V2.C24. The Avatars of Raava

Chapter 24: The Avatars of Raava

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and mildew, a testament to the age and neglect of the basement beneath the city guards' building. The walls, carved from rough stone, were slick with condensation, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the dimly lit corridors. The only light came from a single flickering torch mounted outside the iron-barred cell, casting long, wavering shadows across the dirt floor. The cell itself was small, barely large enough for a person to lie down, and the floor was covered in a layer of loose dirt that had been disturbed countless times by the shuffling of feet. Yet, in the center of this grim space, Yogan sat in perfect stillness, his posture erect and his legs folded beneath him in the lotus position.

His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and deliberate. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm so steady it seemed almost unnatural, as though he were not entirely of this world. His hands rested lightly on his knees, palms facing upward, and his fingers curled gently as if cradling an invisible sphere. His face was serene, untouched by the filth of his surroundings, and his dark hair, though matted with sweat and grime, framed his features like a shadowy halo. He was a picture of calm amidst the chaos, a lone island of tranquility in a sea of despair.

As he sat there, a subtle change began to take place. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, charged with an unseen energy. The dirt beneath him stirred, as if disturbed by a gentle breeze, though no wind could reach this deep underground. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Yogan began to rise. It was not a sudden leap or a dramatic ascent, but a gradual lifting, as though the earth itself had decided to release him. The current of air beneath him swirled with increasing intensity, lifting him until he hovered a few inches above the ground. His body remained perfectly still, his expression unchanged, as though this defiance of gravity were the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, he hung there, suspended in the air like a leaf caught in an updraft. Then, as quietly as it had begun, the current subsided, and Yogan lowered back to the ground, his feet touching the dirt with the lightness of a feather. His eyes remained closed, his concentration unbroken, as though the entire event had been nothing more than a fleeting thought.

---

In the spirit world, the scene was vastly different. Here, the air was crisp and clear, filled with the faint scent of blooming flowers and the distant sound of rustling leaves. The landscape was a surreal blend of vibrant colors and shifting shapes, where the rules of the physical world held no sway. Yogan stood beside Wan, his predecessor, in a tranquil meadow bathed in the soft glow of an eternal twilight. The grass beneath their feet shimmered with a faint luminescence, and the trees around them seemed to sway to a rhythm only they could hear.

Yogan took a seat in the lotus position, just as he had in the physical world. His movements were fluid and deliberate, a reflection of the discipline he had cultivated over years of training. Wan watched him with a mixture of pride and curiosity, his arms crossed over his chest and a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Your concentration has improved significantly," Wan observed, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of approval. "You can now enter and exit the spirit world at will."

Yogan nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I think my airbending has also improved a great deal," he said. "The techniques you've shown me have made a difference."

Wan's smile widened slightly. "Since you cannot enter here physically, you cannot bend," he explained. "But the techniques I've shared with you have helped bridge that gap. Remember, the memories I've shared about mastering airbending are only effective because you were already so close to mastering it. I cannot do the same for the other three elements."

Yogan absorbed this information with a quiet nod. "I understand," he said. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he added, "Well, then, what about the other state? The one where I lost control of myself. The Avatar State."

Wan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "The Avatar State?" he repeated, testing the words on his tongue.

"I think it's a fitting name, don't you?" Yogan asked. "A state where we can access the full power of Raava and bend all four elements simultaneously with great power."

Wan considered this for a moment, his gaze distant as though he were recalling a distant memory. "Well, another word for vessel is avatar," Yogan continued. "You were the first vessel—the first avatar. The other day, Raava referred to you as avatar. We are the Avatars of Raava."

Wan chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to blend with the rustling of the leaves. "You seem to have put a lot of thought into this," he said. "The Avatar of Raava, huh?" He paused, as if testing the sound of the words. "It's a bit of a mouthful."

Yogan tilted his head, considering this. "What about just 'The Avatar' then?" he suggested. "Neither a sentence nor a statement, but a title."

Wan's eyes sparkled with amusement. "The Avatar, huh? The Avatar State? I think we have a winner," he agreed. Then, his expression grew more serious. "The Avatar State is a very powerful and dangerous state of being. It took me a long time to master it—to reach a point where I didn't feel my energy drained and where I could access it at will. I realized this only happened when I finally mastered the other elements to the same degree I had mastered fire. I finally understood all the elements deeper and what they represented—how to wield them. That was when I was able to keep my mind while in the Avatar State."

Yogan listened intently, his gaze fixed on Wan as the older man paced back and forth in the spirit world. "So, in order for me to master it and control it, I must learn and master the elements in a deep and meaningful way," Yogan guessed.

Wan nodded. "It was as if Raava gave me the right to use the state only after I had done that," he revealed.

