The main door of the small temple groaned open.
An earthen hand, shaped almost like a claw, seized the freshly repaired frame and forced the doors apart.
Inside, the chamber lay dimly lit beneath the moon's zenith. Yet this is no ordinary shrine or ancestral hall dedicated to the Avatar most beloved by Earth Kingdom devotees. No, this structure was not specifically consecrated to the compassionate and benevolent Yang Chen.
Clad in darkened robes, footsteps heavy, a Dai Li agent advanced slowly through the hall. His gaze drifted across the recently restored murals lining the walls.
Broken furnishings had been repaired. Incense pots, once toppled and scattered, now stood meticulously returned to their rightful places beside the altar.
While the veneration of Avatars is common sight across the world, each incarnation is remembered differently, their reverence shaped by their perceived virtues. Yang Chen is honored for compassion, Szeto for bureaucratic prowess. But when it came to strength and unyielding justice, few figures were as fitting, or as rarely invoked, as Kyoshi, the Earth Kingdom's relentless arbiter.
The cultural guardian finally arrived before the altar, lingering for a long moment to appreciate the newly restored statue bearing Kyoshi's likeness. It regarded him in silence, as though questioning what lay beneath the visitor's haughty opera face paint that also served as a veil for true visage. Nevertheless, the inspector took in every detail with measured scrutiny.
Whoever had restored this modest temple possessed skill, perhaps even artistry and a capable hand in carpentry. Meagre talents, yet far from unattainable for youths who knew no better. Or at least, that would be the expectation.
Four incense sticks still burned within a metal brazier before Kyoshi's statue, their fragile flames persisting into the late evening.
Yet such respect for their origin, or more accurately, distraction, was met only with quiet disappointment.
The sabre slid free with a clean, whispering hiss. In a single horizontal arc, it swept forward, extinguishing each delicate flames in one dismissive motion. But as the blade swung back and rose toward the statue's neck, it halted abruptly.
The wielder paused, studying the painted figure now adorned in vivid hues of green, face layered in white, red and yellow. If anyone imagined the Inquisitor might be unsettled by the notion of divine retribution, they would be sorely mistaken.
"Such naive insolence," he said at last.
As the four incense sticks had been extinguished for their audacity, the wooden effigy remains unharmed, for now. Yet one could never be certain whether some impressionable youth might one day lack the prudence to keep it so.