Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The caravan returned to joyous celebration. Six bison, each loaded down with four children and a chaperone, returning from the markets on the Earth Kingdom mainland. For many children it was their first journey away from the temple. Gyatso waited patiently, watching with amusement the joy of children returning to their friends, burying them in dogpiles or sharing trinkets. He stood patiently in the crowd, watching. It would not do for a monk to show favoritism.

Several children passed him by with loud, bright greetings. Someone threw a bushel of milksage into his hands, but he did not see who. In the openness of the courtyard, nearly the whole of the temple was gathered to greet the returning travelers.

“Monk Gyatso!” Gyatso smiled, turning towards the voice, only to see as Aang absolutely launched over several heads, and could only try to keep his balance as the boy latched onto him like a lemur. “Hi Monk Gyatso!” Aang chirped, right into his ear, when it was certain that they would not be toppling over.

“Hello Aang. How was your trip?” he asked, adjusting his hold on the boy.

“Great! I met a man with holes in his cheeks,” Aang said, puffing out his own cheeks, in case Gyatso was confused. Gyatso nodded sagely. “Many people have piercings.”

Aang shook his head. “No! Big holes, I saw his teeth!” he implored, squishing his own cheeks with his hands viciously, as if that would allow Gyatso to visualize the man. “I asked him how he drank anything, but he just laughed at me. That was rude.”

Without waiting for a response, Aang began to rifle through his pockets, nearly falling backwards at one point, if not for a well-placed gust of air that kept him upright.

“I got you something,” he said, then whooped triumphantly as he pulled a small cloth-wrapped bundle from one of his pockets.

Gyatso smiled warmly. “I thank you for keeping me in your mind during your trip.”

Aang did not acknowledge him, but unwrapped the little thing, and held it close enough to Gyatso’s face that his eyes crossed trying to focus on it.

“You said they’re your favorite,” Aang said, inching the dented (and slightly dirty) ginger lemon tart closer.

“They are! Thank you, Aang. It is rare to find such a treat this far south” Gyatso said, taking the tart and holding it by the wrapping. He noted that the wrapping was streaked with… something. It certainly was something, he could say that.

It was an appropriate gift – many children who first venture out into the world return with imprudent gifts such as knickknacks or trinkets – permanent things. Tea leaves, flowers, foods were all impermanent – the simple pleasure meant to be enjoyed but not held on to. Modest clothing or simple ceramics would have also been appropriate – but the children passing around small statues or frivolities would not have them confiscated. A permanent gift like those would be passed around to many people, and never held onto long. That way, many people could enjoy it. The tart was a very appropriate gift, and showed that Aang was applying what he was taught in his real life.

Part of Gyatso wished he had made an imprudent choice and come back with a carving of the Earth King, instead.

Aang glanced between his face and the tart, expectant. Then, he gasped. “Oops,” he said before reaching out and gently pinching a ladybeetle that had been crawling along the edge of the tart. He held the ladybeetle up to watch as well.

Gyatso brought the tart up to his lips and – oh dear, that did not quite smell like ginger lemon. He took a small bite, and swallowed it whole, ignoring the fact that the texture was dry and mealy instead of custard-like.

Aang was smiling, watching, waiting for him to take another bite. There would be no escaping this duty.

“Monk Gyatso! Excuse me! Monk Gyatso!” Maybe there would be.

Gyatso turned to the voice that called him, still holding the tart, if it could still be called such, in one hand, and holding Aang with the other.

Monk Lo was hurrying towards him, a frantic look on his face. Gyatso smiled. Monk Lo was only recently ordained, still very young, and was reluctant to be stern with the children (something they all knew and had very little qualms about taking advantage of).

“Monk Gyatso!” he said, then bowed at the last second before launching into discussion. “I am so sorry Monk Gyatso, but I have to ask if you could maybe, possibly take over my class on current navigation, because I’ve misplaced all the scrolls I had the students turn in last week, and I’ve ripped the wing of my staff but I didn’t realize until I was in the air and now it’s massive, and I can’t find Lala! How have I misplaced her! She’s a bison!” At some point during his tirade, Aang had wiggled until Gyatso set him down, then ran off to a gaggle of children that were painting the ground with pome-plum stain. Gyatso wrapped up the tart quickly, placing it in his breast pocket.

Monk Lo was nearly hyperventilating, and so Gyatso laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You need not address me by ‘monk’ as you are no longer a pupil.”

“Okay.”

“And if I am not mistaken, you did give the scrolls back to the children last week, did you not?”

“Oh. I did.”

“You did,” Gyatso assured him. “And your staff can easily be fixed.”

“It can,” Lo nodded.

“And have you checked the stables to see if Lala was there?”

“Not yet,” Lo said sheepishly.

Gyatso smiled. “I will happily teach your navigation class, so that you may bring your staff to the tailor, go find Lala at the stables, and look over your class material to ensure you are caught up for next week.”

Lo looked as though he might cry. “Thank you, Monk Gyatso,” he said wetly. He bowed and hurried away before Gyatso could correct him again.

He looked over towards where Aang had run off to, and saw the children gathered in a half-circle around the boy, who was holding a handful of little glass marbles. He cupped his other hand around them, and Gyatso smiled as they began to spin around, slow and wobbly, but picking up speed. Marbles, he thought, when used as a game to be shared, were not an imprudent purchase. 

Then, a cry from the group as a collective, the unmistakable sound of marbles skittering on the stone, and most tellingly, a loud “OOPS!” from Aang. No lost eyes from the crowd, and so Gyatso laughed and walked away as Aang ran after the wayward marbles, moving through the crowd like a wind in the tall grass.

“Monk Gyatso?” the young man asked. Gyatso turned around and saw one of the guardians who had gone with the children to the markets hurrying towards him, a tall, thick man with dark brown skin. The welcome celebration had long since disbanded, and warm afternoon light spilled into the hallway where he walked.

Gyatso turned, smiled. He did not remember the man’s name. Perhaps he was only asking a quick question. “What can I do for you, my boy?”

The man shuffled. “I wanted to let you know about an issue we had with a few of your students in the city,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. Tseku! That was his name.

Gyatso put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Walk with me. What sort of an issue?” Maybe it was not Tseku. It would be wise to avoid using the name until he was certain it was correct.

The man, maybe Tseku, pursed his lips into a thin line. No! Not Tseku. Tseku was a little slip of a man, who often spoke thoughtlessly. This man was weighing his words before he spoke. It was wise, after all, to not use that name.

Choe? Choe sounded correct.

Choe spoke. “Some of your pupils had an altercation with a stall owner, who refused to let them buy his plants. Pupil Sonam blew the sand out of all his desert lilies. He very nearly summoned the authorities on our party. I was unsure how to discipline him, and so I wanted to bring the issue up with you.”

Gyatso turned, and the man who was not Tseku but maybe was Choe stopped walking. “And who all was in this party? You mentioned that it was more students than just Sonam.”

Choe (Dachoe?) nodded. “Pupil Sonam ruined the man’s lilies, but he was accompanied by Pupils Tashi and Aang, who encouraged his behavior.”

Gyatso hummed. “Did this man have holes in his cheeks?”

“What?”

“Did the merchant say why he would not let them buy the plants? Did they not have the means?” Gyatso asked, returning to his walk.

Dachoe (yes, that was it) hurried to catch up. “It was on the third day of the trip, so they all had money left. I didn’t see what happened, but I saw Pupil Sonam, and talked with the man afterwards.”

“And so it was only you, Sonam, Tashi, and Aang in your party?”

“Yes, Monk Gyatso.”

Gyatso turned to face him again, without slowing his walk. “Do you think that the situation was so escalated that this man would have been correct to call the authorities on a group of six-year-olds and their chaperone?”

Dachoe blinked. “No, Monk Gyatso, I don’t think it was warranted.”

Gyatso clapped him on the shoulder, then bowed. “I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I will be certain to discuss it with the boys. Good night.”

The younger man bowed respectfully, and then began to return down the hall they had just walked up. Gyatso twisted his lips – he had not intended to bring the man so far out of his way.

“My boy?” he called just before the man rounded a corner.

“Yes?”

“What is your name, please?”

“I am Sernya, Monk Gyatso.”

“Thank you, Sernya.”

Ah, a northern transplant. Gyatso smiled. Frowned. Who, then, was Dachoe? Oh, life’s mysteries.

“Pupil Sonam. I heard about that man’s desert lilies. Can you tell me why you destroyed them?”

“Well, the sand was very loose. It was easy.”

“Hm. Show me.”

“Like this! Phhhhpbst! Like that!”

“Impressive technique! Why did you practice this on the lilies, though?”

“The other plants he had had really thick dirt. It wouldn’t have worked right.”

“Which one of those plants did you want to buy, before you began practicing?”

“Oh, Tashi wanted to buy some onion-hats to give to Pelbu. Tashi likes Pelbu.”

“Did Tashi buy the onion-hats?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I went phhhhpbst to the desert lilies and the man got mad.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I already told you. The sand was loose. It was perfect.”

“Pupil Tashi. I heard you were in the market for onion-hats.”

“Yes, Monk Gyatso.”

“Did you know they grow wild at the base of the mountain?”

“… No, Monk Gyatso.”

“That is alright! People rarely know that the journey they seek is the one they often overlook.”

“…”

“I heard about an altercation in the city. Did the man you tried to buy onion-hats from know they grew at the base of your mountain?”

“No, Monk Gyatso.”

“Ah! So this man refused to sell to you for a different reason?”

“Yes, Monk Gyatso.”

“Was this before Sonam destroyed the desert lilies?”

“Yes, Monk Gyatso.”

“Why did he not sell you onion-hats, then? Were you out of money?”

“No, Monk Gyatso.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Thank you, Pupil Tashi.”

“Thank you, Monk Gyatso.”

“Please give my regards to Pupil Pelbu!”

“Hi, Monk Gyatso!” Aang did not bow before giving him a hug, tight around the waist, as if it had been weeks upon lonesome weeks since they had seen each other.

“Hello, Aang. How are you?”

“I found a litter of baby lemurs!” Aang said. “Do you want to see? I’ve named them after my favorite fruits!”

Gyatso smiled. Very few of the children let so much of their personality shine through with the monks. Fewer still treated them like Aang treated Gyatso, like a parent instead of a guardian. It was unseemly, that an airbender should have such attachments – more so for Aang, in his circumstances. Gyatso should not encourage him. He always did.

“I would love to. I must first ask you a few questions about your trip.”

“Oh, about the plant seller? Sonam and Tashi said you talked to them about it. Tashi asked me to tell you he’s sorry that he forgot to answer your question about the onion-hats and he was embarrassed because he had to pass on your regards to Pelbu, but he doesn’t really talk to him and so he’s embarrassed because Tashi really likes Pelbu.”

“Hm. Perhaps you should accompany Tashi into the valley to collect some of the wild onion-hats that grow there, as a gift for Pelbu?” Gyatso offered, taking a seat at the small desk in the room.

Aang cocked his head. “Onion-hats grow in the valley?”

“Yes.”

“Cool!”

“I wanted to ask you why Tashi was unable to buy from the man in the city.” Gyatso said, as straightforwardly as possible. To offer Aang another topic was to lose control of the conversation.

“Oh, he didn’t want to sell to airbenders,” Aang said, rolling his eyes. “He was really mean, and Tashi has been working really hard on talking to people better and so he asked again, which was cool of him, but the guy told him to go away, but he asked one more time for the onion-hats, and then the guy called airbenders vultures and he said we were thieves and then Tashi looked really sad so Sonam blew all the sand out of the desert lilies and it got stuck in the guy’s eyebrows, which was funny so Tashi stopped looking sad, and I laughed because he looked silly and shouldn’t have called us vultures because we don’t even eat meat, and so it didn’t make sense.”

Gyatso raised an eyebrow. “He did not sell to Tashi because he was an airbender?”

Aang nodded. “He was really mean. I thought Tashi might never talk again,” he said dramatically.

“Oh, we would not want that. Thank you for telling me what happened.”

Aang eyed him carefully. “Are we in trouble?” he asked.

Gyatso shook his head. “Not at all. Sernya simply wanted to let me know what happened, and I decided to find out on my own.” He smiled. “Now, where are those lemur pups you found?”

Aang beckoned him over. Gyatso rose and walked over to where Aang had been sitting on his unmade bed. Aang carefully lifted up his pillow and pointed to the small crevice where the bed did not quite meet the wall. Gyatso leaned over and saw a nest made from blankets and a few of Aang’s old robes, where five small, nearly hairless lemurs slumbered in a pile.

Aang held a finger up to his mouth, then lifted the blankets up just a bit, revealing the mother, who was sprawled out on her back, snoring in that chittering way that lemurs snored.

“They got kicked out of their nest by a kiwi crane who ate three of the pups, so I brought them here. The mom is Masan, and then,” he said, climbing back over to the edge of the bed by the nest. He pointed at the pups, “That’s Lychee, that Rambutan, that’s Mango, that’s Papaya, and that’s Melon, cause he’s big.”

Gyatso hummed. “Do you plan on keeping them?” he asked.

Aang shook his head. “No, I’m just giving them a house until they get a new one. That’s what Masan does, she’s making them a new nest by the creek. I can always visit them there, if I want.”

Gyatso smiled. “That is very good of you, to house them.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that there is an abandoned nest in the east shrine they could use.”

Aang grinned, leaping to his feet. “Can you show me?”

“Of course! It is very high up.”

“And the kiwi cranes don’t fly that high so they’d be safe there!”

“Perfectly safe,” Gyatso agreed.

Aang kicked his legs, too short to reach the ground but uncaring, talking around his hand in his mouth.

“Iths looth! Iths looth!”

Gyatso walked over to the windowsill where Aang sat. Behind him, the ground was small and far below. Gyatso grasped Aang’s wrist and pulled the chubby hand away from the tooth and felt it.

“That is ready to come out,” Gyatso said.

“I knew it! I asked Monk Tsering and he said it wasn’t ready until it actually fell out! He said he couldn’t pull it but can you pull it cause it feels weird when I drink water and I always think that there’s a rock in the water for a second and it’s annoying.”

Gyatso hummed. “Let me see." Then, he pulled back. “Okay,” he said.

Aang frowned, then gasped, poking around in his mouth again. “Iths gone!”

Gyatso laughed, and handed the small molar to Aang, who stared at it in awe. “I didn’t even notice!”

“It would have fallen out on its own – this way you will not swallow it.” He nodded towards the window. “Go on, or the next one won’t grow.”

Aang gasped, then flitted out the window, one hand grasping the wall still. He hurled the tooth on the roof of the tower, where it landed with a soft clatter. He floated back in and settled on the window ledge again. “What if the sparrows don’t eat it? Then I’ll be missing a tooth!” he asked worriedly.

Gyatso smiled. “It is not so bad - I do just fine.”

Aang shook his head. “Yeah, but you had teeth! What if none of my teeth ever grow and I go my whole life toothless?” he asked.

“You already have most of your adult teeth.”

“Oh yeah,” Aang said, feeling silly. “When will I lose my last baby teeth?” he asked.

“Most children lose them all by ten or eleven – you’ll probably have all your adult teeth in the next year or two.”

Aang swung his feet out the window and hung upside down into the room. Gyatso turned back to his reading.

“Why do we have baby teeth? Wouldn’t it be easier to just have all your teeth right away?”

“It is not the nature of life to be easy or simple. We are not born ready for the world in many ways – we have no teeth and no language, we cannot walk and we do not know how to bend. Learning is at the core of growth.”

Gyatso turned around and saw Aang, face red from hanging upside down from the windowsill, staring at him.

“M’kay,” he said, then wiggled until he fell head-first onto the ground with a grunt. He stood and rushed out. "I’m gonna go play!” he called behind him, already halfway gone.

“Have fun,” Gyatso called back, trying not to laugh.

It was the monotony that got to him.

Aang loved his home, and always would. Even if the monks went crazy and threw him in jail (after making a jail) and never let him breath fresh air again, the soft light that always bathed the Southern Air Temple during the days, so far above the cloud line, the wide and breezy hallways that echoed every word and step, the chittering lemurs and lowing bison and singing larks, the talk, the wind. Everything about it was perfect.

Except the monotony. It wasn’t travel season – it was practice bending, do your calligraphy, learn your philosophy, weed the garden, go into the valley and get hay for the bison, learn your hymns, and travel nowhere fun at all season.

Gyatso was guiding him through an advanced kata. Aang wasn’t learning in large groups with his friends anymore, but he was okay with that. They were still learning forms he’d mastered months ago – it would be boring to keep learning the same thing over and over, even if it let him be with his friends.

The large balcony outside the elders’ rooms was their usual practice area – it kept them away from the other lessons going on, and afforded plenty of room for the powerful bending (and the powerful mistakes).

Upon completing the kata, Gyatso smiled. “Very good! Keep practicing, and you may be moving onto the next set very soon.” Aang beamed. They bowed to each other, and then abandoned the formality. Gyatso wrapped his arm around Aang’s shoulders and they walked down the stairs towards the courtyard.

“I wanted to let you know that for the next few weeks, Monk Gopal will be handling your lessons. I am traveling in an envoy to the Western Air Temple,” Monk Gyatso told him as they walked.

Aang grinned. “You’re going to the Western Air Temple? Are you stopping in the Fire Nation?” he asked quickly.

“Yes, we’ll likely make brief stops there.”

“Can I come?” Aang asked. Gyatso began to speak, but Aang continued. “I won’t get in the way at all, and I have Appa now so I don’t even need to ride with anybody, and I’ve never even been to the Fire Nation yet and everyone else has because I had quail pox when everyone went, and you’ll be there so we can still keep up with my lessons and I won’t fall behind at all, I promise.”

They had stopped walking and Aang was still several steps back, gesturing wildly as he talked. By the time he was done listing the many, very valid points as to why he should go, his hands were clasped neatly behind his back and standing ramrod straight, the absolute picture of responsibility. Gyatso raised an eyebrow.

“Aang, I will make a deal with you. If you get your other instructors to agree that you are ahead enough in your work that you can take time away from them, I would be more than happy to allow you to come with us. The Fire Nation, after all, is most beautiful in the summer.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It would be a rare treat, to see the dragon migrations.”

Aang grinned, bowed hastily, and then ran like the wind past Gyatso down the stairs.

Kuzon had taken his cup and inhaled into it, attaching it to his face. His mother swatted at him half-heartedly.

“Kuzon! This is completely inappropriate, set that glass down right now.”

He did, exhaling and then huffing into the cup so that it made a farting sound.

“Kuzon!” his mother gasped. Aang laughed delightedly in his seat.

“Hare, control your son.”

“Kuzon, listen to your mother.”

Another farting sound, before Kuzon’s mother snatched the glass away and placed it on the other side of the table. Kuzon’s father turned to Aang.

“So, Lang, Kuzon told us you don’t eat meat,” he said.

“Oh, it’s Aang. And I don’t, cause airbenders don’t eat meat,” said Aang, picking at his plate of side dishes.

“That’s very strange. I’m not sure I’d like that, eating only vegetables.”

“I’m sure they can eat things other than vegetables, right dear?” asked Kuzon’s mother.

“Oh, yeah! We can eat pretty much anything unless it’s meat.”

“Hm. What if you only had meat? Would you be allowed to eat it then?”

“It’s not forbidden, or anything, it’s just part of what we believe,” Aang said, pushing the food around his plate.

Hare ate another bite of horned pig. “Well, what if you were starving, and there was only meat - would you eat it then?” he asked through a mouthful.

Aang blinked. “I don’t know. I’ve never really had an issue with not having enough not-meat things to eat. We have a garden that a lot of our food comes from.”

“But if you didn’t have anything but,” he pushed his plate slightly forward, “horned pig, would you eat it? Or would you starve? Would you eat it?”

Aang shrugged. “I don’t think so. I hope I’m never in that situation, is all, I guess.”

Kuzon’s father grunted, and returned to eating silently, apparently unsatisfied with that answer. Kuzon picked up a steamed water walnut with his chopsticks, smelled it loudly, and gagged. His mother shot him another glare before turning back to Aang.

“You have a garden? That’s very nice. I have a garden I tend to, as well.”

Aang nodded. “And an orchard,” he said proudly.

“That’s very nice.”

The conversation dissolved after that. Aang dutifully ate another bite of the steamed water walnuts. He glanced mournfully at the plate of bean sprouts, but they had been rendered in the same pot as the horned pig. Next to him, Kuzon burped loudly.

“Kuzon!”

“Sorry.”

A loud scrape sounded as Kuzon pushed his chair out from the table and stood, grabbing Aang’s hand and pulling him away from the table as well.

“We’re gonna go play!” Kuzon said, already halfway to the door.

“Thank you for dinner!” Aang called as he was dragged away. “It was nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too, Lang.”

Kuzon rolled his eyes as he pushed Aang out the door. “Aang, Dad! It’s Aang, not Lang!”

The door slammed behind them, leaving Kuzon’s parents sitting with two extra plates and chairs not pushed in.

“Nice boy,” Kuzon’s mother hummed. “Shame that he’s sick.”

Kuzon’s father looked at her quizzically. “Sick?” he said through a mouthful of food.

“He’s bald,” she whispered, like a terrible secret.

“He is?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“No, I did. I thought they were all bald, those types?”

“From the Air Nation?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“… Who’s their king, again?”

Aang dropped them on the roof of the hostel, tumbling a little with the added weight. Kuzon curled protectively around the bag until his momentum stopped. He laid still for a moment before lifting his head up to look at Aang, grinning wildly.

“Mission accomplished. Target acquired.”

Aang laughed, and they sat cross-legged on the roof with the bag between them. “Behold,” Kuzon whispered reverently, “the best egg custards in the city, from the crotchetiest old man in the whole world.”

“I can’t believe he throws these away every day.”

“I can’t believe he gets mad when people dig through his garbage.”

“I can’t believe how amazing these egg custards are,” said Aang through a huge mouthful.

“I can’t believe you could fly us out of there before he caught up. I can’t believe you can fly!”

Aang grinned. Being able to fly was fun, but it was easy to take advantage of when everyone you knew could fly. Taking people flying who’d never flown before? That was the most fun.

“You’ve really never met an airbender before?”

Kuzon shook his head. “Never. We’ve seen the bison, sometimes, but I’ve never met one before you.”

Aang shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ve never been to the Fire Nation before now, either.”

“Really?” Kuzon’s eyes were wide in surprise. “It’s the best nation in the world.”

Aang laughed lightly. “It’s beautiful, and Monk Gyatso told me that the dragons would be migrating soon. We were hoping to see it.”

“I wish I could see the Air Nation.”

Aang blinked. “We’re not a nation. We’re nomads.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, there’s the air temples, and that’s where I live and where everyone learns airbending, but most airbenders are like wanderers.”

Kuzon’s brows furrowed. “You’re homeless?”

“No, airbenders just travel everywhere and meet people and have fun!”

Kuzon grunted. “That sounds better than going into the military. My whole family was in the military and they want me to go be a soldier when I’m older. But it’s boring. It’s like school, like all you do is learn stuff and take orders and protect the country,” he huffed.

Aang looked at him earnestly (as much so as he could with egg custard on his face). “That’s very noble, to learn things and protect people. That’s what Monk Gyatso says.”

Kuzon’s face crinkled. “Blegh,” he said.

Aang didn’t push.

“The dragons migrate along the Kuroi Mizu river. I’ve never seen it before, but that’s what my teacher said. He’s super boring, but he’s usually right.”

“Awesome! Monk Gyatso saw them once, but he said it was years ago.”

“Is Monk Gyatso your dad?”

Aang shook his head. “No, he’s my guardian.”

Kuzon frowned. “Like a bodyguard?”

“No, like, he’s in charge of teaching me and taking care of me until I’m an adult. All the monks are guides and teachers for us, but they’ll all have one or two kids who they’re the guardian of. Monk Gyatso’s mine.”

Kuzon looked at him blankly. “Like a teacher that never stops being boring.”

“No. Guardian. Gyatso’s not boring, he’s fun!”

Kuzon scowled. “Teachers aren’t fun. They’re boring and mean, and they whack your hands with rulers when you do something wrong.” He demonstrated by whacking the burlap bag with his hand.

Aang pulled the bag away and held it to his chest. “They hit you?”

“No, whack. It’s different.”

“Not really?”

“Yes.”

“Well… Monk Gyatso and the other teachers would never hurt any of us. And they’re not boring, either! Well, Monk Tsering is a bit serious, but the others aren’t. Like when we were all going to the Eastern Temple to get our own bison, Monk Gyatso invented a game where we would throw people out of the saddles and see the shapes of the holes they made in the clouds! It was really fun.”

Kuzon looked horrified. “You throw people off bison? In the air? Why?”

Aang cocked his head. “They always come back up.”

“Oh,” Kuzon sighed, relieved. They ate in silence for a moment. “How do you win?”

“Win what?”

“The bison-tossing game?”

Aang lit up. “That’s a great name for it!”

“Thanks!” Kuzon grinned.

“You don’t really win. Like, I remember Jinjiu went feet-first and it made a perfect hole in the cloud and it was really funny because everyone had been doing really dramatic poses, and someone had gone and flown through while sitting in a meditative position, but Jinjiu’s turn had been so funny because nobody else had done it like that. And that was the cleanest Jinjiu’s been in a while, because he doesn’t believe in taking baths.”

Kuzon fake gagged. “Why not?”

“He has his reasons,” Aang said cryptically.

Kuzon hummed. “Your teachers sound nice.”

Aang’s face split into a giant grin. “You wanna meet them?”

“Now?”

“Well, yeah - we were supposed to meet in the square by sundown, and it’s almost sundown, so I’ll bring you there and you can meet them! Then you can say you’ve met a whole bunch of airbenders!”

“Okay,” Kuzon agreed. He began stuffing the excess egg custards in his sleeves. “Grab some, we can’t take the whole bag.”

“What do we do with the extras?”

“There’s a bunch of cats who live in that alley who will eat them.”

“Great!” Aang stood and flicked open his glider. “Let’s go!”

Kuzon climbed on the back, and only shrieked a little bit when Aang took off. It wasn’t long before he was laughing, just like any airbender.

It was not Monk Gyatso waiting for them, but the large, dark figure of Monk Sernya. When Aang landed in the square, he saw Sernya breathe a sigh of relief that sent ripples through the fountain in the square.

“Aang. We were beginning to worry.”

Aang squinted into the still-light sky – barely dusk.

“I’m not late,” he said, though it sounded more like a question. He gestured behind him towards Kuzon, who had been shuffling awkwardly behind Aang. “This is my new friend Kuzon! I had dinner at his house. Kuzon, this is Monk Sernya.”

Kuzon bowed with his right fist at the base of his left palm, unlike the traditional airbender bow, where the right hand grasped the left.

“It is an honor to meet you.”

Monk Sernya bowed back hastily. “Likewise, young one. However, Aang,” he said as he stood. “There has been a change of plans. I will be accompanying Jinpa and Samdup to the Western Temple, while you and Monk Gyatso return south.”

Aang’s face fell. “Why? I wanted to see more of the Fire Nation, and I haven’t been to the Western Temple in so long,” he groaned.

Sernya shook his head. “It has already been decided.” He glanced at Kuzon, who watched the interaction embarrassedly.

“Monk Gyatso will explain why we are changing our plans. We will be leaving tomorrow morning – make sure Appa gets rest. You will be flying nonstop.”

Aang pouted for a moment.

“Is Appa your bison?” Kuzon asked. Aang perked up immediately.

“Yeah! Do you want to meet him?”

“Yeah!” Kuzon said at the exact moment Monk Sernya spoke. “No, Aang. We cannot have any visitors to our camp.”

“Well, can I bring Appa here?”

“No.”

Aang huffed. Then looked at Sernya quizzically. “Wait, is Duga going with you guys or with us?”

Sernya’s lips thinned. “We will explain later.”

Aang threw his head back and groaned. Sernya turned to Kuzon. “It was pleasant to meet you. We thank you for showing Aang your hospitality, but we must be going now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, Aang.”

Aang pouted, then turned and threw his arms around Kuzon’s shoulders. “I had fun, today! I’ll see you in the fall, I promise. That’s our travel season.”

“Aang.”

“I had fun, too,” said Kuzon. “Bye, Aang.”

“Bye, Kuzon.”

Kuzon watched as in tandem, they flicked open their gliders and took off. He lifted a hand and waved.  

Monk Gyatso was waiting on the cliff’s edge when Aang and Sernya touched down. The deep lines in his face smoothed out a bit when he approached. Aang didn’t notice, nor did he notice the protective arm that crept around his shoulders as Gyatso led him away from the camp, towards the bison.

Sernya had explained to him what Aang had been doing when they met up, which was pretty much what he had done in almost every town he’d ever visited, and he hadn’t even been a little bit late to the meet-up point, but everyone was acting quiet and unhappy like when he was in trouble. And he hardly ever got in trouble (well, real trouble).

“Did I do something?” he asked Gyatso once they were out of earshot from the others.

Gyatso shook his head, but his face was devoid of the lighthearted peace it usually held. He seemed weighed down, almost.

“No, my boy. We are returning home tomorrow because it is unsafe for us to travel in so small a group.” He sighed. “Duga and Samdup were robbed in the town today.”

Aang’s eyes grew wide. “Robbed? For what?”

“Money, presumably, though they had very little. The thieves were violent, and so Samdup is injured.” He paused. “Duga has passed on to the next life.”

Aang’s face crumpled. “He died?” he asked in a very small voice.

Gyatso nodded. “Yes. So we have decided this trip is unsafe, and to return you home instead of continuing our journey through the Fire Nation. It will be safer once it is travel season, and we can move in large groups.”

“Oh,” breathed Aang, eyes glistening. He didn’t know Monk Duga well, but he had been a loud, boisterous man – fun to travel with, and full of stories.

“My boy, I am thankful you found a friend in your travels. And I am sorry to cut your time with him short.” Gyatso ran his hand across Appa’s broad forehead.  “Air circumvents – it will yield a direct path in the face of an obstacle. But we do not say that the air is a coward, and that it should learn to cut through mountains and walls. Air, no matter the path it takes, will always arrive at its destination sound, and bettered for its journey.”

He turned to Aang. “It is important that you learn when to rise above the obstacles, and when to navigate through them. We must now rise above our obstacle.”

Aang digested the information for a moment. He rifled through his pockets for a moment before pulling out one of the egg custards and offered it to Gyatso silently. He brought another one out and placed it gently on a rock outcropping. He took a third for himself.

Aang nodded towards the lone tart on the rock. “For Monk Duga.”

Gyatso gave a melancholy smile. It was a proper offering – Aang had seen very little death in his nine summers, which Gyatso was glad for. His childhood has been largely full of joy. But he took his studies seriously and honored his convictions. He would be a good man, one day. A good Avatar, his mind supplied, but he cut that thought off quickly. The elders already saw Aang as the Avatar first, and a child second. He didn’t need his guardian doing that.

Gyatso took a bite of the tart.

“Kuzon told me these were the best egg custards in the city.”

“They certainly live up to that title. It must have been difficult to acquire them.”

Aang shook his head as he ate. “Not really. These were thrown out.”

Gyatso coughed.

Airbenders were weird, Kuzon thought. Cool, but weird. They wore funny clothes, and didn’t eat meat, and could fly.

Aang was fun, though. Everyone was always telling Kuzon to be more serious, and no one at school laughed at his jokes like Aang had. It was getting dark as he made his way home. Aang and the monk had flown off towards the west, so he squinted at the cliffside but saw no lights from campfires.

Fall, Aang had said. Kuzon grinned. This fall.

Gyatso knew they weren’t expected back yet, hardly a week after they left.

Aang’s friends were delighted to see him, and so Gyatso sent him off to play, telling him he had no lessons for the day.

Elder Dawa caught his eye and nodded towards the halls. Gyatso spared one last look, but Aang had already disappeared with the other children down towards the airball court in a swirl of wind and chatter. The other elders were already waiting, seated. Gyatso’s own seat was empty as he stood before the others.

“Why have you returned early?” Monk Dawa asked without preamble.

Gyatso spoke. When he finished his story, the elders were silent. It was not a contemplative silence, but a stunned one – everyone knowing that something must be done but not knowing what.

Monk Dawa was the first to break it.

“This is… troubling. We have been seeing signs from the Fire Nation for some time.  But this level of escalation is concerning.”

“The nuns from the west have reported similar aggression against travelers in the Fire Nation,” offered Monk Yonten.

“How can we be certain this was not just a simple robbery?” argued Monk Tsering.

“I believe Monk Samdup’s testimony,” Gyatso said lightly. “He made it clear that they were not after money – after all, it is not as though our people are known for leading wealthy and auspicious lives.”

Monk Tsering conceded the point with a nod.

“What does this mean for us, then? And what can we do?” asked Monk Yonten.

“I believe all travel in the Fire Nation should be in large groups. We cannot allow anyone to go off alone when there is danger there.”

“And how are we supposed to mandate this? Nomads do as they please,” said Monk Tsering.

“That doesn’t mean that we should not at least advise against-“

“A few instances should not allow us to sacrifice our freedoms-“

“More than a few-“

“Monk Duga is -“

“Enough.” Elder Dawa spoke with quiet finality. He turned to Monk Tsering. “We cannot ignore danger simply because we fear it.” Monk Tsering looked offended but clenched his jaw and did not speak.

Dawa turned to Gyatso. “You mentioned that Pupil Aang had a pleasant experience. We cannot discount the fact that these instances are not uniform.”

He paused. “However, it is wise to exercise caution. Children traveling in the Fire Nation ought to be accompanied – we cannot allow them to go out unsupervised in light of these incidents. All others will be warned to be cautious but may choose their own path. Thank you.”

It was a clear dismissal.

They’d been told to stick with each other, and to stick with the chaperones while in the Fire Nation. Aang thought it was silly since he’d been there already and had traveled a bunch of other places all by himself. He wanted to see the Fire Nation, not wander around the market for a few minutes surrounded by adults who would drag him back if he even tried to go do something on his own.

Aang didn’t get it – the Fire Nation was great, and everyone he’d met so far had been really nice! And the chaperones said no wandering off, but Aang had promised Kuzon he’d come back in the fall. Aang didn’t break promises.

So, he’d get in a little trouble later for sneaking away. He’d made his peace with that. He promised to visit Kuzon but had not promised to stick with the group. It was an easy choice, he thought, as he found the side street where Kuzon’s house was. He knocked on the door. Nothing. Knocked again. Nothing. The windows were shuttered.

Aang glanced up and down the narrow street, as if Kuzon was standing down the road watching him try to get in, but there was no one. He could still hear the bustle of the marketplace in the distance, and it was only an hour or two past noon. He sighed dramatically but sat on the steps up to Kuzon’s house and resigned himself to waiting. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d given Kuzon anything more specific than fall. He couldn’t be mad no one was home.

While he waited, only a few people walked down the street. All of them gave Aang weird looks – a strange mix of bewildered, suspicious, and angry. He supposed he made a strange sight, an airbender in the middle of the Fire Nation, staking out someone’s home.

It didn’t come to a head until about an hour after he sat down, but eventually an older man came up to him (wearing an expression from the Angry category of Looks Aang Has Been Getting).

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for my friend,” Aang said, too bright in comparison to the man’s coarse tone.

“Uh-huh, so you can rob every house on the block? Stealing from hard-working people like me!”

Aang blinked. “No, I don’t think you understand,” he floated lightly to his feet. The man jumped back a foot and a half, but his glower never wavered. Aang jabbed a thumb back at Kuzon’s house. “My friend lives here! I’m visiting him.”

The man huffed. “You should count yourself lucky I haven’t cracked your bald head yet.” He pointed a gnarled finger right in Aang’s face. “You best get on out of here before I change my mind.”

Aang opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, he was tackled from the side and fell to the ground with an oomph.

“Aang!” Kuzon shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to steal!” the old man crowed.

“It’s travel season! I told you I’d come see you!” Aang said, strained from Kuzon’s knee pressing on his chest. Before he could say anything else, Kuzon was scrambling to his feet, and hauled Aang up by the hand.

“I have so much I want to show you. Let’s go!” Kuzon said, pulling on Aang’s sleeve.

“Hold on - I have something,” Aang said, digging in his bag. “Aha!”

He pulled out a small jar of candied pineapple hibiscus, sealed with blue wax.

“Who’d you take that from?” the old man demanded.

“Is that pineapple hibiscus? Where’d you get this?” Kuzon asked, grinning wildly.

“I got it in Omashu – I met a crazy earthbender!”

Kuzon was still grinning like a madman. “I want to show you this new firebending trick I learned – but I also want you to meet my friends from school, because they didn’t believe me when I told them I’d met an airbender.”

“Thieves! The lot of them.”

“Well, let’s go! I can fly you over to them – they’ll have to believe you then,” Aang said, flicking open his glider.

Kuzon threw back his head and laughed. “They’re going to be so jealous!” He shook the wax-sealed jar. “Let me just put this inside – I gotta hide it cause my dad eats all my snacks unless I hide them.”

Aang held out the bag again. “I can just carry it for you.”

“He’s going to take it for himself!”

“Thanks!” said Kuzon. “Alright let’s go!” he said, pumping a fist in the air. He climbed on the back of the glider, and the two took off in a swirling cloud of dust.

 “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The old man glared up at the sky before dusting himself off and continuing on his way.

The schoolchildren, still in their uniforms, were gawking openly. Kuzon stood, chest puffed out with all the self-righteous pride of someone who just proved a lot of people wrong in a very dramatic way. Aang was showing off the marble trick.

“Fly again!”

“Make a tornado!”

“Can you make me fly?”

Aang frowned, putting away the marbles. That trick never awed like it was supposed to.

Kuzon stepped in between his classmates, who were inching closer, and Aang who was grinning sheepishly, unused to the attention. “Now, now,” Kuzon said loftily. “Airbenders have better things to do than make tornadoes or make others fly.”

“I can make a tornado,” Aang chirped.

Kuzon frowned, looking at Aang out of the side of his eye before acquiescing with a nod. His classmates pressed forward, chattering excitedly. Aang took his airbending stance, and with a practiced motion, crafted a tornado in the schoolyard. It was tiny, of course, he wouldn’t make a life-size tornado (it was really hard, and the last time he’d done it the elders had given him a very stern lecture about how it’s only fun if everyone is having fun and how to size tornadoes responsibly).

It barely reached everyone’s knees, but Kuzon’s classmates still pointed and squealed and laughed. Aang kept it going, sending it winding between their feet. One boy’s belt was ripped off by the wind, and began to twirl in the tornado, which began a new game called throw-things-in-a-tornado.

It was fun, for a bit! Aang had definitely laughed when one of the girls threw her homework scrolls in the tornado, cackling delightedly as they ripped apart. But there were only a few things that actually worked, and they got old fast.

A few of the students walked away together. Kuzon wrung his hands for a moment before gasping. He shook Aang’s shoulder.

“I have a great idea,” he said. “Fire tornado.”

Aang brought the little tornado back towards their feet.

“Fire tornado?”

Kuzon nodded, grinning. “I bend fire into the tornado, then it makes a fire tornado!”

Aang pushed the tornado further back, away from flammable clothes and burnable ankles, then nodded at Kuzon. The remaining students shuffled backwards but looked on interestedly.

Kuzon bended.

It did not go well. If the monks had seen it, Aang would have absolutely earned a lecture about bending other elements. To be fair, he hadn’t interacted with fire that often when bending, and it’s not like Kuzon had ever tried to light air on fire before.

And compared to the damage Aang’s full-size tornado had done to the temple walls, this explosion was nothing. And he didn’t do anything wrong, really, it was just a mistake – one he’d never make again! And so he did not run away because he did something wrong.

He ran away because all the other students scattered, and Kuzon was poking him insistently in the side to get out of here, let’s go! Majority rule.

He set them down on a roof. Aang suspected that Kuzon asked to go on roofs when Aang was around mostly because they were really hard to climb onto without airbending (Aang wondered how anybody got anywhere without airbending.)

“That’s still so cool,” Kuzon said as Aang closed his glider.

“Thanks!”

“You guys are so strange. People can’t fly, but you guys can, and it’s weird.”

Aang frowned slightly. “It’s not weird, it’s airbending. We just bend the currents through the glider.”

“Do they teach you that in school? Our school doesn’t teach bending.”

“Well,” Aang said, “we don’t have school-school. We have lessons for a lot of different stuff, like bending and philosophy, but we also get taught about how to travel and how to paint and weave. And sometimes we’re taught stuff not in classes, like gardening. But we don’t really do the whole school set-up like you guys do.”

Kuzon stared at him. “What about your history?”

“Oh, we learn history. We actually just finished learning about the life of Avatar Yangchen – she was the last Air Nomad Avatar.”

“We learn about Fire Nation history, but also about the other nations. I just had to write a whole essay comparing our honor code with the laws of the Earth Kingdom – they’re crazy over there.”

“How?”

“They don’t have an honor code at all.”

Aang shrugged. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t honorable. We don’t have an honor code, either, really.”

Kuzon shook his head. “That’s so weird.”

“Why?”

“How can you not have an honor code?” Kuzon asked, throwing his hands up. “Then people will act however they want, and no one can even say anything about it!”

Aang looked at him incredulously. “No? If someone’s doing something wrong, then they’re made to stop. Like, for the kids, if we do something wrong then we have to do the chores of the person who was hurt by our actions. One time, I accidentally knocked one of the older boys out of the air and he hit his head – he was okay, but I had to clean out the stables for two weeks.” Aang shuddered.

“Well that’s just punishment. What about when two people have a big fight? They’d have to settle that as a matter of honor. An Agni Kai.”

“I guess. We just let people work out their problems on their own.”

Kuzon huffed. “That’s silly.”

“Well, what else is there to do? If they need a mediator or something, someone will help them.”

“He’ll decide who’s right?”

“No, he helps them come to an agreement.”

“I don’t understand. How does that restore honor?”

“I don’t think I get what you mean.”

“I don’t get what you mean,” Kuzon said hotly, face red.

Aang shrugged, undisturbed. “That’s okay. We can just be different.”

Kuzon blinked. “Okay.”

The strange charged energy dissipated immediately. Kuzon supposed that was just an Air Nomad thing – if he’d gotten into an argument like that with anyone at school, they’d just keep going until they were both red in the face and out of breath and maybe fighting, really fighting. Did Aang even realize they’d had an argument?

“How long are you staying this time?” he asked, because Air Nomads are strange, and don’t fight even when they can or should. He doesn’t know why they do it, but if Kuzon had to guess, knowing Aang, he’d say it was because they simply have better, more fun things to do than argue.

Aang smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “We’re staying in the area for about four days, but I kind of… er… snuck away from the group. They’ll be mad. I might not be able to sneak away again.”

“Why’d you sneak away?”

“We’re supposed to stay in a big group,” Aang said.

Kuzon frowned. “You didn’t do that last year.”

“Last year I wasn’t traveling officially. I just tagged along with Gyatso and a few of the other monks who were going to the Western Temple. We have a lot more people this time, and I think they’re afraid of kids getting lost.”

Kuzon grinned shyly. “Well, the night after tomorrow, we’re having the Hikari Ongaku Festival and I think you would really like it. Can you come?”

“Yeah!” Aang said. “I love festivals! We just had the Moon Peach Blossom Festival – what’s the Hikaron Goku Festival about?”

Kuzon rolled his eyes. “Hikari Ongaku, Aang. It’s really fun! There’s singing and music and dancing, and there’s plays about the Fire Nation you can go see, and they have this thing where they give you a nut roll, but they dip it in liquid sugar and it makes it like glass. It’s the best,” he declared. “Can you come?”

Aang nodded decisively. “I’ll be there.”

“What if you can’t sneak away again?”

“I shouldn’t have to – I’ll tell Monk Gyatso I was with you, and he knows you’re my friend, and he’ll for sure let us come. Probably a lot of us will!”

Kuzon stood up, pumping his fist in the air. “Yeah!” he shouted, before losing his balance. Flailing his arms wildly, he nearly fell off the roof where they were sitting, but Aang grabbed the back of his pant leg and pulled him back down into a sitting position. Kuzon rubbed the back of his neck, ears red.

“Er… I’m glad you can make it.”

Aang just smiled, made no fun of his near-tumble, and said, “Me too!”

Airbenders. Weird.

The lights of the festival made it seems less like nearing midnight, and closer to dusk. And so many people! The music that floated down the street was high and lively, and a few of the people walking by were singing loudly. They were stumbling and holding onto each other. Aang thought they might be drunk, but he was really bad at telling when people were drunk.

He held the little glass bottle in his hands – the drink was interesting (he’d never tasted juice that was so… spicy).

“Are you gonna drink that?” Kuzon asked, still holding his empty bottle. Aang shook his head and handed it over. Kuzon made a show of drinking it hands-free, throwing his head back and holding the bottle between his teeth. Aang clapped politely.

Kuzon laughed, then coughed, then lost his hold on the bottle. It dropped to their feet, where they were sitting on the low wall – Kuzon, face dripping, coughed roughly. Aang thumped his back. Kuzon, still coughing, threw him a thumbs-up and Aang bent a gust of air in his face, drying it and pulling his hair out of its knot. It framed Kuzon’s face like a cloud.

“You okay?”

“Yup, yeah,” Kuzon coughed. “Ugh. That was not worth it.”

“It was a neat trick,” Aang offered kindly.

“Eh. Oh, the play is starting!” The wall they were sitting on was a bit far from the stage, but Kuzon had assured him it was the best spot to watch from, and they didn’t even have to buy a ticket. The curtain opened to an empty stage, with nothing but the scenery. Then, a man in Earth Kingdom regalia walked onstage – he was short and bald and spoke in a squeaky voice. The narrator spoke from an unseen place, telling of the little Earth Kingdom town, and the tyrant king who ruled it. Aang watched with waning interest – from their vantage point, it was hard to see very well, and the music from other areas conflicted with the dialogue of the play. Besides, a lot of the plays Kuzon had told him about had the exact same plot. They could do with a little variety.

Huh.

“Kuzon,” Aang whispered.

“Huh?”

“Want to make the play more interesting?”

Kuzon readjusted the fake mustache. He could (would) get in a ton of trouble for this. He never did big stuff like this, but the way Aang proposed things, making them seem reasonable and fun and harmlessly mischievous let him think that getting in trouble every so often was fine.

He spied Aang from across the stage, his arms circling the little bundles of hastily prepared costumes. The play was nearing the climax, the Earth Kingdom tyrant throwing paper mache boulders at the plucky Fire Nation soldier who faced him down. She started her monologue on the “new era of glory” and Kuzon made eye contact with Aang and nodded. Simultaneously they charged on stage – the players stared at them bewilderedly, the soldier actress still valiantly trying to deliver her lines. Kuzon bulled over her, projecting past the back row, to the vacant wall where they’d sat before.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen! We have gathered here today to join Private Manao and King Diren in marriage!”

Confused mutterings started in the crowd, but a few ripples of laughter floated up as Aang flitted between the two actors, pulling them closer to one another and wrapping them in a red cloth, dropping crowns of weedflowers on their heads.

“The joining of these two in marriage unites, now and forever, these troubled lands. Though their relationship started off a little rocky,” he said pointedly, waggling his eyebrows at the King actor, drawing an earnest laugh from the audience, “it is my joy and pleasure that we witness their marriage, their unending devotion to one another!” Aang had floated to the thin rafters suspending the slapdash stage and was raining flower petals down.

“Now, Private Manao is quite fiery when she wants to be,” Kuzon started, drawling and affected, “but that’s nothing that- ow,” he stopped as a marble dropped on his head. He looked up and saw Aang pointing into the crowd, where two guards were walking up to the stage.

“Oh, shit - I mean, you may now kiss and seal the deal!” he said as the two guards climbed onto the stage and rushed towards him. Before he could turn and run, a hand grabbed his collar and yanked. He let out a little choked sound, but before he could react, Aang had pulled him up into the rafters which groaned with the weight of two people. It was rickety, meant for traveling and easily disassembled. Aang flicked open his glider and Kuzon yelped as one of the guards shot a burst of flame into the barebones ceiling. He climbed on, and Aang laughed lightly as they flew away. He flew out over the crowd and dropped a few of the extra flowers – some of the guests caught them, and there was a weird mix of boos and cheers in their wake.

Aang dropped them on the other end of the street, closer to where the music played, and laughed.

“That was fun! I just wish you had gotten to finish your speech,” he said.

“I was making it up as I went. I don’t think it was very funny,” Kuzon shrugged.

“That doesn’t matter. We got to shake it up! Why are all your plays like that?”

“Like what?”

“They all have the same story,” Aang said.

“Oh. I guess people really like that kind of story. But not all our plays are like that – Love Amongst the Dragons is really good, but I only got to see it once, when we were in the capital.”

Aang collapsed his glider. “What’s that one about?”

The music shifted, and Kuzon’s face lit up. “I love this song! Come on,” he said, tugging Aang’s hand. “I want to show you the Camelephant Strut!”

“The what?”

He’d had to part with Kuzon in the early morning, just after dawn. They were leaving town, and headed north – they’d be traveling all day, so he could sleep on Appa, who would follow the pack.

They parted and promised to meet again next year – they’d both be twelve by then, and Aang had promised to bring cinnamon tea. After the dancing had wound down, they’d sat with a couple teens who were very giggly and a bit floppy, who’d taught them what the older kids considered cool.

In retrospect, flamey-o and hotman were very Fire Nation-ish slang words – but he and Kuzon hadn’t stopped using them since they heard them. The older kids had laughed a lot when they said it. They were fun enough, but then they fell asleep, and so he and Kuzon had set off on their own again, to the shopping stalls.

Kuzon had tried to give Aang a ceramic dragon he’d bought, and Aang didn’t think he quite understood that it was too permanent and Aang couldn’t take it. Permanent things were not meant to be held onto, and people who weren’t Air Nomads generally got offended when their presents were given away. Kuzon had shook his head and called airbenders weird again but seemed fine with it in the end.

He did that a lot, Aang thought as he made his way back to camp. He didn’t quite get what airbenders did, and dismissed it as weird – he hadn’t thought much about it before, but after explaining the same sorts of things to Bumi, who took everything in stride unless he could make it better (which he almost always could), Aang had started noticing when Kuzon did that. But maybe that was just a Bumi thing – he was mad and a genius and probably the most fun person Aang had ever met, and nothing ever bothered him.

When he got back to camp, everyone was awake and eating breakfast – unlike the first day after he’d disappeared, when everyone had freaked out and gone searching for him, they were very casual about his absence. Aang supposed the need to stick in a group was more of a suggestion than a rule. Scanning the crowd, he spotted Gyatso, who was walking towards an empty space with a plate of balep and fruit, yawning widely as if he’d been up all night.

He made his way over and sat next to him. Gyatso nodded silently – he was always quiet when he was tired. Aang laid back on the dirt and closed his eyes for just a moment. He didn’t realize he was falling asleep until Gyatso spoke, drawing him back to wakefulness.

“Huh?”

“Are you going to eat?” Gyatso asked again.

Aang shook his head. “They had these nut rolls at the festival, and I had six of them. They were this big!” he said, holding out his hands.

“That’s more like a loaf than a roll,” Gyatso said. “It sounds like you had fun.”

“Yeah! We’re gonna do it again next year!”

Gyatso didn’t respond, yawning again.

“Why are you so tired?”

“I am an old man, Aang. It only takes one late night to make me tired.”

“I was gonna sleep on Appa.”

“That sounds like a very good idea.”

He did it on accident, the first time. Falling, close to the ground, and he made a ball instead of a dome to soften his landing, which sent him flying (and not in the fun way). He hit the wall with an umph, and when he opened his eyes Tashi and Pelbu were standing worriedly over him. Something wet dripped in Aang’s eye, but he just laughed (and in retrospect, it was blood and that he was laughing probably really freaked them out).

“Are you okay?” Tashi asked, panicked.

“Did you see that!” Aang shouted.

“Your head is bleeding,” Pelbu said.

Aang stood, forming a ball again – the same movement as a dome and a tornado, but small – something he could hold in his hands. He moved it towards the ground and tried to jump on it – missing by a few inches and doing an awkward half-jump over it. He stumbled and the ball disappeared.

Tashi grabbed him by the arm.

“I think you need your head looked at.”

“That was so cool!”

“Very cool,” Tashi agreed absently. “Now let’s go.” Pelbu grabbed Aang’s other arm.

“I’m gonna do that again,” Aang declared.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I’m going to. Where are we going?”

Tashi and Pelbu glanced at each other behind Aang’s head.

“… We’re gonna play airball,” Pelbu said.

“Cool!”

When Aang stopped having headaches, he went into the valley, with its soft, tall grasses and wildflowers to practice the air scooter. The high piles of grass and hay made for gentle landings, and he liked seeing the wild bison that grazed there.

It only took him about three days of working on it before he was ready to show the air scooter off. He tried it on the stone of the temple, then up a wall, then across the side of the bridge.

He showed Tashi and Pelbu first.

“You kinda have to balance like it’s a top!” Aang said, demonstrating by circling around them.

Pelbu laughed. “You did this again? You must’ve cracked your head harder than we thought.”

“It’s fun!” Aang said, dissolving the scooter and landing lightly on his feet.

“I don’t know,” Tashi said. “It seems dangerous.”

“I practiced in the valley so that I wouldn’t hit my head again.”

“I think you’re crazy for trying again when you nearly split your skull in half last time,” Pelbu teased.

“It’s a cool trick,” Tashi said.

“Thanks!” Aang said, crafting another air scooter. “I’m gonna go show Monk Gyatso!” he said, riding the scooter down the stairs and away from the two boys. Pelbu shook his head.

“Hopefully Gyatso will tell him to stop doing that before he kills himself.”

Tashi shrugged. “I think it’s kinda cool that he invented a new technique.”

“Eh.”

His arms were swollen. His legs were swollen. His head was swollen. Aang had known that the tattoos hurt, but his whole body felt like a big bruise. A big, sunburned, swollen bruise.

He’d ripped the mattress off his bed and laid facedown on the solid, cool slab. He was still fasting. Four days before he was tattooed, and four days after, with a small meal on the day of. Four for the nations, for the elements, for the seasons, for the directions of the wind. Four was a sacred number. Four had seemed very small, but it now seemed utterly massive. He drank a lot of water to fill his stomach, but that made him have to use the bathroom a lot, which meant moving and moving meant pain.

So Aang was understandably a bit cranky.

All the same, he couldn’t temper his excitement when he saw the blue of the tattoos.

It was an honor, a mark of his mastery. He was so proud, and thankful, and sunburned and swollen. His stomach grumbled and Aang drank another cup of water. The pain would pass, like everything passed, and when it did, he would be a true master. It was just something to endure, like the soreness in his limbs after a long day of training. The pain and the suffering would fade away, and he’d be left with the product of his labor. Skill, mastery, and honor.

He grinned into the stone of the mattress slab. Kuzon would freak out when he saw. He would freak out when Aang showed him the air scooter that earned him his tattoos. Then, Aang laughed. Bumi probably wouldn’t notice that anything had changed. He sighed, tired and sore and content. He’d mastered his craft. He’d earned his tattoos. The last major turn in his life was a few years ahead, deciding whether to be a nomad or to be a monk. Either way he’d be content. Aang knew desire could be deadly, and so he only desired simplicity. The major humps in his life were over; he desired simplicity, and he would live a simple life, and nothing could change that for him.

He sat next to Gyatso in the shrine, afternoon light filtering in between the hanging vines of the lattice ceiling, dappled over the mosaic flooring.  They had said their prayer to Pehar. The shrine had always thrummed with energy for Aang. The mural of the spirit Pehar, with his wide, serene face and his hands tying the mountains together seemed to stare into Aang – it felt alive. It now seemed even closer, louder, buzzing with energy like the air during a lightning storm.

Aang supposed it had to do with being the Avatar.

He was the Avatar. His head spun. He’d never thought it could be him. He’d never so much as felt an affinity towards the other elements beyond a healthy appreciation.

Gyatso broke him away from his thoughts. “How do you feel?”

Aang shrugged. “I don’t feel any different. I don’t feel like the Avatar.”

“And what would that feel like?”

He slumped forward, throwing up his hands. “I don’t know! Avatar-y!”

Gyatso laughed and Aang huffed. “When you sit here, what do you feel like?” he asked Gyatso, who was silent for a moment, his face thoughtful.

“I feel peaceful. This is a calm place.”

Aang frowned. “No. It’s not.”

Gyatso looked at him. “What do you feel like, here?”

“Like… like there’s something here. It feels loud, like… like a beehive.”

Gyatso quirked an eyebrow. “A beehive?”

“Yeah,” Aang said, staring Pehar in the eyes. “It just…” he trailed off, still staring at the mural. Pehar's mouth moved silently, no words forming.

“Aang?” Gyatso asked softly. Aang broke the stare, feeling like he’d just been woken from dozing off. When he looked back at the mural, Pehar was as still and silent as he always was.

“It just seems like there’s a lot going on in here,” he finished lamely.

Gyatso hummed.

“I suppose there is.”

Aang weeded the garden, placing the little springs of green in the basket next to him. Down the row, the boys were passing around a song. It was getting closer to him – and when it was a few boys down, someone tapped his shoulder. He turned and saw Monk Gopal standing over him.

“Aang, we wanted to drill you on a few forms, if you’d come with me. Dema here can take over your chores for today.”

Aang stood. “Sorry, Dema.” Dema glared at him.

He walked away from his chores, with the stares of the now-silent boys boring into his back

He trained through the whole of the afternoon, and he usually took Appa out on a ride a few hours before sunset, but he demonstrated, over and over, the same form for the monks who shook their heads and said it was not right. Aang knew it was silly – the forms high-level and ancient and flashy and useless. Gyatso found him, close to sundown, still going through the forms, the monks still telling him he was doing it wrong but not offering anything to help.

He grabbed Aang’s shoulder and steered him out of the room with stern words for the others. For a moment, Aang steeled himself for a lengthy conversation, a teaching moment about the duties of the Avatar, but Gyatso pushed him gently towards the stables and told him that Appa was missing the attention. He grinned and ran off. Gyatso shook his head - all children needed fun and freedom. Even the Avatar. 

“No,” Gyatso said, holding up a hand to stop Aang from walking away with Monk Tsering. “As long as I am his guardian, I will decide when Aang trains, and when he gets his butt kicked at Pai Sho.”

Aang grinned at him and sat back down. Monk Tsering huffed and walked away. Gyatso smiled to himself. Tsering took himself too seriously. And what could that silly old man do? It was not as though he was Aang’s guardian.

Aang moved with grim determination. His hands shook as he laid the scroll down on his neatly made bed. The small bag of provisions bumped against his hip as he walked to the window. The air was heavy and charged in a way that spoke of rain. Thunder clapped in the distance.

Where would he go? He swallowed thickly. He could go south, and sled on the otter-penguins. Or he could go west and find Kuzon again. Or north to the Earth Kingdom. Or he could just flit around the world on Appa and be a nomad and a monk and not spend his whole life training and being told he had to give everything up. He scowled. It wasn’t even as if he wanted extravagance or riches or power. He just wanted his friends to not think there was something wrong with him, and to not be sent away to learn airbending because he was already a master, and it was clearly just a way to separate him and Gyatso, and Gyatso hadn’t even fought for him.

There was a soft knock at his door. Aang’s heart jumped into his throat. The door opened before he could act.

“Aang? I’m not going to let them take you away from me,” Gyatso said without preamble, walking into the room.

He watched as Gyatso took in the scene: the note on his bed, Aang fully dressed and standing at the window with his glider clutched tight, ready to leave. Gyatso’s eyes widened with the realization, and the look he shot Aang, so full of heartbreak, made his cheeks burn with shame.

“Aang?”

Aang’s shoulders sagged. Of course Gyatso wouldn’t let them send him away. For a moment, all he felt was relief. And then he dropped his glider with a clatter on the ground and rushed towards Gyatso, still standing in the doorway with his hand resting on the post. He wrapped his arms tight around his teacher’s waist and pressed his face into the warm woolen robes. He felt Gyatso settle one hand on his head and the other around his shoulders.

“You’re not alone. Even if I have to spirit you away myself, you are not alone in this,” he said fiercely.

“Everything’s different now,” Aang mumbled into Gyatso’s robes. “Everyone treats me different.”

“That is true. People will treat you differently from others because you are.”

Aang pulled back slightly, hands still knotted in Gyatso’s robes. “But I’m not! I’m the same as I always was!”

Gyatso rested his hand lightly on Aang’s head, trailing the still-new tattoos. “And you have always been different. You didn’t know. The others didn’t know. But you were. And now that it is known, they will adjust how they treat you. That is not to say that it is fair or right, but it is so and we cannot change it. We cannot make anyone think what we want or act how we wish. We can only control ourselves.”

Aang leaned heavily against him. “I wish it wasn’t me.”

“I know.” Gyatso took him by the shoulder and sat him on the bed, settling next to him. He reached over and picked up the scroll, still sitting innocuously, wrapped in its string. He held it in the palm of his hand.

“May I?” he asked lightly.

It was addressed to him. Gyatso had every right to read it and be angry and know all about Aang’s selfish plan. But Aang just shook his head, and Gyatso set the scroll back down. Aang, who had been ready to leave and never come back just a minute earlier, leaned against his side and decided then and there that he’d never love anyone quite the way he loved Gyatso. No one, he decided, would ever teach him more or know him better, and that was just a fact of life.

“We will discuss your future with the elders tomorrow. I will not let them send you away. And if they will not see reason, then we can always fall back on your original plan,” Gyatso said, eyes sparkling.

Aang looked up at him, eyes wide. “Really? We’d…” Leave? Run away?

“You belong to the whole world. You are a peacemaker, a spiritual guide, and a leader to the four nations. And you are entitled to sixteen years before you shoulder that duty. I intend to make sure you get them all,” Gyatso said, squeezing his shoulder.

Aang smiled at him, watery and thin, but genuine. Then furrowed his brows. “You said that you guys told me because there have been signs that we’re headed towards war. What signs?”

Gyatso sighed, sending dust bunnies skittering in the corner of the room. “For many years, since before you were born, the Fire Nation has been… ambitious. Seizing land held by the Earth Kingdom. In recent years, they have gotten quite aggressive. Large swathes of land that once belonged to the Earth Kingdom are no longer theirs.”

“That’s not right,” Aang said.

“It is not. But we believed it was a dispute between their two nations. It would not have been reason to break centuries-old tradition and tell you your destiny before you were ready. However, our sister temples had troubling news for us.” He paused. “Many worrisome instances influenced our thoughts. We decided to tell you now because the Fire Nation has banned airbenders from their soil.”

“Banned?” Aang echoed, eyes wide. “Why?”

“Any airbender found in the Fire Nation is now guilty of terrorism and will be… imprisoned.”

Aang kneeled on the bed, facing Gyatso. “That’s so messed up! What about the airbenders who live there? Or the nomads who pilgrimage through there to the Western Temple? Why would they do that?” he asked, voice growing louder with each question.

“This comes in the wake of many singular instances of aggression against our people by Fire Nation citizens,” Gyatso said, far calmer. “Prejudice, violence. Murder.” Aang flinched at his words.

“We cannot ignore these signs any longer. However, I do not agree that our solution should be to throw a child into the maw of war.”

“I can’t believe this,” Aang said softly. “What about Kuzon? And your friend Teruko?”

“The empty hand, extended in friendship, is a blessing. It shows us that peace and love come naturally, and that unbalance is a temporary state that can be fixed. But we cannot be blinded to unbalance – not when evil thrives when there is no one to witness it.”

Aang hung his head.

“My boy, do not despair. This shall end, as all things do.”

“Great,” Aang said bitingly. “Except I’m the one that has to end it.”

“You are. In the wake of what has happened, the world needs the Avatar. We need you. But as I said before, you are not alone. And I will not let them take you away.”

Aang knew in his heart that Gyatso did not have the final say – that if the elders stood their ground there would be nothing he could do, nothing he could say. They’d run away, he said, but would they really? Could they?

He leaned against Gyatso’s side and let himself believe it. A thin and tenuous belief, one he’d have to abandon by the morning. But not before then.

Monk Dawa stared down at him, jaw hard.

“We have already made our decision. We will not renege.” He softened, slightly, giving Gyatso a sympathetic look. “I understand you two are close – but we need what is best for the world. He must be sent away.”

Gyatso shook his head. “The Avatar is not told their identity until adulthood for a reason. You place this burden on him prematurely, and then show him only the negative consequences?” He frowned. “You will lose him.”

“In what manner?” Dawa asked suspiciously.

“Aang is a child, and he will act as a child – his spirit is ancient, but he is a boy.” Gyatso sighed. “To treat him as a tool is to destroy him.”

“We do no such thing. He must be prepared when this comes to a head.”

“You must understand that he does not view it in that manner – you send him, already marked as a master, to further master his craft away from his home? It is a punishment. For what?”

“It is no punishment. Aang must be ready.”

“He is a boy.”

Dawa scoffed. “You infantilize him.”

“You sharpen him like a weapon.”

“The Avatar is not a weapon.”

“I was not sure you knew that,” Gyatso said lightly.

“Enough.” He gave Gyatso an appraising look. “What do you know?”

Gyatso straightened his back. “He knows your plans – I did not tell him – but he will not passively accept this decision.”

“It is not up to him,” Dawa snapped. “Nor is it up to you.”

“I am well aware. But know that if you bend him too far, he will break.”

Dawa narrowed his eyes. “We cannot coddle him. But we cannot lose him.”

