Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hi there! I’m writing this fanfic because I randomly thought, “I’d love to read a story where Aang and Zuko are actually brothers by blood,” but couldn’t find one anywhere (or maybe I just wasn’t great at searching). So, I decided to create my own version of the story.

My plan is to cover all three books, and at the time I’m posting this prologue, I’m already more than halfway through Book 1.

While I’m doing my best to keep the characters true to their canon selves, you’ll notice some striking differences—especially with their emotions and relationships. For example:

• Aang is more emotional and childlike than canon. In the original, I always found his chill, almost detached attitude a bit strange—considering he wakes up after a hundred years, finds his entire nation wiped out, and is expected to save the world. Here, he reacts with the natural confusion and feelings of a ten-year-old caught in impossible circumstances.

• Zuko isn’t the angsty teenager from season 1. Instead, he’s more mature and responsible, shaped by his time at the Southern Air Temple and the heavy burden of looking after his younger brother, who just so happened to also be the Avatar.

Here are the main differences from canon:

• There was no 100-year war. Instead, the war starts when Aang is 10 (in the fic’s prologue).

• Ages at story start: Aang – 10, Zuko – 15, Sokka – 15, Katara – 14.

• Aang’s parents are an Airbender named Tashi and Firebender Ursa—making Aang and Zuko half-brothers.

• Avatar Roku lived to an old age and died when Zuko was 3, nearly 4.

• After Roku’s death, Ursa was left vulnerable in the Fire Palace and fled when threatened.

• When Zuko is almost 14, he attends a council meeting thinking it’s political but discovers it’s about war. Speaking out against it results in his Agni Kai, exile, and banishment—same as canon.

• Instead of chasing the Avatar by sea, Uncle Iroh takes Zuko to the Southern Air Temple, where his mother (who he believed dead for 10 years) actually lives.

• Zuko discovers his mother left him and Azula behind and has a new child—Aang.

• The Fire Nation attacks the Air Temple, forcing Zuko and Aang to flee, along with many other Air Nomads.

• The attacks leave Zuko heavily overprotective and paranoid, feeling responsible for taking care of Aang.

• The Water Tribes are attacked after the Air Temples—South Pole falls and is destroyed, while the North Pole resists (as in canon).

• The main story begins with Aang and Zuko traveling to the South Pole, where they meet Sokka and Katara.

I hope you enjoy this new take on their journey!

Chapter Text

The Southern Air Temple rested high in the mountains, wrapped in wind and mist. Its courtyards lay quiet in the twilight, where wind chimes and fluttering prayer flags whispered stories older than empires. Here, far from the Fire Nation’s grasp, she could breath in peace.

Ursa moved silently beneath the painted eaves, her steps slow, measured. The weight of what she had lost pressed upon her—but so too did the fragile hope cradled within. She had returned to this sacred place, a sanctuary she once visited as a child with her grandfather, Avatar Roku. He had brought her here when the world was still gentle, when she was still free.

It was here she first met Tashi—an airbender initiate, patient and soft-spoken. His calm presence had soothed something restless in her even then. Years later, after she was forced to marry Prince Ozai, that memory returned like a flame in the dark. In the shadow of palace walls and courtly expectation, Ursa found herself again drawn to the boy who had become a man of peace.

Their love was quiet, hidden behind veils of duty. When Tashi followed her into the capital, disguised and nameless, they clung to fleeting hours, secret words. But the Fire Nation was not a place for such bonds. Her marriage was not one that tolerated sentiment—especially not from a woman meant to mother the next ruler of an empire.

Still, Ursa had endured. For Zuko and Azula. For the faint belief that she might shape a better soul in a place built on conquest.

Then came the turning point.

Roku died.

And with him, the final shield that had kept Ozai in check. Her grandfather’s passing removed the last figure of balance in Ursa’s life—one whose legacy still whispered caution to even the boldest generals.

Ozai wasted no time.

That night, he came to her chambers, voice as cold as steel. “You will leave,” he said. “Before dawn.”

When she asked why, his reply came without heat—just precision.

“Your kindness has weakened Zuko. Corrupted him. If you stay, you’ll undo everything I’ve built.”

There was no room for argument. It was not grief in his voice—it was freedom. Roku’s death had unlocked a cage around his ambition. And with no one left to restrain him, he had set his sights on the throne.

Later that night, Fire Lord Azulon—the only man still standing in Ozai’s way—died unexpectedly. No one spoke of poison. No one dared.

Ursa understood then: this was not just exile. It was erasure.

But she had her own secret.

She was with child.

She had known for only days, still holding that truth close. But now, it shaped everything. She could not fight for her place—not without endangering the life quietly blooming within her.

Before leaving, she went to Iroh.

Iroh’s voice had softened after the council crowned Ozai, choosing peace within himself over the throne he once might have claimed. Yet his heart remained steady, unbent by palace cruelty. When she asked him to protect the boy, Iroh did not hesitate.

“I will teach him,” he said, “what strength truly means.”

And so, in the dead of night, Ursa disappeared.

She and Tashi fled south, vanishing into the winds.

It was weeks later, in the calm embrace of the Southern Air Temple, that Aang was born.

A child of fire and air. Raised by his mother and the temple's monks, unburdened by thrones or bloodlines. He laughed easily and ran with the wind. His childhood passed among sky bison and spinning gliders, his bending awakening like breath: natural and light.

In the Fire Nation capital, Zuko remained. Iroh raised him with quiet strength, guiding him with stories and tea rather than force. The boy’s spirit stayed kind, though the court called it softness. Iroh nurtured that kindness into strength.

But fire does not wait forever.

At fifteen, Zuko spoke out in a war council, questioning the cost of conquest.

His punishment was swift.

He was challenged to an Agni Kai.

When he arrived and saw his opponent—his father—Zuko refused to fight.

The fire that followed did not come from mercy.

The scar was his price.

His exile, the sentence: Find the Avatar, or never return.

So he set out—seeking a myth, chasing redemption.

Unaware that he and the Avatar he was sent to hunt shared more than destiny.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The sun hung low in the sky, a molten orb dipping toward the horizon, casting long, golden fingers across the dusty road. Zuko’s gaze, tired and wary, lifted from the worn dirt path beneath the pounding hooves of his ostrich horse. The terrain had subtly changed in the last few miles—the jagged cliffs, sharp and unyielding, softened into a gentle sea of grasses that swayed like waves beneath the warm breeze. Far ahead, faint but unmistakable, the Southern Air Temple rose, its spires delicate and ancient, etched against the fading light like a ghost from a forgotten past.

“Almost there,” came a voice, low and calm as the settling dusk. Iroh rode beside him, the years having deepened the lines of wisdom in his face, and his eyes reflected a peaceful knowing that felt heavier than mere words could hold. The man’s presence was a balm to the restless air around Zuko.

Zuko didn’t respond, only nodded once, his jaw tight. His face was still wrapped in bandages—raw and tender—like a brand that refused to fade, a scarlet testament to recent pain and failure. The silence between them was thick with things left unsaid, memories of battles fought within and without.

They had been traveling for days, the road long and lonely. Iroh’s words had come like riddles, soft and persistent: “Peace can be found where the winds whisper truth… Healing lives in the quiet corners of the past… Closure is the path to freedom.” At the time, Zuko had listened with scepticism, his mind clouded by bitterness and doubt. But now, as the temple’s tall spires touched the sky in the dying light, those words pressed heavily on his heart. Was it possible? Could the place that had always felt like a tomb hold something more? Something that might heal the fractures in his soul?

The two riders approached the temple’s grand entrance, a towering gateway carved with swirling clouds and ancient symbols that seemed to pulse with a quiet power. Iroh slowed his mount and finally brought it to a halt.

“This is where I leave you,” he said, voice gentle but resolute. His eyes locked with Zuko’s, full of both encouragement and something like sorrow. “I’m going to journey with Lu Ten. You need time to recover—and this place, it holds the answers you seek.”

From a carrier strapped to his ostrich horse, Iroh withdrew a messenger hawk. The bird’s feathers caught the last light of day, shimmering with iridescent blues like a fragment of the sky itself.

“This is Kai,” Iroh explained, his fingers loose around the hawk’s leg. “A companion for when you need a friend. Let him fly free for now.”

Zuko’s hand closed around the bird’s leg, and for a long moment, he just watched as Kai stretched his wings, tested the air, and took flight—an ephemeral dot against the pastel sky that spoke of hope and new beginnings.

“Thank you,” Zuko whispered, his voice thick with something he couldn’t name.

Iroh smiled softly, then turned his ostrich horse and disappeared down the winding path his figure swallowed by the gathering twilight.

Left alone, the weight of solitude settled over Zuko like a stone. The temple gates towered before him, silent witnesses to centuries of history. As the cool evening breeze whispered through the carved symbols, a figure stepped forward—a monk, calm and composed, his robes flowing gently with the wind.

“Welcome, Prince Zuko,” the monk said, bowing slightly with a serene dignity. “We have been expecting you.”

Zuko’s chest tightened. His heart hammered erratically, equal parts hope and dread. The monk led him inside through halls fragrant with sandalwood and the timeless scent of aged stone. Their footsteps echoed softly on the polished floors, a rhythm that slowed the pounding in Zuko’s mind.

At the end of a quiet hallway stood a door. The monk opened it with a creak that felt like a crack in the fabric of reality.

There, bathed in the glow of flickering candles, stood a woman whose presence stopped Zuko’s breath—Ursa. His mother. Alive.

Shock froze him mid-step.

“Mother?” His voice was barely more than a broken whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile reality.

Her eyes glistened with tears, shimmering pools of sorrow and strength. “Zuko,” she said, voice trembling but steady, “I have much to explain.”

She beckoned him inside. The room was simple, yet comforting—a sanctuary after a long, harsh journey.

“After Avatar Roku died,” she began, “the protection I once had in the palace faded. Your grandfather’s passing left me vulnerable. Ozai saw my kindness as weakness—a threat to his son’s path. He told me I must leave that very night... the same night Azulon died. He said my compassion corrupted you, and if I stayed, the damage would be irreparable.”

Zuko’s blood flared hotter than any fire, fury bubbling beneath his skin like molten lava.

“You left. You abandoned me. How could you run away when I needed you most? My injury, my exile—this is your “kindness” that doomed me!”

Ursa’s gaze faltered, a shadow of pain crossing her features. “I left to protect you.”

“But it felt like betrayal.” Zuko’s voice cracked, a mix of anger and hurt that tore at his chest.

“I was scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Not of you, but of what would happen if I stayed. Ozai’s shadow is long, and I had no power to stop him. I thought if I left, if I disappeared, I could keep you safe from him... and from the palace’s poison.”

Zuko turned away, unable to hold back the flood of emotion. His footsteps echoed through the vast temple halls as he fled to a balcony overlooking a dizzying drop—a sheer cliffside where the mist danced like ghosts below.

“What?,” Zuko snapped to a shadow trailing behind him.

He turned around to find a boy, a small child, eyes wide and uncertain.

“I—I’m sorry,” the boy stammered. “I heard everything.”

Zuko’s fists clenched. “Then why are you still here?”

The boy stepped forward hesitantly, lowering his gaze. “I just wanted to be near you... so you won’t be lonely.”

Zuko’s anger wavered but didn’t fade. There was something raw and honest in the boy’s eyes, something that broke through the fortress around his heart.

In the quiet moments that followed, Zuko huffed and left. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He wanted to leave the temple and pretend it was all a dream, but he felt trapped, with nowhere else to go. So he left in search of a room, someplace where he can be alone and rest.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the boy returned.

Zuko was already awake, though he hadn’t slept much. He sat cross-legged, meditating near the temple’s courtyard wall, the early light casting long shadows across the stone. His burn throbbed dully, the skin around his left eye tight and raw beneath the bandages he'd half-heartedly applied himself.

The boy approached quietly, holding a bundle of herbs and a small bowl filled with a dark, earthy paste.

“I brought medicine,” he said, voice cheerful but cautious. “For your burn.”

Zuko didn’t turn to look. “I don’t need it.”

The boy’s smile faltered just a little. “But… I got up really early to gather the right herbs. I mixed the paste myself. My mom taught me.”

Zuko finally glanced at him, one golden eye narrowing. “I don’t need a child tending to me.”

The boy blinked, then sighed with exaggerated drama. “A child who spent the whole morning picking these? Who used the good bowl and everything? Who even made sure it smells nice?”

Zuko gave no answer, though his gaze drifted to the bowl. The medicine did smell better than whatever he’d tried to make the night before, which had stung like fire and probably wasn't even meant for burns. Still, he turned away, stubbornly beginning to unwrap his own bandages.

He dipped two fingers into the salve and awkwardly reached up to his face. The motion was stiff, hesitant. His skin flinched away from his own touch, and after a few tries he hissed through clenched teeth. The paste smeared unevenly, and some of it got into his remaining eyebrow.

The boy just stood nearby, waiting patiently.

Zuko grunted, muttered something under his breath, and finally shoved the bowl toward the kid with a scowl. “Fine.”

The boy beamed like the sun had just risen all over again. “I’ll be gentle! Promise!”

He sat down cross-legged in front of Zuko and got to work, fingers light as feathers as he dabbed the cool paste onto the burn. It stung a little at first, but soon there was a strange relief. Zuko didn’t flinch, but he didn’t look at the boy either.

“I’m Aang, by the way,” the boy said as he worked. “You probably know that, but… still. Felt weird not saying it.”

Zuko grunted in response.

“Mom says I talk too much,” Aang added, not discouraged. “She says even my breathing sounds like a conversation. I don’t think that makes sense, but maybe it’s a mom thing.”

Zuko didn’t reply, but his shoulders loosened slightly. The paste felt better than he expected.

“I used to fly a lot,” Aang went on. “Not so much now. Mom says I need to keep both feet on the ground until I grow into them. Whatever that means. But sometimes I sneak glides off the roof when she’s not looking.”

He laughed at himself. Zuko didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

Aang kept chatting, not even noticing. “Oh! One time I crash-landed into a fruit stand—bananas everywhere. I tried to help clean up, but the guy was yelling so much I think I made it worse. Still gave him a ride on Appa to say sorry. He screamed the whole time.”

Zuko glanced at him sidelong. “What’s an Appa?”

“My flying bison,” Aang said proudly. “He’s huge. You’ll meet him later.”

Zuko didn’t reply, but didn’t object either.

Aang paused to check his handiwork, gently smoothing the last bit of paste over Zuko’s cheekbone. His brow furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth. Then, almost without thinking, he mumbled, “I still think my big brother is the coolest.”

Zuko blinked. “What?”

Aang froze. His hand, still hovering near Zuko’s cheek, dropped as if burned.

“Uh… nothing!” he said too quickly, eyes darting. “Just, um… you’re cool. You know, like, cool firebending guy. Not that you’re literally cool. Because you’re—fire—so actually the opposite of—”

“You said ‘brother.’”

Zuko’s voice was low, edged with suspicion. The air between them seemed to still.

Aang winced. “I… might’ve said that. Accidentally.”

Zuko’s gaze hardened. “Explain.”

Aang bit his lip, clearly regretting everything. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you yet. Mom said she would. It just… it slipped.”

Zuko’s voice turned to ice. “Tell me what.”

The boy looked down at the half-empty bowl in his hands. He swallowed.

“That I’m your half-brother.”

Zuko stiffened. His breath caught — not quite a gasp, but close. The world seemed to narrow to the stone beneath his feet and the boy in front of him. The courtyard was suddenly too still, too quiet. Somewhere beyond the wall, a bird called. The wind rustled the leaves as if it, too, didn’t know what to say.

He stood up slowly, stiffly, like a man caught in a dream he couldn’t wake from. His hands curled into fists, then released again.

Aang looked up at him, nervous and sheepish — but not ashamed. Not of what he’d said. If anything, there was something unspoken in his gaze: hope.

Zuko didn’t say a word.

The silence stretched long.

“She didn’t mean to hide anything,” Aang said quickly. “She wanted to tell you. But you were so hurt and angry. It just wasn’t the right time. She was scared you might hate me too.”

Zuko turned away, his jaw tight. “She should have told me the truth.”

“I think she wanted to,” Aang said, softly now. “She talks about you all the time. She misses you. A lot.”

Zuko said nothing.

The boy’s presence, so innocent just minutes ago, now felt like salt on a wound still too fresh to name.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

In the days that followed, Zuko said little. Aang returned with meals, fresh herbs, and attempts at small talk, but Zuko rarely answered. Instead, he poured his thoughts — jagged, chaotic, and aching — into letters to Iroh.

One was written with such fury the ink bled through the parchment.

Another began and ended with the same sentence: Why didn’t she tell me?

Still another simply read: Do I even matter to her anymore?

Iroh’s replies came slowly but gently, as if weighed with great care before being sent. The first came folded in his familiar calligraphy:

“Zuko. It’s okay to be angry at your mother. You have every right to feel what you feel. Take all the time you need. She will understand. But do not direct that anger at your younger brother—he never chose this. The boy’s heart is open. Don’t let yours close.”

Zuko reread that line over and over, until it blurred behind his eyes.

The boy never chose this.

He didn’t want to forgive Ursa. Not yet. He didn’t want to accept this boy, either. But he also couldn’t ignore the way Aang kept showing up—awkward, earnest, hopeful. Not asking for anything, but not disappearing either.

And Zuko, despite himself, began to listen.

Reluctantly, when Aang returned with more medicine, Zuko began to talk.

It was tentative at first. A question here. A comment there. But curiosity tugged at him—quiet and persistent—about the boy who had grown up in the gentle arms of the temple, who had his mother’s eyes and some other man’s face.

He listened as Aang described chasing sky bison through clouds, falling asleep during meditation lessons, and once getting stuck upside-down in a prayer wheel during a game of tag.

Zuko didn’t laugh, not at first. But something in his face began to soften.

Later that week, a man arrived with a bundle of freshly caught fish, admitting with a sheepish grin that he couldn’t cook it if his life depended on it.

“I keep thinking the pan will do the work for me,” he said, scratching the back of his head.

Zuko took the fish without a word, his firebending flickering to life in controlled bursts. He crouched near the stone hearth and cleaned and prepared the fish with deft hands. The flames curled and danced in perfect synch with his breath, a quiet, practiced rhythm.

Aang ran in mid-cook, eyes lighting up. “You’re an amazing firebender!”

Zuko looked away, ears faintly pink. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you kidding?” Aang leaned in, dramatic and wide-eyed. “You’re like… the fish whisperer of flame!”

Zuko gave him a look. “Don’t call me that.”

Aang just grinned and plopped down cross-legged. “I’m surprised Dad even caught the fish.”

Zuko paused. “Your father?”

Aang pointed toward the man now trying (and failing) to start a small fire of his own nearby. “Tashi. He’s my dad. And our mom’s… current husband.”

Zuko’s jaw tensed slightly at the word current. Aang didn’t notice.

“Ohh—wait. Does that make him your step-father? And does that make us brothers or still half-brothers if we share both parents? Does that matter?”

The words hovered thick in the air, muddled with unspoken things.

Zuko turned back to the fish without answering.

The next morning, Tashi returned with more fish and a hesitant offer to help change Zuko’s bandages. He was awkward but careful, his hands steady despite the silence that pressed between them.

Later, he and Aang guided Zuko through the temple’s ancient corridors. The carved murals, the winding paths, the fragrant incense — it was a world so far removed from the Fire Nation palace. Aang’s stories echoed through the halls, and to Zuko’s surprise, Tashi occasionally joined in, adding dry commentary or teasing reminders about Aang’s clumsier childhood exploits.

Zuko never laughed aloud. But his frown wasn’t quite so deep anymore.

One afternoon, Zuko offered Aang a piece of grilled fish. Aang politely declined, grinning.

“Oh, right,” Zuko said, eyebrow twitching. “Vegetarian.”

“All air nomads are,” Aang explained, “but that’s okay. More for you.”

The next day, when Tashi arrived with another string of fish, Zuko couldn’t hold the question back any longer.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, eyes narrowed but voice calm. “Aren’t air nomads against killing? Against harming life?”

Tashi looked mildly startled, halfway through unpacking the bundle. “Ah. Well. Yes. Technically.” He scratched his beard, gaze flicking to the side. “But you… need protein to heal. And vegetables don’t seem to agree with you.” He gestured vaguely at a basket of untouched roots from earlier. “You looked like you were at war with a turnip yesterday.”

Zuko huffed. It might’ve been a laugh. “That’s not an answer.”

Tashi shrugged, clearly uncomfortable but kind. “I’m not perfect. I’m… bending the teachings a little. For you.” Then, sensing Zuko’s lingering suspicion, he added: “I know this is strange. I don’t expect your trust. But my wife’s child is no stranger to me. Not in my heart.”

Zuko blinked, uncertain how to respond.

“You don’t need to do all this,” he muttered.

“Nonsense,” Tashi said firmly, setting the fish down. “You are my wife’s child. And therefore, mine—in heart, if not in blood.”

Zuko stared at him, silent. He wasn’t sure he believed those words. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.

But in that moment, something in his chest shifted—just a little.

And for the first time since arriving at the temple, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

One warm afternoon, Zuko stood in the temple courtyard, flames flickering softly from his fingertips as he practiced the controlled movements of his firebending.

Aang sat cross-legged nearby, eyes wide and fixed on every motion. After a long moment, he finally spoke.

“Teach me,” he said simply, his voice bright with excitement.

Zuko blinked, caught off guard. “But… you’re an airbender.”

Aang nodded, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m the Avatar.”

The word landed heavily between them.

Zuko’s breath caught. Part of him burned with a fierce desire to reclaim his honor—to prove himself worthy again. But deeper down, beneath layers of scars and bitterness, another part softened—the part that had never felt truly loved by Azula or Ozai, now kindled by this boy who looked up to him without question.

With a hesitant nod, Zuko lowered his stance and began teaching the simplest firebending moves. His voice was steady but patient as he guided Aang’s trembling hands.

They moved through the basics: breathing, stance, control. Aang mimicked each motion with enthusiasm, though his limbs flailed in awkward angles.

“Your centre of gravity is too high,” Zuko muttered, circling him with the sharp eye of someone trained to notice weakness. “Lower. Think grounded.”

Aang nodded, brow furrowed in concentration. He drew his arms into the motion Zuko had just demonstrated—a simple spark, a harmless flicker meant to teach rhythm and precision.

But Aang overextended. In his excitement, he lost his footing. Zuko moved instinctively to steady him, but his fire surged—just for a second—and a quick burst of flame shot forward, singeing Aang’s sleeve and licking across his forearm.

A sharp cry tore from Aang’s throat.

Zuko’s heart dropped.

“I—I didn’t—” he crouched beside him, hands trembling as he reached out, then pulled back. His palms, so practiced and deadly, suddenly felt foreign. Dangerous.

Aang hissed at the sting but gave him a crooked grin. “Ow. Okay, maybe not so cool.”

Zuko didn’t laugh.

The scent of burned cloth twisted his stomach. His own scar throbbed with phantom heat. He could hear Ozai’s voice—control your fire, or don’t use it at all. He could see Azula’s perfect form, her cold smirk when he failed.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, voice cracking in a way that surprised even him. “I should’ve— I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Ursa appeared quietly at the edge of the courtyard, calm and gentle. She knelt beside them, her touch soothing as she examined the wound. Tashi stood nearby, already producing a small jar of salve from within his robe.

“It was an accident,” Ursa said softly, her hand cool on Aang’s arm. “We know you would never hurt your brother on purpose.”

Zuko flinched at the word. Brother. It still felt strange, like a coat that didn’t fit yet. And yet here was Aang, already brushing it off, already smiling despite the sting.

Aang nudged Zuko’s knee lightly. “Hey. You okay?”

Zuko glanced at him. This boy—this stranger, this brother—didn’t look at him with fear. Not like the soldiers once had. Not like the people back home. He looked at him like he was someone worth believing in.

“Come on,” Aang said suddenly, grinning. “I want to show you Appa. We can wind out our scars from glorious victories! Or—uhm—is it too soon to joke about your scar? I shouldn’t, right? I mean, scars are serious stuff, but also… haha, you know what I mean?” He flailed his hands awkwardly, cheeks reddening. “Sorry, I’m not great at this ‘comfort’ thing.”

Zuko stared at him for a long beat. Then, despite himself, he let out a quiet huff of air. Not quite a laugh, but close.

“You’re terrible at this.”

“I know,” Aang said brightly. “But Appa’s really good at making people feel better.”

Zuko hesitated. Then slowly, he cracked a small, reluctant smile. “Fine. Show me.”

The two boys made their way through the temple toward the landing cliff. When Zuko saw the beast waiting there—massive, six-legged, covered in shaggy white fur—his eyes widened.

“Is that… your bison?”

“My flying bison,” Aang corrected proudly. “His name is Appa. He’s the best.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Aang climbed up the creature’s side. After a moment’s pause, he followed, gripping the thick fur uncertainly. Appa let out a deep, contented rumble and launched into the sky with a powerful beat of his tail.

Zuko tensed at first, the sudden height unfamiliar—but then the wind caught him, lifting hair and spirit alike. The temple grew smaller beneath them, framed by clouds and sunlight. Appa’s deep, steady breathing wrapped around him like a protective shield.

Aang sat beside him, legs swinging freely. “You get used to the height.”

Zuko didn’t answer. He was staring out at the sea.

On the horizon, sharp shapes sliced through the haze—dark and distant, but unmistakable. Warships. Fire Nation.

Zuko’s breath caught. His blood chilled, even as his fists clenched with instinctive heat.

Chapter Text

“They’re coming,” he said, voice low.

Aang leaned forward, following his gaze. His expression sobered. “That’s… a lot of ships.”

Back at the temple, the mood shifted instantly. The air itself seemed to tighten with foreboding.

Zuko’s mind raced, memories surging up like flame: the palace, the circling generals, their cruel laughter as they discussed colonies, raw materials, and the cost of “peace.” He remembered speaking out—how he begged them to consider diplomacy, not conquest. He remembered Ozai’s cold eyes. The duel. The fire. The shame.

And he remembered being cast out not for failing—but for caring.

His voice was steady when he relayed what he’d seen to Ursa and Tashi, but inside he was unravelling.

“We don’t have long,” he said. “They’ll strike fast. They’ll come for the bison, the elders, the kids. They’ll burn it all if they think it makes you weaker.”

Ursa gathered the council, and what followed was a tense, crackling meeting beneath the main hall’s carved ceiling.

“The children must be evacuated,” Tashi said firmly. “Their lives come first.”

“But we are not cowards,” an elder monk countered, eyes sharp behind his tattoos. “Just because we are peaceful does not mean we will sit still while our homes are destroyed.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

Zuko stepped forward. “I know them. I know their tactics. They’ll pretend to offer surrender. Then they’ll attack the weakest points first. They want fear to do their work before the flames even fall.”

“They’re not here for diplomacy,” Ursa said, her voice quiet but unwavering. “They’re here to remind the world of the Fire Nation’s strength.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“We split,” Tashi said at last. “The youngest will go with the safest riders—north, west, any route that avoids confrontation. The elders who can ride, go with them. The rest of us—those who choose—we stay. We defend the temple.”

Zuko glanced at Ursa. Her eyes met his, brimming with worry. Not just for the children. For him.

He broke away, scribbling a message by candlelight in hurried strokes—Uncle, they’ve come to the temple. We’re under attack. I don’t know how bad this will get, but please—watch over us if you can. I hope I’m becoming the man you believed I could be. —Zuko.

He tied the parchment to a hawk and sent it skyward into the oncoming wind.

As the first distant rumbles of engines echoed through the clouds, the temple stirred with quiet chaos. Packs were loaded. Siblings clung to each other. Airbenders embraced, offering final words, or nothing at all.

Zuko found Aang in the stables, helping frightened children onto Appa’s saddle. He looked up, worry pressed into his young face like weathered stone.

“Are you ready?” Aang asked.

Zuko nodded, then paused. His eyes flicked back toward the courtyard, where Ursa stood with Tashi, surrounded by wind-swept robes and tension.

“I’m not leaving without saying goodbye,” he said.

They crossed the courtyard quickly. Smoke already darkened the horizon.

Ursa pulled Zuko into a tight embrace. “Remember who you are,” she whispered. “Not who they tried to make you.”

Zuko blinked hard. “I—I’m scared I won’t protect them.”

“You already are,” she said.

Tashi offered Aang a firm grip on the shoulder. “Fly true. Save who you can.”

“We’ll come back,” Aang promised. “We’ll help rebuild.”

“No,” Tashi said. “You’ll do more than rebuild. You’ll lead.”

The first blast hit the far wall of the temple. Stone cracked. Flames billowed.

Zuko and Aang ran. Children were crying, but Appa stood steady. As they lifted into the sky, other bison followed, peeling off in different directions like stars breaking from a constellation.

Below, Tashi and the defenders rose on air currents, forming a final line between the attackers and the vulnerable.

From the sky, Zuko looked down at the place that had given him refuge. At the people risking everything. At the family that had started to grow around him.

The pain in his chest twisted tighter. The exile. The war. The scar. All of it came rushing back, like a storm he couldn’t outrun.

But beside him, Aang gripped the reins with steady hands. Eyes wide. Jaw set.

They weren’t just fleeing.

They were saving what mattered.

As the temple blurred beneath fire and smoke, Zuko felt the weight of everything he’d lost—but also the fragile spark of something new:

Hope.

Even amidst destruction, healing could take root.

And family—no matter how complicated—could grow.

Chapter Text

The fire had long since dwindled, its flickering light reduced to glowing embers nestled within the small pile of stones Zuko had arranged as a crude fire pit. The island shore lay in eerie quiet, the gentle lapping of waves against the sand mingling with the distant call of seabirds. A cool breeze rustled through the palm fronds overhead, carrying the salty tang of the sea—and faint wisps of smoke from faraway fires, grim reminders of the chaos they had escaped.

Zuko crouched low beside the dying fire, blowing softly on the embers to coax a little warmth for the children huddled close together. Their faces were pale and drawn, eyes wide with shock and exhaustion, but it was his responsibility to keep them safe—and warm. His right eye, bright and unscarred, gleamed with cautious resolve. The left, golden but marred by a deep, jagged scar, remained closed and unseeing, yet his sharp instincts kept him alert, scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.

Beside him, Aang moved like a restless breeze, slipping through the dense brush with a lightness that belied the fear clinging to them all. Though not the youngest among the survivors, the airbender’s energy seemed barely touched by the terror he's endured. He returned moments later, clutching a handful of wild berries and edible roots, small fingers trembling but proud to bring back what little nourishment he could find.

The other Air Nomad children followed hesitantly, their faces streaked with tears and dirt. Some clung to one another, while others stared silently out to sea, too stunned to speak. It had been only hours since they fled, witnessing the partial destruction of their homes. Zuko couldn’t blame them for their tears, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air, thickening with each passing moment.

During the first night away from everything they knew, the emotions had become too much for Aang. Zuko remembered the quiet sound of his younger brother’s weeping—the sniffles barely audible in the darkness. At first, Zuko had kept his distance, unsure if Aang wanted comfort or solitude. Perhaps he thought the boy needed space to grieve in his own way.

But then, a sob cut through the silence, pulling at something deep inside Zuko—something he hadn’t realized was there. He moved quietly toward Aang and gently wrapped his arms around him. Words failed him, but apparently, they weren’t needed. Aang pressed his face into Zuko’s chest, trembling, seeking the security that only a brother could provide.

Slowly, other children in the group began to draw closer, some clutching at Zuko’s arms, others holding onto his legs or back. He had no heart to tell them to stop. Swallowing the discomfort of their dirty hands and ragged clothes, Zuko accepted his new reality. One arm remained wrapped firmly around Aang, holding him close, while his other hand reached out to pat the children—one by one—offering what comfort he could muster. In that fragile moment, despite the devastation around them, a small flicker of family and hope persisted.

The next morning, they rose with the first light, weary but determined. They moved steadily along the rugged shoreline, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the temple they had fled. No one knew which way the others had scattered in the chaos—whether their friends and family had found safety or were still out there somewhere, lost. Zuko sometimes wondered if it would have been better to follow someone, to stick to a path marked by others, but it was too late for second-guessing now.

His thoughts drifted back to the attack—the roar of firebenders, the collapse of stone walls, the terrifying blaze that shot high into the sky. In the confusion, the children had been forced to scatter, each seeking shelter from the flames and debris raining down. It was a memory he wished he could forget, but it clung to him like smoke on his clothes.

Days passed. The group moved cautiously through dense jungle and along rocky coasts, stopping only when necessary to rest and forage. Their food was meager—wild berries, roots, and occasionally Zuko awkwardly caught a fish for himself. But the isolation and uncertainty weighed heavily on them all.

Then, one evening as the sun dipped low, a familiar shadow cut across the sky—the hawk. It swooped down, landing gracefully on a nearby branch before dropping a small pouch at Zuko’s feet. His fingers trembled as he opened it, revealing an assortment of coins and currencies from distant lands—gifts from Uncle Iroh, gathered through old connections and tireless inquiries.

There was no good news enclosed. Iroh’s messages spoke of a world falling apart: the Fire Nation’s brutal advances, other temples burning, friends and allies disappearing. The uncertainty gnawed at Zuko’s spirit, but he forced himself to write back, to let his uncle know they were alive—safe for now—and that they had fled in a direction away from the fire and destruction.

Later that evening, as the children settled near the fire, Aang approached quietly, kneeling beside Zuko with a hesitant, fragile hope in his eyes.

“Zuko,” Aang whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling embers, “do you think d-dad is still alive?”

Zuko had noticed Aang’s hesitation before—how, whenever he spoke of Tashi, the boy would falter, unsure whether to call Tashi his dad or their dad. It was as if he worried his words might upset Zuko, or bring sadness he wasn’t ready to face.

Zuko’s chest tightened at the question. He looked away, struggling to find the right words. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “The last letter from Uncle Iroh said the temples had fallen. All of them.”

A sharp pang twisted in his chest. At fifteen, Zuko was barely old enough to be their leader, but now the weight of responsibility pressed down on him like a stone. Ten-year-old Aang was the next eldest, with the others younger still—fragile children who depended on him to keep them safe.

He glanced at the wide eyes reflected in the firelight—eyes full of fear, yes, but also still flickering with hope.

“We have to keep moving,” Zuko said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “Stay hidden. We can’t stay here long.”

Chapter Text

Weeks passed like this—hiding on remote islands, Zuko relying on the lessons his uncle and the old generals had taught him about navigation and survival. Each day blurred into the next as they moved quietly, always alert to danger. When supplies ran low, Zuko would slip away alone, venturing into small villages to barter for essentials like rice and dried fruits. At first, he used Fire Nation money—an easy, familiar currency—but he quickly realized that carrying the Empire’s coin was a risk in these unfamiliar lands. So, he spent everything he had on precious stones and metals, trading quietly to avoid drawing attention.

One warm afternoon, as the group rested beneath the dappled shade of towering trees, Aang tugged at Zuko’s sleeve with shy persistence.

“Zuko,” the young airbender asked, voice soft and uncertain, “what happens next? Will we find Uncle Iroh soon? Do you think he’ll like me?”

Zuko looked down at Aang, his expression softening. Despite everything, the boy’s hope was a small light in the darkness they travelled through. He reached out and gently patted Aang’s shoulder, steady and reassuring.

“Iroh will like you,” Zuko said quietly. “He’s kind, and he understands more than most. And Lu Ten... our cousin—he’ll want to meet you too. He’s good people.”

Aang’s eyes brightened, curiosity and relief mingling as a shy smile spread across his face.

Zuko gave a small nod. “Yeah. Family. It means something—even now.”

Around them, the other children exchanged uneasy glances. For the Air Nomads, family had never meant just one or two people—it was everyone. The entire temple was their home, their family. Elders, siblings, teachers, friends. They ate together, trained together, laughed and meditated under the same sky. That whole world had been torn away in an instant. The silence left behind was not of parents lost, but of everyone.

Aang had been different. His mother wasn’t an Air Nomad—so she had stayed with him, raised him herself. That connection had always made him feel special. Now, it made him feel painfully lucky. And a little alone.

Zuko saw the shift in their faces—the distant stares, the clenched hands—and reached out, resting a hand gently on the shoulder of the nearest child. No words, just presence.

“They’re still out there,” he said at last, his voice a little rough. “Your people. All of them. We’ll find them again. Sooner or later.”

Some of the children looked up, doubt flickering behind their eyes. Others clung to that fragile thread of hope.

Before the quiet could settle in too deeply, Aang burst in like a sudden breeze. “And maybe Uncle Iroh will make us all tea! With lots of sugar! And Lu Ten will show us his fire tricks—only the safe ones, I promise!”

A few small giggles escaped the group. The tension cracked just a little.

Zuko shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, airbender. That’s enough. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s another day.”

The children settled down, some curling close to one another, others drifting off with whispered stories and quiet dreams.

As night deepened around them, the crackling embers of their small fire were all that kept the darkness at bay — a fragile glow in a world still burning.

One crisp morning on the southern seas, Appa glided gently across the water’s surface, his thick fur damp from the ocean spray and his wide tail sending out ripples with each lazy stroke. On a nearby canoe, two figures stood fishing—Sokka and Katara. They spotted the approaching creature quickly and tensed.

Their village had been attacked not long ago, now a scorched shadow of what it once was. Strangers were a risk. Sokka’s hand went to his boomerang out of instinct, though he had no clue how he’d use it on a canoe. Katara touched his arm.

“Wait,” she whispered, eyes narrowing. “They’re… kids.”

Appa floated closer, revealing a group of children on his back. At the front, a teenage boy stood—older than the others, his expression wary, a faded scar curving over one eye.

“Hi,” the boy said, raising a hand in a stiff, uncertain wave. “We’re not here to cause trouble.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

The teenager hesitated, then answered with quiet resolve. “My name’s Zuko. We escaped from the Southern Air Temple. The Fire Nation attacked. We barely made it out alive.”

“Air Temple?” Sokka echoed, blinking.

Katara’s breath caught as her gaze landed on Aang. “You’re airbenders?”

“Just me! The others are too young!” Aang chirped, swinging a leg playfully over Appa’s saddle. “Hi, I’m Aang. This is Appa. He can fly… and float! Mostly float right now. He’s very buoyant!”

Zuko gave a short nod. “I’m not an airbender. I was at the temple when the attack came. I helped… as many as I could.”

Something in his tone—guilt, weariness, sincerity—softened the tension in the air. Sokka and Katara shared a glance, one forged from mutual understanding. They, too, knew what it was like to lose everything in a blaze of fire.

“We’ll take you to our village,” Sokka said, though his voice was tight.

“What’s left of it,” Katara added, eyes shadowed with sorrow.

“Why don’t you come up?” Aang offered cheerfully. “Appa can push your canoe! He’s basically a sky bison ferry service!”

Katara smiled and climbed aboard without hesitation. Sokka grumbled about “giant soggy animals,” but joined them anyway.

As the silence threatened to stretch too long, Aang jumped in—his voice bubbling with warmth.

“I always thought my brother was cool,” he began, nudging Zuko with an elbow. “But this place? This is a whole new level of cool. Like, I might actually turn into a snowman.”

Katara laughed quietly. Even Sokka cracked a reluctant grin.

But when they reached the village’s shore, Zuko’s smile faded fast. He stared at the ruins—burned huts, scattered remnants of lives once lived.

‘The Fire Nation did this,’ he thought, a bitter knot forming in his chest. And no matter how far he ran, it followed.

Once they reached the charred remains of the Southern Water Tribe village, the arrival of the flying bison stirred everyone from their homes. Doors creaked open, and weather-worn faces peeked out, suspicion quickly giving way to stunned curiosity at the sight of Appa.

The creature settled onto the snowy ground with a huff, his tail swaying as children slid off his back. Within seconds, the village women surged forward, maternal instincts ignited by the sight of tired, thin faces and oversized clothing. They didn’t need to ask where the children had come from—they’d seen the Fire Nation’s handiwork. They recognized the look in the little ones’ eyes. Trauma knew no nation.

Wool blankets, warm furs, and gently scolding voices wrapped around the children like a second skin. The kids didn’t resist. They sat dazed, letting themselves be fussed over, some quietly mumbling about flying animals and far-off temples while others clung to the hands that offered warmth.

But Katara’s attention was fixed elsewhere.

Her blue eyes followed the two older boys—one in orange Air Nomad robes, the other in nondescript red and black clothes. Something about the second boy made her uneasy. His posture was rigid, watchful, like someone expecting a fight. And his face, though calm, carried something dark in its shadow—a burn, a scar, a story untold.

Katara leaned toward her brother. “Sokka,” she whispered, “the younger one—he’s definitely an Air Nomad. But the other… he’s Fire Nation.”

Sokka’s jaw clenched. “So… not friendly?”

Katara hesitated, watching the way Zuko stood back, letting the others be cared for first. Not barking orders. Not claiming command. Just… quietly making sure everyone was safe.

“He’s the one who helped them escape,” she murmured. “Aang said they’re brothers. Besides… if he were Fire Nation military, he wouldn’t be protecting airbender children. He wouldn’t be here.”

Sokka gave her a look like you’d be surprised, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gripped his boomerang and walked straight toward Zuko with the fearless bluntness only he could manage.

“You’re Fire Nation?”

Zuko froze. For a second, the question didn’t even register. His eyes darted toward the kids being bundled in fur and then back to the wary, broad-shouldered teen with the weapon. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Before the silence could stretch too long, Aang practically leapt between them.

“Our mother is!” he blurted out cheerfully, throwing an arm around Zuko’s waist. “Well, was. We don’t really know where she is right now, but she was Fire Nation, and dad was an Air Nomad, and—well, I guess that makes me half-and-half, which might explain why I talk so much and why Zuko always looks like he’s regretting life choices!”

Zuko groaned quietly.

Chapter Text

Aang pressed on. “But hey! People are people, right? Not all Fire Nation folks are bad. Like, yeah, some of them did try to blow us up, and I’m pretty sure they burned down at least three temples and maybe a couple forests—but! That’s not Zuko. He literally saved me and a bunch of other kids from that kind of Fire Nation. Like… the bad kind. He’s the good kind. A bit grumpy, but good!”

Katara blinked, fighting a smile.

Sokka raised a brow. “You talk a lot.”

“I’m nervous!” Aang replied brightly. “Also, I haven’t had sugar in three days. Or maybe I had too much fruit. Either way, I’m buzzing.”

Zuko crossed his arms and muttered, “He’s always like this.”

Aang gave him a thumbs-up. “That’s brother-speak for ‘I love him but he drives me insane.’”

Sokka stared at them a moment longer, then glanced back at the children now huddled near a fire, steam rising from hot bowls of stew handed to them by villagers. Something unspoken passed in his eyes—grudging understanding, maybe even a little admiration.

“Alright,” he said at last. “You’re not not weird. But you’re probably not the enemy.”

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever heard you give,” Katara quipped.

As the tension eased, the trio turned back toward the center of the village. Appa snorted behind them, flopping into the snow with a heavy thump.

The war still raged beyond the icy sea, but in this small corner of the world, for one quiet moment, warmth had returned.

Later that afternoon, while the adults continued discussing repairs, food shortages, and how to reinforce what was left of the village, Katara spotted Aang standing nearby, tossing a snowball into the air with his staff.

“Hey, Aang!” she called, waving him over to the snowy cliffs that overlooked the sea. Her eyes sparkled with something that could only be described as mischievous joy. “Want to try something fun?”

Before he could reply, a familiar honking chorus echoed across the snow as a herd of penguins waddled into view, flapping their stubby flippers and slipping around playfully.

Katara grinned. “Penguin sled race! I’ll show you how to do it.”

Aang gasped in delight. “Yes! Yes, absolutely, yes!” He turned to look over his shoulder. “Zuko! Come on!”

Zuko stood farther back, arms folded tightly, as if holding himself together. He shook his head quickly. “No thanks. I’ll go… write a letter to Uncle. Let him know we arrived safely.”

“Write a letter?” Sokka echoed, brows furrowing as he approached, clearly suspicious. “How? And who’s your uncle? Military?” His eyes narrowed slightly.

Zuko sighed. The tension in his shoulders gave away how used he was to that question.

“No. He was a general… once. But not like the others. He’s retired.”

Before Sokka could press further, Zuko let out a short, sharp whistle. A moment later, a fire nation hawk swooped down gracefully through the pale sky and landed on Zuko’s gloved arm with a practiced ease.

“Kai!” Aang cried in delight.

Several of the younger children squealed and ran over, crowding around Zuko and the hawk, reaching up to pet the poor creature. Kai looked halfway between resigned and terrified, one eye twitching as a small hand tried to feed him a snowball. A few of his feathers were clearly missing, but he nuzzled into Zuko’s arm with loyalty nonetheless.

“Whoa,” Sokka muttered, stepping in to scatter the kids. “Go on! Go back to the penguins before you traumatize the bird.”

He leaned closer to get a better look, his curiosity piqued. “Okay, fine, that’s actually pretty cool. Did you train him yourself? Can he attack? What happens if you whistle twice? Does he deliver snacks? Do you think he could carry me?”

Zuko blinked. “...No.”

Unbothered, Sokka grinned and clapped him on the back. “C’mon, Fire Guy. Leave the kids to Katara. You’ve got to tell me everything about your bird. And your uncle. And also how you don’t freeze wearing that thin robe.”

Zuko cast a helpless glance toward the hills where Aang was mounting a penguin, yelling something about steering with your heart. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this…” he muttered as Sokka practically dragged him back toward the village, still firing off questions at rapid-fire pace.

Down by the snowy ridges, Aang clutched his penguin’s flippers and took off down the slope with a wild whoop, wind whipping through his robes. One of the younger children shrieked as their own penguin veered off-course and launched them into a snowbank. Another slid right past Aang, arms thrown wide like they could fly.

Katara laughed as she helped one of the kids up. The sight warmed her heart more than any fur blanket ever could. They had seen so much pain—yet here, now, they were laughing. Smiling. Acting like kids again.

When the chill in the wind picked up and little noses turned redder than their cheeks, Katara gathered them all back toward the village.

“You go on ahead,” she told Aang as she handed off the last child to an older woman. “I want to train a little before sunset. It helps me think.”

Aang perked up. “Can I watch?”

She nodded, and the two of them headed toward the small inlet where sea met snow and water bending came alive.

Katara stood at the water’s edge, eyes closed as she moved through familiar forms—graceful, fluid, like a dance. Aang watched in awe, his eyes widening as the water followed her movements in smooth, elegant arcs.

“You’re a waterbender!” Aang exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder and excitement. “That’s amazing—you can teach me!”

Katara turned to him, startled. “Teach you?” she echoed, caught off guard. “Wait… why would I—?”

“Because I’m the Avatar!” Aang said, practically bouncing in place. “I need to master all four elements—and you’re the first waterbender I’ve seen!”

Her expression shifted, something flickering behind her eyes. “I’m not really… I mean, I barely know anything. I never really felt the need to rush and learn,” she said, her voice quieting. “When the war started, they took the others. Anyone who could bend was marked. Some tried to fight, but…” She paused, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Most were captured. Some didn’t make it. I was the only one left in my village who could bend at all. I had to hide it.”

Aang’s smile faded. His excitement melted into a soft, heavy sorrow. “That’s awful…” he said. “I didn’t know.”

Katara looked away, her arms crossed tightly. “No one’s supposed to. It’s safer that way.”

Aang stood silently for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. “You shouldn’t have to hide what you are,” he said at last, gently.

Before she could answer, something half-buried in the snow caught his attention—a rusted Fire Nation ship, leaning at a crooked angle near the frozen shoreline. Its hull was caked in ice, and scorch marks still clung to its plating like old bruises. Aang tilted his head.

“What’s that?” he asked, already walking toward it, curiosity flickering to life once more.

Katara squinted in the direction he pointed. There, jutting from the frozen horizon like the spine of some long-dead beast, was the rusted hull of a massive Fire Nation ship. Its once-imposing frame was now half-buried beneath layers of snow and ice, its metal flanks scarred and blackened by time and weather. The red insignia on the side—thorn but unmistakable—peeked out like a warning still whispering from the past.

They approached cautiously. Aang’s enthusiasm was tempered by the solemn weight that seemed to hang in the air around the wreck. The snow crunched under their boots, and the frigid wind moaned through the broken metal, as though the ship itself remembered war.

Katara placed a hand on Aang’s shoulder to slow him. “Careful. This was a Fire Nation vessel. It might still be dangerous.”

But Aang shook her off gently, curiosity pushing him forward. They stepped aboard the derelict hulk, the ice groaning beneath their feet as if protesting their presence.

Inside, the ship felt colder than the snow-covered world outside. The metal absorbed the chill and radiated it back in sharp, biting waves. Their breath fogged in the air, hanging like ghosts in the dark. Frost clung to every surface, spider-webbing across control panels, consoles, and shattered windows. Long-forgotten scorch marks crawled up the corridors, and shattered lanterns lay frozen where they’d fallen. The silence was suffocating—less the stillness of abandonment, more the kind that follows violence.

They moved slowly through the narrow hallways, the clinks of their footsteps echoing too loudly against the iron floor. Burned-out light fixtures hung loose from the ceiling. A collapsed doorway forced them to duck under bent support beams, and rusted pipes groaned under unseen pressure. Occasionally, Aang would pause to peer at an emblem or diagram, trying to make sense of the foreign technology.

Katara stayed close, her eyes constantly darting toward the exits. “I don’t like this,” she whispered. “It feels… wrong.”

Aang nodded but didn’t stop. “I just want to see how it worked,” he murmured.

He paused at what looked like a control panel near the bridge. His fingers, slightly trembling from the cold, hovered above a cluster of switches. “I wonder if—”

Click.

A red flare shot out of the ship’s long-dead communication tower, streaking through the sky with a loud hiss.

They both froze.

“No,” Katara whispered. “No, no, no!”

Outside, the flare hung like a red eye in the sky—burning, visible for miles, a beacon no Fire Nation scout would miss.

Chapter Text

When Aang and Katara returned to the village, they were immediately met with the unimpressed, crossed-arm glares of their older brothers.

Sokka stomped toward them first, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “What were you thinking?!”

Zuko, right beside him, scowled just as fiercely. “Do you ever stop to consider consequences before touching things?!”

Aang blinked, caught mid-step. “Uhh…”

Sokka and Zuko started scolding in unison:

“You don’t just poke glowing buttons in an enemy ship—”
“—especially Fire Nation tech, you have no idea how dangerous that was—”
“—it could’ve exploded, or worse—”
“—you broadcasted our location to the entire southern ocean!”

Katara tried to interrupt. “We didn’t mean—”

“Intent doesn’t matter if we’re all captured!” Zuko snapped, more shaken than angry.

“I was just curious!” Aang defended, hands up. “It’s not like it had a sign! I thought it might open a secret room, or trigger a memory, or—look, it’s just bad design! Someone should really rethink the layout of Fire Nation ships!”

Zuko rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered something about how no one redesigns military vessels based on curiosity-driven monks.

Sokka pointed at Aang. “From now on, if something looks dangerous, you don’t touch it.”

Aang frowned, arms crossed. “What if it’s dangerous and shiny?”

“Especially if it’s shiny!” Zuko and Sokka said in unison.

That evening, the village was restless.

Smoke curled on the horizon—sharp, black, unmistakably Fire Nation. A ship was approaching.

Panic rippled through the settlement like an avalanche. Mothers clutched their children tighter, elders barked orders, and half-frozen weapons were pulled from sheds buried in snow.

Zuko and Sokka stood apart from the fray, facing the icy ocean with grim expressions.

Zuko turned to Aang and stepped closer, grasping his shoulders. His grip was firm, urgent.

“I’m Fire Nation,” he began quietly.

Aang blinked. “…Why do I feel like I won’t like what you’re about to say?”

Zuko took a breath. “I’ll tell them I was stranded. That I lit the flare hoping a patrol would rescue me. I’ll go out there alone.”

Aang’s eyes widened. “What?! No! Zuko, I—look, I have a much better idea—okay, not better better, but, like, not worse.”

Zuko groaned. “Aang…”

“No no, listen—what if I fly to the ship?” Aang said, growing animated. “I mean, I’m the Avatar, right? I go up, introduce myself all formal, maybe strike a cool pose or two—and bam!—instant negotiation power! I could offer myself in exchange and then—”

“Wait - You’re the avatar?!” Sokka shouted, but was completely ignored by the pair of siblings.

“Absolutely not,” Zuko interrupted flatly.

Sokka threw his hands up. “Have you met the Fire Nation military?! They don’t negotiate with ten-year-olds, even if they’re bald and glowy!”

Aang puffed his cheeks. “Hey! That’s ageism and glowy-ism!”

Katara placed a calming hand on Aang’s arm. “We can’t lose you.”

“But we can lose Zuko?” Aang said, his voice cracking a little. “That’s not fair.”

Zuko glanced toward the women bundling the youngest children into sleds and hiding whatever meagre supplies they had. His face hardened.

“They’ll take me,” he said. “A lone Fire Nation citizen, loyal and looking for rescue? It’s exactly what they expect to find. They’ll report it, take me aboard, and leave.”

“Or throw you in chains,” Sokka muttered.

“Maybe,” Zuko replied. “But it’s the only chance we have to protect everyone in the village.”

Sokka studied him. Then, with a reluctant nod, he said, “Fine. But I’m not letting this kid do anything dumb while you’re gone.”

“Hey!” Aang protested.

Sokka grabbed the back of his robes and began dragging him away. “You lit the flare, baldy. That’s already strike one.”

“I still think I could’ve pulled off a heroic negotiation,” Aang huffed as he was hauled back toward the huts. “Maybe worn a dramatic cloak. Or we can ask Kai to deliver a message first. Ooh! Or—”

“Shhh,” Sokka deadpanned. “Let the adults handle this.”

Zuko walked alone across the frozen dock, the wind biting at his face. Behind him, the village held its breath.

The ship drew closer, cutting through the ice like a blade.

Then, as it came into view, Zuko stopped.

His shoulders relaxed just slightly. His breath fogged in the air.

There, at the front of the ship, stood a man with a large belly and an even larger teapot. Familiar. Unmistakable.

“Uncle,” Zuko breathed, half in disbelief, half in relief.

The ship docked quietly at the icy shore, its hull settling firmly against the frozen pier. From the deck, Iroh stepped down first, his calm presence immediately grounding the tense air. Zuko’s eyes flicked to where he expected to see Lu Ten close behind his uncle—but instead, a group of Air Nomads appeared, gliding gracefully down the gangplank behind Iroh.

Zuko blinked, surprised. “Uncle Iroh… it’s good to see you.” His voice was low but steady. “But… the others—”

Iroh gave a small smile, his eyes twinkling with warmth despite the hardship etched in his face. “These are some of the Air Nomads who got separated during the war. They managed to escape using their gliders. We found them along the way.”

At the sight of the Air Nomad children and young adults stepping onto the shore, the village children’s faces lit up instantly. Whispered excitement spread like wildfire. Some ran forward, their steps eager, others simply stared with wide eyes, a mixture of hope and disbelief shining through.

Aang stepped forward hesitantly, clutching Zuko’s sleeve. His bright eyes scanned the newcomers nervously, but as Iroh’s gaze met his, there was something reassuring there—an unspoken kindness that eased the tightness in Aang’s chest.

Zuko cleared his throat, stepping up beside his uncle. “Aang, this is Uncle Iroh,” he said gently. “And that,” he nodded toward a young man who had just approached with a cautious smile, “is Lu Ten.”

Lu Ten gave a small, reserved nod, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So, you must be the famous Aang I’ve heard about,” he said quietly. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Aang’s usual bubbly nature bubbled over, words spilling out in a nervous but excited rush. “I’ve heard about you, too! You’re a great firebender, right? And… and Uncle Iroh, I’ve always wanted to try your tea! Is it really as good as they say?”

Iroh chuckled softly. “Perhaps I shall prepare some for you all soon. But first, we must make sure you’re safe and fed.”

Lu Ten crouched slightly to address the gathered children, his tone steady but kind. “These Air Nomads here were separated from their groups during the war. They managed to escape on their gliders and found safety here.” He glanced around at the hopeful faces. “This means that those who fled are somewhere out there, safe.”

The villagers exchanged relieved looks, a new lightness in the air.

Iroh and Lu Ten began unloading crates of food and supplies from the ship, sharing what they had brought as thanks for the village’s hospitality and care of their nephew and cousin.

Later, as the evening grew quiet, the adults gathered to discuss what to do next.

Katara’s grandmother spoke with steady conviction. “Aang must learn to master all four elements. Only then will he stand a chance to bring balance.”

Iroh nodded thoughtfully. “The North Pole is our best option. It is home to many benders and the resistance is stronger there. The South was full of warriors, that’s why they suffered such a defeat at the hands of fire benders. It will be safer.”

Lu Ten stood nearby, running a hand over the ship’s mast. With a small smirk, he said, “I’ll be continuing on alone from here. Time to take down the Fire Nation flag.” He pulled the banner free and folded it carefully. “And if anyone questions me, I’ll just say that I was promised the freedom to travel. Can’t do much of that anymore with other nations attacking my ship thinking they’re being invaded. If they don’t like it I’ll just threaten to march right back to the palace and remind them I never really stepped down. Let’s see who dares stop me.” His playful, spoiled-prince tone softened the tension, but the truth was clear—he was free to travel, unbound by courtly obligations.

Iroh smiled and placed a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “I’ll be coming with you. You’ll need someone who knows the way—and while you did a great job at leading everyone here Zuko, I still remember reading quite a few letters of you complaining of getting lost again.” The hint of a teasing grin lifted his weathered face.

Zuko rolled his eyes but the smile tugging at his lips was genuine.

With the plans made and hope rekindled, the group prepared to set out toward the North Pole—where the next chapter of their journey would begin.

The next morning broke cold and clear, sunlight glinting off the icy cliffs and turning the snow into scattered mirrors. The village stirred early—goodbyes were hard, and no one wanted to rush them.

Down by the pier, Lu Ten stood beside the ship, his heavy cloak draped over one shoulder as he gave orders to the small remaining crew. Most of the Air Nomads had chosen to stay in the village, but the ship was still ready for its next leg.

Zuko approached him first, bundled in thick winter layers, with Aang just behind and Iroh strolling at a slower pace.

“You sure you want to do this alone?” Zuko asked, his breath visible in the cold.

Lu Ten smirked. “What, worried about me?”

Zuko didn’t answer immediately, then muttered, “A little.”

That earned a real laugh. Lu Ten pulled Zuko into a brief but solid hug. “Take care of yourself, cousin. And listen to my father, will you?”

Zuko grumbled but nodded.

Aang stepped forward next, awkwardly holding his glider like a walking stick. “It was really good meeting you, Lu Ten. Thanks for bringing the others.”

Lu Ten offered a smaller smile this time, resting a hand briefly on Aang’s shoulder. “Take care of them. And learn fast, Avatar. You’ve got a lot of people counting on you.”

“I will,” Aang promised, his voice soft but firm.

Iroh joined them then, carrying a small satchel of tea leaves and a flask. “I packed you something for the journey,” he told Lu Ten, handing it over. “And some extra for anyone you might meet along the way. A shared cup can do wonders.”

Lu Ten took it with a mock bow. “You’ll have me addicted to jasmine yet.”

“You already are,” Iroh replied with a wink.

Sokka and Katara arrived soon after, their own gear slung over shoulders. Katara gave Lu Ten a polite nod. “Safe travels. And… thank you.”

“Of course.” Lu Ten gave a slight bow, and then turned toward the ship’s plank.

He paused only once more at the mast, where the Fire Nation flag had been folded and packed away the night before. In its place was nothing—just bare wood and ropes. Lu Ten looked up at it briefly, then stepped aboard without another word. His crew already awaiting for his instructions.

As the ship eased away from the pier, Katara turned to glance at Aang, who was still staring out at the shrinking silhouette of Lu Ten’s ship.

“You okay?”

Aang nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking. That even when you’re going different directions… you can still be part of something together.”

Katara gave a quiet smile. “That’s kind of beautiful.”

Behind them, Iroh clapped his hands. “Alright, everyone. Northward, yes? If we time this right, we may just make it before the deep snow sets in.”

“You say that like you’ve seen our track record,” Sokka muttered.

“I have,” Iroh said cheerfully.

Zuko sighed, adjusting his pack. “Let’s just get moving before I change my mind about this whole group travel thing.”

As they turned northward, Aang took one last look back—then tightened his grip on his glider and stepped forward, falling in stride beside Katara.

The journey to the North Pole had begun.

Chapter Text

I’m also posting this work on Royal Road, where I’m publishing an original novel as well. Over there, each new story requires a cover image, so I created one using AI to avoid any copyright infringement. Since I’m proud of how it turned out, I thought I’d share it with you all here too. Hope you like it!

Here’s the image:

Here's a clean version of this image in case you also liked it would like to use it:

Chapter Text

The wind rippled through Appa’s shaggy fur as he soared above a vast stretch of snowy plains. The late afternoon sun hung low, casting long, soft shadows that stretched behind the small group of four huddled on his broad saddle. The cold air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of pine and frost.

Aang sat cross-legged near the front, arms spread wide, letting the rushing wind slip between his fingers like liquid freedom. “It’s so weird flying without a flock of lemurs chasing us,” he said with a grin, his voice light despite the cold. “Or Zuko screaming that we’re lost.”

Zuko groaned beside him, arms folded tightly across his chest, his brows knitting in mild irritation. “We weren’t lost. I just didn’t know the canyon looped back into itself.”

“You circled it three times,” Aang teased, a playful sparkle in his eyes.

“Because my hawk—” Zuko gestured toward the skies, where Kai glided ahead in a steady arc, alert and proud. “—was supposed to be leading us. Instead, he got distracted by a squirrel.”

“I think the squirrel won that chase,” Sokka muttered, fishing a piece of jerky from his pouch with a smirk. “Just saying.”

Katara shook her head with a soft laugh, trying to smooth over the teasing tension. “Can we not blame the animals for your navigation issues?”

For a moment, the group relaxed, laughter rising and fading into the cold wind. But the quiet came again quickly—the kind of silence that gathers between strangers who are slowly learning to become something more. Something like family.

Sokka was the first to break the silence once more. “I’m fifteen,” he said simply, then gestured toward his sister. “Katara’s fourteen.”

Aang tilted his head, curious. “Wait—Zuko, you’re fifteen too, right?”

Zuko gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

“I thought firebenders matured faster. You yell like you’re thirty,” Sokka said with a wide grin.

“Do you want to walk to the North Pole?” Zuko shot back sharply.

Iroh chuckled softly from the back, his eyes half-closed and warm. “A group bound for war and already at each other’s throats. Promising.”

Katara looked out across the sky, her voice growing quieter, heavier. “Our village was attacked a few months ago. The Fire Nation came without warning. All our benders… were killed, or captured.” She swallowed hard. “Including our mother.”

Sokka’s hands clenched tightly in his lap, his face hardening. “The warriors who survived split up. Some went north to warn the main tribe and get their help to save our captured benders. Others went to find help from Earth Kingdom settlements—supplies, food, medicine. We never heard back.”

Aang’s smile faded, his fingers tightening around the edge of his robe. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose a home.”

Zuko looked down, guilt pressing heavily in his eyes. “It shouldn't have happened. None of it. I—” He hesitated, voice low. “My nation did this.”

Iroh’s face was calm but unreadable. “We were all blind, once. But now we walk forward with open eyes.”

The silence stretched long after that.

Suddenly, Aang bounced upright again, forcing a grin onto his face. “You know, when Zuko and I ran from the temple, he kept pretending we were totally on track. Even when we ended up in a Fire Nation naval camp.”

“That happened once,” Zuko hissed defensively.

“Twice,” Aang corrected with a cheeky smile.

Zuko threw up his hands in exasperation. “You were the one who suggested we borrow their canoes.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” Aang laughed.

Sokka nearly choked on his jerky, laughter bubbling out uncontrollably. Even Katara smiled again, warmth returning to her eyes.

Katara’s voice turned thoughtful. “Do you know much about the past Avatars, Aang?”

“A bit,” Aang said softly. “My mom used to tell me stories about Great-grandfather Roku. And Tashi knew all the old tales—especially about Kyoshi and Kuruk.”

“Wait—Roku?” Sokka blinked, surprised. “As in the Fire Avatar Roku?”

Aang nodded casually. “Yeah. He was mine and Zuko’s great-grandfather.”

Both Water Tribe siblings turned toward Zuko, eyes wide.

Katara’s eyebrows lifted in wonder. “That’s… incredible. I had no idea.”

Zuko looked away, visibly uncomfortable. “He died when I was four. I barely remember him. Just that he always smelled like fire lilies, and liked warm persimmons.”

Sokka leaned back, arms crossed with a grin. “Must be nice. My great-grandfather was a fisherman who fell asleep on his boat and floated to Fire Nation waters. He got sunburned and arrested.”

Aang tried not to laugh aloud.

Iroh smiled knowingly. “Every family has its legends.”

“Kuruk was also kind of a disaster,” Sokka pointed out with a mischievous grin.

“Still an Avatar,” Aang said with a shrug. “Guess we’re all disasters.”

“But once you master the other elements,” Katara said, her voice firm but kind, “you’ll be able to do more than just survive. You’ll be able to protect people.”

Zuko’s face twisted, his voice sharp. “He’s ten years old.”

Katara blinked, taken aback. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“You’re already laying the whole world on his shoulders.”

“He’s the Avatar!” Sokka said, defensive and quick. “We’re all relying on him!”

“Well maybe you should stop,” Zuko snapped back.

Aang looked between them, his smile completely gone now. His legs pulled up tightly against his chest, the weight of the world pressing down on his small frame.

Iroh raised one hand calmly, the calm in his voice cutting through the tension. “The lotus blooms in still water, not in storms.”

Everyone turned to him, drawn to his quiet wisdom.

He added softly, “Perhaps we can argue less and save our energy. It is a long flight—and tempers burn more fuel than firebending.”

Sokka grumbled, “Pretty sure I’m the one running low on fuel.”

Iroh smiled gently. “Then perhaps when we land, I shall prepare tea. If we have leaves.”

“Leaves?” Sokka blinked, surprised. “We’re flying over tundra.”

Iroh closed his eyes with a small, playful smile. “Then I shall improvise.”

Night settled gently across the sky as Appa glided over the tundra, the stars twinkling like distant embers against the dark canvas. The winds had softened, and the only sounds were the rhythmic beat of Appa’s tail and the soft snoring of Sokka, curled under his cloak like a hibernating badgermole.

Aang wasn’t sleeping.

He had curled up tightly between the others, head tucked against his knees, eyes shut, but restless. Dreams clawed at the edges of his mind like smoke from an old fire that never quite went out.

The dream came in jagged flashes.

Flames crawling up the walls of the Air Temple. Wind swirling in panic. Tashi standing tall at the gates, staff in hand, shouting over the roar of battle. And behind him—other airbenders falling. Warriors, monks, even the elder children.

He wanted to run toward them, but his feet felt rooted, unable to move.

“You left us,” Tashi’s voice said, but it was strange—hollow, angry. “You ran.”

More voices joined, familiar and condemning.

“You were supposed to be the Avatar.”

“You were supposed to protect us.”

“You were too weak.”

“You let us die.”

Aang screamed.

He jolted upright, gasping for air, eyes wide with panic. His chest rose and fell too fast, as if he were still trapped in the temple fire.

From across the saddle, Zuko stirred. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, frowning. “Aang?”

Aang didn’t answer, only wrapped his arms tighter around himself.

Zuko sat up and reached over, placing a hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder. “Come on.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He gently pulled Aang forward and climbed toward Appa’s head, gesturing for him to follow.

The wind up front was sharper, colder—but quieter, somehow. Zuko settled onto the sky bison’s head, leaning against one of the reins. Aang sat beside him, still hugging his knees.

They didn’t speak at first. The silence stretched long between them.

Finally, Aang whispered, “I know they’re not trying to hurt me,” he said softly. “They’ve lost a lot too. They’re scared. Everyone is.”

Zuko looked away, jaw still tight.

“Thanks for being mad for me,” Aang added after a beat. “But you don’t have to fight everyone.”

Zuko finally sighed and sat down again beside him. For a while, neither of them said anything. Then Aang leaned his head lightly against Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko stiffened for a moment, then let out a long breath.

Chapter Text

“Just… don’t believe what you see in dreams. They're not always right.”

“They felt real.”

“They’re not.”

Aang hugged his knees tighter. “The worst part is… I was close to being a Master. The youngest the Temple ever had. But when it came to a real fight… I ran. While others stayed behind.”

“There’s a difference between being a gifted kid and a full-fledged adult,” Zuko said quietly. “No one expected you to defend the Temple by yourself.”

Aang didn’t look up. “Still feels like I failed.”

Zuko glanced away, his voice low. “If we’re counting failures, I’m at the top of the list.”

“Don’t say that,” Aang said gently.

Zuko hesitated. “Do you know how I got the scar? Why I ended up at the Air Temple in the first place?”

Aang frowned. “Your father hurt you, and Uncle Iroh took you away?”

“Not exactly,” Zuko said with a dry chuckle. “I was invited to a meeting. I thought it’d be about taxes or education—something boring. But instead, the room was full of generals and high-ranking officials.” He took a slow breath. “My father started talking about how the world had forgotten the Fire Nation’s 'greatness.’ He spun lies about how we were being disrespected and mistreated by other nations, and how we had to remind the world who we are.”

Aang’s eyes widened.

“I disagreed,” Zuko continued. “One of the generals made it worse, adding more fuel to the flame—exaggerations, paranoia. I called him out. Spoke against him. And instead of defending himself, he stayed quiet. My father stood up and told me to defend my opinions—with an Agni Kai—a fire duel for honour and respect,” he said bitterly. “I didn’t realize until I was in the arena that it was my father I’d be facing, not the general. And I… I couldn’t fight him. So he gave me this,” he said, motioning to his face. “Then he banished me. Said if I wanted forgiveness or to prove I was worth anything, I should go find the Avatar.”

“You didn’t even know it was me,” Aang said quietly.

Zuko shook his head. “All I really knew about the Avatar was that the last one was my great-grandfather—and that the next was supposed to be born among the Air Nomads after his death. That’s it. I just… followed Uncle. He and Lu Ten were the only family I had left who cared. The only one who were kind.”

Aang nodded slowly. “Didn’t Mom mention… we have a sister? Azula?”

Zuko groaned softly. “Don’t get me started. If I had to pick one word for her—volatile. Or maybe ‘nightmare’ is more accurate. She’s… brilliant. But cruel. She manipulates people for fun. And if my father really has put a bounty on your head, and she finds out… she won’t care that we share blood. She’ll try to kill you.”

Aang went quiet, gaze dropping to his feet. “That’s really sad,” he said softly. “To think… someone who’s supposed to be our sister would want to hurt me just for being who I am.”

He paused, voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know… maybe if I met her, and she saw that I’m not a threat… maybe she’d understand. Maybe she’d remember that we’re family.”

Zuko didn’t respond right away. He just watched the horizon, the wind tugging at his hair. Then, finally, he said, “We can only hope.”

They didn’t speak after that. But Aang didn’t move away either. He stayed beside Zuko, close and quiet, as Appa glided silently through the night sky.

The wind carried them through the night.

The sky was pale with morning when Aang sat up, legs crossed in the saddle. He hadn’t slept after the nightmare. Not really.

Appa glided low, the wind soft and still. Below them, frozen rivers carved pale scars through the snow-covered landscape.

Zuko stirred awake first. One look at Aang’s expression was enough to put him on edge.

“You’re thinking something,” Zuko said warily.

Aang nodded, quiet but firm. “I want to go back. To the Southern Air Temple.”

Zuko blinked. “Why?”

“I need to see it. For real. Not in a dream, not through smoke and memory. I need to know what happened. I need to see it all for myself.”

Zuko’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked away.

Katara sat up next, rubbing her eyes. “Go back? Why?”

Aang didn’t look at her. “To look for survivors. There might be someone still hiding. Some of the kids, maybe. Some of the monks.”

Zuko exhaled through his nose, his tone restrained. “Aang…”

“I have to,” Aang said, eyes flashing. “Even if it’s just ruins. I need to face it.”

Zuko hesitated. He wanted to say it. To tell Aang there wouldn’t be anyone left. That the place was probably empty, broken, long since burned out.

But he couldn’t say it. Not to Aang’s face. Not with that look in his eyes.

So Sokka did.

“There’s probably no one left,” he said bluntly, stretching his arms. “I mean… we all saw what the Fire Nation did. That temple was a target.”

Zuko turned on him instantly. “You just had to say it, didn’t you?”

“I’m being realistic!” Sokka snapped back. “Somebody needs to be!”

Aang shrank back slightly as their voices rose.

“Realistic doesn’t mean being heartless!”

“And pretending everything’s fine doesn’t make it true!”

“That’s not what I’m doing—!”

“Enough.”

Iroh’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the air like steel.

The group fell silent as the elder man looked up from his seat at the back, his gaze resting on Aang, but flicking briefly toward Zuko.

“You’ve already made up your mind,” Iroh said gently. “Haven’t you?”

Aang gave a small nod. “Yeah. I’m going.”

Iroh smiled faintly, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Then it’s settled.”

Zuko scowled. “Uncle—”

Iroh raised a hand, not to silence, but to explain. “He’ll go either way. It’s something both of you share. Once your mind is made up… with or without permission, you’ll do it.” He chuckled softly. “Makes me wonder if you both got that trait from your mother—or if you simply passed it between you two like a secret.”

Zuko’s face flushed slightly, but he didn’t respond.

Iroh looked between the two brothers. “Either way, stubbornness can be dangerous when you’re alone. Better to be stubborn together.”

Zuko grumbled something under his breath, but after a beat, he sighed. “…Fine. We’ll go.”

Aang gave him a grateful smile, but Zuko didn’t return it. He just folded his arms and muttered something under his breath about how “this was still a bad idea.”

They flew in silence for a while, the wind tugging at their clothes and hair as Appa soared over endless stretches of white-capped mountains and deep valleys blanketed in mist. The world below grew increasingly remote—villages became sparse, then vanished entirely, replaced by jagged cliffs and winding rivers that shimmered like threads of glass beneath them.

The temperature dropped the higher they climbed. Zuko tugged his coat tighter, jaw set against the bite of the cold air. Aang, by contrast, leaned forward eagerly, eyes scanning the horizon with a mixture of anticipation and unease. His hands rested lightly on Appa’s fur, fingertips twitching with barely contained nervous energy.

And far in the distance, just barely visible on the horizon, the mountain spires of the Southern Air Temple rose from the mist—waiting.

The sun hung low as the group approached the Southern Air Temple. Sokka’s mind was clearly elsewhere, his eyes scanning the landscape not for signs of life but for game to hunt. His usual light-heartedness was tinged with a raw edge; survival had hardened him more than anyone cared to admit.

Zuko noticed, his patience thinning. “Sokka, this isn’t the time to treat this like a picnic.”

Sokka bristled. “I’m thinking ahead. We’ll need meat.”

Zuko snapped, shoving a bundle of dried fruit and vegetables toward him. “Here. Eat your ‘vegetables’ and save your hunting talk for later.”

Sokka caught the bundle but scowled, muttering under his breath as he shoved a piece into his mouth.

Aang’s heart beat faster as they neared the temple’s towering spires, carved into the mountain like ancient sentinels. His smile was bright despite the heavy silence around him. “Come on, I want to show you around.” He turned to Katara and Sokka, his voice eager. “This place… it’s beautiful. It was home to so many airbenders.”

Katara and Sokka followed quietly, watching the ruins with a mixture of awe and sorrow.

Aang’s gaze swept over the cracked stone walls and empty courtyards. His hope stirred. “Maybe some of them… maybe some of the monks are still here.”

Zuko and Iroh exchanged worried looks but kept their distance, letting Aang’s hope go unchallenged for now.

Iroh slowed to a stop as they reached the fractured entryway, the wind blowing softly through the scorched pillars. His gaze swept the temple grounds, unreadable.

“I think I’ll walk alone for a while,” he said quietly.

Zuko turned to him, frowning. “Why?”

“There are… memories here,” Iroh said, his voice distant. “And places I haven’t seen in many years. I’d like to revisit them while I can.”

Aang looked back, but said nothing. The elder’s presence somehow made the cracked temple feel steadier. If he needed space, they would give it.

“We’ll meet back in the sanctuary,” Zuko said, after a beat.

Iroh nodded with a faint smile. “Yes. I won’t be long.”

He turned and stepped off through one of the crumbling side paths, his figure disappearing slowly between the broken walls and overgrown stone.

They moved deeper into the temple, the silence pressing in around them, until suddenly, a small, fluttering shape caught Aang’s eye.

At first, he thought it was a trick of the light—then, a tiny flying lemur, delicate and wide-eyed, perched on a crumbled ledge.

Aang’s smile faltered. The creature was Momo.

The last survivor of the temple.

The others gathered silently behind him, the weight of emptiness settling in.

No other lemurs. No other humans.

Just that small creature, alone in the stillness.

Chapter Text

The lemur tilted its head at Aang, paws curling around a broken beam. Its large ears twitched as it cautiously edged closer, tail swishing in the cold air.

Aang’s hand reached out gently. “Hey there, little guy…”

But before he could get too close, a sharp cry split the air.

Kai.

The hawk dove from the sky in a blur of rust-red feathers, claws bared. The lemur shrieked and bolted.

“Wait—Kai, no!” Aang shouted, but the hawk had already locked onto the lemur.

The two creatures whirled through the air in a chaotic scuffle, feathers and fur flashing.

The lemur darted under a fallen archway, only for Kai to follow with an angry screech. Before it could strike again, a burst of flame shot between them.

Zuko stepped forward, his stance tense, one palm still hot with fire. “Enough.”

The lemur scrambled behind Zuko’s leg, trembling. Kai flapped in tight circles above, still agitated, until a sharp whistle from Aang called him off.

Zuko glanced down at the wide-eyed animal at his feet, and his mouth twitched. “He’s fast, I’ll give him that.”

Aang hurried over, kneeling beside the lemur. “You okay?” The lemur chattered in response, latching onto Aang’s shoulder with spindly limbs. “Momo,” he said softly. “I’m gonna call you Momo.”

The lemur blinked at him, then tucked its head into Aang’s neck.

The group continued deeper into the temple, the corridors thick with silence. But soon the signs became impossible to ignore.

Charred hallways stretched out before them, the stone blackened and pitted from fire. Statues had been toppled and shattered, their faces melted away. Some walls had crumbled entirely, the path forward littered with debris.

Scorch marks curved across the floor in claw-like shapes. Smoke still lingered in the cracks of the stone, even after all this time.

They passed what used to be a meditation chamber. The door had been torn from its hinges. Inside, the walls bore jagged lines of soot, and firebender graffiti marked the once-sacred murals: crude symbols of conquest scrawled over peaceful imagery.

Then they reached the sanctuary.

The great chamber was eerily quiet—too quiet. Dust danced in thin beams of light filtering down from the high windows, and the air felt heavy with a silence that had lasted far too long.

At the far end of the chamber, placed with unexpected care, lay a staff—broken cleanly in half, its wood splintered but worn smooth from years of use.

Aang stepped forward, his breath caught in his throat.

It was his father’s.

Laid beside it were fragments of ceremonial beads and a torn strip of orange-and-yellow robes, their colors still distinct. A child-sized airbender necklace, snapped in two, glinted softly in the dust.

But they weren’t the only remnants.

Scattered around the sanctuary, half-swept into corners or buried beneath fallen stone, were rusted pieces of red-and-black armor. A shattered helmet bearing the Fire Nation insignia. A scorched banner tangled in the bones of its bearer. The faint smell of old ash still clung to the walls, as if the fire had never fully gone out.

This had not been a simple slaughter—it had been a battle.

One that had left no true victors behind.

Aang’s fingers trembled as he lifted the staff. His breath caught.

“They tried to make a stand,” Katara said quietly, looking around at the ruined temple.

Zuko stood near a scorched wall, his hand brushing over a burned mural of the Four Elements. “They were surrounded.”

Aang said nothing. He couldn’t. The weight of the silence crashed down all at once.

He fell to his knees, gripping the broken staff. And then—

The wind shifted.

It started as a low hum, then a rumble, then a scream.

A cyclone of air burst outward from where Aang knelt. His eyes lit up, glowing white. The air howled around him, swirling into a storm that filled the entire chamber with blinding force.

“Aang—!” Katara cried, shielding her face as the winds grew wilder.

“Back!” Zuko shouted, pulling her and Sokka toward the entrance. Momo clung tightly to Aang’s shoulder, unmoving.

In the centre of the chaos, Aang floated upward, eyes blazing. And then he was somewhere else.

The temple around him faded, replaced by a ring of firelight.

Avatars stood in a wide circle—hundreds, maybe thousands, glowing with the quiet power of centuries. Their presence was vast, like the ocean and the sky.

From the centre stepped one.

Avatar Roku.

“Aang,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Your strength was never in power alone—but in heart. You feel deeply. That is your gift.”

Aang’s eyes brimmed with tears. “They’re gone. Everyone… they were my family.”

Roku placed a hand on his shoulder. “Some fell. But not all. And not in vain.”

The vision began to fade.

The winds slowed.

When Aang’s feet touched the floor again, he stumbled, still glowing faintly, chest heaving with the last of the storm.

Zuko stepped forward carefully. “Aang,” he said, voice steady. “You’re not alone. Not all the airbenders were here when the Fire Nation came. Some got away. Lu Ten is looking for them. We’ll find them. Together.”

Aang blinked at him. “How do you know that?”

Zuko met his eyes. “Because I refuse to believe this is all that’s left. And I think… you do too.”

Aang slowly nodded, his breath shuddering.

Zuko extended a hand.

Aang took it.

And somewhere behind them, the air in the ruined sanctuary grew a little lighter.

Just then, footsteps echoed softly through the chamber.

Iroh emerged from a side corridor, brushing dust from his sleeves. “There you all are,” he said, voice warm but tired. “I had a little detour.”

He stepped closer and carefully unwrapped a cloth bundle in his hands. Inside were two simple bracelets, woven from faded orange thread and small, polished beads carved into swirling patterns—airbender designs. They looked hand-crafted, worn by time, but still intact.

“I remembered something your mother once wrote to me,” Iroh said softly, “before the war reached the southern peaks. She told me that Tashi was preparing a gift for his children—a token to remind them that air moves freely, even when the winds are harsh.”

He held one bracelet out to Zuko. “He must have meant this for you and Aang.”

Zuko stared at the bracelet in silence, then took it slowly.

Aang’s gaze softened as he looked at the one Iroh still held. “Can I see?”

Iroh offered it without hesitation. Aang ran his fingers over the carved beads, his throat tight. “Tashi must’ve made these himself…”

“He did,” Iroh said gently. “And he left them in your old rooms, tucked into a little bowl by the window. I don’t think he ever gave up hope.”

Aang looked up at him, eyes brimming—but this time, not just with grief. Something steadier. Something like gratitude.

He tied the bracelet around his wrist.

Zuko, after a pause, did the same.

Iroh gave a small nod, and for a moment, silence settled among them—not heavy, but reverent. Full of what had been lost… and what still remained.

Then, softly, Katara said, “Let’s go.”

They turned toward the exit, Momo curling into Aang’s hood, Kai circling overhead.

The temple behind them stood scorched and broken, but no longer empty.

They walked in silence for a while, the late afternoon sun slanting through the crumbled archways, brushing the stone with soft gold.

Just before they reached the courtyard, Zuko paused.

“I’m going to head to my old room,” he said gruffly, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. “There’s something I want to take with me. It might take a little while.”

Aang nodded, giving him a small, understanding smile. “Take your time. I’ll go wait with Appa—introduce him to Momo properly.” He reached up to scratch behind Momo’s ear. “They haven’t really gotten to meet yet.”

“I think I’ll join you,” Iroh said cheerfully, clasping his hands behind his back. “I found a stash of dried tea leaves in the kitchen. Not the best blend, but it’ll do. A pot of tea while we wait sounds just right.”

Katara hesitated. “Would you mind if I looked around a little more?” she asked Aang, her voice quiet. “There’s still so much I haven’t seen.”

Aang smiled again. “Of course not.”

Sokka, who had looked half-asleep during the conversation, perked up immediately at the mention of the word kitchen.

“There’s a kitchen?” Sokka said, suddenly alert. “Okay, I’m in.”

Iroh chuckled, pleased by the enthusiasm. “Follow the western hallway until you see a mosaic of an airbender with a teapot. Turn right from there, and you’ll find a staircase that leads down into the cooking quarters.”

Sokka was already moving before Iroh finished. “Teapot mosaic, got it!” he called over his shoulder, sprinting off with surprising energy.

They shared a quiet laugh, the first since they’d entered the temple.

Katara smiled faintly and followed her brother as he jogged ahead, already imagining whatever snack he might cobble together.

Then, the group slowly dispersed—Zuko disappearing down a shadowed hallway, footsteps echoing faintly behind him; Iroh and Aang heading outside to the courtyard, the air lightening with the scent of distant jasmine; and somewhere, the echo of Sokka’s voice calling out excitedly from the kitchens.

And Aang, with Iroh beside him, stepped out into the open sky where Appa waited, the wind catching the edges of his robe as he breathed in the cool air.

The temple no longer felt like a grave.

It felt like something beginning.

Chapter Text

The sun dipped low over the Fire Nation outpost, casting long shadows across the wooden docks where Lu Ten’s ship had just anchored. The scent of salt and smoke mingled in the warm air as he stepped onto the weathered planks, the hull creaking softly behind him. His ship needed repairs, and the outpost was a convenient stop—though the weight of unwelcome eyes soon made his presence anything but peaceful.

From across the courtyard, a figure detached himself from the cluster of soldiers—a tall man with a cocky swagger and cold, calculating eyes. Commander Zhao. His lips curled into a mocking smile as he approached, his voice loud enough to draw a few nearby glances.

“Well, if it isn’t Prince Lu Ten,” Zhao sneered, folding his arms. “Docked here just to get your rusty ship fixed? Seems your travels have been nothing but a waste of time—aimless, like a leaf tossed in the wind.”

Lu Ten’s jaw tightened. He recognized that familiar venom—Zhao’s biting contempt wasn’t just for him, but a pointed jab at his father. Zhao’s next words confirmed it.

“Like father, like son, I suppose,” Zhao continued, eyes gleaming cruelly. “Both weak, both failures. Even Iroh couldn’t keep his family’s honour from slipping through his fingers.”

The insult burned deep. Iroh was more than just a father to Lu Ten—he was a legend, a man who had given up the throne and his own ambitions to protect what mattered most. Zhao’s words cut not only because they were false but because they carried the arrogance of a man who believed himself untouchable.

Before Lu Ten could respond, Zhao’s tone shifted, pride swelling in his voice. “But unlike you, I’m on a mission worth pursuing. I’m hunting the Avatar. The one who’ll bring balance… or so they say.”

A flicker of something dark and fierce sparked behind Lu Ten’s eyes. Fury boiled beneath his calm exterior, yet his voice remained steady, though it barely masked his frustration.

Lu Ten’s jaw tightened. He fought the urge to reveal more—there were truths too dangerous to share. Instead, he said quietly, “You don’t understand what drives me. You only see what you want to see.”

He wanted to explain—how the Avatar was more than a target, how this wasn’t a mere mission but a matter of fate and family. The deeper truth was tangled, complicated by loyalty and secrets. And Zhao’s arrogance was a provocation that demanded action, not explanation.

Without hesitation, Lu Ten stepped forward, flames flickering to life around his fists. “If you’re so sure of your strength, Zhao, then prove it. An Agni Kai.”

Zhao’s smirk widened, almost amused by the challenge. “A duel? Gladly. I’ll enjoy crushing that foolish pride.”

The two faced each other on the sun-bleached stone, heat rising from the cracked earth beneath their feet. Flames danced along their fingertips as the duel began, a blur of motion and fire.

The air crackled with tension as Zhao’s eyes gleamed with ruthless confidence. Without warning, he lunged forward, flames roaring from his fists like twin dragons unleashed. His attacks were brutal—swift arcs of fire and heat aimed to overwhelm, each strike charged with years of bitter ambition.

But Lu Ten stood unmoved, his breath steady, his mind clear. The fire he summoned was different—not just raw power, but controlled grace. His flames danced around Zhao’s fury like water bending around rocks, twisting and curling to absorb the blows without faltering.

Zhao’s aggression grew more frantic, his fire blazing hotter, but Lu Ten was always one step ahead. He moved with fluid precision—sidestepping a sweeping blaze, countering with a whip-like stream of flame that scorched the ground where Zhao had stood seconds before. The fiery light painted their faces in fierce orange and red, shadows flickering across sweat-dampened skin.

The outpost’s wooden beams groaned under the heat, embers drifting through the smoke-filled air like restless spirits. Around them, the world seemed to hold its breath, the battle echoing with the clash of wills as much as flames.

Minutes passed, each strike and parry sharper than the last. Zhao’s breath grew ragged, his once-perfect form now faltering beneath Lu Ten’s relentless pressure. His eyes widened as a sudden surge of fire knocked him off balance. With a deft move, Lu Ten summoned a spiralling pillar of flame that surged between them, forcing Zhao to retreat, disarmed of his confidence.

Zhao stumbled, chest heaving, defeated but alive.

Lu Ten stood tall, his own flames dimming but his gaze steady. “I could end this,” he said quietly, voice like molten steel. “But I won’t. Honour is not lost here—only wasted.”

He turned away, leaving the scorched ground between them, a silent reminder of the power that he commands. The contrast between them was stark: Lu Ten’s dignity against Zhao’s bruised pride.

As Lu Ten was leaving, he cast a final glance over his shoulder, voice laced with bitter irony.

Lu Ten’s gaze held a cold, measured calm as he prepared to leave. He didn’t need to shout or threaten — his words would carry enough weight. “You know,” he said, voice smooth but laced with sharp irony, “I’m far from absent. Traveling the world doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten where I come from.”

He paused, eyes narrowing just slightly, fixing Zhao with a look that could freeze fire itself. “If I ever choose to return to the capital — say, to pay a visit to my uncle, the Fire Lord Ozai — I’m certain he would be... quite pleased to see me again.”

Lu Ten let the implication hang in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. “Especially after some of his most faithful servants have started playing fast and loose with their loyalties. Disrespecting a member of the royal family to their face and right under Uncle Ozai's rule is a dangerous game, Zhao. And I’m sure the Fire Lord has a particular way of dealing with seditionists.”

He turned, cloak swirling as he stepped away, voice dropping to a final, cutting murmur, “It’s amusing how under Uncle Ozai’s reign, even a low-born like you seems to think treason is a trivial matter.”

Zhao leaned in closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But mark my words, Lu Ten — if you return to the capital, if you try to take what’s ‘rightfully’ yours, you’ll find more than just an empty throne waiting for you. You’ll find a kingdom ready to fight to keep it.”

Far above the forested lowlands where fire met steel, the mountains held their breath.

The wind moved differently here — slower, colder, reverent.

Lu Ten’s words still hung like smoke in the air, but far from that confrontation, a quieter story unfolded. High in the cliffs where snow brushed stone, the ruins of an Air Temple bore witness to a different kind of battle — one not of bending, but of grief and resolve.

There, beneath a newly raised altar of stone, Aang placed the broken remains of Tenzin’s staff. He didn’t speak. He barely breathed.

The wood, split and darkened, looked small in his hands. But its weight — and what it represented — pressed down with impossible gravity.

Katara stood a few paces behind him, arms folded across her chest, eyes shining but steady. Sokka’s shoulders were stiff, lips tight. Zuko and Iroh remained silent, giving Aang the space he needed.

The air was still.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the rolling waves as Appa descended toward Kyoshi Island’s rugged beach. Zuko’s voice cut through the quiet, low and urgent. “We need disguises,” he said, eyes flicking toward Katara and Sokka’s unmistakable Southern Water Tribe clothing.

“If anyone sees two Water Tribe kids flying around on a sky bison, it won’t take long before the Fire Nation traces them back to your village — where the refugees are hiding. The women, the children... the Air Nomads.” His worry was sharp, the weight of responsibility heavy in his tone.

Katara glanced down at her thick blue parka and fur-lined boots, the telltale markers of her heritage. Sokka shifted uneasily beside her. The truth was clear — their clothes were like flags inviting danger. Aang’s gaze softened.

“We’ll find new clothes here,” he promised quietly, trying to steady the mood. “And some rest.”

Appa’s massive paws touched down gently on the sandy shore, the salty ocean breeze mingling with the scent of pine and earth. As the group dismounted, Katara suggested softly, “Aang, why don’t you go for a swim? It might help clear your head.”

Aang hesitated only a moment before nodding, the pull of the cool water too tempting after the tension of the journey.

He waded into the surf, letting the waves wash over him, but the calm was deceptive. Suddenly, the water around him surged, and the monstrous head of the Unagi—Kyoshi Island’s legendary sea serpent—broke the surface, jaws snapping toward him. Panic flashed across Aang’s face as he struggled to evade the creature’s snapping teeth.

Zuko and Iroh moved quickly to help, their hands flickering with flames, but fire bending had its limits; their reach was short, and the creature was too far out. Katara stepped forward, summoning water, but her bending was too weak and hesitant to fend off the massive beast.

Heart pounding, Aang drew a deep breath, pulling on his airbending. A powerful gust propelled him in a sprint back to shore, narrowly escaping the Unagi’s deadly grip.

The moment his feet hit solid ground, Zuko was already at his side, eyes wide with alarm. “What were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice rough with a mixture of panic and something dangerously close to fear. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I—I didn’t know it would be that big,” Aang panted, water dripping from his clothes, his expression dazed and shaken. “I thought it was just—just a fish.”

Zuko ran a hand through his hair, turning away for a moment as if to regain control over his breathing. “That wasn’t a fish, that was a disaster with teeth.”

Katara approached quickly, her face pale. “Zuko, it was my idea,” she said quietly, her voice tight with guilt. “I thought maybe the water would help Aang relax, help him connect with—everything. I didn’t know something like that was out there.”

Zuko turned to her, still clearly rattled, but he didn’t yell. He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, then nodded. “Fine. But next time? Let’s not try to find inner peace in a predator’s hunting ground.”

Katara gave a small, sheepish nod, her gaze dropping to Aang, who was now sitting on the sand with Momo curled against his leg. “I’m sorry,” she murmured again, more to him this time.
Aang offered a shaky smile. “It’s okay. I guess... next time I’ll try meditating somewhere without teeth.”

Zuko didn’t smile, but some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he sat down beside them, gaze scanning the sea as if daring the Unagi to try again.

Before they could catch their breath, rustling came from the treeline. Leaves parted with swift, practiced movements as a group of warriors stepped into view—silent, disciplined, and unmistakably poised for confrontation. Fans gleamed in the sunlight, and every step was precise, deliberate.

At their head stood a young woman with sharp eyes and a calm but commanding presence. She studied the trio for a beat before speaking, voice steady and authoritative. “Identify yourselves. This is Kyoshi Island—you’re not here by chance, are you?”

Zuko, still shaken after witnessing the massive serpent, stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “We come in peace. We are only seeking shelter and rest.”

Behind him, Iroh offered a warm, genial smile, brushing a bit of ash off his sleeve as if they hadn’t just survived a near-death encounter. “And if hospitality includes a cup of tea and a conversation as lovely as your company, I daresay we’ve come to the right place.”

The Kyoshi Warriors didn’t budge. One raised a brow. Another tightened her grip on her fan. The leader remained expressionless.

Zuko grimaced, turning slightly toward his uncle. “Seriously?” he muttered, voice low and annoyed. “Your son is older than them.”
Iroh gave an innocent shrug. “I was only being polite.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, muttering something about “old men and bad timing,” before facing the warriors again.
Iroh chuckled softly, unoffended. “Ah, well. Worth a try.”

The warrior’s gaze lingered on the two men’s Fire Nation attire — reds and golds bold against the island’s greens and blues. Suspicion flickered in her eyes, but she noticed the mix of companions: Water Tribe, Air Nomad, and Fire Nation, together.

“You didn’t come to conquer,” she said slowly, a hint of reluctant respect in her tone. “Follow us.”

Led through dense forests and over jagged cliffs, they reached the village, where wary eyes met them at every turn. Word had spread of Fire Nation raids, and bounty hunters relentlessly searching for the Avatar. Murmurs rippled through the crowd when Zuko and Iroh were spotted, their clothes stark reminders of the enemy.

The tension hung heavy in the air until Aang stepped forward, his expression open but determined. He raised his hands slightly, stirring a soft swirl of air around him—enough to show what he was without threatening anyone.

“Um, hey,” he began, voice a little unsure at first. “I know this looks weird, but—it’s okay. Zuko’s my brother. And Iroh’s our uncle.” He glanced back at them, then faced the warriors again with more confidence. “They’re with me. They’re helping me stay safe… from the Fire Nation.”

The crowd fell silent, their eyes lingering on Aang and the others. Then, from among them, a Kyoshi elder—a woman with sharp, weathered eyes—stepped forward.

She studied the group carefully before speaking with quiet resolve. “Kyoshi Island was born from defiance,” she said, voice steady. “Our ancestors refused to bow to a tyrant, standing strong against oppression and cruelty. We honor Avatar Kyoshi’s legacy by protecting those who flee war and injustice.” She glanced at Katara and Sokka’s worn Southern Water Tribe clothes, then at the young airbender beside them. “You come here as children of conflict and loss. Here, you will find shelter.”

Iroh stepped forward with a warm smile, bowing his head slightly. “And what a remarkable leader you are—strong, wise, and beautiful, just like the legends say.”

Zuko groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands. “Uncle, seriously? Your ‘charm’ is about as subtle as a firebender at a snow festival.”

The elder woman’s eyes softened, a faint smile touching her lips, clearly flattered by Iroh’s words.

Aang tugged on Zuko’s sleeve, whispering with a grin, “Don’t worry, Zuko. Uncle Iroh’s compliments only seem to work on people his own age.”

Zuko shot Aang a strange, almost confused look, caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

The elder’s smile lingered, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and resolve. Relief washed over the group like a tide, the tension of uncertainty easing in the presence of such steadfast welcome. As night settled around them, the soft glow of campfires flickered to life, and stories of Avatar Kyoshi’s fierce protection and unyielding spirit filled the air, weaving a living connection between past and present.

Aang sat quietly among them, the warmth of the gathering wrapping around him even as the weight of his destiny pressed deeper into his heart. At last, in a voice both steady and vulnerable, he shared the truth he had carried alone for so long—the truth of who he was: the Avatar.

Chapter Text

A ripple of excitement spread quickly through the village. Whispered voices carried awe and hope; eyes gleamed with the knowledge that the Avatar was among them once more. The elder woman nodded thoughtfully, her gaze gentle but serious. “Fate has been both cruel and kind to you, Avatar Aang,” she said softly. “To bear the burden of the world at such a young age is no small thing.”

Sokka, Katara, and even Zuko exchanged confused glances, their brows furrowed in puzzlement. Iroh, however, smiled knowingly and took a slow sip of his tea before speaking with his characteristic calm wisdom. “Fate does indeed play cruel tricks,” he said, his voice warm but tinged with melancholy. “But it has not forsaken you, young Avatar. It has placed by your side teachers of water and fire—two elements essential to your journey. Now, all that remains is to find your earth teacher, and the circle will be complete.”

Katara’s voice wavered as she spoke up, “I—I’m not a master. I barely have control over my bending yet.”

Zuko gave a small, almost reluctant smile. “Our uncle Iroh is truly an amazing firebender. When the time comes, Aang will learn a great deal from him.”

Aang smiled back, hopeful. Iroh shook his head slowly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, but the dragon does not always teach the fledgling to fly,” he said quietly, his words layered with meaning. “Sometimes the greatest lessons come from unexpected places.”

The group fell silent, the unspoken truth settling around them as they considered the journey still ahead.

His words hung in the air, offering both reassurance and quiet challenge. Aang looked up at Iroh, a flicker of hope kindling in his eyes. The path ahead was daunting, but not impossible.

Later that day, Aang sat quietly with the Kyoshi elder beneath the shade of a weathered veranda. The sounds of village life drifted by—children’s laughter, waves breaking gently on the shore—but Aang’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Can you tell me more about Avatar Kyoshi?” he asked, eyes cast down.

The elder’s expression softened as she nodded slowly, beginning to speak of Kyoshi’s legacy—her towering strength, fearless spirit, and the unwavering resolve that shaped Kyoshi Island into a sanctuary when others might have surrendered.

