A/N I know it's been a while since my last update, but this chapter got a bit longer than I expected. That being said, enjoy the chapter and leave a review if you want to give me ideas or constructive criticism!

During their flight, Aang and Toph had both unspokenly agreed to dodge around discussing weightier matters. Consequently, their conversation was easygoing, essentially meaningless, and in Aang's opinion, incredibly refreshing. They had to cut short their current topic of debate (what type of animal Aang, and by proximity, Toph, would be) as they would be arriving at the Northern Air Temple in only a few minutes. If Aang ignored the ribbon-like trails of smoke rising from the Temple's towers, he could almost imagine he was coming to watch the Sky Bison Polo championships with Kuzon. Aang's resting smile faltered.

The cheers and applause began imperceptibly, lost to the mountain winds.

"Sounds like they've spotted Appa," Toph stated, cocking her head slightly.

Aang turned to face her, confused. "Whaddya mean?" When Toph lazily leaned back against the saddle instead of replying, Aang swung back around to observe the rapidly approaching Temple, a faint frown marring his features. A swarm of jade green individuals were pouring out from the Temple's every orifice to applaud the Avatar's return. Oh. Aang internally cringed at the sight, unable to prevent himself from bitterly recalling Zuko's coronation speech. As they drew nearer, Aang's ears were assaulted with raucous hoots and whoops and whistles. With a swoosh of his tail, Appa landed with a heavy thump on the snow-dusted plaza.

Earth Nation refugees were packed into every open inch of the plaza. As Appa touched down, the cheers and applause, impossibly, seemed to get even louder. Aang felt compelled to reach up and clamp his ears shut; he jumped down Appa's head and, with a wave of his hand, flashed the crowd a strained grin. As the cheering began dying down, Aang cleared his throat. "Thank you, everyone! I actually have-"

From deep within the crowd, a woman hollered, "Three cheers for the Firelord Slayer!" All at once, the ovation erupted once again.

Aang blanched as he subconsciously clenched his fists. He stood there dumbly, unable to begin forming a coherent response. He barely registered Toph jumping down from Appa's saddle and landing in front of him with an echoing boom, Momo securely wrapped around her shoulders.

"LISTEN UP DUNDERHEADS!" Toph shouted, earthbending up a rocky pillar beneath her to make herself seen across the length of the plaza. "The Avatar is here on important business, SO CALM DOWN AND LET HIM DO WHAT HE NEEDS TO DO IN PEACE!" By the time Toph had finished bellowing, the entire plaza had fallen into a stunned silence. "Works like a charm," Toph grinned, self-assuredly sinking back down to the plaza's earthen tiles.

More than half of the crowd began shuffling back into the Temple, mumbling under their breaths about the preemptive cessation of celebration. The remaining refugees set forth about the plaza purposefully. They appeared to be preparing for some kind of journey, packing bags and sacks with gear and food. From the scattered groupings of preoccupied emerald-robed individuals, Teo and some of his friends came rushing over to greet the pair of them.

"Hey guys! Good to see you two again," Teo said, pulling in close with his wheelchair to be heard over the chattering refugees. "No offense, Toph," he added as an afterthought.

"Oh shut up, Teo," Toph drawled, her deadpan tone and crossed arms in stark contrast to the unbroken grin plastered on her pale face. Momo leapt off of Toph's shoulder and into Teo's lap, chittering at the goggle-wearing boy inquisitively.

Noticing Aang's silence, Teo turned his head to follow the bald boy's distracted gaze. "With the war over, a lot of the newer refugees are planning to return to their destroyed homes to start rebuilding what they lost," Teo explained, smiling. After a few seconds of silently watching a small family exasperatedly checking and rechecking their bags, Teo's smile faded into a neutral, diplomatic sort of expression. "I know it's probably tiring to hear at this point, but thank you, Aang. For everything you've done for my people," Teo said, bowing his head slightly. Mercifully, he didn't utter a single word about Ozai. "My dad's waiting for you in the workshop, but me and the boys are heading out soon to scout out the paths leading back to the burnt villages. With this many people about to move, bandits can be a real problem, y'know," he stated grimly, sharing a quick glance with his gliding buddies. After realizing he wouldn't be getting any ear scritches, Momo leapt back on to Toph's shoulder.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Aang asked on principle.

