The sun was just beginning to set when Aang decided it was time to call it a day and find a place to camp. They were all hungry and tired, and he was reluctant to push Appa any further with Omashu still so far away. A brief squabble ensued upon landing about who would do what chore, but eventually it was decided that Aang and Momo would collect the firewood, Katara would put up the tent, and Sokka would gather food for their evening meal. Appa, having done his duty, sprawled on the ground and closed his eyes.
"Get some rest, boy," Aang said, patting his head.
Appa gave a content rumble and rolled onto his back, clearly asking for a belly scratch. Laughing, Aang performed this service and then headed off into the trees. Momo darted ahead in a streak of white fur. After everything that had happened, Aang found it comforting to meander through the woods, just listening to the rustling leaves and the occasional bird calling to its friends. It was the kind of tranquillity one could only find when at peace with nature, and he had missed that. Of course, the stillness was soon disturbed as Momo discovered a particularly juicy bug and started chirruping excitedly.
"We're looking for firewood, Momo. Not bugs," Aang scolded, though the amusement in his eyes belied his chiding tone.
Momo held up the half-bitten bug in offering, as if to say that Aang could have some too.
"No, thanks." Aang scrunched his face. "I think I'll just stick with whatever vegetarian-friendly food Sokka manages to find." He rubbed his gurgling stomach. Hopefully, it would be more than a collection of nut-shaped rocks.
Momo finished the last of his snack and scuttled ahead to pick up the smaller pieces of wood littering the forest floor so that they could start the fire. Aang focussed on gathering the larger branches. Between the two of them, it didn't take long to collect a decent stack of firewood, though it was true the lemur seemed more interested in the bugs he found underneath the fallen bits of timber.
"I think this should be enough," Aang said, clutching the stack to his chest. "Let's head back."
Momo chirruped and took off into the air with his own bundle. Aang had only taken a few steps when pain surged through his chest, squeezing at his vital organs and filling him with a deadly coldness. Gasping, he collapsed to his knees and barely noticed the firewood tumbling from his slackened hold. Everything felt as if it were twisting and writhing inside of him, making him dizzy and his throat burn with the taste of rising bile; however, it was the numbing emptiness spreading through him that frightened him most. The buried warmth he had come to see as a part of himself was slipping away, like frayed threads unravelling with the slightest tug. He closed his eyes, curling into himself as if he could somehow keep the warmth locked inside his body. It didn't help.
A concerned chirrup told him that Momo was beside him. He felt a small paw touch his arm. Aang just breathed in and out, not even caring that dirt was getting into his mouth from where he had pressed his face against the ground. It hurt so much, but the pain was more than physical. It reached deep into his spirit, into his very soul. He clutched his arms tighter around his stomach, feeling the sting of unshed tears burn his eyes.
"Zuko," he managed to choke out in a whisper. "What's happening to you?"
There was no one to give him an answer, but Aang knew in his heart that something had gone wrong. Whatever had happened, it was bad. Really bad. The strain on their bond had never felt as intense as this before, never so crippling.
Momo squeaked in distress and tugged at Aang's cape, trying to pull him back to his feet. When this failed, Momo took off into the air and flew back towards camp, no doubt to get help. Not that Aang noticed. He was desperately trying to keep those fiery threads from escaping his grasp, desperately trying to stop that invisible hand from reaching any further inside of him to snatch away the link. Somehow, he knew that Zuko would die if that happened.
Come on, Zuko! Aang inwardly pleaded, clutching a hand to his aching heart. You have to fight this. I don't know what's happened, but you can't just give up. Please! Please, keep fighting!"
For a moment he almost thought he caught a glimpse of the other boy: a whisper of water, lightning and pain. Then the images faded and Aang was back on the forest floor, curled up on the dirt as his body trembled from the effects of their fragmenting bond. He was still pleading for Zuko not to give up when the agony became too much and he slipped into unconsciousness.
oOo
Pain. That was the only thing that existed in that moment. Pain and fire.
