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Chapter Text

The ice still bore the scars of battle. Chunks of frozen seawater, shattered weapons, and the remnants of the Fire Nation’s war machines littered the once-pristine tundra. The Northern Water Tribe had won, but Sokka felt no victory in his bones.

Yue was gone.

He knelt in the snow, his hands clenched into fists. The cold burned against his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind echoed with the words she had whispered before she faded into the light—before she became something greater than herself.

"I will always be with you."

The tribe celebrated their survival that night, but Sokka did not join them. Instead, he found himself standing at the edge of the spirit oasis, staring at the reflection of the full moon. It shimmered on the water, untouched by ripples, as though waiting.

He dropped to his knees. "Why did you have to go?" he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Why did you have to leave me?"

A breeze stirred the water. Sokka’s breath hitched as a feeling—something vast and ancient—pressed against his soul. He did not see her, but he felt her. Yue. Watching. Listening.

Something inside him shifted.

That night, he made a choice.

If Yue had become the Moon Spirit, then he would dedicate himself to her. To her memory. To her presence, wherever she now existed.

He would become her priest.

The spirit oasis was silent except for the gentle lapping of water against the ice. The Northern Water Tribe was still recovering from the battle, but Sokka barely noticed. His world had narrowed to this sacred place—the last place he had seen Yue before she ascended.

He had spent hours kneeling here, speaking into the silence, hoping—begging—for a sign that she was still with him. But the moon did not answer.

Until now.

A whisper, light as snowfall, brushed against his ears.

"Come to me."

His breath hitched. He knew that voice. Yue.

Sokka barely thought as he stripped off his outer layers, stepping toward the pool where Tui and La, the Moon and Ocean Spirits, circled in their eternal dance. The water was impossibly clear, shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

He hesitated for only a moment. Then, he stepped in.

The cold was unlike anything he had ever felt—deeper than ice, deeper than the tundra winds. It sank into his bones, wrapping around his very spirit. But instead of pain, there was something else—something vast, endless, and powerful.

The world shifted.

The moon above grew impossibly bright, its silver light reflecting in every ripple. The pool stretched into eternity, swallowing him whole.

And then, she was there.

Yue.

She stood before him, glowing like the moon itself, her long white hair flowing like mist. Her eyes, so familiar yet so distant, softened when they met his.

“Sokka,” she whispered.

He gasped. “Yue.”

He tried to step toward her, but the space between them felt infinite, like trying to grasp the reflection of the moon on water.

“I’ve missed you,” he choked out.

A sad smile touched her lips. “I have always been here.”

The water swirled around him, rising, pulling him deeper into its embrace. He felt something change within him, something vast and ancient pressing against his soul. His heartbeat slowed, matching the rhythm of the tide. His skin tingled with unseen energy.

And then—pain.

Sokka gasped as something burned through him, like liquid silver flooding his veins. His vision blurred, his body trembling as light engulfed him. The world spun—moonlight, water, spirits—until everything shattered into darkness.

He awoke to the distant sound of waves.

The first thing he noticed was the weight of his body—heavier, stronger, yet… different. He pushed himself up, his breath still ragged, and caught his reflection in the water.

His hair.

It was white.

Stark as the full moon above, his once-dark hair now shone like Yue’s, like Tui’s, like the very essence of the moon itself.

A rush of understanding filled him. He could feel her. Not just as a memory or a distant presence—he could feel Yue, her essence, her spirit, tethered to his own.

“Sokka.”

Her voice, clear as the night sky, echoed in his mind.

His fingers clenched. The weight of grief had not lifted, but something else had taken its place. A purpose.

He had asked for a sign. He had been given something more.

He had been chosen.

Sokka, the Priest of the Moon.

Chapter Text

The night was quiet as Katara and Aang stood outside the healing huts, watching the last remnants of the battle fade into memory. The Northern Water Tribe had survived, but at a cost.

Katara folded her arms, staring at the spirit oasis in the distance. “I’m worried about Sokka,” she admitted. “He hasn’t come back since… since Yue…”

Aang, still grieving his own losses, nodded solemnly. “I wanted to check on him, but I think he needs time.”

Before Katara could respond, a ripple of whispers spread through the village. Warriors turned, healers paused mid-step, and elders stood, wide-eyed.

A figure was walking toward them, barefoot over the snow.

Sokka.

But something was wrong.

His once-dark hair was now a brilliant white, shining under the full moon like it had been woven from silver light. His posture was different—taller, more poised, like something ancient rested within him. His blue Water Tribe tunic was soaked through, and his eyes glowed with something unreadable.

“Sokka?” Katara took a hesitant step forward. “What happened to you?”

Aang blinked, rubbing his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Whoa. Your hair—”

Sokka didn’t answer right away. He reached up, running a hand through his new white locks, as if still getting used to them himself. He sighed, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah. That’s new.”

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder as Chief Arnook stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, but there was something wary in his eyes. “You entered the spirit oasis, didn’t you?”

Sokka met his gaze, his smirk fading into something softer. “I had to.”

Arnook studied him carefully. “And what did you find?”

Sokka hesitated, glancing up at the sky. The full moon glowed above them, and for a brief moment, he swore he could hear Yue’s voice whispering through the wind.

"I am always with you."

He turned back to them, standing a little taller. “I found Yue.”

Katara gasped. Aang’s eyes widened.

Arnook’s breath hitched, and for the first time since the battle, the strong, composed chief looked shaken. “You… spoke to her?”

Sokka nodded. “She’s not just a memory. She’s still here. And… she chose me.”

The weight of his words settled over them. The realization. The impossibility of it.

Arnook took a deep breath, stepping closer. He looked at Sokka with something like reverence now, his voice quiet but firm. “What are you now, Sokka?”

Sokka let out a breath, the cold air curling from his lips like mist. He clenched his fists, feeling the moonlight hum in his veins, feeling Yue’s presence wrapped around his very soul.

He met the chief’s gaze and answered.

“I am the Priest of the Moon.”

The wind howled through the ice-covered city, and the moon shone a little brighter.

The air between them was tense, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

Katara stared at Sokka, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched. “No.”

Sokka sighed. He had expected this reaction. “Katara—”

“No,” she snapped, stepping closer. “You’re not staying here. We need you.”

Aang shifted awkwardly beside her, glancing between the siblings. “She’s right, Sokka. We still have to stop the Fire Lord, and we’re supposed to do that together.”

Sokka exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I know,” he admitted. “I know you need me. But… they need me too.” He gestured toward the tribe around them, the warriors, the healers, the people still reeling from the aftermath of war. “The Northern Water Tribe lost their princess. And Yue—she didn’t just leave me, Katara. She left me with something.”

He ran a hand through his white hair, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I don’t even know what this means yet. I just know that I feel her. She’s still here, still watching, still… guiding me. I can’t just walk away from that.”

Katara shook her head, her voice quieter but no less urgent. “Sokka, I just lost Yue too. I’m not losing you.”

“You’re not losing me.” He reached out, gripping her shoulders. “I promise.” His voice softened. “But this is something I have to do. I can’t be the same guy I was before. Not after this.”

Aang frowned, clearly torn. “But what if we need you? What if—”

“You will need me,” Sokka said, cutting him off. “And when that time comes, I’ll be there. I swear it. But right now? I belong here.”

Katara’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “You’re really doing this?”

Sokka swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them. Then, without another word, Katara stepped forward and hugged him—tight, like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

Sokka hugged her back, shutting his eyes. He could feel her shaking, could hear her trying not to cry. “I’ll be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Aang gave him a small, sad smile. “We’ll come back for you.”

Sokka smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “You better. Otherwise, I’ll have to send some very ominous moon omens your way.”

Katara let out a choked laugh, swatting his arm. “You better write.”

“I will.”

Aang and Katara stepped back, their gazes lingering on him, memorizing this new version of Sokka—the one with moonlight in his veins and a destiny unknown.

As they turned toward Appa, preparing to leave, Sokka took one last look at the sky. The moon above gleamed, bright and full.

And somewhere, deep inside him, he felt Yue’s presence.

"I am with you, always."

He smiled.

“I know.”

The Northern Water Tribe was quieter now, but the scars of battle remained. Ice palaces had been rebuilt, and the people had begun to heal, yet the echoes of war still whispered through the frozen streets.

Sokka stood at the spirit oasis, gazing into the shimmering water. The reflection staring back at him still felt unfamiliar—white hair, sharper eyes, something more humming beneath his skin.

"Trust him," Yue’s voice murmured in his mind, soft as the night breeze.

Sokka frowned. “Trust who?”

A gust of wind answered him. He turned, heart hammering—just in time to see a lone figure approaching the tribe’s outskirts.

Zuko.

Katara’s stance was tense, water skin at the ready. Aang stood beside her, his expression guarded but not unkind. Warriors surrounded them, wary but waiting for a command.

And Zuko? He stood before them, stripped of his usual firebender arrogance. His posture was stiff, uncomfortable—like he wasn’t sure how to carry himself without the weight of his father’s expectations crushing him down.

“I came to apologize,” Zuko said at last, voice low, hesitant. He took a breath. “For Zhao. For the attack. For… everything.”

Katara’s grip tightened on her water skin. “Oh, now you care?” she snapped. “After all the times you hunted us? After everything you did?”

Zuko didn’t flinch. He just nodded. “I deserve that.”

Aang rubbed his arm, conflicted. “But… why? Why are you here?”

Zuko exhaled sharply. “Because I need to stop my father. And I can’t do it alone.” He lifted his gaze, eyes steady. “I want to help you defeat him.”

Silence.

Katara scoffed. “And we’re just supposed to trust you?”

Aang frowned. “Yeah, I mean, Zuko… you haven’t exactly been the nicest guy.”

Zuko’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t lash out like he once might have. “I know,” he admitted. “I don’t expect you to trust me. I just—I don’t know who I am without my father’s mission. But I do know that what he’s doing is wrong. That the Fire Nation is hurting people. And I don’t want to be part of that anymore.”

The Northern warriors murmured amongst themselves. Chief Arnook watched carefully, but said nothing.

Sokka, who had been silent through the entire exchange, exhaled. Yue’s presence pressed against him, warm and gentle, like moonlight on water.

"He is lost," she whispered. "But not beyond saving."

Sokka looked at Zuko. The Fire Prince—no, just Zuko now—stood there, alone, uncertain. He saw the pain in his eyes, the exhaustion, the quiet plea buried beneath years of duty and struggle.

And Sokka made his decision.

“He stays,” he said.

Katara turned to him, eyes wide. “Sokka—”

He held up a hand. “Look, I get it. I don’t trust him either.” He turned back to Zuko, narrowing his eyes. “But Yue says we should. And I trust her.”

Zuko stiffened. “Yue?”

Sokka crossed his arms. “You know, the girl Zhao murdered?” His voice was sharp, but there was no real malice in it. “She still talks to me. And she thinks you should be here.”

Zuko swallowed, looking down. “I’m sorry about Yue.”

Sokka studied him, then gave a small nod. “I know.”

Aang sighed, rubbing his forehead. “If Sokka says Yue trusts you, then… I guess I trust Yue.”

Katara groaned, throwing her hands up. “Fine. But if you so much as breathe wrong, I will not hesitate to freeze you to a glacier.”

Zuko gave a small, wary nod. “Fair.”

Sokka smirked. “Well, welcome to the Moon Club, Sparky. Hope you like snow.”

Zuko sighed. “This is going to be awful, isn’t it?”

Sokka grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

And for the first time in a long time, Zuko let out a small breath—one that felt almost like relief.

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The elders of the Northern Water Tribe stood in a half-circle around Sokka, their expressions carved from ice. Behind them, warriors and healers gathered, their breath rising in pale clouds against the frigid air.

“You claim to hear the Moon Spirit,” one elder said, his voice slow and measured. “That she guides your path.”

Sokka stood tall, arms crossed despite the cold biting through his furs. “I don’t claim anything. Yue is with me.”

Another elder, a woman draped in heavy ceremonial robes, studied him. “Then prove it.”

Sokka blinked. “Wait. What?”

Chief Arnook finally spoke. “You have been touched by the Moon, Sokka. But we must know if you are worthy of her gift.” His gaze was heavy with something unreadable. “You will undergo the Trial of the Moon. A test of spirit and will.”

Aang, Katara, and Zuko stood at the edge of the gathering, watching in tense silence.

Katara stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You can’t be serious! Sokka just fought in a war! He—”

“It is tradition,” Arnook interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “Every spiritual leader of the tribe must prove their connection to Tui.” His gaze softened, just slightly. “This is not punishment. It is a rite of passage.”

Aang frowned. “What exactly does he have to do?”

The elder woman turned her sharp eyes on Sokka. “You must go to the Cave of Frozen Echoes alone. There, you will seek the Moon’s truth.”

Sokka stiffened. He had heard of that place. A cavern deep beneath the tundra, where the spirits whispered through the ice. People who entered either came back enlightened… or not at all.

Great. Wonderful. Just his luck.

Sokka let out a slow breath. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

The Cave of Frozen Echoes

Sokka exhaled, his breath curling into mist. The cave was colder than the world outside, and silent—too silent. The walls were smooth ice, reflecting his own pale-haired image back at him in a hundred jagged shards.

"I am with you," Yue whispered in his mind.

Sokka swallowed. “Then why do I feel like I’m gonna die in here?”

No answer. Just silence.

He pressed forward. The deeper he went, the more wrong everything felt. The air was thick, the pressure of unseen eyes weighing on him.

Then—

The ice around him flickered. And suddenly, he was not alone.

The reflections shifted, moving on their own. Dozens of Sokka’s stared back at him—but not him. Different versions. One was still the carefree boy he had been, grinning with wooden swords and bad jokes. Another was broken, kneeling in the snow, eyes empty.

Another wore Fire Nation armor. Another stood at the edge of a battlefield, blood dripping from his hands.

Sokka’s heart pounded. “What… is this?”

A new voice answered—his own, but colder.

"Who are you, really?"

Sokka spun. One reflection remained still while all others flickered. It was him, but different. He wore furs darker than night, his eyes glowing silver like the full moon.

The reflection tilted its head. "Are you Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe? A warrior? A brother? A fool?"

Sokka gritted his teeth. “I don’t know.”

The figure’s expression didn’t change. "Then why do you think you deserve the Moon’s blessing?"

Sokka’s hands clenched. He had fought. He had lost. He had changed. But was it enough?

"You carry the Moon's light," Yue’s voice echoed, faint but steady. "But do you carry its wisdom?"

Sokka sucked in a breath. The Moon did not fight because it wanted to. It did not rage or destroy. It watched, it guided, it remained steady through every storm.

The Moon knew who it was.

And so did he.

Sokka exhaled. “I’m Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.” He met the reflection’s glowing silver gaze. “I’m a warrior. I’m a brother. And yeah—sometimes I’m a fool.” His voice steadied. “But I know who I am. And I know Yue is with me.”

The air shifted.

The ice stilled.

The reflection smiled.

"Then walk your path, Moon’s Chosen."

Light surrounded him.

The Return

When Sokka emerged from the cave, dawn was breaking over the ice.

The tribe gasped as he stepped forward.

His white hair gleamed, his eyes seemed sharper, wiser. And on his forehead, faint but unmistakable, was the mark of the Moon—a silver crescent, glowing softly against his skin.

Katara was the first to run to him. “Sokka!” She grabbed his shoulders, searching his face. “Are you okay?”

He smirked, exhausted but standing. “I think I just passed.”

Arnook stepped forward, studying him. Then, slowly, he inclined his head.

“The Moon has accepted you,” he said.

Sokka swallowed. The weight of the moment settled over him. He wasn’t just Sokka anymore. He was something more.

He was the Moon’s Chosen.

And his journey was only beginning.

Chapter Text

The docks of the Northern Water Tribe were quiet in the early morning light, the ice reflecting the soft glow of the rising sun. Aang, Katara, and Zuko stood near Appa, making final preparations for their departure.

Sokka watched them, his hands clasped behind his back, his white hair catching the light like freshly fallen snow. It felt strange to stand apart from them—to know he wouldn’t be joining them this time.

Katara adjusted the straps on her water skin for the third time, her fingers fidgeting. “You could still come with us, you know,” she said, her voice tight. “You don’t have to stay here.”

Sokka gave her a lopsided smile. “Yeah, I do.” He placed a hand over his heart. “This is where I’m meant to be now.”

Katara bit her lip, but she nodded.

Aang stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna miss you, Sokka.” His voice was quieter than usual, more serious. He took a deep breath. “But… I think I get it. The way you connected with Yue, with the spirits—it’s like…” Aang hesitated, searching for the right words. Then he smiled. “It’s like we’re spiritual brothers.”

Sokka’s breath caught.

Of all the things Aang could have said, that was the last thing he expected.

He let out a short laugh. “Spiritual brothers, huh?” He glanced up at the sky, then back at Aang, and his expression softened. “Yeah. I like that.”

Then, to Aang’s surprise, Sokka bent forward and bowed—deeply.

Aang’s eyes widened. Sokka had never bowed to him before.

“I bow to you, Avatar Aang,” Sokka said, voice steady. “Not just as my friend, but as the bridge between our world and the next.”

Aang swallowed hard. For the first time, he truly felt the weight of his role—not just as a bender, or a warrior, but as someone who stood between two realms.

Slowly, he bowed in return.

When they straightened, Zuko—who had been standing slightly apart—cleared his throat. “Well,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “that was dramatic.”

Sokka smirked. “You jealous, Sparky?”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Not in the slightest.” But there was a glint of something almost amused in his gaze.

Katara stepped forward then, hesitating only a second before pulling Sokka into a tight hug. “Stay safe, okay?”

“You too,” he murmured. “And keep an eye on Zuko. He’s still got that whole ‘brooding prince’ thing going on.”

“I can hear you,” Zuko said flatly.

Sokka grinned.

Aang climbed onto Appa’s saddle, reaching a hand down to help Katara up. Zuko followed, looking slightly less comfortable about riding a flying bison.

Sokka took a step back as Appa let out a deep rumble.

“Yip yip!” Aang called, and with a mighty leap, Appa soared into the sky.

Sokka watched them go, their silhouettes fading into the morning horizon.

"I am with you," Yue’s voice murmured, soft as a breeze.

Sokka exhaled. He had lost much, but he had gained something too.

The world was changing.

And so was he.

Journey to the Earth Kingdom

The wind was crisp as Appa glided over the vast ocean, heading south toward the Earth Kingdom. Aang sat at the front of the saddle, his staff resting across his lap, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Katara sat beside him, quiet for once, lost in her thoughts. She had spent so much of her life with Sokka by her side, and now, for the first time, he wasn’t there. The realization left an ache in her chest.

Behind them, Zuko sat with his arms crossed, his golden eyes scanning the water below. He wasn’t used to traveling with them yet—wasn’t used to the quiet of it. The past few days had been a blur. One moment, he had been fighting for his father’s approval, chasing the Avatar across the world. The next, he had been standing before the Water Tribe’s new Moon Priest, accepting his approval instead.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Zuko exhaled through his nose. “So, what’s the plan?”

Aang perked up slightly. “We’re heading to the Earth Kingdom to find me an earthbending teacher.”

“Specifically, Omashu,” Katara added, her voice regaining some of its usual steadiness. “King Bumi is an old friend of Aang’s, and he’s one of the greatest earthbenders in the world.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “A friend of yours is a king?”

Aang grinned sheepishly. “Uh… yeah. But he’s really weird.”

“That’s an understatement,” Katara muttered.

Zuko hummed in thought, turning his gaze back to the landscape below. He had spent years studying maps of the Earth Kingdom, tracking possible routes for the Avatar, but this was different. This time, he wasn’t hunting Aang.

He was traveling with him.

The wind shifted, and Appa let out a soft groan, adjusting his course.

Aang glanced back at Zuko. “You know, if you’re gonna stick around, you should probably start training with us.”

Zuko scoffed. “You think I need training?”

“I know you do,” Aang said, grinning. “I mean, have you seen me firebend?”

Zuko scowled. “That was one time, and it was barely even firebending.”

“It was pretty embarrassing,” Katara added, smirking.

Zuko groaned, running a hand through his hair. Spirits, what have I gotten myself into?

Aang laughed, the tension between them easing. “Alright, next stop—Omashu!”

Appa let out a deep bellow as he soared toward the green expanse of the Earth Kingdom, the journey ahead filled with uncertainty, challenges… and maybe, just maybe, a new beginning.

Sokka’s New Path

The moonlight shimmered across the icy expanse of the Northern Water Tribe, casting long shadows against the towering ice structures. The stillness was both calming and eerie, a quiet that Sokka had quickly grown used to. It was different from the bustle of his old life—there were no more endless chases, no more searching for food, and no more immediate danger looming over them. But there was also no Aang, no Katara, no Appa’s thunderous footsteps, no Zuko's temper flaring in the background. It was just him.

And Yue.

He could feel her presence, like an unseen thread, woven into the fabric of his existence. The pool of Tui and La had given him much: the white hair, the ability to speak with her, and an unspoken bond with the spirit world. But it also gave him responsibility.

Each night, Sokka sat at the edge of the great pool where Tui and La resided, his eyes closed as he meditated. The water spirits watched over him, their energies flowing around him like an ever-present current. They were patient and wise, but they also expected much. He had to embrace his new role as the Moon Priest, guiding his people and ensuring that the balance of the spirits was respected. He wasn’t just a warrior anymore. He wasn’t just a brother. He was something more, something that connected the physical world to the spiritual realm.

