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Kya was seven years old, old enough to understand that her parents were important. Everywhere they went, people bowed or stepped aside. They called her mother “Master Katara” with such respect it sounded almost like a prayer. And her father? Everyone knew him as the Avatar—the great protector, the man who kept balance in the world, the one who had saved everyone when he was just a boy.
But Kya knew them differently.
To her, Mama was strong and steady, the one who fixed scraped knees and scolded them when they ran too fast inside the house. But Papa… Papa was soft, bright, and wonderfully silly. He was the one who made faces until they laughed so hard they cried. He could turn any boring walk into an adventure, and he always, always had time for them. Sometimes, when she saw people looking at him with awe and reverence, whispering about him like he was some kind of legend, she tilted her head in confusion. Do they not know he’s the same person who makes fart noises with his armpit?
If the world saw the Avatar, Kya saw her Papa. And nowhere was that more obvious than when it came to her hair.
She loved having her hair braided, woven with beads and ribbons just like Mama’s. But while Mama was busy with council meetings or healing patients, Papa had decided long ago that he would be the one to do it. It didn’t matter that he had no hair of his own to practice on, if Kya wanted braids, Papa would learn braids.
And the unfortunate volunteer for his lessons? Uncle Sokka.
Kya remembered it perfectly, sitting on a cushion in the living room, legs swinging, watching the chaos unfold with delight. Aang had cornered Sokka near the table, comb in one hand, a handful of colorful beads in the other, eyes sparkling with determination.
“Sokka! Stand still, this is important!” Aang insisted, lunging forward as Sokka tried to duck behind a chair.
“Aang, no! Absolutely not!” Sokka protested, shielding his head with his arms. “I am a council chairman! A respected leader! I have a magnificent warrior’s mane to protect! I am not a practice dummy for your hair-styling education!”
“Come on, just one braid! It’s for Kya! She wants the fancy ones with the blue beads!” Aang argued, chasing him around the furniture with surprising speed for someone who wasn’t even bending. “Sokka, do this for your niece! She’s counting on us!”
“I have lost enough hair to your experiments already, Aang! Enough! This scalp has survived battles, snowstorms, and Fire Nation attacks—it will not survive you!” Sokka cried out, dodging a grab. “And besides, this is unfair! You have no hair! You don’t understand the struggle of maintaining volume and shine!”
“I understand perfectly fine! I have excellent hair technique!” Aang said, stopping and putting his hands on his hips, looking deeply offended. “Just because I don’t carry around a bush on my head doesn’t mean I don’t have style! Look at my arrows! Very neat, very tidy!”
“Arrows don’t get tangled! Arrows don’t get pulled too tight and make your eyes water!” Sokka retorted, pointing a finger at him. “You are a menace to follicles everywhere!”
“Sokka, you are fighting a losing battle,” Aang said, shifting into a softer, sweeter voice—the voice Kya knew very well. He pointed right at her, sitting there grinning. “Look at her. Look at those big, beautiful eyes. You’re going to tell me you won’t help me make her look like a princess? You’re going to be the bad uncle? The uncle who says no to his favorite niece?”
Sokka froze, looking at Kya, then back at Aang, who was giving him the most innocent, angelic expression possible. “Oh no you don’t!” Sokka shouted, pointing at Aang’s face. Who grinned a little wider than he should and made her uncle glare. “Don’t you dare use the ‘dad card’ against me! That’s cheating! You make it sound like I’m some kind of monster just because I want to keep my hair attached to my head! You’re manipulating the narrative!”
“Am I?” Aang said, stepping closer again, comb raised like a weapon. “Or am I just a father trying to give his daughter the world? Now sit down, Sokka. I think I’ve got the tension right this time. No pulling… probably.”
“‘Probably’?! That’s not a guarantee!”
Eventually, of course, Sokka surrendered. He always did.
He sat there for an hour, complaining dramatically the whole time, while Aang practiced twisting sections of his hair and threading beads in, muttering to himself about grip and spacing. And when he finally got it right, he ran straight to Kya, practically glowing with pride, and did her hair so gently, so carefully, his fingers moving slowly and lovingly until every braid was perfect.
Kya knew she loved her Papa more than anything. She suspected Mama knew it too, and she didn’t mind. There was something about her and Papa that was the same—they both always wanted everyone around them to be happy, to laugh, to feel loved.
Papa gave so much of himself to everyone else, always.
And that was why, recently, a thought had settled in her seven-year-old mind, heavy and quiet, something she thought about when she saw him tired after long days, or when she heard people talk about how much he had to carry.
