A/N: I'm not sure how to word this, but I guess… warning for blood and partial nudity in the context of lifesaving emergency field surgery. Idk how this could be misconstrued, but everyone needs insurance these days *fingers crossed*

This is it, everyone! We are at the end. Much excitement in this chapter, but also something resembling a resolution :3 More author's notes at the end to talk about the future of any other content in this series :D :D Let's get into it!

He opens his eyes and breathes in the smoky air mixed with the sharp tang of seawater. It's disconcerting to be back in his body, in the physical plane, and he stands uncertainly, looking around. The sun has resumed its place. Ozai is gone, physically dragged into the spirit world with no hope of return. The finality of his penalty pleases Zuko. If Ozai had just died, his torment would have ended then, but the Fog of Lost Souls will haunt him forever. He will never escape that place.

Something glints in the corner of his eye: his dagger, lying discarded on the ground. His stomach drops as he registers the outstretched hand that reaches for it, Azula's body lying there unstirring.

No… "Azula!" he cries, flinging himself to her side and rolling her over onto her back as gently as he can. "Azula!"

She does not respond, eyes closed, head lolling limply, pale as death. His shaking hands register the faintest pulse in her neck, weak and thready but still there, hanging by a thin strand. Her breaths are shallow, her muscle tone totally absent as she lies unconscious, and his own breaths hike and hitch as he struggles to determine where she's hurt.

The dagger is stained with blood, but there is no blood on the ground under her. The veins of her throat stand to attention, engorged despite the clinical picture she presents of frank hemorrhage, fast on the path to bleeding to death. He needs help, quick, but he's not going to find a healer within miles of this abandoned stretch of land.

Help me, Katara, he prays, laying a hand on Azula's neck, feeling the pressured flow of blood underneath. He consults his basic understanding of circulation. Veins go back to the heart, okay. He knows how the heart feels when it pumps blood, having been instructed by Katara in monitoring his own heart via bloodbending after his long convalescence. This doesn't feel right, though. He can sense the contours of her heart walls, blood filling the four chambers, but there's… blood outside the heart as well, in a sac surrounding it, pushing on the muscle itself.

Oh guru. Katara warned him about this, how a rupture in the heart wall would allow blood to flow out into the enclosed surrounding space, accumulating and externally compressing the heart wall into immobility. In this state, death is only minutes away.

"Fuck!" Fuck, how he is he supposed to fix this? Water, water, where's the water—

—right under their feet. A hundred feet below the cliffs runs a wide river emptying into an estuary sluggishly flowing towards the sea. He almost trips over his own feet as he gathers Azula in his arms, picks up the dagger, and plunges right over the edge, firebending supplementing his deep dive.

He alights roughly on a rocky shore, without the grace to do anything but stumble into the water with Azula, falling to his knees, her head cradled in his lap so that she doesn't drown in the shallows. Come on, Zuko, pull it together—you can't let her die!

He hesitates over the fabric of her shirt, dagger in hand, but there is no time to care about modesty. With quick, sure slashes, he cuts through her shirt and exposes her chest. In one hand, he pulls up a generous bolus of water, and with the other, he probes and searches for where the blood is escaping from. He can feel several broken ribs under his touch, and fury blazes through him as he imagines how great a force Ozai must have exerted to brutalize her so. The fractured bone must have pierced right through her heart, and at last, he locates the site of the puncture, blood pulsing through the defect.

Be healed, he thinks as hard as he can, a blessing and a plea in one desperate cry. Be whole again.

The water glows brightly in response, but so does the surface of the sea around them, brilliant in the reflection of the Avatar state. Energy resonates down through his chi paths into Azula's own, the power channeled therein working to seal her wound off completely. He blinks as the light recedes, drained but not slumping over, weak or unconscious as he might have previously. So this is what the Avatar state is capable of.

The blood accumulated around her heart is still there, though; trapped in that tiny space, it will continue to choke off her heart, and there is only one place for it to go.

