The town was like any other to be found in the southern parts of the Earth Kingdom, if not a little rundown. Some of the buildings sported half-collapsed roofs and had clearly been abandoned while others were in sore need of a paint job. For Iroh, however, it was the most welcoming sight in the world. His feet were aching and covered in blisters from walking, and the weight of his bag, once barely noticeable, now seemed to weigh down his shoulders as if he were carrying a komodo-rhino on his back. So long as there was a tavern where he could get a drink and enjoy a relaxing game of Pai Sho, he didn't care what the place looked like. But first he would need to stock up on supplies.

He made his way towards the market stalls, ignoring the stares of the townsfolk as he calculated how much money he could spend on food and whether he would have enough for a room at the inn. He was no stranger to sleeping outdoors, and would if he had to, but the untended garden never did bring forth sweet fruit. In his mind, it was better economy to indulge oneself now and then to nourish the parched soils of the heart so that one might better be able to perform one's duty, or so he had tried to explain to his nephew whenever Zuko had complained about music night. Or the extended shopping expeditions. Or pretty much anything that wasn't to do with capturing the Avatar.

A faint smile curved Iroh's lips as he thought of how frustrated Zuko had used to get, but the expression faded a second later. It still hurt to think of his nephew, even though he knew that Zuko was alive. Guilt and fear were a constant presence in Iroh's chest, as if the emotions had been weaved into his heartbeat. If only he had stayed with Zuko in the North Pole. If only he could find a new lead …

"Hey, old timer! Are you going to buy anything or are you just going to keep standing there blocking my stall?" the fish trader snapped, driving his knife into the chopping board with a thud and raising one bushy eyebrow.

Iroh blinked out of his daze and apologised to the man before moving down the lane, keeping an eye out for any promising stalls. A group of children dashed past in a blur of greens and browns, laughing and clutching what looked like Deuk Deuk Tong sweets in their hands. He smiled and watched their progress when something collided with the back of his legs. Surprised, he glanced down and saw the smallest of the children staring up at him with a wide-eyed expression. Sugary stains were smeared over her cheeks and mouth from where she had touched her face with her sticky fingers, which still clutched the rest of her treat as if it were a piece of gold instead of a common sweet.

"Pardon me, young miss," Iroh said, inclining his head to her with a smile and moving out of her way.

She bestowed him with a toothy grin and ran off to join her peers, not giving him a second glance as she demanded that the other children slow down so she could catch up to them. Iroh chuckled softly. It seemed that no matter one's nation or social standing, children would be children. Apparently, the woman working at the fruit stand near him agreed, if her clucking tongue was any indication.

"Those kids," she muttered, shaking her head. "Always up to mischief, they are, and never a thought to spare for those around them. I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Iroh waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It is no problem. I have come to find that the smile of a child is a rare sight indeed and should always be appreciated, whatever the circumstances."

"I suppose you're right," she said thoughtfully, and then her lips curved into a grin. "In any case, is there anything I can get you? Our town might be falling to pieces, but my stall still boasts the finest fruit in the South!"

Iroh smiled at her sales pitch and picked up a papaya to examine its ripeness, half-listening to the conversations going on around him out of habit than because he actually found the subject matter interesting. It was always the same things: how the cost of food just kept on rising as the war continued, how the Fire Nation was steadily taking over the Southwest and would be on their doorsteps soon, how the Avatar had returned and was rumoured to be just a child. Iroh had heard it all before, but then the shopkeeper running the stall beside him said something that he had not been expecting.

"Did you hear about that young man who wandered into town last night?"

"Young man?" a woman clutching a baby asked.

"Yeah, some stranger with a big scar on his face. Caused quite a stir, apparently." The shopkeeper lowered his voice. "Rumour has it he has yellow eyes."

Iroh paused, barely hearing the woman mutter something about half-bloods and bad luck. His heart quickened as he stared at the papaya in his hands. Could it be that he had at last found his nephew?

