A lone Kyoshi Warrior stepped into the village shrine, her shadow stretching across the worn wooden floor. Trailing close behind is a small girl in a modest blue garment, her eyes wide yet subdued. Without exchanging a single word, the pair set to work, tending to the sacred space that safeguarded Avatar Kyoshi's relics. Their movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial as though each breath and gesture might disturb the air too harshly.
The woman swept her gaze over the chamber and set about her task with unwavering precision. Fine dust was chased from the corners, each stroke of the broom exacting and relentless. The child, in contrast, fussed with a rag, dabbing at surfaces in a more playful, perfunctory manner. Her mother, however, reserved her touch for the most delicate duties. This is not mere cleaning, it is the caretaking of history. Every object in this modest hall is both artifact and offering, treasured remnants of a figure still venerated by their people.
The Avatar's ceremonial kimono demanded particular reverence. Its fibers, though aged, still carried the weight of her presence. To mishandle them would be a quiet sacrilege. The Kyoshi Warrior took up a soft-bristled brush, teasing away the dust clinging to its threads. The garment's size was a challenge in itself, as its wearer had been a towering figure, far above the stature of ordinary men and women.
"Watch closely," the woman murmured, eyes fixed on her work. "One day, you may be the one to do this."
The child obeyed, watching the entire ordeal quietly. It was a slow, almost monotonous process, yet she sensed the significance.
When the kimono had been restored to its proper place, the headdress, the gleaming war fans, and the colossal boots followed. Each piece received the same meticulous care, the brush scouring away the faint stains and the stubborn film of years. Nothing endures forever, but devotion could preserve a thing long past its natural span.
"There. We are done." The Kyoshi Warrior finished the work.
They stood together, admiring the shrine's refreshed countenance. Though its bare walls bore no ornament, the humble hut possessed its own dignity. The islanders had never known abundance, yet they cherished this simplicity.
From a basket, the woman produced a small ceramic pot and placed three incense sticks within. With a flick of flint and stone, sparks bloomed into flame, and the incense began its slow, curling exhalation. She carried it to the shrine's entrance, setting it down with quiet finality.
The child watched as her mother knelt in the dirt before the doorway, heedless of the soil that smudged the green dress and lowering her head in homage to the Avatar. Two old metal fans were drawn and laid them upon the ground.
"Why not use your own?" the child asked, her gaze lingering on the weapons. The two metal fans here are far older than the hands that currently held them, golden steel bearing the patina of years. It was a question she had asked before, why did her mother not carry the newer pair forged for her?
"Daughter, that is not important," the woman said, clipped yet steady, her forehead still bowed towards the shrine. "What matters is that you never forget where you came from. Do you understand?"
The girl nodded, though at the time she thought it nothing more than one of her mother's solemn lectures. Only years later would she understand the weight of that moment.
...
There was a note upon the very first page of the journal. Mayumi read it slowly, cradling the paper as one might cradle a frail bird, lest its age-worn fibers tear at her touch. The script was shaky, each character an uneven bloom of ink, the unmistakable hand of someone long plagued by illness, whose brush trembled with every stroke.
To my dearest Huo.
If these words reach your eyes, it means my body has at last yielded to the slow, inexorable decay that began the day I was struck down in the Master's service. The injury, once endured with stubborn faith, has now claimed its final due.
By the grace of his eternal will, my hand still moves, though each motion is a quiet battle against pain. When I first set down my testimonies, you had not yet drawn your first breath, let this letter be the bridge across that chasm of years. This book will remain with the Master until you are of an age to inherit it. Though the blood between us is strong, I have chosen not to let you behold my countenance. It is no longer the face I was given, but a ruin. The Master, in his wisdom, has decreed we should never meet in the flesh.
In these pages you will find the record of our trials, the hardships, the crucibles, and the bitter roads we must tread in this corrupted world. As servants of the one true Master, we are hunted, reviled, and slandered by the blind. Yet it is the calling of the faithful to sow the seeds of his love, even if the planting costs us our lives.
And still I say this, though the world spits upon our truth, we must return only love. The Master has taught that they stumble in darkness, shackled by false gods and hollow creeds. It falls to us to draw them into his light, to awaken them to the Eternal Balance. We must carry his word across oceans and mountains, wrestling the deceived from their idols and making of them disciples. Only then they may be purified, reconciled to the Master, and then spared from destruction.
As I said, he has commanded us to be fruitful and to multiply. The Master blessed me with the joy of your birth, and I have raised you from afar to be one who will be steadfast and radiant in his sight.
I, along with many others, was among the first chosen to embark on holy missions to bear the Master's name into lands untouched by his truth. How my heart sang to be so favored. My Firebending, untainted by the profane is still but dust without the Master's love. An acolyte's worth is measured only by the mission entrusted to them, big or small. Mine was to stand as his vanguard, to tear down the fortresses of falsehood and raise the banners of his glory. And the Master, in his benevolence, has allowed me to choose the field of my labor.
I gave all I could, spent every drop of strength in the hope of drawing those islanders into the Master's warm, unending embrace.
Huo, may this journal serve as your lantern. Within it lies the truth of those islanders I could not win over. They clung to their carved wooden idols and chose to be deaf to the voice of eternity, but I hold to the faith that one day their hearts will yield. These pages record their customs, their hearts, and the ways by which they might be approached without peril. By his will, I believe you will triumph where I have failed.
While the wounds inflicted by those islanders have grievously shortened my span upon this earth, I yet give thanks to the Master that I have brought forth another servant of the True Father.
But mark my words, my daughter, do not underestimate those islanders. And above all, I pray you never come to love anything more than the Master.
Even before she had finished the opening page, Mayumi felt an unsettling coil tighten in her chest. The letter offered more riddles than revelations. Like so many zealots she had crossed paths with, Huo's mother wrote in the same breathless tone of adoration, her entire being bent in reverence to that ever-elusive Master. Yet what unsettled Mayumi most was not the fervor itself, but the way this woman seemed to view her own child as though the sacred bond between mother and daughter is subordinate to the presence of this spiritual figure, whose shadow loomed so large it seemed to contest the child's right to her mother's love.
The letter was near-impenetrable without greater context, but one thing was clear, it might have been written after Huo's birth. Given that the Firebender was younger than she, Mayumi judged the writing to be some twenty years old. Yet the instant her eyes fell upon the word islanders, a quiet flame of anger began to kindle.
She turned the page. The earliest entries unfurled, recording the woman's life as a young acolyte with the monotonous labors such as sewing garments for the youngest initiates, the careful tutelage of impressionable children in the tenets of the Eternal Balance and the Three Noble Virtues. Above all of that, teaching the young minds about the art of loving the Master.
