Appa's shadow crawled over the last dry hills before Omashu and dropped them into a world of smoke and clanging metal.
"Whoa," Sokka breathed.
They had landed in a shallow ravine a safe distance from the main road, dragged Appa into the best cover they could find to take a much needed nap, and crept up the rocky slope on their bellies. Katara's heart was pounding from the climb and from what she saw when she peered over the edge.
Fire Nation.
Not just a raiding party. Not just a cruiser with a detachment like Prince Zuko's.
A whole army, thousands strong.
Ranks of soldiers in dark armor marched in slow, disciplined waves across the scrub plain that faced Omashu's steep cliffs and outer walls. Red and black tents dotted the valley below like a rash. Komodo rhinos pawed the ground, snorting steam, their riders bearing tall standards with the golden spearhead of House Arza on deep red cloth. Black metal siege wagons of some kind creaked, rattled and groaned, belching black smoke and covered in thick armor. Far beyond, Omashu's massive tiered walls glowered back at them in beige, carved out of the top half of the mountain like a giant ornament.
"Oh no, the Fire Lord is already attacking Omashu?!" Aang hissed, utterly dismayed.
"Those are not Prince Zuko's guys," Sokka whispered. "Those are, uh, Raven's guys. Or her family's? I dunno, same spearhead she has on her back."
Katara followed his pointing finger. The banners did match the emblem that had been stitched in gleaming thread on the back of Raven's cloak. Her stomach clenched.
"I knew we should have brought her," she said before she could stop herself.
"What, as a hostage?" Sokka didn't quite mock. "Pretty sure that girl is a bit too spicy to restrain—I mean, yeesh! I wouldn't try it anyway."
"I meant ask her to help!" Katara snapped quietly, then winced at her own volume. "If that's her family's army. She might... I dunno, maybe she could do something?"
"She couldn't even lay down without falling over after her fight with that Zuko guy, she was really dazed," Sokka muttered. "They'd think we beat her up, that... wouldn't be good. Also she seems like more of a problem creator, not a problem solver. No offense to your new friend."
Katara opened her mouth to defend Raven on principle, then deflated. It was sort of fair, she just really wanted Sokka to be wrong and Raven to be right.
They were both still arguing it in their heads when Aang said, barely above a breath, "Oh no."
He was staring straight ahead, not at the ranks of soldiers, not at the banners, but at something else entirely.
Katara followed his gaze and saw the ostentatiously decorated command group on the road beside a marching company of elite soldiers in gilded armor. A knot of higher officers had moved ahead of the marching column to survey Omashu's walls. Center was an imposing tall man decked in grey with black and gold armor, and the golden spearhead on his back. Another man in more standard Fire Nation garb and moving oddly in armor like he was unsuited to it, and beside him a bored looking teenage girl with straight bangs gave a sigh and gazed side to side more than the others, her dark clothing spoke of ruthless nobility. Last was a woman a bit more out of place even than the awkward man, in dusty light armor with a satchel of papers and a rolled map under one arm, as well as a heavy bag stuffed with instruments and tools.
To Katara, Lord Arza looked like just an especially decorated general. He shifted posture, revealing a magnificent and very recognizable spear in his hand. From this distance, it was mostly silhouette and gleam: long shaft, ornate head, the metal catching the morning light like it wanted to bite it. He rested the butt gently on the dry road. Even from where they lay hidden behind the rocks, they saw a small burst of sparks jump from the tip. A thin curl of smoke drifted up, wrong and dark in the clear air. But only Aang had a look of despair about him.
Next to Katara, he flinched like someone had grabbed him by the back of the neck.
"Aang?" Katara whispered. "Are you okay?"
He swallowed. "That thing is really dangerous."
"A spear?" Sokka whispered back. "Very fancy, but still."
Aang shook his head, eyes wide and unfocused for a moment. "It's not a spear, it's—ah—something else, it doesn't matter!"
"Aang, it's clearly a spear," Sokka flatly stated.
"It's different," Aang insisted. "I can feel it from here, I think you can't because you're not firebenders. I... I have to warn Omashu! There's no time!"
He began to back away from the lip of the ravine, keeping low, staff held close.
"Aang, wait!" Katara hissed, reaching out, but he was already sliding down out of sight. "You're not making sense!"
"I'll just circle around!" he whispered up to them, urgent. "I'll come in from the other side with the glider so they don't see me. Just stay hidden. Please!"
Then he was gone, his small shape disappearing behind the rocks, feet slapping the stone as he ran to find a safer place to launch, and all they could do was reach out and falter.
Sokka groaned softly. "Well, great. Now we're a snowball away from a Fire Nation army with no Avatar. Perfect."
"Quiet, they're getting closer!" Katara said, because boots were crunching on packed earth very close to their hiding spot.
They ducked as low as they could behind the rocks. Katara risked the smallest peek.
Lord Arza stood not thirty paces away on the road, flanked by his people, and coming closer.
"Captain Shoko," he said, tone clipped but not unkind. "Your assessment."
They were right there, just on the other side of the rocks. Poor Sokka and Katara could practically reach out and touch officers if they weren't huddled under the slight overhang.
The engineer straightened, pushing her spectacles up her nose. She had the tired, focused look of someone who preferred diagrams and measurements to actually going on a military campaign. "Yes, my lord. Omashu's defenses are state of the art for Earth Kingdom construction. The outer wall tiers are angled to deflect projectiles. Each gate is protected by multiple kill zones. The delivery chutes allow them to reinforce or evacuate with gravity on their side." She cleared her throat. "With your current numbers, a conventional siege would be possible, but it would take weeks, perhaps months, to wear them down. Especially if they have competent strategists."
"I'm sure Ozai would just love that," Arza said dryly.
Shoko hesitated. "I would not presume to comment on the Fire Lord's expectations, my lord."
"Wise of you," he said. "And unnecessary. It will not need to be a conventional siege with this awakened so brightly," he went on trailing into an airy reverence as he slightly hefted the spear, causing morning sunlight to somehow glint iridescently off the air around the tip.
He let the butt back down, the thunk was not loud, but finally Katara felt it in her teeth. She felt slightly faint, perhaps a moment of fatigue, but also she could tell something about that weapon was disrupting her bending. She felt hollow and wrong just being near it, but fine again after a moment of it staying at rest.
"Have you seen it before, Ukano?" Lord Arza asked, still in a blissful sort of reverence. "Actually seen it used?"
Ukano, standing a cautious step back in the crimson robes of his station that fit poorly in his armor, cleared his throat. "Er. Jinai. If it can be helped, might we avoid total demolition of the city walls?" He gestured toward Omashu with both hands. "Once the city is yours, I will need something left to repair."
Lord Arza did not take his eyes off the walls. "I won't cause more damage than necessary," he said. "But my priority is ending this quickly. My army is not Ozai's toy to do as he pleases with."
Mai, standing just behind Ukano in her dark red and black, polished nails immaculate, sighed like someone inconvenienced by stepping into rain. "I cannot believe I came all the way out here just to stand around while you blow up a city from a mile away," she said.
Ukano frowned. "Mai." He glanced quickly to Lord Arza, but he was just rolling his eyes, so Ukano breathed with relief.