During the days, Sokka spent much of his time with the healers and the spiritual elders of the tribe, learning their ways. He had always been resourceful, but his new position required more than mere resourcefulness—it required deep understanding and inner peace. He had to learn the ways of balance, of humility, of giving without expectation.

One morning, as he stood at the entrance of the Chief's hall, Chief Arnook approached, his robes flowing behind him like a second skin.

"You are becoming one with your path, Sokka," Chief Arnook said, his voice thick with reverence. "You are needed here more than you realize. The Moon and the Ocean spirits have chosen you. You must learn to guide this tribe in ways no warrior has before."

Sokka nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. "I know. It's just... I never thought I’d be the one to do this. I’ve spent so much of my life swinging a boomerang and making bad jokes. I’m not... I’m not like you or the healers or the spiritual leaders."

"You are more than what you think," Arnook said, his gaze steady. "Your spirit is already aligned with the Moon. Your courage, your heart—these are things the spirits admire. This will be your greatest battle, Sokka. But it is one that is yours alone to fight."

Sokka’s fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword, a habit that never fully left him. He wasn’t sure what this battle would look like, but he felt it within his soul—a kind of burning curiosity and uncertainty. He wasn’t just fighting to protect the tribe anymore; he was fighting to understand his place in a world that had grown infinitely larger and more mysterious.

As the days passed, Sokka began to find his rhythm. He would spend the mornings learning from the elders, the afternoons sitting by the pool of Tui and La, speaking softly to Yue. She spoke to him in quiet whispers, guiding him through his doubts and fears. And in the evenings, he would perform rituals and meditations for the tribe, offering prayers to the Moon and the Ocean spirits.

It wasn’t easy. There were days when Sokka would long for the chaos of his old life, the camaraderie of his sister and Aang, the constant movement and the tangible danger. The stillness of his new life left him feeling... empty sometimes. But then, in the quiet of the night, when the moonlight bathed the ice in its pale glow, he would hear Yue’s voice in his heart, and he would remember why he was here.

Sokka had become more than just a warrior. He was a bridge between worlds—between the human and the spiritual, between the living and the dead. The weight of his responsibilities was heavy, but it was also the one thing that anchored him in this new life.

As winter settled in, the Northern Water Tribe grew quiet, peaceful, and Sokka grew alongside it. In the silence, in the glow of the moon and the soft lapping of the ocean waves, Sokka found his place, not just as a warrior, but as a protector of balance—a keeper of the spirits.

The Northern Water Tribe had its own rhythm—a pulse that beat through the cold air and deep into the ice. During the day, the tribe was active, bustling with preparations, training, and the chores of daily life. But Sokka, now fully immersed in his role as the Moon Priest, had begun to follow a different rhythm. He would sleep through the day and wake at night, drawn by the pull of the moon’s light and the quiet stillness of the world around him.

Each night, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the tribe’s activity quieted, Sokka rose from his deep slumber. His room, once filled with the sounds of hurried preparations and the noise of his people, now stood in complete silence. The only sound was the soft rustle of his furs as he dressed, the slow creak of his joints as he stretched, waking himself from his rest. His white hair caught the moonlight as he emerged from the shadows, the delicate sheen of his scalp glowing like the very moon he served.

Outside, the moon hung in the sky—full and radiant, casting a glow over the ice. He walked toward the great pool where Tui and La, the spirits of the Moon and the Ocean, resided. The water shimmered as if alive, reflecting the beauty of the heavens. Sokka’s gaze softened as he knelt beside the pool, letting the cool air embrace him.

He had begun to meditate again—this time, more fluidly. His mind, still wild and restless by nature, had found a certain peace in these moments of stillness. He had learned to quiet the noise in his head, to leave behind the worries of the past and the responsibilities of the future. Here, beside the spirits, he could simply be.

Every night, he sat by the pool, his thoughts drifting like the gentle waves of the ocean. The pull of the moon connected him to something vast—something infinite. It was in these moments that he felt closest to Yue, her presence surrounding him in the calm. He could almost hear her voice, soft and encouraging, urging him to continue on this path.

Sometimes, as he meditated, he would hear the soft footfalls of the tribesmen walking in the distance, their forms blurred in the shadows. They had accepted him—no longer just as a warrior but as something more. Their respect for him had deepened with each passing day, and his connection with them had transformed from that of an outsider to a guide, a spiritual leader. They would occasionally glance at him, sensing the change in him, but Sokka paid them no mind. His focus was always on the spirits, always on the stillness of the night.

As Sokka meditated, his thoughts often turned to his family—Aang, Katara, and even Zuko. They had left the North with a new mission, but Sokka’s new path felt so far removed from the adventures they would face. There was a deep ache in his chest, a longing for their companionship, but the calling of the Moon was stronger. Yue was his focus now. He would not let her down.

He inhaled deeply, the air crisp and cold. Slowly, his mind quieted further. He felt the presence of Tui and La, like a deep, steady hum beneath the surface of the water. The moonlit reflection on the water deepened, the stillness so perfect, it was almost sacred.

As the night wore on, the tribesmen passed by, some pausing to acknowledge his presence. They respected the silence that Sokka had embraced, the quiet reverence with which he tended to his new responsibilities. To them, he was no longer just Sokka the warrior or Sokka the brother. He was Sokka, the Moon Priest—the one who kept the balance.

And as he sat there in the quiet of the night, surrounded by the spirits and the flickering glow of the moon, Sokka felt something shift within him. He had found his place—not as a warrior fighting on the front lines, but as a spiritual guide, a keeper of balance, and a protector of the peace that his people cherished.

Sokka had learned to let go of the noise. The stillness had become his refuge, and with every breath, he was reminded of his deeper connection to the world around him. The moon was his constant companion, and as long as it shone above, he would continue to follow the path that had been laid out for him.

And in the quiet hours of the night, he felt whole again.

Chapter Text

The night air was crisp, the moon high in the sky as Sokka knelt beside the shimmering pool where La, the spirit of the Ocean, resided. The cool water rippled gently as if in response to his presence, the moon’s glow reflecting off its surface, creating a landscape of light and shadow. It was here, in the stillness of the Northern Water Tribe’s sacred space, that Sokka had begun his training in the ancient art of lunar power.

La, though ever calm and silent, had begun to guide him—communicating through the water, through the air, and through his own body. Sokka had thought his spiritual connection to the moon would only bring stillness, but as the days passed, he began to realize that with this connection came power—tangible, raw power.

Pakku had prepared him for the quiet of meditation, but now La was guiding him to the full depths of his abilities. Tonight, he was to learn how to channel that power into something he could control, something he could use.

Sokka stood up, his feet steady against the frozen earth, and closed his eyes. The world around him faded, and he could feel the hum of energy beneath his feet. Slowly, La’s presence surrounded him, the spirit’s connection to the moon pulsing in the air. The calm of the ocean was deep in the silence, and Sokka could feel it deep within himself.

“Focus on the light,” a voice seemed to say, and Sokka understood. It was La, speaking to him not through words, but through the pull of the spirit.

He raised his hand, his breath steady, and imagined the glow of the full moon. At first, there was nothing but the soft stillness around him, but soon he felt a warmth—a light—growing from the center of his chest. He extended his hand forward, concentrating. Slowly, like a flickering flame, a ball of soft, luminous light appeared above his palm.

His eyes widened. It was a small orb of pale white light, swirling like a reflection of the moon itself, floating gently above his hand. He could feel the energy of the spirit flowing through him, and the more he concentrated, the more the light grew, expanding to a size that he could hold with both hands.

Sokka smiled, a deep sense of accomplishment settling within him. “I did it… I really did it.”

But La was not done with him yet. The water spirit urged him onward, pushing him to understand the full extent of his power.

With a deep breath, Sokka dismissed the ball of light and focused again. He closed his eyes, listening to the pulse of the water beneath him, the rhythm of the moonlight across the surface. He felt the spirit guiding him, shifting his awareness.

This time, Sokka extended both hands outward, palms open, feeling the pressure of the moon’s energy building around him. Suddenly, the temperature of the air shifted, and the water near him began to swirl, responding to his call. He felt the presence of the ocean spirit manifest through the water around him, gathering in a swirling vortex.

Shield, the spirit seemed to urge.

Sokka’s breath hitched. He pushed forward, concentrating harder, his hands forming a half-circle in front of him. At first, the water seemed to hesitate, unsure, but then a low, pulsing energy surged through him, and with a crackling sound, a shimmering translucent shield of water appeared before him, flickering like moonlight on the surface of a calm lake. It was beautiful, ethereal, and powerful.

Sokka stepped back in awe, running his fingers through the water, feeling the shield’s delicate structure, its fluidity. “I can… create a barrier?” He tested it by pressing his hand against the surface, feeling the resistance as if the shield itself had a life, a mind, of its own.

“Yes,” La responded, the voice not in words but in the quiet hum of the water, the energy flowing through his veins. “This power is yours to command. But remember, it is not only about strength. It is about harmony with the elements.”

Sokka nodded, his heart racing with the excitement of his progress. “What’s next?”

“You must now learn to sense,” La’s presence whispered, “the spirits that surround you.”

Sokka closed his eyes again, letting the stillness fall over him. This time, he relaxed his focus, letting his awareness expand beyond the physical world. It was as if his senses were drawn outward, into the darkness, into the realms where spirits moved unseen.

He could feel them—the faint tremors of presence, the echoes of their being. At first, the sensation was faint, like distant ripples in a pond, but the more he concentrated, the clearer they became. The presence of a spirit—elusive and gentle—floated near him. He could feel its energy, like a quiet breath, soft and distant, but undeniably there.

Sokka’s heart pounded in his chest, exhilarated by the power he now commanded. His awareness seemed to stretch across the world like a net, pulling in the subtle whispers of the spirits around him. He could sense their movements, their energies, the way they ebbed and flowed like the tide.

“Focus, Sokka,” La’s voice urged. “Feel them without fear.”

Sokka exhaled slowly, sinking into the moment. He could sense the spirits, not as an intrusion but as a part of the world around him. They were not foreign, but a natural presence, like the winds or the water itself.

With a final, deep breath, he opened his eyes again. His body felt lighter, as though he had expanded beyond himself and embraced something larger.

“I… I can feel them,” Sokka whispered in awe. “The spirits. They’re here.”

La’s energy pulsed once more, and Sokka smiled, feeling a deep sense of peace and connection with the spirits, with the ocean, and with the moon above him. He was learning—becoming more attuned to his role as the Moon Priest.

Tonight, the training had only begun. But Sokka knew that with each passing night, his connection to La and to Yue would grow stronger, and with that strength, he would protect his people and honor the spirits, just as the moon and the ocean always had.

Sokka stood atop the frozen cliffs overlooking the ocean, the moonlight bathing the ice in an otherworldly glow. The cold wind swept through his white hair, but he barely felt it. His mind was focused on the weapon in his hands—a sword unlike any he had ever wielded before.

The blade was curved like the crescent moon, its surface shimmering with a faint silver glow that pulsed in rhythm with the tides. It had been forged in the sacred ice of the North, infused with the energy of Tui and La, and gifted to him after he had passed his spiritual trials. Unlike a normal sword, it was not simply steel—it was an extension of the lunar power that now coursed through him.

Master Pakku stood a few feet away, watching carefully. “The Crescent Moon Blade is not just a weapon, Sokka. It is a conduit. It will respond to the moon’s light, and to your will.”

Sokka tightened his grip around the hilt. “So it’s not just about swinging it like a regular sword?”

Pakku smirked. “Of course not. You are no ordinary swordsman anymore.”

Sokka inhaled deeply and took his stance. He felt the energy humming within the blade, as if it were alive. It was unlike anything he had trained with before. It felt weightless in his hands, yet solid, like moonlight given form.

“Try channeling the moon’s energy into the blade,” Pakku instructed. “Focus on the connection you have with Tui.”

Sokka closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, letting the presence of the moon fill his senses. The stillness, the quiet pull of the tides—it all resonated within him. He concentrated, feeling the pulse of lunar energy flow from his core, down his arms, and into the blade.

The sword glowed softly at first, then brighter, until it radiated like pure moonlight. Sokka opened his eyes, awe flickering through him.

Pakku nodded in approval. “Good. Now, let’s see what you can do with it.”

Sokka took a deep breath and swung the blade through the air. The silver light followed the arc of his strike, leaving a shimmering trail in its wake. He struck again, and this time, the energy surged forward, a crescent wave of light cutting through the frozen ground, leaving a faintly glowing mark where it struck.

Sokka grinned. “Okay, that was pretty cool.”

Pakku chuckled. “You’re beginning to understand.”

Sokka continued to practice, experimenting with the blade’s abilities. He found that with the right focus, he could use it not just for cutting, but for defense as well. By spinning the blade in his hand, he could create a circular shield of light, deflecting incoming attacks. The energy from the sword could also extend outward, allowing him to strike from a distance.

But most importantly, under the full moon, the sword became an extension of his very spirit. It was more than a weapon—it was a symbol of his bond with Yue, with Tui and La, and with the path he had chosen.

As the night wore on, Sokka stood at the edge of the cliff once more, his glowing blade resting at his side. He had always been a warrior, but now he was something more. He was the Moon’s chosen. The guardian of balance.

And with the Crescent Moon Blade in hand, he would be ready for whatever lay ahead.

Aang’s First Steps into Earthbending

The Earth Kingdom stretched before them, vast and unyielding, its mountains and valleys standing firm against the wind. Aang, Katara, and Zuko had traveled southward from the Northern Water Tribe, through harsh tundras and rolling plains, until they finally reached the grand city of Omashu.

Their arrival had been met with excitement—and a little resistance. Bumi, Aang’s childhood friend and the eccentric King of Omashu, had agreed to teach him Earthbending. But not before putting him through a series of wild tests, including racing a badgermole through a maze of underground tunnels and balancing on a narrow rock pillar while dodging boulders flung from all directions.

Now, Aang stood in the training courtyard, barefoot against the solid ground, his body light and restless. He was used to moving with the wind, to gliding, to flowing like water. But Earthbending required something entirely different.

“Alright, Aang,” Bumi said, his wrinkled face splitting into a mischievous grin. “The key to Earthbending is your stance. Air is about movement, avoiding conflict. But Earth? Earth is about standing your ground, knowing when to be stubborn.”

Aang nodded, determination in his eyes. He spread his feet apart and sank lower, mimicking Bumi’s posture. The earth beneath him felt cool and solid, unmoving.

“Good, good!” Bumi clapped his hands. “Now, try to move that rock.” He gestured to a boulder twice Aang’s size.

Aang hesitated. He had moved water and air with ease, but something about the sheer weight of the rock felt different. He took a deep breath, placed his hands forward, and—

Nothing.

Katara and Zuko watched from the sidelines. Katara winced. “This is going to take a while.”

Zuko crossed his arms. “At least he’s trying.”

Bumi cackled. “Come on, Twinkle Toes! You need to be more stubborn than the rock. No fancy dodging, no gliding around it. The rock will not move unless you make it move.”

Aang gritted his teeth and tried again. He planted his feet more firmly and shoved his hands forward. The boulder wobbled slightly but stayed in place.

Bumi shook his head. “Still thinking like an Airbender. Here, let me show you.”

The old king took his stance, his feet rooted like tree trunks. With a single stomp, he sent a wave of force through the ground, launching the boulder into the air. It crashed down with a resounding thud.

Aang’s jaw dropped. “That was awesome!”

“Your turn.”

Aang exhaled. Okay. No dancing around it. Be the boulder. Be stubborn.

He set his feet, widened his stance, and focused. This time, instead of trying to push the rock, he thought about commanding it. He channeled his energy downward, into the earth, and—

With a deep grunt, he thrust his hands forward. The ground rumbled, and the boulder trembled before tilting slightly forward.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Bumi beamed. “There you go, Aang! Keep at it, and soon you’ll be tossing mountains around like pebbles.”

Aang wiped the sweat from his forehead and grinned. He had a long way to go, but for the first time, he felt the connection between himself and the earth.

He was ready to become an Earthbender.

Chapter Text

The Omashu training courtyard had become a second home to Aang, Katara, and Zuko over the last week. The early morning sun painted golden streaks across the high stone walls, and the air was thick with the smell of dust, sweat, and determination.

Aang stood at the center of the courtyard, his clothes coated in dirt, his face flushed from exertion. In front of him, a row of boulders stood like stubborn sentinels—unmoved, unimpressed.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “Rooted. Solid. Stubborn like a rock. I am the boulder.”

He dropped into his Earthbending stance—feet wide, knees bent, arms strong. He focused, channeling his energy downward, feeling the pulse of the ground. With a grunt and a sharp thrust of his arms, he pushed.

BOOM.
The middle boulder slid forward two feet and tilted.

Aang lit up. “Did you see that?!”

Katara, sitting cross-legged off to the side, grinned. “Nice! You’re finally getting it.”

Zuko, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, gave a small nod. “Took you long enough.”

Aang rolled his eyes. “Says the guy who couldn’t even ride Appa without screaming the whole way here.”

“I did not scream,” Zuko said flatly.

Katara raised a brow. “You definitely screamed.”

Zuko opened his mouth to argue, then shut it with a huff.

Bumi, who had been napping upside down on a slab of earth, cackled suddenly. “Excellent! You're finally starting to act like an Earthbender, Aang! And I’m glad to see the three of you aren’t killing each other. That’s growth!”

Aang stepped back, breathing heavily, wiping his brow. “Earthbending is harder than I thought. It’s not like airbending at all.”

“It’s the opposite,” Katara said gently, coming to stand beside him. “Water flows around obstacles. Air evades. Earth… endures. You have to plant yourself.”

Zuko snorted. “Took you long enough to stop dancing around like a leaf.”

Aang turned to him, eyes narrowing playfully. “Why don’t you try Earthbending if you think it’s so easy, Prince Firepunch?”

Zuko cracked a rare smile. “Give me a rock, and I’ll set it on fire.”

“You would,” Katara muttered.

As the morning wore on, Aang resumed his training with Bumi. Katara practiced her forms nearby, flowing from one waterbending motion to the next using a skin of water she wore on her hip. Her movements were graceful, practiced, and completely in tune with her element.

Zuko, meanwhile, retreated to the shadows of the courtyard and began his own training. He didn’t like to draw attention while he practiced. His firebending had changed ever since leaving the Fire Nation—since turning his back on his father. He still struggled to find the same intensity without drawing from anger.

Katara noticed. She stepped away from her waterbending practice and approached him quietly. “Still having trouble?”

Zuko didn’t look at her. “It’s... different now. I used to bend from rage. But now, I’m not angry all the time. Just... tired.”

Katara was quiet for a moment. Then she said softly, “That’s not weakness, you know.”

He looked up at her, surprised. She met his gaze with a calm, sincere expression. “It means you're changing. That’s strength.”

Zuko looked away, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something vulnerable.

Back in the courtyard’s center, Aang let out a triumphant shout. With a powerful stomp, he sent a boulder flying into the air.

Bumi clapped. “There it is! Twinkle Toes, you’re finally bending like someone with a spine!”

Aang beamed, running over to his friends. “Did you see that?! I launched a rock like ten feet!”

Katara gave him a warm smile. “You’re getting stronger.”

Zuko smirked. “Now you just need to learn not to duck every time something comes at you.”

“Hey! That’s muscle memory!” Aang shot back, laughing.

As the three of them stood in the sunlight—bent but not broken, bruised but stronger—there was a feeling of something steady between them. For all their differences, they were beginning to understand each other. Earth, fire, and water—three elements, three people, learning to grow, together.

And somewhere far to the north, under the watchful glow of the moon, Sokka felt a stirring in his spirit. Yue’s voice echoed faintly in his thoughts:

"They’re moving forward. So must you."

The trio left Omashu behind at dawn, Appa soaring low over the rolling green hills and vast stretches of farmland that dotted the Earth Kingdom countryside. With Bumi's blessing and a few days of solid Earthbending training under his belt, Aang had a new spring in his step. He’d finally started to understand the discipline of Earth—not just the mechanics, but the mindset: patience, resolve, presence.

Zuko, however, looked less at ease. He sat at the back of Appa's saddle, cloak pulled tight, eyes scanning the terrain below. He’d traveled these lands before—chasing Aang, chasing honor—but never like this. Not as a companion. Not as a fugitive from his own nation.

Katara noticed. “You’re awfully quiet,” she said, seated between Aang and Zuko.

“I’ve been quiet for the last week,” Zuko said.

“I know,” she said. “Still worth pointing out.”

Aang chuckled. “You’ll get used to her. She points things out even when they’re obvious.”

“I heard that,” Katara said, and gave him a light elbow.

Zuko didn’t respond. His eyes were still distant. “Where are we going, exactly?”

Aang looked back at him. “I need more Earthbending practice. I thought we’d head toward the Si Wong Desert. There are big open spaces there—I can train without, you know… accidentally leveling someone’s farm.”

“Also,” Katara added, “there are towns along the way. We can stop, gather information, maybe hear news about what’s happening with the Fire Nation’s movements.”

Zuko’s jaw tensed at the mention of his homeland. “Right.”

A Village in the Dust

By sunset, Appa had landed near a sleepy Earth Kingdom village nestled between dusty cliffs and a dried-out riverbed. The village was small—just a few dozen homes made of stone and packed earth, with tired-eyed villagers moving about slowly, like people used to enduring hard things.

