disclaimer. just your routine reminder that i own nothing familiar and do not gain financially from the writing and posting of this

author's notes. a belated happy new year to everyone still reading this monster! y'all are the real MVPs, thank you so much for all your love and support!

as usual, feel free to follow me on tumblr at colourwhirled-writes for fic- and general updates.

advance warning for some heavy/dark content that appears throughout this one, in case some folks find it upsetting...with that out of the way, let's go save zuko!

i give you...

southern lights

chapter xlvi. caged bird


and i will pray for you
someday i may return
don't you cry for me
beyond is where i learn

"the evil that men do" / iron maiden


The mist gathers like a close-knit blanket, rolling down the slope of the dormant volcano reaching into the clouds before them. The westerly wind batters the wooden slats of the harbourfront plaza, thick with humidity and dripping with the taste of metal and salt from the angry sea stretching out behind them.

Zuko breathes it in, willing the panicked drumbeat of his pulse to calm as the joyous column of Zhao's victory parade winds through the crowded streets of the harbour and up the serpentine pathway leading toward the caldera. The Admiral himself reclines in a palanquin in the heart of the procession, flanked by bearers and a formation of marching soldiers, preceded by a small contingent of rolling tanks and armoured men on komodo rhinos. And bringing up the rear, surrounded by guards brandishing spears and swords at the ready, visible for all to see, is Zhao's prize prey: the captured prince, his spoils of war.

He grits his teeth at Zhao's silhouette, faintly visible through the fine silk lawn curtains veiling him from view of the masses. The Admiral sits puffed upright and proud, taking the opportunity to wave every now and then at the thinning throngs of people lining the path of the victory procession. Though their cheers echo in the dreary morning air, Zuko is reminded of the last time he had traversed this very path, at his own homecoming a lifetime ago. He had been welcomed as a war hero. He had been the one lounging in the royal palanquin, veiled from the public eye. Lu Ten had been by his side, still very much alive and full of his sarcastic humour. The crowds had swelled and multiplied around him, their cheers deafening in the humid morning air.

Now, those same crowds are nowhere to be seen. The crush of people lining the victory procession are dwarfed by the hordes who had cheered him on as the defender of the Empire, the hero of the Sun Warrior's battle. He himself is shackled and lashed to the back of a parade float, on full display as Zhao's war prisoner. His clothes are still marked from the battle at the North, stained with soot and scorches and blood, while his senses are sluggish, depleted by hunger and thirst and exhaustion. His hair hangs loose of its crowned topknot, trailing in a heavy matted mess down his back, limp and lank and lifeless with grime from the flight across the world.

Still, he can't help the bleak smirk that splits across his face at the slim gathering of his father's supporters welcoming Zhao back to the capital. Even though Zhao had crushed the North and brought him back home in chains, he still lagged when it came to popularity. In fact, to the Admiral's dismay, a horde of protestors had swarmed the harbour plaza as soon as their airship touched down, their raucous cries all but drowning out the feeble cheers for the returning war hero.

I'll bet he's secretly furious, he thinks with no small degree of satisfaction. No matter that his fate seemed set in stone now, that a grim, torturous, humiliating end waited for him at the palace at the end of the line. Zhao was discovering that he was losing the popularity contest between him and the captured prince trailing behind him, and it was probably eating him up inside. And after all the crimes the man had committed, Zuko allows himself to savour that small, petty victory.

The sun's rays filter weakly through the thick grey clouds, still managing to beat down on Zuko with a memory of heat. The chains chafe against his wrists and ankles, the metal rubbing his skin red and raw, while a rough cloth gags his mouth shut. His days in captivity were made utterly sleepless by recurring nightmares of the battle at the North Pole. Everywhere he looks, he remembers the blood-red moon, the smell of airship fuel, the sound of Katara's screams and how limp she had gone. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her, a storm in human form suddenly rendered helpless and frail. Every time he manages to drift off to sleep, he awakens gasping and horror-struck by nightmares where he hadn't been quick enough, where he had fallen and Zhao had captured her instead, where she would be in his place, chained and powerless and paraded on display to await his father's vengeance...

The distant roar of the protest building along the harbour plaza jolts him back to the present moment, gasping with relief. He cranes his head over his shoulder and squints curiously at the mass of people crowding along the wooden docks. They were all dressed in black from head to toe and shouting something, he couldn't quite decipher what it was, the rush of the wind slurring their voices into a blur of sound competing with the waves crashing against the shoreline.

He watches blankly as the crowds build around a handful of individuals standing on top of a raised platform, also dressed in black but sporting what looked to Zuko like coloured theatre masks. Their exaggerated yet anonymizing features stick out like pinpricks of bright colour in the sea of black-clad people and the dull shabby wood of the buildings lining the harbour.

A small part of him even manages to wonder who they were and what they wanted, as one of them raises a clenched fist and the crowd cheers louder, as though conducted to greater volumes. Another of the masked protesters tosses what looked like a barrel from one of the silos lining the far side of the docks, where the trading ships unloaded their cargo. Zuko stares, captivated by the barrels as they bob along the crowd of protestors as though they were floating on water, before being dumped into the sea to more cheers.

What are they doing? Zuko thinks wildly, watching as the protestors empty one barrel after another of dark liquid into the water. The substance floats like a shadow atop the waves, glinting in the weak sunlight with a strange, multicoloured sheen. He frowns with confusion as the wind gusting off the bay grows stronger, and he nearly chokes with the smell of fuel wafting from down below.

But then another cry breaks across the hordes of protestors, a cry tinged with fear and alarm. Zuko blinks and suddenly, columns of guards dressed in angry red armour break up the crowd. The Imperial Guard, he recognizes with a plummeting feeling in his stomach. Probably sent by Azula or Father to keep the peace. He grits his teeth as the people buckle before the guards, fleeing as they bend red-hot flares warningly into the air. The masked ringleaders of the protest suddenly vanish, leaving the rest of the protestors pinned in by the wooden buildings and the Imperial guards marching steadily toward them.