"What? I have nothing to do," she said. "At least if Raven were here something funny would happen."
Lord Arza's mouth thinned. "I apologize, my dear. But I did not choose lightly to leave her behind." He sounded like he was being patient with her, but like he was very used to that.
Katara and Sokka traded a look. A very silent, very panicked one, mouthing: "Raven?!?!"
"Yeah, she's... not as much fun these days," Mai said, almost too quickly. "She spends all her time yelling. Or sulking. Or ranting about that idiot prince, no surprise..." she went on, but breathed out and quickly added like she didn't want to be rude. "I feel bad for her—and you, my lord. Really." But she was so monotone it was hard to hear it as genuine.
"She just... always sounds like that!" Mai's father Ukano raised his hands to frantically defend her.
"I know," Arza muttered. "But Raven is the one driving me mad." He mildly sympathized with Mai who was apparently Raven's friend.
Katara's fingers dug into the dirt. That was Raven's father. There was no other explanation for how he was talking about her. Sokka gave her a look like he had come to the exact same conclusion, but they couldn't make a sound or move an inch.
"We will begin bombardment when the sun reaches its zenith, to properly respect Arzayanagi," Arza went on. "Hopefully they give up early, and save us the gravedigging. Captain Shoko, make a quick sketch of the outer wall's likely weakest points."
Shoko bowed her head. "Yes, my lord."
The small group began to move along the road again, their voices fading under the steady drum of marching feet from the main body of the army.
Beside Katara, Sokka swallowed. "So. That's Raven's dad. And he really has a something-other-than-a-spear of doom. Fireworks at noon, though."
"Stop talking," she whispered. "I am trying very hard not to throw up."
The next wave of soldiers began to pass only a few paces in front of their hiding place: boots in neat rows, armor plates clinking, breath puffing in the cool air. A wagon creaked by, piled high with bundled arrows. Another with huge heavy black chains and spikes that surely weren't for anything an Omashu resident would like.
Katara tried to make herself as small and invisible as possible.
"Hey," said that monotone girl's voice at her elbow.
Katara's soul verged on leaving her body.
Mai was crouched beside them behind the rocks. Somehow she had slipped away from the road and into their little pocket of cover without making a sound. Katara an Sokka both glanced with clenched teeth at the somewhere between ten and one-billion knives partially visible on her person, not apparent from their quick glance before.
Katara just raised up her hand to give a twiddly little wave. "Hi."
"Uh," Sokka said. "Don't mind us. We're... scholars. Documenting this important battle for history. Future? Both? Yeah, both."
Mai looked at him for a long moment, face perfectly blank, and then looked away again like he was background noise. "I heard you say 'Raven' a couple of times while you were creeping around back here like weirdos," she said. "Do you actually know her?"
Katara's mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Sokka, on the other hand, lit up. "Know her? Raven?" He put a hand dramatically to his chest. "We are practically best friends by now. Life or death struggles, dramatic rescues, mutual threats of violence. Very bonding stuff."
It was not entirely untrue, to the point he pretty much believed it, which remarkably helped his voice sound confident.
Mai's eyes narrowed a fraction, interest flickering to life under the boredom. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," Sokka said. "She saved us from that jerk Zuko, I saved her from a killer bench. Killer on her back, at least. Overall? I didn't catch on fire, and I thought I would, so that's... definitely friendship."
Katara finally found a sliver of voice. "We haven't known her as long as you, I'm sure," she said, honesty leaking out of her in a whisper. "But I really like her."
Mai betrayed no emotion at all as she stated, "you're lying." But just before Katara's soul finally wriggled free in the panic, she went on, "nobody really likes Raven Arza. It's kind of at best, and only when she's not mad at her dad."
"That's so fair, you, uh, Mai, right?" Sokka gestured casually like he'd forgotten completely how much danger they were in. "That girl is a real handful, let me tell you. My literal head-over-heels crush Suki? Totally can't stand her, she was being real snooty about pillows."
Mai actually chuckled quietly. "I wasn't sure, but yeah, you two really do know her, don't you." She shook her head, considered the two more seriously in her gaze, then asked. "Is she up to anything interesting?" she asked. "Or is she still just screaming about Zuko and getting lost?" But Mai quickly leaned in before they could respond to whisper with her mouth cupped, "oh, and don't tell her dad she's not at home, he's already pretty weird after everything, if he goes off the deep end while he has that thing, well... seriously, don't tell him."
"Lips are sealed," Sokka practically hummed without opening his mouth.
"She's obsessed," Katara blurted, then winced, but there was no taking it back. "But she found him. Couple times."
Mai's eyebrow climbed a little higher. "Did she...?" she said.
Katara realized with a small, cold bloom of panic that Mai had not reacted at all to the idea that they might know Zuko. She just filed it away like gossip, and reminded herself not to mention anything at all about Aang. She had never in her life felt more like an imposter, despite her really wanting to be friends with Raven. Mai saw the weird look on Katara's face, and actually started to look sad.
"No, no! They both survived. Somehow," Sokka shrugged, trying not to sound biased to either of them, having no idea what convoluted noble intrigue he was accidentally digging himself into. To get in on the scheming, he shifted, casually, putting himself between Mai and the small patch of sky where Aang was now a distant speck skimming low across the back side of the valley.
"So, you and Raven are...?" Katara tried.
"Childhood friends," Mai said. "Technically. Mostly I just follow her around sometimes to bask in the secondhand embarrassment. I liked her more before, well... you know. It's not like I blame her. I still can't believe he really did it, though." And she kind of sounded like she meant it.
The crunch of boots got much louder again, too loud, so Katara and Sokka didn't have time to blunder their way through that mystery too. It was so tantalizingly close that Katara was subconsciously reaching out to try to grab the threads and figure out what in the world Raven was so angry at Zuko about, but...
Lord Arza and Ukano rounded the bend in the road and came into view, accompanied by a smaller escort now that the main formations had moved past. Katara and Sokka stood there like cat tails swaying helplessly against the wind, hands at their sides. Mai didn't seem worried at all.
"Mai, keep up," Ukano said, voice wary. "What are you doing behind a rock with these... children?"
Mai replied without missing a beat. "They're Raven's friends."
Lord Arza's gaze snapped to the two teenagers like a pair of thrown knives.
Katara's lungs forgot how to work.
Sokka, miraculously, did not say anything deeply stupid.
"Yeah, uh." He raised a hand, smile weak but game. "She saved our butts once. So we kind of owe her. We were just... hoping she was with you. So we could hang out?"
"She's grounded," Lord Arza said like it was a death sentence.
"Oh, well," Sokka nodded so fast his ponytail wobbled. "We sent someone into the city," he went on, seizing the thin thread of his own idea. "Ahead of time. He's a real good diplomat—wa-a-ay older than us, don't worry—to uh... convince them they don't stand a chance and should surrender before things get..." and he eyed Lord Arza's gleaming gold spear. "Ugly." He breathed out, flapping his lips.
"Sorry, they thought Raven would want them to help," Mai smoothly slid in as a foundation to Sokka's words.
It was exactly true and also not at all the way Lord Arza would think about it. Which was why it came out sounding completely sincere, so it was a tremor of apology and not a lie to his ears. Lord Arza studied him for a long, weighty moment. Then he gave a single short nod. "Your diplomat has the rest of the morning," he said. "I do hope he egresses before that time—should he fail to secure a surrender," he went on, but didn't really sound all that worried about it.
