Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Then call another healer!" Hiroshi shouted. "Call ten! Get every damned one in the city, get the little Avatar herself, fly her to Agna Qel'a, I don't care! I can pay---"

"It's not a question of money or resources, Mr. Sato," said the head of intensive care whose name Hiroshi had already forgotten. "When I say we're doing everything we can, I'm being sincere. Mrs. Sato has the very best care team, but waterbending only stimulates healing. It's not magic. And Mrs. Sato's burns are... extensive."

"MAGIC IS EXACTLY WHAT BENDING IS!" Hiroshi slammed his fist into the pale blue wall and had the small satisfaction of seeing the healer flinch in spite of the blinding pain in his hand. Pain that was nothing like... nothing like... oh spirits, this wasn't happening.

"Mr. Sato, I understand this is a difficult time for you and your family," said the healer. "I assure you that we're doing everything we can. I remain optimistic." He didn't look optimistic. "In the meantime, I strongly suggest you return to the waiting room. If you'd like, we could have a counselor come and explain what is happening in an age-appropriate way to your daughter---"

"Hang your counselor!" Hiroshi snapped. "We don't need it. She's going to be alright. And if I hear Yasuko has anything but the very best of everything you'll never work in the United Republic again. Not even the sanitation crews will hire you."

Zhao knew who he was. He knew where he was, too. He was… was… 

“I am Zhao the moonslayer," he muttered. That had meant something, once, in another time and place. Not here. Mist danced around him the push and pull of shadows and flame.

"Zhao the conqueror!" He wasn't sure why he'd shouted or what the words were. There was nobody here, wherever this was. Was there? At times the space felt crowded, but when Zhao looked around there was only fog.

"Are you sorry yet?" One of the shadows had become brighter than the rest, in fact not a shadow at all but the opposite of that, a bright silvery white light. A girl. A light. Both? Neither? Did he know her?

"Moonslayer!" he spat, though he didn't know what that was.

The light-girl glared at him. "I don't know why I come here. Even if you had the mind to be sorry, I could never trust you."

"You come because you must," said Zhao. "You must help me. I am Zhao the conqueror! I must... I have a mission..." He trailed off, unsure how to continue. He hadn't the faintest idea what his mission was.

"You gave everything for your mission," said the light-girl, "as did I. And we will reap the consequences."

Bolin thumped down on the comforting stone steps and tried to be happy. He was a lavabender! He'd saved the day! In a not-so-deep corner of his heart he recognized that was all he'd ever wanted - to be important, to be the hero, to have the spotlight in a way that had nothing to do with Mako's long shadow, or Kuvira's, or even Korra's. It's what he'd loved about the movers once upon a time. His name in lights: the amazing Bolin! Maybe he could train Korra? He'd go down in history as one of the Avatar's mentors. He should have been happy.

Instead, Bolin thought about his father. He didn't remember him at all, though he'd seen pictures. Then he thought about the earthbenders he'd actually grown up with, Mushi and them, and then Toza after; the men who'd taught him everything he knew about bending and so much more in place of his absent parents. He thought about the hours Mako had trained with Zolt, too, while Bolin ran errands for Shady Shin or served as Viper's lookout. And he wondered, if his father had lived, or if he'd had an earthbender who'd loved him like a father, if he might have learned he could lavabend at the same age Mako harnessed his lightning instead of at 20 by accident in the middle of a fight for his life. How many cold nights would have been different if Mako wasn't the only source of heat, or if Bolin had had a unique skill to sell instead of moving rocks just like everybody else? What if his father could lavabend, too, and they could have done it together, just the two of them, their own special thing? Because what was your name in lights compared to someone you loved being proud of you?

Bolin bent a small pebble away, watching as it skipped down the walkway and into the grass. Yes, he could teach Korra. But sitting alone on the stairs he realized that no one would ever teach him.

After the pain and panic stopped it was almost pleasant. General Iroh could no longer feel the cold or the crushing ache in his lungs. His body floated along as if it belonged to somebody else. He'd stopped kicking. Why had he been kicking again? Agni, he'd never been so tired. His eyes stung too much to keep them open for long. The wavering blue around him had darkened as if in anticipation of sleep. Let go, whispered the sea that had always known it would have him. Let go.