"Excuse me," he said, turning to the shopkeeper, "but can you tell me where I might find this young man?"

The shopkeeper scratched his bald head. "Well now, last I heard he was staying with old Wei at the tavern." He paused as if realising Iroh was also a stranger to the town. "Why, you know him?"

Iroh explained how he had got separated from his nephew and had reason to believe the scarred young man and his relative were the same person. The woman with the baby threw him a suspicious look and held her child closer to her chest as if trying to protect the pudgy-faced infant from Iroh—no doubt remembering the rumour about the young man's eyes. He wondered what she would have done if she realised the colour had not signified half-blood but Fire Nation prince, and that he himself was the legendary Dragon of the West. It was an amusing, if somewhat sad, thought, but he didn't allow himself to be sidetracked.

Fortunately, the shopkeeper and the owner of the fruit stall (who had joined the conversation after eavesdropping), were not so prejudiced against travellers with yellow-eyed nephews and were more than happy to give him directions to the tavern. Soon, Iroh was bowing in thanks to both traders and making his way down the lane, his bag now heavier with supplies. Not that he minded the weight anymore.

He hummed under his breath as he walked, trying to stay calm. It would not do to count his pig-roosters before they hatched, but it was hard not to get his hopes up when everything matched. A young man with a scar. Check. Yellow eyes. (Well, technically Zuko's were pale gold, but most foreigners did just label all fire-tinted irises yellow.) Check. Even the fact that the young man had been wandering alone. It all fit. It all pointed to the fact that Zuko was somewhere in this rundown town, and Iroh was only heartbeats from finding him.

Iroh inhaled a deep breath and quickened his pace. He had no trouble locating the tavern: a ramshackle building with unlit lanterns hanging from the upper level balconies and two swivel doors adorning the front entrance that looked as if they might come off their hinges any moment. A low hum of voices, intermingled with the sound of a liuqin being played, came from within, whispering of rest and good company. His aching feet definitely liked the sound of that, but now was not the time to be thinking of comfy chairs and Pai Sho.

"I'm coming, Nephew," he murmured, and stepped through the swivel doors.

His first thought was that the tavern was not very well-lit and had a slightly sour scent, as if the straw that layered the ground was rotting. It was certainly nothing like the Cherry Blossom resort he had stayed at after fleeing the North Pole, but the tables were clean and the people seated around in groups or drinking at the bar seemed harmless enough, if inclined to ignore him. There were a few curious glances, but most just chattered among themselves. Clearly, one elderly traveller didn't mean much to these people. He wondered what his nephew had done to garner so much attention. Had it really just been because of the "yellow eyes"?

The old man playing the liuqin nodded to Iroh in greeting. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a man named Wei. I was told I could find him here."

The man's fingers stilled on the strings of his instrument. "And what do you want with Wei?"

"It's not so much him as the young man he's taking care of. Perhaps you could direct me to where I might find the boy?" Iroh flashed a friendly smile. "It's very important that I see him."

The two men stared at each other for a moment—or, rather, the old musician appraised Iroh through shrewd eyes, as if trying to detect some hidden message behind his words. Iroh just smiled. Apparently, whatever the musician saw seemed to satisfy him, because a second later he sighed and placed his liuqin on the floor.

"Follow me," he said, standing up.

oOo

"I'll warn you now he's in bad shape," the old musician said, sliding open the door to his right.

Iroh barely heard the man. He walked into the room as if in a trance, his eyes immediately shifting to the bed where a body-shaped lump could be seen under the blankets. Almost there, his heart seemed to say, beating louder and louder. Almost there. Then the figure in the bed shifted with a groan and the blankets fell away, revealing the young man's face. Iroh froze as if he had been paralysed. Even his heart seemed to have stopped. Same black hair, same pale skin, same angular features. It was a face he knew as well as his own and one he had not thought he would ever see again.

