"What we hear while we are asleep continues to resonate with us upon awakening."

~ Henry Reed

Chapter 3: Awakenings (part 1)

The ice bit at his skin, even through the layers and layers of clothing that was draped around his young form. Flashes of a storm ran through his mind, and his hands clenched, as if trying to catch the memory of lightning and rain. An echoing groan sent a wash of hot air all around him, thawing his sleep away and melting him into wakefulness. He'd been here before—lived this moment already. More memories flooded through his minds eyes, but they went so fast that they only thing he could get was a sense of achievement and love. He felt so very loved.

A part of him was lost, though. He could feel every part of him. All of his past selves and—future selves? He had those? Was he dead then? No, wait; he couldn't be dead if he had been reborn. Different every time, but still the same. Right?

But apart of him was lost. The present part of himself. He shifted, and the ice sent shivers down his spine as he forced his gaze open wide. Kind blue eyes shined down at him, filled with surprise and concern. His lips quirked into a smile. He knew that delicate, tan face. Those fierce blue eyes. That long, silky mane. He knew her. The lost part of him new her, too—but the version was different and so were the emotions. Love but no passion. His Katara—he knew her so well—but her Kyana. The lost part of him was so confused, but he wasn't.

He was back at the beginning, waking from his cold one hundred year slumber. He was twelve again, and unmastered, but in his mind and heart he knew. The lost didn't. The lost didn't even know of her abilities. She would, though. She would come to know everything. Eventually. Just as his journey had, the lost's journey would be a grand adventure full of twists and turns, and he could feel the lost's still hidden power. She was so strong. She would be the strongest of them all.

"Are you okay?" He blinked, Katara's voice—young once more—sending butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

Blinking again, he felt his control drain, and felt the new him coming forth. He felt her panic at the strange world she was viewing and knew that it would take time before she was ready to become what she was born to be…

Amy coughed, hacking up the water in her lungs as the strange vision of her friend decked in Eskimo clothes cleared. Her gray eyes burst open, and she arched off the pavement, sitting up with her back ramrod straight. Kyana was there, hair dripping once again as she rubbed her friend's back to help calm her. Breathing in short pants as she retched up more water, Amy shook uncontrollably, and forced back the tears in her eyes.

She still felt as if she were lying on a slab of ice even as a large wool blanket was draped around her quaking shoulders. Concern warmed her as words of comfort fell on her muffled ears—she couldn't hear past the high-pitched ringing of near death. Her mind throbbed as she faded in and out for a moment, her knees curled up to her chest, and her hair hung, heavy with water, in her face.

"We need to call an ambulance," Coach Palmer said, his eyes hard, but his voice cracking with worry.

"N-no," Amy whispered. No one heard.

"Did you see what happened, Kyana?" Both coaches were looking at her, knowing she'd give them a straight answer.

The brunette looked torn. All she wanted to do was comfort the friend she cradled so carefully in her arms, but she knew she had to do the explaining. Amy was in too much shock. The team was in shock, hovering by the bleachers and whispering frantically to one another. Kyana glanced at her friend and then over her left shoulder, seeing one of the Lifeguards keeping a firm grip on Ashley's limp arm. The girl looked horrified at what she'd done. Finally, Kyana cleared her throat, turning to face her impatient coaches, and opened her mouth to speak.

"It was an a-accident," Amy murmured.

Suddenly, all eyes were on the injured girl, and a silence so potent it was smothering fell upon them. Gray eyes looked up, pupils dilated in such a way that she looked half-crazed. The coaches frowned, and Mr. Burgess knelt down, placing his hands comfortingly on the small girl's shoulders.

"What happened, Amanda?" He asked calmly, watching as she blinked rapidly. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"It was an accident," she stated more firmly. "Ashley push me, but I slipped. She couldn't have—"

Her voice rasped out and she couched harshly into her hands. Burgess looked up at Palmer, and the tan man nodded down at him. Letting out a slow sigh, the older man stood, excusing himself to go deal with Ashley. Amy watched, feeling a strange sense of pity, before she blinked and stared down at the backs of her hands—anything to keep her mind off of the whole freshly-kinda-dead thing.

