The first thing I noticed was that something was terribly wrong with my bed.
It was moving.
Now, under ordinary circumstances, I would consider that a rather serious design flaw. Beds were supposed to remain stationary, preferably somewhere warm and quiet, with enough pillows to discourage unnecessary movement. Mine, however, seemed determined to sway beneath me, accompanied by a peculiar rushing sound that reminded me of waves breaking against the shore.
Which was strange, considering I didn't remember owning an ocean.
I attempted to open my eyes, only to discover that my eyelids had apparently decided to abandon their responsibilities. They felt impossibly heavy, and the rest of my body wasn't doing much better. Somewhere nearby, something cried out with a shrill, unpleasant voice, followed by the soft crunch of footsteps against what sounded suspiciously like sand.
Wonderful. Either I'd been reincarnated as a particularly unfortunate piece of driftwood, or somebody had dragged my unconscious body to the beach.
Neither possibility sounded particularly comfortable.
A shadow passed across the faint light behind my eyelids, and I became vaguely aware of someone standing over me. The footsteps stopped, replaced by the rustling of cloth and a quiet, thoughtful humming.
"Well, now. What have we here?" an elderly man's voice wondered, gentle and somewhat curious. His words sounded distant, as though I were hearing them from the bottom of a deep pond. "This is certainly an unusual place for a young traveler to be sleeping."
I wanted to explain that there was nothing unusual about sleeping wherever one happened to become tired. In fact, I considered it one of life's more sensible practices, and I was prepared to defend that position quite passionately if necessary.
Unfortunately, my mouth refused to cooperate.
Something warm touched my wrist, followed by two fingers pressing gently against my pulse. The stranger remained silent for several moments, and I could almost feel him examining me with the patience of someone who had encountered more than a few peculiar situations in his lifetime.
"Breathing steadily, and no obvious injuries," the old man murmured, apparently satisfied with whatever he'd discovered. "That's encouraging. Although I suspect you'll be rather uncomfortable if the tide reaches you before you wake."
How considerate of him to notice.
I tried to offer my gratitude, but the effort of forming words seemed considerably more complicated than it had any right to be. My thoughts were already dissolving into a warm, comfortable fog, and the stranger's voice began fading beneath the sound of the waves.
"Come along, then," he said, sounding as though he'd reached a decision. "There are much better places to rest than a lonely beach."
I felt someone carefully lift my shoulders, and for a brief moment, the world shifted beneath me. Whatever happened afterward was lost to the darkness, which I welcomed with the enthusiasm of someone being offered an unexpected afternoon nap.
After all, I'd already died once.
Surely I was entitled to a little rest before beginning my next life.
When I finally opened my eyes properly, I found myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
Smooth wooden beams stretched overhead, their surfaces decorated with faded red and gold patterns. Sunlight streamed through a nearby window, illuminating tiny dust particles drifting lazily through the air. Somewhere outside, birds were singing, and a gentle breeze carried the faint scent of mountain flowers into the room.
I blinked once, then twice, allowing my thoughts to slowly arrange themselves into something resembling coherence.
Well, this was certainly an improvement over being shot in a convenience store.
For several minutes, I remained perfectly still beneath a thin blanket, enjoying the unfamiliar warmth of sunlight against my face. My body felt pleasantly heavy, and the sleeping mat beneath me was surprisingly comfortable despite being considerably thinner than the mattresses I was accustomed to.
Honestly, whoever had invented beds deserved considerably more appreciation than most historical figures received.
Eventually, my thoughts wandered toward the last thing I remembered before losing consciousness.
Death.
The enormous skeletal figure, its strange cloak of living darkness, and that ridiculous conversation about reincarnation. I could still remember the taste of my Oreo milkshake, the faint rattling of Death's laughter, and the three wishes I'd requested before being unceremoniously sent into another world.
I slowly raised one hand toward the ceiling.
The fingers were slender, pale, and noticeably smaller than I remembered. Turning my wrist, I examined the unfamiliar lines of my palm before curling my fingers into a fist and opening them again.
"Huh. Well, that's interesting," I murmured, surprised by the softer, younger sound of my own voice.
