Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sato, speaking.”, a black-haired woman tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, still reviewing blueprints on her desk.

“Hello, this is Republic City Central Hospital speaking. I’m nurse Yubin from the emergency room. You were registered as the emergency contact for our patient.”, The woman’s voice was steady, professional – but her hesitation made the woman’s stomach clench. “May you come to the hospital’s emergency room, please? It’s about your-”

“I’m coming. Twenty minutes.”, the black-haired woman cut her short and ended the call.

She was on her feet before the phone hit the desk, striding to the door. “Cancel all appointments for today,” she told Makoto, her secretary.

“I can call the chauffeur. Where-”

“I’ll take my bike. Faster.” She was already swapping heels for scuffed biker boots, shrugging into her leather jacket. The rare choice of pants over a skirt felt like the only good decision she’d made all day.

The streets blurred. Wind roared in her ears, each red light a personal insult. Her hands locked on the handlebars, knuckles aching, chest tight. Whatever had happened – it had to be serious. She didn’t let other people call on her behalf.

Images clawed at her mind: the woman at breakfast, smiling faintly over the paper; the woman working late under the hum of fluorescent lights; the woman saying “Don’t worry” like it was a law.

She couldn’t be gone. Not like this.

With a screech of the rear tires as she stopped at the hospital, kicked the stand, and was through the sliding doors in seconds.

The man at the reception desk looked up. “If you have an emergency, please—”

“Nurse Yubin called me. About a patient.”

“Name?”

“Sato-“

“Yasuko!”

She spun. Bolin was hurrying toward her, face pale, jacket askew.

“Bolin! What- what happened?”

“I happened to be there, when it happened. She was on her way to Future Industries Tower. The crash-”, Bolin answered. “I got her here. Mako’s on his way.”

“Uncle Mako? He doesn’t handle traffic cases anymore.”, Her voice sharpened. “What happened?”

Bolin’s gaze skittered away, guilt written all over his face.

“Yasuko Sato?” the receptionist said, drawing her attention back.

“Yes. I’m the emergency contact for Asami Sato – my mother.”

“ID, please. Wait in the room to your right. I’ll get Head Nurse Yubin.”

Yasuko obeyed, Bolin trailing after her.

“Will you tell me what happened?” she pressed.

Bolin swallowed. “Your mom wanted to tell you herself. It’s… not my place.”

Yasuko stared at him. “How bad?”

“I made them call you this time. You need to know.”

Yasuko’s head was spinning. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Not sure how to react in this situation, she was just afraid of what had happened to her mother.

“Miss Sato?”, a woman’s voice she recognized called her. The woman was tall with kind eyes. “I’m Yubin. We talked on the phone. Please follow me.”

“What happened to my mother? If it were her choice I wouldn’t be here.”

They walked in silence past curtained bays and rows of beeping machines until they reached the ICU.

Yasuko stopped in the doorway.

It wasn’t her mother in the bed – not the woman she knew. Not the woman who used to stride through boardrooms like she owned the world. This figure was too still, too pale, her hair matted from blood and antiseptic, skin swallowed by the sterile white of the sheets. Tubes and wires formed a web around her.

The sound of the heart monitor – that slow, steady beep – pressed into Yasuko’s ears until it was the only thing she could hear.

A memory punched through: six years old, curled on the couch while her mother read blueprints, one hand absently combing through Yasuko’s hair. That hand – the same one now limp on the sheets – had been warm, steady, unshakable. 

Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the doorframe and bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood, forcing the tears back. 

“Mom…” The word broke in half, barely more than breath.

Dr. Yang approached. “Your mother was in a serious collision. A van struck her vehicle intentionally. She sustained multiple injuries – surgery was successful, but we placed her in a medically induced coma to allow her body to heal.”

Yasuko’s voice came out flat, a reflex from boardrooms and negotiations. “Details.”

The doctor hesitated, glancing at the nurse – but before he could speak, a low voice cut in.

“Kid.”

Mako stood in the doorway beside Chief Beifong, two uniformed officers behind them. Even Lin’s usual steel had softened.

“Let’s talk inside,” she said.

Once the door was closed and two officers stationed outside, Mako rubbed the back of his neck. “Your mom’s car was hit at the intersection of Sokka Avenue and Yue Road. CCTV shows her getting out, conscious. Two masked men tried to force her into the van. She fought them off, had them both on the ground.”

“Wait.”, Yasuko interrupted Mako. “When she was still fighting after the car accident why is she like..”, she looked at her mother. “Like this…”

Mako sighed loudly. She could see that this is hard on him, too. They were close friends and a little more. They are family after all.

“She went to help her assistant – he was unconscious, shoulder impaled with glass. That’s when one of the attackers grabbed a gun. Two shots. Shoulder and abdomen. Both clean through, but she lost a lot of blood. Bolin kept her alive until medics arrived. She coded twice during surgery.”, Chief Beifong finished.

Yasuko’s fingers curled around the bedrail. The smell of antiseptic filled her nose, too sharp, too clean.

“Due to the blood loss and reanimation, we decided to put her into a coma that her body can better heal without her being in pain.”, Dr. Yang added.

Yubin stepped closer. “Relatives talking to coma patients can help. They may hear more than we think. We will give you privacy.”

When the door shut, Yasuko sat heavily in the chair and took her mother’s hand.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” she whispered, a tear sliding hot down her cheek.

