Five months later

-

The tatami mats that lined the dojo filled the room with the smell of wild grass. The opened sliding door let in a gentle breeze, and the last glares of sunlight trickled in.

Zhenyu was standing in the middle of the room, holding his right leg parallel to the ground. A stern look of concentration was set on his face as he held his balance. He envisioned one of the elegant cranes that stood in the pond behind their house, perfectly stable despite the crush of gravity. He inhaled, then exhaled, trying desperately to not give into the growing soreness in his leg.

"Good," Master Meng said, his voice steady and firm. The middle aged general crossed in front of him, watching his stance carefully. "Drop it. You two can hold those longer than half of my men," he remarked with a smile.

Zhenyu huffed, his little face red with exertion. He put his foot down and sucked in a deep breath. He looked over at the boy beside him, who likewise lowered his leg obediently.

His fellow student was a little boy his named Chen. He was Master Meng's son, and the resemblance was clear. He had his father's stern brow and black hair. The two had started their lessons together months ago, when Zhenyu had persuaded his parents to let him start training in the martial arts.

Chen was the first boy Zhenyu's age that he related to. Like him, Chen was inquisitive, reserved, and disconnected from their peers. In him, he'd found friendship. Four days a week the two boys would train together, and afterwards, they'd show off their toys and drawings to one another. When Chen put graphite to paper, he was able to create the coolest illustrations of dragons that Zhenyu had ever seen.

"Now, push-ups on my count," General Meng ordered, motioning his hand down.

Zhenyu dropped down to the ground and readier himself, straightening his back as well as he could. His mama had critiqued his form more than once before. One had to be stiff as a board in order to make the most of the exercise, he'd heard her say.

"One," said General Meng, standing in front of the two boys. Zhenyu felt his eyes trailing over to Chen. His back wasn't straight enough. "Two, three, four… Chen, watch your form." Being the General's son had never afforded Chen any favors- not in the dojo. Meng continued counting, his pace steady. With every number, Zhenyu could feel discomfort settling into his small body.

"...Fifteen, sixteen…" Zhenyu felt his arms twitch as he continued down. They'd started doing push-ups months before, and yet he still couldn't do many more. He glanced up again at Chen, trying to gauge the other boy's progress. His friend's face was red, and his posture was quickly becoming even sloppier. Zhenyu pushed on, determined to at least surpass his record of twenty.

"Twenty…" General Meng counted. A gasp of frustration trembled through the air as Chen collapsed to the ground.

"Ugh!" He coughed out, frustrated. His eyes focused on Zhenyu, who continued on despite the pain.

"Twenty one, twenty two…" General Meng continued, unmoved by his son's muttering.

Finally, Zhenyu felt his arms give way as he fell down. He smiled to himself, reveling in the burning in his arms. Burning meant muscle was forming, mama had told him. Twenty two was a new record, and even better, it was two past what Chen had done.

"I win!" He decided joyfully, grinning mischievously at his friend. He turned himself over and sat up. "Haha!" He stuck his tongue out to confirm the point.

"No you didn't!" Chen chided, his eyes narrowing with frustration at the comment. "We wasn't even competing! I wasn't even trying dat hard!"

"Quiet," Meng interrupted firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you weren't trying, then go ahead and give me another ten." He looked expectantly at the boy who quickly recoiled at the suggestion.

"I… I can't," Chen admitted, rubbing his skinny arms. He turned his gaze away, his lip puffing outwards.

"Then stop lying. Zhenyu did more than you, and he had a better form, too," Master Meng continued. His voice held all the authority of his rank and position. "You'd do well to catch up." He turned around and strode across the dojo towards the weapon racks.

Zhenyu smiled, entirely pleased with the result of the conversation. He hardly noticed the embittered look on his best friend's face.

-

Had Baatar been ignorant to the coming events of the day, he could've predicted them based solely on Kuvira's behavior over the past few days.

The skin around her fingernails was raw. Every time he caught her picking at it, he'd tried to politely redirect her, but he wasn't with her all day. She'd been disinterested in affection, apathetic to her typical interests, and hypersensitive to quick motions.

