Hakoda watched his friend dodge a fireball before he took cover next to him. "Still nothing?" he asked.

Panting, Bato shook his head. "Last sighting was they were heading to the Caldera."

"Spirits help them," he said under his breath. The eclipse was over; they should have killed or captured Ozai. He didn't dare think about any other possibilities.

"They've got the spirits," replied Bato dryly. "We need to take care of ourselves before we try to find them."

Crouching and keeping his weight off the hurt ankle he had gotten while climbing down the slick trail, Hakoda peered around his cover. Firebenders, tanks, and the airships headed his way toward the shipyard where he and the other tribesmen had retreated. Then he glanced back at the beach 200 or so paces behind him.

For a glorious moment they had crawled out of the valley, taken the turrets, and were well on their way to taking the Capital. There had been hope, real hope that they could strike the finishing blow against the Fire Nation. Now, mere minutes later, they were using their initial earthen walls and shields as cover for their retreat.

How quickly things change.

Hakoda smiled ruefully, for it was not the first time he had been taught that lesson. As if he had anticipated the attack, he looked across the landscape just as a Northern Tribesman was hit in the back with a fireball and fell down, not getting back up. And this is the price I pay.

"Get the men together," he ordered Bato. "If we can get to a boat, maybe we can escape. It'll be a long shot…."

"I'll take that over staying here." Bato cupped his hands around his mouth. "Come on, men! To me! Hurry now!" He took Hakoda's arm and put it over his shoulders.

"Bato," he protested but didn't resist.

Blue and green uniforms spotted with blood gathered around them, and some farther off—those that could walk—started towards them. Bato repeated his call. The remaining number was worryingly small, but Hakoda comforted himself by the thought that they were just those who were within earshot to say nothing of the men still engaged in combat.

"We're falling back to the water. Earthbenders, remember to protect your fellow soldiers; waterbenders, take over once you get close to the water. Let's—!"

A deep rumble of energy further inland preceded the sound of a thousand fires and a thousand rocks breaking against one another. The violence shook the ground, sending tremors up Hakoda's body. He looked back, and his heart seemed to stop.

A wall of fire about half the width of the entire valley reached up to the sky. It was like the creation of a new mountain, one that swirled with dust and heat. No firebender, not even a powerful one, could bend something that that.

Hakoda took a half-step back. "Spirits take me."

Smoke rose and fell like a rogue wave threatening to destroy all in its path. Debris floated past the airships overhead.

Breaking from the mesmerizing, horrifying image, Hakoda met Bato's eye. The warrior opened his mouth to speak, but his attention drawn away. "They're back."

Above, but quickly dropping between the airships, was the air bison along with five dark smudges on his back. Please, let them be okay. Hakoda lifted his head above cover. To his surprise, the attackers who had been at their heels were now retreating, and to the sides of the valley, far from the beach. Hakoda frowned and kept his eyes on the airships sluggishly but determinedly charging his way.

"I don't like this." Bato was out from his cover as well.

"Me neither," he replied as he watched the air bison land nearby. Sokka and Katara left first, climbing down the beast's side, and were followed by the others. Hakoda tried walking to them but only succeeded in an awkward hop with his bad foot.

"Dad!" they cried out, running and then hugging him, nearly knocking him over in the process.

"Easy. I'm okay." He couldn't help chuckling a little, a memory coming to mind of the two of them doing something similar when they were smaller. More memories and thoughts worked their way in. You could have died, and I almost let you. What kind of father was he? He gave a dismissive shrug to allay their concerned tones. "Twisted my ankle." They separated, and he looked them over. "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Sokka said, "but…"

"We…" Katara started but couldn't meet his eyes.

"You didn't stop him."

They shook their heads.

That was it. Their one chance, gone. He let out a breath. It doesn't feel as bad as I thought. "Okay."

"It was because of me." The former prince said, taking a step forward. "I was alone with the Fire—with my father—and I didn't kill him. I didn't stop him."

"No, I should have gone with you," Sokka said.

"You were just doing what I told you."

"But I'm the leader. I shouldn't have left you behind."

"You needed to stay with Aang," Toph argued. "I should have stayed and knocked out that guy."

"But we were running out of time—" Katara started.

At the same time, the Avatar said, "We needed Toph to lead us underground—"

"Zuko could have done that—"

Then all their voices came together, fighting as much as a team like theirs could.

