A/N: Welp, here it is, the first chapter of Release's (and technically Dragons and Teashops') sequel, Redemption! I won't waste time here, go dive in!

Disclaimer: Surprisingly, Superbleh11 does not own in any way, shape, or form Avatar: the Last Airbender. Seriously! I was shocked, too!

Redemption

by Superbleh11

Chapter 1

Jiro the Mouse:

"Hey, get your little monkey butt moving!" Yusha hisses, peering his head out the door. My eyes flick lazily to his angry face, puffed up and red from a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

"Don't be gruff with me, tubby," I shoot back at him, leaning forward out of my chair, "Running's good for you. You need the exercise."

He rolls his eyes and disappears behind the corridor, sending echoes of heavy footfalls throughout the alley. My arm reaches up and over my head as I stretch lazily, yawning in preparation for what's about to happen. A sudden ripping noise fires out angrily from my shirt as the stretch reaches its peak, pulling me out of my thoughts. Tints of anger and frustration pulse through me as I furiously whip my arm around. Sure enough, the stitching has come loose, exposing a long, palpable hole in underneath my armpit. I grit my teeth and mutter a silent curse before I enter the room.

My eyes immediately struggle to adjust to the heavy darkness of the room. Windows in the upper corners shed pitiful beams of light into the scene; just enough to highlight the oppressive dark that shadows the faces of the men inside. Water dribbles lazily down from the ceiling, thickening the air with heavy moisture, and making me wonder about the torches that glimmer on the far end of the room. They stand close to the symbol of the Family: an open black hand stretched over a crimson red circle, aimed so that the little illumination the torches provide can expose the symbol before it drowns in the humid black.

The leader of the team, seated in an overstuffed chair that is just new enough to appear luxurious, leans forward over a table of some unknown wood. His eyes, piercing and malevolent, shine brightly against the bleak backdrop as he eyes me up and down. I suddenly begin to feel out of place and uncomfortable under the gaze of him and the other eight or nine scattered erratically across the room, and I shift my weight to make myself appear more menacing.

"Jiro," the leader says. It isn't a question, just a statement of fact, spat out with all emotional presence of the word "chair" or "screwdriver". I force my gaze to meet his, quelling the urge to turn away, and forcing the whining of my gut deeper down.

"You're called the Mouse around here, isn't that right?" he asks. His voice is youthful, but gravelly, as if the weight of experience and the times has forced age into it. "Not a very tough nickname. Why do they call you that?"

"I...I'm a thief," I stammer, wincing at the pitiful weakness of my voice, "A pickpocket. The folks around here call me the Mouse because you don't notice me til it's too late." I try to say it with a tint of pride, hoping that it will counteract the lame explanation.

The leader snorts, and reclines further in the chair, causing the stuffing to squeak loudly. "I like that. The Mouse," he repeats, "And I've heard of you. I'd ask you if you're good at what you do, but I already know the answer. You've got some fast hands, so they say."

"Yeah," I respond lamely, forcing them deeper into my pockets, and further out of sight.

"Right," he agrees, "And now you want to join up with the Family. Our little organization. You know why it's called the Family?" he asks, but he cuts me off before I can respond. "Because we look out for each other. Just like a regular family. Course, we're involved in some pretty illegal things. You ok with that? You think you could help us do things that are against the law?"

"Well, I am a pickpocket," comes out before I can stop it, firing out of my mouth and hanging lazily in the air, waiting to be tasted and processed by the judges that surround me. My relief is palpable when the nameless leader smiles.

"Yeah, yeah," he admits, "But you're looking at conspiracy. Burglary in the first degree, not just petty theft. Hard time. The new government don't look too kindly upon these sorts of things." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, so better to leer at me. Even at five feet away, I could feel his breath upon me, appraising me, gaging me. "I need to know that you won't run. That you won't rat us out. That you'll be loyal."

I feel my stomach rumble underneath me as he speaks, feel the thinness of the souls of my shoes, feel the tears in my clothing, and the grit over my body. I run one of my thin hands over an even thinner arm, brushing up against the prominent bones and sunken flesh. My voice shakes with suppressed emotion as I speak, quavering in the way that only desperation can cause.

