The wind outside wouldn't stop howling. Snow drifted through the air, brushing against the ice walls of the Northern Water Tribe.
The full moon hung high above the city, turning everything silver and blue — a sign of good fortune for anyone born that night.
Inside a modest house carved into the glacier, a baby's cry cut through the quiet.
Nora held her newborn son close, her breath unsteady, cheeks flushed from the cold and the effort.
The baby's cries filled the room, sharp and alive, echoing off the smooth walls.
Around her stood a handful of family — her mother, a few sisters, an old aunt whispering soft prayers to the Moon and Ocean Spirits.
They smiled, tired but joyful.
In the corner stood Kanon. His face was as unreadable as ever, but when he looked down at the baby, something changed in his eyes.
The stern, distant man showed a flicker of anticipation — maybe even fear — for the tiny life in front of him.
"He's a noisy one," Nora said quietly, rocking the baby.
"But that shows that he's strong. The moon's watching him tonight."
Kanon nodded, his voice low.
"Yes. He'll need that strength."
The baby's cries softened. His breathing steadied as Nora hummed to him, the kind of lullaby every Water Tribe mother knew by heart.
Outside, the wind faded, and the faint green lights of the aurora shimmered above the city.
Later that night, the family bundled up and made their way to the canal for the naming ceremony.
The water was calm, dark as glass under the full moon. Lanterns floated along the surface, their light flickering gently in the cold air.
An elderly waterbender stood by the edge, her hair white as snow.
She bent a small stream of moonlit water into her hand and touched it to the baby's forehead.
"This child," she said, "is blessed by Tui. May the Moon Spirit guide him."
Nora smiled, her eyes soft with pride.
The elder looked up.
"What will he be called?"
For a moment, the parents said nothing.
Then Nora glanced at Kanon's, and he gave the smallest of nods.
Together, they said the name.
"Noatak."
The sound lingered for a moment before fading into the quiet night. The family bowed their heads.
Somewhere in the distance, the ice cracked softly, like the world itself was acknowledging the name.
As the night drew to a close, Nora held her son again inside their small home.
The baby's eyes opened, reflecting the moonlight through the ice window.
For a second, something strange flickered behind them — a spark of understanding far too sharp for a newborn.
A rush of thoughts, memories, and confusion hit him all at once.
Images of another world, another life — faces and places he didn't recognize — flashed through his mind.
Then, like a whisper, one clear thought formed.
What the fuck.
…
Yakone.
It was a name people feared in Republic City.
Back then, the city was still young — rough around the edges, noisy, and full of promise for anyone ruthless enough to take it.
Yakone fit right in. He came from the North, a skilled waterbender with charm, confidence, and no conscience.
In a city divided between benders and non-benders, he found opportunity in chaos.
At first, he worked quietly, hiding behind small-time smugglers and fixers.
But it didn't take long for everyone to realize he was the one pulling the strings.
Bribed officials looked the other way, rival gangs disappeared overnight, and anyone who crossed him never showed up again.
They said Yakone didn't just control the city's black market — he owned it.
He ran dozens of men: smugglers, debt collectors, benders-for-hire, and street enforcers who followed him out of fear, not loyalty.
To most, he was untouchable.
But what truly made him dangerous wasn't his influence. It was his bending.
Yakone had mastered something that was supposed to be impossible — bloodbending without the full moon.
It was the kind of power people whispered about but never saw.
He could stop a man's heart with a flick of his fingers. Bend someone's body like a puppet. It was unnatural, and he loved it.
For years, he built an empire on fear.
And for years, the law couldn't touch him.
Until the day they finally did.
It happened fast — too fast. Someone in his circle talked, and by the time Yakone realized it, the police were closing in.
He tried to fight his way out, but this time it wasn't just officers chasing him.
The Avatar himself had come to Republic City.
Aang.
The name alone made even the hardest men hesitate. But Yakone wasn't afraid. He believed no one could stop him.
They dragged him into the courtroom in chains. The entire council watched — Toph, Sokka, and the Avatar himself sitting in judgment.
The witnesses spoke, one after another, each story worse than the last. Yakone just smiled through it all.
When his sentence was announced, he decided to remind them who he really was.
He bloodbent the entire room.
Every guard, every council member — even Aang. They froze mid-breath, eyes wide in horror. He rose from his seat and snapped his metal cuffs like twigs.
He could've escaped right then. But Aang broke free. The air around him exploded, the Avatar State glowing in his eyes.
Yakone tried to fight back, throwing walls of ice, bending the water in his own blood to move faster, hit harder — but it didn't matter.
Aang struck once, and Yakone fell.
There was no pain at first, only the feeling of something tearing away inside him.
When the light faded, he lay on the ground, unable to move the water, the air, anything. The world felt empty.
His bending was gone.
They locked him away after that.
Months passed. Then years.
Most men would've died in that cell, but Yakone refused. He spent every hour memorizing the guards' schedules, watching the light through the small window, waiting.
One night, a storm rolled in. The guards were distracted. A prisoner collapsed in the corridor, and in the confusion, Yakone acted.
He slipped his restraints, stole a coat, and disappeared into the chaos.
By dawn, he was gone.
No one in Republic City ever saw him again. Some said he drowned trying to flee.
Others claimed the Avatar finished him in secret. But the truth was simpler — Yakone reinvented himself.
He changed his face with surgery — crude but effective. The surgeon never lived to tell anyone.
He burned his old clothes, destroyed every mark that tied him to his past, and took on a new name:
Kanon.
Kanon was quiet, polite, and unremarkable. He spoke with a softened northern accent, worked odd jobs on passing ships, and kept his head down.
Years later, he arrived at the Northern Water Tribe, posing as a man from a faraway village and who'd lost his family to pirates.
People there didn't ask too many questions.
For the first time in his life, Yakone — Kanon — was no one.
He met Nora by chance, a kind woman who sold carvings near the inner canal.
She had a soft voice and eyes that made him forget how cold the world could be. Against all logic, he let her in.
For a while, he almost believed he could stay hidden forever.
But the moon has a way of remembering things men try to forget.
And every night, when its light touched the ice, he could feel that part of himself that had been stripped away — the echo of power, of control, of everything he once was.
He told himself it was gone.
He told himself he'd changed.
But the truth sat quietly in his chest, waiting.
Until finally his first son was born years later.
That moment forward had stirred something inside him once again.
Something he thought had died with Yakone.