A/N: yayyy, thanks again for your reviews! You make me glow. I have no emoticons to express it.

I know I promised both XI & XII on Wednesday, but this was all ready to go now, so I figured I might as well just post it. XII will go up on Wednesday as planned. Thanks for your patience!

Previously on The Cave II: the trio gets weapons, Amon flashes back to an intimate chat with Korra, and a sleazebag named Kit squeals like a pig and then taunts Amon.

Trigger warning:
Description of blood & an intimate area of the body may trigger some readers.
If you want a version with this reference removed, please let me know via PM.

.*.*.*.

XI

Light

This time it was Amon who led his companions, flames of hope spurring him to surge ahead. They were so close to finding Korra and Midori. He literally knew the old Equalist base better than he knew his own face – there was nowhere to hide them. Retracing their steps back to the car, then several blocks north, he found a familiar alley. It was like falling back into an old dance as he wove through the back streets of the neighbourhood, Tarrlok and Asami rushing to keep up with him. The buildings around them were unexpectedly decrepit, the dirt in the crevices and broken, dirty windows suggesting that more than four years had passed. Even here at the docks, the toughest of the districts, the streets were nearly empty. The few dock workers they passed kept their eyes on the ground, carefully trained not to make eye contact with anyone.

She's alive. I know she's alive. He couldn't confirm that she was dead. His hope was too strong to quash now, soaring above his logic. He felt as if she were racing beside him, urging him forward, calling to him: you are almost there, Amon. We are almost together again.

He rounded the final corner, then slowed, waiting for his companions caught up. Tarrlok stopped several feet away, then tentatively approached the alley full of dumpsters.

"I was going to say that I'm glad our masks don't have nose holes," muttered the ex-Councillor. "But I can taste the garbage anyway."

"There used to be a light here," said Amon, barely able to see the walls around them.

"On it," said Asami, and a small blue light burst to life. As Amon's eyes adjusted, he saw that she was wearing the black lightning glove she had shown him, and its centre was glowing. Perhaps noticing his impressed gaze, Asami added quietly, "I've been studying Mako's firebending to try to mimic it in as many ways as I can."

"Most useful." Striding up to a metal door in the wall, Amon flipped open a panel on its surface to reveal a number pad, almost invisible in the dark.

Asami bent down beside him, examining it. "I might be able to dismantle this."

"There's something I can try first." He punched in a six digit code. From deep within the door, they heard the click of a gear sliding into place, and he shook his head. "Lazy bastards didn't even reprogram it."

"That seems too easy," said Tarrlok.

"Maybe your contact was right, and they aren't as organized as they like to think." The prospect both gave Amon hope and terrified him; he hated unpredictability in a foe. He swung open the door slowly, its hinges barely creaking. He knew the first area to search: the cell block on the deepest floor, where the Equalists had held their political prisoners. Ironically, it was where he, Lee and Midori had once held several of the Red Monsoons. He took a step into the metal hallway.

"Amon," said Tarrlok, stopping him. "Remember to keep your temper under control."

With a glance back, Amon replied, "I do not promise that I will be able to control my anger, particularly if Korra has been hurt."

"That is fine when it's appropriate, but don't eschew strategy in favour of vengeance."

Amon nodded. "And same to you." Turning to Asami, he added, "Remember our discussion last night, Miss Sato: should there be more than we expect down here, then once we have Midori and Korra, you are to take them to safety while Tarrlok and I clean up the mess."

Her eyes narrowed. "If Korra is alive, you are never going to get her to agree to that, and you know it."

He cleared the tightness in his throat, then tentatively stepped into the metal hallway, scouring the area for traps or surveillance equipment. Finding none, he waved Tarrlok and Asami inside.

Tarrlok pulled out the crude map that Amon had drawn for him, angling it to catch the light from Asami's glove. Amon pointed at their current location.

