Power alone was never going to be enough.
That realization settled in quietly as days in the library turned into months, and months blurred into something timeless. Bending was only one language the world understood—and not even the most important one.
I continued studying.
Not recklessly. Not obsessively.
Deliberately.
Wan Shi Tong's library held far more than bending scrolls. There were treatises on ancient warfare, diagrams of forgotten weapons, records of past dynasties rising and collapsing under their own incompetence. I devoured them all.
Martial arts came first.
Bending was incredible, but it was also situational. Spirits, chi-blockers, enclosed spaces, exhaustion—there were countless scenarios where relying solely on bending would be foolish.
I wasn't interested in being helpless.
I studied hand-to-hand combat styles from every nation—Earth Kingdom grappling, Fire Nation striking, Water Tribe fluid redirection, even obscure hybrid systems that predated the Avatar cycle itself. Each discipline had strengths. Each had flaws.
I refined them.
Swordsmanship followed naturally.
I practiced with straight blades, curved blades, heavy weapons, light weapons. I learned reach, timing, footwork—how to kill efficiently, how to disarm without killing, how to fight while conserving energy.
Weapons weren't extensions of power.
They were force multipliers.
Still, I knew my limits.
"I'll need a teacher eventually," I admitted to myself one evening, setting a practice blade aside. "Someone who can correct mistakes I can't see."
Even genius benefited from perspective.
Between physical training sessions, I returned to bending—not to learn new techniques, but to perfect them. I focused on control rather than scale, precision rather than spectacle. Each element was drilled until execution became instinctive.
Not perfect.
But incredible.
Reliable.
Deadly when necessary.
Then came the subtler studies.
Politics.
History had made one thing abundantly clear—most catastrophes weren't caused by monsters or tyrants. They were caused by bad systems. Unequal resource distribution. Rigid traditions. Leaders who confused authority with competence.
The Avatar traditionally reacted to problems.
I intended to prevent them.
I studied governance models across cultures, analyzing why some nations fractured while others endured. I learned negotiation strategies, diplomacy, economic leverage, and how information shaped public perception long before armies ever marched.
Science followed.
Primitive by my old world's standards—but brilliant in its own way. Engineering principles, metallurgy, early chemistry, agricultural optimization. Small improvements here could stabilize entire regions.
Knowledge saved more lives than power ever could.
Sitting among the towering shelves, surrounded by centuries of recorded thought, I finally understood something fundamental.
Being the second Avatar wasn't about balance between elements.
It was about responsibility.
I wasn't here to dominate the world.
I was here to make sure it didn't destroy itself again.
Wan Shi Tong watched me from a distance now—not with suspicion, but with something closer to reluctant respect. I had taken knowledge without abusing it. Learned without exploiting it.
Rare—for a human.
I closed another book and leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"When I leave this place," I murmured, "I won't just be a force of nature."
I looked around the library one last time.
"I'll be a safeguard."
Far away, nations continued their slow march toward conflict, unaware that someone was preparing—not to rule them…
—but to outgrow them.