His heart races as he watches the guards shooting plumes of fire at the scattering crowd, heedless of the cries of terror rising up around them. The fire swells and glows so bright it makes his eyes water, and his mouth drops open in horror as the blaze catches one of the wooden cargo silos lining the docks. It consumes the dry structure in a matter of seconds, the hot dry flames licking and multiplying along the docks like a living, breathing thing. The screams turn louder as the crowd finally thins, leaving a handful of small figures boxed in by the growing fire. The creaking and crashing of the wooden structures splintering and collapsing under the heat of the flames replaces the shouts of the protestors.

As the guards round up the remaining black-clad protestors, Zuko watches with horror as the blaze consumes the rest of the harbour and even spreads to the docks. The strange black fluid that had been poured by the angry mob into the water finally catches fire, springing alight rapidly with an ominous whoosh. He can barely breathe as the inferno spreads all along the waterfront, covering the entire surface of the bay with burning tongues of flame.

But then the procession turns a sharp corner, passing through the towering city walls of the caldera and the harbour dips out of sight. Only the gathering clouds of smoke are still visible, the light of the conflagration touching the dreary sky with a violent red glow.

"...in these prosperous times, we welcome the war hero home!" sing the twin palace seneschals, their screeching voices ringing loud and clear from the palace walls in the heart of the palace city. "Your brave and clever Admiral, Zhao!"

Zuko tears his attention away from the catastrophe unfolding below, and toward Zhao's thinly veiled back, now ramrod-straight with pride as the cheers finally multiply enough to drown out the chaos in the harbour. His jaw clenches at the throngs of people lining the grand avenue leading from the city walls to the palace estate, nobles and sycophants richly dressed in opulent red silks, blind to the struggle unfolding beyond the cosseted shelter of the caldera.

His mouth runs dry as the palace draws nearer and he finally notices the grisly adornment flanking its tall stone gates: a pair of charred bodies on pikes, a stark warning to the public for the consequences of treason. Was this the fate that awaited him, that the cheering crowd wanted for him?

The gates swing open to reveal the scorched, wizened grounds within. Compared to the well-manicured lawns that had greeted him the last time he had entered as a war hero, the palace grounds still appeared unkempt and withered from the concerted attack the night of Lu Ten's ill-fated wedding. Prosperous times indeed, he thinks scornfully, even as the parade sweeps him ever closer to the doom awaiting him within the palace walls.

He closes his eyes, unwilling to look at his father's supporters as they jeer at him. The sound reverberates in his ears, drowning out the echo of his pounding heart and the way his insides shrivel with building fear, crushing down on him with a weight that multiplies with every step the procession takes. The palace and the threat of his father's inevitable wrath loom ever closer.

But he wills himself to square his shoulders and hold his head high, refusing to give Zhao or any of his ilk the satisfaction of watching him cower. Instead, he forces himself to think of other things. His uncle, still at large. And Katara, alive and free and safe from his father's clutches. No matter what Ozai did to him, at least Zuko had stolen his chance to wreak vengeance on the waterbender who had bested him the night of his ascent to power. No matter what, he would take that last defiance with him to the grave.

And so he clings to that thought as they drag him past the palace gates and the charred bodies displayed like a badge of grim retribution. He forces himself to focus on his breath, trying to calm the frightened pulse of his heart the way his uncle had taught him. But his hands still tremble as he's finally pulled down from the parade float and marched through the mangled palace grounds, and into the labyrinthine darkness of the palace. The double doors of the throne room swing open like the jaws of a beast as he's flung inside, the chains clanking loudly as the hall seems to swallow him.

He manages to glare at its occupants, illuminated by the line of fire at the base of his father's throne and reducing Ozai to a menacing silhouette. The sweltering heat of the flames still wasn't enough to dispel the chill darkness of the hall, reconstructed from the destruction of their last battle into a shadowy, ominous incarnation of its past splendour. His blood runs cold as he recognizes the entirety of his father's council: Azula, her face blanched pale even as she smirks bloodlessly at the sight of him, spindly General Bujing and his unscrupulous underlings, Mai's father idly rifling through a pile of scrolls…

He swallows hastily at the sight of Mai, still and silent from where she sits behind her father. Her face remains stolidly impassive, but when he meets her eyes, he reads the fear plain in them. She fears for me, he realizes with a tightening feeling in his chest, she fears for herself.

Suddenly something rears up inside him, an unwillingness to be slaughtered here, in front of all his father's supporters, in front of Mai, who had helped him despite the threat to herself, and who was watching him with a fear she had never been able to express before. But the chains bite into his wrists as he struggles, the cloth gag mercilessly covering his mouth and stifling his breath.

"In this victorious hour," he hears his father breathe, his voice dripping with malevolence, "we welcome back the hero and the pride of our nation, Admiral Zhao."

In the corner of his eye, Zhao's infuriating smirk widens to a self-satisfied grin. "You are too generous with your praise, Your Radiance," he returns, dropping to a kowtow. "It was the greatest honour to deliver the finest military victory in history in your name."

"Indeed." Zuko swallows nervously at the smile plain in his father's voice. "And I see that is not the only token of your loyalty, Zhao." He pauses, regarding the scene with growing amusement. "Won't you bring him closer, so that we can all admire your handiwork?"

Zhao grins, before getting to his feet. "With pleasure." Zuko winces as the Admiral grabs at the shackles binding his hands behind his back. Pain rattles through his bones as Zhao drags him down the aisle running through the throne room, the clinking chain links deafening in his ears before he's finally shoved to the ground. He lets out a muffled yelp, losing his balance on bound legs before crashing to the ground, landing painfully on his side.

"Here." Zuko lets out a hiss as Zhao grabs him by the hair to raise his face. "I present to you this traitor prince, a gesture of my undying fealty."

The flames swell in size, making Zuko's eyes water as he stares through them, at his father's shadow seated behind them.

"So it seems," his father answers with a sigh. "How thoughtful of you, to bring my wayward son home again."

Laughter ripples across the gathered council. Zuko grits his teeth, even as blood rushes to his face.

"Won't you tell us how you found him?" his father asks mockingly.

"Of course, Your Radiance." Zhao bows again, his smirk burning in the corner of Zuko's eyes. "It was after we dealt our enemies a deadly blow. I captured him while they were retreating, scrambling to escape defeat." He lets out a scornful huff. "I've never heard anyone beg so pitifully for mercy before."

