Book 4: Light and Darkness

by ButtonPusherExtraordinaire

Air's murder was a symptom. The Great War was over, but the Greater War endured. The Realms are imbalanced, and Air's loss is but a sign. Years after Sozin's Comet, The Avatar's most ancient enemy reminds The Avatar of his existence. Lies and truths are disordered as the roots are infected from the chaos, to which The Avatar was ignorant. Things must change. The cycle must end. AU!

21. Mother of Air

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Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar the Last Airbender

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As the mountain range approached, Azula knew she was close to the Southern Temple, particularly by the fresh burst of acceleration as Appa flew faster, clearly wanting to return to what he considered his home.

Samir had fallen asleep against her chest, head jammed uncomfortably on her breast, but she had elected not to disturb her position. Pathik had said that Samir had not slept well while she, Aang, and Toph were gone, and her momentary discomfort was worth a replenishing rest for Samir.

She was a mother now, after all.

Azula prepared herself for the possibility of encountering Aang—her husband!—at the Southern Temple, trying to think of what to say, but there were no words that filled the void in her mind. There was only the void, a blankness, born of exhaustion, incomprehension, and bitterness. She was not ready to face him, but she continued Appa's direction, refusing to go elsewhere or abandon her pursuit.

She needed to find answers, and whether Aang was there, she hoped that the Southern Temple would provide her answers. She had no idea what answers could possibly await her, for she knew no one would give her the answers; she had to arrive at the answers herself. Would there be a scroll she stumbled upon, perhaps one that Aang was reading, that illuminated her perception? Would she find an annal that conveyed solutions to her problem? Would she find an ancient custom for annulments in Air's eyes?

She had no idea.

Azula looked at Momo, who nestled in Samir's lap, situated between Azula's legs. "I suppose you will guide me to whatever I seek, yes?"

Momo's head tilted, and he chirped manically for several moments before shaking himself and resting once more.

"I thought not," she sighed, looking to the winds for answers. How many times had Aang looked to the winds for answers and been given silence? How many times had he hoped to hear Gyatso's voice to guide him? How much more desperate than her had he felt always? How many times had the wind swept away his tears but provided no comfort? How many times had he screamed for answers and heard nothing in response?

When she first met Aang on Ember Island, even after he had divulged several facts, she had never considered him familiar with madness and the dark clutches of insanity. She thought she was alone and that Aang could never understand her, but thinking about what he certainly, undoubtedly faced, she realized how presumptuous she had been.

Aang might have more experience with madness than her.

Appa bellowed in joy, and Azula braced herself, prepared to see Aang, but when she scanned the skies, she saw the familiarity of an Air Temple.

The Southern Temple.

Samir roused against her chest, stretching awkwardly against her before she blinked rapidly; she gasped when she registered the Southern Temple approaching. "That's it! That's Aang's home! It's so pretty!"

Azula was distracted, analyzing the temple, which grew larger and more ominous and imposing with each passing moment. She looked for Aang, for a sign of his presence, for a sign of any life in the Southern Temple, but there was nothing she could discern. The temple looked abandoned, which made a chill descend her spine as she realized how perfect the Southern Temple looked and appeared. It was magnificent, the evidence of intelligence and presence, but there was no one in sight—no Airbenders or sky bison rushing out to meet her atop Appa.

The Southern Temple was empty; Aang was elsewhere, not home.

Part of her felt even more frustrated by the fact that she realized she had no literal idea where he could be. If he was not at the Eastern or Southern Temple, he could be anywhere, and she clearly did not know him well enough to estimate where he could be, particularly since her previous estimations were such abysmal failures. Yet, though there was relief, for she was not ready to face him, she felt disheartened.

She truly thought Aang would be at the Southern Temple—it was the only thing that made sense!

Samir tugged at her hand with a large grin as she pointed with a delicate finger. "Look! That's Air's symbol! That's what Aang said!"

Azula followed Samir's finger and saw the titanic Air symbol carved into the temple's main ledge; it was pristine and constructed perfectly, swirling through the other stone in a painted curvature.

Her instincts told her that Aang created it when he restored the Southern Temple, adding his own touch to make a barren structure seem more alive.

"I see it," she replied to Samir with a brief smile. "Let us see what else we can see."

When Appa landed on the ledge, Samir scrambled into the saddle and slid down his tail and onto the platform. When she landed, she surged to her feet and spun around in awe, stretching her arms out as she basked in the Southern Temple. "It's just like the Eastern Temple!"

Azula was more reserved, hesitating to set foot off Appa onto the temple's platform. She felt like a trespasser; these were holy grounds, on which she intruded intimately. The last time that someone with her blood had set foot on Air's grounds by his own volition, unescorted by Aang or someone of Air, he had unleashed Death on Air.

What right did she have to walk the Southern Temple without Aang endorsing her?

Suddenly, a gust of wind slammed into her, making her slide down Appa's tail and land on the ledge, undignified but unharmed. She glanced behind her, startled, thinking Aang had appeared but recognized no one was there. She looked to Samir. "Did you do that?"

But Samir looked equally surprised, gray eyes wide. "Nuh-uh."

A low grumble reached her ears, and she stared at Appa, realizing he had somehow thrust her off. "Most amusing," she commended in a drawl.

Appa groaned in agreement before lumbering to what looked like the stables near the airball court; he plopped inside one of the stalls to rest, breathing deep and nourishing. Momo squawked in irritation and darted off Appa's horn and landed on Samir's shoulder, to which Samir giggled and looked up at her with a bright light in her gray eyes.

"Where's Aang?"

Azula shook her head. "He is not here."

Samir started to the ledge and peered over. "Maybe if I jump, he'll come and catch me."

She marveled at Samir's fixation on jumping off the temple and quickly grabbed her by the arm. "No. Come with me. We need to explore."

Samir tugged on her hand and stared up at her with pleading eyes. "I wanna race Momo! Can I? We did it at the Eastern Temple! Please?"

Azula sighed. "Stay in this courtyard where I can see and hear you."

"Okay!"

She watched Samir dash away with light, almost non-noticeable gusts of wind before she ascended the small steps leading to a different platform, encircled by a knee-high stone wall. Her mind felt simultaneously sluggish and swift as thoughts filtered through her consciousness. The only idea that she conceived could help her was to browse through the library's ancient collection, brimming with countless scrolls. However, there was something that left her unsettled about the idea. It was an idea she would have done at any other point, but a sensation, which grew stronger, gnawed at her about its inadequacy.

There was nothing left to do but continue searching, however fruitlessly. However, her eye was caught by something coming into view as she continued her exploration.

There was a wooden statue of a meditating monk ahead of her, but when she got closer to the statue, she froze in recognition.

Gyatso.

It was a wooden statue of Gyatso, whose likeness was captured excellently.

Azula stared at Gyatso's statue for a long time, overwhelmed, wishing powerfully for it not to be a statue; she wished for the real Gyatso. However, like Aang before her, she knew her wishes were for naught. As she circled the statue with an admiring eye and heavy heart, she wondered dimly if Aang had erected and carved the statue himself as a monument to his father.

Who else would assemble a statue honoring Gyatso with great artistry and dedication in a temple that lacked individual worship and reverence?

"You could have warned me of this," Azula whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "You saw the future—you saw our marriage—but you neglected to tell me its conclusion. Why? Did you not trust me? Did you think I could not handle it?" She sighed and brushed her fingers over Aang's former upper garb, which he had given her while he searched for her spirit, as she recalled her increasing bitterness toward Aang. "Perhaps you were right to not tell me. Or perhaps you thought I could handle it and considered it insignificant. Yet, you saw the future; you knew what my reaction would be. I cannot see how this turns out well—I cannot. This is not a marriage, Gyatso; this is a blight in Aang's eyes, likely closer to the level of Air's murder than not." Her exhale released in a breeze that rattled. "I wish I could speak to you again. I knew you most briefly compared to anyone else I have ever known, but I miss you deeply. It is a crime against my heart that I cannot speak to you nor see you nor feel your presence."

Silence.

She pinched her nose in dismayed frustration, understanding more and more what Aang experienced every day and every moment when he thought of his father, family, home, and race. For the temple to be empty of Gyatso and those like him was abominable—an evil beyond her words could describe.

When her eyes opened in emotion, she stared at the wooden face frozen in what seemed like apathy. She realized suddenly that she hated the statue. She wanted to destroy it—shoot lightning at it!—for it was a mockery of the real Gyatso she encountered, who changed her life and showed her love, kindness, warmth, and wisdom in such short time that it evoked her love for him. The statue should look real!

She realized with pained breath that Aang had not authored the statue. Aang would have carved a statue depicting Gyatso vigorous and joyful, face stretched in jubilant wisdom and eyes conveying profound intelligence, not empty of Life's touch.

How did Aang stand seeing the statue? How had he left it untouched and unaltered, to depict an accurate and real Gyatso, for eight years?

Azula brushed her fingers over the statue's wooden fists, pressed together in meditation. "This should not be all that is left of you," she breathed. "I am sorry it is. I hate that it is."

Something disturbed and hollow swept through her as she realized all the honors that Sozin was given, even decades after his death. Sozin was a household name, spoken about daily in stories conveyed by poems and legends; there were celebrations of the anniversaries of his birth and death every year in the Fire Nation. But what was there for Gyatso?

Nothing.

It was a name doomed to extinction, unlike Sozin's, yet Gyatso was much more worthy of remembrance and admiration. Sozin was a great man, undoubtedly, but she doubted Sozin ever learned to be a good man, particularly based on several things she heard Grandfather say when she was a child. However, Gyatso was a great man who learned to be good and died a good man—she was certain of it!

"Your name should be known and your likeness recognized," Azula continued, cataloging all the ways she would alter the statue to make it accurate and real; with Aang's permission, she would employ the world's best artists to do Gyatso justice once the war with Vaatu and Father was over. "Though Aang will annul our marriage, I will tell Samir about you; I will tell all his children, regardless of who their mother is, about you."

Azula cursed as she felt her eyes mist with emotion, but no matter desperately she tried to control it, the tears continued, gaining presence and speed as they spilled out of her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

"I seek answers, but I know only you can provide them," she murmured, bowing her head, fists trembling at her sides. "However, you are unable to give me answers. My only option is to go to the library, search the scrolls, and find answers. I must learn a solution."

Her golden eyes roamed Gyatso's wooden face before drifting to the rest of his wooden body, confined in the meditation position, which was familiar to her.

She remembered when she saw him in her limbo, meditating. She had not known who he was, but she had been stunned to encounter an Air Nomad monk, least of all one so serene as to meditate in such a ghastly place. Overwhelmed, she had sat across from him and tried to meditate herself but failed profoundly as all she could think about were the spirits of the airbending children she had seen briefly and how each of them had died violent, horrifying deaths—murdered by a scared Fire Lord leading a strike force of elite Firebenders enhanced by Sozin's Comet's celestial warmth and glow. She realized how disgusting her nomination for Mother of Air was and why Aang distrusted it, resentful toward her because of it, before Gyatso interrupted her with kind amusement. They shared a thrilling and intriguing conversation as he almost playfully led her along slowly to his identity. However, upon realizing his identity, she had explained her love for Air-

Azula stiffened as she recalled Gyatso's wisdom while she was in limbo to not rely on the scrolls. According to Gyatso, nothing external held the answers, whether scrolls, murals, or frescoes. He said that the external taught nothing, for she needed to look inward rather than outward, which culminated in freedom and facilitated alignment with What Is.

"What Air's wisdom points to is not something to learn; it's something to feel—because it's already inside you," he had advised with twinkling gray eyes.

But she felt everything now; she felt the gaping void of the Southern Temple; she felt the profound absence of home in Aang's home.

Azula closed her eyes, realizing that Gyatso was correct; the library would hold no answers for her and provide no solace. She needed to explore the temple more and feel, arriving at the conclusions she needed to arrive at.

She brushed a hand over Gyatso's wooden hands in thanks before she returned to the stables, guided by Samir and Momo's clamor, and found Appa snoring loudly. "Appa," she called out, coming to a quick decision.

The snoring ceased with a startled grunt as Appa opened his eyes, staring at her but did nothing else.

Azula stared back. "I need you to watch Samir. Protect her. Make sure she does not hurt herself. Look over her like you look over Aang."

Appa groaned as he rose to his feet and approached Samir, who chased Momo all around the airball court.

Satisfied, Azula looked back at the temple's yawning entrance, in which she saw the long halls, faded by their sheer length. Drawn by a force beyond her understand, she entered the temple, guiding herself through the ominous halls with her familiarity for Air's layouts.

The silence was not comforting; it was eerie, unnatural, and haunting, making her feel on edge. All around her was the profound evidence of an ancient race, intelligent and wise, but they were nowhere to be seen—only in the precious artifacts that they left behind. It was not like the Eastern Temple, where Pathik had lived for decades with animals roaming. It was something different; it was something gaping.

She imagined Aang after the Great War returning to his home, but he was given no welcome; he was not hailed or greeted; he was not met by smiling, familiar faces, the hallmark of comfort and solace. Instead, he was met by the corpses of his race's last generation, expired by Death's touch, faces unrecognizable in their certain agony and horror, immortalized in their terrifying final moments, left only in deterioration and decay, ugly, rotting masses of former glory.

But as she gazed to and fro, entering some rooms briefly and passing others, she knew she would find no corpses; she would find no signs of the Attack, for Aang had devoted himself for years to wipe all evidence of it from the world—except for the lack of Airbenders and sky bison.

Aang had to deal with all of it, alone; he had no one with him but Appa and Momo. He cradled each corpse he found, foremost amongst the wreckage Gyatso, and showered each with his tears to wash away the horrors that had infected them in their final moments, cleansing them of the evil staining them, depicted on their blackened, broken, crushed skeletons; he showed the corpses the greatest love that any of them ever received in their lives, slaving to honor and remember them, to give them their deserved rights that Sozin denied them, which he performed flawlessly because he would never accept anything less, no matter the horror and grief splintering his mind and raping his soul.

She continued her direction, footsteps light but slow, though it felt like her footsteps became heavier with each empty room she passed. However, when she came upon a blocked room, intrigue filled her. Was Aang actually in the temple? Had he sealed himself in what she estimated as the innermost room in the temple?

It was a massive door with Air's symbols carved in the thick wood, but there were strange horns and tubing spiraling over the surface in an intricate, unfamiliar pattern. She stared at the door, wondering at the contraption, which was clearly a lock. In the Eastern Temple, there was no room similar to it as far as she knew. She felt certain that there was no room like it in the Eastern Temple, for she had explored everything—everything!—there was to be explored while Aang was unconscious for so long after Ba Sing Se.

Was the door opened only by airbending?

Azula brushed her fingers over the ancient wood—how had it survived the Attack?—and felt the instinct to force her way inside. She knew she could destroy the door and marvel upon the secrets certainly hidden inside the room, for she wanted desperately to know what was behind the door. However, she made no move to commit to destroying it, realizing the truth—perhaps a truth she had learned too late.

It was not her place to know; it was not her right to infringe on something beyond her that did not belong to her. Only Aang could tell her or show her what was inside the room, and she would respect the privacy and obvious sanctity therein, though it was painfully difficult.

Why had she not adopted such a strategy for the Mother of Air?

To distract herself, Azula explored other parts of the temple, feeling heavier and heavier with each step she took, going deeper into the temple, alone. She trusted Appa to watch Samir diligently with awareness. Samir was the newest Airbender, after all, someone of premier importance. Instead, she forced herself to visit each room she passed and analyzed all the trinkets in the rooms.

As she entered and exited each room, she imagined Aang there and how alone he was; it reminded her of herself in her cell after the Great War, where she had nothing but herself, a maddening situation.

But a truth slowly unveiled itself as she absorbed everything there was to find, walking paths through the temple that so many had before for thousands of years—but only one had in the past 109 years. It was sobering to her, for she was the second human to roam the temple's halls in 109 years, enabling the cruel understanding. It was a truth blinding and choking, threatening to drown her with its impact and presence.

This was Aang's home—above all, it was his home—his home! This was where he harnessed airbending for the first time; this was where he babbled his first words; this was where he took his first steps; this was where he met Gyatso and loved him; this was where he mastered airbending, becoming a renowned master as a mere child, a prodigy beyond prodigies, a genius beyond geniuses; this was where he played and felt settled; this was where he felt welcomed and love; this was where he felt free and could be himself; this was where he found forgiveness and acceptance; this was where he found belonging and unity; this was where he had a family to return to; this was where he learned his identity as The Avatar, which transformed everything, marring paradise into an evil distortion where he no longer felt welcomed, loved, free, accepted, and belonging; this was from where he fled from the past into the future; this was where he understood the depths of Air's murder when he saw Gyatso's skeleton surrounded by dozens of Imperial Firebenders, devastating and obliterating his soul and raping his innocence; this was to where he returned after the Great War and several years traveling the world to offer his support and provide guidance; this was where he began Air's restoration and spent months rebuilding the temple to make it stronger and grander than ever before; this was where his isolation disillusioned him more and turned his perspective dark, jaded, and grim; this was where he first started relying on his past lives as company for presence and understanding, no matter how limited the understanding was; this was where he found the ancient airbending scroll describing true flight; this was where he felt so haunted, bitter, hate-filled, and lonely that it provoked him to dedicate himself to his 'vacation' on Ember Island, where he met her; and this was where, more than likely, she would live her life if Aang wished for their marriage to continue and embraced her as the Mother of Air.