"Enough. Enough!" Hakoda said. "What's past is—" There is no learning for another chance at this. He shook his head. "What's done is done. We can blame each other later. Let's go to the submergers."

They hustled to the beach, Hakoda leaning on Bato for support as Bato called out for more able-bodied. Few joined them. Dead littered the ground, dark shapes easy to pick out from the light-colored soil. Hearing his children's distressed gasps and exclamations, Hakoda said to them, "Keep your eyes on the boats. We can't help them."

Voice full of emotion, his daughter, his sweet daughter, said, "I can heal… Oh, Sokka," she cried.

"Do what Dad says," Sokka replied, then asked, "Why aren't they turning around to attack again?"

Hakoda looked up. Sure enough, the airships were ahead of them, having chosen to withhold their deadly attacks.

"They're heading for the beach…" the Avatar said, then he gasped. "They're going to destroy the submergers!"

Slowing to a stop, Hakoda stared ahead, then closed his eyes. Of course.

Next to him, Bato asked, "Hakoda?"

"How are we going to escape?" his son wondered, saying what they were all thinking.

He reviewed the path that led him there, watched each decision eliminate others. Where there had once been countless solutions and paths to those solutions as to leave no clear course of action, there now lay two—and one was unthinkable. He took another breath and let it out slow. Somehow it hurt worse than finding out everything they had done was in vain. "We're not."

Bato stiffened ever so slightly, and Hakoda opened his eyes, eyeing him before returning his attention to his children.

"Then our only choice is to stand and fight," Katara said. "We have the Avatar; we could still win."

"Yes, with the Avatar, we could still win. On another day." The weight on his shoulders seemed unbearable. "They cut off our escape but not yours. Go. Live. Fight another day."

She shook her head. "You can come with us."

Every word she said tore at his heart. "There are still many men here, Katara. I can't leave them."

"Yes, you can!"

"Take her," he said to Sokka. "Take care of her like you've been doing so well up until now."

His son's face was red, but he nodded, whispering hoarsely, "I will."

"Dad, no!" Katara cried, trying to grab his arm then his clothing as her brother pulled her back.

Sokka said, "Katara, we have to do what Dad says."

"I don't care! We can do something!"

Hakoda took hold of his daughter's hands. "You have to go now. You need to be safe."

"Not without you!"

There was still so much more he wanted to say to them; things he needed to tell, pass down: knowledge of the seas, the shores, the people. He needed Sokka to know how to be a chief and care for not a mere four friends but an entire village. How to be a good man and, for Katara, how to find one. There were so many things he wanted to do with them: hunt alongside his son, sail the trade routes, walk alongside them, to be there for them to make up for the many times he had not—and the other things, known and unknown, that children bring along with them when they come into the world.

But more than anything, he wished he could hug them and that they would remain frozen in this moment. It was a moment full of fear, yes, but also love, so much love that he could almost hardly believe it.

He remembered when each of them had been born and the feeling of love so profound and previously thinkable hitting him like a wave. After feeling it once with Sokka he hadn't considered the feeling would return with Katara, but it did, more powerful than he had remembered. He had loved them so deeply, and yet they hadn't done anything but be.

Here, now, it came again. It wasn't the same—it couldn't be, not exactly—but the love was of the same magnitude, though one was of the receiving of something precious and the other was of the loss of it. No, it wasn't grief he felt, that would come later, but love: loving who they became despite the world they grew up in, despite his own failings.

He pressed his forehead to Katara's head and breathed in, then did the same with Sokka. Their bodies trembled under his touch. "I…love you," he whispered; his voice would have cracked, otherwise. Then, clearing his throat, he ordered, "Now go. Go! Be safe. I love you."

His son and daughter climbed up the air bison in a flash along with the others, grim faces all around. With a snap of the reins and a "Yip yip!" from the Avatar, they were off.

The children are safe. At least they're safe. He looked around. The other men looked like he felt: tired, beaten, and they readied themselves for what was to come of them.

When the soldiers came, some of his men raised their swords, clubs, and spears and had charged, determined to die honorably in battle. That was their choice, and Hakoda had nothing but respect for them. Sikoa, Aliska, Hataka—and others, some he knew and some were his Northern brothers—were burned, stabbed, and killed in whatever ways the enemy saw fit.

Sweat poured off his body through his clothes and shined every part of exposed skin. If he had been a younger man, he would have joined them perhaps. I should, he reprimanded himself, though the words were weak against the force of his shame and the hope, however small that it was, that maybe he could see his children again. If it be in rags as an old man, he could wait and suffer to see them again, maybe not healthy nor happy, but alive.

