Maybe writing this was a mistake. Or, not a mistake. More like pointless. But you would have considered them one and the same.

Wouldn't you, Father?

Or… would you have really believed that? I'm not so sure myself—not so certain of who you are anymore. I was 12 when I last saw you. I'm 20 now. Eight years. No wonder your image flickers so weakly in my mind's eye.

And what about you? Do you still remember your Jangzhen? No, I shouldn't refer to myself that way. Not to you. Unfortunately there is no way to remove the ink once it touches parchment, but I won't discard this letter. My thoughts will have to spill out unadulterated into these words. Perhaps it's better that way. You ought to know what I'm thinking. You should know.

Back to my point, Father. Back to whether you remember me or not. I admit, my expectations are not very high. You did not cherish me like Mother did. I will not fault you for that. You weren't a bad father, not from what I can remember. Your lack of affection towards me doesn't bother me.

Your lack towards her does.

You do realize that, for the longest time, I thought you didn't want us? That we had been thrust from the walls of home because you had cast us away? Maybe the former is true, but at least I know the latter isn't. At least Mother had the dignity of choosing to run instead of being discarded. She deserved that much.

You, however?

I'm not so sure.

The image still flickers.

That's why I did it again. Just like eight years ago, I left Ba Sing Se. I passed through its walls and out to the world beyond. But just like Mother, I did it because I had a choice. And just like Mother, I did it because of you.

You weren't in Ba Sing Se when we returned, but I know you're out there. That's why I left.

But let's make this clear—don't think it's like that. I'm not looking for you as I would have if it had been Mother. I do not leave the walls behind me, shrinking in the horizon like a long, winding snake, out of compassion. I want answers, and you have them. And I want you to look me into the eyes when you give them to me.

Why?

And so begins my journey. The sun has passed its midway point, which means sunset is just a few hours away. And then dusk will follow shortly after. I will have to find a place to settle for the night before that. A place to keep me safe from nocturnal predators and to keep my pack safe from scavengers.

See, I know this. For a good part of those eight years, that was my life. Think about that.

The day is warm, and I don't think it will rain. I've stopped to give the ostrich-horse a break. I could feel that it had grown tired, and there is a stream for it to drink from. We will need to move on soon. I want to put as much distance between myself and those walls before daylight fades. I want to find you as soon as possible. I want those answers.

You owe me that much at least.


It is nighttime now. The sunset was beautiful. The way it plays colors across the sky and how you can feel the air cooling with every passing moment. It was hard to appreciate sunsets back then.

I don't know why I'm telling you this.

The new kindling I placed into the fire has finally begun steadily burning. The reinvigorated flames have brightened the pocket of light surrounding my campsite. It eases my writing as I compose this letter to you, Father.

I've put about 25 miles between myself and Ba Sing Se. A whole day's travel. Nothing happened as I rode. There was naught but the vast landscape and sparse trees. Earth Kingdom for miles around. The worn, faded road and the patchy sky. It gave me plenty of opportunity to reflect. I tried to make that image of you stop flickering. I thought a lot of my childhood—of my life before I turned 12.

I liked how it was back then. I had everything. I was happy.

I'm not bitter about losing status. Losing wealth. That would make me like you, and I can't have that. I won't be like you.

But you don't know what it was like after that. What she was like after that.

Shen was born on the side of the road. Did you know that? She wouldn't stop walking until the pain was too much for her. I thought she was going to die. She could've.

Did you know that? Would you have even cared?

I kind of hope you do, but like I said—expectations aren't very high.

An owl is hooting. It sounds pretty far, but I can still hear it. Tomorrow, I want to be able to reach the next village over. I've got it marked on my map. My entire route is laid out on this map. One of these lines will bring me to you.

It's getting late.


I realized I mentioned Shen in my last letter, but didn't go into depth. I was tired last night. I'd had a full day's travel weighing down on me.

You never met Shen. You knew he was on the way. He was starting to show when we thundered through that gate. The ostrich-horse was terrified and frenzied because Mother was whipping the reins so hard.

I need to stop writing about that day. Stop thinking about it. It's behind me now, just like the walls. Like Mother and Shen.

Qianshao is a small village. Very small. You could stand on one edge and see the other. The homes are small, almost like huts. It smells a bit. Like humans. Like civilization. Livestock wander the streets and it's so bizarre. But it's nothing I haven't seen before.

I only meant to stay just long enough to refill my water at the well. People were watching me, distrust in their eyes. I think they could tell I was from the capital. My clothes aren't extravagant—just a dark pine vest and black pants. I knew I'd be traveling for a while. But the straight stitching, the unfrayed edges, told them everything.

I get it, though. I get that distrust in their eyes. Have you ever spent any time in small villages, Father? Scarce of resource and devoid of any luxury? Surrounded by desperate people? That's the worst part. Not the dirt or the hunger. The people.

They demanded payment when I went to refill my waterskin. I did, although now thinking back… Maybe I shouldn't have. Would it have been better to plant my feet down and stand my ground? I thought paying was the right thing to do. I was taking water from their well, so I was giving something back in return.

They didn't see it that way.

In those eight years, I learned so, so much about us. People. I saw the darkest, ugliest parts of humanity. I was just a kid. You come to realize people have such different eyes. Through them, they see a completely different world than the one you gaze at. I think that's something most people struggle to understand—they don't realize that everyone has different eyes.