When she entered the newest room, she paused in the ingress, surprised by the clear signs of occupancy; there was a fine layer of dust and dirt over everything, but it was clear that she had found Aang's chosen room where he lived and slept while at the temple. There were several gliders heaped into one corner, several strewn pieces of an Air outfit tossed in multiple directions, a basic cot, and a messy desk, littered with countless scrolls and parchment.

Azula entered fully, approached the cluttered desk, and ignored the scrolls in favor of the parchment, for there was a distinguished script on the many pieces of parchment—a recognizable script.

Aang wrote on the parchment; it was his writing.

She sat in the chair by the desk, imagined Aang committing the same movement a thousand times, and assessed the parchments, eyes avid. She realized swiftly that each parchment was a letter to different people, several of which were to the same person in different iterations. But the letters were never sent. It was obvious why none of the letters were sent, but for some, it was possible, while for others, it was impossible.

Azula swallowed when she saw a letter addressed to Gyatso and knew she should respect Aang's privacy but could not help herself as she read the letter:

Gyatso,

Where are you? Are you still hiding away somewhere? Are you in a place so remote that you haven't heard of The Avatar's return? Are you living on another lion turtle's back? Did you grow out your hair if you had any hair to grow and confuse your appearance to blend in with the other races? Did you stick to the shadows, living by night's darkness rather than day's light? Did you run to the corners of the world? Did you run until your feet were unrecognizable? Did you meet any other Airbenders who miraculously survived the Attack? Have you all banded together and found a stable shelter that has housed you for all this time? Have you created a new community of Airbenders, unknown to anyone? Have you lived untouched by the Great War except its first day?

I'm going to find you one day, Gyatso. I've scoured the world thirteen times over already, but I'll never stop until I find you—because you have to be somewhere. I can't be alone. I can't be the last of us. Don't you see what I've become, Gyatso? It's only going to get worse, and I'm scared for myself. I look at myself often and don't recognize who I am. Ever since I learned about The Avatar, I haven't recognized myself. But it's different now. Would you recognize me if you saw me now? When I find you, wherever you are, will you open your arms in greeting or close them to fight an enemy? I've changed so much—more than I thought I was capable of. The Boy is dead; he's a stupid memory, but I keep his memory alive even though he doesn't deserve it because the Boy is who knew you and has the memories of you.

Do you know what it means, Gyatso, being the Last Airbender? I have to father a new race of us. That's what the sages tell me, as if I don't know myself. I don't like the sages—they're idiots, who think they know everything and must advise me on what I need to do. I know more than they ever will what I need to do, and it infuriates me that they talk to me like a child. But they are right to, aren't they? I'm still a child in their eyes, on the cusp of manhood, even though I'm nineteen—or, rather, one-hundred-nineteen. They want a child to father children, and it's what the world demands. Everyone says that Air must be revived as soon as possible, but no one can even describe Air! No one knows what Air is like! If no one knew my appearance, no one would know what Air Nomads look like! They don't know our beliefs; they don't know our ethics; they don't know our practices; they don't know our customs; they don't know our wisdom; they don't know why we do things the way we do; they don't know our history; they don't know our culture; they don't know our race. And they dare tell me that they know what I have to do? No, they are despicable. The pressure is unholy—because the task is unholy. Everything that I love can only be loved by me; I can't share it with anyone, not even my children. Don't you see? How can I create a new generation of Air when the new generation won't be of Air? I have to father a half-spawned new generation, but there's no womb worthy in the world to carry Air because there's no Air womb; there are only Water wombs, Earth wombs, and Fire wombs. But no matter what I do, the new generation will be half-spawns, untied to Air as they will be called by two elements—and, thus, no elements.

I'm going to lose the purity of our blood, Gyatso, absorbed by the other races, who are so much lesser than us. It's so obvious watching them and analyzing them, looking at the ways they talk and the nonsense they believe. None of them were strong enough to end the Great War; they relied on me, a child, to end it. How could a child put an end to what men failed to for a century? Why did it take a child to stop what no one else could? How could none of them have the strength and will to stop fighting, to find peace and balance? How could none of them have risen above their innate weaknesses, realize their extensive errors, and just stop? How could none of them look to something greater than themselves instead of drinking the blood of their enemies? How could none of them see a murdered corpse and shudder? How could none of them see a raped woman and wither? How could none of them see a child's brains bashed in and die? It's pathetic; it's disgraceful; it's evil—because they're those things, aren't they? The Great War showed me, and continues to show to me the more that I think about it, what failures the other races are. We would have ended the Great War in months if not for Sozin's Comet; we would have shown the other races the way. None of the others have accomplished what we have. Look at our temples! Look at our artifacts! Look at the wisdom we pursued and the enlightenment obtained!

The others worship War, Gyatso—it's so clear to me. How did I never see it before? How did I make friends with them during the War? How could the Boy have been such a stupid fool like they were? It must be true, or parts of it must be. Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't actually enjoy it, deep down? Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't anticipate the blood spraying against their flesh in a warm mist? Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't look forward to seeing their enemies on a field of blood-soaked land? Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't relish conquering others? Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't find pleasure in making half-spawns with women who hated them and the half-spawns forced on them? Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't disagree with its aims and objectives? Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't care about solving problems and finding solutions to the plights evoked? Why else would the Great War last for so long if they didn't ignore Air's higher teachings because they hated Air's higher teachings, searching for the thrill of slaughter and rape? There's only one explanation—they're in love with spilling blood and raping and murdering each other, even for a century straight. They are savages. It's said that Sozin claimed he was spreading civilization, but all he did was reinforce Fire, Earth, and Water's primitive and uncivilized states, enslaved to War. That's all he did. Water worships fighting, Earth rewards it, and Fire honors it. What's wrong with all of them? They're sick and pathetic. I want to be free of them, but I can't—I can't!

Because now I have to rely on them to revive Air, Gyatso. It's impossible, isn't it? But unlike last time, I'm going to watch us die. I'm going to be there for this slow demise—a gentle eradication that no one will notice but me. My children will not love Air like I do, for they will feel the touch of another Element. They are compromised forever, mutilated by Water, Earth, and Fire's primitivity. They are impure, unable to love what I love. Water and Earth are really no better than Fire, for they embraced what Fire embraced just as easily, falling into the weak sin of evil. And they're never going to learn—they will make the same mistakes, commit the same crimes, and live the same lives. Sozin led the world by the hand, and the world followed, facilitated by Water and Earth's pathetic natures. Sure, Water and Earth opposed Sozin, but they fell right into Sozin's beliefs and did the same things that Fire did, provoked by Sozin, unable to resist. There were no good guys in the Great War, were there? Both sides raped, pilfered, and murdered whenever possible—and there were many possibilities. There were no good guys because we were slaughtered off. We were the only race standing between the world's peace and the world's damnation. It was always us. We have always been the most important. It is of profound significance that the Great War happened, devastating the Mortal Realm for an entire century—a century!—only after Air was murdered, leaving a void of vulnerability, bereft of our protection. We were the only ones who could have stopped it all from happening. Sozin knew it—I know he did. It wasn't only about The Avatar, was it? The Avatar was by far the biggest part, certainly, but there was the hidden dread that Air possessed unrivaled strength and ancient wisdom, elevated above the other races. Sozin knew we could stop him, which is why he weaponized the celestial advantage of Sozin's Comet.

Our renown kept the world's balance, Gyatso, didn't it? It was never the other races, who are too stupid to do anything but go to war; it was always us. We were the world's saviors for countless generations. It wasn't even The Avatar, was it? It was always us, deep down. But what happened to us? We were wiped from the face of the world and not even a memory is left of us. The only memory that exists is that which fades in my mind, and I can't describe what we are in any intelligent way to convey an accurate picture and idea to anyone who will listen. But there's no one who will listen, is there? No one cares about Air but me; no one understands the loss; no one understands what Sozin did to us. And it wouldn't surprise me if Sozin reached out of the Gardens, past Death, and ruined us again. I'm never going to let that happen. I will take extensive measures to ensure that we are free from Sozin forever; I will sever the Mortal Realm from the Immortal Realm if I have to—if it is the only solution that will work. We must return, but how can we? Sozin accomplished his aims except for me. We are gone, and not even The Avatar's transcendent power can bring us back. I've tried. The only solution is to use the wombs offered to me, but there are no wombs acceptable to me. I find it more likely that the wombs available would poison my children before carrying them. Even if they are born, they will still be poisoned; they will be infected; they will be unnatural, won't they? My children will be degenerates. It's what's going to happen. It's unfair; it's unacceptable; it's worthless; it's ugly; it's evil. I know you will say that my children would be none of those things, and I agree, but the entire situation is those things, which will reflect on my children because they will be born of the situation, reflecting on them, making them those things in time. Or if not them, my grandchildren. No matter what I do, we lose—we go extinct. I'll revive Air only for it to die again. I don't know what to do about that. I'll end up murdering Air again!

It's too much, Gyatso. I think about Death a lot. Not a day goes by where I don't think about it. I've considered killing myself. I've made plans, written notes of my will and wishes, and swore I would go through with it, but every time it comes time to act, I can't do it. I'm even a failure at that. I've jumped off the temple ledge, plummeting to the ground, and I vowed not to use airbending to land so the crash would kill me, mangle me beyond recognition, but no matter what I did, no matter how I screamed at myself to not do it, I did it—I landed rather than crashed. I've tried to aim for the rocks, jump directly over them so I'd crash there, but I save myself every time. Why? Why am I such a failure? I've carved knives and spears and swords, and every time I graze the knife's edge across my flesh, whether my throat or my chest, I can't puncture. I've tried to impale myself on the spears and swords, but I destroy them each time before I'm impaled. I've tried to drown myself in the South's ocean surrounding our mountain range, forcing myself to the ocean's floor, but I save myself; I've tried bloodbending my heart to make it explode, and though I can hold my own blood and grip my heart, even squeeze it, I can't crush it. I've tried to set myself on fire and walk through blazing flames in the valley, but I counteract the flames with my firebending always. I can't stop myself. I've tried to suffocate myself, but my airbending won't do it. I can't make myself; I lack will, weak and pathetic—like the Boy. I've looked to the heavens and ordered lightning to strike me. When the heavens cried its tears of rain in refusal, I flew to its genesis and looked for the holy storms that shake the world, and I find them every time I look for them. I fly in the titanic storms born of Heaven, but they never dare touch me; they recognize my sovereignty, and I wish they didn't. I don't want them to. I've scared wild animals and tried to get them to attack me, and some refuse to, too scared, but others do. But when they rush at me, I don't let myself be skewered or trampled; I jump out of the way or stop the animals.

But there were other ideas, Gyatso. I've even tried something as simple as asking someone to kill me, but no one will. When I say The Avatar demands it, no one will do it. Even when I disguise myself with a hat and obscure my tattoo of mastery, and I ask people to end my life, offering all the money I can find and obtain, which is a lot, and I tell them how much it is, none of them will do it. I've snuck into some of the worst prisons in the world, from the Boiling Rock to the Dai Li's secret dungeons, encountering Sozin's kins of spirit, to finally give me the absolution I want. I've asked murderers to kill me—to do to me what they do best—but none dare. Not even the rapists will touch me! What's wrong with me? Why will no one do as I wish? Do they see something on my face that scares them? Do they see my eyes and stop themselves? Why? I've considered going to the one person I know will kill me for sure—Ozai. I've thought about sneaking into Ozai's cell under Zuko's nose and opening myself to the vengeance Ozai seeks. I've visited Zuko just for that purpose, surprising him by showing up randomly in the Caldera. Zuko didn't know that I was telling him goodbye, the only person I cared enough about to say goodbye to, and he had no idea. I snuck down to Ozai's cell in the night, induced slumber in the guards, and entered, unseen and unheard, into the cell. I watched Ozai as he slept. I was going to wake him up, attack him, belittle him, mock him, do anything it took to make him react in rage. But I couldn't bring myself to wake him up and go through with my plan. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I can't bring myself to go through with any of my plans, and it haunts me because my lack of will is disgusting and stupid—because I'm those things. It keeps me awake, untouched by sleep, which is as close to death as I'll ever get, it seems.

I can't kill myself, Gyatso. Something's holding me back; something's saving my life. But it's not a mystery; it's not something I need to ask you about. I don't need your advice or wisdom for it. Because I know exactly what's keeping me alive. I know what it is, and it's not love; it's not joy; it's not pleasure; it's not faith; it's not hope; it's not my memories; and it's not my instincts. It's something shameful but true, and I don't know how to tell you; I don't know if I should tell you. How do I tell you? How do I ruin your perception of me? How do I make you scared for me? How do I make you horrified by me? How do I do this to you? How do I wither your spirit and taint your memories, making you second-guess everything as I have for so long? How do I tell you the truth? But above anyone, I trust you, and I'm going to tell you. I know you're happy that I'm still living and that you would thank whatever is keeping me alive in gratefulness and joy, but you could never thank what's keeping me alive. I know you can't. You're going to be horrified and shaken; you're not going to believe it. You're going to deny it and look every which way for something or someone to blame rather than accept it. I know you will—because I've done the same. But it's true—it's all me. I know it will pain you; I know it will hurt you; I know you will never look at me the same way again. But I'm going to tell you the truth because I trust you to know my secret. I want you, you alone, to know my secret, and I know you don't want to know it, but I'm too weak to keep it to myself anymore. I've performed for everyone else in this stupid time, but I'm not going to perform for you. I refuse to perform for you. You're everything, and I trust you to know my secret.

I hate, Gyatso; I hate so much and so deeply. It's my hate that keeps me alive. I hate so much more than I love, and I think it will be that way forever. I know I shouldn't hate, but I do. I can't help it. Every time I try not to hate, I end up hating more—because I actually want to hate. I want my hatred; I want it more than anything that's possible. My hatred is my friend—my only true friend, for it's been with me the whole time during all this evil. It's the one thing that's been my confidant, loyal no matter what happens, regardless of the events that shape my damned life, and it's never judged me. It's slept when I've slept, mourned when I've mourned, traveled when I've traveled, attacked when I've attacked, and hungered when I've hungered. It's part of me, and I wouldn't have it in any other way—it's all I have left. Because, for so long, I've been hatred—I am hatred, Gyatso. Maybe I found my wife—the Mother of Air—in my hatred. Maybe that's it. Because my hatred is my wife. The truth is—I love my hatred, and I trust my hatred. I love hating because the only thing that satisfies me and makes me feel settled rather than lost is my hatred; the only thing that stabilizes me amidst all the madness gnawing at my mind and poisoning everything I do is my hatred. I know you're disappointed in me. I know I'm not supposed to hate, but I do. How can I not? I don't know how. You were murdered by a raping madman, and I'm not supposed to hate it? I'm not supposed to hate Sozin? I'm not supposed to hate Sozin's Comet? I'm not supposed to hate the world and everyone in it for letting this evil happen? I'm not supposed to hate Roku for sparing Sozin? I'm not supposed to hate myself for being such a miserable, pathetic, disgraceful failure? I'm not supposed to hate myself for it being my fault? I'm not supposed to hate The Avatar?

I can't do it, Gyatso—I can't. I have to hate. With every breath I take, with every beat of my heart, with every blink of my eye, with every thought in my mind, I hate—forever. I'm too weak to stop it, to stop myself from doing what I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't, but I don't care. I rationalize it by comparing myself to the Boy. The Boy cared too much when he left home—cared that he would be separated from you—which culminated in atrocity. Thus, I need to not care anymore. I know it's a stupid rationalization, but stupid rationalizations are all I have—because I don't have you anymore. But it's not just you. It's everyone. It's all the friends whose dying screams were swallowed by fire; it's the home that crumbled under the weight of ashes; and it's the world that wept invisibly in horror.

Air teaches to look to the Truth as it is ultimate and pure, something nourishing and fulfilling in all areas, but I hate the Truth because the Truth is—you are dead, aren't you, Gyatso? You died 107 years ago, didn't you? You died when the rest of us did. I should have died with you. It's my biggest crime that I didn't. It's not letting the Attack happen in the first place or sleeping in the ocean for a century while the Great War consumed so many men. The fact that I didn't die with you and our race in our allotted time is what damns me forever—it's going to curse me to damnation, which I welcome. I deserve nothing less. I should have died screaming like you did; I should have held my own heart, dripping with my life's blood, in my hands before I died; I should have watched, powerless, as Sozin led his Imperial Firebenders through the temple, slaughtering, raping, and pillaging; I should have killed all the Imperial Firebenders I could like you did before I died; I should have seen all the corpses of our race around me, faces melted and bones blackened, and joined them, mind suffocating from the smoke and ashes until Death was left.

