Chapter 13: A Light in the Darkness

I was forty-five years old the year that Aang died.

Aang had his reasons for traveling less those last few years, and remaining more at the south pole. In large part it had to do with my mother. But it had not escaped my notice, on the occasions that I saw him, that he also no longer had the energy he once did. In some ways, my father had always seemed eternally young in my eyes, and he still didn't look even his physical age, yet he had been alive for one hundred and sixty-five years. He was, whether I wanted to admit it or not, a very old man.

And that spring, his health took a turn for the worse.

In his last letter to me, he had complained of a chest cold. I rarely remembered him ever being sick before, but he hadn't seemed concerned, and so neither had I been. But a few weeks later, my mother wrote to me that he wasn't getting better, and none of the healers had been able do anything for him. She said she had asked Kya and Tenzin to come, and wanted me to join them as soon as I could. She didn't say why, not directly, but I knew as I set out for the south pole that we were all being called to say our last goodbyes.

It was Kya who met me coming off the ship. She was dressed in the shorter style parka and trousers that many of the younger women of the water tribe had taken up, and I had exchanged my traditional fire sage robes for warmer attire, but each of us was decked out in the proper blue and red, respectively. She hugged me tighter than usual.

I had expected to find a somber deathbed vigil when we got back to the house, but to my surprise Aang was sitting up in bed with a wooden lap desk, absorbed in writing. My mother and Tenzin were seated in chairs on either side of him, though my mother of course got up quickly to greet me. "Now everyone's here," she exclaimed, holding fast to my hand.

Tenzin, who had remained seated, met my eye and nodded solemnly.

My mother guided me over to the chair she had just vacated, then sat on the foot of the bed herself. Kya went to Tenzin's side and rested one elbow on top of his head - then leaned on the back of his chair instead after he shoved her off with an irritated huff.

"Dad," I said, looking at the papers strewn over his lap. "What's all this?"

Aang set down his pen with a sigh. "Memories," he said, his voice low and weak. He cleared his throat and flexed his hand, which must have been cramped from writing. "History, old stories, that sort of thing." I knew he had been working on his memoirs for the past several years, and he must have been rushing to finish them now. He leaned back against the pillows propping him up, looking tired and thin, and turned towards me, reaching out for my hand. "It's good to see you, Bumi."

Tenzin was already collecting the various papers and writing implements. "You should rest, Dad," he said, arranging the papers in a neat stack. "I'll work on sorting these." Then, with a pointed look at my mother, he swept out of the room.

Though he was still holding on to my hand, Aang's eyes were half-lidded. He did need to rest, clearly. After we exchanged a few more simple words, I left his bedside, with Kya close behind me.

"Has Tenzin been…" I began when my sister and I were alone in the hall.

Kya nodded in answer to my unfinished question. "You know what he's like."

And I did know. Since our adolescent parting of ways, I had seen my brother in person a handful of times, always with the same cool distance between us. Tenzin had been a serious child, but it saddened me to see how he had grown into such a dour adult. Still, part of me had hoped that this was only his resentment towards me, and that with the rest of the family he would be different. It seemed I had hoped in vain.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

Kya pointed down the hall. "In the study." When I started in that direction, she grabbed me by the elbow. "He's organizing Dad's memoirs," she said pointedly. When I showed no sign of taking her point, she sighed and explained. "Dad's writing down everything he can remember about the Air Nomads."

"Oh," I said, looking at the closed study door. Aang was using up the last of his strength to leave a written record of the Air Nomad culture - for the man who would soon be the last of the Air Nomads. There had been times, in my younger years, when I had wished I was a nonbender, or a waterbender, and I had certainly wished I was Aang's son by blood. I had never specifically wished I was an airbender, nor did I then. But I did wish that Tenzin didn't have to face that alone.

But, Air Nomad or not, I was still his older brother.

Pulling my arm out of Kya's grip, I continued down the hall and knocked on the study door. There was a faint noise of acknowledgement from the other side, so I let myself in. Kya did not follow me, but she didn't try to stop me again, either.

Tenzin was standing over Aang's desk, sorting the freshly written pages among several stacks that I assumed were categorized. His brow was furrowed in concentration, making him look even more serious - so different from Aang, even though the resemblance between them had been heightened ever since Tenzin had received his tattoos. As I watched, he placed two pages on top of one stack, then picked up a pencil and jotted something down on a list of his own notes. "What do you want?" he asked curtly.

"I don't even get a hello from my only brother?" I replied.

"Hello," Tenzin said, glancing at me briefly. "Now if that's all, I've got work to do here…"

"With Dad's memoirs, I know," I said, approaching the side of the desk and tilting my head to read some of the visible pages. The one on top of the pile closest to me contained the familiar mantra of the four winds. "I remember him teaching me that," I said, tapping the page and smiling fondly.

Tenzin gave me a skeptical look over the top of the papers in his hand. "Really?"

"Yeah," I said, picking up the page and holding it out for him to see. "I used to do midday prayers with the Air Acolytes all the time." But that had been years and years ago, when my fire had been tamped down, and Tenzin had only been five years old when I ran away from that pressure. "I guess you wouldn't remember that."

Tenzin's expression softened ever so slightly. He tossed the papers he was sorting down on the seat of the desk chair and took the page with the mantra from my hand. "Dad was only twelve," he said, eyes roaming over the characters written in a shaky hand. "He'd only learned the mantras, really, not the full language, and hardly any of the script…"

And of course, it went without saying, there weren't many other records left of the ancient Air Nomad tongue, beyond what limited knowledge Aang possessed.