He reaches for the dagger, its thin blade sharp and piercing, and rinses the blood off its steel-bright surface. He cauterizes it with firebending, praying that this will work.

The first cut is the hardest. He watches, willing his hands not to shake, as blood wells up from the superficial gash, trickling down her skin, and he tries to ignore the voice screaming at him to stop, are you crazy, you're going to make things worse. These wounds are nothing compared to what has already been dealt to her. He will save Azula. He has to.

Another cut now, slowly lengthening and emboldening its depth, seeking to pierce straight through to the pocket of blood still crushing her heart. It seems like he's been here forever, hunched over Azula's body, trying to mend the enormity of all the hurts multiplied upon her. Minutes only, stretched in their tense momentum, but his back aches, his heart aches, his spirit shudders to think of what will happen should he fail.

A third cut, and there—there it is, the sudden outflow of blood brimming to the surface of her wound, and with steady hands, he draws it all out, enough to fill his two palms like a sanguine offering to some primal deity. Azula's sacrifice, blood literally on his hands. He lets it dissipate into the water, not keen to get hung-up on guilt and regret for her pain.

With more water, he heals the incisions in her chest wall and skin, dipping into the Avatar state once again to knit her ribs back together, careful not to menace her weakened heart.

"Nn…." A choked off gasp, a disoriented murmur. Her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused until she looks up at his face. "Zuzu…?"

"Don't talk," he says abruptly, because if she says his name like that again he will cry. "Guru above, don't talk, you've lost so much blood. You're so weak that I'm afraid you'll flutter away into the ether if you so much as cough too hard."

Lying in cold water isn't ideal for post-op recovery. He drags himself to his feet drunkenly, running on the last dregs of his strength to carry Azula to a more hospitable stretch of the beach. He props her up, semi-recumbent, against a pile of driftwood. She's breathing easier already, lungs no longer congested with backed up blood. She's still pale but that's not surprising, given the shock and massive hemorrhage she's just experienced. They're out of danger, for now.

He looks around, something catching his eye a few yards down the beach. It's a long cape of deep scarlet, luxuriously soft and smooth, its hem embroidered with the imperial flame. Fire Lord Ozai must have shed his outer garment before flying to meet Azula in the battle of the skies.

Zuko pauses, but then wonders why he bothers. Their father is gone; his erstwhile material possessions have no power over them. Without him, it is just a very fancy blanket.

"Here." He hastens back to Azula's side. She shivers and hunches over on herself as he drapes it over her shoulders, securing it around her upper body and burying her thoroughly in its folds. "This will keep you warm."

"Zuko…" Her voice is still very weak, almost imperceptible despite how close he hovers beside her. "Where… where is he?"

He smiles, the first real, uncensored joy he's felt since parting ways with Aang before going to Pohuai.

"He's gone. I sealed him in an inescapable prison in the spirit world, the Fog of Lost Souls."

.

He holds her gaze, willing his words to impart the truth of their new reality.

.

"He will never hurt us again."

.

A cessation of breath, her respirations still painfully weak; a widening of eyes lidded with fatigue. Her lips tremble, reforming the words that he just spoke unto her: a prophecy; a rejoicing; a damning, blessing hurrah to the first day of the rest of their lives.

A dam bursts, a heart yields up years of grief and pain, released in a single, cathartic moment, and Azula weeps as Zuko has never seen before. She's always been poised, perfectly staid and emotionless, but now…

Now there is no Fire Lord Ozai to stand between them, forcing them to compete for his favor rather than work together harmoniously as they should have from the start. He encircles Azula in his arms, holding her as she shakes through sobs of joyful anguish, a childhood of fear and hatred washed away with her tears.

"It's okay. He's gone now. Everything's okay now…" He murmurs gentle nonsense in her ears, knowing that she needs the reassurance. "We're going to be okay."

"Zuzu…" Their childhood nickname strikes a chord in him, and he remembers the days before their firebending training began and their paths began to diverge.