Iroh was dimly aware of another presence then. It might have been a beautiful woman, or a large silvery fish, or neither or both. Something out of one of Bumi's wild stories. Her hair was swirling softness and her skin was made of light. Iroh reached for her hand and his pale blue fingers passed through nothing at all. She laughed then, a sound as warm and comforting as a hotcake fresh from the oven, and beckoned him down with her. Down, down, down.

And Iroh went.

As soon as Korra walked in Asami knew it wasn't gonna be good news. Her face had that stony look she got when she was trying to fake it. Asami's hand froze on the way to the cork on the bottle as cold dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

"Hey!" cheered Bolin, "the birthday girl at last!" Only then did his grin fade as he registered his friend's expression.

"Korra?" Mako vaulted up off the couch and went to her. "Hey, are you alright?"

Korra bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Wait, what did the healers say?" Asami rushed over as well, all thoughts of the party forgotten. She wasn't sure if Korra had told the rest of the Krew about her appointment. It was just a weird spot after all. The kind of thing girls told each other about.

Korra looked from Asami to Mako, then to Bolin and back again. She didn't seem to know where to start.

"Just tell us," Asami urged. "If you want to."

Korra swallowed hard. "They said it's cancer," she whispered. Mako tensed as Bolin audibly gasped. "Melanoma, the kind you get from sunburn." She laughed hollowly. "Who ever heard of sunburn at the South Pole? I didn't think. My skin isn't used to Republic City I guess."

Asami put a hand on her shoulder. "At least you caught it early," she soothed. "They can take off the mole, right? You'll be better in no time."

Instead of smiling Korra only shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. "A year," she said. "Asami, they told me I have a year."

"You traitor! I dedicated my life to you!" Red rage so big it threatened to burst out of his chest choked off the rest of his words. This was our future. I loved you. I thought you loved me, too. Instead he charged, his electrified kali sticks set not to stun but to kill. After all, wasn't the man he loved already dead?

There had never been much hope against such power though. He hadn't gone four steps when the horrible freezing sensation snarled into his veins. Sparks from his kali sticks landed harmlessly on the floor. The ground fell away.

"You've served me well, Lieutenant," said Amon, this new Amon who cared for nothing, not the movement, not him. His cold voice held no recognition of their years together. He was only another tool. Another fool. When his body struck the wall he barely felt it.

"Bastard," he hissed as he clawed his way to his feet. Except he didn't. His legs didn't move at all.

Asami's hands were shaking so badly the telephone receiver squirted right out of her fingers like a soap to land on Daddy's desk. Thump. It crackled loud enough to hear it even over the noise downstairs.

Operator, it buzzed. How may I direct your call?

Someone screamed and Asami started to cry. There was a crash like a whole table full of plates falling over. She fumbled the receiver back to her face but all she could do was breathe wetly into it, she couldn't find the words.

Hello, operator, crackled the telephone. Is anyone there?

"Bad man!" Asami choked into the device, the one Daddy had said she was only to use for emergencies. "There's a bad man in my house!"

Eska hadn't expected to see him again, yet he came home all the same. Or something did. The wretched form before her might not have enough human left in it to still be her father.

"Eska," it wheezed through blackened lips, "there's still time. Bring me to the spirit pool and Vaatu and I will be reborn. Hurry!"

Vaatu again. Even mostly dead he wouldn't give up his obsession. Still, Eska considered the request. She'd loved her father, after all, as good daughters do. Then she bent a little water from her hip pouch into a long heavy blade.

"What are you doing?" the thing in the snow croaked right before she split it in half down the middle. There was no blood. The infected red light around it faded away until what was left looked like an old carcass in spring thaw.

"It's Chief Eska," she said.

Sokka had though he could take her. After all, he'd taken down Sparky Sparky Boom Man when he was only a child. Sure, some of that had been sheer dumb luck, but Sokka had only gotten better from there. All it would take was a blow to the head and good timing.

He'd readied his boomerang as the others fanned out around him: the girl's father, Tonraq, leading the party on the right while Tenzin and a few others struck left. There'd be nowhere for the Red Lotus to go. They'd have to surrender Korra. And if they didn't, Sokka would be here to cut off their escape.

"You're surrounded!" called Tonraq. "All I want is my daughter! She's just a child! Let her go and let's end this peaceably."

That's when Sokka had spotted the combustion bender. It was hard to miss her, what with her being a foot taller than everyone else and with the same bright red eye tattooed on her forehead, but now she was looking right at him. It almost felt as if she could see through him somehow.