“You nearly have, already. His peers isolate him. His teachers make unending demands of him. It takes only a bundle of wheat to crack the rhinoceros beetle’s shell.”

Dawa clucked. Hesitated.

“I will not send him away.”

“Thank you, Monk Dawa,” Gyatso said, bowing.

“Allow me to finish,” he said, holding up a hand. “I meant what I said when I told you that your affection for him clouds your judgment. You do not train him properly – you act as though he has endless wells of time, and he does not. I will take over his training.”

Monk Gyatso blinked. “That is… unorthodox.”

“Do you take issue with that?”

“I am still his guardian?”

Dawa nodded.

Gyatso sighed and held his tongue. “I take no issue.”

“Very well.”

The next day, in the early morning before the sun had fully risen, Gyatso led him through the halls. Aang yawned widely. He and Gyatso and Dawa had been up half the night discussing more about the Avatar, teaching him about his duties and what lay ahead.

He surfaced from the fog when he found himself in front of the doors to the Air Temple Sanctuary. He looked at Gyatso.

“I get to meet him?” he asked excitedly. He never saw anyone go in or out of these doors. Whoever was in there must be either very ancient or very sneaky.

“The Elders have decided it is time,” Gyatso said, carefully neutral. Aang knew he was part of the council, too, but whenever they did something he didn’t like, he never said “we” when talking about it. It gave Aang pause, that Gyatso didn’t think it was time yet.

“What if I’m not ready?” he asked nervously.

“Then it will be made known to you.”

Aang groaned. Everything with this Avatar stuff was so cryptic. Nobody ever said what they meant, and no one seemed to know exactly what to do. He supposed that was fair – it had been over four hundred years since Air Nomads had to deal with an Avatar, and probably it had been insanely long since there was an Avatar from the Southern Temple. All the same, he would appreciate it more if they just came right out to say they weren’t sure what to do instead of giving him half-answers that meant nothing.

“However, it is time you learned. This will help you, in your journey.” Aang shuffled, waiting for something to happen, but Gyatso made no move. Aang stood before the massive doors and took a bending stance. He hesitated, but Gyatso just watched and waited. He took a deep breath, and bended – only gale-force winds were enough to unlock the huge doors.

The Air Temple Sanctuary was massive. Aang walked in the dark room and felt immediately dwarfed by the sheer size of it. The ceiling was beyond where he could see, round walls scaled up and up and up. There was no one inside, not that Aang could see. It was just statues, starting in a circle in the center of the room and spiraling out and up the walls. He walked through the statues, all of them tall and broad, men and women from every nation carved in stone.

Gyatso walked silently behind him. The sanctuary felt alive, just like the shrine to Pehar had. He wandered between the statues, listening to the hum of energy – he turned around suddenly, feeling as though he’d heard his name called from down the hall or over running water. He turned and came face to face with a statue of a tall man with long hair and a long beard. He had a strong face, and his eyes, Aang noticed, weren’t stone, but glass or gem that glinted in the dark. He felt Gyatso come to stand behind him.

“These statues are all your past lives, Aang. This is the Avatar before you -,”

“Roku,” Aang said softly. Gyatso paused.

“Have you come here before?” he asked.

“No. I just… know.”

“He will guide you and teach you what you need to know about being the Avatar.”

Aang furrowed his brow. “How? He’s just a statue.”

“He is a part of you – if you seek to contact him, you will find a way.” Gyatso stared up at the statue. “Roku learned airbending at this temple,” he said.

Aang turned away from the statue. “Here?”

“Yes,” Gyatso said, smiling now. “He was a good friend of mine.”

Aang’s eyes widened, and he pointed towards the statue. “You knew him?” he asked excitedly.

“He came here to master airbending when he was sixteen. He was a good man. I can think of no one better to guide you.”

Aang looked back up at Roku. “What was he like?”

Gyatso’s face softened as he looked at the statue. Then, he laughed. “I did not find out that he was allergic to moon peaches until I hit him in the face with a moon peach pie. He retaliated by gluing a wig of bison fur onto my head as I slept.”

Aang barked out a startled laugh. “The Avatar played a prank on you?” he asked, still laughing.

“The Avatar is human like anyone else – do not forget that.” Aang nodded.

Gyatso gestured to the sanctuary. “This is a sacred place, deeply connected to the Avatar spirit. Should you find yourself in need of guidance, you will find help here.”

Aang looked around. The thousands of statues trailing up into the unseen ceiling seemed to stare down at him, dwarfing him. He gulped nervously and turned to face Gyatso.

“When you knew Roku… did he know what he was doing with this whole Avatar thing?”

Gyatso didn’t answer right away but walked down the line of Avatars. Aang followed, and they stopped in front of a willowy, broad-faced airbender. She was as stoic and imposing as the other statues, despite her familiarity.

“The Avatar cycle has been the same since the beginning. It is a never-ending chain; no first or last nation to be favored, no element prioritized over any other. Fire, air, water, earth. That was how Roku learned. Air was his second element, and so when I knew him, he was as unsure about his duties as you are now. The Avatar is not born with the innate knowledge and skills of their past lives. It is learned, and it relates heavily to the state of the world during their lives. Roku inherited an age of peace. You inherit an age of unrest.”

He turned to face Aang. “This whole ‘Avatar thing’ is however you choose to address the problems you face in your lifetime, Aang.”

Aang frowned. “What if I do it wrong? What if I leave the world worse off than how it would be without me?”

Gyatso looked down at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I find that very difficult to imagine. Good intentions and a pure heart alone are not enough to heal a wound, but mastery and experience will guide your hand. If this world was left to proceed without you, the balance would be devastated.” He leaned down and squeezed Aang’s shoulder reassuringly.

“While I am no expert, I have known two Avatars. And I do believe I am qualified to say that I believe the world is in good hands with you.”

Aang walked heavily back towards the statue of Roku, his thin shoulders slumped forward. He sighed, nodded, and straightened his back. “If he was your friend, then I’m sure he’ll be as good a teacher as you,” Aang said firmly. “I know he will.”

“I would expect nothing less from my friend,” Gyatso said. “I am meant to deliver you to Monk Dawa after this, to begin your training.”

Aang turned resignedly towards the door. “Oh, come now. I would not deliver you to train on an empty stomach. I, for one, am craving a pinefruit pie.”

“I don’t think there’s any left,” Aang said.

“Well, we’ll have to make one, then, won’t we?”

Aang suppressed a smile. “I guess if we have to.”

Aang saw a month pass under the tutelage of Dawa.

Dawa was kind, but stern. Good-natured, but single-minded. He did not mind when Aang goofed off, but only during their breaks – he had little patience when Aang’s jokes and tricks interrupted a lesson. Gyatso had never minded, and would always laugh or join in. Aang hadn’t seen Gyatso much since Dawa became his teacher.

It was frustrating – he’d nearly run because the elders were going to separate them, and he’d stayed because they said they wouldn’t. But Aang had only seen Gyatso briefly during the last month. Just a few minutes here and there at the end of the day or in the early mornings.

Aang resented it, a little – the fact that they’d still managed to separate him and Gyatso, just in a different way. But considering the alternative was to leave and never, ever see him, Aang was grateful for those brief conversations.

At the end of the month, they had music night. Aang hadn’t expected it, but at midday, after drilling through all the silly, high-level, flashy, useless forms he’d now perfected, thank you very much, Dawa had smiled and dismissed him.

“You’ve worked hard. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aang, grinning wildly, barely remembered to bow before running off.

“Be here bright and early!” he heard Monk Dawa call after him. Aang didn’t stop, as if Dawa would change his mind if Aang stayed in his presence too long.

Down in the courtyard, he saw the boys playing the air scooter game. He watched for a bit, and Tashi kindly offered that Aang could referee, if he wanted to. Aang shook his head. They hadn’t ever explained the rules to him, and it wouldn’t be fun if he was refereeing only because he couldn’t play. They all glanced awkwardly at him when he was watching - the fact that he was even there was making them uncomfortable. Aang didn’t get it. Just because he was the Avatar didn’t mean he would cheat or use other elements – he didn’t even know any other elements!

Besides, they weren’t like this when he got his tattoos. None of the other boys were tattooed yet, and Aang thought that that would be more of an advantage. But no, it was only that he was the Avatar that got him excluded. It was silly.

Aang left. He knew that he made them uncomfortable when he watched the game, but he wasn’t going to be mean about it, even if it made no monkey-feathered sense.

He went to go find Gyatso. He’d missed Gyatso, terribly. Aang found him in the Hall of Ten Thousand Voices, helping decorate for music night. The new masters were working under his direction, the young monks helping to hang the wind chimes and the paper lanterns. Aang snuck up behind Gyatso, and when Monk Lo saw him, Aang shook his head, smiling, and pointed at Monk Gyatso who was leaned over a scroll of hymns. Lo suppressed a smile, dark eyes dancing, and turned away.

Silently, he crept up behind Gyatso, and then jumped on his back with a shriek. Gyatso yelped in surprise, but quickly transitioned into a laugh when he saw Aang.

“I hope you have not snuck away from Elder Dawa,” he chastised, but his smile and the hand on Aang’s shoulder were welcoming and happy.

“He gave me the evening off!” Aang chirped. “He said I’ve done very well this month and to enjoy music night.”

“Well, I am very glad to hear that,” Gyatso said. He leaned down conspiratorially. “I have missed your company, my young friend.”

“I missed you, too,” Aang said.

Gyatso straightened. “Would you like to assist us in preparations?”

“Sure!”

They spent the afternoon decorating and talking and, when it began to get dark and the monks who were playing arrived to tune their instruments, Aang was sent to the corners of the room to hang thick coils of sandalwood incense from the ceiling. The thick, heavy smoke sank to the ground and followed the natural flow of air through the room. The half-melodies as the monks tuned their erhus and adjusted the tension of the drums echoed through the hall – it sounded like there were a thousand people playing music instead of the dozen who sat at the base of the domed wall that was painted with monks sitting in the clouds, mouths open in song. It wasn’t quite what the all-day echo chamber at the Western Temple was, but the hall was specifically designed for music, not just echoes.

It was dark, the only light coming from the lanterns and the oil lamps, casting long shadows on the ground that moved as people streamed in, taking seats around the edges of the room, and up in the alcoves along the walls.

Aang had disappeared in the crowd. Dawa sidled up to Gyatso silently.

“Your boy has done well,” he said earnestly. “He has as firm a grasp on his bending as you and I.”

Gyatso smiled. “I am glad to hear that. He has always been a fast learner.” He’d finally spied Aang again, talking to Sonam and Pelbu. It wasn’t like how they used to talk to one another, all overlapping chatter and talking wildly with their hands. Now they frowned and shuffled their feet and spoke softly. Tashi was standing off to the side in their little group, arms wrapped guiltily around his middle, eyes downcast. Gyatso held back a sigh.

“He has,” Dawa agreed. “The Fire Nation continues its march into the Earth Kingdom. That have claimed Yuanwei, where the nomads who left us in the spring were staying.”

Gyatso pressed his mouth into a thin line. “They were in violation of the law.”

“Seventeen of them. We are unable to collect them for a proper burial.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the temple chattering around them obliviously.

Dawa broke the silence. “He is a true master, and a prodigy in his own right. You are his guardian, and so I will tell you this. He should begin to learn waterbending. They are preparing to strike us in the heart.”

After a long moment, Gyatso spoke. “You are correct. Teruko has informed me that they move their soldiers to the borderlands. I ask only that he be accompanied,” Gyatso turned to face him. “He is barely past his twelfth summer, and I understand that it is tradition for the Avatar to travel alone, but no Avatar has ever been trained as a child, Dawa.”

Dawa placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “He will be accompanied, Gyatso, you needn’t worry about that. We will concern ourselves with whom we task with that once the Water Tribe confirms that we may bring him. We will send word in the morning.”

Gyatso seemed to deflate at his words, all the air leaving him. Dawa patted his shoulder. “I am sorry that we cannot follow tradition, for his sake.”

“I am sorry, too,” Gyatso said, shrugging off Dawa’s hand and stalking out. The mountain air was cool when he walked outside. Summer drew to a close, but Gyatso knew there would be no travel this autumn. Not when danger lorded just north.

He’d have to apologize to Dawa for his abruptness. He had shown him a great kindness in allowing Aang to stay, and it was not Dawa he was angry with.

Anger sat on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He’d always hated his anger – what a ridiculous emotion. Especially when the anger he felt had no target – no living target, at least. What a strange feeling, to be angry at someone on the behalf of their reincarnation.

Kyoshi before Roku had lived two and a third centuries. Yangchen had lived a century and a half.

Gyatso felt absurd anger towards his old friend for leaving the world in such a state, dying when he was hardly old. Eighty meager years was quite young for an Avatar.

The burden he’d deposited on his successor was massive. And Aang was still so small.

His anger was useless, poisonous. Gyatso breathed in deeply and let it go. There was nothing to be done for what could have been. The world must act on the present.

Inside the hall, the music had begun in earnest, and the temple sung with one voice so loud Gyatso thought it strange that the whole world could not hear them.

The echo hung in the mountains long after the singing stopped. When Gyatso rose for his morning meditation, he thought he could still hear it, and he listened to the song on the wind as he sat under a deep red sunrise.

The last of the boys and monks had just taken off. Aang stood, not watching them fly north towards the Earth Kingdom, but staring at the rubble in the courtyard where he’d spent his whole childhood playing with his friends. It was broken, the mosaics and tiles all shattered and covered in soot. Worse than that, the bodies. The monks who’d thrown themselves in the line of fire – burned and lying prone and still.

The Fire Nation soldiers who laid like broken porcelain dolls under rubble – those were strangely the ones that made his stomach hurt the most. They’d come to kill them, to kill everyone. In the distance, he heard the pained groaning of one of the bison they’d shot down, the smell of burned flesh hanging in the smoky air.

Monk Gyatso turned him away from the wreckage, marching him towards where Appa was waiting. Gyatso hopped up lightly on a puff of air – they were the last to leave. Gyatso cradled his left arm close, the flesh burned, and robes torn.

Aang heard him speak, but it came as if underwater. He barely noticed the takeoff, eyes still glued to the desolation on the courtyard.

He flinched when he heard his name. Breaking his stare from the shrinking temple, he saw Gyatso staring at him worriedly. He must have called his name several times.

Aang blinked, only just realizing he was crying. “It’s my fault,” he whispered.

Gyatso’s face cracked mournfully. “No, my boy, never think that. It is not your fault in the slightest,” he said forcefully.

“You heard them,” he croaked. “They wanted the Avatar. They wanted me, and they-,” his breath hitched. “Gopal. Lo. Tashi.” Dead, lying in the courtyard. Because of him. Aang whipped his head up and looked at Gyatso. “And I killed those people. I killed them. What was that?”

He still felt the soreness, deep in his bones. Could still see the other monks who’d tried to fight the soldiers who destroyed them beyond recognition, the boys trying desperately to escape while the soldiers were held off. Could see Pelbu draped over Tashi’s still form as if he could protect him. Aang had watched as Monk Gyatso moved to the front, knocking some soldiers off the mountain, but failing to keep them back. Then they’d struck him – Aang had sat there and just watched as they struck him and he fell to his knees, clutching his arm. The soldier had reared back, and Monk Gyatso raised his other arm, face set and determined and grim like Aang had never seen it, but what could he do when that man was ready to kill him like they’d killed the other monks, and the boys, and who kills children? Who kills monks and bison?

Aang had screamed and it sounded like a thousand voices screamed with him. The world had gone still, and it was only him and the air. And then he watched as the soldier was struck by a boulder, tossed off the side of the mountain. He felt nothing but fear and rage, terrifying rage, as he watched the other soldiers were encased in rock, tossed off the mountainside, crushed under boulders. Watched and only peripherally realized that he was doing this, as the soldiers and tanks that scaled the mountainside were sent flying down by devastating wind, flying to their deaths. Watched as the mountains grew rough and jagged edges that even the most skilled climber would have difficulty scaling.

Came back to himself and fell to the ground. Turned, and saw all the boys he’d grown up with, boys like his brothers, watching him with wide, frightened eyes like he would hurt them next. Monk Gyatso cradling his burnt arm, looking at Aang like he’d been given a death sentence.

Gyatso giving him that same look now, even though they were safe, away from the carnage and the soldiers and their ruthless, faceless determination.

He’d killed them.

“What did I do?”

“You entered the Avatar State – your past lives assisted you in a moment of need.”

Aang clenched his jaw, staring steadfastly at his hands, folded and white-knuckled on his lap. He said nothing.

“Aang,” Gyatso said softly. He looked up from his hands – Gyatso was still wearing that sad, heartbroken expression. He began to say something but sighed instead. He shook his head.

“I never wanted this life for you. And if I could shoulder this burden for you, I would,” Gyatso smiled bitterly. “But your destiny is clear – as is mine.”

Aang blinked away tears – the emotional, honest confession had tightened a belt around his chest. He and Gyatso agreed on pretty much everything – Aang never wanted this for himself, either. And for a moment he felt a flash of bitter anger, at the monks and a little bit at Gyatso, too. For letting him go his whole life thinking he could live simply and peacefully – traveling and having fun and just being a monk, when they knew he would never get that life.

But Aang couldn’t be mad at Monk Gyatso, really, because he’d been vocal to the point of belligerence about the elders telling him he was the Avatar before he was an adult. And he really couldn’t be mad about being the Avatar, either, because it had let them escape and it had saved Monk Gyatso – if he hadn’t gone into the Avatar State, would anyone have escaped? His thoughts flitted briefly to the other temples, all alone with no Avatar to throw soldiers off the mountains and into the canyons. His stomach hurt at the implications. He turned his thoughts to the immediate problems.

Gyatso’s burned arm looked awful. Part of him knew it was the unnatural red of the sky, the midday sun making it look worse than it was. Only his forearm had really been burned – there were parts of his hands and fingers that were black, but it was only a little red and blistered up to the shoulder.

Gyatso pulled his arm a little closer, breaking Aang’s stare. “We can take care of that when we arrive at our destination.”

Aang blinked up at him, then looked around dazedly, as if just realizing they had gone a completely different direction from the others.

“Where are we going?”

Gyatso smiled again – genuine and warm this time.

“The Southern Water Tribe.”

The town had gathered at high noon for the announcement from the Fire Lord. That meant business, Kuzon knew. The only time their dinky little town got any official messages from the capital, they were usually supremely uninteresting and announced close to sundown. The fact that everyone had to leave their jobs, he’d had to leave school and march in line to the square to hear this meant it was something big.

It was sweltering. Late summer, all the heat baking into the stones of the roads without any of the relief of an autumn breeze. The school uniforms with their high collars made it difficult to breathe. And the square was only half full. He’d surely die before getting to hear the announcement.

He said as much to the boy next to him, who looked at him like he’d grown a second head, or a goat beard. Whatever.

Reserve soldiers had herded the rest of the town into the square by the time high noon hit – a caller from the capital stepped out onto the veranda used by the mayor.

“Today is a glorious day in Fire Nation history!” he shouted from the balcony. Kuzon rolled his eyes. His teacher pinched his arm.

“Today we enter a new era! An era of prosperity and greatness – no longer just for the Fire Nation, but for the world! Fire Lord Sozin, may we honor him, has declared to the whole of the world that he is their ruler and guiding light. There are those who wish to destroy him, and to destroy our nation. Those who would plunge this world into unending darkness – the armies of the Air Nation, the tyrants of the Earth Kingdom, and the warriors of the Water Tribes! Today, Fire Lord Sozin ushers in a golden age! He has dealt a devasting blow to those who would see this world ended before sharing in our generosity! On the day of the Great Comet, Fire Lord Sozin defeated the Air Nation, once and for all. Never again shall their mercenaries stain our land with the blood of innocents! Never again shall their thieves pick our pockets! No airbender escaped justice! Fire Lord Sozin recognized the threat they posed to the world and destroyed them all!”

The crowd broke into raucous cheering. It thundered like rain on a thatched roof against Kuzon’s ears, muted and blurred. Despite the sweltering heat, he felt very cold. It was important that he show pride in his nation – his silence would be noted and brought against him. But his mouth felt like he’d eaten a wool blanket.  Strange.

Kuzon was not stupid, despite what his teacher told him. He knew how to read between the lines.

The Air Nation, which he knew were just temples infrequently inhabited by wanderers and children and teachers, and their army, which he had never seen or heard of before, and their legions of pickpockets and mercenaries – strange professions for people who valued life dearly and possessions little – posed a threat to the Fire Nation so great they had to be destroyed, which the people around him accepted at face value.

Kuzon felt his stomach roil. From everything that Aang had told him, the Air Nomads would not have been prepared to face an army. Maybe they didn’t even fight back. Kuzon hoped desperately that they did.

Aang. His friend. His friend who flew around and laughed at all his jokes and never got offended when Kuzon said the wrong thing. Very likely dead. Kuzon mentally scratched the thought out. Surely dead. They’d learned about the Great Comet all week and had watched it go by the day before. The caller disappeared back into the building, and the crowd began to shift as everyone returned to what they had been doing before. Uncaring that a bunch of children had been murdered by their leader, and that they’d cheered for it.

Kuzon separated himself from the school crowd, moving blithely along. Aang had taught him that people are only suspicious when you act suspicious – if you move with confidence people will rarely stop you. It worked for him, and he ran home, still dark and shuttered during the day as his parents worked. He entered the house and leaned heavily against the door, until standing became too much and he had to slide down and sit, knees to chest. He sat and stared at the sunlight patterned on the floor. His jaw jumped.

Kuzon was no traitor. The Fire Nation was the greatest country in the world. The Fire Nation was prosperous, refined, civilized. The Fire Nation was beautiful and expansive, its people powerful and intelligent.

The Fire Nation declared war on the whole world, and committed genocide the punctuate the sentence.

Kuzon was no traitor. To disagree with the word of the Fire Lord was to commit treason. To denounce the actions of the state was a crime. A very small and brave corner of his heart ached to pack a bag and run – but there would be nowhere to go. No friend with a bison to take him away. A larger, and less brave (but still very bold) part of his heart made the decision for him. He went into his room, and pulled out blank parchment.

His teachers always scolded him for his sloppy writing, and smacked his arm whenever he dropped his hand and smeared the ink. But he wrote carefully, neat and without smudges, everything he knew about Air Nomads. Everything that Aang had told him. It was sloppy and disorganized. It had started off as a list of points, but then transformed into sentences, then morphed into a transcription of some of the conversations Aang had had with him. When he ran out of things to write, he drew their clothes, and the strange tattoos the older ones sported. Aang had no tattoos when he’d seen him last. Kuzon supposed he’d never get them.

When he finished drawing the clothes, he drew the bison, and the gliders. Then Aang himself, his face as best as Kuzon could remember it. It looked closer to a desert ibex than his friend, but Aang had never been offended by small slights. He’d probably have appreciated the gesture. When he was done, and when he knew his parents would soon be home, Kuzon folded the parchment carefully, placed it in between the pages of a book, wrapped the book in paper, and then wrapped the paper in a pillowcase. Tied it up with a length of twine, and shoved it in the space between his desk and the wall. None too soon, because his mother was home. He sat in his room until the sun went down.

That night, he ate dinner with his parents and held his tongue as they discussed the glorious new war.

Chapter Text

It was dark when Aang woke, face pressed into Appa’s leg. It had been dark when they’d landed on the small island, made of pebbles and stones worn smooth by the tides, and dark when he had fashioned a sling for Gyatso’s burned arm, and dark when Aang had pet Appa and spoke softly to him because he was still shaking like he’d been when they took off from the temple. Dark when Aang had gone to sleep and dreamed he’d been in a shop that sold roasted meat, with Kuzon who was dressed in a soldier’s uniform.

He lifted his face and rubbed at the sleep lines, looking over at Gyatso who was holding the beads of his necklace. Aang stood as silently as he could, but the pebbles of the island shifted when he moved, and Gyatso looked over at him. He put his necklace back on, gracelessly as he used only one arm, and stood.

“What time is it?” Aang asked. They were further down south, not yet to where the ice was, but it was still very much winter in this part of the world.

“I am not sure. I believe it is midmorning,” Gyatso said, peering into the dark, grey sky. His robes whipped around him in the wild sea breeze.

“It’s so dark.”

“Yes. The Water Tribe calls this Mother Night,” Gyatso said.

Aang had known, objectively, that the poles saw only one day and one night each year. It was jarring to experience it firsthand. He’d never been so far south – the only time he’d ever met people from Water Tribes was when he was in the Earth Kingdom, but even then, they were few and far between.

“Why do they call it that?”

“Because the dark of the night is said to be comforting like a mother’s embrace,” he answered.

Aang looked around. The sea was softly lapping at the rocky shore, and he couldn’t see far past the whitecaps of the waves. The black of the night made it difficult to figure out what direction to go, and there were storm clouds blocking out the stars. If they hadn’t picked an island still in the Antarctic stream, Aang would be fully turned around. It didn’t feel particularly comforting.

“If we follow the southerly current, a tailwind could get us there in half a day,” Gyatso said, picking across the stones of the island to where Aang stood next to Appa.

They took off, Aang on Appa’s head, steering, and Gyatso sitting towards the front of the saddle. Aang turned around on Appa’s head, back to the wind.

“How are we going to find the Water Tribe?” he asked.

“The Water Tribe is several settlements across the coast of the south pole. We are headed for their main city. Unlike the Air Temples, their location is not a secret. I have been there before.”

Aang was well-traveled, but Gyatso made him look like someone who’d never left their hometown. Aang wasn’t sure there was anywhere in the world Gyatso hadn’t been to at least once.

For a brief moment, he reflected on the fact that it was very likely he wouldn’t get to travel like that, that everything was changed, and the world would be different and would never return to what it was. How could it?

“When we arrive, I must recommend you try the sea prunes. I believe you would like them,” Gyatso said, smiling innocently.

“Definitely!” Aang said, train of thought broken.

He spotted the Water Tribe by luck only. The wind threw snow like small, sharp knives, and Aang knew how to keep himself from getting cold, but his robes were damp from the snow and they’d been up in the air for hours. Gyatso had fallen asleep, but through the grey of the storm, Aang spotted the village. The homes and buildings all circling the center igloo glowed gently with internal light, and there was a large fire at the heart of the tribe. It glittered like a gem against the dark expanse of ice, and the light was soft and fuzzy through the haze of the snow.

It was beautiful. The Water Tribe was almost as isolated and inaccessible to outsiders as the Air Temples were – Aang had never been to either tribe, and he had been nearly everywhere. He woke Gyatso with a shake, and he instructed Aang to set them down a fair way away from the village. Aang set Appa down with the village glowing gently on the horizon, and they began walking the rest of the way. The snow they trudged through was thick and wet and clung to their clothes. Aang tried to clear a path through the snow with a channel of air from his staff, but the ice was slippery, and the snow was so high that much of what Aang blew out of the way just collapsed back down to its original spot. When the village was close enough to see the ice blocks of the wall that surrounded it, he heard shouting, and suddenly Aang’s feet were trapped in ice, and from the startled groan that Appa let out, he assumed they were all trapped. Gyatso simply raised his right hand in a gesture of surrender, and after a beat, Aang followed his lead. From behind unassuming mounds of snow, two men and a woman emerged, their hands at the ready.

“Who approaches us unannounced?” demanded one of the men, his dark blue coat pulled up over his ears, face wrapped in cloth against the bitter cold.

“We come from the Southern Air Temple,” Gyatso called back, calm and collected.

“Show both your hands!” the other man called, shakier than his comrade.

“Ah, I am afraid this one does not work so well at the moment,” he replied, gesturing to his sling without lowering his right arm.

“Why are you here?” the woman called.

“We seek refuge – our temple was attacked.”

Aang watched as the three waterbenders spoke quietly amongst themselves, too far for Aang to hear their words. Then, the woman approached them. She kept her hands at the ready as she walked towards them but moved confidently. As she drew closer Aang could see her better – the blue-ish indigo of her parka was trimmed with white fur and embroidered with abstract details. Her face was entirely covered with a scarf except her eyes, which were sharp and blue and sized them up as she approached.

“Who attacked you?” she asked when she was just a few feet away from them.

“The Fire Nation,” Gyatso answered her, hand still raised, open palm facing out. Aang watched as her eyes flitted down to his burned arm – now a day old and desperately in need of treatment. She turned to Aang, who raised his hands slightly higher under her piercing gaze. She looked to Appa and nodded sharply at him.

“Is your beast tame?”

“Yes,” Aang said nervously. “Very tame. Really, very tame and nice.”

The waterbender gave him a strange look but walked back towards her companions, who edged closer. Aang could hear them speaking, this time.

“What have we?” the first man asked.

“An injured old man and a child, and their beast they say is tame. They were attacked by the Fire Nation, apparently.”

“Why do they not seek refuge among other airbenders?”

“How should I know?”

“Send them away,” the second man said, and Aang almost interjected before the woman spoke again.

“Don’t be an ass. We’ll let chief handle them.”

The second man spoke. “They could be dangerous.”

“They’re airbenders, they’re not dangerous to anyone,” answered the first man.

Aang felt vaguely patronized but the man beckoned them closer, indicating to drop their hands.

The woman placed her hand on Gyatso’s uninjured shoulder, and the second man pulled Aang along in a bruising grip. The first man walked behind them, cleared his throat pointedly, and the hard grip on Aang’s arm lessened slightly.

The three waterbenders escorted them through the village, Appa trudging along behind them. With the dark of the endless night shrouded over the village, Aang had half assumed that people would be sleeping, but the village bustled with life – a group of men setting out beyond the walls of the village with fishing nets slung over their shoulders, a gaggle of children chasing a polar dog and laughing. It felt like the middle of the night, but Aang supposed they were used to this strange darkness that stretched between the equinoxes.

The warriors who escorted them marched Aang and Gyatso into a large building of ice neighboring the center igloo. Aang couldn’t help a sigh as he entered; a great fire burned in the center of the room and the air was warm. There was a group of people gathered around a table scattered with papers, and at the head of the table there was a woman with brown hair so dark it was almost black, greyed at the temples, draped in a cloak of white fur over her blue tunic. She spotted the strange group approaching her and stood. Aang saw how the waterbenders who were escorting them bowed as soon as she laid eyes on them, and knew she was a leader or elder. Gyatso bowed respectfully, and so Aang followed his lead. The woman looked at them appraisingly, eyes flitting to Appa, big nose huffing in the doorway that was much too small for him.

Wordlessly, she waved a hand behind her, and the people gathered around the table stood and walked out of the room, ducking under Appa’s head. When the last of them had left, she turned around and walked back to where she had been sitting before.

“Please, sit,” she said. The three warriors took the seats between her and the two airbenders. The table was low to the ground, polished driftwood bleached white by the sun, and they kneeled around it on animal furs. Aang ran his hands over the furs uneasily. Most of the clothing he’d ever owned was made of bison wool, from fur that was freely shed every spring. He was unused to the many animal skins and leather that the Water Tribe relied on.

The elder woman stared at Gyatso’s arm and cocked her head curiously.

“What sort of fight does an Air Nomad pick? I was under the impression you fancied yourselves above such things,” she questioned.

“They say their temple was attacked,” the first man said. The woman held her hand up.

“Taamusi, I would like to hear this story firsthand,” she said, not unkindly. Aang looked at the man, who had removed the scarf from his face to reveal the soft lines of middle age and a thick, dark beard.

“What are your names?” she asked.

“I am Gyatso, elder of the council of the Southern Air Temple.”

Aang shrunk as she turned her gaze on him, slightly intimidated. “Uh. I’m Aang,” he said.

The corner of her mouth quirked for the barest second before it was gone again, and her face was a stony mask.

“I am Chief Aaju of the Southern Water Tribe. You have met some of our finest warriors already, Taamusi,” she gestured to the man with the beard, who dipped his head in acknowledgement, “Tagak,” she gestured to the younger man who watched them warily, “and Aluki,” she said, the other woman who had first approached them smiled kindly. She, too, had removed the scarf from her face. She was not old, her hair still dark, but her eyes were lined.

Tagak was watching the interaction with hawk’s eyes, staring Aang down suspiciously. Aang didn’t shirk from his gaze, taking the opportunity to study him. He was the youngest out of the people they’d met so far, and his skin was a little lighter than the deep brown that most of the tribe sported. He held himself tense and straight. Aang knew the Water Tribe only saw visitors during trade seasons, and this time of year with the ice and tundra nearly impossible to traverse, they were suspicious of people showing up unannounced.

Chief Aaju didn’t speak, sitting back and waiting for them to talk. Gyatso obliged.

“We come seeking refuge. The Fire Nation attacked our temple. Many people were killed, and so we fled.”

Chief Aaju raised an eyebrow. “Were the two of you the only ones to escape?”

“No. Many of our companions fled into the Earth Kingdom.”

“How did the Fire Nation find your temple?”

“I do not know,” Gyatso answered. “But I believe that this attack was planned long ago. Perhaps you saw the sky, yesterday?”

“It was like dawn,” she said.

“It gave them a healthy advantage.”

The chief huffed. “I am well aware of the Fire Nation’s movements. One of the trade ports in the west was seized, and our goods were stolen when we arrived there. Is this an earnest start?”

“It is,” Gyatso said simply. “I find it difficult to imagine that our sister temples were not also attacked.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What a use of their power, to attack your people, when their previous movement focused on the Earth Kingdom. I must wonder what drew them to you – the far-flung conquest is quite risky.”

“This was not a conquest.”

Aaju was silent then, before sitting back, relaxing her stance. “Our home is your refuge, Gyatso and Aang.”

Aang blinked, surprised at how easily they were welcomed. Their conversation had been strange, and Aang had the feeling he was missing a lot of information, but they seemed to have reached an understanding.

Gyatso dipped his head. “I thank you for your hospitality. I must make a single request.”

Tagak huffed, but a sharp look from the chief stilled him.

“I can make no promises. What is your request?” she asked.

Gyatso laid his right hand on Aang’s shoulder. “My young friend is in need of a waterbending master.”

Aaju frowned. “For what?”

“To learn waterbending.”

Aluki was the first to react, her mouth parting in surprise, eyebrows raised. Aaju’s eyes widened, but she nodded. After a beat, the two men simultaneously whipped their heads to look at Aang.

“I see,” the chief said. She glanced at Aang, then looked back to Gyatso. “The risk of the far-flung conquest would have been rewarded with a great victory, for them.”

“It would have,” Gyatso answered quietly, hand tight on Aang’s shoulder. Aang felt very small under their collective gaze. Abruptly, Chief Aaju stood.

“You require a healer. Come,” she said, not waiting for them to rise before walking briskly to the door. She brought them to a small building, near the back of the village, which glowed with soft blue light. The two waterbender men had left, presumably to return to their posts, but Aluki still trailed behind the group as they entered the healing hut. There was a grey-haired woman demonstrating what looked like a very complicated technique on a dummy, as a small group of teens sat and watched. They turned as a collective when the newcomers entered. The woman’s gaze fell on Gyatso’s arm, and she stood immediately.

“Students, dismissed. Don’t practice that technique before we finish learning about it – you’ll only hurt yourself.” She moved the dummy away from the pool of water and beckoned Gyatso over, her gaze scrutinizing.

Aang knelt next to the pool in the center of the room as Gyatso obligingly laid on the center platform. The healer sat across from him, and moved quickly and deftly, peeling away the sling, which stuck to his skin.

“How old is this?” she asked, moving her hands so that water encased his arm. It began to glow blue, lighting the room up. “One day?”

“One and a half,” Gyatso answered. The healer shot Aluki and Aaju a stern look.

“And you did not bring him immediately?”

“Apologies, Pikta.”

“Apologies, apologies,” the healer, Pikta, muttered as she worked steadily. The chief took a seat kneeling next to Aang, and Aluki stationed herself at the entryway. Aang watched as she worked, moving her hands along his arm, trailing the path of his tattoos. Gyatso was silent, but his face was lined and tense. Aang clasped his hands together, watching nervously.

Chief Aaju turned to him, offering her arm. “It is an honor to meet you, Avatar Aang. I only wish it were under kinder circumstances.”

Aang grasped her forearm and shook. “Me too. Thank you for taking us in,” he said softly.

She was quiet as Pikta continued her work. Then she leaned back over towards Aang, speaking quietly. “I have never seen such a severe burn. It looks almost like frostbite. How did you manage to escape?”

Aang didn’t meet her eyes, focusing on the water of the healing hut.

“I don’t know exactly… but I did something.”

Aaju looked at him, searchingly, and he felt very exposed under her gaze. She turned back, watching Pikta work.

“My father-in-law’s dad trained Avatar Roku,” she offered. Aang nodded, wanting to be surprised but unable to muster the energy.

“It seems like Roku pops up everywhere. Monk Gyatso knew him, too.”

“He would often travel back to the Northern Water Tribe to visit. My father-in-law met him as a child, before he moved here. To you, it seems that Roku pops up everywhere, but perhaps it is the Avatar who does – finding people and sticking with them, across lifetimes.”

The blue light faded, and Pikta moved to wrap Gyatso’s arm in bandages, smothering it in some green paste that smelled vaguely of mulled plum wine.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Aang said softly.

“Fate strings us along, but our destinies are our own. We have many skilled teachers from whom you can learn, but if I may put in my own recommendation – it would be a great honor for the same family to train two Avatars.” She smiled at him, slightly, the same way Gyatso smiled. Aang dipped his head.

“It would be a great honor to be taught by your family, Chief Aaju.”

She clapped him in the shoulder. “Wonderful. You will begin tomorrow.”

Aang blinked.  “That seems… soon.”

Gyatso snickered, and Aang pouted back at him. “Shouldn’t I meet my teacher first? You know, to see if we’re a good fit?” he asked.

“You’ve already met your master, my wife Aluki,” Chief Aaju said.

Aang turned to Aluki, who smiled broadly and waved though she was only a few steps away. He waved back.

Pikta helped Gyatso rise, giving him stern instructions to report to her in the morning. Aaju stood and beckoned them to follow her. She brought them to a long house, with another short door that Appa filled with his nose, huffing his warm, stinky breath into the room. The building was a single room, very large, but shaped like a hall – long and bordering on narrow. Aaju and Aluki sat across from them at another bleached wood table, laden with food.

He and Gyatso picked their way over plates of fish and seal, eating their fill of arctic hen eggs, cloudberries, and seaweed. They informed Aaju and Aluki of what they knew – little word of the outside reached the Water Tribe in the dark months, when the ice was thick, and the traders couldn’t travel. Gyatso spoke of things even Aang wasn’t aware of, Fire Nation troop movements and the testing of the Earth Kingdom’s western border. Aang filed the information away, realizing that what had happened was likely in the works for a long time.

It hit him, then, for just a moment how big it all was, how little he knew about it, and how he had no idea what he was doing. It must have shown on his face, because Aluki pulled a fist of water from the ice of the walls and made a little effigy of Appa and gave it to him, promising she’d show him how to do it.

After a while, Aaju stood and declared it to be late. Aang and Gyatso went along passively, and Aang supposed they’d get used to whatever arbitrary schedule worked for them during the endless night.

The village had settled while they were inside talking, all the homes were quietly glowing with little fires in the hearths.

They were deposited in a large room - Aang suspected it was a storage area of some kind, but it was the only thing they had that was big enough to fit Appa. Their hosts had brought in a couple of beds and furs for them and strung up a dividing screen. The people of the tribe had settled already, but Aang wasn’t tired. It wasn’t something he was used to, the constant night. The chief had brought them new clothes, tunics and parkas in Water Tribe blue. Gyatso had already donned his new clothes, the old robes from the temple all burned and ruined, but Aang kept his. There was something disconcerting about wearing the skin of another being, but there was also something very comforting about the clothes in the wake of what had happened.

If he didn’t have Appa, or Gyatso, his clothes or his staff, he would have very little left of his home.

Though he wasn’t tired he laid down on the furs, closing his eyes. How strange that just three days ago he was training under Dawa, upset because he couldn’t play airball with his friends, helping decorate for music night. He turned his face into the bed – it was softer than the one from home, which had been stuffed with hay, and always smelled fruity and musky and like mountain air. This new bed smelled of salt and ice and tallow.

Tashi had offered that he referee the game, and then was dead. Monk Lo had been complicit in Aang’s scheme to sneak up on Gyatso, and then was dead. The ones who managed to escape – would they be safe? Were they as distraught? Were they seeing the scenes in their mind’s eye, thrown in sharp relief against the black?

He jerked awake, in a sitting position though he didn’t remember sitting up. He didn’t remember falling asleep. It was still before the waking hours, the village outside silent except for the howl of wind across the flat scape of ice. Appa’s deep breaths whooshed in and out, like white noise, and Aang calmed his own heaving breaths by matching them in time. After a minute or two, he looked over at Gyatso who was propped up on one elbow, watching silently, blinking owlishly in the dark.

Without thinking, Aang rose and made his way over, curling into Gyatso’s side like he did when he was small, from before he had real memories and everything he remembered was more like a scene out of a dream. It was comforting. Aang closed his eyes, under the arm of his teacher, and thought that maybe he’d wake up and be in his own bed, at the temple, which was not broken and scorched and littered with bodies, but lively and whole and untouched by violence.

“Gyatso?”

“Hm?” Aang felt rather than heard it.

He sighed, sent a silent prayer of thanks out for what had endured.

“Nothing.”

Masahiro picked through the wreckage; hand clasped to his face. The stench was horrendous, but they wouldn’t spend much longer there. No one had returned, and so Masahiro and his troops had been sent to investigate.

Well, it was simple. No one survived, there were far more bodies of soldiers than bodies of Air Nomads, and they were – he winced at one particularly gruesome scene – certainly not killed with airbending. He sighed, stepping over a tiny body clad in orange and yellow. A shame, truly, but necessary for the sake of the world.

The Avatar had long been used as a weapon, used to keep the strong on the same level – he stepped over another orange and yellow form – as the weak. To get rid of the Avatar was good, and would allow the world to progress naturally, would allow the strong and civilized to spread out and be prosperous.

This scene, however, was bad. He’d have to report that their troops had been bested by the Avatar.

Masahiro looked up to one of the higher buildings. The great form of one of the bison was being consumed by vultures, and he grinned ruefully. One of the balconies had been ripped away from a tower, and he traced a line in the sky to where it lay, crushing a tank. He sighed. The Fire Lord would not be happy to hear the Avatar escaped, off to hone his lethal prowess until he could finish the job, could destroy the whole Fire Nation like he’d destroyed these poor countrymen of his.

He tripped over a small piece of rubble, and looked down, realizing that the whole area he’d been walking on had been some grand mosaic. It was nothing but rubble and gravel.

The Avatar was powerful already, if he was able to cause this. Masahiro signaled his men to begin clearing the soldiers’ bodies.

He narrowed his eyes at the carnage. The Avatar was clearly deadly, powerful, and evil. What untold destruction would continue, as he remained free?

Aang shrieked in a very undignified manner as one of the girls shoved a snowball down the back of his tunic, and it cut off with a grunt as two of the littler kids leapt over the snow fort they’d built and tackled him to the ground. As he lay helpless, another boy his age smiled a toothy grin and bent a massive snowball suspended in the air, more like the base for a snowman than anything someone could make with their hands, and dropped it unceremoniously on his face. He blinked through it, then huffed out a huge breath, dispersing it, sending the snow onto the kids who surrounded him.

They shrieked and brushed themselves clean, and then Aang found himself pulled forward by two girls who screamed dibs at their rivals, tugging him behind their snow fort and asking if he could help them in the fight. He grinned seeing the huge stockpile of snowballs they’d made, and created a funnel of air, twisting his hands around some unseen current, and instructing them to drop the snowballs at a point above his shoulder. They soared across the no-man’s-land between the two snow forts, and hardly a snowball returned in their direction. Abruptly, he was pulled to a standing position by the collar of his shirt. In the brief cease-fire, one of the kids from the other side threw a snowball at him, which splattered on the back of his head.

Aluki frowned down at him, shaking her head disapprovingly. He smiled cheekily, but she pulled him away from the fray, and the Water Tribe kids he’d been hanging out with groaned disappointedly.

Aang resisted the urge to join them. It had been a good while since he’d been able to just have fun with kids his own age. They knew he was the Avatar and didn’t even care! It rocked, but Aluki clucked at him, and brought him to a flat plane of ice on the outside of the wall, cleared of the thick, crystalline snow. Aluki took a stance, then shoved her arms away from her body, forward and direct, and the ice split, forming a small pond of liquid water. She pointed to it.

“Bend that.”

Aang blinked, feeling as though he’d missed the first day and come in without studying.

“Uh, Sifu Aluki. I don’t know how to do that.”

She shrugged, then crafted a small chair of ice and took a seat. “Try it.”

He furrowed his brows but sank into a bending stance. He closed his eyes, trying to feel the water instead of the air. Concentrating, he felt a current of something, a tried to move it in a circle. The ice beneath him lurched and let out a deafening crack. He lost his balance with an exclamation of surprise, but before he fell or the crack in the ice became too large, Aluki stood, and froze the plane back into solid ice.

Aang rubbed the back of his head. “My bad,” he said, trying for levity. Aluki didn’t look angry, though. Just thoughtful.

“No, that’s what I wanted to see.” She looked at him appraisingly. “You’re powerful. Better that we know that just starting out than further down the line.”

She looked him up and down, walking in a circle around him. “Get into a stance,” she said.

He obliged, but she tutted and frowned. “That’s your airbending stance?”

Aang nodded.

She shook her head. “You’re ready to take off. You’ve been swimming before, in the ocean?”

“Yeah! On Kangaroo Island, me and one of my friends -,”

“Great!” Aluki cut him off. “Feel that, in your stance, like you’re in the shallows and the undertow is pulling you in and the waves are pushing you out. How do you stand?”

He took a wider stance, feet pressed firmly to the ground, weight focused on the flat of his feet rather than balanced on the ball. Unconsciously, he dug his toes into the ground as if trying to gain traction in shifting sand.

“Better. Your posture is a bit rigid, loosen up.”

Aang rolled his shoulders, leaned a touch forward.

“That’s it,” Aluki said, grinning. She mirrored him, taking a stance of her own.

She re-crafted the pond of water and held out her hands. Aang held his hands out in the same way, and without speaking, she began to move forwards and backwards, a wave jumping to her command, mimicking her movement.

Aang followed suit, and a slightly smaller wave emerged from his side. He split into a grin.

“Hey, I’m bending! I got it!”

“Great! Keep going, then.”

They moved in tandem for a minute before Aang spoke.

“I think I’ve got it,” he said happily, beginning to relax his stance.

“Don’t drop it,” she said. He snapped back into his stance and continued the movement for another silent minute.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking. “I think I’m ready for something harder.”

“Nope! Good form, though,” Aluki said, smiling.

He frowned. Pushed and pulled the water for several more silent minutes. He was about to say something, when Aluki finally broke her silence.

“This is fundamental. Everything you know about waterbending will stem from the understanding of this. When children learn, this is often something they discover on their own. It is the nature of water to be in constant motion. You should feel this movement as you sleep at night, your bed like a ship on the ocean. If you cannot grasp the movement of water, then water will move you. You will be dragged out by the riptide and drowned in the ocean.”

His eyes widened, and the water of his wave shivered, its motion stuttering. “Really?” he asked nervously. Water was healing, life-giving, he’d thought.

“Water moves in reciprocation – high tide to low tide, life to death, push to pull. Every movement is met and mirrored. You shouldn’t fear it – just understand you will have to compensate for this movement. Anticipate it and use it to your advantage.” She pulled a motion of water from the wave and sent it in circles around them.

“Pull the water to you,” Aluki said, bringing the water to her hands from where it was suspended behind Aang, “And it will want to push back,” she said as it circled behind her, then shoved her hand out and the water smacked him in the chest and sent him to the ground with a grunt.

She laughed at him as he stood, sopping wet, and airbended himself dry.

“It just takes practice.”

The Avatar was alive. The Avatar was from the Southern Temple. The Avatar was born when Roku died. The Avatar massacred their troops.

Sozin sat with the information, digesting and processing it, taming his anger for a later, more functional purpose. What did this mean, then?

The Avatar was likely in the Earth Kingdom, or among the Water Tribes – the Southern Temple had housed males, and so the Avatar was a boy born when Roku died. Twelve years, the anniversary never passed unremembered. The Avatar was clearly highly trained, already.

He cursed the comet for its timing. Had it come even a handful of years earlier, perhaps his plan would’ve been more thorough, more successful. It could’ve been perfect, but the Avatar remained: a twelve-year-old boy, seeking refuge in a nation that would repel Fire Nation forces with vitriol. A desperate rage filled his chest, that the Avatar could still ruin his plans, again. Sozin ached to go hunt the boy himself.

He forced himself to ruminate on that, what it would mean. That he would leave the nation in Azulon’s hands, without guidance. That he was an old enemy of the Avatar (once an old friend). His passion and anger meant he had a personal stake in ensuring the Avatar’s demise. His personal involvement and emotion meant he could hurt the mission by being consumed with the need for revenge. What he needed was someone cold, calculating. Someone able to get the job done, because it was, in the end, just a job, something to finish, a task to cross off as he worked to remake the world into something greater. But someone who would not fall into carelessness. Someone who was willing and capable, without the baggage Sozin carried (a crown he gave away, because it was too heavy). He rose.

He knew what he needed to do.

“Prince Azulon,” his dad barked from behind him. Azulon put down the bowl of noodles, swallowing quickly. He coughed – ugh, that was a whole pepper. He turned, stood, bowed to his father, the depth respectful and low to cover the tears that built in his eyes.

“Fire Lord Sozin,” he said, still in his bow, coughing quietly. Why did they put whole peppers? He’d have to have a word with the kitchen.

“I have a task for you.”

“You know what’s silly?” Aang asked into the dark, face half smushed into Appa’s leg.

“What is silly?” came Gyatso’s muffled voice from beneath the pile of warm blankets in their official sleeping area.

“I miss honey.”

“Water Tribe cuisine is unique, individual ingredients separated and eaten without spice,” Gyatso said, in that way that sounded like he was agreeing but also not.

Aang sighed, nestling further into the crook of Appa’s leg. “I know. It’s stupid.”

“It is not.” Aang looked over, and Gyatso was sitting up now. “You will eat honey again someday,” he said seriously.

Aang screwed his face up and hid it in Appa’s fur so that Gyatso wouldn’t see. “Do you -,” his voice cracked, and so he cleared his throat and tried again.

“Do you think anyone from the other temples got out?” he asked, working to not whisper because Gyatso was on the other side of the room.

“I do not know. I know many travelers were out in the world, and away from the temples.”

“Do you think Palmo’s okay?” he asked. The Eastern Temple was far from the Fire Nation, and they had the most bison. Palmo was always near the bison. She could’ve gotten away easily.

“I do not know,” Gyatso said again. Aang nodded silently. She could’ve gotten away (but she wouldn’t, not without the girls all safe first).

“I hope that some people got away,” he said after a minute.

“We cannot know. We will, eventually, know what happened, and we may meet our friends again. For now, it is best not to dwell on it,” Gyatso said.

Aang sat up sharply. “What do you mean? We just shouldn’t think about it? It doesn’t matter?” he said, throwing his hands out, anger sitting heavy on his chest.

“Hope is a double-edged blade,” Gyatso began, “one side cuts through sorrow and circumstance and self-pity, and enables us to struggle forward, to reach what was once only imaginable. The other side cuts the hand that holds the blade incorrectly, because we sit with it, let it distract us, and think only what might be or what could be, and neglect what is.”

“I know,” Aang ground out, frustrated. “I just,” he sighed.

“I was just thinking that it was probably really, really bad at the other temples,” he said, voice low. “It was bad, but it – then I did that thing. But -,”

“Aang,” Gyatso gently cut him off.

Aang looked down and away.

“You will destroy yourself if you allow this to consume you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aang said.

“I did not mean that you had done anything wrong.” He paused for a few long moments. “Do you remember what I told you in the Fire Nation, after Monk Duga was killed?”

“Don’t eat food from the garbage?”

Gyatso laughed. “No. The other thing.”

Aang thought for a moment. “Oh. Air circumvents?”

“Yes. It can rise above turmoil or navigate through its thickets. Do not allow yourself to be tangled in and lost among the weeds. What has happened has already happened, whether we are aware of it or not. So now, you must rise above the thickets of sorrow and fear and concentrate on here and now.”

Aang nodded, not quite meeting Gyatso’s eyes. Then he heard the shifting of the furs and looked up to see Gyatso standing. He made his way over to Appa, knelt, and gathered Aang into his arms, the left one still bandaged and smelling of plum wine.

“I know,” Aang said into Gyatso’s shoulder. “I know I shouldn’t dwell. I could’ve helped them, if I had been there, but-,” he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “But I killed people. And I know they were trying to kill us but I killed them and they’re dead and I did that.”

“My boy, can you earthbend?” Gyatso asked.

Aang pulled back slightly and blinked at him. “Huh?”

Gyatso asked again. “Can you earthbend?”

Aang frowned. “I mean. Technically. Not yet. Why?”

“Because those soldiers were killed with earthbending.”

Aang furrowed his brow. “But I still did that,” he insisted.

“You were in the Avatar State, which is a combination of all your past lives. You were all of them, in that time, and you earthbended and the soldiers died. But you, sitting right here, cannot earthbend, and you in your right mind are not a murderer,” he stated.

But Aang shook his head. “If that’s what the Avatar State is, then I’m never going to use it again,” he said.

“Did you make that choice in the first place?” Gyatso asked.

Aang groaned. “I don’t want to use it!” he said.

“Like the elements, the Avatar State is something you must master before becoming fully realized. Before that, it can be unpredictable and deadly.” Aang looked down in shame. Gyatso took hold of his hand. “But that loss of control was not a malicious choice on your part. Merely the survival mechanism of your spirit. Think about what could have happened if you hadn’t been there that day.”

Probably what happened to Tashi and Lo and maybe Palmo and maybe all the other temples. Dead, burnt, unrecognizable, unburied. He blinked hot tears away before they could fall.

“If you take a life once you’ve mastered the Avatar State, or outside of it, if you make that choice and see it through – then you can grapple with this guilt again.”

Aang leaned into his side, like he did that night he was prepared to leave it all behind. A different scene, a different discussion, but Gyatso knew him best and he’d never love anyone in quite the same way.

“It was the tradition of the Air Nation to snatch babes from the arms of their parents, and spirit them away in the night – it was so ingrained into their culture that no airbender knew who their parents were and would never know their children. Those who challenged this oppressive regime were often cast out into the world to live in exile. Fire Lord Sozin, after learning about this barbaric practice, asserts that we must combat such evil by loving and cherishing our families. Children should honor their parents, parents cherish their children, men should cherish their wives, and women should honor their husbands. Raising up a large family and honoring our ancestors is how the rest of the world will learn civility. We must lead by example.”

Half the time when his teacher spoke, Kuzon tuned it out. It wasn’t on purpose, except for sometimes. But he’d heard “air” and sat up a little straighter, listening intently.

It was strange. They had learned very little about the Air Nomads before the war, but now that they were all gone, it was as though he heard about them every day. All of it was glaringly negative.

He’d forced his thoughts away from it, chanting lie lie lie in his mind as his teacher spoke of how the airbenders would steal infants from other nations for religious rituals, how they would bribe foreign politicians in exchange for favors, how they would throw children off cliffsides like baby birds to see whether they’d fly or not.

Except. A few times, it made sense. Except, a few times there would be something about them so horrible it couldn’t have been made up.

No airbender knew who their parents were and would never know their children.

Aang had never spoken of a mother or father. Aang had mentioned a guardian, who was not a parent, but was assigned to be in charge of him.

Kuzon felt sick. What his teacher was saying was clearly correct, in one way or another. What else was right, of what he’d learned?

How they’d throw children off the cliffs to see whether they’d fly – Aang had mentioned throwing children into the air before. They always come back up, he’d said, but was that just because they’d come up the first time? A nation with no non-bending population – was that how they culled their generations?

He walked home heavily, with an ache in his stomach. The air blew violently, whipping his hair into his face, but instead of the cool breezes they normally felt so late in the year, the air was hot and dry like midsummer.

Kuzon’s home was dark and shuttered, and he did not open the windows or light the lamps when he arrived home. Instead, he crawled under his desk and retrieved the little wrapped package he’d stowed in the crevice between the desk and the wall almost two months before. He carefully unwrapped it.

He read the words he’d scrawled himself without emerging from beneath the desk, eyes drinking in the truth, forcing himself to remember what he had been so sure of just a few weeks ago.

Kuzon had written a snatch of conversation from the last time he’d talked to his friend.

“Gyatso said that was part of the reason he decided to be a monk instead of living like the nomads.”

“The pies?”

“No! That he could help raise the kids and teach new generations. That that was why he never had kids of his own. But also the pies.”

“I thought you guys weren’t allowed to have kids?”

“Why? Where do you think we come from, then?”

“I don’t know! It just seemed like I never hear you talk about families or anything.”

“It’s kind of complicated.”

“Well now I have to know.”

“Okay, so most of the kids who come to the temples to learn airbending are the kids of the nomads – the airbenders who don’t live at the temples. And whenever the nomads have kids, they can decide what to do. So if they want their kid to learn airbending and become a master and get tattoos, they send them to be raised at the temples. If they would rather teach their kids themselves, they can do that. And then sometimes when an Air Nomad has a family with someone from another nation, they’ll adapt to whatever is that tradition.

“So the only way people can be master airbenders is if their parents just… give them up?”

“Well, no, cause I had a kid in one of my classes when I was little who was seventeen. His parents had raised him, but he wanted to become a master and learn the traditional way, so he came to the temple. It’s up to the parents, really, but mostly everyone was raised in the temples, so they’ll send their kids to learn in the same way.”

“What if the parents regret it and want their kid back?”

“I never heard of that happening before… I think it involves a lot of thought, the decision. Besides, they can’t drop the kids off until they’re weaned, so they have lots of time to think it over.”

Kuzon closed his eyes and fought to not clutch the parchment tightly, to not crumple and ruin it. He trusted what he had written, what his friend had taught him. He hadn’t read the paper since writing it, and now looking over everything, every scrawled piece of information, like the way Aang had refused to take a candle he’d been offered because it was made from animal fat, reaffirmed what Kuzon had known.

Aang had said he didn’t eat meat because he had been taught that all life is sacred, even the tiniest spider-fly or the slowest petal slug, even when they buzz in your ear or eat the leaves off everything in the garden. Aang had told him exactly how families function in his culture. He felt a bitter swoop of shame for thinking that anything else was true.

It was just that so much had been taught to him about the Air Nation – the Air Nomads – that he could hardly remember what he’d learned about them last week, let alone what his friend had said in passing a year before.

Kuzon had written everything he’d known because his friend was dead and his culture destroyed, and some devasted part of his heart wanted something of it to have survived, even if just in the untidy handwriting of a foreigner. He was glad, now, he’d done it, because he hadn’t anticipated forgetting and hadn’t considered that he would maybe think something else that wasn’t true – and it made sense.

His teacher said he was simple, but Kuzon knew the Fire Nation had murdered the Air Nomads, and he knew that murder was murder no matter the scale. He knew that murder in some cases could be justified. To kill and claim it had been self-defense, to commit genocide and claim it was for the betterment of the world.

He traced his fingers over the parchment before he stowed it away again carefully, because it was precious.

Aluki sat with him, taking a short break from their training.

Aang flopped backwards into the snow, bending the ice so that he sank deep into the ground in a huge snow-shadow. Aluki laughed, looking down at him from where she stood at the edge of the little crevice he’d made in his own shape, and kicked a tuft of snow onto his face. He spluttered, and floated out, closing up the snow-shadow with a sweeping motion.

“Watch this,” she said, twisting her feet and moved her hand up in a little pointed motion, like pulling a string. An ice statue of herself formed, grand and stoic, one hand raised, the other grasping a spear. Aang gaped – it looked like an Avatar statue from the Air Temple Sanctuary.

“That’s amazing!” he said, hand on his forehead.

Aluki dusted her hands off. “That’s how they make all the statues up north.”

“You used to live in the Northern Water Tribe, right?” Aang asked.

She shook her head, sitting again on her bench. It was light enough to see by, a nearly full moon high in the sky, and the horizon lightening at the equinox drew near. “Not me, but my dad used to live there when he was a kid,” she said. “My Gran moved us down here way before I was born, so I’m a southerner, through and through,” she said proudly.

“How come you guys moved all the way across the world?” he asked, sitting in the snow.

“A fair number of people from up north move down this way,” she said, shrugging. “Everyone says that the Northern Tribe is greater, stronger, more beautiful. They have statues and indoor waterfalls and those cool waterways, you know? But my Grandad told me they’re different over there. Rigid, traditional.” Aluki shook her head.

“That’s not the nature of water, though. Water changes, moves. Aaju traveled up there once, when she was nineteen or so, on a trade envoy. She wasn’t our chief then, but she was well-respected, most everyone liked her. She said she went up there and the men tried to stiff her on beluga-walrus ivory, and when they found out she wasn’t married she got a proposal from someone she didn’t even know. Never mind that we’d already been dating for two years by then, it’s just… very strange and political over there.”

Aang hummed. “I’ve never understood that,” he said.

“What?”

He waved his hand. “Marriage. Like, I get it with people like you and Aaju, who love each other, but marriage for other reasons.”

“Air Nomads don’t marry?” she asked curiously. Aang shook his head.

“Not really. It’s rare, only if you really want to, or if you’re in love with someone who’s not an Air Nomad.”

Aluki twisted her lips. “I’m not sure I’d like that,” she said, staring off into the horizon. “Love and marriage should be based on devotion and commitment – if your spouse won’t stick by you, then who will?”

Aang shrugged. “Lots of people. Friends, family. Your spouse, too, but if you can count on the other people you love without marrying them, I don’t see why a husband or wife should be different.”

“What the fuck?” Aluki said, standing.

Aang frowned, looking up at her. “Was that rude? I didn’t think that was rude,” he said, confusion written across his face.

“No, not that.” She pointed out towards the horizon, where the faint glow of lingering dawn silhouetted a few shapes, moving strangely and unnaturally across the ice. “That.”

Aang stood, squinting out into the distance. Faintly, he could hear yelling on the wind. One of the figures was leaning heavily on a two-pronged fishing spear, its head haloed white.

His eyes widened with the realization. “Oh no,” he breathed, turning to Aluki. She had clearly come to the same conclusion, her hand over her mouth. She shouted a small group walking by and pointed at the figures on the horizon.

They ran out to meet the fishermen, who stumbled and shook stiffly. Ice had frozen their parkas into something solid, and the sheen of frost cracked as they walked. Aluki placed herself under the arm of one of the men, and Aang clutched his arm on the other side. Two others had gathered one of the other fishermen and were carrying him, and an older man lent himself to be leaned on by the third fisherman.

“Get Pikta!” Aluki shouted at two young boys who were hovering uncertainly near the opening in the wall. The kids ran off towards the healing hut, and as they helped the fishermen through town, Aang heard the cries and exclamations as people looked and saw their comrades, half frozen and struggling to move. A few people ran over and helped lift and carry them, rushing towards the healing hut.

Pikta was moving deftly, gathering supplies and barking orders to her assistants, and three stations had been cleared, surrounded by small pools of water that was cloudy and white-tinged. The three fishermen were deposited on the platforms, and Aang watched as Pikta moved, taking over the center platform, with two other healers handling the remaining fishermen.

Aang stepped out of the way as they began to work, melting the ice with a touch and peeling away the damp garments to reveal hands and feet gone black and swollen.

Aang thought back to what Aaju had said, when Gyatso was still being healed of his burn – how strange that they should look the same. Before he could think too hard about it, Aluki took him by the shoulder and steered him towards the door.

He gave her a confused look, but she bustled him along towards the giant building in the center of town.

“We need to find Aaju, to let her know what happened.”

Aang nodded, and she nudged him towards the building.

“Check there, if you find her tell her what happened and tell her I sent you.”

“Got it,” he said, rushing towards the central building. He ran inside, and saw a few people gathered around a large map, intricately detailed with ocean currents and paths, while the land masses were colored solid and unlabeled.

They looked up when he ran in.

“I’m looking for Chief Aaju, it’s an emergency!” he said.

“What’s an emergency?”

Aang turned and saw Aaju walking up behind him. He pointed off towards the healing hut. “Some of the fishermen – I don’t know what happened but there was an accident and they’re freezing. Aluki told me to come get you.”

She needed no further explanation. She set off towards the healing hut, Aang walking briskly beside her.

“How many?”

“Three,” Aang said. Aaju frowned. “We set eight people out to fish this morning, only three are back?”

“That’s all I saw. I don’t know exactly what happened, but the men – their hands -,”

“Frostbite?” she cut him off.

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

She swept into the healing hut, and the people parted for her like a rock in a stream. She looked over the three men, who were being tended to by the healers. Aang watched curiously as the water took on a slightly pink color, barely there, as they moved over the blackened limbs. He grimaced as they groaned in pain – it looked awful.

One of the men began struggling to sit up - the healer gently pushed him down, but he struggled still. Aaju saw him and made her way over and stationed herself at the end of the healing pool.

“Alignak. Tell me what happened,” she said. He settled back down as she approached.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Alignak said, sounding stunned. “It was a storm like you wouldn’t believe. We couldn’t sail, couldn’t hear each other over the wind. And then the other boat capsized – the wind stripped away our outer paneling and we started taking on water. It was only because we were next to a floe that we were able to jump on and get out of the water. The others… they just sank.” He looked up at Aaju, bewildered.