Unbeknownst to them, word spread quickly through the village. By the time the sun began its descent, children were trailing Aang through the streets, their eyes wide with wonder and voices buzzing with questions about bending. Their excitement was contagious, but beneath his smile, Aang felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on him. They saw not the boy, but the Avatar — a symbol of hope and responsibility. He bent gentle whirlwinds into the air to make them laugh, but his gaze never stopped drifting to the village paths, restless and watchful.

Where was Zuko?

Aang realized, with a pang, how much he had come to rely on the older boy in such a short time. Zuko had always stood between him and danger like a flame-wielding shield, had spoken for him when he faltered, had never treated him like a symbol—only like a little brother.

When he finally slipped away, Aang made his way to the Kyoshi Shrine, its doors open and silent. The statue of Avatar Kyoshi loomed tall and unmoving, her stone expression unreadable. Aang stood before it in silence, the fading light casting long shadows across the floor. He thought of her strength, her certainty—so unlike the doubts that churned inside him. Was he meant to be like her? Was he supposed to make decisions that divided nations, ended wars? He didn't feel like a warrior. He didn’t even feel ready.

And yet, the stories of Kyoshi stayed with him—not just for her power, but for what she protected. Her people. Her home. Aang sat down cross-legged before the statue, letting the silence settle around him like air before a storm, and for a moment, he just breathed.

Zuko leaned against the wooden railing outside the guest house, arms crossed, eyes tracing the worn cobblestone paths that wound through the village. The sun had dipped behind the mountains, and lanterns flickered to life, casting warm glows that danced against the walls. Still, no sign of Aang.

He had noticed it earlier—Aang's smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. The way he had gone quiet after the children began cheering his name, how he looked overwhelmed beneath their praise. Zuko knew that look. He had worn it himself, years ago, when he was expected to act like someone he wasn’t. A prince. A weapon. An heir.

“I saw him heading toward the shrine,” Katara said softly, stepping beside him. “I think he needed space.”

Zuko nodded once. “They’re celebrating the idea of him. Not the person.”

There was a pause between them. The sounds of the village had softened—only the chirp of insects and the distant crash of waves remained. Iroh sat not far away, sipping tea beneath a paper lantern, offering space without questions, the way only he could.

Zuko pushed off the railing. “I’ll go check on him.”

He walked through the village, the earth cool beneath his boots, the air thick with the smell of salt and wood smoke. The shrine loomed ahead, shadowed beneath the moonlight. Inside, Aang sat cross-legged before the massive statue of Avatar Kyoshi, motionless but for the slight slump of his shoulders.

Zuko didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped inside and sat beside him, the stone floor cool against his knees.

“I thought being here would help,” Aang said after a long silence, voice small. “But all I see is someone I’m not. She was strong. Unshakable. She carved an island out of the sea. And I…” he trailed off.

Zuko glanced at the statue but shook his head with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood in his awkward way. “I seriously doubt Avatar Kyoshi was out here carving islands when she was ten.”

Aang frowned, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “I’m the Avatar. I’m supposed to be strong and unshakable.”

Zuko nodded, his voice softer now. “You will be. Just… not yet. You’ve got time. You’re still growing, still learning all the elements.”

Aang sighed. “I still don’t feel as strong as the other Avatars. I hear about our great-grandfather —Avatar Roku—how powerful and wise he was.”

Zuko’s breath caught, a shadow crossing his eyes as memories quietly surfaced. As a child, his father’s harsh words echoed in his mind—constant reminders that he was less than Azula, weaker, never enough. He felt the weight of those silent judgments pressing down on him, shaping every doubt. But he didn’t say this aloud. Instead, he looked at Aang with quiet conviction and said softly, “You don’t have to compare yourself to anyone else.”

Aang met his gaze, absorbing the weight of the words.

Zuko gave a small, rare smile. “You don’t have to be Kyoshi or Roku or anyone else. You’re Aang. That’s enough.”

Aang turned to him, eyes uncertain. “But what if it’s not?”

Zuko hesitated. Then, with quiet certainty, he said, “Then we figure it out together.”

Aang blinked, and for the first time that day, a true smile touched his face—not for the villagers, not for their expectations, but for the brother with whom he wouldn’t be afraid to face the world.

The morning sun crept slowly over the treetops, casting golden light across the rooftops of the Kyoshi village. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and damp wood, but it did little to clear the weight from Zuko’s chest.

He stood alone near the training grounds, arms folded as he watched a trio of Kyoshi Warriors drilling in silence. Their green armor glinted faintly in the light, movements sharp, purposeful. Their discipline reminded him of home—but not in a comforting way.

Even here, among people who had agreed to shelter them, Zuko could feel it: the sideways glances, the careful distance, the unspoken question lingering in the villagers’ eyes. What is he doing here?

He could hardly blame them. The colors he wore, the fire in his name—it was enough. Even if Kyoshi Island had been spared the worst of the war so far, they knew what the Fire Nation stood for.

Chapter Text

“Want to try?” a voice asked.

Zuko turned. One of the Kyoshi Warriors had stepped forward—slender, with her face painted in bold red and white lines, but her tone was calm, even curious. “You’ve been watching for a while.”

Zuko raised a brow. “Thought you’d rather keep the Fire Nation at arm’s length.”

“We’re not blind,” she replied. “You’ve been tense since you got here. Maybe a spar would help.”

Zuko hesitated, then glanced at the rack of weapons nearby. “Do you have swords I can borrow?” he asked quietly, stepping forward. “I don’t want to risk hurting anyone.”

Suki studied him for a moment, then gave a short nod. “We train with blades. Follow me.”

She led him to a small armory where an array of training weapons was neatly displayed. Zuko’s eyes settled on a pair of twin dao swords — simple, balanced, well-maintained.

He picked them up slowly, testing the weight in each hand. It had been years, but the muscle memory returned like an old friend.

“I used to train using dao swords,” he said softly. “Before... everything.”

The warrior’s brows lifted slightly in surprise, but she nodded in respect. Suki unfurled her metal war fans with a crisp snap, their painted patterns gleaming in the sun. Zuko, now gripping the twin dao swords he'd borrowed, stepped into the training ring with measured calm.

They squared off, feet sliding into practiced stances, the air between them taut with silent challenge.

The fight began with swift, testing strikes. Suki moved like a dancer, feet light and body fluid, her fans flashing in tight, controlled arcs meant to disorient and strike. Zuko’s blades countered with precision — not aggressive, but purposeful. His movements were like wind threading through a forest — weaving, anticipating, always absorbing her momentum without attempting to dominate.

The clang of metal rang out, sharp and rhythmic. Once, their weapons locked — Zuko’s blade catching the ribs of a fan. Suki twisted gracefully away, flipping backward to create space, then came again, faster, testing his resolve.

Zuko didn’t rise to the bait. His posture was grounded, eyes calm. He turned her speed into opportunities to redirect, not retaliate.

Suki launched a spin, one fan aimed low, the other high. Zuko ducked, turned with her momentum, and flicked one sword upward. Her fan flew from her grasp and landed in the dust.

Without missing a beat, she lunged with the remaining fan, but Zuko met her strike with a cross-blade block. He shifted, stepped behind her, and with a fluid motion, disarmed the second fan as well. It hit the dirt beside the first with a soft thud.

Zuko stood with one blade raised — not at her throat, but hovering inches from her shoulder.

Then he lowered it and stepped back.

Breathing evenly, Suki retrieved her fans in silence, but her eyes flashed with a hint of anger. “You didn’t go for the win,” she said sharply, folding one fan closed with a soft click. “Did you go easy on me because I’m a girl?”

Zuko snorted, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You must be joking. I have a sister who always beat me — no way I’d go easy on anyone just because of their gender.”

Suki’s expression softened, the anger fading into quiet understanding. “You fight with purpose,” she said after a moment, her voice steady. “To defend, not to dominate.”

She hesitated, still a little puzzled. “But why mostly defense? Why not offense?”

Zuko sheathed the blades carefully. “I’ve seen people hurt because I was reckless,” he said, remembering the pained scream Aang made when he accidentally burned him. His voice dropped. “I’d rather lose a fight than become someone they fear.”

Suki tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing — but there was respect there now, not suspicion. “That restraint will take you further than any flame—or become chains that hold you down.”

Zuko gave a slight shrug, sheathing his blades. “I’ve had enough of fighting for the wrong reasons.”

She studied him a moment longer, then gave a small bow. “Your stance is solid. You’ve trained well.”

Zuko returned the gesture, but as he turned away, the ache in his chest hadn’t eased. The warrior’s words were kind, but the village’s silence spoke louder. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever belong anywhere again.

Sokka leaned against the training ring’s fence, arms folded, watching Zuko and the Kyoshi warrior spar with mild disapproval etched across his face. The graceful arcs of Suki’s fans, the fluid pivots of her stance—it all looked more like dancing than real combat to him. When Zuko disarmed her and stepped back without striking, Sokka let out an audible scoff.

“They’re just dancers with fans,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. “How could you lift a weapon against a girl anyway?”

Zuko turned to him, expression unreadable. “She’s not just a girl. She’s a warrior. And she was better than most men I’ve fought.”

The other Kyoshi Warriors exchanged approving glances, a quiet murmur of agreement rippling through their ranks. To them, it didn’t matter whether someone was a man or a woman—strength and skill were what defined a warrior, nothing more.

Suki’s fan snapped open with a sharp crack. “Would you like to find out just how much of a warrior I am?”

Sokka blinked, caught off guard. “You’re challenging me?”

“I am.” Her voice was calm, level. “Unless you’re afraid of losing to a ‘dancer.’”

The others were already forming a loose circle around the ring, and Sokka, too proud to back down, rolled his shoulders and stepped in. “Alright then. But don’t go crying when I win.”

Suki didn’t answer. She just stepped into position, feet light, fan poised like a blade.

The match began with Sokka charging forward, swinging with force but no finesse. Suki dodged effortlessly, spinning around him, her fan grazing his side like a whisper. Before he could recover, she struck again, sending his footing stumbling. He tried a wide sweep with his club—she ducked, pivoted, and with a flash of silver and red, knocked him off his feet. His back hit the ground, breath whooshing out of him as the tip of her fan hovered at his throat.

Zuko winced, sympathy flickering in his eyes. There was a flicker of sadness for the boy sprawled in the dirt—but he couldn’t entirely push away the thought that Sokka kind of deserved it, after the way he’d talked about the girls earlier.

“Still think we’re just dancers?”

Sokka blinked up at her, chest heaving. “That was... fast.”

She offered him a hand. “You’ve got strength. But no balance. No discipline.”

As Sokka groaned and took her hand, Zuko turned to leave, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve. “I’ll go check if Aang hasn’t accidentally blown a roof off somewhere,” he muttered dryly.

The Kyoshi Warriors chuckled, amused at the image. One even whispered, “I can actually see that happening,” setting off another round of laughter as Zuko disappeared down the path, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

As Sokka groaned, Suki helped lift him to his feet. He swayed slightly, still winded, brushing dust from his tunic. “Okay, okay—you proved your point,” he muttered, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. After a pause, quieter: “Think you could teach me?”

Suki looked him over, surprised but not unkind. “You want to train with the Kyoshi Warriors?”

“I do,” he said, sincerity cutting through his earlier swagger. “You fight like nothing I’ve seen before. And I could stand to learn a little discipline.”

She nodded once. “Then show up at dawn tomorrow. And leave your ego at the door.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, as the first rays of sun filtered through the mist, Aang and Katara found Sokka already in the training yard. He was sweating through drills under Suki’s watchful gaze—feet aching, muscles straining, and for once, not complaining. As fans clacked and snapped around him in perfect unison, he began to understand that strength wasn’t always loud or brute. Sometimes, it was silent and precise—and every bit as powerful.

The tranquil air of Kyoshi Island was soon pierced by troubling news far from its shores. In the bustling command ship of Admiral Zhao, scouts reported a sighting that sharpened his attention — a sky bison had been seen flying near Kyoshi Island. The presence of such a rare creature was a signal he couldn’t ignore. Without hesitation, Zhao ordered the ship to set sail immediately, his mind racing with possibilities. The chase was closing in.

The morning light filtered softly through the leaves as Iroh crouched near a small fire, carefully pouring hot water over fragrant tea leaves. The warm aroma curled through the air, mingling with the salty sea breeze. Around him, the group gathered at a rough-hewn wooden table set outside a village hut, sharing a quiet breakfast.

Iroh smiled gently as he passed around delicate cups. “A good cup of tea,” he said, “is a reminder that even in the darkest times, small comforts can bring great peace.”

Katara sipped hers thoughtfully, while Sokka grinned and leaned back in his chair. “You know,” he joked, “if I had to choose, I’d say we should just stay here. Eat, train with the Kyoshi Warriors, maybe open a seafood restaurant.”

Zuko shook his head, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “You’d probably burn the kitchen down before dinner.”

Aang laughed softly, watching the waves lap at the shore. “It’s tempting. Just for a little while. No Fire Nation hunters, no war.”

Iroh’s eyes twinkled as he added, “Sometimes the best battles are fought with patience, and sometimes with a good cup of tea.”

Their laughter softened into companionable silence — until a sharp flutter broke the calm. Kai, Zuko’s hawk, landed abruptly nearby, its feathers ruffling nervously as it fixed its gaze on the distant horizon, head swiveling anxiously toward the sea.

Zuko’s smile vanished instantly. “Kai’s warning us,” he said quietly, rising. “When we escaped the Air Temple, I trained him to watch for Fire Nation ships. This means trouble.”

The peaceful morning dissolved as the group exchanged tense glances. Adventure wasn’t done with them yet.

The morning air was thick with urgency as the group hastily gathered their belongings. Word had reached them: Admiral Zhao’s fleet was sailing swiftly toward Kyoshi Island. None of them wanted to be the cause of bloodshed or fire upon this peaceful land. The decision to leave was unanimous, but the weight of departure settled heavily on everyone’s hearts.

Suki stepped forward to Sokka, her gaze steady and sincere. With a subtle smile, she pressed a small carved token into his palm—a symbol of respect and acknowledgement for the courage he’d shown during their stay. Sokka’s eyes widened slightly, humbled by the gesture. Then, turning to Zuko, Suki carefully handed over the twin blades—the same weapons he’d wielded in the training ring. “May these serve you well,” she said softly, “and may you continue to fight with honor.”

Iroh, ever the gracious guest, bowed gently to the Kyoshi elder. His quiet words of thanks were met with a warm smile, and a flicker of amusement in her eyes—clearly charmed by his calm demeanor and gentle spirit. It was a rare moment of lightness amid the tension.

Suki’s gift of the dual swords to Zuko and the token of respect she had given Sokka stayed with them — reminders of the fragile alliances forged and the strength found in unexpected places.

Before climbing aboard Appa, Aang paused at Kyoshi’s shrine, placing a humble offering. The island’s legacy and its fierce protector had already begun to shape the boy who carried the fate of the world.

The group was already soaring above Kyoshi Island when Zuko suddenly groaned and slapped his forehead. “Besides Sokka’s Kyoshi warrior outfit, we still look like two firebenders, two Water Tribe members, and an Air Nomad,” he muttered, exasperated.

Katara glanced at her brother and smirked. “I mean, you're the only one in a skirt, so technically we might pass for a very confused performance troupe.”

Sokka threw her a look. “It’s battle armor.”

“Sure it is,” she teased. “Just don’t forget to curtsy before the next ambush.”

Aang bounced excitedly on Appa’s back, grinning. “Hey, don’t stress about the clothes! Clothes don’t matter to me anyway. Even if I wore Earth Kingdom robes, I’m not sure I’d find one big enough to disguise Appa too!”

Zuko sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That’s not the point, Aang. We need to blend in. Sokka and Katara’s disguises are supposed to hide that they’re from the Southern Water Tribe. If firebenders spots them with you, an airbender, it could lead the Fire Nation right to the refugees and the village”

Katara nodded, her expression serious. “Exactly. We can’t risk anyone realizing air nomads survived or that the southern water tribe took in air tribe refugees. It would only encourage the Fire nation to raid our village again”

Aang’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, maybe the Fire Nation is too busy looking for a tiny air nomad in giant robes to notice anything else!”

Zuko shot Aang a deadpan look. “You’re impossible.”

Aang giggled. “I’m just saying, it’s not the clothes that protect us — it’s sticking together. And maybe Appa’s giant fluffy face, too!”

Sokka chuckled. “Yeah, good luck sneaking past anyone with that thing.”

Iroh chuckled softly and offered a solution. “We can solve that in Omashu. An old friend of mine lives there—he has a knack for finding just the right things for travelers like us.”

Aang floated gently from Appa’s back and hovered beside Iroh, his eyes bright with restless energy. “Uncle Iroh,” he began, “do you really think it matters what we wear? I mean, if someone’s meant to find us, they will, right? Maybe it’s better to just be ourselves and not worry so much.”

Iroh smiled calmly, sipping his tea. “That’s a wise thought, young Avatar. But sometimes, appearances serve as shields—not to hide who you are, but to protect those you care about while you find your path.”

Aang nodded, swirling his hands in the air. “So, clothes are like a shield, not a mask?”

“Exactly,” Iroh replied, eyes twinkling. “The real strength comes from within, but a little caution can go a long way.”

Aang grinned. “Thanks, Uncle Iroh. I guess even the Avatar can learn a thing or two about disguises.”

Iroh chuckled softly. “And never forget your tea—it helps clear the mind for those lessons.”

Aang hovered beside Iroh, eyes bright with excitement. “Uncle Iroh, did you know airbenders love playing hide-and-seek? Once, when I was little, I hid inside a giant cloud for hours—no one could find me! But then I sneezed and gave myself away.”

Iroh chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ah, the playful spirit of youth. A sneeze revealing even the cleverest hiding spot.”

Aang grinned. “Yeah! And I always wondered—do tea leaves ever get nervous knowing you’re going to drink them?”

Iroh laughed, his warm voice drifting like the morning breeze. “Perhaps, but a good cup of tea has its own destiny, just like us.”

Aang bounced lightly on the air currents. “I think that’s a great way to look at it. Even when things seem scary or uncertain, maybe it’s all part of a bigger plan.”

Iroh nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed, Aang. Wisdom often comes in the quietest moments.”

Aang giggled. “Thanks, Uncle Iroh. Now, about Appa’s mud disguise…”

Their laughter floated in the air as Appa carried them onwards—ready for whatever adventure lay ahead.

Chapter Text

The sun was just beginning to crest over the rocky horizon when Iroh announced their destination.

“Omashu,” he said with a fond smile, cupping his hands behind his back as he addressed the group gathered around Appa’s resting form. “A grand city, full of strange architecture, delicious dumplings, and—most importantly—an old friend of mine who owes me more than a few favours.”

Zuko raised a brow. “You have a friend in Omashu?”

“Of course!” Iroh beamed. “We used to play Pai Sho for hours at a time—every evening when we were stationed in the eastern provinces. He was never very good, but he had spirit.” He chuckled, already drifting off into memory. “He always insisted the white lotus tile should be played early. A bold, if misguided, strategy.”

“Wait—Pai Sho?” Aang’s eyes lit up. “I’ve seen that game before! But the monks never let me play, they said I kept trying to ride the board like a glider.”

Sokka blinked. “You tried to fly the board?”

“Only twice. Well, maybe five times.” Aang grinned. “But they really should make a version with wheels.”

Zuko gave him a look that said he’d rather not imagine it.

Iroh, on the other hand, was delighted. “Pai Sho is more than a game, young Avatar. It is a discipline. A conversation between minds.”

“And tiles,” Sokka muttered. “A conversation between minds and very confusing tiles.”

They rode quietly after that, the winding road eventually sloping downward toward the wide stone gates of Omashu. Iroh had insisted they land Appa a fair distance from the city to avoid drawing too much attention—and Appa, after a long glide, seemed only too happy to curl up under a patch of shaded cliffs.

“We walk from here,” Zuko announced, tightening the straps on the bag he carried over one shoulder.

“Figures,” Sokka grumbled, following after him. “I finally get used to flying and now we’re back to hiking.”

The road to the gates wasn’t long, but it was bustling. Traders, merchants, and travellers filtered in and out under the watchful eyes of guards in green and brown, their posture strict and spears held high.

Aang, Sokka, Katara, and Zuko crouched low behind a stone ledge, eyeing the guards warily.

“So… how do we get in?” Aang whispered. “Disguises? We could stack on top of each other and wear a really long cloak.”

“That’s not a plan,” Zuko deadpanned.

“Okay, okay. What if we dress up as cabbage merchants?” Aang added, already miming the act of pushing a cart.

“Why cabbage specifically?” Sokka asked.

“Because no one suspects the cabbage guy!” Aang grinned.

Just then, they heard the merchant’s wailing.

“MY CABBAGES!”

Turning, they saw a guard at the gates throwing his cart over the bridge, sending produce flying as the merchant scrambled after it in despair.

Zuko looked back at Aang. “You were saying?”

“Okay, maybe not the best plan…”

Sokka crossed his arms. “We should forge papers or sneak in at night through a delivery chute.”

Zuko nodded. “Or bribe one of the guards.”

Katara didn’t say much, just leaned against the stone, watching them all with a slight smile playing on her lips.

Then Iroh strolled past them, utterly unconcerned. “There’s no need for subterfuge, children. We are entering as guests.”

“You have a plan?” Zuko asked, wary.

Iroh reached into his sleeve and pulled out a folded parchment, sealed and official-looking. “I have permission. My friend will have made sure of that. He may be forgetful, but not with his obligations.”

With a calm confidence only Iroh could carry, he led them toward the main gates. The guards, immediately alert, shifted their stances as the group approached. Aang instinctively stood straighter. Katara brushed back her hood. Sokka’s fingers twitched toward his boomerang, just in case.

Zuko tensed, scanning the guards’ faces for any sign of hostility. While he knew that the cloaks were hiding their clothes, he still felt on edge.

“State your business,” one guard said.

Iroh bowed with a smile. “My name is Iroh. My nephews and I are visiting an old friend of mine. I believe our travel documents are in order.”

The guard blinked. Took the paper. Read it. And then blinked again, looking from the parchment to Iroh to the rest of the group trailing behind him.

There was a long, tense pause.

“...You’re clear to enter.”

Relief flooded through the group. Katara exhaled softly. Sokka straightened. Aang beamed.

And then—

“MY CABBAGES!”

A second cart crashed in the distance. A wheel rolled past them, followed by a cabbage that stopped neatly at Iroh’s feet.

He picked it up, examined it thoughtfully, then handed it to the stunned merchant who’d run over, face twisted in despair.

“I believe this belongs to you, good sir,” Iroh said warmly.

The merchant took it, muttering a heartfelt thanks, and shuffled away.

As the group passed through the gates of Omashu, Aang whispered to Zuko, “See? I told you cabbages were a good cover story.”

Zuko gave him a look.

Iroh adjusted the collar of his cloak with a contented hum, eyes twinkling. “There’s a tea house I used to frequent—perhaps my old friend still visits. I’ll go see if I can find him. Perhaps we can share a pot of ginseng tea and play a few rounds of Pai Sho.”

He turned to the others. “You’re welcome to join me, of course.”

Zuko shook his head. “I want to look for new clothes. Something that doesn’t scream Fire Nation, Air Bender or Water Tribe.”

“I’d love to see the city,” Katara added with a smile. “I’ve never been to a place this big.”

“Me too,” Aang chirped, bouncing on his toes. “It looks amazing!”

“I guess I’ll tag along with Zuko,” Sokka said, then stopped when Zuko gave him a pointed look.

“You should stay with Aang and Katara,” Zuko said quietly, “At least one of us needs to act responsibly.”

Sokka frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Zuko sighed, pulling out a small pouch and handing it to him.

“It means I trust you to keep them out of trouble. There’s enough for snacks or whatever.”

Sokka accepted the pouch and peeked inside. His eyes lit up. “Ooh, this is enough for at least three skewers. Maybe even a dumpling or two.” He was already imagining the food stalls they'd pass. “City food always hits different.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Just... don’t let them get into trouble.”

Sokka snorted. “You say that like they’re the ones walking around with a broody attitude and a flaming temper.”

Zuko gave him a dry look, “Trust me. I’ve gotten to know my brother pretty well.” He let out a long-suffering sigh.

Sokka glanced over to where Aang was animatedly pointing out some building to Katara, both of them already bouncing with energy. His gaze lingered on Katara for a moment. “Yeah... you might have a point.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Last time those two got a little ‘curious,’ they lit up a Fire Navy flare and nearly got us all captured.”

There was a beat of quiet as both boys watched their younger siblings giggle and dash off toward the nearest street. Without a word, Zuko and Sokka exchanged a knowing look—equal parts exhaustion, affection, and deep, shared understanding.

“Big brothers,” Sokka muttered.

Zuko nodded solemnly. “Big burdens.”

As Zuko turned to go, a prickle of unease crawled down his spine. He glanced over his shoulder. Aang was already racing up a staircase, Katara hurrying after him, while Sokka plodded behind. Zuko hesitated. It was the first time since the temple attack that Aang would be without him.

He’ll be fine, he told himself, shaking the feeling off. Sokka’s with them. They’re just kids exploring a city. Nothing’s going to happen.

Chapter Text

Zuko turned and disappeared into the bustling street, his cloak swaying behind him as he melted into the crowd.

Sokka watched him go for a moment, then turned—just in time to catch Aang tugging excitedly at Katara’s sleeve and pointing upward.

As they wandered deeper into the city, the group meandered past open-air markets and crowded avenues filled with shouting vendors and the mouthwatering scent of street food. Aang’s gaze drifted skyward—then lit up as he spotted something far more exciting than fresh fruit or handwoven baskets.

The Omashu mail system.

Stone chutes twisted and turned above the rooftops like a giant marble run, connecting buildings at impossible angles. Carts zipped along the tracks at breakneck speed, carrying everything from scrolls to cabbages. A wild grin spread across Aang’s face.

He glanced at Katara and Sokka, who were distracted at a jewelry stall. Without a word, Aang edged away, eyes fixed on a higher platform where carts were being loaded.

This was his chance.

He ducked behind baskets and weaved through crates, nimbly scaling a narrow stairway behind a merchant’s tent. Just as he reached the loading dock and was sizing up a cart, a familiar voice rang out below.

“Aang.”

He flinched, slowly turning to see Katara at the base of the stairs, arms crossed—but more curious than angry.

“I wasn’t sneaking off,” he lied instantly.

Katara raised a brow. “You were about to throw yourself into the city’s mail delivery system, weren’t you?”

“…Okay, yes. But hear me out—this thing is amazing! The chutes go all over the city. It’s basically a rollercoaster made of rock!” His voice rose with excitement. “Wanna come with me?”

Katara blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah! If something goes wrong, I’ll airbend us to safety. Easy.”

Katara looked up at the chute’s steep slope. “It looks fast. And dangerous.”

“That’s part of the fun!” Aang beamed. “Come on—don’t you wanna see the city from up there?”

She hesitated… then broke into a grin. “Alright. But if we get in trouble, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal!” Aang chirped.

The two slipped away from the stalls, careful not to alert Sokka. Their eyes sparkled as they approached the towering chute system.

“Come on, Katara,” Aang grinned. “This is gonna be the best roller coaster ever.”

She chuckled. “Only if you promise you can airbend us to safety.”

“I promise! Easy.”

They climbed up to the platform, giggling like kids sneaking extra dessert.

Meanwhile, Sokka, still at the stall with a roasted skewer in hand, hummed to himself—until he realized something was off. He looked around. No Katara. No Aang.

He squinted toward the terraces and spotted two small figures climbing a stone stairway.

“Oh no.”

At first, he sighed. Maybe they just needed space. They’d been crammed together in Appa’s saddle for days, and those two loved their “special bonding time.”

Then Zuko’s voice echoed in his head: “Don’t let them get into trouble.”

Sokka groaned. If anything happened to Aang, Zuko would definitely explode—maybe literally.

Grumbling, he tossed down the skewer. “This is why I don’t get to have nice things,” he muttered, then jogged after them.

High above the city, Aang and Katara settled into the stone cart, giddy with anticipation. Below, Omashu sprawled out like a maze of rooftops and winding alleys.

Then—

“WHAT are you two doing!?”

Sokka skidded to a halt at the stairway. “That is not a toy!”

Aang called, “It’s fine! I’ve got airbending!”

“Yeah?” Sokka shot back. “Can your airbending stop that thing from crashing into a building? Or, I dunno, people?”

Aang blinked. “Well, uh…”

Sokka crossed his arms. “Exactly.”

Katara stepped in. “You’re just scared, Sokka.”

“Maybe. But I don’t want you two getting hurt—or hurting someone else. And if Zuko finds out I let this happen, he’ll roast me.”

Aang’s grin faded, and he took a cautious step back. The cart creaked ominously beneath him.

Katara’s eyes widened. “Aang—”

The cart lurched forward.

“Uh-oh,” Aang muttered.

Without thinking, Sokka jumped into the cart after them. “This is a terrible idea!”

The cart took off, careening down the mail chute — chaos unfolding as they sped through the city.

What followed was pure chaos.

The cart hurtled down the twisting stone tracks like a wild beast unleashed. Mailbags and crates blurred past them, rattling and thumping with each sharp turn. Aang whooped loudly, his clothes whipped backward by the rush of air, eyes sparkling with excitement. Whenever the cart veered dangerously close to a wall or obstacle, Aang instinctively blew gentle gusts of air to nudge it back on course, steering as best he could.

Katara’s scream echoed—half fear, half exhilaration—as she clung tightly to the sides of the cart. “This is insane!” she shouted, laughing despite herself.

Sokka’s panicked shriek cut through the clamor, bouncing off the city walls. “This is how I die!” he yelled, gripping the edges with white-knuckled hands.

They careened around dizzying corners, the cart tilting dangerously, then plunged through a series of loops that twisted their stomachs. The roar of the city filled their ears as they tore across bustling market platforms, vendors scrambling to get out of the way.

Suddenly, with a crashing crash, they smashed straight into a vendor’s cart.

“My CABBAGES!” the merchant wailed, wildly flailing as the wreckage scattered produce in every direction.

The cart lurched wildly, and despite Aang’s airbending efforts, it careened toward the city guard barracks.

Inside a stone barracks near the mail chute line, a stern Earth Kingdom captain stood before a row of fresh-faced recruits.

“Soon, you'll be deployed to the outer provinces,” he barked. “You need to be ready for anything—expect the unexpected, and remain alert at all—”

The wall behind him exploded inward in a cloud of dust and splinters as a mail cart burst through, trailing steam and screams. Aang, Katara, and Sokka tumbled from the wreckage in a tangled heap.

The recruits gawked. The captain blinked slowly.

“…times,” he finished, deadpan.

The dust hadn’t even settled when a squad of guards rushed into the ruined barracks, weapons drawn and eyes wide.

“You three!” one barked. “Step away from the cart!”

Aang held up his hands. “Uh, hi! This is all just a big misunderstanding—”

“We were just trying to enjoy the city,” Katara added quickly, brushing hay from her hair.

“Enjoy it from a cart traveling at seventy miles an hour?” one of the guards snapped. “You’re under arrest for destruction of property, endangering civilians, and unauthorized use of the mail system.”

Sokka groaned as two guards grabbed him by the arms. “Fantastic. I’m either going to die in prison or Zuko’s going to fry me alive for letting the ‘kids’ have fun.”

“Hey!” Aang and Katara chorused in protest.

One of the guards raised an eyebrow. “Zuko?”

Sokka sighed motioning to Aang. “His older brother”

Chapter Text

As they were led away, Aang whispered, “At least it was fun.”

Katara chuckled under her breath. “Totally worth it.”

Sokka just groaned louder.

The trio stood awkwardly in a great stone hall, flanked by stern-faced guards. Their clothes were dusty, Sokka still had a mailbag tangled around one ankle, and Aang was doing his best not to laugh at the way Katara’s hair stuck up in all directions. At the far end, a wide throne sat beneath a domed ceiling carved with ancient symbols. And lounging atop it was the King of Omashu.

"Your Majesty," one of the guards said with a stiff bow, "these juveniles were arrested for vandalism, traveling under false pretenses, and malicious destruction of cabbages."

"Off with their heads!" shouted the Cabbage Merchant, who had somehow followed them all the way to the throne room. "One for each head of cabbage!"

Sokka groaned, "Why is he always where we are?"

The King squinted at them, then tried to rise from his throne with great ceremony. His knees cracked audibly. “Throw them... a feast!” he declared, ignoring the concerned servant who rushed to steady him.

A shocked silence fell. One guard blinked. The cabbage merchant let out a loud, scandalized gasp. Aang snorted.

"But sire, they—"

"I SAID FEAST!" the King declared, tossing a lettuce leaf in the air and catching it in his mouth. "Mmm. Lettuce leaf."

The guards scrambled.

Later, seated at a massive table stacked with steaming dumplings, roasted meats, and more cabbages than anyone wanted to acknowledge, Aang leaned closer to Katara and whispered, "This guy’s...different."

"You think?" she whispered back, watching the King lick a spoon, then use it to comb his beard.

Sokka, meanwhile, was stuffing his face. "Well, prison or not, I’m not letting this food go to waste."

The King suddenly sprang onto the table. "So! Who are you really, little air boy?"

Aang blinked. "I’m just a traveller. From Kangaroo Island."

Bumi gasped. "Kangaroo Island, huh? I heard that place was really hopping!"

Silence. A cough. Katara closed her eyes.

Then Sokka burst out laughing, nearly choking on a dumpling. "Okay, okay, that one was good."

The King beamed. "Ah, someone who appreciates the classics!"

His tone shifted, eyes narrowing with playful intrigue. “But you’re no ordinary traveller, are you?”

Aang blinked. “Huh?”

Bumi leaned in. “Something about you… says fun.”
He grinned suddenly. “Which is why I’ve decided you’ll face delightfully dangerous challenges!”

Sokka threw his hands up. “Wait—dangerous?! We just got arrested for riding a mail cart!”

Bumi cackled. “Exactly! That kind of chaotic spirit must be tested!”

"Not to worry! I’ll be watching..." Bumi pulled a monocle from somewhere in his robes and placed it over his eye. "...with great interest."

Katara stood, furious. "You can’t just keep us here like prisoners! Let us leave!"

Bumi tilted his head. "Lettuce leaf? Don’t mind if I do."

He bit one off the centrepiece and gave a happy sigh.

Sokka slumped forward. "We’re gonna die here. Either from cabbage poisoning or whatever ‘challenge’ this maniac has in mind."

Bumi grinned wide, then let out a loud, wheezing laugh. "Let the games begin!"

The moment the words "deadly challenges" left Bumi’s mouth, Aang took a step back.

“Uh, that’s very generous of you, your majesty, but we really should be going,” he said with a nervous laugh.

Bumi’s expression didn’t falter. “You can’t go just yet, Avatar.”

Aang froze. “Wh—what? Avatar? Me? Nooo, I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” he said, laughing nervously. “I mean, I’m just a regular kid! Totally normal. Loves penguin sledding. Not saving the world or anything like that.”

Katara pinched the bridge of her nose. Sokka sighed loudly.

Bumi grinned wider. “Nice try. Take them to the chamber!”

One of the guards hesitated. “The good chamber or the bad chamber?”

Bumi popped a lettuce leaf into his mouth and spoke between bites. “The refurbished chamber that was once bad, but now is good again… Wait, no—do we still have the deluxe chamber? Or did we turn that into the spa?”

Another guard muttered, “Maybe we should start numbering them?”

“YES! Take them to Chamber Five!” Bumi declared, proudly.

The refurbished chamber that was once bad (now painted light green and oddly cozy) had a single high air vent.

“We need to get out of here,” Katara said.

Aang looked up at the tiny duct. “Momo might be able to fit through and get help.”

Sokka nodded. “Yeah! He could find Uncle Iroh. Not Zuko. Zuko must never know about this. If he finds out we got jailed by a salad-eating king, we’ll be tossed into a volcano for the embarrassment alone.”

“I’d rather not face a mad Zuko,” Aang muttered in agreement. “Uncle Iroh it is.”

Momo stared at the vent, then at the apples he had been munching all day. He leapt… and got stuck. His fluffy rear legs dangled from the vent as his chubby body wedged firmly in the narrow duct.

“Come on, buddy, you’ve got this,” Aang said encouragingly as he gently pushed on Momo’s backside. “You’re sleek. You’re agile. You’re a flying lemur, not a fluffy dumpling.”

He gave another hopeful shove.

From the corner, Sokka—arms crossed, unimpressed—raised an eyebrow. “He’s never going to fit through there.”

Aang sighed, defeated. “I know.” He slumped onto the bed, shoulders sagging. “This is my life now.”

Meanwhile, Momo’s little legs kicked and scrabbled at the wall in protest, claws skidding uselessly against the stone as he tried to wriggle backward. His fuzzy hindquarters twitched indignantly, stuck fast.

Sokka watched with grim amusement. “Well. At least we still have the element of surprise. No one expects us to be this stupid.”

The dim cell was filled with an unusual sticky sweetness hanging in the air. Aang, Sokka, and Katara exchanged tired glances, the scent making their eyelids heavy. Slowly, one by one, they drifted into a restless sleep, their bodies surrendering to the strange, sweet haze.

Chapter Text

After some time, Aang suddenly woke with a jolt, his back aching against the cold stone beneath him. The cell was still cloaked in shadows—no way to tell how much time had passed.

He sat up quickly, blinking into the gloom.

“Katara? Sokka? Momo?” he called out, his voice echoing off the walls.

No response.

His chest tightened. The cell was empty—he was alone.

Just then, the heavy door creaked open. A stone-armoured guard stepped in, face unreadable.

Aang sprang to his feet. “Where are my friends? What did you do to them?”

The guard barely glanced at him. “They’re alive.”

Aang narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“The King says they’ll be freed,” the guard said simply, “if you complete his challenge.”

“Challenge?” Aang repeated, brows knitting with worry. “What kind of challenge?”

The guard turned, unmoved. “Follow me.”

Aang hesitated only a second, then hurried after him, his mind racing.

Aang was led through a grand, shadowy hall, the walls lined with ancient tapestries and flickering torches. At the far end stood the King, draped in an elaborate, brightly coloured robe that shimmered oddly under the torchlight.

The King smiled broadly and asked, “So, Avatar, what do you think of my new outfit?”

Aang blinked, confused. He opened his mouth to answer, but then a faint cough echoed somewhere deeper in the hall.

Still beaming, the King waited patiently. “I’m waiting for your response.”

Aang rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and finally muttered, “Uh… it’s definitely unique.”

The King’s face lit up. He clapped his hands together with delight. “Wonderful! You’ve passed the first test!”

Aang stared at the King in disbelief. “Really? That was a test?”

The King gave an enthusiastic nod. “Indeed! And the next challenges will be… well, more challenging.”

Aang’s brows furrowed. His frustration flared, and with a gust of wind, he shot across the room, landing directly in front of him. “Let my friends go!”

The King blinked at him—then let out a snort-laugh. “Oh, I will. Gladly. But not without a souvenir.”

Without warning, a stone wall on their side rumbled and slid open.

Aang’s eyes widened as he saw Katara and Sokka restrained by Earth Kingdom guards. Both had shimmering, colorful rings of rock clasped around their fingers—rings that were already creeping steadily up their arms like living bracelets.

Katara struggled against her restraints, panic rising in her voice. “Aang! These things—”

“—they’re moving!” Sokka yelped, jerking his arm and watching the stone slither to his wrist. “This is so not a souvenir!”

Aang stepped forward, dread rising in his chest. He looked from Katara’s terrified expression to Sokka’s flailing, then slowly turned to glare at the King.

“I’m ready for the second challenge.”

The King clapped his hands, eyes alight with mischief and excitement. “Excellent! Everything is already prepared!”

The stone wall sealed shut again with a grinding clunk, and the floor beneath Aang began to tremble.

The ground rumbled beneath Aang’s feet as he was led through a twisting stone corridor. It opened into a vast underground cave, echoing with the roar of water.

The King stood proudly at the edge, arms spread wide. “I’m starving, Avatar. But alas—” he pressed a hand to his forehead in mock tragedy, “I seem to have lost my lunch key.”

He dramatically pointed. A silver key dangled from a chain, swaying gently in the mist, directly in the centre of a crashing waterfall. Beneath it, a spindly wooden ladder clung to the rock wall. Jagged stone spikes jutted from the cave floor like the teeth of some buried beast.

Aang frowned at the setup, unimpressed.

Still, he said nothing—just inhaled sharply and launched forward, hopping from one deadly spike to another with graceful bursts of airbending. The rocks trembled with each landing, but Aang moved fast, light on his feet.

Reaching the waterfall, he hesitated, then grabbed the ladder. As soon as he touched it, the current slammed into him. The water was relentless—he barely got two rungs up before it hurled him back, soaking wet and gasping.

From high above, a muffled voice reached him through the echo of the cave. “Aang!”

He looked up, eyes widening. Katara’s shout rang out again, desperate. The rings had now reached her and Sokka’s elbows. Sokka was practically shrieking.

“Aang, do something! We’re being slowly gift-wrapped in stone!”

Breathing hard, Aang glanced between the waterfall and the sharp stones around him—then his eyes narrowed. An idea sparked.

He crouched down, focused, and with a sharp blast of air, chipped off a long, flat shard of the spiked rock beneath him. He weighed it in his hands, then bent the air around him into a powerful current. With a spin, he launched the rock like a flying blade.

It sliced through the waterfall in a whirling burst of wind—cleaving the chain in two.

The key shot into the air.

The guards ducked as the rock chunk crashed above them with a thunk. The key clattered down onto the balcony, landing neatly beside the King’s foot.

Aang grinned, soaked and triumphant.

“There. You can have your lunch now. Let my friends go!”

The King held the key aloft dramatically, then tucked it into his robe.

“Well done, Avatar!” he declared, spinning with theatrical flair. “Now, one final thing before I truly sit down for lunch…”

Aang narrowed his eyes.

The King sighed wistfully. “I always dine with my dearest companion, my beloved pet Flopsie. But wouldn’t you know it—he’s missing!” He placed a hand to his heart. “A tragedy beyond words.”

Aang growled low under his breath. “Are you serious right now?”

But just then, he noticed the guards gently ushering Katara and Sokka away from the balcony. They weren’t struggling, but the stone rings remained, still pulsing.

He clenched his fists, letting the guards escort him through the next corridor. Another challenge.

In the next room, Aang stepped into a wide stone enclosure. The door slammed behind him. He sighed heavily, but didn’t waste time—he leapt lightly into the pit and scanned the area.

A small creature hopped into view.

It had floppy ears, twitching whiskers, and an adorably round belly.

Aang’s face lit up. “Aww, look at you! You must be Flopsie!”

The King’s voice echoed from above, delighted. “Yes, yes! That’s him! My cuddly little Flopsie! I can’t wait to pet his wittle fuzzy ears again!”

Aang crouched slowly and reached out a hand. “Come here, Flopsie—”

But the bunny’s ears twitched. It bolted.

“Hey—wait!” just as Aang was about to dart after it.

A sudden growl rumbled behind him. Aang’s smile faded.

A shadow swallowed the ground around him. He turned slowly—and came face to chest with a towering beast. Horns curled from its head like a goat’s, thick fur matted across its muscular frame, and its long arms flexed like a gorilla’s.

Aang took one step back and shouted, “Not Flopsie!! Definitely not Flopsie!!”

The beast roared. Aang yelped and sprinted, wind at his heels.

The bunny bounded ahead, zig-zagging through the enclosure. Aang chased after it, flinging gusts of wind to gain speed, all while screaming, “Flopsie! Flopsie, wait!”

The bunny zipped through a hole in the wall.

Aang dove after it, slamming his shoulder against the wall and shoving his arm into the hole up to his elbow.

“Ugh! Where’d you go?!” He pressed his forehead against the stone. “I don’t feel anything—this is impossible!”

He groaned, frustration rising—then paused. Another wild idea crept in.

He turned slowly, seeing the goat-gorilla still thundering toward him. He hesitated, then called out, “Uh… Flopsie?”

The beast froze.

Then—cooing like a puppy—it wrapped Aang in a bone-crushing hug and gave him a slobbery lick from his toes to his forehead.

Aang blinked. “Ew—but… YES! Flopsie!!”

The creature nuzzled his face.

The King suddenly descended into the pit, arms wide. “My Flopsie! Oh, how I missed you!” Flopsie bounded into his arms, rolling onto his back for a belly rub. The King giggled like a child and scratched vigorously.

From above, Katara and Sokka watched with the guards.

Sokka blinked at the scene. “If that’s little Flopsie,” he muttered, “then Appa must be medium-sized, and Momo and Kai are… extra-small.”

Katara gave him a dry glare and bumped his shoulder as much as she could, which wasn’t much in her crystal prison.

Aang looked up toward the balcony, where Katara and Sokka were still held. His heart dropped when a jagged shard of crystal suddenly sprouted near Sokka’s side, pushing him off balance. With a grunt, Sokka toppled over, hitting the ground hard. The guards moved fast, lifting him back up, but the worry on both siblings' faces deepened.

“Alright! That’s enough!” Aang shouted, turning sharply to the King. “I passed your tests—let them go!”

The King tutted, wagging a finger. “Now, now, Avatar. You’re almost there. Just one more challenge…”

Chapter Text

He turned and, with a wave, stepped through a tunnel as a section of the wall rolled open behind him. A guard approached Aang and gestured silently for him to follow.

Soon, Aang found himself on a broad stone balcony lit by golden torches. The King was already waiting, flanked by Katara and Sokka—who now had only their heads and a small part of their necks free from the growing crystal. Two guards stood behind them like statues.

The King beamed as Aang approached. “For your final challenge, young Avatar…” he declared, arms spread dramatically, “you must face an opponent in single combat!”

Aang narrowed his eyes.

The King leaned in, grinning. “But because I’ve grown quite fond of you, I’ll let you choose your opponent!”

Two men stepped forward from behind the King. One was lean and wiry, bristling with an impossible number of weapons—daggers, chains, throwing stars, and even what looked like a fork with serrated edges. The other was massive, wearing a metal mask and thick shoulder plates, holding an axe almost as big as Aang himself.

Aang stared at them. Then he looked at the King, who was still smiling brightly.

The King wiggled his eyebrows. “Well? Choose wisely!”

Aang crossed his arms, expression calm. “Alright then… if I get to choose…” A slow grin crept across his face. “I choose you.”

The air went still.

The King blinked, then chuckled. Then his chuckle became a laugh. “Oh-ho-ho! You really are fun!”

Suddenly, the King’s back straightened. He stood taller, his posture strong. With a shrug, he let his oversized purple robe fall to the ground—revealing a powerful, muscular frame clad in earth-toned armour.

Katara and Sokka both gawked.

“Wait, what?” Sokka muttered. “Is that legal?”

Aang stepped back. “Wait, you?”

The King’s grin widened. “Wrong choice, kid.”

He slammed his foot down, and the balcony floor beneath Aang shot upward, launching him into the ring below. Aang yelped, flipping midair before landing in a crouch on the stone platform.

The King leapt down after him, landing in a cloud of dust. “I’m the strongest earthbender in this part of the Earth Kingdom,” he announced with glee, pounding his fists together. “And now you’ll see why.”

Katara gasped. “Aang!”

“Okay, okay—maybe I should’ve picked the guy with the ax,” Aang muttered, preparing to dodge.

The arena trembled as the King stomped forward, stone rising to meet his steps. Aang spun his staff, trying to read his opponent’s movements, but the Earth King was unpredictable—wild, gleeful, and overwhelmingly strong.

With a stomp and a punch, the King sent chunks of earth barreling toward Aang like cannonballs. Aang twisted and flipped, using airbending to barely avoid being crushed. He landed, panting, as another boulder erupted beneath him, knocking him off his feet.

“Come on, Avatar!” the King shouted with giddy enthusiasm. “You’ve got to do better than that!”

Aang skidded across the stone, scraping his arm. He gritted his teeth and shot back up with a gust of air, circling the King cautiously. Every attempt to close the distance was blocked by rising stone walls or sent flying by sudden pillars.

Then, the King raised both arms high with a grunt, and the entire balcony—the one Katara and Sokka had stood on moments ago—shook, ripped itself from the wall, and floated in mid-air. The King grinned maniacally. “Let’s make this more interesting!”

Aang’s eyes widened. “Oh no—”

With a roar, the King hurled the massive balcony slab down at Aang like a falling mountain.

Aang leapt back, heart pounding. His instincts kicked in. Wind rushed around him as he sprinted in a circle, faster and faster. The air thickened, swirling until a howling vortex formed, lifting the stone slab before it could crush him. It spun violently in the air—then reversed direction.

“Wha—?” the King barely had time to brace before the balcony slammed back toward him.

He slammed his palms together. A thick shield of rock shot up just in time, shattering the balcony into rubble midair. Dust clouded the arena.

The King blinked, coughing—

Then suddenly froze as the tip of a wooden staff pressed gently against his throat.

Aang stood before him, catching his breath, eyes narrowed with a victorious smirk.

“Looks like I passed your test.”

But the King just smiled wider—wild and delighted.

“…Why are you smiling?” Aang asked, frowning.

A shadow shifted above them. Aang blinked, then slowly tilted his head upward.

His mouth dropped open.

Hovering just above them was a massive chunk of rock—at least twice the size of the balcony—floating precariously, ready to fall and crush them both.

“You… you were gonna drop that?!”

The King burst into laughter, stepping back with a flourish. “Congratulations, Avatar Aang! You passed!”

With a flick of his wrist, the enormous rock was flung aside, crashing harmlessly into an empty part of the arena.

“You’ve shown cleverness, creativity, and courage! You’ve earned the prize!”

Aang blinked, still holding his staff at the ready. “You’re insane.”

The King gave a bow, completely unbothered. “Why, thank you!”

Panting, Aang turned to the King. “Why did you make me go through all those challenges?”

King Bumi threw his head back in laughter, his voice echoing across the arena. “Because the Avatar is never boring!”

Aang frowned, not understanding.

“You avatars,” Bumi said, eyes twinkling behind his wild hair and beard, “you’re the most interesting people I’ve ever met. I had to be sure you were still the real deal.”

Aang blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Bumi clapped his hands with childlike excitement. “The last time I had this much fun was with Roku! Oh, that guy was a riot!”

Aang's eyes widened. “You knew Avatar Roku?”

King Bumi gave him a sly smile and a theatrical bow. “King Bumi of Omashu, at your service. And yes—Roku and I go way back. We shared many wild adventures in our youth.”

Aang looked at the King, stunned. “Then why put me through all this?”

Bumi grinned. “Because I had to test you. To see if you had what Roku had. That spark. The unpredictability. The creativity. The ability to think like a mad genius.” He gave an exaggerated wink.

Just then, Katara and Sokka were led down into the ring by the guards. Katara stumbled slightly as she ran toward Aang. “Aang! That crystal—it's covering me! I can't feel my arms!”

Sokka said nothing—his face still encased in shimmering crystal, his muffled groans barely audible.

Bumi lifted a hand. “Hold still!”

With a sharp motion, the crystals around Katara and Sokka shattered into thousands of glittering fragments that burst outwards in all directions like exploding stars. Aang flinched, shielding his eyes, but Bumi calmly reached out and plucked a shard from the air.

“They're rock candy!” he said gleefully, then popped the piece into his mouth and crunched loudly. “Delicious and dramatic!”

Katara narrowed her eyes. “So the whole crystal ring thing was a trick?”

“Oh no, that was real,” Bumi said cheerfully. “Very effective motivation, don’t you think?”

Sokka groaned and slumped to the ground, finally free. “I’m going to have nightmares about that rock.”

Aang, meanwhile, stood in thoughtful silence. His heart was still racing, but Bumi’s words rang true.

“To survive this war,” Bumi continued, his voice lowering, “you’ll need more than bending and spirit wisdom. You’ll need to outsmart the Fire Nation. Outsmart the world. And that takes thinking outside the box. Or better yet—breaking the box!”

Aang looked at Bumi, a newfound respect dawning in his expression. “I think I understand now.”

Bumi beamed. “Good! Then you’re already one step ahead of where Roku was when we first met”

He turned dramatically toward the palace stairs, his purple coat flaring behind him. “Now! Let’s have some lunch!”

Chapter Text

After a hearty and bizarre lunch filled with rock candy desserts and stories of Bumi’s wild youth, Aang, Katara, and Sokka stood at the palace gates, ready to leave.

“Thanks for… everything,” Aang said with a sheepish smile. “Even the falling boulders.”

Bumi chuckled, “Come back any time, Aang! Next time, we’ll ride the mail chutes together — blindfolded!”

Katara waved politely, still eyeing Bumi with mild suspicion. Sokka, meanwhile, kept glancing over his shoulder at every rock formation.

“I don’t trust anything that sparkles anymore,” he muttered.

Back inside the throne room, Bumi collapsed into his throne with a booming laugh. “HA! What a day! That boy’s got spice! Pure fun, just like the old days!”

From the shadows near a tall pillar, General Iroh stepped into the light, a steaming cup of tea in hand and a content smile on his face.

“I am glad to see you think so highly of my youngest nephew,” Iroh said warmly.

Bumi stroked his long beard thoughtfully. “It’s not every day the Avatar is related not only in spirit… but in blood… to the previous one. Unprecedented!”

Iroh took a sip of tea, his eyes gleaming with calm wisdom. “The dragon does not chase the wind by accident. It is destiny that carries the flame where it needs to be.”

Bumi clapped his hands and leaned forward eagerly. “And destiny brought me a very fun visitor today! Can you believe it? The boy immediately guessed my favourite childhood hobby—riding the mail system! Not even Roku figured that one out!”

Iroh chuckled, his shoulders shaking gently. “When we first arrived in the city, I was wondering how best to introduce young Aang to my old friend, the wild King of Omashu. But thankfully… his spirit led him straight to you.”

The two old men shared a long, hearty laugh.

“And I didn’t even have to roll out a single cabbage cart!” Bumi cackled.

Iroh lifted his teacup in a toast. “To destiny… and to chaos.”

Bumi raised his rock candy stick. “And to mad genius!”

Their laughter echoed through the marble halls of the palace, like echoes of a past the world thought forgotten… and hints of the strange future still to come.

The heavy gates of the Earth King’s palace creaked open, and Aang, Katara, and Sokka stepped out into the fresh air, blinking against the bright sunlight. The tension that had gripped them inside the castle slowly began to loosen with every step away from the throne room.

Katara exhaled deeply, a relieved smile spreading across her face. “Well, that was… definitely an interesting meeting.”

Sokka stretched his arms and grinned, wiping a smear of dust off his shirt. “I’m just glad we made it out in one piece.”

Suddenly, he glanced around nervously. “But we have to make sure Zuko never gets wind of what happened here.”

Aang and Katara exchanged quick looks and nodded in agreement.

“Absolutely,” Aang said quietly. “If he finds out, it’ll only make things worse.”

Katara added, “We can’t afford any more surprises like this.”

As they walked away from the palace gates, Aang felt a newfound resolve building inside him. The road ahead was uncertain, but with unexpected friends and lessons like these, maybe he really could face whatever came next.

The bright sun hitting their faces as they began their journey. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared—Zuko, dressed in earth nation clothes, holding out a small bundle.
“I got these for you,” he said, handing over Earth Kingdom robes to Aang, Katara, and Sokka.

Zuko glanced around and asked, “So, what did you three get up to while I was gone?”

Sokka shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Nothing much, really. Just walked around the city, checked out some sights.”

Aang nodded a little too quickly, waving his hands. “Yeah! We just, uh, explored a tiny bit. Nothing wild or dangerous or anything! I mean, the city’s really big and super interesting, but we totally, you know, stayed on the streets… mostly.”

Sokka muttered under his breath, “So much for Zuko not finding out anything happened…”

Katara sighed and gently placed a hand on Aang’s shoulder, giving him a pointed look. “Aang,” she said with a strained smile, “maybe let’s not elaborate.”

Zuko leaned back slightly and said casually, “You want to hear a crazy thing?” He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “I overheard a guard passing by, talking about some group of kids who rode the city’s mail system carts and ended up getting arrested after crashing it. Can you believe such crazy people exist?”

The room fell silent.

Aang’s eyes darted nervously. “Uh, we definitely weren’t on the carts. We just—”

Katara avoided Zuko’s gaze, silent.

Sokka’s mind raced as panic set in. Zuko’s going to kill me, he thought. Or worse.

Zuko narrowed his good eye, suspicion growing. “Is that so?”

Before anyone could answer, footsteps approached.

Just as Zuko’s voice tightened, ready to interrogate further, a calm voice interrupted.
“I see you’re keeping busy, my friends,” said Iroh, strolling up with a gentle smile.

Iroh began chatting warmly about that friend of his. “I never got around to playing Pai Sho with him, but he did teach me another game. A clever one.”

Zuko’s frown softened slightly as Iroh began talking about a game he learned from a friend, distracting everyone from the tension.

Aang, Katara, and Sokka exchanged grateful looks and quickly followed Iroh away from Zuko.

While they walked, Iroh watched Aang with quiet amusement, though no one noticed.
As the city’s outskirts came into view, Iroh stopped and addressed the group. “Your journey to the North is long and uncertain. You must stay united.”

“This is where our journey separates,” Iroh said softly, the warmth of his voice tinged with melancholy. “Like rivers branching from the same stream, our paths must now flow in different directions. I’ll be going my own way… to meet up with my son, Lu Ten.”

Both Aang and Zuko’s faces clouded with sadness at the idea of Iroh leaving them, but before either could speak, Zuko’s brow furrowed.

“Are you sure you should go alone?” Zuko asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in his voice.

Aang, trying to lighten the mood, chimed in quickly, “I mean, not that you couldn’t handle it—Uncle Iroh definitely knows his way around. Unlike Zuko, who got us lost twice just last week.”

Zuko shot him a glare. “That mountain was not on the map.”

Sokka groaned. “He’s got a point. We kind of need an adult. A wise, tea-brewing adult.”

Katara nodded, looking at Iroh with concern. “Are you sure this is the right time to go?”

Iroh smiled at them all, placing a hand gently on Zuko’s shoulder. “The right time rarely feels right. But we must go where the wind—or the heart—leads us.” He looked at each of them with fondness in his eyes. “You are all strong, and you have each other. That is more than most in these troubled times.”

Zuko sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. “…I understand.”

Iroh’s smile deepened, his voice growing soft and wise. “Each of us has a path laid before us, like stones set across a river. Some paths wind together, others part flow alone—but all lead where they are meant to. For now, my destiny lies elsewhere.”

He took a few steps back and gave a small bow. “But don’t be sad. We shall meet again soon.”

As he turned to leave, Iroh approached Zuko and quietly said, “Open your heart, young prince. Care not only for your little brother, Aang, but also for these two water tribe children.”

Zuko scowled, irritation flashing in his eye. “Why do I have to look after them? Sokka is my age, and he should be looking after Katara, just like I look out for Aang.”

Iroh chuckled softly. “Ah, but the ties of friendship and duty are not so simple. Remember this: the river carves its path not by force, but by persistence and care.” With a final knowing smile and a gentle nod, he turned and disappeared into the trees just beyond the city walls.

The group exchanged thoughtful glances before stepping out of the bustling streets. Once clear of the city’s edge, they approached Appa, who awaited patiently. One by one, they climbed onto his broad back, and with a powerful push of his legs, Appa lifted them away — leaving the city far behind as they soared toward the North.

Zuko broke the heavy silence, his voice low but sharp. “So, about those guards I overheard… talking about three kids riding the mail carts, causing chaos and destruction all over the city.”

Aang, Katara, and Sokka exchanged nervous glances, avoiding his piercing gaze.

Zuko’s good eye narrowed as he fixed Aang with a steely stare. “Don’t tell me you were those kids?”

Aang swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at the edge of his sleeves. After a tense moment, he muttered, “Okay…”

Zuko raised an eyebrow, suspicion deepening. “Wait—so you weren’t?”

Aang’s lips curled into a sheepish grin, his voice soft but mischievous. “You told me not to tell you.”

The others held their breath, the weight of the moment hanging thick in the air.

Zuko’s eyes blazed with frustration as he shook his head. “Only you, Aang, would come up with something as reckless as riding the mail carts through a city full of guards! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You could’ve been thrown into prison for years—or worse! You could’ve seriously hurt yourself—or someone else!”

Sokka immediately jumped in, trying to defend himself. “That’s exactly what I told them—Aang, Katara—I warned them it was dangerous!”

Zuko whirled on Sokka, his voice sharp and accusing. “Then why didn’t you stop it? You were supposed to be the responsible one there! You’re older than Aang and Katara—you should’ve taken charge!”

Sokka held up his hands defensively. “I tried to stop them, alright? But once the cart was in motion, it was hard to pull back.”

Zuko’s glare shifted to Katara, his voice stern. “And you? Didn’t you stop to think about the risks? Aang’s only ten, the youngest of you. You are older—you’re supposed to be more aware of the consequences your actions might have.”

Sokka’s frustration boiled over. He stepped forward, shouting, “Hey! Don’t you dare yell at my sister!”

The tension skyrocketed as Zuko opened his mouth to respond, but before words could fly, Aang stepped between them. With a sudden gust, he amplified his voice with airbending, echoing sharply through the clearing.

“Shut up, all of you!”

Aang’s voice cracked, thick with anger and pain, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to hold himself together.
“Back at the Air Temple… you and I used to have fun. Even when you were angry or serious, we laughed. We snuck snacks, played tricks on the monks, got into trouble with Tashi.”

He clenched his fists, voice shaking with barely contained emotion.
“But after the Fire Nation attacked... everything changed. You didn’t just get more serious—you started acting like you had to be my father, like you had to protect me from everything.”

A sob caught in his throat. “You’re not. You’re not my father.”

His chest heaved as tears poured freely now, voice breaking into a desperate whisper.
“My father… he’s gone. And so is the brother I knew. The one who laughed with me, who had my back.”

He looked up, eyes blazing with grief and fury. “I don’t want another father. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. I just want my big brother.”

Then, with raw honesty, he added, voice trembling but fierce:
“Who are you now? You used to be different. You were different.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Zuko’s anger faltered, his eyes softening with regret and pain. He took a slow step forward, voice low and unsteady.
“I… I never meant to be like that.”

He looked away, swallowing hard. “I just don’t know how to be that brother anymore.”

Sokka stood quietly nearby, watching the brothers with a heavy heart. His mind drifted to Katara—the way she carried her own burdens, her own losses.
Is this how she feels inside? he wondered. Like she’s lost her brother too, even if he’s still here?

He clenched his fists, thinking of how he had tried to be strong for her after their father left the South Pole. 'Maybe I did the same thing as Zuko—trying to be the responsible one, but pushing her away instead.'

He swallowed, his voice breaking the silence.

Sokka took a deep breath, stepping closer with a softer expression.
“Look, Aang… I get where Zuko’s coming from, even if it’s tough to see. When our dad left the South Pole, I felt that weight too — the burden to be the man of the house, to protect Katara and Gran Gran, because no one else was there.”

He paused, sadness flickering in his eyes.
“I wonder if maybe Zuko feels the same way with you. Like he’s got to be strong, because he thinks no one else can. It’s hard carrying that much responsibility.”

Katara nodded, her voice steady but filled with emotion.
“I understand that frustration, Aang. After everything changed, we all felt angry and scared—wondering how to keep going.”

She looked at Sokka and then back to Aang.
“We’ve all had to grow up fast. Sokka stepped up to protect me and Gran Gran after our tribe was attacked. That’s when I found the courage to learn waterbending—practicing the movements our mother showed me, things I hadn’t cared much about before.”

Katara met Aang’s eyes.
“You see how Zuko changed, and I know you feel that too—but you might not realize how much you’ve changed yourself. Big events like this don’t just pass without leaving their mark on all of us.”

Appa soared steadily through the open sky, the city shrinking far behind them. Aang slid off the saddle and settled down on Appa’s head, gripping the reins loosely as he stared ahead, lost in thought.

Zuko, keeping his distance, moved to the far side of the saddle and sat down quietly, looking away, his expression heavy with unspoken feelings.

Sokka and Katara exchanged a brief, uncertain glance but found no words to bridge the silence between them.

With a quiet sigh, they both settled down nearby, each lost in their own thoughts.

The wind whispered softly around them as Appa carried them onward. The journey continued — quiet, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Chapter Text

The air was cool and crisp as the group continued their journey on Appa. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows over the clouds, but the atmosphere among the group remained heavy, weighed down by the argument that had broken out not long ago. Aang sat quietly near the front of the saddle, eyes fixed on the horizon, the tension between him and Zuko still sharp and unspoken. No one dared to break the silence for most of the flight.

As dusk settled in, they descended to a small clearing nestled among some trees. Appa groaned wearily as he landed, and Aang wordlessly slid off his back, giving the sky bison a gentle pat before letting Momo scurry onto his shoulder. The little lemur chattered and leapt around playfully, trying to get a reaction out of Aang. He smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Zuko stepped away from the group, disappearing into the treeline with a practiced calmness. He reached into his travel bag and pulled out a thin strip of dried meat, whistling sharply into the sky. Moments later, a streak of movement cut across the clouds, and Kai, his sleek messenger hawk, landed deftly on a low branch nearby.

“Hey, buddy,” Zuko murmured, holding his arm out. Kai hopped onto his forearm with a sharp cry. Zuko reached for a cloth and began gently inspecting the hawk’s wings, smoothing out ruffled feathers, checking for damage or signs of fatigue. It was a calming task — one that helped him centre himself when everything else felt out of control.

Footsteps approached. Zuko didn’t turn.

“Hey,” Sokka said.

Zuko glanced over his shoulder, nodding once in silent acknowledgment.

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Kai and then down at the ground. “So, uh… about what happened in Omashu.”

Zuko’s brow lifted slightly, but he said nothing.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that,” Sokka continued, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through it. “I was trying to stop them. Aang and Katara were already in the mail cart —and I yelled at them to get off, but instead the whole thing tipped forward and launched. I panicked. I jumped in after them.”

Zuko kept grooming Kai, but the slight narrowing of his eyes showed he was listening.

“I know it made things worse,” Sokka added. “You trusted me to keep an eye on them while you were out getting clothes, and I really didn’t mean to screw that up. I just didn’t want them to get hurt.” He paused, the silence stretching between them. “It wasn’t exactly one of my finer moments.”

Zuko glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable.

Sokka sighed and sat down on a nearby rock, kicking at a twig. “I’ve been thinking about what Aang said. About you. About all of us, really.” He stared out at the trees. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be happy or upset that he finally exploded like that. But it made me think—maybe that’s how Katara feels too. Like I’ve been trying to ‘be the adult,’ bossing her around, keeping everything under control. And maybe that just makes her feel… smaller.”

He gave a short, dry laugh. “Funny, right? Aang goes off on you and I end up rethinking my whole life.”

Zuko tilted his head slightly. “It’s not funny. It’s familiar.”

That gave Sokka pause. “Yeah?”

Zuko nodded. “When we were escaping the temple, my mother pulled me aside. She said, ‘Take care of Aang. Promise me, Zuko.’” He paused, fingers tightening slightly around Kai’s leg. “And I did. I promised. But part of me… part of me wishes he wasn’t the Avatar. That he was just some random air nomad.”

Sokka blinked. “Why?”

“Because then we could have run,” Zuko said quietly. “We could have disappeared. Found some quiet corner of the world and just… been safe. But he’s the Avatar. He can’t run. And if he can’t run… then I can’t stop trying to protect him.”

The two sat in silence for a long moment, the firelight from the camp flickering through the trees in the distance.

“My dad said something similar to me,” Sokka said eventually. “Before he left the South Pole, he told me I was in charge now. That I had to take care of Katara and Gran Gran. I barely joined the warriors on hunts or finishing trips, and suddenly I’m ‘the man of the house.’” He scoffed. “Didn’t really feel like a choice.”

Zuko gave a dry smirk. “Aang once stole every single glider from the Air Temple and tried to organize a ‘glider parade.’ He crashed into the meditation garden. He was grounded for two weeks.”

Sokka burst out laughing. “Katara once tried to freeze an entire pond because she thought that would make fishing easier. She nearly froze herself. Guess who had to jump in after her?”

The two boys chuckled together, their laughter quiet but genuine — a rare sound in recent days.

“Why do they always get into trouble?” Sokka asked, shaking his head with a fond exasperation. “Sure they’re younger, they’re smaller, but I don’t remember getting into so much trouble.”

Zuko gave a soft snort, then shrugged. “I don’t know. But no matter how much they drive us crazy, we keep trying to protect them.”

“Even when they don’t want us to,” Sokka added, his smile fading a little. He kicked at the dirt with his boot. “And even when we’re not sure we’re doing it right.”

Even when it hurts.

They didn’t say that last part out loud, but it hung there — understood.

Zuko finally gave Kai a gentle toss. The hawk took off into the darkening sky, wings slicing through the cool evening air.

As the bird disappeared into the distance, the two boys sat side by side in silence, not exactly friends… but not strangers either.

Sokka shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as silence settled over them again.

“So, uh…” he began, glancing sideways at Kai, who was now comfortably perched on a nearby rock, fluffing his feathers. “Would it be weird if I, maybe, borrowed your hawk for a bit?”

Zuko glanced at him. He didn’t say anything right away, but the look in his eyes said he understood. More than understood.

Zuko gave a short whistle. Kai straightened at once, hopping over to Zuko’s outstretched arm. Zuko stroked the hawk’s neck once, then held him out to Sokka.

“There’s paper, ink, and a brush in the tube,” he said quietly. “They’re small, but they’ll do.”

Sokka nodded, his throat tight, but managed a quiet “Thanks.”

Zuko paused for a beat before adding, almost casually, “Take the Fire Nation emblem off his chest plate before you send him.”

Sokka blinked, confused for a moment. Zuko didn’t look at him, but his voice held a strange softness beneath the roughness.

“I don’t want my hawk getting shot down by Southern Water Tribe warriors because of some stupid insignia.”

A faint smirk tugged at Sokka’s lips. “Right. Good point.”

Zuko turned and started walking away, his footsteps quiet against the dirt.

“Just don’t let him eat anything weird,” he called over his shoulder.

Sokka chuckled under his breath, watching Kai tilt his head at him. “No promises, buddy.”

Chapter Text

Elsewhere in the camp, Katara quietly approached Aang.

He was sitting alone by the fire, drawing circles in the dirt with a stick. Momo napped beside him, chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths. The flames cast shadows across Aang’s face, but Katara didn’t need light to see the weight in his expression.

She sat beside him without a word, their shoulders not quite touching.

Aang didn’t look up.

“I can tell you’re still hurting,” she said after a moment.

“I’m fine,” Aang mumbled, eyes on the dirt.

“No, you’re not,” she said gently. “None of us are.”

He stayed quiet, and Katara let the silence stretch a little longer before continuing.

“When the Fire Nation attacked our village… it wasn’t even a real fight. We had more warriors than benders, and that didn’t matter at all.”

Aang glanced at her, but didn’t interrupt.

“The waterbenders tried to resist. They fought back, but they were so outnumbered. The soldiers came in waves.” Her voice turned distant. “My mother told me to hide. Not to bend. She’d figured it out — the soldiers were going after warriors and benders. Not the kids. Not unless we fought back.”

Aang gave a bitter, hollow laugh. “So what, should we send them a thank-you note? ‘Thanks for not killing the ones who couldn’t fight back’?”

Katara winced, but didn’t respond to his sarcasm. Instead, she kept going.

“I saw my mom die, Aang. Right in front of me. She was a bender too.”

The fire crackled between them, and Aang’s stick stopped moving.

“She stayed behind to buy the others time. And then… after the fighting ended, the warriors held a meeting. They split up. Some went north to find our sister tribe, hoping they’d help. Others sailed to the Earth Kingdom, hoping anyone would.”

She exhaled, shoulders tight. “And that’s when Sokka changed. Just like Zuko, I guess. He used to be annoying and funny and always messing around. But after the raid, it was like… all the joy drained out of him.”

That got Aang’s attention. He turned slightly, watching her more closely.

“I hated him for it,” she admitted. “He wouldn’t let me play outside anymore. Wouldn’t let me bend. Said it was too dangerous.”

Her voice dropped.

“I didn’t get it. Not until I heard him talking to Gran Gran one night. She was telling him to ease up, to let me be a kid again.”

Katara mimicked Sokka’s voice, low and tight. “‘What if someone hears there’s a waterbender here and the Fire Nation comes back? Who’s going to find her if she gets lost? Our warriors didn’t stand a chance, Gran Gran — and they were trained. I’ve only gone on five hunting trips. If they come back… how do I protect her?’”

Aang stared at the fire, lips pressed together.

Katara watched him for a moment. “Sokka was scared. Not just of losing me — but of failing me. Because I could bend. Because I had a target on my back.”

She paused, her gaze flicking sideways.

“And if that’s how scared he was for me… can you imagine how terrified Zuko must be for you?”

Aang blinked, caught off guard.

“You’re not just a bender, Aang. You’re the Avatar. The one who’s supposed to fix the world. And you’re a kid.”

He didn’t speak, but the muscles in his jaw tensed.

“You remember when we talked about mastering the elements? How I said you'd be able to protect people?”

He nodded slowly.

“Zuko snapped at me after that,” she said. “Told me I was already laying the world on your shoulders. And when Sokka said we were relying on you, Zuko told him to stop. That you’re ten. That we shouldn’t expect so much of you.”

Aang’s eyes widened slightly at the memory, the scene replaying in his mind. At the time, he’d just been hurt by their argument. But now…

“He’s not mad at you,” Katara added. “He’s scared for you. All the time. That’s why he gets so tense. That’s why he hides you when we get close to Fire Nation camps, even if it slows us down. That’s why he keeps getting lost, because he’s too distracted making sure the rest of us stay safe.”

Aang was quiet again, but it wasn’t sulking anymore. It was thinking.

Katara gently touched his shoulder. “Just… remember that. When it feels like he’s being too harsh, or when he’s not the fun older brother you want.”

She stood. “You’re not the only one who lost someone they used to know.”

Then she left him there, staring into the fire.

After she was gone, Aang lowered the stick and let Momo curl back into his lap. The flames popped softly. His mind wandered back to their journey — to the way Zuko kept scanning every tree line, how his hands never truly relaxed until they were miles away from any soldiers. How he’d built hiding spots into the terrain in seconds, how his breath would hitch whenever Aang made too much noise.

And how, even then, Zuko never once left him behind.

Later that night, after the others had gone to sleep, Aang sat beneath a tree, watching the stars blink through the canopy.

Zuko approached quietly, unsure if Aang wanted company. He waited until Aang noticed him — then, when the boy gave a small nod, Zuko sat beside him in silence.

For a while, they just listened to the wind.

“I’m sorry,” Aang said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zuko turned to him, surprised. “For what?”

“For yelling at you earlier. For being angry.” Aang hugged his knees to his chest. “And for... not understanding.”

Zuko said nothing, but his expression softened.

Aang took a breath. “When I was little, my mom used to tell me stories about you. About both of you — you and Azula. I think she missed you a lot. She said Azula was clever, and you were... kind. Gentle.” Aang smiled faintly. “I always wanted to meet you. I thought it'd be fun to have a big brother.”

Zuko blinked slowly, his mouth tightening.

“When you came to the Air Temple… I was happy,” Aang admitted. “Really happy. And then I found out you were hurt, and... I felt guilty for being happy. Like I was glad you got hurt, because it meant I finally got to meet you.”

Zuko looked away, his jaw clenched, but didn’t speak.

“You were the first person close to my age who wasn’t a monk. The other kids — they were raised by monks. I wasn’t. My mom raised me. So I always felt a little... different. Not bad different, just... apart.”

He exhaled slowly. “But then you came. And we joked. And you played with me. And for a while, it felt like I had a brother.”

Aang's voice broke.

“And then, in one day... everything changed. The Fire Nation attacked. My dad died. Our mom disappeared. And you—” He stopped himself. “You changed.”

Zuko's shoulders tensed.

“I lost my whole family,” Aang said. “Not just my dad.”

There was silence.

Then Zuko finally spoke.

“I felt it too,” he said quietly. “The temple burning. I watched it from a distance. My own nation did that. My people.” His voice cracked. “I was a prince. I was supposed to lead them. I was supposed to protect people. And I just stood there. I couldn’t do anything.”

Aang looked up at him.

“I see how that memory haunts you,” Zuko said. “That nightmare you have, the one where the temple burns and everyone blames you because you’re the Avatar. Because you weren’t strong enough.”

Aang’s eyes widened in surprise — he didn’t think Zuko had noticed.

“I hate that dream,” Zuko said, “because I do the same thing to myself. Except in mine... it’s worse.”

Aang listened, eyes round.

“I see my father. I see him hurting you. Killing you.” Zuko swallowed. “And I can’t move. I can’t stop it. And I keep thinking... maybe it’ll happen. Maybe one day he’ll find us, and I’ll freeze again.”

There was a long pause.

“I couldn’t even stand up to him when he challenged me,” Zuko said bitterly, his hand raising to touch his scarred face “I lost before I even tried. So when I think about the future... when I imagine having to protect you from him — or from Azula — I wonder if I’ll fail again.”

“You won’t,” Aang said, his voice firm despite the tears in his eyes.

Zuko glanced at him.

“I was angry at you because it felt like you left me. But I see now... you never did.” Aang sniffled. “You’ve always been protecting me. Even when I didn’t get it. Even when you were hurting.”

Zuko exhaled slowly.

“I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough,” he admitted.

“We’ll try,” Aang said. “Together.”

Zuko looked over. Aang held out his hand, small and steady.

After a moment, Zuko took it.

They sat like that for a while — two boys who’d seen too much, holding onto the only family they had left.

Chapter Text

Ash drifted through the air like slow-falling snow, settling softly on rooftops and blanketing the landscape in a muted shade of grey. The once-vibrant hills surrounding the small mining village now looked tired and worn, their colours dulled by soot and neglect.

The group crested a low ridge, pausing to take in the view. Below them lay the village, its buildings caked in grime, silent and still. No laughter, no chatter, no clatter of daily life carried on the wind — only the heavy quiet of something lost.

Katara’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Something’s wrong.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the scene. “It’s under Fire Nation control.”

“How can you tell?” Sokka asked, frowning.

Zuko gestured toward the faded banners fluttering weakly against the grey sky, the blackened soot that clung to every surface, and the eerie absence of sound. “The banners. The coal soot. And the silence.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances but pressed onward, cloaking themselves in plain Earth Kingdom garb to blend in. They slipped into the outskirts of the village, stepping carefully through the quiet streets until they reached the market square.

A few vendors tended their stalls with tired movements, their eyes wary and voices low.

Zuko pulled his hood lower and turned to the others. “We need supplies. Let’s split up.”

Before they could disperse, a Fire Nation patrol casually entered the same street where they stood.

“Act natural,” Sokka hissed urgently.

Immediately, the group froze — but none of them looked natural.

Katara’s hands shot up like she’d been caught stealing, Aang grinned wildly while clutching a cabbage, and Sokka crouched awkwardly, pretending to examine a pair of boots.

Only Zuko kept his composure, casting them a sharp side-eye that could have cut stone.

“You’re all idiots,” he muttered under his breath.

With the danger passed, they finally split up.

Zuko and Aang headed toward a stall heavy with rice and dried vegetables, while Katara and Sokka moved off in search of some meat jerky.

Sokka scowled. “Why do we always get the weird-smelling stuff?”

Katara rolled her eyes and smiled. “Because Aang’s a vegetarian and it would be insensitive to send him to buy meat, plus we trust you to choose wisely.”

Sokka muttered under his breath as he trudged forward. “I feel extremely manipulated.”

The market was subdued, coated in a film of soot and silence. Even the wind seemed to carry ash in its breath. Stalls were open, but the vendors moved without energy, their voices low, their eyes watchful.

Zuko and Aang moved together through the main road. Zuko had split the group to avoid drawing attention — he and Aang were to find rice, vegetables and dried fruits, while Katara and Sokka handled the meats. Aang was already at a produce stall, bent over a basket of shrivelled dates and wrinkled pears, haggling with a gentle sort of optimism that made the vendor both amused and confused.

Zuko, meanwhile, had drifted.

Across the narrow street stood a Fire Nation stall — tucked modestly between a closed bakery and a lamp-seller. Faded red banners framed shelves of lacquered knickknacks: rusted pins, chipped tea sets, battered incense holders, and theatrical masks with long-forgotten meanings. One mask caught Zuko’s attention immediately — white and blue, with sharp lines and empty almond-shaped eyes.

The Blue Spirit.

His breath caught.

He stepped closer, the air seeming to still around him. The paint was cracked in one corner, but the pattern was unmistakable. It was from Love Amongst the Dragons. The same mask the mysterious lover wore in his mother’s favourite play — the one she used to act out for him at bedtime. He could still remember her voice as she whispered the lines in the flickering glow of lantern light, the way her fingers curled around the scroll’s edge, her smile when he begged her to read it again.

Zuko reached out, brushing the mask gently with his fingertips.

“You know that one?” the vendor asked, glancing up from a crate of carved fire lilies.

Zuko didn’t look at him. “I used to read it all the time.”

The man studied him more closely. “You’re Fire Nation, aren’t you?”

Zuko blinked, caught in the moment. The vendor tilted his head. “You’re one of us, right? Then why’re you dressed like those lowlife Earth nationals?”

The words snapped Zuko back into the present. He straightened, his hand dropping from the mask. “I— My mother disappeared when I was young,” he said quickly, the lie so close to truth that it stuck to his tongue. “I’m traveling with my little brother now.” He nodded across the road, where Aang was trying to smile his way into a discount on dried pears. “We’re searching for her. The clothes… help us stay out of trouble.”

The man’s expression softened, his sharpness melting into something gentler. “How old is he?”

“Ten.”

“And you?”

“…Fifteen.”

The vendor’s eyes softened as he watched Zuko reach into his pouch. “No need,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I have children too.” His gaze lingered on the scar that marked almost half of Zuko’s face — to what the vendor thought to be a silent testament to the hardships the boy had endured raising both himself and his younger brother.

Zuko hesitated, the weight of those eyes making him suddenly aware of how exposed and vulnerable he felt. A flush of embarrassment crept across his cheeks beneath the scar. Pride warred with humility.

The vendor gave a slow, resigned nod. “Hard times for children. Especially ours.”

He turned back to the stall and reached beneath the counter. “Here,” he said, pulling out a worn scroll tied with a faded crimson ribbon. He handed it to Zuko along with the mask. “Let this be a relic of your homeland… in this foreign land. You’ll want it more than I do.”

Zuko’s fingers closed around the mask and scroll, his movements slow and reverent. For a moment, the proud fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by quiet gratitude.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Zuko slammed a handful of coins — some bearing the mark of the Fire Nation, others from Earth Kingdom — down on the table, enough to cover the cost of the items.

The vendor gave a small, knowing smile.

Zuko turned without another word, the weight of the exchange settling in his chest as he stepped back into the muted village.

He tucked both items carefully into his satchel, the scroll fitting neatly beside his spare clothes and flint kit. The mask’s weight was surprisingly light, like memory pressed into lacquer.

Aang returned with a cheerful bounce. “I got an extra handful of pears!” he announced, holding up the bag like a trophy. “I told the lady we were feeding a whole hungry family.”

Zuko glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You realize she probably thought you meant more than four people, right?”

Aang shrugged. “Still worked.”

“What’s in your bag?” Aang asked, pointing to the bulge in Zuko’s satchel.

“Just something from the Fire Nation stall. I’ll show you later,” Zuko said, nonchalant, but inside, he wondered if their mother ever acted out the story for Aang as she did for him every night before bed. He wondered if Aang would recognize it. Turning away, he added, “Let’s find the others.”

He didn’t say more, and Aang didn’t press. But as they walked back toward the western gate, Zuko’s hand lingered briefly on the scroll inside his bag — a relic of home, heavy with the sound of a mother’s voice that no longer answered.

After gathering their supplies, the group left the village together, walking the quiet path that led back toward Appa. The air was still thick with soot, and the silence of the mining town lingered with them like dust on their clothes.

Somewhere along the way, Momo had found what might’ve been a nut — or possibly a rock — and was determined to crack it open. He gripped it in both paws, slammed it against the ground... and at that exact moment, a deep tremor rolled through the earth.

Momo froze.

He stared at the object, ears twitching, then very gently set it down like it might explode. Another tremor followed. This time, it didn’t come from him.

The group looked up sharply.

“Did you feel that?” Katara asked.

They moved quickly toward the source of the disturbance and stopped just behind a low ridge. Below them, a teenage boy worked near a coal seam, pulling chunks of black stone from the ground. With a subtle flick of his hand, a slab of earth floated to his side and crumbled neatly into his basket.

“He’s an earthbender,” Katara whispered, eyes lighting up.

Sokka narrowed his eyes. “We should be careful around that guy.”

Before he could stop her, Katara stepped right out of their hiding place and called out brightly, “Hi there!”

Sokka sighed, burying his face in one hand. “Why do I even talk?”

Startled, the boy whipped around. His eyes widened, and without a word, he bolted.

By the time the sun began its slow descent behind the ash-tinted hills, the group had found a clearing near a quiet riverbank to set up camp. Zuko and Sokka were busy pitching the tents — or, more accurately, bickering over how taut the ropes should be — while Katara knelt by the water, guiding streams and droplets with practiced motions.

Aang sat nearby, wide-eyed and practically vibrating with questions.
“Wait—how did you do that whip move again? And what if the current’s too strong? Can you freeze it mid-air?”

Katara laughed softly, flicking a bead of water at him. “You ask more questions than Momo when he finds a new fruit.”
She paused, then smiled. “I could show you. I mean, I only know a little. But if you want—”

“Yes!” Aang leapt to his feet before she could finish. “Absolutely yes!”

“Don’t get too excited,” Zuko said gruffly from where he was tying off a canvas flap. “We’re still close to a Fire Nation siege. If someone sees bending, we’re in trouble.”

Sokka added with a nod, “Just… don’t water whip anyone in the face unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

The practice went on for a short while until Katara decided to wash some of their travel-worn clothes. She gathered their laundry and padded off to a quieter section of the river.

Chapter Text

Aang wandered back toward Zuko, who was crouched beside his bag, pulling something long and wrapped from the side pouch. Aang tilted his head.

“Is that what you got from the Fire Nation vendor?” he asked.

Zuko glanced up, then gave a small nod. He unrolled it carefully to reveal the old, creased scroll.

“It’s a play,” he said. “I used to hear and then read it myself almost every night growing up.” His voice lowered slightly. “It was our mother’s favourite. She read it to me before bed.”

Aang blinked in surprise and slowly sat down beside him. “I don’t think I know this one.”

Zuko hesitated, then unrolled it further. “It’s called Love Amongst the Dragons.”

Sokka and Katara had returned to camp just in time to overhear. They quietly settled near the fire, curious.

Zuko began explaining the story — a tale of two dragon spirits from opposing forces, destined to fight but fated to fall in love instead. Of betrayal, courage, and sacrifice beneath volcano-lit skies. As he spoke, his voice softened — not so much performing as remembering. Aang listened raptly, and even Sokka, who had initially been fiddling with his tent pole, leaned closer.

Just as Aang opened his mouth to ask a question, a loud crash echoed through the valley.

Everyone jumped to their feet.

They ran toward the sound and found a collapsed mine entrance. Dust and rubble filled the air. A groan rose from beneath the wreckage — an old man, pinned beneath splintered beams and heavy stone.

Katara spotted a familiar figure nearby.

“Hey!” she shouted, dashing toward the earthbender.

He looked startled, backing away slightly.

“Please,” Katara said urgently. “We need your help.”

He hesitated, glancing from her to the rubble. Then, jaw tightening, he stepped forward and raised his hands.

With practiced precision, he shifted the earth, lifting beams and clearing a path. In moments, the old man was freed and stumbling away without even a thank you.

The group remained.

“You saved his life,” Katara said warmly.

The boy nodded once, brushing dust from his sleeves.

“I’m Katara,” she continued. “That’s Sokka, my brother. Aang, and Zuko”.

“I’m Haru,” he replied.

Sokka asked, “What happened to the other earthbenders in the village?”

Haru’s face darkened. “They were taken. The Fire Nation rounded them up. Said it was too dangerous to leave us free.”

Zuko looked at him with quiet respect. “It was brave of you. Risking everything to save someone.”

Aang grinned. “Yeah! And don’t worry about us — we’re not going to report you or anything. Three out of four of us are benders too.”

Haru blinked. “Then… why didn’t you help?”

Katara stiffened, suddenly remembering their clothes. Aang jumped in before she could flounder.

“We’re not earthbenders,” he said brightly. “Katara’s a waterbender, and she and Sokka are from the Water Tribe. I’m an airbender!”

He paused, then gestured at Zuko. “And he’s… a firebender… but not the bad kind!”

Zuko looked unamused.

“He’s my brother,” Aang added quickly. “Our mom was a firebender, and Zuko lived at the Air Temple with me before the war started.”

Haru’s tense shoulders slowly relaxed. “You can stay at my place tonight. It’s safer than out here.”

The group packed up their camp quickly and followed him back to his home, a modest cottage tucked behind old hills. Haru’s mother gave them a wary once-over but said nothing as she gestured toward a side room with spare mats.

“I’ll keep Appa from eating all the hay,” Aang promised.

Meanwhile Appa was already mid-chew, half a bale of hay already in his mouth. He blinked slowly, then… continued chewing.

That night, the group settled on floor mats, warm with borrowed blankets. Aang curled up beside Zuko, poking him gently.

“Can you read the story now?”

Zuko gave a quiet sigh and opened the scroll.

His voice, low and steady, carried the ancient tale once more.

Katara and Sokka, half-listening at first, soon grew quiet. The flicker of firelight danced on their faces as words drifted around them.

By the time the scroll reached its final lines, the only sound was gentle breathing.

They had all fallen asleep.

Morning sunlight filtered through the windows as the group stirred from sleep. They stretched, yawned, and began packing up their things. Zuko folded his blanket, while Aang tried to coax Momo away from a half-eaten basket of dried fruit. Katara finished tying her roll of clothes and stepped into the hallway.

Haru’s mother was already up, standing by the door with a distant look on her face. As the others gathered, Katara smiled and bowed her head slightly.

“Thank you again for letting us stay,” she said. “Please tell Haru we’re grateful for everything.”

But Haru’s mother didn’t smile back. She wrung the edge of her shawl in her hands, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, quietly, she said, “They took him. During the night. Fire Nation soldiers.”

The air turned cold in an instant.

“What?” Katara’s voice was sharp, disbelieving. “But… how? Why?”

“They must have found out what happened in the mine,” the woman said, eyes fixed on the floor. “I woke up and found the door open. A neighbour said they saw him being dragged toward the garrison.”

Katara’s face crumpled in guilt. “It’s my fault. I told him to help. I encouraged him to be brave and now…” She clenched her fists. “Now he’s gone.”

Zuko stepped forward. “There was no way to predict they’d come so quickly.”

“No,” Katara snapped. “But I should have known they’d come at all. We have to get him out.”

“What are you talking about?” Zuko frowned. “We can’t storm a prison. It’s dangerous. Think this through.”

“I am thinking,” Katara said fiercely. “I’m going to get arrested.”

“What?” Sokka and Zuko said at the same time, equally horrified.

“I’ll make them think I’m an earthbender,” she continued. “They’ll take me to wherever they took Haru. Then I can help him escape.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Zuko said flatly. “You don’t know what kind of prison it is. You don’t know how many guards there are, what you’re walking into—”

“I’m not asking for permission,” Katara said. “I’m doing this.”

Aang stepped forward. “I think she’s right.”

Zuko turned on him. “You’re not serious.”

“She helped someone and now she wants to help again,” Aang said firmly. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right?”

The two glared at each other, tension crackling in the air. But then Zuko glanced toward Haru’s mother—still standing silently, her shoulders hunched as though she were trying to disappear—and the anger drained from his face.

He sighed. “Fine. But if you’re going to do something that reckless, we’d better make sure it actually works.”

Sokka scratched his chin. “I have an idea… There are ventilation shafts near the edge of the village. We could hide there and toss up rocks when the guards come by. Make it look like Katara’s bending them.”

Zuko crossed his arms, unsure about the plan.

Aang grinned. “Leave that part to me.”

A little while later, they were crouched by a cluster of stone vents. Aang hovered behind one, ready to use a quick burst of air. Sokka placed a few carefully sized rocks on top of the grates.

Katara stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the setup with deep scepticism.

“Okay, on three,” Sokka said. “One… two—”

Before he could finish, Aang launched a gust of air. The rocks flew into the air—along with Katara’s balance. She shrieked and faceplanted into the dirt.

Zuko winced. “That looked painful.”

“Let’s try that again,” Katara muttered, spitting out a mouthful of grass.

After a few more rounds of fine-tuning (and at least two more unintended faceplants), they got the timing right. Katara would gesture as if lifting the rock, Aang would send it flying, and Sokka would make a big show of reacting. It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top. And it was exactly what they needed.

When the time came, Katara marched into the village square. Sokka followed behind, loudly protesting.

“I don’t care what you say!” Katara announced theatrically. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with me!”

“Ugh, here we go,” Sokka mumbled, not bothering to hide his cringe.

Katara pointed dramatically at a passing Fire Nation guard. “You! With the ears! A giant-eared cretin! Look at those things—do animals use them for shade? I bet elephants gather around and make fun of how large your ears are!”

The guard blinked, confused and a little offended.

Katara raised her hands. “I’ll show you who’s boss! EARTHBENDING STYLE!”

Nothing happened.

“I said… EARTHBENDING STYLE!”

Aang, who got distracted by a butterfly, quickly jumped into action after Zuko slapped his own face in annoyance and then poked his younger brother's shoulder.

A rock levitated from the grate behind her—slowly, shakily—revealing Momo underneath, holding up his tiny paws, grooming an armpit.

The soldier gawked. “That lemur! He’s… earthbending!”

Sokka smacked his forehead. “No, you idiot! It’s the girl!”

The soldier flushed. “Right. Of course.”

He barked out a command, and more guards rushed in. Katara let herself be seized, shooting one last look over her shoulder at her friends as they hauled her away.

The plan had worked.

Now they just had to figure out how to get her back.

Chapter Text

Katara was taken aboard a coal-powered rig that floated isolated in the vast ocean. The air was thick with smoke and the constant clanking of metal echoed all around. From a distance, Zuko, Aang, and Sokka followed on Appa’s broad back, watching the fortress grow larger through the mist.

Aang’s usually bright eyes were clouded with doubt. “I’m not sure this plan is going to work,” he admitted quietly.

Sokka tried to reassure him with a grin. “Don’t worry. She knows what she’s doing. They’re taking her to a prison in the middle of the sea—and she’s a waterbender. That’s an advantage.”

Aang nodded but tension still gripped his shoulders.

Inside the rig, Katara was lined up with other new prisoners, their faces weary and resigned. The Warden stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding.

“You will find peace here only through obedience. Resist, and you will face the consequences.”

A cough from an elder man broke the silence, and instantly a jet of fire shot from the Warden’s hand, striking the offender and sending him to solitary confinement.

The Warden led them through the metal corridors. “This entire rig is forged of metal—no earth to bend here. Your powers mean nothing.”

Katara peered at the sea, the shore far beyond reach. A heavy loneliness settled over her as she imagined the prisoners—cut off from loved ones, trapped in this floating prison.

Katara’s heart leapt when she spotted a familiar figure among the prisoners. She broke from the line and ran toward him.

“Haru!” she called out, relief flooding her voice.

Haru’s eyes widened in shock. “Katara? How did you end up here? You’re not an earthbender.”

Katara met his gaze steadily. “I’m here to save you.”

Haru gave her a tired but grateful smile. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He led her through the crowd to a small group of older men quietly sharing a meagre meal. One of them sat at the centre, his face lined with years of hardship.

“This is my father,” Haru said softly.

The man nodded and offered Katara some of their food. She accepted but immediately grimaced at the stale taste.

Before she could say anything, another prisoner approached Tyro quietly. “The sick ones are getting worse. We need more blankets, or they won’t last.”

Tyro’s face tightened with worry, but he stayed silent, listening.

Tyro nodded. “I’ll try to speak with the Warden. For now, the elders and sick get blankets; the rest of us will have to manage without.”

Katara scanned the room, noting the prisoners’ broken spirits, surrounded by cold metal walls.

She urged Tyro, “We have to fight back. Organize a coup.”

He hesitated. “They’re too strong. We would be crushed.”

Determined, Katara stepped forward, her voice rising above the quiet murmurs of the prisoners. It made anger surge through her.

“They may have taken away your bending,” she started to shout, locking eyes with those around her, “but they cannot take away your courage. It lives in your heart, stronger than any chain or iron wall.”

She paced slowly, letting her words sink in.

“It’s your courage they should truly fear—since it’s deeper than any mines they force you to dig, deeper than any ocean that keeps you trapped in this metal cage. Because courage... courage can’t be caged. It can’t be silenced. It’s what will break these walls and bring us all back home.”

For a moment, a flicker of something like hope passed through the prisoners’ eyes. But then the silence returned, heavier than before.

Katara’s heart sank. The fight inside her felt crushed, and the weight of their despair threatened to overwhelm her.

The Warden smiled darkly. Katara’s failure was his triumph—a proof that their spirits had been crushed.

Her hope faltered. This place was worse than she had imagined.

Above, Zuko, Aang, and Sokka tracked the rig and prepared a rescue.

That night, Sokka slipped inside the prison and found Katara, leading her quietly toward the edge where Aang and Zuko waited on Appa.

Katara refused to leave.

Sokka groaned, tugging at his sock—still damp from their dash through the prison corridors. “Katara, come on! We’re barely hanging on here.”

Zuko stepped closer, lowering his voice but firm. “We got what we came for. If we stay any longer, we risk getting caught. We need to go.”

Katara’s eyes were sharp and resolute. “I’m not leaving these people behind. Not when we can still help.”

Zuko scowled but didn’t argue further.

Aang glanced between them, uncertain, torn. After a moment, he took a breath and nodded. “She’s right. We can’t just leave without even trying.”

So Sokka, Aang, and Zuko sneaked back into the prison with her.

Aang whispered to Appa, “Go hide in the sky. Stay close but out of sight.”

As Appa turned to leave, guards spotted the giant beast and hurried to report.

The Warden frowned as the message reached him.

“Well, which was it, a buffalo or a bison?”

“Uh, I’m not sure what the difference is, but that’s not really the point, is it, sir?”

“I’ll decide what the point is, fool!” The Warden threw the first guard overboard. Turning to the second, he barked, “You! Wake up the captain! Search the entire rig!”

“Sir… that was the captain you just threw overboard.”

“Then wake up someone I haven’t thrown overboard and search this rig! There’s something going on here and I don’t like it!”

Hidden among the crates on the deck, Katara, Aang, Zuko, and Sokka crouched in tense whispers. The early dawn mist clung to the iron rails, the hum of machinery echoing beneath their feet.

“I wish I could just summon a hurricane,” Aang muttered.

Zuko and Sokka both gave him a flat look. Even Katara raised a brow.

Aang held up his hands. “No, I mean—just to scare them off! If the Warden ran away, we can just sneak into his room and grab the keys.”

Zuko shook his head. “He probably keeps them on him at all times. If he runs, the keys go with him.”

Aang frowned, crossing his arms with a pout. “Well, at least I’m throwing out ideas.”

Katara’s voice lowered. “I tried. I gave a speech, tried to rally them. It didn’t work. They’re too broken.”

Sokka sighed. “If only there was something—earth, rocks, anything—they could feel connected to. Something to give them back their strength.”

“The whole rig is made of metal,” Katara reminded him grimly. “Nothing for them to bend.”

Aang looked around in frustration, then paused. His eyes narrowed at the black smoke pouring steadily from a nearby vent. “Wait... look at that. There’s smoke coming out of the pipes.”

Zuko’s eyes followed his gaze. He nodded, his good eye lighting up. “That means coal. They’re burning coal to power this place.”

Sokka sat up straighter. “Coal’s earth. If we can get it out into the open—maybe blow it through the vents like before—they’ll have something to fight with.”

“I’ve seen warship blueprints,” Zuko added quickly. “I know the general layout the Fire Nation uses. I can guess where the coal room might be.”

