She was tired. That was an understatement. She was so lost, hurt and afraid. It had been four days since she'd been put in here, away from the others. Away from Sena and Anik - were they even still alive? The acolyte that came to bring her food had said they were (apparently they were the only three currently under punishment so it wasn't hard to figure out if one had died).

But could she actually trust any of these people? She was grateful that Banzan and the other Sentinels seemed too occupied lately to come and harass her. She was glad for the reprieve, preferring to deal with the air acolytes over the airbenders, and it gave her time to think.

That was all she could do. Think and wait. The pain that had been sweltering in her body had died down to a ghost of an ache, leaving behind only the memory of that awful morning. As hard as she tried, she knew she would never be able to get over what happened to her. Being alone with no one to talk to or comfort her made it worse, and she sometimes would cry for her mother. Was she OK? Was Arrluk OK? Thinking of her little brother, Kima allowed herself a sad smile.He must be so angry and wanting to come here to fight all of them.

The boy's bravery and tenacity never ceased to amaze her, even now in her darkest time. With all her thoughts and feelings in a hurdle, she felt a sudden chill slide down her spine when she thought back to the reason she hadn't seen any of the airbenders lately.

The Avatar himself was here.

She had no clue what he was doing here, and the other day when he had come here to see her had very nearly killed her. It was so surreal, seeing the one person she never dreamt of seeing, a man that wasn't even just a man. She found herself pondering on the bizarre coincidence that he'd be here, at this temple at this time, and laughed at the absurdity of the universe.

He talked to me.

That was the most puzzling thing about it. She was sure that Banzan had told him about her escape attempt, her non-compliance, her refusal to submit to the Air Empire. All of that should've warranted her death, she knew. But for some reason he didn't strike her, didn't even lift a finger. Instead he tried to talk to her, asked her questions as though wanting to know her. She scoffed. "As if he would care for my suffering. He's worst than all of them combined." She had heard so many stories of his power, his abilities, his merciless stance against those deemed dangerous to his people and their rule. He was a monster, a beast, something other than human.

So why was she still breathing? What did he want with her? She hoped that he wouldn't come back here. She wanted him to leave, because him being here only made her even more unsafe. She wished she could talk to Sena about this and figure out what was going on. Covering her face with her hands, Kima tried to shut out all the noise internally. She needed a plan. It was stupid to be thinking of trying to escape again, but she wasn't broken, despite what Banzan might like to think.

You didn't win. You won't get to me.

Kima sat back against the cold stone wall, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She let her eyes close for just a moment, the weight of her exhaustion pulling her under.

Her mind drifted to a memory, vivid and warm. She was a little girl again, standing barefoot in the snow outside her family's hut. The sun shone bright in the icy sky, and the air was crisp and clean. Laughter echoed around her as she ran after a group of children, their playful shouts mingling with the crunch of snow beneath their feet. Her father's deep voice called out encouragement, and her mother stood nearby, smiling warmly as she worked on a small carving.

"Come on, Kima! You're too slow!" one of the boys teased, darting ahead of her.

She giggled, determined to catch him, her little legs pumping as fast as they could. The world was simple, safe, and full of joy. Her mother's laugh joined the children's, and Kima turned her head, grinning wide.

For a moment, everything felt perfect.

But then, as dreams often do, the memory began to shift. The laughter grew distant, and the snow beneath her feet turned to cold, hard stone. Her mother's smile faded, her figure disappearing into the shadows. The children's voices were replaced by silence, and Kima was left alone, standing in the emptiness of her cell.

Her eyes flew open, her heart pounding. The dream was gone, but the ache it left behind lingered.

And then she saw him.

Aang was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, his face calm but unreadable in the dim light. He must have entered while she slept. The sight of him startled her so much that she flinched, pressing herself back against the wall.

"Sorry," he said quietly, his voice softer than she expected. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Kima didn't respond, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. She couldn't understand why he was here again, alone, and at this hour.

"Are you... okay?" Aang asked, his tone hesitant, as if he already knew the answer.

She blinked at him, her lips pressing into a tight line.

Of course I'm not okay, she thought bitterly. What kind of question is that?

Aang seemed to realize his mistake, exhaling softly and rubbing the back of his neck. "That was a dumb thing to ask," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

The silence between them stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Kima kept her gaze on him, wary and defensive, but she didn't say a word.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to me," Aang said after a moment.

Still nothing.

"I just thought maybe..." He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he looked up again, his expression was strangely vulnerable. "Maybe you'd feel better if I told you something embarrassing about myself."

Kima frowned, confused.

"I once tried to airbend my way out of a buzzlehorn hive," he said, his voice light and conversational. "You know, those things with the giant wings and stingers the size of my thumb? Didn't go well. I got stung about fifty times before I realized I could've just walked away."

