Chapter Text
“Hold still.”
Toph’s first impulse was to wiggle her toes, but she stilled as Katara shifted closer. The air around her feet cooled, and, a beat later, water enveloped the sole of her right foot. She bit back a hiss; the water was cold, and it made her skin tingle like hundreds of pricks from a seamstress’s pins.
After several seconds, Toph uncurled her fists with a sigh. "That's the good stuff," she said, leaning back onto her palms.
"I just wish I had some of that spirit water." Katara's voice was muffled. Toph guessed she had trapped her lower lip beneath her teeth; she had her healing face on, as Sokka liked to say. “It's not going to scar, I don't think, but I'm not an expert."
"Well, it feels pretty good."
Katara hummed and moved onto Toph's left foot. “On a scale of a snow-gnat sting to a polar-dog bite, how would you rate your pain?"
Toph shot a blank look in Katara’s direction. “I don’t know what any of those things feel like.”
“Oh. Right.” A pause. “Then on a scale of one to ten.”
“Does it matter? You can't do anything about it.”
“Just tell me, Toph.”
“Ugh, fine. A three, maybe?”
“So a five. When Sokka goes out today I’ll ask him to look for some—oh, what did Aang call it?” She clicked her tongue. “Oh! Poppy-fern. That’s it.”
Toph snorted. "Because he's been so good at bringing home the bacon lately."
"Don't be rude. He's just—" Katara leaned forward, and the ends of her hair tickled against Toph's shins. "He's just been having a hard time," she whispered.
"Everyone's been having a hard time. Including me, but you don't see me dicking around in the woods for a half a day."
"You can't walk," Katara pointed out, and Toph rolled her eyes.
"That's not the point. Between him, Aang, and Zuko, I'm choking on all the male angst."
"Aang is not brooding."
"Look me in the eye and say that again." Toph tilted her head. "Are you looking me in the eye? Or are you looking at my feet? I can't tell because, y'know."
"Well... I might've caught Aang staring at the lotus pond the other day, and I don't think he was meditating."
"Brooding," Toph nodded sagely. "Luckily, I know the cure for that: Zuko."
Katara said nothing.
"I'm guessing from the silence that you're staring at me with a shocked and/or angry expression. Indignance, perhaps?" Toph sniffed the air. "Yeah, I smell indignance."
"You can't smell indignance," Katara snapped, indignantly. "He burned you, Toph. I don't see why you insist on defending him."
"Because it was an accident. He was freaking out, and I got too close."
"He can’t afford to freak out. If that’s what you want to call it.”
"You're telling me you've never cracked some ice or created a wave when you get pissed? Because that’s not how Sokka tells it. And what was Aang’s sandstorm in the desert? Not a display of grief and fear, that’s for sure." Katara let out a harsh sigh, which Toph took great pleasure in mocking. “Face it, sweetness. We all have our moments.”
"It's different when it's fire. It's different when he's angry all the time. It's different when it's him."
"Ugh." Toph swung her feet off Katara's lap and plunged them into the fountain below. "This is the part where you storm away because I can't."
"Fine." There was a swish of cloth and scuff of boots on stone as Katara stood. "I'm taking Aang, Teo, and The Duke to the reflection pool. Stay here and soak your feet, and ask Haru if you need anything. And don't," she added sharply, "go near Zuko. You’re not the only one who got hurt, you know.”
Toph waved a hand in Katara's general direction. "Whatever. I’ll be fine here, stuck in one spot, bored, alone, and on my best behavior."
With a growl of frustration, Katara stomped away, and Toph turned back to the fountain. She placed her elbows onto her knees and leaned forward, resting her chin between her fists. Small waves lapped at her ankles, and the fountain's spray speckled her skin with droplets of water. Far off, humming-toads croaked, joined by the sound of rushing water. It would’ve been nice, if it weren’t for the knot of guilt in her stomach. It was a foreign feeling: usually, people wronged her, not the other way around. But Zuko had been earnest from the start, and they hadn’t believed him then. Now, he had a better chance of stealing Koh's face than teaching Aang to firebend, and it was partially her fault.
Toph curled her arms around herself at the memory. The earth had hidden nothing; she had felt, with horrible clarity, the way Zuko’s heartbeat had stuttered, the way he’d struggled against the temple floor, tearing at the stone that pinned him there with all his strength. It had made sense to release him. It had made less sense to run forward, but by the time she'd realized that, her feet were on fire.
Three days later, her feet still throbbed, and the mood around camp had worsened. It was like the air before a storm: thick and muggy with rising tension. Somehow, it was up to her to set things right.
“Hey."
“What,” she snapped to disguise her unease at being snuck up on.