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, more to herself than to the fisherman. “We’ve had no indications that a storm was coming.”

“They just sank,” he repeated. “It came out of nowhere... it was like we were being attacked.”

Aaju placed a calming hand on his leg. Then her eyes widened. “Perhaps this was not a natural storm?” she asked him.

Alignak struggled to sit up again, but the healer placed a hand on his shoulder, easily keeping him down. “I’ve been in a lot of storms. I don’t know what it was.”

She patted his knee. “We’re going to take care of this. You rest. Nanouk?”

The healer nodded at her, and Aaju turned and steered Aang out of the healing hut.

“Let’s find Aluki,” she said to him. “I have a plan.”

“This is a matter of the spirits! Who else but the Avatar could solve this?” Aaju said heatedly.

Gyatso frowned, infuriatingly serene. “In what respect is Aang, untrained and inexperienced, well-equipped to solve this problem?”

Aaju rolled her eyes. “Don’t be obtuse, you know as well as I do that the Avatar is more than capable of handling this.”

Aang watched them, swiveling his head back and forth as they traded sharp remarks.

Aluki nudged him with her elbow, then leaned in close. “Do you know how to convene with the spirits?” she asked.

Aang frowned. “Not really. I’ve never done it before. But…” he twiddled his thumbs. “I suppose I have to learn at some point, don’t I?”

She nodded. “I might have an idea, if you’re interested?”

He thought to Alignak, and his blackened fingers, the other fishermen lost in the gale. “I have to try,” he answered her, and cast another look to Gyatso and Aaju, who were still arguing. Aluki led him quietly outside, and they didn’t even notice.

Once outside, Aluki took on her purposeful stride, Aang behind her.

“So, uh… what is your idea?”

“Our shaman once was able to visit the Spirit World, and he’s really quite knowledgeable about it. Aaju thinks he’s a little hokey, but if anyone can help you, he can.”

“He visited the Spirit World?” Aang asked excitedly.

“Yes, many years ago. But he still knows more about it than anyone else in the tribe.”

“Did he say what it was like?”

She shook her head. “He’s never spoken about it. He was lost to us for many days while he journeyed there, like he was sleeping. When he woke up, or came back, I guess, he went out into the wilderness for a month. He was different when he returned. Sometimes I think he left part of himself there.”

Aang swallowed nervously as Aluki led him to a small igloo, hardly tall enough to stand up in for someone full-grown. What if he got into the Spirit World and couldn’t get back out?

She brought him inside, and he looked up. The domed ceiling was carved ice, showing stars and constellations. He could skim the peak with his fingers, if he stretched. It was strange that this was the shaman’s place, in a tiny hut towards the front of the village, unprotected by the walls.

He looked around curiously. A tiny fire, more like the smoking remains of driftwood, burned in the center, ringed four times by smooth, flat stones. Earthenware pots of water flanked the entrance, and an imposing man, broad with a wave of dark hair, sat with his back to them. Aluki stepped forward.

“Ikh?” she began, before he rose a hand slowly.

“I was waiting for you, Avatar Aang.”

He spoke in a husky rumble and turned to face them. He was younger than Aang expected of a great spiritual leader. All the elders he’d ever known had been… well, elderly. This man, Ikh, couldn’t have been older than forty. He gestured for them to sit, and so Aang sat across the fire pit from him, with Aluki on his right. Now sitting on the same level as him, the man seemed even more imposing. He wore two braided lengths of hair that dangled from each temple, and his eyes were dark brown so as to almost look black.

Ikh regarded him for a moment before speaking. “You seek the spirits, Avatar.”

Aang nodded. “Aluki said you’ve been to the Spirit World before. I need to get there. Can you help me?”

“The Avatar is the great bridge between the mortal world and the Spirit World. Besides Avatar, very few are capable of leaping between the worlds, and when they do, they come back changed. Reaching the Spirit World can be difficult even for you.” Ikh paused.

He turned and grabbed something behind him. When he turned back to face them, he held a modest-sized drum of bleached-white sealskin and his left hand grasped the velveteen antler of an arctic fox-caribou.

“Meditate on what you wish to achieve.”

Aang settled into a meditative position, fists pressed together at the dip beneath his ribs, and he focused on his breathing. He closed his eyes, and Ikh began to drum, a simple thrumming beat like the sound of a heart.

Thump-thump thump.

Thump-thump thump.

He took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the rhythm of his breathing and tune the drumbeat out. Usually he meditated in silence, and the drumming was strange, and threw him off. Instead of turning inward to clear his mind, he was focusing on the drum.

Thump-thump thump.

Thump-thump thump.

His breathing moved in time with it of its own accord, and the drumming no longer seemed outward and disruptive, but seemed to hum through his bones and felt like something that emanated from within him.

Thump-thump thump.

Thump-thump thump.

Silence.

Aang opened his eyes, concentration broken. He gasped, standing quickly, looking out at the orange sky and swampy water that surrounded him. Off in the distance, he saw the silhouette of a great elephant stark against the foggy sky.

“I’m in the Spirit World.”

Aluki had closed her eyes at the drumbeat, the dark hazy room, but she saw the light through her eyelids and looked to see the Avatar sitting still in his meditative position, glowing softly along the lines of his tattoos, the light spilling over his cheeks from where his eyes were half-lidded. She began to stand, alarmed, but when she looked over to Ikh, he was watching calmly, continuing the rhythm. If there was something wrong, he would let her know. She settled back down, but kept her eyes open, trained on Aang, ready to act at the slightest indication of danger.

She considered going to retrieve Aaju and Gyatso but decided against it. They would only bicker about her bringing Aang here, perhaps disrupting his journey in the Spirit World.

No, this was a journey he had to take. She could only sit here, be here, just in case. Aluki watched and waited patiently for something to change.

Nearly an hour in, the sheet at the front of the room was swept open. Aluki was immediately on guard, but relaxed when Aaju and Gyatso stepped in. Aaju took in the scene, the child Avatar lit up and convening with the spirits and smiled smugly at Gyatso.

Gyatso, though it was plainly apparent on his face that he was unsettled by the situation, simply settled into the seat next to his charge and joined Aluki in her vigil. Ikh had not once faltered in his rhythm.

All they could do was wait.

He walked aimlessly. The wind buffeted him, and he discovered quickly that he could not bend it in this place. It was strange, mostly outside with small pools of water and mud, great trees, tall cliffs and caves, but every so often he would walk in the area between trees where there would be a snatch of hallway, of almost-inside, which would be painted with mandalas or carved with animals.

Aang had no idea where he was going, or what he was looking for. The trees and the plants were bent by the strong gusts, and so he decided to walk into the wind. Maybe something was causing it? Maybe the same thing that was causing the storms in his world.

As he walked, he would hear odd sounds, like a crying baby or the flash of fire as something ignited all at once without ever seeing where it came from.

“Hello?” he called, hands cupped around his mouth. “Hello? It’s the Avatar! Is there someone here I can talk to?”

Above him, he heard one of the tree branches shake suddenly, and he looked up. A chattering hog-monkey sat on the branch directly over his head, its curious blue face staring at him, unblinking. Aang smiled at it.

“Hi! Can you talk? Or show me where I can find someone?”

The hog-monkey’s face grew angry, and it screamed at him, leaning down so that it dribbled spit on Aang’s head, then disappeared into the branches of the tree. Aang sullenly wiped the spit off his head.

“You could’ve just said no,” he grumbled, continuing his trek into the gale.  

He walked uphill, sliding in the mud. The Spirit World hummed and whispered with life, but he saw very little of it. The wind was getting stronger as he walked into it, though, so maybe that was something. He had to be getting closer. A sudden, very strong gust swept him off his feet, and without bending he couldn’t just recover his bearings. Instead, he slid down the muddy hill, and landed with a splat at the bottom.

“Ugh! Where is everybody?” Aang griped, standing up halfway before sliding in the mud again, falling to his knees gracelessly.

“Ew,” he said, looking at his hands. The mud was somehow slimier than normal, and accumulated like a paste.

“Hello, Aang,” a smooth voice said from behind him. Aang gasped and turned, starting to stand again, but falling backwards. He looked up into the face of Roku, shimmering and opaque.

“Avatar Roku!” he cried.

“I was not expecting you so soon. But these are extraordinary times.”

“Yeah. I guess they are.”

Roku’s image shuddered in the wind. He gave Aang a small, sad smile. “Many dangers lurk in the world for you. Be prepared to flee, Aang. You will not have the time I had, and Sozin grows more powerful each day. If this war goes on unchecked, the world will be thrown into devastation. He has already struck a killing blow.”

Aang blinked rapidly. “Right,” he said uncomfortably. His people’s murder as simply the first of many casualties made his skin crawl. He stood carefully in the slick mud, but still had to look up to meet Roku’s gaze.

“There’s a terrible storm, and it’s killed people from the Water Tribe. They think it’s a spirit, and they want me to stop it, but I don’t know how.”

Roku didn’t answer straightaway but looked to where the wind came from. “So it is here as it is there. Sozin violated the balance, and now the world faces the consequences. I cannot tell you what to do – I am not privy to much beyond you and our shared lives, Aang. But I assure you, these winds are felt in all corners of the earth.”

Aang furrowed his brow. “Can I see what – or who – is causing this?”

Roku shook his head. “Who causes this is unknown and does not wish to be known – they have fled into the mortal world. You will have to seek your own solution. What I can tell you is this: you must defeat Sozin before he can further devastate the balance of the world. His is not a fire that burns hot and fast, but one that burns slowly and surely, that will consume the whole world.” His face softened slightly. “When you return, tell our friend that he was righteous, in what he thought of me.”

Roku’s image flickered again with a gust of wind. “Our time draws to an end.”

Aang frowned. “Wait – I still need to stop these storms, and I need to master the elements, and I need to defeat the Fire Lord, but I don’t know how to do that!”

“You will know what needs to be done. It is only whether you do it, or not. Be careful who you trust, Aang.” Roku, at that point, was nothing more than a few defining features – the sleeve of his robe, the length of his beard, the line of his nose. Aang stepped forward, but Roku reached out and placed his hand on Aang’s forehead. He could hardly see Roku, but the pressure was tangible. Suddenly, the world faded to black.

Thump-thump thump.

Thump-thump thump.

He opened his eyes.

Aluki, Gyatso, and Aaju were all crowded around him, peering into his face intently.

“Ah!” He startled backwards. Ikh still drummed. “Everyone’s in here,” Aang said stupidly.

“You took too long, they figured out what we were doing,” Aluki said, shrugging.

“What did you learn?” Aaju asked, cutting straight to the point.

Aang stood. “I need to go into the storm,” he said to her.

“Aang, wait,” Gyatso implored.

“I can take you there,” Aaju spoke.

“The sooner the better,” Aluki said. Aang turned to face Ikh, offering his arm. Ikh shook it from where he still sat, and smiled. “You were much quicker than I was, Avatar. Mortal eyes will mislead you.”

“Thank you for your help, Master Ikh,” Aang said.

Ikh dipped his head, and the group shuffled out of the hut. Aluki laid her hand on Aang’s shoulder and guided him to the large house he and Gyatso and Appa had been situated in, telling him it was finally time for him to trade the light airbender robes for something that could handle the cold, leaving Aaju and Gyatso behind.

Aaju bumped their shoulders together.

“Don’t think I don’t understand, Gyatso. But this has to happen.”

“I am well aware of what is expected of him,” Gyatso said, the slightest accusation hanging on his words.

She looked at him sideways. “The Avatar is fortunate to have such a dedicated guardian.”

Aang and Aluki emerged, Aang dwarfed in a massive blue parka with the hood pulled up, his face small in the thick halo of fur, gloved hangs wrapped around his glider.

Gyatso frowned. “I do not protect him because he is the Avatar.”

“You shelter him,” Aaju accused, hushed as their companions drew closer.

Gyatso straightened and pulled his hood over his head. “I know.”

Aluki and Aang returned to the group, and they set out beyond the walls of the village, towards the ever-light horizon, the soft, powdery snow flying across the tundra. Aluki moved forward, and began to walk next to Aaju, their arms linking easily. Gyatso fell back and walked next to Aang.

“I talked to Roku,” Aang said, after a few silent minutes. “He told me to tell you something.”

“What did he have to say?”

Aang frowned. “He said, ‘tell our friend he was righteous in what he thought of me,’” Aang replied, confusion evident in his voice.

The words hit like a punch. Roku had been such an idealist. He believed people would want to do what was right, had believed that love and kindness were key, had been unrestrained in his mercy and highly restrained in his power. Gyatso remembered how deeply he had connected with Air Nomad philosophy when he came to the temple. Now, beyond the veil of death, he was extending his hand out once more, in guilt or in sorrow. Gyatso would not indulge in that righteous anger, even with his blessing – not when Roku’s ideals had been turned viciously against him, not when Aang shared that same worldview. How alike they were.

He swallowed thickly – even in finding his friend gone but not lost, the grief still could overwhelm. Gyatso placed a gloved hand on Aang’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said simply. The wind picked up as they walked further into the tundra, the soft light of the village blinking out behind them.

The wind whipped viciously, throwing the snow up and making it difficult to see. The roar of the air carried an otherworldly voice, yelling out wordlessly. Even knowing how to keep himself warm, even in the thick parkas of the Water Tribe, Aang felt the bitter chill of the wind. Like heat lightning, every so often the gale of wind and snow would flash blue.

It was the eye of the storm, its arms reaching into the southern seas, stripping wood from boats and sinking ships. Aluki hardened the snow before them, making it easier to walk, but as they drew closer, the ice crystals were torn from the ground and tossed violently in the air. Aaju leaned heavily on Aluki’s arm and strained to be heard over the wind.

“This is as far as we can go – it is unsafe to go further.”

Aang looked into the wind, the swirl of snow – in a flash of blue light he saw a distant silhouette. This gale had sunk Water Tribe ships, torn up ice floes, and Roku said it was happening all over the world. Aang knew whatever spirit was causing this wouldn’t rest until he did something. He handed his staff to Aluki and began to walk further into the fray, breaking from the group.

A hand grasped his wrist. He turned and saw Gyatso staring at him, eyes wide. He shook his head vehemently.

“You don’t have to do this, Aang!” he shouted over the wind.

His gut reaction was to feel relief, to sink into the shelter that Gyatso had always offered him. But the wind howled and lashed at his face, and he knew if he did that, he could never live with himself. He had always learned how to rise above his obstacles. He supposed it was finally time that he learned to navigate through them, instead.

Gently, Aang pulled his hand from Gyatso’s grasp. “Yes. I do,” he replied, turning back to the storm.

Gyatso’s arm dropped limply to his side, and Aaju wrapped her hand around his bicep, as if to hold him back. They watched as Aang walked into the storm, losing sight of the blue parka, then losing sight of his shape altogether.

Aang trudged further into the snow, following the wordless scream on the wind, his feet moving of their own accord to an unknown place. The blue light flashed, and he saw the silhouette again, much closer this time. It towered over him, a four-winged bird, its sharp, massive beaked turned skywards. Aang fell backwards into the snow, holding back a scream. He watched as the dark shape approached and he stood shakily. It opened its beak, and as the lightning flashed again, it screeched at him, deafening and strange and unnatural. He listened, bracing himself against the gust of wind that accompanied the scream and felt a painful swell of grief in his chest. He looked up and saw the bird’s broad face, its four wings flapping uselessly.

The scream it had unleashed was tortured. Aang stood taller, looking up towards the spirit with sad eyes.

“Pehar.”

At his name, the spirit brought its large head down, looking at Aang with grey eyes. As it drew closer, Aang could see the blue of its face and the white of its body, the blue ending at a point between its eyes. It crooned softly, but its size meant the sound was still close to deafening, sending a rumble through the ground. At the point where its feet met the snow, soft light glowed. Aang held a hand up to the honeyeater, the spirit of the sky and the wind, whose children were dead and slaughtered.

He felt his tears roll down his cheek, the freezing wind making them cutting and sharp.

“I feel your grief, Pehar,” he said. At some point during the gale, the hood of his parka had fallen, and Pehar brought his large head down, pushing past Aang’s hand, and the tip of his beak pressed softly into the center of the arrow on Aang’s forehead. When he did, Aang did not see the honeyeater any longer, but the same Pehar who had been painted in the shrine in the temple. His face was like a human’s, wide but no longer serene. His expression was severe and broken and his eyes searched Aang’s face for a long moment, the wind still ripping wildly at his clothes. Pehar threw out his four arms and the gale ceased very suddenly, the snow falling silently to the ground. Aang dropped to his knees and looking up he only saw the half-full moon, the spirit gone. In the moonlight, a gentle wind that he did not command brought him up and set him on his feet, brushing his face before it dissipated.

He turned and saw the others, not so far away as he’d thought.

Aang sat next to Gyatso, cross-legged as the people streamed into the large hall. As they waited for everyone to arrive, a few people, including Alignak, approached and talked to him about Pehar’s storm. Alignak, unlike many of the others who thanked or congratulated him, sat quite close, and asked many questions about the spirits, about how to pacify them. He seemed genuinely interested in the spiritual part of being the Avatar. Aang thought that was a nice divergence from normalcy, where most people simply thought he was fascinating for the simple fact that he could bend other elements. He was shooed away, eventually, as Aaju and Aluki took their seats next to Aang and Gyatso. They were centered and forward in the crowd, a wonderful location to hear everything, but not set up and apart from their cohorts.

The hall was full, and the chatter swelled and became like white noise until the storyteller, Tulok, walked onstage. The voices fell silent, and as nearly the whole of the village was gathered, the silence was eerie and total, and the absence of sound hummed like a noise of its own.

Tulok stood without speaking for several moments. Several of the small children leaned forward in anticipation, and Aang held his breath waiting for the story to begin.

“In a time long passed, the time of our ancestors, there was a young man who was named Kamik. Kamik was a skilled leader, but longed to be as accomplished as his father, who was a powerful waterbender and the chief of the village. Kamik himself could not bend but sought to help his people in any way that he could.”

Aaju and Aluki, along with many of the adults in the tribe were listening casually, having heard the story many times before. Aang watched Tulok intently as if he could glean more from the story from looking closely. He leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees, like the little children, having never heard the story before.

“Kamik was a young shaman, charged with protecting and preserving the spirits, who in the times long passed, roamed the tundra freely. In the darkest winter of Kamik’s twenty years, there was a great wailing from the village, as children began to disappear in their sleep, in the morning discovered missing when their parents woke, finding only the tracks of a polar bear dog leading away from their homes. The darkest of months had sent the seals away into the ocean, and the moon was vanished behind a veil of death. Only by stopping the wild beast could the village be saved.”

A few of the little kids huddled into their parents’ sides, casting suspicious glances around as if a polar bear dog would come up and eat them at any moment.

“And so, Kamik went to the edge of the ocean, and asked, “How can I destroy this creature?” He begged the spirits for an answer, but none would be revealed to him. In the silence of the spirits, Kamik returned home, and placed out offerings in front of every house with a child, so that the creature might be appeased, or the spirits would take mercy. His father asked him, perhaps, if the village done some offense to the spirits, but Kamik scoffed at the very idea and assured his father that he could protect the people in this respect.

“In the night, however, as he lay with his wife, he heard the sound of soft snow being crushed underfoot and woke to see the polar bear dog looming over the cradle of his young son – he realized that it was no mortal creature, but its aura glowed. It was a spirit incarnate, and one Kamik had been charged with protecting and honoring.

“Kamik stood, shouting and waving his hands at the beast, hoping to resolve the situation peacefully. The spirit was startled, and snatched up his babe in its massive jaws, fleeing the village. He wielded a machete and gave it chase, until it disappeared into the darkness and he could no longer hear the cries of his son.

“He wept bitterly in the snow, the cold bitter and unyielding, and forsake the spirits, for he believed they had transgressed against him. Kamik felt the heavy burden of despair. The darkness was impenetrable, and no moon glowed to guide him home. Kamik knelt under the weight of his grief but gathered his courage. He stood, and sought the distant horizon, where the burrows of animals dotted the landscape. He trekked through the deep snow, only in his sleeping clothes, and found the great den of the polar bear dog. It sat silent, and his infant son was nowhere to be found.”

A few of the children gasped at Tulok’s words. Gyatso wiped his eyes surreptitiously. Aaju snickered at him.

“Kamik was overcome with his anger and grief, and with a massive cry, attacked the polar bear dog. He slayed the spirit he had sworn to protect and violated his sacred vows. The great spirit laid still and silent and frozen. And Kamik looked upon it and wept again, for he had failed in his duty to protect the spirits, the village, and his son – he had not sought the council of the spirits in how to appease and live in harmony with them, but only sought destruction.

“It was on that night that the spirits fled from the mortal realm, and we have had to live in separation from them ever since. Only on the darkest of nights or the lightest of days, on the rising and the setting of the sun can the spirits cross over to our world again.”

Tulok bowed his head, and after a beat, raised it again. When he did, the villagers began to cheer and applaud. Aang joined in but frowned. The story had ended abruptly, and tragically.

It was so unlike the stories he’d been raised on, the tale of the puma and the pear tree, or the legend of the nun who was first taught by the bison. He wondered if it was true, if this or something like it was the reason for the separation of mortals and spirits.

When the story ended, people began to stand and mill around, talking. Aaju grinned at Gyatso.

“I didn’t peg you as the sentimental type,” she said.

Gyatso laid a hand on his heart. “Sentimental? I merely have a healthy appreciation for storytelling.”

Aaju smirked. “Sure thing.”

“What is the occasion?” he asked.

“Tomorrow’s the equinox,” Aluki answered. “The sun’s going to rise. We’ll have our dawn celebration, and we’ll tell more stories, have a feast. It’s fun!”

Aang grinned. Normally, around this time of year, they’d have the dancing festival, and he’d nearly forgotten. Even when traveling, they still celebrated, singing and dancing together. A celebration sounded fun, and he’d missed the sun. It never really felt right waking up and going to sleep all in darkness, even though the horizon had lightened significantly with dusk over the last few weeks.

“That sounds awesome!” he said excitedly.

Aluki held her hand up. “Oh, no. You’re gonna train tomorrow just like any other day,” she said.

His face fell, and she burst into laughter. “Nah, I’m just kidding.”

“You are?”

“No,” she said, the mirth disappearing from her face to be replaced by her stony teacher mask. “You do have to train tomorrow. We cannot miss even one day.”

“Wait.”

“You make it too easy,” she said, grinning again.

“I can’t tell when you’re joking!” he laughed.

“I’m joking. It’s a lot of fun, you guys are going to have a great time,” she said, nodding to Gyatso as well.

He smiled too. “We look forward to it.”

The whole village smelled like roasting caribou. It was a little nauseating, but it was the tradition to cook all the meat for the equinox celebration in the central fire of the village, to signify the sharing of prosperity during the summer with the whole community. It was ancient, and a wonderfully community-oriented custom, especially when coupled with the laughter from kids as they listened to Tulok talk about the fox that had nearly stolen the caribou leg out from under Tagak’s nose.

The sun had peeked over the horizon at some point during the activity, and the festival would continue until it had fully risen.

Aang was vaguely listening to some of Tulok’s stories, but many of them involved hunting, and there were only so many dead animals Aang could handle at once.

The entire village was celebrating. Even Appa had been roped into festivities – he was laying with his head resting between his two front feet as a gaggle of little kids fed him seaweed and berries, giggling and flinching away every time he took a berry from their hands. His eyes were half-lidded like they always were when he ate too much and had to take a nap.

Aang looked around. A couple of kids his age were pulling fish from the massive piles that had yet to be roasted, and were passing them around, with one girl standing innocently next to them, clearly a lookout. Aang grinned and walked over. The girl who was handing out the fish had her back to him as he approached.

“What are you guys doing?” he asked. She startled and dropped the fish she was holding.

“Avatar!” she said standing up. “Nothing. Just… checking the fish,” she lied.

He tilted his head, tamping down a smile. Whatever this was, he wanted in. “For what?” he asked curiously.

“Uh, foxes.”

“In the fish?”

“Yeah,” she said nodding. A couple of the other kids behind her were also nodding, backing her up. “Foxes… they get in the fish, and then all you’re left with is fish head, blech,” she said, rambling.

“Can I help?”

“Oh,” she said, looking panicked. She sighed and hung her head, her two long braids swinging with the motion.

“Well, uh. We’re not checking the fish. We’re going penguin-sledding, but please don’t tell, cause the adults hate when we go penguin sledding because it makes the flock move, but please don’t tell, Avatar.”

Aang grinned. “I won’t tell! Can I come penguin sledding with you guys?”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah! I’ve always wanted to!”

“Okay,” she said, surprised. “Wow, the Avatar is going penguin sledding with us,” she said to herself.

“You can call me Aang, if you want,” he offered.

“I’m Tapeesa!”

He looked to the pile of fish she’d been digging in. “So, what do you need the fish for? Can’t you just go up them?”

Tapeesa shook her head. “You’ll never catch one like that. They waddle, but they waddle fast. You gotta make them come to you. Here,” she said, handing him a few fish. He tucked them in his sleeves, thanking her.

She looked back at the dozen or so kids who were milling about.

“Does everyone have their fish?” she asked. Various murmurs of assent, not too loud to avoid being noticed by the adults.

“Alright, let’s go!” she said, leading them towards the outskirts of the village. Aang followed, grinning. It was nice to do something silly and fun with kids his age, instead of the near-constant training he’d been doing since he was told he was the Avatar.

It reminded him of before that, with his friends at the temple, and Bumi, and Kuzon. As soon as they broke away from the village proper, all the kids broke into a run, and he joined them, the cold air burning pleasantly in his lungs.

Another announcement, less important because it was made by the mayor, at sunset.

Anyone suspected of being from the Air Nation or sympathetic to the Air Nation is to be reported to the authorities. Anyone who harbors, aids, or fails to report an airbender is guilty of treason.

It made sense to Kuzon, at least, that there were some airbenders who lived. Aang had said most people didn’t live at the temples, just the children and the monks and nuns. Aang lived there, and Kuzon had long since accepted that he was dead, but the nomads would likely have escaped that same fate.

The crowd, however, murmured nervously and angrily at the idea that there were still Air Nomads around.

A young man next to him shook his head. “That’s awful,” he said to Kuzon, tutting.

Kuzon nodded. “Yeah.” Waited the appropriate beat as his simple mind struggled to process the man’s words.

“What is?” he asked, innocently, stupidly, like a bargaining chip.

“The Air Soldiers,” the man said like it was obvious, like Kuzon was an idiot. He looked Kuzon up and down. “Watch yourself if you ever see one. They snatch kids like you up left and right.”

He didn’t respond, pursing his lips to keep from scowling. This guy had probably never met an airbender before, but he still spouted off all these ridiculous rumors like he’d seen it happen a million times.

“What is wrong with you people?” a voice shouted into the crowd. Kuzon whipped his head over to one of the low walls surrounding the square, where a woman was standing looking out over the sea of faces. She wore her hair up in a massive bun, and her clothes were fine, embroidered with gold thread. Her hands shook, and her face was red with anger.

“Have you no honor? Have you all lost your minds?” She pointed towards the balcony, where the mayor still stood, flanked by guards.

“They are lying to you, and you’re all falling for it! Can’t you see? Doesn’t anyone see?” she asked, her voice taking on a hysterical note. That frustration, that alienation, Kuzon knew well. Knowing what’s true but everyone believing and speaking nonsense as if it was truth, as if everyone who knew what was real was crazy and traitorous.

Her questions hung in the air for a silent moment, the crowd stunned. Kuzon looked up at her, clearly a noble, educated woman, saying what he believed. That she, too, had been passive and bitter in this crowd made him wonder. How many others knew the truth, who were just staying silent because they didn’t know how to seek each other out?

That rush of relief that thought commanded in him burned in his chest. She was like him. There were others, he knew it. He took a breath to shout, to say something, to offer his support and then somebody else would shout out and another until they were too many to command – and it rushed out all at once as a soldier grabbed her arm and yanked her down from her ledge, dragging her viciously and she kicked and screamed and begged for an ally, someone who knew the truth.

Kuzon clenched his jaw, averted his eyes. His nation would not hear truth. They had violently rejected it. And they would weed out people like her, people like him, until only the lies remained.

The young man next to him shook his head at her.

“Again,” Aluki said from where she sat. Aang groaned and flopped backwards into a snowbank. Gyatso laughed from where he sat next to Aluki, and Aang raised his head to pout at him. Traitor.

Aluki snapped her fingers. “This needs to be muscle memory. I want you to be able to do this in your sleep.”

“Why? Why would I ever have to do this in my sleep?”

“You never know. Go again.” Aang groaned and grumbled as he got back to his feet but took his bending stance. A black snowflake landed on his nose and he went cross-eyed looking at it. He stood from his bending stance and held out a hand. Black snow piled neatly in his palm, melting into grey water, and he frowned towards where Gyatso and Aluki sat. Gyatso was also holding out his hand, and Aluki had stood staring out towards the wall of the village.

The sun had finally risen and would not set for many months. Since the equinox celebration, the village had been scarcely populated, as the traders went out into the southern Earth Kingdom and the hunting parties set out for days at a time. Only a few others milling around looked around at the greying snow, bewildered.

As nice as it was to feel the warmth of the sun again after so long without it, it reflected off the snow and made seeing far as difficult as a moonless night. Aang squinted out towards where Aluki was watching but saw nothing besides the haze and the black flecks that began to dot the snow.

He turned back to her.

“Is this supposed to happen?” he asked, though he knew it wasn’t normal. He hoped against logic that this was some symptom of summer in the polar regions, and not the foreboding sign it felt like.

“No…” she said, brow furrowed as she stared out into fog. She frowned, then took a bending stance, and pushed her hands up against the sky, the ground underneath her growing like a tower. She stared out for a minute, Aang and Gyatso staring up at her.

“I can fly Appa around and see if there’s anything out there,” he offered.

Without warning, Aluki collapsed the tower into a pile of snow – she landed with a crunch as her boots met the ground again, and turned to them, her face ashen.

“Fire Nation,” she said grimly. “About two hundred soldiers on foot and about six tanks.” She pointed out at the horizon, and Aang bounded forward a few leaps, straining to see. As he watched, he could see a line in the fog, moving, growing taller and dark as it approached.

“Oh, no.”

He looked around, the village nearly emptied in the busy months. There were maybe a hundred people left, many of them children or old people. With rising horror, he turned back around. Aluki looked worried, determined, but Gyatso, in that muted way of his, was a mirror of the emotions that ran through Aang.

Dread and shock, because the last time this happened their home was destroyed, and the attack had been brutal, and their friends had been killed senselessly. If he listened closely, he could hear the hundreds of footsteps crunching through the snow as they approached.

There was no time to prepare, no escape, no way to stall an entire battalion of troops, which had drawn so close he could see the haze of red as they moved in.

The only option was to stand and fight.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t see where the chick-foal went ‘cause the chick-foal came to me! The chick-foal said the elephant is wise, and here’s what he said to me-,”

“Jamyang, stop . You’ve been singing for hours. Please stop.”

“Palmo says songs are a delight to the wind and a blessing to those who hear them.”

“I’ve heard it. The wind heard it. I’m going to need you to shut it, or else I’ll lose my mind.”

“The elephant said that the grapes are blue, and the blue grapes hung in bunches! The hog-monkey ate, and he did not share-,”

“Jamyang!”

“-Those sweet blue grapes with me-,”

“Shut up!”

“Senge, be kind. Jamyang, do not tease.”

“Yes, Palmo.”

“Sorry, Palmo.”

Palmo turned back to steering at Bya’s head when both girls looked appropriately chastened, and when she did, Jamyang stuck her tongue out at Senge. Senge glared at her but crossed her arms and turned away. They’d be at the temple soon, and then Senge could finally get some alone time. The clouds were thick and dark around them, but they weren’t heavy and cool like rain, just hot and insubstantial. The air current had just crossed with the Badgermole Stream, and soon she’d finally get some time away from Jamyang.

Senge loved Jamyang, but it was best for both of them to not spend too much time together. At least these long trips allowed Senge a chance to practice her patience (which Palmo claimed was wanting, but who could listen to hours of Blue Grapes and not lose patience?).

The clouds thinned as they approached the Eastern Air Temple, and Senge sighed in relief. She laid back on the saddle and closed her eyes, but a gasp from Palmo drew her attention. She sat back up.

There were no bison, no people on gliders. The temple smoked with tiny fires all over, and its face was marred and blackened. Senge covered her mouth, and Jamyang began to cry.

“What’s that?” Senge asked. “What’s going on?”

The bridges between the mountains had collapsed in places, dividing the three sections of the temple. As they drew closer, Senge could smell smoke.

“Palmo?” she asked shakily. Jamyang had scooted over, and was clinging to her arm, head pressed against her shoulder. Palmo startled and looked back at the two girls. She looked stunned and afraid, which sent a cold chill down Senge’s back because Palmo normally handled everything with calm grace. Abruptly, Palmo’s face shuttered and she turned forward again.

She flicked the reins, and Bya groaned, turning sharply to the right. Palmo took them down to one of the smaller mountains, where the lemurs would often go to nest, and set them down on a ledge. She turned and grabbed her glider, then hopped off Bya’s head.

Senge looked down at her, Jamyang still clinging to her arm, crying. “ Do not lift yourselves a foot off the ground until I get back. Am I clear?” she barked up at them.

Senge nodded quickly. Jamyang was still distraught and Palmo looked to Senge. “If you see anything dangerous, anyone around who’s not an airbender, you take Bya and you go, okay?”

“Okay,” Senge whispered. Palmo flicked her glider open, a bright sunny yellow that looked out of place in the smoky haze and leapt into the air. As she flew close to the temples, she could see what she had feared was there.

Senge was only thirteen, and Jamyang was so little, just eight. She had been right to keep them away from this. Palmo landed at the base of the grand steps, sending ash skittering over the stone. Two were prostrate across the stairs, clinging to each other, unrecognizable through burns and decay. Away from the girls, she allowed herself tears. She forced herself to move, feeling unnaturally tethered to the ground and heavy in a foreign way.

Palmo walked through the main hall, the other pathways dark and silent, but she was drawn past them, to the end of the line where the sanctuary laid open and dark. Her heart pounded as she drew closer, and before she was too close the smell hit her and the sound of buzzing flies filled her head. She fell to her knees, hands clasped across her mouth and nose. However it happened, that they hid and the doors were forced open, or they were overrun before they could seal themselves in, that sacred place was full of horror. She scooted away from the sanctuary, taking refuge in the mouth of another hall.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. She could not fall apart when her girls were waiting for her. She stared at the wall but noticed red in her peripheral vision. A boot, black with red trim and pointed at the toe. It just confirmed what she’d suspected.

What fight did the Fire Nation have with them? No territory could interest them, not like the Western or Southern temples, like the Earth Kingdom. The Fire Nation was a whole ocean away, or else they traversed across the map to them. For what? What reason was enough to justify this?

Palmo raised her hand and snapped in her own ear. Snapped again. She could sit in this grand monument to decay, or she could act.

She stood and walked down the children’s hall. Jamyang’s room was empty of horror, but the door was flung open and the mattress ripped apart. Palmo ignored it and went to the little chest at the end of the bed. It had clearly been rifled through, but she grabbed a few extra of her robes and tucked them under her arm. She went down to Senge’s room and did the same, taking a few of her robes and adding them to the pile. Palmo felt around the floor of the little chest until she came upon the hollow and grabbed the poems Senge liked to write.

She searched the room until she found a small travel bag and stuffed the clothes and the poems inside. She’d seen enough, she’d seen more than she’d ever wanted to see, but she walked with forced calm down the hall, sidestepping a tiny corpse and, unable to hold back a sob, she muttered an apology. Palmo walked down until she made it to the large room with the balconies she shared with the other nuns. She stuffed an extra of her own robes into the satchel and filled a small coin purse – the money box, too, had been looted, and so she picked up the few extra coins from where they’d fallen on the ground. As soon as she had what she needed, she leaned out the window and begged the wind to carry her away.

The black snow was clotting on the ground, pockmarking the landscape. The cold wind carried a stink of smoke.

Aluki grabbed Aang by the bicep and pulled him towards the opening in the wall.

“We’re gonna close it up!” she told him. Through the opening, Aang could see the line of soldiers marching closer, becoming more featured every second. She took her bending stance, and Aang mirrored her. Without speaking, they moved at the same time, twisting and pushing upwards. The ground shuddered as the ice moved, grew, blocked off the entrance to the village and sealed everyone inside.

Aang frowned. The tanks had scaled the treacherous mountainside, the whole of the Patola range, and come up the side of their mountain. How would they not scale this wall or shoot it down, blast a hole in the side and come marching in?

Aluki turned, rushing, and Tagak was running by, a spear in his left hand and bending with his right. Aaju and Gyatso returned, and Aluki pushed Aang, harshly, towards their house. “You two have to go.”

Aang’s jaw dropped but out the corner of his eye he saw Gyatso head towards their building. “What? No!” he said. “We’re going to help you, there’s no one else here!”

“There’s enough – we can fight them off if they’re just angry they missed you, but if they know you’re here?” She shook her head. “They won’t ever stop. You have to go.”

Aaju spoke up. “She’s right. We can defend ourselves, but I can’t guarantee we can protect you. If they see you go and know you’re gone, they’ll want to chase you. If they don’t, they’ll raze our village to search for you.”

This wasn’t right. Aang clenched his hands into fists to stop their shaking. This wasn’t right, that he would flee and make the Water Tribe deal with what he brought upon them. He was the Avatar, he was supposed to help them, to stop things like this. If it had still been winter, with the whole of the village, all their hunters and benders present and ready, he knew they’d be able to hold them off. But summer was busy and very few people were still around to help, who were not at the other villages in the South Pole or trading up north.

How could he bring this to them, and then just leave without helping?

Appa groaned behind him, and Gyatso had already thrown their packs onto the saddle. This was so wrong, but if this was the only way he could truly help them, he’d do it. Aang screwed up his face and threw his arms around Aluki.

“Thank you for teaching me, Sifu Aluki,” he said as she brought her arms up to return his hug. She thumped him on the back.

“Stay safe, Aang. We’ll be just fine,” she said, pushing him away, towards Appa. She nodded at Gyatso. “Take care.”

He bowed, low and respectful. “We can never repay you for what you’ve done for us – I only hope we get the chance.”

Aang stood in front of Aaju, and she held out her arm, just like on the first night. He grasped and shook, then yelped, startled, when she tugged him forward and gave him a hug as well. 

“Thank you, Chief Aaju,” he said. She released him and held her arm out to Gyatso, who shook it and murmured a goodbye.

“Go, now. Make sure they see you, but don’t get caught.”

Aang hopped up on a puff of air and used Appa’s horn to pull himself the rest of the way. Gyatso situated himself in the saddle, holding his glider tightly. Aang cast one last look to Aluki and Aaju, then flicked the reins.

“Appa, yip yip!”

A groan and the thump of Appa’s tail sent snow flying everywhere, and they watched as they flew, low over the walls. Aluki brought Aaju close, then raised another platform of ice so they could see. The troops had approached very closely, perhaps only a few minutes’ walk between the Fire Nation and their tribe’s wall. Appa flew very low over the line of soldiers and dodged several blasts of fire before the snow around the soldiers rose up like a wave and dropped heavily, knocking an entire line of men to their feet and burying two of the tanks whole. Aluki elbowed her wife.

“I taught him that,” she said smugly.

Aaju just nodded. “That’s good. That’s proof for them that they’ve missed him.”

They watched as several of the tanks turned around, following Appa towards the South Sea, the remaining combatants still approaching the village. Appa stayed low and drew the tanks away from the village. Aluki collapsed their platform, and Aaju jumped back into action. She commanded Tagak upfront with her and Aluki and a handful of others - the leather tanner’s apprentice up into one of the watchtowers and a few of the healers ready to jump into combat.

The handful of waterbending masters who were still in the village took up platforms on the side of the wall and began to hurl large hunks of ice at the invaders, knocking several of them down. It wasn’t enough, though, Aluki knew. She breathed in deeply, calmed her energy in preparation for what she was about to do. 

Then, she crafted a stream of water beneath her feet and rode it to the outside of the wall. The soldiers began to run towards her, deviating from the marching pace they’d had - a few of the men in front were taken out by her fellows up on the wall. She held out her hands, concentrating, eyes closing so that she could feel the water, the ice, the humidity in the air. She sighed. The water was all around. At her feet, at her fingertips, in her blood. She shook with the effort of feeling it all - the sheer magnitude of it threatened to overwhelm her like a tsunami. But she was a master. 

Just as she began to feel the heat of the fire, she moved in a single, fluid motion, plunging her arms down and sweeping them out with a cry, returning the power of the water with the power in her body. At her feet the ice sheet cracked, shattered into tiny pieces, melting back into ocean. It moved like a ripple through still water - out from her feet to the ice beneath the soldiers. As the tundra shook, a few of the Fire Nation men began to stumble, and flee. Some of the soldiers panicked and began to bend, trying to use their fire to lift themselves up from the icy throes of the ocean, but it only hastened the melting of the ice, and they fell into the freezing water. 

The everythingness of it consumed Aluki, and she fell to her hands and knees, spent. Perhaps a third of the soldiers were still standing, another third fled, and the last third were in the water, freezing and sinking quicker than their companions could pull them out. The ones that remained rushed in a single unit to the village, though forced to circumvent the massive tear in the ice she’d made. If she could get her feet back under her, she could get back behind the wall - but it was nearly too much to stay upright, let alone stand. She asked much of the water, and the water only took what was fair in return. 

She would never, but Aluki almost cursed it for that when the leader approached her, standing tall over her. He held his hands out, ready to strike. 

His face was calm. Cool. Ready. 

“Where have you sent the Avatar?” he asked. 

“I don’t know.” It was true. She had no idea where Aang and Gyatso were headed. She assumed the Earth Kingdom, but that was hardly specific. 

“Try again.” He flexed his fingers and his knuckles popped.

“I don’t know where the Avatar is going.”

“Then you are useless,” he said, tensing. The trade of offense between the soldiers and the Water Tribe had stopped as Aluki and the general spoke, each side at the ready.

Aluki clenched her hands in the snow. She would not go down on her knees, helpless - water was smooth and she made it sharp. The air was cold, but the soldiers made it hot. The inhale before action, and -

The man reared back, howling, clutching a hand to his shoulder, a dagger made from the carved claw of a polar bear dog dripping red blood onto the snow from where it had buried itself in the gap in his armor. Aluki turned and saw Aaju - her aim had always been impeccable. Aaju took advantage of the brief, stunned pause to drag Aluki bodily back inside the wall, Taamusi closing up the small, door-sized gap he’d made. The wall shuddered, and Aluki heard cries from noncombatants as fire sailed up into the air, and felt the thuds rattle through the ice as the Water Tribe fought back. 

Several hours after they’d cleared out the little, dingy wooden ships from the harbor, General Nobu entered the prince’s quarters on their ship. He bowed, low, out of respect and shame in equal measure. It pulled at his hastily bandaged shoulder, but he endured the pain - he failed, and he bore the mark of his shame. 

Prince Azulon watched him with mild interest from a tall, cushioned seat, a steaming cup of tea and a small plate of dango glazed in cinnamon sauce in front of him. Nobu had tried it before - it was an unconventional flavor, and it did not sit well with him. It was a favorite of the prince’s, though. A bizarre quirk.

General Nobu stayed in his bow, his wound pulling, as the prince observed him. 

“You may stand,” he said. Nobu stood. The Prince blinked at him, slow, unworried. 

“What news do you have for me?”

Nobu bowed his head. “The Avatar escaped. Many of our tanks were destroyed, and the ones that returned are damaged. We failed to penetrate the wall of the Southern Water Tribe.”

Azulon looked down at him from his seat, the steam from the tea obscuring the left half of his face. 

“That is disappointing,” he said coldly. “Tell me, do you want what is best for the Fire Nation?”

“I do, Prince Azulon.”

“And do you recognize the threat the Avatar poses to our country?” he continued. 

Nobu swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I do, Prince Azulon.”

Azulon cocked his head in confusion. “So why did you fail?” 

“The Avatar fled before we reached the village. The Water Tribe took out many of our soldiers - good men killed -,” he began passionately, but Azulon raised a hand and cut him off. Nobu bit his tongue. He’s done it now.

“What should you have done differently?” the prince asked him.

Nobu licked his lips, and chose his words carefully. “I should have brought ships through the ice for extra power. I should have sent a small team ahead to locate and extract the Avatar. I should have taken a larger crew, and I should have killed the waterbender when I had the chance,” he responded, voice taking on a bitter edge. Azulon raised an eyebrow. 

“What waterbender?” he asked. 

“A lone waterbender sent dozens of our men to their deaths,” he spat. Azulon’s face was mournful. 

“How awful. This is what we’re trying to do - just help the world, and they give us a knife in the back.”

Nobu nodded. “I agree completely, Prince Azulon. The Avatar abandoned them, and they still believe we are their enemy.”

Azulon gestured for Nobu to sit, and so he kneeled on the floor before him. The prince picked up his tea and blew on it, closing his eyes and drinking. A display of trust - reserved only to family, close advisors, and the highest of vice admirals. 

Azulon set the cup down, and Nobu’s fears of being banished or killed began to melt away. 

“Please, tell me everything.” Nobu relayed the entire story, pleased as the prince listened intently. So young, hardly past adulthood, yet still so wise. He would surely lead their nation to greatness.

Azulon listened to the man tell his story, tamping down annoyance as he talked ceaselessly. For the moment, they’d succeeded. To cultivate his underlings’ trust was always worthwhile - if they feared him, they would only tell him sweet lies, and would abandon him as soon as was convenient. If they trusted him, he would get the truth, despite its grit and blood, and he would get something even more important - loyalty. 

He brought the cup of tea up to his lips, and set it down without drinking from it.

At one point as they fled from the Water Tribe, Gyatso had taken over steering, and Aang found himself sitting in the saddle. He supposed it had to do with the wide circle he’d been flying Appa in - hardly noticeable, but it would have brought them right back around to the Water Tribe. Gyatso hadn’t called him on it, but had placed a hand on Aang’s shoulder and taken over, quickly correcting their course to head north. 

The air warmed slowly as they made their way. Aang leaned over the edge of the saddle and watched as the last of the ice in the water disappeared over the horizon. He knew it was the best they could do, in the situation. That they showed the Fire Nation that he was gone would egg them on to follow him, and leave the Water Tribe alone (for the most part, at least). He knew it was true in the same way he knew that the poles saw nights and days that were six months long. Knowing something was very different from experiencing it. 

Aang remembered the fear when he’d woken up that morning in the Southern Air Temple, remembered it like it had been minutes ago, and not almost four whole months now. The smoke curling into his window, tickling his nose, the sound of shouts and banging. What they’d done, the soldiers, to children who were just going to their lessons, to monks who were just sweeping the courtyard. He’d brought that to them, no matter what Gyatso said. Maybe not on purpose, but his presence there had been what caused it - and brought that same, swift aggression on the Water Tribe. 

He was the Avatar - he was supposed to keep people safe, to protect the world. Instead, he only brought fear and destruction. Aang frowned. Roku told him that he needed to defeat Sozin before he further destroyed the world. It was a frustratingly vague goal. He wouldn’t have the time to learn the elements like Roku had - he needed to stop the world from descending into destruction. Aang had learned water very quickly - four months of work, and Aluki had shown him all the forms. They had moved on to practicing them all, drilling, sparring. But he had no idea if he was really a master yet - air had taken him twelve years to master fully. 

But he couldn’t help the world if each element took him a decade to learn! That would take way too long, and who knows what would happen to the world if he took his sweet time mastering the elements. 

It startled him when the sun began to set. Aang supposed he’d gotten more used to the endless day of the South Pole. As the sky went gold and orange, Gyatso landed them on a lush, small island. Aang realized they were close to where the elephant koi lived, in the warm waters of the southern seas. As soon as they set down, Appa bounded towards the tall kash grass, and rolled over on his back, munching on it. Aang grinned. Appa didn’t usually like kash, but he supposed sky bison weren’t made for snowy weather and to eat nothing but seaweed. As he smiled, his chapped lips cracked, and he cleared his throat, realizing he hadn’t said a word on their whole flight. 

“Aang.” He turned to face Gyatso. 

“Come meditate with me,” Gyatso asked. He looked a little silly, wearing a Water Tribe tunic with his beaded necklace. 

“We should…” find clean water, start a fire, figure out how exactly to fix this messed up world. 

“Aang,” he said again. “Come meditate with me.”

He sat facing the ocean, and after a pause, Aang sat next to him. Usually, they meditated in silence, but Gyatso spoke out loud. Instead of the calming, mind-clearing meditation Aang usually focused on, Gyatso began with simple childhood prayers, and Aang only listened, awash with nostalgia. It was so recently that they said these prayers in the temple, and missing it ached - he wanted to cut it out, the pain, but then Gyatso moved on. 

He prayed for peace and happiness for himself, then for Aang, then for Aaju, then for Aluki. He prayed until the sun sank and the moon was high, going through the names of everyone they’d met in the Water Tribe, for everyone they were separated from at the Southern Air Temple, Dawa, Tsering, Yonten, Pelbu, Sonam, names upon names - then those they knew from the other temples - Palmo and Jiang and everyone , Kuzon and Teruko, and there was no way to stuff it into a little ball and deal with it later. They prayed, and Aang wept, and Gyatso wept, too, voice shaking as he prayed for name after name, much longer and much more intensive than this meditation normally was, until they could think of no one else. 

It had been dark for hours by the time they finished. It was exhausting, but purging, purifying, to meditate on grief and fear and uncertainty, to wish for the best, no matter what that meant. To unchain oneself from the murkiness of tangled emotion and find that love was at the core of it all. 

It was only just as Aang was falling asleep, resting on Appa’s tail, that he realized they’d forgotten part of the meditation - and though it hurt, and though it was hard, before he succumbed to sleep, Aang thought of the Fire Nation, of the soldiers, and the abstract shape of Sozin that loomed silhouetted by fire in his mind. He meditated and wished peace on them, for them to stop, to end this. He knew it was unlikely, as unlikely as a spirit walking out of the forest and snatching a human up to be its pet, but he still wished peace on them, as this form of meditation called for. They’d recited name after name for hours - Aang knew Gyatso hadn’t forgotten on purpose. Chest empty and light like after a deep breath, Aang fell asleep.

Sozin listened as the sage droned on and on, the artifacts they’d taken from the Air Temples laid out before him. A bizarre, dark-age method of finding the Avatar, little toys for the children to pick out as connected to their past lives. 

The sages had told him there was a way to find the Avatar using these, but Sozin knew it was fruitless - there was little they could really do now that their intentions had been made clear. If he was honest with himself, he knew they had likely edged too close to brutality for long before the comet came, and had it been a more war-eager nation than Air, they would never have even gotten close enough for the plan to work. 

He reached out and picked up one of the Avatar relics. It was a string pull toy that would send a wood and canvas dragonfly spinning through the air. He wondered about the Air Nomad who had picked this toy out, declared himself apart. 

Perhaps he was like Roku - silly and soft and too sentimental for his own good. Maddeningly out of reach, uncontrollable. An enemy he should have recognized sooner. Sozin fiddled with the string of the toy, a single glass bead strung along it. 

It was no help to him. To keep the children alive, to test whether they’d even make a real choice was far less efficient than simply cutting down every and all. No help at all.

He slammed the toy on the table before him - too hard, the wing of the dragonfly snapped, held together only by its canvas. He stood without word, and the sage continued haltingly as he left, trailing off as the guards held open the curtain for him.

He stalked past the sages and the guards, into his study, slamming the massive doors loudly enough so that every servant would know to tread lightly around him these next few days. His books and scrolls littered his desk, reeking of obsession. Sozin knew himself well enough – it was obsession. A demand of the universe, one he had no business making.

But this was not about the universe – it was about the world. The sandy, starving villages in the Earth Kingdom, once at least held together by usurpers and tyrants, now simply falling by the wayside. He’d watched it happen all his life, dealing with leaders in charge of nothing of importance – the Avatar was not fit to guide the world. The Avatar held the nations down, denied the natural order of things - Roku had seen the prosperity in the Fire Nation, and denied it to the world. 

Sozin knew what needed to be done. 

A squawk from his window startled him. He turned, and there was a messenger hawk perched there, stretching one leg out behind it. He uncapped the message tube on the hawk’s back and removed the scroll. The bird hopped once on the windowsill, then turned and took off towards the aviary in the capital center.

Sozin unfurled the scroll, reading carefully. To celebrate prematurely was the habit of a fool. But in the privacy of his study, he allowed himself a small smile. Azulon’s plan had succeeded in flushing the Avatar out of the South Pole, and into the Earth Kingdom. The Earth Kingdom, with its criminals and bounty hunters, people who cared so little for their nation that they’d sell their ally to a foreign leader for a few gold pieces. Sozin placed the scroll in a desk drawer and locked it. He’d take care of that disloyalty later, when it had outlived its usefulness.

For now, it was a waiting game.

Aang sat across from Gyatso in the little tea shop. The Pai Sho board was beautiful, made of colored sea glass, and the tiles were carved from giant flying shark teeth. Aang scrutinized the board before him - he only had one strong tile left, the White Dragon. He had three Notweed tiles, though - and if Gyatso made a fatal mistake, he’d be able to foist both of them onto his side of the board, and take one of his Chrysanthemum tiles. 

Of course Gyatso made no fatal mistakes. Aang narrowed his eyes at the board, but his train of thought was interrupted when one of the teahouse ladies came by with their drinks. She was a short older woman, with grey hair and a soft, lined face.

“Here you go,” she said, handing Aang his ginger chai and a little saucer of milk. 

“Thank you!”

“And here’s that, oh turmeric and anise, that is my favorite,” she said brightly to Gyatso. 

“Is it?” he said. “I have never tried this flavor before,” he said, twisting the end of his mustache. 

“Oh, you’ll love it. After all, you seem like a man with good taste,” she said slyly. Under the table, Aang reached out, poking Gyatso in the knee with his foot, waggling his eyebrows.

Gyatso ignored him and scooted out from the table slightly until he was out of Aang’s reach. 

“There is no good taste in this world - only lovely experiences to be had,” he said. Aang coughed into his tea, the saucer of milk clattering and sloshing. The woman looked at him, then she nodded down to the saucer. 

“I can bring you another?” Aang shook his head. 

“That’s okay, I don’t usually put milk in anyways.”

She smiled. “I’ll let you get back to your game,” she said, picking the milk saucer back up. She nudged Aang with her elbow.

“Switch your Notweed and your Rose tiles,” she whispered with a wink before walking back behind the counter. He did, then looked up at Gyatso, pointing at the board.

“Ha! It worked.” Graciously, Gyatso ceded his Chrysanthemum tile. Aang nodded towards the woman behind the counter. 

“She likes you,” he sang teasingly.

Gyatso observed the board serenely. “It would seem so,” he said, picking up his tea. He blew on it once and took a sip. 

His eyes widened slightly, and he did not swallow. Aang looked to his left and saw the woman watching surreptitiously from behind the counter. Gyatso followed his line of sight, and smiled (though it looked more like a grimace) before swallowing the tea. He pointed at the cup and nodded - the woman smiled, pleased, and disappeared into the back. When she was gone, Gyatso smacked his lips and coughed slightly.

“That was like pure anise liqueur,” he said, strained. Aang reached over, grabbing the cup off its plate.

“Let me try,” he said, taking a large sip. His eyes bugged and he turned to face the wall, spitting the tea back into the cup. “Sorry,” he said, handing the cup back to Gyatso. 

Gyatso shook his head. “Too strong,” he said. 

Then the woman reemerged. “How was it?” she asked. 

“It was unlike any tea I have ever tasted,” Gyatso said carefully. Aang nodded. The woman clucked happily. 

“Well, then it is your lucky day,” she said, pulling a small burlap sack from her apron pocket. “It’s our secret blend, so don’t go telling everyone,” she whispered, setting the bag of tea on the table. 

“Oh,” Gyatso said, staring at it.

She winked. “On the house.”

“This is almost too kind,” Gyatso said, picking up the bag of tea and sniffing it. “Thank you for your generosity. We should be going, though.”

“We should?” Aang asked, looking down at his cup of chai mournfully.

She raised her eyebrows. “You are? You’re not going to finish your game?”

“Oh, these games of ours take days to finish,” he said. 

“Well, I think it’d be just fine if you took a few days to play. The long game can be quite entertaining,” she said. Aang stared steadfastly at the board, blushing slightly at the woman’s forwardness. 

“I am certain we do not have a few days to spare. Thank you, though, I’m certain it will take me a long time to get through this tea,” Gyatso said, rising and handing over a few copper pieces for their drinks. Aang took a final large sip of his tea and stood, walking after Gyatso out of the teahouse, waving at the woman as they left. She cleared the table, looking somewhat disappointed. 

As they walked down the road, Gyatso handed the bag of tea to Aang. “What a kind woman,” he said. 

Aang grinned at him, putting the tea in the pocket of his waistband. “She liked you!” he said, laughing. 

“She did seem agreeable,” Gyatso conceded. “However, this tea was certainly not. Though that Pai Sho board was a wonder. I would have liked to finish that game.”

“Did we really have to go or did you just not want to drink anymore of that tea?” Aang asked.

“We should start on our way to Gaoling tomorrow, and be in Omashu very soon.”

Aang raised an eyebrow. Gyatso sighed.

“But I also did not want to drink any more of that tea.”

Aang laughed.

Gyatso scratched at his arms - the modest clothes they bought when they arrived in Gaoling that morning itched terribly. They helped him and Aang blend in however - and avoiding attention was vital as they made their way to Omashu. 

He clasped his hands together. If he itched anymore, he’d cause himself a wound. Oh, but he missed the soft yarn of bison fur. This cloak was some bizarre concoction of wool and bamboo fiber. He watched for Aang’s return under the shade of a straw salakot - summer was nearly in full swing in the south of the world. North of Omashu, the world sat in winter. 

Gaoling was a large city, though smaller and less well-protected than Omashu or Ba Sing Se, but still a safe place to stop. 

Despite that, it would be unwise to fall into the lull of safety here. Every day he felt more and more like a prey animal, constantly looking around with big eyes to see in every direction. For what, exactly, he was unsure. But he knew the strike against them at the Air Temples was not the first - not by years. He would be a fool to believe it would be the last. 

He warred with himself, somewhat - Aang as the Avatar needed the full scope of truth of what was going on. But Aang was not solely the Avatar - Gyatso seemed to be the only one who could see it, that he was a boy like any other despite everything the spirits had asked of him. Gyatso tapped his foot. A boy, like any other, who was taking far too long watching a street vendor craft caramel animals. He resolved to go fetch him if he didn’t return in a few minutes. It was instinct to let him explore and wander, and he still wanted to allow that even now. 

Then he saw the people on the street parting like tall grass in the wind.

“Gyatso! You’re never gonna believe it, I found something amazing!” Aang said, bouncing over across the market.

“What have you found?” Gyatso asked.

Aang pointed towards where he’d walked from. “There was a woman over there and she saw my tattoos-,”

“She saw your tattoos? You were meant to keep them covered,” Gyatso interjected, frowning. Aang’s salakot was behind his head, the chinstrap like a necklace. Aang continued talking as Gyatso reached over and fixed it.

“Yeah, I know, but she saw I was an airbender and she told me that there’s a lot of Air Nomads who’ve taken refuge in the cities and that they’ve formed alliances. There are others, Gyatso,” Aang said, eyes sparkling. “Maybe even people from home. She told me where to go,” he said, rattling off the address.

Aang was grinning, hopeful and happy in a way he hadn’t been since the comet. Gyatso sighed. He wouldn’t relish tearing that down, but –

“It’s not safe, Aang. We don’t know if that alliance is real – we shouldn’t risk it.”

Aang’s face fell immediately. “What? Why wouldn’t we go see? We can find out what happened to the other temples -,”

“Aang,” Gyatso cut him off. “It could be a trap.”

Aang scowled. “It’s like you don’t even want to know what happened or- or be with our people again!”

“You know that is not true. I want desperately to find our companions, and to recover from what has scattered us so far apart -,” he began.

“Then let’s go, let’s find them!” Aang interrupted.

“But what I want, more than anything, is to keep you safe, so that the world can heal, and make it safe for us again. But right now, the world is unsafe for us. We cannot take all things in good faith,” Gyatso said gently. He’d spent all his life among the Air Nomads – being out in the world, traveling without a large caravan, was strange and a constant reminder of what had happened. To find compatriots again would be an unimaginable blessing – and just that. Like the phases of the moon, the world waxed and waned. To demand light from the new moon was foolish, and no matter the demand, no matter how great the need for sight was, light would only be shed when the moon was full.

Abruptly, the hope and desperation on Aang’s face shuttered into blankness. His shoulders dropped infinitesimally.

“Okay,” he said casually, like the prospect of finding kin was of no importance to him. Gyatso paused. Aang was a sensitive child, and open about his emotions, but the awfulness of what had happened was difficult to even think about. In the Southern Water Tribe, he’d thrown himself into games with the other children, into training with Aluki, cutting that horror off until it caught up with him in a dream or in the still of the night.

It was dangerous to trade in silly favors, but if the alliance was real, what a blessing it would be. If it was fake, they would have the certainty of knowing. As they continued through the market, discussing other things, Gyatso decided to find an old friend.

The inn they were staying at was small, and on the outskirts of town. The address that the Air Nomads met at was only a few minutes’ walk, on the western outer edge of the city.

Aang dropped his pack near the door, not bothering to unload his things – so few, and it was always good to be able to grab it and go at a moment’s notice. At the tiny wood stove, he made tea for himself and Gyatso, one a calming white tea, and the other a strong, morning black. Gyatso didn’t want to go see if there were others – but Aang knew they needed to let go of fear in order to heal. He drank his strong black tea, making a plan for the night, but close to dusk Gyatso left, having missed an item at the market and wanting to catch the vendors before sundown. Aang leaned out the window, watching him go in a muddy-colored cloak down the street until he blended in. As soon as he was out of sight, Aang grabbed his glider and slipped out the back door of the inn, making his way to the western edge of town, the low, evening sun bright in his eyes.

The address the woman had given him was a tall house, with many windows, perched on the edge of the city hill, like a tower on a mountain. Aang grinned as he approached, excitement quickening his steps. He knocked twice on the door.

“Hello?” he asked through the wood. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Nothing. He put his ear up to the door but was met with silence. He frowned. Maybe he had the wrong address, or they’d moved on. He turned around, heading back down the steps when a noise caught his attention. Over one of the windows, a chime was tinkling in the wind, wood painted orange, a tiny carving of a lemur with its wings outstretched serving as the wind sail. His heart skipped a beat. He was in the right place – they were only looking for someone to put the signs together, to be sure. Aang turned around and knocked once more (as much as he knew he was meant to enter on his own, he would feel very awkward if he’d misread the signs). No response again, but the chime was still singing in the breeze.

Aang tested the door. It slid in its tracks, unlocked.

He stepped inside – it was cool and silent, no fire in the hearth, no people around the low table near the kitchen. No lamps lit. “Hello?” he called again, only a step inside the doorway, clutching his glider a little tighter. Surely, if Air Nomads were here, hiding out, they’d not want to just be out in the open. He stepped a little further in, closing the door behind him.

“Hello? Is there anyone here?”

Nothing. Aang stood in the center of the living space – he’d been so sure. But maybe he had just missed them. 

Behind him, the wooden floor creaked. He whirled around and gasped, ducking just before the blunt end of a madu swung through where his head had been, the breeze from its movement tickling his ear. Without looking up at his attacker, he dove in a tumble towards the wall near the door.

He pressed his back up against the wood, and glanced up at the huge man wielding two bronze-plated horns, grafted together and sharpened on each end to a point. The man was easily two heads taller than Gyatso, and twice his width. He stepped forward and swung the madu again, point out this time, and Aang whipped his staff in a wide half-circle, skimming over the top of the floor. The blast knocked the man off his feet, and Aang wasted no time whipping the door open, chest heaving. Sparring or training was nothing like a real fight – the man had truly been genuinely trying to hurt or kill him.

He leapt down the stairs at the front of the house, but before he could flick his glider open and take off, something coiled around his ankle and tugged him to the ground, dragging him over the grass to the feet of a woman. She looked down at him disinterestedly, and bent a stream of water towards his head, freezing it into large chunks like hail. It was only at the last second that Aang remembered they probably didn’t know he was the Avatar and stopped himself from melting them, instead creating a small shield of air in front of his face to deflect them. 

Gyatso had been right, after what the Fire Nation had done, he never should have taken a chance with this trip. 

Wait. Waterbending?

He gaped up at the woman, the waterbender. Why would a waterbender want to hunt airbenders?

She moved again, shifting through a stance, and he dismissed the thoughts – he could wonder about it later. Aang rolled to his feet in a crouch, one hand on the ground, and swung his staff in a powerful, uncoordinated movement. The woman thrust her hand out and froze his hand to his staff, freezing it shut.

Aang flexed his frozen hand, testing how thick the ice was – too thick for him to break with sheer force without being suspicious.

The man had emerged from the building and charged him again – out in the open, the horns of the madu were giant, clearly from a Gulo gulo antelope, each about the length of Aang’s arm. The man stabbed out with it, and the woman froze Aang’s feet to the ground so that he fell backward. The madu came harshly down, but Aang rolled to the side, twisting his knee painfully. The madu stuck up out of the ground, and he hit it with his hand, breaking the ice around his staff. With the bottom of his glider, he broke up the ice around his feet, and turned, running two steps before flicking open his glider and crouching down ever so slightly, gearing up for a takeoff. Just as his foot was leaving the ground, he felt a blunt pain in his temple. He stumbled, dropping his glider. Another hit and he knew no more.

