Chapter 26: Rumors, Fire and the Challenge
Yogan's gaze drifted toward Mariko, the fading embers of his previous exertions still flaring behind his eyes. The name Big Boss lingered in the air like smoke after a wildfire, charged and crackling with possibilities he hadn't yet weighed.
He turned to her, his voice low and taut with caution.
"Mariko," he said, "this 'Big Boss'… who is he?"
Mariko's lips parted slightly, her expression betraying a flicker of unease. She looked off toward the towering structure at the edge of the city's heart, as if expecting the very walls to whisper the answer before she did.
"He's the lord of the city," she said quietly. "Guardian, too. Or so they say."
Kenshiro, arms crossed and brow raised, leaned in with sudden curiosity.
"Lord and guardian? Sounds like a children's tale."
Mariko shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know much, truth be told. No one really does. But everyone's heard the rumors."
She paused, letting the weight of those words settle before continuing. "They say he's been running this city from the shadows for decades. Doesn't show his face to just anyone. Some folks claim he doesn't age. That he's made… deals, with powerful spirits, spirits that serve him, guard him. That's how he's kept the city from falling into chaos all these years. Even the Triads steer clear of challenging him directly."
Yogan narrowed his eyes. "Powerful spirits?"
Mariko nodded. "One rumor says he once sealed a mad spirit in a pillar of fire that burns in the mountains to this day. Another says he can walk through flame like it's air and reduce stone to ash with a whisper."
Kenshiro chuckled, though his voice was slightly forced. "Oh, come on. That's rich."
"It's a myth," Haru muttered flatly, arms folded across his chest. "This whole 'Big Boss' thing sounds is like a ghost story told to keep people from asking too many questions. Firebenders don't even come this far south anymore. I've never seen one in my life."
"Neither have I," Yogan admitted, brushing a thumb against his chin. "But I've seen and heard stranger things."
In his mind, the thought echoed: 'I'm the Avatar of Raava, a spirit as old as time. I've walked among the echoes of a past live. I've touched the edge of the Spirit World itself.' Compared to that, a firebending warlord working with spirits didn't seem quite so far-fetched.
Mariko glanced toward Haru. "I've met firebenders before. Not many. But it's true, they're rare down here. When you do meet one, they're usually travelers. Exiles, maybe. I've never heard of a whole clan this far south. But this man… he isn't just a firebender. If the stories are true, he's 'the' firebender of the region."
Before another word could be exchanged, a booming voice cut through the night.
"ENOUGH TALKING!"
All eyes turned toward the source, Boss Shen.
He stepped forward, flanked by a tide of men that seemed to stretch endlessly into the dim morning light. Earthbenders, dozens of them, their arms already braced for action. Mixed in were wiry martial artists, acrobats, street brawlers, thugs, and killers, all watching with anticipation. Behind them stood the towering figure Yogan had seen only moments ago, cloaked in mystery, half-shrouded in the shadows.
Rilo's unconscious body lay on the ground before him. A second body, broad, muscular, unfamiliar to Yogan, was dragged behind.
The Big Boss. He still hadn't moved. Just watched.
"You won't be walking out of here," Shen continued, smirking as he stepped further into the torchlight. "And there's nowhere left to run."
Yogan looked at the odds, dozens, maybe a hundred men. Earthbenders. Martial artists. Boss Shen. And this so-called Big Boss.
He exhaled slowly, then turned toward Kenshiro and Haru.
"Well… I suppose now's a good time to ask. How good are you two in a fight?"
Kenshiro raised a brow. "We never really got around to that, did we? What with all the drinking."
Haru smirked but didn't sound proud. "I can handle myself in a scuffle. Knives mostly. Nothing fancy. But against this crowd?" He gestured toward the army of goons. "I won't be much help."
Kenshiro winked at Mariko. "I'm a lover, not a fighter."
Mariko rolled her eyes and made a gagging noise. "Ew."
Yogan chuckled once. "Good. That settles that. I'll buy you all time to run. Shen and the Big Boss… they're going to be a problem. But if I can hold them off…"
"I got this," Mariko said suddenly.
The words struck like a bolt of lightning.
Yogan blinked. "What?"
Mariko stepped forward, facing Shen with a boldness that drew murmurs from the assembled thugs.
"You always were predictable, Shen," she said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Always hiding behind your goons. Always talking about strength, about being unbeatable. But let's be honest. You're just a coward with an army."
