Iroh sat, desolate, his spirit destroyed. The guards paced past him, heedless of the old man's saddened visage, the sobbing pieces of his broken heart. He lifted the tea to his lips with a trembling hand.

The cup was knocked violently from his fist and he looked up, unconcerned, into the deadly face of the Admiral. Once he had taken in the terrible features, he folded his hands in his lap and looked back to the floor.

"I always said I would be above you one day, you old fool," hissed the Admiral. His gaze was wild with delight; he stalked around Iroh like a snake, watching for another chance to strike. When the General did not reply he renewed his attack.

"Always said I would take your ship, take your post, take your title. And now I will gain even more. The throne, perhaps...your own nephew obeys me more than he does you."

This hit a nerve. Iroh showed no emotion, but straightened his back and glared straight at the Admiral.

"I do not know what you have done to my nephew, demon," he said evenly, staring him straight in the eyes. "But it will not hold. You believe in torture and cruelty, both of the mind and the body; but I know your weakness just as well as you know mine. I know what you fear, you and all your demonic kin."

Zhao snarled dangerously and brought his face level to the old man's.

"Tell me what I fear, old fool!I am afraid of nothing. Iam fear, you miserable excuse for a bender! The world willsoon know me, bow to me, worship the ground on which I walk! I am not afriad; not of you, of your nephew, of the Avatar, of anything in this world. What do I fear, old man?"

Iroh continued to stare, undisturbed. Zhao was grinning at him, his gruesome fangs bared, the furious delight glowing in his maddened eyes.

"You say you have no fear of anything in this world, Zhao," said the General gently. His gaze hardened ever so slightly. "And that is where you falter. For in this life, you can never be made afraid. It is the things of death that terrify you, Zhao."

The Admiral stared at him for a long moment and then roared, tearing himself away from the old man's gaze. He grabbed the shoulder of a passing guard and shoved him towards Iroh.

"Take him to a cell and lock him up. I do not want to see his face again."

Sokka was thrown heavily into the room, his body rolling agonizingly across the floor. He still clutched his broken arm in a futile attempt to protect it from the source of the impact. Somehow he slipped to his knees and bent over so far that his forehead nearly touched the floor. There was a smell hanging in the air that he immediately recognized - but the horror of it forced it from his mind.

There was only one light; it flickered, bold and laughing, from the fires that sprang from a deep stone basin in the center of the room. Metal objects were hanging on the walls but Sokka did not want to think what they were for. His attention focused on the only thing in the room that moved with life - life that was faint, but still remained.

He was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling and blood was still dripping to the floor; he had been stripped to the waist and in the flickering light Sokka caught glimpses of his beaten flesh. He cringed, but swallowed his horror and approached the man.

Compared to the bodies Sokka had seen this man had gotten off easy; no bones were broken, but his wrists were heavily chaffed from the iron cuffs and he hung unconscious. His body was a canvas of blues and purple; the deepest gash was in his side, and the warrior guessed it quiet shallow in comparison with others he had seen. There was a bloody tear in his forehead and his dark hair hung over his eyes. The glimmer of burns rode up his back.

Sokka tore off his shirt and ripped it into shreds. Somehow he managed a sling for his arm and, though the pain remained intense, he was somewhat more able to move. He noticed a large, slim dagger beside him and picked it up carefully, trying desperately not to think what cruel purpose it had originally been intended for.

After a tedious process of stabbing the keyhole with the dagger, the cuffs opened with a snap. The man fell instantly to the floor with little resistance, but the impact of his body against the ground must have awakened him.

He stirred, lying in his own pool of blood, his hair still scattered over his face. Sokka leaned down next to him, wincing slightly from his broken arm, and put his free hand on the man's shoulders. The warrior was not so prone to sympathy as his sister, and immediately began interrogation.

"Who are you? How long have you been here - ?"

His throat caught when the hair fell away from his face. He took a half-step back, not believing his eyes.

"Haru?"

The earth bender was still too weak to respond; he crumpled back to the floor as Sokka continued to stare, his pain forgotten.

He was awakened from his stunned state when the door opened. He didn't need to see the horned helmets and the devil smile to know who it was. He grit his teeth and stood expectantly.

The door shut with a satisfying click and Zhao's hand lit to flame.

She's alive...she's alive...she's alive...