In the hall, Mako pulled an evidence bag from his coat. Inside was a folded letter. Bolin read the words aloud: “Give us the Avatar.”

Mako’s jaw tightened. “This is bad.”

Opal’s voice was low. “She never told Yasuko.”

Bolin’s gaze flicked to the door. “Then we need to call her.”

Opal spotted movement – Yasuko started toward them – and quickly intercepted, spinning her around, knowing she must have heard them. “Hey, sweetheart. Come sit with me for a moment.”

Yasuko let Opal steer her away, but the muffled voices behind the door pressed against her skull. They weren’t talking about the crash. They were talking about something – someone – else.

Chapter Text

The hospital room was a cage of sterile white walls and humming machines, the quiet beep of the heart monitor threaded through the stillness like a slow, steady drum. Yasuko sat on the edge of the narrow chair beside the bed, her fingers lightly curled around her mother’s pale hand. The skin was cool beneath her touch – distant, unreachable.

She leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mom… it’s me, Yasuko. I’m here.” The words felt fragile, breaking in the thick silence. “I brought you some coffee, just as you like it.”

Her eyes flicked to the machines, then back to the stillness of Asami’s face — serene, yet frozen in time. The lines of exhaustion and worry tugged at Yasuko’s heart. Memories bubbled up.

“Mom! It was there! I saw it!”, a six year old Yasuko shrilled as she came running into the bedroom of her mother. “The monster is under my bed! Make it go away!”

“Yasuko… come here.”, Asami said yawning, cuddling her daughter. “Let’s see where this monster is.”

Together, hand in hand, they were walking to Yasuko’s room to confront the monster.

“Turn around, Yasuko. I will chase away the monster.”

As told Yasuko turned around and covered her ears but snuggled close to her mother as she no longer had the security of her hand.

“All gone!”, Asami cheered and knelt down to Yasuko. She gently stroked her daughter’s head to make her feel safe and smiled.

But now, the hand in hers was still. So still it scared her.

A single tear slipped down Yasuko’s cheek. She wiped it away quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Please… come back.”

Before the door opened there were soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. Yasuko looked up to see Bolin and Opal enter quietly, their faces lined with worry but trying to mask it.

“Hey.” Bolin said softly, setting down a small bouquet of flowers on the windowsill. His usual easy smile was absent, replaced by something heavier. “How are you holding up?”

Yasuko forced a small, tired smile. “As well as I can.” Her voice was steady, but inside, the weight felt unbearable.

Opal hesitated, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. After all she stepped forward and gently touched Yasuko’s shoulder. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” Yasuko said, though her eyes betrayed the loneliness she felt. “It’s just… everything’s so quiet. Like there’s this space where answers should be, but no one wants to fill it.”

Bolin’s jaw tightened. “There are things you don’t know yet. Things your mom never told you – things that might be better left alone for now.”

Yasuko’s gaze sharpened. “I don’t think I can wait. I need to understand what’s happening.”

Opal gave a small nod of approval but warned gently, “Be careful, Yasuko. Some truths can hurt more than silence.”

Bolin glanced toward the door, his expression conflicted. “We’re here for you, no matter what.”

The three stood in silence, the hum of machines weaving around them, a fragile support in the vast unknown.

Later that afternoon, Mako arrived at the hospital, his presence commanding yet heavy with unspoken worries. He found Yasuko next to Asami, her fingers nervously tapping a worn leather bracelet – a silent anchor of steadiness.

“Yasuko,” he greeted softly, offering a tired smile. “I want to tell you what I can, but some of this… it’s not easy.”

“Mako, what really happened to Mom? The accident... the attackers… I need to know,” she said, her voice steady but edged with desperation. “Please, I deserve to know.”

Mako looked away for a moment, then back at her, jaw tightened. “It’s complicated. The accident itself is still under investigation. But there’s something you should know – something from years ago.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Back then, we were being hunted by a dangerous gang. They wanted something from us – something powerful.”

Yasuko’s brows knit together. “Powerful? What do you mean?”

“We had… help,” Mako said slowly, eyes darkening with memory. “Someone powerful. Saved us more than once. But she disappeared. Her name was Korra. Have you heard the name before?”

The name hung between them like a secret. Yasuko’s heart thudded oddly, a strange mix of recognition and confusion fluttering in her chest.

“Who… who is she? Why does her name feel like it matters so much?” Yasuko whispered, almost afraid to ask.

Yasuko glanced around the room. Bolin and Opal exchanged uneasy looks, their shoulders stiffening. Even the hospital staff nearby seemed to quiet down. No one said more.

“What happened to her?” Yasuko asked softly, while shaking her head.

Mako hesitated. “No one really knows. She vanished without a trace.”

The silence that followed was thick – filled with unspoken stories and secrets Yasuko wasn’t yet ready to uncover.

Later, Yasuko sat alone in Asami’s room, the faint hum of the hospital a constant backdrop. Mako’s words echoed in her mind, stirring something deep inside – an unease she couldn’t shake.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out, unconsciously tracing circles in the air. A soft ripple of water materialized, swirling gently around her fingers. It was small, fragile – but it was hers.

Confusion flooded her. She had always been a waterbender, a trait she’s never been able to fully explain, but lately, her control felt unpredictable, wild at times, as if something was trying to surface.

Who was Korra? Why did her name send waves through the people around her? And why did her own bending feel different when she thought about her?