Shen's eyes narrowed. "You've got a death wish, girl?"
"No," Mariko said, smirking. "But I've got a proposition. You and Yogan. One-on-one."
A wave of laughter rolled through Shen's men. Even Shen smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"You're joking," he said. "Look around you. I've got a hundred men. Earthbenders. Fighters. You've got a pair of street rats and a monk."
Yogan stepped forward but let Mariko speak. Her voice cut clean through the air.
"So what?" she said. "Isn't that beneath you? I thought you were the mighty Boss Shen. Breaker of Walls. Conqueror of Daiyo. Are you really so scared of one bender?"
Shen's smile vanished. "You think this is about fear?"
"No," she said, voice like flint. "I think it's about pride. And I think you're too proud to back down from a challenge."
"You want me to fight your little friend here," Shen sneered, motioning to Yogan, "while you all what? Escape?"
"You think we could escape?" Mariko laughed. "Come on. You have us surrounded. But what happens if you kill us all? The people will riot. There's already too much blood in the streets. But if you beat him one-on-one, if you win fair and square, no one questions your rule. You get your pride. Your legacy."
Shen folded his arms. "You think you're clever."
"I know I am."
The two stared at each other for several seconds, tension coiled like a whip between them.
Then Shen tilted his head slightly. "Fine."
Yogan blinked.
Shen continued, "One-on-one. Me and the monk. But when I'm done with him, when he's crawling at my feet, you all die anyway."
"Then let's see you try," Yogan said calmly, stepping forward.
Behind Shen, the Big Boss shifted ever so slightly, but said nothing.
The circle cleared. The night fell quiet, the torch flames flickering in anxious anticipation.
Yogan breathed in deeply, centering himself. He could feel it again, Raava's presence, humming in his bones like ancient song. This wouldn't be easy. Boss Shen was not only strong, he was a brute, a seasoned brawler. And behind him still stood the enigma. The Big Boss. Watching. Waiting.
But Yogan was ready.
He stepped into the clearing, wind curling around his ankles like an old friend.
'Let the fire come.'
The earth shifted beneath his soles, subtle, like something ancient stirring in its sleep. Boss Shen matched his stride with heavy purpose, his shoulders squared like a battering ram, the cracked morning light catching the glint of iron in his armor and the fury in his eyes.
"So," Shen muttered, dusting ash from his sleeves, "the little monk who kicked half my men into a wall."
Yogan didn't answer. He simply exhaled, long and calm. The air curled around him, playful, alive, coiling through his sleeves and hair like a lover's hand.
Mariko stepped back, ushering Haru and Kenshiro with her to the perimeter of the road. Around them, the scattered earthbenders, those not unconscious or buried, stood watching with taut readiness, though none dared interrupt.
Boss Shen cracked his neck to the left, then right. "You get one shot, monk. Then I break you."
He stomped once, hard.
The ground answered.
From the earth beneath his heel, a stone pillar erupted with violent precision, aimed directly at Yogan's chest.
But Yogan was not there.
A blur of motion, a whisper of cloth, he bent sideways, the wind catching him mid-spin. The stone shrieked past his shoulder, pulverizing a wall behind him. Yogan's feet landed lightly, toes barely touching the fractured cobbles, and he twisted his hips with the grace of a reed in water, redirecting the gust through his palms.
Another pillar launched.
He leapt over it, twisting midair with a serenity that defied gravity. The air followed, catching him, slowing him, an invisible current folding beneath his robes. He landed again, light and sure.
Then the assault began.
Shen surged forward with a guttural roar. The ground rippled in his wake, stone tiles buckling and exploding upward in waves. Each stomp summoned another jagged projectile, boulders, slabs, spears of shale. Earth bent to his fury.
Yogan moved through it like a ghost.
He ducked beneath a rising wall, flipped over a spinning disc of granite, and turned the force of an incoming boulder into a swirling gust that shattered it in midair. Dust filled the space between them, thick and choking, but it parted where he walked, drawn into the currents swirling around his limbs.
Shen snarled and slammed both palms to the ground.
A row of jagged spires tore from the earth, racing toward Yogan like the teeth of a buried serpent. Yogan's body dipped into a roll, hands pressed to the ground as he twisted beneath the stone fangs. The wind curled through his path, deflecting debris, softening the force of the next wave.
He rose to one knee, breath measured.
His hand traced a circle in the air, slow, graceful.