Katara swallowed around a knot in her throat. Aang had just been upgraded from "friend" to "envoy of a ruthless noble house" without any say in the matter. Ukano looked vaguely relieved. "I pray for his success," he said genuinely, almost wistfully looking at the walls that might soon not be.
Lord Arza glanced back toward Omashu and then at the new teenagers again. "To be clear, if you two enjoy living," he added, almost as an afterthought, "stay away from those walls. I would regret harming my daughter's friends." His words were very tired by the end, like he had to convince himself by saying it.
Katara managed to nod. Her mouth was too dry to speak.
Lord Arza gave Mai a brief, assessing look, then turned away. Ukano followed. Captain Shoko trotted along beside them, already unrolling a map and rambling about it. The escort fell in behind, and in a few breaths the road in front of the rocks was full of marching soldiers again. The Fire Nation just wasn't going to bother them. The siblings couldn't help but smile like they got away with something.
Mai waited until it passed. "He actually likes you."
"Who?" they both wondered aloud.
"Raven's dad," she said with a mild eye roll, but sighed with disappointment. "I think that means you're dorks now, sorry."
They couldn't read her at all.
"O-oh, um, sorry?" Katara tried.
"No, I am. It means I'm too cool to hang out with you now," Mai said with a shrug like that should be obvious. "But I'm glad she found normal friends. She could really use more nice people in her life. Anyway, gotta keep up with dad or he'll make this venture even more dull for me. See ya 'round."
And she just turned and walked away.
When it was clear that finally nobody was standing right next to them without them noticing for real, Katara begged of Sokka, "what did we just get ourselves into?"
He shrugged, glancing to a masked firebender in heavy armor waving at them as he marched past, and deliberately shrugged harder.
* * *
Zuko's cabin was barely big enough for his anger, and he and Iroh had to somehow squeeze in too.
The little room rattled faintly with the constant thrum of the engines. Lantern-light wobbled with the ship's motion, casting his shadow back and forth across the bulkhead as he limped through yet another tight circuit from door to desk to bed and back again.
Bandages wrapped his ribs in white spirals, stained here and there with tincture and salve. More strips crossed one shoulder and trailed down an arm where that last epic blast had caught him. His hair was gone, shaved down to rough dark stubble after Raven's whip took his ponytail; what was growing back now bristled fresh and unevenly across his scalp like a field after fire.
Every step he took betrayed how much it hurt to move, but he kept doing it anyway, jaw set, boots thunking dully on the metal floor.
"Prince Zuko," Iroh said from the lone chair, hands folded over his own round belly. "If you keep pacing like that, you're going to make it worse."
"I'm thinking, not pacing," Zuko snapped, pacing. "I'm fine."
"Mm." Iroh tilted his head. "One usually uses their bed to rest injuries, not the floor."
Zuko spun on him. The motion tugged at the bruises under his ribs; the flinch ruined the effect. "I don't need to sit," he growled. "I said I'm fine."
He punctuated this by stamping his foot as if to prove it. Pain shot up his leg and through his side like someone had jammed a hot poker into his hip. His balance lurched. For a humiliating heartbeat he hopped on his good leg, clutching his hip, teeth bared. "Ah, ah!"
"Ergh—agh!" he groaned and grunted through it, then half-fell, half-sat onto the bed. "Okay, no more pacing, are you happy?"
Iroh's eyes crinkled with a sympathy that didn't quite hide the amusement. "You look," he said thoughtfully, "like you have been chewed by a badger-mole, spat out, then used as kindling. Must have been some battle with the Avatar!"
"That wasn't the Avatar," Zuko said harshly, then groaned, "that was Raven."
He flopped back, then regretted it immediately and jerked upright again with a strangled noise, trying to find some position that didn't press directly on a sharply throbbing patch of purple skin. He ended up half-reclined, braced on his elbows, like he was about to spring up again any second, and any further movement just made it hurt more, so he stayed there drenched in the indignity of it all but far too pissed off to give a damn.
"I didn't even reach the Avatar before he was gone," Zuko went on. "Because Raven had to get in my way again. And half my men got taken apart by a bunch of girls in face paint and some little waterbender girl who has no business even being there! My useless soldiers can't even take over one stupid fishing village on their own."
"Mm," Iroh said.
It was not the sympathetic sound Zuko wanted. It was the sound that meant: you are saying something very stupid and I am deciding how kind to be about it.
"What?" Zuko demanded.
"You are their commander," Iroh said. "They rely on you."
"I know that," Zuko snapped. "I'm the only one on this ship who seems to remember it."
Iroh's gaze softened, though his tone did not. "If one soldier performs poorly, my nephew," he said, "perhaps that soldier is not suited for war. Or needs more training." He lifted a finger. "But if all your soldiers are performing poorly… perhaps they need better leadership."
Zuko stared at him. Heat rose in his face, different from the heat of bending. "Are you saying this is my fault?" he demanded. "That I'm a bad leader?"
"I am saying you have not learned to be a leader yet," Iroh replied calmly. "Not in truth. You give orders. You shout. You rush ahead. But you do not talk to them. You do not listen. You do not know their names." He gestured with a small wave. "To them, you are a scar and a shouting voice who only notices them when you want them to risk their lives, or when you are angry. They will never give you their best performance in such conidtions."
"That's not—" Zuko stopped. Thought about it. Didn't like what he found. "They're soldiers," he muttered instead. "It's their job. What do they want, tea parties?"
"Sometimes tea," Iroh said mildly. "Sometimes someone who asks if their wounds hurt. Sometimes a commander who shares the burden instead of just the frustration, or who fills them with inspiration." He spread his hands. "I commanded whole armies in the Earth Kingdom. Believe me when I say, yelling louder might make them behave and follow orders... but only while they know you're watching."
Zuko scowled at the floor. The ship's vibration echoed faintly up through the metal into his feet. His anger at his men wilted under the weight of Iroh's words, trying to grow back in a different direction and not quite managing it.
"I don't want to talk about my soldiers anymore," he sighed. "I can't do anything about yelling right now," he grumbled as he stared off into space.
"Of course," Iroh said, and let it go. He did not look convinced, but he let it go.
For a few heartbeats there was only the hum of the engines and Zuko's uneven breathing.
"I am surprised Raven managed to get ahead of you twice," Iroh said eventually, as if mentioning the weather. "Perhaps she knows something about tracking the Avatar you don't?" like he was hoping that might make Zuko want to play nice with her.
Zuko's fingers tightened on the edge of the thin mattress, Iroh didn't understand at all, he had no control over how crazy Raven was being. "She's probably working with the Avatar," he said darkly. "Nothing else makes sense. Maybe just to rebel and piss off her dad, but—heh!" and he sounded just a tiny bit gleeful. "That would make her an enemy of the whole Fire Nation."
"I know many very nice people who are enemies of the Fire Nation, Prince Zuko, but it is quite the ordeal to spend quality time with them," Iroh said pleasantly but with a wistful tinge. "It is one of the unfortunate side effects of a lifetime of war."