"We should get you to a hospital," Palmer said, but Amy wasn't paying too much attention. She was far too busy squinting at the blue arrows tattooed on the paleness of her hands. "Amy?"

"What?" She looked up, head jerking, and she winced as searing heat sailed through her skull.

"We're going to take you to a hospital."

Amy tried to protest, but her voice failed her as her lungs wrung themselves of any excess water. Kyana was there in an instant, rubbing her back soothingly, mumbling strings of assuring nonsense. Coach Palmer frowned, reaching out as the teen coughed to help her to her feet. The world swayed a moment, dancing under Amy's bare feet, and she wobbled—teetering on long legs until a strong hand caught under her elbow to steady her. Blinking past the dizziness, she looked up at her coach and took in his grimace.

"C'mon," he said, ushering her towards the gate doors that would lead them out of the aquatics complex. "Let's get you out of here."

Kyana went to follow, but her uncle shook his head.

"Stay here, Ky." He said, his authority overriding his affection for once. "Randy is going to want to talk to you."

She froze looking over at the other aforementioned coach as he glowered, quite red-face, at the raven-haired attacker. Kyana watched as the girl shrank in on herself, gold eyes darting madly over at the limp form Amy had become, and the olive color of her skin paling to something sickly. Kyana frowned as Burgess snapped at her, and Ashley cringed, looking back up at him.

"I really think I should go with you," she insisted once she finally tore her gaze away.

Her uncle paused, looking over his shoulder at her. "Kyana. Stay here."

Biting her lip, she nodded. Standing there, still dripping wet, a spike of fear ran through her. What if Amy hadn't woken up? Kyana gasped, her hand falling over her heart as her chest ached. A searing sadness swept across her, and tears filled her blue eyes. With trembling, jerky movements, she made her way over to the bleachers. A swarm of teammates were with her then, asking questions and patting her back, offering words of well done.

Amy stumbled a bit, but coach Palmer held her up easily. She glanced up at him blearily, seeing the oddity of his normally smiling face curled up in a frown. Tan hands guided her along, a cold pressure through the blanket on her already icy skin. When he veered left, she followed. When he practically carried her through green double doors and down a hallway, she made no protest. As they made their way across campus, she couldn't help but stare at the backs of her hands. It was more than staring. It was gawking. Squinting. Searching. The faint blue arrows had long disappeared.

She only looked up when she'd realized they stopped. Blinking, she scanned the room blearily, hardly recognizing it until she spotted the older man sitting behind a large desk; a cup of tea in hand. She was in the Nurse's Office, she noted in silence. Looking up at her coach, she tilted her head in question, but he shook his and pressed a finger to his lips. As his hand dropped back down, she followed it with her eyes, seeing the White Lotus ring he bore. He was talking to Mr. Ian—a teacher at the school, and apparent after-school-nurse—but she didn't catch the words they exchanged. It was like she was still underwater, or like they were from Peanuts.

Suddenly, Mr. Ian was taking her hands and smiling kindly as he guided her over to a chair to the side. She winced and pulled away when he shined a light in her eyes. He muttered a quick apology before lifting her chin and flashing the light again, having her trail after it with her gaze. After that, he asked her a series of questions, all of which she answered with ease.

"Well, Jim," Ian said, standing to face his colleague. "She doesn't seem to be concussed. Why don't you go call her grandfather and tell him what happened?"

Palmer nodded, giving Amy a fleeting glance of concern before he rushed off.

She was staring at her hands again when Ian looked her shaken form over. He smiled gently, pulling his chair over so that he could face her comfortably. When he cleared his throat, she looked up, much like a frightened animal, and the old man frowned.

"Are you alright, Amanda?" Ian asked, his voice low and calm as he tried to sooth her.

She paused, as if trying to process it, and then gave him a tired smile. "I think so. Just a little shell-shocked."