A vortex of wind exploded outward from his position, catching the rising dust and scattering it into spiraling light. It struck Shen in the chest, not hard enough to harm, but enough to stagger his next move.
Shen gritted his teeth. "You dodge like a child. You fight like you're dancing."
Yogan's eyes were calm. "And yet you haven't touched me."
A howl escaped Shen's throat. He raised his arms, then thrust them down with all the force of a hammer falling from the heavens.
The ground beneath Yogan collapsed.
Chunks of stone dropped like broken teeth. The crater bloomed wide beneath him. For a heartbeat, Yogan was gone.
Then…
A roar of wind blasted upward from the pit. From its center, Yogan launched, spinning into the air. The sunlight caught its edge as he flipped once, twice, and landed on the rim of the shattered plaza.
He didn't speak.
But the air around him sang.
Shen's eyes narrowed. He turned, this time dragging his heel across the ground in a wide arc. From that motion rose a curving wall of stone, towering, shield-like. Then he followed with a fist forward, propelling the entire slab toward Yogan with terrifying speed.
Yogan stood still.
Then, just as the stone reached him, he moved, not away, but toward.
A pivot.
A breath.
He stepped into the arc of the flying wall, twisting his torso, guiding his hand like a sail catching wind. The current rushed beneath the stone's surface, turning its weight. He shifted again, and the slab veered mid-flight, crashing not into him, but into the remnants of a watchtower behind.
Stone and timber exploded.
From the wreckage, Shen charged. His fist cocked back, wrapped in sheared rock. He brought it down like a meteor.
Yogan caught it with a gust.
A ring of wind erupted beneath his feet, catching Shen's descending force. Dust shot outward in all directions. The two stood, locked for a moment, one grounded like the mountain, the other light as the cloud.
Then Shen pulled his arm free, took a step back, and grunted. "You're fast. I'll give you that."
He stomped again, and the ground opened beneath Yogan's feet.
Yogan dropped, caught air mid-fall, and twisted, floating backward onto stable ground. His robes fluttered in gentle waves around his form. For every brutal step Shen took, the Avatar's steps were measured, poetic, almost sacramental.
Across the courtyard, the spectators watched in stunned silence.
Mariko leaned forward, whispering more to herself than the others. "He's not attacking. He's just defending… like a dancer waiting for his cue."
Kenshiro gritted his teeth. "Or stalling."
"Maybe both," Haru muttered. "But damn if it isn't beautiful."
Boss Shen roared, furious now, no longer the calculating warlord but a juggernaut of rage and stone. He slammed his foot down, three times.
A massive slab of rock rose behind him. Then, with both arms raised, he hurled it through the air with impossible force.
Yogan didn't flinch.
He stepped forward once.
His arms swept in twin arcs, open, then closed.
A cyclone of air burst forth.
It caught the slab mid-trajectory, lifted it, spun it, and shattered it into shards that scattered like sand into the morning sky.
As the dust settled, Yogan stood alone in the center of the storm.
Shen was panting now, chest heaving, sweat tracing lines through the dust on his face.
Yogan's breathing remained slow. Unbothered.
They stared at each other, earth and air, fury and calm.
The silence between them crackled.
The battle had not yet ended.
But it had only just begun.
The hush that followed was brief. Too brief.
Boss Shen bared his teeth and surged forward with the force of a landslide.
But Yogan no longer moved to dodge.
He moved to cut.
In an instant, his posture shifted, not the meditative stillness of defense, but the poised stillness of a predator.
His left foot slid back, toes brushing across the dust. His right palm rose, not to block, but to draw in the air with deliberate grace. His body leaned, spine bending like a willow caught in a breeze.
The wind howled.
Yogan vanished.
A sudden blast of compressed air launched him forward, too fast for Shen's eyes. He reappeared a heartbeat later, just beside the warlord's right flank, robes snapping behind him like a thunderclap. His hand swept low in a circular motion, and with a sound like a hundred whips cracking at once, the air snapped into a razor-thin arc.
Blood sprayed from Shen's thigh as he grunted and staggered.
A gasp rippled through the ring of earthbenders.
Yogan didn't pause. He pivoted into another spiral, rising on the balls of his feet, spinning like a gale wrapped in flesh. Each movement carved wind into weapons, narrow jets slicing through the battlefield, lifting loose stone and rubble, turning it into shrapnel that flayed Shen's armor.
Stone shattered. Bone cracked. Shen reeled, swatting with crude slabs of earth that barely caught the wind's edge before they were torn apart.
