Author's note: Sorry for the delay! Summer classes are killing me :) Enjoy!

Zuko sent another sheet of flame into the glowing oven and leaned back on the gondola, watching the sun, his golden eyes glowing yellow in its blazing light. There was a comfortable warmth that came with the sun's rays, and he momentarily forgot about the heavy chill in the air. All was quiet save for the sounds of the whirling propeller, the gusting wind, and the crackling coals from the engine. His war balloon was small and agile; he could easily fly past the fleet. The moment dusk came, he would have to start closing the gap between himself and the airships. As soon as it was dark, he would be able to pass by them undetected. In the meantime, Zuko would keep his distance. The last thing he needed was Azula shooting him down into the icy waters below.

His gaze settled on the large airships in the distance. Although he couldn't see their flame insignias from his position, he knew they were there. They would be the first thing the tribesmen and women of the Southern Water Tribe saw before the onslaught. Zuko scoffed and let his back slide down the side of the gondola until he was sitting on the floor.

To most of the world, those flames meant one hundred years of oppression, fear, and death. That version of history was something his teachers never mentioned to him growing up. To them, oppression was leadership; genocide was righteous extermination. He rubbed the side of his face. His scar was suddenly starting to ache. Up until a few weeks ago, Zuko had associated the Fire Nation crest with dominance, strength, and respect. After his mother disappeared, it was a symbol of all he had left, including his status as crown prince. Essentially, it stood for everything his father stripped from him on the day of the Agni Kai and everything he needed to regain during his banishment to be accepted by his father and nation. Everything.

Finding the Avatar was supposed to be his key to regaining it all. Zuko let out a deep sigh, running his fingers through his raven hair before resting his forehead on his palm. There was no honor in the destruction he caused while trying to capture him. Part of him had known that since the beginning. At the time, a bigger part of him didn't care. To him it had just been another price to pay to earn his way back to the Fire Nation. Just like his face. Azula would have done worse, he had often reminded himself. Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. That attitude definitely didn't help him feel much better. If anything, it made him feel worse. Every day since his banishment, he had felt as if his spirit was being torn in opposite directions. Uncle saw it during their months of searching for Aang. It only got worse in Ba Sing Se and reached its height during his stay on Ember Island. Only now with the Fire Nation miles behind him was his head finally clear and his spirit starting to mend. He couldn't fix his past wrongdoings, but he knew that he could make up for them in the future. He still had a long way to go in order to redeem himself. Reaching Aang was just the first step.

"I'll make it right," he muttered to himself, his voice raspy. "For myself. And for Uncle."

The sun was low on the horizon now, lapping at the endlessly deep water. His skin prickled as the chill returned to the air. It would only get colder the further south he flew. He continued his uncle's breathing techniques, focusing on keeping his inner fire burning strong and his chi flowing evenly. Now that the temperature was dropping, he needed to conserve as much energy as he could. Tomorrow, he would find Aang and somehow convince him that he had changed. That was easier said than done. He exhaled a hot breath of fire into his cupped hands, rubbing them together. For now, he just wanted to rest.

He listened to the rhythmic huff-huffing of the propeller, the roaring wind, the hiss-crack of the glowing embers in the fire. Zuko realized that he was exhausted. He owed himself a few minutes of clarity and peace. You need rest, Prince Zuko. A man needs his rest.

His eyes shut, and the world faded away.

"Gran-Gran!" Katara gasped, running to her grandmother. Nearby, Appa let out a relieved grunt as he laid down to rest. He had been flying all night and most of the morning. Katara pulled Kanna into a tight hug, holding back her tears. This happy reunion couldn't last long.

"Katara…" Kanna pulled back, held her granddaughter by her shoulders, and gave her a careful look over. Her hair was tangled, and a long smudge of ash covered one side of her face. She smiled when she saw her late daughter's necklace in its usual place around her neck, but her expression turned solemn when she noticed a charred spot on Katara's tunic. "The invasion, the eclipse— your father spoke of your plan in his letters. What has happened, my dear granddaughter?"

"It was a trap, Gran-Gran," Katara replied, a tinge of anger in her voice. "The Fire Lord and his army knew we were coming and mounted a counterattack. There is a fleet of Fire Nation soldiers coming to lay waste to our village as we speak." She watched her grandmother's expression tighten and gently took her hands. "We have only hours to evacuate before their airships rain fire upon on us."