I'm sorry my love killed you, Gyatso. Maybe if I had hated you instead, you would still be alive. That's another rationalization I use for my hatred. My love killed anything good in the world. Thus, the only way to fix it is to hate, instead; the only way to preserve anything good in the world is to hate. I know you disagree, but it's all I can do. What else can I do? I feel no love, and I don't think I ever will again. I made friends in this evil place at first when I had nothing left. It was a desperate attempt to try to hold on while I needed to stop Ozai. But it was never real friendship because none of them but one understands friendship. A Water Tribesman and girl found me in the Iceberg and released me. They told me I was part of their family, but they forgot their vow and turned their backs on me after the War ended. My earthbending teacher liked me, but she forgot about me and went to do other things. The only friend I have besides my hatred, Appa, and Momo is an heir of Sozin. Only an heir of Sozin understands friendship and what it means. It's disgusting; it shouldn't be this way.

Why did this happen, Gyatso? Why can't you tell me? Why can't you look at me and say everything's going to be okay? Why can't you smile at me and show me your heart? I want to feel something real again. I'm sick of this place—this damned, evil time. It infuriates and maddens me equally. There's nothing real about it; it's all fake and sickening. I keep waiting to wake up from the nightmare, but the nightmare is all I know anymore, which makes me retch just thinking about it. I'm sick of living in this world; I would destroy it if I knew how. There's nothing redeeming about this gross place. The people in it are imposters and frauds, too stupid to understand anything. Zuko's the only good one, I've found—and I've met countless people here because of The Avatar. What do they know about Life and Death? What do they know about wisdom? What do they know about nature? What do they know about intelligence? What do they know about willpower? What do they know about grief? What do they know about loss? What do they know about spirituality? What do they know about meditation? What do they know about restraint and serenity? What do they know about ethics? What do they know about freedom? What do they know about truth? What do they know about anything but war?

I've seen them and talked to them, asking questions, and challenging all their idiocy, and it's clear to me—there's nothing good about them, Gyatso, not like there was with you and our race. I can't believe I saved this stupid world and these even stupider races. I guess I'm a bigger idiot than they are. But I didn't save the world for them. It was never about saving the world, not this world that is so disgusting and evil. No, it was about stopping Sozin, who lived on in Ozai—that was it. It was never anything more, least of all 'saving' these fools who couldn't save themselves and mock Air to my face when they think I'm not paying attention. The only people I would ever save are those at the Air Temples if I could, never anyone more—because no one else is worthy of it. It's all so clear. I realize that now. I didn't realize it then when I did it, but that's what my aim was, truly. I didn't stop Sozin a century earlier, so I stopped Sozin's descendant. But why didn't I kill him? I should have killed him. I didn't kill him because I thought it's what you would want, but that's wrong—it has to be wrong. You killed all those Imperial Firebenders, didn't you? I know you did. Do you know how easy it would be for me to fix my mistake, to walk into the Fire Nation and walk out carrying Ozai's head? Do you know how easy it would be for me to peel Ozai's flesh from his bones and make a blanket from it? Then it wouldn't only be my hatred keeping me warm and alive. No one could stop me, not even the combined armies of the world if it came down to it. I'd listen to no one but Zuko, but Zuko couldn't change my mind. The only thing that stops me is that I don't care; I don't care about Ozai because Ozai isn't who I want. I want Sozin. If it was Sozin locked in that secret dungeon beneath the palace, I would do it; I would leave to do it right now after finishing my letter to you.

You're disturbed by me, aren't you, Gyatso? You see me now and can't reconcile what you see with the Boy. You see what I've become, realize the truth of my secret, and know horror because of it. That's how I felt when I learned about The Avatar. This was always destined, wasn't it? You would tell me that everything that's happened has happened for many reasons, even if they're stupid, evil reasons. You would say that it's destined, wouldn't you? But I'm destined this because of it, right? The Avatar is destiny. I'm the greatest evil to walk the Realms—I know it. Because I'm The Avatar, who is evil to the core. How else do you explain all of this? How else do you explain how far I've fallen? If you were here, I'd ask you to kill me, and I'd trust you to go through with it—because I trust you more than anyone to ever walk this world.

I don't know why I wrote this letter, Gyatso. I've written previous letters to you over the years, but it's never been like this. I was always scared to write this one; I was always ashamed. But something's changed. I'm still ashamed, but I'm not scared anymore. But even more than that, I'm tired. I'm tired of pretending. I keep performing for everyone trying not to scare them because I'm scared of what would happen if I scare them. I play a role to please and soothe others, none of whom deserve it because they're all idiots. Why do I waste my time and energy with them? I'm sick of it! I didn't attend the last Great Gathering because of it.

The point is—I'm tired, Gyatso. I want to rest; I want to feel settled; I want to feel freedom and know peace; I want to have everything I once had when my memories were my life. I can't be real with anyone, not even Zuko, the only good one here, because Zuko doesn't understand. I have to keep at the stupid performance for all the stupid people around me in this damned, evil time. There's no one like you here. I wrote this because I wanted to be real with you; I wanted to be honest with you. But I failed, didn't I? I failed because you're not here to be anything with. You're gone, only a memory that exists in my compromised, broken, fading memories, and I'm just talking to myself and going more insane, aren't I?

I'm sorry, Gyatso, I really am. I keep saying it, but it's never going to be enough—because nothing's enough. There's nothing for me in this life. I should kill myself. No one would miss me. The people who missed me were the ones in the temples when Sozin launched the Attack. I want to see you again, and the only way to see you again is in the Gardens. I know you're there, but something's holding me back from joining you. My hatred isn't done yet. I still have things to do. But I'll see you soon—just not yet.

I love you, Gyatso. I'm yours forever.

Aang

After finishing, Azula was unable to tear her gaze away and stared at the letter with unseeing eyes, feeling sick and hollow. The worst part was that she knew Aang meant every word in the letter at the time when he wrote it. It was the raw, unfiltered truth, enabled by a bleeding heart, which had crusted over with fulfilling hatred. She calculated the time when he wrote the letter, based on when he said Gyatso had died 107 years ago and his admittance to skipping one of the Great Gathering events. The letter had likely been written only months before he left on his vacation to Ember Island after discovering the ancient scroll detailing true flight.

Looking back, it should have been obvious that the Aang she encountered was a profoundly hate-filled man, but she had never seen that Aang while he was on Ember Island, which had clearly smoothed out the rough edges, however briefly. She had never known he existed. Sure, she had suspected things were much deeper, especially as he fascinated her as she got to know him, but she had never actively encountered the Aang who wrote the letter on Ember Island—until later.

What would have happened if Aang had never decided to take his vacation to Ember Island, where he met her?

Azula considered it likely that Vaatu would have somehow gotten to him.

She saw other letters, addressed to Sozin, King Bumi, Kuzon, Katara, Sokka, and Toph. She realized instantly she could never let the world see the letters or know of their existence, for she knew the dark, seething contents within each of them. While King Bumi and Kuzon's letters would likely be acceptable, she refused to risk it. No one could ever know of the letters or read them, relaying its contents through sensationalized gossip.

But was it her place to destroy the letters, setting each alight with her flames, watching as the neat script was consumed? What right did she have to destroy his letters, even if it was born of a protective instinct? She was his wife, which gave her great authority, but he did not want her to be his wife. As he confessed in his letter to Gyatso said, he wanted his hatred to be his wife, not her.

Her eyes went to the next letter:

Bumi,

Why are you so old? What happened to you? I'm The Avatar, and though Roku aged differently than normal for me, I live differently—and can never catch up to you because of it. I'm so sorry.

Azula pulled her eyes away, unable to take anymore, though the letter went on extensively. All the letters did based on her momentary assessment, though none were longer than his letter to Gyatso.

She did not have enough willpower to read Aang's other letters and placed them back on the cluttered desk, but she kept his letter to Gyatso in her hand; something held her back from putting it back with the others. Perhaps she wanted Aang to read it again, two years later; perhaps she wanted to see the look or looks on his face as he read it; perhaps she wanted him to see how far he had come—or not come. She honestly had no idea if Aang was the same Aang who wrote that letter, for the Aang she encountered on Ember Island was different from the Aang after Ba Sing Se and after their marriage. She had already suspected that the Aang she met on Ember Island was a clean slate on the surface while the Aang after Ba Sing Se had reverted to the man he was before his vacation. After reading his letter to Gyatso, she realized her suspicions were confirmed.

Aang was the same Aang who wrote the letter; he had reverted after the liberating vacation to Ember Island where he met her, sparked by Ba Sing Se's murder and the reminder of Air's murder with Samir's mediocrity in learning airbending.

She stuffed the letter into her upper garb, securing it there, and exited the room, shaken; she sped her pace, realizing that much time had passed since she saw Samir. She wanted to see gray eyes lively with joy and energy rather than dark with hatred, which she visualized distinctly with chilling accuracy—for the memory was fresh.

It was how he had looked at her right before he jumped across the lake and fled to the Immortal Realm.

When she reached the airball court, there was no one there—no Samir, Appa, or Momo.

"Samir?" she called out.

Silence.

"Appa?"

Silence.

"Momo?"

Suddenly, Appa's lumbered into view with a deep huff.

Azula walked to meet him, pace quick. "Where is Samir, Appa?"

Appa groaned and gestured back to the temple.

"Samir went inside?"

A puff of air was her answer.

She nodded and went inside the temple, searching for Samir, trying to discern sounds of Momo. She called out Samir's name every few moments as she continued her search, roaming through the halls and ascending the levels of the temple.

After much too long in her estimation, she received an answer from her call.

"Mommy!" Samir greeted, running down the hall toward her, face relieved with a fat grin; Momo flew beside her. "I was looking for you!"

Having come to understand the signs, Azula braced herself as Samir launched forward and collided against her legs, squeezing tightly. "I was looking for you," she responded with slight amusement.

"Where did you go?" Samir asked, peering up at her.

"I searched for answers and found them; I feel them. Did you find anything interesting?"

"There's a big door that won't open!"

Azula nodded, surprised that Samir had gotten so far through the temple. "Yes, I know. Only Aang can open it."

Samir pouted. "I asked Momo to open it, but he couldn't."

"Only an Airbender can open it," she explained. "Momo is not an Airbender."

"But I'm an Airbender! Why won't it open for me?"

"Only a Master Airbender," she clarified with patience. "You will be a master one day, but that day is not today."

"But what about Appa? Can he open it? I wanna see inside!"

Her brows rose. "Appa is too large to fit through the hall."

Samir sagged. "I wanna know what's inside—I wanna see it. Guru Pathik said that Air Temples don't hold secrets for Airbenders. What's the secret, Mommy?"

Azula was stunned by the reminder of her new position as Samir's mother before she recovered and raised one shoulder to shrug. "I cannot say. I do not know what lies behind that door."

"Is it treasure?" Samir gasped, gray eyes brilliant.

She shook her head. "The only treasure Air Temples carry is wisdom. When we see Aang again, we can ask him what is behind the door."

"Does he know?"

"Of course," she said instantly. "He knows everything about the Air Temples."

He had restored each of them, after all.

Samir nodded, face innocent. "Maybe there are other Airbenders inside."

Azula's face tightened, thinking of Aang's letter to Gyatso. "No, Samir," she corrected. "There are no more Airbenders. There is only Aang, Appa, and you."

"Because they died?"

"Yes."

Samir sniffed and clutched at her legs tighter, head twisting in each direction, scanning down the halls with frightened awareness. "Are they still here? Are they spirits?"

"There is no one here but us," Azula consoled softly, placing a hand in Samir's hair—to steady not only Samir but herself. After reading Aang's letter to Gyatso, everything felt so much more real, including everything she did not feel.

Such as Air's presence.

"Why did they die?"

Azula never expected such a question and floundered for several moments, unprepared; she smiled tightly, trying not to overwhelm Samir with knowledge but wanting her to understand the severity of what happened. "You know the Great War?"

"Uh-huh."

"They died during the Great War."

Samir's face scrunched. "Aang said there was a comet."

Azula nodded. "Sozin's Comet, yes."

"But why did they die?"

She hesitated, unsure how to describe the most unbelievably successful murder in the history of the world. "Come—I want to show you something," she said, having a brief plan.

Samir grabbed an immediate hold of her dangling hand as Azula led her to where she had seen Gyatso's statue. The walk through the halls was silent except for Momo's chaotic, non-rhythmic chirps and the continual light breezes singing, echoing off the walls in harmony.

It was impressive.

When she reached Gyatso's statue, she gestured for Samir to step forward, which she did. "Meet your grandfather, Samir."

Samir's face scrunched. "It's a statue."

"A statue of your grandfather," she clarified. "His name was Gyatso."

"That's Aang's daddy!" she chirped before looking down. "I'm not supposed to ask about him."

Azula sighed. "Did Aang tell you that?"

Samir nodded. "He got mad at me for asking about him."

She patted the side of Samir's head. "You can ask me about Gyatso if you want." Aang's letter to Gyatso in her garbs felt heavy, beginning to burn against her flesh. "I did not know him as Aang did, but I love him, as well."

"He looks empty," Samir whispered, staring up at Gyatso's statue, wary.

Azula nodded in agreement; she quite disliked the statue. "I know, but I tell you now—when I met him, he was more alive than anyone I have ever known, including Aang."

Samir looked up at her, face twisting. "Why did he die? Where's everyone else? Why am I the only Airbender?"

"They died in the Great War," she repeated, unsure how much to tell her. "Gyatso was amongst them. They all died, and there was no one left except for Aang. That is why Aang is so happy you are an Airbender. You are the start of a new age."

But Aang hated the thought of a new age—he wanted the old age.

Samir's eyes roamed Gyatso's statue, face pinched. "He looks weird. Why is he bald?"

Azula laughed. "Pathik is bald. What is strange about it?"

"Gyatso looks weird with the tattoo."

"The monks would shave their heads to showcase their tattoos of mastery."

"What about Aang?"

"He decided not to."

"Why?"

Azula knew the true reason but smirked. "Because I told him to. I like him with hair."

Samir laughed, as expected. "Me too! Does his tattoo go back like the statue where he has all his hair now?"

"If he shaved his head, his tattoo would look exactly like the statue."

"Do I have to get a tattoo?"

"That is Aang's decision."

Samir shook her head immediately. "Nuh-uh. I don't want a tattoo."

Azula reckoned Aang might agree with Samir's aversion for the tattoo of mastery, which had identified all Airbenders to be slaughtered. "When you master your bending, you can talk to Aang. I think he will understand."

"I don't wanna be bald! I like my hair!"

She recalled Avatar Yangchen's statue at the Eastern Temple. "A nun does not have to shave all her hair, only the forehead."

"But I don't wanna be a nun!"

Azula smirked. "Me neither. You can be what you want, Samir."

Samir shuffled her feet, hesitant. "But what about Aang? Does he want me to be a nun?"

"He wants you to be you, nothing more. If you do not want to be a nun, he will accept it."

"What does a nun do?"

Azula blinked, realizing she did not know. "I am unsure. You can ask Aang when we see him again."

Samir huffed. "Where is he? I wanna talk to him now."

"He is elsewhere," she replied. "Perhaps he has headed back to our new camp, and we will see him there."

Something sad and disbelieving crossed Samir's face. "What if he's not there?"

"We wait for him to return," Azula answered, knowing it was the only option. She would never be able to find Aang when he did not want to be found. "I will introduce you to everyone—or you will introduce yourself to anyone. You will meet your Uncle Zuzu."

Samir's eyes sparkled. "I have an uncle?"

"My brother," she clarified. "He is the Fire Lord, remember?"

"Uh-huh. He has the big, ugly scar."

She smirked. "It is not the scar that makes him ugly."

Samir giggled. "You're funny!"

Azula nodded, feeling proud. "I know. You are special, Samir. Too few people laugh at my jokes."

"But I laugh at them!" Samir pointed out, laughing.

"Which makes you better than everyone else," she commended with a brief pat to Samir's cheek, recalling a different laughter that she hoped to remember forever. "I like your laugh, Samir. Always laugh. Never forget its gift. That is one of the things I remember most about Gyatso during the brief time I knew him—his laugh, which was warm, kind, and evocative."

Samir frowned and stared up at Gyatso's statue. "He should be laughing. Meditating's stupid."

Azula swallowed a laugh. "I agree his statue should depict him laughing. But you will learn of meditation's benefits soon enough."

"I'm hungry," Samir said suddenly, looking shy but determined. "I want a snack."

"Is that why you went searching for me?"

"Uh-huh."

She nodded and considered their options for food, realizing that she had not truly thought ahead. Instead of panicking, she gestured for Samir to follow her, which Samir did, latching onto her hand. They found Appa dozing in the stables, as expected, gentle snores floating in the air.

"Appa, you can rest later," Azula greeted.

Appa's snoring ceased as his eyes opened, glaring at her.

Azula was unimpressed. "You can rest later," she repeated. "We need to go to the valley. Surely you are hungry, as well."

Appa perked up at the mention of food and jumped to his feet and shook himself slightly, rearranging the wildness of his fur into something recognizable. She scooted Samir up Appa's tail and into the saddle and onto his head, where she took the reins. Appa took off before she had to say 'yip-yip' in command, diving down the temple at noteworthy speed before he landed in the valley.