"That's understandable," he chortled, stroking the gray scruff on his chin as he smiled amusedly. "It's not everyday that we hit our head and drown."

"Thank god," she giggled back.

There was a moment when they fell into silence, the otherwise empty office leaving a heady nothingness around them. Ian cleared his throat again, cutting through the thick quietness as he offered a small grin, and reached over to grab his teacup. He took a long, savored pull from the small, china dish, and let out a content sigh before setting it back down.

"Let's check that goose egg on your head," he said; Amy nodded and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

Ian's face turned serious with the job at hand, and he combed through her hair gingerly. His fingers navigated the back of her skull, and he pressed hard on one spot, causing Amy to jump and let out a sharp yelp. Grinning triumphantly, he pulled apart her hair to get a better look, and to make sure that she wasn't bleeding. Within moments of presses here and there, he retracted both hands, and settled them on his thighs as she peeked up at him through a curtain of wet tresses.

"You're in luck, young lady," he told her, his voice a gruff calmness that gave Amy a strange sense of security. "You don't seem to need stitches."

She slumped in relief, quiet pleased that she wouldn't have to go to the hospital.

"There are some P.E. uniforms in the back," he commented, noting the way she shivered. "Go put it on in the bathroom over there, and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"Okay," she stood and sort of waddled over to the big box of leftover sweats in the back. "Thank you."

Snatching up a shirt and pants, she continued on her trek into the restroom, locking the door behind herself. She peeled herself out of the swimsuit as fast as possible, and yanked on the spare clothes even faster. Her heart was racing; she tried to remember what she saw, and why she saw it. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she willed herself to calm down. Bracing herself against the sink, she exhaled slowly, and let her lungs sit empty a moment before breathing in. Her pulse slowed, and she leisurely looked up at the mirror fixed in front of her.

A bald boy with arrows tattooed on his skin and her gray eyes stared back. She blinked and the image was gone, but her pulse rate was back up. Reeling away, she scrambled for the door, and escaped the solidarity of the restroom.

She exited; suit in hand, her bare feet padding quickly across the tiles until she was back at Mr. Ian's desk. He smiled up at her, holding out a small china cup, and gestured to the empty seat next to him. She took it shakily, and then reached out and grasped the delicate dish. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes as she slowly took a drink from it, and then hummed her content.

"What kind is this?" She asked; her gray gaze fogged over pleasantly, their previous panic gone.

"White jasmine with a touch of peach." He replied softly, sipping his own with a smile. "There's a touch of ginseng for relaxation."

"It's delicious," she muttered, cradling the cup in her palms. "Soothing."

"Yes," Ian nodded. "I find it's the best way to end the day—a warm cup of tea."

Amy smiled faintly, eyes straying from the curling steam above her cup to the older man's slightly wrinkled hands. Tilting her head, she stared dazedly at the White Lotus ring, silently wondering if it was simply a staff thing at her school. Maybe some sort of club. Her attention was abruptly yanked to the door as one of her classmates came barreling through.

Glancing up, she was caught in an eye-lock with the high school's resident rich, brooding, and troubled bad boy. The senior stared at her, gold eyes skittering across flawless pale skin, and she shifted awkwardly. Her jaw went weak as she spotted the angry, garish burn over Zain's right eye. How had that little line evolved into such a monstrous scar? Blinking, the ruined skin faded back down to its moderate, dangerous form.

"Jesus Christ," she hissed, burying her face in her hands, and willing her eyes to stop playing tricks.

Mr. Ian hovered about her, concern for her well being far outweighing the pleasant surprise of seeing his nephew. "Are you alright, Amanda?"

She nodded, sitting back up tiredly so that she could smile with feeble reassurance, "yeah, I'm okay… Just still a little shaken."

Ian hesitantly accepted her answer, patting her shoulder before looking to the other man in the room. "Zain, what can I do for you?"

"I need an icepack," he replied, voice making Amy's hair stand on end, as his gaze pinned her in. "Someone pulled a muscle."