“Sorry if I startled you,” Haru said. He settled next to her and dipped his feet into the fountain, sending ripples across the surface. “I was just wondering if I could get you anything, or if you were bored. Sitting here isn’t much fun.”
Toph crossed her arms. "It's not, but I’m sure Twinkletoes is thrilled to be free of bending practice.”
"Ah." Haru cleared his throat. “So… sorry if this is an uncomfortable question, and you don’t have to answer it, and I—”
“Are you an earthbender or not? Just ask it."
“Um, well, can you not bend at all with your feet like… that? Like, I know you need a strong root to bend, that was one of the first things I learned, but… Yeah."
“I can bend some,” Toph said after a moment. “But that doesn’t do me much good because I can’t see, and I never learned to use my hands like I do my feet. I can sense some vibrations, but,” she dropped her hands to the fountain wall and spread her fingers across the stone, “it’s not the same. It’s… fuzzy.”
“That must suck. It’s not the same, but before Katara freed my village, I had to hide my bending. I still bent, and that was how the others found me, but it was always in secret. My mom always said my life would've been easier if I wasn’t a bender, so I wouldn’t know the pain of holding back.”
“At least your village is free now, right?"
“Yeah, but what good did that do in the long run?” Haru let out a sigh. “If we don't win the war, the Fire Nation’ll come back, and we’ll be right back where we started, on those prison rigs.” A shudder ran through him. “They’re out on the sea, you know? And completely made of metal. It's terrible, to be separated from your element like that."
“Metal, huh?” Toph turned to him and grinned. “It's your lucky day. Want to learn how to metalbend?”
“To what?”
Toph’s grin grew wider. “Get me my bag.”
Haru scrambled to heave himself over the side of the fountain, splashing Toph in the process. “Sorry,” he called over his shoulder. The sound of wet feet on stone faded, then returned. “Here.”
He guided Toph’s hands to the bag, and she rooted around until she closed her fist around a scrap of steel. She thrust it into the air.
“Look closely. You might think this is steel, right?”
“Isn’t it?”
"Wrong!" Toph barked. "It’s processed earth. It’s just been refined and purified. Watch." She flattened her other hand into a blade and chopped it through the air in a series of rigid, controlled motions. She felt the steel contort accordingly. “See? It’s all earth. You’ve got to look for it, search it out, then make it your bitch.”
"Make it my... bitch?"
"What did I just say?"
By the end of the lesson, Haru could sense, but not command, the steel.
"I think I need a break," he panted. "Thank you for teaching me." He shifted forward in the way Toph had long since learned to recognize as a bow, then said: “Wǒ jiàng xiàng yīng de yídòng fǎmǎ.” The phrase was awkward in his mouth, unpracticed. “Seriously, Toph,” he added. “I’ll make it up to you.”
For several beats, Toph did nothing but blink. It was jarring to hear that phrase after so many months of travel. It brought back memories of long-winded etiquette lessons, of unctuous advisors eager to gain her favor; back at the Beifong Estate, it wasn’t uncommon to hear that phrase upwards of twenty times a day.
“Ugh.” Toph shook her head. “You don’t have to be so formal. You owe me nothing. It was one friend to another.”
“But… you’re a Beifong, right?”
“Wrong. I’m the Beifong. But I personally have no need to keep track of who owes my family what. If I want something, I’ll get it. Probably by stealing.”
“Yeah,” Haru shifted awkwardly, “but everyone owes the Beifongs something. I think my mother’s friend owes your second cousin on your father’s side a basket of ostrich-horse eggs.”
Toph waved a hand. “Consider it resolved. I ran away from home to experience real Děng Chèng, not the formal dumb version of it.”
“Oh.” She felt Haru draw back. “Oma and Shu, I’m so sorry. I just assumed—because you’re a Beifong, I thought you—”
Toph shushed him by mashing her hand into his nose. Close enough. “Friends, remember? I did you a favor because I wanted to, not because I wanted to gain something, got it?” At Haru’s affirmation, she continued. “And going off that, I need a favor. Bring me a scroll from Zuko’s bag, and don’t tell Katara anything that happens in the next few hours.”
“Um, okay?”
A few minutes later, Haru was carrying her towards Zuko. His heartbeat was steady against her back, so she knew he was telling the truth when he whispered,
“I think this is a bad idea.”
Toph crossed her arms. “Bad because of Katara, or bad because of him? Do you really think he did it on purpose?”
“I think,” Haru said, then paused. “I think you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I trust him. But,” he added as Toph opened her mouth, “I didn’t trust him even when I was talking to him with Teo and Duke. That doesn’t mean I don’t think he should help Aang learn to firebend. Still, it’s not up to me.”
“Tell Katara you think he should join.”
“Katara is… threatening.”
Toph showed him all her teeth. “And I’m not?”
