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1
Aang skidded into the inner shrine just as the doors slammed shut. He heard Zhao yell at his men from the other side, voice muffled by the temple’s thick doors. Aang stood tensed for a moment, waiting to see if they would force it open, but the lock held true.
He sighed in relief and turned toward the alter, heart pounding. Against all the odds, he and the others had made it to Roku’s temple in time for the solstice. Spiritual though he was, Aang couldn’t help but be surprised by the miracle.
But his relief vanished like a pebble off a cliff when he saw who was also in the shrine.
Instead of Roku, previous Avatar and Fire Nation noble, a young person sat perched on the steps by the altar, dressed in ceremonial robes so fine they hurt to look at. Their pale skin stood out in the ruby red sunset like a lantern in the dark, and long, silky hair was carefully done up in an elaborate headpiece.
Aang would have recognized them as a spirit even without their glowing eyes and blood red face paint. They radiated spiritual energy just like Hei Bai had.
"Who are you? I'm supposed to talk to Roku!" Aang shouted, forgetting to be polite. After all the trouble they’d gone to in order to speak to the previous Avatar, he felt a little justified for his outburst.
Unless this was Roku, just prettier and younger than Aang had ever seen him.
The Fire Nation spirit quirked a smile, its face painted with delicate gold makeup, accented by red characters inked onto its skin. They were written in an old, formal calligraphy that glowed in the sunlight, too complex and old-fashioned for Aang to read properly. The largest sat on the spirit’s left cheek, glistening as if it had just been painted.
"Apologies Avatar," they said in a deep voice, surprising Aang. The spirit was so beautiful he'd expected them to be a woman, not a man, "but I'm afraid you'll have to make do with me. Fear not, I am…uniquely qualified to take Roku's place, and I was rather anxious to leave the Fire Nation after so long."
Another amused smile, more teasing than before. Aang just felt frustrated.
"Who are you?" the Avatar asked. "Why was I supposed to come here?"
He’d been told that Roku had something important to say to him. Roku, not another messenger. Wasn’t this supposed to be important Avatar business?
The spirit smoothed his long robes so they fanned behind him like a wedding train. Aang had never seen finer silks, or anything as richly embroidered. Every thread was made of gold and silver, woven into fantastic spirit tales. Some sections even had jewels sewn into them, their radiance reflecting light into a dazzling rainbow.
"Time is short Avatar, perhaps introductions aren't proper now," he said gently, motioning for Aang to sit beside him. The airbender did so nervously, wary of getting too close to a spirit, "be assured I mean you no harm. I follow the will of Agni, and they have a warning for you."
"Are they, um, mad at me?" Aang said.
The spirit looked surprised. "Why would they be?"
"Because I'm going to fight the Fire Lord?"
The spirit threw back his head and laughed. "Oh great fire, no, they are not mad, Avatar. Be comforted that even the great spirits tire of that man."
"But… the legends," Aang said, confused. Everyone in the Fire Nation was proud of the royal family's heritage. Kuzon had memorized the entire family tree back to Agni, their ancestor. "Ozai is Agni's kin, right? He wouldn't want his family hurt."
Not that Aang was the expert on families, but if it was anything like his bond with Katara and Sokka, then it meant that Agni cared about what happened to his precious people.
The spirit's face softened and he rested a delicate hand on Aang's cheek. His hand was uncomfortably warm, nails painted with mercury and fingers dripping with jade rings.
"The world is Agni's kin, as are the other great spirits," the spirit said. "They care for them with all their heart, and it saddens them how this gift has been used for evil. I have been sent to personally warn you, Avatar, last of the Autumn King's children, before Ozai uses his gift to cause further damage to the balance. You are the world’s hope, and we want to give you every fighting chance."
The spirit traced a circle on Aang's face, their golden eyes impossibly brilliant in the fading light. The solstice was nearly over, and they became more translucent as the connection to the spirit world faded.
"Before the summer ends, Sozin's comet will return," the spirit said. "You must master the four elements before then and save this world from the Fire Lord."
