Archive of Our Own

The Retribution's mess hall was a temporary sanctuary from the biting cold of the Southern Sea. The ship's internal heating was set to a temperature Sokka considered 'barely tolerable,' which, for the mixed-nation crew of the United Task Force, was apparently the perfect compromise. He traced the rim of his steaming cup of bone broth—yet another compromise between his Water Tribe roots and the Fire Nation's necessity for hot drinks—and leaned forward on the polished table.

'Right, so, it’s Winter Solstice,' Sokka said, clapping his hands together. No reaction. Perhaps he had injected a little too much cheer into his voice. He sighed and nudged Kiyoi next to him, who was inspecting a manifest scroll with the meticulous focus of a tax collector and didn’t look up.

‘I’ve noticed.’ She said flatly.

Sokka leaned closer. 'The longest night of the year deserves a little celebration, don't you think?'

Kiyoi glanced up, her dark eyes entirely unamused. 'Celebration? Sokka, we are currently sailing a vessel in contested waters with an unprecedented multinational crew. I fail to see the opportunity for endorsed revelry. The crew have chosen to celebrate with or without command’s approval, and The Earth Kingdom crew have not won my trust to encourage such a thing after the “antics” displayed today.'

'So, they got a little… enthusiastic. But…' Sokka shrugged. 'You’ve got to admit that you enjoyed the Earth Kingdom celebrations last night, at least. Don’t deny it; I saw you smiling at all the tiny paper lanterns floating past the hull and admiring their ancestor offerings in those decorated pots. So what if today they continued the celebration with pranks and mischief? It’s a bizarre mix, but I could get on board with it.’ He paused, a smirk stretching across his face. 'I heard one of the Earth Kingdom crewmen even managed to swap all the sugar with salt in the mess. Pure genius.'

Kiyoi’s expression didn't change, but her grip on the scroll tightened infinitesimally. 'I am aware. And I have already assigned that crewman three weeks of deck and laundry duty; tampering with rations is a serious offense, Sokka, not a harmless prank.’ She said 'pranks' with the faint distaste one might reserve for spoiled meat. 

‘But as a multinational crew, we can celebrate everything—it’ll be a real morale booster. The Water Tribe’s celebrations don’t involve pranking, go on for three days. We should do that! Or maybe do whatever it is the Fire Nation does for Winter Solstice tomorrow!’ 

'There is nothing to celebrate about the Winter Solstice in the Fire Nation,' she uttered lowly. ‘It is the longest night of the year and the coldest—when a Fire Bender is at their weakest, other than an eclipse. We save our true celebration, the Festival of Grain, for the end of the season, marking the prosperity of the harvests by how much rice is left in the stores.'

Sokka pulled a face. 'So your celebration is... denial and rice inventory? Wow, the Fire Nation really knows how to live.'

'My point is the disruption, especially at a time like this, is unacceptable. Half our crew is lollygagging and when the other half of the crew and our enemy is weakest, we should be using this time to strike, but the Earthbender's and Waterbenders have declared themselves on holiday!' Kiyoi placed the scroll down, the sound crisp and final. 'I was taught that when one’s strength is diminished, it is not an occasion for levity. It is a time for order and vigilance.’

Sokka shook his head at her saddly. ‘Oh Kiyoi, surely you guys used to celebrate the longest night of the year before Fire Lord Grumpy Face ruined everything! In the Southern Water Tribe, Winter Solstice is three-days-long, We don’t see the sun for the whole time. and we still celebrate it.'

 'You celebrate the cold and darkness?' she asked, the question sounding genuinely curious.

'Oh it’s great—massive feasts, trying to stay awake as long as you can—gifts, storytelling, the works. A real antidote to the endless dark. It's about enduring it together, staying warm, being grateful you're alive. Which, considering last year's Solstice, feels especially important.' he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. 'Hai Bai, getting trapped in the Spirit World... then nearly getting roasted at Roku's temple. Man, what a week.'

'All the more reason to hope this one remains uneventful,' she confirmed wearily. 'Those were hectic few days for me and Zuko too. Iroh was taken prisoner by Earth Kingdom soldiers, and then Zuko violated his banishment and ran Commander Zhao's blockade to get to you guys on Crescent Island at Roku's temple, our engine got damaged, and Zuko got captured himself... from what I heard anyway, he neglected to mention that detail to me. It was a stressful week.'

'A stressful week indeed,' Sokka agreed, his own voice softening. He shared a long, understanding look with her, a silent acknowledgment of the shared troubles that led them to this moment, sitting as equal commanders on a United Forces ship. He held her gaze and raised his eyebrows in a silent plea. Her dark eyes narrowed. He flashed her a smile and tilted his head.

She rolled her eyes and let out a longsuffering sigh. ‘Sokka, I’m not opposed to the crew celebrating, I just want there to be a clear boundary between festivity and nuisance-ry. As long as duties are fulfilled and the celebrations are not disruptive or destructive, I take no issue. It is good for morale.’ She furrowed her brow. ‘Look, three days is a bit excessive for our situation, but tomorrow is the full Solstice, You can talk to the cook about preparing a little extra food for the evening meal and perhaps adding some festive items to the menu… just don’t be disappointed if my countrymen aren’t as jolly as the rest of the crew.’