Kanna's face was stony now, deathly serious, rare for her. "Then we will evacuate." Her voice was strangely calm, but there was a fire behind her eyes. "I will start warning the others. Do the same. We will take only what we need onto the ships with us."

Katara was amazed by the resolve she heard in her voice. Even in her elder years, her grandmother was a true Water Tribe warrior, through and through.

"Aang said we should wait out the barrage at the Southern Air Temple," she said. "We should be safe there."

"Yes," Kanna agreed. "We will be. The mountains will protect us. The soil is fertile and can sustain us. Fresh water is plentiful there. You will return to Avatar Aang and finish your journey with him. It is your path, my child." She brushed rebel strands of Katara's hair behind her ear and continued.

"The Fire Nation is powerful." Her eyes sparkled like glistening blue gems surrounded by the tanned wrinkles of her face. "But foolish. Ozai truly believes that the destruction of our home will extinguish our people and our culture. All he will do today is make us stronger."

"You're right," Katara squeezed her hand.

"Sokka and Hakoda. How are they?"

Katara felt a tight lump build in her throat. "Sokka's safe." She forced a smile. There was much to be done still, and so little time. "Dad is with his men."

Soon, Katara was with the other women of her village, making preparations for their journey across the sea. The only men here were still boys, with the oldest no more than the age of ten. Those sixteen and older were either fighting in the war, taken prisoner, or dead. Now, both young girls and older women alike shared the duties that were once reserved for their male peers.

Traditionally, the Southern Water Tribe was led by a male chieftain. Unlike the Fire Nation or Northern Water Tribe, a successor was not determined by a single bloodline. Instead, a chief was chosen from a collection of young contenders, all of whom first competed in an array of trials to prove their worth. This competition was dubbed The Rite of Chiefs. Contenders were meant to display their agility, strength, bravery, and intelligence through a series of grueling tasks. The ceremony took place over the course of five days, and the entire village would observe all of them save for the final one: The Spiritual Choosing.

During the final trial, the next male chief was ultimately chosen by the tribe's wise woman, who also doubled as a spiritual shaman. The Spiritual Choosing was reserved only for the top three champions. They were selected and ushered into the shaman's ceremonial tent and remained there for the entire day. There was an air of mystery around what transpired in the tent. Those who entered it as part of the ceremony never spoke of what they saw, heard, or did. Gran-Gran said that there would often be an aroma of incense and other spices, none of which could be grown in the south pole, seeping from the tent and filling the air. At sunset, two of the three champions were dismissed from the tent. The remaining champion, now dubbed Chief, would emerge hours later under the light of the full moon.

In this ethereal glow, he appeared truly transformed from man to spirit. His face and throat were meticulously decorated with traditional war paint, and his shoulders were swathed in thick fur pelts. Engraved bone beads adorned his hair and the head of a white wolf sat atop his head; yellow eyes alive in the moonlight.

Even with the beauty and mystery of the ceremony, Katara couldn't shake the irony of this age-old practice. Although men competed for the coveted title of chief, it was a woman who ultimately chose who would lead the tribe. With Chief Hakoda and the rest of the men gone, and the women taking over their roles, Katara wondered if life would ever return to the old ways after the war was over. She doubted it. Thoughts of the future of the tribe often excited her; she had high hopes for what it would look like. For now, she returned her attention to her work. The future of her tribe wouldn't mean much if there wasn't a tribe to come back to.

In the curing tent, Katara helped an older woman, Shema, pack away food for the journey. There wasn't much to collect, but it would be enough. It was often difficult to keep the village's reserves even half full on such sparse and arid land. The south pole didn't have the fertile soil of the Earth Kingdom, and with long periods of both light and darkness, harsh blizzards, and freezing snow, farming was next to impossible. The only source of food they could rely on was the kind they found in the sea, save for the occasional otter penguin or tiger seal they hunted on land. Hunting parties had to come and go daily, and some trips were more lucrative than others. Sometimes entire seasons yielded meager results. Katara remembered times of hardship in her youth, before her mother's death; short but difficult periods of famine.