"We need to get to this stairwell here," he said, tracing the path. He tapped out the next locations: "There are three potential vulnerable points along the way, where our flanks open up to other pathways. The acoustics are heavily in the favour of those approaching from the east-west corridor here, so guard your footfall carefully. Should you be ambushed, fall back to the doorway at the end of this hallway – it's the most defensible position in this quadrant."

Tarrlok glanced at him. "Sounds like you're planning to send us off on our own."

"I'm going to loop around the longer path to scout for ambushes. We will rendezvous at the stairwell."

"You'll need light," said Asami, tossing him a small tube, and he nodded his thanks. He twisted it, and it gave a faint blue glow like her glove.

Then he spun and broke into a sprint, doubled over, arms stretched behind him as he ran. His feet flew across the metal, barely making a sound. With his speed and his stealth, he could be on an enemy before they even know he was there.

Spirits, it felt good to run this fast, to run with purpose. To run for Korra. He was almost dizzy, almost delirious with hope. They were so close to her now, so close.

He rounded the final corner and slipped into the stairwell. No sign of surveillance, no sign of life. He descended the stairs and opened the door on the lower floor. The corridor there was empty as well, not even a glow of light to suggest that others were there. This wasn't right. He flexed his fingers, his knuckles cracking even as the skin smarted from his lightning wounds. If Kit had intentionally led them astray, he was going to suffer.

Tarrlok and Asami rounded the corner, and Tarrlok cocked his head. "See anyone?"

Amon shook his head no.

"This isn't right," said Tarrlok, teeth bared. "We didn't see anyone, either. With only a dozen guards, you'd think they would be patrolling."

"We can't assume anything. They may have no defensive strategy whatsoever."

"That's even worse," muttered Tarrlok, and Amon silently agreed.

"Let's keep going." Asami held up her glove and peered around them. "Maybe there's a guard shift change or something, and this is a short window of opportunity. Where to next?"

"This way." Amon led them down the corridor, sprinting ahead to check for Red Monsoons around every corner; each time they found no one, his anxiety grew, until it began to choke him. He broke into a full sprint as they rounded the final corner, then burst into the cell block.

There were no guards, but a figure was curled on the floor of the first cell. Amon ran forward and gripped the bars.

Midori.

Her salt-and-pepper bob was matted, and bloodstains marred her brown business suit. Her skin looked sickly, its pallour a stark contrast to the dark stone floor.

"Midori," he whispered, sliding to a crouch.

Her head lifted; her eyes, wild and feverish, flew open, and she skittered back against the wall.

"Midori, it's me. Amon. I'm here to rescue you."

Recognition washed over her features, but then her eyes narrowed. "Firebender," she spat. "You are one of them. You always were."

In his periphery, he saw Tarrlok and Asami come to a halt on either side of him. Asami sank to her knees with a soft gasp.

"She's in bad shape," said Tarrlok grimly.

Amon studied the woman's sunken eyes, his heart breaking for her. "She's delirious. They must have been depriving her of food and water." His best guess was that they had tossed her here and abandoned her altogether. His fingers dug into his palms, and his mind began to taunt him with "if only" suppositions, but he blocked them out. No use regretting what had already happened.

"I'll go look for some water." Tarrlok turned and began to run down the hallway.

Beside him, Asami unbuckled her mask and stretched a hand into the cell. "Councillor Midori, it's me. Asami Sato. We're here to rescue you." Midori's eyes twitched between them, feral.

"I don't want to go with you," said the Councillor, her voice high-pitched, frenzied.

Amon held up his light to examine the lock. "You'll feel better when you're nourished. We'll talk this through, and you'll see that I'm still the same man you always knew. But first, we have to get you out of here." His finger traced the keyhole. This was going to be a difficult one to unlock. "Where is Korra?" he asked as he rustled through his bag for his lock pick set.

"I haven't seen her since they overwhelmed us." The words ended in a coughing fit, and then a sob; at the sound, pain gripped Amon's heart, twisted it.