"You're lying!" Zuko cries, but the gag drowns out his words into a muffled sound of protest. More laughter echoes around him as he struggles, fighting the chains around his limbs to sit upright.

"As you can see, my prisoner isn't lacking for any spirit," Zhao continues with a careless wave of his hand. "But I suppose that's what will make this next part even more entertaining."

"How considerate of you," Ozai pronounces, settling back comfortably in his throne. "To take such pains to ensure this traitor faces the justice he so richly deserves -"

But just then, the sound of more people entering the throne room cuts Ozai off. Zuko hunches over, twisting through his bindings to glance at the Imperial guards in their scuffed red armour filtering through the doorway. Two of the guards flank a boy, his arms pinioned behind his back.

"What is the meaning of this?" his father demands coldly, the warmth instantly disappearing from his voice. "How dare you interrupt the royal council in this manner?"

"Begging your forgiveness, Your Gloriousness," apologizes the captain of the Imperial Guard, bobbing his head into a short bow, "but we thought you would want to know. We captured this young man from the protests this morning. We think he's one of the leaders -"

"I'm not!" the boy protests, and a chill runs down Zuko's spine at how young he was, a teenager, barely more than a child, "I'm innocent, I swear -"

"Well, you'd hardly expect the boy to admit it," the captain cuts him off smoothly. He nods at one of the guards pinioning the prisoner, who promptly places a sack over the young boy's head. "Look at him, he's got fuel up to his wrists! He's as guilty as they come. What would you have us do with him?"

"Throw him into one of the black cells for now," Ozai orders, sounding bored. "We'll deal with him later."

"Yes, oh Radiant One." The captain bows again, this time more deeply, before barking sharp commands at the rest of his men.

Zuko tries to swallow and fails, his eyes sharpening along the rips in the boy's black clothing as he's dragged out, his shrill screams for mercy muffled and bouncing off the blood-red curtains draping the towering walls as they fade out of earshot. He's just a boy, he thinks with a growing chill, remembering the masked figures leading the protest and how they had instantly vanished once the guards appeared, he's innocent, they're going to punish an innocent and nobody even cares. But this was what life under his father's rule was like, and it was but a taste of what surely awaited him.

"Now," Ozai continues, sounding somewhat petulant to Zuko's ears, "where were we? Ah yes...my traitor son and the justice that awaits him."

Zuko panics at that, struggling fitfully against his restraints. There was no justice that awaited him here, only cruelty and humiliation and the hope of a quick death. He hunches over, rubbing his face against his shoulder to slip his gag out of place.

"Azula," his father continues, sounding more amused the harder he struggles, "won't you step forward?"

Alarm winds knots in his gut as his sister obeys, slowly rising to her feet. The cloth around his mouth slips free and he finds his voice.

"It's too late!" he blurts out quickly before anyone could stop him. "You can do what you want to me, but my friends are still free and so is Uncle!" Gloved hands bite into his shoulders, pushing him into the ground but he still continues viciously, "You'll never win! Even if you usurped the throne, you still can't control your own people! After everything, Father, you're still just second best!"

"Silence!" his father thunders. A blinding crash hurtles toward Zuko, who shrinks out of the way just in time. The ground scorches where his head had been, the smouldering wood blistering his face with its heat. The fire lining his father's dais grows to twice its height, its bright light harsh in Zuko's watering eyes. He grits his teeth as more people set upon him, holding him down and replacing the gag around his mouth.

"The Northern occupation is our utmost priority," his father declares as the cloth digs into Zuko's face. "We will move more of our domestic troops to support the war up north. No matter where Iroh is, we will root him out and bring him back in chains!"

Zuko jerks against his restraints, trying to shove off the guards pinning him to the ground.

"And you, my traitor son, who Iroh had the nerve to declare his own heir," Ozai threatens, now rising to his feet as the flames tower over him in warning, "your fate will be a warning to all, of what awaits Iroh when he finally falls to us!"

Zuko's heart drums in alarm at the menace in his father's voice. But he still tilts his head upward, meeting his father's glowing silhouette with a defiant stare.

"Azula," his father commands coldly, "give your older brother a taste of what lies in store for him."

"Yes, Father," Azula drawls, and Zuko's blood runs cold at the thinly suppressed mirth in her voice, "it would be my pleasure."

Zuko glances over his shoulder, his heartbeat skyrocketing as she advances toward him. He jerks and struggles against the guards holding him down, but to no avail.

She grabs him by the hair with a clawed hand, before pulling out a knife. Its gleaming edge flashes sharp and silver in the raging firelight. Her lips curve upward coldly. Fear cascades like boulders into the pit of his gut.

His eyes squeeze shut as she brings the knife down, its keen blade a razor kiss slicing against his skin.


In all her life, Mai's hands have never trembled.

Through a childhood rife with her father's political intrigues, a struggle for attention between the two royal siblings, and now a far more insidious game where she had unwittingly pitted herself against Azula, the far more ruthless and seasoned player of the two, she has remained statue-still and poised, her fingers as steady as they would be if they were wrapped around one of her numerous concealed stilettos.

But as Ozai dismisses his council and the palace attendants sweep into the throne room, cleaning up the mess on the floor left from Zuko's punishment, she finds herself having to slide her clammy hands into her sleeves, the better for hiding their uncontrollable quaking from everyone else.

Her stomach churns queasily as she stares at the double doors, where her father and the rest of Ozai's shadow council are steadily filtering out, too occupied with their private conversations to pay her any heed. Where the guards had dragged Zuko's motionless form out into the hallway, to wherever Ozai kept his traitors, and decidedly out of sight of where Azula cleans her knifeblade along the blood-red silk of her sleeve.

She forces herself to stare at the deep crimson drapes covering the throne room's walls, the better to disguise the damage from the night of Lu Ten's murder which had yet to be restored. The heavy curtains sway and rustle in the wake of the people exiting the hall, in the midst of which Azula rises to her feet and finds her voice.

"Father," Mai hears her say with her usual careless aplomb, "a word, if you please."