The walls around her felt tighter, the silence heavier. Secrets whispered in the shadows of her family’s past, and Yasuko realized she was standing at the edge of something much bigger – something that might change everything she thought she knew about herself.

She sat cross-legged on the window seat, staring out at the city lights that blurred into a sea of colors. The distant hum of traffic felt like a heartbeat, steady and relentless, much like her own growing need for answers.

Her mind replayed Mako’s words over and over. Hunted by a gang. Saved by someone powerful. Korra… The pieces felt like shards of a shattered mirror – each one reflecting a truth she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

But ready or not, she knew she couldn’t stay in the dark any longer. Yasuko’s fingers tightened around the worn leather bracelet on her wrist. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat, steeling herself.

“If Mom can fight off those attackers… if Korra really saved them all before… then I need to find her,” Yasuko whispered to the empty room. “I need to know who I am, and why I’ve been left out of all this.”

Her breath hitched as a sudden surge of water rippled from the small glass of water on the windowsill. The droplets spun, shimmering in the moonlight – a silent echo of the power stirring inside her.

The question no one had dared to ask yet burned hotter than ever: What does Korra mean to me?

Night cloaked the city as a figure stood hidden in the shadows across from Republic City Central Hospital. The cold wind tugged at their dark coat, but their eyes remained fixed on the glowing windows where Asami lay silent and still.

In one gloved hand, they held a small notebook, jotting down details with deliberate care. Every movement at the hospital was noted – visitors, guards, the shift changes.

Their voice was barely more than a breath, yet it carried a chilling weight.

“The Avatar must return… or everything will fall.”

A faint, sinister smile crept onto their lips before they melted back into the night, disappearing like a ghost.

Chapter Text

Yasuko barely remembered falling asleep at home, only the heavy weight of dreams she couldn’t hold onto. Morning came like a dull ache. She dressed without thinking, pulling on her oil-stained work shirt and slipping into the familiar cocoon of her workshop. The air smelled of metal filings, machine grease, coffee and the faint lavender perfume Asami used to wear – scents that had always steadied her.

But not today. Every clang of a wrench, every hum of a motor seemed to echo the unanswered questions from last night.

She hunched over a half-repaired gear assembly, forcing herself to focus on the delicate work. Her hands, usually precise, felt clumsy. A glass bottle of water sat near the corner of the workbench. She nudged it accidentally, and it tipped.

Her reaction was instinct. Her hand flicked, and the water obeyed – but not smoothly. It shot upward in a jagged surge, the force snapping the bottle apart. Glass shards scattered across the workbench, the water falling in heavy drops that smeared across the blueprints.

“Damn it!” she snapped, shoving the mess away. The blueprint ink bled into blurred, useless lines. Her breath came quicker, chest tight with a familiar, unwelcome heat – loss of control. Again.

She had learned to waterbend young, though it had never been a public part of her life. In a city full of benders, it wasn’t rare – but for her, it had always felt… unclaimed. No father to pass it down, no family history to anchor it.

Asami had never once told her to stop. If anything, she’d encouraged her to keep practicing, even if she couldn’t guide her. “I don’t know much about waterbending, sweetheart, but you should never be ashamed of it.”

Still, when Yasuko asked where it came from, her mother’s answers had always been short. When she once asked, “Did Dad bend?”, Asami had gone quiet, eyes shadowed, and changed the subject.

Yasuko wiped the workbench dry with short, angry motions. The water in her veins felt foreign, too sharp, like it didn’t belong – and yet it was undeniably hers.

She wandered into the small living room, her gaze catching on the mantle. A single framed photo of her and Asami sat there, a picture from when she was just one or two. Asami held her in one arm, the other resting out of frame. The image was cropped tight on the right, too tight.

It had always bothered her – the angle, the way Asami’s shoulder seemed to lean toward someone who was no longer there. Someone erased.

Her fingertips brushed the glass of the frame, a quiet shiver traveling up her spine. Yasuko’s gaze drifted past the living room, to the closed door at the end of the hall. Asami’s bedroom.

Her hand hesitated on the knob. The door creaked open with the sound of a secret being told too loudly. Inside, the air was cooler, the curtains half-drawn, shadows stretching over a meticulously kept bed. A tall bookshelf lined one wall, but it wasn’t the books that caught her eye. It was the small cedar box sitting on top.

Yasuko climbed onto the bed, stretching to reach it. The lid gave way with a faint groan, and a faint whiff of cedar and time-worn paper filled the air.

Photographs. Dozens of them.

The first was a group shot – four young adults standing in a circle, grinning down at the camera. Two brothers, one with an easy smile and the other with a sharper, more guarded expression, framed the image alongside a dark-haired woman whose appearance looked like Yasuko’s own and a tan-skinned girl with bright blue eyes and a grin that could have lit the whole frame.

Another photo showed them in matching red pro-bending uniforms, striking ridiculous, triumphant poses. Yasuko almost laughed – almost. The woman with the blue eyes was at the right, her posture bold.

Beneath them was a black-and-white print that felt… softer. More intimate. Asami sat with her back against a couch, reading, while the same blue-eyed woman lay sprawled across her lap, bandaged hands fiddling with a small object. Asami’s fingers were woven gently through her hair. It wasn’t just closeness – it was care, deep and unspoken.