“Oh, look, we’re here.” Haru put Toph down in front of Zuko, and there were a few seconds of silence as the two presumably stared at each other.
Haru cleared his throat. “Um, I’m sorry I hit you with a rock.”
“I’ve had worse,” Zuko said.
“Like when your ship was blown up by pirates,” Toph put in.
“Like when my ship was blown up by pirates,” Zuko agreed. “And I’m sorry I… shot fire in your direction.”
Before either of them could say anything else, Toph clapped her hands. “Haru, you can go now. Sparky,” she released his hands and thrust the scroll forward, “I’m bored. Read to me.”
“What.”
Toph shoved the scroll forward again and ended up mashing it into his face. “Read. It. To. Me.”
“Uh, okay?” He took the scroll from her, then proceeded to do nothing.
Toph shot a glare in his general direction. "I'm waiting."
"Right." After another beat of hesitance, he unfurled the scroll and cleared his throat. “Long ago, when Pele-san lay dormant and phoenixes took to the skies, the Dragon Emperor reigned..."
As Zuko spoke, Toph sprawled across the temple floor. With her hands clasped across her stomach, and the soles of her feet free to the air, she let Zuko's voice wash over her. She liked his voice. It was low and raspy: the scrape of spark rocks and subsequent ribbon of smoke. He had an accent, too, (as did everyone in the group), hardening his r's and clipping his vowels, sharp and clean.
To many, it came as a surprise that Toph enjoyed plays, but xiqu troupes were always eager to gain favor from the Beifongs. Whenever her family procured private seats, she was dragged along. After years of this, she learned to recognize the patterns in both the stories and roles, the sheng, the dan, the jing, the chou. Toph found herself drawn to the stylized speech, distinct in each role, and the music. There was no need for an aide to offer her an explanation; she understood the story on her own.
Love Amongst the Dragons wasn't xiqu, but she liked it all the same. For the first few lines, Zuko was timid, hesitant, stumbling over lines, but soon enough he seemed to forget Toph entirely and spoke as though he'd rehearsed every line several times over. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper during the intense parts, and grew thick during the emotional parts. At times, she wondered if he was even reading off the scroll.
"... and the Dragon Emperor and Empress reigned for ten thousand years, bound by a love so bright it rivaled the rays of Agni Himself. End."
After several seconds of silence, Zuko seemed to come back to himself, and the air flushed with heat. "Spirits," he muttered, mortified. "I can't believe I just—"
Toph propped herself onto her elbows and aimed a glare in his direction. "Hey. Stop that."
"Okay.” He swallowed audibly. “Uh, I want to—Is it okay if I say something?”
"Oh, is it mushy emotion time? Sure. Go ahead."
Zuko drew in a breath. “I’m sorry," he said on the exhale. "Toph, I’m so sorry. Agni, I—I can't even begin to apologize for what I did to you. I have no excuse. I shouldn't have lost control. If you're mad at me, or if you don't want to hear what I have to say, I understand."
He fell silent. Toph could feel the tension emanating from his skin, and she reached out, blindly, to clip his shoulder. She gave him a little pat, then withdrew her hand. "It's okay."
“What."
“This friendship doesn't bode well if you're gonna make me repeat things twice. It's okay, Sparky. Why do you think I'm over here?"
"You said you were bored."
Toph scrubbed a hand down her face. "Oma and Shu. Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m pissed that I can’t see, but I’m not pissed at you.”
“Okay, but… Why?”
“Have you ever heard of Děng Chèng?”
“No?” Zuko replied, sounding thoroughly confused by the change in topic. “What does this have to do with the, uh. The situation?”
Toph snorted. “You’ll see.”
"Okay?"
Toph grinned to herself. Děng Chèng was one of her favorite things about the Earth Kingdom. Most people she'd met had grown up with some form of Děng Chèng, so introducing it to someone was a rare opportunity. Of course, there was a challenge in explaining such an ingrained part of her culture to a foreigner, but Zuko had traveled the Earth Kingdom; this made things a lot easier.
Toph jabbed a finger in Zuko's general direction. "The first time you stepped foot in an Earth Kingdom village, it felt different than any place you’ve been before. Am I right, or am I right?"
She waited patiently as Zuko gathered his thoughts.
"Well," he said after a few minutes, "the first village we stayed at was called Likeng, I think. Uncle said the energy felt... not restless, but ever-changing. Like a river, almost. I was mad when he said we could rest there, and I said I didn't feel anything, but..." Embarrassment crept into his voice. "I did. It felt—welcoming."
Toph was nodding even before he'd finished speaking. “Yeah, that’s what Děng Chèng feels like. And in those villages, people gave you food and shelter even though they were suffering, and they asked for nothing in return. Am I right or am I right?"
