This story was written when a search of the Avatar fandom didn't reveal a classic staple of authors in search of new ideas: the science fiction reboot, using hints of the original plot wherever possible while adding a little extra grit. It's been very fun to write, and I hope that you enjoy it.

The Avatar Project
Chapter One: The Letter

The home was nearly mute. For several long moments, the only sound was of a brush against paper. It was unusual, but the man seated at the kitchen table didn't look around to see just what had caused the odd period of quiet. Instead, he twirled a finger, letting a small breeze ghost across the surface of a letter written in perfectly neat calligraphy. When the ink was dry, he folded the letter into a neat rectangle. The finishing touch was inscribing a name in the center of the missive- Hakoda.

He closed his eyes in concentration as he listened. When no new sounds were forthcoming, Gyatso began a second letter. The brushstrokes were deliberate and even.

My dear friend,

I regret to write that you again have triumphed in our dispute over the true nature of the people within Ozai's corporation. The man can no longer be ignored, and you were wise to maintain the safe places scattered through the town. I fear that they are necessary, and that the worst of our hopes have proven correct. Ozai this very morning admitted that I will no longer maintain custody of the boy. He believes he will take Aang this very night, after allowing a frail old man one last day with his charge.

Gyatso looked away from his letter for a moment. It remained preternaturally quiet, even before considering that he shared the modest suburban home with a hyperactive twelve-year-old. Still, it was better to leave the small coincidences be. It would not do for Aang to know the reasoning for the letter just yet.

I will send Aang to the only person who would believe the story that begins again tonight. I know you did not want to involve police, but Chief Hakoda's honor is unparalleled. I will send Aang to Hakoda's home residence, to avoid tempting the police officers paid by Ozai more than the city, and I firmly told the boy to remain away for a week. I made Aang swear, Iroh, and I will ask that you will make it clear that I wanted him to honor that wish. I was the last true airbender, perhaps, but Aang is an airbender in more than ability. He has that same spirit that we had thought departed from the world, and I am convinced that it is something in the boy himself, not some fragment that was added into his genetic makeup.

It had seemed to be a purely innocent dream at the time, something that anyone would have desired. Iroh had found the means to reintroduce a lost art back into the world, and would be able to accomplish the goal through the latest advances in science. The apparent simplicity had been astonishing, and even now Gyatso marveled at just what science could accomplish. Scholars had thought that technology had driven the bending from the world, but technology would bring bending back.

Technology had done its part, but then the baser parts of human nature had come into play. They never should have allowed Iroh's brother to have influence in that dream, no matter what Ozai had promised them. Perhaps it didn't even matter that Ozai's influence had brought Aang to the world, and that was a thought he would never bring himself to voice. The world had already provided too heavy of a burden for a boy of twelve to carry.

Ozai will arrive tonight at a most inauspicious hour, two hours after sunset. Aang will begin his journey this evening, with enough clothing and books to keep him amused this week. I know that Ozai tracks your movements carefully, but I will ask that you take Aang in as soon as the feat is possible. Aang's letter for Hakoda makes it clear that the boy is to be released into only your custody, and I will hope that you can quickly relieve Hakoda to keep the man's own children safe.

Ozai's own son had been the first, and the results of that experimentation had nearly scared them away from the project entirely. Gyatso should have realized that very instant that their dream was past saving. Ozai had thought it possible to change the genetic code before the babe had left the womb, and his arrogance had nearly killed his own child.

Zuko had been born successfully, but the boy had been sickly all through childhood. Gyatso would have left the project immediately, but Ozai had been all too confident that he had mended past mistakes. He proved this new technique using himself as a test subject, followed by his own lab assistant. After the success was visible in both Ozai and Zhao, Iroh had been next. Jee had followed, the brave man, and then Ozai's second child lived scarcely a day on the world before her eyes turned to the bright amber that marked a successful transmission of firebending.

There was less certainty in the waterbending, and Gyatso still didn't know the details. He had been politely shut away from all aspects of the company when he protested the genetic manipulation done to Iroh's own child, and for years there was nothing but silence from his one-time friend.

