Note: Warning for violence ahead.

Part II: Storm

"Once," Aang remembered Gyatso had begun the story as he sat behind the crackling fire, "there was a war between two villages, a war that spanned generations. The leaders of each village were from the families that resented each other the most.

"In between these two villages was a forest of bamboo. One morning, a daughter of the leader of the village in the east decided to take a walk through it, but after some time, she got lost. When the night started to come, she was frightened. She heard someone come for her and discovered that it was a man. He was the son of the leader of the village in the west.

"The daughter and the son had met by coincidence that night, but he was kind to her and had helped her find her home. They started to form a friendship, and this friendship began to turn into love.

"The conflict between their villages still continued, and one day, the man was ordered to be sent to lead his people. However, the man was an inexperienced fighter. The daughter knew that her father would lead her village's warriors, and that her father was a formidable foe. She begged her father to stop fighting. When he refused, she cursed at him. Determined, she tried to meet the man in the bamboo forest.

"Her father found them and saw them together. In a blind rage, he had them both killed on the spot. He had them buried where they died. Immediately, he began to feel remorse, and the next day, the leader of the village in the east discovered a shrub that started to grow where they were buried. It had fragrant white jasmine flowers.

"He shared this news with the leader of the village in the west, and it was determined that the fighting would stop. The jasmine flower was proof of their rebirth, and the fragrance a reminder of their strong love."

Aang and the other children were curious for more when the story was being told and begged him to continue. But, Gyatso had told them that the story was over. He had plucked a jasmine flower from a bowl of water next to him and lifted it for them all to see. It had smelled so nice that evening, and the perfume traveled from the front to the back of the hall on a breeze.

"When you are old enough…someday, you may want to give someone you love this flower," he told them.

Aang had asked if Gyatso had given the flower to anyone special himself.

Gyatso had a gentle smile when he answered the question. "Yes," he said. "A monk from the Northern Air Temple, and one time…a good friend of mine from the Fire Nation."

It was a simple thing to think back on what life was like when he was a child. Easy to sink back into the memories that made Aang himself. He liked to think that things were better, less complicated, back then. They certainly seemed to be.

He thought back a lot on Gyatso's stories. If they meant anything; if they meant anything to him now that he was older.

In his hands now, he cupped the bloom of a jasmine flower. They were only in season during the summer and bore blossoms during this time of the year. Especially since the Southern Air Temple was built so high in the Patola Mountains, it was more difficult for them to grow where it was cool. So, they only grew them at the base. It was always an annual treat for the children to harvest them, and he had fond memories of gathering clippings of them to bring back to the dorms.

He remembered that night with Katara as they passed through the royal gardens of Omashu.

"Like this, Master Aang?" came the young voice of his student.

He turned his head, watching her airbend a constant flow of an air current that kept a few blooms suspended. "Keep it steady, Amrita," he replied. "The flowers shouldn't wobble that much."

Amrita was a curious girl, and eager to please. Even just a few months into her advanced training, she remained so. For such a young child, she was already a gifted airbender. He supposed that it might have to do with the fact that she had mastered the elements hundreds of times in her past lives, but there was something intuitive about the way she bended air that was so uniquely hers.

"Is this right now?" Amrita asked, straining her arms higher.

"Relax," he said. "Your shoulders are too tense. Remember, you are the wind."

Amrita had just turned ten when her guardian, Sister Ceba, and the other sisters of the Western Air Temple requested that he begin teaching her.

Amrita had discovered after careful consideration that she was the Avatar early under circumstances that neither of them quite understood. Sister Ceba was chosen to tell her in private, and this was confirmed by the Council when they reminded her of the four Avatar relics that she had chosen as a toddler among thousands of toys. Both she and those that needed to know were told the same thing, "Storm clouds are gathering." She was encouraged to leave her temple to complete her training, an unconventional method to be sure, but Ceba had said that it was better for the Avatar to be on the move and to have the right teachers rather to stay still with the same teachers.

Aang admired Amrita in some ways. He knew that if it were he who was in her position, he would have resisted. He would have done anything he could to keep his life normal. On the other hand, Amrita was not yet a master of any element, but was young and malleable. She was close to Ceba and many of her friends, but Ceba encouraged her to move forward and to succeed. "We will always be as family, my precious one," she had told Amrita as Aang got Appa ready to take them back to the Southern Air Temple those four months before, "But now, our family will grow. Your master will be a new part of it, and so will those of the south."

