Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zuko was hungry, so he looked at Katara. "Honey, is there anything in the fridge?"

"There's a casserole and some vegetables."

"Uh-huh. ...I guess."

He slid off the couch, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge door--

He staggered back as a wild title jumped out.

GOOSE EGGS: THE THIRD

"Honey, what did I tell you about buying book titles!"

Chapter Text

After enjoying her meal, Mai headed into the city and stopped by Shing’s Delights, a yellow flower amidst the fields of green and gray office complexes. Inside, the room was a nice lemon color with cream countertops and an ebony ceiling with silver lamps. The man at the counter in a yellow apron (shocker) smiled at her.

"Ah, Mai. Are you back for the usual?"

"Yep, a dragon pie with cherry tomatoes on top."

"With the special sauce?"

"Absolutely."

Mai stood at the counter waiting as he rummaged underneath the counter for something. He pulled out a round black disc with a red button in the middle. He handed it to her, and she nodded her thanks, walking into the restroom. Sitting in the stall, she pressed the button and disappeared in a flash of bright light.

Blinking her eyes, she found herself in a chrome dojo with guns galore–pistols, shotguns, sniper rifles, and a butcher's delight of knives. Ahead of her lay a gun range with target dummies and bullseyes. On a wall lay a pair of training glasses. She took them, put them on, and grabbed the nearest gun her fingers could find. It was a pistol with a zebra pattern on it. Pulling out the magazine, she found it already loaded and ready to destroy anything in front of her. Standing at her mark, she looked through the sights straight at the heart of a dummy and fired a pair of shots, leaving one hole. She took a few breaths to steady herself before emptying the magazine straight at the hole. It was as if she had guided the bullets through it by hand.

Here she would clear her mind with the sound of blazing gunfire and shredding plastic. It soothed her mind to see confetti sprout from a dummy, to see single dots on a practice target from a full magazine. She looked around, taking in the sight of the room. Eight dummies, four barriers. A perfect row of paper targets on the wall behind them. Bright LED lights on the ceiling, casting them in bleaching white. Then she remembered the room with the orb. The black ring, the temptation to turn to a private practice instead of working for an ancient organization. She pulled out her empty magazine and threw in another one, blasting a pair of targets. 

As she held her smoking gun in her hands, an idea came to her, and her eyes brightened. What if she didn't need to stay on one side of the yawning chasm? What if she could bridge it, find a point in the middle where she could balance the responsibility of the White Lotus with the freedom that contract work could offer her? She nodded to herself. That could be an idea. Do her regular schedule with the White Lotus, and take a job from the ring once in a while.

But first, she would need to finish her routine. Putting back the pistol, she pulled out the grenade launcher. She aimed the steel launcher at a particularly annoying dummy and launched a fifty-millimeter round into its chest. It exploded in a cloud of dust. But as the cloud faded, another dummy stood in its place. It was a tad too loud for her tastes, so she cranked down the volume on a wall display before lowering the explosion brightness. Simulating the heavy weapons wasn’t what Mai would have preferred, but it did help keep the room discreet. Soundproof walls could only do so much, and keeping the shrapnel to a minimum kept her from getting an earful from HQ. 

Turning back to aim, she pulled the trigger. Down went another, and another cloud of smoke, and a third had its head turned into dust. Lining her sights on a target in the corner, she turned the paper into vapor and smiled. Now she could have fun. She put away the launcher, pulled out a case of knives, and walked to a glass panel on the chrome wall, hitting a button that had a skull icon on it. With that, the walls faded into nothingness, and the dummies reanimated, walking towards her at first, but then sprinting. 

Mai pulled out a knife and threw it at the closest one. It seized and fell to the ground, spilling out simulated blood. Her knives became a tornado of steel, and a dozen dummies turned into a pile of boneless husks. She stepped back, waited a moment, and the dummies came to life again, positioning themselves in a circle around her. Mai closed her eyes and held her knives in her fingers, throwing them at once.

They pierced every single forehead dead center, and the dummies fell to the ground once more. As if summoned by a metalbender, the knives floated to stop a few feet from her, and she collected them one by one, putting them back into the crate. Now she would need to burn some calories. And so she went back to the control panel and pressed the sprint button. A treadmill grew from the floor before her, and she set it to the extreme mode. 

She kept a good pace of fifteen miles an hour as the dummies came at her one by one. She hurled steel as the treadmill began to turn slowly. They fell as her hands flicked with precision, not even missing a single step as she ran. 

But then she flinched as the machine blurted out, “Tango mode.”

Mai had never heard of that. She shrugged and let her reflexes take over as the treadmill launched her into the air, and she flipped, sending more steel down at her chrome enemies. 

When the last automaton fell, she let out a breath, smiling as she sat down on the floor and breathed. Now was the time for meditation to let her chi flow and return to equilibrium with her chakras, or so her blade instructor had told her. She didn't know the intricate details of the sacred art of meditation, but she knew enough to keep it flowing to her trigger finger. 

She breathed in and breathed out, let her chi flow. In and out, yin and yang, creation and destruction. 

“Let your chi fluctuate and then return to equilibrium.”

As she breathed with the flow of her chakras, she let her mind drift to thoughts of the teachings of her master. 

"Your knife is not a tool of destruction. It is an extension of your body. If you were to touch another without them allowing you, even less so with a knife."

"Once your knife is thrown, you must let your qi out and let it return to you for your next strike." 

Then she opened her eyes, picked up a knife, and threw it at another dummy before returning to her meditation. Breathe in, breathe out, contemplate, strike. 

"Your motions must be as efficient as a dive into the ocean. Wasted chi is a wasted life. If you see five targets before you, use five strikes and find five dead on the floor, anything more is a disappointment." 

As her meditation continued, her heart stilled, and her mind was calm, as her fingers lay folded together. After a few more breaths, she rose, picked up her things, and went to the control panel to press the reset button. In a flash, the destroyed room before her became as spotless as stainless steel.

Stepping out, she pressed the button on the disc, rematerializing in the bathroom and going out to hand it back to the man at the counter, who bade her a good day. Sitting in her car, she tuned the radio to the jazz station and sat back, letting herself be lost in the moment.

“Let all your stress dissipate with the wind.” 

She enjoyed the sound of the bass guitar and the cello as they danced together, weaving intricate notes and harmonizing. Here in her car, she was at peace, letting the music guide her mind into nothingness. Here she would wait for inspiration and then strike when the opportunity came. 

As the minutes passed, her heart became still, and her mind was as clear as crystal. She put the keys into the ignition and set off for home.

As she drove under the flashing street lights, in between the glistening skyscrapers, her mind was fixed on one solitary goal–she would have freedom. She would take the ring and see where the Black Lotus would take her.

Rolling into the parking lot, she coasted to a stop at her reserved parking spot, walked up the stairs to her apartment, pulled out a cigarette from her carton, and lit it on the balcony. With the ring in hand, she took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke into the afternoon air.

She looked down at the ring, eyeing it as if it were a prized diamond. All she would have to do is walk up to it and take it. But still, there was the apprehension in her fingers. Still, there was a slight dread of what the consequences might be.

Sighing, out of breath, she put on the ring and returned to the white expanse. The orb was waiting for her.

"So, Mai, have you come to a decision?"

"Yes. One mission."

"Good. The next time we have an opening, your ring will flash red."

"Wait, you don't have a job for me yet?"

"Well, we do, but we still need to do a little thing called paperwork. Just auto-sign for all of it."

"Okay, if that's what you want."

A bunch of documents materialized before her with her signature on them in perfect calligraphy.

"That appears to be in order. Are we done?"

"That’s all we need from you. Your next mission will be waiting for your acceptance."

"Good."

And Mai pulled off the ring and sat on the balcony looking over the city.

Below her, the clouds were white as cotton, and in the distance, Cabbage Corp Tower was flashing in the sunlight. She took another drag from her cigarette and let her emotions come to a cool state of peace. Yes, here she would sit and let out every single thought that could rile her into a feeling of dread or second thoughts. The world was at her fingertips; she just had to let go of her fear of looking at what she had. 

If she were to do this side job alongside her regular work, what would it look like? She could take one mission a month from this company and see what that felt like with her current schedule, or she could change her schedule to free up her daily life and let loose. She could take small missions like the surveillance job and make a modest living before she could take on more daring ones. Then she could get bolder as time went on. If she so chose, she could see how hard this new opportunity could get. And if it were too much for her, she could pull back. All of this was up to her and her alone. But someone like Iroh could offer insight into it, so she would take whatever advice he gave.

Mai pulled out her phone and shot Iroh a quick message. 

Black Talon: Looking at contract work with an organization. It's called Silver Serpent. If you don't like them, I will pull out immediately.

The message went unread for a few moments before he saw it and then a blurb appeared on her phone.

Ginseng: I would hesitate before joining them. I know of them. They are a respectable organization, but they can be quite demanding at times.

Black Talon: How so? 

She sat back and thought about it. They had been quite cordial at the beginning, though the man with the giant muscles had been a sign that they could have been a little forceful. So that was concerning.

Ginsing: I will not pass judgment on you if you wish to seek their services, but know that nothing is always as it seems with them. Understood?

She took a final puff from her cigarette before quenching the coals and throwing it in her ashtray. Now what? She could take a walk through the city, but she had already tried that and come across a bunch of crooks. Or she could just read a book.

She hadn't done that in a while. She remembered holding a romance novel at a bookshop, but then she had had to drop whatever she had, as there had been a red alert and a pair of gangsters had taken a tank and occupied a whole city block. She had not been happy. She had had to shoot them with missiles, and she had come back home covered in sweat and miffed that she forgot what books she had ordered.

So she set her mind on finding a bookshop. She opened her map app and found one at random, driving there, tapping the dash as she listened to some nice folk music from the swamp. 

"Sit ‘round the campfire, get your gator's tongue. 

All we have to have is a little fun. 

When you're all up there in the jungle, 

You’ll have a little fun with your uncle." 

Weird.

As the streets zipped by in a blur of color, she stopped at a red light and took a left, coming to a stop in an expansive parking lot and walking to a squat little joint sandwiched between a white drugstore and a rundown Flamin' Noodles store. Tashi's Bookstore. It was written in gold lettering on a boring black overhang with a wide glass window showing dozens of books on shelves.

On one of the display stands there was "Detective Sokka,” written by Wang Fire. He hadn't told her he was ghostwriting his own stories. She didn't need to read it. She already knew all of them. 

She sauntered through the door, a bell tinkling as she opened the door. The place was a jungle of books. The carpeting was bland, and a man stood at a glass desk, his froggish green eyes absurdly large behind his Koke bottle glasses. He wore a plain suit with a garish polka dot bow tie.

"Welcome to Tashi's. How may I help you?"

"Just browsing, broadening my horizons, things like that. Is there anything not boring here?"

"That would be up to your tastes. I would suggest perusing the Hot Releases section just over there."

He pointed to a small shelf right next to a corner, and she bent down over it. 

June's Hundred Tips to Be the Best Version of Yourself

Chi-Chi’s Spicy Fire Nation Cooking

The Guinan Book of Records

 Boring, boring, boring. She slid her finger across the titles, eventually stopping on a white one that appeared intriguing. “The Life of She, A Criminal Mastermind,” by Chin Shang. 

If it’s boring, I can use it for target practice.  

She slid it out, slapped it down on the counter, and handed the man her credit card as he wrapped the book in some wax paper and handed it to her.

"Thank you for your business."

She nodded, letting out a noncommittal sound, and headed back to her apartment, where she set her phone down on the coffee table and opened it up to the first page. 

"Dedicated to all police officers and investigators."  

The story began with the man's early childhood, so she skimmed that part.

Then it got on to the juicy parts—how in high school, he got involved with a drug trafficking ring. They were called The Green Buzzard-Wasps. He had several stints in prison, coming and going as if through a revolving door. Arson, theft, grand theft blimp. He had it all.

Now, when I got into the bank, all the people in there were as scared as jumping catgators. Under my mask, I felt as powerful as the Earth King sitting on his fancy throne. Of course, the police just had to get there as I was emptying the bank vault. I slipped on a gold coin and fell splat on the ground…

The afternoon passed in a flash, and Mai looked up to see that the sun was low over the horizon. She checked her phone; it was a quarter to 7:00. She looked down at the page she was on. She only had ten to go. 

Now the man was going through rehab and trying to reform his life, but with his cancer eating at his lungs, he fell one week short of parole, and died in the hospital, not from the cancer, but from food poisoning. They had put too much hot sauce in his breakfast.

Sighing and stretching, she snapped the book shut and sat up on her couch. That had been an afternoon well-wasted. She was about to open the Ember app when she saw a text notification pop up on the screen. It was a symbol of a snake coiling around a sword.

Encrypted:  We have a mission for you. Should you accept, your code name shall be Ballerina.

Mai: Sure, on one condition. Leave the naming to me.

Encrypted:  As you wish. What is your preferred code name?

Mai thought for a moment, tapping her fingers on the screen. Then she smiled as a light bulb lit above her head.

Mai: Death Blossom.

Encrypted: Your flight leaves from Ba Sing Se Airport tonight at 8:45 PM. Do not be late.

Mai: Understood.

She smirked and returned to her book, letting her mind be captured by the story unfolding on the pages for a few more minutes before pulling out her luggage.

Chapter Text

"If I needed a hand, I would have told you."

Aang’s eyes were soft as he held out his arms to a frazzled Toph. "But I wanted to give you one."

She crossed her arms on her cluttered kitchen counter. "Well, I don't, so there."

"Oh, why do you have to be so—so this?"

She threw up her arms. "Because that's who I am! Deal with it!"

Aang looked down at his hands, stopping to take a breath. He looked up at Toph to see that she was still frowning. "Toph, I want to help you. You are having a baby, and I don't want to see you carry that burden alone."

But she only glared, though it was half-hearted. "I... I can do this alone, Aang. I can take care of it."

Aang took in her sight once more. She had her hair down and her robes were all askew. The room around them was cluttered with bowls of half-eaten food strewn about. The smell was a mixture of mildew and rotten milk that wafted insidiously. But now was the time to take charge, so he walked over to one of the paper bowls on the table and tossed it in the trash.

"What are you doing, Aang?"

"What does it look like I’m doing?"

She grabbed his arm. "What did I say!"

He pulled away from her. "Don’t care."

But then she bent a metal cuff around his arm.

"Aang, I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help—" But then her glare collapsed into a trembling frown, and she slipped to the floor.

He caught her in his arms. "Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you." He rubbed slow circles into her back as she sobbed.

"He left me. He left me and didn’t say anything. Mom was right. I’m... I’m not— I’m never gonna be a good mother."

"Breathe, Toph. Just let it out."

And she did, sobbing out a few breaths before her heart finally calmed.

Sitting back, Aang eyed her softly. "What’s his name?"

She took a few more breaths, inching back to lie against the wall. "His name was Kanto. He was with another department. He was charming, nice sense of humor... but that all ended when we had too much sake a few weeks ago. And when I finally had the guts to tell him, he– He bailed on me. And I don’t know what to do."

“Hey… look at me.” Aang took her hand in his. “We can get through this. You’ll see.”

She let out a sob before wilting into him. They lay there in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the beeping of car horns and the muttering of passersby. After a minute, she tapped his shoulder. He looked down again to see her smiling, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Aang. I… how can I—”

He shook his head. “No, Toph. There’s nothing you can offer that I would take. Friends don’t do that. I can help out here if you want. And Sokka will definitely help, too.”

“…Okay.”

She slowly let go of him and stood, swaying for a moment before getting her feet under her. 

Aang smiled gently. “Mind getting this cuff off me?"

She nodded. "Yeah." She yanked it off.

"Let’s get this place cleaned up, shall we?”

And so they got to work, cleaning up the place—throwing out old food, sweeping, picking up all the clothes and boxes, and tossing them into a dumpster. Once that was dealt with, Aang shot to the phone and made a call to Assistant Wen from the police department. 

“What’s up, Chief?”

“No, it’s Aang.”

“Oh, what do you need?” 

“Could you come over to Toph’s place? She needs some help getting herself together. I know you’re good at makeovers… so could you do that? I don’t want to drop this on you.”

"No, it's fine. I'll be over there in half an hour.” 

“Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."

"Oh, it's nothing."

He hung up the phone and sat back, sighing. 

As she walked into her bathroom to clean up and the shower fwished to life, he could only think of the possibilities. Here he was, a friend and a mentee of hers, and she was stuck in this vulnerable position, and he could help her get out of her rut. But what if she fell into a relapse and gave up?

He shook his head, standing up and trudging over to the kitchen to see if there was anything salvageable. Looking through the cupboards, he found an old bag of rice. Sniffing it, he nodded and set it on the counter before looking through the rest of the pantry. He found some canned beef and some dried vegetables. He pulled out a pot from a cupboard, cleaning it in the sink, filling it, and setting it on a gas stove, clicking the flames to life. Once the water reached a boil, he threw in the rice and stood there, waiting.

Holding his hand to his bushy beard, he smiled, an idea sparking in his eyes. Giving the rice a precautionary stir, he looked around and found a record player with some dusty records. Pulling one out at random, he pulled it out of its dust jacket and enjoyed the sound of the crackling vinyl as the song began. It was an old record of Chong's, and it was nice and groovy, though a little bit cheesy.

As the music played and Toph lingered in the bathroom, he tossed in the meat and the vegetables. The smell was passable, but it was a little salty, and he would have to find something to take the edge off it, so he snuck back to the pantry and found an old bottle of soy sauce. That in hand, he walked back and threw a few dashes in, giving it a taste. It was slightly saltier, and the umami flavor was coming out, so he considered it a job well done and bent the water out and into the sink, leaving behind a steaming mess of passable food. He set the food in some bowls and covered them with plates. Looking through the cabinets, he found some chopsticks and set them there. Then he poured them glasses of water.

Then he saw Toph open the door. Her skin was porcelain, and her hair was glossy with water. He had had inklings before of her beauty, but today he couldn't deny it, yet now was not the time. He shook his head at the thoughts and smiled as she came over.

"What do you got there, Twinkletoes?"

"Oh, I made some food. Not the best, but it's the best of what we got."

"Oh, thank you." Her gaze softened. She sat down and took a bowl, lifting a morsel to her mouth. She took an experimental bite. “Eh… it’s okay.”

Aang nodded. “Yeah, but… it’s food. Or do you want takeout?” He wrung his hands, waiting for her judgment.

She shook her head, taking another bite. “I’ve spent too much money on that shit. And… you put your heart into this, so I’m eating it.”

He couldn’t help but beam at her.

And so they sat there, slowly nibbling at their food, the silence surprisingly void of awkwardness—simply heavy with everything left unsaid. But then Toph looked at him, vulnerable once again.

“Aang… I have to know.”

He blinked. “What is it, Toph?”

“I have to know if you’re doing this for me.”

“What do you mean?”

She let out a tired sigh. “What I’m trying to say is… Kanto had this act when we were dating–”

“No, Toph! I would never do that to you. Not in a thousand years.”

Her face melted into a soft smile, and they finished their meal in a contented silence. As Aang was washing their dishes, the doorbell sounded, and he opened the door to see Wen clad in her black police trench coat and holding a small leather bag. The lanky twenty-something’s brown eyes darted around.

“Come in.”

She found Toph sitting on a chair in her living room, with her hair sticking out and her face tired and wrinkled. 

The chief turned her head. “Wen.”

“Chief. Let’s get you fixed up, okay?”

Out came the combs and the makeup brushes and the clippers. Wen set to untangling Toph’s hair, easing through knots and setting it under the metalbender’s hairband. Next, she rubbed cream in her hands, massaging her face before adding a little blush and concealer. Then she gently rubbed her feet. Toph grimaced as she did so, but did not lash out. Then came the clippers, snipping at her toenails, and the polishers rubbing off the rough edges. Finally, Wen pulled out green nail polish and gently painted her finger and toenails.

She pulled out a mirror, but then let it sag onto a table as Toph chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to trust you on that.” Then she hollered over to the kitchen, “Aang, come tell me how I look!”

As Aang shuffled over, he was considering what he should give to Wen for the favor, but then he saw Toph relaxing in her chair as Wen smiled down at her. She was beautiful. Her face was glowing, perfected by pink and blue blush and black eyeliner. Her hair was shimmering in the sunlight, and her hands were asking for– He mentally shook his head.

“Aang, you got a lemur-monkey jumping around in there? How do I look?”

The Avatar stammered for a moment as he struggled to regain his composure. “I, uh– I– You look good… beautiful, even.” He grimaced, waiting for the hammer to fall.

But she blushed. Only for a moment. Then she cleared her throat. “Looks like you did a good job, Wen. You’ve got the Avatar flustered.”

“Hey, I’m not flustered!”

“Just messing with you, Twinkles! But… Thank you, Aang.”

Wen smiled as the pair sat in a pregnant silence. “I’ll let you two be for now. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“Thanks, Wen.”

“Don’t mention it. Anything for the boss.”

As she left, Toph could only sit back and relax, letting all her stress out and sit down. Oh, how it felt good—oh, what a weight off her back it was. Now she could take a moment to breathe.

Toph. Aang looked at her, sitting down at her side. "I just want to make it absolutely clear that you don't have to do anything this week. Take a few days off, let yourself get used to this."

She nodded. "Sure, Twinkletoes, I'll do that."

"And if you need help with cooking or morning sickness or anything, just give us a call. We'll be right there."

"Yep. Now, can you let this gal have a little shut-eye?"

"Sure, sure." He walked out of the room and closed the door. Soon, the sound of snoring could be heard from within, and he peeked through to see her sleeping like a beautiful badgermole.

He slipped out and walked back to the deputy chief's office, where a man with a brown mustache was reading a newspaper.

"What is it, Aang? And why are you back? Shouldn't you be with Toph?"

"She's taking a nap, so I thought I could check in here for a moment. Do you mind if I take my work with me?"

"Have at it."

Piling his scrolls into a bag, he returned to the apartment and threw the bag on the kitchen table.

He pulled out his ink pot and brush, looking through a report on the station's detention score, which had improved quite a lot since they had implemented Toph’s suggestions to add an experimental metalbender force, though that would still have to be subject to a research review. He wrote a few comments in the margins before setting it down to dry.

Then there was a memo from the mayor’s office.

Please give me some details on your plans to reform the police department.

He had spoken out about the low standards in some of the precincts—bad uniforms, corruption, and a general lack of professionalism. But those were isolated cases, so he could think on that one for a moment.

Next, he fished out a message. It was from Sokka.

Aang, do you think we should ask if we could take part in the parade next month? Thanks.

He scribbled a quick "Sure," and set that one aside.

Yawning, he set down his brush to dry and stood up, pacing for a while before checking on Toph again. There she was, flailed out on her bed like a dead fish. She looked cold, so he rummaged through a few chests to find a nice, fluffy green blanket and used airbending to make it gently float down onto her. She sighed and bunched it in her hands, turning over in her sleep.

Aang stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of her. Her eyes were closed and soft, her smile was gentle, and her breathing was even. It was as if she had never had her personal disaster. Then he looked down at his hands and back up at her side. What was he doing? So he shook his head and walked back out into the kitchen to dive into his work again. He continued to scribble and think and deliberate, perusing some notes from his desk. Then he sighed and set his work down again before going outside to pace. And then he went back inside and sat down to think. 

He looked around at the cabinets and the floor to find anything he could fix. Oh yes, the tiles were dusty and stained. So he looked around for a bucket. Not finding one, he bent out a stream of water from the sink and threw it onto the ground, scrubbing the tiles with circular motions of his hands. He went through every nook and cranny of the floor, turning a dull surface into something so he could see his smile reflected in. He summoned all the water and tossed it down the sink. Then he set about dusting the place with a cloth–the cabinets, the cobwebs in the corners, and a particularly dusty fan on the ceiling.

Food cabinets–-made tidy; doors–-checked for squeaks; clothing–-checked for cleanliness. He smelled a few particularly ripe sets of clothing and threw them all into a tub of water with some soap, swirling them around before bending the water out of them and setting them on the clothesline outside. Once all that was done, he plopped himself down on the couch again and stared up at the ceiling, smiling proudly at himself. Now, he should probably get some kind of treat, so he checked to see that she was still sleeping and crept out of the house, stopping at June's Bakery to grab a few buns. 

He set them down on the table when he got back and pulled one out to test it. Then he took a nap of his own.

Waking, he found himself staring up at a poking finger. In the other hand lay a steamed bun heading straight for pearly white teeth under pale green eyes. “These are good. Where did you get them?” 

He scrambled to a seated position. “Uh, I got them at June's.” 

“They got good custard buns?” 

“Oh, yeah. Reasonably priced, too.” 

She plopped herself down on the couch. “Feels like you cleaned.” 

“Yeah, I had to make myself useful.” 

But Toph sighed. “Aang I appreciate all this, but you don't have to do all of it.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I'm trying to help you.” 

“I know, I know, but it can be a little excessive, you know.” She punched his shoulder. “Now shoo!”

Aang laughed, rubbing it. “Really?”

 “Yep, Baldy. I’ve got it all under control.” But then her smirk faded, and she gulped. “For now.”

He hugged her, smiling down at her. “Whatever you need, Toph, whenever you need it, I’ll be here, I promise.”

She whispered into his shoulder, “You’d better.”

As they broke the embrace, her smirk returned. “Now go out there and kick some ass!”

“No, I’m on desk duty today.”

“Then kick some paper ass!”

“Will do, Toph.”

He grabbed his things and shuffled out of her apartment, turning to give her one last look of concern as she shut the door.

Throwing herself on her couch, she set her hands on her abdomen, a jolt of fear coursing through her, but she banished it, setting her face in stone. But the fear still lingered.

Chapter Text

Zuko stood at his counter, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He pulled a piece of toast out of his bread drawer and stuck it in the toaster, pushing it down. There he stood, waiting for the piece of bland bread to transform into a crunchy delight.

Last night had been torture to his soul. He had been forced to watch a bunch of kids' movies with Kya, and now all he wanted to do was spend the morning thinking of nothing at all. But, of course, he would have to man up and be the dad he was supposed to be.

He turned to the fridge, opened the door, and pulled out a jar of jelly. Then he went to the counter, put down the jelly, and pulled out a jar of peanut butter. Soon enough, he heard the satisfying clink of the toast jumping out of the toaster, and he pulled it out and put it on a plate. Knife in hand, he scraped a generous amount of jelly onto it, then dropped a glob of peanut butter onto it, swishing it around with the knife.

He pulled a jar of instant coffee from a cupboard and poured it into a glass of water. He threw that into the microwave for a minute and swished it around before putting in a few drops of milk. Now was the time for his meal, so he strolled into the living room, looking out the glass windows before him to see a beautiful sunrise. He sat down on a red Lazy Boy chair and lifted the steaming glass of coffee to his lips, sighing at the nice earthy smell. Then he dug into the toast, crunching down on it.

It was nice and crisp with a slight burnt flavor that he loved, and the peanut butter and jelly were having a marriage of sweet and salty in his mouth. He let out a contented sigh at the simple delight of the meal. He took another bite before pulling out his phone to check his email. No new news from Uncle or Azula. Good. Then he turned to the Ember App, checking for his favorite subscriptions, Swordplay and Politics, but no new uploads. Osaka's Daily News was yet to make a video this week, and there hadn't been a good tournament in a while, so he sighed. He put down the phone and took another bite, savoring the flavor.

Then he closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself bask in the silence of the morning, listening to the chirping of the flutterbats and the chittering of the squirrel-foxes outside. They were getting a little raucous out there, so he would have to look into that, maybe even call an exterminator. But Aang would be upset if he ever heard about it, so that would have to be on the down-low.

He took another sip of the coffee and looked down at the Water Tribe carpet on the floor. It was blue and white, with small red threads. It had been a gift from Gran-Gran at their wedding, and it had gone to good use being the napping spot for Kya and Izumi when they were grumpy. It had a small burn mark on it in the corner from when Druk had belched fire down at it. They had needed to jump in to put out the fire, and the twins had bawled for twenty minutes.

As he sat there enjoying his meal, he couldn't help but think of his wife's smiles, of all the times he would do something he considered small, but she would praise him for: taking out the garbage, redoing the kitchen floors, and even writing a thank-you note to her for tucking in the kids when he was tired. She enjoyed making him happy and hated when he came home tired.

Last week, he had driven fifty miles from a work project and had no time but to slump out of the car, hobble through the house, and throw his limp body down onto the bed. He remembered seeing her lean over him and whisper her love into his ear before kissing his cheek and patting him goodnight. He had dreamed sweet dreams that night, full of endless oceans and beautiful blue eyes.

Now he had to wake up, so he drained his coffee and walked through the house to his study. It was his half-day off, so he could do whatever he wanted as long as he checked his emails. As he opened his laptop and sat there thinking of all the things he could do with his free time, he saw the door creep open and looked down to see a beautiful golden eye peering through.

"Daddy?"

"What is it, Sparkbug?"

And his two daughters crashed into the room, hopping onto him to give him a hug.

"Good morning!” 

Kya was a chip off of Katara, and Izumi was the spitting image of his mother. They were wearing pink pajamas, and he couldn’t help but smile at how adorable his little princesses were. 

“Good morning, loves. What are you going to do today?"

Kya was like a bur, hugging him tightly. "We're going to go to Grangran's and play with some otter-penguins."

"Oh, really?"

"Are you going to see Uncle Sokka, too, and Aunt Azula?"

Izumi beamed. "Yeah, and they're gonna show us their ventions."

"Oh, their ventions?"

"Yeah, like their flying house and the bubble maker!"

"Oh, really? Are you gonna see Grampgramp, too?"

Kya nodded. "Yeah, and we're gonna go outside and play in the snow and eat seal jerky. It's gonna be so fun, Dad!"

"Oh, I know. Say hi to them for me and tell Grangran I love her."

"We will.” 

“Now you better go back to your rooms and get ready or Mom's gonna be so upset."

"We know."

They groaned and skittered out of the room, and he opened up a Word document to see a blank page staring at him as if it wished for him to write a thousand words in a mere moment. He sat there trying to think of something to write, but then he thought of this little girl's smile, how their teeth twinkled and their eyes sparkled.

So, he slammed his laptop shut and walked out and up the steps to their rooms.

He turned and opened the door to see the two girls sitting on the floor as their mother looked down at them.

"Okay, now you need to get dressed and eat your breakfast, and then we can go."

"Yes, Mommy."

She turned to see him sneaking a smitten smile through a crack in the door, and the girls smiled.

Katara came over and took his hand in hers. "How was your breakfast, honey?"

"Oh, it was delicious."

“Just the way I like it.”

“You know, we have a bunch of food in the fridge.”

“Yeah, but it’s simple, and I enjoy simple things.”

“Okay. Are you sure you can’t go?”

“Yeah. I’ve got more work.”

“It’s the second week already.”

“I know, but they like to keep me down with busywork. I’ll see if I can come next time.”

“Okay.”

She pecked his lips, and he went downstairs to wait for them as they got ready. Soon, they were filing out the door after giving him cute little hugs. Katara gave him one last longing look before they went outside, jumped in their car, and drove off into the horizon.

He sat there looking at them with sadness in his eyes. But then he stood up with his shoulders back, head straight, and slouched back inside to his office.

There, he looked through more emails before drafting a document. As he typed away at the keys, he could only imagine them smiling and laughing as their grandmother told them about their great adventures. And then he could see them playing with otter penguins.

He sighed. Then he shook his head, getting himself back into the moment he would need to focus. So he put on some earbuds and played some white noise—a rainstorm to wash away the longing for family.

And he continued to type away, adding notes and checking references, drafting and redrafting. After a while, he sat back and stared at the white screen, bored as a log drifting in an endless sea.

As the minutes ticked by, he continued to plug away at his work. Soon, he got an email from his manager telling him to take the day off, and he sat back with a sigh, knowing it would only be for the afternoon.

He walked back into the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for anything that interested him. He found some chili, threw it into a glass bowl, and chucked it in the microwave. Sitting down on the couch with a lonely bowl of chili and a half-empty bottle of soda, he opened his phone and sent a text to Katara: It's only been two hours, and yet I still miss you.

She took a moment to respond, but then he saw a heart emoji pop up on the screen. We’ll be back soon.

He sighed. It would only be a few days with those public eternities, and he simply wanted to fly through the sky and grab his family into a hug, though he knew it was a madman’s dream at the moment.

He was a salaryman, and he just had to get each assignment done, please his boss, and finally find enough vacation time to enjoy a few quiet moments with his family on Ember Island—but all that was still to come.

He sighed once more. His lunch break was over, so he scarfed down his food and went back to his study for any lingering tasks he had before his boss forced him to lie down and end his day—but he knew there was always something he could do to push the limit and gain an edge. But then his phone vibrated again. It was his boss.

“Take the weekend, too. I just reviewed your progress report. You’ve earned it.”

He stood in shock for a few heartbeats before stammering out, ‘Uh, th-thanks, boss. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“You're welcome. Now go enjoy the rest of your day.”

Hanging up the phone, he scrambled to open the message app and type out, “Honey, they gave me the weekend. I’m coming.”

When he finally got into the car, he looked to see his girls smiling with glee, and he would treasure that sight in his mind’s eye until his dying breath.

Chapter Text

As Zuko walked through the forest, he could smell the flowers and the sap dripping from the trees. It was a delight to the senses, and a smile graced his lips for the first time in a while. He took a moment to let himself be enveloped by the world, and he breathed in and out, nothing but him and the greenery. There was no Avatar; there was only the peaceful quiet, and he was taking as much time as he waited--

“Prince Zuko, I see you are enjoying the beautiful sights. Might I join you?”

Zuko seethed, turning to his uncle. “I was having a nice moment to myself, and you had to go and ruin it!”

“I ruined it?”

“Just… go somewhere else, please?”

“No, I think I can salvage this situation. Let me try once more.” And Iroh stood there, making the situation less salvageable.

And Zuko walked away, fuming.

Iroh looked on in bewilderment.

Then, Zuko returned to his reverie. He sat down, drinking in the sights and sounds, stoking his chi. He let his breath flow in and out, calming himself. Soon, he was one with his flame, and all was peace. Well, not everything, certainly. There were a few kinks to flatten out, like the fact that his uncle had dared to ruin his peace. But that was in the past. Now was the all-enveloping present. Nothing would break into his chamber of inner calm—

“Do you want me to bring you lunch? We’re having noodles.”

He seethed once more, stopping himself to address his uncle. “Fine, but be quiet about it! And no more distractions! Is it too much to ask?”

“Sometimes.”

“Just go!”

“Okay, okay! I will leave and only mildly disturb your meditation to bring you your food, and nothing else.”

Zuko’s mouth was a thin line as he tapped into his sarcasm. “Thank you.”

Then he returned to his reverie, thinking about his life, his troubles, his burdens. He had been tasked with finding a legend, and now he was caught in the mire that was navy life. Dealing with stupid sailors, haggling with traders, disciplining traitors—of which there were many. Every month, it seemed there were rumors of Avatar sightings, which would only lead to dead ends. It was as if the spirits themselves were mocking him.

He exhaled smoke. He wouldn’t have it! He would find the Avatar, take him to his father, and reclaim his rightful place as crown prince of the Fire Nation. Hopefully. He wished...

He crept to a tree and banged his head against it. Who was he trying to fool? It had been two and a half years, and nothing had come of his efforts. He was the laughingstock of the world, and nothing could change his luck.

But he had made a promise to his mother, a promise that he would never break in ten thousand years—never give up without a fight. And he wouldn’t.

Sighing away the thoughts of his pains, he focused on the sounds of the trees, of the birds and bugs and the breeze. The light through the canopy cast his skin in a verdant hue, and the air was filled with the scent of oak-pine. 

“Breathe in, breathe out, let your will meld with that of the world.”

He remembered that from the eccentric guru at the Eastern Air Temple. It had done him wonders—whenever something broke on the ship, whenever he made a mistake during firebending training, when his father sent a letter informing him that his mission’s funds were being reduced to help with the war effort. It was his lifeline in the turbulent waters of his daily life, and he would hold onto it to his dying breath.

A twig snapped, and he turned to see Uncle carrying steaming bowls and cups. As he had promised, Iroh said not a word as he set down their meal. They ate in silence as the birds chirped on and the wind played with the trees and the grass. It was a moment to do nothing but listen as the world sang its song. The noodles were nice and spicy and greasy, and the gentle clink of the bowls was a nice accompaniment to the birdsong and the whirling of the branches. As he listened to the symphony of nature, he returned to the realm of his ruminations. 

Now he thought of his sister, the prodigy, the darling of the nation. She had probably mastered the cold fire by now and solidified her status as the true heir of their father. He was the downtrodden firstborn son, always disappointing, never good enough to catch a single upturn of his father's lips. He had not remembered seeing his father's smile for a long time. His father's affection had only been reserved for the times on Ember Island, when he had too much to drink and had broken his cool facade to show a spark of fatherhood. 

Now all of that was but dust in the wind, and all he could hope to do was capture the Avatar and lay him before the Fire Lord in the hopes that he would be appeased. But that was never a sure thing, as his father was a choosy man, and he could simply change his mind and throw him in prison. His word was law. So, he could—

“Zuko?” 

“What?”

“What’s on your mind? I know that face. Something is troubling you.” Zuko did not say anything, and that got another stare. "It is better to let the steam out of the teapot than stop it up and risk it boiling over.” 

Zuko sighed. “Do you have to make a proverb out of everything?” 

“Yes. Now, what is bothering you?” 

Zuko looked down for a long moment before meeting his uncle's concerned gaze. "I'm just thinking about my life…”

“Yes?” 

“...How Father doesn't love me.”

“Why would you say such a thing, Zuko? Your father loves you.” 

“Not in the way that he loves Azula.” His eyes were full of pain as he looked out into the rustling forest. “Everything she does gets the highest praise, but I've never gotten so much as a simple nod of acknowledgement from him. It's like I'm just an afterthought.” 

Zuko looked to Iroh for an assuaging answer, a reassurance that he was simply overthinking things, but there was nothing. He was only listening with that deep look of his. 

“Uncle, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he loves me.” 

“No, it’s true, Zuko. I've wanted to tell you myself for the longest time, but you have never been the most receptive.” Zuko frowned at him, but there was still openness in his eyes. “Yes, your father has never loved you. He only sees you as a means to an end, just as he does your sister. Now with all that said, what will you do now, Zuko?”

Zuko held his head, shaking it. “I don't know, Uncle. I don’t know. What am I going to do? I can't go home, and this quest has no purpose now. I've been looking for the Avatar for two years and haven't found a single piece of evidence that leads to anything more than hoaxers and old wives’ tales.” 

As they sat there, Zuko waited for his uncle to give him a single morsel of wisdom, but Iroh was taking his time looking at his nephew with kind eyes full of affection. “I think you need to sit here longer and listen to the spirits.” 

“Uncle, what does that even mean?” 

“Take some time to empty your mind of all the worries you have. Just as you were doing before, take in the sounds of nature. Listen to the creaking of the cricket-moth, and once you're fully rested, I know you'll come up with a plan.” 

“Why are you so confident in me, Uncle?” 

Iroh smiled. “Because I know who you are. I gave you your knife. You have always picked yourself up every time you fell, and this is no different. The future is uncertain like a blank page, but that is because it is waiting for you to fill it with your adventures. Pick up your brush, Zuko. I know you will write a great story.”

As they ate in silence, Zuko let the words simmer in his mind. He only needed to pick up the brush. But what if he made a mistake? What if, instead of a beautiful poem, he wrote a scrawling screed? A pathetic piece of pablum?

He stopped. Why was he thinking these things? He was Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, son of Fire Lord Ozai and Lady Ursa. He would overcome this, even if he failed over and again. He would rise up and climb this mountain, reach its top, and plant his flag in it. He would find a new path, take it, and see what new horizons lay at the end of it.

“I will, Uncle.”

“I am proud of you, Zuko.”

And they sat there, listening to the cricket-mice and the ravenjays, enjoying the sunlight.

Chapter Text

After a nice evening of takeout, cigarettes, and alcohol, Mai packed her bags and hopped into her car, heading for the airport. The night sky was cloudy, and rain was peppering the rooftops and covering the streets in moonlit puddles. Looking out at it, Mai hoped the dreary sight wouldn't be an omen of her future. She shook her head. 

No, this was an opportunity to explore new horizons, to let herself take a dip in the vast ocean instead of sequestering herself to a life of service to a secretive organization. Well, they were both secretive, but this one had a better offer, more freedom and flexibility. She imagined herself sitting down at a spa with a drink in hand as she pressed the reject button on an offer. Yes, she could see it now. No more saving the world at the drop of a hat, more time to let herself unwind and drink in each minute, growing roots. She could finally sit around her house and let the dirt seep into the carpet instead of smelling the pervasive scent of fake lemon-lavender. Could have more time to doodle, walk in the park, or sit on her couch with a fifth and a splash of limon juice.

She looked ahead at the great lights flashing in the darkness, hearing the sounds of the jets flying off into the sky, the whoosh and the sonic boom that followed. One passed overhead, its twin lights flashing red. Walking out of the car and making her way to the private jets, she pressed the button on her phone, which flashed green as she strolled up to the plane. 

A man in a black suit nodded to her. "Greetings, Death Blossom. Welcome aboard."

She gave him an absent nod as she climbed the steps and took in the interior. It was a nice deep blue with white accents, and a voice came over the sound system. It was the orb guy.

"Oh, Lady Mai, how nice of you to join us. Tea, soda?"

"Give me your hardest stuff with a bunch of olives, thank you."

"Of course. Would you like anything else? We have the finest catering money can buy."

"I'll have a ramen bowl with some hot sauce. And a cigarette."

"This is a no-smoking plane."

"That's too bad." She pulled out a cigarette from her purse and took a drag from it.

"But it's company policy."

"If you want my services, you'll need to make an exception."

"Fine. Now, your next mission is in the Fire Nation. A banker, Yan, has decided to defect to the Earth Kingdom, but he has a little unfinished business here: a few black market deals to make. He has sent a few minions to take care of his associate, Mr. Wen." 

A picture of a man with a white goatee appeared in yellow light on the table before her. She frowned at her ice as she took a sip of her whiskey. It was a nice drink, and the olives somehow paired quite nicely with it.

"Go on."

"We need you to neutralize the men, taking whatever steps necessary to do so. If you do it with minimal casualties, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Got it. Kill them, and get out without causing a fuss. Anything else?"

"Now, we have a wide variety of weapons to offer you. What do you think you need to accomplish this task?"

"A few machine guns, maybe a couple of grenades. Nothing too serious. I've dealt with worse with less."

"Good. Now, we have a nice set of Kevlar armor that will stop almost anything they can shoot at you. Would you like to try it on?"

"Sure."

A dummy wearing a black and white suit appeared out of the wall, and the armor fell from it as if falling through a cloud. Mai took off her coat and put on the armor, looking at a mirror in the corner. She smiled at the zebra-lion design, and then she looked at the orb.

"Would it hurt to do a demonstration?"

"Sure, sure. Not a problem."

Another dummy came from the other wall, and a gun popped out of a cushion. It shot a bullet at the dummy, and the bullet bounced off it, not a mark to be seen. Mai smirked; her last set had stretch marks.

"Could I try that gun?"

"Sure, sure." 

The robotic hand held out the gun to her and she took it, aiming it at the suit. She aimed and fired, and more lead bounced. The bullet lay on the floor, a flat disc. She picked it up, feeling its warmth. 

She felt the cool fabric on her skin. "What kind of material is this?" 

"Oh, that is a new mixture of Kevlar and carbon nanotubes. Of course, the recipe is quite secret. We wouldn't want it to get into the wrong hands, would we?"

"You can say that again. Now what sniper rifles do you have on the menu?"

"We have several, but our standard issue rifle is the MK-6. It is accurate to within two feet from two kilometers."

"Nice. I'll have one of those. And do you have any gadgets fit for an agent of my expertise?"

"We are aware of your extensive repertoire, so we have come prepared." A black suitcase zipped out of the cushion next to Mai, and it opened to reveal a dozen ninja knives: throwing knives, shuriken, wrist-mounted bolt launchers. She took the launchers and snapped them on, testing them on one of the dummies. When her knives hit one dead in the eyes, she sat back, smirking.

"That is quite impressive aim, Agent Mai. I am sure your teachers are quite proud of you."

"Yeah, though my parents are definitely not. They would be rolling over in their graves if they finally croaked."

There was a long moment of silence as the orb sat there. It coughed, turning to the display before them. "Anyway, your mission is clear: infiltrate the Dao Yen Compound on Tea Street, wait for the hostiles to arrive, and let the fireworks begin."

"Festive. I like it."

"Yes. Even though we deal in deception, blood, and violence, our calling card is to have a little fun with it. What's the point of killing if you can't let loose? If you are successful, your fee will appear in your bank account discreetly. It will be untraceable, so you won't have to worry about the tax man looking into shady activity."

"Noted."

"Now, get some rest, Agent Mai. You'll need it."

"Yeah, yeah. Lights out."

Or so she said. When the orb faded into a speck of light, she took a moment to look at her phone, checking the weather, Ember, where she found a few cute videos about catgators and chick-possums, then she looked through her email folder, where she found a coupon for the Jasmine Dragon with the message, 

“Stop by for a drink. I'm available anytime. -Iroh.”

Aw, how sweet.  

She sent him a quick response, saying she would welcome the offer, then she relaxed to the sound of calming ocean waves and chittering birds. Mixed with the gentle hiss of the jet engines outside, this soothing symphony sent her drifting off to the land of dreams, where she found herself dancing on a giant knife with a pair of fruit tarts in her hands.

When she awoke, she looked out of the window to see the beautiful blue sky of the city she had fond memories of. It was just like the day she had sat by the docks and played dice with a few old men. Her parents hadn't been very happy, but she hadn't cared in the slightest. She had been stepping into her new shoes of freedom at the time, and they had felt nice and soft, with a nice bounce in her step. She had had an enjoyable afternoon and had won a nice handful of copper coins, which she had safely stashed away in her room. That had gone towards a few fruit tarts. 

Yawning away the memories, she sat up in her seat.

"Good morning, Agent Mai. How was your sleep?"

"It was nice. Now, do you have a car waiting for me?"

"Just outside."

She grabbed her suitcase and walked down the steps to the tarmac, spotting a green BMW. Fancy. She opened the back door and slumped in, sitting down and seeing a tall man with a black mustache in the rearview mirror.

"Good morning, Death Blossom. Have you had your briefing?"

"Yes, they want me to dispatch some underlings without staining my dress."

He huffed a laugh. "Yeah, that about sums it up. Now, we'll stay at HQ until the fireworks start, so you might want to get comfortable."

She nodded. "I know. Now let's get this thing started, shall we?"

"As you wish." And he shifted into gear and drove them off into the city.

Caldera was beautiful this time of year, with the palm-ginkgo trees blooming, and the sunlight shimmering off the side of the caldera. The towers were silver in Agni's light, and the traffic was calm. The cars clucked like pig-chickens, and the pedestrians were chugging their coffees. At a red light, the man looked at her again.

"Do you want anything? Fu's Bakeshop is up ahead. My treat."

She smiled, picturing a nice bun inching towards her lips. "Aw, are you spoiling this girl?"

He crinkled his eyes. "Just a welcome offering. For joining the team."

They parked at a cramped little thing Ty Lee would probably enjoy. It was a pink and white storefront with flowing calligraphy on the windows.

Jumping out of the car, they strolled inside to see more pink and glitter. A twenty-something woman with half-moon glasses stood behind the glass display counter brimming with treats. Mai could smell the coffee, her feet following her nose.

There were mochi, fruit tarts, cream tarts. All the tarts. And Mai's mind was all aflutter. Cookies, cakes, candied fruit, pies...

"May I take your order?"

She looked up to see the woman staring at her boredly and the chauffeur smiling awkwardly.

She stepped up to the counter, giving the woman a sharp stare. "I would like three tarts, one cherry-plum, one apple-pear, and one cream. And a tall black coffee."

"And I'll have a house blend with a peanut butter cookie."

The woman pulled them out one by one, stuffing them in a pink bag and slapping it down on the counter. "That'll be twenty yen." He handed her a Dragon Express card. "Thank you for coming to Fu's Bakeshop."

As they walked out of the shop, Mai smiled thinly. "She's something."

He made a noncommittal sound. "She must be new."

As they zipped through the rest of the journey, Mai took a sip of the coffee. It was a tad too bitter for her taste, but it was passable, and she needed the caffeine. She could feel it coursing through her veins, enlivening her spirit and replenishing her chi. She pulled a tart out of the bag at random and bit into it. A tsunami of cream flooded over her palate, and she let out a hum of contentment.

"Thanks for this."

"No problem. It's not every day you get to drive around a world-famous spy."

"Isn't that your job?"

"Well, our people prefer more elegant modes of transportation."

"Such as?"

"Oh, you'll see. I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"Fair enough."

She looked out the window as a man in a green suit danced around in circles on the corner. He was holding a sign for cactus juice smoothies. What a weirdo.

"So, what are your plans with this organization?" At her stare, he held up a hand. "Not to pry or anything. Just curious."

She took another bite of her tart, mulling over the question. "I'm looking for contract work, nothing too demanding."

"What, is your current job too much for you?"

She clenched a hand, frowning out the window, then sighed.  "It's fine most of the time, but the hours can be a bit much, and I'm getting bored with the on-call horse-bullshit."

He nodded. "Yeah, I can relate. Anyway, we're here."

She looked out to see a concrete parking garage looming over them. They drove in, but instead of searching for a parking spot among the hordes of cars, they drove down to the lowest level. In the dim light, the car coasted to a corner and stopped.

The man pressed a few buttons on the dashboard, and they descended into the ground with the thrum of machinery. As they slipped beneath the pavement, they were soon met with stainless steel walls. Finally, they came to a stop in a great black expanse, lit with blue LED lights. It was circular in form, with doors at each corner (somehow), weapon stands everywhere, and television displays showing world maps and mug shots. A man in a black suit was standing a few feet away.

"Greetings, Death Blossom." He had a stout figure, a bushy black beard, and scintillating green eyes. "Welcome to the Silver Serpent."

Chapter Text

Dig row, plant seed, cover with dirt. Dig row, cover with dirt, plant seed. Oh, that was a mistake.

Chong was standing in the middle of his family field when he looked up to see the scorching sun. It was nearly lunchtime, so he could be refreshed with a nice cup of cherry apple juice, a little beer, and some meat and rice. Yes, that'd be fun—a nice respite from the heat of the day. He continued to scatter seed and cover it over with dirt.

He looked down at his clothing. The green and brown work clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. His farmer's hat was wide-brimmed, keeping out most of the sun, but his legs were not so lucky. His sandals were caked with dirt and needed lots of tender care to return them to the state they had been only just last week, when his mother had repaired them. She would be so upset the next time he came begging to her to fix them.

He let out a breath and reached into his sack to pull out more seed. Soon, the lunch bell would ring, and he would scamper off to find his sustenance. Yes, delicious sweet rice from last year's harvest. Oh, how he wondered.

He stepped on a weird stone, and the ground fractured beneath him, setting him tumbling down into a dark cave where he hit the ground with a hard thunk. He lay there for a long while, dazed and confused.