'Yes!' Sokka stood from his chair immediately. ‘I’ll do that now. A nice warm meal and high spirits, the occasional prank—just the right amount of excitement we need, eh?’ 

Kiyoi nodded, a small knot of tension tightening in her shoulders. ‘The less excitement the better.’ She raised her teacup. ‘To a boring and cold, winter solstice.’

The next night the mess of the Retribution was alight with conversation, coloured paper decorations and hearty aromas. He had no idea why Kiyoi expected her countrymen would be so stoic this evening. They were the life of the party. It was as if they had been itching for an excuse to join in the festivities. 

‘-After all this time, she still misses me…’ A Fire Nation midshipman said in a solemn tone. Then nudged Sokka and his Northern Water Tribe friend with his elbows. ‘…But her aim is getting better!’ He finished with a bark of laughter that they couldn’t help but join in with.  

But as his laughter died down, his stomach plummeted for no explainable reason. His hair stood on end, and he felt unease so strong it straightened his posture. The warrior and hunter in him scanned the room for the threat; he didn’t find one. But he saw Kiyoi standing at the bulkhead with a troubled expression, beckoning him quietly. 

Something was wrong. 

‘And, looks like the fun’s over for me—have a good night.’ He excused himself and followed Kiyoi through the metal corridors, their footsteps echoing with urgency. 

‘A vessel’s been sighted 80 marks off the port bow,' she reported.

‘Enemy?’ he asked
 
‘Unclear… they’re not responding to our hails.’ She said and turned to him grimly. ‘I ordered the helmsman to take us round, and get it in range of our spotlight so we can get a clearer look at it. I… I fear it’s a wreck.’ 

They reached the bridge and the atmosphere was cold and electric. The lookout was rigid at his post, pointing out into the vast, dark ocean.

Sokka squinted through the reinforced glass. The horizon was nothing but endless ink and a faint silver of light from the distant pale moon. Then, he saw it. A dark, jagged shape, barely visible against the night sky, a few dim lights flickering from it.

‘We should be in range, commanders,’ the helmsman reported. Kiyoi turned back to the signal officer and nodded. He rushed out to the observation deck, and a moment later the spotlight flickered to life.

'What kinda ship is that?' Sokka murmured grabbing a set of  from a rack and raised them. His eyes roaming over the long low metal shape. He passed the binoculars to Kiyoi.

'It's a Fire Nation vessel,' she said, her voice immediately switching to a professional, analytical tone. 'Looks like a sloop cargo class, but from quite a few decades ago. Certainly not Navy standard any more.'

Sokka took back the binoculars and adjusted the focus. The ship looked rough. No sail or obvious engine exhaust. It was simply a silhouette, bobbing listlessly.

'It's dead in the water,' Sokka stated, his mind racing. 'No running lights, not responding to hails, but the cabin lights are on, or some lanterns are lit. Maybe a merchant ship attacked and left adrift?'

'It's too far south for the usual trade routes,' Kiyoi noted, already turning to the navigation map. 'Unusual to see a cargo ship this heavily armed and this far from the coast.'

'Armaments?'

'Look at the forward deck. Those appear to be twin-mounted, mid-century Fire Nation harpoon guns,' she explained. 'A merchant ship wouldn't carry that kind of weaponry.'

'Could it be an ambush laid by pirates or rebels?'

'It could, We need to approach with caution.'

The ship clerk, a younger Fire Nation officer, looked to Sokka. 'Commander, the standing orders are to investigate any vessel in distress. Should we hail them with the horn? Perhaps their signal lens is damaged or they have used up their signal flares?'

'Do it,' Sokka ordered. 'But keep your distance, and keep the engines at ready. Just in case.'

The ship's horn bellowed a deep, resonant warning into the night. Silence was the only reply. They tried again, along with sending a series of rhythmic lamp signals. Still, nothing.

'Helmsman, take us closer, but keep the Retribution out of range of those deck guns.' Kiyoi commanded, her voice steady. 'Clerk, prepare a boarding party, two or three soldiers on duty, get them to meet us in the launch bay, get Haru to come along too. We’ll need an Earthbender if their catapult is operational still, and he has medical training.’ 

Sokka felt unease curl in his stomach. The unnerving silence, the dark shape, the faint, inexplicable flicker of lights in the portholes—it all felt wrong. But, what if there were people that needed his help? They were commanders now; they couldn't just sail past a potential crisis.

'Set the rendezvous coordinates for the skiff,' Sokka said, grabbing his parka and a sword off the hook on the back wall. 'I'll take point on the boarding team.'

Kiyoi turned, her expression set and serious, mirroring him as she grabbed her Fire Navy cloak off the hook on the wall next to him, her sword already fastened at her waist. 'I am going as well. My knowledge of older Fire Navy vessels will be necessary if there is a crew hiding inside or if it’s booby trapped.'

Sokka nodded. Kiyoi was always more useful than any handbook. 'Let's go,' Sokka muttered, heading for the launch bay. Pirates, rebels, smugglers... I can deal with that, he thought, giving his sword a comforting pat. We’ve faced worse.