The click of her knife sliding into its sheath rattles in Mai's ears like the unconscious chatter of her teeth, as the sinister chill of Ozai's throne room seeps through her heavy silks, her clammy skin and settles into her bones. She swallows silently, glancing at the emptying throne room and at the two figures remaining in it: the king behind the curtain of fire, and the princess approaching it with hard-won confidence. Both were completely oblivious to her steady, silent presence in the darkness.

She doesn't know what fit of madness possesses her to shrink silently into the corner of the room, slipping like a noiseless shadow behind the swaying velvet curtain to skulk against the battered stone wall. The air behind the curtain whistles and breathes like a sleeping beast, even chillier for the drafts from outside whittling through the cracks in the stone. She clenches her jaw, trying so hard not to shiver, she almost misses Azula's next words.

"Father," she says, her voice lowering anxiously, "I understand that until we capture Uncle, this fight is not yet over. But you must understand that we cannot afford to move any more domestic troops abroad to support the Northern occupation -"

"Azula," her father admonishes, his voice cutting like stone itself, "my decision is final."

"You saw what happened this morning," Azula argues faintly. "Our guards could barely contain the protests, and now our commercial ports are completely on fire. The populace is out of control as is, and now it will be even more difficult for us to bring food and other trade ships in from the colonies -"

"I put you in charge of overseeing our domestic affairs," Ozai cuts her off warningly, his voice growing so cold, Mai finds herself shivering ever harder. "I thought you would be far more competent than your imbecile brother. Are you proving me wrong?"

"No!" Azula replies desperately. "Your faith in me is not misplaced, Father! I am doing the best I can…" She trails off, before drawing in a deep, shaking breath before continuing. "But the people are unsettled and hungry, and they oppose us, as I've mentioned to you before -"

"Then you must work harder to crush this dissent," Ozai breathes, his displeasure plain in his voice. "I will entrust Zhao to help you with this matter."

"Zhao?" Azula stammers. "But - but his experience is with the military, not the government -"

"His experience is in serving me well and delivering what I want," Ozai declares cuttingly. "You could stand to learn from him, daughter."

The sound of Azula's breathing, forced steady to disguise the tremours gripping her rigid body, seems to echo around the throne room, loud in Mai's ears. "I only wonder if Zhao would be better suited to a military appointment," she tries again, more diplomatically. "To match the nature of his victory -"

"Oh, do not fret, my daughter." Ozai's voice warms up gloatingly. "I intend to have Zhao keenly involved in the strategy for our strike on the day the comet arrives. In the meantime...I look to you to crush the revolt among our people with an iron hand."

"About that," Azula speaks up haltingly, and Mai senses the nerves stretching her voice taut, "there may be a way to resolve this elegantly."

"How so?"

"Well…" Azula swallows hard, apparently choosing her words with great care. "As I've spoken to you before...as long as your fool of a brother has the love of the people on his side, it won't matter how many revolts we crush -"

"Azula," Ozai warns, and the whooshing sound of the flames growing in size seems to pound in Mai's ears. "I have never known you to waver. Can it be that your feet grow cold now that you understand what it takes -"

"This is not a question of my feet, Father," Azula interrupts him, rather boldly, Mai thinks privately. "If you demand it of me, I will happily bring you the heads of every last person involved in this morning's protest. But, look at Zuko and how the people still fawn and bleat over him. Even though he has been defeated and captured and humiliated before them all…" She inhales shakily, her voice growing cold with distaste. "Even if we executed him, put his head on a spike as a warning, we would only make a martyr of him."

"What difference does that make?" Ozai demands. "If the people wish to support a traitor, they can share in his fate. Their opinions are no concern to us."

"You promised me an empire, not a pile of ash," Azula complains. "Yet, to secure your victories over your brother, you've allowed the Air Nomads to join him over the destruction of their temples…not to mention reports that the Dai Li are losing their grip over the entire Earth continent! We have supply shortages crippling our entire economy, and our people go hungry already. Now we must add worker revolts at our factories, the destruction of commercial ports, the tides disappearing and slowing shipments from our colonies. This pace is not sustainable!"

Her voice rings out decisively like an axe chopping through wood. Mai's breath hitches in her throat, afraid that the frantic pulse of her heart would betray her presence at any moment.

"Your foresight does you credit, Azula," Ozai finally admits, his voice softening uncharacteristically.

"Thank you, Father -"

"But it won't matter. Just a little longer, and Iroh will be in our grasp, and then -"

"And then what?" Azula bursts out impatiently, in an unusual display of passion. "Have you even thought this through? We simply do not have the resources to fight indefinitely! How much longer until your old blood vendetta with Uncle is settled?"

"Until it pleases me," Ozai fires back. The glow of his fire builds as it crackles madly, flaring red-hot and wild, threatening to set the entire hall alight. "Until I have him kneeling before me in chains, beaten and humiliated, and not a moment sooner." He pauses, rising to his feet and his shadow stretches menacingly across the cold stone floor. "You would do well to remember this, daughter, and mind your place in my presence."

Azula flinches as though struck, before dropping to the floor in a trembling kowtow. "Yes Father." Mai bites her lip nervously at the tremour plain in the princess's voice as she promises doggedly, "I am your most loyal, faithful servant."


"Lee! Quick! There's a prickle-snake in your bag!"

"Wha -?" Lee bolts upright, before the chains around his wrists snap him back in place. He frowns at the dank cell surrounding him. His heart races as one of the uniformed guards crouches over his worn travel bag, ferreting through its contents intently. "Hey! That's my stuff!"

"Found it!" announces Arrluk, pulling something out of his bag and waving it triumphantly. "That'll teach you to keep your bag open where any old prickle-snake could climb into it."

Lee blinks in the dim green light pouring in through the open door. "That's not a prickle-snake!" he protests, struggling to get to his feet. "That's my boomerang! Give it back!"

To his dismay, the waterbender dashes out into the corridor instead.

"Hey!" Lee shouts, chasing after him. The chain bolting him to the wall breaks as easily as if it was made of paper. Running into the corridor, he halts when he finds himself standing in the middle of a teahouse instead.

He gapes stupidly, daylight pouring through the wide windows, staining the light wooden walls a dreamy shade of yellow.