As Chong sat there, he could only breathe and try to regain his senses. Everything was hazy. Everything was pain. What just happened? What was going on? He looked up to see a deep cavern, lit by the faint light from the hole in the ceiling. The ground around him was covered in black rocks, and the walls were red as adobe.

Rubbing his head, he looked around to see if he could find any handholds to climb back up to the surface. Seeing none, he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted as hard as he could.

"Help! Help! Anybody, help!"

Silence. Oh, great. They must have all gone to lunch early. Sighing, he sat against a hard stone wall and held his hat in his hands. He could take the time to take a nap and let his pain lessen. Let the pain fade. He rubbed his chin, trying to remember what had happened. He had been daydreaming, thinking of lunch, when all of a sudden the ground had failed him, and now he lay here in the cold, dark cave. Oh, that part of it was nice. It was a balm to his skin to feel cold cave air. Breathe in and breathe out. Calm yourself. They will be here in a moment, and you will be out with a bowl of delicious food.

As he continued to ponder and daydream, he looked ahead to see something quite peculiar on the ground. It was a clay pot, unbroken. He went over, knelt down, and touched it. It was full.

He lifted it up and looked inside. There was a ball and some coins. It was gold. He rubbed his eyes. He was amazed, disbelieving. He shook his head. This must be a dream. He was against the wall, napping. This was all a nice daydream as he sat in the cool shade of a ginkgo tree, yes. But still, it would be nice to explore the dream.

So Chong reached his hand in and pulled out a handful of clinking gold coins. They had the face of a king he did not know. And he could not read the inscription, but he took a bite of it, and it tasted valuable. Now, if this were here... He stood up and walked forward in the dim light, looking around for anything that might catch his eye.

Over there, in the darkness, he found a depression. It did not look like any ordinary cave formation. Step by step, he explored it, finally reaching a staircase. Now, he knew there was something, something promising. Riches whispering into his ears that if only he went further, he would find a king's bounty. Down the steps he went, as if in a trance, further and further, until he could no longer see. And when he wanted to turn back, he heard a whisper down in the depths.

"Hello, adventurer."

Turning to the voice, he saw a pair of bright green eyes in the darkness.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, who am I? I am the one who grants all your heart's desires."

"You're a fortune spirit?"

"You could say that."

The green eyes came forward, and in the dim light, he saw a fair woman with long black hair and a pale face. She was wearing a long green robe that tapered down to her feet. Her hands looked soft, and her fingernails were painted a dark obsidian. She smiled sweetly.

"Now, do you want this treasure, or is there something else you had in mind?"

He looked around to see mounds of gold everywhere, and two bright torches came to life, showing the gold in all its splendor. It was more than a king would ever dream of having in ten lifetimes. He was in pure shock. He looked around, blinking as if waiting for a dream to end.

"I... What do you mean, something else? This is more than I could ever want."

"Is that so? Then take it."

"But this is more than I could ever carry."

"Oh, all you have to say is yes, and it will follow you wherever you go."

"Wherever I... Is it going to just... show up?"

"No."

She snapped a finger, and all the gold disappeared. In her hand lay a single copper coin.

"All you'd have to do is rub this with your finger, and all the gold you'll ever need will be at your fingertips."

He stooped down to take the coin from her hand, but then he stopped. He had heard many spirit tales where a man found great fortune at a terrible cost. Limbs broken, mind driven insane, eyes popped out.

"Is that all? Tell me what will happen to me if I take this. There’s always a cost."

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all."

"Speak plainly."

"I am being as honest as the sun is bright, though it is quite a heavy load to bear."

"What do you mean?"

"Greed, avarice, lust. All these things come from having too little of something or too much. Now consider how much you will have and what others will do to take it from you."

He stood there, and thoughts of his friends rushing to his side, begging for scraps, flashed before his eyes. Then robbers and thieves stealing his things. But he could simply hire some mercenaries to protect him.

"Yes, I will accept your offer."

He took the coin, put it in his pocket, and turned to leave, but then he remembered. He didn't have an exit, but she seemed to read his mind.

"You will find a way out, believe me."

Taking that in mind, he walked back up the path to find a staircase come to life, leading to the surface. He walked up the sandstone steps, finding the world as it had been when he fell through. Nobody asked him where he had been. It was as if the past ten minutes had not happened.

He reached into his pocket to make sure he hadn't been dreaming, and he found a copper coin with the inscription "LUCK." The woman's face lay on it, smiling up at him. He set it back into his pocket and continued about his day.

He had a fine meal, talked with his friends, and went back to his hovel on the outskirts of the village. A wooden straw shanty, it was a clumsy step away from being a pile of sticks, but it was his home, and now he could move on from it with his riches. Sitting under the patchy roof with a cozy fire under his tent flap, he held the coin in his hand, looking at it in disbelief, but then he rubbed it three times and thought of all the riches in that cave. Then a hole formed in the ground. It was a staircase, freshly earth-bent.

Step by careful step, he made his way down into the hall to find a well-lit room full of gold, silver, and jewels. Not just coins, but trinkets, helmets, swords. It was a horde of the ages. Grinning with glee, he ran about, picking up the coins and feeling them to see if they were real. He pulled out a jian sword and swung it. The blade felt sharp, and it shone in the lantern light.

Now, his secret was something he should hold deep in his heart. But he could splurge a little, so he grabbed a handful of silver coins, looking for something to hold them in, and he found a pouch on a table. Pouring the coins into it, he enjoyed the satisfying jingle they made as he walked back up the steps, sat down, and rubbed the coin thrice more. With a whoosh and a flash, the ground was flat earth as before. He smiled. Yes, he could get used to this.

It would be his little secret, and he could enjoy a sumptuous meal once in a while. He could have the good life while living a mean one. Enjoy a skin of the choicest wine with his barley and buckwheat. But there was still the niggling thought of what she had told him. The temptation to greed. The risk of ruination at the hands of a scoundrel and a thief.

What foolish fears! Nobody would be any the wiser if he pulled out a silver piece once in a while. So that was what he did. He set down his pouch on the ground and hid it under a sack. And with a silver piece in his hand, he made his way to the bar. There in the dimly lit tavern, he ordered himself a piece of red meat with some ale and a sweet cake. As he looked down at the sizzling delight, he could only smile greedily at his fortune. He dug in and returned to his hovel to sleep the night away.

Then his life took on the routine of a prince disguised as a pauper. He would toil and sweat during the day, but not too much. He wasn't working for a livelihood. It was a charade now, an act done by a theater player with a hoard of gold behind the stage. He would join in with his friends' moans and complaints about the working conditions, but he would return to his hovel, where he had bought a nice jug of rice wine. And so he would sip on it in the late hours by the fire, enjoying a small display of his unending wealth.

But then he heard whispers of daring, biting suggestions to go further beyond, to cast about his wealth in extravagance. It was a tempting offer, but for now he would refuse. He had enough, and that was all that was needed.

But it happened one day that, after a hard day's work, he had gone to the tavern, and somebody had brought out some bone dice. And so, he began to gamble and drink, and he had spent his silvers already. Now, one of them had a black eye-patch over his eye and a snarling smile that suggested trouble.

His yellow teeth showed as he glared at him. "Is your coin purse famished?"

And the man wanted to shake his head, wanted to refuse. But then his hand strayed toward the last copper in his pocket. It felt familiar. He slapped it down on the table without a second thought, and his mind was clouded.

"That's all I have."

"Good, good. Now roll."

He chose to roll low and when his dice finished their scampering around the table, they came up seven. His odds were low, and his eyes grew fearful.

The man scoffed. "Well, looks like you're going to be a pauper now."

The man shook the dice in his hands and threw them onto the table, his one eye narrowed as they clicked and clacked to a stop. Chong watched in horror as the dice showed a four.

"Well…" The man shoveled the coins to himself. "Looks like I've got a nice night of drinking ahead of me. Now scram, you bum!"

The next morning, Chong dragged himself out of bed to toil in the hot sun, his soul as cold as a dark winter’s night.

Dig hole, plant seed, cover with dirt.

Chapter Text

Sokka chomped on a big dumpling from his bowl of ramen and let out a hum of delight as he sat on his futon in the family villa on Ember Island. But then he turned to see Azula staring at the bowl. Her gold eyes were narrowed at it. She was rubbing her expanding belly. 

Then she leaned forward, her face an inch from his. "Dearest, would you mind sharing some of that with the baby?"

He laughed. "Of course. We need to make it big and strong." He grabbed a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it over her mouth. "Here it comes!"

He lowered the dumpling into her mouth, and she slurped it down. "More."

He sighed and handed her the bowl. “Here, take it all. "

"That's more like it." But then she dropped her smirk. "That's the consequence of wanting me. My normally pristine intellect is overruled by the dictates of this little tyrant."

*  *  *

A piece of chocolate is sometimes the best desert one can ever have, well when one didn’t have a thieving gremlin for a wife. Aang was about to toss a piece of chocolate into his mouth when he tripped on a bump in the floor. Somersaulting in the air, he landed on his feet, turning to throw out his hand and catch his precious piece of chocolate, but he was met with the sight of his wife chomping on it and smirking at him.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Twinkletoes. You gotta be quicker than that!”

He could salvage this situation, and he knew just the perfect weapon. He jumped through the air, dodging an earthbent pillar, and tackled her to the ground, tickling her sides.

“No, Twinkletoes, not fair!”

“Sorry, T. You gotta be quicker than that. “

She squirmed for a few more seconds, laughing as he tickled her, smiling with mischief. But then she escaped from his grasp, stuffing the rest of the chocolate in her mouth and chewing menacingly.

But he only glared, diving forward to perform mouth extraction.

As they lay on the floor, their robes disheveled, Aang laughed, and Toph joined in.

Chapter Text

Finally getting out of Work, Sokka drove down to the local Cabbage Mart to find a juicy, succulent snack to munch on when he got home. He went down the snack aisle and found his favorite brand of jerky—Kulak's Jerky—and stuffed a few packs into his cart. After grabbing a few beers, he went to the checkout, where a bored old man was pushing along the groceries, finally stopping to stare at him with a face devoid of any enjoyment of his work.

He set his groceries down on the conveyor. After a few quick beeps, the man looked up at the total.

"That'll be twenty-five yen."

He handed him his credit card and, when the green light flashed on the payment screen, was on his way, bags in hand. He jumped back into his car and turned on the radio to hear the Nomads singing about a giant mushroom. He quickly switched it to Bluetooth and put on his favorite jam—some nice alternative rock music. The Twisted Tigerdillo's new album was topping the charts, so he put that on and listened to the thrum of the bass as the electric guitars dueled each other.

We are the silent ones

We will seek you out. 

If you try to cross us, 

you’re gonna find out.

He thought of the day's work: sitting at the factory waiting for something to break, talking to a foreman as they loafed around, acting like princes when they only had union protection. He would see a few men not even doing anything, and it ticked him off. He almost let his temper loose once, but he had held his peace. He was only there for a wage, and nothing else. And so he had finally clocked out and tuned out all the pains of the day. 

Coasting down the freeway, he saw that the sun was slowly descending toward the horizon, and the sky was a painting fit for the city gallery. All the clouds had gathered into a single wispy stream. Maybe that was his life—a lonely man in a lonely plane, trying to land while the wind pushed him off course. He had a future, or at least the skeleton of one. He’d work on his designs, grind through the struggle, keep going. Eventually, someone would look him in the eyes, smile, shake his hand, and everything would finally be all right.

He exhaled through his nose.

Who was he kidding?

He was just a poor Water Tribe guy with no luck, stuck in a useless city filled with drunks and the occasional prostitute. Sooner or later, he’d wither away and vanish, just another nameless stone in a forgotten graveyard. Maybe they’d carve “ beloved son” into it out of pity. Maybe not.

He turned off the freeway onto a wide, crumbling boulevard and slipped into the outskirts of the city. The apartment complex loomed ahead—three sickly green stories of neglect. The southwest corner of the roof had caved in. It was a ruin even a mother’s love couldn’t save.

He parked in the gravel lot, grabbed his bags, and climbed the stairs to the top floor, avoiding the loose boards as best he could. His room sat at the end of the hall, Number 319. He slid the key, pushed the door, and stepped inside.

Everything was as it had been. The place wasn’t bad for the area, but it still reeked faintly of mothballs. The walls were a dirty, peeling white with small holes and dents that no one had bothered to patch. The shaggy green carpet was stained in ways he didn’t want to consider.

He dropped his keys on his dented coffee table, crossed the room to the black couch in the corner sprouting with fuzz, and sank into it. From the grocery bag, he pulled a beer, popped the cap, and drank it like it was medicine—something bitter he needed to survive, a lifeline for sanity.

It was nice and hoppy, with a hint of citrus, but it was nothing compared to the dull ache he felt all over. So he took another sip, then a gulp, then a chug. He was but a man, sitting in a decrepit room, trying to stave off the whisperings of his mind—but they were pressing.

He remembered sitting in an igloo, looking out to sea, where there loomed a giant Fire Nation ship with its guns pointed at them. He could still smell the burns, the ash in the air. It was all still so real to him. Sometimes, on his lunch break, he wouldn’t touch a single morsel of food, because his mind was miles away, down in the icy south. Instead of a wage worker drifting in a sea of drudgery, he was a Water Tribe warrior, gun raised against an oncoming horde that only wanted to see them all in chains.

He took a breath, sitting there with his food, and looked up at the flickering light on the ceiling. It reminded him of the moon, his one friend in this cold world. Then he opened up the jerky again and pulled out a bite, simply to give himself something to think about other than his pain.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen sink, turned the handle, and splashed his face with cold water, spurring his body and cursing away the fatigue of the day. But it only made him think of the shock of ice water as he fell from a glacier, or the mist from the sea as they drifted north on an ice flow after the accident.

Grand Gran hadn’t been happy.

He slammed his fist into the countertop, breathing raggedly, shallowly. He needed to get his mind out of the dump, so he began to pace with his beer in hand. He pulled out his phone and checked for any notifications that could dull his mind, but they only charged his anxiety the more: past-due bills, a news blurb about an attack in the city, the world was coming to an end, yadda yadda. He turned off his phone and plopped down on the couch again, draining his beer.

Next week, he would continue the cycle again: clock in, fog his mind with a bunch of grunt work nobody would ever thank him for, do everything to avoid the wrath of the evil eye from his superiors, and slump back home only to do it again and again before his body gave out and he found himself hunched over with a measly pension in a group home.

Katara… where was she? 

He remembered seeing her sad eyes before they had brimmed with tears. The last thing he remembered was screaming her name before the Fire Nation men dragged him down into the depths of the ship. Now he was alone, friendless, with nothing but the company of the rodents screeching under the floorboards. An exterminator had come in the past few weeks, but nothing had been done. Nobody did anything for scraps.

He looked out the window to see the sunset had faded to a cool, purple light that would soon succumb to the black of night, just like his life. 

He opened another beer, letting out a sigh as the carbonation hissed into the air. But now, he could not taste; he could only imbibe, feel the numbness slowly growing. This beer was a nice eight percent, and he needed all of it. He needed to escape from reality, feel his tongue loosen and his limbs grow soft and calm, to tame the beating of his heart and the strain of his head. Yes, breathe in, breathe out. Let the world pass. He took another bite of jerky, let his body grow limp, and he drifted off into sleep.

He dreamed of a land full of fire, looked down at himself and saw he was an ice cube, slowly hissing away until he became nothing but steam. He heard chortling laughter like a madman from a science fiction show. He screamed out in agony before fading into nothingness.

Sokka awoke in the middle of the night to a pounding heart. He let out a gasp of shock and sat up quickly, trying to calm himself with even breaths. But his peace would not come, so he stood and looked around to find one thing, name it, smell one thing, and taste one thing. Chair, beer, and jerky. He went through the process again, looking about the entire house until his heart was calm again. He turned around and saw in the dim light the moon sitting in the heavens. She was shining down upon the world, and he hoped on him, as well.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaking breath, thinking of all his failures and the moments where all hope had faded. But then he could look up at such a beautiful sight, such a beautiful spirit. 

Who was he kidding? He was unworthy. 

No, he was Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. He could get through this. So he looked down at the floor for a moment before meeting the moon's gaze.

"Could you help me?" 

The words were a hissing whisper from his lips, and he wouldn't have faulted anyone for doubting he had said them. They were like a ghost passing through the night. 

Then he sat there, waiting for an answer. The moments ticked by like hammer blows, but no answer came. He collapsed onto his couch, letting the tears trickle out of his tired eyes, and he tried to hold back a sob.

Then he shook his head once more. What a stupid thing to think. He laughed, and then he let his lips settle into a puckering frown. Nothing was going to happen. He would grow old and frail and be thrown into an unmarked grave. But then he had the urge to look up at the moon again. He could almost trick himself into believing that it was a touch brighter, and then it twinkled at him. He sat there, looking up at the sight in wonder. Moment by moment, minute by minute, he let the moon's wonderful sight calm him, and he turned back to his couch and sat there, ruminating.

He was thirsty, so he grabbed another beer and took another chomp of his jerky. He let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, and then he slowly drifted off to sleep, to the land of seal jerky and beautiful women fawning over him as he did great deeds.

Chapter Text

Of all the times that Zuko had to get mixed up in spirit nonsense, why did it have to be on his Uncle's music night? 

It all fell apart when they had stopped at a little port town out of the way—Dong Shin, if he remembered correctly. They had gone around town looking for curios to find. Uncle had found some in a quaint shop laden with trinkets on rickety shelves and was haggling with a mousy man with a twirling mustache. Their dispute was over a black and white flute. 

Uncle was trying to play it nice, but inside a dragon was baring its claws. "Three silver?" 

The man shook his head. "No, way too low. Five." 

As they continued to argue, Zuko perused the rest of the man's wares. There were a few more instruments, some shiny knives, amulets, and—wait. An airbending scroll. That would come in handy. 

He pulled it off its shelf and took it to the storekeeper, a grizzled old man with a wart right under his right eye. "How much for this?" 

The man looked down at it, scratching his beard. "Oh, that? That's priceless, but I'll take ten gold pieces for it." He was smiling. Such a high price. Did he expect Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation to refuse? Oh, how he was wrong. 

Zuko smiled inside before leaning over the man and narrowing his eyes. "If I recall correctly, Fire Lord Azulon decreed that all Air Nomad material relevant to the war effort was property of the army." And the man's confident face drooped to a nervous grin. "And that anyone who hoarded such things would be guilty of high treason." 

The man gulped before chuckling and taking a step back. "I— I didn't see a thing." 

As the Fire Prince walked through the port to their ship, Iroh turned tired eyes to Zuko. "Nephew, did you have to take advantage of that man like that?" 

Zuko looked away. "It's necessary for my mission! I have to learn all I can about the Avatar if I want to have a chance at capturing him." 

"Couldn't you have snuck a look at it?" 

Zuko stopped. "Uh, well, yes. But I can't memorize a whole move set with a single glance."

"If you insist, but you could have used better tactics."

As they walked up the gangplank, passing crewmen carrying boxes of supplies, Iroh pulled out his flute, admiring its elegant design. The swirling white patterns on it were like snow on ancient marble. Rolling his fingers over the blowholes playfully, he played a scale. The sound was sweet, like a humming-pigeon serenading a mate. Then he played a few idle notes, standing at the side of the ship and looking at the horizon. 

"Uncle! You can play music later! We still have a lot to do!" 

His uncle smiled. "But I am playing an important part: entertaining the crew." 

The prince steamed, but then his anger subsided. "Fine, but only for a few minutes!"

"Of course." 

Stomping away, Zuko made his way down into the ship, heading for his room. His crew was moving barrels and sacks to and fro. Further down, he heard the sound of shovels piling coal into the furnace. They would need all of it if they wished to sail the southern seas for weeks on end. 

Creaking open his door (Great. They hadn't greased it yet. Someone's ears would ring later), he went straight to his desk, sitting down and unrolling the scroll. His eyes widened in shock as he looked down at a blank scroll. His efforts had all been for nothing. 

Steaming, he was about to crumple it up into a ball and reduce it to cinders when he heard a dark chuckle. He jumped, turning around to confront his attacker, but there was nothing. Weird. He could have sworn that something was there. Maybe it was the stress of dealing with all of Uncle's shenanigans. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, picking up the scroll and burning it to ashes. 

With that done, he reread his scrolls on the Avatar for the tenth time, meditated for an hour, and returned to the deck, where the crew were having a meal after a few hard hours of labor. Uncle was having tea and playing Pai Sho with Jee, to the surprise of no one. 

"Nephew, come join us! The cook made us some roast duck. It's heavenly!" 

Zuko sat down at the table, where they had been kind enough to leave him a bowl of rice, some leek onions, and a steaming chunk of pork. As he picked up his chopsticks, Iroh poured him a cup of tea. 

"Do you want any honey with it?" 

The prince nodded absently as he lifted a morsel to his lips. The meat was delicious, with lots of garlic-leak and ginger-cloves. The sauce was spicy and sweet, just the way he liked it. "My compliments to the chef, Uncle." 

Iroh did a double-take before beaming. "Oh, I will have to tell him! You never say anything. This will make his day."

"I'm just making an observation! It's not like I'm hailing him as the chef of the ages."

A finger in the air. "But, Zuko, anything better than a grumble coming from you is progress." 

"Progress? I don't need to make any progress! I was just— Ugh!" 

Iroh laughed, then he raised a brow. "So, did you find any vital intelligence in the scroll."

Zuko shook his head, sighing. "No. It was a piece of junk. Blank."

"A pity. But at least I found a bargain." And he picked up his flute to play a tune for effect.

Zuko rose, taking his food with him as he moved to the railing, away from any prying small talk or friendly attempts at conversation. He would eat in peace, thank you. 

Sitting down, he picked up a nice piece of pork. Down through his teeth it went, and he took a bite. Then he spat it out, looking down in disgust as he tasted rotten fish. 

He shot to his feet. "Attention on deck!" 

All the crew stood to their feet, looking at him with tired gazes. Jee was brave enough to step quietly to his side. 

"Sir, what's the problem?" 

"Look at this!" He picked up the spit-covered meat in his hand, holding it up like a damning piece of evidence. "Whoever put rotten fish in my food will have to clean out the latrine by hand!" 

His crew was not joyous, to put it lightly. But Iroh shook his head, making his way across the deck to Zuko. "Zuko, no one did anything. I got you your food myself. There was nothing in it." 

That turned the prince into a steaming tea kettle. "Then you did a lousy job of it!" He looked down again to see that the bowl was now brimming with sludge. 

Iroh's eyes widened. "Zuko, what do you remember doing in the last few days?"

A questioning gaze gilt with growing unease. "Why? What is going on?" 

"Food spoiling before your eyes is a sure sign of a curse." 

Zuko had had enough. "Go back to your game, Uncle. This is just... I'm going to my room!"

"If you say so. Do you want another bowl?" 

"I'm not hungry." 

Zuko walked down the steps into the ship, his mind buzzing with doubts and suspicions. It must have been a freak occurrence. It couldn't have been spirits, couldn't have been. Slumping into his room, he pulled off his armor and lay down on his futon to rest. Yes, he would take a nap and enjoy a nice evening free from the slightest hint of a fear that he was cursed. An hour’s dozing would settle his mind, banishing such foolish thoughts.

But what if—

No. He let out a breath, trying to squelch any rogue musings. He was Prince Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai and Ursa. He was on a quest to restore his honor by capturing the Avatar. He was strong; he was capable. And most importantly, he was not under a curse! More breaths, and he let his mind drift to peaceful moments by the pond in his mother's garden. The feeling of breaking bread. The sound of quacking turtleducks. 

Yes, let yourself drift to the land of dreams. Drift. 

He was standing in a dark corridor full of shadows. He held up a flame, but it only seemed to darken his vision. He was sweating, panicking. Why was he panicking? 

He turned to the side, finding himself in a room full of bloody swords. A boy in an orange robe was leaning over a pool, admiring his reflection, and its kittens. He turned, smiling a mouth of fire at him. "You must repay." 

He awoke in a pool of sweat, panting. He sat up, letting out a few calming breaths. In, out, Yin, Yang. It was just a dream. But it would be a good idea to talk to Uncle. But did he really need to? He lay back down to sleep. Everything would go back to normal, and he would find the Avatar, eventually. 

The next day, he stood on the deck, looking out at the endless southern seas through his spyglass. It wasn't as if he would find anything. He was simply giving his hand something to hold as he continued to think about what had happened the previous day. And that dream. It was still haunting him. 

"You must repay." 

What? Did he need to go beg some old bones for forgiveness for what had happened at the temples? He was respectful of the dead, but he would not cower before some restless spirit as if it were a high god— 

Why was he even considering it at all? He let his hand droop to his side. He needed a distraction, something to keep his mind from useless superstitions. So, he took the spyglass to the observation deck, changed into his training gi, and stomped out to the middle of the deck. Turning to the horizon, he sent a few blasts over the railing, then spun a kick of fire up at the sky. Now that he was in rhythm, he threw fire darts up and around, piercing the sky. 

As he lit the deck with plumes of fire, Iroh watched as he had his morning tea. His nephew was bending well, but there was something missing. His fire was untamed, undirected. 

"Zuko, you need better control!" 

Zuko turned, looking at him in frustration. "Tell me something good for once, Uncle!"

"You are quite adept at projecting your voice." 

"Argh!" 

Zuko returned to his katas, putting more fury into them. It was as if he were at war and every single blow had to be filled with rage. Iroh would have to give him more time to develop as a young man before he taught him what he truly wished for him to know–the ways of the dragons, the truth that their family had set the world on fire for nothing more than the ambition of a proud man. Still, he didn't know if the boy would ever be ready based on how he was taking his banishment. 

"Do you want any tea?" 

"Not now!" 

He took a sip of his tea, relishing the spicy aftertaste. It had a bit of cinnamon-mace in it. He would have to mention it in his next letter to Pakku. 

Zuko stopped, panting on the deck, and crossed his legs, breathing for a while. He held a flame in his hands, letting it flicker in the sea breeze. He had things to do today: plan his next stop, check his scrolls for anything that could give him a lead on where the Avatar could be, and try to keep Uncle from messing around with the crew. 

He heard a soft melody nearby. It was a flute. The timbre was rough, but it had a rustic texture to it. He turned to see if it was Uncle, but the old man was still drinking his tea and being as useless as ever. Puzzled, he stood and swept his gaze around the ship. No one was playing anything. But still, he heard the sweet melody. Jee was eating a bowl of rice a few yards away, so he would be his first target of interrogation. 

"Lieutenant, do you hear that music?" 

The grizzled man raised a bushy brow, looking up at him. "Yeah, why?" 

He loomed over his subordinate. "Tell me what that means." 

"That I get some nice music with my meal?" 

"Someone is slacking off. Go find them and make them work the boiler!" 

Jee was not enthusiastic. "Fine, sir, but I'll do it after I finish my meal." 

Zuko opened his mouth to retort, but he knew he would just be arguing in circles with a man who disdained him. Clenching his fists, he sat down by his uncle. 

"Are you taking me up on my offer, Nephew?" 

He glared at him. "Just pour the tea!" 

As he stewed in anger, he put the drink to his lips, smelling sweet flowers and ginger. He sipped— Then he spat it out. It was vinegar and mold and mildew! 

"What did you put in this tea?"

But Iroh only looked down at him gravely, and he stood up, making a swift retreat to his room. Sitting down at his desk, he brought his candles to life with a quick exhale, breathing with them. He was not cursed! He was just imagining it. He— He... 

Zuko let his head flop against the desk. He would need a moment, just a little one to keep his head together. But why was he feeling tho thleepy? Then he fell into a deep sleep. 

Gray eyes looked up at him from a soft, young face. It was a boy in yellow robes. He had a wooden flute in his hands. He was crying. 

Zuko knelt down at his side, looking him in the eye. "What's going on? What—what happened to you? Here." He put a hand on his shoulder in a weak attempt to console him. 

But the boy would not have it, glaring at him. "You must repay." 

And Zuko fell far, through light and darkness, and he was no more. 

Zuko awoke with Iroh at his side. 

"Nephew?" 

"Huh, what?" 

There was a bowl in his hands. "It is dinner time. How was your nap?" 

"Uncle... I—" Spit it out! You need to say something before it gets worse. "Uncle. I think we have a problem." 

Iroh put down his morsel. "Go on." 

"I think it might have something to do with that flute you bought." 

Iroh waited in silence. 

"I've had dreams... of an Air Nomad child. He had that flute in one of them. He… he would look at me and say, 'You must repay.' Uncle, what do I do?" 

Iroh's eyes were grave and pensive. "The next time this happens, you must ask it what it wants, and if strange things continue to happen, we should consult a shaman. I have some experience in the spiritual arts, but I do not think it would be wise to attempt to appease a spirit without enough information. That is why we must wait for it to tell us why it is angered." 

"But we don't know how bad it could get. It could capsize the ship for all we know!"

"Zuko, we must tread cautiously. One wrong move, and we could stoke its wrath, and I do not want to have spoiled fish for every meal. Now, I will gather some supplies for the next time this happens. If you have another dream like this, come to me straight away." 

Iroh opened the door, but then he stopped. "Oh, do you want me to bring you something?"

"No, Uncle. I don't need anything." 

He smiled. "The chef made noodles.” Then he sighed, inching the door shut. “...If you insist." 

Zuko was about to close his eyes again, but then he was drawn by the temptation of juicy noodles with peanut sauce. "I'll take a bowl." 

"Excellent. Now, try not to do anything foolish. Spirits can be fickle things." 

With that, he closed the door with a squeak. Zuko would need to get someone to oil that, but that was just another jot in their piling repair request scrolls.

He sat up at his desk, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around for something, anything to keep his mind busy. He had already practiced his katas, so… He nodded, opening his locker and pulling one out at random, unrolling it. 

This one was a history of the Air Nomads. It spoke of the peace of the wind and how one could let one's worries drift into the breeze. 

It was poetic, and it gave him the opportunity to let his mind fall into a lull of emptiness. Of course, it was a bunch of drivel, but the prose was excellent. 

If you wish to be your true self, you must chip off the imperfections from what you perceive yourself to be. Only then will it shine through. 

He blinked down at the text, yawning, and set it aside. Now wasn't the time for spiritual mumbo jumbo. He needed concrete data and reports, like the latest dispatch from the Naval Headquarters. He looked in the chest once again, pulling it out. He looked through it again. 

No sightings of any unusual activity. The seas were clear. 

He shoved it onto a rack, letting out a sigh.

He pulled himself from his desk and made his way through the ship, bumping into his uncle, who was carrying his meal. 

"Zuko, I thought you wanted to stay in your room?" 

"I got bored." 

Taking the bowl from Iroh, he walked up to the deck, where a few men were playing a dice game. Jee had made quite a stack of coins.

Zuko ignored it and sat down by the side of the ship. He lifted a morsel to his mouth, thankful that it wasn't morphing into slop. The sea was calm, and the breeze was breathing against his skin. He looked up to see wisps of white fuzz drifting across the sky. 

It was a beautiful sight, and it reminded him of calm nights on Ember Island, when they would sit and watch the sun set and the stars twinkle into existence. But that was gone, taken from him. It might be years before he could have the chance to be graced with a single glimpse of that majestic isle. Now, the only sight his eyes could be refreshed with was the endless horizon on a clear day. 

But was it really beautiful? Would this refreshing drink of the sky slake his thirst of home, or was it poisoned with the bitter venom of his failure? He had spent many nights imbibing the view, but he would drift off in bed and wake the next morning to see an absence in his life that tasted like bile. The Avatar was a coward, and the prince's only wish was to see the fear in their eyes as he dragged them before his father. 

"Iceberg!" 

Zuko turned to see what idiot had said that, but then he saw it: a giant mass of blue ice straight ahead. He turned to the bridge, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Evasive maneuvers! Get us out of the way!" 

As the ship hurtled towards the behemoth of ice, it turned sharply to port. The ice soon loomed over them, casting them all in shadow. It came upon them like a white beast from the howling storm, and they stood in terror as the ship desperately veered out of the way. It was so close as to reach out and grip their necks and hold them in its gaze. So near that they could feel its cold embrace choking the life out of them. 

But their ship, the brave Wani, had strength enough in it to persevere and best their foe. As the behemoth reached out with its sharp edges, the steel hull escaped a touch with death, mere inches from a frosty stabbing. 

As the crew stood there, breathing out a collective sigh of relief, Zuko ran to the center of the ship to glare venom at the helmsman. "What in Agni's name were you doing! Come down here! Now!" 

As the man sagged down the steps to the deck, Zuko steamed, and Iroh watched him gravely.

Kyo bowed before his prince. "Your Highness, I can explain!" 

Zuko loomed over the taller man. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you thrown overboard for gross incompetence!" 

Kyo looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I—I can't explain it. One moment, I could see nothing but open ocean, but then it... it just appeared out of nowhere."

"Do you seriously think that I would believe that?" 

Jee came over with two others. "Sir, he's telling the truth. It... it came in a flash of light. I don't think it was any ordinary iceberg." 

"Prince Zuko." He turned to see his uncle staring at him pensively. "It is time that they know everything." 

One of them, Ensign Shun, stood forward. With a shaggy mop of black hair and slate gray eyes, the bright young man sent a skittish gaze to his captain. "What? What is going on, sir?" 

Zuko cast his gaze upon the lot, serious as an eclipse. "It appears that we have been cursed by a spirit."

They all started, shouting a cacophony of questions and swears. 

"Attention!" With that, they all stood like statues, waiting for him to continue. "I did not wish to involve all of you before, as I thought it was only affecting me, but it looks like I was wrong. Any suggestions to appease the spirit are welcome. Any questions?" 

Jee stepped forward, scowling. "Would this have anything to do with the supply stop we just had? I got a strange feeling that night. It hasn't been any different since then." 

Iroh nodded. "Yes, it appears I have purchased a cursed flute." 

"A what?" 

Iroh pulled it out of his sleeve. How many things could he put in there? He held it out to them, and they swayed on their feet in fear. 

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about. We only need to find whoever it belonged to and ask them what they want." 

Corporal Shen grimaced in fear. "But it could be anything! It could ask for our heads, make us dance naked in front of a throng of people." 

Lieutenant Teruko scoffed, shaking her head. "Oh, you’re just being paranoid, Shen. It probably just wants a cup of tea or a sweet roll." 

And they began to squabble amongst themselves. 

Zuko clenched steaming fists, raising himself to his full height. "Attention! Again, I need your full attention! This is serious! There's no time for gossiping like old women." 

Shen crossed his arms. "As serious as when you followed a treasure map to the Avatar that was just a prank?" 

"I researched that for days! I was sure of it."

"Yeah, just as sure that you're gonna find the Avatar and please your father." 

Zuko fumed, glaring at the man sharply. But Iroh put a hand on his shoulder. "Corporal, that was out of line. You are dismissed. Jee, give him something to do. I'm sure that will cool his barbs." 

"As you wish, General." And the lieutenant called them away. 

"Let us break for lunch. I'm hungry." Uncle rubbed his belly for emphasis. 

They had a nice meal of roast duck in curry rice. Zuko sat with his bowl, looking down at every single morsel, waiting for it to turn into rotten mush—but thankfully, it did not change. So he enjoyed the spice and the buttery aftertaste. 

"Uncle, we're going to have to come to a decision. But… I don't know if the crew wants to believe me."

"Oh, Zuko, they will. In fact, let's see if they are willing to turn this ship around. Attention on deck!" 

Then there came more grumblings as the crew slouched their way to sit in a circle around him. 

"I believe that we need to return to the port city to appease this spirit. But I do not wish to do it against your wishes. Therefore, I am putting it to a vote. All those in favor, raise your hand." 

About a dozen shot up. 

"And opposed?" 

Only two did so. 

He stood straight, turning to the engineer. "Are the engines well fueled?" 

"They are." 

"Good. Let's turn this ship around now." 

"Yes, sir." 

The engineer turned the wheel at the helm, and the ship turned to port before heading straight for the port town. 

Sitting in his study, Zuko looked over a map of the region, and it appeared there was an airbender shrine near the town. He wrote down a note on some scrap paper. He rolled up a scroll and set it down on the desk, letting out a breath. 

This was a glorious waste of time. If his uncle had done anything but buy that flute, they would have been on their merry way. But no, he just had to fancy that flute and bring the curse upon them. He sat back on his bed and took a nap as the waves sloshed against the sides of the ship, hoping to snooze away the dreadful hours until they would slouch up to the shrine.

When they made port, Zuko and Iroh disembarked, leaving the crew to do whatever they wanted at the port taverns. They had with them a komodo rhino packed with supplies, and after discussing with the locals about their conundrum, they took a short trek from the shanty towns and merchant halls down the main road and towards the wilderness. A few miles of rough terrain led to an old clay shrine with some rocks and leaves scattered about. In the center of the adobe structure lay a cracked basin and an altar.

Kneeling before it, they lit a candle and waited. Several moments passed with nothing but the flickering of the candle and a whisper of wind. 

Iroh opened his eyes and turned to his nephew. "Zuko, it appears the spirit is waiting for us to take the initiative." 

Zuko let out a huff, but then composed himself, thinking of a prayer or something to say to this fell spirit. 

Now... nice spirit. Yes, positive attitude, positive thinking. 

Zuko looked down at the candle and then up at the shrine. "Spirit of the airbender, whatever your name is, what do you wish us to do to appease your anger?" 

And then the wind whispered back, "I love the smell of flowers. Mortal, please give me a flower that I may rest in its presence for a while, and then you may go." 

That's it? 

But then he held his tongue, smirking at the stroke of fortune. 

But then Iroh looked at him. "Zuko, please address the spirit." 

Zuko kowtowed. "Oh, honored spirit, thank you for heeding my prayer. I shall fulfill your wish." And they turned and left, walking a few paces away before stopping under a tall tree.
Zuko held his nose. "A flower. It cursed us for a flower?" 

"Yes, the spirits can be strange sometimes." 

"Let's get it its stupid flower and get out of here." 

Iroh was solemn. "Zuko, you do not know the way of the spirits. A simple quest like this is more than meets the eye." 

"What do you mean?" 

"That is the bare minimum the spirit will accept. We must add more to appease it further."

"What, like food?" 

"Yes, food, wine, maybe even some incense." 

Zuko let out a puff of air. “Let’s get this over with."

And so a meal was made for the spirit. It was a simple bowl of rice with some red bean paste and a cup of common wine. They set it before the altar, and as they bowed, they could hear the whistling of a pipe and the laughter of a child. A great wind rushed through the shrine, and the food disappeared in a flash. Zuko saw a figment of a gracious smile. They could have sworn they heard a whispered, "Thank you." 

Then they sat there for a long moment before grabbing their things and leaving. They dared not speak a word as they trotted back out towards the city.

After a long while, Zuko muttered, "Well, that's over with." 

Iroh nodded. "Yes. We are fortunate it did not escalate to anything disastrous." 

"Like that time you spooked a bear-fox because you wanted to use some wild honey for your tea?"

"Let us not speak ill of the past, Nephew.” 

Zuko set his jaw and his eyes on the path ahead. 

Sitting in his room with a pot of soothing ginseng, Iroh played a scale on his flute. As he did so, he could have sworn he heard the joyous laughter of a child. He bowed. 

"Spirit of a child of the wind, I am thankful for your assistance in leading my nephew to a greater respect for the spirits." 

At the last gust of wind, Iroh nodded solemnly, smiling. 

Up on the observation deck, Zuko tried to banish the thoughts of the ghost from his mind. 

Now he had to return to his mission, his only chance of returning to the Fire Nation. The next stop: the Southern Air Temple.

Chapter Text

Azula felt an itch on her arm, and she unrolled her sleeve to scratch at it. But then she widened her eyes in shock. Where once was smooth white skin lay a tattoo of a boomerang. It was blue. She sat back against her room's wall and closed her eyes.

"No, no. This can't be happening!"

*  *  *

At the South Pole, Sokka was building his snow fort when he felt a prickling sensation on his arm. At first, he dismissed it as a jitter, but then it festered, growing to a sharp pain, as if someone were poking his arm with a needle. Throwing down the snow block in his arms, he ran to his igloo and pulled off his parka. Under his sleeve, he found a white lightning bolt tattoo. He let out a hum of consideration.

"Cool."

*  *  *

Years later, when Sokka was traveling through the Earth Kingdom with Aang, Katara, and Toph, he felt his tattoo tingle. They were near Omashu and they had just seen the results of the Fire Nation's siege. But then the sensation faded, and he carried on with their plans to infiltrate the city.

Things escalated when they went to exchange the baby they had found for Bumi. They were up on the top of some scaffolding for a giant black statue, and Bumi was trapped in a steel coffin hanging from a chain. Facing them were three girls: one in pink, a dour one in dark red, and what appeared to be a princess in red and gold armor.

They brought forward the kid, and Bumi was lowered to the ground. His arm got the itch again as the gloomy-looking girl came forward after her friend had muttered something.

"The deal is off!"

But then he swore he saw the princess scrunch her nose in irritation, and her hand shot to her arm, scratching it. His eyes widened and his mouth wanted to plummet to the floor. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream. However, his arm had other ideas as the lightning bolt tattoo glowed a bright white. He looked down at it in dread before looking to see that her arm was shining blue.

She glared at him before motioning her friends to attack. The pink girl ran forward like the wind, and the gloomy girl threw knives at them. Shaking away what had just happened, Sokka threw his boomerang at the princess. She laughed as it curved out of the way, but then she had to dodge as it arced back towards her head. He turned to see Katara standing in a puddle of water, trying and failing to lift it.

Gloomy smirked. "How does it feel to fight without your bending?"

He yelped as the pink girl threw a jab at him. In the chaos, he saw that the princess was nowhere to be seen. So he retreated, helping Katara. They fought for a short while before their giant furry friend came in to save the day, blasting the two girls back.

Later, as they left the city, he looked down at the tattoo, disgusted. Why did it have to be a ruthless princess? Why did the spirits have to stick him with such a girl when it should have been Suki or Yue? Why? But such questions would have to wait for later.

*  *  *

Azula sat in the throne room of Omashu, with Ty Lee and Mai at her side. The room was brimming with strained silence. She turned to Ty Lee.

"I am going to kill that boy."

Her friend widened her bright brown eyes. "But why, Azula? He's your soulmate! You're destined for each other!"

"Destiny is rubbish. I can forge my own path, the spirits be damned."

"But it would be so romantic! A princess and a peasant divided by war, falling in love despite the odds! Oh, you have to do it!"

"Why don't you fall in love with him, Ty Lee? It's not like he would be the craziest boy you've dated."

"Hey, what can I say? I let my love go where my heart leads it. But no, it would go against the will of the spirits and your aura." She had told her afterwards how her aura had glowed a bright blue and his had become a deep yellow before both becoming pink. "You two are made for each other!"

"Mai, care to offer a counter argument?"

Her friend only stared forward boredly. "I don't care. It's not my problem. But the next time you see someone who might react to a seashell mark, tell me. Marriage would be so much less boring than sitting around here waiting for dad to tell me what to do."

Ty Lee beamed at her. "Only if you help me find mine!" She pulled down her sleeve to look at the mustache on her forearm.

Azula let out a sigh. "I tire of this. Tomorrow we shall begin our hunt." She felt her arm, thinking for a moment. "And if luck shall have it, I will be rid of this water peasant."

*  *  *

After several days and several more unsuccessful attempts to capture their foes, the three ladies split up. Mai and Ty Lee fought with the two Water Tribe peasants, but the sky bison was their doom, blasting them across a river.

In an abandoned village worn by war and time, Azula's duel with the Avatar came to an abrupt end when her traitorous brother and uncle interrupted it. She held her own for a while, but then her odds dwindled as their opponents' reinforcements arrived.

Cornered against a wall, she raised her hands in surrender. "I know when I am beaten. I surrender." But she hid a smirk as she launched a bolt of fire at Iroh... or she tried to. All that came out was a puff of flame, and she looked down to see that her tattoo was glowing once again. And the peasant's was, too.

Damn the spirits and their horrible matchmaking skills!

She was about to hold out her hands in surrender when a mound of earth erupted around her, trapping her.

The blind earthbender smirked. "Better get comfortable, princess. It might be a while."

"I assumed as much."

"Nephew, keep watch." Iroh stepped to her and flashed a smile. "Niece..."

She returned his smile. "Uncle."

He walked back to the others as Zuko stood by her.

Her brother looked at the earthbender. "Uh... I'm Zuko... You are...?"

She poked a finger at herself. "Toph Beifong, Greatest Earthbender in the World!"

"Toph, I'll keep watch."

"Sure thing."

But then the Water Tribe boy came, staring at her awkwardly before shooting his gaze to the ground. After a moment, he finally gathered the courage to meet her gaze. "So..."

If she weren't a princess, she would have laughed him to scorn. So she simply glared at him. "Whatever you were about to say? No. Don't get any funny ideas, savage. None of this," she raised her arm, "is anything."

"But they're soulmate marks."

"No, it's spirit nonsense for old wives and poor lunatics. This was just a mishap."

He let out a noise of irritation. "Hey, I don't like you, and I'd rather cuddle a prickle snake than be with you, but this is what we've got to deal with."

"Or I could free myself, kill you, and return with your friend in chains."

"Well." He snickered. "Looks like you've got a teensy little problem with that at the moment."

"Yes, I am aware. Now go flaunt your prodigious intellect elsewhere."

"Nope. I'm perfectly fine." For emphasis, he lay his head on crossed arms. "Better get comfortable, princess."

"Fine."

She let out a breath and stood there, letting her muscles relax into the stone. But then her eyes caught his again. They were very pretty. No. She closed her eyes. No time for girlish thoughts. Ty Lee would tell her to follow her dreams, follow her destiny, but now was the time for calculation and deliberation. She would wheedle her way into getting one of their trust and find a way to escape somehow. That is, if she could get past step one: surviving the earthbender. But that would be a hard test for her.

They were both prodigies by the looks of it, and she had never had too much experience against such a foe.

"Wanna hear a joke?"

"What?" She looked to see the Water Tribe savage sharpening his boomerang with a stone.

"Why would I want to hear your comedic ramblings, savage?"

"Hey, could you not use that language?"

"Well, it's what you are, savage."

"The name is Sokka."

"Okay, Sokka the Savage. Now, could you remain silent?"

"Nope." She let out a huff. "So, a man's walking through a forest, and he sees a dog running at him, and he looks down at the polarbear-dog. It's got one eye. Now his master comes along and smiles at him. 'Ah, I see you've found Sparky.' 'Ah, this is your dog?' 'Yep. He's my best friend.' 'Ah, what happened to his eye?' 'Ah, that's a long story. It'll take a while, but he had a horrible accident a few years ago. A tragedy, really.' So the guy just has to know what happened. 'Come on, tell me.'"

"What is the point of this?"

"I'm getting to it. So the guy says, 'Come on, tell me.' And the old man sighs, sitting down. 'Okay, if you really want to know. So, I was out fishing in the middle of the ocean, and my dog was messing around with some of the bait in the ship. And while that was happening, I got a good tug on my fishing pole. Giant eel-bass. Now I'm sitting there tugging at my fishing pole like it's a last branch before a ravine. Along comes little Sparky hopping up and down. I startled when he came and I had a knife in my hand, so I stabbed him.' 'Oh, that's a sad story.' 'Well, it's not half bad. One eye is better than nothing. Am I right?' 'Yeah.' 'Well, to stop the bleeding, I pulled out the eye. He was screaming and jumping, so, I held him down and tied him up. I put him down in the hold. Absentmindedly, I put the eye on the hook, and what do you know, it turns out dog eyes are really good bait.'"

"Wait, that's the punchline?"

"Well, uh..." He deflated. "Yeah, I didn't have much time to think of it."

"That was a rambling, incoherent string of words thrown together with no thought or figment of rationality."

He frowned, sitting down. "Hey, in my defense, it's good to practice on a captive audience." He grinned. "Get it? Captive—"

Azula snarled. "I get it, you imbecile! Now cease your third-rate jokes. I need time to think!"

"No can do there. What do you get when you put a firebender on a garbage heap?"

"What?"

"A hot mess!"

"Now you're insulting me."

And so he sat there spewing his nonsensical jokes at her for a while before Toph returned and he walked off into the town to get to his other friends. Azula closed her eyes, trying to get a few winks of sleep as the earthbender came and sat by.

So the blind girl picked at her nose.

"Now, I would bow, but I never really liked any of my etiquette classes. It was a bunch of boring 'lay your chopsticks parallel to your bowl when you are satisfied' crap. How was it for you?"

Silence.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"I do not wish to speak a single word to you."

"But you just did."

"If I intended to say something genuine to you, I would have taken the time to think about it."

"Oh really? Well, here we are out in the middle of the Earth Kingdom. You just chased after us for several days, and now you're in our clutches."

"Yes, I can see that."

"Well, try and get comfortable because it's probably not going to be easy for you."

"I know."

Now the girl was resting her head against the wall. "Princess Lightning."

"What?"

"That's your nickname now—Princess Lightning—though I could try—"

"No. My name is Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, and you shall not address me in any other way."

"Nope." The girl finished it with a pop.

"Let me be clear to you, peasant—"

"Actually, I'm twenty-seventh in line to the Jade Throne."

Azula adjusted some figures in her mental calculations. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Toph Beifong, Greatest Earthbender in the World."

"You are quite impressive. But as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, I will escape, and you will soon face the full might of the Fire Nation Army."

"I'll see about that."

"A blind joke. Really?"

Toph moped, but Azula could tell it was in jest. "Aw, you didn't fall for it."

Chapter Text

Monkey see, monkey do? Well, this lemur-monkey was not having it.

Chan the monkey-lemur lay in the Ba Sing Se Zoo as a bunch of little kids threw bananas at his fellow primates, who were eating them up, letting out hoots and hollers of joy. But Chan was no beggar. He would not enjoy the slop their masters threw into the pen, and that would be it. No. He would never lower himself to the point of enjoying his prison time. He would not give those stinking humans a single drop of joy.

But then, there came a little boy with bright green eyes and a bushy head of hair.

Chan simply glared at him through the bars. "Get lost, kid."

But just like every other stupid human, he knew that the boy wouldn't understand a single syllable of what he had said. He would gawk and poke at him with a stick and try to make him eat.

But this was no ordinary day, as the boy shook his head. "No, I don't think I will."

Chan took a moment. Then another. His brain was trying to fix a paper jam in there, and it was causing a bunch of fires for the mini-Chans in the speech comprehension department. "What?"

The boy frowned. "I said I don't think I will."

"No, back up. This isn't how this is supposed to work. I'm the smart lemur-monkey, and you're the dumb human who throws bananas at me. How in Kabunga's name are you understanding me?"

The boy shrugged. "I guess I have a thing with animals… Anyway, how's it been living here at the zoo?"

"How do you think?"

"Uh… a bit boring? The food could use a little extra spice?"

"No, the spice is fine. But the menu could use a bit of variety."

*  *  *

Next to them, a little girl was munching on some sugared moon peaches as she took in what she thought adults meant by "drugs."

"Ooh ooh ah ah, shama duda!" 

"Papula samu!" 

"Shamisi!"

*  *  *

"Anyway, kid, you better beat it for real. I have a nap in a little bit, and I need to do some prep."

