The South Pole slumbered under a blanket of white. Flakes drifted lazily from the clouds, muffling sound and turning the village into a silent dream.
But beneath the snow… something stirred.
Kaiqok sat on a flat sheet of ice near the cliffs, legs folded, breath slow. The golden chakra cloak around him shimmered faintly in the gloom, casting soft light on the untouched snow. It had been two weeks since he arrived in this world. And the fusion of Sage Mode and his chakra-animal cloak had started to settle—to become instinct.
But something was changing.
He could feel it in the pull of the wind, the flicker of warmth beneath the ice, the whispers that sometimes brushed against his thoughts when he meditated.
The Spirit World was watching him.
He exhaled slowly.
"Come on," he muttered. "I know you're there."
And like frost cracking beneath sunlight, the air shifted.
A low hum filled the quiet.
Then—sparks. Flickers of soft light emerged from the snow around him, dancing like fireflies. They hovered, twitching, drawing patterns only the spiritual could see.
"Kaiqok…"
The name was breathed, not spoken. A woman's voice, echoing through layers of time.
He opened his eyes.
Before him stood a figure made of pale green flame. A spirit—tall, elegant, her face ever-changing, like leaves shifting in wind. Her eyes were pure white, ancient and knowing.
"You are not of this world," she said. "Yet you hold its breath in your hands."
Kaiqok didn't flinch. "You've been watching me."
"All spirits have," she said. "Your presence… tugs at the balance."
"I'm not here to break anything."
"No," the spirit said. "But you will burn through something that was once meant to die slowly. You've already begun shaping destiny in new directions."
Kaiqok narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"Your bond with the Avatar," she said. "You were not meant to exist in her story. Yet now… she laughs differently. She dreams differently."
He didn't reply. He couldn't. Not when a truth like that hit deeper than any weapon.
The spirit raised a hand. A spark of flame hovered in her palm, then flickered into an image—Korra, older, crying in the dark. A world in chaos. Spirits fleeing. A broken bridge between realms.
"She was meant to lose herself," the spirit whispered. "To break, so that the cycle could be reforged. But you… you may prevent that. Or you may make it worse."
Kaiqok's voice was firm. "I won't let her fall."
"Then be ready," she warned, fading. "The snow hides many fires. But some were never meant to burn."
The spirit vanished.
The snow settled.
Kaiqok stood up, breathing hard. His chakra cloak sparked around him, reacting to his emotion. His instincts buzzed like hornets. He didn't know what future Korra was meant to suffer through—but the thought of her crying like that…
He wouldn't allow it.
Not again.
Not in this life.
---
Later that morning, Korra found him near the hot springs. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and she held a wooden training staff under one arm.
"Fight me," she demanded.
Kaiqok raised an eyebrow. "You had breakfast already?"
"Three bowls," she said proudly.
He sighed, standing up. "Alright. But no fire this time."
"I make no promises."
She lunged.
For a four-year-old, she fought like a small storm. Her swings were wild, fierce, more passion than precision. Kaiqok deflected each one with lazy movements, using only a single chakra-enhanced finger to redirect her attacks.
"Stop being slippery!" she growled.
"I'm not slippery," he said calmly. "You're predictable."
She swung low—he hopped.
She jabbed forward—he stepped aside.
She tried firebending—but the moment the flames sparked, he froze them midair with a twist of his hand, turning them into a snowflake that landed on her nose.
"Huh?!" she gasped, crossing her eyes to look at it.
Kaiqok chuckled. "Lesson one: your strength means nothing if your heart outruns your mind."
She pouted. "You sound like that old monk who keeps yelling at me."
"That means I'm right."
Korra kicked the snow. "I hate losing."
Kaiqok knelt, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't lose. You just haven't won yet. There's a difference."
She looked at him seriously, biting her lip. "Do you think I'll be a good Avatar?"
The question came from nowhere. But it hit him harder than any of her punches.
He remembered her future.
The doubt. The weight. The poison. The loss.
He placed his hand gently against her chest.
"You already are," he said softly. "You just haven't caught up with yourself yet."
Korra smiled—a rare, quiet smile.
Then she poked his forehead. "You talk weird."
"Comes with age," he replied, standing again.
"You're only four!"
"I'm four… and thirty-four."
"…Huh?"
He just walked away with a smirk.
---
That evening, Ayaya approached him again. The elder's eyes narrowed as she stared at him sitting beside the fire.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she said.
"The spirit?" he replied. "Yeah."
"And?"
"She warned me," he said. "Said I'm changing too much. That Korra's path is already shifting."
Ayaya sat down slowly. "Do you intend to change her fate?"
"I intend to make her stronger than it."
The old woman stared into the flames.
"Then be careful, boy with the golden cloak. There are sparks beneath the snow… and not all of them are yours to ignite."