"The Sun Warrior language is similar," I pointed out. With Kisai as our Great Sage, we were using the language extensively by that point, and I was as fluent as anyone at the temple. "The script is different, but if we did a comparative study, I'm sure we could reconstruct a lot of the grammar, and some of the vocabulary."

Tenzin forcefully replaced the mantra page on top of its pile. "That's not the point."

"Tenzin," I said softly, as my brother snatched up the stack of papers from the chair and resumed reading over them, breathing heavily through his nose. "I'm just trying to help."

"That's not the help I wanted," Tenzin muttered under his breath.

"Well," I said, resting my hands on my hips. "What sort of help did you want?"

Tenzin looked surprised - perhaps that I had heard him, or perhaps simply that I had pressed the question. He seemed to struggle with something inside himself, but eventually he let out a frustrated sigh and sat down in Aang's desk chair. "What I said, years ago," he began, idly thumbing the edges of the stack of papers in his hand. "When I said I wished you were never born. I shouldn't have said that."

I was surprised Tenzin even remembered saying that. I hadn't thought about it in years - the frustrated words of a hurt child, long ago forgiven. "I know you didn't mean it," I offered.

"That's true," Tenzin agreed, pulling one sheet out of the stack and adding it to the pile next to the four winds mantra. "But what I did mean, what I really wanted at the time…" He set the rest of the papers down on the crowded desktop, and leaned forward, pressing his fingertips to his temples. "I wanted a different you," he said quietly. "I wanted an older brother who was an airbender like me."

Well, feeling isolated from one's siblings because of one's bending was certainly something I could understand. I rested one hand on his shoulder, and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry you're the only airbender. But you're not alone."

Tenzin didn't say anything in reply. But after a moment, he reached across with his opposite hand, laid it on top of mine on his shoulder, and gently squeezed back.

Then he cleared his throat, business-like. "Here," he said, picking up the pile of papers with the mantra page on top and handing the whole thing to me. "This is what Dad's written recently about the language. Have a look at it."

"Gladly," I replied, taking the papers from him. Tenzin got back to work sorting, and I took a seat in one of the two armchairs at the back of the room, which meant I was facing the door of the study for the first time since I had entered the room.

Hanging in the alcove next to the door, above a low tea table and cushions, was Azula's painting, in all its vibrant color.

The next few days passed. Kya, Tenzin, and I would take turns sitting with my father when he was awake, while my mother stayed by his side near continuously. Most of his waking hours, he spent writing, sometimes thinking out loud, or having us ask questions to prompt his memory. Most of his focus was on the first twelve years of his life, and everything he knew about Air Nomad culture and history, but there were stories from after his awakening from the iceberg that he wanted to set down as well.

I was sitting with him the morning he wrote about his first visit to the Sun Warriors during the war, with Zuko. My mother quietly excused herself from the room during the recounting of that particular tale.

Later that afternoon, as Kya and I helped Tenzin sort through that day's writing once again, my brother came to one of the last pages, frowned as he read it, and then glanced conspicuously at me where I sat in the armchair again.

"Did he write more about the language?" I asked, setting down the notes I was making about case markers in the mantras. The Air Nomad tongue had quickly become my area of focus.

"No," Tenzin replied. He moved as if to toss the page in the wastepaper basket next to the desk, then thought better of it. "It looks like the start of a letter."

Kya, sitting cross-legged on the floor, looked up from the pages of Air Nomad history she had spread before her and was attempting to put into chronological order. "Who's Dad writing to?" she asked. My mother had already sent letters to Sokka and Toph, who were on their way to the south pole, and of course all of us in the immediate family were already there.

Tenzin didn't answer, just set the paper drifting towards me with a flick of his wrist. I snatched it out of the air. It was clearly a draft letter, unfinished and full of crossed out lines. But my eyes immediately landed on the salutation at the top of the page. "It's addressed to Zuko," I answered my sister's question.

"Oh," Kya said thoughtfully, resting her hands on her knees. "I hadn't thought of that."

Tenzin shrugged. "I don't know why Dad would be thinking of him now…"

"Because," Kya cut him off, getting to her feet. "They were friends once, you know." She came and read the fragmentary draft over my shoulder. "But if he didn't finish the letter…"

I looked back at Tenzin. "Should I say something to him about it?"

Something in my brother's eyes went cold, closed off. "I don't see what good it will do," he said curtly. "But that's your decision." Then he went back to his work. I thought I understood. Zuko was my father, not his, after all. That would always be what set me apart from him and Kya.

But that fact had never affected only me.

I did speak to Aang once again that evening, going to his bedside just as my mother was clearing away the half-eaten bowl of soup she had brought him for dinner. She gave me a tired smile as she left the room, patient and long-suffering, but still so much fuller than those broken smiles from the years of her exile.

"She knows she's losing me," Aang said in his weak voice, after my mother had closed the door and left the two of us alone. I took the chair she had just vacated by his bedside. "But she's grateful for every moment we have left together." He reached for me feebly, and I leaned forward to grasp his hand. "I'm grateful, too," he went on. "There was a time, you know, when I thought I might never see her again…" The light of the long spring day was just beginning to fade, and the lines on his face stood out in sharp contrast as he squeezed his eyes shut. His grip on my hand was surprisingly strong.

"Dad," I said softly. "Do you want me to write to him?"

