A/N: Hello, WheelofArgos here with the last of the pre-canon chapters for this story. The plan is to skip to the timeline and perhaps reference changed times along the way if I think of any good ideas. I hope you all are hyped too, because I am; I have so many plans... mwahahaha!

Just a little note: warning for mentions of child abuse because Ozai

For an island, Kyoshi had an abnormally large number of people with soul marks. The worldwide decrease in soulmates had barely been noticed by the generations, a point of interest that had led many scholars to the island. Life and war continued on, Kyoshi's status as a neutral port leading it to develop a strong culture of trading, often because certain kinds of deals could only be made there. Even animosity between entire cultures couldn't keep merchants from the best deal.

But maintaining a neutral port of trade amidst warring nations took rules, rules that every child on Kyoshi grew up with. By the time she was six, Suki knew these rules. She knew welcome merchants always bowed to the warrior squad who greeted their ship; it didn't matter whether they bowed in the style of their own nation or shallowly, the deference meant they respected the traditions of Kyoshi Island or, at the very least, the strength of the warriors. She knew all ships approached from the northeast side of the island and any who didn't were quickly run away or, if they were the type of people who committed heinous crimes for fun, fed to Unagi. She knew the Kyoshi Warriors drew on the teachings and image of Kyoshi for resolve and prestige but that, even without wearing the colors of the Avatar-before-last, the men of the island equally raised weapons or bending to defend it. She knew she wanted to be a Kyoshi Warrior, to protect her island like its people did, like her mother did before her injury.

She knew five soul marks, especially ones as culturally diverse as hers, was a rarity even on Kyoshi.

It used to be more common, something the villagers knew from Kyoshi's accounts. For all her well-known fierceness and fighting prowess, the island's patron Avatar had an eloquent way with the brush and had left her people many tales and teachings that had become as ingrained in their culture as the summer stories of the Southern Water Tribe. The scholars who visited were always astounded and a little disheartened at the truth behind the decline of soul marks: the war had divided people, both in distance and in spirit, so much that Fate could not give her gifts as freely as she had a century ago. Some villagers liked to speculate what the diversity of Suki's marks meant, and Suki liked to listen in on them, hearing their thoughts even as she refused to draw conclusions before she returned to training or to helping her mom in the forge.

She would meet the companions of her soul one day, but for now she was busy being a daughter and becoming a warrior.

. . .

A yelp echoed around the igloo, followed by the clatter of dropped bowls. A similar shout came from near the fire, accompanied by a crack in the ice. Sokka gripped his forearm, sinking down to his knees amidst the bowls, while Katara gripped at her collar, unconsciously moving away from the fire.

"Sokka! Katara! What's wrong?!" their parents rushed to their children, Hakoda to Sokka and Kya to Katara, frantically checking their babies over for whatever was causing them pain.

"My chest! It hurts! I don't know!" Katara cried stiltedly, curling over even as Kya tried to spot whatever was hurting her daughter.

Rich with an experience over a year ago from being a curious child left unattended at the fire, Sokka could explain a little more. "My arm burns!"

Hakoda forced up his son's sleeve and Kya pulled down her daughter's collar just as both slumped over, all tension and strength leaving them. Both were still crying, though Sokka made a valiant effort to keep the tears in, at the memory of the pain that had gone as quickly as it'd come.

Hakoda and Kya both paused as they took in an eyeful of their children's marks, but quickly shook their heads. Even if it was the case, it had to have been an accident, it had to.

"Mom/Dad?" their children pleaded, begging for answers. The parents picked up the kids and gently settled them on the furs, making sure they were comfortable.

"Dad, what just happened?!" Sokka demanded as his father adjusted the caribou-moose skin for the third time. Both adults looked at each other, making the children look at each other in annoyance at being kept from the conversation. Neither knew how to say their thoughts.

"There's another thing to soul marks, kids," Hakoda finally managed. Kya nodded, wordlessly telling him to continue. "If a marked is really hurt, his mates will feel some of that pain through his mark. Sometimes injuries hurt enough that they hurt the soul too, and for people connected through their souls, well…"

"One of our soulmates is hurt?" Katara whispered her words, but all heard them in the silence of the igloo, broken only by the wind outside. "Really hurt?"

"The pain stopped, right?" Kya gave her daughter the strongest smile she could, though its shakiness was still visible. "So your soulmate isn't hurting anymore."

Sokka stared hard at the marks on his arm, touching each with narrowed eyes. "It was Fire," he announced. "Fire…" he swallowed, "Fire was burned."

. . .