“Then let’s go,” Aang said, already rising.

With a somewhat-plan established. Zuko and Aang slipped into the shadows toward the heart of the rig, while Sokka and Katara stayed behind, tucked into the crates, waiting.

The first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon. Shouts echoed across the deck.

“There they are! Intruders!”

Katara and Sokka sprang to their feet, only to find themselves surrounded by firebending guards, flames dancing in their palms.

Earthbenders stood along the dock, watching silently from behind the firebenders, faces blank with defeat

The Warden emerged with a sneer. “You should have kept your heads down. Might’ve lived longer that way.”

Suddenly, a deep rumble filled the air. Smoke burst from the nearby vent—and then a roar of black coal came flooding through, erupting onto the deck in a massive surge.

Katara wasted no time. She clambered up the dark mountain of coal and stood tall.

“This is your chance!” she shouted to the watching prisoners. “Use it—fight back!”

She raised a piece of coal high in her hand.

The earthbenders shifted uncomfortably, a few stepping back, uncertain.

The Warden laughed, dismissive. “They’re broken, girl. That speech might’ve meant something once—but not now.”

He turned, waving to the guards. “End this. Now.”

But just as he was about to give the order, a lump of coal slammed into the side of his head. He stumbled, eyes wide in disbelief.

Haru stood tall, hand outstretched, face burning with defiance.

“You were saying?” he growled.

The Warden roared and launched a fireball toward him—but it struck a thick wall of coal that rose up in an instant.

Tyro stood beside his son, fists clenched, bending the coal with newfound fury. “You won’t touch him.”

More prisoners stepped forward, coal rising in waves as bending returned to their limbs and fire returned to their hearts. The prison erupted into chaos—earthbenders hurling coal, smashing through walls, guards fleeing or falling in retreat.

Within minutes, the rig was theirs.

The Warden, now bound and trembling, was dragged to the edge of the dock. His voice quivered.

“P-please... I can’t swim.”

Tyro looked down at him, unmoved. “I heard cowards don’t drown.”

Then, without a word, he shoved the Warden overboard.

Chapter Text

The captured Fire Nation rig now floated under Earth Kingdom control. Repainted banners were nowhere in sight, but the spirit of freedom was unmistakable in every shout and cheer that echoed across the sea. The stolen ships groaned under the weight of passengers finally heading home—earthbenders, once broken, now whole.

Appa paddled alongside the fleet, his heavy breaths stirring the waves. In his saddle sat Aang, Zuko, and Sokka, watching the departing ships with quiet satisfaction.

On one of the decks, Katara stood with Haru and Tyro, her expression a mix of pride and parting sorrow.

“Thank you,” Haru said, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “You saved us.”

Tyro placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “You gave us back more than our freedom. You reminded us who we are.”

Katara smiled. “Will you be heading back home?”

Tyro turned to the gathered earthbenders. “We’re not just going home,” he shouted, his voice rising with fire. “We’re going back to reclaim it!”

A thunderous roar of agreement echoed across the ship as fists raised in the air.

Haru turned back to her. “You could come with us, you know. We could use someone like you.”

Katara’s smile softened. She shook her head. “This is your mission now. Mine is to reach the North Pole. I need to learn real waterbending... and my village—it needs rebuilding.”

Understanding flickered in Haru’s eyes, even if he looked reluctant. “Is Aang… is he the Avatar?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. But please—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Haru said quickly. “I promise.”

With a final embrace, Katara stepped back onto Appa’s saddle. The bison let out a low grunt before lifting into the sky. They circled once above the cheering earthbenders below before gliding toward the coastline, leaving the rig and its painful memories behind.

That evening, they made camp by the sea. A gentle breeze blew in from the ocean, and waves lapped at the shore as a small fire crackled between them.

Aang sat beside Zuko, poking the embers with a stick. “Did you ever see a prison like that before?”

Zuko’s eyes were fixed on the horizon. “There’s a place in the Fire Nation… the Boiling Rock. It’s where they send the worst criminals. Traitors. Murderers. I think this rig was modelled after it.”

Sokka perked up, his curiosity piqued. “Boiling Rock? Sounds like a bad spa day.”

No one laughed.

Sokka frowned. “Oh, come on. That was a good one.”

Katara smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Nice try.”

She turned to Zuko. “Why is it called the Boiling Rock?”

Zuko finally looked away from the sea. “It’s built on a volcanic island in the middle of a lake of boiling water. No way in or out unless they want you gone.”

Sokka squinted. “So… basically a really intense hot tub with guards.”

This time, Aang chuckled. Sokka beamed with pride—until he noticed Aang’s smile falter.

“What?” he asked.

Aang glanced at Zuko, who was still staring at Katara, his brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong, Zuko?” Aang asked.

Sokka looked over at Zuko and noticed his gaze was fixed on his sister. “If you have something to say, just say it,” he frowned.

“Nothing,” Zuko said, tilting his head. “It just looks strange.”

“What does?” Aang asked, stepping in front of Zuko and aligning his head with his brother’s, trying to see what Zuko saw.

Sokka glanced at Katara, then behind her, but still couldn’t figure it out. Katara also looked around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“What’s strange?” she asked, as confused as the others.

“Seeing you without the necklace. Did you take it off for safekeeping or to clean it?” Zuko asked.

Aang suddenly let out an “Ahh,” finally noticing what his brother meant.

Sokka’s head snapped toward his sister, and Katara’s hand flew to her neck. Her breath hitched.
“What—? No. No, I had it. I had it on the rig—”

She scrambled through her pack, increasingly frantic. “It’s gone. It’s really gone.”

Zuko’s good eye widened. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to…” He wasn’t sure what to say.

“It’s not like you took it,” Sokka waved him off and started helping Katara search through her bag. “So there’s nothing to apologize for.”

Frowning, Sokka rose and went to his own bag, remembering that Katara helped him pack earlier that day. Maybe the necklace had accidentally fallen in there.

Though worried, Sokka tried to smile. “Thanks for pointing it out, though.”

“We’ll find it,” Aang said brightly, starting to look around the camp.

Zuko nodded and joined the search. “It can’t be far,” he reassured her.

Far across the sea, deep within the shadowed remains of the prison rig, Fire Nation soldiers moved through the twisted wreckage.

Amid the debris, Commander Zhao knelt.

From the cracked grating, he plucked a small, delicate pendant—blue and silver, its Water Tribe craftsmanship unmistakable.

He turned it over in his fingers, studying it with sharp interest.

A slow, knowing smile curled on his lips.

Chapter Text

The wind rushed past them as Appa soared through the clouds, his deep growls rumbling softly beneath them. The sky stretched wide and endless, but Katara didn’t seem to notice. She sat near the edge of the saddle, her shoulders slumped, hand resting absently against the hollow of her neck.

It wasn’t there.

Her necklace — her mother’s necklace — was gone.

Aang watched her silently from the front of the saddle, where he sat cross-legged, one hand loosely gripping the reins. He hated seeing her like this. After a long moment, he turned and crawled over to her, his voice soft against the rushing wind.

“Hey,” he said gently. “We could go back. To the prison rig. Maybe we’ll find it there.”

Katara looked up at him. Her smile was small, grateful. “Thanks, Aang. Really. But no. We can’t delay everything just for a necklace.”

“It’s not just a necklace,” Aang started to argue, but she shook her head.

“It’s alright,” she said. “We’ve got a mission. That’s what matters now.”

Not knowing what more to say, Aang nodded with downcast eyes, stood, and quietly climbed back to Appa’s head — leaving Katara alone with her thoughts.

Nearby, Zuko exchanged a glance with Sokka. Both of them looked troubled — unsure whether to speak up and side with Aang. Before either could say anything, a sharp cry echoed above them.

All heads turned upward.

A dark silhouette swooped through the sky — sleek, fast, and familiar.

“Kai,” Zuko murmured, extending his arm.

The messenger hawk circled once, then dove, wings flaring before it landed expertly on Zuko’s forearm.

Sokka sat up straighter, eyes wide with expectation. Katara blinked, confused by her brother’s sudden alertness.

Zuko unfastened the small message tube from Kai’s leg and held the paper inside it out.

“It’s for you, I believe,” he said, handing the tightly rolled paper to Sokka.

Sokka didn’t take it immediately.

His fingers hovered just over the parchment, uncertain.

“What’s wrong?” Katara asked, scooting closer.

Sokka finally admitted, “I... I borrowed Kai. Sent a letter. To Dad.”

Katara’s breath caught. “You did?”

Sokka shrugged awkwardly. “I just... wanted to try. I didn’t know if Kai would even be able to find him. Or you know… I didn’t think he’d actually... you know. Write back.”

Zuko stood up and moved toward Appa’s head, gently patting Kai before stepping around the saddle’s edge. He climbed up beside Aang, giving the siblings their space.

Back near the centre of the saddle, Katara’s eyes widened as she reached for the message in Sokka’s hands.

“What if it’s just my letter again?” Sokka said, his tone protective, hesitant. “Kai might not have found him.”

But Katara was already reading.

And then she let out a sharp, joyful laugh. “It’s a reply!”

Sokka darted to her side so fast it was almost like he was bending time. “Let me see!”

They knelt together inside the saddle, heads bent over the message, devouring every word. For a moment, everything else — the lost necklace, the war, the pressure on Aang — faded into the background.

Aang watched them from Appa’s head, a soft smile growing on his face.

Beside him, Zuko leaned back, arms crossed. “At least someone got good news today,” he muttered, not unkindly.

Aang nudged Zuko gently. “Maybe you should write to Uncle Iroh or Lu Ten sometime—see how they’re doing.”

Zuko didn’t answer. He just kept watching the siblings behind them, and for a rare moment, didn’t feel like such an outsider.

Aang glanced at his older brother with a playful smile. “You’ve come a long way—you’re walking around Appa like it’s nothing now.” He chuckled, teasing, “Remember your first flights? You were gripping the saddle like it was the last thing holding you up, eyes glued so tight you didn’t even dare to look around.”

Zuko smirked at the memory but didn’t say much.

After a moment, the two climbed back onto Appa’s saddle. Zuko pulled out a worn map, spreading it carefully before them. “Let’s see where we should land next so Appa can get some rest.”

Katara’s face was practically glowing as she tucked the letter back into her coat. “He’s on his way to the North Pole! He might even meet us there!”

Aang grinned. “That’s amazing!”

“And he said he was surprised by the messenger hawk,” Katara added with a laugh. “He nearly dropped his tea when it landed!”

“He was really happy to hear from us,” she continued, her voice softer now. “He said he’s proud—proud of our village for helping the Air Nomads even though things are hard back home. Proud of me for wanting to learn waterbending.”

She smiled wide, looking between Aang and Zuko. “And proud of Sokka for defending the village while he was away.”

Zuko glanced toward Sokka, who was sitting a bit apart, quietly folding and unfolding a corner of the letter. Something about his silence felt heavy.

Zuko spoke gently. “You don’t look proud of yourself.”

Sokka didn’t respond right away. He kept his eyes on the paper for a moment, then sighed and looked up.

“He said he was proud,” he muttered. “But he also said… he was disappointed.”

Katara’s smile faded as she turned to her brother. “Sokka…”

Sokka let out a breath and finally explained. “When he left, he told me the village would be in my hands. That I had to take care of everyone.”

He paused. “But I left.”

Aang shifted beside him, frowning. “Wait—why would he say the village was in your hands?”

Zuko’s brow furrowed. “Your father was trusting you with that much responsibility?”

Sokka nodded slowly. “Yeah. He’s the chief of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Aang blinked, surprised. “So that means… you’re a prince?! And Katara’s a princess? Just like Zuko!”

Katara groaned immediately, waving her hands. “That’s not how it works in our village, Aang.”

“We don’t do crowns or royal titles or anything like that. It’s more about responsibility than, you know, thrones and parades.” Katara explained.

Sokka’s lips curled slightly at her reaction, but before he could say anything, he turned toward Aang, brow furrowed.

“Wait. What do you mean, ‘just like Zuko’?”

Aang suddenly looked like a turtle-duck caught in a firelight beam. He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously. “Oh. Uh. I mean—I guess I just figured, you know... with how Zuko’s kind of... um... royal and stuff...”

His words trailed off under the weight of everyone’s gaze. Even Appa made a snuffling sound.

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “Royal and stuff?”

Aang offered an awkward, sheepish smile. “Forget I said anything.”

Zuko let out a quiet sigh. He leaned back against the saddle’s edge, arms crossed, and said, “Aang and I share the same mother… but we have different fathers.”

There was a beat of silence as the weight of that revelation settled.

“My father is the Fire Lord.”

Katara’s eyes widened, stunned. Sokka’s jaw dropped, then clenched.

“You mean your family started all this? The war? The raids? The reason our tribe—our whole world—got torn apart?” His voice grew louder with each word.

Zuko didn’t flinch. He just looked down, silent, letting the accusation wash over him.

Aang, however, stood up sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stepped between them. “Zuko’s not his father, Sokka.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that his family caused everything!” Sokka snapped, his voice louder than he intended. The letter from his father had stirred up emotions he hadn’t fully processed, and now this truth about Zuko was too much to take in at once.

Aang squared his shoulders and stepped forward. “His whole family didn’t start the war, Sokka. Don’t blame everyone just because of one person. That’s... that’s racist.”

Zuko turned to look at him, one brow raised in confusion. “I don’t think that’s the right word.”

Aang blinked, faltered for half a second, then stubbornly shook his head. “Well—whatever the right word is, it’s not fair. You can’t lump everyone in together like that. It’s like saying a whole city is horrible just because you had one bad run-in with a thief.”

Sokka opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glanced away, jaw clenched, while Katara watched in silence, sensing the depth of the moment. Zuko, meanwhile, looked down, unsure what to do with the odd warmth spreading in his chest—Aang had just defended him with more fire than anyone had in years.

Chapter Text

Sokka shook his head, frustration burning in his chest. “Maybe. But it doesn’t erase where he came from.” His voice was tight, the words bitter on his tongue. With that, he turned his back to the others and moved to the far side of the saddle, sitting down with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his gaze fixed on the clouds rushing past.

Katara’s voice was soft behind him. “Don’t be so mad, Sokka,” she said gently. “We travelled with Iroh. We met Lu Ten. That’s already three members of Zuko’s family who didn’t seem to agree with the war—four if we also count Aang’s and Zuko’s mother. But you say they’re all bad just because of the Fire Lord?”

He didn’t look at her, but she pressed on. “Did they look like the kind of people who would start a war?”

Sokka stayed silent, but his grip on his arms loosened slightly.

“They brought us food and clothes,” Katara continued, her tone calm but firm. “Things our village desperately needed after the attack. They didn’t have to do that. They could have just taken Zuko and Aang and left—but they helped us however they could.”

The saddle was quiet for a beat, the wind carrying her words into the open sky.

“Even now,” she added, “they’re out there looking for air nomads survivors.”

Sokka’s frown eased a little. He remembered Iroh’s easy-going warmth, his calm wisdom, the way he had offered tea and advice in equal measure. And Lu Ten—though Sokka had seen him only briefly—had seemed kind in a quiet, sincere way. There had been a gentleness to him that mirrored Iroh’s, as if decency ran deeper than nation or bloodline.

He didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders slowly began to ebb.

Katara looked between them, her gaze softening as she turned toward Aang. “So… I always thought you two were from a Fire Nation and Air Nomad mix. That your parents were from two worlds.”

Aang glanced at Zuko, who remained silent, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “Our mother was Fire Nation. But… we don’t share a father.”

Katara tilted her head slightly, confusion flickering across her face. “Then… why did you lead us to believe otherwise when we first met at the South Pole?”

“I didn’t lie,” Aang said quickly, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “I just didn’t… explain it all.”

“But why?” she pressed gently.

Aang’s expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. “Because I was afraid of how you’d react,” he admitted, glancing toward Sokka as if making a quiet point. “Besides, does it really matter? Zuko is my big brother. Do I need or want to tell everyone he’s my half-brother? For me, that’s just an extra, useless word. Zuko is my big brother, and that’s it.”

He tried to smile, though it was tinged with emotion. “My father… he saw Zuko like a son too. Not just some kid.”

Zuko’s head turned slightly, his eyes widening at Aang’s words. He opened his mouth as if to respond, but no sound came. His good eye then fell to the bracelet tied to his wrist. A bracelet made by Aang’s father, Tashi. A faint pink flush crept across his cheeks.

He looked away, clearly flustered. The idea that someone had seen him like a son—and that Aang would say it aloud—was almost too much to process.

Katara’s gaze softened as she turned to Zuko, curiosity and concern threading her voice. “How did you end up at the Air Temple? And… why are you traveling with Aang?”

Zuko’s eyes darkened with a flicker of old pain. He took a slow breath before speaking, voice low but steady. “I was challenged to an Agni Kai — a fire nation duel for honour — because I spoke out against my father’s beliefs. Beliefs that led to this war. I lost. He burned me.”

Sokka’s eyes immediately darted to the jagged scar on Zuko’s face, and a sharp wince crossed his features, as if he could feel the sting of that fire. The weight of Zuko’s suffering hung heavy in the air.

Katara, moved by a gentle impulse, reached out cautiously, her hand hovering for a moment before resting lightly against the scar. Zuko didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed the touch, a silent acknowledgment of trust.

“My father…” Zuko’s voice faltered slightly, vulnerability seeping through his usual guarded tone. “He was cruel, sadistic even. When I was exiled, it felt like I could finally breathe. My uncle—he took me to the Air Temple to heal. Both my body and my spirit.”

Aang, eager to fill in the gaps, added softly, “Before Zuko arrived, we had never actually met. Our mother fled the Fire Nation capital after the death of our great-grandfather, Avatar Roku. She was threatened by the Fire Lord… that’s why we grew up apart.”

Sokka and Katara exchanged stunned looks, the weight of this revelation settling between them like a heavy fog. Words failed them for a moment, each processing the depth of loss and fear in their new friend’s story.

Gradually, Sokka’s anger began to dissolve. His voice grew softer, carrying an unexpected warmth. “I’m sorry, Zuko… for being angry about your family. I know you’re nothing like them.”

Relief flickered in Zuko’s eyes, a rare softness breaking through his usual reserve.

The wind tugged at their clothes as Appa soared over the treetops. Aang stood near the edge of the saddle, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazed up at the fluffy clouds drifting alongside them. Katara smiled softly, watching him. “Don’t they look so soft?” she said. “Like you could just jump down and land on a big, fluffy heap of cotton.”

Aang grinned. “I can do that!” Before anyone could react, he leapt from Appa’s back, gliding down toward the clouds below.

Moments later, Aang flew back up, dripping wet and laughing. “Turns out clouds are made of water!”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed, and his voice cut through the laughter, sharp with concern. “Everyone knows clouds are made out of water, Aang. You could’ve been seriously hurt! Clouds aren’t soft like cotton.”

Aang looked confused. “But… how does that work? How do clouds just float there?”

Katara and Sokka leaned in, their curiosity piqued. Katara tilted her head. “We don’t really have anything like clouds explained like that where we're from. It’s just part of the sky.”

Sokka scratched his chin. “Yeah, I always thought they were just… there. Like giant floating blankets or something.”

Zuko sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if preparing to be the teacher. “It’s water vapor—tiny droplets that are so light they stay suspended in the air. When warm air rises and cools, the vapor condenses into clouds. That’s why they float.”

“But what happens if you fall into one?” Aang asked, eyes wide, as if he didn’t just jump into one.

“You get wet,” Zuko said flatly. “They’re made of water, after all. If you fall through too fast or too hard, it can be dangerous. That’s why jumping off without thinking is reckless.”

Aang frowned but nodded slowly. “I didn’t know that. I just thought—”

“You thought they were soft and safe,” Katara finished gently, smiling. “It’s okay to be curious, Aang.”

Sokka grinned. “Yeah, and it’s good to learn something new. But maybe next time, don’t jump off without checking first, okay?”

Aang laughed, the worry fading. “Deal.”

Zuko shook his head, but the tightness in his expression softened. “Just… be careful.”

The group settled back into their spots as Appa flew on, but their attention was soon drawn to the land below. What had once been a lush, green stretch of forest was now a stark scar — blackened tree stumps jutted out like broken bones, the ground scorched and lifeless.

Katara leaned forward. “Where... where did the forest go?”

Appa rumbled in concern, circling lower.

“I don’t see any fire,” Sokka said, squinting, “but everything’s... dead.”

Aang’s breath caught in his throat. “We’re landing.”

They touched down near the edge of the devastation. The silence was eerie. No birds, no rustling leaves — just the creak of charred wood and the crunch of ash under their feet.

Aang stepped off Appa slowly, looking around in disbelief. “This was a forest,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Zuko walked a few paces ahead, kneeling by a crumbled tree trunk. He placed a hand on the soot-covered bark, then wiped it away slowly, revealing a faint scorch mark underneath.

“This wasn’t just fire,” he muttered. “This was controlled. Intentional.”

Aang’s fists clenched at his sides. “The Fire Nation did this.”

Zuko didn’t argue.

“I was supposed to protect the world,” Aang said, his voice thick. “The balance. Look at this. It’s not just people hurt by the war. It’s everything.”

Zuko stood and stared out at the wasteland. “I grew up hearing about how the Fire Nation was spreading progress,” he said bitterly. “But this doesn’t look like progress. It looks like death.”

Sokka kicked at the dry dirt, uneasy. “Well... I guess there’s no need to set up camp here.”

“We should find the village nearby,” Katara suggested gently. “They might need help.”

They continued on foot, silence hanging heavy until the ground shifted again — not from war, but from panic.

By nightfall, they reached the outskirts of a small Earth Kingdom village. Houses stood cracked and crooked, some scorched. Lanterns flickered nervously in the windows. And as they approached, a terrified villager rushed to meet them.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man warned. “Hei Bai will return tonight.”

“Who?” Katara asked.

“A spirit,” the man whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “It comes with the dark moon. Angry. Unstoppable.”

“Spirits?” Sokka crossed his arms. “Or something else knocking over buildings in the night?”

Zuko nodded beside him. “I’ve heard stories like this before. Nine times out of ten, it’s just a wild animal with good branding.”

Katara rolled her eyes. “Can you two be serious for once?”

“I am serious,” Sokka replied. “Seriously sceptical.”

But Aang’s face had gone pale. “Hei Bai’s a real spirit,” he said. “I think I remember the name from the Air Temple scrolls.”

“Then what do we do?” Katara asked.

Aang hesitated. “I don’t know. I haven’t learned how to speak to spirits yet.”

He wandered toward the village’s centre, heart sinking. Children were huddled together in fear, parents clutching tools or lucky charms, hoping to survive another night.

Aang sat on a low stone wall at the edge of the village, his shoulders hunched and eyes fixed on the charred horizon. Smoke still clung faintly to the air, and the jagged stumps of what was once a thriving forest loomed like ghosts.

Zuko approached quietly, his footsteps crunching over scorched earth. He stopped beside Aang, holding something in his palm.

“There were turtle ducks in the palace pond,” Zuko said quietly. “I used to feed them with my mother. There was one I always looked for — it had a crooked beak and used to splash me more than the others. I guess I thought of it as mine… until it passed away. I was sad for a long time.”

Aang glanced sideways, silent but listening.

“Uncle Iroh sat with me by the pond,” Zuko continued, his gaze distant. “He said, ‘Life will always change, Zuko. But change isn’t the end. The leaves fall, but the roots remember. In time, something new grows in their place.’”

He opened his hand and offered Aang a small acorn, its surface dusty but intact. “I found this near the forest. It’s not much. But… maybe it’s a start.”

Aang stared at it, his fingers slowly curling around the acorn. The ache in his chest didn’t disappear, but something warm flickered through the heaviness.

As Zuko spoke, a few village children began to gather near them, curiosity overcoming their fear. They didn’t speak at first, just listened.

One little girl reached for Aang’s sleeve. “Is that going to grow into a tree?”

Aang looked at the acorn, then at her, and nodded. “Someday.”

The children cautiously moved closer, drawn by the quiet conversation and the small object in Aang’s hand. One by one, they gathered around, eyes fixed on the tiny acorn — a single seed in a world that felt shattered, yet still holding a flicker of hope.

A boy looked up at Aang, his young face puzzled. “But the forest… it’s all gone.”

Aang smiled gently. “Not forever. Just like our uncle said, even when things change and fall away, something new can grow. This acorn is proof that life goes on.”

The young boy glanced back up at Aang, his small hands curling into fists at his sides, as if holding onto that hope with all his might.

Katara’s heart tightened at the sight. She knelt beside the children and offered him a comforting smile, brushing a strand of dirt-smudged hair from his forehead.

Nearby, Zuko stood with his arms crossed, his gaze steady on Aang. Sokka lingered close, his expression conflicted but quietly respectful.

“You really think a glowing monster is a spirit?” he asked under his breath.

“I didn’t,” Zuko admitted. “But now… I’m not so sure.”

They waited as the sun set, the village wrapped in shadows once more.

And deep in the trees, something began to stir.

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, a hush fell over the village. The distant calls of night birds faded, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. One by one, villagers moved with purpose, locking doors and shuttering windows. An old bell tolled softly in the centre of the village, summoning the people toward the largest building — the town hall.

Aang, Katara, Zuko, and Sokka exchanged glances and followed the stream of villagers inside.

Zuko stepped forward. “Are people that afraid?”

Then, a quiet voice piped up from a nearby bench. “It takes people.” An older woman was cradling a child to her side. “Three were taken already. Two from the fields, one right from his doorstep. No one saw them go. Just… vanished.”

The man nodded grimly. “It’s been happening every night for the past few days. And with the winter solstice getting closer…”

Aang tilted his head. “What does the solstice have to do with it?”

An elder stepped out from the shadowed corner of the hall — his hair long and silver, and his voice a low rasp. “As the solstice nears, the barrier between our world and the spirit world weakens. Spirits can cross over more easily. Some come in peace… but others…”

He let the implication hang heavy in the air.

The first man clenched his fists. “Hai Bai is already angry. What happens when the worlds merge completely? What then?”

Aang looked around at the fearful faces — mothers holding children, elders murmuring prayers, men clutching whatever makeshift weapons they had — and felt the weight settle onto his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” he said softly. “I have to.”

Katara gently touched his arm. “Can we talk?”

They stepped away into a quiet corner, Sokka and Zuko following.

“You look uncertain,” Katara said.

Aang hesitated, his gaze flicking to the floor. “I am. No one ever taught me about the spirit world. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Sokka folded his arms. “That’s kind of a big problem, don’t you think? How are you supposed to help people when you don’t know anything about what you’re dealing with?”

Aang looked up, his expression still unsure… but steadier. “I don’t know. But I have to try. Maybe it’ll come to me… naturally.”

Katara smiled, warm and encouraging. “I think it will. You’re the Avatar, Aang. You’ve already helped so many people.”

Sokka gave a crooked grin. “And if you don’t figure it out, we’ll all get eaten by a spirit monster. So… motivation, right?”

Aang laughed quietly, the tension easing for a moment.

Zuko, who had been silent throughout, watched Aang with furrowed brows. His instinct was to say this was all foolish, to tell them to pack up and leave the villagers to their fate. But when he met Aang’s eyes — filled with fear, yes, but also unwavering resolve — he held his tongue.

As the last orange sliver of sun dipped beneath the treetops, Aang stepped toward the village gate, his staff in hand.

“I’ll wait here,” he said, planting himself between the rows of silent homes. “If Hai Bai is coming… I’ll talk to it.”

“No,” a villager said, rising from the crowd. “You can’t just walk out there! It’s dangerous!”

“Let him go,” another snapped. “He’ll just get taken like the others!”

Aang turned, his expression steady. “I’m the Avatar.”

Chapter Text

A heavy silence dropped over the room.

Murmurs rippled through the hall. A few gasps. Some turned hopeful — others sceptical.

“He’s just a boy,” one woman muttered, clutching her shawl tighter. “The Avatar should be able to protect us, not… gamble with his life.”

“He is the Avatar,” the elder said, stepping forward with slow, deliberate steps. His voice was calm. “Even if he hasn’t mastered all four elements, who better to confront a spirit than the one who walks the line between the worlds?”

Zuko folded his arms tightly. “You’re seriously going to let a kid — a kid who’s never even dealt with spirits before — just march out there on his own?”

The elder met his gaze with tired eyes. “What would you have us do? Cower until it takes more of us? If this boy truly is the Avatar, we owe him the chance to try.”

Aang didn’t say anything — he just turned and walked out the door, the fading light painting his silhouette in gold and then grey.

Inside, Zuko paced to the window, fists clenched at his sides. Sokka and Katara followed, watching the small figure outside, framed by the open sky.

“He shouldn’t be out there alone,” Zuko muttered, jaw tight.

“I’m going out,” Katara said quietly. “He shouldn’t be facing this alone.”

Sokka nodded beside her. “We can’t just let him deal with a monster by himself. It’s not right.”

Zuko stared a moment longer, then gave a silent nod. Together, they slipped out the door.

Outside, night had fully fallen. The sky above was a sheet of stars, too bright and too quiet.

Aang stood at the centre of the dirt path, the town stretching behind him like a silent witness. His fingers tightened around his staff. The seconds dragged. Wind stirred his robes. Nothing came.

He shifted on his feet, glancing left and right. Still nothing.

“…Maybe it’s not coming,” he murmured to himself.

He sighed and turned, ready to walk back to the others. Behind him, he heard footsteps — the crunch of gravel.

Zuko’s voice rang out from the side. “See? I told you it was all a ruse.”

Sokka exhaled. “Spirits. Hah. Maybe someone in the village’s been sneaking people away. That’s way more likely than—”

A low, rumbling growl stopped them all.

At the far end of the path, where the forest met the village’s edge, a shape moved.

Something massive shifted in the dark, its limbs heavy and slow, brushing against tree trunks. Two pale eyes glowed in the shadows.

Aang froze. Zuko and Sokka instinctively reached for their weapons.

The spirit stepped forward, crossing into the village. And everything went still.

The spirit burst through the village gate in a flurry of snapping limbs and an ear-splitting roar.

Aang stepped forward, planting his staff into the ground. “Wait! I’m the Avatar!” he called out. “I just want to talk!”

Hei Bai didn’t stop.

It charged past him like a stampede, claws tearing into the earth. Aang barely had time to dodge as the spirit slammed its massive form into a cluster of homes, wood and clay exploding into the air.

“No—wait!” Aang shouted, racing after it. “Please, I’m trying to help!”

He leapt onto a rooftop, hoping to get closer — but before he could speak again, Hei Bai twisted back with unnatural speed and swiped at him with a limb the size of a tree trunk.

The blow sent Aang flying. He crashed through the corner of a roof and hit the ground hard, splinters exploding around him. The world tilted, and everything blurred.

“Aang!” Zuko was the first to move, sprinting toward the fallen boy. Sokka followed, hurling his boomerang at the spirit.

It clanged harmlessly off Hei Bai’s thick hide.

Zuko drew his dual swords with a sharp hiss of metal, his expression grim. Fire smouldered at his fingertips, but he refused to let it show — not yet. Not here.

From behind them, Katara had started toward the street, but a panicked villager grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “It’s too dangerous!” they cried, dragging her toward the town hall.

“No! My brother—Zuko—Aang—!”

Zuko and Sokka reached Aang and pulled him upright.

“You okay?” Sokka asked, breathless.

Aang groaned but nodded, brushing broken wood from his clothes. “You have to go back inside. Hide.”

Zuko shook his head. “We’re not leaving you.”

“We fight together,” Sokka added, gripping his boomerang tighter.

“I’m not trying to fight,” Aang began. “I just—”

Before he could finish, Hei Bai roared and lunged.

In a single swift motion, it grabbed Zuko and Sokka, both in one of its huge claws. They shouted, struggling, but the spirit’s grip was like iron.

“No!” Aang’s voice cracked. Without thinking, he leapt onto his glider and soared after the spirit as it bolted from the village.

Katara broke free from the villager’s grasp and sprinted to the edge of the street, eyes wide. “Zuko! Sokka!”

She ran until the trees swallowed the path and the shapes vanished into darkness. Her breath caught in her throat. They were gone.

Deeper in the woods, Aang pushed his glider harder, weaving between blackened trees and the sharp scent of ash. The spirit was fast, but Aang was faster.

“Stop!” he yelled. “Let them go!”

Hei Bai didn’t answer. Its massive form darted into the burned forest like a shadow given life.

Aang surged forward, just within reach. Zuko and Sokka were still struggling in its grasp.

Almost—just a little more—

But just as his hands reached for them, Hei Bai vanished.

 One blink, and it was gone. So were Zuko and Sokka.

Aang’s momentum carried him forward with nothing to catch, and he tumbled from the air, crashing hard into the charred soil.

He rolled and came to a stop at the base of something solid — an old, cracked stone statue of a bear, weathered and half-sunk into the earth.

Silence.

Aang slowly pushed himself up, coughing, the smell of burnt wood thick in his lungs. The night pressed in all around him.

There was no spirit. No humans. No sign of where they’d gone.

Only the scorched earth and that stone bear.

He turned in place, heart pounding, eyes wide. “Zuko? Sokka?!”

The forest didn’t answer.

His chest tightened. The weight of failure, fear, and helplessness twisted in his gut.

“…What do I do now?” he whispered, voice nearly lost to the night.

Aang wandered through the charred remains of the forest, calling out, “Zuko? Sokka?!”

Only silence answered. He tried again, louder, his voice cracking. “Sokka! Zuko!”

The only reply was the soft creak of burnt branches and the wind shifting ash along the ground. “Please,” he whispered, “say something…”

Each unanswered call twisted in his chest. He was the Avatar — the bridge between worlds — but right now, he just felt like a scared little boy. There was no Zuko to shield him with that ever-present scowl, no Sokka to blurt out one of his half-baked plans with fearless energy. Just Aang, alone.

Sniffling, he turned back toward the village, dragging his staff behind him. He didn’t know how to fix this — didn’t even know what this was. Worst of all, he didn’t know how to face Katara.

At the village’s edge, Katara stood silently, clutching Sokka’s boomerang tightly in her hands. She hadn’t moved since the boys disappeared into the forest. Her gaze was locked on the treeline, eyes dry but heavy with worry.

The village elder stepped up beside her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “They are in safe hands,” he said softly. “The Avatar will bring them back.”

Katara didn’t answer. Zuko’s voice echoed in her mind, distant but sharp. “You all expect so much from him. He’s just a kid — the youngest of us. You think he knows what to do?!” At the time, it had sounded like anger. Now, she heard the fear in it.

She held the boomerang a little tighter.

From the shadows of the trees, Aang emerged. His steps were slow, shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. When he saw Katara, something inside him cracked.

“I… I lost them,” he choked, eyes brimming with tears. “I tried to follow Hei Bai, but… I lost them…”

Katara didn’t move.

Aang stepped closer, tears spilling freely. “Maybe… maybe we should call Uncle Iroh. Zuko said uncle always knows what to do…”

Still nothing.

The elder looked toward the horizon and murmured, “The sun is rising. He should return soon.”

Aang blinked. “What do you mean? I’m right—”

He reached for Katara’s arm — and his hand passed right through her.

He stumbled back, breath catching. “Wh…what…?”

His body shimmered faintly, almost translucent in the dawn light. “I… I’m a spirit…?” he whispered in disbelief.

Katara continued standing silently, unaware of him, still waiting.

Aang turned to the forest, heart pounding. “Okay,” he said shakily, “if I’m a spirit now… maybe I can help somehow. Maybe this will actually let me do something…”

A soft rumble broke the stillness. Appa lumbered up beside Katara, letting out a low, mournful noise. His ears drooped as he glanced at the empty horizon.

Katara smiled gently and reached up to stroke his fur. “They’re probably just late,” she said, trying to sound hopeful. “They probably found some moon peaches in the forest and are picking them for you. You love those, right?”

Appa made a quiet sound in reply. Together, the two turned back toward the village.

Chapter Text

Watching them go, Aang felt impossibly far away. What do I do now? he asked himself, voice catching.

Then — a memory stirred. The monks’ old tales, soft as wind: all Avatars are connected…

He squared his shoulders and shouted, “Avatar Roku! How do I talk to you?! I need help!”

Nothing answered him.

But then, something moved — a flicker at the edge of his vision.

A shape, large and swift, raced toward him.

He turned. A dragon — vast, ancient, and glowing — soared low over the forest, heading straight for him.

Aang’s instincts kicked in. He grabbed his glider, but it refused to fly. He tried to airbend — nothing. He turned and bolted, heart hammering.

The dragon landed just in front of him, its massive wings folding in with a whoosh. Smoke curled lazily from its nostrils as it lowered its head to study him.

Aang stared up at the creature, wide-eyed. “U-um… hi?”

The dragon’s gaze was steady, unreadable. Slowly, one of its long barbels extended and reached toward him.

Aang flinched — but when the barbel touched his forehead, everything changed.

His vision blurred. The forest melted away.

He saw the dragon again — but now with a rider. A tall figure in red and white robes. Calm. Regal. Avatar Roku.

Aang’s breath caught.

He remembered Zuko’s voice from long ago, recalling his brother's first encounter with Appa. “Did you know that great-grandfather Roku had a dragon? Seems like every Avatar needs one giant best friend.”

A small, shaky smile tugged at Aang’s lips. “I guess we’ve got something in common after all.”

The dragon dipped low, inviting him onto its back. Aang climbed on, and together, they soared high into the sky.

Below them, valleys passed, rivers glowed with a strange spiritual light, and distant mountains rolled by.

As they curved over a high ridge, the dragon’s path brought them across a narrow mountain trail — where two figures walked in silence.

Iroh, hunched slightly with age and wisdom, made his way carefully along the path. At his side was a younger man — Lu Ten — watching his father with patient eyes.

Suddenly, Iroh stopped. His head snapped upward, eyes wide in disbelief. For a heartbeat, the dragon was visible — streaked in gold and crimson across the sky.

“Father?” Lu Ten stepped forward, steadying him. “What’s wrong?”

Iroh stared after the vanishing shape. “I… I thought I saw a ghost.”

When he looked again, the sky was empty.

As the dragon flew, Aang sat in silence, the wind whipping past him. His thoughts churned restlessly. Should I tell Avatar Roku? he wondered. That I’m his great-grandson? The idea made his stomach twist. Maybe he already knows... maybe that’s why he sent the dragon.

The dragon began to descend, gliding toward a mountain temple nestled among craggy cliffs. It flew in and right through a ceiling landed with a soft thud in a room surrounded by worn stone steps. Aang hopped off, heart racing.

He looked around eagerly, scanning the room. “Avatar Roku?”

But the dragon merely walked forward and stopped in front of a large stone statue — Roku. Aang blinked, disappointment sinking in.

“This is it?” he asked. “I thought I’d get to speak with him…”

The dragon didn’t respond. Instead, it extended one of its long whisker-like barbels toward Aang. The moment it touched his forehead, a new vision filled his mind — a fiery comet, streaking across the sky like a spear of destruction.

Aang’s eyes widened. “Is that what you brought me here to see? The comet?” he asked.

The dragon nodded once.

Aang hesitated. “But… when will I be able to speak with Avatar Roku?”

The dragon tilted its head, then slowly stepped to the side. As its movement shifted the angle of light, a single beam of sunlight pierced through a high slit in the temple’s stone wall and struck the statue.

Aang watched, puzzled, until the dragon again touched his forehead with its barbel. This time, the vision was of the temple’s floor — a wide circular calendar carved into the stone. He watched beams of sunlight move across the floor at different times, slowly shifting toward the statue’s centre.

Realization struck him like thunder. “It’s a calendar… the light falls on Roku during the winter solstice.”

Aang turned to the dragon. “Is that when I can talk to him? On the solstice?”

The dragon nodded again.

Aang stepped back, shoulders tight. “I can’t wait that long. I have to save Sokka and Zuko now!” Desperation edged into his voice.

Thinking quickly, Aang looked up. “Do you know Zuko? Roku’s great-grandson? He was just a little kid when Roku died… maybe you saw him? Please. He’s missing. He’s — I need to save them…”

The dragon was silent. Its golden eyes watched him carefully.

Then, slowly, it lowered itself again, gesturing for Aang to climb on.

With a sinking heart, Aang obeyed.

The dragon took flight, wind rushing around them as it soared through the skies once more. It flew lower and lower until the burned forest came into view again.

At the edge of the blackened trees, Katara stood looking around anxiously, scanning the horizon. Her eyes were full of hope and fear.

The dragon plunged forward, phasing through Aang’s spirit and into his body.

A sharp jolt snapped through him.

Aang gasped awake — back in his body — seated atop the statue in the same lotus position.

He blinked. “What…?” Looking down at himself, he scrambled to his feet. “How’d I get up here?” He glanced at the cracked statue he had crashed into earlier. “Wait…”

Then he noticed the sun dipping low in the sky.

“No, no, no — I’ve been gone all day!”

He launched into a glide and raced back to the village.

As he touched down, Katara turned and ran to him, relief washing over her face. She wrapped her arms around him. “You’re back!”

Aang smiled faintly, hugging her. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

Katara pulled back and looked past him. “Where are they?” she asked softly. “Sokka and Zuko?”

Aang’s smile faltered. He shook his head. “I… I’m not sure.”

Katara’s expression dimmed. She nodded slowly, offering a sad smile.

Night fell again while they stood together. Aang sat at the village’s edge, eyes locked on the trees, waiting.

The sky darkened. The stars blinked into view.

Still no Hei Bai.

His heart began to sink. Maybe it won’t come back…

He finally stood, about to head back into the village, when a shrill roar shattered the air.

Hei Bai burst forth from the trees, snarling and slamming its massive fists into one of the outer buildings, sending wood and dust flying.

Aang snapped into action, using airbending to shield himself from debris.

“Aang, run!” Katara shouted, ducking behind a wall.

But Aang ran toward the spirit instead.

He chased it through the village, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. As Hei Bai smashed through structures, Aang propelled himself upward with airbending.

Then — mid-flip — a memory struck him. The dragon… it showed me things when it touched my forehead.

Aang focused, adjusting his angle. As he descended over Hei Bai, he reached out and pressed his palm to its forehead.

A vision hit him like a gust of wind — the bear statue in the forest. The one where he had first awoken in the Spirit World.

He gasped. It’s you… you’re the forest spirit.

Landing gracefully, Aang stood his ground.

“I get it now,” he said aloud. “You’re the spirit of the forest.”

Hei Bai paused, towering over him.

“I saw what happened… The fire. The destruction.” Aang’s voice cracked. “When I saw it, I could barely stand it. I can’t even imagine how you must feel.”

Hei Bai’s breath came faster, its chest heaving with emotion.

Aang reached into his pocket and pulled out the small acorn.

“This is what my brother told me,” he said, holding it up. “Life will always change. But change isn’t the end. The leaves fall, but the roots remember. In time, something new grows in their place.”

Hei Bai stared at the acorn.

Then, slowly, its monstrous form began to shift — fur settling, limbs shrinking — until it stood before Aang as a large, peaceful panda.

The spirit turned toward the forest and, with each step it took, green stalks of bamboo sprouted from the scorched earth.

At the village entrance, a new bamboo grove formed.

And from that grove emerged the missing villagers — and among them, Sokka and Zuko.

A wave of cries and laughter swept through the village. Families reunited.

Katara screamed in joy, ran to Sokka, and leapt into his arms.

Aang sprinted toward Zuko and flung his arms around him.

Zuko froze, then pulled Aang in tighter.

In that moment, everything Aang had done — all he had faced, all he had overcome — crashed into Zuko like a wave. He’d thought of Aang as just a kid. His kid brother.

But this? This was strength. Courage. Heart.

Then Aang’s voice broke softly against his shoulder. “I thought… I might never see you again.”

Zuko closed his eyes, the ache in his chest deepening. “I’m here,” he said, steady but quiet. “I’m fine. And I’m proud of you.”

Pride, relief, and something sharper twisted together inside him — something like fear. He’s growing up, Zuko realized. What if he doesn’t need me anymore?
The thought stung more than he expected.

But for now, he just held Aang a little closer.

Later that night, far from the celebrations, Admiral Zhao stood in a tent lit by flickering torches. A messenger knelt before him.

“The Avatar was seen helping a village that was attacked by our forces two weeks ago.”

Zhao narrowed his eyes. “Then he’s not far. I will capture him.”

Chapter Text

Aang stood beside Appa, his fingers curled loosely into the sky bison’s thick fur. The moonlight shimmered off the saddle, casting a pale glow across the clearing. The camp was quiet — too quiet. Katara and Sokka lay rolled in their sleeping furs. Zuko’s silhouette was just visible a little farther off, the flickering campfire throwing faint shadows over his scarred face.

But Aang wasn’t sleeping.

He couldn’t.

His chest felt tight. Not like the time they’d run for miles escaping that firebender ambush — this was worse. This was the kind of pressure that came from the inside, from his heart, from his guilt.

He stared out into the night.

The image of Hei Bai crashing through the village wouldn’t leave his mind. That roar. That crushing panic as Sokka disappeared in a flash of light. And Zuko — Zuko, who’d almost been torn apart protecting him — swallowed up by that same rage and shadow.

All because Aang had insisted on going. On helping. On being the Avatar.

He pressed his forehead against Appa’s side.

“I said we’d go to the Fire Temple together,” he whispered, voice low. “But what if it happens again?”

He swallowed hard.

“They almost died because of me. Zuko was—” His voice faltered. “He already lost Mom again. He shouldn’t have to lose me too. And Sokka… Katara…”

Appa made a soft, sympathetic sound, shifting slightly beneath his touch.

Aang felt like a coward.

Zuko had just gotten used to being part of something again. To having a family. He trusted Aang now. He tried to protect him — tried so hard it hurt.

And Aang… had led him straight into a spirit monster’s wrath.

He pulled back and looked at the stars, blinking quickly against the sting in his eyes. They were cold and clear and distant — the same way they’d been the night Tashi died. The same way they’d been when his mother left.

They didn’t care.

No one up there would stop him from dragging everyone into another disaster. That was on him.

On the Avatar.

“I don’t know if I can keep them safe,” he murmured, his breath misting in the cold air. “And if I can’t…”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.

He looked once more at the sleeping figures in the moonlight. Katara’s hair had fallen over her face. Sokka’s hand was still resting loosely on the hilt of his blade. Zuko slept on his side, turned slightly toward the fire — and toward Aang’s spot by Appa, like even in sleep he was guarding him.

Aang’s heart clenched.

He had to make this right.

He stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed to Appa’s warm fur, breathing slow and shaky.

Then, quietly, he stepped back and looked toward the sleeping camp once more — at Zuko, at Sokka and Katara, all of them worn down by the day he’d led them into.

His hand found its way to Appa’s side again, fingertips brushing the familiar worn leather of the saddle.

The decision settled in his chest like a stone.

Aang stood beside Appa, his hand resting on the bison’s fur. The moonlight shimmered off the saddle, casting a silvery glow over the clearing.

The others were asleep — or at least, he hoped they were.

“Come on, Appa,” Aang whispered, voice tight. “We have to go. Now.”

He stepped up to the reins tied to Appa’s horns and gave a gentle tug, trying to lead him forward. Appa grunted low, planted his feet, and refused to budge.

"I have to do this alone," Aang murmured. "I can’t risk Sokka or Katara… or Zuko. Not again." His voice cracked. "If something happened to them because of me… I wouldn’t be able to live with it."

Appa let out a loud groan, shaking his head. He didn’t move. Not even a step.

Aang’s brows furrowed. “Zuko’s exiled. If he gets caught by the Fire Nation…” He trailed off, tugging harder on the reins. "They could kill him."

He pulled again—harder this time—but the reins slipped from his hands. He stumbled backwards and fell, landing on the dirt with a frustrated exhale. Appa simply turned to look at him, a soft rumble in his chest, stubborn and unmoving.

“You’re really not going to help me with this, huh?” he muttered, brushing the dust off his robe with a half-hearted motion.

A voice drifted in from behind him, quiet but steady. “Maybe he’s trying to tell you something.”

Aang froze.

He turned slowly and saw Sokka standing just beyond the edge of the campfire’s light, arms crossed, his face shadowed but his eyes sharp in the moonlight — serious, but not angry. Just... there.

“You’re not meant to go alone,” Sokka said, stepping forward. “And you know it.”

Aang looked down, guilt swimming in his expression. Before he could respond, Katara appeared beside her brother, her expression a mix of worry and defiance.

"You can’t go by yourself, Aang," she said gently. "If something happens to you… the world won’t survive. And..." Her voice softened to almost a whisper. "I wouldn’t be able to either."

Aang looked away. "I have to reach the Fire Temple before the solstice ends. It’s my only chance to speak with Avatar Roku."

A rustle of fabric behind them — Zuko emerged from the shadows, arms folded tightly in front of him, jaw clenched.

“It could be a trap,” he warned. “In his letter, Lu Ten warned us that Zhao is looking for you. He’s still out there. If he finds you…”

“It’s not a trap,” Aang said firmly, eyes flickering with resolve. “Spirits don’t lie. I saw Roku’s dragon. He told me where to go.”

Zuko hesitated. He’d heard what Aang had said earlier—about worrying for him. About not wanting him to get hurt. A strange tightness pressed in Zuko’s chest. A part of him wanted to be the strong older brother and tell Aang not to worry, that he could handle himself. But another part—the cautious part—knew Aang was right. If they were caught together in the Fire Nation… it wouldn’t end well. For either of them.

Katara stepped closer to Aang. “We’ll get you there,” she said. “Together.”

Sokka nodded. “Zuko and I can help with disguises. We just need to get close. Maybe we can even ask your uncle for advice. He might know someone who can help once we’re inside.”

Zuko’s expression tightened. "No. We can’t risk sending anything. If Iroh receives a letter and it’s intercepted, the Fire Nation will know exactly where we’re going."

“There’s no time anyway,” Aang added. “The solstice is today. If I don’t get there before sunset… I’ll lose my only chance.”

Without another word, Aang scrambled onto Appa’s saddle, determination written all over his face. He reached for the reins again—but just as Appa shifted to rise, Sokka stepped in front of him.

“Nope,” Sokka said, hands on hips.

Katara moved beside her brother, arms crossed.

Zuko followed a heartbeat later, silent, pulling his hood over his face, eyes shaded beneath it. “You’re not doing this alone,” he said quietly.

Aang looked down at the three of them—his friends, his family—and felt the weight of their concern settle in his chest. He exhaled deeply, uncertain… but grateful.

Chapter Text

The small fishing village lay nestled in a muddy delta, houses perched on crooked stilts above sluggish, brackish water. The scent of salt, fish, and smoke mingled in the cool morning air. Wooden walkways creaked underfoot as Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Zuko approached cautiously, their boots stirring up clouds of dust.

The villagers eyed them warily. A hunched old woman, wrapped in threadbare shawls, whispered to herself about “the Fire Navy ships” she’d seen lurking offshore two nights past. Children playing in the mud stopped abruptly when they spotted Aang’s staff and the worn earth-toned robes they’d donned, darting away to the safety of their homes.

Katara tightened her grip on her water pouch, her eyes scanning the faces around them. “We need to be careful,” she murmured. “They’re scared. Fire Nation raids have left marks on everyone.”

Zuko, cloaked in a brown traveller's garment with the hood pulled low, stayed silent. Beneath the cloak, he wore the plain Earth Kingdom clothes he had purchased for the group days ago. His jaw was tight, and he moved with a rigid formality that belied the tension coiling inside him.

As they moved through the village, a curious merchant paused and glanced suspiciously at Zuko’s hooded figure. “Who’s this one?” he asked gruffly, eyeing Zuko as if trying to place him.

Sokka stepped forward quickly, sensing the tension. With a confident smile, he replied without missing a beat, “Oh, that’s our quiet cousin from the Si Wong Desert.” He gave Zuko a gentle, conspiratorial nudge on the arm.

Zuko shot Sokkaa quick glare, a low growl escaping his throat. Katara jabbed him in the ribs. “Play along, or I’ll start calling you ‘the mysterious mute.’”

The merchant blinked at the answer, then shrugged and returned to his wares, evidently satisfied enough to let them be.

The tension in Zuko’s shoulders didn’t ease, and he shifted uneasily under the hood. Every movement was cautious, every breath measured—he knew too well what would happen if his true identity were revealed.

A passing fishmonger paused to eye Zuko with suspicion, noting his military posture. The man muttered something about “soldiers wandering too close,” but ultimately shook his head and turned back to gutting a trout.

Nearby, a child stared up at Zuko in awe and whispered something to her mother, who quickly grabbed the child’s hand and pulled her away. Zuko’s heart clenched, the weight of his exile pressing down harder than ever. Here he was, disguised as an Earth Kingdom peasant, but still a prince shunned by his own people—his past, a shadow that stretched across every step.

Katara reached out and touched his arm gently. “We’re almost done here. Just a few more supplies, then we head to Crescent Island.”

Zuko nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Let’s get moving,” he said quietly. “The longer we stay, the more likely we are to be found.”

As they finished their business and stepped back onto the rickety docks, Aang’s gaze lingered on the horizon. The journey ahead was uncertain and dangerous, but for now, they had each other—and that fragile hope was enough.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The sun was beginning to dip low when the sharp silhouette of a Fire Nation ship sliced through the harbor’s calm waters, its crimson sails billowing ominously against the fading light. Villagers scrambled to the docks, faces tight with fear as the captain and his guards disembarked.

In the very same village the group recently passed through, Commander Zhao strode ashore with an air of ruthless confidence, his piercing gaze scanning the crowd. His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “I want to know if anyone has seen travellers—strangers in the village. Speak now, or suffer the consequences.”

An elderly man, hunched and trembling, stepped forward, eyes darting nervously between Zhao and his comrades. His voice was a barely audible whisper, but the words carried weight. “There was a group… heading toward Crescent Island. A tall, silent figure led them. No soldiers with them—just common folk.”

Zhao’s brow furrowed. “A rebel faction? Scouts from the Water Tribe?”

The old man shook his head. “I don’t know. But one of the children carried a strange staff—long and slender. Nothing else that made them stand out, but it seemed… different.”

Zhao’s eyes narrowed, the gears in his mind turning. “A staff?” he muttered. “Could it be a glider? Perhaps the Avatar.”

“This changes things,” Zhao said coldly, voice low enough only his officers could hear. “Prepare a patrol. We investigate Crescent Island. Find them.”

The villagers exchanged anxious glances, the tension in the air thick as smoke.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Team Avatar flew toward the volcanic Crescent Island, rising as high as possible to avoid detection and slipping partially into the cover of thick clouds, following the plan devised by Sokka and Zuko.

Zuko shared his knowledge of basic naval evasion tactics, teaching Sokka how to read maps from both his limited scholar lessons and first-hand experience from when he and Aang fled the Air Temple with the Air Nation children. When Sokka and Katara expressed doubt about Zuko’s military advice, Zuko snapped sharply, “Just do it. I know how those people think.”

Aang stepped in, defending his brother. “The Fire Nation doesn’t know Zuko is with us, so they won’t expect us to have inside knowledge.”

Using the clouds and jagged coastline to their advantage, they successfully slipped past two patrolling Fire Nation ships. During the flight, Appa suddenly banked sharply to avoid an unseen obstacle, causing Sokka to nearly lose his balance and fall over the side. Zuko caught him just in time by the back of his clothes.

“Hey, no need to be so clingy,” Sokka muttered, embarrassed.

Zuko rolled his eyes but said nothing.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

On the deck of his ship, Zhao’s dark eyes scanned the horizon as a soldier hurried toward him, breathless and uneasy. The salty wind whipped around them, carrying the weight of impending conflict.

“Commander Zhao,” the soldier began, voice trembling slightly, “there was… something in the sky. A shape—strange, large—briefly broke through the blockade.”

Zhao’s gaze sharpened instantly, his lips curling into a thin, dangerous smile. “A shape, you say?” His voice was cold, cutting through the crashing waves like a blade.

The soldier nodded, swallowing hard. “It could have been a bird, sir. But it was… too big. Too deliberate in its movement.”

Zhao took a slow step closer, his shadow looming over the soldier. “The Avatar is an Air Nomad,” he said deliberately, voice low but filled with an edge of menace. “And Air Nomads always travel with their flying bison.”

The soldier’s shoulders visibly relaxed, relief flooding his features. “So it wasn’t some grand threat, then. I won’t be tossed overboard for bad intel.”

Zhao’s eyes darkened as he raised a finger, silencing the soldier’s premature celebration. “If that was truly a bison,” Zhao said, voice dropping to a harsh whisper, “then no sane Air Nomad would dare set foot inside the Fire Nation’s waters. Which means it was the Avatar.”

His eyes narrowed into slits as he contemplated this, the tension thickening in the salty air around them. “And this Avatar is not alone. Reports speak of three others traveling with him—unknowns to me.”

A sharp flicker of anger crossed his face. The thought of these mysterious companions gnawed at him, stirring a deep frustration he barely contained. “Who are these shadows trailing the Avatar?” he muttered bitterly, fists clenching at his sides.

Then, a cruel and confident smile spread slowly across his lips. “No matter. I will unravel this mystery soon enough—and when I do, those shadows will be crushed.”

He turned sharply, raising his voice to command his officers. “Half the fleet will head straight to Crescent Island. The others will maintain the blockade, ready to cut off any escape.”

His eyes bore into the soldier’s trembling form. “If it turns out you’ve wasted my time with a mere bird... your punishment will be swift and unforgiving.”

The soldier swallowed nervously, nodding quickly as Zhao’s mind raced with ruthless plans. The hunt was on, and Zhao’s resolve was as unyielding as the sea beneath them.

Chapter Text

The group’s feet crunched softly over the rocky shore as Appa’s massive form settled near the base of Crescent Island’s steep volcanic cliffs. The island loomed before them, jagged and imposing, its heat already noticeable in the rising steam and sulphurous air.

Sokka, ever curious and eager to break the silence, nudged Zuko as they began their cautious ascent. “Hey, Zuko, have you ever been to this island before? It’s kinda creepy.”

Zuko’s eyes flickered toward the smouldering cliffs, and he nodded. “Yeah, a few times. Not exactly a vacation spot.” His voice was quiet, but carried a subtle weight of experience.

Aang’s face lit up with excitement, the youthful spark clear even without his tattoos. “Lead the way, Zuko! You know the place.”

Zuko cracked a rare, dry smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I came here as a prince before. They didn’t sneak me in through some back window to a secret room—they marched me right through the main entrance to the grand room.”

Katara chuckled softly, giving Zuko a warm glance. “That was actually funny.”

Zuko sighed, appreciating her kindness but quickly letting the humour fade. He pulled his cloak tighter, slipping into the shadows along the path. Recognition was a risk he couldn’t afford. His mind drifted to the twin swords Suki had gifted him on Kyoshi Island. He’d left them behind to avoid anything that might reveal him, but now a flicker of regret gnawed at him. If a fight came, maybe it was less dangerous to be known as a swordsman than a firebender.

Aang’s cheerful voice broke through Zuko’s thoughts. “Hey, Zuko, you should wait outside with Appa.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed. “I’m not just going to sit out here while you go in alone.”

Aang was firm. “You need to be ready. If anything happens, you can help Appa get us out. We need you.”

Sokka nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re the best one to guide Appa if things go sideways.”

Katara added softly, “And we’ll keep an eye on Aang. You can trust us.”

Zuko hesitated, but the memory of Aang’s earlier courage dealing with the forest spirit softened his resolve. He sighed, a slow acceptance settling over him. Aang wasn’t just a kid tagging along anymore — he was growing into someone people could believe in. Someone Zuko could believe in.

“Fine,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “But if you get into trouble, shout and I’ll come running.”

Aang’s grin widened. “Thanks, Zuko! I promise we’ll be careful.”

Zuko waved them off. “Scram, before I change my mind.”

Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Momo moved down the mountain trail toward the temple entrance. Meanwhile, Zuko found a shadowed ledge overlooking the courtyard, his eyes sharp, ready to leap into action if needed.

Inside the temple, the air grew thick with heat and silence. The group’s footsteps echoed softly off the stone walls, every creak making their nerves tighten.

Suddenly, the calm shattered. From the shadows, five Fire Sages emerged with deadly precision, surrounding them in an instant.

The Fire Sages attacked in a sudden wave — flames roaring to life and surging toward them with practiced precision. The heat was blistering. Aang barely managed to duck, the memory of an old, painful moment flaring to life just as vividly as the fire before him.

He had only asked Zuko once — on a quiet afternoon in the temple courtyard, drawn by the sight of Zuko’s firebending practice and a spark of curiosity. Zuko had been reluctant, but agreed, and started with the basics: breathing techniques and firebending stances, the same ones Aang still practiced in secret when no one was watching. Only when Zuko grew somewhat confident in Aang’s control did he conjure a small flame himself, holding it steady in his palm. He never let Aang touch it — only instructed him how to shift its motion, to guide it with intent rather than fear.

"Don’t force it,” Zuko had said back then, watching Aang closely. “Fire listens best when you're not trying to scare it.”

But then, there had been the accident. A misstep, a stumble. Aang had lost his balance, and Zuko had lunged to catch him — but lost control for a split second. The fire lashed out, and Aang was left with a burn. It wasn't deep, not lasting. But it shook them both. Zuko had sworn off teaching him after that, even going so far as to keep Aang away from open flames altogether. Aang never pressed again.

Now, though—cornered and out of time—Aang reacted on instinct. He remembered how Zuko had once held out a steady flame in his palm, guiding Aang through the motion to shift it, to redirect it without ever touching it. Mimicking that memory, Aang reached out with his energy, not his hand, and pulled at the fire from a nearby torch. The flame bent with surprising ease, sweeping in an arc to deflect the Sages’ attack and send them stumbling backward in shock.

Everyone froze.

The Sages stared, stunned — not just that the boy could bend fire, but that he matched the description Zhao had warned them about. Katara and Sokka both turned toward him in shock, but Aang didn’t wait.

With a burst of airbending, he flung the Sages off their feet and yelled, “Run!”

Katara snapped back into motion, sending a wave of water crashing down a hallway to block their path. “Come on!” she called.

Sokka followed, boomerang already out. “Nice job, fire-boy! But let’s maybe talk about that later!”

Momo screeched from above, having swooped through the rafters during the chaos. His tiny claws latched onto a curled scroll tucked high on a ceremonial shelf. With a triumphant chirp, he yanked it free and zipped off—two of the startled Sages giving chase.

High above the temple, Zuko leaned out from his post on the cliffside ledge. He couldn’t see them anymore. That was the worst part. The moment they’d gone inside, he’d lost visual contact.

His fists were tight, jaw clenched. He was supposed to trust them. He did trust them—especially Aang. But that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

Appa gave a low rumble beside him, as if sensing his tension. Zuko glanced over, his shoulders still tight. Appa nudged him gently, huge eyes blinking slow and calm.

Zuko exhaled, the tension breaking just enough to let him rest his hand on the bison’s fur. “Yeah… I know,” he murmured. “They’ve got this.”

Still, he stayed on edge, eyes never leaving the temple entrance.

Inside, the battle moved deeper. Aang, Katara, and Sokka raced through narrow stone corridors, dodging fire and ducking attacks. The sanctuary was just ahead — and behind them, the Fire Sages were slowly falling behind, but not for long.

The narrow temple corridors echoed with hurried footsteps and ragged breaths as Team Avatar rushed forward—until a figure blocked their path. A robed Fire Sage, stern and unyielding. The group braced for a clash, hearts pounding.

But instead of raising a weapon or summoning a fire, the Sage dropped to one knee with a quiet thud. “I am Shyu,” he said in a low, measured voice, bowing deeply to Aang. “I serve the Avatar.”

Confusion flickered across their faces, but Shyu wasted no time. With practiced hands, he pressed against a carved stone panel. The wall shuddered and slowly slid aside, revealing a hidden passage bathed in faint, flickering torchlight.

“This way,” Shyu urged, his eyes scanning the shadows as he stepped back to let them pass.

As they hurried through the cramped tunnel, the scent of ancient ash and damp earth filled the air. Shyu’s voice dropped to a whisper behind them. “For Avatar Roku’s reincarnation, I would risk exile myself.”

Aang frowned in thought. “Why would that be such a risk?”

Shyu’s eyes darkened. “There are those who would see the Avatar’s allies crushed before you can even rise.”

He pressed on, urgency in his step.

Chapter Text

Outside, Zuko crouched on a rocky ledge, the sharp scent of sulphur in the air and the distant crash of waves below. His keen eyes caught a flicker of movement—shadowy silhouettes emerging through the morning mist.

Fire Nation ships, their sails emblazoned with the crimson crest, were cutting through the fog toward Crescent Island. The unmistakable thrum of war drums echoed faintly on the breeze.

A cold knot tightened in Zuko’s chest. His fingers clenched the reins tightly as he whispered to Appa, “We have to stay hidden. Now.”

Appa lowered his massive head, nostrils flaring as he picked up the tension in Zuko’s voice. Together, they melted into the shadows beneath jagged cliffs, the thick fog swallowing them whole.

From his vantage point, Zuko’s gaze flicked back toward the temple. A sudden plume of smoke curled into the sky—thin, unnatural, a silent signal.

Outside, Zuko paced restlessly along the rocky ledge, torn between following the group into the temple and staying with Appa. He didn’t want to leave the sky beast alone, especially if danger found them. His fists clenched, every moment stretched thin with worry — should he trust Aang to handle whatever was inside, or intervene himself and risk everything?

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Arriving at the sanctuary door, the group faced an imposing challenge: five simultaneous fire blasts were required to unlock the ancient mechanism. The smooth stone door stood unmoved, a silent guardian demanding a perfect fiery sequence. Without so many firebenders among them, uncertainty flickered in their eyes.

Katara looked to Aang, her voice tinged with hope. “Can you firebend again?”

Aang shook his head firmly. “I can only redirect flames,” he said carefully, omitting any mention of Zuko.

Shyu’s voice was low and grave. “Even if the Avatar could bend fire, it wouldn’t be enough to open this door.”

The tension was thick—until Sokka stepped forward, eyes bright with determination.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he announced. Surveying the surroundings, he gathered what little they had: empty oil lamps, bits of rope, and some flint. Within moments, his mind raced through the possibilities.

With quick hands and a sharp eye for mechanics, Sokka rigged a clever contraption. He mounted the oil lamps on a series of pulleys and connected them with a network of ropes. Then, using flint and steel, he set up timed sparks designed to ignite each lamp in rapid succession.

“Each lamp will light the next—five flames, one after another, fast enough to trick the mechanism into thinking it’s five simultaneous blasts,” he explained confidently.

Shyu’s voice was low and grave. “Whether it works or not, be warned—the blast from the door will be loud. It will reveal your position to anyone nearby. You must be absolutely sure it’s worth the risk.”

Sokka swallowed, his confidence flickering for a moment as he considered the danger. “I’m aware. But if we don’t try, we’re stuck here.”

Aang stepped forward, eyes shining with quiet certainty. “I trust your plan, Sokka. You’re the best at this kind of thing.”

Katara nodded in agreement, her expression resolute. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Encouraged, Sokka steadied himself. With quick hands and a sharp eye for mechanics, he rigged the clever contraption. He mounted the oil lamps on a series of pulleys and connected them with a network of ropes. Then, using flint and steel, he set up timed sparks designed to ignite each lamp in rapid succession.

As the first lamp flickered to life, the others followed in a perfect cascade of firelight. The ancient door rumbled, grinding open slowly with a deep, echoing creak.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

From deep within the mountain pass, Zuko flinched as a muffled explosion rolled across the ridge. Birds scattered from the treetops, startled by the sudden noise. He rose halfway from his crouch, heart pounding.

That came from the temple.

He looked down at Appa, who rumbled low in concern, shifting his weight uneasily. Zuko placed a steadying hand on the creature’s shaggy side, torn.

Did they make it? Were they in trouble?

He wanted to run toward the sound — but he couldn’t leave Appa. Not when discovery could mean capture for them all.

His jaw clenched. All he could do now was wait.

Zuko crouched in the shadow of the mountain ridge, watching through narrowed eyes as Zhao and his men marched into the temple sanctuary. His stomach twisted.

He was torn.

Go after them—to help Aang, Katara, and Sokka—or stay behind, as he promised, to protect Appa. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

“What do I do?” he muttered, glancing between Appa and Kai, the hawk perched beside them on a low outcrop.

Appa let out a soft grunt, then moved closer. With surprising gentleness, the bison bit Zuko’s tunic and tugged him back.

Zuko blinked, startled. Appa’s huge eyes held his gaze, calm and steady.

“…You want me to stay,” Zuko said softly. “You’re telling me to wait.”

Kai tilted his head as if weighing the decision. Zuko let out a breath and nodded, resolve settling in his chest.

“Alright. Then we make a plan.”

He turned to Kai. “Fly above. See if you can find them—maybe a window, maybe a way in. Signal me when you do.”

With a short cry, Kai took off, wings slicing the air.

Appa huffed again, this time nudging his head toward his saddle.

Zuko smirked. “Yeah. I got it.”

He climbed aboard, taking the reins in hand.

Together, they waited—ready to fly the moment Kai gave the signal.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Inside the temple, Zhao was already interrogating the Fire Sages.

One of the older sages bowed as Zhao approached, flanked by soldiers.

“They broke in,” the Fire Sage reported, voice tense. “Our brothers are pursuing them as we speak. Four in total—including the defector. They won't get far.”

Zhao’s brow furrowed. “A defector?”

“One of our own,” the Sage said with a tight jaw. “He aided their entry and fled with them into the temple.”

Zhao narrowed his eyes. “Did he return with them from outside?”

“No, Commander. He was already within the temple. Hidden among us, it seems.”

Zhao’s frown deepened. “According to my intelligence, the Avatar was traveling with three companions. That makes four. Add your traitor, and the count becomes five. So where’s the fifth?”

The Sage hesitated, thrown. “We only saw four.”

Zhao stepped closer, voice low. “Was the Avatar among them?”

“A boy in Earth Kingdom garb,” the Sage confirmed. “He used both air and fire.”

Zhao’s jaw tightened. “Firebending?” He looked away, muttering almost to himself. “So soon?”

The sage gave a cautious nod, his brow furrowing. “It stunned us too, Commander. He moved like someone who’s studied firebending forms—his stances were familiar, deliberate. But the fire itself… it didn’t match the movement.”

He hesitated, then added, “It was like watching a novice mimic a master. The motions were there, but the power behind them was raw. Unrefined. As if he’d practiced the forms, but never truly learned how to bend the flame itself.”

He looked troubled. “It didn’t feel controlled. More like the fire answered him by instinct—wild and unpredictable.”

Zhao’s mind raced. Air and fire—opposing elements. No balance, no grounding. The Avatar cycle demanded mastery, yes, but in order. There should’ve been struggle, resistance, time. Without water or earth to temper him, a boy shouldn’t be able to bend both so early—unless...

Was the boy hiding his strength? Bluffing? Or worse—growing stronger with every confrontation?

Zhao’s jaw clenched, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Take me to the sanctuary,” he barked.

The sages exchanged uneasy glances, but the one beside him nodded stiffly and turned on his heel.

As they began to move through the temple's inner corridors, Zhao’s boots echoed sharply on the stone floor. His thoughts churned. If the Avatar had truly tapped into fire already, then every day he remained free pushed the balance further out of reach. This wasn’t just about honour anymore—it was about control. Containment. Destiny.

Zhao quickened his pace.

If the boy is learning faster than the world expects… then I will be the one to stop him—before he becomes unstoppable.

Chapter Text

Moments later, they arrived before the great door to the Avatar’s chamber.

Zhao scanned the Fire Sages waiting outside. “You said the door was opened. How?”

One of the sages stepped forward. “We believe they found a way to simulate five firebending blasts. The lock has already been triggered.”

Zhao’s eyes narrowed. He knelt, inspecting the faint gap between the doors—then froze. A shadow shifted inside.

He rose swiftly. “Open it. Now.”

The Fire Sages obeyed. They stood in position and in a synchronised motion that came from years of experience, fire burst from their hands. With a deep groan, the massive sanctuary doors began to part, ancient stone grinding against stone.

Zhao stepped forward, anticipation sharpening his gaze like a blade. But as the doors creaked open, the shadows inside revealed—

Not a warrior.

Not the Avatar.

A lemur.

Momo blinked back at them from atop a coiled rug, ears twitching. He let out a sharp, chittering trill—half squeak, half bark—as if annoyed at being disturbed. Then, with a dramatic flick of his tail, he launched himself upward, flapping in a lazy arc over the heads of the startled soldiers.

“What the—” one of the guards began.

Then chaos erupted.

A blast of water slammed into the firebenders from behind, knocking them off balance. Katara darted in, already drawing another stream of water from her flask, her eyes fierce. Shyu, robes whipping, unleashed a controlled burst of flame that sent another soldier sprawling.

Sokka charged forward with a shout, swinging his boomerang like a club. “Go, Aang! Now!”

Aang didn’t hesitate. While the others fought to hold the line, he slipped between the confused soldiers, staff in hand. The doors were still wide open. He dashed into the chamber beyond—toward the heart of the sanctuary and the spirit of Avatar Roku.

Behind him, the fight raged, echoing through the stone corridor. Katara and Shyu fought back to back, while Sokka held the flank, using quick strikes and distraction to give them precious seconds.

Momo circled once overhead, screeched defiantly at the soldiers, then zipped after Aang into the chamber, tail streaming like a banner behind him.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Outside, high on the jagged cliffs, Kai let out a sharp, piercing cry—like the whistle of a hawk breaking the calm air.

Zuko’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he spotted movement below. Zhao’s soldiers were scaling the rocky face of the temple, their dark armour standing out starkly against the pale stone. Too close. Too fast.

"Not while I’m here," he said quietly, determination burning in his eyes.

He moved like a shadow, weaving silently between the sunlit boulders. His breath steady, muscles coiled for the strike. Then, with sudden precision, fire flickered to life in his palm—a quick jet to push one soldier off balance. His fist followed hard and fast, connecting with another’s jaw.

The clash was swift and brutal. Dodging a swing, a burst of flame, a grunt of pain. Within moments, the soldiers were sprawled across the rocks—groaning, stunned, or unconscious.

Zuko knelt, ripped a mask from one fallen soldier, and scanned the cliffs for Kai.

From above, Kai tilted his head sharply—an urgent, silent signal.

Tucking the mask into his belt, Zuko wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, then melted back into the rocks, ready to re-join Appa and move toward the sanctuary.

Back at the ledge, Appa turned toward him as he returned, concern in his eyes.

“They’re in danger,” Zuko muttered, voice tight. “Real soldiers. Real blades. Real fire. And it’s just them in there.”

Appa groaned, stepping forward—and shoved him gently toward the path.

Zuko looked up, then smiled, a flicker of warmth breaking through the tension.

“You’re right. I promised Aang I’d stay, but…”

He patted Appa’s fur. “Get up high. Out of range. Stay hidden if you can.”

Appa gave a soft rumble, then lifted off the ground and soared silently into the mist.

Zuko pulled the mask over his face.

Alone now, he turned toward the temple, heart pounding.

He would get them out.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Inside the sacred chamber, the heavy door rumbled shut behind Aang, sealing off the chaos outside. The chamber fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the subtle hum of ancient energy vibrating through the stone.

Aang stepped forward slowly, eyes fixed on the towering statue of Avatar Roku. Dust danced in the golden light spilling from above as the solstice sun reached its apex. The shafts of sunlight pierced the chamber, striking crystal lenses embedded in the walls and ceiling. They focused and refracted the light, bathing the room—and the statue—in an ethereal glow.

The ground beneath Aang trembled gently, the air around him growing thick with spiritual pressure. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and opened himself to it.

Light exploded around him.

In an instant, Aang’s body stiffened, his eyes glowing with white-hot energy. He rose slightly off the ground, weightless, suspended in a radiant halo of light. His spirit surged forward, torn from the material world and drawn into a vast, glowing expanse—the Spirit World.

There, amidst a horizonless swirl of starlight and mist, a figure emerged.

Tall and regal in flowing red and gold robes, Avatar Roku stood waiting. His presence emanated quiet power, his expression calm but resolute. In his eyes, there was the weight of centuries—and a flicker of something gentler.

A smile tugged at Roku’s lips as he looked down at Aang.

“Hello, Aang,” he said warmly.

The swirling lights of the Spirit World pulsed gently around them as Aang floated before Avatar Roku. The older Avatar regarded him with solemn pride, arms folded behind his back.

“You’ve come far, Aang,” Roku said, his voice carrying an ancient weight, but also a deep warmth. “I am proud of you—for finding your way to me. It means you are ready to hear what must be heard.”

Aang looked up, eyes wide, listening.

“The world is in grave danger,” Roku continued. “The Fire Nation’s ambitions have only grown since my time. They are preparing to strike the final blow… with the return of the Great Comet.”

Aang’s brow furrowed. “Comet?”

Roku nodded. “It comes once every hundred years. When it does, the comet bathes the world in fire. Every firebender’s strength is magnified a hundredfold. When the comet passes, firebenders grow immeasurably stronger—strong enough to wipe out entire armies. That is what Ozai plans to do: wait for its return, then strike to end all resistance.”

Aang’s heart pounded. “How long do I have?”

“The summer after next,” Roku said gravely. “You must master all four elements before the comet returns. Only then will you have a chance to restore balance.”

A pause fell between them, heavy with unspoken memories. Roku’s expression softened, eyes distant yet filled with warmth.

“I wonder how my family is faring… how they are holding up in these troubled times.”

Aang hesitated, blinking in surprise. “Wait… how do you not already know all this? I thought the Avatars were all connected—that you shared memories.”

Roku’s eyes gentled, and a faint smile touched his lips. “We are connected—but your spiritual connection is still developing. You haven’t yet learned how to access the memories of your past lives at will. Right now, we can only speak under rare conditions—like this solstice, inside this sacred place, when your spirit enters the Avatar State. Until you’ve grown stronger in the Spirit World, I cannot simply know what you know.”

Aang’s breath caught. The weight of his journey—and the path ahead—settled more deeply on his shoulders.

Aang’s gaze flickered up, surprised. “You… you don’t know who I really am?”

Roku blinked, momentarily taken aback. “I know you as the Avatar, the reincarnation of all who came before. But your exact place in this lineage… I had not heard. Tell me.”

Aang took a deep breath. “I am Ursa’s third child. The youngest brother of Zuko and Azula. I carry their blood—and their struggles.”

Roku’s eyes widened in genuine astonishment. “An Avatar born within the same bloodline, in direct succession… I have never heard of such a thing. The world truly is full of surprises.”

He looked at Aang with renewed awe. “Perhaps this is a sign—the world is trying to tell you something. That the ties of family, even in times of great turmoil, are vital to restoring balance.”

Aang swallowed hard, feeling the weight and hope in Roku’s words.

“But our family has suffered greatly,” Aang said quietly. “The journey hasn’t been easy. Still… we found each other. Together, we fight to survive.”

Aang’s gaze dropped, voice quiet. “It’s… complicated. Zuko was burned and exiled for speaking against ideas that led to this war. He and I are traveling together now. He helped me escape the Fire Nation. After the attack on the Air Temple, our mother fled with others. We don’t know what happened to her after that.”

Roku’s eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them again, they blazed with emotion—anger, sorrow, guilt. “Ursa… I should have protected her. And Zuko. My granddaughter… my great-grandson… I failed them both.”

“No,” Aang said quickly. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I should have seen the signs.” Roku’s jaw tightened. “I let ambition go unchecked for too long. And now, my own blood suffers for my inaction.”

He looked back at Aang, something fierce and determined kindling in his eyes.

“But you found each other. After everything, Zuko still found you. That gives me hope.”

Aang’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t thought about it that way—but Roku was right. Zuko, a prince of the Fire Nation. Aang, a child of the Air Nomads. Somehow, they had ended up on the same path.

Roku stepped forward. “You carry the burden of two worlds, Aang. You are the bridge—not only between the physical and spiritual, but between the past and the future. Between Fire and Air. Between pain and healing.”

Aang looked up at him, the enormity of his task settling on his shoulders. But there was something else, too—something warm and grounding.

“You must unite them,” Roku said, resting a hand on Aang’s shoulder. “But luckily… you are not alone.”

Chapter Text

Outside the sanctuary, the silence was broken only by the clinking of chains and the occasional muttered curse.

Sokka, Katara, and Shyu sat bound in heavy metal restraints, their backs pressed against a stone column. The chains were tight and reinforced—Zhao wasn’t taking any chances.

Zuko crouched in the shadows above them, hidden behind a high ledge of stone. His golden eye scanned the room, narrowing. At least eight soldiers, Zhao, and three Fire Sages remained nearby. Too many for a direct assault.

He glanced at the thick chains. I’ll never get those off in time.

A different approach, then. He backed away quietly, slipping down from the ledge and moving deeper into the ruins. His breath was steady, measured, as he set up his plan—small traps and distractions, unknowing to Zuko, the same kind Sokka used to bluff his way past enemy lines.

With a flick of his wrist, Zuko struck flint against stone.

Boom!

A sudden blast echoed from deeper within the temple grounds. Smoke plumed into the sky.

“Check that out!” one of Zhao’s men shouted.

Zhao scowled. “Go. Now!”

The soldiers scattered in pairs, racing toward the source of the explosion.

Zuko waited, perched like a hawk. One by one, he dropped from the shadows, taking each group by surprise. A well-aimed kick, a punch to the solar plexus, a sweep of the legs—they fell quickly, too separated to call for help.

Another blast sounded, this time laced with a false echo of crackling fire.

The Fire Sages hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances.

“It could be another intruder,” one said warily. “We can’t ignore it.”

Zhao’s eyes narrowed. “Then don’t. Go. Now.”

The Fire Sages moved together, more cautious than the soldiers. They were better fighters, more disciplined. When Zuko confronted them, it was a harder battle.

They moved in harmony, bending flames with practiced precision. Zuko ducked low, weaving through their attacks. He wasn’t as refined—but he was fast, and strong, and refused to yield. He used the terrain to his advantage, luring them through narrow stone corridors and forcing them into awkward positions.

Breathing hard, soot clinging to his skin, Zuko finally knocked the last Sage unconscious with a spinning kick.

He limped back toward the column that held the others prisoners, exhaustion setting in.

Sokka looked up, squinting at the masked figure. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to babysit the bison?”

Katara’s eyes widened, a smile tugging at her lips. “We’re glad you came.”

Zuko started forward—but Zhao stepped out from behind the column, his hand crackling with flame.

“Well, well,” Zhao sneered. “I knew there was another rat crawling around. Didn’t think you'd come here willingly.”

Zhao launched a blast of fire.

Zuko barely ducked in time, the heat licking across his sleeves as he rolled aside. He didn’t strike back — not with fire. Not here. Not with Zhao watching.

They clashed — Zhao’s style brutal and relentless, flames lighting up the narrow space. Zuko moved around them, weaving through the heat, blocking hard and dodging low. His footwork was tight, reactive, every movement conserving energy and masking intent.

His arms trembled with each block; his legs burned from the strain. But his eyes stayed sharp.

Then — a flash of memory: Lu Ten’s letter, corners worn soft from rereading.

“He favours his left arm. I caught him there once and the whole fight shifted.”

Zuko feinted high — a classic firebender’s opening strike — but there was no flame.

Zhao’s eyes followed the motion, preparing to counter.

Too late.

Zuko pivoted sharply and kicked up and in — his heel slammed into Zhao’s left shoulder with a sickening crack.

Zhao roared, stumbling backward and crashing into the stone wall, flames sputtering out on impact.

Zuko didn’t wait.

He spun and sprinted toward the prisoners — Sokka, Katara, and Shyu — crouching low to avoid drawing attention. “Hold still,” he muttered, yanking a dagger from his belt. He made quick work of the chains, sawing through with practiced urgency.

Behind him, Zhao groaned, dragging himself upright.

His face twisted in fury as he stared at the figure in Earth Kingdom green and a stolen Fire Nation mask.

“Who are you?” he spat.

Sokka and Katara flanked Zuko, ready for a second round.

More soldiers burst into the courtyard. A few Fire Sages, bloodied but upright, stumbled in behind them. The trio was surrounded.

Then… the stone doors to the sanctuary rumbled.

Everyone turned to look.

A sliver of golden light emerged from within as the sacred room began to open.

Zhao’s eyes gleamed. “Attack the Avatar the moment he steps out!” he shouted. “Bring him to me alive if you can!”

Then he lunged at Zuko, Sokka, and Katara.

The air thickened with heat and tension.

And from within the chamber, something ancient stirred.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back within the sacred chamber, Roku looked up to the sky visible through the narrow cracks in the ceiling. The glow of the solstice sun had begun to shift.

“Our time is drawing near,” he said softly, his voice threaded with finality. Then, a glint of fondness entered his gaze. “It seems… your big brother came after you.”

Aang blinked. “Zuko? He’s supposed to be outside with Appa!”

Roku chuckled, eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “He must not be very good at staying put.”

Aang crossed his arms with a huff. “He never listens to me! Always acts like he knows everything just because he’s older.” But then his irritation faltered, and his tone softened. “Still… he’s always there. Even when I tell him not to be.”

Roku nodded. “Be grateful. Not everyone is blessed with an older brother who would brave fire and stone to protect you.”

Aang’s thoughts drifted to Zuko’s stories—how Azula used cruelty like a blade, how her smile meant danger, not comfort. He swallowed. “You’re right.”

Roku’s head tilted slightly. His expression shifted, focused. “There’s a battle going on outside.”

Aang turned toward the door, alarm rising in his chest. “We have to go help them—”

But Roku lifted a hand. “Let me in. Just for a moment."

A pause. Then he added gently, “Let me protect the two of you… my family… one last time.”

Aang met his gaze, then nodded.

The light within the chamber shifted suddenly—sharp and ancient. Roku’s presence surged through Aang, eyes glowing white with Avatar power.

In an instant, he turned toward the entrance.

Outside, chaos had broken loose. Fire Nation soldiers had breached the sanctuary perimeter. Before they could reach the chamber doors, the earth trembled beneath them.

Roku—within Aang—stepped out, eyes glowing with fury and sorrow. With a powerful motion, he bent fire with the authority of a master. Spiralling flames roared through the stone arches, collapsing the entryway and igniting support beams. Chunks of the ceiling thundered down as terrified soldiers fled.

The sanctuary shook. One of the Fire Sages dropped to his knees, eyes wide in reverence. Shyu bowed deeply, eyes closed.

Katara and Sokka backed away, stunned by the raw power.

Even Zuko, watching from behind a fallen pillar, felt his breath catch. For a moment, he wasn’t looking at Aang — he was seeing him. Regal and commanding, just as he remembered from when he was three or four. Zuko had wondered, more than once, if he’d only remembered an idealised version of his great-grandfather Avatar Roku — but now, seeing him in full power, alive through Aang’s body, the memories rushed back: the gentle eyes, the warm voice telling stories from his youth, the calloused hands that once stroked Zuko’s hair when he couldn’t sleep. Pride flickered behind his wide eyes.

Zhao scrambled back as another wave of fire split the stone behind him. “Retreat!” he shouted hoarsely, backing away from the collapsing sanctum.

The sanctuary groaned, ancient stone crying out as cracks splintered across the domed ceiling. Columns crumbled, raining debris in every direction. Fire licked along the walls, coiling and twisting like serpents unleashed.

And then—through the smoke-choked sky, a powerful gust of wind swept over the temple ruins.

With a deep, thunderous bellow, Appa burst into view above the sanctuary.

The great sky bison circled once, guided by Momo, who chittered wildly from between his horns, and Kai, who shrieked sharply as he swooped beside them. Appa’s shadow fell across the collapsing temple like a promise.

Flames reflected off his white fur and the blue arrow markings that glowed faintly in the light. His huge body hovered unsteadily over the crumbling sanctuary, struggling against the rising heat and shifting currents.

Katara, Sokka, and Shyu ran for the saddle.

Zuko hesitated—then turned, his gaze locking with the glowing eyes of Roku, still within Aang’s body.

They stood facing each other in the crumbling sanctuary, stone cracking and heat radiating from the fires climbing the walls.

Zuko stepped closer. “Why are you tearing this place apart? It was scared."

Roku’s voice was low, almost a whisper beneath the roar of the flames, carrying a weight that stretched beyond words. “Sacred... yes. But sacredness can sometimes blind us. The Fire Sages once held a promise—to honour balance, to guide the flame’s true purpose. Somewhere along the way, that promise dimmed.”

Zuko swallowed hard. “So it’s about power, then?”

Roku regarded him quietly, eyes reflecting flickering light. After a long pause, he placed a steady hand on Zuko’s shoulder—not hot, but steady, like a heartbeat beneath the chaos.

“Fire is more than strength or control. It is breath, it is life—an echo of all that moves within you. And you... carry more than one flame inside.”

Zuko searched his gaze. “Then why does it feel like the darker fire always threatens to consume me?”

Roku’s expression softened, a shadow crossing his face. “Perhaps because what you’ve learned has been only half the story.”

Before Zuko could ask more, Roku leaned closer and murmured words lost beneath the shifting stone and rising wind.

Zuko’s breath caught. A sudden roar shattered the sanctuary as stone fell nearby.

A sudden roar shook the sanctuary as stone crumbled nearby.

The light in Aang’s eyes dimmed, and with it, Roku began to slip away — his presence receding like a tide pulling back to sea.

But before he vanished completely, he turned toward Zuko.

His expression softened. He raised a hand, fingers brushing — just briefly — against the edge of Zuko’s scar. The touch was warm, and impossibly gentle.

“I’m sorry,” Roku said softly. “That I couldn’t protect you from this.”

Zuko’s breath hitched.

“This pain you’ve carried… the fire, the exile… it should never have reached you. Not my great-grandson.”

Roku glanced at Aang’s unconscious form, then back to Zuko.

“This is the least I can do — for both of you.”

“You are the prince of the Fire Nation,” he continued, his voice like wind through old stone. “But never forget — you are also my descendant, and his brother. That matters. That means something.”

Roku’s image flickered, the glow beginning to fade.

“I’ll always be near,” he murmured. “As long as Aang walks this world, I’ll be close.”

And then he was gone — leaving only the quiet, and the faint scent of smoke and sandalwood in the air.

Aang swayed, then folded quietly into Zuko’s arms, his body light, breathing slow.

Zuko held him, steadying them both, the echo of Roku’s words still warm in his chest—unsettling, uncertain, but alive.

He held him close, the glow in Aang’s eyes now completely faded.

“Come on!” Katara called from Appa’s back.

Zuko turned, still shaken, still burning with unspoken questions. But he held Aang tighter, ran and with a leapt, landed in Appa’s saddle.

As they lifted off, the once-sacred island collapsed behind them—stone and ash swallowed by the churning sea.

Below, the last Fire Sages fled into the forest. Shyu bowed low on Appa’s back, silent in mourning.

Zuko didn’t speak. He just stared into the horizon, Roku’s words echoing in his chest like a second heartbeat.

Chapter Text

The sky was a brilliant stretch of blue, with clouds that seemed to melt into the horizon like soft whispers. But Aang didn’t see any of it.

Pacing the saddle of Appa with short, nervous steps, the ten-year-old Avatar looked more like a caged sky bison than its rider. His fingers tugged at his robes, and his brows furrowed deeply, as if he could scrunch away the gnawing fear building inside him.

Zuko watched him quietly from where he sat, legs crossed and arms braced on his knees. His golden eyes followed Aang’s path—step, turn, step—as calmly as a predator tracking a rabbit. But his voice, when it finally broke the silence, was low and thoughtful.

“What’s wrong, Aang?”

Aang didn’t stop pacing. “It’s the comet,” he said, voice tight. “Avatar Roku… he showed me what it means. When the Great Comet returns, it’ll make firebenders—like, really strong. Stronger than they’ve ever been.”

He finally paused, turning to face Zuko with wide, anxious eyes. “If I don’t master all four elements before then… there won’t be a world left to save.”

Zuko’s expression shifted—shadows of memory flickering behind his eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, laced with something Aang rarely heard from him: reassurance.

“You’ve already come a long way,” he said. “You’re almost a master airbender. And you’re only ten.”

“Still feels like not enough,” Aang mumbled.

“We’re heading to the North Pole,” Katara chimed in from beside him, offering a kind smile. “You’ll have a waterbending master there. That’s a start.”

Up at the front, Sokka sat on Appa’s head, one hand on the reins and the other waving back lazily. “Yeah, and don’t forget—air? Check. Water? Coming up. Fire? You already kind of did that back at the Fire Temple!”

Zuko stiffened.

His eyes flicked to Aang sharply. “You what?”

Katara grinned, perhaps too enthusiastically. “Oh, it was amazing! Aang just—whoosh!—redirected this huge blast of fire right back at the sages.”

Aang looked down, suddenly sheepish. “It wasn’t… I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I had no choice.”

Zuko’s jaw tensed. The line between his brows deepened.

Sokka, sensing the tension faster than usual, quickly leaned back from Appa’s head and added, “We were surrounded. They were throwing fireballs at us, no way out. If Aang hadn’t stepped in, we’d be toast. Literally.”

“Yeah,” Aang nodded, grateful for the rescue. “I panicked, but I remembered what you taught me—about redirecting fire. I tried it, and… it worked. Barely.”

Zuko looked at him for a long moment. Then he let out a slow breath and nodded.

“I’m glad my lessons helped,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Aang turned to him, hesitating. “Zuko… will you teach me firebending?”

“No.”

The answer came sharp, immediate. Zuko stood abruptly, turning his back to the group, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“But—why not?” Aang asked, stepping closer. “You’re the only one I trust. The only one I want to learn from.”

Zuko didn’t turn around. “I already tried once.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Even the wind seemed to quiet.

Katara tilted her head. “Wait… what do you mean ‘tried’?”

Sokka squinted. “Tried and what, blew off his eyebrows or something?”

Aang reached for Zuko’s arm gently, wrapping both his smaller hands around it.

“Zuko, please,” he said, voice softer than wind through leaves. “You didn’t mean to hurt me. It was an accident. I know you’d never hurt me.”

Zuko didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was hoarse.

“I burned him.”

Katara gasped. Sokka sat up straighter.

“You what?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Aang said quickly, stepping between his friends and Zuko like a tiny airbending shield. “He was just showing me breathing and forms. I tripped. Zuko was in the middle of a move, and he grabbed me to keep me from falling—his fire was still active. It was an accident. He was trying to protect me.”

“I should’ve controlled it,” Zuko muttered. “I should’ve known better.”

“No one controls everything, Zuko,” Aang said gently. “Not even you.”

Zuko didn’t meet his eyes, but the edge in his stance softened. Regret clung to him like a second skin, but under it was something warmer—a fragile thread of trust Aang refused to let go of.

Katara stepped forward slowly. “Aang’s right. You didn’t mean to. And he’s still asking you to teach him. That says something.”

Sokka folded his arms, then shrugged. “Just don’t burn him again, and we’ll call it even.”

Zuko snorted quietly.

Aang leaned against his arm again, smiling up at him. “You’re my big brother. I trust you.”

For a long moment, Zuko didn’t say anything. But then he gently placed a hand on Aang’s shoulder, the gesture firm but warm.

“I’ll think about it.”

As the wind ruffled their clothes high above the trees, Appa glided smoothly through the open sky. Katara looked over at Aang, who was still beaming from their earlier talk about bending.

“I could teach you a little waterbending,” she offered with a smile. “I mean, I don’t know much, but… enough to get you started.”

Aang’s eyes lit up. “Really? That would be amazing! Thank you, Katara!”

Sokka, up front with the reins in hand, stretched and glanced over his shoulder. “Then it’s a good thing I just saw the perfect spot for you two to splash around in—big lake, waterfall, lots of space for... whatever this water-swirly stuff is.”

Katara rolled her eyes, but Aang was already peering over the side excitedly.

They descended quickly, and Appa landed with a cheerful grunt beside a shimmering lake framed by cliffs and a gentle waterfall. The moment his paws hit the earth, Appa bounded into the water with an enthusiastic splash that drenched the shore.

“Appa!” Sokka groaned, arms raised against the spray.

Laughing, Aang stripped off his outer robes and darted forward, ready to leap into the lake.

Katara raised a hand. “Aang! Don’t forget—we’re here to learn waterbending, not just play.”

Aang skidded to a stop, water lapping at his toes. “Right! Waterbending first. Then swimming.”

As Katara stepped into the shallows beside him, Sokka remained on the grass, watching them with mock seriousness. “So what do I do while the kids are flailing around?”

Zuko, standing near Appa’s packs, watched the bison rolling in the lake with a thoughtful expression. “I was thinking of giving Appa a bath. He’s been carrying us nonstop. He deserves a break too.”

Sokka blinked. “That’s... actually really considerate. Huh.”

Zuko didn’t reply, but he walked to the edge of the lake and knelt down. “What do you think, Appa?” he asked. “Want to be pampered?”

Appa let out a low, approving rumble and flopped sideways, sending another wave crashing to shore.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Zuko said with a faint smile.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Onboard a sleek, Fire Nation vessel cutting through gentle waves, Lu Ten stood shirtless on the deck, beads of sweat glistening on his brow as he struck forward in a clean, practiced arc. A controlled jet of flame burst from his fist, dissipating in the air before it could touch the sparring dummy in front of him.

A crew member—one of the younger firebenders assigned to assist—nodded in approval. “You’ve improved your form, Commander.”

Lu Ten exhaled steadily, adjusting his stance. “There’s always more to learn.” He turned to go again, but suddenly the ship lurched slightly, the subtle shift in direction enough to make him frown.

He glanced toward the helm, where the helmsman was turning the wheel carefully, adjusting the sails to catch the wind toward starboard.

“Why are we changing course?” Lu Ten asked, wiping his hands on a cloth as he headed toward the bridge. His boots thudded quietly on the deck as he made his way to the captain’s quarters.

Pushing open the door, he found Iroh seated at a small table, sipping tea and smiling as if the world weren’t waiting for them.

“Father,” Lu Ten began, his voice steady but confused, “what’s going on? We just altered our course.”

“Ah, yes,” Iroh said cheerfully, motioning toward the map sprawled before him. “I asked the captain to direct us toward a nearby market town.”

Lu Ten stepped further inside, brows knitting. “But we’re supposed to be heading toward the Eastern Air Temple ruins. You said there were signs some air nomads might have fled there.”

“They were,” Iroh agreed, sipping his tea. “And the ones we found have already been safely disguised and given papers to travel under Fire Nation protection. Very resourceful people, those monks.”

“Then why change course?” Lu Ten asked, crossing his arms. “Are we picking up more?”

Iroh paused, then said with perfect calm, “I lost my Lotus Tile.”

Lu Ten blinked. “Your... Lotus Tile.”

“It must’ve fallen out during our last stop,” Iroh continued solemnly. “A crucial piece. Many underestimate it, but the White Lotus tile is essential to the entire strategy of Pai Sho. Without it, I cannot possibly complete the Spiral Openings technique.”

Lu Ten stared at him.

Iroh reached across the table and patted his hand. “It is a matter of utmost importance.”

A long, tense silence passed. Lu Ten inhaled sharply, then exhaled through his nose—wisps of smoke curling from his nostrils.

“This ship,” he muttered under his breath, turning on his heel, “is supposed to be helping war refugees, not detouring for lost board game pieces.”

As he stepped through the doorway, Iroh’s voice followed him, warm and amused.

“I am truly lucky to have such a kind and understanding son.”

Lu Ten didn’t look back, but the faint upward twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Zuko ran a soapy sponge along Appa’s massive front paw while Sokka scrubbed vigorously at the sky bison’s side, covered in patches of dried dirt and leaves.

“I think Appa’s enjoying this more than we are,” Sokka said, shaking suds off his hand.

Appa groaned in deep, rumbly satisfaction, eyes half-lidded as he leaned into the brush.

“He should,” Zuko replied, rinsing the sponge. “In a few months, he’ll start shedding. His fur will get everywhere—our packs, our food, even our mouths. Better get used to bathing him more often.”

Appa huffed in agreement.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, near the shallows, Katara knelt beside Aang, her hands gracefully dipping into the water.

“It’s all about wrist motion,” she explained, demonstrating a slow, fluid movement. “Like this. Back and forth.”

Aang copied her as best he could, concentrating hard. The water sloshed uncertainly in response to his motion.

“Almost!” Katara said with a smile. “You’re getting close.”

“I think I’m doing it!” Aang beamed. Suddenly, the water responded with surprising strength, rising in a controlled wave and rolling gently forward and back.