"Start with the young, I see," Mayumi murmured under her breath with contempt. Though she herself venerates the Avatar, her devotion paled beside the all-consuming zeal these people seemed to cultivate. The Master, it appeared, demands adoration not merely as a leader but as the axis around which the very lives of his followers must turn. So much so that even babes in arms were fed his teachings before they could form their first words.
She remained silent in the dim glow of the candlelight. Shan is in the next room, still toiling over his commissioned poem and artwork. The last thing she needed is to expose her identity with a careless remark. She read on.
The most wondrous of events has transpired!
One of the Master's prophecies has been fulfilled, further proving his supremacy of being greater even than the Avatar's. Her death stands as a testament to the Master's invincibility, and of course, my devotion to him outshines any reverence for that feeble pretender who masquerades as a living god. The world is blind, placing its faith in a mortal whose only distinction lies in bending the four elements. When I learned that some nameless soul had struck down the Avatar, I knew my Master would have obliterated the enemy with ease had he stood in the Avatar's place. The Avatar is weak. My Master is strong.
Better still, her death confirms the Master's prophecy of his destined ascent to the throne of the world. The fractured Earth Kingdom is plagued by war, rebellion, famine and disease. Each one is a sign heralding the Master's rise. If the Avatar cannot forge an Eternal Balance, then surely the Master's glory will.
Mayumi's brow knit tightly as the words compelled her to proceed with caution. These cultists, prone to reckless certitude, had an unfortunate habit of leaping to hasty conclusions. As a Kyoshi Warrior, she had admittedly never been schooled extensively on the demise of the previous Avatar. Yet from scattered whispers and fragmented conversations throughout her journey, she understood that the previous incarnation had been felled by a figure of ignoble renown, known redundantly as the Avatar Killer. The name itself was uttered with a mixture of contempt and dread. Even amid the fractured realms of the Earth Kingdom, where merely mentioning him is tantamount to sacrilege, there are those who viewed this profane act not as tragedy, but as deliverance of sort. In a paradox most cruel, the slayer who vanquished the unkillable had been immortalized, even as he himself perished in the bold endeavor.
But at last, the world had grown weary of neglectful Avatars, those who failed to prove their strength and resolve. Understandably not every incarnation could command the reverence accorded to luminaries like Avatar Yang Chen or Szeto. Even the likes of Avatar Salai, whose deeds are still shrouded to this day, are fondly remembered by the masses.
Mayumi continued reading, her eyes sharpening with scrutiny. The Acolytes of San Bao appeared unphased by the chaos and ruin that plagued the lands, as they sought to legitimize the necessity of their Master's vision to manifest this elusive Eternal Balance. Implicit in their creed is an ambition to supplant the Avatar, to usurp the world's spiritual axis and elevate their own enigmatic leader in its stead.
Such a notion itself is alien and audacious, yet across the war-ravaged Earth Kingdom, the number of souls yearning for solace exceeded the stars scattered across the heavens. The allure of hope, fellowship, and the promise of an eternal paradise remains an irresistible balm to those steeped in suffering. Yet Mayumi suspected that even these zealots might be uncertain themselves, for Huo and the others had never been forthcoming with the finer details of the so-called Eternal Balance.
Most unsettling of all is their conviction that the Avatar is an impediment, an obstacle to the ascendancy of their Master whom they believe to be the sole rightful bearer of supreme power and benevolence.
Mayumi pressed onward, her gaze skimming over mundane entries about efforts to disseminate the Master's teachings near the author's homeland. Though Huo's mother had not specified the locale, Mayumi surmised it lay somewhere in the western reaches of this fractured continent.
I felt profoundly honored to stand in the Master's almighty presence. His gaze dispelled all my fears, filling me with the belief that as his servant, I was capable of anything.
My friends and I, alongside countless others, gathered to hear his message. The time has come, this marks the dawn when the Eternal Balance shall take root throughout the world. To spread his teachings to every tongue and people, the Master chose the purest and most devoted to be his apostles. No words can capture the excitement I felt when I too was chosen for this sacred mission to exalt the Master's name and proclaim his glory to those yearning for enlightenment and purity.
This is a solemn and vital task. To spread the Master's name far and wide, our journeys may span lifetimes. But to me, it is a boundless joy. For the Master is a great man, and serving him is a source of endless bliss. Words cannot express my gratitude for his favor to choose an unworthy woman like me to carry his teachings to the world. Every humble servant must strive to gather new brothers and sisters in this righteous cause. I cannot wait to share the Master's wisdom with those who have never heard it. To see new souls join our flock would be a wonder beyond measure.
For all who have been chosen and anointed as the Master's emissaries, it is a solemn reality that we seldom hear his teachings in person. Send to distant, often forgotten lands, unworthy souls such as ourselves may struggle to uphold the purity of his doctrine. Yet, the Master has astounded us beyond all expectation. In his boundless wisdom, he has bestowed upon each of us a sacred tome, a holy canon through which the Eternal Balance can be shared. Thus, the Master's grandeur flows forth from its gilded pages, and his wisdom accompanies us on every arduous journey. Alongside this divine scripture, we are entrusted with sacred relics that are imbued with the Master's very essence. These holy artifacts will serve as beacons to those who might yet become disciples.
Mayumi's mind pieced together the truth, this so-called canon must be the elusive 'Golden Book' the Dai Li relentlessly pursue. These acolytes, fervently devoted, are driven by a singular mission to convert others to their spiritual leader, whose doctrines are distilled within the hallowed pages. She pressed onward, reading with growing understanding.
We are granted the privilege of choosing our mission fields, for the Master's great commission commands us to gather disciples from every nation without prejudice. His teachings surpass all earthly boundaries, embracing every individual regardless of origin. For it is imperative that they learn to obey the Master's every decree, which are vital for their salvation and welfare.
I have yet to determine where I shall be sent, for the nurturing of followers is a prolonged labor demanding steadfast presence. I find myself pondering which land might be best suited for my calling.
Some have chosen to journey to the Fire Nation, a people bewitched by their Firelord, especially the one known as Zuko. Among those brethren also believe the enigmatic Sun Warriors must hear the Master's truth, so that those tribes might turn away from their ancient, misguided rites to embrace the eternal truth.
Others believe that going to the Northern Water Tribe would help proclaim the Master's greatness, where remote villages have yet to hear his name. Though the North Pole's culture is captivating, it would be better if the Master himself assume a spiritual mantle to sway the hearts of the natives. It is time for them to forsake their misguided reverence for mere beasts and place their faith in the Master who promises illumination even in the frozen wastelands.
Yet the majority of the anointed have chosen the Earth Kingdom, an ancient continent starved of the Master's embrace. Of all the places, they are in need of the Master's embrace more than anyone. For millennia, its peoples have bowed to false idols such as ancestors, mountain spirits and other hollow worships. Countless suffer famine from failed harvests, too many have perished in ceaseless wars. Such despair offers fertile ground for the Master's teachings, compelling us, his humble servants, to selflessly plead before his throne on their behalf.