"It's okay, Councillor," said Asami. "We're going to get you out of here."

As she continued to soothe Midori, Amon lifted his mask, clenched his light between his teeth and inserted the picks into the lock. He felt for the pins. This was going to take some finagling.

He almost had the last tumbler in place when Tarrlok's voice startled him into dropping the picks. "I found some water."

Amon turned to chastise him for startling them, but stopped. In Tarrlok's hand was a small lamp, only a bit bigger than the one Asami had given Amon.

"Where did you get that?" asked Amon.

Tarrlok held up two water canisters. "I found them in a kitchen area, where-"

"The lamp."

"Oh." He glanced at it and shrugged. "I made it."

"You made it?" Amon squinted at the ex-Councillor, sizing him up. "I thought you didn't have any technical skills."

With a smirk, Tarrlok said, "I thought you would have had plenty of intelligence on me from your Equalist days, Amon. Surely you remember that my studies weren't originally in politics."

Amon combed his memory, and his jaw tightened. Engineering. "And yet you were too lazy to help Miss Sato work on your weapon?"

Quickly stepping between them, Asami said, "Keep focused, boys." She snatched a water canister from Tarrlok and tossed it between the bars so that it landed neatly by Midori. "Councillor, please drink a bit of this. Not too much."

Remembering the task at hand, Amon turned back to the lock. It took several tries, but soon the lock clicked. The instant the knob gave, he threw open the door and rushed into the cell, kneeling beside Midori. Her eyes widened and she shrank from him, clutching the water canister as if hiding behind it.

"Please, Midori," he whispered. "I'm here to help you." He held out his hand, as if placating a timid animal.

"I don't trust you," she said, a dagger in his chest.

His patience snapped. Standing, he yanked his mask back into place. "Then I need to find Korra." He turned and marched from the cell, pushing past Asami.

"We need to get you out of here," he heard Asami say to Midori, but he continued to press forward. Tarrlok called his name, but he ignored him.

He ran without direction, wracking his memory. There had to be somewhere else to keep a fully-realized Avatar. Panic swirled in his chest now, every muscle in his body vibrating. So close, but still out of his reach.

Platinum.

The word almost brought him to a full stop. Platinum. The one element no bender could bend. He took a sharp right, sprinting: the vault. They had specifically built the vault room out of platinum so no benders could open it by force.

His vision clouded, red, as he sprinted toward the vault. At the end of the hallway, he saw light. Heard voices.

He exploded into the vault room, squinting against the bright lights. The guards leaped to their feet, eyes wide. They had been sitting in a circle, playing cards. The perfect formation for him to take them out.

Amon vaulted to the centre of the table and spun, hands jabbing at his foes. Three fell backwards, bending disabled. He heard curses and yells, but did not slow, whirling and stabbing. Water flew at his head; he swung low to evade and took out two more, still spinning, still jabbing, pressing the attack. Seven down now. Eight. Nine. One of his foes tried to bring ice shards down on his head; with dizzying speed, Amon backflipped off the table and crouched, the shards flying safely over his body.

He stood, assessing the damage. Ten guards, all but one disabled.

"Shit!" yelled the one who still had her bending, and she threw a water whip at him. He ducked to the side, then swooped at her.

"Shit, shit, shit!" She threw more ice shards at him; he pirouetted out of the way, then grabbed her by the throat and dropped her to the ground, crouching over top of her.

"Where is the Avatar?" he demanded.

Her eyes narrowed, and he heard her gather phlegm in her throat.

His finger found the chi point at the back of her neck, pressing into it just enough to paralyze her. Her eyes widened with fear.

"I won't have you spitting ice shards at me," he said. "This chi point that I'm touching: do you know what it's called?" Her breaths were starting to come in gasps now. She shook her head no, her blue eyes watering.

