Chapter 1: Innocence Lost
Part 1: Sokka
The tribe was in chaos. The black snow continued to fall, ash-mixed snow falling on the battlefield that had once been a peaceful home. Ice and snow were both turned into water by flashes of fire, only to refreeze on the icy ground. Fire Nation soldiers ripped tents apart and lit them on fire. Without water benders to slow their progress and put out the flames, there was no stopping them.
Sokka ran, hiding behind tents, snow or ice piles, or occasionally bodies that he refused to look at.
He couldn't find his sister. Dad had put him in charge of her, but she had taken off minutes ago.
A familiar small blue parka nearly flew across his vision. Katara.
He charged out from behind the burning tent and grabbed her, dragging into the only safe place he could see. A box made out of animal hide and bone, half-buried under the snow. He shoved her inside, her cries making no sense to him as he squeezed in as well, pulling the lid shut over them.
Katara's hands slapped his back, and he realized that he had lost his parka.
"Sokka, let me out! Moms in danger! We have to find dad!" She begged, fists slamming into his back with what little force she could manage in the tight space. Sokka closed his eyes, praying to whatever spirit would listen that the fire nation soldiers wouldn't be able to hear her.
"Sokka! Sokka!"
"Quiet," he hissed, one hand reaching pack and pushing her head against his shoulder. She kept screaming. At this rate, someone would hear her. He twisted, pushing himself closer to her so that he wouldn't accidentally open the lid. Desperate, he did the only thing he could think of to quiet her. He pulled her hood over her face and pulled her close to his body.
She kept thrashing, her voice raising until he was sure they were going to be discovered. Then she went limp. He waited a moment before he let her go. Pulling her hood up to sigh in relief when he saw her sleeping peacefully.
Exhaustion hit, and he succumbed himself.
He was woken up by the sound of crying. The high pitched wails and raw screams that came from grief. He had heard it once before when one of the elder's had passed on. Rolling away from his sister's sleeping form, he pushed the lid open, finding it stiff with recently fallen snow.
Outside, his home was… gone. Half burned tents had been stretched out to cover as many people as possible. What few things that were not burned had been moved together and away from the mourners.
His eyes passed among the living as he realized with dawning horror, that less than half of the tribe remained.
He didn't see anyone his age. He wandered over to the crying people, searching for someone safe. He needed mom, or dad, or Bato. Even gran-gran would be fine.
He heard his dad's voice.
"Da- Daddy!" His cry drew the attention of the entire group. But he was already running for the only person in the world who mattered at the moment.
His father met him halfway, pulling Sokka tight to his chest as he sobbed. He couldn't stop, he couldn't let go. His fists felt frozen in on his father's familiar parka as he buried his head deeper into the warm shoulder.
His dad was murmuring sweet words, ones that had no real meaning. Just his father's voice was enough at the moment.
After a moment, his dad sat back and pulled him away.
"Sokka, where's your sister?" His father sounded… resigned. Like he already knew the answer. Sokka opened his mouth then closed it. Standing, he grabbed his dad's hand.
"We hid," he explained, pulling his dad back to the almost invisible box and opened the lid.
His father took one look at his sister and broke down crying yet again. Bato, who had been following close behind, quickly pulled her out.
"Hakoda… she's alive," Bato said, looking at Sokka's dad with concern.
"I know… I'm just… so grateful," and again, Sokka was pulled into his father's arms, as the grown man sobbed in relief.
"Dad… where's mom?"
His only response was his father's continued crying.
Part 2: Azula
There were four things that Azula knew without a doubt.
One that she was a prodigy. Her father often would remind her that she started bending at the same time she began walking. Being a prodigy meant that she had to be perfect. It was what prodigies were.
Two, her brother wasn't. Not that she knew what her brother was, other than a disappointment. That's what dad always said. Don't be like your brother Azula, he's a disappointment.
Three, Ty Lee was the cutest girl in the whole world. And that was including herself, and Azula knew she could be charming when she wanted to. Ty Lee, though, she didn't even have to try.
And four. For some reason, Azula's mother didn't love her.