The trip took moments.

Samir scrambled off Appa while Azula hopped off his head with a thankful pat to his head, to which Appa took as a sign to start grazing the wild grass growing everywhere, finding sustenance.

Azula looked around the valley for similar sustenance for her and Samir, knowing that the Air Nomads must have had a food source near the temples—something vegetative. When there was nothing that caught her eye, she looked to Momo. "Are you hungry, Momo?"

Momo squawked in response and flew off.

She followed Momo, trusting his judgment; if Momo ate something, she and Samir could eat it, as well. While she doubted that the Air Nomads let anything poisonous grow in the valley, she was not going to risk it—or the fact that anything poisonous could have sprouted in the past 109 years without the vigilant Air Nomads to curb its growth.

Momo grabbed several berries off some bushes, popped them into his mouth, which Azula mimicked, followed by Samir, but as Momo kept going, they trailed him. When he stopped at a tree, landed on a branch, and began gnawing on one of the luscious fruits dangling, Azula paused.

She debated her options, knowing exactly how an Airbender would grab the fruit, before gesturing for Samir to back away, which she did. Upon finding it safe to do so, she blasted small flames out of her feet, propelling her into the air. She ignored Samir's delighted gasp and hovered higher into the air, controlling her speed and balance as she ascended high enough to grab two pieces of fruit.

They were plums.

Azula landed and handed one of the plums to Samir, who almost inhaled it in her eagerness for food, while she took a more delicate bite, testing its taste.

Samir's eyes widened as she gasped, revealing her mouth filled with mashed plum. "It tastes like fruit pies!"

She nodded in agreement, savoring the sweet, memorable taste. "These plums must be from where the 'fruit' part comes in fruit pies."

"More! More!"

After securing more plums from the tree and carrying them in her stretched-out garb—there was one good thing to wearing Aang's previous garments—to where Appa grazed, she and Samir reclined against a boulder, eating their dinner.

While it was tasteful and an excellent way to forget what she had read in Aang's letter to Gyatso, which stuck to her, touching her flesh literally, Azula felt wary as she noticed that Samir only seemed to be invigorated by the sweet fruit, manifesting more energy as she started to run around and begging her to play.

Refusing to be like Zuko, who had always grumbled and rolled his eyes when they were children when she asked, Azula smirked and shot tiny blasts of flames at Samir, who eagerly jumped to the side, avoiding each of them. Though there was no actual danger, Samir seemed to think so, delighted as she mimicked an Airbender's grace and evasion as best she could.

Azula continued playing with Samir at a most moderate pace, and while her mind remained focused, for she knew one slip of control was catastrophically dangerous, there was part of her that wandered, looking across the valley from side to side, sweeping her gaze everywhere. She recalled when she was last in a valley in her limbo, which only reminded her of what—or whom—she had lost in Gyatso, which made her think of Aang, which made her think of Aang's letter to Gyatso and its memorable contents, which made her think of loss, hatred, and absence.

How many Air Nomads had walked this valley spanning thousands of years? How many before her had found nutrients in the valley, guided by hunger? How many Air Nomads before Aang had hated? Surely there were Air Nomads who had hated, fulfilled by its pleasure and promises. Surely there were Air Nomads who failed to live up to Air's ideals and ethics, as Gyatso had claimed. Surely there were Air Nomads Aang had known who provided him an example, however unaware he was, that facilitated his fulfillment in hatred.

What had Aang seen as a child? What had he seen as a boy living in the Southern Temple amongst his race, who Gyatso said had fallen severely and drastically from the highs once mastered? What other Air Nomads had he known besides Gyatso? Were there any he was close to, or was it only Gyatso? She honestly had no idea, for Aang had never spoken of anyone except for Gyatso to her, and he spoke minimally of Gyatso since their time on Ember Island. He had been quite open when they were on Ember Island, but since, he had been silent, like a void, incapable of revealing anything. She had received more information from Pathik since then. And Aang had loved Gyatso so deeply and profoundly yet had barely spoken of him since Ember Island. What about the Air Nomads he had not loved as deeply as Gyatso? Who were Tashi and Pasang, the two names, presumably Air Nomads, Aang had mentioned in his letter to Gyatso? Were they two of the Elders as she suspected since Aang said that either one of them could have been Gyatso's skeleton? What did he think of Tashi and Pasang? Why did she know that he held little fondness for them, only for what they represented—real, living Air Nomads. What about the other boys he played with and learned with? Why did she know that he had never actively liked them, especially after he learned he was The Avatar, upon which they began to treat him poorly, shunning him?

Air was all about friendship, as both Aang and Gyatso told her, but had Aang actually shared any friendships with anyone amongst his race beyond Gyatso? Did Air cultivate friendships at all?

Aang's letters seemed to suggest no, since there were only letters to Gyatso, the only Air name she knew. All the other letters were to people of the other races like King Bumi, the legendary Kuzon who failed to assassinate Sozin but took two of his children instead, Katara, Sokka, and Toph.

It seemed that Gyatso was Aang's only friend in his pre-War life—a true friend. Sure, Aang had King Bumi and Kuzon, but while Aang had spoken of them on Ember Island, it was Gyatso who held his focus, for Gyatso was a friend and father simultaneously—and possibly a brother. Perhaps she was wrong, but something—an instinct—conveyed to her that she was more correct than wrong.

Gyatso had said that Aang did not know his race, lost in a child's understanding, never able to mature his understanding as he experienced his race as he aged since it was stolen from him. The only experience Aang knew of Air was a child's experience, something intrinsically not to be trusted. He could love the experience, which was fine and healthy, but he could not trust it, which was his failing, for he trusted nothing more.

He believed in Air without understanding their faults, which Gyatso described as excessive and extensive. It was a blind faith without assessing them with honest criticism. He accepted them without thinking about them. It was an irony so painful to her that she almost laughed in horror. Aang thought about Air constantly, never not wasting a thought about them, remembering them, considering them, ruminating about them, and dwelling on them, but all his thoughts about them since the Attack were reactive rather than proactive. Everything he did was a reaction to Air's murder, including thinking about them, which was a response to the Attack, which consumed Air. It was not an action in which he assessed and evaluated them, judging with neutral objectivity and honesty, to actually understand them.

Aang always lauded his race for their achievements and accomplishment, always hailing their wisdom and enlightenment, but the Air Nomads were a lot more complicated than Aang thought they were.

How could she make him see the truth? How could she guide him to genuine understanding? How could she direct him to the truths Gyatso stated so plainly and honestly—but with such lively vigor and amusement? How could she murder Air in his mind like they were in his heart? It was clear to her that he held Air in his mind, locking them into a simplistic, limited, childish preconceived understanding, rather than his heart—because his heart hated rather than loved. Aang only had room for his hatred in his heart, not his love, as he confessed in his letter to Gyatso.

Did he actually love Air, as Gyatso clearly did, or did he lust after Air? Gyatso's obvious love for Air entailed his clear, reasonable acceptance of all of Air's flaws, admitted to honestly and without shame, whereas Aang, in her experience, refused to consider anything that suggested or conveyed that Air had flaws. He attributed so many things to his race without actually, actively knowing and understanding them. He lusted after Air, only seeing the surface rather than scouring the depths for connection and authenticity. Lust was certainly healthy—she knew it so well from her marriage!—but Aang's excessive emission of falsehoods, trapped by the surfaces he clung to, spelled doom.

Was Air actually capable of revival with Aang as its Father? Watching Samir's innate awe and joy as she played freely, racing around with no aim but that which existed in her enchanted mind, Azula wondered but arrived at no answers, a maddening sensation.

When Agni began to descend, she stopped her blasts of fire and waved for Samir to follow her to Appa, but Samir's face was etched in concentration, reddening with effort.

Azula walked toward her, curious. "What is it?"

Samir stopped and shuffled her feet. "I'm practicing."

"Practicing what?"

"My airbending," Samir responded, twisting her hands. "I want Aang to see my trick. I did it for him. I practiced lots."

Azula inclined her head. "Show me."

Samir swallowed before nodding. "Okay, okay."

Arms covered by colorful fabric swayed through the air, connected to an eager but surprisingly controlled body, attached to a determined face, red and sweaty with exertion. Nothing happened for long moments until it registered. Slowly, like a tentative child, Azula felt the air sway with Samir's arms slightly, mimicking her movements; it was not impressive, no, but it was present, which was more than enough.

Samir stopped and looked hesitant, head bowed, reminding her of herself when Father stared down at her so often. "Do you think Aang will like it?" she asked, voice timid and shy.

Azula had begun to realize how Mother had always encouraged Zuko despite his abysmal firebending slowly over the years as she aged, but she never realized it more than staring down at Samir. "He will love it," she vowed, hoping it was the truth. She crouched in front of Samir and lifted her face with her fingers, tilting her chin up. Her gray eyes were scared and misted with emotion. "If he does not like it, you can push him off the temple," she encouraged with a brief laugh. "I will help you."

"Really?" Samir gasped, excited.

"Of course," she confirmed. "How about we do it now?"

If possible, Samir's eyes seemed to burst, tears evaporating from eagerness. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Azula failed to contain her laugh as Samir dashed up Appa with balance and swiftness that belied her weak attempts at airbending previously.

Air was alive certainly.

She ordered Appa into the sky, directing him not to return directly to the temple but rather to the space above the valley. It occurred to her that if she and Samir jumped off the temple's ledge, the proximity for danger was much closer without Aang present as the rocks below were close and jagged. While Aang could effortlessly prevent Samir from hitting any of the rocks if she approached with a simple flick of his wrist, Azula would be unable to, helpless to stop Samir from being impaled on the rocks.

The only solution was to adjust the location but keep the nature the same.

When Appa soared over the valley, Azula climbed into the saddle, where Samir held on, peering over the side. "Are you ready?"

Samir's gray eyes sparkled like the stars framing her face. "Uh-huh! Yes!"

Azula crouched in the saddle next to her, holding onto the delicate shoulder protected by Air Nomad garbs. "You go first, and I will follow- "

Laughter exploded through the air in vigorous shrieks as Samir dove off Appa, plummeting to the earth in joy. Azula shook her head and leaped off after her, immediately slamming her eyes shut at first to stop the instinctive tears from the impossible speed. However, she focused and adjusted within moments, though her hair billowed wildly, almost painfully. She gathered her bearings, propelled flames out of her feet, and caught up to Samir, who reminded her painfully of Aang with her enthusiasm, looking like it was the best moment of her life.

Samir saw her and waved wildly, grinning with the wind lapping against her face less severely than it did against Azula's. "I'm flying!"

Samir was falling, but Azula did not have the strength—weakness?—to correct her. Instead, she reached out her hand, which Samir latched onto instantly. With a heavy grunt of effort, she pulled Samir closer and heaved her into her arms, holding her as she hovered in the air with the plumes of flames sustaining her, as they both looked over the valley—and saw the shadows of the ocean past the mountain range, outlined by the Moon's light. The night was calm, tranquil with few sounds disturbing its serenity. Not even Appa, who arrived near them, floating nearby, made a sound, seeming to bask in the view.

It was mesmerizing.

Samir laid her head on Azula's shoulder. "It's so pretty," she whispered, voice drifting in awe and sadness. "I want Aang to see it."

"Do not worry," Azula consoled, staring in the opposite direction but knowing it was the same beauty. "He has seen it many times. But now he has you to see it with."

"Are you sure he's gonna be there?"

Azula sighed. "He will be there eventually. I know you miss him."

Samir nodded immediately. "I miss him lots."

"Me too."

She felt Samir begin to nuzzle into her neck, grip on her becoming tighter. "Are you sure he wants to be my daddy?"

Azula adjusted her hold on Samir, securing it as she began to propel herself toward Appa; it was draining holding Samir as she was in the air, reliant on both her physical strength and firebending. "He will, yes. You must be patient. What does Air say about patience?"

"That it's 'purposeful,'" Samir recited, sounding confused. "I don't know what that means. Aang says it means 'redemptive,' but I don't know what that means, too. What does it mean?"

"It means that patience is a choice," Azula explained. "You want Aang to make the choice to be your father, yes?"

"Uh-huh."

"You must make the choice to be patient with him until he does. I assure you he will, but it will take time."

Samir sagged against her. "Why's it have to take so long? I want him to be my daddy now!"

"I want many things, as well," she consoled. "Yet, I must be patient."

"What do you want, Mommy?" Samir asked, squeezing her arms around her neck. "Do you want Aang to be my daddy, too?"

Azula smirked. "That is one of my wants—as I know it is yours. But do you know my greatest want?"

Samir pulled away, gazing into face, gray eyes roaming and curious. "What is it?"

Electing not to reveal her deepest wants, for such a thing was far too complex for a child, her smirk widened. "For you to take a bath. You stink."

Samir giggled. "Nuh-uh! You stink!"

"I stink only because you hold onto me so tightly," she countered with a teasing glint. "You actually stink worse than Toph."

Samir gasped, eyes bulging; all amusement faded, replaced by horror. "Really?" she whispered, looking around in dismay as if someone else would hear the truth and spread it.

Azula laughed, unable to help herself as she finally reached Appa, careful not to burn his fur with her flames, and placed Samir on his head before she braced herself with two fistfuls of fur and climbed up to sit down next to her. "Not at all," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Your attitude is so much more pleasant than Toph's, and your smell is nonexistent. You do not smell at all."

"You don't, either, Mommy," Samir said solemnly.

"Thank you- "

"Can we fly again? I wanna fly again," Samir complained.

"Not now."

"Why not? It was fun with you holding me!"

"You are heavy," she defended.

Samir pouted. "Aang doesn't get tired."

"Aang is stronger than I am," Azula dismissed with a brief laugh as she ordered Appa to return to the temple.

Appa followed her order, made the trip swiftly with grace, and landed on the ledge, allowing her and Samir to hop off.

"We leave in the morning," she notified, staring at Appa, making him understand. "Rest well."

Appa huffed and lumbered into the stables with heavy movements, which belied Momo's energetic chirps to rouse him. However, Momo gave up quickly and landed on Samir's shoulder, to which Samir giggled before cuddling Momo for several moments. Azula watched, wondering what Aang would think, before she shook herself and entered the temple. Samir latched onto her hand as she led her past Gyatso's statue and into the ominous halls, which seemed alive with shadows.

She would have sworn she heard laughter if she did not know it was the wind. However, she knew where she was going, following the path she walked previously until she reached Aang's room, where everything was exactly as she had left it after finding it—minus Aang's letter to Gyatso, which was secured in her garbs.

Samir let go of her hand and jumped onto the cot, peering at the cluttered desk. "Is this your room, Mommy?"

"This is Aang's room," she disclosed. "We will sleep in here for the night."

"But I'm not tired," Samir protested with an unconvincing look in her dreary gray eyes, though it was an admirable attempt.

Azula's brows rose. "But I am tired. If I am tired, you must be tired."

Samir shook her head. "I'm not."

"Why not?"

"I haven't heard a story yet."

Azula sighed. "When have you needed a story to fall asleep?"

Samir's eyes darted around the room. "Guru Pathik told me stories after you left. It helped me go to sleep."

She closed her eyes briefly. "Very well. What story do you wish to hear?"

"A good one!"

Azula hesitated, realizing with minor frustration that she did not know any Air stories to tell; she knew only Fire stories, which defaced the fact that only Air stories should be told on Air's holy grounds at the Air Temples. However, she thought of Gyatso and estimated that he would only laugh and tell her to tell her story, no matter its origins.

She reclined back, surprised slightly when Samir cuddled against her and recalled what she knew. "My mother told me stories when I was a child; she told stories to my brother and I."

"Uncle Zuzu," Samir recited against her chest, voice muffled.

Azula anticipated her brother's reaction to meeting Samir keenly. "Very good. Let me think—which story will I tell you?"

She considered one of her favorites as a child—the First Volcano. According to Mother, the first volcano in Fire's lands had arisen from Agni's broken heart. After a famine, many of Fire turned their backs on Agni, cursing his name and spitting on all his works. These infuriated Children began attacking each other and killing everyone who remained loyal and steadfast to Agni, narrowing Fire's conception and judgment, leaving a shrieking mass rather than an honorable stability. The chaos spread as the flames of discontent ravished everyone, devastating everyone—but none more than Agni, who watched, heartbroken. His flaming tears spilled down his cheeks, fell from Heaven, and landed on Fire's lands, arising the towering volcanos, literal monuments of Agni's anguish—and rage.

The many volcanoes terrorized Agni's Children, who were swallowed by the fire lakes spreading over the land from the spewing mouths of the gushing mass, out of which flowed perpetual ash and black smog. Carnage devastated Fire's lands, leaving black trails of destruction that impacted everyone, who learned quickly from their foolish disregard toward Agni, their progenitor. However, they had no idea how to appease Agni's grieving wrath, unable to stop the ubiquitous destruction that threatened them extensively. Their tears and beseeching cries did not work as the volcanoes still vomited Agni's distress and ire endlessly, changing the land's shape, marring it of its limited fertility.