Aang didn't have to ask who I meant. "I spoke to your mother about it," he said, lifting his other hand, with a slight tremor, to rub at his eyes. "I suppose it's now or never."

That was not an enthusiastic reply. I shifted in my chair, resting my other hand on top of his. "Do you want him to come?"

"No," Aang replied bluntly, then swallowed hard. "But I've put this off long enough." His hand fell from his face, and he opened his eyes, turning to face me. "Would you write to him? That might make it...a little easier."

"Of course," I said with a resolute nod. "Anything I can do to help."

Sokka arrived first, and Toph a few days after him. She stayed with Sokka at his house, where there was more space, though both of them spent most of their time with Aang, sharing stories and old jokes as lifelong friends are wont to do. It was admittedly something of a distraction from Aang's writing, which Tenzin was not happy about, until Aang quietly told him he had little energy left to write, anyway. Preserving the Air Nomad culture for posterity would have to be Tenzin's task, now.

Zuko replied to my letter to let us know he was on his way from Ember Island, and his ship made it to the south pole in record time. By mutually agreed upon arrangement, I was of course the one who would escort Zuko from his ship to the house - Chief Kotak would not greet him, nor would any other member of the tribe - while Kya, Sokka, and Toph accompanied my mother back to Sokka's house for the duration of the visit. Tenzin would wait with Aang until Zuko's arrival.

Zuko and I did not speak much as we walked through the town. Children playing in the streets stopped and stared, and men and women going about their business looked away and gave us a wide berth, but Zuko kept his eyes fixed ahead, intent on his goal, his head held upright and shoulders squared with determination. No amount of shame would keep him from doing what needed to be done, this time.

I ushered him into the room where Aang lay, trying not to heed the feeling like I was bringing a man before his doom - though I was not sure whether Zuko or Aang would be facing the greater test, here at the end.

Aang was, thankfully, awake when we came in, though after only a quick glance at Zuko his eyes hardened and fixed on the far wall. Tenzin rose from his chair at the side of the bed, ready to leave the room - he and I had both expected to leave the two of them to talk in private. But Aang lifted one hand, bidding him to stay, then met my eye and gestured for me to come closer. "Both of my sons should be here," he said pointedly.

I glanced uncertainly at Zuko, but he only nodded in agreement, so I crossed the room and stood at Aang's other side. Tenzin, frowning at Zuko, did not sit back down, so I remained standing as well, hands clasped behind my back. My brother and I together, flanking our father, and Zuko facing all three of us.

Silence hung heavily on the room. Zuko waited - he too was old by then, of course, his hair mostly gray, and the sharp lines of his face and scar softened with age and wrinkles, but he stood straight and tall, with a strength that Aang no longer possessed. Propped up in bed with pillows, barely able to hold his own head up for any extended period of time, Aang was a pathetic sight by contrast, made only more so by the sour expression he had been unable to hide since Zuko had walked through the door.

I thought, for a moment, that might be it, that Aang might stare Zuko down in silence and finally send him away, having come all this way for nothing. But then Zuko stepped forward to the side of the bed I stood on, and lowered himself determinedly if unsteadily onto trembling knees that further betrayed his own age. If he could have pressed his forehead to the floor, I suspect he would have, but as it was contented himself to bow his head. "Aang," he said, with no pretense of formality. "Thank you for letting me be here."

"You might not want to thank me too soon," Aang said darkly, staring past him to the wall again. "I haven't made up my mind yet what to say to you."

"Even so," Zuko replied, unflinching, though he left it at that.

Aang looked down at Zuko's hunched, kneeling form. "Sozin and Roku," he said slowly. "They ended as bitter enemies. You remember."

Zuko's head bowed a little bit lower. "But they had started out as friends."

"You and I started as enemies," Aang went on in the same tone. "I had once thought we would end as friends."

Zuko's shoulders sank ever so slightly, but when he spoke again it was not without hope. "I thought so, too."

Aang gave a definite hmph, perhaps dismissive of this bygone friendship - or perhaps just clearing his throat. "Tell me, Zuko," he said, eyes narrowing. "Do you still believe we are free to choose our own destiny?"

Zuko did not hesitate. "I do."

"In that case," Aang replied, sitting up a little straighter, as much as he could. "What sort of destiny have you chosen for yourself?"

Again, Zuko answered without a moment's delay. "To ask your forgiveness, once more."

Aang seemed unmoved by this declaration at first. I glanced over at Tenzin, and saw that he was staring fixedly at Aang, even leaning forward as if eager to see what he would do. I could not deny my own, equally intense interest - we all knew what had happened the first time Zuko had tried to apologize, and Aang himself soon frowned, perhaps at that very memory. But I had the uncharitable suspicion, which I quickly tried to dismiss, that my brother and I were hoping for opposite resolutions this time.

"What if I refuse?" Aang asked noncommittally, disappointing both of us. He sounded strained, even more so than his illness had made him of late.

Resting on his knees, Zuko's hands curled into fists. "Please, do not."

With great difficulty, Aang threw back the bedcovers and attempted to push himself up from his reclining position. Tenzin and I both had to lean in to help him, holding him upright as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, so that I wound up sitting next to him with his arm over my shoulder, while Tenzin knelt on the foot of the bed with his hand on Aang's back. Supported between the two of us, Aang sat facing Zuko fully. "I should at least thank you for coming to see me," he said, his voice low. "Last time."

"That time was for her sake," Zuko replied. "This time is for ours."

