Hi all, long time lurker first time poster. In one of the Zutara stories I’m working on, my keyboard got away from me and I ended up writing a creation myth for one of my SWT creatures. I’ve never posted any of my writing before (be gentle with me lol) and while I don’t know if I’ll ever post the story this is from, I thought this stand-alone excerpt was worth sharing.
This is a fictional myth set within the Avatar: The Last Airbender universe, centered on the spirits Tui and La. It’s meant to echo the tone and cadence of creation myths from across the globe but is not intentionally tied to any single real-world tradition or culture. It explores grief, forgiveness, balance, and the cycles of nature.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/69921051
…
When the world was new and Tui and La first left their realm to join mankind, La was despondent every new moon. He missed his mate, for in the Spirit World he had never been without her.
And every cycle, he begged her not to leave.
But Tui could not change her nature. Nor did she wish to.
And every cycle when she was gone, in his grief La refused to pull the tides.
The four great winds could not ride the tides and the air became stagnant.
And when the air became stagnant, the rhythm of the rain became discordant and wrong, too quiet in some lands, too loud in others, and the three spirits of the earth could no longer live in harmony.
Poa could no longer feed her children when the trees in the great forests and the grasses on the great plains shriveled to ash. Without Growth, Lí could not keep his mountains from sliding, and he could not keep his plains from turning to dust. Without Strength, Ru alone thrived when Tui was gone and La refused his duty, and Ruin reigned supreme over their brother and sister even though they did not wish to.
And when Ruin thrived unchecked, they could not help but feed Agni. And with neither Tui nor La to calm them, Agni was left heartbroken and alone and heated the earth without mercy and wildfires raged, burning everything in their path.
After a century of cycles, the four great winds, and the three spirits of the earth, and the lonely spirit of fire could stand it no more and begged Tui not to leave because in his grief, La unbalanced the world.
But Tui could not change her nature. Nor did she wish to.
A century more passed, and every cycle, the people of the tribes could not fish because the four great winds would not fill their sails, the tundra would quake and collapse beneath them, unable to support their homes, and the midnight sun scorched life that was never meant to remain for so long in Agni's light. And so, the people of the tribes, the children of Tui and La, could stand it no more, and begged their mother not to leave, to stay with La so that his grief would not be their end.
But Tui could not change her nature. Nor did she wish to.
For a century more, Tui's own grief slowly grew when, every cycle, she returned to see that her mate had destroyed that which they had created together and that which they loved, until finally, she could stand it no more.
And when the next cycle came and went, she did not return, and the balance of the world, delicate and fragile in its infancy, was broken.
The oceans roiled, the tides lashed out, and storms raged as La’s grief twisted into anger. So angry was La at his mate for abandoning him and at the young world that took her from him, that he claimed anything and everything that dared to sail on his waves or swim in his waters. After a century more, his anger finally ebbed and La looked upon the world, longing to see fragments of Tui in the things they had created and the things that they loved, but instead he found only death and destruction.
The clouds that they had made with the four great winds had dissipated, fragments and whisps scattered across the horizon. The lakes and rivers they had made with the three spirits of the earth had dried up, leaving only barren, parched land. La’s own waters, once teeming with life, were all but empty, poisoned and acidic from his rage. And the reefs that they had built together with Agni so that the spirit of fire might feel less alone were gone, long since bleached and crumbled.
The most painful of all was that with nothing to shelter them and nothing to fill their bellies, the people of the tribes, their children, were dead or dying.
La turned to the spirits of the air and earth and fire and begged them for help so that he might save the lives that remained, but they offered him no sympathy or aid, for they were grieving the loss of their own children who were dead or dying because of La’s transgressions.
You were not the only one who loved her, said Agni.
We loved her too. We needed her too, said the spirits of the earth.
We all loved her, but you drove her away because you could not accept her nature, said the four great winds.
And when his family turned from him, La wept for he finally understood what he had done.
Retreating to the deepest trenches of the ocean, La collected together the remains of the creatures he had killed to fashion something new to fill his children's bellies. When he was done, he began to pull the tides once more, sending his newest creation to the surface. But La did not know how to create life without Tui's help. The creature was hideous and twisted, its meat toxic, its womb sterile. A wraith born from the bodies of the creatures he had killed. And La wept again when the meat from his newest creation killed yet more of his children.