He was skeptical, especially at first. How could he really be chosen as the airbending master of the Avatar? Gyatso had insisted that it was the correct choice. "You're talented, young one," he had told him. "You are the youngest master in centuries. Most do not receive their tattoos until the age of sixteen or when they are older. I believe the Council of Elders of the Western Air Temple has chosen well. They have searched all the temples for a suitable master. Sister Ceba agrees that you are the one who should complete her ward's training, and she is the one who should be convinced."

"But," Aang had hesitated in front of his guardian that day, "you knew Avatar Roku. Are you sure?"

"Because I knew Roku, I know that you are the one the Avatar needs," Gyatso replied.

Aang sighed, a tired smile resting on his lips as he recalled the words and the events that brought them here. The summer heat was prominent at the bottom of the mountains, and sweat pooled on his lower back, seeping through his robes. The sound of chittering lemurs that leapt through the branches below echoed in the valley, and there were other children milling about picking jasmine flowers.

He stepped forward and added the flower he had in his hands onto the current that Amrita held steady. Her long brown hair was tied at the end into a bun. Whisks of it brushed her forehead and her light hazelnut eyes, framing her round face. She had a look of concentration. She was pouting and scrunching her dark eyebrows together, but it only looked endearing on a person that barely reached his hip.

Amrita gasped when the flower came into her fold, and quickly lost her control. They spun outward and shot out at Aang. He caught them in his own whirlwind in between his palms.

Aang chuckled at the sheepish look on her face. "Go back to the basics when doing a more difficult technique," he reminded her. "Just like a leaf in the wind, you have to be ready for any change, even if the goal is to keep still."

"It's so hard!" she groaned.

The flowers dropped into his arms. He balanced them in the crook of his elbow, intent on at least bringing a few back up with them. He thought that if he kept the most beautiful one, he could press it into a book and give it to Katara in one of his daily messages. It had only been a week since he had seen her in Omashu, but the promise they had made each other pounded in his chest every moment he breathed. His heart longed to see her again.

"You'll get it," Aang said. "I believe in you." He glanced at the dipping sun, how it turned the sky a deep red, and saw the sprinkle of stars that began to appear. He started to lead them toward Appa. "Let's go. It's getting late. We can keep going tomorrow."

The heat was overbearing. Aang tossed atop his pallet. He already had not slept with the blanket because of the summer weather, but this was something else. It was as if he were in a furnace. It was too uncomfortable.

It was silent. A wavering kind that billowed through the halls and his private quarters as if he were on the edge of a windy cliff. Then, he heard screaming.

His eyes shot open. He sat up, shocked that everything around him was covered with a hue of harsh orange. There was a wobbling sheen in the air, as if he were wading through the Si Wong Desert desperate to find an oasis. He could hear the sound of crumbling, of clanging, of things toppling as people ran by. Sounds he never expected to hear in his home.

When he looked outside his window, he saw that the sky was aflame. He could not see the moon beyond the smoke, the fire. There were black burn marks on sides of walls, and monks in their night clothes bending air to fend off what looked like hundreds of Fire Nation soldiers. They were flying, spouts of flame shooting from their hands and feet. It was impossible, yet it was happening.

Incredible, horrifying blasts of fire whizzed past people, hitting others. They were larger than a sky bison. Ash rained from the heavens.

"Use the Great Comet's power!" yelled a feminine voice from somewhere down below. "Find the Avatar!"

There were only a few hundred Air Nomads that called the temple their home. They were outnumbered.

"No," breathed Aang.

There was no time to think. He threw on the robes he had draped over his desk, toppling over a container of drying ink brushes in the process. He shoved his feet into his boots. His hands grabbed onto the glider staff next to the door. He hesitated for a second over the book where he had pressed Katara's flower. He took it and shoved it into his chest pocket.

He shot out like an arrow around the bend, headed straight for the guest dormitory. For now, he was in luck. The firebenders had not made it too far up the temple yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He reached her door as soon as it was opened. Amrita stared at him. Another older teenager girl with hair in a tight braid that shared the room with her stood behind her, seeming worried.

"What's happening, Master Aang?" asked the teenager.

He shook his head. "We need to get out of here," he commanded. "Now. Take only the clothes on your back if you can."

He was leading them to the stables in minutes, mindful of the clacking of their feet. They were running through the halls, sprinting. When they arrived at the back where Appa was waiting, he reeled back at what he saw. Bile rose to his throat, and he wanted more than anything to cover the girls' eyes from the sight before them. But he knew he could not.