Katara blinked. “Wait—what? You’re already waterbending?”

Aang looked up, grinning. “I think so?”

Katara crossed her arms, half-shocked, half-annoyed. “It took me months to learn that technique…”

“You told me once,” Aang said gently, “how you didn’t really care about waterbending much—before the Fire Nation attacked.”

Katara looked down at the water. “Yeah... back then, it just felt like something I could do, not something I had to do.”

“Maybe that’s why it took longer,” Aang said, shrugging. “You didn’t feel the need to learn fast. But now you’re amazing at it.”

Katara’s frown softened. “Thanks,” she said, smiling again. “You’re a good student.”

“Thanks! What’s next?”

Katara lifted her hands and drew a stream of water out of the lake, looping it gracefully in the air. “This one’s harder. Don’t worry if you don’t get it first try.”

Aang raised his hands. Instantly, a ribbon of water leapt out from the lake and spiralled around him in a near-perfect circle.

Katara stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Okay… nice work. Some of those movements were… unnecessary, but still.”

“Sorry!” Aang said quickly. “Please show me more!”

Katara straightened up. “Alright. Waterbenders can use the water to create a large wave. When the Fire Nation attacked my village, some of our best benders used it to push back ships.”

She concentrated, arms lifting slowly. The lake churned slightly, but only a modest swell formed.

Aang, eager to try, stepped forward. He thrust both arms up—and a massive wave rose high and surged forward.

“Whoa—AANG!” Zuko shouted as he and Sokka turned, just in time to see the wall of water bearing down on them.

The wave crashed over Appa, Zuko, and Sokka, leaving them drenched and sputtering.

“I think I’ve got the hang of it!” Aang said, eyes wide. “What else can you teach me?”

Katara stood stiffly, her arms still at her sides. “That’s… enough for today.”

Sokka emerged from the water, soaked and glaring. “Well, thanks, Avatar. You just gave all our supplies a rinse cycle.”

Zuko shook water from his hair and tried to wring out his sleeve. “We’ll replace them,” he said calmly, glancing at Aang.

Aang smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Zuko.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to have so much fun watching your baby brother once he masters all four elements. He’s barely done with one and he’s already a full-time disaster.”

Zuko groaned and climbed out of the lake, soaked from head to toe, his hair sticking to his face and clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. With a sharp whistle, he called for Kai, his hawk, who circled overhead before swooping down toward him.

Without a word, Zuko took a steady stance and exhaled slowly. In one smooth motion, he swept his arms downward and let out a quick, controlled burst of fire. Steam hissed into the air as the heat evaporated the water clinging to his clothes, leaving him dry in seconds.

Sokka blinked, impressed. “Okay, I’ll admit it—that’s a handy trick. I wouldn't mind learning that.”

Aang’s eyes lit up, clearly fascinated, his mouth already halfway open to ask—

“No,” Zuko said flatly, not even looking at him.

Aang’s shoulders sagged. “…Okay.”

Sokka snorted and elbowed Aang. “Don’t worry, disaster boy. Once you master fire, you can burn holes in your own clothes like a pro.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but allowed a faint smirk to tug at his lips. He reached for the small mail tube secured to Kai’s leg and opened it, pulling out a dry scroll, brush, and inkwell tucked neatly inside.

Balancing on a nearby rock, he quickly jotted down a short, cryptic message.

“Find Iroh and Lu Ten,” he murmured, tying the scroll back to Kai’s leg.

Kai cawed in acknowledgment and launched into the sky, wings slicing through the air as he disappeared into the clouds.

Zuko watched him go, the last trace of a smirk fading as his gaze lingered a moment longer.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Still aboard the ship, Lu Ten resumed his firebending practice on the main deck, focused and precise as bursts of flame danced between his fists. His concentration was broken when a familiar cry echoed through the sky. He looked up to see a red hawk gliding toward the ship.

Extending his arm without hesitation, Lu Ten allowed Kai to land gracefully. The hawk cawed softly as Lu Ten untied the scroll from its leg and unrolled the message. His brow lifted slightly, then he smiled.

He turned to a nearby crew member. “Make sure he’s fed and watered. He’s flown a long way.”

“Yes, Commander,” the crewmate replied, gently taking Kai in their arms and disappearing below deck to let the hawk rest.

Tucking the scroll into his belt, Lu Ten made his way back to the captain’s cabin. As expected, Iroh was still sitting cross-legged at the pai sho board, joyfully explaining strategy and symbolism to a young man seated across from him.

The airbender—dressed in a plain Fire Nation tunic—looked up nervously when Lu Ten entered. A strip of blue tattoo peeked out from under his hat. He quickly pulled the hat down lower over his forehead, cheeks colouring.

Lu Ten raised a brow. “That hat isn’t fooling anyone.”

Before the airbender could respond, Iroh chuckled warmly. “There’s no need to hide here. We are all friends on this ship. Besides,” he added, sipping his tea, “everyone cheats at pai sho until they learn not to.”

Lu Ten handed his father the scroll. “It’s from Zuko. He’s asking where we are.”

Iroh’s face lit up as he read it. “Ah! Wonderful. Let him know we’ll be in that market town near the western bay by tomorrow evening. Perhaps they can meet us there.”

Lu Ten nodded, already stepping toward the writing desk. As he dipped the brush into ink, a fond smile crossed his face.

“I wonder if the little rascals have grown any taller since last month,” he muttered to himself. “Knowing Aang, he probably floated up a few inches.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The market town bustled with colour and sound as the group of four made their way through its winding streets. Stalls of vibrant silks, sizzling food, and hand-carved trinkets lined the cobbled path, while the scent of incense wafted in the air.

“Do we still have any money left?” Sokka asked, glancing at Zuko with a hopeful expression that bordered on dread.

Behind them, Katara and Aang leaned in to listen.

Zuko exhaled through his nose. “Uncle and Lu Ten are meeting us here. I’m going to ask them to replace what Aang’s little wave took out.”

Aang winced. “Sorry again,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. But the guilt faded quickly, replaced by a grin. “Still... I’m excited to see Uncle Iroh and Lu Ten!”

Zuko didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled a rolled bundle from his bag and began handing out long, dark cloaks to everyone.

“What is this?” Aang held up the fabric with confusion. “Why do we all have to wear capes?”

Zuko ignored the question, reached over, and tugged Aang’s hood down to obscure his face. “Because the Fire Nation knows now that the Avatar is travelling with two Water Tribe members.”

Katara frowned and pulled her own hood over her head. “He’s right. After that ambush at the temple, they’ve seen our faces.”

“Come on,” Aang grumbled. “This is a neutral town. Not Fire Nation.”

Zuko gave him a pointed look. “And you’re going to listen to your big brother.”

Aang sighed, defeated. “Fine…”

As they rounded a corner near the docks, Zuko’s eyes caught a familiar figure standing at the end of a pier. Without a word, he grabbed Aang’s hand and strode forward. “Come on.”

Lu Ten turned, spotting them. A smile tugged at his mouth. “There’s my favourite little monk,” he said as they reached him. “You look like you’ve gotten taller.”

Aang beamed. “I have! Three centimetres—from 130 to 133!”

Zuko scoffed. “Barely counts.”

“I grew,” Aang insisted, puffing up proudly.

Lu Ten chuckled, glancing between the two of them. “At this rate, you’ll be taller than Zuko in no time.”

Zuko crossed his arms, frowning. “He’s still shorter.”

Aang grinned. “For now.”

Sokka and Katara caught up, smiling at the sight. “We remember you from the village”

Lu Ten nodded warmly. “I remember you both. It’s good to see you again.”

“How’s your mission going?” Aang asked as they turned to head toward the ship.

“Come aboard,” Lu Ten said, gesturing. “I’ll explain.”

They walked up the gangplank, greeted by the gentle creak of the deck underfoot. A familiar screech pierced the air as Kai the hawk swooped down from the sky and made a beeline toward a specific crewmember.

Iroh, already on deck with a cup of tea in hand, chuckled. “I see someone made quite the impression. That hawk might never leave your side now.”

The crewman laughed nervously and held up his arm, allowing Kai to perch contentedly. With a bow to Lu Ten, Zuko, and finally to Aang—recognizing all three as Fire Nation royalty—the man turned and walked below deck with the hawk.

With a sweep of his hand, Iroh gestured toward the interior. “Come. We’ve prepared a quiet room.”

Inside the cosy, private chamber, the six of them gathered around a low table.

“Did you find any airbenders?” Aang asked eagerly, his legs bouncing with excitement.

Iroh nodded. “Yes, a few. They’re below deck, resting.”

Lu Ten continued, “We’re taking them deeper into the Earth Kingdom—giving them money and papers so they can settle somewhere safe. Ba Sing Se, maybe. Far from the war.”

Aang’s face lit up with pure joy. “Can I meet them?!”

“Later,” Zuko cut in with a groan, rubbing his temples. “Uncle… Lu Ten… Can I—can I have some money?”

Both older men raised an eyebrow.

“What happened to the money you had?” Iroh asked.

Sokka smirked and leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself. “So Katara tried teaching Aang waterbending. Sounds good, right? Then Aang makes this huge wave… and that wave just went and washed away all our supplies. Nice going, Aang.”

Katara and Aang sank lower in their seats, sheepish.

Lu Ten blinked, then burst out laughing. Iroh followed with a deep belly laugh, shaking his head. “Ah, the joys of teaching the Avatar.”

Zuko shifted in his seat, his voice quieter than before. “Did you hear anything… about our mother?”

Aang, perched nearby with wide, curious eyes, leaned forward a little. “Yeah… I’ve been wondering that too.”

Iroh gently set down his teacup. “There are whispers—rumours—of a woman matching her description, seen deep in the Earth Kingdom. But we can’t confirm anything yet. It’s a region we… can’t enter easily.”

Lu Ten nodded, his brow furrowing. “After the Fire Nation’s failed attack on the Northern Water Tribe, they turned their focus to the Earth Kingdom. It’s made things harder—for everyone. Even transporting the airbender refugees became dangerous.”

“But,” Iroh added with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, “I have a dear old pai sho friend in the Earth Kingdom. He’s been helping from the inside. Quietly. He’s quite resourceful.”

Aang tried to follow, but the mention of military strategies and shifting allegiances quickly turned into background noise. His eyes drifted toward the door.

“Can I see the airbenders now?” he asked, nearly bouncing in place.

Chapter Text

Lu Ten smiled, motioning to a nearby crew member. “Of course. They’re below deck. Someone will take you.”

“I’ll go too,” Katara said, getting up and brushing her hands on her robes. “I’ve had enough war talk for one day.”

Sokka stayed put, legs crossed and eyes sharp. “Actually, I wanna hear this. “So the Fire Nation gives up on the North because they lost one battle in the snow? Must’ve been some serious slipping-on-ice action.”

Zuko groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not helping, Sokka.”

Iroh chuckled warmly, eyes twinkling. “Slipping on ice can be quite humbling. I once fell during a skirmish in the North and landed in a snowdrift. It was...refreshing.”

Lu Ten smirked, arms crossed. “Honestly? That’s probably not far from what happened. Snow and Fire Nation boots don’t mix.”

As Aang and Katara followed the crew member deeper into the ship, Katara’s brow creased with worry. “You’re not… keeping them locked up, are you?”

“No,” the crew member said with a small chuckle. “Not prisoners. Just safe.”

They descended past the crew quarters, down to the Orlop deck, where it was quieter, dimmer—almost hushed like a temple. And then Aang saw them.

The Orlop deck had been transformed into a quiet refuge. Soft blankets were spread across the floor, and candles flickered gently in lanterns, casting a warm golden light over the space. Twenty-one other airbenders were gathered there — all young, the oldest no more than seventeen. A few sat cross-legged in meditation, eyes closed in peaceful focus. Others laughed softly as they showed off small airbending tricks to younger children, sending little spirals of wind dancing between their fingers like butterflies.

A hush fell as they noticed him, and then soft murmurs broke out, some calling his name, others blinking as if unsure he was real. Aang stepped into the room, eyes wide and full of emotion.

They began to speak, slowly at first, sharing stories. How the temples were attacked. How some escaped. Some were hidden by Earth Kingdom villagers. Some had wandered for weeks before finding this ship.

Katara stood near the doorway, her eyes drifting across the group—until something caught her off guard.

“Wait,” she said, pointing gently. “I thought… airbenders were all monks? You know... boys?”

One of the girls—barely older than Aang—laughed gently. “Only in the Northern and Southern Air Temples. Girls like us trained at the Eastern and Western ones.”

Katara blinked. “Huh. Guess Aang left that part out.”

“I didn’t forget!” Aang called from across the room. “I was gonna tell you eventually!”

The airbenders laughed, and for a moment, it felt like they were back in one of the temples—safe, whole, and at peace.

Aang sat cross-legged among the young airbenders, laughing softly as one of the girls demonstrated how she could levitate a dried fruit with a burst of wind. Katara leaned against a nearby post, watching them all with a small, wistful smile.

Then the door creaked open.

A crew member stepped inside and cleared his throat. “Prince Lu Ten requests your presence above deck.”

Aang perked up. “Are we going somewhere?”

“He said something about the market,” the crew member replied, already turning back up the stairs.

Aang leapt to his feet, eyes sparkling. “Come on, Katara! Let’s go see what it’s about!”

Katara hesitated, glancing once more at the gathered airbenders. “I hope they’ll be okay while we’re gone.”

“They’ll be safe here,” the crew member reassured her gently.

Aang gave one last wave to the gathered airbenders before following Katara out of the Orlop deck. They climbed the narrow stairs in comfortable silence, footsteps echoing softly against the wooden steps. As they emerged into the sunlight above, the muffled sounds of laughter and discussion became clearer.

Just across the upper deck, Zuko stood with his arms crossed while Sokka leaned lazily against a crate. Lu Ten was unfolding a worn map on a barrel top, while Iroh poured tea into small cups from a steaming pot balanced on a nearby railing.

“We’ll need to avoid the southern pass,” Lu Ten was saying, tapping the map. “Fire Nation ships are blockading the inlet.”

Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose. “We can’t just keep dodging them forever.”

Sokka shrugged. “Hey, as long as we’re dodging with hot food and a good nap at the end, I’m not complaining.”

Iroh chuckled, lifting his cup. “That is the wisdom of a man who’s never led a battalion.”

Katara stepped up beside Zuko and raised an eyebrow. “Are we interrupting secret war talks?”

Zuko turned, eyes softening a bit at the sight of his friends. “Just the usual. Maps, blockades, and Sokka’s culinary priorities.”

Lu Ten grinned. “Speaking of which… market?”

Aang’s face lit up. “Are we going?”

Zuko sighed, already pulling out the bundle of capes. “Only if you wear the hood.”

Aang groaned.

Katara smirked. “You’re the one who blew up half our anonymity.”

Sokka snorted. “Yeah, Wave Boy. Cape up.”

Aang sighed dramatically, but didn’t argue as Zuko tugged the hood over his head.

Iroh smiled, already leading the way. “Come, come. There is a vendor here who makes the best sweet lotus buns this side of the country. We mustn't miss them.”

The group descended the ramp, the city stretching out in front of them — warm, bustling, and for the moment, peaceful.

The market town bustled with life — vendors shouting prices, children darting between stalls, and the aroma of spiced meats and fresh bread thick in the air. It didn’t take long for Iroh to lead the group to a stall that smelled so sweet even Sokka stopped complaining about the cape.

“I told you,” Iroh said, accepting a small tray from the vendor with a delighted grin. “Best lotus buns in the western provinces.”

He handed them out, warm and slightly sticky with glaze. Aang took a bite and nearly melted into the ground. “Okay, I take it back. Capes are worth it.”

Sokka nodded between full cheeks. “I’d wear two capes for this.”

Lu Ten chuckled, then turned to Iroh. “Father, didn’t you say you needed to buy a new Lotus Tile?”

Iroh paused, blinking as if remembering for the first time. “Ah, yes! Of course. The reason we adjusted course entirely.” He munched on his bun thoughtfully. “How forgetful of me.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “You changed course… for a game tile?”

“It is a very important tile,” Iroh said, as if that explained everything.

Zuko cleared his throat. “While you're off on your... strategic mission, Sokka and I need to pick up supplies. Everything got washed away with that wave — tents, cups, pots...”

“Blankets,” Sokka added. “Something not soaked and sandy would be great.”

Lu Ten stepped closer to Zuko, leaning in until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Zuko tensed.

“This town has thieves,” Lu Ten said quietly, voice light but eyes sharp. “And pirates. Don’t trust smiles and don’t flash coin.”

As he spoke, he slipped a small, tied pouch into Zuko’s palm, using his body to shield the motion from view. To any passerby, it looked like nothing more than a casual conversation.

Zuko glanced at the pouch, caught off guard. “Thank you—”

Lu Ten reached up and gently patted the side of Zuko’s face — the scarred side.

Zuko flinched out of habit, but Lu Ten didn’t recoil. His hand lingered for just a second longer, a quiet affirmation before he pulled back with a warm, lopsided smile.

“You’ll do fine.”

Then he turned to Aang and ruffled his hood gently. “We’ll see you both later, little monk.”

Aang beamed up at him. “Thanks, Lu Ten!”

With that, Iroh and Lu Ten moved off into the crowd, disappearing between stalls with the ease of people who’d done this many times before.

Zuko stared after them for a moment, then tucked the coin pouch away beneath his cloak and turned to Sokka. “All right. Let’s go make sure we don’t freeze tonight.”

Sokka pumped a fist. “Onward — to capitalism!”

Katara rolled her eyes. “We’re buying two blankets.”

Once they were a little apart from the others, Zuko peeked inside and showed Sokka the money.

“Well, looks like Lu Ten’s got us covered,” Zuko said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Sokka pulled out a scrap of paper and started listing things. “Alright, we need to replace tents, pots, cups, sleeping bags, blankets… basically everything that got washed away thanks to Aang’s little ‘wave’.”

Zuko kept a cautious eye on Katara and Aang nearby. “Sounds about right. You handle the bargaining—I’ve never done that before.”

Sokka grinned confidently. “Leave the haggling to me. I’m good at this.”

They moved through the market until Sokka stopped at a stall selling blankets and pelts. He poked at one, frowning. “These pelts aren’t prepared well. Look at this stitching—sloppy as a wet noodle. I’m not paying full price for something that’ll fall apart by tomorrow.”

The merchant protested, but Sokka was already bargaining hard, eyes sharp and voice firm.

While Sokka argued over the price, Aang quietly approached Zuko, tugging on his sleeve. “I want to buy Katara a new necklace,” he whispered, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. “She lost her old one.”

Zuko’s smile softened. He pressed a few coins into Aang’s hand. “Be careful, alright? And don’t spend it all at once.”

Aang nodded seriously, then slipped away, weaving through the crowd on his little secret mission.

Sokka, noticing the brief exchange, raised an eyebrow. “Hey, where’d Aang run off to? And why’d you let him just take off like that?”

Zuko cleared his throat, a little amused but proud. “He said he wanted to buy Katara a new necklace to replace the one she lost.”

Sokka chuckled. “Looks like your little brother’s got a big heart.”

Zuko puffed up with pride. “Yeah. He’s a good kid.”

Sokka snorted. “Well, if he’s buying gifts for my little sister, I guess that means you and I could be brothers-in-law someday, huh?”

Zuko blinked, caught off guard. “Sokka! He’s ten — he probably doesn’t even know what a girlfriend is.”

Sokka grinned wider. “That’s what they all say at first…”

Zuko sputtered, flustered and trying to change the subject, but Sokka just laughed, clearly enjoying the tease.

Zuko, Sokka, and Katara moved purposefully through the bustling market, checking off their list as they bought what they needed—tents, pots, cups, blankets, sleeping bags—all the essentials to replace what had been lost. Sokka was in his element, loudly bargaining over prices, while Zuko stayed alert, keeping a careful eye on their surroundings. Katara walked alongside, occasionally glancing around, a little worried because she had no idea where Aang had run off to after they split up. Still, she didn’t rush to look for him—seeing Zuko, Aang’s overprotective older brother, remain calm despite Aang’s absence reassured her that he was likely fine.

After a while, Aang returned to the group, looking sheepish. Katara raised an eyebrow. “Where have you been?”

Aang glanced around, then whispered, “I saw something in the market I couldn’t say no to.”

Zuko and Sokka exchanged knowing looks, both expecting Aang to pull out the new necklace he promised to buy Katara. Instead, Aang reached into his small pouch and pulled out a whistle.

Both Zuko and Sokka stared, confused and disbelieving.

Zuko’s first instinct was to slap his own forehead. He blew all the money I gave him on a whistle? he thought, feeling the urge to lecture Aang on the value of money.

Sokka smirked and nudged Zuko. “You really should teach him about money.”

Zuko groaned. “I was just thinking that.”

Without hesitation, Aang put the whistle to his lips and blew. Sokka immediately covered his ears, bracing for a deafening blast. But instead, only a faint, almost disappointing toot emerged.

Sokka lowered his hands and gave a dry comment, “Looks like you bought a broken whistle.”

From Aang’s shoulder, Momo let out a disgruntled chirp, clearly unimpressed.

Aang’s eyes flicked nervously to Zuko, guilt plain on his face. He had spent Zuko’s money on something utterly useless.

Zuko just shook his head, then patted Aang’s shoulder. “Let this whistle be a lesson—don’t buy anything just because it catches your eye without trying it first.”

Katara smiled and added gently, “Maybe you shouldn’t handle money just yet.”

Aang reached out and handed Zuko all the coins he still had left.

Zuko smirked, shaking his head. “Spending money like that… must be your ‘royalty’ side showing. Guess reckless is in the family.”

Aang let out a relieved breath and gave a small, grateful smile at the joke, glad Zuko wasn’t mad at him for spending the money.

Chapter Text

As the group strolled along the dock, enjoying the salty air and the slow bustle of the market town, a voice rang out over the chatter.

“Step right up! Rare goods from across the four nations—Earth, Water, Fire, and Air! Exotic wares! One of a kind!”

They turned as a vendor near a docked, slightly ramshackle ship waved enthusiastically at them. Most of the other villagers gave the vessel a wide berth, clearly uninterested—or perhaps wary. But since they were the only ones walking close, the vendor’s attention locked onto them immediately.

“Perhaps I can interest you in some exotic curios?” the vendor called, waggling his fingers enticingly.

Aang lit up. “Ooh, I love exotic stuff! Wait… what are curios?”

The vendor paused, then grinned sheepishly. “I’m not entirely sure. But we got 'em!”

He moved forward, reaching to guide Aang toward the gangplank. Before his hand could reach the boy’s shoulder, Zuko stepped forward, sharply intercepting him.

“Try to grab my brother again and you’ll regret it,” Zuko said coldly. “He’s not yours to pull around.”

The vendor held up both palms in mock surrender. “Just being friendly.”

“I want to see what he’s selling,” Aang said eagerly, glancing up at Zuko. “It’s not like we have to buy anything.”

Katara nodded, folding her arms. “Let’s just look. We’ll be quick.”

Zuko didn’t look pleased, but after a second’s pause, he sighed. “Fine. But stay close.”

As the group climbed onto the deck, Sokka sidled up beside Zuko, leaning in casually.

“So, uh… what was that back there? You looked ready to fight that guy just for being pushy.”

Zuko gave him a sideways glance. “You really didn’t notice?”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “Notice what?”

“That guy’s a pirate.”

Sokka froze in place. “A what?” he hissed, nearly yelling before slapping both hands over his mouth. His eyes darted around the deck like someone expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

Still whispering urgently, he leaned toward Zuko. “Why did you let us on board then?!”

“I didn’t let us,” Zuko muttered. “Katara and Aang insisted—and you didn’t exactly object.”

“You could’ve said the word ‘pirate’ out loud!”

Zuko gave him a flat look. “I figured it was obvious.”

Just as Sokka was about to respond—face scrunched in frustration—they entered a cabin at the heart of the ship. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with mismatched trinkets, old scrolls, strange masks, and all manner of goods whose origins were dubious at best.

Sokka leaned closer to Zuko, muttering under his breath, “This place smells like mildew and illegal activity.”

Zuko just nodded. “Welcome to a pirate ship.”

The pirate ship creaked beneath their feet, swaying slightly with the ocean tide. Lanterns hung from the masts, casting swaying golden light over crates, barrels, and strange merchandise spread out like a seafaring bazaar. The scent of brine, rum, and damp wood permeated the air. Aang and Katara wandered slowly among the items—an odd mix of broken compasses, chipped ceramic dragons, curious masks, and glinting trinkets that may or may not have been stolen.

Katara paused by a set of glass bottles filled with liquids of various colours, while Aang stared curiously at a globe that had the continents all wrong. He chuckled to himself, “That’s not how the Earth Kingdom looks…”

A few paces away, Zuko stood still, arms crossed, eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. His posture was relaxed only on the surface. One hand hovered near the hilt of his dao swords, just in case. Sokka stood beside him, brows furrowed and fingers twitching near his boomerang. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be standing on a pirate ship.

“I don’t like this,” Sokka muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Too many guys with too few teeth and too many weapons.”

Zuko didn’t respond. He just nodded once, eyes still sharp.

Suddenly, a man stepped out from behind a rack of old scrolls. He was tall and stern-looking, with a weathered face marked by deep lines of experience and authority. His wide, flat-brimmed hat cast a shadow over sharp, calculating eyes, and two long strands of grey hair framed his face. He wore maroon robes with tan trimming, the attire neat but aged—clearly belonging to someone used to the sea. A reptilian parrot perched proudly on his shoulder let out a sharp, ear-piercing screech, ruffling its scaly feathers as if echoing its master’s displeasure.

“Well, would you look at that,” the man drawled, grinning with crooked, yellowed teeth. His gaze had locked onto something behind Aang.

Aang turned, confused—then tightened his grip on Momo, who had been perched on his shoulder.

“Never seen such a fine specimen of lemur,” the man said, eyeing Momo like a merchant appraising fine silver. “That coat… those ears… he’d fetch me quite a hefty sum in the right market. You interested in selling, kid?”

The parrot let out another shriek.

Momo screeched back furiously, ears flattened, tail puffed, body arched and tense.

Aang instinctively pulled Momo into his arms, hugging him tightly. “He’s not for sale,” he said firmly, voice clipped and serious.

Zuko was at Aang’s side before the man could blink. He moved quietly, but his presence was unmistakable—like a shadow drawing a line in the sand.

Zuko’s voice was soft, but edged in steel. “Try to touch him, and you’ll lose more than just your profit.”

The man hesitated. One look into Zuko’s golden eyes, and he took a step back, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “No need for threats, lad. Just making conversation.”

Katara, unaware of the tension behind her, had wandered toward a pile of tattered maps and scrolls. Something near the bottom caught her eye—a pale blue ribbon tied around a tightly rolled parchment. She gently picked it up, opened it, and gasped softly.

"Aang!" she called, eyes wide with wonder.

He turned, still holding Momo, and crossed the deck quickly. Katara spread the scroll out carefully over a barrel between them. The paper was delicate, the ink faded in spots—but the illustrations were clear. Flowing forms, wave-like arcs, stances that felt both graceful and powerful.

“A waterbending scroll,” Katara said breathlessly. “And these forms… they’re amazing, but not too far beyond where I am.”

Aang leaned closer, excitement in his eyes. “This is amazing! Where did it come from?”

Before they could admire it longer, a shadow fell over the scroll.

A gloved hand snatched it away.

A tall, broad-shouldered man loomed above them. He had a commanding presence, even if he reeked of salt and stale wine. The pirate captain.

“Picked it up up north,” he said with a gruff laugh. “Traded at a very reasonable price.”

Sokka, who had wandered over just in time to catch the last exchange, raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Wow, what a deal. Did the seller also throw in a receipt that says ‘stolen’... or was the price tag already stuck at ‘free’?”

The words were out before he realized what he’d just implied. His eyes went wide as his hand clapped over his mouth.

Zuko closed his eyes briefly. “Smooth.”

To their surprise, the pirate captain let out a bellowing laugh. “I like this one,” he said, pointing at Sokka. “Got guts.”

The vendor who had guided them onto the ship appeared suddenly behind Sokka and clamped a firm hand on his shoulder. “We prefer to call ourselves high-risk traders,” he said with a wink.

Katara raised an eyebrow. “Right. And how much for the… high-risk traded scroll?”

The captain grinned. “Already got a buyer in the Earth Kingdom. But for you? Let’s say… 200 gold pieces.”

Zuko stared at him, deadpan. “That scroll isn’t worth half that.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Zuko stepped forward. “Waterbending scrolls aren’t common, true. The tribes don’t export their knowledge — their economies are small, localized. Outsiders rarely get their hands on genuine scrolls.”

Sokka nodded. “My village never traded any either.”

Zuko went on. “But in the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation? Beginner scrolls? A few copper coins. Intermediate ones, maybe a dozen coppers. Advanced scrolls… those are expensive. But they’re also heavily guarded by masters. You don’t leave them lying around in a barrel.”

Sokka peered at the scroll again and shrugged. “This one doesn’t look worth more than ten coppers, tops.”

The pirate captain’s friendly demeanour evaporated. “You lot have a big mouth. Get off my ship. Now.”

Without a word, the group turned and walked quickly off the deck. Zuko stayed at the rear, just in case. They didn’t stop until they were back on solid land.

Sokka exhaled loudly. “Well, we didn’t get stabbed or sold into slavery. That’s a win.”

Aang, still hugging Momo, turned to the others, frustrated. “Why didn’t we even try bargaining? That scroll looked perfect!”

Zuko glanced at Katara. “It wasn’t worth it. We'll check some actual shops before we leave the port. They might have scrolls.”

“Yeah,” Sokka said. “And we’re heading to the Northern Water Tribe soon. You’ll be swimming in scrolls.”

Zuko nodded. “If you want, I can ask Uncle Iroh. He knows people. Maybe someone can send one to us.”

Sokka perked up. “Or we can write to Dad! Last we heard from him, he was heading toward the North Pole.”

Aang grinned and bounced between them like a kid with a sugar rush. “This is great! Scrolls, soon a master, everything you need! You’re gonna be amazing, Katara!”

Katara smiled, her earlier disappointment melting. “Thanks, all of you. You’re right. That scroll wasn’t worth it. And I’ll get plenty of others soon.”

“And a master!” Aang chimed in again.

She chuckled. “Hopefully. But right now… I’m tired. Let’s head back. Either to Iroh and Lu Ten’s ship or Appa. I need to lie down.”

As they turned away from the harbour, the setting sun lit the waves in gold. The pirate ship faded into the background—just another strange chapter in their journey. And ahead of them, clearer skies and greater knowledge awaited.

Just as the group rounded a corner into the bustling market, a voice called after them.

“Hey! You there!”

They turned just slightly, just enough to catch the pirate vendor waving them down from the dock. His voice had the oily smoothness of someone pretending to be friendly—too friendly.

Aang perked up, hopeful. “Wait… are they gonna sell us the scroll after all?”

But before anyone could respond, a loud thump followed by the sound of boots hitting the ground echoed from behind them. Half a dozen pirates had leapt off the ship, weapons drawn, snarling like wild dogs off the leash.

Sokka blinked. “Yup. That’s what I get for opening my big mouth.” He waved a hand in mock self-congratulation. “Congratulations, Sokka. You just jinxed us into a stabbing-slavery combo deal.”

Zuko immediately unsheathed his dual dao swords with a crisp shing, stepping forward in a defensive stance, eyes narrowed.

Sokka reached for his boomerang, spinning it once in his hand. “You know,” he muttered, “I was really hoping today would be a no-weapons kind of day.”

Katara didn’t hesitate—she grabbed Aang by the arm and shouted, “Run!”

The group bolted, the pirates shouting and stomping after them.

As they tore through the marketplace, Katara whipped her arms around in a fluid arc, drawing streams of water from a barrel they passed. With a sharp motion, she flash-froze the water across the cobblestones. Behind them, angry yelling turned into surprised yelps as several pirates slipped and went tumbling, limbs flailing.

“Nice one!” Sokka shouted breathlessly over his shoulder. “That should hold them for at least… thirty seconds!”

They turned sharply around a corner and ran straight into a cabbage cart. Sokka, Zuko, and Katara stumbled as they hit it, causing the cart to shake under the sudden impact but not topple.

“Hey, careful!” the cabbage vendor snapped, gripping the sides of his cart to steady it.

A moment later, Aang came speeding around the corner. He spotted the cart just in time to leap over it, landing smoothly on the other side. But in his rush, he sent a gust of air behind him for extra speed—accidentally launching the cabbage cart straight into the path of the pursuing pirates.

The cart crashed into them with a splintering crack, cabbages flying in every direction.

From behind them came the anguished cry:

“My cabbages!”

Sokka flinched mid-stride, turning his head as he ran. “Wait a second… I know that guy. Wasn’t he in—” He shook his head. “Nope, no time for flashbacks!”

The cabbage vendor stared in wide-eyed horror at the ruins of his cart, crushed vegetables strewn across the street like fallen soldiers. “This place is worse than Omashu!” he declared, throwing his arms skyward.

Chapter Text

The group didn’t stop running until the pirate ship and the chaos were well behind them, only slowing down once they’d ducked into a quieter alley two streets over.

Zuko sheathed his swords with a controlled exhale. Aang was still clutching Momo protectively, the lemur peeking over his shoulder with wide eyes and a puffed-up tail. Katara was catching her breath, hair slightly damp from the waterbending.

Sokka bent forward, hands on his knees. “Okay. So that was exciting. Next time someone says ‘let’s go check out the pirate ship,’ can we just... not?”

In the thick shade of the forest, where sunlight filtered through the dense canopy in patches, the group walked cautiously—Sokka, Zuko, Aang, and Katara. Their footsteps were muffled by fallen leaves and moss-covered roots as they put distance between themselves and the rickety ship where the pirates still lurked.

Sokka glanced back, frustration flickering across his face. “Why do you think the pirates waited until we left the ship before attacking?” he asked, breaking the silence. His voice was low but sharp, the question hanging heavy in the cool air. “They had so many chances to get us while we were trapped inside.”

Zuko frowned, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Yeah,” he said with a grim tone. “It makes no sense. They could’ve easily overrun us back there, stuck in those narrow halls. Why wait until we were outside?”

The question gnawed at them all. They had been vulnerable, hemmed in with no room to fight effectively. The pirates could have caught them off guard in countless ways, yet they’d held back, biding their time.

Aang, ever the calm presence among them, offered a thoughtful shrug. “Maybe…” His voice was soft, carrying a hint of his usual peaceful optimism. “Maybe they were just horrible people.” The simplicity of his answer brought an unexpected weight to the conversation.

Katara smirked mischievously, stealing a glance at her companions. “Yeah,” she agreed in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, “horrible people.” She shifted her stance, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. Then, with a sly grin, she added, “Which is exactly why I decided to grab something on my way out.”

Curiosity sparked in their eyes as Katara slowly reached into her pack and pulled out a worn, delicate scroll. She unfurled it just enough for the others to see—its edges were frayed, but the intricate water bending symbols were unmistakable.

“The water bending scroll,” Katara announced, pride mingling with a hint of defiance in her voice. “I stole it from the pirates.”

Zuko’s eyes widened in shock. He stared at the scroll as if seeing it for the first time, disbelief flickering across his features. Slowly, realization dawned. “So that’s why they attacked us,” he said, his voice low and serious. “That scroll was what they were after.”

Aang looked at the scroll with a furrowed brow, concern etched into his usually serene expression. The scroll was more than just a piece of parchment—it was a symbol, a trigger for the chaos that had just unfolded.

Sokka’s frustration boiled over, his voice rising in anger. “What were you thinking, Katara?” he demanded, stepping closer. “You put all of us in danger! What if they’d caught you? Or worse—what if they’d caught all of us because of this?”

Katara stood her ground, crossing her arms with a confident smirk. “It was ‘high risk trading,’ remember?” she said, using the exact phrase the pirates had called their thievery. “I just took a risk.”

Aang tilted his head, watching the exchange between the siblings and turning his gaze to Zuko. “But…” he asked thoughtfully, “can it even be called theft? If the pirates stole it first…”

Katara’s eyes brightened. “Exactly,” she said happily. “The pirates probably stole this water bending scroll from a water bender in the Northern Tribe in the first place. I took it from them because this scroll belongs with the Water Tribe—it’s not meant to be sold or traded like some commodity.”

Sokka’s anger softened as he absorbed Katara’s words, but hesitation lingered in his eyes. He hesitated, then quietly asked, “Do you plan to look for the scroll’s real owner once we reach the North Pole?”

Katara fell silent, her gaze dropping to the scroll in her hands. For a moment, she said nothing — her quiet pause speaking volumes. It was clear she had never truly considered what would come after taking it.

Sokka’s gaze dropped to the scroll again, memories swirling in his mind. In the South, their village had always celebrated their warriors—the hunters, the fishers, the protectors. They were the backbone, the core of the community. Water bending was important, but it was the warriors who defined their people.

And yet, when the Fire Nation had come, tearing through their homes and lives, it was not the warriors who had fallen but the water benders. The spiritual heart of their culture had been shattered.

Sokka’s chest tightened painfully. He felt like he had failed—not just himself, but his entire village. The scroll was a bitter reminder of that failure, proof that despite all their pride and strength, they had been powerless to stop the devastation.

He pictured the ruined village, once vibrant and nurtured by water benders, now lifeless and difficult to restore without the skills that had sustained it. Part of their culture was gone forever. Part of him, too.

Finally, he looked up at Katara, exhaustion and resolve in his voice. “It’s not like we can just return the scroll,” he said, the words heavier than they seemed.

Katara’s smile softened, understanding the deeper meaning behind her brother’s statement. The scroll wasn’t just a stolen object—it was a piece of their history, their identity, a symbol that belonged to their people.

Zuko noticed the change in Sokka’s demeanour and let out a slow sigh. He didn’t share their pain, but he understood the frustration that bound the siblings—the ache of seeing their heritage stolen and sold like some exotic treasure to the highest bidder. Having lived with Aang at the Air Temple before the war, Zuko wondered how he would feel if he suddenly saw an Air Nomad artifact up for sale on the black market—something sacred, taken without respect, just to be traded like a commodity.

“Let’s head back to Appa,” Zuko said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was firm but carried an undertone of sympathy. “We need to prepare to leave.”

The group nodded silently, the weight of the water scroll and everything it represented settling over them as they made their way through the forest. Every step brought them closer to the North Pole, and to the hope of reclaiming what had been lost.

As the group moved through the dense forest, Zuko suddenly stopped and set down his bag—the one with all their newly bought travel essentials. “Here,” he said, handing it over to Sokka. “Keep this safe.”

Aang glanced up, puzzled. “Where are you going?”

Zuko glanced back toward the path leading to the city. “I need to tell Iroh and Lu Ten what happened. Then we have to leave before the pirates find us.”

Aang’s eyes brightened. “Can I come with you? I want to say goodbye.”

Zuko shook his head firmly. “No, Aang. I’ll go alone, stealthily. The pirates are still in the city, and you’re not experienced enough yet. If you came, it might draw attention and get us caught.”

Aang’s expression fell, disappointment clear in his eyes.

Trying to lift the mood, Sokka said, “Besides, Momo looked really frightened after the pirate captain tried to ‘buy’ him from you.”

Aang looked over at Momo, concern flickering across his face.

Zuko gave Sokka a grateful look. “Maybe it’s best if you take Momo to Appa and keep him safe there.”

Katara nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Momo should stay away from the city while the pirates are still around.”

With that, Zuko turned away from the group, leaving Sokka, Aang, and Katara behind. He headed back toward the city, moving quietly through the trees.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The city was alive with the murmurs of commerce and the salty tang of the nearby sea, a bustling port town nestled where the river met the ocean. Amid the cacophony, Lu Ten and Iroh strolled side by side, weaving through the market stalls that sprawled like veins through the city’s heart. The sun hovered high, casting dappled shadows through the thin veil of smoke from cooking fires and incense.

Iroh adjusted the sash around his waist, his eyes scanning the crowded docks and shops with a thoughtful gaze. “It’s surprising,” he mused aloud, “that none of the stalls along the pier carry the Lotus Tile. I would have thought such a unique pai sho piece would be here, where so many exotic goods pass through.”

Lu Ten, his brow furrowing, let out a long sigh that mingled frustration with resignation. “At least this trip isn’t a complete loss,” he said, voice low and heavy. “I did get to see Zuko and Aang. It’s been a while.”

Iroh’s expression softened, a genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Yes, Zuko seemed more mature this time. There’s a calmness in him, a steadiness that wasn’t there before.”

Lu Ten nodded slowly, eyes lingering on the bustling crowd around them. “And I was glad to see Aang wasn’t weighed down by the Avatar’s burden when we met. He laughed freely, still childish in many ways.”

“That’s the beauty of youth,” Iroh replied with a soft chuckle. “No matter the weight of the world, they find moments of lightness. And I suspect it’s because he has Zuko looking out for him.”

Lu Ten’s smile faltered, tinged with sadness. “It’s likely true. Zuko is his older brother, after all. Half-brother, technically, but you wouldn’t know it from how fiercely he protects Aang.”

Iroh’s gaze darkened for a moment, his voice lowering with a hint of melancholy. “Zuko is too young to carry such a burden. To be the guardian, the protector. But fate… fate is a strange and relentless thing. It does not ask our permission before it carves our path.”

Lu Ten’s eyes met Iroh’s, heavy with unspoken truths. “I wish I could lift that weight from his shoulders. He shouldn’t have to bear it alone.” He hesitated, then added, “But in this war… in this chaos… we all have our parts to play. Aang, Zuko, Sokka, Katara… you, me… each of us carries a role, whether we understand it fully or not.”

Iroh inclined his head thoughtfully. “Fate is funny that way. It weaves its threads carefully, sometimes painfully. But there is a pattern, even if we cannot see it clearly.”

As they spoke, several crew members bustled nearby, loading crates and sacks filled with goods Iroh had purchased during their stay. The sound of wood creaking and the occasional barked order floated through the air, underscoring the urgency and constant motion of the port.

The two men continued their slow walk through the market, surrounded by merchants hawking spices, textiles, and trinkets from distant lands. The scents of cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and brine mixed in the air, carried on the breeze that rustled sailcloths and banners alike. It was a beautiful chaos.

Suddenly, Iroh paused, his gaze fixing on a large vessel docked near the edge of the pier.

“There,” Iroh said, pointing with a calm certainty. “That ship looks promising.”

Lu Ten followed his his father’s gaze with suspicion. The pirate ship, black-hulled and ominous, loomed like a shadow against the bright sky. Tattered sails hung like forgotten memories. “Are you sure we should be stepping onto a pirate’s ship?” he asked cautiously.

Iroh’s smile was patient and wise. “Life is difficult, Lu Ten. Sometimes people make choices others might not understand—choices made for survival. We should not judge them too harshly.”

Lu Ten exhaled heavily and fell into step beside Iroh as they climbed the gangplank. The creak of wood beneath their feet mixed with the salty breeze carrying the cries of seagulls.

Chapter Text

Inside the ship’s hold, Iroh examined the array of goods displayed on rough wooden tables—spices in jars, strange textiles, odd trinkets, and carved figurines that seemed to whisper of faraway lands. His fingers brushed over a delicate porcelain piece, admiring its craftsmanship.

Meanwhile, Lu Ten’s attention was drawn elsewhere. He overheard a conversation between a vendor pirate and the ship’s captain. The vendor’s voice was low but urgent as he spoke. “We lost them—the obvious Water Tribe siblings and their two companions. Slipped through our grasp like shadows.”

Lu Ten’s heart skipped. Could they mean Zuko, Katara, Aang, and Sokka? The group the pirates had been searching for? He tightened his grip on the railing, suddenly tense.

Unsure how to proceed without arousing suspicion, Lu Ten glanced at Iroh, who seemed calm, unaware of the conversation happening not far from him.

Let’s not jump to conclusions, Lu Ten told himself. It might not be them.

Another pirate barged in, breathless. “Someone spotted the group leaving the city—northwest side.”

The pirate captain nodded curtly. “Good. Prepare to set sail immediately. We cannot afford to lose them again.”

But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check up on the kids, Lu Ten decided. His chest tightened with concern, though his expression remained composed.

Inside, he was exhausted. What had those kids done to draw the ire of an entire pirate crew? And what dangers awaited them if the pirates caught up?

First Zhao is hunting them—or technically Aang—and now an entire pirate ship, Lu Ten thought, feeling a headache begin to form.

He knew he had to find them first. Warn them. Protect them.

The pirate captain soon approached Lu Ten and Iroh with a serpent’s smile, eyes glinting with cunning. “Have you found what you were looking for? Our departure time approaches.”

Iroh returned the smile with a calm but firm tone. “We are seeking the Lotus Tile. It is a rare pai sho piece, of great value.”

The captain laughed, a low, mocking sound. “We deal in exotic goods, not common trinkets like pai sho pieces.”

Iroh’s eyes narrowed, a spark of indignation flaring. “Common? I would never have expected such disrespect. Both my son and I have searched this market thoroughly for the Lotus Tile. Yet, it remains elusive.”

The captain’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features.

Iroh’s voice grew louder, his frustration spilling out. “If the Lotus Tile were truly common, we would have found it long ago.”

Lu Ten glanced anxiously at his father, torn between stepping in or letting the tirade run its course—either way, he needed them off the ship as soon as possible.

The pirate captain waved them off with a lazy gesture, still smiling. “Very well, we shall take your request under advisement and stock some Lotus Tiles for future customers.”

Iroh’s face reddened with insult as he turned away, dignity bruised but intact.

Lu Ten followed silently, his mind racing with plans. How could he find little cousins before the pirates did? How could he warn them of the danger closing in?

As they stepped off the ship and back onto the bustling pier, Lu Ten’s resolve hardened. Time was short, and the stakes were higher than ever.

They stepped off the creaking pirate ship and onto the busy docks, the salty breeze carrying the mingled scents of fish, wood smoke, and roasting spices. The market beyond buzzed with life—vendors calling out their wares, children darting between carts, and the clatter of horse hooves on cobblestone.

Iroh stretched his arms and smiled faintly, his eyes scanning the stalls. “There’s still time to find some good tea,” he said, clearly unaware of the storm brewing in Lu Ten’s mind.

Lu Ten’s jaw tightened. The words he’d overheard on the ship—pirates hunting Zuko, Aang, Katara, and Sokka—pressed heavily on his thoughts. He glanced at his father, who browsed casually, unconcerned.

“Father,” Lu Ten said quietly, “I think we should split up for a bit.”

Iroh looked at him, puzzled. “Split up? Why?”

“I’m going to take a quick look around,” Lu Ten said, avoiding eye contact. “Just to make sure everything’s alright.”

Iroh glanced up from a nearby stall, curious but not pressing. “Of course. Take your time. Sometimes a little wandering is good for the soul.”

Lu Ten nodded, forcing a calm smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Be careful out there,” Iroh said kindly, turning back toward the market with no idea what weighed on his son’s mind.

Lu Ten offered a small, grateful smile and slipped away from the market’s vibrant chaos, weaving through narrow alleys toward the city’s edge.

His heart hammered with worry and urgency. Somewhere beyond the harbour and the city walls, Zuko, Aang, Katara, and Sokka were moving—unaware of the pirate threat closing in on them.

The hunt was on, and Lu Ten knew he had to find them before it was too late.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Not long after Lu Ten slipped away in a calm rush, leaving the bustling market behind, Zuko found his uncle sitting quietly on a low stone wall outside a weathered teahouse. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the uneven cobblestones, and a gentle breeze stirred the faded banners fluttering overhead.

Zuko approached silently, the noise of the crowd dimming behind him. His footsteps were soft but purposeful.

“We should leave sooner rather than later,” Zuko said quietly, avoiding Iroh’s gaze.

Iroh looked up, his warm brown eyes flickering with surprise. “Leave? So soon? You sound like you’ve seen a storm coming.” He gave a small, curious smile. “What’s changed?”

Zuko clenched his fists briefly, then loosened them. “I’m worried about staying in one place too long. It’s not safe.”

Iroh nodded slowly, understanding deepening in his eyes. “You’re wise to think so. This town,” he said, glancing around at the worn stalls and faded signs, “was meant to be the best market in the region. Yet even I—after wandering through every alley and bartering with every merchant—still can’t find the lotus piece I seek.”

He sighed, shaking his head as if sharing a quiet frustration with an old friend.

Zuko allowed himself a faint smile, but then hesitated, the corners of his mouth tightening for a brief moment.

Iroh caught the change instantly. His gaze softened, and he shifted to sit more upright, giving Zuko his full attention.

“My boy,” Iroh said gently, “there is no burden too heavy that sharing it won’t lighten the load. Whatever you hold back, you can tell me.”

Zuko’s eyes flickered away, voice low and steady. “I...” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if weighing the words in his mind. “There’s something I need to ask you... something I want to find... but I’m not even sure if it exists.”

Iroh’s expression softened further, his gaze patient and kind. “Then tell me what you’re searching for. Sometimes, just speaking the question aloud brings the answer closer.”

Zuko swallowed again, struggling to steady his voice. “I... I need your help with something. But it’s not simple, and I’m not even sure where to start searching for it.”

Iroh’s nodded with understanding. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Far away, beneath the dappled canopy of the forest, Katara and Aang moved quietly toward the river to practice waterbending, while Sokka stood nearby, arms crossed, observing with a half-bored, half-curious expression.

“Okay,” Katara said, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “Aang, can you hold up the water scroll for me? I need to check something.”

Aang held up the scroll dutifully, standing on a rock so she could get a clear view. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” Katara said, squinting at the intricate illustrations. She studied the fluid strokes, tracing them midair with her finger, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. “Alright… I think I’ve got it this time.”

She turned toward the river, planted her feet in the soft earth, and raised her arms, mirroring the motion etched on the scroll. The water stirred at her command—gracefully at first—then rushed forward into a long, glimmering whip.

Which promptly turned in the air and slapped her square across the face.

“Pfft—!” Sokka choked, then burst into laughter, nearly doubling over.

Katara, wiping water from her face, spun around with an icy glare. “What’s so funny?!”

Sokka barely managed to get the words out through his laughter. “It’s not water, Katara. It’s karma. Karma for stealing that scroll.”

“I did not steal it!” Katara snapped, cheeks red. “We were… liberating it!”

Sokka snorted. “Right, liberating it… from a bunch of pirates. Who were chasing us. Because you ‘liberated’ a stolen scroll.”

Katara rolled her eyes hard enough it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of her head. “Whatever. I'm trying again.”

She turned back to the river, raised her arms, and pulled again. The water obeyed—somewhat—and coiled into another whip.

A sudden squawk made all three heads turn. Momo, who had been perched on a smooth rock in the river, curiously watching the water ripple around him, had just been smacked full on the behind by the tail end of the whip.

“Oops—!” Katara gasped.

Momo flailed dramatically, leaping into the air with a shriek, wings puffing up as he spun to face her. He let loose a barrage of angry chitters, clutching his rear and glaring at Katara as if she had personally insulted his ancestors.

Sokka clapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide and watery with suppressed laughter.

Katara groaned, dropping her arms. “Ugh! This isn’t working! Why isn’t it working?!”

Aang, ever the peacemaker, carefully rolled up the scroll and set it on a dry patch of grass. “It’s okay, Katara. You’ll get it.”

He stepped closer to the water, calm and unhurried. “You’re thinking too much. Just follow the movement. Let it guide you.”

As he spoke, he lifted his hands with quiet grace, fluidly echoing the technique she had attempted. The water shimmered as it rose, forming a seamless whip that coiled gently around him. The motion was effortless, almost meditative.

With a final motion, Aang sent the water whip back into the river in a quiet ripple. He turned back to her, smiling. “See? The key to bending is—”

“Shut up!”

The words cracked like a whip themselves, sharp and unexpected.

Aang blinked. “What…?”

“I said shut up!” Katara’s voice trembled with fury and frustration. “I am so sick of you acting like it’s easy! Like you know everything!” Her hands balled into fists. “Maybe we should just throw the stupid scroll away! Since you’re such a natural at it!”

The scroll rustled where it lay in the grass. Aang stared at her, his mouth slightly open, frozen where he stood.

Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them.

“I was only trying to help…” he murmured.

He turned his face away quickly, scrubbing his sleeve across his cheek. His chest felt tight, and no matter how much he tried to swallow it down, the feeling wouldn’t go away. He looked at Katara, then to the trees beyond her—anywhere but into her eyes.

His voice was barely a whisper. “I wish Zuko was here.”

Sokka’s laughter had long since faded. He stepped forward slightly, concerned, but didn’t say anything.

Aang sat down by the riverbank, pulling his knees close to his chest. His head rested against his arms, the ache in his chest growing heavier by the second.

Zuko never yelled at him. Even when Aang messed up, even when he was annoying, Zuko always stood up for him. Protected him. Made the world feel a little less scary.

And now, Aang just felt alone.

An awkward silence settled over the riverside clearing. The only sounds were the soft rush of the current and Momo's occasional whimpers as he rubbed his bruised behind with tiny, indignant paws.

Sokka, always the self-declared master of tension-breaking, cleared his throat and stepped forward, hands raised in mock solemnity.

“Well,” he began, glancing between Katara and the sniffling Aang. “I’m not sure which of you I should be more worried about. Aang, for getting screamed at like that… or Katara, who’s probably going to be hunted down and dramatically incinerated once Zuko finds out she yelled at his precious baby brother.”

Aang let out a soft hiccup of a laugh, wiping his eyes.

Katara, guilt still heavy in her chest, lowered her head and took a step toward him. “Aang…” Her voice trembled a little. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. It just—” she stopped, biting her lip. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

She turned toward the riverbank and picked up the waterbending scroll from where it rested on a smooth, sun-warmed rock. The parchment was still crisp and dry, the ink clear and untouched by water. Katara looked at it with a mixture of frustration and shame.

“I don’t want this anymore,” she said quietly, folding it with care and pressing it into Aang’s hands. “Not after the way I acted. It made me feel... angry. Like I had something to prove. And I don’t like who I was just now.”

Aang blinked at her, surprised by the gesture. Then, slowly, he nodded and placed the scroll beside him on the grass.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice gentle and full of understanding. “I forgive you.”

He gave her a small smile — the kind only someone raised by monks could offer, warm and weightless like the breeze around them. “Master Gyatso used to say: anger is like fire. If you hold onto it too tightly, you get burned.”

Katara gave a quiet laugh, wiping at her eyes now. “Thanks, Aang.”

Chapter Text

Sokka clapped his hands together. “Great! We’ve had apologies, wisdom, and heartfelt growth. And now, the most important victim in this whole dramatic saga: Momo.”

Momo, still seated on the rock, had curled into a grumbling ball of floof, tail curled protectively around his rear as he massaged it with both paws.

Katara looked over at him, winced, and crossed the grass to where he sulked.

“You’re right,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve wounded the innocent.”

She knelt beside Momo and leaned forward with a gentle voice. “I’m really sorry, Momo. I didn’t mean to hit you—honestly. It was an accident.”

Momo shot her a sideways glare and sniffed, tail still covering his butt like a blanket. But when she scratched behind his ear, he softened slightly, letting out a reluctant chirr and leaning into her hand.

Sokka smirked. “See? Even the lemur accepts your apology. Peace has returned to the valley.”

Katara looked up at her brother, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t push it.”

“What?” Sokka shrugged. “I’m just saying, I remember another time you got like this—remember when you broke my fishing spear because I said your snow sculpture looked like a melted penguin?”

Katara’s expression flattened. “Sokka…”

“And then you made me sleep outside in the snow—”

“No more apologies!” Katara cut him off, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Especially for stuff from three years ago!”

Sokka held up his hands in surrender, lips twitching. “Fair enough.”

Aang, now visibly more relaxed, lay back on the grass and watched the clouds drifting above the treetops. Katara remained with Momo, petting him gently as he finally settled down beside her, tail still dramatically draped over his hip.

The tension had passed like a wave, leaving the clearing calm once again — just kids by a river, surrounded by the rustling woods, waiting for the next chapter of their journey.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The pirate ship creaked and groaned as it glided slowly down the winding river, its tattered red sails catching what little wind slipped through the thick canopy above. The water beneath them rippled in long, lazy trails, the forest pressing in on both sides like silent watchers.

One of the scruffier crewmen leaned over the railing, squinting toward the treeline. “Captain,” he called, voice thick with uncertainty, “shouldn’t we be searchin’ the woods? What if they bolted inland?”

The pirate captain, a broad-shouldered man with a beaded braid and a perpetual scowl, rounded on him with a glare. “You idiot,” he snapped. “They stole a waterbending scroll.”

The crewmate blinked. “…Right.”

“They’re near water. Trust me,” the captain growled, turning his gaze back toward the shoreline. “They always stick close to it.”

The crewmate nodded, shuffling away without another word.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back at the riverbank, the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting golden spots across the moss and pebbles. Aang sat cross-legged in the grass, idly tossing a small puff of air between his hands. Katara had settled beside Momo, quiet and thoughtful, while Sokka paced nearby, arms folded.

Sokka finally broke the silence. “So… anyone wanna guess how long it takes Zuko to grab some tea and come back from a chat with his Uncle?”

Aang glanced toward the path through the trees. “I dunno. It’s been a while.”

Katara looked up, concern softening her expression. “Do you think something happened?”

Sokka shrugged. “Knowing Zuko? He’s probably off brooding dramatically behind a tree.”

Aang smiled faintly, but his eyes remained fixed on the path. “I'm sure he’s okay.”

They all fell quiet again, the only sound the gentle rush of the river nearby.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back in the dim shade of the old town’s outskirts, the afternoon sun beginning to slip behind the rooftops, Iroh and Zuko stood together near the cracked stone fountain where they had last spoken. The air between them was calm now, the heavy silence replaced by something warmer.

Iroh's eyes twinkled as he rested a gentle hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Whatever it takes, my dear nephew, I will do everything within my power to help you.”

Zuko’s shoulders eased as he offered a small, relieved smile. “I thought you might call me crazy.”

Iroh chuckled, his round face creasing into soft lines of humour and affection. “Ah, but the world is full of ‘crazy’ ideas. Some of them brew the best tea.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Besides, if what you’re searching for truly exists… well, that would be an amazing piece of knowledge to possess. Enlightening, even.”

Zuko lowered his gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in quiet amusement.

Iroh continued with a playful wink, “Though, you must promise not to be too upset if I… borrow your idea for a little while. An old man has to keep himself entertained, after all.”

Zuko shook his head, smiling now more openly. “I wouldn’t mind, Uncle.”

There was a beat of companionable silence before Zuko raised a curious brow. “So… you really went through the whole market and still didn’t find the lotus piece?”

Iroh sighed dramatically and threw up his hands. “Alas, it is true! Not a single merchant had what I was looking for. And trust me, I checked every corner. Every shadowed stall and musty shelf.”

Zuko crossed his arms. “You sure you didn’t miss anything?”

“Zuko,” Iroh said, puffing out his chest with mock indignation, “Lu Ten and I even stepped aboard a pirate ship just to be thorough.”

Zuko’s eyes widened in alarm. “A pirate ship?” he echoed, voice tight with disbelief.

Iroh nodded nonchalantly, as if it were no stranger than buying tea leaves. “Yes, yes. Unpleasant fellows, but they claimed to carry rare antiques. Of course, their prices were criminal—literally, I suspect.”

Zuko stared at him. “And Lu Ten went with you?”

“Oh, yes. Quite brave about it, too. Though once we finished, he took off rather quickly.” Iroh looked off toward the treetops with a faint, wistful smile. “Said he wanted to check in on the four of you. Rushed off like the wind.”

Zuko’s stomach sank. His mind reeled with the memory of the pirate captain’s sneering face and the danger they had narrowly avoided earlier. If Lu Ten had heard or seen anything…

“I…” Zuko cleared his throat. “I should go catch up to him. Just to be sure he’s alright.”

Iroh gave him a knowing look, but nodded cheerfully. “Of course, of course. You can’t possibly leave the city without saying goodbye to your older cousin, can you?”

Zuko cracked a small smile and gave a quick bow of his head. “Of course not.”

With that, he turned on his heel and sprinted back toward the city gates, the sounds of the market still humming faintly in the distance.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The late afternoon sun cast golden rays across the river, shimmering gently on its rippling surface. Aang crouched down and picked up the waterbending scroll from where Katara had set it down earlier, brushing off a few specks of dirt.

“Katara,” he called softly, holding the scroll up, “You should try again.”

She turned her head toward him, conflicted. Her hands tightened at her sides. “I… I don’t know. I want to. But…” She glanced down at the water, its surface calm and glistening, almost mocking in its stillness. “What if I lose control again?”

“You won’t,” Aang said simply. “Just… don’t overthink it.”

Katara looked into his eyes, the way they seemed to shine with unwavering belief in her, and slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay calm this time.”

“Sure she will,” Sokka muttered behind them with a grin. “This’ll be fun to watch.”

He bent down and scooped up Momo, who squeaked curiously in his arms. “Better hide behind me, buddy. That water whip’s got it out for you.”

Katara shot him a sharp glare over her shoulder.

Sokka just smirked. “What? Too soon?”

Ignoring him, Katara stepped back toward the river. The cool breeze brushed her face as she inhaled deeply and raised her hands. She moved through the motions slowly, channelling her breath, keeping her posture open—just like the scroll showed.

But as she tried to bring the water into a whip again, it faltered, sputtered, and then collapsed with a splash that drenched her boots. She groaned in frustration, a low, simmering anger building once more in her chest.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Farther down the river, sails rippled in the wind as the pirate ship glided smoothly along the current. The gruff voice of the first mate cut through the creaking wood.

“Captain,” he said, “shouldn’t we be searchin’ the woods by now? The trail’s cold.”

The pirate captain, a stocky man with a twisted moustache and one eye permanently squinting from too much sun, shot him a glare.

“You idiot,” he growled, gripping the rail. “They stole a waterbending scroll. Where do you think they’ll be? Practicing it on a tree stump?”

The mate blinked, then slowly nodded. “Right… near water.”

“Exactly,” the captain snapped, narrowing his eyes toward the dense treeline up ahead. “Hold the ship. I hear something…”

The soft sound of splashing water carried faintly on the breeze.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back by the river, Katara growled under her breath as her latest attempt ended in another pitiful splash. She turned away from the water, trying to hide the frustration welling up in her eyes.

Aang walked over slowly, still holding the scroll in one hand. “Katara,” he said gently, “Do you want me to tell you what Zuko taught me about bending?”

Katara hesitated, then gave a quick nod. “Sure.”

“Okay,” Aang said, sitting on a flat rock beside the river, tucking the scroll beside him. “When Zuko was teaching me firebending moves and breathing techniques, he said something that really stuck with me.”

He leaned forward, his voice soft but full of quiet excitement. “He said bending is all about inner energy. Your chi. And your ability to control it.”

Katara tilted her head, intrigued despite herself.

“Uncle Iroh taught him that. And then Zuko taught me.” Aang’s hands moved in gentle arcs as he spoke. “He explained that bending isn’t just about the movement—it’s about pushing your energy beyond your body and using it to interact with the element around you.”

Katara stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. She slowly looked back at the water, something shifting in her gaze. Maybe… maybe Zuko could teach her, too. Not waterbending, of course—but the foundation beneath it. The spirit of it.

Before she could speak, a sharp rustle broke through the brush.

Aang's head snapped toward the sound, his face lighting up.

Only, it wasn’t Zuko.

Figures burst from the treeline, leaping out of the shadows. The pirates—five of them, armed with daggers, nets, and cruel grins—closed in quickly, surrounding them.

Katara took a step back in shock.

Sokka dropped Momo and reached for his boomerang. “Uh-oh.”

Aang’s eyes widened as he instinctively moved in front of Katara, the scroll still clutched in his hand.

From behind the largest pirate, the captain emerged with a dark chuckle. “Hello again, thieves.”

Katara’s eyes blazed as she stood up as best she could while bound in ropes. “You’re calling us thieves?” she snapped at the pirates. “That scroll belonged to the Water Tribe! You’re the ones who stole it first!”

The pirate captain sneered. “Details, details,” he said dismissively, gesturing to his crew. “Take them.”

The group sprang into action. Sokka hurled his boomerang, catching one pirate square in the chest. Aang leapt into the air with his staff, kicking up a powerful gust that sent sand and leaves flying. Katara twisted her body and used the little water she could bend from a nearby puddle to trip one of the pirates charging at her.

But they were outnumbered.

Blades glinted in the fading light as pirates rushed them from all directions. Appa roared and barrelled forward to protect his friends, knocking two pirates aside with a single stomp. But when three of the pirates cornered him with spears aimed at his thick fur, Appa hesitated, snarling but unwilling to risk hurting the group with a wrong move.

Within moments, ropes flew through the air—weighted nets and lines tossed expertly by seasoned raiders. One wrapped around Sokka’s arms, pinning them to his sides. Another yanked Aang backward mid-air, slamming him to the ground. Katara shouted as a net tangled around her legs and arms, dragging her down.

They struggled, but it was no use. The three of them ended up sitting side by side on the ground, wrists and ankles tied, faces bruised and expressions grim.

The pirate captain paced before them with a mocking laugh. “Well, well. What’s an airbender doing traveling with waterbenders, eh?”

He crouched in front of Aang, peering at him curiously. “Heard a rumour. The Avatar’s just a kid… still hasn’t mastered anything beyond air.” His grin widened. “Fire Nation’ll pay handsomely for anyone who brings him in.”

The pirate captain narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “So tell me, little bald monk… Are you the Avatar?”

Aang clenched his jaw, unsure whether to answer. Appa growled lowly behind them, his massive frame tensing.

“Easy, beastie,” the pirate captain said, chuckling.

Suddenly, Appa let out a thunderous roar. With one swing of his massive tail, he sent the pirate captain flying several feet into the air and crashing into a nearby bush. The force of the wind split the scene—pirates stumbled back, staggering under the sudden gust.

Because Sokka, Aang, and Katara were already sitting down, the gale passed over them, leaving them mostly untouched. The netting tangled around them slackened slightly.

The pirates groaned and climbed to their feet. The captain limped forward with a wicked smile, brushing leaves from his coat.

“Well now,” he said with a cruel glint in his eyes, “how much do you think a sky bison goes for on the black market?”

Aang’s eyes narrowed. “Leave Appa alone.”

But the pirates advanced again, weapons drawn, their eyes filled with greed.

Suddenly, a sharp fwoosh split the air.

Chapter Text

A burst of flame shot between the pirates and the kids, hissing and crackling as it scorched the earth. The pirates skidded to a halt in alarm. Aang looked toward the source of the fire in disbelief. That wasn’t Zuko… was it? He knew Zuko had been trying to keep his firebending hidden.

Sokka and Katara, still tangled in ropes, both gasped in relief.

From the shadowed forest emerged a tall figure in dark robes, his expression thunderous.

Lu Ten.

His usually calm demeanour was replaced by a furious glare, and the fire still burned faintly in his open palm.

Aang stared in surprise, recognizing the strength and presence of someone formidable—someone who could turn the tide in their favour.

He remembered Zuko’s stories—of their invincible older cousin, the protector, the warrior who once defeated three Fire Kingdom generals in a single duel. If anyone could turn the tides now… it was him.

Lu Ten stepped forward, his presence commanding and calm but filled with an undercurrent of barely contained fury. His eyes, sharp and piercing like a predator stalking its prey, scanned the group of pirates before settling on their leader.

A slow, disdainful sneer curled on his lips. “I’ve always known pirates have no honour,” he said quietly but with biting certainty. “But to think even without honour, a group of grown men would stoop so low as to attack three children... that has to be a new low, even for you.”

Sokka, never one to hold back, raised his voice without hesitation. “He's got that right! Grown adults attacking kids — what kind of cowards are you?”

Katara shot Sokka a sharp glare, her eyes flashing with warning. “Sokka, shut up,” she hissed, pulling him back from provoking the pirates further.

Lu Ten’s gaze didn’t waver, but the tension in the air thickened, the pirates visibly bristling under his words.

The pirate captain narrowed his eyes as Lu Ten stepped forward, the red of his cloak catching faint firelight from a nearby torch. Recognition spread across his scarred face, and he barked a short, bitter laugh.

“You again,” he growled. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Lu Ten didn’t pause, though a flicker of amusement tugged at his mouth. “You’ll have to narrow that down. I encounter many angry men.”

“You and that old man,” the captain clarified, jabbing a finger toward him. “Earlier today. The one blabbering on about some tile. ‘White lotus,’ wasn’t it?” He scoffed. “He looked like he was ready to weep because we didn’t have one in stock.”

Lu Ten’s expression remained neutral, though a glint of recognition passed through his eyes. “Ah. Yes. That deeply moving tragedy. How dare your humble shop not cater to his obscure game piece obsession?”

The pirate captain grunted. “He wasted my time. Started ranting about how true merchants would always carry a white lotus tile. I told you both to get lost.”

“And now fate brings us together again,” Lu Ten replied dryly. “It’s almost romantic.”

Sokka let out an involuntary snort from behind Lu Ten. “Romantic? Yeesh. Remind me never to get stranded with you.”

Lu Ten didn’t turn around, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The pirate captain stepped forward, boots crunching over the sand, his crew tense behind him. He raised a hand, pointing a hooked finger toward the man who now stood between them and their prize.

“You’re clearly Fire Nation,” the captain drawled, lips curled in a sneer. “Only someone from the homeland would wear those colours with that much pride.”

The man said nothing, only tilted his head slightly as if listening for the sound of distant waves.

“And unless my eyes are playing tricks on me,” the pirate continued, “that little airbender …” He grinned, teeth jagged. “That’s the Avatar.”

A few of his crew chuckled darkly, gripping weapons a little tighter. A faint, uneasy silence clung to the edge of the conversation like fog waiting to roll in.

“So,” the captain added, with forced casualness, “this makes us allies, doesn’t it? You and me, soldier. The Fire Nation’s offering enough gold to sink a ship for whoever brings in the Avatar. That kind of payday’s too big to ignore.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice in mock confidence. “We work together. You help us take the kid, we split the reward. Nice and clean.”

There was a pause.

Then Lu Ten laughed.

It wasn’t warm.

It was the kind of laugh that made people step back without realizing it—sharp and dry and far too amused.

“An alliance,” Lu Ten said at last, straightening. “With pirates.”

His voice was steady, but every syllable dripped with disbelief.

He looked the pirate captain up and down, as though weighing the man’s worth and finding him deeply insufficient.

“I’m curious,” Lu Ten said, voice laced with mockery. “What kind of lunatic would trust a pirate’s offer? Let alone one based on—what? A hunch? Or did your lizard-parrot give you a meaningful look while you were drunk?”

The reptile-parrot on the captain’s shoulder screeched, feathers flaring in outrage as it flapped its wings and snapped its beak toward Lu Ten.

It didn’t speak — but the shrill squawk and puffed-up posture said enough.

Lu Ten raised an eyebrow and added dryly, “Ah, I see. The oracle speaks.”

The parrot screeched louder, flapping its wings in protest.

The pirate captain snarled. “You’re a fool.”

“No, no,” Lu Ten replied, voice low and dry. “You see an airbender traveling with a few companions and decide to shout ‘Avatar!’ in the middle of nowhere. Bold strategy. Let’s hope no other monks pass through here, or you’ll end up kidnapping some poor gardener’s apprentice by mistake.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “He’s traveling with two waterbenders.”

Lu Ten arched an eyebrow. “Is that illegal now? Or are you planning to detain every friendly group of teenagers with mixed bending styles?”

The pirate’s face flushed. “You think this is a joke?!”

Lu Ten’s laughter faded into a slow, almost mocking grin. “Oh, I think it’s hilarious. If you march into the Fire Nation dragging the first airbender you trip over and scream, ‘Look! The Avatar!’—you think they’ll welcome you with open arms?”

He stepped forward, just one slow step, and dropped his voice. “No. They’ll execute you. For being a nuisance.”

That silence returned—thicker this time. The parrot let out a soft, confused trill.

Finally, Lu Ten turned his gaze to the kids behind him. He didn't speak to them. Didn’t acknowledge them directly. He merely stood, arms crossing over his chest, as if he were appraising damage to a road or checking for storm clouds.

“What I don’t understand,” Lu Ten said casually, “is what these children possibly could’ve done to enrage an entire pirate crew. Did they insult your cooking? Call your ship ugly? Or maybe one of them beat you at Pai Sho?”

“They stole from us!” the pirate captain barked.

Lu Ten nodded, feigning seriousness. “Ah. Of course. The greatest crime of our time. And what did they steal? A cursed amulet? A priceless treasure map? Your last bottle of rum?”

Sokka chuckled despite himself. “That last one would’ve been worth it.”

Lu Ten smirked faintly, just for a moment, before returning his attention to the pirates.

“It was a waterbending scroll!” the captain snapped, unable to hold back any longer. “Rare. Valuable. And they took it.”

Lu Ten stared at him.

“A scroll,” he said.

The pirate puffed his chest. “Not just any scroll! That paper’s worth a fortune! Do you have any idea how much waterbending knowledge is locked away in the North and South Poles? You think you can just buy that off a shelf?”

Lu Ten shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “So... you’re telling me all of this—swords, shouting, threats, the whole performance—is about a piece of paper.”

“A piece of paper that could buy ten ships!”

“Mm.” Lu Ten turned his head slowly, looking back at the trio behind him—two from the Water Tribe, one Air Nomad. His expression gave nothing away.

He faced the pirates again.

“You’ll have to forgive my suspicion,” he said. “But when I arrive at a scene and see a bunch of pirates with drawn weapons attacking a few kids from the Water Tribe for a waterbending scroll...”

He let the sentence hang in the air.

The implication was clear.

“You calling us thieves?” the pirate captain hissed.

“I’m saying,” Lu Ten replied calmly, “I didn’t see a scroll. I saw you chasing children.”

The pirate snarled. “You’re interfering in things that aren’t your concern.”

Lu Ten’s eyes darkened. “You’re lucky I’m interfering with words. For now. This is me being nice.”

The air shifted. Heat shimmered faintly around him now, barely visible—but unmistakably present.

“If you’re smart,” Lu Ten said softly, “you’ll turn around and vanish before I change my mind.”

He took another step forward.

“Because if you push this... if you keep chasing kids in front of Fire Nation soldiers, throwing around accusations about scrolls and fake Avatars...”

He smiled then. But there was nothing kind in it. Just the promise of fire.

“You won’t make it back to your ship. At least, not without a few burns.”

The pirate crew hesitated, the tension shifting like the sea before a storm. Their leader glared at Lu Ten, but something in the man’s posture—something cold and seasoned—made him think twice.

And behind him, Aang stared.

He hadn’t said a word. Had barely breathed.

This wasn’t the Lu Ten of Zuko’s stories. Not the laughing cousin who’d snuck desserts from the palace kitchen. Not the gentle soul Aang had imagined during quiet nights by the campfire, or seen during their few meetings.

This man was tall. Battle-hardened. Sharp around the edges.

A warrior of the Fire Nation.

And at that moment, Aang realized something with a chill that ran deeper than fear: Lu Ten was not Zuko and he was no longer sure if that was a good thing.

The pirate captain’s smile faded. He took a step forward, hand on his blade. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. But you’re still outnumbered.”

Behind him, the rest of the crew fanned out—at least a dozen, all armed, eyes glittering with greed and tension.

Lu Ten didn’t flinch. He raised one hand lazily and turned his palm upward.

With a smooth motion, he twisted his wrist, and a brilliant arc of flame burst into the air.

Not just any flame—blue flames.

It whooshed above him in a crescent, lighting the dark forest clearing with an otherworldly hue. The heat rolled outward in a sudden wave. Even though the pirates had instinctively jumped back, several staggered, shielding their faces, they could still feel the sting of the heat. The edges of nearby leaves curled and blackened.

Sokka blinked. “Whoa… It’s blue. I didn’t even know fire could do that.”

Katara, wide-eyed, nodded slowly. “It’s hotter. Way hotter.”

Lu Ten let the flame die with a flick of his wrist, but the air still shimmered with the residual heat. He stepped forward with deliberate calm. “That was me being polite for the last time. Leave.”

The pirate captain scoffed, though sweat gleamed at his brow. “Please. Without your fire tricks, what are you, huh? All bark. You Fire Nation types love your honour—what do you do when someone calls your bluff?”

Lu Ten smiled again, but this time the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Try your luck.”

Three pirates surged forward with shouts, blades flashing. A fourth moved to flank him, holding a chain.

Lu Ten moved like liquid fire.

He sidestepped the first pirate, grabbing the man’s wrist mid-swing and twisting sharply. The blade clattered to the ground. Before the man could yell, Lu Ten delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs, then spun and ducked low beneath a sword swipe from the second attacker.

He responded with a sweeping kick that knocked the second pirate’s legs out from under him. In the same motion, Lu Ten seized the falling man’s sword mid-air and parried a thrust from the third. Sparks flew.

The chain-wielder cracked his weapon toward Lu Ten’s head—but Lu Ten ducked again and flared his fist upward. The chain’s metal links glowed red-hot as a burst of flame engulfed them. The pirate dropped it with a yelp, clutching his scorched hands.

In seconds, all four pirates were disarmed and groaning on the ground.

Katara stared. “He took them down… just like that.”

Sokka’s mouth hung open. “Okay, I really want to learn how to do that. Even without the fire.”

But Aang stood quiet, his expression uncertain. The Lu Ten in his memories—the kind man with gentle eyes and laughter in his voice—felt so far removed from the hardened warrior standing before him now. There was steel in his posture. And no hesitation in how he fought.

Chapter Text

Lu Ten exhaled and let the silence settle. He turned to the pirate captain, eyes sharp. “That was me defending my honour. Now I’ll give you five seconds before I stop holding back.”

The air crackled faintly as he flexed his fingers, and blue flame licked up his knuckles.

The pirate crew shifted uneasily. Some backed up, gripping their weapons with sweaty hands. Others glanced at one another, calculating risk over reward.

The captain’s scowl deepened. He grit his teeth, but even he knew a losing fight when he saw one.

“Tch. Fine. We’ll leave.” He gestured for his crew to fall back. “For now.”

As the pirates began slinking away through the trees, the captain paused. His gaze lingered on Aang, greedy and calculating. “Until we meet again,” he said, voice low with menace. “Next time, there won’t be anyone to protect you.”

He turned and vanished into the shadows.

The last echoes of rustling foliage died away.

Lu Ten stood still for a moment, watching the path the pirates had taken. Then, slowly, he turned to face the three children.

His stance relaxed. His shoulders loosened. And with a breath, his expression softened—the cruel smile replaced by something much gentler.

The kind man Aang remembered had returned.

Lu Ten opened his mouth to speak.

But before a word could escape, the bushes behind them exploded in a burst of leaves and snapping branches.

Zuko burst into the clearing, breathing heavily, dual swords drawn, his eyes wild with panic. His hair was windswept and full of twigs, his robe askew, and one of his boots was half-untied like he’d yanked it on mid-run. A smear of dirt was across his cheek, and a branch stuck out from behind his collar like he hadn’t noticed it—or didn’t care.

He skidded to a stop when he saw his cousin standing calmly beside three wide-eyed children, the clearing now silent save for the lingering scent of scorched air.

Lu Ten blinked at the sight.

Then he burst out laughing.

Aang, Katara, and Sokka jumped slightly at the unexpected sound. Lu Ten tried to stifle it, but the sight of Zuko—normally so rigid and proud—standing like a dishevelled scarecrow in full battle stance was too much.

“You look like you lost a fight with the woods,” Lu Ten managed between chuckles.

Zuko scowled at Lu Ten, still catching his breath. “There were pirates. I tracked them here. I thought—”

Lu Ten waved him off with a casual flick of his hand. “Relax. The adults already talked.” He glanced toward the treeline where the last of the pirates had vanished. “They decided to leave.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes, sceptical. His gaze shifted toward Aang, Katara, and Sokka—still recovering from the encounter. “What happened?” he asked, voice gruff but measured.

Sokka practically jumped forward. “Oh, man! You should’ve seen it! There were, like, a dozen pirates, and that creepy captain guy, and then your cousin started blasting blue fire! It was incredible!”

As he rambled, Zuko walked over, glancing once more at Lu Ten before crouching down beside the trio. Without a word, he used one of his dao swords and began cutting through the ropes binding their wrists and ankles. “Hold still,” he muttered.

“Then he made this big threat,” Sokka continued breathlessly, “like, ‘five seconds or I show you the true range of my flames’—super dramatic—and they actually ran!”

Zuko grunted, standing up and brushing leaves off his tunic. “Blue fire, huh?”

“Yeah!” Sokka blinked, then leaned closer to both Lu Ten and Zuko. “Wait, how does that work? Why was it blue? Is that a special trick? Can you teach it?”

“I’m not your firebending tutor,” Zuko muttered, tugging a twig out of his sleeve. Aang stepped forward to help, gently picking leaves from Zuko’s messy hair.

“It’s the temperature,” Lu Ten said, smiling gently now. “The hotter the fire, the bluer it burns. Blue fire is more focused. More dangerous.”

Sokka nodded slowly. “Cool.”

Katara tilted her head. “I’ve never seen anything like that before... I didn’t even know fire could look like that.”

Zuko glanced up from his clean-up. “I’ll explain it to you later.”

Katara gave him a small, surprised smile. “Okay.”

Once the last branch had been plucked from his cousin’s collar, Lu Ten finally turned his attention fully to the group. “So... Now that we’re all friends again... what exactly did you do to earn the wrath of an entire pirate crew?”

Sokka groaned loudly. “Don’t remind me.”

Katara blushed, looking away.

“Well,” Sokka began, arms crossed, “it all started when the creepy pirate captain wanted 200 gold pieces for this waterbending scroll. Katara thought that was a tad expensive, so she just... y’know... took it.”

Katara shot him a glare.

“I’m just saying,” Sokka continued, “sometimes I wish I had your sibling instead, Zuko.”

Katara smacked him on the arm.

“Hey!” Sokka raised his hands defensively. “It’s true! You stole from pirates! Pirates! Meanwhile, Aang here just wasted our money on a useless whistle.”

Lu Ten raised an eyebrow. “A useless whistle? What makes a whistle useless?”

Aang, cheeks pink, reached into his Earth Kingdom robe and pulled out a small, carved object. “I thought it was nice,” he said quietly, offering it to Lu Ten.

Lu Ten examined the whistle, turning it over in his fingers. “Looks perfectly fine to me.”

Aang nodded, disheartened. “That’s what I thought too.”

With a sigh, he took the whistle back, lifted it to his lips, and blew.

There was silence.

Then, suddenly, Appa let out a deep groan from where he lay nearby, his massive body shifting against the earth. The sound rumbled low through the clearing, startling the group. His ears twitched, and he lifted his head slightly, as if reacting to something only he could hear.

Aang blinked, looking up. “Appa?”

The bison let out another low growl.

Everyone turned to stare at Aang.

Zuko folded his arms. “It’s probably a whistle only animals can hear.”

Sokka scratched his chin thoughtfully. “So basically... it’s like... a dog whistle. But for flying six-ton furballs.” He grinned. “That’s actually kind of cool. Still not worth the few coins Aang’s brother threw his way, but whatever—cool.”

The tension in the clearing finally began to ease as Lu Ten carefully unfolded the waterbending scroll. His eyes scanned the intricate symbols and delicate strokes, tracing the ancient knowledge that had caused so much trouble. He could see why the pirates coveted it—waterbending secrets were priceless, a treasure far greater than any gold coin.

Katara stepped closer, her face flushed with embarrassment. Lu Ten looked up and met her gaze. With a rare softness, he gently folded the scroll and passed it back to her. “You’d better keep this safe,” he said quietly, “after everything you risked to get it.”

Katara nodded, clutching the scroll to her chest like a precious gem.

Nearby, Aang climbed up and bounced excitedly on Appa’s massive head, patting one of the great bison’s curving horns as if to reassure himself that their journey was far from over. Katara carefully stepped up after, gripping the fur on Appa’s broad back for balance. Sokka followed closely behind, hoisting himself up with a grunt. Once both were settled in the saddle behind Aang, their expressions mixed relief and wariness after the ordeal.

Zuko was the last to approach the bison, his movements quick but measured. As he turned to face Lu Ten, a tired but genuine smile softened his features.

“Thank you… for everything,” Zuko said quietly.

Lu Ten’s features softened into a genuine smile. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled Zuko into a firm embrace. The warmth between them was palpable—a bond forged not just by blood, but by the trials they had faced together.

As if sensing the moment, Aang leapt lightly down from Appa’s head and positioned himself beside the two cousins. Lu Ten’s gaze shifted to the young airbender, who looked both eager and exhausted from the day’s events. Without breaking the embrace with Zuko, Lu Ten pulled Aang close as well.

“You both,” Lu Ten said with quiet conviction, “if you ever find yourselves in trouble, you call me. No second thoughts.”

He looked them both squarely in the eyes, his own flickering between the two faces of his younger cousins, his voice firm but kind. “We’re family. And family always has each other’s backs.”

Aang nodded, his youthful face serious beyond his years. Zuko’s jaw tightened with a mixture of gratitude and unspoken promises.

Zuko’s eyes flicked to the horizon, then back to Lu Ten. “Take care of Kai,” he said softly, referring to his loyal hawk. “Rest him well. When he’s ready, set him free.”

Lu Ten nodded, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. “I’ll make sure Kai is well rested before sending him off to join you again.”

Zuko carefully hoisted himself onto Appa’s broad back, settling firmly on the soft saddle. Meanwhile, Aang clambered up to rest atop Appa’s massive head.

Aang raised his hand and called out, “Appa, let’s go!” The great sky bison responded and with an enthusiastic “Yip yip!” launched into the air, his tail beating strong beneath the fading light.

After the group had flown far off into the distance, Lu Ten turned around to head back to the city—only to stop short, startled. Emerging from the trees with his usual unhurried gait was none other than General Iroh, his father, humming quietly as he dusted leaves from his sleeves.

“It seems even the most unexpected detours can steep into something worthwhile,” Iroh said with a twinkle in his eye, emerging from the trees as if he’d only wandered off to brew a fresh pot.

Lu Ten smiled and nodded at his father, the tension of the past hour dissolving from his face like morning mist under sunlight.

Without a word, the two began the quiet walk back toward the city, the forest canopy above rustling softly with the evening breeze.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Iroh suddenly gave a small, delighted exclamation and reached into the wide sleeve of his robe.

“Aha! While wandering after your cousin through the woods, I stumbled upon the most pleasant surprise.”

He held out a single pai sho tile, the white lotus symbol gleaming faintly under the trees.

“I must have had it all along,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling. “And here I thought it lost forever. Perhaps the universe simply enjoys watching me worry.”

Lu Ten gave a low laugh, eyeing the tile. “That’s the second time that thing caused trouble today.”

“Trouble?” Iroh said, mock-affronted. “I prefer to call it fate in motion.”

They walked a little further, cicadas humming around them, before Iroh glanced sideways.

“Tell me, my son—do you regret docking in this market city after all?”

Lu Ten took a breath, considering. Then he shook his head, a small grin playing at his lips.

“Things were getting boring anyway. This was… a nice distraction.”

Iroh laughed, rich and approving. “Spoken like a true White Lotus.”

Chapter Text

The wind rushed past as Appa soared high above the Earth Kingdom’s rolling hills, his massive body gliding effortlessly through the sky. Aang sat cross-legged atop his bison’s head, arms spread wide as the air whipped through his robes. Behind him, nestled into the saddle, Zuko, Sokka, and Katara rode in relative silence.

Zuko reached down and grabbed a small piece of wood from the saddlebag. Pulling out a flint, he struck it quickly, lighting one end of the wood aflame. The fire danced, flickering in shades of yellow, orange, and blue.

“Hey, guys—come look at this,” Zuko called out, glancing over at them with a small smile. “I know you’ve both been curious about Lu Ten’s blue fire.”

Katara and Sokka leaned in, and Aang joined them, eyes wide with interest.

“Look closely,” Zuko said, holding the burning stick out. “This is natural fire—campfire fire, the kind you’d find in the wild. See how the flames have different colours inside? Blue near the core, then yellow, orange, and red at the edges?”

The three watched intently, the flames crackling softly in the wind.

Zuko then lifted his palm, concentrating. A small, steady flame flickered to life above his hand, burning with a pure, deep orange hue.

Katara’s eyes widened. “Your fire… it only has one colour.”

Sokka nodded thoughtfully. “So a fire’s temperature must decide its colour, right?”

“Exactly,” Zuko said, rubbing the back of his neck as a slight headache crept in. “Ask one at a time, please.”

Katara smiled and was first. “I never noticed firebenders’ flames were always just one colour. Our campfire has all those colours because it’s natural.”

Sokka piped up next. “So Lu Ten’s fire is blue because it burns hotter?”

Zuko nodded. “Yeah. But it’s not just about temperature. It depends on the person’s chi—how they channel their energy.”

Aang’s curiosity bubbled up. “Can you control your fire’s temperature? Like, maybe if you made it cooler, you could teach me firebending again?”

Zuko rubbed his temple, sighing. “No Aang. I never told you... but after I tried to teach you before, the monks told me I had to wait until you mastered water or earth. Fire and air are opposite elements. If you learn both before mastering the others, your chi could go haywire—and you might hurt yourself.”

Aang frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

Zuko shrugged. “It never really mattered. I wasn’t eager to teach you again after I accidentally burned you.”

Sokka’s eyes lit up with a question. “Wait, how does chi affect fire?”

Zuko’s expression grew thoughtful. “I remember seeing Avatar Roku’s golden fire when I was a kid. There are rumours of firebenders with green flames too. Uncle Iroh told me dragons used to bend every color of the rainbow—before they went into hiding. After Roku died, Firelord Ozai made hunting dragons a sport.”

The group sat quietly for a moment, absorbing the wonder in Zuko’s words.

Suddenly, a sharp cry pierced the air once more. A dark blur streaked through the sky, diving towards them. Momo chittered nervously, retreating into Sokka’s tunic. Within moments, the blur resolved into the form of a hawk—Kai—swooping with purpose and precision.

Zuko stood, arm outstretched. The hawk landed gracefully, claws tightening around the leather bracer on Zuko’s forearm.

“Kai,” Zuko murmured, unfastening the small harness and gently removing the tube attached to the bird’s leg. “You made good time.”

Kai flapped once, then hopped off Zuko’s arm and onto the saddle, making a beeline for the supply bags. His sharp eyes zeroed in on the food stash. Without hesitation, the hawk stuck his beak in and rummaged with practiced ease.

“Hey,” Sokka said, amused, pulling a strip of dried jerky from the mess. “You’ve got good taste.”

Kai seized the meat in his beak, wings fluttering happily as he tore into it.

“Flap flap, screech screech,” Sokka said with a smirk. “He’s practically part of the group now.”

Momo’s head peeked from the folds of Sokka’s shirt, ears flat. With a shriek of offense, the lemur launched himself toward Sokka’s hand, tiny fingers grabbing greedily at the bag of jerky.

“Momo! We just ate!” Sokka protested, lifting the bag over his head.

Momo gave a wounded squeal and turned to glare at Kai.

The hawk, mid-chew, raised his head and let out a piercing cry in return, wings flaring as if to say bring it on.

Momo’s fur bristled. He bared his little teeth and growled low in his throat.

“Okay, okay—calm down, both of you!” Katara said quickly, reaching into the bag. “Momo, here—have some dried fruit.”

Momo’s entire mood shifted. With a delighted squeak, he leapt onto Katara’s lap and eagerly began munching on a dried apricot.

“You’re gonna spoil him,” Sokka muttered. “Next thing you know, he’ll be asking for a menu.”

Aang, who was perched on the saddle's edge since earlier, dropped into it with a laugh. “It’s just fruit, Sokka.”

He turned toward Zuko. “Right, Zuko?”

Zuko didn’t respond.

He was hunched slightly forward, unrolling the notes pulled from Kai’s message tube. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips pressed in a thin line as he read.

“Zuko?” Aang tried again.

Still no answer. Whatever was written on those scrolls had completely absorbed him.

Aang exchanged a glance with Katara, whose smile faded as she leaned in, curious. Even Sokka paused his grumbling.

Something in Zuko’s expression—not worry exactly, but a certain heaviness—had settled in.

Quiet fell again, save for the rustle of paper, the gentle flapping of Kai’s wings, and Momo’s soft crunching.

Whatever news had arrived, it had clearly shifted the wind.

The tension in the air shifted as Zuko continued studying the largest of the papers from Kai’s message tube. His brows drew together as he examined the contents carefully, the faintest flicker of unease in his golden eyes.

Sokka leaned over Zuko’s shoulder, eyes scanning the lines and shapes with growing excitement.

Sokka blinked, eyes darting over the map again with a new layer of awe and suspicion. “Wait—how do you even have this? Fire Nation military maps aren’t exactly hanging around in market stalls.”

Zuko didn’t look up from the paper. “It came from my uncle. And Lu Ten. They sent it through Kai.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but how did they get their hands on something like this? This is high-level stuff.”

Zuko tapped the edge of the parchment with two fingers. “My uncle was supposed to be the next Fire Lord. Not my father. There are still people in the Fire Nation who believe that—who are more loyal to Iroh and Lu Ten than to my father. But since the Council approved my father, they can’t exactly challenge him openly.”

Katara furrowed her brows. “Then why don’t your uncle or cousin go back and take the throne? If people still believe in them—”

Zuko shook his head, gaze darkening. “It would tear the nation apart. It would mean civil war. And we can’t afford that.”

Katara folded her arms, voice sharp. “So they’d rather let the world be at war than risk their own people fighting each other?”

Zuko exhaled slowly. For a moment, he had no answer. His shoulders slumped just slightly.

Aang looked from Katara to Zuko. “It… it must be more complicated than that.”

Zuko didn’t answer immediately. He kept his eyes on the map, the lines and symbols seeming heavier now, burdened by more than just strategic routes. “My uncle always believed the Fire Nation could change from within,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “But he also knew that forcing it would only cause more pain. He’s trying to protect what he can... even if it means waiting.”

Katara frowned, crossing her arms. “Waiting while people keep suffering.”

“I know,” Zuko murmured. “I don’t agree with everything he does. But… it’s not easy. Not when family and loyalty pull in opposite directions.”

Aang glanced between them, uncertain. For a moment, he hesitated—then looked down at his hands in his lap, small against the weight of the world he carried. “Maybe… maybe he’s just trying to keep hope alive in his own way.”

But even as he said it, the words stirred something deeper. A thought, quiet and uncomfortable, crept in.

Would Zuko stay by Aang’s side, as his brother… or turn away for the sake of Ozai and Azula?

Aang stared at the edge of the parchment, its inked lines and careful markings suddenly feeling distant, blurred. He didn’t doubt Zuko’s loyalty—not exactly. But doubt wasn’t always a matter of logic. It was a shadow, something that curled beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to cast itself across even the brightest bond.

Zuko had stood beside him, had fought for him. They share a mother. They had laughed together, argued like siblings, and found each other in the wreckage of fractured families. But Ozai was still Zuko’s father. Azula, his sister. No matter how cruel they were, how dangerous, they were part of Zuko’s blood and memory.

And Aang—Aang was the Avatar. The symbol of resistance. Of rebellion. Of everything Ozai hated.

What would Zuko do if it came to a choice? If standing by Aang meant turning fully against the people who raised him, against a legacy so twisted it still choked the Fire Nation from the inside out?

Would he still choose Aang? Or falter under the weight of a name, a crown, a history?

The idea sat in Aang’s chest like a stone, heavy and cold. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Zuko. He wanted to. Desperately. He didn’t voice the thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Zuko, still focused on the parchment, didn’t notice the way Aang’s expression had dimmed, or how the boy’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of Appa’s saddle.

Katara leaned forward, studying the parchment. Her expression tightened. “There are so many…”

“Not a problem,” Aang said brightly, shaking the thought away as best he could. He hopped closer, forcing a smile. “We’ll just fly around them!”

Sokka groaned. “Look at the map again.”

Aang blinked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Zuko answered calmly, but the weight in his voice was unmistakable. “News has already reached the Fire Nation. They know the Avatar is heading to the North Pole. And they know he's traveling by sky bison—with a group.”

Sokka took over, stabbing at the map with his finger. “And every single one of these bases is set up on high ground. Mountain ridges, hilltops, cliffs.”

Katara added softly, “They chose those spots because they’re easy to monitor the skies from. They’ll be watching.”

“But…” Aang said, scratching his head, “we could still just fly around them.”

Both Sokka and Zuko looked at him at the same time and said, in near unison, “It would take weeks.”

Sokka gestured wildly at the map. “We’d have to double—no, triple—back to avoid just one outpost. It’s not practical!”

“And we can’t afford to waste that much time,” Zuko said, folding the map again, his jaw tight. “We don’t know when the Fire Nation will launch another siege on the Northern Tribe. They might already be preparing one. If we wait too long... we might arrive only to watch it fall.”

Aang’s expression sobered. “So if we get there first—if I start training right away—then I’ll be able to leave sooner.”

Zuko nodded. “Exactly. And once the Avatar moves on, the Fire Nation’s focus will fully shift. They’ll chase you into the Earth Kingdom. That could give the Water Tribes the breathing room they need.”

Sokka blinked, then slowly straightened. “It might even buy the Northern Tribe enough peace to send waterbenders south—help rebuild our village.”

The idea landed between them like a gust of wind—sudden, stirring. Katara’s breath caught, her eyes going wide with awe at the thought. And then, her face softened, the corners of her mouth pulling into a wistful smile. She looked past them, gaze drifting toward the horizon. In her mind, she could almost see it: their village whole again, full of light and laughter, children learning to bend instead of hiding from warships.

Back before everything changed.

Katara’s hopeful expression lingered as she turned back to the map, the weight of their mission pressing down once more. “But flying is still safer than walking,” she reasoned thoughtfully. “Appa’s not too noticeable up there in the clouds. We can stay above the Fire Nation’s patrols, keep out of their sight.”

Sokka snorted, crossing his arms and casting a sharp glance at her. “He’s a gigantic fluffy monster with an arrow on his head! It’s kind of hard to miss him!” His voice was incredulous, but there was a hint of a smile lurking beneath his scepticism.

Appa groaned lowly in protest.

Aang patted his friend’s thick fur. “Sokka’s just jealous because he doesn’t have an arrow.”

Zuko rubbed his chin in thought. “There might be a way to fly without being seen. If we increase altitude and stay within cloud cover, we could—”

He glanced at Aang and Katara. “—have you two waterbend the mist, stretch it out so we’re completely concealed.”

Sokka crossed his arms. “Bad idea.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Something moving that fast across the sky? It’ll stick out more than Appa. That’s basically telling them, ‘Hey, look up here!’”

“So what’s your solution?” Zuko asked.

“We land,” Sokka said firmly. “We go on foot around the bases. They expect us to be in the sky. Let’s do the opposite.”

“That's going to take forever,” Zuko countered.

Sokka shrugged. “Still faster than getting shot down.”

Katara and Aang looked between them, exchanging a glance. The energy between Zuko and Sokka was shifting—fast.

Chapter Text

Zuko took a deep breath, trying to keep his tone even but firm. “We need to think about this carefully. Make a plan, weigh all the pros and cons before we decide what to do next.”

But Sokka’s patience snapped. His voice rose sharply, cutting through the air. “No one made you the leader! So why should we listen to you?”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed, his own temper flaring in response.

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “Because I’m the oldest.”

Sokka scoffed. “We’re the same age!”

“I’m a few months older,” Zuko shot back.

Sokka leaned forward. “A few months don’t count! I’m the son of the Southern Water Tribe’s chief. I was raised to protect my people—I’m a warrior.”

Zuko’s eye twitched. “And I’m the prince of the Fire Nation.” He put sharp emphasis on the last word. “A nation. Not a tribe. I was trained to lead an empire.”

He stepped forward, squaring his shoulders. “And I am a warrior. Or did you forget?”

“Oh, so I guess that makes me what? Useless? Just a guy with a boomerang?”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Sokka’s voice dropped an octave. “Not all of us were born bending fire or water or wind. I had to earn every move, every fight.”

Zuko took a step closer, his voice tight. “You think I didn’t? I trained every day since I could walk. With swords. Without bending. In armour. Against opponents twice my size.”

Sokka didn’t back down. “Good for you. Doesn’t mean you’re in charge.”

“Enough!” Aang finally shouted, stepping between them. “We’re supposed to be working together!”

