Sundown preys on the afternoon like the most cunning of felines – it creeps in on it, closes in on blistering sunlight until it dulls, the baby blue of the sky dying itself in differing shades of oranges and pinks, reds with tinges of purples. This is when floods of people are awash in the streets, smiles and waves exchanged as another long, gruelling day at work ends and the promise of a relaxing night at home awaits.
The Western Earth President's days aren't any different. His shoulders loosen when he takes a look at the wall clock and notes – with a carefully disguised sigh of relief – that his day of trying to forge better bonds with the Keepers of the Spirit Gates is over. Weary bones drag themselves to his quarters, where he dismisses his guards and changes, shedding his stiff presidential attire in favour of something a little less uptight.
He makes his way through the halls of the palace of Omashu, frowning when he notes how still and silent the place is, how it's so devoid of activity. It hasn't been this quiet since the place was converted from a royal residence to the man office of the Western Earth Government. It alarms him.
'Where is he?' asks the President, when he passes by one of his newer office girls. She bows her head slightly, and he bites back the I'm not royal, stop doing that that's dangling off the tip of his tongue. His irritation isn't so well masked this time, though, and when she looks him in the eye again, she flushes.
'Um – the same place he's always been. Out by the gazebo, rather perilously close to the edge of it, might I add – um, sir,' says the girl, and the President nods, smiling slightly. He thanks her, makes his way to the palace grounds, and spots him. His companion, true to the girl's words, isn't standing in the gazebo overlooking the cliff that gazes at the setting sun, rather, he's perched on the railings of it, feet dangling freely, at least five hundred feet away from the ground.
The President sighs.
His companion's ears prick up.
'You don't have to do this every day, you know,' says the other man, back bending once more into a dejected curve. 'I'm going to be out here until it's time for us to move on, you know that,' he adds, and the President breathes a heavy sigh as he walks towards him.
'I know,' he says, a tone of resignation dragging at his words. He doesn't say anything further, only rests his forearms on the railing right next to his friend, joining him as they stare off into the sunset. They've been doing this for a few days now, the airbender and the Earth President, silently staring off into a horizon neither can hope to reach.
'Any news, Dacheng?' asks the airbender finally, tentatively injecting bits of fake confidence in his words. There's an undertone of hope lingering in the way he says the President's name, though, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
Dacheng sighs. 'I'm sorry, Kai,' he says, turning away from his companion. If there's anything more painful than watching the hopeful set of his friend's dark brow fall, it's having to watch it do so every single day, knowing there isn't anything he can do to change the way he feels. 'We tried talking it over, but – ironic as it seems – the airbenders won't budge.'
Kai turns away, the dull red of the sun reflected in his irises. 'Tenzin would have a fit,' he says quietly, face returning to its previous stony expression. 'Airbenders refusing to budge – imagine that!' he says the last few words wryly, and Dacheng drops his gaze.
Kai takes a deep breath, lets the air fill his lungs and pictures a wave of calm flowing into him, just the way it was taught to him. It works, but just barely.
He can't help but remember the laugh that belonged to his teacher.
Dacheng tilts his head. 'You really miss her, don't you?' he asks, and he doesn't even try to keep the note of sympathy out of his voice this time. Him and Kai have been friends long enough – they don't need to wear masks in front of one another. Dacheng knows Kai would never show this side of him to anyone else, and he isn't about to make his friend feel like he doesn't care.
He wants to help Kai, really. In any way he can.
And that's when it comes to him.
He sits up straight.
'What is it?' asks Kai, somewhat lazily, and Dacheng almost winces when the tone brings to mind how easily excited and energetic the former was before.
'The Earth remembers,' mutters Dacheng, eyes widening as he looks at his palms. They're far from soft, roughened by years of trying to mould his visions into earth, by years of touching the soil and trying his best to bend it. There are wrinkles on them that he's sure waterbenders and airbenders and firebenders don't have – but there's no resentment in his mind when he looks at them. Every little wrinkle is a rivulet of wisdom imparted on him by his master, and right now, he can hear the old man's voice echoing in his mind, resounding like a shout under the guise of a whisper.
'What are you talking about?' asks Kai again, confusion wrinkling his face.