My spiritual brother, Chen Yucheng, has enthusiastically resolved to proclaim the Master's word in the city of Ba Sing Se. I cannot deny my fears for his safety, for tales abound of shadowed forces who would silence the Master's glory.
With my spiritual brother stepping into the lion's den to ensure the Master's voice resounds, what path remains for me? Where shall I sow the seeds of the Eternal Balance and nurture new disciples? This choice weighs heavily on my heart. I must contemplate it deeply.
"Kyoshi Island," Mayumi whispered, the candlelight trembling like a fragile heartbeat in the dim room. Her thoughts lingered on Huo's mother, had that person truly set foot on that distant, sacred soil? A hesitation stirred within the Kyoshi Warrior, an unspoken dread that the inconvenient truths ahead might unravel more than she was ready to bear.
If it wasn't painfully clear already. These so-called Acolytes of San Bao, no more than a fringe cult cloaked in sanctimony, harbored grandiose ambitions far beyond their station. Their insidious goal aim to usurp the reverence of ancient gods and sever countless people from the roots of their ancestors' faith. What rankled most was their hypocritical zeal, parading piety while sowing discord.
I have heard whispered of a remote island in this vast world, a place shrouded in isolation and legend.
There lies the home of the Kyoshi Warriors, an elite sisterhood of fierce women, which is also the birthplace of one named Suki. To witness women who find purpose in guarding what they hold dear is a balm to the heart, something I know would please the Master, who himself champions a woman's confidence and strength.
From the instant tales of these warriors reached my ears, a fire of fascination ignited within me. With unbridled enthusiasm, I declared my intent to the Master, who bestowed his blessing upon my journey with the warmth of a thousand suns. No words could truly encapsulate his grandeur.
How wondrous it would be to meet the Kyoshi Warriors face to face and impart the Master's wisdom to them! I have resolved that heralding his glory among these formidable sisters shall be my sacred duty, surely their unparalleled skill and grace with those elegant metal fans could elevate the Eternal Balance. Perhaps, in their flowing silks and striking face paints, they would honor the beloved Master through dancing, embodying his light and purpose. Like any spiritual sisters who have gave themselves to him, they too would find deeper meaning and belonging. The vision of them enveloped in reverence and warmed by the Master's embrace stirs a hopeful yearning in me.
"Like mother, like daughter," Mayumi murmured through clenched teeth, a venomous scorn burning beneath. To think that the fool who penned these words had the insolence to trivialize her people's sacred arts as mere dancing is an affront too bitter to swallow. From this moment, she expects her own mother to see to this blasphemer's reckoning. The village today still whispers about the Matron as a tempestuous person in her youth, volatile and haunted by heavy drinks.
My spiritual brothers, sisters, and revered mentors have arranged a training in my honor, though frustratingly, we remain ignorant of the true visage of those warriors. Yet, through diligent research, I know where inspiration may be drawn. The archives of the White Lotus, though bound in servitude to the Avatars, have proven invaluable. Perhaps the passing of the last Avatar might soften their hearts to the Master's mercy.
We have familiarized ourselves with their ways, the striking green dresses, the makeup. After dressed up, they screamed as I approached them to share the Master's wonderful teachings. This exercise in imitation, though imperfect, has sharpened my ability to communicate with remote and uncontacted peoples. For their fierce encouragement, I am deeply grateful.
Mayumi fumed quietly, eyes skipped over several entries brimming with endless praise for their Master and the author's own fumbling attempts to mimic the Kyoshi Warriors. Apparently, the practice neglected one critical truth. The real Kyoshi Warriors, her mother and aunt included, do possess a tendency to spear suspicious strangers as effortlessly as one might skewer salmon.
Time slipped away with uncanny swiftness, and before I knew it, the day arrived when we, the Master's anointed pioneers, are sent to our appointed missions.
Though I will undoubtedly ache for the companionship of my friends, the gravity of the mission far outweighs any personal longing. To proclaim the Master's glory is to ensure that his sacred teachings reach those still shrouded in ignorance, hastening the world's journey toward the Eternal Balance.
It is a truth difficult to admit even to myself. Yet the Master has taught us the virtue of unflinching honesty. At first, I struggled to pinpoint the elusive women's homeland. The map bestowed upon me by the Master offers a vague impression, a general direction somewhere in the southern reaches of the Earth Kingdom. The path is fraught with peril, lying perilously close to the Southern Air Temple, which a bastion of those false Airbenders. I pray fervently that the islanders I seek to befriend remains untainted by the spiritual deception emanating from those monks who circumvented the Master's blessings to attain those evil powers.
No matter the trials this journey may impose, the Master's wisdom shall forever be my steadfast beacon. My mission transcends my own life. I am prepared to traverse any hardship to herald his profound teachings. Death holds no terror for me, yet I believe I am more of service to the Master while alive. But should it be his will that I fall, then it is but a fragment of a perfect plan too great for my understanding.
Mayumi traced the path of Huo's mother through the faded ink of her journal. The entries reveal a persistent disdain for the Air Nomads, as Yang Chen temples frequently pepper Earth Kingdom settlements noted in the journal. As anticipated, Huo's mother chronicled the countless wars waged between the fractured states of the dissolved Earth Kingdom. These conflicts can erupt over the most trivial of cause, sometimes a mere dispute over a lake of dirty drinking water is enough to send thousands to senseless slaughter.
Ever the opportunist, Huo's mother insisted that submission of all Earth Kingdom factions to the 'Master' would easily resolve all the problems. Such a notion is beyond naive. No sane warlord would entertain something so childish. A fractured realm torn asunder by internal strife is a beast not even the greatest Avatars, perhaps save for the likes of Szeto, could tame.
Mayumi's eyes skimmed past further mundane entries, accounts of near-starvation and failed attempts to propagate the Eternal Balance among stubborn rural villages met with outright rejection. The writer lamented the farmers' resistance, praying that one day they too would bow to the Master.
It's strange how these farmers offer their hard-earned rice to the local Yang Chen temples. Why surrender their sustenance to beseech better harvests next year? It defies reason. Just twenty more li eastward beyond a mountain ridge, I encountered a town bracing for war with a neighboring state. The conscripted soldiers made offerings of fruit to an iron idol clad in armor while brandishing a colossal glaive. Locals claim this figure slew the Avatar.
Such a claim is false. The only being worthy of such credit is our Master, who no longer tolerates the Avatar's persistent challenge to the Eternal Balance.
Mayumi sensed with quiet unease that within this woman's mind, the blame for the previous incarnation's downfall was misplaced. Attributed not to the true slayer of the Avatar, but to their Master. Such delusions were never questioned among the acolytes, who claimed dominion over all blessings in the world, bestowing them as gifts from their revered Master.
