ATLA: The living calamity

Thank you for reading

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Wei Zhen POV

It's been a week since my father returned to camp, and he's been restless. Not that he's said anything directly, but I can see it in the way his eyes linger on me when I walk by. Part of me feels guilty for spending so little time with him, but... I have my priorities.

Sandbending.

It's not like I can just leave it alone. This wasn't explained properly in the original run of the show, and I never bothered watching The Legend of Korra—biggest regret of my past life, by the way. I needed to understand it, and fast.

I had a theory. Something like... Gaara's version of magnet release from Naruto. Not that I expected to crush people in sand coffins any time soon, but it was a starting point. An unrealistic starting point, sure, but ambition never killed anyone.

I made my way toward the edge of the camp, where the sandbenders usually practiced. They weren't a formal bunch—no fancy movements like in the Water Tribes or the Fire Nation.

"Oi, Wei!" a familiar voice called out.

I turned to see Kallun, a grizzled bender with a perpetual smirk on his face. He was lounging against a supply crate, tossing a handful of sand between his fingers like it was some sort of toy.

"Here to watch again?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I said firmly. "I want to learn."

That got a laugh. Not just from Kallun but from the other sandbenders nearby. They exchanged amused looks like I'd just said I wanted to bend the entire desert into a single dune.

"You're what, six?" Kallun snorted. "You're way too young to be worrying about this stuff, kid."

"I'm not worried," I replied. "I'm interested."

"Same thing."

I crossed my arms, refusing to back down. "You didn't start when you were six?"

Kallun shrugged. "Sure, but I wasn't trying to 'learn' it like some fancy art. I just did it. You grow up here, you figure it out."

Another bender, a wiry woman named Tanu, chimed in. "He's right. Sandbending isn't something we teach, Wei. You feel it out. It's instinct."

Instinct? That wasn't helpful. At all. I resisted the urge to groan. "But there has to be something you can tell me. How do you make the sand move the way you want?"

Tanu shrugged, running a hand through her short hair. "You just... do. You push, pull, guide it. It's like moving your arm or leg. You don't think about it—you just let it happen."

"That's not teaching," I muttered, earning a laugh from Kallun.

"You're funny, kid. Look, you want advice? Here's some. Play with the sand. Mess around with it. That's the best way to learn."

Great. Just great.

I stood there, frustration bubbling under the surface as they went back to their casual chatter, tossing sand back and forth like it was some kind of game. This wasn't what I needed. I needed structure. A method.

But... maybe they had a point? I'm skeptical though.

If instinct was the key, then maybe I just had to build mine up from scratch. Practice the way they did when they were younger—no expectations, no theories. Just... feel it.

Not exactly the groundbreaking insight I was hoping for.

"Thanks, I guess," I said, turning to leave.

Kallun called after me. "Don't overthink it, kid! Sand doesn't like being bossed around—it likes to dance!"

Bullshit. It can't be that easy?-it was

I'm not an instinct kinda guy. I need structure and understanding, or at least a few guidelines.

But it can't be helped. Maybe the adults weren't the right people to ask. The kids, though? They might have something more practical to offer.

There was one in particular. Garra—ironic name, I know. I'd seen him a few times in the last sand-hardening competitions. He wasn't flashy, but his moves had something. Purpose. Control.

If I can't get answers from the masters, maybe I'll have better luck with the apprentices.

____

The idea of learning from the teens wasn't exactly thrilling. I mean, what were the chances they'd have more insight than the grown-ups who'd been bending for decades? But at this point, I was desperate.

I found Garra near the outskirts of the camp, where the younger ones often gathered. He was crouched in the sand, carefully shaping a small mound into what looked like a miniature dune. Around him, a few other kids were goofing off—flinging sand at each other, giggling as they dodged and retaliated.

But not Garra. He was focused, his hands moving with deliberate precision.

"Hey," I called out, walking up to him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you want?"

"To learn," I said plainly.

He blinked, clearly surprised by my directness. "From me?"