“Uncle always tried to give away whatever coin we had, but it was like there was a taboo against paying them back."
Toph's grin grew wider: she'd never been prouder to be an Earth Kingdom citizen. “That’s Děng Chèng. It's how people in the Earth Kingdom are—most of them, at least."
"So... Děng Chèng is being nice to people?"
"Eh," Toph waved her hand, "you're not wrong, but you could be more right. Think of it like this: everyone's got a děng chèng—a scale. It’s like your chi. You can’t see it, but it’s there. You've got a scale, I've got a scale, even your asshole of a dad has one. Got it?"
"Um, I think so?"
"Good. So, Děng Chèng is a way of life that connects your scale to everyone else's. It's a belief that, as you go through life, your actions tip your scale and the scales of everyone you interact with. That's how you live your life, by tipping scales. But—and here's the important part, so listen up—you're not supposed to think about it. You shouldn't be trying to tip your scale intentionally."
Toph was sitting up now, and facing Zuko. She seldom talked with her hands, but Děng Chèng was an aspect of her culture she held close to her heart.
"The motivation behind your actions should never be about moving your scale," Toph continued. "It's supposed to be unconscious: you live your life, and your scale tips accordingly. A person could travel through the entirety of the Earth Kingdom and never hear the words děng chèng, but experience it every day. That's what you did, and that," she finished, "was Děng Chèng."
"I think I get it." There was a smile in Zuko's voice. "It sounds like something Uncle would like a lot, and not something you'd really be into." The air flared with heat. "Not that you're not—I mean—you seem really passionate about it, which is weird. I mean—"
"You're not wrong." Toph sat back onto her palms. "But where I grew up, Děng Chèng wasn't like the way I just explained to you."
She recalled long hours in the main library while a hired tutor droned on about who owed what to the Beifong family. The Beifong's wealth and reach were built on debt, with the scales tipped in the Beifong's favor. Such was the way of business in the upper echelons of the Earth Kingdom, in which Děng Chèng was a way to gain power, and keeping track of debt was how one preserved both societal and monetary status. It was exhausting, the way Děng Chèng worked among the nobility. Every interaction, every word, every gift, was treated as a way to shift the scales to one's advantage.
"The Děng Chèng I grew up with isn't Děng Chèng," Toph summarized. "I didn't experience real Děng Chèng until I started going to the Earth Rumbles."
She explained how it had felt, attending a Rumble for the first time. There was a distinct energy that flowed throughout the crowd, within the ground, and into her feet. Scales tipped and straightened unconsciously, a counter-culture to the way she'd been raised to view Děng Chèng. It was exactly as Uncle Iroh had described: a river flowing without intent. And from the moment she'd stepped foot inside the Rumble, she'd joined that river. Not because people wanted something from her, not because people saw her as someone she wasn't, but because it was simply the way of things.
"That's true Děng Chèng," she said. "It's how things are—or should be."
"I see. So... you came over here to balance your scale with me?"
“Not balance," Toph corrected. "You don't want a balanced scale, 'cause that means it doesn't move. If everyone’s in balance, nothing gets done. Uncle Iroh said the energy felt like it was constantly moving, right? That's Děng Chèng. I'm here because I fucked up, not because I want to fix my scale." She shrugged. "My scale will follow."
"I've wronged the Avatar," Zuko said, almost to himself. "I need to balance my scale."
Toph rolled her eyes. "What did I just say? It's not about balance, and it's not supposed to be conscious. Your scale reflects your actions, not the other way around.” She knocked his shoulder lightly. “You just need to join the river. Got it?"
"I guess. I just..." A note of frustration slipped into his voice. "How am I supposed to do that?"
"That," Toph said grimly, "is the ten thousand-qián question."
...
The jungle was thick, wet, and violently green. Each swing of Sokka's machete showered him in droplets of dew, and moss swallowed his footsteps, darkening the leather of his boots with moisture. Every so often, he caught the scent of game—a heavy, wild musk that promised full stomachs—but his attempts at tracking failed miserably. Yue above, there was so much spirits-damned green, Sokka was drowning in it.
“I,” he growled to himself, “hate the jungle.”
Something wet and probably green smacked into the back of his head, and Sokka whipped around, machete raised. A frustrated sound escaped his teeth when he saw nothing. “This is going nowhere,” he grumped, scrubbing a hand down his face. His weapons—jaw-knife, boomerang, club, and sword—were useless in undergrowth this thick. He had to complete the nuqaq and darts soon, so he could at least spear fish.
"Sorry, boomerang," Sokka muttered. "Looks like we're both out of our element." He rolled his shoulders, threw out a breath, and began to hack away at the undergrowth again.
