"Ugh… Damn it, my head!" groaned a dark-skinned boy lying sprawled in the white snow. "Those bastards are gonna pay for this…"
Suddenly, as if only just noticing his surroundings and clothes, he stared at his hands in shock.
"Why the hell am I wearing these rags? And why the hell am I surrounded by snow?! Did those damned bastards dump me here to die?" he muttered, panic creeping into his voice.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. But when he sifted through his memories, a disturbing truth hit him: he wasn't himself anymore. Somehow, his mind was now trapped in the body of Sokka—the very same Sokka from the Southern Water Tribe, who had once been nothing more than a cartoon character to him.
"No way… I'm Sokka in Avatar!" he blurted out, leaping up in excitement—before a sudden realization made him freeze. "Oh, damn it, I'm Sokka!" This time, his voice dripped with disappointment. "I don't have any bending powers in this world."
"Sokka, are you out here?" called a beautiful, dark-skinned woman in a blue parka, searching for him.
"Whoa… Mom's really pretty," the reincarnated boy thought, a strange mix of surprise and nostalgia washing over him.
"Y-Yeah, Mom! I just came out to play for a bit!" he answered nervously.
"Alright, sweetheart. Let's head back to the village—it'll be dark soon," she replied, scooping him into her arms.
As they walked back, Sokka rifled through the memories of the body he now inhabited. It was like flipping through the pages of a family scrapbook: the village layout, the faces, the bonds… He even noticed that this Sokka's love for his mother and family had bled into him. It wasn't entirely his emotion, but it was enough to make him feel a fierce urge to protect them.
"There you are, Kya! Where was Sokka hiding?" asked a dark-skinned man with piercing blue eyes, grinning as he saw the boy in his wife's arms.
Sokka recognized him instantly—Hakoda, his new father.
"Found him playing in the snow," Kya answered with a bright smile.
"Hah! Always so full of energy, Sokka. C'mon, it's dinnertime," Hakoda said, motioning toward a large bonfire.
"Go on ahead. I'll grab Gran Gran and Katara," Kya said, setting him down before heading toward their family's igloo.
Sokka began walking, greeting villagers along the way. Thanks to the body's memories, even strangers felt familiar. When he reached the bonfire, he saw his father and the other tribesmen laughing as they swapped stories about their latest fishing haul. They mentioned something about a lobster-crab and the size of its claws—which immediately caught Sokka's interest. In his past life, he'd loved shrimp and even knew a few recipes.
When his mother returned with Katara and Gran Gran, the family gathered to eat. The meal was simple—fish and rice with a few spices—but the air was warm with quiet happiness. Sokka guessed the Fire Nation hadn't raided in years. But he knew this peace wouldn't last. In a year, they'd return… and Kya would die. That night, he made a decision: he had to get stronger.
Once everyone was asleep, Sokka slipped out into the freezing night and began training under the moonlight. Push-ups, sit-ups, squats—basic exercises from his past life. With each rep, memories flooded back: his love for travel, the people he'd helped, even that incident in Alaska where he'd learned to build igloos and farm in the cold.
He remembered his last night with painful clarity. A group of thugs had tried to rob him. He'd fought back, but a crushing blow to the head had knocked him out. He hated leaving his old family and friends behind… but wallowing wouldn't change anything. He had to focus on the now—and use this second chance to rewrite his fate.
"47… 48… 49… 50…" he gasped, collapsing into the snow after finishing his squats.
Every muscle burned, but it was worth it. "If I wanna survive here, I've gotta keep pushing," he told himself. Exhausted, he crept back into the igloo, careful not to wake anyone.
The next morning, the smell of food roused him. His muscles ached, though not as badly as the night before—just enough to remind him of his efforts. Dragging himself out of his sleeping bag, he freshened up and shuffled toward breakfast.
"Sleep well, Sokka?" Kya asked warmly.
"Yeah, Mom. What's for breakfast?" he replied, giving Katara—who'd just woken up—a playful pat on the head.
"Stew."
A chill ran down his spine. He remembered Aang saying this stew tasted awful. Warily, he took a bite. Yep—it was bad. But he'd eaten worse in both lifetimes. Suppressing a grimace, he quietly forced it down.