I pushed myself upright, allowing the blanket to fall into my lap as I examined the rest of my body. My arms were thinner, my shoulders narrower, and the proportions of my limbs suggested that I had been placed into the body of someone considerably younger than I'd expected.
Thirteen, perhaps.
There were worse possibilities, I supposed. At least I hadn't been reincarnated as an infant, condemned to several years of being carried around by adults who insisted on speaking in ridiculous voices.
A shudder ran down my spine at the thought.
Absolutely horrifying.
My attention shifted to the clothing I was wearing. A simple dark shirt crossed loosely over my chest, secured by a narrow burgundy sash, while comfortable black trousers covered my legs. Dark cloth wraps encircled my wrists, and the entire outfit possessed the practical simplicity of something intended for traveling rather than attracting attention.
Whoever had arranged my new wardrobe possessed surprisingly decent taste.
My boots sat beside the sleeping mat, their worn leather surfaces decorated with thick fur around the openings. I reached over and examined one, pleased to discover that they appeared sturdy enough for difficult terrain without being unnecessarily heavy.
Comfortable clothing and good boots.
An excellent beginning.
I ran my fingers through my hair, only to discover that it was still somewhat damp. Long, uneven black strands fell across my forehead, their faint purple highlights catching the sunlight as I brushed them away from my eyes.
Something cool brushed against my neck.
Reaching toward my ears, I discovered the familiar weight of two dangling red earrings, their small ornaments swaying gently whenever I moved my head. I couldn't help smiling at that particular detail.
"Well, at least Death didn't completely ruin my appearance," I muttered, allowing my hair to fall back over part of my face. "That would've been terribly rude."
A faint sound interrupted my examination.
Footsteps.
Someone was approaching from beyond the open doorway, accompanied by the quiet clinking of ceramic dishes. A pleasant aroma drifted into the room a moment later, immediately reminding my stomach that it had apparently been neglected for quite some time.
I turned toward the entrance just as an elderly man appeared.
He was exceptionally thin, with deeply lined features, warm brown skin, and an enormous white beard that hung down the front of his simple saffron-colored robes. His head was almost entirely bald, and his dark eyes possessed a peculiar liveliness that contrasted with his apparent age.
In his hands rested a wooden tray carrying a ceramic bowl, a small teapot, and two cups.
The old man paused upon noticing me sitting upright, his expression brightening with genuine pleasure.
"Ah, you're awake!" he exclaimed, approaching with a surprisingly energetic step. "Excellent, excellent. I was beginning to wonder whether you intended to sleep through the entire afternoon."
I regarded him for a moment before glancing toward the sunlight pouring through the window.
"Was that an option?" I asked hopefully, turning back toward him. "Because I would hate to inconvenience anyone by refusing such a generous opportunity."
The elderly man blinked.
Then his lips curled into an amused smile.
"Oh, I suspect you'll have no difficulty finding opportunities to sleep," he replied, placing the tray on a low wooden table beside my mat. "Although eating something first might be wise. You haven't had anything since I found you."
That was an excellent point.
My stomach immediately voiced its agreement with an embarrassingly loud growl, prompting the old man's smile to widen.
Traitorous organ.
"I suppose breakfast wouldn't hurt," I conceded, reaching toward the bowl as he settled himself comfortably on the floor across from me. "Although I should probably ask whether there's anything strange in it before I start eating."
The old man chuckled softly, watching as I examined the contents with considerable suspicion.
"Only rice, vegetables, and a little seasoning," he assured me, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Nothing particularly mysterious, I'm afraid."
"How disappointing," I replied, picking up the wooden spoon. "I'd hoped for something at least mildly supernatural."
"Perhaps another time," the elderly man suggested, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "For now, ordinary food should serve you well enough."
I decided not to argue.
The rice was warm, the vegetables were pleasantly seasoned, and after my rather eventful previous day, I wasn't inclined to criticize a meal someone else had prepared for me.
For a few moments, we sat in comfortable silence.
Well, I was comfortable.
The old man seemed to be studying me with the kind of patient curiosity usually reserved for particularly unusual animals.