Katara nodded, her eyes stern. “You two need to cool off before someone says something they regret.”

Aang looked around. “There’s a clearing down there. Let’s land and take a break.”

Katara crossed her arms. “A long one. For the older boys to cool their heads.”

Zuko scowled but said nothing. Sokka muttered something under his breath and turned away.

Appa let out a soft groan as he descended, sensing the shift in energy. The clouds broke beneath them as they dipped down toward the clearing, the forested earth below beckoning like a sanctuary.

Zuko and Sokka each stood at opposite ends of the saddle, stiff and silent, eyes cast to the trees below. As Appa landed with a thud, no one moved for a long moment.

Katara gave Aang a soft smile and patted Momo, who had once again curled into her lap. “Let’s hope the forest air does them some good.”

Aang sighed. “Yeah… before we need two separate teams to keep traveling.”

On the ground, Katara dusted her hands on her tunic and glanced around the clearing. “I think what we all need right now is a warm lunch.”

Aang perked up immediately, the tension still lingering in his shoulders easing just a little. “I’ll help!”

The two of them stepped away from the others, heading toward the edge of the forest. Appa let out a soft huff behind them, curling up on the grass, while the boys remained near the campfire pit, clearly keeping their distance.

They walked in silence for a short while, the sound of leaves rustling underfoot and birds chirping above them filling the air. Katara bent down to gather some fallen branches and looked sideways at Aang.

“So… what do we do?”

Aang sighed, shifting the water jug he was carrying. “I think… it’s up to us now. We can’t let this fight get worse. It’s important for us to stay united—especially now.”

Katara nodded slowly, her expression serious. “You’re right. If we start taking sides, we’ll just end up fighting too. And then what? Everyone splits up? That can’t happen.”

Aang glanced at her, his brows furrowed. “Maybe we talk to them. You talk to Sokka, I’ll talk to Zuko. Calm them down, make them see how pointless this fight is.”

“And then,” Katara added with a small smile, “we make them apologize. Or we tell them we’re going ahead without them.”

Aang chuckled, nudging a branch out of the way with his foot. “Exactly. If they’re going to insist they’re the oldest and that makes them in charge, we’ll just remind them they’re acting like toddlers.”

Katara laughed. “Oldest doesn’t mean wisest. Or most mature.”

“Honestly, I think Appa’s the real adult here.”

They both giggled at that, the weight between them lifting with every step.

Then Aang grinned wider. “If Zuko and Sokka keep being stubborn, maybe we should send a message to Lu Ten. Get a proper adult involved.”

Katara nearly dropped the canteen she was filling at a nearby stream. “Now that would shut them up. Lu Ten shows up, all cool and calm and older than everyone—‘cause he’d actually be the oldest.”

She drew out the word with theatrical sarcasm, earning another burst of laughter from Aang.

With arms full of firewood and water containers sloshing gently, the two of them turned back toward the clearing. The laughter still echoed faintly in the trees behind them, softening the strain that had settled over the group.

As they re-entered the camp, the air still held some of the tension—but Katara and Aang carried with them the warmth of a plan… and a little humour to break the cold.

When Katara and Aang returned to the camp, they saw only Sokka sitting near their bags, rifling through them. He muttered to himself as he sorted through supplies, clearly keeping track of what they were running low on.

“Alright, need more salt, more dried meats, some rice... We’re low on water skins too. Could use another bag for—” he paused, glancing up at the two of them. “Oh, you’re back. Good, you can help me with the shopping list later.”

Aang raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Zuko?”

Sokka scowled, his tone dripping with irritation. “Zuko’s not my responsibility, Aang. I’m not his babysitter.”

Katara’s eyes flashed, and she snapped at her brother, her voice sharp. “Sokka, that’s rude. We’re supposed to be working together, remember?”

Sokka sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. Zuko muttered something about a plant or another and wandered off into the forest. Momo followed him, so I guess he’s fine.” He shrugged. “Not like I can stop him.”

Katara let out a deep breath, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Maybe you should write a letter to Dad, update him about where we are. Let him know how things are going.”

Sokka’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Oh! That’s a good idea—wait, I’m not using Zuko’s hawk for that.”

Katara crossed her arms and gave her brother a deadpan look. “I’m sure you can find another way, Sokka.”

Sokka muttered under his breath, but before he could say anything else, Zuko’s figure emerged from the trees. His arms were laden with a variety of plants and a few small fruits, and Momo was already perched on his shoulder, one paw gripping Zuko’s hair for balance as his little body jostled with each step, happily munching on one of the fruits.

Katara turned to Zuko as he set the plants down on the ground. “Hey, Zuko. Can I use Kai to send a letter to my father? We haven’t updated him in a while.”

Zuko nodded, glancing at her with a brief, almost unreadable expression. “Go ahead. You can use him.”

Katara’s face brightened at the permission, and she smiled at Zuko. “Thanks. I’ll write it after we eat.”

She started pulling out the cooking pots, ready to prepare their meal. Aang, ever the helpful one, moved to set up a fire, and Zuko flicked his fingers toward it, igniting the flames with a spark.

As the fire caught, Aang glanced at the plants Zuko had gathered. “What do you have there, Zuko? Looks like a lot of stuff.”

Zuko set the bundle of plants down in front of the group and began sorting through them. Katara leaned in, curiously peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of what he had collected. Sokka, despite his earlier reluctance, couldn't help but lean forward too, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Zuko began with the fruits. “These are wild apples,” he said, handing one to Katara, “they’re safe to eat and really sweet. But these”—he gestured to a bunch of flowers—“are chamomile and dandelion. You can boil them to make tea. Good for the body. Calming, too.”

Katara nodded, her eyes lighting up. “That sounds perfect for after a long day’s travel.”

Zuko smiled slightly before picking up a few more plants. “And this one… I remember my uncle talking about it. It’s a plant that can enhance chi if brewed into tea.”

Katara’s excitement flared. “Enhance chi? That sounds incredible! Would it help with bending?”

Sokka frowned, clearly sceptical. “Chi-enhancing plants? Sounds like something that could cause problems. What’s the catch?”

Zuko met his gaze, a faint hesitation in his eyes before he answered. “The plant doesn’t have any negative side effects on the body. It only enhances chi, nothing more. But it could help with bending. If Aang or Katara use it for basic moves, it might help them learn faster. But…” Zuko hesitated again, his voice lowering. “It could cause someone to lose control if they’re not careful. A bender might push too hard, and that could end badly.”

Katara furrowed her brow, glancing between Aang and Zuko. “So… if we use it just to help with the basic moves… it could speed things up without causing problems?”

Zuko nodded, though there was a tinge of uncertainty in his tone. “Exactly. But I’d still be cautious. It’s not something to rely on.”

Aang thought for a moment, then looked at Katara. “It could be worth a try, right? We’ve got nothing to lose. If it helps us learn faster…”

Katara smiled softly. “I think I’d like to try it.”

Sokka, however, crossed his arms, still a little unsure. “As long as it doesn’t make me end up being lit on fire or something. I’m not the one who’s going to be using it.”

Zuko gave a short, dry chuckle. “Don’t worry, Sokka. You’re safe from any crazy chi enhancements.”

Katara raised an eyebrow at Sokka's usual scepticism, but it seemed they were all in agreement about giving it a shot. As the fire crackled, they began preparing their meal, with the plants Zuko had gathered sitting nearby, their promise of speed and power lingering in the air.

For the moment, it seemed, they were a team again.

Katara returned to the pot, finishing the meal preparations with practiced motions. Sokka remained near their packs, sorting through what little they had left, muttering under his breath about portions, expiry dates, and how Appa seemed to eat more than all of them combined.

Appa, unaware—or uncaring—about the slander, was lying nearby with his tongue lolling as he munched lazily on some tall grass, looking blissfully at peace.

Meanwhile, Zuko crouched over a small kettle he had nestled carefully into the firepit Aang had made. The scent of warming chamomile and dandelion wafted into the clearing. Zuko eyed the brew with quiet intensity, brow furrowed.

Aang plopped down next to him, watching curiously.

“That’s not how uncle used to do it,” Aang said, tilting his head. “Iroh always used a wooden spoon to stir, not metal. Said it helped the chi flow. Or was it the flavour?”

Zuko's eye twitched. He reached for the kettle and tilted it just slightly, steam rising in wispy curls.

Aang leaned in again. “Also, I think Iroh waited until it simmered a little longer before taking it off the heat.”

Zuko’s hand froze. He turned, glaring. “Do you want to make the tea?”

Aang blinked, wounded. His lips quivered into a pout, the full weight of his wide eyes landing squarely on Zuko with the power of a thousand guilty spirits. “I was just trying to help…”

Zuko let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just—I was trying to do it the way Iroh taught me, and between remembering everything he said and you talking over it, I got confused.”

Aang's face lit up again. “Then maybe we can both make some! I’ll grab another kettle.”

Zuko groaned but couldn’t stop the small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. But if yours tastes better, I’m blaming the spoon.”

Not long after, the group sat down to eat around the fire. Katara dished out steaming bowls of rice and stew while Aang and Zuko presented two small pots of tea, proudly setting them in the middle. Momo sniffed both brews with exaggerated caution.

Sokka eyed his bowl sceptically. “Hard to believe we just left a market town and we’re already low on half our provisions.”

Katara took a bite and nodded. “Maybe next time we actually remember to buy spices. And salt. That would help.”

“Salt is a spice,” Sokka mumbled.

“It’s a mineral,” Katara said smoothly, not looking up.

Aang giggled, then pointed at Zuko, who was subtly trying to shield his food from two extremely persistent animals. “Zuko’s got bigger problems than salt.”

Kai and Momo had both zeroed in on the firebender, clearly identifying him as the group’s softest touch. Momo had already inched halfway into Zuko’s lap while Kai eyed him from behind, tail twitching with menace.

“Traitors,” Zuko muttered at both of them, lifting his bowl like a fortress. “You already have food.”

Aang pointed to the bowls laid near Appa’s side. “I set them out over there, guys! Go eat!”

With a disappointed squeak, Momo hopped off Zuko and scampered toward his own meal. Kai, after one last sulky flick of his tail, slunk off to join him.

Once the meal was done, Katara gathered the dirty dishes and took them to the stream to wash. Zuko and Aang both stood, offering to help, but she waved them off with a shake of her head.

Sokka got to his feet with a grunt, stretching, then began repacking their supplies, muttering anew about missing items and broken zippers. Appa burped in the distance.

Zuko dusted off his pants and made his way toward a quieter patch of grass near the treeline. He sat down cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, breathing in slowly.

Katara caught Aang’s eye and arched an eyebrow, nodding subtly toward Zuko.

Aang gave her a quick thumbs up and padded after him, brushing stray leaves off his clothes.

Time to talk.

Chapter Text

Aang approached Zuko with confident strides, a small bounce in his step. But once he actually reached him, standing just a few feet away from where Zuko sat in quiet meditation, all that confidence evaporated like morning mist.

He hesitated, hovering awkwardly for a second before sitting down beside him. He folded his legs to mirror Zuko’s posture, resting his hands on his knees. His eyes slid over to Zuko, lingering.

Zuko’s own eyes opened slowly, meeting Aang’s.

Aang gave him a sheepish smile. “Hey... I wanted to talk.”

Zuko tilted his head slightly, then offered a warm smile that settled the fluttering nerves in Aang’s chest. He nodded silently, waiting.

“I—uh…” Aang started, then stumbled. “I wanted to talk about… earlier. In the saddle.”

Zuko shook his head gently. “It’s not my fault. I was willing to listen to Sokka’s plan.”

Aang sat up straighter, quickly waving his hands. “No, I mean—I’m not blaming anyone! I just…” He trailed off, brows furrowing slightly. “I want to understand.”

Zuko looked at him, patient and quiet, so Aang pressed on.

“I know Sokka can be… stubborn,” Aang said carefully. “But I also don’t want us to keep butting heads like this. Katara said…” He hesitated again, searching for the right words. “She said if she starts always siding with Sokka, and I always side with you, we’ll just keep arguing. The group will fall apart.”

He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I don’t want that. I don’t want us splitting into sides. I just want us all to work together.”

Zuko’s expression softened even more, a flicker of guilt and understanding in his eyes.

“I know.” Zuko’s voice was calm. “I just want you to understand I was ready to hear Sokka’s plan. That’s why I said we should weigh out all the pros and cons—of every idea. Not just mine.”

Aang’s expression softened.

“But Sokka…” Zuko exhaled through his nose, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. “He’s the one who made it personal. He started talking about how his father is the head of their tribe, how he’s been trained as a warrior—like that automatically makes him the leader. I only said what I said to make him realize that his lineage and training don’t mean he’s the only one qualified to decide things. If his father is the tribe leader, then mine is the Fire Lord. If he was trained as a warrior, so was I.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened for a moment. “But instead of hearing the point, he twisted it. Made it sound like I was looking down on him for not being a bender. Like I was trying to throw my title in his face.” He shook his head slowly. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Aang listened carefully, his eyes softening. “I get why you said it, Zuko. Sometimes people hold onto titles and training so tightly because it makes them feel secure... like they have to prove something.”

He paused, then added quietly, “But maybe it’s not about who’s the oldest or the strongest or the one with the fancy title. Maybe it’s about who’s willing to listen, and who’s willing to understand each other—even when it’s hard.”

Aang looked up, meeting Zuko’s eyes. “I think that’s what leadership really means.”

Aang nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful.

Zuko looked back at him. “He’s focused on being the leader—on making sure people listen to him. I just want to make sure we get to the North Pole alive.”

There was no heat in his voice, only honesty.

Then a small smirk curled on his lips. “Honestly, if anyone should be leading this group, it should be the Avatar.”

Aang blinked, then snorted. “Even if the Avatar is the youngest?” he teased, nudging Zuko with an elbow.

Zuko sighed and nodded slowly. “You’re right, Aang. I was the one who started the ‘older person in the group’ argument when I snapped at Sokka. I got annoyed and forgot what really matters.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry for that.”

Aang smiled warmly and patted Zuko on the back. “Don’t worry, Zuko. This is a learning experience for all of us. Even monks and firebenders mess up sometimes.”

Zuko’s smirk widened. “Sure. But the Avatar should still listen to his big brother.”

Aang laughed, eyes lighting up with joy, and leaned over to hug Zuko’s arm. “Okay, okay, big brother.”

Zuko chuckled and patted the top of Aang’s bald head. “Want to meditate?”

Aang popped to his feet with a gust of wind. “I’m gonna help Katara carry stuff back first!”

And just like that, he was gone, darting through the trees with the sound of swishing grass and rustling leaves in his wake.

Zuko shook his head with a fond smile. “Should I give him the talk…?”

He shuddered immediately. “Nope. Too young. That’s Uncle’s or Lu Ten’s problem.”

He closed his eyes again, sighing peacefully as the wind settled and quiet returned.

With both Aang and Katara gone from the camp, Zuko let out a long sigh and got to his feet. The fire crackled behind him, but its warmth didn’t reach the knot in his chest. After a moment of hesitation, he squared his shoulders and walked toward where Sokka sat rummaging through one of their supply bags.

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Sokka didn’t look up. “Hey.”

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. “Look… we both said some things. Mean things. And, well… we’re not exactly the type to apologize, are we?”

That got Sokka to glance sideways at him, brow raised.

Zuko gave a half-smile, a little sheepish. “So maybe we don’t. Apologize, I mean. Maybe instead we figure out how to not let it happen again.”

Sokka scowled faintly, but after a moment, he gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah. That… actually makes sense. We're both too stubborn anyway.”

Zuko nodded, encouraged. “In the end, we both want the same thing. For everyone to make it to the North Pole safely.”

“Exactly,” Sokka agreed, his tone firm now.

Zuko’s smirk returned. “And for that, I think we don’t need a ‘leader.’ We just need the smart guys,” he said, nudging Sokka with his elbow, “to keep the kids out of trouble.”

Sokka let out a bark of laughter. “Keep them out of trouble? You mean like when Aang got himself, Katara and me arrested in Omashu? Or Katara and her brilliant idea to barter with pirates?”

Zuko groaned. “Spirits, how did we even find time to argue with those two running around?”

Sokka grinned. “We clearly have a talent for multitasking.”

Zuko chuckled and reached into one of the bags, pulling out the map they had argued over earlier. He spread it out on the ground and looked up at Sokka.

“Let’s go over the plan again. Calmly, this time.”

Sokka gave a small, determined nod and sat beside him. “Deal.”

The two of them leaned over the map, the parchment aged but well-preserved, spread out across a flat stone with the corners pinned down by nearby gear. Faint red symbols marked the locations of Fire Nation military bases, with handwritten notes from Iroh and Lu Ten scrawled in the margins—warnings, terrain tips, and areas to avoid at all costs.

Sokka’s finger hovered over a cluster of markings near a mountain range. “Okay, so these bases here and here are still active, right?” he asked, glancing at Zuko.

Zuko nodded. “Yeah. That whole stretch is patrolled regularly. If we go anywhere near it, we’ll have to move fast or stay hidden.”

Sokka exhaled through his nose. “Which is why I think we should go around, on foot. We can use the forest cover and skirt the perimeter. It’ll take longer, but it’s safer.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed as he scanned the routes. “Maybe. But if we fly—higher than usual—we can use the cloud cover to avoid detection entirely. It’ll cut the travel time in half.”

“Flying means being visible. You’re trusting the weather to do the hiding for us.”

Zuko met his gaze. “And you’re trusting the terrain not to slow us down or corner us.”

Sokka opened his mouth, then closed it again, grudgingly considering Zuko’s point. “Okay. Okay, so—flying when it’s overcast, walking when it’s clear?”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “You really think the Fire Nation won’t expect people to avoid flying during good weather?”

Sokka rubbed the back of his neck. “So we flip it? Fly when the weather’s clear, hide in plain sight?”

Zuko gave a small nod. “It’s counterintuitive. Which means it might actually work.”

Sokka tilted his head, impressed despite himself. “Huh. You’re sneakier than you look.”

Zuko gave a slight smirk. “And you’re more tactical than I gave you credit for.”

They bent back over the map. Sokka tapped another section—an unmarked trail between two outposts.

“What about here? Think we could camp along this ridge?”

Zuko leaned in closer. “Possibly. There are some abandoned barracks there. Iroh mentioned them once—said they used to be a supply station before the front lines moved.”

Sokka grinned. “Perfect. We could restock. Maybe even grab some rations, if they’re not all mouldy.”

Zuko gave a rare huff of amusement. “Even if they’re mouldy, I bet you will still eat them.”

“You’re the one who grew up in the Fire Nation Castle, Prince Gourmet.”

The two of them chuckled, the earlier tension long gone, replaced by the easy rhythm of shared focus and mutual understanding. For once, they weren’t trying to one-up each other or win an argument.

They were just planning. Together.

Meanwhile, in the forest, Aang and Katara walked at an easy pace. Aang was humming a little tune under his breath, looking satisfied.

“I talked to Zuko,” he said finally. “He apologized. Well—sort of. He knows he started that whole ‘I’m older’ thing when he got annoyed at Sokka.”

Katara smiled. “That’s great, Aang.”

But Aang’s voice lost its lightness. “Still... he’s hurt,” he said quietly. “Zuko, I mean. About what Sokka said. The way he twisted his words—he made it sound like Zuko was looking down on him for not being a bender. And that’s not fair.” His fists clenched at his sides. “Zuko wasn’t saying that. He was just trying to explain why Sokka wasn’t the only one with training or responsibility.”

Katara glanced at him, surprised by the flicker of anger in his tone. She slowed her steps.

“I know we said we shouldn’t take sides,” Aang added quickly, ashamed of his frustration. “But it’s hard not to when someone hurts your brother like that.”

Katara’s expression softened. “I know,” she said gently. “You’re not taking sides. You’re just defending someone you care about.”

Aang nodded, still frowning.

Katara looked ahead, voice quieter now. “The thing is… I don’t think Zuko even sees himself as a bender most of the time. Have you noticed?” She glanced sideways at Aang. “He barely ever firebends. Not unless we need a campfire or we’re cooking dinner. When something dangerous happens, he grabs his swords first. Every time.”

Aang blinked, realizing it was true.

Katara sighed. “Sokka twisting Zuko’s words... that wasn’t about bending. That was Sokka trying to hold onto something. He’s been struggling, Aang. I don’t think he knows where he fits anymore. I’m a waterbender. Zuko’s a firebender. You’re the Avatar. You’re learning from all of us. But Sokka?”

She paused, then said it plainly.

“If he’s not our leader… then what is he?”

Aang’s anger faded into something quieter—sympathy, guilt. He hadn’t thought about it like that. “He’s still part of us,” he said, almost to himself. “He always will be.”

Katara smiled softly. “Of course. But sometimes… I think he needs to be reminded.”

By the time they neared the edge of the forest, the tension between them had settled into a quiet understanding. Aang still felt the sting of what had happened, but Katara’s words had softened the edges, helped him see the worry beneath Sokka’s sharp tone, the fear behind the defensiveness. They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the soft clinking of clean dishes in Katara’s arms the only sound between them.

Then, through the thinning trees, they caught sight of the camp.

Zuko and Sokka were crouched together by the fire pit, their heads bent over a spread-out map. Sokka was gesturing animatedly with one hand, the other tapping points on the parchment, while Zuko leaned in, nodding, a small crease of concentration on his brow. It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t awkward. They were... talking. Actually talking.

Aang slowed, blinking. “They’re not arguing.”

Katara gave a quiet laugh of surprise. “They’re not.”

As if sensing their presence, Zuko looked up. When he saw them emerging from the trees, he raised one hand and waved them over. Sokka glanced up as well, grinning as he scooted to the side to make room near the map.

Aang’s heart lifted, just a little. The weight of earlier still lingered in his chest, but seeing them like this—cooperating, working together—it let in something brighter. Something like hope.

“They’re figuring it out,” Aang murmured.

Katara smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Maybe we all are.”

They walked the rest of the way back together, stepping into the circle of light and warmth where their strange, patchwork little group was slowly stitching itself back together. One conversation at a time.

As Aang and Katara settled into the circle, Zuko leaned forward, the map still spread between him and Sokka. “We came up with a few ideas while you two were gone,” he said, glancing at Aang, then at Katara.

Sokka nodded, arms resting on his knees. “Yeah. But we wanted to hear what you guys think, too. All of us should be making decisions—not just one person.”

Katara’s face lit up at that, and she set the clean dishes aside with a satisfied little clink. “I’m really glad you said that,” she said, sitting beside her brother. “We’re strongest when we work together.”

Aang, already bouncing slightly on his toes, gave a happy hop and dropped down beside Zuko, smiling. “That’s what I keep saying!”

Zuko smirked and nudged Aang with his shoulder. “Well, now you’ve got backup.”

Sokka cleared his throat, growing more serious. “So here’s the plan: I think we should keep moving on foot for now. The terrain’s rough, but the Fire Nation doesn’t have a lot of villages out here—less manpower means they’ll probably focus their patrols in the sky.”

Katara nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. The forest should give us plenty of cover. And once we’re past that military base—once it’s behind that cliff—we can take to the skies again, like Zuko said.”

Zuko gave a short nod. “Exactly. Once we’re in the clear, it’ll be faster, and we can avoid the base entirely from above.”

Sokka blinked, then looked genuinely pleased. “Wait—you’re agreeing with both of us?”

Katara grinned. “When you both make good points, yes.”

Zuko turned slightly toward Aang and placed a steady hand on his back. “What about you? You’ve got good instincts. Anything you want to add?”

Aang looked down at the map, then at the faces around him. He shook his head gently. “I don’t really understand most of this strategy stuff. And if I tried to weigh in without really getting it, I’d probably just agree with whatever you said,” he added with a sheepish look toward Zuko. “Because you’re my older brother. And that wouldn’t be fair to anyone.”

There was a beat of silence before Zuko gave Aang’s back a firm, reassuring pat. “That’s actually really mature.”

Sokka let out a breath, visibly relaxing. “Honestly, I appreciate you saying that. Better than pretending to know and messing everything up.”

Katara gave Aang an encouraging smile and reached over to squeeze his hand. “You’re doing great.”

With the decision made, they moved quickly. Katara and Aang helped gather their scattered supplies, while Zuko and Sokka put out the campfire with practiced ease. Within minutes, their gear was packed, the flames snuffed out, and Appa was fully loaded and ready to move.

Chapter Text

As the sky dimmed into the last hues of dusk, the four of them stood side by side, not as leaders or followers, but as a team.

As Appa let out a low bellow and the last of their gear was strapped in place, Zuko lingered by the map still stretched out on the ground. His golden eyes scanned the lines one final time—military bases, weak points, terrain markers scribbled in Iroh’s neat calligraphy, all routes they might rely on.

He folded the map slowly, methodically, then looked over at Sokka. “Memorize it,” he said quietly, handing it over.

Sokka blinked, adjusting the strap of his pack. “Why?”

Zuko held his gaze. “Because I’m going to burn it before we leave.”

“What?!” Katara and Aang said in unison, eyes wide.

But Sokka didn’t argue—he knelt beside the firelight, unfolding the map across his knees. His expression shifted from surprise to intense focus. He traced a path with his finger, then another. He whispered under his breath, repeating the layout, the bases, the cliff routes, the fallback plan they'd discussed. It only took a few minutes, but by the time he stood, his face was calm.

Sokka exhaled through his nose and looked to Aang. “Yeah… okay. I get it.” He gave the younger boy a pointed look. “Especially if we ever have another accident—” he raised his brows meaningfully “—like a certain someone’s wave-bending trick that wiped out half our supplies.”

Aang winced, sheepish. “That was one time…”

Zuko gave a faint, amused huff, but his tone remained serious. “If the Fire Nation got their hands on this map, they’d know we had inside intel. That someone from the military helped us. They’d connect the dots.”

Katara’s expression shifted as the realization hit. “They’d know about Iroh and Lu Ten... and whoever helped them”

Zuko gave a single nod.

Katara bit her lip, then looked down. “We can’t let that happen. The Fire Nation knowing the Avatar has someone feeding him military secrets… it would put too many people in danger. Especially your family.”

Aang’s expression sobered at that. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I don’t like it… but you’re right.”

Zuko crouched down and lit a small flame between his fingers. As the map caught fire and curled at the edges, the group watched in silence—eyes reflecting the flickering light, the weight of their mission settling over them once more.

When the flames died down and only ash remained, Zuko stood, brushing soot from his hands. “Let’s move.”

And with that, they climbed onto Appa, ready to face whatever came next—together.

The group didn’t stay in the air for long before they descended, Appa landing softly in a clearing at the edge of the dense forest. With their supplies secured and the map now only a memory in Zuko and Sokka’s head, they began their hike. Thick trees stretched endlessly in all directions, sunlight peeking through the canopy in shifting beams.

The forest was quiet—too quiet for Zuko’s liking.

Even though he’d agreed with the plan, every crunch of leaves underfoot made his hand twitch toward his swords. His cloak, dark and hooded, hung low over his face, hiding the unmistakable gold of his eyes and the scar that marked his past. But the weight of caution still pressed heavily on his shoulders.

“Relax,” Aang whispered, walking beside him, trying to keep his tone light. “We’re deep in the woods. They’d need to be real lucky to find us.”

Zuko’s eyes flicked around. “Or we’d need to be real unlucky to run into them.”

Sokka, trailing just ahead, let out a loud exhale and turned. “Come on, Zuko. This forest is huge. There’s no way a military patrol would just be sitting around here waiting for us.”

“Yeah,” Katara added, amused. “They’d have to be ridiculously lucky to stumble on us in this place.”

The group rounded a bend in the path.

Ten yards ahead, a group of Fire Nation soldiers sat comfortably around a campfire, helmets off, enjoying what smelled like roasted fish and rice.

The forest went dead silent.

“…Really?” Zuko deadpanned, drawing to a stop. “We were just talking about this.”

The soldiers all looked up at once, mouths still full. A beat passed. Then one of them cursed, grabbing for his weapon.

Aang blinked. “Is this even statistically possible?”

“Guess we’re lucky like that,” Sokka muttered, already pulling out his boomerang.

Zuko’s swords were in his hands with practiced ease. “Aang, Katara—stay back,” he ordered, stepping forward, eyes already locked on the advancing soldiers. “Only step in if absolutely necessary.”

Katara frowned, bristling. “What? I’m not just going to stand here—”

Aang gently caught her wrist and leaned close. “Katara, think. If they recognize us—if anyone sees us bending—they’ll know the Avatar’s in the woods. Word will spread.”

Her shoulders tensed, lips pressing into a thin line—but then she glanced at the soldiers, then at Zuko and Sokka. She let out a slow breath and nodded. “Okay. Okay. But if either of them goes down—”

“I know,” Aang promised, letting her hand go.

Zuko and Sokka stepped into the clearing, outnumbered but unshaken. The firelight caught the gleam of Zuko’s twin blades and Sokka’s focused stare. The first soldier lunged—and then chaos erupted.

But not from Zuko or Sokka.

Arrows whistled through the trees, striking two soldiers down in rapid succession. A third was tackled from behind by a figure in green and brown, dropping like a sack of rice.

More shadows moved through the treetops—silent, swift, coordinated.

Zuko froze for a half-second, adjusting his stance. “That wasn’t us,” he muttered.

Sokka narrowed his eyes as one of the attackers landed beside him, a curved blade in hand and a sly grin on his face. “Huh.”

“Hey there,” said the newcomer, cocky and calm despite the fight raging around him. “Looks like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place—depending on how you look at it.”

The boy gave a theatrical little bow before lunging back into the fray.

“Who are these people?” Katara asked, stunned, as she and Aang watched from cover.

Zuko, sword still raised, glanced at the falling soldiers. “Don’t know. But I think they just saved us.”

And from the trees above, more figures dropped silently into the clearing—young, swift, and organized.

The Freedom Fighters had arrived.

The newly arrived group made quick work of the remaining soldiers. Within minutes, the Fire Nation troops were either unconscious or tied up, and the clearing fell silent save for the crackling of the dying campfire.

The leader of the new group stepped forward, his stance confident and his hooked swords glinting faintly in the firelight. His eyes scanned Aang’s group with easy curiosity before settling on Zuko, who was already tensing, one hand subtly pulling his cloak further over his head.

“Whoa,” Aang said, eyes wide as he surveyed the tied-up soldiers. “You guys took down a whole camp! That was amazing!”

Sokka crossed his arms with a scoff. “There were barely twenty guys here, tops.”

He jerked a thumb at Zuko. “Me and Scowly over there could’ve handled it ourselves.”

Zuko shot Sokka a glare, his scowl deepening. “Then why were you hiding behind a bush when they spotted us?”

Before Sokka could retort, the older boy from the new group smirked. “Then you’d better be faster next time.”

He stepped closer, casually spinning one of his swords before sheathing it behind his back. “I’m Jet. And these are the Freedom Fighters.” He turned and waved a hand toward his crew as they spread out to raid the camp for supplies. “We’re kind of a problem for the Fire Nation around here.”

One by one, he introduced them—Smellerbee gave a nod, Longshot offered a silent glance, and Aang’s attention caught on a mismatched pair: a small, round-faced child and a towering, hulking teenager beside him.

Aang jogged over, grinning. “Pipsqueak, that’s a funny name!” he said, looking down at the little kid.

The small one blinked in confusion, then tilted his head back toward the looming figure beside him.

The big guy looked down at Aang. “You think my name is funny?”

Aang hesitated, then burst out laughing. “It’s hilarious!”

To his delight, Pipsqueak let out a deep, rumbling laugh too. “Good. I like funny.”

Nearby, Zuko kept to the shadows, subtly shifting his stance to keep the light from hitting his face. He moved with deliberate care, not joining the others as they combed through the remains of the camp. His golden eyes flicked around warily—half on the Freedom Fighters, half on the trees beyond.

Sokka, standing a short distance away with arms still folded, watched the Freedom Fighters with narrowed eyes. “Raiding a camp like that…” he muttered under his breath. “They make it look like a game.”

Aang was poking around a tent, curious, brushing aside canvas flaps and peering in at crates labelled in Fire Nation script. “Whoa. This place smells like wet socks and firewood.”

While the others dispersed, Katara stepped forward toward Jet. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “For stepping in when you did.”

Jet gave her an easy smile, brushing a lock of hair back from his face. “We’ve been watching this camp all day. Just waiting for the right distraction.”

He tilted his head toward where the bound soldiers were still groaning. “Your timing was… perfect.”

Katara raised an eyebrow, her gratitude tempered slightly. “So we were bait?”

Jet gave a casual shrug, smile still in place. “Think of it as fate working in our favour.”

From a distance, Zuko heard the exchange and frowned, his grip tightening on the hilt of one sword.

As the Freedom Fighters continued rummaging through the camp, Sokka sidled over to Zuko, his eyes darting toward the group piling crates into makeshift sacks.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about these guys,” Sokka muttered under his breath.

Zuko didn’t even look at him, his eyes trained on Jet laughing with Smellerbee. “You’re not the only one. We should go.”

Just then, from the far end of the camp, The Duke piped up, voice muffled behind a barrel.

“These barrels are full of blasting jelly!”

“Excellent score,” Jet called out without missing a beat.

Pipsqueak lumbered past him with a large wooden box. “And these boxes are full of jelly candy.”

Jet gave a short laugh. “Also good. Let’s not get them mixed up.”

As the Freedom Fighters continued collecting supplies, Jet turned back toward his new guests. “We’ll take all this back to our hideout. No point leaving good stuff behind.”

“A hideout?” Aang perked up, his interest immediate.

Jet grinned. “Want to see it?”

Before Zuko could even blink, Katara’s hands clasped together in delight. “That sounds amazing!”

Sokka groaned. “Seriously?”

From Zuko’s side, Aang bounced over and grabbed his hand eagerly. “Can we go? Please? I want to see what a real hideout looks like!”

Zuko stiffened. His cloak shifted slightly, and he subtly reached to adjust the hood further down. Fear prickled in his chest. If they saw his eyes, if even one person noticed—

He looked down at Aang’s hopeful face, heart twisting, then turned toward Sokka for backup.

But Sokka was in the same trap—Katara was tugging on his arm with that stubborn look she always wore when she was going to win an argument.

Zuko watched as Sokka shot her a flat look and said, “This is a bad idea,” only for Katara to argue, “It’s the safest way through the forest. You said yourself the map’s gone. And they know the terrain.”

Zuko sighed heavily. At least Sokka tried, he thought.

He looked back down at Aang, who was still holding his hand and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Aang,” Zuko said quietly, his golden eyes flickering with worry beneath the edge of his hood, “are you sure?”

Aang nodded eagerly, completely unaware of Zuko’s tension. “Of course! This is so cool!”

Zuko’s shoulders slumped. “Cool,” he repeated with a dry exhale.

Jet waved them over. “Come on then. We’ll be at the hideout by nightfall.”

And with that, the group began following the Freedom Fighters into the dense forest, the setting sun casting long shadows behind them.

They reached what looked like an ordinary part of the forest — trees, underbrush, and nothing but silence.

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing here.”

Jet smirked and held out a rope to him. “Not quite.”

Sokka eyed it warily before grabbing it — and yelped as he was suddenly yanked up into the trees with a loud rustle of leaves.

Jet turned to Aang next, offering another rope. “Your turn.”

Aang blinked, then grinned. “Nah, I’ve got this!” He leapt up and used a burst of airbending to launch himself into the treetops.

Zuko slapped a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “Subtle.”

Jet raised an eyebrow at Aang’s dramatic entrance, but said nothing as he extended the rope to Zuko.

Zuko took it cautiously, making sure to keep one hand firmly pressed over his hood as the rope pulled him up.

Jet then turned to Katara and said smoothly, “Need a lift?”

Before she could respond, he wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her up with him. Katara’s cheeks flushed pink, caught off guard, but she didn’t protest.

At the top, Aang was already darting through the ropes strung between trees, laughing like he was in a playground.

Zuko landed on the wooden platform with a thud, adjusting his hood and scanning the treetop camp with guarded eyes. Sokka was already there, brushing leaves off his shoulders and muttering something about whiplash.

Katara stepped off the lift and looked around, eyes wide. “This place is beautiful…”

Jet joined her, his voice casual. “Beautiful and safe. The Fire Nation doesn’t know we’re here.”

A sudden whir of rope brought Smellerbee up beside them. She adjusted her headband and added, “Yeah. Not yet, anyway. They’d love to get their hands on Jet.”

Jet crossed his arms, confident. “But they won’t. Not as long as we stay smart.”

They began walking across a narrow wooden bridge connecting two platforms. The planks creaked under their feet, but the construction was solid. Below them, the forest canopy stretched like an endless sea of green.

Katara glanced over at Jet. “Why is the Fire Nation after you?”

Jet looked ahead, his tone hardening. “A few months back, they took over some of the towns nearby. Pushed people out. Burned homes.”

Pipsqueak, carrying a box on his shoulder as he walked past, added, “We’ve been ambushing their supply lines ever since.”

Zuko followed behind silently, taking it all in. He kept his hood low and his thoughts guarded. The guerrilla tactics made him uneasy — reckless, loud, unpredictable. He doubted their long-term effectiveness, but said nothing.

Jet, on the other hand, stood tall. “We’ll keep hitting them. One day, we’ll drive them out for good.”

Katara looked at him, admiration in her eyes. “That’s… that’s so brave.”

Zuko rolled his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood and looked away.

Sokka snorted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I’m sure the Fire Nation is quaking in their boots over a guy living in a tree house.”

Zuko smirked quietly under his hood.

Chapter Text

Katara shot her brother a glare. “Ignore him.”

Jet just chuckled. “It’s no big deal. Sounds like you’ve all had a rough day.”

Katara softened a little. “Do you all live up here?”

Jet nodded. “Most of us. Longshot’s town was burned down by the Fire Nation. The Duke… we found him trying to steal food from our stash. Kid was on his own.”

Katara looked around at the group of freedom fighters, a quiet empathy in her expression. “What about you?” she asked gently. “What’s your story?”

Jet’s eyes darkened just slightly. “The Fire Nation killed my parents.”

There was a heavy pause. Katara’s voice was low when she spoke. “We lost our mom too… Sokka and I. Fire Nation raid.”

Jet looked over at her with understanding, his expression softening.

Katara continued. “Aang’s dad passed, and… well, both Aang and Zuko’s mom disappeared last year, when the war started. There was a siege, and she helped people escape… but no one knows where she went. Just rumours, scattered sightings. Nothing confirmed.”

Jet frowned slightly. “But… how did Aang lose both his parents, and Zuko only his mom?”

Katara glanced at the boys before answering carefully, choosing her words. “They’re half-brothers. Same mom, different dads.”

Jet blinked. “Wait—Aang’s an airbender, isn’t he?”

Katara nodded. “Yeah. Zuko’s uncle took him to the Southern Air Temple after he got… severely hurt. That’s where he reunited with his mom—and met Aang. They lived together for a while, with their mom and Aang’s dad. During the Fire Nation’s first attacks, the Air Temples were hit hard. Zuko and his mom helped evacuate the airbenders who couldn’t fight—especially the kids.”

She paused for a beat, glancing toward Aang and Zuko.

Katara had already decided not to mention that Zuko was born Fire Nation—or that Aang was the Avatar. Those details felt too risky right now.

She continued, “Zuko ended up leading a group of airbender kids and somehow made it all the way to the Southern Water Tribe. That’s where we met them. We decided to travel together. They’re... looking for their mom, and… well, we’re heading to the Northern Water Tribe to ask our sister tribe for help.”

Jet blinked, digesting the story. “What happened to Zuko? You said he got hurt?”

Katara hesitated, then nodded again. “Before the war started, Zuko got caught up in a Fire Nation incident. Half of his face was burned. His uncle took him to the Southern Air Temple to recover… that’s where everything started.”

Jet’s face twisted with disgust. “The Fire Nation is disgusting.”

Jet’s eyes flicked to Zuko, whose face was mostly hidden beneath the shadow of his cloak. “That scar of his,” Jet said with a teasing smirk, “must be the reason he keeps his face covered all the time, huh?”

Katara’s lips pressed into a brief smile, but she quickly nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s part of it,” she said, masking the more dangerous truth beneath. Unlike Aang, she knew exactly how much trouble Zuko could get into if anyone saw his face unguarded. She even added with a teasing tone, “It took Sokka and me weeks before Zuko felt comfortable enough to even show his face around us.”

Jet chuckled, clearly buying the story.

As the group shifted their focus back to Aang’s lively chatter, Katara’s smile faded for a moment. Inside, she felt the weight of retelling Zuko and Aang’s story—a story that wasn’t really hers to share. She resolved to keep this little lie about the scar handy, something to help Zuko feel safer and more at ease.

Jet blinked, then broke into a grin. “Huh. That explains a lot.”

He glanced over his shoulder with a chuckle, and Katara followed his gaze.

Aang was animatedly talking to Zuko, grinning from ear to ear while clutching Zuko’s arm with one hand. His other hand waved wildly as he re-enacted something — possibly their earlier fight. Zuko, to his credit, wasn’t pulling away, though the weight in his posture suggested a man who had resigned himself to his fate.

Jet laughed under his breath. “Yeah… makes perfect sense.”

Katara giggled.

The late afternoon sun was slipping behind the dense canopy of the forest when a low, guttural groan echoed from high above. Appa’s deep bellow rolled through the branches, causing a sudden flurry of wings as startled birds exploded into the sky in a chaotic rush. Zuko’s gaze followed their frantic flight, watching as they scattered and disappeared into the thickening shadows.

He felt a small surge of relief at the sight, thankful that Katara and Sokka had sent Kai off earlier with their message to their father—though it had been more by chance than careful planning. The thought brought a quiet smile to Zuko’s lips. It wasn’t often he found common ground with Sokka, but in moments like this, a shared concern for their group—and a mutual understanding of the dangers lurking outside their fragile sanctuary—created a rare bond between them.

Sokka caught his eye and leaned in, voice lowered to a whisper, as if the trees themselves might overhear. “We’ll make sure everyone’s out of the forest by the time Kai gets back,” he promised, his tone steady despite the underlying tension.

Zuko nodded, matching Sokka’s smile. It was reassuring to know he wasn’t alone in his worries.

Meanwhile, Jet had climbed up onto the wooden table perched between the trees, the makeshift stage for his impromptu speech. “Today,” Jet began, voice ringing with conviction, “we dealt another blow to the Fire Nation’s army. Every small victory like this—every ambush, every raid—weakens their grip on the land.”

Zuko exchanged a quick glance with Sokka, both silently sceptical. Jet’s speeches often carried the passionate idealism of a leader desperate to inspire hope. It was contagious, yes, but both men knew the brutal reality beneath those words—the Fire Nation was ruthless, its power vast.

Katara, however, was swept up in the moment, cheering alongside the others. Aang sat quietly, his wide eyes taking in every leaf and shadow, a soft smile playing on his lips as if the very air around them was a new wonder.

Jet pressed on, his voice growing louder with each word. “The Fire Nation might think we’re no threat—that a bunch of kids living in the trees can’t stop their advance. But they’re dead wrong! We’ll show them that no one is safe from the fight for freedom!”

Cheers erupted from the gathered kids who swung from branches and balanced on platforms, their youthful faces alight with hope and fierce determination. The table before them held plates of simple food, but tonight it felt like a feast—a celebration of survival and defiance.

Jet jumped down from the table with a grin, and Katara smiled warmly at him. “That was a great speech,” she said.

Jet cocked his head, flashing a cocky smirk that made Katara blush despite herself. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, the harshness of their reality softened.

He turned to look at Zuko, eyes sharp and assessing. “You can take off your hood, you know. Nobody here’s going to judge. A few of us have scars—burns and all. We understand.”

Zuko hesitated only a moment before pulling his hood down, revealing the burn marks that traced down one side of his face. The scar wasn’t just a mark of pain—it was a symbol of survival, a silent testament to battles both physical and emotional.

Earlier, Katara had stopped Sokka, Zuko, and Aang to talk quietly. The guilt weighing on her shoulders had pushed her to confess. “I accidentally told them about how Mom passed,” she admitted softly. “And about Aang’s dad… and how Aang and Zuko’s mom disappeared.”

Sokka sighed, shaking his head but unable to hide a small smile. “Katara, you’re such a bleeding heart.”

Aang and Zuko both reassured her gently, their words calm and forgiving. “It’s alright,” they told her in unison.

Katara hesitated before explaining how Jet had asked about the connection between Zuko and Aang. She had told him a simplified version of the truth. “I said Zuko was burned by the Fire Nation before the war started and that he ended up in the Southern Air Temple,” she explained quietly. “Zuko and Aang lived there with their mother and Aang’s father. During the first attack by the Fire Nation, the air temples were targeted. Zuko and his mother helped evacuate airbenders who couldn’t fight—too young or injured. Zuko protected a group of airbender kids and somehow led them to the Southern Water Tribe. That’s when they met us, and me and Sokka decided to join them and head to the Northern Water Tribe for help, while they search for her.”

Aang’s face fell slightly after Katara finished, a shadow of guilt crossing his features. “Sometimes I feel like we should be searching for her instead of just going to the North Pole,” he admitted quietly. “What if she’s hurt somewhere and we don’t even know?”

Zuko gave Aang a steady look. “It’s important you focus on learning all the other elements first. That’s your path.” He paused, then added with quiet confidence, “You can trust Uncle Iroh and Lu Ten to find our mother. They have more connections and information than we ever could. If anyone can find her, it’s them.”

Katara left out the parts about Aang being the Avatar and Zuko’s true heritage, carefully avoiding anything that could put them in danger if overheard.

Zuko gave her a small nod of thanks. “Thanks for giving me a story,” he said quietly. “One I can use when I don’t want to show my face.”

Katara’s guilt didn’t vanish completely, but it lessened with his gratitude.

Back at the table, Jet added with enthusiasm, “During the fight, I saw you, Zuko—wielding two dao swords. I’d love a chance to spar with you sometime.”

Zuko wasn’t sure how to respond to that challenge, but before he could say anything, Sokka quickly jumped in, a grin tugging at his lips. “Jet, you’d better get in line. Zuko’s been promising me a duel for a while now.”

The comment broke the tension, and Jet laughed—a genuine, lighthearted sound that echoed through the trees. The mood shifted, the weight of their struggles momentarily lifted by camaraderie and good-natured rivalry.

Zuko allowed himself to relax, the scarred side of his face catching the fading sunlight. In this hidden forest sanctuary, surrounded by allies and friends, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could carve out a future beyond the shadows of war.

Sokka snorted as he leaned back against the wooden railing of the platform, arms folded. “Well, I doubt Jet’ll even get that duel in. We’re leaving tonight, remember?”

That announcement made Katara’s smile falter. She exchanged a glance with Aang, whose face mirrored her disappointment.

“Wait, really?” Aang asked, lowering his plate. “I thought we were staying until morning.”

“That was the plan,” Sokka said with a shrug, “but with the Fire Nation advancing faster than we thought, I figured we'd be better off getting a head start.” He thought back to the map Uncle Iroh and Lu Ten had given them—the one Zuko had burned days ago. What if it was already outdated?

Jet’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening. “Shame,” he muttered, the word almost bitten off. “I was hoping you and Zuko would join me on a mission tomorrow. Could’ve used your skills.”

Sokka perked up slightly. “What kind of mission?”

Zuko, however, didn’t hesitate. “No,” he said flatly, not even bothering to look up from the food he was pretending to eat.

Jet blinked. “No?” he echoed, incredulous. “You’re seriously turning down a chance to strike back at the Fire Nation?”

Zuko tilted his head down beneath his hood, carefully hiding his golden eyes to keep his Fire Nation heritage a secret.

Aang’s brows drew together. He didn’t like the edge in Jet’s voice. Something about it made the air feel colder, tighter. “Jet…” he began, tone cautious, “don’t be rude.”

Jet’s jaw clenched. “I’m not being rude. I’m just trying to understand why your ‘big brother’ doesn’t want justice.”

Aang rose to his feet, placing a steadying hand on Zuko’s arm before Jet could say anything else. “Zuko and I are from the Southern Air Temple,” Aang said calmly, though there was a new steel in his voice. “Even if Zuko wasn’t born there, he still accepted the Temple’s teachings.”

Jet raised an eyebrow, but Aang continued before he could interrupt.

“We’re pacifists,” Aang said, as if that explained everything. “That’s how we live. It’s not about revenge—it’s about survival. About peace.”

Jet laughed, bitter and sharp. “Pacifists don’t carry swords.”

Zuko opened his mouth, but Aang beat him to it.

“Just because someone believes in peace doesn’t mean they won’t protect themselves,” Aang said, his voice growing firmer. “Zuko fights when he has to. So do I.”

Jet stepped closer, expression twisted with disbelief. “Protecting yourselves is one thing. But tomorrow’s mission is about protecting the Earth Kingdom—about making the Fire Nation regret ever stepping foot here.”

“You mean another ambush,” Zuko muttered under his breath.

Jet ignored him. “What’s the point of having strength if you don’t use it to fight back?”

Aang shook his head and grabbed Zuko’s wrist. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Zuko blinked, still processing Aang’s sudden defiance, but let himself be pulled to his feet.

Aang turned to the others. “Good night,” he said, curt and quiet, then added under his breath to Zuko, “We don’t need to listen to this.”

They walked away from the platform in silence, Aang’s grip still firm on Zuko’s arm. Only once they were out of sight did Zuko stop him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Zuko muttered, voice low. “I could’ve said something.”

Aang gave him a look. “Would you have, though?”

Zuko looked away.

Chapter Text

Back on the platform, Jet stood rigid, fists clenched at his sides. Katara’s expression had become unreadable, her earlier blush gone cold. She watched the path Zuko and Aang had disappeared down, then slowly turned to Jet.

“You could’ve eased up a little,” she said softly.

Jet scoffed. “We need people willing to fight. Not run away.”

Sokka, now seated again, leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “So what is this mission tomorrow?”

Jet glanced at him, and after a moment, his posture relaxed—just slightly. “There’s a Fire Nation troop convoy passing through a canyon nearby. Lightly guarded. Supplies, maps, maybe even officers. We have a chance to hit them hard.”

Sokka rubbed his chin. “You think you can pull it off?”

“With your help? Absolutely.”

But Sokka didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted toward the forest where Aang and Zuko had vanished, expression thoughtful.

Katara stayed silent, her gaze fixed on the fire in the middle of the table. The earlier warmth of the group had all but vanished, replaced by a heavy uncertainty that no one dared voice.

The next morning dawned cool and still. Zuko and Aang remained close to Appa, who lay peacefully beneath the sheltering branches of the forest. Zuko’s posture was more at ease than the day before, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly as he watched the sunlight filter through the leaves. Aang sat nearby, quietly observing, the gentle morning sounds grounding them both.

Meanwhile, Sokka had gone ahead with the Freedom Fighters, moving deeper into the dense forest, blending with the shadows and the rustling leaves.

High above, perched silently among the thick branches, Jet and Sokka crouched side by side. Jet raised a hand, letting out a sharp, birdlike whistle that echoed faintly through the trees. One by one, the Freedom Fighters hidden nearby answered back with similar calls.

Sokka pressed the blade of his knife against the bark of a nearby tree, tilting his head as he focused intently, listening for the faintest vibrations traveling through the wood.

Jet glanced at him, impressed. “That’s a neat trick,” he whispered, admiration clear in his voice.

Suddenly, Sokka’s body stiffened. “Someone’s coming,” he said, eyes narrowing.

Jet motioned to the others. “Get ready.”

The group tensed, weapons poised as a figure emerged from the shadows below.

Sokka’s grip relaxed just a little as he recognized the figure. “False alarm,” he breathed. “It’s just an old man.”

But before Sokka could intervene, Jet growled sharply, and without hesitation, the Freedom Fighters charged forward. The old man stumbled backward, raising trembling hands in a plea for mercy. “Please… I mean no harm,” he begged, voice cracking with fear.

Jet’s eyes flashed with anger. “The Fire Nation shows no mercy. Why should we?”

Sokka stepped forward, placing himself between Jet and the old man. He grabbed Jet’s arm firmly. “Wait! He’s not hurting anyone.”

Jet’s scowl deepened but he relented slightly, barking an order to search the man.

The Freedom Fighters eagerly rifled through the old man’s belongings, tearing at his worn tunic and upending his satchel. Sokka’s heart sank at the sight—this was no soldier, just a weary old man.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Sokka muttered, disgusted. “We’re just robbing him.”

Jet sneered at the sentiment but eventually signalled the group to move on, leaving the old man shaken and alone in the clearing.

Sokka knelt beside him, reaching into his own tunic pocket. He pulled out a few coins, previously given to him by Zuko, and placed them gently into the old man’s rough palm.

“It’s not much,” Sokka said quietly, “but I hope it helps.”

The old man’s eyes softened with gratitude, and for a moment, the forest felt a little less harsh.

Sokka glanced up toward the fading figures of the Freedom Fighters and took a deep breath before running after them, conflicted but determined to stay true to his own sense of justice.

Sokka’s footsteps were heavy and uneven as he returned to the camp, the forest’s morning light barely breaking through the thick canopy above. His face was drawn tight, eyes shadowed with something neither Aang nor Zuko had seen before. The two were sitting quietly by the fire beside Appa, and when they noticed Sokka’s approach, they exchanged a quick, worried glance — something was definitely wrong.

Katara looked up from where she was carefully mending a torn sleeve of her tunic, her expression softening. “Is Jet back?” she asked gently, a small smile playing on her lips as if she hoped for good news.

Sokka’s scoff cut through the fragile calm like a blade. “Yeah. Jet’s back,” he said flatly, dropping his pack beside him and sitting down hard on the ground.

Zuko’s brow furrowed deeply. “What happened?” His voice was steady, but there was a tense edge underneath it.

Sokka ran a hand through his hair, struggling to steady himself. “The Freedom Fighters…” His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. “They found an old man. Just an old man, wandering through the forest. They —” He clenched his fists. “They terrorized him, robbed him blind, and nearly killed him. All because he was Fire Nation.”

At this, both Zuko and Aang looked visibly shaken. Aang’s eyes widened in shock, his hands clenching and unclenching on his knees, while Zuko’s expression darkened into something hard and somber.

Katara’s reaction was different. Her eyes blazed with anger and disbelief. “That can’t be true,” she said, her voice sharp and resolute. “I’m going to hear Jet’s side of the story.”

Without waiting for anyone else to respond, Katara stood and walked away with purposeful strides, determined to confront Jet and the others. Her shoulders were squared, her expression unyielding.

“Jet’s become an extremist,” Zuko said quietly, placing a firm, comforting hand on Sokka’s shoulder. “The war has broken him in ways none of us want to see.”

Sokka let his gaze fall to the ground, the weight of the morning’s events settling heavily on him. “I was scared when I saw him attack that old man. I wondered if I could stop all of them if it came to a fight, but then…” His voice faltered. “Then a more terrifying thought crossed my mind.”

Aang’s eyes dropped to the dirt, his voice soft and guilty. “If only I had been older… if only I’d mastered the elements sooner… Maybe I could have helped stop this, maybe I could have done more in the war.”

Zuko shook his head slowly, resolute. “Aang, none of this is your fault.”

Sokka met Aang’s eyes with a quiet understanding. “Yeah. It’s not your fault.” Then he turned to Zuko, voice low and full of doubt. “But after seeing Jet like that, I couldn’t help but wonder — what if I’d been no different? What if I had never met you or Aang? Would I have become like Jet?”

Aang’s head shook firmly. “No. You’re nothing like him, Sokka.”

Sokka sighed deeply, the sound heavy with exhaustion and thought. “I think I understand him now. The anger, the helplessness after losing his village… it must have shattered him. Made him so furious, so desperate to fight back.” His eyes shifted toward Zuko, memories flashing through his mind. “I remember how I felt when I found out you were Fire Nation. I didn’t know if I could trust you. I was scared. Angry.”

He looked down, then back up, softer this time. “Sometimes I wonder how I would’ve turned out if I’d never met you, or Iroh, or Lu Ten — fire nation royalty who actually fight against the war.”

A sheepish grin crept across his face. “And… I gave the old man every coin I had. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could do.”

Zuko shook his head with a small smile. “You’ve got a big heart, Sokka. That’s something no war can take away.”

Aang nudged him playfully. “I bet you’re pretty happy traveling with royalty now.”

Sokka smirked, arms crossing with mock pride. “Come on — without me, you two would be doomed. One of you would accidentally start a war, and the other would apologize mid-battle. Luckily, you’ve got someone with the brains, the good looks, and the common sense to hold it all together.”

Laughter bubbled up between them, breaking through the heaviness of the morning, a fragile thread of hope in a world still torn by war.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Katara marched through the trees, her footsteps brisk and laced with tension. She found Jet sitting near the edge of a stream, sharpening his hook swords with methodical strokes. He looked up with a grin that faded slightly at the sight of her stormy expression.

“Is it true?” she asked, arms crossed.

Jet raised a brow. “What’s true?”

“Sokka told us about the old man,” Katara said, her voice tight. “How you and the others attacked him. He said the man was just a traveller.”

Jet’s smile disappeared completely. “He was Fire Nation.”

Katara’s eyes narrowed. “Even if he was... he was an old man. He wasn’t hurting anyone.”

Jet’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know what it’s like out here. Fire Nation citizens don’t get a pass just because they’re old. They all play their part.”

She shook her head. “That’s not justice, Jet. That’s cruelty.”

Jet seemed to hesitate for a split second, then pulled something from the satchel beside him — a blade, slender and curved, with the unmistakable red mark of the Fire Nation at the hilt.

“He was an assassin,” Jet said smoothly. “This was on him. My fighters found it when they subdued him.”

Katara’s eyes widened. “Sokka never said anything about a knife.”

Jet stood, tucking the blade back into his bag with care. “Maybe he didn’t notice. He pulled me back right as the man was reaching for it. Your brother saved my life.”

His voice softened, almost wistful. “I owe him.”

Katara hesitated. Her anger began to unravel, tangled now with doubt and confusion. “Sokka… he probably didn’t know. In our village, elders are respected. He must’ve just reacted out of instinct. That’s what we were taught — to protect them, even if we’re scared.”

Jet smiled gently. “That’s a good tradition to have.” Then his expression hardened again. “But the world doesn’t work that way anymore. Not with this war.”

Katara frowned but nodded, unsure of what to believe. “I’ll explain it to Sokka. He’ll understand. You two just… need to talk.”

Jet gave a small nod, eyes dropping back to his blades. “Thanks, Katara.”

She left quietly, still turning his words over in her mind.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back at the camp, Appa’s looming form marked the edge of a lively, if subdued, conversation. Katara slowed her approach as she heard the voices — laughter, the soft crunch of grass underfoot, the familiar cadence of Zuko and Sokka exchanging light banter.

“…so while the kids are off playing in the water,” Sokka said with mock grandeur, “you and I can get some real training done. I’m thinking spears. Or maybe swords. Or spear-swords.”

Zuko snorted. “That’s not a thing.”

“It could be,” Sokka replied, flashing a grin. “Everything’s a thing if you say it with enough confidence.”

Aang’s voice rose in protest. “Waterbending isn’t playing! It’s a serious form of martial art rooted in spiritual discipline!”

“Sure, sure,” Sokka said, waving a hand. “Tell that to the fish you splash every time you mess up.”

Zuko chuckled, and Aang’s mock indignation only grew.

Katara stepped into view, and the three boys turned toward her at once.

Her eyes met Sokka’s first. He straightened slightly, expression open and unreadable.

“I talked to Jet,” she said.

The casual atmosphere dissipated in an instant.

Katara glanced between them before continuing. “He said… the man was Fire Nation. And that he had a weapon. A knife.”

Sokka’s eyes widened, and he took a sharp step forward. “A knife? No. No, I checked the guy myself — there was nothing. He barely even moved when they held him down!”

“Sokka—”

“You’re seriously just… taking Jet’s word for it?” he snapped, voice rising. “Katara, he’s a stranger. You’ve known me your whole life, and you’re believing him over me?”

Katara flinched. “I’m not—”

“You are. You came back here with his story, not mine.” His voice cracked, and he turned away for a second, visibly trying to rein it back in. “I was there. I saw that old man — scared, confused, barely able to stand. And now suddenly he’s an assassin with a hidden blade?”

Zuko shifted but said nothing. Aang looked between the siblings, uncertain whether to speak.

Sokka turned back, quieter now but no less intense. “You didn’t see Jet’s face when he went after that man. That wasn’t self-defense. That was... something else.”

Katara hesitated. “He said you saved his life.”

“Maybe I saved that old man’s life,” Sokka muttered.

Katara’s expression wavered, the certainty she’d brought back from her talk with Jet starting to slip.

“I just…” she said softly. “I didn’t want to believe Jet would lie to me.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Sokka exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t want to believe it either.”

Sokka turned on his heel, fists clenched. “I’m done. I’ll pack my stuff. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back at all.”

“Seriously?” Katara called after him, exasperated. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

But Sokka didn’t respond. His footsteps faded into the brush.

Katara huffed and turned to Aang. “Can you talk some sense into him?”

Aang looked at her for a moment, then quietly shook his head. “I… I can’t, Katara. As a monk, I was taught never to trust one person’s word over another’s without knowing the full truth.”

Katara’s brow furrowed, clearly unimpressed.

“But…” Aang continued, glancing in the direction Sokka had gone, “as a friend — and as Zuko’s little brother — I’d trust my brother's word, and Sokka’s, over some stranger’s. And maybe… you should trust your own brother too.”

Katara recoiled, eyes flashing. “Oh, so you’re all against him now?”

Aang frowned. “That’s not what I—”

“You’re all being mean. You’re just jealous of Jet!”

“Jealous?” Aang blinked. “Why would we be—?”

“I am not jealous!” Sokka’s voice rang out from nearby, heavy with disbelief and annoyance. “What would I even be jealous of?”

Katara turned, furious. “Of someone actually doing something about this war! Jet is out there, fighting back, making a difference! Unlike you three — sitting around, hiding in the woods, pretending that matters!”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Her eyes brimmed with frustration, and she stormed off, disappearing into the trees in the opposite direction.

A heavy silence settled over the clearing.

Aang stared at the ground, guilt written all over his face. “I wish there was a way to know what really happened. Then she’d believe us.”

Zuko, arms crossed, looked toward the path Katara had taken. “There is.”

Sokka, still fuming but curious, turned back toward him. “How?”

Zuko smirked faintly, raising a brow. “Did you forget who I am?”

Sokka blinked, unimpressed. “Uh… a guy who broods too much?”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “I meant that I’m Zuko. As in, prince of the Fire Nation. If that old man was Fire Nation, he’d recognize me. And if he’s not, he won’t.”

Sokka tilted his head. “Okay, sure, but… if he was some assassin, and you’re technically exiled, wouldn’t that make you a target too? Why would he admit anything to you?”

Zuko didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned his gaze to Aang, a subtle look passing between them.

Sokka squinted. “Okay… what was that?”

Aang gave a tired sigh. “I told Zuko a while ago that he should tell you and Katara. About… that.”

“That?” Sokka crossed his arms. “What that?”

Zuko sat across from Sokka near the small campfire they’d built, the soft crackling of flames the only sound between them for a long moment. The sky above was starting to darken, painted in hues of purple and amber. Appa rested in the distance, while Aang lingered nearby, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. Katara was still gone.

Zuko exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Sokka, before I say anything, I need you to promise me something.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes. “What kind of something?”

“Promise you won’t shout. Or—at least—try not to shout.”

Sokka frowned, gaze shifting from Zuko to Aang, who now stared at the ground like a guilty child. The suspicion in his eyes only deepened. “What did you do?”

Chapter Text

Zuko swallowed hard. “I’ve… I’ve been writing letters.”

Sokka blinked. “Okay. To who?”

Zuko met his gaze evenly. “To my father.”

Sokka’s eyes widened instantly, but he lowered his voice to a cautious whisper, glancing nervously around to make sure the freedom fighters nearby wouldn’t overhear. “Your father?” he hissed. “You mean—the Fire Lord? The same man who started this war less than a year ago?”

Zuko winced and nodded. “Exactly. That’s why I needed you to promise not to shout.”

Sokka’s gaze flicked to Aang. “Did you know about this?”

Aang gave a small, guilty nod. “I did. But… he’s doing it for a good reason.”

Sokka ran a hand over his face, still whispering. “There’s a good reason for secretly sending letters to the man who’s trying to conquer the world right now?!”

Zuko leaned forward. “Let me explain.”

Sokka didn’t say anything, but he didn’t storm off either. Given everything that had happened earlier that day, he felt like he owed Zuko a chance. So he stayed still, jaw tight, arms crossed, eyes guarded. “I’m listening.”

“When I was first exiled,” Zuko began slowly, “my father told me I could only return home if I captured the Avatar. He made it sound like my honour depended on it — that I was worthless until I completed this mission.”

Aang looked down, visibly uncomfortable. Sokka’s face remained impassive, though his grip on his own sleeve tightened.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Zuko continued. “I didn’t even really understand what I was doing half the time. My uncle eventually brought me to the Southern Air Temple — he told me he had friends there who could take care of me. That’s when I found out my mother was still alive. And when I met Aang.”

Sokka gave a slow nod. That much he remembered.

“I was angry and confused at first,” Zuko admitted, voice low. “But slowly, I started to bond with Aang. There was one time when he took me on a flight with Appa. As we soared above the water, I saw Fire Nation ships moving in formation below. That’s when it hit me — my father’s plan to make the world remember the Fire Nation’s greatness.”

Zuko’s expression darkened. “I went back and warned the air nomads. I told them I was suspicious the Fire Nation was going to attack. It was the only way I could protect them.”

“That attack…” Aang said softly. “It was meant to wipe out all of the Air Nomads. If Zuko hadn’t warned us, we wouldn’t have made it.”

Sokka let out a dry, bitter chuckle. “A warning would’ve been nice for the rest of us too.”

Zuko looked down, tracing the edge of his scar with a slow motion of his hand. “I was only invited once to what I now realize was a war meeting—and that meeting didn’t go well.” He glanced up briefly, the memory sharp in his eyes. “My father was preaching about how the Avatar was keeping our nation on a leash. Honestly, the only concrete plan I knew of at the time was the attack on the Air Nomads—because everyone knew the next Avatar would be an airbender.”

Sokka nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of Zuko’s words. “After what happened at the Air Temple, it makes a strange kind of sense that the Fire Nation attacked the Water Tribe too. If they had killed Aang back then, the next Avatar would have been born into the Water Tribe.”

Aang’s face went pale, and his voice dropped. “I never thought about it like that… If I had died then, all of this—everything—would’ve been different. I wouldn’t be here, and the war might have gotten worse.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “The idea that the Fire Nation wanted to wipe out the Avatar before he even had a chance… it’s horrible. I was furious when I realized what my father was planning. That’s why I warned the Air Nomads—because if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. I can’t imagine what would have happened if the Fire Nation had succeeded then.”

He paused, taking a shaky breath as if gathering strength. “My father… he talked like the world was mocking the Fire Nation. Like everyone else had to be taught a lesson. He said the Avatar was the only thing stopping our rise to power.”

“Typical tyrant logic,” Sokka muttered.

Zuko nodded. “And when I disagreed—when I spoke out—he burned me for it.”

Silence fell again, thick with tension.

“Okay,” Sokka finally said. “So what does all that have to do with you writing to him now?”

Zuko hesitated, then admitted, “He still thinks I’m hunting the Avatar.”

Sokka’s eyebrows shot up again. “Seriously?”

Zuko gave a weary nod.

Sokka let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re telling me the great Fire Lord Ozai still thinks you’re chasing Aang around the world?” He turned to Aang with a grin. “Man, if he only knew how many times Zuko’s caught you already.”

Aang snorted with laughter. “That’s true. He grabs me like a mischievous cat that won’t stop running.”

Zuko chuckled despite himself. “More like a kitten.”

Aang frowned, crossing his arms. “Hey! Is that a jab at my age or my height?”

Sokka laughed, shaking his head. “Definitely both.”

Zuko chuckled quietly, while Aang pouted, clearly not winning this round.

Sokka shook his head, still grinning. “Can’t believe it. Fire Lord must think you’re the most incompetent hunter in the Fire Nation.”

Zuko’s smile faded as the humour passed. “But it’s part of the plan. I send him letters—half-truths, really. I write about places we’ve already left. Or places we thought of going, but never did. That way, if he checks up on the rumours, they’ll mostly line up. He’ll think I’m still trying.”

Sokka’s grin faded too, now fully engaged. “That’s… actually smart.”

Zuko looked a little surprised. “You think so?”

Sokka nodded slowly. “If he checks and hears the Avatar really was seen there — even if it was weeks ago — it’ll seem believable. And if you throw in a few fake leads, it’ll waste his time.”

“That’s the idea.”

“So you’re… misleading him on purpose?”

Zuko nodded. “Exactly.”

Sokka paused. “Why?”

Aang leaned forward. “Zuko thought his father might send someone after me — or after all of us. He figured if his dad still believed he was on the hunt, it would buy us time. Maybe even protect us.”

Sokka’s eyes widened slightly. “So the whole thing… the letters… you’re trying to keep him off our trail?”

Zuko nodded again. “I can delay him. Misdirect him.”

Sokka looked at him for a long moment, then finally said, “You really are terrible at being evil.”

Zuko gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ve been told.”

A moment passed. Then Sokka stood up, brushing dirt off his pants.

Zuko looked up at him. “Where are you going?”

Sokka turned with a smirk. “Well, if we’re going to lie to the Fire Lord and mislead a global empire, we might as well get moving. Let’s go, Prince Zuko. Off to the Fire Nation-invaded village to find ourselves an old man.”

Zuko blinked. “Wait—so you’re okay with all this?”

Sokka looked back over his shoulder. “Let’s just say… I’m choosing to trust you. And honestly? That’s a lot more terrifying than yelling.”

Zuko chuckled, a mix of relief and surprise. Aang grinned and hurried after them.

As the laughter faded and the mood settled, Sokka stood and rubbed the back of his neck. “I should probably go find Katara,” he said. “She’s going to want to hear all of this too. Might save me a few bruises later.”

Zuko nodded. “Good idea. We can take this chance to quietly leave the Freedom Fighters. Now’s probably our best shot.”

“Alright,” Sokka said, already stepping toward the path. “I’ll be quick. Start packing what we need.”

He jogged off toward the cluster of huts, leaving Aang and Zuko behind to gather their belongings. The camp was quiet, with most of the Freedom Fighters either patrolling or working on various tasks. It gave the two boys a rare moment of peace to collect their gear in relative silence.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Meanwhile, tucked away in one of the huts near the edge of the camp, Katara was seated cross-legged on the floor, arms folded. Jet stood across from her, relaxed and charming as ever.

“I’m just saying,” Katara said with a frustrated sigh, pacing a few steps before turning back toward Jet. “Sokka can be so... stubborn. He doesn’t listen, he just decides he’s right.”

Jet leaned against the doorway of the hut, arms crossed but posture casual. “He’s your brother. It’s his job to be stubborn. Especially when someone’s getting close to his little sister.”

Katara shot him a look, but Jet was smiling, disarmingly.

“I mean it,” he said, stepping forward. “He’s trying to protect you. But protection doesn’t mean isolation. You’re more than capable of making your own decisions. And you’ve already proven you’re someone worth trusting.”

Her expression softened slightly, caught off guard. “Well... thank you. That means a lot.”

Jet’s tone dropped a little, more sincere now. “No. I mean it. You’re not just a great bender—you care. You’ve seen what the Fire Nation has done. You’ve felt it. And you still keep fighting for people.”

Katara looked down, her thumb brushing her knuckles absently. “I’ve seen the aftermath, yeah. Once, we found a village. It was surrounded by a forest, but... everything was burned. The trees were just stumps. The air smelled like smoke, even though the fire was long gone. I remember wondering—why would anyone do that?”

Jet’s gaze sharpened. “That’s exactly it. That’s what they do when they’re desperate. When they don’t find what they want, they destroy everything around it anyway. I’ve seen it, too. And now... they’re planning to do it again.”

Katara’s head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

Jet took a deep breath, stepping closer again, dropping his voice like he was confiding something dangerous. “The Fire Nation is preparing to burn this forest. All of it. Just to flush us out. They’re done playing games. They want to send a message.”

He waited a beat, letting the words sink in. Then, softly, “That message always costs innocent lives.”

Katara hesitated. “That’s... that’s awful. But how do you know?”

“I have my ways,” Jet replied smoothly. “Scouts. Contacts. People on the inside. I don’t always tell the others—we don’t want panic. But you… I know I can trust you.”

She looked uncertain. “But Sokka—”

“Will keep seeing me as a threat no matter what I do,” Jet cut in gently. “Because he’s afraid of what you might choose. Afraid that you’ll decide for yourself who you believe in.”

He stepped a little closer. “Katara, you’ve helped so many people. You’re one of the strongest benders I’ve ever met. If we work together, we could stop this. We could save this forest. These kids. The villagers nearby. We don’t have time to wait for someone else to do it.”

Katara glanced away, biting her lip. “I don’t know…”

“You do,” Jet said, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve already made up your mind—you just don’t want to hurt your brother. But helping me doesn’t mean betraying him. It means doing what you know is right.”

She was quiet for a long moment.

Then finally, with a reluctant breath: “Okay. I’ll help.”

Jet smiled, warm and reassuring, like he’d never doubted her for a second. “I knew you would.”

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Sokka moved quickly but quietly through the underbrush, eyes scanning the clearing ahead. The camp was unusually quiet, and Katara was nowhere in sight. He’d expected to find her talking to Jet again—much to his annoyance—but instead, he spotted something strange.

A group of the younger Freedom Fighters, including The Duke, were struggling to carry wooden crates across the clearing. Sokka narrowed his eyes. The crates looked familiar—thick wood, reinforced corners, and stencilled black symbols.

Fire Nation crates.

His stomach dropped.

‘Those are the same crates we found in the enemy’s supply tent…’

He crouched lower behind a patch of tall ferns, heart thudding as he watched the children shuffle deeper into the trees with their cargo. Sokka hesitated for a second, then silently followed them.

The forest thickened around him as they moved further from camp. The sound of rushing water grew louder, and soon the terrain sloped downward. Sokka peered out from behind a tree and froze.

Up ahead was a wide stone dam stretching across the narrowest bend of a river. The water behind it surged and swirled, growing higher with every passing minute. And near its base, the Freedom Fighters were unloading the crates—stacking them neatly, methodically, just beneath the dam's support structures.

Sokka crept closer, just enough to see clearly. His eyes widened as Jet strode into view.

Jet’s confident voice rang out across the clearing, addressing his gathered fighters. “Don’t touch the fuse until I give the signal. We wait.”

A few confused glances passed between the kids.

Jet pointed to the river behind him. “The water needs to rise high enough. If we blow it too early, some of the Fire Nation might survive the flood. We can’t risk that.”

The Duke, sweating from having just hauled a heavy crate, jumped down from a boulder and frowned. “But won’t the whole village get flooded too? There’s people living down there.”

Jet looked down at him and answered without hesitation. “That’s the price of war.”

A hush fell over the group.

Jet’s tone turned passionate, his arms lifting in dramatic gesture. “You’ve all seen what they’ve done—how they took our homes, our families, our peace. We strike now, and we strike hard. That village is a Fire Nation stronghold. Destroy the dam, and we destroy their supply line into the Earth Kingdom. We cripple them.”

The Freedom Fighters shifted uncertainly. Jet walked among them, voice steady but full of fire.

“You want to make sure what happened to our homes doesn’t happen to anyone else? Think about the villages beyond this forest. Think about the people out there—just like us. If we stop them here, we save lives. Not just today, but tomorrow. Next week. Next year.”

He stopped in the centre of the group. “This isn’t destruction. It’s justice.”

A murmur of agreement swept through the ranks. Some nodded. Others clenched their fists.

Sokka’s blood ran cold.

‘ They’re really going to do it. They’re going to flood the entire valley. The village—innocent people—they’ll all be killed. ’

He took a slow step back, intending to slip away and warn the others. But just as he turned—

A shadow moved behind him.

A massive hand clamped onto his arm.

“Hey there, snooper.”

Sokka jerked around to find himself face-to-face with Pipsqueak. Despite the nickname, the boy was built like a wall. And worse, he was smiling—not kindly, but with cruel satisfaction.

“Let go of me!” Sokka struggled, but Pipsqueak’s grip tightened.

Before he could shout again, a whisper of motion came from behind.

Smellerbee stepped out of the shadows, silent as a snake.

A glint of metal caught Sokka’s eye.

She held a knife, and before he could react, she pressed it gently—but purposefully—against his throat.

Sokka froze.

The blade was old, worn—but the hilt had a distinctive curved engraving.

His eyes widened in horror.

Unknown to Sokka, it was the same knife Jet had shown Katara earlier — the one he claimed belonged to the so-called assassin from the village.

Smellerbee’s voice was low and cold in his ear. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Before Sokka could even fully process what he was seeing, Pipsqueak and Smellerbee closed in with lightning speed. Their hands shot out, grabbing him firmly by the arms and twisting to immobilize him. Sokka twisted and struggled, swinging fists and kicking out with everything he had, but Pipsqueak’s grip was ironclad—stronger and faster than he expected. Despite his best efforts, he was held fast, unable to break free.

Jet stepped forward from the shadows, his face lit by a smug, almost triumphant smile that made Sokka’s blood boil. His voice was smooth, almost soothing, but underneath was a razor-sharp edge. “I’m glad you’ve finally seen sense, Sokka. Decided to join us where it counts,” he said, his tone dripping with false warmth and condescension.

Sokka glared fiercely back at him, refusing to be intimidated. “Join you? How could you even think that? There are innocent people living in that village you’re planning to drown—parents, children, old men. You can’t just destroy their homes like they mean nothing!”

Jet’s smile faltered for just a heartbeat, then hardened into something colder. “War doesn’t make room for innocence, Sokka. If we want to win, sacrifices have to be made. It’s harsh, but it’s the truth.” His eyes locked onto Sokka’s with unnerving calmness.

Sokka’s chest heaved with anger. His voice dropped to a fierce whisper. “Where is Katara right now? What’s she doing while you’re planning this madness?”

Jet let out a low, dark chuckle. “Katara understands more than you think. Unlike you, she knows what war really means and what it demands. She’s helping me fill the dam with water—she’s on our side.”

The words hit Sokka like a blow to the stomach. Shock twisted inside him, but he fought to keep his voice steady. “No. Katara would never agree to this. You lied to her. You didn’t tell her that when the dam bursts, it’ll flood the entire village. You kept the truth from her.”

Jet shook his head slowly, his voice soft but filled with cold finality. “You don’t understand, Sokka. You never did.”

Sokka’s eyes burned as he pointed accusingly. “Oh, I understand you perfectly. You’re ruthless, Jet. You’ll stop at nothing to get what you want—even if that means sacrificing innocent lives without a second thought.”

Jet sighed, a hint of genuine disappointment in his tone. “I thought maybe you’d have an open mind. That you’d see the bigger picture. But you’re still blinded by your stubbornness.”

Before Sokka could respond, Jet, Pipsqueak, and Smellerbee moved in perfect coordination, tightening their grip and dragging him backward. Sokka fought hard, but they were too strong. Panic and frustration surged through him.

Jet’s voice turned icy, leaving no room for argument. “I can’t let you interfere with what needs to happen. We don’t have time for distractions—you and your friends will be dealt with when we get back to the hideout.”

“Take him for a long walk,” Jet ordered coldly.

Sokka’s voice rang out, raw and desperate, “You can’t do this! You can’t just—”

Jet cut him off with a victorious shout, his grin widening like a predator’s. “Today, the freedom fighters claim a glorious victory! And nothing, not even you, will stand in our way.”

Chapter Text

Back in the dimly lit hideout, Zuko’s instincts prickled with unease. The air felt heavier than usual, and his eyes flicked toward the familiar figure hanging upside down from Appa’s massive horn. Aang was lazily swinging back and forth, grinning widely, clearly amused by his own antics.

“Come on, Appa,” Aang teased, nudging the sky bison’s ear. “You can’t be that tired already, buddy.” Appa let out a long, low groan that sounded half exasperated, half affectionate.

Nearby, Momo sat on a crate, tilting his head curiously at Aang’s rapid chatter. The little lemur’s big eyes blinked slowly, absorbing the energy of his friends.

Zuko’s eyes were heavy with concern as he approached Aang, who was still lounging upside down from Appa’s horn, a grin playing on his face. Zuko’s voice was low but firm. “Aang, I think it’s best if you take Appa and leave the hideout for a while.”

Aang immediately shook his head, sitting upright. “I’m not leaving everyone else here. What about you? What about Sokka? And Katara?”

Zuko’s expression darkened. “Sokka’s been gone too long. I don’t like it.”

Aang’s carefree smile vanished, replaced by genuine worry. “Do you think something happened to him?”

Zuko shook his head, trying to keep calm. “I’m going to find him. But you need to take to the skies—take Appa and Momo somewhere safe.”

Aang frowned, stepping closer. “I want to come with you.”

Zuko gently placed a hand on Appa’s massive head, sighing. “If you come, we’ll have to leave Appa and maybe Momo behind. That would be too dangerous.”

Aang’s eyes flickered with hesitation, his protective instincts battling with Zuko’s logic. “I don’t want to leave them alone.”

Zuko’s voice softened but remained steady. “I have a bad feeling about those freedom fighters. I can’t risk Appa and Momo being here if things go wrong.”

Aang’s lips pressed together, the weight of the decision settling on him. After a moment, he nodded slowly, the determination returning. “Alright. I’ll take Momo and leave with Appa.”

He glanced up at Zuko, worry still shadowing his bright eyes. “What about the Fire Nation base? Won’t they catch us?”

Zuko met his gaze steadily. “The Fire Nation camp is on the far side of the forest, well away from where you’ll be flying. Stick close to the treetops, and you should be safe.”

Aang’s eyes brightened with a flicker of confidence. “I’ll keep Appa low and hidden. Only fly higher if we’re attacked. You can count on me.”

Zuko nodded approvingly, then turned toward the exit, ready to face whatever waited for Sokka. Just before stepping out into the shadows, Aang called after him, his voice urgent but calm.

“Zuko! Wait.” He reached into his pouch and pulled out the bison whistle, tossing it to his brother. “If things get bad, blow this. Appa will hear it, I promise.”

Zuko caught the whistle, feeling its weight in his hand. A flicker of gratitude softened his usually stern expression. He pulled his hood over his head and slipped away quietly, moving like a shadow through the fading light.

Aang climbed onto Appa’s broad back, Momo clinging to his shoulder. “Yip yip!” he called, and with a powerful leap, the great sky bison lifted gently, weaving smoothly through the treetops. The forest canopy stretched out around them as they moved swiftly and quietly, ready to stay one step ahead of danger.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Sokka stumbled forward, his arms still bound tightly as Pipsqueak and Smellerbee dragged him through the dense underbrush. Twigs snapped beneath their boots, and leaves slapped against their faces as they pressed deeper into the forest.

Suddenly, a flash of silver tore through the air.

A dagger sliced cleanly across Pipsqueak’s cheek, drawing a sharp line of red.

“Ah!” he shouted, reeling back.

Smellerbee gasped, instantly releasing her grip on Sokka’s arm as both of them dropped into defensive stances, eyes darting toward the shadows.

Sokka tumbled to the ground with a hard, painful thud, dirt grinding into his elbows and knees. He winced, rolling onto his side with a groan as the breath wheezed out of his lungs. For a moment, he just lay there, disoriented, the muffled sounds of the forest pressing in around him.

Then he heard it—Pipsqueak cursing, Smellerbee calling out, both of them spinning in search of an unseen attacker.

Someone had thrown that blade. Someone fast. Someone precise.

Sokka’s heart pounded as he forced himself upright. His eyes flicked toward the direction the dagger had come from, then to Pipsqueak’s bleeding cheek. He swallowed hard. If whoever had thrown that knife had meant to kill, they easily could have. But they hadn’t.

That didn’t make him feel safer.

Was it a bounty hunter? A soldier? Had the Fire Nation caught up to them?

His gaze landed on the knife—half-buried in the trunk of a nearby tree, its hilt still vibrating from the impact. The design was unmistakable. The curved guard. The dark grip. A sharp breath escaped him.

He knew that knife.

Recognition surged like a jolt through his chest. Relief followed right on its heels.

That was Zuko’s knife.

He exhaled, a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh slipping past his lips. Of course. He’d seen that knife enough times, heard Zuko talk about how it had been a gift from his uncle—Iroh, the same one who always seemed two steps ahead of the world.

Sokka leaned back against the base of the tree, letting the tension bleed from his shoulders.

Zuko was here.

The brush rustled—and then Zuko emerged from the trees in one smooth motion, twin dao swords glinting as he drew them without a word. His golden gaze swept over the two Freedom Fighters with icy calm.

Zuko stormed into the clearing, twin dao swords flashing as he stepped between Sokka and his captors. His voice was sharp, loud, and full of fire.

“Back off before you get hurt,” he growled. “I’ve dealt with tougher enemies than a couple of street kids playing soldier.”

His glare flicked between them beneath the hood. “Touch him again, and I’ll make you regret ever stepping into this forest.”

Sokka let out a dry snort as he began crawling slowly toward the embedded knife. “Must run in the family,” he muttered under his breath, recalling how Lu Ten had told off the pirates just like that not long ago—with the same quiet authority that dared someone to make a move.

But Pipsqueak didn’t appreciate the warning. Clutching his bleeding cheek, he roared and charged straight at Zuko with surprising speed for someone his size.

Zuko met the rush calmly, stepping aside at the last moment. He planted a foot behind Pipsqueak’s ankle and used the boy’s momentum against him, sending him crashing to the forest floor.

Zuko glanced down, exhaling through his nose. “They're not soldiers,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Just angry kids with no training.”

But Smellerbee wasn’t about to back down. With a fierce yell, she lunged at him with her knife. Zuko pivoted, catching her wrist with one blade and parrying the blow with the other. She twisted, trying to slash again, but he turned with her, redirecting the force harmlessly past him.

Pipsqueak scrambled back to his feet, furious and wild-eyed. Now the two of them came at Zuko together.

Blades clashed and bodies moved fast and low among the trees. Zuko flowed like water, deflecting each strike, ducking low beneath Pipsqueak’s heavy swings and pivoting just in time to block Smellerbee’s quick, darting jabs. He didn’t press the attack—he didn’t need to. His movements were precise, deliberate, meant to wear them down without causing real harm.

And it worked. Within minutes, both Freedom Fighters lay groaning on the forest floor, winded and disarmed. Zuko stood over them, breathing steady, swords still at the ready in case they tried to get up again.

Sokka approached, wiping dirt from his tunic and stretching his sore arms now that his restraints had been cut. He eyed Zuko, then the unconscious duo on the ground.

“Okay,” he said, deadpan. “You seriously have to teach me how to do that.”

Zuko allowed himself a faint smirk, slipping his swords back into their sheaths. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Sokka dusted himself off, wincing as he straightened.

“Okay, so… dragged through the woods by angry kids, nearly stabbed, and tossed like a sack of flour.”

He glanced around at the chaos and added dryly:

“Definitely not how I pictured my day going when I woke up. I was thinking maybe breakfast. A nap.”

Then he looked at Zuko with a crooked grin.

“But hey, still standing—so that’s gotta count for something.”

He motioned to the defeated fighters.

“And seriously, you’ve gotta teach me that sword-twirly flip thing. Might come in handy the next time someone decides to reenact my worst day ever.”

Zuko chuckled softly, and together, the two turned and slipped back into the trees—leaving the defeated Freedom Fighters behind as they disappeared into the forest. 

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Katara stood at the riverbank, water sloshing at her boots as she focused her breathing. The underground stream wasn’t easy to reach—it was hidden deep beneath layers of packed soil and stone—but Jet had said this was the only way. He told her the Fire Nation was planning to burn down the valley village, and that the dam needed to be filled to stop them. It had sounded urgent. Desperate, even.

She took another step forward, squinting down at the soft churn of mud where the river curved into a low embankment. Her hands rose in practiced rhythm, circling slowly, drawing moisture from the depths.

The water resisted her at first—stubborn and sluggish, like it didn’t want to be disturbed. Katara gritted her teeth. “Come on…” she murmured.

Gradually, the stream began to respond. A thin trickle broke through the surface, winding up in a graceful arc and then falling into the makeshift trench. Encouraged, she kept going. The flow thickened with each pass of her arms, her connection growing stronger. Waterbending was never easy when it came to things like this—precision, not power—but she was getting the hang of it now.

Jet watched her work in silence, arms crossed. When she paused for breath, he spoke.

“I’m going to go talk to Sokka again.”

Katara straightened. “You don’t have to,” she said, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.

Jet smirked. “Maybe not. But maybe your brother just doesn’t like seeing his little sister around another man.”

Katara blinked, a blush creeping to her cheeks. “Sokka’s… fine with Zuko,” she said quickly. “He’s a man.”

Jet raised an eyebrow. “Sure. But Zuko’s different. Sokka probably sees him as a fellow big brother. Not a threat.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. “Thanks,” she said instead. “For… being thoughtful.”

Jet gave a small, almost charming shrug. “I try.”

Then he disappeared into the trees, boots soundless on the forest floor.

Left alone, Katara returned to the streams, coaxing them upward one by one. It was delicate work. Each underground pocket needed to be tapped, drawn out, and redirected toward the dam. She lost track of time in the rhythm—bend, draw, guide, release.

Her mind wandered.

This would’ve gone faster if Aang were here. With both of them waterbending, they could’ve cleared these underground streams in half the time. She moved her arms in a steady motion, guiding the stubborn flow through compacted earth. Aang would’ve made it fun, too—laughing, improvising, probably showing off a little.

But he’d stayed behind. He had to. She knew that. If anyone saw him bending water… it wouldn’t take long before they figured it out. That he wasn’t just an airbender.

He was the Avatar.

They were trying to keep that hidden. For his safety. For all their safety.

Still, she couldn’t help frowning, thinking back to how Aang always seemed tense around Jet. He hadn’t said anything specific, but it was clear he didn’t trust him—just like Sokka. That quiet unease in Aang’s eyes whenever Jet was nearby… it had to mean something.

But Aang didn’t dislike people. That wasn’t in him. He was too kind, too hopeful. The way he acted around Jet… that had to be worry about Zuko. Or about being discovered.

Right?

She shook her head, refocusing. “Almost done,” she whispered, sweat beading along her temple.

When the final stream surged into the trench and merged with the rest of the collected water, she couldn’t help but grin. She stood back, letting her arms fall to her sides, chest heaving with satisfaction.

“Finished,” she announced to no one.

The excitement bubbled in her chest. Jet would be pleased. Maybe even surprised. She’d finished faster than expected. Beaming, she took off into the trees, weaving through the undergrowth with light steps.

Chapter Text

The trail sloped upward, narrowing into an overlook. Katara jogged the last few feet and pushed through the last curtain of leaves—then paused, her breath catching.

Below her, the dam loomed—sturdy, solid, now filled almost to the brim with the water she’d summoned. Her work. She felt a flicker of pride, of real accomplishment.

But the feeling vanished as her eyes narrowed.

Down by the dam, several of the Freedom Fighters were moving crates. Wooden, clunky ones—some marked with faded Fire Nation lettering. Her stomach twisted. She recognized those crates from that first encounter, when the Freedom Fighters had ambushed a Fire Nation camp. They’d raided the supplies after the skirmish.

Those were filled with blasting jelly and fuses.

“What…?” she whispered, stepping closer to the edge of the cliff.

Her gaze flicked from one fighter to another as they set the crates along the dam’s base.

“No,” she said quietly, head shaking. “Jet’s not… He wouldn’t…”

But her eyes trailed beyond the dam, to the gentle slope of the valley. And at its heart—quiet, unsuspecting—was a village. Smoke from chimneys rose in lazy spirals. Children most likely played near the fields. Women were most likely hanging laundry on lines. Families. Lives.

Katara’s knees went weak.

“No,” she said again, firmer this time. “He told me the Fire Nation wanted to burn it. He said we were saving them.”

But the crates…

She swallowed hard.

Jet was planning to destroy the dam. With the explosives. And if he did—if the dam burst—all that water would come rushing down. Straight toward that village.

He lied.

Her hands clenched at her sides, trembling with fear and disbelief. But some part of her still fought it. Still clung to the idea of who Jet was supposed to be.

“He wouldn’t hurt innocent people,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “He wouldn’t.”

But doubt had already taken root—and it was growing fast.

“You’re wrong,” said a voice behind her.

Katara spun around, startled—Jet stepped out from the trees, arms crossed, eyes shadowed beneath his headband.

“I would do it,” he said, his voice low and unflinching. “I’d flood that valley if it meant stopping the Fire Nation.”

Katara’s heart sank. “Jet…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “There are people in that village. Families. Children. They’re not soldiers—they’re just trying to live their lives.”

Jet’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t waver. “That’s exactly what my village was doing,” he said, stepping closer, voice sharp. “Living in peace. Minding our own business. And then the Fire Nation came.” His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t even a year ago. They marched in, burned everything, and left nothing but ashes. I saw it all. I lost everyone.”

Katara shook her head, tears threatening. “But that village… those people didn’t do that. They’re not your enemy.”

“I thought you’d understand,” Jet said bitterly. “After what they did to your mom. After what they’ve taken from all of us. I thought you were different.”

Her tears finally spilled over. “I do understand. I live with that pain every day. But revenge—this kind of revenge—it doesn’t fix anything! It just creates more hurt.”

Jet’s expression twisted into something unreadable. “You’re just like your brother.”

Katara’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Sokka?”

Jet smirked. “He went for a walk.”

“What kind of walk?” she demanded, stepping forward, anger replacing the pain in her voice.

“A long one,” Jet said, casually resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

That was it. That look in his eyes. That tone. He was playing games with people’s lives.

Without hesitation, Katara pulled the cork from her water skin and sent a sharp blast of water toward him. Jet dodged, flipping back with practiced agility.

“I’m sorry, Katara,” he said, drawing his hooked blades. “But I can’t let you stop me.”

Katara narrowed her eyes, drawing the water around her in a defensive stance. “I’m not letting you hurt innocent people.”

Jet lunged, and steel met water. Katara spun, sending a slicing whip toward him, but he parried it, moving with speed and precision. Their fight surged through the trees—water crashing, blades clashing, tension thick in the air.

And then, a sudden gust of wind knocked Jet back, sending leaves spiralling.

Katara looked up in shock—Aang landed beside her, eyes wide but focused, staff in hand.

“Jet,” he said firmly, “this ends now.”

Katara’s relief hit like a wave. “Aang,” she breathed. “You came.”

“I was worried about you,” he said, not taking his eyes off Jet. “I told Appa to stay low, like Zuko said, and came to find you.”

She nodded quickly. “Did you see Sokka?”

“No, but Zuko went after him. He’ll make sure he’s okay.”

That was enough for now. Katara pointed toward the dam. “Jet’s going to blow up the dam—there’s a village downriver!”

Aang’s gaze snapped to the distant ridge. His face paled as understanding hit. “What? But that would—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Jet lunged, knocking the glider clean out of Aang’s hands with a well-placed kick. It clattered into the bushes. Jet caught it before it hit the ground and snapped the latch that unfurled the wings—then tossed it into the brush with a smug twist of his lips.

“No flying away this time,” he said, drawing his hook swords. “If you want to stop me, you’ll have to fight me.”

Aang hesitated, eyes flicking toward the discarded staff—then turned and sprinted into the forest. Jet gave chase instantly, blades gleaming in the afternoon light.

They vanished into the trees, the clash of pursuit echoing behind them.

Aang darted between trunks, using every ounce of agility he had. He vaulted over roots, ricocheted off branches, twisted through gaps no one else could have fit through. Jet, heavier but skilled and used to the terrain, kept pace with grim determination.

He caught up on a slope, slashing for Aang’s legs. Aang kicked off a nearby tree and flipped mid-air, landing behind Jet in a gust of wind. He countered with a swirling vortex of leaves and dust, momentarily blinding his opponent. Jet slashed wildly, stepping back into a defensive stance.

The forest became a blur of motion—Aang striking with focused bursts of air, Jet dodging and retaliating with steel arcs. Aang tried to pin Jet by knocking down branches, but Jet rolled clear each time, always coming back harder.

Aang climbed into the canopy, seeking height and space. Jet followed, as relentless as ever.

High above the ground, they faced off on a thick tree limb. Aang’s chest rose and fell quickly, his hands ready. Jet’s swords gleamed in the light cutting through the leaves.

“You’re fast,” Jet panted, eyes narrowing. “But not fast enough.”

“You don’t have to do this!” Aang called out. “You’ll kill innocent people!”

Jet scoffed. “The Fire Nation doesn’t have innocents.”

“They’re not all Fire Nation! There are families down there!”

Jet faltered—just a flicker—but it was enough.

The branch beneath them cracked.

With a sickening snap, it gave way.

They fell—leaves, bark, splinters, and all. Jet reached for a branch, missed. Aang tried to summon air to cushion the fall, but without his glider, he couldn’t slow himself fast enough.

They hit the ground hard, tumbling apart through the underbrush.

For a moment, everything was still—then a groan from Jet, a pained breath from Aang.

In the distance, Katara’s voice rang out, calling Aang’s name.

But Aang could barely move.

The dam. The village.

He had to get up. He had to stop it.

Now.

While Aang struggled to push himself upright, groaning from the pain of the fall, Jet was already back on his feet. He rolled his shoulder, cracked his neck, and turned toward Aang, sword at the ready.

But before he could make a move, a torrent of water slammed into him from the side.

Katara stepped out from the trees, hands raised, fury blazing in her eyes. Another surge of water rose from the nearby river, crashing into Jet and pinning him to a tree. Before he could shake it off, Katara twisted her arms, and the water hardened into ice—sealing him there, frozen from the shoulders down.

Jet hissed through his teeth and glared at her.

“How could you?” Katara’s voice trembled—not with fear, but heartbreak. “I trusted you!”

Jet didn’t answer. His smirk returned instead.

“You lied to me,” she said, stepping closer. “You told me this was to protect people—but you were planning this from the start, weren’t you? You used me.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jet said, tilting his head. “I thought you might understand. Guess I was wrong.”

Then he puckered his lips and let out a long, birdlike whistle.

Katara flinched. Aang’s eyes widened. “Wait—was that a signal?”

Jet’s grin widened, smug and certain.

Aang dove for his glider, yanked it open—only to watch in dismay as one of the wings tore straight down the centre. The fabric fluttered, useless.

“No, no, no,” Aang muttered, backing up and trying to summon wind beneath his feet, but it wasn’t enough. He dropped to the ground just as a deep boom echoed through the forest.

They both turned.

From the cliff across the valley, a fireball burst skyward—followed by a thunderous roar of water.

Katara’s breath caught in her throat. She stepped forward, just in time to see the dam crack in two. Water burst through the opening like a beast unchained, surging down the valley in a rolling, destructive wave.

“No,” Katara whispered, staggering. “No, no—”

The river engulfed the landscape, devouring everything in its path.

Below, in the distance, nestled along the bend of the valley, was the village. The wave hit it like a hammer. Houses crumpled. Fields vanished. Smoke and mist rose as rooftops disappeared beneath the torrent.

Katara fell to her knees. Her hands shook. “I helped you. I helped you fill that dam.”

Jet, still pinned to the tree, beamed with satisfaction. “It’s a great victory,” he said. “Thanks to you, the valley is safe now. That village was a risk. Fire Nation supporters—maybe even spies.”

“They were people!” Katara shouted. “Families!”

“Collateral,” Jet said coldly. “Better their village than another raid like the one that burned mine down. You helped us make sure it never happens again.”

Tears stung Katara’s eyes, but before she could say more, a voice rang out behind them.

“No,” came a voice cutting through the chaos. “The valley will be safe—just not with the Freedom Fighters in it.”

Katara and Aang snapped their heads toward the sky.

Appa burst through the clouds, flying low over the valley. On his broad head stood Sokka, soaked and tense, eyes blazing with determination. Behind him, in Appa’s saddle, was Zuko—his hood pulled low over his face, his posture guarded but ready, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Sokka’s gaze locked onto Jet as Appa floated.

“You’re done,” Sokka said, voice sharp and commanding.

Jet’s confident smile wavered for the first time.

Katara and Aang’s faces lit up with relief as Appa glided closer, the great sky bison cutting smoothly through the canopy. Sokka perched confidently on Appa’s head, scanning the clearing with sharp eyes. Just behind him, Zuko sat in the saddle, his hood pulled low, but his posture calm and controlled.

