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Zuko couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, muggy late summer air clinging to him, suffocating. The night was still, but his thoughts churned relentlessly, as if stirred by the rising energy of approaching comet. It was days away, but sleep had evaded him, as his mind braced for the battle ahead. The tautness in his chest had become almost unbearable, like a knot tightening with each passing hour. Were they ready? They made a pretty formidable team against the Melonlord. Was Aang ready? He seemed to freeze at the very last minute. He’ll need to talk to him about that. Would Aang remember how to redirect lightning? They’ll have to go over it again in the morning. Should he start with defensive katas next morning? Or maybe drill combinations of offensive katas some more?
Zuko heard a soft whoosh of a balcony door sliding open in Lu Ten’s room, now Katara’s room. Maybe she couldn’t sleep too.
He sat up in bed, raking his fingers through his tousled hair, desperately trying to still his racing mind. No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are. He steadied his breathing and brought his thoughts back to a thing he could see – a crescent moon hanging low over the silvery unmoving line of the ocean, a thing he could hear – cicadas droning in a bamboo copse outside, a thing he could feel – his palms hot on his knees. He shut his eyes and took a long breath through his nose, paused, counted to four, then exhaled slowly through his mouth, letting the tension seep out with the breath. And then he did it again, and again, until the thoughts clamoring for his attention like screeching dodo fledglings settled, and he could actually hear his breathing, instead of the cacophony of incessant what-ifs rattling in his skull.
Still, he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Zuko got up, tugged on a light tunic over his bare torso and opened the sliding door to the balcony, the humid breeze brushing against his skin, only slightly cooler than the air in the room. Zuko breathed in the salty tang of the ocean mixed with the faint scent of damp earth and the flower garden below.
As he stepped onto the joint balcony between his and Lu Ten’s rooms, Zuko paused, noticing that he wasn’t alone. There, by the railing, Katara stood, her figure illuminated by the cool glow of the moon. She leaned forward, arms hugging her middle, her gaze fixed upward, lost in the stars.
For a moment, Zuko considered leaving, letting her have her solitude, but a gentle tug on his heart, kept him rooted.
“Can’t sleep?” Zuko asked, his voice soft.
Katara didn’t turn, but a faint, weary smile touched her lips. “No,” she shook her head, her voice blending with the distant crash of waves. “You know me. I rise with the Moon.” The familiar words made Zuko wince and groan.
“What?” Katara asked, raising an eyebrow at his reaction.
“Don’t remind me,” Zuko sighed.
Katara tapped the railing by her side with her palm in invitation, and he stepped closer. For a while, they stood in shared silence, both gazing up at the stars, a dark blanket of the sky stretching endlessly above them.
Zuko stole a glance at Katara, a warmth unfurling in his chest as he took in the way the moonlight danced across her features. His eyes drifted back to the night sky.
“My mother and I used to stargaze here,” the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Right on this balcony.”
Katara’s gaze shifted to him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He swallowed; his throat suddenly tight. “It was something we would do together, just the two of us. It might be one of my fondest memories of her.”
Katara said nothing, just watched him, her expression softening. “I used to stargaze with my mom, too,” she admitted, her voice carrying a note of sorrow. “We would go out to the cove at night and look at the stars or the Spirit lights. Oh, the stories she would tell… I could see constellations come to life.”
“Tell me,” Zuko nudged her elbow with his.
“Well… See those stars over there? The ones forming a crooked line, just above the Milky Ridge?” she pointed to the East. “That’s where the hunter roams. He was once the greatest tracker in the Southern Water Tribe, feared and respected for his skill. But there was one creature he could never catch—a snow jackelope, swift and elusive, with fur as white as the snowdrifts and antlers tipped in ice. Every winter, the hunter would set out on the full moon to track it across the tundra, his breath forming clouds in the freezing air, his boots crunching through the snow.”
Zuko’s chest warmed at the excitement that lit up Katara’s face as she was sharing a part of her childhood with him. She pointed up, drawing a faint shape with her finger. “The stars form the trail of the chase. The jackelope always stayed one step ahead, too clever and fast for any trap. They say the hunter still chases the snow jackelope across the night sky, never catching it, but always trying…”
Katara smiled softly, her gaze still fixed on the stars. “When I was little, I always thought that story was kind of sad. The hunter never catches the jackelope. He just… keeps chasing it forever.”