But you learn. You learn when you find those people who come across a tired, hungry woman with a baby in one arm and leading a young boy with another, and instead see an easy opportunity to rob. And Father, there were too many people like that.

Some thieves can be forgiven. Some don't want to harm, just to get by. Some don't have a choice. But the ones that target the defenseless—those can't be forgiven. The ones that tried to kill Shen and me, and hurt Mother in ways they couldn't hurt us.

Unfortunately for them, she wasn't as defenseless as they'd thought. She did horrible things to them. But she had no choice.

Did I have a choice last night?

It was nighttime when they came for me. They tried to be quiet, but their steps awoke me. But by then, they were too close. I didn't know what was happening. Drowsiness sat in my head like thick sludge but my heart was racing. I didn't recognize them at first, and I think that's what saved me.

Most of my belongings had already been snatched up. One of them was pulling my ostrich-horse away. They were thieves. I was scared, and my first instinct was to attack. Earth lunged at them as I bent it. Some of them were earthbenders too. But none of them were trained, and I was.

I think I hurt one, but they all managed to get away. Even though I was just defending myself, and the belongings I no longer had, I still felt remorse. I didn't mean to hurt him, but…

Now most of my things are gone. I think you would've blamed me—said the same thing you said to Mother. Well, sorry to let you down.

They left my pens and parchment. Didn't find any need to take them, I guess. They didn't seem like the scholarly types anyway.

Having to travel by foot is a major setback. I'm taking the time to write this letter as I rest my feet. The sun is grueling. The scraps of supplies that remained and the shade of this tree are all I have left.

And these letters. Letters to nowhere.

I'll need to find something soon. A village that isn't full of assholes. Some outpost to stock up and maybe get another ostrich-horse. For now, I'll keep walking until I come upon my stroke of luck.


An old town. Not as big as Ba Sing Se, but still big enough to get lost in. Personally, I'd never been to the capital's Lower Ring, but I've heard what it's like. And this place fits that description, this old, seedy town.

A small gaggle of men eyed me as I entered, watching me like birds of prey. But they didn't say anything, nor did they approach. I think they were accustomed to gauging the value of someone at first glance—whether they were worth the trouble over what they had. They could tell I had next to nothing. I'm sure they could also tell I was an earthbender.

I'm grateful I was pushed so hard during my training.

My money had all been taken and I couldn't afford a room at the inn. However, the innkeeper let me stay up in the stable's loft. He's giving me a place to stay and some supplies in exchange for a few days of work. My first stroke of luck. Took a few days, but I finally got it.

Did you ever imagine your son would have to resort to manual labor, Father? I wonder how you would've reacted. No, truly. I do.

So here I sit, amidst stacks of dusty straw, old tack, and rust-caked lanterns that have long since retired from illuminating the night. Below come the endless caws of ostrich-horses, the rustling of their beaks in the feeding troughs, and the thuds as they kick in their stalls. It's not the coziest of living spaces—certainly not comparable to the estate. But it's shelter, and the innkeeper didn't have to provide me with it.

The sun is setting on my second day here. Instead of a fire, the crystalline lamp I took from Ba Sing Se wards off the dark as I write. It's dim, but it does the job.

Today's work was mucking the stalls and polishing stirrups. It was only my second day, but I got the swing of it and finished early. Decided to take a walk around town and see what it was like.

You really get a feel for a place when you discover what people do for fun. Tavern after tavern. The acrid duet of alcohol and vomit lingered around each. I'll admit, I'm curious to see just how strong their drinks can get. One of these days, I might stop by.

And then there was one building that reeked more than the others. The dulcet stench made me dizzy. A pair of them, women of the night, stood in front of the doors with fluttering fans and coy smiles. Scantily clad. Living advertisement for what lay beyond those doors. Every movement they made honeyed the air with that overpowering perfume.

I stopped. I couldn't help it. My eyes were fixated in a stare of wonder and curiosity and shock. They spotted me quickly and their smiles turned sharp and fixated. They angled their shoulders in a way that suddenly made me feel cornered even though we were standing on an open street. They invited me over, asking me if there was something I wanted.

I was tempted. I'm ashamed to admit that. Fortunately I had no money on me. I told them I had to get back. I'd seen enough of the town anyway,

That's when I heard it, Father.

The creaking started just as I turned away. It was unlike anything I had ever heard before. It didn't sound like the shrill whine of an old hinge, or the groan of a turning wheel. It was guttural, almost like a growl. I turned back.

They had heard it too, those prostitutes. Their fans had stopped fluttering. Fear was on their painted faces. Their eyes darted to me, wide and terrified. They told me to go, and then they themselves began shrinking back to the brothel doors.

I left. That creaking, whatever it was, felt bad. I went straight back to the stables and shut the doors behind me only to be greeted by the crowing of ostrich-horses. The creaking had gone.

But now that I have a moment to sit and think back on it, I realize something.

That sound was growing louder. Whatever was making it had been moving towards me.

What had it been, Father?

Maybe I'm overthinking things. It could have been the police wagon patrolling the streets at night, and the women had fled to avoid being harassed. That's all there was, right? I wish I could ask you. You were clever, a

Father. That feeling you get when you're being watched—I had it just now. And I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I could have sworn… someone was standing outside on the street. I saw them out of the corner of my eye from the window next to me. Someone was standing there and I felt eyes on me.

I've looked at this window a million times and I still see nothing. I never saw anything except from out of my peripheral vision.

This is ridiculous. It's getting late.

I don't think I'll stay any longer in this town than I need to.