Yogan looked down at his folded legs, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. Could he truly live up to it all? But just as quickly as the thought came, he pushed it away, refusing to let negativity take root. In that moment, he sensed something—a shift in the energy around him. He looked up at Wan, who had also sensed it by the sudden tension in his posture.

"Someone has come looking for you," Wan said, his voice low.

Yogan nodded, his expression resolute. "Until next time," he said, closing his eyes.

---

When he opened them again, he was back in his body, in the jail cell. He dropped to the ground, unaware that he had been hovering. His senses were still adjusting to the transition when a feminine voice called his name.

"Yogan."

He looked up, his vision blurry at first, but gradually clearing to reveal the shadowy figure standing by the door. As his eyes focused, he recognized her—Mariko. Her expression was urgent, her eyes darting nervously toward the corridor behind her.

"We need to get out of here. Now," she said.

With the air in the dungeon heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint metallic tang of rusted iron. The flickering torchlight cast long, wavering shadows across the stone walls, and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor. Mariko stood at the entrance to Yogan's cell, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath. Her dark hair clung to her face, damp with sweat, and her eyes darted nervously toward the dungeon's entrance every few seconds. She clutched a small satchel slung over her shoulder, its contents clinking softly with each movement. Yogan could see the tension in her posture, the way her fingers twitched as if ready to draw a weapon at any moment.

"What's going on?" Yogan asked once more, his voice calm but laced with concern. He rose from his lotus position, his movements fluid and deliberate, as though the urgency of the situation had not yet fully registered.

Mariko didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a key—a skeleton key, its intricate design suggesting it had been crafted with precision and care. Her hands trembled slightly as she inserted it into the lock, the metal scraping against the rusted mechanism. With a sharp click, the cell door swung open, and Mariko stepped inside, her eyes scanning Yogan from head to toe as if assessing his condition.

"We need to leave. Now," she said, her voice low but urgent. "The city isn't safe anymore."

Yogan's brow furrowed as he stepped closer to her. "I'm not leaving without Rilo," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Mariko's eyes flashed with frustration. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, her voice rising slightly. "We don't have time for this. We need to get out of the city—fast."

She reached out and grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and tried to pull him toward the door. But Yogan didn't budge. He stood rooted to the spot, his expression unwavering as he met her gaze with a look of quiet determination.

"I said I'm not leaving without Rilo," he repeated, his voice steady but firm.

Mariko's frustration boiled over, and she let out a sharp exhale, her free hand clenching into a fist. For a moment, it looked as though she might strike him. Instead, she twisted her face in anguish, her mind racing as she weighed their options. Finally, she relented, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "We'll go get your stupid friend. But if we die because of this, I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your miserable life."

Yogan's lips twitched into a faint smile, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He nodded and followed her out of the cell, his senses on high alert as they moved through the dimly lit corridor. The air grew colder the closer they got to the entrance, and the sound of distant voices sent a shiver down Mariko's spine.

They were almost to the door when Yogan suddenly stopped, his hand shooting out to grab Mariko's arm. She turned to him, her eyes wide with alarm.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Someone's coming," Yogan replied, his voice barely audible.

Mariko leaned against the stone wall and peeked around the corner, her heart pounding in her chest. A pair of guards were approaching, their footsteps echoing ominously in the narrow hallway. She glanced back at Yogan, her mind racing.

"I need a distraction," she said, her voice tight with urgency.

But Yogan didn't move. His gaze was fixed on something beyond the guards, his expression unreadable.

"They're not who I was talking about," he said quietly.

Mariko's eyes narrowed. "Then who?" she demanded.

Before Yogan could answer, a deep, rumbling voice filled the room, its tone dripping with mockery. "It seems you thought you had me, didn't you, Mariko?"

They both turned, their eyes widening as Shen stepped into view, flanked by a dozen of his men. The big man leading the group was a mountain of muscle, his arms crossed over his chest and a smug grin plastered across his face. Shen, with sharp features and eyes that gleamed with cunning. He moved with the confidence of a man who had already won, his gaze flicking between Mariko and Yogan with amusement.

"Did you really think you could get the better of me, little girl?" Shen taunted, his voice smooth and condescending.

Mariko's jaw tightened, but she refused to back down. "Don't underestimate me, Shen," she shot back, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides.

Shen chuckled, a low, menacing sound that sent a chill down her spine. "Oh, I never do," he said. "I don't underestimate people—haven't done it in a long time. Why do you think I became who I am in a city like Daiyo? If you don't underestimate a person, you're prepared for their best. And if you can overcome their best, it means they've lost."