Papa protects the whole world. He keeps everyone safe. But… who protects Papa?
Kya was thinking about that very thing now, sitting on the pavilion, with her hands busy drawing, she rather made pretty drawings of her and her older brother. When she saw him walking toward her. He had been in meetings all morning, his robes a little dusty, a faint tiredness around his eyes. But the moment he saw her, his whole face changed. The tiredness vanished, replaced by that bright, warm smile that was only for her.
He looked at her like she was the most precious treasure in the four nations. Like she was the only thing that mattered.
“Hello there, my little heart,” he called out softly, his voice full of that special sweetness he reserved just for his daughter.
Kya’s face lit up instantly. “Hi, Papa!” she cheered, jumping up from the step and running as fast as she could.
Aang crouched low, arms wide open, ready and waiting. He caught her easily when she launched herself into his arms, lifting her up high and spinning her around once, twice, until she was giggling and clinging tight to his neck. He held her close, pressing a hundred tiny, ticklish kisses all over her cheeks and forehead, making her squirm and laugh. “There’s my girl,” he murmured, holding her securely against his chest, resting his chin on top of her head. He swayed gently back and forth, rocking her just like he did when she was a baby. “Did you have a good day? Did you miss me?”
“I missed you so much, Papa,” she said quietly, her voice muffled against his robes. Aang was completely, utterly smitten, wrapped around her little finger, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. To him, she wasn’t just his daughter; she was his joy, his calm, and the best thing he had ever protected.
“I don’t think so,” her papa said, furrowing his brows playfully and giving her a serious, determined look. “I missed you more. Definitely.”
Kya pulled back just enough to look him right in the eye, her own little brows drawing together in a matching frown, hands still gripping the front of his robes like she was ready to argue her case before the highest court in the land.
“No, I did!” she insisted firmly, poking him lightly in the chest with her finger. “I missed you so much… like, for forever. Like since the beginning of time! Even longer than that!”
Aang gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if she’d just said the most shocking thing imaginable, though his eyes were sparkling with pure delight. “Forever? Oh, that’s nothing, my little heart. I missed you since before the mountains grew, and before the rivers started flowing! I missed you more than there are stars in the sky, and you know how many stars there are, lots!”
Kya thought hard, lips pressed together, trying to find something bigger. “I missed you more than… more than all the sand in the Si Wong Desert! And all the water in the ocean!”
“Hmm, that is a lot,” Aang nodded, pretending to consider it very seriously, then leaned in with a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “But I missed you more than the air itself. And you can’t live without air, right? So… I won.”
She let out a little huff, crossing her arms over her chest, though she was already starting to smile because she knew he was just being silly. “That’s cheating! You’re using your Avatar knowledge to win!”
“Not cheating, just… using very big words to describe very big love,” he grinned, booping the tip of her nose gently. Then his gaze drifted to her hair—soft, dark, and beautifully wavy, but now slightly messy, strands coming loose from where she had tried to tie it up herself earlier. His expression softened into that special, doting fondness only reserved for her.
“Hey, I noticed something,” Aang said, running a light finger through a stray lock. “Your hair looks like it’s been fighting with the wind and lost. Want me to fix it for you? I can do the fancy ones—with the twists and the beads. I’ve gotten very good, you know. Uncle Sokka can testify… Well, actually, he might complain, but that just means I’m getting better!”
Kya’s eyes lit up immediately, all thoughts of their argument vanishing. She knew exactly how much effort he put into it, practicing endlessly just so he could be the one to make her feel pretty. “Can you do the one with three braids and the blue beads? Like the last time?”
“Anything you want,” Aang promised, shifting her comfortably in his arms so she was sitting sideways against his chest, perfectly safe and cozy. He reached into the small pouch he always carried, because of course he carried hair ties and beads everywhere he went—and pulled out what she wanted.
As his fingers began to work, gentle and sure, weaving her hair with slow, careful movements, he hummed a soft, familiar tune. Kya leaned back against him, completely relaxed, feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
“And just so you know,” Aang murmured softly near her ear, finishing the first braid and securing it perfectly, “even if you say you missed me for forever… I still missed you more. It’s a fact. Papa’s rules.”
Kya giggled, closing her eyes and letting herself be spoiled. “Okay, Papa. You win this time. But only this time!”
“Fair enough,” he laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, already knowing that no matter what she said, her love was the biggest, most precious thing in his whole world.