But his children had their mother's cleverness, and they took the creature and made tools from its ribs and shelter from its hide and flushed the poisons from its meat. As is their way, the people of the tribes adapted and survived and gave La hope that not all was lost.
In the darkness of the deepest ocean trenches, La pulled the tides and fashioned his wraiths without rest so that he might feed his children. The few creatures he had created with his mate that were strong enough to survive his poisonous waters multiplied and life slowly filled the oceans once more. For a millennium, he pushed the tides alone with no mate to share the burden and push them back, toiling to try and repair what he had broken, and repenting for the suffering he had caused to the children that he loved and the children of the spirits that he loved.
For a millennium, the children of the world recovered and grew and survived. But without Tui, they could not thrive.
This, La knew and it pained him that his children, the children of his mate, could not thrive because of his transgressions. Only after he’d done all he could alone, La humbled himself and sought counsel from the other great spirits.
Love that shackles and binds is no love at all. Do not deny what she is. Love her, not despite her nature but because of her nature. And then let her be free as an ocean breeze, said the four great winds.
Show her what you have created. Give her substance, something solid. Offer her a piece of your heart and expect nothing in return even if it may pain you, said the three spirits of the earth.
Ask for her forgiveness so that your children might thrive under her light, said Agni.
La heard their counsel and yet he could not help but be afraid. Afraid that she would not believe he loved her for he had destroyed the creations they made together. Afraid that she would be unable to look upon the life he had made from death and feel anything but contempt for a creator who could only make such hideous and twisted creatures. Afraid that his transgressions were too great, that she would not forgive him, that he would never feel her light again, that their children would never feel her light again.
And so, for one last century, La pulled the tides alone and tried to fix his creations so that they might please Tui and so that his children might have beauty in their lives once more even if she refused him. For ninety-five years he crafted hundreds of wraiths from those dead by his transgressions, and though his children’s bellies were full, no matter what he attempted, he could not make his creations beautiful on his own. The ninety-sixth year, he scoured the ocean floor but could only find enough dead to craft two final wraiths, yet they were no more beautiful than the last.
The ninety-seventh year, he took his final pair of wraiths to the four great winds and asked for their aid, and this time, they gave it. His wraiths grew four massive fins so that they might leap from the water and let Tui see them.
The ninety-eighth year, he took his pair of winged wraiths to the three spirits of the earth and asked for their aid, and this time, they gave it. They could not replicate Tui’s beauty, but they polished the creatures’ hides to a shine so that they might reflect her light.
The ninety-ninth year, he took his pair of winged, burnished wraiths to Agni and asked for their aid, and this time, they gave it. Agni breathed life into the creatures, giving them the spirit they had been lacking, and though they were not beautiful, they began to dance and play on their own.
Finally, the hundredth year came and La knew he could do no more. He waited until the week of Long Night when the veil between the worlds was at its thinnest and sent his creations to the surface to dance and play in hopes that Tui might be watching.
Tui had always been watching. And though it pained her to watch, she could not help it for, like her cycle, that too was in her nature.
For a century, she watched, hidden away in their old home in the Spirit World as the mate that she loved killed the children that they loved and the children of the spirits that they loved out of anger, powerless to stop it.
And for the first time, she wished she could change her nature.
But Tui, like Agni, could not shine eternally in the world of man, for even spirits must take their rest lest they burn out into nothingness. Agni lit the day, shared the horizon with Tui at twilight, and gave the sky to her at night. Agni’s duty was to light the world, and they entrusted the night sky to Tui so that they might rest. But unlike Agni and unlike the other spirits that she loved, Tui had two duties, she was to both light the world at night and push the tides with her mate and so required more rest than them. She could not do both endlessly.
Her cycle was in her nature because without it she would burn out into nothingness.