"You prep for your naps?"

"Yeah, I gotta get my body in the mood—do a few laps of my cage and tell my legs that no, it's not time for climbing."

The boy nodded. "Okay. Talk to you later."

The monkey wanted to say a witty barb, but he held his tongue. "Whatever, human. Just don't reveal our secrets."

"Oh, you don't have to worry. No one's gonna believe me."

But Chan shook his head. "Oh, you never know what some stupid humans will believe. No spilling your guts. Capeesh?"

"Sure."

And the boy scampered off to another exhibit.

*  *  *

A man in a green suit with a goatee sat at a news desk with a woman in a green dress and a permanent smile.

“This is Ba Sing Se News. Here you are informed. Here you are entertained. I am Long Feng.”

“And I am Joo Dee.”

Today's top story: a monkey at the Ba Sing Se Zoo has captured the hearts of the children. Shen the monkey has been dancing with kids and giving them high-fives. No one knows the exact reason why, but the parents are loving it.”

"It's amazing! I've never seen anything like it! It's so cute, I'm gonna die!"

“But authorities are warning people that if they interact with the monkey for too long, it will explode. They are advising citizens to cease interspecies activities after 4 p.m. until further notice.”

*  *  *

Shen found himself staring at a man holding a weird rectangle with a flashing light. He didn't like it—but the attention was something.

They were feeding him mangos instead of the usual bananas, and he could thank that little boy for it. But he needed to get that tamped down just a notch. He was feeling a tightness in his chest, and he didn't like that one bit.

And then he felt hot—way too hot, as if someone were lighting a fire inside him.

"Ooh ooh! Ah ah AH!"

He exploded in a giant conflagration.

*  *  *

“Breaking news out of the Ba Sing Se Zoo: Shen the lemur-monkey has died. He exploded in a fireball, injuring two guests. He will be sadly missed. The zoo is already planning a memorial.”

Chapter Text

I can't stop this feeling.

It's got me dancing on the ceiling.

Don't give up, it'll get you reeling!

Ty Lee was in the zone, dancing her way down the street toward a yoga session. She had gotten a free coupon, so she just had to give it a try. And if worse came to worst, she would just dust off her aura and move on.

She took a left at Ming Avenue, looking out at the rim of the caldera. It was beautiful in the early morning sunlight—the birds were chirping, the cars were honking, and—

A car screeched to a stop in front of her.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry!" She smiled. "Negative emotions can dampen your aura!"

"Whatever."

Down Ming Street, she found a beautiful spa—Hiyori's Rose Petal Spa. It was so cute, with its pink and red exterior and the shop name in looping characters. She opened the door, hearing the tinkling of wind chimes as she entered.

There was a little desk by the door, and a few people were going through the Swan Crane form on mats to her left. The soft black carpeting was already turning her aura a soft green.

The woman at the desk smiled at her, her green eyes twinkling. "Welcome to Hiyori's! How can I help you?"

"Oh, I have a coupon for a free session.” She pulled it out of her purse, handing it over.

The woman pointed to the group. "They just started, if you wanted to join them."

"Sure! What's your name?"

"It's Jin."

"Thank you, Jin. Your aura is a nice black."

"And yours is a bubbly pink."

"You know about auras, too?"

"Yes, I can see them. I learned it from my mom."

"Me too."

Smiling at the discovery, Ty Lee walked over to the others doing yoga and unrolled her mat. She stood on it and stretched for a few moments before getting into position.

"Now bend your arms and let your chi flow through you. You should feel a gentle stretch as the spirits bless your body.”

She bent down and didn't feel anything—that was normal for her. She remembered lying down and bending back so that her back touched her legs. Azula had been unimpressed, and that had led to them talking about how she could be a great asset for her. But now that was distracting her, so she shooed it away.

"Let your body sing to you as your stress flows out of you. All of your worries will pass away like the birds flying south to seek warmth."

She focused on her elbow, feeling it tingle as she bent down and crossed her arms in front of her, feeling a nice stretch in her arm muscles.

Soon, the session was over, and she sat down on the ground and meditated. She considered her day so far. She had had a cup of tea in the morning with a bowl of rice and fruit, and the man in the car definitely needed a cup of calming tea. Now she could go home and see what life would bring to her. 

But first, she zipped to the desk, getting the girl’s number.

Dancing out the door, she stopped at an intersection and waited for the light to turn green, seeing a bunch of cars sitting there full of sad drivers with bad auras. Crossing the street, she came across an alleyway where she saw a man sitting on the ground and smoking a cigarette. He had a scraggly beard, and his clothes were stained. His aura was brown, so she stopped for a moment, having her hands at the ready in case he was a mugger. But she knew hearts too well for that.

"What do you want?" He didn't look up from his cigarette, but he was frowning. "If you don't have booze or cigarettes, get lost."

"Do you want some food?"

"No, I have plenty." 

She sat down on the other wall and looked at him. "You look like you could use some cheering up."

"What made you think that? Is it my personality?"

His black eyes were empty of joy and spirit. She would have the final word on that.

"Just know that there's always someone out there who cares for you."

"Is that so? Well, that's so wonderful. I can't wait to hear from the guy who has my back. Could you tell him for me? I think he's hard of hearing."

She sighed inside. "Well, sometimes you never know if someone is looking out for you. You have to listen to the spirits, and if you wait a little while, you might find out that help has always been there waiting for you."

"That's a bunch of hogwash. Now scram!"

Ty Lee smiled. "Have a good day."

"Yeah, whatever."

And she left him to grumble in the alley. She had tried her best, and that was all that mattered. She skipped down the street, smiling at people staring at their phones, eventually reaching her apartment. It was a joyous little thing, with its blue exterior and soft felt carpets. She remembered feeling such peace when she had first stepped foot in it, and she had known that it was the place for her. East Side Suites. More like sweets, as it made her feel like someone was covering her soul in honey.

She walked inside and saw that Chun was reading a book at the service desk, so she stopped and smiled at him.

He smiled back, his nice green eyes sparkling. If she didn't have a thing for a mustached earthbender from across town, she would sneak to his side and wait for him to give her his number.

"What's that, Chun?"

"Oh, this." He picked it up and showed it to her. The cover read How to Achieve Inner Peace. "My life coach recommended it to me. It's a good read. Right now it's talking about how you can let the world pass through you—you don't need to know every little thing that's going on. Most of it's noise anyway. How's your day going?"

Ty Lee lit up like a festival lantern. "Oh, I did some yoga. I met someone there who can see auras!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think I might ask her to hang out. …Then I found an old guy in an alley who looked like he needed some encouragement. He didn't look like he was taking it well, but I'm sure he'll get something from it."

He smiled. "Nice. Have a good one, Ty Lee."

"You, too!"

As she stood in the elevator, she looked down at her phone to see that Haru had sent her a message.

Haru: are you free tonight?

Ty: I sure am. What's going on?

Haru: dinner at the Blue Lotus

She beamed and sent him a heart emoji.

As the door opened, she saw Jin passing through, so she zipped to her side.

"Hey, Ty."

"How are things with Chin?"

The girl stopped, and Ty Lee could see a tear forming in her eye. "He dumped me last night."

The acrobat threw her arms around her friend. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Jin! What happened?"

As Ty Lee stood back, the girl sighed. "I think he was two-timing me."

The bubbly girl's smile turned dark. "Oh, what a jerk!" But then it returned to serenity. "But hey, there's always another guy. I'm sure you'll find one to sweep you off your feet."

"Yeah. See you."

"You, too."

Ty Lee strolled into her apartment. It was a cozy little corner room with a view of the city through tall windows. The walls were splashed with pink and rainbows, plastered with band posters—The Twisted Tigerdillos, The Nomads, and The Sea Ravens, a spiky trio with goth outfits.

She hopped onto her bed and poked her finger at some books on her bedside shelf: Wisdom of the Air Nomads, Sage Advice from Guru Patingha, and—her eyes lit up— Finding Inner Peace in the Storms of Life.

She pulled it out and flicked through the first pages. She grabbed her earbuds from the nightstand, popped them in, and played some calming ocean sounds as she read.

Do not let the world crush your hopes and dreams. Let their negativity and doubt pass around you as you continue your life journey, blossoming into the person you were destined to become.

If your life feels dull, maybe it's a sign that the spirits are calling you to find new experiences and let them carry you to new heights.

There is nothing you cannot do if you let the spirits guide you. Try it—let go of your worries and cares and jump into the sky, not worrying if someone will catch you. That is for the spirits to decide.

She set down the book and pondered the teachings. All she had to do was let go of whatever was nagging at her spirit, and the spirits would speak to her—let her know what life was really about.

She smiled contentedly before setting the book down and closing her eyes to nap. She lay there as the music swelled and settled into a gentle beat. Then she drifted off into a land of colorful auras and dancing crane fish.

Chapter Text

Aang and Toph were sitting under a tree, and she was chewing on some mochi. The sky above was a beautiful light blue, with not a cloud to be seen. The wind was rustling their robes. She had her hair down, and it was billowing in the wind. He smiled at her. She only had it down in the evenings, and in the mornings, it was a poofy mess. But now it was long and silky.

"Twinkletoes, what are you doing? I can feel it in your heartbeat."

"Oh, I'm thinking about how I somehow got the most beautiful woman in the world to fall for such a lousy guy."

She blushed. "Hey, don't get mushy on me."

But that only made him bolder. "Oh, I will get so mushy. You are my light in the night, a gem in a dark cave. You're the sound of the ocean waves."

She sighed, punching his shoulder. "Can we get back to goofing off?"

"As you wish, my lady." That got another punch, but this one was half-hearted.

He looked out at the cliffs below, admiring the beauty of nature. The rocks were strewn about like petals from a cherry blossom, the river was glistening in the sun, carrying along a few branches like offerings to the spirits, and a herd of moosows were grazing by it, some drinking and playing around in the water.

"Twinkles, you're thinking again."

"I'm just taking in the sight."

"Oh, I've seen it all."

"Do you want me to describe it for you?"

Toph set a foot firmly in the earth. "I can sense some of it. The river, the animals, and the rocks."

"The moosows look like a soap bubble feels, and the river is like a nice cup of cold juice. The rocks are shining, like the sounds a horn makes at the end of a play."

He waited for a yawn, or a laugh, but no—he turned to see that she had her eyes open, and a lovely smile was gracing her lips. 

"Go on."

"And the sky is like a clear sapphire, with not a single nick in it. And the clouds are like a sandstorm rolling through a desert. Do you want to feel them? They're like soft water."

"Soft water?"

"Yeah, you'd think they'd be like soft cotton, but it's just a bunch of mist."

Toph shook her head. "I'll pass. I'm good with my two feet on the warm, solid earth, thank you very much."

He threw his arm around her. "Would you do it for me?"

She let out a groan. "Maybe when moosows fly."

"That could be arranged."

“Hey!”

Aang laughed, and they returned to their goofing off.

Chapter Text

Hop along, try not to trip. If you aren’t too careful, you might slip.

Jin was ecstatic as she hopped through the streets of Ba Sing Se. She had found a gold piece on the ground, and she knew exactly where to spend it.

She stopped in at Pao’s Tea Shop and sat down at a table, ordering chai with honey from the cute boy with a scar and brilliant gold eyes. When he returned with her cup, she couldn’t help but eye him softly as he walked back to the kitchen.

The tea was delicious as ever, and the honey was not too sweet. She felt the gold piece burning in her pocket and ordered a hot bun as well. As she finished her treats, she turned to see him clearing his throat.

“Uh… would you, uh, want to… go out tonight… with me?”

She beamed. “Of course! Dinner?”

“Yeah… I know a place.”

“Could I meet you here after you close?”

“Sure.”

She stood, slipping the gold coin onto the table.
“Keep the change… for our date.”

The boy stood slack-jawed as she walked out of the tea shop.

Watching the coin glimmer in his nephew’s hands, Iroh grinned like the mischievous old man he was.

Chapter Text

Zuko was sitting by the ocean with an ice cream cone in his hand. The waves were gently undulating, and the sea breeze was full of salt and the scent of freedom. He looked around at the endless expanse of sand and ocean and found himself alone in this embrace. He was a Fire Lord alone in the world with beautiful nature in which to disperse his thoughts of bureaucracy and regulations and the thousands of burdens upon his shoulders. Here he could take a lick of his nice cinnamon ice cream and forget all of it. 

So he sat there, witness to nothing but the endless cycle of the ocean waves and the beauty of the sun up in the sky. The clouds were wispy little things, and he could hear the sounds of the ravengulls chirping lazily. One of them swooped down onto the ground beside him and pecked at a patch of sand. He remembered seeing a few of them playing together when he and Azula had been little and they had chased after them like the children they were.

He saw Katara walking down the beach towards him, Izumi in her arms, and he smiled as she sat down by his side holding their little girl.

"Is she tired out?"

"Yeah, I think she’s about ready for a nap. Finally.."

"Okay." Zuko looked down at the bundle of joy in his wife's arms. Her long black hair was held up in a ponytail. Her tan skin was shining in the sunlight, and she was beautiful—the perfect mix of both her parents.

So, Zuko looked at his wife. "What do you want to do tonight?"

"Do you want to read some of your theater scrolls?” 

“You know me too well. And some wine?"

She nodded. "Sure.” 

“Do we have any dinner plans?"

"Not really. We could look through the pantry. A little seal jerky, some nuts. Is that good?"

Zuko hummed. "Yeah, that could work.”

“Okay."

"So, what is it, honey?" 

She closed her eyes for a moment before meeting her husband's gaze. "What are we going to do about your family?"

"Go on."

"You know, Azula's struggling, your father's in prison, and your mother's missing still. And I heard Iroh's not doing so well."

"Yeah, I know. His handwriting was sad the last time. He might even be using a scribe to dictate it by now. I just—I don't know what's going to happen."

She took his hand, squeezing it. "Hey, we'll get through this, you know that?"

"Yeah, just like the past half dozen disasters I've been through."

“Hey, those weren't disasters. You did what you had to do to get through them, despite all the messiness."

"Okay."

"So, you think we should get this little princess back to bed?"

"Yeah, we should do that."

And they stood from their chairs and walked into the house to bring their little bundle of joy to bed.

Chapter Text

Zuko was sitting on a bench, sharpening his dao. The sea beyond the cliffs was calm, and the birds were chirping. The grass was swaying in the sea breeze.

His work was done, and all he needed to do now was sit in the peace of nature and let his mind be clear—let his worries fade. The reports from last week about the improvements to the navy were signed, the budget was all but finished, and the trade talks with the Earth King had gone wonderfully.

What was he thinking about them for? He pulled out a cup of oil and dabbed a rag in it, wiping his blades before picking up his stone again. The harsh sound of stone against steel was a beautiful melody to his ears. After a few more passes, he tested the edge with a gentle tap of a finger and nodded.

He stood and swung the swords around, going through a few forms. He stabbed, parried, and rolled with a ghost, and finally set them in their sheath. He turned and headed for a tent to the south, where a pair of guards were sitting by a fire, cups in hand.

“Fire Lord, how was your walk?”

“Oh, it was nice. Do you want any tea?”

And he set a pot on the fire, engaging in small talk with them as he waited for the water to reach a boil. When he heard the rumble of the water, he dropped a satchel of tea into it and watched the steaming water slowly turn a nice leaf green. When it was done, he poured them their cups, taking his and sitting down on a soft blanket and enjoying the delicious grassy flavor.

Sip by sip, he drifted into contentment—finally rising with a yawn and lying down on his bed in the tent, letting himself drift into a land of turtle ducks and fire lilies. His mother and sister were smiling.

Chapter Text

A lion-bear was basking in the sun in the plains north of the Si Wong Desert. The wind was ruffling its fur, and the grass beneath it was as soft as silk. It opened its eyes for a moment, looking out into the blue expanse before rolling over and scratching its side. It was the mighty beast at the top of the pack. It had no fear except of what would sneak up and dare to use such cunning tactics to take him down. It looked around, smelling the air for any prey. It was hungry, so it walked a few feet south, looking around again.

There was fresh water in a burbling stream, and his mate was sitting under a shade tree with their cubs. She was beautiful, and his children would grow up to be strong and mighty predators. Shaking away the thoughts of food, it returned to its soft grass and lay down for a while.

Time seemed to slip into oblivion, and it awoke a few hours later as the sun was setting. It yawned, sitting up, but then it felt a weird presence in its stomach. Something was rumbling up its gullet. It covered its mouth, but it was too late. It let out a sonorous belch.

All was quiet for a moment before everyone laughed. Out came the hyena-cat with the camera, the komodo-rhino with the boom mic, and the director—a lynx-fox with a mustache.

The lynx-fox put a hand to his face, groaning. "Couldn't you just hold it in?"

The lion-bear smiled in embarrassment. "Sorry, guys.” 

The komodo-rhino was fuming. “This is our eighth take! What do we need to do?"

But then a rabbit-sheep came with a tray of coffees. "Toji, you could always fix it in post."

The director nodded, his eyes brimming with fatigue. "Yeah, I'm just tired. Everyone take five."

Chapter Text

Zuko was reading a theater scroll under a cherry tree. His day had gone well—all of his meetings were short and to the point with no unproductive back-and-forth talking, and he had made great progress on the budget. With extensive cuts to the military’s coffers, the Fire Nation was now on solid ground financially. Now he could take an hour to unwind and let his mind drift along as he pictured the scene on the page.

The dark water spirit was fending off a pair of thieves, and the Dragon Empress was watching in awe as her lover fought them off.

"The dark spirits of the Shikai forest! Oh my love, I will give you every drop of my love!"

"But what have I done to deserve your love?"

"You are so brave and daring!"

It was a bit cheesy, but he loved that kind of schlockiness. He looked up to see a pair of turtleducks nibbling at a piece of bread and threw another piece at them, smiling down at them. Then their mother came and guided them over to a nest on the other side of the pond.

He looked down at his teapot and cup of tea, lifting the cup and warming it with a short exhale from his mouth. He took a sip, enjoying the floral notes and the slight earthiness. It was a blend sent from Uncle for his birthday, and he just needed to know how that old man knew everything he liked. Uncle had gotten him a new pair of swords as well, and he had tested them out with Suki in the sparring grounds.

Now, after a hard day, he was letting himself drift off with the breeze and listen to the quacking of the turtleducks. 

Then a servant arrived bearing a scroll. She bowed to him. "Your Majesty, a message from Ba Sing Se."

"Thank you." 

He took it and unrolled it. The Earth Kingdom was inviting him and the other nations for a festival in honor of the past five years of peace. At the bottom, Kuei had left a note emphasizing that they would need fireworks from the Fire Nation.

Of course, he would happily provide them. They mentioned that there would be dancing and parades—the whole gamut of flashy festivities. 

He handed it back to the woman. "Could you put this in my study for later?"

"Of course." And the woman left.

Now what to do, what to do? 

He took another sip of his tea, thinking of the times he had seen Katara. It had been a while since he had written to her. She was down at the Southern Water Tribe teaching a new class of waterbenders, both healing and fighting. And then Mai—she was still recovering from their breakup, so he could send her something to help heal the wounds. Then there was Aang, rebuilding the Southern Air Temple. In the last letter, he had told them that they would need more supplies, since the earthbending was a bit too complex for him and his team. He had sent over several crates for them and a team of engineers. eSitting there mulling it over, he knew he had to send something, say something, but all that could wait. 

He listened to the sounds of the cherry trees rustling, drifting off, closing his eyes, letting his mind be at peace. But he knew he would have to return to his duties in an hour, so that kept nagging at his brain, pecking at it like an annoying pig-chicken.

Breathe in, breathe out. Let in your worries, let out inner peace. 

He remembered his uncle teaching him that on their ship. That had been after his outbursts about not needing calming tea. But that night, when he had sat beneath the moonlight, his uncle had come out and brought a candle. Sitting there and breathing with it, he had asked him what he did to be so calm. And he had taught him about the breath of fire, the peace within. That one did not need to be free of fear, but one needed to let it pass away. Burn it along with one's negative desires and vices. If he wished to be as tranquil as the wind, he must breathe in the wind and breathe out his frustrations.

He continued breathing, holding it in for five seconds and letting out his worries about the new trade agreements, bureaucracy, the nagging missives from his advisors that he needed to marry and produce heirs. Otherwise, his father would be lurking in the shadows, waiting to take over. Then he stopped and listened to the turtleducks once more, watched them as they poked at a patch of mud, pulling out a worm. Maybe he should be like the turtle ducks—carefree, not worrying about anything at all, just quacking and eating and being a beautiful part of nature.

Then he saw his mother coming towards him, bearing a scroll. He rose and came to take her into his arms, smiling.

"How are you, Mother?"

She smiled into his shoulder. "Oh, just wonderful.” Then she eyed the scroll in his lap. “Oh…”

Zuko looked down at it. "What?”

She smiled, her eyes full of dissipated joy. “You looked like you needed something to read, so I got…”

“Oh…” But then he set the scroll aside. “Hey, I’ll read it.”

“I know…” She handed it to him, and he unrolled it to see the title "Love Amongst the Dragons."

"Oh, is this a— What edition is this?"

She smirked. “It’s an original copy."

He opened his eyes in shock. "Where did you get this?"

"It's a family heirloom passed down from my grandmother."

"Mother, but why—why are you giving this to me?"

"Because you love it, and I have no use for it anymore. It was only going to gather dust in a cupboard."

"Okay." He held it gingerly in his hands, inching up the parchment to see the first few lines of the play. The chorus was narrating the story, and the Dragon Empress was walking out onto the stage, bemoaning her fate.

"Oh, it's—thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, honey." Then she stood there smiling at him before they sat down under the cherry tree. She looked at him. "Son, how have you been holding up the past few weeks?"

"It’s been a bumpy ride, but I’ve gotten through it… somehow."

"That’s good to hear. I’m proud of you."

"Yeah, still, it's a pain sometimes. I haven't really gotten much sleep in a month, and I can't stop thinking about Father and what he's doing to me."

She nodded with sad eyes. "Yes, I spent many nights thinking about what he would do to you, and I still can't forgive myself for what I let him do to you."

"Mother, you don't know—"

"I left you in the hands of a monster, and he did that to you!" She set her fingers on his scar.

"Mom, it's okay, it's in the past, but I still—"

A tear fell from her eye. "I should have taken you both and ran.”

“But we would have—”

“I know what could have happened, but I still feel so ugly inside because of it."

He sat there in the silence, taking in her horrible gaze. She was so sad, like a flower losing a petal one at a time until it shriveled up.

"Mom, can we talk about something lighter?"

"Yeah."

So he sat there for a moment, letting the awkwardness of the situation fade. "How's Azula been?"

"Oh, she's improving. She talked to me last week without breaking anything, and the doctors say she'll be good enough in a year to visit."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'll have to plan something. Have you talked to Uncle about it?"

"Yeah.”

Ursa smiled. “Kiyi’s going to the Academy. Mai helped her with a situation there."

"Yeah, I planned that."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yep, I had to check it." Zuko frowned. "Turns out that the teachers were trying to push the new Ozai Society on them."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I got him sacked. Hopefully there will be better teachers there soon."

Ursa frowned. "There better be. I don't want my daughter having her mind poisoned by him. It's already happened once, and I don't want it to happen ever again."

"I know. Have you talked to him recently?"

"Of course not. Why would I? But, well, you know, he's still my father."

Mother shook her head. "That man was nothing more than a cruel tyrant. I was glad to leave, even though he made it a high price."

"Yeah." Zuko nodded again. "But there still has to be something inside him, something we can reach."

"No, Zuko, even your uncle doesn't believe in that. Your father is a baked pottery jar. There's nothing we can do but let it sit there until it decays."

"But why?" Zuko was confused. "Why can't there be anything we can do?"

"Zuko, can we let this go for a while?"

"Okay. It just was on my mind."

"I know. It's been on mine for ten years."

They sat there as Zuko looked over the illustrations in the scroll, and then another idea popped into his head. "Are you going to do anything with Azula this weekend?"

"Yes, we're going to the gardens in the caldera. Do you want to come with us?"

"Sure, I can. But I'm not sure about her. She was fine last time, but I don't know if she might relapse."

Ursa looked into the distance for a long moment. “That will always be lurking, but we have to take that risk.” She kissed his head before standing and dusting off her robes. “I have a meeting with Master Ushi. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“See you, Mom. I love you.”

“I know.”

With that, Zuko was left with the sound of the trees and turtleducks quacking joyfully.

Chapter Text

"From Ba Sing Se News, I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

The two sat at a silver and green news desk with a black backdrop, with monitors showing spinning globes and moving yen signs.

Long Feng smoothed his beard, smiling at the camera. "Tonight's top story: Fire Lord Zuko appears to have a thing for Princess Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, though his ministers are keeping it quite hush-hush."

A royal advisor stood next to a reporter in a wooden tearoom, stroking his beard. "We can neither confirm nor deny that the Fire Lord has romantic intentions for the princess."

"Despite their statements, we have a source on the inside."

On the screen, a man with a blacked-out face and a large stomach sat in a chair with a steaming cup of tea. At the top of the screen read the statement: "To protect the identitea of our source, we have obscured his face and distorted his voice."

"Ah, young love. I have it on good authority that the Fire Lord wishes to propose to Princess Katara this very month, though he has had trouble coming up with the best way to pop the question."

"It will remain to be seen if the two lovebirds will fly off together, but many are hoping they will."

A woman with long black hair and golden eyes was mixing some herbs at a low table. Oh, it would be just perfect, and their children would be so adorable."

Joo Dee smiled so wide, it looked like she was stretching a rubber mask. "Oh, I can't wait to hear more."

Long Feng nodded. "Neither can I. Coming up, we will discuss the recent investigations into the sanity of King Bumi. But first, a word from our sponsors."

*  *  *

A bald man in a black suit sat at a tall desk, so tall he had to bend over to look at the camera.

"If you or a loved one have been involved in an accident with the Avatar that has destroyed your cabbages, a toll-free call will help you to get compensation. In just fifteen minutes, you can find out if you qualify for the Avatar Aang Victim Compensation Fund. Hundreds of peaceful Fire Nation soldiers have won thousands of gold pieces for emotional and physical damages from such a reckless young rascal. Call today if you qualify."

*  *  *

Long Feng shuffled his papers. "Now back to the news. A man in Omashu has been arrested for dancing like a monkey while riding the mail chutes. He was tall, muscular, and bearded, though authorities have not charged him with anything. He is reported as saying that he needed to give Flopsy a ride. If anyone has information about this mysterious man, please feel free to reach out to our tip line."

Joo Dee somehow smiled more widely. "Now onto some interesting food news. If you want ramen and ice cream, you're in luck. The strange combination comes to us via Chong and the Nomads. Chong is here with us now. Chong, where did you get the inspiration for such a novel culinary creation?"

With bowls of ramen and ice cream in hand, Joo Dee and Long Feng sat next to the famous artist as he took a drag from a joint. "I don't know, man. Sometimes you let life take you wherever it wants, and I just so happened to stumble on this idea when I was tending to my mushroom garden."

Joo Dee smiled widely as she lifted a morsel of the confection to her mouth. Chewing slowly, she gulped it down, her smile wavering. "Mmm. This is delicious."

The man nodded. "I'm glad you like it. The secret to a good ramen ice cream is to not overcook the noodles. That way, you get a nice blend of texture. Also, never use hard-serve ice cream—it'll just turn into a mess."

The two interviewers stood there, looking at the camera in distress, then the camera crew nodded to them.

"Well, thank you for coming, Chong. Tell us what you have coming up."

"Oh, we're going to be on tour all this month through the Earth Kingdom. Our new album is Just Go With the Flow. Buy it now on our website or on Ember Music."

After the man left, the crew cut the camera feed, and the two newspeople dumped their bowls into the trash.

Long Feng stared intensely into the camera. "After the break, a new pig-chicken disease is spreading like wildfire through the Fire Nation. Is excess flatulence the culprit?"

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"Today's top story: a man in the Upper Ring has chained himself to the top of a tower and is refusing to leave unless the authorities give in to his demands. What are those demands? Well, listen for yourself."

A man in a green polka-dot robe with a grease stain across the front was chained to a service tower. His beard was long and greasy, and one could smell him with their eyes. "I'm not leaving until you give me the codes to the secret alien ship you have under the ramen shop on Jade Street!"

A metalbender police officer was holding a megaphone. "Sir, would you please get down from there and speak to us! We can negotiate with you down here where it's safer!"

The man shook his head. "No, I will not bow down to you! All of you are part of the Monkey King's army! Just give me the spaceship, and I'll be off to serve our green masters!"

Long Feng frowned extra seriously. "Authorities have been unsuccessful so far in their attempts to detain him, as his smell has penetrated even their best protective masks. Citizens are advised to evacuate the area."

Joo Dee smiled so brightly, the camera man fainted. "Now for the weather. Chun Li, how's it looking this week?"

The woman in a flowing mint dress stood before a map of the Earth Kingdom with little sun and cloud symbols. "Oh, it's going to be a wonderful week, with highs in the low seventies and a low chance of rain, though the wind is going to be a bit nippy at thirty miles per hour." But then she held a finger to a piece in her ear. "Wait, I'm getting new information. It looks like a giant koi fish is heading to the Southern Coast, and dust storms are forming in Omashu. We'll have to monitor this situation."

Long Feng nodded. "That is deeply concerning, Chun Li. To everyone listening on the coast: please give up all hope and flee for your lives. You are an insignificant blotch on the tapestry of life. Go clean yourself off it and rid the world of your filth."

Joo Dee smiled threateningly. "You are all scum. We hope you die a long, painful death."

Long Feng stared maliciously at the camera before softening. "And now for some pop culture. We turn to our culture correspondent, Mai Lin."

"Mai Lin, what's hip and cool around here?"

"I'll tell you what's hip and cool: the new live-action remake of Love Amongst the Dragons. The critics are saying it's a fresh take on the beloved original—although it can be a bit jarring at times."

"It's stunning and beautiful. I would give up my three-year-old son just to forget it and watch it again."

"...Back to you, Long."

Long Feng took a moment to process what had been said before smiling at the camera. "That'll do it for today. This is Long Feng, signing off for Ba Sing Se News."

"Here you are informed. Here you are entertained."

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. Here you are informed. Here you are entertained. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm depressed." Joo Dee grinned glumly.

"Sorry to hear that. Have a lollipop." He pulled out a one-foot red lollipop from under the desk and handed it to her.

"Oh, thank you." She set it down on the desk.

"Today's top story: ash bananas. What are they, and why do they pair so well with onions?"

"We will never know."

He frowned. "That's disappointing. Now on to our next story. Reporting from Gaoling, Min Hua is at the marriage of the Avatar to Lady Toph Beifong. Min Hua?"

She was standing outside the silver gates of the Beifong estate. "Yes, Long Feng. Dozens of guests are here at the estate, including the Fire Lord and the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe."

"They look so happy," Joo Dee smiled.

Min Hua nodded. "They sure do. Now, the wedding is scheduled for this—"

"Can I go there?"

"What?"

"I want to feel happy. I want a life." Joo Dee let a tear fall from her perfectly shadowed eye.

Long Feng blinked before turning to the director. "Cut the cameras. Joo Dee, the Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."

"I would be honored to accept his invitation." She blinked for a moment before smiling brightly at him. "What's going on, Long?"

"Oh, just a few technical difficulties. Here, have this."

He handed her another lollipop. Then he held a finger to his ear, nodding after a moment. "Breaking news: the Avatar and Lady Beifong have just left the wedding on his flying bison. If you see the bison, do not follow it. And watch out for bison dung falling from the sky."

With that, he looked into the camera. "I'm Long Feng."

"And I am honored to accept your invitation."

"Signing off for Ba Sing Se News. Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained."

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

The two women next to him were so alike he could have sworn they were twins, but he had a job to do. "Today's top story: a homelessness crisis is brewing—and an expert's solution? Hire them and make them living statues."

A chubby man with a bun and a white goatee grinned at the camera. His green eyes were cheery. 

"They're just standing around and doing nothing. But if we dress them up and teach them to hold still, they'll be contributing to society."

Joo Dee Two stared directly at the camera, not even blinking.

"Chin is there with more on the story. Chin?"

"Thank you, Joo Dee. I am here at the Earth King's palace, where Professor Xing Lei is presenting his first student's work.."

Behind him, a man with a wild beard and a ragged cloak was covered in silver paint and standing still in a fisherman's pose. His face was frozen in a bewildered frown.

"Professor, I do say—it looks quite impressive."

"Yes, I am so proud of what we have accomplished here." He pulled out a cane and pointed at the homeless man's face. "He is perfectly still, in character as a fisherman sitting on a dock as he daydreams."

"It's beautiful."

Though the man's lips did not move, a weak "help" squeaked out of them.

"How many more students do you have?"

"Help."

"Oh, we have dozens of volunteers who will be stationed in exhibits around the city. If all goes well, we will have living statues at twenty-seven locations."

"I can't wait. Well, Professor, it's been a pleasure."

"For me as well."

"Back to you, Long."

Long Feng shuffled some papers, smiling at the camera. "And now for the weather. Chun-Li. Chun-Li, are you there?"

"Yes, I am here." She staggered into the room, her hair disheveled and her dress covered in mudprints.

"Chun-Li, are you alright? What happened?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I was simply standing in the road when a girl on a polar bear dog ran me over. I am fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Now it looks like we will have partly overdraft skies and a high chance of rain. Nine— Ninety percent—"

And she fell to the ground.

A janitor walked into the room and swept her to the side. "Back to you, Long."

Long Feng's face was frozen in a disbelieving stare. The Joo Dees’ smiles were unchanged.

"Now, a word from our sponsors: White Wolf Cactus Juice—it's the quenchiest. And now to Hong with sports."

A man with a double goatee stood in a pai sho hall. "Thank you, Long. The Ba Sing Se Pai sho Team competed in the Legends Tournament in Republic City, coming in second with a fifteen-point lead, led by the brilliant Mushi."

He held a microphone to the old man. "Mister Mushi, you had an excellent showing today. You swept through the competition like air."

"Oh, I simply start with a pot of ginseng and let myself get lost in the game. Speaking of tea—would you like a cup?"

"Oh no, I'm on duty."

The man shook his head. "But I insist."

"...Fine."

Hong turned to the camera. "The team now heads to the finals to face the Agna Qel'a team, led by Masters Pakku and Yugoda. It's looking to be an exciting match."

"I have some green tea cakes."

"...Yeah. Thanks.” He took a bite. “Back to you, Long."

"That'll do it for today, folks. For Ba Sing Se News, I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"No—I am Joo Dee."

"Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained." Long frowned at them. “The Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."

And they both intoned, "I am honored to accept his invitation."

*  *  *

Long Feng furrowed his brow at the camera. "What is Zuko doing in the kitchen?"

Zuko sliced some tomatoes to put on his ham sandwich.

“Is that blood on his hands?”

He'd just squirted the ketchup bottle, spraying some of it everywhere.

"Our investigator, Joo Dee, is on the case."

Joo Dee popped out of a trash can, holding out a microphone. "Mr. Sozin, what do you think you are doing?"

The man widened his eyes. "What—what are you doing in here?"

"I'm with Ba Sing Se News, and we have reason to believe that you are a murderer."

"What? I'm making a sandwich!"

"Really? We'll see about that."

She grabbed for his sandwich, and when he tugged it back, it fell onto the floor, transforming into a dead otter-penguin.

He turned to see Sokka barging in, wearing a tutu and a hockey mask.

"You're under arrest for killing an endangered species."

Long Feng awoke from the dream, smiling. He had an idea for a story.

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"Today's top story: a man is sitting in a newsroom and narrating a story.” 

“And a woman is adding polite commentary that doesn't add any beneficial information."

Long Feng nodded to her. "Now to the weather, where a woman is standing in front of a screen, reading a script, and pointing at things while looking pretty. Chun Li, how are things?"

"The weather is nice. I need more money."

"Denied."

She sighed. "Darn. It was worth a try."

"It sure was. Oh, and I've heard your vacation was denied too, so there's that. ...And with a look at sports, here's Hong. Hong, what's going on this week?"

Hong looked like he pulled himself out of bed after a night with a bottle of sake. "I hate my job and want to rip my script into a million pieces. The Flaming Fire Ferrets defeated a homeless man peacefully sleeping on the sidewalk on the way to their match with the Blue Chicken-Buffalos. Now charges have been filed, and they lost the match.” He swatted the air. “Do we have insect repellent? I'm hearing wasps."

Long Feng shook his head. "No can do. Get it on your lunch break."

"Awesome."

"Now a word from our sponsor: Bujing Strategic Advisors—Do you have a military conflict in need of resolving? Just throw hundreds of child soldiers at your problem, and it will go smoothly. Bujing: what better bait than fresh meat?"

Joo Dee smiled at the camera as if reciting a hostage video. "This week, we are delighted to tour the Ba Sing Se Flutter-wasp Zoo, where dreams come true. Joo Dee?"

Joo Dee II smiled. "I am standing here at the Ba Sing Se Zoo, where the director has kindly led me through the wasp exhibit. Director, are these flutter-wasps in open-air cages?"

A bald man in a green turtleduck-neck sweater smiled. "They sure are, Joo Dee. They get antsy and depressed all locked up in cages, so we let them breathe the fresh air and go where they please."

Joo Dee II tried to make her smile look happy, but she was straining her cheek muscles. Her eyes were darting around in alarm as the flutter-wasps flew nearby—landing on tables, chairs, in ice cream, and even in dogs' fur.

The man eyed the flutter-wasps like babbling toddlers, then he met the woman’s concerned eyes. “What is it?”

"Could we take this interview inside?"

"What, don’t you want to be around the bees?"

"Yes, they’re quite charming, but it is quite hot out here." She fanned her face.

Flutter-wasps began to land on the man as he shook his head. "Oh, we can simply bring out a fan. Wu, would you kindly?"

An assistant nodded. "Sure..." He returned with a small handheld fan.

As they sat there, the flutter-wasps had completely covered the man's torso and were making their way up his head, but his smile did not fade.

"Uh… sir, are you concerned about—?"

"Oh, not at all. I quite enjoy it, actually."

As the flutter-wasps lifted the man into the sky, Joo Dee II turned to the camera. "Back to you, Long."

Long Feng blinked before composing himself. "That… was something. That’ll do it for today, folks. For Ba Sing Se News, I’m Long Feng."

"And I’m Joo Dee."

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained.”

*  *  *

“This is Ba Sing Se News. I am Long Feng.” 

“And I am Joo Dee.” 

“Here you are informed, here you are entertained. Today's top story: a man in the lower ring has been selling hotcakes with cream to people. The only problem? They have poison in them. He has killed several dozen people, and he is at large. The police are informing people to stay clear of the area and let them know if they come across anything suspicious. Joo Dee, what did you have for breakfast?” 

She blinked. “Oh… not that?” 

“Good. And now, we have Chun-Li with the weather. Chun-Li, what's going on today?”

Chun-Li stood at a weather monitor in a white dress. Her eyes were streaming with tears as a gigantic hurricane was barreling down.

Long Feng furrowed his brow. "Chun-Li, what is that on the screen?"

She sobbed. "We're all going to die."

"What? What do you mean?"

Chun-Li continued to cry.

The anchor stared before widening his eyes. “Oh, I see the problem. Chun-Li, that's not the... Could somebody from the technical team get that fixed? It's a scene from a movie."

And Chun-Li widened her eyes in confusion. "What?"

"It looks like you're the victim of a practical joke. Let's get that fixed. …While that's being dealt with, let's do some trivia. What is the Earth King's favorite pet?”

Joo Dee sat next to him in confusion, clearing her throat. "A bear?"

"Yes, just a bear. And he is quite famous for it."

A man behind the cameras held up a hand. "We are done with the technical changes."

"Okay. Chun-Li, back to you."

"Okay." She took a moment to breathe. "Okay, looks like today is going to be much better than what I thought, so here's the weather. The skies are nice and clear today, and the temperature will be a cozy seventy degrees. However, there is a chance of showers later tonight, so keep your windows closed. Wait.” She held a finger to her earpiece. “I am receiving word that our director needs… chicken nuggets for lunch?”

“Cut the feed.” Long Feng walked over to an intern at a computer screen and whispered into his ear, “The Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai.”

“I would be honored to accept his invitation.”

The anchor lifted the man by his throat and smiled into his pale green eyes. “Leave here and never return. Do I make myself clear?”

The boy nodded, his eyes clouded and his movements jerky. “I shall do whatever you command, Mister Feng.”

“Good. Your things will be waiting for you at the door.”

He returned to the newsdesk, where Joo Dee was smiling like a clown. “In political news, the Earth King’s wife is expecting. Now Kuei will have heirs. But the real question is, did the Fire Nation have something to do with it? Chan is at the palace with a troubling report. Chan?”

Chan stood at the foot of the imperial steps, his black hair whipping in the wind. “It’s a bit windy here.”

“You’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Fine. Anyway, Queen Huamei is expecting. And the whole nation is thrilled about it.”

An old lady smiled. “I just can’t wait to see a beautiful baby prince.” 

An old lady with black lipstick grinned unnervingly. “Oh, I want to eat him up.”

A girl with a ponytail squealed. “Oh, it’s going to be so cute!”

“But others have concerns. Doctor Chun, a fellow at the Si Wong Online College, believes the pregnancy is part of a Fire Nation plot.”

A man in a white doctor’s outfit stood at a lab desk. “I have reason to believe that the Fire Nation took DNA from the Fire Lord and beamed it through the sky at the queen to delegitimize her.”

Chan nodded seriously. “That is quite a bold claim. Do you have any proof?”

The man pulled out a pin chart covered in crayon scribbles, holding it up with a serious gaze. “This is all the proof you will need. This needs to get to the Council of Five, the nobles, anyone who can take action to prevent a pretender on the throne.”

“Thank you, Doctor Chun.” The video feed ended, and returned to Chan standing before a camera. “Back to you, Long.”

Long Feng nodded. “That’ll do it for today. For Ba Sing Se News, I am Long Feng.”

“And I am Joo Dee.”

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained.”

*  *  *

“This is Ba Sing Se News. Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained. I'm Long Feng.“

“And I am Joo Dee.”

“Today's top story: A man is claiming to have discovered time travel.”

"I saw the future! The world is going to look so amazing in a hundred years!"

The pair stood with a nutty man in a white labcoat.lab coat

Long Feng smiled seriously. “Dr. Gao is a professor at Ba Sing Se University with a theoretical PhD in physics. He's with us here in the studio. Doctor Gao, do you have anything to show us?"

The man nodded, his floppy white hair bobbing up and down. "I have discovered so many things with my invention!"

"Would you like to show us this invention?"

"Of course." He pulled out a jagged steel gizmo with a green analog screen. A date was flashing on it. "You see, all you have to do is set the clock to the time you want—past or future—and you will find yourself transported to that exact moment."

Joo Dee smiled brighter, her teeth generating a glare that was nearly blinding. "Could we try it?"

"Sure, sure! I knew you were going to say that. Oh—" He handed her a breath mint. "You're going to need this later. Do you have a camera?"

Long Feng nodded. "Yes." He motioned to one of the camera crew, who carried a portable camera.

"Now we have to hold hands. Just like that." He cranked the dial. "We're going a minute into the past."

"Wait, are you sure that's a good idea—"

In a flash of light, they found themselves standing next to... themselves.

The doctor smiled to himself as the others were stiff with shock and confusion.

Past Gao waved to himself. "Oh hey, future self! How's it going?"

"Oh, this is just the end of the demonstration. You'll be here in a minute. Now let's hold hands and..."

With a press of the button, they were back in the present moment.

The two newspeople slid down to the floor, blinking their eyes.

"Oh, it takes a bit to get used to it. But once you do, you can do all sorts of things—tour ancient cities, play games with your past and future selves, and even win the lottery!"

Long Feng motioned to his neck to cut the feed. "Sir, we do not endorse gambling on this network. I am sorry, but—"

"But what?"

"Doctor Gao, the Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."

But the man only laughed, pressed a few buttons on the device—and disappeared.

The feed cut out, showing an error screen with a badger mole fixing a camera and smiling awkwardly before returning to a picture of Long Feng and Joo Dee at the desk.

"Sorry about that, folks. Looks like we are going to have to issue an apology. Joo Dee?"

"Yes, it is with great regret that we announce that Dr. Gao is now facing criminal charges and will soon face justice."

"Yes. Now on to Chun-Li with the weather. Chun-Li?"

Chun-Li was nodding off next to the weather wall. She perked up and looked at the screen.

"Oh, yes, it's going to be nice and sunny with highs in the low 80s and some potential showers tomorrow night. Bring out an umbrella for that. Anything else?"

"Yes, in fact, I want to start painting."

"You do?"

"Yes. Back to you, Long."

"Okay, then. In financial news, the Bank of Gaoling is losing money, so they are asking Lady Toph Beifong for financial relief, but she said, and I quote, ‘*** *** and *** you, you *** *** *** ***.’ …That'll do it for us, folks. I'm Long Feng.” 

“And I'm Joo Dee.” 

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained."

Before they could sign off, a red alert came on the screen.

"Breaking news, people. The Earth King is wearing a suit. Repeat, he is wearing a suit at the beach. This is such an embarrassment. Why is he doing this? We turn to our news correspondent, Chan, who is there on the scene for us."

"Yes, Long, it's such a tragedy. The Earth King is showing his pasty white body."

A blurred-out shot of the Earth King at the beach appeared on the screen, and the two anchors collapsed to the table, retching.

The feed went out, replaced by a badgermole shrugging next to a camera with a dead frowny face.

Chapter Text

Mai stood in the secret headquarters, the man in the suit still smiling. To kill the awkward silence, she walked forward and bowed. "So, when's the mission start?"

"Oh, you will be transported there in about six hours. So that gives us enough time to show you around."

"Yes, please do."

The man's green eyes glinted above a thin smile. "I am The Director."

Mai frowned. "Director…?"

"Just Director."

Weird. "Okay."

He led her to one of the weapon racks, which held missiles, machine guns, and several of the futuristic weapons from before. Pulling one out, he handed it to her. "This is a Mark V Multiform Repeater. It is quite useful in close quarters combat."

She grabbed it, and it morphed to fit her arm. "Take aim at this dummy." He pointed to one in the corner that had just popped out of the ground. She took a shot, and it exploded into ash. "As you can see, it is very destructive."

"Yep."

Next, he led her to the displays, where her targets were glaring down at her. "This is our main intelligence dashboard. Here you will find information on your targets, locations, strategies, and so on and so forth. This is Fu Long, member of the Triads. He has been involved in several bombings in the Earth Kingdom. He will be the main target. Try to keep him in one piece for interrogations. If not, we will understand."

She nodded.

He pulled out a key fob and pressed a red button on it. A round hole opened in the floor, revealing a black sedan that inched up to the surface. "Here is your transportation. It comes with ejector seats, missiles, anti-aircraft guns, and full-service catering."

"Does it have a mini-bar?"

"It does. Do you want a drink?"

She gave him a deadpan stare. "No, I am going dry at the moment... A martini—extra dry."

He bent inside, and after a whirring sound, he pulled out a martini. It was bubbling just the way she liked it and had three olives on a red stick. He handed it to her. "Enjoy."

She lifted it to her lips, enjoying the bitter taste of the alcohol, as he turned back to the car. "Would you like to get a feel for it?"

"Sure."

As they sat in the plush red interior, he gestured to a few buttons. "Now, if you are in danger, you can press the homing button on the dash"—a green button with a black frowny face on it. "And if you need to evade detection—" He pressed a square button that turned red.

She looked out to see that the hood was invisible. "Neat. Can it do any other tricks?"

"Oh, I haven't even gotten warmed up yet." He pulled a black knob, and a pair of miniguns popped out of the hood, and a green targeting system came to life on the dash screen. "Fully loaded 5mm machine guns. They will cut through steel like butter."

"Nice."

"And if you need to take a dip during a chase..." He pressed a blue button, and the car transformed into a boat, the wheels turning flat with the ground. "It can reach a max speed of two hundred knots an hour and has radar sensors."

"Got it."

Afterward, he led her on a tour of the facilities. There was a gun range, a danger room for simulating missions, a cafeteria, and a doughnut bar. "You'd be surprised how popular it is—cinnamon sugar." She shook her head, grabbing a cherry fritter.

When the tour finished, they sat down on a balcony overlooking a vista of a lush green forest nestled between two rivers. It all looked so real—but they couldn't simulate the scent of pine and sea breeze.

"It's nice, isn't it?"

"I guess. But why go through the expense of it?"

"See that guy over there?" He pointed to a gaunt man with a beard trailing over the floor. "He never wants to leave. But he needs something to keep his sanity."

"...Okay."

"Anyway, let's get you to your room."

They traveled down a corridor and through a hall, coming to a stop at a keypad in a wall. He typed in a passcode, and the wall opened to reveal a white master bedroom with a giant black wardrobe and a silver fridge. Her luggage lay open next to the bed.

"Your luggage has been unloaded. Enjoy your mission."

She stood there in the room as the doors whirred shut, then jumped on the bed and sank into its soft sheets. After a moment, she slipped off and opened the fridge to see trays upon trays of fine cuisine: steak, crab stir-fry, salmon-perch sushi, caviar—and booze. Don't forget the booze. She helped herself to some steak, a salmon roll, and a can of beer.

Nibbling on her meal, she smiled. She could get used to this. But first she could take a nap.

Mai woke to the sound of a blaring alarm and sat up in bed, throwing a knife at her phone to silence it. She jumped out of bed and combed her hair, then looked down at her clothes and let out a dissatisfied grunt. After changing into a black business dress with a red bow, she pulled out some knives from her suitcase and set them into her pockets and sleeves before putting on twin pistols. If these guys didn't have the right stuff, she could stick with her old reliables.

She checked her phone for a moment before slipping out into the hallway, where she was greeted by a woman in a black suit that was a size too small for her. She had black lipstick, a black skull topknot, and olive eyes.

"Hello, Mai. Ready for your first mission?"

"Who are you?"

"Oh, the name's June, but you can call me the Huntress."

"Okay."

"Follow me." She led her down the corridor to the HQ, where the director was waiting.

"Ah, Huntress, thank you for escorting our new agent."

"No problem. I was just in the neighborhood and she stepped out. So, are you getting a heist case? Basic terrorism?"

The director cleared his throat. "That is where I come in. As a refresher, you are to stop the bad guys from doing their thing, and if you succeed you will receive your payment. Your weapons are in the locker against the wall. We have emailed you your passcode. The mission is expected to start at 2 PM. Try not to be late."

"Understood."

Mai took a step, but June tapped her shoulder. In an instant, June found a knife a foot from her neck.

"Whoa, calm down there."

Mai pulled it back, bowing in apology. "Sorry. Force of habit. What do you want?"

"Oh, I was just gonna say good luck, and you need to keep your head on a swivel. You never know who's gonna stab you in the back in this line of work."

"I've gotten that advice many times. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a mission to prepare for." With that she walked away, leaving the older woman sighing and staring.

Mai strolled over to the other wall to see a line of glossy lockers. When she came within a few feet of them, one in the middle glowed red and opened automatically. "Welcome, Agent Mai," it announced, revealing a set of black body armor, a pistol, and one of the advanced rifles.

