The last thing he remembered was the music.
AirPods snug in his ears, hoodie zipped up against the crisp wind, and a coffee cup in hand, Aaron strolled through the city with a stupid grin. The song playing was a favorite—some nostalgic mix of lo-fi and piano. Life, at that moment, had felt just right.
Then came the honk.
The blur of steel.
And silence.
No pain. No panic. Just cold, unreal silence.
Now... he opened his eyes again.
Snowflakes danced above his face, carried by a lazy wind. He blinked slowly, breath curling into mist as he sat up. Beneath him, ice cracked softly, but it didn't break. Around him, jagged cliffs of snow and stone towered, the landscape unfamiliar and untouched.
"Where…?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Did I survive that somehow?"
He looked at his hands. They were smaller—much smaller. Child-like. The coffee cup was gone. So were his clothes. He wore thick, fur-lined Water Tribe gear now, stitched with light blue patterns. And the reflection on the ice…
That wasn't his face. Not entirely. Younger. Clear-skinned. Clean-shaven. And yet—his eyes. They were still his.
Green. A rare green. Alive.
Aaron scrambled to his feet, adrenaline flooding him.
"This is…" He turned in circles. "No way. No actual way…"
The cold wasn't biting like it should've been. The snow didn't sting. His body—though small—felt light, agile, balanced. Somewhere, deep in his chest, something warm throbbed. Not a heartbeat. Chakra.
And then, the memories returned.
The light.
The voice.
The wishes.
"Oh my god…" he whispered. "That… wasn't a dream."
He dropped to his knees, laughing. A cold, breathless laugh that echoed off the cliffs.
He'd died. Really died. And then met a being—God or something like it—who offered him three wishes.
He remembered them clearly now.
Wish One: Perfected Sage Mode. Not one kind, but all fused together—Snake, Toad, Slug, Dragon, even custom ones.
Wish Two: Complete manipulation of all elements he could imagine—not just the traditional four. Plasma, lightning, crystal, sound, shadow… the only limit was his mind.
Wish Three: A chakra cloak mode like Naruto's, but instead of a fox form, it could take on any animal form he imagined. Dragon? Wolf? Tiger? Done. And in base form, he would still be cloaked in the glowing golden shroud like Naruto during the Fourth Shinobi War.
His fingers curled, and chakra surged on instinct. Warm, golden light flickered around his hand, barely visible under the snow.
"So I really got a second shot," he whispered.
A voice echoed on the wind—high-pitched and childish.
"Grandma! I saw him! The golden boy!"
He turned just in time to see a girl around his age, maybe five or six, running up a hill with snow kicking up behind her. Dark skin. Thick braids. Wild blue eyes. Behind her, a hunched old woman, wrapped in ceremonial furs, slowly followed.
The girl stopped when she saw him and stared.
"You're not from here," she said, pointing at him like he was a snow bear.
"Nope," Aaron said casually. "I don't think I'm from anywhere anymore."
She tilted her head. "You glow."
Aaron blinked.
"Do I?"
She nodded. "Your hand just now. Yellow stuff."
The old woman arrived, wheezing. "Child, stop shouting—oh… oh great spirits."
The elder's eyes locked onto him with a strange blend of awe and fear.
"You," she said, "are not of this world."
"Technically, no," Aaron replied, brushing off snow. "I'm… new here. Really new."
The old woman kneeled suddenly, her head bowed.
"The spirits have answered. Another guardian, a second balance… born beside the Avatar."
Aaron froze.
Avatar.
Korra.
That's right—he was in her world now. This was The Legend of Korra, a world where bending was real, and chaos always brewed just beneath the surface. He was here before canon. Before everything started.
He was the same age as Korra.
His mission wasn't random either. The being who gave him the wishes had whispered before sending him off: "You will help her fix the mistake that even she will regret."
No context. No details. Just that.
Aaron—no, he needed a new name now. A Water Tribe name. Something that wouldn't raise suspicion.
He remembered a name he once used in an online game.
Kaiqok. It meant storm soul in a fantasy dialect he made up.
He liked it.
"Kaiqok," he said softly.
The old woman raised her head. "What did you say?"
"That's my name," he said. "Call me Kaiqok."
The girl smiled brightly. "Kaiqok! That sounds cool!"
"Kya," the elder said to the girl, "run and tell the Chief. We must welcome the storm child before the next moon."
The girl ran off, giggling.
Kaiqok stared at the snowy horizon.
Somewhere, not far from here, Korra was alive. Maybe laughing. Maybe crying. Maybe playing with waterbending she barely understood yet.
And he'd be there soon.
Not to steal her spotlight.
Not to change the world on his own.
But to stand by her side—when everything else fell apart.