For a second, there was only silence. Then, to his surprise—and hers—a quiet, involuntary laugh escaped her lips.

Kima immediately clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting to him as if she'd just committed some grave sin. But Aang only smiled, a small, genuine expression that softened the edges of his otherwise commanding presence.

"See?" he said lightly. "I'm not all that scary."

Her smile faded as quickly as it had come, and she looked away, her defenses snapping back into place. But Aang didn't push her. He just stayed where he was, his gaze steady but unthreatening.

"I'll leave if you want me to," he said finally. "But if you ever do feel like talking, I'll listen. I know the others here might not be much for conversation, but..."

Kima didn't respond, but for the first time, she didn't look at him with outright fear.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Aang shifted, preparing to leave, but just as he rose to his feet, a barely audible word stopped him.

"Wait."

He froze, unsure if he'd imagined it. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Kima looking at him. Her lips trembled, and her wide eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

He sat back down, moving slowly to avoid startling her. His gaze softened, silently encouraging her to speak.

"I—" Her voice cracked, and she lowered her head, her fingers knotting together in her lap. "I'm sorry. For… for trying to escape." Her voice was a broken whisper, but her words gained speed as she continued, her tone desperate. "Please, I—I didn't mean to—please don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want. Just… just don't—"

Aang's chest tightened, the raw fear in her voice cutting through him like a blade. "Hey," he interrupted gently, his tone steady but soft. "I'm not here to hurt you. I promise."

She sobbed, burying her face in her hands as the dam broke. The weight of everything she'd been holding in seemed to spill out in waves. Her shoulders shook violently as she wept, the sound of her anguish echoing in the quiet room.

Aang hesitated, his hands hovering in the air, unsure of what to do. "Would it be okay if I…" He gestured awkwardly, his voice low. "If I hugged you?"

Kima's head snapped up, and she shook it vigorously, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Okay, okay," he said quickly, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. "I won't." He settled back, leaning against the wall as he let her cry. It was all he could do, just be there as she let the storm inside her run its course.

Eventually, her sobs quieted into soft hiccups. She wiped her face with trembling hands, her expression flushed and raw with emotion.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice hoarse.

"Don't be," Aang said gently. He shook his head, his expression earnest. "You don't have to apologize. Not for that."

She looked at him, her brows knitting together, confusion flickering in her eyes. He didn't elaborate, and for a long moment, silence hung between them.

After a while, Aang leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Can I ask you something?" he said cautiously.

Kima tensed but nodded faintly.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice soft but deliberate. He didn't say what he meant by here, but it was clear they both understood.

Kima's face went pale, and she turned her head away. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, twisting and untwisting a loose thread on her sleeve. Aang waited patiently, watching her with an unreadable expression.

"I…" She started, then faltered, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard.

Aang didn't press her, letting the question linger. He could see the battle raging in her mind, the fear warring with something else—maybe defiance, maybe shame. He wasn't sure.

"I don't…" Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Aang's expression softened further. "The truth," he said simply.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She stared at the floor, her body rigid, as if she were bracing for something.

"I know why they brought you here," Aang said, his voice quiet but firm. "You don't have to tell me that part. I just want to understand…" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "What happened before. Why you tried to leave."

Kima's hands stilled, her fingers curling into fists. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She didn't look at him, but he could see the turmoil in her expression.

"I had to," she said finally, her voice so soft he almost didn't hear it.

"Why?"

Her head snapped up, and for a brief moment, her eyes met his. They were filled with a raw, searing pain that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Because I'd rather die than be what they want me to be."

Aang felt a lump rise in his throat, but he said nothing, his gaze steady as he watched her.

She turned away again, her shoulders trembling. "You don't get it," she muttered, her voice thick with emotion. "You'll never get it."

Aang didn't argue. He didn't tell her she was wrong, didn't try to convince her otherwise. Instead, he sat there in silence, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy cloak.

For the first time, he began to realize just how deep her pain ran—and how much he still didn't understand.

Aang hesitated, unsure how to respond to what she'd just said. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and careful. "I'm sorry you feel that way. And… you're right. I don't understand. Not completely."

Kima's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond.

"I just…" He exhaled, glancing at the floor as he tried to gather his thoughts. "I don't think it's as bad as you might think."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then he saw her shoulders begin to shake.

"No," she whispered, her voice breaking. She let out a choked sob, and tears began to fall freely again. "No, you don't get it. You don't—" Her words dissolved into more sobs, and she pressed her hands to her face, her whole body trembling.

Aang's chest tightened, and he realized his mistake. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, his tone filled with regret. "I didn't mean it like that. I just… I don't know what to say."

Kima lowered her hands, her face streaked with tears. "I miss my family," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I just want to go home."