Gyatso knocked on the door three times. It swung open, and he smiled at his friend. Ru Beifong leaned against the doorpost.

“Who knocks at the guarded gate?” he asked, grinning.

“What disrespect,” Gyatso said sadly. “I believed we were dearer friends than that.”

Ru stepped out of the doorway. “Come in, then – won’t even answer me properly,” he muttered, but his smile belied his surly tone. He bowed, hand over fist in the airbender style.

“It’s really good to see you’re still kicking, old man,” Ru said, brown eyes dancing. With sweeping black hair and smooth skin, he was among the youngest in their society. Gyatso returned his bow.

“It is good to see you, too. I need your help.”

Ru gestured for him to sit at the table, then disappeared into the kitchen - Gyatso heard quiet talk as he dismissed the servants and returned alone. He took a seat across from Gyatso. 

“What can I help you with?” 

Gyatso twiddled his thumbs idly. “I am traveling with my student - we heard a rumor in the market today, and I wanted to verify it, if I could.”

Ru frowned. “I’m not sure I’ll be much help - I don’t get a lot of the gossip that travels the marketplace,” he said. Gyatso hummed. 

“You are aware of what has happened to my people?”

“I am. Some travelers came through a while back, a nun and two girls, and they told everyone what happened.” The grief on Ru’s face was plainly apparent.

“So you’ve seen others?” Gyatso asked. That was a good sign.

“Hardly any - less than we’d seen in a day during fall,” he said. Oh, Gyatso had expected that. But still it hurt. 

“My student heard that there is a place where survivors have formed an alliance - someone in the marketplace saw his tattoos and told him about it. I was suspicious, but if there is any truth to it, I would be overjoyed. We both would.”

“She wanted him to go somewhere to find other Air Nomads?” he asked incredulously. 

“We should not trust it?”

Ru grimaced. “I wouldn’t. I’m not going to say that it’s definitely fake, but… a month or so back a bunch of fliers were posted around town – they got taken down pretty fast, but they were offering honor bounties to anyone, from any nation if they turned in an airbender to the Fire Nation.”

Ru leaned forward, looking intently at Gyatso. “This wasn’t just a hit – they’re being thorough. They want you dead, all of you. They’ll do it any way they can. You can trust the order, and you can trust your people. But there’s always going to be greedy assholes and bounty hunters. Don’t risk it, Gyatso.”

Gyatso sighed. “I suspected as much. A fair number were able to flee from the Southern Temple, but… I wasn’t sure how the others fared.”

“Not well. We don’t know everything, but however many Air Nomads escaped - whatever you think that number is, half it. I’ve gotten communications sent out to Ba Sing Se and the Northern Water Tribe, but aside from you and a few lower-level members, most of our airbender members haven’t resurfaced.” He swallowed thickly. “I don’t think they’re going to.”

Gyatso closed his eyes. They had been small in number compared to the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation before. Now, there were likely only wanderer families and refugees still remaining, a shell of what was. The elders. The children - an entire generation, nearly gone.

“How did you escape?” Gyatso opened his eyes. “How did your people flee the Southern Temple?”

Gyatso had no reason for his hesitation. The Order of the White Lotus had no ulterior motives, no agendas, no allegiance to anything but peace and harmony. Ru was a dear friend and a prominent member. But the words stuck in his throat.

Once spoken, he could never hide it again. The air temples, sacked and burned. The Southern Water Tribe, invaded by an army. Both times, they were only able to escape by the skin of their teeth.

On one level, Gyatso realized the shame in it, that he was less worried about bringing hardship on Ru or Gaoling than he was about bringing it upon Aang. But he’d altered his priorities when the war started. Before, before, before, he would have pledged himself to the Air Nomads, the Order, the Avatar. But he knew himself. It was shameful, unseemly, attached, that in the end those allegiances would all fall away.

It wasn’t how he was taught. Children were not raised by their parents to prevent this sort of attachment, the kind that eclipsed all else.

Gyatso knew his every allegiance would fall away for Aang.

“Gyatso?” Ru asked softly, glancing down to the scarring of his arm.

“The Avatar was at the Southern Temple. He allowed us to escape.”

Ru’s eyes widened. “The Avatar? You were with the Avatar?”

“Yes. They took him away after the attack to begin learning waterbending,” Gyatso said.

“That is fortunate. We will need the Avatar. I can send communications out to the north, to ensure his safety?”

“No,” Gyatso said sharply. Ru blinked, and so he calmed his tone. “No, that is much too risky. The Fire Nation attacked our people to destroy the Avatar. If they knew where he was, they would not hesitate.”

“Of course. What of you, then? Do you have a place to stay?”

“Yes, my student and I have found an inn. We are headed to Omashu, soon.”

Ru smiled. “You don’t know how glad I am to have found you. If you need anything at all, you know how to reach me.”

Gyatso stood. “Thank you, Ru. I should be getting back, but we’ll be in touch before I leave.”

Ru walked with him to the doors, and Gyatso pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, covering his arrow, Ru’s warning in mind. He walked briskly back to the inn they were staying at, close to the edge of town near the woods.

When he entered, the room was empty, the lanterns dark, and the air stale and still as if no one had been in for a long time. Their packs were on the floor by the entranceway, but no other signs of living were to be found. Appa, then. Aang was surely with Appa.

Gyatso went back out into the street, picking his way through the edge of the forest to where Appa was. Aang had constructed him a massive lean-to and had gathered wild figs into a massive pile on a leaf of elephant ear for him. Appa raised his head when Gyatso approached but was alone where he laid. No Aang. Unbidden, his heart began to flutter in nervous surety.

He returned to the empty room at the inn, and a second sweep of the space showed Aang’s glider was gone.

Gyatso picked up the two bags, slinging them over his shoulder, and grabbed his own glider. He pushed open the window and flew to the center of town, back to the massive estate of the Beifongs.

“I just can’t believe there are still vultures flying around, and now we have to deal with it,” Shinji said.

Kuzon frowned. He hated these conversations, about the war, about the Air Nomads and the Earth Kingdom, where he couldn’t say what he wanted unless he was willing to risk being branded as a traitor, and feeling like a coward for going along at all.

“It makes sense to me. They’re nomads, aren’t they?” he said, carefully, neutrally, as just another fact to take into consideration. Shinji raised an eyebrow.

“You really believed that? Kuzon,” he said, shaking his head.

Kuzon furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

Shinji smirked, rolling his eyes. “Oh, wow. Kuzon, you know that was just a cover story, right? They were gathering an army on Fire Nation soil, anyone with half a brain could see it.”

Kuzon bit the inside of his cheek. Tilted his head in confusion, because the only way it was safe to ask questions was if you were really that stupid. 

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah! Obviously, they had no need to travel here for anything other than war. The airbenders? They hate us, because we can see right through their lies. The soldiers busted a whole battalion, right outside the capital, and they had their weapons and were getting ready to invade.”

Kuzon nodded along. “What did they have?”

“Sneaky little blades that they use the air to throw, that can go all the way across a field. Their spears, and their bending – it was really, very fortunate that the soldiers c-,” Shinji broke off, eyes trained at a point over Kuzon’s shoulder. Kuzon turned, and his stomach swooped, and he could almost feel all the blood drop from his face.

Two soldiers were dragging a young man through the square - a new burn crept up the collar of his shirt and brushed the edge of his jaw, and his hair was loosed from its top-knot, framing his face. 

Shinji made an interested little noise, watching. “Oh, my brother told me about this - he said they were going to start going soon,” he said to Kuzon. 

“What?” Kuzon asked, trembling (like a coward, coward, coward ). “What are they doing?”

“My brother said they’re going around and collecting all the people who’re conspiring against the Fire Lord - like that lady a few weeks ago,” Shinji said, eyes glued to the action.

“Oh,” Kuzon breathed. The air felt very thin. 

The soldiers shoved the man to his knees in the square and pushed his head forward so that he was looking at the ground - a dishonorable death, he was unable to look into the face of his killer. Kuzon stood, not certain exactly what he was going to do but then Shinji grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t leave yet,” he said, nodding towards the horror in the square, “Just watch.”

The soldiers held the man forward, and began to announce his crimes to all those watching. Treason. Conspiracy against the Fire Lord. Inciting violence. The man listed to the side but was pulled roughly upright. Kuzon pulled his arm from Shinji’s grip.

“I’m late, I have to help my mom with dinner,” he muttered, rushing into an alley. He snuck behind the back of the buildings towards the opposite end of the square. What could he do, what would get their attention and distract them?

A fire.

A fire would get their attention.

The wood-carver’s shop was the only building not made of stone, and Kuzon stoked his fire and held it in his hand, made to bring it up to the walls of the shop when he heard a rush of flame and the young man’s anguished scream. Another rush of flame, and it peaked, then cut off roughly. Kuzon closed his hand and his fire went out, too late. His arm dropped limply to his side. After a moment, he stood straight and began the walk home.

His mother greeted him brightly in the kitchen. He forced a smile and went to get changed for dinner.

Kuzon crawled beneath his desk and retrieved his old pillowcase, wrapped in twine, and took it, kneeling next to his bed. As silently as he could, he lifted the mattress and cut a slit in the bottom with his pocket knife, barely big enough for the package to fit inside. Tonight, he’d flip it over and sew it closed while his parents slept.

The open wound of it frightened him. When he wrote what he wrote, Kuzon didn’t realize it was worth a death sentence. Worth a banishment and a mark of shame. It was just the tiniest, smallest memorial to his friend.

Shinji, when they were little, had been so bookish and meek. He’d just watched an innocent man die with nothing more than morbid curiosity. Where Kuzon’s hands rested on the mattress it began to brown and smoke, and he snatched them away.

He heard a pot bang in the kitchen. What about his parents? They loved him, they loved him so much, but if they found his parchment, would they choose him? Was their love conditional? His father had served in the military, for years and years. When he talked about the Fire Nation, his eyes lit up and his voice tightened with pride. His country demanded loyalty, demanded that it outshine all else – he’d turn Kuzon in. A tangible expression of his treachery? Kuzon’s father would let him die for it. His mother, he wasn’t sure. But even the doubt of it ached.

He changed. Went and washed his face and snuck the sewing kit into his room after his parents went to sleep. When he tied the knot on the string and flipped the mattress back over, he felt the loneliness like a weight on his throat, strangling him. He had no allies in the world - who, then, was he living for?

Kuzon mouthed the words to a festival song as he tried to sleep.

The floor bumped. It had been a long time since Aang had fallen asleep in the air, shaken awake by swift currents. His arm was asleep, and his chest felt tight, like he needed a deep sigh. His eyes felt hot and fevered with too little sleep – what time had he gone to bed?

Aang opened his eyes blearily, then clenched them shut immediately when the barest hint of light felt like a white-hot poker in the back of his head.

His arms were so numb he wasn’t sure if he was moving them. Another bump of wind. He listened for the current of air, maybe a storm was building, but for being up in the sky there was so little wind. It didn’t even feel like he was flying.

He blinked carefully, squinting against the pain in his head – his face was mashed into a wooden floor, and his nose was just a few inches from the wall of a wagon. He tried to sit up, but his hands were bound with rope, and he tried to gasp or yell for help, but his jaw was bound shut with a stiff cloth, tightly tied around the length of his head.

His breathing started to pick up nervously, panic rising at being so restrained. He didn’t know where he was going, and he felt a bitter twist of guilt for not listening to Gyatso, to wait, to be cautious.

Aang held his breath for a moment, collecting himself. He twisted, still lying on the floor. It was a small wooden cart, and he could smell that it was used to transport livestock. His face was mashed onto the floor, still, and he grimaced – at least this was just residual. Climbing through the sewers in Omashu had been so much worse. He turned and looked, but the windows that usually bordered the top of the wagon had been sealed with metal plating.

Aang closed his eyes, partially against the meager light that filtered through the gaps in the wood, and partially to force his addled mind to think . He was in a wagon, on land, which was either very good or very bad, depending on how long he’d been out cold. Until otherwise proven, he’d err on the optimistic side and assume he was still in the Earth Kingdom. He opened his eyes and looked down at his bound hands – the rope was stiff and new, but his hands were so numb from being tied and laid on, he could hardly move them. When he shifted, the rope moved like a solid – like it was frozen.

Grinning stupidly, he remembered they only thought he was an airbender. He pulled his hands towards his face, and huffed freezing air onto the ropes out his nose – but the little water on his breath seemed to melt immediately. Aang scowled, and then startled as the wagon hit another bump in the road and sent him on his stomach. The movement jarred his head and he groaned, dropping his forehead onto his bound hands, closing his eyes. The movement of the cart was quick – he wasn’t sure how long he had before they got somewhere.

He parted his lips and breathed through his teeth. He must have hit his head harder than he thought, because before long a line of drool dropped from between his teeth and onto the rope. Aang wrinkled his nose. What a mess. He was so stupid, allowing himself to fall into this trap, despite what Gyatso had said. Would he ever get to see him again?

Oh. OH! The idea formed slowly in his brain, but Aang lifted his head over the ropes again, and pushed spit out from between his teeth, drooling all over the ropes and freezing them solid. Disgusting, but functional, like the sewage system in Omashu. When the ropes around his hands were frozen, he dragged himself to his knees, wincing at the pain of sitting on numb, buzzing legs, and brought his hands down viciously against the floor of the wagon. One hit, and the rope split along its braid. He tried pulling his hands apart but even then, it was still strong. Another hit and a different section of the rope split lengthwise. He huffed out his nose. If this took too long, they’d notice the sound of banging. Shuffling, he brought his right knee between his wrists and pinned them to the ground, pulling up. The rope cut up the sides of his wrists but gave way after a few tugs.

Aang smiled, flexing his newly-freed hands, and brought them up to untie the cloth binding his jaw shut. The numbness seeped out of his fingers, leaving prickling pain in its wake, but he got a finger in the knot and loosened it, pulling the binding off his head and freeing his jaw. He massaged the sore muscle near his ears, and when he opened his mouth he heard clicking. Finally, he reached down and freed his bound feet. He stood – the cart wouldn’t have been tall enough for a grown-up, but he was able to place the palms of his hands on the ceiling. He allowed himself one minute to stretch – Aang could feel the blood returning to his fingers and toes.

When his minute was up, on light feet, he tested the walls of the cart. Two long boards on the right side creaked and gave gently. He backed up to the opposite wall and made a tornado – as big as a person. The wall ripped away, and he jumped out onto the dirt road -  without dissipating the tornado, he sent it towards the front of the carriage. The large man and the waterbender woman were yelling, and the two ostrich-horses pulling the cart reared back and began to claw the air, running in separate directions. Aang heard the wooden yoke splinter, and he spotted his glider on the floor of the cart. He dove through the open side and grabbed it – feeling hands grasping at his clothing, hearing the slice of the madu through the air again, but he leapt off the side of the cart and took off into the air.

He looked back and saw the woman smack the man on the back of the head, and he turned forward, elated laughter bubbling up in his chest. He closed his eyes against the feel of the wind and flipped through the air. Aang looked around at the scenery below him – the only sign of civilization being the tiny spires of a port town towards the – he grimaced up towards the sun, the brightness bringing tears to his eyes as the adrenaline and elation faded and his head began to pound – to the west.

The sun was low in the sky and Aang realized he had no idea where he was, what day it was, or how long he’d been out. There was no sign of civilization for miles except for the port town – which, he presumed, was where they were taking him. He had nothing but his glider – he didn’t know where Gyatso was, or where Appa was, or where Gaoling was. He needed a map, at least. Aang shifted and flew off towards the port town.

It was mid-morning when Aang touched down at the outskirts of the port town. They’d traveled all through the night, apparently, and Aang hadn’t woken once. The port town was tiny, only a few ships docked in the harbor and a marketplace that spanned only a single street. No signs existed to show him where he was. 

He was quietly thankful he was still wearing the clothes they’d bought in Gaoling - though he had nothing to cover his head, at least he didn’t stand out from a distance. 

He needed a map - he’d normally just ask around but the people were giving him strange looks, and it rankled at him to not have a friend nearby. No Gyatso, no Appa, no one at all. Besides, he just learned a very thorough lesson on what could happen if he wasn’t careful. 

Aang reached up to scratch his head and winced, dried flakes of blood underneath his nails. Huh. Maybe that was why everyone was giving him weird looks. He passed the different shops and stalls at the market without once seeing a map - vegetable stands, weaver’s shops, and a fish stand with a huge mahi-mahi hanging from a hook, chunks cut out of the side and buzzing with flies under the hot sun. He grimaced. 

At the end of the road, there was a man sitting on a cushion, with various items spread out on a blanket before him. He gave Aang a cursory glance as he approached but soon went back to carving a stick into a sharp point. Aang crouched down in front of the items, knowing better than to paw through, lest the man think he was stealing. It was a strange collection of mismatched items - a single shoe, though finely beaded, a cracked porcelain tea set, a stuffed doll wearing an intricately patterned dress and a floral headpiece, and a few pages ripped out of old books, weighed down with stones. He craned his head to look at the pages - one showed a man pointing up at the sky, being struck by lightning through his fingertips, another showed an illustration of a pome-plum tree and how to prune it, and another showed a long-necked owl flying in front of the sun. 

Aang frowned. 

“What’re you looking for?” the man asked, voice garbled and phlegmy. He coughed as soon as he finished speaking, hacking without covering his mouth. When he stopped, Aang lowered his arms from where they’d been shielding his face. 

“Do you have a map?”

“Do you have a gold piece?”

Aang patted down his pockets but remembered the small money bag he had in his pack, back in Gaoling. He shook his head. 

“I don’t have a map.”

Aang huffed. “Can you at least tell me what this town is called?”

That made the man look up. “Nobody finds this place by accident.”

“Guess I got lucky,” Aang shrugged. The man’s eyes flicked up to his head, landing on his tattoo. Unconsciously, Aang reached up - oh, he had stubble. He needed to shave. 

“Airbender,” the man said. 

“Those are fake,” he blurted out. 

“No they’re not,” the man snapped. 

Aang fiddled with his glider. They were drawing stares. “You got nabbed, huh?”

“Nabbed?”

The man waved his hand. “Snatched, taken, nabbed. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The man turned back to his carving. “That was stupid of you.” Okay, fair, but it still stung. Aang sighed. “I know. Can you tell me the name of this town?”

“This town’s not on any map. No name,” the man said. Then he giggled, bizarrely. “Town with no name,” he said, still giggling. 

“Can you tell me which way to Gaoling?”

“Nobody goes to Gaoling. You only ever leave Gaoling.” 

Aang groaned. He was usually pretty good at interpreting old people’s strange wisdoms, but this man seemed truly insane. 

“Can I just look at a map? To see where I am?” 

“I don’t have a map. Do you have a gold piece?” he asked again.

“No, I don’t. Thanks,” Aang said flatly, standing to leave. 

“Airbender!” the man shouted after him, even though Aang hadn’t even taken a step yet. More stares, and a few people were circling the scene like coyote-foxes. 

“Where are you trying to get to?” 

Aang sighed, casting his eyes around at the people who were gathered around them. “Gaoling.” 

“You left Gaoling. Where are you trying to get to?”

The man’s phlegmy, garbled voice had taken on that frustrated edge, like when a teacher is trying to lead you to an answer. Perhaps the man was asking what his true destination was, once they left Gaoling. 

“Omashu?” he said like a question. 

“I’m going to Omashu,” the man said, the phlegm and garble gone from his voice, high pitched to sound like Aang. Aang scowled. 

“No one ever goes to Gaoling.” The man was looking up at him. Then he turned and looked at the people who had been staring. Without Aang noticing, they’d drawn closer. The man pointed at them. 

“Nabbers! Nabbers!” he shrieked, and the crowd flinched and disbanded as a collective. Aang sighed in relief, but scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. Why would they listen to this crazy old man?

The man reached forward and tapped Aang on the wrist. He pointed a gnarled finger at his own chest. “I’m the Earth King.”

Aang blinked. This guy was crazy.

“Ohhh-kayy, thank you, I gotta get going.” He started backing away. Someone grabbed his upper arm. He whirled around and came face-to-face with a man with a scar across his upper lip, like a thin, white mustache - but the man, still sitting on his cushion, snapped his fingers. 

“No, no, no,” he said, like he was scolding a child. The scarred man released Aang’s arm, albeit reluctantly. The old man smiled toothlessly. “That’s not yours, is it, Ma Bingwen?”

The man pointed at him over Aang’s shoulder. “I told you to call me Shing of the Salted Earth! I told you!”

The old man laughed. “Ma Bingwen, who drank so much he pissed himself last New Year!” he sang. Aang snickered.

The man drew a knife and shoved Aang to the side, forgotten. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“Okay, okay! Shing of the Salted Earth. What a terrifying name, for someone who cannot even afford a single rock of salt.” The man roared in anger, and swung the knife out in a large arc, aiming for the old man’s face. Without a trace of his age, the old man dodged the knife and rolled to his feet, stomping once, then sliding his foot forward. Ma Bingwen went flying back, the knife clattering pathetically to the ground. The old man wiped his nose wetly on his wrist, then stomped once more, and lifted himself into a turning kick. The ground beneath Ma Bingwen sank and flipped, too quickly to see, sending him up into the air and through the thatched roof of a stall. Aang gaped.

The old man just sat back down and picked up his whittling again. “I’m going to Omashu,” he said quietly, to himself. Aang looked around. The people crowding around had disbanded, further than where they’d been before to avoid the ire of this old man. 

“I am going to Omashu. The shaved lady’s going to Omashu. The captain is going to Omashu. The airbender’s going to Omashu,” he half-sang, half-chanted. Aang sighed. His head ached and this nonsense conversation wasn’t helping. Flying long-distance on a glider was hard, but if he could circle around for a bit and maybe spot another town, hopefully he could find someone to tell him how to get back to Gaoling. 

Abruptly, the man threw his knife and stick down onto the blanket of knickknacks, stood, dropped his seat on the blanket, and gathered the corners into a bundle. He slung the makeshift pack over his shoulder and Aang winced as he heard the tea set clatter. No wonder it was cracked. 

He flicked open his glider as the old man began to walk away - he seemed to be the only thing keeping the… nabbers from going after him again. The old man whistled sharply, pointing back without turning around. 

“You don’t know where to go,” he said. 

“Ugh! Maybe if I could see a map, I would know where to go!” he snapped. Aang usually prided himself on his patience, but his head hurt, he just escaped being kidnapped to a town where there were a lot more people who also wanted to kidnap him, Gyatso was who-knows-how-far-away in Gaoling, probably spitting mad that Aang snuck away, and this old man was talking circles around him. So help him, he was a little snappish. 

“You’re going to Omashu,” the old man replied. “I am going to Omashu.”

Aang sighed, trying not to snap. “I have to get to Gaoling first.”

“You left Gaoling.”

“I was taken prisoner!” he exclaimed. 

“That’s right. That’s why you’re going to Omashu.”

“I don’t know how to get to Omashu, because I don’t have a map,” he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. 

“We’re going to Omashu, at sundown.”

Aang blinked. “What?”

“Isn’t that what you need?” the old man asked, finally turning back around to face him. 

“You won’t let me even look at a map, but you’re giving me a ride to Omashu?” he asked. 

“You’re looking for a map? Do you have a gold piece?”

“What is happening?” Aang muttered to himself. Maybe he really, really, hit his head, and this was all a dream of his addled mind - maybe he was still in the back of a livestock cart, dreaming up nonsense. 

“That’s right,” the man said. He continued walking, but whistled again and motioned for Aang to follow him. 

Aang eyed the man suspiciously. Maybe he was trying to convince Aang that he was a friend, but was really trying to ‘nab’ him himself. The old man, though, did not care to look back to see if Aang was following him. As he drew further away, down the sloping hill towards the docks, the nabbers were edging closer. Aang knew he wasn’t in any sort of shape to be flying long distances on his glider. Making a quick decision, he jogged to catch up with the old man, who didn’t acknowledge him. The people circling around looked disappointed and angry - that was probably a good sign. Ma Bingwen was still lying in a pile of thatch, groaning pathetically. 

Aang followed the old man down to the docks, to a fair-sized boat with characters carved in the side, so old and weathered Aang couldn’t make sense of them. The old man began to walk up the plank but Aang halted at the edge of the dock. 

“Why are you taking me to Omashu?” he asked. He didn’t really think this man had concocted some elaborate scheme to lure him onto the boat, but Aang didn’t want to escape one kidnapping attempt only to walk right into another. 

The old man walked further onto the deck of the boat and dropped his bundle into a hole that led below deck, and it landed with a crash and a shatter. Aang grimaced. That poor tea set. 

“You’ve forgotten.”

Aang thought he’d been doing well keeping up with this loopy conversation, but his head was still caked in blood. There could very well be something in this conversation he missed. 

“What’d I forget?”

“They forgot too,” he said pointing out towards the market. He tapped his temple right on a liver spot. “I didn’t forget, though. Sharp as a tack, I am!”

Aang blinked. “Forget what?” he asked again.

“I stumbled on a pawpaw orchard that year - made myself a living, built a home on those pawpaws.”

The man seemed to cut in and out. Aang rubbed his forehead, waiting for him to get to the point. 

“They don’t trust like that anymore. I was starving in the streets!” he shouted, spit flying. “But then I found that pawpaw orchard. I’d still be there if the blight hadn’t ate up the roots. You’re gonna bless me like that, again.”

“What?” 

“You are! They don’t know. They think money is a blessing, they’re cursing themselves. It’s bad karma. Bad, bad, bad, I know better. I’ve found a real blessing.”

Aang blinked tiredly up at the man. He pointed a shaking finger at Aang. “You. Air Nomad.”

“Yes?”

“You’re my blessing. They forgot what a blessing, a good sign looks like. You know what they were gonna do to you?” he asked, casting his gaze around, paranoid.

Aang shook his head. 

“They were going to trade you for a box of gold pieces and a foreign title. Walk up with me, I don’t like talking down at you,” he said, sitting down on a box with his back to the port. Aang sighed, but walked up and stood in front of the man. 

“I was starving in the streets,” the man spat. Aang shuffled back the slightest bit, but the man calmed his voice down. 

“But then I was blessed. Air Nomad. She gave me her dinner and her kindness, and then I found that pawpaw orchard the next day.” He leaned forward, searching Aang’s face. “Shame!” he yelled, and Aang flinched at the suddenness, the loudness.

“Shame! They bring it on themselves, nabbing Nomads.”

“An Air Nomad helped you once, and that’s why you’re helping me get to Omashu?” Aang asked. Earthbenders were usually so blunt and direct, like Bumi. This man circled the point but never quite touched it.

“That’s it.” The man stood and produced a cloth, wetting it with water from a skin and throwing it at Aang, hitting him in the face with a splat. 

“Clean that. We set off at sunset,” the man said, pointing to the wound on Aang’s head.

Aang swiped the cloth over his temple, wincing at crusty blood flaked onto his hands. The man dropped to his knees by the hole in the deck and stuck his head below. 

“Yaling!” he bellowed. “Yaling!”

“What?” a woman’s voice called faintly from below deck. 

“Come up!” 

“I’m busy!”

“Come up!” 

“No!”

Aang rubbed his eyes with his arm. Even after being out for a day or so, he was still so tired. 

“Come up now!” 

Silence. Then a woman with a shaved head emerged out of the deck and placed her elbows on the edge of the hatch. She was pale with a wide face, and her scalp was covered in small, pink scars. She looked at Aang. 

“You finally got one,” she remarked to the old man. 

“We’re taking him to Omashu.”

Yaling glared at him. “We’re not going to Omashu. We’re going to Kyoshi.” 

“I already told him we’re going to Omashu!” the man yelled. 

“We just came from Omashu!” she shouted back. 

“Stop yelling!”

“You stop!”

“He got nabbed!”

“I can tell,” Yaling snapped. 

“You told me you’d help me,” the man said petulantly, sounding like a child instead of a weathered old man. 

Yaling glared at him, and Aang realized he didn’t know the man’s name. After a moment, she relented. 

“Fine,” she said. The man grinned and dropped behind her below deck. Yaling turned to Aang. 

“Who nabbed you?” she asked. 

“A waterbender woman and a man with a madu.” 

She nodded, resting her chin on her hand. “That’s Nuka and Ming. They’re good nabbers,” she said with a nod of her head. 

“Good nabbers?” Aang asked. 

“Good at nabbing,” Yaling clarified. “I’m surprised you got away.”

 “Me too,” Aang sighed. 

“What’s in Omashu for you?” 

Aang shrugged. “I have a friend there. I was traveling with someone in Gaoling when I got nabbed, so I was trying to get back there, but I guess I can get in contact when I get to Omashu.”

Yaling scowled and ducked her head below deck, hands still resting on the edge of the hatch. 

“Why are we taking this boy to Omashu?” she yelled.

“He’s going to Omashu!”

“He said he came from Gaoling!”

Aang shook his head. “Please, we already had this conversation, he’s pretty -”

“People don’t go to Gaoling! There’s nabbers there!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yaling said, poking her head back up. 

“I tried to ask him how to get to Gaoling but he wouldn’t tell me,” Aang said, wringing the red-stained cloth over the side of the boat. 

“Gaoling is about a day and a half southeast of here, probably you’d get there sooner flying. He’s a bit touched,” she said quietly, tapping her temple. “We can still take you to Omashu, but if you have people in Gaoling, I’ve got an old map. It’s marked up but it’s fine otherwise.”

“Really? Thank you!” 

The old man climbed out of the hatch and rolled onto his feet. “Ohhhhhh Omashu!” he said. 

Aang watched him as he puttered along, prepping the boat to set off. 

“Why is he so excited to go to Omashu?” he asked Yaling. She shrugged. “He’s been on the lookout for Air Nomads. He’s been obsessed since he lost his home. Like I said, he’s a little touched.”

Aang bit his lip. It was really difficult to fly long-distance, especially considering the shape he was in. He wasn’t sure he’d make it. And besides, they were headed to Omashu anyway, and even if Gyatso stayed in Gaoling to look for him, Aang could send word. 

“How long will it take us to get to Omashu?” he asked Yaling. She cocked an eyebrow. 

“You really want to do that?”

Aang shrugged, looking down at his hands. His wrists were ringed in pale brown bruises. “He said I’m a blessing for him - maybe this is meant to be?” It sounded weak, but people met and helped each other for all sorts of reasons. Here was someone who was bent on helping him - Aang couldn’t very well turn that down. 

Yaling pursed her lips but nodded.

“We’ll be there in five or so days. We’re off at sunset!” she yelled up to him as she ducked back below deck. “Have everything you need!”

Aang placed a hand on his glider. That was all. No razor. No pack. Everything was back in Gaoling. He hoped Gyatso would be still making his way to Omashu as well - they’d been separated while traveling before, and that was always their plan. To keep on to the next stop and stick around until they found each other again. 

Aang tightened his hand around his glider. They’d find each other again. 

Gyatso walked through the temple. His clothes were green and gold, but it was no issue. He was home. The sky was pleasantly orange and red, like the color of formal robes.

Aang sat on the wall by where the bison slept. He was unmarked, no tattoos on his skin. He seemed closeby, but it was taking Gyatso a while to walk over there. As he walked, Aang looked around, and set a little scroll on the wall, tied up neatly with a string. The orange and red of the sky faded into dark grey, and lightning struck in the distance. These were no conditions for flying. Perhaps they could go inside, and have a game of Pai Sho as they waited out the rain. But Aang paid no attention to the sky. He set the letter down and flicked open his glider, taking off into the night. 

Gyatso woke. He rose and peeked through the slats of the window of the Beifong estate. The sky was still black, but there was a band of deep blue on the horizon. It would be morning soon. It felt wrong to leave without Aang, to fly Appa without Aang gently encouraging him, complimenting his flying. Appa was a dark mass in the garden - he spent the better part of the evening stripping the apple trees bare. 

Ru had been livid when Gyatso came back - that he had lied, that the Avatar was missing. But Ru wouldn’t send him away, to travel and be left alone. He insisted on sending word out before Gyatso left, to ensure that any news of the Avatar would be returned to both Gaoling and Omashu. 

It was a bitter pill to swallow, that they had no real idea where Aang was. Heading to Omashu was something, at least - their contingency plan from when they traveled for fun and freedom rather than refuge. Gyatso worked to tamp down his fear - it did not help in any way, and Aang was both strong and clever. He would find his way back. 

They would find each other again.

“Let’s go, up, up, up!”

What a strange dream. Kuzon pulled his blanket up over his shoulder and sighed. He yelped as it was ripped away.

“None of that, it’s time to get up!” his dad barked, clapping his hands in Kuzon’s ear.

“Uhhh,” Kuzon groaned. He squinted at the window above his bed – still dark. How, oh how did people get up before the sun? Who woke them up? How did they wake up early enough to wake these people? Did they stay up all night? What torture.

“I don’t have school today,” Kuzon groaned. It was a day of rest, a sweet day of rest without school, and he’d planned a grand schedule of nothing for it.

“I know. You’ve got something better,” his dad said, voice tight with pride.

A half hour later, the sun still not up , he stood in the square along with several other classmates of his, all looking much happier about being there than he was.

A severe, tall man dressed in a full soldier’s uniform, down to the massive shoulder spikes, was walking along the line they’d formed, saying nothing. Kuzon and the other kids standing next to him were dressed in an imitation of it, but streamlined, without pomp and frills, made of a heavy, durable material that stuck to his skin in the humid early morning. He surreptitiously tried to adjust his pants -  Kuzon hated the cold but he dreamed of a perfect world, where nobody ever got swamp ass after the autumn equinox.

Abruptly, the severe man was standing in front of him. Kuzon straightened unconsciously.

The man looked down his nose, glaring at him. For several long minutes, he said nothing, the silence stretching too long, treading into uncomfortable territory. The other kids on either side of him looked serious and patient, and the man’s glare wasn’t letting up. It was bordering on unbearably awkward when the man finally spoke.

“What is your name?”

“Kuzon, sir,” Kuzon answered, politely, the way he answered his teacher.

“How old are you, Kuzon?”

“Thirteen, sir,” he said. It was close enough, his birthday was in two days.

The man nodded. “I’m surprised,” he said, inviting an answer.

“Why, sir?”

The man lowered his face down, looking Kuzon right in the eyes. “Because I thought, by thirteen, most people would have figured out how to keep their hands from between their ass cheeks!” he yelled, gaining volume as he went on.

Kuzon blinked. Said nothing. The man furrowed his brows. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Kuzon knew he wasn’t stupid. But he knew people, and he knew what an absolute blessing it was that everyone thought he was the village idiot.

And so, stupidly, he shrugged. “My dad brought me here,” he said, knowing full well he was here to be groomed into becoming a soldier, to inflict another wound on the world. To learn how to use his bending to burn and maim.

“You are here to honor the Fire Nation. You are here to help the world. And you are making a mockery of everything the Fire Nation stands for!” the man screamed, still close enough to his face that Kuzon felt a droplet of spit hit his cheek. “So tell me: why are you here? ” the man asked again, enraged.

Kuzon let only a beat pass between the question and the answer, a beat to show he was not just python-parroting. “To honor the Fire Nation, and to bring our glory and prosperity to the world,” he answered solemnly, a lie, an oath.

“Honor and prosperity are lacking in this world. I want to know that you will take this seriously.” He was looking for an answer, this was a demand of loyalty. To pledge fealty, or to brand oneself a traitor. Kuzon would not mark himself apart.

“I do, sir. The world needs our help,” he said quietly. It was true. He could help, here, in this way. Not the Air Nomads, but the Earth Kingdom, and the Water Tribe. People were always needed on the inside. People who never believed what they said, people with shrewd words and silver tongues. Kuzon was not shrewd or persuasive or suave, but he was firm in his beliefs, and he could do something rather than nothing. That was all.

The man in the soldier’s uniform nodded sharply, then stood and continued his walk down the line.

Honor, in how this man, in how his country spoke of it, did not exist. There was no honor in murder. There was no honor in war. Honor was conduct, honor was mercy, honor was grace and respect. His nation had no honor, but neither did Kuzon, for there was no honor in lying, no honor in stupidity.

The man began to speak again. The other kids relaxed just the slightest bit. Kuzon closed his eyes for a moment, nothing more than a long blink. This was a gift from the spirits. He only had to accept it.

Chapter Text

The tassels swayed gently in the wind. The beads were old, faded with age despite centuries of care. Bison fur, dyed with turmeric and mace, and red pine beads. Gyatso recognized it, a relic of Avatar Sunil, his prayer beads that had spent the last eight hundred or so years wrapped around the neck of his statue at the Northern Air Temple. No such care was afforded to it here, nailed haphazardly to the door of a tiny house, built into the side of a mountain, overlooking a valley with a clear, still lake. Omashu was less than half a day’s flight, and by all means he was supposed to get there as soon as he was able to. But Gyatso would not be idle - many people unfamiliar with their teachings would often mistake pacifism for passivity. They could not be more different.

Gyatso leaned on his staff as he took their stairs up to the house, an artificial hunch in his back. He knocked, once, twice, as he was supposed to, as he pretended to put the pieces together. The door was, predictably, unlocked and slid easily in its tracks, newly greased. Not quite lived-in. It was dark inside, the air stuffy and still - no place of refuge. It would be suffocating to stay for a long time. The ones who took them, they did not think about these things. In the house, he saw no outlines in the shadow. He leaned further on his crutch, hunching his back like a properly elderly man, and used the movement to adjust his head, listening carefully to the movement of the air. It was easy, when it was as still as it was in this place. 

Under the table, next to the far wall, he felt the displacement of air as a pair of lungs breathed heavily, through the mouth. No others, just the one, expecting an easy takedown and an easy payout. Gyatso shuffled his feet. The lungs under the table sucked in a quick breath, and moved. Gyatso straightened and sliced down with his glider, sending his would-be assailant into the wall, slamming heavily into the paneling, his head cracking audibly. Gyatso winced at the sound, but only slightly, feeling the pain in the back of his own head. The man slumped against the wall, a club on the ground next to him. 

With these ones, the ones who hunted them, he felt some strange, bitter mix of pity and anger. They did not do this out of hatred or aggression, but out of desperation. People without means, people with debts, people without food or homes, looking for quick money. Gyatso wished their King had provided for them, wished the prosperity and extravagance enjoyed by the rich would translate itself into enough, for everyone. Perhaps that would have cut out this population of hunters, given them means beyond this base activity. The man stirred. Gyatso strode forward, taking the club from the ground. No matter. This man’s circumstances, the environment that created him, was of no concern to Gyatso. What was done was done and what was would be. He could protect his people, even in this small way. He left the house, still holding the club, and carefully took the prayer beads of Avatar Sunil from the door, placing them in a drawstring bag and pocketing them. He’d show them to Aang, when they met again. 

In the light of the outside, he could see the club clearly. Light wood, almost white, stained with brown towards the blunt end. With a gust of wind behind him, he flung the club into the still lake, shattering its glassy surface. He watched until the water stilled again, then made his way from the house. He was due in Omashu. 

The tip had been airtight. An Air Nomad, snatched by a pair of renowned bounty hunters, escaped by freezing his constraints on a warm day. The age was a match, as well, and the hunters turned in their tip and got their reward money, and mentioned that the boy had flown off into the town. 

The town, barely big enough to earn that name, was tiny and dirty. The people were dodgy and suspicious, and watched as Azulon and his cohorts made their way through the streets. Azulon watched the people, meeting their eyes whenever he could. Anyone who saw anything he wanted to know about would show it in their face. 

He watched as the people parted for his envoy. They didn’t bow or prostrate themselves like a proper Fire Nation town would, but the awe, the recognition of his authority were there. The foundations were already laid, and maybe it would take time, but they would be integrated well enough. A proper Fire Nation stock in this area would improve the place massively - a gentle dock town rather than the grimy population that lived here now. 

A man found himself under Azulon’s gaze and flinched, dodging back into the crowd. Azulon broke from the envoy and pressed forward, towards his answer. 

“You, there,” he called. The man froze, but did not turn back around. “Yes, you,” Azulon confirmed. The man turned around slowly, cringing. He was greasy and shifty, and wore a small white scar on his upper lip. Not a fighting scar, anyone who got a blade that close would go for the eyes. Fierce, maybe, but visibly unintelligent. No matter - once proper Fire Nation families were introduced, this would disappear in a few generations. 

The man made his way forward, glancing uneasily at the soldiers behind Azulon. Azulon walked forward, widening the separation between himself and the soldiers. He could tell it made them uncomfortable - they thought they had to protect him. But he was the greatest Firebender in the world. He’d surpassed all his tutors, his own father. Such was life, marching ever forward. He expected such evolution from his children, and their children. Forward, never back. The future swallowed the past.

In the present, the man wilted under his attention. Azulon smiled, charmingly, loosening his posture in an unbecoming way - it would ease this man’s tension. 

“What is your name?” he asked the man. He straightened, staring at Azulon like their conversation was a challenge to win. 

“I am Shing of the Salted Earth,” he declared. Azulon raised an eyebrow. Someone in the crowd coughed. The man wilted again. He dropped his gaze, having lost the challenge. 

“I am Ma Bingwen.”

Azulon could work with that. He took a step forward, offering another challenge, the unspoken promise to throw the fight.

“Ma Bingwen. I think you can help me.”

Aang was floating. It was strange - half a mix of laying on his back in still water, half the sensation of weightlessness that accompanied flying, just before descent. It was half dark and half glowing light. Half cold, half comfortable warmth. Half wakeful, half under the veil of sleep. 

Through the haze of his vision, the world was a great curve. Above him, the hull of a boat cut a line of shadow. Below him, two massive whales pushed through the dark sea. The current of the ocean pushed and pulled him. For days, he slept dreamlessly, a hush, a rock back and forth, a push, a pull, the soft voice of a nun, the low murmur of a monk. And then the quiet cracked, and the halfway world was born into light, and the curve of the world regained its depth. He felt the pull of the earth and the stirring of wakefulness. The glow faded, and the warmth faded, too, leaving only earnest sunlight and icy coldness. The dream-like haze cleared and he woke. 

It was dark. The boat rocked.

Omashu.

He rubbed his eyes. In his dream, it felt like he’d slept for ages , but now it felt like he could use a few more hours. Aang gingerly felt his head. The old guy had shown him how to wrap it so that it put gentle pressure that eased his headache. It was tender, but nothing like the day before. 

He sat up. He was in a tiny room, on a small cot cut out of the wall. There were crates in the room, and his glider was on the floor next to him. He grabbed it and stood. In the far corner, there was a small basin of drinking water. In the opposite corner, there was a chamber pot, well-labeled so as to avoid confusion. Aang hoped it was merely preventative, and not the result of learning the hard way. He pried the lid off the water basin and kneeled in front of it. The water rocked back and forth slightly in an unbroken sheen in time with the movement of the boat. 

He peered at his reflection. It was only vaguely recognizable. He had deep bags under his eyes, his rough Earth Kingdom clothes desperately needed washing. The bandage on his head wrapped over his forehead, covering his arrow, and a layer of dark stubble obscured the curve of the tattoo on his head. 

Aang watched his reflection teeter back and forth in the basin. He didn’t look like himself. He didn’t even look like an Air Nomad anymore. It had been months since they fled the temple - autumn was nearly over. Two major festivals had passed by unobserved, he and Gyatso only offering each other words to commemorate what was meant to be celebrated communally or marked with a pilgrimage. 

His reflection stared up at him accusingly. Aang shattered the surface of the water and brought it up to his face. He washed the crust from his eyes and rubbed the dark circles around them. They’d go away, in time. He reached behind his head, where the bandage was tied and began to unravel it. When he dropped the bandages on his lap, he raised his hand to feel his forehead. It just felt like skin, no raised area like when the tattoos were new. The surface of the water was still broken up, but it was stilled just enough so that Aang could see the blue of his arrow reflected in the water. 

That small reassurance did wonders. He ran a hand over his head. The stubble was strange. It felt stiff, unbendable. Hair had always seemed soft. Perhaps softness came with length. 

Nevertheless. He took another scoop from the water basin and brought it to his lips. It was musty and stale-tasting. 

Yaling kept her head shaved. He could borrow a razor from her. He dusted his clothes off as he stood, and opened the creaky door. There were only a few stowage areas in the hull of the ship - he’d find Yaling fast enough. He made his way above deck and peeked out the hatch onto the upper deck. A man he didn’t recognize was fiddling with the ropes, adjusting the sails.

“Excuse me!” Aang called. The man turned around. “Do you know where Yaling is?” 

The man blinked at him, hands still clutching the ropes. 

“Who are you?” he asked.

Aang pulled himself fully on deck and stood. “I’m Aang.”

The man looked around confusedly. 

“Okay? What are you doing here? You know Yaling?”

“Yeah! I met her and the old guy. The old guy said that you guys could take me to Omashu,” Aang said, the end of his sentence rising up like a question. 

The man dropped his hands to his side. “That’s why we’re going to Omashu?” he asked incredulously. 

Aang shifted nervously. “They didn’t tell you?”

“No one tells me anything! I’m the captain, I should know what’s going on on my boat!”

Aang smiled. “Nice to meet you, Captain!”

“Ugh, just Bulan is fine. Here, raise this, I got a bone to pick with the old guy.” Aang took hold of the rope and finished raising the sail as the captain disappeared below deck. He waited for a moment - maybe the captain wanted him to stay until he returned. He resolved to wait for five minutes.

He lasted thirty seconds. It was fine. They were in the middle of the ocean, and the rope was solid. Aang disappeared below deck again. In one of the stowage rooms, he heard the muffled yells of Bulan and the old guy. He moved gingerly past the room where the yells were coming from, not wanting to draw their ire. He knocked on and opened a few of the stowage rooms. Aang peeked his head into another empty room and frowned. Surely, there weren’t that many places to hide on a small ship like this.

“What are you looking for?” Yaling asked from behind, startling him. 

“I was looking for you, actually,” he answered. She pushed past him and opened the door. Her room, apparently. 

“Come on in. What do you need?”

She grabbed a bag and started rifling through it. She had no stubble on her head, but there were a few nicks that were freshly bleeding. 

“You’ve got blood on your head,” Aang told her. 

“So do you,” she replied without turning around. He reached up and touched the wound on his head and his fingertips came away bloody. He winced. Maybe taking the bandage off was a little rash. 

“Point taken. Could I borrow a razor?” Yaling abandoned the bag and dropped into one of the seats on the floor, looking up at him. 

“You shouldn’t shave,” she said. “That could save your life pretty soon.”

Aang rubbed the short hair on his head again. A feeling of alienation was overcoming him, like a tidal wave. He tamped it down.

“I’ve always kept my head shaved,” he said in lieu of an explanation. 

“And I always used to keep my hair long,” Yaling rebutted. The frustration he was feeling must have shown on his face, because she pointed her toes to the floor seat opposite her.

“Sit. Come on, sit,” she said. Aang sat cross-legged in front of her. 

“We’re kinda opposite, that’s funny,” she said, pointing between her shaved head and his unshaved head. “Why do you guys shave, anyways?”

Aang ran his hand over his head - he was getting in a habit. “It’s about attachment - we shave so that we’re reminded to avoid and cut off attachment to anything, not just our hair. And it’s also about our tattoos, too.”

Yaling hummed. “I’ve seen ladies who keep their hair, though.”

“Lots of the elder abbesses shave their heads all the way. And the nuns who keep some of their hair shave to the crown of their head,” Aang said, indicating with his hand. “And they keep their hair simple.”

“What’s special about the crown of the head?”

Aang opened his mouth, then closed it. “I- I’m not sure. I’d have to ask.” 

He should know. He should have asked before. Gyatso probably knew, but what if he didn’t? Were there many nuns who survived, who could answer that question? He should have asked before. 

“Hey, hey, don’t look like that. You don’t have to beat yourself up just because you don’t know every little thing,” said Yaling. “After all, I couldn’t give you a detailed reason why cutting my hair was such a big deal. I know keeping long hair is about status. And I know it’s about identity and honor. But I don’t know exactly why. Don’t sweat it.”

Oh. “Oh! You’re Fire Nation,” Aang realized aloud.

“My dad was from the Fire Nation. My mom was from the Earth Kingdom,” corrected Yaling. 

“Really?” Aang asked. He looked at her shaved head - the Earth Kingdom didn’t have the level of attachment to hair like the Fire Nation did, but even there it was precious. It hadn’t immediately struck him as strange, since he grew up around bald people, but the importance other cultures put on hair was no joke. He wondered what had made her shave it. 

“My dad went into the navy as soon as he was old enough. He met my mom on shore leave in the western Earth Kingdom, fell in love like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “He had to serve his required four years in the navy, but as soon as he was out he made his way back to our town and found my mom. She couldn’t believe he’d never forgotten about her. They got married, had me, and lived there until the occupation.”

“The occupation?”

“Fire Nation came in and took over the place. It was a good stretch of coast, they wanted it.” She shrugged. “They took it. It’s so silly - but I-” she cut off, pursing her lips, scowling like she was mad at herself for having feelings. 

“This war… it’s a damn shame. I miss ‘em, every day. You probably know as well as I do.”

Aang looked at her, stunned. “Your family died… because of the war?”

She nodded. “The uprisings against the Fire Nation in our town went on for months after they came in. Their whole block was burnt when the soldiers tried to subdue it.”

Aang looked close to tears. “The war just started. How…?”

She clicked her tongue. “No, honey. This war’s been going on for a long time. It’s just that no one cares. The Earth King doesn’t care - it doesn’t affect him. He lives in a nice, comfortable bubble in Ba Sing Se. We’re on our own, and the quicker we realize that, the better.”

Aang broke away from her intense gaze, looking down at his hands. “What about the Avatar?” he asked quietly.

She laughed. “The Avatar? The Avatar’s not going to do shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t curse in front of you, you’re like, what? Ten?”

“Twelve,” he said. 

“Either way. The Avatar didn’t stop this war. Why would he end it? We can’t just rely on one or two people to fix the whole world - especially not the Earth King and the Avatar. They had their chance.”

“That sounds like you’ve lost hope,” he said to her. 

“Not like I ever had much in the first place. Especially not in the Avatar. I should, really - from two different nations, and all, and the Avatar’s all about balance. But Roku, you know Roku?” she asked.

He stammered for a moment. “I- well- yeah, I know of him. I don’t know him personally or anything,” he answered.

She gave him a funny look. “‘Course not, he’s dead.”

Aang nodded. “Right, right.”

She sighed. “He had years to stop this war. Now, the next Avatar? Wouldn’t surprise me if they died, too. I’m not trying to be cruel, honey, but most of the Air Nomads are dead - like the Fire Nation wanted.”

“And if the Avatar is alive?” 

She looked at him funny, then, and he tensed and backtracked. “Just… if.”

Yaling blinked, pausing, but seemed to move on. Aang relaxed slightly. “Then maybe they can help. But I’m not going to bet on it.” She leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “There’s nothing in this world that’s guaranteed. You gotta look out for you and yours.”

He looked down at his hands again. 

“You said you were traveling with someone? You’ve got someone to look out for?”

“My guardian,” he answered. She frowned. 

“I’m not too familiar with what the Air Nomads do.”

“He raised me, and taught me everything I know.”

She smiled. “He’s not still raising you? You’re a whole adult?”

He grinned back. “No, he’s still my guardian. I had kind of a fight with him before we got separated,” Aang said, the smile melting off his face. “I heard about the safe house and I wanted to check it out - he told me not to, and I said he didn’t care enough about finding our people. But he was right, and I got us separated.”

“You think you’ll find him in Omashu?”

“Hopefully,” Aang said. 

“Then you’ll make up with him then, and tell him he was right.”

Aang nodded. “He was. It’s just… being suspicious and being on guard all the time. I guess I’m just not used to living like that.”

“Well, no one’s born like that. The world makes you that way,” Yaling said. “You spend your whole life being chewed up and spit out by the world until you grow up and learn how to slip between its teeth.”

She’d gotten louder as she spoke, punctuating her sentence by punching the palm of her hand. 

“What?” she asked, looking at Aang’s sad expression. He shook his head. 

“The world’s not evil. And people aren’t evil. The monks have always told me that the ways people act have a lot to do with their circumstances. A runt mountain dog cast out from his family will be fearful and might bite you. But if you’re patient, you can earn his trust.”

Yaling raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And what if he mauls you?”

Aang huffed. “I’m not saying to be stupid or think that nothing bad ever happens. And no matter what you do, some people will always do the wrong thing, and you can’t change that. But if even one person can see that there’s some good in the world, and they change for the better… isn’t that worth it?”

Yaling looked vaguely surprised by the intensity of his tone. Then, she cracked a small smile. 

“That’s very Air Nomad of you. You should give your wisdom to the old guy. He says to receive advice from an Air Nomad is a great blessing. I’m inclined to believe him, but,” she clicked her tongue. “I’m not sure I’d ever be able to follow it.” 

“He keeps saying that. It’s kind of strange that he’s so…” Aang trailed off.

“Reverent?” Yaling supplied.

“Yeah, reverent.”

“He says that’s how it was when he was a kid. I don’t know exactly. It’s hard to follow him.”

Aang grinned wryly. “You’re telling me.”

“You gonna keep the hair?” she asked.

He ran his hand over his head again, fingers brushing the scab on the side of his head. Aang had been captured by two people - neither of them from the Fire Nation. It was probably a bad idea to go flouting his tattoos all over the place.

“Maybe just until we get to Omashu,” he said hesitantly. 

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Aang didn’t reply right away. He raised his hand and dropped it again, an aborted motion to run his hand over his head. He had to stop doing that so much.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Aang frowned. “You said the two people who, uh -,”

“Nabbed,” Yaling supplied. 

“The two people who nabbed me - they weren’t Fire Nation.”

She stared at him. “Is that a question?”

“Why would they help capture Air Nomads? I have lots of friends in the Earth Kingdom, and I have friends from the Water Tribe. I don’t get it,” he said. 

“Money,” answered Yaling. 

Aang blinked. “That can’t be al-,”

“Money.”

“But there’s m-,”

“Literally just money.”

Aang groaned. “Why, though? Like, why would you leave your home and your family to go send random, innocent people to be killed?” he demanded. 

Yaling looked at him, stony-faced.

Aang stared back. A beat passed. 

He sighed. “Money?”

“Money.”

“Ugh.”

“Not everyone has a tragic backstory that makes them how they are. Not everyone can justify their actions. Some people are just selfish.” 

They lapsed into silence. 

It lasted all of ten seconds before the door burst open. Bulan and the old guy stuck their heads in. 

“Nomad!” the old guy yelled. Aang waved at him. 

“What are you doing in here?” Bulan asked. “Who’s steering the boat?”

He looked at Yaling, who didn’t answer. He turned to Aang, who put his hands up.

“I don’t know how boats work! I’m used to bison!” 

Bulan smacked a hand against his forehead. “For crying out loud, we’re going to run aground one of these days, and I’m not going to be the one to fix that mess!” he shouted as he disappeared down the passageway, pulling the old guy along with him. 

“Bye! Bye Nomad!”

“Bye!” Aang shouted back. He turned to Yaling once they had left. 

“I feel a little bad. I was supposed to be steering the boat,” she said, not sounding guilty at all.

Aang laughed, and then looked back at the door.

“Hey, what’s the old guy’s name? I haven’t gotten his name yet,” he asked. 

Yaling shrugged. 

The festival was lavish to the point of being obscene. Flower petals covered the street in a thick layer, soft and fragrant. A path of chrysanthemum and toad lilies, all red and orange and yellow like the street itself was on fire. Above, strung between the shop fronts and vendors, paper lanterns swayed gently in the late autumn breeze, hardly cool, but a sweet relief from the heat of summer. Each one was glowing softly, light from the cutout insignia of the Fire Nation bright in its center. 

There were more people there than Kuzon had ever seen - the Hikari Ongaku festival was popular, but this was over the top. The streets were lined, packed with vendors, selling their wares, treats, drinks. Music, not different songs from all over, but from one massive band in the square, floated gently, hanging over the whole town like a cloud. It was slow, not the fast-paced dancing music like it normally was. Despite the number of people in attendance, the crowd was far less rowdy than it usually was. Every block or so, there was a pair of soldiers stationed - keeping order, his dad said when he looked at them funny. 

There was a play going on, in the same area they were always held. Kuzon perched on the low wall, overlooking the stage, alone. He watched, for a while, as the main character, a strong man of great honor, was falsely accused of being a traitor. The man lamented onstage, for the woe of his life and the loss of his woman, then he had an idea. He went and traveled across wildlands, all alone, until he came upon a dragon. Behind a sheet, the actor wrestled with, what looked like to Kuzon, a large stuffed pillow. The sheet came up and revealed the stage again, the man holding the paper mache head of a dragon. He returned to his hometown and presented it to his people, professing his faith and devotion to his family, his home, and the Fire Lord. 

Propaganda. The word was clear in his mind. Kuzon didn’t know how he’d never seen it before. Years, years ago, Aang had told him that all their plays had the same story. He’d been more correct than he realized. The hero, off to commit some glorified atrocity in the Fire Nation’s name, returns a victorious and beloved war criminal. It was obvious, obvious beyond belief. 

He watched the play dissolve into some strange message that you, too, can achieve honor by murdering a dragon, until a sharp poke in his back made him jump. A soldier was standing over him. 

“You gotta buy a ticket to watch the play, kid,” she said bluntly. He jumped down from the wall, muttered an apology, and disappeared back into the crowd. His parents were probably looking at the craft goods. 

Kuzon checked his pockets. He had a few coins left, and he bought a stalk of peeled sugarcane, presented in paper, chewing idly until the flavor was gone. 

He leaned against the wall of a storefront and looked around. It was beautiful, more beautiful than he’d ever seen it - war money making them rich and happy. But the soft, slow music lilted down the street in a heartless sort of way. There was no joy in the voice or the music, and no dancing to this slow song. Down the street, Kuzon saw Shinji, and a few others from school, but he didn’t run to catch up to them. He sighed. It used to be so fun, so full of life. Now, despite the beauty and lavish decorations and sophisticated music, it felt… dull, almost. 

The sugarcane went dry and tasteless in his mouth. It just felt like something was missing.

Aang sat in a triangle, down in the stowage area of the boat, across from Yaling and Bulan. They were eating cold jook, which at some point had managed to go both slimy and clumpy. Weirdly enough, one of the major things he missed about being home was the food. Fresh fruit and vegetables from the garden and orchards, balep and cakes and pies. He sprinkled a few slivers of cinnamon onto his bowl and ate another bite. It took a few tries for it to really go down, the texture horrendous. What he wouldn’t give for a fat, sweet piece of jackfruit, gluing his fingers together. 

He tuned back in to the conversation. Something about bones and campfires. 

“They swore up and down that it worked - I’m not saying it’s true but what’s the harm, honestly?” Bulan said. He looked at Aang for support. Aang, who hadn’t been listening, gave him a supportive smile and a nod, and Bulan looked to Yaling, vindicated. 

“What if you end up wearing red shoes every day for the rest of your life because some fortuneteller told you to?” she asked. 

Bulan huffed. “I’d have to be able to afford red shoes for that to happen.”

Yaling turned to Aang, and caught his eyes for a moment, then turned back to Bulan. “Well, you can always get your fortune told by Aang, here,” she said cryptically.

Aang hid a giant grin in his water cup, catching Yaling’s eye over the rim. He managed to smother it by the time Bulan looked at him. 

“Air Nomads can’t tell the future,” he said, though it sounded like a question. After all, the Air Nomads were the most collectively spiritual nation. Aang bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, instead, casting his gaze left and right as if looking for non-existent eavesdroppers.

“Well… not directly.”

Bulan blinked. “Really?”

Aang leaned in. “There are ways.” He looked around again. Yaling was staring at him, stony-faced. She winked at him, barely there, without a flicker of change in her expression. 

Aang looked back to Bulan, who was oblivious to their silent conversation. “I can show you,” Aang said. 

The captain frowned. Aang shrugged and leaned back, picking up his bowl of jook again. “Or not, if you want. After all, it’s tricky. You never know what you might find out.” 

“Like what?”

“Who knows! Oh well. It’s not for everybody, I guess,” he said nonchalantly. Yaling laughed and he elbowed her. 

Bulan hesitated for only a moment. “I want to try it,” he said firmly. Aang set his bowl down so fast its contents rocked. He crossed the space between them and knelt in front of Bulan. 

“Now, this is a very very serious business. And we can actually use the jook for this, which is great!”

“We can? How?” he asked, suddenly skeptical.

Aang peered down into the bowl. “It’s a way to float for non-airbenders. Floating and riding the current allows us to experience true freedom, and through freedom the future is revealed,” Aang said seriously. It was only half-true. To be like a leaf in the wind was the truest expression of freedom. To be like a - he cast his gaze around quickly, and picked up the first thing that would work - to be like a few slivers of cinnamon stick floating on the congealed upper layer of jook wasn’t anything at all. Neither had anything to do with the future. He sprinkled the slivers, like little matches, over the top of the bowl. Bulan groaned and tried to pull away. 

“No, I hate cinnamon,” he whined. 

“It’s for the fortune!” Aang insisted. “Besides, how can you hate cinnamon?”

“It’s not sweet enough to be sweet and it’s not spicy enough to be a spice.”

“Go like this,” Aang instructed, ignoring his protests, swirling the bowl around so the cinnamon sticks moved but didn’t slip under the surface. “Meditate on your future. Think about what will be.”

Bulan closed his eyes. “I’ll have a big house.”

“Okay.”

“And a clear lake right next to it.”

“Cool.”

“And I’ll own a giant komodo-dragon.”

Yaling snorted. 

“Okay, now open your eyes and look into the bowl,” Aang said. Bulan leaned over the bowl. 

“One,” Aang started. 

“One? One what?” Bulan asked.

“Two!”

“Wait.”

“Three!” Aang said, taking a giant breath and blowing into the bowl. Bulan dropped the bowl to the ground with a clatter and looked up. Yaling and Aang burst out laughing. Bulan blinked through the jook dripping off his face. 

“I am the captain of this boat,” he said. A clump of the jook dropped from his cheek and landed on the floor with a splat. “I am an authority figure.”

Aang, still laughing, bent a gust of air into Bulan’s face. Much of the jook peeled off his face and smacked into the wall behind him, the rest caught in his hair. 

“Sorry,” said Aang, grinning completely unapologetically.

“I just wanted to go to Kyoshi Island, and maybe get eaten by the Unagi, and end this nightmare called life. But no. No, my crew picks up random hitchhikers on my behalf, and me? I get jook in the face.”

Yaling snorted. “Calm down. You’re gonna freak him out with your I-wanna-get-eaten-by-a-sea-monster talk.”

Aang stood - there was a basin of water with a few rags in the corner. It was funny, but he wouldn’t be mean about it. Bulan seemed extraordinarily stressed at all times, and the joke hadn’t done anything to lighten his mood. As he walked across the room, the boat gave a mighty lurch, and he stumbled, catching himself on the wall. 

“What’s that?” he asked. Bulan and Yaling were both looking up towards the ceiling. 

“Did we run aground?” Yaling asked, standing. 

“No way, we’re at least a day from the strait of Omashu.”

“You shouldn’t have let the old guy steer.”

“We didn’t run aground!” Bulan insisted. “I’m headed up.” 

He made for the hatch to the upper deck, Yaling and Aang trailing behind him. Bulan began climbing the ladder and stuck his head up to the surface. 

“Shit!” he ducked viciously, and lost his grip on the ladder, slipping and falling, leg caught in the rungs. 

“What? What happened?” Yaling asked, disentangling him from the ladder. Aang sidestepped them and flitted up out the hatch. 

Their small wooden cargo boat was surrounded by three huge warships, the red flags of the Fire Nation stark against the sky, with legions of soldiers stationed on deck. One of the boats was coming up fast behind them, and the old guy was at the boat’s wheel, throwing his full weight into turning it. He saw Aang and raised his hands, waving, the wheel of the boat spinning wildly and undoing all his hard work.

“Nomad! They’re here for you! I told you! I told you! Nothing good in this world - they’re angry, they are! No honest business these days -” he turned towards the boat that was coming up fast behind them and made a lewd gesture. “Learn how to weave! Get a job!” he shouted at them. Aang pointed at the steering wheel.

“You’re losing it!” Aang called to him. Yaling and Bulan emerged from the hatch. Yaling swore and ran towards the sails and began climbing the lines. 

“No I’m not!” the old guy said, putting his hands on his hips as the wheel spun wildly. The old boat creaked with the effort, but managed to evade being struck by the warship coming up behind. Instead, it skimmed very close to the side of their ship, and several soldiers laid planks between the two boats and boarded the little cargo vessel. 

“It’s a party! We’re having a little get-together!” the old guy shouted from the wheel, laughing, half-hysterical.  

“Shut up!” Bulan yelled back, pulling out two bronze aashi, massive curved blades with jagged teeth from nowhere at all. He gave a cry and rushed at the onboarding soldiers sweeping one’s feet out from below him and hitting him in the chest so that he stumbled and fell overboard. Bulan cut the planks, sending the soldiers still on them into the ocean or hanging from the edge of the boat by their fingers. Aang raced over to help, blasting soldiers away with a gust of air. 

“Where were you hiding those?” Aang asked, falling back-to-back with Bulan, who wielded his weapons with vicious precision. 