There were dead bison and lemurs. Lifeless children next to the bodies of their guardians. He recognized the still forms of Jinju and his charge. His chest constricted. He could not find Appa.

He whipped around, trying to shield them from the scene. "We need to find another way out," he insisted.

"But that's Pemba!" shouted Amrita. Tears collected at the corners of her eyes.

When he looked behind him, he was disheartened to see the small body of one of the dead bison was indeed hers. He gritted his teeth, looking at her in earnest. "We need to get out of here," he said, voice rough. "You're too important."

"No, Master, please!"

He opened his mouth to quickly chastise her, but there was a rumbling in the ground. Fire raced out. A group of about five firebenders surrounded them. The older girl that came with them hollered, running at them with a blade of air cutting from her hands.

He tried to make her stop, but the fire came faster than he anticipated.

"EMA!" bellowed Amrita from right beside him, her hand reaching out for her friend's hand.

He only had a second to look at Ema before she was completely engulfed in flame. A scream caught in her gullet, and when the fire was released, all that was left was the charred remains of her body collapsing onto the floor. The wheezing, jangling breaths that came from her slowed until there was nothing left.

Aang swiped his staff out, forcing a current of wind at their opponents who were sent backwards into a wall. Some of them got up and attacked. He created a vortex of air that entrapped their flames and shot them back out, but there was only so much he could do. There were too many of them and their fire was more powerful than he could handle. He was slammed into a wall, Amrita sobbing by his side.

He grabbed her hand, opening his staff into a glider in the other. He guided her so that she was on the top side of his glider and he controlled the wind from the bottom as he balanced her.

His childhood home was unrecognizable, and from a bird's eye view he could see every piece of it as it was methodically destroyed. His breathing shuddered. His eyes burned. He told himself that what he was doing was for the world, for their people, for Amrita's safety.

Yet, her face was all he thought about as the temple burned. The crystal blue that was Katara's eyes, the easy beauty of her, the sway in her step, the graceful movements as she let the water she controlled coil around her. How that if he were to die today, he would never be able to keep his promise to her. That was all he gave her, his promise. He wished now that he had given her more.

A sea of red swarmed their temple. Children were caught and killed on the spot. The sky was the color of the blood of his people.

He swept them behind tall rocks. Then he heard an explosion, and the running form of Gyatso came sprinting from a hallway, chased by a horde of firebenders into a crumbling building.

"He knows where the Avatar is!" screamed a soldier, and Aang's heart thudded.

Without thinking, he landed them on an outcropping at the highest spire of the temple. The firebenders had not risen to that level yet, but he could clearly see them down below.

Amrita landed in front of him. Her entire body was shaking. Her eyes blinked in white flashes, on and off, every few beats.

He placed his hands on her arms, trying to keep her calm. "Keep your Avatar Spirit inside," he urged her. He grasped onto her shoulders, crouching to her level. "If you let it overtake you, they'll find us. If they find you…it's all over."

"Master—"

"You can't be found, Amrita," he pleaded. The stone that dug into his knees felt like it was slicing into his skin. "You're the Avatar. I don't know what they'll do to you." More than that, he knew she was just a child.

"I'm scared."

"I know," he whispered. He held onto her tighter. "Stay with me. I'll protect you."

"I…I don't know what to do."

"You just need to live," he said. After a short pause he added, "Hide here. I'll help Gyatso, and then we have to leave. We can't turn back."

Her nod was all he needed as confirmation before he jumped onto his glider again. He swooped downward on a burning draft. The smoke obscured him for a moment. As he descended, he moved to avoid a blast of fire.

Soldiers were filing one after another into the same building he saw Gyatso run into. He flew in, just missing another attack, but one of them skimmed his arm and he felt his skin sear. He forced himself to hold in a reactive scream.

He rolled forward, his glider leaving his hands. He stood in the center of dozens of firebenders, and he did not hold back. He fought with his chest, his whole being. Air rammed into them all. He ran in a circle, sucking in the air that surrounded them into a tornado that exploded them outward onto the walls.

For a while, he could hold them off. But the fire was overwhelming. Gyatso was breathing heavily somewhere near him. He had a terrible injury on his leg. Aang and Gyatso shared eye contact. A look of understanding passed between them, and Aang knew, without a doubt, that what they were about to do would change them forever.