That thought, however, brought no comfort as he reached the open launch bay and the cold air hit him. He turned to Kiyoi to voice an apprehensive thought, but she was already aboard the skiff, her back straight, her mind fixed on the mission. She gave a nod in greeting to the firebending soldiers and a poor moustache-less Haru (courtesy of one of his countrymen’s pranks) as they climbed aboard.

Sokka sighed. His caution was not completely unfounded; they didn’t know awaited them. It’s probably just an old wreck, he thought to himself. That’s the best-case scenario…

No, actually, the best-case scenario was that there was still somebody on board that needed help. He hoped they wouldn’t be met with corpses; a rebel ambush would be better.

He clambered into the skiff and adjusted his scabbard on his belt. 'Alright team,' he said, his voice firm, 'let's go find out what happened to this old tub.'

The boat ride was a quiet and constricted experience. The silence felt wrong, amplified by the heavy sigh of the waves against the hulls of both their skiff and the ancient sloop. Sokka kept his gaze locked on the rusty ship ahead. The small, yellow glow from the portholes seemed less like a beacon of life and more like the sickly eyes of some colossal sea creature.

'This is creeping me out,' one of the firebenders, Jia, finally whispered, his voice cracking.

'Stay quiet,' Kiyoi hushed, her voice cutting through the tension. 'We maintain silence until the threat is assessed.'

Sokka couldn't blame Jia. The closer they got, the colder the air became, despite the faint scent of coal smoke that lingered oddly above the brine and decay.

'No sign of life on deck,' Sokka reported as they finally pulled alongside the hull and secured the skiff. 'Not a single watchman.'

Kiyoi was the first up the boarding ladder, moving with a tense and silent grace. She scanned the deck then motioned for them to follow. Haru and the firebenders followed, their eyes darting nervously, as he brought up the rear.

Stepping onto the deck was like entering a coffin. The silence wasn't just deafening; it was total. There was no creak of the deck plates, no whistle of the wind, no sloshing of water in the hold—just an absolute void of sound. No machinery hummed below them, but he could still smell smoke and coal, and underneath that, the stale, faint scent of cooked food and hot oil; a scent that should have dissipated if the ship was uninhabited. 

'This is too quiet,' Sokka whispered, his voice not travelling far in the vast open night. 'No distress, no shouts, not even the sound of a bilge pump.'

'I think it’s most likely the ship is deserted,' Kiyoi said, her voice a low, steady murmur beside him. 'The lower level is likely flooded, and the crew abandoned it.'

'if it's abandoned why are there still life boats?' Ira, the other firebender pointed out.

kiyoi frowned then, 'Maybe there was an obstruction on deck that meant they couldn't launch them... still, if this was an ambush I feel they would have spung it by now. And if this is booby trapped, they'll be charges on the hinges of the hatches, make sure we check them before opening them,' She spoke with the authority of a textbook, trying to rationalise the unease into a manageable threat. 

'Ira, check the hatches. Jia, Haru, stay alert,' Sokka ordered with as much confidence as he could muster. He scanned the deck: ropes neatly coiled, tools racked on the wall. No signs of a struggle. It was an unsettling perfection.

'All clear.' Kiyoi pointed to a hatch she and Ira had just opened leading below deck.  'If they abandoned ship, they'd leave a note, or at least take their supplies and rations. And if there are injured on board, they would have tried to make their way up on deck. We should start with the common areas.'

They moved quickly through the narrow, unlit corridors, the firebenders casting dancing flames in their hands to fight off the shadows. The cold deepened as they descended. Ahead they saw a light; the mess hall. Sokka stopped dead in the doorway.

 Half-eaten meals sat on the tables, bowls of rice and meat, lit by the overhead lanterns, cold, but not decayed. However, there was not a soul in sight. No sign of a fight, no overturned chairs, no blood—just a chilling absence of life. Sokka felt a tremor of pure dread. The specificity of the scene was a personal terror; it was exactly as Kiyoi had described in her ghost story.

Kiyoi took one step in, observing the scene with a calm, rational eye. ‘This happened recently. They must have been called away suddenly—An emergency. We should check the bridge, there’ll be something in the logs.'

They moved up to the bridge. Charts were neatly unrolled on the table, and the captain's chair was turned slightly, as if the captain had just stood up for a moment.

Kiyoi immediately went for the logbook. She flipped it open, her eyes darting across the neat swirling characters. 'Weird… there’s entries today, Roll call… course headings… supply checks… Fuel calculations… all routine,' she read, her voice regaining its professional cadence as she flicked through the previous pages. 'No engine failures. They checked in with another vessel four days ago. They weathered a minor squall... nothing to justify abandonment.'

Sokka watched her, the image of the abandoned meals now burned into his brain, fitting into the narrative of that disturbing ghost story she had told that summer. The one he tried to forget. The one Aang had come to him with nightmares about, and he had been too embarrassed to admit that he had them too. 

The abandoned meals. The open logbook. Unanswered hails.  It all fit. His eyes flicked to the bridge's console and widened in alarm. He swallowed as he watched the engine's pressure gauge tick a few notches; an engine that was currently not running.