Katara's grandmother would sometimes reminisce about life decades ago, before the trade routes from the Earth Kingdom were completely severed by the Fire Nation. Back in a time when the Southern Water Tribe was not a fractured nation made up of small clusters of survivors huddling in tents. Katara managed a smile. Sokka would always drool when Kanna described the exotic Earth Kingdom meats that used to be typical imports, before complaining about having to eat sea prunes for dinner again. She could partially understand where her brother's frustrations were coming from. Life truly seemed to be better back then—at least, better than it was now. But Katara could never envy the life her grandmother described in her stories. Despite living in a time of relative prosperity, her grandmother had also witnessed the worst of the Fire Nation raids and attacks and the fall of the Southern Water Tribe as she knew it. She had memories of her friends and family being struck down or taken prisoner, never to be seen again… Yes, life was hard in the Water Tribe now, but this life was the only one Katara knew. And as far as it concerned her, her people and tribe were enough. The only thing missing now were husbands, sons, grandsons, brothers, and nephews… She was eager to end the war so she could finally see her father and brother in the same place again; not in battle but safely at home.

At the seaside docks, Katara worked on stowing cargo on the ships. She used hand-made rope to tie seamen's knots, fastening crates and sacks below deck. This was one of a handful of tricks her father had taught her when she was little. Her knots were not pretty, and some she even had to tie again, but her memory served her well enough to make them strong. Her father once told her that a good knot, like a good fighter, is one that performs even better under pressure. She frowned as a loop of rope unraveled between her inexpert fingers. She unwound it fully and tried again. It was moments like these that she wished Sokka or her father were around to help. She wondered where her father was now. Probably in a filthy cell somewhere in the Fire Nation. She wiped away a tear from her cheek.

Dad is strong, Katara reminded herself. You'll find him. Her silent vow was heavy in her heart. She tied another knot and this time it was perfect. She smiled. She would have to show him after the war.

Only in his later years did Uncle become a spiritual, if not superstitious, man. During the days they spent hunting Aang, there was a time he told Zuko that good deeds translated into spiritual energy that light spirits rewarded… or something. Zuko had stepped up to him, seething, and pointed to his scar, "Is this my reward, Uncle?"

The morning light was revitalizing; it brought him a newfound warmth that loosened his stiff muscles. Zuko took a few more deep breaths before he stood. The airships were far behind him, out of sight for now. He had passed them successfully in the night, much to his satisfaction. Large glaciers passed him by from below. With the south pole quickly approaching, he made preparations to land.

He wondered if his uncle was right. Were the spirits watching? Better yet, were they really rewarding people for their good deeds? Zuko almost laughed aloud at the ridiculous notion. He hoped not, for his own sake. His list of righteous and honorable acts was very short; starting with the time he saved a turtle-crab as a child and ending with him freeing Aang's bison. Everything in between had been nothing short of terrorizing the world during his search for the Avatar. No, if his uncle's words were really true, there were probably scores of bad karma lined up just for him.

"Oh spirits…" Zuko gripped the wooden tiller, adjusting the airship's rudder as it began its rapid descent. "Let's hope not—"

His landing among a series of low rocky formations was far from graceful. The gondola slid uncontrollably after making hard contact with a large patch of ice, stopping only after it crashed into a tall snowbank. Zuko flew forward from the impact, landing into the freezing snow with a surprised shout. He scrambled out of the frosty peak, shaking snow off of his hair and clothing before drawing heat from the engine to warm himself. He let out an annoyed grunt, hot steam pluming from his mouth and nose. Apparently, the spirits were keen on carrying out their retribution today. Bad luck he was used to, but spiritual intervention…

He set his jaw and climbed the nearby rock formation. The south pole was the same as it was six months ago: cold, icy, and barren. Zuko's hands automatically worked to re-fasten his sword belt as he squinted at the white tundra. His eyes finally settled on the familiar snow walls of Katara and Sokka's village, a few hundred meters west of him. Unlike six months ago, Zuko was not hell-bent on kidnapping the Avatar. Convincing him of that would be difficult, especially when he was in a village that would relish cutting Zuko up and feeding him to the tiger seals. He needed to be careful. And smart.