Behind them, Amon heard the whir of electrified weapons: Tarrlok and Asami had arrived. He heard a yell and frantic footsteps, and then a zap of electricity as his allies stopped whatever attacker had been rushing at him. Without even acknowledging them, he continued:

"This is the amon chi point. If I press into it like so-" He pressed, and the guard shrieked. "-it causes paralysis and unbearable fear. An interesting thing about the amon chi point is that a chi-blocking master can press into it at just the right angle to spark the onset of an excruciating death, irreversible once it begins."

The woman's eyes squeezed shut. "She's in the vault."

"Good girl. Is she alive?"

"I don't know. Please! I was just following orders."

"Just following orders? To betray your Avatar, keep her locked away?" Amon let out a half-growl, half-roar and pressed harder on the chi point. The woman screamed.

"Amon," said Asami's voice behind him. "Let her go."

"What? Let her go?" said Tarrlok. "No. We came here to end this."

Amon's breaths came in harsh gasps behind clenched teeth. He steeled himself. One quick press, and his vengeance would begin. The gangs were the last blight on Republic City: he had the power to end it, starting with this guard. He stared into her eyes, ready to watch her die, but stopped. She had the same colouring as Korra: the same flawless dark skin, light blue eyes and silky brown hair. With her sharp nose and broad mouth, she looked a bit like him, too, like a combination of the two of them. Her jaw trembled, and a tear leaked from her eye. His vision blurred.

Hands shaking, he released her and stood.

"What are you doing?" said Tarrlok.

Amon turned to face his companions. Midori was slumped against Asami's shoulder, barely conscious; both Asami and Tarrlok had their weapons drawn. Around them, the other guards were finding their way to their feet, and they began to close in.

"Knock them out," said Amon. "We're here for Korra. Nothing else matters."

"This is a mistake," said Tarrlok, but he lashed out his whips, snagging and electrifying the nearest guard. Asami sat Midori against the wall and then charged.

Seeing that they had the battle under control, Amon ran for the vault door, so large that it took up the entire wall. The old combination didn't work, so he pressed his ear to the door and listened for telltale clicks. Nothing.

He pulled a bomb out of his satchel, jerked out the majority of the explosive material, armed it, then wired a fuse to it.

"Amon," called Tarrlok. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ignoring him, he pulled the plaster off the bottom of the bomb and stuck it to the weak point on the hinge, pressing it into place. He lit the fuse and then fell back into line with his companions, who stood among a sprawling sea of unconscious bodies.

"Did you just set a bomb in this room?" asked Asami, brows low.

"Just a small one. Brace yourself."

The bomb exploded, shaking the hall; his ears rang.

"Great," said Tarrlok, jabbing a finger into his ear. "If there was anyone else around, they know we're here now."

The explosive had successfully cracked the vault door; Amon gripped it, threw it all the way open.

At the back of a vault was a square metal cage, about Amon's height in its dimensions, a fallen figure in its centre.

"Korra!" He fumbled for the light Asami had given him and twisted it on, darting for the cage. As he reached it, strength ebbed from his legs, and he sank to a kneel, clutching the bars.

Korra lay in the centre of the cell in a dried pool of blood. Her skin was an unnatural grey, and her sunken eyes stared at nothing. Empty.

"Oh spirits, no." His heart had been punctured, and every last drop of hope was draining from it. He sagged against the bars and took a shuddering breath. "Korra." It was getting harder to force air into his tightening lungs. He stretched his arm through the bars as far as he could; his hand was barely able to reach hers. Cold and stiff. He curled his fingers around the tips of hers, calling her name over and over. Maybe the right cadence could coax the light back into her eyes.

Shadows cast over them, and he knew that his allies were hovering in the door of the vault. He couldn't bring himself to look at him. Taking several deep breaths, he said, "We have to get her out of here." His voice cracked. "She shouldn't... This isn't where she should rest."

Asami tentatively moved to stand beside him. "The entire cage has been welded shut," she said softly.