Zuko glanced at her, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “And now? Do you still think it’s sad?”
She shook her head, her voice quieter, more reflective. “No. Now, I think it’s not really about catching the jackelope at all. It’s about the journey—about never giving up”
Katara shifted, pointing toward the horizon. “And there—see that line of stars low in the sky? They say those are the icebergs that border the Spirit Sea.”
Zuko squinted, following her finger. “I don’t see it.”
Katara stepped closer to him and gently leaned in, her cheek brushing lightly against his as she pointed again. Thank Agni, she was on his right side. Their faces were so close he could feel the warmth of her skin. Zuko’s eyes closed, heart thudding in his ears. “Right there,” she murmured, her voice soft in his ear, “just above the horizon, to the right.”
Zuko’s breath hitched, distracted by the nearness of her, but then, as he followed her hand, he saw it—a jagged line of stars twinkling low in the sky.
“I see it now,” he said quietly, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Here we call that constellation the Dragon’s Spine. My uncle used to say the stars followed the curve of a sleeping dragon, waiting to rise when the time was right.”
“My mom called it the Path of the Great Whale.” Katara continued, her voice wistful. “In the old stories, a whale larger than any creature you could imagine would breach from the icy waters between those stars, casting a shadow so big it could darken the moon. It was a spirit whale, and it swam in waters too cold for any mortal to touch. The whale was a guide for the lost souls of the Southern Water Tribe. When someone passed on during the long, dark winter, their spirit would wander through the frozen seas, looking for home. But if they followed the whale, it would lead them safely to the Spirit Lights—where the ancestors waited to welcome them.”
Katara’s gaze lingered on the stars, her eyes reflecting their silvery glow. “I always loved this story,” she murmured. “It made me think that no matter how far someone wandered, no matter how lost they were... there was always a way for them to find their path. That even in the darkest, coldest places, you’re never truly alone. There’s always something—or someone—leading you home.”
She glanced at Zuko, her expression thoughtful. The gentle tug in Zuko’s chest now felt as magnetic pull.
“Do you want another one?” Katara asked, smiling at him as their shoulders bumped. Zuko nodded, enthralled.
“Now this one is for the little ones. My mom would tell it to Sokka when he had too much energy to sleep.” She pointed to a scattered set of stars, far from the others. “Those stars over there are the Seaweed Gardens, where the otter penguins live. At night, when the tribe sleeps, they sneak out from the shores and glide among the seaweed, playing games in the icy water.”
Katara mimicked the motion of the otter penguins with her hands, fingers weaving through the air. “The seaweed sways with the current, and the penguins dart between the strands, chasing each other.”
Her voice softened again, and she laughed a little. “My mom always said that when the otter penguins play, it brings good dreams. She’d make me imagine them gliding and twirling until I drifted off, feeling like I was floating alongside them. It’s silly, but I still think of them sometimes, just before I fall asleep.”
Zuko tilted his head as he watched her. “It’s not silly,” he said quietly, his voice low. He hesitated, searching her face. “Do you still… see her sometimes? In your dreams?”
Katara’s smile faded, and she looked down, tracing a finger along the old wood of the balcony rail. “Not as much as I used to,” she admitted. “Sometimes… I’m afraid I won’t remember her face.” She looked back up at the stars, eyes distant. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone can feel so close and so far away at the same time?”
The words hit Zuko like a punch to the gut, sinking deep where guilt and shame coiled around him like snakes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a breath.
Katara turned to him then and sighed, her frame sagging under the invisible burden.
“It’s not your fault, Zuko,” Katara’s voice wavered, and in the depths of her gaze, he caught a flicker of something he was deeply familiar with – pain.
Zuko shifted, discomfort rippling through him. “It feels like it is. My people—”
“Your people,” Katara interrupted, her voice cutting through his apology, sharper now but not cruel. “Aren’t you.” The finality in her tone hung between them, as she held his eyes with her fierce determined gaze.