Perilously, Aang leaned forward, and rested his right hand on the crown of Zuko's still bowed head. "Thank you for that as well. I have decided…" He took a deep, steadying breath. "I would still like us to end as friends."

Zuko raised his head at last, eyes shining. Aang's hand brushed over his face, the spot just below his scar that had once been bruised where he had struck him, before Zuko reached up and caught his hand in his own. "I am glad."

Tenzin almost looked disappointed. But Zuko got to his feet - I had to reach out and help him up, too - and Aang pulled him into a fraternal embrace, not bothering to hide his own tears, and then I could see something change within my brother. Tenzin had few memories of when Aang and Zuko had been on good terms, and had not, I think, realized until that moment how much they had once meant to one another, and how much Aang had been pained not only by the betrayal itself, but by the loss of a dear friend that resulted from it.

Aang's strength was quickly spent, and he had to lie back down. Zuko stayed by his side, not letting go of his hand. "Do you remember when we found the Sun Warriors?" Aang asked, smiling as he wiped his eyes.

"Of course," Zuko replied, smiling as well with newfound ease. "How could I forget that?"

The two of them spoke for a long while, about the past and the future. Aang asked Zuko to stay at the south pole for his funeral, which none of us could pretend was far off anymore, and Zuko promised that he would. When at last it was time for Zuko to return to his ship, he assured me he could find his own way back, leaving me to bring word to the others at Sokka's house.

Toph was of course the first to ask what was on everyone's mind when I stepped through the door. "How bad is the damage?" was how she put it, which earned a reprimand from Sokka - at which she only shrugged - and an eye roll from my sister - which of course she could not see.

But it was on my mother - silent and apprehensive - that my attention was fixed. "It's okay," I said, holding her gaze. "They're alright."

My mother sighed in relief, knowing exactly what I meant.

"Alright?" Toph echoed. "As in, nobody needs medical attention alright? Or as in, we all kiss and make up and we're friends again alright?"

I laughed at her description. "Why don't you go put it to Zuko that way and see what he says?"

"I think I will," Toph replied, getting to her feet. "I haven't bullied him enough for a long time." For good measure, she swatted me on the shoulder as she pushed past me out the door, but she also muttered, "Well done, Junior," just loud enough for me to hear.

The rest of us returned to Aang's bedside - my mother most eagerly, of course - but found him asleep. My mother sat beside him anyway, took hold of his hand, and kissed it.

The last words that Aang spoke were to my mother.

We all knew the end was near. Kya, Tenzin, and I were all gathered around him. Memoirs and ancient languages seemed so inconsequential at that moment - no written history could replace the father we were losing. Aang held each of our hands in turn, and told us that he loved us. To me, he said that he was proud of me, as he had often done. To Kya, he said that she was his treasure, his only daughter. And to Tenzin, he said he was his hope.

The three of us huddled together - my arm around Kya's shoulders, her hand grasping Tenzin's - as Aang turned to our mother.

"You have been the best part of my life," he said, taking her hand. "I'm sorry I'm leaving you again now. I don't want you to be sad."

"I don't blame you, Aang, for anything," my mother replied, lifting his hand and holding it to her heart. Her tears flowed freely, but she was otherwise composed, grieved but not broken as she had once been. "I love you."

Aang smiled at her. "And I have always loved you, Katara."

Then his eyes drifted closed in a sleep from which he would never wake. He continued to draw shallow breaths for a while, but eventually these too came to an end. Kya comforted our mother as I arranged his lifeless hands on his chest and drew the covers over the body, while Tenzin softly recited an ancient Air Nomad prayer for the departed spirit. A few lines in, I came to his side and joined him.

It was as peaceful a death as anyone could have wished for.

It seemed like the whole world turned out for the funeral.

The Northern Water Tribe chief made a rare trip to the south, Earth Kingdom princes and dignitaries arrived by the score, and of course all the Air Acolytes had to be there. Izumi and Iyego came with all of their children as well - Princess Ilah was now a young woman of eighteen, while Prince Ianzo, their youngest, was only ten. Prince Iroh, the second eldest at sixteen, stood taller than his older sister already, about the same height I had been at his age. Twelve-year-old Princess Ireni, who most resembled Izumi out of all the children, was shy and stuck close to her parents - though at the funeral itself, she stood next to Zuko and held his hand through the whole ceremony.

I stood next to my mother, of course, with Kya and Tenzin close by. We were at the center of the semi-circle of mourners that gathered around the pyre, which I had the responsibility of lighting, while Izumi and the rest of the Fire Nation delegation stood a ways away. They stood out in their white funeral robes, surrounded by Earth Kingdom dignitaries in black. The Water Tribes and Air Nomads had no customary mourning color, so Kya and my mother wore their usual blue, and Tenzin his typical orange and yellow habit with only the addition of the carved wooden necklace that Aang had always worn on special occasions. Like so much else, it had been passed on to him now.

Fire sages alone wore red for funerals, and so this was what I had done.

When the pyre burned down, Tenzin took responsibility for the offering of the ashes to the four winds, as only the world's lone airbender could do. Kya gave the eulogy, starting with an obligatory acknowledgement of all that Aang had accomplished for the world, but quickly moving on to a more personal reflection on the husband, father, and friend who had shown us such great love - and taught us all a great lesson in forgiveness.

I saw Zuko wipe his eyes at that part, and Ireni leaned in closer to her grandfather's side.