'Read the date again, Kiyoi,' Sokka said, his voice flat.

'This was written today, 15th day of 1st month…’ Kiyoi repeated and looked at the entry date, then frowned, flicking back a few pages. ‘No, This can't be right,' she whispered, her voice barely audible. 'The 6th year of Azulon's reign? Sokka… that's seventy-five years ago.' Her eyes widened, the colour draining from her face.

Sokka lurched past her, grabbing the ship's manifest tucked beneath the log. He tore it open, his breath catching in his throat: His Imperial Majesty's Ship Iron Maiden.

The cold dread solidified into a block of ice in Sokka’s chest. The ship had not been abandoned recently; the food and the logs only appeared to be fresh. The blood froze in his veins. 'The Iron Maiden,' he whispered, looking up at Kiyoi. 'The Iron Maiden… became…’ 

‘No,’ she shook her head, logic warring with fear plainly on her face. ‘It’s not-i-it was just a story.’

‘You said you saw it yourself!’ he argued back. ‘How could you not recognise it again!’

‘I was lying Sokka, I never saw it! I just wanted to win that stupid competition and scare Aang! The Helmsman… he was just trying to scare us. The Iron Wraith isn’t real…  the Helmsman wasn’t even that-’ The subtle clanking they had heard earlier now sounded sickeningly loud. ‘…Old.’

A sudden, sharp movement caught Sokka's eye through the bridge's window. He turned and saw the rope they had used to secure the skiff snap and fall off the deck, banging against the rusted hull. 

'The skiff!' Sokka yelled. 

Kiyoi, refusing to panic, spun around, ran out onto the observation deck and extended her hands. Her stance was perfect, her breathing steady, the very image of a waterbender about to command the tide. She reached and pulled at the water, grabbing at the skiff with a current; but nothing happened.

She looked down at the small wave crests around the hull, then at her own hands, utterly confused. She tried again, harder, pushing her energy out, willing the water to move. The skiff kept drifting.

'Jia, signal the Retribution!' Sokka commanded.

The young firebender extended his fist and exhaled, ready to throw a blast of fire—but no spark, no heat, no flame emerged. He tried again, coughing with the effort, his face contorted in disbelief. 'I can't…' Jia stammered, shaking his head.

'Haru see if you can bend your hammer to the skiff’s deck and tether it!' Sokka shouted.

Haru threw his arms out in a powerful stance, attempting to throw his earthen hammer across the widening distance. But his earth hammer remained stubbornly still, lifeless, at his hip.

Ira, the remaining member of their party, held up a hand, and her face paled. ‘I can’t bend either.’

They looked at each other, stunned, frozen in sheer panic. The silence returned, pressing in on them, heavier and colder than before.

Haru turned back to the water where the skiff had been drifting. He pointed, his voice trembling. 'The skiff... the Retribution.'

‘No!’ they gasped in disbelief.

Gone. Both vessels were gone from the horizon. 

A hallucination. I’m dreaming. I'm having a stress dream. Sokka closed his eyes, then snapped them open. He pinched the skin on his arm, hard.

 Not a dream.

'At least... we're all still conscious. Last time I was here, I wasn’t,’ Sokka said grimly.

Kiyoi, whose gaze had been locked on her useless hands, slowly raised her eyes, cataloguing the changes around them like he just had. The rust on the hull suddenly looked sharper, the wood grain of the deck unnaturally defined. The reflections on the water from the faint yellow lights flickering in the portholes seemed impossibly bright. The surrounding ocean was no longer the deep black of the Southern Sea; it was flat, murky, unnatural green, devoid of waves.

lastly she looked up at the moonless sky and then at Sokka in horror. ‘You mean…’

'Welcome to the Spirit World.' He felt their eyes, wide and terrified, swivel to him. He was the one with the most experience in this realm, even if his experience amounted to getting kidnapped and put in a stupor by some weird forest spirit for a few days. He straightened his shoulders, forcing a professional calm he didn't feel.

'There's no bending here,' Sokka explained. 'It’s one of the rules. Second rule; this place is tied with the physical world, but it’s be a messed-up version of it. The Winter Solstice thins the barrier between the realms, so… I think the ship crossed over with us on it.'

He glanced at Kiyoi. She was staring at the murky green sea, her face a stark canvas of dread. He remembered the precise, chilling details of her story: the ship leaving the physical world entirely at dawn. She looked up, her dark eyes meeting his, and it was as if she’d read his mind.

'We have to leave here before dawn,' Kiyoi realised.

Sokka nodded grimly. 'If we miss it, we only have tomorrow night to attempt again, as it’s the last night of the Solstice, and even then it might not work.'

'Attempt what?' Jia asked, his voice cracking with rising hysteria. 'How do we get out of here? Is there a door?’ 

Ira started to hyperventilate. 

Jia continued, ‘Do we need a key or like an offering? What do we do?!'

'What about the Avatar?' Haru asked, looking desperately to Sokka. 'Aang can get us out.'

Kiyoi shook her head dismally. 'Aang is in the middle of the Earth Kingdom, miles from us. He wouldn’t be notified in time to come and collect us. We're on our own.'