"Hey, I'm starving," I admit, running a hand through my greasy, unkempt hair, "I don't eat more than once a day, and that's if I'm lucky. This is my only set of clothes, and they're falling apart at the seams. This country's gone down the tubes, and there's no money left, especially since my parents ain't come back. I'm a good pickpocket, but that don't make no difference when nobody around you has anything. I can't get into the ritzy areas of town. I've got nothing, and I need help. That's why I'm here."

He waits a minute, flicking his eyes upon my malnourished body, before grinning. "Good. That's the kind of thing I want to hear," he says warmly, but his words ooze with a sort of condescension I'm not sure I'm comfortable with. "My name is Wazha, and I'm the Lieutenant of this section of the Family. Now we got one assignment for you to start on, but first, why don't we get this poor kid some bread or something?"

Yusha stands up, and forces some bread into my hands. My fingers wrap hungrily around it, feeling the crinkling of the crust underneath them, and reveling in the organic feel of the pastry inside. My loosened teeth close around it before I even process what's happening, absorbing the dry morsels into my mouth, filling me with desperately needed sugars and proteins. I groan contentedly as I force more and more of it into me, feeling the stress and pressures of poverty begin to lift off of my shoulders.

"Hey, how old did you say you were, again?" Wazha asks, as he moves from around the table.

"Fifteen," I answer around a mouthful.

The clatter of the marketplace around me is deafening; people haggling, screaming, bartering around stands for all sorts of foods and trinkets. I keep my eye on the target before me: a large man, stocky and broad-shouldered, garbed in a decadent crimson robe. His prominent mutton chop beard casts gray hair angrily down the side of his face, giving him a severe and unapproachable look. I'm only going to have one shot at this.

The nobleman turns to the side, admiring some small bauble resting on the wooden table of a stand, but, more importantly, giving me sight of my target. I can hear the pouch jingling ten feet away as he pulls it from the folds of his clothing, languidly unties the clasp and pries several gold pieces from it. It takes every ounce of strength I possess to resist going after it, but I have my orders.

The key is what I'm after. Adjacent to the wallet lies a thin pocket, in which the clear impression of a key can be seen. I prepare myself, closing my eyes, and placing the pocket on his large body. This is going to be tricky.

I see him complete his little transaction, bagging up a shiny piece of gold and turning towards me. Reflexively I begin walking, looking distinctly past him at the shop he's come from, directly towards the flamboyantly loud vendor. I hear him approach more then see him, hear his heavy breathing, the clatter of his boots on the pavement, and the singsong chatter of the coins in his wallet. I allow myself to be surprised when his body slams into mine, firing my inside hand forward. I feel the whisper of cloth on the back of it as it enters his pocket, feel the cold metal that snaps my fingers shut, feel the soft give of his belly. Then, I'm falling, sprawled backwards to the unforgiving stone of the pavement, clenching my fist as tightly as I can around the metal object.

"Sorry, sir," I say sheepishly, praying that he didn't notice my hand in his pocket. His eyebrows furrow sternly as his gaze runs down the length of his nose to view me. Wordlessly, he stomps away, jamming his foot in a nearby puddle. I flinch angrily as the bitterly cold, filthy water flicks against my face. The rich swine. I wish I could see his face when he realizes his key is missing.

I prop myself back up, regaining my feet in one smooth motion, and begin walking. My steps are hurried and purposeful as I clear the marketplace, brushing past the herds of gawkers and window shoppers on my way to the housing district.

My pace increases drastically as I turn the corner, whirring onto the cobblestone street and gripping the key firmly in my hand. I see the house looming in the backdrop, the beautiful white and red paint glinting happily in the sunlight, dominating my view. His home seems to represent everything wealth is: officious glory, the wonder of comfort and fearless living.

A gloved hand suddenly appears around my collar, jerking me backwards and snapping me out of my thought. My knife suddenly appears in my free grip, a product of the sudden terror and adrenaline that flies through my system, but I relax as I see the plump roundness of Yusha's face.

"Easy there, hotman!" he leers, pushing his heavy cheeks upwards with an awkward smile. "The real work's about to start! Did you get the key?"