When the sun was at its zenith, he stumbled upon a break in the jungle: a path that ran perpendicular to the way he'd come. Sokka knelt and ran his fingers along the ground. It had been pounded flat by what appeared to be hooves, and the path itself was low, fraught with low-hanging vines and branches.
"Finally," Sokka muttered, straightening. As he stepped onto the path, a badger-frog lept in front of him. It let out a raspy croak, then hopped away into the undergrowth. Sokka eyed its glistening skin and grinned.
He hiked the path with his knees bent and his head turned to the side, left ear facing forward. Soon, a low, distant roar reached his ears, and the air seemed to shift. It smelled fresher, clearer, and there was an almost imperceptible dip in temperature. His suspicions were confirmed when he reached a break in the trees.
A river. It was several spear-lengths wide and looked to be about collar-bone deep at its center. Sunlight filtered through the trees above, setting the surface alight with flickering, golden sparkles.
Sokka whooped in excitement and tore towards the river. He skidded to a stop by the shore, dropped to his knees, and plunged his hands into the water. A yelp escaped his lips at the temperature, but his grin remained. It made sense, he thought, waving his finger-tips at an inquisitive group of minnow-lizards. Of course an animal path led to a water source. A large one at that, which probably saw visitors multiple times a day.
An idea struck.
The plan was simple and barely needed a strategy. It involved wading across the river, selecting a hiding spot at the edge of the jungle, and waiting. Here, the river looked just wide enough for his boomerang to arc around, and the water's edge faded into a wide stretch of mud and pebbles that shifted underfoot. All he had to do was stay alert and hope the downwind stayed constant.
Soon, his scalp prickled with sweat, and his necklace grew warm against the hollow of his throat. Overhead, birds flitted from tree to tree, letting out thin, high trills.
The animal appeared from the treeline in between one blink and the next. A set of antlers grew in jagged curves from its head, and when it stepped out of the woods, sunlight turned its russet fur to flames. Its ears twitched and swiveled at every sound as it approached the water's edge.
Sokka inched his hand towards his boomerang. He moved only when the animal bent its head to drink, a walrus-hunting technique he'd learned but never had the chance to practice; walrus-hunting was a two-man job.
Sokka curled two fingers around his boomerang. As he drew it back, the sounds of the jungle seemed to sharpen—the birds' song, the buzzing of gnats. He exhaled. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he threw his boomerang.
"C'mon, boomerang," Sokka murmured. He tracked its path as it sliced a wide, ovular arc through the air—and smashed into the undergrowth.
With a high-pitched bellow, the animal reared onto its hind legs. Another scream echoed from further down the river, and the animal charged into the jungle, kicking up a spray of pebbles in its wake.
The birds fell silent.
"Dammit!"
Sokka shot to his feet. He stalked across the river and into the jungle, following his boomerang's approximate path. "Why, boomerang?" he whined when he found it, lodged in the dirt and next to a patch of brilliantly red ferns.
Sokka sheathed his boomerang, then squinted at the ferns. They were about the size of his forearm, firecracker-red, and tipped with black dots. From Aang's description, they had to be poppy-ferns. He knelt and gathered a handful.
It was the least he could do for Toph, whose face twisted in pain whenever she thought no one was looking. On the other hand, when Toph did know someone was looking, she demanded to talk to Zuko. This was Katara's cue to put her foot down, and an argument usually ensued. It wasn't like Zuko had much to say anyways; he kept repeating the same thing over and over again to anyone who would listen: I'm sorry, I'm not your enemy anymore, I'm sorry, I want to help you, I'm sorry.
Sokka grabbed another clump of poppy-ferns and yanked.
His initial hypothesis grew weaker with each passing day, that Zuko had been sent to capture Aang in the aftermath of the invasion. The facts refused to align:
For one, Zuko had approached the group almost immediately after they'd arrived at the air temple. If he'd been right on their tail, why hadn't he tried to capture Aang closer to the Fire Nation? And what in Sanna's braid was a prince doing with no transport and no back-up despite having such a clear lead? Strategically, it made no sense. And sure, maybe Zuko was intending to be stealthy, but he'd walked straight up to the group with no mask and empty hands, and he'd made no (discernible) moves to send a signal. Strategically, that made no sense. Either Zuko was an excellent liar—even more so than Azula—or he was telling the truth. If so, this would give Team Avatar an edge, a win they so desperately needed.
But still, Sokka thought, stuffing the last of the poppy-ferns into his rucksack, there were too many variables, and his lack of foresight had already injured one teammate.
He stood and slung his rucksack over his shoulder. Considering the angle of the sun and the poppy-ferns he’d collected, he should've returned to the air temple, but... Sokka glanced through the trees, towards the river. The sound of rushing water seemed to grow in volume.