The group walked into town cautiously, hoods up. Zuko’s Fire Nation features stood out anywhere, but especially in Earth Kingdom territory.

Katara kept close to Aang, who still carried his glider like a staff. “Try not to say ‘Avatar’ too loud,” she whispered. “Or, you know, at all.”

Aang nodded. “Right. Just a regular bald guy. Totally unremarkable.”

A hunched old woman tending her vegetable stall gave them a suspicious glance. “You lot don’t look like traders.”

Zuko stepped forward, speaking in a low voice. “Just passing through. Looking for supplies and rest.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “This town’s been hit by Fire Nation patrols three times this season. We don’t take kindly to strangers with secrets.”

Before Zuko could respond, Aang stepped in. “We’re not here to hurt anyone. We’ll help, if we can.”

The woman squinted, then shrugged. “If you’ve got strong arms and clean water, talk to Elder Bo.”

A Night of Unease

That night, the three were given a corner of a barn to sleep in. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was warm, and more importantly—safe.

Zuko sat near the barn door, staring out into the dark desert. Appa snored behind them, curled up in a heap of straw.

Katara sat across from him, brushing her hair out with a small bone comb. “You could try sleeping, you know.”

Zuko didn’t turn around. “Not tired.”

Katara tilted her head. “You’re always on edge. Don’t you ever let yourself relax?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Do you?”

She paused. “I’m learning.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Aang stirred from where he lay curled in his bedroll. “Tomorrow, I’m going to try that rock pillar drill Bumi showed me. The one where you let the boulders fall toward you, and you don’t move.”

“Sounds like a death wish,” Zuko muttered.

“It’s about trust,” Aang said sleepily. “In yourself. In the ground. That’s what Bumi said.”

Katara pulled her cloak tighter. “Then let’s hope the ground’s feeling cooperative.”

Zuko, surprisingly, smirked. “If you get flattened, can I have Appa?”

Aang groaned. “Not even flattened yet and you’re already trying to adopt my sky bison…”

Appa snorted in his sleep, as if in protest.

The village woke early. Sunlight spilled into the narrow streets, and the smell of ash still lingered faintly from some past raid. Aang was already outside, practicing Earthbending forms Elder Bo had shown him—a set of simple but powerful stances for grounding his weight. Katara was helping some of the local women draw water from the well, chatting easily despite the villagers’ wariness.

Zuko stayed near the barn, splitting firewood with a dull axe he’d borrowed. It was a task he didn’t mind; the repetitive motion was grounding, and unlike firebending, there was no danger in it.

Not anymore.

He hadn’t bent a flame since leaving the North. Not once.

It wasn’t because they didn’t need it—there had been cold nights, times when he could have lit a fire with a flick of his hand—but because every time he thought about summoning fire, he felt it crawling up his arms like something alive, unpredictable. In his head, he could still hear the roar of Agni Kai flames, feel the searing heat of the Northern siege, smell the smoke from Zhao’s attack on the Moon Spirit.

He had told himself it was caution. Control. But deep down, he knew it was fear.

The fire wasn’t his ally anymore. It was something he might lose control of. Something that could burn the wrong person—again.

“Hey, Zuko!”

Aang’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. The Avatar jogged up, dusty from practice, smiling. “Elder Bo says they need help heating the big water pots for the town bathhouse. It’s too much for their old stoves. You’re the perfect guy for the job!”

Zuko’s grip on the axe handle tightened. “I’m busy.”

Aang frowned. “You’re… chopping wood.”

“Exactly.”

Katara joined them, carrying two buckets of water. “It would save them hours if you helped. And you’d be in your element.” She said it warmly, without knowing how wrong she was.

Zuko looked away. “Find someone else.”

Katara exchanged a puzzled glance with Aang. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” The word came too quickly. He set the axe down. “Just… not today.”

Without waiting for them to press, Zuko walked back into the barn.

That Night

The village slept, but Zuko sat awake, leaning against Appa’s side. The bison’s steady breathing was comforting, a low rumble in the dark. In his hands, he held a small flint striker and a piece of kindling he’d taken from the woodpile.

It was supposed to be easy. Just a spark. Just a flicker.

He swallowed hard, focusing on his breath. Slowly, he extended his palm, fingers curled in the old familiar stance.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then—fwoosh—a small flame danced to life in his hand.

The warmth should have been welcome, but it made his chest tighten. The fire flickered, then wavered, growing too hot, too fast. His pulse quickened, panic rising in his throat. He clenched his fist and snuffed it out before it could swell beyond control.

His breathing was ragged. His palms were sweating despite the cold.

He sat there in the dark for a long time, the smell of smoke faint in the air.

Outside, he could hear Katara and Aang laughing quietly from the other side of the barn, still awake and talking about training. They didn’t know.

No one knew.

And Zuko wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to tell them.

Chapter Text

The Northern Water Tribe had settled into a fragile peace after the Fire Nation’s attack. Their walls stood strong again, their warriors healed, their spirits slowly mended. And at the heart of the tribe, a familiar figure walked among them—not the Sokka who had once been just a warrior and jokester, but the Sokka who now carried the weight of moonlight in his veins.

A Spiritual Leader

By night, when the moon hung high, Sokka led the tribe in quiet rituals at the Spirit Oasis. Families gathered with lanterns, their soft glow reflected in the water, as he spoke words of guidance. His voice was steady, carrying both grief and strength, reminding them of Yue’s sacrifice and the balance of Tui and La. Many looked at him with reverence, some even bowing as he passed.

But Sokka never let it go to his head. He wasn’t Yue, he wasn’t a spirit. He was still Sokka. He still tripped on uneven ice sometimes, still muttered jokes under his breath, and still hated long speeches. But he had learned something new: the power of listening. When a fisherwoman confessed her fears about another Fire Nation raid, he didn’t promise impossible safety—he simply listened and then offered a blessing under the moon. And that seemed to matter more than swords or walls ever could.

A Defender

His Crescent Moon Blade never left his side. At first, the people thought it was just ceremonial, but word quickly spread of the way it shimmered in battle drills—how its arcs of light could ward off spear thrusts or even slice through frozen targets with ease.

One night, a pack of wolf-bats attacked near the outer ice fields. Instead of sending warriors alone, Sokka went himself. Under the full moon, the blade sang with silver light, each strike scattering the creatures without bloodshed. When the tribe saw him return, his white hair shining, his blade glowing faintly, the whispers began: The Moon defends us still.

A Helper

For all his newfound spirituality, Sokka refused to lock himself away like some untouchable mystic. By day, when most would expect their “Moon Priest” to sleep, he often strolled the markets or fishing docks, sleeves rolled up. He patched nets, hauled crates of seal jerky, even helped a group of kids rebuild their broken sleds.

The elders sometimes frowned at this—shouldn’t a priest remain above such labor? But Sokka would just shrug. “Yue wouldn’t want me sitting around looking mysterious all day. She’d want me to be useful.” And the people loved him for it.

Between Two Worlds

At night, when the tribe rested, Sokka returned to meditation by the oasis. La’s currents and Yue’s voice guided him deeper into the realm of spirits. He was learning to balance two lives: the grounded chores of a tribesman and the lofty duties of a spiritual guardian.

He no longer felt like an outsider. He was the son of the South, the brother of Katara, the chosen of the Moon, and now, firmly, one of the North’s own.

And yet, when he closed his eyes, sometimes he still saw Aang, Katara, and even Zuko traveling far to the south. The world was moving. He was here. For now, that was enough.

The little Earth Kingdom village had grown strangely quiet after the sun went down. Children were tucked into their homes early, and the elders kept their lamps low, as if afraid of drawing unwanted attention. Fire Nation patrols had scarred the place, and fear still lingered like smoke in the air.

Helping Hands

By day, Aang, Katara, and Zuko worked alongside the villagers. Aang lent his airbending to lift heavy beams while repairing collapsed rooftops. The children flocked to him, begging for small gusts of wind to lift their kites.

Katara brought her healing water to the elderly and the injured. She spent long hours in a dim hut, her hands glowing as she soothed old burns and stiff joints. She listened as they spoke of raids, of lost sons, of food stolen from their stores. She carried their grief like water in a jar—careful, steady, never spilling.

Zuko, though reluctant, found himself patching fences, stacking wood, and helping the guards sharpen their dull spears. The villagers were wary at first, but slowly, they began to trust his quiet dedication. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, it was with a calm certainty that made them listen.

Training Together

In the evenings, when work was done, the three trained in the village square.

Aang balanced boulders on his palms, trying to stay rooted while Katara knocked them with waves of water to test his stance. He stumbled, fell flat more than once, and laughed each time before trying again.

Zuko practiced fire forms in the shadows, careful never to let his flames rise too high. He masked his unease by focusing on sword drills, the clashing ring of his dual blades filling the night air.

Katara noticed, though. She always did. She didn’t press him, but her eyes lingered, concerned.

One night, when Aang collapsed onto the dirt with dust in his hair and sweat soaking his tunic, Zuko muttered from the side, “You’re too soft. If you don’t trust the earth, it won’t trust you back.”

Aang groaned. “It’s not about trust—it’s about balance.”

Zuko shook his head. “Balance is a lie. The world is always pulling you off-center. You have to plant yourself and refuse to move.”

Katara looked between them, thoughtful. “Maybe that’s why you two balance each other. Aang bends by flowing. Zuko fights by standing firm. There’s something to learn from both.”

Aang sat up, brushing dirt off. “That… actually makes sense.”

Zuko blinked, not used to compliments. “Don’t get used to it.”

But there was the faintest trace of a smile on his scarred face.

A Sense of Belonging

By the third week, the villagers no longer looked at them with suspicion. They brought bowls of stew to their barn, offered places at their hearths, and even asked Aang to bless their crops with a steady breeze.

One child shyly tugged at Zuko’s cloak one evening and asked, “Are you a hero?”

Zuko froze, the word hitting him harder than any spear. He crouched, his voice low. “…No. But I’m trying to be better than I was.”

The boy nodded solemnly, as though that was enough.

The sea glittered under Appa’s wings as the trio finally left the dusty Earth Kingdom village behind and headed toward Kyoshi Island. The trip was long, the salty air clinging to their clothes, but when the lush green forests and bright shores came into view, Aang nearly fell off the saddle in excitement.

“Kyoshi Island!” Aang cheered, pointing like a little kid spotting candy. “I’ve always wanted to come here!”

Katara smiled, relieved for his enthusiasm after weeks of grueling Earthbending lessons. Zuko, however, just eyed the coastline warily. “It’s another village. Don’t expect them to welcome us with open arms.”

But to their surprise, the islanders did. Once the villagers learned the Avatar was with them, they were invited to stay. That night, the Kyoshi Warriors greeted them with fanfare. At their head was Suki, clad in her green armor, her painted face unreadable until she smiled.

“Avatar Aang,” she said, bowing. “Welcome to Kyoshi Island.”

Aang turned pink immediately. “H-hi, Suki.”

Katara smirked.

Training and Sparks

The next morning, the Kyoshi Warriors led drills in the village square. Katara joined them, fascinated by their fan and sword techniques. Aang tried too, but he mostly tripped over his own feet.

Zuko had stood off to the side at first, arms crossed, pretending not to care. But Suki noticed him watching.

“You fight with swords, don’t you?” she asked.

Zuko blinked. “What makes you think that?”

Suki twirled her steel fan and smiled. “The way you carry yourself. You’ve got the stance of someone who’s used to blades.”

Zuko hesitated, but then drew his dual dao swords. “I’ve… had training.”

Suki stepped closer, fans poised. “Then train with me.”

The warriors gathered, intrigued, as the two began to spar. Suki’s movements were fluid, precise, her fans darting like quicksilver. Zuko’s style was more rigid, sharp and disciplined, but every clash of steel against fan sparked with energy.

Suki laughed when she nearly tripped him with a sweep of her foot. “Not bad for a brooding prince.”

Zuko flushed, scowling. “I’m not brooding.”

“You’re definitely brooding.”

Their duel went on longer than either admitted they wanted. Suki pressed forward, her fans flashing in the sunlight, and Zuko countered, his blades ringing with every block. Their eyes met often—his dark and intense, hers bright and teasing.

When at last they broke apart, both breathing hard, the other Kyoshi Warriors clapped and laughed.

Suki leaned in just enough for only Zuko to hear. “Not bad. You’ve got potential.”

Zuko sheathed his swords quickly, ears turning red. “…Thanks.”

Katara, watching from the sidelines, whispered to Aang: “Did Zuko just blush?”

Aang grinned. “Yep.”

Katara smirked. “This island’s full of surprises.”

Chapter Text

The Kyoshi villagers laid out a long wooden table in the village square, lanterns swinging gently in the sea breeze. The smell of roasted fish, seaweed wraps, and sweet fruit filled the air. It was a feast both for the warriors and their guests—an expression of gratitude for the Avatar and his companions.

At the Children’s Table

A group of wide-eyed kids clustered around Aang and Katara as they sat down. One boy tugged on Aang’s sleeve.
“Are you really the Avatar?”

Aang laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Can you show us airbending?!” another child piped up, bouncing with excitement.

Aang grinned and flicked his fingers, sending a soft breeze that lifted the kids’ hair and made their bowls wobble. Giggles erupted.

Katara shook her head, smiling warmly. “Don’t encourage him too much, or you’ll have flying bowls of rice everywhere.”

One of the older girls leaned toward Katara. “Are you a princess? You look like one.”

Katara blinked, startled, then chuckled. “No, not a princess. Just… someone trying to help.” She showed them a gentle trick, drawing water from her cup into a floating ribbon that sparkled in the lantern light. The kids gasped in awe, their questions spilling out faster than she could answer.

At the Far End of the Table

Meanwhile, Suki sat across from Zuko, still in her warrior armor, though her face paint was gone. Without it, her features were softer, her smile easier. She picked at her rice with chopsticks and gave Zuko a sidelong look.

“You fight like someone with discipline,” she said casually. “But also like someone who’s always holding back.”

Zuko stiffened slightly. “Maybe I just don’t like showing off.”

Suki tilted her head. “Or maybe you’re afraid of what happens if you don’t hold back.”

For a moment, Zuko froze, chopsticks hovering above his bowl. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “…Maybe.”

Suki studied him quietly, then smiled. “Well, whatever your secret is, you’ve got talent. I wouldn’t mind sparring again. You almost kept up with me.”

Zuko finally allowed a small smirk. “Almost?”

Suki leaned forward, playful glint in her eye. “I am a Kyoshi Warrior, remember. We don’t hand out compliments too easily.”

For the first time in a long while, Zuko laughed under his breath—not mocking, not bitter, but genuine.

A Night of Balance

As the feast went on, laughter and conversation filled the square. Aang told stories of Appa to the kids, Katara spoke gently about the Southern Water Tribe, and Zuko, against all odds, found himself in easy banter with a warrior who met him strike for strike.

For that night, there was no Fire Nation, no looming war, no shadow of destiny pressing down on their shoulders. Just food, company, and a moment of peace under the lanterns of Kyoshi.

The night had thinned, the feast slowly giving way to quiet conversations around low-burning lanterns. Most of the villagers had gone home, but Suki and Zuko lingered by the shoreline, the waves rolling in with steady rhythm. The moonlight traced silver across the water, making the scene feel almost too open, too honest.

Zuko’s Truth

Zuko sat with his knees drawn up, hands clasped loosely in front of him. He hadn’t planned to say anything—he never did—but something about Suki’s calm presence, her quiet confidence, pried the words loose.

“I should tell you something.” His voice was low, edged with unease. “I’m not just… some swordsman wandering with the Avatar. I’m the Fire Nation prince. The son of Fire Lord Ozai.”

Suki stilled. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the surf and the distant chatter from the village square. Her eyes flicked over his scar, then back to his dark, conflicted gaze.

“I figured you were carrying something heavy,” she said at last, tone even. “But I didn’t expect that.”

Zuko braced for recoil, anger, maybe even fear. But Suki just studied him, thoughtful.

“You don’t carry yourself like a prince,” she continued, “at least, not like the ones in the old stories. You carry yourself like…” She tilted her head, considering him carefully. “…like a nonbender.”

Zuko blinked. “What?”

Suki smiled faintly. “You fight with discipline, with training. Every strike, every stance—it’s the kind of precision people without bending have to learn. You’re not relying on power. You’re relying on yourself.”

Her words hit deeper than he expected. For a long time, Zuko had thought of his firebending as the only part of him that mattered—his bending, his scar, his failures. But Suki wasn’t seeing the flame. She was seeing him.

“You think that’s a good thing?” he asked quietly.

“I think it means you’ve got the heart of someone who knows how to fight without gifts or titles,” she said. “That’s rarer than you realize.”

Zuko looked away, his throat tight, the weight in his chest shifting in a way he wasn’t sure he liked—or maybe liked too much. “You don’t know me,” he muttered, though without conviction.

Suki’s smile widened just slightly. “Then let me.”

The two of them sat in silence after that, the night stretching comfortably between them. Zuko wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like his scar was the only thing people saw.

The sun rose over Kyoshi Island, bright and warm, cutting across the misty green forests and scattering light across the village. The feast from the night before was already a memory; now the square rang with the sound of training—steel against steel, fan against blade, water against stone.

Zuko and Suki

On the packed dirt of the practice yard, Zuko and Suki circled each other, weapons ready. He held his twin dao swords in a firm grip, while she spun her war fans with fluid ease.

“You hesitated yesterday,” Suki teased, her painted face unreadable, but her tone light. “Don’t hold back today.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t holding back.”

Suki smirked. “We’ll see.”

She darted forward, fans flashing. Zuko met her head-on, blades striking with a metallic clang. Their movements were sharp, fast, and balanced—his rigid, precise style against her flowing, deceptive strikes. Every clash sent sparks of adrenaline between them.

“You fight like you’re trying not to be seen,” Suki said as she twisted past him, her fan grazing his shoulder. “Like you’re afraid of yourself.”

Zuko pivoted, blocking her next strike. “Maybe I am.”

Suki’s fan slid against his sword, locking them together. For a moment, their faces were inches apart, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Then stop being afraid. You’re stronger than you think.”

Zuko broke the lock with a sudden twist, and for the first time in days, he found himself smiling—not out of arrogance, but from the thrill of being pushed, seen, understood.

Aang and Katara

On the other side of the square, Aang and Katara were training under the watchful eyes of several Kyoshi villagers. Katara stood with her water skin at her side, guiding ribbons of water in wide arcs. Aang faced her, practicing the grounded stances Bumi had taught him.

“Remember,” Katara called, “you have to be the rock, not dance around it.”

Aang stomped his foot, raising a boulder from the ground with a grunt. It wobbled uncertainly, then toppled over with a thud.

He groaned. “It’s so heavy! Can’t I just, I don’t know, push it with air?”

Katara smiled patiently. “That’s the point, Aang. Earthbending isn’t about avoiding the problem—it’s about facing it.”

Aang sighed and tried again, this time planting his feet deeper. The ground trembled, and slowly, the boulder rose. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he held it steady this time.

“Yes!” Katara cheered, beaming.

Aang grinned, the boulder dropping harmlessly to the ground. “I did it!”

“Now do it ten more times,” Katara teased.

Aang groaned dramatically, but deep down, he felt proud. He was learning. Slowly, but surely.

A Moment of Peace

As training wore on, villagers gathered to watch. Children clapped for Aang when he finally managed to launch a rock clean across the yard. The Kyoshi Warriors exchanged impressed glances as Suki and Zuko sparred with a rhythm that looked less like fighting and more like dancing.

The village was quiet, the torches along the palisade burning low. Suki walked the outer path of Kyoshi’s defenses, her armor muted in the moonlight, the soft swish of her fans at her hips the only sound. Patrol duty was usually uneventful, but she liked it—clear skies, crisp sea air, and the steady beat of waves on the shore.

Then she heard it: a faint whoosh—not the sound of wind, but of fire.

Her hand went instinctively to her fan as she followed the noise. Around the bend, in a small clearing beyond the last torch, she saw him.

Zuko.

He stood with his back to her, shirt discarded, sweat running down his shoulders. His arms were tense as he thrust forward in a familiar firebending stance. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then—fwoom—a shaky plume of flame burst from his fist before sputtering out. He cursed under his breath, clenched his fists, and tried again. Another sputter, another failure.

Suki’s eyes softened.

She stepped forward quietly. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”

Zuko whirled, his hands instinctively sparking with a defensive flare before he smothered it. His expression twisted—caught between anger and shame. “You shouldn’t be spying on me.”

“I wasn’t spying,” she said evenly. “I was patrolling. You’re the one sneaking around.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “…I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Suki tilted her head, studying him. “Like what?”

Zuko hesitated. For a long moment, only the sea answered. Then, in a voice low and raw, he said, “Afraid.”

Suki blinked. She hadn’t expected him to admit it.

He turned away, shoulders rigid. “I used to draw strength from anger. From… rage. But now, every time I try, the fire feels wrong. Unstable. It doesn’t listen to me anymore.” His fists trembled. “If Aang or Katara see me like this, they’ll know I’m useless.”

Suki stepped closer, her voice steady but gentle. “Zuko, what I see isn’t useless.”

He frowned, glancing at her.

“You fight like someone who’s had everything taken and still refuses to fall. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.” She paused, then smiled faintly. “You said you’re afraid of fire. Maybe that’s not a curse. Maybe it’s the first time you’re seeing it for what it really is—dangerous, powerful, but not who you are.”