"By next summer?" Aang gasped. "But that's less than a year, it's impossible. All the other avatars had much more time."
He wasn’t even supposed to know that he was the Avatar yet, and he’d only been awake a few weeks out of the last hundred years.
"It's not impossible," the spirit soothed. "You have done it before in past lives, and you have already mastered air in this one. We believe in you, Avatar. Agni and Roku and I have put out faith in you."
The spirit touched their foreheads together, and Aang felt himself tear up. There was so much sincerity in the spirit's voice, such unwavering confidence. It was both comforting and terrifying. They held him in such high regard, but he was just a kid. How was he supposed to do this?
"Aang," he told the spirit, "my name is Aang."
Not just the avatar, not just a weapon. Not someone they could rely on so much.
The spirit smiled, lips tracing the words. "Aang, written with the characters for youth and duty. It suits you."
They removed their hand from Aang's cheek. Or perhaps it was just too translucent to feel to begin with. The sunlight was waning and the connection with the spirit would was becoming more strenuous. Aang stood up as the spirit began to fade into a beautiful mirage made of sunshine and fire. Gentle yet powerful, and unlike any flame Aang had ever seen.
Something banged on the door behind them. Aang spun in alarm, breath catching in his throat.
"The Fire Nation," the spirit remarked, rising elegantly to their feet. "They will break throuugh the door."
"Zhao," Aang whispered, panic flooding his veins, "how am I supposed to master the elements if I can't even outrun him?"
Oh spirits, Sokka and Katara were still out there as well. What if they were hurt? What if it was like what happened at the air temple—
The ghost of a touch brought him back to reality. The spirit smiled down at him, calm as ever but with a vicious glint in their eyes.
"Leave them to me," he said. "The Fire Nation will not capture you today, Aang. The spirits are with you. Nobody will touch you here, I promise."
And then the spirit vanished into smoke, as if he had never been there at all.
Aang stood there for a second, trying to seek out the spirit’s residual energy before it disappeared for good. When the last of it vanished, he clutched his glider, mentally preparing for another battle against Zhao’s soldiers. It was going to be a hard fight, but if he was clever—
The temple rumbled beneath him.
Aang caught his balance, eyes widening as he felt heat rise around him. It clung to his body, thick and humid like the height of summer heat. And it kept getting hotter, climbing in intensity until it began to burn. In the heat, Aang felt a wisp of spiritual power, like the caress of the spirit’s hand on his cheek.
He knew what to do now.
The doors slammed open and Aang burst out of them. He heard the soldiers yell as he leapt over their heads, dodging between fireballs so he could reach Sokka and Katara.
They beamed as he flew over. Aang prepared an airblast, but the chains on their wrists snapped before he could fire it. They ran toward him. If there had been time, Aang would have dove in for a group hug, but Zhao was right behind them and he looked furious.
A column fell, breaking apart the floor. A fire sage cried out, pointing toward the window. Aang now smelled sulfur and smoke.
“Sir, we can’t stay, the volcano is erupting!” the head sage shouted, “we must leave or we will perish!”
“No, we can’t waste this chance—” Zhao growled, trying to shake the old man off of him.
Sokka wasted no time in grabbing his friends and shoving them toward the staircase. When the landing was revealed to be full of fleeing fire benders, they ran toward the window instead.
Aang blew his bison whistle and blew all of them onto Appa. He clung to his friend’s fur as they took off, the island shrinking underneath them.
Aang turned back and stared at Roku’s temple. Lava poured out of its base, red and viscous. The soldiers and sages were fleeing to the ship in obvious distress. Aang hoped they wouldn’t follow him.
Standing on the roof of the temple was the Fire Spirit. Their robes blew in the wind like dancer ribbons. Even from a hundred feet away, Aang could still make out the symbols painted on their face.
The spirit raised their hand and waved goodbye, a smile painting their perfect face.
Aang grinned despite himself and waved back.