"Hakoda," Bato said next to him, his voice a low, rumbling warning. The soldiers had killed all who had decided to fight and were making their way to them. Some of his men dropped their spears and kneeled or were forced to kneel.

"I know. Brother." He brought his hand up, and the two held the other's forearm once more before they separated to face whatever would befall them.

Soldiers streamed past them and something hard struck his head from behind. Hakoda cried out and fell to one knee, then both when his sprained ankle failed to hold his weight. The ground seemed to shift beneath him, and a whine filled his ears. Bato swore and followed him down. "He's unarmed and injured!"

"Ice puffs a little afraid of the heat?" asked a voice from behind Hakoda, but all he could do was grunt from the radiating pain and close his eyes. This lasted a handful of seconds before he was hauled up.

"Get up, snow savage." This voice belonged to a soldier in front of him.

"Here." Bato lifted his arm over his own shoulder. "Let's go."

The two of them shuffled away from the beach, joining the line of captured men. They were a small force to begin with, but the line was surprisingly short. How many died? Escaped? Some of the men beside him lifted their heads in recognition, but most stared blankly ahead. And what could he do to help? The Avatar was alive, but what of it? This had been their chance, their only chance to stop Ozai. And I failed. I failed you all.

"Small turnout. It's like when Kaska cooked," Bato remarked, his tone unusually light.

That and the dead cook's name from a week or so ago didn't register right away. "What? Oh." He glanced at Bato, and the man wore a smile. It was tight, but there. "I'm not surprised. What did he always cook?"

"Salmon," they answered in unison and chuckled. A few heads nearby turned, but nothing was said.

"Salmon with salt. Just salt," Hakoda remembered. "The man loved that stuff. Why did we let him keep cooking for us?"

"Because no one else wanted to as much as him. And we're not that picky."

"True!" he laughed, though much too hard for it to be completely natural. Who knew when they would laugh again?

"It was a long shot," Hakoda said after they had traveled in silence for several paces. "I'm sorry it didn't work. It could've. We were so close!"

" 'Said not the hunter to his pelt,' " Bato replied, returning to his usual serious mood, though the phrase went back to their more carefree days. "What can I say? I wish it ended differently too." He shifted Hakoda's arm on his shoulder to redistribute the weight.

"I should have attacked that ship. We lost our element of surprise."

"Probably…yes…but I understand why you did it. Your children—"

"My children shouldn't have played a part in the decision."

"They are why you're doing this—and all our children back home. Of course you wanted to set an example."

"It doesn't mean anything if they die because of me. I'm to blame for our defeat."

"You are our leader," he agreed, looking him straight in the eye. "But you are our leader for a reason. You know I was willing to die under your orders today, the other men too. No one else here has that honor—not the Fire Lord, not even the Avatar."

"Thank you. Truly, Bato."

The two of them continued down the beaten trail until they were stopped by their guards. They were in the dry dock they had entered, won, and now lost. The dead, dying, and other evidence of war surrounded them, carrion for the birds gathering overhead. They'll have more to feast on soon, Hakoda thought. Gut-wrenching cries and pleas and screams from the mortally wounded filled the silence with something bloody. No matter which side the men were on, no one needed to suffer like that.

They were roughly corralled into lines of ten. About fifty men in all were present. It first seemed they were lined up to be more efficiently killed, but nothing happened, not immediately. Their waiting came to an end when an open palanquin approached.

Sitting on the gaudy, gold plated seat could be none other than Fire Lord Ozai. He stared at them as he came to a stop. His features reminded Hakoda of the Fire Lord's son's, but they were cold and emotionless. The palanquin was lowered, and he stepped off with smooth, practiced movements, his blood-red armor jangling in the process.

Someone in charge—a lieutenant or captain—stepped up to Ozai and bowed low. This drew his attention away from Hakoda and the rest. A quick turn of his head revealed a cut, fresh and red and still wet along his right cheekbone. "Is this all of them?" Ozai asked. His voice was raspy like his son's, but cruel and condescending.

"Yes, my Lord."