Yasuko stared at the photo for a long moment. Her chest felt tight, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the room. There was something in the blue-eyed woman’s smile – not just joy, but familiarity, like an echo of a dream she could never quite hold onto. The longer she looked, the more it felt like the woman in the picture was looking back at her.

Who was she? The name Korra floated up in her memory, cold and strange. Why had she never seen these photos before? Why had her mother hidden them away in a box at the back of her room?

She pressed the pictures back into the box – but the images burned behind her eyes, impossible to unsee.

The afternoon, Yasuko returned to the hospital. The air felt heavy the moment she stepped inside, the murmur of voices carrying down the corridor. The hospital doors slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, sealing in the heavy, recycled air.

For a moment, Yasuko glanced back toward the street – not for any reason she could name, just a prickling along the back of her neck. The hair on her arms prickled.

Someone stood across the road, half-hidden in the shadow of a streetlamp. She couldn’t make out a face, only the faint gleam of light off metal – glasses? Binoculars?

A bus roared past. When it moved on, the shadow was gone.

Her breath came shallow, and she shook her head, forcing herself toward the elevators. She had enough mysteries without imagining more. Still, the sensation lingered, like eyes pressed against her back.

She was halfway to Asami’s room when she heard her name – not spoken, but implied – from a hushed conversation nearby.

“…if we’re going to track her down, we can’t wait much longer,” Opal was saying.

“She’s not ready for that,” Bolin replied. “And you know what could happen if she comes back.”

Yasuko’s pulse jumped. She. She stepped around the corner and caught Bolin near the vending machines.

“Who are you talking about?” she asked, her voice low but edged.

Bolin froze with a paper cup in hand. “No one you need to worry about.”

“Don’t do that,” she snapped. “Don’t act like I’m some kid you have to protect. My mom’s in a coma, and I’m standing here in the dark while you all whisper around me. I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Bolin shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting away. “It’s not my place–“

“Then make it your place.”

His jaw tightened, a crack in his resolve. “Korra…” He stopped, swallowed, and glanced toward Opal like he’d already said too much. “…wasn’t just a friend to your mom.”

The words came slow, like he was prying them out against his will. He didn’t explain, didn’t soften them, just let them drop between them like a blade. They landed like a stone in her gut. Heat flared in her cheeks, an ache rising behind her eyes, her breath caught.

“Then what was she?”

Bolin didn’t answer. His gaze softened, regret and wary flickering across his face, before he shook his head and walked away. As if saying more might summon something neither of them wanted to face.

Yasuko stood there, rooted in place. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. The words “wasn’t just a friend” sank deep, twisting into something raw and urgent.

She looked at her hands – steady now but still tingling with the echo of her earlier loss of control.

“That’s her right?”, Yasuko asked showing Opal the group photo she found earlier. Opal nodded quietly, looking away. “What happened to her? The four of them look like they were friends for life.”

Opal looked at her apologetically.

Yasuko’s pulse roared in her ears. Her grip on the photo tightened until the edges bent.

Korra disappeared, Mako told her yesterday. The cropped photo in her mind loomed larger than ever. Someone had been erased.

In that moment, Yasuko made her decision. If no one here would tell her the truth, she’d find it herself. This was the beginning of her search – not just for Korra, but for herself.

Chapter Text

“Hi mom,” she said while kissing the top of Asami’s head. “How are you? Are you feeling better? Home feels so empty without you. I don’t know what to do. Every corner reminds me of you.”

Yasuko sat in silence. Waiting for her mother to respond.

“Mom, can you hear me?” Yasuko asked. “They told me about Korra.”

Asami’s heart rate sped up a bit. Yasuko noticed.

“I found some pictures in your bedroom. Sorry for rummaging through your stuff, I just… miss you. As I can see from her skin tone she should be from the Water Tribe. Is she a waterbender? Why wasn’t she in our life? You seem close on that one black and white picture… Don’t you think she could have helped me with my bending?”

She waited for an answer.

“I want to help you, mom. I thought about going after her, trying to bring her back to Republic City, to Mako and Bolin, to you, to us.”

Asami’s heart raced up rapidly and then crashed. There was a straight line showing on the heart monitor.

“Mom? MOM?!”

Nurses were rushing in and shoved Yasuko out of the way.

“Miss Sato, please leave the room,” Yubin yelled while starting CPR on Asami.

“I want to stay. What’s wrong?”, Yasuko cried.

“Miss Sato, please leave the room. Miko, get the crash car, page Dr. Yang and get Miss Sato out of the room. Now!”

Yasuko struggled and stayed in the hallway. Her mother’s heart stopped beating as soon as she mentioned going after Korra. Should she not even try? Time was passing, full of the thoughts and the new information she learnt yesterday.

“Miss Sato,” Yasuko looked up and saw Yubin. “We stabilized your mother. It’s alright, you can go back in. But please, don’t stay too long.”

She nodded. As she was walking to the bed, she cradled her mother’s hand and kissed it lightly before leaving the room again.

The hospital gardens were still except for the wind combing through the leaves. Yasuko had come out to escape the stale smell of antiseptic, but she wasn’t alone.

Tenzin stood near the koi pond, his robes whispering against the gravel. He didn’t turn when she approached. “Your mother used to come here when she needed to think,” he said.

“I’m not here to think,” Yasuko muttered. “I’m here because inside feels like it’s… closing in.”