2
The next time Aang saw the spirit, it was after he had ruined everything. He sat in muddy swamp water and curled in on himself, thinking back to everything he could have done differently in the North Pole. If he had tried talking to La, maybe they wouldn’t have destroyed the entire fleet and killed all those innocent people. Or if he had just been faster getting the fish from Zhao, Yue would still be alive. If he had just been better, Sokka wouldn’t be grieving and Katara wouldn’t have to baby him so much when it came to the Avatar state.
It wasn’t fair and he didn’t want to save the world if it meant killing more people. Nobody deserved that, not even the Fire Nation.
“Feeling down?”
He jumped and looked up.
“It’s you!” Aang gasped.
The Fire Nation spirit from Roku’s temple smiled pleasantly. He was sitting on a nearby tree root, ankles in the water. His ornate robes were untouched by the grime around them, and he looked out of place in the earthy bayou.
“It is good to see you again Aang,” they said happily. “I was wondering when you would find this place.”
Aang surreptitiously wiped the tears out of his eyes and mustered a grin. “More like it found me! Once we got close, the swamp wouldn’t let us leave.”
The spirit nodded understandingly. “This swamp is alive, it shows visions and wisdom to those that need it. It is closely connected to the spirit world.”
“Is that why you can appear?”
Another nod. “Yes, the veil is thin here. Certain areas of this world have never truly lost their bond to the other realms. You have been to another such location.”
“The spirit oasis,” Aang said solemnly. “Yeah… you weren't there though.”
The spirit chuckled. “No, I’m afraid I don’t often leave the Fire Nation. I have people I watch over there and…duties to attend. I merely came today because I wanted to see you.”
Aang’s smile became more real. “Really? I’m happy to see you too.”
Everyone Aang talked to needed him for something. It was always messages, missions, more things to put on his shoulders. It felt like forever since he’d talked to someone who’s just wanted to say hello.
“The Avatar is a friend of many spirits, it is an honor to make your acquaintance again,” the spirit bowed minutely, then frowned. “You do not look well.”
“No, I guess not,” Aang said, realizing he was still sitting in swamp water and probably had several leeches now. “I… do you remember the North Pole?”
The spirit cocked his head. “I have never been there.”
“Oh, well I was supposed to help them, but I hurt a lot of people. Your people,” Aang said, squeezing his hands together. “The moon went out too, and Princess Yue had to save it. She’s the moon now, a spirit like you, and it’s all my fault. I should have done things differently.”
He hunched over his knees, prime wallowing position. The spirit vanished into smoke and then reappeared at his side, sitting next to him in the dirty water. Aang cringed as the delicately embroidered robes were soaked in pond scum and mud, but when the spirit shifted the parts that had been touched with water, they were no longer wet.
The spirit solemnly peered into Aang’s eyes with his own large, golden ones. For a moment, Aang swore the paint and makeup over his face flickered, revealing another face underneath. One less perfect—a mess of raw skin and burns—but it was gone just as quickly. Aang stared at the spirit's flawless face in confusion, unsure of what that had been.
“You’re only human, Avatar,” the spirit said. “You cannot stop the tides from turning or destiny from spiraling closer. Some things are unavoidable. Some you've already made better just by being here. You’re doing more good than you realize.”
The spirit rested a ghostly hand on Aang’s shoulder and squeezed it. He felt less solid than he had on Roku’s island, but Aang found it comforting all the same.
“But what if it happens again?” the avatar asked. “I only know two elements and I’m not even a master waterbender yet. I could mess up, make another mistake—”
“But you’ll try not to, and that’s what important,” the spirit said firmly. “That’s all we want from you. To try.”
He smiled, and Aang was suddenly struck by how young this spirit looked. Sokka’s age, maybe. It was hard to tell because of all the finery covering him and the fancy metallic paint. Symbols were painted onto his neck and arms too, words upon words that Aang could barely decipher.