"You did what I couldn't do. You ended him." There is no judgment in her words, nor jealousy, just a sort of hushed awe as she looks up at him with bleary eyes almost too weak to stay open.

"I had to, 'Zula. There's no coming back from what he did to us," he says tiredly. "Other people may not see it that way, though."

"Oh, no, no, don't be like that." Her breath catches from the exertion, wounds still causing her pain. She struggles to sit up more stably, clutching his side for support.

"Listen, Zuko," she says fiercely. "I know you're already headed down that path of self-doubt because he ingrained it into you. But you did the right thing, and what's more, I don't think you did as you chose because it was the right thing to do. Rather, it was the right thing to do because you did it."

"'Zula…" he begins, not sure he likes where this is going.

"Shhh, I'm talking," she shushes him. "Look, you could have made many different decisions. You could have killed him. You could have put him in jail forever. You could have… banished him to a cannibal commune in the Si Wong Desert."

"I could've taken away his firebending," Zuko proposes.

She stares at him, too exhausted to even show surprise. "Yes, because apparently you can do that too."

"Theoretically. A lion-turtle showed me how, but I don't know if I could actually do it."

"My point is," she continues laboriously, "someone always would've taken issue with your decision, no matter what it was. If you'd killed him, people would say, 'Look at that power-hungry usurper, killing his own father for the throne.' If you put him in jail, his supporters might have broken him out or at least painted him as a martyr, the face of a glorious counterrevolution. Whatever you choose, you can't please everyone. You can't be unanimously right."

"So what, I just choose something and insist that I'm right?"

"You choose, and you stand by your decision, and you regret nothing," she says fiercely. She slumps down, this small exertion of a speech having winded her. "This goes for anyone, not just you. I chose you, and I haven't regretted it. I'm not ashamed to follow you."

It's so strange, admitting that Azula's right. He's glad that she's here to set the record straight.

"You've made your point; now will you please stop talking? You look like you don't even have the energy to last until help arrives."

"Help's already here," she mumbles, head slipping onto his shoulder, her body awkwardly curled to his side. "You saved me, Zuko."

Then, very faintly: "I love you."

Tears gather in his right eye, asymmetric as they've been since Ozai burned out the glands of his left.

"I love you too."

Aang arrives on Appa's back, having devoted himself to the task of dismantling the airship fleet. Zuko vaguely wonders if that would even have been necessary if he'd had the gall to negotiate with the sun spirit earlier and put out their source of flame.

"Zuko!"

He rouses a smile for his love, having been on the verge of nodding off over Azula as well.

"Nice work with the airships. I'm sorry I was so late."

"I saw Azula arrive first, then you came along, and that lightning redirection? Fantastic. Incandescent." He shakes his head, marveling.

"Please." Zuko holds up a hand to curtail the flood of praise. "Compliments later. We're two steps away from death by pure exhaustion."

They bundle Azula into the saddle bed, and Aang takes off with a light yip-yip to Appa. The cerulean skies blanket their flight, no longer stained red with the comet's passing. The sun shines down mildly, and he closes his eyes against the breeze that ruffles his hair. It turned out to be a beautiful day after all. Zuko huddles a little closer to Azula, who's drifting back into somnolence, too worn out from the battle.

Once they're settled in the air, Aang secures the reins and lets Appa cruise at a comfortable height, taking a direct path towards their destination, which Zuko guesses is Ba Sing Se. It's oddly difficult to be concerned with what the future holds when he's so concentrated on living in the present and processing the very recent past.

Aang shuffles over to Zuko, scooting up to his free shoulder and cuddling close. "Is it over?" he asks.

"You said it yourself," he reminds Aang, of words spoken over a calm ocean just like this. "It's only just begun."

.

.