The words hit Aang like a blow, and for a moment, he didn't know how to respond. What could he say? He couldn't give her what she wanted.

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the far wall. "I…" he started, but the words died in his throat. He knew anything he said would only make things worse.

Kima's sobs softened into quiet sniffles, and the silence between them grew heavy. Aang sat there for a while, unsure if staying or leaving would do more harm.

Finally, he stood, moving slowly so as not to startle her. She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the floor.

"I'll see you again," he said softly, his tone carrying a quiet promise.

With that, he turned and walked to the door, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness of the room. He glanced back once before stepping out, but Kima didn't move.

As the door closed behind him, Aang felt the weight of the encounter settle heavily on his shoulders. For all his power, for all his knowledge, he felt completely powerless in that moment.

And he hated nothing more than feeling powerless.

He walked until he came to the edge of the courtyard overlooking the vastness overhead and down below. He stopped by the stairs, unsure of how to navigate this situation. "I shouldn't be getting involved. This isn't my responsibility."

But even as he said those words he knew it wasn't entirely true. It was his responsibility to ensure the Air Empire worked together with the rest of the world. Kima was a part of the world, and right now she was hurt and scared and he didn't know how to help her. He couldn't take her home, he knew that. But can I really leave her here?

He looked toward the horizon, the wind gently curling around him in soft caresses. He had to be heading back tomorrow. He had business to attend to back in Zephyros, and then who knew where he'd end up next. Right now with the situation in the Fire Nation under control, he could safely take some time to talk to other world leaders about what was expected. The current situation in Ba Sing Se was, according to what he's heard, not the best but not the worst. And Omashu was more or less a stronghold for the Air Nomads now, leaving only the Water Tribes and parts of the Earth Kingdom to concern him.

His thoughts returned to Kima. What would she say if she knew what the Wind Sentinels had planned for her tribe if they continued to resist their betters? He hoped the issue wouldn't escalate but that was unlikely.

Aang sighed, closing his eyes as the wind brushed against his face, carrying with it the faint hum of the temple. His mind churned with possibilities, none of them ideal.

Leaving Kima here felt wrong. She was terrified, miserable, and broken in ways that reminded him too much of the countless others he'd encountered during the Air Empire's rise. And yet, taking her back to her tribe wasn't an option either. The Sentinels were planning to increase their presence there soon, and any attempt to return her would only bring more suffering to her people—or worse, to her.

But what else could he do?

Aang's brow furrowed as a dangerous thought crept into his mind. It was ridiculous, completely impractical, and would likely draw more questions than he was prepared to answer. And yet, as the idea took shape, he couldn't shake the feeling that it might be the only way to help her.

He would take her with him.

The thought settled like a stone in his stomach. It wasn't just risky—it was insane. Kima was a captive, and even if he could justify her release to the Sentinels, where would he take her? Zephyros? The heart of the Empire?

No, that would be worse than leaving her here.

But perhaps… if she came with him, she could at least be under his protection. He could keep an eye on her, figure out what had happened to her, and ensure she wasn't mistreated. Maybe, in time, she could even adjust to life under the Empire.

Aang clenched his fists. He knew how dangerous this path was, not just for her but for him as well. He had a reputation to uphold—a delicate balance to maintain between power and mercy. Taking her with him could easily be seen as weakness or favoritism, and he wasn't sure he could explain his reasoning to anyone else.

But when he thought of her sitting alone in that cold, empty room, trembling with fear and crying for a family she might never see again, he knew he couldn't just walk away.

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered to himself. What was he even doing? Why was he doing this?

Still, the decision was made. Now, he just had to figure out how to execute it without raising suspicion.

Aang turned and made his way back toward the temple, his steps purposeful but his mind racing. He'd need to speak with Banzan, convince him that Kima's release—under strict conditions, of course—was necessary. He'd have to frame it as an act of mercy, a demonstration of the Air Empire's benevolence.

And he'd need to prepare Kima for what was coming.

As he entered the temple, Aang felt the weight of his choice settle heavily on his shoulders. This wasn't going to be easy. But then again, nothing worth doing ever was.

Aang wasted no time. He turned on his heel and made his way toward the council chamber where he knew Banzan would be. The faint hum of his glider staff at his side served as a quiet reminder of his authority. Though he carried himself with a calm exterior, his mind raced, crafting the argument he'd need to convince Banzan.

The Wind Sentinel was seated near the center of the chamber, poring over maps and scrolls with two other monks. Aang's presence was announced by the faint sound of his footsteps, and all three looked up immediately, bowing deeply.

"Avatar Aang," Banzan said, his tone polite but guarded. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Aang stepped forward, his gaze steady. "I need to speak with you about the woman being held in confinement. Kima."

Banzan's brow furrowed. "What about her? She's a prisoner under punishment. Her place is here until she learns her lesson."