These behaviors were routine when a visit from her parents was near. He wasn't ever sure how to best address the dilemma. Although her distress was all but guaranteed when they planned to come, there was a lingering hopefulness in her attitude towards it all. Baatar knew that somehow, she still hoped for a normality he was growing convinced wouldn't ever come. Regardless, it didn't feel like his place to try and intervene.

Even still, he loathed how vividly distraught it made his wife. This was especially true now, when her stomach was swollen in her seventh month of pregnancy. Her nerves were already high enough. Although she didn't seem as paranoid as she had the first time around, he'd seen the overall effect on her mood. She had stopped training, and with that, her effortless confidence had been weakened. In councils she was often quiet, allowing for Baatar to maintain the authority over their soldiers. Her public appearances halted again. Word had quickly spread about her condition, but Kuvira still insisted on hiding herself away from their people.

In spite of it all, moments of joy had peppered this time of change as well. The two of them spent several nights under the stars whispering about what their next child would be like. Baatar was convinced it would be a little girl with wavy hair and beauty marks, while Kuvira noted that another son was just as likely. They'd started the new nursery together, too. Baatar took his time sanding out a fancy wooden chest that was painted to look like a ship. A mural of waves and sea animals coated the walls. Baatar felt like a child himself again watching it come to life. Their baby would come into a world of love, and Baatar couldn't be more excited.

Zhenyu had been quite humorous throughout the pregnancy, too. He was flabbergasted that mama couldn't fight anymore; even more so that a little baby would be living under their roof soon enough. He asked far too many questions about the situation, trying to make sense of it all.

Their son didn't have nearly the same trepidation towards his grandparents visiting. Rather, he had been alight with excitement since he'd heard the news. Zufu and Zumu were always great fun. Zufu always brought him wooden toys made in his workshop, and Zumu would give him candies and praise.

The morning of their arrival, Kuvira was pacing around their kitchen while Zhenyu tried to assassinate a fly who had made the terrible mistake of flying into their home.

"Are you alright, Kuvira?" Baatar asked from his position at the dining room table where he was urgently trying to wrap up the report in front of him. Clearing an entire day was almost impossible given their workloads. He frowned when he caught sight of her reddened fingertips.

"Yes," she replied simply, a hint of offense in her tone. She never seemed to like it when he asked how she was. It was always received as though he had specifically insulted her.

"...Alright," he sighed. In the past, he'd asked if she'd prefer he send them away- to stall what would inevitably distress her. Every time, it has evoked a similar mixture of apathy and indignation. He knew better than to try again. All that he could hope for now was a quick trip that he could douse the flames of after the fact.

A knock at the door pulled all three family members' attention away from their tasks. Kuvira's back straightened, and Baatar rose out of his seat. He approached and opened the door, bracing himself for a few hours of pleasantries.

"Good morning!" came the chipper voice of Daiyu Lin. She was as poised as ever, with her sleek bun and royal blue dress. Her smile was painted with a deep red. She seemed alright with excitement.

"Good morning, ma'am, sir," he replied politely, ducking his head into a respectful bow. He moved backwards, holding the door open for the pair.

Haoyu mumbled his introductory greeting awkwardly under his breath. He was clad in a worn leather coat and a look of unease.

"Hello mother, father," Kuvira said, her eyes set on her parents as they entered. She hadn't ever moved past basic formalities. She stood with her shoulders squared, but it was hard to see the fearless Great Uniter in her posture.

"Oh, Kuvira, look how big you've gotten!" Her mother commented, her eyes fixating on her daughter's stomach. Her lips pulled further into a smile. She moved towards her, setting down the bag in her hands on the counter. "I didn't realize how far along you were!"

"...Zumu!" Zhenyu hollered, running over to his grandmother enthusiastically. His typically resigned nature had melted away into a bout of extraversion.

The older woman laughed at the hearty reaction and bent over, embracing the young boy. "Did you bring me candy?" He asked joyfully, holding onto the older woman.

"How'd you know?" She mused, a melodic laugh floating from her lips. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "There will always be candy for my special little guy."

Baatar looked at his wife, trying to identify her level of comfort. He was unable to discern anything tangible, as she seemed disconnected from the previous set of comments. Her green eyes were merely fixed on her son, a subtle warmness coloring her eyes as she watched the two interact.