It became normal, as horrifying as that was. Almost every week, Fire's mark flared up, often with burning pain but sometimes with other kinds. Sokka imagined the spikes that left the skin numb for the next few hours might be broken bones, because Bato had glanced at his right leg when Sokka tried to describe it once, and everyone knew Bato broke his leg on his first solo hunt, dragging back the carcass on his hands and knees.

The thought that all of them were accidents or just some kind of weird spiritual thing was a pipe dream, even as Sokka and Katara did their best not to think about it. Even as they learned to soldier through the sudden, unexpected pains with little more than grimaces. Even as they learned anger early because someone out there was hurting their soulmate.

As they grew older, when Sokka learned to handle weapons and Katara spent hours begging and yelling at the waves to listen to her, they carried on with more to protect than their tribe.

. . .

"Go get your dad, sweetie."

Katara ran, scared of the man in their house and of her mother's eyes, the eyes that were so protective they reflected fear. Katara had seen those eyes on her mother before, when the wind had blown her favorite glove on thin ice and Katara had almost gone after it, ignorant of the danger. She ran, because mom asked for dad and that meant dad could fix this, not that mom just wanted Katara out of the house, out of danger.

"Dad! Daaad!" she yelled as loud as she could, managing to make her small voice heard over the din of the battle. Was this what battle was like, abundant violence that robbed kindness and gentleness? There were men and women and children on the ground, some in red and some in blue, all the children in blue, and none of them were moving. Were they injured, or were they gone, like Gramp had gone last winter during the chill nights? The faces on the ground weren't peaceful like Gramp's had been, they were twisted in fear and pain. At least dad was here; dad was strong, nothing could stop him. "There's a strange man in our house! I'm scared!"

"Kya!" Dad said, following Katara. She took comfort in how he gripped his club tightly. Dad was strong, he was going to beat the man and mom would be safe. Something swirled in Katara's gut as they approached their house. It was quiet, too quiet, and something tickled her nose but instead of sneezing she wanted to throw up. Dad was ahead of her – he had longer legs – but he stopped after throwing the skin open. His club was at his feet and Katara didn't understand. Why would dad drop his club? He could defeat anybody, nothing could stop him-

There's was nothing for dad to stop, she realized. Everything had already happened, everything was already gone.

Hours later, Katara stared into a fire, unable to look away. The reds and oranges and yellows were beautiful, jumping around happily greedily almost as if they were alive, but the scent of smoke curling into her nose from the burning wood brought to mind another red that only promised death. How could something so warm, that saved them from the cold and cooked their food, cause death?! How could something so destructive, that took her mom and hurt their soulmate, be something that kept them alive, that defined their bonded that never seemed to be free of its pain?! Nothing made sense! Mom was gone and the snow was stained black but the soot was already starting to fade like it had never been there in the first place!

Was mom going to disappear too? Was she going to wake up tomorrow and feel like mom had never been alive? Why was Katara connected to someone known by this thing that gave and took life in a balance she believed she had once understood but now couldn't even imagine? Was her soulmate from the Fire Nation, did they wield fire? Did they use it to take as that man had or could they use it to give? Katara had so many questions but none could be answered.

She stayed awake all night, staring at the fire. Soon, she was joined by Sokka and Dad and Gran-Gran and they all stared into the flames. Katara wondered if they were thinking the same thoughts she was. Eventually, the sun rose and that terrible day was now yesterday but the questions in her head and the hole in her heart were still there.

. . .

Father's lessons didn't hurt as much anymore. Zuko hoped that meant his soulmates didn't feel the pain. He was a prince; some burns and breaks weren't serious injuries. Father was merciful.

Zuko wondered if he would ever find his soulmates. It didn't seem likely since he didn't have soul marks. All he could remember was that the last one was some shape made out of rock (but Zuko didn't think about that too much because the obvious interpretation implied earthbender and then Zuko could only hope he or she was from the colonies because if not then he was bonded to the enemy and maybe Father was onto something with not liking soul marks because when Zuko thought about it his history teacher sounded all wrong, calling the Earth Kingdom 'mindless brutes'). Zuko shook his head, forcing the thoughts deep down. He was supposed to be meditating.