Zuko knew that he should be dead. He'd fallen. Fallen so very far, even as his body convulsed with the shocks of energy ripping through his limbs and vital organs. For a moment his heartbeat had stopped, but then the flames had burst free from deep inside of him, spreading through his chi paths, and somehow he had continued to breathe. Somehow, his heart had found a new rhythm—one that was fragile and small, but still pulsed with life. Now, with no energy to move, he just floated, cradled by the watery hands of the ocean as he struggled to stay conscious. To stay alive.
He didn't know how long it had been since he had lost sight of Azula's ship, but he was just beginning to sink again when his hand made contact with something hard. Instinct made him wrap his fingers around the obstruction, feeling the rough texture of wood—wood that had been doused with wave after wave, yet had still somehow managed to stay roped together.
My raft.
The thought was like a sigh of relief in his mind. With an effort, he opened his eyes and blinked past the splashes of orange painting the sky to look at what was left of his boat. There was a jagged piece of timber sticking up from the middle where the mast had snapped, but otherwise it was mostly intact. Either way, the floating bits of wood would stop him from drowning.
Gritting his teeth, Zuko slowly dragged himself up onto the raft, conscious of each painful motion that it took to get his body out of the water. Black dots swarmed his vision, almost blinding him with a rush of nausea. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. He suddenly found himself on all fours and vomiting as the full force of his efforts struck home. It was too much. All of this was too much. Acid choked and burned his throat, but at last the heaving stopped and Zuko collapsed onto his side, not even caring that there was vomit stuck to his cheek or that his face was just inches from the rest of the foul-smelling pool.
Breathe, he told himself. Just breathe.
So he did, in and out, in and out, just like when he meditated. Slowly, his shaking limbs began to calm, though his heart continued to flutter in his chest like the broken wings of a sparrowkeet. Too exhausted to do anything more, Zuko rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, feeling the fire rippling through his veins ignite with renewed power.
It seemed like hours that he drifted along with the current, helpless and just barely clinging to life. Sometimes, he wished it would end, that the water surrounding him would turn violent as it had the night before and drag him down to oblivion. At least then he wouldn't have to deal with the pain. At least then he would be able to forget.
"You know, Father blames Uncle for the loss at the North Pole, and he considers you a miserable failure for not finding the Avatar. Why would he want you back home except to lock you up where you can no longer embarrass him?"
Zuko shied away from the memory, inadvertently reaching for the flames that were spinning tendrils of heat around his consciousness. Somehow, he sensed that Azula and her lies couldn't exist in the inferno—that fear and anguish were just words with no real significance when compared to the golden flickers of his inner fire. Yet the ache he felt because of his sister's betrayal still festered under his skin like a cyst waiting to burst. Even the physical effect of his injuries was nothing compared to that soul-crushing pain
Too much, a small voice repeated in his mind.
Yes, it was too much. Too much on what had already seemed like too much for him to endure. His spirit and mind felt so battered and bruised, like it was willpower alone that was holding the fraying pieces of his identity together. By the time the raft came to a halt, banking itself on an unfamiliar shore, there was only one clear thought in his mind: he had to get away. He had to survive.
With trembling fingers, Zuko removed the dagger from his boot, grabbed the longer strands of hair he always kept pulled back, and sliced through the lot. The black strands fell into the water, glowing with the silver hues of the moon before being carried away with the tide. His hands were still shaking as he sheathed the blade. Then he set about removing every scrap of clothing from his body that could pinpoint him as Fire Nation. Soon, he was just wearing the grey pants and matching tunic that served as an underlay for most firebending armour. He would have liked to have kept the boots, but together the combination was too obviously Fire Nation.
His chest tightened as the significance of what he was doing struck him anew.
I have to let it go.