Zuko leapt down from his rocky vantage point. The ice his vessel slid on earlier was a frozen pond, half covered with snow. The ice looked thick enough to walk on, but he chose to walk around it. He didn't want to risk a face-numbing swim so early in the day. On the other side, the rock formation opened up to the rest of the polar tundra. Zuko used this as a chance to peer through his spyglass and scan ahead. The northern skies were clear now. The fleet will be in view soon. By the sea, a harsh glare deflected off of the rocky coastline. Zuko scanned the waterline absently, pausing when he spotted a small Fire Nation skiff docked alone offshore. Apparently, Zuko wasn't the only one who slipped away during the invasion.

The skiff was docked beside a large glacier and from what he saw, it was the only vessel in the area. Zuko squinted through the spyglass as he shifted his view up the side of the glacial mass. He located the source of a flicker coming from the top of the glacier where the man's position was betrayed by his shiny metallic arm. Zuko sucked in a sharp breath, cursing himself for his own foolishness. He should have stopped him long ago.

"The assassin. Shit."

His prosthetic arm, which was permanently molded into a clawed grip, looked menacing even through the lens. From his tall vantage point, the combustion bender he had a perfect view of the village. He would easily be able to pick off Aang with a targeted blast. That is, unless Zuko got to him first. He lowered his spyglass and started toward the beach.

"Katara!"

It was Shema, the woman from the curing tent. Katara tossed another sack of food onto the starboard, then hopped back down to solid earth. Shema was running over from the village, tan cheeks colored red from the exertion. Her eyes were wide.

"Shema, what's wrong?" Katara sent a sideways glance north, not catching sight of any airships yet. The tribe was moments away from starting its journey to the Western Air Temple. All they needed now was to gather everyone and board.

"The guards at our gates spotted something landing near the Shelves of Heem…" Katara pictured the landmark and nodded her understanding. It was about a mile outside of the village walls. "They said it was a Fire Nation balloon." A pit formed in Katara's stomach. Her fists balled at her sides. Not now.

"A single balloon?" Her fingers were unconsciously loosening the stopper on the waterskin strapped to her side.

"Yes, Katara. They told me to find you immediately."

"Thank you, Shema. I will take care of it." A million thoughts were racing through Katara's head as she ran toward the outer wall. A single enemy balloon, landing almost a mile from the village. Was it idiotic or strategic? Perhaps a diversion to distract them while the airships started their onslaught. Katara's feet carried her through the village. Or could it be one of their own? Did the submarine escape fail? By some miracle, was it Aang? Sokka? Toph? Katara shook her head. No. Whoever it was, they landed so they could not be seen. This was no friend.

As she stepped outside of the village's outermost boundary, she coated her hand with water. Her heart was pounding, and adrenaline surged through her veins. She was reaching the point in her element mastery where she feared very little, and every threat was an almost welcome challenge. If this was a Fire Nation spy, delivered to her on an icy platter, she was eager to unleash a torrent of retribution on them. On her home turf, too. She smiled coolly, thinking about that age-old saying about how revenge is best served cold…

The Shelves of Heem was a jagged rock formation in the shape of a crescent, cradling an inland pond. Its dark, basalt protrusions were sleet-battered and steep, forming jagged peaks with weathered tops. Some people claimed that it made up the bottom of an ancient lake thousands of years ago, before the poles froze completely. Resting at the center of the formation, the pond was covered in a thick layer of ice almost every day of the year. Children would often go sledding on the snowy banks that the howling winds gathered there. When they were young, Katara and Sokka frequently visited the spot together. She had a fond memory of the time she bent snow onto Sokka's head after he pulled a silly prank on her. He had no choice but to dance around wildly to get it all off of him, and she had fallen to the ground in a fit of giggles.

Katara's breath was visible in front of her as she let out a puff of air. Despite having happy memories of the ancient landmark, she still felt some uneasiness towards it. In the early mornings and late afternoons, the sun was completely blocked out by the Shelves' tall peaks. This plunged the frozen pond into a dark shadow. Katara felt her heart thump hard in her chest. She had a bad dream about this place, years ago. In it, she went to the Shelves one morning, completely alone. It was dark inside the circular formation and it was much colder than it was outside of it. The gathering winds howled as they picked up the snow so violently that it felt like she was in the middle of a blizzard. Unable to see from the whipping elements, she cupped her hands over her eyes in an effort to shield herself. Blindly, she stepped forward until she suddenly fell through the unfrozen pond. She tried desperately to orient herself, finally finding the direction of the sky and swimming towards it. Before she could surface, a foot of ice formed between her and freedom. She was trapped, pounding against the ice and screaming in the pond's dark water. As she coughed and gasped, she only drew in more of the black, inky water. Her lungs strained and as darkness crept into her vision, she saw a girl that looked just like her staring down at her from the other side of the ice, smiling.