Her words lingered, settling into the silence between them.

For once, Zuko didn’t argue.

The flames flickered weakly from his palm, illuminating his scar and the guarded look in his eyes. Suki didn’t flinch. She just stood beside him, steady as the tide.

Suki waited, silent and patient, her fan resting loosely in her lap. She didn’t push.

Zuko’s voice broke the quiet at last—low, ragged, as though the words hurt to pull free.
“My scar. You’ve been polite enough not to ask… but you deserve to know.”

He turned his head, letting the moonlight fall across the ruined side of his face. His golden eye glinted, the other half of his face a stark reminder of pain.
“My father did this to me. The Fire Lord.”

Suki inhaled softly, but didn’t interrupt.

“I spoke out against him, in front of the court. I thought… I thought it was what a prince should do—protect soldiers from being sent to die in a pointless maneuver.” His hands tightened into fists. “For my ‘disrespect,’ he challenged me to an Agni Kai. I thought I’d be facing the general I insulted. But when I turned to bow, it was him. My father.”

The memory made his voice crack. “When I refused to fight, he called me a coward. And then he…” Zuko’s hand twitched toward his scar, but he didn’t touch it. “…he burned me. Banished me. Told me I could only return if I brought him the Avatar.”

Suki’s heart clenched, but she stayed still.

Zuko exhaled sharply, anger and shame twisting together. “That’s why I chased Aang. That’s why I’ve lived every day trying to be someone I’m not. Because all I’ve ever known is that fire destroys. That I destroy.” He swallowed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m afraid of it now. Afraid of losing control. Afraid of becoming him.”

The fire that flickered weakly from his palms earlier now seemed like a ghost—something that haunted him more than it empowered him.

Suki reached out slowly, not to touch the scar, but to rest her hand lightly on his wrist. “You’re not him, Zuko. You carry fire, but that doesn’t mean you are fire. You decide what you burn for.”

Zuko’s breath caught. No one had ever said it like that before. Not Iroh with his wisdom, not Aang with his forgiveness, not even Katara with her guarded compassion.

Just Suki, steady as the earth beneath them, seeing past the scar, past the fire, to the boy beneath.

Chapter Text

The waves rolled endlessly against the Kyoshi shore, carrying the scent of salt and freedom. Zuko and Suki sat side by side on the rocks, the silence between them no longer heavy but alive—charged with something neither of them dared name yet.

Zuko kept his eyes fixed on the water, as if afraid that meeting hers would unravel him. “I don’t know who I am without fire. Without… all the anger. If I can’t control it, then what am I?”

Suki tilted her head toward him, her painted lips curving faintly. “Maybe you’re someone who finally has the chance to decide for himself.”

He glanced at her, startled.

“You’ve been running after what others told you to be,” she continued. “A prince, a hunter, a soldier. But you’re not chasing that anymore. That means you can choose. And that’s scarier than fire, isn’t it?”

Zuko let out a short, humorless laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Suki said softly. “But it’s possible.”

Her words lingered, like the salt air clinging to skin. For someone who had lived so long with the weight of inevitability—destiny, duty, his father’s voice in every shadow—the word possible struck something raw and new inside him.

The moonlight caught on Suki’s armor, silver tracing her strong profile. Zuko found his gaze drifting—past her fan, past her warrior’s mask, to the softness she carried when the paint was gone.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve met,” he said before he could stop himself.

Suki arched a brow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Zuko flushed, looking away. “…Yes.”

She laughed lightly, the sound as sharp and bright as her strikes. “You’re not like anyone I’ve met, either. You carry so much fire inside, but when I look at you, I don’t see destruction. I see someone who wants to change.”

For the first time, Zuko didn’t flinch at the word fire. He let it sit between them, softened by her tone.

Their shoulders brushed, just slightly, and neither pulled away. The night was cool, but the space between them felt warm.

Suki leaned back on her hands, gazing at the stars. “The world’s falling apart, and somehow, here we are—talking about change instead of fighting over who we’re supposed to be.”

Zuko followed her gaze, his voice quieter now. “Maybe… maybe that’s the point. Maybe the only way forward is to be something different than what we were told to be.”

Suki turned to him then, her eyes glinting like steel under moonlight. “Then don’t be afraid of what’s possible, Zuko. You might surprise yourself.”

Their eyes held, the air between them taut with unspoken words. For a fleeting moment, the scar, the fire, the past—all of it faded. What remained was the promise of something new, something neither of them had dared believe in until now: the possibility of change, together.

The waves whispered against the Kyoshi shore, silver light dancing across the water. Zuko and Suki sat close, the space between them charged, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Zuko’s breath was uneven, as if caught between wanting to move closer and being afraid to break the fragile peace they’d built. His scar felt hotter than usual, but for once, he wasn’t ashamed. Not with her.

Suki tilted her head, studying him in the moonlight. “You keep carrying your pain like a shield,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to with me.”

Zuko’s golden eyes flicked to hers. They held for a heartbeat. Then another.

Neither moved at first—until the silence grew so full it could no longer be contained. Slowly, as if pulled by a tide neither could resist, Suki leaned in. Zuko met her halfway.

Their lips touched—soft at first, hesitant, testing. Then, with a kind of quiet certainty, they deepened the kiss, brief but full of all the weight of what could be.

When they pulled back, Zuko’s breath caught, his heart racing like fire in his chest. Suki smiled faintly, her warrior’s poise softened by warmth.

“Well,” she murmured, “looks like even princes can surprise me.”

Zuko huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Suki’s laugh was light, but her eyes were serious. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The sun rose golden over Kyoshi Island, spilling light onto the training square where the Kyoshi Warriors were already running their morning forms. Villagers gathered nearby, curious to watch the strangers—the Avatar, the waterbender, and the brooding prince—train alongside their defenders.

Zuko and Suki

Suki twirled her fans with precise grace, the sound sharp as they cut through the air. Across from her, Zuko held his dual dao blades, stance firm and guarded.

“Ready?” she asked, smirking.

Zuko tightened his grip. “Always.”

Their spar began with swift exchanges—fans flashing, blades clashing. Suki’s movements were fluid, deceptive, slipping around his rigid strikes. But Zuko adjusted quickly, pressing forward with controlled aggression. The duel looked almost like a dance, a rhythm only the two of them shared.

Suki laughed breathlessly after disarming one of his blades. “You’re getting faster.”

Zuko countered with his remaining sword, forcing her to step back. “Or you’re getting slower.”

Their eyes met—playful, lingering—and for a moment the spar became something more than just practice.

Aang and Katara

Nearby, Katara stood ankle-deep in a training pool, ribbons of water circling her arms. Aang faced her with a determined expression, his stance wider than usual, feet rooted in the ground.

“Remember,” Katara said, “don’t avoid—meet it head-on.”

She sent a wave of water crashing toward him.

Aang braced, stomping his foot. The ground trembled, and a stone wall shot up in front of him, breaking the wave. Water splashed harmlessly around his feet.

He peeked over the top of the wall, grinning. “Did you see that?!”

Katara lowered her arms, smiling proudly. “You’re starting to get it. That was solid.”

Aang dissolved the wall with another stomp, the dust swirling. “Earthbending is still hard, but… it feels good when it works. Like I’m not running anymore.”

Katara’s eyes softened. “That’s the point.”

Together

As the morning wore on, the four of them moved through drills side by side—Aang with his rocky stances, Katara’s water flowing in graceful arcs, Zuko’s blades striking like fire contained, and Suki’s fans spinning with precision.

The Kyoshi villagers watched in awe. The Avatar and his companions were not just warriors—they were learning, growing, and finding balance among themselves.

And though the shadow of the Fire Nation loomed beyond the horizon, here on Kyoshi Island, in this fleeting moment, they found strength in one another.

The morning calm of Kyoshi Island was shattered by the low, ominous horn of a Fire Nation warship. From the cliffs, villagers and warriors watched as black sails cut across the sea, the ship gliding toward the harbor like a predator.

At its bow stood Azula. Perfectly poised, golden eyes gleaming with cruel amusement, blue fire dancing idly between her fingers.

The Arrival

Katara gripped her waterskin, standing beside Aang. “That’s… not just any ship.”

Zuko’s face paled, his jaw tightening. He knew that silhouette all too well. “It’s Azula.”

Suki placed a hand on his arm, steady but firm. “Then we’ll meet her together.”

The Kyoshi Warriors armed themselves, fanning out in a defensive formation as the gangplank slammed down. Azula stepped onto the shore, flanked by armored soldiers.

“Well, well,” she purred, her gaze falling on Zuko. “Dear brother. Hiding among painted girls and peasants? How… noble of you.”

Her eyes flicked to Aang. “And you’ve found the Avatar. Father will be so pleased.”

The Clash

The first strike was fast—Azula’s lightning-blue fire lancing across the sand. Aang leapt aside, raising a wall of earth to shield the villagers. Katara swept water into a sharp whip, driving back the soldiers.

But Azula’s focus was already on Zuko.

He drew his blades, meeting her fire with steel. Sparks flew as he deflected her blasts, each strike forcing him backward. Suki darted in beside him, her fans snapping open, redirecting Azula’s flames with practiced grace. Together, they moved as one—Suki spinning in tight arcs, Zuko pressing forward with precise sword strikes.

Azula laughed, her fire blazing hotter. “Look at you, brother. No bending, no honor. Just swinging sticks while the rest of us shape the world.”

Zuko snarled, pressing harder. “I don’t need fire to stand against you.”

Suki struck then, her fan knocking aside a jet of flame that would’ve seared his side. “He’s more than you’ll ever be, Azula,” she snapped.

Azula’s smile widened. “How sweet. The little Kyoshi girl thinks she can protect you. But tell me, Zuko—when will you admit you’re nothing without your bending? A failed prince. A crippled flame.”

Her words hit deeper than any strike, but Zuko gritted his teeth, his blades flashing as he forced her back step by step. Suki stayed at his side, her presence steady, her defiance unyielding.

The battle in the Kyoshi village square raged hot and bright. Azula’s flames cut through the air like lightning, forcing Aang and Katara back as they shielded the villagers. Suki stood firm at Zuko’s side, her fans flashing, her strikes as precise as the tide.

But Azula’s patience snapped. With a wicked smile, she gathered fire in her hands—blue, searing, and deadly.

“Let’s see which breaks first—your blades, or your heart.”

She thrust both palms forward. A torrent of fire roared straight toward Suki.

“SU—!” Zuko shouted, throwing himself between them.

And then, instinct took over.

The fear that had haunted him for weeks cracked open, replaced by something fiercer—protectiveness, love, rage. Zuko’s arms snapped forward, fire exploding from his palms. The two flames collided midair, his orange fire against her blue.

The impact shook the earth. For a moment, the two siblings locked in a furious tug-of-war, fire twisting and writhing. Then—BOOM.

The explosion rocked the village, scattering debris and smoke. Warriors shouted, children screamed. Azula staggered back, shielding her face, but her smile never faltered. “Finally, brother. You’ve found your fire again.”

In the chaos, Aang whistled sharply. “Appa! Yip yip!”

The bison swooped low, his great form blotting out the smoke. Katara grabbed Suki’s arm, pulling her onto the saddle. Zuko followed, blades still drawn, his face twisted with fury and shame. Aang vaulted up last, clutching the reins.

Appa bellowed, wings beating hard as he lifted into the sky. Below, Azula stepped through the dust, her golden eyes locked on them, her laugh carrying up through the smoke.

“Run, brother. Run! I’ll find you again!”

Zuko didn’t look back. His hands still trembled with the heat of the fire he had unleashed—but when Suki pressed her hand over his, steady and unafraid, the shaking eased.

Above the sea, with the island shrinking behind them, the four sat in stunned silence. Smoke curled on the horizon, Azula’s laughter echoing in Zuko’s ears.

Chapter Text

The Spirit Oasis was quiet, bathed in soft silver glow. The sacred pool shimmered under the watch of Tui and La, its surface reflecting the moon above. Sokka sat cross-legged at the edge, his Crescent Moon Blade resting across his lap. He had come here nightly, drawn by the stillness, the pull of something both familiar and eternal.

Tonight, the air shifted. The water rippled though no wind touched it. And then she appeared—her figure woven from moonlight, her presence soft and radiant. Yue.

“Sokka.” Her voice was a whisper carried by the tide, reverent and tender all at once.

His chest tightened. No matter how many times she came, he still felt his breath catch. “Yue… You look… like the night’s made you its queen.”

She laughed softly, her form flickering like pale fireflies. “You always say things that sound like jokes, but somehow, you mean them.”

Sokka tilted his head, smiling faintly. “Maybe that’s just my way of trying not to fall apart when you’re this close.”

Her gaze softened, luminous eyes fixed on him. “You’ve grown, Sokka. The tribe speaks of you with reverence now. They say you are the Moon’s chosen.”

He gave a half-smirk, though his cheeks warmed. “Chosen or not, I’d trade all the titles just to hold your hand again.”

Yue’s expression flickered between sorrow and warmth. “You cannot, not in the way you wish. But this… this connection we share—it is more than most mortals ever glimpse.”

Sokka leaned forward, his voice low, carrying both longing and awe. “So what you’re saying is… I get special moon privileges?”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “Always trying to make me smile.”

“Always succeeding,” he countered, grinning boyishly before his voice softened. “But really, Yue… every time I see you, it reminds me why I stay strong. Why I have to be more than just… me.”

Yue reached out, her hand ghosting just above his cheek. He felt only the faintest brush, like cool moonlight on skin, but it was enough to make his heart ache.

“You honor me with your devotion,” she whispered. “But Sokka—you must also live. Protect your people, guide them, laugh with them. That is how you honor me best.”

Sokka bowed his head slightly, reverence in his every motion. “I will. But you’ll always be the reason I look up at the moon with a smile, even when it hurts.”

For a moment, her glow brightened, as though the moon itself pulsed in answer. Then she began to fade, her form dissolving back into the rippling water.

“Until the next moonrise,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.

Sokka stayed by the pool long after, his heart caught between longing and peace. He touched the Crescent Moon Blade at his side and whispered to the night:

“For Yue.”

The sky was streaked with fading smoke as Appa soared high above the ocean, leaving Kyoshi Island behind. The air was heavy, quiet except for the rush of wind past their ears.

Katara broke the silence first. “We can’t just keep running forever. We need a destination.”

Aang frowned, his hands clutching the reins. “We were heading toward the Earth Kingdom for more Earthbending training, but now…” He trailed off, glancing back toward the shrinking speck of the island. “Azula’s out there. She’s not going to stop.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. He sat near the back of the saddle, cloak pulled tight around him. “You’re right. Azula doesn’t stop. Not until she wins.”

Katara studied him. “You know her better than we do. Tell us.”

Zuko hesitated, the words caught in his throat. But the memory of blue fire and Azula’s mocking voice still burned in his ears. He exhaled slowly. “Azula’s… perfect. At least, that’s what Father thinks. Ruthless, brilliant, cruel. She doesn’t make mistakes. She doesn’t allow herself to. And she enjoys it—hurting people, breaking them.”

Aang’s brow furrowed. “But… she’s your sister.”

“She’s my sister,” Zuko said bitterly, “but that doesn’t mean she won’t destroy everything I care about to prove she’s stronger. Azula doesn’t want to catch the Avatar for Father’s sake. She wants to prove she can outdo me. And she will do whatever it takes.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by Appa’s steady breathing.

“So what do we do?” Katara asked quietly.

Zuko stared out at the horizon. “We get stronger. We stay ahead of her. And we don’t trust anyone to keep us safe. Not walls, not islands, not even whole armies. Azula will cut through them all.”

Aang swallowed hard, looking down at the endless sea below. “Then where do we go?”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed, the firelight of memory flickering behind them. “Ba Sing Se. The Earth Kingdom’s greatest city. If anywhere can give us the time to grow strong enough to face her… it’s there.”

No one argued. They only sat in silence, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on them, as Appa’s wings carried them toward the distant Earth Kingdom.

The trip across the Earth Kingdom was long. Appa’s wings carried them over forests, rivers, and wide stretches of farmland. The group often camped in remote valleys or near small villages, avoiding Fire Nation patrols. At night, when the others dozed, Zuko often sat awake, staring into the firelight.

One night, as the flames crackled low, Aang leaned toward him. “Zuko… you said Azula’s cruel. But… what was she like when you were kids?”

Zuko didn’t answer at first. His hands were tight around his knees, jaw clenched. Finally, he exhaled, his voice rough.

“She was… perfect. At least that’s what Father said. Smarter than me. Stronger. She learned firebending faster than anyone. Everyone praised her. And she knew it. She used it.”

Katara shifted closer, her expression wary but soft. “Used it how?”

Zuko’s gaze flickered with old memories. “She… liked to make me squirm. When we were little, she’d light fires under my bed while I was sleeping. Burn my toys. Once, she tricked me into thinking Mother was in danger, just so she could watch me panic.” His fists clenched tighter. “She’d laugh at me. Call me weak. Tell me one day Father would see I wasn’t worth keeping.”

The silence after was heavy. Even Appa gave a low rumble, as if disturbed by the weight of Zuko’s words.

Aang’s eyes were wide, troubled. “That’s… that’s awful. She’s your sister.”

“She doesn’t care about that.” Zuko shook his head, his voice low, filled with both anger and something deeper—hurt. “Azula doesn’t see people. She sees tools, or obstacles. And I’ve always been her favorite obstacle.”

Katara reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before resting gently on his arm. “You’re not weak, Zuko. Not for surviving that. Not for admitting it.”

Zuko glanced at her, then looked away, his throat tight. “I don’t want your pity. I just… you need to know what she is. When Azula hunts, she doesn’t stop. And she won’t stop until she’s broken all of us.”

The Spirit Oasis was still as glass, the reflections of Tui and La shimmering softly under the northern stars. Sokka knelt at the pool’s edge, his Crescent Moon Blade resting across his knees. He had grown used to the quiet of these nightly vigils—used to waiting, listening.

Tonight, the water stirred before he could even close his eyes. Silver light blossomed across the surface, and Yue’s spirit emerged, luminous and serene.

“Sokka,” she said, her voice gentle, but threaded with urgency.

He smiled faintly, though his chest ached just to see her. “You always know how to make an entrance.”

Her lips curved in a small, knowing smile. “And you always hide behind jokes when your heart is heavy.”

His grin faded. “What is it? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Yue’s glow flickered, like moonlight passing through clouds. “The world stirs. The balance trembles. You have done well guiding the North, but your journey here is not meant to be forever.”

Sokka’s breath caught. “You mean… I have to leave?”

“Yes.” Her form rippled like water. “The Avatar walks into danger. Azula hunts with fire that devours everything in its path. The threads of fate are converging in the Earth Kingdom—in Ba Sing Se. You must go to them.”

Sokka shook his head, conflicted. “But the tribe needs me. You asked me to stay.”

Yue’s expression softened, shimmering with something close to sorrow. “I asked you to grow. And you have. You are no longer just a warrior, or just a boy mourning what he’s lost. You are the Moon’s chosen. But now your light must leave these walls and shine where the shadows gather.”

Sokka looked down, his hands trembling against the hilt of his blade. “And… what if I lose you, out there?”

Her hand lifted, almost touching his cheek, her voice like a caress. “You could never lose me. The moon will always be with you. In every night, in every tide, in every choice you make.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Sokka closed his eyes, letting her presence wash over him. When he opened them, his jaw was set, his gaze steady.

“Then I’ll go. To Ba Sing Se. For Aang. For Katara. For the world. And for you.”

Yue smiled, her glow brightening like the full moon cresting the horizon. “That is all I could ever ask.”

Then her form faded back into the pool, leaving only the rippling reflection of the moon.

Sokka rose, gripping his Crescent Moon Blade, the decision carved into his heart. For the first time since Yue’s sacrifice, he didn’t feel like he was chasing after her light.

He was carrying it.

Chapter Text

Appa’s great shadow stretched across the endless green plains until finally, the sight of Ba Sing Se rose before the Gaang—a wall so massive it seemed to scrape the sky itself. Tiered walls, layers of stone, the distant glimmer of the inner city. It wasn’t just a fortress. It was a world.

The bison landed outside the massive outer gate. Dust swirled as the Gaang climbed down, their clothes ragged from travel. For a moment, they just stared upward.

Aang let out a low whistle. “It’s… huge.”

Katara shielded her eyes from the sun. “It’s more than huge. It’s overwhelming.”

Zuko crossed his arms, scowling. “Big walls don’t mean safety. Not from Azula.”

Before anyone could respond, a voice floated toward them—high, precise, and unnervingly cheerful.

“Welcome, honored guests!”

They turned. A woman stood at the gate in Earth Kingdom silks, her hair in a stiff bun, her smile stretched wide and practiced. She bowed low, then straightened in a single sharp motion.

“My name is Julee. I am your humble guide to Ba Sing Se.”

Her tone was polite, almost too polite, but her eyes didn’t quite match the cheer in her voice. They were watchful, sharp, as though every word spoken and gesture made was being measured.

Aang blinked. “Oh! Hi, Julee. I’m—”

“The Avatar, yes,” she cut in smoothly, her smile never faltering. “And companions. We are so honored to have you in our great city.”

