The bar was a seedy one, if it could even be called as much as a bar.
The crumbling, ancient two-story structure that always resounded with the sounds of cheering, fighting, and drinking had been a constant of sorts, serving as a bastion of ignorance during the Great War, a not-so-magical place where the afflicted could go to ignore the harsh realities of life and revel in the warm, forgetful drink.
Mongke entered the tavern wearily, nodding to Lo, the bartender. The large, overweight bartender quickly filled a bottle of fire whiskey and slid it across the bartop to Mongke, used to the man's usual requests.
As he always had, Mongke found his usual spot- a secluded booth, in the back of the tavern, as far removed from the arm-wrestling and pai sho matches as one could conceivably be.
Grunting, the ex-Colonel slipped his muscled, yet tired arm from the straps of his backpack, allowing it to fall on the worn leather beside him, relieving the weight.
Or, at least, whatever weight could be lifted.
He popped the cork from the bottleneck, taking a deep swig of the whiskey, savoring the rough, spicy taste as it roared down his throat.
He slammed it down, enjoying the beginning of his drunken night.
At some point, a figure appeared across from him. A distantly familiar teen, with brown, smooth hair and a stalk of grass hanging from the side of his mouth- a cocky, arrogant boy with sadness in his eyes.
"Have you paid the price, Colonel? Was it all worth it?"
Of course not. None of anything had been worth it. He didn't need to ask- if someone knew he was a Colonel, he had either been a victim or a comrade. And somehow, he knew that the boy didn't particularly care for the Fire Nation.
The boy was gloating now, almost.
"Did you do your duty for Fire Lord and Nation, Colonel? Killing those innocents, razing villages, spreading a trail of destruction?"
The Colonel shook his head. He had never hallucinated from a drink before. He briefly wondered if Lo had put something strange in his whiskey.
It had never been about duty. It had been the fear. Spirits, the fear people had in their eyes when they saw them. The Rough Rhinos had been legendary. A divine force of destruction, raining down on the enemies of the Fire Nation.
Sure, they had been defeated once or twice; but that had only been at the hands of the Avatar himself.
Colonel Mongke stumbled out of the bar, and into the dark city.
He regretted it, of course. The man he had once been died with the first of his men. Vachir, the Archer. Then, Kahchi and Ogodei. Last had been Yeh-Lu, the explosives expert, who had told Mongke with his dying breath that he regretted everything.
Mongke had been inclined to agree.
He stood now over the lip of a deep chasm. On the other side, the boy, standing with ease, smiled confidently. Then, in the slightest of movements, he nodded.
Mongke reflected on things as he hurtled towards the bottom of the chasm.
They had had fun, to be sure, gallivanting around the Earth Kingdom, like the nomadic ancestors that had come before. But they had enjoyed their work- the burning, the death, the destruction, all in the name of Fire Lord Ozai.
Then, when the Nation had fallen, and they had had a legitimate chance at redemption, they had thrown it away, serving corrupt businessmen and angry nobles.
Mongke closed his eyes before the end. It was so clear- so… obvious.
He deserved this.
As the gray rocks came ever closer, the whiskey in his belly burned, and the laugh of the boy echoed around him, a taunting reminder of what he had done.