Eventually, I looked up from my bowl.
"You know, staring at someone while they're eating is considered rather rude in some places," I informed him, pointing my spoon in his direction. "Especially when that person hasn't had breakfast yet."
The elderly man gave a small laugh before inclining his head.
"My apologies, young traveler," he replied, his expression remaining warm. "I was merely pleased to see that you're recovering. When I discovered you, you were quite unconscious."
I paused, the spoon halfway to my mouth.
Discovered me?
Ah.
The beach.
I vaguely remembered the sound of waves and someone's voice speaking above me, but the details were scattered and indistinct.
"Right," I murmured, lowering the spoon. "About that. Where exactly did you find me?"
"On a secluded beach below these mountains," the old man explained, lifting his teacup. "I had gone down to gather a few supplies when I noticed someone lying near the water. At first, I thought you might have been washed ashore from a damaged boat."
I frowned thoughtfully.
That was interesting.
Death had apparently decided that depositing me unconscious beside the ocean was an acceptable method of interdimensional transportation.
Wonderful.
"Was there a boat?" I asked, already fairly certain of the answer.
The old man shook his head, his long beard shifting against his robes.
"None that I could find," he answered. "Nor any wreckage, belongings, or footprints leading toward the place where you were lying. You were simply there, with the tide approaching and the seabirds making a great deal of noise around you."
I considered that information while taking another bite of rice.
No boat.
No footprints.
No explanation.
Death certainly knew how to make an entrance unnecessarily mysterious.
"And you carried me all the way here?" I asked, glancing toward the doorway as I remembered the mountainous landscape visible through the window.
The old man chuckled, looking almost embarrassed by the question.
"Not entirely by hand," he admitted, setting his teacup down. "There is an old supply lift farther along the coastal trail, though it requires some persuasion to operate these days. After that, there were still quite a few stairs. I must confess that I was rather relieved when we finally reached the temple."
I examined his thin frame with renewed interest.
For someone who looked as though a sufficiently enthusiastic breeze might carry him away, the old man appeared remarkably capable.
"Well, thank you for rescuing me," I said, offering a small, genuine smile. "Although I should warn you that I'm not particularly good at repaying debts through physical labor."
The old man's eyebrows rose.
"Oh?" he asked, evidently entertained by my confession. "And why is that?"
"Terrible condition," I explained, placing a hand over my heart with an expression of profound suffering. "Extremely rare. Very tragic. I'm allergic to unnecessary effort."
For a moment, the old man stared at me.
Then he laughed.
Not politely, either.
His shoulders shook, and his beard trembled against his chest as he laughed with the unrestrained amusement of someone who had unexpectedly encountered something delightful.
I watched him with mild satisfaction.
Excellent.
At least my mysterious benefactor possessed a sense of humor.
When the laughter finally subsided, he wiped at the corner of one eye before regarding me with renewed curiosity.
"Well, that certainly sounds troublesome," he replied, still smiling. "Perhaps we'll have to discover a treatment."
"Unfortunately, I fear the condition is incurable," I told him solemnly. "Many have tried. All have failed."
"Then we shall have to be patient," the old man answered, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
I narrowed my eyes.
Something told me this particular elderly gentleman was going to be troublesome.
Very troublesome indeed.
After finishing my meal, I finally decided to address the rather obvious question that had been occupying the back of my mind.
"So, mysterious old man who apparently saved my life," I began, setting my empty bowl aside, "do you have a name, or should I simply continue calling you mysterious old man?"
The elderly gentleman smiled, apparently finding my choice of address amusing rather than offensive.
"Pathik," he answered, resting his hands comfortably in his lap. "Most people call me Guru Pathik."
I went still.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
Guru Pathik?
Now that was unexpected.
Of all the people Death could have arranged for me to encounter, I'd apparently managed to stumble directly into the care of one of the most spiritually knowledgeable individuals in the Avatar world.
The same man who would eventually help Aang understand the seven chakras.
The same man who had known the Air Nomads before their destruction.
The same man who would one day help a certain flying bison recover from his suffering.
Well.
That was convenient.
Suspiciously convenient, actually.
