Master Tenzin stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms folded within the folds of his robes, watching Kalsang with a growing sense of unease.
It had been years since he had taken the boy as his own, raising him, guiding him along the path of an airbender. He had not expected him to have problems with taking the mantle as an airbender, however everything changed after he got his tattoos.
In the past few years since gaining his tattoos, Kalsang did not struggle with the teachings once. He rejected them outright.
Tenzin's sharp eyes followed the boy's movements as he trained. There was no hesitation, no fluidity, no trace of the effortless grace that defined airbending.
Instead, there was precision. Cold, controlled precision akin to a firebender. Kalsang did not move with the wind. He forced it to move with him.
With a sharp breath, the boy extended his finger, and in an instant, a small, highly compressed burst of air shot forward, striking the stone pillar in front of him.
A deep, resonating crack echoed through the temple grounds as the pillar that held nothing up and was created solely for training of the movement abilities of airbenders, had a fingernail-sized hole going right through it.
Tenzin exhaled slowly, his heart heavy, "Kalsang."
The boy turned; his expression unreadable. He was calm, as always. Too calm for someone so young, "Yes, Master?"
Tenzin stepped forward, glancing at the cracked stone, "That technique again… what do you call it again… bullet?"
Kalsang nodded, "Yes."
The old monk sighed, clasping his hands behind his back, "Tell me, Kalsang; why do you shape your bending in such a way? Airbenders are not warriors. We are seekers, students of balance and freedom. Yet your movements are rigid, forceful. You strike instead of flowing. You command the air instead of allowing it to guide you."
Kalsang tilted his head slightly, as if considering his answer, "I do what is necessary, Master."
Tenzin frowned. That word again. Necessary. A word spoken by warriors, by those who believed the world could only be shaped by force. But Kalsang had grown up here, in the safety of the temple, surrounded by monks who had known nothing but peace.
What could he possibly believe to be necessary?
The elder monk sighed, his expression softening, "Kalsang, air is freedom. It is not meant to be wielded like a weapon, not meant to be shaped by anger or attachment. We, as airbenders, learn to let go, to release what burdens us. But you..." He studied the boy carefully, "You do not let go. You hold on to something. Something deep, something I cannot see."
Kalsang said nothing. His grey eyes, sharp and piercing, met Tenzin's own.
Tenzin continued, "I have raised you since you were a small child. You were not born into war, nor into suffering. You have never been shackled, never been hunted. And yet, I feel in you the weight of a grudge far older than yourself. Why?"
Still, silence.
Tenzin watched him, searching for some crack in the boy's unshakable demeanour, "What is it that you cannot let go of?"
For the first time, something flickered across Kalsang's expression; something dark, something almost pained. But it was gone just as quickly as it came.
"I don't know what you mean, Master," Kalsang finally said. His voice was level, respectful. Too respectful, "I am only trying to master my bending."
Tenzin let out a slow breath, studying him, "Mastery is not just in the body, Kalsang. It is in the mind. In the soul. And yours is anchored to something. Do you not feel it?"
Kalsang's fingers twitched, but he remained still.
Tenzin stepped forward, lowering his voice, "What do you see when you close your eyes, Kalsang?"
For the first time in his life, the boy hesitated. Tenzin saw it; the slightest flicker of hesitation, of something buried deep beneath the surface. And then, just as quickly, Kalsang blinked, and his expression returned to its usual, unreadable calm.
"I see the path ahead," he answered. Tenzin sighed. The boy was lying.
"You are a gifted bender, Kalsang," he said at last. "Perhaps the most talented I have seen in many years. But power without wisdom is a storm without direction. You must let go, before it consumes you."
Kalsang bowed, a picture of perfect obedience, "Yes, Master."
And yet, as he turned back to his training, Tenzin knew. Kalsang had not let go. He would not. The storm inside him was not fading. It was growing.
And one day, it would break.