Disclaimer: All rights belong to Nickelodeon, Bryan Konietzko, Michael Dante DiMartino, and all the men and women that created the A:TLA show, books, and comics. I take no credit, and I do not mean to break any copyright rules. This is simply a work of fiction made for enjoyment. No money is being made.

Rating: T for violence, character death, some implied scenes

Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm back for more Zutara! This is a Reincarnation AU, but I'm lazy with doing research so I've decided to loosely base most of the chapters off actual historical events/historical fiction. For instance, the next chapter will be a Trojan War AU, there's a Mulan AU in here somewhere, etc. For those of you who have read The Last Waterbender, I promise I'm not going to be as reliant on the source material as I was in that fic. Most of these chapters are going to be upwards of 10,000k each, so I'm not going to be updating as often as I usually do. Right now I'm planning for about 10 chapters (one chapter for each life)

I hope you all enjoy!


Present Day - Japan

The stone gleams a brilliant blue underneath the bright lights of the display case. The carved waves are etched masterfully in swirling patterns that fall into shadows under the lights. The moment Zuko sets his eyes on it he knows he has to give it to her.

He tries to move on, realizing how ridiculous his thoughts sound. Focus, he tells himself. He came here to find a birthday present for his sister. She's not a huge jewelry person, but he's not sure what else to get her. Resisting the urge to go back to the blue stone, he continues looking at other pieces. He finds an antique ivory comb studded with rubies, amethysts, and citrine that wind together to create a glittering flame. He points to it and the assistant across the counter pulls it out for him. It's a little expensive, but he thinks his sister will actually like it.

As he heads to the register to pay, he passes the blue stone again, and this time he can't help himself. The assistant doesn't even ask before pulling it out and setting it on top of the glass counter.

"That's an old piece," the jeweler says, coming to stand by his side. "It was pawned to us by a lady who said she found it in her mother's things after she died. Apparently it was a family heirloom dating back generations - to the American Revolution, at least. But times got hard and heirlooms are only as valuable as the memories that come with them - unless you sell them, of course."

"It's the same color as her eyes," Zuko says, unable to tear his eyes off it.

"Your girlfriend?"

He shakes his head. "No. Just a girl I know."

"But you want her to be your girlfriend?" The jeweler smiles and nods his head towards the piece. "Buy her that and she won't say no."

Zuko doesn't want to buy her love. He doesn't even know if he loves her. He doesn't know if they could have a future together. But the stone gleams the same way her eyes do when she smiles and when he closes his eyes he imagines the stone around her neck and it looks right. He can see it as clearly as if he's seen it on her before. As clearly as if it was always meant to be worn by her.

It's far too expensive a trinket to buy for a girl he barely knows, but he finds himself pulling out his credit card anyway. Something is drawing him towards the stone, calling for him to buy it. And he is already imagining how he's going to give it to her, how she'll gather her dark hair off to the side and let him tie the ribbon off in the back. Then she'll turn to him and smile and all will be right in the world.

The jeweler sets the necklace in a box and wraps it up tight with a ribbon. "I can also make a custom gift tag," he offers. "What is her name?"

"Her name is Katara."


Ten Thousand Years Ago - Mesopotamia

Zuko's eyes are set on the girl standing by the edge of the water. Or rather not the girl, but the necklace that hangs around her neck. As if taunting him, she reaches up a hand and traces the curve of the blue stone absently. His jaw clenches as he watches.

His gaze shifts back to the men hidden alongside him in the brush, all tightly holding onto their spears. Down in the valley below, the villagers carry on with their day, completely unaware of the threat looming above them.

Zuko's fingers curl around the rough wooden staff of his spear. He doesn't like fighting, doesn't like killing, but it has to be done. His tribe has been starving for far too long. It's been nearly three years since the rains fell heavily, and their once lush farmlands have long since turned to desert wastelands. His people have been dying, withering away to nothing. His father, the leader, has only become more irritable and cruel as hard times turn into deadly times.

This is their last chance. Zuko stares down at the hidden oasis. He feels bad for these people, for what's about to happen to them. At least it'll be quick. They haven't had to waste away to nothing like his village. They haven't had to fight to survive everyday. They haven't had to eat their dogs and drink their blood to survive. They've been blessed while everyone around them has suffered.

It's all because of that stone. Zuko's eyes once again go to the girl by the water. The stone is a gift from the gods, bringing them endless water and rain, keeping them alive. All he has to do is get his hands on that stone and the blessing of the gods will follow.

He motions for his best fighter. When the man crawls over to his side, Zuko points at the girl.

"You lead the attack on the village," he says. "Do whatever needs to be done. But the girl? She's mine."

The man nods and goes to relay the message to the rest of the men. Zuko turns back to watching her.

He's always been seen as weak by his father. His father has always put him down, barely tolerated him. Since the famine started, it's only become much, much worse. But if Zuko returns today with victory and that stone in his hands, his father will finally be proud of him. No one will dare call him weak again. And his tribe will be able to not just survive, but finally thrive.

That stone is the key to everything.