Forcing the panicked voices battering against the walls of his mind into silence, he exhaled deeply and summoned a ball of fire to his hand. The flame was paler than usual and the effort to maintain the flow of energy seemed to wrench a new hole of pain inside him, but he still managed to burn through the pile of clothes until there was nothing left but ashes and the smell of singed material. Now it was done, but he felt no relief upon realising that the last of his outward ties to his home had been severed. Instead, his hands trembled even more violently and he had to close his eyes as his stomach twisted into knots. He wanted to vomit again.
Too much, that voice echoed in his mind.
Suddenly he was falling, collapsing face first on the ground as his limbs gave out from sheer exhaustion. It had probably not been a good idea to use his bending when he was still so damaged and weak, yet he could feel the fire continuing to burn in a tiny sun at the centre of his being, whispering of healing and comfort. His heart gave another uneven flutter in his chest. Zuko didn't pause to think, he just drove his consciousness deeper into the wall of flames, sensing that it was the only way to keep the fragile beat alive.
Down and down he went, feeling the inferno strip away all in its blazing heat until he reached the spark that thrummed with life at the core of his being. He pressed himself close to its warmth, letting it wrap around him in a fiery web until there was no separating the boy from the flames. Until he could feel the memories and pain slipping away to become no more than specks of dust on his canvas of thought.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there cradled in his cocoon of fire. Sometimes it felt like days, other times it felt like only seconds had passed. Eventually, though, he realised that he had to keep moving. There were hazy images flickering in his mind: flashes of people and places he knew he should recognise, but it all seemed such a blur. The only thing he knew for certain was the fear urging him forward—the need to put as much distance between himself and whatever it was that he had left behind.
Curling his fingers into the sand, he pushed himself back to his feet and stuffed the dagger into his tunic, along with the Pai Sho tile and water-logged scrap of parchment. His heart fluttered sickeningly in his chest, and he could still feel the fire simmering under his skin, but somehow he managed to half-stumble, half-crawl his way from the shore towards the nearby forest. It was a slow process, and more than once he fell, gasping and gritting his teeth against the shocks of agony that lingered in his body. A part of him just wanted to give up and surrender to the flames, which even now whispered for him to sink back into their calming warmth, but he knew that he could not stop. The fire might soothe his pain, but it could not protect him forever. It could not hold back the nightmare that haunted his scattered thoughts.
Keep moving, he told himself ruthlessly.
Like a blind thing he crawled, no longer able to find the energy to stand. The wound on his shoulder throbbed in ways he couldn't comprehend from the added pressure. He thought he might have fainted at some point, but somehow he managed to keep going. It was a relief when he felt the texture of the ground change to leaf-scattered dirt, telling him that he had at least got away from the shore. However, it was not long before even the sheer force of his will was not enough to keep his limbs in motion.
Breathing heavily, he collapsed on his back and stared up at the sky. Slivers of silver slipped through the canopy of trees. He didn't know if he would be safe in the forest. All he knew was that he could not move another inch. He had finally reached his limit.
He closed his eyes and prayed with all of his heart that he would wake when the sun touched the heavens. If nothing else could be done, then at least let him wake. At least let him live.
I refuse to die like this.
It was his last thought. The flames were already reaching for him again, lulling him into unconsciousness while threads of fire worked their way through his chi paths. As the darkness closed in on his mind, somewhere out on the ocean a scattering of ash and black hair floated away into the night.
oOo
Several hours had passed since Momo had first rushed back to camp, flying in circles above Katara's head and chittering loudly. Even now, she could still remember the fear that had seized her heart when she had followed him into the trees and discovered Aang's crumpled form—a fear that had only increased once it became clear that whatever it was that was keeping Aang unconscious, the sickness was beyond her curative abilities.
Helpless and afraid, she had called for her brother and together they had carried Aang back to camp and settled him down on the blankets inside the tent. She had been so scared while she had sat beside him, just hoping that he would recover. She had never thought that she would be more worried when he awoke.