Katara exchanged a quick look with Zuko. Something about her voice made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

“You must be tired,” Julee continued, gesturing with an almost mechanical flourish. “Please. Allow me to escort you inside. You’ll find Ba Sing Se is… unlike any place you’ve been before.”

Her smile widened, though it never touched her eyes.

The massive gates groaned open, and with a heavy thud, Ba Sing Se welcomed them inside. The city beyond stretched endlessly, divided into rings of stone and order. It was beautiful. It was vast.

And it was unsettling.

The Gaang stepped through the massive gates and into the outer ring of Ba Sing Se. The city stretched endlessly before them—streets laid out in perfect lines, homes packed tightly together, markets bustling with noise and color. And yet… it all felt muted.

Vendors called out halfheartedly, their eyes flicking nervously toward the soldiers who patrolled every corner. Citizens smiled, but their smiles seemed strained, as if practiced. Aang’s chest tightened. He had expected joy and freedom in the great Earth Kingdom capital. Instead, he felt the weight of invisible chains.

Katara whispered to Zuko, “Why does it feel so… wrong?”

He shook his head, scanning the crowded streets. “Because it is. A city this big doesn’t stay quiet unless someone’s making it.”

Julee’s high, precise voice cut into their unease. “Please. This way. The Grand Secretariat is expecting you.”

They followed her through the winding roads, deeper and deeper into the heart of Ba Sing Se. The outer ring gave way to wider avenues, manicured gardens, and elegant estates. Each wall they passed through narrowed the city, stripping away the chaos of common life for an eerie order.

At last, Julee stopped before a grand palace-like hall. She turned, bowing sharply. “The cultural authority of Ba Sing Se welcomes you. Long Feng will receive you now.”

Inside, the hall was cold and quiet. Stone pillars rose high, etched with carvings of dragons and earthbending warriors. And at the far end, seated on a dais, was a man in green robes—calm, composed, with calculating eyes.

Long Feng rose with smooth grace, bowing politely. “Avatar Aang, honored companions. Welcome to Ba Sing Se. I am Long Feng, Grand Secretariat of the Earth King, head of the Dai Li, protector of our city’s harmony.”

His words were silk, but his presence was steel.

Aang stepped forward, trying to sound cheerful. “Thank you for welcoming us. We came here because… well, the world’s at war, and we thought Ba Sing Se could help.”

Long Feng’s smile was thin. “Ah. War. Yes. A dreadful business. But you’ll find, here in Ba Sing Se, there is no war.”

The words landed heavy, wrong. Katara frowned. “What do you mean? The Fire Nation is—”

Long Feng lifted a hand, silencing her gently but firmly. “Peace is precious. The people here live in harmony because we do not trouble them with… outside matters. Ba Sing Se is a sanctuary, free from such chaos.”

Zuko’s fists clenched. “So you’re saying you hide it. You lie to them.”

Long Feng’s smile didn’t waver, but his gaze sharpened on Zuko. “I say we protect them. Sometimes… ignorance is the purest form of peace.”

A chill ran through the group. For the first time since leaving the North, they realized: Ba Sing Se was not just a city. It was a cage—golden and gleaming, but a cage nonetheless.

And Long Feng was holding the key.

The audience chamber was still, the polished floor reflecting the faint glow of lanterns. Long Feng’s hands rested neatly in his sleeves, his expression serene but his voice carrying the weight of command.

“I must caution you,” he said, his eyes lingering on each of them in turn. “Ba Sing Se is a city of peace. Here, we do not speak of war, nor do we invite it into our walls. If you wish to remain here, you will respect that.”

Katara bristled. “But the Fire Nation is burning everything! You can’t just pretend it isn’t happening—”

“On the contrary,” Long Feng interrupted smoothly, “we can. We must. The Earth King has decreed it so, and the Dai Li enforce it. War belongs to the outside world. Within these walls, there is only harmony.”

Aang’s fists clenched. “But Azula is coming. She attacked Kyoshi Island. She’s dangerous.”

Zuko stepped forward, his voice sharp with urgency. “You don’t understand. She isn’t just another commander—she’s Azula. My sister. She’ll use lies, fear, and fire until your city burns. You need to prepare.”

For the first time, Long Feng’s smile faltered just slightly. His gaze cooled, like stone water. “Prince Zuko… your uncle tried to breach this city years ago. With cunning, with strength, with armies. He failed. Even the Dragon of the West could not break through these walls.”

He let the words hang, his tone final. “Do not presume your sister will succeed where he did not.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know her.”

Long Feng’s eyes narrowed. “And you do not know Ba Sing Se.”

The silence that followed was thick with unease. Julee shifted quietly at the edge of the hall, her painted smile frozen in place, as though she were memorizing every word to carry back to the Dai Li.

Long Feng smoothed his robes, his voice returning to silken calm. “Enjoy the hospitality of Ba Sing Se. But do not meddle. The balance of this city is delicate. Disturb it, and you will regret it.”

He bowed, a motion more sharp than gracious. “That is all.”

The Gaang exchanged uneasy glances as they were escorted out. For all its towering walls and sprawling streets, Ba Sing Se felt less like a refuge, and more like a trap.

The Dai Li’s guides led the Gaang away from the grandeur of the inner city and through the crowded, twisting streets of the lower ring. The noise of Ba Sing Se was overwhelming—merchants hawking vegetables, children chasing each other barefoot, the distant rumble of ox-carts over stone. It was life, ordinary and constant, yet underpinned by a strange, enforced calm.

At last, they were brought to a narrow lane of clay-and-brick houses, each identical to the last. Their new home was small and simple—two rooms with a low ceiling, a mat-covered floor, and a window that opened to the alley. It wasn’t much, but after weeks of traveling, it felt like a shelter.

Katara ran her hand over the wooden table in the center. “It’s not exactly the palace treatment, but… it’s cozy.”

Aang dropped onto one of the sleeping mats, sighing in relief. “It feels good just to stop moving.” He looked around with wide eyes. “Can you believe this is part of the biggest city in the world? And we’re right in it!”

Zuko, however, stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the street below. His frown hadn’t eased since leaving Long Feng. “This isn’t a home. It’s a cage. The Dai Li are watching us.”

Katara glanced at him but didn’t argue—because she felt it too. The walls pressed in on them, not with stone, but with silence. The city was alive, but too quiet about the things that mattered.

Appa snorted from outside, having been given a small stable beside the house. Momo fluttered in through the open window and landed on Zuko’s shoulder, which earned the faintest twitch of a smile before he brushed him off.

As the sun set, the small house filled with a fragile sense of normalcy. Katara began boiling water for tea, Aang lit a small lantern, and for a moment, it almost felt like they had a home.

Almost.

Chapter Text

The first rays of sun spilled into the quiet courtyard of their little home, painting the walls in pale gold. Ba Sing Se was already stirring outside—vendors calling in the streets, the low rumble of carts—but within the house, the Gaang began their day in quieter ways.

Zuko and Aang
In the garden behind the house, Aang sat cross-legged on the cool stone, eyes closed, his breaths deep and steady. The soft hum of the city faded into silence as he reached for the balance of earth and air within him.

Across from him, Zuko mirrored the pose. His posture was rigid at first, shoulders tense, fists clenched against his knees. But slowly, under Aang’s quiet presence, he let go. His breathing steadied, his fire no longer burning with anger, but a low ember of calm.

For a moment, the scarred prince and the boy Avatar were just two figures in the morning sun, searching for peace together.

Aang cracked one eye open, smiling softly. “You’re getting better at this.”

Zuko didn’t move, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Suki and Katara
In the open square just beyond the house, Suki and Katara sparred. Suki wore her Kyoshi armor, fans gleaming as they snapped open and closed in sharp arcs. Katara drew water from her skin, ribbons flashing as they cracked against the air.

Their movements were different—water’s flowing grace against the precision of steel—but together they formed a rhythm, strike and counterstrike, parry and sweep.

Katara whipped a stream of water low toward Suki’s feet. Suki vaulted over it, her fan knocking the ribbon aside. She landed with a grin. “You’ve been practicing.”

Katara smiled back, chest heaving with exertion. “And you’re faster than I remember.”

Their laughter rang in the square, a sharp contrast to the city’s muted calm.

The Gaang set out into the heart of Ba Sing Se, moving cautiously through the endless streets. The city was alive, but the life felt hollow—merchants called out too loudly, soldiers smiled too politely, and everywhere, the Dai Li’s eyes seemed to follow.

Zuko pulled his hood up as they walked. “From now on, call me Lee,” he muttered. “The less attention we draw, the better.”

Aang tilted his head. “Lee? That’s… pretty plain.”

“Exactly,” Zuko said flatly.

Katara stifled a laugh, and even Suki’s lips quirked at the corner. But no one argued. In this city, being forgettable felt safer than being known.

The Markets

The group wandered through the bustling marketplace, stalls stacked with fruit, silks, and clay pots. Yet something was off. Smiles looked plastered, laughter didn’t reach the eyes, and the constant hum of “harmony” felt rehearsed.

Aang whispered, “It’s like everyone’s pretending to be happy.”

Katara nodded, uneasy. “Like they’re afraid not to be.”

As they rounded a corner, a commotion broke out near a spice stand. A young girl, no older than eight, sat on the ground, crying softly. Her sleeve had slipped down to reveal angry red burns scarring her arm. The stall owner shooed her away, muttering about “not frightening customers.”

Zuko froze. His scar seemed to burn as he watched. Without thinking, he stepped forward.

Kneeling beside the girl, he spoke softly. “Let me see.”

Her mother rushed over, anxious. “No, please—she’s fine, she’s—”

But Zuko gently unwrapped the child’s bandages, his movements careful, almost reverent. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small jar—burn salve, the kind he had carried since his exile. His fingers trembled as he applied it, but his voice was steady.

“This will ease the pain. Keep the wound clean. It’ll heal.”

The girl sniffled, staring at his scarred face, then whispered, “You… you know about burns.”

Zuko’s throat tightened. He gave a small nod. “Yeah. I know.”

Her mother bowed low, gratitude in her eyes though fear still lingered. “Thank you, traveler.”

Zuko quickly rose, pulling his hood lower, not wanting the others to see the storm in his expression.

As they walked on, the Gaang stayed quiet. Finally, Suki broke the silence. “That was kind, Zuko.”

He shook his head, jaw tight. “It wasn’t kindness. It was… what should’ve been done for me.”

The city around them hummed with false cheer, but none of them could shake the truth in Zuko’s words—or the unease of how many scars, visible and invisible, Ba Sing Se was hiding beneath its polished surface.

Chapter Text

The Northern lights faded behind him as Sokka rode south, the buffalo yak’s hooves thudding softly against the frozen ground that soon gave way to rolling green. The Crescent Moon Blade hung across his back, gleaming faintly in the light of dawn. Though he carried the weight of Yue’s command, there was a fire in his chest—equal parts duty and longing.

The Journey

The buffalo yak was a sturdy beast, broad-shouldered and reliable. It plodded steadily along winding dirt roads, through grassy fields and narrow passes. Sokka had packed light: dried seal jerky from the North, a few maps of the Earth Kingdom, and the jar of salve Yue’s priests had given him “for journeys of the flesh and spirit alike.”

At night, he built small fires and stared at the moon until he could almost feel Yue’s hand brushing his cheek. Head to Ba Sing Se, she had said. The Avatar needs you.

Arrival at the Village

After several days of travel, Sokka crested a hill and saw it: a modest Earth Kingdom village nestled in the valley below. Smoke curled from chimneys, children’s laughter carried faintly on the breeze. It was peaceful, but there was an edge—walls hastily repaired, scorch marks on wooden gates, farmers glancing skyward at every sound.

Sokka rode into the village, the buffalo yak drawing curious stares. A blacksmith paused mid-swing. A pair of women carrying baskets whispered. The children, braver than the adults, ran alongside his mount, wide-eyed.

“Where are you from, stranger?” one man asked, his voice cautious.

Sokka straightened, trying to look both important and approachable. “From the North. I’m traveling to Ba Sing Se.”

The villagers exchanged looks—some hopeful, others wary. One child piped up, “Are you a warrior?”

Sokka touched the Crescent Moon Blade at his back. “Something like that. But I’m also… here to help, if I can.”

The village elder, an old woman with sharp eyes, stepped forward. “Then help you shall. The Fire Nation has been prowling these roads. If you bring protection, you’re welcome.”

The Earth Kingdom village had grown quiet at dusk. Families shuttered their windows, the laughter of children replaced by a tense stillness. Sokka sat near the edge of the square, sharpening his Crescent Moon Blade, when the first cry went up.

“Fire Nation! They’re here!”

Flames lit the horizon—torches carried by raiders cresting the hills, their armored silhouettes marching fast toward the village. Panic rippled through the streets. Farmers grabbed crude spears, mothers herded children into cellars, and fear spread like wildfire.

Sokka rose, his heart pounding. So soon. Yue, guide me.

The Fire Nation soldiers stormed the gates, fireballs arcing overhead. The hastily repaired wood splintered under the assault. Villagers scrambled to hold the barricades, but the flames drove them back.

Sokka mounted the wall, Crescent Moon Blade gleaming in the firelight. “Everyone, fall back to the square! I’ll hold them here!”

The soldiers sneered at the lone warrior standing before them. “One boy with a fancy sword? You’ll burn like the rest.”

Sokka planted his feet. “We’ll see about that.”

The first fireball came fast. Sokka raised his blade—and with a flash, silver light unfurled into a shield of moonlight, swallowing the flames before they could touch him. Gasps echoed from behind as villagers watched the impossible.

Sokka’s eyes glowed faintly, the moonlight reflecting in his white hair. With a sweep of his blade, he conjured a sphere of silver light, hurling it into the raiders. The orb burst like a star, scattering them in shock.

“Spirits…” a farmer whispered.

The raiders pressed again, fire blazing—but Sokka moved with a rhythm not his own, guided by Yue’s steady presence. Blades of light sliced through flame, shields shimmered to guard the villagers, and each strike carried the weight of both warrior and priest.

One soldier lunged close, sneering, “You’re no bender!”

Sokka’s grin was fierce as his blade cracked against the man’s weapon, light exploding outward. “I don’t need to be.”

By the time the moon rose high, the last of the raiders fled into the night, their torches extinguished. The village was battered but standing.

The people gathered in the square, eyes wide with awe. Children peered from behind their mothers, whispering about the warrior who fought with the moon itself.

Sokka stood in the center, chest heaving, his blade dim now that the battle had passed. He glanced skyward, whispering, “Thanks, Yue.”

Sokka did not leave immediately. Yue’s command weighed on him, but he also knew that leaders weren’t just born in battles—they were forged in the everyday. So he stayed for a few days, helping mend fences, carrying buckets of water, even chasing goats back into their pens when they slipped out.

Children followed him everywhere, tugging at his sleeves, begging to hear stories of the moon spirit. He exaggerated wildly, of course—mimicking Azula’s scowl, describing Appa as “the fluffiest monster you’ve ever seen,” and embellishing his Crescent Moon Blade so much it might as well have cut through mountains. The kids squealed with delight, and even the stern blacksmith cracked a smile.

The village had little to spare, but gratitude is not measured in wealth. One evening, as smoke from the cookfires drifted sweet across the square, Sokka approached a food stand run by a kindly woman and her husband. The skewers of grilled boar-q-pine meat made his stomach growl audibly.

“Uh, one skewer, please,” he said, patting his coin pouch and realizing he didn’t have much Earth Kingdom currency.

The woman laughed, shaking her head. “For you? After saving our homes? Take as many as you want.”

She handed him three skewers, piled high with juicy, steaming meat. Sokka’s eyes went wide. “Three? Are you sure? I mean… I don’t want to be greedy but—okay, yes, I do.”

The husband chuckled. “Eat, Moon Warrior. The more you eat, the stronger you’ll be when you face the Fire Nation again.”

Sokka bit into the first skewer with reverence, eyes closing in bliss. “This,” he declared between mouthfuls, “is the greatest reward a warrior could ever receive.”

The children giggled, and the villagers laughed with him, the sound warm and real.

That night, as the moon rose high, Sokka stood at the edge of the village with his blade glowing faintly. Yue’s presence brushed against his heart like a whisper: You are ready. Ba Sing Se waits.

He looked back once at the little village, at the smoke curling from chimneys and the laughter lingering in the air, before turning his buffalo yak south again.

The road stretched long, but Sokka carried more than his blade now—he carried the trust of those he’d saved, and the taste of skewers he’d never forget.

Chapter Text

The road wound southward, carrying Sokka and his buffalo yak toward another village as twilight deepened. Unlike the last town, this one had high wooden gates reinforced with charms—slips of paper scribbled with prayers, bundles of herbs, and rattling bells. Even in the fading light, fear was etched into every plank.

As Sokka rode in, the villagers froze. Their eyes darted to his pale white hair, glowing faintly in the moonrise, and to the Crescent Moon Blade strapped to his back. Children whispered, clutching their mothers’ skirts, and men reached for farming tools as makeshift weapons.

“He’s one of them,” someone hissed.
“A spirit—come to curse us too!” another cried.

Sokka raised his hands quickly, sliding down from the buffalo yak. “Whoa, whoa, hold up! I’m not a spirit, I’m—look, I’m human! See?” He pinched his arm, wincing. “Ouch. Flesh and blood. Totally mortal.”

The crowd didn’t seem convinced.

An old man stepped forward, trembling but brave. “Spirits plague us every night. They come with the darkness, tearing roofs, spoiling food, scaring our children. And now you arrive, with ghostly hair and glowing eyes?”

Sokka sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, the hair’s new. It’s a long story involving moon spirits and, well… let’s just say it’s complicated. But trust me, I’m here to help, not haunt you.”

He drew the Crescent Moon Blade slowly and held it flat across his palms, letting its silver edge catch the lantern light. “This is a gift of protection. If I were a spirit, you think I’d be standing here explaining myself instead of, I don’t know, flying around being creepy?”

A nervous laugh rippled through the crowd.

The elder woman of the village squinted at him, studying his face with sharp eyes. At last, she nodded. “If you truly are human… then prove it. Stand with us tonight, when the spirits come. If you fight them back, we’ll believe you. If not—”

Sokka sheathed his blade with a smirk. “If not, you can chase me out with pitchforks or whatever. Deal.”

The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, but a fragile hope flickered among them. Sokka patted his buffalo yak’s side and leaned casually against it, trying to mask the tight knot in his stomach.

As the last light of day bled from the sky, the bells on the gate rattled in the sudden wind. The villagers retreated into their homes, lanterns flickering nervously.

Sokka tightened his grip on the Crescent Moon Blade, eyes on the horizon where shadows began to stir.

“Alright, Yue,” he whispered. “Guess it’s showtime.”

As the villagers began shuttering their doors and dousing their lanterns, Sokka stopped the elder woman at the center of the square. His Crescent Moon Blade rested across his shoulder, but his tone was serious.

“If I’m going to help, I need to know what I’m up against. What kind of spirit has been haunting you?”

The elder hesitated, her wrinkled hands clutching the beads around her neck. “It comes only at night. It isn’t just one spirit—it’s many. Shadows that crawl along the walls, that whisper in voices of the dead. They spoil our food, frighten our children… and sometimes, they take animals from the pens. We’ve never seen them clearly. Only glowing eyes in the dark.”

A farmer nearby added quickly, “We tried charms, incense, even prayers to the Great Lion-Turtle shrine outside town. Nothing stops them. The more we resist, the bolder they get.”

Sokka frowned, his mind already working. Shadows. Whispers. Taking livestock. He thought back to Yue’s teachings, to the scrolls Pakku had shown him in the North. “Sounds like restless spirits… maybe ones who’ve been cut off from balance.”

The villagers exchanged nervous glances, their fear palpable.

Sokka lowered his blade and spoke calmly, meeting their eyes. “Listen. I’ve dealt with spirits before. They’re not always monsters—they’re confused, angry, or lost. If you want this to end, I’ll need to see them myself. But I promise you this: I won’t let them harm anyone tonight.”

The elder’s eyes softened. “If you truly are the Moon’s chosen… then may the spirits listen to you better than they ever have us.”

Sokka gave a crooked grin, trying to ease the tension. “Well, spirits or not, they’re about to find out I don’t scare easy. I’ve fought worse things than shadows.”

Sokka clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, people—spirits or no spirits, we’re not sitting around waiting to be picked off. We make a plan. That’s what I’m good at.”

He knelt in the dirt, sketching a quick map of the village with a stick. “First—lanterns. As many as you’ve got. Spirits hate light. We’ll set them up at the gates, on rooftops, everywhere. Keep the shadows small.”

The farmers nodded, scattering to gather oil lamps and torches.

“Second—charms,” Sokka continued. “I don’t know if they’ll actually work, but it can’t hurt. Herbs, incense, whatever you’ve got. Put them by your doors and windows. If it keeps even one spirit from creeping in, it’s worth it.”

The elder added softly, “And it may give the people courage. Even symbols have power.”

Sokka smiled faintly. “Exactly.”

As the villagers hurried to prepare, Sokka worked alongside them. He showed a group of kids how to set simple rope traps near the gates—pits covered with leaves, trip-lines tied with bells. “If the spirits have legs, this’ll slow them down. If they don’t… well, at least it’ll make some noise.”

He also visited the small shrine outside the village, kneeling before its weathered stone lion-turtle statue. Lighting incense, he whispered, “Yue, if you’re watching, I could really use some tips here. You know, spirit-to-spirit stuff.”

The faint glow of moonlight across his blade felt like an answer.