“We get onboarded by pirates at least twice a month - I always have them!”

“So you know pirates?” Aang asked interestedly.

“Don’t talk, just fight!”

Aang sent another pair of soldiers flying, but another warship had come up on the other side, and more soldiers were coming from that side. Yaling swung upside-down on one of the ropes, wielding a plank of wood like a club - but they were clearly outmatched, dozens of soldiers spilling onto the boat. Aang ran towards one of the barrels and pried it open, praying it was something useful. There was a strange, jelly-like liquid inside. 

“Aang!” Yaling yelled. “Duck!” 

He ducked without looking and heard a rush of fire over his head, then turned and blasted air towards the soldier behind him, sending him flying towards the edge of the boat. Aang stood and stuck his hand in the barrel - the contents were slick and smelled vaguely medicinal. He pushed mightily and tipped it on its side, the material spilling onto the deck.

“Please don’t be blasting jelly, please don’t be blasting jelly,” he muttered, kicking the barrel to get the last of it out. Immediately, the Fire Nation soldiers began slipping and falling, unable to stand without faceplanting again. Yaling, still hanging from the lines, grinned and flashed him a thumbs up. 

Bulan was crawling slowly through the muck towards one of his blades that had skidded away from him. 

“This is the worst plan! I hate this plan!”

“Sorry!” Aang called. From some unseen place above, the old guy cackled at the chaos on deck. 

The two warships on either side of them were no longer attacking, with the remaining soldiers and crewmen leaning across the gap to assist their fellows. Aang peered at the largest ship, the one that was swanning along silently in front of them. On deck, there were several soldiers surrounding a single young man, his face framed by their shoulder spikes. Despite the distance, he was looking Aang in the eyes, his face wrought and unreadable. On the deck of their ship, a fire was lit. 

Aang hopped lightly up onto the ropes, higher than Yaling, to get a better look.

On the deck of the larger ship, a catapult rested, shrouded from view by the soldiers. As he looked, the flaming sticker was hurled, the catapult whirring with the effort of throwing the massive projectile. It would sink their boat in seconds - Aang gave a cry of effort, and threw himself forward off the ropes, meeting the sticker in midair and kicking with both feet, fighting to keep the air from sending him backward instead of redirecting the movement of the sticker. It didn’t move as far as he’d have liked, and clipped the wall of the boat, but thankfully left the deck and hull intact. The wood smoldered, and so as he landed he bent a gust of air to put out the remnants of the fire, but the whirring of the catapult caught his attention again. 

Aang hopped onto the edge of the boat’s wall, and threw his glider forward, leaping after it and flying over towards the catapult, ignoring the warbling yell of the old guy. The young man caught his eyes again, a strange expression on his face, but Aang ignored him, and landed at the base of the catapult. One of the soldiers bent and lit the sticker on fire, and Aang blasted him out of the way, bending a gust of air onto the projectile to put it out. It didn’t extinguish, his air only causing the flame to swell and surge. The heat flared, and Aang shielded his face. 

When the surge died down, he took a deep breath, and bent, twisting his hands and making a huge tornado like he was told years ago to never make again because it only served to destroy. It tore the mechanism apart, and the sticker fell, smoldering on the deck. Aang slumped from the effort, but a blast of fire landed at his feet and he jumped away with a yell. The young man who had made eye contact with him was standing before him, the soldiers behind him, not yet advancing. The young man had a strange expression… almost bored, like this was a chore he had to finish up. He bent, still with that unnervingly disconnected expression, and Aang crafted an air shield to deflect his fire, the force still sending him backward. Aang had already destroyed the catapult, and he didn’t see any similar contraptions of the other ships, so he turned and ran for the edge of the boat. No business fighting one on one when he could rejoin his companions and escape safely. He jumped off the side of the boat, his foot still touching the edge of the hull, his glider halfway opened, when he felt fire surround him. 

He bent quickly, a shield of air encircling him, but he was over the water, halfway suspended - it was difficult enough to shield himself fully, let alone keep himself in the air without a glider. He cried as the shield faltered and the heat reached his skin - it wasn’t letting up, it was only getting stronger, and he was falling and burning. He’d never see Gyatso again, or Appa, or anyone - he was failing. He wasn’t cut out to be the Avatar. 

He was failing. 

A light overcame him. 

The fire parted, and he was no longer falling. The fire was his, now. His hands moved on their own, an ancient, practiced movement. Second nature. The soldiers faltered, unsure of what to do. A few fell to their knees. He was suspended for a moment, the fire dissipating, leaving nothing but a warm embrace around him, the air supporting him. He moved - oh, this, too, was second nature, well-practiced in his own time, a gentle reminder of the Southern style that had long been neglected by the Avatars, as the water surged and flooded the decks of the warships, sweeping them clean. Then the ocean surged, a great wave, and he pushed with an ancient might and the warships were cast away. The air, in ten thousand years’ ease, dropped him on the deck of the small wooden boat. The ocean ate up the soldiers on deck, spared the ones who helped him, and receded back into its place. The air ceased around him, and the light faded.

Aang fell. The wood was still slick under his hands and knees, but he was shaky, too shaky to even lift his head. He felt all of eight years old again, sick with quail pox and left behind when all his friends got to visit the Fire Nation. Gyatso had stayed behind with him, taken care of Appa for him, collected moonseed and tulsi and bahera and ginger to calm his fever. There were hands grabbing at him, and he gasped, flinching away but still weak and shaky, slipping on the slick deck and lying on his back. Two shapes above him, shadowed by the sun. He blinked back to the present.

Yaling and Bulan. 

The old guy yelling from above. 

“They told me! They told me I’d be blessed beyond measure to find another Nomad! Lookit! Look at me -,”

“Shut up!” Yaling yelled. 

“Found myself the Avatar! Blessed beyond measure!”

Yaling looked down at Aang. “I like that you got me to talk bad about the Avatar in front of you,” she said wryly. 

He grinned. “Surprise.”

“I’m gonna turn you in for that,” she joked. 

“No!” the old guy howled.

Bulan was just gaping, silent and stunned. Aang sat up.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Bulan blinked. 

Yaling waved her hand in front of his face. “Buddy, you good?”

He silently stood, and made his way below deck. Aang looked at Yaling, confused. Muffled, they heard yelling from below deck. 

“I am the captain of this boat! No one tells me anything! ”

“Striking Dragonheart, again!”

Kuzon stifled a sigh. “Yes, Master Kenji.” 

He went through the motions again. A kick, a double punch, a twist and a turning kick, and then a blank space. Kuzon stumbled out of his bending stance, then corrected himself. Maybe a palm strike? Kuzon struck out, bending a far-reaching arc of fire from his palm, but it shuddered and dissipated as Master Kenji grabbed his bicep and yanked him away. 

“No, no! There is no palm strike in Striking Dragonheart!” he yelled, shaking Kuzon by the arm. Kuzon wriggled under his grasp. The man’s hand was heating up. 

“Well, it’s in the name,” Kuzon said, regretting the words as they came out. Oh, he was an idiot, truly, the village was right. He might as well go stick his head in a ghostwasps’ nest - that was probably less dangerous than talking back to Kenji. 

“Insolent boy,” Kenji hissed, tightening his grip on Kuzon’s bicep, fingers beginning to burn. “No one has taught you respect.” 

Kuzon yelped as his arm began to burn, but after a few seconds, Kenji shoved him forward, releasing him. Kuzon looked at his arm. The blistered skin was roughly hand-shaped, pink and shriveled. It wasn’t the worst burn he’d seen Kenji give. He’d gotten off lucky. 

“I’ll be talking to your father about this. He’s a good man - you bring shame upon his household. Go - you’ll be fortunate if I even think about letting you back in my class.” Kenji turned. The other kids were staring steadfastly at their feet.

Kuzon tapped at his burn and hissed. He began the walk home - if Kenji never let him back in his class he’d be lucky. It was exhausting, intensive, and it ate all his free time. Days of rest, after school, everything was training. Military forms best done with a fellow or a group. Why they needed to know how to create a wall of fire in front of them while marching had implications Kuzon did not care to think about.

His mom was reading when he got home. She looked up and smiled, but she saw his burn and her face fell. She clicked her tongue. 

“Kuzon,” she said disappointedly. “What did you do?” 

He didn’t meet her eyes. “I talked back.” 

She twisted her lips, but set down her reading and stood, leading him to one of the kitchen chairs and sitting him down. She examined the burn with light fingers. She rapped a knuckle lightly on his forehead. 

“That big mouth of yours,” she chastised gently. She went to the drawer and found a small jar of burn poultice. It was old and crusted around the top rim - they’d had it since Kuzon was little and couldn’t always control his fire. 

She wet a rag and applied it carefully. Kuzon concealed his surprise. Normally, when he got his knuckles split by his teacher or a burn as a punishment, he was meant to heal on his own. 

He blinked quickly. “Mom?” he asked. 

“Hm?” she replied, still concentrating on his burn. He struggled to find the right words. 

“I know I have a big mouth. But you still love me, right?” he asked. She looked up, confused. 

“Of course.”

“Could I ever do anything to make you not love me?” he asked in a rush. She softened, looking at him. 

“Kuzon, you would never do anything to make me stop loving you. Especially not just because you’ve got no filter. But I know you don’t mean anything by it, and your dad knows, too.” 

“But what if I did something bad, really bad?”

She paused in her ministrations “Are you in trouble?” she asked carefully, stiff. 

“No, no! Just, what if I was like a murderer or a traitor or something?”

“Well, if you were a murderer or a traitor you wouldn’t be Kuzon. But I know you would never do anything like that. Where’s this coming from?” she asked. 

He scrambled for an answer. “Just… just that Master Kenji is disappointed in me, and I think dad’s gonna be disappointed.” She was wrapping up his arm. The poultice was cooling and though the burn wasn’t severe in the least, it felt better to have it bandaged and treated. 

“You’re still growing. They both know that - they’re just hard on you because they want you to be the best you can be. I know you can be the brave, honorable soldier that’s inside of you,” she said proudly, tucking his hair behind his ear. He sat a beat longer, letting himself feel loved, before standing, tall, straight, stoic, like a proper soldier. 

“Thank you.” 

He went into his room. As soon as he was out of her sight, he let himself slump, hunch, let the weight of everything he felt settle on his shoulders. Kuzon knew that it wasn’t like him, to be stoic and serious and soldierly. No matter what his mom said, he’d never grow into it, because it wasn’t him. And her love, he knew, would diminish soon enough when she realized that. 

For a long, numb moment, he wondered what it would be like, to love his nation like he used to, and do what it took to get the love and pride of his parents. To worry about nothing but himself. To let the belief that the other nations needed their rule and guidance, to look at conquest and feel pride. 

The moment was gone in a flash, and he felt sick that he entertained it even for the space between breaths. Whatever discomfort he felt here was what he deserved, for doing nothing when he was called on. For keeping quiet in a crowd and for keeping quiet at the dinner table and quiet in the square. Whatever weight he bore was penance for his own cowardice. 

He couldn’t go on like this. He needed a plan, he needed to do something. 

His dad arrived home later than normal, and spent the evening ripping him a new one. Later, when everyone went to bed but the charged atmosphere in the house had not yet dissipated, Kuzon moved silently around his room, practicing his forms. There would be a chance, a real chance, again soon. He needed to be prepared to take it. 

There was a good deal of traffic in the strait. Most of the boats had flag signals, and large crews taking careful note of the circumstances around them and adjusting their course and their sails with care. Their little cargo boat had no such niceties - Bulan was at the wheel, the old guy was making a valiant attempt to show Aang how to work the ropes and sails (though his metaphors were winding and… colorful, they were not, in fact, very useful). Instead of a flag signaller, they had Yaling, hanging from her knees on the ropes at the very highest point, hollering directions to Bulan, and instructions to the boats around them. All in all, a mess, but Aang could see they had this mess down to a science, and the chaos let them slip through some of the traffic, making it to the port well before many other boats. As they approached, Aang leaned over the side, the ropes a lost cause, and gaped. 

They’d always come to Omashu by bison. There were stables, he knew, where bison could sleep, out near the wall before that long, narrow bridge leading up to the city. They had always been calm, run by a young lady who had an extra pinky on each hand. He’d never had cause to come down to the docks before.

It was crowded. From where they were, still out in the harbor, he could see the crowd moving like an overturned anthill. Omashu was a big city, but he’d never seen it quite like this, even in the busiest sections of the market. 

“Woah.”

They docked, eventually, and only almost got into two collisions with other boats. 

Yaling dropped lightly from the ropes onto the deck. She looked over at the crowds and then at Aang and the old guy as Bulan made his way over to them.

“Okay, we need to unload these fish to-day, they are not worth anything if they go bad, and so Yaling, I want you to go onto the docks and find a vendor who we can unload this onto, we don’t have time to set up shop.” He clapped the old guy on the shoulder. “You’re gonna help me unload, we gotta get these on deck so when we have a vendor,” he said pointedly to Yaling, “It’s all right here. Got it?”

Yaling nodded. “You seem like you’ve got a handle on this. The old guy and I are gonna take the kid into the city so he can find his dad.”

“Guardian,” Aang corrected. 

“Yeah. So, you’ve got this, and we’ll be back later.”

Bulan’s jaw dropped. “No! No way you guys get to pick up a hitchhiker, completely throw off my plans, make me double back halfway across the ocean, and then leave me to do all the grunt work! You’ve been here before, right?” he asked Aang. 

“Tons of times!”

“Tons of times! He’ll be fine on his own, besides he’s the-,” Bulan looked around. “Avatar,” he mouthed silently, “He’ll be fine.” 

Yaling blinked at him. “He got nabbed like, less than a week ago.”

“And now he knows better. Chop chop.”

The old guy walked in front of him and clapped him on the shoulder. “The nets were woven of palm fiber, by the weavers of Ba Sing Se,” he said seriously.

Bulan blinked. “Yes.”

The old guy clapped him on the shoulders again, then turned. Bulan spluttered. “That doesn’t mean you can go!”

The old guy turned back around. “They are woven to catch ten thousand fish before they break.”

Bulan nodded. “Yes. Now let’s sell the fish they caught before they go bad.”

The old guy frowned. He gestured harshly to the nets. “They haven’t caught ten thousand fish yet!”

“What?”

“I think he’s saying you can always catch more fish,” Aang supplied. The old guy grinned toothlessly at him, then their little group turned and made for the docks. 

“That’s not how this works! That’s such a waste!” he called after them.

“Better get to work then!” Yaling yelled back, cringing but smiling as he unleashed a strangled yell. 

Aang laughed as they made their way into the crowd. Yaling nudged him. “You’ll find your grandpa in no time,” she reassured him. 

“Guardian.”

“Yeah. Don’t even worry about it.”

“It’s good people here!” interjected the old guy. “They’re tall in Omashu!” 

Aang thought that over for a moment. “Yeah, I guess they are kinda tall!” 

They made their way up the bridge. There were a few people walking behind them, but it was nowhere near as crowded as the docks outside the city had been. There were more guards at the gate than Aang remembered, and they were not nearly as nice as they used to be. 

“State your business,” the guard barked at their group as soon as they approached. Yaling gave Aang a shove forward. The guard looked at her with a raised eyebrow, then looked at Aang. 

“Sir, I am looking for my guardian who might already be in the city. We are seeking temporary refuge in -,”

“Denied,” the guard cut him off.

“But-,” Aang started. 

“Denied!”

Yaling put her hand on his shoulder, and turned him around. His stomach sank. All this way, for nothing. He’d have to sneak in through the sewers, after dark.

“Never mind, Aang. Some city this is, turning away an Air Nomad,” she said loudly over her shoulder. “After everything you’ve been through! Well, I guess that’s it for you. You can jump around the boats until the Fire Nation,” she said loudly and over her shoulder again, “Captures you. Guess the friendliest city in the world doesn’t care about Air Nomads! ” 

“Wait!” called the guard. The old guy snickered. “You…” the guard trailed off, noticing, finally, the arrow on his forehead, his face full of pity. “I’m so sorry! Of course Omashu extends our hand to the Air Nomads. Stay as long as you need. Open the gate!”

Yaling sniffed. “That’s what I thought.”

They walked into the city, the day still young and bright. Aang turned back towards his companions. 

“We’ll find him in no time. I know it.”

It was approaching evening when the elation of finally making it to Omashu faded, replaced by the growing feeling that maybe this wasn’t as simple as it had seemed before. After asking yet another person who had no idea there were even Air Nomads in the city, Aang had suggested going to check the stables, that perhaps Appa and Gyatso were there, before a shop owner, in a very patronizing and pitying manner, told him they’d been torched and closed weeks ago. No one saw who did it. 

The sun was low in the sky when Yaling called it. 

“We’re not going to get anywhere tonight, and you don’t have anywhere to stay. We can head back to the boat, and try again tomorrow.”

The old guy paced nervously. “Just like the peacock. Flew off southeast and never came back. Now a war!” 

Aang glanced at him. He’d gotten pretty good at deciphering his strange phrases over the few days they’d known each other, but every so often he’d spout something that just sounded like nonsense.

“We can try again tomorrow,” Yaling said, not acknowledging the old guy. 

“Wait,” Aang said. “There’s someone I can get to help.”

Yaling hedged for a moment before nodding. Aang grinned. Then hesitated. His friendship with Bumi had been strange. They always found each other in neutral places, and never got quite as close as Aang had been with Kuzon. He didn’t even know where Bumi lived, exactly, had never met his family - and Bumi had never met Gyatso, either. 

Oh well. When in doubt, ask around. Aang spotted a man pushing a cart full of lettuce and ran up to him. 

“Excuse me! Lettuce merchant!” 

The man turned to him. “How many you want?” 

“Oh, none, thank you -,” the man scoffed and kept walking. 

“Wait!” Aang called. “I’m looking for my friend, Bumi? Do you know him?”

The merchant looked at him incredulously. “Your friend Bumi? Prince Bumi, is that who you’re looking for? Get out of here - I gotta sell this stupid lettuce,” he said, picking up the end of his cart again. 

“Prince Bumi?” Aang asked. The man rolled his eyes. 

“That’s the only Bumi I know.”

Aang stepped forward. “Where can I find him?”

The merchant began walking again, simply pointing up to the tip of the city with a grunt. The palace, which Aang had never paid much attention to before, stood at the peak of Omashu, glowing with internal light in the muted evening. 

The merchant walked away, grumbling. “My brother can sell cabbage all day - I had to do my own thing. No one buys lettuce.” Aang ignored him. 

Prince Bumi. Who knew?

Aang turned back to Yaling and the old guy and pointed to the palace on the hill. “My friend lives there!” he said.

“No one’s a farmer anymore! Fight for the title,” the old guy said loudly. The lettuce merchant glanced back, alarmed. Aang waved at him, smiling innocently. The last thing they needed was to be kicked out of the city for threatening to fight for the kingship of Omashu. 

Yaling eyed the building warily. “Your little friend is the Prince of Omashu?” she asked, high pitched.

Aang shrugged. “Guess so. But now we know where to find him!” Aang said, leaping up to the next layer of the city, bypassing the large stairway. 

“Let’s go!” he called down to the other two. The old guy stomped and the ground beneath him jumped, sending him up into the air, landing on the next level. Yaling dropped her head and began the trek up the stairs. 

“No courtesy - the least you two could do is give me a lift!” she called up. 

“You want a lift?” Aang asked sincerely.

“Do I look helpless to you?”

Aang put his hands up placatingly. “Sorry, sorry. You said you wanted a lift.”

“I’m just complaining.” She arrived at the landing. “But I am not taking the stairs the whole way. One of you is gonna help me out.” 

The old guy nodded sagely, then stomped, sending Yaling flying up to the next level with a shriek. She stumbled on the landing and he giggled like a little kid, nudging Aang with his elbow. 

“Airbender,” he said, pointing at Yaling, who had recovered enough to make a rude gesture down to the old guy. 

Aang smiled at him. “I think I’ll help her up the next level.”

The old guy nodded once, then threw himself up to the next landing, the city in concentric circles. Aang shook his head once, then followed them, up to the palace to find his friend. 

In the flat area leading to the palace, there was a garden with a manmade pond in the center, shaped like the emblem of the Earth Kingdom, the center design made of an iridescent blue-green crystal. The water was dotted with large, dark green lily pads and carefully cultivated blue water lilies, their yellow centers standing out like candlelight. Four bodhi trees marked the cardinal directions in the garden, each ringed by a careful layer of smooth, black stones. An earthen bridge was the only crossing point into the belly of the garden, with statues of some creature that looked vaguely like a lion flanking each side. On the ground was trailing chameleon plant, covering the area in hues of green and yellow and pink. 

Their group crossed through the garden silently, taken with the beauty of it. Aang looked around with wide eyes. This was a genuine royal garden. At the Air Temple, their orchards and gardens had always been a little wild - vining plants free to spread across the walls and tree branches only pruned when they were sick or spindly. This garden was a masterpiece, a work of art. Everything about it was calculated and perfect. He couldn’t imagine the time and effort that involved upkeeping a massive garden to this level of manicure. 

Bumi lived here.

They crossed another bridge out of that section of the garden - a strange lack of guards or even nobles to spot them. 

“Shouldn’t a palace be more… guarded than this?” Yaling asked, voicing his thoughts. 

“I guess not.”

The second bridge led them to a stone path leading up to a curtain of vines. They entered the area, sweeping the vines back. It was less manicured, soft grass a little wild and scraggly beneath the moonlight, with artificial waterways babbling softly. In the center of the garden area, Appa was sitting, raising his head and lowing massively as he spotted Aang.

“Appa!” Aang cried, running forward. Appa bounded over like a puppy, feet kicking, and knocked Aang to the ground with his massive head. He licked Aang across the face, and Aang snorted. “Ah, gross, Appa!” 

“So, you finally put it together, Avatar Aang,” drawled an accusing voice from above. The old guy jumped, landing in a fighting stance. Aang looked and saw Bumi, crouching in the branches of one of the older, gnarled trees, grinning down at him. 

“Bumi!”

Bumi leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “You went all this time without telling me you were the Avatar?” he asked, clutching his chest, face wounded. “I thought we were better friends than that.”

Aang smiled wryly. “Yeah, yeah, Prince Bumi. You’re one to talk. At least I didn’t know!”

Bumi cocked his head. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“Yes.”

“Why, I’m certain I mentioned it before?”

“Nope. Not once.”

Bumi dropped to the ground.

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

Appa groaned again, dropping his head on Aang’s stomach. “You’re too heavy for this, buddy,” Aang said, strained, as he tried to push Appa’s head up. Bumi looked at him. 

“You seem busy.” He turned to Yaling and the old guy, glancing between them, the old guy still in his fighting stance, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

“Who are you?” Bumi barked. 

“They have a boat! They brought me here,” Aang said, arms shaking as he pushed Appa’s head off his stomach. His arms gave out with a shake and Appa’s head dropped back down. “Ow! Appa, you’re killing me.”

“I’m Yaling.” The old guy pushed her to the side and put his finger in Bumi’s face.

“You’re not tall! You’re not very tall at all!” the old guy cut in accusingly. 

“Neither are you,” Bumi shot back. 

The old guy stared at him. Then laughed. “That’s true!”

Aang struggled out from under Appa’s head, standing and enduring another huge lick on the back of his head for his trouble. 

“Is Gyatso here?”

“He’s inside. He’s been looking for you! You’re late.”

Aang huffed, but smiled. It really, truly hadn’t been that long since he’d seen Gyatso - they’d been apart for months, before, but - it was just - 

Everything’s different now, Aang thought. “It’s not like I had Appa! I got here as soon as I could.”

“Why isn’t he here, now, like you were?” Yaling asked suspiciously. “You obviously knew we were coming.”

“I had no idea anybody would show up tonight.”

Yaling blinked. “You were waiting for us. In the tree.”

“I can’t hang out in a tree every once in a while?”

Yaling huffed. “I can only deal with one crazy person at a time,” she said, pointing to the old guy. 

“Who’s crazy?” said Bumi and the old guy in unison.

Aang laughed. 

“Guanyu!” Bumi shouted suddenly. “Will you pretty please go find Gyatso for me?” he said sweetly, in stark contrast to the yell before. Out of the shadows in the corner of the garden, a soldier emerged, nodded once, and disappeared inside the temple. Aang startled, unaware there had been guards. He saw Yaling looking around, too, and in the shadowy areas, there were several dozen soldiers, all hidden in plain sight. 

“Woah,” Aang breathed. Bumi turned, and looked at him, scrutinizing. 

He hummed. “You look different.” Bumi looked at the short fuzz of hair on Aang’s head and the grimy, green clothes he wore, now desperately out of place in these pristine gardens. “I know what’s different! You got a tan!”

Aang blinked. “Did I?”

“Yes! You’ve been spending lots of time outside, haven’t you?”

Aang looked down at his arms. They looked like they always did. If anything, the weeks he’d spent in the darkness of the South Pole had leeched some color from his skin. He frowned. 

“I don’t -”

“Aang?” 

Aang turned around, a rushing in his ears. Gyatso was there, flanked on one side by the guard, and wearing some large green cloak with white embroidery. He didn’t think about it. It wasn’t even conscious, but one moment Aang was standing in the center of the garden, and the next he was in Gyatso’s arms, hugging him with with all his strength. 

Behind him, he heard Yaling let out a patronizing ‘awww’ but Aang didn’t care. He didn’t pay any attention. Gyatso had a hand on his head, a strange feeling with the new hair. 

“Have you gotten taller?” Gyatso asked, clearly joking but still a little choked up. 

Without drawing back, Aang shook his head. “It’s only been a few days!”

“Of course,” Gyatso said, tightening the hug ever so slightly. After a beat, he spoke again. “Have you bathed once in the last few days?” he asked. 

Aang shook his head, smiling as Gyatso laughed. “I can tell - you stink!”

Aang laughed. Maybe he should have been embarrassed - getting told about his body odor as he clung to his teacher like a little kid. None of the other nations were as free in their affections. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than safe. He’d made it. 

They had finally made it.

Azulon calmed his energy, pushing his hands down and slowing his breathing. He was no fool - he would not delude himself with illusions of his own grandeur. He was the greatest firebender in the world. But the Avatar had untold lifetimes of training, practice, learning and relearning over and over. He had not stood a chance against the firebending knowledge of the Avatar spirit. 

The current reincarnation, by himself, was untested. He had very little fight, and had only used his airbending. No water, despite the ocean around them. Likely, Azulon had interrupted his training with the waterbenders before he learned much at all. But ultimately, the Avatar still held the power of lifetimes. Of all the past knowledge ever imbibed in his spirit. 

Azulon was greater than his father. And he expected his sons to be greater than him. In this way, he was like the Avatar, accumulating his learning, and seeing only improvement with each generation. 

His father was a great man - Azulon admired him deeply. Others his age moved gingerly, arthritic and weak, but Sozin was strong like a young man. He enacted his vision for the world when the time was right, not succumbing to the temptation of instant gratification. Azulon would emulate these qualities. 

Sozin was tortured. He was conflicted, and carried guilt like a physical burden, having left his friend to die. Azulon had been told the story years ago, as a child. And perhaps it was not guilt that Sozin carried, but regret, that someone he’d loved got in the way of his plans and needed to be destroyed. Azulon agreed it was a shame - if his father had been better, more persuasive, Avatar Roku could have been a great ally. 

That bridge was burnt long ago.

Azulon breathed in deep. Power, in firebending, came from the breath. Two fingers - precise and deadly, controlled and without shame. His father had never been able to master this. Azulon would learn from his mistakes. 

A circle, and a circle, and he felt the power build in his gut. From the stomach, he willed his power through his arm, out the tips of his fingers. 

It was correct this time. He could feel it.

Out from his fingertips, the air was split as a bolt of yellow lightning arced into the sky. 

Chapter Text

Devika sat at the low table, Bumi to her right. She was showing him how to embroider along with her, the pattern orange and yellow flowers. The council frowned upon it, her taking up the duties and habits of the common woman, her teaching these common woman’s duties to the crown prince, but she paid them no heed. The practice calmed her nerves, the productions were always worthwhile, and Bumi was always calm and focused when stitching - aside from earthbending and tending the goat gorillas (a practice which also earned the disapproval of the court), only embroidery held his attention. His mind moved so fast, so different from others. If common activities aided his focus and patience, then so be it. The opinion of the court didn’t bear any weight in that respect. 

He was so focused on the embroidery, Bumi didn’t notice when the marshal entered.

“Queen Devika, Prince Bumi,” he greeted them, bowing low. Devika inclined her head in response while Bumi paid no mind, focused on his stitching. After an appropriate pause, the marshal stood from his bow, and Devika could see the dazed, uneasy expression on his face. Certainly bad news, then. Tapping Bumi on the shoulder, she stood and walked down towards where the marshal still stood, Bumi beside her. He’d have to get used to the patterns and the duties of royalty, for when he took her place. 

“What news do you bring, Rahim?” she asked the marshal. 

“News from Ba Sing Se, my Queen. The Earth Kingdom is at war,” he answered.

She sighed. It was a long time coming, but the prospect of war and the reality of it having been declared were very different. 

“The Fire Nation must have struck a serious blow to earn the ire of the king. He was supremely unwilling to sanction anything officially. Where did they strike? Liupan? Dena?” she questioned. All border towns, near where the Fire Nation had encroached on their lands. 

“There’s been no movement at the border, my Queen-,” he started. Before he finished speaking, she knew, her hand flying to cover her mouth. 

“Spirits. The dead of summer - they attacked the Northern Water Tribe,” she said, stunned.
After the long summer, the trade season - the Water Tribe would be more vulnerable now than ever. If they focused their attack, it would have been a terrible battle indeed, and such an attack on their allies would stir the king to act.

“My lady - the Fire Nation has attacked the Air Temples.” 

“What?” Bumi demanded, shoving forward. “Why would they attack the Air Nomads?” 

“It is uncertain,” Rahim said. “The communication states very few airbenders survived. The news of war is to be broadcast to the public, and we must organize two thousand soldiers to be sent to Ba Sing Se to be trained and armed before being sent to the front.”

Devika nodded, dazed. Of all targets - the Air Nomads. It was stunning and horrific in equal measure. In all the world’s history, the Air Nomads had never aggressed, never participated in war outside of aid roles. To destroy them… the Fire Nation was giving a demonstration. A beginning of brutality and total devastation they’d surely carry over to the rest of the world. 

“I will organize a conscription. We will send three thousand men.”

“Conscription is, so far, unnecessary. The people are ready and willing to defend our nation - the attacks on the Air Temples have only driven more people towards the military office. Gossip travels fast, my Queen,” he said by way of explanation.
“I heard from a portman that the cult of Yangchen has itself produced a thousand willing soldiers.”

“Do they know how many airbenders survived?” Bumi asked impatiently. Devika recalled his excitement, some time ago, at his new friend - an airbender boy his age. She placed her hand on Bumi’s shoulder - he had such trouble making friends. At her touch he looked up at her, eyes glassy. 

“We have no official numbers yet, Prince Bumi. I’m sorry.” 

Bowing again, Rahim turned and left. There was much to do - official statements to be made, communications with Ba Sing Se, preparing for refugees, organizing soldiers, strengthening the security at the walls. But Devika took a brief moment and held her son through his grief. 

“We would like to offer you our sincerest thanks for the safe return of the Avatar out of danger. Your heroic actions have kept the flame of hope alive. We can never truly repay this priceless gift, but we hope that we can convey our deep gratitude,” the Queen intoned seriously, looking down at the old guy and Yaling with shining eyes.

The old guy sneezed in the weird, specific way that all old men sneeze - loudly like he was yelling through it, and seven times in a row. 

Queen Devika blinked, a slightly perturbed expression on her face, but continued smoothly and diplomatically. “You, son of the Earth. You, daughter of the Earth Kingdom.” 

The Queen stepped down and stopped in front of them, the great sleeves of her robe reaching down nearly to the floor. Behind her, the royal council of Omashu sat in an imposing row.

An aid materialized next to her, holding out three wooden boxes, carved and ornately painted. Devika plucked the first from the stack and presented it to the old man, opening it to reveal rows upon rows of shining gold coins. The old guy looked down at them, frowning, before picking up a coin and biting down on it. Apparently satisfied with what he found, the old guy bowed low before accepting the box. 

Aang shook his head, suppressing a grin. The old guy and Yaling had both been given rooms to stay the night, but he knew they both had lives to get back to. Yaling accepted her own box of coins with significantly more grace, but as the Queen turned to return to her throne, Yaling turned and looked at Aang, eyes huge. She pointed at the box in her hand. 

“ Do you see this?” she mouthed silently. Aang nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Yaling pointed to the box more aggressively. She mouthed something else, and Aang frowned, unable to decipher her words.

“ A hairless bear is my beloved wife?” he mouthed back, questioning. She shook her head, and repeated herself but Aang just looked at her blankly. 

“I said I’ve never seen this much money in my life!” she said aloud, shaking the box so that the coins jangled together. 

“Oh! I heard you that time.” 

Devika cleared her throat. Yaling snapped back to attention, blushing slightly, and glancing at the council members who watched imposingly from their platform. 

“My apologies, Queen Devika,” Yaling said. 

“Not to worry, my daughter. However, I understand another member of your party is not present. I would like for him or her to be rewarded as well for their part in the Avatar’s safe return.”

“Oh. Well, we can’t leave our boat unattended. But I would be more than happy to deliver the reward to him,” Yaling said.

“Wonderful!” Queen Devika smiled. She deposited another box of coins into Yaling’s arms, the girl’s knees buckling slightly. “Please, give this…”

“Bulan,” Yaling supplied.

“Bulan. Please, give Bulan our sincerest thanks. Please know that all three of you are forever friends of Omashu. You are welcome in our walls, and should you ever decide to settle down from your seafaring lives, you will have homes here.” 

 Yaling blinked, slightly leaned back by the weight of the coin boxes in her arms. “Wow,” she said faintly. “That’s… insanely generous of you, Queen Devika. Thank you.”

“No, my daughter, it is your small company that deserves the thanks.”

The Queen bowed to the two of them before dismissing them all, and returning to her quarters. Yaling and the old man both made their way out of the throne room. 

Aang turned to where Gyatso had been standing, slightly behind him, and saw the council general leading him from the room, asking questions about the Fire Nation. It’d been a whirlwind since they arrived. Since their reunion that first night, Aang had barely gotten a word in edgewise with Gyatso. 

When Aang made his way out into the hall, he saw Yaling kneeling on the ground, transferring coins from one box to another. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and so he sidled up behind her shoulder and after a beat he spoke up. 

“Whatcha up to?” he asked innocently, smiling as she jumped. 

“Hey Aang! What’s new with you? You’ve got Avatar things to do?” she said, smoothly closing the lids on the boxes. He just glanced down at the boxes, then back at Yaling, raising an eyebrow exactly the way Gyatso does when he knows Aang is lying. 

She pointed down at the boxes. “He didn’t want to take you here. We have to badger him and then he forbade us from ever picking up hitchhikers again, even though you’re like nine and got kidnapped. So,” she said, holding her hands out. “I think it’s only reasonable for the old guy and I to get bigger shares.”

He didn’t rise to the bait about his age, just arching his brow higher, glancing back and forth between Yaling and the boxes. 

She huffed. “I know we made him do all the unloading and selling yesterday, but we do that to him in every town. We’re a terrible crew, he’s used to it.”

Aang just twisted his lips, looking down at the boxes. 

“I think you’re being a little harsh right now.” 

Aang continued his silent staring.

“Fine! Fine, you wore me down. I’ll put all the coins back,” she said, throwing up her hands. 

Aang grinned. “I knew you would.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Aang sat down in front of her. “So. Are you going back to being a fishmonger or are you going to take the Queen’s offer? You could make a home here. ”

Yaling shrugged. “Not like the offer’s gonna expire. Nah. It just wouldn’t feel right without Bulan and the old guy. I can’t just up and leave them, and I know they both whine about it but they love the sailing life.” 

At his downcast gaze, she poked him in the shoulder. “What’s that face? You look like a lost turtle-duckling,” she teased. 

He shrugged. “I just thought it would be cool if you all stuck around. We’re going to be in Omashu for a while. It would be nice to have friends around.”

“You’re not staying here forever, kid. I know you’ve got bigger plans than that.”

Aang nodded. “I guess so.” 

“Well, yeah, all that Avatar mess,” she said, flapping her hand absently. “But… still.”

After a pause, Aang spoke again. “You were wrong.”

“About what?”

“You don’t just look out for you and yours. You looked out for me, even though you didn’t have to.” 

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re one of mine, now. Get used to it,” she said nonchalantly.

Aang grinned. “Nuh-uh. Cause you helped me before you knew me. You’re just a good person.”

“You literally just caught me stealing.”

“You put it back,” Aang replied easily. “Face it - you’re a nice person.” 

“Stop ruining my tough fishmonger lady personality. Say I’m a scoundrel.”

Aang gave her a smug look. “Nope. Good person!” he said loudly, pointing at her.

“Shut up.”

“I’m gonna miss you guys.”

Yaling rolled her eyes. “Don’t be sad. Look at the old guy. Look how happy he is.” 

Aang looked over his shoulder to where the old guy was at the end of the hall, humming a song and doing a jaunty dance. 

“Besides,” Yaling added, getting to her feet and pulling Aang up by the hand.
“I have a terrible feeling I’m gonna run into you again,” she said, poking him in the side. 

After Yaling and the old man left, headed back to the docks, Aang retreated from the communal areas of the palace. He’d managed to procure his pack the night they arrived, and was finally able to shrug out of the rough, dirty clothes he’d been wearing for days and back into his robes. The very next morning he’d shaved his head, carefully tracing around the still-healing welt on his temple. As homesick as he felt, Omashu was a comfortable, familiar place. Dressed like a proper Air Nomad, he could almost pretend they were just stopped for a while during their normal travels.

The chambers they’d given him were huge, with south-facing windows that took up almost a whole wall, covered in a delicate jade-colored curtain that was still thin enough to let sunlight stream into the room. Opposite of the windows was the door to the hall, and there was a door on the western wall that led into the room they’d given Gyatso - also with big windows, but that were made of colored glass and did not have the luxury of opening onto the large balcony overlooking the courtyard that was part of Aang’s room. At each corner, paired sconces of blue and green crystal glowed with gentle light. Aang had flitted up into the corners and pressed his hand against them to see if they were warm, but the crystals were cool to the touch - he wasn’t sure if they met open sky and reflected sunlight into his rooms or were somehow lit without flames, but the gentle light was pleasant. 

He’d pushed the big balcony doors open and let the air flow into the room, sitting on the parapet and dangling his legs over the edge. From the vantage point, he could see the rooftops and the constant movement of loads on the slides, but also the green canopy of the royal garden and the large pool of water, clear and blue-green, that sat at the center of the courtyard. Aang watched the gentle reflection of the sun on the still water, and the constant movement of Omashu below. 

He heard the soft knock but didn’t turn around. Certainly it wasn’t Bumi tapping on his door so feather-light. There was a pause before the door creaked open. Gyatso’s footsteps were soft until they came to a stop just beside him, and from the corner of his eye Aang saw him lean his elbows on the parapet and look out over the courtyard and the cityscape. 

“What a marvelous view,” he remarked lightly. Aang ducked his head, nodding slightly.

“Yeah.” It came out more sullen than he wanted, and he felt Gyatso looking at him. Stubbornly, he refused to meet his teacher’s gaze. Aang heard him take a breath to speak and his own words rushed out, unable to bear the full brunt of Gyatso’s disappointment without at least trying to apologize first. 

“I’m so sorry - you were right and I just - I wanted to find the others so badly, and you were right that it was all a trap. I acted like I knew better than you, and you were just trying to keep me safe. I acted like a jerk.”

Gyatso blinked, one bushy eyebrow raised. “I do not believe we are on the same page, my friend. I was going to apologize, as well.”

At that, Aang turned to face him, brows furrowed. “You were going to apologize? You were just trying to keep me safe and I didn’t listen to you! I know it could’ve turned out really bad,” Aang said. 

“I am old enough now that I can find fault in myself and be at peace with my shortcomings. My mistake was in not telling you the truth. I had gone to find an old friend that night to verify the rumors you heard. When he told me they were only rumors I was pleased I had not gotten your hopes up. But I see now that we must be very clear with one another in this regard. My son, I sincerely apologize for hiding my actions from you, and for how you were hurt as a result,” he said, eyes flitting to the healing welt on Aang’s temple.
“But I suppose I am a very lucky old man, in that my charge is quick-witted enough to escape misfortune.”

Aang turned to hide his pink cheeks, pleased at the compliment. “Well. I couldn’t have gotten here without the old man and Yaling. And Bulan, too.”

Gyatso laughed softly. “You have quite the knack for finding… unique friends.”

“More like they find me,” Aang said. “The old guy had to yell at me to get me on their boat.”

Gyatso only hummed in response, and comfortable silence settled between them. Against the sound of the movement of the city and the wind in his ears, Aang closed his eyes. For the first time since leaving the Water Tribe, he felt safe. For the first time since… before, he felt normal. If it was the familiarity of the city, or Bumi, or Gyatso, he wasn’t sure. But sitting in the early afternoon light, he felt calm. Even knowing that he’d be learning earthbending and then, somehow, firebending. And then. Then he had to end the war. 

Aang opened his eyes and frowned. The nice, calm feeling hadn’t lasted long. Was he supposed to just walk up to the Fire Lord and tell him to cut it out? Even if he defeated Sozin, who’s to say a new Fire Lord wouldn’t just pop right up and go back to waging war? 

He was startled out of his thoughts when Gyatso moved, rummaging in the pockets of his cloak. 

“What are you looking for?” Aang asked.

Without answering, Gyatso pulled a drawstring bag out and held it in the palm of his hand. 

“The place where you were taken was one of many. Our people’s sacred objects have been scattered and are used to set traps. Come, face me.”

Aang swung his legs over the parapet and stood in front of him. From the bag, Gyatso pulled out a string of prayer beads, clearly old but still with vibrant colors. 

“I remember these,” Aang blurted out. 

“What do you remember?” Gyatso asked quietly. Aang stared at the beads, the light hitting them just so that he was certain he’d seen these beads hundreds of times, though he couldn’t remember where or when. 

“I just remember them. I’ve seen them before,” he explained, clearly a little disoriented. 

“These were the prayer beads of Avatar Sunil. For eight hundred years they adorned his statue at the Northern Air Temple Sanctuary. They were being used to lure our people into traps exactly like the one in Gaoling. While we cannot return them to the Northern Air Temple,” Gyatso leaned down and placed the prayer beads around Aang’s neck.
“I believe this is a fitting home for them.” 

A beat passed.
“These are eight hundred years old?” Aang asked incredulously. 

“Do you doubt our people’s craftsmanship?”

“No, no, I just don’t want to hurt them, or lose them. I’d hate for them to last eight hundred years only for me to destroy them,” he said nervously, fingers touching the lowest tassel. 

“If anyone has that right, it is you. Besides,” Gyatso dismissed with a wave of his hand and a small smile.
“It is only an object.”

“Now that you finally got here,” Bumi said longsufferingly, “I want to show you the goat gorillas!”

“Prince Bumi, Avatar Aang has much more important things to do than look at your goat gorillas,” Nuan told him, wrinkling her nose. 

Aang glanced at her, her permanently-severe expression making her seem much older than she was. They’d introduced the whole royal council to him when he’d arrived - but this feast was the first time he’d actually had the chance to interact with them. 

On the whole, Aang found that none of them seemed very fun. Nuan, who was the cultural preservation officer, was on the calmer side compared to the group as a whole. Her and the citizen’s representative, Chen Lei, were the nicest (in the loosest sense of the word) of the group. Yuda, the general, and Haoran, who did something or other with money, were both a little… boring, and they seemed to be in a constant state of stress. Especially Haoran, who was using his snow peas to do long division, muttering to himself. 

“I’d love to see the goat gorillas!” Aang said. Maybe Nuan thought he was stuffy and wouldn’t like to see them. “I’ve never seen one in person.”

“They’re quite aggressive creatures,” Chen Lei warned him.

Bumi scowled. “Only when you step on their toes when they’re asleep, Chen Lei.”

“If only they would stop tunneling out of their enclosure,” Nuan sniffed.

“Pah. They’re vermin,” Yuda said. “Hairy, big things.”

“Look who’s talking,” Bumi stage-whispered to Aang, who bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Try again,” Devika said to him.

“My apologies. Yuda, you are very small and completely hairless.”

Devika frowned. “Bumi.”

“Well, he’s either big and hairy or small and hairless. My guess is that he’d prefer my calling him big and hairy. Right, Yuda?”

Yuda took a deep breath and sighed out his nose before answering. Aang got the feeling this was a common sort of discussion they had.

“Correct, Prince Bumi.”

Aang made eye contact with Gyatso, who was listening with unabashed amusement. 

“There. Now, Avatar Aang? Shall we?” Bumi said, not waiting for an answer before sliding out of his chair and gesturing for Aang to follow him.

“Sure!” Aang said, airbending himself out of the chair and bowing to the Queen. “Thank you for the feast! The candied eggplant was wonderful, and I appreciate you making the feast vegetarian !” Aang called as Bumi dragged him by the arm out the door, barely getting the last word out before Bumi had pulled him into the hall, taking off at a run through the palace. The twisting paths and stairways all seemed to loop in on one another, and Aang was fairly certain they passed the same roped-off hole in the wall three times before Bumi stopped in front of a large pit filled with sand and small caves, with bush plants strategically scattered to help cover the cave entrances and a stone pond filled with water, in which floated cabbage leaves. 

Aang leaned over the edge of the wall, looking into the corners of the pit but didn’t see any of the goat gorillas. 

“Are they nocturnal or something?” he asked Bumi, who just grinned and led him down some stairs and through a gate into the bottom of the pit. He whistled sharply through his fingers, and after a beat, dozens of baby gorilla goats ran from the caves, letting out little high-pitched grunts and hoots. They ran to the edge of the pit where Bumi and Aang were standing and circled around their feet, while from the cave a much, much larger goat gorilla poked her head out, saw the babies gathered around them, and promptly fell on her side and sighed. She clearly needed the break.

“She needs a babysitter or something,” Aang laughed. 

“I’d be more than happy to let them run about the palace on their own, but I’m afraid the council will let them loose and they’ll get lost. They’d do it on purpose, too.”

Aang knelt down and scooped three of the baby gorilla goats into his arms. “You should make a pretend mom for them. At the Eastern Temple, where all of us get sky bison, the nun who’s in charge of them, Palmo, she usually - or she did - bring out a big wooden statue of a sky bison when the calves get old enough to be on their own but won’t wean. And she’ll leave fruits and stuff hidden around the area so they get the sense of foraging and start eating solid foods, then she’d let the mom back so she can show them how to forage for real.”

He looked up from the gorilla goats in his arms to see Bumi looking down at him with a strange expression, and he felt a little twinge of embarrassment. He dropped his gaze but startled when he felt Bumi put his hands on top of his head.

“I wish,” Bumi said seriously, “that I could put my mind inside of your mind and we could always be coming up with the best ideas and I wouldn’t have to try to explain them, you would just know exactly what I was thinking and we would be able to talk without talking and then no one would overhear our wonderful ideas and I’d never have to hear Chen Lei go no no no Bumi, you can’t abolish money and reestablish the barter system it would be chaos and the whole city already thinks you’re mad besides. You know?” 

Aang nodded under Bumi’s hands. “I get it, Bumi. You’ve got your own way of thinking, and they don’t really understand.”

Bumi grinned at him and dropped to sit on the ground. “This is why I keep you around.”

Aang laughed, and after a moment Bumi cracked and let out his own snorting laugh. At the sound, the baby goat gorillas looked up, their ears perked and heads cocked to the side. Their confusion only made the two of them laugh harder and the goat gorillas, ever curious, hopped up trying to climb up their arms, finding purchase in the folds of their clothing. 

“Who could call you guys vermin? Huh?” Aang asked the goat gorillas in his arms, their huge ears hanging down as far as their feet.

“Bah. They’ll talk like that about anything - if I tend the goat gorillas, if I embroider, if I make some new skylights in their rooms.”

“Doesn’t stop you though, does it, Bumi?” Aang said to him, and after a beat the two of them dissolved back into laughter. 

“Hey. I have an idea,” Aang said, standing up with five goat gorillas gathered in his arms. 

“Oh? Whatever have you had an idea about?” Bumi asked, sliding out his foot and letting the earth push him up.

“Who could resist a face like these?” Aang asked, holding the goat gorillas up slightly higher. 

“Goat gorillas are magnificent creatures. You don’t understand. They are able to jump fifteen feet into the air. Their teeth grow to be as long as three feet and are deadly sharp. Their horns grow even longer. They know their names, and they eat water walnuts happily - and who ever did that, Aang? Do you like water walnuts?” Aang wrinkled his nose and shook his head. 

“Me either! But they can’t get enough of them! They’re wonderful! And - and no offense to Appa - they never shed,” Bumi continued passionately, eyes trained on the goat gorillas. As his tirade came to a pause, one of the goat gorillas Aang was holding sneezed and Bumi clutched at his chest like he was mortally wounded. 

Aang laughed at his antics. “I think it’s time we finally got the council on the same page as you. You said the goat gorillas like water walnuts?”

“Aha. I see where you are going with this, Aang,” Bumi said. He knelt and picked up one of the goat gorillas from the floor and held it up to look directly in its eyes. 

“My dearest Fatty. Are you ready to work your magic?” he asked it seriously. Fatty blinked in response. 

“She said yes.”

“Let’s go!” Aang said, running up the steps out of the enclosure, the ears and feet of the goat gorillas he held swinging wildly with the movement. 

“Hey!” Bumi barked, gathering a few more of the babies into his arms and running after Aang. 

“Wait for me! You don’t even know where the kitchen is!”

Ru Beifong lets you know,

My friend Gyatso, I feel in all the excitement before I lost my temper. I was greatly overjoyed to have received your last letter. I took careful note of your concerns for the safety of your student, and I found forgiveness in my heart for your misdirection. You must know that we only have the most pure and moral of interests, but I have seen the love of a parent for his child in you and I empathize with your burden. Our friend who has a gift with plants and our friend who resides in the fortified city and our friend who brews poor tea have been made aware of what has happened. No more than them, I assure you. 

Please, however, allow me to ask you to trust your friends. You know better than most how dangerous the world is for airbenders these days. Know that if, spirits forbid, there ever comes a time that you are unable to guard your student he will not be alone. That is all I shall speak of that topic. It grieves me to think of such a time, and I already suffered my grief when your fate was unknown to me, my friend. 

Spare the messenger another trip forth to Gaoling and do not reply to this letter. 

Gyatso folded the letter and stowed it in the waistband of his robes. He did not quite trust the Order to keep Aang’s best interests in mind, should it ever come to that, but more than any others he trusted them to keep the Avatar safe. He’d be careful to ensure there would never be a situation where Aang was in their hands, but knowing they’d be there for him was a weight off his shoulders.

“Fortunate news, Monk Gyatso?” Devika asked, approaching him in the hall.

“Fortunate is one word. Perhaps reassuring is more aligned with what I feel.”

“Are they so unalike?”

“I’m afraid I cannot muster a feeling of good fortune from this news. But that is only the result of my own desire,” he answered.

Devika took a breath to answer, but they both startled at a sudden shriek from down the hall. They looked to the end of the hall and from around the corner Chen Lei emerged, half-running, half-hopping through the hall. 

“There’s something the matter! They’re mad! Run!” he yelled at them as he nearly tripped over himself trying to get past them. From around the corner, a small gaggle of goat gorillas ran on too-big feet, hooting excitedly as they spied Chen Lei again. He yelped but stood tall and held his hand up to them.

“Stop! Halt!” 

The goat gorillas paused at his voice, but the large one who was leading the pack sniffed the air and grunted loudly, setting the group off again. They charged as a collective, hooting loudly, and Chen Lei turned on his heel and ran in earnest.

Gyatso and Devika watched as the poor man tripped over the hem of his own robes and fell on the floor, covering his head with his hands and curling into a ball to protect his vital organs. The baby goat gorillas gathered around his prone form, but paused at his whimpers of fear. The largest, again, broke the standoff by placing his two front feet on the man’s hip and sticking his face in the large pocket of his robes. 

“Oh Spirits, help me. Do not forsake me to this fate,” Chen Lei cried from the ground. After a moment, the largest goat gorilla emerged from the pocket with a slice of water walnut in his mouth. At once, the others descended on the man, all shoving their faces into his pockets and pulling out sliced water walnuts.

Gyatso could not help laughing at the sight, clutching his middle. Devika shook her head but couldn’t quite suppress the amusement in her eyes. 

“My friend, have you tried emptying your pockets?” Gyatso asked, wiping tears from his eyes. Chen Lei shakily reached into his pockets and flung the water walnuts stowed there down the hall, the goat gorillas chasing after them. As they left him, he stood and brushed himself off. With the immediate threat gone, his ears were turning red. Gyatso was certain his laughter wasn’t helping, but it was a harmless joke. 

“Queen Devika. Monk Gyatso.” He greeted them each with a nod and walked calmly from the hall, but the frightened, suspicious glance he cast at the goat gorillas set Gyatso off laughing again. The man’s cheeks burned bright red and he disappeared into the hall.

Devika somehow managed to give him a withering stare while smiling. “Oh, Gyatso. He’s humiliated.”

“What humiliation!” Gyatso asked brightly. “Has he done some terrible wrong? He’s done nothing but make a small mistake on the animals’ intentions.” 

Devika pursed her lips. “You laughed at him!”

“Only because it was funny. Trust, I was not mocking him. Who among us has not been humbled by laughter? I once led a morning meditation with the rear of my suthan cut out - I simply thought I was particularly in tune with the air that morning!” Gyatso said, laughing again. Devika’s expression broke and she coughed to disguise her laughter. 

“What an awful prank someone played on you, ruining your pants like that.”

Gyatso waved a hand. “Monk Duga felt I was getting self-important after being made a monk of the temple when I received my tattoos. He was quite right. Humility is the only antidote for ego.”

From around the corner, a small peal of laughter cut off just a beat after he finished speaking. 

Devika held her finger up to her lips and motioned for Gyatso to follow. They snuck to the corner and paused. 

“I don’t hear them anymore.” A small whisper from the alcove just beyond the corner.

Devika stepped out in front of it and Gyatso followed her, to see Aang and Bumi stuffed in the alcove - the perfect spot to have watched Chen Lei flee down the hall and be accosted by the goat gorillas.

“Hi, Gyatso!” Aang greeted him. Gyatso did not have the chance to respond before Bumi put his arm around Aang’s chest. 

“Bye, Mom! Bye, Gyatso!” he shouted, much too loud for the short space between them, and bent the wall behind them so that he and Aang melted off into some unseen place. 

“Once they’re both earthbending there’s going to be no catching them,” Devika sighed. “That reminds me, though. We’ve arranged for the Avatar’s earthbending teacher to arrive the day after tomorrow. He can begin lessons immediately.”

Gyatso brightened. “That is fortunate. Aang is a natural learner - I’m certain he will take quite quickly to his lessons.”

“It’s normal that you’ll struggle with earth! It’s your opposite - air is an insubstantial, defensive element. Earth is substantial and aggressive! What you must do is become like the earth - become aggressive, imposing. Do not make your way around, force yourself through and make the world bend to your will!” 

Aang looked up at Seok from where he sat, cross-legged on the ground of the more run-down area of the courtyard. “Okay,” he said. “How do I do that?”

“You must become like earth yourself!” Seok shouted, smiling as if Aang had only been joking.
“Of course!”

Seok - Sifu Seok - was a mountain of a man. He ducked to get through most doorways, his voice was so loud that he was nearly always shouting, his hair did not fall but tumbled in waves and he always wore it loose. He stomped on the ground and pulled a stone bigger than Aang was tall and dropped it in front of him. From where he still sat, now in shade, Aang gazed up at the rock. He felt more than saw Seok craft another rock for himself. 

“What you must do - this rock dwarfs you! You will have to be more solid than it, you must be stronger than it, in order to move it. Then, and only then, will you know what it means to be an earthbender!” Seok shouted.

Aang floated to his feet. “Uh. Okay. I’m just moving a rock?” 

“Well, you will actually be destroying a rock. Then we will have you move a rock!”

Aang thought he could start with something a little bigger than destroy-rock, but Seok was the master here. He settled into a bending stance and looked to Seok, who frowned but did not offer any pointers. Assuming the stance was functional enough if Seok didn’t correct him, Aang looked at the rock. 

“Right, Avatar Aang. You must take a deep breath,” Seok said, settling into a stance that didn’t exactly look like Aang’s and yelling wordlessly, he punched out. The rock disintegrated into pebbles and dust, almost suspended in their original shape before falling to the ground. 

“Now you,” Seok said, gesturing to him. 

Aang adjusted his stance slightly, closer to what Seok’s had looked like, and looked at him - Seok, again, did not comment. He simply made a face like he bit into a lemon and couldn’t decide if it was good or not. Aang huffed, adjusting his feet again, but Seok’s expression didn’t change.

He looked at the rock, visualized it disintegrating into pebbles and dust, took a deep breath, and punched out.

“OW!”

Seok frowned. “See, you were not stronger than the earth, so you hurt yourself. And your stance - you knew it was wrong! You needed to be firmly planted on the ground. What you were doing was - well, I don’t know what it was but your stance was very wrong! You must act like you are standing on firm earth, not sand! Ah, see, you have broken your finger.”

He tutted, shaking his head. “That’s gonna set us back.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me my stance was that wrong!” Aang asked incredulously, allowing himself to be pulled away from the rock back towards the palace. 

“Ah, see!” Seok smiled. “Now you’ll never make the same mistake again.” 

“But you didn’t show me what my stance should actually look like. You’re just talking about how I should think about earthbending!” Aang said.
“How am I gonna learn if you’re only teaching me what I shouldn’t be doing?”

Seok smiled. “That’s how I teach! You’ll learn by making mistakes!” he said, pointing down at Aang’s hand. 

At Aang’s wide-eyed expression Seok only laughed, as if it were all great fun. 

“Oh no,” Aang said to himself, as he was pulled towards the physicians’.
“Oh no way.”

Devika frowned. “We cannot have the Avatar learn by hurting himself.”

“He will correct himself! This is how I learned!” Seok defended, gesturing to where Aang sat next to Gyatso, his finger newly-splinted. 

“No matter how you yourself learn, Aang does not learn this way. Nor would I permit him to learn in such an environment any further,” Gyatso spoke. 

The Queen sighed. “You’re dismissed, Seok.”

To his credit, Seok did not argue further, but simply bowed and exited. Once he left, Devika slumped and rubbed her forehead.
“The things I let the council do. My goodness, what was he thinking?” She turned and faced Aang and Gyatso.

“I offer you my sincerest apologies, Avatar Aang. We will find you another earthbending teacher.”

Aang smiled at her. “Thank you, Queen Devika. You don’t have to apologize, though. It’s not your fault.”

At his words she studied him carefully. “Hmm. I think it might be a good fit.”

“What would?” he asked.

“Excuse me, then, Avatar Aang. Monk Gyatso.”

She walked briskly from the throne room, leaving Gyatso and Aang sitting, bewildered.

The woman said nothing. Aang said nothing.

She sat before him, crossed legged and closing her eyes, and he mirrored her. She was small, maybe even smaller than Aang, and incredibly ancient. Her face was deeply lined, and her hair, what little of it she had left, was pure white.

Aang shifted. He didn’t want to break the silence - maybe this was some form of pre-training meditation? Or maybe she was just waiting for him to speak and he was being rude. 

Maybe she’d fallen asleep.

“Sifu Binh? It’s nice to meet you,” he ventured.

Binh said nothing.

“Sifu Binh? Are we meditating?” he asked. Minutely, she shook her head. Or maybe it was her very few hairs fluttering in the wind. Aang couldn’t be sure.
“Is there some exercise I should be doing?”

She did not respond. 

“You’re very different from my first earthbending teacher. I had Seok, do you know him?”

Binh said nothing.

“Yeah, like that! He was so loud and talkative, but he didn’t really tell me what to do, he just wanted me to figure it out. Here,” he said, standing. “I’ll show you my stance and maybe you could give me some pointers. I don’t really know what to do but I was thinking like this?” he asked, settling into the same stance he took with the rock.

“But I was doing this when I broke my finger,” he told her, still sitting, waggling his splinted finger. “So I know it’s not right. Should my feet be narrower?”

She did not say anything. 

“Wider, then?”

Binh did not respond. 

Aang dropped from his stance and crouched in front of her. “Sifu Binh, I know my stance is probably really bad - but I appreciate you taking me as your student, and I want to learn! Can you help me?” he asked her.

In response, she let out a gentle snore. 

Aang gaped. “You were sleeping! I knew it!”

She did not wake, her head drooping to her chest.

Devika slapped her forehead. 

“Enough  of this. These teachers aren’t working,” she said exasperatedly.
“Where is Binh?”

Aang pointed out at the courtyard. “She’s still sleeping. She seems okay. I brought her a blanket.”

Devika barked a laugh, and after a pause she asked him a question.
“You got on well with that fishmonger, right? Yaling?”

Aang perked up. “Yeah, Yaling was great! But she’s gone. And not an earthbender, either.”

“What about the old man?” she asked him.

Aang shrugged. “He was cool but I don’t know that he’d be a good teacher. He was hard to figure out sometimes.”

“If someone like Yaling was your sifu, do you think you’d get along better?” she asked. 

Aang thought for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. She would’ve been a good teacher if she knew how to earthbend.”

Devika nodded once, and set off purposefully.

“Should I wake Binh up? It’s past dinnertime!” he called after her.

“She’ll wake up eventually! Do not fret!”

The woman before him stood tall and broad. She had tattoos trailing up from the tips of her fingers all the way to her eyebrows. She wielded two massive swords on her back, the metal rippling black and silver, with another imposingly-sized knife on her belt.

“Nice to meet you, Sifu Sarnai!” Aang greeted her brightly. She looked at him, with a slightly lost expression on her face. 

“Nice to meet you too, uh - sorry, I forgot your name?” 

“Aang,” he told her. 

“Okay, cool. Aang. What do you need?” she asked.

Aang blinked. After a bewildered second he composed himself. She was probably testing him. “I need to learn earthbending so I can fulfil my duty.”

Sarnai frowned, obviously confused. “You’re an airbender, though.”

“I- Yeah. I’m the Avatar. They didn’t tell you?”

“Ohhh!” she exclaimed. “You’re the Avatar! That’s awesome, dude,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Thanks! I’m just a little surprised they didn’t tell you, since you’re my new earthbending teacher.”

She stared at him for a beat before understanding dawned on her face. “Ohh. Okay. There’s been a misunderstanding, though. That pretty lady saw me down at the quarry - and my twin, you know, she’s an earthbender - and I guess that lady saw us working and she came up to me and asked if I wanted a job, and I was like yeah I want a job, cause everyone asks my sister, you know, cause she can earthbend, and this lady - I’m sure you’ve seen her - but she’s dressed real nice so I knew it would pay good.”

Sarnai paused, running a hand through her hair.
“I guess she thought I was earthbending but I still took the job - you know, I’m strong, I can do exactly what the benders can do. I thought this was a construction project. But nah. I can’t teach you how to earthbend, little dude.”

“Oh,” Aang said disappointedly. “I’m having a hard time finding an earthbending teacher. You seemed cool. I like your tattoos.”

“Thanks! You have cool tattoos, too. And don’t worry, kid. You just haven’t found a good fit yet. You can’t force these things,” she assured him. 

“Thanks, Sarnai. But I do have to find an earthbending teacher soon. I have to learn the elements and stop the war.”

“Little old you?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“The whole war?”

“Yep!”

Sarnai grimaced, looking at him. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” she said unconvincingly. “Now, uh, how do I get out of here?”

Devika hung her head. “That’s on me. I shouldn’t have picked a random stranger to be the Avatar’s teacher.”

Bumi laughed. “You’re finally getting creative!” he crowed. 

“Maybe it’s me,” Aang said sullenly. He turned to Gyatso. “How do I do this?” he asked. 

Gyatso merely shrugged. 

“You knew Roku! He was a firebender - he must’ve struggled with waterbending. How’d he get over that?”

“I don’t know. I only knew him when he was at the Southern Air Temple, and later in life after he was fully realized. If he struggled with waterbending, he did not confide in me about it,” Gyatso answered.

“We just need to find you the right teacher, Avatar Aang,” Devika assured him. “Perhaps we put out a public notice for earthbenders?”

“Earthbenders wanted! We won’t tell you what about though!” Bumi laughed.

“Perhaps we should reconvene the search tomorrow,” Gyatso suggested.

Devika frowned. “The day is still young. We’ve wasted nearly a week trying to find a teacher for the Avatar.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking time to rest and trying again the next day. You will burn out with endless effort,” Gyatso said. 

“I’ll call the council. We have to figure this out.”

Aang sighed, dropping his head into his hands. At this rate, he’d never learn the elements. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he was only kind of the Avatar and could bend everything but earth. Somehow. 

Bumi nudged him. Aang lifted his head and Bumi leaned down. “You wanna go into town? It might take your mind off this,” he asked.

Aang glanced at Devika and Gyatso, still discussing the problem, and nodded. With neither of the adults paying attention, it was easy for them to sneak to the door and out into the hall, stealing away with a laugh.

Outside the walls of the palace, the world seemed to move faster. Bumi walked in front of Aang, turned around backwards to face him, uncaring when he bumped shoulders with people rushing around.