"Then we'll cut through it. We'll get her out. We have to get..." Amon's forehead pressed against the bars. "I'm sorry, my love." His fingers squeezed hers. "I'm so sorry."

Faintly, her fingers squeezed back.

His breath caught in his throat. "Her hand moved."

"What?" Asami knelt beside him, squinting at the fallen form in the cage. "Are you sure?"

Straining, his fingers barely managed to reach her wrist. Her pulse was faint and uneven, but present. "She's still alive. Oh Spirits, she's still alive." He unhooked the bag from his shoulder and set it beside him, then retrieved the herbs and the book. "We can save her. If we can revive her, she can get out of this cage. She can bend her way out."

Tarrlok approached on his left; he sat a barely-conscious Midori against the wall. "You aren't going to take those, are you?"

"I can go after her. I can find her and guide her back to her body." Amon's whole body was shaking now.

"You're the best fighter among us," said Tarrlok. "If those herbs end up disabling you – or killing you – then we're screwed."

"There's almost no one here. You can handle anyone who tries to attack." Amon unwrapped the paper, revealing the brick of oils, and set the herbs beside them. If the book had been correct, they needed to get the antidote into Korra's system before she would be able to return to her body.

"I apologize for this, Korra," he whispered, and his knuckles locked around hers. He jerked her toward him, knowing by the cracks that he might have dislocated a finger or two. It did the job. Her body slid close enough that he was able to grab her and pull her flush against the bars. He forced a sprig of the antidote herbs into her mouth. His knuckles grazed her cheek; the skin was papery and cold. As he waited, his eyes trailed down her body, assessing her injuries.

The majority of the blood originated from between her legs. A cry flew from his lips before he could stop it, and he reached both arms as far as he could into the cell, trying to hold her.

Our child. Our family. His chest twisted, throbbed.

"Amon," whispered Asami.

"I can't take this," he said, fumbling, frustrated that he couldn't land an embrace on Korra through the bars. "I can't... I'm going to crack. I can't take this." He had always prided himself on being impervious to emotion, but every person had a breaking point. He began to hyperventilate.

"You can do this," said Asami.

He looked at her, saw the strength in her green eyes. She gripped his shoulder to encourage him. "We've found her and we will save her. I can help. Tell me what to do."

"I'll look for tools to cut through the bars," said Tarrlok from behind them. "But I still think you're a fool for going through with this."

Amon was too busy trying to breathe to respond. He slowly released Korra's body and pulled back, looking for signs that she might be reacting to the antidote, but there was no change.

"I don't think she's coming back on her own," he said. "I'm going after her." He pulled out his pocketknife and lopped a large corner off the oils. "Wait until I am completely out," he said. "Then put a sprig of the leafy herb in my mouth."

"And then what?" asked Asami.

Amon met her gaze, but didn't have an answer for her. Instead, he lifted the oil mixture to his lips. At first, there was only a bitter taste, coating his tongue with slick oils. Amon wondered why it didn't take effect immediately, then remembered that Korra had had it intravenously. He glanced at Asami, and was surprised to see that her irises were glowing. As he tried to open his mouth to comment on it, his tingling lips wouldn't respond. He began to feel nauseated, dizzy.

Suddenly, her face melted. The world around him wavered, as if coated with a steady stream of water.

He turned back to the Avatar, clinging as tightly to her as the bars would allow. I am coming for you, Korra.

The taste of blood filled his mouth. His body seized as the watery shapes around him melted into a puddle and began to swirl. He heard Asami yell, felt her pin down his thrashing limbs.

Then he felt nothing as his body began to float.

One last thought surfaced in his mind: I will find you, my love.

He had expected violet fog, not a memory. It rose in his mind like a dream, engulfed his consciousness.

.*.*.*.

Amon had been surprised to see Korra at the base of the bluff under her window, instead of waiting for him in her room. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she wore her winter jacket. Snow drifted around her, settling in her hair like tiny feathers.

