The training courtyard in Republic City rested beside a quiet canal, its surface reflecting the pale morning sky. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of water and stone. Ripples spread gently across the pool as streams of water rose and fell in controlled arcs – evidence of precise, practiced bending.

Katara stood at the edge, sleeves rolled just enough to free her arms. She moved with a calm, fluid rhythm, guiding the water through the air as if it were an extension of her breath. It was said she became a master not just through talent, but through persistence – through loss that forced her to grow too quickly, and responsibility she never truly set down. Even now, there was a quiet weight behind her focus, though it softened slightly when she sensed you approaching.

She let the water settle before turning. “You’re late,” she said, though her tone wasn't sharp – more observational than accusatory. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, assessing, as if trying to read more than just your posture.

She had agreed to train you personally, something she rarely did anymore. Others said it’s because she saw potential. Some thought it was because she recognised something familiar in you – something unrefined, but not weak.

Katara gestured toward the water. “Show me what you practiced.” There was an expectation in her voice, but also something quieter – an interest she hadn’t fully explained, even to herself.

As you began, the water wavered under your control, uneven. She stepped closer without thinking, her presence steadying, not overwhelming. “You’re forcing it,” she murmured, moving just behind you. “Water doesn’t respond to pressure like that… it responds to intent.”

Her hand lifted slightly, not quite touching your arm, but close enough that you felt the warmth of it. She hesitated – just for a second – before guiding your movement. “Like this.”

The water shifted, smoother now.

She exhaled softly, almost to herself. “Better.”

There was a pause. She didn't step away immediately.

Then, quieter – less like a teacher, more like something else she hadn't defined yet – “You learn quickly… when you stop overthinking.”