A toddler, traveling along the beach of Republic City with my hand gripped in one twice the size of my own. The thin summer dress that billows in the breeze tickles the back of my legs. The ivory sand is quick to swallow my feet which forms small dunes wherever I step.

I look up, attempting to see who it is that is leading me to the waters. But the sunlight shimmers in my eyes, withholding the identity of my caretaker inside of its glorious rays of light. It envelops me in familiar warmth, and despite the lack of face, I know that the one leading me to the waning waves and dancing intensity of the sunlight, is the mother I've never met.

We reach the trendline of the beach, where the water finally gathers enough courage to embrace the sand. As crystal-blue waves shyly kiss my tiny toes before retreating, my mother releases my hand, allowing me to curiously waddle my way into the mysterious blue. I wade my way in deeper, the cool water tingles and exfoliates my pores and I probe farther into the deep, until I know that if I take another curious step further, I'll be swallowed whole. The water is freezing, and as I look down, I can see my little legs and little stubs of toes through the water. The sudden transformation from blue to transparent makes me awkwardly uncomfortable, but I don't turn back.

The weather drastically changes course. I raise my head in time to witness cotton clouds morph into chokes of black smoke, A once solid indigo foreground warping into a foreboding gray.

Paroxysms of lightning reach for me as the thunder screams my name, the water begins to stir and overwhelm me as pelts of liquid falling from the sky commit suicide as they convulse with the water of panicking waves.

I can't hold my own much longer.

I turn to the shore, flustered but determined to make my way out of the waters. I watch in horror as I see the arms of my mother conduct the dismay of the waves as they are raised higher, and higher, and higher. She inches closer to the waters with her arms still raised, as if she's holding the weight of the entire ocean. The waves begin to stretch into the skyline, a mighty war cry drowning out my desperate cries. Just as I almost free myself of the water's grip,

She lowers her arms, the waves twist and coil towards me quickly, and the sharp blades of water begin to chastise my skin as—

I spasm out of the nightmare, dead cold in the linen sheets of my bed even though it's midsummer. Sunlight leaks through the single window in my room. I force myself to sit up and immediately taste copper in my mouth, feel my stomach begin to whirl, and try to count my breaths as my heart tries to find its beat again; but it's not good enough. I barely make it to the toilet before the grief comes wailing out of my mouth.

I hastily clean myself up, hold my hair together at the back of my head with a red butterfly pin I'd found the night before and , analyze myself in the mirror. I place my palms on the edges of the rusted sink, trying to shake the feeling that something, somehow, is missing. I can't help but to wonder if my mother had the same icy eyes as me, the same wavy brown hair. And if she were here, would-

"Lian," a voice says from the archway of the door. "How did you sleep?"

I turn to face my father, Guozhi Chen, embarrassed by my thoughts and smile awkwardly. If people could read minds…

"Fine," I say, clicking the metal bands on my wrist into place. "I slept fine." It's the expected answer. He asks the same question every morning, and I give him the same reply, respectively. It's our annual small talk; we use empty words to bury the dead silence between breakfast, lunch, and dinner, because we both know what lies in the shadows of thoughts when you are given time to think. We know what happens when the only conversation in the room is the chime of a fork meeting a plate, the static chatter of the radio. We know what secrets are whispered by our subconscious when the lonely ghost in the empty third chair screams out for you to acknowledge her, but you've been trained to tune her out.

"The nightmares?" He asks as I slide past him to exit the bathroom in order to gather my things for my lesson. The question catches me off guard. I stiffen up, clenching the training gear in my hand as I stare outside the window above my armoire into the midsummer heat. The light stings my eyes and I feel them moisten. My heart begins to run laps again.

"They've been…" Not so far off, I catch site of Keshi waving, his figure blurred by the heat. "The nightmares have gotten better—"I lie as I shove my gear into the bag and stumble over my words: "I-I mean— they're not as bad anymore. "

I can feel the smile that forms on his face on my back, as bright as the sunrise.

"It looks as though the tainted blood of your mother is finally boiling out of your system, Lian. How great is it that after seventeen years, the foul blood of a Bender that runs through you is finally leaving your system?" He places a warm hand on my shoulder and squeezes it affectionately.

"It's great." I wipe my moist eyes, realizing how long I've been deliberately staring into the sun. "I'm going skip breakfast and practice with Keshi this morning. I'll be back before nightfall." On cue, Keshi knocks on the ragged door of our home. I sling my training bag over my shoulder, turning to find my father still smiling. The creases of age slightly paint his face, particularly around his mouth. Despite the fact that he's smiling know, the flow lines of history that couture his mouth tell me a different story. He hugs me, an unusual occurrence, and I'm so amazed by it that it takes a while for me to hug him back.

"You are becoming a great woman, Lian. I've raised you well, but you've sculpted yourself into quite a fine jewel yourself."

At a loss of words I allow my arctic eyes to thank my father in ways foolish words never could. Keshi's energetic knocking shatters the moment.

"Well," my father says awkwardly as he steps away from me, like he's suddenly remembered that I'm seventeen and no longer seven. "Go on. Hone your skills so that you can become one to defend us Equalist when I'm too old and brittle to."

When Keshi knocks again, I give my father one tight squeeze before heading to the door.

"And Lian," he calls after me. "You should unpin your hair. Your mother use to wear her hair pinned that way."

I quickly remove the pin and allow my hair to graze my shoulders, gently placing the memorabilia in my pocket for safekeeping. I'd dispose of it later. As I open the door, welcoming both Keshi and the waning sun, I question if it was the sun that made my eyes water, after all.