"The reign of the Avatars is over!" shouted one of the men, but Sokka had eyes only for the most deadly of the Red Lotus' ranged weapons. He saw the woman suck in a breath, saw the air around her head ripple with latent heat, and pulled out his boomerang. A difficult shot, but possible. After all, he'd done it before.

But Sokka wasn't as fast as he used to be.

Asami screamed for her father even as she knew it was too late. The giant hand of Kuvira's colossus descended in an unstoppable arc. The sound was like the crushing of a paper cup. Asami tried to turn away but couldn't, she had to know. There! The hole her father had died finishing stood out like a freckle against the mecha's shining shell. At least now Korra would have a chance. They'd all have a chance. Her father's sacrifice hadn't been for nothing.

That's when Asami caught a glimmer of metal on the horizon. As her parachute floated to the ground she refocused her attention with mounting horror. No! It couldn't be! But in her heart Asami knew that it could. After all, it's what she would have done. They'd had two dragonfly mecha, too. Just in case.

"She's the most dangerous," said Kuvira. "If anything happens, it'll be her. Secure her." And with that, the woman Suyin had once called a daughter had her carted away deep into underground like a secret to be buried.

At first it wasn't so bad. Suyin yelled and screamed, struggling against the crushing confines of her platinum prison, but she had air to breathe and food and water when Kuvira's guards came. She offered them everything to set her free and save her family. None would so much as speak to her. So she schemed and plotted from inside the metal she could not bend, examining the cavern she'd been stashed in from every angle, wiggling each of her extremities to test for extra space. What if she broke her arm or dislocated her shoulder? Could she somehow pull it free?

Then something changed. The last few shifts seemed rushed and irregular. The guards were stressed. The last one who visited was actually injured. Some time after she left the lights went out. They stayed out. Suyin screamed and screamed, begging every spirit she'd ever learned of to let someone find her, but nobody did.

"N-no. No way. There's gotta be something else," stuttered Mako. "We can come up with the money to buy one! A different one. I know we can, me and Bo, just give us a day."

"If I had a day I'd have told you that," said Zolt. There was almost something like pity in his eyes. Almost. "It's not my fault Tornak is a superstitious idiot any more than it is your idiot brother crossed Appa Ave to collect those payments. He took Red Monsoon money. Their ask is fair and square, and you should be glad it's not Bolin's skin he wants for his bullshit medicine. Fire Ferrets are a lot more rare than orphans."

"But Pabu is family!" cried Mako.

"We're your family," said Zolt firmly. "That's why I'm going outta my way to save Bolin's scrawny ass in this. Now got get that rat of his and let's put this all behind us." His voice softened a little. "Tell him it got lost if you want. No reason he gotta know."

Mako stared helplessly at the closest person he had to a father and knew that he'd lost. His only hope was that Bolin was fast asleep.

Ghazan took his secret to his grave, or nearly. He always told everyone he didn’t have a father, that the bastard was a good-for-nothing loser he was better off without. But the Fire Nation soldier who’d taken his mother by force was, it turned out, good for one thing. Ghazan was more fire-resistant than the average earthbender. So when the temple came down around him in a torrent of rock and lava he was in his element. He was, however, also trapped.

Ghazan wandered the caverns and catacombs for hours, battered and singed but at least able to walk. Nothing stirred down here. After the rock falls ceased it was completely, eerily silent. Until it wasn’t.

He heard Ming-Hua singing long before he found her. He’d know her sultry alto anywhere. Ghazan limped forward as fast as he could. A deep part of him had been terrified he’d been left for dead and that he’d never find his way out, but with Ming-Hua’s help they were bound to figure it out. She’d have healing, too. They could find Zaheer and P’Li if they hadn’t been sent back to prison or break them out if they had. Try again. Or maybe give up the cause altogether and just live. Go farm or some shit. Be happy.

He rounded yet another bend and noticed one tunnel fork was a little lighter than the others. It almost glowed with a faint blue. The singing, Ming-Hua’s singing, sounded louder that way, too.

“Ming-Hua!” he shouted through parched lips. “Ming-Hua!”

The singing fell silent. There was no answering call though. Ghazan shuffled down the tunnel as fast as he could manage, calling her name all the while. Then he reached the pool. The blackened husk that floated face-down at the center had no arms and certainly wasn’t singing. So who was?

Meelo sped by on a bubble of air. "Can't catch me!" he shouted.