The one on his cheek was “mercy,” written in an ancient script. Aang wondered if that was what this spirit was meant to embody. Sitting beside him comforted Aang so much that the theory made sense.
“You will keep learning and growing, and one way or another this war will end,” the spirit said. “The swamp has brought you here for a reason and I’m sure it will give you the direction you need. Simply let it guide you. It may lead you somewhere you never expected to go.”
“You’re so wise,” Aang said, “how do you know so much?”
The spirit chuckled. “I don’t know about wise, I’ve just heard a lot of proverbs. Now get going, I have a feeling you don’t want to be here longer than you have to.”
Aang sighed as he got to his feet. He offered a hand to the spirit, who took it graciously as they stood as well. The spirit’s robes dragged in the swamp as they walked in silence. Aang wondered what ceremony they were used for in the Fire Nation.
He opened his mouth to ask, and maybe get the spirit’s name as well, when his friend pointed to the treetops.
“There, I think that’s what you’re looking for,” he said mischievously.
Aang glanced up and gasped. There was a flying animal—that was amazing! A pig—no a boar with dove wings. It made the ferret seagulls from the coast look like nothing.
He snapped open his glider and air bended up to get a better look, then maneuvered around trees and roots for several minutes to keep up as it flew away. The boar landed on top of a branch thicker around than he was tall and stood beside a girl in Earth Nation robes. She laughed loudly as she pet the animal, grinning sharply.
For a moment, Aang wondered if she was a spirit too, but then she vanished, leaving only wet leaves and mud behind.
“Is that my future earthbending teacher?” Aang said. “I wonder when I’ll meet her. But if the swamp can tell me about her, maybe they can also show me my fire bending teacher—”
He turned to ask the Fire Nation spirit if double visions were allowed, but the mysterious boy was gone. Aang had left him far behind. Even after he doubled back to search for him, there wasn’t a trace of the spirit. Not even a thread from his robes remained. It seemed the swamp was done showing him things today.
Aang pouted. “Aw man, come on!”
3
The third time was in Caldera, on the day of the Black Sun. Aang tucked his glider wings in as he entered the palace through an open window. He rolled to his feet and snapped the mechanism shut, looking around with wide eyes.
The palace was grander than anything he’d ever seen. Despite being a simple monk, Aang knew he’d been in some of the finest buildings the world had to offer. But this place blew them all out of the water, at least in terms of wealth and prosperity.
Lacquered wood floors went on endlessly in either direction, polished so well that he could see his reflection in the boards. Every wall, whether it be stone, rice paper, or wood, was embellished with paintings and carvings so meticulous he swore they breathed. Every few feet a sconce was lit with orange flames that added a glow to the otherwise sterile environment.
He shook himself out of his awe and ran forward, slamming open doors and looking for the throne room. Each passage was differently decorated, but they could have been identical as far as Aang was concerned. The minutes crawled, despite passing so quickly, and he felt panic rise within him as he realized how close he was to the eclipse deadline.
He had to find the Fire Lord now, but there was no trace of him. There weren’t even soldiers or servants. The longer Aang was in the palace the more he noticed their absence. It put a bad feeling inside him, this emptiness. But it didn’t feel like he was alone.
He opened another door, prepared for another empty room. A person sat at a vanity, ebony hair pulled down from their topknot as they applied makeup to their face. Aang visibly sighed in relief, even as he tensed in preparation for a fight. At least someone was here.
Then he took a closer look at the robes the person was wearing and gasped. “You!”
He really needed to learn the spirit’s name. It was awkward not to know it at this point.
The spirit glanced over at Aang, then returned his gaze to the mirror as he dabbed red lipstick on himself. Aang wondered who this room belonged to and if they’d mind a spirit taking some of their supplies.
“Hello, Aang,” he said, sounding distracted, “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I’m looking for the Fire Lord,” Aang confessed, “do you know where I can find him?”
The spirit prepped a brush of mercury paint and applied it as eye shadow. It changed color from silver to gold, like light on water.