Zuko's mind had been stuck on his soulmates for the past few weeks, thoughts and questions popping into his head whenever it snatched a moment of idleness. Not that Zuko had too many of those moments with all his new responsibilities as Crown Prince; the lessons kept him busy and exhausted. But knowing that Lu Ten was dead – the letter's insufficiency in informing how only letting his imagination pick up the slack even if it didn't feel quite real, so quickly followed by Grandfather and don't think about how mother was just gone, made Zuko desperate to hold on to any scrap of family. All he had left was Uncle who was off on some spiritual journey, Father who was busy being Fire lord, Azula who kept getting more distant from the sister he remembered, and whatever his soulmates were supposed to be. There was little Zuko could do about the first three, but if he entertained fantasies about five friends whom he would meet like in some epic theater saga and who would help him end the war, bringing honor and glory to the Fire Nation, well that was between him and his thoughts.

It wasn't fair, that Azula got to have Father and soulmates (not that any of them told Father that she, Mai, and Ty Lee were more than friends) but Zuko had no one. He could still talk to the servants, but as a prince there was no one he could spend time with without fearing injury. As the months passed, he grew quieter, tenser. He reacted more, whether it be flinching or freezing, though neither was acceptable to Father. He quickly forgot what it was like not to have his guard up. Zuko always had to be aware, or Father would change from indifferent to displeased and Zuko would be blindsided by the sudden change.

Then Uncle came back and everything got a little better. There was no need to be tense, anxious about Uncle's next move, when the only next move of interest to Uncle was that of his Pai sho games or what tea he could serve next. Zuko remembered these quirks about Uncle from before he left, but now they seemed fired up to eleven! But it was nice, being able to sit and only think about how he could lose the smallest number of tiles and board space and if the hot leaf juice Uncle made him tasted like anything. Not even his tutors could hound him about extra assignments or readings or katas when Uncle – the Dragon of the West – asked for him in what was technically Zuko's free time. Father didn't say anything either. If Zuko didn't know better, he would almost say Father was afraid of Uncle. But that made him laugh, because Uncle could be intimidating but he wasn't scary.

(Years later, Zuko will watch Uncle make fully-decorated generals cower and realize the two could be the same thing, depending on where you stood.)

And Uncle listened to Zuko! When Zuko complained about failing his history tutor's pop-quiz that covered parts of battles he hadn't even taught, Uncle sat him down and explained how those questions could be answered from what Zuko had learned. It made so much sense once Uncle explained how it worked. When he was frustrated over not getting a kata, Uncle would slowly show it to him so Zuko could see how he moved (Zuko used to ask his tutors to show him more than once; they never did and Zuko soon learned to stop asking). He complimented Zuko on his sword form and even his firebending, though the latter had to be Uncle just being nice. Sure, he had to deal with pai sho and tea and proverbs, but the time he spent with Uncle was worth it.

And then he asked Uncle to let him into the war meeting.

Zuko had thought about attending a war meeting for a while. As crown prince, he would one day be Fire Lord and all his nation's loyal troops would be under his command. When that day came, he needed to be ready, able to call the shots that gave his people the most victory and fewest losses. Lu Ten had joined the army to learn how to lead, but Zuko was too young; it would be years before he would be sent out to the field. All he could do was learn, and his politics tutors weren't letting him advance, claiming he didn't have the adequate skill level after he couldn't answer questions on obscure texts Zuko hadn't even know existed! Knowing that Azula was already learning advanced politics only made Zuko need to attend a meeting even more.

But Uncle had gotten the guards to let him through, and Zuko found himself in the same chamber where he had once presented himself to Grandfather Azulon and where he now presented himself to Father. It looked so different, with a giant map arranged on a long table and cushions surrounding for generals and ministers to sit on. It filled the space that Zuko had always seen empty, made the fires surrounding the throne appear a little less intimidating (soon he would remember that didn't mean they actually were).

He sat by Uncle, the one who let him enter and thereby took responsibility for him, and looked around as much as he could without being obvious. He listed what he knew about each general and minister and reviewed what he knew about the current state of the war. He studied the map in front of him, displaying current troops placements and battlefields. He noticed one of the active fronts was only twelve miles out from a colony he knew had been captured fifty years ago.

The chatter quieted and the room brightened as the flames grew. Zuko knew Father now sat behind the throne's fire.

"General Zarghin," Father addressed the head of military communications. "Report."

General Zarghin nodded and began moving around some troops, narrating the latest movements and victories as he did so. He spent very little time detailing tactical retreats. Zuko made note of the words he couldn't understand, planning to look them up later.

After Zarghin, multiple ministers gave summaries of developments in their divisions. War Minister Qin had been enthusiastic about a new cavalry helmet with expanded vision for mounted soldiers, especially when Father ordered it to be put in production immediately. But most of the meeting revolved around a stalemate for some land near one of the major highways to Ba Sing Se. It had once been Fire Nation territory, but was retaken by the Earth Kingdom when the 600 Day Siege ended. Different strategies to defeat the strong earthbending force stationed there were proposed, debated, and ultimately rejected for their uncertainty of victory.