Her eyes then traced the diary's entries concerning Chin Village, a settlement perilously close to her home island. It struck her as curious how Huo's mother had spent years wandering the breadth of the Earth Kingdom, perhaps driven by the scant clues regarding the whereabouts of Kyoshi's devotees.
By the Master's light, my journey nears its end!
After countless years of travel, I find myself on the outskirts of my destination. Yet, I must confess, venturing near Chin Village was a grievous error, though avoiding it might have delayed me for weeks.
The village guards had been unfriendly, their questions sharp enough to nearly place me in chains. Rumors swirled that all able-bodied young men were being conscripted to battle a new foe inland. Soldiers patrolled the streets in numbers, and many older men had even shaved their mustaches into uniform styles.
Several times I narrowly escaped capture. Praise the Master who shielded me from the grasp of those merciless patrols.
Who knows? Perhaps, once I have guided the Kyoshi Warriors into submitting themselves to the Master's will, I might then reach out to the people of Chin Village and bring them into the fold of the Eternal Balance.
Even Mayumi recognized the futility of such ambition. To an acolyte, approaching a member of Chin Village to preach about their spiritual leader is tantamount to courting imprisonment at best. The legacy of Chin the Conqueror, known for burying dissenting scholars and Earth Sages alive, cast a long shadow of cruelty. Those today who are still loyal to him would brook no tolerance for what they deem as charlatanism. Mayumi herself had visited the village with her parents before Satchiko's birth. Though old foes might have since grown into decent enough neighbors, even the Kyoshi Warriors acknowledged the ruthless pragmatism of Chin's people. Were it not for their modest numbers, all the fractured states including the likes of Ba Sing Se and Omashu would surely relieve the horrors of Chin's unstoppable legions.
Turning the page, a faint trace of anxiety stirred within Mayumi as the entries edged closer to Kyoshi Island itself.
Evading Chin Village's armed ships was a perilous gambit. There had been narrow escapes. My fragile wooden raft was no match for the tempestuous sea. Yet by the Master's grace, I bribed fishermen from a nearby village, whose larger boat carried me closer to my goal. Kneeling in gratitude, I praised his name.
The fishermen cautioned me against venturing too near. The Kyoshi Warriors were said to greet outsiders with suspicion. I she clung to hope. I believe any soul who has heard the Master's teachings would be moved to tears. Even if the Kyoshi Warriors resist at first, surely we can forge a friendship bound by our shared devotion.
I understand the danger, and may perish on this path. But no joy compares to the submission of oneself before the Master.
Many might consider myself insane, but I believe it is worthwhile to declare the Master's name to these people. If I am slain, I implore whoever finds this to show no malice toward these islanders. Instead, continue to heed the Master's call of living in purity and obedience. My actions are not futile, the salvation of the Kyoshi Warriors rests in my hands and I cannot wait to see them gathered at the Master's throne, worshipping him in their own tongue.
There was a fragile innocence to such conviction, born from confusion rather than malice. Perhaps the woman meant no harm to her people. Yet her mother's warning echoed in Mayumi's mind, that the morally unmoored must be mistrusted.
To many folks on the island, the arrival of outsiders bred turmoil and disturbs the peace. Beyond the seafaring traders and familiar visitors from mainland settlements, all other trespassers are met with suspicion.
The fishermen's boat drew near the shore, and I readied my raft to cross the final stretch.
I carefully steered toward the side of the island, hoping to set foot unnoticed. The plan was to bide my time and find a moment to approach the Kyoshi Warriors.
But I was met with a surprise. There are three fishermen on the spot I intended to bank on. I wanted to turn back, but they already spotted me, and escaping might give them the wrong impression that I am spy of some sort.
I paddled closer, sensing the tension rippling through the air. The three men sprang to alertness, hastily arming themselves with crude fishing hooks and shouting in a dialect utterly foreign to me. One stood out, a towering figure with a neatly trimmed beard, he glared while pointing a fishing spear in my direction.
Attempting to soothe their alarm, I raised my hands in a peaceful gesture, but their voices only rose. Desperation made me respond in the same strange tongue, yet my words were met not with understanding, but with laughter. Perhaps my attempt was an insult in disguise, though I could not be sure.
It became clear, setting foot ashore was folly. Reluctantly, I retreated to the safety of the fishing boat. Later, reflecting on the encounter, I was certain my presence had distressed those islanders.
This much is inevitable. In Mayumi's recollection, the only outsiders granted any semblance of welcome are familiar faces from nearby villages of the island, merchants or fishermen from the mainland. Any others faced hostility, a harsh reality that not even her own father can escape having once landed mistakenly on the island's wrong shore. The consequences were by no means a pleasant surprise.
Turning back to the journal, Mayumi found the writer's naivety almost painful, the assumption that the mere fishing boat had ruffled her people's peace seemed simplistic. Even more foolish was the writer's stubborn insistence on pressing forward despite such an obvious rebuff.
She flipped the page, revealing the account of the following day.
I instructed the fishermen to anchor their boats far beyond the island's sight. If I do not return, they have my leave to depart. Once again, I paddled toward the shore and this time, I saw a true Kyoshi Warrior!
She stood resolute on the sand, her fixed upon me.
From my raft, I called out. My name is Fu Shanxiang. I love you, and the Master loves you!
Better prepared than the day before, I brought with me freshly caught fish, gifts I hoped might soften the islanders' hearts. As I neared the shore, I sang softly about the Master's glory and held out the great canon bestowed by him.
At that precise moment, my Master saved me from a fatal blow. The Kyoshi Warrior loosed an arrow aimed straight at me, only to have it halted by the book's sturdy cover. Fear seized me, and I fled swiftly, convinced I am clearly more valuable alive to serve the Master. Determined, I resolved to return the next day.
This ordeal revealed the truth. This uncontacted tribe is shackled by the Evil Spirit's grip. Their stronghold must be torn down, no matter the cost. I fear no arrow, for I trust the Master's protection above all.
Mayumi noted the writer's name, Fu Shanxiang. It is idiotic to believe that using fish would be a meaningful bribe to a people who thrived on salmon hunting. She wondered about the identity of the Kyoshi Warrior who had fired that arrow.
The writer's tale continued.
I managed to set foot safely on the island and introduced myself to the same Kyoshi Warrior from before. Once the misunderstanding was cleared, she led me to her village. There, I was received as a welcomed guest.
"Liar."
Mayumi's own experience as a Kyoshi Warrior bred deep skepticism. The notion of welcoming an unknown trespasser was unthinkable. Any unrecognized outsider who crossed into their sacred shores without permission is a threat, liable to imprisonment for questioning, or worse, a grim fate devoured by the Unagi.