After the ceremony, there was a quiet, more intimate gathering of family and friends back at the house. Izumi finally got to meet Kya and Tenzin, and though it was not under the happiest of circumstances, I was pleased to see that I had been right, and my two sisters did get on well. Zuko spoke at length with Sokka and Toph, and with Lin and Suyin, who had come to join their mother for the funeral. I did see Lin offer quiet condolences to Tenzin at one point, but things were clearly still strained between them.

But in that family setting, safe from judgmental eyes, Zuko was able offer his condolences to my mother as well. And though my mother's tears had never quite stopped that day, she thanked him, and then for the first time in my lifetime, she hugged her old friend.

"I'm glad you were here," I heard her tell him.

"Me too," Zuko replied. Then, he let her go.

I went back to my life at the temple after the funeral, the same sacred rhythms that had carried me through so many years in peace. In my ongoing correspondence with my family and friends, I missed Aang's letters of course, but on the positive side, I heard from Tenzin a good deal more often as we continued our work on the ancient Air Nomad language. I had also mentioned our project to Izumi, who had in turn passed word of it along to the Earth King, who later wrote to me personally to let me know that a collection of Air Nomad poetry in the original language had been found in the archives of Ba Sing Se University. Even more excitingly, the poems had been transcribed in both the Air Nomad script and the standard characters. Tenzin immediately traveled to the Earth Kingdom capital to begin a study of this priceless work.

Zuko continued his travels, between the Fire Nation capital and Ember Island and Hira'a and of course Crescent Island as well. He also went to the United Republic on occasion, once making a stop in Yu Dao, and was even able to visit the Sun Warriors again. There were several new dragon hatchlings that year, and while none would ever be gifted to him, he was once more allowed to appear before the great dragons Ran and Shaw, and that was absolution enough.

Of course, there was other news that the world was waiting on. Once Aang had died, everyone knew the next Avatar would be born into the Southern Water Tribe within the year. Fortunately, the population of the south pole was quite large enough by then that this left many possible candidates - though of course it would take a while after the child's birth for any bending abilities to manifest.

Yet the day came sooner than any of us had expected that we fire sages received word of a little girl, just four years old, who could apparently bend not just water, but earth and fire as well. As the keepers of the primary shrine to the most recent Fire Nation Avatar, it was the responsibility of the sages of Roku's temple to confirm the new Avatar's identity on behalf of our nation, just as representatives from Kyoshi Island would do on behalf of the Earth Kingdom, and a shaman from Kuruk's shrine at the north pole would do for the Water Tribes. Tenzin would perform this duty on behalf of the Air Nomads, by default.

And Great Sage Kisai, in his wisdom, decided I should be the one to undertake this task.

The Order of the White Lotus had already determined to their own satisfaction that Korra was the Avatar by the time I arrived - and no wonder, given how easily the little girl could bend three out of the four elements. But the formalities had to be observed nonetheless.

"Hold out your hands," I instructed the child seated opposite me on the floor of her family's home, as her parents looked on curiously - but silently, for they knew this was their daughter's test to pass.

Korra looked up at me with wide eyes, a more electric shade of blue than either my mother's or my sister's, and a little pout of distrust. "Why?" she demanded.

"So I can put something in them, of course," I explained. Seeing the little girl was unconvinced, I went for a more reassuring approach. "Don't worry, it won't hurt you."

Korra's pout progressed into a full-on frown. "I'm not scared," she insisted. But then, to my relief, she held out her hands as she had been instructed.

From the bag in my lap, I removed the artefact that Zuko had loaned to me for the occasion - an antique golden crown in the form of a double flame, complete with the pin that secured it in place. I placed it gently in Korra's outstretched hands. "Do you know what this is?" I asked her.

Korra's face softened as she examined the object, drawing it a little closer to her. "It's pretty," she said appreciatively, then looked back up at me. "It's a crown."

"Very good," I said, nodding. That itself probably should not have been so evident to a Water Tribe child, who would have been unlikely ever to have seen anyone wearing a crown of that style before. But it was not sufficient. "Who does it belong to?"

Korra's little eyebrows drew together, and she looked back down at the crown in her hands, concentrating. I held my breath in anticipation, and thought, perhaps just for a moment, there was more than a natural gleam in her eyes - nothing like the full Avatar State, of course, but something. For the next words she spoke, sounding suddenly more mature than a child of her tender years, were, "Is the Fire Lord giving it to me again?"

I let out the breath I had been holding in as a chuckle. "Not yet," I said apologetically, taking the crown back from her. Korra watched me put it away regretfully. "Maybe someday, when you're older, Avatar Korra."

Korra brightened at this use of her title, and I heard her mother laugh as the little girl leaped to her feet. "That's right!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air triumphantly. "I'm the Avatar! Watch this!" And she proceeded to demonstrate her firebending abilities, already more powerful than my own fire had been when I was more than twice her age, but wild and untamed.

"Yes," I said, with a surreptitious wink at her anxious parents as I subtly exercised a little of my own bending to keep her fire from burning down the house. "You certainly are."

I had performed my duty, and returned to Roku's temple once again. Korra would demonstrate a similar affinity for Kuruk's spear, Kyoshi's fans, and the wooden necklace that Aang had passed down to Tenzin. But having identified the Avatar, it was not our responsibility to train her. For that, the Order of the White Lotus stepped in. I had thought my mother might help with Korra's waterbending instruction at some point, but she mentioned in one of her letters to me that she wanted the new Avatar to have her own teachers, free from any ties to her past life. I did wonder, however, if this had been entirely her decision. I knew, after all, that if Chief Kotak had made that call, she would obey the wishes of the tribe.