There were too many enemies, and they were too formidable. The Fire Nation was attacking them, killing them. Killing their elders, their friends, their families, their children. They could not afford to avoid and evade.

When Gyatso lifted his arms, Aang followed at the same pace, at the same time. Spheres of air encircled the skull-like helmets of a group of their adversaries. He could hear them choking, see them grabbing for their necks, gasping for the air they could not breathe.

Many of them started to fall. Others were desperate to send more fire in their direction. Instead, weak flames sputtered from their fists as they dropped like flies onto the debris.

But as much as this needed to be done, Aang did not feel any pleasure in it at all. He felt horrified at what was happening, that they should take their lives. But he had people to protect. He could feel the wetness of his cheeks as more and more toppled. Their strings cut; their spirits taken.

Whoosh.

A great ball of flame came charging at he and Gyatso. Reinforcements arrived. Aang created a buffer of air to surround them, but it did not help as much as he would have liked. The ceiling exploded. There were flames everywhere. His robes were singed around the edges, and Gyatso looked worse for wear.

Dozens more soldiers came forth, and he knew suddenly that there was nothing he could do.

He wanted more than anything to apologize. He had become a murderer. He would leave his student alone. He would leave the love of his life alone, and he hoped that Katara would forget him. At least then she would never know what happened to him or what he had to become.

A crash, and he thought it was all over. But there was groaning, and when he gained control of himself again, he was met with the giant face of Appa. On his back and holding the reins was Amrita.

"Get on!" she shouted. "Hurry!"

He grabbed his fallen glider. He latched onto Gyatso, tugging him along with him, and pushing them upward on a whirl of air until they were tumbling on the beast's back.

"Yip, yip!" he called as soon as they were on, and Appa soared into the air.

The soldiers were distracted for enough time. He threw wind at the dilapidated structure that started to fall below them and trapped many of them inside. They flew into the smoke, covered by the clouds and shadow, racing into the depth of the night into the Patola Mountains. Below, he could see the burning jasmine flower shrubs.

Aang thought for a moment where they would go. He saw Katara's face again. The kind way she held his hand, the brush of her lips, the way she always laughed at the way he joked with her. It would have been easy to go to the Southern Water Tribe to hide. Maybe, it would even have been ideal.

But as he sat next to Amrita at the front and took the reins from his student, he knew what the answer was. She climbed onto the saddle, trying to assist Gyatso by tending to his seared leg.

The Fire Nation was looking for an Air Nomad Avatar. If they thought the airbenders had been all killed, they would look in the Water Tribes next.

He looped his hands into the rope, his arm stinging. He ignored the pain. He had to.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Katara," he said into the wind. His words carried far away until they disappeared.

Aang guided Appa around and they headed north.

For weeks they ran.

In the crags of the mountains, the caves, the sloping dunes of stone. The sun set and rose on every day as a routine. He forgot to count the number of days it took to reach each place they stopped, each hour, even.

The Fire Nation was relentless. They searched for any surviving airbender they could, and they remained in constant motion. However, it was difficult to move far when both Aang and Gyatso were injured. They never strayed from each other, always within seeing distance. Aang never allowed even a glimpse of the temple. They had too many brushes with death.

He tried not to think of the lives lost there, but he had a duty to the people that he knew were alive. He had a duty to his student and to his elderly guardian.

"Aang," said Gyatso one evening as they sat next to the dying embers of a fire in a carven they had discovered. "I'm well enough to travel. Do not worry about me."

Aang sighed. He poked at the coals with a stick. They had made sure that any fire they made stayed out of sight and never burned too long. When they were done with it, the remnants were airbended away.

"You're still limping—"

"Yes," Gyatso cut him off, frowning. He peered over to Amrita who was fast asleep on Appa's tail. Appa, who normally did not like being underground, had realized the importance of hiding. He never left the cave if he could help it. Gyatso continued, gaze lingering on the small girl. "I don't think that will go away, young one."

Aang glanced at him, alarmed.

Gyatso let out a breath, slumping a little as he pushed his back on the earthen wall. "Amrita needs a place to train, a home…not this."

"But you know that's impossible."

Gyatso's lips thinned. He did not speak for a long while. "Kyoshi Island," he suggested at last. "The home of a previous Avatar. If there are people who we can trust, who are loyal to the Avatar if we are forced to tell them who Amrita is, it will be the people of Kyoshi."

Aang looked down, dropping the stick. He could feel the eyes of his guardian and master on him.