Aang folded his hands behind his back, the picture of composed authority. "I've been thinking about her situation, and I believe leaving her here is a mistake."

Banzan straightened, crossing his arms. "A mistake? She tried to escape. She attacked one of us. She's already been too leniently dealt with."

Aang didn't flinch. "I understand your reasoning, and I'm not suggesting that her actions go unacknowledged. But keeping her here is a risk."

"How so?"

Aang began pacing slowly, the deliberate movement of his steps reinforcing his words. "Kima has already shown that she's capable of rallying others to her cause. Even in solitary confinement, her defiance hasn't diminished. That kind of determination is dangerous if left unchecked."

Banzan frowned, his expression unreadable.

Aang continued, his voice calm but firm. "Think about what happens if she escapes again—or worse, if she finds a way to influence others here. You've seen what resistance can do when it's given time to grow." He stopped and looked directly at Banzan. "She's a liability here, but she doesn't have to be. I believe she can be of better use to the Council and to the high-ranking airbenders in Zephyros."

"Zephyros?" Banzan raised an eyebrow. "You think the Council would take an interest in her?"

Aang nodded. "She's clever, resourceful, and, whether we like it or not, brave. The Council could use someone like her—someone who understands the mindset of those who oppose us. It's better to redirect her energy than to let it fester."

Banzan leaned back, his arms still crossed. "And what makes you think she'll cooperate?"

"I'll take responsibility for her," Aang said without hesitation. "If she steps out of line, it's on me."

Banzan studied him for a long moment, the tension in the room palpable. Finally, he sighed. "You make a compelling argument, Avatar. If you truly believe she'll be of use in Zephyros, I won't stand in your way."

Aang inclined his head in gratitude. "Thank you, Banzan. I'll make the arrangements to have her brought to Zephyros tomorrow."

"See that you do," Banzan said, his tone begrudging. "And Aang—be careful. She may seem small and broken, but don't underestimate her. People like her have a way of surprising you."

Aang gave a small smile. "I don't intend to underestimate her. That's why I'm doing this."

With that, he turned and left the chamber, the faint echo of his footsteps fading into the quiet of the temple.

Kima sat in the corner of her cell, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, staring at the faint light spilling through the high window. She had spent the night trying to piece together the Avatar's strange behavior, but every time she thought she understood him, something else threw her off balance. She didn't trust him—not even a little—but he hadn't hurt her, and that alone was disorienting.

The sound of the door creaking open snapped her out of her thoughts. Her body tensed as Banzan stepped inside, his imposing figure filling the small room.

"Well, it seems your luck is about to change," he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

Kima blinked, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. "What do you mean?"

"You're leaving the temple," he said simply, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

Her heart leapt in her chest. Leaving? Did that mean she was going home? Was this nightmare finally over? She looked up at him, her voice trembling with cautious hope. "You're… you're sending me back to my tribe?"

Banzan chuckled, the sound cold and mocking. "Oh no, little sparrow. You're not going home." He stepped closer, towering over her. "You're going to Zephyros."

The name hit her like a blow. Zephyros—the capital city of the Air Nomads. The heart of the empire. The place where they ruled with absolute authority.

Kima's mouth went dry. "Why?" she managed to whisper.

"Because of your defiance," Banzan said, his smile widening. "The Avatar himself has decided that you're too much of a risk to stay here. And honestly, I agree. You've already caused enough trouble. But don't think for a second that you're getting a fresh start. Zephyros isn't some quaint little village. It's a fortress, a stronghold. There's no escaping from there. No hiding. No one to help you."

Kima's stomach churned as his words sank in.

"And do you know what they do to people like you there?" Banzan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "They break you. Piece by piece, until there's nothing left of that defiant little spark you cling to so desperately. You think you're scared now? Just wait. You'll wish you'd stayed here, where at least you had the comfort of familiarity."

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure, but the fear was clawing its way up her throat.

"Oh, and one more thing," Banzan added, straightening up. "The Avatar will be traveling with you. Isn't that nice? You'll get to spend even more time with the great savior of the Air Nomads. Maybe he'll be able to talk some sense into you—if you survive long enough."

Kima glared at him, her anger momentarily eclipsing her fear. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Banzan laughed again, clearly amused by her attempt to look brave. "You'll be leaving at dawn. I suggest you get some rest."

With that, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the suffocating weight of what was to come.

A/N: Wheww, we're getting there folks! I can't even begin to tell you how excited I was writing this chapter. I love how it's coming together so far, and I think I'm really capturing the type of suspense I'm looking for. Now I know what you guys might be thinking - why does Aang care about Kima? Well, we'll get into that eventually, but for now I really hope you guys like this (I'm glad I'm able to post two in one day because I'm going to be busy this week), but I'll see you guys again very soon! Let me know your thoughts!