– The One with Empty Eyes
The forest had changed.
Fang Yuan felt it before he saw it. A hum in the roots. A silence that wasn't natural, like the world was holding its breath.
He had traveled east this time—toward the edge of what once was Fire Nation-occupied territory, a fractured land of regrowth and bitter history. The trees here grew close together, their branches clutching like desperate hands. The old path had long since vanished beneath underbrush and time. No towns for miles. No villages nearby. Only crumbling watchtowers and the memory of war.
And yet someone else had walked this path recently.
Fang Yuan bent to the soil, running his fingers over faint impressions—too light for soldier's boots, too erratic for a cart animal. Someone traveling on foot, but careful… deliberate. One set of tracks, no others. He narrowed his eyes.
So I'm not the only ghost in these woods.
He rose slowly, his senses heightened. The air pressed down heavier than usual, like the forest itself disapproved of his presence. Or was warning him.
He moved on.
Hours passed under the canopy, and the trail deepened. The prints became clearer. Whoever this was, they weren't hiding anymore.
At last, near sundown, he heard it.
A soft chime.
Faint. Metallic.
A bell?
No.
Wind chimes.
In the middle of nowhere?
He followed the sound, weaving between the trees, until the forest opened—abruptly and without warning—into a clearing.
There, in the center, stood a small, circular shrine.
Old. Worn. Vines climbing its stone surface. A single paper talisman fluttered from the beam above its entrance, its ink long faded. A crude wooden post supported several thin rods, from which hung five bronze chimes. No wind stirred them. And yet they rang—low, rhythmic, unnatural.
Fang Yuan took a step forward.
The sound stopped.
"I was wondering when you'd arrive," said a voice.
Fang Yuan's hand twitched near his belt instinctively. He turned slowly.
A man sat cross-legged at the far end of the clearing. His clothes were simple—gray robes, slightly singed at the edges. His face was young, maybe late twenties, but there was something impossibly old in his gaze.
And his eyes—
They were gray.
Not light gray, not silver—empty. Like ash. Like smoke after the flame had died.
"You've been following me," Fang Yuan said flatly.
"No," the man said. "I've been waiting for you."
Fang Yuan kept his distance. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head. "Does it matter?"
Fang Yuan's eyes narrowed. "If you're going to speak in riddles, I'll leave."
"You can try," the man replied. "But the forest won't let you."
A soft rustle passed through the trees, though no wind blew.
Fang Yuan didn't like it. He wasn't afraid—but something in his gut told him this encounter was not like the others.
"I've heard whispers," the man continued, "of a presence moving through the land. Someone not born of this world. You disturbed the spirits at Long Root Basin. You redirected the stone veins beneath Mt. Kilan. The balance has started to warp around you."
"I haven't harmed anyone," Fang Yuan said.
"But you've changed everything," the man replied, standing now. He walked slowly, with bare feet, across the soft grass.
Fang Yuan didn't step back.
"You bend the elements," the man said, "but not with the precision of a master. You lack the years, the training. And yet, they obey you."
"They listen because I don't force them," Fang Yuan said.
The man nodded. "Ah. Then you do understand… a little."
He stopped a few feet away, just out of striking range. He was taller than Fang Yuan expected, lean but wiry. There was no visible weapon on him, and yet every part of his posture suggested danger.
"What do you want?" Fang Yuan asked.
"To see what you are," the man said calmly. "Not what you can do. What you are."
"Then look."
"I already am."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, slowly, the man reached into his sleeve and drew out something thin and carved—a bamboo flute.
He sat again at the shrine's base.
Fang Yuan didn't move.
The man raised the flute to his lips.
A note rang out—high, clear, and piercing. It split the air like lightning. Fang Yuan felt his skin crawl. It wasn't music. It was… a signal.
A call.
From the forest, they came.
Spirits.
Not fully formed—not like Koh or the Painted Lady. These were fragments. Echoes. Partial entities born of local energy and memory. Twisting shapes of fog and color. They floated into the clearing like drifting smoke, their movements erratic and curious.
Fang Yuan stood still.
The spirits circled him.
He felt no hatred. Not yet. But their presence tightened around his mind. His chi pulsed in response—reflexively. Protectively. He clenched his fist and grounded himself.
The flute stopped.
The spirits hovered… and then one screamed.
It was a soundless, voiceless wail that tore through his thoughts. He flinched as the nearest spirit lashed toward him—its body a tendril of red light. He raised his palm, instinct taking over. The earth surged upward, a small barrier of stone erupting between them.
The spirit hit it—and vanished in a burst of mist.
The others scattered.
The man lowered the flute.
"…Interesting," he said softly.
Fang Yuan's breath was calm again. "You provoked them."
"No," the man said. "You did."
He stood.
"They felt your chi. Your contradiction. You don't belong here. And they know it."
"Then why didn't they attack sooner?"
"They were afraid. Until now."
Fang Yuan's gaze hardened. "What are you?"
The man gave a slight bow.
"I am a Watcher," he said. "One of few. Our purpose is to find… anomalies. Those who unsettle the balance. To observe. To report."
"To the Avatar?" Fang Yuan asked.
"To those who came before him," the Watcher replied, and turned.
Fang Yuan stepped forward. "Wait."
"You'll see me again," the man said, walking into the shadows beyond the shrine. "But by then… you may no longer be so calm."
Within moments, he vanished.
The spirits were gone too.
And Fang Yuan was left alone in the clearing, heart beating in quiet rhythm with the land again.
That night, he sat by the shrine, watching the stars emerge one by one.
Chi.
Spirits.
Watchers.
What am I becoming?
He could still feel the pressure of that strange flute song in his mind. It hadn't hurt him—but it had stirred something inside him. Something that wanted to rise. Something… ancient.
Not evil. Not good.
Just power.
And now he knew—he wasn't the only one watching this world.
He was being watched in return.