"Keep it down!" admonishes one of the old men sitting at the table next to him. "Don't you know you're not supposed to run in the tearoom?"

"Sorry," Lee apologizes, suddenly feeling very silly. "I was trying to get my boomerang back."

"Well, watch where you step, young man!" The old man folds his arms firmly. "You don't want to bump into one of the servers and spill hot tea everywhere."

"Right. My apologies." Cheeks flaming, Lee tiptoes across the room carefully, before spotting someone racing to the staircase at the other end. "Hey! My boomerang!"

"Didn't you hear?" someone shrieks at him as he bolts toward the back entrance. "No running in the teahouse!"

He ignores it, heart pounding as he follows Arrluk down the steps into the basement cellar. The heavy wooden door flutters, bouncing off the battered frame. The creak of its rusted hinges screeches loud in his ears as he pushes through the door.

Then he lets out a yell as the ground dissolves under his feet.

"What?"

The swamp stretches out around him under a dreary grey sky. He scrabbles furiously, trying to grab hold of the slimy green plants as the pools of bubbling brown sludge try to suck him under.

"Aw look, Tho, someone's gone got stuck again."

"Now don't you worry, stranger! Ol' Slim's got a big bite, but he'll help you out!"

Something growls beside him. Lee whips around to see teeth, two rows of big sharp shining teeth snapping right by his face. "Ah!" he screams, pulling away as far as he can. The water rises to his waist as he kicks aimlessly, trying desperately to find solid ground.

"Ah, sorry Slim, the strange man's afraid of you."

"Ah well, that's what you get for running in the teahouse -"

Something closes around his wrist, tugging at him with surprising strength. Lee clings to the stranger's arm as it drags him along the grassy slope and out of the hissing swampwater.

He coughs, doubled over on the wet squishy mud, gulping down mouthfuls of air gratefully.

"That was close," says Arrluk's voice right next to his ear. He waves something tauntingly. "Looking for this?"

Lee lunges. Arrluk dances out of reach, a blur in the corner of his eye.

"Cut it out," Lee wheezes, staggering back onto his feet. "Give me back my boomerang!"

He whirls around and his heart freezes.

The waterbender from the Sun Warrior's Isle stands before him, her blue eyes surveying him carefully. Miles of ice and water glitter beneath the golden sun, hanging big and bright in the clear blue sky.

"Here you go," she says, holding out her hand. The boomerang gleams to a polished shine between her fingers. "You dropped it."

He takes it from her tentatively. "I didn't drop it," he argues stupidly. "Arrluk stole it. He said it was a prickle-snake."

"It's okay," she says, tilting her head. "Boomerang always comes back. Just like you." She smiles at him and the sight of it is so familiar, a forgotten part of him still manages to ache. "You always do."

He opens his mouth to say something, but then the girl looks up at the sky. Her face turns white, her lips press into a grim line.

Glancing up, he frowns at the thick clouds blocking out the sun. At the black snow falling down in heavy flakes, clinging to his eyelashes, his hair, gathering on his shoulders.

An instinctive pang of fear clutches at his heart at the sight of it. "Come on," he says urgently, grabbing her hand, "we've got to run for it -"

"Where?"

"Anywhere!" He stumbles, losing his grip on her hand before reaching for it again. "Katara, where are you?" His hand finds only empty air. Swiping aimlessly, he spins around, but the waterbender is gone, and only the blackened slopes of the arctic void remain. "Katara? Katara -"

"Lee, wake up!" A firm hand closes on his shoulder, shaking him violently awake.

He gasps, his heart beating like the wings of a hummingbee, droning a forgotten rhythm loud in his ears. His teeth chatter as he stutters, "K - Ka -"

"You were having a nightmare," Haru informs him, crouching next to the sweat-drenched rumpled mess of his sleeping bag. "Everything okay?"

Lee stares at Haru blankly, panting heavily as his pulse slowly returns to normal. He sits up, taking in the crude tent pitched around them, the faint rays of white sunlight filtering through the threadbare cloth, the persistent breeze filtering through the gaps in the tent flaps. He inhales deeply and tastes the murky aquatic tang of the lake emptying into the mouth of Chameleon Bay, where they had camped for the night. The muted buzz of terse conversations outside clash with the cries of seabirds wheeling through the clouds.

"Fine," he says, shaking his head. "Just a weird dream…"

Haru glances at him sympathetically. "When I first came out of my sleeper trance, I had weird dreams for days," he offers. "Maybe that's what you're going through too -"

"I don't really want to talk about it," Lee says shortly, getting to his feet. "Come on, let's get going. We've got to catch up with the others."

He walks past Haru without a second glance, pausing only to rummage through his pack. Relief floods through him as his hand closes around his old worn boomerang, exactly where he had left it the night before.

At least it's not a prickle-snake, he thinks to himself ironically, even as he tries and fails to shake the unsettled feeling cascading down his spine, as though he'd forgotten something else important.


It had been three days since they had managed to flee the Dai Li stronghold under Lake Laogai with the unexpected company of a host of Southern Tribe waterbenders in tow. Two since a patrol of Dai Li earthbenders had picked up their trail, now obvious and easy to track given the size of their party. And one since a team of resistance fighters, led by Master Iio, had found them in the nick of time and helped them overpower the Dai Li agents who had managed to follow them.

He wanders through the small group of them wordlessly, staggering past the hastily pitched campsite tucked into the thicket of gnarled forest shielding them from the flat beach leading into the mouth of the bay. Picking through the twisted maze of toppled trees and mushy dead leaves, he kneels by the water and splashes a cold handful onto his face. The strange dreams fade somewhat in the light of day but his own reflection, twisting and warping in the living mirror, peers back at him unrecognizably.

With a groan, he claps a hand on his head, around where the persistent drumbeat of an old headache continues to throb. "What's happening to me?" he mutters to himself under his breath. "Why can't I remember?"

But then a shrill chirrup shatters across the air, breaking him out of his confused reverie. Wiping the brisk trails of water off his face with the grimy underside of his sleeve, he scrambles back into the cover of the forest, just as a single boat cuts across the horizon. Its dark silhouette seems to stare at them, searching for them like the piercing eyes of a falconhawk bent on picking out its prey.