It begins with reunions. As soon as he's hustled Azula away to the healing tents and Katara's care when they arrive at the White Lotus camp, he goes to General Iroh's tent. There, he finds everyone in conference about what must be done immediately, in the short term, and the long term to recover from the battle. Lu Ten has hardly a split second to recognize his cousin's war-weary face before he is engulfed in a desperate hug, a shuddering entreaty whispered in his ear.

"I'm so sorry… I had to. I'm sorry."

Lu Ten shakes his head, arms wrapped around his quaking form, stroking his back gently. His shoulder is damp from Zuko's tears as they disengage, and despite the joy of their reunion, Zuko's face remains stoic and grave as he turns to Hanxin.

He's injured, Lu Ten can tell from the way he holds his torso stiffly and accepts Aang's help as he sinks to his knees. He does not falter despite his wounds, and Hanxin looks on, eyes wide, as Zuko brings his arms out in front, hands joined in the ritual salute, and bends his aching body into the deepest bow, forehead pressed to the ground.

Everyone in the room knows that this goes well beyond the realm of paying ordinary respects. This depth of bow is typically reserved for the Fire Lord, or one's elders… or someone to whom one owes a life debt.

Hanxin does not flutter to raise him from the ground, refusing to diminish the solemnity of Zuko's intention. This motion reveals the extent of Zuko's gratitude and respect for him, but it is also for all those present to witness the depth of his regard for Hanxin, as Lu Ten's inseparable partner. Let no one ever question the validity of Hanxin's presence at his side. Lu Ten feels a warm rush of tenderness at his cousin's soulful gesture.

.

.

It begins with healing. Despite Zuko and Katara's efforts, Azula's heart remains too weak to do anything but keep her in bed for upwards of a week, propped up on several pillows to ease the strain on her breathing. Zuko is in slightly better shape, but not by much ("You'd be better now if you'd taken the time to heal yourself right after the battle," Aang reproves. "…yeah, I had other priorities."). Katara attends to them with only slightly better bedside manner, and Azula gets the same schooling in bloodbending that Zuko sat through months ago, scared stiff at the thought of tiny clots forming in the heart and floating away to wreak havoc in the rest of the body.

The White Lotus have lost about a third of their forces, and of those that survive, at least half have suffered some injury. The most severely injured are moved to infirmaries within the city for more intensive care, while the rest remain camped outside the Inner Wall. The work of the aftermath is endless: reconstructing the Outer Wall, repairing the damage to the Agrarian Zone, tabulating the dead and laying them to rest, organizing compensation for their families, and such. It is grueling and backbreaking, but it is better than the alternative.

It begins with reclamation. Soon after Zuko confirms Ozai's downfall, General Iroh sets out for the Fire Nation capital to put the chaos there to rest. The few White Lotus informants still in the Fire Nation report that the capital has been seized by militant regional authorities, but Iroh is confident that he will be able to restore peace and smoothly resume the throne. Lu Ten stays behind in Ba Sing Se to help facilitate the city's recovery. There is much change that must be effected.

It begins with reform. First, they have to catch the Earth King up on… oh, everything that's happened with the war in the past hundred years. Suffice to say, he does not take it well when Lu Ten explains that his country is in shambles after the numerous attacks, colonization, and generalized destruction by the Fire Nation for a century. Only the copious application of smelling salts and Toph's quick conversion of his gold throne into a fainting couch prevent them from having to deal with a distressed monarch spilled all over the floor.

"This is too improbable," Earth King Kuei babbles when he comes to. "I can't deal with this—I, I have cultural edicts to attend to! I need to go review—"

"Your Majesty, I'm sure the cultural edicts will wait for you," Sokka interrupts. "For now, I think you need to get out of the Upper Ring for once to see the city you rule and what the war has done to it."

"I… I've never even left the palace in my life," Kuei admits, twisting a large jadeite ring on his finger sheepishly. "No Earth King in recent memory has."

"Well, you'll be the first, and I daresay you might even enjoy it," Toph says, having once been the sheltered youth of the nobility, cherished, protected, caged. "We can even ride a sky bison to see the Outer Wall, if you like."