Yogan ducked low under a wild punch, palm pressed to the dirt. He exhaled sharply.
The air beneath Shen's feet exploded.
The man roared as he was flung into the air, legs buckling, arms flailing. Yogan followed, he didn't leap so much as rise, carried on a twisting updraft that coiled beneath his feet like a serpent lifting its master.
Mid-air, they collided.
Yogan struck first, a sweeping heel kick propelled by a blast from his opposite hand. The impact cracked the sound barrier. Shen's head snapped sideways. Blood burst from his mouth.
They landed, Yogan like a dancer, light and fluid, already moving into the next motion. Shen crashed like a toppled statue, cratering the street beneath him.
Yogan turned, both arms spread wide. With a single sweeping motion, he brought the wind inward.
The buildings flanking the street groaned. Roof tiles snapped free. Doors were wrenched from hinges. Debris lifted into the air, stones, barrels, broken beams. They swirled around him in an ever-tightening spiral, orbiting faster and faster, forming a storm that screamed with his fury.
Then he threw it.
The tornado struck Shen just as he rose to his knees.
It swallowed him whole.
The wind peeled back layers of the street, tearing at stone foundations. The façade of a nearby warehouse exploded outward, windows bursting, walls caving. A second building crumbled, its frame twisted by the gale, and fell inward with a sound like thunder giving birth to ruin.
Still Yogan moved, each gesture measured, furious, elegant.
He stepped forward, twisted his wrist, and the spiral compressed.
Stone and wind hammered inward. Shen's howl of rage was swallowed by the shrieking current.
A moment later, the storm collapsed, falling into sudden silence.
Dust rained down in drifts.
At the epicenter of the devastation, Boss Shen lay half-buried in debris, armor cracked and bleeding from a dozen cuts. His limbs trembled, his lip split and oozing red onto the ruined cobblestones.
Yogan approached, his footsteps disturbingly soft.
He didn't look like a man walking toward his enemy.
He looked like a force of nature simply passing through the remains.
Shen forced himself up on one arm, spitting blood. "You think this is over?"
Yogan's hand snapped upward, fingers slicing through the air.
A burst of compressed wind slammed into Shen's chest and sent him sprawling against the ruins of a shattered column. The force pinned him there, ribs creaking under the pressure.
Yogan walked forward.
No flourish. No speech.
Just power.
A downward slash of his hand, and Shen's left arm was pinned by a jet of wind. Another slash, his right arm. Then his legs.
He was crucified to the stone by nothing but air.
Yogan stopped just a few feet away. His expression unreadable. Serene, but distant, as though his fury had passed through and left behind only something cold and clean.
He raised one hand slowly.
The wind coalesced at his fingertips. A narrow current, spinning like a drill, whining like a wasp. It shimmered, almost invisible, until it sliced a shallow cut along Shen's cheek.
Blood welled.
Yogan's voice came, not loud, but like a temple bell ringing in the center of the storm.
"This is the moment," he said. "Where you ask yourself what comes next."
Shen, panting, trembling, met his gaze, and saw no hatred there.
Only judgment.
Behind them, the watchers stood in horrified silence.
Even Mariko said nothing.
Even Kenshiro forgot his jokes.
And Haru, who had once scoffed at stories of wind-benders and spirit-chosen warriors, stared with something like reverence, and fear.
Yogan stood still, his palm half-raised, the tendrils of wind curling back toward his sleeve like obedient serpents dismissed.
Shen hung in the air, pinned, humiliated, broken. Blood trickled down his face in uneven streams. His chest rose and fell like a bellows. He was beaten.
And then…
He screamed.
A sound not of pain, but of rage.
The air exploded outward as Shen slammed both feet into the stone wall behind him with such force that it shattered beneath him. The bindings of wind fractured. With a bellow like the cracking of the world, the earth itself answered him.
The ground convulsed.
Stone surged upward in violent spikes. The plaza collapsed into upheaval. Buildings, whole buildings, lurched on their foundations, their walls erupting into jagged shards. Windows shattered. Beams snapped. Dust erupted into the morning air like volcanic ash.
Boss Shen rose from the debris, caked in blood and filth, madness writ across his face.
"You think you win?" he snarled, eyes glowing with fury. "You think this is done?!"
With a stomp that cracked the paving stones, he hurled a monolith of stone at Yogan. Not shaped, torn, ripped from the street itself. It flew like a mountain given flight.
