Alec could barely contain his smile.
The soft chime still echoed in the back of his mind, and the strange presence — artificial, silent, yet somehow attentive — lingered just behind his thoughts. He sat perfectly still, as if any sudden movement might scare it away.
"Status" he whispered again, more confidently this time.
The voice responded instantly, cool and efficient:
[Status Window Opened.]
A faint, translucent panel bloomed behind his eyelids. It wasn't sight — not really — but something else. An impression. A structure he knew how to read even without ever having seen it.
Name: Alec
Age: 15
Level: 1
Strength: 4
Obtained Skill(s): [None]
Trait(s): Balance, Resonance, Dual Affinity(Fire and Water)
Quests: [None Active]
The word "Quests" was greyed out, dimmed like an option he couldn't yet access. But that didn't bother him. Not yet. Because this was real. This was happening.
He had a system.
A giggle escaped him, and he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. Gods, he must look insane. But the joy thrummed in him like a heartbeat.
Not a dream. Not a fantasy.
This was his.
"Status," he whispered again, and the panel reappeared like an obedient pet.
No skills. Low strength. Just three strange traits that meant something to him — but he doesn't know yet. But he didn't care. It was a start.
The door creaked, and he startled, the panel vanishing like mist.
"Sorry, dear," Linya said as she entered. "Didn't mean to scare you."
She walked with the gentle shuffle of someone used to carrying trays. He caught the faint scent of ripe fruit and freshly baked bread before she even reached him.
"I brought you something to eat," she said warmly. "You need to keep your strength up, not just sip tea and whisper to yourself like a squirrel."
He flushed. She had heard him.
"Thank you," Alec said, managing a small, sheepish smile.
The plate settled into his hands — slices of something sweet and soft, fruit and a warm crusty roll. It wasn't fancy, but it tasted like home.
"Eat what you can," Linya added gently. "Then rest. Healing takes time."
He nodded, already feeling the drowsiness creep back in, like the warmth of the tea had soaked too deep into his bones. The last thing he remembered was the sound of her voice, low and humming, as she tidied the corner.
The next morning greeted him with the scent of steamed rice and the quiet hum of morning life. Footsteps, water boiling, a broom swishing somewhere. Not loud, but present.
He sat up, stretched — and noticed the fan resting neatly beside his pillow. Someone had placed it there.
After a quiet breakfast, Rhoen helped him dress and led him outside.
The morning air was crisp, sunlight warm on his skin.
They didn't go far.
Just around the back of the house, down a stone path smoothed by years of footfall, to a modest wooden building with painted shutters and flowering vines curling up the sides.
"The Ember Leaf," Linya said softly, as if the name itself carried weight.
He could hear it — the clink of porcelain, the murmur of conversation, the faint rustle of leaves in the courtyard beyond.
The teahouse felt alive.
They led him through the back door, a quieter route, and into the warmth of the kitchen. He could feel the long counter, the heat of the stove, jars lined on shelves. It smelled like ginger, plum wine, and dried flowers.
Lunch was served in a quiet corner — something simple but lovingly made. Alec ate slowly, savoring each bite.
Between spoonfuls, the topic shifted.
"So," Linya said gently, "you've managed well, all things considered… but it's clear you've lived with this for a while."
Alec nodded, wiping his mouth. "Since I was five."
"That long?" Rhoen murmured, not unkindly.
Alec chuckled. "You'd be surprised how much you pick up when you have to."
There was a pause. Not uncomfortable — thoughtful.
"You seem to manage better than most," Linya admitted.
"Still…" Rhoen added, more cautiously. "It must've been hard."
Alec only nodded again, quietly. "You adapt."
For a time, no one said anything. Just the clink of dishes and the low hum of wind through the open slats.
Alec chewed thoughtfully, his head tilted as he listened to the distant sound of a bell being rung — once, twice. Faint shuffling outside, some kind of market stall being set up.
"This place… it's peaceful," he said, setting down his cup.
"It is," Linya agreed. "Quiet little district. A bit removed from the capital's bustle, thankfully."
"Capital?" Alec asked, casual but alert.
"The Capital City, dear," Linya said, almost surprised. "Where the Fire Lord's court sits."
Alec blinked behind the blindfold. "So this is… the Fire Nation?"
There was a pause.
"Yes," Rhoen answered, slower. "The western coast. You didn't know?"
He hesitated. "I… wasn't sure. Everything was so foggy when I woke up."
"Well," Linya said gently, "now you know. You're in the Fire Nation, west of the capital."
Alec let that settle in. He sipped his tea, weighing his next words.
"So… what year is it? Or, I guess — what's happened lately? Anything major I might've missed?"
Linya and Rhoen exchanged glances.
"Well," Linya said carefully, "there was that whole thing with the prince, of course."
"Prince?"
"Prince Zuko," Rhoen answered, his voice low. "He was banished. About two day ago now. The same night we found you."
Alec's hands stilled on the edge of the cup.
"Banished?" he asked, keeping his tone measured.
Linya nodded, her voice dropping too. "He… spoke out at a war meeting, from what we heard. Shamed a general. His own father challenged him to an Agni Kai — and when Zuko refused to fight him, the Fire Lord scarred him and cast him out."
"People still talk about it," Rhoen added. "Though not always aloud. Treason's a dangerous word in these lands."
Alec absorbed that quietly, his mind whirring.
So it was that point in the timeline.
Zuko was already banished. The Avatar had likely returned in three years or so. The hundred-year war was still active, still grinding through the Earth Kingdom. The world was still turning under a red sun.
And he was here. In it.