"A child stolen is a hope lost."
– Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Sphere of Influence

Dark Reality

The tears flowed freely now as Aang was marched along the dim red hallways of the ship.

The darkly armoured soldiers became demonic figures in the shadowy brig.

Ahead, the young leader of the raiding team stopped. The group halted behind him.

Aang saw a pudgy, aging man approach them.

"I did it, Uncle Iroh," the leader declared as he stepped forth to greet the older man, "Thanks to your teachings."

The uncle placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

"I knew you could do it, Prince Zuko," he replied with a smile, "Now you will be able to return home."

"Indeed," the prince nodded, bowing his head with reverence and joy. He held out the staff in his hand, offering it to his uncle.

"I want you to have this as a trophy, uncle. The airbender's staff, presented as a token of my gratitude."

The old man took the staff carefully in his hands.

"You bring yourself much honour, my nephew. Now, I must turn in for the night."

With that, Iroh took his leave. Zuko turned back to the group.

"To the hold," the prince said.

A little further along, they finally arrived at a cell which looked like it had been prepared to restrain an unusually powerful bender. Someone like an airbender – or more precisely, the Avatar. Thick, heavy chains hung from the iron walls. There was an upper pair for shackling the arms, and a lower pair for securing the legs.

No words were spoken as Aang let the soldiers cuff his wrists and ankles. The young prince stood off to the side, silently observing the process.

After they were finished, the soldiers filed out of the room, leaving only Aang and the prince staring at each other.

Through his tears, Aang saw the stark indifference in the golden eyes of his captor. It made him shiver. The metal which rubbed painfully against his wrists felt even icier, and despite the flaming torches around him, Aang felt cold. The chill in his heart became unbearable, and he felt his legs going limp. Finally, he let the heavy weight of the chains drag him to the floor.

He was still crying, and the tears wouldn't stop falling.

Raising his head, he managed to notice a glimmer of uneasiness whisk across the prince's face, before the older boy forced a mask of detachment back on.

Maybe he's not as cruel as I thought.

Trying to find his voice, the airbender finally managed to form words, though they were steeped with tears and choked with despair.

"Is… is it true?" Aang asked the teenager, somehow knowing that the prince would answer with honesty, "Did your nation kill my people?"

Zuko straightened at the question.

The tortured look in the boy's eyes made some small part inside of him uncomfortable at the hopelessness displayed before him.

Somehow, for whatever reason, he found himself wishing that he could deny the truth. To explain it away as some absurd, silly, morbid myth – one that was created to keep misbehaving children in line. But he found no honour in telling such a lie.

"Yes," he finally answered, "We did."

On the floor, the younger boy wilted even more. Small sobs escaped him, his shoulders wracked with a terrible burden.

"W-Why?" the airbender managed to stammer out, "Why?!"

Something inside Zuko almost broke at the pitiful cries the child emanated. He steeled himself before replying, "Your people were a threat to the peace of the world. We had to remove them."

"How?" the Avatar rasped, begging for answers too complex for him to understand. Once more, Zuko saw how young the ultimate enemy of the Fire Nation was. He didn't get a chance to reply though, before the Avatar continued.

"You didn't have to! We're pacifists!"

"You were going to attack us–"

"We're pacifists!" the Avatar screamed, in frustration and overwhelming anguish. Violent gusts began to swirl around him, rattling his chains and forcing Zuko to plant himself to be able to stand firm.

The prince was afraid that the gale would become too great for the ship's structure to handle. But as quickly as the violent tempest had begun, the Avatar's energy had withered, and he sagged back against the wall, hugging his knees close to his chest.

"We were pacifists…"

The screaming and the wind blasts had subsided for now, replaced with ragged, uneven breaths and broken tears once more.

Zuko made his way to the exit, unable to watch anymore. Some long-forgotten fraternal instinct had arisen, and deep down he desired the opportunity to comfort the despairing child, for reasons he couldn't justify to himself.

You can't. He's still the enemy.

Even so, he paused at the metal doorway to look back.

The Avatar was curled up in a fetal position. Quiet sobs escaped from him. Down in the hold, the only noises that could be heard were the low rumbling of the ship's engines alongside his weeping. The near-silence and the dim light of the torches only punctuated the soft sounds of the child's crying.

Enemy or not, it was almost heartbreaking to listen to.

No! Don't think those thoughts! Only traitors think like that.

Before he could doubt himself any further, Zuko shut the cell door, leaving the Avatar to drown in his grief.

He made his way to his quarters, his mind foggy, his heart weary, and his soul very much in need of rest.

Sokka stared at the ocean tide.

The salt water lapped at the broken edges where the ship had split the ice.

His mind was hazy with surreal disbelief.

In under ten minutes, he had just found out that the airbender boy he had met yesterday was the Avatar.

The Avatar.

The saviour of the world had come back to them.

And soon after that, he had been led away in chains.

Sometimes, Sokka just wished that things were simpler.

He wished his father was here. He wished his mother was here. He wished his sister was here. He wanted to go back in time and save everyone dear to him that he couldn't save.

And yes, that included the Avatar.

Aang. His name is Aang.

Everything was hopeless now. The last hope for victory over the Fire Nation had been taken. The last light for peace had been extinguished.

And yet…

And yet…

And yet, there was something inside of him that kept him standing tall with purpose. Something inside him told him to keep thinking. Keep striving. Keep fighting. Keep believing.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he never noticed his grandmother approach from behind.

"Sokka…?"

"I'm going after him," the words tumbled out of his mouth. Even though he hadn't thought about it, that the sentence had formed itself out of impassioned intuition, he wasn't surprised at himself. In fact, he even welcomed the feeling of a new conviction.

"Out there? To the Fire Nation?" Gran-Gran asked with increasing incredulity.

