuan stepped back—just a fraction, controlled.
"You really don't want to do that," he said, voice calm.
"Why, you gonna earthbend me, outsider?" the one with the staff mocked, laughing. "You don't even have shoes."
The moment stretched.
Fang Yuan didn't move.
Then the crooked-tooth boy lunged.
He came fast, a fist swinging wide and low. Fang Yuan sidestepped smoothly. His hand came up and pressed against the boy's shoulder—barely a touch, a redirection. Crooked-tooth stumbled forward, hitting the alley wall with a grunt.
The staff-wielder snarled and drew his weapon.
Fang Yuan's eyes flicked to the staff, then to the boy's feet. Earth. Stone. He didn't feel the pull yet—didn't have that instinctive bond—but something in him stirred. A rhythm beneath the ground. A low hum.
He wasn't ready to bend. Not yet.
The staff-wielder came in fast, jabbing like a spear.
Fang Yuan ducked under the swing and stepped in close, inside the range of the staff. A sharp elbow to the ribs followed by a twist of the wrist sent the staff clattering to the ground.
The third boy—the pouch one—backed up quickly. His hand darted into one of his satchels.
A blast of flame roared out.
Fang Yuan moved just in time. The fire scorched the alley wall where he'd been a moment before. A firebender. Sloppy. Too much emotion in the throw.
But it made things dangerous.
Fang Yuan reached for the nearest thing—a discarded lid from a basket. As the firebender charged another blast, he tossed the lid into the air. The distraction was enough. Fang Yuan surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the boy's chest and knocking him flat.
He didn't follow through with more hits. Just stood over them, breathing steady.
The staff boy groaned from the ground. The firebender sat up, coughing.
Fang Yuan didn't speak. He just walked past them and out of the alley, leaving silence behind.
Later, as dusk fell over Dalu, the three boys limped through the side streets toward a hidden cellar near the outskirts of town. Inside waited a man with tattoos curling up his neck and a scar over one eye. He was older, colder. A known figure among the smaller gangs operating in Earth Kingdom fringes.
"Well?" the man asked, voice low.
The firebender looked away, ashamed. "We found someone. Alone. Quiet. Said he had nothing."
"And?"
"He handled us," the staff-wielder muttered.
The man leaned forward. "Handled you?"
"He wasn't a bender," the pouch boy added quickly. "Not that we saw."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Then how did he beat you?"
Silence.
The leader leaned back. "Find out who he is. If he's just a traveler, we can scare him out of town. If not… he might be worth selling."
Fang Yuan sat atop the town's stone wall that night, watching the moon drift behind clouds. The bruises on his side ached, but nothing was broken. More importantly, he now knew something: the fire had not scared him. In that moment, something had stirred—not fear, but challenge.
A memory of heat in his blood. Of movement just beneath his skin.
Not just air. Not just earth.
Chi.
He didn't know how yet, but the flow was real. It wasn't just about mastering the elements—it was about understanding the bridge between them.
His body. His spirit. His chi.
And somewhere beyond the hills, something deeper stirred—watching. Waiting.
But for now, in this quiet town where no one knew him, Fang Yuan was just a shadow. No hero. No villain.
Just a man with nothing...
…and everything ahead of him.