Yogan somersaulted back, wind bursting beneath his heels, pushing him upward as the stone obliterated the space where he had stood. He spun midair, arms crossing in a sharp arc.
A slicing gale shot forward, splitting the monolith in two.
But Shen wasn't done.
Not even close.
He drove both fists into the ground, and a wall rose, then another, then another. Great slabs of the city street peeled upward, crashing down like falling cliffs. The sky vanished in stone.
Yogan flipped once, wind carving a path between the descending boulders. A stray chunk clipped his shoulder, he winced, spiraling sideways, but caught himself with a burst from his palm. He landed hard, skidding through rubble.
"KILL THEM!" Shen roared. "All of them! NOW!"
His men obeyed without hesitation.
Three earthbenders peeled away, surging toward Mariko, Haru, and Kenshiro, their arms already raised in crushing stances.
Yogan's heart snapped between two instincts. He took one step toward Shen, then pivoted toward his friends.
'What would Wan do?'
The thought pierced him. The roar of collapsing buildings fell into a distant hum. Shen's roar, the screams, it all faded.
And in the silence of that moment, he remembered.
"You'll never walk my exact path. You're not meant to. You're meant to carve your own."
Yogan's eyes opened, sharpened, hardened.
Wind curled at his heels.
And then…
He became the storm.
He spun once, a single tight motion, and the gale rose.
Not a gust.
Not a breeze.
But a typhoon.
Air erupted outward, flattening the street. Debris lifted in a tornado of raw fury, bending around him like arms of a wrathful god. Shen's next boulder attack was caught midair, and shattered like chalk beneath a hammer.
Then Yogan ran.
His feet didn't touch the ground, carried by the wind, he glided toward the trio under attack.
A fountain in the corner of the plaza burst.
He reached out, and the water obeyed, hesitantly, sluggishly.
But it moved.
Tendrils lifted, awkward and uncertain. His fingers clenched, his arms pulled downward.
The water surged forward in a clumsy wave, knocking two of the charging earthbenders off their feet.
"What the…?!" Haru ducked, wiping water from his face. "Did he just, did he just bend water?!"
Kenshiro stared, stunned. "That's not possible. He's an airbender."
Mariko's mouth parted slightly. "No… no. I've heard stories. Of General Wan, the man who wielded all four elements. Could it be…?"
"But he only used two," Haru snapped. "He barely controlled that splash! Wan could move rivers."
"Still," Kenshiro muttered, watching as the water curled around Yogan's arm, thin as silk, "I've never seen anything like it."
The remaining earthbender charged forward, Yogan raised the water again, trying to mimic the flow he'd once practiced with Rilo.
It sputtered.
The stream broke apart mid-air. Sloshed to the ground like spilled soup.
The earthbender plowed through it, roaring, hurling a jagged stone from his sleeve.
Yogan bent backward, the rock grazing his chest. He stumbled, but twisted, arm carving a sharp arc.
And the wind came again.
He spun, faster this time.
Faster.
The air screamed.
A tornado burst outward, catching the stone mid-flight, spinning it back toward its thrower. It struck the earthbender in the gut, he folded, collapsing into rubble.
Two more stepped forward.
Yogan didn't stop.
His hand swept forward, and a gust caught one by the chest, lifting him, flipping him end over end into the crumbling remains of a bakery.
Another launched a stone spike, but Yogan leapt.
Mid-air, he inhaled.
And exhaled.
The breath itself became a cannon of compressed force. It struck the bender square in the chest, knocking him twenty feet across the plaza.
More rushed in.
Three. Four. Five.
Yogan landed between them.
Spun.
Arms rose, then fell.
Wind coiled at his feet, and burst upward in a dome, hurling attackers backward. Bones cracked. Armor dented. The ground itself cratered.
Shen watched from the far edge, eyes wide.
"IMPOSSIBLE!" he bellowed.
Yogan turned toward him.
Blood at his temple. Hair matted to his cheek. Chest heaving.
But standing.
Still.
Wind curled at his back. Water dripped from his arms. Dust spiraled around him like a halo of ruin.
He wasn't speaking.
He didn't need to.
He was winning.
The earth groaned beneath Shen's feet.
He stepped forward, dragging the ground with him, shaping it into a titanic wave of rock.
But Yogan was already moving.
No longer dancing.
No longer graceful.
Now he cut.
With every breath.
Yogan's lungs burned.
His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of a war drum, air rattling through his throat like it no longer belonged to him. The plaza around him lay in ruin, stones shattered, timber splintered, dust hanging in lazy coils across the broken skyline.