"…and perhaps when we arrive there it would be the best place to find a way to tell your loved one that you're alive," Gyatso finished.

Aang could feel the burning in his throat, the threat of tears that pressed against his eyes. He could not bring himself to say anything. He felt Gyatso's wrinkled hand as he leaned into him, how his deft, familiar digits kneaded into the charred fabrics of his orange and yellow robes.

"Often, the moments we wish for become the most fleeting," Gyatso said.

He felt for the book he hid in his robes. He did not know what else to wish for but her embrace.

When they reached Kyoshi Island, it was the dead of night. They stumbled on the beach, exhausted and drained of all energy. The sand caught in Aang's boots. The salty waves lapped against Appa's paws as he made his way to the forest that edged the island. He grasped onto Amrita's arm as she slipped on a slick rock.

"Careful," he muttered.

The trees consumed them, tall dark slashes against the midnight autumn sky. The leaves crunched softly under their feet. The quiet was a friend.

Without warning, a shadow dropped from the treetops. And another, and another. The three of them stood alert, all fatigue forgotten. Sharp golden fans appeared at their necks, their faces. Attached to them the arms and bodies of women clad in deep green armor. Bronze and gold headpieces adorned their hair, and their pale white face paint with red eyelids stood out to him even in the dark.

"Who are you? We don't allow unannounced outsiders on our land," said a woman with shoulder-length auburn hair. She had the most elaborate headdress. "Are you Fire Nation?"

"Suki," another woman to her left said carefully. She tilted her head. "I think…they're Air Nomads."

There was a hush in the forest, a rustle in the leaves that had started to brown and fall. One alighted next to Aang's foot. He tucked Amrita's head beneath his arm, hiding her face from view.

He knew they looked tattered, worn. He had stubble across his chin that he had not shaved, and the uneven baldness on his head did little to accentuate his arrow tattoos. Still, he had his hands. He raised them, showing them their backs.

"Please," he begged, eyes boring into the leader—Suki's. "Help us. At least, help her." He let Amrita peek from behind him.

"Of—Of course," stuttered Suki as if in a daze. She lowered her fans and signaled for the rest of the warriors to do the same. "We would be honored to help you."

They were brought to an inn and promptly fussed over by about a dozen or so people. The village's head had greeted them when he heard the news. He was a plump, rather short man with graying hair tied into a strange tall topknot and a beard as long as his neck.

They were offered food, fresh clothes, and accommodations for Appa. The fire they had started in the hearth was the warmest Aang had felt in what felt like a decade. It was also the softest bed he had slept on in too long.

He awoke, refreshed with the sunrise. He shaved his head, washed his face, checked on his festering, mostly healed burn. He was glad that the healer had decided to treat Gyatso. When Aang checked on his guardian, he was fast asleep on the opposite end of their room. His leg was wrapped and elevated. It smelled of medicinal herbs and poultice.

Aang walked onto the balcony to meditate. He would wake Amrita for her daily training in an hour.

He tried to calm himself, thinking only of the breeze. The North Wind, the currents that billowed past him. The heat of the sun's rays.

The comet.

The frantic gasps of the people he killed and the people they killed.

He grunted, pressing his forehead to the cool planks of the floor. After a moment he stood, staring out into the blue of the sky. He thought, as he had for most of his days, of Katara. That calmed him. Just for a while.

He descended the steps of the inn and asked for the innkeeper for ink and paper.

"Please," Aang said, staring at the words he had written with just a few strokes of a brush, "if you still send messages to the Southern Water Tribe, send this one."

He fingered the edges of the book but decided he would not give up its contents. Not yet.

On the parchment paper were two words: I'm alive.

They stayed for a little longer than a year. The Fire Nation did not pass by often, if at all. They seemed to ignore Kyoshi Island, for it was out of the way and of little importance on the map.

To those that did not live in the tiny village they stayed in, they hid their identities, their tattoos. Aang knew their way of life could not be permanent, but Gyatso was right. It was better for Amrita who was so young. Twelve now, and closer to becoming a master. He could say that perhaps she was one already. There was not much to teach her left.

He would train her every sunrise in the forest, and every afternoon in the hills. He made their lessons games, interwove the same stories Gyatso told him about the plants and the leaves. The more she practiced, the prouder of her he became. He could almost imagine what it would have been like if only they lived in a time of peace. If, perhaps, he had a chance to have a family. A sister.

Sometimes when he least expected it, they would ask each other questions. Amrita brought up a girl in the village she was interested in. She thought she was the prettiest in the world.