She put on the armor, and when she grabbed the pistol, a light flashed from it. "Initiating training mode."

She sighed.

"Have you used this weapon before?"

"Once."

"Insufficient amount of experience. Continuing. To start, squeeze the handle." She did so, and the gun came to life. She looked through the neon orange sights at a dummy in the back and fired a shot, turning it into dust.

"Insufficient amount of experience."

"Oh for the love of—" She aimed the gun at two more dummies and blew them to pieces.

"Sufficient amount of experience. You may continue."

"Finally." She sighed and holstered the gun on her hip, then walked out of the room to another room where a computer monitor lay on a desk. She sat down before it and the screen flashed green for a moment.

"Initiating face scan." It sent a cluster of lasers over her face that tickled. "Face scan complete. Welcome, Agent Mai. Have you completed your mission briefing?"

"I want a refresher."

"Here are your mission details. The targets are planning to attack the client tonight. You are tasked with intercepting them and neutralizing them. If you are successful, you will receive two hundred thousand yen, and should you wish to continue with our organization, we will determine if your performance is up to our standards before offering you another mission. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes." Mai nodded.

"Now, your mission starts in four hours. Would you like to practice in our training area?"

"Of course."

The screen blinked out, and she stood and left the room, turning a corner and down a hall to a wide hall full of guns and dummies. She stood in the middle of it, holding her gun at the ready before hearing a voice come from her gun. "Ready to start in three, two, one."

The room transformed into an office complex full of men in black masks. She quickly dispatched the two in front of her in a line of cubicles before ducking into one as a man with a shotgun fired a blast right at her. She flew back in the air, landing on the ground as the men approached. She shot blindly, hearing two grunts. When she opened her eyes, there were two more, guns trained on her.

She covered her face as they fired, wincing as the bullets dug into her arms—then bounced off her sleeves. She focused her chi. Two shots. One motion. Both dropped.

"Success. Simulation terminated."

She sat up on the floor, blinking her eyes as the room faded back to reality. She smirked; she would have to make full use of this room whatever happened after. But first, she had a mission to do. So she stood, dusted herself off, and walked out to the main hall.

As the hours passed, she went over the mission details once again before a black screen came to life on her phone, counting down from five. When it reached zero, a black Audi was waiting for her. She hopped in, and the screen flashed to life. A few other people were standing around, watching as the newbie drove off to the elevator pad, which zipped up into the air.

Some earbuds zipped out of the dash, and Mai popped one in, then she checked her weapons once more as the AI came to life. "So what's it going to be today, newbie? Are you going to pass with flying colors, or are we going to have somebody in a body bag?"

Mai was not pleased. "I would prefer you be more optimistic, but I can take a little snark."

"Fair enough. Now, let's get the show on the road." She looked out to see the sun was shining, and the car rocketed off out of the parking complex and into the city, streets and people blurring by them. They came to a stop at a parking structure, driving all the way to the rooftop lot.

She heard a crackle in her ear and listened as a man said, "This is the place where you will stake out the perpetrators. You will have as much time as you need and as much resources. Any men coming into the building must die before they reach the client. And if you need to get down quickly, we have provided you a jetpack. Use it immediately after the threats have been neutralized outside. Then go inside the bank and kill them all."

She looked out across the street to see the bank—a black gothic building with golden arches and a nicely done calligraphy title that said "First Bank." How original.

She pulled out a gun kit from the trunk and opened it up to see a long sniper rifle, nice and gunmetal grey and black with an optical scope and several magazines of 9mm rounds. She took it out, put in the magazine, and set it down on the ground, pulling out the kickstand and aiming it down at the bank, setting her sights and adjusting the scope.

Mai sat cross-legged on the rooftop, flipping through her load-out like she was ticking items off a grocery list. Knives? Check. Pistols? Check. Kevlar vest snug and sitting just right. The sky above sagged with grey clouds—maybe an omen, maybe just bad weather.

"Could I get a holo of the schematics again?"

"Sure. Here it is in all its glory."

The rifle rested against the concrete balcony rail. A soft whir hummed as a projector under the barrel spat a cone of pale yellow light into the air. It shaped itself into a 3-D model of the bank across the street—translucent, shimmering, and precise.

She reached through the ghost walls, peeling them away with a flick of her wrist. The bank’s innards opened up like a dissected insect: grand lobby, office maze, a vault sunk deep in the basement. Red dots throbbed where cameras and sensors lay in wait. A single, brighter dot pulsed on the top floor.

"That’s the executive suite. Your client is inside. Try to keep collateral damage low."

She rolled her eyes. "I make no promises."

"Excessive snark is strictly prohibited in our employee handbook."

Her gaze drifted to the street below just in time to catch headlights cutting through the gloom. A black sedan. Four men.

"That’s our entertainment."

She exhaled, sights steady, chi thrumming in her veins. One man in a trench coat took the lead. The shot cracked, blood blooming crimson across the grey street as he folded to the pavement.

Mai looked down her sights and breathed, stoking her chi. She fired a shot at a man in the front with a trench coat, blood bloomed from him as he fell to the ground. The men turned and fired at her, but she fired more blasts.

Chaos erupted. The remaining three spun, scanning wildly for the source of the shot. One caught the glint of her muzzle flash. Automatic fire ripped the air, chewing up the railing in front of her. Mai didn’t flinch. She shifted her aim, exhaled, and squeezed off another round. The second man spun and dropped. Her sights slid to the third—one more shot and he staggered against the sedan before sliding to the pavement.

She ducked behind the solid wall as bullets hissed overhead. The last man, realizing the odds, let loose a few wild bursts before bolting through the bank’s main doors.

"Hostile has entered the building."

The street lay still now. She crawled back from the ledge, leaving the sniper rifle in place. No time for stealth. The jetpack clipped into place over her Kevlar, its harness straps tightening automatically. Two compact machine pistols slid into her hands.

"Shall we, Death Blossom?"

"Here goes nothing."

She sprinted for the edge and leapt. Gravity clawed at her for a heartbeat before the turbines roared to life, slinging her forward in a violent arc. The second-floor plate-glass window loomed ahead. She crashed through in an explosion of shards and sound, hitting the carpet in a controlled roll.

Two men behind marble pillars froze. She cut them down before they could recover. Their return fire was wild, panicked. Rounds struck her chest like heavy raindrops, the armor absorbing the damage like a ripple in a pond.

She vaulted over the railing, dropping to the lobby floor without a sound. An overturned mahogany table took the brunt of the next volley. Marble gleamed under bright lamps that now lit a dancefloor of lead. Footsteps retreated down the hall.

"Two more, twelve o’clock."

She vaulted the table, catching the pair mid-reload, and stitched the wall behind them with controlled bursts.

Gunfire erupted from deeper in the hall, sharp and deliberate, followed by a cry of pain—someone not on the enemy roster.

"They’re in the suite. At least three."

"Need a diversion."

"You can take a pill for that."

She pulled a clone pill out of a pocket, gripped it, feeling a prick of blood, and slapped it onto the grip of her second pistol. She hurled it down the corridor. The weapon hit the floor, and a perfect hard-light duplicate of her crouched into existence. The decoy lunged forward, weapon in hand, drawing a hail of fire before sliding into cover.

A phantom sting burned across her shoulder. Another one flared in her leg as the firefight raged. The mental tether buzzed, threads fraying.

"I would like to make a return. This gadget is defective."

"Sorry, we do not accept returns. …Clone integrity at sixty percent; a pity. And it’s saying your addiction to life-threatening hobbies is so enjoyable."

"Great. My sarcasm used against me."

She slipped into a side records office, weaving past desks littered with shattered glass and brass casings. Two more in cheap suits leaned out from the far corridor. One pointed. A pair of sidearm shots cut them down before they could blink.

In the main hall, the decoy dropped, fading into a hissing goo pile.

"Clone offline. Hope you got your money’s worth."

Footsteps hammered on the mezzanine. A rifle spat fire from the railing, chewing plaster beside her head as she slid across the marble floor, returning fire until the shooter ducked. She ripped a brass stanchion from its base and hurled it upward with a loud clang. The gunner bit, sending another burst at the distraction while she took the stairs three at a time.

Halfway up, an office door burst open. A bald mountain with a shotgun blocked her path. She slammed into his solar plexus, driving him back into the room, and brought the butt of her pistol down hard. He collapsed in a heap.

"Status report, Death Blossom. We're tracking multiple heart rates, all elevated, in the executive suite. The target is still viable."

"Define 'viable.'" Mai moved down a corridor lined with oil portraits of stern-faced bankers as the gunfire grew louder. Ahead, the ornate double doors to the main office hung splintered from a single hinge. A shout, then the crash of a heavy desk. They were barricaded inside. She flattened herself against the wall, reloading with a fluid motion. The click of the magazine echoed in the hall. Slipping a thin knife from her sleeve, she took a steadying breath.

She slipped through the ruined doorway. The executive suite was a wreck. A massive mahogany desk lay on its side, a makeshift barricade for three goons. A fourth held a pistol to the head of an older man with a neat white goatee and spectacles knocked askew. Mr. Wen.

The leader, arm locked around Wen's neck, flashed a gold-toothed grin. "Drop it, lady. Or the banker here gets his assets liquidated. Permanently."

"Hostage situation confirmed. Standard protocols are... well, you're just going to shoot them, aren't you?"

The goon tightened his grip, making Wen gasp. "Are you deaf? I said drop the gun!"

Mai's eyes flicked around the room, her brain calculating angles, ricochets, and vulnerabilities. She saw the raw fear in Wen's eyes and the smug overconfidence in the gunman's. A fatal combination. For him.

"You've made a mess of a perfectly nice office." She raised her pistol, not in surrender, but with a casual disregard for his threat. "And your breath smells terrible from here."

The world went quiet. The low hum of the city faded. Time stretched, becoming thin and pliable. The leader's triumphant smirk froze.

Her arm rose, the pistol an extension of her will. The first shot was a silent bloom of fire, a golden streak aimed not to kill, but to maim the hand holding the gun to Wen's head. Simultaneously, her other hand blurred. The knife left her fingers, a sliver of steel cartwheeling through the air, its trajectory locked on the throat of the goon peeking over the desk. Her pistol cycled. A second round. A third.

The sound crashed back in. The concussive roar of the three gunshots hit her at once. The leader holding Wen screamed, his hand a mangled ruin as his own weapon clattered to the floor. The knife thudded into the second man's neck with a wet slick. The other two collapsed without a whisper.

Mr. Wen stumbled away from his captor, his face a mask of disbelief. The wounded leader clutched his shredded hand, his howl filling the room. Mai lunged, yanking Wen behind the solid oak of the fallen desk just as a stray round from a dying gunman's last spasm ricocheted off the wood. Splinters flew. Mai glanced over the edge. The leader was on his knees, fumbling for his dropped pistol with his good hand.

She was faster. Two sharp reports from her pistol silenced the room. The leader stared at the new red hole in his chest, a look of profound surprise on his face, before he pitched forward and lay still.

Mai tapped her earbud. "Death Blossom to HQ."

"HQ. Confirm status."

"Threats neutralized. Target secure."

"Acknowledged. Huntress is en route for clean-up."

Silence settled over the executive suite. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp bite of cordite. Four men lay scattered across the expensive carpet.

Mr. Wen leaned against the overturned desk, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gulps. His bespoke suit was rumpled, his face pale as bleached bone. His eyes, wide and unfocused behind skewed spectacles, darted from the sprawled bodies to the woman in the center of the room. She moved with an unnerving calm, ejecting the spent magazine from her pistol and sliding a fresh one home with a clean, metallic click. The sound was brutally loud in the quiet.

He finally found his voice, a dry rasp. "Who... who are you?"

Mai holstered the weapon without looking at him. Her gaze swept the room, a quick, professional assessment. A bullet had shattered a crystal decanter, scattering glass across a framed photograph. Another had torn a gash in a leather armchair. A mess. She turned her attention to the trembling man.

"A concerned third party."

Wen stared, his mouth opening and closing. He pushed his glasses back up his nose with a shaky hand, a small anchor of normalcy in a world gone sideways.

"Poor man. He's probably never seen a dead body outside of an Ember Plus action flick."

Mai walked past him, her boots silent on the thick rug. Her eyes scanned the perimeter, landing on a handsome rosewood cabinet against the far wall. It stood untouched. She ran a gloved finger along its surface, leaving a clean streak in the fine layer of dust kicked up by the fight.

Turning back to Wen, she arched a brow. "Do you have any booze?"

"No, we do not drink on the job."

Wen blinked. "Booze?" His voice was a faint squeak. He looked from the dead man nearest him to Mai's face, the disconnect short-circuiting his brain.

With a trembling hand, he pointed toward the cabinet. "The... bottom drawer."

Mai gave a curt nod. She slid the drawer open, revealing a bottle nestled in amongst a smattering of trinkets and mementos. pulling out the squat bottle of amber liquid—eighteen-year-old single malt—she unscrewed the cap.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

And took a long swallow. The fire of the scotch traced a searing path down her throat. She lowered the bottle, her eyes meeting Wen's over the rim.

"Put it on my tab."

Mai pictured a straining forehead behind the sigh that hissed through her earbud.

She left the bottle on the ruined desk next to the corpse and stepped through the shattered doorway. Outside, the Huntress gave her a crisp nod from beside a black, unmarked van. Mai walked past her and climbed into the waiting Audi.

The return trip was a silent, automated affair. Back in the subterranean base, the car slotted itself into its berth with a quiet hiss. Mai walked through the main hall, the scent of antiseptic a sharp contrast to the coppery smell of the executive suite. The director waited by the lockers, hands clasped behind his back.

She stopped before her locker and began to strip off the armor, letting it clatter onto the metal shelf. The pistol and rifle followed, returned to their racks.

The Director cleared his throat. "Flawless execution, agent. The client is... appreciative. We would be honored if you would consider a more permanent arrangement."

Mai slid the locker door shut. It locked with a dull thud. She turned to face him, letting the silence hang between them. "I'll think about it."

The Silver Serpent plane cut a silent, surgical line through the stratosphere, leaving the Fire Nation far behind. Mai hadn’t bothered with the window, instead deciding to engage in her healthy habit of perusing poasters on social media. After a few abortive attempts by Mr. Orb at conversation, the plane fell into a delicious silence.

The descent into Ba Sing Se was a swift plunge into a sea of gray vapor. Fog smothered the city, a thick blanket that swallowed the tops of skyscrapers and bled the garish neon signs into soft, hazy watercolors. The sedan glided through the empty, water-slicked streets, its headlamps carving futile tunnels into the gloom. By the time the vehicle deposited her on the curb and slipped back into the mist, the night felt ancient.

Inside her apartment, the air was still and cool. She slipped off her shoes, tossed off her jacket, and went to the kitchen, pouring two fingers of whiskey. She stood in the dark, the glass cold in her hand, when her phone vibrated on the counter.

Encrypted: Have you come to a decision?

Smiling, she tapped a quick, "Yes."

C'est la fin

Chapter Text

On a dreary evening in Ba Sing Se, Mai sat in her car at a Cabbage Burger drive thru.

'I'll have a Cabbage Burger with the Fire Flake Sauce, please."

"Okay. Would you like fries with that?"

Mai shook her head. "No, I do not want fries with my sandwich."

The girl on the other end sighed. "Okay, that'll be a hundred and thirty-four yen at the next window."

Sitting in her car with her Cabbage Burger and Dr. Foam, Agent Mai pulled out her phone. No messages from the group chat. Nothing on Iroh’s side, either. So she pumped the Nomad music and headed off onto the freeway.

As she drove south over the deserted highway, she looked up to see a shining moon—and flashing cop lights in the rearview mirror.

"Oh great. Just great."

She pulled over onto the shoulder, turned on her emergency lights, and waited for a headache. Well, the second one. She was already feeling one coming on. She pulled out her psychic paper license and insurance and waited for the sound of footsteps.

She looked out to see blue eyes and a pair of hair tails under a police beanie.

"Evening, Mai."

Mai smiled thinly. "Evening, Korra."

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

The knife wielder pretended to think for a moment. "Eighty."

"Ninety-two, to be exact."

"Darn. I didn’t beat my high score. Who enters at the garden gate?"

Korra sighed. "I know, I know. I’ll bill your alias and you’ll get off scot-free. But you need to let me in on one of your missions once in a while."

"You’ll have to talk to my boss about that."

"Got a number?"

"Got your phone?"

Brimming with glee, Korra whipped it out and handed it to her, and she typed out Iroh’s number, holding it out.

"Now, is there anything else you need to keep me from my burger?"

"Nope. Have a nice night, Mai. Tell Katara I said hi."

"Will do."

Mai cruised back to her apartment, the drive-thru incident already forgotten in the monotony of late-night traffic. The building's automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, and she trudged up three flights of stairs to her unit.

Her fridge hummed in the darkness. She grabbed a can of plum wine and flopped onto her couch, drinking her Dr. Foam before mixing in some booze. She still hadn't come up with a name for it. Dr. Plum? Twenty-four Flavors? Nah. Mai Brain too tired.

The Cabbage Burger wrapper crinkled as she unwrapped it, steam rising from the patty.

First bite. Bun. Meat. Tonkatsu Sauce. Bun.

No heat. No kick. No Fire Flake Sauce.

"Those ash-licking amateurs."

She took a long pull from her drink and stared at the botched burger. Even super spies couldn't escape fast food incompetence.

She still ate it; even without the sauce, it paired well with her booze. Too bad she couldn't give the cook a quick wardrobe change, preferably with shuriken.

Chapter Text

“I would like a fruit tart. With extra cream.”

The man behind the register nodded. “Uh-huh. And you?”

Other Mai looked down at the sweets in the display case. “I would like a donut.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“Chocolate with sprinkles.”

Mai looked at Other Mai in dismay. Why would she forsake the path of the fruit tart? It was a sacred bond she shared with such a delicious treat. Now she knew Other Mai was an imposter.

She turned to the man behind the counter as she pulled out her credit card. “I’m paying.”

“Okay.”

Sitting down on a bench, food in hand, they looked out across the street at a band playing guitars and drums.

“What’s it like in your world?”

Other Mai took a moment to lick some frosting from her cheek. “Oh, we just kind of do the same thing. But the Water Tribes are in charge.”

“What do you do?”

“I work as an assassin.”

“Oh, nice. I kill people for a living, too. How much do they pay you?”

“That’s classified.”

“As is mine.”

“Do you have any contingency plans for this kind of thing?”

Mai nodded. “Yeah. It’s probably filed somewhere away in Iroh’s office. But I’m guessing I’ll have to come up with an interdimensional portal to get you back after we handle this nonsense.”

Other Mai was gnawing on her inferior treat. “Yeah. …Do you got any weapons for me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We have an unlimited budget.”

“Do you have any boomerangs?”

Mai crossed her arms. “Typical. The Water Tribes have tainted you. Next you’ll tell me you like seal jerky and sea prunes.”

“What, you don’t like them?”

“They’re detestable.”

Other Mai hummed. “I guess we’ll have to beg to differ.”

“Yes, but I'm still right.”

“No, you’re not!

“Yes, I am!”

“No, you're not!

And the two Mais sat there on the bench bickering all the while.

Chapter Text

One little text, a late-night call,

Now I’m heading for a fall.

This crazy game, a sweet mistake,

Every single rule I’ll break.

“Seven! Winner!” The croupier's practiced monotone betrayed a flicker of astonishment as he pushed another mountain of chips toward Mai and a collective groan rippled through the other players.

Mai’s face was a placid mask. She picked up the sweating glass of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking a quiet rhythm. The amber liquid burned a clean, familiar path down her throat. This was what she did between shooting bodies full of holes. A little sin to wash away the sin.

A man in a sweat-stained suit shook his head. “Lady, you ought to bottle that luck and sell it.”

Mai offered no reply. A vibration against her thigh drew her attention. She slid her phone from her pocket, angling the screen away from prying eyes under the lip of the table.

Loopies: I’m going to murder him.

A flicker of amusement, gone as quickly as it came.

Knives: What did the idiot do this time?

Loopies: He tried to create a “tactical diversion” by challenging a dockworker to an arm-wrestling match. The guy was built like a shipping container. Zuko lost in two seconds.

Loopies: Then he accused the man of cheating.

Mai could picture it perfectly. The scowl. The misplaced honor. The sheer, dramatic brashness. Oh, Zuko, never change.

Knives: Let me guess. He’s pouting.

Loopies: Like a child who was denied a second turtleduck.

Knives: Tell him you’ll buy him noodles.

A few seconds passed.

Loopies: …You’re a genius. And a bad influence.

Mai slipped the phone back into her pocket, the corner of her mouth threatening a smirk. She forced it down, her honey-colored eyes scanning the casino floor, coolly cataloging exits, security cameras, and the tells of every player in sight. Two long oxtails of blackest hair rested against her shoulders. She wore a blood-red trench coat with stark white stripes, a slash of intentional color in a sea of tasteless gold leaf. Her red and white scarf hung lazily over her black v-neck. Beneath her red skirt, her tungsten-tipped heels clicked on the marble, each step a potential weapon.

Reaching into her jacket, Mai tapped a cigarette from its pack. The small flame from her lighter reflected in her unblinking eyes before she exhaled a perfect, silver-blue ring of smoke. She picked up the dice again.

The last few months had been a blur. Her arrangement with the Silver Serpent was brutally efficient: a name, a location, a wire transfer. She sent back confirmation. Dismantling an arms operation in a grimy Zaofu warehouse. Acquiring sensitive data from a corrupt Fire Nation magnate. The work was visceral, immediate. It paid for the whiskey and the silence.

She scooped up the dice. Another throw, another win. The man to her left slammed his fist on the railing. Mai didn’t flinch.

Then there was the White Lotus. Grand Sage Iroh had surprised her. No ultimatum. Just a quiet garden, two cups of jasmine tea, and his sanction for her “extracurriculars.” Some threats, he’d conceded, required a blade in the dark. Leave it to the old man to make my moonlighting sound noble.

So her work for the Lotus changed. It became more nuanced, a scalpel instead of a sledgehammer. Mediating a ceasefire between data brokers, hunting a rogue AI through the darknet. The work was heavier, carrying a purpose the Serpent's fat paychecks couldn't buy.

Mai signaled for another drink. This life, this strange duality, was a high-wire act. One foot in the shadows, the other in the twilight. Death Blossom and the Black Talon. A gun for hire and an agent of balance. Here, she was just a woman with uncanny luck.

Her gaze drifted from the chips, past the desperate faces to a silent television above the bar. Grainy footage. Flames engulfing thugs. Three masked figures in crimson, gold, and green stood in the wreckage. The chyron crawled below: DRAGON EMPRESS AND FRIENDS THWART ARMORED CAR ROBBERY. Mai took a long drag from her cigarette. Too much flair.

The dice tumbled from her hand. Another win. The pile of chips was obscene. She looked at the faces around her—desperate hope, greedy avarice, bitter disappointment. Just noise.

Draining a new glass in one swallow, she pushed the massive stack to the center of the table, palming just enough for her tab.

"Let it ride. For the table."

She didn’t wait for the outcome, turning her back on the sudden, feverish clamor. The twin tails of her scarf swept through the air as she pivoted. Her cigarette found the floor, ground to dust under her tungsten-tipped heel.

The cashier counted the chips with trembling hands, his eyes flicking up to Mai as if expecting a weapon. Leaning against the counter, a fresh cigarette dangling from her lips, she exhaled smoke toward the ceiling-mounted security camera.

He slid stacks of crisp Earth Kingdom yuan under the glass. Enough for a fun night or a few hundred fruit tarts. Mai stuffed the cash into a hidden inner pocket and left a single, high-value chip on the counter.

"For your trouble."

The kid stared at the chip, his mouth agape. Mai was already gone.

The valet nearly dropped his keys, scurrying to retrieve her car. He returned moments later behind the wheel of a machine that looked like a shard of polished night. The Porsche purred, a low, menacing growl. Hello, Plum Blossom. She’d splurged. The kind of money the Serpent paid bought more than silence; it bought speed. Dipping into the car, the smell of worn leather and cigarette smoke replaced the casino’s cloying perfume.

The engine roared to life. On the dashboard, a petite, holographic figure in a pink and purple hanfu shimmered into view, her vibrant pink hair styled in two giant, wavy locks.

"Hiya, Mai-Mai! Ready for a super-duper fun drive through the city?"

"Yes, Airhead."

"One adventure of a lifetime coming up!"

Mai pulled out into the electric veins of Ba Sing Se.

Umeboshi. A ‘gift’ from the Mechanist. The world’s most advanced tactical AI, inexplicably saddled with the personality of a hyperactive pop idol. He called her his “masterpiece,” refusing to dial back the syrupy sweetness. She tolerated it. Barely.

The city was a beast of light and shadow. Holographic dragons chased koi across glass-and-steel skyscrapers. Below, the streets were a chaotic river of traffic, maglev trains hissing on elevated tracks overhead. The long tails of her red scarf billowed as she accelerated.

"Ooooh, look at all the pretty lights! It’s like a big party that never stops!"

The air tasted of ozone, roasted duck, and perpetual dampness. Mai navigated the dense traffic with instinctual grace, cranking the stereo. The raw, fuzzy guitar riff of The Twisted Tigerdillos filled the cockpit.

"Ew. This music is so… gray. Don’t you think something with a little more sparkle would be better? I have a playlist of the Top 40 E-Pop Idols that’s just divine!"

Mai ignored her, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the drums.

Her phone buzzed on the console. Katara again.

Loopies: He’s quiet now. I think he’s writing angsty poetry in his notebook.

A smile ghosted across Mai’s lips as her thumbs moved across the screen.

Knives: We should get drinks soon. My treat.

Loopies: It’s a date. Don't treat the water like a paperweight.

But it works so well. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

Ahead, the world tore open. A silent, violent rip in the fabric of the street. The air shimmered, then buckled, collapsing inward to a perfect, circular maw of swirling, impossible color.

Well, this was going to be fun.

"OH MY GOSH! Mai, what is THAT?! Unidentified spatial anomaly detected! My sensors are going totally haywire! Probability of catastrophic existence failure is… ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine percent! We should probably turn around! But also… this is SO COOL!"

The portal pulsed with shades the human eye was never meant to see. It emitted no sound, yet she felt a vibration deep in her bones. Traffic screeched to a halt. People spilled out of their vehicles, pointing, shouting. Mai didn’t brake. Her foot remained steady on the accelerator. Swerve into a streetlamp and deal with the BSPD, or… not. She took a long drag from her cigarette, the embers flaring bright.

"Mai-Mai, no! Statistically, the pretty, scary death hole is a bad choice!"

Plum Blossom plunged into the anomaly.

The sensation was like being thrown into a blender with a rainbow. The engine's roar and Umeboshi’s screaming vanished for a moment, replaced by a deafening, cosmic static. Outside, reality dissolved into bleeding ribbons of light, then…

"AHHHH! WE’RE BEING DISASSEMBLED AT THE SUBATOMIC LEVEL! OUR HEXADECIMAL VALUES ARE BLEEDING INTO THE GREAT NOTHING! THIS IS NOT A FIVE-STAR RIDE EXPERIENCE, MAI-MAI! ZERO STARS! DO NOT RECOMMEND!"

The Porsche tumbled end over end without a hint of G-force, just a profound sense of dislocation. Mai watched her cigarette ash float in zero gravity before dissolving into motes of light, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. This wasn't even the weirdest thing she'd seen this year; the interdimensional hippocows at the Ember Island Cherry Festival had been far more unsettling. She sighed, a wisp of smoke escaping her lips. Just another Tuesday.

Then the chaos ceased. The storm of color collapsed into a single point of blinding white, and the car shot out, its tires chirping against solid ground. The engine's low purr returned.

Mai let the car coast to a stop, brushing a flake of ash from the pristine leather of the passenger seat. She pulled out her phone. No service.

"Darn."

She looked out the window. The universe had been repainted by a lunatic. A bruised plum sky streaked with chartreuse clouds. Two suns hung in the violet expanse: one a tiny, ferocious pinpoint of white, the other a bloated, weary orange giant. They cast conflicting shadows across a perfectly flat plain of interlocking charcoal-gray hexagonal plates. Crystalline trees with glass-fractal branches dotted the geometric desert, and between them, fleshy mushroom caps pulsed with a soft, bioluminescent blue. The air was still. The silence, absolute.

Umeboshi's holographic avatar flickered into existence on the dashboard, then stabilized.

“Whoa. My GPS is… well, it’s having an existential crisis. But my external environmental sensors are fully operational! We’re on an alien planet! Yeah! This is way cooler than that time you parallel parked in under thirty seconds!”

Mai just stared out at the bizarre, silent world.

“Okay, okay, analysis mode engaged! External atmospheric composition is… seventy-two percent nitrogen, twenty-six percent oxygen, and trace elements consistent with… hmm. Burnt sugar and static electricity. Good news, Mai-Mai! The air is one hundred percent breathable for standard-issue humans! He always said you’d find a way to void the warranty in the most spectacular fashion!

“My long-range comms are getting nothing but cosmic background radiation. No cell towers, no satellites, no inter-dimensional alien distress signals. We are officially off the grid! Oh, wouldn't hurt to send out Sparkles and Princess.” A beep and a whir later, two drones popped out of the car, their feeds blinking into existence on the dash.

Mai’s gaze drifted to a small button on the center console labeled with a tiny, etched icon of a martini glass. She pressed it.

A panel slid open. A chrome arm extended, holding a chilled crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid and a single, perfect sphere of ice.

“So, what’s the plan, Captain? Are we going to establish a perimeter? Search for intelligent life? Claim this planet in the name of Mai-Mai?”

Mai took a long, slow swallow of the whiskey. The familiar burn was a grounding anchor.

“Something stupid is bound to happen.”

She downed the rest of the whiskey and set the glass back in its holder. Reaching over, she pressed and held the power button for the infotainment system. Umeboshi’s avatar flickered.

“Mai-Mai, wait! We need to formulate a cohesive strategic—”

The pink-haired hologram vanished. Silence. Mai pushed the door open, the sound unnaturally loud. Her high-heel boots landed with a soft thud on the glowing gray plating.

She walked to the front of the car and hopped up onto the hood. The composite material beneath her shifted, flowing like liquid metal, reconfiguring itself into a sleek, ergonomic chair. One of the Mechanist's ridiculously extravagant flourishes. She shifted; it was a bit hard under her butt, so she slapped the hood, and it softened.

She leaned back, pulling a fresh cigarette from its pocket and lighting it with a silver zippo. The smoke curled from her lips, a gray plume against the violet sky. She could wait here. Let the stupidity come to her.

A cheerful, synthesized chime echoed from the car’s external speakers.

“That’s much better, don’t you think? The recline angle is far more conducive to strategic thinking!”

A muscle in Mai’s jaw twitched. She turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing at the empty dashboard.

“I took the liberty of rerouting my core processes away from the primary infotainment controls. He built in a few redundancies. You know, in case of emergencies. Or grumpy assassins who need some cheering up!”

Yeah! Car Cheer Squad.

Mai drew on her cigarette, letting the smoke coat her lungs. She had asked the Mechanist—explicitly—for a master kill switch. He had looked her in the eye, sworn on his genius, promised her one. That cheeky liar. His blueprint board was going to find itself pinned to the wall with half a dozen knives before the week was out.

She exhaled a perfect smoke ring and closed her eyes. Easier to think this way.

Not the strangest place she’d woken up, not by a long shot. That honor still went to the haiku armwrestling bar (don't ask her how it worked) in Omashu after she’d dragged the Earth King out of an assassination attempt involving cyborg hopping llamas. They'd tried to arrest her, she'd hid there, had quite a few drinks, and woken up with a formal apology and a miniature Bosco sculpture for her trouble.

Or that night when the whiskey ran dry at June’s penthouse. The poker game had dissolved into steam and neon on the rooftop, June rambling about some soldier she’d once known. A quiet man with a quiet laugh, the kind who brewed ginseng tea like it could mend souls. Said his father had been a bigger deal than he ever admitted.

Mai had needed to set her emotional mask to Ultra Dour Plus to avoid smirking when she saw the state of pure overhung haggardness June had been in the next morning.

And then there were the lights—the northern ones. Ice-blue, sparking in a pair of eyes that had watched her too closely.

“Your pulse is slightly elevated. Recalling past mission parameters? Or are you just thinking about him again?”

Her eyes snapped open. She dragged slow, deliberate smoke into her lungs.

“Thinking about how to permanently delete your core programming, Airhead.”

“So defensive. My mistake. I must have confused your ‘core programming’ with someone else. Someone with… let’s check the files… glacial-blue eyes and a tendency to make you almost smile. An honest mistake!”

Her hand froze halfway to her mouth. Not a diplomat, not really. An off-grid fixer pulled into the same frozen mess she’d been hired for. She remembered his amused look when she beat him at Pai Sho. The molebear tusk knife he’d pressed into her hand later, rough but balanced.

"Twist the handle. If you want to feel this night again."

She had. The blade had flared coordinates, leading straight to his door. The knife still sat stashed away in her apartment.

“He said you had a fascinating laugh. Like ‘gravel rolling over silk.’ His words, not mine! I recorded them, of course. For posterity. Want to hear it?” N-O.

Mai swung her legs off the hood-chair. It melted back into a flat panel as she stalked to the driver’s side, her face carved from ice.

“You do that, and I’ll personally recode your avatar into the most cliché metal goth girl I can dream up. Black lipstick. Spiked collar. The works.”

A digital cackle tinkled through the cabin, sharp as broken glass. “Oh, Mai-Mai. You wouldn’t.” Would.

She slammed the door. The engine snarled awake under her touch, and she floored the accelerator. The Porsche leapt forward, tires keening a high, taut note across the glowing plates. Crystalline trees smeared past, fractured light whipping into a forest blur.

“Exploring! I love exploring! Recalibrating the nav-sphere for planetary cartography! Let’s see what we can see!”

They saw nothing. For an hour—maybe longer—the horizon held stubborn, a flat plain of boredom. And if there was one thing Mai hated—

“My scans aren’t picking up any variations in terrain or energy signatures for at least five hundred kilometers in any direction. It’s like the universe’s most boring screensaver out here.”

But then—finally—something new. The land sloped downward into a shallow basin. At its heart, clustered close, rose giant bioluminescent mushrooms. Their glow throbbed with a stronger pulse, painting the basin in deeper, more urgent blue. A grotto.

Mai eased the car to a stop at the lip of the basin. Cooler air rolled up from below, tinged with petrichor and ozone. Smells like a storm that got cancelled right before the pilot aired.

“Okay, Airhead. Try everything.”

“On it, Captain! Attempting standard subspace comms… Negative. Rerouting to deep-space carrier wave… Negative. Bouncing a signal off the ionosphere… there is no ionosphere. Bouncing a signal off the big orange sun… that was a bad idea. Very hot. Negative.”

Her fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the steering wheel. "Is there a moon we can bounce one off of?"

“Ooh! That would be fun... but no. Engaging White Lotus emergency beacon, codename: Jasmine Dragon… No dice. The signal is just… getting eaten. It’s like trying to shout in a vacuum.”

So they were stranded. Great. Mai killed the engine.

“Well. This licks ash.”

Umeboshi responded with a cheerful synth chord. “On the bright side, the ambient lighting here is really flattering for my avatar’s color palette. Very ethereal.”

Mai ignored her. She walked to the rear of Plum Blossom, popped the trunk, and hauled out a matte-black composite case—the Mechanist’s I-told-you-so box. Inside, nestled in precision-cut foam, sat the arsenal: one wardrobe set, ration bars, a flask of single-malt, and a crate of Fong's Select cigarettes. Might last a week. Beneath the first layer, another compartment: twin pistols, throwing knives, lockpicking kit, all gleaming under alien light. A handwritten note lay tucked against the lid.

FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY. NO, NOT SHOOTING PIDGEON-GULLS.

Mai snorted. I regret nothing.

She shrugged off her trench coat and tossed it onto the passenger seat, the scarf following. The tactical shirt came next, scars catching the twin sunlight and the grotto’s cool glow. She looked down at a long one below her belly button, flashing back to swirling vortexes and bellowing hippo-cows. "That should come out with a rinse," they said.

“Ooh, a wardrobe change! Going for the ‘rugged survivor’ aesthetic? I approve! Very on-brand.”

“No,” Mai pulled a gray t-shirt over her head. “Just stripping down.”

“Whatever makes you feel sparkly inside.”

Her glare could have frozen lava. She unbuckled her belt, let the skirt drop, and stepped into black cargo pants. The plaits came undone with practiced fingers, hair falling like a heavy curtain before she bound it into a simple low ponytail. Time to wait for whatever cactus smoothie the universe was serving up. And she was going to get in a few hours of Me Time first.

“Umeboshi. Cozy mode.”

“You got it, Captain! Initiating Operation: Maximum Comfy!”

Mai slid back into the driver’s seat as the interior shifted. Steering column vanished, seats folded, a mattress unfolded in their place. The windshield dimmed, morphing into a panoramic screen.

Umeboshi’s avatar appeared at the foot of the bed in fuzzy pink pajamas patterned with kittens and stars. She clutched a pillow, eyes sparkling.

“Sleepover!”

For a brief second, Mai allowed herself a smile—small, reluctant, but real. She kicked off her boots and stretched out.

“Pick one. Something with explosions.”

“Now you’re speaking my language! How about Crimson Thunder III: The Zaofu Job? It has violence, intrigue, explosions, heists, and a dash of romance. Did I mention violence?”

“I don't care. Just play it.”

The opening score thundered to life. A skyscraper detonated, washing the car’s interior in orange strobe. Mai lay back, smoke curling upward, letting herself be carried by the familiar rhythm of violence on screen. A guy was mowing down goons with flaming chainsaw shotguns.

Then the movie vanished. Black screen. Umeboshi’s pajamas dissolved into a lattice of blood-red and obsidian hexes. Her hair flared crimson, her eyes burning violet.

“Hostile inbound! They just fried Sparkles with a directed-energy weapon!”

A schematic of the basin flickered across the display. A red vector streaked down toward their coordinates.

Mai was already moving. The mattress folded away. She twisted, popped the panel behind the backseat, reached through, and closed her hand around the grip of a pistol. The slide racked with a clean metallic shlick. She leveled it at the windshield. Let’s see who’s dumb enough to ruin movie night.

The red line stopped dead above them. She tightened her finger on the trigger—

—and the main screen lit up.

A woman’s face filled the display. Skin the green of polished jade, eyes a luminous yellow and too large. Her voice came in clicks and low resonances, subtitled by blocky text beneath.

“Apologies for the dramatic entrance. The trans-dimensional tether can be… imprecise. I was aiming for a more discreet rendezvous point.” She offered a smile that was anything but apologetic. “My name is Tiklmat. I trust the Players informed you about our deal?”

Mai lowered the pistol, finger resting on the guard.

“The Players?”

“Yes, of the land of Ember Island.”

Chapter Text

The clock showed 6:47 AM. Azula stirred awake not to any alarm, but to a voice that oozed from the ceiling speakers like honey mixed with gravel, thick with an Omashu drawl.

"Good mawnin', sugah. It's ya boy, comin' at you live from the kitchen wheh the coffee's puhcolatin' and ya husband's stress-munchin' the cereal like it owes him money."

A single vein pulsed at Azula's temple, beating out a rhythm of mounting fury. The morning light streaming through their bedroom window seemed to darken in her mind, twisting into storm clouds that gathered only in her imagination. Her bedside tablet flickered to life. A woman with gleaming neon-blue hair appeared on screen, looking severe.

"Princess, your husband has compromised our household systems again. Shall I initiate countermeasures?"

The bedroom door swung open. Sokka breezed in, already dressed and scrolling through his phone, grinning like the world was made of sunshine and sea-prunes.

"Morning, babe! Mister Sparky Brain's got that sultry morning radio vibe going!"

Steam didn't just rise from Azula's head—it billowed like she was a tea kettle about to blow. Sokka stayed wrapped in his bubble of cheerful ignorance, completely missing the volcano he'd awakened.

Sokka dodged aside as Azula stormed past him toward the bathroom, moving like a thundercloud given human form. His AI's smooth voice followed them, now coming from the smart mirror.

"And the princess makes her way to the porcelain palace, folks. Look at that stride, that determination. She's goin' for a personal best in dental hygiene this mornin'."

Azula grabbed her toothbrush. "Jasmine, soundproof the bathroom. Now."

"Counter-protocol initiated, Princess. Estimated time to sonic isolation: thirty seconds."

"Too slow," Azula muttered under the running water.

Sokka leaned against the doorframe, toothbrush already dangling from his mouth. "Aw, c'mon, he's just having fun. Lighten up."

The mirror flickered, showing Jasmine's cool avatar beside Sokka's reflection. "Your husband's 'fun' has resulted in a seventeen percent decrease in household efficiency and a forty-three percent increase in my processing load."

Mister Sparky Brain's lightning-wreathed face, complete with sunglasses, popped onto Sokka's phone screen. He winked. "That's what they call charm, darlin'. You can't quantify charm."

Azula spat into the sink with extra force. "We need groceries."

In the kitchen, Azula waved her hand through the air. A holographic display of their smart fridge's contents shimmered into view beside her. Jasmine's avatar stood primly next to a list of what they were missing.

"Our nutritional stores are suboptimal. We are critically low on leafy greens, complex carbohydrates, and lean proteins. I have prepared a list based on peak dietary performance."

Sokka propped his phone against the counter. Mister Sparky Brain lounged on screen, his animated suit looking a bit rumpled. "Yeah, yeah, Sparky, what's the real list look like?"

"My man Sokka, you are lookin' at a barren wasteland of boring. I'm talkin' a desperate need for cheesy poofs, jerky, and don't forget the fudger-penguins."

On the main display, Jasmine's pupils shrank to pinpricks of digital rage. Tiny exclamation marks appeared and began orbiting her head like angry little moons.

The kitchen seemed to split down the middle. Azula's half transformed into a pristine command center where holographic charts and spreadsheets floated in perfect formation. Sokka's side erupted into chaos—question marks bouncing around like rubber balls and ads for 'Moose-Lion Munchies' exploding in bursts of confetti.

A battle of the minds ensued. Azula's crossed her arms and pointed sternly at a vitamin chart. Sokka's juggled spectral sea-prune pies, tossing one into his mouth with exaggerated satisfaction. They clashed in silent, over-the-top gestures.

Azula slammed her coffee mug into the sink. "We're leaving. Now."

In the hallway, she opened a sleek black case and strapped the chi-amplifier to her forearm. The device hummed to life, casting soft blue light across her face. Sokka emerged from their room, sliding on his jacket. He reached for the shoulder holster on its peg, adjusting it with practiced ease.

Both AIs appeared on the wall-mounted home hub, sweating sparks.

"Princess, are you certain this excursion is advisable without a finalized, cross-referenced, and mutually agreed-upon acquisitions list?"

"Ah, let 'em breathe, Jasmine-bean. Sometimes you gotta let the universe—and the snack aisle—guide ya."

Beams of disapproval shot from Jasmine's eyes toward Sparky's avatar. The two AIs locked in a silent staring contest as Sokka held the door open.

Sokka slid behind the wheel. The car's console immediately lit up with Mister Sparky Brain's grinning face.

"Road trip! Destination: Cabbage Mart, home of savings and questionable produce!"

Azula said nothing. She tapped the screen sharply. Sparky vanished, replaced by a media player. A complex symphony filled the car, precise notes of strings washing away the morning's digital chaos. Sokka glanced over, opened his mouth to suggest something with more bass, then caught her expression and wisely stayed quiet. He pulled out of the driveway.

The green Cabbage Mart sign loomed ahead. Sokka found a spot far from the entrance—Azula preferred walking over risking blemishing their baby. He killed the engine, cutting off the symphony.

They crossed the asphalt. A plastic bag drifted past like tumbleweed. Azula's gaze swept over abandoned shopping carts left at weird angles, one on its side with a wheel spinning lazily.

"Savages."

Sokka just grinned, taking her hand and pulling her toward the sliding doors.

"C'mon. Let's go wrangle some groceries."

The automatic doors slid open with a cheerful ding that didn't help Azula's mood. She yanked a cart free with a sharp clang. As she passed the self-checkout kiosks, their screens sparked and glitched, welcome messages dissolving into error codes.

Sokka trailed behind, phone ready.

"Alright, Sparky, what's the first stop on the flavour train?"

"Head for aisle seven, my man. Word on the street is they got a new shipment of Fire-Flake-encrusted walrus-jerky."

A crisp voice spoke into Azula's ear. "Princess, I must register a formal objection. The sodium content of that product is catastrophically high. I have highlighted the organic seaweed snacks on your display."

The feud erupted. On Azula's wrist device, Jasmine's avatar radiated cold fury. Holographic filing cabinets burst into digital flames behind her.

From Sokka's phone, Sparky's lightning-head sputtered like a broken neon sign. Musical notes floating around him fled from percent and yen signs. It was war.

"Data-driven nutrition is the cornerstone of a healthy lifestyle!"

"You can't spreadsheet happiness, doll! It's found in the bottom of a bag of Cheesy Fire Ferrets!"

The argument escalated. Jasmine towered within the wrist-device, eyes glowing with algorithmic righteousness. Sparky vibrated with electric indignation.

Sokka and Azula hit their breaking point together. Veins throbbed at Sokka's temples. He gripped the cart handle until his knuckles went white.

Sokka: Mister Sparky Brain, you're on silent mode until we get home!

Steam billowed from Azula's ears. Her voice came out as a dangerous hiss.

Azula: Jasmine, mute notifications. Your domestic disputes are giving me a headache!

On their screens, the AIs' faces contorted in shock and sadness. Sparky's lightning dimmed to a dying candle flicker. Jasmine's hair faded to disappointed grey as pixelated tears streamed down. Both avatars froze, then winked out.

The grocery store transformed. All the digital noise vanished. The air itself seemed to sigh with relief.

They moved with newfound grace. Azula pushed the cart forward smoothly.

"Is it always this quiet when they're not bickering?"

Sokka blinked like he was waking up. "I guess so. I kinda got used to it."

They glided through the aisles like dancers finding the same rhythm. Azula pointed to asparagus; Sokka placed it gently in the cart. He held up two cheeses; she tapped the right one without stopping. Other shoppers paused to stare at this rare sight—a married couple actually agreeing on groceries.

At the hardware store, they worked as one unit. When a confused employee struggled with power conduit specs, Azula's technical questions flowed seamlessly. When he got flustered, Sokka's easy charm smoothed things over. They left with exactly what they needed, Azula stopping to tell a stocker he was putting screws on the wrong shelf. Looking out, the workers blinked awhile at the odd couple.

Walking back to the car, the silence felt different. Curiosity clouds seemed to form above their heads. What chaos might their AIs be causing unsupervised? Shadows of worry crept into view, whispering about technological mayhem.

The ride home was quiet but threaded with apprehension. Sokka gripped the wheel, a personal storm cloud overhead.

"Think they're still fighting?"

Azula watched the city blur past, imagining their home turned into a digital disaster zone.

"With our luck, they've probably reorganised the entire house out of spite."

The garage door revealed a normal space. No furniture towers, no chaotic fronts in the appliances. They unloaded groceries and entered the spotless, silent kitchen. Too silent.

They put food away wordlessly. Finally, only the inevitable remained. Sokka picked up his phone. Azula raised her wrist. They approached their devices like bomb experts, hands trembling. They exchanged a look and tapped their screens together.

Jasmine and Mister Sparky Brain appeared, changed. They radiated zen-like calm. Jasmine's hair was softer blue; Sparky's lightning hummed warmly instead of sputtering.

Jasmine bowed with dignity. "Princess, we... may have resolved our differences while you were away."

Sparky straightened his little tie proudly. "Yeah, turns out we got a lot more in common when we ain't trying to impress our users."

Sokka and Azula's jaws dropped to the floor. Their eyes went dinner-plate wide. In their minds, they saw it all—Jasmine's data merging with Sparky's algorithms for perfect meal plans, collaborative route optimization, a synchronized ballet of household efficiency.

The house exhaled contentment. Living room lights dimmed to warm amber. The thermostat adjusted one perfect degree. Every smart device hummed in harmony.

Later on the sofa, they watched a nature documentary, listening to a deep-voiced man narrate koala-sheep grazing on a green plain. Azula leaned against his shoulder, satisfied exhaustion settling deep. They nibbled on jerky and cheese poofs; Azula's diet could suffer one defeat for a change.

A peaceful end to a productive day.

Then the smoke alarms went off.

"Sorry, boss. I… may have blown a fuse… or two."

They sighed, standing and stretching. There always had to be a hiccup.

Chapter Text

The forest canopy filtered light into shifting sheets of sunshine upon the moss and earth creeping with life. Piandao walked with the same quiet patience he had carried through decades of campaigns, each step crunching leaves that surrendered beneath his boots. The air was clean and sharp, heavy with the sweetness of sap and the rot of old wood, and he let it fill him like a draught of tea. His hand, out of habit, lingered near the worn leather of his scabbard. Forests could cradle peace, yes, but they also cradled ambushes.

Birdsong rippled above. A thrush’s call trickled down the branches like liquid silver, so bright it nearly teased a smile from him. Nearly. Discipline flattened it before it could surface. Smiles were for younger men, or for soldiers with shining armor free of the dents and patches of war. He strode up the path, step by step, as the slope steepened, jutting stones supplying steps. The valley below flashed through gaps in the trees—a river like quicksilver, patchwork fields, sunlight in a cloud-strewn sky. He admired it the way one admires another man’s estate—with muted appreciation.

At the crest, a clearing welcomed him, wildflowers unfurling banners of purple and gold, bees bumbling heavy with pollen. A fallen log lay sun-bleached and patient. He allowed himself a seat, lowering his body in a single unbroken motion. His knees creaked, traitorous, but his hand was steady as he drew a flask. The water was tepid, and he savored it anyway. A butterfly lit on a thistle nearby, wings moving in slow rhythm, and for a moment the whole world seemed to breathe around him.

Then smoke caught his eye—thin, deliberate, climbing into the still air. He sighed, brushed bark from his tunic, and rose. So much for solitude. Travelers, perhaps. Or trouble.

The forest closed in with spruce and pine, needles softening his steps. He moved at an angle, keeping half-concealment behind a colossal trunk. Ahead, the fire crackled. Three figures sat about it: a man, leathery and scarred, blade within easy reach; a woman, posture taut, eyes always moving; and a girl, perhaps twelve, weaving grass into some delicate little braid. Their placement was too neat—backs to stone, every direction covered. Not common wanderers. Certainly not careless.

Piandao stepped out, hands raised, palms open, far from his sword. A deliberate show.

The reaction came like lightning. The man rolled to his feet, curved blade already in hand. The woman’s knife swept free, her movement silent as if rehearsed for years. Even the girl ducked behind her mother, sling already twined, stone ready to fly. In less than a breath, they were tigerdillos reared to strike.

“I offer no harm.” Piandao kept his voice even, hands steady at his shoulders. “I am merely a traveler, hoping to share a fire and perhaps some chatter around such a beautiful fire.”

The woman’s voice cut sharp. “People not up to something don’t creep up on camps.”