“You won’t find any of the living in this place, I’m afraid,” he said, “this palace isn’t built for human use.”
The odd phrasing made Aang pause. “But spirits are alive and you're here. This is the palace… Isn’t it?”
"Some spirits are," he replied, "as for this building, it's not a palace. It's a shrine. My shrine."
"Yours?"
Aang was seriously reevaluating how powerful this spirit was if he had an entire castle built to honor him.
The spirit glanced up from the mirror and blinked. "Pardon me, I forgot you don't know our culture as well. This is the palace that houses the Seat of Agni. Many spirits reside here, particularly the sun's servants."
"That's… wow," Aang said, "I'm sorry, I mistook it for the royal palace. It's the fanciest—" and oldest and most expensive "—place on the island. I meant no disrespect."
He'd come expecting a fight with the Fire Lord, but he had no desire to anger the spirits. They were unpredictable and scary, and Aang only knew a little bit about them. Still, he was pretty sure barging into their house wouldn't make them happy.
The fire spirit put down his makeup and began braiding his hair. It was thick and glossy, reminding Aang of ink.
"Normally, a crime like this would be punished," the spirit said, "but I know your heart is pure. You said you were searching for a mortal?"
Aang mentally sighed in relief. The spirit was as merciful as he remembered.
"I'm trying to find Ozai. He's going to lose his bending, so it's my chance to take him out!"
The spirit hummed. "Yes, there is an eclipse today."
He set down the hairbrush.
"You're looking in the wrong spots though, Aang,” the spirit said. “Ozai wouldn't sit proudly in his castle if he felt weak."
"Why not? He'd want people to think he's strong, right?" Aang asked.
The spirit tied his braid with a gold ribbon. "That's what a brave man would do, but Ozai has always shirked his duties. When a scapegoat presents itself he will always take it. If he can't escape the eclipse, he can at least ensure nobody can use it against him. Tell me, Avatar, where would you hide if your element abandoned you?"
Aang looked around the ornate room. "Err…"
"No need to rush. Your answer might be different than his anyway," the spirit said, "but time is passing through your fingers like sand in an hourglass. You'll have to fly fast if you want to catch him."
Suddenly, the room began to distort. Aang wobbled, feeling like he was looking at it through a bubble. Something was pulling him out of the room—an invisible force that felt clammy and cold.
"Hey, let go! What's happening?" Aang yelped.
"It looks like other spirits have noticed your presence," the Fire Spirit remarked. "They don’t take kindly to interlopers in this house. I wouldn't come back if I were you. They can hold grudges for a long time."
"But I still don't know where to look for Ozai!" Aang protested. "Can't you give me a hint?"
The spirit hummed again. "I suppose one won't hurt."
He pointed to the window. Aang saw an impressive volcano looming in the distance.
"Try the lava tubes. I hear they make perfect bunkers," the spirit said. He started putting on earrings as Aang was yanked further out of the room.
The air bender barely had time to remember his manners. "Thank you, spirit! This means a lot!"
"I do what I can," he said amiably, "and it's Zuko, not spirit. Call me that next time."
Aang beamed, the spirit winked, and then the door slammed shut.
Aang was ejected from the spirit palace and found himself suddenly by the front gates. The inhumanly large building glittered in front of him, every window and door latched tightly shut. Not a single sound came from inside. Looking at it now, Aang had no idea how he hadn't mistaken it for a tomb earlier.
He eyed the distant volcano, opened his glider, and took to the skies, leaving the building behind.
But he waved at it before he was too far away. He hoped Zuko saw.
4
Aang and the others were in the White Lotus camp, discussing what would happen after the war ended. It felt pretty hopeful until they tried to figure out what to do with the Dragon Throne.
“It’s pretty dicey,” Sokka said, sharpening his boomerang. “Even if we can defeat the Fire Lord, his crazy daughter is the next in line. Iroh is our only shot, unless there’s another royal hiding somewhere.”
“Well, there’s always prince Zuko,” Toph said dryly, “may his flame burn eternal and all that garbage.”