But still, Shen stood.
Bruised, bloodied, battered.
But standing.
The warlord roared, lifting the ground beneath his feet into a pillar. Stone clutched at him like armor, crawling across his shoulders and wrapping around his arms, jagged and raw. A helmet of rock formed over his brow.
He looked like a walking mountain.
Yogan raised his palm and turned his wrist in a slow circle.
The wind answered.
A high whine built in the air. Leaves, debris, fragments of shattered tile swirled toward him, drawn into the vortex forming at his feet. His robes danced around his body. His eyes narrowed, sharp and clear.
Shen lunged.
The ground buckled beneath him with every step. He tore a boulder from the earth and flung it with primal rage.
Yogan didn't move.
He breathed.
Then he spoke, barely above a whisper.
"Fall."
He twisted both hands forward.
The air collapsed.
Not an explosion, a compression. Wind folded inward on itself, impossibly fast and tight. It struck the boulder in flight, turning it to gravel. Shen had no time to react before a second gust hit him square in the chest.
He flew backward.
Yogan followed, gliding atop a cushion of wind.
He struck Shen with a sweeping gust from below, lifting the massive man midair. Shen twisted, trying to bend the stone around him, but Yogan was already behind him, spinning.
The wind scythed.
It slammed into Shen's back with the sound of a war gong. His armor cracked. The breath flew from his lungs.
He dropped to one knee.
Yogan landed a few paces away. The wind churned around him, less a tool, more an extension of his anger.
He extended both arms outward. Air spun to his left, then his right, then up, forming a triple helix of motion that folded in on itself.
Shen rose.
With a final bellow, he drove both fists into the earth.
A wall of stone erupted forward.
Yogan stepped into the spiral.
One motion.
One breath.
He released the wind.
It tore forward, not a blast, but a blade. The edge of it hit the stone wall and sheared it in half. The pieces spun into the sky and rained down in smoking shards.
Shen stumbled. His foot slipped.
Yogan raised his hand, and slammed the air down.
The pressure struck Shen's shoulder and forced him flat to the ground, coughing, his limbs twitching in agony.
The battle was over.
Yogan exhaled, but he did not relax.
He walked forward, lifting one hand toward the shattered fountain. What little water remained swirled in uncertain spirals, tugging at the stone basin as if reluctant to obey.
It came.
Slow, sluggish.
Unpracticed.
He gathered it near his palm, barely keeping its shape. His brow furrowed in concentration.
Then he dropped to one knee, pressed his hand to Shen's side, and whispered something only the water could hear.
The liquid responded. It surged, wrapped around Shen's arms and chest, crept upward, then stiffened.
A breath later, it froze.
The ice locked Shen's limbs in place. He thrashed, cursing, but the cold bit deeper.
Yogan stood over him, panting, staring down at the man.
"I won't kill you," he said, voice low. "But I won't let you rise again."
Then…
A voice.
Deep. Coarse. Measured.
"So. You've come."
Yogan froze.
The hairs along his arms rose.
The plaza, already a ruin, shifted.
The wind stilled.
The air heated.
Not warmth. Weight. Pressure. As if the world itself were suddenly closer to the sun.
Yogan turned slowly.
Across the broken stones and shattered shops, at the far edge of the city, a figure approached. Step by step. Not fast. Not slow.
But certain.
Each footfall echoed. The temperature rose. Steam hissed from puddles. Stone cracked beneath his steps. Dust lifted from the ground in trembling coils.
And Yogan saw him.
The robes were dark, ash black. Long. Unbroken by ornament or pattern. But behind the folds came waves of heat that shimmered the air. His movements were neither heavy nor light, but exact. There was no wasted motion. No hesitation.
As he drew closer, the figure lifted his head.
A mane of long black hair, parted by age but still thick, spilled down to his shoulders. His sideburns framed a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. His skin, darkened by time and sun, bore faint traces of old fire scars.
And his eyes,
Not gold.
Ember.
Molten rings burning in deep sockets, smoldering with ancient fury.
He stopped ten paces away from Yogan.
"I can smell her on you," he said.
The words were fire wrapped in silk.
Yogan's lips parted.
A name, unbidden, fell from them like an echo in a forgotten temple.
"Mun Lao."
The man didn't smile.
But something in his brow lifted.
"I see," he said quietly.
Then he tilted his head.
"So what you told me… was true, Raava."
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