Sokka found himself staring at the river as it passed by, flowing towards even ground, and somewhere, out to sea. His eyes fluttered closed, and he drew in a breath. He could almost taste it—the bite of cold at the back of his throat, the scent of salt on his tongue.
The sea was the life of his tribe. It was also the domain of Sanna, where she ruled over the supply of everything that swam within it. Whenever the warriors of his tribe remained empty-handed after many hunts, the tribe gathered to pay respects to Sanna. Men danced in the name of Sanna's father, and everyone prayed for her goodwill. Then, the tribe’s angakkuq was supposed to dive and braid Sanna's hair while repeating everyone's prayers. If Sanna took mercy on the tribe, she would release the animals from the bottom of the sea, and food would be plentiful.
But his tribe had been without an angakkuq for many years. Uvavnuk, their last angakkuq, had been killed in a raid. She hadn't yet taken an apprentice; the rituals and the special language of the angakkuit died with her. Sanna could be appeased from time to time by offerings—bits of meat and broken weapons, dropped into the sea—and by respecting seals, but Sokka had made an offering every full moon since Dad left, long nights spent at the shore, pleading with Sanna for fish. She had seldom answered.
Then again, Sokka thought, his eyes flying open, perhaps his prayers had worked: the sea had brought him and Katara to Aang. And, come to think of it, fish had always been more plentiful near the drift ice where Aang had been frozen.
"You've got to be shitting me," Sokka breathed, then immediately whipped around, expecting to see one of Dad's disapproving gazes. "Right." He looked back to the river. Before he knew what he was doing, he was stepping into the water and drawing his knife.
He waded until the water rose past his knees and the current threatened to send him under. He had no fresh meat, but he had jerky and his blood. The latter would show that he seriously needed another creature's inua in him. With luck, Sanna would be satisfied with the tribute, even if it was not from her domain.
Sokka ended up dropping the jerky into the river. He murmured an apology, a request for food, and a promise to treat any animals he caught with respect. Then, he poured half of his waterskin into the river. It was a symbolic gesture more than anything else; he was unlikely to kill a seal any time soon. Lastly, he sliced a thin line across the base of his fingers. The drops swirled into the water, red as red could be. They disappeared with the current, and he was left staring at the water... and a reflection that was not his.
Except, on second glance, it was his, but there were suet lines on his skin. Sokka hardly dared to breathe. His heart staggered within his chest as he looked to his fingers—markless. He jerked his head towards the water—markless. Nothing but smooth, brown skin.
A surge of grief punched his stomach from the inside out, and he doubled over at the force of it. For a brief, fleeting instant, the river ran with salt, then that, too, was whisked away by the current.
Sokka straightened. He let out a thick breath, forced his shoulders back, and drew his machete. The sun was low in the sky: it was time to head back to the temple, empty-handed once again.
...
"Hey."
Zuko raised his head to see the Water Tribe boy standing over him, and he bit back a grimace. Sokka had returned not too long ago and, at Toph's command, ferried her to somewhere within the air temple. This left Sokka, who'd evidently grown bored of glaring at Zuko from afar.
Sokka sat down and began to fiddle with what appeared to be a polished, oddly-shaped stick. "I have some questions about... things," he said, haltingly, "and you're going to answer them. Okay?"
"...Isn't that usually how interrogations work."
"Yes—I—shut up. Listen,” Sokka leaned forward and lowered his voice, "if someone was captured by the Fire Nation, where would they be taken?”
"It depends," Zuko began, then narrowed his eyes. Sokka's face was set in stone, but there was an inward draw to his brow that made him look almost pleading. "You're looking for someone," Zuko guessed.
“That's none of your business."
Zuko raised his brow at Sokka, but he let it go. "Fine."
Sokka scooted closer. His eyes were wide enough for Zuko to match their color to a memory, to his first few weeks of banishment. Zuko had felt as though he was drowning everywhere he looked: blue sky, blue water, blue future.
"Dude, I'm waiting."
"Oh, uh, yeah." Zuko let out a breath. "The Fire Nation usually keeps prisoners, from what I've heard. They're probably in a war camp, or a prison. Most are located in the northern islands, like the Boi—"
A sharp pop punched through the air, followed by several degrees of silence. Then, a boom shook the pagoda like a clap of concentrated thunder. Something hard hit the top of Zuko's head, and he glanced up to see pieces of stone crumbling from the ceiling.
"What in Koh’s schnozzle is Toph making Aang do?" Sokka huffed, brushing dust from his arms. "Anyways, what were you saying? A place called the what?"
"The Boil—"
A second pop and boom shook the ground, and a flock of humming-toads burst into the sky, croaking madly. Zuko met Sokka's gaze, and they shared a brief, terrible realization.
"I forgot to call off the assassin," Zuko said as Sokka swore:
"Tui and La, it's him!"