"I'll go grab one," he scurried off to the back, and leaving Amy to squirm under the intensity of a smoldering amber gaze.

"What're you doing up here?" He asked, voice low and gravely, and she had to shove down the shiver that wanted to erupt over her body.

She finally looked back up at him; her steady silver clashed abnormally with the burnt gold of his irises. Gulping, she gave him a quick scan, trying to make sure he was him, and not some crazy version her mind had morphed him into. Checking off a mental inventory, her gaze darted all over him, just to make sure. Dirt coated cleats? Check. Grass stains on his white football pants? Check. Jersey wrinkled in that just-tackled way? Double check. Sweat rolling down from his just-rolled-out-of-bed hair to his cheek? Check. Eyebrow cocked, looking at her like she's crazy? Check—

"Oh, right," she snapped out of it, internally shaking off her nerves as she gave him a wary look. "Your sister pushed me. I slipped and fell into the pool. Clipped my head pretty good on the way down. Drowned. Woke up with a chest full of water, hacked that up, and then came here. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Zain scowled at her terse tone and crossed his arms, "My sister pushed you?"

"Yep," a bitter smile spread across her face as she conversed with him. He wasn't exactly her favorite person in the whole world. "There was something about me being royalty before that, but with the head trauma and all—I just can't seem to remember that well. All sort of, you know, hazy."

He could taste the dry, sardonic lilt to her words, and his scowl deepened, "But apparently the trauma didn't fix any of the preexisting damage."

A gleam lit up in her eyes, and a flame of anger began to burn softly under her skin. Zain wanted to smirk, quite enjoying the enraged reaction he could always coax from her with just a few words. He wanted to smirk, but he couldn't. At least, not when her jaw was clenched like that, and the room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. She was about to speak—probably a snarky retort with an incredibly witty undertext—but she was interrupted by a giant heap of green shirt and tan skin squeezing her close.

"Kyanajusttoldmewhathappened," Sam muttered against her neck, and she leaned into the embrace; her previous irritation was completely forgotten. "I'm so happy you're okay."

She was assaulted by the scent of chocolate and sweat, and the feeling of being smooshed by the tons of football gear Sam still had on from practice. Patting him awkwardly on the back, she winced as he squeezed too tight. After a few moments of just holding her close, Sam loosened his grip, face still buried at the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

"Alright, big boy…" she grunted softly as she pushed him back. "I'm fine. You can let go, now."

He hesitated, giving her one more squeeze before letting her go, "You're sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," she said with a laugh, watching the concern in his blue eyes get washed over with relief. "Just a little bump. It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Ian walked back in, tossing the icepack at his nephew, who caught it without glancing away from Amy and her friend. "I can assure you, Amanda, drowning isn't nothing."

"God, I can't believe you drowned," Sam said, raking his hands over his face as the stress returned. "You weren't breathing."

Sighing in exasperation, she gave her teacher a dry look. "Thanks, Mr. Ian. Now he's gonna be freaking for, like, a month."

"Amanda," he had a wry smile on his lips. "It's good he's here to worry. If not, I have the distinct impression that nothing would slow you down."

"Slow me down?" Her head tilted.

"Yes," he said, coming to sit down across from her. "Amanda, you need to take it easy for a while. No overexerting yourself."

Her face scrunched up, not liking the idea at all, and went to argue when Palmer walked back in.

"I got a hold of your grandfather, but unfortunately he can't come take you home." He said, scowling deeply before nodding at his godson in greeting.

"Um, hello, it's called the bus?" she added slowly, as if they were all extremely daft. "I take it practically everyday? To and from school, I might add."

"It would be best if you were escorted home," he stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. "At least today."

"At least?"

Her question was ignored as Sam quickly volunteered to take her 'to and from' for as long as they saw fit.

