Zuko felt the hand on his shoulder, but he did not turn to see who stood there. If it was his uncle, his own flesh and blood, crept from the ship to him, he would not have looked. If it was Sokka, the irritating warrior he had come to call his friend, he would not have turned, would not even have spoken. If it was Zhao, then let it be Zhao; that pathetic creature could no longer harm him. And if it was the Avatar, he did not care; death itself was welcome at this point, and if indeed these were his last moments of life, he would be content, having held Katara with him even until the ending of the world.

But no voice rose beneath the thunder. And the darkness of death did not embrace him.

But neither did the apocalypse end, roaring on in the deep earth as though the dragon-guards of hell tore apart the world at its foundations. Neither did the to ocean itself cease to tremble in fear of the Avatar's wrath, however many miles away he was wreaking havoc. Neither did the wind die, fleeing from Aang like a blind stampede of swift-winged horses, whipping Katara's hair about in a ferocious, stinging dance.

It was not remembered whether, after several long hours - or days, or weeks, or years it could have been - if it was Zuko or Katara who looked up first. They came to decide that they gazed up simultaneously; but this they could never clearly prove. And at no time did they agree on what they saw, or who they saw, in those last, obscured minutes of the destruction of the world. Except for on thing.

Their eyes.

There is no use, trying to explain their eyes. It could be said that they held all the knowledge of the world in their two gazes, all the wisdom and power of the many thousand years the world bore under the moon. But this was in no way close enough. They were constant and absolute, yet shapeless and empty, all the while ever-shifting into something new, or something old, or something as yet unseen. Upon the edges of Time they ran, twin lights beneath the eternal dark Void, cascading down waterfalls of unnamed colors in other worlds that dwelt in neither physical or spiritual realms. Beyond thought, beyond immortality, beyond the highest reaches of time and reason and power they came. Light sprang from the shadows of their glance, and yet darkness came with it, and they came not separate, but as one; opposites and yet the same, the force and balance and eternal awareness, combined into a power perfected and unattainable. It passed heaven and hell; passed death and life; passed love and hate. Time did not exist; perception held no sway; and all that poured forth from their gaze came out clean, untainted, soaked in an understanding that outdistanced all mortal and divine wisdom. A faint song arose out of the ancient Black and echoed about the stars within their eyes, the sweet sound of silence that rang out in the Beginning, before the very thought of the world had even arisen out of the darkness.

"So great a thing, was never expected of you. We are Yin, and we are Yang, and always, we are one. Take this chance, and use it well. It is the last hope."

Katara could feel Zuko's heart, his soul, his spirit, the very center of his fire that still contained some gift of power from Kagu. And Zuko could feel within her as well, the soft flow of her gentle heart, the passion, the peace, the torrent of La's cool waters. And for one moment, the line between them blurred and vanished.

And they were one.

"Zuko? Are you listening to me?"

Zuko could still feel the lingering, soothing feeling of Katara's heart and he stumbled abruptly in the snow, as if awakening from some illusionary reality. The voice beside him was familiar, but he could not at once place it, so absorbed was he in the remembrance of the Avatar's destruction, the angelic serenity of Katara, the look of the unearthly eyes that had gazed down so lovingly upon them. The sound of the Silence before the World was ringing in his ears, his blood pumping with an ancient, unquenchable Fire that was, in comparison, not ancient at all. He could not feel the cold wind, or the biting frost upon his face, or the stinging of his eyes as he refused to blink. He was numb with something that reached beyond his body, beyond his feeling, beyond his spirit. Beyond anything and everything he had ever come to know.

"Don't look so worried, Zuko, I just wanted to say that - well, our first order of business should be finding you a priest..."

Zuko heard him, but then again he did not; he seemed deaf one moment, utterly alienated and perplexed, and the next moment he understood everything his Uncle spoke, or didn't speak, depending on how closely he chose to listen. But despite any irregularities with his hearing he turned to Iroh, silent as stone and just as motionless. And to his surprise, Iroh faltered on his words and awe spread across his face.

"Zuko..." he whispered, unable to speak for a brief moment, his eyes wide and unfocused with wonder. His trembling finger pointed sub-consciously at his nephew's face, unaware at the rudeness of the gesture.

"Zuko...your eyes..."

But Zuko was looking up the path now, responding to another voice that called him out of the midst of numb thought and old knowledge. Aang was starting back towards Katara, confused and unsure as to why she stood rooted in the snow, his voice rising dimly with a request to find a water bender.

