Yet one young man, living alone as a huntsman in the woods, is soon to find out something different. He, too, has heard the tales of the Avatar. He tries to do good, but it is so difficult, and so very easy to accept second-best. Oh, sure, he thinks, the Avatar could do it because he's not even human. I'm not like that, so why should I follow an example that cannot ever be duplicated by a mortal?
At that moment, there is a thunderous crash, and the door to his hut collapses to reveal the impossible: the Avatar himself is here, and he is gravely wounded. Genuinely surprised to find that he is vulnerable, the boy rushes to his aid, and under isntruction removes the brilliant, untarnished armour. To his great surprise, underneath lies an old man of white hair and scarred flesh, pierced through the chest and dying. He is not divine, not invulnerable, and not even immortal. He is merely a human. The old man thanks him for his help, and asks that the youth takes his body, his sword, and his armour to a certain island, far off a distant coast that he has never heard of it, for a proper burial. The youth tries to question the old man, but he slips into unconsciousness, and soon dies. The youth is furious that the tales of his youth are lies. Either this Avatar is a fake, and the validity of the stories are compromised, or this is truly the Avatar, and the stories are completely worthless. Enraged and betrayed though he is, he still feels reluctant to completely discard the ideals that have formed such an integral part of his life. He decides he'll grant the old man his dying request in the hopes that it presents a better explanation that the two that threaten to compromise his entire self.