As Appa landed, Sokka’s voice rang out clear and steady. “Jet, we warned the villages about your plan.”

Jet’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening. “You think you can stop me?” he growled, his grip tightening on his swords.

Sokka didn’t flinch. “At first, no one believed me. The villagers thought I was crazy, and Fire Nation soldiers accused me of being a spy. But the old man—the one you and your Freedom Fighters attacked—he vouched for me.” He glanced toward Katara and Aang, as if drawing strength from their presence.

Jet’s lip curled in contempt, but Sokka’s smirk deepened. “Unfortunately, that still wasn’t enough to convince the whole village.”

Jet narrowed his eyes, suspicion flaring. “So what then? You brought reinforcements?”

Sokka’s tone dropped to a low, teasing edge. “Fortunately...” Before he could finish, Zuko slowly pulled back his hood, revealing his golden eyes—an unmistakable mark of the Fire Nation.

Chapter Text

The impact was immediate. Jet’s face twisted in rage. “How dare you!” he shouted, struggling within the ice that trapped him to a tree. “How dare you bring an Ashmaker into my hideout?!”

Katara let out a laugh—short, sharp, and laced with mockery. “You talk about lies and deception, Jet?” she said, stepping closer, her boots crunching on the debris beneath her feet. “You really think you’re the victim here?”

Jet glared at her, frozen to the tree, jaw clenched.

“You let Zuko into your hideout. You trusted him,” she continued. “Don’t act like you saw through him. You had no idea who he was—you just wanted someone to help you carry out your plan. So don’t stand there and act betrayed now that the truth’s inconvenient.”

Her voice had an edge, a simmering hurt underneath the cold exterior. “Trust? You don’t get to lecture anyone about trust, Jet. Not after you lied to me. You made me believe you cared—about people, about doing the right thing—but all you ever cared about was your revenge.”

Jet’s face twitched. “That’s different.”

“Different how?” Katara snapped. “Because it was you lying to me?”

Katara let out a short, humourless laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else. “Jet, you’re the one who let Zuko into your hideout. You trusted him, just like the rest of us. Don’t start crying betrayal just because you didn’t see what was right under your nose.”

Her voice dripped with mockery, but underneath it, there was something sharp—something broken. The sting of trusting someone and realizing it had all been a lie. Jet had played them all for fools, and now he wanted to act like he was the one betrayed.

Aang frowned, lips pressed into a tight line. His eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his broken glider, he sent another sharp gust of wind at Jet. Not enough to hurt him—but enough to make his point.

“Don’t talk about my brother like that,” Aang said, his voice low and steady.

Jet coughed, wind-blown hair falling across his face. “Brother?” he spat, his eyes locking on Aang like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Aang didn’t flinch. “Yes. Zuko is my brother.”

Jet gaped at him. “What are you, Aang?” he demanded, his voice rising in disbelief. “Air Nomad? Fire Nation? Which is it?! You can’t be both!”

But Aang only stood taller, his grip firm on the staff. “I don’t have to choose. I am both. Half-Air Nomad, half-Fire Nation—and I’m proud of that.”

Jet’s shock twisted into fury. “I can’t believe this. Fire Nation spies—infiltrating my people, my men! This whole time!”

Zuko raised an eyebrow, still calm despite Jet’s rage. “You think we’re the problem?”

Katara folded her arms and glared at Jet. “After everything you did, we’re the ones who lied to you?”

Jet shouted, struggling against the ice pinning him to the tree. “If it weren’t for you and Zuko, the valley would be free!”

Sokka, from Appa’s side, gave a long sigh and shook his head. “Jet… you really don’t get it, do you?”

“You were played,” Katara added, her voice like ice. “Played by your own obsession.”

“If it weren’t for Sokka and Zuko,” Jet growled, “the valley would be free.”

Zuko’s eyes hardened. “And who exactly would be free, Jet?” he snapped. “The villagers? The children? The old man you attacked? They’d be dead. Is that your idea of freedom?”

Jet sneered. “Sometimes people have to die for peace.”

“That's not peace,” Aang said, his voice filled with quiet anger. “That’s just more war.”

Sokka helped Katara climb onto Appa’s saddle without a word. He kept his gaze on Jet as he did so, the look in his eyes unreadable—disappointment, maybe, or pity. Maybe both.

Aang followed behind them, jumping lightly into the saddle and sitting beside Zuko, who remained silent, his expression unreadable but tense.

Katara turned to Jet one last time. “Goodbye, Jet.”

There was no softness in her tone. No warmth. Only finality.

Zuko looked down at Jet, who was still frozen in place, panting with frustration and rage. “Stop using war as an excuse to justify your cruelty,” he said quietly. “You're not a soldier, Jet. You’re just someone who’s lost himself.”

Jet struggled harder now, trying to break free. “You don’t understand! You weren’t there when they came to my village! You didn’t see—!”

Aang cut in, his voice gentle but firm. “We do understand. They came after our homes too! But that doesn’t give you the right to become what you hate.”

Jet stopped struggling for a moment.

“Take your time to think,” Aang continued. “Really think. Remember who you used to be, before the war. Look at what you’ve become—and ask yourself what the boy you once were would think of the person standing here now.”

Jet didn’t answer. He stared at them, breathing hard, the fight still flickering in his eyes—but he said nothing.

Without another word, the group turned away. The sounds of the forest returned—the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of birds, the water still rushing in the valley below.

Behind them, Jet’s shouts followed, growing fainter with distance. He was still yelling—about betrayal, about freedom, about war. But the words were hollow now, echoing into the trees with no weight, no meaning.

The four didn’t look back.

They had said what needed to be said. And now it was time to move forward.

Once they had put some distance between themselves and the dark, tangled forest, the tension in the air finally began to loosen. The remnants of the shattered dam and the echoes of the confrontation with Jet felt like a distant nightmare now. The quiet rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze, the occasional chirp of a bird, and the soft padding of Appa’s paws on the earth marked a moment of uneasy calm.

Aang turned his head toward Zuko, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Were you recognized back there? When you passed by the village?”

Zuko’s lips curled into a faint smirk, though there was a hint of weariness beneath it. “Yeah, I was recognized. But I played it cool. Pretended I was just passing through, nothing more.” His voice was calm, but there was a definite edge of caution in it. “Didn’t want to cause a scene or draw any unnecessary attention.”

Sokka, perched comfortably on Appa’s side, nodded in agreement. “He kept his mouth shut. Didn’t let on that I even knew him. Smart move.”

Katara, always inquisitive, leaned forward slightly. “What exactly happened? Tell us everything.”

Sokka took a deep breath, recalling the events with a mixture of frustration and admiration. “When I went into the village, I made it clear to Zuko: ‘Don’t interfere unless it’s absolutely necessary.’ I wanted him to stay in the background, keep things under control without causing a stir.”

Katara nodded, understanding the strategy. “And did it work?”

“Sort of,” Sokka said with a shrug. “After warning the villagers about the dam’s danger, half of them thought I’d lost my mind. The other half were too scared to listen, and the Fire Nation soldiers? They were ready to throw me in chains.” He let out a long sigh. “It was... a mess.”

Aang frowned. “But the villagers eventually believed you, right?”

Sokka’s eyes softened at the memory. “Yeah. Remember the old man I saved from Jet and his freedom fighters? He just showed up out of nowhere, retelling the story of how I rescued him from the forest bandits. That helped a lot.”

“But…” Sokka’s voice dropped, thick with frustration, “that still wasn’t enough for the Fire Nation soldiers. They were suspicious. They asked how they could be sure I wasn’t part of those forest bandits — that this was some kind of trap.”

Zuko nodded, his gaze distant. “When I saw that Sokka was about to be arrested, I took off my hood and stepped in.”

Aang’s eyes widened. “You revealed yourself?”

Zuko smirked. “Yeah, and it worked. The soldiers recognized me immediately.” He chuckled softly. “They even bowed.”

Sokka rolled his eyes at that. Katara and Aang exchanged looks of amazement.

Zuko leaned back, the smirk fading slightly. “I lied to them, though. Told them I was just traveling through the forest. Said I saw some kids sneaking crates near the dam.”

Sokka grinned, picking up the story. “You should’ve seen those soldiers sweating after that. Then Zuko, in his ‘cool’ voice—”

Sokka’s face scrunched into a mock serious expression as he did his best Zuko impression, “How did our nation’s crates of explosives end up in the hands of a bunch of kids?”

Katara and Aang burst out laughing at the poor imitation.

Zuko scowled, “I don’t sound like that.”

Sokka waved him off, still chuckling. “Whatever, man. After your little reprimand and demands to know what was going on and who was in charge, those soldiers completely forgot about me.”

He laughed again. “One of their captains was running and tripping over himself trying to get to you.”

Aang giggled, imagining the clumsy soldier scrambling.

Zuko shook his head, a fond smile touching his lips. “After a ‘nice’ talk—”

Sokka snorted loudly at the word ‘nice.’

Zuko shot him a glare, but Katara and Aang giggled at Sokka’s reaction.

Taking a breath, Zuko continued. “It didn’t take long for me to take charge of the whole military troop in the village. I ordered the evacuation of civilians and sent soldiers to investigate the dam. Made sure to tell them to stay clear from the path where water would flow if the dam explodes”

Katara’s eyes shone with admiration. “You handled it well.”

She glanced at Sokka and Aang, then added softly, “I’m sorry for everything that happened. For the confusion, the fighting... for what you all went through.”

Sokka let out a long sigh, shaking his head with a tired smile. “You know, Katara, first you steal from pirates — almost getting us skewered on their spears — and then you go and join a band of freedom fighters who nearly level an entire village.” He poked her side lightly. “You really know how to pick ’em, huh?”

Katara shot him a sideways glare, her lips pressed tight. “It wasn’t just stealing. They were pirates. And joining the freedom fighters was… complicated.”

“Complicated, huh?” Sokka teased, grinning. “Sounds like you’ve got a real knack for trouble. You’re like the ‘Queen of Almost-Disasters.’”

Katara rolled her eyes but the corners of her mouth twitched. “It wasn’t exactly a royal title I was aiming for.”

Sokka’s grin softened as he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Hey, you don’t have to carry all that guilt on your own, you know. We all make mistakes — big ones, small ones — but that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

Katara’s gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of everything pressing on her shoulders. “I just… I keep thinking about what could’ve happened. How many people could’ve gotten hurt because of me.”

Sokka gave her a gentle nudge. “Look, we all have those moments where we mess up. But you always step up afterward. That’s what makes you strong. You’re not the kind to run away from the consequences.”

Katara looked up at him, vulnerability flickering in her eyes. “Sometimes, it just feels like I’m making everything worse.”

“Hey,” Sokka said softly, “the world’s a messy place. No one gets through it without some scars. But you? You’ve got heart. And that’s worth more than a dozen perfect plans gone wrong.”

Katara smiled, small but real. “Thanks, Sokka.”

He bumped her shoulder playfully. “Anytime, little sister. Now, how about we try to survive the next challenge without nearly getting killed for a change?”

Katara laughed, the tension breaking just a little. “I’ll try not to make that a habit.”

Sokka grinned, eyes shining with warmth. “That’s all I ask.”

Aang laughed, delighted by their sibling banter.

Zuko watched the exchange and sighed, shaking his head. “Compared to Katara, Aang is a very well-behaved child.”

Suddenly, a sharp cry cut through the peaceful moment. Kai was back.

Sokka and Katara’s faces lit up with excitement.

Sokka held out his hand toward the returning hawk, who landed gracefully. He carefully reached into the mail tube strapped to the bird’s leg, pulling out a letter.

His eyes widened as he read the familiar handwriting. “It’s from our father,” he said, his voice filled with hope and relief.

The group gathered closer as Sokka unfolded the letter, eager to hear news from home. The forest and the chaos of the day felt far behind them now, replaced by a fragile but growing hope for what lay ahead.

Chapter Text

The clearing was quiet, save for the sounds of splashing water and the occasional thud of footsteps on grass.

Katara stood knee-deep in a stream that cut through the field, her arms moving in smooth arcs as Aang mimicked her movements nearby. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his water-whip wobbling before collapsing into a sad splash.

Momo chirped from a tree branch, pouncing at a beetle that skittered across the bark.

Kai, perched lazily on Appa’s horn, shifted his talons, let out a soft krak, then tucked his beak under a wing and resumed napping.

Off to the side, at the edge of the clearing, Sokka stood with his arms crossed, watching Zuko with mild suspicion.

“All right,” Zuko said, tone clipped. “Show me your fighting pose.”

Sokka’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

“You keep getting knocked over,” Zuko said flatly. “I want to see why.”

“I don’t get knocked over that often.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow.

Sokka huffed, then dropped into a low stance, feet apart, arms bent at awkward angles. “There. Perfect form.”

Zuko circled him once, slowly. “Your knees are locked. Your weight’s too far forward. And what is your left hand doing?”

Sokka scowled. “It's doing warrior things.”

Zuko gave him a deadpan look, then reached out and gave Sokka a light shove.

Sokka flailed and toppled backwards, landing hard on the grass with an oof.

Zuko didn’t smirk. He just stepped back into position and said calmly, “Try to shove me.”

Grumbling, Sokka scrambled to his feet and pushed Zuko with both hands.

Zuko didn’t move. Not even a little.

“I get it,” Sokka muttered. “My form is bad.”

Zuko stepped behind him again. “Get into position.”

Sokka sighed, but obeyed.

Zuko walked around him, placing a hand on his shoulder, adjusting his elbow, nudging one foot slightly inward.

“Your stance should anchor you,” Zuko said. “You’re not trying to look strong. You’re trying to be hard to knock down. Lower your centre of gravity. Keep your spine straight. Think of it like a tree. If the roots are shallow, it falls in the wind.”

Sokka blinked. “Did you just... use a metaphor?”

Zuko ignored him. “Ready?”

Sokka barely had time to nod before Zuko gave him a quick, controlled shove to the shoulder.

This time, Sokka stumbled—but didn’t fall.

Zuko stepped back and gave a small, approving nod. “Better. Still needs work.”

Sokka gave a small, surprised smile. “Thanks.”

Sokka rolled his shoulders. “So, will you teach me sword fighting next?”

Zuko gave a quiet sigh. “Not until you learn to defend yourself properly.”

“What? Why not?” Sokka frowned. “If I overpower my opponent fast enough, I won’t need any of that ‘defence’ stuff.”

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s exactly why you need to learn it.”

Sokka crossed his arms. “Defence is for cowards.”

Zuko raised one eyebrow, the good one, and smirked. “You want to try that theory out?”

From across the clearing, Katara and Aang looked up. Katara tilted her head. “Uh oh.”

Aang grinned, sloshing toward the bank. “I think we’re done for today.”

They climbed out of the water and joined Momo, who had given up on bugs and was now sprawled belly-up on Appa’s head.

Sokka grinned. “What, you wanna make a bet?”

Zuko nodded. “Sure.”

Aang stepped forward, concern clear on his face. “Wait—gambling is bad. Morally and spiritually.”

Zuko glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “It’s not that kind of bet.”

He paused, then added, quieter, “It’s just for fun. No one's losing anything—except maybe a little pride.”

Aang hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay… just don’t let Sokka hurt himself.”

Zuko smirked. “I’ll be the one standing still.”

That earned a little laugh from Aang, and some of the tension in his shoulders melted. “Fine. But if he ends up with a black eye, I’m telling Katara it was your fault.”

Zuko gave a mock-sigh. “That’s fair.”

Aang grinned and stepped back to join Katara, his eyes still flicking between the two older boys like he wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t going to turn into a real fight. But there was trust there — quiet, unspoken, but solid. The kind that didn’t need big speeches or gestures. Just simple words, and the decision to believe them.

Katara bounced on her heels. “I’ll be the official witness!”

Zuko held out his hand. Sokka grabbed it.

“Here are the rules,” Zuko said. “You attack me however you want. I’ll only defend. I won’t lay a finger on you. First one to fall loses.”

Sokka’s eyes lit up. “You’re on.”

Katara clapped her hands once and placed them between theirs, pushing them apart with a dramatic flair. “Deal made.”

The two boys stepped back, dropping into their respective stances.

Aang and Katara settled near Appa, Aang dripping a little water onto the grass as he sat cross-legged. Katara tucked her legs beneath her and whispered, “Ten silver pieces on Zuko.”

Aang gave her a horrified look. “Katara!”

She winked.

Sokka lunged first, arms wide, trying to grab Zuko in a full-body tackle.

Zuko simply sidestepped.

Sokka skidded past, nearly tripping over a root. He whirled around, red-faced. “Okay, okay—just warming up!”

He came in again, this time with a series of quick jabs — fast, sloppy punches aimed more at overwhelming than landing clean hits.

Zuko ducked under the first, weaved around the second, and leaned back just enough for the third to miss him entirely.

“You’re wasting energy,” Zuko said, voice infuriatingly calm.

“I’ll show you wasted energy,” Sokka growled, now throwing a high kick that nearly spun him off balance.

Zuko hopped back a single step.

Aang and Katara sat cross-legged near Appa, watching. Momo climbed up Aang’s shoulder like it was a good show.

Aang leaned closer to Katara. “Is this really training?”

Katara shrugged, amused. “If by training you mean Sokka running in circles while Zuko barely moves… then yeah. Totally.”

Aang tilted his head. “I wonder if that works on bad guys too…”

Katara laughed softly. “Maybe. But you’d probably feel bad if they actually did fall on their face.”

Aang grinned. “Yeah… probably.”

Sokka launched forward again with a frustrated yell, feinting left then twisting into a clumsy shoulder-check. Zuko didn’t even move this time — he pivoted, letting Sokka sail past him like wind around a tree.

“Your weight’s too far forward,” Zuko noted, circling casually. “You’re chasing, not grounding. There’s a difference.”

“I know there’s a difference!” Sokka snapped. “Stop narrating!”

He charged again, this time overextending with a wild swing — and that was it. His foot caught in the earth, his momentum tipped too far, and he tumbled to the ground with a loud oof.

Zuko stood nearby, arms crossed.

A beat passed.

“I slipped,” Sokka muttered into the grass.

“Uh-huh,” Zuko said.

Sokka rolled onto his back, arms sprawled. “You’re the worst teacher I’ve ever had.”

Zuko smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself — I’m just the first who stuck around long enough to see this disaster.”

A chuckle bubbled out of Aang. Even Katara smiled.

“Come on,” Zuko offered, holding out a hand. “Again?”

Sokka eyed him warily, then reached up. “Fine. But next time, I’m bringing a weapon.”

“Next time,” Zuko said, pulling him up, “try bringing your balance first.”

Sokka shot him a suspicious look. “Balance? You mean stand on one foot until I pass out?”

“Exactly.”

Zuko stepped back, shifting his weight smoothly onto one leg, his posture rigid but relaxed, like a bonsai tree shaped by years of care.

“Balance isn’t just standing still. It’s control, discipline. Your stance should be your foundation — unshakable, no matter what.”

Sokka frowned and lifted one foot, wobbling immediately like a newborn calf. His arms flailed out, desperate to grab hold of anything nearby.

“Don’t think,” Zuko said sharply, “feel it. Focus your breath.”

Sokka’s lips pressed into a thin line. He took a deep breath — then immediately lost it, swaying dangerously.

“Lower your centre of gravity. Bend your knees slightly, don’t lock them,” Zuko coached, demonstrating again with slow, deliberate movements. “Imagine roots growing from your feet, anchoring you to the earth.”

Sokka tried again, muscles trembling, sweat beading at his brow. His foot wobbled, then slammed down hard as he almost toppled sideways.

“Not quite,” Zuko said, raising an eyebrow. “But better.”

Sokka let out a frustrated sigh, wiping his forehead. “This is ridiculous.”

“Balance isn’t just physical,” Zuko said quietly, tone softer now. “It’s mental. You can’t fight well if your mind is scattered.”

Sokka glared, but didn’t argue. Instead, he steadied his breathing and tried once more. His legs still shook, but he held the pose a few seconds longer.

“That’s it,” Zuko said, a rare note of approval in his voice. “Every second counts.”

Sokka grunted, determination slowly replacing frustration.

“Keep practicing. I’ll be here.”

As Sokka reluctantly went off to practice his balance exercises alone, Katara and Aang moved closer to Zuko, their eyes bright with curiosity.

“Can you teach us something, too?” Katara asked eagerly.

Zuko considered for a moment and nodded. “Alright. But this isn’t just about strength or speed. It’s about chi — the energy flowing inside you.”

He took a deep breath, demonstrating slow, controlled movements with his hands.

Aang’s gaze softened as a memory surfaced — the countless times Zuko had patiently taught him the basics of firebending. Back then, those drills had felt like empty motions, something to endure rather than understand. The movements were rigid, and Aang had struggled to grasp their purpose beyond flashy displays of power.

But now, as he traced the same flowing gestures with his hands, learning waterbending from the ground up, something shifted inside him. He felt the pulse of energy beneath his skin, the subtle rhythm in his breath, and the delicate balance between effort and ease. The bending wasn’t just about movement—it was about harmony with himself and the world around him.

“You can’t just force bending,” Zuko continued. “It comes from understanding your body, your breath, and the energy that connects everything.”

Katara and Aang mirrored Zuko’s slow, deliberate motions, their faces tightening in concentration.

For Aang, the old lessons finally began to make sense—not as isolated drills, but as part of a deeper flow that connected all elements and all benders. It was as if a door he hadn’t even known was there had just swung open.

“My teachers always said that bending isn’t just an ability — it’s a heritage,” Zuko continued, voice softening. “For generations, each nation developed its own styles and forms, perfected through discipline and tradition.”

Katara’s gaze dropped slightly, her fingers pausing mid-motion. “Before the war, I never took waterbending seriously,” she said softly. “I thought I had plenty of time to learn properly… I just wanted to play and experiment. Now, after everything that’s happened, I realize I lost that chance.”

Zuko glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “When Uncle Iroh was bringing me to the Air Temple, he said something that stuck with me.”

Aang leaned forward, curious. “What did he say?”

Zuko’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “He told me that bending isn’t about where you’re from — not really. It’s not ‘Fire Nation firebending’ or ‘Water Tribe waterbending’ like we think. It’s energy. A flow that all benders can tap into, no matter their nation.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “Energy? Like... chi?”

Zuko nodded slowly. “Exactly. But back then, I didn’t really get it. I thought bending was just about strength, power, and loyalty to your nation.”

Aang smiled softly. “Did he explain how it works?”

“Sort of,” Zuko said, shaking his head. “He showed me a move once, something inspired by waterbending. But it was fire — flames flickering, controlled like water. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I thought, ‘How can fire be water?’”

Katara’s fingers twitched, then fell still.

Zuko glanced at her, sensing something. “It wasn’t until I spent time at the temple, living with the Air Nomads, that I began to see bending the way Iroh meant it. That it’s more than just elements — it’s about understanding yourself and the energy inside.”

Katara and Aang exchanged puzzled glances, their brows knitting together in quiet confusion. The words hung in the air between them, unfamiliar and a little mysterious.

Zuko caught their expressions and a faint, almost wistful smile touched his lips. He saw in their faces the same uncertainty he’d once carried, the weight of trying to understand something bigger than himself. “I remember that look,” he said softly, voice low. “The first time I arrived at the Air Temple, everything I thought I knew about bending... it felt small. Limited. Like I’d been trying to hold fire in a cage.”

He swallowed, his gaze drifting for a moment, as if seeing distant memories unfold. “Watching the airbenders, how they moved with the wind — not against it — it was unlike anything I’d seen. Their grace, their calm, the way they let the air carry them instead of forcing their way through... it changed something inside me. Not overnight. It was slow, almost like learning to breathe differently.”

He turned back to them, eyes steady and sincere. “I started to imagine bending fire not as a tool for destruction, but as something more… fluid. Like the air, it could flow and dance. That maybe there was more to fire than just raw power.”

Aang’s brow furrowed deeper, his curiosity tinged with a hint of frustration. “I want to understand, really. But it’s confusing. Can you explain it more?”

Zuko shook his head, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Words can’t hold it — not really. It’s something you have to feel, to live inside you. But... maybe the best way to understand is to see. Let me show you.”

Zuko stepped away from the group, drawing a few measured breaths as he moved to the centre of the clearing. The sun cast long shadows behind him, the warmth on his back barely noticeable compared to the controlled heat he began gathering in his core. He turned back to the others, his voice calm but firm.

“I need some room — fire can get out of hand if I’m too close,” he said, then nodded toward Katara. “I want you to attack me. With water.”

Katara blinked. “Attack you?”

He gave a small nod. “I’ll be fine. Just aim straight for me.”

She hesitated, brows pulling together in concern. “I’ll be careful.”

A flick of her wrist brought water sweeping from her pouch, coiling around her like a ribbon before she lashed it toward him in a sharp arc.

Zuko inhaled, and with a fluid motion, summoned flame into his palms. As the water shot toward him, he pivoted—low and fast—spinning into a wide circle. His fire curved with him, not as a weapon but as a flowing shield. The flames traced his movement like a ribbon of light, catching the water mid-air and dispersing part of it into harmless steam that shimmered briefly in the golden light, while the rest—guided by fire—was redirected away from him.

Aang’s mouth dropped open. “That—! That looked just like the airbender spiral defence!” He clapped once in pure excitement and mimicked the circular step with a gust of air twirling around him. “Like this! It’s the same move!”

Zuko straightened slowly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Close enough.”

“Show me another!” Aang said, eyes shining, practically bouncing on his toes. “Please?”

Zuko hesitated. His expression shifted — trying to stay composed, but Aang’s eagerness cracked something in him. His stance softened just a bit. He looked away for a second, then sighed through his nose.

“You’re like a little lemur when you do that,” Zuko muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his tone. Just the faintest warmth of an older brother giving in.

Aang grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, but the faint smile lingered. “Fine.”

He dropped into a wider stance this time, grounding himself more firmly. The wind shifted as he exhaled, and with a powerful spin, he swept his leg outward. Fire exploded outward in a clean arc from his kick — not wild, not aggressive, but sharp and smooth. The motion had clear rhythm and grace, the fire dancing along with him like it was part of the air.

Aang’s jaw fell again before he let out an excited cheer. “I knew it! That’s totally the windwheel strike!” He leapt up and mirrored the motion, wind spiralling around his body in a near-perfect echo. “It’s exactly how we train our low sweeps—just… wind, not fire!”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “And yet somehow, you’re twice as loud about it.”

From the side, a loud thump came as Sokka flopped backward from the log he was trying to balance on. “Okay, now this I have to see,” he muttered, brushing off his pants as he made his way over, water skin in hand, curiosity piqued.

Katara stepped beside him, lips parted in awe as she looked at Zuko, but said nothing. Not yet.

Zuko, for all the fire in him, simply gave a quiet nod. He wasn’t just performing. He was sharing something that, until recently, he hadn’t even believed in.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t teaching as a prince, or even a soldier — but as someone who had learned.

The clearing was still now, the last sparks of Zuko’s fire fading into the quiet air. Aang was practically vibrating beside him, his excitement undimmed, but Zuko’s attention had already shifted — not to Aang, but to Katara.

She stood with her arms crossed, her brows drawn together, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her grip on her waterskin had tightened again. Sokka glanced at her sideways, but said nothing — not yet.

Zuko stepped back slightly, his voice soft but steady. “Aang… why don’t you rest for a bit?”

Aang looked like he wanted to argue, but he caught the tone and nodded, stepping back without protest.

Katara finally met Zuko’s gaze. “It’s just... I can see how fire and air connect. They’re both fast, sharp. They move. But water... it’s different.”

Zuko tilted his head. “Because it’s calm? Still?”

She frowned. “Because it listens. Water doesn’t force. It adapts. It bends around things, it heals. I’m not sure how fire could ever feel like that.”

Sokka sat down cross-legged beside her, unusually quiet. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “But you also told me once that water can be dangerous. Destructive even. It just depends who’s bending it.”

Katara glanced at him, then looked down. “Before the war... I always said I’d learn later. I thought I had time. But after everything—” she shook her head, voice catching slightly. “I had to teach myself with what little I had left. I never really listened to bending before. Not even my own.”

The silence lingered.

Zuko took a breath and looked at her more closely. “I’ve watched you bend, Katara.”

She blinked at him, uncertain.

He continued, quieter now. “That time you fought those Fire Nation soldiers in the woods… and when you trained with Aang. Every time you used the water whip, it struck like instinct. It was the same motion every time, but it shifted depending on what you needed it to do. That rhythm stayed in my head.”

He took a few steps away from them, turning sideways. “Let me show you.”

Katara’s brow furrowed slightly as Zuko exhaled and took a wide, grounded stance. His arms moved in a sweeping, looping arc — controlled, elegant, curved — and then flame flicked out from his palm and trailed behind his motion in a long, spiralling ribbon.

It cracked through the air with a familiar sound — not harsh like most firebending strikes, but almost fluid.

Katara’s eyes widened. “That’s—” She stopped, breath caught in her throat. “That’s my water whip.”

Zuko turned back to her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t invent it. I studied you,” he said gently. “And I realized I could learn from you just like you can learn from me, or from Aang.”

She stared at him, visibly shaken.

“It’s the same rhythm,” he said. “Just expressed differently.”

Katara didn’t speak for a moment. Her hands slowly dropped to her sides. “I thought… that style was mine. That it belonged to me. But you saw it. You felt it.” She swallowed, her voice wavering. “I never thought fire could be that graceful.”

“It can,” Zuko said simply. “It just doesn’t look the way we expect.”

She looked away for a second, blinking quickly, then back at him. “I spent so long thinking no one could teach me because I didn’t have a teacher. But maybe... I’ve been teaching all along, without knowing it.”

Zuko nodded once, and this time, so did she.

Sokka let out a low whistle. “Okay. Whoa. That was like… an actual breakthrough. Are we gonna sit in a circle now and talk about our feelings? Because I didn’t bring any snacks.”

Zuko smirked. “You’re welcome to join, Sokka — but only if you don’t mind taking a hit from my fire version of Katara’s water whip.”

Sokka immediately raised his hands. “Pass. Hard pass.”

Aang laughed, the tension finally breaking, but Katara didn’t. She just looked at Zuko again — not with resistance, but understanding.

Then, without a word, she held up her hand.

“Show me again.”

Zuko’s smile softened as he stepped forward, flames flickering gently at his fingertips. “Alright,” he said quietly, “watch closely.”

He took a deep breath, feeling the heat pulse through him, and repeated the motion — his arm sweeping through the air, a slender, twisting ribbon of fire flowing from his palm like liquid flame. It curled and rippled, mirroring the shape of a water whip, but alive with flickering embers instead of droplets.

Katara’s eyes never left the fire, her expression a mixture of awe and something deeper — a quiet recognition. “It’s… so graceful,” she whispered. “But so different.”

Zuko nodded. “Different, yes. But it’s the same flow, the same rhythm. You taught me without even knowing.”

She hesitated for a moment, then lifted her hand and formed a small ball of water, letting it dance lightly between her fingers. “Let me try.”

Zuko stepped back, giving her space.

Katara’s water whipped out with a smooth snap, swirling and curling with practiced ease. Then, as if drawing from Zuko’s demonstration, she shifted the motion — the water twisting and spiralling with a fiery intensity, faster and sharper than before.

Sokka, who’d been watching quietly, let out a low whistle. “Whoa… Katara, that was amazing.”

Katara’s cheeks flushed, a shy smile breaking through her usual guardedness. “Maybe there’s more to learn than I thought.”

Aang clapped excitedly. “This is what I was talking about! See? Bending isn’t just about your element. It’s about the spirit behind it.”

Zuko looked at Katara with quiet pride. “You’re stronger than you realize. You’ve always been.”

Katara’s gaze flicked between them, and for the first time, her stance seemed lighter, less burdened. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For showing me that.”

The group stood together in the clearing, the afternoon sun casting long shadows, a new understanding settling between them — one that promised growth, unity, and the strength to face what was still to come.

Chapter Text

The group gathered around the campfire, the last of the twilight fading into a soft purple haze. Appa lay nearby, curled into a massive ball of fur, contentedly munching on a bundle of hay. Momo was perched on his back, picking through dried fruit, while Kai—Zuko’s hawk—pecked daintily at the remains of a roasted fish.

Katara passed out plates of food one by one. “Careful. It’s still hot,” she warned as she handed a bowl to Sokka, then to Aang and Zuko.

“Smells amazing,” Sokka said, already halfway through a bite. “Honestly, Katara, if waterbending ever gets boring, you’d make a great chef.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “Thanks... I think.”

Zuko sat across from Aang, carefully picking through his own food. The fire crackled between them, casting shifting shadows across their faces as quiet conversation drifted in and out—talk of landmarks passed, towns avoided, the kind of easy chatter that filled the silence.

But Zuko’s eyes kept drifting back to Aang.

“You alright?” he asked finally.

Aang startled slightly, then offered a too-bright smile. “Yeah! I’m fine. Just tired.”

Zuko didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Katara. She gave the smallest motion with her head—just a flick toward something behind Aang. Sokka, catching the exchange, shrugged and stuffed another bite into his mouth.

Zuko followed Katara’s hint and turned his gaze slightly. Aang’s glider, normally resting carefully beside him, now lay off to the side, cracked along the base of one wing. Splintered. Unusable.

Jet.

Zuko’s jaw tensed briefly but he didn’t press Aang further. Instead, he ate in silence, letting the conversation flow around him.

Later, after the last bowls were scraped clean and the fire was beginning to die down, Zuko stood and stretched. “I think I’ll write a letter to Uncle Iroh. Let him and Lu Ten know we haven’t been caught yet.”

Sokka snorted. “What’s next? A postcard? ‘Wish you were here — currently being hunted by the Fire Nation. Scenery’s nice, though.’”

Katara rolled her eyes and stood up, stacking empty dishes. “Funny.”

Aang stood as well. “I’ll help you clean up,” he said quickly, and followed her toward the nearby stream.

Zuko crouched near Kai and fastened the small message tube to his leg, stroking the hawk’s feathers briefly. “Make sure it gets there, alright?” he murmured. Kai gave a low, rustling cry and took off into the night sky with a sweep of her wings.

Soon after, the group settled into their sleeping rolls. Appa huffed once and shifted, Momo curling up beside him. Katara and Aang lay side by side, their quiet conversation fading into a whisper. Sokka was already snoring.

Zuko lay on his back, staring at the stars.

He thought of Lu Ten, of Iroh sipping tea on some quiet porch far from here, and wondered if, somewhere under the same stars, they were thinking of him too.

Then he closed his eyes, and let the night carry them all to rest.

The morning began in stillness, save for the soft rustling of leaves and the distant song of birds waking with the dawn. Zuko opened his eyes just as the first rays of sunlight broke across the treetops, painting the sky in shades of gold and pale orange. The fire had burned down to faint embers overnight, but the warmth of the rising sun crept in like an old friend.

He sat up slowly, taking in the sight of the others still fast asleep. Aang curled near Appa’s belly, one arm thrown over Momo. Katara lay on her side, a hand resting over her blanket, face calm and relaxed. Sokka had somehow kicked off his sleeping roll entirely, half-covered and snoring quietly.

Zuko got to his feet and stepped away from the camp. He found a clear patch of earth a short distance off and slipped into a steady stance. With a long breath in, he closed his eyes and let his muscles settle.

Then he moved.

His body flowed from one firebending form into the next—slow arcs, sharp punches, wide sweeps of the arms that drew invisible flames through the air. The fire didn’t come just yet; not until he felt ready. First came movement. Control. Breath. Then, when the warmth inside him began to stir, he exhaled—and flame burst gently from his palms.

He practiced in silence, flames crackling faintly in the quiet, until his muscles were warm and his breathing even. Then he lowered himself into a cross-legged seat on the forest floor and let the fire fade.

The sun had risen higher when Zuko opened his eyes again. Time to wake them.

He slung a pair of canteens over his shoulder and made his way to the nearby stream, filling them with cold, clear water. Back at camp, he rekindled the fire and set a small kettle of tea to heat. With practiced movements, he started on breakfast—some rice, roasted root vegetables, and a few dried herbs Katara had collected the day before.

The smell drifted through the camp.

Sokka was the first to stir, groaning loudly as he sat up. “Ughhh… what time is it?”

“Still morning,” Zuko said, not looking up from the pan. “You should be thanking me. You’re waking up to hot food.”

Sokka squinted at him. “Why are you always up so early? Do you just not believe in sleep?”

Zuko poured tea into a small tin cup and handed it to him. “Firebenders are connected to the sun,” he said simply. “Just like how waterbenders draw strength from the moon.”

“Huh.” Sokka blinked. “So... what? The sun gives you power?”

Zuko nodded. “The first light of the day wakes my inner flame. That’s what my uncle used to say. I feel it rise with the sun, like something inside me wants to stretch toward it.”

Katara had woken quietly and was now pulling her hair back into a loose braid. “That’s incredible,” she said, eyes bright. “During a full moon, I can feel the pull of the tides through the water around me. It’s like bending becomes effortless.”

Sokka chewed slowly, then frowned thoughtfully. “So... is that why the comet makes the Fire Nation so scary?”

Aang tilted his head. “The comet?”

“Yeah,” Sokka said, gesturing vaguely with his spoon. “Think about it. The sun is this massive ball of fire way up in the sky. That’s where firebenders get their power from. But the comet? That’s another fireball, only it’s flying way closer to us.”

Zuko looked up, surprised. “You’re right. It’s not just the comet itself—it’s the proximity. The closer it is to us, the more it amplifies our inner flame. It’s like adding a second sun.”

“Exactly,” Sokka said proudly. “Double the fire juice.”

Zuko blinked, amused despite himself. “That’s… not what we call it, but sure.”

Sokka finished his tea in one big gulp, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. “Alright then, Master Zuko. You gonna teach me something today?”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “You want to train with me now?”

“Well, not the fire stuff. I’m not trying to combust or anything. I just want to learn… y’know, stuff. Stances. Cool flips. Sword moves.”

Zuko sighed, standing. “You don’t even have proper balance yet.”

Sokka huffed. “If we get attacked, I’m not going to be able to yell, ‘Excuse me, could you wait while I stand on one leg and centre myself?’”

“Once you can hold your balance for a full minute, I’ll teach you a basic kata,” Zuko said, crossing his arms.

“One minute?” Sokka clapped his hands together. “Done. Easy.”

He immediately ran over to a nearby stump and stood on one foot with a determined expression, arms flailing for equilibrium.

Katara laughed. “This I’ve gotta see.”

“I’m gonna train too,” Aang said, hopping up with a flash of energy. He reached for his glider-staff out of habit — fingers wrapping around the smooth, familiar wood — but as he lifted it, the crack down the centre caught his eye. The broken edges where the wings used to be flicked in the light like a wound that hadn’t healed.

His hand froze. The excitement dimmed behind his smile, and he set the staff back down more gently than before.

Zuko noticed the change — the way Aang’s shoulders dipped just slightly, the way he didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. A pang of guilt tightened in his chest.

How did I miss that? he thought. How did I not see that something so important to him was broken?

He glanced at Katara, remembering the way she’d subtly nodded toward the glider last night. She had seen it. She always saw those things. And he hadn’t — not until now.

“You still planning to train?” Zuko asked softly.

Aang looked up, forcing a grin. “Yeah… air first. Then I’ll join Katara for water practice.”

Zuko nodded slowly, watching him walk off. The smile was still there — but now that he’d noticed the crack in the staff, he couldn’t unsee the one in Aang’s heart either.

Katara, already tucking away her cup, nodded. “I’ll start by the stream.”

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” Zuko offered, gathering up the empty bowls and cups.

Katara smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

As the others headed off in different directions, Zuko carried the dishes to the water and began scrubbing them clean with practiced efficiency. He didn’t mind doing it—it was simple, rhythmic, and gave him space to think.

When he returned to camp and everything was in its place again, Zuko found a quiet spot beneath the trees and settled into a lotus posture. The warmth of the sun filtered through the branches, casting dappled patterns across the ground.

He closed his eyes.

The sounds of morning training drifted through the clearing — Katara’s water splashing in rhythmic arcs as it danced between her hands, Sokka muttering under his breath as he wobbled through his balance drills. Zuko listened quietly, but there was no soft whoosh of air slicing through the trees. No steady rhythm of Aang’s staff carving patterns into the wind. The boy was nearby, training in silence — no glider, no lift, just quiet movements and the soft breath of someone trying not to miss what was lost.

Zuko focused inward, letting his breath guide him.

Inhale. Steady. Deep.

Exhale. Let go.

He could feel the flame within—no longer the erratic, angry surge it used to be, but a slow, strong pulse. Like a heartbeat aligned with the sun.

He let himself sit in that quiet warmth, breathing in the strength of the morning.

For now, this was peace.

The journey to the North Pole stretched on with endless white horizons and skies so wide they swallowed sound. The group had grown quieter the further north they travelled. It wasn’t a heavy silence, but a thoughtful one — a space where wind filled the gaps between words and each breath misted in the cold, shared.

It was early afternoon when Kai returned.

The hawk swooped low from the sky, wings trembling slightly, chest rising and falling in frantic pants as it landed heavily on Appa’s saddle.

Zuko was the first to notice, his golden eyes lifting. “Kai,” he said with quiet relief, stepping toward the tired bird. “You didn’t need to rush, you stubborn thing. But I appreciate the enthusiasm.” He reached gently for the message tube strapped to the hawk’s leg and removed the scroll with practiced fingers.

Kai gave a soft cawk, almost offended, before hopping onto a blanket-covered corner of the saddle.

Sokka, glancing up from sharpening his boomerang, frowned. “Hey, look at his breathing — he’s totally wiped out.” He dug into his satchel and pulled out a strip of dried meat. “Here, buddy.”

Katara followed his lead, lowering a small bowl on the saddle and bending clear, cold water from her waterskin into it. “Here you go, sweetie. You’ve earned it.”

Kai gave an appreciative chirp before digging into the meat and then drinking in long, grateful gulps.

Zuko, meanwhile, unrolled the scroll, scanning the neat script. His lips twitched with a private smile as he read the letter from Iroh — warm words and updates from the edges of the Fire Nation exile routes, a few light-hearted notes about Lu Ten’s training, and a final line that made his chest tighten: Take care of those siblings, Nephew — with the same patience you once wished others had shown you.

“Anything good?” Sokka asked casually, leaning back on his hands.

Zuko nodded, tucking the scroll away. “Uncle warned me not to burn the tent down. And Lu Ten’s still doing his best to be the serious, responsible older cousin— even if he can’t help teasing me every chance he gets.”

Sokka grinned. “Harsh.”

A pause followed, then — with the sort of tone only Sokka could pull off — he asked, “Hey… do you even see out of your burnt eye?”

Katara’s head snapped around. “Sokka!”

“What?” he said, blinking at her. “I’m just— It’s not like— I mean, I’ve always wondered, and he’s never said anything.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to ask him like that!” she snapped, elbowing him.

Zuko didn’t respond immediately. His gaze drifted toward Sokka, his expression unreadable.

But then he looked closer — saw that Sokka’s face held no mockery, no edge. Just genuine curiosity, like a child asking why the moon was round.

Zuko reached up, fingers brushing just below the edge of his scar. “It… affected more than how it looks. I can’t really see on this side anymore. Not clearly. Shapes, movement — that’s about it.”

Katara’s frown softened.

“And my hearing, too,” Zuko added. “It’s muffled. Like everything’s underwater on this side.” His voice was calm, almost clinical — like he’d long since grown used to listing the damage aloud.

Aang, standing a few feet away, froze.

He’d never… thought about it like that. He remembered meeting Zuko for the first time — the burn was fresh then, raw and red like a wound that never quite healed. But somehow, he’d always thought of his older brother as whole. Strong. Capable. He never realized Zuko had been fighting through silence and shadows this entire time.

“Zuko…” Aang said softly. “I didn’t know.”

Zuko turned toward him with his good eye. “It’s not something I talk about.”

“I just… I never noticed,” Aang said, feeling a pit of guilt twist in his stomach. “You’re always so… you. Cool. Strong. Like—like a storm that walks.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he let a tiny smirk tug at his mouth.

Sokka crossed his arms. “Yeah! That’s what I was saying. You’ve literally taken down whole squads with one arm tied up. It’s kind of awesome, not gonna lie.”

Katara quietly stepped forward. Without saying a word, she raised her hand and waved it slowly near the left side of Zuko’s face — just shy of touching distance. Zuko didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all.

“Oh,” she whispered. “You really can’t see it…”

Aang’s shoulders sagged. Somehow, seeing it in action made the truth hit harder.

But Katara’s expression shifted — from concern to quiet determination. “At the North Pole,” she said, her voice gaining strength, “there are waterbenders who specialize in healing. Powerful ones. Maybe they can… maybe they can help you.”

Zuko looked at her, surprised by her sudden enthusiasm. He gave a slow nod, though his eyes held little hope. “Maybe.”

“I’m serious,” she added, stepping closer. “They helped Gran-Gran when she hurt her hip. I’ve read about healers who can mend internal damage. What if—what if they can do something for your eye? Or your hearing?”

Zuko didn’t argue. But in truth, he’d long since buried any dreams of recovering what was lost. Still… he appreciated the thought. The warmth in her voice made it easier to accept that someone cared enough to hope.

Aang straightened, his voice firm. “Then that’s one more reason to get to the North Pole fast. Not just for training. For you.”

Zuko didn’t say anything at first. But then he gave a small nod and murmured, “Thanks… all of you.”

Kai, now full and satisfied, gave a soft chirrup and settled down in the warm folds of the blanket laid out on the saddle. Almost immediately, Momo appeared, eyes narrowed in familiar mischief. He tiptoed toward the hawk like a thief in the night, clearly contemplating whether there was any leftover food to steal — or maybe just to annoy Kai for sport.

The hawk gave him a tired side-eye but didn’t even bother ruffling a feather. That, more than anything, seemed to disarm the lemur.

Momo paused, head tilted, then gently plucked a stray feather from Kai’s side — not to pull it, just to straighten it like he was grooming a sibling after a long day. With a little chirp of his own, he curled up right beside the hawk, tail brushing over Kai’s wing in a rare show of peace.

Katara blinked, surprised. “Did… did Momo just tuck him in?”

Sokka held a hand to his chest. “I knew they secretly loved each other. This is the slow-burn animal romance I didn’t know I needed.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two animals and then at Sokka. “Are you... okay?”

“I’m emotionally invested now,” Sokka said solemnly.

Aang laughed softly, watching the two creatures nestled together. “They fight like brothers. But they always make up.”

Zuko looked at Aang, a knowing glint in his eye. “Sounds familiar.”

Katara gave a soft chuckle as she resumed folding blankets. “Only difference is, neither of them breathes fire.”

Momo chose that moment to yawn widely and flop against Kai, earning an unimpressed blink from the hawk — but still, Kai didn’t move. The peace treaty, however temporary, held.

The afternoon sun shimmered through scattered clouds as Appa soared steadily above a wide stretch of grasslands, the wind tugging gently at the fur-lined edges of the saddle. The group was quiet for the moment, lulled by the steady rhythm of Appa’s flight and the distant call of a hawk.

Zuko broke the silence, his voice low but clear over the wind. "I asked Uncle Iroh if he knew of any places where Air Nomads might have resettled. I also told him about Aang's glider... or what's left of it."

Aang perked up from where he sat cross-legged, his hands resting on the broken staff that lay beside him. "What did he say?"

Zuko pulled a small scroll from inside his tunic and unrolled it carefully. "He said there’s a village, hidden deep in the mountains of the Earth Kingdom. It was abandoned long ago, but apparently, some Air Nomads from the Southern Temple moved in. The local ruler didn’t mind, so they’ve made it their home."

Sokka frowned and reached into his bag, pulling out their worn, hand-drawn map. "Let me see. Where is it?"

Zuko leaned over, pointing to a jagged cluster of peaks etched faintly near the southern range. "Here. It’s called Laoquan. About two days west from our current path."

Sokka groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "That’s completely off course. Zuko, we’re headed north. Remember? North Pole? Big icy fortress? Healers, warriors, and that whole stopping-the-war thing?"

Aang leaned in, studying the spot with a furrowed brow. "Wait, did you say they’re from the Southern Air Temple?"

Zuko nodded. "That’s what Iroh wrote. He recognized a few names from the old records."

Aang’s eyes widened, emotions warring silently in his expression. "So... they could be people I knew. Monks or students who survived. Maybe even someone I trained with."

Sokka shook his head. "That still doesn’t mean we should change course. We have a mission. We need to keep moving north, not sightseeing."

Zuko shot him a look, but his voice remained calm. “It’s not sightseeing. It’s helping Aang. If there are Southern Temple nomads there, they might know something… about where our mother ended up.”

Aang straightened up at that, eyes wide and hopeful.

"That’s low, Zuko. Bringing up your mom like that — like a reason to change course. You know what kind of hope that stirs up in Aang. In you. That kind of hope... it doesn’t just go away. And when it leads to nothing, it hurts worse than if you’d never said anything at all."

Aang looked away, visibly torn.

Before Zuko could reply, Katara raised her hand slightly. "Wait. There might be a way to make it work."

Everyone turned to her.

"In our last letter from Dad," she began, "he said the Southern Water Tribe had split. He and his crew kept going north. But our uncle — his best friend — went east, to help refugees in the Earth Kingdom."

Sokka’s eyes widened, a spark of hope lighting up his face.

"Bato?" he breathed, almost unable to believe it. His voice trembled with excitement and relief. "You mean Bato went east? I haven’t seen him in almost a year... If that’s true, maybe we’re closer to him than I thought."

Katara nodded. "He could be nearby. And if we pass through this Air Nomad village, there's a dock along the river here—" she pointed just north of Laoquan, her finger tapping a thin line near the mountains, "—we might find him. And it’s still on the way to the North Pole, just with a detour."

Sokka hesitated, his excitement fading into a quieter, more reflective tone. He bit his bottom lip before admitting,

"I haven’t seen Uncle Bato in almost a year…"

"He used to make those steamed seal buns you liked," Katara added gently.

"Okay, that’s cheating," Sokka muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Zuko, seizing the moment, reached over and took the charcoal pencil from the map pouch. He began drawing a rough line across their existing route. "Look. Here’s the path we’ve taken so far. This bend here, the river crossing there, the canyon pass last week..."

He marked three Xs.

“Each of these spots represents where we ran into the Fire Nation.”

Sokka and Katara leaned closer, eyes sharp.

“The first two were fights we won,” Zuko said, voice calm but firm. “Quick skirmishes—Fire Nation soldiers underestimated us. We managed to push them back without much trouble.” He tapped the first two Xs. “Those were moments when we caught them off guard.”

“But the third,” Zuko continued, pointing to the last X, “was different. An ambush. They had us trapped before we even knew what was coming. We barely got out. That’s what worries me most.”

He looked up at the group, eyes serious. “It means they’re not just patrolling blindly. They’re tracking us—watching where we go, how fast, what routes we take. Our movements have become predictable. We can’t afford to keep following the same path if we want to stay ahead.”

Katara studied the line carefully, narrowing her eyes. "Our route... it looks too predictable."

Zuko nodded, pressing his pencil firmly on Laoquan. "That’s the problem. If we keep going straight north, they’ll keep tracking us. But if we break the pattern here—head west instead of north—we can throw them off. They won’t see it coming."

Sokka was quiet for a moment, then leaned back with a reluctant sigh. "I hate that you’re right."

Aang glanced down at his broken staff, fingers brushing lightly over the cracked wood. The wind tousled his hair as he whispered, "If they really are from the Southern Temple... I need to see them. I need to know."

Katara reached out, resting her hand over his. "Then we go."

Sokka groaned again, but his tone had shifted. "Fine. But if this ends with us being chased by another troop of fire soldiers, I’m blaming Zuko."

"I accept full responsibility," Zuko said solemnly.

Appa gave a low bellow, sensing the shift in mood as if ready to change direction.

Momo, nestled in the saddle near the map, chattered softly and nosed at the edge of the parchment. Kai let out a tired chirrup from his blanket cocoon, and the two animals briefly met eyes.

Momo padded over with exaggerated stealth, snatched a piece of dried fruit from Sokka’s bag, and dropped it beside the exhausted hawk. Then, without waiting for approval, curled up next to Kai.

Zuko watched with a small smile. "Even they agree. Change can be good."

Aang nodded. "Let’s find Laoquan."

With a rumbling grunt and a swish of his tail, Appa tilted westward, the sky stretching open before them.

Chapter Text

The forest was thick with pines, their tall, dark forms swaying gently in the crisp breeze. The group moved steadily along a narrow path, heading back toward their camp where Appa waited. What was supposed to be a straightforward two-day journey had stretched into a tiring three, largely because Sokka insisted on stopping at a nearby village to pick up supplies before they reached the Air Nomad settlement.

Sokka wiped sweat from his brow and let out an exaggerated groan. “I’m telling you, this stop is important — not just for Aang and Zuko, but for me. Air Nomads are vegetarians, right? Great for them, but what about me? I need meat.”

Zuko rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out. “Your body can survive without meat for a few days, Sokka.”

“Not a Water Tribe body,” Sokka shot back. “And without meat, what’s Kai supposed to eat? Poor hawk’s gonna starve out here.” He grinned mischievously. “It’s hawk-abuse, I tell you.”

Zuko’s deadpan voice came from behind. “Kai can hunt his own food.”

Sokka gave an offended grunt and turned to the hawk perched stoically on Zuko’s shoulder. “Hey, Kai — why do I share my meat with you, but you never return the favour?”

The hawk gave Sokka a slow, unimpressed blink and tilted his head, as if to say, Seriously?

Momo, sitting comfortably on Aang’s shoulder, happily munched on a juicy, bright-red fruit from a recent market stop. His tiny hands squeezed the flesh eagerly, juice dripping down his chin.

Katara, walking beside Zuko, gave a small smile. “We needed to stop anyway. We’re running low on supplies.”

Aang nodded enthusiastically, still chewing on his own fresh fruit. “I’ve had enough of dried roots and old vegetables. Fresh fruit is a nice change.”

As the group approached the clearing where they’d left Appa, Aang suddenly perked up and gave a weird little laugh. “Uh, I should… go ahead! Just to, um… make sure Appa didn’t roll over onto the supplies again. Yeah.” Without waiting for a response, he launched himself forward with a gust of air, zipping off into the trees.

The sudden movement startled Momo, who lost his grip and tumbled off Aang’s shoulder with a surprised chirp. Flapping his wings furiously, Momo darted over to land on Zuko’s other shoulder — now balancing Kai on one side and the lively lemur on the other.

Zuko looked up, puzzled by Aang’s sudden dash. “What was that about?”

Katara snorted, suppressing a laugh. “He’s hiding the sweets he bought.”

Sokka chuckled and added, “Yeah, apparently Aang bought sweets behind your back after you refused to get him any.”

Zuko frowned, clearly offended. “When did this happen?”

Sokka grinned wide, giving Zuko a teasing look. “Well, you did tell us about your blind side, so Aang’s been using that little secret to his advantage.”

Katara nodded in agreement. “He made sure to sneak those sweets into your ‘blind spot’ so you wouldn’t catch him.”

Zuko’s one good eye twitched in visible irritation. “That’s it. I’m cutting his ‘allowance,’ and from now on, he walks in front of me when we’re in the market.”

Sokka let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, it’s not like he bought a whole cart of candy. He’s ten, Zuko. Sweets are kind of his whole personality.”

Zuko shot him a glare but didn’t snap. Instead, his voice was low and flat. “I told him no for a reason.”

Katara stepped closer, her tone gentler. “You never really explained why, though.”

Zuko exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Because I recognized the sweets. Most of the stalls had fire nation imports — candies with gelatine. Animal byproduct.” He glanced in the direction Aang had run. “I thought he figured it out on his own. That he realized I wasn’t just being strict for no reason.”

Sokka and Katara both froze mid-step.

“Oh,” Katara murmured, eyes widening a little.

Sokka blinked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yikes. I… didn’t even think of that. I didn’t know gelatine was in sweets like that.”

Zuko gave a sharp nod. “It’s in more things than you’d expect. Aang wouldn’t have wanted them if he knew.”

The weight of that truth hung for a second. Sokka glanced down, suddenly unsure of his earlier jokes.

Katara’s expression softened with guilt. “He should’ve asked. He probably just assumed you were being a boring adult.”

Zuko’s scowl deepened, though his shoulders slumped a little. “Figures.”

He stared in the direction Aang had vanished, jaw clenched. Part of him wanted to march over, grab the bag of sweets, and tell Aang immediately what they were made of. The other part—annoyed, stung—wondered if maybe he should wait. Let Aang eat one. Let him realize why Zuko had said no. Maybe then he’d learn to ask first.

Zuko ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. No. That’s cruel. He’s just a kid. He didn’t know.

Sokka looked up and offered a crooked smile. “Well… if it makes you feel better, he probably hid them in the dumbest spot possible. Like, under his pillow or in Appa’s fur or something.”

Katara smiled, nudging Zuko lightly with her elbow. “You’ll catch him.”

Zuko’s eye narrowed slightly, though a bit of the tension drained from his posture. “Oh, I will.”

The trees began to thin as they neared the edge of their camp. The ground, soft with needles and moss, gave way to the familiar patch of cleared earth, Appa nestled at its centre like a giant shaggy boulder.

Aang was there—poorly pretending not to be.

He was crouched behind Appa’s side, half-hidden, rummaging through something quickly and awkwardly. The second he heard approaching footsteps, he jumped, spun around, and planted himself in front of a suspiciously lumpy bedroll. His arms were behind his back, his eyes far too wide, his smile far too forced.

“Hey!” he greeted, voice cracking slightly. “You guys made it back quick!”

Sokka arched an eyebrow. “You ran ahead.”

“Right, right, I just—wanted to, uh…” Aang’s gaze darted left and right, desperate for a believable excuse. “Appa missed me. Emotional support.”

Appa snorted softly behind him, almost judgmentally.

Zuko crossed his arms, unconvinced. He knew exactly what was behind that bedroll. He took a step forward, ready to call Aang out then and there—but something stopped him. A flicker of memory, uninvited.

A fire palace courtyard. A young Zuko, maybe ten or eleven, standing with a small ornate kite in his hands. He’d spent weeks building it himself—read scrolls about air currents, carved each thin spar of wood by hand.

Azula had watched him the whole time. She had smiled sweetly when he told her he was going to test it. Smiled when he launched it into the air and cheered when it caught the wind—only to twist violently and come crashing down moments later.

Zuko had cried out, rushing to the wreckage. The string had tangled on a broken branch Azula must have seen. When he turned to her, furious, demanding to know why she hadn’t said anything—her laughter had been sharp, cruel.

“I wanted to see what you’d do,” she’d said, still giggling. “Besides, you were so sure of yourself.”

Zuko blinked, and the memory dissipated like smoke.

He looked back at Aang—still awkward, trying to hide the candy behind his back like they were contraband. And maybe they were, in a way. But Zuko suddenly didn’t have the heart to let it play out the way he’d planned. Not like that.

He sighed, the irritation in his shoulders giving way to something wearier.

“Aang,” Zuko said plainly, his voice carrying a quiet edge.

The boy stiffened, the fake smile faltering. He took a small step back, shoulders tensing like he was preparing for a scolding.

Zuko folded his arms, gaze narrowing. “I know what you bought.”

Aang’s eyes widened just a fraction. “W-what do you mean?”

Zuko walked past him without answering, crouched beside the poorly hidden bedroll, and tugged it aside to reveal the small paper bag nestled underneath. He plucked it up, holding it lightly between two fingers, then turned back to face Aang.

“You don’t want to eat these.”

Aang’s brows drew together. “Why not?”

“Because,” Zuko said, voice flat, “they have gelatine in them. It’s made from animal bones.” He gave the bag a little shake. “I recognized them at the market. That’s why I said no.”

For a moment, Aang just stared. Then his shoulders squared, jaw tightening with a flash of indignation.

“That’s not fair!” he burst out, louder than anyone expected. “You didn’t say that. You just told me I couldn’t have them and walked away!”

Zuko’s brow twitched. “And you didn’t ask why.”

“I didn’t know I had to ask every time you say no!” Aang shot back, his voice pitching with frustration. “You act like I’m just supposed to listen to you no matter what.”

“You’re supposed to trust me,” Zuko said, low.

“But you don’t tell me anything!” Aang’s hands balled into little fists. “You always just decide things for me, like I’m a baby or something—like I can’t think for myself!”

Zuko’s jaw clenched, fingers tightening around the paper bag. “Because when I do explain, you don’t listen.”

“That’s not true!” Aang snapped. “You just… you always act like you know better because you’re older—”

“I am older!” Zuko snapped back. “We’ve had this conversation already, remember?”

“I do!” Aang said, breathing fast now. “You keep saying you’re not in charge of me, but then you still tell me what I can and can’t do like you’re my—my dad or something!”

Zuko’s mouth opened—then closed again. He exhaled through his nose, smoke coming out, trying to steady himself. His voice dropped, tight and sharp.

“I didn’t tell you no to be a jerk. I told you no because I knew what was in them. I didn’t want you to eat something that would make you feel awful afterward. But instead of trusting that, you just snuck around and did it anyway.”

Aang flinched—not visibly, but enough for Zuko to notice.

“I’m not trying to control you,” Zuko went on, softer now but still firm. “But I’m not going to sit back and let you do something you’ll regret when I could’ve stopped it.”

Aang looked down at the ground, face red, the fight gone from his posture. “I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even think about gelatine.”

Zuko watched him for a moment, the tension in his chest slowly ebbing. He finally held the bag out.

“Then don’t eat them.”

Aang hesitated.

Before he could make a decision, a hand shot out from behind him. “I’ll take ‘em!” Sokka said brightly, snatching the bag with zero shame and shaking it like it was gold.

“Sokka—” Katara groaned.

“What?” he said, already popping one in his mouth. “It’d be a waste otherwise. Mmm—oh yeah, these are the ones with the gooey centre!”

Zuko gave him a flat look. “Enjoy your bones.”

“Delicious,” Sokka said through a mouthful, unbothered.

Katara knelt beside them, gently taking the sweets from Aang’s hands. “You didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” she said softly. “We didn’t know either.”

Sokka crouched down on the other side, rubbing the back of his neck. “Zuko could’ve mentioned the animal stuff instead of glaring at the candy like it owed him money.”

Zuko gave him a sidelong look. “I was tired.”

“Of what?” Sokka asked with mock seriousness. “Of explaining basic biology to children?”

Zuko didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. He gave Aang a nudge on the shoulder and stood.

“You’re still on market duty next time. Right in front of me. Try hiding anything in my blind spot again, and I’ll make you carry Kai’s snacks, too.”

Kai, from his perch near the tent, let out a shrill cry as if in agreement.

Aang smiled sheepishly. “Deal.”

As the tension eased, the group settled back into the familiar rhythm of unpacking and setting up for the night. Zuko lingered a moment, watching Aang shuffle off to help Katara and Sokka. His guilt had faded, but something thoughtful lingered in his expression.

He didn’t say it aloud—but this time, he had been the one to step in before something went wrong.

Before Aang said something he couldn’t take back. Before the guilt could fester into something worse.

It wasn’t perfect—Zuko had lost his temper, again—but he hadn’t walked away.

And for once, he hadn’t been the one needing to apologize.

For once, he hadn’t been the cause of the damage.

It wasn’t victory. But it felt like something close.

Evening had crept in slow and soft, the last hues of orange fading into a velvety blue. Their small camp was quiet, bathed in the amber glow of a crackling fire. Katara hummed gently to herself as she stirred a pot of stew, the rich smell of spices wafting into the air. Aang, not far from her, moved in flowing circles, focused on his airbending forms—his glider still in pieces, but his determination unwavering. He wasn’t going to fall behind—not now, not with the village so close. A place where others from the Southern Air Temple had found refuge. A chance to finally meet some of his people again.

A few paces away, Sokka stood on a wide tree stump, arms out like wings, trying to balance on one leg. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration, lips moving as he counted under his breath. Twenty-seven… twenty-eight…

Zuko slipped away without a word, a small metal bowl tucked under one arm, a few pieces of fruit and a pouch of sugar hidden beneath his coat. No one questioned his absence—they just assumed he’d gone to meditate. He was good at slipping into the shadows, after all.

He found a quiet spot under the trees, where the moonlight filtered down in pale streaks. Setting the bowl on a flat stone, Zuko knelt and carefully lit a flame in his palm. He didn’t need much—just enough to melt the sugar without burning it. He worked slowly, eyes narrowed in concentration, swirling the melted sugar with a small stick until it thickened into a golden syrup.

He heard a familiar flutter and a rustle of branches. A second later, Momo landed beside him with a chirp, eyeing the pile of stolen fruit hungrily.

Zuko groaned. “Don’t even think about it.”

Momo ignored him entirely, snatching a slice of pear in his tiny hands.

“You little thief,” Zuko muttered, but he tossed him another piece anyway. Momo caught it mid-air and squeaked with delight before scurrying up a nearby branch to eat in peace.

Zuko rolled his eyes and returned to the task, dipping the fruit carefully into the warm syrup. He turned them gently, making sure each piece was evenly coated before setting it aside on a flat leaf to cool. It was slow work, but… oddly satisfying.

Sokka’s words echoed in his head.

“He’s ten, Zuko. Sweets are kind of his whole personality.”

Zuko sighed, then let out the smallest chuckle under his breath. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He did. He remembered being ten—though that memory was drowned in tutors and bruises and Azula’s shadow. No sweets. No games. Nothing childish, not really. But Aang… Aang still had that.

He deserved to keep it.

Zuko looked at the small pile of candied fruit slowly growing beside him. There weren’t many—just enough to be a quiet surprise. Maybe a peace offering. Maybe a silent apology for earlier. Maybe something else he couldn’t quite name.

He looked up at the moon through the trees, its pale light catching the edge of the syrup. The forest was quiet except for the crackle of his fire and Momo’s satisfied chewing.

Zuko exhaled softly and, for a moment, let himself feel… calm.

Zuko rose quietly, carefully lifting the flat leaf piled with glistening candied fruit. Momo fluttered up from his perch and landed deftly on Zuko’s shoulder, tiny feet gripping his cloak as if claiming victory.

He moved back toward the campfire, the warm glow flickering over his face as he stepped into the clearing. The others looked up, curiosity piqued by his sudden return—and the sweet, sticky scent trailing behind him.

Aang was the first to notice. His eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief and joy sparking within them. Without thinking, he launched a small swirl of air around himself, twirling happily in place before dashing forward.

“Is that… for me?” Aang asked breathlessly, his grin stretching wide.

Before Zuko could answer, Aang threw his arms around him in a quick, warm hug, squeezing tightly. “Thank you, Zuko! You didn’t have to, but I’m really glad you did.”

Zuko’s good eye twitched, caught off guard by the sudden affection. He blinked, then managed a small, reluctant smile. “You threw your other candy away. Thought you deserved a proper treat.”

Aang pulled back just enough to look up into Zuko’s eyes, still beaming. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Sokka grinned, already reaching out. “Hey, candy! Now this is a smart detour.”

Katara chuckled softly, watching the brothers’ rare moment of closeness with a fond smile.

Momo chirped happily from Zuko’s shoulder, and even Kai gave a small, approving cry.

Sokka popped a piece into his mouth and gave a satisfied hum. “Not bad at all, future-maybe-Fire Lord. You might be better at this candy thing than I thought.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. For once, the tension between them eased, softened by the simple sweetness of a thoughtful gesture—and an unexpected hug.

Night settled softly over their small camp, the fire’s glow dimming as the group grew quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. The stars blinked awake overhead, distant and steady, as the forest whispered in the cool breeze. Slowly, one by one, they drifted to rest, the calm of the night wrapping around them like a gentle cloak.

Morning came on pale wings, light filtering through the trees in soft beams. The group packed up, the promise of the day ahead stirring a quiet excitement beneath their tiredness.

Ahead lay the village—a small cluster of wooden homes and weathered stone structures nestled in a wide valley. It was clear the place had been abandoned long ago; moss crept up the walls, and many roofs sagged under the weight of time. Yet, signs of recent life were everywhere. Fresh smoke curled from a chimney, and bright cloths fluttered from makeshift lines between trees. Slowly, carefully, the village was being brought back to life.

As Appa soared toward the village, his great form casting shadows over the earth, shapes appeared on the hillsides—figures gliding gracefully on colourful air gliders. The older air nomads, dressed in flowing robes of soft oranges and yellows, turned toward Appa and Aang with wide, welcoming smiles.

One of the nomads called out joyfully, “Aang! Zuko! We’re so relieved you’re both safe!”

Aang’s face lit up, eyes sparkling as he reached for his glider. He turned to Zuko, excitement bubbling over. “I want to fly with them! But…” He glanced down at the broken frame, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

Zuko stepped closer with a reassuring smile. “The elders here have fixed plenty of old gliders. They’ll know how to help yours.”

Sokka, ever curious, perked up. “Hey, do you think they’d let me check it out? I want to see how those gliders actually work.”

Katara chuckled softly. “You and your inventions, Sokka.”

The group landed gently at the edge of the village, where Appa’s large feet stirred up soft earth. Nearby, a small herd of sky bison grazed peacefully on the green grass—some older, some younger, all serene and majestic.

Appa let out a contented rumble, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Aang reached out and patted his great friend’s massive head. “It’s okay, Appa. You can go join them.”

With a happy snort, Appa took to the sky again as he glided toward the herd.

The group watched in quiet awe, feeling the warmth of reunion and the gentle hope of new beginnings.

A lean monk in faded orange robes approached the group with quick, purposeful steps. His sharp eyes softened the moment he saw Aang and Zuko, a rare warmth breaking through his usual stern expression.

“It’s good to see you both,” the monk said, nodding respectfully. “I’ve been worried… Where are the other children from the temple? The ones you fled with? We feared the worst.”

He then glanced curiously at Sokka and Katara. “And who are these two companions with you?”

Aang’s face brightened despite himself. The monk had always been strict—often scolding him for being too playful or adventurous back at the temple—but beneath that gruffness was genuine care. “It’s good to see you too,” Aang said cheerfully.

Zuko stepped forward, his voice calm but assured. “They’re safe. All of them. And I have much to tell you.”

The monk’s eyes softened further, and he gestured toward a larger wooden house nestled near the centre of the village. “Come inside. The others are waiting—they saw Appa from afar and have been anxious.”

As they walked, Aang’s eyes darted around, taking in the slowly restored buildings, the flutter of colourful flags, and the faint echoes of laughter from nearby.

Once inside, Aang tugged at Zuko’s sleeve. “Can I go play with the others?” His excitement was palpable.

Zuko hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Alright, but be careful.”

Aang’s grin widened. He grabbed Katara’s arm enthusiastically. “Come on! I’ll show you some games we used to play back at the Air Temple.”

Sokka shifted on his feet, caught between curiosity and loyalty. He glanced at Zuko, then at the doorway where Aang and Katara disappeared. “I wonder if I should stay and talk with the elders, or go with those two. Those air nomad games sound interesting…”

Katara smiled at Sokka’s indecision. “You can come with us. The more the merrier.”

Zuko gave a small, knowing smile. “Suit yourself.”

Zuko stepped inside the wooden house, the warmth from the hearth immediately contrasting the cool evening outside. The room was filled with several air temple elders—some from the Southern Air Temple, others from distant temples he recognized only by their robes and quiet dignity. The silence between them was thick as curious eyes settled on him.

Zuko’s heart quickened. He knew the monks from Aang’s own temple were aware of his identity as the Fire Nation prince, but he wasn’t sure if the others knew—or if it was wise to reveal it.

Before he could say anything, a gentle but firm voice broke the silence.

“It is an honour to meet you, Prince Zuko,” said a female monk, her eyes kind but steady. “We’ve heard much about you—from the Southern Air Temple monks and the children who survived. It is comforting to know you have joined Aang’s side.”

Zuko let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief washed over him. They did not hate him.

The elder from the Southern Air Temple, a stooped man with deep wrinkles and bright eyes, spoke next. “Tell us, Zuko, what happened after the Fire Nation attacked the temple?”

Zuko nodded and began recounting the story. “After the attack, I took Aang and the other children, and we fled. It was difficult—we got lost several times, but my hawk helped me communicate with my uncle and cousin, who oppose the war. Eventually, we made our way to the Southern Water Tribe, where Aang met Katara and Sokka.”

The elders listened intently, their faces reflecting sadness when Zuko mentioned the attack on the Water Tribe that followed the air temple assault.

One of the monks leaned forward. “Were you training Aang in firebending? To prepare him for his journey as the Avatar?”

Zuko shook his head firmly. “No. My uncle and a few other Monks warned me about the chi conflict that might arise if Aang learned opposing elements too soon. Katara is the last waterbender from the South, though untrained. She’s been teaching Aang everything she knows.”

The monks exchanged thoughtful glances, nodding in agreement with the wisdom. “It is dangerous,” one said quietly, “for the Avatar to learn fire before mastering the other elements.”

Zuko hesitated, then asked carefully, “What happened to the temple after we fled? Do you know where my mother is?”

The room fell silent once more, the weight of his question hanging heavily in the air.

Chapter Text

The elder from the Southern Air Temple sat quietly for a moment, his eyes distant as if recalling memories both painful and precious. The firelight from the hearth flickered across his weathered face, casting deep shadows that traced the lines of many years lived in hardship and hope. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of loss and resilience.

“I fled with a small group of younger air nomads,” he began, folding his hands calmly in his lap. “We scattered when the Fire Nation’s attack came. Many of us were forced to leave behind everything—our homes, our temples, the very sky we called ours.” His gaze shifted toward the window, where the moonlight painted silver streaks on the wooden beams of the small room.

“This village... it’s far enough inside the Earth Kingdom that the Fire Nation won’t reach us here. Each day, more of our people find their way back—like the slow return of the wind after a storm.” He gave a faint smile, but it barely reached his eyes.

Zuko listened intently, feeling the gravity of the monk’s words settle in his chest. He knew all too well what it meant to lose everything and still find the strength to move forward.

The elder continued, his voice tinged with sorrow and regret. “When the attack came, I stayed behind with others to fight. We wanted to protect the temple, to make a stand. But as the flames engulfed our home and our numbers dwindled, it became clear the battle was lost.” He looked directly at Zuko, his expression firm yet understanding. “It was then I made the choice—to save the lives of as many nomads as I could. To flee, rather than perish in a fight that would change nothing.”

Zuko nodded slowly, admiration for the monk’s courage and wisdom evident in his eyes. “That was the right choice. A temple, walls and buildings, can be rebuilt after this war ends. But people—our families, our friends—once lost, are gone forever.” His voice was quiet but resolute.

The elder’s eyes softened, a flicker of relief breaking through his sombre demeanour. “I’m glad you understand, Prince Zuko. Not all would see it that way.”

For a moment, the room fell into a thoughtful silence. Then Zuko shifted the conversation, eager to connect with the monks on a more hopeful note.

“Aang’s air glider broke recently, during a fight.” He glanced toward the doorway where the others lingered, sensing their interest.

A chuckle broke the stillness as another Southern Air Temple monk, younger and livelier, leaned forward. “I was quite surprised that Aang didn’t fly off the moment he saw the other kids,” he admitted, a teasing grin on his face. “He must have been so excited to see others—yet there was that broken glider holding him back.” The room shared a quiet laugh, the warmth of camaraderie easing some of the lingering tension.

The elder who had spoken earlier smiled reassuringly. “Do not worry. We have the knowledge and skill to fix it easily. The air nomads have preserved many ancient techniques. Aang’s glider will be as good as new soon enough.”

Zuko’s curiosity was piqued. “Would it be possible for Sokka and me to watch? Sokka has a great curiosity about how the glider works, and I would like to understand, just in case such damage occurs again.”

He paused, his tone respectful and cautious. “If it is your nation’s secret, or if you prefer outsiders not to see, I will understand completely.”

The elder’s face broke into a gentle, welcoming smile. “Our knowledge is not meant to be hidden away in fear. If sharing it helps others, then it is right to do so.” He gestured kindly. “You are welcome to watch and learn. The air nomads believe knowledge carried on strengthens the spirit of our people.”

Zuko exhaled, feeling a warmth of acceptance he hadn’t expected. Here, among these monks, he found a measure of peace—proof that perhaps healing was possible even after so much loss.

The elder’s warm smile lingered as Zuko lingered in the quiet room, the crackling fire throwing dancing shadows on the walls. After a pause, Zuko cleared his throat and spoke, his voice steady but earnest.

Zuko took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking to the elders. “I plan to take Aang to the Northern Water Tribe. It’s the only place left where he can learn waterbending properly. Katara’s been teaching him everything she knows from the South, but with the Southern Water Tribe destroyed, the Northern Tribe is his only real hope to master the element.”

One of the elder monks nodded slowly, his expression grave. “Yes. The Southern Tribe was lost in the war, and the Northern Tribe remains the last sanctuary for waterbenders. It is a difficult journey, but the only chance Aang has to grow in his bending and fulfil his role as the Avatar.”

Zuko’s gaze softened, gratitude swelling quietly in his chest. “Thank you. I want him to be strong, not just as the Avatar, but as a person. These months have shown me how important it is to protect what remains of his childhood.”

Just then, footsteps approached down the hallway. Aang burst into the room with Katara and Sokka trailing behind. Katara’s eyes shone with excitement, her hair slightly tousled as if she had just hurried to catch up. Sokka looked... unsettled—his eyes wide and his stance rigid, as if he was still shaking off some invisible weight.

Katara burst into the hall first, laughing as she tugged her braid back into place. “You wouldn’t believe the games they came up with.”

Sokka stumbled in after her, looking slightly green and very ruffled. “They weaponized joy,” he muttered. “Tiny whirlwinds of chaos.”

“They launched him into a haystack,” Katara added helpfully, still giggling.

“They said it was a ‘trust exercise!’” Sokka cried. “Then they threw mangoes at me.”

Aang came in last, absolutely glowing. “I forgot how fast airbender games escalate,” he said cheerfully. “One second it’s tag, and the next—sky chases and fruit ambushes!”

One of the monks chuckled from the side. “That sounds about right.”

Zuko stood, trying to hide his amusement. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve got something to make up for it. The monks agreed to show us how to repair Aang’s glider.”

Sokka’s eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm. “Really? That would be amazing! I’ve always wondered how it works.”

Aang bounced on the balls of his feet, already imagining the moment his glider would be fixed. “I can’t wait! I want to fly again.”

Without hesitation, Aang darted out the door, his feet barely touching the ground as he raced to Appa. The great sky bison was grazing nearby, his massive head lowering to nibble the grass. Aang’s excitement was infectious as he called to Appa, who lifted his great bulk to look at him, but quickly returned back to his grass as Aang jumped into the saddle to grab the broken glider and quickly rush back.

Moments later, Aang returned, clutching the broken glider tightly in his hands. Zuko nodded approvingly and turned to Sokka. “Come with me. A few monks will help us with the repair. It’s best if you watch carefully—I’ll need to remember the process.”

Sokka followed eagerly, asking a stream of questions as the group moved to a quiet workshop nestled among the trees—a simple structure made of bamboo and canvas, decorated with intricate carvings of swirling winds and clouds.

Inside, several monks were already preparing tools—lightweight wooden planks, woven fabric, and delicate cords made from temple-spun silk, a lightweight material traditionally used by Air Nomads for glider sails and ceremonial robes. The room smelled faintly of pine and smoke, the air cool and crisp.

One of the monks, a tall elder with a kind face, gestured toward the broken glider resting on a low workbench. “This is an excellent opportunity. The glider is a finely balanced instrument. It requires understanding both of its materials and the flow of air it travels through.”

Zuko crouched down beside the glider, studying its fractured frame. Sokka hovered close, eyes wide with curiosity. “How does it fly? I mean, what keeps it in the air besides the wind?”

The elder smiled patiently. “The wings catch the air, much like a bird’s feathers. The fabric stretches taut, creating lift, while the wooden frame provides structure without weighing it down. The design allows the rider to steer by shifting their weight and controlling airflow.”

Zuko’s gaze shifted to the broken parts—a splintered wooden frame near one wingtip, a few tears in the fabric. “What do you use to repair it?”

Another monk began assembling materials. “We use lightweight but strong wood—usually from the willow or birch trees—and a special resin to bind the joints. The fabric is made from woven silk, which is both durable and flexible. The strings are tightened carefully to maintain balance.”

Sokka leaned forward, fascinated. “Can I try tightening one of the cords?”

The monk nodded with a chuckle. “Of course. We will guide you.”

Under careful instruction, Sokka wrapped a thin cord around the frame and began tightening it slowly. Zuko watched intently as another monk applied resin to the broken wood, smoothing the surface with practiced fingers.

“The resin needs time to cure,” the elder explained. “It binds the wood together and prevents future splintering.”

Zuko memorized every step—the placement of each joint, the tension required on the fabric, the balance adjustments needed for flight.

Sokka, still eager, peppered the monks with questions about every aspect: “How heavy is the glider? What’s the maximum wind it can handle? How fast can it go? What about emergency landings?”

The monks answered patiently, sharing stories of past flights and lessons learned. The room filled with a soft hum of voices and laughter, the peaceful atmosphere a sharp contrast to the battles they had all faced.

Hours passed, and the glider slowly transformed under their hands—from a battered relic into a sleek, almost new instrument of flight. The final step was to test the balance and make small adjustments to the wing tips.

Zuko stood back, feeling a surge of pride. “Thank you. This knowledge… it’s invaluable.”

The elder nodded solemnly. “May your journeys be safe, and may the winds always guide you.”

Sokka grinned widely. “I never thought I’d be so excited about a flying stick.”

Sokka’s grin faded as Aang burst into the room, his eyes bright with excitement. “Come on! Appa’s ready to take us for a test flight!” he called, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Zuko caught the eager gleam in Aang’s eyes and felt a pang of regret. He stepped forward, raising a hand gently. “Aang… wait.”

The boy halted mid-bounce, glider cradled like a beloved pet. “What’s wrong?”

Zuko offered an apologetic smile. “The glider needs time to dry. The lacquer and silk—if you fly it too soon, it might tear mid-air. One more night, that’s all.”

Aang’s face fell. He looked down at the gleaming wings, disappointment radiating off him like heat from sun-baked stone. “But I was really looking forward to flying again…”

“I know.” Zuko’s voice was quiet. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

Aang looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of budging. But Zuko’s expression didn’t shift. With a heavy sigh, Aang nodded. “Okay. Just one night.”

Outside, the sun dipped behind the peaks, casting long shadows across the village. The air turned cooler, and the scent of pine and smoke drifted down from the mountaintops. With flying plans postponed, the group shifted their focus to the comforting simplicity of preparing an early dinner.

Zuko busied himself setting up fire pits across the courtyard, placing dry wood with practiced efficiency and igniting them with small bursts of flame from his fingertips. Flames danced cheerfully in the fading light, their warmth welcome against the cooling air.

The monks, gathered near the central fire, prepared their usual fare—vegetarian dishes made with fresh herbs, mountain greens, and roasted root vegetables. The earthy aroma of garlic chives and lemongrass mingled with the faint sweetness of roasted squash. Their tools were simple, but their hands worked with practiced grace, making humble ingredients into nourishing meals.

Katara crouched by a smaller fire with Sokka and Zuko, pulling out wrapped bundles of smoked meat from her satchel.

“You’re lucky I listened to you,” she said, unwrapping the strips. “Stopping for this added an hour to our trip.”

Sokka leaned in eagerly, already reaching for a piece. “Worth it. I knew the monks would be all steamed greens and no protein. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Zuko gave a quiet snort, and Katara rolled her eyes but passed the skewers over the flames anyway. “You’re impossible.”

Zuko said nothing, but the corner of his mouth lifted as Katara skewered pieces and laid them over the flame. Occasionally, she’d flick a scrap toward Kai, who snapped it up mid-air, tongue flicking like a whip.

Meanwhile, Momo had found his own feast.

The lemur darted from shoulder to shoulder among the monks, large ears twitching as he sniffed out unattended vegetables. With a flash of white fur, he leapt onto one monk’s shoulder, swiped a bit of carrot from a bowl, and vanished before the elder even realized it. A beat later, Momo landed softly on Zuko’s shoulder, holding his prize triumphantly in both paws.

Zuko raised an eyebrow at the lemur. “You know I’m not going to protect you when they realize who’s been raiding their food.”

Momo blinked up at him, head tilted, and let out a high-pitched whrrrp, equal parts question and innocence.

Zuko sighed, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Momo nibbled his stolen treat and, satisfied, bounded off again with a flick of his tail.

While the food cooked, Aang ran barefoot through the courtyard with a half-dozen Air Nomad children trailing behind him. “Watch this!” he called, spinning into motion.

He leapt into the air, summoning a whirlwind beneath his feet. The air solidified into a fast-spinning sphere that lifted him several inches off the ground—his air scooter. With a laugh, he zipped in circles around the other kids, who squealed and clapped with delight.

“Air scooter!” Aang announced proudly, gliding past in a blur. “I invented it myself!”

The children cheered louder.

Then with a loud bang, Aang slammed head-first into a wooden post with a loud thud and crumpled to the grass.

Zuko winced sharply. “Should I… check if he’s concussed?”

Sokka, chewing on a piece of meat, glanced over casually. “He’s fine. He bounces like a melon.”

Katara snorted a laugh. “He’s happy,” she murmured, watching Aang sit up with a grin and resume his playful antics. “It’s good to see him like this.”

Zuko didn’t answer at first. His golden eyes lingered on Aang, surrounded by children who looked just like him—robes fluttering, laughter echoing through the mountains. Aang’s joy was pure, unburdened, like a breeze free of storm.

‘I wish he could stay here,’ Zuko thought quietly. ‘With the other Air Nomads. Until the war ends.’

“Don’t say that out loud,” came a calm voice beside him.

Zuko turned in surprise. A female monk with silver-streaked hair sat nearby, folding leaves for tea. Her gaze met his, clear and knowing.

“What?” Zuko asked, brows lifting.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said gently. “And you should stop. It doesn’t help.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because he’s the Avatar,” she said simply. “And Avatar training begins at twelve.”

Zuko shook his head. “He’s ten.”

A male monk nearby added, “He’ll be eleven in a few months. He would’ve started next year anyway.”

Zuko’s shoulders dropped. The fire flickered between them, casting shadows across his face. “I just… I wish he wasn’t. That he could just be a kid.”

The female monk nodded. Her eyes were soft, but her voice steady. “So did the other Monks from his temple and your mother. So did many of us. But the world needs him. And he needs all of you.”

Zuko swallowed hard, his jaw tight.

“Perhaps that’s why his path was different,” the monk said gently. “He knew his mother’s love. He spoke his father’s name. And later, something no Air Nomad before him ever knew—a brother, not by temple custom or shared vows, but by blood. That is no small thing.”

She paused, her eyes following Aang as he darted across the courtyard on his air scooter, laughter rising like birdsong.

“The Avatar is born into each nation in turn, but this child... he carries more than the spirit of balance. He carries the legacy of the one who came before—Avatar Roku—and the blood of a prince from the very nation that seeks to destroy us.” She turned to Zuko. “You are both in him. Fire and wind. Past and future. Maybe that’s not a coincidence. Maybe he was meant to have a brother. Maybe he was meant to have you.”

Zuko blinked, the words settling over him like falling snow—soft, but heavy with meaning.

“The burden of being the Avatar is great,” the monk added. “But perhaps, in this life, he was never meant to carry it alone.”

For a while, no one said anything. The fire crackled. Aang’s laughter carried over the courtyard, joined by the shrieks of delighted children. Zuko looked down at his hands, calloused and scarred, and slowly exhaled.

Maybe the world couldn’t give Aang a childhood. But they could still give him moments like this—safe, joyful, filled with warmth.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

As the sun dipped below the mountain ridges, golden light spilled across the stone courtyards of the village. Long tables had been pulled into a loose ring around a fire pit, flames flickering and casting dancing shadows across the faces of monks and visitors alike. The mingled scents of roasted spices, grilled meat, and pine smoke lingered in the cooling air.

Plates were already half-empty. Katara leaned back with a satisfied sigh, brushing crumbs from her lap as she passed the last strip of smoked meat to Kai, who accepted it with a quick bark and a flutter of his tail.

Sokka was halfway through his second helping, chewing contentedly. “You’re all welcome, by the way,” he said, mouth half-full. “If I hadn’t made us stop for supplies, we’d be gnawing on boiled cabbage right now.”

Katara rolled her eyes but smiled. “You mean you would be gnawing on boiled cabbage. I would’ve made soup out of something decent.”

Zuko, sitting cross-legged beside them with a simple bowl of rice and dumplings, glanced up. “Honestly? I’m just glad we ended up with something hot.”

Sokka raised his cup in mock salute. “To the meat run. Truly, my greatest contribution to the group.”

Nearby, monks moved with quiet ease, offering seconds of steamed buns and hot tea. Their meals were all vegetarian—simple, earthy, and clean, in harmony with the stone temple and the soft wind rustling through the glider arches above.

Aang zipped through the courtyard like a windblown leaf, bouncing from table to table, arms out like glider wings. The golden light of the setting sun shimmered on his shaved head as he hovered on his air scooter, then leapt off to land squarely on the bench between Katara and Sokka—just as Sokka was lifting a mouthful of food.

“Watch it!” Sokka yelped as his skewer flew from his hand. Kai, ever the opportunist, caught it mid-air with a triumphant scream and flied off.

“Sorry!” Aang said, laughing. “Everything smells so good, I couldn’t decide where to sit!”

Zuko, seated on the other side of the fire, narrowed his eyes as Aang’s hands made a swift dive for the vegetables on his plate. He swatted them away—gently, but firmly.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “First Momo tries to steal my food, then Kai steals Sokka’s, and now you’re raiding my vegetables? I’m surrounded by thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” Aang said, already reaching again. “I’m just… sampling.”

Zuko raised his plate high, out of Aang’s reach. “Touch my food again and you’re eating with charred sleeves for the rest of the night.”

Aang cackled. “You wouldn’t!”

“I absolutely would.” Zuko glared, though there was no real heat behind it. “I already have to keep Momo out of the dumplings and Kai from peeking everything. Now I’ve got my little brother treating my plate like a sampler tray.”

Katara laughed. “He just wants to eat with everyone.”

“I know,” Zuko muttered, leaning back with a sigh. “But can I please eat one meal without defending it like it’s the last supply drop before a siege?”

“Technically,” Sokka mumbled between bites, “that smoked meat was the last supply drop before a siege. Of my stomach.”

Zuko groaned. “Great. Surrounded by toddlers.”

“Hey,” Aang said, indignant. “I’m ten!”

“And I’m fifteen and already halfway to greying out.” Zuko shoved his plate farther away from Aang’s reach and pointed toward the ring of Air Nomad children giggling nearby. “Go. Sit with your monk friends before I start charging a toll.”

Aang hesitated. “But I don’t want to leave you guys out…”

Katara leaned over and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be fine, Aang. You should enjoy this. Eat with your temple family.”

“Zuko and I get it,” she added, glancing at him.

Aang folded his arms with a stubborn pout. “Well, I think I can sit with both groups. It’s only fair.”

Katara softened, nudging his shoulder. “Aang, it’s okay. Really. If you want to sit with the monks, go ahead. We don’t feel left out.”

“But you’re my family too,” Aang said, voice dropping a little. “I don’t want to act like you’re just… visitors.”

Zuko finally lowered his plate, though he kept a wary eye on Aang’s hands. “You’ve got more than one family, Aang. That’s not a bad thing.”

Aang hesitated.

Zuko added, “You’ll have a thousand more meals with us after we leave here. Sit with the people who can only share this one.”

Katara nodded in agreement. “We’re fine. Zuko and I will keep each other company. And Sokka—” She paused, looking over at her brother.

Sokka was chewing with a glazed, blissful expression, eyes half-lidded, completely oblivious to the conversation. A large dumpling fell from his hand and landed on his lap. He didn’t notice.

“—Sokka probably won’t even notice you’re gone,” Katara finished, laughing.

“I heard that,” Sokka said, mouth full. Then he blinked and looked around. “Wait. Where’s Aang?”

Chapter Text

Aang was already halfway across the courtyard, sliding onto a bench with the younger airbenders, who welcomed him with loud greetings and a barrage of questions. He glanced back once, throwing the group a sheepish grin.

Katara waved.

Zuko took a long, pointed bite of his vegetables and muttered, “Finally. My plate is safe.”

Kai flopped onto his side with a dramatic squawk.

Zuko stared at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

Dinner had ended in a slow drift of laughter and empty plates, the courtyard humming with the quiet rhythm of monks tidying up and fires crackling to embers. With bellies full and the stars beginning to glitter over the temple roofs, the group made their way back toward Appa, rummaging through his saddle bags for their bedrolls and blankets.

Sokka was halfway tangled in his sleeping mat when a pair of elder monks approached, their robes catching the faint breeze.

One of them—a tall, wiry man with a long braid and eyes like polished stone—cleared his throat. “Apologies, young travellers. Before you settle in, we hoped to speak with you for a moment.”

A shorter, smiling woman stepped forward, her palms tucked in her sleeves. “Forgive the intrusion. We understand your customs may differ, but here, we prefer for males and females to rest in separate quarters. Katara, if it’s alright with you, we’d be honoured if you joined the other girls in the western dormitory for the night.”

Katara blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Oh—of course. I appreciate you asking. And honestly, it’ll be a relief not to sleep next to someone who snores like a dying walrus-seal.”

“Excuse me?” Sokka pulled a pillow dramatically to his chest. “I snore with power. Authority. The voice of the ancestors.”

“You snore like Appa when he’s dreaming about cabbages,” Katara shot back, grinning.

Zuko coughed into his sleeve, poorly hiding a laugh. Even Kai let out a soft chuff of amusement from his perch.

The taller monk gave an amused nod, then turned his attention to Aang. “We also wished to speak with the Avatar.”

Aang, who was halfway through trying to fold his sleeping mat with one foot, perked up. “Me?”

“You’ve begun a difficult journey,” the elder said, his voice gentler now. “But we’re comforted to see that you are not alone. A waterbending teacher and a firebending guide—your path is already forming.”

Aang’s smile faltered. He sat back on his heels. “Yeah, but... I’m not sure if I’ll ever be a good Avatar. It might take years to learn everything. And who knows how the war will escalate by then—how many more villages could be hurt, how many people might suffer before I’m ready.”

Zuko stepped forward, expression tight. “He’s already—”

The female monk raised a calming hand, her eyes kind. “He is already doing more than enough. And he will do more still.”

A third elder stepped into the circle, his voice warm but steady. “You worry because you care. That is the sign of someone who will do great things.”

The short female monk gave a small nod. “And there’s another matter. The elder council met this evening. We’ve agreed that it is time for you to be recognized as an airbending master.”

Aang’s eyes went wide. “Wait—what?”

“Your arrow,” said the braided monk. “If you wish it. You’ve earned the right.”

“But... I thought I had to master all the techniques first, and get approval from all the temple councils. And if you’re only offering me the arrow because I’m the Avatar—to make me feel better about having to learn all four elements so fast—I don’t want it.”

One of the monks chuckled and shook his head. “No, young one. You’ve already invented your own technique—your little flying contraption?”

He pointed across the courtyard, where a young airbender zipped past on an air scooter, squealing in delight.

“Creating a new technique is the sign of a true master,” the monk continued. “Even if it is... a bit silly.”

The others chuckled with fondness.

Another monk added, “I believe you may be the youngest airbending master in our history. Avatar or not.”

Aang stared at the stone tiles under his feet, processing. “But... shouldn’t I wait for the Southern Temple monks to be here? Or my mom?”

The female monk smiled softly. “That is your choice. You may have the ceremony tomorrow, or wait until others can join us. Let your heart decide.”

The monks gave respectful bows and turned to leave.

Katara hesitated. “Think about it, Aang. Carefully.” She touched his shoulder gently. “I’m proud of you either way.” Then, with a yawn, she waved at the boys and followed one of the female monks toward the western wing.

The remaining three—Aang, Zuko, and Sokka—stood in thoughtful silence for a moment.

Then Sokka broke it by tripping over his own blanket and tumbling flat on his back with a heavy oof.

“Guess that’s my cue to turn in,” he mumbled, limbs splayed.

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Come on, Master Sokka. You’ve got a big day of majestic snoring ahead of you.”

Aang chuckled and followed them inside.

But long after the others had settled into the soft hush of sleep, he lay awake staring at the wooden ceiling beams, heart pounding with the weight of the decision still to come.

Aang sat quietly, eyes fixed on the rough wooden floor beneath him. The room was still except for the soft rustle of the wind outside and the faint crackle from the dying fire. Kai had laid down on the corner of the mat, Momo nestled nearby, but Aang’s mind was far from peaceful.

The arrow tattoo—they wanted to give it to him. The symbol of an air master. Of a true airbender.

But to Aang, it felt less like an honour and more like a burden.

Mastery. The word echoed in his mind, but all he could see were the endless lessons, the struggles, the weight of expectations pressing down on him. Mastery means responsibility. Means I have to be perfect, strong, unbreakable.

He thought of the war—the flames creeping across the land, swallowing villages, stealing lives. The faces of people he didn’t know but could never forget. The war wasn’t waiting for him to be ready. It was raging on, tearing the world apart while he was still learning to control the air beneath his feet.

His voice broke the silence, quiet and raw. “I want the arrow. I do. It’s the sign every airbender dreams of—proof that I’ve become who I’m supposed to be.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “But… what if I’m not ready? What if the arrow makes everyone think I’m perfect when I’m still scared, still struggling? What if it means I have to be a hero, and I’m not sure I can be?”

Aang’s hands clenched at his sides. “There’s so much more to learn—water, earth, fire—and what if it takes years? What if more villages fall before I can stop it? What if I fail everyone?”

Zuko shifted closer, eyes softer than usual. “That’s a heavy weight for anyone, especially someone your age.”

Aang looked up, searching Zuko’s face for an answer, some kind of reassurance.

“You’re carrying more than most could,” Zuko said quietly. “But you’re not alone. You don’t have to carry it all at once.”

Sokka, who had been leaning back with an almost full mouth, waved a hand dismissively but his eyes held something kinder. “Look, I’m just here for the food, but even I can see you’re dealing with a lot. Maybe waiting for the other monks and your mom to be here isn’t a bad idea. This arrow… it’s more than just a mark. It’s a promise you make—to yourself and to everyone else.”

Aang nodded slowly, the storm inside him still swirling but a small calm beginning to form.

“I want to take it,” he said finally, voice steadier. “I want to be proud of it. But I also want to be sure. That I’m ready to carry what it means.”

The thought of the ceremony, the eyes of the monks, the weight of history pressing down—it all felt overwhelming.

“But if I wait, will it make me less of an airbender?” Aang’s voice was barely a whisper.

Zuko smiled faintly, the teasing edge softened. “The arrow doesn’t make you an airbender—you do. Every breath you take, every gust you bend, that’s what makes you one.”

Aang managed a small laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders just a little.

Tomorrow, he would decide. But tonight, surrounded by the quiet warmth of his brother and friends, he let himself believe that maybe he didn’t have to be perfect right now. Maybe it was okay to be just Aang.

The fire crackled softly as the quiet house settled into a gentle stillness. Aang, Zuko, and Sokka found their places among the blankets and pillows they had retrieved from Appa’s supplies. Momo curled up beside Aang, while Kai perched silently near the doorway.

Aang’s mind lingered on the weight of the day’s conversation, the promise of the arrow, and the path ahead. His eyelids grew heavy, the warm glow of the fire mingling with the soothing sounds of the temple night. Slowly, the restless turmoil in his chest began to ease, replaced by a fragile calm.

Zuko shifted nearby, his usual alertness softening into exhaustion. For once, the fierce tension in his young shoulders seemed to loosen. Sokka’s steady breathing soon joined the quiet symphony of sleep. One by one, the household slipped into rest, dreams weaving silently through the night.

Before dawn, as the first pale light brushed the horizon, Zuko was already awake. He rose silently, careful not to disturb the others. Outside, the village’s grounds were shrouded in a delicate mist. The air was crisp, alive with the subtle sounds of morning—distant birdcalls, the rustle of leaves, the faint crackling of early fires.