Amrita asked Aang that same day if he had loved anyone before. If he held anyone close to his heart.

"Yes," he said, and that was all he indulged.

On other days, an occasional trade boat would dock, passing along fish and information about the war. He heard that the Fire Nation had invaded the Western Earth Kingdom, and that the other nations had declared war against the Fire Nation. The Northern Water Tribe was becoming increasingly secluded. He heard whispers of the chief of the Southern Water Tribe. How she would not back down, how she sent her best warriors to the front if they volunteered, how her brother had brilliant battle strategies, how she commanded the waterbenders to build a fortress that served as a protective wall. How sometimes, people said she searched for airbenders.

Then on a spring morning, a small fleet of Water Tribe ships stopped by asking for help with collecting supplies for their journey to the Earth Kingdom.

A man, a little shorter than Aang was but with a wise, confident step, came into view. He had a Warrior's Wolf Tail and a neatly trimmed beard. He recognized him.

Aang reached into his knapsack that he always kept with him now and pulled out the headwrap that he used whenever there were outsiders from beyond Kyoshi Island. He blew out the meditation candles and covered his tattoos with the fabric. He leapt from the balcony to the stairs, taking two at a time. In minutes he was standing in front of the man and rushed toward him.

"Hakoda!" Aang exclaimed.

The man turned around, blue eyes widening into saucers. "Who…Aang?" he asked, dumbstruck.

They grasped each other's arms at the elbow, and then they were hugging each other so tightly that Aang could not breathe. They were crying, patting each other's backs.

"We…we all thought you were dead. All of you," Hakoda gulped, pulling back to look at Aang. He paused to look around. "Gyatso?"

"He's alive," smiled Aang. He raised his eyebrows, voice softening. "Katara is she…?"

Haokda had a sad look when he responded. A dark expression that Aang did not recognize on a man such as he. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than when he had last seen him. "Both she, Sokka, and my mother are alright," he said slowly. "But…Kya…she's gone."

That gave Aang pause. "What?" he gasped.

"She…died," said Hakoda, looking away. Upon closer inspection, the redness around his eyes now seemed like it was a lasting fixture. "After the Fire Nation attacked the Air Temples…they went for the Water Tribes hoping to find the Avatar. Kya she…she protected us. She put her life on the line when I could not…she saved me…saved us. And I…"

They walked to the edge of the dock, away from others. Aang placed a hand on his companion's shoulder.

They did not talk for a long time before Aang broke the silence. "I…couldn't return to her, to Katara, to you or your family or my friends in the other nations," he started. "Not after what happened. We had to keep running.

"I…don't know if there are any other airbenders left. I haven't seen any besides Gyatso and Amirita. As far as I know, we were the only ones that escaped. I've heard that the Fire Nation has been hunting us down."

Hakoda glimpsed upward, shock written all over his face. Aang knew what he was going to ask, and instead of responding aloud, he nodded. "She's alive," he said simply. "My student."

"Then…"

"Someday soon, we'll have to find another master for her, but for now we have to keep moving."

Hakoda chuckled, then. Shaking his head, he clasped Aang's arm again. "Right," he agreed. "We have to keep moving. You and I have been through a lot. Too much to stop now."

"The whole world has been through too much," said Aang, stepping away.

"You haven't changed, Aang. You're still wise beyond your years," Hakoda replied with a rueful smile. "Katara has never forgotten about you. She still loves you, and I know you still love her too. I hope that one day, you two will come back to each other."

A few days after the Water Tribe men left, a rumor started to go around that there were Air Nomads in the mountains on the southern tip of the Earth Kingdom. They heard it from a storyteller that came into the village, full of mystery and music. He even had a traditional beaded necklace as proof. "They say," he said, "that if someone knows where to look, they will find them."

At first, he and Gyatso were doubtful. They had not heard of these kinds of stories before. But the storyteller kept talking about people coming down the mountain to forage, whirlwinds of air that popped up on sunny days, the roar of a sky bison. The details were so accurate that it was difficult to ignore.

In the end, it was Amrita that convinced them. "C'mon, Master, Gyatso!" she giggled. "Maybe we could find more of our people! Don't you want to try?"

"Alright, little one," replied Gyatso as he patted her head. "We will check just this once, but we will turn back if there are none."