He heard from Iroh once more when Aang was just six months old. No one within the company knew what to do with an infant airbender. Even Azula hadn't been toying with fire from her crib, but Aang was bending air even before he had full control of his limbs. Gyatso didn't explain what that would mean, and Iroh hadn't asked. The company (with a very uncomfortable-looking Iroh standing on Gyatso's front step as the representative of Sozin Laboratories) had asked Gyatso to raise the boy.

Gyatso had accepted, and had made it quite clear that he wouldn't be returning the boy later. He was not leasing a vehicle. He was raising a child- his child, from that moment. Iroh had accepted, and had walked away even before Gyatso lifted the grey-eyed baby from the carrier.

He didn't hear from Iroh again until Lu Ten's death, when Aang was four. Iroh had left the company entirely, and for once admitted that he had been wrong. From that very day, they had exchanged dozens of letters every year, as well as frequent visits. There would be no more visits, but there would be one more letter.

I had one of my odd dreams again last week, and only now have understood it. There will be a benefit from this night, as there will be a gleam of silver within the darkest of clouds. Trust in anyone who knows of our favorite old game, though our new ally may wear an enemy's face.

There would be no more Pai Sho games, no last match between the chaplain and the upstart general. Military life had suited a once-monk surprisingly well, even before he had met Iroh at the very start of the man's rise to renown. General, scientist, and now humanitarian- Iroh had done well for himself, and would do his utmost for Aang.

Gyatso's hand hesitated, letting the brush pick up far too much ink, but a practiced swirl against a spare sheet of parchment solved that small issue.

I can tell you no more of the dream in ways that would make sense, save that it involved those old spirits that fascinated you so. I dearly wish that the next world is all that we imagined, and that I might wait for you with Lu Ten. I trust that your son and I will have plenty of time to wait for you, and that it will be quite a bit after your arrival before Aang makes his way to me again.

If he told Aang, there would be no way for the night to proceed as some spirit had whispered. The few glimpses of foresight his dreams had granted him made it clear that something very important would happen that night, some event that would keep Aang safe. An alliance would change that very night, and he knew enough of Pai Sho to realize just what the few remembered images from the dream would mean. For some games to end well, sacrifice was the only way to move forward.

Don't waste your days with anger in my honor. Drink a cup of tea for my memory, and remember me through Aang. He is my son in every sense that matters, and he is far more powerful than he realizes. Your brother was a fool to think he would manipulate forces beyond his comprehension. His goal is already realized, and it will come to fruition only through Aang. I have told you that the last Avatar was of fire, and you know enough of the order of things to know the rest. I hope you will help Aang to learn fire, when it is time, but I do not believe sole responsibility will fall to you.

He heard the first stirrings of motion begin in the air. Aang had been outside, then, probably performing impossible marvels on the backyard's very sturdy swing set. There had been some talk in the neighborhood when an eight-foot privacy fence went around the back. Gyatso's only regret was not making the thing at least ten feet high, to better mask just how Aang liked to spend his time. Iroh wouldn't have concerns of privacy, at least. His country home was discreetly patrolled by guards, and had plenty of room for the preferred antics of a young airbender.

That birthday present we spoke of may be moved to the earliest convenience, rather than his sixteenth year. He is quite mature enough, and I feel that it may do more to help his grief than anything on the earth.

I am sure that you realize this is my goodbye to you, but I feel that I must make it clear. I am intentionally sending this letter through Aang so that it will arrive belatedly, because it is far more valuable to me that you are unhurt and Aang is protected. He will bring it to our teashop, and I hope that he will come in company of friends.

Small currents of air danced over the letter, even as Gyatso added the last words in crisp strokes. After just a few more seconds, the letter would need to be folded before curious eyes could find something better left unknown.

Goodbye, old friend, and may the Spirits guide your steps.

Your friend always,
Gyatso

The ink lost its wet sheen exactly as the back door opened, helped by a created thread of breeze, and Gyatso had the letter neatly folded a moment before Aang stepped into the kitchen. The room's wide picture window faced the front of the home, away from whatever stunts his ward had chosen to unleash that day. Gyatso had no notion why he didn't get more complaints from his neighbors, but people were rarely as observant as they believed. They chose to believe they had caught a glimpse of a dark-haired boy ten feet in the air because Gyatso had managed to sneak a trampoline into the yard, and that was none of Gyatso's concern. Aang, however, was very much his concern.

The mere sight of the boy standing politely in the entry to the kitchen tugged at the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. This would be their last day together, and Aang wouldn't know. Twelve years would have to be enough.