Zuko glared at him. "Do you hear yourself? That is bordering on being a traitor to our own people, Uncle." His tone like he was scolding a younger brother who ought to know better.
"I love our people," Iroh corrected gently. "I do not love watching them marched off to die or cause suffering in our family's name." He patted his knee. "There is a difference."
Zuko made a frustrated, wordless noise. "You are impossible," he muttered. "And she is worse. She's the most frustrating girl in the world."
Iroh's brows rose slightly. "Because she is opposing you?" he asked. "Or because once upon a time she did not?"
Zuko looked away, squeezing his eyes and he felt his chest ache. It was all the wounds, surely. His breath shuddered as he finally let it out, slowly opening his eyes again and hoping Iroh would notice him rubbing his only very, very slightly moist eyes dry on the pillow as he turned back to face him. The lantern light picked out the weary slant of his shoulders, the purpled edge of a bruise crawling up his side to grimly complement his scar.
"It's not just that she's against me," he said at last. "That's… I could deal with that. A lot of people are against me, that's... it's whatever."
He broke off, searching for words, hands knotting in the thin blanket. Iroh stayed perfectly silent in the meantime.
"First she was such a crybaby," he said, exasperation surfacing through something else. "She cried about everything. Her shoes, her parents, her sister, Azula—but that one's fair—the weather, the food, her hair. She could cry for what felt like hours." His mouth twisted. "I was really patient with her. I didn't make fun of her at all... well, maybe a little before we were betrothed. I just waited for her. Waited for her to be ready to try again. I didn't tell her to shut up. I just… waited. Tried to make her feel better." He took a deep breath that made it clear he was on the verge of tears, there wasn't anything he could do about it.
Iroh smiled faintly. "I remember," he said. "You were very cute. You used to bring her three different gifts in case she'd decided she hated one or two since the last visit. That was very strategic for your age, Zuko," he couldn't help but laugh.
"I am not cute." Zuko scowled, but it was half-hearted. But all the joy drained from him from a single thought. "Then her mother died in the war," he uttered like saying it too loud might cause Raven to ambush him again out of thin air, but the words still came out wicked sharp, like he was angry at them for even existing. "She went berserk practically overnight. She stopped crying and started kicking and shouting instead. Her dad, me, guards, walls. She got aggressive and violent with everybody, all the time. She wouldn't listen to anyone. Not me, not Lord Arza, not tutors. Nobody."
Iroh's eyes grew more serious. "Such a tragedy," he said softly, clearly deeply emotional for a moment.
"I didn't kill her mother, but she sure acted like I did..." he said, deflating enough to come down from his elbows. He winced again and propped himself back up, not allowed to relax even when he really, really needed to.
He dragged a hand over his shaved scalp, wincing when his fingers brushed a tender patch. "And I was patient again," he went on, a little quieter. "Even when she was hitting me and yelling at me and saying awful things, I tried. You have no idea how mean she was, Uncle. But I kept trying. For months. She just kept hurting me and I kept thinking, 'it's just because of her mother, it's not her fault—I can... deal with it.'"
The confession surprised even him. He stared at his knuckles as if they belonged to someone else. He'd never realized until right then that's what he'd been doing. He was only twelve-years-old at the time, so he just hadn't had the self-awareness to really step back and think about it.
"And then…" He let out a breath. "We finally started getting along again. She calmed down. She wasn't crying all the time, she was still picking fights but not with me. I could talk to her without having to be ready to bend her fire away." His mouth tugged, not quite into a smile. "We had a good few months. Really, really good. I thought… I thought maybe the betrothal wasn't the worst thing. I didn't mind it. I thought I was actually in love with her. I think maybe I—"
He couldn't say it.
Iroh did not tease. His face was open, kind, listening. He almost looked ready to cry with his downright exaggerated pout, but Zuko wasn't looking at him, he was staring off into memories that hurt not because they were bad, but because they were perfect... then shattered.
"And then I got banished," Zuko said flatly. "And now she's angrier at me than she's ever been. And I wasn't even there. I didn't do anything. I haven't been to Arza lands in years! I don't—" and he let out a gruff growl that sent just a bit of smoke between his teeth.
"Have you tried—" Iroh started, and it got Zuko to finally glare up at him again.
"She's not gonna listen to me, Uncle! Not when she's like this." His hands curled into fists on the bed, making him shift again to avoid the worst of the throbbing pain. "I'm sure it's something stupid that isn't my fault and doesn't make any sense. It always is..." he trailed off exhausted enough to almost risk actually laying down flat again, but he sat back up quickly.
"Her mother's death was not something stupid," Iroh said gently.
Zuko rolled his eyes so hard his whole head went on a quick loop. "Stupid to treat me like I did it though, right?"
"And that was years ago, she had calmed down," Zuko tried to snap, but just sagged a little as his throat tightened. "And it's not like her dad died. We just saw him, and he's off being weird about the spear again." He let out a forceful sigh. "He's like a cult of one guy. Ugh, or really that whole family is weird fanatics, except Raven... and Asha, I guess, I don't know what they fed her, she's nothing like the rest of them. She's just actually a nice kid." He almost started to chuckle like he recalled a happy memory. But then it set in again he couldn't even go visit her or anyone else anymore. "But I'm sure by now even she hates me too. Everybody just line up and take your shot." He moved to throw up his hands and disgust, nearly died of pain, and cringed as he returned to the only position that didn't feel like a stabbing in progress.
Iroh was quiet for a moment, tapping his chin and even going so far as to stroke his beard. "When Raven was so angry, before," he cautiously started, catching Zuko's gaze. "When she turned that anger on you and everyone else… did she calm down on her own? Or did something change?"
Zuko frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You said you were patient," Iroh said. "You kept trying. Did she simply wake up one day and stop, or did something happen between you?"
Zuko opened his mouth to say he didn't know, then stopped.
His brow furrowed. Some half-buried sequence of memories shifted, aligning in a way it hadn't before. He had a pretty good idea, but he really, really didn't want to talk about it.
"I…" He stared at the wall, suddenly very still. "Maybe." His eyes darted suspiciously away and back. "I have to... think about it."
Iroh watched his nephew's face shift, the anger folding in on itself, turning inward. That was a rare enough sight that he took it as a good sign.
"Well," he said, patting his knees and pushing himself up with a small grunt. "I will go and see about some tea. All this girl problem talk is thirsty work."
Zuko did not rise to the bait. He barely seemed to hear it.
Iroh paused at the door, looking back. For once, Zuko didn't look like he was brooding. He was still there awkwardly propped up and staring up at the ceiling, brows drawn, but the lines of pain around his mouth softened into something more uncertain. Whatever it was, it wasn't anger, and it'd have to do to leave him with it.
"I will handle things with the crew," Iroh said lightly. "I hope I've at least convinced you to stay in bed for a while."
"Uncle," Zuko muttered in automatic protest, but there was no force in it.
Iroh slid the door open and stepped out into the dim corridor, letting it close behind him with a quiet clank.
In the muffled lantern-light of the cabin, with only the ship's steady heartbeat for company, Zuko kept staring at the ceiling. His mind was not on the Avatar now, or the ocean ahead, or even the angry red ache of his ribs. It was two years ago and a world away, back in the palace corridors, standing in front of a girl who just kept sticking pins and needles in his heart no matter how hard he tried to get along with her, until...