"...Good morning, Kuvira," said Haoyu Lin, the wrinkles of his face moving back into a hesitant smile. He set down another bag and let his eyes fall down to her stomach. "...How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she replied simply, though her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at her father's words. "I trust your journey was comfortable?" It was the same rehearsed line she'd used for years now.

"Yes," he confirmed, as he always did. Haoyu turned from his daughter to Baatar and mustered another smile. "You must be excited?"

"I am," Baatar confirmed with a nod. "Very much so."

Daiyu had fished candy out of her purse and pressed it into Zhenyu's hands. "And once you've finished that, I'll show you what your zufu made you!" She smiled as he wandered away, tearing the wrapping off a chocolate bar. She looked again at Kuvira. "How's his bending coming along?"

Baatar felt his hands clench at the subject. He looked to his son, hoping he was too distracted by the sweets to notice.

"He hasn't shown any signs of bending yet," Kuvira replied honestly, folding her arms across her chest.

Daiyu's lips finally morphed into a frown. "Really?" She asked, shaking her head. "But you have him practice, of course?"

"Yes," Kuvira replied, nodding once firmly. She stepped back slightly, glancing behind herself.

"Everyday?"

"Not anymore," Kuvira said, her jaw tightening. "We didn't think it was necessary after a certain point. If he can bend, it'll happen on its own."

Daiyu tutted under her breath, shaking her head. "You can't be soft on him, Kuvira," she said, her voice light yet concentrated. "You were bending by the age of three, if you recall. You could make an entire room tremble when you were his age!"

Baatar looked again to their son, who was staring up at his grandmother. The chocolate in his hands was melting, and he didn't move to eat it. His green eyes were wide.

"Zhenyu isn't me," Kuvira replied slowly. "Bending as young as I did wasn't normal. If he can bend, he'll do it in his own time."

"You bent as early as you did because nobody made excuses for you," Daiyu continued, her voice growing more pointed.

Kuvira didn't reply immediately. Instead her gaze lingered, and Baatar noticed an uncanny hesitation in her face. "You're right, mother. Nobody ever made excuses for me," she replied coolly, but her voice wavered.

"You wouldn't be the Great Uniter today if I had coddled you. If you want your boy to be anything at all, you need to set that expectation now," Daiyu concluded, shaking her head indignantly. The older woman's face had contorted into one of stern resolve.

Baatar grit his teeth, feeling his discomfort distort into frustration. His son's excitement had melted away, and frigid sadness had taken its place. His wife's worries had been realized. He had to say something.

"I'm quite pleased with how our son is doing," Baatar interrupted, his voice calm but firm. He made eye contact with Daiyu, and a scowl twitched at the ends of her lips.

"I'm sure you are," she replied simply, turning her attention back to her daughter. "But Kuvira isn't weak. She knows what's best for him. Don't you?" The last couple of words were steely, and in a strange way, he could hear his wife in her tone. It was the way Kuvira spoke to a soldier who had shown an exponential level of incompetence: cold, calculated, intense.

Baatar's hands clenched into fists. His initial reaction was hesitation; Kuvira was almost always the first to respond. But when he saw the distraught delay in her disposition, he stepped forward. "Careful, ma'am," he said. "You're a guest here. Remember that."

He hadn't ever taken such a tone with her, and it showed in the shocked, blanket look on her face. "Baatar-" she started, her voice coming out in a sputter.

"Ma'am," he continued swiftly. His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you enjoy the time you have with your grandchild?" He gestured towards Zhenyu, who was now staring at the floor, clearly discontented.

Several emotions crossed Daiyu Lin's face. Anger, confusion, fear swallowed her pointed features before it eventually calmed. "Of course," she eventually conceded.

Baatar couldn't control everything that had happened when Kuvira was a child. He couldn't delve into the depths of her memories and rewrite the past; what he could do now was take control of the present. He wouldn't allow further hurt to be inflicted. Not when he was more than capable of interceding. He would be the husband he'd sworn to be. Her staff, her shield, her hearth.

-

Chen was sick today, which meant that Zhenyu received all of General Meng's attention and critique.