For the whole return to the temple Zuko could think of nothing else. He dared not express and happiness, for he feared it would be beaten down just as it had before. Yet in the same fashion he did not show his suspicion. If the priestess lied, it would mean only more devastation and her demise. But if she told the truth...his heart skipped before he could stop it and he let out the faintest of smiles.

She did not lead him tot he front of the temple. She rounded the back without hesitation, and Zuko followed, bewildered to her behavior. But when they had turned from the walls of the temple he came upon a sight he would long remember.

They were Elk, but they were Elk of such varying sizes he wondered if they were magic. Some were as large as the horses Fire Nation bred; others were as small as the white-tailed deer of th south. The priestess came swiftly towards to large males, their antlers spread in a glorious magnificence, there coats gleaming but flecked with snow. She stoked the neck of the nearest and it nudged her shoulder affectionately. She cast an eye on the Prince who stood, astonished, at the scene.

"Kami and Okami. Rivers and Rain. My friends, and our guides. Give me this sacred necklace you carry," she said swiftly, turning from the Elk named Kami and extending her hand. Zuko drew the half-necklace reluctantly. After she had told himthat the body was not Katara's, he had taken it in case he may ever see his love again. When he placed it in her palm it was with more than a hint of regret.

"It is well," she spoke gently, softening her gaze on Zuko ever so slightly. Kami's nose nudged the band and Okami soon repeated the action. They let out loud calls and the rest of the herd responded briefly and scampered off.

When Zuko looked back at the priestess she was not there. Kami brushed by him and he saw the leg of her robe pass his ear. Astounded, he watched as she passed him, mounted on the Elk and facing northwest.

"I take it you have not ridden before. It is no matter; Okami rides smoother than Kami and is better tempered. But you must remember to not kick him. He is not a horse, and he will ride much different. It will be more dramatic; front up, back down, front down, back up, and they will go higher when the reach greater speeds. Sit behind the shoulder blades but not on the pelvic bone. If you must steer them, take hold of the antlers; otherwise do not touch them. Wrap your arms around the neck if you feel you will fall."

Zuko nodded dumbly, not hearing half of what she said over the driving wind. Okami walked up beside him and lowered his front legs so that he could mount. The Prince sat, not too steadily, just behind the shoulder blades and the Elk straightened, pacing up beside the priestess.

"Take care not to fall. We will head first in the way of my old friend, who may have found her already. Hold tight!"

Zuko was caught off guard and nearly flipped backwards into the snow. At the last second his arms found the Elk's neck and he clung to the animal for dear life. Okami was, in fact, a very good-tempered beast, and even when Zuko's hold became a choke he did no more than call quietly in frustration for him to loosen his grip.Zuko did not feel like this was smooth riding at all; he was constantly thrown into different positions and balance was almost impossible atop the leaping beast. Nonetheless he clung and watched as the priestess galloped off ahead of him with perfect ease, glancing back every few minutes to check that Okami still bore him.

The things I do for you, Katara, he thought - and the idea made him smile, thinking that maybe...he would soon be able to tell her that in person.

Katara did not awaken for several hours. She felt as though she had died; surely the man in the doorway was her angel? Yes, that would make perfect sense. Soon she would feel great, strong arms around her and she would be released into the gentle currents of the arctic sea. It would bear her away to other shores, beaches that were not of this world. Perhaps there she would be at peace, be happy...she might see Zuko again, and Aang, and Sokka...mother would be there too...

There was a clatter from somewhere nearby and she turned restlessly. It took her a moment to realize the ground was no longer hard, but of a faint softness that reminded her of a bed.

Maybe I'm already there, she thought peacefully, wishing to never open her eyes again. Maybe I'm already lying in the clouds, maybe I'm an angel now...

Her eyelashes fluttered as she opened them but her gaze met nothing but darkness. A cool air sprang across her shoulder and she realized that her right leg was asleep. She sat up and shook it irritably.

Well, I guess that daydream's over.

"Awake, are you?"

Her head turned instantly to the source of the voice but the action made her senses kick in. A bright fire was blazing beside her and she was so close to it she wondered why she wasn't burning. She scooted away from it but her arms screamed with pain; biting her tongue, she knelt over and began to rub them with both hands. The source of the voice gazed at her in concern and knelt down beside her.

