A/N so this my first story that im actively publishing on here. Criticism is welcome as long as it's constructive. I hope whoever actually reads this enjoys.
Disclaimer: I in no way own or claim the rights to avatar the last air bender. If i did LOk would get a season two rewrite.
Chapter 1: The girl in the tundra
The first thing you notice about the South Pole is the cold. It's unforgiving, often cruel, but of course, that doesn't prevent people from living and even thriving in that environment.
One such example is the young woman currently trekking through the Arctic tundra. She isn't tall or average in height, standing at just above 5'4 and has a build that reflects village life in harder times, even if it's covered by heavy furs. The bright blue eyes of the people in the water tribe are shadowed by a heavy hood covering her head and keeping the biting cold at bay. She pauses and looks around, sighing to herself as she realizes her brother was right…she's lost.
"Damn it," she mutters in frustration before turning around and attempting to follow her own footprints instead of the buffalo-yak she was hoping to find. She hates proving Sokka right; it always inflates his already massive ego.
"Never gonna hear the end of it," she grumbles, putting on an impressively accurate mock impersonation of his voice: "What were you thinking, Sona? Women can't hunt, Sona. What would Dad say, Sona!?"
She scoffs and kicks the snow beneath her foot before again looking around, realizing she has no idea where the hell she is: "Shit."
So she just keeps walking. Her current plan is to find water and keep the ocean on her left side, giving a silent prayer to the spirits that she'll actually be able to hear Sokka's annoying lecture. By her reasoning, she should be able to get home before nightfall. Of course, by her reasoning, she also wouldn't have gotten lost.
--
The walk back to the village wasn't as grueling as she expected, more humiliating if anything. She grumbles her way toward her family's igloo visibly annoyed by the entire experience, a voice calls out to her from behind, the crunch of snow under footfalls getting closer and closer.
"Hunting isn't so easy, is it?" Sokka says with the biggest smug grin imaginable.
She turns around, one fist clenched as the other keeps a grip on the spear. "Oh shut up Sokka," she says with a huff. "I don't see you trying to get any food!"
She blows a puff of air and goes inside, placing the spear near the door. Sokka follows her in.
"Actually I'm going fishing later on," he explains with a pout. "Gran Gran is making me take Katara."
Sona doesn't hide her surprise. "Really? And she actually wants to go?"
Sokka nods. "She wants to help, I guess."
She opens her mouth with a bright look in her eyes and he cuts her off. "Nope."
She visibly deflates. "Oh come on Sokka—"
He folds his arms over his chest. "No."
She gives a pout and a thoroughly convincing impression of a seal pup. "Please."
He doubles down. "Not happening. I'm going to have to keep an eye on one sister. I don't need two making my life harder."
She pouts even more at that. "Rude. Well at least actually catch some fish this time, and don't argue with her."
He waves a hand and walks out. "Yeah, yeah I won't."
Sona rolls her eyes. Whenever they get back, she'll probably have to mediate again.
--
After Sokka left, Sona sat quietly by herself, fidgeting with the edge of her parka. The failure of her hunting trip still stung, but mostly she felt useless. With their father gone to fight in the war, everyone needed to contribute. A flicker of resentment burned in her chest at the thought of him—leaving them to fend for themselves, leaving her to watch over her siblings. She shoved the feeling down. She knew she wasn't being fair to herself—she helped plenty around the village—but the frustration remained.
With a sigh, she got up and made her way to Gran Gran's igloo. The elderly woman was always a source of wisdom, even when Sona wasn't in the mood to hear it.
"Gran Gran?" she called softly, pausing at the entrance.
"Come in, child," came the weathered voice from inside.
Sona ducked through the doorway to find her grandmother sorting through dried herbs and plants. The warm, earthy scent was comforting.
"Your hunting trip didn't go as planned?" Gran Gran asked without looking up.
Sona felt her cheeks warm. "Does everyone know already?"
A knowing smile crossed Gran Gran's face. "Small village. Small secrets." She gestured to a spot beside her. "Sit. Help me with these herbs."
Sona settled next to her grandmother, carefully separating the dried plants as instructed. For several minutes, they worked in comfortable silence.
"I just want to be useful," Sona finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"And you think hunting is the only way to be useful?" Gran Gran asked.
"No, but..." Sona began, then stopped herself. She could feel her temper rising and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. "I know there are other ways. I just... I want to do more."
Gran Gran looked around carefully, then leaned in closer. "Did you practice what I showed you? Away from the village?"
Sona's eyes widened slightly, and she nodded, glancing nervously toward the entrance of the igloo. "A little. I can move it better now, but..." She trailed off, her voice dropping even lower. "I still don't understand why I can't tell Katara. She's like me. We could practice together."
Gran Gran's eyes suddenly hardened, and she gripped Sona's wrist with surprising strength. "Listen to me," she whispered urgently. "The Fire Nation believes they took all our waterbenders. They think our tribe's bending lineage died with Hama and the others. Your mother—" Her voice caught for a moment. "Your mother gave her life to protect Katara when they came looking that last time, when they had suspicions."
"I know that," Sona said, feeling the familiar anger rising in her chest at the mention of her mother's sacrifice.
"If they discover there are two waterbenders here—two sisters—they will return with their full might," Gran Gran continued, her voice trembling slightly. "The fragile protection we have now is their belief that they succeeded in wiping out our benders. I've already buried too many of our people, Sona. I won't bury you or your sister too."