Tenzin’s gaze shifted to her at last, studying her with that calm, unreadable expression she’d hated since she was a kid. “You’ve been asking about Korra.”

Her jaw tightened. “Not with much success.”

He folded his hands behind his back, his tone measured.

“Korra and your mother crossed paths in ways most people never do. There was… a bond between them. Not something that fits easily into words. It went beyond friendship, beyond duty. They understood each other in a way few ever will.”

Yasuko frowned. “What kind of bond?”

Tenzin looked out over the pond instead of answering directly. “What bound them was deeper – an unshakable resonance between their spirits. In the old texts, some call it the soulmate bond. Not love as in possession but love as in recognition. Two lives that are… interlaced.”

“You’re saying they were close.”

“I’m saying they were connected in a way that even the Spirit World acknowledged,”, Tenzin said quietly. “It’s why I believe–“ He hesitated. “It’s why I believe that if anyone could reach your mother, even in a coma, it would be Korra.”

Yasuko thought back to the moment the heart monitor changing when she mentioned Korra to her mother.

“Except no one will tell me where she is,” Yasko said.

Tenzin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but not in anger – in warning. “There are reasons Korra left, and reasons she hasn’t returned. Chasing her could open wounds you don’t yet understand.”

“Or it could save my mom,” Yasuko shot back.

They stood in silence for a long moment, the breeze stirring between them. Finally, Tenzin sighed. “If you do find her… be prepared. Soulmate bonds can heal – but they can also hurt. And they always change those they touch.”

Yasuko swallowed hard, unsure if the shiver she felt was from the wind or his words.

After four more weeks Yasuko’s workshop smelled the same as always – scorched metal, coffee gone stale, and the faint lavender that lingered in the walls from her mother’s perfume. It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like a cage.

She sat hunched over a half-assembled suspension bracket, welding torch in hand. The seam she was supposed to be reinforcing came out warped, ugly. Her hands weren’t clumsy — her mind was elsewhere. Always elsewhere.

“Uh,” Makoto’s voice drifted from behind her, “that bracket’s supposed to hold up an entire engine block, not crumble like week-old pastry.”

She snapped off the torch and tossed it onto the bench. “It’s fine. I’ll redo it.”

“You’ll redo it when? Between your next existential crisis and the lunch you forgot to eat?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. Makoto was a few years older than her, always looking like he’d been dragged out of bed ten minutes too early – hair sticking out, shirt untucked, glasses always slightly askew. “Seriously, Yasuko, you’ve been… off. More than usual.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, wiping her hands on a rag.

He raised a brow. “Fine. Sure. Except you’ve messed up three orders this week, skipped the board briefing, and haven’t been down to the production floor in days. I’m the one covering for you with the supervisors – and I’m not even technically in charge here.”

Yasuko’s jaw tightened. She didn’t need a lecture. She needed answers. Her gaze slid to the stack of old photographs tucked under a blueprint on her workbench – the same ones she’d found in Asami’s cedar box. She pulled the top photo free, the one with the three young adults in pro-bending uniforms.

“You ever seen her before?” she asked, holding it out.

Makoto took the picture, squinting. “The one with the blue eyes? Nope. Looks like she could kill me with a single punch, though.”

“She’s important,” Yasuko said, more to herself than to him.

He studied her for a moment. “Okay… and?”

“And I think I know how to find her.”

Yamato sighed, handing the photo back. “Please tell me this doesn’t involve you blowing off more work.”

“It involves using Future Industries’ archives,” she said, crossing to the office terminal. “Which, technically, is work-related.”

“Uh-huh. And technically, I’m the Firelord.”

She ignored him, scanning the photo for anything useful. A banner in the background read Pro-Bending Championship – 172 AG. That was something. The pro-bending uniforms got a Future Industries patch on it. She searched the company’s sponsorship records for that year, finding an event roster that listed team names, match dates, and a few low-res images. There she was again – the woman with the blue eyes, mid-throw, water arcing from her hands like glass catching sunlight. So she is a waterbender.

Makoto wandered over, peering at the screen. “You’re really doing this.”

“She’s been to places. If I track those places, maybe I find where she went next.”

“You’re chasing a ghost.”

“Better than sitting here pretending everything’s fine.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll help. But if the board finds out we’re using company time to play detectives, you’re on your own.”

Together, they dug through old news archives, community bulletins, and shipping logs. Makoto was better at the underground searches – bending forums, rumor boards, old festival schedules. They built a map on the office wall, pinning every confirmed sighting of the woman over the last twenty years. The pattern was erratic but leaned coastal, drifting between fishing villages and small ports.

The breakthrough came when Makoto pulled up a grainy photo from a community newsletter: Annual Tide Festival – Harbor Town. In the background, a woman was waterbending in the shallows, helping children weave floating lanterns. The picture was blurred, but Yasuko recognized the stance instantly. She’d seen it in the pro-bending shots – the same precision, the same fluid authority.

“That’s her,” Yasuko said, voice tight.

Makoto zoomed in. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Where is this?”

“Two days’ travel, remote coast.”

The journey to the coast took two cramped ferries and a jolting ride in the back of a grain truck. By the time Yasuko stepped onto the weathered pier of Harbor Town, her legs felt like she’d been welded to the seat. The air here was different – heavier with salt, the kind that clung to skin and hair, seeping into clothes until you smelled like the ocean itself.