‘Well, on the bright side, it is the solstice, so we have more time before dawn than we usually would.’ Sokka opened the hatch and motioned them inside. 'Let’s re-examine the bridge. Maybe we missed something important.'

They moved back inside. Immediately something was different; this time, they were not alone.

'The crew,' Haru whispered, his voice hushed with awe.

Figures were moving through the bridge. They moved with a robotic efficiency, plotting courses on charts, looking out at the blank horizon, their eyes dull and focused on nonexistent tasks. They were translucent, tinged with a blue-green light, dressed in faded Fire Navy uniforms that had long gone out of circulation. But some, both he and Kiyoi noted, were older iterations than others. Well, that's disconcerting, he thought to himself.  This crew was made up of more than it’s original members. 

One figure walked directly through Haru, who yelped, staggering back against the wall out of the way. The figure pivoted and brushed past Sokka as he stood paralyzed. However, other than that, they didn’t acknowledge the boarding party as anything more than obstacles.

Kiyoi’s assessed the spectral helmsman who adjusted the ship’s wheel with manic precision, his face utterly devoid of emotion. He joined her and waved a hand in front of the man’s face. There was no reaction.

'They are not ghosts in the sense of a conscious malicious soul. They are like echoes.’ Kiyoi observed with a disturbed frown. ‘…forced to continue their duty eternally.' She finished remembering her old helmsman’s creepy theory.

They moved back along the corridor. The atmosphere had changed completely. Where there had been silence, there were now translucent figures moving through the narrow space; carrying out endless, futile tasks: swabbing decks already spotless, coiling ropes already tight, checking vents that led nowhere. The closer they got to the middle of the ship, the louder the ghostly sounds became: faint, muted orders, the hiss of phantom steam, the steady clank, clank, clank of unseen machinery.

'This is what the helmsman must of heard when he told you that story, Kiyoi,' Sokka realised, the memory of her chilling story flooding his mind. 'The ship was in our world, but the crew was here, making all this noise.'

‘A spirit must’ve entrapped them.’ Sokka theorised grimly. 'Aang told us the key to the Spirit World issue is dealing with the imbalance in the physical world. We need to find thing that angered the spirit and fix it, then it should let us and the crew go.'

'So first we need to find the entity controlling them,' Kiyoi said, pressing a hand to the cold metal wall. 'An echo of a ship can’t move by itself. If a spirit is piloting this vessel and it wasn’t on the bridge I’d wager it’s somewhere in the engine room.’

Ira tilted her head, listening to the mechanical clunks and muffled voices, ‘Certainly sounds like it.’

They continued downward to the engine room into bustling hive of pipes and metal, where the boilers stood cold and imposing. Spectral crewmen were here in force, endlessly shovelling non-existent coal into the dead furnace, their blank faces glistening with phantom sweat.

In the centre of it all was the spirit of the Iron Wraith, imitating the false hum of engines like a growl. It was a glowing faintly. A undulating metallic-green mass that seemed to shift and flow like oil in water. It was large; the body was mostly concealed, entwined in the dead machinery. Only the shimmering tentacles trailing on the floor pulsing with movement gave them an idea of its size.

They all held their breath and stared at the otherworldly shape as it materialise shining eyes and surged its form toward them. The clanking immediately stopped, and the spectral crew froze, their shovels suspended mid-air. An awful, high-pitched keening filled the space, and the spirit flashed dark brown, and a slick tentacle whipped through the air and wrapped itself tightly around Haru’s chest.

'Haru!' Sokka yelled, lunging forward. He reacted blindly, drawing his sword and bringing it down hard on the fleshy limb. The edge of the steel scraped through the spirit’s mass. The tentacle snapped back, releasing Haru, who scrambled up from the floor to the rest of them, backing slowly toward the door.

But the relief was fleeting. Where Sokka had cut one limb, two more immediately sprouted from the writhing mass, and the spirit began to pulse faster, radiating intense rage, turning jet black in colour.

'I thought we were trying to appease it, Sokka!' Kiyoi hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.

'We can’t appease it if we’re dead!' Sokka retorted, backing away from the growing mass. Their party formed up and back towards the bulkhead they came through. Kiyoi drew her sword, and Haru his hammer, dodging the flailing tentacles swiping at them as they retreated. But soon their attention flicked to the spectral crew who had snapped out of their paralysis, their forms tinged with a dark aura too.

All at once the figures turned, their blank eyes now focused on the boarding party with cold purpose.

'Part of the crew, work as the crew!' a chant echoed, the words layered and distorted with many voices. 'Part of the crew, work as the crew!'

‘Uh… no thanks.’ Sokka voiced and shoved at his crewmembers behind him. ‘Run!’

None of them had to be told twice. They scrambled up the stairs. 

Jia screamed, just ducking under the swing of a ghostly engineer at the top of the stairs, the long wrench he was wielding clanged loudly and dented the wall. 

‘Slacker!’ the engineer screamed. Kiyoi parried the wrench and disarmed him, kicking it down the stairs into the hoard of shovel-wielding crewmen. Haru slammed the bulkhead shut and jammed a metal pipe in the hatch wheel.