But this firebender was not Zuko.

Swallowing his disappointment, Iroh knelt beside the bed and clasped the young man's hand in his own. "Kan," he said gently. "Kan, can you hear me?"

Kan stirred, his eyelashes fluttering like broken butterfly-bee wings as he struggled to open his eyes. Or eye. The other was swollen shut with infection, though Iroh doubted Kan would have been able to see out of it anyway. It looked as if someone had taken a knife to his face, leaving a deep, diagonal gash from just above his right eyebrow to his chin, though the wound itself looked weeks old. That must have been what the townsfolk had meant by the big scar.

"So his name is Kan, is it?"

Iroh glanced up to see the musician standing beside him, a sad look in his eyes.

"How did he get like this?" Iroh asked. "Has he said anything to you at all?"

The musician sighed and placed his hand on Iroh's shoulder. "Come. I think it would be better if you and I talked about this somewhere else."

Iroh's gaze flittered back to Kan, who was shifting weakly in the bed and making pained little groans as if trapped in some nightmare where he was stuck fighting the same losing battle. The old musician was right: talking like this was only agitating Kan. Iroh nodded and got to his feet, following the man back out of the sleeping quarters to the room on the opposite side of the hallway. He guessed from the low table that took dominance that this was where the tavern owner entertained his personal guests.

"Please, take a seat," the musician said, gesturing to one of the cushions that had been placed neatly around the table. "I shall prepare us some tea."

"Do you have any ginseng?" Iroh asked, while settling himself comfortably on one of the green cushions. "It's my favourite."

A faint smile touched the old man's lips. "I'll see what I can do."

He exited on the words, leaving Iroh to survey his surroundings. The characters for luck and wealth hung painted in stylised swirls of black ink on scrolls on the wall, but perhaps the spirits had not taken to the calligraphist, for it was obvious that both had eluded the owner of the tavern. Then again, the place was still running when the rest of the town seemed half-abandoned, so perhaps the tavern owner's prayers did not go completely unheard.

Iroh frowned and thought about how strange it was that he should be reunited with one of his old shipmates in this backwater Earth Kingdom tavern. Coincidence some would call it, but Iroh knew there was no such thing as chance. For whatever reason, this reunion was meant to happen. Iroh could only hope that his presence would somehow help Kan to recover. He had been around enough battlefields to know that the young firebender was clinging to life by the barest thread. It made him wonder anew how Kan had got to this state.

The doors slid back and the old musician walked into the room carrying a tray with a porcelain teapot and two cups. He placed the tray on the table and poured the tea into both cups, then set the teapot back on the tray.

"Thank you," Iroh said, accepting the steaming cup that was offered to him.

The old musician nodded and picked up his own cup before taking a seat on the cushion at the opposite end of the table.

Iroh sipped his tea—ginseng, just as he had hoped—and smiled at his host. "I can see now why your establishment is so popular, Master Wei, even in these difficult times. This is fine tea."

Wei's eyes twinkled. "So you guessed who I am, did you?"

"Forgive me, but you weren't exactly subtle."

Wei chuckled, but his amusement faded a second later. "Well, you're right. I am the owner of this establishment, though how long I can keep the place running is another matter entirely. The Fire Nation army is drawing closer every day. Half the townsfolk have already fled for Ba Sing Se, including our healer. That's why I decided to take that boy of yours in. I couldn't just leave him to die on the streets."

"Then there is no healer here at all?" Iroh exclaimed in dismay. "Not even an apprentice?"

"Afraid not." Wei sighed and cradled his cup in his hands, staring at the steam rising from the liquid. "I've tried to help him the best I can with the little medical training I have, but I'm afraid there isn't much anyone can do for him now. That boy is dying. Honestly, I don't know if he will last the night."

Suddenly, Iroh didn't feel like drinking his tea anymore. "And he has said nothing to you at all? Nothing about where he came from or how he got like this?"