Zuko raises his hand, and his men ready themselves. Then he lets it fall and they rush forward, war cries tearing from their throats as they converge on the village.


Katara is kneeling down at the edge of the water, running her hands underneath the flow when she hears the shouts. She stands up straight in alarm and turns to see enemy warriors bearing down on her village, spears held high and a terrifying cry coming from their mouths. She watches as the men in her village - her father, her brother - hurriedly reach for their weapons and run towards the fight. The women and children flee to the trees or to hide in the huts.

Katara is completely exposed with nowhere to run - and one man is rushing straight towards her, a fierce determination in his golden eyes.

She backs up into the water, soaking her calves and then her thighs and her waist as she wades deeper. She prays to the gods to save her as the man reaches the edge of the water. He could easily throw his spear and end her life, but he doesn't. Instead he narrows his eyes and begins trudging through the water towards her.

She backs up farther, until the water is at her chest and her movements are constricted. Her only hope is that one of the men from her village will notice her plight and spear him from behind. But when she looks past the stranger's shoulder at her village, she only sees flames engulfing the huts and hears screams of terror and pain.

The man stops when he's only a few feet away from her. He's still holding his spear above the waterline, but though he's well within range, he doesn't drive it into her. Instead his eyes focus on her neck. Her fingers instinctively reach up to cover the blue stone necklace she always wears.

"Give it to me," he demands, holding out his hand. "Give it to me and I'll let you live."

Katara takes another slow step back. She feels seaweed wrapping around her ankle, but she ignores it. She doesn't believe that he'll let her live - not while she's witnessing his tribesmen killing hers. And even if she trusted him, she wouldn't give away the necklace so easily. It's the only thing she has to remember her mother by.

"Hand it over," he orders, thrusting his hand forward. "Now!"

Katara feels a wave of anger rush over her. How dare he invade her home and take her things and kill her family? How dare he feel entitled to anything of hers!

He may have a spear, but he's trapped chest-deep in water - her element. Katara grew up on the banks of this lake. She grew up swimming and fishing and wading through these waters. This is her territory. She has the advantage here.

"If you want it," she says, "you'll have to come and get it."

She turns and dives under the water, pushing off the sandy bottom as best as she can. There's not much forward propulsion, but once she starts swimming he'll never catch her. She's always been the best swimmer in her village.

Underneath the water, the sounds of the battle disappear. A still calmness invades her senses. She allows herself to relax for a split moment - and that's when the pain hits. A striking pain like nothing she's ever felt before.

She breaks the surface a few feet away and gasps, both for air and from the pain. The man no longer has his spear in his hand, and the water is turning crimson around her. The back of her leg throbs unbearably.

He slowly wades closer to her. Katara pulls herself through the water with just her arms, but her injured leg is a dead weight holding her back. The man grabs her ankle under the water and yanks her back towards him. She fights every second, clawing at the water uselessly.

She feels him grab at the ribbon around her neck and rip the stone off. She thrashes, still held in his grip, as he holds the stone up in the air. His eyes hold its attention as if he's worshipping it.

Katara sees her chance. His grip on her has loosened, and she throws herself at him, using her good leg to wrap around his and driving the edge of her heel into the back of his knee. He loses his balance and falls backward into the water. She pushes down until his face is under the water.

Now he's the one thrashing against her grip. Her strength is leaving her as her leg continues to bleed out into the lake around them, but she holds him under.

After a minute, he stops moving. She holds him under a few seconds longer to be sure, and then she pushes off of him. His body floats upward, his limbs stilled. She reaches out and uncurls the fingers of his fist.

The stone isn't there. Her eyes widen and she grabs at his other fist, but the stone isn't there, either. She moves her arms through the water, straining with her fingers, but she doesn't feel anything. Her necklace is gone.

Katara drags herself back towards shore, half-swimming and half pushing with her one good leg. She crawls onto the bank as the water shallows. As she clutches her bleeding leg weakly with one hand, she hears footsteps approaching.

If it's the enemy, she doesn't care. She's dying anyway. She's lost so much blood already. Her father and brother are likely dead, and she's lost the only connection she had left to her mother. Her village is on fire, her safe oasis violated.

"My dear," a voice says, and she looks up in surprise to see the village shaman kneeling down next to her.

"I'm dying," she says, strangely calm in the midst of all the chaos. It's probably shock; she's seen it before in men who came back from hunting trips with holes in their stomachs or chests from their deadly prey. They're completely calm, even as the life fades right out of them.

"It can't end like this," the shaman says. "Where is the stone?"

She nods back towards the lake. "I lost it."

A troubled look comes over his face. "It won't end until the wrong has been righted," he says. Then he grabs her shoulder with a claw-like grip and forces her to stare into his eyes. "It won't end until the stone has been returned. Remember that."

"It won't end?" Katara laughs weakly. "It's already over."

"My dear child." The shaman looks at her with pity. "It has only just begun."

The moment is broken by the sound of whistling air and then a thud. The shaman's eyes pop out and then he falls sideways, a spear pierced through him. Katara falls back against the sand, her eyelids heavy.

The last thing she sees before everything goes black is the smoke from the fires of her village curling up into the sky.