And then General Bujing spoke.

At first, Zuko just sat there, stunned at the cruelty dripping from the general's mouth. He assumed someone else would say something, bring up sound rebuttals like what had happened with the other plans – it was a waste of resources, such a massacre would lower morale, those young soldiers have futures, anything – but all he heard was silence and mummers that sounded like agreement.

Fury, the kind Zuko's firebending instructors always wanted him to bring forth, bubbled within him, rising from his gut and pooling into his throat. No one else was speaking, so it was up to Zuko. (Had he looked around, he might have noticed the shifting among a few, the clear discomfort they had, stilled only by that the Firelord had not spoken yet.)

"You can't sacrifice an entire division like that!" he stood, shouting because he doubted how much the generals and ministers, how much Father, would listen to him. His voice never seemed to reach very far. "Those soldiers love and defend our nation! How can you betray them?"

The fires flared and everything else Zuko had planned to say choked in his throat.

. . .

As he knelt with one knee on the ground, eyes closed, Zuko swore he could see the torches that lit the arena. They pulsed with fire, alive so much like the soldiers he was protecting that even without his eyes he knew they were there. He felt the stone floor dig into his knee and heard the whispers of the packed audience. He smelled his own sweat, bitter from the nerves he knew better than to show elsewise. He felt the sun nearing its apex, the Agni Kai following the time-honored traditions even though the sun didn't shine into the arena. Zuko kind of wished it did; it would have been nice to feel its warmth.

Zuko ignored the whispers even as they got louder. He had to forget about the people around him or he would mess up like he always did when others were watching. A heavy gong rang throughout the arena, signaling the sun's zenith, and Zuko rose, turning around as the cloth fell from his shoulders.

The only sound was the quiet rustling of cloth falling to the ground and Zuko's own breaths as the ringing in his ears muddied his thoughts. His heart no longer thrummed but pounded against his ribcage, faced with the sight of Father standing on the other side of the arena.

But why, bubbled up in his thoughts. Zuko was supposed to be fighting the general, the one who proposed the plan he'd spoken against, the one whose honor he'd called into question. Father had to have been about to speak up himself, why was Zuko facing him?

It hit him like a bolt of lightning: Father had been about to speak up. Zuko interrupted him, giving his own opinions when he wasn't even supposed to speak.

"Please, Father," he pleaded, battle stance falling into something much more submissive on instinct. "I only had the Fire Nation's best interest at heart. I'm sorry I spoke out of turn!"

"You will fight for your honor," Ozai sneered. Zuko dared not look at his face, didn't want to know what kind of expression would accompany such a disgusted voice. He could imagine just fine. But now was not the time to get lost in his thoughts, he had to make it clear.

Zuko lowered himself to the ground, presenting his back because how else could he say that he had meant no form of power play or slight when he had spoken, that it had been out of instinct the burned inside his chest. "I meant no disrespect." He forced himself to look up, to witness the anger and disgust that warped his Father's face into a familiar visage. "I am your loyal son."

"Rise and fight, Prince Zuko!" Father barked, his hand reaching for Zuko. Zuko flinched but turned the movement into lowering himself to the ground again.

"I won't fight you," Zuko insisted because if conflict against Father, speaking before Father had spoken, had been what got him into this arena, how would more conflict get him out.

"You will learn respect," Father's voice seethed, an edge to it that had Zuko pushing himself up to look at him, unable to maintain his position despite the loyalty and trust it embodied being exactly what he wanted to convey. Shadows hid Father's face and traitorous tears (they never helped, why would he always cry if they never stopped the pain) slid down. The hand Father gripped his cheek with was firm but gentler than Zuko could remember, so much that the tiniest spark of hope ripped through him. "And suffering will be your teacher."

Father's hand shifted and grew warm.

An eternity later, Zuko collapsed to the stone floor, in so much pain he was numb to it. He saw Uncle and Azula, the latter grinning a smile he would have believed if not for the stiffness at its corners and the shadows in her ever-bright eyes and the former's eyes widening in terror when he looked up and saw him, haunted shadows dancing in their amber depths. He hoped the only nightmares would be his own. Had Zuko not been numb to his own pain, he would have felt the slight burning of the five scars down his chest, a mirror of the pain his soulmates felt of his own. But the blackness was calling and, for once, Zuko did not fight it.