Whoever guided Fu Shanxiang must have done so by means far less gentle than described in these pages. Of course, there were reasons for embellishment, both to inspire faith in potential readers and to uphold personal belief. In their world, the Master is infallible, and thus all misfortune could never be attributed to him. With this in mind, Mayumi braced herself, wary of what lay ahead.
At last, I am finally here! As promised, the Master has safeguarded me on my entire journey!
The woman led me to a solitary hut near the village, a place I am to call home. The warrior forbade me from venturing out, and as an honored guest, I respected her decree.
Mayumi recalled a certain wooden hut, specifically built as a small prison for pirates and lawbreakers. Somehow, Fu Shanxiang had mistaken this harsh containment for a guesthouse. Usually, Kyoshi Warriors locked captured pirates in there until the renegades could be sent to Chin Village, where unwilling laborers are still used to build new walls for all new wars.
Today, the same Kyoshi Warrior escorted me to the village chief's abode. Upon stepping inside their humble dwellings, a pang of sorrow gripped me. These simple wooden lodges spoke of hardship and neglect, a clear testament to the need for my guidance. Outside, fishermen hawked their catch, a sordid assortment of oysters, clams, and mussels, their stalls reeking of salt and decay. The sight of those shellfish nearly turned my stomach. It is a cruel fate for these people to be bound to such unsavory fare.
Mayumi's fingers itched to tear the pages from the journal and cast them into the flames. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself against the bile of indignation. How dare that insolent trespasser invades others' homes and then sneer at their sustenance with such contempt?
At last, I came face to face with the chief, an old man crowned with a snow-white beard. I assured him of my peaceful intentions, yet his gaze was wary, mistrust carved deep by years of isolation and suspicion. This distrust is no stranger to the islanders at large.
Still, I hold faith that in time I shall breach the walls of their hearts and seize a precious opportunity to proclaim the Master's name among them.
"Grandfather," Mayumi breathed aloud, a word that slipped from her lips like a soft lament. It is a sorrow to have never met the man who had passed away before her birth. The folks today spoke of a grievous illness, a tale readily accepted. Yet the words of those elders prudent caution. Having witnessed firsthand the monstrous deeds of zealots, she know that even the subtlest stratagems can harbor peril.
What followed in the journal seized Mayumi's attention. Among the Kyoshi Warriors, dissent brewed. It involves a fierce dispute between two prominent women locked in bitter contention over the fate of the intruder. Yet the entry's heart lay in the writer's musings on the island's spirituality, which stirred a dark unease within Mayumi.
I was permitted to wander the village under watchful eyes. Even so, the Master had opened another door for me.
It is here that I confirmed my greatest challenge.
At the village center stood a statue, a carved idol of the one named Kyoshi. For hundreds of years, people here have venerated her for centuries with offerings and reverence. Yet, such veneration would be better if it's given to the Master. I watched fishermen proffer freshly caught salmon to the effigy, while Kyoshi Warriors bowed in solemn homage.
I harbor no hatred for these misguided and unclean acts, for only the Master's truth shines with absolute clarity. Thus was I sent to Kyoshi Island to herald his name and correct the errant ways of its inhabitants. Though suspicion clings to the locals like mist, I am resolute that in time I shall unveil the beautiful truth of the Eternal Balance, transforming them into devout disciples. The Master is a forgiving man, which is why the world's people are in great hands.
Too much of the world is plagued by endless war and needless suffering. It is our sacred charge, my sacred mission, to spread the Master's word and let his light permeate all the lands. When his reign is absolute and the Eternal Balance take hold, all that is cruel and broken shall be vanquished in a conclusive end.
From this point, Mayumi noted the journal's entries grew sparse. Likely the setbacks forced Fu Shanxiang to exclude certain events to shield the Master's omnipotence from blemish. Still, the writer chronicled interactions with the Kyoshi Warrior supervisor, a woman described as impulsive and quarrelsome, yet undeniably a formidable fighter. But most importantly, the individual is eclipsed by another, who was chosen to succeed the village's previous matron.
Mayumi pondered. It seems the journal has revealed strife between her mother and that very candidate. The accounts hinted at numerous near brawls, specifically the more tempestuous one is prone to violent outbursts.
Pieces fell into place, one of those women must be her mother.
Stealing glimpses of the Kyoshi Warriors' training, I admired their graceful discipline. Youthful and eager, I resolved to impart the Master's teachings to them first, hoping the elders might witness the fruits of faith through their descendants. It is vital to reach the younger generation first, lest they be led astray by the unclean customs of their elders.
Mayumi pored over what Fu Shanxiang condemns as immorality. According to the writer, the creation of statues, especially of spirits and Avatars, is strictly forbidden. To the acolytes, it is a blasphemy that enraged their spiritual leader. Ritual offerings of food and incense provoked his wrath as well. Even mundane matters such dress codes and dietary restrictions are grounds for the acolytes' stringent enforcement upon the world. The Acolytes of San Bao seemed at odds with all who failed to conform to their rigid standards.
By their logic, whatever that Master condoned is pure, what he hates is naturally corrupt. Every other faith is thus condemned, simply for incurring his displeasure.
Mayumi realized this journal could never encapsulate the cult's full doctrine. The coveted canon scriptures, that a thick tome zealously hunted by the Dai Li for years would likely offer a far more complete truth. A single acolyte's journal is nothing but a worthless fragment to those enforcers.
While it is great to glimpse potential dancers who can perform in the name of the Master, not all the things these Kyoshi Warriors do would be pleasing in his eyes. As a devoted acolyte, I am honored to be sent to this distant isle to help with reshaping its womenfolk.
To truly grasp the corruption festering within their customs, I shall not rely solely on my perceptions. By consulting the timeless canon bestowed by the True Father, all worldly questions find their answers with ease.
First, their garments are impure. Silk in particular is unclean. The Master taught us that such indulgence only encourages vanity.
Those garish swathes of face paint conceal the features beneath, and that alone went against the teachings of the Eternal Balance. The Master wrote plainly that the visage of a woman must remain unblemished and pure, untainted for the gaze of her rightful husband. To mar it with pigments is to corrupt the very essence of what a woman ought to be in the Master's eyes. It is my hope that these misguided people might eventually abandon such vanity.
Their armor too is a defilement, masking the natural form the Master bestowed upon them. The scriptures declare that it is an abomination for a woman to don the garments of a man, and this martial attire is no exception. Should I ever succeed in remaking these Kyoshi Warriors into faithful acolytes, their armor and the forge that produces it must follow the Master's teachings.
As for their lavish headdresses of beaten gold, such excess is an affront. What a waste, when that wealth could be rendered into offerings for the almighty Master rather than adorning their heads like gaudy idols to themselves.