Zuko moved through the village with a quiet purpose. He tended to the small fires scattered around the courtyards, coaxing the embers back to life. Then, finding a peaceful spot beneath a towering stone pillar, he began his morning training and meditation—firebending practice that grounded him and sharpened his focus for the day ahead.

As sunlight spilled into the house, warmth crept into the rooms where Aang and Sokka slept. Slowly, their eyes fluttered open. Stretching and blinking away the remnants of sleep, they greeted the new day. The familiar scent of pine smoke and cooked grains wafted in from outside, mingling with the faint laughter of monks beginning their morning rituals.

Katara was already up, her quiet presence bringing a soothing calm. She greeted them with a warm smile, and together the three made their way toward the breakfast area, where simple dishes awaited—freshly steamed buns, roasted vegetables, and fragrant tea.

After breakfast, Aang’s steps carried him toward the gathering of air elders from the various temples. They stood in a quiet circle near the village's central courtyard, their robes catching the light as they spoke softly among themselves. Only one elder was from Aang’s own Southern Air Temple, his familiar face offering a subtle reassurance.

Taking a steadying breath, Aang approached the group, his heart pounding but his voice faltering slightly. “I’ve been thinking… a lot,” he began, glancing down at his hands. “Since the war started, I’ve had to hide who I am almost everywhere we go. Zuko makes us wear Earth Kingdom clothes so no one recognizes me. I understand why—it’s safer that way. But it’s hard. It feels like I’m losing a part of myself every time I cover up.”

He looked up at the elders, his eyes searching theirs. “The arrow… it’s not just a mark of mastery. It’s a symbol of who I am—of the Air Nation and everything it stands for. Even if I have to hide my airbending and my clothes, the arrow would always be with me. Like a secret reminder that I carry my people with me on this journey, even when I can’t show it.”

Aang’s voice cracked as he continued, “But… I don’t know if I’m ready. I’m just ten years old. The war is getting worse every day, and I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough or fast enough to protect everyone. I don’t want to let anyone down—not the Air Nomads, not my friends, not the whole world. And what if this arrow makes me a target? What if it puts me in more danger?”

He swallowed hard, his small shoulders tense. “I need your advice. Should I accept this arrow now? Or should I wait, until I’m stronger and maybe have my family with me? I want to honour my people, but I don’t want to carry a burden I can’t bear.”

The elders exchanged thoughtful glances, the soft rustle of their robes filling the silence. The elder from the Southern Air Temple stepped forward, his eyes gentle but firm. “Aang, the arrow is a mark of mastery, yes—but more than that, it is a symbol of courage and commitment. You have already shown great strength in your heart and spirit. Hiding who you are does not lessen your identity. The arrow will remind you of who you are, even in the darkest times.”

Another elder nodded, smiling warmly. “You are the youngest Air Master in our history, not just because of your age, but because of the path you have walked—one filled with trials that would challenge even the strongest among us.”

The first elder added, “We do not ask you to carry the weight of the world alone, Aang. But accepting the arrow is a choice to stand with your people and your culture, no matter where the journey takes you.”

Aang took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their words settle in his chest. The doubt was still there, but now mingled with a growing sense of purpose. Slowly, he nodded. “I want to receive the arrow. I want to carry it proudly. Even if I have to hide it sometimes, it will remind me of who I am and where I come from.”

The elders smiled with quiet approval. “Then we will hold the ceremony later today. It will be a day to honour your mastery and your spirit.”

Aang’s lips curved into a hopeful smile, feeling the heavy storm inside begin to calm. The journey was far from over—but today, he had taken a meaningful step forward.

As the sun climbed higher, the temple stirred with gentle anticipation. Word of the ceremony spread quietly from monk to monk. Though the village had once been abandoned, now it felt like a sanctuary again—airbenders tending to wind chimes strung between rooftops, sweeping stone paths, and adorning the courtyard with gentle streamers in hues of soft blue and white.

Zuko, who had stayed nearby but respectfully out of earshot during Aang’s talk with the elders, offered a simple nod when Aang returned to their group. No words were needed; the understanding passed silently between them.

Sokka clapped a hand on Aang’s shoulder. “Well, if you're gonna become a master, you better not let it go to your head.”

Aang chuckled, the tension in his chest easing. “No promises.”

Katara joined them again, the warmth in her smile anchoring Aang’s spirit. “I’m proud of you,” she said quietly. “This… this matters.”

But as they walked back toward the preparation area, a whisper of doubt stirred again in Aang’s chest. He glanced sideways at Katara, wondering—what if she resented this? Back when she first started teaching him waterbending, she’d grown frustrated—angry, even—when some techniques came easily to him, the Avatar, while she had struggled and trained for years. She had apologized, of course, but the memory lingered.

Would this widen that space between them again? Would the arrow make him seem distant… different?

And then there was Zuko. Aang glanced over at the older boy, who stood with arms crossed, watching the morning preparations unfold in silence.

Is he a master? Aang thought, his stomach tightening. If I accept this, if I’m called a master and he’s not… will that change things between us?

Aang lingered for a moment before stepping closer. “Hey… Zuko?”

Zuko turned, one eyebrow raised.

Aang shifted awkwardly. “Um. Can I ask you something? You know, about… being a master.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed slightly. “What about it?”

“Are you one?” Aang asked, hesitating. “I mean—you’re older than me, and you’re really good at firebending, so I just thought…”

Zuko’s expression changed—not with annoyance, but with a sort of quiet heaviness. He looked away, toward the mist-covered hills beyond the temple.

“I was trained to be one,” he said finally. “Since I was a kid. My father made sure of it. Royal children are expected to be strong, to be leaders—especially if the nation is ever attacked. I went through the Fire Nation's mastery trials before the war started. Passed them all.”

Aang’s eyes widened. “So you are a master?”

Zuko’s jaw tensed. “By official standards? Yes. But… I’ve never felt like one. Not really.”

Aang blinked. “Why not?”

Zuko hesitated. His voice dropped a little. “Because I had to work harder than anyone else just to keep up. Our sister, Azula—she was a prodigy. Perfect form, perfect control. Everyone compared me to her. I only passed those trials because I refused to give up. I didn’t want to be humiliated. But it never felt like I earned it. Not the way it should’ve.”

Aang’s mouth was slightly open. “But you’re amazing. I’ve watched you train. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

Zuko offered a rare, brief smile. “Strength’s not the same as mastery. It’s not about what other people call you. It’s about who you are when no one’s looking. How you carry what you’ve learned. You—” he gave Aang a nod, “—you’ve grown. You’ve learned not just how to bend, but how to carry the weight of it. That’s what makes a master.”

Aang swallowed hard, the knot in his chest easing just a little. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

The preparations were humble, shaped by necessity more than tradition. This was no ancient temple with sky domes or carved stone halls—only a reclaimed Earth Kingdom village, far from the front lines, tucked between wooded hills and overgrown paths. The airbenders had made it their refuge in the past year, stringing wind chimes between rooftops and painting symbols of the four winds over cracked plaster walls. There was no formal sky dome, but they had cleared the main square, letting the open sky serve as their sacred ceiling. It was here, on this improvised ground, that they chose to honour an old tradition and mark a new beginning.

The elders prepared with reverence, gathering simple incense bundles and carved wooden staffs passed down or hastily made in the past year. Word of the ceremony had quietly spread beyond the village. A handful of Earth Kingdom villagers from nearby settlements, curious about the rare making of an Air Master, had come to witness. The monks, ever welcoming, had invited them to join. In a spirit of shared peace, the villagers brought what little they could—baskets of fruit, warm flatbreads, and clay jugs of tea—to add to the communal table. Around the cleared square, young airbenders watched in wide-eyed silence, their robes wind-stirred, sensing the weight of the moment even if they didn’t yet understand all of it. This was more than ceremony—it was a sign that their people, scattered but not broken, still endured.

Aang stood at the centre of it all, dressed in a quiet fusion of past and present. Beneath a freshly sewn outer robe—cut and dyed in the traditional style of Air Nomad masters—he wore his old training clothes, softened by time and travel. The familiar fabric still bore faint scuffs from practice falls and long journeys, grounding him in memories of his home, his teachers, and a life that felt impossibly far away. The master’s robe had been made just that morning by a nearby village’s tailors, guided by the elders’ recollections of ceremonial garb. It draped over his shoulders like a promise—of who he could become, of a future still possible. Donning it in silence, Aang felt the weight of many lives, past and present, resting gently against his back.

As he stood in the makeshift changing area, Zuko appeared beside him, adjusting the collar of Aang’s robe with uncharacteristic gentleness. “One day,” Zuko said, eyeing the coarse fabric with a small frown, “when the war’s over and we can walk into a proper market without looking over our shoulders—I’m getting you master robes made from the finest silk in the Earth Kingdom. The real stuff. Maybe even a phoenix feather lining.”

Aang snorted, grinning up at him. “Sounds fancy. Can I still roll around in the mud with them?”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Only if you want me to personally firebend them into ashes.”

Aang laughed, but it faded into something softer. “Thanks, Zuko. I know they’re just robes, but… it means a lot.”

Zuko gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “It’s not about the robes. It’s about everything they stand for. And you deserve every thread of it.”

Zuko lingered just long enough to straighten the clasp at Aang’s shoulder, then stepped back with a quiet nod. “They’re waiting,” he said, voice low.

Aang took a slow breath. “Yeah.”

He hesitated, his bare feet unmoving against the cool stone floor. The robe felt heavier now—less like cloth, more like memory. Still, he stepped forward.

Together, they exited the quiet preparation room into the heart of the village, where the ceremony had been arranged. The old Earth Kingdom courtyard had been swept clean and decorated with airbending symbols—spirals carved in stone and echoed in soft chalk along the walls and ground. Though it was not a temple, it had become sacred through presence and purpose.

The elders stood in a wide circle, their robes catching the early light, faces serene but proud. Villagers and younger Air Nomads lined the perimeter in respectful silence, including Sokka, Katara, and the rest of Aang’s traveling companions. Momo clung to a nearby post, tail twitching with quiet excitement.

Aang stepped into the centre, the morning breeze brushing his face as he crossed the stone. Though his hands trembled slightly, his gaze remained steady. As the monks began their slow, circular walk around him, chanting softly in the ancient Air Nomad tongue, Aang closed his eyes. The wind stirred gently through the space, playing with the edge of his sleeves.

In that moment, he thought of his father and of Monk Gyatso—his mentor, his anchor. Of his mother and the Southern Temple monks, whose faces blurred in his memory but whose laughter and teachings still echoed somewhere in his heart. He thought of all the lost voices… and all the ones still out there, scattered, surviving, rebuilding. Carrying on.

He thought of Zuko, who had helped him fasten his robe, and of Katara, who had once cried when he outpaced her in a lesson—not out of cruelty, but fear of being left behind. He thought of Sokka, who had once admitted, in a rare quiet moment, that the world expected too much from all of them.

And yet, here they all were. Still standing.

The wind picked up slightly, lifting a lock of his hair as the chanting deepened. Aang opened his eyes.

He was ready.

The lead monk stopped before him. “Aang of the Southern Air Temple. You have demonstrated mastery of the element of air. Through innovation, discipline, and spirit, you have earned the right to carry the mark of the arrow.”

A second monk stepped forward with a bowl of blue dye infused with spirit-enhanced ink, glistening faintly in the sunlight. Beside him stood a healer monk, hands steady, prepared to oversee the safe application of the tattoos—a blend of ceremonial art and sacred responsibility.

“You do not receive this as the Avatar,” the elder continued, “but as one of our own. As a son of the wind.”

Aang lowered himself onto his knees, eyes wide, breath held. His heart thudded not with fear, but reverence.

Chapter Text

As the first brush touched his forehead, a hush fell over the gathered airbenders. The cool sensation of the ink traced the path from the centre of his brow, down his scalp, following the shape of the wind-tunnels etched in Air Nomad tradition—winding around his arms, legs, and back in the ancient spiral paths that mapped the breath of sky bison and sky itself.

Pain was present, yes—but Aang accepted it. It was nothing compared to the ache he’d carried all this time.

When it was over, and the final chant was spoken, the air around him shifted. As if the winds themselves had acknowledged the moment.

Aang stood.

The arrow gleamed, fresh and bright against his skin, cutting through the quiet like a signal fire in the dusk.

A murmur passed through the crowd—not loud, not boisterous, but reverent.

Zuko gave a low nod. “It suits you.”

Sokka blinked. “Whoa. You look… official.”

Aang gave a soft, almost bashful smile. He touched the arrow on his forehead, feeling its warmth. “It feels… right.”

Katara stepped forward, her eyes shining. “You did it.”

He nodded slowly. “No. We did. All of you helped me get here.”

The ceremony might have ended, but something permanent had begun.

Aang was still ten. Still afraid. Still uncertain of what the world would ask of him next. But with the arrow now marking his skin, he carried not just air—but a promise. To never forget who he was, no matter how far from home the wind carried him.

The murmurs of reverence softened into a calm silence as the monks began the closing rites. Soft chants filled the air, weaving through the trees and stirring the morning breeze. The elders circled Aang once more, their hands raised in blessing. One by one, they placed small tokens—feathers, carved stones, and woven threads—at his feet, symbols of protection, wisdom, and connection to the Air Nomads who had come before him.

Zuko stood close, his gaze steady and proud, while Sokka grinned, clearly impressed though still processing the gravity of what had just taken place. Katara lingered nearby, her smile proud but tinged with emotion—her quiet support grounding Aang in a way no words could.

As the sun dipped lower, the ceremony gave way to a simple feast shared beneath the skeletal remains of a once-thriving village. The air was filled with laughter and stories, a fragile moment of joy amidst the ongoing turmoil of the war. 

Later, as night settled like a gentle shroud, the group gathered in the house once more. Aang traced the fresh blue lines on his skin by firelight, feeling the weight and warmth of his new identity. Though the path ahead was uncertain and fraught with danger, the arrow was a beacon—both a burden and a promise.

The next morning dawned clear and crisp. The village lay quiet, its temporary refuge soon to be left behind. Zuko was again the first to rise, moving through the camp with purposeful calm as he prepared their modest belongings. Aang, Katara, Sokka, and the others stirred awake, the air tinged with a bittersweet mixture of hope and resolve.

Breakfast was brief, the familiar scents a comforting ritual before the unknown journey resumed. Words were few but meaningful—silent exchanges of strength, encouragement, and shared purpose.

As they stepped out into the early light, the village behind them, Aang felt the arrow on his skin like a steady pulse. He was no longer just the boy who hid in plain sight. Now, marked as a master of air, he carried the spirit of his people forward—ready to face whatever the winds would bring next.

As the final preparations for departure were underway, the elder from the Southern Air Temple approached Aang and Zuko with a measured, hesitant step. His usually serene gaze was clouded with sorrow, and for a moment, he seemed unsure how to begin.

“Aang… there is something you should know,” the elder started quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “About your father…”

Aang’s heart skipped. The weight of unsaid words pressed down on him like a heavy storm.

Before the elder could continue, Zuko placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been to the Southern Air Temple after the attack,” Zuko said gently, his voice calm but firm. “We searched for survivors, tried to find anyone left. It was... difficult.”

Sokka, who had been nearby, glanced between the two with concern. “The temple isn’t as destroyed as some might think,” he said, trying to ease the heavy mood. “Sure, it’s been burned, but the structure itself is mostly intact. Once the war is over, it’ll be easier to rebuild than people expect.”

Katara stepped closer, her eyes soft but resolute. “Before we left, we wanted to offer peace to the Air Nomad warriors. To honour them properly.”

Zuko took a deep breath, his gaze distant as he recalled the painful memories. “When we decided to leave the temple, I sent Aang ahead with our uncle. Sokka, Katara, and I stayed behind to bury every Air Nomad we could find. We placed their necklaces carefully on their graves—so that when the Air Nomads return, they would know who had fallen.”

The elder monk’s eyes glistened with gratitude, but Aang’s breath caught in his throat. Shock, sorrow, and a deep guilt flooded through him. He had never known about these solemn rites, this final act of respect paid in secret.

“I... I didn’t know,” Aang whispered, voice trembling. “Thank you—for honouring them. For honouring my people.”

The elder placed a hand gently on Aang’s shoulder. “Your burden is heavy, young one. But you do not carry it alone.”

Zuko nodded, his own voice quiet but certain. “We’re here. Together.”

Sokka, trying to lighten the mood gently, added with a small smile, “Oh, and we got Momo back when we went to the temple. He’s been with us ever since.”

The elder’s face broke into a soft, knowing smile. “I was wondering where that lemur had come from. He does resemble the winged lemurs of the Air Temples.”

Aang looked at his friends—at their steady faces, their shared strength—and felt a fragile hope begin to bloom beneath the weight of his grief.

The elder gave a small nod, then stepped back to join the remaining villagers, who watched quietly but with warmth in their eyes. The moment of solemnity passed, replaced by the gentle hum of preparation.

Aang’s gaze shifted to Appa, who waited patiently nearby with the rest of the flying bison herd. The massive creatures stood solemnly, their deep eyes reflecting the morning light. Aang’s heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of hope and farewell.

He approached Appa and rested his hand on the broad head. “Time to go, big guy.”

Appa let out a low, rumbling bellow that echoed softly through the valley. The other flying bison stirred in response, a quiet chorus of farewell calls rising into the air.

Zuko and the others climbed aboard, the familiar weight of the journey settling around them. Momo fluttered close, perching on Aang’s shoulder with a curious tilt of his head.

As the last of the villagers waved, Appa’s powerful legs pushed off the earth, lifting the group smoothly into the sky. The herd watched for a moment, their mournful cries fading into the distance as Appa soared higher and higher.

Aang looked down at the village, now a small cluster of rooftops and trees, and then up at the endless blue above.

As Appa banked and climbed toward the horizon, the group settled into the familiar rhythm of flight, the open sky stretching endlessly before them—and a new chapter waiting just beyond the clouds.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Evening settled softly over the camp as Sokka struggled with the tent poles, trying to pitch a shelter for the night. Katara watched with a raised brow. “Sokka, you forgot the tarp,” she said, gesturing toward the rolled-up fabric lying unused.

Without looking up, Sokka grabbed the tarp and tossed it carelessly inside the half-assembled tent. “It’s dry season,” he replied with a grin. “We don’t need it for rain. We can use it as a warm blanket instead.”

Katara shook her head, concern creasing her brow. “What if it rains? Then what?”

Sokka folded his arms. “Tent’s my responsibility. You’re in charge of gathering firewood. Mind your own business.”

She held up the small, scrappy pile she’d collected. “Is this supposed to be enough?”

Sokka snorted. “That looks pitiful.”

Katara’s patience snapped. She threw the firewood at him. “If you don’t like it, go get your own!”

Sokka’s expression hardened. “Well, if you don’t want to do your job, why should I?”

In frustration, Sokka yanked at a loose thread, and the tent suddenly collapsed in a heap of fabric and poles.

Just then, Zuko and Aang returned, carrying extra supplies for dinner. Aang’s eyes widened at the mess. “What happened to the firewood and the tent?”

Sokka and Katara immediately launched into another argument, voices rising. Zuko exchanged a quick glance with Aang, his tone low but firm. “Don’t.”

Aang hesitated but then stepped forward, raising his hands. “Harsh words won’t solve this. Actions will. Why don’t you switch jobs for tonight?”

Katara and Sokka grumbled but reluctantly agreed. Sokka stomped off to gather more firewood while Katara knelt to rebuild the tent.

Aang smiled proudly at Zuko. “Making peace—that’s the Avatar’s job.”

Zuko gave him a strange look, silently wondering where this sudden sense of responsibility in Aang was coming from.

Nearby, Momo and Appa tussled over a watermelon, each pulling at opposite ends. Kai, uninterested in fruit, perched lazily on Appa’s horn.

With a gentle flick of his wrist, Aang airbent a sharp wind blade that neatly sliced the watermelon in two.

Momo scowled, grabbing the smaller piece and letting out an indignant squawk.

Aang laughed, patting Appa’s broad side. “Appa’s got five stomachs, Momo. He needs the bigger piece.”

The night grew quiet, the group settling around their camp as the stars began to peek out.

The next day, Aang and Katara stood at the edge of the great divide, their eyes wide with amazement. The canyon stretched out before them—a vast, jagged scar cutting through the earth, breathtaking and immense.

Zuko studied the map carefully, then lifted his gaze to the sprawling terrain, tracing the winding paths with a thoughtful expression.

Sokka, however, glanced at the canyon for barely a minute before sighing in boredom. “Yeah, I’ve seen enough,” he muttered.

Katara shot him an annoyed look. “How can you say that? It’s the largest canyon in the entire world!”

Zuko smirked slightly, stepping in with a tidbit of knowledge. “Did you know that most canyons form through erosion? Water usually carves them out over thousands of years, slowly wearing down the rock layers. Wind can also shape the landscape, especially in dry areas. Some canyons might even be the remains of ancient lakes or seas that dried up long ago.”

Aang’s eyes sparkled as he listened, fascinated by the explanation.

Katara looked out over the vast chasm, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s amazing… how something as gentle as water can shape something so massive and powerful.”

Aang grinned and added happily, “And wind! Don’t forget the wind.”

Sokka, still tightening Appa’s reins, glanced around. “Well, at least we’re gonna have one heck of a view from up here.”

Just then, an Earth Kingdom citizen accidentally bumped into Sokka. “If you’re all looking for the canyon guide,” he said with a confident grin, “I was here first.”

Hearing Zuko’s explanation about canyons, the man mistakenly assumed Zuko was the guide.

“I’ve heard plenty about you,” the Earth Kingdom citizen continued, nodding toward Zuko. “People say you’re one of the best Earthbenders around.”

From behind the man, Sokka snickered and mockingly mimicked the man’s tone, “Oh yes, the great guide! So wise, so strong…”

Zuko’s face tightened, uncomfortable with the attention.

Katara, however, looked genuinely excited at the thought of having a guide.

Aang stepped forward gently. “Actually, my big brother’s not a guide—just really smart.”

The Earth Kingdom citizen frowned but quickly apologized to Zuko for the mistake. “Still,” he said, “I was here first. So my tribe gets to cross the canyon first.”

Sokka stepped forward, holding up a hand in a gesture of calm. “Alright, alright—no need to bite anyone’s head off. You can go first. We’re not in any rush.”

The Earth Kingdom man turned on him, his voice sharp. “You wouldn’t be calm either if the Fire Nation destroyed your home and forced your entire tribe to flee!”

Sokka’s temper flared. He stepped forward, eyes blazing. “You think I don’t understand? The Fire Nation burned down my village. They killed my mother. I didn’t see my father for almost a year because he left to fight in the war!” He jabbed a finger toward Aang and Zuko. “Their home was destroyed too. Their father died in a raid, and their mother’s been missing ever since.”

Aang and Katara’s shoulders sank, their expressions tightening with grief. Zuko’s jaw clenched. “Sokka,” he hissed under his breath, “stop telling our life story to every stranger who yells at you.”

Sokka turned his head sharply, eyes flashing. “I’m not telling them our life story, Zuko. I’m telling the truth.”

Zuko gave him a look, unimpressed. “Loudly.”

Sokka threw up his hands. “Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t whisper my trauma politely enough for you.”

Katara stepped between them before the argument could escalate. “Guys. Not now.”

The man’s anger faltered at that, guilt flashing across his face. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. It’s just… our entire tribe is trying to make it to Ba Sing Se. We need the guide to cross the canyon. It’s the only safe way.”

Aang stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “We understand. Really. The whole world’s suffering from this war.” He offered a small smile. “We just stopped here to admire the view. We don’t need the guide.”

Before anyone could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps drew everyone’s attention. Katara turned toward the path with a curious tilt of her head. “Is that your tribe arriving now?”

The man glanced over and his mouth thinned into a line. “No,” he said, voice cold. “That’s the Zhang tribe. Low-lives and thieves, the lot of them.”

Katara blinked, taken aback by the vehemence. “The Zhangs?”

The man nodded grimly. “Our enemy tribe. We’ve been at odds with them for a hundred years. Don’t be fooled—they’ll steal the canyon guide right from under us if we let them.”

As the Zhangs approached, their leader—a broad-shouldered woman with a confident swagger—marched right up to the man. She looked him over with a smirk. “Where’s the rest of your precious tribe, the Gan Jins? Still tidying up their campsite? Folding their napkins?”

The man stiffened and jabbed a finger at her. “They sent me ahead to reserve our place with the guide!”

The woman crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Didn’t know the canyon guide took reservations.”

He huffed. “I wouldn’t expect a Zhang to know anything about being prepared. Or being organized.”

Several Zhangs behind her began to murmur angrily. Tension crackled in the air.

Aang opened his mouth to speak, but before he could take a step forward, Zuko reached out and grabbed his arm.

Aang looked at him, confused. “Zuko?”

Zuko kept his voice low. “Don’t.”

“But—” Aang glanced between the tribes. “They’re going to start a fight.”

Zuko gave him a long look, his brow furrowed. “What’s gotten into you lately?”

“What do you mean?”

Zuko tilted his head. “You keep jumping in to fix every argument. Playing mediator.” He didn’t say it unkindly—more like he was genuinely trying to understand.

Aang frowned, glancing at the bickering tribes. “It’s not playing,” he said quietly. “It’s my duty.”

Zuko didn’t respond immediately. He studied Aang for a long moment—brows furrowed, confusion simmering just under the surface. There was something different about Aang lately. A new edge. A strange kind of urgency in the way he kept throwing himself between people, trying to fix things that had broken long before he was born.

Finally, Zuko released his grip on Aang’s arm and gave a reluctant nod, though his gaze lingered.

“…Since when do you care about mediating strangers’ arguments?” he asked, not accusing, but baffled.

Aang’s shoulders stiffened. “Since I got tired of watching people tear each other apart.”

Zuko tilted his head, tone sharpening. “Is this because of the arrow?”

“What?”

“That arrow. The air master tattoo. You got it and now you think you have to fix everything—like you’re not just a kid anymore.”

Aang’s hands balled into fists. “You never trusted me. You never really trusted me!”

Zuko stepped back slightly, his own voice rising. “We’ve had this fight already—how many times are we going to do this, Aang?”

“Until you stop treating me like I’m five!”

“You’re ten!”

“I’m almost eleven!”

Zuko groaned, throwing his hands up. “That’s not helping your argument!”

The tension between them hung heavy for a moment—raw, familiar, and exhausted. Zuko turned away first, muttering under his breath. “I’m tired of this. You think I want to be the one always saying no?”

Aang didn’t answer. He just stared out toward the canyon, jaw tight.

The tension between Aang and Zuko hung thick in the air, the canyon wind doing little to blow it away. Zuko had turned away, arms crossed, jaw clenched, while Aang stood rooted to the spot, trying not to let his hands shake with frustration.

From behind them, soft footsteps crunched on the dusty ground. Sokka approached, clearly sensing the awkward silence like a bad smell.

“So…” he began, hands casually behind his head, “the Great Mediator can calm warring tribes, soothe raging tempers, and bring peace to the Earth Kingdom…”

Aang didn’t turn around.

“…but still can’t win an argument with his brother,” Sokka finished with a sideways grin.

Aang let out a sharp exhale through his nose—half a scoff, half a laugh. “Thanks, Sokka.”

“Hey, just saying—maybe next time, bring a fruit basket. Or a helmet.”

Zuko glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow but said nothing. His expression had softened—just a touch. Maybe the humour had landed.

Sokka gave Aang a friendly nudge. “C’mon, Mr. Almost-Eleven. Let’s go stop a hundred-year feud before dinner.”

Aang cracked a reluctant smile and walked forward again, shoulders still tense—but lighter. Sokka stayed beside him, the air between them easier than before.

Behind them, Zuko lingered for a moment, then followed, quiet and unreadable.

Before the tension could settle again, a low rumble rolled through the ground. A small pillar of stone lifted near the canyon’s edge, and with a grunt, an older man burst from beneath it—sweaty, dishevelled, and coated in dust. His wide-brimmed hat was askew, and his earth-tone robes were streaked with canyon dirt. He wiped his brow and straightened with an exhausted groan.

“Sorry for the wait!” he called, huffing. “Who’s ready to cross the Great Divide?”

Katara blinked, glancing between the Zhangs and the lone man already at the canyon’s edge. “Um... I think it’s... one of them?” she said uncertainly, gesturing at both parties.

Immediately, the man from earlier jogged up, practically panting. “Me! I was here first. My tribe is just behind me—we’re ready to go.”

The guide gave him a sceptical look. “Look, I can’t guide people who aren’t here.”

Before the man could argue, a smug snort came from the Zhangs’ leader. “Tough luck, neat freak,” she said as she stepped forward. “Our tribe’s ready, and we’re not waiting around while yours finishes polishing their walking sticks.”

But just as she reached the guide, the Gan Jin tribe finally arrived.

They moved in graceful lines, each step deliberate and proud. Their robes were immaculate despite the journey, their expressions haughty. Even their walking sticks looked carved and shined to perfection.

The man gestured toward them triumphantly. “See? Told you!”

The Zhang leader scowled. “We’ve got sick people. They should go first.”

A tall Gan Jin man stepped forward, his voice clipped and precise. “We have elders. Who have earned the right to go first.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with tidiness, you wouldn’t live long enough to collect so many old men,” the Zhang leader snapped.

“Maybe if your tribe washed their hands once in a while, they wouldn’t be sick!” the Gan Jin retorted.

The guide looked like he was about to melt into the canyon out of sheer discomfort. “I... uh... maybe we could... take turns?”

The two tribes erupted into overlapping shouting—petty insults, pointed jabs, and long-held grudges thrown like stones across the dust.

Zuko crossed his arms and smirked, sidling up to Aang. “Well, Avatar. Time to put that mediation magic to work.”

Aang stiffened, jaw clenching. He stared at the arguing tribes, words catching in his throat. His hands hovered uncertainly at his sides.

Katara stepped behind him and gave his shoulder a light pat. “Ignore him. He’s still mad from earlier.”

Aang didn’t answer right away. His eyes remained fixed on the quarrelling tribes, brows furrowed, the weight of peace pressing down heavier than his glider ever did.

Zuko stood just behind him, arms crossed, face unreadable as the tribes shouted over each other.

"Any time now, Aang," he muttered. "Unless you're planning to let this turn into a brawl."

Aang’s jaw tensed. “I’m not rushing in just because you’re impatient.”

Zuko’s brow twitched. “They’re seconds from fighting. You need to act—”

“I know what I need to do,” Aang snapped, louder than he meant to.

The nearby shouting faltered, if only briefly. Katara threw him a surprised glance.

Zuko’s voice was lower now. “Then do it.”

Aang stepped forward a little, then stopped. His fingers curled tightly at his sides. “You don’t have to hover every time I try to do something,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You’re always right there,” Aang said, not turning around. “Watching. Breathing down my neck. Like I’m going to mess it up.”

Zuko frowned. “I’m making sure you don’t get hurt.”

“Exactly.” Aang turned then, eyes sharp. “Like I’m some baby who can’t handle anything.”

“You’re ten.”

“I’m the Avatar.”

“And that’s supposed to mean what, exactly? That you’re invincible? That I should just stand back while you throw yourself into danger?”

“I’m not throwing myself into anything! I’m doing what I’m meant to do!”

Zuko’s voice rose with him. “And what I’m meant to do is keep you safe!”

“Why? Because I’m the Avatar? Because you think I’m useless on my own?”

Zuko stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then, very quietly, “Because I promised.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

“When we were leaving, I looked at our mother and I promised her that I will take care of you,” Zuko went on, voice strained now. “When the first Fire Navy scout ships came—when we saw the smoke—I looked at you and couldn't help but think, 'Keep him safe, Zuko. No matter what.'"

Aang flinched. “That doesn’t mean you get to control every move I make.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” Zuko said, frustrated. “I’m trying to keep you alive. You have any idea what it was like—watching them burn the only home we had? Hearing the screaming, not knowing if you—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“You think I don’t remember that day?” Aang asked, his voice trembling. “I watched them tear through the temple. I saw people I knew—Airbenders I trained with—get cut down. I remember, Zuko.”

Zuko’s hands clenched at his sides. “Then act like it.”

Aang stared, stunned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means stop pretending like you’re grown. Like you don’t need anyone. Like you don’t need me.”

Aang’s face crumpled. “Maybe I wouldn’t, if you treated me like a person and not a mission.”

Zuko recoiled. “This isn’t just a mission.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Aang muttered, turning away.

Zuko took a step after him. “Aang—”

“No. Don’t.” His voice was flat now. “I get it. You didn’t sign up for this. For me.”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

“You said it yourself,” Aang said bitterly. “So thanks for protecting me. Really. But you can stop pretending it’s because you actually care.”

Zuko’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His face twisted with something raw—anger, hurt, guilt, all mixing into something that burned.

Aang didn’t wait for a reply. He walked toward the arguing tribes without another word, shoulders tight, steps heavy.

Zuko stayed where he was, staring after him, jaw locked.

And for the first time in a long while, he let Aang walk into danger alone.

Zuko stood rigid at the edge of the clearing, watching Aang disappear into the press of shouting villagers. His fists were still clenched. His breath, shaky.

Katara brushed past him without a word.

She didn't look angry—at least not the kind of anger Zuko was used to—but her disappointment hit harder than yelling ever could. She gave him a tight, unreadable look and followed after Aang, water skin bouncing at her hip.

Sokka remained behind.

He hadn’t said much during the argument, but now he stepped beside Zuko, arms crossed, chin lifted like someone who had reluctantly earned the right to speak.

"Rough one," he said simply.

Zuko didn’t answer.

Sokka glanced sideways at him. “You know, I fight with Katara all the time. Drives me insane. But it’s different when you’re the older one.”

Zuko looked down at him, sceptical.

“I mean it,” Sokka said. “You want to keep them safe. You try to hold the line. You say something too harsh, and suddenly you’re the villain.”

A pause.

“And maybe you were. A little,” Sokka added, shrugging.

Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose, but it wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I’m not trying to be his jailer.”

“I know,” Sokka said. “But Aang’s… not like most kids.”

“He is a kid.”

“So are you.”

Zuko shot him a glare.

Sokka grinned. “Fifteen's not that old, man.”

Zuko looked away. The edge of the forest blurred in the heat, but he wasn't watching for anything now. Just… bracing.

“He’s not mad because you care,” Sokka said. “He’s mad because you don’t trust that he can take care of himself.”

Zuko’s shoulders stiffened.

“You ever think maybe letting him try is part of protecting him?”

Zuko said nothing.

After a beat, Sokka gave him a light pat on the back. “Anyway. Come on. Before he announces some genius plan that gets us all eaten by wolves.”

The tribes were still bickering—less viciously now, more like exhausted families arguing over what to carry and what to leave behind.

Aang’s breath came hard and fast as he stormed away from Zuko, not daring to look back. The argument echoed in his chest like a drumbeat, like his heart was too big for his ribs. He didn’t want to cry. Not in front of Zuko. Not in front of anyone.

The voices of the two tribes surged ahead like waves crashing on rocks — shouting, cursing, arguing over nothing and everything. Petty words for old wounds.

Aang’s hands clenched at his sides. He’d had enough.

He stepped forward, into the middle of the chaos, and shouted:

“Everyone, be quiet!”

The clearing fell into stunned silence.

Dozens of heads turned to look at him. For a moment, Aang stood very small in a wide circle of angry adults, their frustration still simmering in the air. But he didn’t shrink back.

He didn’t look for Zuko.

Not yet.

“You’re fighting like this is a game,” Aang said, voice shaking with frustration. “Like people haven’t already lost enough. You want to keep blaming each other, go ahead — but you won't be doing it in front of me.”

He drew a breath — deep, steadying — and then said it, clearly and deliberately:

“I’m the Avatar.”

Silence fell. Not the reverent kind.

It was the stillness of something sharp about to snap.

For a moment, Aang waited. He wasn’t sure what he expected — respect, maybe. Surprise. Relief. Something that would show they understood what that meant.

But the tension only thickened.

A man near the front of the Zhangs stepped forward, eyes narrowing and snarled, “What kind of Avatar lets the world fall apart?”

Aang stiffened.

“You’re just a kid,” the man continued, taking a step forward. “What were you doing when the Fire Nation burned our villages? Where were you when my son was taken?”

Another Zhang woman raised her voice. “If you’d done your job, the war never would’ve started!”

The accusations hit like fists. Aang flinched, stunned into silence.

“I—I didn’t…” His throat closed. He hadn’t expected this.

“Some Avatar,” the woman spat. “You show up after the world’s already on fire, then act like we should be grateful.”

Aang’s eyes darted to the side.

Zuko would step in now. He always did.

But the space beside him was empty.

Aang turned his head.

Zuko stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly his face looked carved from stone. His eyes locked on Aang — burning, unreadable.

Not moving.

Aang’s heart twisted. His breath caught. Why isn’t he helping?

Another voice from the Zhangs broke through. “You think yelling ‘I’m the Avatar’ gives you authority? You’re nothing but a symbol. The Fire Nation will kill you before you learn a second element.”

Aang’s breath hitched. The tribe was shifting forward now, their words no longer angry but furious, their stares sharp and unforgiving. He felt cornered — too small, too exposed.

And still, Zuko didn’t move.

Will he let them hurt me? the thought came unbidden, terrifying. Even if he’s mad at me, would he really let that happen?

Another voice inside Aang rose, hot and furious: I don’t need him. I’m a master airbender now. I can defend myself.

But the fear remained. So did the cold hollowness in his chest — the betrayal.

His older brother had always been there. Always stepped between him and the world. But not this time.

Not now.

Chapter Text

“Enough,” a sharp voice cut through.

A Gen Jin elder — hunched, silver-haired, but firm — stepped forward, placing herself between Aang and the mob. “You’re yelling at a child,” she said. “What is wrong with all of you?”

“He’s the Avatar!” a Zhang snapped. “He’s supposed to be more than a child!”

The woman didn’t flinch. “He’s a child. And you’re blaming him for your failures. That’s not justice. That’s cowardice.”

There was a murmur among the Gen Jin. Even some of the Zhangs looked unsure now.

But the first man didn’t stop.

“Useless,” he growled, pointing at Aang. “He’ll be dead before he masters all four elements. And then what? Wait years for another kid to grow up and try again?”

Aang swallowed hard.

His hands were trembling, but he curled them into fists.

Zuko may not help me. But I will not fall apart in front of them.

His eyes locked with the Zhang elder’s. Then, with effort, he looked away from the mob — and away from Zuko — and stood his ground alone.

The shouting hadn’t stopped, but Zuko hadn’t moved.

Zuko’s arms were folded tightly, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Aang stood small but stubborn in the middle of the angry crowd. Zuko’s fingers twitched at his side—itching, aching to step in. But he didn’t.

A shape hovered near him. Sokka.

He was watching Zuko. Not the crowd. Not Aang. Just Zuko.

“…You’re not going in?” Sokka asked, cautious. Almost incredulous.

Zuko didn’t look at him. “You said he needed to learn from his own mistakes,” he said coolly, echoing Sokka’s words from earlier.

Sokka scratched his head. “Yeah, I said that. But I didn’t mean we should let him get stomped by a mob.”

“He’s not getting stomped.”

“Yet.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed, locked on the Zhang elder’s waving finger. Aang flinched back a half-step. Zuko didn’t move—but his hand had found the hilt of his knife, almost absently.

Sokka glanced down. “Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “Yeah. Real committed to the whole ‘letting him handle it’ thing.”

Zuko’s grip tightened.

“I’m just saying,” Sokka added, stepping a little closer, his voice lower now, not joking anymore. “You look one word away from drawing steel. And you haven’t blinked in like… a minute. You sure you're not two steps from throwing the guy into a tree?”

Zuko exhaled through his nose. “You think I want him to get hurt?”

“No. I think you’re trying really hard not to lose it. And I get it. He’s your little brother.”

Zuko didn’t answer.

Sokka’s voice softened. “But you not stepping in? He noticed.”

Zuko’s shoulders rose slightly, a breath he didn’t want to take. He stared straight ahead, where Aang stood rigid and pale under the weight of the tribes’ fury. A flicker of guilt ran through him. But his jaw just set again.

“I warned him,” Zuko muttered. “I told him this would happen.”

Zuko stood just out of the crowd’s reach, arms crossed, jaw tight. His mind was a storm of guilt and frustration.

I promised myself I’d protect him. But how? he thought, watching Aang stand alone, small and tense, facing the growing anger of the Zhang clan. The weight of the war pressed on him harder than ever — the fire that consumed their home, the shattered temple, the lives lost. And here was Aang, bearing the burden of being the Avatar, yet so vulnerable.

Maybe he has to learn on his own, Zuko told himself bitterly. Maybe I can’t save him from everything.

But then a sharp movement caught his eye — one of the Zhang warriors took a menacing step closer to Aang, brow furrowed, hand twitching as if ready to strike.

In that instant, something broke inside Zuko. His promise, his anger, his fear — all of it surged up.

“Hey!” Zuko barked, stepping forward and raising his voice over the crowd. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

The crowd turned, stunned by the sudden interruption.

Aang glanced up, eyes wide — relief flickered across his face, but beneath it, a flash of something else: frustration. I didn’t need him to step in, his eyes seemed to say.

Zuko’s heart clenched. He wanted to tell Aang he was trying to protect him, but instead, all he could do was watch, torn between pride and pain, as Aang squared his shoulders and turned back to face the Zhangs alone.

Aang’s eyes flicked briefly toward Zuko, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. Relief warred with resentment — relief that his older brother had stepped in when things had threatened to get physical, resentment that Zuko hadn’t trusted him to handle it himself.

“I didn’t need you,” Aang said, voice low but sharp enough for Zuko to hear.

Zuko’s chest tightened, every word like a stab. I’m trying to keep you alive, he thought desperately, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, he clenched his fists, stepping back into the shadows at the edge of the crowd.

The Zhangs resumed their shouting, their anger undiminished, but the moment between the brothers hung heavy in the air — an unspoken challenge, a silent fracture widening between protector and ward.

Aang straightened, drawing on every ounce of resolve. I can’t rely on him. I have to be stronger — not just for me, but for everyone who’s counting on me.

He turned to the tribes, voice rising with renewed authority. “We go together. All of us.”

The Zhangs’ voices rose again, sharper this time.

“What about our sick? Our children? Our elders? You expect them to march alongside us?” The clan leader’s eyes narrowed, lips curled in skepticism. “They can’t keep up. You’ll be leading us to ruin, not salvation.”

From the Gen Jin side, an elder stepped forward, his voice gravelly but firm. “Our people are old, frail. This journey will break them. They need rest, care—not endless walking into the unknown.”

Aang’s gaze swept the crowd, feeling their fear and exhaustion like a weight pressing down on his chest. But beneath that pressure, a spark of determination flared.

“I know,” Aang said calmly, raising a hand to quiet them. “I have a plan.”

The murmurs slowed, eyes flicking toward him, cautious but desperate for hope.

He took a step forward. “The sick and the elders won’t walk with us.” His voice grew stronger, steadier. “They’ll travel safely.”

Confused whispers rippled through the crowd.

With a sharp whistle slicing through the tension, Aang’s lips shaped the note perfectly.

A deep rumble stirred the trees at the forest’s edge, branches trembling as a massive shape emerged—Appa, the sky bison.

Gasps echoed across the clearing as Appa padded into view, his gentle eyes meeting the crowd’s wide, awestruck stares.

“He’s real…” one whispered, voice barely audible.

“That’s… a sky bison,” another breathed, stepping back in disbelief.

Appa lowered his massive head, rumbling softly as Aang approached, reaching up to stroke the creature’s soft fur.

“He’ll carry those who can’t walk,” Aang said quietly, eyes scanning the faces before him. “And I’ll protect all of you. Together, we’ll get through this.”

The tribes looked at one another, shock giving way to cautious hope — and somewhere in the crowd, Zuko watched, fists clenched, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders.

The murmurs rippled through the crowd, voices lowering, grudges tempered by Aang’s calm resolve. Slowly, reluctant nods emerged among the elders and the tribe leaders.

“That sounds reasonable,” one of the Zhangs muttered, his gaze flickering toward Appa’s massive form resting near the treeline.

The Gen Jin elder gave a solemn nod, “The sick and the old cannot travel on foot. The sky bison is the safest way.”

One by one, the elders, the sick, and children began climbing onto Appa’s broad back, eyes wide with a mix of awe and hope. Aang stood by, watching as the weight of responsibility settled heavier on his shoulders.

From the edge of the clearing, Zuko’s shadow detached itself from the trees. His eyes scanned the gathering, then locked on Appa.

Zuko approached Appa slowly, his boots crunching softly against the dry canyon floor. The wind tugged gently at the hem of his coat, tousling his hair. Appa huffed in recognition, lowering his massive head as Zuko reached out and placed a calloused hand on the beast’s fur.

The contact was grounding. Appa’s warmth was real, solid — unlike the storm of thoughts swirling inside Zuko’s mind.

He gave Appa a small, reassuring pat, then turned to face the others.

“I’ll go with Appa,” Zuko said, voice calm but firm.

The effect was immediate.

Aang, Katara, and Sokka all stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

“You’re what?” Katara asked, brow furrowing as she took a few steps toward him. Her eyes searched his face, as if looking for a clue, a crack in the mask.

Sokka threw up his hands. “Wait, what? Are you kidding me?” he exclaimed, clearly offended. “We have to trudge through the Boring Canyon of Doom while you get to ride over it in luxury with Appa? How is that fair?”

“Sokka,” Katara warned, but he just pointed indignantly.

“I’m just saying! If I’d known we were picking who gets the first-class seat, I would’ve spoken up!”

Aang didn’t speak right away. His expression was harder to read. He stood a little apart from the others, arms at his sides, his face pulled taut with confusion — and something else.

“Why?” Katara asked, gently now. “Why now, Zuko?”

Zuko rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly feeling older than his fifteen years. “I think…” he began, then trailed off. He exhaled sharply, gaze flicking to Aang. “I think Aang and I could use some space.”

Katara blinked. Then, slowly, she nodded. “That… makes sense,” she said quietly, eyes dropping to the ground.

Sokka, however, seized the moment. “Well in that case,” he said loudly, “I need space from Katara. So I’ll go with Appa too. And maybe next time, she can carry my sleeping roll like I carry hers—”

“Not happening,” Katara cut in without looking at him.

Sokka wilted instantly. “Worth a try.”

But Aang didn’t laugh. He didn’t move. He just stepped closer to Zuko, his expression unreadable.

“What do you mean… space?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Zuko looked at him. Really looked at him. There was still so much about Aang that screamed child. The rounded face, the slight frame, the way his oversized clothes hung off him like he’d borrowed them from someone bigger. But his eyes — they were ancient. And tired.

Zuko hesitated.

“I mean what you said to me,” he answered finally. “You said I hover. That I don’t let you do anything without checking, watching, interfering.”

Aang’s brow furrowed. “I did say that. But I didn’t mean I wanted you to leave.”

Zuko’s lips tightened. “This is me trusting you’ll handle yourself. Like you said you wanted.”

The words came out stiff and unnatural. It wasn’t how he wanted to say it — not really. But it was the only way he could say it without cracking.

Inside, he was at war with himself. One half of him — the tired, weary half — said this was the right move. They were constantly butting heads lately. Zuko was always the overprotective older brother, stepping in too quickly, correcting too often. And Aang resented it.

But the other half? That half couldn’t stop screaming that this was wrong. That Aang was still just a ten-year-old kid. That Zuko had sworn to protect him.

Aang’s expression twisted. “So you’re just… giving up?”

Zuko blinked. “What?”

“You’re running away,” Aang accused, his voice shaking now, not with anger — but fear. “You’re scared of another argument, so you’re bailing.”

Zuko let out a long breath and looked away, jaw tense. “I’m not running. I’m giving you what you said you wanted.”

Aang stepped forward again, eyes wide and shining. “I didn’t want this! I didn’t want you to leave!”

His voice cracked, rising higher with the weight of his fear. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, trembling. For a moment, he looked so much smaller than usual — not the Avatar, not a master airbender, but a kid who had grown too used to someone standing between him and the world. Who had grown used to Zuko being there — always.

Zuko, who would step between him and danger. Zuko, who would shout first and fight first and make sure Aang came home safe, no matter the cost.

The idea of that steady presence suddenly vanishing felt like the ground had opened beneath his feet.

“I didn’t want you to stop being there when I needed you!” Aang cried, voice cracking under the strain. “You were the one who always made sure I was okay. You— You were the one who never left.”

His breath hitched. His eyes burned.

“So what?” he snapped, bitterness flooding in to cover the hurt. “You’re just going to leave me now?”

Zuko blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. “Aang—”

“Fine!” Aang yelled, cutting him off. “Leave! Like the others!”

Zuko’s stomach twisted, the words hitting deeper than he expected.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, more sharply this time, his voice tightening. “What do you mean, ‘like the others’?”

“You heard me!” Aang shouted back, fists clenched, voice rising with every word. “Go ahead and abandon me! Just like everyone else did!”

Zuko stared at him, stunned.

“Aang…” he said slowly, his voice low with confusion and a flicker of hurt. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“If you weren’t,” Aang said, his voice thick, “then why are you leaving?”

That did it.

Zuko’s composure cracked, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’ve been trying, Aang. I’ve been doing everything I can to be there for you. But no matter what I do, it’s never enough, is it?”

Aang’s eyes widened, startled by the sudden sharpness in Zuko’s voice — but Zuko wasn’t done. Something in him cracked wide open.

“When I try to help, you say I’m smothering you,” Zuko snapped, his voice rising with every word. “When I don’t, I’m abandoning you. What the hell do you want from me?” His hands flared out, frustration boiling over. “Make up your mind!”

Aang flinched, but Zuko pressed on, voice raw now.

“I thought you were different,” he said, quieter, but no less intense. “I thought you saw me as your big brother — not because I was perfect, but because I was trying. I thought… I thought I didn’t have to earn that with you. That you’d just—care. But now? Now it’s like I’m never enough. Just like with them.”

There was a pause, jagged and painful.

Zuko’s voice dropped further, almost bitter. “You’re turning into the rest of them, Aang. Always expecting me to get it right, but never actually telling me how. Like I should just know how to be everything to everyone.” He gave a short, breathless laugh, like it physically hurt. “Well, I don’t.”

He met Aang’s gaze, eyes blazing with equal parts hurt and fury. “I’m not perfect. I’m trying.”

Aang turned away, arms crossed tightly over his chest, face flushed with a mix of anger, shame, and something else he didn’t want to name. His heart pounded, throat tight. He didn’t want to hear Zuko’s voice — not like this, not raw and hurt and trembling under the weight of something Aang didn’t know how to fix. Not when his own chest already felt like it was splintering from the inside.

Because he did see Zuko as his big brother. Because Zuko had been there — at his side after the world had fallen apart, holding him up when he couldn’t stand, catching him before he could fall. And now… now he was saying he was leaving.

And Aang didn’t know how to ask him to stay without sounding like a child.

Zuko’s voice broke through the haze behind him, rough and ragged.

“You think I haven’t been through things?” Zuko said, and Aang stiffened, jaw clenching. “You think you’re the only one who lost everything overnight? My life exploded too. I’m trying to figure this out same as you.”

Aang squeezed his eyes shut.

He remembered the firelight flickering in their camp the night he’d first cried into Zuko’s shoulder, the warmth of arms around him that didn’t judge, didn’t flinch. He remembered thinking: He won’t leave. Zuko wouldn’t leave him behind. Not like the monks. Not like his parents. Not like—

But now Zuko was yelling. And hurting. And pulling away. And Aang hated how much it made him feel like that terrified little boy again, watching the last traces of home vanish into smoke and silence.

And worst of all, he hated that Zuko was right.

Aang’s grip on his own arms tightened. He didn’t know how to say any of it — that he was scared, that he needed Zuko, but didn’t know how to make that need not feel like weakness. So instead, he stayed turned away, silent, letting Zuko’s words sit heavy in the air between them.

Zuko’s chest heaved. The sharp edge of his anger had dulled, burned out into weary smoke that clung to his ribs like ash. The shouting was over, but the silence it left behind was worse. It rang with things unsaid.

He looked at Aang — really looked at him — and for a moment, the titles disappeared. He didn’t see the Avatar, the hope of the world.

He saw a child. A scared, hurting little boy who didn’t know how to ask for the things he needed — who didn’t know how to say “don’t go.”

Aang’s cheeks puffed out, and his lip trembled. His eyes shimmered, glassy with unshed tears, but he blinked them back like they were betrayal. His arms were wrapped so tightly around himself it was like he was holding himself together by force.

Zuko stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aang…”

He didn’t have the right words. He never did. But he opened his arms anyway — not as a firebender, not as a prince, not even as a protector — just as a big brother, offering what little comfort he had left.

But Aang flinched like the gesture burned. He slapped Zuko’s hands away, the smack sharp in the thick air.

It didn’t hurt. Not really.

But Zuko froze, arms still halfway open, the ghost of the embrace lingering useless in the space between them. And something inside him — the part that had tried so hard to hold steady for both of them — cracked.

Aang’s breath hitched, and he swiped at his eyes roughly, like the tears were an enemy he refused to let win. His voice, when it came, was ice over flame.

“I’ll see you on the other side of the canyon,” he said.

No tremble. No hesitation.

Just distance.

He turned sharply, his back to Zuko, and walked away. His steps didn’t falter. He didn’t look back.

Zuko remained standing, arms still hanging in the air, as if the memory of the hug he never gave still had weight.

For a long time, he didn’t move.

Appa shifted beside him again, as if sensing the tension. He let out a low, sympathetic groan.

Zuko slowly lowered his arms. He stared after Aang’s retreating form, his heart pounding behind his ribs.

He could still call out. Still stop him.

But what would he even say?

He glanced at Appa. Then at the others, who had wisely backed off to give them space. Katara was watching him with a quiet, understanding sadness. Sokka looked unsure for once, his arms folded tightly.

Zuko turned his gaze toward the sky.

Was this really what Aang wanted? Was it what he needed?

Zuko didn’t know anymore.

All he knew was that for the first time in a long time, he felt utterly alone — even surrounded by friends.

And the worst part?

He’d chosen this.

But it didn’t feel like freedom.

It felt like loss.

With a deep sigh, Zuko whistled and extended his arm. Kai, hearing the noise, instinctively responded to the familiar call, spreading his wings and easily flying down from his previous perch—Appa’s horn. Zuko’s hand was steady, but his eyes betrayed a swirl of conflicted emotions—frustration, weariness, and an aching sense of responsibility.

He walked over to Sokka, who had been standing nearby, arms crossed and watching the tense exchange between Zuko and Aang earlier. Without a word, Zuko handed the hawk over to him.

“Sokka,” Zuko said quietly, “keep Kai ready. If anything happens — anything at all — send him out immediately. I’ll come running the moment I see Kai heading my way.”

Sokka accepted the hawk, blinking in surprise. “Wait… what was that all about?” His brows knit together in confusion. “You and Aang? I didn’t get what that fight was even about. Are you sure leaving things like that with him is a good idea?”

Zuko shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. “No, we both need some time to cool down. That argument wasn’t just about us. It’s bigger than that.” His voice was low, almost heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

Sokka frowned, clearly disagreeing, but he chose to remain silent. He understood that sometimes, even when things didn’t make sense, you had to trust people to work through them in their own way.

Zuko looked up at Sokka, meeting his steady gaze. “Please, take care of Aang for me.” There was a quiet urgency beneath the words — a plea not just for protection but for understanding.

Curiosity got the better of Sokka. “What did Aang mean when he said ‘everyone was leaving’? It sounded serious.” His voice was soft, trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle he didn’t fully understand.

Zuko’s brows furrowed in confusion too. “I don’t know. I’m just as unsure as you. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment.” He paused, swallowing the knot of unease tightening in his chest. “After we cross the canyon, I’ll talk to him properly. We need to clear the air.”

With a slow, steady breath, Zuko moved toward Appa, the great sky bison resting patiently nearby. The old and the sick from the Gen Jin and Zhang clans carefully settled onto Appa’s broad back, their faces a mix of hope and scepticism as they watched the uneasy journey toward peace continue beneath a sky heavy with tension—and the fragile promise of change.

Sokka frowned again, unsettled by the mystery but willing to trust Zuko’s judgment. “Alright. I’ll respect that. But don’t keep him at arm’s length too long, Zuko.”

Zuko managed a faint, tired smile. “I won’t.”

He climbed onto Appa’s broad head, gripping the reins tightly. His mind flickered with everything he had left unsaid to Aang—every fear, every hope tangled in the spaces between them—before settling into the resolve he needed for what lay ahead.

Appa let out a low rumble, as if understanding the weight of the moment, ready to carry Zuko over the canyon and, hopefully, back to a place where bridges could be rebuilt.

The last of the Gen Jins and Zhangs moved with quiet purpose in the background, a reminder of the world still turning — and of the battles yet to come.

Zuko’s sharp gaze settled on Aang, steady and searching. For a brief moment, their eyes locked—raw and unguarded—like twin storms clashing in silence. But just as quickly, Aang’s gaze snapped away, his brows knitting tightly together, a shadow of frustration and hurt crossing his youthful face. The tension between them was a thick, invisible barrier neither seemed ready to cross.

Zuko exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with unspoken regret and exhaustion. He shook his head, the weight of everything they’d left unsaid pressing down on him. Turning to Appa, he gave a soft call—a gentle yip yip—and the great sky bison stirred beneath him.

Katara stepped forward, her fingers resting lightly but reassuringly on Aang’s shoulder. Her voice was soft but edged with concern. “Aang, are you really sure you’re okay with Zuko leaving like this? I can see how much it’s hurting you.”

Aang’s reaction was sharper than she expected. He shrugged off her touch as if it burned him, the suddenness of the movement jolting Katara. His eyes flashed with something fierce and almost desperate. “I’m fine,” he muttered, voice low but edged with anger. “I don’t need Zuko. I can survive without him.”

Katara’s gaze softened, but her words carried a quiet, steady truth. “Zuko is your older brother, Aang. That doesn’t mean it’s about needing him to survive, or depending on him. It’s about your bond—the history you share, even if it’s complicated.”

Aang shook his head slowly, his expression tightening with a shadowed sorrow Katara hadn’t seen before. “It’s not like your and Sokka’s relationship,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Katara’s brow furrowed, confusion knitting deeper as she looked at him. “What do you mean? From what I’ve seen, Zuko is nothing but a loving, attentive brother. He’s protective, even when you don’t want him to be.”

Aang’s frown deepened as he turned his eyes back to her, voice dropping, raw and hesitant. “You and Sokka… your bond is genuine. Real. It’s not just about family ties, it’s about trust, loyalty. You don’t just fill a space left empty.”

He paused, the pain flickering briefly across his features. “But with me... I’ve always been someone else’s replacement. Someone to fill a role, to stand in for someone who was lost or left behind.”

Katara’s eyes widened slightly, concern and confusion mingling as she searched his face for answers. “What are you talking about, Aang?”

But Aang’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with pain before he simply turned away, shutting down completely. He said nothing—not a word—leaving the question hanging unanswered between them. His silence was firm, almost stubborn, a clear refusal to open that door any further.

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the guide waiting nearby—his small figure tense, burdened by emotions he wasn’t ready to share. Katara watched him go, feeling the weight of his silence press down on her heart, unsure how to reach the boy who carried so much more than just the fate of the world on his young shoulders.

Sokka watched as Zuko’s figure grew smaller, riding Appa’s broad back as they soared higher into the sky. He sighed deeply and turned to approach Aang and Katara, his steps heavy with concern.

“Are you sure you want to get involved with two tribes that have been feuding for a hundred years?” Sokka asked, brow furrowed. “That’s a lot to take on.”

Aang crossed his arms, his expression steady and unwavering. “It’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “I can’t just give up before even trying.”

Katara gave Sokka a small, confident smile. “Making peace is the Avatar’s job,” she said gently. “It’s what Aang is meant to do.”

Sokka’s gaze drifted toward the vast canyon stretching ahead, the jagged cliffs disappearing into the distance. He let out a low sigh. “Yeah, well, the Avatar’s job right now is making sure we get across that canyon… on foot.”

Before anyone could respond, the guide clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone, it’s time to get ready for the journey.”

He spoke firmly, “No food is allowed in the canyon. It attracts predators, and it’s too dangerous to risk.”

Grumbles erupted immediately from both tribes.

Katara looked down at the bag of food they’d taken off Appa and frowned. “Do you think it’s going to go to waste now?” she asked softly.

Sokka frowned in agreement. “Would’ve been nice to know that before we packed all this,” he muttered.

The guide rolled his eyes. “Babies,” he said bluntly. “You can go a day without food.”

He fixed them all with a stern look. “Would you rather be hungry or be dead?”

Then, bending the earth beneath him, the guide raised himself onto a tall platform and called out loudly, “We leave in ten minutes! Get your food in your stomachs or toss it in the garbage!”

The Gen Jin clan began eating with careful grace, delicately wiping their mouths with napkins, while the Zhangs ate hurriedly, barely swallowing before grabbing more.

The air was thick with tension, but the long journey across the canyon was about to begin.

Chapter Text

High above the canyon, Appa flew in a steady rhythm as the tribes huddled in their respective groups across his broad back. Clouds drifted lazily below them, and the sunlight glinted off the metal clasps of packs and weapons. Amid the quiet rustle of wind and fur, an elder of the Gen Jin tribe shifted closer to Zuko, adjusting the long braid of white hair coiled over his shoulder.

"Young man," the elder began, his voice gravelly but kind, "what is your relation to the Avatar? You seemed… close."

Zuko didn’t turn to look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon. "He’s my younger brother."

There was a pause. The Gen Jin elder blinked. "The Avatar has an older brother? That’s quite the revelation."

Before the elder could ask more, a Zhang tribesman nearby huffed and cut in. "Why don’t you mind your own business, old man? No need to go poking into other people’s lives."

The Gen Jin elder narrowed his eyes. "I’m simply making conversation. Perhaps you should mind your manners."

The words were enough to spark a sudden flurry of arguments between the two men. Within moments, their tribes were bristling at each other once again, tossing sharp words and dirty looks.

Children from both sides turned to watch, eyes wide, shifting nervously on their feet.

Zuko tightened his grip on Appa’s reins while seated on the sky bison’s head. Then, adopting a firmer stance and straightening his posture with authority, he turned to glare back at the bickering adults. The wind tousled his hair, but his gaze remained steady and sharp.

"Enough!" he barked. "I swear, if anyone starts another fight while we’re in the air, I will personally throw them off this bison."

The arguing stilled. A few chuckles rose from the children, nervous but amused by the image.

The Gen Jin elder chuckled lightly. "Well. You certainly have a way with the young ones. No wonder you’re so close to the Avatar. He’s still a child himself, isn’t he?"

The Zhang tribesman muttered something unintelligible, his glare returning to the elder.

Before tempers could reignite, Zuko shot the Zhang man a sharp glance. "I don’t need anyone fighting my battles for me."

The air grew tense, but then quieted.

The Gen Jin elder studied Zuko for a long moment. "It must be difficult—having such responsibility at your age."

Zuko sighed, voice quieter. "We used to get along really well. But recently… I don’t know. It’s like we keep missing each other."

Another Gen Jin elder, seated nearby, raised a bushy brow. "Would you like to talk about it? Sometimes it helps to speak to a few old men. You don’t seem like a full-grown adult yourself."

Zuko blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle. "I’m fifteen."

The elders exchanged looks, surprised.

"Fifteen," the first elder murmured. "That’s far too young to be carrying so much on your shoulders."

A Zhang man leaned forward. "Are you an airbender too? I’ve heard that all airbenders call each other brothers and sisters. Maybe that’s all it is."

"If that's the case," the man added, "you don’t owe him anything. If the two of you can’t get along, maybe it’s best to go your separate ways."

The Gen Jin elders hesitated, glancing at each other. As much as they didn’t like the Zhang man’s tone, they couldn’t fully disagree. Zuko had taken on the role of an adult before his time.

Zuko exhaled slowly, but felt oddly calm. The presence of older, steady adults—adults who weren’t constantly judging or trying to control him—was a relief. Their weathered faces reminded him of Uncle Iroh, and that memory alone eased some of the tension in his chest.

"He’s not just my brother in the airbending sense," Zuko said quietly. "We’re real brothers. Same mother. She wasn’t an airbender, but Aang’s father was. Because of his mixed heritage, the temple allowed her to stay and raise him."

The Gen Jin elders nodded slowly, understanding blooming in their expressions.

The Zhang man tilted his head. "What did the two of you fight about, then?"

Zuko shook his head, arms crossed. "Honestly? I’m not even sure."

The Zhang men burst out laughing, surprising Zuko.

"That’s brothers for you!" one of them declared. "Fighting over nothing half the time."

The Gen Jin elders scowled and swatted their fans at the Zhangs. "Have some decorum. Let the boy finish."

Zuko allowed himself a small smile. "I’ve been trying my best to take care of Aang ever since we separated from our mother. But lately, it’s like I’m doing everything wrong. He thinks I’m overbearing. Overprotective."

He leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the distant clouds. "But you should see some of the stuff he gets into. He once got arrested by an Earth Kingdom patrol for trespassing by using the city's mail system as a personal amusement park. Another time he nearly got eaten by a sea creature while trying to go for a swim."

There was a round of chuckles from both Gen Jin and Zhang elders. The children leaned in, suddenly more interested.

"I wanna ride a sea creature too!" one Zhang child said brightly.

"No, you don’t," Zuko muttered, shaking his head with a smile.

"Sounds like he’s a handful," one of the Gen Jin elders said.

"More like a storm wrapped in a child," Zuko muttered.

"Seems like you’ve got no choice but to keep a close eye on him," one of the Zhang men added.

The two tribes looked at each other, surprised to find themselves in agreement. It passed between them in a brief silence, an unexpected moment of shared understanding.

Zuko chuckled. "See? Now you know why I’m always hovering."

But then his smile faded. "Lately, Aang’s been different. He wants to do everything himself. He’s convinced he has to carry the world alone. And when I try to help, he gets mad."

There was another pause.

One of the Zhang men cleared his throat. "About earlier… our tribe was out of line, snapping at him about the war. Blaming a kid for something like that… It wasn’t fair."

The Gen Jin elders murmured agreement.

"Indeed. Everyone knows the Avatar begins his training at twelve. And I heard Aang is ten?"

Zuko nodded.

There was a long silence as that truth settled in.

"Poor boy," one elder said at last. "To be born with such a difficult destiny… It’s a heavy burden."

Zuko nodded, gaze drifting again. He could still remember Aang’s face the night before—the mixture of fear and defiance, the exhaustion behind his angry words. It stung more than he wanted to admit.

He shook himself free of the thoughts and looked back at the group. "So… why are your tribes even fighting?" he asked, trying to shift the mood.

The Gen Jin elders exchanged glances. So did the Zhang men.

There was a moment’s hesitation, but then, one of the elders leaned in slightly, voice low.

"That… is a long story."

Zuko sat gripping the rails on Appa’s head, watching the two elders face off behind him. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the vast canyon below, but here, the tension between the Gen Jin and Zhang tribes was palpable, thick enough to choke the air. The two men glared at each other, each clutching decades of grievance like a weapon.

The elder from the Gen Jin tribe, broad-shouldered with streaks of silver in his black hair, leaned forward and spoke with measured weight.

“Jin Wei was our greatest earthbending warrior,” he began, voice low but firm. “He was charged with carrying the sacred orb from the Great Eastern Gate to the Great Western Gate. This was not mere duty — it was the heart of our ancient ritual, symbolizing the rising and setting of the sun. Protecting the orb was honour itself.”

His gaze snapped toward the Zhang elder, who was pale but eyes burning with stubborn defiance. The Zhang man’s voice cut in, harsh and clipped.

“But Jin Wei was gravely injured on the journey. Our ancestor, Wei Jin, found him broken and bleeding. Wei Jin tried to tend to Jin Wei’s wounds, but Jin Wei insisted that he finish the ritual and carry the orb to the Great Western Gate himself. When Jin Wei could not continue, he asked Wei Jin to deliver the orb in his place. So Wei Jin took it upon himself to complete the mission, but after delivering the orb, he was arrested and sentenced without a thanks for his selfless deed.”

The Gen Jin elder’s laugh was sharp and bitter.

“Delivered it? Our warrior was attacked, and the sacred orb was taken without right. Such lies and thievery bring only shame to their tribe.”

The Zhang elder’s eyes narrowed, voice rising.

“Envy blinded the other side. After the orb was carried, there was an arrest. A sentence of twenty years in prison. Not for betrayal, but for protecting the sacred relic. And no gratitude was ever given.”

Voices from both tribes around them began to stir, murmurs swelling into heated whispers. Some Gen Jin muttered curses; the Zhangs hissed back accusations.

Zuko tightened his grip as the elders’ words grew louder, sharp as blades.

The Gen Jin elder spat, “Honor was never seen. False stories became a shield.”

“And the truth was never acknowledged!” the Zhang elder shot back. “An ancestor saved the orb’s journey, only to be punished by laws twisted in the name of justice.”

Their voices overlapped, a storm of anger and old wounds.

“Justice was upheld!” the Gen Jin elder shouted.

“Such justice was cruelty!” the Zhang elder retorted.

“The sacred ritual has always belonged to its rightful keepers!”

“And preservation came from those cast aside!”

Zuko raised a hand, voice steady but firm, cutting through the rising storm. “Enough! Stop.”

The crowd fell silent, but the bitterness hung in the air like smoke. The two elders glared at one another, the long feud echoing in their eyes — a feud that time had only deepened.

The silence that followed Zuko’s command felt hollow, like the breath before a storm. Appa rumbled beneath them, unbothered by the human tension, his big paws swaying gently against the open sky. The canyon stretched endlessly below, a gaping scar in the earth — and Zuko couldn’t help but feel it mirrored the people riding on the bison’s back. A jagged split between stories. Between sides.

He let out a slow breath, easing his grip on the rail, but his hands still trembled faintly. Not from fear. From the weight of it all.

From being tired.

Not physically — not even after days of travel, after sleepless nights tending to the sick and calming panicked children. No, this was a deeper fatigue. The kind that started in the chest and crawled outward, making every word feel heavier than it should.

He didn’t turn back to face the elders. He didn’t need to.

They were still glaring at each other.

Still clutching their version of truth like it was a weapon.

Still not listening.

Just like her.

Zuko’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, the noise around him blurred. The wind, the mutters, the snorting cough of one of the Zhang elders — all faded into the roar of something older.

She left.

He’d seen her face, heard her voice, and still it didn’t feel real. Ursa. His mother. Alive all these years, living in secret in the Air Temple while he was fed lies and left behind.

Why? Why couldn’t she have taken him too? Why was Aang — sweet, cheerful, too-trusting Aang — given a mother’s warmth, while Zuko had been handed fire?

And lately… even Aang had grown distant. He’d started to second-guess Zuko’s plans. Grown bolder in public. Given him that look whenever Zuko’s temper flared — like he was the one being unreasonable. Like Aang forgot who kept him safe when his home burned behind them.

Zuko swallowed hard, throat dry.

Was he becoming like his father?

No. No, he would never—

He blinked, shaking the thought away, grounding himself in the cool sting of the wind.

He looked over his shoulder again, at the two tribes glaring daggers over a ghost story.

Two men. One orb. Two legends… each blaming the other. Both convinced they held the truth.

And Zuko realized something, something that prickled at the back of his mind:

He had no idea what the truth was, either.

Just his own side of the story. His own anger. His own pain.

And what if that story wasn’t the full one?

He turned, fully now, facing the elders. His voice was quieter this time, but sharp.

“You both talk about your ancestors like they were perfect. Like your version is the only one that matters.”

The Gen Jin elder narrowed his eyes. “Because it does. Our story has survived for generations—”

“So has theirs,” Zuko cut in. “And both sound like they were passed down from people who wanted someone to blame.”

“You ever think it’s strange that Jin Wei and Wei Jin have the same name? Just… flipped? What are the odds of that?”

The Zhang elder blinked, caught off guard.

Zuko sat apart from the rest, cross-legged on Appa’s head. The stone walls of the canyon rose high above them, darkening with the fading light. The argument between the Gan Jin and Zhang elders still echoed in the cliffs — louder than the wind, sharper than steel.

He rubbed his temples, jaw tense. They were still going on about it. Jin Wei. Wei Jin. The sacred orb. Twenty years of imprisonment. A noble delivery. A tragic betrayal. He barely understood why Aang had let them all travel together.

The names — Jin Wei and Wei Jin — stuck in his mind. Oddly familiar. Not just because they were near-identical, like someone had played a joke on history. No, he'd seen them before. Read them.

He narrowed his eyes, brow furrowing.

“I’ve read about them,” Zuko said aloud, voice cutting through the bickering like a drawn blade.

The elders turned. A few children did too, their curious faces peeking from behind the bulk of their tribesmen.

“The names — Jin Wei and Wei Jin. They’re in a book I read once. A history of the Earth Kingdom. Something about the founding of the western provinces.”

The Gan Jin elder’s chest puffed. “Yes, yes! They are our ancestors. Their legacy helped shape the Earth Kingdom’s values of order and honor.”

“And ours, too,” the Zhang elder added quickly. “Their tragedy taught us about redemption and loyalty. It’s no surprise you read about them.”

Zuko frowned. “It didn’t seem like a tragic story when I read it. Just… a brief entry. They were mentioned around there, but the book didn’t go as far as one hundred years ago.”

Zuko scanned their faces. Most of them looked uncomfortable. Even the loudest of the elders had turned quiet, their certainty wilting under scrutiny.

He continued. “I’ve seen people twist stories. I’ve seen kids blame each other for the same broken bowl just to avoid getting scolded. I’ve seen generals and politicians rewrite history because they were too proud to admit they were wrong.”

His voice dropped. “And I’ve seen people hang on to lies just so they could keep calling themselves the victim.”

The canyon wind whispered through the cracks, stirring dust at their feet.

One of the children — a Zhang girl with a thin braid and wide, thoughtful eyes — looked up at him. Her mouth parted, like she wanted to speak but wasn’t sure she was allowed.

Zuko looked away from her, heart heavy.

He didn’t want to be standing here, dissecting folklore like a blade through cloth. He didn’t want to argue with elders or lecture children. He didn’t want to carry the weight of someone else’s history.

He just wanted Aang to be safe. For people to stop hurting each other for stories they barely understood.

He thought, suddenly, of Lu Ten — his cousin, his older brother in all that mattered. Lu Ten, who was still alive. Still strong. A soldier, yes, but not a tyrant. A man who had laughed easily and trained him with patience and care. Lu Ten had been meant to inherit the throne. Not his father.

If Uncle Iroh had taken the throne, if Lu Ten had followed him, maybe the Fire Nation would be different. Calmer. Wiser. There would have been no need for exile. No need for Zuko to be burdened with the crown that should have never been his.

He’d never wanted the throne.

He’d just wanted peace.

Maybe that’s what dug at him so deeply now — watching children being raised to carry grudges like weapons. Watching adults clutch their pride so tightly they were willing to strangle the truth.

He turned back to the elders.

“You both say your ancestor was the honorable one,” Zuko said. “But answer me this — how did the Gan Jin know that Jin Wei was attacked, if he never returned to the village? And how did the Zhangs know about Wei Jin’s side of the story, unless he escaped prison and came back to tell it all twenty years later?”

The elders looked stricken, as though he had torn a page from a sacred text.

“Why would someone who stole the orb later return it? And if he did, why imprison him at all?”

His eyes narrowed. “Where is the orb now?”

Dead silence.

Zuko shook his head slowly.

“Does the orb even exist?” he asked, voice quieter now, but laced with something sharp. “Or was it just a symbol in a story that got twisted so much no one remembers the truth anymore?”

The children looked at each other. Eyes widened. Doubt bloomed where certainty had once lived.

Zuko turned to face them — not the elders, not the proud men who’d spent their lives passing down tales of betrayal and injustice. No, he looked at the next generation. At the ones who still had time to choose differently.

“I can’t believe grown adults are poisoning your minds,” he said, his voice heavy with quiet anger. “Turning you into carriers of hate… over a story that doesn’t even make sense.”

He didn’t say like my parents did. But it hung in the air, unsaid but unmistakable.

The canyon grew still.

The Gan Jin elder opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed his forehead.

The Zhang elder shifted where he sat on Appa’s saddle, suddenly unsure of what to say — or how to hold himself.

Something had cracked. Maybe not shattered. Not yet. But cracked — and that was enough.

Zuko turned his back to them and sat further down, leaning against Appa, the weight in his shoulders no lighter but no heavier either.

Maybe no one really knew what had happened between Jin Wei and Wei Jin. Maybe the truth had been lost under centuries of ego and embellishment.

But maybe, just maybe, the future didn’t have to be.

The sound of Appa’s fading growls echoed above them, a warm gust of wind sweeping down as the sky bison disappeared beyond the canyon's upper rim. Dust settled slowly in the air. The remaining travelers stood in silence for a moment — a collection of strangers bound together by the weight of shared confusion and a fractured legend.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

“Alright,” said the canyon guide, dusting off his hands and stepping forward. “Let’s move. Still got a long way to go before sundown.”

Aang, Sokka, Katara, and the remaining members of the Gan Jin and Zhang tribes began the slow descent into the canyon. The guide took the lead, and with practiced ease, he made the rocky terrain more manageable. A flick of his wrist shifted a jagged ledge into a smooth stair-step. A stomp of his heel caused a narrow, crumbling edge to broaden, stones knitting together beneath his boots.

Katara blinked in quiet amazement. “Wow…”

Aang grinned as he followed closely behind. “That’s incredible! I seriously can’t wait to learn earthbending. It’s so… solid. Precise. Powerful!”

The guide chuckled, raising a hand as he pressed it gently into the rock wall beside him, feeling its pulse. “Earthbending’s not just about power. Especially not down here. Folks don’t just want a path — they want answers. Stories. Meaning.”

Sokka rolled his eyes. “I bet the stories change depending on the tip.”

The guide ignored him with the patience of a man used to long silences and longer walks. They turned a sharp corner, where the canyon opened wider. An exposed ridge revealed layers of ancient stone — striations of red, ochre, and gray, like a history book laid bare.

He paused there, placing a palm on the stone. “Some say the canyon was carved by the great earth spirits during the First Tides. They came here when the world was young, dragged their mighty claws through the stone to mark the boundary between realms.”

The wind blew softly across the ridges, stirring loose pebbles at their feet.

Aang’s eyes widened, his voice low with reverence. “Spirits did this…?”

Sokka let out a short laugh. “Or,” he said, hiking up his pack, “erosion.”

Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged. “Forgot already? Zuko told us about it when you two were gawping at the canyon. Canyons are carved by wind and water over hundreds, maybe thousands of years. I’ve seen waterbenders and airbenders split rock like it’s nothing. Makes sense if nature just... takes its time.”

Katara frowned. “Zuko’s not a geologist, Sokka. He’s smart, sure — but not all-knowing.”

Sokka snorted again, more amused than annoyed. “Well, I watched water slice through stone. And I’ve seen air create whirlpools in rock basins. You don’t need giant spirit claws when you’ve got water and wind doing slow work over centuries. Just saying.”

The Gan Jin elder, walking stiffly with a staff, gave a dismissive wave. “You’re clearly not a spiritual man, young one. Perhaps you should follow the Avatar’s example and listen more to the world beyond sight.”

One of the Zhang warriors grunted thoughtfully. “Eh, actually… Sokka’s explanation — the erosion thing — does sound kind of reasonable. Wind and water, always moving… it fits the way these walls are shaped.”

The air grew tense.

Aang, caught in the middle, scratched the back of his neck, cheeks puffed with a sigh. “I really wish Zuko had waited to tell us that after we left the canyon…”

Katara gave him a sympathetic glance.

Thankfully, the guide lifted his arms with dramatic flair, grinning ear to ear. “Now, now — why not both?” He winked at Sokka. “That erosion theory of yours? Pretty slick. I might even add that to my tour next time. ‘Forged by the whisper of wind and water…’” He trailed off, tasting the words like fine tea. “Yeah. Has a ring to it.”

Sokka blinked. “Wait — you’re actually going to use that?”

“Why not?” the guide said. “Tour groups love a good blend of myth and science. Keep the spirituals happy, keep the thinkers intrigued.”

Katara snorted. “You’re a regular diplomat.”

The guide tipped an imaginary hat. “Part-time sage, full-time canyon crawler.”

The tension finally eased. A few nervous chuckles escaped among the group. The Gan Jin muttered among themselves, some huffing, others looking contemplative. The Zhangs shared skeptical but amused glances. The canyon echoed with the sounds of cautious footsteps and the occasional shifting rock as the guide continued crafting their path.

“Let’s keep moving,” he called. “Don’t want to be caught at the narrows after dark.”

They fell into a rhythm again. Earth pushed aside under the guide’s calm, methodical bending. The canyon, for all its mystery and shadow, no longer felt as oppressive as it had before. Maybe it was the fading heat of the day, or the wind threading gently through the chasms. Maybe it was the relief that — at least for now — they weren’t arguing about a story that had long since stopped making sense.

Aang lingered near the back, eyes on the ridges above.

He thought about Zuko — alone up there with strangers and children, surrounded by mistrust and pride. And Aang wasn’t with him. That stung more than he wanted to admit. Zuko had just gone, made the decision on his own, like Aang couldn’t be trusted to help. Like he wasn’t ready.

Lately, it felt like they were always pulling in opposite directions. Zuko, with his constant watching, his hovering protectiveness — and Aang, trying to step forward, to be more than the little brother who needed saving. He was the Avatar. The whole world expected him to be something more. And yet, Zuko still looked at him like the airbending boy from the temple — small, fragile, needing shelter.

But the temple was gone.

Everything was gone.

Sometimes, Aang felt like his whole life had burned down and scattered to the wind. The Southern Air Temple was in ruins, the monks he knew were dead or missing, and the people who were supposed to guide him — his father, the ones who called him son, even his mother — were just... gone. Names etched in ash and silence.

And now Zuko had left, too. Not forever, not really, but in that moment — riding Appa, choosing to go without a word of trust — it felt like another crack forming in Aang’s world. Another person he loved stepping away.

He hated that it hurt this much.

Zuko wasn’t just his older brother. He was one of the last people who still tied him to who he used to be. The idea that even he might leave — even just for a mission — made something twist sharp and hollow in Aang’s chest.

So he walked a little slower behind the others, the wind brushing at his sleeves, the canyon walls tall and closing in. He kept his voice light when he spoke. He smiled when Katara looked his way. But inside, the storm never really quieted.

Katara walked beside him, quiet for a long moment. “He’s good with words,” she said eventually.

Aang nodded. “And he’s not afraid to use them.”

Sokka, walking ahead, called back, “Don’t go getting poetic about the guy. He still grumbles like an old man.”

The guide laughed again, his voice echoing off the stone. “Old men are wise. Or at least we pretend to be!”

More laughter — lighter this time. The path ahead still wound through unknowns, but for the first time since entering the canyon, they felt like they were heading somewhere together.

Once the last of them stepped onto the canyon floor, the guide turned back to the narrow, winding path they had just descended — a ribbon of smoothed earth clinging to the cliff face — and raised his hands. His expression was calm, but there was a certain tightness to it, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

“Stand back,” he warned.

Everyone stepped aside, watching curiously as he lifted his arms. With a heavy rumble and a series of sharp cracks, the path they had taken shuddered — then shattered. Huge slabs of earth rose up and crumbled, tumbling down into the canyon with booming echoes. The dust bloomed high into the air like a stormcloud, obscuring the walls behind them. Aang blinked, covering his mouth and nose, squinting into the haze.

“Wait—why did you do that?” Aang asked, his voice muffled through his sleeve.

The guide turned toward him, dust settling in his hair, his face grave. “Those people — they’re running from the Fire Nation. It’s getting worse up north. Towns falling. Armies advancing. If the Fire Nation tries to follow them, they’ll have a hard time crossing the canyon without a path.”

Aang’s heart sank. “So you destroyed it… to protect them?”

The guide nodded once, serious. “It’s not much, but it might buy them time.”

Before Aang could respond, a low clicking sound echoed through the canyon, rising from the dust like the rattle of dry bones. The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet.

From the swirling dust cloud, a shape emerged — tall, spindly, and wrong.

With a hiss, the creature lunged forward. Before anyone could react, it had snatched the guide in a flash of jagged limbs.

“Hey!” Aang shouted, immediately summoning a gust of air with a swipe of his staff, clearing the remaining dust. The creature was huge — at least ten feet long, with multiple legs like a centipede, each ending in cruel, hooked claws. Its carapace was dull gray and coated in old scars, its eyes a gleaming, glassy black.

Sokka, already moving, hurled his boomerang. “Let him go, you overgrown beetle!”

The boomerang struck the creature on what passed for its head with a satisfying thunk, making it flinch — but it didn’t release its grip.

Katara, eyes wide but focused, whipped her waterskin open. A stream of water snaked through the air, lashing out in a sharp arc. “Drop him!” she shouted, the water forming into a whip that cracked against the creature’s claw.

The hit landed. The canyon crawler shrieked — a horrible, screeching sound — and flung the guide aside like a ragdoll.

“NO—!” Aang darted forward, leaping into the air. He spun his staff and brought down a spiraling column of air, catching the guide mid-fall and softening his landing. Then, without stopping, he twisted mid-air and directed the whirlwind at the creature.

The wind howled, slamming into the crawler’s body. The creature screeched again and tumbled backwards, legs flailing, before skittering up a canyon wall and disappearing into the shadows.

The silence that followed was thick and ringing.

Katara dropped to her knees beside the guide. “Are you alright? Spirits, you’re bleeding—”

The guide winced, trying to sit up but immediately groaning in pain. “Both… both arms,” he muttered. “Broken. Can’t… can’t move them.”

Katara’s expression tightened as she examined him. “You’re right. I can try to keep the swelling down, but they’re definitely broken.”

Sokka frowned, eyes darting around the canyon. “What was that thing?”

The guide gave a strained laugh, teeth clenched. “Canyon crawler. The place is full of ‘em. That’s why I tell people not to bring food. They can smell it from miles away.”

“You’re joking,” Sokka muttered. “We’re stuck in here with those?”

“No,” Katara said sharply. “He’s not joking. And he’s hurt. Badly.”

Aang stood frozen a moment, his staff still gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes were locked on the far edge of the canyon where the creature had disappeared. Dust still hovered in the air. His breathing was shallow.

“We’re trapped,” he said softly.

Everyone turned toward him.

“Without the guide… without his earthbending…” Aang looked around slowly, as if only now realizing the full weight of their situation. “There’s no way out of the canyon.”

The words echoed against the stone.

Chapter Text

The Gan Jins and the Zhangs — who had stood frozen until now — began murmuring in rising unease. One of the older Zhang women gripped her shawl tightly. A Gan Jin man stepped closer to the guide, looking pale.

“You mean we’re stuck? With those monsters crawling around?”

Aang stood at the edge of the rocky path, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he forced himself to steady his racing thoughts. The air was thick with tension, the silence between the group stretched taut like a drawn bow. He glanced around at the anxious faces of the Gan Jins and the Zhangs, their worried eyes flickering between him and the guide who sat on the jagged earth, nursing his broken arms.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Aang said, his voice soft but firm, trying to inject a confidence he wasn’t sure he felt. His words hung in the cool canyon air, seeming almost too light for the weight of their situation.

The elders of the Gan Jin tribe stepped forward, their expressions a mixture of hope and doubt. One of the Gan Jins, a tall man with streaks of silver in his beard, narrowed his eyes and asked, “Avatar Aang, what is your plan? How do you intend to get us out of this canyon alive?”

The Zhangs murmured among themselves, their voices anxious but restrained. A woman from the Zhang tribe, her hands tightly clutching the strap of her pack, added, “We are weary and weak. The canyon walls close in like a trap. How will you lead us to safety?”

Aang swallowed hard and scanned the canyon walls that rose sharply on either side, the narrow paths winding precariously down toward the canyon floor. The rocky terrain was unforgiving, and the shadows from the cliffs danced eerily in the fading light. His mind raced for solutions, but the path forward was far from clear.

He felt Sokka’s hand on his shoulder. The warrior’s confident presence was grounding. “Maybe we should call for Zuko. Get Appa to help us.”

Aang furrowed his brow and turned to Sokka. “How exactly do you plan to call him from here?”

Sokka smirked and lifted his arm slightly, pointing to Kai—the sleek hawk perched on his shoulder, feathers ruffled by the canyon breeze. “Kai. Fastest flyer around here. If Kai isn’t up to the job, we’ve got Momo too,” Sokka added with a grin, nodding toward the small lemur nestled on Katara’s shoulder.

Momo chirped and tilted his head, as if amused by the idea of being drafted as a messenger in this dire situation.

Aang almost wanted to agree. To reach out for help from his older brother seemed like the sensible thing to do. Yet something tight twisted in his chest. He shook his head firmly, his voice stronger than before. “No. I have to do this. I can do this without Zuko’s help.”

He paused, gathering his resolve. “Appa can’t carry everyone in one go anyway. It’ll take him multiple trips — back and forth — to get us all out of the canyon. That means some of us will be left behind... vulnerable.”

His eyes darkened with frustration and determination. “And those left behind? They’ll be at the mercy of the canyon crawlers.”

The mention of the vicious creatures caused a collective shudder among the group. Aang’s gaze swept over their anxious faces, lingering on the older children clutching their parents’ hands, on the men whose strength was already beginning to fade. His jaw clenched, anger bubbling beneath the surface — anger at Zuko’s quiet doubt in his ability, and deeper still, a raw hurt that Zuko had chosen to leave him behind.

He wanted to prove, not just to Zuko, but also to himself, that he was capable.

With a sudden, fluid motion, Aang leapt up onto a rocky ledge overlooking the narrow path. The light of the setting sun caught the edges of his hair and clothes, casting him in a golden glow. He raised his voice, strong and clear, letting it echo off the canyon walls. “The Gan Jins will take the path to the left! The Zhangs will take the path on the right!”

He leapt back down and turned to Katara and Sokka, his decision firm. “Katara, you take the Gan Jins. Sokka, you take the Zhangs. I’ll stay with the guide and help him along.”

Sokka frowned, stepping closer, his eyes locked on Aang’s. “Why are you being so stubborn about this? We could make this easier.”

Aang’s eyes flashed with irritation, his voice low and sharp. “I’m not stubborn.”

Katara placed a calming hand on his shoulder, nodding gently. “He’s right. There are too many of us for Appa to carry all at once.”

Aang nodded, his jaw tightening. “We’ll escort everyone safely across the canyon. I’ll only ask for Zuko and Appa’s help in bringing them up and out.”

Sokka sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck before giving a reluctant nod. “Alright.”

Aang smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Once this is all over, you can be Zuko’s little spy — tell him how well I handled everything.”

Sokka’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide in mock shock. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, Aang was already moving toward the guide, crouching down to help the injured man to his feet.

Sokka glanced over at Katara, who met his gaze with a concerned look. She whispered softly, “Do you think Aang and Zuko will make up?”

Sokka exhaled slowly, the weight of sibling rivalry heavy in the canyon air. “I don’t know. But it’s normal for brothers to argue.”

He forced a smile and nudged her playfully. “Look at us — always bickering.”

Katara smiled back, the tension easing slightly as she turned toward the Gan Jins. Sokka gave one last look at Aang, who was steadying the guide, and then moved to join the Zhangs.

As the sun was setting Sokka wandered through the Zhang camp, casually stroking the stubble on his chin—more from habit than necessity. The Zhangs were busily erecting simple tents, their movements swift and confident. Thick poles were driven into the stony earth, and fabric was stretched over the frames, creating compact shelters. But something was missing. As Sokka moved closer, he realized none of them were placing the heavy tarps over the tents.

Frowning in confusion, he approached the Zhang leader—a broad-shouldered woman with sun-darkened skin and a long scar stretching across her forearm. She was helping secure the entrance flap of her tent with practiced ease.

“Hey, uh… aren’t you guys forgetting something?” Sokka asked, gesturing toward the pile of unused tarps nearby. “Like, you’re not putting the tarps over the tents? That’s kinda the whole point of a tarp, right?”

The woman straightened and glanced over her shoulder at him. “It’s the dry season,” she said, brushing dust from her palms. “No rain this time of year. We’d rather use the tarps as extra blankets. The canyon gets cold at night.”

Sokka’s face lit up with genuine delight. “That’s exactly what I said earlier!” He grinned and gave her a little bow. “Finally! Someone who understands practical thinking. I’m telling you, my sister was giving me so much grief for suggesting the tarp-as-blanket thing.”

The Zhang leader gave him a nod, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Sounds like you know what you’re doing.”

Sokka beamed. “Finally! Someone who gets it.”

Sokka strode off with a victorious bounce in his step, arms folded smugly behind his head. “Team Zhang is officially my kind of tribe.”

On the opposite side of the canyon, Katara was kneeling with the Gan Jins as they carefully spread out their pristine tarps, staking each corner down with precise angles and smooth knots. The Gan Jin camp was meticulously arranged—each tarp shelter placed at even intervals, entrances all facing the same direction. As they worked, supplies were tucked neatly inside, and lanterns were hung at matching heights from poles driven into the ground.

Katara couldn’t help but smile at the orderliness. “Do you think it’ll rain tonight?” she asked curiously, eyeing one of the elaborate tarp structures.

The Gan Jin leader—a slender man with a high, proud forehead and silver bands in his hair—turned toward her with a calm expression. “It may not. But it never hurts to be too careful, does it?”

Katara’s smile widened as she folded her arms, recalling the argument she and Sokka had earlier that day. “Exactly. That’s what I said.”

The fire crackled between them, throwing flickering shadows across the stone. As the warmth spread and the Gan Jins settled in, Katara noticed something strange—quiet rustles of sleeves, soft crinkles of paper. One by one, the Gan Jins were producing small parcels of food, hidden carefully in their robes.

Katara’s eyes widened. “Wait... you all brought food? But the guide told us we had to throw it all away!”

The Gan Jin leader’s brows furrowed deeply, his tone instantly shifting to one of grim accusation. “Of course we did. What, you think the Zhangs listened to that rule? Please. Do you honestly believe they’re sitting over there starving? No. They’re probably stuffing their faces right now.”

He pulled out a small loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and offered it to her. “Why should my people suffer while they gorge themselves?”

Katara looked around. The firelight danced on the content faces of the Gan Jins, already eating their rations without guilt. Her stomach grumbled, and she glanced once toward the other side of the canyon.

“Well… if everyone else is eating…” she said hesitantly, accepting the bread. “I mean, it’d be rude not to.”

They sat together in a loose circle, passing around small portions and nibbling quietly. The firelight flickered in Katara’s eyes as she bit into the bread, then turned to the elder beside her.

“Can I ask… why are the Gan Jins and the Zhangs even feuding? I mean, after a hundred years, doesn’t it all feel a bit... old?”

He leaned forward, hands folded. “One hundred years ago, our revered ancestor, Jin Wei, the greatest earthbending warrior of his generation, was entrusted with a sacred task. He was charged with carrying the sacred orb from the Great Eastern Gate to the Great Western Gate. This was not mere duty—it was the heart of our most ancient ritual, a journey that symbolized the rising and setting of the sun. The orb itself is a relic of profound spiritual meaning. To protect it was to honour the earth, our people, and the very balance of the world.”

The elder’s voice grew taut, tinged with both reverence and restrained bitterness. “Jin Wei was approaching the Western Gate—our tribe’s spiritual sanctuary—when he was ambushed. Wei Jin, a Zhang, struck him down without warning. Knocked him out cold and stole the sacred orb. A coward’s act.”

He sat back, his brow furrowing as the firelight caught the sharp line of his frown. “That betrayal sparked the flames of war between our tribes. For generations we have remembered it—not out of hatred, but out of truth. We know what kind of people the Zhangs truly are.”

Katara frowned, lowering her half-eaten bread. She turned her gaze across the flickering canyon firelight, eyes narrowing as she looked toward the distant shadows of the Zhang camp. Her fingers tightened around the crust.

Across the canyon, the Zhangs' camp was far less orderly than their counterparts. Blankets were slung casually over makeshift bedding, their tarp laid out loosely on the ground like a communal picnic cloth rather than a proper shelter. Fires flickered here and there, smoke curling lazily into the evening sky. Laughter drifted up every so often—tired, but genuine.

Sokka strolled among the Zhangs, his hands clasped behind his head and a satisfied grin on his face. His eyes scanned their setup, and while it was chaotic, there was a sort of charming cohesion to it—like a family that had grown used to making do with little.

“Would you like some?” a voice called out to him. He turned his head to see the woman Zhang leader holding out a generous piece of roasted meat, its edges crisped and glistening in the firelight.

Sokka's eyes lit up. “Would I? What kind of idiot turns down meat?” He plopped down next to her with zero hesitation, practically snatching the offering with both hands and taking a huge bite before she could answer. “Mmff—so good,” he mumbled, eyes closing in delight.

The Zhang leader chuckled softly, then glanced down beside Sokka. “And what about your feathered friend?” she asked, tearing off a smaller, leaner piece of meat.

Kai, who had remained perched quietly beside Sokka—half in shadow, half in the golden firelight—tilted his head and gave a low, curious chirp.

Sokka blinked, then grinned. “What, you thought I forgot about you, buddy?”

With careful fingers, the woman extended the meat to Kai. The hawk leaned forward, eyes locked on the offering. Then, with a swift and precise motion, he snatched it up in his beak and flapped his wings once in what looked like appreciation before settling down again to eat.

The woman smiled. “Even a hawk knows not to pass up good food.”

Sokka laughed. “He’s got great taste. Raised him right.”

The woman chuckled softly, though her smile was tinged with something sombre. “You probably think we’re horrible people, huh? For bringing food… putting everyone in danger.”

Sokka paused mid-chew, shrugged, then grinned again and made a noncommittal “Mmm” sound around his mouthful. “If this is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.”

She gave a small laugh and shook her head, though her eyes drifted toward the canyon wall where the Gan Jins were camped. Her voice dropped lower, more thoughtful. “The Gan Jins think we’re liars. Savages, even. They think we cheated, broke the rules. But they’re not so perfect themselves.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, licking his fingers. “How so?”

“Well,” she began, leaning in slightly, “they were so convinced that we’d sneak food that they most likely brought their own—just to spite us, or maybe to make sure they didn’t starve while pretending to be noble. That’s why we brought food too. Why should we suffer alone?”

Sokka let out a short laugh. “Reverse psychology. Bold move.”

“Desperate times,” she replied simply.

She adjusted the scarf around her shoulders and turned more fully to him, the fire casting warm orange light across her face. “Our feud with them… it goes back a hundred years. This is what our people remember.”

Sokka leaned in, intrigued.

“Wei Jin,” she began, her voice taking on a cadence like a tale passed down through generations, “was one of our own. A kind man, a wanderer. He was traveling the countryside when he found a young man from the Gan Jin tribe—Jin Wei, they call him—badly wounded on the path. Wei Jin tried to help him, offered water and bandages, but the Gan Jin refused. Said the sacred orb he carried had to reach the Western Gate, that it was more important than his injuries.”

She paused, her fingers absently tracing the rim of the plate in her lap.

“So Wei Jin took the orb and did what the man asked—he delivered it to the western post himself. But when he arrived, instead of being thanked, he was arrested. The Gan Jins accused him of stealing it. Twenty years in prison. No trial. No gratitude.”

Sokka blinked, his face falling a little. “That’s… a terrible story.”

The woman nodded solemnly. “He lost everything. And we lost any faith in the Gan Jin sense of justice.”

There was a beat of silence between them, broken only by the crackle of fire and the murmur of Zhang families settling in for the night.

Sokka eyed the piece of meat still in her hand. “You gonna finish that?”

The woman raised an eyebrow, a slight smile returning to her lips. Without breaking eye contact, she bit into it slowly, clearly enjoying the moment.

“Fair enough,” Sokka said, grinning.

They sat in companionable silence after that, the tension between two peoples momentarily softened by food and firelight. But as Sokka glanced back toward the canyon wall separating the camps, he frowned slightly, wondering what Katara and Aang were doing on the other side.

Aang sat perched on the jagged edge of the canyon wall, his legs dangling over the side as he gazed down at the two flickering campfires across the gorge. The warm glow painted the canyon walls with dancing shadows, and a soft breeze carried the faint scent of smoke and earth.

He sighed quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “It’d be nice, just to be near one of those fires... to feel that warmth.”