And that is how Sokka and Toph end up borrowing Appa for a day to take the Earth King on a life-changing (read: culture-shock inducing) fieldtrip. They ask forgiveness rather than permission, but Aang doesn't mind.

Secondly, Long Shu steps down as head of the Dai Li, and the bureau is dismantled, its members reassigned to different ministries. Zuko makes some noises about reparations for war crimes, but Lu Ten makes louder noises about following orders and indoctrinated from an early age and seen the error of her ways, and Zuko finally backs down.

A major rehaul of the city's ministries of war, public works, justice, and revenue is in order, and Zuko and Lu Ten do their best to shepherd the fledgling king through the process. More experienced members of the White Lotus step in as needed, but this effort must be spearheaded by Kuei himself, if he is to get his own ministers to take him seriously. To call his task overwhelming is a massive understatement: Ba Sing Se's many issues, the huge imbalance in distribution of wealth, lack of control over outer provinces, devastation of the Agrarian Zone, and continued vulnerability to outside forces remain prominent even though the threat of Sozin's comet has passed. He applies himself to the work earnestly if a little naively, and bit by bit, things take a turn for the better.

.

.

It begins with a promise, for truth, for justice, for change. No more is it said, "There is no war in Ba Sing Se."

"The Hundred Year War is over. The war of the next hundred years has just begun," Zuko announces at a packed market square in the Lower Ring one week after the battle. The onlookers murmur with disquietude, not thrilled with the prospect of more conflict.

"This war is to be fought against famine, against poverty, against injustice and colonization, against unfair taxation and corruption at all levels of the government. As the Avatar, I am invested in your future, and the future of the world. I vow to restore this chaotic world into peace and balance, but I cannot do it alone."

He turns to look back at the figure behind him on the podium, pausing for dramatic effect—Toph had done a lot of coaching with him on his speechmaking skills. It's a work in progress.

"Many of you may have heard of the Azure Dragon of the East, a ray of hope amid the endless darkness of war, a sliver of peace and joy where only despair once reigned. He is with us today when he was once thought lost."

Lu Ten takes his place beside Zuko, looking out over the sea of people, and it is as if he was never gone. The murmur of the crowd bubbles and crests, a different tone overlying their whispers.

"Isn't that—" "I know him!" "He's … no, it can't be…"

"Mushi!"

The hubbub is broken by a clear, bright voice, and Lu Ten remembers Jin with aching fondness even as he starts to connect many faces in the crowd that he knew in his past identity of Mushi. They are not so far from Pao's Teashop where he worked for so many years, and ah, there's the girl who used to wait on him at Kang's Noodles, and the boy who sold musical instruments on Dengjia Street. There's the old judge who used to loiter over a pot of pu-erh all afternoon, and a woman whom Lu Ten's sure he gave alms to, now brightly dressed with a market basket full of vegetables slung over her shoulder.

In the oddest sense, he is at home here, a home away from home in the most unlikely of places. Far to the left, in the front row, he spies Jet (who really should not be up and about after suffering substantial pulmonary contusions from his confrontation with Mongke, but… oh well) waving at him, Hanxin standing behind his wheelchair and looking down in serene contemplation. His heart swells with joy, tender affection leaking from his pores and oh gods, he needs to get his feelings under control if he wants to address the people without sounding like a sappy idiot. Focus, Lu Ten.

.

.

It begins with memories. On the opposite end of the square, Long Shu watches Lu Ten declare a new beginning. She is no longer dressed in the dark green robes of the Dai Li, and her hair is tied loosely, released from its austere loops. Beside her stands the woman who knows herself as Joo Dee.

"Shu-er, who is he?"

"He is Prince Lu Ten of the Fire Nation, the Azure Dragon of the East." And the reason you lost your memory in the first place.

"Lu Ten?" She ponders this, puzzled, teetering on the verge of some revelation. "The name sounds almost familiar."