I sheath the knife and angrily pry his fat fingers off of my shirt. "Yeah I got it!" is all I can think of to say as I produce it. The key glimmers dully against my pale flesh, shining light across the length of its teeth as another of my team appears out of the alley and brushes past Yusha. His height puts me off guard, sending a thrill of fear down my spine as I gaze upon his stern and solid face. Suddenly, his hand fires out towards me; instinctively, my fingers close around the glittering object and bring it closer to my person.

"We don't have time for this. Give me the key," he says. I think his name is Hoza.

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, tossing the key to him. He catches it deftly, his long fingers completely enshrouding it as he stuffs it into his pocket with a rustle of cloth.

"We're going to meet the other three at the house," Hoza says stoically. His mouth is pulled down into a permanent frown, as if held there by a prominent jaw and distinctively low cheekbones.

"Right," I agree, and we're off.

It takes us no more then five minutes to reach the mansion, which is even more magnificent up close. I stand across the street, and yet, as I look forward, it is all I can see; the castle takes up my entire horizon in its massive decadence. My hand unconsciously reaches forward, as if to caress it, before Yusha jerks me back to reality.

"Hey, you got those nice new clothes we gave you dirty!"

Shocked, I look downward at myself. Sure enough, the splash from the puddle has dotted the flowing crimson shirt with speckles of brown. I look sheepishly at Hoza, who seems to have taken the leadership role, knowing that I'm about to get in trouble. The dyed fabric that this shirt is made of is valuable enough to feed me for two weeks.

"I don't have time for this crap," Hoza spits at Yusha, "We'll get him some new clothes. Now shut your fat mouth and listen!"

The five of us gather around him, pricking our ears up intently as he lays out the plan of attack. He gives out floor details, and spots where wealth is likely to be hidden, but much of it goes right by me. I'm not familiar enough with words like 'foyer', or 'master room' to fully understand the brunt of it. His dark beady eyes flicker in my direction as he continues, and I know he realizes my inexperience. Despite myself, I feel ashamed.

"Look, kid," he says, his voice adopting a less severe tone, "Don't trouble yourself. You'll learn about this. Right now, we need you for lookout. The law has been comin' down on us hard as of late."

I know this is a chaff job, but I'll take it. I furrow my eyebrows intently, hoping to mask the embarrassment I feel at my own lack of abilities, hoping to be taken seriously by clods like Yusha. A red cloth is suddenly produced from Hoza's tunic, flowing delicately in the wind as he holds it up for me to see.

"This is important, kid, are you listening?" he asks, as he pushes the cloth into my hands, "If any guards or police show up, anyone at all, you hang this off the gate, then get lost. You got me? Get out of there. Do not get pinched for any reason. Your hands are too valuable."

Resolutely, I nod my head. His focus stays on me for a fraction of a second, then he turns to face the rest of the group.

"Ok, you thieving rats. Let's go get some money!" he grins. A show of nervous smiles flicker back at him in return, and everyone spreads out. I pull back to the other side of the street, standing in front of the apartments to watch as the group approaches the gate. I hear the scratching and clinking of metal as Hoza jams the key in the heavy padlock, forces it open, and pushes forward. Yusha follows right behind him, followed by the other three. My eyes flick nervously up and down the street, watching for any signs of movement or uniform, but it is thankfully empty. Within seconds, the group fully disappears into the yard.

I breathe out nervously, pricking my ears for any sign of activity. Suddenly, I hear a dull cracking noise, followed by muffled yelling. My hands begin to shake as panic starts to fall in, until I realize that its probably just the sentry. My relief is total when Yusha's face appears back at the gate with a thumbs up signal. Security's been taken out. I lean back and try to relax.

Noise is always around in the city. There is no escape from it: it blankets every cobblestone with a constant array of sound, which does not help kill my edge. I can't help my shaking hands as I wait with baited breath.

"You ok, buddy?" a voice asks from behind me. My shock is total as I whirl around, mouth agape, my eyes screaming guilt. I see the pair standing before me and back away slightly.