His eyes drifted upwards, imagining Zuko beside him. If only Zuko were here, Aang thought. He would conjure a fire in his palm like he used to... The thought brought a small, wistful smile to Aang’s face.

Beside him, Momo nestled close, softly purring—a gentle reminder of comfort amidst the uncertainty.

“You know, Momo,” Aang murmured, stroking the lemur’s soft fur, “we’ll be out of this canyon soon. Soon, we’ll have all the food we want.” His voice brightened as he listed off their future treats. “Dried apples, lychee nuts… you’ll love the lychee nuts.”

Momo’s ears perked up sharply at the mention of food. Suddenly, he sprang to attention, his hands clasping something small and wriggling—a bug.

Momo started nibbling on it, but then stopped, looking up at Aang with wide eyes before holding out the bug, offering it to him.

Aang scrunched up his nose, leaning back slightly with a half-laugh, half-disgusted grin. “No thanks, Momo. I think I’ll wait for the lychee nuts.”

Momo shrugged and went back to munching the bug happily, his tiny teeth crunching softly.

From behind, the guide limped carefully toward them, his face drawn but eyes sharp.

He settled down near Aang and, after a moment of silence, asked softly, “It’s lonely, isn’t it? Being impartial.”

Aang nodded slowly. “I wish I could do more. Help those people... but it just feels impossible sometimes.”

The guide glanced at the dark canyon below. “The bigger problem is how to get out of this place.”

Aang looked at him, puzzled.

The guide smiled faintly and sat back, exhaustion washing over his features. “I believe those problems... they are connected.”

As the guide’s eyes fluttered closed, drifting to sleep, Aang’s gaze wandered to the distant camps. The two fires seemed to flicker like two ancient spirits locked in silent watch.

His thoughts turned to the tribes below — the Gan Jins and the Zhangs — bitter enemies for a hundred years. How deep does their grudge run? Aang wondered. Is it really worth so much pain?

His mind shifted unbidden to Zuko — his older brother. He tried to recall what had sparked their fights lately, but the reasons blurred, losing meaning in the swirl of anger and hurt.

Could one day, one of our arguments make him hate me? Aang’s voice was barely a whisper to himself.

Has he already started to? The thought stabbed at him, sharp and unwelcome, as the night deepened and the canyon grew colder around him.

By mid-morning, the fractured walls of the canyon began to slope more gently, the jagged cliffs slowly giving way to rolling, rocky terrain. The natural divide that had kept the Gan Jins and the Zhangs apart was softening, both in landscape and, Aang hoped, in spirit. The two groups, now walking in uneasy proximity, trudged forward with tired feet and guarded eyes.

Aang hopped down lightly from the crumbling edge of a canyon ledge, landing in a crouch just ahead of Katara and Sokka. Dust puffed up around his boots as he stood and brushed off his robes. “Hey, guys,” he said, glancing between them. “Do you think they can cooperate long enough to actually get out of this canyon?”

Katara crossed her arms, frowning deeply. “I doubt it,” she said sharply. “After what the Zhangs did? I mean, they wronged the Gan Jins. Wei Jin ambushed Jin Wei and stole their sacred orb during a ritual. That’s not something you just forget.”

Aang’s brows furrowed. “Wait—what are you talking about?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, Katara,” Sokka chimed in, blinking. “What are you talking about?”

Katara turned to him, her expression a bit defensive. “The Gan Jin elder told me last night. Jin Wei was on a sacred mission, and Wei Jin just knocked him out and stole the orb!”

Sokka snorted. “That’s not what really happened.” He waved a hand as if brushing away her claim. “Wei Jin found Jin Wei injured and tried to help. He was just trying to return the orb, but the Gan Jins didn’t even let him explain. They arrested him and tossed him in prison!”

Katara opened her mouth to protest, but Aang stepped between them, raising his hands. “Guys—please,” he said, his voice pleading. “Let’s not argue. We just need to get them out of the canyon safely. That’s the priority.”

Both siblings glanced at each other, then reluctantly nodded.

Aang smiled and unfurled his newly patched air glider. With a few strong steps, he launched himself into the air and caught an updraft, soaring just above the group. He coasted down gently in front of the Zhang and Gan Jin leaders, both of whom looked startled by his sudden appearance.

“We’re almost there,” Aang said, voice firm. “I need your help. If we all work together, we can be out of this canyon before lunch. You’ll be free to go your separate ways and eat your meals in peace.”

The Zhang leader crossed her arms. “And if they don’t start insulting us again,” she muttered under her breath.

The Gan Jin elder raised a brow. “Only if they don’t try to steal something again.”

Aang pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He turned toward the canyon rim and whistled sharply. Kai, who had been perched on Sokka’s shoulder, perked up with a sharp cry and launched into the air, circling once above Aang before awaiting the command.

“Kai—head up. Call Zuko and Appa down. We need their help to bring those people up,” Aang said quietly.

Kai gave another screech and took off toward the skies, his wings slicing through the air with sharp grace.

Behind Aang, muttered words quickly turned into raised voices. A tense hush fell over the canyon trail before it erupted again.

“You’ve always believed lies and half-truths!” the Gan Jin elder shouted.

“Says the one whose people threw a kind-hearted traveller in prison!” the Zhang leader barked back.

“You’re just jealous of our honour!”

“You’re just bitter because we still have our teeth!”

Aang held up his hands and stepped between them, his voice rising in panic. “No—no! Harsh words won’t solve anything! Please, stop!”

For a moment, the leaders froze.

One of the Zhang warriors murmured, “Maybe… the Avatar is right.”

A Gan Jin nodded. “Perhaps we should listen.”

Aang let out a breath of relief, shoulders relaxing.

Then—shkkt—weapons clattered from their sheaths.

“Words don’t solve anything!” both sides shouted in unison.

With a metallic clang, the Gan Jin elder’s blade met the Zhang leader’s, sending a jolt of dread through Aang as the rest surged forward with battle cries, weapons and fists raised.

Aang’s face went pale as he jumped back. “No no no no!”

Dust and shouting filled the air as chaos erupted once again, echoing off the canyon walls.

The clash of steel rang out again as the Zhang leader and the Gan Jin elder lunged, blades flashing in the morning light. They moved with surprising speed for their age—every swing and parry sharp with decades of built-up resentment. Their tribes cheered them on, voices rising in a storm of fury.

Aang’s eyes widened. “That’s enough!”

He gritted his teeth, whipped out his staff, and slammed it open with a sharp thwack. With a swift spin, he sliced the air horizontally in front of him. A sudden whirlwind blasted through the canyon, roaring like an unleashed storm.

The powerful gust caught both leaders mid-strike, lifting them clean off their feet. The wind didn’t stop there—it surged down the trail, sweeping up warriors from both tribes like leaves in a gale. Screams and protests filled the air as everyone tumbled back, sprawled in a heap of tangled limbs, banners, and dusty cloaks.

As the last of the dust settled, silence fell—broken only by the soft plop, plop, plop of bundles falling to the ground.

Aang lowered his staff, chest heaving from exertion. He turned in a slow circle to assess the damage—and then stopped, eyes going wide.

Food.

Food everywhere.

From blankets, from sleeves, from hidden compartments in packs, roasted birds rolled free, fruit baskets tumbled out, satchels split open revealing jerky, nuts, sweetbuns, skewers… and one Zhang man stood frozen, a smoked fish in each hand, like a deer caught in torchlight.

Aang’s jaw fell open. “Wait a second… is that—did you all—?!”

He pointed furiously. “You all smuggled food?!”

There was a collective shuffle of guilt as heads turned away. One Gan Jin tried to look casual as he nudged a heap of dumplings under a blanket with his foot. The motion was painfully obvious.

Aang’s voice cracked as he stormed toward the centre of the chaos. “You mean to tell me—you’ve been hiding food this whole time?! After everything?! After the canyon guide got injured saving your supplies?!”

He threw up his hands. “You risked everyone’s lives because you couldn’t go without a snack for a single day?!”

A Zhang warrior weakly offered, “Well, it was a really long day—”

“NO!” Aang shouted, spinning toward them. “You were explicitly told not to bring food because it attracts canyon crawlers! What part of ‘giant man-eating bugs’ did you all just decide didn’t matter?!”

Somewhere near the back, one of the Gan Jin warriors whispered to another, “I knew we should’ve packed it in tighter.”

Aang was halfway through another furious rant, pacing and waving his arms in exasperation, when something caught his eye. Just off to the side, resting delicately on a folded napkin, was a perfectly golden custard tart—its surface glossy with caramelized sugar, the flaky edges practically glowing under the rising sun.

Aang slowed.

His stomach growled.

He blinked, shoulders dropping a little. “…Is that… vegetarian?”

He took a cautious step toward it, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. His anger melted off his face, replaced by something heartbreakingly soft—pure yearning and stomach-driven hope.

Before anyone could answer, Momo landed beside the tart, sniffed it, and chirped.

And then—chrrrrkkkchrrk.

A horrible clicking sound echoed from above.

Aang froze, eyes still fixed longingly on the tart. Then his gaze slowly drifted upward, past the tart, past the canyon rim—

Right to the jagged cliff face, where movement rippled like shadows come to life.

Multiple canyon crawlers—with their segmented legs, beady eyes, and gleaming pincers—began creeping over the edge of the canyon wall. Their spindly forms clung to the rock like monstrous spiders, more appearing with each breathless second.

Momo’s ears flattened, and he scuttled back behind Aang.

Aang, still half-reached for the tart, whimpered, “Oh no.”

Behind him, the Zhangs and the Gan Jins looked up—then screamed in unison.

The crawlers shrieked, and the chase began.

The canyon echoed with shrieks and hissing. From the high ridges above, dozens of canyon crawlers scuttled down the walls—fangs bared, antennae twitching, legs scraping the stone in a nightmarish clatter.

Someone screamed. Then another. Chaos exploded.

"Get to cover!" Aang shouted, wind already building around his staff.

Katara grabbed Sokka’s arm, yanking him behind a flat stone outcropping. “There’s too many of them!”

Sokka peeked around the edge. “We can’t just hide—we need to fight!”

They both glanced at the guide, who was pale and shaking, slowly backing away from the scene with trembling legs.

“I knew it,” he whimpered. “I knew one of them got a taste for me. Now they’re all back… for seconds.” His voice cracked as he clutched his bandaged leg.

Sokka blinked. “What?! That’s not how it—wait, is that true?!”

Before he could act, Katara caught his wrist. “Sokka, no! I don’t care who stole what orb or who had the better moral code a hundred years ago—I just want us to get out of here alive.”

There was a beat. Then Sokka gave her a weak grin.

“…I only took the Zhangs' side because they gave me jerky.”

Katara stared at him. Then, despite everything, she snorted. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe,” he said, drawing his boomerang. “But I’m the worst with perfect aim.”

Together, they rushed into the fray.

Aang was already spinning his staff, whipping gales of air at the canyon crawlers to keep them back. They tumbled like leaves, only to recover and skitter back in with renewed hunger.

Katara lashed out with water in fierce, sweeping arcs. One crawler slammed into a wall with a wet thud. Sokka ducked and flipped, striking one right in its mandibles with his boomerang.

But there were just too many.

Aang’s eyes darted across the canyon: Gan Jin and Zhangs were screaming, ducking, scrambling for safety—trying to fight, but in total disarray. No unity. No plan. Just panic.

He launched into a tight spin, swinging his staff in a wide arc, unleashing a sharp gust that slammed two incoming crawlers into a rock wall. They hissed but scrambled upright again almost instantly.

Aang leapt into the air, twisting mid-flight to send a slicing current of wind that tore through a cloud of dust and staggered another group of crawlers closing in on Katara.

His chest heaved as he landed, crouching low.

There has to be something… something we’re not seeing—

A sudden screech made him turn.

Near the far wall, three canyon crawlers had their heads shoved deep into sacks of smuggled food, gobbling hungrily—completely ignoring the chaos around them. Fruits, dried meats, dumplings—piled around them like a buffet.

They weren’t attacking. They were feasting.

“…They’re not hunting us,” Aang breathed. “They’re hungry.”

A shriek behind him—he spun around just as a crawler lunged. Aang slammed his staff downward, sending a burst of wind into the ground that blasted the creature backward in a spiral of loose gravel.

He stood frozen for a beat, eyes wide, the realization blooming fast.

Another crawler charged at a pair of Zhang elders. Aang shot forward, gliding on a controlled current, then vaulted into a somersault and kicked out, unleashing a compressed air blast from his foot that flipped the beast head-over-tail into the canyon wall.

He landed again, panting, sweat clinging to his brow.

His gaze flicked back to the food-sated crawlers, still blissfully unaware of the chaos.

His expression shifted—from confusion to clarity.

Maybe… just maybe…

Just then, a roar of flame swept across the canyon wall—bright and blistering—searing a line between a group of cornered Gan Jin youths and the lunging crawlers.

The canyon crawlers hissed and reeled back, antennae twitching wildly as the heat licked the stone.

A figure dropped down from the ledge—cloak rippling behind him. Zuko landed in a crouch, then rose smoothly, smoke curling from his fingertips, his golden eyes scanning the battlefield.

“Late again,” he muttered to himself.

All around, heads turned.

“A firebender!” someone gasped.

“The one with the Avatar!” a Zhang shouted.

Weapons wavered—but not from fear. Just surprise.

A Gan Jin elder narrowed his eyes at the sudden arrival. “I didn’t know firebenders could be useful…”

Another shrugged, watching Zuko launch another blast at a crawler. “If he’s on our side, I don’t care what he bends.”

That was enough.

Chapter Text

With a shared, unspoken agreement, both tribes turned back toward the battle—trusting the flame for now, because the only thing that mattered was making it out alive.

Above, Appa groaned and circled with a wide, worried bellow. Atop his massive head, Kai the hawk stood perched on one horn, eyes narrow as he surveyed the battlefield.

Momo fluttered desperately up to them, his tiny body trembling. He landed beside Kai and immediately dived beneath the hawk’s wing, quivering like a leaf.

Kai let out a protesting cry as Momo pulled the wing tight around himself, hiding.

The hawk considered for a moment, then let the wing drape over the lemur like a feathered blanket.

Kai looked annoyed—but didn’t move.

Back on the ground, Aang caught Zuko’s eye. They didn’t need to speak.

He took a step forward, breath heavy, limbs aching—but determined.

“Zuko,” Aang said, “I think I know how to stop this.”

Zuko arched a brow. “Why do I feel like I'm not going to like your plan?”

Aang looked to the others, to the terrified tribes. Then to the canyon crawlers, still fixated on the fallen food.

He tightened his grip on his staff.

“We’re gonna feed them.”

Zuko frowned, fire still simmering at his palms. “Feed them?” he echoed.

Aang nodded determinedly.

Zuko hesitated for a beat, clearly not understanding—then sighed and gave a small nod. “Alright.”

As Aang turned away, Zuko muttered under his breath, “Thinks I never trust him… like I’m always treating him like some helpless kid.”

He crossed his arms, a wry, almost smug smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, who's trusting who now, huh? Bet he's not expecting that.”

Then, a voice in his head—older, steadier, the one that took care of his little brother through war and exile—cut in with an exasperated sigh.

Seriously? You're proud of being petty now? Grow up.

Zuko scowled at himself, the smirk vanishing as quickly as it came. “Ugh. I really need to stop arguing with myself.”

Aang hefted a bag of food and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Everyone! Follow my lead!”

With a quick flick of his wrist, Aang lobbed a chunk of bread toward a nearby canyon crawler. It landed with a soft thud in front of the beast. The crawler paused… sniffed… then chomped down the offering in one gulp. Its antennae twitched, and it suddenly scuttled straight for Aang.

Zuko immediately sprang forward, stance wide, fire swirling around his fists. “Aang!”

But before he could attack, Aang bent a quick burst of air beneath his feet, launching himself over the crawler and landing squarely on its back. He grinned as he tied the food bag around its face like a feed pouch.

The canyon crawler halted, confused—then happily started munching away.

People stared.

A few blinked in disbelief.

Then, a Zhang warrior cautiously tossed a dumpling toward another crawler. It paused mid-lunge… sniffed… then, just like before, sat down to eat.

One by one, the tribes began to follow suit—hurling food at the creatures, distracting them, and even climbing aboard their backs to hitch rides to the canyon walls.

Zuko kept his ground, hurling defensive bursts of flame to ward off the crawlers that got too close to the vulnerable or injured. He moved quickly and efficiently—every step measured, every flame placed to protect.

Amid the chaos, his gaze met Aang’s across the dusty canyon.

Aang balanced on a canyon crawler’s back, grinning despite the madness.

Zuko rolled his eyes—but smirked. “Lead them, Avatar.”

Aang beamed and untied another bag of food, this time fastening it to his air glider. He launched into the air, letting the food dangle in front of the herd of crawlers. Their eyes locked onto it instantly.

As Aang rode atop a crawler in a wide arc toward the canyon wall, the others scrambled after him, completely ignoring everything else in sight. Their claws dug into rock and their bodies surged upward in pursuit of the floating snack.

Below, Appa swooped down, landing near Zuko with a loud thud. Kai let out a cry, wings outstretched, and Momo popped up beside him, still wrapped in Kai’s wing like a blanket.

Zuko helped the injured guide onto Appa’s back, then offered a hand to a limping Gan Jin and a Zhang warrior, both bruised and battered but still conscious. “Up you go. Let’s end this mess.”

At the canyon’s top, Aang leapt off the crawler he was riding and zig-zagged across the ground, making sure every crawler reached the summit. “Everybody off!” he shouted, circling around. “Go, go, go!”

As the last person scrambled to safety—and Appa rose up from below, carrying the rest—Aang drew in a deep breath and hurled the food bag over the edge.

The bag tumbled down, hitting a ledge and bursting open in a cloud of bread and dried meat.

The canyon crawlers didn’t hesitate. One by one, they turned and scurried back down, diving after the falling meal like a pack of hungry, oversized beetles.

Aang finally landed, panting and sweating, but grinning from ear to ear.

Crisis: averted.

The female leader of the Zhangs crossed her arms, a hint of surprise softening her usually stern expression. “I never thought I’d see the Gan Jins get their hands dirty like that,” she said, nodding toward the exhausted warriors wiping sweat from their brows.

The male Gan Jin leader smirked, stepping forward with a wry smile. “And I never expected the Zhangs to be so reliable when things got desperate.”

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe… we’re not so different after all.”

Aang let out a happy sigh, the tension in the air easing just a little.

The Gan Jin leader’s face darkened again. “It’s a shame we can’t rewrite history,” he muttered, drawing his sword with a swift motion. “Especially when the Zhangs stole the sacred orb from us.”

The Zhang leader’s eyes narrowed as she drew her own blade. “And it’s a shame you Gan Jins wrongly imprisoned our tribesman for years.”

Aang groaned, slapping his hands over his face in frustration.

Zuko, rubbing his temples, let out an exasperated growl. “Not this badly written story again…”

Sokka glanced over at Zuko, then at the Zhangs and Gan Jins that Zuko had escorted earlier. Their faces were flushed with embarrassment; some hid behind their hands or looked away in shame.

Curious, Sokka nudged Zuko. “Hey, what did you do to get them like that? How’d you pull it off?”

Hearing Sokka’s question, Aang spun around to look at the same group. A pang of embarrassment settled in his chest — here was Zuko, seemingly able to smooth over old wounds with ease, while Aang struggled to even get them to listen.

Part of him wanted to shout, “That’s my brother — so cool, so capable, he can fix anything.”

But another part was angry — I’m the Avatar, he reminded himself, I should be the one solving this without breaking a sweat.

Frowning, Aang turned back to Zuko. “How did you manage that?”

Zuko gave him a sideways glance, a sly grin forming. “Remember Monk Gyatso’s punishment? When you accidentally blew away that pillar in the Air Temple?”

Sokka snorted loudly, and Katara giggled softly at the idea.

Aang’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Monk Gyatso made me read a really long, boring book as punishment…”

Zuko raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “Right. And do you remember how you didn’t want to suffer alone, so you begged me to read it with you?”

Aang blinked, confused. “Uh… yeah? So?”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “So,” he said dryly, “both Wei Jin and Jin Wei were mentioned in that book.”

The gears in Aang’s head came to a screeching halt. He stared at Zuko with a blank, owlish expression.

Zuko exhaled through his nose and pinched the bridge of his nose like he could physically hold back the oncoming headache. “Don’t tell me… You didn’t even read it, did you? You pretended.”

Aang gave a sheepish smile. “I skimmed it! A little…”

Zuko gave him the most deadpan look he could muster. “Then at least tell me what the timeline was. What era did the book cover?”

Aang frowned, his forehead scrunched in concentration. “Uhh… It was about the formation of the Earth Kingdom. I remember it talked about Jianzhu, Avatar Kuruk…” He trailed off. “And… and Wei Jin and Jin Wei were in that book…”

His voice dropped to a whisper as his eyes widened with the sudden spark of realization.

Zuko crossed his arms and smirked. “There it is.”

Aang slapped both hands over his head. “Nooooo!”

Sokka, chewing on a bit of dried meat, looked up. “What?”

Katara leaned forward. “Aang, what’s wrong?”

Before either of them could finish their thoughts, a gust of air blasted out from Aang’s arms as he flung the Zhang and Gan Jin leaders apart, just as their swords were about to meet again.

“That’s enough!” Aang shouted, planting himself between them with flared nostrils and wild eyes. “You’ve been fighting for a hundred years over a story neither of you even bothered to fact-check?! Are you serious?!”

Both leaders stumbled back, dumbfounded.

“I’ve risked my life crawling through a canyon, being chased by giant bug-lizards, herding your stubborn tribes around—and for what?! A feud based on completely messed-up history?!” His voice cracked into a high-pitched rant. “Do you even know when your ‘great betrayal’ happened? Because spoiler alert: It wasn’t a hundred years ago!”

From the back of the crowd, the tribespeople Zuko had escorted started making awkward gestures at their leaders to stand down. A few covered their faces in quiet shame, avoiding eye contact.

“Both Wei Jin and Jin Wei are in that stupid Earth Kingdom history book Monk Gyatso made me read!” Aang shouted, voice rising. “And that book doesn’t even go anywhere near a hundred years ago! It ends before Avatar Kyoshi’s time! Before!”

Zuko approached silently, and without a word, rested a steady hand on Aang’s shoulder. Aang was practically trembling with outrage and embarrassment, panting from the force of his rant.

Zuko’s voice was calm but firm, the voice of someone who had had enough. “So,” he said, holding the crowd’s attention now, “let’s check our facts. You claimed this feud began a hundred years ago…”

He turned to the elders, who shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

“But the book we both read—the one about the founding of the Earth Kingdom—places Wei Jin and Jin Wei at five hundred years ago. That’s a four-hundred-year difference. So… which is it?”

The air was silent. Brittle.

Zuko stepped forward. “You both say the sacred orb made it to its destination. You just argue about how it got there. One of you calls it theft. The other says it was wrongful imprisonment. But both of you admit the mission succeeded. So who exactly failed here?”

He gestured sharply. “And if Jin Wei died, who reported his story? If Wei Jin was imprisoned, who told his side? You claim to have facts—but there are no witnesses. No evidence. Just… campfire gossip passed down for centuries.”

The elders looked to each other again, visibly sweating now.

“And where,” Zuko added, voice low and pointed, “is the sacred orb now?”

Everyone turned to the Gan Jin leader.

Zuko tilted his head. “Because from both versions of your story, somehow, the orb still made it back to your tribe. Which, by the way, makes both versions of this feud even less consistent.”

Aang, still catching his breath, gave a slow blink. “You’re really good at this,” he muttered.

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “I read the book.”

Sokka leaned over to Katara and muttered, “But he’s not all-knowing, right?” He elbowed her lightly, eyes wide with mock awe. “I mean, sure, he guessed erosion, solved a century-old feud, and casually shattered two tribal origin stories… but you said he wasn’t all-knowing.”

Katara groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Please stop talking.”

Sokka grinned. “No promises. I think we might be traveling with the Spirit of Knowing Stuff.”

The Zhang and Gan Jin leaders stood frozen, their swords still raised but forgotten. Slowly, they looked down—first at their blades, then at the faces of their people. The weight of Zuko’s words and Aang’s outburst settled over them like a heavy fog. Centuries of tradition, stories passed from elder to child, the very foundation of their hatred — all of it had just crumbled.

The crowd stirred uneasily. Some murmured in confusion, others exchanged uncertain glances. A few gasped as realization dawned. The elders’ faces, once etched with certainty, now held only doubt. One of the Gan Jin warriors quietly sheathed his blade. A Zhang woman looked away, cheeks flushed with shame. An older man from each side slowly backed away from the front lines, the fight draining from their posture.

And then—softly, tentatively—someone whispered, “Is it true?”

Another voice answered, “We were wrong…”

A few heads bowed.

A few voices mumbled apologies.

And others simply stood still, too shaken to speak, the collapse of their convictions too sudden, too surreal.

Aang stared at them all — the leaders, the warriors, the elders — watching the weight of truth crush centuries of stubbornness. His anger had already flared and passed like a summer storm, leaving behind only weariness. He took a deep breath, hands still trembling slightly from the force of his own shout.

“I tried so hard…” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “I listened to your stories. I tried to help. I thought if I just... brought you together, things would fix themselves.” He laughed weakly, rubbing his arm. “Turns out, all it took was reading a book I was too bored to finish.”

Zuko, still beside him, glanced at his brother. “Technically, it took me reading the book while you fell asleep drooling on it.”

Aang turned red. “I was… meditating.”

“Sure,” Zuko deadpanned. Then, quieter, he added, “You did good, Aang. Even if it wasn’t how you imagined it.”

Aang looked at him, eyes uncertain.

Zuko offered the faintest smile. “Sometimes solving things means tearing them down first. You tore down a hundred years of lies. That’s not nothing.”

From the crowd, the embarrassed murmurs were starting to shift into conversation — soft voices wondering what came next, whether it was time to lay old stories to rest. The tribal leaders still hadn’t spoken. Their hands had dropped to their sides, eyes glassy, expressions hollow with disbelief.

Aang stepped forward slowly. “You’ve both led your people with the best intentions. I believe that. But now you know the truth — or at least, you know what isn’t the truth. What you do next matters more than what you were told.”

He looked between them, his voice soft but unwavering. “Please don’t let pride be the only thing holding this feud together.”

Zuko folded his arms, glancing around at the disarmed, deflated crowd. “He’s right. You can’t undo the past, but you don’t have to stay chained to it either.”

There was a silence. Long. Heavy.

Then, finally, the Zhang leader sheathed her sword. “Maybe… it’s time we stop teaching our children to hate.”

The Gan Jin leader followed suit, his voice hoarse. “And start teaching them to question what we do.”

Aang let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Zuko, beside him, just nodded. “About time.” 

The Zhangs and Gan Jins turned to the group, their previously stern expressions softened, now lined with a mixture of gratitude and lingering awe. Their gazes landed on Zuko, and one of the elders tilted their head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“I’ll admit,” the Zhang leader began with a chuckle, “I never expected a Firebender to be the one knocking sense into us.”

The Gan Jin elder nodded, arms crossed but no longer stiff. “Especially not one so young… and so sharp.”

Katara stepped forward quickly, her voice rushed. “Zuko had nothing to do with the war.” She glanced at the tribes, her tone firm. “He’s not like them.”

Aang chimed in with a quick nod. “Yeah! When the war started, Zuko was already with me—at the Southern Air Temple. He grew up there, same as me.”

There was a beat of surprised silence as both tribes absorbed that.

“Well then,” said the Zhang leader, cracking a small smile, “you just need to find yourself an Earthbending master, and you’re all set.”

Katara blushed immediately. “I—I'm not a master,” she stammered, holding her hands up.

Zuko glanced away, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “I’m not a teacher.”

Aang smiled gently, his eyes distant for a moment, touched with something deeper than joy—something ancient. A voice echoed softly in his memory, not heard with his ears but felt in his bones.

Aang smiled softly, his gaze distant as if recalling something precious. “Not long ago,” he began quietly, “we met a group of Air Nomad refugees—an airbending master among them. She told me something that’s been on my mind a lot.” He glanced at Zuko, then back to the others. “She said the Avatar is born into each nation in turn, but this time... the new Avatar carries more than just the spirit of balance.”

He took a slow breath, his voice calm and sincere. “She said I carry both fire and wind—fire from the nation trying to destroy the world, and wind from the past trying to protect it. That’s what makes me different.”

Aang’s eyes met theirs, wide and hopeful. “She said maybe it’s not just chance. Maybe I was meant to be born part fire, part air. Maybe I was meant to have a brother. Maybe... I was meant to have Zuko.”

Aang glanced at Zuko with a strange sense of understanding in his heart—new, but familiar.

He didn't say anything. He didn’t have to.

The Zhangs and Gan Jins stared at him now, no longer seeing just the Avatar, but the boy who carried the blood of two nations within him.

“…You’re…” one of them started, hesitant.

Zuko’s eyes sharpened, and he stepped forward slightly. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “Please. Don’t speak of it. Not yet.”

The tribes exchanged glances, then nodded with quiet solemnity. The Gan Jin leader spoke first. “We understand. The world doesn’t need another reason to divide.”

The Zhang elder agreed, clasping their hands. “Your secret is safe with us.”

With that, the two tribes began to disperse. A few of the younger members bowed respectfully toward Aang and Zuko, their faces embarrassed but hopeful. The injured canyon guide, still a bit pale, was gently helped up and taken with them, their path winding upward toward the exit of the canyon and whatever lay beyond.

Aang, Zuko, Katara, and Sokka remained behind.

Appa let out a soft bellow from where he rested on a nearby ledge, as if sensing it was almost time to go.

Sokka stretched with a satisfied groan. “Well, peace was brokered, lives were changed, ancient feuds shattered… and now the real journey resumes.”

Then he turned to Zuko, a wide smirk spreading across his face. “Lead us, oh all-knowing spirit.”

Zuko blinked. “What?”

Katara gasped and elbowed her brother hard in the ribs, her cheeks flushing deep red. “Sokka!”

“Ow! What? It’s a compliment!” he protested, rubbing his side.

Zuko raised an eyebrow and looked between them, clearly confused. “What are you two talking about?”

Katara muttered something inaudible, hiding her face behind her hair.

Zuko looked like he was about to press the matter, starting to step toward them.

But a gentle tug on his sleeve stopped him.

He turned and saw Aang, his face more serious than before.

“…Can we talk?” Aang asked quietly.

Zuko paused, his gaze lingering on the Avatar’s face. Something about Aang’s tone rooted him in place. The teasing, the tribes, the canyon—they all faded for a moment.

“…Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

Zuko gave a quiet nod, and the two of them stepped away from the others, the canyon walls casting long shadows over their retreating forms. The wind had calmed, but the air between them was thick with things unsaid.

Aang rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a chuckle that fell flat. “So… I tried to make peace between two tribes and totally failed. You stepped in and saved the day. Kind of ironic, huh?”

Zuko let out a small sigh. “If I hadn’t read that book, I wouldn’t have figured it out either.”

Aang glanced up at him, smiling faintly. “We both read it, though. You’re the one who actually remembered what it said.”

Zuko’s lips curled into a smirk. “Please. You literally just said you skimmed it and then… what was it? ‘Meditated’ over it?” He raised an eyebrow.

Aang flushed. “Okay, fine! I fell asleep drooling on it.”

Zuko gave a quiet laugh, and Aang grinned for a second, but the mood shifted. The smile faded from his face as he stared at the canyon floor.

“Zuko…” Aang’s voice dropped. “Do you… hate me?”

Zuko blinked, startled. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

Aang hesitated, then looked up, eyes uncertain. “I know. About our mom. About how she left the Fire Nation. Left you. Left Azula.” His voice softened further. “Left you when you were just four… but stayed with me. For ten years.”

Zuko was stunned into silence, caught in the weight of those words.

“I figured… you’d hate me,” Aang went on, his voice small. “She was your mom first. She raised me. Loved me. And you were left behind.”

Zuko opened his mouth but stumbled over his response. “I… I was angry. With her. For a long time. But never with you. Spirits, Aang, you weren’t even born when she left. She didn’t even tell you anything. You weren’t part of her decision.”

Aang nodded, looking away. “She used to say I looked like you.”

Zuko stilled.

Aang’s voice turned distant, like he was remembering something half-buried. “She’d say that sometimes when she looked at me, she imagined what you must’ve looked like at my age.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed, the flicker of emotion in his eyes darkening into something complicated.

“And when I got into trouble,” Aang continued with a humourless laugh, “she’d say I should be more like you. My kind, patient older son who never gave her grief. She’d compare me to Azula instead. Said I was the one who caused her stress.”

Zuko snapped, anger flashing in his voice. “She what?”

Aang flinched slightly, then gave a sad smile. “She always said you were the perfect child. I was never enough.”

Zuko stared at him, fists clenched. “My father used to say I was lucky to be born. That I was weak. Useless.” His voice cracked, just a bit. “That’s what I grew up hearing. And she—she said I was perfect?”

Aang sniffed, wiping his sleeve across his nose. “When I found out you were at the temple, I was scared. I thought… I thought she’d leave me. That she’d pick you.”

Zuko's gaze softened. He stepped forward and placed both hands on Aang’s shoulders, grounding them both. “Aang…”

“I came to find you that day ready to fight,” Aang said. “But when I saw you—injured, yelling at her… asking why she left you—I saw someone who’d been hurt more than I ever imagined. And everything I’d been angry about just… melted.”

Zuko’s grip tightened slightly, his face unreadable.

Aang looked up at him, eyes glassy. “During the Fire Nation attack… I saw her. I heard her begging you to go with her instead of me.” He swallowed. “But you didn’t. You stayed. You chose me.”

Zuko took a deep breath, his voice low. “Aang. Look at me.”

Aang raised his eyes, and their gazes locked. Fire and wind. Older brother and younger. Two nations. One bond.

Zuko’s expression twisted, jaw clenched as years of buried emotion surged to the surface. “I stayed with you,” he said sharply, his voice raw, “because when the Fire Nation attacked, she ran.”

His fists trembled at his sides. “Just like she did when the Fire Lord threatened her. The second things got dangerous, she choses to run.” His voice cracked at the edge, wavering between fury and something far more fragile.

He gave a bitter, breathless laugh. “You know, sometimes I wonder—did she abandon me and Azula just as easily as she chose to run off with the Air Nomads during the attack? Did she leave you behind back then too, knowing full well the Avatar would be hunted?”

Aang’s mouth parted, but no words came. His breath caught in his throat. He stared at Zuko, eyes wide, as the weight of the words sank in. This wasn’t just about anger. It wasn’t even about blame. This was hurt. Deep and old and still bleeding.

Zuko turned away slightly, his shoulders rigid. “I’ve spent all this time trying to understand it. Trying to forgive her. But when she came to me—when she begged me to come with her during the attack… all I felt was rage.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I hated her.”

He blinked hard, swallowing something thick and painful in his throat. “Because all I could see was her running. Again. Leaving everything and everyone behind. Leaving us.”

Aang’s gaze fell. The image of his mother—always kind, always smiling—wavered like smoke in his memory. Zuko’s words etched cracks into the perfect frame Aang had clung to his entire life. For the first time, he let the doubt seep in. Had she really just… left? Had she left him, just as easily as she’d once left Zuko and Azula?

Zuko looked back at him, eyes burning not with fire, but with fear. “When the Fire Nation attacked, I wasn’t scared of dying. I wasn’t scared of getting hurt. I was scared of watching the people I love disappear. Again.” He hesitated, voice tightening. “And I didn’t want to become like her. Someone who runs when things get hard. Someone who leaves their family behind.”

His hands flexed at his sides, like he was trying to hold something invisible in place.

“I kept picturing you,” he continued, voice barely audible. “Lying there. Crushed under rubble. Burned. Dead because I wasn’t fast enough. And she—” Zuko exhaled sharply. “She might be imprisoned if they catch her. Or exiled. But you? You’re the Avatar. If the Fire Nation catches you, they’ll kill you. Or break you. Or worse.”

Aang’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. The air between them grew still, thick with everything unsaid.

“That’s why I stayed,” Zuko whispered. “That’s why I always stay.”

Aang’s breath hitched. He wanted to speak, but the words tangled in his chest.

“When she asked me to come with her,” Zuko said slowly, “I didn’t hesitate. Not because I was brave. But because I knew she didn’t need me. She left me once without a second thought.”

He looked up at Aang, and something unspoken passed between them—deep and wounded and true.

“But you…” Zuko’s voice steadied, even as it thickened with emotion. “You needed someone. You were just a kid. A kid caught in something no one should face alone. I couldn’t leave you.” He gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “And yet lately, all we’ve done is fight. You kept saying I was overbearing… that I was trying too hard.” His gaze dropped, shame flickering across his face. “I started to think I’d made the wrong call again. That I was forcing myself into your life where I didn’t belong. That… maybe you didn’t need me after all. That no one ever really does.”

Aang stepped forward, slowly, and wrapped his arms around Zuko. The hug was trembling, desperate, wordless. “I—” his voice cracked, “—I needed you more than I knew.”

Zuko’s arms loosened slightly, just enough to look Aang in the eye. “Don’t say you need me just because you feel bad for me,” he muttered, the edge of pain returning to his voice. “I don’t want pity. I’ve had enough of people pretending I matter just because they’re sorry for what I’ve been through.”

Aang pulled back just enough to meet his gaze fully, tears still shining in his eyes but his voice steady now. “Zuko, I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m sorry I didn’t understand you.” He shook his head. “I said those things because I was hurting, not because they were true. I pushed you away because… because I was scared you’d leave first.”

He swallowed, the words thick in his throat. “I don’t need you out of guilt. I need you because when everything fell apart, you stayed. Even when I gave you every reason not to. “

Zuko’s arms wrapped around him tightly, anchoring him. His hand found the back of Aang’s head, holding him close, as if by sheer will he could protect him from every danger in the world. For a moment, neither moved. There was only breath and heartbeat, grief and comfort.

“My whole world was falling apart,” Aang whispered, trembling in his grip. “The temple… burning. My friends and mentors—gone. Our mother… leaving. My father dying. It all happened so fast. And I felt like… I was nothing.”

His voice wavered. “Everyone was always disappointed in me. Mom, always saying I should be more like you. My teachers, telling me I was too childish, too wild—that I could be great if I just changed. The monks, the elders, even the spirits… they all expected something I couldn’t be.”

He pulled back just slightly, his tear-filled eyes meeting Zuko’s.

“And the world…” Aang whispered. “The world blames me for this war. For not stopping it in time. For not being enough.”

Zuko’s heart clenched. Every word dug deeper. And he hated how familiar it all felt.

“But then there was you,” Aang said. “You… who I thought would hate me the most of all. For stealing your mother. For stealing your childhood. But instead… you stayed. You were the only one who didn’t leave.”

Zuko’s mouth parted in protest, but Aang continued, voice breaking.

“And I’m scared. I’m so scared, Zuko. Because if she—our mother, who raised me since birth—could just leave me behind, what’s stopping you from doing the same? You’ve only known me a short while in comparison. What if one day you decide… I’m not worth it?”

Zuko stiffened. His arms tightened protectively around Aang as if to physically shield him from that thought. “Don’t say that,” he said, voice low, hoarse, and trembling. “Don’t ever say that.”

Aang buried his face in Zuko’s chest again, sobbing quietly now, and Zuko shut his eyes, letting the storm of it all wash over them.

“I chose to stay,” Zuko murmured after a long moment. “Not because you needed me. But because I needed you. You were the only one who made me feel like I mattered, like I could be more than the angry, broken boy I was becoming. I saw what was happening to Azula. I saw what I could become. And I didn’t want to be that. I wanted to be better. Because of you.”

Aang’s sobs softened.

“I’m not leaving,” Zuko said, voice firmer now. “Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

And in the quiet that followed, something shifted. Wounds didn’t heal. Not completely. But for the first time, they didn’t feel so heavy. They weren’t alone in carrying them.

Aang let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of Zuko’s robes.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The sky was pink and gold, bathed in a soft light that turned the clouds into silken threads, endless blush of a watercolor dream—clouds smeared across the horizon like cotton candy, the sunlight warm and gentle against Aang’s cheeks. He lay sprawled on Appa’s head, arms draped lazily across the saddle as the bison floated through the sky with the slow, peaceful rhythm of a lullaby. The air was cool in his lungs. The wind toyed with his robes, and Momo was curled up in a bundle of fur between his shoulder blades, purring softly.

Everything felt light.

Weightless.

Safe.

Aang smiled, eyes half-closed.

He didn’t know where they were going, and he didn’t care. This sky, this moment—it felt safe. Untouchable.

“Aaaapa,” Aang said with a smile, dragging out the name in a sleepy, affectionate tone as he scratched behind Appa’s ear. Momo was curled between his shoulders, tail flicking gently in the breeze.

A shadow crept in from the edges of the clouds, subtle at first—a quiet greying of the world, like someone dimming the sun. The warm pink turned to a dusky mauve. Then violet. Then ash. The clouds thickened, heavy and curling in on themselves. The air grew heavy with the metallic scent of smoke.

The gold gave way to grey. The clouds thickened, then darkened, then rolled into each other with increasing violence until the sky above them was choked with black smoke. Appa roared uneasily, faltering as the wind picked up.

Then—faces. Dozens of them. Faces Aang knew.

His father, Tashi.

Monk Gyatso.

Other airbenders from the Southern Temple.

Children he’d played hide and seek with. Elders who taught him to carve wind into shape.

They didn’t speak at first. They simply watched, hovered in the smoke, forming from it like ash drawn into the shape of people, standing atop air like it was stone.

“We needed you,” his father said, his voice calm and grave, as if carved in stone. “You left.”

“You were meant to guide us,” said the girl with the painted glider. “Why weren’t you there?”

Aang’s heart twisted. He scooted back on Appa’s head, palms flat against the soft fur, breath catching. “I… I didn’t mean to,” he stammered. “I didn’t know what to do—”

“You could’ve saved us,” said an elder with sunken eyes. “You chose not to.”

“I’m just a kid,” Aang whispered, the words tasting like ash.

“You are the Avatar,” Gyatso said, stepping forward. “That doesn’t go away.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” another demanded. “You could’ve saved us!”

“You left us to burn,” said another, eyes beginning to blacken at the edges, voice hollow.

Their expressions began to shift. And then the fire came. Not literal flames, but the evidence of them.

The skin around their eyes began to darken, crack. The illusion of calm twisted into accusation. Hair burned away to reveal scorched scalps. Hands blackened, skin blistering and peeling as if touched by the breath of a dragon. Their robes curled and smoked at the edges, eaten by invisible flame.

His father’s eyes turned to hollow sockets. “You let it happen.”

“You let us die.”

“It’s all your fault.”

Their voices rose in unison, a terrible chorus of blame and grief.

“It’s all your fault.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.”

Aang screamed.

Momo, who had been peacefully dozing on Aang’s chest, shrieked in alarm and launched himself into the air in a tangle of limbs and fur. In a flurry of flailing paws and startled chirps, he landed squarely on Katara’s stomach, then sprang off onto Zuko’s ribs with a muffled oof, and finally launched himself from Sokka’s head, leaving behind a trail of chaos and disgruntled groans.

Katara bolted upright, hair tousled and eyes wide. “What was that?!”

“WH—” Zuko was already on his feet, crouched and alert, dagger in hand, eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting an ambush. He's been fully asleep not even a full minute ago, yet he looked battle-ready. “Where is it?!”

Sokka groaned, sitting up with a boomerang in one hand and a knife in the other, eyes barely open. “Are we being captured again?” he mumbled, squinting at no one in particular.

Katara had thrown off her blanket in alarm, blinking rapidly at the chaos. “What happened?”

Aang wiped the cold sweat from his brow and forced a shaky laugh. “Sorry,” he whispered. “It was just… a bad dream.”

Everyone paused.

Zuko lowered his knife with a wary glance. Katara’s brow furrowed with concern.

“You okay?” Katara asked softly, reaching out, but Aang had already curled back into his bedroll, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders.

Aang nodded quickly—too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”

“You guys wanna hear about my dream?” Sokka mumbled, stretching. Katara gave him a look. “That’s okay. I don’t wanna talk about it anyway,” he muttered, slumping back down.

The camp slowly settled again.

Zuko watched him in silence.

Zuko lingered a moment longer. Then, without a word, he stooped down, grabbed his pillow, and walked over. He stepped around Katara and crouched beside Aang, settling down with deliberate quiet.

Sokka groaned from his side of the camp. “Oh great. Now we lost our human heater.”

Katara slapped his arm without looking. “Shut up.”

“Uncalled for,” Sokka mumbled.

Zuko didn’t say anything at first. He just leaned in and gently wrapped his arms around Aang from behind, pulling him close. Aang tensed.

“Hey—” Aang started, brow furrowing. “I’m not a baby, you know. I don’t need my big brother to scare away monsters or whatever.”

Zuko leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Good. Because I’m the one who also had a nightmare. It was terrible. You were there. You had three eyes.”

Aang snorted.

“You were flying Appa into a volcano and laughing. I think you became the volcano at one point.”

“You’re such a liar,” Aang muttered, though he could feel the smile creeping onto his face despite himself. He twisted to glance over his shoulder, eyes squinting at Zuko. “You weren’t even asleep long enough to have a dream.”

Zuko smirked but didn’t respond. His arms remained firm. “Maybe I’m just very efficient.”

Aang rolled his eyes, but his voice softened. “Fine. I’ll stay here. But only to make you feel better.”

“Of course,” Zuko said, settling in. “Wouldn’t want me to get scared.”

Aang turned back, letting his head rest against Zuko’s chest. The warmth radiating from him wasn’t just emotional—it was literal, comforting in a way no blanket ever could be. He sighed, a long, exaggerated puff of air. “You’re lucky I’m such a good little brother.”

Zuko smiled softly and reached out to stroke Aang’s smooth, bald head—a small, familiar gesture between brothers. He said nothing, just pulled the blanket tighter around them both and leaned down to press a quiet kiss to the top of Aang’s head.

Katara gave a small, relieved smile and settled back into her bedroll.

And in the quiet that returned, Aang’s heart stopped racing. The ghosts of the dream still lingered in the corners of his mind, but they no longer reached for him. Zuko’s steady heartbeat, his warmth, his presence, created a shelter the nightmare couldn’t reach.

Eventually, Aang closed his eyes and let himself drift—not into the storm, but into the calm after.

The morning sun spilled gold across the camp as Aang stirred awake, the cool breeze tugging at the edges of the tent. His eyes fluttered open, and a smile stretched across his face. Today felt different—lighter somehow, filled with promise.

He slipped quietly from his bedroll and made his way to the others, who were already beginning to pack up camp. Katara shook their small food bag, jingling the last of their supplies. “Looks like we’re running low. Maybe we should stop by a market today,” she suggested.

Aang’s gaze lifted to the cloudless sky. “The sky’s clear. Perfect day to fly.” His excitement was contagious.

Zuko, counting coins from his money pouch, nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve got enough Earth Kingdom currency for a few more trips to the market. But soon, we should pass through a town controlled by the Fire Nation—or close enough—to exchange more Fire Nation money for Earth Kingdom coins.”

As Katara and Zuko walked up toward the saddle by Appa’s tail, Sokka suddenly sprang to his feet, eyes wide and voice serious.

“We shouldn’t go to the market today,” Sokka said. “It was in my dream.”

Katara raised an eyebrow. “What happened in your dream?”

Sokka shuddered, folding his arms. “Food… eats people.” He paused, glancing down at Momo. “Also, Momo could talk. And, uh… you said some very unkind things.” He jabbed a finger at the little winged lemur.

Zuko and Katara exchanged a deadpan look, their expressions saying plainly: Here we go again.

Aang and Momo both tilted their heads, confusion knitting their brows.

From his perch on Appa’s great horn, Kai shook his head sharply, as if silently judging. Even the bird seemed unimpressed by Sokka’s unsettling dream.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The sea stretched endlessly in all directions, its darkening blue surface calm but weighty—as if holding its breath. High above, the sky was painted with gold-touched clouds, serene and vast. Gulls cried distantly, circling a school of fish.

On the upper deck, General Iroh stood near the railing, the breeze ruffling the edges of his robes. His eyes closed for a moment as he inhaled deeply. Then his brow furrowed. He opened his eyes and looked toward the horizon, his jovial demeanor slipping.

“There’s a storm coming,” he murmured, voice low but certain. “A big one.”

Lu Ten, lounging nearby with arms crossed, straightened and frowned. “What? Now? The sky looks like a painting.” He glanced up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Clear skies, calm waves. Are you sure?”

“I’m always sure,” Iroh said, tapping the side of his nose. “This old nose has never failed me when it comes to tea leaves... or trouble.”

Footsteps padded softly behind them, light and rhythmic. A woman approached—slight, robed in pale orange-and-cream fabric, her long braid caught slightly by the wind. She stopped beside them, resting her hands on the railing, her grey eyes scanning the waves with quiet intensity.

“The wind is shifting,” she said. Her voice was soft, but firm. “I can feel it. The air doesn’t flow right—it’s restless.”

Lu Ten sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. That’s two against me. I’ll go warn the crew.” He turned to leave, then hesitated. “If this turns out to be a false alarm, I expect double rations for dinner.”

Iroh chuckled. “While you’re at it, see if there’s a port nearby. A safe one. Somewhere we can wait this out, drink warm tea, and possibly gamble.”

Lu Ten smirked, already descending the stairs. “Don’t tell me you lost your lotus tile again, Father.”

Iroh gasped in mock horror, clutching his chest as if wounded. “How dare you speak to your elder of such... catastrophic events?”

The airbender woman laughed, light and easy, the sound carried by the wind. Iroh looked over at her, smiling. “Ah, it’s good to have laughter before the rain.”

Lu Ten, halfway down the stairs, called back, “Make sure she changes before we dock. We don’t need rumors of a fire nation ship taken over by airbender.”

The airbender shook her head with a fond smile. “I’ll change,” she promised. “And I’ll warn the others, too. Some of the younger ones are below deck—they should be ready just in case.”

Iroh nodded solemnly. “Good. We’ll prepare, then wait. Storms are like angry badgermoles—best to let them pass before poking them.”

As the airbender slipped below deck and Lu Ten's voice echoed orders to the crew, Iroh turned back to the sea. The wind had shifted, subtly, but unmistakably. He closed his eyes again, listening—not just with his ears, but with something older, deeper.

“Spirits guide us,” he murmured. “Let the storm pass us gently.”

Far on the horizon, the first dark clouds were beginning to form.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

The market buzzed with lazy energy under the golden haze of the setting sun. A salty breeze drifted in from the docks, carrying the tang of fish and the faint clatter of distant ship repairs. Stalls lined the dirt path like makeshift soldiers, colorful but worn. The smell of dried squid battled for dominance against roasted nuts and old rope.

Katara stood still amid the crowd, her eyes narrowed in deep suspicion.

She held up a watermelon roughly the size of her head, squinting at its pale green rind like it had just insulted her.

“It’s ripe,” the merchant woman said with growing impatience. Her scarf was wrapped tightly around her weathered face, sweat clinging to her brow. “I told you, girl. It’s ripe!”

Katara gave the fruit an experimental shake. A sloshing noise gurgled from within.

Her nose wrinkled. “That doesn’t sound right…”

The merchant threw up her arms. “That means it’s ripe!”

“That does mean it’s ripe!” Aang chirped beside her, smiling brightly. “That’s the sound of delicious!”

Katara raised a brow at him. “You don’t even like watermelon.”

“I like happy watermelon,” Aang replied solemnly.

Before she could argue, footsteps scuffed against the dirt, and Sokka and Zuko returned from deeper in the market. Sokka held a woven basket loaded with dried meats, roots, and what looked suspiciously like pickled something.

“What’s taking so long?” Sokka asked, swinging the basket toward Katara. “Did the watermelon offend your honor?”

Katara jabbed her thumb at the fruit. “It sloshes. That’s not normal.”

Zuko glanced between the merchant, who had begun muttering under her breath, and Katara, who looked ready to throw the thing into the sea. He sighed.

“Ma’am,” he said, addressing the merchant calmly. “On a scale of one to absolutely sure—how certain are you that this fruit is ripe?”

The merchant woman’s face turned beet red. “Absolutely sure you people are wasting my time!” she snapped. “Buy it or move along!”

Katara set the fruit down, but Zuko held out a hand.

“If you’re that sure,” he said, meeting the woman’s glare without blinking, “then you won’t mind if we cut into the top. Just a small piece, to taste. If it’s good, we’ll buy.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Let me see the coin first.”

Without a word, Zuko reached into his sash and produced a few coins, clinking them into his palm. The metal caught the sunlight—clean, undeniable.

The woman hesitated. Then grunted. “Fine. But if you break it and don’t buy, I’ll scream so loud the ocean hears me.”

“Too late,” Sokka muttered as he stepped forward, flipping his knife expertly from its sheath. “Pretty sure it already does.”

With a flourish born of practice and flair, Sokka pressed the blade gently into the top of the fruit. He worked it around until a small square of rind lifted away cleanly. All four leaned in.

Inside, the watermelon was perfect—crimson red, glistening with juice, studded with dark seeds like tiny gems.

The merchant let out a victorious scream, jabbing her finger toward Katara. “See?! What’d I tell you, little miss suspicious?! I’ve been selling fruit longer than you’ve been alive!”

Zuko handed her the coins without a word—and, after a brief pause, added a few extra. The woman huffed but took them quickly, vanishing into the back of her stall like a vanquished storm cloud.

Katara’s frown deepened as they walked away from the stand, Aang happily hugging the watermelon like a prize.

“You didn’t need to give her more,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with something brittle. “She screamed at me.”

Zuko didn’t look at her. “Look around.”

She blinked, but Sokka and Aang also paused, glancing about.

The market was smaller than it seemed at first—cramped, uneven. Most of the stalls were cobbled together from crates and driftwood. The vendors looked worn, tired. A few children played in the alley behind a stall, barefoot and laughing despite the grime.

“There are no real stores,” Zuko said. “No buildings selling food. Just these stalls. Everything here is cheap, or patched, or scavenged.”

“But it’s a fishing port,” Sokka said, brow furrowed. “Ports are usually busy, right? Trade, ships, sailors with coin…”

“Not this one,” Zuko replied. “Not anymore.”

Katara glanced back toward the fruit stand. The merchant woman was sitting now, fanning herself with a faded scrap of parchment. Her face, even in rest, looked exhausted.

And then it clicked—Zuko was right. The richer merchants, the sleek trade boats, the coin-heavy travelers—they had already moved on, retreating to safer waters as war crept closer. Only the locals remained now, clinging to what little they had.

Katara’s stomach twisted with quiet shame. She had been so focused on the sound of slush and the sharpness of her pride that she hadn’t seen the truth standing in front of her. This woman wasn’t trying to cheat them—she was just trying to survive.

Her gaze drifted back to Zuko. He wasn’t always gentle, but he noticed things. Things Katara sometimes missed.

She didn’t say anything, just walked a little slower as they moved on, her fingers tightened around the fabric of her shirt.

“I didn’t realize,” Katara murmured. Her fingers moving to slightly grip around the hem of her sleeve. “I just—got so focused on the price, and…”

“You weren’t wrong to be careful,” Zuko said, his voice gentler now. “But sometimes people snap because they’re scared. Not because they’re cruel.”

Aang said nothing, hugging the watermelon tighter as they walked.

Sokka frowned thoughtfully. “I still don’t trust that slush noise, though.”

Sokka let out a long, wistful sigh, his gaze trailing out toward the glittering curve of the harbor. “Man, it’d be nice to eat some fresh fish.”

Aang looked down at the basket in Sokka’s arms, piled with dried meats and smoked strips. “Wait—then why didn’t you buy any fresh fish?”

“You just don’t understand, Aang,” Sokka said with the solemn weight of someone about to preach the gospel.

Katara rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Here we go…”

Sokka straightened his spine, adopting the stance of a great orator. “Store-bought fish and fish you catch yourself are two completely different things. One is just food. The other—” he held up a finger dramatically, “—is spirit. Fishing isn’t just survival in the Southern Tribe. It’s a ritual. A connection to the sea. It’s... tradition. And pride. And skill.”

Sokka paused mid-step. The question hit him harder than it should have.

He looked around slowly, eyes drifting to the gently rocking ships, the sun-warmed wooden piers, the soft creak of ropes swaying in the salt-heavy breeze. His fingers flexed at his side, muscle memory stirring as if they already held the familiar weight of a fishing rod, felt the tension of a biting line.

For a second—just a second—he could see himself pushing off from the docks, squinting into the sea-spray, the world quiet except for gulls and water. Something deep inside him pulled toward it.

But then he froze.

They weren’t just wandering anymore. They had a mission. Bigger things to worry about than fish and nostalgia.

He drew in a sharp breath and forced the longing away. His shoulders straightened, and his face reset into something less vulnerable.

“Yeah,” he muttered, half to himself. “We’re a little busy saving the world.”

Zuko, walking just ahead, spoke without turning around. “We’ll probably be staying here tonight. I want to sleep in a bed. For once.”

Katara lit up. “Finally! Traveling with someone who has money is so nice.”

Sokka didn’t respond—his gaze had already shifted to the boats bobbing gently at the dock, his mind racing. After a moment, he grinned and jabbed Katara lightly. “Well, Katara, maybe you should start looking for a rich guy to marry.”

Zuko smirked and glanced at Aang. “The guy doesn’t even have to be rich himself—just have a rich family.”

He gave Aang a pointed poke.

Aang’s eyes went wide and he blinked. Then, feeling the weight of silence, he asked nervously, “Uh… why are you all looking at me like that?”

Katara and Sokka exchanged glances and then turned their eyes to Aang.

Katara raised an eyebrow. Sokka snorted, trying not to laugh. Zuko’s grin only grew wider.

Aang scratched the back of his head and started to blabber, “W-well, I mean… being rich is kind of overrated, right? At the Air Temple, money wasn’t really a thing—we cared more about balance, the sky, the wind... stuff like that. But, uh, ever since we started traveling, I’ve gotta admit, I do like the money Zuko gives me. Like that bison whistle that I got with his money—that was awesome! And it’s nice sometimes not to worry about food or stuff.”

He gave a small, awkward smile. “But, uh, don’t get me wrong—I’m still the Avatar! Saving the world is way more important than gold coins.”

Katara chuckled softly. Sokka laughed outright. Zuko’s smile softened as he watched his little brother’s flustered face.

Sokka, however, was already lost in thought, his eyes drifting back to the boats gently rocking at the docks. He flexed his fingers as if feeling the weight of an invisible fishing line.

Aang shot Zuko a quick, mischievous look—I’ll get you back for that jab—then turned to Sokka with a bright smile. “Hey, if you catch fish, Zuko can cook it!”

Zuko groaned audibly. “No.”

Katara blinked. “Wait, you cook? I thought all you did was basics, or make tea and lecture Aang about which leaves aren’t edible.”

“I don’t cook,” Zuko said firmly.

“Yes, he does!” Aang burst out, his grin so wide it could split his face. “He’s amazing! He cleans a fish so fast I barely have time to feel sorry for it—and then boom! Perfect cuts, sizzling oil, herbs! It’s like… like he was born with a wok in one hand and a knife in the other!”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “Aang. No.”

“He’s a fish whisperer of flame!” Aang declared proudly, flinging his arms in the air.

Sokka erupted into laughter, nearly dropping the basket. “Fish whisperer! Spirits, that’s perfect. So, Zuko’s gone from being the all-knowing spirit to the all-knowing fish whisperer spirit now? Wait—do you ask the fish politely before cooking them, or do you just give them a gentle pat and say ‘thanks, buddy’?”

Zuko’s eye twitched. “I will end you both.” He still had no idea what this ‘all-knowing spirit’ thing was all about.

Aang beamed at him, eyes wide and bouncing with excitement. “You can’t be mad, Zuko! I mean, I’ve never actually tried your cooking—because, you know, I don’t eat meat or fish—but it always smells so good! And Kai couldn’t stop sneaking bites from your plate back at the temple, so it must be amazing, right? Yeah, that totally makes sense!”

Zuko lunged at him with a low growl. Aang yelped and sprinted off down the street, laughter echoing behind him.

Katara watched them with a small, warm smile. “I’m glad they made up.”

Zuko sighed and brushed his hair back from his face, watching Aang vanish around the corner. “I’m slipping meat into his stew.”

“No, you’re not,” Sokka said around another chuckle.

Zuko let out a dramatic sigh. “No. I’m not.”

Chapter Text

But Zuko’s lip quirked, betraying the truth he wasn’t quite ready to say aloud—watching Aang bounce back into joy, even for a moment, made him feel lighter. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, it felt like the little brother he’d once known was peeking through the weight of the war.

And Zuko would do whatever it took to protect that smile.

The sun hung high but not yet at its peak as the group finally found lodging at the edge of the town. The inn was small and weathered, built from rough timber and stone, its paint peeling in places, but it stood sturdy enough to promise a good rest after their journey. A faded sign creaked gently in the breeze, swinging slowly above the door, and a faint smell of salted sea air mingled with the earthy scent of hay and wood smoke.

Behind the inn, a large barn awaited, its doors wide open as if inviting them in. Appa, sensing a moment to rest, lumbered inside with a satisfied grunt, his enormous form folding down onto a thick bed of hay. He let out a happy snort, golden strands poking from the corners of his mouth as he began to munch contentedly.

The inn’s owner emerged from the shadows, a stout woman with greying hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her arms were crossed, and her brow creased with worry. “That sky bison’s going to eat all my hay before evening,” she fretted, eyeing Appa’s steady chewing.

Zuko stepped forward, calm and measured as ever. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for every strand Appa eats. He’s worth it.”

The woman studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright. But I expect you to keep that promise.”

Katara and Sokka started unloading their bags from Appa’s saddle. The clatter of packs hitting the ground echoed softly in the barn, mingling with the rustling hay and Appa’s gentle munching. Aang, ever gentle and attentive, moved to unbuckle the heavy saddle straps, whispering soothing words to his loyal companion.

“There you go, Appa. Time to rest without that weight,” Aang murmured as he helped loosen the harness, careful not to disturb the sky bison too much.

Zuko sighed heavily and approached the group, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’ll need to stop by a Fire Nation colony sooner than expected to exchange some money. Hay like this? It’s expensive, especially for a bison this size.”

Aang reached up and gave Appa’s broad back a reassuring pat. The sky bison responded with a low, rumbling growl, nostrils flaring slightly as if to say, “Hey, watch it.”

Aang laughed, eyes wide and earnest. “Don’t worry, Appa. Zuko’s not calling you fat.”

Zuko’s cheeks flushed red, his words tripping over themselves. “Of course not! I—uh—I’m grateful to you, Appa. For carrying us all through this… difficult journey.”

Appa gave a delighted, slobbery lick, starting at Zuko’s toe and dragging all the way up to his hairline. Zuko groaned, half amused, half horrified.

Sokka burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Man, Appa really loves you, Zuko!”

Katara’s laughter followed, soft and warm like the gentle late morning sun.

Aang, practically bouncing on his toes, giggled and jabbered nonstop. “Don’t worry about the fire smell on Zuko’s clothes Appa! And Zuko! I’m sure we can clean it all out tonight. A good soak, some herbs—you’ll smell like new again in no time!”

Zuko wiped the saliva from his hair, groaning. “Thanks, I guess,” he muttered, half embarrassed, half amused.

As the group started heading inside to settle in for the day’s rest, Sokka lingered near the barn door, eyes fixed on the distant sea. The sunlight cast bright ripples on the gentle waves, and the salty breeze tousled his hair. Something about the endless stretch of water pulled at him—a reminder of home, of freedom, of simpler days.

Zuko noticed his quiet gaze and spoke softly. “Why don’t you just go join a fishing fleet for a while? Get back out on the water, reconnect with the sea.”

Sokka shrugged, voice low and wistful. “I miss it. The feeling of the boat rocking under my feet, the salt spray on my face… catching fish with my own hands. I want to get back out there.”

Zuko nodded in understanding. “Appa needs rest, anyway. We’ll be here at least a day and a night. Nothing stopping you.”

A spark lit in Sokka’s eyes as he turned back to Zuko. “You coming with me?”

Zuko gave a tired wave toward his soaked clothes, still damp from a recent mishap. “I’ve been wet enough for the year, thanks.”

Sokka snorted, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah? Maybe you’re just scared your fancy Fire Nation feet will shrivel up if they get dunked again.”

Zuko shot him a sharp look, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile.

Inside the inn, the scent of wood smoke and salted fish filled the air, mixing with the faint aroma of herbs drying near the hearth. The rooms were small but cosy, wooden floors creaking softly underfoot. Katara was already busy tending to a small fire, planning their midday meal with quiet determination.

Sokka, however, couldn’t keep still. He kept stealing glances out the window, his thoughts already drifting toward the waves beyond the harbour and the fishing trip he hoped to take later that day.

Aang, always perceptive, nudged him gently. “Once we’ve all had some rest, we can head back into town. Maybe you can find a fishing fleet that needs an extra hand.”

Sokka’s grin softened, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time in days. “Thanks, Aang. That would be perfect.”

Katara called from the hearth, her voice light but firm. “Don’t forget to eat first! And wash those hands — no muddy or salty fingers at the table!”

Laughter rippled through the small group as the day moved forward. Even Zuko found himself drawn into the warmth and ease of friendship, the bonds between them stronger in moments like these.

The group made their way back toward the worn-down market, their footsteps light despite the faded surroundings. Kai, ever the curious little creature, found a comfortable perch on Zuko’s shoulder, his bright eyes flicking over the modest stalls and threadbare awnings. Momo fluttered softly onto Aang’s shoulder, his wide eyes taking in the sparse selection of goods. The air was tinged with the faint, salty smell of the nearby sea, mixed with hints of smoky fires and the occasional sharp scent of dried fish. Vendors called out in tired voices, hawking their simple wares — rough-spun cloth, weathered baskets, and small handfuls of herbs — their faces lined with hardship and worry.

As they neared the port area, the sound of raised voices cut through the quiet hum, drawing their attention. There, at the edge of the dock, stood an elderly couple locked in a heated argument. The man’s weathered face was flushed with frustration, his hands moving emphatically as he gestured toward the calm, shimmering sea. The woman’s face was stern and lined with worry, her voice sharp as she insisted on her point.

“You can’t go out there today,” the woman shouted, her tone trembling slightly with concern. “There’s a storm coming. I can feel it in my bones.”

The group turned their eyes skyward, expecting to see dark clouds gathering, but instead, the sky stretched out clear and brilliant blue. The sun shone brightly, casting golden glints off the water’s surface, and not a single cloud marred the vast expanse overhead.

The man scoffed, pointing upward with a grim smile. “Clear as the spirits intended. Not a cloud in sight, and no storm on the horizon. I’m going out, whether you like it or not.”

The woman’s voice rose again, sharper this time. “You can’t go alone, not this time. You know the seas have been unpredictable. What if something happens to you out there?”

Their words hung heavy in the air, and the tension between them was palpable.

Sokka, standing near Katara and Aang, suddenly straightened with bright eyes. Without hesitation, he shot his arm up, his voice ringing out louder than the market bustle. “I’d like to come with you on that fishing trip!”

The old man’s eyes softened, and a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re in, then,” he said, his earlier sternness melting into a warm welcome. “We could use a strong hand on the boat.”

Aang’s face lit up instantly, caught up in the excitement that now crackled between the old couple and Sokka. “I’d love to come, too!” he bubbled eagerly. “Fishing sounds like such an adventure! I’ve never been on a real fishing trip before.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. Before he could dart forward toward Sokka, Zuko’s hand shot out, gripping the back of Aang’s shirt and lifting him gently but firmly off the ground. Aang’s eyes went wide in surprise, and Momo, startled by the sudden movement, took flight from Aang’s shoulder and swiftly fluttered over to Katara, who caught the lemur in a soft embrace.

Zuko’s voice was low but firm as he reminded Aang, “You know you’re a vegetarian.”

Aang pouted but quickly argued back, “I’m not going to fish, I just want to watch and learn!”

The old man looked from Zuko to Aang, his brow furrowed in thought before he gave a reluctant nod. “If the boy wants to come along, you can’t very well stop him.”

Zuko shot the man a sideways glance, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Fine,” he said, smirking. “But I warn you—Aang will probably feel bad for any fish you catch and try to put them back in the water when you’re not looking.”

Sokka snorted loudly, folding his arms and grinning. “That sounds about right.”

Aang gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head.

The old man wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and sighed. “Maybe he’s too young for this after all.”

Zuko shifted Aang in his arms, a little tighter, and said, “Come on, you and I need to find some new clothes for you. Those pants are looking a bit short, aren’t they?”

Aang glanced down at his worn trousers, realizing they had indeed shrunk or perhaps he’d simply grown. The hems barely grazed his ankles now, a far cry from the perfect fit he’d had earlier.

Zuko turned and began walking away with Aang still hanging comfortably from his arm.

Sokka, watching the exchange, flexed his arms playfully and turned toward Katara. She raised an eyebrow at his antics, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Do you think I could lift Aang like that with one arm?” Sokka asked, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

Katara snorted softly, shaking her head. “You’re more likely to knock yourself out trying.”

Sokka chuckled, undeterred. “Well, I’m going to have my own adventure on that fishing trip. Have fun with Zuko and Aang while I’m gone.”

Katara smiled warmly, her gaze flicking to the busy streets beyond. “I’m going to look around the city a bit, maybe find some thread to sew. My supplies are running low, and you never know when you’ll need a stitch.”

With that, Katara turned on her heel and hurried after Zuko and Aang, Momo safely nestled in her arms. The three of them disappeared into the crowd, swallowed up by the worn market stalls and the maze of narrow alleys.

Zuko gently set Aang down on the cobbled street, steadying him with a light hand. Then, with a subtle but commanding motion, he extended his arm. Kai, the sharp-eyed hawk, shifted smoothly from Zuko’s shoulder to his outstretched arm, talons gripping firmly as he balanced.

“Hey, Sokka!” Zuko called out, his voice cutting through the hum of the market. He held his arm steady, catching Kai’s attention. The hawk, as if understanding perfectly, leapt from Zuko’s arm and soared in a graceful arc toward Sokka.

Sokka caught Kai with ease, extending his own arm to welcome the bird. Kai landed lightly on Sokka’s forearm, then climbed slowly up to his shoulder, where he began preening the strands of Sokka’s hair with careful, gentle beaks. Sokka chuckled softly, patting Kai’s chest.

“I’ll make sure to feed you a fresh fish or two while we’re out there,” he promised, his tone fond. Kai responded with a loud, cheerful kaw, clearly pleased by the offer.

The moment felt peaceful amidst the bustling port, a quiet connection between man and bird that grounded Sokka in the midst of excitement and uncertainty. Soon, the old man who had been arguing earlier beckoned Sokka toward the weather-beaten boat moored at the edge of the dock. Sokka nodded, casting one last glance toward his friends before stepping forward, ready to set off on the day’s fishing trip.

Meanwhile, Zuko, Aang, and Katara turned away from the port, moving deeper into the market’s worn pathways. They stepped carefully around piles of faded cloth and crates cracked by the salty air, their minds focused on finding new clothes for Aang — his once-perfect robes now noticeably short on him. Katara tucked Momo closer, ready to explore the city and gather the supplies she needed.

The market thrummed around them, alive with quiet resilience — new faces blending with familiar ones, stories unfolding in whispered hopes and cautious smiles. Though the town bore the scars of hardship and war, the group felt a flicker of optimism. Each step forward was a step toward the unknown, but together, they felt ready to face whatever waves the future might bring.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Lu Ten stood at the bow of the ship, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sky was shifting from bright blue to a slow deepening of grey. Dark clouds had begun to gather, their edges ragged and ominous against the fading light. A low wind whispered warnings, tugging at the sails and sending ripples across the sea’s surface.

He sighed quietly, his gaze lingering on the looming storm. “Father was right,” Lu Ten admitted to himself, the weight of responsibility settling heavier on his shoulders. “The sea speaks if you learn to listen.”

Nearby, the unmistakable clack of pai sho tiles interrupted the soft murmur of the waves. Iroh, seated cross-legged on the deck with the female air bender by his side, paused his game to glance out toward the gathering storm. His voice was calm and steady as always. “The sea is like a living thing,” he said thoughtfully. “To travel safely upon it, one must listen—not just to the waves, but to the signs carried on the wind and the sky.”

Lu Ten nodded, feeling the truth of the words settle deep within him. The captain of the ship, a broad-shouldered man with a proud stance and weathered features, approached with purpose. “We’ll secure the ship properly, Commander,” he assured, his voice firm yet confident.

As the ship eased into port, the crew sprang into action with practiced efficiency. Lu Ten watched as sailors and airbenders moved swiftly across the deck, their movements synchronized like the beating of a drum. The airbenders—dressed in the same dark uniforms as the crew, their faces partially obscured by bandannas concealing their arrows—worked silently but with purpose, bending gusts of wind to help secure the sails and fasten loose ropes.

The port itself was a flurry of activity, but Lu Ten’s mind remained fixed on the safety of his ship. Once the ropes were tied and the hull fastened against the dock, he began to inspect every corner, every line and plank, making sure nothing was overlooked. The captain followed closely, explaining the measures taken to withstand any storm that might come.

“There’s nothing to worry about, sir,” the captain said, pride in his voice. “I checked every part of the ship myself. We’re ready to face any storm.”

Lu Ten smiled, a flicker of amusement passing across his face. “Good.” He turned to the assembled crew, now gathering at the centre of the deck. “You’ve worked hard. Go into the city and enjoy yourselves. Drinks and food are on me.”

A cheer rose up from the sailors, soldiers and airbenders alike, their exhaustion melting into laughter and eager chatter. The promise of rest and revelry was a welcome balm after weeks at sea.

Lu Ten reached into his pouch and pulled out a heavy bag filled with coins, handing it to the captain. “This should be enough to cover the expenses.”

The captain bowed deeply, performing the respectful Fire Nation salute—his right hand clenched into a fist and his left hand open, palm covering the fist in front of his chest. Lu Ten returned the gesture with a firm pat on the man’s shoulder before turning to retreat toward his quarters.

The crew spilled off the ship, their spirits lifted as they disappeared into the winding streets of the port city. The distant sounds of music, shouting, and merriment drifted back to Lu Ten’s ears, mingling with the gentle rush of waves against the hull.

As he passed by the open doorway of the room where Iroh sat, the elder smiled warmly. “A good leader knows when to push and when to give his people a chance to rest,” Iroh remarked, his eyes twinkling with pride. “It was a kind gesture to offer them a break, Lu Ten. Your men will follow you far if you continue to lead with such care.”

Lu Ten paused and met his father’s gaze. There was a quiet strength in Iroh’s words, an unspoken encouragement that bolstered his resolve. “Thank you, Father,” he said softly. “I’m learning.”

Iroh’s smile deepened, and for a moment, the weight of command seemed lighter, carried by the knowledge that he was not alone on this journey. Outside, the first rumblings of the storm echoed faintly over the sea, but Lu Ten felt ready—ready to face whatever the horizon might bring.

⛧ · · ─────── ·☽◯☾· ─────── · · ⛧

Back in the village, the sun still shone gently overhead, the sky a soft blue with only a few wisps of cloud drifting lazily by. Inside a modest wooden house tucked just off the main path, Zuko stood with his arms crossed, leaning silently against the wall. The scent of herbs and sun-dried cloth hung in the air, a quiet testament to the life of craft within these walls.

The village was too small for real shops—there were no indoor storefronts or flashy displays—but a friendly street merchant had pointed them here, to a home where a skilled seamstress worked out of her own living space. And true to the merchant’s word, the woman inside welcomed them kindly and set to her work with practiced hands.

From the back room, Aang emerged with a bright smile, adjusting the hem of his tunic. The new clothes fit perfectly—light, durable, and dyed in soft, earthen tones that suited their travels. He twirled once and grinned at his reflection in the polished brass mirror propped against the wall.

Zuko reached for his coin pouch, ready to pay, when the woman held up a hand.

“I’ll accept Fire Nation coin as well,” she said calmly.

Zuko froze mid-motion, eyes narrowing slightly. He hadn’t taken out the money yet. “How do you know I’m Fire Nation?” he asked, guarded.

The woman offered a gentle smile. “Your golden eyes. I’ve only ever seen that colour in Fire Nation folk. My sister lives in a city occupied by them—it becomes easy to notice, after a while.”

Katara shifted uncomfortably beside him, a flicker of concern rising in her eyes, but before she could speak, the woman continued, her tone still even.

“Don’t worry,” she said, glancing at Zuko before turning her eyes toward Aang. “It’s clear you’re not here to cause trouble. And your young friend—he’s obviously an airbender. Not just because of the arrow on his head, though that’s rather hard to miss.” Her lips twitched into a small smile. “But also in the way he moves. He walks like the wind. You can always tell. Not like us Earth people—we tread heavy, grounded.”

Zuko gave a quiet nod. “You’re observant.”

The woman raised a curious eyebrow. “So tell me then, Fire Nation boy—why is an airbender traveling with you?”

Zuko hesitated for only a moment. “He’s my younger half-brother.”

Aang, who had been admiring the stitching on his new sleeve, perked up at that. “That’s right!” he said brightly, and bounded over to Zuko’s side. He wrapped his arms around Zuko’s arm and grinned up at him. “Best big brother ever.”

Zuko rolled his eyes slightly, but there was a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The woman looked at them both for a moment, her gaze softening. “You know… that’s healing to see,” she said quietly. “After everything the Fire Nation did to the air nomads—and everything it’s still trying to do to the rest of the world… seeing the two of you together like this, a family, it gives me hope.”

She turned and began folding some leftover fabric scraps, her voice a bit more distant now. “Maybe the world isn’t as broken as it feels.”

Zuko pulled out a small leather pouch and counted out several Fire Nation coins, placing the same number he would’ve used if paying with Earth Kingdom currency onto the counter. The metal glinted in the dim light of the home, warm and precise. The woman smiled as she accepted the payment, slipping the coins into her apron pocket with practiced ease.

"Thank you," she said warmly. "I’ll be visiting my sister in a few weeks, so this will come in handy."

Zuko gave a polite nod, but her face shifted slightly, a faint frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"It’s just..." she began, her voice quieter now, tinged with frustration. "The Fire Nation in her village—well, they’re forcing everyone to use Fire Nation coin. When people try to trade Earth Kingdom money, they demand almost double the value. It’s like they’re draining the city dry, bit by bit."

Zuko’s jaw tightened slightly. He glanced away for a breath before returning his gaze to her. “If you’d like,” he said, his voice steady, “I’d be happy to trade with you—more Fire Nation money for Earth Kingdom coin. We’re running a little low on local currency, and it might save us a trip to the next market.”

Before the woman could answer, Aang, who had been bouncing on the balls of his feet, suddenly wrapped Zuko’s arm around his shoulder and gave him a sideways hug around the waist.

“It would actually really help us out!” Aang said cheerfully, his voice bright. “We’re traveling all over, and carrying too many different currencies is such a pain. This would save us a stop, for sure!”

The woman chuckled at Aang’s enthusiasm. “Well, I can’t say no to such an earnest little monk.” She turned and disappeared behind a wooden door at the back of the home, calling out over her shoulder, “Let me grab my wallet.”

As she vanished into the other room, Katara raised her voice to follow her, “If you sell thread too, we could use some!”

The woman’s muffled reply came from the back. “Of course, dear! I’ll bring it out with the coins.”

Chapter Text

The room fell into a companionable quiet for a moment. Katara turned her gaze toward Aang and smiled softly. There had always been a light in him—an energy she adored—but something about him now felt brighter, more centred. Ever since he and Zuko had reconciled, it was as if a weight had lifted from Aang’s shoulders.

She glanced at Zuko and teased gently, “He really can’t sit still, can he?”

Aang had stopped jumping, but now he rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked up at Katara with a wide grin. “How can I not be happy?” he asked, practically beaming. “I’m traveling and seeing the world with my big brother and my two best friends! What could be better than that?”

Zuko looked down at him, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare but genuine smile. He leaned slightly toward Katara and murmured, “He used to be exactly like this before the war started. Always bouncing around, talking a mile a minute.”

Katara blinked, surprised. She looked between Zuko and Aang, as if seeing them both through a slightly different lens. Then her expression softened further, and she smiled.

Aang had wandered back to the mirror, turning this way and that again in his new clothes, still rocking with barely contained energy. He hummed to himself, fingers trailing over the fabric of his new tunic like he couldn’t quite believe how well it fit.

Katara folded her arms, the moment sitting warm and light between them. It was rare, these days, to find peace like this in the middle of everything. And yet, in this quiet little home, with the smell of herbs and dye in the air, it felt like a glimpse of something whole—something worth holding onto.

Katara watched Aang from where she stood, his energy practically buzzing off of him as he admired himself in the mirror for the third time. He twirled once, the hem of his new tunic spinning just slightly, and beamed at his reflection. She felt her smile tug wider.

Maybe, she thought, Aang was finally beginning to process it all—this strange, new reality. The loss of his people. The strange, delicate threads of family he was finding in unexpected places. Perhaps now, with Zuko truly by his side, it was all becoming a little more real. A little more okay.

The door creaked, and the woman returned, holding a cloth bag in one hand and a small bundle of thread in the other. She placed the bundle gently on a nearby shelf and moved to the low wooden table in the centre of the room. With a soft rustle, she poured the contents of the bag onto the tabletop—neatly stacked Earth Kingdom coins spilled across the surface in dull glints of bronze and jade.

Zuko moved to the table, setting his own pouch down. He sat with the same calm composure he’d maintained all day, though his shoulders relaxed just a little. He opened the pouch and let the Fire Nation coins spill out quietly beside the neat stacks of Earth Kingdom money.

No sooner had he sat that Aang dashed after him, dropping to his knees behind Zuko and wrapping his arms around his brother’s shoulders from behind. He peered over eagerly, chin resting lightly on Zuko’s shoulder.

“Whoa,” Aang breathed. “I knew Lu Ten was nice, but this is extra nice.”

The woman, mid-sort, paused and looked up, puzzled. “Lu Ten?” she echoed.

Aang perked up immediately, practically bouncing in place. “Oh! Lu Ten’s our cousin—well, Zuko’s cousin.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice like he was sharing a great secret, “He’s Zuko’s cousin on his dad’s side. But me and Zuko share a mom, so that makes Zuko my brother! And since I’m Zuko’s brother, Uncle Iroh and Cousin Lu Ten said I’m their family too!”

He gave the woman a grin that could’ve lit up the whole room, his words tumbling out faster the more he spoke. “Uncle Iroh is amazing. He’s wise and loves tea and Pai Sho, and he always knows what to say when someone’s sad or confused. And Lu Ten is super strong. The three of us—me, Katara, and Sokka, he's currently out on a fishing trip—we got into some trouble in this one town - Zuko's been watching us like a hawk ever since then - no offense to his messenger hawk - his name is Kai and he's super smart and fast, anyway when Lu Ten showed up, he was just so cool and calm, and the guys threatening us backed off real quick!”

The woman, who had frozen in place with her hand halfway to another pile of coins, slowly let her fingers rest on the tabletop again. Her expression softened into something gentle and contemplative as she listened to the boy chatter with such innocence and pride.

Katara, having wandered closer, now pulled out a stool and sat beside them, resting her elbows on the edge of the table.

“Lu Ten did look pretty badass,” she said with a smirk, watching Aang nod with enthusiasm. “He didn’t even raise his voice. Just stood there, let his presence speak for itself.”

Aang’s eyes lit up as he turned toward her. “Right? He didn’t even have to bend! He just stood there, and when those grown men tried to say, ‘That’s an airbender—your nation’s enemy!’ Lu Ten just told them off.”

Suddenly, Aang straightened up, puffed out his chest, and with a playful growl imitated Lu Ten’s voice: “The only thing I see is a bunch of grown men bullying three kids!” He ended with a big grin, plopping back down as Katara laughed softly.

Meanwhile, Zuko and the woman sat at the small wooden table, carefully dividing the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom coins into neat batches. The clinking sound of the metal on the worn wood filled the quiet room, punctuated only by the soft murmur of their voices. The woman’s hands moved deftly as she sorted through the coins, while Zuko remained focused, his golden eyes sharp and precise.

The woman glanced up with a warm smile. “Your cousin sounds like a great man,” she said, nodding toward Aang, who was still bouncing with youthful energy on his seat.

Aang grinned broadly and bounced even more. “Yeah! But I still think Zuko’s more amazing—and cooler!” His voice was full of unabashed admiration.

Zuko’s cheeks flushed a faint red, the rare blush betraying his usually calm demeanour. He frowned slightly and muttered, “Settle down, Aang.”

Ignoring his brother’s admonishment, Aang continued enthusiastically, “Not only is Zuko strong, but he’s been taking care of me all by himself since the war started. He’s smart too—like, he always knows the answers to everything!”

Zuko abruptly lifted his arm to cover his eyes, hiding a sheepish smile. The woman chuckled softly at the display, feeling a warm glow spread through her chest. Seeing the two brothers like this—so different, yet so connected—gave her hope. Despite the war and the bitter divisions between their nations, here were three young people, from different backgrounds, sharing trust and friendship.

She had noticed Katara’s striking blue eyes earlier and guessed she was from the Water Nation. Watching how well the three of them got along made her believe, perhaps for the first time in a long while, that the world might still heal.

When they finished sorting the coins and agreeing on the fair exchange, the woman stood and retrieved a small bundle of fine thread. She handed it to Katara with a smile.

Zuko immediately reached for his coin pouch, ready to pay, but the woman shook her head gently. “It’s alright. You’ve already done me a great favour by trading Fire Nation money today. It means I won’t be ripped off when I visit my sister—and that will help her as well.”

Katara frowned, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Why doesn’t your sister leave that city? If it’s under Fire Nation control and the currency trade is unfair... wouldn’t she want to get out?”

The woman’s smile faded to a thoughtful expression. “The city is peaceful, despite everything. My sister has a home and a life there. Leaving isn’t so simple. Sometimes peace is worth more than freedom, especially for those who’ve endured so much.”

Zuko, Aang, and Katara exchanged glances, their respect for the woman growing in that moment. It was a reminder that not all battles were fought with fire and steel—sometimes, survival meant enduring quietly, holding on to what little peace was left.

They stood, gathering their things. Zuko’s posture was a little more relaxed than when he had first entered. The day’s encounters had softened something inside him, even if just a little.

“Thank you,” Katara said warmly, addressing the woman. “For your kindness and for trusting us.”

The woman smiled in return, her eyes bright with a gentle light. “It was my pleasure. You three remind me that there’s still good in this world. Keep looking out for one another.”

As the three of them began to step away from the woman’s small house, the afternoon sun dipping lower in the sky, Zuko glanced back and asked quietly, “Do you know if there’s any family around the village who might want some of Aang’s old clothes?”

The woman looked up from the small basket of cloth scraps she had been rearranging and cocked her head thoughtfully. “Are you planning to sell them?” she asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

Zuko shook his head with a gentle smile. “No, no selling,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact but kind. “Aang’s simply outgrown them. They’re just extra baggage on the road now.”

The woman’s smile deepened, and she nodded in understanding. “That’s good. You never want to carry what you don’t need,” she agreed softly. “And besides, those clothes would be a blessing to the right family here.”

Zuko shrugged lightly. “We’re not poor for money. I’d rather give them away, let them help someone who needs them more.”

The woman’s eyes twinkled with approval at this, and she reached out to touch Zuko’s arm gently. “I know just the family,” she said, her voice warm and steady. “At the very edge of the village, just beyond the old mill. They have a few children younger than Aang — lively, bright-eyed little ones who’d be overjoyed to have clothes like those.”

Katara smiled softly and nodded. “Thank you. We really appreciate your help.”

Aang, who had been quietly listening nearby, suddenly bounced on his heels and broke into a grin. Without hesitation, he skipped ahead down the winding dirt path toward the edge of the village, Momo fluttering after him like a small, curious shadow.

Katara watched him go with a fond expression. “He looks like a different child,” she remarked quietly to Zuko. “It’s good to see him so happy again.”

Zuko’s lips curled into a tight, somewhat restrained smile. “He’s been through a lot,” he said simply. “But seeing him like this… it helps.”

The two of them followed Aang’s eager footsteps, winding through narrow paths lined with humble homes and small gardens. The late afternoon light cast a soft golden hue over everything, giving the village a quiet serenity that belied the war still raging beyond its borders.

At the end of the lane, they came upon a modest house where a man was bent low over a small garden patch, his hands digging gently into the soil. When the man noticed them approaching, his face tightened, a shadow of suspicion crossing his features.

Aang, undeterred by the man’s expression, skipped forward with his usual bubbly energy. “Hi! I recently grew out of my clothes,” he announced cheerfully. “The seamstress in the village said your family might want them!”

Katara stepped forward with a reassuring smile. “They’re in good condition, nothing torn or worn out,” she added kindly, her voice calm and steady.

Zuko moved up beside them, his posture relaxed but respectful. “We’re traveling,” he said, “and we thought someone who could use them should have them.”

The man’s frown deepened as he eyed the group, clearly unsure what to make of them. “Show me the clothes first,” he said cautiously.

Zuko reached into the bag he carried and pulled out the neatly folded sets of clothes — simple but well-made garments, the fabric soft and clearly cared for. He handed them over to the man.

The man unfolded the clothes slowly, inspecting them carefully. True to Katara’s words, there were no rips or stains; the material was of better quality than most he’d seen in the village, smooth and comfortable to the touch.

“They look good,” the man admitted after a moment, his voice softer. “But I don’t think I could afford something like this.”

Zuko shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “We’re not selling them,” he said firmly. “I just want to pass them on to a child who can use them.”

At that moment, a woman stepped out of the house, a few small children trailing behind her, their eyes wide and curious. The woman approached the group, her gaze flickering between the man and the visitors.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with cautious curiosity.

The man gestured toward Zuko and the others. “These people are offering to give away some clothes.”

Zuko nodded. “Aang recently grew out of them,” he explained. “I got him some new ones, so the old ones don’t fit anymore. They’re no use to us now.”

The woman took the clothes in her hands and ran her fingers over the fabric. The softness stood out in stark contrast to the scratchy material most of their children wore day to day. Her lips pressed together, and she glanced back at her husband, concern and gratitude mixing in her expression.

Zuko sighed quietly. “I just want to give them away. Not sell. They’re no good to us now, just extra weight on our journey.”

Katara stepped forward, her tone gentle and warm. “We don’t expect anything in return. We’ll be happy just knowing another child will wear these clothes after we’ve passed them on.”

The woman’s face softened, and she smiled at the trio. “Thank you,” she said simply, her voice sincere. “It means a lot.”

The children nearby clustered closer, peering shyly at the clothes and then at Aang, their eyes bright with excitement.

Zuko nodded to the woman and the children, a small sense of peace settling in his chest.

As the small group of children clustered around the soft pile of clothes, Aang’s eyes caught sight of one of the boys gripping a worn leather ball. His face lit up with a wide smile. “Can I play with you?” he asked eagerly, his voice bright with hope.

The woman glanced at her children and then back at Aang, her expression warm but cautious. “Of course,” she said with a gentle nod. “But be kind to Aang, okay? Let him join in.”

The children exchanged quick glances and shy smiles, then one of the boys bounced the ball toward Aang. With a delighted laugh, Aang stepped forward, ready to join their game. His laughter mingled with theirs, filling the quiet afternoon with a sudden burst of lively energy.

Meanwhile, Zuko felt the pull of quiet stillness within him. He excused himself politely and wandered a few steps away until he found a sturdy old tree whose wide branches stretched like open arms. Sitting beneath its shade, he closed his eyes and settled into meditation, focusing on the calm rhythm of his breath and the subtle hum of the village around him.

Katara’s attention was drawn to the man they had met earlier, who was now hauling heavy buckets of water from the well toward his garden. Without hesitation, she approached him with a warm smile. “May I help you with that?” she offered gently, her voice carrying the quiet strength of water itself.

The man looked up, eyes widening briefly in surprise at the effortless way Katara bent the water to her will — a skill not common in these parts — but his surprise quickly softened into gratitude. “If it’s not too much trouble for you,” he replied, relief evident in his eyes.

Katara nodded with ease, the fluid grace of her waterbending ready to lighten his burden. As she bent water from the well, guiding it effortlessly into his garden, a peaceful rhythm settled between them — a shared moment of kindness in the midst of everyday toil.

Chapter Text

Back in the quiet confines of the ship, Lu Ten sat alone in his modest room, his thoughts a tangled web of confusion and frustration. The low murmur of the ocean outside the porthole was a faint contrast to the storm brewing inside him. He stared out at the endless expanse of water, but his mind was far from the calmness the sea might have offered. The weight of recent news and his own doubts pressed heavily on his shoulders.

A gentle knock on the door broke the silence. The door creaked open to reveal Iroh, carrying a small tray with a steaming pot of tea and two delicate cups. The older man’s presence was a balm to the younger’s troubled spirit, steady and calm.

“I thought you might want some tea,” Iroh said softly, setting the tray down on the small table beside Lu Ten. He took a seat beside his son without waiting for an invitation, his eyes kind but probing.

Lu Ten glanced up, pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Why didn’t you join the crew for their day out?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of melancholy.

Iroh shook his head gently. “I thought it better to spend the day with my son,” he said, his gaze steady. “There’s something on your mind, and I want to understand it.”

Lu Ten sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the war lately,” he admitted, the words tasting heavy as they left his mouth. “It’s… it’s hard to ignore, even here.”

Iroh nodded thoughtfully. “War is a terrible thing,” he said simply, the weight of experience in his tone. “It leaves scars not just on the land, but on the hearts of those who live through it.”

Lu Ten looked down into his tea, swirling it absently. “I received a letter from Zuko recently,” he said quietly. “He told me about something that’s been troubling him — and Aang.” His voice faltered slightly. “Some people from a tribe, when they learned Aang was the Avatar, they blamed him. They said it was his fault the war happened in the first place.”

Iroh’s brows furrowed, the lines on his face deepening. “That’s not right,” he said firmly. “Aang is just a child — too young to even begin his Avatar training when this all started. To place such blame on him is unfair and cruel.”

Lu Ten sighed deeply. “Zuko said those people eventually apologized, but the damage was done. Aang started having nightmares, and he began to believe them — that the war was his fault, that he failed to stop it.” His voice grew quieter, almost broken. “It’s hard to hear that. To know a child carries such a burden.”

Iroh reached out and placed a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. “Fear makes people lose reason,” he said gently. “When people are afraid, they look for someone to blame. It helps them make sense of the chaos. But that doesn’t make it true.”

Lu Ten looked up, his eyes searching his father’s. “It made me think,” he said. “Aang is just ten years old, and yet he’s been made responsible for this war. But I… I’m twenty, part of the royal family of the Fire Nation. Yet I do nothing. I sit here, safe, while the world burns.”

Iroh’s expression softened, his concern clear but patient. “What is it that troubles you most about this?” he asked quietly.

Lu Ten’s voice was edged with desperation. “Are we cowards? You and I? For not returning to the Fire Nation to reclaim the throne? For not trying to bring peace by taking control?”

Iroh sighed, his eyes heavy with the weight of many decisions. “If we were to return and claim the throne by force,” he said slowly, “it would almost certainly lead to a civil war. The nation is fractured enough as it is.”

Lu Ten’s anger flared, frustration spilling out in harsh words. “So we stand by while the world falls apart? We let fires rage across the continents, all to avoid fighting amongst ourselves?”

Iroh’s voice softened, a quiet wisdom beneath the sternness. “It’s not that simple, Lu Ten. Nothing about this is.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts carefully before continuing. “There is a balance to destiny. Everyone and everything has a path laid before them. Trying to force it can break that balance, causing more harm than good.”

Lu Ten’s eyes narrowed, his anger sharpening. “Be blunt with me, Father. Don’t give me riddles.”

Iroh smiled faintly, a sadness lingering behind his eyes. “Very well.” He leaned forward, voice low and steady. “Even if you were to return and win the civil war, seize the throne with all your strength — how confident are you that you could defend a nation you love but a throne you despise? Two powerful nations watch us now, waiting for any sign of weakness. They would not hesitate to strike when the Fire Nation is distracted by internal conflict.”

Lu Ten was silent, the truth of his father’s words settling heavily over him like a shadow. He looked down into his cup again, feeling the cold weight of uncertainty settle deep in his chest.

Iroh’s hand tightened gently on his shoulder, a silent reminder that he was not alone in the struggle. The room was filled with the quiet sound of tea being poured, the steam curling upward in delicate spirals, as father and son sat together in the heavy silence — each wrestling with their own fears, hopes, and the impossible decisions that awaited them.

Iroh settled back into his chair, the faint scent of jasmine tea filling the room as he regarded his son thoughtfully. “Lu Ten,” he began, his voice calm but measured, “consider this carefully. While I am confident the Air Nomads will not attack us — their philosophy and nature keep them apart from such conflicts — the territories we have invaded, the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom lands, they will seek retaliation. Their wounds are fresh, and their desire for justice burns fiercely.”

Lu Ten frowned, the weight of his father’s words settling deep within him. Iroh continued, “And yet, the Fire Nation has not lost this war. Think on that. The Earth Kingdom, vast and far larger than our own nation, defends its lands fiercely, striking only when provoked. Despite its size and resources, it has not managed to break us.”

Lu Ten’s brow furrowed as he mulled this over. “The Earth Kingdom isn’t united, though,” he replied thoughtfully. “It’s fractured, divided into multiple territories. Each one governed by its own ruler, with their own agendas.”

Iroh nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he watched his son think deeply. “Exactly. These rulers will not raise a finger to aid their co-nationals until the Fire Nation’s flames reach their own doorsteps. Their pride, their politics, keep them apart. It is their greatest weakness and our nation's advantage.”

He paused, letting the thought linger. “If those rulers truly wished for peace, they could have ended this war long ago. Yet, they have chosen to let it drag on — to let their people suffer — instead of uniting to face a common enemy.”

Lu Ten sat silent for a moment, the complexity of his father’s words settling in. The lines between right and wrong blurred as the realities of war weighed heavily upon him. Then it struck him—ending the war didn’t necessarily depend on Aang, or Zuko, or even himself. There were many more powers in this world capable of bringing peace, yet they chose not to.

Iroh’s gaze remained steady and patient as he asked, “Has what I’ve said changed your mind? Do you feel ready to step forward — to take up the mantle of Fire Lord?”

Lu Ten snorted, a dry laugh escaping him. “The only one in our family who seems eager for that throne is Azula,” he said bitterly.

Both father and son shivered at the mention of her name, then laughter broke through the tension, filling the room with a brief, lighter warmth.

“I dread the moment when Zuko and I must decide who, between the two of us, will step up,” Lu Ten confessed quietly, the weight of his future pressing down on him.

Iroh smiled gently, reaching for the tea on the tray beside him. “Perhaps,” he joked, “we can settle it over a game of Pai Sho. The loser becomes the next Fire Lord.”

Lu Ten laughed, though a shadow crossed his face shortly after. “I wish we could do more,” he said softly, voice heavy with frustration and helplessness. “The war feels endless, and we are stuck watching from the sidelines, unable to stop the suffering.”

Iroh nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting the pain they both carried. “War is never simple, Lu Ten. Sometimes the greatest strength lies in patience — in knowing when to act and when to wait.”

The room was quiet but for the soft clink of teacups and the slow, steady breaths of two souls grappling with the heavy burden of legacy and duty. Neither knew what the future held, but together, they faced it — one step at a time.

Iroh poured another cup of tea, his movements slow and deliberate, the aroma curling gently between them like a calming breeze. He watched the rising steam in thoughtful silence before speaking again, his voice mellow and laced with the serenity he was known for.

“Destiny,” he said, as if tasting the word. “It is a river, Lu Ten. Sometimes gentle, sometimes violent, but always flowing forward. We can try to resist its current, try to swim against it. But sooner or later, we end up where it was taking us all along.”

Lu Ten’s brow furrowed slightly. “So we’re just… passengers? No choice in the matter?”

“There is always choice,” Iroh said, lifting his cup and sipping slowly. “But choice exists within the path. You can walk barefoot or wear shoes. You can stop to rest or run as fast as you can. But the road? That is laid long before you even know it’s there.”

Lu Ten leaned back against the wall, his arms folded. “You really don’t want the throne, do you?”

Iroh smiled over his cup. “No. And perhaps it is good that neither of us do.”

That made Lu Ten cock his head slightly. “Why?”