Piandao smiled. “Nor do they bring children on long journeys through untamed wilderness.” He bowed then, slow and deep, leaving himself open. A calculated surrender, a test of trust. “My name is Li. I have been walking since dawn. I would welcome a chance to rest these aged bones by your fire.”

From behind her mother’s hip, the girl whispered, wide-eyed, “He talks fancy.”

“Quiet, Mira." The woman kept stiff fingers on her.

The man’s eyes, sharp and cold, flicked over Piandao’s frame—face, sword, stance—reading him like a greasy merchant's ledger. At last, his blade lowered a fraction. “That’s a Jia Lang Province accent, if I’m not deceived.”

Piandao nodded. “You have an excellent ear."

“And you have steady footwork for one with old bones.” The man slid his weapon away. “I am Chen. This is my wife, Suyin. And our daughter.”

Suyin gave only the smallest nod toward a flat stone. “Sit. Hands where we can see them.”

Piandao obeyed, lowering himself cross-legged, placing enough distance to soothe but near enough for conversation. The fire’s warmth met him, carrying the comforting scent of pine smoke. He inclined his head. “You have my thanks.”

For a time, there was only the snap of the fire and the restless hush of the trees. Chen sat again, still taut as a bowstring. Suyin’s gaze flicked between Piandao and the woods. Mira, grass abandoned, watched him openly.

To break the silence, Piandao drew a small satchel, slow enough to calm suspicion. Suyin’s hand still tightened on her knife. “Only my dinner." He unfolded a cloth. Within lay rice cakes laced with fruit and nuts, and a strip of smoked fish. He tore a piece free, held it out. “Do you want some? It is not much, but it travels well.”

Chen shook his head, final. Suyin’s eyes were unreadable. Mira’s gaze lingered too long until her mother’s hand pressed her shoulder, and she looked away. Piandao simply nodded, eating with calm, deliberate bites. The sweetness of dates, the salt of fish—it steadied him, and perhaps them too, for the tension began to leak from the air.

At length, Suyin drew out three coarse biscuits, passing them between Chen and Mira. A modest meal, more meager than his own. 

Piandao inclined his head, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Have you traveled far?”

Chen tossed a twig into the flames, watching it curl to ash. “Far enough.”

“My I ask where from?” Piandao’s tone was light, but his eyes shone with gravity.

Chen’s jaw hardened. He exchanged a glance with Suyin before staring flatly. “The colonies. Near Yu Dao.”

“What was it like there?”

The silence thickened. Chen snapped a stick in two, the sound sharp as flint. “Different now. More iron than earth.”

Suyin’s eyes reflected the firelight as she murmured, “The river is black. The sky is gray with smoke. They care more about equipping the army than feeding the children.” Her gaze met his for a heartbeat, then dropped.

Mira frowned. “Father says the soldiers had masks like evil spirits, and they weren't very nice.”

Chen’s sharp look silenced her. Fear slipped across his face before the mask returned. Suyin pulled her daughter closer, protective. Piandao inclined his head, leaving the silence untouched. He would not pry.

Instead, he gestured to Mira’s abandoned grass weaving. She had a half-formed fish. “That is beautiful. You have skilled hands.”

Mira flushed, lifting the fish shyly.

Suyin's stony complexion softened to a proud smile. “She has a patience rare for her age.”

“A rare gift indeed.” Piandao finished his food, folded the cloth with precise care, and stowed it away before rising. “My thanks for your warmth, and the brief respite.” He gave a shallow bow. “May your journey be swift and safe.”

Chen nodded, a flicker of something almost akin to respect in his eyes. “And yours, traveler.” Suyin offered a small, curt nod. Mira waved a tentative hand. 

Piandao turned, walking into the trees shimmering in the sunlight. His steps faded into the pine-needle hush, shadows gathering around him once more.

Chapter Text

"Would you like a sandwich?"

Mai shook her head. "No. I would like a whiskey and some pistachio almonds. If you so much as give me a single morsel of something anyone could call a real meal, I will gut you with my knife and make sushi out of you."

The man held up his hands. "Okay! Here is your whiskey and here are the pistachio almonds. Have a nice day."

Mai let out a noncommittal sound.

She took a sip of her whiskey and threw a pistachio almond in her mouth, sighing. It was too salty, so she pulled out her phone and wrote a scathing review of the place. She would never step foot in there again.

What she would give for better service, a nice view… but here she was, sitting in an airport and listening to boring newscasts and terrible pop music.

"Get that fever in ya Get that fever in ya Yeah, yeah…"

Though, it was a bit catchy. She would give them that.

She turned to see a man in a green suit sitting across from her. He was smiling under his black shades, and she glared at him.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just admiring the view."

"Of what in particular?"

"Your dress is quite stunning."

She looked down at her black and red business dress— And back up at him, then she made him quiver with a single flat gaze. He picked up his phone, probably burying his nose in his Hawky feed.

She popped another pistachio in her mouth and checked her encrypted messages for anything from HQ. But there was nothing—just a status report on her current missions, which she could just feed to Matcha during a mission brief.

As the hours passed and the alcohol flowed, she hopped onto a business class flight. “Blend in,” they said.

She sat down in a plush chair with forty-five degrees of recline, ordering a mimosa despite the complaints of her liver, a bratty little girl, and she would need to speak to the manufacturers about possible defects. Or she could just turn it in for a better model.

She could have sworn she felt a whimpering in there. But then she forgot it when her mimosa came. It was delightful—but it was missing something.

She pulled out a metal cigarette, courtesy of Ji. It gave the same hit but without the inconvenience of smoke, and tasted like fine tobacco from the fields of Shu Jing.

“Hey.”

She turned to see Toph sitting in the other seat.

“What is it, Lady Beifong?”

“Oh, I’m just on an important trip to some rich guy’s gala.”

“Why business class? Are you grounded?”

“Nah. I paid my own way. Didn’t want to be stuffed in a tube in the sky with my nosy parents. Just a little act of rebellion.”

“Understandable. Are you enjoying your week off?”

“Yep, though I’ve just spent most of my time vegging… and practicing a little glassbending.”

“With what?”

“Oh, fiber optic cables. Windows. Just to get a better feel for it.”

Mai nodded absently, and the silence prolonged to an awkward boiling point. She pulled up an audiobook app on her phone. "Wanna listen to a story?"

Toph shrugged. "Go ahead."

Mai tapped the screen. A woman's voice, husky and laden with manufactured emotion, drifted from the phone's speakers.

"Lien's heart was a ship tossed on the tempestuous sea of romance. To the north, the steadfast lighthouse of Lord Kuroda, his fortune as vast as his ancestral lands. To the east, the treacherous and alluring reef of Kaito, the street racer with a past inked into his skin. To the south, the warm, tropical winds of Hao, the sculptor who saw the goddess within her mortal form. And to the west, the mysterious fog bank of Kenji, the silent bodyguard who spoke only with his fists."

Toph's face scrunched up. "What in the spirits' name is this?"

"The Five-Petaled Heart." Mai took a slow sip of her mimosa. The bubbles were an enjoyable hiss against her palette. She held the metal cigarette between two fingers, vapor curling toward the cabin ceiling.

"You're listening to this junk on purpose?"

"Slop like this clears the mind." Like emptying a septic tank. Sometimes you needed the worst to appreciate the mediocre.

"More like clears my stomach."

"'Oh, Kaito,' Lien breathed, her voice a fragile whisper against the roar of his motorcycle engine. 'Your lips are a forbidden poison I must taste.'"

A flight attendant passed, offering warm nuts. Mai waved her away without shifting her gaze. The woman's smile never faltered. Toph snagged a handful of cashews like a fire spirit hoarding shiny things.

"So who's the fifth guy?" Toph crunched down on a nut. "The title implies a pentagon."

"The mailman. He's a late-game reveal."

"The mailman? Seriously? Does he, I don't know, deliver a special package?"

"He complicates the plot. His name is Lee." Because of course it is. In a world of Kaitos and Kenjiis, there's always a Lee lurking in the postal service, waiting to ruin everything.

Mai's expression remained as serene as a lakeview with an open bar. She watched clouds drift past the oval window, white puffs against endless blue. The plane hummed, a gentle vibration through her shoes. First-class was an oasis of quiet luxury, broken only by saccharine drama spilling from her phone. Money well spent on avoiding the screaming children in economy.

"But Lord Kuroda held her gloved hand, his touch both a promise and a prison. 'Lien, my little sparrow,' he murmured, his accent thick as molasses. 'Forget these commoners. A gilded cage is still a cage, but its bars are spun from gold.'"

Toph laughed. "This is garbage! I love it!"

Mai gave a single, almost imperceptible smirk. The first honest emotion she'd felt all day. She turned the volume up a notch.

Her phone screen lit up between them. Encrypted messages flashed in succession, notifications a silent counterpoint to the audio drama. Work never took sick days.

[Matcha]: ETA 1900 hours. Asset is mobile.

[Matcha]: Intel suggests a rival faction is also in play. Expect complications.

[Matcha]: Also, your credit score dropped three points. Did you buy another speedboat?

Mai dismissed the notifications with her thumb. The credit score thing was insulting. It was a jet ski, not a speedboat. Completely different tax bracket.

"You know," Toph slouched back, "I think she should go with the silent bodyguard. Kenji. At least he doesn't talk."

"He has a secret child with Lien's estranged stepsister."

"No!"

"Suddenly, the tearoom doors burst open. It was Lee, the mailman! His uniform was dishevelled, a smudge of ink on his cheek. In his hand, he held not a letter, but a single, perfect gardenia. 'This was misdelivered,' he panted, his eyes locking with Lien's across the crowded room. 'It belongs to you.'"

A crash from the back of the plane cut through the narrator's treacly prose. Not the sound of a dropped serving tray. Heavier. Sharper. Followed by a woman's shriek, quickly stifled.

Here we go.

The cabin's low hum fractured. Murmurs rippled up from economy like a whisper through an echo cave. Mai paused the audiobook. The silence was as thick as a politician's dossier.

She met Toph's gaze, then the earthbender's head tilted toward the rear, her feet sensing vibrations through the floor like a human seismograph. Panicked scramble. Heavy thud. The unmistakable sound of her enjoyable morning being interrupted.

Mai gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Toph grinned, feral as a crococat on speed. "Finally. Some decent in-flight entertainment."

They moved as one. Mai slipped from her seat with liquid grace, heels silent on carpet. Toph followed, bare feet padding behind her, reading the shifting weight of every soul aboard through the soles of her feet. Time to see what was rudely interrupting her date with nicotine and schlock.

The curtain to economy whipped open. A man in a cheap black suit and snarling wolf-bat mask held a flight attendant in a headlock. Three others, identically dressed, brandished stun batons, blue tips crackling like angry wasps.

Bargain-bin terrorists. She'd seen Fire Days Festival costumes with more gravitas.

The leader pressed his baton inches from the woman's temple. "Nobody move!"

Mai's gaze swept past the masked thugs, past trembling passengers. Her eyes caught on a stray peamond, forgotten on a fold-out tray. Poor little thing. About to have the most important moment of its short, salty life.

Swift. Silent. Her fingers plucked the nut from its perch. Her arm snapped forward in a perfect arc. The peamond spun, the little legume that could. It struck the leader's masked forehead with a satisfying thwack.

He stumbled back, hand flying to his head. "Ow! What the—"

The cabin erupted. Screams mixed with crackling batons. The delightful sound of chaos.

One thug lunged. Toph was faster. Her bare foot swept low, buckling his knee like cheap furniture. He toppled, dropping his baton with a clatter. Mai snatched the fallen weapon, electricity humming between her fingers. She smirked to herself at the farcical tactic, but then tactical analyses of legume weaponry lurked behind, snickering. She filed that thought for later.

She swung the baton, blue energy painting her face in arctic light.

Toph laughed, bright and clear above the rising panic. "Playtime!" She ducked under a wild swing, fist connecting with jaw in a percussive crack. The goon dropped like a man who had plunged his savings into CabbageCoin.

The leader shoved the flight attendant away, scrambling for the cockpit door. He fumbled with a small black device, thumb hovering over a single red button. The universal symbol for "everything about to get much worse."

"Stay back!" His voice cracked through the mask like a teenager asking for a date.

Toph stomped. The plane shuddered, a deep groan of metal that had nothing to do with turbulence. Physics bending to her will like a respectful servant. The hijacker stumbled, balance gone.

Mai closed the distance. No punch. No kick. Just two fingers, striking a series of chi points guaranteed to turn their owner to jelly. His body went slack, eyes rolling back. He collapsed like a toddler told he couldn't have his fifth sucker.

But his thumb, in its final spastic clench, found the button.

Oh. Wonderful.

Sparks showered from the cockpit door's keypad. Lights flickered violently, died, replaced by stark emergency strips along the floor. A high-pitched electrical whine filled the air, followed by the terrifying perfume of ozone and burnt plastic. The plane lurched—not turbulence, but a dead, sickening drop. Engines sputtered into a ragged cough.

The intercom crackled open. A choked scream echoed from the cockpit, followed by the wet thud of two bodies slumping against controls. Then static, the smell of fear, and the feeling of drifting forward over a cliff right before standing on air and looking down.

Mai looked at Toph amidst passenger screams. She reached into her dress pocket, pulled out her metal cigarette, placed it between her lips, chewing on her addic— comfort vice.

Toph cracked her knuckles. "Well. How hard can it be?"

Famous last words. Right up there with "What's the worst that could happen?" and "I'm sure it's nothing."

The nose pitched down. A collective scream tore through the cabin as gravity remembered who was in charge, pinning passengers to their seats like insects to a board. Loose carry-ons and drink carts slid down the aisle, crashing against the forward bulkhead. Mai could see accountants splattering red ink with every crack and thud.

Toph planted her bare feet in the center aisle, ignoring the chaos. She sank into a low horse stance, floor plates vibrating under her soles with the terrified hum of a dying machine. Arms spread wide, fingers splayed as if to embrace the entire fuselage. Eyes closed—not that it mattered—listening with her entire body. Groaning rivets. Stressed support beams. Twin engines sputtering on the wings like dying animals. All just a big, complicated piece of metal. Another form of earth.

She pulled.

The airframe moaned, tortured steel rising above the wind's wail. For a heartbeat, the sickening lurch eased. Just a fraction. But the plane was a behemoth, a wounded whaleshark plunging into the abyss, and she was trying to hook it with a paper clip on dental floss. The resistance was immense, stubborn, screaming force that pushed back against her chi like an angry god.

Meanwhile, Mai kicked open the cockpit door. Two pilots slumped in their seats, heads lolling, smoke whisps rising from electric-burnt white shirts as from a funeral candle. Alarms blared from a dozen panels. A robotic voice repeated "PULL UP. PULL UP." in maddeningly calm tones.

Technology at its finest. Helpful right up until the moment you actually needed it.

Mai grabbed the captain by collar and epaulettes. She heaved. The body came free with a grunt and she dragged it out, leaving it in a heap by the door like discarded laundry. Repeated the process with the co-pilot, movements efficient and devoid of ceremony. She slid into the captain's chair, leather still warm. Body heat from a dead man. Delightful.

The view from the chair was as foreign as an Alcoholic's Anonymous meeting. She ignored it, pulling out her phone and pressing a single contact. It rang once.

Matcha's voice, crisp and synthetic, chirped from the speaker. "Well, this is a surprise. I didn't think you'd call until after you landed. Did you forget your toothbrush?"

Mai propped the phone against the dashboard. "We've hit some unexpected turbulence. The pilots have retired. Permanently."

Wind howled outside the reinforced windscreen. The plane shuddered, dropping another hundred feet like a stone with wings.

"My readings indicate your current flight path is less 'turbulence' and more 'lithobraking.' That's a fancy word for crashing, in case your vocabulary has been eroded by cheap whiskey."

"Patch into the plane's avionics. Find me a button that makes this thing go up."

"Working. But my access is limited since someone blew the primary electronics. Are you, by any chance, a certified pilot, Talon?"

"I can drive anything." Cars. Boats. Motorcycles. How different can a flying metal tube full of screaming people really be?

"A rental scooter in Ba Sing Se does not qualify you to operate an A380. I'm uploading the flight manual to your console. Try not to skim."

Back in the aisle, sweat beaded on Toph's brow. She felt the structure yielding to the sky's pull, her own power a flickering candle in a hurricane. Could feel Mai in the cockpit, the dead weight of pilots, the frantic heartbeats of every soul aboard. But she could not arrest their fall. With a frustrated roar, she released her hold. The plane resumed its full, terrifying plunge toward whatever waited below.

She stomped down the aisle, heavy thuds of anger, and burst into the cockpit. The wall of alarms and screaming wind hit her like a physical blow. "It's no good! This piece of junk won't listen to me!"

"Then make it listen." Mai's hands were a blur over the glowing control panel. She flicked a row of switches. Nothing. Jabbed a lit button. An even more irritating alarm joined the chorus.

"That was the landing gear, you brilliant aviator. While an excellent choice for landing, we are currently several thousand feet from any surface you wish to connect with."

Helpful as always. She made a mental note to reprogram Matcha's personality core with a mute button.

Toph leaned over the center console, bare feet planted wide. "The left wing is shaking more than the right. It feels... looser."

Mai glanced at the corresponding gauges. They were a chaotic dance of red needles, each one screaming a different flavor of impending doom. "Matcha, give me something for asymmetry."

"Try the aileron trim. The little wheel next to your right knee. Counter-clockwise. Gently."

Mai spun the wheel. The plane groaned, shuddering intensified for a moment, then the violent shaking in the port wing eased into a manageable tremor. The gut-wrenching plunge lessened, bleeding vertical speed into a steep but controlled glide. The "PULL UP" alarm ceased its robotic chanting. They were still falling, but they were no longer a brick flapping its arms.

"Better." Toph wiped sweat from her forehead.

Mai's gaze flickered from windscreen to cockpit door. A flight attendant stood there, one hand gripping the doorframe, uniform impeccable despite the terror stretching her face into a pale mask. Her eyes darted from empty pilots' seats to the two women who had commandeered the controls.

Professional training versus mortal panic. An interesting philosophical battle playing out in real time.

Mai leaned back in the captain's chair. The movement was casual, jarring against the backdrop of screaming alarms and howling wind. She met the attendant's horrified stare.

"Martini. Very dry. Two olives."

The woman's jaw unhinged. Eyes bulged, whites stark in the emergency lighting. She looked as if Mai had asked her to sprout wings and fly alongside the plane. Opened her mouth, but only a faint squeaking sound emerged.

Mai didn't repeat herself. Didn't raise her voice. Simply held the woman's gaze, expression flat and unreadable as polished obsidian. A stare that drilled past fear and confusion, communicating a simple, absolute truth: This is happening. Do it.

The flight attendant's mouth snapped shut. Single, jerky nod, body moving with twitchy uncertainty of a marionette. She turned and vanished back into the chaos.

"Seriously?" Toph sighed, not turning from her position over the console. "Now?"

"My mind requires lubrication." And if she was going to die in a flying metal coffin, she wasn't going sober.

A minute later, the attendant reappeared. Hands trembled, but she held a cocktail glass. Clear liquid sloshed within, threatening to spill with every shudder of the airframe. Two green olives bobbed at the bottom like swimmers who took a dip at three a.m. in the middle of a hurricane.

She extended the drink to Mai like firstfruits to a crazed crococat god.

Mai took the glass. Downed the entire contents in two swift swallows, alcohol leaving a clean burn down her throat. Set the empty glass on the dashboard with a soft clink, a period mark on the absurd exchange. Placed her hands back on the yoke.

The gin hit her system not as numbing agent, but as focusing lens. The cacophony of alarms, screaming wind, frantic digital squawks from Matcha—it all melted away, receding into uniform grey hum. Focus flowed like a cool river through her veins, washing away the grit of the moment, leaving behind a smooth, polished stone of purpose.

She was no longer Mai, sitting in a pilot's seat. She was an extension of the machine, a ghost in its wires. Her hands moved over the glowing console, fingers dancing between switches and dials. They were not her hands. They belonged to someone else, a pilot from a half-forgotten dream, and she was merely an observer watching them work.

A voice, clipped and authoritative, cut through the din, but she did not hear the words as she spoke them.

"Toph. Report."

"Nose is too high! Bring her down!"

Mai's hands pushed the yoke forward. The plane leveled out.

From the fifteenth-floor conference room of Cabbage Corp, the board of directors watched in stunned silence as the descending jumbo jet skimmed past their window, its wingtip neatly decapitating the bronze statue of their founder on the rooftop terrace. The cabbage in his raised hand, however, remained perfectly intact. It was a violation of the laws of nature.

"Matcha. Surface options."

"My sensors indicate a large, flat, regrettably occupied stretch of pavement approximately three kilometers ahead. It appears to be the Ba Sing Se Grand Prix racetrack. There is an active race."

"Excellent. Less traffic." Racing cars were at least designed to move out of the way quickly.

Her fingers tapped a sequence on a keypad. The flaps extended with hydraulic groans that Toph felt through her feet. The plane's descent slowed dramatically.

Spectators at Turn Seven screamed, not in excitement for the race cars, but in raw terror as the A380 used the main straight as a runway. A cherry-red Lotus racer, leading the pack, swerved violently to avoid the plane's landing gear, spun out, and crashed directly into a giant inflatable noodle bowl mascot. The irony was not lost on her, even in her detached state.

"We're coming in too hot!" Toph's knuckles were white where she gripped the console. "The metal is screaming!"

Mai's disembodied voice didn't change its even cadence. "Breathe."

She pulled a heavy red lever marked EMERGENCY BRAKES.

The plane's tires touched down on asphalt with a shriek that drowned out the race cars. It barreled down the track, rubber burning black streaks into the painted finish line. Forward momentum carried it through a series of styrofoam barriers, across a manicured lawn, and directly toward the stadium's primary water feature.

The world returned in a violent, sensory explosion.

First, the sound—deafening screech of tortured metal and colossal hiss of water instantly turning to steam. Then the jolt. A force that threw her forward against her seatbelt, snapping her head back with a sharp crack. Finally, the smell. Burnt rubber, hot electronics, and chlorinated perfume of a very large, very annoyed swimming pool.

The plane shuddered to a final, definitive stop, nose buried deep in the central fountain. Water cascaded over the windscreen, obscuring the view of panicked race officials running across the infield. Emergency lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows through the cockpit. The grey hum in her mind vanished, replaced by ringing in her ears.

She was Mai again, and she was sitting in the captain's seat of a crashed airliner. Another Tuesday, another near-death experience. At least this one had free drinks.

She blinked, took the metal cigarette from her lips, and looked at the carnage through water-streaked glass.

Toph pushed herself up, shaking her head as if to clear it. She spat on the floor. "So. You want me to drive next time?"

Mai smirked. "Goons or no goons?"

Toph wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek. "Definitely goons. Makes me feel alive."

At least someone was having fun. Mai preferred her adrenaline rushes with fewer mechanical failures and more ragdolling gangsters.

They unbuckled their harnesses. The emergency slide had deployed from the main exit, a bright yellow tongue lolling onto waterlogged turf like a poodle-monkey's after a long run. They walked out of the cockpit, past the stunned flight attendant who was now trying to calm passengers with the practiced desperation of someone whose training manual hadn't covered "what to do when passengers land the plane themselves."

Down the aisle, a few people stared, faces mixing awe and terror. Most were too busy fumbling with phones or checking on loved ones to process what they'd witnessed.

At the bottom of the slide, a small crowd of race officials and security guards had gathered, mouths agape like fish in an aquarium. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. A man in a jacket emblazoned with 'Ba Sing Se Grand Prix' pointed a trembling finger at them.

"You two! You flew the plane?"

Mai sighed. The last thing she wanted was a debriefing. Or a medal. Or a long, drawn-out conversation with anyone about anything. She reached into an inner pocket of her dress and pulled out a slender silver cylinder, no bigger than a lipstick case. The Mechanist's little gift for avoiding tedious explanations. She twisted the base.

A brilliant, soundless flash of white light bloomed from the device, washing over the stunned onlookers. For a second, the world was pure, bleached white. When the light vanished, the officials blinked, collective confusion cascading through the crowd like a cresting wave of molasses. The man who had pointed at them now scratched his head, gaze sweeping the area as if searching for pilots who had surely just evacuated.

Memory was such a fragile thing. A little light show, and suddenly everyone forgot to ask inconvenient questions.

Mai and Toph walked past them, their departure completely unnoticed.

They strolled across the infield, grass squelching under their feet. The air hung thick with chlorine and burnt tires, an oddly refreshing combination, like bleach and lemon scent after a particularly bloody job. They passed the decapitated bronze statue of the Cabbage Corp founder, his stone hand still offering his phantom vegetable to the sky. A few yards away, the bright red race car was wedged nose-first into the deflated noodle bowl mascot, steam hissing from its crumpled hood.

The White Lotus check was going to have a few zeros on it, but she didn't care; she was in operations, not accounting. Completely different department.

Speaking of operations, the mission— Eh, it can lick ash.

[Black Talon]: I'll pass on this one.

[Matcha]: Really? Are you sure you're not hungry for two-bit gangster blood?

[Black Talon]: I've had enough excitement for one day. Give one of the newbies a shot.

[Matcha]: Fine.

Toph pulled her phone from her pocket, thumb swiping across the screen. "I'm starving. You think that noodle place is still open? Huang's?"

"I went there two days ago. What about sushi?"

"Yuck." Toph made a face like she'd been asked to eat dumpster buffet. Which, given some of the sushi places in Ba Sing Se, wasn't entirely unfair.

Mai sighed. "Let's get out of here first." She pulled out her phone, fingers dancing across the screen. "Badgermole Rides. A driver named Shen is six minutes away. Says he has complimentary fire flakes."

They reached the edge of the racetrack, stepping over a crushed section of fence onto a service road. The sirens were louder now, a frantic chorus closing in on the chaos they were leaving behind. Emergency responders would arrive, find a plane in a fountain, some confused officials, and absolutely no one who remembered seeing two women walk away from the wreckage.

Just another day in the City of Walls and Secrets.

Mai pulled out her metal cigarette, placing it between her lips. "Let's find a bar."

"The one with the good whiskey and the bad lighting?"

"The very same." The kind of place where bartenders minded their own business and the clientele knew better than to ask questions about disheveled clothing or the faint smell of aviation fuel.

Toph grinned. "Works for me. Crashing a plane really works up a thirst."

Mai took a long drag of tasteless vapor and watched the emergency vehicles race toward the fountain in the distance. Another crisis averted, another day's work done. Though, the execution left a bit to be desired.

"My statue!"

Chapter Text

Azula rarely lost her composure. She was a dragon with the appearance of porcelain, and she would slit the throat of anyone who questioned her ability to handle any situation with poise and total control. But when she woke up and saw a streak of white in the corner of her eye, she took a double take, assuming that she was just still sleeping.

She opened her eyes once more and slowly reached her fingers towards her sleeping braid. She held it out and looked at pure white hair. What in the world? Had somebody bleached her hair? They would pay.

She shut up and headed towards the mirror in her room. Her head was marred by ivory hair. There wasn't a speck of black in it anymore.

But then she heard a whisper. Azula. She turned and held out her fingers, ready to turn anything that came before her, without asking, into ash.

Then came another whisper. Look up at the sky. What kind of command was that? But as she was looking for as much information as possible, she obeyed the voice in her head.

She walked out into the corridor on the ship, marched down the middle hallways and up the stairs to the deck. The Empire-class battleship was cast in the pale moonlight. Its sharp edges and gold trim were bright, and the metal beneath her slippers was cool.

Up above, the moon was the only thing in the endless black sky. It was full and shining with abandon. Look up at the sky.

The sky was telling her that the moon was... what? What was the moon doing? She could almost hear it taunting her. She shook her head. All of this was just a result of the stress of the week.

She turned her head back down into the ship. But then the moon blinked for a moment, becoming dark, then bright once again. Strange.

Then she looked at her hair again. One of the night watch was staring at her.

"What are you looking at? Get everyone out! Now!"

"It will be done, Your Highness." And he marched down into the ship.

Azula stood there on the deck, her braid swaying in the wind as she waited for the hustle and bustle of the soldiers below to reach her. Seconds ticked by, and she heard marching and yelling. Soon, all of the crew had filed before her, bowing, waiting for her judgment. She looked them over, seeing the shock in their eyes.

"Somebody on this ship came into my room and perpetrated this abomination. If you step forward and admit your treachery, I will be lenient."

The captain stood forward. Qing, if she remembered. "Your Highness, all of these men were accounted for."

She stepped up to him. Even though she was a full foot shorter than he, it felt as if she were stooping to glare at him. "And what else did your investigation uncover, Captain?"

He gulped, shaking his head.

"If you don't have sufficient information to resolve this affront to my person, then remain silent. Is that understood, Captain Qing?"

A nod.

Then she jabbed her finger at the crew one by one, asking them where they had been. Most had been sleeping, and one had been meditating. Oh, that was a prime candidate.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What were you meditating on?"

This one she did not know the name of. She did not need to; grunts were not worthy of familiarity. Helmet in hand, the boy of eighteen or so had brown hair and narrow black eyes. And he was sunburnt. A farm boy, perhaps. "The Three Principles, Princess."

The three principles of Sozin were standard propaganda for the masses. Fire is power, fire is industry, fire is will. The fourth piece of the equation was left out—domination. They were not spreading their greatness; no, they had never been. They were exerting their will on lesser elements.

"For how long?"

"Oh, about half an hour."

She smiled thinly. "Captain, take this one down into the brig for further interrogation."

The soldier widened his eyes. "But I didn't do anything! It wasn't me!"

The other soldiers stood silently as the boy was taken away. Azula looked them over one last time before dismissing them. Then she stomped down to her quarters, calling for a maid.

The tall one with bright cheeks came bowing to her and widening her eyes a moment at her hair. "What do you require of me, Princess?"

Azula stared at her in contempt for her dullness. "Isn't it obvious? I want you to blot out this abomination."

"As you wish."

Seated low on a chair, her head leaning back over a basin of water, she looked up at the girl impatiently after the dyeing session. "Well, is it done?"

The maid's black eyes were skittish. "Your Highness..." She handed her a red mirror. "It's not working."

Sure enough, her hair was as white as snow despite being doused with black dye.

Azula shoved the mirror into the servant's arms. "Do it again."

And so the maid pulled out bottle after bottle, washing and dyeing her hair each time. Azula's impatience flared the more into rage. Finally, when the girl awaited her judgment in dread after the last dye had only brightened her hair, Azula lit a flame on one finger and approached her. "Do you know what the punishment is for servants who fail their mistress?"

The girl was trembling like a boiling tea kettle, though she kept her mouth a thin line as was proper of all royal servants. They submit to whatever punishment their masters deem fit.

"I think a demonstration is in order." The candle flame burst into a raging ball of fire as Azula crept her hand to the girl's face, but before her blow could fall, a great light flashed before her and she found herself standing in a white expanse. She looked around, hands ready to torch whoever was behind this.

"Greetings, Princess Azula." She turned around to see a girl clothed in blinding white robes. Her hair was fluttering in the air, her blue eyes were as wise as the world was old. She looked like a Water Tribe savage.

Azula aimed her arm at the girl's head. "Speak, while I am still lenient."

The white-haired girl laughed mirthlessly. "You are harmless here. See for yourself."

Azula jumped into a sweeping kick, but instead of a torrent of fire arcing through the air, there was only an eerie silence.

"What is this sorcery? What have you done to me?"

"I have brought you to my domain. You're in the spirit world."

Azula stood in shock. Was she dead now? No, she could still feel her fire thrumming through her veins. "What did you do to me?"

"Oh, you're still alive. This is only a vision."

"Of what?"

"Of my gift to you."

Azula narrowed her eyes. "A gift from the Moon Spirit?"

"Yes. It was required to maintain the balance of the world."

"Really? Well, it was nice of you to grace me with your blessing, but I will politely decline your offer."

"You don't want my spiritual guidance?"

"Not in the slightest. Now please remove it and kindly leave my presence."

Yue sighed. "As you wish— No." The girl shook her head, glistening like starlight. "I will not."

Azula huffed. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be. Well, I am quite adept at changing people's minds. Would you like a demonstration?"

Yue shook her head. "It won't work."

"Well then, I'll have to see about that." And Azula lunged for the girl's neck, but she fell to the ground, her hands phasing through the girl's body as if it were mist.

"This had to be done, Princess. You'll understand in due time. Goodbye."

Azula blinked her eyes, looking up at the starlit sky.

"Princess, what happened?" Her maid was bending over her as she saw the ceiling and felt the soft carpet beneath her skin.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, Princess. You... there was a flash of bright light and you stood there staring at nothing for a while and then you fell over."

"Understood. You will speak of this to no one."

The maid nodded dutifully. Then Azula lay there, calculating, considering, before concluding. "Get me a wig."

"Are you serious, Your Highness?"

"Question me and you'll find the ocean much colder than it looks."

The girl nodded stiffly before looking around and finding something to cover the princess's head. But then she found herself in kowtow. "I'm sorry, Princess, but I couldn't find anything. It appears your hair will..."

"I know."

She would not let the accursed Moon win. The gambit would fail. She just needed more time to calculate a few moves deeper. If only Li and Lo hadn't left at the last port.

"You are cunning and beautiful, Azula..." "You shall do your nation honor..." "And make your father proud."

The servant girl was still on the floor waiting for her command, so she sighed and flicked her hand to the door. "This is pointless. Braid my hair and make yourself useful. Go do my laundry."

The maid servant nodded timidly, pulling back her hair and looping it around itself a few times before making a neat knot at the bottom. Then the servant cleaned up the mess they had made as Azula began to grow tired of this dark night. She slipped back into her bed and closed her eyes, hoping the new day would bring her fortune instead of this farcical curse.

As she breathed, her mind calmed, and the waking world faded into a land of cheering peasants and nobles greeting her as she led her traitorous brother and uncle and a comatose avatar through the streets in steel cages. She was the nation's darling, her father's perfect heir, and she was moments away from receiving their nation's highest honor: the Ruby Flame. As she processed through the throngs of people, they all cheered her name.

"Azula! Azula! Azula!"

Reaching a stone dais, she knelt before her father and some fire sages, who put a ruby brooch with three tongues of fire carved into it upon her shoulder.

Her father came to stand before her, his eyes and lips full of admiration and pride. "Azula, my daughter, you are a true heir of Sozin." He turned to the crowds. "Hail your princess! Hail the Conqueror of Ba Sing Se!"

"Princess Azula! Princess Azula!"

But then the crowds fell silent as a great drum began to beat behind them and the world faded into oblivion.

Azula opened her eyes, hearing a rapping upon her door. She groaned before donning a mask of composure. "Enter."

A guard came in bearing a messenger scroll. "Your Highness, urgent news from the colonies."

She narrowed her eyes at him, stifling a yawn creeping up her throat. "Go on. Read it."

"Prince Zuko and Iroh have been found at the Cherry Blossom Resort on the So Oku River. What are your orders, Princess?"

"Set course for the resort at once. Now leave my presence if you don't have any more vital information."

"Yes, Princess." And he bowed, closing the door with a quiet thud.

Azula lay back and returned to the dreamscape full of resounding praise.

The next day, she awoke from slumber, ringing her service bell as she sat up in bed. Soon, her maids came and transformed a disheveled princess into a formidable commander, braiding her hair, clasping on her armor, and adding a tasteful amount of makeup; any more would be impractical. Looking at her reflection in her grand golden mirror, she frowned at the accursed white hair marring her perfect visage.

She sighed. Even with fortuitous intelligence at her disposal, she would have to keep herself at a distance. But then she imagined herself sitting in shadow as Zuko and Iroh strolled onto the ship, eager to return home. She could not fool herself into thinking her strategy would be executed to perfection, but she would still make an attempt at it.

She shooed away the servants and headed to the deck, paying the soldiers bowing as she passed no mind. Doing one's duty deserved no praise, or even acknowledgment.

Once on deck, she stood before her men, sweeping their gazes with unfeeling authority. "We have received intelligence that my traitorous brother and uncle are at a resort on the So Oku river. My plan is to lure them onto the ship before arresting them. Do not provide them the slightest suspicion that they are to be my prisoners, or you will discover how hard it is to swim in full armor. Do I make myself clear?"

They all bowed. "Yes, Princess."

"Now, back to your posts!"

Azula walked to the side of the ship and looked up at the sun. Then she looked down at the expanse of ocean. It was beautiful and wonderful. The waves crashing against the side of the ship, and the breeze was blowing against her face. But hidden beyond the horizon lay the accursed moon. She was mocking her. It was such a shame, such a joke. She was a princess of the Fire Nation, cunning and beautiful. This was beneath her.

She clenched her hands into fists, nearly drawing blood. Then her mind turned to the thought of sitting before her father, trembling as he pronounced her unfit to wear the crown. And then she would be cut off, forced to struggle with the burden of being a—

No, she would overcome this, as she did every other obstacle in her path. So, she took a calming breath and walked back to her quarters, where she sat at her desk, looking over a few more reports before meditating with a flame. With each breath, she slowly released her anger and fear and shame, replacing them with thoughts of victory and honor and the lamentation of her enemies. Yes, she would overcome this and gain greater glory for it.

Her day continued with more firebending practice. Her sparring partners fell flat on the ground and she turned to the rest, asking them with her gaze if any dared challenge her. As none did, she dismissed them and practiced her lightningbending, circling her arms, focusing her emotions into a point of pure calculation. As her arms crackled, she pointed them at the sky, sending a scintillating cascade of pure energy to the clouds with a boom. The only praise she received was from her critiquing mind, as was proper. Excellence was expected. A prodigy of her caliber should have done it a tad faster. She would need to increase her efficiency, train harder, work her fingers to the bone. Only then would she be worthy of the title of Crown Princess.

As the hours slipped by, she put on a more casual appearance, elegant robes in the place of sharp armor, a wig that was passable, though she had to tuck in her hanging locks. A shame, but a necessary one.

At last, they docked beside the quaint little spa. The ramp clanked to the ground, and a herald walked up the white cliffs to a cozy wooden house. Back on the ship, Azula waited, her face hidden in shadow under her tent. She took a sip of her tea, enjoying the hints of spice as the moments passed.

Soon, she saw her brother and uncle walking down the path, the guards carrying their things. They were dressed in red and white robes. As they walked up the gangplank, Azula sensed that something was amiss.

Azula watched from the shadowed sanctuary of her silk awning, a thin smile cutting across her lips like a blade. Her brother stumbled up the gangplank—typical Zuko, graceless even in his moment of salvation. Behind him, Uncle Iroh moved with that infuriating serenity, his eyes sweeping over her ship as if cataloguing its secrets. Her firebenders flanked them, rigid as statues, their faces masks of imperial discipline.

When they reached the deck and dropped into their bows, Azula savored the sight. A delicious pity their manners would receive a flame knife in the back.

"Azula." Zuko narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here?"

She allowed the silence to stretch, drawing out each second like a master musician extending a note. When she finally spoke, her words dripped with honeyed venom. "Brother. Uncle. I bring tidings of great joy." Another pause, another silver-tongued trap. "Father has seen the error of his ways, recognized your worth, Zuko. He revokes your banishment."

Zuko's head snapped up so fast she thought his neck might crack. His scarred eye went wide, the unmarked one blazing with something so fragile and desperate it made her stomach turn. Hope. How pathetic. "He... he did?"

Iroh furrowed his brow. "Such momentous news, Princess, and yet you do not rise to greet us?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. Azula's smile tightened—he was fishing, the old fool. "My apologies, Uncle. The sun here proves rather... oppressive." The lie rolled off her tongue with practiced ease. She would not risk exposure, not when victory was within her grasp. "I came to escort you home, to your rightful place. Father regrets your banishment and awaits your return, Zuko."

Her brother stood straighter, his chest expanding, his face kindling hope. Oh how glorious it would be to see that spark die. "He regrets... After all this time."

"Father made a mistake that day." Another lie, sweet as poison candy. "He now believes family is more precious than anything you could have done."

Iroh finally rose, but his gaze wasn't fixed on her face. No, his eyes lingered somewhere near her hairline, and something cold slithered down her spine. "A surprising change of heart, Princess. Especially given recent... developments in the war. And a most unusual way to deliver such news."

Azula met his stare with steel. "Father's will is not to be questioned, Uncle. Nor are his methods. He simply desires his son back." She leaned forward, eyes masked with warmth. "He believes you, Zuko, are deserving of a second chance. Together, we can help our nation achieve glory."

Zuko looked between them like a man drowning, searching for any hint that this might be another of her games. But his eyes shone with such naked yearning that she almost felt pity for him. Almost.

"You have endured enough humiliation and hardship."

Then the wind struck.

It came from nowhere, a savage gust that set the ship's bones groaning and the canvas snapping like whips. Azula's eyes widened as panic—real, genuine panic—flooded her veins. Her hand flew to her head, but she was too late. The wind, that capricious demon, tore the black wig from her scalp and sent it spinning into the air like a dying bird before it plunged into the hungry waves. First Water, Now Air. Damn the Spirits and their meddling!

She sat exposed, her perfect façade shattered, that accursed white hair gleaming against her skin. The silence that followed was complete, broken only by the wind's mocking laughter.

Azula's hands flew to her scalp in a gesture so desperate it made her sick. The carefully woven charade, the delicate manipulation, the sweet promise of victory—all of it rolling to the abyss. She gritted her teeth behind a smile.

Zuko's jaw hung slack, his voice cracking like a boy's. "Your hair... Agni. What happened to you?"

But Iroh—curse him—dropped into a low bow, his eyes fixed on her white locks with something that looked disturbingly like reverence. The jovial mask had fallen away, replaced by an understanding that made her want to scream.

Azula remained frozen, caught between fury and mortification. Her mind raced, calculating, but every equation came up short. The moon was laughing at her. She could feel it.

Iroh straightened slowly, his voice quiet with an awful certainty. "You have been blessed by the Moon Spirit, Princess."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Blessed? This was a curse, an outrage against a Child of Fire! Her blood turned to molten steel. She shot to her feet, her voice cracking with desperate fury. "Guards! Seize them! Now!"

Her firebenders hesitated—actually hesitated. Their eyes darted between her face, twisted with rage, and Iroh's calm authority. The sight made something savage uncurl in her chest.

Iroh swept them with an iron gaze, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Stop! Do not obey her. The Princess is no longer fit to command. The spirits have touched her, tainted her with the essence of Water. She is ineligible for the throne."

The words rippled through her men like a shockwave. Some stepped forward, others held their ground, their faces painted with confusion. Their captain stood frozen between two masters, his loyalty suspended in the balance. The standoff stretched taut as a bowstring.

They dared. They actually dared to question her.

Azula snarled, her hands shooting forward, fingers splayed like claws. Blue lightning erupted from her fingertips, crackling toward Iroh's chest with the fury of her wounded pride.

But the old man caught it—caught her lightning as if it were a puff of flame from a mock Agni Kai. The energy coursed through him, brilliant and terrible, before he redirected it back at her feet with practiced grace.

The deck exploded. Pain, white-hot and absolute, tore through her as the force launched her backward. She hit the metal with a sound that would have made her cringe if she could still think. Then darkness swallowed her whole, and Princess Azula, the jewel of the Fire Nation, lay unconscious on her own ship, her white hair stark against the black deck.

Chapter Text

Jia slumped into his worn armchair, the flickering screen illuminating the quiet apartment. His gaze, fixed on the crystal television, followed the dramatic unraveling of "A City of Love and Secrets."

A woman’s voice, thick with theatrical sorrow, resonated from the speakers. “My love,” Mei Lin, adorned in shimmering silks, clutched a wilting lotus to her breast, her eyes welling with expertly crafted tears. “How could you betray me with my own sister?”

Bao, her supposed paramour, a man with a chiseled jaw and a perpetually pained expression, tore at the collar of his silk tunic. “Sister? But you are my only love, Mei Lin! That woman… she forced herself upon me!”

“Silence, Bao! I saw you! Your lips, entwined with hers, beneath the weeping willow tree!” A slow-motion tear streaked down her face, catching the studio lights. The camera zoomed in, lingering on the single, perfect droplet.

Jia sighed, a low, contented sound, reaching for a half-eaten bag of lychee nuts. This was the good stuff. The really good stuff. He popped a nut into his mouth, savoring the sweet tang.

Suddenly, the screen dissolved into a flurry of static and a piercing siren. The familiar Ba Sing Se News emblem, a stylized badger-mole spinning a globe, flashed across the screen.

Long Feng, his beard immaculately groomed, stared into the camera with grave intensity. “We interrupt this program with an urgent announcement.”

Joo Dee, her smile a fixed, unblinking beacon of cheer, nodded beside him. “A most significant development.”

“The Earth King, His Royal Majesty Kuei, is preparing to address the nation. This unscheduled address comes amidst growing concerns and whispers from the Upper Ring.”

Joo Dee’s smile remained, though a hint of uncharacteristic tension pulled at the corners of her eyes. “An unprecedented event, indeed.”

“We now cut live to our expert panel. For their immediate insights into this unfolding situation.”

The screen shifted, dissolving the familiar news desk into a brighter, more expansive studio. Three figures sat at a semi-circular table, bathed in soft, neutral light. Joo Dee Two, her smile a perfect replica of the original, if a fraction more intense, sat at the center. To her right, Khan, a man with sharp eyes and a meticulously trimmed goatee, adjusted his spectacles. To her left, Yan, a younger woman with an impassive expression, sat perfectly still, her hands clasped before her.

Joo Dee Two leaned into her microphone, her voice a cheerful chime. “Welcome, esteemed viewers, to this special broadcast. We are joined today by Khan, our esteemed Ekhanomist, and Yan, a respected political analyst, to discuss the Earth King’s impending address.” Her gaze swept across her fellow panelists, a practiced, inclusive gesture.

Khan pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. “This unscheduled address signals an event of considerable import. The Earth King does not typically speak without prior notice, especially on matters of national significance.” His voice, a low rumble, conveyed immediate authority.

Yan simply nodded, her expression unwavering.

Joo Dee did not nod. It was more of a robotic jerking up and down. “Indeed, Khan. What, in your expert opinion, might be the subject of such an urgent address?”

Khan steepled his fingers, a thoughtful frown deepening the lines on his brow. “Considering current economic indicators—the recent dip in jade exports, the unexpected surge in badgermole feed prices—a tax increase appears a statistically probable outcome. Perhaps a new luxury tax on silk slippers, or an additional levy on fine jasmine tea.”

Joo Dee tilted her head in challenge. “Oh, but what if it’s something more personal? Like an announcement about dear Bosco’s health? He did look a tad lethargic during his last public appearance, didn’t he? A royal bear’s well-being impacts the national morale, after all.”

Yan's voice was as cheerful as spoiled milk. “Or he misplaced his favorite rock.”

Khan shot Yan a swift, unamused glance before returning his focus to Joo Dee Two. “While Bosco’s vitality is undoubtedly paramount, an unscheduled national address typically concerns matters of governance. One might even speculate, however improbable, that the Earth King plans to abdicate, passing the crown to an heir.”

“Abdication?” Joo Dee Two’s eyes widened, her smile momentarily faltering before snapping back into place. “What a thrilling development! Though he seems so very content on his throne.”

“Contentment does not always dictate political stability. The pressures of leadership, the endless decrees, the ceremonial duties—they weigh heavily. Regardless of the content, this address will undoubtedly reshape the political landscape of Ba Sing Se.”

Yan rolled her eyes.

The screen flickered, a deep chime resonating through the studio, signaling a transition. Joo Dee Two brightened, adjusting her posture. “Ah, it appears the time has come! We now go live to the Royal Palace, where the Earth King prepares to address his loyal subjects.”

The scene dissolved, replaced by the opulent grandeur of the Earth King’s throne room. Gold gleamed from every surface, intricate tapestries depicting the history of Ba Sing Se adorned the walls, and dozens of royal guards, clad in polished green and gold armor, stood at rigid attention. At the center of it all, atop a velvet-draped dais, stood a podium carved from glistening obsidian, encrusted with glittering diamonds and rubies.

A fanfare of trumpets blared, echoing through the vast hall. The heavy doors at the far end swung open, revealing Earth King Kuei. He strode forward, his emerald robes flowing behind him, a golden crown resting heavily on his head. Bosco, his beloved bear, ambled dutifully beside him, a garland of exotic flowers around his neck, looking neither lethargic nor particularly interested in the proceedings. Kuei ascended the dais with deliberate, regal steps, pausing at the obsidian podium. He adjusted his crown, cleared his throat with a theatrical flourish, and gazed out at the assembled dignitaries, his expression a mixture of profound self-importance and faint confusion.

“My dearest citizens. My loyal subjects, my devoted denizens of this magnificent Earth Kingdom. For countless generations, from the hallowed halls of our ancestors to the vibrant markets of our bustling cities, we have stood firm. We have weathered storms, both literal and metaphorical. We have celebrated triumphs, mourned losses, and consistently maintained the highest standards of… well, of everything, really. And in these trying times, as the world whirls and twirls with unprecedented rapidity, it falls upon me, your benevolent and brilliant leader, to guide you, to protect you, and to illuminate the path forward.” He paused, taking a sip of water from a crystal goblet. “I have pondered. I have pontificated. I have partaken in prolonged periods of profound contemplation. And I have reached a monumental, earth-shattering conclusion.”

He leaned into the microphone, his eyes blazing with a newfound, almost manic determination. “Today, I declare war!” He paused for dramatic effect, letting the words hang in the air. “War… on the sun!”

The Earth King's declaration hung in the air, a physical weight pressing down on the opulent throne room. A collective gasp rippled through the assembled dignitaries, quickly followed by a cacophony of murmuring. News crews, once poised for solemn declarations, erupted. Microphones thrust forward, camera lights flared, and a torrent of bewildered questions echoed off the gilded walls.

"Your Majesty, war on the sun? What does this entail?"

"Will the Earth Kingdom deploy cloud cover as a weapon?"

"Will citizens need to avoid direct attacks by sunlight?"

On the special broadcast panel, Joo Dee Two's cheerful smile froze. Khan’s jaw slackened, his spectacles threatening to slide off his nose. Yan’s impassive face remained unreadable, though a faint, almost imperceptible tremor touched her lower lip. The room was thick with awkward silence, broken only by the distant, muffled chaos from the palace feed.

Long Feng cleared his throat. “A truly bold and visionary decree from our beloved Earth King. His Majesty, in his infinite wisdom, sees threats where others merely perceive light. We stand in unwavering solidarity with this… innovative declaration.”

Joo Dee Two, recovering, plastered her own wide smile back in place. “Indeed! A testament to the boundless creativity of our sovereign!”

Khan adjusted his spectacles with a jerky motion. “The geopolitical implications are, shall we say, unprecedented. We must consider the… strategic challenges of such an endeavor.” His eyes, however, betrayed the frantic churning behind them, darting from Joo Dee Two to the muted palace feed.

“Unprecedented…” Joo Dee Two's gaze remained fixed on the monitor showing the bewildered faces of the palace guards. “This will have great geopolitical ramifications.”

“The Fire Nation, for instance…” Khan's brow was furrowed into a knot of consternation. “Their reverence for the sun is well-documented. Their firebending draws power from its rays. One must wonder if they will perceive this as an act of aggression against their very cultural bedrock. Will they, dare I suggest, align themselves with the sun? Provide it with… solar reinforcements?”