I wondered whether Death had arranged this intentionally or whether I'd simply stumbled into an extraordinary coincidence.
Then again, considering the events that had ended my previous life, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that the universe possessed a peculiar sense of humor.
"Guru Pathik, huh?" I repeated, allowing a small smile to return to my face. "That's a rather respectable title. Do you prefer Guru, Pathik, or should I continue using mysterious old man?"
Pathik chuckled, apparently giving the matter serious consideration.
"Pathik will do just fine," he replied. "Although I admit that mysterious old man has a certain charm."
"I thought so too," I agreed, nodding approvingly.
"And you, young traveler?" Pathik asked, leaning forward slightly. "What should I call you?"
"Jinx," I answered simply, reaching for the cup of tea he had poured for me. "Just Jinx."
"Jinx," Pathik repeated, testing the name with a thoughtful expression. "An unusual name. A memorable one, certainly."
"That's what I keep telling people," I replied, taking a cautious sip of tea. "Although some insist on treating it like a warning."
Pathik smiled at that, but his expression grew somewhat more thoughtful as he examined me.
"Well then, Jinx, perhaps you could tell me where you came from," he suggested gently. "Your family may be worried about you, especially if they don't know what happened."
Ah.
There it was.
The question I'd been expecting.
I lowered the cup toward my lap, allowing my thoughts to settle as I considered how best to answer.
I could tell him the truth, of course.
I could explain that I'd died after surviving three increasingly ridiculous accidents, met the literal embodiment of Death, received three wishes, and been reincarnated into a world I previously knew as an animated television series.
Perfectly reasonable explanation.
I'm sure he'd believe every word.
Actually, considering the existence of spirits, reincarnation, and people capable of manipulating the elements through martial arts, perhaps the explanation wasn't quite as ridiculous as it sounded.
Still, there was a difference between telling someone something extraordinary and giving them a reason to think you were completely insane.
Besides, I didn't particularly feel like explaining my entire existence to someone I'd known for less than an hour.
"That's a little complicated," I admitted, allowing my gaze to drift toward the window. "I don't really have anywhere I need to return to."
Pathik remained quiet for several moments, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.
"And your family?" he asked, his voice gentle rather than demanding.
I considered that question for a moment longer.
My previous life was gone.
Whatever family, friends, and acquaintances I'd once known were now separated from me by an entirely different universe. Even if they still existed somewhere beyond the boundaries of this reality, I had no idea whether I'd ever see them again.
It was a strange thought.
I'd accepted that every story eventually ended, but there was something unsettling about realizing that an entire world had continued without me.
I wondered whether anyone had mourned.
Perhaps someone had cried over my body in that convenience store. Perhaps an acquaintance had received the news and stared at their phone, struggling to understand how someone they'd known could simply disappear.
I would never know.
A faint pressure settled beneath my ribs, unfamiliar enough that I found myself staring into the tea for longer than I'd intended.
Then I exhaled.
"My family isn't here," I answered quietly, lifting my eyes toward Pathik again. "And I don't think I'll be seeing them anytime soon."
Pathik studied me for a moment, his earlier amusement replaced by something gentler.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Jinx," he replied, offering no elaborate speech or unnecessary consolation. "You needn't explain anything you're not ready to discuss."
I blinked.
That was surprisingly considerate.
Most adults I'd encountered were considerably more persistent when they believed a child was hiding something.
"Thank you," I replied, offering him a small smile. "I appreciate that."
Pathik returned the smile before rising carefully to his feet.
"Then perhaps you'd like to see where you've found yourself," he suggested, gesturing toward the doorway. "A little fresh air may help you recover, and there's something rather beautiful I think you should see."
I glanced toward my boots.
Then toward the comfortable sleeping mat.
Then back toward Pathik.
"How much walking are we talking about?" I asked suspiciously.
Pathik laughed softly as he moved toward the doorway.
"Only a little," he assured me, looking back over his shoulder. "Although I suppose that depends upon your definition of unnecessary effort."
I sighed.
I'd known him for less than an hour, and the old man was already using my own words against me.
How cruel.
The Eastern Air Temple was magnificent.
