The concussive aftermath of the hyper-compressed air sphere was devastating.
Several Fire Nation soldiers collapsed instantly, the sheer kinetic pressure fracturing their bones.
Others clutched their heads as their eardrums ruptured, dark crimson leaking from their ears.
The razor-sharp air currents had ripped through their thick uniforms, leaving a lattice of superficial bleeding cuts across their flesh.
General Iroh stood shielding his nephew.
Though his own injuries were not severe, the microscopic wind blades had shredded the fabric covering his hands, leaving his fingers covered in raw scratches and stinging lacerations.
Ensuring Zuko was safe, Iroh looked up.
His amber eyes locked onto the young man hovering in the air.
The stranger possessed dark eyes with a subtle green tint, and the distinct arrow tattoo etched onto his forehead clearly betrayed his heritage.
“Another airbender?!” Iroh breathed, stunned to find another survivor alongside the Avatar.
Nearby, Aang maneuvered Appa close to the warship’s deck to pick up Katara and Sokka.
Looking back at his companion, Aang’s eyes widened.
“What a powerful technique!
Sora, your original moves are always so deadly.” Aang knew Sora’s reputation all too well.
Back at the Southern Air Temple, Sora was notorious for constantly arguing with the elders over the nature of his bending.
Every form he created, and every technique he modeled, was explicitly designed for lethal combat.
His ruthless mindset had clashed violently with the peaceful, detached philosophy of the Air Nomads.
The monks had frequently criticized him, warning that delving into forbidden, violent arts would inevitably lead him down a path of darkness.
But Sora had tuned out their lectures, relentlessly refining his lethal arsenal in secret.
“Incredible!!” Sokka shouted from Appa’s saddle, his awe quickly morphing into apprehension.
“Is this what airbenders are capable of?” Katara, however, looked disturbed by the carnage.
“He’s amazingly strong, but wouldn’t it be better if he didn’t hurt people like that?
We got Aang back.
It wasn’t necessary to cause so much pain.” Sokka whirled on his sister, his temper flaring.
“Katara, these are Fire Nation soldiers!
They’re monsters, and they deserve exactly what they get.
Right, Aang?” He looked to the young Avatar for backup.
Aang offered a strained, bitter smile.
“To be honest…
I’m just grateful Sora held back his true power.
If he had actually wanted them dead, none of those soldiers would still be breathing.” “What?!” both siblings exclaimed.
“Yeah.
Sora’s techniques are designed exclusively for execution.
If you see someone survive one of his attacks, it either means they are incredibly strong, or Sora explicitly chose to let them live.” Sokka immediately resolved never to cross Sora.
Katara, meanwhile, looked deeply unsettled, a frown marring her features.
The reality that their new ally fought with lethal intent went completely against her morals.
Down on the scorched deck, Iroh called out to the hovering figure, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Young man, may I know your name?” “Sora.” “Sora…
are you allied with the Avatar?” Iroh asked cautiously.
Examining the young man’s cold expression, he could tell this wasn’t a reckless child playing games; this boy possessed the hardened gaze of a killer.
“In all honesty, I envy the Fire Nation’s luck,” Sora replied, his voice dripping with icy confidence.
“If it weren’t for my hundred-year slumber, your empire would never have advanced this far.
Had I remained awake, I would have driven your entire military back into the shadows where you belong.” A hundred years!
Iroh mentally noted the piece of information.
He realized the Avatar hadn’t been the only one trapped in the ice; this dangerous young man had been pulled into the future right along with him.
“My friend,” Iroh spoke up, his voice taking on a softer, paternal tone.
“The Fire Nation has strayed, yes, but not all of our people seek war and bloodshed.
There are good people, innocent families who despise this conflict.
I know our nation has committed atrocities, but there is still good within us.
Wouldn’t you agree?” Iroh was desperately trying to temper the young man’s burgeoning radicalism.
He understood that someone who had slept for a century, only to wake up to the complete annihilation of his entire culture, would likely be consumed by a single-minded desire for vengeance.
He knew he couldn’t rewrite the boy’s worldview in a single conversation, but he wanted to nudge him away from indiscriminate retaliation.
Sora looked down at Iroh.
He knew exactly who this man was—the Dragon of the West, a former general who had abandoned the path of war after tragic loss.
He could sense the genuine purity in Iroh’s intentions; the old man simply didn’t want him to destroy his own soul with hatred.
But Sora had no intention of becoming a mindless butcher.
He would kill, and he would kill extensively, but his blade would only fall upon those who truly deserved it.
“I agree with you,” Sora said calmly.
“Despite my fury, I still remember the teachings of my masters.
I don’t intend to slaughter every person I lock eyes with.
If I did…
do you honestly believe you and your men would still be standing on this deck?” Hearing those words, a wave of profound relief washed over Iroh.
He realized his initial fears of a mindless monster were unfounded; as long as the boy remained logical and calculating, there was still room for reason.
Without another word, Sora summoned a precise gale beneath his feet, lifting himself higher into the air until he smoothly touched down onto Inma’s saddle.
Though he could fly using compressed air currents, he hated the sensory instability of hovering and preferred a solid vantage point.
“Sora, that was amazing!” Sokka yelled as Inma pulled alongside Appa.
“Sora, next time, please try not to hurt people so badly,” Katara pleaded, her voice tinged with anxiety.
“Don’t worry, Katara.
Next time, I won’t leave a single scratch on them.” “Really?” Katara asked, completely caught off guard by his sudden compliance.
“Of course,” Sora said, his face completely deadpan and terrifyingly serious.
“Because I’ll just kill them instantly.
Dead men don’t feel scratches.” “What?!” Katara gasped, a cold sweat breaking out across her neck as she recoiled from his blunt delivery.
A sharp smirk broke across Sora’s face, and he let out a dark chuckle.
He genuinely enjoyed messing with the siblings; their dramatic, horrified reactions were endlessly amusing.
To Sora, Aang, Katara, and Sokka were nothing more than children.
In his past life, he had been twenty-five years old, and after spending nearly two years in this world before the freeze, his cognitive age was closer to twenty-seven.
Looking at them through the lens of a mature adult, their behavior struck him as incredibly juvenile.
As the two massive sky beasts charted a course away from the Fire Nation waters, Sora lapsed back into his usual silence.
He sat quietly on Inma’s back, shutting out the children’s bickering as his mind drifted back to the advanced physical and scientific concepts of his past life, actively calculating how to forge his next lethal technique.