"Aang, you can't do this!" Sokka exclaimed, blocking his path. "I know you're upset, but just think about what you're trying to do."
"I can't just sit around and do nothing!" Aang shouted, clenching his hands into fists.
"We're already part of the way to Omashu. If you leave now—"
"I could feel him dying, Sokka! Do you have any idea what that was like for me? I could feel him dying and there was nothing I could do!" Aang bit his lip and his hands trembled slightly. "I don't even know if the bond is still intact. He could be dead and I wouldn't—I wouldn't even—"
Katara stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "It's okay, Aang," she said, holding him close. "It's okay."
Aang looked up at her with overly bright eyes. "You understand, right?"
She averted her face. "I do understand. I understand that you're scared and worried and want to know that the Blue Spirit is alright." She took in a breath, hesitating a moment. "But I also know that Sokka is right."
Aang broke free of her embrace. "How can you say that?"
"The Earth Kingdom is huge." She gave a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry, Aang, but even if you did sense that the Blue Spirit is near water, there's no saying that you would be able to find him. It could take days—weeks, even. Are you willing to risk that?"
"But—"
Sokka placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know it seems harsh, but we just don't have the time to go running around the Earth Kingdom in search of one guy. Maybe the Blue Spirit is hurt, but so are a lot of other people. I think it would be better if you just continued on to Omashu like we planned so you can learn earthbending."
Aang faced the other way, dislodging Sokka's grip. "You don't understand."
"You're wrong," Sokka said quietly. "How do you think Katara and I felt when we were given the chance to meet up with our dad? We hadn't seen him in two years, Aang. Two years. All that time we never knew if he was alive or well; we just had to hope and wait. Do you think it was easy for us to follow you to the North Pole instead?"
Aang lowered his head, still keeping his back to them.
"Think about it," Sokka advised.
He cast a frowning glance at Katara and then stalked back inside the tent, clearly having said his piece. Katara watched her brother leave, torn between wanting to follow to make sure he was okay or to stay and comfort Aang. Sokka had never spoken of that time they had almost gone with Bato to meet up with their dad; it had been his decision to rejoin Aang, and she had agreed because she had known it was the right thing to do. Only now did she realise how hard that choice must have been for Sokka. He had always been good at putting on a cheerful front.
Her gaze shifted back to Aang, who stood with his shoulders slumped and his face downcast. She closed her eyes. Speaking to Sokka would have to come later. Right now, Aang was the one who needed her most. She closed the distance between them and slipped her hand in his.
"It'll be okay, Aang," she said gently. "I'm sure the Blue Spirit is alive. You said yourself that he's a tough guy."
Aang continued to stare at the ground. "I don't want to abandon him."
"I know."
They were both silent for a moment.
"I'm sorry you never got to see your dad," Aang said in a small voice. "I didn't think—I mean, I guess I just—"
"It's okay. It's not your fault Dad left to fight in the war."
"I know, but—"
"Don't worry about it. Yes, it would have been nice to see our dad, but Sokka and I both knew that we couldn't leave you." She smiled and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "You're our family too, remember?"
His mouth twitched into an answering smile, if somewhat strained.
Katara looked up at the moon, seeing beyond the silver to the ships that had carried her father away. "Besides, I know we'll see our dad again, just like I know you'll meet up with the Blue Spirit."
He glanced up at her with hopeful eyes. "Do you really think so?"
She nodded. "Can't you feel it?"
Aang's shoulders drooped. "I already told you that I can't feel the bond anymore. I only get a sense of our connection when his life is in danger, but I passed out so—"
"I'm not talking about spiritual connections." She placed his hand against his chest, letting him feel the steady beat of his heart. "I mean in here. Can't you feel that he's alive?"
Aang was quiet for a moment. "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, I think I can."
The smile returned to her lips. "Then you don't have to worry."
He tightened his grip on her hand. "Thanks, Katara."