There was simply no other reasonable word for it.
The moment I stepped outside, I found myself standing upon a broad stone terrace overlooking an enormous mountain range. Three towering peaks rose into the clouds, their slopes covered in greenery and ancient stonework. Elegant buildings with curved roofs clung to the mountainsides, while long, narrow bridges connected structures that appeared almost impossibly high above the valleys below.
Far beneath us, layers of forest stretched toward a distant coastline, where the ocean glittered beneath the afternoon sunlight.
The wind was cool and pleasantly refreshing.
I stood near the edge of the terrace, staring at the extraordinary landscape with an expression that probably resembled genuine wonder.
Which, to be fair, was exactly what I was feeling.
I'd seen this world before, of course.
Or rather, I'd watched it through a screen, imagining what it might be like to walk through its cities, explore its temples, and witness bending with my own eyes.
But imagination, no matter how extraordinary, was different from experience.
The mountains were real.
The wind was real.
The distant cries of birds echoed through the valley, and the faint smell of stone, grass, and mountain air filled my lungs.
For a brief moment, I forgot entirely about the inconvenience of having to walk outside.
"...Oh, that's beautiful," I murmured, leaning against the stone railing as my violet eyes wandered across the distant peaks.
Pathik approached quietly, coming to stand several feet beside me.
"It certainly is," he agreed, looking out over the mountains with a peaceful smile. "I've lived here for many years, and I still find something new to appreciate whenever I look upon this place."
I nodded absently, my attention drawn toward a distant bridge suspended between two enormous mountain structures.
The architecture was fascinating.
Everything seemed designed around the movement of air, the shape of the mountains, and the peculiar relationship between stability and openness. The buildings appeared light despite their size, as though they belonged to the landscape rather than having been forced upon it.
An entire civilization had once lived here.
People had laughed in these courtyards, argued over meals, practiced bending, played games, raised children, and complained about whatever inconveniences occupied their particular generation.
Now the buildings stood almost entirely empty.
It was a strange thing, standing inside the remains of someone else's story.
"Who built all this?" I asked, turning toward Pathik despite already knowing the answer.
"The Air Nomads," Pathik replied, his expression becoming slightly wistful. "This was one of their great temples. For generations, they lived among these mountains, dedicating themselves to spiritual understanding, freedom, and the study of airbending."
I glanced toward the abandoned buildings.
"And now they're gone," I observed, my voice quieter than before.
Pathik nodded slowly.
"Yes," he answered, looking toward a distant rooftop. "Most of them have been gone for a very long time."
There was something in his voice that caught my attention.
Not merely sadness.
Memory.
The kind of sadness carried by someone who could still remember voices that had fallen silent many years ago.
I looked at him more carefully.
"You knew them, didn't you?" I asked, studying the old man's lined features.
Pathik turned toward me, seemingly surprised by the question.
"Some of them, yes," he admitted, a faint smile returning to his face. "I was fortunate enough to call several Air Nomads my friends. One of them, Monk Gyatso, was particularly dear to me."
Gyatso.
Aang's teacher.
I remembered the kindly monk with his warm smile, mischievous humor, and extraordinary compassion.
The thought that the man standing beside me had actually known him was strangely difficult to comprehend.
"What was he like?" I asked, leaning my elbows against the railing as genuine curiosity replaced my earlier distraction.
Pathik chuckled, a fond expression settling across his face.
"Oh, Gyatso was a wonderful man," he replied, looking toward the distant temple buildings. "Wise, certainly, but not always in the way people expected. He had a remarkable talent for finding humor in situations where everyone else insisted upon being terribly serious."
I smiled faintly.
That sounded about right.
"He sounds entertaining," I remarked, wondering whether I'd have gotten along with the old monk.
"He was," Pathik agreed warmly. "Although I suspect the other monks occasionally found his methods rather troublesome."
"Ah, my kind of person," I replied, earning another amused chuckle from the guru.
For a while, Pathik shared small memories of the temple as it had once been.
He spoke of young Air Nomads racing across the courtyards, the sound of laughter drifting through open halls, and the way the buildings had once seemed alive with movement.
