"Lin, what are you doing!"

She can still hear Tenzin's last words to her, still imagine the faces of the air bending family as they cling to unstable hope, fear taking them over in silence as the air ships gain on them. As they look to her for inspiring words, words she can't think. The situation in this moment is more extreme than even the war itself. They are the very last air benders.

'What I have to.'

It didn't take a genius to know what was coming. Lin remained dignified, even as she knelt in the dirt. The 'what if's' were already accepted the moment her feet left the sky bison. It was a mission she didn't expect to come out alive from—but when the bola's tightened around her wrists and ankles, the cost of the mission changed. She knew she was going to have her bending taken away. She told herself she'd get over it in time—in a week, in a month—anything to make the transition seem easier. She didn't know how she would overcome this—but she had no choice. This was all for Tenzin. For Pema and the kids—for an entire culture—however small. An obligation to previous Avatar Aang, to all of her family that endured the Hundred Year War—for Republic City. This was for so much, as so much was at stake, and she wasn't giving enough if it weren't her all.

This was the way it had to be.

'– . .'

Lin stared up into the face of her enemy, the mask that was Amon. She could feel the rage bringing her blood to a boil, tongue sharp with words intended to wound—but she knew, in the end, it would never amount to the invisible scar of his 'cleansing'. Her expression never faltered. Intimidation was not a trait of the Bei Fong's. Especially not in the face of a coward, not in the face of a man who couldn't even show his face.

It was only a matter of time.

This moment.

This sacrifice.

As Amon began his walk behind her, she tried to brace herself.

'It will be okay,' the words never left her lips, but they numbed.

Lin closed her eyes, her mind already playing back her days as Chief of police, her mother's legacy, all of it—all of it, everything leading up to the moment of her fateful decision.

But she doesn't regret swinging to those airships, she doesn't regret being captured, she doesn't regret the position she's in right now. If anything, she regrets not being able to do more—because even in this moment, there's a sliver of doubt somewhere inside her that she's reached her full potential for the last time. It's the uncertainty of purpose that tugs at her heart when she imagines what life will be like when she can no longer listen to the earth, to command it, to communicate with it.

What will it feel like when it's gone?

The tug hurts, it hurts more than anything she's ever faced. Even in comparison to the memories of losing Tenzin all those years ago. But this is different—this time she won't lose him. This time, she didn't. She saved him—and despite losing a part of herself—it was a small price to pay for an undying friendship.

Everything else she could endure, as long as he fought on. As long as he continued his father's—her uncle's legacy. An image of Aang smiles toward her from beneath her lids.

'Even this,' she tells herself.

Amon's hand is certain and cool against the back of her neck. Her weight shifts backwards under his grasp, and the rain smacks against her face, rolling down bruised cheeks, imitating the tears she might've cried had there not been more important realities, much bigger losses ahead.

'I'm ready.'

She doesn't see his other hand, she doesn't need to. His thumb presses firmly against her forehead, and in an instant, after an overwhelming surge, something leaves her—

and its like nothing she could have ever braced herself for.

The sensation knocks the wind from her lungs as her eyes bulge open. There's a sky above her that she cannot see, and then, before she can register, there's a surface beneath her that she cannot hear. Silence is the only thing that comes, even with her ear pressed into the dirt. Somehow, it's louder than any vibration she's ever felt. It were as if she never hit the ground at all.

How long was the fall?

Her eyelids grow heavy, the world around her fading to darkness. Her body feels like it's ready to rest, to surrender, succumb to an end after the pain.

But Lin is still here, just barely—vulnerable to the hollow feeling threatening to claim who she once was. It's the denial of ever hitting the ground that keeps her holding on. It's not death that awaits her. Not really. For now, only sleep.

A sleep where she'll fall endlessly, only to wake up and realize she's already reached the bottom. That this dream is just a dream, and her reality is the nightmare.

This is only the beginning.