Chapter 13. Differences [FIXED]
Every day brings new experiences, whether positive or negative. After my collision with the barrier to the spirit world, I certainly didn't expect to wake up on an improvised bed made of various animal furs. They created a kind of ethereal softness, and I made a mental note to ask my hospitable hosts what kind of animals had such soft fur.
Checking my body for any injuries, I noticed my chi sources looked unusually sluggish. The chi flowing into them seemed to be reviving the sources themselves rather than filling my reserves.
At the moment of impact with the barrier, I felt my substantial bending reserves dissipate in mere seconds. After the shock, guided by my instincts, I rushed toward the direction where I sensed the energy of the human world.
Now it's clear why I couldn't pass through the barrier. If I were a spirit, it would have let me in easily, but I wouldn't have been able to return to the human world. The barrier prevents spirits from entering the human world and vice versa—a clever protective mechanism.
The next realization was that my spirit and body were no longer separate entities; they had become an inseparable whole. This duality confused the barrier, and I could feel its defenses stretching under my pressure. A bit more force, and I might have broken through. But in my case, "a bit more" would require the power of a higher spirit, and without the resources to achieve that rank in the spirit world, it's a long road ahead.
Rummaging through my memories from my past life, I recalled everything related to the Avatar. I found a mention of the solstices: in the Avatar world, during the winter and summer solstices, the connection between the human and spirit worlds weakens. This should theoretically allow me to enter with the strength of a mid-level spirit. I'll need to ask knowledgeable people for the exact dates—it's one of my best options.
Deciding to check where I was, I tried to open my eyes. Even this seemingly ordinary action required considerable effort. After all, I'd never fully drained both my chi sources before, and just as I'd feared, even lifting my eyelids felt like a trial. It took several minutes of channeling life energy through my body before I could move.
My eyes took in the sight of a traditional water tribe dwelling—an igloo. Despite its small size, it was cozy. Sitting up slightly, I saw a small pot simmering with something resembling fish stew mixed with unfamiliar spices. As the aromatic scent hit my nose, I felt a ravenous hunger, and my stomach growled loudly, as if begging for food. I wondered how long I'd slept.
At that moment, the children who would one day shape the world's destiny—or at least help shape it—entered the igloo. They were clearly meant to be central characters here.