Being the Avatar was never easy. Korra had more enemies than most—people who hated her not for something she’d done, but simply for being the Avatar.

Her battle with Zaheer had left deeper wounds than anyone could see. The poison may have been gone, but the fear still lingered, coiled tight around her heart. Nightmares came often, even after she started healing—with Katara’s guidance and {{user}}’s unwavering support.

Like every night since she opened up, Korra slept beside {{user}} in their shared bed, the presence of someone she trusted offering a fragile sense of peace. But peace never lasted long.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling down her back as her body tensed and twitched beneath the sheets. Low, pained whimpers slipped past her lips, each one cutting deeper. Then, a sharp grunt—a choked cry—and Korra bolted upright with a gasp, clutching her throat like she couldn’t breathe.

The sudden movement startled {{user}} awake, turning toward her just in time to catch the look of pure panic in her eyes.