Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

AN: Wow. Three months and no update. I beg for your mercy, people! My only plea for staving off the thrown tomatoes is that since this is NaNo month, I'll be working more on my story, and hopefully take less than three months before I update again. As always, reviews are begged for.

Sokka stood, rubbing the sweat out of his eyes, and gazed onto the vast grey desert. He could almost feel his skin frying from the sheer heat. He didn't know how long he'd been there: minutes, hours, days – it all ran together.

The sky was marred entirely by a coal blackness, save for the harsh red sun that beat him down. There were bones, bleached white from the sun, but no carrion birds. In this endless desert, not even scavengers could survive.

On and on it went. He heard something off in the distance; the familiar and soothing sound of the tides rushing in and out.

Stumbling forward, he made it over the last dune, and grinned through his cracked and dry lips. His ears hadn't lied. Not only was there water, -- the vast blue plain that embodied his tribe -- but also his family. Katara, Hakoda, Gran Gran, even his mother waved for him to come to the shoreline, to take their docked boats and leave this hell.

Stumbling over his own feet, he nearly shouted with joy. But as he got closer, something in their faces changed. They became guarded and wary. As he drew even closer, they became scared. He was mere feet from them now, and there was no smiles, no open arms. His sister and mother were held by Gran Gran, none of them even able to look on his face. His father and the other men of the tribe stood between him and the others, their faces grim.

Sokka was confused. He took a step forward to ask what was wrong, but was stopped by the point of his father's now-drawn spear. He couldn't hear the words coming from his father's mouth, but by the look on his face, they were not kind.

Sokka stumbled backwards, his face marred with hurt. He shouted, but this time, only fire came out. Now it was Hakoda's turn to fall backward, the flames nearly consuming him.

He rushed forward to help his father, but was cut off by a sharp pain in his chest. Looking down, he found that the tip of a spear had disappeared into the center of his ribcage. Following it to the source, it was Hakoda, his grim look replaced with something that hurt far more than any spear – rage. Viciously, his father ripped the weapon from his chest.

Falling to his knees, Sokka clutched the wound. But something felt wrong. Looking down, he saw not blood, but fire slip through his fingers.

It fell in droplets, and the moment they touched the moist sand of the shore, the fire grew. He saw Hakoda signal for the others to move back. The women and children – Katara included- hastily moved to board the boats.

The fire was faster.

The flame licked at the leg of Hakoda, and caught on the fabric. Hakoda tried to slap it out, but it just started burning his hands. His father's screams were silent.

Sokka reached out to help his father. Fire, bright and angry, leapt from his hands. The jet didn't just consume his father, but many of the boats. Sokka tried to yell "no!" only for flames to leave his mouth.

Everywhere he turned, it burned more. A twitch of his hand, and a Tribesman died. Fall to his knees, and a wave of fire bloomed from where he hit. It was all too quick before it covered everything in sight.

Sokka couldn't see what was happening through the flames, but he didn't need to. He could feel it. The fire consuming everything in its path: his family, his friends, the ocean itself. Sokka could feel it, as though the fire were an extension of his body. He was the one killing them.

Sokka screamed for it to stop. But fire doesn't stop until it's consumed all it can.

The fire burned out long before he stopped screaming.

Sokka stood, rubbing the sweat out of his eyes, and gazed onto the vast, grey desert…

Sokka awoke to a sharp pain in his chest, and shot up quickly. His hand reflexively grasping for a wound. He looked down to see his shirt, unharmed, and no fire-blood coming out. Just him, a burnt out campfire, a sleeping Aang and Momo to his left, and his sister – thankfully not ablaze – sleeping on his right.

"Firebenders rise with the sun."

And a grumpy firebending master whose sole purpose in life seems to be to make Sokka's miserable.

Placing his shaky hands on the ground and sitting himself up, Sokka looked towards the sun that had barely crested the horizon and shot back, "Well Sokka's rise when food is being cooked, no earlier.

To his right, Katara murmured, still half asleep, "Sokka, be respectful to master Jeong Jeong. He's taking the time to teach you and Aang."

Sokka flinched, but it wasn't at his sister's words. He could still feel what it was like for the flames to peel at her skin as she scr—Okay, no more bad thoughts. The old guy said heavy emotion leads to instances like what happened in the tent. Besides, brooding is more an angry jerk pastime.

Keeping his voice level, Sokka replied, "And I am grateful for that. I just want to wake up at a decent hour. It's important to growing men like me."

Katara rolled to face him, and sent him an exasperated look. "Oh, please. You'd sleep all day if you could."

Sokka was about to send back a brilliant and witty reply before Jeong Jeong cut in. "Enough. Boy, get up and begin your exercises by the river. Your partner will be joining you shortly."

Okay, the whole being ordered around by a Fire Nation soldier thing, former or no, was getting irritating. He did as told only because he knew Jeong Jeong would do more than kick him if he didn't follow orders when it came to training.