“This is what it’s about, Aang! This here,” he said, pointing at a man trying and failing to get his ostrich-horse to walk. “This is the real world. Not all that fuddy-duddy up there!”

Aang glanced at the man, whose ostrich-horse took one step forward and then stopped short, causing him to fall. It promptly stepped on his hand.

“Is that why you never told me you were a prince?” he asked Bumi, who grabbed his wrist and began to run. They passed a few homes and several mail-cart loading stations, and Bumi looked over his shoulder at Aang.

“Nah,” he said, grinning. “I just like messing with people!”

He stopped and spun on the spot, and pointed down at one of the mail stations, selected seemingly at random.

“Now. Are you going to ride in this mail cart with me or not?”

Kuzon saw more than heard the commotion. It was common, these days, to zone out. With nothing but school and training, his free time was all spent sleeping, and even then it wasn’t enough to clear the fog of exhaustion that hung over his mind. It took him a moment for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing but when he did, he bounded forward, exhaustion fading as adrenaline took its place.

“Hey, hey! What are you doing?” he shouted as he approached. The group was all boys his age, mostly from his training lessons. Shinji pushed his way to the front of the group, grinning. Kuzon’s stomach flopped, looking down at the other boy’s knuckles, red and split. 

“Kuzon!” he said brightly, running forward and grabbing Kuzon’s arm. Dragging him towards the chaos, Shinji pointed at the other boy on the ground. Kuzon recognized him vaguely from school, a large-framed but soft-spoken boy a few years older than him. Shinji pointed down at him, another boy holding him down with a boot on his shoulder. 

“You see what we do to traitors? Huh?” the boy holding him down shouted. 

Shinji nudged Kuzon. “Not just a traitor. A liar. An honorless, propaganda-spreading hog-monkey’s behind!” he shouted down at the boy, who dazedly blinked but otherwise didn’t respond to Shinji’s words.

Kuzon’s stomach, impossibly, sank further when he realized the group was looking at him expectantly. 

“This is five against one - that’s hardly a fair fight,” he said quietly. “It’s not honorable.”

“What’s dishonorable,” one of the other boys chimed in, “is what he was doing. Telling lies, questioning Fire Lord Sozin. What would be dishonorable is allowing him to talk like that,” he said, the challenge evident in his voice. 

Shinji shoved him forward again, insistent. “C’mon Kuzon. What are you, a coward? You can talk back to Master Kenji but you can’t teach this big idiot to watch his mouth?”

“I’m not a coward!” Kuzon snapped. 

“You’re looking like a real soft-bellied frog right now, Kuzon!” one of the boys jeered, and the laughter of the other boys made his cheeks burn. But roiling in the back of his mind was the buzz of panic that he’d hesitate too obviously, his own traitorous thoughts betraying him. 

In a split second, Kuzon knew it was the boy or him.

Unable to look the bleeding boy in the face, Kuzon coaxed his fire and took a step forward, the wild cheering of his friends soaking into his mind.

“Seok was an extremely poor choice, and his teaching style led to an injury,” Devika said, listing off on her fingers as the council listened with blank faces. 

“Bihn was asleep for the whole first lesson. And the woman I found was not even an earthbender!” she exclaimed. 

At the end of the table, Haoran raised a hand. Devika stared him down, but he raised his hand higher, waving it. 

“Haoran.”

He leaned forward, placing his hand on the table. “Did we try waking Binh up?” he asked, looking around at the others. 

Yuda nodded in agreement with the idea, but Devika hung her head. “I do not think you understand the problem in the first place. Binh, though very talented, is also extremely elderly and has been enjoying her well-earned retirement. She’s no longer qualified for teaching. Come on, now. We’re one of the largest cities in the Earth Kingdom. Surely, we have more qualified people in the city who can teach the Avatar?”

The council just stared at her, no one offering any names. After a moment, Gyatso spoke. 

“Queen Devika, who taught your son?” he asked. 

“His father, before he passed,” she answered. “We never bothered with royal tutors. And now,” she said pointedly, turning back to the council, who all suddenly found the table in front of them very interesting. “I see why we were right not to do so!”

“My Queen,” Nuan spoke. “For many years in the Earth Kingdom, it was tradition to raise a specific individual to be the Avatar’s earthbending teacher every generation,” she said.

Devika perked up, beginning to smile. “You didn’t mention this before, Nuan. Where is this teacher?”

Nuan shook her head. “Unfortunately, he lost both arms in a training accident, and went off to live a quiet life. He now makes novelty pottery that he throws with his feet!” she said, smiling. 

“Okay. How is that relevant to us? Is there another who’s taken his place?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Devika opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and sighed. “Thank you, Nuan.”

“Would you be interested in the pottery?”

“No, Nuan!” Devika snapped before composing herself. “I do not need the foot pottery. We need to find a suitable earthbending teacher for the Avatar!”

Chen Lei spoke up hesitantly. “Perhaps one of the earthbenders here on the council can take time away from their duties and assist the Avatar in learning, until we find a specialized teacher? Yuda, perhaps?”

“Oh man. That is just like you, Chen Lei. You get to sit around talking to citizens all day, I’m the only military officer here, I am up to my ears in work, and you just volunteer me like that? We’re at war, in case you forgot! I need to concentrate on that! Why can the Avatar not learn from Seok? He’s a perfectly fine teacher, his methods are just unconventional.”

Nuan nodded. “I’m inclined to agree - the Avatar could simply adapt to Seok’s teaching style. After all, time is of the essence,” she said.

“While I understand this is time-sensitive, if the Avatar does not get on with his teacher, then nothing will be accomplished. It is in our best long term interests that we find a good teacher, not simply an adequate one,” Devika said sternly.
“Yuda. If we were to find you assistance in your council work, could you teach the Avatar just some basics, so that when we find a proper instructor he at least has an understanding that he can build off of?”

“I was trained for three years to hold this office! You can’t just replace me in a week - I need to be doing my job!” Yuda exclaimed.
“Again, why can we not simply use Seok or Binh - Seok, sure I get that you think he’s a little harsh, but it’s not like the Fire Nation is going to go easy on the Avatar, either! Binh, we can just wake her up if she falls asleep, it’s no big deal!”

“I said that first,” Haoran muttered. “I get my head bitten off.”

“Haoran, he was just echoing you. Not everyone is copying your ideas,” said Chen Lei. “But Yuda and Nuan are right - the Avatar learning the elements as soon as possible and defeating the Fire Nation is what we need to be concentrated on. The longer the war drags on, the more likely we are to lose - playing defense is not a good strategy in the long run, and the people are willing to fight, but the Avatar is the deciding factor in all this.”

“If I may,” Gyatso interjected. “Perhaps we all need a break. We are not accomplishing much by sitting around and scratching our heads. Maybe after a good evening’s rest, we will be more successful in finding a teacher for Aang.”

“We can’t take a break, this is something we need to do as soon as we can,” Devika said to him.

“I understand that. But perhaps after some exercise and some good sleep, we will be better off. Aang has done very well learning air and water. An evening off and taking our time to find the right teacher for him will do us all good, including him.”

Yuda rolled his eyes. “We don’t need to go exercise - what we need is for the Avatar to learn the elements and defeat the Fire Nation! Our plans and strategies won’t mean a thing if the Avatar isn’t helping us - should we just sit around until he finds the exact right teacher, while the Fire Nation just gets stronger every day? With all due respect, he is the only one who can end this war, and you do not seem to care about that! After what your people have been through, you would think you’d be eager to stop the Fire Nation before they can hurt anyone else!” he exclaimed, having at some point risen to his feet. 

Gyatso blinked. After a moment, he spoke. “You think I should be eager to send a child to end a war that was brewing long before he was even born?” he asked, voice low. Immediately, it felt as though all the air had fled from the room.

Yuda sucked in a breath, dropping back down into his seat. “Of course that is not what I mean-,” he began, but Gyatso leaned forward.

“I am well aware that Aang has his duty to the world. I am aware that destiny has forced him to forfeit his childhood, and I am aware that this war will destroy the world without his intervention.”

The table was silent, and Gyatso rose to his feet. “Make no mistake - Aang may be the Avatar, but he is not responsible for this war. He is not going to single-handedly fix our mistakes, and so I suggest you abandon that notion. Already, he alone has sacrificed more than anyone here - I am his guardian, and I will not allow him to be trained by someone who employs such violent methods. Nor do I believe anyone here finds Binh to be an adequate teacher.” Gyatso paused, looking around at the council, glancing at Devika who watched him silently.

“I think we are all aware Aang will very likely still be a child when he goes to end this war,” he said softly.

“I have made my peace with that - but I will not permit him to suffer along the way. And given what is at stake, I do not suggest that you skimp when finding his teacher. So yes, I believe it is in everyone’s best interest that we disband, clear our minds, and try again in the morning. And I sincerely hope that the suggestions you all have tomorrow will be better.” 

No one offered any argument and after a beat, Gyatso turned and left. Breathing deep, in and out, he made his way into the halls and walked towards his chambers, attempting to calm his anger. Breathing deep, letting it go. They didn’t understand that it was in everyone’s best interest to not rush things. Aang wouldn’t learn well under any of the teachers they’d suggested. Nor would Yuda be a good fit, even in interim. Certainly, in the whole of the Earth Kingdom, there was someone wise, patient, and calm who would make a proper teacher.

Flying down the mail slides was different from proper flying. It was a very airbender thing that Bumi had come up with - even without the control of bending, the sharp curves and drops on the slide laughed at gravity. Holding onto the front of the cart, Bumi behind him, Aang whooped. 

“Yeah!” Bumi cheered from the back as Aang sliced his arms out, forcing wind behind them and picking up the speed of the cart. They dropped another level down and the sharp decline forced the cart to move even faster. 

“Just like before, huh, Bumi?”

“Nah, I think this is better,” Bumi said, grinning slyly.

As they took another sharp corner, down below on the next level Aang could see the area of the mail chute that was still under construction, hanging into open air below a heavily populated street, people bustling idly, unaware they were on a collision course from above. His eyes widened, and his laughter cut off abruptly.

“Uh, Bumi? The slide’s out over there!” Aang said, leaning back so that Bumi could hear him over the roar of the wind.

“Is it? This is quite a predicament,” Bumi said casually, leaning back against the back of the cart and closing his eyes.
“If only there was an earthbender around to stop this cart!” he warbled sadly. 

“You’re an earthbender!” Aang said incredulously. The cart was rapidly approaching the open air. 

“Not today,” Bumi said sharply, and oh, Aang had forgotten how absolutely nuts Bumi was. 

“Why not?!” 

“I don’t feel like it,” Bumi whined. “Oh well!”

“ Bumi! ”

Bumi yawned exaggeratedly. Aang blasted the air in front of the attempting to slow down the cart - it slowed, somewhat, but the angle was still too steep and the cart quickly recovered its speed. They’d be flying out into the crowded market square if they didn’t stop. Aang looked over the sides of the cart, but the slide was constructed largely over the open air, above the crowded market - a steep drop, but Aang could make it. It was just the heavy stone cart that would crush anyone unlucky enough to be underneath it. 

“Ah, you can’t take the cart off the track!” Bumi shouted. “Too late for that!”

Aang glared at him over his shoulder, but Bumi just grinned at him, eyes glinting with manic delight. He blasted another stream of air in front of them, keeping the wind sustained and slowing the cart to a crawl, but the steepness of the tracks meant that the minute he stopped, it would just pick its speed back up and continue on its collision course.

“You can’t stop it with airbending either! C’mon, Aang!”

Aang stopped the gust of air, and immediately the cart began to pick up speed. “Move!” Aang shouted over the side of the tracks. “Out of the way!”

A few people smiled and waved at him, but most ignored his words. “Ugh!” 

He took a stance - certainly not an earthbending one, since no one had shown him how to do it properly yet, and tried to mirror what Seok had done to craft rocks from the ground. Nothing happened, and he tried again, striking forward, kicking out. As the moves he’d learned from the tutor failed to produce anything at all, Aang devolved into random movements, punching upwards and flapping his arms - just anything that would stop the cart. 

“What is that?” Bumi asked behind him, feet still propped on the edge of the cart, uncaring. He flapped his arms out derisively.

“What is this? That’s not earthbending.”

“ I don’t know how to earthbend!” Aang shouted, turning and glaring at Bumi, his face red. 

“Oh it’s easy. Just bend the earth.”

“Argh!”

“Plant your feet!” Bumi barked. “Settle low!”

Aang did, dropping into a horse stance. “Straighten your back - you’re slouching!” Bumi sing-songed - Aang obliged, glancing back at him.

“Great! Now, put your forearms together, and shove them up!” Bumi said excitedly, leaning forward. “Quick, quick, we’re just about out of track!”

Aang shoved his arms up, willing , willing the stone of the slide to grow, to break their momentum. 

“I KNEW IT!” Bumi cheered from behind him. Aang opened one eye, not realizing he’d closed them in the first place, and gasped, seeing that the end of the track had grown a thick, solid wall of earth - messy and sloppy all the same, he’d made that. 

“I earthbended!” he shouted at Bumi. 

“You earthbended!” Bumi shouted back.

Aang, laughing, dove and hugged him. 

“Congratulations, Avatar Aang,” Bumi said, patting his back. “You’re an earthbender!”

Before Aang could respond, the cart slammed into the wall he’d crafted - surprisingly, it held against the force, but Aang and Bumi both were thrown clear over the wall and into the air. In midair, Aang grabbed Bumi by the back of his shirt, and just before they hit the crowded market Aang bent a dome of air to soften their landing. Aang landed lightly on his feet, and Bumi tumbled once before rolling to his feet and grinning at Aang. 

“You earthbended,” he said.

“I earthbended!” Aang said excitedly. 

“You made me drop my basket, is what you did!” a young man yelled from behind them. Aang winced, but didn’t turn around, instead grabbing Bumi around the chest, flicking open his glider and taking off. 

“Hey! Hey, come back here! I had a dozen cabbages here, and now there’s only eleven! Come back!” the man shouted at them. 

“Sorry!” Aang yelled back down at him, but he couldn’t suppress a smile, still clutching at Bumi who laughed delightedly as they flew back towards the palace.

“I say this with all due respect, my Queen. Is it your intention to make Omashu the world’s laughingstock?” Nuan asked.

“Certainly not. Should we continue with your suggestions? Have you another foot-potter you could suggest?”

“Well!” Nuan said, blushing furiously. “Certainly there is a middle ground here - we can find the Avatar a teacher who is competent.”

Devika raised an eyebrow. “I will give you the chance to rephrase that,” she said coldly.

“My Queen, surely Bumi has mastered earth, but he’s only a child. Certainly we should not be putting this burden on him?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Nuan raises a good point. This is not Prince Bumi’s task,” Chen Lei said.

“And yet, he’s done better than any of the teachers we’ve found so far. Curious,” Devika shot back. “I know this is not a child’s burden. But neither is being the Avatar,” she said, casting her gaze at Gyatso. “Yet these boys have assumed responsibility and duty with grace and an eagerness to learn. I do not believe these are qualities we need to prune in our future leaders. Given that the boys arranged this on their own and that Gyatso and myself both approve, I do not see any issue here.”

At once, the council exploded in overlapping protests.

“Dismissed,” Devika said loudly. 

“My Queen-,”

“Dismissed, Yuda.”

Grumbling, the four of them left the room. Gyatso stood to follow them.

“Sit, my friend. I was not dismissing you,” she said. “Would you play a game of Pai Sho with me? Aang tells me you are a master of Pai Sho.”

Gyatso smiled. “I wouldn’t quite call myself a master. Aang has a habit of being easily distracted.”

She smiled, setting up the board between them. “Bumi’s the same way. The first half of the game, he’s a menace at it, and then he’s been sitting still too long and won’t concentrate anymore. Perhaps it’s that age.”

Gyatso hummed, and they set up their tiles on each side of the board. “Guest plays first,” Devika said.

Gyatso leaned over his tiles, stroking his mustache. “I would like to thank you for approving the arrangement. Despite conventionality, I believe Bumi is the best option among teachers.”

“Well. If the situations had been reversed…” she said, trailing off. “Bumi’s father was like him. A different kind of mind. I see a lot of you in Aang.”

Gyatso moved a White Lotus tile forward. “Only in the manner that friends become like one another - we’re not related.”

“Of course. I forget, sometimes. Still, you are very similar,” she said, studying the board. 

“He’s better than I am. I would be happy to keep him to myself, away from all this. But he has a strong sense of duty. He didn’t at first, mind you. But after everything… he carries guilt.”

“He feels indebted?”

“In a sense.” 

Devika moved her Rhododendron tile to the middle of the board, and placed Gyatso’s White Lotus to the side. 

“You say Bumi is like his father, but I see you in him.”

Devika laughed. “Truly?”

“Truly. Neither of you can stand the council,” he joked, smiling.

Devika laughed again. “I suppose that’s true.”

“But, in truth, you both have an unconventional wisdom. Who else would seek a teacher from the humble masses?”

“You think he gets that from me?”

“He was quite delighted by your choice.”

She snorted. Gyatso moved a Lily tile in an L shape and sat back as Devika tapped her fingers on the board. 

“Might I seek your advice in… parental manner?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you I’ll be much help. I can try,” she responded, still looking at her tiles. 

“You, better than most, understand the position I am in. And I know with as much certainty as I can have that I am doing the right thing in guiding Aang along his journey. But I cannot help feeling as though I am committing a heinous crime, helping him down this path.”

She frowned and looked up from the tiles, eyeing him sharply. “I cannot give you any advice, not as a parent. You have two conflicting duties and I do not envy you.” She leaned forward and placed a Notweed tile next to his Lily. 

They sat in silence for several minutes, playing the game.

“Would you be content to lead Bumi to this same fate?” he asked quietly, as she claimed his Wheel tile and removed it from the board.

“Do you not realize exactly what I have done by allowing him to teach Aang?” she said, her voice sharp and quiet.

“I am sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Silence fell between them again, and she turned his Wheel tile over in her hand.

My father,

I write to seek your council. Our original plan fell through. The Avatar escaped, and sources have informed me that he now resides in the earth town of Omashu. It has been made known to me that his time in the south was well spent - he is much more advanced in the learning of water than we had anticipated in that short time. My source further suggests that the web of local monarchs across the Earth Kingdom’s mainland will coordinate in ensuring the Avatar’s safety - no less than we expected, but unfortunate news nonetheless. 

I assure you there will not be a chance for catching the Avatar unaware for a long time - time that he will spend becoming stronger and more learned, more difficult to defeat. You will find enclosed in this envelope my detailed plans, that will of course not proceed without your express approval. 

I must now turn your attention elsewhere. I have found the strength within myself to have for the first time completed that final form you disclosed to me. What a deal of energy it took from me, that I could not stand on my own feet afterwards. But as you informed me, the first time will be the most difficult. I will joyfully practice this form until it is perfect.

I hope this letter finds you in good health,

Your son.

“I need to practice my waterbending. I don’t think I’ve waterbended in like, two weeks! I keep feeling like Aluki is going to come up behind me at any second and say Aang,” Aang said, snatching a black scarf and putting it on his head like hair, “He who does not swim risks forgetting the tug of the ocean.”

“You need to go swimming?” Bumi asked, slightly muffled from the pillow over his head. 

“No, it’s-”

“We’ve got a great pond! It’s full of elbow leeches - a delicacy, and I pity you for being unable to enjoy it - but if you don’t mind vicious bloodsuckers, it overlooks a very scenic canyon.” 

Aang pulled the scarf from his head. “No, really, Bumi, I don’t need to go swimming-”

“Then why on Earth are you telling me you need to go swimming?” Bumi asked, pulling the pillow from his face and frowning at Aang. 

“I didn’t say I need to go swimming-”

“Well, that’s what I got from what you said.”

Aang smiled. “That’s ‘cause you only hear every other word!” 

“That’s right! I hear every word you say. Now-” Bumi dropped the pillow back over his face and waved a flippant hand from beneath the blankets. “Leave me, Avatar Aang. I must take my noon nap.” 

The stone door slid open and Aang pouted at the lump in the bed, but went. The moment he stepped into the hallway the stone door slid shut, definitively. Aang gave it a halfhearted kick, then made his way down the halls. It was dark in the palace, the only lights in the windowless halls coming from blue and green crystal lanterns. They’d trained all morning, and Bumi had assured him they’d continue after his noon nap. 

Aang entered the huge room they’d allocated for him and spotted Gyatso from the balcony. A huge ceramic painted table sat in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by the palace on all sides. Gyatso listened as General Yuda droned on and on. 

Yuda had a special talent for droning like a beehive, just constant and low-pitched, and if you were to listen with a careful ear, maybe there would be a word or two in there. 

The Queen was listening with interest on her face, nodding along. Haoran would interject every sentence or two about “The budget! ” but from what Aang could hear, this was another very boring meeting. Something Gyatso certainly did not deserve the misfortune of sitting through. 

He took the liberty of throwing himself out the window, and landed on the table lightly, because the painted ceramic did not seem very durable - and bowed to the Queen. 

“Your Majesty,” he said as he straightened. “I am sorry to interrupt! I’m sure you guys were in the middle of something really important. But I must speak with Monk Gyatso.”

General Yuda cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Avatar Aang, we must finish our meeting. Perhaps you would like to sit in, and hear about our plans to halt Fire Nation advances along the western front? As it stands-,”

“I would love to sit in and listen! But I can’t. I must speak with Monk Gyatso - it’s life or death!”

Yuda’s eyes widened. “Life or death?”

“Yes,” Aang said seriously. “If airbenders don’t fly enough, after a while we develop-” he cut himself off with a round of horrible coughing. In the midst of his attack, he cracked one eye open and saw Yuda shielding his face. Aang drew a ragged breath.
“So you see. I must speak with him, right now.”

“Perhaps our physician can help you?” offered the Queen.

“I thank you, your Majesty. But only an airbender can cure Blood Lung Sickness before it’s too late.”

“But if we do not settle troop numbers, I cannot calculate the total pension needed, and the investments, particularly those from the Liu family, will be sold and the system will come crashing down!”

Gyatso’s calm voice cut through the panic in Haoran’s tirade. “My friend, Blood Lung Sickness is very serious, and time is of the essence.”

Haoran blinked. “Blood Lung Sickness?” he said faintly. Gyatso lifted his chin. 

“Blood Lung Sickness.”

“Oh, dear.”

Gyatso stood and gestured for Aang to follow. “Quickly now, my boy.” 

Aang let out a pitiful cough. “I feel… weak,” he rasped dramatically. 

Yuda stood. “Perhaps I really should get the physician.”

“Nonsense!” Aang said brightly. “Gotta go!”

He and Gyatso quickly made their way out of the courtyard, as realization dawned on Yuda’s face. 

“Wh- hold on!” he called after them, but Gyatso walked calmly on and Aang flitted behind him, risking a cheeky wave before they disappeared around the corner.

“You see what we do to traitors? Huh?” 

“Not just a traitor. A liar. An honorless, propaganda-spreading hog-monkey’s behind!” 

“Traitor!”

“Coward!”

“C’mon Kuzon! Don’t be a coward!”

The ring of people surrounded Kuzon and the boy on the ground, jeering and calling for Kuzon to move, to act.

Kuzon felt himself walk forward, and felt his fire at his hands. The boy on the ground laid with his arms over his head, and as Kuzon approached he heard the stomping of soldier’s boots in time with his own steps.

“Kuzon?” asked the boy from the ground. Kuzon reared back, his fire burning brighter, and the boy moved his arms, raised his head and looked at him with Aang’s face. 

“What are you doing?” the boy asked in Aang’s voice. “Kuzon?”

It was already in motion. He couldn’t stop the rush of fire, and he watched with rising horror the arc of flame burn his friend.

He sat up, gasping. After a beat, he leaned forward, dropping his head onto his knees, stomach churning. Kuzon scrubbed a hand across his face, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and trying to calm down. He breathed in deep and tried not to think about how that was probably exactly how Aang had died, at the hands of someone who should have known better.

He stood and left his room, shaking his arms out to alleviate the trembling in his hands. In the kitchen, he poured himself water from the pitcher, but it tasted sour in his mouth. Kuzon closed his eyes.

He was no better than any of them. He’d been waiting for an opportunity to help, to set himself apart, to find just one like-minded person. He’d been presented with a golden opportunity, and instead he’d proved himself violent and cruel. Kuzon had burned that boy, probably for no other reason than asking questions that people didn’t want to answer, about things they didn’t want to think too deeply about. The fact that he didn’t know for sure what the other boy had done to earn the group’s ire was enough testament to Kuzon’s guilt.

“Kuzon?”

He looked up at his mom, standing in the entrance to the kitchen. “What are you doing awake?” she asked him, walking into the kitchen and setting a kettle on the stove, bending a careful flame onto the wood. 

“I just had a bad dream, that’s all,” he said quietly. She didn’t look up, but pulled two teacups from the cupboard and set them on the counter, gathering the leaves and setting the honey next to them. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. 

She wasn’t looking, but he shrugged. 

“Does this have anything to do with what happened with Sayuri’s boy?” she asked lightly.

He looked up at that, and she was watching him from over her shoulder. “What? You don’t think us moms talk to each other?”

“I…”

“Given what he said - talking about Fire Lord Sozin that way - you and your friends were within your rights to defend the nation like that,” she said carefully. “But I also know that’s not like you, Kuzon.”

The water began to boil in the kettle and she moved it off the heat, pulling the fire from the logs in a single swift motion. 

“What if it is?” he asked quietly.

She added the leaves to the teapot and turned to face him, casting a glance towards the bedroom where his father still slept. 

“Do you think it is?” she countered. “You never have been one to go with the crowd.”

“It was different before.”

She nodded. “Yeah, it was.” She was watching him with a strange expression on her face, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. After a moment she spoke up again.

“My mother used to tell me that it was better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war. I think she just said that so I’d help her out in the fields, but there’s some truth to it.” She reached out and cupped his cheek, raising his head so he was looking her in the eyes. 

“We’ve got a lot of warriors these days. You don’t need to prove anything.”

He didn’t answer for a long moment, and so she turned around and poured the two cups of tea, sliding the honey over towards him as she handed him his cup.

“I didn’t want to join them. I think it was very dishonorable, what we did,” he told her quietly. 

“Then why did you join them?” she asked.

He frowned down at his feet. “They said he was a traitor. If I didn’t help them, they would think I was a traitor, too,” he answered.

“You would have been well within your rights to have refused to join them. They wouldn’t have hurt you if you didn’t participate.” He flinched at her words. 

“You don’t know that. You didn’t hear how they were talking about him,” he told her, though it sounded feeble. 

“I know you’ve got a lot more going on in that head of yours than you pretend.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve never known anyone with a big mouth like yours that didn’t have the brain to go with it,” she said, flashing a small smile. “If they felt that you not joining them meant that you agreed with Sayuri’s boy, then I suppose they’d find another reason later to go after you like that, right?”

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “I don’t know. Call me old-fashioned, but it used to take a lot more for someone to cry traitor.”

“Do you think things are better now?” he asked her. 

His mom glanced once more towards her bedroom, and leaned in close. “I think we are extremely blessed to live here. I believe the spirits have smiled upon the Fire Nation. And if the other nations wanted to join in our prosperity, they would have done that. I don’t know how you can make peace with war. And I don’t think we should be trying,” she told him, her voice a low whisper.

Kuzon blinked rapidly, setting his teacup down. “Can I show you something?” he blurted out before he could think better of it.

“Of course,” she answered.

Kuzon walked back towards his room, and he heard his mom follow behind him. She stood in the doorway and watched as he knelt, flipped his mattress over, and sliced through the seam with his pocket knife.

His mom tutted. “Is that where all my good red thread went?”

He smiled but didn’t respond, pulling out the wrapped bundle he’d stowed in there weeks before. He set the package on his knees without undoing the twine. 

“Do you remember my friend, Aang?” he asked nervously, unable to look up from the bundle on his lap. 

“I do,” she answered quietly, stepping inside and shutting the door. She knelt in front of him, and gently reached over and took the bundle. He watched, nerves churning in his stomach as she undid the twine, unfolded the pillowcase, and opened the book to where the parchment pages were stuck. She didn’t say anything as she sorted through them, reading what he’d written and tracing her hands over the drawings. 

After a long minute she folded the papers back up and rewrapped the book, handing it back to him, her eyes wide. 

“You cannot ever let your father see this. Or anyone else.”

“I know. But I showed you,” he said softly.

“Put it back,” she said, glancing at the door. As he shoved the book back into his mattress, she covered her mouth with her hand. 

“I remember your friend. He was a very polite boy,” she said shakily. 

“He told me a lot about the airbenders. They lied. The Air Nomads weren’t ever a threat to us.”

“I- I had never met an airbender before your friend. I’m afraid I don’t know much about them.”

Kuzon glanced at the mattress and his mother let out a sharp breath. “How accurate do you believe what he told you was?”

“He never lied to me, Mom. You have to believe me,” he told her. 

She stared at him for a long moment, and panic began to bubble in his stomach before she reached out and pulled him to her.

“I believe you. I just- This is…”

“I know.”

He sat in her embrace for a beat longer before he heard footsteps outside his door, and it slid open quickly. His heart jumped into his throat.

“Kanik? What’s going on?” his dad asked from the door. He walked into the room and sat on the ground by them, completing their triangle. “We’re sitting?”

Kuzon opened his mouth but nothing came out, his voice stuck in his throat.

“Neither of us could sleep,” his mom said smoothly. 

“I saw you made tea. You didn’t make any for me?”

“You were sleeping, dear,” Kanik said.

“Right, right. Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“I drank matcha quite late this afternoon, it keeps me awake.”

“I was hungry,” Kuzon said. 

“Well, what are we doing here? Kanik, maybe if you make Kuzon and I something to eat it’ll help you sleep,” he goaded with a smile, standing and pulling Kanik up by the hand. 

“Of course, love. After you,” she said, gesturing to Kuzon’s bedroom door. He walked out in front of them, and behind his back Kuzon’s mother reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it once and letting it go.

Traveling through the city was both freeing and anxiety-inducing. The Queen and the soldiers had all advised him and Gyatso that Omashu was safe. A stronghold, far from the Fire Nation’s reach that had, in the last few months, become home to a handful of Air Nomad refugees. All but the two of them had arrived within the first few weeks after Sozin’s comet. Omashu, along with Ba Sing Se and a small handful of other cities were offering official political asylum to airbender refugees, providing them with homes and work. Aang suspected more than just a dozen or so were living in the city, but only that handful of people had come forward and officially requested asylum. They were probably just playing it safe and keeping quiet. Probably, there were dozens and dozens of airbenders in Omashu, maybe even hundreds, Aang thought. With how many travelers there would have been outside of the temples, and how many people might’ve escaped, it made sense. They were probably just clever enough to know that it would be dangerous to broadcast themselves as airbenders, or they didn’t want to settle down in the Earth Kingdom. 

That was probably right.

It made perfect sense.

Bumi was shouting. 

Aang made his way over to where Bumi stood in front of a large tent covering a sidewalk stall, with an older couple selling baskets of dried fruits and fermented tea in little cakes wrapped in paper. Aang came to stand behind Bumi, with Gyatso in turn behind him. After Gaoling, Aang didn’t blame him for keeping such a close eye on him. 

From his peripheral vision, Aang saw two of the soldiers from the palace hovering just nearby, as inconspicuous as they had been in the garden that first night, keeping careful watch over their group. 

The stall owners were explaining with obviously strained patience the price of the fermented tea as Bumi, no longer shouting, simply listened to them with a vaguely amused look on his face. When the man finished explaining the price of the tea per brick, Bumi simply laid a handful of gold coins on the table. 

“The whole lot,” he said firmly. The stall owner, rather than looking pleased at the sale, barely glanced at the coins. 

“I know fakes when I see them,” he said snidely. “You can’t afford eight baskets of tea, boy. Now scram.”

“They’re not fake,” Aang piped up from behind Bumi. “You didn’t even look at them.”

The man’s eyes slid over to him and bulged so wide it looked like it hurt. 

“H- Wow! Airbenders!” the man said, pointing at him and Gyatso. 

Aang nodded. “Yup. That’s us.”

It felt both strange and familiar to wander around as himself again, but Aang didn’t relish being treated like an exhibit. People gaped and stared at him and Gyatso, as if they were accidents. A few people had come up to them and asked about their own friends from the temples, so far Aang hadn’t recognized any of the names they’d asked him about, to mutual disappointment.

“Boy,” the man said, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen an airbender in months. The way people talk, they said you were all dead.”

“Ey,” his wife said, swatting his arm. 

“Don’t swat me, woman.”

“You sell them that tea,” she said, poking him harshly in the side. 

He turned to her, and not quietly enough, said “No chance - some urchin boy and a couple airbenders can’t afford that - that’s three brahman yak’s worth of tea!”

Wordlessly, Bumi slid the pile of coins closer to the man, a huge, toothy grin on his face. 

With a glance at Aang and Gyatso, the man rolled his eyes but picked up one of the coins and looked at it closely. For the second time in as many minutes, his eyes bulged outrageously, and he gave a frail little cough.

“The tea is yours,” he said in a high-pitched voice. 

“Wonderful!” Bumi exclaimed. “What’s your name, please?” he asked the man. 

The man, who had pulled the whole pile of coins into his hands and was staring intently at them, answered faintly, “Samar.”

“Thank you, Samar,” Bumi said graciously. “Guanyu!” he shouted. 

From the throng of people, Guanyu materialized. “Yes, Prince Bumi?” 

“Would you be a moon peach and bring this tea back to the palace?” Bumi asked, saccharine sweet. 

“Prince Bumi?” the stall owner repeated, perhaps even fainter than he’d uttered his own name. 

“Of course, Prince Bumi,” Guanyu said, waving a hand. From the crowd a few more of the soldiers Aang had seen around the palace materialized and collected the baskets of tea, before melting back into the crowd effortlessly. Guanyu, too, returned to his place shadowing their little group, as Bumi moved on, the stall owners pale and staring. 

As he walked away, Bumi raised a hand and waved. “Bye, Samar!” 

They moved easily through the crowd, and Aang steadfastly ignored the stares of the people passing by, or the odd hand that reached out and touched the arm of his robes. As they walked Bumi chattered, pointing out shortcuts and stores with exotic goods.

Aang listened but was also watching the people move around them, relishing in the feeling of being somewhere safe. 

The market was crowded, easy to get lost in, but his gaze was drawn to a tall, willowy woman herding two girls through the market. They were unremarkable, just people in a crowd, dressed in Earth Kingdom green and brown. But they moved gracefully, and the girls’ chatter was loud even in the din of the market, as if their lungs were big and the wind carried their words. The woman who shuffled them along carried a basket of bunched nectarines on her hip and had a yellow dupatta hanging almost to her eyes. She turned to look at one of the girls who had wandered to a booth selling tomes, and Aang got a clear look at her face. Without thinking, he bounded over to her, hearing Bumi continue talking behind him.

“Palmo!” he called, smiling widely. She turned and saw him, looked over his shoulder to where Gyatso had followed, and smiled just as brightly. 

“Aang! Gyatso! I can’t believe you’re here,” she exclaimed, greeting them and waving her girls over. 

“How are you here?” Aang asked as the bowed low to each other, then letting himself be pulled in for a hug. He felt Palmo reach over him with her arm and bring Gyatso into the embrace, swaying them slightly before letting go. 

Palmo smiled sadly down at him. “Only by chance, that is,” she answered. The two girls with her came to stand in their circle, the youngest, whose name Aang couldn’t quite remember, clutched Palmo’s robes tightly, but beamed at them. The girl his age’s name was Senge, Aang remembered - he knew she was quiet but fiery and she seemed to like bison more than people. She was frowning and casting her gaze around nervously. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” she asked incredulously. 

“Senge,” Palmo chastised. “Omashu is a safe place.”

“Then why aren’t we wearing our robes?” asked the younger girl, not accusingly.

“Yeah,” echoed Senge, very accusingly.

“It is better to not bring so much attention to ourselves, Jamyang,” responded Palmo. Aang filed the name away as she turned back to him and Gyatso. 

“I had taken the girls to walk the kora, as it was Jamyang’s eighth summer. We were at the edge of the Si Wong desert when the sky turned red.” She shook her head. 

“I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But, when we returned the next week… I saw what happened. I just do not understand.”

Gyatso reached out and grasped her arm. “What happened was incomprehensible, my sister. But we are overjoyed you all are safe,” he told her. She smiled softly and patted his arm, her gaze falling on the reddened, wrinkled skin of his left hand. Her eyes widened.

“You were there?” she asked. 

“Come with us. We will explain all,” he said, turning to lead their group back towards the palace and nearly running into Bumi, who was standing directly behind him. At the sight of him, Jamyang gasped slightly and retreated further behind Palmo’s robes. 

“It’s okay!” Aang assured her, crouching down to her level. “This is my friend, Bumi! I’ve known him for a long time. Bumi, this is Palmo - she tends, er-tended the bison at the Eastern Temple, and her students, Jamyang and Senge,” he said gesturing to each of the girls as he spoke. 

Bumi grinned. “Nice to meet you! Do you like fermented tea? Somebody messed up and bought way too much!”

Aang snorted.

There was a man named Mahesh, who had escaped the Northern Temple only by will. He had burns on much of his skin, marring the tattoos on his arms, creeping up from his collar across his neck and up his face, blinding his right eye and deafening his right ear. So deep they must have been that months later they were not yet healed. 

There was a woman named Hande, who was a nomad. Raised in the Western Temple, she had made her home in the world. She and her companion had just weaned their daughter. Hande’s partner had taken their girl to go live at the Western Temple before the comet, and were found in violation of the law on Fire Nation soil and summarily executed.

There was a man named Bibek, who Aang had known from the Southern Temple. He was always a big talker but now was so quiet that he seemed smaller than he really was. At first, Aang had thought they’d found a different Bibek, but slowly the man was coming more to life among the group of them.

Palmo, of course, who used to tend the bison at the Eastern Temple, and Senge and Jamyang, whom she guarded with her life. She’d refused to name herself as an Air Nomad when she arrived in Omashu, and they only made end’s meet for their tiny little rental room because she was skilled in husbandry and cared for the animals outside the walls.

Gyatso and Aang, from the Southern Temple, who were only alive because of the violent end Gyatso almost met under a red morning, and the unfailing love that demanded the Avatars of old come to his aid.

That was all. Their four temples and their people who wandered out in the world, what they used to be. There was an old adage Gyatso had heard in the Earth Kingdom when he was young - where you can find an Air Nomad you will always have a friend, and there is nowhere you cannot find an Air Nomad. Now, here in one of the Earth Kingdom’s shining jewels of a city, only they eight had found refuge.

Three children. One young woman. The rest of them old. 

The weight of their loss threatened to bow him over - only the joy of being able to gather at all tempered his grief. 

Devika had organized for the asylum-seekers to join their small group, gathered at the highest level of the peak of Omashu. It felt so hollow compared to the hundreds and thousands who once gathered at the highest peaks in the world.

A delighted peal of laughter broke Gyatso from his thoughts. Jamyang clumsily practiced the spinning marbles trick, and looked positively delighted as the marbles spun in slow ellipses. 

“Yeah, exactly like that!” Aang said. 

“What else can I do with them?” she asked excitedly. 

Aang blinked. “What else?”

“Yeah! Show me another trick!” she asked.

“Well… you can play a normal game of marbles with them. But you were doing so good with the trick!”

Jamyang looked at him confusedly, her smile dropping. “They just spin?”

“Pupil Aang,” Palmo interjected sharply. Aang turned to face her, straightening his back, and Jamyang foisted the marbles back into his hands with an unimpressed expression. 

“Yes, Nun Palmo?”

“Have you brought Appa his dinner yet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not yet - I usually bring him dinner around sunset,” he answered.

Palmo tutted. “I’m sure he was not happy to see Bya and Chexo get their dinners.”

“I’ll go feed him,” he said, standing. 

“Please, bring Senge back with you when you return. She will camp out with the bison all night if I let her,” Palmo said. 

“Got it!” he chirped before leaving the room. He made his way to the stairs and leapt over the side, floating down to the bottom of the stairwell. Before making his way into the garden, he stopped in the large storehouse near the kitchen and picked up a basket of plumleaf apples. 

Senge didn’t notice when he walked into the garden. Bya was leaned against the wall, her face mashed into a corner in a manner that didn’t look quite comfortable, and Hande’s bison was flopped out on her back, smashing down a large plot of delicate-looking flowers. Aang held the basket of plumleaf apples on his hip and paused.

Senge was braiding orange marigolds into Appa’s fur. They hung in long tresses along the side of his face and behind his ears, and the petals scattered on the garden grass around her indicated she’d been at it for a while. 

“Hi, Senge,” he said, wincing as she jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She glanced at him, then turned back to Appa and shrugged. “You didn’t.” 

She sniffled, and quickly wiped her eyes. Aang hedged at the edge of the garden but ultimately walked in and kneeled next to her, setting his basket down and tipping it over. He held a plumleaf apple up and Appa plucked it from his hands, the flowery tresses swinging with the movement.

“Appa looks pretty,” he said. 

“Thanks.”

“Did Bya and Chexo eat?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.” 

She sniffled again, picking up another marigold and weaving it into a long strand hanging from Appa’s jaw. 

“... Are you okay?”

Senge didn’t answer for a minute, the only sounds the heavy breathing of the two bison and Appa’s chewing as he made his way through the basket of apples. Aang was getting ready to stand, assuming she was ignoring him, when she finally answered.

“I didn’t bring Bung Ba with me on Jamyang’s kora. She’d been lethargic. Palmo said she was fine but I didn’t want to make her fly so far.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said. It felt awfully inadequate. If he’d lost Appa that day, it would’ve been like losing part of his spirit.

“Appa’s really smart. Do you realize that?” she asked him sharply. “Is that why you guys got out?” she asked before he could answer her first question.

“Oh. Yeah, you weren’t there when Gyatso told Palmo. I’m- I’m the Avatar.”

She looked at him, her eyes puffy and red from her crying. “You’re the Avatar?”

“Yeah.”

“... That sucks.”

Aang let out a startled laugh. 

“Not that it sucks that you guys got out ‘cause of it… that’s good. It’s good that you’re the Avatar,” she hurried to say. 

“It does suck a little bit. I hurt a lot of people that day,” he said quietly.

Senge’s face darkened. “Good. They deserved it.” A beat.
“I don’t mean that. But they did.”

She picked up another marigold and began a new braid.

“We’re all sitting together,” he offered to break the silence. “Hande made everyone butter tea. C’mon,” he said. She didn’t move so he floated to his feet and held his hand out.

“Come on. Butter tea.”

Senge hummed noncommittally. “You said Hande made it? Not Palmo?”

“You don’t like Palmo’s butter tea?” he teased.

“She doesn’t salt it well. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Only if you come hang out with everyone,” Aang said, shaking his still-extended hand.

She scowled at him, but allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

The chatter overlapped, voices speaking at the same time but never over one another, and a ripple of laughter moved through their group, bright and free. Everyone who had traditional robes was wearing them. For the first time since that day, the red sky and fire and blood, Aang felt at home. 

“Hush, hush!” Palmo shouted over the din. “What are your voices for?” she asked, grinning easily. The younger of her girls was curled on her lap with her head on Palmo’s shoulder, eyes drooping despite the volume.

“For breathing, my sister!”

“You needn’t a voice to breathe, Bibek,” she laughed. 

“For telling tales,” Bibek tried again.

“Tall tales, ey Bibek! How’s the Spirit World, then?” laughed Hande from where she laid flat on the floor. 

“Hey!” 

Gyatso laughed. “Have you come to Omashu by your dragons, Bibek?” he asked.

“Bibek! Bibek, teach us to fly without gliders, like you!” Mahesh called, grinning.

Bibek sniffed. “What a gathering this is!”

“We only joke, Bibek,” Palmo assured him. “But no one has answered my question! What are your voices for, my friends?”

“Songs!” answered Jamyang, eyes closed and head still resting on Palmo’s shoulder, but a smile dancing on her face. 

“Songs!” Palmo echoed. 

Unbidden, the travel songs came to mind. Closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall, Aang could almost imagine they were just traveling, stopped in Omashu on a visit and camped out in a little hostel. He hummed the old, simple song they’d sing in the air, calling out to one another and letting the wind carry their voices so the words would hang in the clouds and layer and layer over one another. After a minute, he heard Senge and Mahesh join his humming. When they reached the end of their portion, Palmo called out the leader’s phrase. She sang in the old language - and as she began the song in earnest, they all called back in kind. They began at slightly different times from one another - no one in sync, but perfectly in harmony.

“Aghi baḍhnuhōs!”

“Rātō pahāḍaharu bīca!”

“Hāvālē hāmīlā'ī laijāncha!”

Chapter Text

“This isn’t really strung.”

“Strung.”

Somsak blinked. “Strong. It’s no’ strong.”

Vibol snorted. “No strong? It’s ‘no strong?’”

“I’m not talking like that, I’m literally. Not talking like that.”

“You’re talking like that the whole time!” Vibol crowed, leaning back and sloshing a good deal of palm liquor over the edge of his glass. “You’re strunk”

Somsak leaned forward, snickering. “What is strunk?” he asked, laughing. “What’s strunk?”

“I didn’t say strunk, you heard strunk because you’re strunk. You are.” 

“You said it again!” 

Vibol shook his head, “I absolutely did not. I did not. You’re a- lying.” 

Somsak jumped, another splash of palm liquor hitting the floor as someone started pounding on the front door of the store. 

“We’re clooosed!” sung Vibol. Somsak snorted, and the two men dissolved into drunken laughter as the pounding on the door intensified. 

“Open up, asshole!” barked a gruff voice from the outside. Vibol started. 

“Oh sh- Coming!” Vibol shouted, scrambling to his feet and knocking over the bottle. 

“Your floors,” Somsak said, sopping up the growing puddle with a pillow. 

“Don’t use pillows!” Vibol hissed, throwing a handtowel at Somsak’s face and pulling a small, latched box from a high shelf behind the store’s counter. Flipping open the lid, his face went ashen. 

“These - these!” he sputtered, face growing red. 

“What?”

“These employees have been stealing!  Stealing from my box!” Vibol said shrilly, dropping the box on the floor. He jumped as the person outside began knocking on the door again. Rushing over, he knelt by Somsak.

“Do you have 40 gold pieces?” he asked desperately.

Somsak dropped his hands and leaned forward. “Do I have 40 gold pieces? What’s wrong with you?” 

“They’re going to break my legs!” Vibol shrieked, crawling over to where he’d dumped the money box and shaking it fruitlessly.

“Wh’s?” slurred Somsak. “Ugh. I gotta lie down.”

Vibol took a deep breath, stood, and opened the door of his shop. “Saljat! Jinim!” He blinked as the two towering men in his doorway raised their brows simultaneously. “I apologize. Salim. Jinat.”

Salim looked past his shoulder to see the bottle of palm liquor on its side and Somsak snoring on the floor. “You’ve been drinking. Hopefully not with our money?” 

Vibol straightened. “Of course not. I set your money aside, special, very special. However-,”

“We don’t like howevers,” said the smaller man in the door, glowering at him. 

“I know that, I am always happy. To have your-,” he hiccupped loudly. “Excuse me. Your protection. Unfortunately, the money I contribute to you- you fine gentlemen. It was stolen. I’ve got this employee, he’s terrible - you may want to go see him about this money. I’m happy to address- to give you his address.” 

Jinat raised an eyebrow. “We don’t care about your workplace drama. All that matters to us is that you owe us money and you’re not paying.

Vibol nodded somberly. “I- am. Going to,” he slurred, before bending at the waist and puking at the men’s feet. 

The two men exclaimed in disgust, shaking off the splashback from their feet. 

Vibol straightened, a line of spit hanging from his mouth. “My sinersent- sincernet apologies.”

“You’re done, Vibol.” Salim said, backing away as the man swayed in the doorway and grew green in the face again. “Watch your back.”

“Don’t stray too far from the center of town, absolutely do not go outside the walls, under any circumstances. Make sure you all stick together and don’t go anywhere with anyone except Guanyu, okay? Stick to the main roads-,”

“Palmo! I know, I’ve been here all by myself before, remember?” Senge interrupted. 

Palmo straightened Senge’s collar. Aang had heard them bickering over whether it was smart to go out in traditional robes, but Senge, he was learning, was intensely stubborn. If she were the Avatar, she wouldn’t be having the trouble he was having with earthbending. She’d be taking to it like a natural. As it stood, she backed out of Palmo’s reach and straightened her shoulders. 

Palmo leveled her gaze at Senge. “I know that. But that was before.”

That alone was enough to chasten Senge, who dropped her gaze. “I’ll be careful.” 

Palmo smiled and brushed her short hair behind her ear, patting her cheek. “Good girl. Enjoy it.” 

“Why can’t I go!” whined Jamyang from where she sat on the wall, pouting. 

Senge whirled around to face her. “Butt out!”

“Senge!” Palmo chastised. 

“I am continually thankful the worst I have to deal with are the council and not siblings. At least I can fire the council when I ascend the throne,” Bumi said aside to Aang. 

Jamyang stuck her tongue out at him behind Palmo’s back and when she glanced back at Senge, he stuck his tongue out right back. 

“Maybe you can come next time, Jamyang,” Aang offered. 

“But I could also come this time,” Jamyang said, turning wide, pleading eyes to Palmo. Senge scoffed. 

“Oh, but Jamyang, the kitchen told me they made far too many mooncakes. I was hoping you could help me eat some of them. But I suppose if you’d prefer to go out in the heat with Senge…” Palmo said. Senge leveled a well-timed glare to punctuate Palmo’s offer. 

“Well… I guess it would be rude and ungrateful of me to go out and have fun while you have chores, like Senge is doing. I’ll help you with the mooncakes, Nun Palmo,” Jamyang said sweetly. 

“Wonderful! Why don’t we get started,” Palmo said, taking Jamyang by the hand and leading her towards the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder and winked at Senge. “Be careful,” she mouthed over her shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Senge mouthed back. As they left she broke into a huge grin and skipped out into the street in front of Aang and Bumi. 

“I haven’t been out in airbender robes in forever,” she said, grinning. 

“Let’s go, I want to see the conjoined twins who tell you two different parts of your fortune!” Aang said, running to catch up.

“And we mustn't miss the musicians from the lower market! They play a tune so wonderful you cannot help but dance to it, and it increases in such frenzy and pace that people actually pass out trying to dance to it!” Bumi said.

“But there’s also the only population in the world of pand-elephants outside the walls! And if we’re lucky they’ll sing!” Senge said. 

Aang looked between them and shrugged. “I guess we’ve got a busy day ahead of us!”

“Oh, ow, my legs!’ Senge cried, limping over to the side where the other dancers who had given up the jig had stationed themselves. One man was laid on the ground, hyperventilating as another two fanned him and poured water over his face. The heat of the sun and the music weren’t a good combination if one wanted to dance forever, but were perfect for exactly what Bumi had described.

“Suit yourself!” Bumi said, linking his elbow into Aang’s. “We’ll just keep dancing without you then!”

“I’m not dragging you both back when you pass out!” she hollered as Aang pulled Bumi back into the fray of frenetic dancers. 

The band played on, blue faced, and Bumi started his infectious, cackling laugh. “We are absolutely going to pass out!” he shouted to Aang over the music as they spun. 

“Who cares!” Aang said, humming aloud to the music. “This is the most fun I’ve had in months!”

Bumi laughed again and Aang pulled his arm from Bumi’s and grasped his hands, spinning them around each other in smaller circles and in the winding circle around the other dancers. 

As they moved the beat of the music hastened again. “I bet you pass out before I do!” Aang said as they quickened their movements to match the music.

“That’s no fair! You’re an airbender!”

“Consider it payback for yesterday’s training,” laughed Aang. 

“I am getting quite dizzy with this twirling you’re making me do,” said Bumi, whose face was, in fact, getting quite green. 

“Then you shouldn’t try this!” Aang teased, demonstrating another dizzying dance move which involved spinning and hopping on one foot.

“Just looking at you doing that is making me sick,” Bumi said, pausing his dancing and stumbling a step back as he tried to regain his bearings. He closed his eyes against the dizziness and when he opened them again, Aang had stopped dancing as well, his back to Bumi.

“Oh, well, it looks like you were not as far ahead of me in stamina as you made it seem!” 

Instead of responding, Aang pointed to a column of smoke coming from across the city. “There doesn’t happen to be some kind of community bonfire happening, right Bumi?”

As he spoke, more of the dancers stopped short, panting as they watched a dark column of smoke rise, and the band stopped their playing. A few murmurs spread through the group, and Aang started forward into the street.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Bumi called, following.

“What’s happening?” asked Senge, following in turn. 

Several people in the street were running towards where the column of smoke was emanating from. Soldiers rushed past them and as the three of them turned onto the next street, the heat and smoke came full force. The area was full of fine stores, and all the people on the streets were on the well-dressed side. One of the stores, the sign too burned to identify what kind of shop it was, was on fire. The windows were smashed and black paint had been thrown against the front door and around the ground in front of it, the glittering shards of glass sitting on the dark paint like stars in the night sky. 

A man with a golden hair crown and an exquisitely painted silk robe was standing in front of the store, his arms full of bolts of silk. 

“Someone help! It’s burning!” he was shouting. As he yelled, the roof of the shop collapsed in and he dropped the bolts onto the street. 

“My shop!” the man said, grabbing his head, “My shop, my shop!”

There were a few soldiers shouting orders to each other, trying to get the fire under control before it spread down the block, but Aang looked around and saw a manhole for the sewers just down the street. He leapt over the heads over the crowd and in a clumsy move, earthbent the manhole cover off. In a much cleaner move, he bent the water from the sewers in a long stream onto the shop, extinguishing the fire until only a charred, destroyed, and quite smelly shell of the shop remained. A good deal of the crowd covered their noses and took off in the other direction, and the shop owner started shrieking about the sewage getting on the bolts of silk he’d managed to save. 

“At least your shop’s not on fire anymore!” Senge shouted at the man as he shouted at Aang.

“That’s 200 gold pieces’ worth of silk he just ruined!”

“Are you unconcerned about your bigger problems?” Bumi asked with an arched brow. “For example, the destruction of your entire livelihood?”

The man looked over at Aang again, glaring. 

“Watch where you aim, next time!” he said, grabbing up the bolts and rushing past him. Aang turned as the man passed and rushed up to another, taller man. 

“He’ll be at the palace later today if you’d like to offer your thanks!” Bumi called to the man, who rolled his eyes dramatically but didn’t look back. Bumi and Senge started heading back the way they came, but Aang lingered around the burned shop. The black paint was so out of place on the pale green walls, just thrown around haphazardly. 

“I gave Salim what he wanted! It was just late- he’s,-” Aang turned as the shop-owner’s voice grew louder but at his gaze, the man dropped his volume, and ushered his companion further from the people who’d stuck around after the sewage came out. Aang frowned and took a step towards the two men.

“Aang!” 

Senge was standing at the end of the block with her arms crossed. “We’re going to look at the pand-elephants. Are you coming?”

“I want to talk…” he trailed off, as the shop owner and his friend were no longer standing where they had been just moments before. “Where’d they go?”

“Probably to go choke on something and then not thank the person who saves them,” Bumi said, surly at the rudeness. 

“At least you stopped it from spreading down the block,” Senge offered. “But maybe hearing the pand-elephants sing will turn this day around!”

“I thought you were told not to leave the city walls?” Bumi teased. 

“I never said I’d stay in the walls, I just said I’d be careful,” Senge countered, setting off at a brisk pace. “And I will be very careful watching the world’s only population of pand-elephants.”

She rounded the corner without looking back to make sure Aang or Bumi was following, and Bumi snorted out a laugh and threw his arm around Aang’s shoulders.

“This is why I like airbenders!” 

“You guys really like feasts,” Aang remarked as they took their seats. The long, low table was laden with a huge variety of dishes, and the Queen had taken it upon herself to invite several of the other Air Nomads and other lower-level court members. Though there were over a dozen people at the table, there was absolutely too much food.

In front of Aang there was a huge dish of red beans cooked with whole spices into a thick, fragrant gravy, sat next to a large pot of fluffy jasmine rice. A serving bowl of warmed, liquid butter was on the table, with a large spoon that guaranteed generous helpings. On the other end of the table there was a plate piled high with fried fish and green chutney. A laden plate of steamed bamboo shoots, mushrooms, and cabbage was being passed around, and their cups were filled with watered-down sweet wine. 

“A good feast brings people together,” the Queen said. “Omashu is the breadbasket of the Earth Kingdom,” she informed them proudly. “We produce all this food. Why not share it?”

“My Queen, I understand we mustn’t discuss business over meals but we will soon need to talk about how the frequency of these feasts is impacting our economy,” Haoran said loudly, the length of the table between them.

She hummed. “How is the economy overall?”

“Well, healthy, overall, but -”

“Then the feasts shall continue.”

“The economy’s going to take a little hit, though,” Yuda said, serving himself fish and chutney. “What with what’s going on in the lower district.”

“What?” asked Chen Lei.

“I said there’s funny business going on in the lower district!” he said, louder this time. “There was another fire down there today. The third in the last few months.”

“We saw that fire!” Aang shouted down the length of the table. 

“Yeah, Aang put it out!” Senge said. 

Bumi rolled his eyes. “Not that the owner was grateful at all. He started jumping up and down and hollering about three bolts of silk getting just a little bit of sewage on them,” he said, stretching out the word. “As if you can’t wash it.”

“I think it hurts the value some, though, Prince Bumi,” said Haoran, turning up his nose. “I’d never wear silk that got sewage on it.”

“Haoran, I seem to remember,-”

“ Bumi ,” Devika cut him off. 

“But he’s acting like-!”

“Ah! You promised.”

He huffed. “Fine.”

An awkward silence descended on the table, made ever so slightly less bearable by the fact that so many were in attendance. 

Yuda coughed. “It’s, uh, quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“About the silk?” Bumi asked, perking up. Aang felt a whoosh of air under the table and Bumi yelped. 

“You kicked me, Mom!”

The Queen took a sip of her drink and arched a brow. “Oh, was that you? My apologies.”

He glared at her and rubbed his shin. 

“What’s the coincidence?” Aang asked. 

“Huh?” Nuan asked, leaning in and cupping her ear. “Say that in my good ear.”

“I asked what the coincidence is!”

“Confidence?”

“He said coincidence!” Senge said, lending her voice to the air to make it louder.

Gyatso and Palmo were steadfastly ignoring the conversational difficulties of the others, remarking to each other about the quality of the food.

Yuda waved his hand. “Another fire in that district. This is the third shop down there to go up in flames in the last six months.”

“It’s the rule of fours. We’ve got one more coming, I bet,” Nuan chimed in. 

“There’ve been three fires, all in one neighborhood?” Aang asked.

“I said rule of fours ,” Nuan said loudly.

“We should put them at their own table,” Bumi said to himself. 

“It’s happened before, I remember when I was a girl the whole middle west-end neighborhood was nearly destroyed overnight,” mentioned one of the lower court members, an elderly scribe whose hair was piled in a huge bun atop her head. 

“Why did it happen before?” Aang asked. 

The old scribe smacked her gums. “Well, they caught fire.”

Aang stared at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. Down the table, someone coughed. 

“I meant why did they catch fire?”

“Oh, I misunderstood!” she laughed. “Someone knocked over a candle.”

“I think there’s probably more to these fires than someone knocking over a candle,” Bumi said, slow and theatrical. “Like someone’s doing it on purpose! ” 

“Prince Bumi, these wild ideas of yours will only get you into trouble,” Haoran said. “It’s just a coincidence,” he said firmly. 

“But you don’t know that,” Senge pointed out. “It could be anything.”

“Yeah!” Aang chimed in. “At the shop today, the windows were broken.”

“The glass couldn’t handle the heat,” Haoran said, waving a hand flippantly.

“And there was black paint all over the walls!”

“So someone thought a bucket of paint was water and tried to put out the fire!” he snapped. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Did it look like someone had tried to put a fire out with it?” Yuda asked Aang. 

“No, and it was dry already.”

“Queen Devika! Surely you realize this isn’t appropriate dinner time conversation,” Haoran tried. “Let us talk about something more becoming.”

A pointed silence fell around the table, broken up only by Gyatso and Palmo’s murmured conversation, the two of them completely ignoring the exchanges of the others. 

“So, a few years back there was a bad case of yak butter that was delivered to the palace-,” Bumi started.

“Prince Bumi!” the Queen snapped. Haoran turned red and began dabbing at his forehead with his napkin. Aang and Senge exchanged incredulous glances and Hande, down the table, let out a giggle. 

Bumi sat back in his chair. “Fine. I guess we’ll eat in silence then.”

Aang paced in front of Bumi and Senge, a manic glint in his eye. 

“What is the point? Why torch random shops and houses?”

“It is not a simple case of arson,” Bumi said. “Can’t be. We need to think of other possibilities.”

“Why couldn’t it be arson? Maybe there’s someone who just really likes setting fires?”

Bumi scoffed, leaning back, and throwing a fried breadstick in his mouth. Aang reached over and pulled one for himself out of the paper bag. They were sitting on a low wall in a market square, having again convinced each of their respective guardians to let them roam unsupervised. The method for ditching Jamyang this time came from Bumi (who chose the path of not telling her).

“If you like to go around and set fires, why would it matter to set shops on fire? If I were going to commit arson, I’d not be afraid to torch government buildings, or homes and public gardens, or-,”

“There’s only been three fires. How is that enough to tell?” Senge interrupted, stealing a breadstick for herself. 

“How many fires do you think happen here on a regular basis? Last one was back when the bison stables got torched, but that guy got arrested so it’s not him,” said Bumi through a mouthful of breadstick. He started ticking them off on his fingers. “Artisan pottery store, silk shop, and a restaurant. All in a few weeks, all in the same neighborhood. That means something.”

“Like, they all had a common enemy?” Aang asked. “Could it be someone getting rid of competition?”

“It couldn’t be that, they were all different kinds of stores,” Senge said.

Bumi hummed. “Maybe it doesn’t have to do with stores competing against each other, but if some rich backer was trying to get rid of stores competing with his assets.”

“What’s an asset?” Aang asked. 

“Like, he puts up money to help a store run and he gets some of the money they earn back.” 

“That is so bizarre,” said Senge. Aang nodded in agreement. 

“I agree, but no one wants to let me reestablish the barter system even though it makes so much more sense than attributing random values to pieces of metal.”

Before anyone could answer, the yelp of an animal cut through the din of conversation on the streets. In tandem, all three of them looked over to where a tall, stocky man stood over a cowering bobtail dog. Aang felt the heat of anger rise into his cheeks but before he could even react, Senge had somehow disappeared from where she had been sitting next to him and rematerialized 15 yards away in front of the man, already having picked up the dog. 

It was almost comical, her anger. Apparently, Bumi thought so as well because he let out a low whistle. “I’ve heard the saying ‘yelling your head off’ but I’ve never seen someone actually do it before,” he said.

It wasn’t far off. Senge was hollering at the top of her lungs, comically small in front of the giant man, giving her the appearance of a particularly aggressive lapdog. 

“What is wrong with you! You’re gonna kick a dog? A little dog, you think it makes you tough?” she was yelling, walking forward and causing the man to back up.

“Easy, little girl-,” 

“Don’t tell me to take it easy!” she interrupted. “You should lose your feet if this is what you use them for! Whoever raised you should be ashamed, ashamed!” The man continued backing up as Senge, red-faced, continued to advance on him, holding the dog in her arms. He was quickly backing up to a fountain in the square, and a sizable group of people had stopped to watch the altercation.

“It’s just a damn dog!” the man yelled. 

Aang sucked in a breath. “That was the wrong thing to say,” he told Bumi. 

“This dog puts infinitely more good in the world than you! You are a smelly, pathetic, lowdown monster taking your anger out on an innocent creature!” she continued, backing the man up until his knees hit the edge of the fountain and he tumbled back into the water with a tremendous splash.

For a moment, the entire square was silent until Bumi broke out in snorting laughter. Aang was quick to join - Bumi’s laughter, in his defense, was extremely contagious and it was at the expense of a man who kicked a dog. He could forgive himself for that. Soon enough the whole square was laughing at the man, sitting on his butt in a public fountain having just gotten completely chewed out by a little airbender girl. Senge stomped back over to where Aang and Bumi were still waiting, her face still burning red. 

She stood in front of them for a brief moment, breathing heavily through her nose. 

After a second, she spoke in a slow, controlled voice. 

“Nun Palmo has been telling me to control my anger or else it will control me.” She looked between the two boys and sighed heavily. She shook her head, “Nope. Can’t do it. Please hold her for a moment,” she said to Aang, passing the bobtail dog into his arms. Slowly and calmly, she walked to a nearby pallet crate and kicked it over with a furious shriek. 

Aang felt Bumi jump a little next to him and look over at the man as he climbed out of the fountain. He was also watching Senge kick the crate and had frozen in place so as not to draw her ire again. 

Aang saw Bumi’s brow furrow as he stared at the man. 

“What, Bumi?”

“I think… I think I know him.” Aang looked at the man, wringing the water from his clothes. From the crowd, someone threw a piece of fruit at him, unbalancing him so he fell backwards once again. 

“Do you remember where from?”

Slowly, Bumi nodded. “Yes. I haven’t seen him in a year, maybe more. He used to come by to speak with Haoran.”

“Do you know his name?” Aang asked. Something told him this man was important.

“Yeah. Yeah it was… something. Salmon. Soroyan.”