Gyatso turned to his child, one eyebrow delicately arched. "You did remember to stay out of sight today, Aang?"

Just as expected, the boy flushed a brilliant pink that clashed spectacularly with the orange collar of a frighteningly yellow t-shirt. There was no accounting for his son's taste in colors, but at least the blue jeans were normal enough. Aang was the quintessential adolescent as he moved to take the other chair at the kitchen table- grace would come, but not yet.

His son's posture straightened as he answered the question. "Yessir. I wrote a card for the man that lives behind us before I went to bed yesterday, and I walked it over right after lunch. I really am sorry about his cabbages, but I didn't know that knew stance you showed me would be that strong."

Gyatso smiled. "No permanent harm done, Aang, and I reimbursed him this morning. The stance wasn't as strong when we practiced in the basement because your balance wasn't correct. I am glad that you fixed the positioning of your feet, even if you did it to the detriment of cabbages."

Even the smallest brush of praise always won him that brilliant smile, but there was more motive to the wideness of the boy's eyes. "I really get to meet another bender?"

"Yes, but you must be polite about this," Gyatso cautioned. "She certainly knows of her abilities by fourteen, but she mostly likely has been very cautious about them. She wouldn't know anyone with similar abilities, and she may choose to keep her waterbending hidden. You will be very polite to everyone, I know, but you will also find a tactful way to disclose to Miss Katara that you are a bender as well."

Aang nodded enthusiastically. "And I won't airbend until I talk with Katara, and even then I'll make sure that no one outside of her family can notice."

Perhaps he should have contacted the family before, but it had seemed the height of rudeness to insert himself and his adopted son into another family's business. Gyatso hadn't even known that Katara was a bender until Aang was four years old, after he and Iroh had resumed their friendship. Just a year later, the girl's mother had died, and Hakoda had become even more protective of his children.

There were no guarantees, but Gyatso had done his best to anticipate contingencies. "If Chief Hakoda chooses to not take you in..."

"I go straight to the tea shop, even if it looks closed, and go right inside to the back room to wait for Mr. Iroh," Aang recited.

"Good. I did see your backpack by the door, earlier, and I believe you are old enough that I needn't check for sufficient undergarments." That, of course, prompted another round of blushing, as well as inarticulate protests. "I know you are old enough for a second practice in a day, if you are interested. You will stay with Hakoda for a week or so, if things go well, and Iroh did promise time on his estate this summer. When you are there, you may airbend to your heart's delight."

Aang abruptly forgot his embarrassment. "A second practice?"

Gyatso had hoped to leave this discussion for later, but time was at a premium. It should have come when Aang was sixteen, and trusted to keep Gyatso's own glider for use at Iroh's stretch of land. No Avatar had been told of their destiny at just twelve, but no Avatar had been born after such an odd history. For two hundred years, the wisest men and women in the world had thought the Avatar's cycle to be irreparably damaged.

Gyatso feared that Aang's gifts were no accident. No Avatar had lived out his life without struggle, and the fight would come to Aang all too soon.

Gyatso caught his son's hand when Aang would have started to raise currents in the kitchen's still air. "A second practice, and a very important discussion." He took the time to write one last word across the outside of the letter. Iroh. Aang's letter had been completed a month ago. Iroh had teased Gyatso gently about morbid inclinations, but had kept the letter and sworn to keep it safe.

Aang was strong, and with any luck he would be able to gather friends to himself before his trials came to pass. Something was in the wind, perhaps, but Aang was stronger than any airbender the dry scrolls could provide. His boy would do well with the little Gyatso had known to teach him.

There was time for just one more session in the bare concrete space that was entirely theirs. The large cement basement had no friendly touches in it aside from the blue mats kept neatly stacked along the far wall. Aang had the floor covered in cushioned blue before Gyatso made his way down the steep staircase with a slow dignity. Even in the bright of the afternoon, Aang had flipped the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. The only natural light came from the narrow window that faced into the backyard, and that thin slit gave nothing but a greater source of air.

It was a hard topic for a last lesson, but a teacher's duty was to challenge his students. A father's duty was to be sure his child would be able to protect himself. An airbender's duty would be for Aang to decide, before the next day dawned. Aang would be the last of them.