But Katara was deaf like Zuko, and is some ways she was blind as well; for she could not see the snow, or the rows of iced houses, or the distant sea. But she saw more astounding things in those last fading moments than all the glorious wonders of the earth, all the starlit halls of a high and mighty heaven, all the terrors of a scorching Hell. Even as Zuko beheld her, she became a princess, strayed from a deep enchanted sleep, her gaze still holding desperately to the last few colors of her fantastical dreams. The vanishing rays of dark and light that had mingled so perfectly in the vacancy of that Timeless Void reflected in the sweet blue of her eyes, shining like bound rivers beneath a watchful moon. And deep within her a shred of Zuko's soul still burned, a strength and comfort, a warmth to the ever-growing coldness of the water's vicious edge.

And when Zuko came towards her, she did not back away, but met him willingly. Sokka stumbled upwards from the water's edge just in time to see them embrace, to catch the amazed look on Iroh's face, to see the dumbfound gleam in Aang's eyes. Momo leapt onto his shoulder and he looked warily at the lemur, scratching his head.

"Did I miss something?"

Katara's hair poured across the Prince's chest as he took her in his arms, his lips brushing the side of her face but resisting the temptation to kiss. Then one of Katara's hands slid up past Zuko's shoulder and rose, straight and strong, into the air.

For the first time since they could remember, they felt the soft wrapping of the two half-necklaces; the one about Zuko's arm, and the one about Katara's wrist. Then the overwhelming understanding of Yin and Yang consumed them, and Zuko closed his eyes as the brilliant light of Kagu poured forth from them. Healing water dripped down from Katara's fingertips as she delicately twisted her wrist and closed her fist.

In on fluid motion, a crevasse opened up beneath them and the pair vanished beneath the snow.

Zhao glared out at the horizon, his tongue practically lolling from his mouth, his eyes lowered and glaring like the crazed gaze of a dead man. He laughed subtly at some unknown thought, his body twitching grotesquely, his back arched and bent like the crooked form of a famished demon. He licked his lips and his mind turned to the blood that would soon taint them, beautiful, warm, flowing crimson blood...

"Blood, and death, and pain, and misery..." he hummed to himself, as though reciting a satanic lullaby. "It will control the world. It will control the rebellious. I love...this war..."

"Then you will love this."

Zhao's eyes opened but there was no escape. Zuko appeared before him like a restless ghost, but he held no transparent quality. The mere sight of him was blinding, unreal, and Zhao screamed, trying to look away. But Zuko's flame-coated arms, blaring an unbearably brilliant shade of yellow and white, clasped about his shoulders and hoisted him into the air, his struggles a futile effort against the Prince's immobility.

Zhao thrashed about, but the light of his red fire was dirty and dark and ineffective beneath the cleansing splendor of Zuko's form. Unable to free himself, the very fear he had instilled into so many innocent others broke greedily into his heart and he began to beg, sobbing mercilessly.

Zuko ignored him. He was waiting for Katara, who was delayed for some unapparent reason. When she finally appeared at his side, Zhao found himself unable to breathe, so beautiful and majestic and ferocious she looked, her black hair free and dappled in crystals and flung carelessly over her shoulders. Her eyes cut him in ways he could not define, sapped away the strength of his wretched soul so that he hung, limp and staring, in Zuko's iron, unmoving grip.

"You have no place here, Zhao," said Katara suddenly, and Zuko's hands tightened painfully at the Admiral's shoulders. The pathetic creature howled in pain and continued to cry. Katara swallowed at the cruelness but looked on, resolute. Zuko himself had no problem at all harming that cruel demon. He had seen the bodies in the pit; Katara had not.

"No...no...don't kill me..." Zhao whimpered, his physique small and diminished compared to roaring mgiht of Zuko, the unearthly beauty that was Katara. His pleas faded, and still Katara refused to stir from her rightful place beside Zuko.

"Death will find you, Zhao, whether we bring it to you or not," whispered Katara, sounding almost sad as she said it. "You have caused the world great agony. I have watched the earth benders die as your men attacked them. I saw many more suffer as I drove them off."

"And I have seen your sadistic lust, Zhao," hissed Zuko, clenching his hands tightly again upon Zhao, his shoulder blades cracking unnaturally. "I saw your love of blood and pain."