* * *
It should have been an unforgettable opening move.
In Raven's head, it probably was: an explosion of righteous fury, a devastating first strike that would knock him flat and prove, once and for all, that she was not weak, not a child, not something to be protected and put aside, and certainly not someone who would abruptly be struck dead in a war on the other side of the world.
She lunged.
Her fist came in straight for his chest, shoulders tight, eyes blazing, fire leaping eagerly to her knuckles.
It was… not actually that impressive.
Zuko's irritation moved faster than his fear. He snapped his arm up and backhanded her punch aside before it could land properly. Her fist whipped past his ribs instead of into them; the small burst of flame that came with it went skidding across the front of his coat.
The fabric smoked, then caught.
"Raven, stop it—wh—hey!" he yelped, patting frantically at his chest. A black-edged scorch blossomed over the rich red, curling the new gold embroidery. "That's my coat! My mom just got this for me!"
She froze for half a heartbeat. Just long enough to hear it.
My mom. He knew he shouldn't have said that, even if it should have been harmless.
Something ugly and bright went through her eyes like lightning. Her jaw clenched so hard the muscles in her cheeks jumped.
"Must be nice," she bit out, the words cracking. "At least you still have one!"
Fire snapped up around her hands before he could answer.
"Raven, that's not what I—" Zuko started, backing up, one palm already sweeping to redirect the next wild punch. It came in a sloppy straight line, more arm than shoulder, the little flare of fire on her knuckles barely singeing his sleeve as he brushed it aside.
He caught a proper look at her face then.
She was furious, yes. But underneath the rage her eyes were shining, on the edge of spilling over. Her mouth was twisted, not just in anger but in something awful and wounded that reminded him of the day she'd stood in the palace courtyard and listened to the news, refusing to cry for the first time in her life, while everyone else did it for her.
He hated that look. He hated putting it there. Even when he hadn't done anything, he felt like he must have.
"How could you taunt me about her?! You're the worst!" she shouted along with her flames.
"Raven, stop," he said, more firmly, continuing to give ground. His heels scuffed on the polished floor, carrying him backward down the hall. He batted aside a clumsy kick that sent a puff of fire skidding along the tiles. "You're not making any sense!"
"Shut up!" she snapped, voice thick. She kicked again, then spun into a punch, then another, each one flinging little bursts of flame that were more noise than danger. "You think I'm weak, you think I should just stay home and sew or something like dad, you think you're so much better just because—just because—!"
She was breathing hard already, each words dragged like it hurt. The hall echoed with the slap of their feet, the smack of redirected blows, the hiss of fire against stone. He kept backing up. He could have stopped her without much trouble, but every time she came close enough he saw that look again, like she was trying to burn straight through her own chest, and he didn't have the heart to stop her. Maybe she needed it. Maybe she had to hurt him to feel better, but she never seemed happy even then. Nothing ever made her happy anymore.
He couldn't hit her. Not like this.
Her attacks drove him until his shoulders brushed cold stone. He glanced back at the wall, then forward again at the girl trying to set him on fire.
"Nowhere left to run," Raven panted, triumphant and wild. "Is this weak?!" She somehow had no idea that he was clearly not really fighting back at all, and that too just made Zuko feel even more bad for her. "Why are you just... looking at me?!"
She drew her arm back for a final punch, every muscle taut, fire already gathering around her hand.
For a moment, just a moment, their gazes locked. Her eyes were huge, pupils blown, teeth bared. Underneath all of it, right at the bottom, he saw it.
Fear.
Not of him. Not really. Something deeper, messier, turned inward and then flung out at anything that got close. It looked, to young Zuko, for all the world like someone screaming for help in a language nobody understood, not even her.
Her fist started forward.
His hand moved.
He caught her wrist.
Her knuckles stopped a breath from his chest, and he wrenched her arm up, heating the ceiling and not further destroying his beleaguered attire.
Raven made a strangled, enraged sound and tried to wrench free. When that didn't work, she tried to hit him with her other hand. He caught that wrist too with his free one, shoved off the wall, and turned, using his weight to push her back the way she'd driven him.
He didn't think about it. Training and stubbornness did it for him: short, sharp kicks that sent controlled bursts of flame at her feet and shoulders, forcing her to step where he wanted; tight, economical punches that never quite landed but demanded all her attention just to block or bend away. He wasn't amazing, but she was worse. The fire he used wasn't huge, but it was hotter than hers, more focused. He was used to sparring Azula. Compared to that, this was…
Well. Harder than it should have been, because his chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with bending.
Raven's flurry stumbled. Her footwork fell apart as she scrambled to keep up, breath going ragged. She got quieter as she was forced to focus, the shouted accusations falling away between grunts of effort and little gasps when a near-miss singed a sleeve or skirt hem.
The corridor narrowed around them: wall, floor, heat, two children throwing fire because they didn't know how else to get through to each other.
Zuko barely registered when her back hit the opposite wall. He just knew he had her there, and if he let her go she was going to explode again, and if she exploded again he didn't know if he could take it. He felt like he'd rather just let her hurt him and maybe realize she shouldn't have... but he pushed her wrist up, pinning it above her head against the stone. His other forearm came up across her throat, firm enough to hold her, not enough to choke. There wasn't any fire left to accost each other with.
They both stood there, panting.
"Stop," Zuko said, voice shaking now. "Just… stop. Please, Raven. Please."
Her fists twitched against his grip. He tightened his hold.
"I'm not—" his voice cracked with anger and embarrassment and something rawer, "I'm not the one who won't let you go to the stupid tournament. That's your father. I'm not the one who says you're 'unseemly' or 'unladylike' or whatever." Her eyes flinched at the words. He pushed on. "I never said you're a bad firebender. I said I barely think I'm good enough. We're just... still kids!"
She let out an involuntary little huff that might have been a broken laugh if it hadn't hurt so much.
He swallowed. The lump in his throat scraped like it was made of stone. "Just," he blurted, louder than he meant to as he twisted up, eyes watering, "stop being so mean to me! Please!"
Her eyes went wide.
"I didn't do anything to you!" he went on, the words tumbling out now, rough and unpolished. "I'm trying, okay? I'm trying to be nice. I was trying when you screamed at me in the garden, and when you kicked me in the shin because I said hello wrong, and when you threw that vase because you didn't like the flowers in it and it almost hit me in the face!"
"Nobody told you to stand there," she muttered, but it was automatic, weak, almost silent by the end like she knew it was stupid before she could finish.
He ignored it. "I know your mom died," Zuko said, the words softening but not backing down. "I know it hurts. But I didn't do that. I can't fix that. I just—" his lip wobbled, and he hated it, "I just want you to stop acting like I did!"
They stared at each other, both of them breathing hard.
Something in Raven's expression faltered.
Up close like this he could see every tiny tremor: the flutter of her lashes, the twitch in her jaw, the way her shoulders were hunched like she was waiting to be hit and didn't even realize it. Her mouth opened.
