Darkness. Cold. An endless, silent void. Alec drifted, a solitary consciousness in an ocean of nothingness. He had no body, no senses, no memory of how he came to be here. Time was meaningless; it could have been moments, or millennia. He was simply... existing. A profound sense of detachment enveloped him, a strange peace born of absolute emptiness.
Then, a faint warmth. A distant flicker in the boundless dark. It was barely perceptible, a whisper of heat in the infinite cold. Instinct, primal and undeniable, urged him towards it. He didn't know how, but he began to move, a slow, arduous journey through the void, drawn by the promise of sensation, of existence.
The warmth grew, gradually, steadily. It became a gentle glow, then a soft light, and finally, a blinding brilliance that consumed the darkness entirely. Alec felt a jolt, a sudden, jarring return to his body, to his senses. He gasped, a ragged breath that burned in his lungs, and his eyes snapped open.
He was in a tent. A small, circular structure made of thick animal hides, its interior dimly lit by the flickering light of a fire. The air was cold, sharp, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and something else... something clean and wild, like snow and ice. Beneath him, he felt the unyielding hardness of frozen earth, covered by thick furs. He was alive. He was somewhere.
He turned his head, his muscles stiff and protesting, towards the source of the warmth. Outside the tent, a fire crackled merrily, casting dancing shadows against the snow. Two figures sat by the fire, their voices a low murmur against the biting wind. An old woman, her face etched with the wisdom of years, and a teenage girl, her features bright and animated.
Alec tried to focus, to understand their words, but they were indistinct, like voices heard through a thick fog. He caught snippets – "waterbending," "tradition," "our people" – but nothing coherent. His head throbbed, a dull ache that resonated with the emptiness in his memory.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across the tent entrance. A young boy, no older than him maybe even younger, moved towards him, carrying a wooden bowl. He had a kind face, framed by dark hair, and his eyes were wide with curiosity and concern.
The boy came closer, his footsteps crunching softly on the snow. He saw Alec's open eyes and a relieved smile spread across his face. "Grandmother! He's awake!" he called out, his voice clear and excited.
Alec watched him, a strange sense of familiarity stirring within him, yet he couldn't place it. The boy waved a hand in front of Alec's eyes, back and forth, testing his responsiveness. Alec, still lost in the haze of returning consciousness and fragmented memory, showed no reaction.
The teenage girl, drawn by the boy's shout, entered the tent. She had a fierce, protective look in her eyes. "Sokka! Stop that!" she admonished, gently pushing his hand away. She then turned her attention to Alec, her expression softening. "Are you alright? You've been out for a long time."
Alec tried to speak, but his throat was dry, his voice a raspy whisper. He shook his head, a gesture of confusion, of not knowing.
The old woman, whom the boy had called Grandmother, entered the tent, her presence radiating a calm authority. She carried a small, intricately carved wooden staff. Her eyes, warm and compassionate, met Alec's. She saw the confusion, the fear, the emptiness in their depths.
"Don't worry, child," she said, her voice soft and soothing, yet firm. "You're safe now. You're in the Southern Water Tribe. It's been a week since we found you, washed ashore after a great storm."
She gestured to the boy and girl. "I am Kanna, and these are my grandchildren, Sokka and Katara."
Alec blinked, the names echoing faintly in his mind, but without context, without meaning. Southern Water Tribe. Kanna. Sokka. Katara. He tried to grasp onto them, but they slipped away like water through his fingers.
Kanna extended the wooden bowl towards him. It contained a steaming, fragrant fish soup. "Here, first eat something. You must be starving."
Alec reached out, his hand moving instinctively, his fingers splayed, as if searching for something he couldn't see. It was an unconscious gesture, a habit ingrained so deeply that even without memory, it persisted. He reached out like a blind person would, his hand hovering uncertainly.
Kanna gently took his hand, guiding it to the bowl. Her touch was warm, reassuring. "Don't worry, child. Just eat. We'll figure things out later."
Alec took a tentative sip of the soup. It was warm, savory, and instantly comforting. He ate slowly, each spoonful bringing a little more strength back to his weary body. As he ate, Kanna watched him, her gaze perceptive and kind.
"Do you know what your name is, child?" she asked gently, after he had finished the soup.
Alec paused, the question hanging in the air. He closed his eyes, trying to reach into the depths of his mind, searching for an answer. A dull ache spread through his temples, intensifying with the effort. He supported his head with a trembling hand, the pain a sharp reminder of his fractured memory.
Then, a single word, a whisper from the forgotten corners of his being, surfaced. "Alec," he rasped, the name feeling both foreign and intimately familiar. "My name is Alec."
Kanna smiled, a gentle, knowing smile. "Alec. It's a good name. Welcome to our tribe, Alec."
Katara and Sokka watched, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. This stranger, washed ashore, with no memory, and a strange way of reaching out. He was a mystery, but in the small, close-knit community of the Southern Water Tribe, mysteries were often welcomed, especially when they came with a story waiting to be told. Alec, however, had no story to tell, not yet. Only a name, and a profound sense of loss, a void where his past should have been.