A wave of warmth crashed at Zuko’s chest as he remembered the day he brought the rest of their gang to the island. But I’m ready to forgive you. He closed his eyes and breathed, bathing in the memory of relief and lightness he felt at that moment.
They stood in silence again, the hushed sounds of the night filling the space between them—waves crashing gently in the distance, the rustling of leaves stirred by the breeze. Zuko stole a glance at Katara from the corner of his eye, her expression distant, contemplative.
“The stars,” she said suddenly, her voice barely more than a whisper, “they remind me of her. Every time I look up, it feels like she’s still with me… somehow.”
Zuko’s chest tightened. He knew that feeling all too well. He’d spent countless nights staring at these same stars, searching for his mother in their cold, silent light, wondering if she was still out there. Somewhere. If she was looking at the same stars, and yearning to see him again, to make sure he was alright.
“I used to feel the same way,” he murmured, his voice quieter than he intended. “About my mom.”
Katara turned toward him, her blue eyes locking onto his, searching his face as if trying to see beneath the surface. “Do you still?”
He hesitated, feeling the weight of that question press down on him. The truth was too complicated, too uncertain. After a long pause, he shook his head, the movement slow, reluctant. “I don’t know. Sometimes… I don’t even know if she’s still alive.” Zuko shrugged, but the gesture felt heavy. “It’s not something I like to think about. At least not right now.” He was honest. Thinking about his mother brought up too many questions, too many emotions in him. His plate was already overflowing with problems he felt too small to juggle. He wanted to go and throw himself into finding his mother, maybe with the energy and stubbornness greater than when he pursued the Avatar, but it would be after the war. Did she even want to be found?..
Katara didn’t respond right away, just watched him with that quiet intensity before turning her gaze back to the sky. The space between them had shifted just as it did a few weeks ago, after their trip to face Yon Rha. Zuko could feel it — the walls between them beginning to give way, crumbling under the weight of what they’d both been holding back.
“I think about my mom all the time, especially now,” Katara turned to the ocean, closing her eyes and took a deep breath. “Some days… I feel like I need her strength just to face another day, to face what’s coming. Just to be held one more time, to feel her arms around me.” She glanced away, pinching her lips in a stiff line.
“If she were here, I know she’d be proud of us,” Katara turned to Zuko and caught his gaze. “All of us.”
Zuko felt a sharp pang in his chest, Katara’s words piercing his very core. He swallowed, trying to interpret waves of emotions inundating his chest. “I wish I could change what happened,” he said, his voice low, laced with regret.
Katara’s gaze hardened once more. “You can’t change the past, Zuko. None of us can.”
Zuko nodded, though the weight of that truth settled heavily in his heart. “I know.”
Silence fell between them again. The crescent moon glided slowly to the horizon, dipping one horn into the dark waters. The night deepened. The stars, so bright merely minutes ago, seemed to draw back, their light dimming in the last hour before dawn, leaving only a velvet blackness that wrapped around them.
“I miss her,” Katara whispered, and her breath hitched. “I miss her so much.”
Her voice was so raw, so full of unspoken ache, that Zuko felt his own heart twist with loss and grief. There was nothing he could say to make the pain go away. But standing beside her, he realized, maybe words weren’t what she needed. Maybe all she needed was for him to listen, to simply be there with her under the same dark summer sky.
“Come here,” Zuko murmured, his voice catching slightly as he reached for Katara. His arms wrapped around her trembling frame, and she melted into him, her ragged breaths uneven against his chest. He could feel her shudder as the weight of her grief broke free, her pain flowing through the quiet tears she no longer tried to suppress.
Zuko rested his chin on the crown of her head and shut his eyes against the growing sting. For so long, he had carried his own sorrow in silence—grief for a mother he’d lost not to death but to the cruel grip of fate. Yet now, with Katara's sobs breaking the night’s stillness, something within him cracked.