She nodded and gently disengaged herself from him. "I'm going to check on Sokka. You should probably eat something while you can. There's some fruit and nuts left for you in Appa's saddle."
Aang's stomach gave a loud gurgle. "You know what, some food sounds really good right now."
"Then go eat!" she ordered, laughing as she shooed him along with her hands.
Aang flashed her a grin and darted over to the saddle, which Momo and Appa had been resting beside. Katara stayed just long enough to hear Aang telling the lemur off for stealing some of his portion of the fruits before she turned and entered the tent. Her brother sat on the floor with a knife and a small piece of wood in his hands. The shavings scattered around him told her that he had been carving.
"Hey," he said in a flat voice.
She sat down opposite him. "What are you carving?"
"Dad's boat." He held up the lumpy piece of wood for her to see.
Katara bit her lip to stop from smiling. It looked more like a lopsided fish than a boat, but she wasn't going to say that.
Sokka continued chipping away at the piece of wood. "Is Aang still planning on going after the Blue Spirit?"
"No. I think he's realised it wouldn't be helping anyone if he did."
"Good."
"What about you?" she asked, watching him closely. "Are you okay?"
He sighed and placed the knife and crudely carved boat down on the blanket beside him. "I miss Dad," he admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I don't regret coming with Aang, but sometimes ... sometimes I wish we still could have gone to see Dad. You know what I mean?"
Katara did know. That was why she pulled him into a tight embrace and buried her face into his shoulder, seeking just as much comfort as she was trying to give. "I miss him too," she whispered.
His arms came around her, completing the hug, and for a moment they just held each other. Then Sokka broke away, looking awkward and rubbing the base of his neck. His eyes were suspiciously damp.
"Well, uh, I guess we should probably make sure we have enough supplies for tomorrow," he said, getting to his feet. "We've still got a while to go before we reach Omashu, and there's no saying what kind of food we'll be able to find between now and then."
Katara's mouth twitched into a smile. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Sokka."
"It's still better to be safe than sorry, and you know how much Momo eats. We could be starving before we know it!"
"Momo? What about you? With the way you stuff your face during every meal, you'd think that you were a flying bison like Appa and have five stomachs to fill."
Sokka straightened to his full height. "I am a warrior. Warriors need their food to keep up their strength."
Her smile widened. "Ah, of course. I must have forgotten."
Sokka gave her a narrowed look as if to say he was not impressed with her teasing. His sister was not repentant and recommended that he make sure to pack enough food to fill his five stomachs.
"Yeah, yeah," Sokka said, waving his hand dismissively. "You mock me now, but when we next meet the Angry Jerk, you'll be grateful for my warrior strength."
Some of the amusement died in her eyes. "I almost forgot."
"Mm?'
"Zuko. It's been three weeks since we last saw him. I just ... I guess I just forgot about him. There's been so much else going on."
"Don't let Aang hear you say that. He frets about Zuko just as much as he frets about the Blue Spirit. You'd think they were best buddies with the way Aang was carrying on when the Northern Water Tribe wouldn't let him into the prison to see the jerk." Sokka spun his finger around in the air beside his head. "Air Nomads: crazy, I tell you."
Katara's brow creased. It was a bit strange how protective Aang had become of Zuko. It also made her wonder what had happened to Zuko. They had been told he had escaped from the Northern Water Tribe, but then it was as if he had just vanished. Katara had to admit, it was kind of weird not having him appear every few days with a new plan to capture Aang. Not that she was missing his presence. They had enough on their plate without having to worry about running away from Prince Zuko as well.
But it did make her wonder.
oOo
Something was prodding at his side.
"Wake up," a female voice said. "Hey, come on now. I've brought you some soup."
Poke. Poke. Poke.
"Go away," he groaned, rolling out of her reach.
"You spoke! And here I was beginning to think you were mute."