"You bet your butt I can!" crowed Ikki. She zoomed across the square in hot pursuit, her own air bubble spinning beneath her like a top. Jinora raced after her with shrieking laughter. Her blue tattoos seemed to shine in the setting sun.

Rohan sat on the stone steps in the shadow of the statue of his grandfather Aang, his book of Air Nomad history left forgotten beside him as he watched his siblings play.

Lin knew from her face. Tenzin asked the question anyway. "How bad is it?"

"I'll need to look again," said Katara.

Lin shook her head. "No, you don't. Say it."

The old woman clasped her weathered hands together at her chest in a motion that was oddly childlike. "It's like the others, Lin," she sighed. Tenzin gasped. "You were one of the last he used his bloodbending on in that way, and you're strong, so it's not as advanced as in someone like Zolt, but it's there, yes. Nothing I tried seems to heal it. I think... I think, over time, you can expect the necrosis to spread just the same, too."

Lin closed her eyes. "How long?"

"I can keep looking---"

"How long, Katara?"

She heard a long sigh. "Your bending is already erratic. Three weeks, give or take, before the paralysis starts. Another two before you lose your speech completely. Based on what I've seen in the others whose bending was taken it can be another month after that."

"That's all?" asked Tenzin.

"Without knowing why what Amon did causes this illness it's impossible to reverse it," said Katara. "I'm so sorry, Lin. I won't give up. I promise I won't give up."

"The King is dead," said her new chief advisor. "Long live the Queen."

Hou-Ting dipped her chin ever so slightly in acknowledgement. Her father's death had been expected any minute for days. She hadn't exactly measured the drapes, but she hadn't wasted her time, either. After all, she'd been waiting to become queen ever since the moment she was born. All that was left were the formalities.

The advisor cleared his throat softly. "Your majesty?"

"Yes?"

"I've been asked what you would like done with the bear."

That caught her off guard. "In what way?"

He looked even more uncomfortable now. "The staff, your majesty. They are wondering what is to become of your father's bear. Bosco. As you know, he shares the king's chambers. Your father fed and bathed him, and took on all manner of his care. With his passing, will your majesty be appointing a royal bear keeper?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Hou-Ting. "It's a bear. Put it in the woods." The advisor's face twitched. "What?" she snapped. "Speak freely. I command it."

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking like he wished he was anywhere else. "Well, your majesty," he said, "Bosco is a tame bear. He has no survival skills, and nowhere else to go. If we release him he's a danger to both himself and the public. Besides, your father loved him."

Of all the damnable things. "Then make him into a soup," said Hou-Ting, waving her hand dismissively. "I have no use for a tame bear in my palace. May as well use him for something else. My father was fond of soup. It would honor him."

The chief advisor's eyes widened at that, but he only bowed. "As you wish," he said.

Years later as Hou-Ting died in the same spot her gaze locked onto the man sucking breath from her lungs. His dark fathomless eyes seemed eerily familiar. As the light faded from the world her last thought was wondering how reincarnation worked, exactly, and whether the powerful, bear-shaped airbender sending her into her next life had once loved an old fool of a king more than she had.

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Prince Iroh II of the Fire Nation."

"Thank you, General. You do prefer your military title, correct?"

"Yes."

"Very well, General. Please for the court state your role during the day in question."

"I was the United Forces commander in charge of the liberation of the United Republic from the insurgent group known as the Equalists. We had been notified by Avatar Korra that Republic City was under attack and that the government and police force had been compromised. The United Forces were called in to provide auxiliary support."

"So tell us, how did you come to know the defendant?"

"Mr. Hiroshi Sato was one of the commanders of the Equalists. I understand his personal fortune--"

"Objection!"

"Sustained. General Iroh, for the time being please stick to what you personally observed."

"Of course, my apologies. The United Forces intelligence team had maintained a file on Mr. Sato for some time, so I was aware of his background and possible involvement through that channel. However, I first met him myself at the Battle of Yue Bay when he commanded a squadron of aircraft to attack the ten United Forces battleships which had come to Republic City."

"I'm sorry, sir. You said that day that you met him. Can you elaborate?"

"Yes. Mr. Sato was flying one of the airplanes."

(audible gasps)

(gavel bangs)

"And how do you know this, General?"

"I saw him. I'd climbed up to the top of the conning tower in an attempt to counter the planes with more accuracy from the higher vantage point. In that position I was able to see the faces of some of the pilots. I recognized Mr. Sato as one of them because of the photographs of him from our intel files."