Azula didn't know why her mother didn't. It didn't make sense. Her mother loved Zuko, Azula knew she did. Her dad loved her, Zuko loved her, even uncle Iroh loved her in his odd fuddy-duddy way. But her mother only loved Zuko.
"Azula! I want to play!" Ty Lee chirped, grabbing Azula's arm and trying to drag her towards Mai. The contact snapped Azula out of her thoughts, making her glance back to her mother, sitting under a tree with Zuko, chatting and feeding turtle ducks. Again.
What did Zuko have that she didn't? He was the disappointment, she was the prodigy. That meant that she was great and deserving of love. Zuko should be the one here, wondering why he was such a disappointment and unloved. So why was it her?
She pulled her arm from Ty Lee's hands and bolted into the palace.
Father had taught her how to sneak around, how to hide in plain sight, how to use the palace's natural shadows and curtains to hideaway. But she had never been in the room she was heading towards right now.
Her mother's room was small, a single bed, a vanity, and a tapestry that only reached halfway down the wall. Not much for hiding places.
She went to the vanity first, pulling out drawers and shuffling through face powder, lip colour, and Kohl. Nothing.
Grumbling, she crawled under the bed. There was a single wooden chest under it. Crawling deeper under the bed, she reached the box and pulled it open. Inside was ink, brushes, and parchment, along with other pieces that had been folded to send, but not yet sealed with wax. Who could mother be sending letters to? Grinning, Azula pulled them out and opened them.
The first letter was addressed to 'Dear Mother and Father' and detailed what was happening in the palace. Nothing was exciting, and only one sentence about herself and Zuko. She quickly pushed it aside and picked up another one.
This one was addressed to "My Dearest Ikem," It also didn't say anything about her. Instead, her mother droned on for inches of text about the good times, plays, and love Amongst the Dragons. Then she talked about how kind Zuko was and how gentle. What did that have to do with anything?
She was about to give it up as a bad day all around when the door opened. Azula went dead still, then quietly put the letters back precisely how she found them and closed the box. Her mother's skirts swept past her and settled around the stool on the vanity.
Now was her chance, she wiggled forward, towards the end of the bed when the door opened yet again. She froze, and her eyes met her father's.
Fire Prince Ozai froze, eyes widening, then quickly looked away and turned his attention to her mother.
"Have you seen Azula anywhere? She's late for her lesson,"
Frantic Azula scooted back under the bed, her own eyes wide. What was father doing?
"No, I haven't seen her," her mother's clipped voice replied. She sounded angry. Why? What was going on?"
"I see," her father's feet walked towards the vanity and the stool where her mother was sitting.
"I have a question for you," he continued, standing still right behind her mother. Her mother stood.
"What? I have asked you to never come into my room again, I thought I'd have at least that much respect from you. But apparently taking me by force from everything I love wasn't enough," her mother's words were biting, snappish. Azula stared blankly at the long skirts that belonged to her mother. What was she talking about? Was… was mom unhappy here? Why? Weren't they enough for her?
"I saved you, taking you from that poor village where you would work all your life. I gave you a life of utter luxury, you want for nothing, you have two children to dote upon, what else could you want," her father's words were comforting. He was confused too, she wasn't the only one.
"You never gave me anything, all you do is take," her mother said, skirts taking a step away from the vanity.
"Ursa, please. You are being unreasonable,"
"What's your game Ozai? You never talk like this in private. Are you finally worried about the servant's gossip? A little late for that,"
"I simply want to understand why you have chosen to shun our daughter. What has a five-year-old done to be treated so cruelly?" Azula's father demanded, one foot sliding across the polished wood floor.
"I have never mistreated Azula, which is more than what I can say for you to Zuko," her mother snapped back, unmoved.
"Zuko is a failure, his talent at bending will always be weak. As such, he will always be weak," her father said.
"And Azula is a prodigy, does she even know what that word means?" Her mother said.
The voices of her parents raised as the conversation turned into a fight. Azula curled into a ball under the bed, arms wrapping around her ears.