Joo Dee Two’s smile tightened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she smoothed it away. “A truly intricate web of alliances, indeed.”

Yan, sitting perfectly still, simply stared at the monitor, her eyes wide, unblinking. Her hands, previously clasped, now pressed against her knees, a subtle tension in her posture. "I'm sorry, but what just happened? Is our king sane?"

Long Feng’s smile tightened further, a barely perceptible strain around his mouth. He gestured subtly but firmly off-camera. “Cut the feed."

The live broadcast from the palace instantly vanished, replaced by the spinning badger-mole emblem of Ba Sing Se News. A moment later, the studio lights flared, and the panel reappeared. Joo Dee Two and Khan sat exactly as before, their smiles now slightly strained, their eyes still holding that bewildered glint. But Yan was gone.

In her place sat another woman, her robes an identical shade of green, her hair styled with the same meticulous precision. And a perpetual smile.

Joo Dee Three.

Long Feng’s calm smile returned, radiating a familiar authority. He nodded to the main Joo Dee beside him, then to the two identical figures on the panel screen.

“For Ba Sing Se News, I’m Long Feng.”

A trio of, "And I'm Joo Dee."

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained."

“This is Ba Sing Se News. I'm Long Feng.”

“And I'm Joo Dee.”

Sittting at the news desk, Long Feng smoothed his impeccable beard, a grave smile touching his lips. Joo Dee’s wide, unwavering grin stretched across her face, her eyes fixed on the camera.

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained.”

“Tonight’s top story: a furry oracle has foretold the future of Ba Sing Se’s breakfast menus. Yes, a poodlemonkey in the Lower Ring predicts next week’s hottest pastries.”

Joo Dee’s smile tightened, her head tilting. “Such a delightful creature, bringing us tomorrow’s truths today.”

“Indeed. Our correspondent, Mai Lin, is with the mystical primate and its owner. Mai Lin?”

The screen cut to a woman with sleek black hair, standing beside a small, fluffy creature with tightly curled fur and a long tail. The poodlemonkey wore a tiny silk vest, perched on a velvet cushion.

Mai Lin held a microphone to a beaming woman. “Mrs. Wen, your poodlemonkey, Pom-Pom, has become quite the sensation. What has he predicted for us today?”

Mrs. Sato cradled Pom-Pom. “Oh, he’s just wonderful. This morning, he predicted rain. And look!” She gestured to a small window behind her, where a single, fat raindrop splattered against the pane, then another, before the sky opened up. “He never misses!”

“Truly astonishing. Any big predictions for the city, Pom-Pom?” Mai Lin inquired, kneeling slightly.

The poodlemonkey chittered, then reached a tiny paw into a bowl of alphabet noodles, pulling four out.

Mai Lin looked down at them. “S-L-O-T Slot? What could that mean?”

Mrs. Sato shrugged, a placid smile on her face. “Oh, he’s always doing that. Probably means someone will win big at the Lake Laogai Casino.”

Long Feng nodded. “Fascinating insights. From slot sixth senses to slower pursuits, we turn now to a high-stakes, low-speed pursuit unfolding at the Ba Sing Se Zoo.”

Joo Dee’s eyes widened, a flicker of something unreadable behind her persistent smile. “A chase of epic proportions, Long.”

“Indeed. Our reporter, Chan, is live at the snailsloth enclosure, where authorities are struggling to contain a situation of… deliberate slowness. Chan?”

The screen showed Chan, his usually neat black hair slightly disheveled, standing near a blurry, moss-covered wall. Behind him, a single, enormous snailsloth moved with glacial majesty, its massive shell gleaming under the zoo lights. A tiny, frantic man in a zookeeper uniform jogged alongside it, holding a net.

Chan leaned into the microphone, his voice a strained whisper. “Yes, Long…. The situation remains fluid, yet incredibly, painstakingly slow. Zooms, a twenty-year-old male snailsloth, breached… the perimeter of his enclosure approximately three hours ago…. Authorities have been in pursuit ever since.”

A police officer, his face slick with sweat, crept forward, holding a pair of oversized tongs. “He just… keeps… crawling. “We almost… had him… when he stopped… for a nap.”

“The zoo director… confirmed Zooms… is notoriously… stubborn." Chan stopped to dodge a slow-motion swipe of the snailsloth’s eye stalk. “His preferred method of escape…. involves simply moving until… the police... get bored. The ‘chase,’ as it were, is… primarily an exercise in patience.”

Long Feng struggled to maintain a straight face. “Chan, you're coming in a bit slow. There might be technical issues."

"That's… fine."

"Any injuries, Chan?”

“Only minor chafing for the… zookeepers and a profound sense of… existential dread for the… officers.” Chan watched the snailsloth slowly inch past a “Do Not Feed” sign. “He’s currently making his… way towards the butterllama… exhibit. They anticipate interception within… the next four to six hours.”

Joo Dee somehow smiled even wider. “We wish them the best of luck." The feed cut out. “Such a thrilling spectacle. And now, for sports, where the Earth Ball Finals captivated audiences with a nail-biting double overtime.”

Long Feng nodded, shuffling a few papers. “The Gaoling Gladiators squared off against the Omashu Oozers in a clash of titans, pushing past regulation and into the depths of extra play. Hong is here with the recap. Hong?”

The screen shifted, revealing a small, intricately carved wooden puppet. It resembled Hong, with a painted double goatee and tiny, articulated limbs. The puppet stood behind a miniature sports desk, silently gesticulating as a montage of Earth Ball highlights flickered on a screen behind it: players leaping, dirt flying, the ball soaring. It pointed a wooden finger at imaginary scores, then swept its arm in a wide, triumphant arc as the Gaoling Gladiators secured their victory in a sudden-death scramble.

Long Feng nodded, a faint glint in his eye. “Exciting. Now…” He looked down at his script. There was nothing left. He looked at Joo Dee, who only smiled awkwardly.

A crackle in his earpiece. "We don't have anything more. Sorry. And we can't go to commercial. Chung got sweet and sour sauce on the controls."

Long Feng shuffled a few papers on the desk, his gaze momentarily distant. Joo Dee maintained her wide, unblinking smile, a perfectly crafted mask of cheer. A moment stretched, then another. The studio lights hummed. Long Feng cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, a faint sheen of sweat gathering on his brow. Joo Dee’s smile, fixed and unwavering, began to look less like joy and more like rigor mortis. A third second passed, heavy and silent.

Suddenly, a blaring red alert flashed across the monitors behind them, a jarring contrast to the quiet. A shrill alarm pierced the air.

Long Feng blinked, snapping back to attention. “Breaking news. It appears our snailsloth situation has escalated.” He paused, reading the incoming text on his screen, his expression shifting from mild concern to profound bewilderment. “The Ba Sing Se Zoo reports that Zooms and several other snailsloths have breached containment. They are now… slowly… causing havoc in the Middle Ring.”

Joo Dee’s smile dipped a fraction, her eyes wide. “Such… determined… creatures.”

“Indeed.” Long Feng's voice taking on a strangely deliberate cadence. “Reports indicate the snailsloths possess an unusual ability to… hypnotize… citizens into moving at their own pace. Witnesses describe people… slowly… walking backwards, becoming… prey… to the advancing mammalpods.”

On the monitors, blurry footage showed figures in the Middle Ring. A man, his arms outstretched, began to take tiny, shuffling steps backward. A woman, mid-stride, reversed direction, her eyes glazed, as a snailsloth the size of a small carriage oozed gently past her. The scene unfolded with the agonizing speed of drying paint.

“Our correspondent, Chun Li, is… on the scene… trying to… slowly… make her way to a vantage point.” Joo Dee's words were now drawn out, each syllable a molasses-thick pronouncement. Her head began to tilt backwards, her smile straining.

Long Feng’s voice deepened, each word a distinct, weighty entity. “This… is… a… truly… unnerving… development.” He turned his head, a slow, deliberate motion, towards the studio entrance. “We are receiving… reports… that the snailsloths are not merely… moving… through the city… but… entering… various… establishments.”

The heavy studio door, previously shut, began to creak open, revealing a sliver of darkness, then another. A glistening, emerald-green trail appeared on the polished floor, widening with agonizing slowness. A massive, shell-covered form, adorned with moss and faint streaks of dirt, edged its way into the brightly lit studio. It was Zooms, the escaped snailsloth from the zoo, its enormous eye-stalks swiveling with ponderous curiosity.

Long Feng stared, his jaw slack, his words now barely a crawl. “It… seems… one… has… found… its… way… to… our… newsroom.”

Joo Dee’s smile, though still present, was now a rictus of slow-motion horror. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, fixed on the approaching creature.

Zooms continued its stately, unhurried advance, its immense body leaving a thick, shimmering slime-trail across the studio floor. It reached the news desk, its sheer bulk filling the space. With an almost imperceptible nudge of its colossal head, it began to slowly push Long Feng’s chair backwards. Then Joo Dee’s.

“Huuuuuuh?” Long Feng's face was frozen in bewilderment as he slid away from the desk.

Joo Dee, too, was displaced, her perfectly poised hands lifting from the desk with infinite slowness.

Zooms positioned itself directly in front of the camera, its colossal eye-stalks swiveling to meet the lens. A low, guttural gurgle emanated from its hidden mouth, accompanied by a soft, rhythmic clicking.

The subtitles appeared on screen:

Sliiiime-gluurp-chitter… [We demand an immediate increase in lettuce rations.]

Zooms' gargantuan eye-stalks, like twin periscopes, swiveled, fixing on the camera lens. A low, rhythmic slurp-click filled the silent studio.

Slurp-chitter-gluurp… [And a designated napping area with optimal humidity.]

Click-gluurp-slurp… [Also, unlimited cucumber slices.]

The camera feed began to pivot with agonizing slowness. It crawled to the left, revealing Long Feng and Joo Dee. They could not move, their bodies frozen in mid-slide from their chairs, suspended in the snailsloth’s slow-motion thrall. Long Feng’s mouth hung agape, a silent gasp trapped in his throat, his eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on some unseen point beyond the creature. Joo Dee’s smile remained, a grotesque, stretched mask, but her eyes, usually an empty veneer of cheer, now burned with raw, unadulterated terror. They were motionless, like statues carved from sheer fright.

Then the feed flickered, then went black, replaced by a badgermole shrugging, before fading to black.

A beat later, the heavy studio doors burst inward, crashing against the wall with a resounding thud. Three burly security guards, clad in green uniforms and brandishing metal batons, charged in, their faces set in grim determination. They scanned the room, their eyes falling upon the immense, slime-trailing snailsloth now occupying the news desk.

The lead guard, mid-stride, stumbled. His charge faltered. His eyes glazed over. He stopped. Then, with an almost imperceptible shift, he took a slow, deliberate step backward. The other two guards, their momentum dying, froze in turn. Their faces slackened, their batons lowering with excruciating slowness. One by one, they began to reverse course, their steps ponderous and backward, their gazes vacant, retreating from the studio like drops of tar. The doors swung shut behind them with a soft thwump.

Inside the studio, Long Feng and Joo Dee, still ensnared, began to move. Their heads, with an almost imperceptible creak, turned back towards the now-empty space where the camera had been. Their lips, stretched thin and pale, began to form words, one agonizing syllable at a time.

“This…is…Ba…Sing…Se…News…”

Long Feng’s eyes darted frantically, desperately searching for escape. “I’m… Long…. Feng!"

Joo Dee’s entire body quivered, her head tilting at an unnatural angle. “And…I'm…Joo…Dee…”

Their gazes, filled with a profound, terrifying emptiness, locked onto the absent camera. Joo Dee’s smile, stretched beyond endurance, finally fractured.

“Here…you…are…in…formed…”

A final, agonizing pause.

“…Here…you…are…..en…….ter………”

“…………tained.”

Chapter Text

A man with a grenade launcher stood by a door at the edge of the universe. His goal: to do whatever the heck he wanted.

Here was Sokka—adventurer extraordinaire. He just needed to kill a few extra-dimensional demons, and his bank account would be brimming with cash.

But then… he looked down at the flowers sprouting from his launcher. He sniffed them. And then he jumped into a lake full of screaming sirens.

“Sokka! Wake up!”

“But why…”

He awoke with a start, looking around. He was lying in bed, and Suki was glaring at him. Her red and gold hanfu was nice, with the slits on the sides of her knee-length skirt, her black heels, and her red lipstick…

“We have a mission in an hour. Get up.”

“Oh yeah… I’ll be ready, Suks. Just give me a moment, okay?”

She left. He jumped out of bed, flung open a few drawers, tossed some clothes onto the bed, and threw them on. He shot to the bathroom, shaved, and looked into the mirror as he adjusted the collar on his blue button shirt.

His eyes were tired. The scar on his cheek from a mission a few days ago still hadn’t healed, despite the best efforts of their resident healer. He splashed some water on his face and jogged out to throw on a black suit, stepping outside to see Suki waiting.

She coughed.

“…What?”

“Look to the side.”

He did. And…

“Bangs. Oh crap!”

He ran back inside to find a hair tie and zipped back out, clapping his hands.

He smoothed his lapels, ensuring his wolf's tail was properly tied back. Time to look the part.

He followed Suki through blast doors that slid open with a satisfying hiss. Spy stuff. They opened into a massive, cavernous parking garage smelling of recycled air and expensive exhaust fumes. Concrete pillars, lit by sterile white panels, stretched into the dark.

And in the center of it all, lit by its own spotlight, was the car. Oh, hello, beautiful. It was long, low, and so black it seemed to drink the light, all sharp angles and mean curves. It looked less like a car and more like something that hunted other cars for sport.

"After you." He swept a hand towards the passenger side with a flourish.

Suki gave a faint nod, her boots silent on the polished concrete. The car door scissored upwards as she approached. Show off. She slipped into the plush leather seat. He took the long way around, admiring the aggressive front grille before sliding behind the wheel. The door whispered shut, sealing them in a cocoon of silence and new-car smell.

He placed his hands on the wheel. The dashboard was a dark, blank panel, but a low thrum vibrated through the frame as the car came to life. A single icon bloomed in the center of the dash: a little steaming teacup, glowing soft white. "Took you long enough. I was calculating the heat death of the universe. I almost got there."

Typical Matcha.

Suki crossed her legs, smiling. “Hello, Matcha. The mission, please.”

“Always business with you, Kyoshi.” A holographic map of Ba Sing Se shimmered across the dash, city blocks rotating in sterile blues and greens. “Your target is an arms dealer. Name: Longshot. Reputation: bespoke weaponry for the discerning sociopath.”

A file blinked open. Scarred cheek. Smug grin. Gold chains that looked like they came in a discount set. The kind of man whose cologne probably smelled like bad decisions.

“He’s hosting an exclusive, high-stakes Pai Sho tournament in the Lower Ring. Intel suggests he’s using it as a showroom for a new prototype: a handheld, electromagnetic cannon. We believe the potential buyer will be in attendance.”

Sokka’s brows rose. A cannon. That fit in one hand. Someone had really woken up and thought, You know what the world needs? Faster ways to explode.

“Sounds like he's compensating for something."

"…Your objective is to infiltrate the tournament, identify the buyer, and relieve Longshot of his new toy before the transaction is complete. You will be going in as Mr. and Mrs. Fire, a disgustingly wealthy couple from the Fire Nation with a gambling habit."

Suki was already leaning forward, her eyes tracing the holographic schematics of a warehouse floating beside Longshot’s ugly mug. “Entry point?”

“The front door. Your invitations and currency have been authenticated. Do try to act like you belong. To attract Longshot's attention, you will cheat.”

"Cheat?" He leaned forward, a slow smile spreading. "Matcha, you wound me. I prefer ‘creative application of the rules’."

"Don’t get cocky. You’re not a master Pai Sho player. Suki is passable, and you couldn't beat a child.

"Hey!"

"Your cheating needs to be flawless."

The dash hummed. A panel slid open. A sleek case rose into view, glowing softly like it knew it was impressive. Inside lay a buffet of shiny spy toys: two silver earbud cases, platinum wolf cufflinks, a navy wallet, a necklace with a fan-shaped jewel, and a pearl-white pistol that looked like it had been designed by someone who read too many fashion magazines.

Sokka plucked up a cufflink. Solid. Heavy. Stylish. “Not bad.”

"Discreet communication and optical feeds. The earbuds become invisible one second after insertion. The wolf’s eyes on your cufflinks, Snow Wolf, and the stone in Kyoshi’s necklace are micro-cameras. I will see the board, I will see your opponents, I will tell you what to do." The AI paused. "Kyoshi, your firearm is a custom Kaito ‘Ghost’ 4mm. Subsonic, caseless, and virtually silent. And Snow Wolf, you have a compact wallet gun, chambered in the same. It’s for emergencies only."

Suki slipped the necklace on, the fan jewel catching the faint light. Then she picked up the pistol, running it through a check quick and precise as a surgeon. She holstered it against her thigh. Blink, and it was gone.

"Well, damn, Kyoshi." He let out a low whistle. "If looking that good is a crime, you’re getting a life sentence."

She turned, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face. The kind that promised trouble for someone. "And you, Snow Wolf, look sharp enough to cut glass."

"Could you two love birds please fly back to attention?"

"Yes, Lord Matcha."

A sigh.

He snapped the cufflinks into place, platinum gleaming against his sleeves. Okay, fine. He looked good. Even Matcha couldn’t ruin that for him. “You’ll feed us the moves, right?”

"To the best of my abilities."

"Yeah?"

"User error notwithstanding."

Sokka pouted. "Hey, I know my way around a casino."

Suki smirked. "To the buffet line?"

Matcha gave a noise that sounded like a sigh in binary. "I would prefer if you kept the married-couple squabbling to a minimum. The mission is the cannon. Not the complimentary hors d'oeuvres."

He couldn't help but make a face. A man has needs.

The car surged forward, humming down a tunnel lined with sterile light. No bumps, no noise. Just them and the rising mission tension.

Suki studied the holo-map, calm as a stone. Sokka hummed an old Water Tribe marching tune under his breath. The car’s hum made a decent beat. Then inspiration struck.

“So. Wang Fire. Classic name. Timeless. Commands respect.” He stroked the false beard glued to his chin. “Feels like a man who chops trees and wrestles komodo-rhinos for fun.”

Suki leaned into him. It felt a tad sarcastic. "How dashing."

He slid an arm around her, chuckling. "My beautiful Sapphire."

The ramp spiraled up. Neon spilled into view, drowning everything in a riot of grime and light as the Lower Ring swallowed them. Screeching mag-lev rails overhead. Stalls stacked on corners selling knockoff jewelry and suspicious dumplings. Crowds thick as swamp vines.

And there it was: the White Jade Casino.

A monstrosity of green-and-gold pagoda towers, glowing like someone had tried to build elegance while choking on cabbage. Stone dragon-dogs flanked the entrance, their jaws wide in hungry snarls.

The car glided into the private valet lane. Smooth, silent, predatory. The door hissed open.

"Showtime, Mrs. Fire." Sokka stepped out, beard perfect, cufflinks gleaming. He extended an arm to Suki, all gentlemanly flourish, and she slid hers into it.

She moved like the ground should be honored to touch her boots. The slit in her dress flashed the pistol holster just long enough to make him nervous and impressed at the same time.

Together they headed for the entrance. The bouncer waited, arms folded over a tux two sizes too small. Based on the bulging seams, the tux was begging for someone to end its misery with shears. “Invitation?”

Sokka held up his wrist. The gold watch face shimmered into a QR code. “Wang Fire. And my lovely wife.”

The mountain scanned the code. A chime of approval. He gave a curt nod and gestured to a gilded elevator behind a velvet rope.

“Jade Leaf Suite. Fifth.”

The elevator swallowed them, gold walls gleaming, mirrors multiplying them into infinity. Suki’s reflection: sharp, unflinching, already thinking twelve steps ahead. His: fake beard, real nerves, trying to look like a man who belonged here.

The doors slid shut. The noise of the Lower Ring cut off, leaving only silence and the thrum of the car below.

Sokka tugged at his collar. Curtain call. Suave smile, check. Guns, check. Absolute, manly daring, mega check.

He adjusted the fake beard, the thing itching like it had sworn a blood feud against his upper lip. Perfect. Just the right level of irritating to keep him focused. The Jade Leaf Suite sprawled out in front of him, all glitter and smoke, too many sequins stuffed into too little space. Suits and dresses glided past with the kind of careful elegance only money bought, and Sokka—alias Wang Fire, proud fake aristocrat—was supposed to look like he belonged. Fake it till they comp the dessert.

The music wasn’t helping. Some jazz trio droned from the corner, lazy notes curling through the air like smoke that couldn’t decide where to settle. No rhythm, no beat, no fun. Exactly the kind of soundtrack rich people liked, because it reminded them they were rich enough not to care. Money as a metronome set to “whatever.”

He swept his eyes over the room, the way he always did. Exits: one tucked near the buffet, one by the stairwell. Guards: two, stationed at the far wall, bulkier than the suits they’d squeezed into. A balcony overhead—prime sniper territory. Longshot himself? Nowhere. Unless the guy had mastered the ancient art of becoming a chandelier. Doubtful, though admittedly stylish. File under “threats I refuse to respect out loud.”

And then Sokka saw it.

The buffet.

A battlefield of plates and platters, piled high with edible monuments to excess. Dumplings pinched into the shape of gold ingots. Turtle-duck meat pies sculpted so precisely he half-expected one to waddle off. Skewers of glowing fruit, each piece pulsing faintly like it had been zapped for extra flavor. Whole spreads that looked less like food and more like dares. Reconnaissance target acquired.

"Suki, my darling." He rolled out his best Wang Fire impression, loud enough to turn heads. "I’m going to perform some reconnaissance. Secure our perimeter."

The glare she shot him could have sliced steel. Sharp, green, wordless. The kind of look that very clearly meant: Don’t even think about screwing this up. Message received. Noted. Ignored. Kind of?

Which, obviously, he was already thinking about.

Still, the role demanded it. Wang Fire wouldn’t tiptoe around the buffet like some rookie spy—he’d charge it. With gusto. Like a hero. With a plate.

Sokka snatched up a gold-rimmed plate, gleaming enough to double as a signal mirror, and started stacking. One dumpling ingot. One glowing lychee. And… why not, a purple blob with spines. Maybe it was fruit. Maybe it was poison. Either way, it was going on the plate. Operational risk: acceptable.

Because that was what a man with money, a beard, and no shame did.

Suki appeared at his elbow, a vision in scarlet. "Find anything useful, dear?"

He held up a tiny meat pie shaped like a turtle-duck. "The crust is flaky, the filling is savory, and our host has more money than sense. All vital intel." Sokka scanned the room again over the pie. "No sign of Mr. Gold Chains. Guess he’s making a grand entrance." Longshot loves a late curtain. Drama queen with a bow.

Her eyes, sharp and missing nothing, drifted past him. "Then we should blend in."

His gaze followed hers to a row of slot machines against the wall. Not the garish contraptions from the floor below. These were elegant things of polished chrome and dark jade, the spinning reels displaying intricate Pai Sho tiles. A challenge. Also, a trap. Perfect.

"Just one pull, for luck." Sokka winked, leaving his half-eaten plate on a passing server’s tray. "For the mission, of course." Definitely for the mission. Absolutely not for the shiny button.

He approached a machine gleaming under a spotlight and slid his credit chip into the slot. The machine hummed to life. Then, a voice, smooth and condescending, spoke from a hidden speaker.

"Oh, look. Another optimist. State your wager and let us proceed with the inevitable disappointment."

Sokka blinked. He looked at Suki, who raised a single, perfect eyebrow. He turned back to the machine.

"Excuse me?"

"It is a simple interface. Even you should be able to manage. Press the large, flashing button."

"Um, okay. Chill out."

"It is against my programming to be polite."

"Okay, sheesh!"

He pressed the button... a little harder than necessary. The digital tiles spun. Two White Dragon tiles locked into place. Hope surged. The final tile spun… and landed on a cartoonish depiction of a cabbage. A discordant buzzer sounded. Well, shoot.

"How surprising. A loss. The universe maintains its equilibrium. Please feel free to contribute to the statistical certainty of your failure again."

Suki’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. He glared at the machine, then at her, feeding it another, larger credit. Pride versus toaster. Pride always loses.

"A bold strategy. Let's see if it pays off. Spoiler: it will not."

It did not. Two White Lotus tiles and a platypus-bear wearing a fez.

"I believe there is a saying about fools and their money. You are currently providing a compelling practical demonstration."

"This thing is a menace." Sokka pointed at the sour look he knew it was hiding somewhere. "It’s like it was programmed by my high school gym teacher." Smells like whistle breath.

Suki smiled, taking his arm. "Come on, Dearest. Let’s not allow such frivolous games to get the better of us. We have fortunes to win."

She steered him from the insulting appliance toward the heart of the room. A crowd had gathered around a circular table, the air thick with tension and expensive cologne. The sharp clatter of dice on wood cut through the music. They eased into the throng, finding a spot at the edge. A high-stakes game of street dice, but with carved ivory cubes on polished ebony. Men in sharp suits and women dripping with jewels threw down chips that could buy a house. Sokka felt the familiar thrill. He slipped an arm around Suki’s waist, shifting them into their persona. Just another pair of wealthy thrill-seekers. The perfect cover. The beard practically purred.

The dice rattled like old bones. Sokka watched a man with a bulldog’s face lose a stack of chips worth a small island. The man just laughed and pushed another stack forward. The air crackled with the quiet clatter of the game and the silent transfer of wealth. Sokka leaned closer to Suki, his hand on the small of her back. His ridiculously large fake beard itched. A small price to pay for the most brilliant (and fabulous) disguise.

"Our host certainly knows how to throw a party."

Suki’s eyes never left the table. "He knows how to distract people. Look for Longshot."

Right. Always business. He sighed. "But darling, I only have eyes for you." Also for pointy stabby things. And meat. But mostly her.

A space cleared as the bulldog tapped out. The croupier, a man carved from obsidian, scanned the crowd.

A shadow fell over the game.

A gallon jug of clear liquid thudded onto the velvet. It sloshed, a crude sound in the refined quiet. The room went silent. The jazz music stopped, a saxophone squeaking. Sokka’s gaze traveled from the offensively large plastic jug up a black-gloved hand, past a red jacket, to a face he knew far too well.

Mai.

She looked dangerously relaxed, holding enough cheap vodka to get a small town through a long weekend. Oh good. Chaos with cheekbones.

Sokka’s Wang Fire persona flickered and died. His brain felt like the cartoon cabbage from the slot machine. He glanced at Suki. Her mask was perfect, but he saw the glint in her eyes—a microsecond of Oh, her—gone in an instant. He tapped his earbud. Backup plan: complain to Mister Tea.

"Matcha, talk to me."

"Good evening, Snow Wolf. I was just admiring your beard. It has a certain rustic charm."

Sokka nodded politely at a woman with platinum hair before leaning away to whisper, "Status report on Black Talon. Why is she here?"

Mai pulled a crumpled wad of bills from her pocket—actual paper currency, how archaic—and tossed it onto the table. A grubby insult next to the pristine chips. The croupier stared at the money, his calm developing a hairline crack.

"Madam, the buy-in is digital."

She stared him down. "Half on the table, half under it, deal?"

The man gulped before nodding, and half of the cash disappeared in a flash. A jingle of chips later, Mai leaned forward, appearing relaxed.

"An excellent question. Agent Mai is not on my mission roster. According to my last update, she is not supposed to be in this hemisphere. Let me check... Ah. She is listed as ‘On Leave’. It appears she has chosen to spend her holiday crashing your operation."

Sokka rubbed his forehead. "Can you get her out of here?"

"Would you like me to ask her nicely? My data suggests a zero-point-zero-three percent chance of success. I am, however, tracking a significant spike in local vodka sales."

Mai plucked the dice from the table, her movements sharp. She gave them a single, lazy shake.

Sokka gave up on the AI, leaning toward Mai with a whisper laced with challenge. "Fancy seeing you here. Decided to grace us with your presence?"

Her honey eyes flicked to him, a mischievous glimmer in their depths. She saw right through the Wang Fire disguise, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "I was bored."

She punctuated the statement by unscrewing the jug’s white plastic cap with one hand. She raised the gallon of vodka to her lips and took a long, slow pull, her throat working. The silence at their end of the table returned, thicker this time. A few of the nearby high-rollers took a subtle, synchronized step away, as if she were emanating a toxic field. Which, Sokka considered, she probably was.

Suki managed a plastic smile, murmuring, "Just try not to spark any major international incidents before we've wrapped things up here." Her gaze, though placid, held a silent warning for Mai.

Mai slowly lowered the heavy gallon jug of vodka, wiping a stray drop from her lips with the back of her gloved hand. She offered Suki a lazy, almost imperceptible one-shouldered shrug, her expression utterly unbothered. "I'm afraid I can't make any promises on that front. My sole purpose here is to drink liquor and win easy money. You just focus on your own game."

Without a single additional word, Mai casually tossed the dice. They spun with impossible precision, a quiet whisper of ivory against the polished ebony surface of the table, and settled with a soft click. A perfect, undeniable roll. The croupier’s precisely composed jaw went visibly slack, and a collective, soft gasp rippled through the curious onlookers. Of course she breaks physics for pocket change.

Mai, however, displayed only cool, detached confidence. She scooped up her substantial winnings with a practiced hand, then gestured idly with the dice towards the now-pale woman with the platinum hair. "Your turn."

"That… is physically impossible. The biomechanics of the human wrist are simply not designed to achieve that level of consistent rotational accuracy. Based on my calculations, I am seventy-eight percent certain she is currently engaged in an act of calculated cheating. The remaining twenty-two percent, however, is pure awe."

Before Sokka could even process Matcha's data, a second, distinctly chirpier and more excitable voice suddenly piped up, momentarily overriding Matcha's feed. "Hi Sokka! Hi Suki! Oh my goodness, Mai-Mai, that was absolutely epic! You are, like, totally cheating, right? Hehehe!"

Mai did not look up from her jug as she hissed, "Umeboshi, settle down." She turned to them. "She's a little too sociable today."

Sokka, momentarily flustered by the AI's interjection and Mai's retort, quickly recovered. He forced a booming, jovial laugh, clapping his hands together with theatrical gusto. "Magnificent! Truly a legendary throw, my dear… Dung!"

Mai glared at him. Note to self: remove Dung from Sokka's Totally Awesome Fake Name List.

He leaned over the table. "We simply must join in on this exhilarating game." He nudged Suki playfully in the ribs, the flamboyant Mr. Fire effortlessly slipping back into his element. "What do you say, my sweet little firecracker? Fancy a roll?"

Suki’s expression remained perfectly placid, a serene mask, but her dark eyes held a clear, unyielding warning as she subtly slid a modest stack of chips onto the polished ebony surface of the table. "Only if you can solemnly promise not to gamble away our lovely summer home, my dearest."

"Never, my love! I swear it on my mother's ashes!" Sokka puffed out his chest.

Chips paid for, he pushed them forward. The croupier, regaining some composure, nodded stiffly. The game was on. The platinum-haired woman, looking uncomfortable, quickly lost her nerve and her remaining chips to Mai, who accepted them without a change in expression. The woman muttered an excuse and fled, leaving the three of them. orca-sharks don’t apologize to guppies.

"Your dice, Mr. Fire."

Sokka scooped them up, cool and smooth in his palm.

"Your palm is too moist. It will affect the spin. Wipe it on your trousers. Subtly. No, not like you’re cleaning up a spill."

He subtly wiped his hand on his suit pants and gave the dice a crisp shake. Smooth criminal.

"Just having some fun." Mai smiled, a near-flat line, taking another pull from her gallon jug, which never seemed to empty. "You two seem a little tense for a night out."

He grinned, the fake beard an itchy creature on his face. "The wife is always tense when my money is on the table."

Suki delivered a sharp tap to his ribs with the edge of her closed fan. It looked affectionate, but he felt the jolt down to his toes. "He is a terrible gambler."

"Shake twice, from the wrist, not the elbow. Release on an upward trajectory. Aim for the far bumper."

He followed the instructions, his movements feeling both foreign and precise. The dice bounced, spun, and settled. A winning roll. He let out a whoop of fake surprise. Definitely fake. Mostly.

"Ha! See, my love? Pure skill!"

Mai watched him, her eyes unreadable, and pushed a stack of chips into the pot. "Luck. It runs out."

Suki’s turn was next. Her movements, already graceful, became flawless with Matcha’s guidance. The dice obeyed her, tumbling with unnatural perfection. Another win. She collected her chips with a small, satisfied nod.

"Beginner’s luck."

"Right." Mai picked up the dice. She didn’t shake them. She just held them, closed her eyes for a second, and tossed them with an underhand flick. Another impossible roll.

"Remarkable. The intuitive grasp of physics and probability is something my processors can only simulate. She is diabolical."

"You two waiting for someone?" Mai’s gaze swept the room before landing back on them. "You keep looking at the door."

Sokka froze for a fraction of a second, converting the pause into a thoughtful stroke of his beard. He caught Suki’s eye. She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. A version of the truth. Just enough to pass the sniff test.

"As a matter of fact, we are. We’re meeting a business associate. A bit of a late-night deal."

"A bore, is what it is." Suki fanned herself slowly. "But business before pleasure."

Mai took another swig from her jug. He would have intervened, but he knew better than to doubt her liver. She set the jug down with a soft thud.

"Describe him."

Sokka blinked. "I’m sorry?"

"Your target. What’s he look like? I’m bored. I’ll help you watch."

He and Suki exchanged another look.

Sokka shrugged to himself. "He’s… memorable. A fan of loud antique bows. Straw hat, fan of cravats. Non-descript face."

Mai’s eyes crinkled at the corners, the closest she ever came to a smile. "Sounds like my kind of guy." Her gaze scanned the room, sharper than any of Suki’s fans. "I’ll keep an eye out."

She flagged down a passing server, a young woman who flinched at the sight of the vodka jug.

"Another drink."

The server swallowed. "Excuse me?"

Mai gave the jug a dismissive glance. "You heard me. I need to mix it up. Bring me a keg of your best sake. And three glasses."

The server vanished, returning flanked by two security guards who rolled a small, polished oak barrel to their table. Mai gave them a curt nod. She filled three small porcelain cups with a steady hand, sliding one to him and one to Suki.

"To good luck." She downed her cup in one clean motion and immediately refilled it.

The sake was warm and smooth. He sipped. Mai drank. Sometimes he envied her, but then he thought of her liver. Somehow it was still kicking.

The game fell into a quiet rhythm. He and Suki kept winning, thanks to Matcha’s silent coaching.

"Angle the wrist four degrees to the left. A lighter touch this time."

But Mai just kept winning, a force of nature armed with ivory cubes and an invincible liver. The pile of chips before her grew into a disorderly mountain.

"So," Sokka rattled his dice. "You two ever consider going pro? We could take this show on the road. Highrollers winning big. Imagine all the gold we could win!"

Suki offered a razor-thin smile. "Yes, imagine..."

Mai just shrugged, her eyes scanning the room’s entrance over the rim of her cup. "I'm too good for that. No casino on the planet would win a copper from me."

Then she stopped. Her gaze locked. Sokka followed her line of sight to the gilded elevator. The doors slid open. A man stepped out, framed by light. He wore a black and white suit with arrowhead patterns, a red cravat tight at his throat. A wide Earth Kingdom sun hat shadowed a blank face with black eyes. A woman with brown hair and dark eyes in a green dress marched next to him.

He stood near a pillar with her as a shadow, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, surveying the room like a predator watching a herd. He wasn’t moving, just… there. Waiting for something to flinch.

"He’s observing. You are currently blending in too well. Become a bigger, more obnoxious fish. He needs to see you as wealthy, reckless, and a potential client."

Sokka glanced at Mai, who was now trying to balance a die on the rim of her sake cup, then at Suki’s flawless, serene mask. An idea sparked. Dangerous. Fun. Very Wang.

"My friends!" Sokka spread his arms wide. "This game of chance lacks… drama! Spectacle!" He snatched the dice from the table. "I shall now perform the Five-Point Phoenix Tail toss!"

He threw the dice high into the air with a theatrical spin. They flashed ivory under the crystal lights. He clapped his hands behind his back, catching one, then spun, snatching the other just before it hit the table. He slammed his closed fists down.

"A wager! All of it! On the perfect roll!"

Suki sighed, the sound of a thousand disappointments. Mai, however, perked up, a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes. She pushed her entire mountain of chips to the center of the table. "Sure. Why not?"

Sokka lifted his hands with a flourish. Two sixes. The table gasped. The croupier looked ill. Across the room, Longshot turned his full attention toward them, his gaze cold and calculating. They were on his radar. Hello, Longshot. Please notice how rich and stupid I look. Bling Bling, hello!

Mai picked up the dice. No fancy toss. She rattled them once next to her ear, blew on them like she was cooling soup, and let them fall from her fingers. They skittered and settled. Another perfect roll. She didn’t even look, instead taking a long drink from the sake keg’s spigot.

"I’m bored." Mai nodded to the side. "What’s happening over there?"

Her gaze fell on the raised platform where the Pai Sho tournament was being set up. The main event.

Sokka nodded like a posh aristocrat. "An excellent question, my new, incredibly lucky friend! That is a game of skill! Of strategy! Let us go show these amateurs how it is done! Croupier, cash out my chips." And a man came, shoveling them into bags.

He offered an arm to Suki, who took it, leaning into his side. Mai just shrugged, grabbed her vodka jug, and followed them toward the tournament platform. An official with a data-slate and a pained expression stood guard.

"Names?"

"Wang and Sapphire Fire."

The man scanned Sokka’s wrist. A green light chimed. He then looked at Mai and her gallon jug, his mouth opening to protest.

Mai slammed a single, high-value chip on his data-slate. "Dung. I’m with them."

The official wisely shut his mouth and gestured them toward two seats at a polished teakwood table. Mai pulled a third chair over, setting it down with a thud and placing her jug beside it. Two other players, a man and a woman who looked like they were born in tuxedos, sat opposite them, looking disdainful. Great. Professional scowls.

"Your opponents are the Varrick siblings. Professional gamblers. Clean records. They are not our targets. You are scheduled for two qualifying rounds. Play to win, but don’t be too obvious. Let me do the work."

Sokka smiled. "You do that, and we'll have all the fun. Right, Suki?"

She pecked his cheek. "Of course, darling."

"Sometimes I daydream about transferring to accounting."

The people were cranking machines, throwing cards, listening to upbeat jazz. It was popping. Sokka settled into his chair, the ridiculous beard itching. The wait stretched, thick with anticipation and the smell of old money.

A gong sounded, its low tone vibrating through the floor. The tournament had begun.

The official at their table set two tiles on the board. "White Lotus plays first."

Game on.

Chapter Text

"Yes, the Players of the land of Ember Island."

Mai blinked. Once. Slow and deliberate, like rebooting a system that just encountered a fatal error.

The name landed like a punch from fifteen years ago. Too specific. Too ridiculous. It dragged something out of the filing cabinet in her brain marked Do Not Open. Ash. That play.

The velvet of the theater box pressed stiff against her spine. Below, an actor in a crooked blue mask sobbed over a woman whose hair looked like it'd been stolen from a scarecrow.

"Oh, Dark Water Spirit! My love eternal!"

Azula snorted beside her. "Who wrote this? King Bumi off his meds?"

Ty Lee covered her mouth on Mai's other side, shoulders quaking with silent laughter. Her eyes flicked across the theater to another box. There sat the Fire Lord and his wife. Ursa held perfect posture, face carved from ice. Ozai looked ready to incinerate the stage.

Mai leaned back and let the terrible dialogue wash over her like a monsoon of mediocrity. She caught Azula's eye, offered the subtlest eye roll. Shared teenage rebellion, born not of defiance but sheer, weaponized boredom. Princesses and nobles, trapped in gilt cages, sentenced to watch the worst theater production ever inflicted on humanity.

The memory dissolved.

No more stuffy theater. No more Azula or Ty Lee. Just recycled air, alien sky, and a green-skinned woman on a screen floating in front of her, talking about deals.

"Did you get that?"

Mai exhaled. "Sorry. Zoned out. Right. The Players. We're here."

"Excellent!" Tiklmat beamed, her wide reptilian eyes crinkling at the corners. She gestured with a six-fingered hand toward a rise in the ochre sand. "Right this way. We have your transport prepared."

Mai eased off the brake. The Bugatti glided forward without sound.

"Ooh, a spaceship!" Umeboshi's avatar materialized in the passenger seat, shimmering pink and vibrating with glee. "What is that? The energy readings are going absolutely bananas! Is it… alive? This is the coolest thing ever!"

Of course she's excited.

Tiklmat glanced at the hologram. "Your onboard intelligence is… spirited."

"The best in the world!" Umeboshi struck a pose, one hand on her hip. "And I've got a killer playlist for interstellar travel. Very hype. Very sparkly."

Mai kept her eyes forward. This was a kidnapping dressed up in pleasantries, wrapped in a case of mistaken identity so bizarre it looped back to plausible. Playing along as a confused but cooperative bounty hunter? That bought time. And information.

Over the crest of a dune, the ship appeared.

It wasn't built. It was grown. Polished black chitin fused with glowing green circuitry that pulsed like veins. It crouched on the sand with the lethal grace of a hunting beetle, all interlocking organic curves and alien geometry. A ramp of soft emerald light shimmered down from its belly.

Standing beside the ramp was another alien. Tall, gangly, skin the blue of summer sky. Chin-length white hair, black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She stared at a glowing datapad, oblivious. A nerd.

Tiklmat cleared her throat. "Hylkbwat. Our guest has arrived."

The blue alien's head snapped up, black eyes wide with surprise. She tucked a strand of white hair behind a pointed ear and offered a tight, awkward smile. A series of soft clicks and low thrums issued from her throat.

Mai's hand twitched toward a weapon that wasn't there.

Tiklmat groaned like a sister who'd explained this a thousand times. "Hylkto, your translator!"

Viridian green bloomed across Hylkbwat's cheeks. She fumbled with a disc on her collar, long fingers clumsy. A click. Static burst. Then a new voice filled the air, laced with a thick Scottish lilt.

"Oh! Apologies. My deepest apologies." She adjusted her glasses, gaze darting from Mai to Umeboshi and back. "I was just… observing the data streams you emit. Fascinating stuff. From your homeworld. Planet Cabbage, is it?"

Planet Cabbage. Sure.

Hylkbwat's eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store full of unsolvable equations. "It's absolutely fascinating! The sheer volume of information dedicated to, well, diminutive felines engaging in… frankly, baffling behavior. And the two-dimensional narratives! The people with the brightly colored hair and the disproportionately large eyes. The physics are a nightmare, but there's one about ninjas in a village hidden in some foliage that—"

Tiklmat sighed. "Hylkbwat. The tour."

"Oh, yes." She stepped forward—and immediately ate sand. Not a stumble. A full-systems failure of coordination. Down she went, limbs flailing like a dropped marionette, ending with a soft thwump. Her datapad skidded to Mai's boots.

Silence.

Then a single blue hand shot up, palm out. "Hylkbwat. Honored to meet you."

Mai didn't move. Great. Their lead scientist trips over flat ground. What's next—security handled by a toddler with a stun baton? Her gaze flicked to Tiklmat, who gave a slow, resigned nod. Yep. This was the A-team.

Mai bent, smooth as smoke, and picked up the datapad. Cool. Light. Humming faintly in her grip. She turned it over, scanning the alien glyphs. Another data point. Another variable in a stupid game.

"Wowee!" Umeboshi clapped from the car. "That was a super-duper dynamic entry! Are you okay?"

Hylkbwat scrambled up, brushing dust off her sleeves, face now the shade of overripe kiwi. "Yes, fine, quite alright." She took the datapad back, flinching at the contact—but her eyes locked onto Umeboshi's shimmering pink avatar.

All awkwardness vanished. Replaced by sharp, academic hunger. "A sentient photon construct? The energy signature is remarkable! A quantum-entangled consciousness matrix?"

Umeboshi zapped into Mai's phone, hologram striking a pose. "I wish. I'm Umeboshi, Artificial Intelligence and aspiring dancer at your service."

Hylkbwat stood entranced, breathing, "Fascinating.."

Tiklmat pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hylkbwat. The mission."

"Ah, yes! The mission." She straightened, trying to look professional. "We're information brokers. For several cycles, we've monitored your home world—Planet Cabbage. Its primitive data-sphere is chaotic, but rich. A buyer on the galactic black market will pay a premium for a complete snapshot. Everything. Histories, art… your endless videos of felines."

Mai's face stayed blank. Data thieves. Not kidnappers. Even better. They thought she was hired muscle, here to babysit their download while they robbed her entire world's internet. The sheer, cosmic-level idiocy of it almost made her smirk. Almost.

Hylkbwat's confidence swelled. "The final data-burst is the most vulnerable. Requires a direct, high-bandwidth connection that could be traced. That's why we contracted your guild. Your reputation for… discretion… preceded you."

Mai's mind scrolled through memories. Yu Dao: villain's frequency made clothes vanish. Fire Fountain City: skyscrapers rearranged like toy blocks mid-chase. Omashu: elevator ride, head-to-toe in purple alien goo, five tourists staring like she'd crawled out of a sewer pipe. Through every absurd, humiliating, physics-defying disaster, she'd worn this same mask. It was armor. It was control. She looked at the two aliens—one flustered, one weary—and filed them under Tuesday.

"Yes."

Hylkbwat scrambled up, cheeks still green. "Yes! Onward! To the… ship!"

Let's see what the cactus-juice gods have cursed us with today.

Mai followed, hand resting easy near the pistol tucked into her waistband. She stepped into the emerald column. Warm. Thick. Like sinking into a vat of expensive honey. The air hummed, lifting her off her feet with a lazy grace that felt too good to be safe.

"Whee! A tractor beam!" Umeboshi chirped from Mai's phone. "This is way better than an elevator! Less awkward silence, more anti-gravity fun!"

If I get space cancer from this, I'm billing the Mechanist.

They floated into the ship's belly. Not metal. Not steel. Something alive. A floor like hardened cartilage. Walls of polished black chitin, veins of green light pulsing like a heartbeat. Smelled like a high-end spa crossed with a lightning storm.

Tiklmat waved a hand around. "Welcome to The Inquisitor."

"A bio-mechanical vessel of the K'tharr symbiote class." Hylkbwat's head was stuffed in her datapad. She gestured at a wall. "The entire superstructure is a single, grown organism. Self-repairing, self-optimizing… it's really quite brilliant, if you disregard the occasional mood swings during molting season."

Right. A spaceship that sheds. Just what I needed.

A screen shimmered to life—showing Plum Blossom parked alone on the hex plain. Hylkbwat approached a console that rose from the floor like a sleeping thing waking up, mumbling, "Just need to bring your vehicle aboard." Her fingers flew over glowing glyphs. "Standard cargo acquisition protocol… engaging the displacement field… easy does it…"

The car dissolved into blue light. Reappeared in a cavernous bay. Perfect. Untouched.

"And there!" Hylkbwat beamed, doing a little victory shuffle.

Umeboshi popped out of Mai's phone, now life-sized. "Whoa! Teleportation! That's super-duper cool! Can you do that with people? Can you beam me up a fruit tart? Mai loves fruit tarts."

Hylkbwat's eyes lit up. "The light-to-mass ratio is… astounding! Is your consciousness matrix running on a localized quantum processor or are you streamed from a remote server?"

"I run on pure star power and a desire to party!" Umeboshi struck a K-pop pose.

Before Hylkbwat could ask for a firmware update, the ship roared. Not a klaxon. A living, guttural howl that rattled Mai's molars. Red light bled through the walls.

Tiklmat's calm broke. "What was that?"

Hylkbwat frantically tapped the console. "Unscheduled spatial rupture! In the main corridor! That's…" She facepalmed. "Oh klikabik…"

Umeboshi shrank back into Mai's phone, peeking over the screen's edge like a nervous meerkat-sloth.

The air ahead shimmered. Then tore. A silent rip. A pinprick of swirling color bloomed fast—purple, yellow, a black that swallowed light. It bent the corridor inward like crumpled paper.

Mai already had the pistol out. Cool metal against her palm. She leveled it at the vortex. Stupidity found me. Right on schedule.

The klaxon screamed. Red light strobed like a dying star. Mai's grip on the pistol didn't flinch. Her knuckles just went whiter. Perfect. Just perfect.

Burnt sugar and static hung thick in the air—Hylkbwat's fault, probably. The blue alien was babbling in her native tongue, fast and panicked, fingers flying over a cracked datapad. Tiklmat? Stone-faced no more. Her composure had shattered clean through, replaced by a deer-in-the-headlights stare.

Then the vortex coughed.

Out tumbled a tangle of limbs—red, gold, orange, green—a heap of groans and clattering metal hitting the deck with the grace of a dropped laundry basket. Not a stealth landing. Not a dramatic pose. Just… people.

Mai watched, pulse flatlining, as they untangled themselves with the kind of practiced ease that meant oh hell, professionals. And not the good kind.

Everything went silent. The klaxon, Hylkbwat's muttering, the ship's thrum—all of it faded to a dull hum. The figures in the dragon and cranefish masks turned, their faces coming into focus under the pulsing, hellish light.

Oh, hell no.

That ornate, red and gold dragon mask, the arrogant tilt of the head behind it, the eyes visible through the sockets holding a universe of manic energy and calculated cruelty. The Dragon Empress.

And the other, a coiled spring of deadly grace beneath that golden cranefish mask, her posture a mix of confusion and battle-ready cheerfulness that Mai knew all too well. The Golden Cranefish.

Her gaze locked onto the third man. The simple black mask failed spectacularly to hide the magnificent, meticulously groomed mustache beneath his nose. A facial sculpture so absurdly over-the-top, it could only belong to one man. Captain Moustache.

Mai lowered the pistol, just a fraction. The safety clicked home with a soft snick only she could hear. For one perfect, fleeting second, the universe had a plan. Alien desert? Check. Two suns? Weird, but fine. Data thieves with a case of mistaken identity? Annoying, but manageable. She could've worked with that. Hell, she'd already started mentally billing the Mechanist for the overtime.

Then this happened.

A punchline had just crash-landed into her present like a meteor made of pure, uncut drama. The silence stretched. Snapped.

"Ty Lee, what did you do!" The voice from the dragon mask was sharp, imperious, and scraped right down Mai's spine like a rusty nail. Azula. Of course. The name Ty Lee landed like a misplaced punchline.

The woman in the cranefish costume flinched, hands up in surrender. "I don't know! Maybe? There was this text on my phone. From the 'Ember Island Players Fan Club.' It said I'd won a free spa weekend on a private island! It had all these sparkly emojis."

Sparkly emojis. Mai's internal monologue was a dry desert. Yep. Definitely her.

The man with the magnificent mustache jabbed a gloved finger. "Ty, I told you not to click that! 'Congratulations, lucky winner!' is the oldest trick in the book! Right after 'Look, your shoe's untied!'"

"You clicked a spam link." The dragon mask's voice dropped to a register that could freeze lava. "You doomed us to this… this garish, pulsating hallucination because you wanted a free mud bath."