"Take this oil and rub it into your skin. It'll stop the frostbite. Get closer to the fire! It's the only thing keeping you alive, you know."

The person bustled away after handing her the oil and seated himself on the other side of the fire. From this angle Katara got a good look at his face; he was very old, and wrinkles hung on his face like the drooping branches of a willow tree. His eyes were deeply set and a bright, vivid blue; his grey hair was long, almost down to his knees, and there was a mended scar above his right eye. He must have noticed her staring, for he looked back at her in the midst of slicing a fish open and grumbled.

"Do you want to die? Kids these days...don't worry about the fish, I'll have them cooked in a moment. Meanwhile use that oil and put another coat on. It's there beside you."

Katara reached for the jacket and withdrew some oil from the container. But her eyes were still on the mysterious old man, who was cutting the scales off the trout.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly. The man glared at her, continuing his work.

"You must have a death wish. I'll tell you soon enough, after you tell me who the hell you are. Your arms are turning blue, you know. Use the oil! Put on a jacket!"

Momo made a little whimper and barely managed to squeeze himself through the skylight. When he fell into the room, however, he gave a startled squeak and disappeared behind a broken statue.

Aang was roaring, the air in the room forming a monstrous tornado of his fury, his element fully consuming him. The battling winds of his soul, the great forces he had kept hidden, were screaming from him now in a rage he had never known before. Time and time again he tore the air in pieces and sent great torrents raging towards the bolted doors. The walls shook and the locks clanged loudly, but the iron remained strong. He felt a lot like the wolf trying to blow down the house of bricks.

The tattoos returned to their normal shade and he sank to the floor, panting heavily. Momo peeked out from behind the crumbled statue and scampered over to his friend.

When he felt the lemur on his shoulder Aang's heart gave a leap of joy. He picked up Momo in both hands and twirled him around, ecstatic.

"Momo! This is great! Where's Appa? Can you get us out? Here, look at the locks..."

But after several failed lock-picking techniques, Momo sank, sorrowful to the floor. Aang gave a tremdous sigh and slumped against the wall as the lemur curled up in his lap.

For a long while Aang stroked the lemurs fur and tried to focus on his friends. Sokka would be dead soon; he had seen the look in Zhao's eyes and knew no mercy was promised for him. The Avatar would be kept alive, of course - but would he be tortured too? He felt the cut in his chin and his shoulders slumped. If Zuko had not come back with Katara, than she was as good as dead too...Zuko, that asshole, that lying son of a...

But Aang was too tired to have any more anger. He gazed down into Momo's huge, innocent eyes and he felt his strength give out. Leaning back into the metal wall, his eyes began to water.

Iroh looked out the window at the great, ice-capped ridges in the distance, searching for peace. The world would soon be ended, he knew; and it was beyond his power to stop it. His thought turned to Zuko and his shoulders sank in sorrow. The white stars glittered between the clouds as snow began to fall.

It fell around Zuko in thick waves as ice grew from his eyelashes. Okami was getting easier to ride but it was in now way a pleasant trip. He thought of Katara, waiting for him, wondering when her Prince Charming would save her. His insides flamed with determination and he reached for his coat.

Katara pulled the coat over her shoulders and placed the oil on the floor, finished with its healing properties. Her body moved instinctively towards the fire and she wondered what fate had befallen her friends. Were they still looking for her? How upset was Aang? The fire reminded her of Zuko's flame, but not as strong...Sokka was probably throwing a fit, out looking for her even in the snowstorm.

Sokka stared straight into the fire and felt blood drip into his mouth. The whip fell across his back with a vicious sting he knew was only the beginning of his troubles. Haru had awakened but was viciously slashed down and thrown into a far corner, where the warrior could hear the sounds of ripping flesh. Something with several points slashed through his side and he bent forward, coughing, his hands tied to the edge of the fire basin. A tear leaked from his eye.

Aang sobbed uncontrollably as Momo gazed up at him, helpless to ease his anguish. The poor boy could do nothing but cry; his friends were all but dead, his skills weak and useless to save them. The Avatar had failed those he had cared most about, he had handed the world over to a blood-thirsty Prince and his demon General. A insufferable guilt fell upon his shoulders and he clung to Momo, sobbing his anguish to the world.

The world would be his soon, the power, the glory.

Zhao gazed out at the red horizon with a deadly smile, awaiting the Prince's return.