"A very small outfit." Then, addressing the Water Tribesmen, he said, " 'Small, but mighty'—that's what you told yourselves, I'm sure. It's quite disappointing: that this was the best my enemies could do, and, after attacking this city at its weakest, you failing so completely…well…" He seemed to be rethinking his speech, but then he smiled and continued, "Well, I'll grant you this victory: you won my attention. You see," he said, raising his voice so the soldiers around him could easily hear, "the Fire Nation has overlooked the Water Tribes lately. They've grown dangerously unhappy with the way they've been treated and ignored as of late. Our focus has been on the Earth Kingdom. Now that Ba Sing Se has fallen, we need to return to our primary purpose as a nation: spreading the glory of the Fire Nation to every corner of the world, including the more savage parts of it.

"We need to recognize this failed attack as it is: a cry for help, a desperate attempt for attention from the wilds for the swift return of a steadying hand." He added, "And let me be the first to say that we have heard you and we…will…act!" Cheers rose out from the groups of soldiers as well as the rapping of metal against metal. "However!" he called, and they died down. "However, we must first reestablish law and order. We cannot let this attack—or any attack, for that matter—stand without punishment, no matter what good intentions lie behind it. I call forward the leader of this party, if he is still alive."

Hakoda felt rather than saw Bato move to step out of line. Grabbing Bato's arm, he propelled himself forward and pushed Bato back in the process. In his urgency, he pushed too hard and Bato stumbled to the ground. A thick crack of pain shot up Hakoda's leg, and he winced. Aware many eyes were on him, he did all he could to keep his expression from betraying that the pain was anything more than a superficial wound.

Ozai turned and stepped to Hakoda so that they were standing about a pace opposite from each other. He didn't say anything immediately, but watched and evaluated, looking him up and down. His eyes flicked to Bato on the ground, then back at Hakoda. "You're the one who led this attack?"

"Yes."

"Planned it?"

"Yes."

A small, very small smile. "Failed?"

"…Yes."

"Hm." A dangerous, darkly happy glow lit Ozai's eyes, and it felt like he was already planning tortures beyond Hakoda's imagining.

"We are men of war." Hakoda said, speaking low and quickly. "Let's not keep this going longer than it has to. Kill me; let the others go in humiliation and shame. We are few, too few to rise again." The words fell from his lips easily because it was true. Too true to ignore. "Kill me and end this."

"The stories of the pride of the Water Tribe are true, then." Ozai sounded amused, but his condescending tone continued to blanket everything so it was rather like he was a predator playing with his food. "Even when you're defeated and on the verge of extinction, you try to order me to do your bidding."

He glanced down at Bato again, and Hakoda turned and snuck a look. Bato's bloodshot eyes were wide, his nostrils were flared, and his teeth were bared in a silent growl. He was a wild man, always had been since they were children, and he looked it now.

"He doesn't look humiliated." Hakoda's attention snapped back to Ozai. "He looks like if I kill you, he'll try to kill me."

"And you'd be right!" Bato replied, attempting to stand. It didn't sound like his voice; it belonged to someone whose spirit was being strangled and broken.

"Bato!" Hakoda shot back, his words having a physical effect. Bato remained on one knee but didn't rise, and he said no more after that. Thank the spirits, he thought, though it pained him to think he felt any obligation to keep Ozai from harm.

"You see," Ozai said, ignoring the outburst, "I have a feeling if I kill you, I'll be doing your work for you. Make you something people remember and fight for after they've lost faith in the Avatar today. Sure, I'll stop them and control them as easily as my father and his father did, but it will only be delay after delay. Why drag things on?" Though Ozai's face was partly apathetic, Hakoda thought he might have chosen that alone over the sickening air of supremacy that went along with it now. "No, I don't think I will. But I will let your men—what's left of them—go. I will let them return to their homes. When the Fire Nation returns to claim what's mine, we'll see if they'll fight. I want every one of their kind to realize the Fire Nation will never, ever be stop—"

As quick as anything, Bato darted forward, revealing a knife from within his tunic. It was a dishonorable, desperate attempt, but Hakoda more than understood his friend's last-ditch effort and could only reprimand himself for not assuming he'd try something like this.

It was over before it could fully begin. It seemed that Ozai had been ready—or maybe he was that skilled of a warrior. As Bato pushed off the ground and stepped forward to stab, Ozai took a step towards Bato too. Light, bright and red, flared from his hands before disappearing in the blue folds of the warrior's tunic.

"BATO!" Hakoda yelled. Instinctively, he took a step forward, but guards from behind Ozai lowered their spears at him.

The smell of cooking meat hit Hakoda's nose, and he initially registered it as such before he remembered its sickening origin half a second later.