"Yeah. The adults aren't exactly... helpful." I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice but failed miserably.

Garra's lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. "And you think I can teach you?"

"Maybe. You're good. Better than most of the others your age, anyway."

That got his attention. He straightened up, brushing sand off his hands. "Alright, I'll bite. What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Garra looked confused. "That's not how this works."

"Then tell me how it works," I shot back, my patience wearing thin.

He studied me for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. Watch."

He crouched down again, spreading his fingers over the sand. With a slow, fluid motion, he dragged his hands through it, creating a smooth ripple that spread outward like a wave.

"See that?" he asked, glancing up at me.

I nodded. "You're moving it. So what?"

"So, it's not just about moving it." He pointed at the ripple. "The sand's loose, right? If you push too hard, it scatters. If you pull too fast, it clumps. You have to... coax it. Find the balance."

"Coax it," I repeated, my skepticism clear.

"Yeah. Like this." He created another ripple, this one slower, more controlled. "Feel the weight. The way it shifts. The sand isn't solid, but it's not liquid either. It's... both."

No shit Sherlock- but that isn't the real problem

"Yeah but how do you move it?, without touching it?"

Garra squinted at me like I'd just asked him to explain the meaning of life. "Without touching it? What do you mean?"

"I mean this," I said, waving my hand over the sand. "You're not physically grabbing it, but it moves. How are you making that happen? Is it like... pulling it with a string? Pushing it with air? What?"-for a lack of a better term I had to explain it this way.

Garra frowned, clearly trying to put something instinctive into words. "It's not like that. It's... ugh." He scratched the back of his head. "Okay, think about it like this: the sand isn't separate from you. It's part of you. When you move, it moves."

"That's not helpful," I muttered.

He glared at me. "It's the truth, though. You're trying to think about it too much. You've gotta feel it."

Feel it? That wasn't going to cut it. I wasn't here for spiritual mumbo-jumbo; I needed actionable steps. "So you're saying I just... pretend the sand is an extension of my body?"

Garra hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, kinda. But it's not pretending. It is part of you. You just have to make it listen."

Okay, that made no sense , but it still wasn't absolutely nothing I guess. "And how do I make it listen?"

Garra gave an exasperated sigh. "I don't know, man! You just do it! Look—" He crouched again and swept his hand across the sand, creating a swirl that circled his feet. "See? It's not about thinking, it's about... connecting."

I crouched beside him, mimicking his motion. The sand barely shifted under my hand, stubborn and unyielding. I tried to imagine it as an extension of myself, like he said, but it felt ridiculous.

Garra watched, his expression shifting from annoyed to amused. "You're overthinking it again."

"No, I'm not," I snapped, though I absolutely was.

"You are. You're acting like the sand's gonna solve a math problem for you. It's just sand, dude. Stop treating it like some big mystery and just... go with it."

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to focus. The sand wasn't moving the way I wanted because I was approaching it wrong. Garra's instincts worked for him because he'd been doing this his whole life. I didn't have that luxury.

I had too much life that wasn't this life.

So, what did I have?-nothing really

I closed my eyes, ignoring Garra's muttered commentary about how weird I looked. I imagined the sand as an extension of my hand, flowing with my movements. My fingers twitched, and I pushed—not physically, but mentally.

At first, nothing happened. Then, ever so slightly, the grains shifted.

"Whoa," Garra said, sounding genuinely impressed. "You need to breat—"

"Shut up," I said, my focus razor-sharp.

I tried again, pushing harder this time. The sand responded, rippling outward in a faint but deliberate wave.

Garra let out a low whistle. "Okay, maybe you're not totally hopeless."

I opened my eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Told you."

But this was just the beginning. If I could do this much with focus and intent, then refining it—turning it into something instinctive—was just a matter of time.

"Alright," I said, standing up. "Show me more."

Garra smirked. "You sure you're ready for that?"

"Try me."

And just like that, my crash course in sandbending began.