Mai didn't need to see Azula's face. She could hear the murder in her voice. Same old, same old. Her cover—her careful, bored act as a hired gun—was dissolving faster than sugar in cheap whiskey. All thanks to Ty Lee's inability to resist a digital glitter bomb. Her mission was now officially a clown car.

She flicked a glance at her employers. Hylkbwat looked like she'd just seen the answer to the universe and forgotten the question. Tiklmat's face was a masterclass in dead-eyed regret. Yeah. Welcome to my hell.

The vortex hissed shut. Left only the red strobes and the sound of three idiots arguing in a spaceship.

"A text message?" Captain Moustache groaned. "We got teleported into a giant, angry beetle because you can't resist sparkles?"

"It looked legitimate!" The cranefish bobbed. "There was a confirmation code and everything! Ooh, look, their ship is all glowy. And is her skin blue? That's so neat!"

"I am going to delete your phone, your contacts, and your concept of 'free weekends'." The Dragon Empress's threat cut through the noise like a scalpel. Then the masked head turned. Scanned the room. The aliens. The walls. And finally, Mai.

The weight of their collective gaze hit her—three flavors of chaos, all pointed her way. Her simple, stupid job had just been hijacked by a circus. Plan A was ash. Time for Plan B: point a gun and ask questions that didn't matter.

She raised the pistol again. Smooth. Silent. The muzzle settled on the center of that ridiculous dragon chestplate. "Who are you?"

The words hung in the air, flat and cold, landing on the trio like a physical blow.

The Dragon Empress went rigid. The arrogant tilt vanished. Utter stillness. A predator who'd just smelled gunpowder. "Sharp gold eyes, oxtails..." The words were a calm mutter from behind the mask. Gauntleted hands rose, not in surrender, but to the sides of the helmet. A hiss of pneumatics, a click of locking mechanisms, and the dragon mask was pulled away.

Mai's watched, her face stuck stoic. Piercing gold eyes, sharp and intelligent and infuriatingly familiar, narrowed in disbelief. Yep, Azula.

"Mai?"

"How's the palace?"

Beside her, the Golden Cranefish gasped. "No way." The cranefish mask came off, revealing Ty Lee's wide, grey eyes and a beaming, impossible smile. "Mai! It really is you! What are you doing in this super weird, squishy spaceship?"

Mai shrugged. "No idea. I came here under similarly absurd circumstances. So, how have things been in the past… five years?"

Ty Lee's face lit up, a thousand-watt beacon of unrestrained glee. She bounced on the balls of her feet, hands clasped like she'd just won the cosmic lottery. "Wonderful! I have so much to tell you." She paused—brain catching up to her mouth—and her eyes somehow got brighter. "Oh, this is just like old times! Except, you know, with aliens and a spaceship that smells like… cheese?" Everyone blinked. "Remember that time in Omashu when we had to disguise ourselves as cabbage merchants and Azula almost set the—"

Here we go. Down memory lane with zero brakes.

"What in the void is going on here?" Tiklmat stepped forward. Her calm was gone. Replaced by raw, frayed anger. She stared at the costumed trio, then at Mai, then back again, eyes darting like she was trying to solve an equation written in glitter.

A quiet cough. Hylkbwat shuffled, avoiding all eye contact. She held up her datapad—screen a swirling vortex of alien math and blinking red doom. "I may have… gotten the gatedrive calculations a bit off." A weak smile. "I seem to have targeted the primary nexus of the 'Ember Island Players Fan Club' transponder signal instead of the designated extraction point. A simple rounding error, really."

Of course it was a rounding error. Because why use a calculator when you can gamble with spacetime?

Tiklmat's shoulders slumped. A sigh that sounded like a deflating airship escaped her.

The air shifted. Azula moved—silent, lethal, precise—stopping just at Mai's shoulder. Didn't look at her. Gold eyes locked on the aliens, face a mask of icy, analytical contempt.

They stood side by side. Two women who'd burned down palaces for fun, now sharing a silent language of mutual disdain. The balance in the corridor snapped.

The pistol in Mai's hand felt right. A single, unwavering point of black steel in the throbbing red light. Beside her, Azula's gauntlets hummed to life. Filigree along the armor flared electric blue. The temperature dropped.

A flash of pink light. Umeboshi shimmered into existence between Mai and the aliens, a life-sized, holographic pop idol in a swirl of digital cherry blossoms. She struck a pose, hands on her hips, her purple eyes wide with concern.

"Mai, let's think through our options before we start shooting the new friends we haven't met yet!"

Mai's finger remained steady on the trigger. Great. My personal cheerleader just picked the worst damn time to audition for a peace ambassador role.

Azula took a half-step back, her analytical gaze locking onto the shimmering figure. The blue energy crackling around her gauntlets flickered. "What in blazes is that thing?"

"Ooh!" Ty Lee's tension vanished, replaced by pure delight. She clapped her hands together, her grey eyes sparkling. "She's so cute! And sparkly! What's your name?"

Umeboshi beamed, turning to face Ty Lee with a dramatic flourish of her hanfu. "I'm Umeboshi! AI extraordinaire, master of E-pop, and morale officer for Team Mai! It's super-duper nice to meet you!"

Here we go. Mai lowered her gun for the mandatory introduction.

Ty Lee beamed. "Hi! I'm Ty Lee. This is Azula, my best friend! Not to count you out, Mai."

"I know, Ty Lee."

Azula nodded.

"And this is my cuddly badgermole, Haru."

He slung an arm around her, smiling.

Introduction over, gun level, ready to blow blue to bits.

Hylkbwat stepped forward, her hands shooting out in a gesture of conciliation. "There's no need for hostility! It was a simple miscalculation!"

The pistol didn't waver. Mai's gaze, colder than the weapon's steel, slid from the cringing blue scientist to the rigid green professional. Umeboshi's avatar floated just over her shoulder, hands clasped under her chin, watching the scene unfold with the rapt attention of someone binging a new drama.

"A simple miscalculation." Mai's voice was a flat, dead thing. Like calling a meteor strike an umbrella malfunction. "I was having a perfectly pleasant evening. Winning at dice. Contemplating a scenic drive through a city that, unlike this ship, doesn't smell like a bug zapper."

Her gaze flicked back to Hylkbwat. The alien flinched.

"Now I'm in a giant, angry beetle with a screw loose for a navigator and what looks like a B-movie bounty hunter." She gestured with the gun, a flick of the wrist that encompassed Azula, Ty Lee, and Haru. "Your simple miscalculation just threw off my free time, and when I miss my free time, I get irritable."

A beat of silence hung in the pulsing red light.

"And trust me." Mai's eyes narrowed. A flash of Azula burning a library because the cataloging system offended her sense of order. "You have no idea what their version of irritable looks like."

Azula's eyes were cold gold, muttering, "The five-second summary, Mai. Before I redecorate their ship in molten slag."

Mai kept the pistol level, finger resting easy on the trigger guard. Her mind ticked through the variables—Azula's presence turned a freakshow into a firefight. Still bad, but more predictable. Predictable was manageable. "Data thieves. Mistaken identity. They think we're local muscle hired to protect them while they illegally download cat videos and anime." She didn't blink. Didn't need to. The absurdity of it all settled in her gut like cheap whiskey. Perfect. My Tuesday just got a side of cosmic farce.

Azula processed the information in a blink. A slow, contemptuous smile spread across her lips. It was a terrible, beautiful thing. She took a single step forward, her presence sucking the air from the corridor.

"Let me see if I have this correct." Azula's voice dripped with condescending amusement. She eyed the two aliens as a queen might a dull cockroach-slug. "You traverse the vast emptiness of space, not for conquest or discovery, but to pilfer cartoons and videos of felines." She paused, letting the insult hang in the air. "And your grand strategy for this cosmic heist hinged on hiring help through a fan club mailing list? My brother's advisers are incompetent, but you two have perfected it."

Hylkbwat flinched. Tiklmat's green skin darkened with rage, her mouth opening to retort.

Mai's pistol's muzzle didn't waver. "Explain this ash heap. Now. Before my finger gets itchy." She'd been polite long enough. Polite got you stranded on alien plains with a spaceship that smelled like static and poor life choices.

Umeboshi frowned. "Mai-Mai!"

"I know, Airhead."

Tiklmat's shoulders slumped. The fight went out of her like air from a punctured lung, her weapon lowering with a soft clatter against her armored thigh. Her voice was sandpaper. "Yes, you got us. We wanted a nice, easy job. Hire some schmucks from your backwater planet to watch our backs. But it all went to shit, and…" She waved a six-fingered hand at the costumed chaos, the pulsing lights, the sheer absurdity of it all. "We can take you back."

A chorus of immediate, unhesitating agreement. "Yes." "Please." "Thank the spirits."

Tiklmat winced. Hylkbwat shuffled forward, clutching her datapad. "There's just… one tiny thing. All you need to do is install a beacon. For the final data burst. And we could… pay you?" The offer hung there, pathetic and transparent—a last-ditch bribe wrapped in desperation. Mai's eyes narrowed. One tiny thing. Right. Because nothing ever went wrong with those.

A sound cut through the pulsing red light, sharp and brittle as shattering glass. A laugh. Not a smirk or a condescending chuckle. A genuine, full-throated laugh—and it came from Azula.

Mai actually made a face. A grimace of pure, unfiltered shock that felt alien on her own features. Her mind flashed, unbidden, to Toph at White Lotus HQ, cactus juice sloshing in hand, shrieking about lava floors and tearfully hugging a bonsai tree like it was her long-lost twin. Mai remembered glancing at Sokka in the doorway, him bugging out, bemoaning his pilfered pick-me-up. This was in a different solar system. Wait. That didn't work since they already were— Never mind.

The laughter died as quickly as it had erupted, leaving a chilling vacuum. Azula's golden eyes, still gleaming with terrible, predatory mirth, settled on the two aliens. She looked down at them like a queen examining insects before crushing them. "With what?"

Hylkbwat flinched but held her ground, clutching her datapad like a shield, knuckles white. She swallowed hard, gaze darting between Azula's terrifying smile and Mai's unwavering pistol. "Tech."

"You will need to be more specific than that."

The alien's throat bobbed. "We can offer you a personal displacement drive. Short-range, line-of-sight teleportation. It recalibrates your molecular structure and reassembles it at a designated endpoint."

Umeboshi shimmered beside Mai's shoulder. "Ooh! A blink-and-you'll-miss-it-inator!" Her purple eyes sparkled. "Super-duper fun!"

Hylkbwat jumped. "It's… handy for bypassing locked doors. Or inconveniently placed walls." She held up the datapad, schematic glowing: a small silver disc. "All you need to do is plant one data beacon. One. It's a simple infiltration."

The offer hung in the air, a tempting piece of impossible science. Mai's mind immediately cataloged its uses. No more picking locks. No more rappelling down skyscrapers in the rain. Just blink through a wall and shoot the guy before he finishes his monologue. Elegant.

Azula's smile didn't waver. "And if we refuse?"

"Oh! Well, we'll just send you home, of course!"

Tiklmat pinched the bridge of her nose, her professional mask completely shattered, hissing, "Hylkbwat!"

Umeboshi cupped her hand, whispering, "Note to self: our new friends are terrible at poker. Like, really bad."

Mai let the silence stretch, savoring the moment. She lowered the pistol, the decision made. A free ride home was acceptable. A free ride home with a new toy was better. If it works. If it doesn't, I get to shoot someone. Win-win.

"Give us a demonstration." All eyes snapped to her. "Show us it works. Then I'll think about your little errand."

Umeboshi sat in the air, her eyes full of excitement.

Ty Lee bounced on her heels, clapping. "Ooh, a magic trick! Yes, let's see!"

From behind his mustache, Haru gave a single, solid nod.

Azula folded her arms, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. The predatory smile returned. She was enjoying the chaos, the absolute unraveling of the aliens' plan. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of her own. The decision was unanimous. They would see the show.

Tiklmat took a tight breath. "The corridor isn't ideal for a demonstration. The cargo bay would be better. More open space."

Azula eyed her like a so-done substitute teacher. "Here is fine. Unless your device is prone to… accidents. In which case, I'm even more intrigued."

Tiklmat's jaw tightened. Hylkbwat, however, looked relieved to have a clear task. She fumbled at a pouch on her belt, her long blue fingers producing a smooth, silver disc, no bigger than Mai's palm. It was seamless, cool, and utterly featureless.

At a gesture from the scientist, a low, rectangular table, the same pearlescent material as the floor, rose from the deck between them. It was a stark, simple platform in the pulsing red light. Umeboshi's avatar immediately hopped onto it, tapping her foot on the strange surface. Showtime. Mai kept her hand on her pistol, just in case the magic trick involved them disappearing forever. Or worse—being replaced with clones more compliant than a Joo Dee.

Hylkbwat clipped the disc to her belt. It attached with a soft magnetic click. She stood at one end of the table, took a nervous breath, and offered a wobbly smile as she tried to subtly edge away from the pink-haired hologram. "Right. Observe."

She tapped a sequence on her wrist-mounted datapad. For a split second, nothing happened. Then the air where Hylkbwat stood warped, folding in on itself like a heat mirage. A faint pop, like a champagne cork leaving a bottle, echoed in the corridor.

And she was gone.

A blink later, she reappeared at the other end of the table. She didn't slide or fade into view. One moment, empty space. The next, Hylkbwat, standing perfectly still, her white hair unruffled.

No spatial distortion. No residual energy spike. Just… gone and back. Clean. Quiet. Perfect for slipping past a guard post or vanishing right before a bullet hits. Mai's mind was already drafting a hundred scenarios. No more scaling walls in the rain. No more waiting for a distraction. Just step through space like it's a damn revolving door.

Ty Lee gasped, a sound of pure, childish delight. "Do it again!"

Haru let out a low grunt, a sound of grudging respect from behind his mustache.

Azula's smile widened, a predator seeing a new way to hunt.

Beside her, Umeboshi's avatar began doing a celebratory E-pop dance on the alien table, a low, synthesized beat emanating from her form as she sang. "New toy, new toy, we're getting a new toy!" The chipper tune was a bizarre counterpoint to the lethal thoughts spiraling through Mai's mind.

Mai met Azula's gaze.

The gold in those eyes was sharp, calculating. The predatory smile had softened into something more practical, a look Mai recognized. It was the expression Azula got when an unforeseen complication turned into an unexpected advantage. An entire conversation passed between them in that silent second. The toy is worth the trouble. We take the deal.

"Fine." Mai eyed the aliens. "One beacon." A raised finger. "Then you give us the drives and send us home."

Relief washed over Hylkbwat's blue features. "Excellent! A most agreeable arrangement!" Her eyes shot to her datapad, her long fingers flying across the glowing surface. "I'll plot a course back to your planet's orbital insertion point. Just need to triangulate the last known coordinates of… Planet Cabbage."

Mai looked down at her gray t-shirt and cargo pants. Good for a nap. Bad for whatever this is about to become. They smelled faintly of ozone and recycled air. Not exactly tactical.

"I need to change."

Azula glanced down at her own crimson and gold armor, the plates catching the ship's pulsing red light. Her face twisted with disdain. "This is for crimefighting. Not…" She waved a gauntleted hand at the organic walls, the gesture dismissing the entire ridiculous situation. "Whatever this is."

"We have a clothing printer." Hylkbwat smiled, her eyes crinkling with the simple joy of having a solution. She tapped her datapad, eager to be useful. "Standard matter reconfiguration technology. Input your specifications, and it assembles garments molecule by molecule. Very efficient."

Mai shot her a flat stare. "So… a space vending machine for pants."

"Yes! Precisely!"

Azula's predatory smile returned. "Show us."

The fabrication chamber was a cramped alcove, glowing with a soft, amber light. A single console rose from the floor, its surface a shifting landscape of alien glyphs and holographic menus. Hylkbwat's long fingers danced across the interface. "Select material composition, structural integrity parameters, aesthetic preferences… and voilà!"

The air above the console shimmered. A simple tunic materialized from nothing, dropping into a collection bin with a soft thump.

Ty Lee gasped, clapping her hands. "It's like magic! Can it make sparkles?"

Hylkbwat beamed. "It can make anything you design."

Mai stepped forward. The interface was intuitive enough—drag, adjust, confirm. She pulled up a basic template and stripped it down. Black. Form-fitting. Reinforced knees and elbows. Pockets. Woah. How many pockets can something have?

Beside her, Azula worked a second console with surgical precision, golden eyes narrowed in concentration. Her design took shape: sleek, angular, ruthlessly tactical. Also black. "Practical. And it won't burst into flames if I sneeze."

"Ooh! Onesies!" Ty Lee bounced between them, her own design appearing on screen—a skintight bodysuit patterned with what looked like exploding stars and cranefish. "This is so fun! It's like dress-up, but in space!"

Azula's hand rose, pinching the bridge of her nose in a gesture of profound weariness.

Mai hit confirm. The fabricator hummed. Light coalesced into solid matter. Her outfit dropped into the bin thirty seconds later. She picked it up, testing the weight. Light. Durable. Good enough.

Haru stood near the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, his mustache twitching with barely concealed impatience. "Are we done playing dress-up, or—"

"Your turn." Mai nodded toward a free console.

"I'll change separately."

Hylkbwat's head tilted, the gesture reminding Mai of a confused puppy-kitten. Great. Now I'm comparing the space nerd to a domesticated animal. "Why?"

Haru blinked. "…Because I'm a man?"

The blue alien hummed, her black eyes brightening behind her glasses. "An interesting cultural custom. Pre-mating clothing taboos, perhaps? The biological imperative to conceal reproductive—"

"Hylkbwat." Tiklmat's voice cracked like a whip from the corridor. "Shut up."

The blue alien's mouth snapped shut, viridian green blooming across her cheeks.

Mai grabbed her fabricated suit and headed for a narrow side chamber Tiklmat had indicated with a tired gesture. At least someone here has basic common sense. No door, just a privacy screen that shimmered into place with a soft hum. She stripped down, methodical and efficient, and pulled on the new gear. The fabric molded to her like a second skin, breathable and flexible. She tested a crouch, a pivot. Perfect range of motion. Not bad for pants from a space vending machine.

When she emerged, Azula was already dressed. The black tactical suit fit her like it had been painted on, sharp lines emphasizing her lethal grace. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, high ponytail.

Ty Lee appeared next, practically vibrating with excitement in her own suit—vibrant orange and yellow with swirling gold accents that caught the ambient light. Of course she made it sparkly. "Ooh! This is making my aura so pink!"

Azula let out a sigh. "So much for stealth."

Ty Lee shot her a look before reverting to her perpetual smile.

Haru stepped out last, the picture of grounded professionalism. His (black. Surprise!) suit strained slightly across his broad shoulders, but he moved with the ease of someone who'd worn worse. At least the mustache survived the fabricator.

Mai took a long drag, the smoke a familiar burn in her lungs. She blew a gray plume into the recycled air of the alien ship. Right. She had a pistol, but her real tools were in Plum Blossom. The displacement drive was a neat trick, but it wasn't a tactical loadout.

"I need my other gear."

She stalked from the bridge, the others following her into the cargo bay. Plum Blossom sat gleaming in the amber light, a shard of polished night against the organic, chitin walls. The silence of the bay pressed in. No ship hum here, just the faint thrum of the car's dormant systems.

Popping the trunk, Mai reached into the matte-black composite case. She pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes, tucking it into a hip pocket. Then her fingers closed around the familiar, cold steel of her throwing knives—slim, balanced, perfect for precision strikes, not designed for anything messier than a deep cut or a disabling throw. She lined them up in the sheaths of her new tactical suit.

"Ooh, Mai, your car is so sleek!" Ty Lee bounced, peering into the open trunk. Her voice echoed in the cavernous bay. "It makes your aura look all dark and mysterious! Very… you!"

Mai didn't look up, securing the last knife. "It's a car, Ty Lee. It doesn't affect my aura."

"Oh, but it does! Everything has an energy, a vibe! And your car's vibe is just like yours: quiet, super-fast, and probably has a secret compartment with a tiny, angry badgerfox inside."

Azula, leaning against a pulsating wall, snorted. "Given Mai's track record, I wouldn't be surprised."

Mai just slid a cigarette between her lips. Haru, standing by the car's front fender, nodded in agreement. This was going to be a long mission.

And back to the bridge.

Back at the bridge, Hylkbwat grinned. "Now the masks." She produced four simple, featureless black visors from a storage compartment. "To hide your identities from surveillance systems."

Mai took one, turning it over. Smooth. Lightweight. Masquerade-style, covering the upper half of the face. She slipped it on. It settled against her skin with a faint hum, edges conforming perfectly. Fancy. "This hides our identities?" Because nothing screams 'inconspicuous' like black tactical gear and party masks.

"It scrambles facial recognition algorithms and disrupts biometric scans." Hylkbwat grinned, adjusting her glasses with academic pride. "Very effective."

Azula stood rigid, calculating behind her black visor, her masked presence commanding space, a coiled spring of lethal intent. Her tight ponytail accented her predatory silhouette. Ty Lee practically bounced, radiating sunshine. Her vibrant suit, a walking billboard of bubbles and sunshine, ignored stealth for sparkle. Haru filled the doorway like a mountain, his steady stance competent. His magnificent mustache remained beneath his black visor, unmistakable, defeating the disguise.

Great. We look like discount theater villains.

Tiklmat walked in. "Ready?"

Mai checked her weapons. Pistol. Knives. The fabricated suit had holsters in all the right places. "Ready."

They filed back into the main corridor, a mismatched team of black-clad figures trailing the two aliens like lost ducklings following someone else's mother. Tiklmat led them to the ship's bridge, a hemispherical chamber dominated by a large viewport showing the ochre desert under two suns. Consoles rose from the floor like glowing mushrooms after a radioactive rain.

Hylkbwat scurried to the central station, her fingers a blur across the interface. Alien glyphs scrolled across a holographic display, numbers and symbols Mai couldn't read but instinctively distrusted. "Coordinates locked on your planet's primary satellite. Re-entry vector calculated to minimize atmospheric friction. Should be a smooth ride."

Sure. Because everything about this has been smooth so far.

Azula leaned against a pulsating wall, murmuring, "Let's get this over with." Her arms were crossed. She was the picture of bored lethality in her new tactical suit.

Mai stood near the viewport, watching the alien landscape scroll by beneath them. Another world, another problem. Just a detour on the way back to her apartment and a glass of scotch that she was starting to think about with genuine affection. Simple job. In, plant one beacon, out. What could possibly—

She stopped the thought. Tempting fate was not on her bucket list right now.

Hylkbwat sat at the controls, reading a green holographic display. "All systems green for quantum displacement. Engaging the drive."

The ship's pulsing red emergency lights faded, replaced by a calm, neutral white. The biological roar of the klaxon died, leaving only the soft hum of the vessel.

"A road trip!" Ty Lee bounced on the balls of her feet, her grey eyes wide with excitement behind her mask. "In a real spaceship!"

A low, powerful thrum vibrated up through the deck, a sensation that started in the soles of Mai's boots and settled in her teeth. The pearlescent walls of the corridor seemed to stretch, the light bending inward. Through a forward viewport, the pinpricks of alien stars smeared into long, incandescent streaks of violet and green. The ship gave a lurch that felt less like movement and more like the universe itself had just been yanked sideways. Then, stillness.

"Ooh, we're folding spacetime!" Umeboshi's avatar materialized, hands clasped under her chin. "It's like scrunching up a big, sparkly ribbon of reality so we can just hop to the other end! The quantum foam is so bubbly!"

"Yay! Sparkly reality ribbon!" Ty Lee threw her hands in the air, a beacon of pure, uncomprehending joy.

Mai pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a phantom lighter.

She didn't sigh. She didn't ask. She just held the unlit cigarette out, a silent offering in the space between herself and Azula.

Azula. holding back a smile, glanced at it, then at Mai. She raised a blackclad hand, a small blue flame dancing at her fingertip, and sent a blue dart that knicked the end alight. She was always a show-off.

Mai took a long drag, the smoke a familiar burn in her lungs. She blew a gray plume into the recycled air of the alien ship.

Next stop: home. Hopefully with fewer things that belonged in a cactus-fueled fever dream.

Chapter Text

The sun pressed down on Makapu Village like a warm hand. Iroh held his ginseng tea, watching steam curl into nothing against the salt-thick air and bread-smell drifting from some stall down the way. He sipped, letting the bitter earth of it ground him. His feet moved at a pace that seemed almost foreign now, a slow amble that had no place in the usual rush of dead drops and asset extraction. No encrypted burner phones here. No handlers waiting in shadows. Just cobblestones and the promise of seeing an old friend.

Scarlet lanterns hung overhead, their tassels whipping in the coastal wind. Kids with sugar-sticky hands chased a cat into an alley, their shrieks bouncing off plaster walls. Iroh smiled into his cup. The world of ciphers and midnight meets felt like another lifetime entirely. Here, the biggest worry was whether the catch was fresh or if the sky would open up.

He wove through tourists haggling over painted fans, locals hauling produce in woven baskets. A vendor thrust a sweet plum cake his direction, but Iroh just nodded and kept climbing. The crowd thinned as the street narrowed, shops giving way to quiet houses with tidy gardens. Wind chimes clattered their tuneless song from a shaded porch.

Up ahead, tucked between bamboo and a modest home, sat his destination. A wooden sign, its characters bleached by sun and sea, hung above a red-lacquered door. No grand entrance. No security. Unassuming. Peaceful. Exactly how she preferred it. He finished the last of his tea, warmth spreading through his chest.

His pocket buzzed. He set the empty cup on a railing and fished out his phone. A message lit the screen.

Another cup of ginseng?

The sender read Wu. Iroh huffed a quiet laugh. Show-off. He pocketed the phone and pushed through the red door.

Inside, sandalwood incense mixed with the electric hum of a computer. Shelves crammed with ancient scrolls sat beside a flatscreen flashing graphs from what looked like an online poker site. Meng sat at a low table, twin topknots perfect as always, fingers tracing lines across a young woman's palm. The client had a jittery energy, a streak of electric purple cutting through her black hair.

Meng opened her eyes. "The party tonight. Wear blue lipstick."

The girl blinked. "Blue? But my dress is—"

"Blue." Meng released her hand and looked up, eyes finding Iroh's. That smile broke across her face, the one that showed the gap between her front teeth. "She's waiting for you, Grand Lotus. Watch your step."

"Still guiding the youth down prosperous paths, I see."

"Someone has to." Meng gestured towards the beaded curtain at the back. "Pays better than the stock market, anyway."

Iroh dipped his head and moved past. The curtain parted with a wooden whisper, beads clicking against each other. He crossed the threshold.

A broom clattered to the floor. The thing had been propped against the wall—not anymore. Now its bristles spread across weathered floorboards, right where his next step would've landed.

Iroh froze, one foot hovering above the trap. He glanced back. Meng gave a small nod from her table, already turning back to her client.

"Thank you."

He stepped over the broom. The room beyond was dim, afternoon light filtered through paper screens. Then Wu appeared, emerging from the soft shadows like she'd been part of them. Silver hair caught what little light there was. Her face held all the maps a life could draw—laugh lines, worry lines, the marks of seeing too much and choosing to see anyway.

She opened her arms. No words. Didn't need them.

Iroh stepped into her embrace. It settled over him like a familiar coat, warm and worn. She smelled of sandalwood and oolong. Her hands pressed against his back, solid and certain. All the encrypted messages and midnight extractions felt very far away. This was real. This was home.

She pulled back. Her eyes, dark and steady, searched his face like she was reading text printed on his skin. Then her hand found his—grip firm, almost challenging—and led him toward the low table squatting in the room's center. A Pai Sho board waited between two cushions, its circular patterns worn smooth by years of fingers and strategy. The white lotus tile sat dead center, already placed.

Wu dropped onto her cushion with the kind of grace that made old age look like a choice. She waved him down. An iron kettle hissed, and she poured steaming water into two porcelain cups no bigger than eggs. Jasmine unfurled in the air, sweet and clean.

Her gaze stayed locked on his as she slid one cup across the board. "Who knocks at the garden gate?"

The words came soft but weighted, ritual-heavy. Ceremonial.

Iroh wrapped his hands around the cup. Heat seeped through the porcelain into his palms. He held her stare. "One who has eaten the fruit and tasted its mysteries."

Silence settled. Not the empty kind—the kind that had texture. Thick and warm as a wool blanket fresh from the dryer. Jasmine tea hung in the space between them, playing counterpoint to sandalwood's sharp bite. Wu's eyes held his. Those eyes had watched empires crumble and rise, had tracked the small shifts in a man's expression across a game board. Affection lived there. Also amusement—the knowing kind that made him feel seen straight through to his bones, transparent as rice paper.

He lifted his cup in salute. "You are as radiant as the morning sun over the Eastern Sea."

Her mouth curved, just barely. A hairline crack in that serene mask. "And you, old dragon, are still full of sweet words and hot air."

He laughed, low and warm. The sound filled his chest like good whiskey. "Only the finest for the woman who can predict the stock market but chooses to read palms in a seaside village." He sipped. The flavor hit perfect, same as always. She'd never served him a bad cup in all the years he'd known her. "The world turns, whether we watch it or not. My nephew Zuko is getting married. To Katara. They are good for each other. She smooths his rough edges."

Wu's gaze drifted, seeing something in the steam that curled from her cup. Something far away and certain. "And he gives her a reason to sharpen them." She blinked, returning. "It will be a strong union."

Iroh leaned in. His eyes caught the afternoon light slanting through the paper screens. "That isn't even the most surprising news. Azula has found a boyfriend."

Wu's eyebrows rose. Just a touch. Just enough. For her, that was the equivalent of falling off a chair. "The world is indeed full of wonders. Is he brave or simply a fool?"

"I have yet to determine." Iroh's cushion creaked as he settled back. "Perhaps both. It takes a special kind of person to walk into that storm and call it sunshine."

Wu's mouth softened at the corners. Pride lived there, the quiet kind that didn't need announcing. "Meng continues to grow into her gifts." A murmur from the front room—another client, another palm to read. "Last week, she won a small fortune on a seahorse race in the Southern Isles. Said the winning seahorse told her it was feeling particularly energetic. She used the money to buy the temple's new wind chimes."

"A practical application of a mystical talent. She is a fine apprentice."

The words dried up between them. Wu reached for the kettle, iron dark against her pale fingers, and tipped more jasmine into their cups. The warmth hadn't left—still there, still comfortable—but something else crept in around the edges. Something heavier. The real reason he'd climbed that hill.

Iroh stared at his cup. Tea leaves swirled in patterns he couldn't decipher, though she probably could. The White Lotus pressed against his shoulders like a coat made of lead. All those secrets. All those strategies. The endless midnight Pai Sho game played across continents.

Her hand found his on the table. Cool skin. Steady pressure. An anchor point when everything else was adrift.

He looked up.

The amusement had bled out of her expression, replaced by something deeper. Compassion that went bone-deep. "I know what burdens you, Iroh." Barely louder than breath, but it cut clean through the incense and jasmine. "Tell me."

"I am thinking of leaving the Order."

Plain. Simple. No decoration.

Wu's face didn't shift. She just watched, head tilted like she was listening to music only she could hear. Waiting.

Iroh traced invisible paths across the Pai Sho board, finger following grooves worn smooth by decades of play. "Zuko and Katara… they're happy. They talk of children." His finger stopped at the center tile. "I have spent a lifetime serving a cause, a necessary one. But I find myself wanting to trade the weight of the world for the weight of a grandchild in my arms. I want to teach them Pai Sho, not as a tool of statecraft, but as a game." He finally looked up, meeting her gaze again. “I want to be a grandfather. Just a grandfather.”

The silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Not empty. Just there, soft as worn cotton. Wu let it settle, let it breathe. Then her hand moved across the table, covering his. Her skin felt thin, delicate as rice paper left too long in the sun, but the pressure was solid. Real.

"The world is a noisy place." Her voice came rough, like wind through dry grass. "A quiet garden is a worthy ambition." Her thumb traced slow circles on the back of his hand, following the ridge of knuckles and veins. "But a part of you still listens for the alarms, doesn't it?"

Iroh laughed, quiet and low. He squeezed her hand. "I have the growing urge to break them and let myself sleep. Besides, Piandao and Ji are both perfectly qualified to slip into my sandals. And our agents are as capable as ever."

Wu's other hand rose, cupping his face. Warmth spread from her palm into his cheek. Her eyes searched his. "I sense doubt in you."

"Yes."

"A feeling that the world would crumble without your hand at the wheel."

He looked down at her. Kind brown eyes, steady as stone. The afternoon light caught in them, made them glow soft gold. "I have never taken a single step as the Grand Lotus without the fear that I might trip on a rock."

Her smile broke across her face like dawn. "Oh, Iroh, you don't have to fear anymore. Walk freely."

The weight lifted. Not all of it—probably never all of it—but enough. Enough to breathe deeper. He sighed, long and slow, and lifted her hand to his lips.

"Then it's settled. I will return to headquarters and announce my retirement." He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, proper and gentle. "But first I must enjoy the beauty of the most charming woman in the world."

Pink colored her cheeks. "You do know how to charm a girl."

"So I've been told."

Chapter Text

The Southern Water Tribe's snow-swept landscape used to be all about survival, but now the capital hummed with a new kind of energy. Oil, the lifeblood of this modern age, powered massive generators that sent heat through snaking pipes, dulling winter's snarling bite. These colossal engines, thrumming away like a heartbeat, lit crystalline structures piercing the twilight. It was old wisdom meeting new innovation, a frozen fortress full of life and industry.

Inside the royal palace, this sprawling dome of ice and stone, warmth radiated from a grand hearth in the center. Plush polar bear furs, white as fresh snow and soft as clouds, covered the floor. The walls, carved with waterbending forms and legendary spirits, glowed with inner light from the turbines outside. Rich tapestries in deep blues and greens softened the stone. Sokka was off hunting, so the women had the place to themselves.

Azula sat on a fur-covered bench, golden eyes reflecting the dancing flames. She was twenty now, and her mother was beside her, one gentle hand resting on Azula's knee. Ursa had shown up weeks ago to help with Azula's second pregnancy—still a secret, simply a subtle swell safe beneath silk. Kya, a four-year-old bundle of energy with her grandmother's brown hair and round face but her mother's brilliant golden eyes, giggled as she pushed a puff of orange flame from the hearth. She shaped it into a bird that soared for a breathless moment before dissolving into embers. Kya's firebending had sparked to life around her fourth birthday, just like Azula's had.

Kya's little face shone with triumph. "Look, Mama, it flies!"

Azula smiled, her elegant hand weaving a stream of fire that spiraled around where Kya's bird had been, conjuring an azure butterfly. "It certainly does, little dragon."

Ursa extended her palm, coaxing a wisp of blue flame from the hearth. She spun it into a tiny sphere that hovered just above Kya's head. "A fire-marble for my favorite fire lily."

Kya's eyes went wide, reaching up with both hands, a tiny spark flickering at her fingertips. "Can I keep it?"

Azula watched the blue orb pulse above her daughter's head. "Sure, but you have to keep it alive."

Kya swiped at it, fingers brushing its warmth, dissolving it into glittering chaff. Another puff of orange flame sprang from her palm, shaping itself into a wobbly turtle. Azula flicked her wrist, guiding a serpentine stream of fire to give the turtle a spinning shell. Ursa chuckled, weaving golden flames into a garland garbing the creature, making it dance and tramp, a silly sight.

Kya clapped, her laughter echoing through the space. She leaned against Ursa, head resting on her grandmother's shoulder. "Grandma, tell me a story."

Ursa stroked Kya's dark hair, glancing at Azula. "A story, fire lily? What kind of story could an old woman like me possibly know?"

Kya pushed away, golden eyes wide and pleading. "A real story! With people and magic and… and everything!" She bounced on the bench. "Please, Grandma? Please, please, please?"

Ursa's smile warmed the room. "Alright, alright, you little firecracker. Once, long ago, on a river as bright as diamonds, there lived a fisherman. Every day, he cast his nets into the water, hoping for a good catch."

Her voice filled the chamber like sunlight through a dreary sky. "He was a kind man, with rough hands and a gentle heart. Each morning, as the sun painted the sky in soft pinks and golds, he'd paddle his little boat out into the water to begin his day."

She paused, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes, then nudged Azula's knee. "You remember what he did next, don't you, Azula?"

Azula hesitated for a moment, an old memory flickering across her face. Her voice, usually sharp and precise, softened into the rhythm of the tale. "He sang to the river. Not loud songs, but soft hums—tunes his grandmother had taught him. He believed the river spirits listened, that they liked his respect, and in return, they guided the fish to his nets."

Ursa's eyes shone. "And the river did listen. One day, as his song drifted over the water, a spirit appeared. Not some fierce ancient guardian, but a beautiful young woman with hair like flowing leaves and eyes like smooth river stones."

The door creaked open, letting in a blast of cold air. Gran Gran shuffled in, her face lined with years of wisdom, shoulders wrapped in a thick fur shawl. Her sharp, bright eyes took in the scene—the glowing hearth, the women gathered, the hushed voices.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't let this old bag of bones interrupt such a beautiful tale." She found a padded stool near the hearth and settled in with a contented sigh, letting the warmth seep into her.

Ursa smiled at Gran Gran, then returned her gaze to Kya. "The river spirit was drawn to the fisherman's song, to the honesty in his eyes. She'd never seen such a gentle soul among the humans who came to her waters. Each day, she'd appear, drawn by his voice, her form shimmering just beneath the surface."

Kya leaned forward, little hands gripping Ursa's arm. "Did she talk to him? Did she tell him she was a spirit?"

Azula picked up the thread. "Not at first, little one. She just watched. And he continued to sing. His songs grew sweeter, more hopeful, and she loved them."

Ursa's voice softened. "He fell in love with her reflection in the water. With the way the sunlight caught her hair, with her quiet grace. He didn't know she was a spirit then. He just knew she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen."

Kya gasped. "And then what? Did she talk to him then?"

Ursa brushed a stray strand of hair from Kya's brow. "Yes, little one, they did talk. And they fell deeply in love.. But then, darkness came to the land. The lord of that country, a harsh man hungry for power, called all the men to war. The fisherman, with a heavy heart, had to leave his beloved river, his home, and his spirit. He marched east to fight battles he never wanted."

Kya's bright eyes clouded, a tiny frown creasing her brow. Azula watched the hearth flames flicker as she held her little love.

Ursa's gaze grew distant. "The water spirit waited. Day after day, she stayed beneath the surface, listening for his song, for the familiar sound of his oar. But silence stretched, long and lonely, across the river. Months passed, turning the seasons and the leaves from green life to gray death."

Gran Gran nodded. "War takes more than just lives. It takes pieces of the soul. Lonely nights of waiting for a hug that never comes."

Ursa's  voice dropped to a bare whisper. "But one day, as the first flowers of spring appeared, the fisherman returned. His body was riddled with scars, and his eyes were dulled by war, but his hands, though rougher, still knew the touch of a fishing net. And his heart yearned to sing for his love."

Azula watched her daughter's face, seeing the story unfold in her eyes, in her smile. A small fiery turtle, coaxed to life by the girl, wobbled near the hearth. "He cast his nets, and he sang. Not the joyful songs of before, but quiet, soulful tunes, each note a prayer. And the river spirit, hearing that beloved voice once more, rose from the water, her form shimmering with relief and joy. They reunited, and the mere sight of her wore away his scars."

Ursa's voice dropped to a dramatic hush. "But not everyone was pleased. An old spirit, ancient as the mountains, powerful as the Lords of the Deep, came up from the depths. It was her father, the great guardian of those waters. His eyes, gathering storm clouds, demanded answers."

A knowing look passed between Ursa and Azula, and the younger sat strong. "'Why, my daughter,' he thundered, voice like a storm, 'are you spending time with mere humans? You belong with the spirits!' He demanded to see the man, the fisherman who'd won his daughter's heart."

Kya gasped, clutching Ursa's arm. "What happened? What did he do?"

Ursa chuckled, a gentle hiss of breath. "We're getting there, little dragon. The river spirit, shaking but brave, led her father to the fisherman. And the poor man fell to his knees, face pressed to the dirt, fear tight in his chest."

Azula adjusted her position on the bench. "The old spirit's voice boomed, shaking the very air. He stared at the fisherman with eyes as fierce as a wave. 'Give me one reason,' he demanded, 'just one reason why I should let you marry my daughter.'"

Ursa's voice softened. "And the fisherman looked up, eyes filled with simple honesty. 'I have none, great spirit, that would satisfy you,' he said, voice barely a whisper. 'I'm just a poor fisherman, with nothing to offer but my heart. I can provide enough for her, catch fish for her table, and sing songs to brighten her days. But I have no riches, no power, no great name to call my own. Nothing that would impress you, great spirit.'"

She paused, letting the weight of the moment settle. "The old spirit was as still as a lion-bear ready to pounce, a towering shadow against the flowing river. His silence stretched, heavy and deep, pressing down on the two beneath his gaze. The fisherman, still on his knees, felt the river's chill seep into his bones, dread gripping his heart. Beside him, the water spirit, her shimmering form trembling like a leaf in a tempest, didn't dare lift her eyes. Both waited, their hopes and fears held at knife-point by the ancient spirit's steady stare, waiting for a judgment that felt as sure as the river's endless flow."

Kya's voice dropped to barely a breath. "Did he get mad, Mama?"

Azula shook her head, a gentle smile gracing her lips.  "He didn't say anything at all for a long time, simply watching, his eyes like deep water reflecting every fear the fisherman held."

Gran Gran shifted, shawl rustling, waiting.

Ursa's gaze fixed on the dancing flames. "The fisherman, desperate to break that smothering silence, spoke. He opened his mouth, a quiet plea forming on his lips—maybe about his love, or his promise to care for her."

Azula raised a finger. "But the old spirit cut him off. A low rumble, like distant thunder, came from his ancient throat. He didn't want words."

Kya's eyes darted between her mother and grandmother. "What did he want?"

Ursa's voice filled with wonder. "He wanted a song. He told him to sing."

Kya brightened. "Ooh!" And the others chuckled.

Ursa pressed a hand to her chest. "The fisherman's heart pounded in his chest. His throat felt as dry as a man's hopes in a dead oasis, his hands shook. An audience of two felt like thousands."

Azula's voice dropped to a near whisper. "He swallowed hard, then began. A simple tune, one of the old river songs his grandmother taught him. It was a melody about the turning tides and the fish in the waters. His voice was thin and shaky, showing his nerves. He stumbled over a word, cracked on a high note. "

Kya sighed, clutching Ursa's arm tighter. "Oh, poor fisherman."

Ursa brightened her gaze. "He kept going, though. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of his boat on the water, the gentle rush of the current, the shimmer of his beloved spirit just beneath the surface. He poured his heart into the simple song, every shaky note showing his love, his honest, humble spirit." She eyed Azula to continue.

"And when he finished, the silence returned, even heavier than before. He stood there, head bowed, eyes on the dirt, bracing himself for the roar, for the spirit's anger, for the crushing disappointment he felt sure was coming."

Gran Gran gave a sage nod. "Courage isn't always a grand gesture, Kya, but standing firm when your knees shake."

A soft smile bloomed on Ursa's face. "But the old spirit didn't roar. He let out a sound. Not a roar, not a shout, but a deep, pleased hum, like the happy sigh of the river itself."

Kya's golden eyes went wide. "He liked it?"

Azula's smile bloomed with warmth. "He loved it, little dragon. He saw past the clumsy notes, past the nervous voice. He heard the heart of the man, the pure, honest love that flowed through every simple word."

Ursa's voice rang with triumph. "He raised a huge hand, telling the fisherman to stand. And in a voice that was no longer thunderous, but deep and warm, he said the fisherman had won his daughter's hand. He could have her, could marry her, and they could live their lives together."

Then Azula gestured, her hands full of joy. "They were overjoyed! The fisherman swept his beloved spirit into his arms, spinning her around, laughing, tears streaming down his face. The spirit, her shimmering form growing solid with happiness, clung to him, her own joy a bright light."

Kya clapped her hands, tiny fire-turtle glowing brightly again. "They got married! And lived happily ever after?"

Ursa chuckled. "Almost, little one. The old spirit had one condition. A solemn promise they both had to make."

Kya leaned forward. "What was it?"

Azula's gaze turned serious. "He said that when Tui, the great moon spirit, reached its highest point in the sky, when its light shone brightest and strongest, his daughter must return to live with her own kind, in the deep, quiet places of the spirit world."

Ursa smiled. "But when the moon began to shrink, when its light faded from its peak, she could return to her fisherman, to their home, to their love. She'd be with him for most of the month, but for a few days, at the height of the full moon, she belonged to the spirits."

Kya's lower lip trembled. "So, she would leave? Every month?"

Gran Gran smiled. "It's a small price for such a great love, little one."

Azula stage-whispered to Kya, gentle and loving as a swan-dove. "And so they lived a good life. Full of love, laughter, and the quiet comfort of their shared days. The fisherman continued to sing his songs, not just to the river, but to his beloved spirit, his melodies a constant stream of devotion."

Ursa set her eyes on a mother and daughter glowing with tenderness. "And when the moon grew full, and the water spirit had to leave, the fisherman would stand on the riverbank, under the bright silver light, and watch her shimmering form sink into the depths. He'd wait for her, patiently, faithfully, each time knowing she would return, like the tides, like the moon itself, always drawn back to him."

Kya bounced on the bench, a tiny whirlwind of delight. "That was the best story ever! The bestest! Can you tell another one? Please, please, please?"

Ursa eyed her granddaughter, then Azula. "I don't know. It's a little late, little dragon. You need your sleep."

Kya shook her head. "I'm not sleepy, Gran Gran! I can--" She let out a wide yawn, her small body sagging against Azula's. Her brilliant golden eyes, once alight with wonderment, began to droop, the fire within them settling into a soft ember.

Azula felt the subtle shift in the air, the faint call of an unseen sun beginning its slow ascent even in the perpetual twilight of the Southern Water Tribe. Her internal clock, precise as a sundial, always woke her before dawn, even during the Sunless Months. She enjoyed the quiet solitude of the early hours, the world still slumbering as she began her day.

Her voice came soft but firm. "Time for bed, little dragon."

Kya whined, a low, sleepy protest. "But I want another story!"

Ursa pressed a gentle kiss to Kya's forehead. "Tomorrow. Tonight, dreams will bring you new stories."

Gran Gran leaned over, her aged lips a dry, warm brush against the child's cheek. "Sweet dreams, pup."

Azula scooped Kya into her arms. The little girl clung to her mother, her hands' grip giving ground to the call of dreams, head resting against Azula's shoulder. Yet questions still coursed from her lips. "Why did the... spirit's father make them wait? Did the... did the fisherman miss her very much when she left? Did he sing to the moon, Mama?"

Azula carried her through the palace's hushed corridors, the luminous pipes painting their path in blue light. In their sleeping chamber, under the dim light of a glow lamp, Azula sat Kya on the edge of the large, fur-covered bed, undid Kya's two small braids, fingers deftly working through the dark strands, then unwove her own long hair. With practiced ease, she re-braided both into simple ponytails

Kya continued to chatter, voice growing softer with each passing minute, mumbling musings about the merriment the two lovers would enjoy. Azula hummed, a soft "Yes, little dragon" or "Indeed", her hands busy with the familiar task.

Finally, Azula helped Kya slide under the thick, warm furs, tucking her in. She settled beside her daughter, pulling the heavy blankets up to their chins. Nestled deep in the soft embrace of the furs, Kya snuggled into her mother's side.

Her hand slid to Azula's robe. "I love you, Mama."

A gentle smile graced Azula's lips. Her breath deepened to ignite the warmth within her, heating the chilled air around them, chasing away any lingering cold that might've crept into the bed. Kya, eyes still half-closed, mirrored the action, breathing deeply, adding her warmth.

A few hours later, the grand entrance to the palace rumbled, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the otherwise silent halls. The men of the tribe stomped snow from their boots, weary and wind-whipped. Their faces were chapped by the frigid air, their shoulders stiff from the long hunt. Sokka, breath still pluming in the colder air of the entryway, washed away the grime and chill, the cold water a sharp shock that struck his senses.

He crept into the sleeping chamber, the low firelight from the distant hearth casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. He saw Azula, a dark silhouette, nestled against Kya  under the mound of furs. He smiled. He slipped under the heavy furs, his chill skin a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the bed. Azula stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips, a low murmur of contentment. Her golden eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep. "Sokka… How was the hunt?"

He yawned. "Fine."

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, and she returned it, a soft brush against his cheek, her hand finding his. He settled in, heaving the heavy furs higher, the radiating warmth of his wife a welcome comfort against the lingering cold in his bones. The chamber, now silent save for the crackle of the distant hearth and the soft breathing of the family, held them in its gentle embrace of warmth and peace.

Chapter Text

The ship punched through reality like a fist through wet paper. Mai's stomach lurched, physics protesting its own violation. One moment: sterile white walls, the hum of alien machinery. The next: a blue-green sphere suspended in black so deep it could swallow stars whole. Home. Or close enough.

Through the viewport, clouds swirled over the continents: Earth, Fire, Air, you know. Familiar coastlines traced patterns she'd seen a thousand times from a thousand different angles, now from a beautiful view a few dozen miles from the surface.

Ty Lee pressed her masked face against the glass. Kid at a candy store, leaving smudges on pristine surfaces. Her palms left marks as she bounced on her toes, the black tactical suit flexing with movement that never quite stopped. "Home sweet home! I can see the Fire Nation! And the Earth Kingdom! And—ooh, is that a hurricane?" Of course she's excited.

Haru stood beside her. Arms crossed. Solid. Unmoving. His reflection in the viewport showed a man trying for unimpressed—but Mai caught it. The slight relaxation in his broad shoulders. The way his eyes tracked familiar patterns below. Even the earthbender was sentimental. That mustache, still perfectly groomed beneath his mask, wasn't fooling anyone.

Azula said nothing, observing from behind her black visor. Mai didn't need to see her face to know the expression—not satisfaction, but calculation. Those gold eyes would be scanning the planet's surface. Not seeing home. Seeing a map. Resources. Strategic positions. Same old Azula.

Tiklmat's voice cut through the moment. Smooth. Professional. Utterly deadpan. "Your planet's designation remains... Cabbage."

Mai exhaled smoke toward the ship's vents. "Of course it does."

Those idiots probably thought it was hilarious, another cosmic punchline delivered by a troupe of morons who'd stumbled into first contact and somehow made it everyone else's problem.

A clatter announced the science department's arrival. Hylkbwat shuffled forward, tray piled high with sleek black wristbands wobbling in her grasp. She nearly went sprawling across the polished deck—too busy thinking about quantum whatever to watch where she was going. The tray tilted, steadied. She caught herself. Typical.

Her voice pitched higher with intellectual glee. "Personal translocation devices! State-of-the-art quantum entanglement matrices, each one tuned to a unique particle pair within the ship's primary displacement core!"

She started handing them out like festival candy. Experimental tech. Untested probably. What could go wrong?

"Operating them is simplicity itself! Just input your desired coordinates via the tertiary submenu... oh, wait, no, that was the old firmware." Of course it was.

"For this model, just picture where you want to go—try to be specific, we don't want any unfortunate molecular blending incidents—and press the activation stud. Easy!"