How could they have snuck up on me? I was being so careful! The two stand cockily before me, a young man and a girl, with big grins on their faces. My gaze is instantly drawn to the man; his features are nothing like anybody I've ever seen before. His skin is a dark tan color, only slightly lighter then his dark coffee hair, which is tucked up into a short topknot ponytail and complimented by a small burst of beard underneath his lower lip. Yet, what really stands out about him are his violently blue eyes: cool and bright over his otherwise dark appearance.

"Are you deaf or something? He asked you a question," the girl snaps at me. The gruffness of her speech is somehow taken away by the high pitch of her voice, flowery and slightly delicate. It matches her appearance: she's short, shorter then me, and pale like milk. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, glaring strangely forward, yet not truly seeing anything. It suddenly dawns on me that she's blind.

"I...I'm fine!" I stammer dumbly, running my hand through my hair as my brain struggles to think up a cover story. "I...I live in these apartments," I say, gesturing behind me, "But..I forgot my key, so I'm waiting for someone to come out so I can get back in..."

Yes, yes, I know. It's stupid, and it's lame, but, surprisingly, the man's grin just widens, and he looks across the street.

"Right, well, I don't want to alarm you or anything," he drawls out, his voice jovial and light, "But I think there are some bad folks robbing that house across the street. You might want to duck and cover before we go to stop them."

My mouth hangs open dumbly, swinging agape like my jaw is broken, but for the life of me, I can't bring myself to say anything. I just hope that my surprise can be taken as guiltless.

"Right...well, ok then!" he says, and the two walk forward towards the house.

Then I notice it. The man draws a long, ornate sword from his back, sliding it lazily out of the wooden sheath. I hear the hiss of the metal sliding free, yet still struggle to believe it. It's not just that swords are outlawed, its the color. The blade is black as coal, ashy and dull against the glittering sunlight. A faint reflection is cast in it as the man readies it, and eases through the gate and into the yard. He hitches as he walks, with a slight limp. I might have a chance at getting away.

The girl follows him easily, pushing past the gate with no trouble at all. I guess she isn't blind. She can't be. Her bare feet follow the contours of the ground perfectly as she pads confidently forward, tailing carefully behind the form of the tall limping warrior.

My memory suddenly strikes me like a hammer. I feel a tint of fear rush up my spine as I surge forward, careful to avoid being seen. The cement crackles dangerously as I plant my foot against the stone column by the gate, vaulting upwards towards the metal prongs. My outstretched hand grips the cold metal solidly as gravity begins to jerk me downward, swinging me around and giving me just enough time to force the cloth over the barbs. I catch a glimpse of Hoza's face in an upper story window as I hit the ground, immediately before I flip around the column and wait.

I let myself breathe, and peer around the column. The tanned man with the piercing blue eyes walks through the entrance, while the girl stops and waits in front of the porch. Surprised, I scan the backdrop of the yard for any signs of backup, yet find none. How good do these two think they are?

Sokka, of the Water Tribe:

The smile begins to fade as I lurch into the doorway, crossing the barrier from stone to hardwood, effectively into the danger zone. I hear the creak of wood underneath me as I pace forward, causing me to issue a silent curse at the staccato rhythm of my limp. The furniture sits idly, ordered nicely across the room, betraying the thick, tense atmosphere that permeates the house.

I edge forward, carefully making my way through the wealthy scene and towards the next room, bearing my sword point-forward. My eyes dart furtively back and forth as I cross to the door, easing to it as quietly as possible. The blade extends forward, almost of its own accord as I reach the threshold, forcing the door open slowly with the loud squeak of old hinges. Suddenly, a shadow darts across my vision; only my years of combat experience prevent me from starting noisily and alerting the raiders of my realization. I edge backwards and prepare.

I crouch slightly, leaning to the left and keeping the weight off of my numb leg. My eyes narrow darkly as the heat of action begins in the pit of my stomach, welling up into my throat and pushing strength into my legs and arms. Time to start!

The corded muscles of my legs tighten suddenly, propelling me off the ground and into a diving roll. I feel the wind of a swinging knife pass over my neck as I fly through the open door; the noise of splintering wood shoots through my eardrums as I realize my instincts were right. I come easily to my feet, swinging to my left and keeping weight off the the unreliable, tortured nerves of my right leg; the ash-black blade of my jian flies to the ready and I take in my enemies.