As night drew close, Sokka stood before the people, white hair shining in the lantern light. The villagers still looked at him with awe and unease, but now their fear was tempered with trust.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said. “Tonight’s going to be tough. But you’re not helpless. You’ve got walls, you’ve got courage, and you’ve got me. And I’ve got the moon on my side. Together, we’ll get through this.”

As the last rays of sun vanished, the gates groaned in the wind. Bells rattled, and the torches cast long, uneasy shadows. The villagers huddled in their homes, leaving Sokka at the center of the square, Crescent Moon Blade drawn.

He breathed deeply, the silence pressing in. Then he whispered to himself, voice steady despite the chill creeping up his spine:

“Okay, shadows. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Chapter Text

At first, it was subtle. The livestock began to bleat and stamp, their fear sharper than any alarm. Then the lantern flames flickered, shadows stretching unnaturally long across the ground. The air grew colder, heavy as though the night itself pressed closer.

Sokka’s breath fogged. He tightened his grip.

A whisper slid through the square—not words, but the impression of voices, echoing from nowhere and everywhere. His heart pounded. They were mocking, pleading, laughing all at once.

Then he saw them: shadows moving against the walls, sliding like liquid darkness, eyes opening within the black. Dozens of glowing eyes.

The villagers gasped from behind their doors. Some wailed softly, calling out to ancestors.

Sokka’s pulse hammered, but he forced his feet still. Don’t show fear. Yue… I need you.

The blade pulsed faintly in his grip, silver light spilling across the cobblestones. The shadows hissed, recoiling.

He took a deep breath, steadying his mind. All the lessons of meditation, the quiet nights by the Spirit Oasis, Yue’s voice reminding him: The moon is steady. The moon is constant. The moon does not bow to fear.

Sokka raised his voice, strong and clear. “This village is under the Moon’s protection. You will not harm them again!”

The shadows surged, swarming like a wave.

With a shout, Sokka slashed his Crescent Moon Blade through the air. Light arced out, cutting the shadows as though they were solid. They screeched and writhed, dissolving into mist where the blade passed.

Another rushed at him, whispering with a dozen phantom voices. Sokka slammed the blade into the ground—boom! A dome of pale silver light exploded outward, banishing the shadows from the square.

But they pressed harder, reforming at the edges. His arms trembled, sweat stung his eyes. Fear whispered at the back of his mind, telling him he couldn’t hold them back.

Then Yue’s voice, soft and firm, filled him: You are not alone. You are my chosen. Shine.

Sokka grit his teeth and surged forward, his blade a comet of silver fire. Each strike scattered shadows, each step pushed the darkness back. His own voice rose above the whispers, fierce and defiant: “I am Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, Priest of the Moon! Leave this place!”

One of the shapes lunged, and Sokka met it with a sweep of his blade. Silver light cut the shadow clean through, dispersing it in a burst of smoke. Another leapt from a rooftop, claws like black fire—he raised his blade again, a shield of moonlight flaring to block the strike.

Each clash rang not just in steel but in his mind—their whispers pressed at him, sowing doubt, clawing at his grief. “You failed Yue. You’ll fail them too. You are nothing.”

Sokka staggered, gripping his blade tighter. His heart pounded. He closed his eyes—and reached for the steady glow of the moon. He remembered Yue’s hand brushing his cheek, her voice like soft water: “You could never lose me.”

His breathing slowed. The fear dulled. And when he opened his eyes, the Crescent Moon Blade blazed with silver fire.

You failed Yue.
Your tribe doesn’t need you. They just pity you.
You’re no warrior, just a boy pretending at courage.

Sokka dropped to one knee, but instead of despair, he lifted his eyes to the sky. The moon shone full and bright, casting its glow over the square.

“Yue,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I trust you. I trust us.”

The whispers faltered. The shadows hissed, recoiling.

Sokka rose, his grip steady now. His blade flared with moonlight, brighter than any torch. With a roar, he swept it in wide arcs, each strike carving through the shadows, each movement driven not by anger, but by faith.

The whispers tried again, but this time they broke against his heart like waves on stone. You failed—
“No,” Sokka growled, slashing through another phantom. “I’m still here.”
You’re weak—
He spun, the blade glowing brighter. “Not when I fight for others.”

The square filled with silver light as he drove the last of the spirits back. One by one, their eyes winked out until only silence remained.

The villagers emerged slowly from their homes, wide-eyed, as the last tendrils of shadow dissolved into mist. The elder bowed deeply, voice trembling. “Moon’s chosen… you banished them.”

Sokka lowered his blade, panting, his white hair shining under the moon. He managed a tired grin. “Guess the shadows don’t stand a chance when the moon’s on your side.”

Behind his humor, though, he felt it—Yue’s presence, steady and warm in his chest. Not just as a spirit, but as faith.

And with that faith, he knew he could face anything.

The village was safe, but the looks hadn’t gone away. Whispers still followed Sokka when he passed—white hair, glowing blade, not one of us. Grateful though they were, the people kept their distance. He understood. Fear doesn’t vanish overnight.

So that evening, Sokka saddled his buffalo yak and rode a short way out into the hills. He found a quiet spot near a brook, ringed by trees, the stars sharp above. There, he made camp—small fire, blanket roll, Crescent Moon Blade resting beside him.

When the fire burned low, Sokka looked up at the sky. The moon hung round and bright, silver spilling across the brook like liquid light.

He let out a long sigh. “Well, Yue… guess I’m still the outsider. Even when I’m helping.”

The flames flickered. The air shifted. And then she was there—her spirit shimmering above the water, soft and radiant as ever.

“You’re not an outsider,” Yue said, her voice carrying like a breeze across the water. “You are my bridge. Between the people and the spirits.”

Sokka chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, but bridges get walked on a lot. They don’t exactly get invited to dinner.”

Yue smiled, tilting her head. “And yet, without the bridge, no one crosses safely.”

He glanced down, poking at the fire with a stick. “Sometimes I wonder if this is really me, Yue. The goofy guy who makes jokes, suddenly the big moon-chosen warrior? I don’t know if I’m cut out for it.”

Her glow brightened, casting silver over his hair and blade. “That’s why you are the one. Because you doubt. Because you care. Power without humility is dangerous. But you carry both.”

Sokka met her gaze, his smile faint but warm. “You always know what to say.”

“And you always forget how much you’re capable of,” she teased gently.

The brook rippled, her form shimmering as she began to fade back into the water. “Ba Sing Se waits for you. There, your path and Aang’s will meet again. Trust the moon, Sokka—and trust yourself.”

He raised a hand as if to reach for her, the ache in his chest sharp and familiar. “I’ll keep fighting, Yue. For you. Always.”

Her smile lingered even as she dissolved into silver light. “I know.”

The night was quiet again, save for the brook and the fire. Sokka leaned back against his pack, eyes fixed on the moon until sleep finally took him.

Chapter Text

One morning, Aang and Katara set up in the small courtyard, water swirling in Katara’s hands while Aang braced himself in an Earthbending stance. Zuko and Suki sparred nearby with wooden weapons. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt normal.

But the peace didn’t last.

Two men in green robes appeared at the gate—Dai Li agents. Their smiles were thin, their hands hidden in long sleeves. “Excuse us,” one said in a tone too smooth to be casual. “You are not permitted to train outdoors. Such displays… disturb the harmony of Ba Sing Se.”

Katara stepped forward, frowning. “We weren’t hurting anyone. We need to practice.”

The second agent’s smile widened, though his eyes didn’t. “Of course. But there are rules. And rules keep the city peaceful.”

Aang’s shoulders slumped. “But I’m the Avatar. I have to—”

“Inside,” the first agent cut in, still smiling. “If you must.”

The two gave curt bows and left as silently as they had come

The courtyard felt smaller than ever once they were gone.

Aang kicked the ground, frustrated. “How am I supposed to master Earthbending if I can’t even practice outside?”

Katara crossed her arms. “It’s like they want us caged. Like the war doesn’t exist in here.”

Zuko scowled, his fists clenched. “That’s exactly it. They think if they hide behind walls, the Fire Nation will never touch them. But Azula will burn right through.”

Suki laid a calming hand on his arm. “Then we adapt. Train inside, keep our heads down. For now.”

The Gaang slipped out of their narrow home and wandered the winding streets of Ba Sing Se’s lower ring. By day, the city seemed alive—vendors calling from crowded stalls, children darting between carts—but underneath, the same false cheer pressed against them.

As they walked, Zuko fell behind. He kept his hood low, eyes scanning faces. Here, in the alleys, the scars of war showed: a man with burns on his arms, a mother hiding a child’s scarred cheek, old wounds half-treated with cheap poultices.

Something twisted inside him.

“I’ll meet you later,” he muttered to the others, slipping away before they could question.

He ducked into a quieter street, pulled a small satchel from beneath his cloak, and began moving from door to door. Inside were jars of burn salve, carefully prepared during his exile. He had always carried them—for himself, for others. Tonight, they found use.

He knelt beside a boy with bandaged hands, unwrapping the cloth gently. The burns were raw, poorly treated. Zuko’s movements were practiced, careful, his own memories guiding him.

“This will sting a little,” he murmured, dabbing the salve. The boy flinched but didn’t pull away. When the child whispered, “Did the Fire Nation hurt you too?” Zuko froze. Slowly, he pulled his hood back, revealing the scar that burned across his face.

“Yes,” he said softly. “But it doesn’t have to own you. And it won’t own me either.”

Word spread quickly. One by one, people approached him—hesitant, then desperate. Zuko worked quietly, applying salve, offering bandages, whispering a few words that came out rough but sincere.

When he finally rejoined the others hours later, his hands smelled of herbs and ash. Katara noticed first.

“You’ve been healing,” she said, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration.

Zuko looked away, pulling his hood lower. “It’s nothing. Just… something I can do. Something I should do.”

Aang smiled faintly. “Sometimes helping one person is bigger than fighting an army.”

Zuko didn’t reply, but for the first time in Ba Sing Se, the city’s false calm felt less suffocating.

Because here, in the hidden corners, he had turned fire’s scars into something else—healing.

The little house in Ba Sing Se smelled of herbs and smoke as night settled over the lower ring. Zuko sat cross-legged at the table, grinding dried leaves into a paste, the rhythmic scrape of mortar and pestle filling the silence. Beside him, Suki measured oil into clay jars, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, glancing at him.

Zuko shrugged, not looking up. “I kept it with me while traveling. For myself. For… anyone who needed it.”

Suki smiled faintly. “Now it’s for everyone.”

Word had spread. By evening, villagers began arriving one by one—an old woman with blistered hands from a cooking fire, a boy with an angry scar across his shoulder, a soldier whose armor still smelled of smoke. They came quietly, knocking at the door, grateful but afraid to speak too loudly.

Suki guided them inside, sitting each person down. Zuko applied the salve with rough but gentle hands, his scarred face lit by the lantern’s glow. For once, his fire was not destruction—it was memory guiding him to heal others.

Katara joined them, kneeling by a child whose burns had gone deep. She drew water into her hands, the blue light of healing soft against the boy’s skin. His pain eased, his breathing calmed. The family bowed to her, whispering blessings.

“Water and salve together,” Katara murmured, “it works better.”

Zuko glanced at her, then nodded in agreement. “Balance.”

When the line slowed, Suki dabbed her own fingers with salve and carefully treated a farmer’s cracked, burned palms. She didn’t have Zuko’s instinct or Katara’s bending, but her touch was steady, her voice calm. “Hold still. You’ll be back in the fields soon.”

The man’s eyes glistened. “Thank you. All of you.”

By the time the last villager left, the jars were half-empty, and the little house felt lighter, warmer. Zuko leaned back, rubbing salve from his hands onto a cloth. For once, his shoulders weren’t as tense.

Katara looked at him and said softly, “You’re not just fighting the Fire Nation, Zuko. You’re undoing what it’s done.”

He didn’t answer, but Suki caught the flicker of something rare in his face—pride without anger.

Together, the three of them had turned a hiding place into a refuge, if only for one night.

The little house was still, the last traces of herbs and smoke clinging to the air. The jars of salve sat in neat rows, some nearly empty, the water bowls used for washing burns tipped aside.

Zuko and Suki stayed behind to clean. Katara had retired to rest, leaving them alone in the dim lantern light.

Suki wrung out a cloth, wiping down the low table where they’d mixed salve. Her movements were methodical, but her eyes kept flicking toward Zuko. He sat opposite, carefully rewrapping bandages, his scar catching the glow of the lantern.

“You don’t talk while you work,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

Zuko’s brow furrowed. “Why would I? Talking slows you down.”

Suki smirked. “Not always. Sometimes it makes the work lighter.”

He glanced at her, then back at the bandages. “…Maybe. With the right person.”

When the last jar was closed and the table wiped clean, Suki sat back, brushing her hair from her face. “You know,” she said softly, “I’ve seen warriors fight. I’ve fought them myself. But I’ve never seen someone fight to heal before.”

Zuko froze, uncertain, then muttered, “It’s… the least I can do. After everything my nation has taken.”

Suki leaned forward, her hand brushing his, deliberate and gentle. “It’s more than that. It’s who you are when you’re not trying so hard to be who you think you should be.”

Zuko looked at her, truly looked, and the walls he kept so tightly bound around himself wavered. For a long moment, the scarred prince and the Kyoshi warrior simply sat together in the dim light, hands close, the air charged with unspoken possibility.

When Suki set the bowls aside, her hand brushed against his. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let her fingers linger, sliding slowly into his scarred, calloused grip.

Zuko stiffened at first, unused to the gentleness. But then he let out a breath, his hand tightening around hers. His golden eyes lifted to hers, uncertain, searching.

Suki leaned gently against him, resting her head on his shoulder. For once, he didn’t tense. He only let out a slow, shaky breath, as though some weight he always carried had lifted—if only for this moment.

Chapter Text

Far beyond the Gaang’s little home in the lower ring, the walls of Ba Sing Se loomed, their stone surfaces gleaming under the moonlight. They were said to be impenetrable—unbroken even by Iroh, the Dragon of the West.

But walls mean little to those who move in silence.

The Infiltration

Three figures moved across the rooftops, dark against the silver sky. They were swift, quiet, and precise. Where guards stood, they left no trace; where doors barred entry, they found windows instead.

At the center was Azula—calm, graceful, her golden eyes glinting with confidence. Every step was deliberate, every breath controlled.

Beside her, Mai moved like a shadow, knives hidden in her sleeves, her face unreadable.

And trailing with a cartwheel across a roof, Ty Lee landed soundlessly, smiling as though it were all a game. “So many rooftops! It’s like a playground.”

“Focus,” Azula murmured, her voice sharp as glass.

They reached a vantage point where the city stretched before them—rings upon rings, streets patrolled, lanterns glowing.

Azula’s lips curved into a smile. “Ba Sing Se. The Earth Kingdom’s jewel. Father wants it broken, and I…” Her eyes narrowed. “…I want my brother.”

Mai’s gaze flicked toward the lower ring. “You really think he’s here?”

“He’s here,” Azula said with certainty. “I can feel it. He’s hiding, licking his wounds, pretending he can build a life without fire. But he belongs to me. To us.”

Ty Lee tilted her head. “And the Avatar too, right? He’s supposed to be here.”

Azula’s smile widened, cruel and cold. “Exactly. Two birds. One cage.”

Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee blended into Ba Sing Se with unsettling ease. In the lower ring, no one looked twice at a group of newcomers—the city was too vast, too crowded. By day, they wore their disguises: Mai trailing like a bored noblewoman’s daughter, Ty Lee passing as a cheerful servant girl, and Azula cloaked in silks, her smile sharp but polite.

But when the sun dipped, they hunted.

From a rooftop across the narrow street, Azula crouched with Mai at her side. Below, the Gaang’s little house glowed with lantern light. Voices drifted out—Aang laughing faintly, Katara scolding him about something, Suki’s calm tone, and Zuko’s quiet grumble.

Azula’s eyes gleamed. “There. My wayward brother. He’s found himself a cozy little den.”

Mai flipped a knife between her fingers. “He’s softer than I remember. Healing burns, helping peasants.” Her voice was flat, but her eyes lingered on Zuko.

Azula’s smile thinned. “That won’t last. He doesn’t belong here. He belongs with me.”

From the alley below, Ty Lee balanced effortlessly on a laundry line, peering through the window. “Ooooh, looks like Zuko’s making friends. That girl with the fans seems close to him.”

Azula’s gaze snapped to Suki, resting her head on Zuko’s shoulder as they cleaned jars together. Her golden eyes narrowed. “Not for long.”

The Grand Secretariat’s chamber was dim, its stone walls lined with green silk and jade carvings. At its center sat Long Feng, calm as ever, hands folded in his sleeves. The Dai Li stood like statues along the walls—unblinking, immovable.

The heavy doors opened without a sound, and Azula swept in, her silken cloak whispering across the floor. Mai followed with silent steps, Ty Lee skipping lightly behind.

Azula bowed, graceful yet calculated. “Grand Secretariat. What a magnificent city you keep. Orderly. Silent. Untouched by war.”

Long Feng inclined his head, his smile thin. “We work hard to ensure that harmony. Visitors… often complicate matters.”

Azula’s golden eyes gleamed. “I agree. Visitors like my dear brother. You see, Zuko is in your city, playing healer, hiding behind your walls. He doesn’t belong here.”

Long Feng studied her carefully, voice steady. “Prince Zuko is of no consequence to Ba Sing Se. The Avatar, however, is another matter. His presence risks disturbing the balance we’ve created.”

Azula stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Then let me be useful. I want Zuko. You want order. Let me hunt him, and I’ll ensure your precious city remains… undisturbed.”

For a moment, the chamber was silent, the Dai Li’s stone-faced gaze shifting subtly toward Long Feng. Finally, he spoke, smooth as water over stone.

“You ask much. But… you offer more. Very well. The Dai Li will not hinder you. Hunt your brother. But do so quietly. The people must never know. Here, there is no war.”

Azula’s smile sharpened. “Of course. I’ve always been good at keeping secrets.”

Ty Lee clapped her hands together cheerfully. “Ooooh, this is going to be fun!”

Mai’s voice was flat, but her eyes glinted. “For you, maybe.”

As the three women left, Long Feng’s smile faded. He turned to his Dai Li agents. “Watch them. Watch all of them. When fire and earth collide, it is always the people who suffer. We must ensure Ba Sing Se does not crack.”

The Dai Li bowed as one.

Meanwhile, in the lower ring, the Gaang moved through the city unaware. The Dai Li watched. And now, so did Azula.

Two predators stalking the same prey—hidden behind walls that were never as unbreakable as they seemed.

Chapter Text

A merchant waved him over to a stall stacked with fruit. “Avatar! Special price for you,” he said, his smile too wide. The alley nearby was oddly empty, lanterns unlit.

Zuko’s eyes narrowed instantly. He grabbed Aang’s arm before he could step forward. “Don’t. It’s a trap.”

Aang blinked. “How do you—”

“Because it’s her style,” Zuko hissed, scanning the rooftops. “Azula.”

As if summoned by his words, blue fire streaked across the alley, exploding against the ground where Aang had just stood.

Azula dropped from the rooftops, graceful as a hawk, her golden eyes burning with triumph. “Missed me, brother?”

Mai stepped from the shadows, knives glinting, her expression bored but deadly. Ty Lee cartwheeled into the street, her braid swinging as she giggled. “Ooooh, this is going to be fun!”

The Gaang barely had a second to react before the attack began.

Azula’s flames tore through the air, blue against the gray stone. Mai’s knives whistled past Aang’s head, forcing him to duck. Ty Lee leapt for Katara, hands reaching for pressure points, only to be blocked by Suki’s fan.

“Run!” Zuko barked. Aang leapt onto his glider, swooping low to scoop Katara up before Azula’s flames could catch her.

The Gaang bolted, weaving through the market. Villagers screamed, scattering as fire lit up the streets. Azula pursued with impossible speed, her blue fire lighting every corner. Mai’s knives pinned shutters and stalls shut behind them, cutting off escape routes. Ty Lee bounced along the rooftops, closing in with each spring.

“Split up!” Suki shouted, spinning her fan to block another knife.

“No!” Zuko snarled, drawing closer to the others as he deflected flame with broken tiles. “That’s what she wants. Stay together!”

The city’s ordered streets turned into a maze of chaos, lanterns swinging, stalls overturned, shouts echoing. And through it all, Azula’s laughter carried sharp and cruel, like a hunter closing in on prey.

The Gaang scrambled up narrow ladders and onto the clay-tiled rooftops, the sprawling city of Ba Sing Se opening below them. The night air was sharp, the rooftops glowing faintly under the moon. Their footsteps echoed against the tiles, chased by the sound of laughter and fire.

Azula launched herself up after them in a blue streak of flame, landing with feline grace. Her smirk cut across her face like a blade. “Nowhere left to run, dear brother.”

Mai followed silently, knives already flashing in her hands, while Ty Lee bounded from one rooftop beam to another, every movement precise and playful.

The Gaang formed a line: Aang in the center with his staff, Katara drawing water from her pouch, Suki snapping open her fans, and Zuko stepping forward, his jaw tight.

Aang unfurled his glider, wind swirling as he tried to keep Azula at bay. Katara pulled water from her flask, ribbons snapping like whips. Suki stood firm, fans open in her hands, while Zuko braced himself with broken tiles for cover.