Sokka shot to his feet. "Forgot?" he spat, drawing his boomerang. "You've got to be—this was your plan all along, wasn't it? Have Combustion Man track you to us, then have him blow Aang off the side of a cliff?"
"That's not his—no! Do you really think I'd lead him here while I was like this?"
"I wouldn't put it past you," Sokka muttered, but he faltered. He took two steps towards the inner temple, then swore and whipped around to face to Zuko. "Weaknesses?"
"What."
"His weaknesses, man, come on!"
"Um—chi—uh, breath control—no, wait—hold on." Zuko screwed his eyes closed. "Chi flow!" he shouted, his eyes flying open. "You have to disrupt his chi flow so he can't—try his eyes!"
"Eyes, got it." Sokka gripped his boomerang and sprinted away.
"Wait—" Zuko wrestled with his bonds as another blast shook the temple. "You can't just leave me here!"
"Not a bender!" Sokka called over his shoulder, then he was gone.
A frustrated cry escaped Zuko's teeth, followed by a yellow flick of flame. "Hiring that assassin was the worst thing I've ever done!" he raged. Another boom shook the temple, and his hands seared with heat.
"For Agni's sake!" he snarled at the sky, "just let me prove myself!"
Without warning, his bonds disappeared into the temple floor. Zuko sprang to his feet—and nearly crashed to his knees. His legs tingled fiercely and throbbed in time with his pulse, but the sensation faded as he hobbled towards the edge of the pagoda.
"Agni above," he breathed as he caught sight of the scene below.
The Avatar and his friends were trapped on a lower pagoda. The assassin had managed to mount his attack from the platform above, through a section of the temple floor that had crumbled away. His cheeks were caving inward, his chest swelling, and sparks crackled around his third eye.
"Agni above," Zuko hissed again.
He ran back a few paces, drew in a breath, and channeled what remained of the Blue Spirit. With a hoarse shout, he sprinted forward and hauled himself over the edge of the pagoda. For a beat, he thought he'd misjudged the jump—then he slammed into the assassin, knocking the blast off course. Behind him, the air bloomed with streaks of yellow and red, and a wave of heat snarled at the back of his neck.
Zuko rolled to his feet. "Stop!" he ordered the assassin. "I don’t want you hunting the Avatar anymore!"
"It's Zuko!" he heard the Avatar cry from below. "What's he doing?"
"That's my line," a distinctly Toph-like voice snarked in return.
“Do you hear me?" Zuko widened his stance. "I’m ordering you to stop! I'll—I'll pay you double to stop!”
Zuko dropped low as a ball of flame exploded from the assassin's lips, streaking past his shoulder in a whirlwind of heat. Zuko lashed out with a kick. A whip of flames trailed his heel, but a searing hand caught his ankle and flung him aside. The world flashed white before he slammed into the temple wall. A breathless shout escaped his lips, but he scrambled to his feet.
Before the assassin could attack again, a wave of water rose over the edge of the platform. It scattered into droplets, then transformed into a storm of icicles.
The assassin took refuge behind his metal limbs, and Zuko took the opening. He surged forward, slid to the ground, and used his momentum to push off his back. His legs sliced through the air, and a razor-whip of flame flared towards the assassin.
“That’s the move I want to learn!” he heard the Avatar call.
Before the assassin could recover, Zuko flipped to his feet and breathed forth a wave of dragon's breath. The assassin threw an explosion towards him in response, and it was too much.
His vision flashed orange, and his feet left the platform. He shot his hand out, clawing at the stone, and managed to grab hold of a root. It halted his fall with a jolt that threatened to pull his shoulder from its socket. Zuko bit down on the meat of his shoulder to muffle a shout.
More blasts thundered overhead, and the temple continued to shake. Stone crumbled away, stinging Zuko's face with bits of grit.
"Yeah, boomerang!" a cry sounded from above.
What followed was an explosion so massive it shook Zuko's teeth and left his ears ringing. With a mountainous crack, a section of the air temple plummeted towards the bottom of the canyon. Zuko buried his face in his shoulder as pieces of rubble rained against him. He managed to catch the flash of a metal arm against the sun, a shout of rage, then—
Silence.
For several degrees, Zuko clung to the root, heaving in breath after breath. An acrid, metallic smell hung in the air. It was the smell of the Summer Solstice, when Caldera's air turned hazy with soot from thousands of firecrackers.
With trembling arms, he grasped the root and began to climb towards the edge of the pagoda. When he reached it, he hoisted himself onto the platform and stood.
The Avatar and his friends faced him. A grin had spread across Toph's face, but the others looked considerably less pleased. Katara's hand was on her waterskin, and there was a deep furrow between Sokka's brows. His boomerang, however, was half-raised, which Zuko hoped was a good sign.