'My master taught me,' says Dacheng, rushing off the gazebo and planting both feet firmly on the grass. 'Fire destroys, right? So by its essence, it can't retain anything precious – only destroys it, or destroys the things and people that are trying to get to it. Air and water are constantly moving, so it's harder to pull memories out from them – but the earth, the earth never moves. And it sees all.'
Kai gets to his feet, lets a gust of wind land him lightly on the ground next to his friend. 'What are you saying?' he asks, his voice is soft and urgent.
'What I'm saying is, Kai,' begins Dacheng slowly, removing his shoes and letting his bare toes curl in the grass – 'Right now, those airbenders acting as the Keepers of the Spirit Gates – they won't negotiate the idea of opening them again, no matter how many times the council meets and tries to get them to. And Jinora – she's been trapped in there for… I mean, I can't even remember how long – '
'Nearly 700 days now,' says Kai, quietly. Dacheng falls silent, plants a hand on Kai's shoulder instead.
'The master I learned how to earthbend from taught me how to dig deep into the soil, so I know how to talk to the earth, not just use it. I can… I can ask it to speak back to me, I'm not just someone who knows how to bend it.'
Kai's eyes remain glued to the ground, the power of Dacheng's words making him feel all the more sensitive to what lies underneath his feet.
'You know how voices fade, Kai. Like wind – like air. You can carry it around with you for a while, but sooner or later, it'll get away from you.' Dacheng lets his hand fall from Kai's shoulder, holds it out at waist height instead. 'I can't bring her back for you, not right now – but I can try giving you something that might tide you over until we figure this whole thing out. Closing the spirit portals, trapping Jinora and those other airbenders in there – that was a mistake. I can't fix it right away, but – I can try to ease the pain.'
Sincerity shines from Dacheng's eyes, but Kai can't help but to hesitate. It's been over two years since the rebellion that forced the spirit portals to close occurred. Kai still has nightmares about the night it had happened – Korra had been furious, adamant as she was to stop it happening, but it was no use. The team of airbenders and air acolytes that had crossed over to the spirit world to stop any of the rebels from getting through and harming the spirit world didn't have a chance to escape before a group of rebels – airbenders now calling themselves the Keepers – found a way to force the portal closed at both ends.
And Jinora, Meelo, Pema – Kai hasn't seen any of them since.
Tenzin can't even look at him.
He presses his lips together, considers Dacheng's outstretched hand. They'd met a long time ago, back before Mako had set Kai straight. Dacheng had always tried to show him that what he was doing was wrong. Dacheng was the voice of reason and steadiness that Kai – young, foolish, pre-airbending, pre-Jinora Kai – had resented, causing them to part ways.
Years later they'd reunited, and Dacheng had greeted him as an old friend: with welcoming arms.
Kai knows he wouldn't do this if he didn't think it would work.
'Okay,' says Kai, so silently Dacheng almost doesn't hear him. 'Just – okay,' he says again, ignoring his friend's gentle smile as they join hands.
'The next part should be easy for you airbending types,' jokes Dacheng, a sense of triumph rising in his chest when he sees the smile that twitches at the corner of Kai's lips. 'Just close your eyes and breathe – we can hear the earth better that way. We can use it to see better.'
Kai nods. He rubs at the back of his neck, lets out a quick sigh, and focuses. Disconnect, he tries to tell himself, let go of all your worldly restrictions.
'You ready?' asks Dacheng, and Kai nods again.
Disconnect. Let go of all your worldly restrictions.
There's a sharp intake of breath when he realises it's not the voice he usually hears in his head that's telling him these words – it's Jinora's. Smooth and calming, like the gentlest of evening breezes. Her voice catches him off guard, but what surprises him most is how he knows it isn't how her voice sounds like – or sounded like, the last time they'd seen each other.
It's like the voice was a photograph taken years and years ago – he could still hear the bigger details, the way she'd tilt her words when she was putting on her airbending master face, but the littler bits – he couldn't hear anymore. It was like her voice was fading at the edges, and Kai tried desperately not to let himself cry at the thought.
It doesn't work.
'I'm ready,' says Kai.
A single tear rolls down his cheek.
He hears Dacheng take a breath.
Here we go, reverberates in his ears right down to the soles of his very feet, and then it goes truly black, no burnt orange filtering into his vision, no wind carding through his air, no sound, just nothing.
For the first time in his life – all he could hear was the earth.