I have just enough time to register the massive gut of the flabby man who charges at me, armed handily with a long hunting knife. He swings forward; there is no clashing of steel on steel, no noise other than the rustling of cloth as I lean away, catching his armpit with the flat of my blade and throwing him over my bad hip. He tumbles awkwardly, yelping in surprise as his monolithic girth plows through the window behind us and he falls out of sight. I lean forward, away from the stinging shards of flying glass and wood; dragging my focus away from the din of the shattered window to the man dragging his knife out of the wood.

He jerks it free with a final tug and charges at me; much faster than the fat man. The dagger flies forward, painting a silver arc into the air as he swings it downward. My blackened sword sings as it flows upward, catching the long knife at the hilt and scoring the backs of his fingers. Blood spurts from his hand as he screams and flies backwards, clutching the opened flesh and looking fearfully at me.

I smirk triumphantly as I flip the dagger up and off of the ground with the point of my sword, catching it deftly in my open hand before tossing it out through the opened window. Toph can take care of him if he runs for it.

The wood creaks more angrily as I race awkwardly up the stairs, hoping to flush out the rest of the would-be raiders. I breathe a sigh of relief at the near-miss from the first swing, thankful for the style I designed accommodating my bad leg. It works well with my longsword; little leg movement ensures that I don't end up in a bad spot because of my inability to feel my right hip. It helps that most fighters put a lot of force into each movement, consistently leaving me with open momentum to exploit.

The sound of racing footsteps pulls me back to earth as I crest the final stair; my gaze is instantly drawn to the man charging towards me with a blade in his hand. I see the shimmering arc of cold steel as he brings the blade over his ear, prepping for the stab downward. Almost reflexively, I throw myself against the wall as he begins to strike down, avoiding him and swinging my jian downwards in a wide curve. The black blur of my weapon seems to blend with the white blur of his as my sword crashes into the boot he throws his weight into. His strike flies forward awkwardly as he continues past his intended target, over and into the stairs; the knife flies from his outstretched hand as his face slams into the middle step, filling the room with the dull, sickening thuds of his unconscious body rolling down the stairs.

I begin to run forward at my awkward pace before I watch him glide to a stop; there's one more raider in this house, waiting to attack me, and I don't intend on being taken off guard.

He suddenly walks out ahead of me, coming to a calm, unhurried halt. An ornate iron poker is clutched in his hand, measured by the easy yet determined look etched on his sallow features. He's tall, with a large reach, and I feel myself growing uneasy.

My pace slows to a measured walk as I pace into the room, careful to let him see me limp, hoping he'll underestimate me. It seems to work: a small smile creeps onto the sour frown that seems drawn on him. I stop before getting within reach of his iron poker; he swings it slowly, feeling its unfamiliar weight, and drawing it into a clear Fire Nation Army stance. Great. A veteran.

When he attacks, it is sudden, fast, and skillful. The heavy cast-iron whistles a low baritone as he throws it into an underhanded swing. I fly into a sidestep off my good leg, bringing my much lighter weapon to bear in a vicious strike aimed at his clenched hand; it is swatted away uselessly by his makeshift club. I manage to pull away, taking a quick, easy step backwards before I notice the beginnings of a head strike in his pose. This is my chance!

He starts the strike from behind his ear, pulling himself back before throwing his weight forwards and swiping for my face, but he only gets about halfway before he's finished. I twist the pommel of my sword, bringing the flat out to bear as the blade licks out, flying past his open guard and slamming forcefully into the side of his head. Spittle flies from his open mouth as the sense is knocked from him, accompanied by the numbed fingers that let go of the poker. The noisy clatter of the weapon falling to the ground mixes with the heavy thud of his limp, unconscious body cascading forwards. He stirs at the impact, trying to come to, but his feeble attempts at propping himself up fail to gain him anything more than enough space to vomit, which he does. I can feel the look of disgust cross my face as I step backward, avoiding the puddle of half-processed food and bile that grows quickly before me.

