Avatar: The Last Airbender: The Shadow of Kyoshi

Jinju, stop it, you miserable little brat, the eye roared. Despite its anger, it shrank back from him, afraid of his throes of agony. The ground squeezed and fluttered, the heartbeat of a man falling to his death, pounding louder and louder before the final impact. Yun wanted it to stop, he wanted the anguish to end. It hurt so much to see everything he'd worked for shredded to sparks and dust. It was destroying him from the inside. So let it out. The whisper came to him in his own voice, not the eyes, not Jinju's. Put the pain outside, put it somewhere else, on someone else. The rip started at his feet, a pinprick in overstretched silk. The tear birthed itself in the water and raced into the banks of the earth like lightning cracking the sky. The ground split apart, releasing all its quaking tension in one swift cataclysmic burst. And then, stillness. Yun could breathe again, he could see. The trembling had worn itself out, spent its energy in the creation of a long lesion in the ground, an unnatural wound upon the landscape. Swamp water poured into the injury, masking a depth he knew he shouldn't explore. Things were so much clearer when there was relief. Yun used this moment of respite to look around. The musty grove resembled no forest he'd ever seen. The dim light in the sky came from no discernible sun. This place was a hazy reflection of a real landscape, painted with ink that had been thinned too much. I'm in the spirit world. He backed away from the ravine that lay before him, not wanting to be dragged in by the force of the water's flow. Turning around, he pulled himself to drier footing, using the exposed roots of a leathery tree. The air smelled like sulfur and rot. Master Kelsang had told him about the spirit world. It was supposed to be a beautiful, wild place full of creatures beyond imagining. The realm of the spirits was a mirror held up to its visitors, a reflection of your emotions, a reality that shaped around your own spirit's intangible projection. Yun flexed his fingers, finding them as solid as they could be. He wondered if the gentle monk had ever explored a nightmarish bog like this one. They'd never talked about what happened if you entered the spirit world while you were still in your body. The rustle of branches gave him a start and reminded him he wasn't alone. The eye. It watched carefully from the darkness of the forest, circling him on translucent appendages studded with what he knew to be human teeth. He'd felt its bite back in the mountains when it had sampled his blood. A pulsing panic rushed through the chambers of his heart. Yun knew he was on borrowed time. He tried to remember what Jenju had called the spirit. Father, glow worm? The eye suddenly rushed closer, socketing itself in the gap between two nearby trees. Yun shrieked and fell backward on his elbows. He'd made a mistake. A crucial, invisible barrier had been broken by saying the name aloud. And now, he was more connected and vulnerable to it than ever. I call myself that, the spirit said. Father Glowworm's pupil darted around unnervingly, the iris squeezing narrower. Its gaze had the heft of a probing tongue. Now, child, I believe you owe me your name. Like a fool, Yun had fallen into the role of the bumpkin from Cautionary Earth Kingdom folk tales, the poor field hand or woodcutter who fell under a curse or was simply eaten. He could only think of.