Another ten thousand years passed.
I knew this not because I was counting—but because the tension returned.
Raava and Vaatu were approaching their cycle again. That much was inevitable. Their conflict was not a failure of balance; it was one of its mechanisms. Order and chaos colliding, separating, rejoining—each cycle reshaping the world just enough to prevent stagnation.
I did not expect deviation.
I expected repetition.
Then I felt it.
The connection—ancient, ever-present, foundational—split.
Not strained.
Not distorted.
Severed.
I froze.
For the first time in longer than most civilizations would one day last, my attention snapped fully outward. The energies of Raava and Vaatu, which had always moved as opposing vectors of a single system, were no longer bound in their usual configuration.
They were separate.
Completely.
That should not have been possible.
Primordial spirits could be weakened. Bound. Cycled. But separation at that level—clean, sustained separation—violated every precedent I had ever recorded.
I did not hesitate.
The Spirit World folded around me as I crossed realms, space collapsing into intent. I emerged into the human world instantly, reality settling heavily around my form as I oriented myself.
The air was thick with residual energy.
Elemental fire scorched the ground—but not chaotically. It had been directed. Focused. Used with intent far beyond what humans were supposed to possess.
I looked up.
And saw him.
A man—young by human standards, battered, breathing hard—standing between two forces that should never have been divided. Raava's light pulsed weakly nearby, while Vaatu's darkness churned in restrained fury.
And between them—
Fire.
Not wild.
Not instinctive.
Deliberate.
I stared.
A human had done this.
Not with energybending. Not with divine assistance. Not with artifacts or intervention.
With fire.
With will.
With choice.
Impossible.
And yet, the evidence stood before me.
The man—Wan—had no idea what he had truly accomplished. His expression was not triumph, but confusion. Fear. Determination layered over ignorance.
He had acted without understanding the scale of consequence.
Which, paradoxically, was the only reason it had worked.
I felt Raava notice me then—her light flickering in recognition. Vaatu felt me too, of course. Chaos always sensed observation.
For a moment, no one spoke.
I took in the scene, my mind already cataloguing probabilities, futures branching outward violently from this single act.
So this is the divergence point, I thought.
So this is how history changes.
A human had interfered in a cycle older than nations, older than bending, older than most spirits.
Not through power.
But through resolve.
I stepped forward, my presence finally registering to Wan. His eyes widened—not in reverence, but instinctive awareness that something fundamental now stood near him.
I did not speak yet.
I was… fascinated.
This was not something I had planned.
Not something I had encouraged.
But it was something balance would now have to adapt to.
For the first time since my rebirth, the future was no longer simply unfolding.
It was accelerating.
And the man who would become the first Avatar stood at the center of it—unaware that the world would never again be what it was moments before.
I watched him carefully.
"Interesting," I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else.
"Very interesting indeed."