She sat there, black hair hanging in her face, and she shook uncontrollably. Oh, god, what had she done? She'd almost revealed herself. She'd almost killed her. She'd just been so mad seeing her stupid, smiling face. How dare she be happy when others were suffering? Wasn't she supposed to keep the balance? Well, where the hell had she been when—

A sharp bang had her jumping, and she peeked up through her wet hair at the empty room. Glancing around, she took in the principal's office, taking it all in, and counting anything and everything she could use as a weapon. Another bang had her looking over at the door, and voices rose from behind it. She cringed, picking at her nails nervously as there was a sudden pause in conversation. Her body unconsciously leaned toward the noise as she tried to make out words, but she sprang back a bit in surprise as the deer swung open. Mr. Mueller, her principal, poked his head in, giving her a stern look before a slightly shorter figure was bustled through the door. Her gold eyes widened at the sigh of her brother, still in his football uniform.

As soon as Mr. Mueller stepped out and shut the door again, she was on her feet and buried in his embrace. He tensed a moment before he ran his fingers soothingly through her long hair and held her closer. She sniffled against his shirt, and his arms tightened around her small frame as the voices rose outside once more. Amber eyes looked down and locked with tearful ones, and he pushed her away gently, holding her at arms length.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, as if afraid the other men outside would overhear. "Dad must be furious."

"Oh, he was," Zain muttered, his face morphing into something fierce and protective. "He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

Ashley suddenly went from a sniffling mess to an irrational fury. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she stood stiffly in his grip. "What are you talking about, Zain? Father would never hurt us. He loves us, Zain."

"Would someday who loves you do this?" He hissed, pulling her small body closer, and twisted her arm over to reveal finger-shaped scars on her forearms. They passed it off as an oven burn.

She jerked away from him, face drawn up in a sneer, and a warning spark in her eyes. "He loves us, Zain. He told me so."

"Was that before or after he hit you this last time?" He snarled back, and then gestured to his scarred face. "He told me he loved me when this happened. Said it would never happen again. That was three days before he slugged me so hard I couldn't see straight. That's not love, Ashley. I don't know what it is, but it's not—"

"Stop it!" She screeched, and it was ear splitting in the otherwise empty room. "Shut up, Zain. Shut up."

They glared at each other, her body quivering and shaking like a lost, little lamb. He grimaced, wanting to reach out to her. To take her close and keep her safe. He wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. Jaw clenched tightly, he took in her breathless form, and watched as steam rose off of her still damp skin. She was looking at him like he was the enemy. Like he was the one who hurt her. Like it was his fault. He supposed it was, in a way. He may have left his father's home, but his sister was still trapped.

After a long moment, he sighed helplessly and looked away. Running his fingers through his mussed hair, he turned away from her in frustration. He couldn't talk to her about this. Not here. Not if he didn't want people to know about his and Ashley's… abilities.

Rubbing his face grimly, he glanced at her and decided for a change of subject. "You pushed Amanda into the water?"

Ashley didn't relax, but at least she stopped steaming. "Yes. She was laughing. It wasn't right."

"She was laughing so you pushed her into the water?"

"I didn't mean to push her that hard. I was just so angry, and my Bending—"

"You used your Bending?" He interrupted, face contorted into a shocked outrage.

"I didn't mean to," she replied lamely with a bit of a shrug. "It just happened."

"Do you have any idea what could've done?" He hissed.

She cringed, nodding reluctantly.

"She's perfectly aware of what she could've done," a deep, commanding voice said from the doorway, and Zain went rigid as he looked up to meet his father's gaze. "Hello, son."

"Father," he replied tersely, hands curling into tight fists as the older man strode in and rested two hands on Ashley's shoulders. She beamed up at him, her shaking never stopping.

Zain watched in abject horror as that bright smile faltered as large hands dug in painfully. "I'm sure you're aware of what this calls for if the girl does, in fact, Awaken?"

He met his father's gaze coldly. He quaked internally with fear for his baby sister. With anger. Gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw ached, he jerked his head almost imperceptibly. Complacency was key. And he'd do anything to keep Ashley safe. Anything…

"—really not necessary." She muttered as Sam pulled up in front of her house.

