When I left the igloo, I was feeling pretty satisfied with my progress.
But as I stepped into the village center, something caught my eye—a speck in the sky, small and distant, like a firefly. And then—boom—it exploded.
A firework.
My stomach dropped.
The firework.
The same one that, in canon, brought Zuko and his warship barreling toward the Southern Water Tribe.
I immediately made my way to the village entrance. A crowd had already formed, muttering and shifting nervously. Through the cluster of fur-lined parkas, I spotted Katara and Aang trudging back into the village. Their faces were pale, anxious. Guilty.
I pushed through the crowd.
"Katara, what was that?" I demanded.
Her eyes darted to Aang, then back to me. "Well… it was a signal. Sokka, you have to believe me—it was an accident. We stumbled on an old Fire Nation ship, and Aang, he… he triggered a trap. It just went off. And—and—"
I raised a hand, cutting her off. "Aang. What she said—true?"
The bald monk nodded quickly, eyes wide. "Yeah. It's true. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to set it off…"
"Argh. Damn it." I dragged a hand through my hair. "Well, what's done is done. Here's what we're gonna do—change into some of my old clothes. Cover that glowing blue arrow on your head. And once you're ready, help me haul some weapons from the wreck. We need to prepare."
I pointed to the distant black smudge staining the horizon. "That little cloud? That's not a storm. That's smoke—from a Fire Nation ship."
"Oh… okay. Are you really not mad?" he asked, blinking.
"Oh, I'm pissed, trust me. If you weren't a guest, I'd make you skinny dip in the freezing sea as punishment."
I led Aang back to my igloo so he could change into something less… obvious. Something not orange and monk-y. Once he was dressed and semi-incognito, we headed out again—this time toward the old Fire Nation ship, Appa following close behind.
Inside, I moved carefully, hyper-aware of every echo on the metal floors. I didn't want to trip any more traps. Aang led me down a dim hallway and into a rusted armory. The walls were lined with old weapons, covered in frost and dust. I grabbed what I could: a few spears, some swords, and one decent-looking set of armor.
Then, just as quickly, we made our way back.
Now came the hard part—preparing.
The sun was already halfway sunk below the horizon, casting golden streaks across the ice. I found a quiet spot near the village's crude snow wall, sat down on the compacted powder, and began cultivating again.
Breathing in. Breathing out.
Slow. Steady.
I gathered more yin energy into my dantian. In my mind's eye, I saw it: a small, crystalline sphere, like water frozen mid-drip. With every breath, more yin flowed in, washing over it like a gentle river passing over stone.
Tiny progress. Invisible to the eye. But still—progress.
When I finally opened my eyes, the moon had climbed halfway across the sky. It was past midnight.
"I guess it's time to work on my swordplay," I said to no one in particular.
I unsheathed the dao I'd scavenged from the ship and stood.
Then I practiced.
Basic forms—horizontal swings from left to right and back again, vertical slashes, thrusts. Nothing fancy. Just the standardized PE-class drills drilled into every student back in Martian schools. The kind of stuff meant to impress no one but build fundamentals.
I repeated them. Again. And again. And again.
Until the sky turned from deep blue to gray, then gold.
The sun crested the sea.
I sheathed my sword, breath fogging in the cold air.
"It's time."