“Prince Zuko, who’s that?” Aang asked, then noticed Toph’s grimace.
“Azula’s older brother,” Toph said, “kind of a poster child for why the Fire Nation is so messed up.”
Katara and Sokka looked at one another in concern.
“Is he like Crazy Blue too?” Sokka asked nervously. “Has Fire Lord Ozai been keeping another kid in the wings this whole time as a secret weapon?”
Aang laughed, but he shared Sokka’s worry. Azula had almost gotten them at the air temple after Sokka and Katara had broken their dad out of prison, and her manic expression had burned itself into his memory. If there was somebody else like her, he didn’t want to run into them.
“You don’t need to worry about prince Zuko,” Toph said, “I said it more as a joke. A dumb, inappropriate joke, but a joke.”
“Well, it wasn’t funny and didn’t even make sense,” Katara said.
“No duh,” Toph said, “I forget that you guys lived on an iceberg. I guess news doesn’t reach you there, especially not about the Fire Nation’s insanity.”
“Why, what happened?” Katara frowned.
Toph chucked a rock into the fire pit. Sparks flew up, glowing brightly in the fading light. “Why don’t you ask Uncle over there? He probably knows more about it than me.”
They all turned to look. Iroh stood at the fringes of their group, holding a tea pot. He smiled thinly as he sat on the log beside Toph.
“Miss Beifong is quite correct,” he said quietly as he began pouring for them, “but it is not a happy story. I would rather not share it tonight, if at all possible. It is an old wound, but it still feels fresh.”
“Oh, you don’t have you then,” Aang said quickly. He knew all about old-yet-fresh wounds.
“I just have one question,” Toph said. “Is…is what they say about him true? Did his dad really…?”
Iroh sighed. “Yes.”
"Oh." Toph swallowed, looking paler than usual—and that was hard to top since she liked to live underground.
"Okay, you can't say that and leave us in the dark," Sokka said, setting down his whetstone. "No more secrets. That's not what team Avatar is about, so spill."
"Sokka—" Katara began.
"No, it is alright," Iroh said. He sat beside Toph. "He has a point. Besides, my silence heals no wounds. It only allows me to ignore my sins."
Aang bit his lip. He had a bad feeling about this story.
"My country, the Fire Nation, has always been devout," Iroh began. "Legend has it that Agni themselves was an ancestor to the royal line. They are the reason for our success and power, and why fire is so adored on the islands. But such gifts always come with a price."
Aang sipped his tea. Jasmine with hints of lavender. He stroked the rim of the cup as he listened.
"Agni loves their people, but demands we demonstrate our love by returning to them one of our lost, precious gifts. For the reason, every thirty years for our entire recorded history, we have given a member of the royal family to Agni to serve them in the spirit world."
The fire crackled, almost in response to the question.
"Like adopting them as a fire sage?" Katara asked.
"No, it is more literal than that," Iroh said, "it is more like—"
"A sacrifice, dumbass," Toph said, head tucked into her neck. "They kill someone in a fancy ritual."
The tea tasted like ash now. Aang had once heard Kuzon talk about a special place in the Caldera—a temple where people went in but never came out. A shrine for lost things, precious things. And now Aang was remembering the spirit palace in Caldera he’d broken into, austere and otherworldly, along with the spirit's cryptic words.
"You won't find anything living here."
"You don't mean—" Sokka and Katara's faces said they also knew where this story was going.
Iroh slumped. "Our family has grown small in recent years, pruned both because of Sozin's paranoia and because of this ritual. As the eldest, the duty to die should have been mine, but I was not in Caldera at the time of the latest ceremony. I assumed my brother would locate a distant cousin for the event, but he mandated his son to be the sacrifice instead."
Iroh bent over his tea cup. His voice was raspy. "The sacrifice is meant to volunteer. The whole point is to willingly offer themselves to Agni, but Zuko was never given an option. And….he was only nine when the order was given. Legally, he should have been barred from it, but my brother knows the law well enough to abuse it."
