A month and a half had passed in the Southern Water Tribe.
Tension hung heavy in the air. Everyone was downcast. Young Sokka had survived, though he was still bedridden. But no remedy could ease his pain—there weren't enough healing herbs in the world to soothe the suffering of a child like him.
At first, even the lightest breeze of cold air made him writhe and scream in agony, so they heated the igloo. But that only caused the ice to melt, and when droplets fell onto his wounds, it made the pain even worse.
Sweat, movement, air—everything felt like torture. Until his heart stopped. Darkness swallowed everything, a suffocating void where the only lights—or rather, we were the only lights—shone side by side. But as the seconds passed, the smaller one began to fade.
"That's the soul of the original Sokka," I realized. And as his light dimmed, so did his memories, his feelings… all slipping away from me.
The memories I cherished of Kya and Hakoda vanished. All that remained were my own—when I had arrived in this world. Now, Kya felt like an aunt I'd see often, and Hakoda was just a man, a mentor who'd taught me how to survive here.
Sure, there was affection—but the kind you feel for acquaintances. The only person I still felt a genuine bond with was Katara. She was the one I'd spent the most time with, the one I played with. I felt a duty to protect her.
Then, Sokka's light faded completely, leaving behind only a dull gray glow that merged with mine. It wasn't memories or emotions—it felt more like… bad luck.
When Sokka's heart stopped, a wave of grief crashed over Gran Gran. Her grandson had just died, and she was paralyzed with sorrow. Tears welled up in her eyes.
She took his hand to say goodbye—gently, lovingly—when something impossible happened. Her beloved grandson, who had died just three minutes ago, suddenly gasped for air and woke up, completely unaware of his wounds.
He took in a sharp breath, his lungs expanding—and immediately screamed in pain as the agony hit him all over again.
In the days following his awakening, they gave him water and fish periodically. He tried not to think about how he was managing to use the bathroom.
He noticed Katara never came to visit—and he was glad. He knew she'd seen everything, and seeing her now would only make things harder emotionally. He didn't even want to imagine how the news of his brief death might've affected her.
One day, while trying to stay as still as possible to avoid more pain, Hakoda entered his room.
"Sokka…" Hakoda's voice trembled.
"Hey, Dad…" Sokka replied weakly. "How's Mom?"
"She's… she's gone, son. I'm so sorry…" Hakoda lowered his gaze, eyes filled with sorrow.
"Are you leaving?" Sokka asked, faking sadness for a loss that felt no more personal than that of a kind neighbor.
"Yes… I can't let this happen again. We're going to end this war—to free and protect our people."
By the end of the conversation, Hakoda said goodbye with heavy eyes and determined words.
That left a bitter taste in Sokka's mouth. He knew his father would leave eventually, but he'd thought it would be after his recovery. To him, it felt like an excuse—a way to avoid dealing with the pain. And he realized Katara probably felt the same way. That same sense of abandonment would grow into hate in the original story—but here, it might be even worse.
Trying to distract himself, Sokka remembered what had brought him to this point. He thought of Hakoda's words… and his own desire to be stronger.
First-person POV:
This damn pain is worse than anything I've ever felt before. The only way I can think to bear it is through chi control. There wasn't much info about it in the series, but energy manipulation—chi—had so many benefits for the body. They showcased it pretty well in The Legend of Korra game.
I think I can find something inside me that wasn't there before—or maybe it was there, just hidden. After all, chi is physical or spiritual energy, something you can actually feel.
I focused as hard as I could, ignoring the burning pain on my skin, trying to sense something… different. After what felt like hours, I finally found it. At first it was faint, just a flicker, until I remembered my death. That faint glow—it was just like my soul and Sokka's.
I remembered the feeling of that energy and used it to search more precisely. Finally, I found it: an intricate web of energy coursing through my body, flowing through my veins and nerves, tied to my circulatory system.
It took hours—maybe days—to reinforce my damaged nerves along with the ones that were still intact. But without proper control, pouring too much chi into them could've caused more harm than good. So I chose to channel a moderately high but steady amount. If I had to describe it, I'd say it was like pain resistance—a basic ability if I were leveling up in a game.
A few days later, with a lot of effort and growing tolerance to pain, I managed to sit up. I decided that even if I couldn't move much, I'd do what I could to strengthen my body. I started practicing soft martial arts moves I remembered from my past life, trying to recall the right stances, the flow of each motion.
When Katara finally came to see me, she burst into tears the moment she saw me. I was skinny, and the wounds on my torso were still healing.
"Sokka…" she said, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry!"
"It's not your fault, Katara," I replied, trying to smile. "I'd do it again to protect you both."
She looked at me, eyes still full of tears, but I could tell she felt a little lighter. Sokka was alive. That was what mattered.
Days passed, and I kept training. Katara came by more often, looking for comfort. During those visits, we talked about our memories—how Kya always made our favorite dishes, how she taught us to take care of the tribe. I told her about training together, how our mom was always proud of us.
But the words came out like a script I'd memorized too many times.
When I finally managed to stand again, I went to visit my mother's grave. I let the tears fall—Katara needed to see them. Standing before the small stone, I promised to protect her, no matter what. "It wasn't your fault," I told her. She needed to hear that… even if I wasn't entirely sure I believed it.
After a year, I could pretend I'd fully recovered. While training lightly, I started helping around the tribe. I remembered my father's lessons about fishing—but mostly, I used knowledge from my past life. Because of that, I could bring back plenty of fish and shellfish.
One afternoon, after a good catch, I walked home wearing my well-rehearsed smile.
"Thank you so much, Sokka…" said Gran Gran, her voice trembling the way it always did when she thought I was pushing myself too hard. "You don't have to do all this, dear. You're still just a boy."
"I'm fine, Gran Gran. Besides, it's my duty to take care of the tribe," I replied. Even to me, the words felt hollow.
Right then, Katara ran up and hugged me tightly. "Big brother, you're back!"
"I am," I said, patting her head the way I knew calmed her down. "Now let's go home and have dinner."
Inside, I laid the fish on the table and prepared them for the meal. Katara stayed close, as if afraid I might vanish again.
"Sokka, can I sleep with you tonight?" she asked, her voice small—the way it always got when she was scared.
Even though she seemed happy, I knew the nightmares were still there. But I couldn't let her get too close.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Katara. I'm really hot lately, and sleeping next to you would just make it worse. Besides, I'm sure Gran Gran would love to have you stay with her tonight."
Katara nodded, though her eyes dimmed with sadness, and went to get ready for bed.
Left alone, I struggled out of my coat, wincing as the familiar sting flared up in my torso and forearm. On the outside, I looked fine—but the pain hadn't gone anywhere.
"I'm not even fully healed… But I have to keep pushing. Gotta bring in food," I muttered, feeling the burn beneath my skin.
He lay down, exhausted, slowly drifting off to sleep—unaware that someone had been silently watching him from the shadows, mourning the weight he now carried alone.