Either way, I did not see Korra again for many years - not until she had fully mastered water, earth, and fire, begun her airbending training in Republic City with Tenzin, and then lost all the progress she had made in her clash with the Equalist movement. It was my mother who wrote to me again, when Korra returned home in discouragement, to ask if I had any advice for her. And so, after consulting with Kisai, I once again set out for the south pole.

It was my brother who met me coming off the ship this time, accompanied by his three oldest children. Jinora greeted me politely, and Ikki enthusiastically. I had expected my nephew, Meelo, whom I had not seen since he was a baby, to be more shy, but he surprised me by immediately running to me full force with a yell and latching on to my leg. "Uncle Bumi," he said, looking up at me with wide gray eyes, just like Aang's. "Why are you a firebender?"

Glancing at Tenzin, I saw my brother frown. Of course, he would never have discussed this with Meelo. How could you explain such things to a child?

"I'm a firebender for the same reason you're an airbender," I replied, leaning down to detach the little boy from my leg and crouching down to his level, holding both of his hands. "Because the spirits made me that way."

"Oh." Meelo tilted his head and blinked, considering. "That's pretty cool!"

"Yes," I agreed with a smile. "It is pretty cool."

"You wanna see something else cool?" Meelo exclaimed, his childish mind already racing ahead to other things. "Watch this!" He pulled away from my grasp and waved his hands, forming a swirling vortex of air between them.

I stood and watched my nephew's juvenile airbending tricks, giving the requisite praise for each display as his sisters joined in. Tenzin came and stood by my side. "How did you know just the right thing to say to him?" he asked in a low voice.

I turned to look at my solemn, serious younger brother. He was well into middle age himself now, and it suited him in a way that childhood and youth never had. He had been born with his own burdens, after all, no less weighty than mine.

"I just told him the truth," I said. As Meelo grew bored and ran off, his sisters following after him, Tenzin met my eye and raised a sceptical brow. "He asked me why," I pointed out. "Not how."

Tenzin considered this reply for a moment, much as his son had. And then, amazingly, my serious little brother actually chuckled. "The wisdom of the Fire Sages, I suppose."

Tenzin brought me back to our mother's house, where I would be staying, and later that evening he showed Korra into the study where I was waiting for her, and then left us alone. The dispirited young woman who stood before me was a far cry from the rambunctious little girl I had met years earlier. "Fire Sage Bumi," she greeted me with a polite bow. "Thank you for coming all this way, but…" She trailed off with a shrug, but I knew what she meant. If the greatest healers of the Water Tribes had been unable to help her get her bending back, what could I do?

"Have a seat, kid," I said, ushering her towards a low table in the alcove by the door, above which the dragon's fire painting hung. "I've brought something for you." Opening my bag, I took out the pai sho set that Zuko had given me, all those years ago, and began to set it up on the table between us. "You know how to play, right?"

Korra shrugged again, not showing much interest. "A little," she said, picking up one of the tiles and turning it over in her fingers. "I never really...had the patience for board games." That I could easily believe. She had been an active child, and a prodigious bender even for an Avatar. What joy could moving game pieces around hold for her compared to using the power of her bending?

"It can be an acquired taste, for some people," I said gently, setting the last pieces into place. "Perhaps you are ready now." I gestured to indicate she should make the opening move.

Korra glanced at the tile she had been fidgeting with, set it back down in its place, then picked up the one next to it and moved it three spaces towards the center of the board. It was a sloppy move, uncalculated, that brought her little advantage while leaving me several openings.

"Bold choice," I said. Considering my own options, I decided to go easy on her for now, and moved one of my bamboo tiles into a neutral position.

The game went on in that manner for several turns. Korra knew the rules of the game, but nothing of its strategy. As I began to score points and capture more of her tiles, her frustration quickly became evident.

"What's the point of this?" she complained as I turned over her jasmine tile, the last of her earth elements. "I'm not going to get my bending back by losing a pai sho game."

"Very true," I agreed, folding my hands inside the wide sleeves of the red cloak I wore against the cold of the polar night. "But you may gain something else by asking yourself why you are losing."

"Because I'm terrible at this," Korra immediately shot back, shoving the game board away from her so violently that the pieces spilled all over the floor. "Just like I was terrible at airbending, and terrible at being the Avatar, and terrible at everything except the elements I could bend, and now I can't even do that!"

"If you were terrible at being the Avatar," I replied, unphased by her outburst, "you could not have defeated Amon. And I heard you did some pretty impressive airbending to accomplish that."

Korra deflated, slouching forward so her chin rested on top of her folded arms on the table. "Yeah, but now I'll never bend anything again."

With a sigh, I set about collecting the spilled game pieces. "I think your problem with your bending is the same as your problem with pai sho," I said, setting a fire lily tile in front of her on the table. "You know the rules, but you don't understand the game."

"What's there to understand?" Korra objected, fidgeting with the game piece again. "You move the pieces around and try to balance the elements."

"And how do you balance the elements?" I prompted, hoping she was on the right path to the answers she needed.

"By creating harmonies between opposites," Korra replied, picking up a moon peach tile that had fallen by her knee and placing it next to the fire lily.

"Correct," I said, placing a panda lily and a bamboo tile with the others, so the four elements formed a little circle: fire, air, water, earth. "And why do the opposite elements balance each other?"

Korra shifted, sitting more upright so her chin rested on one hand, and gave me a blank look. "Isn't that just what opposites do?"