Aang tried to picture a miniature Azula dressed in ceremonial robes, but couldn't.
"Ozai kept him jailed in the palace like a doll until the ritual. Forced him to practice dying every day. Claimed it was all he was good for. And when the day came, my brother himself burned his son alive in front of a thousand people. I… I understand there was a body when he was done, but it was not Zuko anymore."
Aang wanted to throw up. He knew what kind of body Iroh was talking about. They had been in the Western Air temple.
"I can only hope that his soul is at peace," Iroh said, "I failed him so completely that I fear there is no redemption for me. It should never have been his burden to bear. His was a death without mercy."
Aang looked up. "Wait, what? Mercy?"
Iroh nodded. "It was cruel and wrong—”
"Does the ritual have you paint words on someone?" Aang interrupted.
Iroh blinked in surprise. "I—well, yes. Why do you ask, Aang?"
Aang hugged his teacup closer. "Because there's a fire spirit I keep seeing. A boy Sokka's age with with the word for mercy painted on his face. I saw him in the spirit palace—"
"You went in there?" Toph said, aghast, "twinkle toes—"
"He told me his name was Zuko," Aang finished. "He's the one who told me where the bunker was. He's keeping an eye on me."
Iroh looked at Aang both with horror and longing. Aang noticed for the first time how similar the old man's eyes were to the fire spirit's: pale gold and burning.
Aang could see the resemblance now, hidden by Iroh’s age and Zuko’s makeup. The slant of their mouths, the shape of their nose, there was the ghost of family in both their faces. Aang didn’t have a family since air nomads didn’t see the need, but he wondered at this Fire Nation tragedy. Burning someone you loved, what a cruel sacrifice.
“Was he . . . was he well, Avatar?” Iroh asked. “Was he at peace?”
There were folktales of hungry ghosts and bitter spirits, tormented by the trauma of their deaths and driven toward vengeance. It was a cursed existence, worse than dying.
“He said Agni made him one of theirs. He has duties in the Fire Nation, so he can’t leave often,” Aang said, conscious of the eyes on him. “But he said hello to me in Roku’s temple, and in the swamp, and he didn’t punish me when I found his shrine.”
His tomb. A place for the dead to rest, more beautiful than anything given to the living. Aang wondered if it was so ornate because the dead in the Fire Nation were so plentiful, all those years of cruelty demanding a mansion as recompense.
Iroh exhaled, long and slow. He clutched his teacup so hard it cracked. “That is . . . that is good. There is no higher honor than to serve the Living Flame.”
“How about being alive?” Toph muttered.
“Toph!” Katara hissed, but her heart wasn’t in it.
The fire crackled between them, slowly eating the fuel they’d given it. The night’s shadows were long and its darkness deep. The air was cold, and the flames’ warmth did not reach.
“It should never have come to this,” Iroh said softly. “It should have been me that died.”
Aang wanted to comfort him, but all he could do was stare at the fire and remember when Zuko’s face had flickered in the swamp. For a moment, there had been no makeup, just burns.
How much had it hurt? How little had anyone cared?
5
Aang was trying to do the right thing, but he was also being selfish. The overlap between those things was unfairly small.
He didn’t want to kill anyone else. That shouldn’t have been an impossible request. And yet Sokka, Katara, Toph, Iroh, Suki—everyone wanted him to murder Ozai. They said it was the only way.
So here Aang was, sitting on the back of a Lion Turtle, glaring at the setting sun after consulting his past lives for wisdom. Their wisdom was cruelty disguised as justice.
The fate of the world rested on Aang giving up who he was. Air nomads believed in pacifism, but Avatars couldn’t afford it. What difference was there between him and Ozai if he had to bully his way into being listened to?
He sniffled, then wiped his nose on his clothes.
“I’ve been told that’s bad manners,” someone behind him said.
Aang turned, clutching his bo in one hand. “Zuko?”