"You said I was weak," she tried again, but the fight had gone out of the words. "You said I should—know my place, and I—"
He flinched. "I said you're weaker than me right now," he said defensively. "And I shouldn't have said it like that. I was mad. But that's not the same as thinking you can't ever be strong. You're… you're… annoying. And stubborn. And you don't listen. But you're not hopeless. You're comparing yourself to me or... spirits, Azula, but like... Raven, you're better than most kids our age! We're not the only other benders in the world..."
Her brows knit like she was trying to follow a very complicated, very unpleasant math problem.
She inhaled. Stopped. Tried again.
"I'm mad because—" Raven began, then cut herself off, eyes darting away. "Because you get to go and I don't and it's not fair, and because you… you still have your mom, and I don't, and every time you say 'my mom' I feel like I can't breathe, and—" she made a frustrated noise, shoulders shaking, "and because everything feels wrong, and I don't know... I'm so mad all the time, Zuko..."
She sounded less like she was accusing him and more like she was discovering it in real time, horrified.
Her gaze dropped to his collar, to the scorched edge of red fabric near his shoulder. "I… I didn't mean to ruin your coat," she muttered, very small. "Not really."
Zuko blinked. His arm loosened a fraction against her throat.
"I don't…" Raven's voice shrank. "But... you did—I'm mad at you because—" and she halted again, eyes dancing in thought. "I just—am. You upset me, I can't think straight, there was a reason I just can't remember." Her fingers uncurled slowly against the wall, all the tension draining out of them. She tried several times to look him in the eye and failed, before letting out a whimper she tried to stifle. Barely audible, she uttered, "I'm sorry."
It came out almost as a question.
Zuko let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It left him feeling hollow and shaky. His arms burned from holding her, his chest ached, and there was a weird sting behind his eyes that had nothing to do with smoke.
"Okay," he said, and it came out rough. "I mean… you're—" he started like he was going to scold her, but what even would be the point. "Just... okay. It's okay now." And he got a worried look she couldn't make herself turn her head up to see. "Right...?"
He stepped back, letting go of her wrist. His forearm dropped from her collarbone. Freed, Raven's arms stayed where they were for a second, like she didn't quite trust them to move yet. Then they lowered, hanging limp at her sides.
She stared at the floor between them. Her shoulders hunched inward, as if she could fold herself small enough to disappear. The fight had gone out of her completely, leaving an uncomfortable, bewildered girl who looked like she wanted to disappear.
The silence stretched.
Zuko scrubbed a hand over his face, then glanced toward the end of the hall where light slanted in from the palace gardens.
"Do you…" he began, stopped, then tried again. "Do you want to go feed the turtleducks or something?"
Her head snapped up, disbelief and confusion warring on her face.
"We don't have to talk about… any of this. We can just… throw bread at birds." He shrugged, but really he meant it. He just wanted it all to go away forever and never come back. He just wanted to get along with her again. "Like it never happened, right? Everything else too." And when she didn't immediately respond, he gave a weak, "please?"
Raven made a noise that was not quite a word, more of a tentative "mmm," and gave the smallest nod.
She pushed off the wall, shoulders still tucked in, eyes carefully not meeting his. When he started toward the far doors, he heard her fall into step a half pace behind him, quiet as a shadow.
Like a very sulky, slightly singed, firebreathing puppy with her tail between her legs.
He did not mention the coat again. It was in the past, or it never happened, whatever it took to get her to just calm down.
Zuko blinked up at the metal ceiling of his cabin until it resolved back into dull painted plates instead of palace stone.
The ship's heartbeat hummed under his back. His ribs throbbed in time. He could still feel the way her wrists had trembled under his hands, the rasp of her breath against his forearm, the way her voice had gone thin and lost when she'd admitted she didn't know why she was so angry.
"She couldn't ask," he muttered to himself. "She never could. She just… picked fights until someone stopped her."
On some level, he knew that. Had known it. That she'd been so scared after her mother died that she'd pushed everyone away as hard as she could, so if they went it would be because she'd made them, not because the world simply reached out and took them.
He rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes, squeezing them shut. The memory sat in his chest like a hot stone.
"She really thought I was out to get her," he said, the words almost soundless in the tiny room.
Shame flickered, thin and sour, part of him knew very well that twelve-year-old Zuko had done better than he was doing now.
"Come on, Zuko," he told the ceiling. "What did you do that actually worked?"
He sifted through it again: backing up, refusing to hit her, losing his temper, finally hitting back, pinning her, yelling, not yelling, offering turtleducks like a coward's truce. None of it felt like a neat recipe he could just repeat now, years later, out in the world where their fights involved real fire and real stakes and armies instead of empty hallways and scorched new coats.
He let out a long breath that pulled unkindly at his bandages.
"I still don't get it," Zuko admitted, aloud, to nobody. "She stopped, but why?"
The ceiling, predictably, had no helpful suggestions.
* * *
The city of Omashu rose out of the mountain in stacked layers of stone and houses, carved terraces and steep roads, the whole place looking like it had been built by a giant who'd gotten bored halfway through a staircase to nowhere, and people moved in later. Normally, from the air, it felt… playful. Like somewhere you could glide and laugh and pretend the war was just a bad story adults told.
Today it was weapons, armor, shouts and fear.
Below, horns blared. Bells rang. People ran with bundles clutched to their chests, eyes wide, mouths open around prayers. Earth Kingdom soldiers crowded the outer tiers, bracing behind barricades, hauling stone into fresh defensive angles, shouting orders that sounded brave even when the voices cracked.
Aang angled down hard, a cut through the wind that made his stomach float. He could still feel even at that distance Arzayanagi like heat coming off a kiln, and it scared the hell out of him. People crowded the walls, took defensive positions against the Fire Nation. But he knew they were going the wrong way, and they were moments away from death if he couldn't turn them back.
Aang didn't have a better word for it than awake. He couldn't recall why he even recognized Arzayanagi, but he knew it had never, ever been like *this* before.
He skimmed over a wall, dipped between rooftops, and aimed straight for the palace at the top, because if he was right, the difference between "Omashu survives" and "Everyone dies" was going to be measured in minutes.
Guards shouted as he landed on a balcony and sprinted inside.
"Stop!" one of them barked. "Fire Nation spy!"
Aang threw his hands up without slowing. "No! No, I'm not! I'm not with them, I'm the Avatar, I'm here to warn you, please!"
A pair of earthbenders planted their feet and yanked their arms up. The floor bucked. Stone started to rise in a wall.
Aang didn't even think. His breath snapped out of him in a sharp gust, a clean cut of air that threw the earthbenders back and right off their feet. Dust puffed. Pebbles rained.
He shot through the remaining gap before their shock could turn into a second attempt. "Sorry! Really sorry!"
"Get him!" someone yelled behind him.
"Do NOT get him," a new voice bellowed from ahead, echoing down the corridor like it had found the building's bones and decided to use them as a drum. "That is a royal order."
Aang slid on both feet with glider staff in both hands on a gust of air that planted him right in front of the throne, where a wizened old wild-eyed man with an entirely incompatibly well muscled body was holding out his large, weathered hands, not at Aang, but to the sides to halt his own soldiers from rushing in and skewering the poor boy.
He wasn't pretending to be feeble today. There was no wobbling old-man act, no harmless smile to lure you into underestimating him. His stance was planted. His shoulders were square. His hands were stained with dust of much defensive work already done that morning, and the stone under his feet looked subtly shifted, like the palace itself was braced and waiting for his command.