Azula struck first—blue fire tore across the roof, searing the tiles. Aang vaulted over it with a gust of air, landing behind her. Katara countered, sending a wave of water that hissed to steam as it clashed with Azula’s flames.

Mai’s knives cut the air, forcing Aang to spin his staff in a blur to deflect them. Ty Lee flipped forward, a blur of motion, forcing Suki into a desperate defense as fan met fist, strike met block.

On the far edge, Zuko squared off against Azula, their eyes locked. She laughed, a cruel sound. “Still afraid of your fire, brother? Pathetic.”

Zuko grit his teeth, parrying her blasts with roof tiles and the desperate flickers of flame he could muster.

Zuko faced his sister, their eyes locked in a deadly mirror. Azula’s golden irises glowed with cruel delight as she sent another jet of blue fire tearing across the tiles.

“You always hide, brother,” she taunted, her voice sharp as her flames. “Behind Uncle, behind your little friends. When will you realize? You’ll never beat me.”

Zuko deflected with broken tiles, sparks singing his hands. For a moment, hesitation flickered—fear of the fire within him. But then Suki, locked in combat nearby, nearly slipped under Mai’s knives.

With a roar, Zuko stepped forward, his fire bursting to life. He met Azula’s blaze head-on, orange flame colliding with blue in an explosion that shattered the rooftop beneath them. The night sky lit up, painting the city in firelight.

Across the rooftop, Katara lashed water in precise arcs, forcing Ty Lee to backflip away again and again. But Ty Lee’s grin only grew wider.

“You bend beautifully!” she sang, cartwheeling closer. “Too bad I can’t let you keep it.”

Katara swung her water whip—too slow. Ty Lee darted inside her guard, fingers pressing against her arm, then her shoulder, then her ribs. Katara gasped as the water in her hands fell lifeless to the tiles. Her bending was gone.

Ty Lee tapped her cheek playfully. “Much better.”

Katara staggered back, defenseless, panic flashing in her eyes.

Mai’s knives cut the air in precise, deadly lines. Suki spun her fans, deflecting, but each throw was faster, closer, sharper.

“You fight well,” Mai said, her voice flat, her expression unreadable. “But I don’t miss forever.”

Suki’s breath came fast, sweat streaking her brow. Still, she smirked. “Then you’d better finish this quickly.”

She lunged forward, fans snapping shut to catch Mai’s wrists. For a heartbeat, steel and steel locked, both girls glaring, neither yielding.

The rooftops cracked beneath the weight of the battle. Villagers below screamed as fireballs shattered chimneys, water hissed into steam, knives embedded deep into wood.

Zuko pushed against Azula’s fire, his own strength flaring higher than it had in months. “I’m not afraid of you anymore!” he shouted, forcing her back a step.

Azula only laughed, sparks dancing across her hands. “You should be.”

Katara, unable to bend, scrambled to Aang’s side, her fear raw. Suki and Mai spun apart, blades and fans poised for another deadly clash.

And above it all, Azula’s laughter rang out over the rooftops, sharp and merciless—echoing through a city that pretended war did not exist.

Chapter Text

Zuko staggered back under the relentless surge of Azula’s blue flames. Sparks scorched his sleeves, the heat searing against his scar. His strength wavered—until a sudden gust of air swept beside him, shielding him from the blast.

Aang planted his staff, eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to hurt him.”

With the Avatar at his side, Zuko steadied his stance. Together they pushed back—Aang’s currents twisting Azula’s fire aside while Zuko struck with his own, bursts of orange flame cutting against hers. For a moment, the rooftop glowed like lightning in a storm, blue against orange, air against fire.

Azula grinned, wild and sharp. “Finally showing some fight, little brother! Let’s see how long it lasts.”

On the far side, Suki’s fans clashed against Mai’s knives in a flurry of sparks and steel. Suki blocked one, two, three strikes—but a fourth scraped her arm, drawing blood. She hissed, staggering back.

Ty Lee sprang into the gap, flipping and striking. Suki twisted desperately, catching her wrist with a fan, but Mai was already closing in. Together, the two pressed harder, their rhythm perfect, their movements relentless.

Suki fought like a storm, but even she could feel it: she was being pushed to the edge.

Katara struggled to rise, her hands numb where Ty Lee’s strikes had stolen her bending. She crawled to the edge of the rooftop, watching as Suki faltered under the two-on-one, her heart pounding in helpless frustration.

“Come on, Suki…” Katara whispered, fists clenched, tears pricking her eyes. “Please, hold on.”

But she couldn’t help—not with her water gone, not with her body trembling from the chi-block. She could only watch.

Azula’s fire roared against Aang’s winds, Zuko straining beside him. Mai and Ty Lee bore down on Suki, every strike chipping away at her defense. Katara lay powerless, her spirit burning with anger even as her body refused to answer.

The rooftops of Ba Sing Se groaned beneath the battle, tiles cracking, flames scorching the night.

And in that moment, it was clear: the Gaang had never been closer to losing everything.

It was the breaking point—until a silver arc split the night.

From the shadows of the rooftops, Sokka leapt forward, Crescent Moon Blade flashing in the moonlight. His strike knocked Mai’s knives aside, the impact sparking against steel. With a second sweep, he forced Ty Lee to flip back, her eyes wide.

“Miss me?” Sokka shouted, planting himself between Suki and the enemy trio. His white hair glowed under the moon, his blade alive with silver light.

“SOKKA!” Katara cried, tears welling in her eyes as she pushed herself upright. Her voice cracked with joy and relief. “You came!”

He grinned at her, though his stance never faltered. “Of course I did. What kind of brother would I be if I let you guys fight the scary circus without me?”

Azula’s eyes narrowed, her cruel smile faltering for the first time. “You… what are you supposed to be? A swordsman playing priest?”

Sokka spun his blade, moonlight trailing like silver fire. “The Moon’s warrior. And I don’t bow to you.”

He lunged, Crescent Moon Blade sweeping in wide arcs. The weapon cut through Azula’s flames, scattering blue sparks across the rooftop. She staggered back, eyes widening at the impossible light.

With Sokka holding the line, Suki rallied at his side, fending off Mai with renewed strength. Katara, still powerless, scrambled to safety near Aang.

Aang’s air blasts forced Azula to keep her distance while Zuko pressed forward, fury in every strike. For the first time, the trio found themselves pushed back.

Azula hissed, sparks dancing across her fingers. “This isn’t over, Zuzu. Not for you. Not for any of you.”

With a signal flick of her hand, Mai and Ty Lee disengaged. In a blur of movement, they vanished into the night, leaping across rooftops until only silence and the stench of scorched tiles remained.

Panting, the Gaang gathered in the wreckage of the rooftop. Katara rushed to Sokka, throwing her arms around him. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

Sokka chuckled breathlessly, hugging her back with one arm. “Told you the moon and me were tight.”

Zuko gave a sharp nod, his expression unreadable—but his eyes softened. Suki touched Sokka’s shoulder, her relief unspoken but clear.

For the first time in Ba Sing Se, the Gaang felt whole again. The moon’s warrior had returned, and with him, their hope.

Chapter Text

The Gaang slipped back into their small house in the lower ring, breaths ragged, clothes scorched, eyes darting at every shadow outside. They barred the door, drew the curtains, and for the first time since the rooftop fight, let themselves breathe.

Katara still hadn’t let go of Sokka. She held his arm as though afraid he might vanish again. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” she said, her voice trembling.

Sokka smirked, trying to lighten the heavy air. “Glad enough to forget I’m covered in sweat and soot? Because that hug is starting to feel a little clingy.”

Katara laughed through her tears and punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t ruin it.”

Aang beamed. “Sokka, you came just in time! That was incredible. You were glowing! How did you do that?”

The firelight flickered across his white hair as Sokka sat down, resting his Crescent Moon Blade across his knees. His voice softened, the humor dropping for once.

Suki spoke first, her eyes shining. “You’ve become… something more, Sokka. Not just a warrior. A protector.”

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Yeah, well… still me. Just, you know, with better hair.”

"Well… after you guys left, I stayed in the Northern Water Tribe. They called me the Moon’s Chosen. Which sounds awesome until you realize it comes with a lot of meditating.”

Katara’s eyes softened. “With Yue?”

Sokka nodded, his voice quieter. “She guides me. Through her, I can… do things. Light, shields, sensing spirits. And this—” He lifted the blade. “The Crescent Moon Sword. Not exactly your average club.”

Suki leaned closer, curiosity in her eyes. “That explains how you cut through Azula’s fire.”

Sokka shrugged, though pride tugged at his grin. “Yeah, well, the training wasn’t all spiritual. I’ve been traveling south. Helped defend a couple of villages—one from raiders, another haunted by actual spirits. Turns out glowing hair makes people nervous until you prove you’re not going to eat their chickens.”

Katara laughed, relief flooding her face. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Zuko finally spoke, his voice low. “You came just in time. Azula won’t stop. Not for me, not for any of us. She’ll hunt us through this whole city.”

Sokka met his gaze. “Then she’ll find out she’s not the only one with backup.” He patted the blade, then glanced around at the group. “We’re together again. That counts for something.”

The morning after their rooftop escape, the safehouse was quieter than usual. The city outside buzzed with its carefully constructed “harmony,” but inside, Katara found herself studying her brother as though seeing him for the first time.

Sokka rose late, his white hair disheveled, the silver sheen faint even in daylight. He stretched, groaning, then reached immediately for his blade. Before Katara could ask, he was outside in the little courtyard, sitting cross-legged with the sword balanced across his knees.

She watched from the doorway as he closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, his shoulders relaxed, and for long minutes he didn’t move at all—except for the faint glow of moonlight gathering on the blade.

Katara crossed her arms. “Since when do you meditate every morning?”

Sokka cracked one eye open, grinning lazily. “Since Yue told me to stop sleeping through all my responsibilities. You’d be surprised how bossy moon spirits can be.”

Later, when they ate, Katara noticed him pushing most of the rice and vegetables toward her and Aang while keeping the meat skewers for himself.

“You’ve always been greedy about meat,” she said with a smirk.

“This is different,” Sokka insisted, waving a skewer. “Meat keeps me grounded. Yue says balancing the spirit stuff with, you know—actual food—is important. And trust me, spirit power burns a lot of calories.”

Katara laughed, shaking her head. “You’re still you. Just… shinier.”

As the day went on, she watched how he drifted between old and new. He cracked jokes at Zuko’s scowl, teased Aang about his airbending stances, and traded playful jabs with Suki. But when the house grew still, he’d slip back into meditation, whispering as if to someone only he could hear.

Katara sat beside him once, quiet, until he opened his eyes. For a heartbeat, the glow in them was otherworldly. Then he smiled at her, tired but warm.

“I’m still your brother, Katara,” he said softly. “The moon didn’t take that away. It just… gave me more to carry.”

The courtyard was quiet under the pale wash of morning light. Sokka sat cross-legged with his Crescent Moon Blade laid across his knees, eyes tilted toward the sky where the moon still faintly lingered. He breathed deeply, letting the silence settle until he felt her presence.

Yue shimmered before him, her form woven from silver light, delicate but radiant.

“You’ve grown stronger,” she said, her voice like a breeze through water. “Not just in battle, but in spirit.”

Sokka grinned faintly. “Stronger, sure. But I still don’t know if I’m good enough. I can swing a sword, but half the time, I’m making it up as I go.”

Yue’s smile warmed him. “That’s what makes you strong. You don’t pretend to have all the answers. You just keep fighting for those who can’t.”

Sokka let out a breath, his shoulders easing. “Well… I hope you don’t mind me asking for pep talks every five minutes. You’re a lot better at them than I am.”

Yue laughed softly, the sound echoing like bells. “I don’t mind.”

From inside the house, Katara, Zuko, and Suki peeked through the doorway. To them, Sokka sat in the courtyard alone, sword across his lap, speaking into the air with animated gestures.

Katara whispered, “He’s… talking to himself. Again.”

Suki tilted her head. “He’s been doing that a lot.”

Zuko crossed his arms, scowling. “Or he’s lost it.”

Katara shot him a glare, but the unease was plain. From their perspective, Sokka sat alone in the courtyard, speaking into empty air, pausing as if listening to replies that never came.

Suki elbowed him lightly. “Says the guy who mutters about honor in his sleep.”

Zuko scowled, but his cheeks darkened slightly.

Katara bit her lip, torn between worry and faith.

Aang came up behind them, glancing into the courtyard—and immediately spotted Yue’s glowing form across from Sokka. He blinked once, then gave them a baffled look.

“…Wait. You guys don’t see her?”

The others turned to him, confusion plain.

“See who?” Katara asked.

Aang blinked again, utterly matter-of-fact. “Yue. She’s sitting right there. She looks great.”

Their jaws dropped in unison.

“Are you serious?” Katara hissed, half-exasperated, half-incredulous. “We thought he was talking to himself!”

Aang shrugged as if it were obvious. “She’s a spirit. Of course I can see her. You guys can’t?”

Suki pinched the bridge of her nose. “So to us, he looks like he’s… whispering sweet nothings to the air.”

Zuko muttered, “Great. The Moon Warrior is officially crazy.”

Sokka finally stepped back inside, looking satisfied and a little dreamy. The Crescent Moon Blade still shimmered faintly as he set it by the wall.

Katara immediately arched an eyebrow. “So… enjoy your conversation with the empty courtyard?”

Sokka blinked, confused. “What? No, I was talking to Yue.”

Suki covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “You realize we couldn’t see her, right? To us, you were just… you know—” she made a swoony face, fluttering her lashes. “‘Oh Yue, you’re so radiant, Yue, guide me, Yue—’”

Zuko snorted, arms crossed. “Looked like you were confessing to the air. Real dignified for a ‘Moon Warrior.’”

Katara piled on with a grin. “I mean, you were smiling, Sokka. All soft and sappy. I’ve never seen you look like that in my life.”

Sokka’s ears went bright red. “What?! I—no, I wasn’t—I mean, Yue’s different!”

Aang, who’d been watching the whole exchange with wide eyes, piped up brightly: “She really was there, though. She looked beautiful, by the way.”

The others turned to stare at him.

“…What?” Aang asked innocently. “I can see her.”

Sokka pointed at him triumphantly. “Ha! Thank you! Finally, some validation!”

Katara shook her head with mock exasperation. “Great. Now you both look crazy.”

Zuko muttered under his breath, “Crazy’s contagious in this group.”

Suki nudged Sokka with her elbow, smirking. “Don’t worry. Even if we can’t see her, we’ll just assume you’re whispering sweet nothings to the moon.”

Sokka groaned, burying his face in his hands while the others burst into laughter.

Suki smirked, leaning back against the table. “Oh, we were impressed all right. Especially with the way you stared into nothing and giggled to yourself.”

Sokka blinked. “Wait—what?”

Katara grinned wickedly. “Yeah, it was adorable. Our brave Moon Warrior, whispering sweet nothings to the air.” She clasped her hands dramatically. “‘Oh Yue, your glow is so pretty tonight, please don’t tell anyone I burned the seal jerky again…’”

Aang nearly fell over laughing, adding, “I mean, she is pretty, but you should’ve seen Katara’s face. She thought you’d lost your mind.”

Sokka threw his hands in the air. “Come on! You can’t see her, but Yue’s right there! She’s been helping me! Do you think this—” He brandished the glowing blade dramatically. “—just happened? No! Spirit girlfriend perks!”

Suki raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Spirit girlfriend, huh?”

Sokka’s face went red. “I meant—uh—I didn’t—look, it’s complicated, okay?!”

The room erupted in laughter, Katara wiping tears from her eyes. Even Zuko gave a quiet chuckle.

Chapter Text

Long Feng sat in his council chamber, Dai Li agents arrayed before him like obedient statues. His voice was smooth as always, confident. “The Avatar and his friends will be contained. The people will never know war. That is the strength of Ba Sing Se.”

The doors opened. Azula strode in with the poise of royalty, her golden eyes alight. Ty Lee and Mai followed, silent shadows at her side.

Long Feng’s smile faltered. “You are a guest here. You forget your place.”

Azula tilted her head, her smile sharp. “On the contrary, I’ve just found it.”

With a flick of her hand, the Dai Li agents moved—not against her, but against Long Feng. Shackles of stone snapped around his wrists and ankles, dragging him to his knees. His eyes went wide, betrayal cutting deeper than stone.

Azula leaned close, her voice soft and merciless. “You were right about one thing. The people will never know war. Because I’ll rule them so completely, they won’t even dare whisper the word.”

In the safehouse, the Gaang felt the shift like a cold wind. Zuko slammed his fist against the wall. “She’s taken control. The Dai Li—they’re hers now.”

Katara’s eyes darted to the door. “Then we’re not safe anywhere in this city.”

Sokka stood, Crescent Moon Blade strapped to his back. His expression was grim but steady. “We’ve been caged since we got here. Now the cage belongs to Azula. We have to get out—tonight.”

Aang’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded. “Ba Sing Se was supposed to be hope. But it’s… it’s lost.”

Suki touched his arm gently. “Not lost. Just not ours to save anymore.”

They packed quickly—salves, food, waterskins, weapons. The Dai Li’s patrols had already doubled in the streets; the safehouse felt like it was closing in around them.

Katara lingered a moment by the lantern. “I hate leaving people behind.”

Sokka squeezed her shoulder. “We can’t save Ba Sing Se if we’re captured. But we can keep fighting.”

The Gaang slipped into the night, moving across rooftops and alleys, shadows among shadows. The Gaang slipped through the backstreets of Ba Sing Se, their footsteps muffled against the stone. The city slept under Azula’s rule, Dai Li agents drifting through the alleys like shadows. Every lantern felt like a spotlight, every creak of wood a warning.

Sokka led the way, Crescent Moon Blade on his back, his movements sure and steady. He didn’t stumble, didn’t hesitate—he walked as though the night itself bent around him.

Katara finally whispered, “Sokka, how are you doing that? It’s pitch black. I can’t see a thing.”

Sokka glanced back, his white hair glinting faintly in the dark. “Doing what?”

“Moving like it’s daylight! You’re not tripping over barrels, you’re not even squinting. It’s like you see in the dark.”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “Guess the moon gave me a few perks. I see best when it’s brightest, like right now. Everything’s clearer—shadows, movement, even colors. It’s not just sight, though. It’s like the night talks to me if I listen hard enough.”

Zuko muttered behind him, “Great. He’s turning into a bat.”

Suki elbowed Zuko sharply, though she hid a grin. “More like a wolf. He sees the world differently now.”

Katara shook her head, both amazed and unsettled. “First you glow, now this. You’re not just my brother anymore.”

Sokka’s grin softened into something more serious. “I’m still your brother, Katara. The moon just… trusts me with a little extra responsibility.”

He motioned them forward again, guiding them into another alley just as two Dai Li agents passed by. The others pressed against the wall, holding their breath—but Sokka moved before they even appeared, sensing their approach.

When the danger passed, Aang whispered, “You know… it’s kinda obvious. He’s like Yue’s eyes down here.”

Katara looked at her brother’s glowing hair as he led them onward. For the first time, she realized the night wasn’t something to fear—
Not when Sokka walked beside them.

Suddenly, Sokka raised a hand, his Crescent Moon Blade gleaming faintly in the dark. “Stop,” he whispered, his voice low but firm.

Everyone froze. Even Aang, who had been ready to dash ahead, halted mid-step.

Sokka’s eyes scanned the rooftops. His voice carried just enough for them to hear: “Patrol. Dai Li. Close.”

The others strained their ears, but at first they heard nothing—just the wind brushing across the rooftops. Then Zuko caught it: the faint scrape of stone shifting against stone, the whisper of boots on tile.

They pressed into the wall of the alley, barely daring to breathe. The shadows lengthened—and then, sure enough, two Dai Li agents glided across the rooftop above, their hands twitching with stone like puppeteers pulling invisible strings.

Suki held her fan tight, sweat beading her brow. Aang pressed himself flat against the wall, every muscle screaming to move, to run. Katara clutched her brother’s arm, terrified the agents would glance down at that exact moment.

The Dai Li paused, scanning the street below with their eerie, unblinking stares. For a heartbeat, it felt like the Gaang would be caught, dragged into the shadows to disappear forever.

Then the agents turned, their footsteps echoing away over the tiles. The sound faded into the night.

The Gaang let out their breaths in shaky unison.

“Too close,” Zuko muttered, scowling up at the rooftops.

By dawn, Appa carried them far from the city’s shadow, soaring south toward Fire Nation waters. The world below was restless: villages scarred by war, camps of soldiers massing on the borders, whispers of something terrible brewing in the heart of the Earth Kingdom.

Days later, while resting in a coastal town under Fire Nation colors, the Gaang overheard the news. A crowd of villagers gathered around a notice board, voices buzzing.

“Ba Sing Se has fallen.”
“The Dragon of the West never broke it—but she did.”
“Azula, the Fire Princess, the conqueror of the Earth Kingdom!”

The words hit like cold iron.

Katara pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide. “No… Ba Sing Se? It was supposed to stand forever.”

Aang’s shoulders slumped, the weight of failure pulling him down. “I was supposed to protect it. I was supposed to…” His voice broke, the rest lost in grief.

In the heart of the Fire Nation, Azula was being celebrated. Songs and chants rose in her name, the people hailing her as the prodigy who did what armies could not: she broke the unbreakable city.

Zuko turned away from the crowd, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles bled. “That’s her. That’s Azula. She’ll always find a way to twist victory into her crown.”

