High in the skies on a floating island, where the air was thin and the clouds seemed close enough to touch, a cry pierced the night.
A baby's cry echoed through the stone-walled hut. Inside, the mother, Hana, clutched her newborn to her chest, her breath ragged from the labor.
Sweat glistened on her brow, but her eyes were fixed on the child. The room was crowded—elders, midwives, neighbors—all frozen, their gazes locked on the infant's forehead. There, stark against his soft skin, was a mark: an arrow.
"He has it," one of the midwives whispered, her voice trembling. "An arrow mark on his head. Call the chief. An Avatar is born. After 800 years… finally…"
The words hung in the air, heavy with awe. Hana's heart pounded as she traced the mark with a trembling finger.
'Is this real?' she thought. 'My son… an Avatar?' Her mind spun with stories she'd heard since childhood, tales of a chosen one who would ride the winds and change the world. She held the baby tighter, half-expecting him to vanish like a dream.
The door creaked open, and an old man shuffled in, his cane tapping against the stone floor.
Chief Iroh his eyes, sharp despite his age, softened as they landed on the child.
"Chief Iroh…" the midwife began, but he raised a hand, silencing her. He approached Hana, his steps slow but deliberate.
She offered the baby to him, her arms trembling not from fatigue but from the weight of the moment. Iroh took the child, cradling him gently.
The baby's cries quieted, and for a moment, the room was still. Iron's eyes glistened as he studied the arrow mark.
"Rejoice," he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "Our people have been blessed with another Avatar."
The room erupted. Cheers and laughter filled the air, hands clapping shoulders, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of joy.
"An Avatar!" someone shouted. "After all this time!" another cried. Hana watched, dazed, as the villagers embraced, their faces alight with hope.
'What does this mean for you, my little one?' she thought, her heart swelling with love and fear. 'What kind of life awaits you?'
Amid the celebration, a girl pushed through the crowd. She was sixteen. Her name was Saya, and curiosity burned in her gaze. She stopped before Chief Iroh, who still held the baby, and tilted her head.
"Chief Iroh," she said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Why are we rejoicing? Why is this baby so special?"
The room quieted. All eyes turned to Iroh, who smiled faintly, as if he'd been waiting for the question.
He handed the baby back to Hana, then faced Saya, his expression grave yet kind.
"There is a prophecy," he began, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "One told for 800 years, passed down through our people like a flame in the dark. Listen well, Saya, for this is the truth that binds us."
He paused, letting the words settle, then recited the prophecy, his voice rising and falling like the wind outside:
"From the windswept cradle of the clouds, where the four elements dance in harmony, a child shall rise—marked by an arrow on his forehead, born of balance, and burdened with destiny. He shall be the Avatar, the only one to ride the winds to the world below, where chaos reigns and laughter has died. Where the seas cry for freedom, and hearts are chained by power."
Saya's eyes widened, but she stayed silent, hanging on his words. Iroh continued, his voice growing fiercer.
"He will walk with the flame of the storm in his soul, bending the world not to rule it, but to set it free. In the Age of Shadows, when tyrants smile and truths are drowned, he shall meet the Sun God—Nika, the Liberator, the Laughing Flame. Together, they shall stand at the fork of fate."
The villagers murmured, some nodding, others clutching their hands as if to hold the words close. Saya frowned, her mind racing.
'Nika? The Sun God?' She'd heard the name in stories, a figure of joy and rebellion, but to think this baby might meet him? It felt too big, too impossible.
"Friend or foe. Light or fire," Iroh went on. "Their bond will shape the bones of the new world. To the oppressed, he will be the wind that lifts them. To the wicked, the tempest that devours. He is freedom wrapped in fury. Kindness veiled in storm. A demon to his enemies, a beacon to the broken."
Saya's breath caught. She glanced at the baby, who squirmed in Hana's arms, oblivious to the weight of the words.
'How can someone so small carry all that?' she thought. 'He's just a baby. He doesn't even know what the world is yet.'
Iroh's voice softened, but it held a fierce conviction. "Let him wander. Let him rise. Let him burn through the skies and bring the dawn. The world waits. The world weeps. And the wind whispers his name…"
Silence followed, thick and reverent. Saya stared at the baby, her curiosity now tinged with something heavier—respect, maybe, or fear.
'If this is true, what kind of life will he have?' she wondered. 'Will he be free, or will this prophecy chain him?'
Iroh turned to Hana, his eyes gentle. "What will you name him, Hana?"
Hana looked down at her son, her fingers brushing his tiny cheek. The baby's cries had stopped, and now he gazed at the crowd, his dark eyes wide and curious.
A small giggle escaped him, bright and unburdened. The sound was so pure it seemed to lighten the air. Outside, the wind picked up, rustling through the village as if laughing along with the child.
Hana smiled, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. "Kon D. Ryūkami."
The name rippled through the room, and the villagers whispered it among themselves, tasting its weight. Kon D. Ryūkami.
The baby giggled again, and the wind howled louder, swirling around the hut as if celebrating.