The realization dawned suddenly. “Was it Salim?” Aang asked. 

“That’s it! Salim, he used to come in and speak with Haoran. I haven’t seen him around recently.” He looked over at Aang, raising an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

“That was one of the men who had come to the silk shop before it got torched! I heard the owner talking about it!”

“They’re connected then.”

“Who is?” asked Senge, pulling the dog back from Aang. 

“When that store was on fire, I heard the owner talking about someone named Salim,” Aang said, turning to Bumi. “What did he and Haoran do?”

Bumi scratched his chin like a grizzled old man scratched his beard, squinting into the distance. “It’s been a long time. But I seem to remember them having meetings in Haoran’s office. What was strange was that this man, Salim, never spoke to any of the other council members.”

Senge frowned, while the little bobtail dog licked her cheek. “Why is that strange?”

“Well, their duties tend to overlap, some. Haoran, as you know, deals with money, so sometimes he needs information from Nuan, to create an arts budget for the city, or Yuda will speak to Chen Lei about military recruiting. Things like that.”

“Do you know what Haoran and Salim met about?” Aang pressed.

“No,” Bumi said, “but I do know that Haoran keeps meticulous records in his office. He takes notes on every meeting he’s ever been to. He very likely kept notes on his meetings with Salim.”

Aang began pacing again. “It can’t be a coincidence, that all these fires happened in the same district, all around the same time, and Haoran didn’t want us talking about it! I know that these fires are connected, I know that man Senge yelled at has something to do with them, and both of these things involve Haoran!” Aang said emphatically. 

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Bumi said. “I believe it would be prudent for us to, as they say, become big-nosed ferrets.”

“Who says that?” Senge asked, raising her brow. 

“I’ve never heard of a big nosed ferret,” Aang chimed in. 

“They say such a thing because when a person becomes incredibly nosy and ferrets out every minute piece of information possible, they achieve snooping status beyond what is capable of humans and therefore become big-nosed ferrets.”

Bumi sat back and crossed his arms, satisfied, as Aang and Senge stared at him. 

She sighed, and Bumi looked down as the ankles of his pants fluttered. “Nevertheless, these might all be connected in a completely different way than you’re thinking. Maybe Salim is a businessman who worked with both Haoran and the man with the silk shop, and also he’s an arsonist. Like, for fun. I knew a girl like that from the Fire Nation, she just really, really liked setting things on fire.” 

“We can settle this very simply. We must find out all the businesses with associations with this man and stake them out and then when someone goes to set them on fire, we apprehend them. We’ll likely need to spread ourselves thin across the city, but I believe I can get Guanyu to help in our stakeout. We’ll need a signal to each other if we come across the arsonist. There are many suonas in the Friends of Omashu Theater. You two will be able to play them sufficiently loudly. Guanyu and I will have to combine our playing with earthbending to alert you all. I will confer with him about this,” Bumi said.

“Or,” Aang said slowly. “That can be our backup plan. Why don’t we look in Haoran’s office first and see if he’s got notes in there that shows how he’s connected to all this?”

“I like that plan better,” said Senge. 

“And then, we can revisit the stakeout plan with more information,” said Aang. 

“I quite like this idea of breaking into Haoran’s office to find intelligence.”

“I don’t think it’s really breaking in if you’re the prince. If you’re the future ruler of the city, why should his office be off limits to you?” Aang said reasonably.

“And you,” Bumi said, “As the Avatar have a duty to maintain balance in the world. Is Omashu not a part of the world you are meant to protect?”

“Exactly.”

“So I guess that means I have no excuse,” Senge said, scowling. 

“Nonsense,” said Bumi, waving his hand. “The Avatar and the Prince of Omashu have decided that you and your constant, barely-controlled rage are an important part of our investigation.”

“I can control my anger just fine!” she snapped.

“Precisely! Let’s go!”

The three of them took off through the streets towards the palace. 

“What does a financial advisor even do?” Aang asked as they made their way up to the peak of the city.

“What a very good question, Aang. Haoran’s duty, as I understand it, is to identify the most boring things in the entire world and dedicate himself to them with such intensity that he completely vexes those around him.”

Senge laughed at that, and Bumi grinned over his shoulder at her.

“Aha! So you are not exclusively capable of sour-puss?”

Her smile dropped and she glared at him, prompting another laugh. 

She sniffed, hitching up the dog in her arms to get a better grip as they entered the palace through the gardens. Bumi waved cheekily to the soldiers in the garden, their presence blended into the walls somewhat easier to spot as they waved back.

“I’m not a sour-puss,” she said, following as Bumi led them down the palace halls. “Palmo says I just need a more patient spirit.”

“Infinitely,” agreed Bumi, earning him another harsh look. 

“Ah, here, his den of iniquity.” Bumi stood in front of a circular interior door, like those in the garden. A heavy stone door closed his office off from the rest of the palace, but one push revealed them locked. 

“Well, Aang. Your earthbending lesson for today is about fine motor skills. I am tasking you with unlocking this door. Luckily,” he said, bending to peer into the keyhole, “this palace is very old and was constructed entirely by earthbending. So the locking mechanism is not metal.”

“That seems like a security issue,” Senge said with a raised eyebrow. “In a city full of earthbenders. That your locks should be made of stone.”

“Well, not in anywhere important. Almost all the chambers and in anyone’s office who has had the experience of a logical thought, metal locks have been installed. Fortunately, Haoran is not among those who has had the joy of logical, intelligent thought. All the better for our purposes. Aang, if you would?”

Aang bent to peer into the keyhole as well, scrutinizing it with a furrowed brow. After a moment of deliberation, he closed his eyes, focusing on the stone. He sensed the small hitches in the keyhole and turned them with a series of satisfying-sounding clicks. Bumi grinned crookedly at him.

“Well done, Avatar Aang. If you would,” Bumi prompted, gesturing at the door. Aang grasped the handle and moved to open the door, but it didn’t budge. 

“Huh,” Bumi said. “Guess he’s had at least one logical thought. You got your fine motor skills lesson, Aang. Please now attempt another core pillar of earthbending: brute force.”

Aang stepped back to survey the door, sank into a horse stance, and with a punch broke the door down into brick-sized chunks, felling it inward. 

“Very good! One note: brute force is, indeed, meant to be brute. Please feel free, next time you are breaking down a door, to send it flying into the next wall, or perhaps explode out violently. Get creative with it. In fact…,” Bumi held his arms out and brought them close to his chest, reforming the door. “Try again! Get creative.”

“We should maybe be acting with a little more urgency, here,” Senge said. 

“Healthy practice in brute force is always a worthwhile way to spend time! Aang, whenever you’re ready.”

Aang frowned, thinking. After a moment he turn kicked and the door flew into the room, crashing into Haoran’s desk and splintering the wood. Stacks of paper flew into the air and settled across the ground.

After a moment of dust settling, a crystal sconce in the wall dropped to the floor, shattering and sending small glittering pieces scattered on the floor. 

“Very good! We will continue to practice. For now,” Bumi pointed into the office. “Let us snoop.”

“Can one of you clean up that crystal so I can put Smita down?” Senge asked. 

Aang obliged, and she sent the little dog down. She shook her fur out and immediately stationed herself at Senge’s feet. Bumi dropped to sit on the floor, crossing his legs, and bending the ground so that all the papers out of his reach were brought to him. He gasped loudly.

“How horrific!” he exclaimed.

“What’d you find?” Aang asked, running to read over his shoulder. 

“Look. Imagine looking at this all day,” Bumi said, showing Aang a paper with, quite frankly, a terrifying amount of math. “How on earth does he keep his brain from leaking out his ears?”

Aang leveled a flat look at him and turned to look through more papers for real information.

More than an hour later they had pulled every piece of paper out and skimmed over thousands of characters. Nothing of importance was there, just hundreds of pieces of paper with records of money held, investments made, notes on meetings. Aang threw another pile of papers over his shoulder and groaned. 

“Ugh! We’re not getting anywhere with this.”

“Tough. I looked under his desk and had to read a romance story he wrote. And trust me, he’s not a great writer,” said Senge, disgust evident in her voice. 

“May I see those papers?” Bumi asked interestedly. Senge handed them over and he tucked them into his pocket. At Aang and Senge’s identical confused expressions he grinned widely.

“Blackmail.”

Aang flopped out on his back and sighed. Papers covered the floor - they’d wasted so much time and were still no closer to solving things. “Don’t take it too hard, Aang. Maybe there’s nothing to find,” Senge suggested.

“Still! Even if there’s nothing here, there’s still someone setting Omashu on fire. I’m supposed to save the world! I can’t even save a few buildings!”

He stared at the ceiling, wishing the answer would be written right there on the roof. Smita came over and started licking his head. 

“Smita, stop, he’s wallowing,” Senge chastised. The dog moved away and he glared. 

“I’m not wallowing!”

“You are, though,” Bumi said, walking over and dropping cross-legged next to his head. “Quite literally you are wallowing amid these papers, and you are figuratively wallowing in your perceived failure. As your dear friend, I feel obligated to inform you that Omashu has a law against accepting failure. I, as crown prince, am able to move against you for your wallowing, but because you are my friend I’ll spare you. But just this once.”

 “Thanks, Bumi,” Aang said flatly, looking away. He stared at the bookshelf forlornly, wishing the answer to his problem was held in one of those tomes. On top of the bookshelf, there were several bottles of lantern oil. Aang stared at them forlornly, wishing the answer to his troubles was as easily illuminated as a lantern. 

He sat up suddenly, knocking his forehead into Bumi’s jaw. “Ah!”

Aang rubbed at his skull and Bumi glared at him. “You made me bi’e my thung!” 

Aang ignored him, standing and looking around the room. “Do you guys see any lanterns in here?”

Senge and Bumi looked around.

“Just the sconces,” Senge said. 

“Right, there’s no lanterns in here!” Aang said excitedly. 

“You’re very excited by that,” Senge said.

“If there’s no lanterns in here,” he said, pointing at the bookshelf. “Why does he have all that lantern oil?”

Aang flitted up into the corner and perched on the edge of the shelf. Behind the lantern oil, there was a locked box. He grabbed it and hopped back down, presenting it triumphantly to the others. 

“What’s in it?” 

“I don’t know, it’s locked.”

Bumi grabbed the box and set it on its side. He bent a chunk of the floor up and brought it down sharply, cracking the lock in one swift movement. The box split open, revealing a stack of papers in Haoran’s small, neat handwriting. A cloth bag with a note with the name ‘Jinat’ tied to it fell out. Bumi grabbed some of the papers, reading with a scrutinizing eye. Senge snatched the cloth baggie and opened it, spilling coins into her palm. Aang picked one up and read the inscription. His stomach dropped.

“You guys… this is Fire Nation money,” he said slowly. Bumi looked up from the papers, his eyes wide.

“Fire Nation?” 

Aang passed him one of the coins and Bumi bit down on it. “It is! Fire Nation! In my city!”

“What do the papers say?” Senge asked.

Bumi shrugged. “I can’t tell. There’s a lot of math I don’t understand. But if there’s Fire Nation coins in this nefariously locked and hidden box, I’m sure the math is incriminating. There’s an address though, for where he said he brought money last week.”

“Let’s go! Maybe the person who’s setting these fires is there!” Aang said. 

“Yes, I agree. First, though,” Bumi trailed off, gathering the papers and the coins and stuffing them back in the box. He left the office and Senge and Aang trailed behind him as he snaked through the halls and came to a small office space. He bent a hole in the wall and entered.

Aang and Senge watched as he placed the box precisely on the plain desk in the office, grabbed a piece of scrap paper, and began to write. 

“‘Good afternoon, Guanyu,” he dictated aloud, “Please arrest Haoran when you have a free moment and also look at all this math and figure out what it means. Thank you, Bumi.’ Okay, now we can go.” 

They were headed through the garden. Jamyang, who was sitting under one of the gnarled bodhi trees, jumped to her feet when she saw them.

“Are you guys going back into the city?” she asked, beginning to follow. “I want to come! You guys have gone into the city twice already, and you said I could come on the second trip but then you ditched me again!”

Senge turned to face her. “Jamyang, I promise you can come next time! You just can’t come with us right now.”

“Why not!” she whined. 

“We’re just running an errand for Gyatso,” Aang jumped in. “It’s going to be very boring and we’re coming back in just a couple minutes, so we’re not even exploring. You can come with us another day and get to see everything!”

She stomped her foot. “I don’t care, I want to come this time!” 

“Fine!” Bumi said. Senge shot him an incredulous look. “You can come with us. But before we leave, I’ll need my coat! I’m not like you airbenders, I get chilly in the evenings. Do you know where my room is?”

She nodded excitedly. 

“Very good! Please run and fetch me my magua and then we can all go out into the city together.”

She grinned and took off in a blur, running back into the palace. “Okay, let’s go before she gets back,” Senge said, ushering them out onto the streets. It was getting late and most of the outdoor market stalls had closed up for the evening, but a few shops still glowed with lantern light inside. 

“Where is this address? Is it in the same neighborhood that the fires have been in?” Aang asked.

“No, actually. It’s in a different district, the low market - near where we traveled through the sewers.”

They made their way through the city. It was a long journey from the top of the city, where the palace sat, to the lower districts by the city walls. By the time they arrived, it was fully dark out - but the area was lively. There was a tavern where a dancing song was being sung by the patrons and a small-ish outdoor restaurant which, from the smell, seemed to exclusively serve fried food. Aang’s stomach growled, the scant meal of friend breadsticks hours ago not quite holding him over. 

Bumi stopped in front of a tall building with several boarded-up windows. There were a couple of open windows on the upper floors, and Aang hopped up on a gust of air to peek through. He perched on the edge of the sill and waved the other two up. Senge leapt up on a breeze, while Bumi rocked backwards on his feet and flipped the stones over, propelling him by the heels. He didn’t quite make it to the window, but pulled out a platform of stone from the wall and brought himself up on it. The building on the inside seemed to be just a single, large room set up with floor seats. Aang dropped into the room looking around. 

“No one’s here.”

Senge went over to a cabinet, pulling out a few bottles of clear drink. “Nothing in here,” she reported. Aang and Bumi spread out to investigate elsewhere. 

“Ooh!”

“What? What’d you find?” They ran over to see what she’d pulled from the cabinet. Senge set a paper-thin porcelain tea set on top of the cabinet. It was decorated with gold accents and mother-of-pearl. 

They both stared at her. 

“What? It’s very nice!”

“Let’s try and focus on if there’s anything criminal in here.”

Aang opened a closet, peeking inside. Nothing but clothes and sheets. 

Bumi had pulled several of the floor seats around him and was rooting inside, pulling out handfuls of coconut wool and cotton. 

“I don’t think there’s anything here, you guys.” 

Bumi, his arms full of cushion stuffing, looked up at Aang. “Well I haven’t looked through all the cushions yet,” he said plaintively. 

“What if we come back another time, when there are people here?” Senge suggested. As if her words had conjuring powers, several male voices outside the door broke them out of their concentration.

Bumi hastily began stuffing the wool back into the cushions, and Aang grabbed him by the collar, hauling him to his feet. 

“What do we do?” Senge hissed, the voices growing louder, now just outside the door. 

“Hide!” Aang hauled Bumi by the collar, Senge hot on his heels, and he flew into the wardrobe, pulling the door closed behind them. 

“It’s not latching!” he whispered, pulling the door closed again. It swung lazily on its hinges, opening just a crack. 

“Leave it!” Bumi pulled him away from the slam-swing-slam-swing just as the doors opened and a decent number of men streamed into the room, laughing jovially.

The three of them crowded together in the little closet space, stacked in a truly bizarre way so they all could look through the crack into the main room. Aang was leaning fully on top of Bumi, with his hands wrapped around his elbow for balance. Senge had her shoulder in his gut but was also somehow kneeling on top of his foot, making his toes numb. He leaned forward, trying to watch as the men streamed in. He spotted, among the group, the man who Senge had yelled at in the square.

The group seemed pretty light-hearted, with the men laughing and talking loudly. Of course, they were talking about very un-lighthearted topics, the present being the blackmail of a high-ranking general. 

“We’ve got more coming in tomorrow,” said one. “I need you to make sure that stupid colonel isn’t in the area tomorrow. Bringing Nobu’s men in through the sewer is costing us money.”

“Ever since the Avatar came to the city, the security’s been heightened. I can strongarm Si Woo into making sure that colonel is stationed on the other side of the city but it’s harder to bring people into the city than poppy syrup.”

“I don’t care,” said the first man. “Make it happen.”

One of the men kicked over the floor cushion Bumi had been rooting around in, a good deal of the stuffing spilling out. Bumi cringed and Senge hid her face. 

“Damn termite-rats,” he muttered, kicking the cushion into the corner. Aang let out a relieved breath. 

“I gotta say,” an older man said, lounging back in his seat, “I don’t know that I like this. I know we’re doing what we need to be doing, but this is getting uncomfortably close to treason.”

“It’s not treason if we’re in control,” Salim said. “Don’t worry about too many coming in - we’ve got every soldier documented. Once they get what they need, we’ll get rid of them. They can’t get in or out without us, so when that Fire Nation general gets pissy, well. Tough. What’s he gonna do?”

Aang’s eyes widened and he suppressed a gasp. 

Bumi scowled. “Fire Nation! In my city! I’m banishing everyone.” 

“Shh!”

They crowded forward, listening as the conversation continued. 

“We need some good blackmail on that colonel. It’s a huge pain trying to get him off the entrance post when we need him gone.”

“I’ve tried,” another said. “He doesn’t do anything! All he does is work and paint his little pottery and drink his tea.”

“No one is that boring, make sure you have a tail on him constantly. He’ll slip up.”

Aang leaned down to whisper in Bumi’s ear. “Do you recognize any of these people?”

He shook his head, and opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp yell cut through the room. 

“Sengeee!” 

Even in the dark, Aang could see all the blood fall from her face. “She didn’t.”

In a whirlwind, Jamyang dropped into the open window and landed lightly on a shelf, looking around the room with a scrutinizing eye. A man who had been sitting on the floor next to it was gaping up at her, dumbfounded.

“Where is she?” she demanded of him. The man looked at his fellows around the room.

“What is this?” he asked. “How’d she get in here?”

Aang heard Senge hiss next to him. “I am going to glue her hands and feet together and hang her from the ceiling like a lantern!”

Bumi shuddered. “I am so glad I have no siblings.”

“Where’s Senge? She keeps ditching me!” Jamyang whined. One of the men walked up to her, smiling with all his teeth, looking at her yellow robes. 

“Little girl… you’re an airbender, is that right?”

“That’s right,” she chirped.

He looked her up and down. “Well, where’s your arrows, then?” 

“Well, I don’t have them yet. But soon! Maybe even before Senge gets hers.”

Senge scowled in the dark.

“We need to get her out of here,” Aang said, looking at the men in the room. “If they have Fire Nation contacts, they’ll ransom her.”

“I am so telling Palmo what she did,” Senge said.

“What? That she followed you into a den of criminals who plan to sell her to our wartime enemy?” Bumi countered.

“You’re here too!”

“She’s not my sister!”

“She’s not mine, either!”

“Plan!” Aang cut them off. “We need a plan!” 

The two of them looked at him blankly. Groaning, he looked around - albeit, there was really nothing of use in the closet except for bed sheets, some rough, heavy workmen’s clothes, and a few pairs of slippers. 

Aang peeked out at the main room again - there were a lot of men for them to fight off, especially with Jamyang in the mix. They’d need to split the group up so they couldn’t all come at them at once. Then they could get everyone back to the palace and get some help. 

“Oh! Oh! Aang!” Bumi grabbed his bicep. “Remember the plays you used to tell me about? From the Fire Nation with the effects?” 

After a second it clicked. “Bumi! You’re a mad genius!”

Aang pulled down one of the large shirts, tying off each wrist with a knot and doing the same for a pair of loose pants at the ankles before pulling each garment on over his clothes and tying the waist with a cord. 

Senge stared at them. “What is this plan?”

“We’re going to scare them!” Aang said, tucking each pant leg into an oversized boot and tying the ankles with cords.

“How are the three of us going to scare a room full of grown men, who - I want to remind everyone - are career criminals!” 

“ We’re not going to scare them - we’re just going to make them think we’re scary,” he said with a grin, tying off the last of the garments and tucking his hands back into the tied-off arms of the clothes. 

She stared up at him as he stood in the tiny closet. “You said that with a lot of confidence considering it made no monkey-feathered sense!”

Bumi grinned at her. “You guys have such potty-mouth. I love it.”

“Bumi, I need you to make big stomps when I walk. Senge, when they’re distracted, get Jamyang.”

He grabbed one of the long pieces of cloth - a bedsheet or a tablecloth -  and draped it around his head, hiding his face. He began bending, just small, regular gusts of air that were trapped in the clothes, inflating them and giving him the appearance of being much larger than he actually was. In a pinch, he could pass as a short but believably ominous spirit being, the strange shape and billowing clothes lending him an eerie presence. Aang kicked open the closet door and Bumi stomped, giving the house a great shake. 

The men looked at him in unison, confusion written on their faces. 

“What is that?” asked one.

Aang took a step forward, clothes billowing, and as he moved, Bumi lent him intimidation by creating another heavy stomp . 

“I,” Aang said in an artificially deep voice. “Am a spirit!”

For a beat, there were no reactions. Then one man yelped and fell backwards. “A spirit!”

Bumi waved her out and amidst the distraction, she flitted out and up out of eye-level. 

“That’s right!” Aang continued, giving another stomp forward. “And you’ve made me… very angry! ”

“Oh no!”

“I knew it! I knew this would bite me one day! Oh Spirit! I’ve transgressed against you!” another said, running up to Aang and falling at his feet. 

“You sure have!”

Senge jumped between the rafters in the ceiling and made her way to the opposite side of the room, where Jamyang was looking at the scene with a cocked eyebrow, suspicion evident in her eyes. 

Senge hopped down and landed on the inside ledge of one of the lower windows. “Psst!”

Jamyang didn’t look at her. Aang was busy pointing at the men and listing their various character flaws. 

“You!” he said, pointing at Salim. “You’re cruel to animals!” A scandalized gasp traveled around the room. 

“I knew it! My cat doesn’t like you for a reason!”

“Your cat’s full of mange, Jieyi!” Salim snapped.

“Psst!” she tried again. “Jamyang!”

Jamyang looked up and spotted her, her face morphing indignantly. She opened her mouth but Senge gestured for her to be quiet. Jamyang glared. 

“You guys ditched me!” she whispered up at her. 

“I’m sorry, okay! Just come up here, we need to go!” Senge whispered back, holding her hand out. Jamyang looked from where she stood to the high ledge Senge was on. 

“I’m not good at the big jumps yet!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake - just try!” Senge hissed. 

Jamyang stood firm, though, shaking her head. “I’m not gonna make it!”

“You will, just get your annoying little butt up here!” 

Jamyang gave her a dirty look, and turned away, sniffing. “I’m not coming up if you’re going to be mean!”

At her words, louder than they should’ve been, two of the men closest to her, glanced her way. 

“Hey!” one shouted, pointing at Senge. “It’s a trick!”

A shocked silence descended in the room. In the quiet, Aang’s stomach let out a loud rumble , and one of the men ripped the cloth off his head, ruining his disguise.

Senge leapt down and tried to grab Jamyang, but one of the men bent one of the stone side tables at her, forcing her to leap back up onto the window ledge. The room erupted into chaos - Bumi came tumbling out of the closet, rolling head first and bending two large stones over his shoulders, throwing a pair of approaching men into the back wall.

“Fight!” he shouted, “You pussy-willows! Give us something to tell our grandkids about!”

Salim ran over and grabbed Jamyang around the waist, hauling her towards the door, ignoring her screams and kicks. Aang and Bumi were in the fray of fighting, the combination of earth and air throwing dust around, masking everyone’s movements. Senge, in her perch above the mess, saw Salim and ran across the window ledge, jumping down and blasting air at the man’s back. He stumbled, but didn’t lose balance, and as he regained his footing, she ran like the wind at him. 

As she reached out to grab Jamyang’s wrist, a strong arm grabbed her bicep and spun her around, pinning her hands behind her back. Before she could take a breath, a sweaty hand, smelling like onions, clapped over her mouth and nose. Salim, who had been running for the door, leaned down to look at her, recognition dawning in his eyes. Senge flinched away from his smelly, hot breath skittering across her face and she bucked against the hand over her mouth. 

“You’re stuck, little girl. I remember you. You,” he hissed, stepping closer, “embarrassed me. I want you to remember that when you get to the Fire Nation.” He took another step and her chest started to heave as she was unable to take a breath. “It’ll be the last thing you think of.”

She looked him up and down with wide eyes, glancing at Jamyang, twisting around in his iron-fisted grip, and made a split-second decision. Closing her eyes, she kicked up and out as hard as she could, making contact between his legs.

Salim let out a high-pitched, guttural yelp, releasing Jamyang and bowing over, falling to his knees. The man holding her yanked her back.

“You don’t kick a man in the nuts!” he yelled, shaking her around. She bucked, trying to give herself a little wiggle room to squeeze out of his grip, but was unable. Jamyang, who’d fallen when Salim bowed over, hopped to her feet and ran over, jumping on the man’s back.

“You’re being very rude! ” she shouted, clapping her hands over his ears, bending air with the movement. The man hollered, releasing Senge, who stumbled away and gasped a deep breath. Jamyang launched off the man’s shoulders as he stumbled around, pawing at his bloody ears. She ran up to Senge, who grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the fray, towards the little cupboard she’d rifled through before, glancing at the others, still in the thick of it. 

Aang twisted his staff around in a circular movement, creating a funnel of wind, catching one of the men in it and throwing him at another approaching assailant. Another man bent, and a huge boulder flew at his head - Aang yelled, but Bumi flung his arms forward, breaking it into tiny stones. A pebble bounced off Aang’s forehead. He blinked and rubbed at the little red welt. A man ran up behind Bumi and twisted his feet, creating a hole in the earth and trapping his legs. Aang smacked the man away with a sharp gust and he flew back into the closet, smashing the wooden doors and slumping to the ground. Then he bent, sliding his foot along the ground and pushing the heels of his hands upwards, releasing Bumi from the ground, and the two of them simultaneously bent, sending the last assailant into the wall with a gust of wind and a rock to the gut. 

For a second, they were all quiet, the only sounds the groaning of the men and their own heavy breathing. 

Then, a roar - Salim ran at them, albeit with a funny gait, reaching out for Senge and Jamyang. Senge snatched the fine porcelain tea pot from the cupboard and jumped, leaping towards the man and smashing it on his temple. He fell heavy to the floor with the shards of the pot.

Standing amid the men in the room, knocked out and laying on the ground, the four of them looked at each other. 

“We have to tell someone. There are Fire Nation soldiers in the city, you’ve got an underground crime ring, and Haoran’s bankrolling the whole thing!” Senge said, her hand tight around Jamyang’s arm. “How are we ever going to convince anyone?”

Aang glanced at Bumi. “I don’t think that part’s going to be a problem.” 

Bumi stepped back and rubbed his hands together. He took a deep breath and threw his head back. 

“ Guanyu!”

Guanyu brought the man before them, his hands bound together. He wore the green and tan military uniform of the Omashu guard but his pale skin and his gold eyes spoke of Fire Nation ancestry. He was among many of the Fire Nation soldiers found throughout the city, discovered with the help of Haoran’s careful, obsessive note-taking. Bumi, though upset he wasn’t able to witness Haoran’s arrest, had been happy to visit him in custody in the bad chambers, awaiting trial.

“There were several Fire Nation nationals hiding among the border guard. I strongly recommend a thorough vetting of the ranks. In the meantime the border needs to be closed as we investigate the entry point soldiers,” Guanyu said, not flinching as the man bucked in his hold. Queen Devika had used the incident as a purging opportunity, clearing the council of Haoran and Chen Lei, with Nuan receiving a “promotion” which took her out of the palace. Devika was currently in talks with Palmo about striking a deal to develop refugee relief programs within the city. Yuda, meanwhile, had become her de facto right hand.

Yuda stepped up and surveyed the man and after a stare-down, yanked the gag out of his mouth. “How dare you presume to come into our city? Did you believe we wouldn’t find you and root you out like the weed you are?” he asked the man. 

The Fire Nation man breathed heavily, simply staring at Yuda and not answering. Yuda scoffed and turned away, waving his hand behind his back and Guanyu began to take the man away. Aang watched as the man’s gaze fell on him, and his face lit up. 

“Avatar!” he shouted, bucking again against Guanyu’s grip. “You will pay for your crimes! For the dead you left in your wake!” 

“Silence!” Guanyu snarled, encasing the man’s feet and legs in stone and moving to bring the gag back to his mouth. The man threw his head and looked at Aang again over the guard’s shoulder. 

“Azulon will smite you! Like you smote our soldiers! He will smite you with mighty lightning and eat your heart!” 

Aang flinched at the mention of the dead he left after the attack on the Air Temple, and at the man’s last threat, Gyatso wrapped his arm around Aang’s chest and brought him close. 

“The Fire Nation will envelope all! You who have failed to maintain your grasp on the world-,” the man cut off mid-sentence and his eyes rolled back as a plum-sized stone struck him cleanly on the forehead.

Bumi rolled his eyes. “What a nutcase, right?” he asked Aang, nudging him with his elbow. Guanyu sighed through his nose. 

“Prince Bumi. I have requested that you curb extrajudicial attacks on prisoners before,” he said in the tired voice of a man who has discovered long ago that he does not have as much power as he should.

“You did,” Bumi conceded. “And you made your point very well! I believe that for effective governance and in the interests of fairness and justice when maintaining an orderly state that extrajudicial violence has no place in Omashu. However. I wanted him to stop talking.”

“Who is Azulon?” Aang asked as Guanyu took the man away. 

“Azulon is one of Fire Lord Sozin’s younger sons. He is favored for ascendency,” answered Yuda.

Aang frowned. “I thought the oldest children were the ones to inherit titles?” he asked.

Yuda cleared his throat. “Azulon is the oldest son of Sozin’s with fully royal blood.”

Aang raised an eyebrow. If anything, that made things less clear. “How would he have children who weren’t royal if he’s royal? I don’t get that.”

“Azulon’s mother is Sozin’s wife, the Fire Lady. Sozin’s other children have other mothers.”

At Aang’s confused expression, Gyatso chimed in. “He’s talking about concubines.”

“Ohhhh,” Aang said. “Why didn’t you just say that?” 

Bumi leaned in. “What’s a concubine?” he asked Aang. 

“I was attempting, Avatar Aang,” Yuda said pointedly, “discretion among polite company.” He glanced at Gyatso. “I’m not going to be the one explaining it to him.”

“Actually, Yuda,” Bumi said, “I’d like for you and only you to explain this word to me.”

Yuda simply turned on his heel and began to leave. “Yuda!” Bumi called after him. “You are defying your prince!”

“I’m getting your mother!” he called over his shoulder. Again, he looked to Gyatso, desperate for some adult sanity in the room. “I do not get paid enough to give him ,” he pointed at Bumi, “the talk.”

Teruko informs you,

Our friend with the big house has informed me of what transpired in Omashu. I understand you only recently spoke with him, and I am aware that whatever training your student has managed in that time is much too little. I would like to propose a plan to you, my friend. And it is only because I know you well that I implore you to read this letter carefully and not make any decision until you have slept. 

Our friend who lives in the fortified city has assured that should you and your student find yourselves there, you would be kept safe. What I propose is this: given what has happened in Omashu, you must take your student to the heartland of the Earth Kingdom with his four tutors and he should not leave that safe haven until the time is right. Your friends can organize for word to be sent to where he studied far in the south of the world, but as you are no doubt aware such arrangements can no longer be made from my nation. 

You and your student can much more easily navigate in and out of this place than any land-bound individual - I invite you into my home, Gyatso, and I will find a teacher who is trustworthy and talented. You will then take these people all together and your student may train and prepare in Ba Sing Se, where he will be safe. You will no longer have to fret about the next steps or the safety of your condition.

I do not expect you to make this decision lightly. You will have to tread carefully here, lest you find yourself in a precarious position. And I can admit that I have a selfish motivation, as well, in that it has been a long time since I have seen your face. You cannot condemn your friend for wanting to see you - but I also want to impart this next information to you. Read on carefully. The skilled ones from this land have been carefully cultivated. Allegiance is the most basic requirement for those who have learned the skills you need - very few who have goodness in their hearts are learned in full, and those with goodness in their hearts cannot leave this place with their lives. Such as it is, it has been brewing strongly for a long time. 

This letter is quite long already, and my hand hurts for writing it. I promise you what I have written here.

Be safe. Think well on this before you decide. 

Their graduation started at dawn. Master Kenji paired them off, each to an evenly-matched classmate and instructed them to begin sparring. Kuzon faced off with Shinji, the two of them each moving through their katas and at Kenji’s hut, they broke form and began sparring in earnest. 

Shinji had, in their training, developed a taste for relentlessness. It fit him, for when they broke kata and began freestyle fighting - many of the students had begun to rely on what was taught in the katas to be a primary fighting style, one move and the next, and the next. Those who had realized the problem with this (principle among them being predictability), had gone Shinji’s same route. Relentlessness pretty much guaranteed the win. If both opponents attempted it, the fight always tipped to the person who got their feet under them first. Only when both opponents used katas and forms was skill the deciding factor.

Shinji hurled nine fire blasts at him in quick succession. Kuzon gritted his teeth, jumping to avoid one, blocking the next, avoiding, blocking. If he just spent his time leaping out of the way he’d exhaust himself and lose. 

When the next blast came, he ducked under the blast and swept his foot in a wide arc, subverting the push-push of the expected fight. It unbalanced Shinji, and in the break, Kuzon knocked him back with another arc and held a fist at his chest, ending the fight.

Kenji walked up and released them. They bowed to one another and looked to Kenji for their critiques. 

“It is refreshing to see you thinking on your feet, Kuzon. I’d be wrong to tell you this wouldn’t have been a wash in a regular fight, but unfortunately, this is my class. And you used an unapproved move, which means you forfeit.”

Kuzon’s jaw dropped. Even Shinji looked uncomfortable. 

“Master Kenji,” he chimed in, “You told us we need to be thinking ahead. I think Kuzon did excellent.”

“Thank you,” Kuzon said quietly, aside.

Kenji frowned, though, pushing Shinji back with a firm palm on his shoulder. “Students are not the ones making those judgments. Masters do.”

Kuzon tried to rein in his temper. If he spoke out of turn, it’d earn him a dismissal and a burn to go with it. “Master Kenji, I won fairly - I didn’t strike from behind, I didn’t go for the face, this is,-” 

“What this is is not your call. You’re still graduating - you’ve improved significantly, but your rule-following needs some work. We’ll talk more about it as a group. Maybe Shinji can show you how to press forward - he does it well.”

With that, Kenji walked away, stopping at other sparring pairs and giving them their critiques. 

Shinji's mouth twisted. “Sorry, Kuzon,” he offered. “I can show you how to do the relentless striking, if you want?”

Kuzon gave him a flat look. His eyes were bright, despite his words - clearly pleased to have lost but still won. Kuzon just huffed and stalked off, sitting on the side wall which was unofficially coming to serve as a loser’s bench. When the last of the pairs finished receiving their critiques, Master Kenji gathered them around. All the winners had congregated together, standing and smiling and waving to proud, spectating parents. Kuzon sat among the quiet sulkers. 

“You students have come a long way. Most of you are now firebenders of acceptable skill. You must always remember, though, that your skills must be continuously honed. Your task as we conclude our lessons here is to hold one another accountable - spar with one another, practice together. If you see a peer who is not practicing, it is your duty to ensure he or she does not slack.”

As Master Kenji spoke, Kuzon felt his peers looking around at each other. 

“I will be speaking with your parents as well, to find those of you interested in my military combat course. Those of you with any vested interest in the good of your nation should take this opportunity. The forms we’ve learned here are very traditional, but military combat requires more flexibility and aggression.”

At this Kuzon perked up. It could be very important, knowing how to fight like the soldiers did.

“This course is also a great opportunity for real-world experience. Upon graduating, you will be brought to some of the new colonies in the east to help our soldiers maintain order for a month. I recommend no one turn this opportunity down. Dismissed!” 

All the air left him at that last detail, whooshing out in a great breath. It didn’t feel like a very good thing if it meant he had to go do actual war work for it.

“I’ve arranged for you to begin Kenji’s military combat course next month. You’re thirteen now, soon you’ll be old enough to join the army. I want to set you up for success, so you can make us proud. So you can make our nation proud,” his father said seriously. Kuzon knew it’d been coming. After the graduation that morning, he’d watched his father speak with Kenji. 

“You had a few run-ins with Kenji before, but I believe that if you are able to be silent and obedient, you will have a great military career ahead of you.”

Kuzon swallowed, resting his palms flat on the dinner table. “Dad…,”

“You simply must curb your talking,” his father continued, serving himself another helping of soup. “Frankly, Kuzon, it’s effeminate.”

“Dad!”

His mom cleared her throat lightly but his father looked only vaguely chastened. “It’s not you, specifically, but it is an effeminate trait. You just talk and talk, and the worst part is you never think about what you say before you say it. It’s important for a military man to be stoic. Keep ‘em guessing, you know? Kenji said you backtalked again after you failed your test.”

“Listen, Dad,” Kuzon tried again. “I-,”

“You’ve been burned a few times already, I’m just not sure how to get through to you about it. You need to be thinking about how your actions reflect on us. When you speak out of turn, it makes us look like ineffectual parents. Tonight- you need more of this behavior - I haven’t heard a word out of you all night. Be more like this in public,” his father advised. 

Kuzon couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “It’s not like anyone could get a word in when you get going,” he grumbled.

His father gave him a withering look and Kuzon acquiesced. “I’m sorry, that was disrespectful.”

“It was,” his father agreed. “And tomorrow you’ll go to Master Kenji himself, let him know you’ll be joining his military course, and promise him that you’ll not speak against him again.”

Kuzon stared at his dad for a long moment before letting the words out in a jumbled rush. “Dad - I don’t want to go into the military.” 

A beat passed as his father stared back uncomprehendingly. “Of course you do, you can’t sit around and do nothing for the rest of your life. Think about what people would say.”

“Master Kenji said that the students who take that class have to go to the colonies for weeks and help the military maintain control - I don’t want to go out there!”

“Kuzon,” his mom said sharply as his father’s eyes bugged out in the way they did only when he was truly mad. “May I speak with you in private?”

“Kanik, let me handle this,” his dad commanded.

“I just need a moment,” his mother said. “Kuzon?” She stood and brought him into the other room, around the corner of the paper doors and as soon as his father was out of sight, she roughly grabbed his chin, moving his head so she could speak into his ear.

“You cannot pick now to take a stand. It will mean nothing, it will do nothing. You just need to grit your teeth and do it. Okay?”

“But-,”

“No,” she cut him off, digging her fingers in his chin and holding his bicep tightly, “You have to do this. I can get you out of going to the colonies, but you have to play along, okay? Tell him you’ll attend the class, and talk to Kenji like he wants.”

“Until when?” he hissed back. “I can’t keep pretending and going along and doing what they want me to do because then it’s no better than doing it for real! It’s worse!” he said, his mom hushing him as his voice began to grow louder.

“We will talk. We will make a plan but we have to be smart about it, okay? Just tell him what he wants to hear.”

She pushed him back into the main room, where his father was standing by the back door, tapping his foot. When Kuzon emerged, he nodded to the door. “Outside. Let’s talk.”

With all the enthusiasm of a criminal going to his execution, Kuzon trudged across the room, dragging his feet. His father shuffled him out the back door. His mom was an obviously-listening silhouette in the window.

“I’ve been soft on you.” His dad grasped his wrist and led him to the end of their property. The front of their home faced the street, but the back overlooked a grassy knoll with his mom’s garden. His dad led him to the peak of the little hill and at the base, he could see the harbor and the ocean.

“This is your home. We are your parents. When you talk nonsense like that, it’s a problem. Look at me,” he commanded. 

Kuzon did, and his father’s grasp on his arm tightened.

“Listen to me carefully. I will not tolerate you talking back anymore. I will not accept your disrespect. I am trying to teach you a lesson before someone else does, but if you won’t learn it, well… you’re just going to have to! And Kenji doesn’t go as easy on you as I do!”

His grip tightened again, and Kuzon flexed his fingers uncomfortably but knew better than to say anything. He was already on the edge.

“You didn’t know what you needed to know when you were younger, and that’s our fault. Maybe that’s why you’re confused now. But you need to grow up. You will do as I say, you will do as Kenji says, you will do as the Fire Lord says. You will not do what Kuzon wants to do. Got it?”

Kuzon nodded. 

“So you’re going to Kenji tomorrow and telling him you will take his class, you will not speak back, and you will use what you learn from him when you join the army.”

Kuzon swallowed and at the hesitation, his father squeezed his wrist once more, painfully. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go inside and go to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” he repeated. 

His father snorted. “You better get used to saying that.”

Kuzon trudged back across the grass while his father stayed behind, watching the sea, his back to the house. When he was at the door, he looked back at his dad, standing there with the ramrod, proud posture of a military man.

Kuzon stared at him for a moment, imagining himself in that uniform, with that ramrod posture. “Fat chance,” he whispered, pushing open the door and letting it slam behind him. 

“I’m coming with you!” Aang insisted. 

“It is far too risky to bring you into the Fire Nation, Aang,” Gyatso said. “I will not allow you to fall into their hands.” He moved about the room, packing his few belongings. The unofficial plan was for Gyatso to travel with one of the guards in a small team to meet Teruko and collect the firebending master she knew was safe. They’d rendezvous back in Omashu and set out together for Ba Sing Se. What was annoying about this plan is that Aang had resoundingly vetoed it but no one was paying attention to that fact. 

“But it’s fine if you do?” 

“It is of far less consequence to the world if I am a casualty than you.” 

Aang scoffed. “Well you would have to get there on Appa, and he’s my bison - I won’t let you take him unless I can go, too!”

“Aang,-”

“And I was the reason we escaped the Air Temple, it’s going to be more dangerous for you if you leave me behind!”

Gyatso closed his eyes. “Aang, please,-”

“You’re only risking this because of me, so you’re putting yourself at risk and I want to be there to help! I don’t understand why I wouldn’t come with you!”

“For my sake, Aang! I don’t want you to come because I want you to be safe!” Gyatso exclaimed. 

“I’m the Avatar. I can’t just hole up and ask others to put themselves in danger for me,” Aang said.

“Would I be more justified in allowing you to travel into the nation which killed our people if you were only an airbender? I must make you understand that your being the Avatar has no relevance in my decision!”

A beat of silence. 

“Everyone is making decisions for you as the Avatar. And one day you’ll be making these decisions yourself. I cannot make a decision thinking of you as the Avatar. I cannot. Not when I remember how you were so excited when you first brought Appa to the temple that you slept in the stables with him for a week. Not when I remember first seeing you as a baby, and-,” he laughed fondly, “you were so fat! Your cheeks were like two giant curd buns!

“Perhaps Dawa was right, that my judgment may be clouded. But is that not also a kind of balance? That some decisions are made because of what you are, and others because of who you are? It would be a lie if I said who you are is not someone very dear to me.”

“I know,” Aang said slowly, his fire tempered somewhat by the churning emotion in the room, “That you want to keep me safe. I want you to be safe, too. And it’s a little unfair if you get to keep me safe all the time and I don’t get to do that for you. It’s like when we were in the South Pole, and Pehar’s storm was happening. You didn’t want to let me handle it because it was dangerous. But this is my duty. I can’t keep fighting with you over it. I just need you to be with me.” 

At his words, Gyatso broke his gaze, bowing his head. Aang crossed the room and in a practiced motion ducked under his arm, resting his head on his teacher’s shoulder. He felt Gyatso rest his cheek on the crown of his head. 

“You are much too wise. I’ve been possessive over you.”

“I know you’re just trying to keep me safe,” Aang said.

“No. No, there’s a great canyon between love and possession. There is no cap that can quell love. To attempt to quell love is as futile as capturing the wind in a jar - to even attempt it, you destroy everything good about it. But in holding you close to my heart I have committed such a transgression as to attempt to enact my will on you, instead of my duty of guiding you. Your destiny is your own. My destiny is you.” 

Still resting his head on Gyatso’s shoulder, Aang reached over and grabbed his hand. “It’ll be safe. Teruko’s been your friend for years.”

“It’s the journey which may be perilous. We have few friends to give us refuge when we arrive there.”

Aang was quiet for a few minutes. The shadows lengthened along the floor, all the colored glass in the window dappling the floor like an intricate mosaic. 

“Gyatso? Do you think Kuzon’s okay?”

Gyatso’s arm squeezed his shoulders. “We can’t know what it’s like there. I cannot in good conscience disbelieve Teruko’s words.”

At Aang’s questioning look, he continued. “There are few with goodness in their hearts, and those who are good are-,” he faltered. “Are culled.”

Aang swallowed. He’d never had an inkling of anything wrong from the Fire Nation, except a handful of people. He’d always just assumed they were unkind individuals. It never occurred to him that these people were symptoms of a deadly growth - that maybe Kuzon had been a gem among them. Rare, hard to find, precious. He hoped he was safe. 

“I can’t believe how fast everything changed. Even here, with the nabbers and Haoran and the people sneaking in Fire Nation soldiers. It’s like everyone’s gone crazy,” Aang said, eyes downcast. 

Gyatso squeezed his shoulder once more and stood. “Come.”

Aang didn’t move, staring up at him questioningly.

“It is in times of great emotion that I find peace in busy hands and comfort in sweet provisions,” Gyatso said, eyes sparkling, lungs breathing. Alive and whole and with him now. 

Aang grinned. “Can we make honey hearts?”

Gyatso sighed, laying a hand over his heart. “My pupil, it is as if we are of one mind.”

The kitchen was nearly empty when they arrived, one lone cook in the corner prepping for the palace dinner.

Gyatso assembled the ingredients while Aang flitted around gathering mixing bowls and a deep pot, stoking the fire in the stove with a few extra logs. 

“Aang, please pay attention. This is very important,” Gyatso said seriously. Aang hopped atop the counter to watch.

“Before, and I must stress before assembling your ingredients it is imperative,” he placed a hand on top of the open jar of flour. With a quick gust of air, the flour poofed in the jar, nearly doubling in size. Soft clouds of white hung in the air by his hand, moving in lazy swirls. “That you aerate the flour. Otherwise the dough will go flat and there will be no room for compote.”

Aang placed his hand on top of the other jar of flour and mimicked the movement, giving it a little too much energy and producing a much larger cloud of flour, which flew into his face. He blinked it out of his eyes and after a beat, let out a huge sneeze, which sent him into the air and the jar into the other wall, where it smashed into a huge, white cloud which hung suspended in the kitchen in a billowy powder. 

“Well. I aerated it!” 

Gyatso raised a single, bushy eyebrow. “You certainly did.” 

A focused tunnel of air cleared the excess flour and jar shards into the trash heap, and they began assembling the dough. 

“Have I ever told you about the four-horned rhinoceros yak?” Gyatso asked as they worked. 

Aang thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I think I’d remember a four-horned rhinoceros yak.”

“Allow me to tell you now. A long time ago, before the Eastern temple was built, there was a nun, Akanksha, who tended a herd of rhinoceros yaks with her two sisters, Lata and Bermet. Now Lata, the oldest and wisest among them, was deeply spiritual. She was renowned for her wisdom and had achieved a great spiritual maturity. She was, however, fond of Bermet and would bring her lotus flowers from the lake and would entertain her with stories. Akanksha was jealous of the bond between the two other sisters and felt herself neglected by them, and in desiring the treatment Bermet was receiving, came to resent her. One day, one of the rhinoceros yaks - a great, four-horned beast - brought Bermet a vine of rare, fragrant jasmine. 

“Akanksha was so moved by her desire that she meditated and prayed and wished to become the daughter of a great hunter-king in the west. Upon her death, she was reborn as the youngest and favorite daughter of a great hunter-king, ruling over a swath of the eastern Earth Kingdom. As she grew, she was the most clever and intelligent of the king’s daughters. Her father was fond of her, and promised that she would not want for any desire.” 

The dough had come together and they began pulling off small, plum-sized pieces and rolling them into balls.

“Akanksha remembered her jealousy and told her father that she had a vision of a four-horned rhinoceros yak. Her father gathered the greatest hunters in his clan and selected a man without family to travel to where the rhinoceros yaks lived and to retrieve the horns from this beast.”

“If she remembered her previous life, why didn’t she remember the Air Nomad teachings? Why was she okay with hurting the rhinoceros yak?” Aang asked, interrupting. 

“Desire is a poisonous thing, untempered. All suffering is the result of our own desires. As I was saying,” Gyatso continued, pouring oil into the deep-bottom pot and setting it over the heat. 

“Akanksha waited for the hunter to return with the horns of this rhinoceros yak. The man traveled for four months before coming to where they lived, and found the four-horned being. He disguised himself as a monk, and attacked the creature. Throwing his spear at it, the rhinoceros yak was wounded but not killed, and nearly destroyed the man before seeing his orange robes. The creature asked him, ‘Kind monk, why do you hurt me?’

“The hunter told the rhinoceros yak about the vision of the king’s daughter and the beast understood. He knelt and allowed the hunter to cut off his horns, and died. The hunter remained as the other creatures and the nuns anointed his body and gave him funeral rites, understanding the significance of the horns.”

The oil came up to temperature, and Gyatso continued to talk as they fried the dough, the sizzling and popping of the oil fading into the background of Gyatso’s lilting, storytelling voice. 

“When the hunter returned and presented the horns to Akanksha, he told her the great beast had been slain. Hearing this, she was overcome with grief and remorse, and the horns - once the symbols of the affection she was denied, were sour to her. She died of her grief and upon rebirth, she was born into the order in the east again. She found, in this life, her sister Lata - now an elder abbess. Hearing her speak, Akanksha recalled her previous lives and was filled with pain for her actions. She went to Lata’s reincarnation and told her the story. In telling her story, many of the women were moved deeply and committed themselves to the order. Lata welcomed her with a sisterly love, and in this life, Akanksha achieved great wisdom, leading others to forgo their desires and achieve great inner peace.” 

They retrieved the dough from the oil and set it aside to cool. Aang considered the story as they brushed the fried dough with honey. Gyatso moved away, pulling a jar of plum and apple compote from the cupboards, and Aang bent a breeze through each piece to cool them faster, the breeze lifting the intoxicating scent of hot bread into the air. It smeared a bit of honey on the wall, but that was fine. 

“So Akanksha,” Aang started. “Was someone who should’ve known better than to hurt the rhinoceros yak, but did it anyway. And even though it couldn’t be undone, the fact is that she learned what she did was wrong. And the fact that she did something wrong and learned from it was good, even - because it helped others learn from her mistake.”

“Very good. But what else?” Gyatso prompted. Aang hummed, thinking. Silently, they moved in tandem, slicing open the cooled dough balls and smearing each one generously with compote. 

“So, I think what’s confusing is why the rhinoceros yak allowed the hunter to kill him and take his horns. And why the hunter figures out that it’s wrong, but then still brings the horns to Akanksha.”

“What do you believe is the reason for these things?”

He didn’t answer immediately. After a while he spoke.

“So, the rhinoceros yak understood that it was Akanksha behind it all, right?”

Gyatso nodded. 

“Well… maybe he knew that his death would help her understand.”

“Do you think it is such that some beings must die for the growth of others?” 

Aang started, scandalized. “No. No... but maybe he understood that Akanksha’s will was going to happen anyway, and understood the ways that it’d all flow together. And understanding that nothing he could do was going to change it meant that he thought accepting his fate was better than the alternative - which would be killing the hunter. So he gave his life instead of taking one. In a way, he saved Akanksha and the hunter.”

“And tell me about the hunter. What do you think his role in the story is?”

As Aang thought, Gyatso offered him a honey heart, still warm, making his hands sticky with honey and compote. 

“I don’t know. He doesn’t really change - he kind of just gets thrown around by others. The king sends him away to hunt the rhinoceros yak, and then the rhinoceros yak tried to kill him but doesn’t. But then deciding whether or not to go with it is also not really his decision - because if the rhinoceros yak wanted to fight back, he would’ve had a chance to realize that it could kill him. And then maybe change his mind. But because the rhinoceros yak accepts his fate, then the hunter is just doing what everyone wants him to do, I guess?”

Gyatso hummed. Aang took a bite and waited for him to respond. He hadn’t gotten a story like that since they were in the Temple. As much as he enjoyed the story part, melting into the misty, bright world Gyatso could conjure up with a few frank words, he liked the after part almost more. Being able to dig in, to try to parse out meaning and motive, and the way things from the beginning connected with things at the end. 

“It is interesting how little agency the hunter has. But we could talk about this story for hours. What its ultimate message is is very simple. Each of us has a destiny. Each of our destinies’ is intertwined with another. And we all stumble and fall and run towards our fates, often without realizing it. Many people have as much agency in their destiny as the hunter. But there is a difference in the fate that you are dealt and the fate you choose. You, for example. You didn’t choose to be the Avatar, you were simply dealt… let’s call it a poor Pai Sho hand by the universe. But you choose, every day, to stumble towards goodness, and justice, and peace.”

Aang blushed, glancing away, but Gyatso placed his hand on his cheek, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I am very proud of you,” he said, frank and sincere. 

Aang knew his eyes were shining, but Gyatso didn’t address it, didn’t ask for him to speak through the lump in his throat. He patted Aang’s cheek and helped himself to a honey heart. 

“When we get to Ba Sing Se, we should make a pie,” Aang said. 

Gyatso smiled at him. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

“I have sent out communications to my contact in Ba Sing Se,” Gyatso said, foisting his pack over his shoulder and adjusting the straps of his salakot. Their disguises, this time around, were in the red and black tones common in the Fire Nation. Any careful glance at them would evoke suspicion - though Aang had stopped shaving his head several days ago in anticipation of his disguise, Gyatso knew he was no longer young enough to have that luxury. Bumi and Guanyu as well, with their bright green eyes and dark skin would also be suspicious in the Fire Nation, among a paler population with eyes of brown or gold. Their best bet was to avoid close-quarter contact with anyone.

“I, too, have alerted my troops and the Earth King that you will be coming. I’ve sent an envoy to the South Pole to extract Master Aluki, if possible. It is impossible, even in the most extreme circumstances, to pierce the walls of Ba Sing Se. I am deeply sorry that Omashu was not the safe haven it should have been.”

“Nonsense. Your continued effort makes it so. Why else would our kin have picked this place for refuge?”

The Queen smiled, ever proper and demure. “I will miss your friendship,” she told him, bowing, her great long sleeves sweeping the green-tiled floors. 

“And I, yours. Thank you for your hospitality, Queen Devika,” he said, bowing low in return.

As they straightened, Devika grasped his hands. Her fingers tightened around his, a private message carrying their shared fears. “Watch over him, please.”

“With everything I have,” he promised. “Don’t let the council get under your skin, diminished as it is.”

She snorted a laugh, releasing his hands. “I’ve gotten used to Bumi being here to take them down a notch. I’ve gotten rusty over the years.”

“I am quite certain you can think of ways to entertain yourself. And a busy time to be had training the new members,” Gyatso said. She laughed again and linked her arm in his, leading him to the courtyard. Guanyu was rearranging Bumi’s pack, discarding the seemingly randomly-selected items he’d opted to pack, including one of the baby goat-gorillas. Aang was hugging Senge, and they were both enveloped in Palmo’s arms. 

A number of provisions had been loaded atop Appa’s saddle, and the long-drawn out goodbye and headfirst tumble into danger was so much the opposite of their previous departure. Everytime prior, they’d fled suddenly, without warning, into safety. Here, they steel themselves to dive blindly into the den of beasts. 

Gyatso wouldn’t have entertained the offer from any others - but Teruko was a friend to him before either of them ever got involved in the White Lotus. Her allegiance to the organization was another mark which calmed his nerves. They only had to arrive and depart safely, able to take their new companion to Ba Sing Se where they’d hunker down until Aang was ready. The plan was the best they could do, but it twisted his stomach nevertheless. He looked over at Aang, grinning, sandwiched between Bumi and Senge. He felt as though he’d be delivering this bright boy to a dark room to ready him for combat, throwing him into the thick of it all like an over-sharpened sword, alone and untested. 

He shook his head minutely, dismissing the thought. No peace was ever made with a weapon, and Aang was no weapon. 

“Monk Gyatso,” the Queen said, patting his arm. “Have you got your provisions?”

“I do,” he answered, shaken from the reverie of his thoughts. 

“Then it is best to depart now. You should arrive at their shore just after dusk. I suppose this whole ordeal was fortuitous,” she said offhandedly. “Haoran proved a better source of intelligence on their movements than our own infiltrators.”

“I suppose I should thank him before I leave,” Gyatso joked, earning another snorted laugh. It wasn’t something he could ever tell her, but it sounded exactly like her son’s. 

Their two groups silently switched off, Gyatso sharing his goodbyes with Palmo and Senge, Bumi and Aang approaching Devika. From the corner of his eye, Gyatso watched as Aang spoke to her and bowed, making his way over to the three other nomads to give Devika and her son privacy. 

Gyatso let his thoughts stray over land, over the walls of Ba Sing Se. If there were Air Nomads there, if there were nabbers, and how they were faring, respectively. He resolved to ask Amihan when they arrived, to see if they could create another healing atmosphere like this, a taste of home like the single drop of nectar on the stamen of a honeysuckle. 

The four of them loaded onto Appa’s back, Aang sitting on his head, the reins in his hand when he gasped and jumped into the air, landing lightly in front of Palmo.

“Nun Palmo!”

She raised her eyebrows. 

“Pupil Aang?”

“Why do you shave to the crown of your head? What’s so important about the crown?” he asked suddenly, patting the top of his own head for emphasis. 

Palmo blinked once. “The crown of the head is the seat of the thought chakra,” she answered.

Aang frowned up at her, startling slightly as Guanyu cleared his throat. Gyatso beckoned him back.

“Aang, time is of the essence.”

“But I don’t know why you shave the crown of your head,” he said imploringly to Palmo. “I don’t even know what a chakra is.” 

Palmo placed her hand on his shoulder and walked him back to Appa. “Why don’t I explain it to you when we meet again?” she said, patting his back in a shooing motion until he got back on Appa’s head.

He hedged, fiddling with the reins. 

“I promise, you will know the answer soon. However, it would be a hearty discussion of philosophy. More than we have time for now. Go, be safe,” she said, eyes flitting back to Gyatso, the two of them exchanging a small nod.

Aang looked down at her, then over to the Queen, and Senge, and Yuda standing cross-armed in the corner.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “All of you, for everything.”

With that, he snapped the reins and they rose into the air, flying towards the sinking sun in the west.

Chapter Text

Flying into enemy territory wasn’t as frightening as maybe it should’ve been. Aang brought Appa high above the cloud line and focused on the air currents bringing them further west, basking in the moving wind. This high, the air was thin and cold - something Gyatso and he were used to but Bumi and Guanyu were not. Bumi had dug a wool blanket from his pack and wrapped it over his head and was bundled up in it, but Guanyu just tucked his hands under his armpits and pulled up his collar.

The pair of them made a slightly strange sight, two cold earthbenders on a sky bison, surrounded by clouds all orange and yellow. They looked like a pair of out-of-place figures on an Air Temple fresco. 

The plan was relatively simple. A three day in-and-out trip. One night in the woods, one night to meet Teruko and collect her and Aang’s firebending master, then out. Quick and easy. Hopefully. 

Bumi, all bundled in his woolen blanket, was peering over the edge of the saddle. They’d gone flying a few times but he’d never overlanded on a bison before and was peering out over the shapes and colors of the earth. Aang loved this part, taking people who’d never flown or never seen the earth from so high before and showing it to them. He sidled next to Bumi and watched the ground with him, arms extended out, dangling over the side. Behind them, Gyatso and Guanyu pored over the map, all colored in with places marked off in red or circled in green. 

“How do you guys know where it’s safe to land?” Aang asked after a while, flopping backwards backwards on the saddle, staring up at the two men. “The war started months ago. How can you know where all the soldier’s camps are at?”

“Our friends tell us,” Gyatso said simply. “You know I’ve been in contact with Teruko. Her and other contacts of ours work together to give us the information we need.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, too,” Bumi said, poking his face out from the cover of the blanket and turning for the first time away from the sight of the ground beneath them. “Why do you know everyone?”

Guanyu, uncharacteristically, looked to Gyatso, as curious as the two boys for the answers behind his many connections. Gyatso settled back against the lip of Appa’s saddle, folding his hands across his belly. 

“When you live as long as I have and traveled as far, it is quite impossible not to make friends.”

Bumi frowned at him. “But all your friends seem to know a lot of big information.”

“I mean,” Aang said, swinging his legs to hang off the side of Appa’s saddle. “You and I are friends and we’re the Avatar and the Prince of Omashu. We know big information,” he said reasonably. 

Bumi considered this for a moment, fixating his gaze on a spot very near Aang’s left elbow. “I guess so.” He sat up straight. “Who else do you know?” he asked suspiciously. 

Aang thought for a moment. “Well, I know Balkhid. She’s the daughter of a mystic who lives on the edge of the Si-Won desert and they grow this weird, furry vine that makes a tea that helps them enter the Spirit World. She told me she met an elephant that speaks only truths. And I guess you know we’re close with Aluki and Aaju. And you have big friends, too.”

Bumi nodded slowly. “I suppose I do. For example, we welcomed the Earth King for dinner last New Year. He rarely leaves the Inner Ring, but we managed to convince him that our whole roasted - well, I shan’t say, as I know you find meat and butchery distasteful. Either way, Guanyu knows the story. For reference - this will be important later, so do take note - the day before the New Year we had a truly astonishing rainstorm. Every mail chute was flooded. The sewers were leaking, the city smelled horrendous,” Bumi began, clasping his hands over his nose for effect. Gyatso looked at the two boys, enthralled in their story-sharing. After a moment, he and Guanyu continued their examination of the map, their plotting of stops. 

The cloud cover was a blessing and a curse. It had appeared over the ocean as they flew into Fire Nation territory - it hid them well but it made it difficult to navigate. Of course, it wasn’t navigating in the traditional sense, which came second-nature to them. But the careful navigation of figuring out where each settlement was below them, that would spot them in a second if the clouds parted, or where in the wilderness was unsafe, where training camps and outposts had cropped up over the last few months. 

It was still light out, but it’d been nearly a day since they’d departed from Omashu and Appa was showing signs of exhaustion. He’d dip low until his feet skimmed the top of the clouds before jerking suddenly back up. They needed to land soon and hopefully be able to catch a few hours’ sleep before taking the final leg to Teruko’s home. They dipped through the clouds and found themselves in a heavily wooded area, cut through by a valley, which seemed as good a place as any to land and rest.

Appa touched down in the clearing and Aang slid off the side of Appa’s head, giving an enormous stretch. Behind him, Bumi stood from where he’d been camped on the saddle, looked over at Aang and without breaking eye contact, cracked his spine at a truly astonishing volume. 

Gyatso also remained where he sat, studying the large green mountains in the distance. Guanyu stared up at him, hands on his hips. “This is the place?”

Gyatso nodded slowly. “Yes. They’ve been clearing the trees,” he said, pointing at a long, sharp line of grey dirt at the edge of the valley. “They’ll be a few miles away, but I think it’s best if we hold a watch tonight.”

“I can do that.”

Gyatso waved his hand flippantly. “We’ll trade off,” he said, but Guanyu shook his head before Gyatso finished speaking.

“It’ll be better if you’re well-rested to navigate tomorrow. This is what I came along for,” Guanyu said reasonably. After a moment, Gyatso nodded. 

“Very well. In that case, the boys and I can unpack - you should get some rest before nightfall.”

He hesitated a moment before Bumi interjected.

“You heard the monk. Now nap,” he commanded, hurling a sleeping bag down at him. 

Guanyu declined to unpack the sleeping bag, simply resting his head on it and going to sleep directly on the ground. Meanwhile, Aang and Bumi started - Well. Unpacking would have been a generous description. Their items were flung from Appa’s saddle haphazardly, littering the ground around Gyatso.

Gyatso took watch over the group as the sun continued to sink beyond the horizon, the sky deep blue and orange. Watching the two boys work, taking frequent breaks to pet and praise Appa, he felt a pang of regret for allowing them to come along. 

Thinking through every option, he supposed he could have gone with just himself and Guanyu, or perhaps another guard. They could have requested use of Bya, though that itself would have been a great ask of dear Palmo. She and Devika would have had to rein Aang in, kept a close eye on him. Even in this fantasy, where Aang is safe in the Earth Kingdom, Gyatso sees him in his mind’s eye, following on Appa in secret. Gyatso sighed, rustling the grass near his feet. His dear charge, so stubborn - not like an earthbender, digging in his feet and refusing to move, but like himself. Planning and slipping about, somehow always appearing exactly where he intends to be. 

The boys continued to unpack Appa’s saddle, and Gyatso entered the woods, surveying the land near their camp. He walked just a few minutes into the trees. They hadn’t seen anything major from the sky, but anything could lurk within this place. 

He covered the periphery. The nature of the Fire Nation was, frankly, unparalleled. It boasted such soft, green grass, and tall, weeping trees that trailed out flowers of white and pink, their trunks all covered with moss, enveloping every inch of this earth in life. The rich black soil allowed those lovely plants to simply sing. Oh, it wasn’t his Air Temple, with creeping flowers of orange and yellow and blue, making their merry journey along the cracks of their stone and the lush, tall grass at the base of their mountain. But he still breathed in deep.