I believe those who wants to dance his honor, they must be in accordance with his standards alone.
Mayumi's grip tightened upon the journal. She wondered whether destroying Huo's heirloom would make her a hypocrite, but the deeper she read, the more these words festered like a sickness in her mind. The writer's convictions were not merely wrong, they were rotten from the root. She scarcely knew where to begin in dismantling them. By comparison, that eccentric Waterbender named Shui somehow now feels saner.
"There is no cure for stupidity," Mayumi murmured with narrowing eyes. She turned the page with deliberate care, resisting the urge to tear it outright. "You should be grateful you kept these thoughts to paper rather than proclaim them aloud, you'd only disgrace yourself and the madman you worship."
It has been a week since my arrival, yet the village elders remain wary of me. They are still unconvinced by the joy of bringing the Master's truth to their benighted souls.
Each day, I witness their idolatry, bowing before the wooden likeness of the Avatar. Fishermen muttering quaint incantations to the sea for safe passage and a plentiful catch.
It is rather foolish. Clearly Kyoshi does not guard them, how can they be so blind to so transparent a deception? We, the servants of the Master, know better. Only in him is life imbued with meaning and miracles.
"Ironic," Mayumi said under her breath.
I envision Kyoshi Island reborn, renamed in the Master's honor. Every wooden idol, shrine, and custom that binds them to their false protector would be swept away. The people would turn to the light, embracing the Master's love as they ought. The elders, I suspect, are the keystone of this resistance. They are the ones who wield the Avatar's name to chain the young. They must be silenced, their influence dismantled if this land is to be redeemed.
Thus, my work must begin in secret, one soul at a time. The Kyoshi Warrior charged with my supervision remains ever quarrelsome toward her rival. This discord gifts me moments to speak with the younger trainees, for the older warriors are too mired in their corruption to be readily enlightened. Yet even I can sense that my supervisor's resentment toward her rival and the elders runs deep. She defies certain customs out of spite, perhaps the Master has placed this fracture in my path for a reason.
Mayumi froze mid-turn of the page, eyes scanning the words again. The original heir to the Matron's title was widely considered superior to the current leader, and here lay confirmation that such a rift could be exploited by this interloper.
She read on, faster now.
I believe the Master works most swiftly upon the wounded spirit. My supervisor, stung by her defeat, listens when I counsel her. When I detect the first tremor of doubt toward her false deity, I seize it, feeding her fragments of the Master's teaching as morsels to whet her curiosity for the Eternal Balance. I speak without pause, giving my all in pouring every drop of my conviction to bring her into the Master's fold.
When she openly voiced her disdain for the elders, I knew the Master's hand was upon her. Soon, I am certain she will renounce the demonic worship of Kyoshi entirely and take her place as another radiant jewel in the Heavenly Flock.
Mayumi skimmed through the remaining pages, but the revelations are not pleasant.
Nearly a month has slipped by since I began gathering a small, discontented group of youth who have embraced the Master's teachings. Among them are women rigorously training to become Kyoshi Warriors, and I take quiet solace in knowing they have shattered the chains that once bound them in servitude.
They share a fervent contempt for the deceit spun by the elders, rejecting the hollow rituals of incense offerings to ancestors as nothing more than sinful folly. Their so-called Kamuy is a fragile illusion, pale and insignificant when held against the undeniable legitimacy of the Master.
With unwavering resolve, I bolstered their spirits. Many have suffered under the cold yoke of their parents' rejection for daring to accept this truth. Yet upon fully embracing the Eternal Balance, they cast aside their armor and face paints as symbols of a false past. Those brave girls who burned their silk dresses in repudiation of Avatar Kyoshi now bear the unjust scorn of kin and clan. Such sacrifice, though harsh, is the necessary passage to walk alongside the Master into his Heavenly Kingdom. To bask in the true light of the Eternal Balance is the singular aspiration that should consume all our hearts. Persecuted acolytes scattered across the world endure exile and torment for holding fast to this truth. Our love for the Master purifies us, and thus incites the envy of the worldly and corrupt. I am proud of these young souls who shield me from the elders' schemes. Those very elders who, aware of their own misdeeds, plot relentlessly to silence my voice of truth.
I am convinced that bringing a prominent Kyoshi Warrior into the Master's radiance can hasten this island's glorious transformation. Should I succeed in converting my supervisor fully to our righteous cause, it would grant me a fortified position upon this island. A warrior of her caliber, when pledged in service to the Master, would be an invaluable asset. By the Master's will, when the hearts of most in this region turn toward him, I shall use my anointed role to ordain her as a righteous shepherd to guard this land. Far beyond the modest title of Kyoshi Warrior leader, I will elevate her to be most useful for the Master, an honor most befitting.
This precarious situation is ripe for my advantage. My supervisor, once denied the coveted mantle of Kyoshi Warrior leader in her village, harbors a burning desire to see her rival fall. She confided that she had previously lost a duel against this adversary, a defeat that tipped the elders' favor and ignited a bitter flame of resentment within her. To her, this title is everything, and I promised that if she thirsts for power, the Master can grant her strength beyond imagination.
Though I sense her tentative steps toward the Master's light, especially urged by her loyal juniors already enraptured by the Eternal Balance, a shadow of hesitation still clings to her. Therefore, I intend to undermine her rival, the elders' favored by stripping that woman's demonic powers and replace her with my steadfast supervisor. The senile elders are far from naive as my machinations will surely provoke their wrath. This is my counterattack in this great spiritual war, a battle to reclaim hearts ensnared by falsehood. The elders grasp desperately at control, but clearly only the Master's anointed overseer can triumph over their lies.
Among my growing flock, some disciples urge the destruction of Kyoshi's statue and the burning of her relics. They say these artifacts channel the Avatar's spirit, so it would please the Master to see those evil artifacts thrown into fire.
Yet I counsel patience, until every Kyoshi Warrior choose to serve beneath the Master's banner. To seize this stronghold of antiquated customs, we must first sway its defenders, enfolding them into the Master's boundless embrace.
I am grateful beyond words for the Master's guidance on this sacred journey to proclaim his name. With his strength, the elders tremble before me. My newfound followers stand ready to sacrifice all in pursuit of his glory. Nothing I believe can sever the bond between an acolyte and the Master. For in this world, to love anything more than the benevolent Master is to stray from the path of living with true meaning and purity.
Mayumi paused, overwhelmed by the turmoil she had just witnessed. If the account is to be believed, the fact that some villagers had turned their backs on Kyoshi's legacy is a revelation her parents had deliberately concealed. She was startled by how easily some of her own people had been swayed to reject the founder, joining Huo's mother to believe nonsense. Even more infuriating was that even some of the younger Kyoshi Warriors had fallen prey to this deception. Silk is also no trivial craft. To see such precious fabric consumed by flame was an insult not only to the seamstresses but to the countless silkworms nurtured on the island.