She kept her hood up, the sea wind tugging strands of her hair loose as she moved through the narrow market lanes. Every stall sold some variation of the same: baskets of shellfish, ropes of drying kelp, jars of pickled eel. No one paid her much attention.

It was late afternoon before she saw her.

At first, Yasuko thought it was just another fisher mending nets in the shallows. But then the water moved differently – too cleanly, too obediently. The woman’s hands worked in small, deliberate gestures, the water lifting the torn sections of net, holding them perfectly taut as she wove fresh twine. Her hair was shorter than in the photographs, streaked faintly with silver, but her shoulders were the same – square, grounded, unshakable.

Korra.

Yasuko stopped mid-step, ducking behind a stack of crab traps. Her pulse spiked.

She told herself she’d only watch for a minute.

That minute turned into an hour. She trailed Korra through the late-day rhythm of the town, watching her exchange easy words with the dockhands, carry crates of catch to the market, bend streams of water to rinse fish clean without touching them. There was a quiet efficiency to her, the kind that comes from years of work, not performance.

At dusk, Yasuko found a perch on a grassy bluff overlooking the beach. Below, children gathered in a loose circle, sticks in hand, like they were holding swords twice their size, giggling when they missed each other by a mile. Korra bent down to adjust one boy’s stance, her hands steady, her tone patient.

She corrected their footing, showed them how to shift their weight. When one boy complained, she took up a stick herself, demonstrating – sharp, precise movements that turned into fluid arcs. It was training disguised as play. The movements resembled the ones her own mother was using when they sparred.

Yasuko felt something twist in her chest – it was so easy for Korra to give her full attention, even to a bunch of strangers’ kids. Her mother used to do that. Once. A long time ago. She told herself it was just research, just noting Korra’s teaching style. But her notes – the mental ones – kept slipping into the wrong category. Things like: how she laughs without holding anything back, or how she talks like every answer is worth hearing.

Yasuko sat there long after the lanterns were lit along the pier, the tide creeping higher. She didn’t move when her legs went numb, didn’t shift when the night air cooled. She was watching more than technique now.

Korra laughed sometimes, but it wasn’t loud. Her gaze would drift when she thought no one was looking – far out to sea, to a horizon that didn’t end. In those moments, she looked like someone carrying something heavy and long-lived.

Yasuko returned the next day. And the day after. Each time, she kept her distance – from the dunes, from the shadowed edge of the market, from a dinghy moored just beyond the dock. She learned Korra’s patterns: early mornings at the tidepools, midday repairs at the boathouse, sparring in the evenings. She learned which children were her favorites, which merchants she trusted enough to leave her catch with.

On the third day, Korra stopped mid-task, straightened, and glanced toward Yasuko’s hiding place. The movement was small, but Yasuko felt it like a spotlight.

She ducked behind the crates before she could think. The world seemed to drop into silence. No gulls, no waves. Just the press of that look, like Korra was flipping through her face for answers. Yasuko’s breath caught; she wasn’t ready. She had spent three days watching Korra from a safe, invisible place – and suddenly it felt like Korra could see everything.

When she peeked again, Korra was gone.

That night, as she lay awake in the rented room above the fishmonger’s, Yasuko couldn’t shake the feeling that the watching had become mutual.

Back in Republic City she visited Asami in the hospital again. The accident was almost two months ago, unfortunately, Asami’s condition remained unchanged.

“Mom, I decided to take some time off from Future Industries,” she began softly. “Makoto and Yamato as our right hands should be able to handle it until I’m back.,” Her voice caught slightly. “I… found someone who might help me with my waterbending again.” Intentionally, keeping Korra’s name out of the game. Cautiously continuing. “Help me get control again. Please… stay strong. I will be back as soon as possible.”

Yasuko brought two framed pictures. The group photo she’d found in the cedar box and the cropped family photo of the two of them. She placed them on the shelf next to the bed, arranging them so both were visible.

“I love you, mom. Please, don’t leave me, I will do everything I can.”

Outside the hospital, she hesitated before heading to the restaurant to meet Makoto for lunch. As she crossed the street, a flicker of movement caught her eye – someone leaning against a lamppost, head down, fiddling with something metallic. When she glanced again, the spot was empty.

The restaurant was warm and noisy, the smell of grilled fish hanging in the air. Makoto was already at a corner table, a half-empty teacup in front of him.

“So, what’s your plan? Walk up and ask the Avatar for lessons?”

She frowned. “Avatar?”

He blinked. “Wait… you don’t know who– never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She ignored him, eyes on the map they’d built together – a scatter of ink dots marking her visits to the coastal town. “If she sees I can bend, and that I want to learn… maybe she’ll say yes.”

“It’s risky,” Makoto said. “I’ve been asking around. Some people don’t think she wants to be found. And others… well, others think she’s hiding for a reason.”

Before Yasuko could answer, a voice came from behind her. “That’s quite the map you’ve got there.”

She turned to see Bolin, a tray with two steaming bowls of noodles. He nodded toward Makoto. “Didn’t expect to see you here either. Lunch meeting?”

“Something like that,” Yasuko said carefully.

Bolin’s easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right. Just… be careful where your curiosity takes you. Sometimes finding people brings up things you’re not ready to know.” He glanced between them, then left without waiting for a reply.

Makoto leaned in once Bolin was gone. “That’s the third time one of your mom’s old friends has said something like that. Don’t you think it’s strange?”