Agni demanded something more, not lessening his rage for years.

It was not until the last prince of a dying line concluded that Agni demanded atonement of profound significance—he realized Agni required a sacrifice of ultimate importance. When he persuaded others to help him, none would, refusing to do what was necessary to save their race—until a young but destitute peasant agreed to help the prince, who was much older than the peasant. However, the peasant understood something most could not, revealing his glorious spirit. Together, the prince and peasant tamed a dragon, beginning an endless tradition for their race, before they set off to redeem their ancestors' sins. They directed the dragon to the top of the first volcano, the biggest and most destructive, where they would ensure Agni saw them. When they reached the top, looking over the gaping mouth and into the volcano's heart, the prince and peasant leaped off the dragon and fell inside, surrendered to Agni's wrath, bodies obliterated forever.

Agni was so moved by the prince and peasant's sacrifice that he recalled his vomiting fire-waters, evoking a new age for his Children, for whom he was reminded of his powerful love. He descended from Heaven to visit the prince's sister, with whom he laid for an evening of passion and rebirth, producing a powerful son—beginning a new royal line that culminated in Kai, who would unify all the warring tribes under his will and strength. To reward the peasant, Agni married his son to the peasant's young sister, older in some years than his son. However, from their union sprung Kai's great-grandfather, who paved the way for Kai, Fire's Unifier who brought great joy and gladness to Agni.

The story conveyed that Agni demanded the best of his Children, no matter who they were—a noteworthy lesson that Azula had always held close to her.

Until, of course, she betrayed Agni to his face for Aang.

However, Azula was unsure she wanted to share the story with Samir, who would not understand its complexities and depth, for she knew nothing of Fire. What was a story that Aang would tell? What about Gyatso? Had Gyatso told her any stories during her time in limbo that she carried with her? There were all his evidences for Air's extensive and profound fall, but was there anything that Samir could comprehend and find joy, pleasure, and delight in while also absorbing the wisdom and truths therein?

The story occurred to her within moments.

"This is a story of your grandfather, Samir," Azula decided, relieved she discerned an Air story to tell. Though, there would need to be some artistic changes and creative additions needed, of course.

"Gyatso," Samir mumbled, though it was more due to the angle of her face against her chest than exhaustion—but it was close.

Azula nodded. "This was when Gyatso was a young man. He was wild and rebellious; he was a good man. He played games often and made mischief wherever and whenever he could. He was particularly fond of fruit pies."

"Fruit pies are good."

"Which is what he said every day to anyone with ears."

"But everyone has ears."

"For he said it to everyone." She leaned closer in a conspiratorial whisper, having a clearer idea of the outlines of her story. "Back then, not all Air Nomads liked fruit pies. Most did not."

Samir gasped like it was a crime, gray eyes wide. "But fruit pies are amazing."

Azula smirked. "I know, and Gyatso knew, as well. But he had to show everyone its wonders. You see, when he was a young man, fruit pies were made rarely, for so few people liked them. Fruit pies were made only once a month, and there were many who shamed Gyatso for liking fruit pies so much. However, Gyatso stayed true to himself and did not follow the social pressure imposed on him by everyone around him. Instead, he began to sneak fruit pies away, compiling a secret stash that only he knew about. Everything went smoothly for a long time, and Gyatso's collection of fruit pies was impressive."

"How many were there?"

"A thousand."

"A thousand fruit pies?" Samir whispered, awed, voice fading.

"Yes. But while Gyatso collected fruit pies for so long, the other Air Nomads ceased their obligations of collecting food for the sky bison. Eventually, the sky bison no longer had any food and started dying from starvation. Everyone panicked and started blaming each other—everyone but Gyatso. He went to work and started feeding all the starving sky bison from his secret stash of fruit pies for a month. The others were amazed and started helping him feed the sky bison, and they were able to prevent any other sky bison from dying. Gyatso saved the sky bison. That is how the fruit pies became such a popular dish amongst the Air Nomads—because of Gyatso's heroics. They began making fruit pies every day to celebrate Gyatso's achievement, realizing that Gyatso's wisdom was something to admire and replicate."

Silence.

Azula looked down at Samir, realizing her breathing was too smooth and deep to be anything but asleep. "Your grandfather was more than a great man, Samir," she whispered, recalling him as she inhaled slowly and exhaled with equal patience. "He was a great man who learned to be good. May you say his name all your life; may you feel his presence across the Divide and hold his wisdom in your keeping; may you hear his laugh in the wind and gentle guidance in all your pursuits and dreams."

XxXxXxXxXxX

Katara was in turmoil.

Though time had passed, the disbelief tore through her continuously because it was incomprehensible! It was something she never imagined! It was something that pressured her, never leaving her alone, a haunting sensation that made her feel trapped.

Part of her didn't even want to look at Zuko, but there was another part that wanted nothing more to look at him and wonder. Did she even know him? How could she have never suspected the things that he had revealed to her? Because it all, unfortunately, made sense that he did such things; she knew it was the truth. It was all too much, necessitating her retreat; she refused to speak to him, to let him ambush her with more horrifying information that she needed to process—on top of everything she already had to process! He had sought her out multiple times since, but she had refused contact, needing to think and absorb everything that he had released on her in an unexpected onslaught.

How had he loved her for so long? Well, according to him, he had not loved her; instead, he had hated her for a long time within the past nine years after the Great War. But somehow, it was connected based on what he kept saying about some sort of foundation. It was hard to follow along as he seemed to contradict and correct himself multiple times—not to mention the growing hysteria in her mind as she was so overwhelmed, struggling to follow along because her mind latched onto brief facts, fixated on them. But she felt that she was slowly beginning to piece it together.

Somehow, on Ember Island during those final weeks of the Great War, she had impressed him and drawn his gaze, making him start to wonder, beginning that 'foundation' of love. However, looking back, she couldn't recall anything impressive that she had done; none of it was noteworthy or memorable.

But it had been to Zuko, who watched and studied her with an evaluative eye. While she had done simple things, like make conversation with people on Ember Island, thinking nothing of it, Zuko had analyzed her interactions and applied what he saw to the position of Fire Lady. He conceived an entire feasible future in which they married each other, helping to heal Fire and the world after the carnage and destruction of the Great War. He had worked it all out in his mind during those weeks on Ember Island while she was oblivious to it! No such things had ever crossed her mind! Did their interactions on Ember Island now have new meanings and take on new significance? When she had seen him looking at her, had he been thinking about his solution to help Fire and the world by making a marriage with her? When she thought that he was present with her, was his mind years away, directed by his far-off gaze?

How did he do that? Was that the burden of royalty? Was that the Fire Prince's burden, since he knew that he would rise to Fire Lord eventually? Whereas she never had to hold such thoughts in her mind, did he always have to think about things in a different way, seeing angles and connections that didn't come naturally to her like they seemed to come to him?

He had clearly put a shocking amount of thought into his conception during the Great War, having it all worked out. But it was still astonishing to her! It was overwhelming! The only relief she felt was that there was finally an answer to something that had gnawed at her.

At least his sacrifice for her, taking Azula's lightning for her, finally made sense. After Ursa's thoughts on it, she had started to suspect that love played a major role, but she never imagined how deep it went! And Zuko had confessed it vaguely to her in the royal garden when she asked him about it, wearing him down. He had told her that he didn't seen Fire having a future without her in it, revealing that he was serious enough in his conviction about his solution for them to marry, persuaded by the 'foundation' he kept talking about, that he was willing to die for it—die for her!

But his conviction changed so quickly after she dropped contact after the Great War, needing the separation and space—the break—from all the horrors and atrocities she had seen and heard. He had kept the 'foundation,' according to what he said, but what he slowly erected on top of the foundation over time was a monument of bitterness and hatred, which is what she encountered when she returned to the Caldera after his begrudging letter asking for help after Vaatu freed Ozai. Somehow, she had torn down that monument, it seemed, revealing the 'foundation,' on which something new began to sprout rapidly—a fervid pace that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

Zuko was right—she felt it, too. She had felt it for a while. However, he seemed to understand it with great intelligence and honesty, surprising her, while she was still trying to adjust, finally beginning to realize the 'foundation's' existence, whereas Zuko had clearly always known about the 'foundation,' stretching back over nine years by now. But because he had known about it for so long, she felt intimidated by the daunting chasm between them; she felt the instinct that she needed to 'catch up' to where he was at. Apparently, he had thought about her being his Fire Lady before, and though there had been a large gap—years—between when he once did, he was able to slip right back into that thinking because it was familiar to him and maybe even comfortable, whereas it was entirely unfamiliar to her. He had thought of—pictured—her as his wife before, but she had just recently started thinking of—picturing—him as her husband.

How could she catch up to him? Did she even want to? Did she want to build on that 'foundation' he kept talking about?

Her answer had changed. She would have said 'yes' before she learned a horrible truth—Zuko laid with 'the concubines.' But the worst thing was that he clearly didn't understand what was so terrible about his confession; he had been matter of fact and dismissive of it to focus on something about the 'foundation.' Why couldn't he see how horrible it was? How could he hold such dismissal about it? How could he be so apathetic toward it, not seeing the big deal?

How could he sleep with 'the concubines,' none of whom he felt any fondness for? How could he not care? How could he be willing to go through with their executions if he thought it was what she wanted? How could he trample on Family's natural essence by spreading himself thin, valuing lust over Family? Yes, lust made Family at the end of the day, but what Zuko did by laying with the concubines was never meant to naturally conclude in Family. He just used the concubines for nothing more than satisfying himself. He never had it on his mind to produce children by them, the essence of Family; he would never accept any of the concubines as his wife or mother of his children.

She knew his thoughts—she knew it!

He turned his back on Family by doing something that naturally produced children but refused to let the natural conclusion by demanding the concubines drink preventative teas—it was the only thing that made sense! Otherwise, Zuko would have many children by now—she knew it!—based on how often he must have laid with the concubines.

She was sure she would have noticed if Zuko had any children at the palace—she had been there a year! Surely, she would have seen a child with some of Zuko's features running around or wreaking havoc, which sounds like what Zuko himself had done as a child, according to Ursa. Or had Zuko sent his children away, not claiming them as his own out of either cruelty or shame? Or had Zuko actually killed the children borne by the concubines?

No, it couldn't be! It had to be something else!

Or was Zuko's seed sterile rather than fruitful? It seemed impossible for Sozin's line to produce a sterile man, but maybe it was the world's way of avenging itself by making Sozin's line die out. Zuko was Sozin's last heir besides Iroh, who she knew would never have another child, and the burden lied on Zuko to continue Sozin's line. Of course, there was also Ozai, but she knew, deep down, that Aang would ensure that Ozai never produced more children.

It was Zuko's burden alone. If Zuko was sterile, Sozin's line would die out, never to be seen again, reflecting Air's fate, imposed by Sozin.

None of Zuko's decisions made sense! It was terrifying! The Zuko she knew—or had come to know and understand—would never make such senseless decisions, especially about the most important thing! He needed a marriage and children to stabilize his rule, yet refused to for years, claiming that he was looking for the 'perfect' match because he trusted none of the brides offered to him. But was that a lie? Was he just waiting for her?

No, that wasn't it. He was too furious; he really did hate her when she arrived at the Caldera. She had felt it slam against her in waves, drowning her.

Still, none of his decisions made sense, for he turned his back on Family, refusing its natural presence. He laid with the concubines but denied the natural conclusion of his lying with them, prohibiting Family. In effect, Zuko committed murder over and over again by denying Family, depriving it of its sacred sense.

It was evil.

She did not want to marry him or become his Fire Lady; she couldn't do it. How could she? How could she look at him as she used to before she learned the horrible truth? How could she look at him and see a husband she respects and trusts? How could she look at him and see a good, worthy father for her children? How could she look at him and love him? How could she look at him and feel connection? How could she trust his judgment about anything when his judgment about the most important thing of all was so severely warped and twisted?

It tore her apart, left her heart raw and withered, but she knew it was the right decision.

Right?

"Thought I'd find you here."

She jumped in surprise when Toph suddenly appeared out of the ground near her and sat down next to her. "What are you doing here?" she asked, looking back at the lake.

"I didn't think you should be alone."

"Why's that?"

"You feel sad."

Katara's jaw clenched. "I'm frustrated and heartbroken."

"Okay, now you have to spill," Toph said, cracking her knuckles. "What's going on with you, Sugar Queen? I know it's about Sparky. What did he say to you?"

Katara tensed. "Nothing."

"Did he say something stupid?"

"No."

"You don't need me to tell you that you're lying, do you?"

"It's none of your business."

"I think you want to tell me."

She glared at her, ignoring her racing heart. "Shouldn't you go back to talking to Mai and Ty Lee?"

Toph snorted. "Shouldn't you go back to talking to Sparky?"

"That's none of your business," she defended.

"You know you can't out stubborn me, right?"

In a burst of aggravation and anguish, she punched her fist forward, erupting a wave across the lake, which she watched crash onto the other side of the forest. "I'm not in the mood to spar, Toph. Stop provoking me."

Toph reclined back, braced on her palms. "Me neither. I'm fine with talking. When Lightning Psycho gets back, we need to be prepared for a lot of talking."

Katara shook her head. "I don't want to talk about Azula."

"Because you want to talk about her brother?"

"Would you let it go?" she asked, tired, wishing that Zuko had never approached her; she wished she could go back, but she couldn't. It was sobering and bitter.

"Did he kiss you or something?"

"I wish he had," Katara confessed. "It would have been so much better than what he did."

Toph was quiet, something suspicious crossing over her face before it was cleared by realization. "Wait. He told you about his whores?"

Katara's eyes widened as she glared at Toph, betrayed. "You knew?"

Toph held up her hands in innocence, looking somber. "No. Well, I did, but only because Lighting Psycho. She would grumble about it while we were at the Eastern Air Temple; she would mock him for having a thousand wives in Air's eyes. He actually told you that?"

She shuddered at having something in common with Azula—disapproving of Zuko using the concubines—and at the number of concubines Zuko had used. It was horrifying! "Yes, he told me."

"And I thought Snoozles was an idiot," Toph muttered, seeming impressed, despite herself.

"I can't look at him the same way," Katara confessed, desperate. "How can I love him?"

"You love him?"

Katara's jaw trembled before she nodded with a jerk of her head. "Yes. But it's changed now."

Toph began drawing random symbols in the dirt. "Yeah," she agreed, voice soft and muted. "I don't see how it wouldn't. You learn something you never expected or were prepared to learn about someone, it changes things. It makes you think and remember differently."

She was surprised Toph was so understanding but grateful. "How do I look at him the same? I want to, but I can't. I feel sick just thinking about what he did. How could he do that?"

Toph raised her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know. I never asked Lightning Psycho, and I sure as shit wasn't asking Sparky when I saw him again. He did it because he wanted to—it's all I know."

"I've been avoiding him- "

"He knows. Actually, we all know. Before, you always liked being near him, approaching him or talking to him, but now there's nothing."

Katara bowed her head. "I needed to think about it, to process it, to absorb it, but the more that I think about it, the sicker I feel; I feel more horrified."

"Are you jealous?"

"Of course not," she dismissed, frustrated. "Well, maybe a little. I mean, I'm heartbroken that there were clearly so many. But I know he didn't care about them, which is horrible. The big thing is—he doesn't understand what he did. He doesn't understand how he ruined Family. He just used the concubines. He said he would execute them if he thought I wanted it. He doesn't care at all."

Toph winced. "Not the smartest thing to say. But I think it's true. If he didn't raise one of those whores to Fire Lady, and he could have easily done it and no one would have challenged him to his face, it's obvious that he didn't give a shit about any of them. I doubt he remembers what any of them look like, honestly. I mean, why would he care about a whore? Really, why would he care? A whore is literally worthless the more time you spend with her. A whore is good for one thing only, and we both know what that thing is; she is valuable only for a few minutes of pleasure, nothing more. Her only value is in brevity, which denies any actual connection and truth because connection and truth are built on long spans of time, and no one spends long spans of time with a whore. There's nothing more to her—because she's a whore who's committed to whoring. It's sad, but it's true. Sparky knew it. Why would he act any differently? It's the way of the world."

Katara shook her head. "I know that. But that's not what I mean. He should hold them in higher regard as in being not willing to execute them, and I know why he doesn't. I don't agree, but I understand why he does. What I don't understand—what I'll never understand and would hate to my bones to understand—is why and how he turned his back willfully on Family. He murdered Family over and over again with each concubine used, and he didn't care; he doesn't care. He doesn't even realize it, which is worse. I can't look past that. I don't see how I can. It's horrible; it's wrong."

Toph was quiet for a long time before swallowing. "I learned something about someone I loved, and I ran; I never spoke to him again. I haven't felt him since. That was the wrong decision. I had a good excuse, but it was still the wrong choice. I didn't hear his side; I didn't work to understand everything, and that's my fault alone. I guess I didn't love him enough to do the work."

She stared at Toph, sympathetic. "Who was he?"