He freezes perfectly still, holding his breath as his heart pounds nervously. The headache brimming beneath his temples clashes with agony. Clenching his teeth, he narrows his watering eyes, even as the boat passes out of sight and earshot.

"That was close," he hears someone muttering as he meanders back to the campsite. "We have to do something, and quick."

"Long Feng must be furious," Master Iio muses from her seat in the middle of the circle of ramshackle tents. She glances thoughtfully at the mismatched group of people dressed in the nondescript earthy clothes of the burgeoning resistance, surrounding her on all sides. "When he left Lake Laogai, he thought it well-protected in the hands of formidable defenders. And with key prisoners from the resistance, ready to crack at any instant. Now with his stronghold deserted and his prisoners escaped, he finds himself stretched thin, unable to press any advantage."

"It's more than that," a middle-aged man with a rawboned dark face and a thin black goatee speaks up, glancing furtively over his shoulder at the silent group of waterbenders in their grimy Dai Li uniforms, sitting a pace apart in a circle of their own. "We've heard reports that their attempts to bully our villages into joining them have all gone sideways."

"Really?" Haru asks. "How did that happen all of a sudden?"

"I'm not sure," the man confesses with a shrug. "But more and more of the people are starting to fight back against the Dai Li. Instead of the tributes of fighters and food and resources they hoped to levy from their countrymen, they're being chased out of every corner, forced to yield territory they never expected to give up. Across every corner of the continent, they're being pushed back."

"Well that's great news," Lee remarks baldly, cutting into the group to kneel next to Haru. "But what does that mean for us? They're losing ground now, but every day that passes, they're only going to get angrier and more dangerous. We can't allow them to regroup."

"I agree," Master Iio says, smoothing the front of her umber linen robe. "Now is the time to act quickly and decisively." She prods at the little fire smouldering by her feet, a single tongue of flame spitting heavy clouds of smoke at the chipped earthenware teapot steaming over top of it. "We break camp soon. The others are waiting for us."

Everyone nods as one before silently lumbering to their feet, dissipating to the corners of the withered forest like the last of the morning's mist. Iio pours the remnants of the teapot over the fire, dousing it in a single motion.

Lee stares at the faint white tendrils of smoke curling upward in the close-knit air. "Thanks for helping us out again yesterday," he offers awkwardly, stepping toward the master airbender as she rises in a smooth motion. "We were in a - uh - a pretty tight spot when you found us."

"So it would seem," Master Iio answers, the ends of her robes sliding soundlessly against the bleached leaves piled along the muddy ground. "You were due back a fortnight ago. The silence was concerning. Still, we had hoped to avoid mounting a full invasion and rescue mission to Lake Laogai, so thank you for sparing us that, at least."

"No problem," Lee grumbles. "Glad we could be of some help after all." He glances over his shoulder to the small cluster of tents occupied by the waterbenders of Lake Laogai. "Anyway, at least we didn't come empty-handed. Lake Laogai is empty now, and the Dai Li's entire brainwashing operation is out of action."

He senses Master Iio's gaze following his, settling on the waterbenders keenly. He falls silent, watching Arrluk help Atka up from where she had been sitting in a pile of soft moss. In some way, their pain, their staggering dazed movements, as though cut off from each other, made sense to him in a way that common sense and self-preservation hadn't. After all, a growing part of him felt the same way - as lost and confused as the waterbenders of the South.

To his relief, Master Iio chooses not to pry. "Pack up your things and see to your friends," she says instead. "We must move on."


"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"You know, that's a great question to ask the blind girl, genius! How about you try again?"

"Why do you always have to insult me?"

"Shh! Keep it down before someone hears you!"

"As if! You'd have to be deaf to miss this ruckus in the first place!"

"Well, I still think this is a terrible idea and going to get us all captured!"

"Why don't you just hide out back here since you're such a little old lady, Caveman?"

Katara closes her eyes in the semi-darkness, ignoring the harsh whispers buzzing around her like a swarm of droneflies. Peering out from the trapdoor covering the tunnel melted through the thick ice layered on top of the frozen earth below, she studies the shadowed street of Nutjuitok opening up around her.

The black of the night weighs heavy on the small city, its streets and small canals deserted except for the patrols of Admiral Chan's men marching in pairs mounted on armoured komodo rhinos. The sky remains an inky expanse of faint stars, the void where the moon used to be seeming darker than black, tearing a hole through the fabric of the sky. Katara tries not to focus on it, her head spinning the longer she looks at it.

Instead, she ducks back into the tunnel, crouching in the small space. She pulls the door closed above her head as the sound of animal footsteps rounds the corner and draws nearer. She puts a finger to her lips and holds her breath as the others behind her fall silent. The indistinguishable conversation of the patrolling soldiers grows louder as they march directly overhead, before passing them by and fading into silence.

"That was close," Aang mutters, somewhere by her shoulder.

"I'll say," Toph breathes, slumping against the shiny snow wall from where she sits cross-legged on the tunnel ground.

"Couldn't you have gotten us any closer to the harbour?" Tartok complains, further back. "How are we supposed to make it from here without someone seeing us?"

"Whose idea was it to bring the whiny guy again?" Katara asks, rolling her eyes irritably.

"Grandpa's," Toph sighs. "He said Caveman should stay with us since he's actually been to Nutjuitok before."

"And he still got us lost," Aang remarks dryly. "Imagine that."

"Ahem." Ruon-Jian clears his throat awkwardly, the fire in his open palm flaring bright enough to illuminate the cramped snow-lined tunnel, barely tall enough for them to crawl through. "I don't know how much juice I've got left in me." He brushes his overlong hair out of his eyes, wincing. "Ever since the moon went out, my bending's been kind of wonky."

"You too, huh?" Katara pushes the door back open a crack, studying the land above ground. "I think I can see their ships from here. It's a bit of a hike. But doable."

"But there's a big canal separating us from the harbour!" Tartok counters as Katara pushes the door shut again. "How do you plan to cross that without being seen, now that we can't waterbend?"

"I could try digging a tunnel under the canal," Toph suggests, stroking her chin. "But it's risky. If I hit water, we're all going to drown before you can say waterbending."