Suki touched his arm gently, grounding him. Katara looked to Sokka, her face pale. “What now? If the Fire Nation controls Ba Sing Se, there’s nowhere left to hide.”

The salty air of the Fire Nation coast filled their lungs as Appa glided low, landing in the quiet sands of Ember Island. Zuko led the way down a winding path until a familiar estate came into view—ornate but weathered, its red walls and tiled roof dulled with age.

“This was our summer house,” Zuko said quietly, his voice heavy with memory. “Mine and Azula’s. We spent every childhood vacation here.”

The others looked up at the sprawling house, its silence heavy. Aang tilted his head. “It’s… beautiful. But kind of sad.”

Zuko gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s Ember Island for you. It never forgets who you are. But it makes you deal with it.”

The Gaang spread out through the house. Katara and Suki cleaned out the courtyard, sweeping away dust and cobwebs. Aang tested the echo of the empty rooms by airbending leaves across the floors, smiling faintly for the first time since Ba Sing Se.

Sokka stood on the balcony, the moonlight painting his hair silver. “Feels weird being in a Fire Nation house and not, you know… under attack.”

Zuko joined him, leaning against the railing. “It’s safer here than anywhere else right now. No one will think to look for us in one of my father’s forgotten toys.”

Sokka smirked. “Yeah, plus, I’m pretty sure Katara’s going to enjoy the big fancy tubs.”

That night, they gathered around a small firepit in the courtyard, sharing roasted food and quiet words. For the first time in weeks, they weren’t running, hiding, or fighting. The surf crashed gently against the shore, stars glittered above, and the house stood silent but protective around them.

Katara leaned back against the steps, watching the firelight dance across her brother’s white hair. “This feels… safe. Strange, but safe.”

Zuko poked at the fire, shadows flickering across his scar. “Don’t get too comfortable. Azula will keep hunting. But for now… this is ours.”

Aang nodded. “Then we use it. To train. To rest. To remember why we’re fighting.”

Chapter Text

The night was warm on Ember Island, the waves breaking gently against the shore. The Gaang had settled for the evening, the firepit crackling in the courtyard. But Sokka sat apart with Zuko, the silver glow of his hair catching the flames as he studied the prince’s guarded face.

Sokka broke the silence first.
“Zuko… you can’t keep running from this.”

Zuko frowned, defensive already. “From what?”

“From fire,” Sokka said flatly. His eyes didn’t waver. “I’ve watched you dodge it, block it, even let Aang shield you from it. You’re afraid of your own element.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what it’s like. To carry the thing that scarred you. To see it destroy everything you—” He stopped, fists clenching.

Sokka leaned forward. “You’re right. I don’t know fire. But I know fear. I know what it’s like to lose people you love and feel powerless. And I know what Yue would tell me right now: fear isn’t a reason to stop—it’s the reason to keep going.”

Zuko looked away, eyes on the sea. “You think I can just flip a switch and stop being afraid? It’s not that simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be simple,” Sokka pressed, his tone firm but not unkind. “It just has to be done. Aang can’t fight Sozin’s Comet with air and water and earth alone. He needs fire. And he needs a teacher who understands what fire really means—not Azula’s cruelty, not your father’s rage. You.”

Zuko’s breath caught at that word. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Sokka said, his voice steady. “You’ve seen what fire can do. You know its danger better than anyone. That’s why you’re the only one who can teach Aang how to use it without letting it consume him.”

For a long moment, only the waves filled the silence. Zuko’s hand hovered near the firepit, flames dancing just out of reach. His scar caught the light, a reminder of his fear.

Sokka’s voice softened. “Don’t do it for you. Do it for him. For us. If you don’t face this, Aang won’t stand a chance when the comet comes.”

Zuko stared into the fire, torn between the weight of his past and the hope of a future.

Finally, he whispered, “I’ll try.”

Sokka clapped him on the shoulder, a grin breaking through. “Good. Because if you don’t, Yue’s gonna haunt me for not nagging you harder.”

Zuko snorted despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Sokka said with a smirk. “But I’m right.”

The Ember Island courtyard was hot even before the fire started. Aang stood in the middle, staff in hand, his brow furrowed. Zuko paced nearby, tension rolling off him in every step. The rest of the Gaang watched from the shaded steps—Sokka leaning on his blade, Katara with her arms crossed, Suki sitting forward with quiet interest.

“Okay,” Zuko began stiffly, “firebending is… energy. Drive. Breath. You don’t control it with fear, you guide it with intent.”

Aang nodded quickly, eager, but his eyes flicked nervously to Zuko’s scar. “Right. Intent. Got it.”

Zuko inhaled deeply, then shot out a small flame—controlled, steady. He gestured for Aang to copy.

Aang mimicked the stance, exhaled—and produced nothing but a puff of hot air. He winced. “I think I just burped heat.”

From the steps, Sokka snorted. “Well, that’s terrifying. Azula better watch out.”

Zuko clenched his fists, frustration clear. “You’re holding back. Fire needs to flow. You can’t be timid.”

“But every time I’ve seen fire, it’s been—” Aang hesitated, glancing at Katara. “…bad. Destructive.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “I know. More than anyone. But that’s why you have to learn. Fire isn’t just rage—it’s life. Without it, you won’t stand a chance against my father.”

He demonstrated again, this time with more force, a flame swirling into the air. But when Aang tried to follow, his flame sputtered wildly and nearly singed his robes.

Katara leapt up. “Hey, careful!”

Aang’s cheeks burned. “Sorry! I’m trying, but it feels wrong.”

Zuko stepped closer, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted Aang’s stance. For a heartbeat, his own flame flickered and died in his palm. His breath hitched.

Sokka saw it immediately. “You’re scared too.”

Zuko shot him a glare, but didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned back to Aang, voice lower, raw. “We’ll both push past it. You and me. Fire won’t scare us anymore.”

Aang met his eyes, uncertain but determined. He nodded. “Together.”

Night had fallen on Ember Island, the surf breaking steady against the shore. In the courtyard, only the firepit glowed, its flames painting the walls with shifting light. Aang sat cross-legged, watching the fire dance, his expression troubled. Zuko sat across from him, silent for a long time.

Finally, Aang spoke. “I’m scared of it. Fire. Every time I bend it, I think of burning Katara, or hurting someone by accident. What if I can’t control it when it matters most?”

Zuko looked down at his scar, the firelight reflecting off the jagged skin. “You’re not the only one. I’m afraid too. Every time I use it, I remember my father’s face. His fire. This scar. It’s like carrying his voice inside me. Telling me I’ll never be strong enough unless I burn everything else away.”

Aang’s eyes softened. “But you’re not him, Zuko.”

Zuko met his gaze. “And you’re not the monks who left you behind. We’re both more than what fire took from us.”

The sound of soft footsteps broke the quiet. Sokka strolled into the courtyard, Crescent Moon Blade slung across his back, Suki at his side.

“Wow,” Sokka said, dropping onto the stone bench. “Heavy talk by the fire without inviting me? Rude.”

Suki rolled her eyes but settled beside him, resting her arm against his. “What are you two so serious about?”

“Fears,” Aang answered. “We’re… talking about what we’re most afraid of.”

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly uncharacteristically quiet. “Yue,” he admitted. “Not… just losing her. But forgetting her. Failing her. She gave everything, and I’m still here. What if I mess that up?”

Suki reached over, squeezing his hand. “You won’t. She believed in you. I do too.”

The silence that followed was warm, heavy with honesty. Then Suki’s eyes softened, her voice barely above a whisper. “If we’re being honest… I’m afraid of losing you, Zuko.”

Zuko’s head snapped up, startled. Suki met his gaze without wavering. “You throw yourself into fire—literally. You fight like you don’t care if you survive. And I can’t… I don’t want to watch you burn yourself out.”

For a moment, the group just sat in the glow of the fire. Their fears hung between them, raw and real, but shared.

Aang broke the silence with a small, tired smile. “Maybe fear isn’t the enemy. Maybe it’s what keeps us moving forward.”

Zuko exhaled slowly, nodding. “Maybe.”

Sokka leaned back with a sigh, trying to lighten the air. “Well, if I burn the rice tomorrow, we’ll all have something new to be afraid of.”

The others groaned, laughed softly, and the tension eased.

For tonight, at least, they weren’t alone in their fears. And that made them stronger.

Chapter Text

The sun rose hot over Ember Island, its golden light washing across the courtyard of Zuko’s old summer home. For once, there was no rush, no running from Dai Li shadows or Azula’s ambushes. Just the wide-open space of the estate, the sound of the ocean, and the Gaang ready to train together.

Sokka twirled his Crescent Moon Blade dramatically. “All right, team, today’s training goal: don’t get completely roasted, splashed, or pummeled.”

Katara rolled her eyes but smiled. “That’s… pretty much every day with us.”

Aang stood in the courtyard, sweat already beading on his forehead as he copied Zuko’s stance. Zuko barked instructions, a little too stiff at first.

“Feet apart. Breathe in from your stomach. Don’t just push the fire—let it carry through you.”

Aang tried… and sent a flame sputtering sideways, almost singeing Sokka’s hair.

“Hey!” Sokka yelped, ducking. “You’re supposed to fight the Fire Nation, not me!”

Aang winced. “Sorry! Still getting used to not thinking of fire as… y’know, evil.”

Zuko sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get there.”

On the other side of the courtyard, Katara and Suki sparred—Katara with her water whips, Suki with her fans. Each clash sent splashes spraying, Suki flipping through the water with surprising agility.

“Not bad for someone who doesn’t bend,” Katara teased.

Suki grinned, ducking under a water whip and snapping her fan shut against Katara’s wrist. “Not bad for someone who does.”

Their playful rivalry drew laughter from Aang, who got immediately scolded by Zuko for losing focus.

When dusk fell, Sokka finally stepped up, the Crescent Moon Blade gleaming in his hands. He created spheres of pale light that floated lazily above the courtyard, lighting the space like ghostly lanterns.

Aang’s jaw dropped. “That’s amazing! It’s like spirit fireflies!”

Zuko folded his arms. “Show-off.”

Sokka smirked. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Sparky.”

With a flick of his wrist, he sent one orb bobbing around Zuko’s head. Zuko swatted at it irritably, which only made Suki laugh until she nearly dropped her fan.

After days of sparring, meditation, and heavy talks, Sokka woke up with a plan. Not a war plan, not a strategy map—just a grin. “Today, we’re not training. Today… we’re going to the beach.”

Katara blinked. “The beach?”

“Yep. Sand, sun, swimming. Classic Fire Nation vacation.”

Aang’s face lit up instantly. “Yes! I’ve never been to the ocean just to play before!”

Even Zuko, despite his protests, was dragged along by Suki, who promised it would be good for him.

The morning started with Aang air-surfing over the waves, laughing wildly while Katara bent the water into ramps for him. Suki joined in, balancing on the breakers with her fans like sails.

Sokka attempted sand-sculpting. His “majestic warrior statue” collapsed halfway through, and he blamed Aang’s breeze for it.

“It was supposed to be me, Moon’s Chosen, looking all heroic,” he muttered.

Katara giggled. “Pretty sure Yue wouldn’t mind if your statue didn’t have… four arms.”

Zuko sat nearby under a parasol, glowering, until Suki tugged him toward the waves. He stumbled through the surf, grumbling, but eventually splashed her back—earning a rare, genuine laugh.

By midday, Sokka had constructed a makeshift grill out of driftwood and stone. “No vacation is complete without skewers.” He proudly flipped fish and shellfish over the flames.

Katara, shaking her head, bent a pot of seawater into a bubble to boil vegetables. “Some of us don’t want to eat charred meat all day, Sokka.”

“More for me,” he said smugly, taking a huge bite.

Aang happily munched on fruit, while Zuko, half-reluctant, accepted one of Katara’s boiled dishes. Suki stole one of Sokka’s skewers when he wasn’t looking, flashing him a triumphant grin.

As the sun dipped low, they sprawled across the sand, watching the waves glow with twilight. Sokka’s moonlight orbs floated lazily above them, mixing silver light with the fire of the sunset.

Aang sighed contentedly. “I forgot what it felt like… to just be kids.”

Zuko didn’t reply, but his shoulders eased as he leaned back, Suki’s hand resting lightly in his. Katara and Sokka bickered softly over who made the better dinner, their voices overlapping in comfortable familiarity.

For one day, there was no Azula, no Fire Lord, no war. Just the crash of waves, the glow of the moon, and friends gathered on the sand.

Ember Island hadn’t forgotten who they were. It was helping them remember, too.

Night fell warm and soft over Ember Island. The Gaang had built a bonfire in the sand, its flames licking upward while the waves crashed gently nearby. Sokka took charge, naturally, arranging logs with “expert precision.”

“This,” he declared, skewering fish and fruit to roast over the flames, “is the ancient art of the Ember Island bonfire. Equal parts survival skill… and looking cool.”

Katara snorted. “Mostly bragging, actually.”

Aang airbent a burst of sparks into the fire, making it flare. “I like it!”

Zuko muttered, “Too flashy.” But he sat close anyway, Suki leaning against his shoulder with a content smile.

Aang leaned forward, grinning. “We should play a game—like truth-or-dare!”

Zuko groaned. “Absolutely not.”

Suki smirked. “Afraid of a dare, Prince Zuko?”

“I’m not afraid,” Zuko snapped, crossing his arms. “I just don’t see the point.”

Sokka nudged him with a skewer stick. “The point is fun. Which, believe it or not, even broody fire princes are allowed to have.”

Katara chimed in, “Fine. Let’s start simple. Truth: who’s the worst at cooking?”

Everyone turned to Sokka in unison.

“Hey!” he protested. “Those seal jerky experiments were innovative!”

The laughter echoed across the waves.

The Ember Island bonfire had burned low, the Gaang drifting toward drowsiness. Zuko and Suki sat shoulder to shoulder, Aang sprawled on the sand with his staff beside him, and Katara hummed softly as the waves rolled in. Sokka lingered a little apart, his Crescent Moon Blade planted in the sand. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon where ocean met sky.

Silver light shimmered across the tide, brighter than the moon itself. From that glow, Yue’s spirit stepped softly onto the sand. Her gown flowed like starlight, her hair silvered with radiance. She smiled at Sokka, though her gaze swept over all of them with quiet warmth.

“You’ve carried your burdens far, and yet here you are—together,” Yue said, her voice soft as the sea breeze. “That is your strength.”

Katara sat upright, startled. “Sokka—are you—?”

But Aang’s eyes widened in recognition. He placed his palms together reverently. “She’s here. Yue.”

The others froze. Though they couldn’t see her, they could feel the air shift, a hush like a temple at midnight.

Yue stepped closer to Sokka, her hand hovering just above his. “You’ve grown into the role the moon gave you. But don’t let reverence turn to fear, Sokka. The strength of the moon is balance—light and dark, reverence and joy.”

Sokka’s throat tightened, his voice hushed. “I try. I hope I’m not letting you down.”

Her smile softened. “You honor me every time you laugh.”

Turning to the group, Yue’s glow expanded, bathing them all in silver light. “You are not alone in this fight. Remember that even in darkness, you carry each other’s light.”

The tide surged softly, and Yue’s figure dissolved into the waves. The moonlight shimmered on the water long after she vanished.

Sokka blinked back emotion, gripping his blade. Katara slipped her arm through his, squeezing gently.

“I believe you now,” she whispered.

Aang smiled faintly, eyes still on the horizon. “Spirits don’t appear without purpose. That was a blessing.”

Zuko said nothing, but his gaze lingered on Sokka a moment longer than usual, as though reassessing him entirely.

The fire crackled. The night was quiet again. But the memory of Yue’s glow lingered like a promise.

Chapter Text

The morning sun spilled across Ember Island, warming the courtyard and the sea breeze. The Gaang was already awake—Aang balancing on driftwood posts, Katara practicing water forms in the shallows, Zuko sharpening his swords, and Suki stretching with her fans.

But Sokka? He hadn’t moved since the night before. He lay sprawled under a thin blanket in the Ember Island house, his Crescent Moon Blade leaning against the wall beside him.

Katara peeked in more than once, frowning. “He hasn’t gotten up all morning. What if something’s wrong?”

Aang set down his staff and walked over, calm as always. “He’s fine, Katara.”

She crossed her arms. “How can you be sure? He barely ate dinner last night, and now he’s just… sleeping the whole day away. That’s not normal for him.”

Aang smiled gently. “Actually, it is—just not for our Sokka. He’s not just your brother anymore. He’s… connected to the moon now. Spirits work differently. Yue told him balance matters, right? Maybe this is how he keeps it. He sleeps through the day to stay strong at night.”

Katara hesitated, torn between worry and acceptance. “So I should just… let him sleep?”

Aang nodded. “Yeah. If Sokka’s body and spirit are telling him to rest, then that’s what he needs. He’ll wake when the moon does. And when he does—he’ll be ready for us again.”

Katara sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s hard. He’s my brother. I’m used to looking out for him.”

Suki approached from the courtyard, her voice soft but steady. “He’s looking out for all of us now. Let him rest, Katara. Tonight, he’ll be himself again.”

Katara gave a reluctant smile. “I guess… I just have to trust him. And Yue.”

From the room, Sokka shifted slightly, mumbling something in his sleep—half a joke, half a sigh—and the three of them exchanged a quiet laugh.

For now, they let him rest. The moon would wake him soon enough.

The first light of dawn hadn’t yet touched Ember Island. Katara stirred from her mat, drawn by the faint sound of steel clashing against steel. She padded softly to the courtyard, expecting maybe Zuko or Suki at early practice.

Instead, she froze at the sight before her.

Under the pale glow of the full moon, Sokka moved with fluid precision, Crescent Moon Blade in hand. Each strike, each parry flowed with a grace she had never seen in him before—less the clumsy warrior she grew up with, more the seasoned guardian he was becoming.

But he wasn’t alone.

Opposite him, Yue’s spirit shimmered, her gown flowing as though caught in an unseen tide. In her hands was a staff of silver light. She met each of Sokka’s blows with elegant defense, sparring him in silence. The clash wasn’t violent—it was rhythmic, like a dance.

Katara’s breath caught in her throat. To her eyes, it was surreal: her brother fighting the air, his blade ringing against nothingness—yet moving as though guided by a partner only he could see. But every so often, the silver light of Yue’s staff flashed bright enough for Katara to glimpse her form, like the moon revealing itself through clouds.

Sokka’s expression wasn’t strained; it was calm, focused, reverent. He looked alive in a way Katara hadn’t seen in years.

The duel ended with Yue pressing the staff lightly against his blade, then fading back a step. She smiled at him—warm, proud—and her form shimmered until it was gone, leaving Sokka alone in the moonlight.

He exhaled slowly, bowing his head. “Thank you.”

Katara swallowed hard, stepping back before he noticed her. Her heart was a swirl of emotions—confusion, awe, relief, and a strange peace.

For the first time, she realized her brother’s bond with Yue wasn’t just memory or grief. It was living, present, sacred.

“Every night feels less like a duty and more like… home, with you,” Sokka murmured. “I don’t know if I’m doing enough, but when I fight, when I protect them—it feels like you’re guiding me. Like you’re right here.”

The air stirred, and Yue’s spirit form shimmered faintly once more. Her smile was gentle, her gaze filled with quiet pride.

“You honor me with every step you take,” Yue said, her voice like waves brushing the shore. “I gave you my light because I knew you would carry it—not as a burden, but as a bond.”

Sokka’s throat tightened. “It’s more than a bond. It’s… you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say goodbye, Yue. And maybe I don’t want to.”

Yue reached out, her hand brushing just above his cheek, the touch more warmth than substance. “You don’t need to say goodbye. The moon doesn’t leave—it changes, but it’s always there. As am I.”

Katara pressed a hand to her chest, watching her brother’s face soften with reverence and something close to love. The weight of her old worries melted away. This wasn’t obsession or madness. It was devotion, rooted in something sacred and mutual.

For the first time, Katara truly understood: Yue wasn’t just a memory he clung to. She was still with him—alive in spirit, alive in purpose—and Sokka’s love for her gave him strength instead of breaking him.

Katara turned quietly back to her room, tears pricking her eyes but her lips curved into a smile. For the first time since the night Yue rose into the sky, Katara felt peace for her brother.

Sokka padded softly back into the Ember Island house, the Crescent Moon Blade slung across his back, his steps lighter than when he had left. His hair caught a silver gleam from the fading moonlight, and his eyes still carried the calm glow of his midnight prayers.

Katara was waiting in the hallway. She hadn’t gone back to sleep, still wrapped in her blanket, her face thoughtful.

She watched him pass, then whispered gently:
“If Dad could see you now… what do you think he’d say?”

Sokka stopped mid-step. His back straightened, but his shoulders trembled faintly. He turned halfway toward her, moonlight painting his profile.

“I think…” His voice cracked, then steadied. “…I think he’d be proud. Not because I’ve got a magic sword or glowing hair, but because I didn’t run. I stayed. I took responsibility.”

Katara stepped closer, her expression soft. “You’ve always carried more than you had to, Sokka. Even when Dad left, you were the one who tried to hold everything together.”

He gave a small, tired chuckle. “And I wasn’t very good at it, was I? All those training drills, all the speeches… but I wanted to make him proud. I wanted to make you proud.”

Katara’s eyes shone. “You don’t have to try anymore. You already have.”