"What are you doing?" he whispered as he approached, glancing around for the Order of the White Lotus guards.

Her grin was broad and her cheeks were crimson. "Isn't it beautiful? I haven't seen snow this thick since I left the South Pole! Let's play in it."

"Play in it?" Amon glanced around at the white carpet, already nervous about the footprints he had left behind.

Korra beamed. "Race you to the cliff!" Turning, she began to run.

"What-" Amon spun on his heel and began to chase her. She was giggling loudly as she ran, heedless of any attention she might be drawing to herself. Amon couldn't help smiling at the sound. As he ran, adrenaline began to pump through his veins.

He caught up to her, and was surprised that she sped up to keep pace with him. No-one he knew could stay with him at this speed. Lowering his body, he began to full-out sprint. At first, he thought she might keep up, but then she began to flag.

"No fair – your legs are longer," she yelled behind him, and laughter bubbled up from his gut. He let his arms trail behind him as if he were flying.

Suddenly, he heard a triumphant guffaw very close behind him. He glanced back and saw that she was riding on a ball of air.

"Bending? That's not very sporting." As she burst past him, he leaped; by sheer luck, he landed behind her and managed to keep his balance on the ball, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and chest.

"Hey!" She wrestled against his grasp, trying to knock him off.

Amon stretched his arm ahead of them, his reach eclipsing hers. "You have no chance, Avatar." The immaturity of the action delighted him.

"Not fair. Your stupid arms are so freakishly long." She tried to climb forward along his arm, stretching as far as she could. He quickly poked her back, and her arm fell limp.

"Chi-blocking, Amon? Really?"

"If you can use bending, then I can use chi-blocking."

Korra swore and extended her other arm, still trying to stretch further than him. The cliff was approaching, and Amon felt her begin to tense. She was going to jump ahead. He grinned, knowing that his jump was further than hers.

Suddenly, she lost her balance and fell forward.

On reflex, Amon gripped her by the waist and jerked her upright, but she lost control of the air ball.

They twisted, then the ball dissipated. A tree trunk engulfed Amon's vision.

Then, blackness.

He awoke to Korra holding glowing hands over his face, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. Groaning, he clutched his aching head and sat up.

"Ouch," he said.

"Oh, Amon, I'm so sorry." She lunged for him, burying her face in his chest. Snow was still falling around them, and when he pressed his mouth to the top of her head, snow melted on his chin.

"I think we both got a little rowdy," he said, trying not to show his annoyance.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, holding him close. "I'm sorry. I used bending to heal you-"

He cut her off: "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Leaning in so sweetly he felt a smile tug at his lips, she said, "I could kiss it better."

"That might help."

"Where does it hurt?" she asked, eyes bright.

He pointed to the top of his head, and she pressed a gentle kiss to it, so sweet and childlike that his mood softened. "And a little here." He tapped his temple, and she kissed it.

"I'm pretty sure I saw that your lips were sore, too," she said. Her skin was dark and flushed against the bright white landscape, her eyes reflecting the full moon.

"Very sore," he agreed, and she kissed him so deeply that he sank back into the snow beneath her weight. When she pulled away, there were clouds of air between them. Snow caught in her eyelashes; he smiled and brushed then aside.

"Feel better now?" she asked.

"I'm also a bit sore here." When he pointed, her eyelids drooped, unimpressed.

"You don't really want me taking that out in the cold, do you?"

"I don't think the temperature is a concern – your mouth is very warm."

"Well, you'll have to be patient. I want to enjoy the weather for a bit first. Spirits know I've missed proper winters." She flopped beside him, a smile on her face as her gloved hand found his. Together, they stared up at the blanketed sky, the puffs of their breaths rising and dissipating among the falling flakes. Though the snow held him in a chill embrace, Amon's body glowed with warmth. He loved that she encouraged him to act like a child. His childhood had been far too short.