For several degrees, no one moved. Then, the Avatar handed his staff to Sokka and stepped forward.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this," he said, shifting from foot to foot, "but... thanks. You almost died for us. That was, um, pretty good. Not like, good that you almost died, but a good thing you did, which is good. So, I was wonder—"
“Hold on," Katara cut in. She strode to the front of the group and whipped around to face them. "What's going on here? Are we forgetting that Zuko hired Combustion Man? This could all be a ruse."
"You’ve got to be kidding me," Zuko said tightly, then winced at the scrape of his voice. The breath of fire never took this much out of him: it must've been the altitude. He stepped forward but kept his hands low, palms facing the group.
"Listen," he said, his voice echoing throughout the pagoda. "I know I haven't explained myself very well, but I still stand by everything I've said. I know I'm late, and I know there's nothing I do to take away the hurt I've caused, but that doesn't mean I can't help you end this war." He turned to the Avatar. "Let me teach you. Fire can be dangerous and wild—I've proved that more than enough. As a firebender, I need to control my flames so I don't hurt others unintentionally. It would honor me if you would learn along with me."
The Avatar, too, stepped forward. "When I first learned fire," he said, then paused, a pained grimace flashing across his face. It lingered for a beat before his features relaxed, and he met Zuko's gaze with resolve. "When I first tried to bend fire, I burned Katara. After that, I never wanted to firebend again. But I think you are supposed to be my teacher. It would honor me to learn along with you. But," he added as Zuko opened his mouth, "I have to ask my friends if they’re okay with you being here. Sokka?"
Sokka ballooned his cheeks, then let out a breath. "Look, I still don't trust him, but... I think it's pretty clear that he doesn't see us as the enemy. If he can help us win..." He trailed off with a shrug. "I guess he can stay."
"Toph?"
“The fact that you have to ask that makes me concerned for your comprehension skills."
"Okay. Um, Katara?"
Zuko, too, turned towards Katara, and tried not to look as desperate as he felt. Katara looked at him for several beats, nostrils flared.
“You know how I feel, but," her face softened as her gaze shifted to the Avatar, "it’s up to you.”
The Avatar nodded. "I guess that settles it, then." He bowed to Zuko, and his hands formed the shape of a flame against his chest. “I am ready to learn, Sifu Hotman.”
Zuko returned the bow at a lesser angle. He, too, formed a flame at his chest. “Thank you.” He paused. "What did you just call me?”
...
Sokka led him to a room deep within the air temple. The walk was long and awkward, and Zuko was relieved when Sokka finally left him alone to "unpack, get settled in, do whatever it is you need to do."
Zuko spent a while staring at the entrance to his room, then drew in a breath. When he stepped inside, grit swirled around his boots. It refused to settle as he dropped his rucksack and unfurled his bedroll; instead, it lingered in the air, small, pale specks suspended by rays of fading sunlight.
There was little to unpack. He hung his dao from a notch in the wall and moved his rucksack to the foot of his bedroll. Then, Zuko stepped over to the window. Vines curled over the sill in prickly loops, and he was careful to avoid trampling the leaves: if anyone other than the Avatar was to reclaim this temple, it was nature.
The window offered a view of the air temple. The pagodas hung from the cliffside like so many panther-bats, awaiting moonrise.
Zuko leaned against the window's edge and unsheathed his tantō. Technically, he had no need for it anymore; he'd achieved his goal, but he found himself reluctant to let it go. As he balanced the tantō in his palm, he was once again struck by the cruelty of the Fire Nation's teachings. He wondered how difficult it would be to reverse those teachings. He wondered if it was even possible to reverse those teachings, and if not, what that would mean for a Fire Nation in peacetime.
War had fueled his nation for several lifetimes. Would peace extinguish his people, a fire starved of air?
The hair on the back of his neck straightened, and the air sharpened. Zuko whipped around to see Katara leaning against the entrance to his room. She caught his gaze, then slipped past the threshold.
"I don't like this," she said plainly. She flicked her wrist, and a bead of water formed on the tip of her finger. "I don't like you. You might have everyone else here buying your... transformation, but you and I both know you've struggled with doing the right thing in the past.”
Katara stepped closer, and Zuko stepped back against the wall. The corners of her mouth tightened.
“I meant what I said: you will never have a place in this group. You're only here because we're out of options. And if you take one step backwards, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang, well." She clenched her fist. The bead of water turned to ice. It dropped to the floor, and Katara ground it beneath her heel. "You won't have to worry about being taken prisoner." She looked him in the eye. "Do you understand?”
Zuko swallowed. "I understand."
"Good."
She left without another word, and Zuko sank onto his bedroll, tantō in hand. He watched the crystals of ice melt into the floor, leaving behind nothing but a dark shadow.