"It's fine," Katara says, glaring at Tartok. "We'll figure something out."

"Great!" Toph says. She punches Ruon-Jian in the shoulder. "We make a great tunneling team, Ro-Jo."

Ruon-Jian rubs his shoulder gingerly. "Ow. Thanks...I think?"

"You can relax, Ruon-Jian. That was a compliment," Katara advises kindly. "From Toph, it's hard to tell, I know." She slumps against the wall, peering up at the slice of air through the trapdoor lying ajar. "We've still got some time before we're supposed to meet up with the others and head back. Do you guys want to explore a little?"

"Explore?" Toph echoes, her face lighting up. "Hell yes!"

"I don't know," Aang says, rubbing the back of his head. "That sounds a bit risky. What if someone sees you? Maybe we should keep a low profile -"

Katara barely hears him, checking once again for patrollers before pushing the trapdoor open and leaping out of the cramped tunnel onto the narrow street.

She dashes into the shadows, studying the tiny street, barely more than a snow-lined alley squeezed in between two stone huts, their windows shuttered and completely dark inside. She glances southward, past the rippling surface of the canal Tartok had mentioned to the quaint harbour, a jumble of icy piers where six overlarge Fire Empire ships float on the water. Their streamlined silhouettes loom tall, towering over the city like silent watchtowers.

"So we're doing this," Aang says, appearing next to her as though out of nowhere. She glances back at him, and the others, even a glowering Tartok, who have materialized by her side. "I hate to say it, but Tartok's right. That canal's proving to be a problem."

"Thank you, Ong." Tartok puffs up imperiously, only to be silenced by the withering glares everyone flings in his direction. "What?"

Katara shakes her head, before slipping toward the other end of the alley, which fed into a wider street. From a glance, it appeared to be where the infirmary and healing huts all stood, since they were the only buildings which were still lit and appeared to be occupied. Her lips press together as she spots the grey-robed healers flitting from cot to cot, their hands and ankles shackled together with clanking chains. The injured linger anywhere they can: seated on the ground, leaning against the wall, waiting outside huddled around a fire.

She tries not to stare at the bodies piled in front of the healing huts, in the middle of the broad street. Dead boys wearing blue Water Tribe furs, dyed dark with blood, the deep cold of winter staving off the rot from setting in. She chokes, her stomach threatening to spew its contents all over the ground.

"What is it?" Aang hisses before he spots the bodies and he blanches. "Oh…"

"This is sick," Tartok spits from behind him, his voice thick with grief. "Those Fire Empire monsters."

"Hey," Ruon-Jian protests weakly, "don't paint all of us with the same brush. Some of us are trying to help."

"How can they do this?" Tartok continues, staring at the dead with burning eyes. "I knew some of those guys, they didn't fight on the battlefront with us. They were just kids protecting their homes."

"Welcome to the polar wars," Katara snaps, irritated by his self-righteous anger. "But for real this time."

To her surprise, for once he doesn't argue back. "I just wish there was something we could do," he laments.

She kicks the snow with the heel of her boot. "We are doing something. We're building a network of tunnels to help us get in and out of here fast -"

"Something more," he corrects, slumping against the wall of the building next to them. His voice lowers. "My dad's being held hostage and I don't even know if my brother survived the invasion. Imnek was never the strongest fighter…"

An uncomfortable silence settles over the group as Tartok breaks off and turns away, no longer able to look at the pile of dead bodies.

Katara can't help the stab of sympathy in her chest despite it all. "You have to believe they'll be okay," she says, placing a hand gently on his arm. "It's hard, I know. But when you're walking through hell, the only way to go is forward."

Tartok glances at her in surprise before pulling away from her abruptly, as though her touch had burned him.

She scoffs, shaking her head before turning back. A blur of motion in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and she leans past the corner of the building, squinting. "What's that?"

But a commotion on the other side of the street suddenly breaks the oppressive silence. Katara ducks as more Fire Navy soldiers converge in their direction, before thankfully racing down the street on the far side of the healing huts.

"What's going on?" Ruon-Jian whispers, hanging well back and furtively glancing behind them.

Toph plants her hand on the wall, frowning. "Sounds like those hotheads found someone out after curfew."

Aang gives her a funny look. "How could you tell? I thought you couldn't see up here because of the snow."

Toph waves a hand in front of her face, rolling her sightless eyes. "I can't see anywhere, Twinkletoes."

"You know what I mean!"

"Shh!" Tartok hisses as Katara anxiously presses her finger to her lips, listening carefully.

The sound of voices echo softly from the distance. Katara strains to pick them apart, the louder jeering of the Fire Navy soldiers, and the higher-pitched cries of their hapless quarry.

Then the ominous glow of fire spills along the snow behind the healing hut. A man's scream shatters the air.

Something in Katara's gut tightens as she scrambles forward, heedless of the danger. "We have to help him!"

Tartok follows, heavy on her heels. Somewhere behind her, Toph swears loudly before following.

They race around the corner, passing the row of healing houses before turning again and following the sounds of the scuffle.

Katara rounds the bend to stare down a darkened side street, as narrow as the one they'd surfaced in and flanked by weathered stone walls. Four Fire Navy soldiers wearing dark plate armour surround a Water Tribe man dressed in blue furs. Her blood boils as she catches them taking turns wildly bending fire at him. None of them notice her, too busy laughing as their victim dodges the blows, pinning him in like some cruel sport.

Glancing at the side of the healing hut next to her, she mounts the window-ledge and leaps toward the low overhang of the sloping roof, quickly clambering up the slippery stone tiles. Crouching down low to maintain balance, she grabs a handful of snow, forming it quickly in her mittened hands, and hurls it with all her strength at the soldier channeling a fireburst at the man. Without her bending, her aim wasn't quite what it used to be, but the packed snowball still manages to clock the soldier on the side of his face.

He whirls around wildly, searching for his assailant. Katara drops down, flattening herself against the roof as she peeks over the spire, still packing more snow into her hands. Her heart hammers, adrenaline buzzing through her nerves.

Then, with a deafening roar, a gust of wind tears down the narrow street. Katara's eyes water as she clutches at the stone beneath her, the slipstream threatening to lift her entire body clear off the slanting roof. Through the din, she manages to hear the jeering laughter change abruptly into shouts of alarm.