Though she was angry with her mate, she could not help but love him still, and could not stand to see him in anguish, nor bear to watch the deaths of her children and the deaths of the children of the spirits that she loved. And so, after watching La rage for a century, Tui approached the veil during the week of Long Night, intending to abandon her nature and remain with La and cherish her time with him and their children before she burned out into nothingness.
But as she prepared to cross the veil and rejoin her mate, the oceans stilled, the tides ebbed, and the storms dispersed. She watched as La began to weep and though it pained her to see the mate that she loved in tears it gave her hope that perhaps he could learn to accept her nature, that he would ask her to return and that they could rebuild their creations. And so she retreated and waited for him to ask.
Century after century she watched him struggle to pull the tides alone and feed their children alone. After five hundred years her anger with him had faded and she felt only joy at seeing that their children had recovered and survived and she thought then that he would finally ask her for help so that they might thrive.
Yet he did not ask.
She began to fear that his love for her had grown cold because she would not change her nature and abandoned him and abandoned the children that they loved. But the other great spirits had loved her too and she them, and though she had been angry with them for asking her to change her nature, she thought that perhaps they might wish for her to return even if her mate’s love had grown cold.
Century after century she watched as La went to the four great winds, and the three spirits of the earth, and the lonely spirit of fire and aided them so that their children might recover and survive. And after five hundred years more, the children of the spirits that she loved had recovered and survived and she thought then that they would finally ask for her help so that they might thrive.
Yet the spirits that she loved did not ask.
And after a millennium she believed that her mate and her family and the world of man had moved on without her, that they neither needed nor wanted her.
She watched for another century, despondent, and though it pained her, she could not help but watch for it was in her nature. She saw that La had toiled for over a millennium without rest and without a mate to share the burden and push the tides. Though he may no longer love her, Tui could not help but love him for it was in her nature and she realized that if she did not return to share the burden, he would wash away into nothingness.
So during the week of Long Night, she left the Spirit World and passed through the veil.
She crossed over into the endless blackness of Long Night and for the first time in over a millennium, Tui heard the sound of waves breaking gently against ice. And in the blackness, she heard the sound of a creature and knew it must be the wraiths that she saw filling her children’s bellies. Its cry was mournful and haunting, yet she could hear it splashing and playing in the waves. But though she was curious, she did not reveal herself and shine her light upon the creatures for she was still afraid that her mate cared naught for her.
And then the ocean spoke to the moon.
I know not if you are listening, but I pray that you are. I am sorry my love, I should not have denied your nature for in order to shine, you must have rest. I have done all that I can to repair what I had broken, but I can do no more without you. I offer you these creatures as penance for my transgressions. They are hideous and twisted for I could not make them beautiful without you, but I love them, and they are my heart. I humbly ask that you would forgive me for the wrong I have done and if you cannot I would beg that you shine your light on my hideous and twisted creatures so that our children may know beauty once more.
Weeping, the moon shined her light on the ocean’s creations so that she might see them. They were massive serpentine creatures, gaunt and skeletal, with white, sightless eyes and rows and rows of jagged, broken teeth. But they had large fins to let them fly and when she shined her light on them, they began leaping from the water so that she might see them better. Their burnished hide reflected her light, moonlight scattering across the waves, and they had a spirit that was excited to dance and play.
And her mate loved them, and they were a piece of his heart that he had created and offered to her and that alone made them beautiful.
Can you truly accept my nature? The moon asked the ocean.
Though I shall miss you when you are gone, I love that you rest for it means that you will be able to keep shining forevermore and that you will not burn yourself out into nothingness, the ocean replied.
And you will not refuse your duty when I am gone?
I do so swear that when you must go, I will care for the world of man in your stead and never turn from our children again.
The moon took her place in the sky and began her cycle anew while she smiled down upon the wraiths as they danced and played in the waves. And at the peak of Long Night when the moon was at her strongest, she reached down and touched her love’s creations. She did not change their hideous and twisted forms for to her they were beautiful, she simply completed their bodies so that they might multiply on their own and gave them her light, so that the ocean might have a fragment of her to illuminate the darkness of the deepest ocean trenches when she was gone.
And when next she left, the ocean said, Go without reservation to rest. I trust that you will always return to me.
And the moon responded, Then I shall always return.