She's heard that voice before, but it was different. When she first heard it, it was cracked and spent, breaking from a thousand torments. She's seen his face before, contorted in pain, stretched wide in a manic approximation of glee. She knows him, but she cannot know him.

"Why do we fight?" Lu Ten asks the crowd at large. He answers himself, "For our homes, for our families, for all those we hold dear. For the generations who come after us to have a chance at a peaceful life."

She puzzles it over, absently running her hand over the nape of her neck, up to the hairpiece that Shu-er had given her a few years ago. It is an artistic piece of jade cut in the shape of a flower with small, white petals and leaves like butterfly wings. Inspired, she tugs it from her hair and looks at it closely. Suddenly, deep inside, she knows.

This does not belong to me.

She looks over at Shu-er and frowns. "Shu-er, why are you wearing my jennamite hairpiece?"

Long Shu turns, her visage replete with vulnerability and shock. She watches Joo Dee shed a lifetime's worth of false memories and shatter into a thousand irrecoverable pieces.

Long Niu remembers her sister at last.

Team Avatar and associates spend over a month recuperating and idling in Ba Sing Se before preparing to return to their respective homes. Idling perhaps is not the best word, as they do carry out select duties contributing to the city's recovery, but right now, in the present, exact moment, they are willfully, joyously idling.

Iroh has them set up in a tastefully comfortable villa on the eastern edge of the Upper Ring. Today doesn't feel like it's the height of summer; it's pleasantly warm enough to sit outside under a sprawling, shady pavilion. The light breeze that picks up gradually makes it feel just right for a cup of tea, Lu Ten decides.

At the pai sho table, Sokka plays Hanxin at snail's pace, with frequent pauses as he exaggeratedly scrutinizes the board for advantages, Toph lingering at his side and sometimes shifting stones in his favor. Not to be outdone, Jet sits next to Hanxin, subtle hand gestures close to his chest as he tries to advise him using the sign language they have been expanding. Sokka complains, of course, but he hardly has a leg to stand on given Toph's sneaky favoritism. Hanxin smiles at their bickering and quietly accepts some tea from his love, fingers lingering over each other around the smooth clay cup.

In the garden, the mournful murmur of the tsungi horn drifts between boughs of apple blossoms, accompanied by the plink-plink-plonk of steel strings.

"What is that horrific noise assaulting my ears?" Azula demands, nestled cozily on a swinging couch in the shade. It's the first day she's been allowed to join them outside with a clean bill of health, her wounds completely healed. Miao lies stretched out on the seat next to her, approximating the size and shape of a contentedly purring loaf of bread.

Aang stops playing long enough to call back, "Sorry, I know I'm a bit out of practice. Zuko's been coaching me, but I've got room to improve."

"No, not you; I meant that rusty string-plucking sound," she clarifies irritably.

"I'm a beginner, for crying out loud; it'll be a while before anything I play sounds presentable." Katara bends over the book she's dug up from the imperial library on water-zither playing, an ancient collaborative technique of Water Tribe and Earthen musical origins. Instead of her fingers, she uses drops of water controlled by her bending to manipulate the strings, her unrefined skills resulting in the sound that is so offensive to Azula's ears.

"If you want me to improve faster, get over here and teach me," she challenges.

Azula eyes the droplets dancing over the strings and thinks better of it. Katara's therapeutic water massages over the past few weeks have been closer to agony than relaxing in nature, and she has no doubt that this invitation is a trap to pelt her with more water attacks as soon as she drifts within range.

"Hmph. I don't have time for such nonsense." She turns back to her book, supremely disinterested.

Lu Ten wanders over, dispensing tea to Katara and Aang as he goes. "You know you shouldn't drink it while it's still so hot," he says, handing Azula a cup. "Best medical practices and all that."

Azula maintains belligerent eye contact as she lifts her tea to her mouth and breathes it back to boiling point with firebending, in frank defiance of best medical practices.