Teo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering his options. "Actually, we could really use Toph's help fixing the mountain path," he proclaimed, looking at her somewhat sheepishly. "No pressure or anything."

Toph's expression morphed into surprise as she minutely turned her head towards Aang. After a few silent seconds, she turned to 'look' back at the wheelchair bound boy. "Uh… sure, I can help," Toph said, a hint of unsureness seeping into her normally assertive voice.

"It's fine, Toph. They need you right now," Aang said quietly, answering her unspoken concerns.

"Great, it's settled then!" Teo said, grinning. "We'll be back by sunset!" With a two-fingered salute, Teo turned around and began rolling back towards one of the larger groups of refugees.

"See ya in a bit, Twinkles," Toph said, pausing for a moment, as if to say more. Wordlessly, she set off after Teo and his gang.

Aang swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched Toph catch up to Teo and punch the boy's shoulder in response to some quippy remark. It's not like your friends leaving you is anything new. Not wanting to even attempt formulating a response to his inner pessimism, Aang hastened for the Mechanist's workshop, alone once more.

It took a moment for the Mechanist to notice Aang coming in. "Oh, welcome back Aang! I've been meaning to get a word in with you, actually," the Mechanist said distractedly, looking up from what Aang reckoned was a half-built model of an Earthbender tank.

Aang's brows furrowed questioningly. "What is it, Mr. Mechanist, sir?"

"Well... it's better if I just show you," he said, moving to exit the cluttered room. With a wave of his hand, he gestured at Aang to follow him down the hall. The Mechanist's baggy apron billowed about due to his brisk pace, and Aang couldn't help but wonder where they were heading. "As I understand it Aang, with the old Firelord dead-" Aang inhaled sharply. "-the task of rebuilding your people's culture is a high priority for you," he explained, halting abruptly in front of an empty doorway. Aang shook his head slightly to move past the mention of Ozai's death. As Aang gathered his bearings for a moment, he realized that this was the door to the old Sky Bison polo trophy room. Except where was the door?

"What happened to the door?" Aang asked as he stopped a pace behind the Mechanist's shoulder, pointing a confused finger at the vacant frame.

"Oh, that old thing?" The Mechanist asked, raising a singed eyebrow. He stroked his moustache thoughtfully for a moment. "I ripped it out a long time ago to test some advanced locking mechanism prototypes!" His visage became somewhat downcast as his eyes glazed over in remembrance. His moustache quivered slightly as he sniffed. "The project, uh… didn't work as well as I would have hoped," he said, gesturing at the empty door frame indicatively.

Well then. That 'old thing' had been engraved with historic carvings of the very first Sky Bison Polo championship. Aang exhaled slowly, reminding himself that these people were not to blame for the disappearance of his culture.

"So, you brought me here for a reason, right?" he asked, trying his hardest to keep his tone light.

"Uh- yes," the Mechanist said, twiddling his fingers nervously as he began making his way down the worn stairs. "Like I was saying, when we first moved into this temple, we didn't destroy everything!" he exclaimed, stumbling on his feet slightly as he held up his index finger for emphasis. "There were some items that were simply easier to store." His explanation ended as he descended down the stairway's last step. With a turn of the knob, the Mechanist pushed open the plain wooden door of the trophy room and stepped inside, Aang following a pace behind him.

Aang breathed in sharply as he took in the incredible sight before him. This place is a mess! Every flat surface was occupied with some manner of clutter: sheets of scrap wood and metal, clusters of boxes and crates overflowing with knick knacks and bits and bobs, and foreign tools that Aang couldn't begin to describe the purpose of. Behind the piles of detritus, Aang could just barely make out the ceramic trophies adorning the back wall of the formerly clean and elegant room. Aang's chest tightened as he spotted the dedicated bag of antiquated polo balls resting against the far corner of the decrepit wall, almost entirely buried under the mess.

The Mechanist started forward again, carefully navigating the sea of unwanted items. "You wanted to show me this? I don't understand," Aang inquired, taking note of the Mechanist's foot placement so as not to step on any pointy screws or nails.