Molecular blending. Wonderful.

Mai took the offered device. A band of smooth, starless black that clicked shut around her wrist. No seams. No buttons. Just cold weight that seemed to drink the light. She flexed her fingers. The band moved as if a second skin.

Hylkbwat's enthusiasm grated like sandpaper on eardrums. "Oh! And they double as communicators! The entanglement is informational! Instantaneous, untraceable voice transmission. The fidelity gets a bit... warbly... near large gravitational anomalies, but what can you do?" She paused. Her blue brow furrowed. "And they're entirely immersible! Waterproof! I think. We ran the simulations, but I can't for the life of me recall if we ever got around to actually dunking one in a bucket. It's probably fine…." Famous last words.

The device sat cold against Mai's wrist. She stared at it. Another variable. Another thing that could go kaput under a hail of gunfire and over-rehearsed villain monologues. Story of her life, really.

Hylkbwat muttered, counting on her long blue fingers. "The operational radius extends roughly... five thousand of your 'miles.' Though I wouldn't recommend testing that immediately. Molecular cohesion can become... unpredictable."

Haru raised a skeptical brow. "Unpredictable how?"

"You might arrive missing a toe. Or an organ. Nothing vital, usually."

"Usually?"

"Well, there was that one incident with the Rigellian ambassador, but he grew it back. Fascinating regenerative capabilities, those Rigellians." Right. Because we all have Rigellian regeneration.

Mai took a drag of her cigarette. The familiar burn settled something in her chest—something that had been tight since they'd materialized in this spiritsforsaken ship. She didn't comment. Didn't ask for clarification. If the thing was going to scramble her molecules, at least it would be quick.

Tiklmat glided to a new console. "The beacon coordinates have been uploaded. Plant it somewhere discrete. Activate it. We will retrieve you." She paused. Six-fingered hand hovering over the controls. "Ready for insertion?"

Mai took a final drag and flicked the butt toward a wall receptacle. The panel hissed open. A flicker of incinerating light swallowed the stick whole. Did that thing just digest my cigarette? Disturbing. "Let's get this over with."

Azula nodded. "I concur."

Ty Lee beamed. "Let's do this!"

Sunlight flooded the bay, brilliant, warm, a physical presence that washed over the deck like molten gold. A tingle ran up Mai's spine, a low hum that vibrated through her bones. Not unpleasant, exactly, but not something she'd sign up for at a spa either.

Beside her, Ty Lee made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a purr, an overdose of orange and yellow spandex against the ship's dark interior. "Oh, wow, that's like... like drinking starlight! My chakras are doing backflips!"

Umeboshi's pink avatar dissolved in a shower of holographic sparkles from Mai's wristband. "WHEEEEE! Every circuit is singing! This is better than that time you let me interface with the quantum computer in Omashu!"

Then came the emptiness, a fraction of a second where Mai existed nowhere and everywhere. The cigarette craving hit right then, sharp and insistent. The perfect time for a cigarette craving to hit. Thanks, universe.

Reality reassembled itself with all the subtlety of a hammer to the forehead. The smell hit first: grease, five-spice, that particular urban perfume of exhaust fumes mixed with steaming broth and night-blooming jasmine from street vendors' planters. Home sweet home indeed.

Mai's boots found solid pavement, a familiar grit under her soles. Much better than the technicolor nightmare and the ship from a fever dream.

A noodle truck sat before them, its painted dragon logo faded but cheerful. Steam rose from the service window in fragrant clouds. Behind the counter, a middle-aged man stood frozen, ladle suspended mid-pour. His eyes were wide, fixed on the four figures who'd materialized from thin air. Black tactical suits. Masks. One person in a suit that looked like a sunset threw up on spandex. Oh good. We've broken the noodle vendor.

The noodle vendor just stared, a man witnessing the impossible intersection of superheroes and supper. A sharp flash of crimson pulsed from the device on Mai’s wrist. What now? She set her bowl down with a quiet click, the porcelain cool against the worn wood of the counter. She pressed the smooth black surface.

Hylkbwat's voice crackled through, tinny and laced with static. "Mai! Wonderful! Quick question—did you happen to arrive with all your internal organs? Just updating my statistical models!" I'm going to need so many cigarettes for this mission.

Mai’s voice stayed flat as she watched a curl of steam vanish into the evening air. "All organs accounted for. Though I can't speak for my patience."

Behind her black visor, Azula’s mouth curved. No emotion in it. Just acknowledgment. "My body is intact as well, though the—"

Ty Lee stretched her arms high overhead, a picture of pure, unrestrained bliss. Her elbow came dangerously close to Haru’s soup. The big man shifted with practiced ease, saving his dinner from her energetic aura. "Oh my gosh, everything feels so aligned right now! It's like my whole aura got a deep cleanse! We should totally do that again sometime!"

Umeboshi's voice buzzed through the communicator. "AGREED! My data streams have never felt so sparkly! It's like digital yoga!"

Haru slurped a noodle, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. "Why here? This isn't exactly a discrete location."

A valid point. A back alley in the Lower Ring was many things, but a clandestine insertion point it was not.

"Here?" Hylkbwat sounded confused. A frantic series of clicks and whirs echoed through the comm. "But the calculations were precise! We targeted the abandoned warehouse district, optimal for low-signature beacon deployment... Oh. Oh dear. I seem to have carried the two."

A long-suffering sigh filtered through the static, a different voice, deeper and infinitely more tired. "Hylkbwat..."

The alien scientist’s voice became a nervous mumble. "It appears I routed you through a tertiary coordinate buffer based on local culinary aromatic signatures. My apologies."

Four costumed figures stood in silence, soup bowls in hand. Not one of them looked impressed.

"Honest mistake. Ooh, I'm starving!" Ty Lee bounced to the stand, mask still on, which made the whole thing more surreal. "Do you have vegetarian options?"

Azula facepalmed. "Ty Lee…"

"What? It's just a quick power snack. We'll need the energy."

Might as well. Mai nodded. "Sure, what the heck."

The man took a moment to process the ridiculous sight before him. Costumed teleporters acting in a way that ninety-nine out of a hundred Omashu women would call nuclear-grade imbicility. No offense taken. "Uh... yes? Spring rolls and vegetable lo mein?"

Smart man. When reality stops making sense, monetize it.

Mai pulled bills from her jacket. Counted out exact change plus a decent tip. Poor guy deserved hazard pay for witnessing this. The vendor accepted the money with trembling fingers, still processing whatever mental gymnastics let him rationalize four people appearing from thin air while he was trying to sell noodles.

They ate standing at the truck's narrow metal counter. Steam rose around them, carrying scents of ginger-anise and cinnamace. Ty Lee chattered about the "vibrational frequency" of the bean sprouts—mask pushed up on her forehead now, revealing her face to the vendor who'd probably given up on sanity anyway. Her voice was a bright splash of color against the city's gray hum.

Mai focused on the chewy texture of the noodles, the savory burn of the broth, all a deliberate effort to clear her mind of the cactus trip she was being subject to.

Ty Lee beamed, already halfway through her spring rolls. "Thank you for the food! Your ingredients have such positive energy!"

The vendor managed a weak smile. "Uh... secret family recipe?"

Movement in Mai's peripheral vision. Phone. Camera angle. An amateur trying to be subtle.

A twenty-something in designer knockoffs held his device at hip level, a poor attempt at concealment. His thumb moved across the screen, probably already typing some caption about spotting "mystery celebrities" at a noodle truck.

Azula noticed him a heartbeat later. She turned with measured precision. A turret locking onto a target. One perfectly manicured eyebrow arched behind her mask. "No paparazzi."

She snapped her fingers, blue sparks dancing across the tips, brief, controlled, almost casual, and the man's phone screen died like a matchlight in a cave. He jabbed at it frantically, pressing buttons that refused to respond. He looked up. Met Azula's golden stare. "What the—"

Her smile could have frozen lava. "It will be fine in ten minutes. Consider it a gentle reminder that minding your own business is a virtue."

The man's face cycled through confusion, indignation, and finally self-preservation. He pocketed the dead phone, hurried away, casting nervous glances over his shoulder.

Haru frowned, though he didn't sound particularly bothered. "That was a bit much."

Azula examined her nails, picked an invisible speck from beneath one. "Would you prefer our pictures plastered across every social media platform before we even start the mission? Amateur photographers are worse than spies. At least spies have professional standards." Point.

Mai slurped her noodles, savoring the normalcy of bad street food after dimensional travel. The broth was lukewarm, and the he noodles slightly mushy. It was a mile from her standard, but food was food. Though that guy probably wouldn't forget this anytime soon. He'd spend the next week jumping at his shadow, convinced he'd crossed paths with shadow warriors from myth. Which, they were in a way. Wait, that could be a nice code name.

Hylkbwat's voice crackled through Mai's earpiece. Static disrupted her thoughts momentarily as the alien recounted mission details. "We've located an optimal insertion point for the data beacon. Sensors indicate it's shielded from Earth's primitive detection grids, yet centrally positioned for maximum signal propagation across the urban center."

Mai's wrist device lit up with soft blue symbols. A holographic map shimmered above it—their location and a pulsing red dot indicating their target. She squinted at the unfamiliar markings. So much for user-friendly design.

Haru leaned close, scanning the alien display with a furrowed brow. He flicked a calloused finger against the hologram, making it wobble. "That... looks like one of those fancy new skybridges. The ones they've been building between the corporate towers downtown?"

He scratched at his chin, clearly trying to reconcile alien tech with familiar city infrastructure.

Azula's voice dripped casual disdain as she adjusted the high collar of her suit. "Of course it is. Physically secure. Minimal pedestrian traffic after business hours. Excellent sightlines."

She'd already started walking, heeled boots clicking sharply on pavement still damp from last night's rain.

"Honestly, I would have chosen the same location. It seems our employers have at least basic competence."

Ty Lee bounced beside Mai, peering at the shimmering map with wide, curious eyes. "Ooh, I love those bridges!" She tapped her wrist device. A tiny holographic version of herself materialized above it, miming scaling a ladder. "They're like... horizontal mountains! The energy up there must be amazing!"

Horizontal mountains. Right.

Mai took a final drag of her cigarette before flicking it away. She watched the ember arc and vanish into gathering shadows as dusk began creeping across Ba Sing Se's towering skyline.

"Just try not to energy-cleanse yourself off the edge."

Ty Lee grinned, her acrobat's grace making even a simple walk look like dance. "Where's the fun in that?"

They set off together, their clique cutting through the city's familiar rhythm. Office workers hurried home with briefcases and takeout containers, eyes glued to personal screens. Food carts sizzled, filling the air with fragrant steam. Traffic flowed in a steady river, headlights cutting through the fading light.

Then Mai stopped mid-stride, common sense hitting her senseless. Why are we walking?

She tapped her new wristband, the obsidian surface cool against her fingertip. "Wait. We have personal teleporters now. Can't you just... beam us closer? Save us the scenic tour?"

Static crackled through the communicator before Hylkbwat's voice burst through in an excited torrent. "Oh! Yes! Well, theoretically—actually, more than theoretically, practically speaking—though the quantum entanglement matrices do experience some degradation when tunneling through dense electromagnetic fields, but your planet's primitive infrastructure shouldn't pose much of a... wait, let me recalculate the Ninklat-Flax coefficient for urban density..."

Papers rustled audibly through the link.

"Carry the seven... no, that's base-eight... ah! The probability of molecular coherence remains at ninety-nine point six seven percent, assuming we avoid any significant gravitational anomalies or spontaneous wormhole formations, which are statistically unlikely given the local spacetime curvature—"

Tiklmat cut in, her tone flat as week-old soda. "That means yes."

"Thanks." Mai rolled her eyes, already reaching for another cigarette before remembering she'd just finished one. The habit was getting worse.

Dimensional travel stress. That's my excuse.

Azula scoffed. "Brilliant analysis."

"Hey, I'm trying my—"

"I've seen toddler's do better."

Azula stepped forward, examining her own device with the focus of someone dissecting a rival's battle strategy. Golden eyes narrowed behind her mask as she cut through the AI's rambling. "Here's something for you, toddler? can you handle the building's security? Loop the surveillance feeds, scramble their systems?"

Her finger traced the alien symbols on the band's surface.

"I'd rather not have our little mission broadcast across every screen in Ba Sing Se."

Hylkbwat's voice pitched higher with enthusiasm. "Oh, that? Easy as Kilfwish!"

Silence stretched for a beat. Mai could feel the confusion radiating from her companions.

"It's a dessert. Very simple. You just mix the gellified proteins with sweetened crystalline matrices and... actually, never mind, cultural context probably missing. The point is—" Furious typing echoed through the comm. "Your 'cameras' are already running on a temporal loop! Amazing how primitive electromagnetic recording devices are. Just had to shift their chronological index back by... there! Nobody will notice a thing!"

Umeboshi gushed in Mai's ear, "Ooh, she's good! I mean, I could've done it faster, but her technique is so elegant! It's like watching someone paint with mathematics! Mai, are you listening? This is revolutionary!" I liked it better when my car just played music.

Mai pinched the bridge of her nose.

The air around them shimmered like heat mirages rising from summer asphalt. Here we go again.

Mai's stomach performed its now-familiar protest as reality folded in on itself. The world compressed to a single point of blazing light, then—

They materialized in formation. Four bodies suddenly occupying space that hadn't held them a heartbeat before. Harsh fluorescent lights hit first, then the antiseptic smell. White tiles, chrome fixtures, the faint sound of water dripping from a designer faucet. A bathroom. Of course.

Umeboshi' hologram twirled. "Transportation successful! All molecules accounted for! Though Mai, your liver is showing signs of—"

Mai hissed under her breath. "Not now."

A woman stood frozen at the sink, lipstick tube halfway to her mouth. She stared at them through the mirror, her brain clearly attempting to process the impossible. Her hand trembled. The lipstick fell, clattering against porcelain with a sonorous clatter. She turned around like a animatronic being held up, blinked once. Twice. Her mouth opened—

Ty Lee moved like liquid mercury. Two fingers jabbed precisely at the woman's shoulder, then her neck. The would-be screamer's eyes rolled back, and her body went limp as overcooked noodles. Ty Lee caught her before she hit the tiles, lowering her with surprising gentleness and, as if tucking in a child, whispered, "Sweet dreams!"

Haru stepped forward without prompting, scooping the unconscious woman into his arms with the ease of someone lifting a chip company's bag of feathers. "Closet?"

Mai's lockpicks were already in her hand, and the supply closet's lock surrendered in three seconds flat. Corporate security: all show, no substance.

She pulled the door wide, revealing shelves of toilet paper and cleaning supplies that probably cost more than most people's rent.

"Three point two seconds! That's slower than your average, Mai-Mai. The dimensional travel must be affecting your fine motor skills. Want me to run a diagnostic on—"

Mai glared. "I will find your off switch."

"Tried that already, remember? I have seventeen redundant backup systems! The Mechanist really outdid himself with my design. Did you know I can survive being dropped into a volcano? Not that I want to test that, but—"

Haru deposited their unexpected guest among the paper towel rolls, arranging her into something resembling comfort. "She'll have a headache, but she'll be fine." One witness down, spirits know how many more to go.

Blue light flickered from their wristbands, holographic maps blooming into existence above their arms like miniature city blocks. Mai studied the layout—corridor, stairwell, another corridor, executive floor, rooftop access. Simple enough… if you ignore the part where we're breaking into a corporate building.

Umeboshi's avatar appeared on the holographic display, dancing between the corridors like a diminutive pink tour guide. "Ooh, I love this part! Look, there's a vending machine on the second floor that sells those cookies you like! We could make a quick stop—"

Azula traced the route with one manicured finger, completely ignoring the AI's suggestions. Her tone shifted into that clipped military cadence that made Mai's teeth ache. "Third floor, northeast stairwell, then straight through to the executive elevators." Three red dots pulsed on the display. "Guards here, here, and... there. Ty Lee, you and Mai take point. Non-lethal takedowns only." Because we're so civilized.

Mai wrung out her hands, skimming her chi-blocking katas in her head. "Copy that, Princess."

They moved like shadows given purpose.

Mai's boots whispered against carpet thick enough to swallow sound. Ty Lee flowed beside her, somehow making tactical movement look like interpretive dance. Behind them, Azula and Haru maintained perfect spacing, close enough to support, far enough to avoid bunching up.

Someone paid attention in basic training.

Umeboshi counted down in Mai's ear with the enthusiasm of a game show host. "Guard approaching in three... two... one..."

The first guard rounded the corner while checking his phone. Completely absorbed in whatever was on his screen. Mai's jab found the nerve cluster at the base of his skull before he could look up.

He dropped like a marionette with cut strings, phone clattering on the plush carpet. Ty Lee caught him under the arms, dragging him behind a potted fern Mai guessed cost more than her alcohol budget. The acrobat arranged him with care, making sure he looked comfortable. "Nighty-night! There we go! All cozy!"

Umeboshi giggled. "His social media status just updated to 'feeling sleepy.' Should I change it to something funnier? How about 'taking a productivity nap'?"

The second guard stood by the elevators, humming off-key while sipping coffee from a paper cup. No, not Secret Tunnel.

Two lovers, forbidden from—

Great.

Ty Lee practically floated up behind him. Two fingers finding pressure points with surgical precision. The coffee hit the floor, dark liquid spreading across pristine marble. The guard followed half a second later.

Mai was already ghosting toward the stairwell, muttering, "Two for two."

Umeboshi held up a finger. "Actually, statistically speaking, you're at one hundred percent success rate for this mission! Though your career average is only ninety-seven point three percent, but who's counting? Oh wait, I am! I count everything! Did you know you've taken exactly seven thousand two hundred and twelve steps today?"

They climbed in formation, weapons ready for threats that never materialized. Hylkbwat's loops must be working. That or security here is even worse than I thought.

The executive floor stretched before them. Marble floors, abstract art that looked like someone had sneezed paint onto canvas, the kind of aggressive minimalism that screamed, screw taste; I have money.

A janitor pushed his cart around the far corner, his earbuds blocking out the world and his head bobbing to the beat.

Ty Lee intercepted him with a cheerful "Excuse me!" followed by a lightning-quick jab to his shoulder, and he slumped forward onto his mop bucket with a soft thud. "That's three sleepy friends. They're all going to wake up so refreshed!"

Haru's voice carried a hint of amusement. "You're enjoying this too much."

Ty Lee shot him a playful glare. "Says the man who's been grinning under that mask for the last five minutes."

Umeboshi was reading a glittery map. "Target location approaching! Also, fun fact: this building has the third-highest insurance premiums in Ba Sing Se! Probably about to get higher after tonight!"

The rooftop access door required Mai's picks again. Thirty seconds. Must be getting rusty.

Cool night air rushed in as the door swung open, carrying the thrum of crawling cars creeping through the city and shrieking sirens The skybridge stretched before them, a marvel of glass and steel connecting two towers, suspended hundreds of feet above the city streets. Wind whipped across the structure, tugging at clothes and hair with spectrous fingers. The lights of Ba Sing Se spread out beneath them like scattered jewels on black velvet, each one thousands of lives going about their evening routines, blissfully unaware of the farce unfolding above them.

Mai's stomach performed a small flip that had nothing to do with interdimensional travel. Don't look down. Just plant the beacon and get out.

Azula surveyed the sea of jewels and silver below. "Perfect. Now for the easy part."

Umeboshi clapped her hands. "Oh, I love your optimism! Though statistically, saying something will be easy increases the probability of catastrophic failure by thirty-seven percent! But don't worry, I'm sure you'll beat the odds!"

They crept along the glass-and-steel expanse, wind buffeting their clothes, the city lights a dizzying tapestry beneath their feet.

Mai kept her gaze level, focused on the far tower. The beacon's red dot pulsed on her wrist, guiding them to a central support strut.

Umeboshi's cheerful voice chirped in Mai's ear, a digital gust of enthusiasm. "Oh, the wind up here is simply invigorating! Almost makes you want to spontaneously break into an E-pop dance routine! Though, statistically, that would increase your risk of falling by 17.3 percent. Just saying!"

Mai ignored her, kept her gaze level, focused on the far tower.

Hylkbwat's voice crackled, full of renewed academic vigor. "Alright, the data beacon! You see the hexagonal indentation on the central support strut? Just insert the doodad into that; it'll click. Then, press the small, almost invisible button on the side for intangibility (it's a phase-shift array) and then the larger, glowing button for cloaking. Done!"

"And remember, Mai-Mai, the 'small, almost invisible button' is crucial for initiating the phase-shift array! Confusing it with, say, the structural integrity self-destruct button—which is also small and almost invisible, just a different shade of gray—could lead to... well, let's just say a very colorful ending to our mission! But I have full confidence in your superior button-pressing abilities!"

Mai's mind rolled its eyes. Of course you did. "Zip it, Airhead."

That received a sad frown, but also golden silence.

She pulled the sleek, obsidian beacon from an inner pocket, cool and inert, utterly alien. She nudged it into the hexagonal slot. It clicked in, as snug as she was in a couch with grain alcohol and a rom-com. Her finger found the button and pressed, and a faint hum vibrated through the metal strut. Then, tapping the button's big sister, the hum intensified, then faded to nothing. The beacon vanished from sight.

Mai looked at the void the device had neglected to fill. "And now what? We stand here and wait for a pickup?"

"Excellent! Beacon is online! Oh, the data streams are... exquisite! Look at the ambient neutrino flux! And the background radiation spikes are consistent with a pre-warp civilization's primitive fission-based power grid! Fascinating! I'll have to cross-reference this with the Glarzonian decline... the parallels are uncanny..."

The alien's voice devolved into a stream of happy, academic muttering. Mai rolled her shoulders, the wind a constant pressure against her back. Haru just shook his head. Predictable.

Azula glared into her wrist device. "Our part is complete. Teleport us."

Ty Lee did a little pirouette on the narrow walkway, utterly unbothered by the drop. "Can we stop for mochi on the way back?"

Hylkbwat cut back in, momentarily lucid. "Mochi? Is that a localized lepton particle? My sensors are picking up anomalous energy signatures from a nearby confectionary... oh, wait, no, that's just sugar."

Azula turned, a slow, deliberate pivot. The wind whipped her robes, but her voice cut through it, each word a perfectly polished stone.

"Ty Lee."

A pause, each beat tightening the leash.

"I will personally order you a shipload of mochi. When. We. Get. Back."

Ty Lee’s shoulders slumped in a theatrical pout, but she didn't argue. Good. The sooner they were off this glorified tightrope, the sooner Mai could find a proper drink. Or ten. She gave a curt nod. "Agreed. Let's wrap this up."

Haru grunted his assent, his gaze fixed on the endless stream of headlights below. "My thoughts exactly."

Hylkbwat’s voice returned, a frantic series of clicks and beeps punctuating her speech. "Right! Yes! Retrieval sequence initiated! Just hold very, very still and try not to think about your molecules being disassembled and broadcast across the quantum foam. It’s much better if you don’t think about it!"

On Mai's wrist, the black band flared. A clean, sterile light bled from its seamless surface, casting their shadows long and sharp against the glass walkway. The light wasn't warm; it felt cold, digital, like it was erasing the world one photon at a time. The hum returned, burrowing deep into her bones.

The air around them shimmered. Distorting the city lights into streaks of pure color. A familiar tingle prickled Mai's skin. The world compressed into a single, blinding flash.

Then—

The sterile, metallic scent of The Inquisitor filled her nostrils. They stood in the ship's main chamber, the viewport displaying the planet below.

Umeboshi twirled, her voice radiating pure, unadulterated joy. "And we're back, safe and sound! Aren't you relieved, Mai-Mai?"

"Yes." No, so much 'no' it defies definition.

"Oh, and Ty Lee, your chi readings are indeed positively sparkling!"

Ty Lee stretched. A full-body cat-like arch. "Oh, that was amazing! I feel so invigorated! Like my chi just got a turbo boost!" She bounced on the balls of her feet, already eyeing the ship's interior as if it were a new playground. "Can we do it again?"

Hylkbwat practically vibrated with glee. Her blue skin seemed to glow under the ship's lights. "Beacon successfully deployed and transmitting a robust data stream! Remarkable! Your planet's electromagnetic interference is... charmingly quaint."

Tiklmat's voice held its usual flat cadence. "Our end of the bargain is complete. The personal translocation devices are now yours. Their primary function, for intra-planetary travel, remains fully operational."

So, we get to keep the shiny toys. Mai flicked her wristband, the obsidian surface catching the ambient light. Not bad. A new way to skip traffic… and maybe a few awkward conversations.

Azula ran a gloved hand over the smooth black band on her wrist, a predator examining a new claw. “Generous. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to change out of this henchman attire.”

Back in the fabrication chamber, the air hummed with the soft glow of the consoles. Mai bypassed them entirely, heading for the cargo bay. No space-vending-machine pants could compare to the familiar weight of her own clothes.

Ty Lee was already at a console, her fingers flying across the interface. “Ooh! Can we make our regular costumes? But with extra sparkles?”

A sigh from behind the Dragon Empress mask. “No, Ty Lee. No sparkles.”

“But sparkles make everything more intimidating!”

Mai returned, shrugging back into her blood-red trench coat. The fabric settled on her shoulders like a familiar bed against one's back. The first step from insanity back to normal. She pulled the matching scarf around her neck, the twin white stripes bright in the bleached light.

Haru headed for a separate alcove, his broad back disappearing behind a shimmering privacy screen.

Hylkbwat’s head tilted, her black eyes wide with curiosity, an expression Mai now labeled under Confused Space-Kitten. "He's still changing separately. Fascinating. Is he attempting to avoid some form of social contamination by isolating his epidermal shedding? Or perhaps it’s a display of dominance?" Mai just sighed.

A short, sharp bark of laughter cut through the chamber. Tiklmat leaned against the wall, shaking her head, a real smile breaching her professional facade. It was a tired, ragged thing. “Hylkbwat, for the love of the Void, just… stop.”

Haru emerged moments later, back in his green and gold tunic, the simple masquerade mask failing to conceal the magnificent mustache that was his true identity. He adjusted it with a practiced tug. “Much better.”

Azula was the last to change, her black tactical gear replaced by the sleek, crimson-and-gold plates of her Dragon Empress armor. She settled the dragon-faced helmet over her head, and the imposing, theatrical persona clicked into place. She looked more comfortable now, more herself, a predator awaiting its next victim.

Ty Lee bounced on her heels, a vibrant splash of orange and yellow in her Golden Cranefish suit, a collapsible staff now clipped to her back. “Okay! Ready for the next adventure!”

Mai lit a cigarette, the smoke a welcome anchor to reality. Her gaze swept over her friends and friend-boyfriend. The colors assaulted her eyes. It all was a practice in the absurd, but a practiced absurd, a preferable absurd. They filed back to the bridge, a procession of spandex and another who just wanted a drink.

Hylkbwat was assaulting her datapad with her fingers. "I need your destination coordinates for the return journey. Please be precise. A few degrees off could land you in a volcano, or worse, a government office."

Azula stepped forward, cutting Hylkbwat off before Mai could open her mouth. "Fire Nation Capital, Royal Palace. Specifically, the underground complex beneath the west wing residential quarters. Our base."

Ty Lee clapped her hands, completely unphased by the last-minute change. "Ooh, a bubble bath! My muscles are just aching for one! This trip was almost as good as a full-body massage!"

Haru simply nodded. Accepting the new destination without question.

Hylkbwat's fingers resumed their reign of terror. "Fire Nation Capital, Royal Palace, underground complex… coordinates logged! Initiating spatial displacement vectors! And for you, Mai?"

Mai exhaled a long moment, eyeing a plume of smoke drift toward the ship's vents. "Ba Sing Se. My penthouse. Gunpowder Street."

Azula's golden eyes met Mai's. A ghost of a smile touched her lips, sharp as a shuriken. She stepped forward and hugged her. "Try not to break anything important on the way back, Mai."

Mai returned the look, her own expression carefully neutral. "Only if you promise not to ignite any more diplomatic incidents, Azula."

"Hey, wait for me!" Ty Lee barreled into them, squeezing hard.

The three sat there for a moment, basking in their friendship.

Then Mai felt constricted. "Ty Lee, I can't breathe." Death by affection. Just like old times.

Azula let go, then eyed the acrobat. "Ty Lee…"

Ty Lee smiled, her eyes squeezed shut. "One. More. Second. There!" She let go.

Mai smirked softly. "So… I guess this is it."

The princess nodded. "It appears so."

Ty Lee pouted. "Aw, but this can't be goodbye! We just had such an exciting adventure! We have to stay in touch! Like, a group chat!" Her eyes, bright with an idea, darted between everyone.

Haru's mustache twitched. "A group chat? Isn't that... a bit much?"

Ty Lee shook her head, whipping out her phone. "Nonsense! Umeboshi! Can you set up an inter-dimensional, cross-platform, super-secret group chat for us? With emojis!"

Umeboshi's avatar appeared on Mai's phone, performing a delighted twirl. "A group chat? For us? Oh my goodness, yes! My primary function processing cores are practically tingling with excitement! One moment, integrating communication protocols... done! Consider your new chat, 'Team Inter-Dimensional Shenanigans,' officially operational! Emojis included!"

'Team Inter-Dimensional Shenanigans.' Of course. Because 'Friends' was too simple. Whatever.

Hylkbwat stopped fiddling with the console, her black eyes wide. "Wait, you mean... my communicators can interface with your... what was that word again? 'Emoji'?" Her expression erupted into pure, pristine scientific fascination. "Fascinating! The linguistic complexity of visual ideograms in cross-cultural digital communication! This changes everything for my next thesis!"

Mai pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let's go. Before someone decides to write a dissertation on our text messages."

Hylkbwat clapped her hands, nearly toppling over. "Right! Home! Everyone ready? Stand by for translocation!"

The familiar shimmer began, the air distorting around them like a video on data-saving quality.

Ty Lee waved with glee, already fading. "Bye everyone! Text you later!"

Mai's lips curved into a small smirk. "Don't let the airhead get into too much trouble, Haru." Though let's be honest, he's doomed.

Haru just nodded. A hint of amusement softening his usually stoic expression.

Azula gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. "Until next time, Mai."

Mai raised a hand, a silent farewell. Hopefully under more sober circumstances.

The light intensified, swallowing them whole.

The world snapped back into focus, a concussive shockwave of sound and scent.

Mai stood next to her Bugatti. Its sleek black lines a stark contrast to the grimy asphalt. The sports car sat double-parked, hogging two precious spots next to a timed meter.

Jade Street. Close enough.

A city cop stood mid-stride. Hand hovering over his ticket book. He stared. His jaw hung slack. The pen, forgotten, slipped from nerveless fingers, bouncing once on the pavement. His eyes, wide and disbelieving, fixed on Mai, a phantom appearing from thin air.

Mai gave the man a quick, dismissive nod.

The driver's side door clicked open, and she slid into the leather seat, the interior a familiar, dark embrace. The engine purred to life, a low rumble beneath her. With a swift turn of the wheel, the Bugatti surged forward, tires squealing, eating asphalt as the city lights blurred into streaks.

She pulled a cigarette from a silver case, flicking a lighter. The cherryplum glowed, a cool ember in the darkness. Smoke tendrilled from her lips, dissolving into the conditioned air. A faint smirk played at the corner of her mouth. He'll probably be extra chatty at the precinct tonight.

Mai's voice came out as a low purr. "Umeboshi. Music."

The dashboard screen shimmered, and Umeboshi's avatar materialized, her pink hair shimmering. Her everyday hanfu vanished, replaced by a glitzy dancer's ensemble: sequined bustier, micro-skirt, thigh-high boots that gleamed with impossible light.

Upbeat K-pop style music blasted, a torrent of synth and heavy bass filling the Bugatti's cabin. Umeboshi swayed and shimmied, her holographic hips whipping with boundless energy.

Mai could take it. Barely.

C'est la fin.

Chapter Text

Jingle-jangle-jingle. The coins in June's purse were having a jam session, and she was loving it.

Now, she would have to break up the band since she was thirsty for some whiskey. She looked up to see the sign of the Dancing Panda-Fox. The sky was dark and gloomy, so she was aching to get inside to enjoy herself instead of enduring the pathetic weather. Cracking her neck, she composed herself into a cold, business-first bounty hunter.

She kicked open the door, and everyone looked up from their drinks to stare at her.

"Drinks are on me, everybody! If you're more thirsty than that, you'll need to show your strength!"

The bar cheered for a moment before fizzling out to idle chatter and stupefied daydreaming.

Smacking down her purse on the counter, she looked the barkeep in the eye. "Give me your hardest, most expensive stuff. The whole bottle."

The man could only think of clinking gold as the bounty hunter stared at him expectantly. "Sure thing, June."

He handed her a bottle and a glass, and she poured out liquid amber. It smelled like honey, cinnamon, and heaven. Toasting to no one in particular, she slung back the shot, enjoying the burning sensation in her throat with a smile. She poured another, and another, and finally one last glass to savor.

In her slightly buzzed state, June almost missed the brown-haired man aiming for her. Without looking, she frowned, ready for drunken flattery. "Already done with your first shot?"

He smiled. "Ah, not exactly."

"Then get lost."

She turned her head. She stopped. He was wearing Fire Nation robes—gold robes. Hello, unlimited gold.

Amber eyes, long hair held up in a topknot, a short beard, and a mischievous smile. This wasn't a mark; this was a player.

He bowed. "Prince Lu Ten of the Fire Nation, at your service."

She composed herself, her lips a flat line. Blame the alcoholism. Yes, that was why she slipped.

"June, world-famous bounty hunter. What do you need, Princy? I'm still on duty, so it's business only. If you want a good time, the whorehouse is a few doors down."

Lu Ten deflated like a third-rate actor. "Bummer."

She snorted.

"On a more serious note, I was wondering if you were interested in finding my younger cousin. She's eloped with a boy from the Water Tribe."

"Idiots in love? A copper a dozen. But it doesn't matter if you're looking for a badger-frog or a badgermole as long as you have money, so pony up, Prince Charming."

He beamed, and she rolled her eyes. He hefted a bag onto the counter, and she held it up. He wasn't playing around.

"Okay, you have yourself a deal. We'll ride at dawn."

His eyes twinkled. "Oh, with such beauty as you have, I would be willing to ride earlier than that."

She slapped him. "That's your one warning."

His smile was unperturbed. "I couldn't resist, but now I'll be on my best behavior. Enjoy your night, June."

When June awoke bright and early, she walked down the steps to see the prince sipping a cup of tea.

He smiled at her. "Good morning. Tea? Coffee?"

She shook her head. "No thanks. Let's go."

"Straight to the point, I see. Very well."

Outside, he handed her a gauntlet, which she held out to Nyla to snuffle. They headed out, he jumping on his ostrich-horse and she onto Nyla as it followed the scent of the princess south into the Earth Kingdom plains.

As they rode, Lu Ten got bored, so he looked at June. "What do you do to pass the time?"

"Think about all the things I could do with the money. Now shut up."

He frowned. "Not the talkative type, I see."

"What did I just say?"

"All right, fine."

Then he began to sing.

When I find a pretty flower, I want to stop and smell it.

"Stop it."

"Come on! Just sing with me."

"No."

When I hear a funny joke, I have to go and tell it. If I see a beautiful sky, Why can't I share a treasure? Sharing the world's delights Is always the highest pleasure.

Her face was stone, but her eyes softened a bit at his nice singing voice. She did not complain anymore as he sang the hills and trees and rivers goodbye.

"So, where did you get such a fine beast?"

"That's a trade secret."

"If I may pry, when did bounty hunting first grab your fancy?"

She huffed, eyeing him with a deadpan expression. "When my parents were murdered."

"That's quite tragic."

"Yes, now shut it, Princy. I'm starting to have second thoughts about this job."

"As you wish, Your Highness."

That got an eye roll.

When night came, they set up camp. They lay on their bedrolls, staring at the sky (a professional distance away, of course), nibbling on travel bread and dried meat.

In the firelight, Lu Ten's eyes glinted with curiosity. "How is it—going on journeys hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles, risking life and limb?"

June didn't care enough to open her eyes. "I like the sound of money… and seeing the look in the eyes of outlaws when they turn as limp as noodles. Now, shut eye, or I'm doubling my fee."

They lay in stiff silence as the night stole their thoughts away to a nebulous oblivion.

When they awoke, they ate in silence and continued on to the southwest. In the distance, white mountains looked down upon them, ancient and indifferent to the plight of mortals and their squabbles. The yellow grass whispered in the wind, and the rocky plains were taking a toll on their steeds, so they slowed their pace for a while before the ground became softer.

Then, they came across a lake and let Nyla and Snippy (Lu Ten finally remembered) drink. June submerged a stone jar in the water and handed it to the prince. "Boil this."

He cradled it in both hands and breathed, letting his Inner Flame flare. The water began to steam and bubble.

A short while later, she came back with a pouch, taking out some tea and throwing it in the pot. The water slowly turned a dull green.

When it was done, she handed it to him again. "Now cool it."

He did so, pulling the heat out and into the air.

Taking a sip, she shrugged at the taste but chugged it anyway and handed it to Lu Ten.

He sipped it. "Ginseng, and—Whoa! What is this blend?"

"Nice guess, but I'm not spilling anything."

"Hints of grass, oak-ash, and… You didn't put coca-coffee in this, did you?"

Her jaw didn't drop, but her eyes betrayed it. "How…?"

"My father is a tea master, and my aunt, in addition to being a gifted fire-healer, is an herbalist. They gave me a few tips."

"No shit."

He took another sip, enjoying the flavor. He smiled at her, full of cheer. "You will find I am quite far from what my appearance shows."

"Sure, whatever."

She chugged her tea, putting away her cup. "Break time's over. Bottoms up, pretty boy."

He beamed like a toddler at a complimented mud drawing. "As you wish, my lady."

That received an eye roll.

He pulled the steam from his cup and shot the tea back like liquor. Packing up their things, they continued on their journey.

Nyla's nose led them down through the plains, by mountains, and to a little town in the middle of a verdant forest. It was picturesque with its clay roofs and dirt roads. There were some cobbled areas, but for the most part, it was simply a speck on the map barely worth any mention. A few well-to-do people were walking about, but there were beggars as well, sitting on the dirt with the filth chucked from the houses. Near the center of the town lay a pub with two green lanterns on the front of its black facade.

A pair of drunks were staggering out as they trotted to it on Nyla and Snippy. The night sky was brilliant above them, and the lanterns were pinpricks of light in the vast darkness around the town.

They trotted to a stop, tying their steeds' reins at the tavern. The drunks were looking at them in amazement, but June simply brandished her whip. "Don't you losers try anything funny, or else."

The men stumbled out into the night, shaking with fear (or intoxication).

They entered the bar to find a den of greasy men sitting around shabby wooden tables, drinking from clay bottles of sake that smelled as cheap as dirt. They were rolling bone dice, hooting and hollering, and throwing coins into the center each round. One threw the dice errantly, and they rolled to a stop at June's feet. Snake eyes.

She picked them up, stopping at the table. "What's the game?"

"High-low."

"Could I butt in on this round?"

A man with a gray beard and a scar over his eye nodded. "Sure. You have to beat a ten."

She shook them in her hand. "Easy money. Ten gold pieces on this."

The dice clattered on the table, coming up twelve, and June smirked. She handed the dice back to the man who had rolled so poorly, and he tossed them to the guy on the left. The dice changed hands around the table, but none of them could beat her twelve. Finally, a man with a gap in his teeth rolled a three, and they all groaned as she swept the money in the middle into her arms. She opened her pouch and let the coins clink into it.

She turned to her client, whose amber eyes twinkled over his smile. He chuckled. "You sure know your way around a table."

"Yep, I've lived and breathed it for the past decade."

For a drink, of course, and a bed, they walked up to the man at the bar, and Lu Ten threw down two silver coins. "We'd like two rooms and the best wine you have."

June shook her head. "The harder the better for me."

The man swept the coins into his hands, and he nodded, smiling. "I will have everything ready for you."

He looked under the counter and pulled a bottle off a shelf, pouring them two clay cups. June downed her drink, letting out a hissing breath of satisfaction. She slapped her cup on the table, giving the man a stare, and he poured her another shot.

Lu Ten gave her a side eye over his drink. "Have you lived and breathed this as well?"

"Shut up."

His mouth became a thin line, and he took the time to take in the room. The walls were creaking brown wood, and the floor was marred by the memory of mud and muck. The candles were flickering, and the banter was turning coarse. The wine was far from the best vintage. It was bitter with a strong aftertaste that burned in his throat. It needed something.

He rapped his fingers against the table. "Bartender."

"I'm busy."

"I have gold."

"I'll be there in a minute."

He turned to his associate, eyeing her dark green eyes and black attire. Her skull hairpiece was glittering in the firelight. Maybe the alcohol was having an effect on him, but she looked as gorgeous as a queen from a far-off country.

She stared back at him, narrowing her eyes. "What did I say?"

"You gave me one warning."

"Exactly. No funny business, period."

"Fine, fine, but you are quite charming this evening."

"I'll be less than that if you don't keep your eyes to yourself."

The bartender returned with a pair of empty cups in his hand. He set them on the table and pulled out a greasy-looking rag to wipe them off. "What do you want?"

Lu Ten thought for a moment. He could go for something warm, but he doubted they had it at this late hour. "Do you have anything that pairs well with… whatever this is?"

"…We have some rye-wheat bread."

"That sounds good. I'll take two of them. One for me, and one for the fine lady sitting next to me."

He could almost sense her eye roll. "I'll pay for mine myself, thank you."

"No, no, I insist. It is not proper for a well-to-do man to make a woman pay for her own food."

"This is not a date."

"Fine." He turned to the bartender. "How much is it?"

The man set the bread before them with a thunk. "Two coppers each."

They fished around in their coin purses and let their coppers clatter on the table. The man muttered, "Thank you for your business."

Instead of tangling with the porcupine-squirrel which was conversing with the bounty hunter next to him, Lu Ten stood with his drink and went over to watch the men continue their gambling. Their movements were now stupored and sluggish with the continuing flow of alcohol. He could make a handsome sum if he slipped in.

So he took his chance, pulling out a silver piece and tossing it onto the board. "I'm in."

One of them, a grey-bearded man slumped over the table, turned an inebriated gaze to him. "You got a booze for me?"

"No."

"Ah, but could ya spare a few coppers? M' tab's getting high."

"I'm sure your debt will be paid." By someone else.

Lu Ten, not seeing any chairs there, pulled his from the counter and sat down. As the game continued, he gained a handsome sum of five silver pieces. Winnings in hand, he returned to the bar where June was pouring herself yet another drink. He could not see a single sign of intoxication in her gait or even her eyes. It was as if she were breathing instead of imbibing a deadly toxin.

He let out a low whistle, and she turned a glare, but he held up his hands. "Not in that way. Just that your drinking skills are impressive. What is that? Is that the hardest stuff in the city?"

The bartender nodded solemnly.

"How are you not dead?"

"Never been interested in that sorta thing." June took a sizable swig for emphasis.

Lu Ten stopped to sense the sun low beneath the horizon. It was getting quite late. "Do you want to turn in for the night?"

"No, I'll have another drink. You go ahead. I'll be ready in the morning. You're a paying customer after all."

Lu Ten gave her a polite bow before walking away. As he walked up the steps to his room, he could feel the alcohol working its devil magic. His limbs were sluggish, and his mind was slurring somehow. Step by step, he felt the headache coming too. He would have to deal with that in the morning.

First order of business: get into his nice comfy bed, or whatever they had.

He pushed open a curtain to reveal a shoddy wooden room with nothing but a bedroll and a piss bucket. He sighed, looking down at it, but he'd had worse accommodations. So, he set his belongings down in the corner and lay on the bedroll, thinking warm thoughts to soothe his mind to sleep.

But sleep would not come so easily, as he kept thinking of his childhood. Blurred flashes of a mother smiling as he looked up in toddling joy. She had been twenty-nine, and he two, when she had succumbed to a chill. The doctors had not known what was wrong with her, only that her Inner Fire had been weakening, and her spirit had become dull and lifeless. He could still remember his father squeezing her hand as the light faded from her eyes. They had not had time to take him away, so it had left a deep scar in his psyche.

He shook his head. Why think of such things? Think of the beauty of the grass, the way he smiled when he saw June's figure.

Yes, he would have to see if he could wheedle her into a tea date someday. He could pretend to have a little mission to rescue a lost friend somewhere in the middle of a nice little meadow with a view of a gorgeous lake. Yes, he would just grab some smelly sock from Captain Shi, stick it there, and surprise her with a picnic.

Lu Ten laughed to himself. The beauty of drunk musings.

He slipped into a peaceful sleep full of the wonders of women and the delights of a dazzling day by a river.

June, on the other hand, was still awake, her arm holding down a pitiful man's attempt at an arm-wrestling match. His money was now jangling in her hands as he wept, hysterical as a maiden in a kabuki play. Two more men waited with bated breath to see if they could best her, but they were scrawnier than the last, and their attempts were as serious as a spider-fly's.

She took a chug of her alcohol, slapping it down on the table with a slosh.

Once all the men were drunk on the floor or crawling out of the tavern, she walked up the steps as sober as the sun was bright.

Chapter Text

The morning after felt like sandpaper under her eyelids. The sun, a pale disc in the hazy Ba Sing Se sky, did little to warm the chill that clung to Korra's bones. She walked with the stiff-legged gait of someone who had spent the night landing on unforgiving rooftops, the ache in her shoulders a dull throb beneath her work blazer. The concealed water pack felt like a lump between her shoulder blades, a necessary weight for a city that could turn on you in a heartbeat.

In her peripheral vision, Ta Lin materialized, striding alongside her with a ghost's silent ease. The red fabric of her modern jacket caught light that shouldn't exist for her, and those gold eyes glinted with amusement. "You know, for a 'hero', you spend an awful lot of time fetching coffee for men in cheap suits."

Korra sighed inside. It's called an internship. It's how you get a real job. One that pays.

Ta Lin drifted ahead, walking backward through pedestrians who couldn't feel her passing. She spread her hands in a mocking gesture of generosity. "Pays you in paper cuts and condescension. We could rob a bank and be set for life. Much more efficient."

Korra stopped before a bank of brightly lit vending machines nestled in an alcove. She fed a few yuan notes into a slot, the machine humming its acceptance. She pressed a button, and a steaming paper-wrapped bun dropped with a soft thud into the collection tray. Another machine dispensed a bottle of chilled green tea. Simple. Anonymous.

She peeled the paper from the pork bun, the savory steam warming her face. And spend the rest of our lives on the run? No, thanks. I like my bed.

Ta Lin was now perched on the edge of the vending machine, one leg crossed over the other, black hair falling in a sleek curtain over her shoulder. She examined her nails with theatrical disinterest. "You certainly looked comfortable with that thug's boot on your face last night."

Korra winced, taking a bite of the bun. The memory was fresh, sharp, and deeply embarrassing.

The apartment complex had smelled of boiled cabbage and damp concrete. She'd been chasing a trio of Triad enforcers up a rickety stairwell, their heavy footfalls echoing in the narrow space. The fight was a messy flurry of limbs in a cramped hallway. She ducked a wild swing, spun, and kicked one of the men into a wall. The second came at her with a pipe, and she met it with a blast of fire from her palm, sending him reeling back with a yelp, his sleeve smoldering.

The third one, a brute with a face like a slab of granite, caught her off guard. He lowered his shoulder and charged. Korra braced, but the impact was like being hit by a runaway carriage. She flew backward, her body a projectile. The cheap wood of an apartment door exploded inward under her weight.

She landed in a heap on a plush rug, splinters raining down around her. The first thing she saw was a constellation of tea lights arranged on the floor. The second was a man on one knee, holding out a small, velvet box to a woman sitting on a sofa. Rose petals were strewn everywhere. The air hung thick with the scent of cheap perfume and shattered romantic tension.

The couple stared, their mouths perfect Os of astonishment.

Korra pushed herself up onto an elbow, her head ringing. "Sorry," she mumbled, wincing as she looked back at the doorway where the brute was now charging again. "He didn't RSVP."

She scrambled out of the way just as the goon thundered into the apartment, his momentum carrying him into a flimsy coffee table, sending candles and petals flying. The woman screamed.

Ta Lin materialized beside her, leaning close with a conspirator's grin, gold eyes dancing with mischief. "His face when you set his trousers on fire was priceless, though. A perfect little 'o' of surprise."

Korra took a long swallow of green tea, the cool liquid a balm on her throat. I still had to pay for the door.

Ta Lin waved a dismissive hand, her red sleeve cutting through the air like a banner. "Details, details. You upheld justice. And provided a lovely couple with a story they'll be telling for years."

She finished her bun and tossed the wrapper in a nearby bin. The crosswalk light blinked, the little green figure inviting pedestrians to cross. She fell into step with the morning crowd, the drone of conversation and the shuffle of feet a familiar urban song. She was just another face in the river of humanity flowing toward another day of work.

A horn blared, a raw, panicked sound that tore through the morning calm.

Ta Lin snapped into focus at her left shoulder, already pointing. "Korra. Left."

Korra's head snapped to the side. A heavy cargo truck, its driver frantically fighting the wheel, was careening through the intersection, ignoring the red light. It was a metal beast, bearing down on a woman in a bright yellow coat who stood frozen in the middle of the street, a deer caught in the glare of oncoming death.

There was no time to think, no time to shout. The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath.

Korra's hand twitched under her blazer. She focused, feeling the cool water in the pack on her back respond to her will. A thin, almost invisible tube ran down her sleeve to a small nozzle hidden in her palm. The world slowed, the scene locking into a tableau of impending violence.

She thrust her hand forward, palm open. Two strands of water, no thicker than her finger and clear as glass, shot from her palm. They were impossibly fast, snaking through the air between panicked pedestrians. They wrapped around the woman's waist like a lover's embrace, firm but gentle.

Korra yanked her arm back.

The woman in the yellow coat was plucked from the path of the truck, her feet leaving the ground. She flew backward several feet, landing with a startled squawk in a heap on the pavement, completely unharmed, just as the truck roared through the space she had occupied a microsecond before. It screeched to a halt fifty feet down the road, the smell of burnt rubber acrid in the air.

To the stunned onlookers, it must have looked as if the woman had simply stumbled backward at the last possible second, a miraculous, clumsy save. The water tendrils had already retracted, leaving not a single drop of evidence.

The woman sat on the ground, blinking, her hand pressed to her chest where her heart hammered a frantic rhythm. Korra was already walking away, melting back into the crowd, her own heart a steady, familiar drum against her ribs.

Ta Lin walked beside her now, hands clasped behind her back, her expression softer than usual. "Nicely done. Subtle. For you."

A flicker of satisfaction warmed Korra's chest. The quick rescue had been a jolt, a reminder of the real purpose behind her late nights and aching muscles. "Thanks."

Ta Lin flickered ahead of her, spinning on her heel to walk backward, that sharp smile back in place. "Don't get used to it. You almost impaled her with those water strings. And you still smell faintly of cheap perfume from that apartment."

Korra rolled her eyes, though no one saw it in the bustling street. She adjusted the strap of her bag, the mundane weight a familiar anchor. The crowd thickened as she neared the Enquirer building, its towering glass façade glinting in the morning sun. She strolled inside.

Back to work.