There was fire.
It illuminated the wide open parade grounds in the failing light, throwing great plumes of thick black smoke into the evening sky. The dancing flames revealed the bodies, mangled and broken, strewn about the ground. They glinted in the pools of blood that had gathered beneath the shattered corpses, staining the pale cobblestones a deep, macabre red.
The palace alone stood unscathed, the cleanliness of its rough-hewn battlements taking on a particularly sinister quality against the surrounding carnage. The flames cast its shadows upon the mountain side into which it was carved. They danced along the frost covered stone like deranged revelers over the ravaged village below. One could almost hear their demented cackling.
A figure appeared in the great doorway of the palace. He seemed misshapen, but powerful nonetheless. He stood in the gaping maw of the palace entrance, his broad shoulders rising and falling calmly with each breath. His face was clearly illuminated by the flames below him. One half revealed dark skin, a heavy brow, and a strong jaw. The other was covered in a mask the color of the bloodied courtyard over which he stood. The unmasked eye was a soft golden brown color. Faded lines traced the corners of his mouth and eye, betraying his age. In a different context, this could be the face of a gentle man.
Then there was the mask.
Blood red and bold, it divided his face perfectly in two, though it was not attached by any visible means. Rather, it seemed to be fused to his flesh. Its mouth was contorted, revealing disjointed fangs in an expression somewhere between devilish grin and primordial snarl. It was otherwise unmarked. The eye peering out from beneath it was very different from its unmasked counterpart. Set into a pitch black eyeball, the iris was made up of dirty yellow streaks. They shifted in unnerving patterns, taking on the appearance of the bloodstained flames below. The streaks reached towards a pupil that was deep and dark, rimmed by a bright silver light, like the sun during an eclipse. That eye, decidedly inhuman in its nature, cut deep into whatever it fell upon. This man did not look upon you, he looked into you.
Both eyes flashed to, staring fixedly into the parade grounds. The unmasked half of the man's mouth twisted to match the visage carved into the mask. He began to laugh, slow and deep, the amused chuckle of some unknown and unknowable darkness.
Aang sat bolt upright, a shout of equal parts surprise and terror escaping his lips. His breath came in deep, ragged strokes.
"Aang? What is it?" Katara awoke at his side. She sat up and placed a hand between his shoulders, the other in his lap. "What's wrong?" she asked again, though he would not answer. She stared into his face, but he would not meet her gaze. Outside, he could hear the commotion as the rest of the camp awakened.
"He's laughing." Aang stared down at his own sweat-soaked bedroll, as of yet unaware that he was even speaking. "It's all burning, and he's laughing."
"What are you talking about?" Katara's voice was calm and smooth, but betrayed her concern. She had not seen Aang this shaken in many years.
Outside the calls came in. "All clear!" from the Kyoshi warriors, on loan from Zuko's personal bodyguards. "Nothing over here!" from the Republic City police detachment, insisted upon by Sokka and Toph. There had been unanimous demand that Aang not undertake this trip on his own.
One voice cut through the others as it moved towards Aang's tent. "Check again! Secure the perimeter and keep your eyes open!" It was loud and clear, with an edge like the ringing of iron in the forge. Katara could hear the footsteps of its owner approaching.
"Is everything alright, Sifu Katara?" The voice belonged to Herzio, a young waterbender from the northern tribe, and a student of Katara's.
"We're fine, thank you," she replied. "You can tell everyone to relax."
"Yes, ma'am." Herzio strode away from the tent, assuring the rest of the retinue that all was indeed clear.
"What do you mean, 'He's laughing'?" Aang's breathing had stilled considerably, and his eyes were less distant now, though he still had not answered her.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his face with one hand. That inhuman eye flared against the backs of his eyelids, the image seared into his mind. Aang took a deep breath. "Nothing," he said, "just a bad dream." He could see through the tent flap that the sun was beginning to rise. He took the hand she had laid in his lap into his own and held it, caressing her fingers with his thumb. "Guess we might as well get up," he said. "We've got a long day ahead of us."