The first thing he felt was the wind.
It was not the clean, flowing wind he had once danced with across skies and oceans, but a biting, heavy gust filled with dust and the scent of blood-soaked earth. It stung his nostrils, choked his throat, and howled through the crooked peaks surrounding him. Aang's eyes snapped open—yet what they beheld was not the familiar world he had died protecting.
Above him stretched a bleak, crimson dawn. The heavens were veined with streaks of violet lightning, their echoes booming against jagged mountains that pierced the clouds like spears. Around him lay cracked stone courtyards, ruined walls, and rows of weary youths in tattered gray robes, their gazes lifeless, their backs bent as they carried buckets of water from a moss-ridden well.
"Outer Sect disciples," a hoarse voice barked.
Aang turned, instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. The man before him was cloaked in black robes embroidered with golden clouds. His aura was oppressive—like a storm pressing down on the chest, making it hard to breathe. Yet the strangest part was the faint glow around his body, a halo of misty light that Aang's senses instantly recognized. Chi… no, not chi. Something heavier, denser. Qi.
"Line up! The dawn bell has rung. Any who dawdle will have their monthly rations halved!"
The youths scrambled, arranging themselves with mechanical obedience. Aang blinked, finally looking down at himself. His orange and yellow monk garb was gone, replaced by a rough gray tunic, frayed at the edges. His hands—once smooth from the staff he wielded with grace—were calloused and scarred.
A rush of alien memories surged into him. Feng Mu, outer disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect. Orphan. Taken at the age of nine for menial service. Ten years spent hauling water, tending spirit fields, and scrubbing floors, all while failing to step onto the true path of cultivation. A mortal among cultivators, destined to live and die in obscurity.
The memories were sharp, bitter, but they could not suppress the calm clarity of Aang's spirit. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The breath entered him like it always had—circulating, cleansing, expanding. Only now… there was more. A vast ocean of energy in the very air. Thick, ancient, and endless.
So this is… another world.
The bell tolled again, its deep chime vibrating through the bones. Aang—no, Feng Mu—walked with the others toward the Spirit Fields. Rows of terraced land stretched along the mountain slope, glowing faintly with threads of light. Spirit rice, infused with qi, swayed in the breeze. Several disciples were already bent over, pulling weeds with trembling fingers.
"You there! Feng Mu!"
Aang turned. A stocky youth with a hooked nose sneered at him. From memory, Aang recalled the name: Zhang Wei, one of the overseers among the outer disciples, a petty tyrant who lorded over others because he had managed to reach the first stage of Qi Condensation.
"You were late to the bell. Hand over half your rice for the month."
The surrounding disciples shrank back, avoiding eye contact. Feng Mu's memories told him he had always yielded here, bowing his head, surrendering food just to avoid a beating. But Aang's spirit was not one to bend.
He smiled gently. "The bell tolled as I arrived. I was not late."
Zhang Wei's face darkened. "What did you say, waste?" He reached out, trying to grab Aang's collar.
The world slowed. The wind stirred. Without conscious thought, Aang shifted his weight and brushed Zhang Wei's hand aside. His movements were fluid, effortless, like guiding a current around a stone. The bully stumbled forward, face flushing red with humiliation.
Gasps rose from the other disciples.
"You—!" Zhang Wei's hand lit with a faint shimmer of qi. He raised his palm, aiming to strike.
But before the blow could land, Aang exhaled. A faint gust swirled around him, ruffling his gray robe. The strike halted mid-air, diverted as though caught in an unseen breeze. Zhang Wei staggered back, eyes wide.
"You… you've awakened qi?"
A murmur spread. For ten years, Feng Mu had been unable to sense qi at all. And now—suddenly—he was manifesting it?
Aang bowed slightly, expression calm. "Perhaps the heavens are kind today."
Inside, though, he was trembling with awe. The air of this world was saturated with spiritual essence, thicker than any chi flow he had ever bent. His very breathing seemed to draw it in, circulating through the pathways of his body, merging seamlessly with the disciplined control he had once honed as an Air Nomad.
If this is cultivation… then perhaps I can walk this path.
By midday, the sect elder overseeing the fields arrived. Elder Han was a bent, thin man with long white eyebrows that drooped to his chest. His eyes, however, were sharp as swords. He scanned the workers and stopped on Aang.
"You. Feng Mu."
Aang stepped forward, bowing respectfully.
"The overseer reports you displayed qi today. Is this true?"
"Yes, Elder."
"Show me."
Aang raised his palm. He breathed in, drawing upon the surrounding energy. It rushed into him eagerly, like an old friend long separated. With a gentle exhale, he released it. A breeze swept across the terrace, stirring the spirit rice, carrying the scent of earth and sky.
The elder's eyes widened a fraction. "Wind attribute… pure and untainted. Hm." He stroked his beard. "Very well. From today, you are granted the lowest entry into the cultivation manuals. See the Hall of Records at dusk."
The announcement stunned the disciples. Whispers spread like wildfire. To step beyond menial labor and touch the true Dao—such fortune was unheard of for a waste who had failed for a decade.
Aang bowed once more, gratitude in his heart. Yet as he rose, he felt it—the faint tremor of the world itself. The wind whispered warnings, carrying echoes of calamity.
This sect, these mountains, this path… all were tangled in threads of fate far darker than he had imagined.
Still, he straightened his back, eyes firm.
No matter the world, the wind is free. If I must walk this path, I will walk it as myself.
And so began the tale of Aang reborn as Feng Mu, outer disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect—an Avatar in a world where cultivation reigned supreme.