'Don’t be caught dawdling!' another figure called at the end of the corridor, dropping its mop and advancing.

They all ran toward the ladder that led up to the next deck. They scrambled up the metal rungs as the ghostly crewman pursued them furiously. Other ghostly crewmen joined him as they fled passed them; jeering and insisting they get back to work. They ran through the narrow passages until they found the reinforced doors of the Captain's quarters.

They slammed the door shut, shoving a heavy wooden table, and a fallen locker against it to form a barricade. The thud, thud, thud of spectral fists and the muffled, furious calls of 'You aren’t relieved of Duty!' immediately assaulted the door.

‘The dead don’t seem to rest here.’ Sokka murmured as he helped Jia push the bed over the to barricade. 

Kiyoi was already scanning the room, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Her eyes landed on a small, leather-bound book on the writing desk. She flew to it.

'The Captain’s personal diary. If the logbook doesn’t have the answer, maybe this will,' she explained, her hands already tearing it open. She flipped past a few pages, settling on the final entries, reading aloud quickly, her voice tight.

"Our mission was critical supply delivery, for the glory of our country. But due to a fierce storm, the delivery will be late... Fire Lord Azulon’s displeasure will ruin me. Not just my career, but my family’s name, their position, everything. He will not tolerate failure. I will endeavour to make up time, push the engines at full speed as long as I can. I only hope it is enough."

Kiyoi's voice softened to a horrified whisper as she read a scrawled line under the passage, a last entry on the Winter Solstice 75 years ago:

"The boiler has failed, we are taking on water. We know there will be no rescue; only punishment awaits us. I will not allow my family or crew to suffer the shame of my failure."

She slammed the diary shut. 

Sokka looked at the door, then at Kiyoi, and the whole tragic picture clicked into place.

'They weren’t attacked by the spirit; they… drowned. They let themselves drown rather than abandon ship,' Kiyoi murmured, the bitter truth settling over them. 'They were more afraid of Azulon's punishment than they were of death itself.'

‘The spirit isn’t vengeful at all...' Sokka realised, looking at the door. 'The crushing fear of punishment... that’s the imbalance. The spirit was probably trying to help, but it’s been corrupted by the same fear of the crew—forcing them to sail eternally. It's become obsessed with the crew making port and making a deadline that doesn’t exist anymore.'

The well-meaning Sea Spirit had latched onto that final, intense emotional surge, trapping the crew and any other unfortunate souls it came across on a ghost ship, in the Spirit World. Seventy-five years of monotonous and endless duty, powered by Fire Nation bureaucratic terror.

'So, we need to tell the spirit we forgive it for being late?' Haru asked from his position by the barricade.

'No,' Kiyoi shook her head, staring at the bulging door. 'We need to tell it that Azulon's reign is over.'

The heavy thudding on the door of the captain’s quarters intensified in the silence. Sokka peered through a crack in the warped door. The ghostly figures pushed aggressively on the barrier, their shapes shifting with rage.

'We can’t fight our way through them to get back to the engine room,' he surmised, his eyes darting between the door and their meagre weapons. 'And we definitely can't try to calmly reason with a giant, angry tentacle spirit made of panic.'

'No,' Kiyoi agreed, already moving back towards the writing desk, picking up a pen and a blank sheet of parchment. 'We go with the flow. We become part of the crew.'

Sokka blinked. 'Become... spectral mop-pushers? Seriously?'

'Think about it, they don’t want to kill us, they want us to work,' Kiyoi insisted. 'The spirit only became aggressive when it sensed disruption to its routine. It only involved the crew when you drew your sword. If we look busy, if we look like we're performing duty, we should become obstacles to be ignored, not targets to be assimilated or eliminated.' 

'Right, so you’re saying, we just look busy, we make our way to the engine room.. And talk to the spirit?' Sokka asked, trying to confirm if he heard her right.

‘We’ll test it then,’ Kiyoi took a deep breath, clutching the captain’s diary in one hand and the pen in the other. ‘I’ll go first. You move the barricade.’

With a shared, frantic nod, they began to dismantle the barricade. As they pulled the heavy table and locker away, the spectral noises outside the door immediately quieted. Kiyoi began to write and started murmuring to herself as she stepped out. The spectral crewmen’s eyes followed her, for a hair raising moment. Then, their faces blank, turning and shuffling out of the way, some even leaving to return to their endless, futile work.

‘Come along, don’t be caught dallying!’ Kiyoi called behind her and strode with the purposeful step of an officer.

Searching the desk, he grabbed a clipboard and a pen. Sokka mimicked writing furiously on his makeshift clipboard and fell instep. Haru and the firebenders hastily picked up fallen buckets and mops as they trailed behind.

 The spectral crew accepted them as cogs in the machine.

‘So… what exactly are we gonna say to the spirit?’ Sokka asked Kiyoi and scribbled nonsense on the paper in his hands. 

‘You're right we can't reason with it, but I think this spirit has somehow become attached to the ship and original crew, so...'

'You think it will respond to orders.' Sokka realised.