The Mechanist didn't say anything for a moment as he looked around, clearly looking for something specific. "No, no, not there," he muttered, wading through more junk in search of his quarry. "Aha!" he said, rushing forward to what appeared to be a wooden chest almost entirely buried under rubbish. "I brought you here because I remembered something that I think you might find useful," the Mechanist said, moving to push away scrappy oddments concealing the chest's sizable form. The older man let out a strained gasp as he bent forward to try and clean off the litter. With a jerk, he stood up straight and rubbed his back. "Ehh…my time in that prison really wasn't too healthy," he hissed sheepishly, gaunt face twisted in pain.

Aang stared blankly at the Mechanist for a moment as unwanted memories ebbed back to the forefront of his mind, overtaking his ability to respond to the aging man. The Day of Black Sun. On that day, he had planned to 'defeat' the Firelord. In retrospect, it amazed him how he never fully grasped what that would entail until it was too late.

~-~:~-~

The goodbyes were painfully short.

The sight of Hakoda hugging his children tightly one last time was just too much to bear. Aang could feel himself slipping, his vision clouded before frigid tears streamed down his cheeks. The mission had failed. The retreat had failed. Aang almost wished he could go back to three days ago when his biggest worry was keeping his pants on in front of the Firelord.

The Southern Water Tribe siblings were the last ones to clamber aboard Appa. Katara knelt beside him and lightly wrapped him in a one-armed hug. Aang chanced a glance at her. Despite the blurred edges of her form, he could still make out her eyes from behind his curtain of tears. Piercing blue, and as liberating as the sky itself. He wanted to lose himself in them. Aang's gaze quickly shot to her lips, a gentle, encouraging smile filling him with the resolve he needed to address the left behinds. With a sniff, he rubbed his damp eyelids with the back of his forearm and stood up on Appa's head. Vision clear, he looked down at his condemned allies. Swallowing, Aang forced himself to keep the tears at bay.

"Thank you all for being so brave and so strong," he said, voice wavering. "I'm going to make this up to you." He briefly locked eyes with Hakoda and the Mechanist. They were entrusting their children with him, at the expense of their own freedom, and maybe even their lives. Their fates were not guaranteed. One thing, however, was certain: their looks of grim determination would stick with him for the rest of his life.

How many people laid down their lives for nothing? With a throaty bellow, Appa soared away into the gray sky. It wasn't abandonment. It was retreat. It was miserable.

~-~:~-~

Aang sighed, blinking a few times to escape his reverie.

With a start, Aang realized the Mechanist hadn't said anything for a while either. He focused his absent gaze on the resident genius, and noticed that the bearded man's eyes were once more glazed over with a dreary, faraway look. He surmised that whatever happened in the Fire Nation prison couldn't have been pleasant for the former arms supplier. With a fwip of his staff, Aang cast off all the debris covering up the chest which had catalyzed this moment of mutual musing in the first place.

"Eh?!" the Mechanist exclaimed, his eyes instantly honing on his surroundings again—most notably—on the cloud of dust lazily drifting away from the spot Aang cleared..

As Aang approached the chest, he could make out just how worn and decrepit the umber wood was.

The Mechanist peered over the younger boy's shoulder and said, "You can go ahead and open it; I unlocked it years ago."

Aang scrutinized the lock for a moment, it was plain metal engraved with the Air Nomad emblem. Let's see, then. He held his breath as he slowly eased the lid up. And… huh. A pile of scrolls? Aang, unsure of what he had really expected, picked one up and gently unfurled the ancient paper. Aang's eyes widened as he recognized the handwriting. Wordlessly, his lips parted in an astonished 'o' as he absorbed the scroll's contents.

"I take it you'll find a good use for these?" The Mechanist asked hopefully, keenly observing Aang's visible reaction as he read.

As Aang finished reading the scroll, his face slowly broke into a grin. "Mr. Mechanist, sir, I can't thank you enough for not blowing this chest up," Aang said, ecstatic.

The scrolls of the Masters past… they survived!

A/N The more I write, the more I realize that I really am falling into the "Book 4: Air" type of concept.