It's been a couple of weeks now and, Fang Yuan had established a rhythm.
Each morning began with Firebending—precise, focused drills behind the abandoned shrine. Fire had first come to him in a moment of danger, wild and uncontrolled. Now, he sought discipline. No more sudden bursts. No more accidental flares. Just breath, motion, and clarity.
He began with flame control. Holding a steady ember in his palm. Shaping it into lines, rings, and whips. Some days it responded easily, like it remembered him. Other days, it resisted, sputtering out unless his mind was calm. He welcomed the challenge.
He practiced footwork and breathing forms passed down from instinct and fragmented memories. Not flashy. Not martial. But effective.
In time, the fire became an extension of his intention. A torch to light his surroundings. A flicker to cook his meals. A shield against the cold. He didn't crave strength. He craved understanding.
Afternoons were for Earth.
Fang Yuan began with stillness. Sitting on stone. Listening. Feeling. Learning how the earth moved—not in tremors or shifts, but in the subtle hum of balance. He kept his eyes closed and used his seismic sense which was getting better days by days
When he rose, his movements were heavy and grounded. He trained his stance relentlessly—planted feet, rooted spine, solid breath. Earthbending, he learned, was not just about force. It was about connection.
To be one with the earth.
The first boulder he moved was the size of a melon. A simple nudge, guided by a firm stomp and forward thrust. It tumbled forward a foot and stopped.
But the second week brought progress.
He shaped stones into walls, then pushed them over. Broke pebbles with forceful palm strikes. Drew lines in the dirt without touching them. By the end of the week, he could raise a chest-sized rock into the air and hold it, trembling, for several breaths.
It was exhausting. Every bending session drained him—not just physically, but internally. It forced him to reach deeper. To search for a source of energy that wasn't just spiritual, but centered.
The villagers had grown used to his presence, they never stick their noses to his business, but a few tremors caused most of them to be curious as what he was always doing behind the shrine... But that was until Ren told them that Fang_Yuan was an Earthbender and he was always training
That ease them a little but, The older ones still whispered.
As for Ren, he visited Fang_Yuan daily, asking questions, occasionally mimicking his movements.
"Why do you stomp like that?"
"To feel the ground."
"Can anyone do it?"
Fang Yuan smiled faintly. "If they're willing to listen to the earth."
One evening, a face that Fang_Yuan haven't seen for weeks finally show himself right in front of him.
It was the old man Hiko. He approached him as he was cooling down from training.
"You know, maybe you might not know this but I've been looking at you for those past weeks, I've watched the way you train... And the fact that you can use more that one element.
With a long pause, the old man stared down the village. Letting his words sink in before continuing his wisdom word
" I'm old and I know that, but what my old age has taught me is that I should never stick my nose where it doesn't belong... I don't know who you are or where you came from but I allowed you to stay in my village and train"
With each word he was slowly walking downhill towards the village.
"I don't know your reason for training, but I can clearly see it in your eyes that you have something to do... Something to accomplish. So please don't use that power reckless.
Fang Yuan nodded. "I never intend to use it for bad, but if life force me to use it in that way then I don't have a choice ."
Hiko gave a single approving grunt "I see" and walked away. That was the most he'd spoken to Fang Yuan since his arrival.
By the fifths week, Fang Yuan had made visible progress.
He could now summon a controlled flame the length of his forearm. He could light multiple candles at once with a snap of his fingers. His fire was clean. Focused. Silent.
He could raise earthen walls shoulder-high in under a minute. Could crack small stones into dust. His feet had learned the rhythm of the ground, and the ground, in turn, had begun to trust him.
But he wasn't satisfied.
Not yet.
There were still two more elements. And his training had only just begun.
For now, he would perfect these.
He had time.
And patience.
.
.
.
.
*******************
The seventh week, one morning dawned with mist hanging low over the village, soft and cool. The forest air held a different scent—fresher, clearer. As if the trees themselves had taken a deep breath overnight.
Fang Yuan sat cross-legged by the riverbank, the steady murmur of water replacing the quiet crackle of fire or the deep stillness of earth. He had spent the past days grounding himself in control and discipline. Fire and Earth—opposites in movement, but kindred in presence. Now it was time for something else.
Water.
It didn't come to him the way the others had. There was no eruption of instinct or natural grounding. There was… resistance. Or perhaps, hesitation.
He dipped his fingers into the stream, watching the ripples stretch outward. Flow. Adaptation. Yielding. This was not an element to command. It was one to follow.
He began by observing. The way the river curved around stones. The way droplets clung to leaves. The dance of morning dew as it evaporated. For hours, he mimicked the motion of water with his arms—fluid sweeps, coiling gestures, spirals in the air.
By midday, he stood knee-deep in the stream, breathing slow and steady. Hands moving with the current, not against it.
His first success was almost imperceptible.
A trickle rose to meet his palm. It hovered for a heartbeat, trembling, then fell.
He smiled.
Over the next few days, his connection deepened. Water was not about force—it was about intention. Clarity of thought.
Acceptance. When his mind wandered, it slipped through his grasp. When he aligned his breath and will, it responded like silk in the wind.
He learned to cup it in the air, guide it in slow arcs. Drops followed his fingertips like curious birds. He practiced behind the shrine and at the stream, never in front of the villagers.
There was a quiet intimacy in Waterbending. A gentleness.
But beneath it… lay something deeper.
Flexibility
Power through redirection.
By the twentieth day, he could form small rings of water around his arms. He could freeze droplets mid-air for a moment before they shattered like glass. Ice was harder—colder, slower to respond—but it obeyed him eventually.
He began combining forms. Grounded stances from Earthbending guided his balance as he bent water. Controlled breathing from Firebending steadied his energy.
His movements grew fluid, precise. One element informed the next.
He was becoming something else. Not an Avatar. Not a bender of one nation. Just—himself.
Ren watched from a distance one evening, sitting on a rock with wide eyes.
"You're learning another one," He whispered "You shouldn't be able to."
Fang Yuan paused, letting the ring of water fall gently to the ground.
"I know."
Ren hesitated. "Are you going to leave? Because the old man said that it won't be long before you leave the village"
Fang Yuan looked up at the sky—soft pink clouds drifting over blue.
"Not yet, so don't worry okay."
He still had much to master.
And something inside him whispered that when he left… it would not be in peace.