Bato, the wild man, the warrior, made hardly a sound. The air inside of his lungs had been consumed. He fell on his back, knife still in hand, blinking and opening and closing his mouth like a fish drowning on land. Mercifully, it only took a handful of seconds for him to pass on, finally lying still, his eyes fixed on some unseen thing in the sky.

Hakoda's entire body shook. If only he was a bender. If only he had a sword. If only Ozai was dead.

"That is what happens if you continue to follow this man," Ozai said, speaking to the remaining tribesmen. "Let this be a lesson." Then, speaking to Hakoda, he said something, something he didn't catch right away. How could he look at anything but Bato?

His leg exploded in pain, and he cried out, falling to one side. Ozai had hit him. He stood above him now, looking down. "I see the Avatar followed you too, and my son. Let me tell you that you will be alive when they die, your sons and daughters will be sent to the colonies to be educated to hate your kind, and my men will have their way with your wife before she is sent to the mines."

He had no weapons other than his fists so he lifted them up, but a loud crack sounded and Hakoda found himself flat on his back, sunlight and consciousness fading to a tiny point. Maybe he was dying. Hopefully he was.

The last words he heard before he slipped from consciousness was Ozai's order: "Burn them."

-o-0-

There was nothing for Zuko to do for Katara except watch her cry. There were no words to provide; any action he could have taken was too little, too late. So he watched.

Fear, a tight knot in his belly, grew. What was to come for the world? What would become of them?

Why had he not killed Father? Of all the things he could have done to make things better…. He could have stopped him so very easily—and wasn't that the goal of everything they were trying to do?

Sokka held Katara, she holding onto him as much as he was to her while she continued to cry into his shoulder.

I should have killed him.

Hatred burned Zuko's face and made his heart beat hard against his chest, the combined sound of it and the repeating, swirling thoughts blocked out everything else.

He should be dead.

Toph lied on her back with her feet propped up on the saddle's edge Though she could see nothing but always perceived much more than Zuko, it seemed that for the first time she was as lost as anyone.

Finally, there was Aang. It was hard to tell what he was feeling since he was riding on Appa's hump with his back to them. Zuko couldn't imagine the devastation and pain he must have been feeling. There was nothing to do.

There was nothing to do.

It was a slow but insistent melodic thought that was neither comforting nor terrible. It accused him, of his ability, his beliefs, his resolve. Nothing. Nothing. He wanted to run, fight, do something anything rather than sit and wait for the soldiers and fire to come.

"—ko." The wind carried his voice away, but Zuko could still hear Aang calling him. He jerked his head up and out of his thoughts.

Truly a monk, more now than ever, Aang sat on top of Appa, cross-legged and still. He watched Zuko, expression soft and kind and sad. "You did the right thing."

Those words fed a part of Zuko starved of surety, but it would not be easily satisfied. How could Aang say that? "How do you know?" He could hear fear and hope in his voice, hope he had no right to have.

"Because you knew killing him was wrong."

An incredulous, dark laugh escaped Zuko. He shook his head. "I didn't know. I was fulfilling my promise to you."

Aang's voice retained his calm demeanor, but it now held a note of surprise. Cocking his head, he said, "Really?"

"No, you're right; I should have killed him."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'Why?'" Thoughts rushed past in anger, and he stuttered as he tried to hold on to them. "B—Because he's awful! He was going to kill us! He told me right there that he was going to kill them!" he said, gesturing to Katara and Sokka. "I should have killed him!"

"So why didn't you?"

Energy from within rose up, and a flame licked his lips as he spoke: "I don't know!" Calm down, Zuko told himself.

Surprise at his outburst was replaced by curiosity. "You must have wanted to," said Aang.

Zuko tried to slow his thoughts. "I—I did. I was going to."

"Why didn't you?"

"I told you. I..." He thought back to the throne room, his sword swinging, almost eager to find its target after all this time. Then a thought had hit him like an arrow to the heart: this would be permanent, a permanent end to a temporary problem. There would be no second chances, no forgiveness, no mercy. Not that he deserved it—spirits, that word: deserved.

But, said another side of him, the difference between Father and himself was that he was not begging for forgiveness or mercy; in fact, he was egging him on!

Still, he had pressed no further. Why did he stay his hand? Was it selfishness? Pride? Was Father right; was it cowardice?

"Do it!" his father had said.

Zuko hadn't the ability to speak so he simply stepped back.

Blood had run down Father's right cheek, marking how close he had been to death. His eyes were wide, black pupils pushing gold back to the brink of white, in fear or hate it was impossible to tell.