He knows defeat when he sees it. He leans over and scratches Miao on the head, the cat mewing softly at his touch. "Miao, please try to convince her, for my sake," he begs.

Azula rolls her eyes as he walks off to find more people without tea. As soon as he turns his back, she spits out her mouthful, lips burning, and sets the tea aside to cool down by itself.

It's nice to be peacefully at ease here, she realizes. Reading a book with no expectation of needing to use its contents for self-preservation. Harmlessly needling the people around her with mild gripes and grumbles, a cat with blunt-tipped claws (much like the cat currently trying to encroach on her lap. She crosses her legs and dislodges it, smirking as it meows in betrayal). Drinking some calming tea and actually savoring it, though she will never admit this to what she now thinks of as the "tea side" of the family: Uncle, Lu Ten, and Zuko.

The only thing that would make it even better, she reflects, is if certain other people were here. She hasn't allowed herself to think about them recently, but now that she's not living in constant fear of death, she can indulge her thoughts.

Little does Azula know that at this moment, a young doctress from far west of here has entered the city under the pretext of seeking work in the overstretched infirmaries. She has heard tales far and wide of someone called the Azure Dragon saving the world from Sozin's comet. She is not really sure who this person is, but she does know that she once loved a surly firebender who could make blue flames and left her abruptly on the eve of the world's end. She thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is where she will reunite with her love.

Even now, a green-eyed sprightly earthbender dithers about, wondering if it would be rude to cross into the Upper Ring and knock on the door to the Avatar's residence asking for his sister. They have had their differences, but maybe, just maybe, all this time will have given them the chance to rethink things. Amid his dithering, he will take a break at a dinghy little teashop in the Lower Ring run by a flustered man named Pao. It's packed to bursting with dozens of patrons all wanting to see someone called Mushi, whom Pao claims doesn't work here anymore. With nowhere else to sit, he will share a table with a kindly young woman with cherry red lips and a smile in her warm eyes. He will think about how different this one and that one are, and they will shyly avoid each other's eyes as strangers forced together do.

And then, she will turn her head to call for more tea, and he will see the familiar blue peony hairpin at the base of her long braid.

.

.

Lu Ten tallies up his many charges like a frazzled nursery attendant and comes out one short. Where is Zuko?

On the roof, it transpires, and Lu Ten bounds up there, a cup of tea in each hand without spilling a drop. He sets one down in front of Zuko, who sits cross-legged, a softly meditative look on his face. He stirs at the clink of the cup on cold tiles.

"Thank you."

Lu Ten sits down next to him. "Heavy thoughts?"

"Not as such, no." Zuko takes his cup in hand without drinking, staring contemplatively at the thousands of houses stretching across the horizon. "Just thinking about… everything. How everything will change again now that we've accomplished what we were working for all along."

He breathes in the mist of the tea, humid and soothing, and exhales, blowing the steam out in a diffuse cloud. He reflects on the all-encompassing one and the oneness of all.

That billow of steam will evaporate, traveling through the atmosphere, those same water molecules falling as raindrops all over the earth. They could go anywhere, just as Zuko and his companions may be scattered to all corners of the world. He knows that Toph is interested in staying in Ba Sing Se, working with the Grand Secretariat to restructure the various ministries and the role of earthbenders versus nonbenders in the city's security. He knows that Jet wants to go with Long Shu and Long Niu back to the far-flung territories of the Earth Kingdom to begin rebuilding villages that have seen better days.

He takes a long sip, more steam rising to the surface, and watches it dissipate. Maybe some of it will reach storm clouds at the South Pole and fall as snow over Sokka and Katara as they seek to rejuvenate the Water Tribes and consolidate their power. Maybe some of it will rain down on Chin Village, where Aang longs to go home and pay his respects to his mother. The Air Temples need renovating as well, and Zuko will probably split his time between helping Aang and liaising with the Fire Lord and various colonial municipalities in the western Earth Kingdom that now occupy an uncomfortable political status.