Sam just smiled and kissed her cheek gently, patting her shoulder. She gave him a dry look, knowing he'd been tuning out her grumbling the entire ride home. With a roll of her eyes, she smiled faintly, and climbed out of the car.

"Thanks," she muttered. "I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"No," he said sternly, a grin playing on his lips to lighten his worry for her. "I'll see you right here at seven."

Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her mouth in annoyance. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"In the morning," he smiled brightly as she walked away, waving over her shoulder. He waited for a minute, watching as she climbed the stares to her front door, before he drove off.

Amy turned, tracking the rustic Toyota as it pulled around the corner and out of sight, before she let herself collapse on her front patio. She sat, staring at nothing, and fighting fiercely against the harsh tremors that wanted to overtake her body. Jaw clenched tight, she struggled past her shakiness and took a deep breath as she stood. Stumbling over to her door, she jerked it open, and couldn't help but smile as she was met by a large mass of fur and a slobbery tongue.

"Hey Appa," she giggled as the large dog balanced on it's hind legs and licked her pale face. "Miss me?"

He barked, yipping his confirmation.

"Well good," she muttered, patting him softly as he plopped back down to all fours. "I missed you too."

He snuffled curiously at her, nosing her hand as she stopped petting his head. Her face fell for a second as her mind strayed back to what had happened that day, but quickly lit up once more as Appa licked her from wrist to elbow. Giggling, she scratched behind his ears playfully, and he buried his face against her hip. He nudged her, and she laughed again, stumbling to the side as the abnormally large dog nuzzled her and coaxed her further inside.

With a bemused roll of her eyes, she strode past the threshold of her home, shutting the door behind her. Strolling through the foyer, she turned to go down the hallway towards her bedroom. She was accosted by a monkey lunging up and into her arms. She almost screamed, but settled for jumping out of her skin as the pet Lemur settled against her. He made a sort of cooing sound; she scoffed and gave him a sour look.

"Like that's gonna make scaring me any better?" She asked, jokingly serious. "You are not getting any peaches with dinner, buster."

The monkey whined pitifully, big eyes growing larger as it pleaded with her. Appa followed not too far behind as she continued the trek to her bedroom. Chuckling, she scratched the Lemur's head comfortingly and tapped his nose.

"Don't be silly, Momo." She said, opening her door, and letting Appa slip by to jump onto her bed. "Of course I'll give you a peach."

He purred happily, leaping away from her to curl up with Appa on her comforter. The large beast grunted in a bit of annoyance, but didn't bother trying to shrug the monkey off. Amy smiled at the picture as Momo hid himself under Appa's light fur, much to the St. Bernard's chagrin. He grunted again, looking up at Amy with imploringly big eyes, and she shrugged.

"Don't look at me. You're the one that lets him use you as a jungle gym," she chortled as he huffed at her, grabbing her towel off the back of her door. "I'm gonna hit the shower."

Toeing her shoes off, she padded across the hall, and into the brightly painted restroom. As she flicked on the light switch, the pale yellow walls momentarily blinded her, but she proceeded—knowing the room like the back of her hand. She glided across the tile floor and over to the shower. Reaching inside, she turned the hot water on, twisting the knobs until it was just the right temperature.

With a soft sigh, she dragged a hand through her hair, wincing when her fingers brushed over the large lump on the back of her head. With a grimace, she disentangled her fingers and began to pull the P.E. uniform off. She shivered as the air touched her bare skin, and quickly slid into the shower where the water was waiting.

She submerged herself under the spray, head tilted back as the water cascaded down her. Almost scorching drops rolled off of her pale skin, and she reveled in the slight twinge of pain. It made her feel like she was definitely still alive, and suddenly, she felt sick all over again.

"Oh, god," she whispered, shivering as she concaved over under the onslaught of heat. "Oh, god."

Her eyes were squeezed tight in panic because dying wasn't something that occurred everyday, and somehow she knew her heart had stopped—even if it was only for a second. Tremors ran through her as she collapsed on the cool white floor of the tub, trying her best not to think about death or the strange things she'd been seeing since she'd experienced it first hand.

TBC.