He sat up on the bed and glowered at the girl standing beside him. She flashed him a smile and held out the bowl of broth. Clearly, she was not intimidated by his glare, or maybe she was just used to it. He didn't know. Her toothy grin and big brown eyes seemed familiar, and he was almost certain that she had given him food before, only—only he couldn't seem to recall meeting this girl, let alone her name.
His chest tightened and he looked around the small room to find something he recognised so that he could reorient himself. The bedroom was sparsely decorated and the furniture was of poor quality. He also noticed that most of the decor seemed to be in greens and browns. None of it was familiar.
"Hey," the girl said, noting the way the colour drained from his cheeks. "You okay? You're looking a bit pale."
"Where am I?" He looked at her with wide, anxious eyes. "Who are you?"
She laughed. "My name is Fei, and you're in my house, of course. Where else would you be?"
His chest tightened even more, making it difficult for him to breathe. He didn't remember coming to her house. Why couldn't he remember?
Think.
A sharp stab of pain lanced through his mind and he clutched at his head with a gasp, quickly losing hold of the images that he had been trying to untangle. Spirits, that hurt.
Fei placed the bowl of soup down on the bedside table. "What's wrong? Should I get my mum?"
His brow creased. "Your mum?"
"She's a healer. She's been taking care of you for the past two days. Don't you remember?"
He swallowed. No, he did not remember.
"Hey! I just realised that you can tell me your name now!" Fei gave him another of her toothy grins. "I hope that you don't mind, but I've been calling you Lee. We weren't sure if you could talk, you see, and Gran seemed to think that you weren't all there in the head because you didn't respond to anything we said and wouldn't eat unless we fed you, so—" Pink suddenly spread all over her cheeks. "I'm sorry. That was pretty insensitive of me."
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the violent stabbing in his mind. Every word Fei spoke was only making the pain worse. True, some of the blanks were beginning to fill in now. He could indeed remember being fed soup by the chatty girl, as well as an older woman fussing over his wounds, but there were still so many things that didn't add up, like how he had got to this village in the first place. He touched a hand to his shoulder, feeling the bandage that covered—well, he didn't know what it covered, just that it hurt. And that was the problem. He didn't know. It was as if someone had entered his mind and stolen all of the important details, leaving him with just a fragment of his memories.
Fei peered at him with hopeful eyes. "So, are you going to tell me your name?"
"I—" He swallowed again. "I don't actually know..." he trailed off, dizzy with the realisation. What kind of person couldn't even recall his own name?
Fei must have noticed how faint he was feeling. "Easy there," she said, steadying him with her hands. "I guess you were more injured than we realised. Maybe you hit your head?"
He shrugged. Maybe.
She pursed her lips. "I'll get Mum to have a look at you. Maybe she'll be able to figure out what's wrong. In the mean time, I guess I'll stick with calling you Lee." A laugh shook her frame. "Wouldn't it be funny if that really was your name?"
"Yeah," he said flatly. "Hilarious."
A smile twinkled in her eyes. "Don't worry, Lee. We'll get your memory back in no time." She paused and rubbed her chin in thought. "Now that I think about it, I do have something that might help."
He watched as she opened the drawer to the dresser and pulled out a sheathed dagger, something that might have been a Pai Sho tile, and a scraggly piece of parchment. "What are those?" he asked.
"We found them hidden in your tunic when the old traveller first brought you to us." She placed them on the bed. "Maybe they'll help you remember something."
Lee, as he was resigning himself to being called, picked up the wooden counter and examined both of its sides. It just looked like an ordinary white lotus tile to him. He dismissed it with disgust. Next was the parchment, which he was excited to see had something written on it. The characters had blurred together and were slightly faded, but he was still able to make out the words.
"Follow the path of the ancient ways and you will find what you are seeking," he read aloud. "If you are wise, you will not return to this place again."
"Do you know what it means?" Fei asked, looking at him curiously.
He shook his head, trying to hold back the frustrated scream that was clawing at his throat. Fei looked disappointed, but she brightened a second later.