Her thoughts turned to the Dai Li's warning. A lone weed in a garden cannot be tolerated. Transgressors must be forgotten, but not neglected. Mayumi brooded deeply on how this insidious faith in the so-called Eternal Balance had spread like a contagion, sowing discord within families and fracturing communities along the lines of ancestral belief. While the elders remain rigid against such outside influences, it is the youth who are most vulnerable even when the ideas offered to them are nothing but a comforting madness.
I feel a surge of empowerment as I witness the Master's miracles manifest so vividly before my eyes. Among my modest congregation, the children themselves dare to defy their own parents so that the Master's name might be exalted above all else. I commend their discernment and courage in championing the righteous cause, for truly only the Master embodies the absolute truth. It is a profound and stirring sight for these young souls brimming with ardent devotion to the Master.
Yet, in recent days, a formidable fisherman has emerged as a persistent antagonist. Whenever I attempt to impart the Eternal Balance to the uninitiated children around the village, he intrudes with hostility. I recall him distinctly, the very man who once brandished a fishing spear to bar my passage onto the island.
The Master is benevolent and just beyond measure, yet those who obstruct the spread of his sacred teachings are unenlightened, betraying a grievous unworthiness. Such souls must seek deep repentance or forfeit their claim to servitude under his divine light.
Upon inquiry, my disciples disclosed that this fisherman is a confidant of my supervisor's sworn adversary. The revelation casts clarity upon many mysteries. It is evident that this favored Kyoshi Warrior seeks to confront the Master, dispatching a servant of darkness to thwart my humble efforts. Across the world, acolytes endure persecution for loving the Master's doctrines of purity, and thus I steel myself for the day when I too may be hunted for upholding the truth.
Huo's mother, it seems, provoked additional ire through her zealous reforms. Her small coterie of new acolytes obediently altered their lifestyles to reflect the edicts of the Master's. Yet she also sought to influence the fishermen, condemning the ocean's bounty as unclean, whether raw or cooked. Rather than seeking sustenance from seafood, she advocates for the cultivation of wheat, deemed 'pure' in the Master's sight.
The entry offers no account of the fishermen's response, but Mayumi suspects they harbor deep resentment toward this interloper who corrupted a small group of youth.
Further pages chronicle other fastidious decrees. According to the gifted canon, the Master mandates that only a single ingredient may grace a bowl or plate. Exceptions exist for stale bread and insipid soup, yet Huo's mother manages to find fault with every facet of Kyoshi Island's customs. Oysters are labeled filthy, and the ingredients of traditional stews are all abomination. Clearly, these zealots prioritize veneration of their leader's doctrines above the simple pleasure of a well-crafted dish. The secret recipe of Akahana's stew would doubtless have suffered similar scrutiny. Since the acolyte's main aim was to also convert her own mother, this dietary imposition was likely never intended to directly affront the Kyoshi Warrior.
More grievous still was the acolyte's denunciation of hunting Elephant Koi and the condemnation of silk garments. With Kyoshi Island's scant arable land, crops are cultivated sparingly in humble gardens. Yet even this was not spared, as planting more than one crop type in a field is said to displease the Master.
This band of young devotees also emulated their pioneering mentor, embraced drastic lifestyle changes and pledging themselves wholly to the so-called Eternal Balance. Their chief incentive is the promise that venerating the so-called Master instead of Avatar Kyoshi will secure their place in the Heavenly Kingdom.
Mayumi sighed, tempted to label these impressionable youths as fools, yet she could not deny they are indeed her own people. She pondered their whereabouts, never having encountered such fervent converts in her youth and suspected this is no accident.
That very morning, fishermen sounded alarm as a portion of their fishing grounds was marred by a dark, oozing liquid. Such brutes have always resisted the Master's teachings, and I perceive this phenomenon as a miracle, a divine manifestation of the True Father's power!
A smile crept across my lips as I glimpsed the aghast expressions of those who dare defame the Master, this victory is unmistakably his gift to me!
The island's inhabitants lack the Master's righteous moral compass. They have chosen ignorance over salvation. Thus, they suffer in the shadows, bereft of his guiding light. How merciful the Master is to send me forth on this sacred mission to transform these uncivilized islanders into devoted acolytes.
By this miracle, the Master has chastised the fishermen's insolence.
Let it be known, this is the fate of all who oppose the Master's anointed!
Hooray! Praise be to the Master!
Despite the aggravation in witnessing such callous jubilation over others' misfortune, Mayumi fixated on the entry's mention of the dark oozing liquid. It seemed grave enough to threaten her people's fishing livelihood, especially if it sullied their ancestral waters. In all her memories, no mention of such a blight ever arose from her parents. The aged fisherman Ebisu had never spoken of it either despite his years out at sea. Yet she recounted a visiting merchant's tale of many wars on the mainland waged over similar substances, which are dark and flammable liquids that burn with fierce intensity.
As my disciples and I strive to further the Eternal Balance around the village, whispers reached my ears. The village is preparing a ceremony for the Kyoshi Warrior who will succeed the current leader among them.
As an outsider, such knowledge was jealously guarded, shared with no one until my irate supervisor's uncontrolled outbursts spilled far more than discretion would allow. She confided bitterly that this ceremony was meant to cement her rival's succession with irrevocable finality. Understandably, my envious supervisor seethed still with rage.
The very air around this ceremony reeks of corruption. I am convinced it is a sacrilegious homage to Kyoshi, that false deity who ensnared the souls of this land. Even more abhorrent is that the meddlesome village elders, the architects of decay, will gather in solemn complicity. Such a festivity is nothing less than a celebration of decadence, a sinful exaltation that inflates the chosen Kyoshi Warrior's pride and self-importance. As a righteous acolyte and a woman pure in her devotion to the Master, I cannot stand idle and allow this insidious spectacle to unfold.
Having dwelled on this island for many moons, I have already forged a band of women sworn to fight for the Master. Now, the hour has come to take a bolder step, to advance the Eternal Balance with renewed resolve and foil the devious plans of the Evil Spirit.
With the intelligence gleaned on where these misguided souls might convene before the ceremony, I have devised a plan. A plan to cleanse the unclean and the unrighteous so that the islanders may be freed and enveloped in the Master's unwavering love.
"What?" Mayumi nearly gasped, eyes wide with shock. If it were not for Shan's quiet vigil of tirelessly crafting the poem commissioned by the Gan Jin patriarch, she might have uttered the word aloud.
The term 'cleanse' carries myriad meanings, but within the context of confronting these merciless fanatics, it is synonymous with execution. These zealots harbor no hesitation in spilling blood, women and children alike, if deemed impure or unworthy of their so-called Master's grace.