Wei scratched his stubbly chin. "He mumbles things from time to time, but most of it is gibberish. Stuff about demons in the water and trying to find some person named Nozomi, but that could just be the fever hallucinations."

Iroh nodded, not surprised that Kan's fever-ridden mind would take him back to the siege of the North where the ocean had become a graveyard of broken ships and bodies. It still seemed so strange that Kan had managed to survive the massacre. Iroh remembered watching the Avatar destroy almost the entire Fire Nation fleet. Even the ships that had managed to avoid being shredded like rice paper and fled the battlefield had not all returned to safe harbours. The sad truth was that out of the thousands of soldiers who had sailed to fight, only a handful had lived to tell the tale. In that, the North had truly become a haunting nightmare for the Fire Nation, but that still didn't explain how Kan had ended up in this small town alone.

"I can't just give up on him," Iroh muttered. "Perhaps there is still a way to save Kan."

Wei did not meet his eyes. "Perhaps."

Iroh repressed a sigh and stared at the cooling cup of tea in his hands. Maybe Wei was right to not be optimistic, but that didn't mean Iroh wouldn't try. He had come this far searching for his nephew, but instead he had found one of his old crew. It wasn't the reunion Iroh had hoped for, but he wasn't about to turn his back on Kan now. Too many young lives had already been cut short for this war. He wasn't about to let another family be deprived of a son if he could help it.

Forgive me, Nephew, Iroh pleaded in his mind. I will find you, but I have to do this.

There could be no other choice, but a part of him still yearned to keep searching. Zuko was out there somewhere with amnesia, lost and confused. A nagging voice whispered that Iroh was running out of time. The trail of breadcrumbs he had been following was already disappearing from his grasp, leaving him floundering for new leads, but it would have to be enough. Somehow, Iroh had to salvage this mess. Somehow, he had to find his nephew.

But first he had to help Kan.

oOo

Lee removed his mask, rubbing a hand over his clammy face as he stared up at the barn ceiling. The flashbacks were getting worse. They had been ever since he had seen that vision of himself in the swamp. True, this had allowed him to piece together more of his past, but it also left him feeling jittery and weak, like the smallest thing could send him off the edge and cause another breakdown. Most of the time he could barely think straight because of the headaches.

He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath. Some of the tightness eased from his chest. Good. He took a moment to do a few more breathing exercises and slipped the mask back on his face. The ostrich horse lost interest in him and went back to eating from a bag of feed. No doubt the cabbage merchant from whom Lee had stolen the animal was still furious with him.

That had not been Lee's proudest moment. Ever since that day, he had felt an odd twinge between his shoulder blades like a knot had formed there that refused to be eased. He could still remember how the merchant had become a human shield in front of the wagon and screamed "NOT MY CABBAGES!" as if the cry were a weapon in itself. Of course, then the merchant had realised that Lee was after the ostrich horse, not the vegetables, and his shrieks had become much more convoluted (though still seemed to be all about how his cabbages would be ruined).

A sigh escaped Lee. Well, there was nothing he could do about the theft now. Even if he had known the crazy merchant's current location, he didn't plan on returning the ostrich horse. He wasn't that noble. Besides, riding was much faster than walking, and he had no desire to traipse across the Earth Kingdom on foot when he was already dealing with so much pressure thanks to his fragmented memory.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Tomorrow, he would leave the village. It had been his intention to pass through without stopping anyway, but he'd been hungry and exhausted and the kid he'd protected in the market—awkwardly enough, also named Lee—had wanted to pay him back for not "ratting him out" to the soldiers. Gansu and Sela, the kid's parents, had clinched the matter by suggesting Lee help fix the barn in exchange for their hospitality. That had seemed a fair trade. Still, Lee knew he couldn't linger.