Yasuko shrugged, though her pulse quickened. “I think it means they’re all hiding something.”

Makoto stirred his tea slowly, his gaze drifting toward the window. “Maybe. Or maybe someone else doesn’t want you getting close.”

She followed his glance through the restaurant’s window, she thought she saw the same metallic glint from earlier, just for a second, before the crowd shifted and it was gone.

Chapter Text

The tide was low, the shoreline scattered with black rocks slick with salt. Yasuko’s heart hammered as she walked the last stretch of the cliff path. For three days she’d watched from a distance – Korra moving like the tide itself, steady but untamed. Now, standing so close, every step felt heavier, as though the air itself wanted to drag her back.

Korra noticed her before she spoke, without turning around. The older woman straightened from where she had been carrying driftwood, wiped her palms on her trousers and crossed her arms.

“You’ve been watching me.”

No question. The words hit her like cold water. Her stomach clenched, a sharp twist of fear – like being a child again, caught doing something forbidden. Heat shot up her neck, embarrassment blooming in her cheeks.

And then Korra turned fully toward her and Yasuko saw them. The eyes. Bright, startling, blue – the same shade she had stared at in the mirrors her whole life, the shade her mother never shared. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. The recognition wasn’t logical; it was visceral.

Something inside her stirred, sharp, nameless and harder to swallow: a pull. Standing this close, looking into Korra’s eyes, she felt the jolt of familiarity she had no right to feel. It was like recognition without memory, as if some pieces of her soul had been waiting at this moment and suddenly lurched awake.

Yasuko froze, pulse thrumming in her throat. Don’t say Sato. Don’t say your name. She wanted to run, to hide the way her hands trembled at her sides. But another current surged louder – don’t walk away, not now, not from her. And she felt a push like a mother would give while sending her child to school.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, then steadied her voice, forced herself to do it when everything inside her was not. “My name is… Suki. I came because I need help.”

Korra’s brow furrowed. She didn’t move closer, but her gaze stayed locked on Yasuko – weighing, piercing.

“Help? With what?”

Yasuko swallowed, her throat dry. The truth pressed against her ribs, but she forced it into words that felt clumsy, desperate.

“I’m a waterbender. I’ve never been trained properly. Every time I try, it feels like… like it’s too much, like it doesn’t belong to me.” Her hands curled into fists. “But it does. I know it does. And I thought maybe… maybe you could show me how to control it.”

Korra’s eyes flickered, something unreadable crossing her face at the plea. But then the shutters slammed down. She shook her head. “You should go to Republic City. There are teachers there. I don’t… I don’t train anyone.”

The refusal hit like a slap. Yasuko tried to keep her face steady, but heat crept up her neck. “I don’t want a school,” she said quickly. “I don’t want rules or masters who’ll tell me I’m wrong for being too wild, too uncontrolled, too.. wrong.” She swallowed, forcing her voice out, thin but steady despite the fire building in her chest. “I just thought

Her voice cracked before she caught it. “I saw how you trained with the kids. Saw how you controlled the water while fishing. I thought you could.. maybe..”

The words tumbled out before she could stop herself, sharper than she meant them. Yasuko clenched her fits, the heat rising. If I don’t say this, she’ll never know why I’m here.

“I need to help someone. Someone important to me,” she blurted, the edge of her temper cracking into desperation. “I can’t let her down. If I can’t learn control – if I can’t get better – then I’ve already failed her.”

Her throat tightened. She hated how raw it sounded, hated how close it was to breaking open the truth she wasn’t ready to tell.

For a fleeting moment, Korra’s mask slipped. The girl’s words hit with the weight of an old wound, words she’d once shouted into the storm herself. Too wild, too emotional, too intense. She had fought her while life against those labels – and against the crushing fear of failing those she loved.

The plea – I need to help someone important to me – lodged in Korra’s chest like a shard. She remembered faces of people she had once bled for, carried for, the ones she swore she couldn’t let down. Asami’s hand in hers in the Spirit World, her voice soft and certain: You don’t have to do it all alone.

For the smallest fraction of second, Korra saw herself in the girl – raw, unpolished, too much and not enough all at once. Silence stretched. Korra’s expression softened for a second – but it wasn’t acceptance, only recognition, like looking at a wound she’d once carried. Then she looked away, toward the sea.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Korra said quietly, almost to herself. “I can’t help you.”

Yasuko’s chest ached. She wanted to scream, to beg, to tell this woman she had stared at her face in old photographs and felt something like belonging. But she bit it down. If she pushed, Korra would turn colder still.

Instead, she nodded stiffly, blinking hard. “Then I’m sorry for wasting your time.” She turned before the tears could betray her, before her trembling hands gave her away.

Behind her, Korra stayed rooted, silent against the crash of waves – watching Yasuko, but refusing to reach.

Yasuko sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it ticked in slow circles. The sting of rejection clung to her, but beneath it was something more dangerous: that pull. The way Korra’s blue eyes – her blue eyes – had caught her and refused to let go.

She pressed her palms over her face. Why did it feel like she knew Korra already? Why did she care so much what Korra might think of her?

She remembered the laughter of the children on the beach, Korra crouching in the sand, leading them, teaching them playfully. A softness in her face Yasuko hadn’t expected.

The thought came unbidden: If I go back tomorrow, maybe she’ll see I’m not giving up. Maybe she’ll see me.