"A boy I knew," Toph said softly, face tight and milky eyes somber. "He surely hates me now—he should. I hate myself for it, and I know I do. I was reminded all over again about it when I mastered my chakras. I don't regret my choice because it led to me reconnecting with all of you and Twinkletoes, but I regret the impact it had on him. I get why you're upset at Sparky, I really do, but think about the impact you're having on him now. It sounds like he was honest with you, but you're not being honest with him now. You needed time to think, absolutely, and he was being stupid in throwing that at you like he did, but it happened. You've had time to think since, and it sounds to me that you've already made a decision."

Katara swallowed. "I have. It changed. We can't go back. I do love him, but I can't build on that 'foundation' he kept talking about. How can I do that when he tarnished Family?" She was reminded horribly of the stories about Fire Lord Kazuki, who executed his own daughters. "If he did it once, he can do it again."

Toph shrugged. "I don't know. It's up to you. But be honest with him and tell him. Tell him why you hate the whores and what he did; explain and describe it. That's what I should have done with Bor."

Katara cataloged the name but nodded half-heartedly. "Thanks, Toph."

"You're not taking my advice?"

She sighed. "I can't right now. I can't look at him. I need to be prepared and calm, and I'm anything but right now."

Toph patted her shoulder, face somber. "Don't wait until it's too late."

"I won't," Katara assured, meaning it. "I'll talk to him when we're both ready for it."

XxXxXxXxXxX

When the camp came into view from above, Azula knew instantly that Aang had not returned yet; he was still elsewhere, somewhere. However, she felt no surprise, only a tiresome resignation. Thankfully, Samir was asleep, cuddled against the blankets—and Azula's new Air garments that Pathik had given her—in the saddle, unaware that her wish to see Aang again was going to have to be extended, not resolved. Samir would be disappointed, but there was nothing to be done. Aang was elusive and mysterious, even to her. Though she had begun to understand him much more deeply, he remained inscrutable; she could not predict his return or what he would do upon his return.

When Appa landed in the camp, there was no mass of people to greet her, which made sense due to the night's depth; it was the middle of the night. Instead, it was only Zuko who approached past a tree, near a campfire; his face was worn but warm.

"Long time no see," he greeted with a slight smile.

Azula decided to let Samir sleep and slid off Appa's head. "I was both successful and unsuccessful."

Zuko nodded. "Couldn't find him?"

"I do not know where he is," she confessed. "I thought the only two possibilities were the Eastern and Southern Temples. Clearly, I do not know him as well as I thought I did."

Had she ever?

His single eyebrow rose. "You went to the Southern Air Temple?"

"It is why I was gone so long," she explained. "There was nothing there but conjecture. Did anything happen while I was gone?"

Zuko's face flashed with memories. "Something did."

"What happened?" she asked, recognizing the look in Zuko's eyes. "Did Aang return?"

"No," he replied with a jerk of his head, which did little to mitigate the dark frustration on his face. "I overestimated myself. I had a talk with Katara."

Azula's brows rose, realizing what the look on his face signified. "About what I think?"

"Yes."

"It went poorly?"

"Yes."

She laughed slightly, unable to help herself. "I am not alone, then."

A brief smile passed Zuko's lips. "It's always been the two of us against the world."

Azula hummed. "Indeed. I do not lie when I sympathize with your plight. I understand."

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut. "I've tried to talk to her since, and she avoids me; she runs off or makes herself busy. I scared and disgusted her. She hates me now. And I don't even understand why. I told her about the concubines and- "

She shook her head, simultaneously surprised and not surprised by his lack of discretion. "That was unwise."

"I was being honest. Mom told me to be honest."

Azula's amusement was short lived. "I suspect if Mother knew you planned on telling Katara such a thing, she would have amended her suggestion."

Zuko crossed his arms. "I didn't plan on telling her," he grumbled. "It slipped out."

"Like you slipped into your whores?" she quipped.

"I'm serious."

She was quiet for several moments. "Her conception is different from ours. Remember, Water adores Family. They are not like Fire—not like us. For example, you have a thousand wives in Air's eyes."

He glared at her half-heartedly. "It wasn't that many."

"But she adores Family, which you compromised by admitting to your whores. That must be why she is so horrified. I have realized with Aang that my conceptions of things is different than his with Air. It is the same for you. Did you tell her that you planned to continue using your whores after marrying her?"

"Of course not," he scoffed, annoyed. "I told her I hadn't used one in nine months. It's fucking obvious I'm done with the concubines. Otherwise, as you pointed out in mockery, I would have brought some of the concubines with me here."

Azula nodded in agreement. "It is obvious, but she lacks contextual awareness of it. She only now learned of your whores."

"But I've tried to explain to her since, and she ignores me and says she has other things to do. I can't force her to listen to me. She won't even look at me."

She understood his situation more than he was aware. "I cannot make Aang listen to me, either. I must listen to him to make him listen to me. It must be reciprocal. You must wait for Katara."

Zuko sneered lightly. "It's dragonshit. It's been over a week since I talked to her—closer to two than one."

Azula was unimpressed. "It has been two months since I spoke to Aang and five weeks since you saw him vanish."

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated. It feels like she doesn't care at all now, like she wants nothing to do with me, unable to even think about things and spend effort to do it."

"I know."

"I know you do."

Suddenly, she saw a flash of color out of the corner of her eye, and she turned, catching Samir's stretched arm, arrayed in Air's colorful fabric. Samir rose out of the saddle, rubbing her eyes and blinking rapidly before she grinned as she saw her—but then she saw Zuko and went wide-eyed, and Zuko looked intrigued by the new arrival.

Samir stared at Zuko's scar, unashamed. "You have a big, ugly scar!"

Azula sighed as Zuko's only brow rose. "I know."

"Mommy says her brother has a big, ugly scar. Are you my Uncle Zuzu?"

Silence.

Zuko stared at Samir incomprehensibly before glancing at her. "Mommy?"

"She's my mommy!" Samir exclaimed, sliding down Appa's tail and latching onto her legs with a grin. "She said so! I have a mommy!"

Azula patted Samir's head in agreement, fingers resting in her hair. "Yes, I adopted her. Welcome your niece, Brother."

"Hi, Uncle Zuzu!" Samir chirped, beaming.

Zuko's face flashed with pain and betrayal as he glared at her. "Uncle Zuzu?" he croaked, looking like he realized he would hear much more of his nickname; he clearly realized he would hear it for the rest of his life.

Azula smirked. "Uncle Zuzu," she confirmed.

Samir jumped at Zuko and tried crawling up him until Zuko, having recovered quickly, picked her up and held her in his arms. "It's my pleasure to welcome you, Samir," Zuko greeted, voice light and amused; he looked fascinated by Samir's gray eyes.

However, it was nothing compared to Samir's fascination with Zuko's scar. "It's big," she whispered, voice drifting. "But it's not ugly. It looks pretty. And you're not ugly like Mommy says. You're pretty. Your beard feels nice and warm."

Zuko looked surprised and almost overwhelmed before he laughed. "Samir, you're my favorite niece. Welcome to the family. Mom's going to love you."

Samir looked at her in question, and Azula sighed. "Our mother will love you, he means."

She gasped, looking even happier. "I have a grandma?"

While Azula cherished the title, Zuko winced. "That may not be a title you want to use a lot, Samir."

"Why not?" Samir asked innocently.

"She's not that old."

"But she's my grandma." Her head swiveled, looking for a clear older woman. "Where is she? Where's Grandma?"

Azula could not help but laugh at her fierce anticipation for watching Mother react to the title of 'Grandma.' "See, Zuzu? There are good things, even now."

Zuko looked irritated. "I don't think calling Mom a grandma is a good thing."

"Why? Does it make you feel old?"

"No, but 'Uncle Zuzu' does!"

Azula smirked. "I thought it would make you feel young."

Zuko rolled his eyes at her goading. "How benevolent of you," he drawled.

"I always look after my older brother," she said with somber sincerity.

"You're older than Mommy, Uncle Zuzu?" Samir asked, staring between them, eyes darting from one to the other.

Zuko seemed to bask in the fact. "Yes, I'm older; I'm the firstborn."

Azula shook her head. "But I am the smarter one—and more beautiful."

Samir gasped. "Nuh-uh. You're really pretty, Mommy. But Uncle Zuzu's pretty, too. His scar's not ugly."

Zuko laughed in surprise, looking overwhelmed slightly, and pulled Samir tighter for a brief hug. "Samir, if Azula hadn't already adopted you, I'd adopt you right now!"

"Really?"

Azula shook her head. "He wishes he could, but he cannot," she corrected, not wanting Samir to get the wrong idea. Zuko could never adopt anyone as it would destabilize the Fire Nation. "Zuzu here doesn't know anything about Air, Samir. And what do we say about anyone who knows nothing about Air?"

Samir looked serious. "That 'something's missing.'"

"Exactly. Zuzu has always missed a lot. I am the smarter one, after all."

Zuko's amusement shone in his golden eyes as his lips quirked. "But my firebending is stronger than yours."

Azula rolled her eyes, unable to dispute his claim. How times had changed. "Determination and dedication—I know."

"I'm an Airbender, Uncle Zuzu," Samir chirped in with a proud, eager claim. "See? Can't you tell?"

Zuko assessed Samir's gray eyes and Air garments before nodding with a kind smile; it almost looked unnatural if not for the same expression Azula remembered on his face when they were children. "I can tell. You look great in those colors."

Samir giggled. "Thanks. Aang gave it to me!"

"And I know he's happy that he did," Zuko assured with a calm knowing while Azula looked away, knowing it was quite possibly a cruel lie. "He must be so proud of you."

"He has gray eyes, too, like me," Samir said, nodding her head with wild movements. "Do you think I look like him?"

Zuko pretended to think before squinting. "Well, I don't see a beard on you."

Samir laughed. "Nuh-uh. Not that!"

"You look like an Airbender, Samir," Zuko said kindly, staring with a warmth that would have surprised Azula if she did not know him. "You're going to be a great, powerful Airbender one day—just like Aang."

Azula nodded. "You will," she confirmed. "And maybe Uncle Zuzu here can help you, Samir. He had many struggles before he mastered his bending. Now he is even more powerful than me."

Samir swallowed. "Really?"

Zuko glanced at her briefly before staring at Samir with understanding eyes. "You struggle with airbending?"

Samir looked down, ashamed; she began to pick at the edge of Zuko's beard. "Uh-huh."

"It doesn't feel good, does it?"

Samir shook her head, hair swaying. "Nuh-uh."

Zuko sighed. "I know you don't believe it now, but it will get better. It will take time, but because you keep trying, because you keep practicing, because you keep training, you're going to be one of the best later on. You have to go at your own pace, and that's okay."

"Okay."

It was clear that Samir was discouraged, and Zuko obviously knew it as he switched Samir to his other arm and gestured at Azula. "Well, your mom was always good to start out with, and look what that got her. She's not as good as me now. I'd beat her every time in a spar now. As long as you try, Samir, which I know you are, you're going to succeed."

Samir began to perk up while Azula shook her head at Zuko's strategy of mocking her to raise Samir's spirit.

It must be revenge for all the games she played on him when they were children.

"You will, but you will also only find success if you rest," Azula pointed out. "You need to go to bed, Samir."

Samir shook her head stubbornly; she gripped onto Zuko for protection. "Nuh-uh. I'm not sleepy."

"You did not sleep long on Appa," she reminded. "You will feel tired soon."

"But I need to hear a story first!"

Zuko's only eyebrow rose. "I'll tell you a story."

Samir's head swiveled, gray eyes wide. "Really?"

"Of course. I think the Fire Lord can tell a good story."

Azula was unimpressed. "You are a horrid storyteller, Brother."

Zuko glanced at her, annoyed. "You are a horrid story-listener. But I think Samir will like my stories. I have good stories."

"You have Uncle's stories," she corrected. "Uncle's stories are ridiculous."

"I have my own stories," he defended. "I'll tell one to Samir. What do you think, Samir? The Fire Lord himself wants to tell you a story."

Samir nodded eagerly, clearly not understanding the significance. "Uh-huh. Yes. I want to hear a story, Uncle Zuzu."

Zuko went to leave but paused, glancing at her. "Which tent?"

Azula waved a hand. "She will sleep with me in mine. I will join in a little while."

Her brother nodded, walked off, and entered the tent but not before Samir grinned back at her and waved; Azula made sure to wave back before she sighed when she was alone with no eyes present—well, no eyes but Appa and Momo's eyes.

She would have to perform again for the others. Sure, she performed for Samir, but she did not mind Samir in the slightest; she was fond of her—she had adopted her, after all. But the others were different; she did not like any of them. She much preferred they were away from her, not part of Aang's pursuit to stop Father and Vaatu. But the others were the only allies she had, unfortunately; they were the only ones who could competently help Aang stop Father and Vaatu.

She trusted none of them, least of all Mai and Ty Lee. Would Mai or Ty Lee seek to harm Samir to avenge themselves against her? Would Ty Lee see Samir's gray eyes and put together the fact that Samir was her second cousin, fathered by one of her cousins by a whore in Ba Sing Se? Would Ty Lee try to take Samir from her? Would they try to blackmail her to do anything they wanted lest they harm Samir? Would they take advantage of Samir's innocence and work to turn Samir against her through deception and distortion?

Azula vowed to kill Mai and Ty Lee instantly, regardless of the consequences or how the others would perceive her, if any such thing happened.

But what about the others? None of them believed she was going to betray them—or, more specifically, Aang—but they disliked her as much as she disliked them. The only one she trusted was Toph. Would the others fill Samir's head with lies, trying to turn her to their side? Would they tell Samir the truth of her past about the girl who performed for Father out of fear? Would they tell Samir about her crime beneath Ba Sing Se's city in the ancient catacombs, where she nearly killed Aang? Would they list and recite her other crimes during the Great War?

Unfortunately, such a problem could not be dealt with simplistically like Mai and Ty Lee; she could not kill any of the others. The only solution was to respond with persuasion and patience to prevent Samir from becoming scared and distrustful of her. At least Zuko, Mother, and Toph would be on her side; she trusted them to have restraint and understanding, but she did not trust the others. She could easily see Sokka shouting, in what he would surely perceive as a heroic attempt, of her past crimes to thwart her from raising Samir in her dark shadow.

Could there be any discretion? Could there be any resolution? Could there be any growth? Could there be any peace? There had been a fragile peace since Aang had returned her spirit, but she had no idea if the peace would last. She considered it as likely to falter as remain, particularly depending on Aang's mood and outlook when he returned. There was no clarity, only muddled, obscure paths on which they could walk, but she had no idea which one they would traverse.

It was up to Aang's judgment, but they awaited his judgment, for his absence remained. Would he return? When would he return?

It appeared possible that he could be gone for two more months, which would be disastrous. She already dreaded whatever strides Father had made in his prolonged recovery from Aang's attack, which was three months ago by now. She considered it likely that he had mastered earthbending already based on his proficiency already displayed during the clash that killed her, for Devi had boasted of a new earthbending master who rivaled King Bumi for Father. Most importantly, she knew Father; she knew how his motivation was only enhanced, burning brighter and hotter, from his injuries. He would heal himself, recover all his strength, and cultivate a deeper, more determined fury with which to attack Aang—and her. She had severed ties with him completely, and there would be no healing of their connection and trust; she had played him, and he would never let it happen again. He would sooner kill her than trust her again.

The irony was haunting and painful to her, for how Father felt toward her now must be how Aang felt toward her. Father would never trust her again, and it seemed that Aang would never trust her again based on the devastating hatred on his twisting face, burning in the powerful storms in his eyes. Unfortunately, she knew both Father and Aang, and currently, based on her knowledge, she did not see how either of them would ever trust her again. She did not care that Father would never trust her again; it did not concern her. However, she wanted Aang's trust; she wanted his regard; she wanted his love; she wanted to see him smile at her with light in his eyes, glinting with teasing amusement; she wanted to hear his warm laughter; she wanted him to look at her how he used to look at her when there were no burdens or hindrances between them; she wanted him to look at her like he had when they were on Ember Island when he was himself rather than a reverted version of the hateful man who wrote the most honest, raw, and real letter she could imagine to Gyatso.

What would she say to Aang when he returned? What could she say? How could she convey what she needed to convey? How could she listen to him when he would likely only disavow her, hate their marriage, and deride her blood?

Though she had obtained more understanding with her trip to the Southern Temple, she only had options, no answers.

Zuko exited her tent and approached her and paused next to her, silent for a long time. "You could have done worse," he said at last with amusement. "She's a good kid. Very energetic. Reminds me of Aang from back when, although I'm not sure she's as crazy. Aang was like lightning or something."

Azula nodded. "You managed well? She is asleep?"

He nodded with pride. "I did. She loved it. It took a while, but then she went right to sleep. I almost wanted to keep going, but I can tell her the rest another time."

"Thank you," she whispered, feeling the deep exhaustion that was familiar. "I am weary, though I know I will not rest tonight."

"You don't have to," Zuko consoled. "I was already up. I don't sleep much."

Azula shook her head. "You do not need to stay up with me. I plan to simply lay with Samir and think. I can do nothing else." She was quiet for several long moments before shuddering with a slow exhale. "I should have never nominated myself for Mother of Air."