He took a step closer, his men fanning out to surround Mariko and Yogan on all sides. The air grew heavier, the tension palpable as Shen continued. "Your little trick in the blacksmith's shop was certainly clever," he admitted, his tone almost admiring. "But it wasn't out of my expectations. Which is why I could anticipate you coming here for the prisoner."

Mariko's heart sank as she realized the truth of his words. She had been outmaneuvered, and there was no way out. Shen's men closed in, their expressions grim and their hands hovering near their weapons. She glanced at Yogan, hoping for some sign of a plan, but he remained eerily calm, his eyes fixed on Shen.

"All of your equipment," Shen ordered, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Reluctantly, Mariko handed over her satchel, her fingers brushing against the cold metal of the skeleton key as she passed it to one of Shen's men. The weight of defeat settled heavily on her shoulders, but she refused to let it show. She straightened her back and met Shen's gaze head-on, her eyes blazing with defiance.

"Back in the cell, now," Shen said, gesturing toward the open door.

Yogan didn't hesitate. He walked back into the cell and resumed his lotus position, his movements calm and deliberate. The men around him exchanged uneasy glances, unnerved by his composure.

"Freak," one of them muttered under his breath.

Yogan's head snapped up, his gaze locking onto the man who had spoken. For a moment, his serene expression was replaced by something darker, something dangerous. "When I get out of here," he said, his voice low and menacing, "I will get you back for that."

The man flinched, but Shen stepped forward, his laughter cutting through the tension. "You're not going anywhere, Mr. Airbender Monk Freak," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "You'll stay in this cell until your family agrees to our demands."

Yogan turned to Shen, his smile returning, but it didn't reach his eyes. In the blink of an eye, that smile vanished, replaced by a look so terrifying that even Shen took a step back. The air grew colder, their breaths visible in the sudden chill.

"You have no idea who you're messing with," Yogan warned, his voice like ice.

Shen recovered quickly, his smirk returning, though it lacked its earlier confidence. "The Shuji clan isn't as influential as it used to be," he said, more to himself than to Yogan.

"I'm not talking about the Shuji clan," Yogan replied, his gaze never wavering.

The room fell silent as the weight of his words sank in. Shen's men shifted uneasily, their bravado faltering under Yogan's intense stare.

"A monk acting like that?" Shen said, trying to regain control of the situation. "No wonder you were kicked out of the temple."

Yogan didn't respond. Instead, he turned his attention to Mariko as Shen shoved her into the cell. She landed face-first in the dirt, her hands braced against the ground to catch herself. Shen leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Watch where you land, princess," he sneered before straightening and turning to leave. His men followed, their laughter echoing through the dungeon as they disappeared into the shadows.

***

The casino was alive with its usual cacophony of clinking coins, shuffling cards, and the occasional burst of laughter or groan of defeat. The air was thick with the scent of incense, spilled alcohol, and the faint metallic tang of polished stone. The grand hall was a labyrinth of tables, each one surrounded by gamblers of all kinds—nobles in fine silks, merchants with their heavy purses, and adventurers with their worn boots and hungry eyes. The flickering light of the lanterns cast long shadows across the room, their golden glow reflecting off the polished wooden floors and the intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes that adorned the walls.

Kenshiro and Haru sat at a corner table, their expressions a mix of frustration and unease. The old man who had pulled them away from Mariko sat across from them, his weathered face creased with a knowing smile. He had insisted on buying them drinks, and now a bottle of sake sat between them, its contents steadily dwindling as the old man poured cup after cup.

"Drink up, lads," the old man said, his voice raspy but warm. "You look like you could use it."

Kenshiro stared at the cup in front of him, his fingers tapping nervously against the table. His mind was torn. On one hand, he wanted to do something—anything—to help Yogan, who was still locked up in the city guards' dungeon. On the other hand, he had no idea where Rilo was being held, and the weight of their helplessness was crushing him.

Haru, however, had no such qualms. He downed his cup in one swift motion and slammed it back onto the table. "I can't do this," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "Yogan's in jail for something he didn't do, and Rilo—we don't even know where Rilo is. How can we just sit here and drink like nothing's wrong?"

The old man chuckled, refilling Haru's cup with a steady hand. "You're wound tighter than a bowstring, boy. Relax. There's a time for action and a time for patience. Right now, you need to trust me."

Kenshiro frowned, his dark eyes narrowing. "Trust you? We don't even know who you are."

The old man leaned back in his chair, his smile never wavering. "You don't need to know who I am. You just need to know that I'm here to help."

Haru shook his head, his frustration boiling over. "Maybe we could do this some other time," he said, pushing his chair back as if to stand. "Right now, we need to—"

Before he could finish, the old man's hand shot out, gripping Haru's wrist with surprising strength. Haru froze, his eyes widening as he met the old man's gaze.

