Absolute Avatar Chapter 2.

Chapter 2: In Due Time.

(Adam's P.O.V)

The archway let me out just as easily as it let me in.

The light behind me faded. The bark sealed itself shut with a soft groan, like the spirit tree was done playing host to metaphysical freakshows for the day.

I stepped into open air again.

The world was still bathed in that surreal beauty—rolling hills, glowing rivers, colors that didn’t exist in the real world but made sense here. The Spirit Realm wasn’t just alive—it was aware. Every leaf felt like it was watching. Every breeze carried intent.

And right in the middle of it stood Iroh, sipping from a fresh cup of tea like I hadn’t just walked into a room full of primordial spirits and gotten turned into the Avatar.

He looked up and smiled. “Hmm. There’s something different about you.”

I raised a brow.

He squinted. “Did you get a haircut?”

I actually laughed. Like, laughed. Out loud. First time in years.

“Oh yeah,” I said, flexing one hand. “Told the cosmic barbershop I wanted the ‘spirit god death touch’ special.”

Bad idea.

My aura flared—accidentally, I swear.

Flames crackled from my left hand. Air coiled around my right. Water droplets hovered like tiny satellites. The ground beneath my feet shifted, stones rising slightly like they were waiting for orders.

A shockwave burst outward.

Iroh was blown back five feet.

His robe flapped like laundry in a hurricane. His hair—usually pristine—went full Einstein. Beard? Fluffed like a startled cat.

“Time-out!” he yelled, holding up both hands. “Okay! Not a haircut. Noted. You just became the most terrifying thing in the Spirit Realm. Please stop before you scare the flowers into early retirement.”

I reeled the power back in with a grunt. The air stilled. The elements dropped. My body… settled.

"Sorry,” I muttered. “Still getting used to the whole… divine nuke situation.”

I looked down at my arms—the tattoos pulsed faintly, still warm with that strange post-Avatar buzz. My back itched with spirit energy where the yin-yang symbol sat.

“…You wouldn’t happen to have, like, a robe or something?” I asked, glancing at Iroh. “Kind of feels weird to be standing here shirtless and glowing like a Vegas sign.”

Iroh smiled. “Ah, yes. Clothes. I believe the Spirit Weavers can help you with that.”

“Spirit Weavers?” I echoed. “Are they...?”

“Spiders,” he said cheerfully, pointing to a jagged mountain far in the distance. “Very large ones. Don’t worry, they’re peaceful.”

I stared at the mountain. It looked like a solid three-day hike. Minimum.

“…We’re walking to Spider Mountain just for clothes?” I said. “Can’t we just hit up Spirit Realm Goodwill or something? I’ll take a leaf skirt at this point.”

“Nonsense,” Iroh said with a chuckle, stepping toward me. “First thing to learn about the Spirit Realm: it doesn’t follow the same rules as the physical world.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder.

One step.

One.

And suddenly the ground changed beneath my feet.

The air went colder. The sky darker. The spirit tree? Now a blip in the far-off horizon.

We stood at the mouth of a massive cave carved into the mountainside—dark and humming with energy.

“Okay,” I muttered, looking back at the landscape we’d just crossed. Hundreds of miles at least. “That’s… efficient.”

Before I could even process the travel cheat code I’d just witnessed, the sky growled.

I mean it.

Not thunder. Not wind.

Growled.

Over the mountain, clouds were gathering—thick and black. Red lightning cracked across them, lighting the entire ridge in hellish flashes. They hadn’t been there a second ago.

“What the hell…” I breathed, staring up.

My back burned.

The yin-yang tattoo pulsed—hot and sharp, like it didn’t like what it was seeing.

“That storm?” I asked, voice lower now, brow furrowing.

Iroh’s face shifted.

Gone was the softness. No more jokes. Just that old general stare—the one that had once led armies and held entire nations at bay with calm wisdom and a cup of tea.

“In due time,” he said quietly. “But first—it is best not to keep the Weavers waiting.”

We entered the cave.

And I’ll be honest—my expectations were low. Caves, generally speaking, are where bad decisions go to breed. You don’t walk into a cave and come out saying, “Wow, that was nice.” You come out saying, “Why are my legs covered in bite marks, and is that venom?”

But this cave… was something else.

Webs. Everywhere. Stretching across the cave walls like living bridges, strung up in layers from floor to ceiling like the entire place was one giant loom. The air was thick with spirit energy—buzzing, warm, slightly tingly. Like someone mixed static electricity with old magic.

And then they appeared.

Spiders.

Not normal ones. Spirit ones. Tiny—by Spirit Realm standards—about the size of house cats, but shaped like walking nightmares. Some were translucent. Some glowed. Some had eyes that blinked sideways or mandibles that clicked like angry keyboards.