"If I have to, then yes," Sokka replied again on instinct.

"That's crazy," Gran-Gran shot back, her tone similar to the one she used when scolding him for a stupid stunt, "They'll kill you! And that's assuming you'll even survive crossing the sea!"

She turned away from him angrily.

"That's a foolish idea, and you know it, child."

"But what about the Avatar? We can't just leave him!" Sokka persisted.

"What can we do? They've captured him. There's no chance left for any of us."

"As long as Aang is alive, there's still a chance!" declared Sokka, looking back towards the horizon, "I'm going, Gran-Gran. And you can't stop me."

His grandmother turned back to face him, and he unflinchingly met her glare with his own.

"You're not going."

"I am."

"No, you're not."

"I have to."

"No!"

"I have to!"

"NO!"

"Why can't I go?!" yelled Sokka, frustrated at getting into a screaming match with the only family he had left. Feelings of shame and foolishness at showing defiance to an elder also welled up within him, but his heart still told him not to back down. Somehow, he still knew that leaving to rescue the Avatar was the right decision.

"Why do you have to?!" snapped Kanna as she demanded answers, "Why?! We've already lost so many of our people – our family! Your mother! Your sister! My husband…! My son…"

Gran-Gran was crumbling. And Sokka knew it.

She had been strong for her son, because Hakoda had needed it. She had been a fountain of wisdom when all the men had left, for the sake of the women, the children, and the elderly who had been left behind. She had been a stronghold for their sanity, a bastion for their morale, rallying them, keeping them going even as their spirits cracked and splintered over the years.

But with the capture of the Avatar, their world had all but shattered. And that seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. Gran-Gran's heart, which had bled so much for so long, was now on the verge of completely breaking.

Acting quickly, Sokka wrapped his grandmother in a tight embrace. She pulled her head back a little so she could look up at his face.

"Please just tell me why," she asked, her voice a fragile whisper, "Why do you have to go?"

"Because… it's what Katara would want," Sokka said quietly, looking down in contemplation, "It's what Katara would do."

A moment of silence passed as Kanna remembered.

Remembered how precious it was to feel the sweet sensation of long-forgotten hope return to the tribe when it was announced that her infant granddaughter was a waterbender.

She remembered the day when her son had finally stepped up and taken on his role as chieftain. She had handed over the mantle of leadership willingly, proud to have her son surpass her. He had so much in common with his father. There was so much of her late husband in him, it had almost felt like things had gone back to the way they once were.

She remembered how she had carved her own path in life. All of her decisions, all of her choices – they were her own. And all of it had led her to this moment.

Now, it was her grandson who was about to embark down his own path, on his own journey. Just as all children eventually must. She couldn't protect him forever. She couldn't keep him here forever. That was like trying to resist the ocean tides, or trying to stop the cycles of the moon.

Plainly put, it was an impossibility. And it simply would not do.

Her grandson would be going, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

But still…

"Do I have to lose you too?" she finally asked, her old voice strained with heartbreak and unbearable sorrow.

"You're not losing me, Gran-Gran," Sokka promised the old woman, "You just have to let me go."

Kanna contemplated this for several moments, before she shook her head with a sad smile.

"You've grown up to be a wise man, my little warrior," she said as she stepped back, giving him his freedom, "Your father would be proud of you. So proud."

"Thank you, Gran-Gran," Sokka replied, his voice cracking a little despite his hushed tone.

"But you shall leave tomorrow," Kanna added.

"What? Why?"

"The sun is setting, Sokka. It is dangerous to navigate the ocean alone, especially in the dark," Kanna continued, pausing before she spoke once more, "And I want to sleep beside my grandson one last time, in case we never see each other again."

As soon as she had said that, he was hugging her tightly again.

"We'll see each other again, Gran-Gran. I promise," he muttered into her shoulder. She felt a warm wetness on her furs, and she knew that he was crying now too.

After a few moments, he stepped back and gave a small nod.

"Alright. One more night with my tribe. And then I'll be off."

Sokka took his grandmother's hand, and they walked back to their tent together.

"I'll miss you," said Sokka, when they were finally inside the privacy of their own home, "I'll miss all of you."

"And we'll miss you," Kanna replied, as she sat down with her knitting and watched him prepare.

There was a lot to do, and every minute felt like an hour.

It was both bitter and sweet.

Time was something that could never be frozen – the inevitability of her grandson leaving was getting ever closer with each passing second.

The time they had left together was invaluably precious. That's why Kanna treasured every second of it. Because every moment that passed was a reminder of the setting sun, the diminishing light, and their dwindling time.

But for everything lost, there is also something gained.

Her little warrior was growing up. Making the leap into the unknown. He was more than ready to lay down his life for others.

In truth, he was more man than boy now.

Kanna shook her head with a small, resigned smile as she let her thoughts drift away, focusing only on her knitting, and the young man who continued to pack in front of her.

Take care, my dear boy.

Night eventually came, and they soon huddled up under the covers after a few prayers.

The full moon was a poignantly beautiful sight.

Despite the tragedies and the tribulations of today and from years gone by, one by one, the souls of the Southern Water Tribe went to sleep.

They dreamt of family and friends who were no longer there. Their heavy hearts dwelt on the recent events of the present. But they also saw visions of hope. Glimpses of the future – one that carried a distant promise to be brighter and better than the dark reality they were trapped in now.

They saw a light in their dreams, and they followed it.

High above in the night sky, the full moon glowed brightly. The stars twinkled and shimmered. A tender breeze began to blow, and snowflakes gently started to fall.

Finally got this done. Good of myself to do so.

And the next chapter should hopefully be up soon.

PUBLISHED ON = 07 / 03 / 2019