The tide was lower the next morning, the air sharper, the sun struggling to break through a quilt of gray clouds. Yasuko had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, Korra’s voice returned: I’m not who you think I am. I can’t help you. The refusal had sunk like a stone in her chest.

And yet here she was again. Back at the beach. She told herself it was only to clear her mind – but her boots led her to the dunes, her eyes scanning the shoreline before she’d even realized it. If I just walk away now, I’ll regret it forever.

She found Korra easily. She was knee-deep in the surf, laughing as a group of children clung to her arms. She wasn’t bending, only steadying them as they tried to balance on pieces of driftwood, makeshift rafts rocking in the waves. Her hair was pulled back, her shoulders loose. She looked at peace.

Yasuko’s chest tightened. How can she look so free, when I’m drowning?

For a while, she only watched. But the ocean was restless again. A larger wave gathered, curling higher than the rest. One of the rafts tipped, a boy stumbling into the water with a startled cry. Korra reacted instantly, her hand flicking with the smallest motion. The wave split, collapsing into harmless foam around him. The boy scrambled back to safety, none the wiser.

But Yasuko saw. Every detail. Every ounce of control. Her breath hitched. She’s still hiding it.

The sea rushed higher along the beach, and Yasuko stepped back too late. Cold water surged around her knees, the pull of the undertow sharper than she expected. Panic flared – then instinct took over. Her arm shot out, jerky and uneven, shoving the water away in a rough bend that splashed high before collapsing back. It wasn’t pretty, but it was hers.

When she looked up, Korra was staring at her. Not at the children, not at the sea – at her.

Their gazes locked across the sand. Blue met blue, the air between them tightening like a drawn bowstring. Something stirred deep in Yasuko’s chest, an ache she couldn’t name. She felt her face heat, her throat close. Why does it feel like she’s looking straight through me?

Korra dismissed the children gently, sending them scampering back toward the village. Then she waded closer, each step deliberate, water swirling in her wake.

“You’re still here,” she said, her voice low, unreadable. “Why?”

Yasuko swallowed hard. Her first instinct was to lie, but she forced the words out raw and trembling. “Because I can’t give up. Not when someone I love is waiting for me to get this right. If I can’t get better – then I’ve failed her.” She steadied herself against the pounding of her heart. “I thought… maybe you’d understand.”

For just a flicker, something broke in Korra’s expression – a shadow of old battles, of burdens carried too long. But then it closed off again, shuttered behind the cool blue of her eyes.

“I told you yesterday,” Korra said. “I don’t train anyone. I won’t.

The words hit like a slap. And yet, Yasuko noticed, she hadn’t walked away. The smallest ember of hope flared in her chest.

“But.. what if I try to gain some control while being near you?” Yasuko’s words spilled out before she could catch them, too raw, too vulnerable. “What if it is enough to follow you – to watch, to learn… to not feel like this power is earing me alive? I don’t just want to bend water. I want to feel like it belongs to me. Like I belong.”

Her voice cracked on the last words. Heat pricked her eyes, but she forced herself not to look away this time. She would not let herself break. Not here. Not in front of the one person who might understand.

Korra exhaled sharply, her gaze flicking to the horizon as if the ocean might offer her an escape. Yasuko caught the hesitation in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders.

“You sound like I did, once,” Korra said at last, her voice low, almost reluctant. “Too wild. Too much. Everyone told me I didn’t fit. And when I broke, when the world broke with me, I swore I’d never drag anyone into that storm again.”

Yasuko’s breath hitched. A single word hung on her lips – please – but she swallowed it, letting the silence stretch between them instead.

Finally, Korra’s eyes softened, only for a heartbeat. Her shoulders slumped the smallest degree. “If you’re going to keep following me around,” she muttered, a trace of resignation in her tone, “you’d better be ready to work.”

Yasuko’s breath caught, trembling in her chest. Not a full acceptance, but a crack in the wall. Enough to try.

That night, back in the rented room, Yasuko sat cross-legged on the narrow bed. The salty wind rattled the shutters, but she barely noticed. On the bedside table, propped against a chipped glass, was the photograph she had brought of her and Asami when she got her university degree.

Her fingertips brushed over the frame. “She didn’t say no,” Yasuko whispered into the dimness, as if her mother might somehow hear across the miles and the silence of the coma. “She didn’t say yes… but she didn’t walk away.”

A knot rose in her throat, tightening until her breath came sharp. “I won’t stop. I’ll learn control. I’ll prove I can carry this power without breaking apart. For you, mom. For us.”

She swallowed, hard. Then, quieter still: “And maybe… maybe for her too.”

The words hung heavy in the room, heavier than she expected. She thought of Korra’s eyes, the impossible familiarity in them, the way they had pierced straight through her defenses. Something pulled at her chest she couldn’t name, couldn’t allow herself to name.

Yasuko clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. “I won’t run, mom” she promised. “Not from this. Not from her.”

Out on the beach, the night air pressed cold against Korra’s skin. She stood barefoot in the tide, staring at the waterline where Yasuko had bent earlier. She told herself she was angry – that she should have sent the girl away for good.

But her chest still ached with the echo of those words: I don’t belong.

She flexed her hand, water curling at her fingertips with practiced ease, the ocean answering as it always had. For the first time in years, she felt old, dangerous tug – connection, recognition.

And she hated that it made her want to reach back.