Chapter Text
This isn't the beginning of the story. Far from it, in fact.
The beginning was, quite literally, forever ago. It started before humanity breathed its first breath. It started before a baby breathed fire; shook the earth; floated in the air; lifted the water from a cauldron. It started before a baby was born with glowing skin.
It started with two beings. They were the light and the dark. Harmony and Chaos. Raava and Vaatu.
But this. This part of the story isn't theirs. Nor is it Raava's chosen, Wan's. Nor Yangchen's, Kuruk's, Kyoshi's, Roku's, Aang's, Korra's. Their chapters have already been told.
But for a chapter to begin, the previous one must first end.
Shimura Nana gave up a lot to become the hero she is today.
She lost her husband. She left her son behind, and with him, every chance of a family she might’ve had. She ruined friendships because of the secrets she kept.
Nana gave up a lot. Most heroes do.
But she’d be damned if she let Toshinori give up anything so soon.
She wasn’t willing to let him anywhere near this fight. Wasn’t willing to expose him to this- this evil so early on in his hero career. Wasn’t willing to risk losing him.
So she told him to stay back, kid, I’ll handle this.
To his credit, he tried. He tried to insist that she let him help, tried to help even after she said no.
She didn’t give him the chance.
Nana charged at All for One- charged at the man who ruined her life. Ruined her predecessors’, ruined civilians’ lives. She charged and sent him through a building, two, three- five.
--Let us help--
No.
The cement shook and fire hydrants rattled. The air turned heavy and the fires grew to new heights.
No.
The spirits receded, and with them, the torrent of chaos. Cement was cracked but remained attached to the ground. Fire hydrants leaked but remained stable. Flames died down. The air settled.
She could’ve used them- she knew that. She probably should’ve, if she wanted a higher, almost guaranteed, chance to end this man- no, this monster.
But she couldn’t. Because she could not control herself- them- all of them. She could not control herself, not when hundreds of others surged for the chance to fight him as well. Not when they had so much. So much power, so much capability, so much fighting prowess.
She refused to use them because then he would know. He would know what- who- she is. He would know who she used to be; who she will be. He would know them. And she couldn’t risk it. On the off chance- the miniscule chance, that she didn’t beat him: he would know, and he would go after the next one. He would know, and he would kill her- them- before they receded. And he would end it all.
She didn’t use them, and he wrapped a tendril around her midsection and threw.
She raised her arms and racked her brain for the movements. The pattern, the sequence, the action. What was taught eons ago by the long-forgotten creatures of the sky. What she never learned- but they had. She pushed past the mental barriers and looked. Looked before the red-haired person (that’s them), moved on from the young man that didn’t know, and saw the boy with the blue arrows.
Ah, right.
Her arms moved in a sequence, unrecognizable to everyone but themselves herself. She felt wind speed around her; felt the currents move around her. Focused. Made the air lift her up up up and over, no, higher and to the left, yes, and she-
didn’t have a chance to brace herself.
Nana laid slumped against a wall, the tenth- eleventh? twelfth?- hit of... something... had been the last. Her costume was in tatters; the cape having torn off at some point in the battle. One of her gloves was missing and, distantly, she realized that she couldn’t feel that hand. Or see it. But that’s not the issue at hand- hah- not now. She had to- she had to get up.
But she couldn’t. She looked down.
A pipe protruded from her abdomen, bits of flesh and bone sticking to the metal. The cloth around it was charred and stained with blood. She coughed red and cried because it was supposed to end with her. Because now Toshinori will have to fight him and they will have to live in fear of him and-
“It’s okay, Nana. We’ll be okay. You can stop now.” A voice spoke, and when she raised her head she saw him.
She had never seen this man before. Never saw the type of clothing he wore, never saw the crooked grin before. Yet somehow, deep within her, she recognized him. Knew that he was her and she was him and he was the first. Knew his name was Wan.
“You can let go, Nana. You did well.”
She breathed in. Out.
Shimura Nana died with a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes.
It should’ve ended there but the world, for her broken child, sobbed:
“And then,”
do not stand at my grave and weep
i am not there. i do not sleep