Chapter Text
It is said that all dragons guard their treasures viciously, obsessively, burning anyone who dares come too close to ash. His treasure lived on an island three hundred miles away, and he would have burned himself, the ocean between them, and the entire world if it meant having her back. But fire could never return her to him, and so it turned inward until there was nothing left but the ashes of his heart.
Katara didn’t need to lift her head to know the moon hung in the sky like a silvery sickle, casting only the faintest light over the dark waves crashing against the sandy shores of Crescent Island. She felt it in the way her chi flowed through her body—sluggish and heavy, a trickling creek instead of the usual wild river.
On nights like this, when the moon was thin and her powers had waned with it, she always felt the urge to surround herself entirely with water. The gentle pressure of it had been soothing to her for longer than she could remember. In the first few weeks after the war and everything that had followed it, she’d spent more time in the ocean than out of it. It had been the only thing that could quiet her warring mind, if only for a moment. Sometimes, when memories rose up as nightmares that ripped her from sleep, leaving her jolting upright in bed, whole body trembling violently, she still had to walk down to the beach—or fill the large bathtub—just to submerge herself completely and drown out her thoughts in the process. Other times, she found herself drifting among the waves, with no recollection of entering the water. And every so often, she would wake with sand clinging to her skin and salt on her tongue, the only proof that she had wandered into the sea at all.
Katara had already lost track of how long she’d been out here. It had been just after dusk when she’d left the temple, following the sloping path to the beach for a swim. The water had still been warm from the sun’s rays then. Now, hours later, she emerged shivering, her skin stung raw by the cold. She wrapped herself in a white robe, long enough to reach her ankles and made of soft linen, as she ascended the small hill. Dry bushes with pale green leaves and golden, bell-shaped blossoms lined either side of her, the salt of the breeze heavy in the night air. It mingled with the scent of the cypress trees that lined the gently rolling hills and volcano’s slopes, the floral fragrance of spring slowly giving way as summer unfurled, tart and heady.
After spending almost a decade on the island, she’d come to know it as well as her own face. Her feet had long since worn paths into the grass leading up to the temple where she lived. Katara knew where the turtle ducks nested and the sweetest cinderberries grew, and at what time of day the beach became hot enough for the dark sand to burn her bare feet. She could tell if the day would be pleasant or rainy or both by the way the sun rose in the morning. Water had always been her element but Crescent Island had become her home.
Perhaps that was why she knew there was an intruder long before she saw the blood. Something in the air that had changed, a strange shift in the nightingales’ song, or the prickle at the back of her neck told her that, for the first time in all her years here, she was not alone.
She didn’t see the blood at first. Her awareness came before sight, an instinct that made her chest feel tight with terror. Over the years, Katara had come to realise that she’d developed a similar attunement to blood as she had to water—a persistent, unwelcome sensitivity left behind by learning to bloodbend against her will. Which meant she sensed it intuitively, even before she reached the stairs leading up to the temple.
Thick drops of blood stained the ground, dark red streaks trickling down the stone steps. It trailed down in slow rivulets that made her stomach turn.
For a moment, she stood frozen. There was an intruder on the island. In her home. Without thinking, the way she would blink or take a breath, Katara pulled at the water still clinging to her body and hair. It lifted into the air, hovering in a half-circle before her, poised to strike whoever waited behind the colossal door, its once-lacquered crimson paint long faded.
When she slowly turned the sun-engraved knob, brass smeared with blood, her heart hammered so hard she feared her ribs might crack under the pressure. Calm, she told herself. Whoever it was, they were badly hurt. So hurt they can’t possibly pose any danger. Judging by the sheer amount of blood soaking the polished entrance hall floor, gleaming in the pale moonlight, they would already be dizzy. A large handprint stained one of the towering columns, as though someone had braced themselves against it before moving on. Barely standing, really. More than out on their feet. An easy fight.
Still, Katara halted for a fleeting moment, taking it in—the size of the hand, so massive her own seemed almost absurdly small in comparison, the faint carvings of dragons and curling clouds beneath the blood, her senses instinctively stretching out for another heartbeat, but she only found her own, pumping hard and fast.