"Well, what about the dagger?" she suggested, pushing the knife towards him. "Maybe that will strike a chord."
Lee sighed and closed his fingers around the hilt. Immediately, a sense of recognition swept through him. He had held this knife before.
"What?" Fei exclaimed, catching sight of his expression. "What is it?"
"I know this dagger," he said in a hoarse voice. "This ... this was mine."
Trembling slightly, he pulled the blade free of the sheath and saw the words etched onto the metal. On one side it said that the dagger had been made in the Earth Kingdom, but it was the other inscription that interested him. "Never give up without a fight," he whispered, closing his eyes.
The words were so familiar, as if he had said them over and over to himself until they had become ingrained in his mind. Somehow, he knew that this dagger had been important to him, that he must have stared at it for hours to even memorise the engraving. What he didn't understand was why. What had made this dagger so special? He tried to sort through his fragmented memories, pushing past the blanks to connect the pieces. For a moment he thought he almost had something: a whisper of a man with grey hair and warm reddish-brown eyes, but then another stab of pain lanced through his mind and the image was gone. Still, the flash of insight had been enough to help him solve one mystery.
"A gift," he murmured, tightening his fingers on the hilt. "It was a gift."
"What?"
Lee opened his eyes and saw Fei wrinkling her brow at him. "The dagger," he explained. "It was a gift from someone close to me."
She clapped her hands together. "You remembered something!"
He looked back at the knife he was holding. Yes, he had remembered something, and like the ripples spreading from a single pebble, he was beginning to catch flashes of other things too. A streak of lightning. A storm-tossed ocean. Fire. Betrayal. Pain. The images were terrifying and confusing, but they were also coming too fast, slicing through his tender mind like a hundred knives. He couldn't handle the onslaught and soon there were black dots swarming before his eyes.
"Lee!"
Hands gripped his arms. Only then did he realise that he was shaking. He went still almost instantly and stared at Fei, his face chalk-white.
"I don't think you should be trying to force your memories right now," she said, looking rather pale herself.
"Yeah," Lee agreed in a faint voice. "Probably not a good idea." His head was still throbbing from the rush of images.
"I'm going to go get my mum, okay?"
He nodded.
Fei gestured to the bowl of broth. "Try to eat some soup. It might make you feel better."
Without waiting for his response, she stood up from the bed and left the room. Lee sighed and ran a trembling hand over his face. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew that he didn't like it. The scariest part, however, was that he wasn't certain if he even wanted to remember what had happened to him.
His fingertips brushed against the scarred flesh that skewed the left side of his face. "Fire," he whispered.
That was all his past had seemed to be: fire and pain. Why would he want to remember that?
"Because that's who you are," a woman's voice spoke in his mind. "Someone who keeps fighting even though it's hard."
Lee squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know why hearing that voice made him want to cry. Somehow, that was the most heartbreaking realisation of all.
oOo
Two days had passed since Lee had first come to his senses, or so Qiao, Fei's grandmother, had liked to call his return to cognitive awareness. Before that, it seemed that he had done nothing but stare blankly unless someone forced him to move. It was no wonder that they had thought him mute. He hadn't spoken once.
Lee didn't like to think about those days. It was shameful to consider how much of a wreck he had been, and he didn't like the fact that there were so many holes in his memories. He could now remember the old man who had brought him to the village, but he couldn't remember where the old man had found him or any of the time that they had travelled together. He knew that he had been injured on his right shoulder, but he didn't remember how or why. Then there were the other memories, the ones that made his head hurt with just the slightest touch.
Fei's mother said that he had mostly likely gone into shock: whatever had happened to him had been so painful that his mind had blocked it out, like a self-defence mechanism. That wasn't exactly reassuring to Lee, who was still trying to piece together his fragmented past. It didn't help that the only facts he had managed to ascertain for certain were that he had been running from something and that it was probably a good thing that no one knew his real name.
