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“So this is it.” Aang stared up at the familiar spirals, the gently rising towers of the air temple. A flock of birds flew past one, black specks against a white cloud. Aside from the group of lemurs chattering in the bushes, there was nary a sound.
“Wow!” Tenzin gaped as he turned around, his tiny feet almost tripping as he spun. With nothing to block the view, it was almost like flying. Blue skies stretched as far as the eye could see, unmarred by the land. Then, as though remembering himself, he solemnly nodded. “The air temple.”
Aang scratched his cheek. He wasn’t quite sure who Tenzin took after—definitely not him or Sokka. Even Katara and Zuko, the most serious of their group, let loose occasionally. His youngest son, on the other hand, was like Aang’s old teachers, somber to a fault.
Maybe reincarnation was not limited to the avatar after all. He repressed a shiver at the thought. Shaking it off, he started to walk the winding path toward the temple. “Wait till you see what’s inside!”
Tenzin nodded, quickly following after. They’d make better time flying up the steps but Katara had prohibited it before Aang could even ask the question. Maybe it was for the best—Aang never really had to teach airbending before and his lessons were…erratic, if he was kind. He had only the half-remembered lessons of childhood to go by, memories buried beneath war and death and the struggle for life. What little he could remember was overlaid with a filter of grief. Time had dulled the sharp edge of sorrow to a blunt manageable thing.
He stilled at the thought, earning a questioning look from Tenzin. Waving it off, Aang gestured at the bushes that littered their path. “Guess what’s in there.”
Tenzin squinted at the closest bush before walking toward it determinedly. His chubby fingers touched the leaves and suddenly a winged lemur popped out, chattering excitedly before it leaped up and soared of to another bush. He stumbled back, surprised, before gaping awestruck at the creature. “Momo!”
“Momo’s cousins!” Aang corrected cheerfully, crouching down next to him. His robes swished gently with each movement and if he just squatted for the entire walk, he could sweep the area clean. “One of them, at least.”
As though in response, a dozen lemur heads popped out of the bushes, each chattering and chirping as they leaped out and soared away. Tenzin shouted gleefully, almost falling as he craned his neck to follow their movements. Laughing, Aang reached down to steady him. “Wild, huh?”
“So cool!” Tenzin bounced, smiling so broadly Aang could see the hole from missing tooth.
“Very cool.” That was much better. He almost looked like a proper child now. It was getting harder and harder to elicit this reaction from him. Aang settled Tenzin back into place, releasing him so he could walk once more. Holding his tiny hand, they headed once more to the temple.
As they passed through a vaulted arch, Tenzin looked around curiously. Aang suppressed smile—while the high ceilings and open concept was similar to the temple they were staying at, the Southern Air Temple gave a very different feel. Maybe it was the age of the place, the chipped paint and faded glory. Perhaps it was the air itself, wild currents that whistled through the halls, untouched, untamed by man. Possibly it was the aura of centuries of tradition that lay forgotten, just waiting to be rediscovered.
Or it might just all be in Aang’s head. He smiled down at Tenzin, gesturing at the courtyard as they passed through it. “I used to live here.”
“Your home?” Tenzin asked, his eyes growing wide as he looked around with renewed interest.
“Yep, my home.” Aang grinned, pointing at a statue of a skybison. “I used to fly behind that and pretend it could talk. Scared my old teacher once that way.”
His son looked aghast. “You did that?”
Really, that was almost identical to the look his teacher did when he caught Aang the first time. Maybe it wasn’t a joke to think his teacher reincarnated as his son. Aang laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck at his son’s stern glare. Perhaps this wasn’t a good time to mention the other pranks he played here. Or anywhere, for that matter. Such as the hole they’d just passed. “Let’s go to the meditation room next.”
Tenzin squinted up at him for a long moment before nodding, mollified. “Okay.”
Well, that part was definitely Katara. Aang sighed and took his son’s hand once more. “I used to train out here—with these huge wooden panels. Maybe they’re still here; we can look for them later. Like in a treasure hunt!”
Tenzin nodded seriously. “Like in training.”
Bumi would have insisted they looked now. Kya would have laughed at the pair, while secretly looking forward to it. Tenzin took it all too seriously and perhaps Aang had been a little too eager to impress his culture onto his son. Even now, as they entered a vast chamber empty save for a few statues at the end, Tenzin solemnly stood inside instead of running or even cart-wheeling through it.
“What’s that?” Tenzin pointed at a black scorch mark at the wall next to them.
Aang stared at it for a long moment, before comprehending what it was. What it meant. He remembered the gold and scarlet armour he found years ago and closed his eyes. “A burn mark. From the Fire Nation.”
“Fire—Uncle Zuko?” Tenzin perked up.
“Not quite.” Like ivy, the black marks crawled across the wall, craters blooming along the path. Now that he’d seen one, it was impossible to ignore the rest. Aang swallowed. Somehow, the years did not make this easier. “Remember the war I told you about?”
“The ‘undread year war?” Tenzin gripped his hand tighter.
“This is from then.” Aang stared at the marks for a moment longer, before turning away. Eventually, Tenzin would have to learn this, the way that Bumi and Kya did, the way that all children now did. Eventually, but not now, not like this. History was a little too close here, like Aang could reach back in time and touch it. If they spoke about it, his imagined ghosts could become real, tangible.
“There was a tree in the central courtyard.” Aang changed the topic as they walked down a long hallway. “I hid in it all the time.”
Tenzin looked over his shoulder, back at the shadows on the wall. “Daddy, what about—”
“Later.” Aang cut him off with a smile, trying to keep it steadier than he felt. “I promise I’ll tell you later. First the tree, okay?”
Tenzin frowned dubiously before nodding. “Okay.”
Their footsteps echoed softly as they walked, a steady, foreign clop. It was funny how the air temple in the republic didn’t sound anything like this, what with the acolytes inane chattering, Bumi’s pranks, and Katara’s and Kya’s laughter.
There was none of that here and for a moment, he saw what Tenzin saw: a dead place, a quiet place. Not the lively temple with teasing monks, who would effortlessly switch between soft mantras and bellowing laughter. Not the place where Aang pulled a thousand and one pranks, each resulting in a strict scolding and an even stricter punishment.
No, this place was nothing like that now, abandoned by time and people alike. Katara had looked at him before he’d left, her lips pursed tightly after their argument on whether he should take them all with him.
It’s not a vacation, he’d told her.
I know. Her eyes had been reproachful. But this is your history. Let it become ours as well.
He hadn’t understood it then. This was his history and his alone, the scenery of his memories only that. But at this rate, that was all it would ever be—a graveyard. For the Air Nomads to live again, to truly come back, there had to be more than just the past. There had to be a present, a future. “Think Kya and Bumi would like to come next time?”
“Bumi.” Tenzin scowled, probably remembering the time his brother had teased him. “No.”
Aang laughed. That settled it; he’d have to bring Bumi next time. Along with Kya and Katara, though the latter would definitely smirk with an I-told-you-so on her tongue. Remembering the craters, he added, “Toph too.”
This Tenzin approved. He nodded eagerly. “Auntie Toph!”
She could fill in the holes, repair the temple, and maybe then the acolytes could visit here too. Maybe even live here. Aang looked down at his son, at the tiny hand curled tightly in his.
Maybe one day, this place too could be a place of life to him.
“Race to the courtyard?” Aang let go of Tenzin’s hand, a mischievous grin on his face. Without waiting for a response, he lightly jogged forward.
Tenzin scowled before scrambling after him. “No fair!”