"Do normal people ever see flashes of their past lives?" she asked suddenly.

He tilted his head to cast her an amused glance. While the Avatar had a reputation for being headstrong and physical, he loved her non-sequiturs. He had always seen curiosity as a sign of intelligence. They had shared some intriguing philosophical conversations on occasion due to her random questions, and this looked to be another one.

"I get flashes of my past lives all the time," she said. "Mostly from Aang, sometimes from Roku. I just wondered if that was normal, or if it's another one of those ways I'm different."

He rolled onto his side. "Nothing about you is normal, Korra."

"I'm serious, Amon – do you really have no idea about your past lives?"

"No. I assume they're somehow related to yours, since I subscribe to the belief that souls are tied across generations. So I'm sure that in the past, I have been the Avatar's lover. Or best friend. Or family member."

"Family member?" She sat up, snow falling from her jacket in chunks. "What?" Her mouth was open, horrified.

He winced at her reaction. "We wouldn't always reincarnate as lovers. It's impossible for our life cycles to line up perfectly each time: gender and age will come into play. We are always critically important in each other's lives, somehow. There are many forms of love."

"But I have the ability to remember my past lives. To think that you might have once been my son, or my mother..." She shuddered.

"I suppose your situation gives you a unique perspective on it. I did not mean for my philosophies to disturb you. Personally, I find it comforting to know that generation after generation, I have been and will always be by your side."

"But family? Not sure how I feel about kissing that last sore spot of yours now." She slung a skiff of snow into his face. He sputtered, sitting up, his face tingling with the chill; he scooped a handful of snow to retaliate, then stopped at Korra's raised brow.

"Are you sure you want to try that?" she asked. "Attacking a waterbender with her own element?"

"Typical bender oppression." He let the snow sift between his fingers.

"I bet you were a lot less uptight about bending in your past lives." She lay back again, snuggling closer to him. The clouds were beginning to thin, and the full moon showed through the clouds, barely visible amidst the sea of white. Amon closed his eyes, feeling all tension leave his muscles, save for his ears, always strained for the sound of footsteps.

"Sometimes I think about how there must be a past life where we were married," she said. "A house. Children. A wedding that was celebrated across the land. The two of us revered like royalty, our love giving others hope."

He wrapped his mind in the thought, snuggling into it like a blanket. "Does that thought make you happy?"

"Yes." Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it. "But I envy them."

"One day, Korra," he started, but his eyes flew open. They both knew there was nothing he could promise. Instead, he said, "One day, I hope we can find a way to have some of that in this life." That, at least, was true.

The words, vague as they were, seemed to please her, because she gave him a broad, blushing smile. "Maybe it can happen yet, Amon. We are still young. There is always time." She stood and held out her hand. "You're shivering. Let's get you somewhere warm."

He clasped her hand and stood, then squeezed her so tightly against him that she gasped. His face buried into her hair, damp and cold with the snow, but warming with his breath.

"I am warmest wherever you are," he whispered, and then the memory faded.

.*.*.*.

His soul glowed with so much heat that he knew she was near.

A chorus of voices reverberated through his mind:

"There can be no love of another without love of self. There can be no love of self without knowledge of oneself. There can be no knowledge of oneself without isolating oneself from all other influence. The most corrupting influence is one's own delusions about who one is. It is time for you to learn, little one. And at the end, you will be judged by your harshest critic: yourself."

Amon did not open his eyes. "I know who I am."

"You do not," said the voice. "You have changed masks so often that you have forgotten your true face."

"I am Amon."

"Are you sure you know who you really are? You will not be able to find her if you are wrong. You will not be able to find your way back."

His teeth clenched. "I am Amon, spirits, and I will find her."

"We shall see. Open your eyes, and your search will begin."

Amon's eyelids parted. The world around him was filled with violet fog, and two pillars of light, one red and one white, glowed in the distance.