Kiyoi nodded. 'We have to discharge the crew from duty and convince the spirit we have the authority to do so.’ Kiyoi didn’t look up from her “Reports” but continued, ‘I think you should try first. You represent the new world, the United Forces, a Water Tribe commander working with Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation troop’s, it might get the spirit to realise this is a new era. Your sincerity will be the initial appeal. But if that fails, my authority will be absolute.’

‘Your authority?’ He questioned. ‘We’re the same rank?’

‘Same rank, yes, but I still have more authority.’ Kiyoi glanced at him conspiratorially. ‘Although I resigned as Grand Advisor to Fire Lord Zuko… he neglected to formally accept my resignation… so I still technically hold the position. I can speak as Zuko’s proxy and discharge them.’ 

Sokka’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly swallowed his shock. That was classic Kiyoi: always prepared, always holding the highest tile in her pocket.

‘Huh. That's handy.’ Sokka chuckled.

Kiyoi nodded. ‘Whether the Spirit will believe and acknowledge that authority; that is the question.’

They descended stairs to the engine room. As they approached, the atmosphere thickened with the frantic, ghostly steam and the relentless clack, clack, clack of empty shovels.

The spirit of the Iron Wraith was still wrapped around the dead boiler, its shining eyes fixed on the entryway. As Sokka approached, he saw the spirit register the group. Its form rippled, ready to lash out. But it paused, seeing the implements of labour in their hands. 

‘I am sorry for the confusion and attacking you earlier, uh… Noble Spirit Sir,’ He nodded respectfully at the spirit, stowing his ‘report’ and stepping forward, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

The pulsing form stilled; its eyes tracked him as he moved closer.

 'Hear me,' Sokka commanded, forcing his voice to be steady and resonant, cutting through the phantom noise. 'Commander Sokka, of the United Demilitarisation Task Force. The war the Iron Maiden served in, is over. The Fire Lord you feared, Azulon, is dead. Fire Lord Zuko now rules in an era of peace and unity.'

The spirit’s glow pulsed as it shifted in its nest of machinery, flickering to a more yellowed green. The ghostly shovellers did not stop, but the frantic rhythm of their work seemed to stutter.

'Your duty is fulfilled,' Sokka continued, pouring genuine emotion into his authoritative words. 'The delivery of your supplies is no longer necessary. The time for the fear of failure is over. Your loyalty and your commitment were absolute, and you performed your duty. Honour doesn’t mean unfailing anymore. You can rest.'

He paused, letting the words of peace settle on the troubled spirit. The entity shrank slightly, its shimmering tentacles retracting from the machinery, now turning pale yellow. It seemed confused, searching for validation of his claim.

Kiyoi stepped forward, her back straight, her hands clasped behind her. She spoke with the sharp, clear authority, her voice ringing even and true above the dying false-engine sounds.  'Noble Spirit and the members of His Imperial Majesty’s Ship Iron Maiden, heed my declaration,' she commanded. 'I, Kiyoi, Grand Advisor to Fire Lord Zuko, on behalf of his Majesty, hereby commend this vessel and all its crew for seventy-five years of tireless service. Your duty is concluded. You are relieved.'

As Kiyoi spoke the final words, the oil-slick like mass of the spirit shifted violently, flashing blue, then pink, then a warm orange, its giant form shrinking, the growl of the engine faded. Quiet washed over the engine room.

The spectral crew stopped moving. Their translucent forms straightened up from their unending labour, and a flicker of deep, exhausted peace crossed their faces before they dissolved into shimmering motes of light, finally free.

The spirit, now calm, pulled away from the boiler, its form becoming clearer and less distorted. It shrunk further, and further, condensing into a tiny, spectral cuttlefish.

It sat on the iron-plated floor there for a long moment, giving the boarding party a final, solemn stare and a gentle wave of its tentacles before phasing through the hull. Then the Iron Wraith groaned, a heavy, resonant sound that shook the deck plates.

The hull caved inwards.

Their sudden screams were garbled by a violent wave of frigid water immersing them. Sokka gasped as the shock of it slammed into him. In a moment, the engine room was plunged into darkness as the lanterns snuffed out. In the last flicker of light he saw the boarding party struggling and clawing at the water around them. All that, for the spirit to drown us anyway!

There was another bright flash of green light.

The cold was real, biting, and intense as Sokka coughed and gasped and hauled himself up off the upper deck. The boarding party around him coughed and shivered in a similar manner. Kiyoi raised her hands, and the water coating their clothes immediately flew off in a fine, freezing mist. Her bending had returned.

‘We’re Back!’ Ira shouted and let off a fire blast, breathing deeply trying to warm herself back up.

Sokka looked up and across the sea. The Retribution was a welcome sight, signalling frantically on the horizon. Jia, his face pale but his fists sparking with heat, answered the signal with a burst of fire.

Then, below them, the Iron Wraith groaned and shuddered again. It was rapidly taking on water, listing badly; seventy-five years of physical decay catching up with it at once.

'The skiff!' Sokka yelled, scrambling up.

Kiyoi was already at the railing. She extended her hands and pulled, and the skiff bobbing a few yards away, immediately rode a wave back to them. 