Zuko's sigh was heavy and worn in her ears. "No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, voice soft.

"What was I thinking?"

"Simplistically."

Azula's brief laugh held no mirth. "Well observed. Perhaps you are actually the smarter one between us."

"Not too smart," Zuko muttered. "I went and scared off Katara like an idiot."

She smirked at him half-heartedly. "Well, if we ever had any doubts that we are siblings, I think those doubts are gone. We both make rash decisions towards whom we love that are most unwise."

Zuko scoffed. "At least you have a better excuse. You knew him five months—maybe six—when you made that stupid decision. I've known Katara a year and made my stupid decision."

"It is not a competition."

He sagged. "Sorry. Force of habit."

Azula nodded, understanding. "Do you ever wonder what Grandfather would think of us?"

Zuko jerked in surprise. "Grandfather? I don't know—every once in a while, maybe. Why?"

"I wanted to see him again while I was in limbo," she confessed, recalling her maddening search. "I searched for him; my aim was to find him, Lu Ten, and Sozin."

"But you didn't find them," he pointed out, understanding. "You found someone else instead, right? The one who told you the truth about Air?"

Azula smiled slightly at the memories. "It was Gyatso."

Zuko's eyes widened, clearly recognizing the name. "Gyatso? As in…?"

"Gyatso," she confirmed. "It was not intentional, but it was wonderful; it was a miracle. I never imagined I would ever encounter him. But there he was, and he answered my questions and taught me so much; he made me see the truth, a priceless gift. I seek to reflect him in my understanding."

"That's incredible," he breathed, looking amazed.

"I want to be Mother of Air," she continued, voice becoming more insistent and determined—but also desperate. "I think I would be excellent; I know I would be. And Gyatso agrees; he endorsed me. He treated me as a daughter and said he loves me for all that I am. He was delightful and splendid; he made me learn, laugh, and love." She inhaled slowly to control the sudden surge of emotions and exhaled with a rough shudder as she looked directly up at Zuko. "I should be Mother of Air. When I do die, whether many years from now or tomorrow, I most look forward to seeing Gyatso again. That is who I think of and anticipate seeing again. There is Grandfather, yes; there is Lu Ten, yes; there is Sozin, yes; there is Grandmother Ilah; and there is Grandmother Rina on Mother's side, yes. But right now, I want to see Gyatso again the most. Do you know of any woman who would feel the same? Do you know of any woman capable of feeling the same? Do you know of any woman who can do what I can do? Do you know of any woman with my outlook and experiences? Do you know of any woman with my unique combination of beauty, intelligence, and dedication? Do you know of any woman who would love Air with my passion, devotion, and depth? Do you know of any woman who would look to Air for wisdom and insight, who would do her best to reflect its understanding? Do you know, Zuko?"

"No."

Azula nodded with a harsh jerk, disbelief and anger fighting for control inside her. "Exactly. Why can Aang not see that? Why can he only see my blood? I know blood is of profound importance; I know it is the most important thing in many ways—you know I do. Our ancestry is why we are who we are; our identity exists on the foundation of our blood. But Aang thinks that my blood reeks and cannot look past it; he cannot look at things in a new way to see a new angle that directs him to the real truth. I tell you now—Air's blood reeks, as well, based on Gyatso's confession. Air's blood may reek more than ours. But I do not care that Air's blood reeks. I know it is different because I have the luxury of not needing to care like Aang needs to care because his decision for Mother of Air is the most important decision of his life by far, but why can he not see that I am willing? Why can he not see that I am prepared? Why can he not see that I am ready to do the work and devote my time and energy to seeing and living Air's revival? Why can he not see that I understand the depths of the commitment and embrace it, whether I bear five children or a dozen children—or two dozen? Why can he not see that I am willing to teach, to do for our children what Gyatso did for him—and for me? Why can he not see that I would be a good mother?" She felt her breaths come in bitter pants as she peered up at Zuko. "Do you think I would be a good mother?"

The sadness on his face was vivid to her eyes. "Yes, I do. You're already good with Samir."

"Why can he not see that?" she asked, hating how her voice became pleading; it almost sounded like she was begging. "I know I am unusual; I know I possess disturbing qualities, traits, and experiences; I know no one would ever consider me a good mother; I know no one would think me capable of love. But I do love—I love deeply. I have not had much love in my life, which is why I know what a profound, precious, priceless gift it is. Why can he not see that I would love our children and show them how to love Air? Why can he not see that I would show them what matters, having experienced both the highs and lows and denied what the culture claims would make me happy? Why can he not see that I would, in fact, be a good mother? Why can he not see that there would be no better Mother of Air than me? Why can he not see that him and I fit together somehow? Why can he not see that we would produce beautiful children who would inherit the best of us rather than the worst of us? I know the worst things about me are profound, chilling, and horrifying—things a child should never inherit. But I think his worst things are worse than mine when considered honestly." She felt the weight of Aang's letter to Gyatso in her garments. "He is the most hateful man I have ever met, and I know there is no one in the world capable of his hatred, cruelty, distrust, and even madness. Not even Father surpasses him in any of those categories, in my estimation. I know what Aang is capable of; I know the worst parts of him. I have seen it, heard, it, and felt it. But we have a chance to make the best of us live on and thrive in new lives unmarred by our worst traits and experiences. There are excellent things about me as there are about him. We may be the most unique people walking this world, and we have the chance to unite our distinctions forever in a new race that will be beautiful and worthy to be hailed Air Nomads. Our children will be a joy to look upon and know; our children will conquer the world with freedom and intelligence; our children will make their ancestors proud, and no old Air Nomad will look at them and shudder but feel pride and joy, instead. Why can he not see any of it?"

"Because he's not ready."

"That is not good enough," she hissed, wiping furious at the corners of her eyes, which misted.

Zuko's good eye pinched until it matched his bad one. "It's the truth, isn't it?"

Azula exhaled a rough blast of flames from her mouth. "I should be Mother of Air—I want to be Mother of Air. But it is not my decision, and I cannot sway the decision. I damned myself by nominating myself. He does not want me. I was a wife for a single day before I became a widow of my own choices, for my husband is gone."

Silence.

"I'm still willing to challenge him to an Agni Kai if you want," Zuko offered, face twisting.

She laughed slightly and glanced at him. "No, no. The world is better with you in it." She shook herself, blinking rapidly before turning fully to him. "In the morning, we will leave."

Zuko looked startled. "What? Really?"

Azula had already thought about it during the return trip; her mind was made up. "Yes. It is time. We cannot stay here."

"Aang's not going to like it. And he's certainly not going to like that we're taking Appa without him or his permission."

"He has bigger things not to like," she muttered in dismissal, though she knew he heard her. "We need to gather allies and rebuild trust across the continent after what happened to Ba Sing Se. That is our aim. We will not find Father or Vaatu, but we can make it more difficult for them."

"The best place to go would be Ba Sing Se itself. King Bumi rebuilt it."

Azula nodded. "Then we will go there. It also prevents Father from taking it should he be absurd enough to stick to his original plan. And King Bumi might be able to get through to Aang if Aang shows up."

Zuko hesitated. "I agree with leaving. We've been here too long. But we should leave a note for Aang when he returns- "

She waved a hand. "I will not, but you can if you wish. You write good letters."

He blinked. "What?"

Azula smirked. "I read your letters to Aang that you sent to the Eastern Temple. Pathik gave both to me."

Zuko squinted before shrugging. "I don't even remember what I wrote besides about the Order and Fire Sages."

"It was real and heartfelt," she recalled. "I was impressed. I did not think you had it in you."

He looked uncomfortable before he cleared his throat. "We will need to discuss with the others first, I imagine. They may not think Ba Sing Se is a good idea."

"Then we discuss it and implement our plan, whatever the new location, as soon as possible," she decided. "We are not staying here anymore. We cannot wait on Aang any longer. Frankly, we have waited too long. It has been two months since he ran off—and three since we took this camp after attacking Father and Vaatu."

Zuko nodded. "The stockpile of supplies is starting to get low."

"Indeed. You will need your energy for tomorrow," Azula advised with minor amusement. "You should go rest. We will awaken when Agni rises and start packing, after which we will discuss our possible destinations with the others. Now go rest, Zuko."

"What about you?"

"I will have plenty of time to rest on the trip."

Zuko assessed her for several moments before he surprised her by embracing her with one arm, pulling her against him briefly. "I'm proud of you."

Azula nodded curtly against his shoulder but said nothing, watching as Zuko left to enter his tent, leaving her alone. However, when she turned a moment later, she saw Samir peek her head out of her tent. When Samir clearly realized that Azula was alone, she darted out of the tent and tiptoed toward her, but when she realized she was seen, she gave up and walked slowly.

Her brows rose when Samir reached her. "What are you doing awake?"

"Why were you talking so long?" Samir whined. "It was forever."

"You should be asleep. I thought Uncle Zuzu told you a story."

Samir shook her head with a serious, solemn look on her young face. "He's not good, Mommy."

Azula snorted in amusement, trying not to laugh; she failed as several huffs of laughter passed her lips. "Let me guess—he told one with a bunch of fighting."

"Uh-huh," Samir said with a vigorous nod, crossing her arms across her chest with a pout. "It was about a war. I don't like war. War's stupid. But I didn't wanna be mean, so I just closed my eyes to pretend-sleep so he'd stop."

Poor Zuko.

Azula shook her head, unsurprised by her brother's lack of awareness, before she gestured for Samir to follow her into the tent. "I suppose I must rectify his error and replace the memory of his story with another."

"I wanna hear about Gyatso," Samir pleaded, staring up at her with her gray eyes.

She raised a brow. "I already told you about Gyatso- "

"I wanna hear it again. Please?"

Azula nodded and recalled all the details of her story about Gyatso that she could before she began. Samir crawled into the furs and listened eagerly before her eyes began to droop. As she spoke, she added new details that had eluded her in her previous iteration, creating a deeper backstory and motivation for Gyatso, adding scenes with characters speaking to each other and changing her voice to 'perform' the characters—exactly like Mother used to do when she was a child. By the story's end, Samir had fallen asleep.

She stared at her for several moments, memorizing her peaceful, innocent face, before crawling into the furs next to her. "Aang can tell you many more stories of Gyatso," she whispered. "I am sure he will."

Hopefully he would. But Samir would not be the only avid listener, for Azula would listen keenly and passionately, as well, eager to absorb as much as she could of Gyatso.

She reclined back, eyes tracing the tent's fabric, the patterns made in the weaving before closing her eyes forcefully, trying to bring about an unsatisfying rest. But there was no rest, for her mind raced with thoughts.

It was the right decision to leave, for she knew far too much time had been wasted waiting on Aang. Two months were gone in which they could have been hunting Father or making gains to limit Vaatu's options. While the others had mastered chakras and trained to strengthen themselves, not making it a complete waste, it was still a waste, for nothing of substance had been accomplished. Father and Vaatu—well, at least Father, certainly—had been on his last sparks after Aang pulled her spirit back. If they had left immediately, it was possible they might have found Father and ended Vaatu's greatest resource; it was possible that Aang could have found Agni and Devi as each reformed and either purified or made amends to prevent Vaatu from getting to them again, destroying Vaatu's allies; it was possible that with no allies and an ever-dwindling radius of control, Aang could have found Vaatu and imprisoned him in the Tree of Time again, no matter how unlikely.

But nothing—nothing!—was done as they were in a state of limbo and flux with Aang gone, leaving Vaatu and Father time to heal, adapt, and plan. It was clear to her that they had wasted their best chance of ending the war swiftly, for Father and Vaatu undeniably took severe advantage of three months since her death and the two months since Aang's departure, giving them three free months of activity to do as they wished. She could only imagine the schemes implemented in those three free months while they languished in wait, committing a tragic strategic error. Now it could only be a long war of attrition, a game of predator and prey, waiting for the other to make a mistake.

Azula wanted to say that they were the predator while Vaatu and Father were the prey, but she was unsure. To do so meant to underestimate them, which was what they were surely hoping for. But to label Vaatu and Father as the predator meant to label themselves as the prey, which seemed inaccurate since, Aang, no matter how compromised he was, remained the foundational stalwart on their side.

Perhaps it was two predators circling each other over the prey, which was the world.

That image seemed more appropriate, in her estimation.

Suddenly, energy seemed to pierce the air in a smothering blanket, saturating with primordial presence, making her gasp in surprise as the dreadful weight rested on her, almost crushing her.

Vaatu!

Vaatu had returned for a surprise attack, mimicking Aang's previous attack!

Azula began to scramble out of the covers, ensuring Samir, who was thankfully still asleep, was behind her for protection. But before she could do anything else, she watched, stunned, as the world became alight with radiance. The instant glow blinded her for a moment, causing her to hold up a hand, before it faded—in the direction where The Avatar once meditated. Azula's heart picked up, knowing what it meant, as she pulled her hand away and rested it on the furs, watching as the air warped and pulled strangely, like something was tearing it apart for the briefest of moments as the light howled, swirling and growing dimmer, concentrating into a single source.

The Avatar shimmered into existence before her, afire with a divine hue that stirred her overwhelming awe, and the world seemed alive, blazing with teeming energies, buzzing through the ground and echoing inside her; he sat in the same meditative position, in the exact place, like he had never moved, he once did before he had vanished.

Azula did not dare move or breathe, eyes wide but aware, as The Avatar State's eminence faded, leaving Aang, who suddenly gasped in presence, inhaling roughly, hands bracing himself on the ground as he slanted to one side, imbalanced in a weary sag. She watched, stunned, as Aang pushed himself to balance, but he only breathed heavily, eyes peering far away; he sat, frozen, like he was a statue for long moments, processing something. Slowly, he seemed to come to himself as he raised his hands and looked at them, each action measured but gentle. His eyes roamed his hands in assessment, twisting and turning, like he was seeing each one for the first time. He exhaled roughly, the sound a sudden pierce, before he raised water from the ground and created a sheet of ice, in which he observed his appearance, and she saw his exhausted face clearly.

He looked like he had aged years—like he had lived an entire life. If not for his obvious youth, she would mistake him for an old man, especially due to his staggering appearance—he looked like a corpse! It was unthinkable! It was unforgettable! The image was seared into her mind like lightning—like Father himself shot it at her! By the look of him, there was a profound sense of danger; power crackled across his face in rippling waves, and his hair—his hair was longer again—seemed to blow by an unseen and unheard wind, billowing wildly, while his beard—it was long, full, matted, and unkempt—shuddered from the force. He looked like he had seen the unholy realm of possibility and bore it, like the dark and primal forces of the world ripped him apart and stitched him back together again. It looked like he was relearning himself, memorizing what he looked like, trying to recognize himself—because he did not recognize himself.

It was like he had underwent the Ascension again, as she imagined it to be.

Azula barely recognized him, deprived of words, unable to say anything; she could only stare at him—as he could only stare at himself.

Suddenly, his vivid gray eyes—alight with bright storms and power—connected to hers in the ice's reflective surface.

She had already been frozen in place, but the moment his eyes connected to hers in the reflection, something seized hold of her in a possessive grip—she could not move. She felt stuck, confined in place, sucked in by the power of Aang's eyes, which stared at her, stunned—like she did at him. The weight in his eyes, which she saw so clearly the longer they stared at each other, dazzled her; she had forgotten the depths of his brilliant eyes, which were a different shade than Samir's and held something more—something ancient and powerful, slumbering in the storms therein.

The ice dissipated, dropping into a small puddle as he turned to face her, making his haggard, worn features even more visible and memorable, and she swallowed as he rose achingly to his feet, trying to make herself stand to her feet, as well, to welcome him or demand answers—she was unsure which—but her limbs would not respond. The weight in his eyes acted as a counterweight to any motivation she had to rise to meet him halfway. But as he staggered toward her, body shuddering and seeming to shut down and falter, conveyed by the agony on his haggard, beaten face, it acted as a blaze that obliterated whatever held in her place.

Azula jumped to her feet and rushed at him and reached him immediately; she gripped him by his arms to hold him in place before he collapsed.

Her eyes bulged in horrified realization when her hand squeezed too much fabric and not enough sturdy, reliable flesh and muscle. His arms were too thin—much too thin! Looking at the rest of him more closely with an analytical, worried eye, she noticed how his new Air Nomad garbs—from where had he obtained new Air Nomad garbs if not at one of the Air Temples?—hung off him in waves. And as she glanced at his face, she realized that his beard concealed much of the visible sickness and deterioration in his face at a distance. But upon being so close to him—he was back!—she saw the unhealthy, almost rotten gauntness in his cheeks. And his gray eyes were clouding over in a haze almost like death—like he was expiring right in front of her, like the air itself no longer agreed with him.

His bones were too visible! Had a disease ravished him of his strength! Had he not eaten anything? He looked like a victim of starvation! Was he dying?

Her mouth opened to ask as many questions she could before he collapsed, but before she could say anything, he surprised her with a sporadic burst of strength as he leaned down and began to kiss her, lips moving over hers with frantic and desperate rhythm.

