John Wick in Avatar the Last Airbender

As the figure and the mist receded, fading like whispers on the wind, a sudden shift in the air sent a ripple through the stillness.

Kalsang felt it immediately; a presence unlike the one before. This was no ancient spirit watching from the edges of the void. This was something else. Something… human.

And then, through the swirling remnants of mist, another figure emerged. He was an older man, broad-shouldered, with a belly that spoke of indulgence yet carried the presence of one who had seen and endured much.

His hair and beard were thick, silver like moonlight, and his warm golden eyes widened slightly upon seeing Kalsang. For a moment, both men stood frozen, equally caught off guard.

Then, a slow smile spread across the older man's face, "Well now… this is unexpected."

Kalsang's stance remained guarded, though curiosity flickered in his eyes, "Who are you?"

The old man chuckled, his belly shaking slightly with the motion, "I have had many names, but most knew me as Iroh."

He clasped his hands behind his back, his smile turning into something more thoughtful, "And you… you are not where, or when, you are supposed to be, are you?"

Kalsang's gaze sharpened, "You know me?"

Iroh studied him for a long moment, then let out a knowing hum, "Not exactly. But I know of you."

His expression turned strangely distant, as if recalling something just out of reach, "You… are a man displaced. A soul unanchored. A storm given form."

Kalsang said nothing, but Iroh's words struck something within him.

The old man sighed, shaking his head, "Ah, the Spirit World works in strange ways. It seems I have travelled far back, and you…" he chuckled again, though softer this time, "You are a difficult man to place, aren't you?"

Kalsang narrowed his eyes, "You speak as if you know my future."

Iroh's smile turned enigmatic, "Time in this realm is… flexible. Like water slipping through one's fingers," he waved a hand, the fog shifting at his gesture, "But let us not dwell on what is or what will be. You are here now, and so am I. And that, my friend, is enough reason to have a proper conversation. Ad some tea!"

The old general sat down on nothing, as though the air itself had offered him a cushion. He patted the space next to him, gesturing for Kalsang to do the same while a tea set swirled into existence in front of him.

Kalsang hesitated but eventually sat, his posture still wary.

Iroh took a slow breath, looking around at the misty expanse while handing Joh the cup of green tea, "Tell me… what do you fight for?"

The question was simple. Too simple. Kalsang took a sip of the steaming tea, "Survival."

Iroh's brows lifted slightly. "Just survival?"

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Kalsang's expression, "Vengeance," he admitted.

Iroh let out a deep hum, "Ah."

He clasped his hands together, his gaze steady, "And tell me, does vengeance fill the lungs as air does? Does it nourish as food and drink do? Does it give you rest?"

Kalsang exhaled sharply, "It keeps me standing."

"Perhaps~" Iroh nodded, "But is standing enough?"

Kalsang's fingers curled into fists, "It is all I have left."

Silence stretched between them. Then, Iroh smiled again, but this time it was tinged with something sad, "You remind me of someone I once knew."

Kalsang studied him. "Who?"

Iroh waved a dismissive hand, "A stubborn young man who believed strength was measured only in power…" he sighed, "He learned otherwise, though it took him many years."

Kalsang tilted his head, "And what did he learn?"

Iroh's gaze turned sharp, piercing, "That true strength lies not just in power, but in control."

Kalsang frowned.

Iroh grinned, clearly pleased, "Power is raw, untamed, chaotic. But control… control is knowing when to strike and when to wait. When to bend and when to stand firm."

He tapped his fingers together, "You fight with efficiency, precision. That much is clear. But tell me… do you fight with yourself just as much as you fight others?"

Kalsang did not respond.

Iroh chuckled, "Ah, I thought so," he lifted a hand, palm facing outward. "Let me teach you something, then."

The mist shifted again, swirling as though answering his call, "Chi," Iroh continued, "is the foundation of all bending. It is the breath of the world, the energy within us. Without it, we are nothing more than flesh and bone."

He tapped his own chest, "A warrior must know how to cultivate it, how to strengthen it. But more importantly, how to control it."

With a fluid motion, Iroh moved his fingers in a delicate, swirling pattern. The air around his hand shimmered, and Kalsang could feel the flow of energy, subtle yet undeniable.

"By mastering chi, one does not simply enhance their own abilities," Iroh said, "They also learn how to disrupt the flow of others."

He smiled, "A useful skill, wouldn't you agree?"

Kalsang's gaze darkened slightly, "Chi blocking?"

"Ah, you catch on quickly!" Iroh laughed, "Yes. To strike not with brute force, but with precision. To disable rather than destroy," his voice softened, "To defeat an enemy without killing them."

Kalsang's expression was unreadable.

Iroh observed him for a moment before sighing, "I do not expect you to change overnight, my friend. But knowledge is never a burden," he reached out, placing a warm hand on Kalsang's shoulder, "Train your mind as well as your body. Master yourself, and you will master the world."

Kalsang met his gaze, then, for the first time, dipped his head slightly, "Thank you."

Iroh smiled, then, strangely, his expression turned unreadable, "…John," he murmured, testing the name as if pulling it from some distant memory.

Then, his smile deepened, "No… Kalsang. You owe me one."

Kalsang raised a brow, but before he could respond, Iroh flicked his green robes with a knowing smirk and took a step back, "Please," he said, his voice carrying a weight Kalsang did not yet understand, "Remember this debt."

And with that, the mist swirled once more, until Kalsang gasped awake, the morning rays filtering through the trees, the wind whispering against his skin, carrying the echoes of a conversation he was not sure had ever truly happened.