"Don't worry, I didn't hit you hard enough to crack your skull," I reassure him, as the sword slides neatly back into its sheath, "You'll be fine. Course, you'll be in prison. But alive in prison!"

A wet gurgle is his only response.

"You know the kid was lying, right?" Toph asks, padding blindly towards me as I exit the mansion. A self-satisfied smirk lights up her features, painted by the unfocused eyes that glimmer out into space. I can't help but return the smirk as she brushes the raven-black bangs from her face, forcing the unruly hair back behind her ears.

"Did you hear my footsteps first, or did you feel me cross from the wood to the dirt?" I ask, avoiding the subject.

"Don't be stupid with me, Sokka," she warns dangerously, folding her arms. It's her distinctive "do not approach" admonition, an implication of future danger, and I take the hint.

"Yeah, yeah, I knew he was lying," I admit, running a hand through my hair in defeat, "I just figured he's probably one of the poorer members of the Family. You know, the young ones who just need the money. I figured if we cut him a break, he might get scared out of being a part of it."

"He ran away about halfway through the fight. I think right before you beat the tall one retarded," she says, replacing her danger stance with a more arrogant hand-on-the-hip, "I think you should have let me grab him. Don't blame me if we end up meeting him again at another raid."

"I know, I know," I say with exasperation, gesticulating my frustration with short, violent arm movements, "But maybe not! Maybe us giving him a break will make him change! Besides, I seem to remember a little blind twelve-year-old running around these streets and conning anyone and everyone she met out of as much as she could. He's not the violent Family. The real Family. That's the one we're after. The political, malicious ones, that bribe, and threaten the peace."

"Blah blah blah," she ripostes with an unmistakable air of boredom, whirling away from me and starting the walk towards the gate, "You're just nitpicking. You make this too complicated."

I manage a worn smile before plodding up to follow her. Too my surprise, as I approach, she swings around in a whirl of dust, throwing her hands outward and dragging me into a fierce hug. My smile becomes more natural as I follow suit, wrapping my arms around her short frame. I lean forward to rest my head against hers, pausing to place a delicate kiss on her pale forehead.

"Mmm," she coos, squeezing me tighter. I know that no explanation for the hug is coming; I long ago gave up expecting one from her. Over our three-year relationship, Toph has been prone to random acts of affection: quick hugs, or intense kissing sessions with no speech involved at all. She acts on her impulses, translating them into her most comfortable form of communication: action. I like it that way. No words are needed, because we both understand. Plus it keeps me on my toes. Punches are just as likely as hugs.

Her arms slowly relinquish the grip, uncoiling like a tightly-wound snake as she pulls her arms away. I hesitate, feeling her smooth, supple skin under my grip, my eyes darting down to meet her unseeing ones. She smirks, feeling my hesitation, clenching her fists around the cloth of my shirt and shuffling her bare feet sideways. The ground crumbles warmly, sending out a familiar song of sliding shale and crumbling basalt as a pillar slowly elevates her upwards. Her aim is perfect, pressing her soft and delicate lips firmly into mine as her arm slinks around my neck, gentle but insistent.

Then, it's over. She pulls away sheepishly, allowing the newly formed pedestal to sink back into the earth as she lets go of me.

"Uhh... The police are about to show up," she explains shyly. I respond with my best cavalier smirk.

"Right...well we better get back. We've got an important meeting, and I think he'll be surprised to see us."

Aang, the Avatar:

"Is that better?" she asks.

"Unghh..." I drool.

Her soft, warm hands knead firmly into the stressed and tortured muscles of my upper back, firing thrills of pleasure up my spine with each completed circle. I feel the warmth of her breath on my neck, humid and heavy, accompanied by the fresh scent of her hair, and I want to melt. My neck ceases to function and allows my head to droop forward, dangling awkwardly as I let the pleasantness wash over.

It's a rare moment, and one I've learned to cherish since we've been here in Dai-Tso, repelling General Xu's invasion. His army arrived unannounced in the dead of night, besieging the shocked city in a matter of hours; it may have been too late to save had the Mayor not sent out messenger hawks to the Fire Nation and Ba Sing Se. Trouble is, Ba Sing Se is almost two hundred miles from here, and getting a large enough army from there to here takes a shockingly long amount of time.