Silently, and with a light-footedness she’d picked up from watching Aang practise airbending, she slipped around the corner into what had once been the prayer room and now served as her living space. She narrowed her eyes, trying to take in the dark room as she searched for a sign of movement. Only thin moonlight filtered through the tall windows, tracing the familiar shapes of her trappings and belongings in silvery outlines.
Nothing. For half a breath, relief flickered through her. The next, a sound behind her—piercing in its suddenness and much too close—made her jolt violently. She turned, head snapping around, her entire body already in motion before her mind had even caught up. Her hands moved in a way she’d practised a thousand times already. Water tore through the air, a powerful jet slamming into the shadowed figure that had lurked behind her. They were slammed back into the wall forcefully. A man.
Once more, her heart thrummed furiously as her gaze settled on him. His face and upper body were still swallowed by darkness but she could make out enough of him to be frightened. He was almost terrifyingly tall, towering over her, and even in the dimness she could make out the intimidating strength of his body, muscle threaded through his large frame. A sliver of moonlight caught his arm as he was thrown back, illuminating the bare curve of a powerful bicep.
When his back hit the wall, a small, pained “oomph” escaped him. His voice was so deep it sent a shiver down Katara’s spine, raising goosebumps along her arms. She didn’t hesitate. Not for a single second. She gathered the water again, shaping it into a razor-sharp whip to slice into him.
But before her vicious strike could land, he lifted his hands. Bloody palms open and toward her, in a gesture that almost seemed like surrender. Still, she expected a blast of fire. Earth. Something violent. Something that would hurt and make her bleed or scream in agony.
There was only a gust of warm air, brushing strands of her brown hair across her face and dissolving the arc of water midair. Steamy mist kissed her cheeks, clung to her lashes.
Why isn’t he attacking? Somewhere at the edge of her mind, the thought began to form, but she refused to linger on it. He wasn’t attacking yet. But this man in front of her was clearly a firebender, and she’d just run out of water.
The uncomfortable awareness of blood pooling on the tiled floor beneath his feet was impossible to ignore, her entire body shaking with how wrong it felt. How is he still standing if he is losing so much damn blood? Her own pulse roared so loudly in her ears she could barely make out his, or the fact that he was speaking. Her name, perhaps. Or a warning. Katara didn’t wait to find out.
In one smooth, ruthless motion, she pulled the tea from the half-drunk cup she’d forgotten about in the morning, forcing it to harden and molding it into a thin dagger. The cold bit into her palms as she gripped it with both of her trembling hands.
Just a heartbeat later, she brought it down in one swift strike, putting her full weight behind it. His hand shot up, catching the icy blade midair. It sank into his palm, deep enough for blood to well up between long, pale fingers. A breathless, frustrated sound escaped Katara.
The fury pumping through her veins mingled with the adrenaline, making her press harder. Hard enough to kill, aiming right for his chest. He leaned into it—toward her—easily forcing her bare feet to slide across the floor, slick with water and sticky with his blood. He didn’t even seem to be struggling the way he should have been. Her stomach twisted with abject terror. With a half-choked scream tearing out of her, she drove forward one last time in a desperate thrust. Another inch of him toward her, and maybe she’d be able to lift the blade to catch his throat, slicing his—
His face caught the moonlight. Just a sliver of it carving out his eyes and brow. Her breath hitched. The sound felt deafening in the silence of the room.
Golden eyes met hers. The left one marred by an old, brutal scar. Familiar in a way that cut right through her. Silky black hair, so much longer than when she’d last seen him, falling loose in uneven strands from a half-bun at the back of his head. A sharp jaw, tense with the strain of holding her back with one hand alone. And a mouth that she could only describe as beautiful, even now, with a blade pressed against him and her hands shaking with the intent to kill.
She would have recognised him from his mouth only, the way the corners of it curved, just barely, into a crooked smile so small it was almost unrecognisable. There was relief in it, and pain, and although she hadn’t seen it in almost ten years, she immediately recognised it as the smile he had only ever given her and no one else.
“Hello, Katara.”