"Sit down," the old man said, his voice low but commanding. "I'm here to help you fools. I saw your friend get dragged away that day, remember? And I know where Rilo is being held. That's why I took you away from the princess."

Kenshiro and Haru exchanged a glance, their skepticism giving way to cautious hope. "You know where Rilo is?" Kenshiro asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The old man nodded, his expression serious. "He's being held in the dungeon of the casino, right beneath our feet."

Haru's eyes widened. "Then let's go down there and get him!"

The old man held up a hand, silencing him. "Not so fast. They wouldn't leave him without any guards. But here's the thing—most of the guards have left for some important business with Shen. Do you see the guard standing by the door behind the card tables?" He gestured subtly toward a tall, muscle-bound man who stood with his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room.

Kenshiro and Haru followed his gaze, their expressions hardening as they took in the guard's imposing figure.

"I need you two to cause a distraction and get him away from the door," the old man continued. "Hence the drinks." He tapped the sake bottle with a gnarled finger. "The sake should help you convince him—or distract him—away."

Kenshiro hesitated, his mind racing. He didn't like the idea of getting drunk, especially when they were so close to finding Rilo. But the old man's plan made sense, and they didn't have many other options.

Haru, on the other hand, didn't need much convincing. He grabbed the sake bottle and poured himself another cup. "If this is what it takes to get Rilo out, then I'm in," he said, downing the drink in one gulp.

Kenshiro sighed, then nodded reluctantly. He picked up his cup and drank, the sharp, burning taste of the sake making him grimace. But he didn't stop. Cup after cup, they drank until the stench of alcohol clung to their clothes and their movements became unsteady.

"Good, good," the old man said, his smile widening. "Just get him away from the door. Once you're done with that, meet me by the southern edge of the city. You'll see an old, worn-down building that looks like it's about to collapse. Inside that building is where we'll meet up."

Kenshiro and Haru nodded, their heads swimming with the effects of the sake. They stood up, swaying slightly as they made their way through the crowded casino. The old man watched them go, his sharp eyes following their progress as they weaved through the myriad of gambling tables, past the clattering tiles and the shouts of gamblers, and toward the guard by the door.

The guard, a towering figure with arms like tree trunks, watched them approach with a mixture of amusement and disdain. Kenshiro and Haru stumbled toward him, their words slurred and their movements exaggerated. They leaned heavily on each other, their laughter loud and obnoxious as they began to tease the guard.

"Hey, big guy," Haru said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You ever think about getting a real job? Or do you just stand around all day looking scary?"

The guard's expression darkened, but he didn't respond. Instead, he grabbed both Kenshiro and Haru by their collars, lifting them off the ground as if they weighed nothing. "You two are causing a disturbance," he growled, his voice like gravel. "Time for you to leave."

Kenshiro and Haru didn't resist as the guard carried them toward the exit, their heads lolling and their limbs limp. The old man didn't waste a second. With a speed and agility that belied his age, he slipped through the crowd and made his way to the door the guard had been watching.

The door led to a long, narrow hallway, but the old man didn't go far. He stopped just inside, his eyes scanning the floor. With a quick, practiced motion, he stomped his foot into the ground and twisted it slightly. The earth rumbled, and a section of the floor slid forward, revealing a set of stairs that descended into darkness.

The old man descended the stairs with a speed that would have put younger men to shame. The air grew colder and damper as he went, the faint sound of dripping water echoing in the narrow passage. At the base of the stairs, he emerged into a large chamber, its walls lined with chains and its floor covered in dirt and blood.

In the center of the room, a man hung from chains, his body bruised and bloodied, his long, dark hair matted with sweat. He raised his head slowly, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the old man.

"Back to torture me some more?" the man asked, his voice hoarse but defiant.

The old man shook his head, his expression grim. "No, Rilo. I'm here to rescue you."

Rilo's eyes widened in surprise as the old man pulled a key from his robes and unlocked the chains. Rilo's body collapsed to the ground, his muscles trembling from the strain. The old man grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it over Rilo's shoulders before lifting him with surprising ease.

"Your friends have been looking for you," the old man said as he slung Rilo over his shoulder. "Let's get you out of here."

Instead of heading back toward the stairs, the old man carried Rilo deeper into the chamber, stopping at a seemingly solid wall. He placed a hand against the stone and made a series of precise movements with his fingers. The earth shifted, forming a narrow hallway that led into darkness.

The old man stepped through the opening, the earth sealing behind him as he disappeared into the shadows.

The tension thick and the stakes higher than ever. Kenshiro and Haru have set the stage for the old man's daring rescue, but the true test lies ahead. The game has changed, and none of them are ready for what's coming next.

[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]