"No matter how you feel she is still your daughter,"
"Do you know why I will never love Azula? Because she is just like you!"
Silence filled the room with tension that made moving impossible.
Finally, her mother spoke, the words thick with an emotion that Azula couldn't pinpoint.
"Every time I look at her, all I can see is you, the man who took me from everything I loved, forced me to bear his children, and dangled the lives of my family right above my head. I will never be able to love either of you,"
"My father wishes to speak to us as to the children's progress. You are expected to be there," her father said, ending the conversation.
"Of course I am," and with that, her mother left. Alone in the room, Azula's father spoke, his words echoing through her mind.
"Don't forget Azula, in this family… I'm the only one who loves you,"
Part 3: Aang
The brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows of the circus made a beautiful backdrop for watching his family firebend. Aang swung his legs back and forth on the wooden barrel as his uncle instructed his sister Dawa in some of the most complicated bending forms know to firebenders. The performance art known as Living Fire was something of a specialty of their circus. True other troupes and single performers could bend Living Fire, but his family was unique in having three people who could all use Living Fire. Not only that, but their circus also had the best acrobatic act in the entire Fire Nation.
Of course, the reason for that was air bending. Aang and his mother were airbenders, descendants of some of the air nomads who escaped Fire Lord Sozin's attempts to wipe out their race.
Aang watched as Dawa's hazel eyes, the only part of her that hinted at her air nomad heritage, narrowed in concentration as she mirrored their uncle's moves. Slowly the fire bent to her will, moulding itself into a vaguely streamlined shape.
Aang leaned forward, watching as slowly the body gained a head, then gaps to show the mouth and eyes. He could see the sweat beading across Dawa's brow, flattening her coarse hair to her forehead.
The fire went out suddenly, and his sixteen-year-old sister collapsed to the ground.
"That was so cooool!" Aang shouted, jumping into the air far higher than what should be possible for any non-bender. Dawa stood up and grinned.
"Of course, it was! One day I'm going to bend Living Fire as easily as dad or uncle!" she boasted. Their uncle shook his head and came up behind her.
"Not until you can hold the form for more than five minutes, mastering fire bending is nothing compared to mastering Living Fire," he said, clapping Dawa on the back hard enough to nearly knock her over. Aang smiled and crept away.
Hidden out of sight between boxes and the back of a tent, Aang started practicing bending. Fists flashing, he punched, leapt, and copied the movements of his sisters earlier lessons.
"One day, I'm going to be the greatest bender in the world!" He laughed, fists lashing out again.
Sparks showered to the dry grass. Aang froze. That… that wasn't supposed to happen. He was an air bender, how had he just-
The sparks caught, and a small blaze began. Panicked Aang bent down, ripping dirt out of the earth and throwing it on the flame until it sputtered out.
Gasping in relief, he sank to the ground, staring at the small pile of dirt that had smothered the fire. How had that happened? He was an air bender, not a fire bender. But there was a possibility. Only one being could bend more than one element, but that should be impossible.
His heart was pounding inside his head. Nothing was making sense. So he did the only thing he could think of.
He ran.
He had no idea where he was going. He just ran, probably faster than he should have in public, he bumped into someone, and he could hear shouting behind him. Aang glanced back and slammed into someone.
They both fell backwards with loud thuds. Aang scrambled up almost immediately.
"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," he said, offering his hand to the old man who still sat on the ground across from him. The stranger blinked then took Aang's hand with a smile.
"It looks as though we're both in need of a hand up," he said as he stood. Aang frowned.
"But you're the one who was on the ground?" He said. The old man laughed, his eyes gleaming with mirth. He was pleasant looking with long grey hair that was beginning to bald across the top, bright yellow eyes, and a large round belly.
"Perhaps but, I wasn't running through the streets crying," the man added.
"I wasn't crying," Aang said, wiping away the wetness from his cheeks. The old man chuckled.
"There's no shame in tears, come let's talk about this over a cup of tea. My favourite is Jasmine, what's yours?" He held out his hand to Aang who paused, but then took it.
—
The old man must have been a regular as when he entered, they were immediately given their own room, and the server bowed formally. He waved the motion away.