The thing was, Aang knew that Gyatso wanted more than anything to find more of their people. He knew how he felt because he wanted to as well. He wanted to know who survived and if there were others. But he also knew that something could go wrong. There was a silent agreement in between them that they would remain on high alert. They would not stop, nor would they risk unnecessary movement outside of their goal.

They left at dawn on Appa's back and arrived that evening in the mountain peaks near Chin Village where the storyteller said the Air Nomads were spotted. The continent looked vaster than Aang had remembered it after being secluded on an island for so long. Beneath them, the tiny village looked like little bursts of light and stars in the night.

They chose a hidden alcove where they camped. Still, the excitement kept Aang awake. He did not sleep much and was already rolling his blanket when Amrita and Gyatso woke.

They ate a meager breakfast of nuts and lychee fruit when they heard the chimes. All of them stilled, hearing the familiar tinkle of the wind chimes that used to surround their temples. They acted as gestures to the air, to gauge the wind for that day. It was a toll, a few notes, a distinct sound.

It was easy to follow the sound for it was just up the bend. They each walked with a skip in their steps to the top of the mountain. Amrita was ginning, Gyatso was humming an old lullaby.

They saw a cave up ahead.

"Look!" beamed Amrita. "Is that…a dorje?"

Aang nodded, placing a hand on the decorative drum. "And a staff too," he pointed out. There was one laying on the wall on the other side.

"Someone is living here," agreed Gyatso.

Aang turned to him, about to respond, when there was a shift in the air. He felt it on his skin, the tingling on the nape of his neck. Even the headwrap he wore shuddered. He moved just as an arrow flew past them and struck the dorje.

"Run!" he shouted.

Archers came after them, bounding down the cliffs with just as much ease as they. Aang shoved his arms backward, willing the air to his command, a bubble forming a shield around them. Gyatso was keeping up, but only just. His limp kept him from gaining too much speed.

Amrita spun upward, creating a vortex that sucked up the arrows and sent them back. Aang augmented her abilities from behind, pulling Gyatso's arm around his neck.

"Leave me!" Gyatso pleaded.

"No!" Aang said back with a fierceness that could have pierced steel.

Appa appeared, growling. He lifted his tail and thumped it until it blasted all the archers away. They scrambled onto the saddle.

Aang heard a sharp twang. An arrow was headed toward Amrita who was still lifting her leg onto Appa's back. He did not have time to move when Gyatso did for him.

Appa rose into the air and into the clouds. Gyatso was lying on his back, an arrowhead deep within the right side of his chest where his shoulder socket met his clavicle. A yellow liquid dripped from the shaft, and Gyatso huffed every time a drop of it hit his skin.

"Aang…Aang…take care of her," Gyatso rasped. "Live, my young one. Live."

His world crumbled, and all he could hear was the distant roar of the blood rushing in his veins as he steered Appa south.

He must have flown them for days without stopping, only to break off the shaft end of arrow and try to patch what he could. He could not remember how he got to the front to the reins, nor how the snow got into his eyes.

The Southern Water Tribe was a sight he thought he would never see again, if not so soon. But it was the only place he could think of to bring Gyatso. It was the only place he knew of that could heal him and save him.

A storm was brewing, a blizzard. Snow blanketed the ground and made seeing things near impossible. Appa descended near the wall of the capital without any prior announcement. Aang ended up pounding on the gates, begging for help, frozen tracks of tears on his cheeks.

He could see the rush of warriors, of waterbenders. His hands were tied together, and he heard shouting, an urgent command. Appa stomped and men bellowed.

A face emerged near to his, bright blue eyes staring down at him. He heard a voice, a cry. He lost all consciousness when he heard his name resounding through him like a half-forgotten dream.

Aang heard a pan flute playing a beautiful, familiar tune. One he himself used to play as a child.

He shot up in bed. A thick comforter slid down his bare torso. He shivered, hunching into himself. He coughed and something rattled in his chest. The playing stopped. A cup of water was brought to his face. He glanced up.

Katara smiled at him, but it did not reach her eyes. In her lap was the pan flute. "Aang," she said, voice soft. "Drink this." She urged him to sip on it. When she was satisfied that he had done what she asked, she placed the cup down. Her lips trembled. She cupped his cheek. Her fingers were gentle on his coarse skin. He wanted to lean into it.

He had not seen her for so long, had not heard from her in two years.

When he looked at her again, he saw something else. Something broken that he recognized all too well because he had seen it in the mirror for the two years he had been away from her. But still, she was here.

