Aang gritted his teeth as the wind shrieked around him, tugging at his form in an attempt to drag him off the sky bison. It almost dislodged him in a particularly violent gust, but he managed to keep his seating, tightening his fists around the reins. The headband he wore was torn from his head, exposing the inked arrow design that symbolised his mastery of Air and sending his dark hair into even more of a disarray, the inky black locks whipping in the gale.
He twisted in his seat, looking behind at the thrashing waters of the ocean below. Lightning flashed, illuminating the three ships that sailed almost directly beneath him, the red and black of the flags they flew identifying them as clearly as the dark metal hulls did. The steam engines of the ships allowed them to keep pace with him, and they had been following for hours now. He glared at the small figures on the decks, feeling hate for the Fire Nation twisting in his gut. Objectively he knew that they were only following orders, that the soldiers had families who cared for them, that they were people too, but all he could think about was how they were responsible for the genocide of his people, and three years later they were still hunting down those who had escaped.
Not all the Air Nomads had been at the temples when the Fire Nation first attacked, and whilst the masters of the temple fended the firebenders off, some escaped on the sky bison. He had been one of them, and though he had wanted to remain and fight Gyatso begged him to leave, to survive. He helped the weaker and young airbenders to evacuate, taking charge and defending them from the people who hunted them.
Eventually though, they'd discovered the reason behind the attack; to capture the Avatar. The group of survivors had split up then, many blaming him for what had happened to their people, and Aang couldn't help but agree with them. But it was useless, blaming himself. No, he was not the one who stormed their temples and murdered their people, continuing to hunt them even years later; that was the Fire Nation's actions. No matter their original target, they still killed every Air Nomad they could, even when they knew how old the Avatar was, knew enough to identify him. They had no qualms with murdering the young and defenceless, the old and weak. And for that, he couldn't forgive them.
A slight shift in the air currents was the only warning he was given. He swerved, avoiding the burning chunk of rock as it flew past, nearly falling to the unforgiving waves below in the process. Appa groaned as Aang urged the sky bison to straighten again, the fur along his side smouldered by the close encounter. Anger surged within him, and with a yell he jumped into the saddle, looked down at the ship with narrowed grey eyes, and swung his staff down in a harsh motion.
Wind leapt from the wood, slicing through the air visible in a wide arc that only increased in size as it grew nearer to the centre ship, the one that had fired. It was at least as wide as the ship was long when it impacted, cutting neatly through the metal that tore apart with a shriek that was audible even from his altitude. The two pieces separated at the slash, collapsing into the stormy waves and taking the lives of the soldiers with it. The closest ship could not avoid collision, smashing into the front half and buckling under the impact. The merciless sea took advantage of the ship's loss of momentum, rising upwards in a wave that curled around the ship and turned it on its side, before crashing down and burying it within its depths.
Aang panted lightly, the effort of both the attack and calming the winds directly around his form so he didn't fall weighing down on him. As Appa flew further into the storm, rain began to fall, plastering his clothes to his body and hair to his face. He pushed the strands falling into his eyes out of the way as he carefully moved back onto Appa's head, grabbing the reins from where they were flapping uselessly. He absently patted the sky bison, murmuring reassurances even as he tried to steady their flight.
The storm seemed to be getting stronger, he realized as he looked around anxiously. One of the first things he'd learnt was not to fly in stormy weather, but he didn't exactly have a choice, not with the Fire Nation ship on his tail. His only hope was that the storm itself would take care of the remaining ship, and once that happened he'd be able to turn back and head towards land. There wouldn't be any more ahead for miles, and if he was right he was actually headed in the direction of the South Pole, where the abundance of icebergs would only make the flight more dangerous.
He glanced back, and almost as if in answer to his thoughts he saw a large wave carrying the ship upwards, turning it on its side as it crashed down. The ship managed to stay on the surface of the water for a few moments, before another wave smashed against it and tipped it over, and it did not resurface. A grim smile appeared on his face, and he was just about to turn Appa around when the storm suddenly worsened. Flashes of lightning streaked across the sky, and a second later thunder boomed, so close that Aang felt his ears ringing with the loud sound.
Disorientated, it took a few moments for him to realize that they had lost altitude, and he didn't even have enough time to urge Appa upwards when they were swallowed within the depths of the sea. He struggled, but the ocean was unwilling to release its hold, and though they surfaced for a moment another wave forced them back under.
Sound was strangely muted, the crashes and booms of thunder lost beneath the waves, who's roars were silenced in its depths. He felt oddly peaceful, as he drifted deeper and deeper, energy drained by the collision and the chase beforehand. He just felt so tired, like he could sleep forever, and within the shadowy ocean that didn't seem like such a bad idea. No more war, no more hate, no more grief. He could finally be at peace. He felt far older than his measly fifteen years, the weight of running and hiding, of being the saviour of the world yet unable to do anything, pressing down on him. It would be nice to just...let go.
His eyes slid shut, and his hands released their grip on the reins.
. . .
Ninety-six years later, he opened his eyes.