"You do realize that this new evidence places the defendant as a direct combatant in the conflict?"

"I do."

"And you still maintain that you recognized Mr. Sato as the pilot of one of the aircraft?"

"With absolute certainty. In all likelihood he not only planned the attack, but is directly responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. It's my sincere hope that this trial will hold him accountable for that. I hope he never sees daylight again."

Mako followed the blood easily. There was a lot of it. To his credit the man had made it as far as the bottom of the stairs, which was significantly farther than he'd expected.

"Please," he begged. "Please, don't kill me."

Mako stared down at him with a heart made of stone. "Is that what my mother and father said to you?" he asked. The tips of his fingers ignited. "Did you listen?"

Some days were harder than others. This one was usually the hardest. Raiko suspected it always would be. After all, the grave would still be here on the next birthday, and the one after that. Meanwhile his son never got any older.

Raiko knelt down on the grass and arranged the incense as he always did, then pulled the freshly-polished medals wrapped in a soft cloth from his pocket. He never left them here knowing they would be stolen, but he liked to think his son was glad to see them since they’d been awarded posthumously. So much gilded shit on the part of the United Forces. As if a few bits of metal could make up for their mistakes. As if anything could.

Holidays were both the best and worst days of the year. With four healthy children it was often a wonderful time for family, food, gifts, and togetherness. At the same time, Pema had four children. That was a lot of mouths, hands, and opinions. Not to mention the occasional tantrum.

“No!” shouted Rohan. “I want mooncakes!” 

Pema breathed out and counted to ten, then said sweetly, “You can’t only eat mooncakes, dear. We only have mooncakes at New Year as dessert. They’re special.”

“I! Want! Mooncakes!” His little face screwed up in abject misery at the thought of eating anything other than holiday sweets. Toddlers. Thank goodness they were cute the other half of the time or Pema suspected most mothers would leave them in the woods for the tigerdillos.

“Okay,” she sighed. No need to push it. Pick your battles. “You can have another mooncake after dinner. But you have to wait. These need to cool anyway.”

Instead of being happy Rohan cried even harder. “B-B-BUT I W-WANT ONE!” he sobbed. Snot leaked from his nose. 

Pema tried not to roll her eyes and turned to go get a handkerchief when she felt the cold race through her veins. Her body froze sideways with one arm outstretched like she’d suddenly turned to stone. Pema tried to scream, to shout for Tenzin that something was happening, something wrong. Was she having a stroke? Then she caught sight of her son. His hands were reaching for her, or so it looked at first, but then the position was slightly wrong. Not reaching for her. Holding her. Holding her from four feet away. 

Against her will Pema’s limbs started to move. She turned back towards Rohan, all the while reaching for the stack of freshly-baked cakes on the counter. Her hand closed around one. It was nearly hot enough to burn her but she couldn’t let go. 

“Mooncake!” Rohan exclaimed. He pulled down with one hand and Pema’s arm was yanked with it. Only when she’d stuffed it in his mouth did the freezing, alien feeling inside her relent. Pema stumbled backwards, horrified because she knew now where she’d seen this before. Rohan hadn’t showed any aptitude for airbending yet, but his grandmother hadn’t been an airbender, had she?

They'd been riding for hours when Bolin guided Naga to a halt beneath some tall pines. A few snowflakes drifted lazily down from the blowing branches. "Sorry, gotta pee!" he squeaked as he hopped off her back. "Be right back!"

Asami watch him hurry off down the trail, then unwound her stiff arms from around General Iroh's waist and slid down herself. Her boots made a satisfying crunch in the snow that in no way made up for the loss of his warmth. Her thighs hurt. Her ass was numb. She shivered and stretched her arms over her head only to hear every one of her vertebrae crack. Who knew going to fight your father would be so fucking uncomfortable?

"Ow," she muttered.

"Are you alright?" General Iroh looked down at her with concern from atop Naga's back. His dark hair was flecked with snow.

"Fine," said Asami, bracing her hands against the aching small of her back. "Just sore. Remind me next time to hotwire a tank instead."

The general smiled at that, though she thought it was a sad smile. "I'm afraid I'm fresh out of mecha," he said. "But you have a point about stretching." Another flash of a smile. "I feel like I fell off a battleship and slept on the floor, myself."

Iroh swung his long legs to the side and hopped down into the snow. Asami sucked in a breath. How had she not noticed? Moreover, how had he held onto Bolin?