Good, she thinks grimly, just before the tiles rumble beneath her. She tightens her grip as her feet slip alarmingly along the ice lining the steep incline, struggling to hold her balance. Squinting, her jaw drops as jagged spikes of earth pierce through the ice lining the narrow street below. The soldiers' screams turn shrill as they go flying into the air, crashing with a satisfying thump against the wall of the healing house.

"Why couldn't you earthbend like that the night of the invasion?" Aang's incredulous voice demands through the screeching wind.

"I don't know, Twinkletoes! I'm just going with it, okay?"

Gritting her teeth, Katara pulls herself up to the apex of the roof, kicking at the hard-packed snow with all her strength. With a crack and a whump, it slides off the roof in heavy chunks, landing heavily on the groaning soldiers and burying them a foot deep in snow.

Something spits vehemently in her chest as she crawls to the edge of the sloping roof and jumps down. The force of her landing sends shockwaves ringing up her legs. Teetering dangerously, she leans against the side of the healing hut just as one of the soldiers pops through the pile of snow. She kicks him in the side of his head with a resounding clang. His eyes roll back as he collapses facedown into the snow.

Panting, she turns around to see Toph and Aang at the mouth of the narrow street, with Tartok staring wide-eyed behind them at the entire spectacle and Ruon-Jian a further distance back, still keeping watch for more soldiers. Then she staggers over half-melted snow, smoking and slippery beneath her shaking feet, to the man crumpled on the ground and holds out her hand.

"Here," she says, hauling him to his feet before enough of the light touches his face for her to recognize him. Her eyebrows knit upward in shock. "Chief Arnook?" she gasps.

The former chief's pale eyes widen as they take her in. "Katara of Sivusiktok," Arnook breathes, before turning his head to see the rest of their group waiting at the end of the street. "I might have guessed."

Katara drops his hand, pulling back as blood rushes hotly to her cheeks. "What - what are you doing here?" She takes in his gaunt appearance, seeming small and shrivelled without the hefty bulk of the purple chieftain's mantle he had always worn.

He brushes snow off his clothes, shaking his head wearily. "After I was removed from the band of chiefs, it became clear that there was no room for me back in Aujuittuq. So I came back here, to my home." He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping defeatedly. "We barely heard of the siege and the defeat before our shores were overwhelmed by Fire Navy ships. I'm glad to see some of you survived the invasion, at least."

"Some of us. But not enough," Katara tells him grimly. "Without our waterbending -"

"It's hopeless," Arnook laments, hanging his head. "With the moon gone, we have no way to fight back. Our lands are completely overrun by Empire soldiers. They tore down our walls, captured our warriors, killed any who fought back. They have the rest of us in chains, slaving away to rebuild their ships and raise our cities in their name." He sighs bitterly, clenching his fists. "And they took her. My daughter, Yue, the heart of our entire tribe. They took her, and Hahn, and the rest of the band chiefs, and imprisoned them somewhere. I don't know where…" His voice breaks, suddenly hoarse with unshed tears. "I don't know if I'll ever see her again."

Katara falters helplessly, turning from Arnook to her friends and back again in mute despair. It was happening again. Her people were breaking under the iron fist of Ozai's cruelty, and this time they were utterly powerless to stop it.

And yet, through some stroke of sheer luck, they had managed to find Arnook and save him from his tormentors. Her heart quickens at the sight of their dazed bodies, misshapen lumps buried under a thick layer of snow. It wasn't much, but it had to be better than nothing.

"We're not finished yet," she tells him fiercely. "We may not be able to waterbend, but there are other ways to resist. Iroh and Gyatso have us digging a network of tunnels under the city. By night, we can still hit them where they hurt and use them to get out fast -"

"To what end?" Arnook asks faintly, shaking his head. "The soldiers will just punish us more by day -"

"Well, we have to do something!" Katara cries, wringing her hands. "Otherwise, there's no way out of this and I refuse to accept that!"

Ruon-Jian taps on the side of the healing hut urgently. "Hate to break this up, but I see patrollers heading right this way!"

Katara nods quickly, before turning back to Arnook. "You'd better get inside. I'd hate to be around when those soldiers are discovered."

Arnook nods. A strange expression flits across his face. "Thank you - all of you - for helping me," he says softly, his pale eyes fixing on Katara. "I suppose I should be grateful that you set so little store by our traditions, Katara."

Katara huffs indignantly. "Right. As if after all this, you still have the luxury of being sexist." She savours the sheepish expression growing on Arnook's face before turning away. "We'll be back tomorrow night. Spread the word to any who want to help." She pauses, before throwing him a glare over her shoulder. "And that includes the women, Arnook."

Without waiting for him to object, she breaks into a run, following her motley group of friends as they dash back into the darkened alley where the mouth of their tunnel lay.

"Imagine bumping into Arnook, of all people," she huffs, slipping through the small hole in the ground and sliding the cover back in place. "What a pompous piece of work."

"Say what you want about him, but he had a good point, Katara," Tartok points out darkly from some way ahead. "How do we stop them from taking out their anger on more innocent people?"

"I don't know." She exhales heavily, her breath clouding into swirls of fine mist. "I guess we have to find some way to get into their heads. Make them too afraid to strike back."

"How?" Tartok demands. "You saw what they did to Chief Arnook just for being out after curfew! What could they possibly be scared of? They're a bunch of monsters and we've got next to nothing! How are we supposed to take down a bunch of tyrants?"

Katara breathes slowly, her hands tracing the slippery smooth ice lining the narrow passage. The dim glow of Ruon-Jian's fire grows further away as he leads them toward the dropoff connecting them to the deeper, larger tunnel Toph had hewn into the subterranean rock bed.

"Tyrants," she echoes, the word sparking something within her memory. Inklings scatter through her mind all at once, like leaves drifting in autumn wind, slowly settling into place. "We have to undo the reign of a tyrant! That's it!"

"What?" Tartok asks, glancing over his shoulder to stare at her quizzically. "What are you talking about?"

A slow grin works triumphantly across her face. "I have an idea..."