In a single heartbeat, Mayumi flipped the page, struggling to quell the terror that gripped her. Though these passages recounted events long past, their weight pressed heavily upon the present.
The script grew harder to decipher, syllables trembled and wavered, lacking the steadiness of a practiced hand. Confusion momentarily eclipsed her dread as she wrestled with the scrawl identical in style to the letter that opened this journal.
No words suffice to capture the depths of my shame and despair. I have failed the Master at every turn.
I am but an unworthy vessel, undeserving of love or respect, yet the Master chose me, anointed me, as his champion to proclaim his name to the world.
And yet I have failed spectacularly. I failed his trust. I could not repay the debt I owe.
A faint relief stirred within Mayumi, but she knew better than to embrace hope so easily. Optimism, she reminded herself, often courts devastation. With determination, she pressed onward.
My mission to save these islanders has ended in tragic failure. I have brought dishonor to the Master and shame upon myself. My shortcomings have delayed the dawn of the Eternal Balance on the world's stage. Though I came close to freeing the people from the grip of corrupt elders, all progress was lost. Kyoshi Island remains shackled in its own blindness.
But the greatest wound lies not in failure alone, but in betrayal. I was stabbed in the back by the one I trusted most, my faithful ally turned traitor.
In mere seconds, my young disciples were slaughtered for rooting out the idolators who oppose the Master.
Yet the deepest wound is not their bloodshed, but the burning of the Master's sacred canon by that same woman. A flagrant act of defiance, an affront to his glory!
My supervisor is a treacherous beast, a bloodthirsty fiend who cannot discern right from wrong. After all I did to lift her from her darkest hour, she abandoned our friendship and turned against the Master's will for this island.
When she dealt me grievous wounds, I feared what more she might inflict. Blood stained her hands, and in that moment I knew I had failed the Master utterly, unable to defend the Eternal Balance or my fledgling band of disciples.
I was paralyzed as she alone annihilated them. Their skills, though trained, were futile. Each fell within seconds, cut down by the gleam of metal fans. In that crushing instant, I remembered. Those former Kyoshi Warrior trainees were never enough to confront such a monstrous foe.
To this day, I remain baffled by how that woman so effortlessly stained her metal fans with the blood of her own people. I had been utterly convinced she would join the ranks of acolytes like myself, steadfast and true. But I was cruelly deceived in the most treacherous manner.
Naturally, she remains a dissenter of the Master's teachings. Thus, her violence and unwomanly ways are no surprise.
Though grievously wounded, I am sustained by the boundless mercy of my Master. It was by his miraculous grace alone that I escaped that island, clinging to what little remained of my pitiful, battered life. Yet, I mourn the loss of the sacred relics he had entrusted to me, tokens of his trust that no contrition could ever fully redeem.
Despite my disgrace, the Master's compassion endures. Night after night, he personally performed healing miracles to my broken body with tender care.
Still, I cannot erase from memory, nor forgive the woman who shattered my life's purpose in a single afternoon. That Kyoshi Warrior who defied the Master is clearly condemned, her spirit thirsting for damnation. To harm one anointed by the Master is to wound the Master himself. She is impure and unclean, an abomination who will inevitably answer for her betrayal against the Eternal Balance. The Master will curse her spawns with pestilence and famine, marking them with that brown hair as a symbol of their inherited sin. From that day forward, her children will repent and bow before the Master's mercy, be grateful that the benevolent Master is willing to forgive and accept their servitude as penance for their mother's folly.
Though bedridden, there is no question that a faithful servant loyal to the Master will always stand far above an unclean harlot who turns away from his sacred doctrine.
My love for the Master is boundless. Thus, I shall be blessed with countless descendants while that treacherous traitor's legacy will be nothing but cursed brown strands passed to diseased and wretched offsprings. Her existence shall breed only suffering. The Master abhors those who harm his flock, retribution will assuredly descend upon such heathens!
That woman is unworthy even of my salvation. Should she dare sully this world with more of her unclean spawn, I vow to snuff out her firstborn's life, crushing its head against cold stone and casting the body to the river's currents for carrion birds to feast upon.
There is no further writing. The journal ends here.
Mayumi sat in silence, the candle's flickering glow casting wavering shadows on the wall as her thoughts drifted into heavy stillness.
It required little conjecture to surmise what might had transpired. Huo's mother, driven mad by fanaticism, had roused the converts to strike at the village elders. The youth and those nursing grievances are most vulnerable, but it was the elders who formed the island's strongest bastion against Kyoshi's veneration.
It never ceased to astonish Mayumi how these zealots could justify every reprehensible acts under the guise of advancing their Master's worship. Fu Shanxiang's moral compass was calibrated by faith alone, or what pleased their spiritual leader deemed righteous while his disdain marked things as wicked and defiled. Revering their Master as a deity, his every thought and deed became an unerring template for his followers, even to the extent of taking lives.
As the Dai Li observed, martyrdom is a great aspiration. To obey the Master is the highest virtue. Enduring persecution is proof of unshakable faith. The conversion of outsiders is paramount, with the promise of rebirth under by submitting to Eternal Balance.
Within this framework, resistance against them only served to justify the imposition of the so-called Eternal Balance. Should conflict escalate to violence, the cult would see persecution as a divine signal, the righteous path illuminated by suffering.
Mayumi's reflection deepened in the quiet. Reading this journal, these people are also unfazed by the intrusion into private homes and violation of local customs, mistaking these for acts of love. Proselytizing and dismantling others' beliefs is seen as the highest form of self-sacrifice.
Perhaps what troubled Mayumi most was the possibility that her own mother, Akahana, figured in these writings. In a moment of youthful pride and spite, the young Kyoshi Warrior had nearly forsaken her sacred duty to the Avatar, almost succumbing to the seductive promises of a new creed. But desperate for redemption and safeguard the island, Akahana during that moment may have even harmed those she once cherished, a serious act regardless of intention.
Without much thinking, Mayumi tore several pages from the wretched end of this pitiful journal and fed them to the candle's flame, fully conscious of the bitter irony in mimicking the Dai Li's cruelty. The gesture was deliberate, as begrudgingly as it may be.
She then mourned quietly. Whatever had unfolded at that fateful ceremony must have irrevocably altered the course of history. Had disaster been fully averted, Akahana might never have become the current Matron of her village. Another woman would have assumed his great honor, a woman Mayumi just so happens to have met.
Kazuki's late mother, spoken by Akahana only as a dear friend and a formidable Kyoshi Warrior during her prime, but had the misfortune of passing too soon. Still, the Matron had ensured her eldest daughter remained attentive in caring for the now motherless trainee.
"Lady Ubume," Mayumi whispered to herself.
A chill descending upon the room. The candle fire gave a final, trembling flicker before vanishing into darkness.