"General, your arm! Oh my gosh!" Asami hurried over and grabbed Iroh's pale forearm, the one without the sleeve. The white bandage that covered his injury on his bicep was now a soaked and rusted red.

"Damn," Iroh muttered. The eyes that met hers were a mix of pain and apology as he pulled his arm out of her grasp. "You shouldn't have to see that. I'll be back in a moment." With that he started tromping off in the opposite direction that Bolin had gone.

"Wait, where are you going?"

The general didn't slow. "Change the bandage."

"With one hand? Do you even have a bandage?"

"I'll manage."

Asami jogged after him and grasped his good arm. "General, let me help," she said. "We're a team. I'm not afraid of a little blood, I promise."

Iroh eyed her up and down. Suddenly the corner of his mouth ticked up into a little half smile that made him look both slightly cocky and impossibly handsome. Her pulse quickened. How long had it been since Mako had looked at her like that?

"I suppose you aren't," he said. "My apologies. I'm learning not to underestimate you, Miss Sato."

"Please, anyone I've been holding onto for hours on the back of a polar bear dog can call me Asami."

Iroh's little smile grew and shit, he had dimples. He turned and held out his injured arm. "Asami, then," he said. "I surrender myself to your care. But only if you call me Iroh."

"I haven't got all day, Avatar," said Jargala. She tapped her long nails against the lurid green jennamite in a series of clicks Korra could hear clear across the empty factory. "Do we have a deal? Or am I selling these to the highest bidder?"

"You won't get away with this!" shouted Korra. Her own nails dug dark furrows into her palms. Alone, she was alone.

Jargala raised an eyebrow. "So that's a no?" She sauntered over to where Mako still struggled, though only his nose and eyes were fully visible. "I'm disappointed, but I can work with that. Plenty of folks with a grudge will want a Trip-turned-cop to play with. Or--" She slid left towards Asami "--a very, very pretty young woman. I don't condone that kind of thing myself but it's tough times all over. If you turn me down I'm sure some fat old fuck would love another mistress. I'd even give them a discount."

Asami screamed something sharp and muffled from inside her crystal prison.

"Hmm, seems she disagrees with the proposition," said Jargala. "Ever the businesswoman. So what's it going to be, Avatar?" She gestured to a wide-eyed Bolin. "Recruitment is expensive. Am I selling your mover star friend to a warlord's mining crew, or are you letting my people out of prison?"

Korra barely recognized the woman who arrived on Air Temple Island. Zhu Li Moon had always been thin but now her yellowing skin hung off her bones like whale walrus two months dead on the ice. Most of her hair was gone. Blood dribbled from an open sore on her cheek. Korra's first horrified thought was that one of Varrick's experiments had finally gone wrong.

"Zhu Li, spirits, what happened?" Korra rushed over to the young woman as she collapsed to her hands and knees and bent water out of the pouch at her side.

"It won't work," Zhu Li rasped. Her mouth was gap-toothed and bloody.

"What do you mean? What happened to you?"

"Iknik is dead," she said. "He worked with the spirit vines the longest. So is Baatar. Waterbending can't heal radiation, Korra, we tried. We"---she cut off to cough a splatter of bright blood on the stone---"we couldn't stop it. I came to tell you."

Korra bent the water to Zhu Li's face anyway. The horrible wound on her cheek barely changed. It was like there was nothing in her body to heal with at all.

"Tell me what?" she asked.

"That it's all of us," said Zhu Li. "The spirit cannon. Republic City. Bolin and Kuvira are probably already sick, even if they don't know it, but Korra, the energy that opened your new portal is going to kill everyone within ten miles. It's only a matter of time."

"No! You don't understand!" Dozens of hands held Wan down in spite of his screams. He'd come as he often did to other towns and villages to teach the wisdom of the spirits and share Raava's gifts, and yet it seemed these people had only heard one thing. Their stone-faced shaman only fomented their horror. Unnatural, he'd called Wan. Abomination. Spirits did not belong inside prisons of flesh.

"Free her." The shaman's voice somehow carried cold and clear through the din of the mob.

Abruptly Wan saw the knife. "Stop!" he shrieked, but it was too late.

At first, the trip to the Spirit World was a dream come true. Tenzin had spent decades attempting to achieve the stillness of mind and connection to the spirits necessary to make the transition. He'd failed every time. He hadn't been worthy. Arguably he wasn't now, either, but with the portals opened he hoped he could at least arrive as an ambassador of sorts. The leader of the Air Nation, no matter how spiritually inept, must set an example for his people.