‘Go! Go! Go!’ She ushered them down the ladder while holding the waves around the skiff, keeping it in place. They slipped down the ladder, and Ira fired the engine. The Iron Wraith screeched horribly as it began to tip, the stern plunging and the bow soaring up, taking Kiyoi with it.

‘Kiyoi!’ Sokka cried in warning, but she managed to grip a rail and steady herself. ‘Kiyoi! Come on! You have to jump!’

‘You don’t say, Sokka!’ She yelled back, her face grimacing at the widening distance between her and the skiff. The Iron Wraith continued to tip—almost vertical now. ‘Get the skiff clear! The suction will pull us down with it!’

‘What about you!?’

‘I’m not planning on going down on a ship I’m not the captain of! Get the skiff clear!’ Kiyoi yelled, still dangling from the rail lengths above them. She swished a hand to the side trying to push them away with a wave.

‘You heard her,’ Sokka turned to Ira and nodded. Ira pushed the throttle, and the skiff began to glide away and cut through the waves towards the lavender sunrise and the Retribution. 

The Iron Wraith shuddered again, the metal screaming. Sokka watched with white knuckles and bated breath as Kiyoi swung herself a few times and built momentum before letting go on the final swing, clearing the deck and flinging herself over the side. She called a column of the ocean up to meet her as she fell. Disappearing into the inky depths for a nail-biting moment. 

Then the ocean seemingly spat her back out onto the deck of the skiff. Shivering, she paused to dry off before quickly dropping her stance and bending to help hasten the skiff along.

As the sun finally rose, turning the dark sea into a pale grey wash, they all sat bracing against the icy wind, watching in respectful silence as the Iron Wraith was swallowed by the waves; finally resting after all those years.

 'Happy Solstice, Kiyoi. We survived. We even saved a few souls.’ Sokka broke the silence, a weary smile touching his lips. ‘Who needs the Aang to be the bridge between the Spirit World and ours? I think we did a pretty good job. Next time there's spirit trouble, they should give us a call.'

'I'd prefer not to make a habit of this, and for the dead to rest.' Kiyoi met his gaze, the reserve still there, but tinged with deep exhaustion. She sat silently for a moment with a pensive look on her face before she spoke again. 'I have revised my assessment, Sokka. The other nations' approach to this day... it is more appropriate.'

Sokka’s eyebrows shot up. 'Oh yeah? Feasting, storytelling, pranks, and gifts?'

Kiyoi nodded, but her dark eyes were fixed on the shimmering spot where the ghost ship had vanished. 'Not just that. You celebrate the longest night by enduring it together and being grateful you're alive, honouring life. It was wrong for me to see celebrating when one’s strength is diminished, when one is cold and miserable, as foolish. The captain of the Iron Maiden believed his orders and duty were the highest priority, not the safety and lives of himself or his crew. If our troubles, our fight, and our duty are the longest night, joy and rest are not indulgences; they are essential for enduring the darkness.'

The seriousness of her delivery, the way she used 'duty' to sanction 'joy,' made Sokka feel a rush of satisfaction that had nothing to do with escaping the Spirit World and solving the 75 year old mystery.

'So... can I prank you without you throwing me overboard then?' he asked, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Kiyoi actually rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked its usual frost. 'You can prank me at your own peril, Sokka, just be warned, I can be most vindictive when provoked, just ask Zuko.' She allowed a tiny lift of her lips to punctuate her threat. 'But, I am considering making a formal declaration, commander: we will require a feast tomorrow night, and a certain crewman's punishment will be reduced to three days of laundry and deck duty.'

'Now, that's an order I can wholeheartedly second, Commander.' Sokka grinned broadly. 'So, what's next year's Winter Solstice plan?'

Kiyoi closed her eyes for a moment, in consideration. When she opened them, there was a warm smile on her face. 'Next year, if this skirmish is still marching bitterly onwards, we will take shore leave, as far from the sea as possible. But if it’s over and you host a three-day feast... would you grant me the honour of an invitation?'

Sokka’s weary exhaustion gave way to a surge of triumphant joy. He didn't just win a small argument; he watched his serious, duty-bound friend grant herself and the whole crew permission to be human.

'Of course you’d be invited Kiyoi… though if it’s just me cooking, I don’t think it’d be much of an honour,' he laughed and Kiyoi joined him chuckling along with a lightness he had not seen in her for months.  

The Retribution’s launch ramp lower and the skiff jolted as the retrieval winch latched on, pulling the small craft into the ship. They looked at the worried faces of the bridge staff awaiting them.

Kiyoi sighed. 'Can you attend to them? They must have been frantic watching us disappear and reappear. I need to get my head around how even I start writing up a mission report for this.’

Sokka chuckled, ‘Maybe, “Dear Fire Lord Zuko, I'm going to need a favour, can you officially sign off on a release of a Seventy-Five Year-Old Ship and crew from fear-induced eternal servitude to your grandad, and by the way our old Helmsman was telling the truth.” Does that sound good?’

‘No, but I suppose that is one way to start it.’ Kiyoi conceded and nudged his shoulder on her way past him. ‘Happy solstice, Sokka. Here’s to next year’s being less… eventful.’