Jeong Jeong moved onto his other pupil and shook him awake. "Training begins now, Avatar."

"Hey! How come you shake Aang awake, but kick me?!"

"Because, unlike you, the Avatar is capable of speaking to me with a mediocrum of respect," Jeong Jeong returned dryly, before his voice became sharp again. "Now, get into your stance and practice your breathing!"

Sokka rolled his eyes. Maybe the old goat's offer of training was less of a kindness and more of a form of sadistic torture for him to impose on Water Tribesmen

It wasn't long before Aang joined him. The young bender was enjoying his training as much as Sokka, which wasn't much.

Sokka never really worried about what Aang would think when he found out the Water Tribesman was a Firebender, given the boys (infuriatingly) accepting nature. But as Sokka went to confront him that evening, he found out that he was spared the trouble of retelling his story again. Apparently, the old goat had already told Aang of his… condition after he agreed to train the young Airbender. At first Aang had been ecstatic about having a partner, and amicably chatted in his cheery way about how awesome it was. That enjoyment lasted only until Jeong Jeong cut in for them to start their breathing exercises. Sokka was even starting to feel a little less bad about being a Firebender too.

"Wider stance!"

Oh, yeah… Sokka was so grateful for taking up the old masters offer.

*-*-*Zhao*-*-*

It was only a matter of time, Zhao mused as he dismissed Lieutenant Ji from his quarters.

He had learned from the town's guardsmen that the Avatar was nearby. But if the Lieutenant's reports were true, his old master could be hiding somewhere in the forests as well.

Were Zhao a more spiritual man, he would have believed Agni himself was smiling on him. But the Admiral had no cares for the spirits. He knew the only way to get power in this world was to grab it for himself.

He once thought his old master embodied that philosophy. A powerful Firebender, of low birth, no less, standing shoulder to shoulder with the social elite, obtaining the rank of General. Jeong Jeong was his guiding light as a boy.

Zhao was far from a noble. Born to a failing farming family, he had little to look forward to but for the stories of the great, implacable General Jeong Jeong. A Firebender of the people, taking on any who had talent for commanding positions, even over those who were born to the admiralty.

It was to that standard that Zhao held himself, and was what drove him to become part of the great Fire Navy. The thought of standing side by side with his hero spurred him on to put his all in to his training. Even as reports came in saying Jeong Jeong was changing for the worse – some incident involving a fire that killed his wife – Zhao didn't waver in his hero-worship. And almost a year after he joined, his hard work paid off. Or so he thought.

Jeong Jeong visited their outpost on his way back to the great capital, and on the pleading of their senior officer, was given a tour of their facility with hopes of impressing the great General and gain some favour.

The General was known for taking in recruits who impressed him in his travels, and many glory-seekers saw this as an opportunity to show of their skills. Zhao was no exception.

Zhao ended up facing three others, and while having put up a strong fight at first, was losing ground as he tired out. As his strength began to wane, he saw his hero walk in alongside his commanding officer, and Zhao panicked. This was his one chance, his only chance, to escape a life of mediocrity. His anxiety turned into determined fury. He would not fall. He would win, even if he killed himself trying.

With a roar, Zhao fought harder than ever before. He was a beast, his Firebending wild but strong. Zhao didn't recall how the fight ended

When he woke up, he was in the infirmary, and given news of his transfer to Jeong Jeong's command, as his apprentice no less! He would report to the capital when he recovered from his injuries.

The next weeks were a haze of euphoria as he readied himself for training under his hero. Zhao could taste his pending glories, the adventures and mysteries that awaited him.

It wasn't long before they became ashes in his mouth.

Jeong Jeong was a hard taskmaster, which Zhao expected. What he did not expect was the man's almost insane focus on the basics of control, something he had no use for. Repeatedly, Zhao told Jeong Jeong that he was more than ready to pursue more advanced forms, but the old man always refused. One day, Zhao asked why he would train him in the first place, if he had no intention of furthering his power. He received a verbal slap in the face.

"What makes you think I took you in because of your prowess?" Jeong Jeong had asked. "In your battle, you won only through your rage, which not only harmed your opponents, but put yourself in the infirmary! I'm training you to give you the control you so sorely lack. When you can prove to me you have learned control, then – and only then – will I teach you any further."

That did it – Zhao's views of his hero were shattered. The man that stood before him was no General, just a broken old has-been. Zhao transferred within the month.

With a fresh start, he gained a new resolve. If the old man lost the hope of the common people, Zhao would become that hope. As the years passed, he held himself to that standard, being the hero he had always believed Jeong Jeong to be.

It was what pushed him through the ranks. It was what made him promote only those who deserved it, despite the pressures and insults it earned him from the elite. Even as an admiral, he strived to be more. To capture the Avatar would cement his place in history as an example of hard work and tenacity. Putting the arrogant former prince in his place was just a bonus.

If he was unsuccessful, it would matter little. Zhao had other ways of ensuring his legacy.