"Hmm," I said. "Yes, I see your problem very clearly now." Reaching into my bag once more, I retrieved a book I had borrowed from the temple library. "I'm afraid I am going to have to try your patience a little bit more."

Korra scowled as I handed her the book. "A Treatise on the Theory and Game Play of Pai Sho?" she read from the cover. "Are you serious?"

"Quite," I replied with a smile. "General Iroh's writings on the subject are very illuminating. Read that and come back to me tomorrow afternoon, and we will play again."

"Tomorrow afternoon?" Korra echoed, eyeing the thick volume with evident skepticism.

"Do you think you can finish it by morning?" I asked innocently.

Korra sighed. "Right, tomorrow afternoon it is." She stood, bowed politely again, and took her leave. As she walked away, I caught her muttering to herself, "Not like I've got anything else to do anyway."

Chuckling to myself, I finished picking up the pai sho tiles. As I set the game back to rights, I glanced up at the painting on the wall again, knowing that these things took time.

Korra returned promptly the next day. "Did you enjoy your reading?" I asked, ushering her to the same seat at the table, where the pai sho board was already set.

"No," she replied honestly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Did you finish your reading?"

"Mostly," she said, without a hint of shame. "Enough to find your answer. It's the energies. That's what makes the opposite elements balance each other."

"Not bad," I said, sitting across from her. "If you had read to the end, you might have learned more, but that is a good start. And since you're here…" This time I made the opening move, a far more aggressive maneuver with the white dragon blossom. "We might as well play."

To her credit, Korra considered her first move more carefully this time. Her choice was still a reckless one, putting her chrysanthemum tile into play so early, but it was a gamble that a skilled player stood a fair chance of seeing pay off. Unfortunately, one day's cursory reading had not made a skilled player of her. Three turns later, she let out a huff of frustration as her chrysanthemum fell into my hands.

"The game isn't over yet," I reminded her.

"Yeah, but I still don't see what this has to do with bending," she complained, scanning the board as she planned her next move. Her eyes landed on a cherry blossom tile I had left tantalizingly within her range two turns ago, just one move away from creating a harmony, and her face lit up as she finally realized she could capture it. She even let out a triumphant "Ha!" as she did so.

"Don't you?" I questioned, moving the captured chrysanthemum into a position that suited me better. "Then we must keep playing until you do."

Korra rolled her eyes. Oh, she must have driven Tenzin mad, I thought. "I mean obviously there's the four elements and creating balance and all that," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She reached for one of her water elements, then hesitated and glanced up at me. I kept my face carefully impassive. She hummed to herself and withdrew her hand from the tile, reconsidering. "Anyone can see there are connections in theory. I just don't get how the two are related in practice." Picking up an air element instead, she executed her move definitively this time.

Just as definitively, I captured that piece as well. Korra let out an indignant whine, slamming her hands on the table, but did not upset the board this time. In a few more turns, the game was over anyway.

"I lost even faster that time," Korra complained as I put the game pieces away - a much easier task when they were not scattered across the floor.

"Perhaps you will fare better tomorrow, when you have finished your reading," I said pointedly.

Korra sighed. "Of course, Master Bumi." Her bow was a touch ironic when she took her leave. Yes, she would have made Tenzin absolutely crazy. But I took it as a good sign, that her spirits had at least been lifted a little.

"I already knew it was the energies," Korra said without preamble when she arrived the next day. "The conclusion of your boring old book doesn't say anything more than that." She dropped the boring old book in question down on the table to emphasize her point.

I smiled up at her serenely. "You finished the reading, then?"

"Yeah, and it was a waste of time, just like this stupid game," Korra replied, kicking the edge of the table. Her fire was coming back in temperament if not in actual fact.

"Then we won't play today," I said, getting to my feet and heading towards the door.

"No we…" Korra began to argue, before she realized what I'd said. "Wait," she called, hurrying to follow me out of the room, and then out of the house. "We won't?"

"Not today." I headed away from the town, towards the east where the winter sun was just making its brief midday appearance above the horizon. When we were in a sufficiently isolated spot, I sat down on the hard tundra. "Today, we will meditate."

"Great," Korra said sarcastically, though she sat down next to me and obediently copied my lotus pose. "Just warning you, I was terrible at this, too, even when I could bend."

"Nonsense," I said dismissively, pressing my closed fists together. "My brother did teach you the mantra of the four winds, didn't he?"

Korra gave me a confused look. "Wait, you mean we're doing airbender meditation?"

"Do you see any candles?" I asked pointedly.

"Well, no, I just thought, since you're…" Korra fidgeted nervously. "Well, you're a firebender and all."

"Ah, but it was airbender meditation that I started with," I pointed out. "Or have you forgotten who I am?"

"Everyone knows who you are. You're Zuko's son." She considerately did not say the word bastard.

"I was Aang's son first," I corrected her, softly but firmly. "But enough about me. You know the mantra?" Korra nodded. "Good. Begin."

She closed her eyes and spoke the opening words, and I joined her for the first few repetitions, so familiar and so dear to me. But then I let her continue on her own, while I spoke other instruction.

"I learned to control my inner fire by controlling my breathing," I explained. "Fire needs air, you see. All the elements are connected."

Korra nodded, eyes still closed, continuing the mantra. Undoubtedly she had been told this many times, in her training as the Avatar, for nowhere was this connection more evident than in her.

"All the elements are connected," I repeated. "But fire is the first element."