Her sorrow drew out his own, the smothered grief he had buried so deeply bubbling up to the surface. A single tear slipped down his cheek, then another. The stoic Crown Prince hadn’t let himself feel it—hadn’t allowed himself the release of mourning. But standing here, with Katara’s grief echoing his own, he let go. For the first time, his own tears fell for his mother. As Zuko held Katara, or maybe clung to Katara, he realized that neither of them had to bear the weight of their grief alone. He needed this—this quietness, this shared understanding. He needed her.
The moment lingered between them, fragile and cathartic. Zuko felt so much lighter than a few minutes ago. Soon, he could feel Katara’s breath become more even. She looked up at him, her gaze unguarded in a way Zuko hadn’t seen before. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
“You know,” Katara began, her voice soft, but confident, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “there’s something my mom used to say. In the South Pole, when the nights are cold and never-ending... you can always find the light.”
Zuko’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion passing through him, but before he could ask, Katara chuckled, wiping her tears with a back of her hand. She stepped back, her left hand rising between them with graceful ease, and with a flick of her wrist, the air around them began to shimmer. From the humid night, she pulled water, delicate droplets coalescing into tiny, glittering orbs that floated in the space above them, catching the moonlight like stars reborn from the sea.
Zuko’s breath caught. The makeshift stars danced around them, casting hazy, ethereal light across Katara’s face. His chest tightened, the quiet beauty of it all stealing his words. “Katara, it’s... beautiful,” he whispered, the awe in his voice raw, unfiltered.
“Go on. Try it,” Katara urged, a playful grin straining her cheeks.
“Try what?”
“Add a bit of fire.”
Zuko looked up at a constellation of tiny water orbs. “I’m not..,” he started hesitantly.
“Of course, you can,” Katara stared at him encouragingly.
Zuko steadied his breath and brought up his right hand, palm up, just under the shining water droplets. He inhaled, and let go of his Qi slowly, little sparkles of fire erupting gently from his fingertips and drifted up, mingling with Katara’s stars.
Katara grinned and locked her eyes on his. “Even when things are dark and scary,” she said softly, her voice low, threading between them like a ribbon, “there’s always light… You just have to find it, in people around you… and in yourself.”
Zuko chuckled, his lips curving into a rare smile. “Now you sound like my uncle,” he teased, though his gaze lingered on her—wandering from the iridescent droplets of water she’d bent into the air to the depths of her blue eyes, which seemed to shimmer with the light of their own.
Before he could stop himself, his hand moved on instinct, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. Katara didn’t pull back. She leaned into the warmth of his touch, her breath catching. He gently wiped a dried-up tear path on her cheek with his thumb.
The world seemed to pause and shrink. They stood there, suspended in time, beneath a vast sky. The crescent moon sinking into a fiery stroke of the rising sun on the horizon.
Katara’s eyes sparkled and shone fixed on his. So blue and so earnest, he could no longer resist the pull. Zuko leaned in, his lips ghosting the corner of her mouth in a touch so light, it was as if he were afraid to shatter the moment.
Katara responded without hesitation, and surged against and around him like a wave, her soft lips finding his. Her fingers pressed gently against his chest and then traveled upward to rest firmly on the back of his neck. Her touch radiated warmth, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever had. The world around them faded, and for the first time in ages, Zuko felt truly steady—not tethered by duty, rage, or guilt, but by the overwhelming, all-encompassing expanding feeling for this remarkable young woman.
Firebending display forgotten, Zuko gently wrapped his right arm around Katara’s waist and tugged her to him. She smiled, her lips moving against his
When they parted, Zuko rested his forehead against hers. They lingered, breaths mingling. A profound peace mixed with lightheaded giddiness washed over Zuko, his heart pounding in his chest with a wild, unfamiliar hope.
“I’ve been wanting to do that,” he murmured, Katara’s fingers playing with the shaggy hair on the back of his neck and sending sparks down his spine.
“Oh, I know,” Katara giggled softly, her breath a whisper against his lips. “I’m glad you finally worked up the nerve, firebender.”
A big hearty laugh escaped his chest at that as he threw his head back, happy and weightless. He felt Katara’s hands tugging him back, and he leaned in again for another slow and sweet kiss.
As the faint morning light barely started chasing away the darkness, Zuko dared to believe—just maybe—that things would be fine.