I listened more carefully than I ordinarily would have.
Part of me wanted to ask a hundred questions.
What had the children been like? What did they argue about? Did they enjoy the same games? Were there quiet ones who preferred sleeping beneath trees rather than practicing whatever responsibilities their teachers assigned them?
The people who'd lived here were long dead, but their stories had once been every bit as real as mine.
And somehow, hearing about them from someone who remembered made the empty courtyards feel a little less empty.
"You know," I murmured eventually, watching a pair of birds glide through the open air beyond the railing, "it's strange how places remember people long after they're gone."
Pathik turned toward me, appearing genuinely interested.
"What do you mean, Jinx?" he asked, allowing me time to gather my thoughts.
I looked toward the ancient stone beneath my hands.
"Well, everyone who lived here had a story, didn't they?" I replied, tracing one finger along a faint groove in the railing. "They were born, they lived, they did whatever people do, and eventually their stories ended. But the temple is still here, and so are people like you who remember them."
Pathik remained silent, listening.
I shrugged.
"I suppose that's rather beautiful," I continued, glancing toward the empty buildings. "An ending doesn't necessarily erase everything that came before it. Sometimes the remains of one story become the beginning of another."
The old man regarded me thoughtfully.
"That is an interesting way of looking at things," he replied after a moment. "Although I would suggest that the connections between people are sometimes more enduring than we realize."
"Perhaps," I conceded, not particularly interested in arguing. "Although I still think everything has to end eventually. Even the things people believe will last forever."
Pathik smiled gently.
"Perhaps they do," he answered. "But that doesn't mean we should overlook the importance of what happens before the ending."
I considered his words for a moment.
Then I smiled.
"Well, naturally," I replied, turning back toward the mountains. "The middle is usually where all the entertaining things happen."
Pathik laughed quietly, shaking his head.
And just like that, our first philosophical disagreement ended without anyone needing to declare themselves victorious.
Which was lovely.
Arguing for hours sounded exhausting.
I discovered two things about Guru Pathik during the remainder of that afternoon.
First, he possessed a genuinely remarkable amount of patience.
Second, he was entirely too good at making ordinary conversations feel like lessons.
We spent some time wandering through the temple's surviving courtyards, passing weathered statues, abandoned chambers, and ancient meditation gardens. Pathik explained the purpose of various buildings, occasionally pausing to share a memory or point out some architectural feature I might otherwise have overlooked.
I listened.
Mostly.
The problem was that the temple offered an almost offensive abundance of material for my imagination.
Every abandoned corridor suggested hidden chambers, forgotten libraries, secret passages, or ancient mysteries. Every statue looked like it might awaken under the right circumstances, and every bridge made me wonder whether an airbender could leap from its railing and simply glide away into the clouds.
Before long, I'd constructed an elaborate imaginary kingdom beneath the temple.
Its inhabitants were tiny spirits who lived inside the mountain, cultivating gardens of glowing crystals and riding enormous beetles through underground tunnels.
Naturally, they possessed a complicated political system involving a council of particularly argumentative mushrooms.
I was just beginning to establish the mushroom council's taxation policies when someone cleared their throat.
"Jinx?" Pathik called, his voice carrying a familiar note of patient amusement.
I blinked.
The imaginary mushroom council disappeared.
"Yes?" I replied, turning toward the elderly guru, who had apparently stopped walking several moments earlier.
Pathik gestured toward a doorway we'd passed.
"I was asking whether you'd like to see the meditation garden," he repeated, smiling as though he already suspected what had happened.
I considered the question.
Meditation garden.
That sounded promising.
"Does it involve sitting down?" I asked, brightening considerably.
Pathik's eyebrows rose.
"Generally, yes," he answered, visibly entertained by my enthusiasm.
"Wonderful," I declared, immediately changing direction. "Lead the way, wise old man. You've finally suggested something sensible."
Pathik laughed, his long beard swaying as he shook his head.
"I had a feeling you might appreciate this particular part of the temple," he admitted.
And he was correct.
The garden was magnificent.