She willed those bad thoughts away. It was only a dream. Besides, she was one of the most powerful water benders in the world. Drowning would be too ironic of a death for her. She chuckled under her breath, though her uneasiness lingered.

Katara spotted the first set of footprints coming from the center of the rocky formation. They were headed toward the northern shore; fresh still, from a few minutes ago. She came closer, walking into the familiar basalt cove where her gaze was drawn just beyond the frozen pond. Just as the scouts had reported; a single Fire Nation war balloon. It was stuck in a pile of snow after what seemed to be a rough landing. Whoever had been flying didn't have much experience. Heat was still radiating from the balloon's engine. She took note of that as she stepped out of the rocky cove. Out north, the sun's glare off of the snow was intense. Katara squinted hard as her eyes followed the direction of the tracks. She spotted her target, a lone figure wearing dark clothing a ways ahead. They were slowly trudging through the foot-deep snow.

Katara got into a bending stance, dipping her hands down and willing the snow to part before her with a fluid movement of her arms. As she did so, her eyes remained on the dark figure ahead of her, gazing intently at this unknown enemy. When the path was clear, she started her pursuit. Her boots barely made a sound on the soft snow beneath her as she closed in.

Weeks before the invasion, Zuko had sent an assassin after Aang and his friends. The man was a nameless mute, and all that was known of him was that he was born in a vagrant town in the Si Wong Desert. He was a combustion bender, the first of his kind. Shortly after mastering his rare ability, he began a bloody career of killing for coin. He was notorious around the world for his indifference for human life and his loyalty to the highest bidder. There was a rumor that, once, he found himself in the employment of two feuding noblemen, each wanting the other dead. One offered him a slightly higher price, so he returned to the other to collect his payment before obliterating him in his own home.

Zuko trudged forward in the thick snow, closer to the beach now, his expression stony. Basically, he had sent one of the most prolific and deadly assassins in the world after a kid. And now that same assassin was here to finish the job. Spirits, I should have stopped him weeks ago.

Zuko tensed as the man's head abruptly turned in his direction, as if he had heard his thoughts. He watched the assassin's shoulders retract as he aimed his third eye at him. Zuko's eyes widened and he leapt out of the way just as the air pressure changed around him, getting hotter as the blast just missed him. He could hear the explosion make contact somewhere behind him and whipped around in time to see a large, spherical shield of ice melt to the frozen earth. In the middle of a fresh pool of water stood Katara. Her hair was out of its normal plait, and her clothes were charred from the invasion the day before. She was in her bending stance, her shoulders heaving with every breath. Her wide blue eyes landed on him, narrowing instantly. Zuko could practically feel her hatred for him, crackling through the air like lightning.

"Zuko," she hissed out his name, as if it were a curse. Her hands were already working on summoning a water whip from the ground to attack. Zuko found his words, quickly.

"Katara, wait! I'm not…" Zuko's voice caught in his throat.

He heard a deep breath from the glacier, indication that the assassin was about to release another blast. He leapt out of the way, unleashing a desperate ribbon of fire to protect himself from the brunt of the explosion. The pulse of the blast sent him to the ground, and he used the momentum of his recovery to hurl a ball of flame back. The assassin leaned to the side as the fire passed by him, just singing the sleeve of his tunic.

For a brief pause, the three of them were caught in a standoff. Zuko's hands were up, fingers splayed, ready to beckon more flames any second. Nearby, Katara was in her own bending stance, her eyes flicking back and forth between the assassin and Zuko. He could see her expression waver between anger and confusion. Before any of them could react, a loud warning call went off from the village. It boomed across the flat snowy tundra, bouncing off the glaciers in a haunting echo. Zuko heard Katara gasp and followed her gaze to the skies. The four-ship fleet was in sight now, charging quickly, minutes from arriving.