Tenzin traveled through each improbable landscape in hopes of befriending a spirit like his brother had done, but none came. The mountains and fields were silent. Every once in a while he caught a flash of movement or burst of color, but frustratingly they only fled at his approach. Hurt and ashamed, Tenzin continued on, making his way over the rolling hills to the edge of a dark forest. Inside the air was cool and humid. The dense trees almost seemed to part for him, and for lack of a better idea Tenzin followed their path. Perhaps at the end of the trail, finally, a spirit would seek his acquaintance.

A shifting darkness out of the corner of his eye slowed his steps. "Hello?" Tenzin called. A few twigs cracked. Then nothing. Tenzin called out again and heard only his own echo. His shoulders slumped. A failure yet again.

"I was wondering when you'd come," said a soft voice behind him. Tenzin whirled and nearly tripped over his own robes at the sight of the enormous segmented body topped by a the pale visage of a Fire Nation woman. Koh. Tenzin immediately let his face go slack to hide any emotion.

"Oh, I've already been admonished for that," said Koh the Face Stealer. "Your father told my mother all about my little game. I don't take faces anymore, Tenzin son of Aang. I give them. Just like she does."

"I did not come for favors," said Tenzin clearly. "The Mother of Faces grants faces only to those who ask it. I did not come here asking for a new face."

"Didn't you?" The Fire Nation woman's face melted into that of a dark-haired teen. One of its many jointed legs gestured to a puddle on the forest floor. "Why don't you come and see?"

Fear settled into the pit of Tenzin's stomach as he approached the pool. Careful to keep his face neutral he knelt in front of the water. At first in the dark he thought nothing had changed and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he noticed the beard. His hands flew to his face, or what had once been his face. He started to scream.

"You have wanted to be your father your whole life, Tenzin son of Aang," cooed Koh behind him. "Show some respect and say thank you. You finally got your wish."

"What about the times she's not like this?" begged Kavik. He had to try. "The world can't afford to lose the Avatar's wisdom."

"It's not wisdom, Kavik," said Ayunerak, "it's madness. What we can't afford is an Avatar who doesn't know which Avatar she even is half the time. An informant should know this. We can't trust anything she says. Yangchen is as powerful as she is dangerous. I have no choice."

"That's not true!"

The executor raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure of that? Or are you only letting your feelings for Yangchen cloud your judgement?"

"What? No! I only... I only work for her." Kavik didn't even believe himself. Yangchen, his Yangchen. A dream he could never hold. But he could do this. He planted his feet squarely on the floor and started breathing, reaching for the water at his side. "I won't let you lock her in a padded cell for the rest of her life," he said, low. "You'll have to go through me, first."

Ayunerak only sighed. "I was worried you'd say that, Kavik." She flicked her hand. "Guards!"

Tenzin hugged his wife so hard Lin thought he might break her. He'd always been stronger than he looked, at least with his clothes on. There'd been a time he could pin her to the wall one-handed without bending. The other hand being occupied of course. The sudden memory of her nails raking across his back made her shudder.

"You look at him a lot, you know," said Asami beside her. She seemed tired and somehow smaller than she had a month ago. Hardly surprising. Men were as much assholes these days as they'd been twenty years ago. Poor kid.

"No, I don't," said Lin.

"Take it from me. If you still love him, just say it. Everyone's better off knowing." Asami in no way looked better off. She looked like she'd been dumped for her friend the morning her father tried to kill her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lin huffed, dragging her eyes away from the tender scene. "It was a childhood fling. I never loved Tenzin at all."

Tenzin didn't know how many days he'd been captive. At first he'd tried to keep count, his orderly mind noting the passage of time by the pitiful meals Amon's men delivered. Then those had ceased. He had no window, no daylight, no occupation besides sitting on the floor of his damp cell in chains. Time effectively stopped. Yet in that formless void the gnawing fear in his gut --- for Pema, for his children, neither of whom he'd seen since they'd been taken --- was slowly replaced by the hunger.

At first it only hurt. His stomach cramped, then roared. Tenzin fantasized about everything from holiday feasts to the simplest of crackers. Once he was able to kill a cockroach beetle which he sucked dry with no more thought to his vows than if he'd eaten a steak. It tasted awful and wasn't nearly enough. He chewed on the shell and made himself swallow. Then nothing. And nothing. And nothing. He felt his mind going then. Tenzin talked to his father and asked him how to cook his own foot. One time he awoke from a doze to see Lin laid out before him, naked and no more than twenty five with an apple in her mouth. Tenzin bit down into her hot thigh before he woke up for real and vomited nothing but water and bile into the corner.

