John Wick in Avatar the Last Airbender

Kalsang stood at the edge of the mountain plateau, his sharp eyes sweeping over the makeshift camp where the last remnants of the Air Nomads were settling in for the night. The firelight flickered in the cold wind, casting dancing shadows against the rough stone. The scent of charred wood mixed with the crisp mountain air, a quiet reminder that for all their survival, they were still running.

His people. His responsibility.

He had trained them, turned them into something more than what they were before. They were no longer the detached, peace-loving monks that had once inhabited the temples. They had been reforged in the crucible of war, their airbending honed to precision, their philosophy reshaped.

He had taught them to fight, to wield the wind not just as a shield but as a sword. He had taught the non-benders as well, transforming them into warriors capable of taking down benders with nothing more than their hands and an understanding of chi.

And yet, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

The Fire Nation was still out there, expanding, devouring everything in its path. The war was no longer a storm on the horizon—it had already come, and it would not stop until every last trace of their people was erased from existence.

He had seen it with his own eyes. Entire villages of the Earth kingdom lay waste to the might of the fire nation's military.

The nomads could not keep running forever. The world was vast, but the Fire Nation was relentless. No matter how well they hid, sooner or later, they would be found. They needed more than survival.

They needed a future.

And so, Kalsang had made his decision. He would leave. Not to abandon them, but to search for what they needed most; a sanctuary, a place where they could remain unseen until they were strong enough to stand against the flames that had consumed their homes.

The answer lay in knowledge. He had found the scroll among those of the Southern Air Temple while he was there, hidden away in the depths of their archives. It had detailed places of great spiritual and historical significance across the world.

One name stood out above all others: Wan Shi Tong's Library.

A hidden library, deep within the Si Wong Desert, containing the wisdom of the ages. If there was any place that held the secrets to ensuring the survival of his people, it was there.

But the journey would be treacherous. The desert was a vast and merciless expanse, and the Fire Nation had already begun its invasion of the Earth Kingdom. Traveling with a group would be too dangerous.

This was a path he had to walk alone.

His gaze lingered on the people before him; some still awake, murmuring in soft voices, others curled up beneath the shelter of their blankets, their chests rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

They had come so far. But their journey was far from over.

A small tug at his sleeve pulled him from his thoughts. He looked down to see the same young girl staring up at him who had spoken to him when they first began this escape, her eyes swollen from crying.

She was one of the youngest among them, yet to receive her tattoos, yet to fully grasp the weight of what had happened to their people. She sniffled, rubbing at her nose before whispering, "Master Kalsang... where are you going?"

Her voice was fragile, as if she feared the answer.

For a moment, Kalsang was silent. Then, with a quiet smile, he knelt before her, placing a gentle hand on her head, "To the future," he said softly, "A future that must be built, not simply fled from."

She looked at him, confused, but before she could speak again, he stood, "I have left instructions," he continued, raising his voice slightly so the others who were still awake could hear, "If the Fire Nation finds you, there are paths you must take. Travel in small groups. Move only at night. And if you have no other choice… flee to Ba Sing Se. The walls will hold, for now."

The girl's eyes glistened with fresh tears, her voice small as she asked, "But... how will you travel? You don't have a sky bison."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, "Who said I needed one?"

Then, with a single step, he rose.

A gust of wind swirled beneath him, lifting him into the air, his long dark hair whipping around his face. The gasps of the others filled the silence as he floated higher, unsupported, his glowing blue tattoos stark against the night sky.

This was more than gliding; this was true flight. The technique was legendary, the murals depicting times long passed had airbenders achieving this, but nobody in recent history had done it successfully.

The technique itself took an incredible toll on his body. The sheer control of chi required to shape the wind beneath him, to keep himself suspended, was immense. But once he was moving, the effort would lessen. The air itself would carry him forward, much like how a bird did not need to constantly flap its wings to stay aloft.

This was not truly the way in which ancient airbenders took flight. They had completely let go of all earthly attachments, which allowed them to let the wind take them into the skies. That was not what Kalsang was doing. No, he forced the air to keep him airborne, his will shaping reality through chi.

The others stared up at him in awe. He met their gazes one last time, his voice carried on the wind, "Remember what I have taught you. Survive. I will be back with somewhere to live together… a place where the elderly can rest and the children and grow up, while we can build our forces. A Home."

Then, without another word, he vanished into the night, leaving behind only the whisper of the wind.