The weight of her grandmother's words settled heavily on Sona's shoulders. She'd always known she needed to keep her ability secret, but hearing the raw fear in Gran Gran's voice made it suddenly, painfully real.
"The black snow will fall again if they learn about either of you," Gran Gran added softly, referring to the ash-covered snow that preceded Fire Nation attacks. "This village—what's left of it—wouldn't survive another raid. They believe their work here is done. Let them keep believing that."
Sona swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand, Gran Gran."
The elderly woman's expression softened. She reached up to touch Sona's cheek gently. "Someday, things will be different. But until then, your gift must remain hidden—even from Katara. It's safer for her not to know."
"But she struggles with her bending," Sona protested weakly. "I could help her."
"And risk exposing both of you?" Gran Gran shook her head firmly. "We survive only because they believe there are no more waterbenders here. The Fire Nation took our benders one by one. Each time they found one, they came back looking for more." She sighed deeply. "Your sister must find her own path, as must you. It's the only way to keep everyone safe."
Reluctantly, Sona nodded. The secrecy was a burden, but she understood the stakes.
"Now," Gran Gran said, changing the subject as she handed Sona a small basket of sea prunes. "Tuya's youngest has a fever. Take these to her, then help Nima repair the fishing nets. The storm last week damaged several."
Sona accepted the basket, recognizing the conversation was over. This wasn't exciting work like hunting or practicing waterbending, but it was necessary—and safe.
"Your strength isn't just in what you can bend," Gran Gran said gently. "Your mind is quick, your hands are skilled, and your heart is kind—when you keep your temper in check." She gave Sona a pointed look that made her squirm.
"I'll try, Gran Gran," Sona promised.
As she left the igloo, basket in hand, Sona's mind replayed her grandmother's words about the raids. She had been eleven during the last one—old enough to remember every horrific detail—the memories etched permanently in her mind. The black snow falling like a dark omen. The screams. The fire. The warriors in skull masks storming through their village. Her mother pushing her away, telling her to hide with Sokka and baby Katara.
Her hatred for the Fire Nation had been forged that day, watching her mother sacrifice herself so that her children might live. A hatred that burned deeper and hotter than even Katara's, festering with each passing year. She'd sworn on her mother's memory that she would make them pay someday. Somehow.
At Tuya's igloo, the young mother looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes as she cradled her feverish child. Sona quickly explained how to prepare the sea prunes for a healing broth, her usual shyness momentarily forgotten in the face of someone else's need.
"Thank you," Tuya said with heartfelt gratitude. "I've been so worried..."
"He'll be fine," Sona assured her, surprising herself with her confidence. "Gran Gran's remedies always work."
As she finished helping Tuya prepare the broth, Sona's eyes lingered on the bowl of water nearby. For a moment, she felt the familiar pull, the connection to the element that was so much a part of her. With a small breath, she turned away. Not here. Not now. Not if it meant bringing the Fire Nation back to their shores.
After leaving Tuya's, Sona made her way to where Nima was working with the fishing nets. The older woman's arthritic hands struggled with some of the finer work, but her knowledge of net-making was unparalleled.
"Gran Gran sent me to help," Sona explained, settling down beside her.
Nima nodded appreciatively. "Good. These old hands aren't what they used to be."
As they worked side by side, Nima shared stories of the Southern Water Tribe from before the Fire Nation raids, when waterbenders lived openly among them. With each tale of waterbenders using their gifts to build ice structures or guide fishing boats through treacherous waters, Sona felt a pang of loss for a heritage she could only practice in secret.
"I remember when they took Hama," Nima said suddenly, her voice hollow. "Before your mother..." She trailed off, unable to finish. "She was the last master waterbender they captured... or so they thought." The old woman gave Sona a long look that made her wonder if Nima suspected something.
Sona kept her eyes fixed on the net in her hands. "It must have been terrible."
"It was," Nima confirmed. "But the worst came after, when they returned again and again, each time taking more of our people." She lowered her voice. "They believe they've taken them all now. And we must never give them reason to think otherwise."
The words sent a chill down Sona's spine. Did Nima know? Or was she simply speaking generally? Sona didn't dare ask.
"You have a gift for this," Nima observed after a moment, gesturing to the neatly repaired section of net.
Sona smiled slightly, feeling a small glow of pride mixed with relief at the change of subject. This was a safe talent to display. This wouldn't bring fire and death to her people.
By the time the fishing nets were repaired, the sun was beginning its long, slow descent toward the horizon. Sona stood, stretching her back, and wondered if her siblings had caught anything. Despite Sokka's bravado, fishing trips weren't always successful either.
She scanned the horizon, hoping to see their canoe returning. Nothing yet.
Sona's gaze drifted north, where somewhere beyond the endless ice, her father fought alongside the Earth Kingdom against the Fire Nation. Part of her understood why he'd gone—someone had to fight back. But another part, a part she rarely acknowledged, resented him for leaving them behind. For not being there when they buried their mother. For not seeing how Katara struggled with her bending, or how Sokka tried so hard to be the man of the village, or how she herself had to become a second mother to her siblings overnight.
With a sigh, she turned back toward the center of the village. There was always more work to be done, and later, perhaps, when everyone was asleep, she could slip away to practice what Gran Gran had taught her—far from the village, where the only witness would be the moon.