My head rises slightly, allowing my gaze to flow over the incredibly blue water of the port; a lump travels up my chest and into my throat, prying its way towards my mouth. I miss Toph and Sokka terribly, but someone had to keep the Fire Nation Council and the Family from creating a civil war, and Dai Tso is too important to risk losing, as it is the closest port city to the Fire Nation islands. Xu was brilliant to attack here.

"Avatar Aang! Madame Katara!" an officious voice cries out from behind our door. I feel a noticeable breeze from Katara as she groans, dropping her hands and folding them across her chest. My fingers subconsciously move to my bald head, scratching an itch through the slight stubble as I sigh in preparation.

The door bursts open with a magnificent crash as the awkward messenger flies through, gripping his armor to keep it from rattling. He's young: almost as young as me.

"Avatar Aang! General Heung wants to meet with you and Madame Katara!" spews out of his mouth before he seems ready, coming to a screeching halt in front of us and throwing an unnecessary salute.

"Right," I say resolutely. My eyes meet Katara's ocean-blue ones, gazing through a milky tint of sadness and fatigue, which betrays the warm and loving smile she flashes for me. She's just as tired of this as I am. We can only hope it'll all be over soon.

The war room is almost as ostentatious and over-the-top as the one in Ba Sing Se, with ornately crafted pillars of marble rocketing upwards into a ceiling almost too high to see. The mosaics spew enough color to make up for the height of the roof, firing off a martial scene so exploding with glory and prestige that you can almost feel the tears streaming down the faces of the people that put it together. I'm never more aware of how small I am as when I'm walking through this room, feeling the massive echoes my footsteps produce, bouncing across the walls and up to the ceiling. Honestly, though, I almost like feeling small. It's a pleasant diversion from the droves of people who attempt to tell me I'm great. I don't feel great.

Heung stands facing us on the other end of the massive map table, arms crossed behind his back, with a stern expression written on his face. His magnificent beard and mustache combination pulls the skin of his face down, prying his mouth and eyes into a permanent frown. He looks almost exactly the same as when I first met him.

"Ah, yes, Avatar Aang, and Madame Katara," he says stoically, offering two curt bows, "I've laid out a battle strategy to force back the Loyalists that have taken the hill outside the city walls. I think you will find it to be quite effective."

He acts exactly the same, too.

"Alright, sounds good," I say scratchily, annoyed at being pulled down here for a battle-plan he's already approved, "Any word yet on when the army from Ba Sing Se will be arriving?" It's been almost three weeks, and the city's resources are beginning to run dry. Xu's almost taken the city three times, all in the last seven days, and I don't know how much longer we can hold him back.

"None yet, Avatar," he says, a bit of desperation edging through his calm and martial demeanor. He opens his mouth, as if wanting to say something, but thinks better of it and turns away. The clattering of his armor and the rustling of his clothes travels back and forth through our ears several times, emphasizing the loneliness of his side of the room. He knows that his fate is connected to the fate of the city: if it falls, so will he. Despite myself, I feel for him.

I sneak a glance at Katara standing beside me, hoping she'll catch the furtive movement and offer some advice. She reads me perfectly.

"It'll be ok," she says firmly, as though convincing herself, "The evacuation went off without a hitch, and all the citizens are gone. We'll be able to take the city back if we need to."

Neither I nor Heung have the heart to argue with her.

Zuko, Former Prince:

The sunlight breaks out from behind a pair of clouds, showering us with a rain of warmth as we travel through the park. I let myself smile as I take in the scene: the vibrant green of the trees, the melodious cacophony of birdsong, the bright blue of the sky and the crunch of gravel underneath our feet.

Xiang's silken brown hair flows out and into my face as a sudden gust of wind picks it up. I smirk a little bit as I pull away, sputtering the strands from my mouth and brushing them out of my eyes. She turns and looks at me, catching the sunlight in her bright amber eyes and flashing me a nonplussed smile.

"Your hair attacked me," I explain, as my smirk widens. Her confused expression turns into one of sarcastic comprehension, flowing with the impudent grin that exposes her teeth.