Korra faltered in her repetition of the mantra, and opened her eyes. "Isn't that kind of...old Fire Nation propaganda from the war?" she asked in confusion.

"Sozin believed that fire was the superior element, and in that he was quite wrong," I agreed. "But it is indeed the first."

Korra still looked lost. "What's the difference?"

"There was a time, many ages ago, when no living thing could bend the elements," I explained, placing one hand over my heart. "It was the energies within themselves that they bent then."

"The energies," Korra repeated. "You mean their chi?"

"Very good, Korra," I said with an encouraging nod. "You are a healer - you know how those life energies move through the body, and you have manipulated them with water. But you also know that the chi can be bent directly."

"Like Aang did to Yakone," she said grimly, her eyes falling. "But he had to use the Avatar state for that."

It was interesting, I thought, that Korra's mind had immediately gone to Yakone, and not Ozai, who was by far the more famous example of Aang's use of energybending. But I did not comment on this. "To bend the chi within another is a power only known to the Avatar State, yes," I said, bringing my other hand to rest together with the first on my chest. "But to bend the chi within oneself is another matter."

"But Amon…" Korra began, her voice uncharacteristically small.

"He could not bend your chi directly," I pointed out. "He had to use bloodbending to alter your chi paths, and once the paths were confused you lost your ability to manipulate the elements." I traced a path down my own arm with the opposite hand as I spoke, then closed both of my fists and held them out in front of me. "But you can still direct your own chi. You must simply learn to walk along those new paths."

Korra looked back up at me, hopeful. "And that will bring my bending back?"

"It was from directing their own chi that the first benders moved on to the elements - and fire came first. Can you guess why?" I opened my hands and lit a small orange flame, holding it out for her inspection.

Korra watched the colors of my fire shift from orange to red to blue. "Fire is also energy," she observed. Her eyes widened slightly, the first sign of a dawning realization, and reflected in them the flame continued to dance - now bright green, now deep violet.

"Correct," I replied, letting all the colors fuse into white. "From bending the energy in fire, they progressed to moving energy through air, then water and finally earth - each more substantial than the last. But all bending is about the energies, at its heart."

The first hint of a smile I had seen from her since I had arrived appeared on Korra's face. "Just like the Pai Sho game."

"You see?" I said with a smile of my own, closing my hands to extinguish the flame. "Now, you understand."

Over the next few weeks, Korra and I continued our mediation and pai sho games as I helped her reconnect with her inner fire. She never did quite manage to win a game unless I let her, but she did at least catch on to when I was letting her. But eventually, as I kept pushing her to try even after every failure, in spite of all the added difficulty of the long winter darkness of the south pole, she did manage to call forth a little flame in her hands once more. It was nothing like the bending she had been able to do as a child, but it was a start, and she was happy.

Her face fell when I informed her that this meant it was time for me to leave. "But...I still have so much more to get back," she protested. "And what about the other elements?"

"All that will come, in time, as long as you keep working at it," I assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. "You'll have Tenzin to help you, of course - and eventually your past lives as well."

"I'd have to unlock the Avatar State for that," Korra replied skeptically. "And I've only done that once."

"See?" I said with a gentle smile, placing my other hand under hers that still held the warm little flame and lifting it slightly. "That proves you can."

I said my goodbyes to my family at the south pole, and boarded the next ship back to the Fire Nation, confident that Korra was indeed on the right path, and also relieved to be heading home. I loved my mother, and Tenzin and his family, and seeing them was always a joy. But Roku's Temple was where I belonged, and the life of a fire sage was what I had been born for.

It was past midwinter by the time I made it back to Crescent Island. I dove right back into teaching our new acolytes, grumbling about their lack of progress in my absence, but also gratified to see that I had been missed. Springtime came, and we celebrated our own Dragon Day festival on the island with special prayers and a feast - and of course fireworks of every color. Our more advanced students demonstrated their own mastery of the dragon's fire technique that evening.

The summer solstice also came in its course, with the anointing of the new fire sages - seven of them that year, three of whom would be assigned elsewhere and four of whom would stay on with us. With Kisai as the Great Sage, we had of course been conducting all of our ceremonies in the Sun Warrior language for years by that point, which certainly helped train my ear for my ongoing work on the Air Nomad tongue with Tenzin.

Summer passed into fall and still more new acolytes arrived. The new dormitory was now entirely full, and plans were being drawn up to expand it should the need arise. And then, one evening in mid autumn after the sun had gone down, still weeks ahead of schedule, a commotion stirred through the temple. Roku's eyes were glowing.

We quickly gathered in the sanctuary, all the sages and acolytes, and I knew at that moment, somewhere at the south pole, Korra had unlocked the Avatar State. The warm red light that radiated from the statue out of season was a message from her, from Roku and Aang and all the Avatars of the past, and from the great spirits themselves. It was a message for all of us there, and each of the sages surely heard their own special meaning in it.

To me, piercing through the night, it said, "Well done."

Like all things in this life, the light was temporary, though its effects would be long felt. When the glow faded, I left the sanctuary and returned to my cell. Spreading a fresh sheet of paper on my desk, I dipped my brush in the inkpot, and set about writing a letter to my mother.

"Real forgiveness means looking steadily at the sin, the sin that is left over without any excuse, after all allowances have been made, and seeing it in all its horror, dirt, meanness, and malice, and nevertheless being wholly reconciled to the man who has done it."

- C.S. Lewis, On Forgiveness