Fei tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Lee. Care to share your thoughts? You're being awfully quiet."
Lee was about to respond when he spotted a blue mask nestled on the back shelf of one of the trader's stalls. His body stilled and his heart sped up. Images flashed through his mind: a figure in black leaping over rooftops, a mask glinting from within the shadows, and then the steel dance of dual dao swords slicing through a ring of enemies.
"Lee?"
He shook his head and moved towards the trader. "How much for that blue mask?"
"Two copper pieces."
Lee felt within the pockets of his borrowed clothes and pulled out the copper pieces Qiao had given him for chopping firewood. Money and mask were exchanged. Lee and Fei continued walking down the market street.
"Why'd you get that mask?" she asked curiously.
"It just felt right," he said with a shrug.
She pursed her lips. "If you say so."
Lee chose to ignore her remark. He knew that Fei found him a bit odd at times. He also didn't care. To him, she was just as odd, not to mention talked far too much. Still, her family had taken him in when he had been injured and could barely string two words together. He had to be grateful for that.
They had just finished collecting the groceries and were heading back to her house when they saw the Fire Nation soldiers coming from the opposite direction. Lee didn't pay much attention to them at first, but his head pulsed when he saw one stop and set fire to the closest market stall. The rest of the group just laughed.
"Oh, no," Fei murmured, stopping in her tracks. "Poor Cai. He loves his cabbages so much too."
A crease formed on Lee's brow. "Why isn't anyone doing anything to help? They're all just standing there watching."
"What can we do?" Fei gave him a helpless look. "There aren't any benders left in this town, and the Fire Nation doesn't exactly tolerate disobedience. Look at what they did to Cai's cabbages, and that was just because he didn't have enough money to pay their stupid taxes."
Lee's head was throbbing now. This wasn't right. None of this was right.
"Come on," she said, tugging at his arm. "We'd better go. They'll start harassing us soon."
But Lee wasn't listening. He had just spotted a pair of dual dao swords hanging on display on the wall of the blacksmith's workshop. Without a word, he shoved the pot of vegetables he had been holding at Fei and then slipped the mask over his face.
"Lee, what are you—"
Her voice faded as he ran, moving with an instinctive agility that had him half-running along the side of the wall as he snatched the blades from the display and headed for the group of firebenders. Dimly, he could hear the blacksmith yelling at him, but he ignored that too. His heart was pounding with adrenaline and for once everything made sense. For once, he didn't feel like he was wearing someone else's skin.
More shouts followed him, attracting the attention of the firebenders. They moved into formation even while the cabbage merchant continued to bemoan the fate of his prized vegetables. It was four against one, but Lee wasn't afraid. He was calm. Almost happy. This was what he was used to. This was natural. So he didn't think to question why his mind told him to duck; he just did it, allowing him to slide right under the stream of fire that had been blasted his way. It was a pleasure to see the slack-jawed expressions on the firebenders' faces, but he didn't pause to savour the moment. Instead, he lunged forward in a flurry of steel, knocking down one of the soldiers with a sharp thrust to the side and then swinging around to deflect an oncoming fireball with the flat of his blades.
The firebender closest to him let out a growl and charged. In a display of rare grace, Lee dropped to one knee and brought the hilts of his blades up into the man's chin, knocking him clean off his feet. Without pausing, Lee closed the distance between himself and the remaining two firebenders, drawing them in like a vortex with his swords even as he deflected and dodged their blows. It was as if he could sense their every move, as if every shift of their feet and every slight adjustment to their arms allowed him to know what firebending kata they would use next. It wasn't long before he had incapacitated the opponent on his left, though he was careful not to aim to kill.
As the man fell to join the other wounded soldiers, Lee readied his swords in an offensive stance, already preparing for the next attack.
"W-who are you?" the last firebender stammered, taking a step backwards.
Lee's mouth curved into a smile behind his mask. "You can call me the Blue Spirit."