"Did it?" she asks, as her hand comes up to grip the comb holding the majority of her hair back. She jerks it away suddenly with an impish squeal, whipping her head around and forcing her hair into a violent swirl that catches my nose and mouth. I let out a short groan, which fails miserably to hide my amusement, as my hands feebly work to contain the mass of coffee brown that she throws to me. Eventually, as a stray strand pierces the wet orb of my eye, I get smart, pulling her close and gliding my hands smoothly across her scalp. I feel the individual tendrils underneath my fingers, clean and smooth, as the hair becomes collected behind her, contained and harmless.

I suddenly feel the warmth of her breath on my face, pricking up my stubble and sending chills down my spine as I realize how close we are. I allow my head to lean forward, into hers as our lips meet, cushioning each other and bringing us closer.

She smiles as she breaks the kiss, tucking her head onto my chest and drawing me into a hug. I feel my heartbeat against her cheek, feel the slow rhythms that her body sways to as she holds to me, but most of all, I feel her smile fade. I look down, seeing the worry that pierces her expression, and ask what I know she wants me to.

"What's wrong?"

She sighs outwardly, snuggling a little deeper into my chest and running her hand up and down my back before answering. "I'm just worried about Daddy, and what's going on," she says resignedly, "The Family has been raiding more and more homes. Did you hear that they attacked General Hahn's house just two days ago? They're getting braver and more destructive, and the poverty line is so low that the people get more and more supportive of them!"

"I know, it's a bad situation," I admit, running a hand through her hair, "But your dad has a lot of sway in the Council, and Councilman Tsung is very popular and a perfect choice for Fire Lord. The Council will come around, and when they do, the people will follow. Especially for someone like Tsung. Everything is going to be ok, trust me. We'll be fine, and so will your dad."

"I know, really I do, but I can't help but worry," she admits, breaking the hug. She plops down onto a park bench by the gravel path, forcing a noticeable creak of wood through the crunch of gravel under our feet. I move to sit beside her, wrapping my arm over her shoulders and looking out at the beautiful summer scene of the park.

Things may be bad for the country, but I can't remember a time that I've ever been this happy. Stepping down from the Fire Nation Throne may well have been the best decision I ever made.

A/N:

Ha, here it finally is! The beginning of Redemption, the sequel to Release! I know its taken me an ungodly amount of time to start this up, but I feel confident in the storyline and the way its going to take shape. Before I say anything more, a super mega thanks goes out to my brand new analytical and grammatical beta, Lord Esquire! He's done an awesome job so far, and I'm optimistic about the rest of the story!

Well, like I said, this is the sequel to Release, and it takes place about three years after the end of it. For a brief summary (for those of you that didn't read it), Suki and Sokka split up, Toph and Sokka joined together, General Xu (an OC Loyalist General) was found to secretly be an Earthbender, and the Fire Nation Loyalists are a big problem. For a little clarification: The Family is a very prominent underground crime organization that has spread around the post-war Fire Nation, and Aang and Katara are fighting Xu's main army in Dai-Tso, a very important port city in the Earth Kingdom (and yes, Jiro the Mouse will come back).

That said, I'm sure there are a bunch of you wondering as to who the hell Xiang is. Well, she's first introduced in my little oneshot, Dragons and Teashops, and she is Zuko's current love interest (they've been together for about three years). She's the fiery and passionate daughter of a Fire Nation Councilman, and that's about all y'all should know up 'til now.

For those of you that may be wondering, yes, Zuko will be a MAJOR character in this story! For the record (as told in Dragons and Teashops), he owns a teashop called the Dragon of the West, upon which he's managed to scrape up a decent bit of money, and Iroh has since died. So rejoice all you Zuko fans!

Well, that's all the business stuff! I'm thrilled to be starting another major chapter fic, and I sure hope you all enjoy it as much (or even more!) than Release! I've got plenty of twists and turns to throw your way, so be ready!

Now, the fun little obligatory preview of Chapter 2:

Next time: A major and a minor reunion, a detailed look at the Family through its main bosses, the introduction of the Fire Nation Council, and the ball starts moving! Keep reading!

Superbleh11