"Please, none of that here, treat me as you would any other-" he cut himself off and glanced at Aang.
"Actually, may we keep the private room? I suspect this young man might need it,"
They were ushered to a small room with only a table, two cushions, and a painting of fishermen on the sea. The quiet made Aang fidgety, but the old man sighed as he sat on his cushion.
"Nothing is quite as relaxing as waiting for tea with someone new," he said, resting his hands on the table. Aang shifted.
"If it is not too presumptive, may I ask, what lead a boy your age running through the streets crying?"
"I nearly burnt my home down," he muttered, looking up at the painting. The people in the picture stood frozen, half-cast nets hanging suspended in the air.
"Ah. Accidents do happen. It isn't uncommon for young firebenders to start fires when they're emotional. I'll have you know I used to be quite the firebug when I was a child," the old man laughed again at that. Aang froze.
He couldn't tell the truth.
He should have been used to that by now, but somehow having to lie to the old man who sat across the table from him… prickled him. But what option did he have?
"Can someone who isn't the avatar bend two elements?"
What was wrong with him! He was supposed to lie. Instead, he might have well stood up and shouted, "Here I am! Come get the new Avatar!"
Wait, no. Aang wasn't the Avatar, there was some other answer, there had to be. And this old man was going to tell him that there were tales of duel-benders in ancient legends or something like that. He had to. He just had to.
The old man froze, his eyes widening as he met Aang's eyes.
"Not… not me, I have a friend who's… um… a colonial! And his mom's an… earthbender? And his dad's a firebender. He always thought he was just an earthbender too but then he accidentally firbent while we were practicing together. It scared me so much I nearly burnt a tent down… and in the circus fire travels quickly-"Aang cut himself off. He was rambling. Clearing his throat, he finished the question.
"So… is he the Avatar then? Because I thought the Avatar of Earth was still alive, even if he's… you know… locked up,"
The old man frowned. Before he could answer, the sliding door opened. A lady handed them a tea tray with a pot of tea and two cups, bowed and closed the door. Aang watched the old man consider as he poured two cups of tea. After taking a long sip, he sighed.
"Throughout history, there has only been one being who can bend more than one element. The Avatar. If your friend was able to bend two elements, and it wasn't some trick or illusion, then there is only one thing he can be," the old man said. Aang felt his stomach sink. He wasn't surprised, but he had hoped that he would hear something else. Anything else.
"That being said, the cycle has always moved in the same pattern. Fire, Air, Water, and Earth, there has never been an avatar that was of the same element as the previous," he laughed jovially, gold eyes glittering, "and I doubt that the cycle would have had time to come full-circle."
Aang sipped his tea quietly. So what then? Was he actually the Avatar of fire then? But that didn't make sense. He was sure he had heard that the Avatar was born to the bending type that they would represent. His first element had been Air, not fire. What was going on here?
He glanced back at the old man. Maybe he could figure it out with this stranger's help. He'd have to be careful then, to make it seem like he was just curious.
"I guess he was playing a prank on me," Aang said, putting the teacup down. He gave the old man his biggest smile.
"What sort of stories do you know about the Avatar? Most people don't really talk about him." The old man put his teacup down.
"For good reason. Our nation dislikes discussing the Avatar because of the actions of Avatar Roku and Avatar Korra went against the actions of the Firelord of the time. The fact that we hold the Avatar of Earth captive does nothing to levy the bruise that Roku left," the old man sighed deeply.
"I would not recommend asking many about the Avatar, not while the war continues. It would be best that no one hears of your friend's prank either. It could put both of you in a great amount of danger,"
"But, I'm fire nation!" Aang insisted, standing up. He winced and quickly sat back down. The old man continued looking at him, his expression unchanging.
"Yes, but that will not matter to the Firelord. Unless the Avatar agreed to work with our nation in the war, he would see the Avatar as an enemy," the old man said. Aang closed his eyes, his chest and stomach hurt. Swallowing, he opened his eyes again and met the old man's gaze.
"Can you tell me those stories now?"