He could have killed him. He had been so close.

To Aang, Zuko spoke as he thought, not quite sure if it made sense: "I think I stopped because I couldn't be the one to do it. It couldn't end that way."

Aang nodded for him to continue.

"I know I already said I wouldn't kill him, but I didn't understand why it was so important or why you thought it was right. But when I felt my sword cut into his cheek...I held his life in my hands." He held his hand out, miming the memory before letting it fade. "And then I knew. He's just a man. One man," he said, more to himself than them. "I realized if I killed him, I would have stopped him, but it wouldn't have stopped Azula from replacing him or any of his generals or his entire army. I wouldn't have done anything except get blood on my hands. Maybe it's selfish to care about that."

"It's not," said Aang.

"And I'm still banished," he continued, moving away from the dark thoughts best left for solitary consideration. "If I stop him, I'm just another prince who wants to take the throne by force. They won't accept me, but you, Aang, they'll accept you stopping him. You're not just a child, and when you grow up you won't be just a man either. You represent all the nations, and only you can bring balance to them again without anyone questioning your motives."

Aang's face fell as he said this, but then he rose his head and nodded once. "I know." And Zuko felt it: Aang understood, truly understood. "Thank you," he added.

Zuko shook his head. "Killing him—it wasn't right, but I've made everything more difficult."

Aang smiled as easily as he always did, though perhaps his expression was a touch more somber. "You honored me and my people."

There didn't seem to be anything more Zuko could say, so he dipped his head, accepting his words. Aang copied him then returned to directing Appa.

The others on the saddle hadn't moved. Toph was wordless as Zuko passed by her on the way to Sokka and Katara. He kneeled by the siblings. Their faces held the same grief-stricken expression. Katara had stopped crying, but tear tracks still shone on her face as both she and Sokka stared out at him.

He had told Katara to not be captured, and was overjoyed that she—that every one of them-had avoided and survived that possibly. It hadn't occurred to him that Hakoda and Bato would be the ones to face the flames that awaited combat prisoners. "I'm sorry." His words were insufficient, but they were the only ones he could think of saying.

"For what? I told you," Sokka said, voice still thick with emotion, "when have we ever gone the easy route?" He chuckled, though it was broken and short, and it ended with a sob.

Katara remained silent. Both Zuko and Sokka glanced at her.

"I didn't say I loved him."

"He knew," Sokka replied, and Zuko nodded his agreement.

When she didn't respond, Zuko reached out and took her hand, squeezing once—maybe that would say more than he could—before letting go.

A look from her froze his retreat. Chin trembling, she didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. She needed him to stay, and he was more than willing to do so.

She straightened up as he sat down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. Hardly a second had passed before he felt her hand search with a frantic kind of energy to find his and quickly took hold of it. Her hand trembled a little, but it grew still when she squeezed tighter.

They faced forward, still and silent. Clouds passed all around, and the wind, cool and strong, buffeted them, pushing and pulling their hair.

Zuko thought he knew what to say, what needed to be said, but was he right? He took a breath and leaned over a little, whispering, "Katara, I—"

She withdrew from him, only to twist around and return just as quick, gripping him in a desperate hug. Her muffled sobs beat themselves against his chest.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, embracing her as completely as he could, as if doing so would make her whole again. Forgetting what he was going to say before, he whispered, "I'm sorry," and slowly rubbed her back with a thumb. It was an instinctual movement and not one he had ever remembered receiving, though it felt like it should have been.

Silence was its own kind of signal, and he opened his eyes and glanced at Sokka. He looked back at him with an unreadable expression. Instead of commenting, Sokka nodded once before standing and going over to Toph.

Spirits knew what would come next for them, but they had made it through the fire of battle together and intact. Mostly, He thought, feeling Katara against him.

Would Team Avatar fight? Hide? Run? He didn't know. There wasn't much time before Sozin's Comet; perhaps they would simply enjoy the time they had left; perhaps they'd fight one last time. He was exhausted just thinking about it. Why did they have to continue fighting a losing battle? Wasn't it useless to continue?

He realized he hadn't sleep since early that morning. Maybe that was what stopped him from seeing victory, but he didn't know how sleep or a new day would change things. Their chance, their hope of winning had been extinguished, and Aang hadn't even gotten a chance to face Father.

Maybe there was hope to be found in that—that Aang had not quite fulfilled the destiny which raced toward them still.

But destiny never promised happy endings.