AN: Alright, so here's how this works. At the time this story is being posted, there's eighteen days left until "The Last Airbender" hits theaters in the U.S. To count down, I'll be doing a different short one-shot every day, featuring a different character from the originals series, and covering what might have happened to them after the end of the series. Leave character requests in the comments. :)

To start us off, here's Jeong Jeong.

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, or any of the characters I didn't invent myself. That's all property of Nickelodeon.

The hatred boiled inside of him like churning acid. It made him so angry, he could hardly speak, sometimes. It was all he could do, when it hit him at its strongest, to stop himself from lashing out at everything within a five mile radius, burning it all to ashes. No one else really understood the inner self-anger- not even Chey, who had been following him longest of all. Chey thought he was angry at the Fire Nation, for what had happened during the war. He was wrong.

No, all of this hatred, this constantly raging anger… It was self-loathing.

Jeong Jeong continued through the forest mountain trail, his followers behind him, biting it back. There was nothing keeping him in the Earth Kingdom, he knew. He could go back to the Fire Nation any time he wanted. The new Fire Lord had already pardoned him, after all- he was no longer hunted, no longer in any danger. No longer even really worthy of his title, "the Deserter". At any moment, he could go back to the Fire Nation, embrace his new status as a war hero, and probably live comfortably for the rest of his life.

But he refused to go back. He couldn't forget, would never forget, what had happened. As long as the memories plagued his soul, the self-loathing would rage on like an inferno inside of him, and he would not trust himself to be around others. For so long, as a younger, more naïve man, he had believed that power, attained by any means necessary, was the only way to achieve happiness in this life. If he had only known, back then, that without utter discipline and control, too much power would rage out of control and consume everything…

"Master Jeong Jeong?" one of the men called from behind, voice curious. "Where exactly are we going? You haven't told any of us."

Jeong Jeong was silent for a long moment, continuing to walk up the trail, leading towards the top of the mountain. "I am… tired."

"Oh, of course," the follower said, mentally reminding him that, despite how the man acted, they were still dealing with an elderly man. "One of us can carry you, Master. Perhaps we should stop and take a rest?"

Jeong Jeong shook his head. No one understood. "Not of walking. It's just that… I have spent so many years, swimming downstream, hoping to at least once know the shape of the ocean. Not once have I seen it. So now, instead, I am returning to the river's source."

He could feel the people behind him, shifting, looking at each other and shrugging. At a loss. No one understood…

A feeling of strange loneliness ran through him, and only made the inner fire flare up greater than before. He pushed it down with a shake of his head, and allowed himself to retreat deep within his thoughts, where the flames couldn't reach. He had to focus, to maintain control, to remember…

To remember…

…How could he forget? He had forgotten many things from his younger days, but not that- never that. He had been so proud and full of himself when he had been promoted, sent to the small village that had just been conquered to oversee its assimilation into the Fire Nation, Zhao at his side. Everything had been set, and he had been confident, certain that he knew how to run a small army. The only thing he had regretted was that his firebending, compared to everything else, had been so weak. He knew all of the forms and techniques, and sure, his power level had been completely adequate- about what one would expect from any average firebender. But he could not tap into his anger, couldn't dredge up enough hate to bring forth the great streams of intense flame that he longed for. He had wanted to be so much more powerful than he had been, back then, had been so certain that he had been capable of so much more…

And then it had happened. The fighters had been driven from the town, but apparently hadn't left completely. As Jeong Jeong's company had marched into the town, they had launched an ambush, and had killed one of his closest friends, a comrade. He had stood over the silent body, completely still, despite the fighting raging all around him, and he had felt so angry.

Water is cool and soothing. Earth is steady and stable. But fire, fire is alive. It breathes. It grows. Without a bender, a rock will not throw itself, but fire will spread and destroy everything in its path if one does not have the will to control it.

He still remembered, the giant walls of flames that had suddenly ripped through everything, mingled with his yells of rage. He hadn't been able to control it, then, hadn't yet developed the severe self-discipline and focus that had come from years of training and self-denial. The heavy fires- stronger than any he had seen before- had burned through everything. The town, the resisting villagers, the bystanding villagers, his own men…

Fire brings only destruction and pain. It forces those of us burdended with its care to walk a razor edge thin line between humanity and savagery. Eventually we're torn apart.

It hadn't been bravery, or anything like that, which had caused him to desert the military. It had been cowardice, sheer inability to stand up again and face the destruction he had caused. Not until he had conquered the rage that had sparked up so suddenly within him, pouring itself out through the curse he had been born with, his own firebending.

They thought he was a hero, that he had been motivated by seeing the corruption of the War, or something like that. But they didn't really understand. They never did.

Jeong Jeong's feet slowed to a stop on the dirt trail.

"Master?" Chey's voice.

His hands clenched, barely controlling the inner rage. "Leave me, for a moment," he said through gritted teeth, barely daring to breath. He had to get himself under control. He had thought that he was ready, that after all of this time, he had developed the necessary discipline. But now, coming so close, to this "source of the stream"…

His followers nodded and retreated back the way they had come. Most of them had been with him for quite some time. They understood, his need to be alone, from time to time. And they most definitely knew the consequences if he was pushed too far. Even with years of restraint, he was still so completely, fallibly human…

He waited until they were gone. He stood there, shivering, hating his own hatred, wishing for peace. Peace which would not come. Peace which he did not deserve. Just once, he wanted to be rid of this, to be free…

Somehow, when he opened his eyes, he was staring at it.

He must have been closer than he'd thought. The village was spread out beneath him, not completely the same as when he'd seen it last. No, they had rebuilt, the survivors coming together and building newer structures. Years had passed, since then. There was… there was barely even a scar, now, to show that it had ever been attacked. People- young, old, and in between- mingled around the clusters of buildings, talking, laughing, going about their business. He could hear singing coming from the fields, far away.

Everything was so new and so fresh and so clean…

So peaceful, without any signs of anger at all…

A woman looked up, seeing him on the ridge above. She paused, putting down the fruit she had been buying, something flickering in her eyes. She recognized him. For a few moments, they stared at each other, while he waited for her to look at him with disgust and reproach.

She smiled. She turned away, pointing at him, and speaking animatedly to the people around her. In less than minutes, more were rushing forward, turning to look at him, waving, talking amongst each other. He was too far away to hear, but he could make out some of the words on their lips. Ba Sing Se. White Lotus. Rebelled. Deserter. Hero.

There was no anger here, no hatred. All of that had been forgiven, if not forgotten. In their eyes, he could see only…

Jeong Jeong fell to his knees, watching them. Maybe he would never comprehend the ocean, but the source was so fresh and pure, unpolluted, healing…

He lowered his head, a smile forming on his lips silently, as the inferno within him slowly died.