Azula responded instinctively before she pulled back, trying to stop him, but he was relentless and determined; his weight increased against her arms as he seemed to collapse against her, no longer able to stand—but he still kissed her.

"What are you doing?" she whispered with a moan against him, trying to hold firm, to resist his touch and presence, but she ached for connection—for connection with him.

He did not answer, seeming not to have the energy; he only kissed her, moving from her lips to her cheeks, to her neck, to her forehead, to everywhere he could think of.

She struggled against his weight, for the angle to hold them both up was too awkward and severe, until she lost her balance and crashed onto the blankets and groaned when Aang landed directly on top of her—and he had not softened the fall. She bore the brunt of his body, but it was not as bad as it could have been since he clearly had lost a disturbingly unhealthy amount of weight and mass. But she waited for the inevitable sound of tiny limbs scrambling out of the furs, followed by a delighted greeting to Aang.

But Samir did not wake up. She glanced back, moving away from Aang's insistent lips, startled, but Samir's face was peaceful in slumber.

How had Samir not awakened?

There was only one explanation, and as Aang began to pull away her garments, unashamed and unaffected by the crash, not even seeming to notice it, she gripped his arms—why were they so thin?—trying to not be consumed by her disbelief that he was with her—he was present! "What did you do to Samir?"

"Asleep," he grunted, voice hoarse, almost coming in a choked gasp of effort.

"You induced slumber, no matter what?"

He did not respond, continuing his efforts, and she knew she should deny him and demand answers, but her body quivered for connection. She surrendered and pulled him out of his garments, but whatever arousal she felt vanished at the sight of his nude body—she was unsure she would ever feel arousal again! There was only one part of his body that seemed healthy and strong, which was his physical identifier of manhood, prominent and proud as Aang continued his amorous advances, but everything else chilled her, leaving her shaken. He truly did look like a corpse, and there was nothing attractive about his body; all the renowned physical beauty she had always associated with him—had seen in him—was gone, melted away as if all the blood had been drained from his body, along with the muscle and natural fat. He looked like one of the beggars she had seen in Ba Sing Se's lower ring during the Great War, body broken beyond repair; he looked mortal rather than immortal.

"What happened to you?" she breathed, feeling an anguish she never expected to feel as the profound evidence of his devastated body was so clear before her.

Aang blinked rapidly and a torturous agony flashed over his face, born of ancient futility, before he shook his head. "Nothing," he mumbled unconvincingly before he began kissing her again with a careless, almost sloppy determination, moving everywhere he could find, from her lips to her throat to her breasts to her navel. She felt the straining evidence of his arousal against her thigh, and when he began to position himself for union, he glanced at her, to which she nodded. She felt no arousal herself but something, an instinct she never knew she possessed, notified her that it was a necessary act for both of them—she recognized primally that it was redemptive somehow.

He entered her immediately, and his thrusts were rough, rapid, uneven, and painful, and the entire experience was nothing like the previous one. It was over before she could process it, and Aang collapsed on top of her, exhausted, before he rolled over with a deep groan, like a haunting bellow of his soul.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice cracking. "I- I needed- "

She placed a finger over his lips. "I understand." She truly did not understand, but she knew resolution would only be reached if she listened. Mother was right. "We will explore each other further another night."

His eyes latched onto her with a fading insistence as a sweeping haze began to overtake them. "I wanted to marry you again," he whispered, words almost slurring.

Azula was deprived of speech, stunned, before she swallowed as she saw that he meant it—he meant it! "Rest, Aang," she insisted, trying to control her racing heart. "When is the last time you rested? When did you last sleep?"

Aang looked far away, almost like he was dying. It made her feel extensive panic. "Before you died."

No wonder the passion was so short. But her concern increased drastically at his stunning answer, for she knew it was impossibly true. Only The Avatar could sustain himself with no rest for three months. "And food and drink?"

"Three weeks; maybe four. Hard to keep track."

The words were like a lash that tore at her, provoking Azula to spring into action as she rolled out of the furs, not even worrying about her nudity. She exited the tent in a dash and returned with water with equal swiftness, but when she returned, Aang was unconscious, lips parted, and she stared at him.

The hair on his face was like she remembered after Ba Sing Se, but there was something different about him entirely. What happened to him? There was something different fundamentally, even beyond the horrifying physical state of his body. On Ember Island, he was anonymous; he was a beautiful man, but he carried himself lightly and without pressure, for he was finally on his vacation and free to be himself rather than the hate-filled man at the Southern Temple. However, he was The Avatar and, thus, unforgettable, but she had never seen him look so unforgettable, not even in Ba Sing Se.

What happened?

She kneeled beside his slumbering form, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest; he looked gaunt and thin, body broken, pierced by his own bones. Did it reflect his spirit? No, she saw the look in his eyes. There was a pain beyond words but also a light and clarity therein that she had never seen before. In some way, he seemed emptier than ever before but in another he seemed fuller than ever before.

What happened to him?

Her hand slipped under his head and lifted, tilting him toward the bowl of water. She poured gently into his mouth. "You should feel grateful your seed is not as prolific as Kuruk's," she murmured, unsure of what else to say. She had considered their reunion many times, ruminated on what to say, but she had never conceived it accurately, for what happened seemed impossible—she still had trouble believing he had returned! "If you had impregnated me when we married, this would not have been a welcome night after two months of your absence. I might have shot lightning at you. Mother said she once lit Father's beard on fire when she was pregnant with me."

She pulled the empty bowl away from his mouth and reclined his head back and slipped her hand out from under his grimy neck; she looked briefly at Samir, who was thankfully as deep in slumber as Aang was. "Two months you were gone, and I had to be on my own, without you. In some ways I resent your absence but in other ways I suppose I feel grateful. I had to do things on my own, and I could not rely on your protection. I had to speak with Katara, Sokka, Suki, Mai, and Ty Lee, and it was real and raw. It gave me much time to reflect. This was the first time we were without each other since you found me on Ember Island. I hope you were as productive as I was, but looking at you, I am unsure." She rubbed a hand through his thick, matted hair. "When was the last time you bathed?" she whispered in wonder, assessing his body with a critical eye.

There were several burns that she had never seen before, but the Air Nomad garbs bundled by the bed's side were pristine and brilliant. What happened to him? Had he actually hunted down Father? Had he, too, gone back to the Eastern Temple to speak with Pathik? Perhaps the Northern Temple to speak with the Mechanic, to gather allies to fight Father? What if he had gone to the Western Temple for the new garbs. But why did she have the instinct that his absence was not strategic, not done to fight Vaatu and Father? "I feared you were dead for a short time after your body disappeared. I never want to experience that again. Is that how you felt after Father killed me? I know that your love for me is why you pulled me back from limbo, but I know also that your shame of me is why you left. You looked at me with such hatred." Azula nodded, feeling heavy. "I know that is why you left, Aang. You are ashamed I am your wife, and you regret our marriage—you hate it. You resent the blood in my veins, and you fear you would resent our children, for in them would not only endure the old Air Nomads but Sozin, who murdered your race, your people, your home, your culture, your father, and your love. I disgust you, and you are disgusted that you sullied yourself by marrying me—I understand. I do not agree, not at all, but I do understand."

Aang's face remain unchanged like she knew it would, but she had hoped that he might awaken for a moment and reassure her that her claims were nonsense, but he was silent. "I do love you," she whispered, having already reached the conclusion of what she needed to do; she felt resigned and empty. But she would do what she must. She loved him enough to free him from their marriage. "I love you, Aang. You mystify and intrigue me; you delight and beguile me. I love your laugh. When I think of us on Ember Island, I hear your laugh; it is a laugh I have not heard in a long time. I love your intelligence, for you are more intelligent than I am; you understand things that are impossible to me, for you are a genius above everyone. I will never understand all of you, even if you were not a genius, but I love what I do understand about you. I love your belief and determination because it shapes the world and made me believe in myself when we first met. I did not trust myself; I thought I would go mad again before I made strides. But you believed in me; you trusted me. Why did you do that?" She exhaled slowly to control her rising emotions. "You knew the blood in me, but you trusted me. No one else would have, and based on what I know about you from before you took your vacation on Ember Island, you should not have trusted me. It does not make sense that you trusted me and befriended me when you hated so deeply—when you hated Sozin so deeply. But you trusted me, anyway. Thank you. Thank you for not succumbing to your hatred. But the truth is—I love your hatred, Aang," she whispered, breathing shuddering in her chest as she recalled his raw, revealing letter to Gyatso. "I love your hatred because I know it is the only thing that kept you going, which led to me meeting you, for you were sick of the world, hating it and everyone in it, that you went on your vacation to Ember Island, where I was. Your hatred saved your life, sustaining you through the darkness of isolation, grief, and madness, and I will love your hatred forever because of it; your hatred made you yourself, who I love; your hatred was all that you had for a long time. I love so many things about you, Aang, even the things that others would deride and hate, fearful and appalled. But there is nothing about you that I do not love. You anger me, frustrate me, and worry me, but I love you, which is greater than those brief sensations. I love you, which means I know you—because, as Air teaches, to love means to see as things are. Gyatso affirmed it when I saw him—yes, I saw him. I am sorry I did not tell you, but I did not know how. Too much happened too quickly to tell you. And I love him, as well, and I love you because you knew him—and him because he knew you. He loves our marriage, but if you do not want to continue it, I understand. I am willing to be regarded only as your mistress, and I accept that. But I know you will not, for you want to abide by Air's teachings, and Air's teachings teach us that we are married now. I know in Air's eyes we will always be married, but there is a way around that if you seek it. For I am not of Air; I am of Fire. Our marriage could be considered null and void because I can claim that passion overtook me. It happens often in the Fire Nation, and I can wield that excuse to free you from our marriage, and you can marry whom you please. We are friends, foremost, and it was my offer as a friend to be Mother of Air. And it is my offer now, as a friend, to revoke our marriage if that is what you need."

Aang remained silent, consumed by sleep. Azula inhaled slowly and was unable to prevent her fingers from crinkling his pristine garbs. "If you pursue the annulment, I will not fight it. Perhaps we can try again years from now when this new war with Vaatu and Father is over. Though, if you just impregnated me, that may change things. But I can wait. I am a powerful bender of a powerful lineage. Mother's mother, my grandmother Rina, bore Mother in her nineties. I would rather not wait that long, and I am unsure I can. Maybe you truly would rather wait until Samir is older and raise her to the Mother of Air." Azula frowned at the thought, but it was a logical solution; it would be always. "But if that is your path you will take, you cannot let her continue to think of you as her father. She will grow and mature into a beautiful woman, and she would actually be from and of Air, unlike me. If that is your choice, I will respect it. Though, I will always disagree, for you have not given me a chance. Why can you not see that there is no one better than me? Why can you not see that I love Air? Why can you not see that I am willing to help you? Why can you not see that I am prepared? Why can you not see that I am ready to work with and dedicate myself to Air's revival, no matter the time, energy, and devotion needed? Why can you not see that I understand what is needed of the Mother of Air? Why can you not see that I understand what is needed of me? Why can you not see that I am willing to bear you a dozen children? Why can you not see that I am willing to bear you a dozen more? Why can you not see that I am willing to make with you a new race, one beautiful and lovely to behold and gaze upon, for this new race will inherit the best of us both—the best of Air and Fire? Gyatso said it best—Air will be tempered by its evasive fancies by Fire's will. Our children will be glorious and magnificent, born conquerors, free to their spirits. Why can you not see that? Why can you not see that I want to raise our children and teach them Air's wisdom, doing for them what Gyatso did for you and me? Why can you not see that I would love our children as much, if not more, than I love you and point them to Air's transcendence, teaching them to look inward for answers rather than outward, for Air's wisdom is not something to learn but something to feel—for it is already inside us, waiting for us to seek it out? Why can you not see that you and I make sense, fitting together in ways neither of us anticipated? Why can you not see that there is no better Mother of Air than me? Why can you not see that I would be a good mother? I know I am not the wise choice; I know I am not the best choice; I know I am not the easy choice; I know I am not the social choice; I know I am not the incentivized choice; I know I am not the approved choice; I know I am not the untainted choice; and I know I am not the proper choice—but I am the right choice. Why can you not see that? You should give me a chance, Aang. You will regret if it you do not. We had sex again because you said that you wanted to marry me again, but I do not know if I believe it. How could your mind have changed? I know what you think. You think I am a foul smell that will make Air smell like smoke forever. However, always, despite your foul smell, I am relieved that you returned," she whispered. "But I am unsure all of you returned. Your mental state worries me."

Suddenly, a memory of her time in limbo assaulted her, and she recalled Gyatso's cryptic words that Aang would see him soon because part of him would die. Azula blinked, wondering if she was attributing the situation to something else entirely because how would Gyatso's spirit in limbo know that Aang would see him soon and that part of him would die? Unless, truly, Gyatso had seen the future and knew that Aang would see him soon. "You went to that valley," she realized, leaning back slightly. "You actually went there, and you saw Gyatso, didn't you? You said you nearly went to the Gardens several times before but could never cross the threshold. But you crossed a place so much worse, and part of you died in that place." Her eyes roamed Aang's slumbering peace. "Did you want to stay there? Did you resent that you were able to pull me back from limbo but not Gyatso? But you would never tell me, would you?" She inhaled slowly. "I have told you so much about myself, and you did reciprocate but not fully." She shook her head, thinking about his letter to Gyatso. "I read your letter to Gyatso, and I know why you wrote what you did; I know why you wrote every sentence in it; and I know you meant it all wholeheartedly. But I think of everything I shared with you on Ember Island, and I wonder why you did not reciprocate. You told me that is what friends do, but you did not reciprocate. There has been so much you have kept from me. I do not resent that you are dishonest with me, but it saddens me, for I can help you, and I will if you let me. I want to help you—we are friends. I know my rash nomination for Mother of Air did not help, of course—I know it. But I need you to trust me, for I trust you more than anyone. There is a reason you brought me back; there is a reason why you did not eat, drink, or sleep while you healed my body for weeks and scoured the Immortal Realm for my spirit, taking me out of limbo and restoring me to my body; there is a reason why my death is what provoked The Avatar State, which led to you killing Agni and Devi's bodies and maiming Father and causing him to flee while you healed me; there is a reason why your reaction to my death was the same as Appa's death; there is a reason you are as fond of me as you are of Appa—love. You love me, Aang—I know you do. But so, too, you resent me—the blood in my veins. I cannot kill the blood in my veins to satisfy you, and even if I could, I would not. I love my lineage, even with all its problems and crimes—because my lineage produced me, and I am exceptional. You know the blood in my veins, but I do not know the blood in yours. Perhaps your father and mother were treacherous and depraved, inflicting the cruelty of Air. It is not plausible, no, but it is possible. But I do not care, for it does not matter. You said you wanted to marry me again, and we did marry again. Does my blood still disgust you? Will the reminder of our marriage manifest your hatred? Will my blood matter still to you when you wake up?"

Aang did not answer, but Azula had not expected him to; she had finally said everything she had wanted to say to him—everything that had been gnawing at and pestering her since she had discerned the true reason for his disappearance.

Satisfied but exhausted, she crawled under the furs, placing herself between Samir and Aang with slow movements to ensure both stayed asleep; she doubted either could be awakened with how deep in slumber they were, but she did not want to risk it. When she was comfortable between them, she rested her head on Aang's thin shoulder, bearing his deep odor as she breathed deeply, finally allowing herself to relax since his disappearance as her eyes drifted shut.

She was ready to rest.

XxXxXxXxXxX

I hope that you all enjoyed it. Please leave a review and tell me what you think. I'd really appreciate it!

**Azula reaches the Southern Air Temple and feels Aang's loss and searches for answers. She finds a letter that he wrote to Gyatso before he left for his vacation to Ember Island and understands him better because of reading the letter.

Her journey is in trying to forgive Aang for what he did—for leaving her like everyone else always had, even though he said he never would. She's certainly angry that he left, but Azula has to understand and eventually goes to the Eastern and Southern Temple to try to find him. But when she arrived at the Southern Temple with Samir, she finally understood Aang's loneliness. It helped that she had met Gyatso and loved him, but she felt the voice and absence at the Southern Temple—Aang's home. And when she found Aang's honest letter to Gyatso, written by him months before he left on his vacation to Ember Island, all the pieces fit together for her. She realized that the Aang she had known since Ba Sing Se was Aang reverting to who he was pre-vacation (and it culminates in his journey and actions in the past). She sees the depths of his hatred and forgives him for it, understanding it, and realizing she actually loves his hatred—because his hatred saved his life and brought him to her, for which she is grateful.

**Katara struggles with learning about everything that Zuko threw at her in his non-romantic proposal-like question and talks to Toph about it.

**Azula gets back to the camp just in time for Aang to return. When Aang returns, his body is starting to fail him because he had pushed himself so hard and non-stop. But he has one thing on his mind, the only thing that makes sense after the revolutionary pilgrimage he undertook—he wants to marry Azula again. And Azula recognizes that they both need it, and they marry each other again, though it's nothing like the first time, of course.

Well, I think that is everything. I hope that you all enjoyed it, and I would really appreciate it if you left a review to tell me what you thought about it.

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