A circular courtyard opened beneath the afternoon sky, surrounded by low stone walls and ancient trees whose branches stretched gracefully over the pathways. Smooth stones formed winding patterns across the ground, while small patches of grass and wildflowers had spread between the carefully arranged rocks.
At its center stood a shallow stone basin filled with clear water.
A few weathered meditation platforms surrounded the basin, their surfaces softened by years of wind and rain.
It was quiet.
Beautifully, wonderfully quiet.
I immediately selected the most comfortable-looking platform beneath a nearby tree and lowered myself onto it with a contented sigh.
"Ah," I murmured, leaning backward against the trunk as a pleasant breeze brushed through my hair. "Now this is what civilization should have been working toward all along."
Pathik approached at a leisurely pace, watching me settle into my chosen position.
"And what would that be?" he asked, apparently interested in hearing my profound conclusion.
"Comfortable places to sit without anyone demanding that you accomplish something," I replied, closing my eyes. "Truly the pinnacle of human achievement."
The old man laughed softly before settling onto another platform several feet away.
"Then perhaps you'll enjoy meditation," he suggested, folding his legs comfortably beneath him.
I opened one eye.
"Meditation?" I repeated, considering the suggestion. "Isn't that where you sit quietly and try not to think about anything?"
"Not exactly," Pathik answered, his expression brightening with the enthusiasm of someone discussing a subject he genuinely enjoyed. "There are many forms of meditation. Some involve quieting the mind, others involve awareness of the body, and still others involve understanding the flow of energy within ourselves."
I hummed thoughtfully.
That was considerably more interesting than I'd expected.
"Sounds complicated," I remarked, closing my eye again. "Although the sitting part is appealing."
Pathik smiled.
"Perhaps we might try a simple exercise," he suggested. "There's no need to force anything. For now, simply sit comfortably and become aware of your breathing."
Well.
That sounded easy enough.
I adjusted my position slightly, allowing my shoulders to relax as I listened to the surrounding sounds.
Wind moved through the leaves overhead.
Somewhere nearby, water trickled softly into the stone basin.
A bird called from a distant rooftop.
I breathed in.
Then out.
And almost immediately, my imagination decided that the garden would make an excellent setting for another story.
I imagined the ancient trees growing taller, their branches stretching beyond the clouds. The stone basin expanded into an enormous lake, its waters reflecting thousands of stars despite the afternoon sunlight.
Then came the dragons.
Not ordinary dragons, of course.
These were enormous serpentine creatures with translucent wings, each carrying an entire floating island upon its back. Their scales shimmered like moonlight, and their voices sounded like distant bells echoing through the sky.
One of them descended toward the imaginary lake.
Naturally, this attracted the attention of the mushroom council.
Which, unfortunately, had recently declared war upon a neighboring kingdom of sentient lanterns.
A rather complicated diplomatic incident followed.
I had no idea how much time passed.
That was the wonderful thing about daydreaming.
Minutes, hours, and occasionally entire afternoons could disappear without my noticing, particularly when I became absorbed in something interesting.
Eventually, however, a familiar voice reached me through the imaginary world I'd constructed.
"Jinx?"
I didn't respond.
The mushroom council was currently debating whether dragons should be classified as public transportation, and I found the discussion rather compelling.
"Jinx," Pathik repeated, sounding closer this time. "Are you still with us?"
Something lightly tapped my shoulder.
I blinked.
The dragons vanished.
The lake disappeared.
And the mushroom council dissolved into a particularly disappointing collection of ordinary thoughts.
I found Guru Pathik crouching beside my platform, looking at me with an expression of amused curiosity.
"Hmm?" I murmured, lifting my head slightly. "Did something happen?"
Pathik chuckled.
"Not particularly," he replied, rising to his feet. "Although you've been sitting there for quite some time. I was beginning to wonder whether you'd fallen asleep."
I considered that possibility.
"No, I was awake," I answered, stretching my arms overhead. "Mostly. I was imagining a kingdom where sentient mushrooms controlled the government."
Pathik blinked.
For a moment, he appeared genuinely uncertain how to respond.
Then he laughed.
"A kingdom of mushrooms?" he repeated, his expression brightening with delight. "That sounds rather unusual."