He took one look at Aang and said, "Well, Aang. Took you long enough."
Aang stared, panting. "What?"
Bumi snapped his fingers at the guards. "Hold. Everyone hold it. He's no threat, this boy is the Avatar."
The guards froze. "The Avatar? No way!" one breathed out far louder than necessary.
Aang held up his hands anyway, desperate to be believed. "I can prove it, I can, I can do this, see?" He spun a quick airbending circle, a tight cyclone that made banners flutter and loose papers whirl up like startled birds. "Airbending! Definitely the Avatar!" he frantically added.
Bumi waved a hand like he was swatting a fly. "Aang, knock it off, you're scattering the defense plans," he said impatiently as he snatched a fluttering parchment out of the air. Although he narrowed his gaze at whatever was on it and said. "Or I suppose this is the lunch menu, but we already ordered. Either way, I suppose none of our plans accounted for you skidding in here a hundred years late!" He grinned and had himself a kooky laugh. "I'd loved to have messed with you, Aang, but the Fire Nation has gone and mucked it all up." He sighed and deflated a bit. "It's me, Bumi. The fools actually let me be king!"
Aang couldn't help but have a giant smile. "Bumi?! Oh, wow! Um—but seriously!" And the elation lasted barely a breath before his heart was pounding so hard again he could hear it. "You have to evacuate the side of the city facing the Fire Nation! To the other side or something, I dunno, but everyone is going to die if you don't!"
Bumi's eyes narrowed just a little. Not disbelief. "What do you know?"
Aang rushed on before Bumi could interrupt. "There's a firebender with Arzayanagi. It's like, it looks like a spear. I know it looks like one, but it's… more like a prison. For spirits? Very, very, VERY angry spirits! They're way more awake than they should be, I can feel it! Something really bad must have happened, I don't know... I just know if he uses it, thousands of people are going to die!" His voice strangled and cracked at the end, both the terror of failing to save them and the guilt of feeling like it was his fault in the first place.
Bumi's face went very still.
Earthbenders and soldiers all still around waiting for a command from the king gasped and stared in horror at Aang's words, but many looked uncertain, and there were suspicious whispers playing tag among the loose formation of men halted in their tracks while chasing Aang.
"You're sure," Bumi said.
Aang swallowed hard. "Yes."
Bumi didn't argue. He didn't laugh. He didn't make answer riddles or do any strange silly things, he didn't even make him hop on one foot for a moment just to say he tested the boy. He simply clapped his hands once, sharp enough to cut through the room.
"Messengers!" he roared.
Servants appeared like they'd been waiting in the walls.
Bumi spoke with the speed of an avalanche. "Full retreat to the far side of the city. Now. Pull the defenders off the outer wall tiers. Clear the middle rings first. Make it loud. Make it urgent. I want every civilian moving like their hair is on fire and the wells are all on the far side."
The servant's eyes went huge. "Sire, the outer tiers are our—"
"Not today," Bumi snapped. "Today they are a death trap."
The servant bolted.
Aang stepped forward, breath catching. "I can help. I can move people faster. I can… I can carry them."
"Good," Bumi said. Then his expression flickered, quick and strange, like he'd almost smiled. "Try not to drop anyone I like."
Aang didn't wait for further permission. He sprinted to the window, leapt, and caught the air. His glider snapped open, the world dropping away beneath him.
He flew.
He flew like he was late to stop the end of the world.
Down in the mid-tiers, a group of soldiers were still setting up a barricade, stubborn and brave, and completely doomed if they stayed. Aang swept down, landed, and threw his arms wide.
"Retreat!" he shouted. "King's orders! Move!"
They stared like he was a hallucination.
Aang grabbed a soldier by the shoulder, gentler than the panic in him wanted to be. "Please. There's no time."
Several men looked ready to accost him when they heard horns blowing in a sequence they understood. They looked to see men rushing down from the palace, shouting and too far to hear, but it must have been obvious what was going on, because they finally moved, shouting for others, dragging what supplies they could carry, leaving behind the neat lines of defense that had made Omashu feel invincible.
Aang darted from street to street, roof to roof. He scooped crying toddlers into their parents' arms. He yanked carts out of bottlenecks with gusts of air. He lifted an entire cluster of people on a pillow of wind just long enough to hop them over a clogged staircase that had become a choke point for fleeing civilians.
Everywhere, the city's sound changed.
Less stubborn shouting. More urgent rushing. Less "hold the line." More "move, move, MOVE."
"Wait, why are we leaving the defenses?" One soldier challenged, seeming at a loss and looking to the Fire Nation army beyond the city, but one of those messengers shouted. "King Bumi's orders! Fire Nation has some superweapon! Stay here and you're dead!" That got the man moving after one shocked expression, and Aang breathed with relief. It seemed Bumi was taken very seriously by his people, so he didn't have to do much convincing.
Aang rose again, circling higher, scanning.
And then he saw it.
The natural stone bridge that led toward Omashu's main approach was a pale taut ribbon over the valley, a perfect path for bottlenecking an army, but only one lone figure stood at its far end.
Even at this distance, Aang could feel him—Lord Arza—like a weight. Tall. Still. Armor catching the sun in sharp edges. Waves or spiritual pressure magnified his presence to Aang a thousand fold or more. It was held upright like a standard, pointing to the sun nearly at the top of the sky.
Arzayanagi.
The Fire Nation army wasn't right behind him. They had peeled back, leaving a wide empty ring around the man on the bridge as if caltrops lined the dirt.
Aang's stomach turned.
He dipped lower, passing a rooftop where a fluffy white cat crouched, ears flat, tail puffed. It was clearly on edge, but knew not where to run.
Aang almost didn't stop. Almost.
Then the pressure in his ribs spiked and he knew he had seconds, not minutes.
"Sorry," he whispered to the cat, and scooped it up mid-glide. The cat made a furious noise and dug claws into his sleeve. Aang didn't care. Better his sleeve than the cat's entire life, and he set it down on a quick glider turn to scamper off into the shadows of the far side of the city.
He soared toward the far side tiers, scanning for stragglers. It seemed earthbenders were getting people out with emergency use of their delivery system, a bumpy ride but a quick way to move a lot of people, but it was hard to just find everyone.
There.
An old lady, hunched and confused, standing in the open street as people had already all streamed past her. She turned in slow circles like she'd lost her way.
Aang's throat tightened. "Hey! Grandma! Move!"
The old lady blinked at him, not understanding. "Have you seen my kitty cat?" she said with a dopey smile and most of her teeth.
Aang breathed out with frustration, but dove, and wrapped an arm around the lady's shoulders. She yelped, but Aang hauled her up into the air like he was stealing her from the clutches of death itself.
Then the bridge lit. Not flame, just light. Even in the midday sun it glowed far brighter.
Something had opened the prison gates. The inmates were flooding out...
The air around its spearhead shimmered. The spear's tip shed sparks that didn't fall. They hung suspended, as if they wanted to watch the show. Even from his distance, Aang heard the sound.
"AR-ZAY-A, AR-ZAY-A, AR-ZAY-A!" A thin, rising keening, like a chorus of voices trying to scream loud enough to be heard from the other side of a thick steel wall. As he set the old lady down to be ushered off by a helpful soldier, it didn't seem anyone else could hear it.