Finally they came for him. The light outside the cell was blinding. And the smells. As two Equalists dragged him down the hallway the scent of roasted meats that would have turned his stomach a month ago threatened to drive him mad. Against his will Tenzin started to cry. He would do anything, anything.

Suddenly the hallway opened up into a large room. Amon stood on a dias in front of a gathering of men and women who didn't bother to hide their faces. They didn't have to. After all, they'd won. Tenzin's gaze skated over them as his hollow eyes searched for the food.

"And here is our guest of honor," said Amon. His voice was flat, without expression, like a dead record. "Tonight, we put an end to airbending once and for all. Not just the benders, but the teachers. See how fickle their beliefs are."

With that he gestured to the curtained area off to the side. A young woman pulled at a cord and the fabric parted. There, on the largest table Tenzin had ever seen, was a roast the size of a satomobile. The fur had been removed but the head and horns and six legs left no doubt as to what it was. Or who. There was even an apple in his mouth.

"Tenzin of the Air Nation, dinner is served," said Amon. "Come and join us."

And spirits help him, Tenzin ate.

Huan's sculptures had always been funny to Wing. He loved his brother in his own fashion and equally loved that he'd found art as a way to channel whatever it was he felt the need to channel into big incomprehensible twists of metal. It was an outlet; his version of power disc or something. Wing couldn't say he understood Huan's art or took it terribly seriously but he used to be glad it existed all the same.

Huan's art wasn't funny anymore.

Wing crept down the hallway to the bathroom as he tried not to piss himself. All around him metal spikes jutted from the walls and ceiling. Most of them had figures impaled on them - human figures. Wing knew these were sculptures, too, but in the dark he only cursed his brother's talent. Most were strangers. Too many weren't. To his left, a startling likeness of their mother with iron spikes through her chest stared at him with wide blank metal eyes. There by the corner Wing himself sat with his head upside-down in his lap and a forest of shards spouting from his neck like frozen blood. His father, Wei, Baatar, Opal. Even his aunt and grandmother. And over them all, suspended from the ceiling on thin cables, stared the disembodied eyes and brows of the woman he'd once called his sister.

"The fuck, Huan?" Wing cursed as he finally reached the bathroom. It was only when he shut the door behind him that he realized he was shaking.

General Iroh's rage was like a tempest. Asami studied him from under the thick-trunked maple where she'd stood --- stood? --- stationed herself a little away from the small knot of people next to the open grave. Closed casket of course, spared no expense. It was good to be polite. Yet it seemed General Iroh had no intention of being polite this morning.

"Get out," he snarled, his whole body a live wire. "How dare you? How dare you come here?"

For a startled moment Asami thought he was talking to her. Then a flash of red by her side materialized into a straight-backed middle-aged woman with iron gray hair. Firelord Izumi stopped short only a few feet from her to face down her furious son.

"I came to pay my respects, Iroh," she said calmly. "I have every right to do so."

"You have no right," Iroh grated, blocking her path with his body. His hands curled into fists and started to smoke. "Not here. Not her."

"Iroh---"

"I begged you, Mother," he rasped, cutting her off. "The president begged you. Avatar Korra begged you, too, and for all your supposed friendship with the Avatars you turned your back on all of us. This whole fucking country got on their knees for you and you called the invader at their doorstep a nonsense war!" He spat this part into the grass as if it tasted bad.

"Iroh, be calm," said Izumi. "It wasn't a good time. We didn't know about the cannon. I couldn't---"

"I ASKED YOU FOR HELP!" Iroh shouted. A few people by the graveside turned to stare and Asami was startled to see tears in the corner of his brilliant gold eyes. "I asked you for help and you turned your back on me. On her. I couldn't do anything, my hands were tied, and she... she... she went..." The general buried his face in his hands. His broad shoulders shook. A heartbeat later his mother folded him into her arms.

"Shh," she soothed. "Oh Iroh, I'm so sorry. I know what Miss Sato and her father did was incredibly brave. I came here to honor that. That's all." Iroh's body heaved against her. Izumi's mouth pulled down into a frown. "Honey, did you know her?"