"Oh, it was," I assured him, nodding solemnly. "Terrible political situation. The tax system was completely unreasonable."
Pathik's laughter grew louder.
I smiled faintly, pleased that someone appreciated the seriousness of imaginary agricultural politics.
When his amusement finally subsided, the elderly guru studied me with renewed interest.
"Tell me something, Jinx," he began, settling onto the platform beside mine. "When you become absorbed in these imaginary worlds, are you aware of what's happening around you?"
I considered the question.
"Not particularly," I admitted, glancing toward the trees overhead. "Sometimes I hear things, but they don't really register unless something interrupts me. It's almost like dreaming while I'm awake."
Pathik nodded thoughtfully.
"And does this happen often?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"Constantly," I replied, shrugging. "The real world gets boring sometimes. My imagination usually doesn't."
The old man smiled, although there was something contemplative in his expression.
"Your ability to sustain such prolonged concentration is unusual," Pathik observed, resting his hands against his knees. "Many people struggle to remain focused upon a single thought for more than a few moments."
I brightened.
"Excellent," I declared. "Does that mean I'm naturally talented at meditation?"
Pathik's smile widened.
"Perhaps in certain respects," he answered carefully. "But there's an important distinction between becoming lost within your thoughts and becoming aware of them."
I frowned.
That sounded suspiciously like a complication.
"What's the difference?" I asked, wondering whether the old man was about to inform me that sitting quietly somehow required actual effort.
Pathik gestured toward the trees surrounding us.
"When you were imagining your kingdom, your attention was entirely consumed by the story unfolding within your mind," he explained. "You were focused, certainly, but you were not particularly aware of your breathing, your surroundings, or the thoughts themselves as they arose."
I considered that.
"So I was concentrating on the wrong thing?" I asked, feeling vaguely offended on behalf of the mushroom council.
"Not wrong," Pathik corrected gently. "Merely different. Your imagination is a gift, Jinx, but meditation often asks us to observe our thoughts without being carried away by them."
I stared at him.
Then I sighed.
"So you're telling me I have to sit quietly without entertaining myself?"
Pathik laughed.
"Not necessarily," he replied. "But learning to guide your attention rather than simply following wherever it wanders may prove useful."
I leaned backward against the tree.
That sounded suspiciously like work.
Still, I couldn't deny that the idea was interesting.
If my imagination already allowed me to become deeply absorbed in my own thoughts, perhaps I could learn to direct that concentration toward something else.
Something like bending.
Or the strange energy-removal ability I'd requested from Death.
My eyes drifted toward the stone basin in the center of the courtyard.
Perhaps there was an opportunity here after all.
By late afternoon, I had discovered a rather unfortunate problem with my new life.
I didn't know how to bend.
Now, before you laugh, allow me to explain.
Obviously, I'd watched Avatar: The Last Airbender before. I understood the general principles of the four elements, recognized several bending forms, and possessed a respectable collection of memories involving spectacular battles.
But watching someone manipulate fire through martial arts was considerably different from actually doing it.
I could picture the movements.
I could remember the techniques.
But the sensation of bending itself?
Absolutely no idea.
Which was rather inconvenient, considering I'd specifically requested the potential to develop extraordinary bending abilities.
I supposed Death had technically fulfilled my wishes.
Potential, after all, wasn't the same as mastery.
Still.
Rude.
I was sitting beside the garden's shallow stone basin when the thought occurred to me that perhaps I was approaching the problem incorrectly.
I'd asked for ice and fire, but my first wish hadn't really concerned ice itself.
It had concerned energy.
Specifically, the removal of energy from something.
Cold was simply what remained when thermal energy was taken away.
That distinction had fascinated me in my previous life, and it fascinated me even more now that I was apparently living in a world where supernatural martial arts were an accepted part of everyday existence.
I looked down at the water.
It sat perfectly still beneath the afternoon sunlight, reflecting the surrounding branches and a small portion of the cloudless sky.
Ordinary water.
Nothing particularly remarkable.
I extended one hand and dipped my fingertips into the basin.
Cool.
Not cold.
Just pleasantly cool water.