He closed his eyes and tried to settle into a more comfortable position. For now, he guessed he should just try to get some more rest. Maybe he'd even get lucky and have dreamless sleep. Memories haunted his subconscious almost every time he fell asleep now. Just the thought made his stomach twist. It was true that he desperately wanted to know the truth about himself—about everything—but a small part of him was still hesitant. His past was not pleasant. The more he learnt, the more he realised that he might not like the jigsaw puzzle in its complete form.

"You don't know what you're asking of me. You don't know what this would mean for you. For all of us."

Lee rolled over on the straw, trying to block out the Avatar's pleading words. No, he had made the right choice to leave. No matter how painful his past, no matter how much he might hate what he saw in those fragments, it was far better to know the truth than to walk in ignorance. Besides, there had been some good memories. He'd learnt he had an uncle who cared for him, and even though his mother had slipped beyond his reach, he did not regret reliving all of those times she had held him in her arms or helped him feed turtle ducks. In every moment, he had felt how much she loved him.

He was still thinking about his mother and uncle when fatigue took hold, lulling him into the land of dreams. Then the memories hit.

oOo

Night had fallen swiftly. Iroh had stayed to watch over Kan, trying to heal his old crew mate the best he could, but his knowledge of medicine was hardly expansive. He knew how to dress wounds and make herbal concoctions that would cure most poisons, though it was true he had a habit of getting the plants mixed up with anything that looked similar. Yet none of these skills had been of use to Kan. The twenty-four year old was too far gone.

Iroh sighed and placed the cloth he had been using to bathe Kan's forehead back in the bowl of water. He felt emotionally and physically drained. For hours he had sat in the same spot, trying to fix what refused to be fixed while he listened to the hoarse ramblings of a man whose mind was riddled with fever. Sometimes, Kan had started screaming for no reason, terrified of whatever he was seeing in his hallucinations. Other times he fell deathly still and silent, to the point where Iroh had anxiously checked his pulse just to make sure he was still alive. Either way, the final consensus had still been the same.

"I'm sorry, my young friend," Iroh said softly, taking Kan's limp hand in his own. "I wish I could have found you sooner. Maybe then—"

Fingers tightened around his hand, though the grip was still weak. "G-General?"

Iroh's heart quickened as he met Kan's surprisingly lucid gaze, though he felt no relief at the sight. He knew what that meant. "Yes, it's me," he responded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Tears rolled down Kan's cheeks. "I'm so … so glad. Thought you were dead. There were so many bodies and Nozomi"—his voice, already frail, broke on a suppressed sob—"I couldn't … I couldn't find him. He was like my brother and I couldn't ..."

Iroh felt his own cheeks get damp. "I know, Kan. I know. We all lost people that night."

"So many bodies ..."

Iroh gripped his shoulders, sensing that he would lose him if he couldn't keep his attention. "Kan, you need to focus. Look at me."

Glazed amber eyes met his and then it was as if a switch flicked on in Kan's mind. "The others," he gasped, clutching at Iroh's wrist. "Did they make it?"

"Others? I don't know—"

"There was something wrong with the engine. Got stranded. We tried … firebending, but it …" He closed his eyes, as if he were struggling to remember what he wanted to say. "Storm. They came … after the storm when we were still trying to recover. I didn't … didn't see the attack … until too late."

A crease formed on Iroh's brow. "Kan, what are you talking about. What attack? Who was stranded?"

"The others," Kan panted. "We escaped the North on one of the riverboats, but the Water Tribe found us. None of them … benders, but they used mines and were skilled with their weapons. Thought I was … dead when that one guy slashed me in the face. Got knocked into the water. Others still fighting. I couldn't"—he swallowed—"I couldn't get back to them." He closed his eyes as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. "I've been alone for so long."

Iroh tried to process everything he had just heard. It sounded like some of his old crew had managed to survive the siege of the North, but then things had gone wrong and they had been attacked by the Water Tribe. Now he could see how Kan had ended up in this town. Kan must have been drifting for weeks, wounded and alone. It was amazing he had made it this far.