He pressed his face into her neck and sobbed. "He's gone, isn't he?" he quivered.

He felt her nod. "He was already gone when you arrived." She wrapped her hands around him. "I'm so, so, sorry, Aang. I'm so sorry."

He held her close because that was all he could do. Like a storm, she changed with him, and she moved when he could not.

Aang spent the next several days recuperating. Then for weeks after that, he was training Amrita again. Katara stood on the sidelines of the waterbending hall, watching.

"Good," he said. "The form was perfect."

A pause.

"Master," began Amrita, shifting from foot to foot. "You've tested me on all of the tiers. You know it was perfect. I…"

"I know what you're going to ask, and the answer is no."

"I've mastered all thirty-six tiers, even your air scooter!" Amrita shot back. She waved her arms in front of her as if to demonstrate. "Please, Master! It's what Gyatso would have wanted…what I want."

It was the look on his student's face, the mention of his guardian's name, and the way Katara stepped toward him that undid his resolve to resist.

"Okay," he said.

After, it was not easy to prepare. However, he remembered Gyatso's words, how he had told him to live and to take care of her.

Even so, it was Katara's hands that brought him through it. It was her care and her help that collected the ink, the bamboo needle, that set up the tent. She had stayed up with him, even after a day's worth of leading her people. She encouraged him, healed Amrita and watched with a careful eye as he inked her skin with the arrow tattoos of a master.

He was the only one who could do it now.

Sokka and Kanna were there at the ceremony afterward. He was the one that presented her to them, to the tribe that could attend. He rang the only gong they had, commanded the wind to create a song that once a hundred people used to make. He imagined the bells, the chimes, the way the currents would grace them and his people.

"Often, the moments we wish for become the most fleeting," Gyatso had once said years ago.

He wondered then, who and what he wished for the most at that moment. His grief was there, and it was raw. He was told to live, but that was all he had to go on.

He met Katara's eyes.

Aang walked down the dais and he and Amrita bowed toward Katara. "Chief Katara of the Southern Water Tribe," started Amrita, "It would be an honor to learn waterbending from you."

After, he took Katara's hand. His heart was heavy, but Katara's touch was warm. They stood on the steps of the chief's palace. Katara, now a leader in a time of war. Her brother, a warrior who knew what it was like to defend from an army. Aang, unsure what to do nor of what his purpose was now.

He did not realize he had said it aloud until she was kissing the words he said away. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. "You're kind, and gentle, and loving," she said. "You do have a purpose here. With me, with Avatar Amrita. Even if you don't think so, she still needs you…I need you."

"We've both lost so much."

She brought him close. "But now we have each other," she murmured into his ear, "and a promise to keep."

He was the one to kiss her this time. "And a promise to keep," he remarked. He remembered the book. Somehow, he had kept it close to him all this time, even after he had been healed. He reached into his chest pocket and pulled it out, presenting it to Katara.

"It's a jasmine flower," he informed her when she opened it. The dried bloom showed itself as she cracked the tome open. It still had a prominent fragrance. "I've been saving it for you. Gyatso used to say that the jasmine flower is a reminder of a strong love…and I…"

She shut the book and grasped onto his front, bringing his lips to hers again.

There would be trouble. There would be war. But amongst everything, they had each other. They would lead together and do what it took to bring hope back to the world.

"We'll fight," she added with conviction, mouth brushing against his. "One day, we'll win."

Katara was a perfect storm. She was the passion for life he desired. She called him her clouds and told him that he was the soft comfort she needed. He needed her too.

He did not know how much he needed her storm, her rain, her thunder. Not until he had lived without it.

It did not matter if it took one-hundred years for he and Katara to have their peace. They would have it. For now, they would make their own balance of clouds and storms that forced them apart until they clashed together again.

They were alive.


Note: Well, there you have it. The extremely less fluffy, but more angst-ridden, pining, part 2. If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment down below!

Some notes:
-Amrita is a Tibetan name meaning beloved or divine.
-Pemba is a Tibetan name meaning a boy born on a Saturday.
-Ceba is a Tibetan name meaning dear to hold.
-The jasmine flower story is loosely based on versions of the romantic sampaguita story from the Philippines in which two lovers from different warring villages meet and fall in love. In a version of the story, there is a bamboo fence that separates them where they meet. When the man dies in the war, a sampaguita shrub grows. In another version, the woman's father kills them and the shrub grows where they died. A sampaguita is also called a Philippine jasmine or Arabian jasmine.