At a little shop in a nation of volcanic islands, this era's chosen one and savior of the world (otherwise known as the Avatar) sat before the counter and drank away his sorrows in caffeinated leaf-juice.
All the other customers were staring at the bald young man who had saved them all, not sure what to make of his funk.
Even the old shopkeeper was somewhat taken aback, and it took a lot to faze him these days. Everyone knew the shopkeeper was a legendary military general (now retired) known as General Iroh, the Dragon of the West.
During the war, Iroh had led the terrible siege of Ba-sing Se and had defected against the previous firelord. He had been all around the world and seen so much, yet the Avatar's funk still caught him off-guard.
"I am glad you came to my shop, instead of someplace... less clean," Iroh told the Avatar. "Most men would drown themselves in sake, not tea."
"Most men don't have my responsibilities," the Avatar shot back bitterly. "I can't even think about alcohol. If I ever take one sip I won't be able to stop!"
"Aang..." Iroh said softly, serious concern written all over his face. "If you want to talk about it, I am always willing to lend an ear."
The Avatar, Aang, took a deep breath. Then let it out again.
"I have friends in all four nations," Aang complained into his teacup. "But most of them are only friends with me. Not with each other. And unlike the Zhangs and the Gan Jins I can't just..."
"Can't just what?" asked Iroh.
"I was twelve, alright? Lots of people do dumb stuff at that age. Even Avatars!"
Nobody in the shop corrected him. But he knew what most of the other customers were thinking.
"Okay, so I was trapped in an iceberg, unconscious for a hundred years! That didn't make me mentally one hundred and twelve!"
"What about your past lives?" asked Iroh.
"That's the worst part of all of this," Aang whined. "Lately it's all been cryptic metaphors and proverbs with them. They're supposed to be me, but they won't give me a straight answer!"
Iroh suddenly started laughing.
"What's so funny?" asked Aang, annoyed.
"I'm sorry Aang," said Iroh, wiping a tear from his eye. "But for a moment there, you reminded me very strongly of my nephew."
Aang's eyebrows rose.
"I don't see how that helps," he complained.
"It helps a great deal," Iroh told him. "Your past selves are right to be cryptic, young man. You'll understand when you're older."
"And then I'll be yet another stuffy old geezer who won't give a straight answer to the next version of me," Aang grumbled, dropping his face to the counter. "Great."
Iroh's eye twitched for a moment.
"You want a straight answer, Aang?" the stuffy old geezer asked him.
"Yes!" Aang shouted in frustration. "I want a straight answer!"
"They are the Avatars of the past," Iroh told him gently, but firmly. "You are the Avatar of the present. If your past selves could solve the present's problems without you, there would be no Avatar cycle."
Aang looked up, surprised.
"I never thought of it that way," he said slowly. "But that makes sense. They want me to figure this out for myself. Thank you."
"You are quite welcome," Iroh told him, smiling.
Aang took another sip from his tea.
"And thanks for the tea, too," Aang added earnestly. "It's really good. Toph wasn't kidding when she said I should come here."
"I am glad you like it," Iroh said, beaming at him. "How is Toph doing these days?"
"Really busy," said Aang with a roll of his eyes. "Between her Earth Rumble fights, training the new Dai Li, and politics, I don't know how she finds time to sleep!"
"Indeed," Iroh agreed. "She is quite the impressive young lady."
Aang gaped at him in horror.
"You and Toph..." Aang sputtered. "You're not... are you?"
Iroh laughed.
"No," he said. "But perhaps you could be."
"Ugh," said Aang. "Not you too, Iroh. I have enough matchmakers around the world trying to set me up with someone."
"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you left the princess of the Southern Water Tribe," Iroh told him with an amused chuckle.
"Don't remind me," Aang groaned. "Everything was simpler during the war."
"Indeed," Iroh agreed. "It is always easier to burn than to rise from the ashes."
"Ashes?" Aang scoffed. "More like a flaming pile of bisonshit. I've been trying to salvage something out of this mess, but it's so hard. Nobody listens to each other. Nobody trusts each other. Not even when the Avatar asks them to!"
"The war lasted for a hundred years," Iroh told him gently. "The wounds it left us will take time to heal."
"Time?" Aang asked incredulously. "You think time is enough? The war is over, but everyone still wants to fight! Nothing I say is enough to stop them from wanting that. The world won't let me heal it, and it's taking all my time just to keep its wounds from getting worse. For all I know I could spend several lifetimes and still fail to restore balance to the world!"
There was a pronounced shocked silence at these words as all the other customers stared at him in horrified understanding.
Iroh looked at Aang for several long moments, seeing him in a new light. In that moment, the Avatar looked so lost, helpless, lonely, and overwhelmed with stress.
He'd been forced to grow up too fast, Iroh realized. Most Avatars weren't told of their true nature and destiny until they'd reached the age of majority. But Aang had been told four years too early.
Aang had only experienced the final year of that long and terrible war, yet it still had left a deep and lasting wound in his heart. The wound was clearly still fresh four years after the war's end. Iroh knew the world would not give the Avatar the comfort or healing he needed. The world needed Aang to be strong so they could lean on him. If even the Avatar was broken inside...
Without thinking about it he'd walked around the counter and found himself with the Avatar in his arms, crying into his chest.
And in some unbelievably tactless corner of his mind, he thought cute and this feels nice. It was probably the same part of himself which his nephew blamed whenever he told a cryptic proverb or a dad joke.
"You cannot heal the world if you cannot heal yourself," Iroh found himself saying. "You need a break. Being the Avatar does not change that."
"A—a break?" asked Aang with a sniffle, sounding surprised.
"Yes," said Iroh, looking fondly down at him with slightly reddened cheeks. "There is a nice restaurant down by the docks which is open late, and they make the most amazing komodo chicken soup. I will take you there this evening. It will be my treat."
"Okay," Aang agreed, giving Iroh a watery smile. "Thanks."
"You are quite welcome," said Iroh as he released Aang from the hug.
A month later, Firelord Zuko heard the news as he sat upon his throne.
"My uncle and Aang..." he sputtered. "They're not... are they?"
"Apparently they are," his girlfriend Mai told him.
Zuko groaned and buried his face in his hands.
"Please wake me up when the world starts making sense again," he told her.
"Hey, it could have been worse," Mai reminded him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "At least your uncle is dating the Avatar and not the Moon spirit."
Zuko shuddered.
And on the other side of the world, a certain boomerang-wielding man with a ponytail sneezed.