"Please...please..." Zhao muttered, but he was too numb with terror to speak anymore. Zuko made the smallest, most undetectable glance at Katara, who nodded silently and lowered her eyes.

"We will not kill you, Zhao," she whispered.

It took Zhao a moment to register what she had said; and when he realized the meaning of it, he glared back up with a renewed strength, a cowardly courage that surfaced only when he knew his worst fear would not come to life. He began to curse Zuko as he had done in years passed, began to hiss insults and mockeries at Katara. And that was when his judgement came.

Katara inhaled and let out one ear-splitting scream just as Zuko's eyes blared to the raw ferocity of the sun. For thousands of years, the memory of their dual punishment lingered in the North. So when the Aurora Borealis flared across the dark skies, the faint echo of Katara's cry could still be heard, while the light of Zuko's eyes glistened in the colors of the sky.

And Zhao received his reward, in lonely, silent darkness that resembled, in nearly every way, the effect of death. Zuko's gaze had burned out his eyes, while Katara's cry had shattered his ears; so that even until the day he died he wandered, deaf and blind, rejected, and absolutely alone.

"Zuko, will you swear upon the great Spirits to take this woman as your bride, to protect and cherish her, to treat her with true and just love, until death finds you?"

"I swear it."

"And Katara, will you swear upon the great Spirits to have this man as your husband, to uplift and treasure him in pure and loyal love, until death finds you?"

"I swear it."

Sokka had given up trying to be sour and, despite his feeble echo of disapproval, sat up straight with an unwilling smile playing across his lips. Beside him, Gran-Gran - who had flown on Appa all the way from the South Pole (a month's wait for Katara and Zuko) to stay in the North for a day, to see her granddaughter's wedding - cried loudly and over-zealously beside him. Iroh was patting her shoulder in a vaguely comforting way, his soft smile concentrated solely on the two figures standing, side by side, at the temple's altar. Haru - saved by an empowered Katara, along with his smiling fiancee - sat a few rows back, holding each other's hands in silent joy. Aang clutched his staff and watched the two at the altar with shaking eyes, grinning despite the ache in his heart, as the priestess placed the cup of blessed wine into the Prince's hands.

Zuko's eyes did not leave Katara as he lifted the cup to his lips. Her long hair was pulled back, falling gorgeously down the length of her back. Her skin seemed a shade darker compared to the white fabric of her stunning dress, a borrowed gown from one of the wealthiest women in the North. It slid over the soft curve of her shoulders and down the length of her slim body, almost silk-like but thicker, and cascaded down her legs, trailing onto the red-carpeted floor. When she moved, it shimmered gently, but not in a distracting way. An arctic flower was pinned to the fabric above her breast, decorated with ice crystals and sending flickers of light into the soothing, calm blue of her serene gaze. Zuko finished his sip and handed the cup to her, ready to laugh out loud in his joy.

Katara's hands slid across his as she took the cup, but her eyes did not stray to look down at the wine. Zuko was not longer wearing his ususal suit of armor. His body was shrouded in a traditional Fire Nation cloak that was stained a deep, flowing crimson, an echo of the painted armor that crested his veiled form. The was flawless and glimmering beneath the dark secrecy of the cloak, his shoulders rolling up slowly beneath the dark pads that covered the shirt beneath the metal. But his face remained the same, the dancing scar no longer a flaw, no longer a burden. Katara cherished his imperfection as much as any other part of him, and she would rather have him with his golden, glowing gaze, than any other person in the world.

The glass that returned to the priestess's hand was empty. And as Zuko's lips fell against Katara's, a rousing cry arose in the temple.

But they did not hear it. The mixed, soothing image of light and darkness danced in their minds and they smiled within the kiss.

Zuko and Katara never told anyone what had befallen them, for they never again openly discussed those fateful days in that distant reality, where the world ended beneath the power of the Avatar's darkness. They never again felt the raw power of Yin and Yang, the true heat of Kagu or the passionate flow of La.

But there were times, late in the night, after all the candles had dimmed and the eyes of the world were shut, when the two lovers lingered, half asleep and almost dreaming. It was when they lay, wrapped in one another's embrace, numb to the world and knowing only each other, that the glimpse of that last hour returned. When dark and light became one, when time did not exist, when thought no longer mattered. When the line between Yin and Yang blurred and vanished.

And they were one.

The End

Thanks to Reviews From:

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