Nearly back to where he started, Gyatso was ready to call it clear when he heard human voices, vague and quiet, far in the distance. On a gust of air, he leapt into the branch of a tree, leaping up and up until he could see far above the brush. The thick greenery made it difficult to see but after a moment, he spotted it. A clearing, small but present, with a thin veil of smoke rising above the trees.

He did not stick around to see who it was. A battalion of soldiers or a simple group of travelers making camp for the night, either was unacceptable so near to them. 

Gyatso leaned backwards from his branch, creating a pillow of air just before the ground rushed up to meet him, fluttering his clothing and sending a poor mountain-deer fleeing. 

He bustled back to the group, finding Guanyu still in his nap and Aang and Bumi resting happily against Appa’s side. 

“We’ll need to relocate. There’s a presence nearby.”

Aang and Bumi looked around at the scattered packs, and Appa’s freshly-removed saddle. “How nearby, exactly?” Aang asked. 

Gyatso laughed slightly. “Far too close for comfort.” 

Aang breathed out a longsuffering sigh but he and Bumi dutifully began the arduous process of re-packing Appa’s saddle and waking poor Guanyu from his too-short nap. With an apology and a promise to give him a cartful of melons the second they got back into the Earth Kingdom, Aang coaxed Appa back up and they returned to the air.

They flew through the night, Appa listing ever so slightly to his left, the way he did every single time he got tired. 

“We’re going to need to land. Appa has to rest,” Aang said to the group. Appa groaned in agreement, beginning a descent before anyone else could say a word. 

Guanyu and Gyatso crowded around the map again, muttering under their breaths. “We are very much within settlements at the moment,” Guanyu noted. “Can he make it a few more hours?” 

“He cannot go much longer,” Gyatso jumped in. “Appa has been most gracious, but carrying extra passengers and extra baggage is an exhausting feat for any creature. He has been so very accommodating of our mission,” he said, reaching over the saddle and patting Appa’s side. Aang leaned forward, hugging Appa’s broad forehead. 

“You have! You’re amazing, huh Appa,” he crooned, dropping a kiss in the very center of the bison’s head. Appa grumbled, but flicked his tail, energy ever so slightly renewed with the praise. 

Bumi grinned. “Truly, Appa! I suppose if I were a bison I would have been much, much crankier. Your patience is appreciated. I think I shall make you a friend of Omashu when we return!” 

Appa groaned again, and began to eat the distance up just a little faster. Eventually they came to a valley with a river. The sun was just beginning to rise and Appa needed the break. They all did, really. Surveying the land around the valley, they didn’t see anything, though the thick trees made it difficult to be certain. 

Finding the ground sufficiently clear, Appa only needed the slightest nudge to land, groaning as he landed in the meadow and walking heavily towards the river, taking a long drink. Aang and Bumi unpacked quickly and settled into their sleeping bags. Gyatso, too, laid down to sleep with Guanyu watching over the group. Aang sighed in his sleeping bag, the sky just beginning to turn a deep blue that spoke of dawn. Appa grumbled, still bearing his saddle, but even Aang could admit that the time it might take to resaddle him in an emergency would leave them too vulnerable for comfort. In the cool, early morning, the stars arced over them and the river babbled quietly. Aang thought how lovely this campsite would be if they were not wanted dead or alive before rolling over and getting some much-needed rest.

He slept without dreams.

What felt like just a few minutes later, he was shaken awake. His eyes felt crusty but he must’ve slept longer than he thought because the sun was well enough up. Without the urgency that being shaken awake should have given him, he thought that this time in the morning was for gardening, before it got too late in the day and the sun’s heat too brutal. The urgency quickly descended on him when he realized that Guanyu was frantically trying to get them on Appa. Aang leapt out of his sleeping bag, grabbing his staff and peering around the meadow. Bumi, too, rolled up and into a stance. Gyatso was scanning the line of trees. 

The soldiers materialized out of the woods, giving them no time to escape, about a dozen of them in their frightening uniforms, all spikes and skull masks. Aang and Gyatso fell back-to-back, clearing the soldiers out of their way. Appa roared and swept his tail into a line of approaching men, sending them flying back. Bumi stood still, watching with sharp eyes as the soldiers approached. At the last second, he tensed and sprung into a kick, flipping the ground over, trapping soldiers’ legs under stone, and stomped, sending a shockwave through the ground around him. Aang resisted the urge to bend anything other than air - as easy as it’d be to send a water whip and grab the soldiers by the ankles, it would bring wrath tenfold on them if word got around that the Avatar was in the Fire Nation. 

Aang snapped his glider around, sending a sharp gust down into the sand on the river bank, blasting it up into a soldier’s eyes who was approaching Gyatso from behind.

Their little group had mostly dispersed the soldiers, but Guanyu was still fighting off a handful of men. Bumi struck the ground with his heel, and a snake of earth traveled in a shockwave to one of them, throwing him up into the air like he weighed nothing. Aang leapt forward and in flying over a soldier’s head, twisted the man’s shirt up over his face, covering his eyes. He stumbled and fell back onto the ground, where Bumi buried him up to his shoulders. Gyatso quickly dispatched the other soldier and Guanyu struck the final man on the temple with a dense stone, and the man dropped, unconscious. 

“There’s probably more. We must’ve landed near a base camp,” Guanyu said, panting. Gyatso took Aang and Bumi each by the arm, leading them towards Appa. 

“Let’s go. We’ll need to find somewhere else,” he said, hopping lightly onto Appa’s head. Aang took Bumi around the waist and bent them both on a gust of air into the saddle. 

“Guanyu! Hurry up!” Bumi shouted. Guanyu hurried forward, but almost quicker than it could register, one of the men Bumi had trapped by the legs broke free, and with a sharp kick, the soldier sent a white arc of flame at Guanyu’s back. In a flash, the man crumpled and Aang jumped down, whipping his staff down in a hard line, sending the soldier flying back into the trunk of a tree, his skull hitting it audibly. He turned and looked at Guanyu before looking down and away. The sight was far too reminiscent of what’d happened at the temple all those months ago. 

Bumi was stock still, leaning over the side of the saddle, his eyes wide and glued to the scene, Guanyu in a heap on the ground. After a second, he flinched back, clapping a hand over his nose. It was suddenly bizarrely quiet, the ghastly sight out of place as the river babbled and birds took up their songs again in the quiet aside from rushing fire and sweeping air. 

“Aang, we have to go,” Gyatso said quietly. It was difficult, stepping around the man, but he stepped forward and grasped Gyatso’s outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. Gyatso snapped the reins and Appa let out a low, mournful groan before taking off. 

The ground rushed away from them. “Wait,” Bumi said hoarsely. “We left him.”

Aang climbed over the edge of the saddle and knelt next to him, wrapping his arms around Bumi’s shoulders. Bumi didn’t react outwardly, just turned and looked at Aang with a dumbfounded expression. “We left him.”

Appa kept ascending, the wind rushing in their ears, but Bumi dropped his gaze back to the scene below, fast becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape, the turned over earth and the bodies on the ground already nothing more than dots below them.

“There was nothing we could do for him, Bumi,” Aang said softly, sitting back from the hug but grasping Bumi’s hand in his own. 

Bumi gripped back tightly but didn’t say a word as Appa brought them deeper into the Fire Nation. They continued to fly until the sky streaked with orange and pink and the sun hung low in the clouds. They flew through the day on only a few hours’ sleep - there was really no way they could go through the night again. The air around Appa seemed to have its own atmosphere, a heavy, dense weight in the air, and despite the breeze and distance between them and the place they’d just left, an acrid scent lingered. Gyatso turned and grabbed his glider from the saddle.

“I’m going to look to see if there is a safe place for us to land,” he told Aang, still glued to Bumi’s side. Aang nodded and Gyatso took off, dipping into the clouds. Bumi was still and silent, his eyes far away and unfocused. Aang recalled his own silence, taking off in a hurry and leaving loved ones dead where they fell. The way no noise seemed to penetrate the ringing in his ears. 

After a few minutes, Gyatso returned. “We’re in the Iki To Sora forest,” he reported. “It sits between two large mountain ranges, and if my memory serves me, it is sparsely inhabited. I saw no signs of anyone down there.”

“We should land, then. Appa must be exhausted,” Aang said. Appa let out a low, tired groan and began descending. As they broke through the clouds, the forest came into view, so dark and thick it looked like an ocean of green. Gyatso navigated carefully, and brought Appa down in a small clearing of felled trees, their bark and wood rotting and mossy. A dewy carpet of grass covered the forest floor, speckled with dandelions and wild garlic. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Appa splayed out on his belly heaving a long-suffering sigh, so exhausted that he started grazing on the dandelions and garlic while barely lifting his head. The area smelled of life, of creeping greenery and water in the air. In the trees, a woodpecker hidden in the foliage pecked out a sharp, regular rhythm. 

Bumi moved for the first time since the fight, sliding off Appa’s back and landing heavy on his feet. Gyatso walked in a perimeter around their camp area, looking for any signs of others. Bumi sat on a rotting log, his hands flat on his knees as Aang unpacked some of their items, setting Guanyu’s pack on Appa’s opposite side, out of his view. He unlatched Appa’s saddle and scratched under his matted fur. In this place they seemed a thousand miles away from life.

Gyatso returned, apparently satisfied that they were alone in the deep, dark forest, and began gathering extras of the dandelions and garlic sprouts and bringing them to Appa, who’d cleared his local area but was still too exhausted to get to his feet again. Aang dug in his own pack, pulling out some cloth-wrapped paratha and a jar of eggplant mash, making a small dinner for each of them. Bumi accepted his, but tore off tiny chunks of the bread and ate them mechanically. None of them had said more than a few words since Guanyu had been killed. 

As the sun set, the interior of the forest grew pitch black. Gyatso sat, leaning against Appa’s side, and soon enough Aang joined him on his right, Bumi on his left. He put his arms around them and the three settled in for a long night.

Gyatso awoke with two numb arms and a tickle on his nose. Unfortunately, due to the two numb arms, he was unable to brush away whatever was doing the tickling. He wrinkled his nose but the brushing atop his mustache continued. He sneezed. The second unfortunate event of the morning was that he was somewhat still asleep when he did so, having forgotten in the amnesia that a deep, exhausted sleep wrought that he was not alone. 

Of course he was a master airbender - he was well-practiced enough to not fly ten feet in the air every time he sneezed. This rather inconveniently didn’t correlate with lessened force, and as he sneezed, the air rushed down towards the ground where the unyielding earth redirected it upwards into the unsuspecting, sleeping faces of his two young charges. Awakening them rather abruptly. 

The two boys reacted a bit dramatically. After all, it was only air. Bumi threw himself to the side, rolling to his feet and settling into a bending stance, looking around bewildered with tired eyes. His hair stuck up even more than usual. Aang, in contrast, had flown up and attached himself to Appa’s horn, brandishing his glider and sending an arc of air out in a half circle across the camp. The wind traveled through the dewy grass and shook a veritable rain storm of dew from the tree branches. 

After a moment, the two boys seemed to realize there was no threat. Gyatso sniffed. 

“Excuse me.”

Aang let out a relieved peal of laughter, jumping down from Appa’s horn. 

“That was a big one,” he laughed. He shook out his hands and rubbed his eyes, shaking off the sudden wake-up call. 

Bumi was still in his stance, eyes wide. “You sneezed?” he asked.

Gyatso nodded. “My apologies for startling you, Prince Bumi,” he said softly. Bumi held his stance for a beat more, then straightened, giving Gyatso a single, jerky nod. 

Aang knelt next to their bags, rationing out a cup of water to each of them. The levity of the wake-up had faded quickly, the events of yesterday peering over their shoulders like the sun between the tree branches. Gyatso pulled the map out of his bag and found their forest quickly. “We traveled well past the Kiri Fukai mountains. We should be able to reach Teruko within the day.”

The two boys simply nodded, packing their items quickly. Appa took his moment, as well, drinking from the little creek nearby and shaking off his fur before allowing himself to be re-saddled. 

As Aang gathered more of the dandelions and brought them to Appa, Gyatso quietly took Bumi by the shoulder and brought him out of earshot. The boy frowned but didn’t say anything, uncharacteristically quiet since his guard was killed. 

“It is difficult, traveling through hostile land,” Gyatso remarked to him. “More difficult still, to bear a loss and be unable to grieve.”

“It’s nothing like I thought it’d be,” said Bumi, voice low. He was boisterous, normally, and seemed to enjoy bending the laws of society just to see how people reacted. Seeing him like this, a child bearing an adult’s burden, grieved Gyatso. 

“Life never is. Death never is, either.”

He’d never revealed his friends to Aang, not truly. He was far too much an open book for something like that. Thinking of this, Gyatso reached into one of his pockets and pulled out the object. He’d had it for so long, the absence of its weight in his pocket was immediately foreign. But it was only an item. More than that, one that might serve another purpose, yet.

“Your mother tells me you don’t favor Pai Sho, much,” Gyatso said lightly. 

“It’s boring. I can never concentrate on it. The tiles travel really far, though, when you throw them,” he said, just a hint of a smile flashing across his face. Gone before it took root. 

Gyatso allowed himself a laugh at that. “I suppose they do. It can be boring, if you think of it as tiles on a board.”

Bumi raised one bushy brow. “It is tiles on a board.”

Gyatso hummed. He’d have to tread lightly here. “I like to think of Pai Sho as the players. Not of you and your tiles, but you and your counterpart. It is healing to the mind and to the spirit, to be amongst friends,” Gyatso said. He watched Aang tie the reins to Appa’s horns.

“I have made many playing Pai Sho,” he said, reaching out his hand. Bumi, brows furrowed, opened his hand. In it, Gyatso placed that old charm, the spark of so many conversations, the begetter of so many friendships. Bumi frowned, looking at the old tile in his hands, the lotus on its face worn with time, obviously confused. Gyatso only gave him a smile, and walked back to the camp. They had somewhere to be. 

Aang navigated for the last leg. They’d arrive at Teruko’s towards the end of the day, camp for the night. Tomorrow night, he’d have a firebending master. They’d head off to Ba Sing Se and he would be able to train and learn in safety. Behind the guard of Ba Sing Se and its thousands of walls. He took a moment to bury his face in Appa’s fur and wondered when exactly things had gone so crazy. 

Ba Sing Se was probably where a lot of the boys from home had gone. They hadn’t been in Gaoling, and they hadn’t been in Omashu. So the majority of them had probably gone to the city for its safety. The monks had never spoken… favorably about Ba Sing Se. It was so opposite their own, strata of poor and rich, servants and nobles. 

Aang wondered about his people from home. The other temples, during the attack, had fared far worse than the Southern Temple, off everything he’d heard from Palmo and Mahesh. But he wondered why they’d found so few from home in their travels. Ba Sing Se was the only place that made sense. He took a deep, musky breath and lifted his face from Appa’s head. When he did, he no longer saw the green trees of the forest. The land beneath them was brown and blackened.

“What is that?” Aang said, almost breathed, as the clouds below them began to clear. He heard Bumi and Gyatso react, both, on the saddle behind him. Across the southern side of the mountain, the vibrant green of the trees cut out abruptly, giving way to brown, compact dirt. The trees in the forest were all felled in one direction, laying on their side, and as the wind snaked through the dead branches, the dry leaves fluttered through the air like foam on the ocean. Patches of darker brown dappled the ground. The dead, packed earth was pocked by several long coils - one particular thick, dark line was cutting through the desolation, as wide as a road and decently as long. Ignoring the foreboding feeling creeping along the back of his neck, Aang urged Appa down. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t listen, groaning mournfully and trying to lift back up. 

“C’mon Appa,” Aang pleaded, “That’s not normal.”

“What are those?” Bumi asked, peering over the edge of the saddle, brows furrowed. “Could they be those things you mentioned? That move over land?”

“No,” Aang said, staring down at the strange shapes. “Those tanks were the size of carriages. What do you think, Gyatso?”

Gyatso was staring down at the earth with pursed lips. “I don’t believe this is some secret technology,” he said, watching the ground move slowly beneath them. “But I do believe this is manmade.”

Aang urged Appa downwards again, and after a short, annoyed snort, he obeyed. The deadened trees showed them well enough no one was around to spot them. They dipped down, and the fuzzy details of the ground became clearer. Behind him, Aang heard Gyatso gasp. 

“What?” he asked, “What are they?”

As they descended, the dark shapes began to take on color, no longer just shadows from the ground. They cut lines in the earth of blue, green, red, yellow. 

Bumi groaned, hiding his eyes in his arms, crossed on the edge of the saddle. Aang sat in shock as his mind caught up to what he was seeing. Far from the majestic creatures he’d once spent the better part of a day watching fly over a dark, fast river, these animals were like the trees. Hacked down and left to rot.

Appa landed, brandishing his tail, signaling to take off again, but Aang slid off his head - Appa grumbled, settling in for Aang’s sake and Aang’s sake only. 

He walked up to one of the massive creatures, hearing Gyatso and Bumi disembark behind him, equally as stunned as they took in the sight.

Dragons, dozens of them, laid bloated and butchered across the forest floor. The decay under the sun was doing its fair share marring their once awe-inspiring forms, but the mark of human hands was present as well, in teeth rooted from their sockets, in heads removed from bodies, in scales harvested en masse for sale or trophy alike. Any option was horrible to consider. 

The earth was hard and flat, the trees dead and brown, and the stench of rotting meat was overpowering. Aang dropped, sitting on the ground beside a small blue dragon. Her hide had been pockmarked, scales ripped from her flesh without regard. Her jaws hung open, every pearly fang cut out. Flies hovered in a tiny atmosphere above the body, and the ground was stained a brickish color in a pool spreading out from where a sword blade had been broken off in her side. Aang dropped his head into his hands.

In the emptiness of the flat plain, the wind howled a plaintive song. Aang felt his hands shaking.

“I don’t get it,” he said wetly. “Why would they do this?”

Logically, he knew it shouldn’t be as shocking as it was. He’d spent the better part of a year asking why. 

He stared at the dragon and realized he might never get an answer to any of them. 

Gyatso was a lone figure among the carnage, clothes whipping in the wind, brows a harsh line. Bumi came up to him, kneeling and hugging him from behind, resting his chin on Aang’s head, staring at the blue dragon with him. 

“We’re gonna fix it,” Bumi said. 

“How,” Aang croaked. “This is like if we went around and killed our bison. How could they do this?”

“I don’t know,” Bumi replied, voice small. “But we’re gonna fix it.”

Aang hung his head. In this moment, despair was so accessible. He’d seen so much this last year, seen the dead of his people, and the dead soldiers by his own hands. Gyatso’s scarred arm and the black snow falling on the Southern Water Tribe. His people’s sacred items used like bait to lure them to their deaths, a cancer growing in Omashu’s own kingdom, its buildings burning. Guanyu, dead and burned. He felt his skin grow cold. 

Gyatso’s footsteps were light on the earth. He reached down and squeezed Aang’s shoulder. A beat later, his fingers tightened again, less a reassuring touch and more a nervous spasm. Aang felt his teacher go stiff and looked up. He followed Gyatso’s gaze to the figure, the woman, he realized, who stood at the edge of where the carnage began, not far from them. She watched them silently, her eyes roaming over their tattoos. Bumi gasped and stood. 

Aang’s heart was slam-slam-slamming against his chest. She was old, older than Gyatso, he realized, but she still had the power. She could alert anyone. 

She took a step forward. 

For a moment, it was just her and them, staring at one another in the silence.

“Will you bless them, Nomads?” she finally asked, her voice slipping like fine salt. 

Gyatso squeezed his shoulder again. 

Aang held his breath, and no one moved. For a beat, the only sound was the wind across the dead earth and the buzzing of flies. 

“May their spirits find themselves returned to the sky,” Gyatso intoned. Aang looked up at him, and Gyatso’s head was tilted back, face to the heavens.

“May they be forever parted from sorrow and suffering. The beauty of nature is the heritage of all, every life a gift. May every living thing know only kindness and gentleness. When they are born again, may they know no violence.” 

Gyatso stopped speaking, and the sound of the wind resumed. The woman held her hand to her chest. “Avoid the north, my friends,” she said, and then disappeared over the crest of the hill. Aang and Bumi released breaths at the same time. Gyatso brought them both to their feet. 

“We should leave. There may be others,” Gyatso said. Silently, they turned away from the carnage and got back on Appa. 

“Yip yip,” Aang said quietly. Appa groaned appreciatively, flicking his tail and returning to the sky, the hard lines cutting into the earth beneath them.

The town was nestled in the mountainside, each little home awash with lantern light in the dusk. They hedged at the edge of the woods. Gyatso pointed out a cottage near the edge of the town. 

“There. That is Teruko’s home.”

“She’s not a firebender, is she?” Bumi asked. Aang glanced at him, frowning. He realized abruptly that this trip was Bumi’s first foray into war. In the last few days, he’d been attacked, on the run, watched someone he cared about cut down right in front of him. And instead of how Aang and Gyatso were able to take refuge in the Water Tribe, Bumi’s struggle in the last few days was far from over. Aang grabbed his hand.

“She’s not a firebender,” Aang assured. “We used to come here - Teruko’s a good person.”

Gyatso started forward, from where Appa had landed just outside of town, pulling his salakot forward to cover his face. “If only I could say the same about her tea.”

At that, Bumi cracked a smile, and the two boys followed Gyatso as he moved as smooth as the wind towards the tiny home, head ducked. As they approached, Aang noticed that the home was small and modest, but the door was a fine, black pine, ornately carved, each detail so miniscule it was almost impossible to make out. Aang didn’t remember it from the last time they’d visited. 

Gyatso stood in front of the door a beat, then huffed a sharp breath. Aang squeezed Bumi’s hand, more for his own reassurance than to offer it. Gyatso rapped four times on the door, stepping back and slightly to the side, putting the two of them behind him, out of sight, bowing his head low and hiding his face behind the brim of his hat.

After a long, stomach-clenching moment, the door opened a sliver.

“Who knocks at the guarded gate?” the woman asked seriously, her eyes glinting amid the dark sliver of shadow within the home. 

Gyatso raised his head, hearing her familiar, soft voice. “He who has tasted the fruit, and known the mystery.”

The door swung open all the way. Teruko stood in the threshold, her lined, pale face and her strangely light eyes peering at them seriously. She was shorter than Aang remembered, just barely taller than him. 

“My dear friend,” she said, reaching out her hand. Gyatso met her halfway, grasping her fingers. “I can hardly believe my eyes.”

“It has been too long,” Gyatso said, stepping forward, revealing Aang and Bumi. 

She smiled sadly at him, casting her glance around the outside. “I was frightened for you. Come in,” she stood aside. Gyatso entered, Aang behind him, dragging Bumi along still by the hand. As the door shut quietly behind them, her eyes fell on Aang.

She clasped her hands together, shuffling. “You’re taller than I remember,” she said.

Aang smiled slightly. 

“It was you all along,” she said quietly. “The whole time.” 

Aang dipped his head. “Yes. I know how risky it was for you to help me find a firebending master. Thank you,” he said, bowing to her. 

She turned away suddenly, hiding her face, not returning his bow.

“I will not hear your thanks.”

“Oh.” Bumi frowned at him, and Aang shrugged, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. His palms were getting sweaty. 

Teruko took in a sharp breath, and turned back to them, looking at Gyatso with shining eyes. 

“May I make you tea?”

Gyatso smiled at her, the first signs of real levity in his face since they’d left Omashu, coming alive in the presence of a friend, in a safe place.

“Of course. You are known for your tea,” he said, earning a sniff and a turned up nose.

“I resent that. I enjoy the tea I make,” she said, shuffling towards the stove. The air above it shimmered gently with the low fire that burned in its stomach.

A few minutes later, she returned with a tray, and they sat around a low table with a small cup of scalded tea and a few steamed buns, so overdone they were like glue in Aang’s mouth. He choked down each bite in a valiant effort to be polite, and sipping at his tea bravely, though it was like ash in his mouth. Gyatso was right. Teruko brewed very poor tea. 

Teruko didn’t meet any of their eyes as they had tea, simply staring down at her cup with a strange, faraway expression. Every so often, she would take a deep breath and release it slowly.

The only sounds were the clanking of porcelain and the crackle of the fire in the stove. Aang hadn’t ever been close to Teruko, but he recalled her being much more lively than this. Then again, he supposed, he might be upset as well if his nation had done what hers did. 

He watched as the two adults avoided the pand-elephant in the room, Teruko steadfastly staring at her tea cup and half-eaten bun, Gyatso sneaking surreptitious glances at Teruko, clearly as thrown by the changes in her demeanor as Aang was. 

At last, Gyatso set down his tea cup, rattling the saucer.

Teruko startled slightly but didn’t lift her head.

“My friend,” Gyatso started, voice soft. “I understand the world is a strange place these days. I must implore you - I am your friend. As is Ru, and Amihan and Tivi. You mustn't punish yourself.”

Teruko fiddled with her steamed bun, pulling off tiny pieces and setting them in a pile in her saucer. 

“You shouldn’t use their names.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “You’ve already forgotten.”

Gyatso smiled. “We are all of us at this table the dearest of friends. Amihan shall be our next stop.”

Teruko looked up, strangely startled. “Truly? You mean to hide away in Ba Sing Se?” She suddenly took a big bite of her bun. “It’s not like you,” she said, mouth full.

“We’ve been in Omashu for a few months,” Aang chimed in. “And we were in the South Pole before that. The - Fire Nation soldiers have chased us out each time. Ba Sing Se is probably our best bet to avoid another run-in.” It was quite true. Far to the east, at least compared to Omashu, and nestled in the bosom of the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation would have to go to great length, conquering huge swathes of territory before even thinking about Ba Sing Se. And if that were to happen, there would be far greater problems at play than simply escaping. 

Gyatso nodded his assent. “It’s our best option. Unless of course, you have another recommendation.”

Teruko licked her lips, looking at Aang and then back down at the table quickly. 

“Ba Sing Se isn’t a place for airbenders. It is antithetical to you there.”

Gyatso sighed. “I am aware. I’ve been to Ba Sing Se many times and I understand its culture is very different from our own. From even the rest of the Earth Kingdom. But we are not traveling for comfort. You yourself suggested this plan. I need only for you to help me as you promised,” he said, voice stern. Aang blinked. Gyatso hardly ever pulled out the stern voice. 

Teruko looked chastened, continuing to shred her steamed bun. “I have an address to send you to. There is a man there who knows you are coming.”

“Do you trust him?” Gyatso asked, leaning forward. He tried to meet her gaze, but she steadfastly avoided looking him in the eyes.

“Have I ever given you reason to believe I would send you to someone untrustworthy?” she asked softly, still staring demurely down at her tea.

“Not in all the years I’ve known you.” Gyatso assured. “But you must understand my position.”

She shook her head slowly. “I cannot. I have no children. I am in charge of no Avatar.” 

Gyatso sighed, pressing down his frustration, breathing it out. Teruko could be stubborn, relying on his tendency to acquiesce so that she could come out on top, forgetting that he himself could be stubborn for the right reasons.

“But you understand the duty you and I bear. That we share with Ru, and Amihan, and Tivi,” Gyatso insisted, placing his hand on the table, palm open and facing up.

Teruko rose to her feet sharply, rattling the table. Aang looked up at her, and then up at Gyatso as he rose as well. 

Bumi glanced at him, alarmed. Aang shrugged, unsure exactly what they were talking about. Gyatso looked down at the two boys, giving a slight nod to reassure them before stepping away from the table, towards Teruko.

She sniffed, turning away and wiping her eyes. She walked quickly over to a low desk in the corner, with two candles burning low on the left and right. A pile of papers and scrolls sat between the two candles, and she shuffled them aside, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Gyatso stared at her, wondering what kind of world the Fire Nation had made for its own citizens that his friend was so altered.

She looked down at it and wiped her eyes again before turning back to Gyatso. She approached him slowly, head bowed, and gently grasped his hands, clasped together in front of him. Before releasing him, she curled his hand into a ball and with the tips of her fingers, tracing the lines on his knuckles, running her fingers slowly under the too-long sleeve of his shirt and pushed it to his wrist, revealing the arrow on the back of his hand, still visible through the healed burn scar from the day the comet came. She sighed shakily, and pressed the chi point there on the back of his hand. The callusing from the scar had lessened the feeling in his hand, but he could feel her tremble.

She slowly turned his hand over and unfurled his fingers, pressing a folded, faded map into his palm. She curled each of his fingers back over it, the tips pressing into the faded, bled shorthand they’ve been using for decades to keep prying eyes away. Teruko’s hand, cupping his own, was still shaking, just a barely-there tremble. 

“Go to the address on this map,” she said quietly. “There will be a man there in his forties. He has a crooked front tooth. When you approach his home, you will go to the western door and knock three times. He will ask you what you’ve brought him - you must answer that you bring him the fang of a blue dragon.”

Gyatso nodded, pulling his hand from her grasp and pocketing the map. Teruko stood in front of him, deathly still and searching his face. “I am so sorry.”

“For what, my friend?” he asked. She seemed so frail now, so old. He wondered when age had begun to afflict her - she hadn’t been young for a long time, but was not so aged the last time he saw her. Staring at her now, in her darkened home, with no light or air but a smoking fire in an unclean stove to give them sight, she seemed to melt like a candle clock before his eyes.

“For the shame of what has happened. And of what is to come.”

“You have no shame to bear,” he assured her. “I cannot presume to convince you to accompany us?”

Teruko smiled at him, a wasted and unfeeling expression. She glanced once at Aang, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Bumi, reluctant to leave his side in the wake of Guanyu’s death. She spared another glance at Bumi, his eyes downcast, his hands grasping the excess material of his pant leg. Both of them far too young for their duties. 

“I have already brought such shame on myself. To accompany you would be an affront.” She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a low whisper which only reached Gyatso.

“Here we are in a nation which is full of shame. We are all marked by it. Change happens rapidly - and I apologize, Gyatso, for the changes in me that you see now. And shall soon discover. I will not see your face again. I have forfeited that right,” she said, low and frank. Gyatso pulled her just slightly closer, hoping the comfort of a friend’s presence would assuage her. 

“My dearest friend, you cannot bear such guilt for actions that are not your own. To take on your nation’s burden is a fool’s errand.”

She smiled wanly up at him, grasping his hand once more and patting it. “I take on only my fair share. Go now. My heart cannot bear this strain any longer.”

Gyatso hedged as she brusquely showed them the door. Her manners were normally impeccable - and though she was correct that they needed to be moving, he was frightened by the changes the past months had wrought in his friend. 

She attempted to brush past him but he reached out and grasped her arm. She ducked her head. “I cannot look at you,” she said sorrowfully, bringing her free arm up to cover her face.

Gyatso looked over at the boys, still sitting at the table, as flabbergasted at Teruko’s demeanor as he was. 

“Teruko. Would it be safe for us to talk outside?”

“No,” she cried, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

“It is unsafe? Or you do not wish to?” he asked softly.

She let out a shuddering breath but consented to be led. The two of them walked outside, the door shutting gently behind them. Through the screen windows, Aang could hear their soft voices but couldn’t make out the words.

Bumi looked at him, concerned. “What is she normally like?” he asked. Aang rose to his feet, stepping lightly towards the window. “Not like this,” he replied.

He leaned against the wall, next to the window so that his shadow wouldn’t show as a silhouette on the screen. He supposed Gyatso knew him too well, as he heard their footsteps move away and their voices grow softer still. 

Aang sighed and walked back towards the table. “I don’t know what’s going on. She’s never acted like this.”

“What do you think it means?” Bumi asked, frowning at the door. “She’s acting like she did something wrong.”

“I don’t know,” Aang said. “But I think the sooner we get to Ba Sing Se the better.”

For a few moments, only the crackling of the low fire broke the silence in the house, the dark door and walls lending to the oppressive feeling of being trapped. Aang paced along the length of the floor, Bumi sitting at the low table looking up at him. It stressed him out, falling back, being led to and fro, but he trusted Gyatso to lead him the right way.

The door creaked open suddenly, and Aang couldn’t help a startle that sent him jumping on top of the counter. Gyatso re-entered the house, leaving the door open behind him. Teruko, he could see over Gyatso’s shoulder, was standing off to the side, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the ground. 

“Time to go, boys. Come now,” Gyatso said, beckoning them. 

“Did you convince her to come with us?” Aang asked quietly and he jumped down from the counter, knowing the answer already. 

As he suspected, Gyatso shook his head. Aang felt him press his hand against his shoulder, herding him towards the door. 

“We’ll be traveling very near the heart of the Fire Nation. We need to leave now if we want to travel under the cover of darkness.”

Gyatso began walking away, no more words being spoken between he and Teruko. Aang took a moment and bowed to her once more. 

“Thank you for your help, Teruko,” he told her. She didn’t respond, didn’t look at him, and he hesitated for a moment before following Gyatso and Bumi back into the woods where Appa was waiting for them. As he walked away, he heard the door shut. 

They silently approached the edge of the forest when the door swung open again and Teruko emerged. 

“Gyatso!” she called. The three of them turned to look at her, a crisp breeze rushing through the field between them. Whatever had possessed her seemed to leave as suddenly as it had arrived, and after a tense moment, she retreated back inside without another word, the dark, ornate door slamming shut between them. 

“The Fire Nation leads the world in prosperity and development. Our technological advancement over the last generation has far outstripped the capabilities of the other nations. Your understanding of science is crucial - as the minds of tomorrow, you will be leading the Fire Nation. Our soldiers protect us, but those on the home front make their work possible. Can anyone tell me how our machines work?”

Shinji raised his hand. As did half a dozen of Kuzon’s other classmates. Kuzon kept his face down, resting his cheek on his palm and thinking through the motions of his latest kata. He’d be tested on it later this week and needed to have it perfect if they’d teach him the forms of a Private. 

He heard the teacher walk across the floorboards, eyeing someone to pick. 

“Hmm. Let’s hear from some others,” she said. “Kuzon.” 

“Steam,” he answered, not raising his eyes from his desk. 

“A correct answer, given impolitely, is worse than a wrong answer,” she said. “Please try again.” 

A wave of annoyance settled over him. He threw his head back. “Why does it matter how I say it?” 

He stared steadfastly at his desk as the teacher approached and stood in front of him. 

“Insolence is a mark of weakness. Students, what happens when we do not practice discipline?” she responded, addressing the room. His classmates were quiet, at least, not all chiming in to give their opinions on Kuzon’s weaknesses.

“When we do not practice discipline,” she answered for them, “we dishonor ourselves. More than that, we dishonor our parents, our neighbors, and our Nation.” She turned to look at Kuzon. “Go to the headmaster’s office, Kuzon.” 

Great. He stood, mulishly glaring at his teacher. She picked up the ruler and gestured to him to hold out his hands. “Anything you’d like to say?” she asked, ruler positioned over his knuckles.

“Yes. I’d like to apologize,” Kuzon said. The ruler wavered. 

“You may.” 

He took a deep breath. “I am so very sorry for my insolence. I should have answered more politely. I should have said, ‘Professor, my most honorable professor, thank you for seeing me fit to call on. Our glorious nation runs its glorious machines on the glorious power of steam,’” he said, impulsive and annoyed. In response, his teacher struck his knuckles, 2 extra times than she normally would, and the skin on his left hand split, dripping blood into the palm of his hand. 

“Headmaster’s office, now.”

Kuzon stood, feeling the stares of his classmates on him. Annoyed at being the one his classmates looked at and thanked Agni they weren’t him, Kuzon kicked his desk halfheartedly, getting out just the tiniest bit of his anger over everything that this stupid, stupid world had in store, and stomped into the hall. 

Kuzon stalked down the hall and even though it would dig his grave that much deeper, he took off down the street and dumped his stupid, stupid skullcap into the trash and took off down towards the docks. They wouldn’t be crowded - fishing season had finished up a few weeks ago and he needed to see literally no one for a minute. Kuzon knelt on the rocky beach and after a few seconds, took a smooth, flat stone in his hand. He turned it over, looking over the shining surface, thinking about the thousands of years being buffeted around by the tides and polished by the sand, all of it leading to this stone in his hand, sitting on this crummy, stupid beach. 

His parents will likely hold him back from his test, later in the week. Kuzon stood, and turned the stone over in his hand. When he goes into the military he’ll be able to be there, on the front lines. He could warn people to evacuate, or leak strategy to them. But who would share that with someone with his reputation? He sighed. 

“I’d give anything,” he said to the water. “Anything if I can just have a chance to do something right,” he croaked.

Kuzon turned the stone over in his hand once more and threw it out away from him. Instead of skipping, it just hit the surface, sinking out of sight. 

The home Teruko had instructed them to go to was much more remote than her own home. It sat nestled among the trees, dozens of overgrown branches embracing the little place. Through the trees, though, there was enough of a clearing that the village was visible. Village was perhaps not the correct word, but city didn’t sound quite right, either. The smoke from each dwelling in the densely populated settling curled into the sky above the trees, signaling to them to keep clear. Gyatso approached a door on the western end of the property and knocked thrice.

For a long stretch between heartbeats, nothing happened. Aang’s mind raced with the possibilities - Teruko’s friend had decided helping them was more trouble than it was worth, or the man had been exposed as a traitor and taken away, or Sozin himself was lying in wait within the domicile, watching them sweat. After a few moments, the door opened.

Aang’s stomach lurched, and he felt Bumi tense beside him as a man in a soldier’s uniform opened the door, the helmet and shoulder spikes absent. His breastplate was unfastened, hanging open. 

The man surveyed them with a calm expression, scanning over Aang and Bumi, and settling on Monk Gyatso. 

“I have been expecting you,” he said, voice wobbling. “What have you brought me?”

“I come with the fang of a blue dragon,” Gyatso answered. The man nodded sharply and stood aside, making room for them to enter. 

“Well, then. Come in.”

His voice still shook, seemingly not a characteristic of nervousness but of perpetually trembling vocal chords. The three of them traipsed into the main room. For an awkward length of time, the man didn’t say anything. Gyatso seemed unwilling to break the silence, and Bumi… Bumi hadn’t willingly broken a silence in days. 

As Aang was about to speak, the man cut him off. He made a half-choked noise, and cleared his throat. “Tea?”

“No. Thank you,” Gyatso answered quickly. “But I would be most appreciative if you would share your name.”

The man didn’t react outwardly, and then chuckled nervously, stepping toward the fireplace. 

“You’ll have to forgive my standoffishness.” He eyed Aang, a little overbright.

“Is- are you really the Avatar?” he asked, voice wobbling. 

Aang nodded, offering a small smile. “That’s me,” he said. The man edged closer towards the fireplace.

“I’ll make tea,” he said.

“We’re fine without. Thank you,” Gyatso said. The man gave him an appraising look, and Aang’s stomach twisted slightly. He breathed out slowly and pressed his hands down at his sides. The sooner they left, the better he’d feel. 

The man narrowed his eyes. “I insist.” 

“I’m okay without tea,” Aang chimed in, just so it wasn’t Monk Gyatso against this man. It generally wasn’t like him to be impolite - but Aang was sure he had a good reason for refusing. “I think we just want to talk and get going as soon as we can.”

“We can talk over tea,” the man insisted. “I can’t help feeling insulted. Is this another bizarre quirk of your culture?”

“It is, in fact.” Gyatso held the man’s stare. Aang and Bumi exchanged a glance - there was no cultural stipulation on refusing tea for Air Nomads, except that it was a bit rude. Teruko was his long-time friend, but this man was someone they didn’t even know. Probably Gyatso was just being careful, figuring out if they could trust him. 

Aang stared at the man, staring at Gyatso, clearly trying to parse out if there actually was some cultural reason for his refusal, and understood that trusting this man was an unanswered question. One Gyatso was trying to figure out, but unanswered nonetheless. The realization made him look at the nervous half-steps, the shaky voice with a sharper eye. Between the man’s strange fixation and Teruko’s seemingly permanent sadness, Aang knew something was going on. The minute he got Gyatso alone, he’d be asking for an explanation. After a brief moment, the man sighed. 

“Well then. No tea, I suppose,” he conceded. “Are you able to accept any comforts of a guest? Water, a bite to eat?”

“As my pupil suggested, I believe the less time we take, the better,” Gyatso said, looking around the room. He walked over to a shadow box on the wall, where a dangling pin was fixed to a back of red cloth. 

“The medal of the gold dragon,” he observed, voice light. “I am somewhat rusty on my recollection of Fire Nation military decoration, but this is a very prestigious distinction, is it not?”

The man nodded slowly. “It is. You must be well educated.”

Gyatso waved a hand flippantly, observing the medal. “Well-traveled, and well read. I’ve never been one for university distinctions.”

The man stared blankly at him. “What a strange perspective.”

Gyatso turned, offering a rueful smile. “Well,” he said, shrugging, “among us all, who benefits from the strangest perspectives. Who among us all is offered the view of the world enjoyed by the heavens?”

Slowly, the man smiled. “Teruko mentioned you were… philosophical.” He bowed only his head. “I am Hideki.” 

“Hideki,” Gyatso said, drawing the name out, narrowing his eyes. “Meaning ‘excellence,’ correct?”

Hideki scoffed a laugh, fastening his breastplate so it was no longer hanging open. “There must be far less of a difference between well-educated and well-read than I thought.”

“Far less than most would imagine,” Gyatso agreed. “With such a name, your family must have had high expectations for you. Is military a family trait?”

Hideki made his way over to the shadowbox, pulling it from the wall  and unfixing the pin from the cloth backing. He held it to the light, early-morning sun streaming into the home, looking at it.

Aang watched the two of them, and seeing Gyatso appraise the man from the corner of his eye, he slowly reached over and grasped Bumi’s wrist, tapping it twice. At his touch, he felt Bumi straighten, coming to attention. Their watchfulness went unnoticed by Hideki, who continued speaking.

“In an armed conflict on the eastern border, I led a troop of 248 men and women against an entire military base the Earth Kingdom had placed just miles from a civilian settlement. We destroyed it in two days.” As he spoke, Bumi pressed his shoulder against Aang’s. 

Hideki re-affixed the medal back into the shadow box. Gyatso looked at the man. 

“You must be proud of that, to display your medal so prominently.”

“I did my job. And I did it well. I’m not here for a political discussion. I’m here to do another job. That’s all,” Hideki said. 

“I do not intend to invoke a discussion of politics with you. But are there not…” he paused for a moment, thinking. “Conflicting ideals, I suppose. In aiding in the settlement of another nation and in aiding those who would reverse this?”

“That’s a political question,” Hideki responded sharply. “Which you assured me you weren’t going to ask.”

“Whatever happened in the past is in the past,” Aang cut in quickly, heart humming, fast and shallow. The charged air dissipated slightly as Gyatso and Hideki broke from their stare-down to look at him. 

“You’re here, now, to help us. I appreciate that this is probably difficult for you. But you’re doing the right thing, helping us. Thank you,” he said, bowing to the man. 

Hideki let out a strange, breathy laugh. “Well, Avatar. You certainly need no instruction in manners,” he said. He grinned, and returned the bow, albeit shallowly.

“Have you firebent before?” he asked. “Come,” he beckoned, not waiting for Aang to answer, walking towards the fireplace. 

“Come here,” he insisted again as Aang hesitated. 

“Forgive our rush,” Gyatso interjected. “But we should be on our way.”

Hideki turned away from where Aang had stood firm and looked Gyatso up and down. “The wise thing to do would be to wait until nightfall.”

“We’ve been leaving and landing at dusk or dawn,” Aang said. “Especially in the mornings. The fog is really good for hiding Appa, my bison.”

“Well that’s a mistake,” Hideki said, walking towards the fireplace and stoking it, adding in a few logs, but not elaborating. 

“Why?”

Hideki turned. The fire was to his back, making him a silhouette. With his uniform on, he reminded Aang of his nightmares.

“Well, Avatar. Your first lesson will be on firebending culture. The sun, believe it or not, is important to us. Dawn and dusk are times when every firebender - every good firebender - will be meditating.”

At Aang’s blank expression, the man rolled his eyes, slightly, and smiled. “Outside. Under the sun. Where they’ll be liable to see a sky bison. We’re better off waiting until after dark.”

The three of them paused. 

“That makes sense…” Aang said hesitantly. The idea of spending all day in here, another day in this place, put pressure on his chest. This man unsettled him, slightly. It might be this trip. Guanyu, dead. Bumi, subdued and frightened. Teruko, with her bizarre words. He took a deep breath. Hideki was right, he remembered having to deal with Kuzon being up and raring to go at the actual crack of dawn. Aang pushed down his hesitation. 

“Okay,” he decided, speaking for the group. “We’ll stay til nightfall, but that’s it.” 

Hideki nodded once. “That’s smart. Now c’mere,” he said. Aang hesitated a moment before stepping forward. The man brought him over to his desk and pointed to one of the drawers. “Look in there.”

Aang took a breath. Gyatso was watching them carefully and Bumi was examining every corner of the house. With them watching, it felt like Aang was center stage with this man looming over him. He reached over and opened the drawer.

“What are you…” he trailed off, voice cutting off abruptly. He reached in and pulled out a woven cloth, with their prayers and painted monks on it. Underneath in the drawer were other items from the temples, things Aang recalled seeing in shrines and alcoves. Scrolls. Pottery. A flute. 

“Why do you have these?” he asked, voice shaking. 

“Don’t worry,” Hideki said lightly. “I wasn’t there. We’ve had a few of the bounty hunters come into town with these. They’re technically illegal to possess. Figured you two could do something with them,” he said, nodding at Gyatso. 

He took a step back as Gyatso approached, going to add another log to the fire. Gyatso looked over his shoulder, his hand coming up to Aang’s back. It wasn’t their way, really, to be so mindful of physical objects. But leaving their peoples’ things here felt wrong in a way he couldn’t really reconcile. He’d just take them from the Fire Nation. Maybe keep them somewhere in Ba Sing Se until the war was over, until they could return to the temples. Aang rolled up the cloth and stuffed it down his collar, along with the flute. He still wore the prayer beads Gyatso had retrieved for him, just under his clothes. 

Gyatso reached out and picked up a small tea cup, sighing through his nose as he examined it. 

“What was that?” Bumi asked sharply behind them. Aang turned from the possessions Hideki had shown them and saw nothing out of place, really. The house was slightly hazy from the smoke of the fireplace, but otherwise, it was still and quiet. 

“What do you mean?” Hideki questioned. His voice was slightly firmer. From the corner of his eye, Aang saw Gyatso set down the tea cup. 

“You bent into the fireplace,” Bumi said. “What for?”

Hideki grinned at them. “You don’t think we’re using flint and stone for fires, do you?” 

He sounded sincere, but as he spoke, more thick smoke began to pour in from the fireplace, more than there should have been. 

“Then what were you doing?” Aang pressed. Bumi’s sharp eyes on the man and Hideki’s unsettling grin did little to reassure him. Trusting this man was still their unanswered question. 

“Simply stoking the fire. I am offering you my home and my services. I don’t appreciate your suspicion,” he snapped. As he spoke, a bell began to ring in the town down between the trees. The sound of it froze the blood in Aang’s veins. 

Gyatso’s head snapped up at the sound, and Aang found himself unconsciously shifting into a stance.

“What is this?” Gyatso questioned the man. “What have you done?”

A brief, tense moment of silence stretched between them as the smoke continued to funnel into the house.

“What do you think it is?” he countered, talking as if to a small child. “You people could never understand, not even if you tried. You have no sense of pride. No sense of honor. It’s time the world learned what we’re born knowing,” the man said, voice no longer trembling. “Everyone here knows. Your dear friend does, too, after all,” Hideki said in an oily voice, all tremor gone, eyes sliding over towards Gyatso. 

Gyatso’s face hardened. “Teruko is a woman of honor,” he said, but the insistence in his voice was not there. The question of it was enough. Aang readied his staff, heart slamming in his chest.

“Yes,” Hideki agreed. “She is. And we are a nation of honorable people. It may do you well to remember that.”

Aang stepped forward, anger in every muscle, body rigid with it. More bells began to ring in the town below. “How can you say that? You lied to us, you betrayed us!” 

They needed to act, quickly. Whatever Hideki did, he was clearly signalling for backup and Aang didn’t know how long they had until it arrived. And when it did, they’d be done. 

“Perhaps you should be more careful who you play Pai Sho with,” Hideki mused, glancing at Gyatso. Aang saw his eyes widen with anger, but underneath that he saw the fear and the hurt in the creases of his face. They needed to go and now. 

Before he could even think, the man - the soldier - shot sharply at Gyatso. The fire was sharp, white-yellow and pointed, traveling like an arrow. Gyatso bent a gust of air to shield himself, but the small flame exploded with intensity as it met Gyatso’s bending, sending him flying back into the wall. 

Aang moved, bringing his staff around and knocking the man over with a sharp gust. Though it was far too late, he sent another blast at the fireplace, snuffing out whatever was smoking. Gyatso stirred slightly in the wreckage of the wooden wall, but he was down for the count. 

Hideki quickly got his feet back under him and grinned at Aang. “You’re a little too late for that,” he said, and bent a series of sharp daggers of fire at Aang. Dodging, Aang came up and bent the water from a small tin cistern and wrapped it around his hand, sending it in a stream that coiled around the man’s fingers, wrist, up his arm, and pulled. The force of it yanked the man off his feet but he rolled like a cat on the ground and engulfed his trapped hand in fire. It couldn’t quite break the whip but the force of the heat set the water boiling and Aang dropped the whip with a yelp as the water began to burn his skin. 

Bumi, out of his element in a house made of wood and everything around them made of metal, snatched a glass canister of lantern oil and as Hideki moved to bend again, and smashed it at the man’s feet. The oil ignited in a flash and the man screamed, extinguishing the fire quickly, but not quite fast enough to escape a burn of his own. Enraged, he sent a rush of fire at Bumi and jumped atop his table, avoiding the blast of air Aang sent his way again. 

“Bumi!” Aang cried. From the corner of his eye, all he could see was Bumi’s spiked hair against the floor of the home. Without looking away from Hideki it was impossible to see if he was alright. 

“You and me, huh?” said Hideki. Without space for a breath, as soon as he spoke he shot down an arc of flame. Aang dispersed it to either side with a column of air, but the man kept coming, relentless, and Aang found himself being backed into a corner. 

He was holding off the onslaught, just barely, but from the corner of his eye he saw Gyatso move. The slightest distraction was all Hideki needed and he bent, small and sharp and white-hot and Aang felt the pain explode in his side. 

Kuzon rose from the stony beach as dusk began to fall, back into the streets winding up towards home. The sun set against the cliffs, and before heading in where his parents no doubt were told of his actions in class, ready to yell. He took a deep breath before sliding open the door. 

The house was quiet when he walked in, only the sound of the fire in the hearth there to greet him. 

“Mom? Dad?” Kuzon walked to their room, rapping once on the wood frame of the door. “I’m home.” 

He startled when the back door slid open instead, his father coming in and taking off his shoes. “Dad.”

His father didn’t react much, just barely turning back to look at him. Kuzon froze, seeing his father’s face, red and blotchy. 

“Kuzon,” he said, rough and gravelly. A beat passed. Then his father walked across the room and gently moved Kuzon away from his parents’ room. “Go to bed.”

Kuzon furrowed his brows. “What about dinner? And where’s mom?”

His dad’s shoulders curled. “Go to bed,” he repeated, walking into the bedroom and sliding the door shut firmly behind him. 

“Dad, what?” He knocked on the door again. “You’re not making any sense!”

He knocked on the door again. “Dad!” 

He groaned, kicking the wall. They must’ve fought again. They’ve been doing that, recently, since Dad decided to send Kuzon to the colonies over the summer. His mom had still been trying, very valiantly, to persuade him to wait. She would probably spend the night at his auntie’s. At least they weren’t going to yell at him for getting in trouble at school, and Kuzon decided to count his blessings for the night.

Kuzon headed to his room and changed into his nightclothes. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

The next morning, when Kuzon woke, his mom was still not home. She’d usually be back around dawn, to send him off to school. He headed out on his own and paid as little attention as possible to the people around him, keeping his head down. He just needed to do that, just needed to keep his head down and learn everything he could and when the time came, when the opportunity came, he would jump at it. He had his detention that afternoon. After the school day was done, everyone had already left to go home or go train or go apprentice or go play or go do any number of things Kuzon was not doing because it was oh, so very important that he write that the nail that sticks out will be hammered down, over and over and over. A fact he was very much aware of, already.

He jumped when Shinji appeared in the doorway, dropping his slate. The corner of the piece cracked off and Kuzon cursed. 

“Come on,” he groaned, kicking the wall. “This day could not get worse.” 

Shinji just grinned. “I came to free you,” he said, spreading his hands wide like a circus master. 

“Well you’ve earned me another detention for this, so thanks. Thank you,” Kuzon said. Shinji walked up and gathered the pieces of the slate and shoved them into another student’s desk. 

“Problem solved,” Shinji replied easily. “Let’s go.”

The sun would set in a short while. He might as well enjoy the rest of his day. Kuzon found himself smiling back. 

“Alright. What are you thinking?” 

“Wanna grab Jiro and play kenmari?”

Kuzon scrambled to his feet. “Yeah! Race you to his house?”

Shinji, being an absolute shithead, took off running immediately, leaving Kuzon to run after him, hopelessly unable to catch up because he was a shithead. 

“Hey!” Kuzon shouted as he caught up. “You’re a cheater!” he said, shoving Shinji. 

Shinji just grinned at him. “Better a cheater than a loser. Right, Kuzon?” 

Kuzon scowled but before he could say anything, Jiro ran out of his house and kicked the mari ball into the air. Kuzon caught it, rolling it over his ankle and passed it to Shinji, the dirty cheater, who bumped it into the air with his elbow before kicking it back to Jiro. They played three games, two of which ended because Shinji wouldn’t quit using his arms, before the sun set. Cheaters aside, it had been the most fun Kuzon’d had with his friends in months, almost the way it was before. A little weight taken off his chest, he ran home for dinner before his mom would tsk at him for coming to dinner dirty and sweaty and his father would chastise him for being late and disrespecting their time. 

He slid open the door and found himself standing in darkness, instead.

Igniting a small fire in the palm of his hand, he made his way over to the hearth and lit the fireplace. 

“Ah!” As the flames came up, he nearly jumped out of his skin as he realized his dad was in the room, too. “Dad! Were you just sitting in the dark?”

His dad stared at the table, hands clasped in front of him, elbows to his side. 

“Dad?” he said again, walking over to stand next to him. “What are you doing?” No mom, again tonight. His dad didn’t say anything. 

“Is mom at -,” 

“No,” his dad cut him off. “She’s not.” 

“Okayyy,” Kuzon said carefully, drawing out the word. “Where is she then? Is she upset?”

His dad didn’t move, the silence even heavier now that he could see his dad’s face clearly, the dark of his eyes and the hunch of his shoulders. After a moment, he spoke.

“She was taken in,” his dad said, rough and halting. 

Kuzon frowned. “Taken in? What are you talking about?” he asked. 

“Someone was,” he choked. “Someone went around saying she was spreading ideas.”

Kuzon’s blood ran cold. Ideas. He sat, slow, kneeling down as his heartbeat started to pound in his ears.

“She was arrested?” he asked, voice sounding so unlike his own. 

“I told them they were wrong. I went by the prison today and they-,” he stopped. 

Kuzon felt nausea roll in his stomach and leaned forward, bowing his head. 

“They don’t have any record of her there,” his dad finished. 

Kuzon stood abruptly and all but fled to his room, slamming the door behind him. He tried to breath in but found his chest tight, breaths not coming. He found himself sitting, and then when that failed to alleviate the pressure in his chest, he laid flat on the floor, the weight of what his dad had said crushing him down like a physical weight. 

He gasped into the floor and it genuinely felt like no air was getting into his lungs. 

Arrested. No record. Ideas. Treason. 

He gasped into the floor again, a horrible grating noise coming where it should have been a deep breath of air. 

Was it his fault? Was his book her tipping point? Was it her attempts to keep him from the colonies that got her noticed? 

He sat up and lurched towards the bed, fingers finding the seam at the bottom of his mattress easily. But as he reached, he found the thread was already cut. Rooting around, there was no parchment, no book, no twine. Just an empty cavity where it used to live. He fell back and scootched until his back was against the wall and put his head in his hands. 

Aang woke to white hot pain in his side. The firebending was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Where Aang had thought of firebending as imprecise, broad, powerful, this had been precise and deadly and foreign. 

Gyatso had recovered, and was pushing back on Hideki. As they fought, Bumi ran over to Aang, helping him sit up. The pain in his side sent black spots across his vision and he couldn’t help a cry that escaped his lips. Bumi held him up, and Aang saw Gyatso blast the other man to the ground, blow his fire away without hesitation, and.

And.

Hideki was choking, softly, strangled coughs escaping from his mouth which gaped and gasped uselessly, his black hair whipping into his face. Aang watched for a bewildered moment as the man choked and coughed on thin air, hands clutching at his throat.

Thin air. 

He whipped his gaze to Gyatso, whose hands were raised and held aloft with so much tension in the muscles that his arms shook, but his face was alien. This was a stranger. He looked fierce, angry, murderous, possessed. 

He was murdering this man. 

He felt Bumi’s arms tighten around him as he came to the same realization, and Aang struggled to move forward. 

“Gyatso, stop! You’re killing him!” he cried.

“Aang…” Bumi said softly, the man still gasping for breath, writhing on the ground as Gyatso stood over him. 

“No! Gyatso!” 

Gyatso made no indication he’d heard Aang, and the man was growing slower, his movements smaller. 

He was going to die, and he’d attacked them, and he’d hurt Aang, but the scene was bizarre and unfathomable because Gyatso had been the person who sat with him at the gardens while the spiderflies emerged from their cocoons and helped him keep the lemurs from eating them as they struggled for freedom because their small lives mattered and had value and dignity and deserved to be protected. Except that same Gyatso was strangling a man with his bending, which was sacred and meant to be used for fun or defense if needed. Strangling and suffocating him, which was the worst way to die, to force the air from a pair of lungs was the cruelest death, but Gyatso’s face was set in stone and his hands no longer shook. 

“Stop it!” Aang screamed, voice hoarse and cracking, heart like a hummingbird. For a beat nothing happened, then Gyatso lowered his hands, took a step back, and calmed himself, releasing the energy. The man gasped raggedly on the ground, sucking in air greedily. Gyatso watched him, still with that strange, fierce face like he was only letting Hideki go because Aang had demanded it. Gyatso looked down at the soldier, his expression disgusted and hateful and strange. The bizarre look on Gyatso’s face was clear. He was fully aware of what he’d done, what he’d almost done, ready to do it again or maybe even regretful he couldn’t finish it in the first place. 

Hideki gave no spare glances to them but scrambled to his feet and stumbled away, rushing out the door. Gyatso turned to where Aang still sat in the circle of Bumi’s arms and walked over. He looked like himself again, face soft and concerned because Aang was hurt, kneeling next to him and placing a hand on his cheek, a hand that was feather-light and tender like a parent’s, except that hand had just bent the air from someone’s lungs. The world around him seemed overbright, his consciousness slowly floating away from him.

Gyatso looked him in the eyes, and maybe saw all the horror and shock that swirled in Aang’s stomach because he dropped his hand, and looked through the open door where the man had fled into the village. Aang felt his head drop and couldn’t quite muster the energy to raise it again.

“There will be more coming. You must go.”

The words came to him as if from the other room. Muffled, wandering in his ears as he laid in bed half-asleep in the temple. On a bed of straw, in a plain room overlooking a mountain all decorated with flowers and vines. 

His side ached.

Barely conscious, he felt Gyatso press a kiss to his temple, a hand on his cheek once more. His addled mind was putting together the pieces but the deep, aching pain in his side made it hard to concentrate, to form words, any energy stoked by the fight fading fast. Aang distantly realized that Gyatso and Bumi were speaking, and thought that there was something serious about a burn that didn’t feel like a burn. 

“No…” he said aloud, not quite realizing what he was protesting. His stomach roiled with a realization that his mind hadn’t quite grasped.

He had at some point listed hard to the right, Bumi holding onto his dead weight. 

“You must take Appa and return the way we came. There is no safe place to rest here - go south until you see the land turn beige. There is an uninhabited place with step pyramids that may offer you shelter. From there, return to the Earth Kingdom. Do not trust anyone, no one but your mother, and Aluki, if she’s arrived. Go to Ba Sing Se but do not contact the Earth King and do not contact Amihan. Talk to no one. I cannot tell you how deep this betrayal runs.”

Aang shook his head, spinning with pain. He tried to vocalize a protest but nothing but a low moan came out. 

“Go, now.”

He felt Bumi shift, and his world tilted until Aang felt himself draped across Bumi’s back, arms around his neck as the earth moved beneath them. In a fog, he saw Gyatso standing in the ruined home, turning away from him. The light snuffed out and the ache in his side was no more. 

Aang woke slowly. They were flying, he could tell, and his stomach clenched with an overwhelming foreboding feeling he wasn’t yet awake enough to identify the reason behind. His side and back ached, a bizarre, nauseous pain that brought him out of unconsciousness. Half-awake, his hand snaked over to investigate and a bare touch inflamed the wound. He let out an involuntary groan.

“Aang,” Bumi said, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away from his side. “Don’t touch it.”

He cracked his eyes open. Bumi was kneeling next to him in Appa’s saddle, looking down at him, spiky hair whipping in the wind. The events were slowly coming back to him, but the words escaped before his mind had caught up.

“Where’s Gyatso?”

Bumi’s expression fell, and he brought his other hand up to hold Aang’s. 

It was all the answer he needed. Aang threw his other arm across his eyes, letting out a low moan. 

“No,” he said, pulling his hand from Bumi’s grasp and bracing against Appa’s saddle. “We have to go back,” he said, pushing to sit up. The dull pain flared to a bolt that traveled up his spine, paralyzing him. He cried out and slowly laid back down, Bumi’s hand a gentle pressure on his chest, pressing him back.

“We have to get him. I can’t leave him,” he said, hand hovering over his side.

“Aang, wait-,”

Aang shoved Bumi’s hand off his chest and tried to sit up again, gritting his teeth against the flare of pain. 

“We’re going back!” he said, cutting off into a groan as he dragged himself to his knees. 

“Stop it!” Bumi shoved his shoulders down so he sat again. “Be serious, Aang. Look what’s happened already! The airbenders, the dragons, Guanyu, they don’t,” his voice broke. “They don’t stop. For anything. Even if he’s somehow still alive, we’re not in any condition to go get him!” 

As he spoke, Aang bowed his head, clenching his eyes shut against what Bumi was saying.

“No. No, we can’t leave him here. I’m not doing it!”

“Okay, okay,” Bumi said, hands up placatingly.

“Okay, what?” Aang snapped. His anger was getting the best of him, and Bumi was the last person who deserved to be on the other end, but he couldn’t calm himself. Body and mind, he felt like he was turning to ash. 

“We can come back for him. But not now,” Bumi said.

“Then when? When, Bumi? What if they keep him to figure out where we’re going? What if when they realize we’re gone, they kill him? What about what they’re going to do to him in the meantime?” Aang had lost control of his breath and snapped his gaze over the side of the saddle, staring steadfastly at the clouds going by, trying to calm his heaving breaths. His stomach lurched and he swallowed down bile.

“When we have help. You can barely stand. Aang, it’s just you and me right now. We,” he said, drawing out the word and gesturing between the two of them, “are not going to go against the entire Fire Nation and come out smelling like a rose! If we go back right now, we will lose, they will kill you or keep you under lock and key for the rest of your life, and Gyatso will have sacrificed himself for nothing. Nothing. We need to wait until the time is right.”

Aang covered his face. “No. Because the time is never going to be right. No one is going to help us invade the Fire Nation for one person,” he said miserably.

Bumi scoffed. “Aang, you are the Avatar! For goodness’ sake, you can demand whatever you want and people will do it!”

Aang let out a shaky breath and uncovered his face, looking at Bumi.

“We need to figure things out first, that’s all. You were out of it by then, but Gyatso said we can’t trust anyone. He told us about all his contacts but after what that woman did, he said not to trust any of them. We need to reset.” Bumi’s voice had come down from the yelling of before. The gentleness was almost worse.

Aang nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Bumi shuffled over to the front of the saddle, pulling out the map they’d brought from Omashu.

“Gyatso said there was a place we could go to - just to stop. We need to go back to Omashu,” Bumi said, voice cracking. “He said to only talk to my mom and Aluki.”

Aang breathed heavily, staring at the map. There was an area south of where they were, almost near the Western Temple, where the land was colored brown.

Bumi pointed at the brown area. “He said we can stop here, that it’d be safe.”

There was another mark on the map, signifying a town Aang knew well, just a little south of the area Gyatso had instructed them to stop. It represented a resting point, convenient between the south and the west. Just a dot on the map, Aang knew it in reality to be a decently-sized village which sat in the hollow lungs between cliffs of dark, volcanic earth, a refuge on the edge of the ocean. Carrying in its breast something valuable. Looking at it, he could feel the anger and helplessness compress a little, shrinking into something more manageable. His swirling emotion settled a little, calmed by purpose.

He pointed at it. “We’re stopping here,” he said, voice firm. Slowly, he got to his knees and made his way over to Appa’s head, grasping the reins.

“Why?”

Aang tugged on the reins, directing Appa more towards the west, resolve settling in his bones.

“I’m not leaving any more friends in the Fire Nation than I have to.”