Hello. I decided to change some things about this story. Like, some instrumental things that I think are important. Because of that, I have taken down and started edited all that I have already done and started again. I will hopefully be updating semi-regularly. I hope you all enjoy this. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any of the canon characters or ideas.
Disorientated, my first feeling is the chill of the snow that buries me. There is noise beyond the lapping of water around me, though it occurs to me that my vision is obstructed by the snow I'm under. Willing my fingers and toes to move, I disturb the century's old snow.
I am from the Eastern Temple and, while visiting the Northern and Southern Temples, the cold doesn't normally bother me. However, I have no idea where I am, and my recent memories are foggy at best. The snow I'm under is only about a foot deep, set in a wide open circle facing an empty clearing. There are a lot of footprints, some likely from a Sky Bison, but there is nobody in sight.
"Hello?" My voice is cracky, small, dry. It echoes around me, bouncing off the tall pillars and cliffs of ice and snow around me. Nobody answers, and a shiver crosses my whole body.
My first real thought is that I am dead. Air Nomads don't really believe in an afterlife. More like reincarnation. A cycle. Sure, I could be transported into the Spirit World upon death, or turned into an eagle fox. But, for the first time, I feel like I am dead. In a cold empty expanse of snow and nothing.
In the distance, some ways away, I see a pillar of black smoke. In awe, I stare at the smoke as it moves north. It is the only point of civilization that I've seen, the only sign that I may not be dead. The island of snow and ice I've been standing on drifted, bumping against other patches of ice, coming to rest at a steep slope upwards, vaguely in the direction of the smoke. I start to climb, following the smoke toward people and, hopefully, an explanation.
Mostly buried in the snow, I see my staff jutting out. I yank it out of the snow, sending a wave of air to open it. Nothing happens. I inspect the seams of the glider, realizing they've frozen over. At least I have it for the future, and to test the ice and snow for any thin patches that may cause me to fall and slip into the cold waters. I begin to climb, using my staff like a walking stick.
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The sun doesn't set, and I cannot gauge the passage of time by the blank sky. I imagine we're so far south that. The sun is either always there or never there. My rotation as a nomad normally revolved around the Fire Nation and the ocean side of the Earth Kingdom, but I still knew some passing information about the Water Tribes.
I don't gain any speed on the smoke, but it does eventually slow down from its large billowing tower. It also stops moving. I am beginning to feel exhausted, but know stopping in the middle of this afterlife expanse would result in me freezing to death. If I'm not already dead.
I test my glider during the trek, but it stays frozen. My boots leave deep marks in some sections of the snow, and I am glad that I am not accustomed to the cold for their protection. I try to keep my mind occupied by reciting stories I've heard and read before, about dragons and spirits. It helps to pass the time. I am caught in the story of the moon and the ocean when I look below and see the cause of the smoke.
A metal Fire Nation ship, dark against the light blue of the ocean and the whiteness of the glaciers around it. Part of the front of their ship is buried in snow, as if they were attacked by a large polar orca, or maybe a whole pod of them. I watch from afar as some of them shovel snow into the water, while others melt it into a manageable water that flows off their boat and back into the sea.
Two people stand apart. An old man plays a tile game on a small table, a pot of tea next to him. Another is a man with a ponytail, red scar covering half his face. My heart pangs for the pain that was inflicted on him. His eyes cut over to me, a fiery gold that bores deep into me. He is glaring, and shouts something that I can't hear at the older man.
Both of them look at me, but the older man waves. "You look awfully cold up there! Would you like some jasmine tea? My nephew isn't very fond of tea," he called.
The man makes a comment to his uncle that is met by a chuckle. I watch them for a moment. The ship is likely here in the south for a trading excursion with the Water Tribe. There has been peace among the nations for quite some time, thanks to Avatar Kyoshi.
I head over to the slope that attaches itself to the ship. Carefully, I slide down, gripping my glider tighter. As if freefalling from a high distance, seeking that adrenaline that comes from experimenting with airbending, my heart leaps into my throat. The man with the scar catches me, but his hold on my arms is tight.
His glare has intensified, and his hands are burning through the long sleeves of my shirt. "No, Uncle, I do not think there will be tea for this one," he says, voice an angry grumble. In one swift motion, he tosses me to the ground. My glider falls out of my grasp, clattering somewhere near a soldier.
I land on my back, but use the speed to twist back onto my feet. There is not the familiar feeling of air around me, and I realize that maybe it wasn't the glider that was frozen after all. I stand tall, stance wide and ready for defense. The man stalks over to me, and I realize that he isn't really a man at all, more of a teenager than anything. His scar and fierce ponytail age his face beyond his true years.
"Did I do something?" I ask, confused. The older man looks over at me, confusion on his own face. However, he makes no move toward me. The teenager continues toward me, fists in front of him. He punches a fireball at me, and I move with grace to the side, dancing around him with the familiarity of movements drilled into every nomad.
Voice rising, he yells, "You're supposed to be dead! You're all supposed to be dead!" I falter, his words tripping in my mind. He uses my surprise to grab me by my throat, holding me up. My feet dangle, and I cannot bend and I cannot breathe and I understand, I was correct. I am dead. I am in the afterlife and this is some twisted dream created by the spirits to -
"Prince Zuko," someone says behind my dwindling sight. "Prince Zuko, let go!" His voice is stern.
His grip lessens, but it is still there, painful and unrelenting. The older man that offered me tea puts a hand on Zuko's arm. He has a stylish beard, and his eyes hold the kindness that this Zuko lacks. "Uncle," he whispers.
"Move," Uncle replies, voice gentle. "You are hurting the poor Lady." I can't breathe. Everything is drifting away, as if I am dying. Oh, I am dying, I think, realization hitting me.
"Uncle, she has the same clothes as the Avatar," he whispers back.
"So it seems, but now is not the time to interrogate her, we must get the ship out first. Put her in a cell below deck."
Slowly, Zuko removes his hand, but my neck feels burnt, and it still hurts to breathe. I fall to the ground, gasping for breath. "I'll take her down," Uncle says, and Zuko returns to melting the snow, a grimace on his face. "Come on, dear," Uncle says. "We can still have some of that tea and discuss some things."