The frigid winds howled over the vast, icy landscape of the Northern Water Tribe, carrying with them the whisper of a boundless ocean. The early morning sky was a palette of dark grays and silvers, streaked faintly with hints of blue. Snow crunched softly beneath Lian's boots as he made his way to the same familiar edge of the frozen sea.
His breath misted in the air, sharp and quick. Every muscle in his small body ached, the soreness a constant companion now. Yet, even in the pain, there was progress—a slow, steady fire building inside him, both literal and metaphorical.
"Library, analyze my condition."
The golden book appeared in his mind, glowing faintly in the pre-dawn darkness:
Current Condition:
Muscle density increased by 2%.Stamina improved marginally; recovery time shortened.Waterbending proficiency: Beginner-Level Flow.
Lian exhaled, a smile tugging at his lips. It was small progress, but progress nonetheless. Every day he chipped away at his weaknesses. One day, he would stand as an unshakable pillar in this world.
But there was no time to bask in small victories.
"Time to push forward."
Today, Lian set his focus on waterbending—not just sensing it, but commanding it. Yesterday's fleeting connection had ignited something within him: a realization that water was more than just a physical entity. It was alive, pulsing with energy that resonated with the world.
Sitting cross-legged at the edge of the ice, he closed his eyes.
"Feel. Don't force. Let it flow."
Lian took in a slow, deep breath, allowing the cold air to fill his lungs. His hands rested gently on his knees, palms upturned. Beneath him, the ocean stirred softly, its vastness hidden beneath the frozen sheet of ice.
In the stillness, he began to sense it again—that faint heartbeat. The water's pulse. At first, it was elusive, like trying to grasp mist, but Lian held his focus. Every inhale, every exhale, seemed to deepen the connection.
The Library glimmered in his mind.
Spiritual Connection Progressing:
Mind-calming techniques refined; energy alignment improving.
Suddenly, Lian opened his eyes. Without thinking, he raised his hands and moved them in a gentle arc. This time, it felt natural—as if his body was guiding the water, not forcing it.
The frozen sea cracked faintly, and a small stream of water pushed through, hovering between his palms. It was smooth and steady, a ribbon of liquid that glistened in the faint morning light.
For the first time, Lian's waterbending felt alive.
"It's flowing," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with wonder.
Unbeknownst to Lian, he wasn't alone. A pair of watchful eyes observed him from a distance, hidden among the icy spires near the training ground. It was Chief Arnook, the ruler of the Northern Water Tribe and Yue's father.
Wrapped in thick furs, his tall figure blended with the snow. His gaze, however, was sharp and piercing, fixed on the boy by the sea.
"That boy..." he murmured.
Arnook had heard whispers of Lian—an orphan from an ordinary family. The boy had always been quiet, unremarkable. But in recent weeks, something had changed. The villagers spoke of Lian training tirelessly from dawn to dusk, moving with a drive that defied his age.
Now, as Arnook watched the water rise and dance in the boy's hands, he could no longer dismiss the rumors.
"To master flow at such a young age..."
A faint flicker of pride softened the chief's stern features. If this child continued on this path, he could one day become an invaluable asset to the tribe—a warrior, perhaps even a master.
For now, though, Arnook would observe.
"Let's see how far you'll go, boy."
By midday, Lian's body screamed for rest, but his mind refused to relent. He had begun to experiment—raising water, shaping it into arcs, and letting it flow back into the ocean. With each attempt, he felt his control improving.
But it wasn't enough. The Library pointed out flaws in every movement, small imperfections that he needed to refine.
Your wrists are too rigid.Your breathing is unbalanced.The flow lacks intent; guide it like a story, not a command.
As Lian adjusted his techniques, a small, familiar voice called out.
"Lian!"
He turned to see Yue running toward him, her silver hair glinting like moonlight. She carried a small bundle wrapped in fur.
"You're training again," she said, stopping beside him and narrowing her eyes. "You didn't even come to eat!"
Lian chuckled softly. "I forgot."
Yue sighed, pulling out a small pouch. "I brought you some seaweed wraps. You need food if you're going to get strong."
Lian's stomach growled at the sight of the food, and Yue giggled as he eagerly unwrapped one of the rolls.
"Thank you, Yue," he said between bites.
She sat down beside him, looking out over the icy expanse. "Why do you work so hard?" she asked quietly. "You're already so much better than the other kids."
Lian paused, her words sinking in. He looked at her—at the soft kindness in her eyes, at the way the wind tugged at her cloak.
Why?
He could've said it was for strength, for survival, or to fulfill his dreams. But as he stared at Yue, he found a different answer on his lips.
"I want to protect what matters," he said softly. "You. This tribe. Myself."
Yue's eyes widened, and for a moment, she was silent. Then, a smile broke across her face—soft, bright, and filled with trust.
"I believe you can, Lian," she whispered.
Lian felt a warmth settle in his chest, stronger than any fire. Her belief in him was a promise, a weight he willingly carried.
"I will," he said, his voice steady. "I promise."
That night, as Lian sat in his small igloo, the glow of the moon spilled through the cracks. He closed his eyes, calling upon the Library one last time.
"Library, show me today's progress."
The golden book appeared:
Current Progress:
Waterbending Flow improved: 40% consistency achieved.Spiritual connection to water stabilized.Physical stamina increased slightly.Control over small water volumes mastered.
Lian exhaled, a faint smile on his lips.
"Tomorrow, I'll push further."
His body might still be small, his strength limited, but the foundation was being built—slowly, methodically. The Library of Heaven's Path was his greatest tool, and with it, he would grow into something unshakable.
Outside, the moon watched over him, its silver light a silent promise.
The tides were beginning to shift, and Lian—just a small boy in a frozen land—was preparing to rise with them.