He struck the punching bag harder than he ever had before. His knuckles pulsed with pain, but he didn't particularly care.

"Better," General Meng said, standing nearby with his hands clasped behind his back. "But your form is still sloppy. Your shoulder needs to move up. Try again."

Zhenyu couldn't think about his form right now. Ever since his grandparents' visit the day before, his mind had been consumed by only one thing.

"I don't want to try again. I need to learn how to bend!" he decided aloud, looking pleadingly up at his instructor. "I'll do anything. You gotta show me how, sir!" He hadn't been able to stop thinking about what his zumu had said. He couldn't forget the way she looked at him. He'd always been her 'special little guy', but now he wasn't. He had to follow in his mother's footsteps. He had to be the best earthbender in the world.

"...My instructions are to teach you martial arts," Master Meng replied carefully. "If you display the ability to bend, I'm sure your mother would instruct me to hone you in that as well. For now-"

"But you know how!" Zhenyu protested, stomping his foot down. Frustration quickly welled in his little body as he stared up at the general. "If you don't know how to teach me, then… then you're a bad teacher!"

Master Meng didn't respond immediately. He wasn't phased by the tantrum, but it wasn't typical of the young boy. "Where's this coming from?" He asked finally.

"I don't know! I just… I want to bend. I want to be a real good fighter, just like my mama!" He clenched his eyes shut, trying to force away the burning sensation that settled in them. He couldn't cry, not in front of him.

"Do you think you need to be able to bend to be a good fighter?" Master Meng followed, taking a step closer to him.

"Well- yeah!" Zhenyu replied, exasperated. He felt his voice waver as he continued, but he couldn't stop himself now. "And my zumu said I need to bend, and if I just worked hard I'd be able to- I need to practice! I wanna be the best fighter in the whole world!"

Meng took another moment to respond. "How many soldiers in our army do you think can bend, Zhenyu?" he asked finally.

"...Most of them?" Zhenyu grumbled, putting his hands on his face. He couldn't envision an army full of pathetic non-benders.

"30%," Meng corrected. "Not even half. Do you think 30% of our army is weak?"

"No…" Zhenyu trailed off, frowning. He felt his lip tremble with frustration.

"It isn't. It's the strongest army in the history of the world, and the majority of it is made up of people who can't bend," he said firmly. He paused, before speaking again. "Do you want to know about the best fighter I've ever met? The best martial artist in the world?"

"My mama?" Zhenyu guessed, glaring down at the floor. He dug his toe into the ground.

"No. Your mother is an excellent fighter, but I don't think she'd claim to be the best martial artist in the world," Meng replied, shaking his head.

"...Who is it?" Zhenyu frowned, unable to imagine anyone better than his mama. He had watched her metalbend so many times that he could replay it in his mind. It always struck him as the most magical thing in the world.

"His name is Master Renjiro Takamura," Meng explained. The older man sat down on the floor and gestured for his student to follow him. "He trained me, and your mother for a time, I believe." He managed a smile at the boy. "He's from the Fire Nation, but he travels all around the world reaching the art."

"I've never seen a fire bender before," Zhenyu admitted, frowning. His father had told him that there were people who could bend other things besides the earth. Air, water, fire. It had intrigued him, but the populations of those benders were so limited in the Earth Empire that he hadn't come across one in his short life yet.

"Well, he isn't one," Meng replied. "And it's probably why he's the best. Bending is powerful, but it can often become a crutch. When you don't have it, you can learn how to truly excel. When he fights, it looks like he's flying." A look of reminiscence crossed his face.

"...But if he got into a fight with a bender, he'd lose!" Zhenyu protested. He couldn't imagine punches and kicks getting him anywhere if someone shot a slab of earth in his direction.

"If?" Meng smiled again. "Zhenyu, he's gotten into hundreds of fights with benders. Maybe thousands, he's rather old now." He looked off thoughtfully. "And he might have some scars for them, but he's still alive to show them off."

"...Really?" Zhenyu murmured, frowning. "But… how?"

"By striving for…" Meng stood up and gestured for his pupil to follow. He struck his fist into the punching bag. "Excellence." He looked down at his young student. "Now let's try again."