They zipped across the webs in flashes of movement, running in spirals around us, hissing in voices that were high-pitched but somehow still intelligible.

“The New Avatar has arrived!”

“Thrummm the Thread! Tell the Mothers!”

“He’s older than expected!”

“He looks scary!”

“He’s the savior! Savior! Savior!”

“Cool tattoos though.”

Iroh sighed, long-suffering and mildly amused.

“Begone, you little rumor-mongers!” he barked, swatting one away with his sleeve like a strict-but-tired schoolteacher. “You’re worse than spirit Pigeonsloths.”

The spiders hissed and scattered, giggling as they vanished into the shadows and webs.

I looked over at him. “That normal?”

He sipped his tea like this was Tuesday. “Children of the Weavers. Very excitable. Very nosy. All they do is skitter around and gossip. By now, every spirit in the realm—including the old ones—has heard of you. Probably three different versions, too.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Glad my spiritual debut’s being handled by a bunch of furry PR interns.”

Before Iroh could respond, a voice echoed through the cave. Female. Deep. Regal.

“Indeed, we would be remiss to ignore the arrival of the fated savior.”

I turned just in time to see something massive descending from the ceiling.

She moved with a slow, graceful terror. A spider the size of a small cottage, her body covered in black chitin that shimmered like onyx. Eight pairs of ghostly white eyes stared down from her face. Two white horns curved back from her head, and from her abdomen trailed a long, segmented white tail that looked a lot like a demon’s whip.

Nona, apparently.

And then—

“Though we foresaw your coming, dear Lord of Balance,” came a second voice—lighter, lilting, and no less unsettling. “Forgive us for not preparing a more formal welcome.”

Another spider dropped beside the first.

This one was feathered, pure white with soft plumage flowing from her legs. Two black horns curled like ram’s horns from her head, and four gossamer wings—scaled like a bat’s but patterned like starlight—fluttered behind her. Her eyes were solid black, deep as ink wells.

Decuma.

“Your attire, at least, was completed yesterday,” she added.

I raised a hand. “Yeah, formalities aren’t really my thing, so—no party, no dramatic welcome speeches… you’re already ahead of the game.”

I scratched the back of my head.

“Though I was told there were three of you,” I said, glancing at Iroh. “This feels like a two-out-of-three situation.”

Iroh nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. “Indeed. Nona. Decuma. Where is your sister, Morta? You’re usually together when I visit.”

That’s when everything went sideways.

Both spiders screamed.

Not hissed. Not shrieked.

They screamed.

A sound so sharp and painful it punched through the air like shattered glass. I stumbled back, hands flying up. Without thinking, I pulled wind into a barrier, wrapping it around myself and Iroh just to breathe.

The screaming stopped, but the weight in the air didn’t.

“Morta…” Nona rasped, her voice low now. “Morta is gone…”

“She was harvesting dye,” Decuma added, voice trembling. “From the Vipertree, near the Chaos Storm… and she never returned.”

Nona bowed her monstrous head.

“No spirit has entered the Chaos Storm and returned. She is lost to us… forever.”

Decuma hissed softly.

“But maybe not to you…”

And then they both turned to me.

All eyes—black and white—locked on mine.

“Please,” they begged in unison. “Great Lord Avatar… bring her back.”

Their voices rose again, not in screams this time, but grief. Long and aching and loud.

The wind around me faded. My jaw was tight. My tattoos pulsed like they’d heard something they didn’t like.

Iroh stepped forward, placing a steady hand on my shoulder.

“We will speak more of this soon, in due time.” he said, turning to address the Weavers. “For now, we have other matters to discuss.”

Outside, I was dressed.

Kind of.

The Weavers had made me a suit.

Black and white—stitched from spirit-web silk, it shimmered faintly in the light like it was alive. The pants were tailored, sharp. The jacket? A blend of ceremonial and battle-ready, with lines and folds that hinted at movement, not formality. No seams. No fasteners. It clung to me like memory.

It fit.

Mostly.

Decuma had frowned before we left.

“It is incomplete,” she said. “The gray shirt… Morta was weaving it.”

Iroh gave me a long look. “Then it will remain incomplete… until she returns.”

I ran my hand over the jacket’s collar, then looked back toward the storm still brewing over the mountain range.

Red lightning. Roaring clouds. And something else beneath it all.

Something wrong.

The tattoo on my back burned again.

“…That storm?” I muttered.

Iroh didn’t look at me. Just placed a hand behind his back and started walking.

“In due time,” he said again, voice heavier than before. “In due time. First you need to learn of your new role as the Avatar, then there's bending training. I took the trouble of organizing a few spirit masters in that regard. When I deem you ready and only then, shall we discuss...the Chaos Storm."