The Fire Spirit smiled. He stood several feet away, dressed in the same finery he’d always worn. The cloth shimmered in the light, gossamer in its delicateness but radiant in its vibrancy. They were the kind of clothes that were to be worn with utmost care. Aang suddenly wondered if Zuko had died in them.
“What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t leave the Fire Nation,” the avatar said.
Zuko strolled over and sat beside him. “I find the backs of lion turtles tend not to care about borders. So long as I am kind, it won’t mind my presence. As for the Fire Nation, my duties are on a brief hold. The person I’ve been watching is rather angry with me.”
That was . . .
“You watch people?” Aang asked. He’d never asked what Zuko’s duties were.
The Fire Spirit tucked his knees against his chest, mimicking Aang’s posture. “Person, rather. Between my other assignments. Agni indulges me. It is part of my wish.”
Aang opened his mouth to speak, burning with curiosity.
“My business is inconsequential at this time,” Zuko said. “You looked troubled, Aang. I wanted to see if you could use some help.”
The lion turtle shifted, the island on its back tilting slightly. Aang caught his balance, but Zuko didn’t seem to notice. How much could he interact with the mortal realm? How much could he feel?
Those were important questions—and Aang still really wanted to know what Zuko’s duties were—but the Fire Spirit was warm, and he was willing to listen. Aang felt as if he were in the swamp again, finally being able to talk to someone who didn’t want to use him for anything. Zuko just wanted to help.
So Aang talked. He explained how the White Lotus wanted him to kill Ozai. He talked about air bender pacifism, his memories, how he knew Gyatso would have had to break that vow in the Southern Air Temple but that didn’t matter because Aang only had this way to remember him now. How he’d killed all those people in the North Pole by mistake, and now all anyone could think of was having him do that again, again, and again.
“I don’t know what to do, Zuko,” Aang said. “I don’t want to make anyone suffer.”
The Fire Spirit nodded along. His hand rested on Aang’s back, soothing with small circles that felt like phantom touches.
“Ozai is a cruel man,” Zuko said at length, once Aang had exhausted his words. “He will get his justice, Aang, but what that looks like is not determined by mortal hands.”
“Does the avatar count as mortal?” Aang asked.
Zuko cocked his head. “Does a waterbender count as a person?”
“Of course!” Aang said. “Oh.”
The Fire Spirit nodded.
The sun was nearly set. It cast a red light on the sea, bordered with purple and orange. The lion turtle seemed to be heading East, away from the Fire Nation.
“It is a good thing to have compassion,” Zuko said. “Kindness and mercy are often-forgotten strengths. Anyone can be cruel, but it is a rare thing to be good.”
Aang found himself staring at the mark on Zuko’s cheek. The ancient script for mercy, inscribed with poison paint.
“I met your uncle,” Aang confessed. “He said you died, and it hurt. I thought, out of everyone, you’d want Ozai dead the most.”
“I want a lot of things,” Zuko said simply. “When I was alive, it was easy to be bitter. But there is too much to hope for now, for me to feel the same.”
Zuko stood, pulling Aang up as well. The last rays of sunshine were the color of kisses, bathing the two of them in light that, for once, was not full of wrath.
“Sacrifice does not have to be absolute,” Zuko said. “Avatar, you will always be bound up in duty, but you have the capacity to make that duty what you will. Few people are so in control of their destiny. Even the spirits cannot force you, only guide.”
“And where would you guide me?” Aang said.
Zuko shrugged, a bizarrely teenage gesture. “Nowhere. I’m fairly certain you’ve found your solution already, all by yourself.”
The sun finally dipped below the horizon. Zuko flickered, becoming transparent as he faded.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aang asked. “Come on, give me a hint!”
A dry chuckle was the only remainder of Zuko’s presence.
“Alright, just one,” the spirit’s echo said. “You’re standing on it.”
And then the Fire Spirit was gone, and Aang was staring at the ground—the turtle lion—like it held the answers to all his woes.
Turns out, it did.