The man on the bridge moved, lifted the spear with one hand as if to throw it like a javelin, slow at first, like a ritual. Like he was presenting it to the world and waiting for its permission to go on. Then he shifted his stance, planted his feet, and drew it back.
Aang's mouth went dry. He couldn't make his lungs work right.
No one else reacted as he did, because only he could see them.
They poured out of the spear like superheated glowing orange smoke made of people.
Hundreds. Hundreds and hundreds of them.
They weren't fully solid. They were burning outlines, vaguely human-shaped, their faces indistinct, their bodies wreathed in flame that didn't drift upward but clung to them like rage. Each formed a spear of pure fire, glowing so bright the air around the tips turned white.
Nobody else reacted to the wraiths. They could see the fire spears, though.
Aang watched an Earth Kingdom soldier look up, eyes widening, as if he'd suddenly realized the sky was full of knives.
Lord Arza thrust forward.
Every spirit thrust with him.
In perfect sync, as if they were the same body wearing a hundred burning skins.
The spears launched.
Not thrown like javelins. Fired, like a volley.
They screamed through the air in a high, tearing whistle that made Aang's teeth clench so hard his jaw ached. Trails of flame carved arcs across the sky, curving toward the middle rings of the city like a meteor shower with intent.
Aang's mind went cold in one sharp slice. He looked down and saw, impossibly, one more figure in the target zone.
A young boy of five or six, standing on a balcony and calling, "Mama! Mama, where are you?!"
"No," Aang whispered.
He threw his glider into a dive towards certain death, a nearby solider shouting "wait!" as he reached out, but there was no time.
The spears kept coming.
They were far away, but fast as arrows launched many times farther.
Aang buffeted against the air hard, bent it into a bulwark, a rushing wall of compressed wind that risked a brutal crash if he was slightly off. The air screamed around him, and for a second it felt like it would tear his clothes off. He dropped, half fell, half crashed, boots skidding on stone as he caught the boy mid-roll and hopped, one foot off the railing and he was flying.
Aang had to squint from the spearlights, feeling the heat curl his monk robes as he held the frightened boy on his other side, and his still open eye danced for a path that wouldn't put him at the end of a flaming arc. The shrieking whistle of the coming death was so loud he couldn't even hear the boy's screams.
The first spear struck.
The explosion wasn't just loud. It was a spiritual shockwave.
Aang felt it through his bones. The ground jumped. The air punched him in the chest, and threw his glide off by a dozen feet. But he was a natural, and used that pressure to boost himself higher. A second bloom of orange-white fire blossomed outward, and the stone around the impact turned black in an instant, like it had been branded. Nothing in its radius remained.
Then the third. Fourth. Then so many it stopped being individual and became a roar.
Hundreds of them ripped across the city, each turning one or more buildings not even to rubble but mere soot and shadows.
They slammed into the middle tiers in a pattern that was almost careful, almost respectful to avoid the lower defensive structures, which somehow made it worse. Like the destruction of residences had been planned with a ruler.
Whole neighborhoods vanished. Not burned over time. Not collapsing slowly. They simply became nothing as if the stroke of brush painted over them with black.
Roof tiles spun like shrapnel miles into the air. Structures not directly caught were brushed aside like the papers he flung in the throne room, or crushed to thin sheets of rubble, caught between blasts. Aang was high in the air, his feet feeling the scorching hell below, but he had to twist suddenly.
"Hold on!" he shouted as half a wooden bridge covered in flames flew up at them.
Aang's barrier of air stripped away the fire, this feet touched the solid planks as they soared higher, and ten-thousand fragments of wood and stone struck the other side in a burst that would have ripped him and the boy to pieces instantly.
And the sound of the spirits, layered under the explosions, made his stomach twist. A hundred burning throats screaming through one spear, voices fading but clawing to stay as long as they could.
"AR-ZAY-A! AR-zay-a..." he heard them chant, and for some reason it felt like they were saying it to him specifically.
When the last spear struck, the roar faded into crackling. A sick, stunned quiet spread across the city as smoke rolled upward in heavy columns, and the middle rings smoldered like a wound.
It would have been a graveyard of thousands.
Aang knew it with a certainty that made him nauseous.
If Bumi hadn't listened. If the retreat had been slower. If Aang had hesitated. Everyone would have died...
Aang held the clutching boy to him as he pushed off the now falling bridge and had to spin around just a few bits of flying stone as he breathed out and soared to the safety of the far side. He lowered his arms as he landed and let the boy onto his feet, fell to his knees, and just breathed deeply for a moment. His shoulders felt like they weighed as much as Appa. He stared at the blackened gap in the city where homes had been, where kitchens had been, where children's toys and grandmothers' chairs and market stalls had been.
Only ash remained.
Behind him, the old lady he'd carried began to sob, soft and broken, incoherently trying to ask what was going on, but then stopped when the white fluffy cat jumped into her arms. "Oh, there you are! Such a fright! Bad kitty!" And she was all smiles again like she hadn't noticed the explosions.
Aang swallowed, throat tight. He looked back toward the bridge.
Lord Arza stood with the spear grounded again, the glow waning. The Fire Nation forces stayed well behind him, like they were giving the spear room to throw its weight around.
The spirits had sank back into Arzayanagi, one by one, like embers being pulled into a furnace. The air pressure eased and it was almost normal again.
Aang felt the weapon's hunger recede, but not disappear.
It wasn't finished.
It would do it again.
It's blind vengeance would just keep striking until it was satisfied, and that day might never come.
And Aang recoiled at the mere thought of the man, Lord Arza, deciding on his own that Omashu should burn, with no regard for the people at all. Aang's hands curled into fists at his sides, shaking. He didn't fully understand why he could see what he saw. Why the spear felt like it had a cord tied straight into his ribs. But he understood the one thing that mattered.
He could not let Lord Arza keep it.
Not for another day.
Behind him, stone groaned and rubble cracked.
King Bumi popped right out of the ground with a young couple he must have saved, and set them down to tremble. He stroked soot from his beard—apparently an even closer save than Aang's—eyes locked on the distance where Lord Arza casually strode away, back to his army, like he hadn't just attempted a one-man genocide.
He stared at the smoking scar through Omashu's middle tiers.
Then he exhaled.
"Right," Bumi said quietly. "That's enough of that."
He turned on his heel with the abrupt decisiveness of a boulder choosing downhill.
"Bring the flag!" he roared to his guards.
"Which one...?" a man wondered.
"The white one, obviously! And bring my best sandals!"
Aang's head snapped toward him. "You're surrendering?"
Bumi didn't look back. "Yeah, no thanks to any more Arzayanagi," he barked. "I can rebuild stone. I cannot rebuild people, and we don't have much city left to retreat to if that maniac does it again."
Aang remained on the terrace as Bumi left, staring at the distant figure on the bridge, at the spear that had just turned a city into a warning to the whole Earth Kingdom.
His heart steadied, panic drained and cold determination filled his chest.
He watched Arzayanagi's fading glow and made a promise to the sky.
By tomorrow, before the sun's next zenith, Lord Arza would never wield it again.