And maybe in the end, he'll sit with Lu Ten and Hanxin and Azula back home in the palace that no longer holds the memories of the damned, sharing another pot of tea brewed from the steam that drifted away from him today. After all, all is one and one is all.

"Everything changes, constantly, without end," Lu Ten says, circling back to a conversation they've had more than once. "But your heart, the goodness and love that's in your heart, will not change, and that's all that matters."

Side by side, they watch the sunset over the city, listen to the murmur of their friends below, feel the warmth and peace of calming tea within. Around them, the wind rises.

A/N: Damn, that's it.

When I first had the brainchild for Avatar Zuko (April 2016) and started posting (May 2016), I did not expect it to blossom into the behemoth of today. I had an outline that didn't encompass much beyond the first couple chapters of time crawls on, and a vague idea of what would happen in the very end. Between then and now, I applied to medical school, moved to a new city, made new friends, finished the first three years, and am now beginning the application to residency programs (more soul-crushing to do). There were times when I thought I would never finish it, and even more times when I thought it wouldn't be worth finishing anyways because no one would read it.

I stuck with it, though, even when it seemed like the Zukaang tag on Tumblr was totally dead, and A:tla as a fandom only slightly more alive. It's partly due to my own stubbornness and a secretly rebellious attitude to my profession / the world as a whole that tells us that frivolous things like creative writing and fanfiction are worthless to society. But you are here, reading this, so I know that you must not agree. And therefore you and many others besides were also responsible for bringing this series to fruition. I cannot thank you enough for that. Writing is a very lonely task, but your kudos, comments, and reactions made it less so.

If you've been following for a long time, you'll know how much time and energy I have put into this over the years, so it's very difficult to put down now. I know that very few of my regulars from the early books are still around, and maybe some are still there but less vocal, and that is alright :) * waves * I love you all, and I miss you, but I'm grateful for your support when I needed it the most.

If you've just started reading, kudos for making it to the end! Many people watched the series for the first time this summer, and for me, it's a pleasure to witness reactions to what is sometimes a new fan's first A:tla AU 3 Your newfound enthusiasm and creativity brought life to the fandom, and I'm glad you are here.

Anyways, my Oscar speech has gone past the time limit by now :D so I will quickly explain my plans for the series. There are some epilogues in the works. One is LuXin 18+ content in the aftermath of the battle, which has been complete for a while. That will be posted within a week. Below is a list of ideas I am contemplating, in descending order of likelihood of actually being written. You're welcome to comment with other ideas but without guarantee of being written :)

Luxin wedding and wedding night

Azula/Haru/Song

General Zukaang domesticity

Guru Aang and what happens with the Air Nation

Sokka doing badass White Lotus stuff

Zuko, Lu Ten, and Azula go on a field trip to find Ursa

I'm marking this series as officially complete at this point so that I can say goodbye now without pressure to finish the epilogues, and so that people who have been waiting until it's finished can start reading. I suppose some people may find this disingenuous as it's not "complete" complete, but the epilogues are only intended to tie up minor unfinished threads and don't contain much plot.

If you still want to read them, subscribe to this series, because I will post them as additional chapters after this one (therefore, the chapter count will increase past 18). The list is subject to change and has no fixed schedule, so I might write all of them, or I might not write any of them. I'm a bit (okay, a lot) stressed about applications, career prospects, life, so who knows when I will get to writing more.

You can always find me on Tumblr as the-cloud-whisperer! I'm happy to talk about whatever any time. Again, you all are the best readers, and I will love you forever even if our paths don't cross again.

And of course I didn't forget; the writing notes for this chapter are posted here. These have to do with medical bloodbending, alternatives I considered for Ozai's endgame, Azula's happy ending, various political things.

archiveofourown dot org/works/7019827/chapters/61511623

Yours truly,

Cloud

Date: 31 July 2020