6 Prologues: The Resurrected

Koda...Koda...Koda... "Yo, Koda. Koda!"

     Koda snapped his head up. "Where'd you go, man? You haven't drunk too much already, have you?" Koda shook his head, laughing at his friend. "Nah, you know I just zone out sometimes. No biggie." Koda shrugged it off, but he was a bit rattled. His zoning out, as he called it, wasn't just daydreaming. It came in episodes, visions and intrusive thoughts that didn't belong to him. It was nearly impossible to reach him until the visions were gone, and the episodes were happening more and more frequently. He knew it was a side effect of ignoring his Avatar self.

     A body nestled itself against Koda's left shoulder, and he looked down to see the flushed cheeks of Azura. He fought not to grimace, but just rolled his eyes. The girl was two years younger than he was and had been hitting on him unsuccessfully for months. She just wouldn't take the hint! Koda turned back to Izaya and they clinked bottles.

     Life on Ember Island was peaceful. Koda had just finished schooling, and they were having a party to celebrate their graduation. They had stayed outside all day, playing volleyball and fire bender games, drinking and pulling pranks. Koda had never felt happier. Izaya's cheeks were flushed from alcohol, his amber eyes squinted in laughter. Koda thought he was beautiful.

     But...he couldn't shake the vision. "Ya know, I think I'm gonna hit the futon," Koda admitted. Izaya's glow dampened just a little. Koda gently removed Azura from his arm and hugged his friend goodbye, trekking up the beach back to his home. Away from the bonfire, the atmosphere was dark, damp, and thoughtful. Stars winked like thoughts flitting through Koda's brain, too fast to catch hold of.

     His small hut greeted him as familiarly as Izaya, and he scraped his sandy feet against the reed mat before entering. Inside was pitch dark, but memory allowed Koda to bend flames into the lanterns hung around the room. His hut was enough for one person, and Koda kept it as clean as he could. The floor was swept, but his belongings were strewn everywhere. It wasn't nasty or anything. Just messy.

     He tucked a few things away before stripping and getting into bed. He lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn't come. His visions were calling him. He kept seeing devastation like he'd never seen before. Devastation that none of the Avatars had seen before. It worried him horribly. He didn't want to be the Avatar.

     He closed his eyes, and vines crawled across his eyelids. He saw the remnants of his vision; landscapes dead and dying, people everywhere bunched in sorrow. His eyes popped open. He rubbed tears away and took deep breaths. He was sure that things would work themselves out without him. The world didn't need an Avatar. It didn't need him. He didn't want it to need him. He just wanted a simple life, with simple pleasures and simple problems.

     But the dying nations wouldn't let him sleep. The Avatar curled up in on his side, and wept.