"You've been very brave, Kan," Iroh said gently. "Not even the great spirit Agni could have expected anything more from you."

Kan's scarred mouth curved into lopsided smile. "Thank you, General. You were always so … so kind to me, even though I was just a young hothead who no one else wanted. I'll never … regret being reassigned to Prince Zuko's ship."

Iroh swallowed against the lump in his throat. He could see the touch of the otherworldly all over Kan in that moment, as if his body was glowing in blue light. It would not be long before his spirit abandoned its mortal shell.

"Get some rest, Kan," Iroh murmured, smoothing back his hair. "We can talk more in the morning."

"Yes," Kan agreed in his frail voice, still shining with the touch of death. "The morning."

He closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep in seconds. Iroh averted his face, feeling as if he had aged another ten years. It was such a waste. A waste of life and a waste of talent, but there was nothing he could do. He felt the moment when Kan's spirit ceased to exist in the mortal realm. He could only be glad that the young firebender had died peacefully enough, knowing that he was not alone. It was a small consolation.

There was a knock at the door. Wei poked his head in the room, then sighed when he saw Iroh's expression. "I'm sorry. I know you were hoping he would make a recovery."

Iroh shook his head. "No, you were right. Kan was never going to last the night. I'm just glad I was able to be there for him in his final moments."

"What will you do now?"

"Go back to searching for my nephew, I guess, but first I will need to buy some supplies so I can give Kan a proper burial. I can at least give him and his family that much."

Wei hesitated. "I have some incense you can use. I was saving it for when I visit my wife and son's graves, but"—he shrugged and offered a sad smile—"it seems like you're a bit tight on money and need them more than I do right now."

"You don't have to—"

"Please." Wei hed out his hand. "I want to help. Kan, well, he reminded me a little of my boy. I guess that's really why I took him in, sick and yellow-eyed as he was. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't offer what assistance I can now."

Iroh was touched. "Thank you," he said sincerely, sensing that Wei had perceived much more about Kan's heritage than he had realised. "I will be grateful for your assistance."

Wei nodded and then said he had to get back to his customers. The tavern always got rowdier at night. If Iroh was tired, there was a room prepared for him on the second floor. No charge. Iroh tried to protest, but Wei insisted it was fine and then left the room before his offer could be refused again. Iroh stared at the closed door for a moment and found himself smiling, despite the sombreness of the situation. It wasn't every day he met such a genuinely nice, or stubborn, person. Kan had been lucky to stumble across the old musician's path.

Iroh's gaze shifted to the bed where Kan's body still lay as if asleep. Calmly, he pulled the blankets up over the firebender's face. "Goodbye, my young friend. Be at peace."

There was no response, of course, but that didn't matter. Iroh knew that Kan had heard him. When he later left the room, he found himself drifting to the main part of the tavern where people were drinking and laughing or huddled in corners playing dice games and Pai Sho. Iroh didn't know why he didn't just go to bed. He was certainly tired and wasn't really in the mood for company, but then he spotted the liuqin. As if in a trance, he picked up the instrument and strummed his fingers across the strings. Then he started to play, singing softly under his breath.

"Leaves from the vine, falling so slow.
Like fragile, tiny shells,
Drifting in the foam.
Little soldier boy, come marching home.
Brave soldier boy, comes marching home."

Iroh finished his song with his cheeks damp with tears. Lu Ten, Kan—so many brave soldier boys who would never come marching home. Yet even as he thought of all the lives he had seen slip through his fingers, his thoughts kept returning to the soldier boy who was still out there somewhere, waiting to be found.

Zuko.

Iroh closed his eyes. He promised himself in that moment that he would do whatever it took to find his nephew—and soon. He could not bear to have another repeat of today: to get that reunion only to realise he was too late. No, he would have to find a new method, a better trail to follow.

There were too many lost soldier boys, but Zuko would not be one of them.