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the-vast-corner-of-the-galaxy · 1 month ago

Text

The Dragon and The Phoenix

Rating: All audiences

Word Count: 5.2 K

Trope: Zuko x OC

Read on AO3

Chapter summary: Nia arrives to the Republic to start a new life.

***

Hello pookies! My story is finally here! This is going to be one of the biggest projects I will do in terms of storytelling, especially because many of the characters in the story will be original, and the main character IS my original creation.

I hope you enjoy!

***

Chapter 1

When Nia first arrived in the Republic, she wanted to burn it down.

Just two months ago, she saw an advertisement that the GREAT United Republic was accepting young workers and families to come and work. She thought it was quite unusual, especially since the Republic was barely founded 4 years ago. It felt rushed accepting people already, but nevertheless, it was better than going back to the Fire Nation Capital and having to reencounter her family.

Nia heard about all of the propaganda that the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom released about the United Republic, how it was built from the ashes of the final battle in the war, and instead of bringing despair, it would bring hope for all nations, a ‘beacon of hope’ (or so the propaganda insisted). Nia had scoffed. Hope didn’t pay rent.

Eventually, she was right: the Republic was bullshit. The United Republic was a nation too young to become better than two ancient kingdoms immediately. First of all, it was like an average small Fire Nation town, and maybe even worse. Most of the buildings were half-built and looked like they hadn’t had a serious improvement in months. It was honestly disappointing. There weren’t as many people as she had expected. She kind of understood why there weren’t too many people. Everyone was busy rebuilding their towns and recovering from the war, which made the thought of migration look stupid, especially since there were thousands of refugees scattered across the world who just wanted to return to their homes.

As Nia stepped off the ship very tiredly, she processed the new reality she was facing. This is a new start, away from everything. Away from them. You get a second chance. The harbor sprawled before her, a patchwork of half-built towers and crumbling roads. Far from the economic powerhouse promised, it resembled a dying Fire Nation colony, minus the dignity. A few listless workers hauled lumber; refugees haggled over pitiful wages. No wonder migration numbers were low. Who’d abandon their war-torn homes for this?

Somewhere in this mess, an Earth Kingdom landlord waited with a shabby apartment, and somewhere beyond that, a future… maybe. She contacted him for a new apartment he was renting to newcomers a month before arriving, which was apparently in the downtown area of the city. Nia had no clue where that could be, but she would eventually discover that and make her way there.

The air reeked of fish and wet mortar, a stench so thick Nia’s stomach lurched. She tried stepping further away from the ship to avoid the smell, but it was still there. The place was strangely silent, but also filled with noise from afar, with noises of construction, yells from the markets, and distant talking from the migration points. Then, a child’s laughter—bright and sudden, slicing through the grime. It unsettled her more than the noise.1

At the immigration post, a woman with hollow eyes and fraying hair took Nia’s papers. She looked like she hadn’t slept for a few days. Her eye bags were notorious from every single angle, and her hair was messy.

The woman skimmed through the papers, verifying if they were legal. Nia felt like she was reading through them at an agonizing pace rather than just skimming, which made her patience shorter than it already was.

The woman raised an eyebrow, “Fire nation? Rare these days. Though the Fire Lord visits sometimes.”

Nia’s jaw clenched. “Huh…. how fortunate,” she lied. That title, Fire Lord, was a brand against old wounds. It tasted like smoke and betrayal.

The woman stamped Nia’s papers and handed them to her. “Welcome to the Republic,” she said. Nia left the post without saying another word, still absorbing the atmosphere of the new nation.

The sun was already beginning its descent, casting long shadows over the half-constructed skylines. Nia’s bag thumped heavily against her hip as she walked along the narrow dock, dodging puddles and aimless porters. Her fingers curled tighter around her papers. No directions. No map. Just a name and a street she didn’t recognize.

Then came the voice: too loud, too fast, too close.

“Watch out!”

Nia barely had time to turn before someone barreled into her side, sending her stumbling sideways—directly toward the edge of the dock.

Nia didn’t have time to get her bearings. The dock sloped downward, the ground slick with sea spray and gods knew what else. She was mid-step when the ground trembled.

A whoosh of air slammed into her from behind, and she felt a gust lift her hair.

Then… THUD.

A massive shadow dropped beside her with a bellow, and the force of it sent her stumbling backward—toward the water.

“WOAH—!” a voice yelled overhead.

Something tackled her around the waist at the last second, dragging her back just inches from the dock’s edge.

Nia found herself on the ground, half-tangled with a stranger and inches from the ocean.

“Are you okay?! Appa didn’t mean it! He gets excited around docks!”

She looked up, coughing out sea air and rage.

“WHAT THE HELL IS AN APPA?!”

The man grinned, like that explained everything. “Oh. That big guy.” He pointed over his shoulder.

Nia’s eyes followed, and her jaw dropped. A giant, flying, six-legged bison was snorting at the end of the dock, tail flicking lazily. The beast sneezed, nearly blowing over a crate.

The stranger, tall, scruffy, and way too proud of himself, held out a hand. “Sokka. Local hero, occasional hazard.”

She stared at his hand. “You almost killed me.”

“Yeah, but almost. So technically I also saved you.”

“You almost killed me,” Nia repeated, swatting dust off her sleeves as she stood. “With your flying... thing.”

“Flying bison,” Sokka corrected helpfully, like it was the most normal sentence ever uttered. “His name’s Appa. Don’t take it personally, he likes to make dramatic entrances.”

“I was almost launched into the ocean.” Her tone was flat. “And I just got here.”

“Well then, welcome to Republic City!” Sokka said with a wide grin, arms spread like he was presenting a prize. “Where chaos is tradition.”

Nia scowled. “I’m looking for a place. A rental downtown. Earth Kingdom guy, goes by… uh… Ping?” She fumbled through her travel papers.

“Ping!” Sokka’s face lit up. “Yeah, I know him. Owns those weird apartments above the noodle place that always smells like garlic and regret. I can take you!”

Nia blinked. “Why would I trust someone who nearly killed me two minutes ago?”

“Because,” he said with that same maddening grin, “I also saved you two minutes ago.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He held out his arm, mock-gallant. “Come on. You look like you could use a guide who won’t make you cry or overcharge you.”

Nia huffed. “Fine. But if your sky bison comes anywhere near me again, I’m shoving you off it.”

“Noted,” Sokka said, leading the way with a smug bounce in his step. “You’ll warm up to us. We grow on people.”

“Like mold,” she muttered, trailing behind.

Nia walked beside Sokka and his flying bison, still trying to process whatever just happened out in the docks. She looked at the surrounding construction sites and all the people walking through the dirt and cobblestone streets, still unfinished and fresh with mud.

“So…” Sokka glanced sideways as they weaved through a narrow alley lined with laundry lines and crates. “You don’t look Earth Kingdom.”

“Because I’m not,” Nia muttered.

“Right,” he said, nodding. “You’ve got that Fire Nation vibe. Like the ‘don’t talk to me or I’ll set you on fire’ energy. Intense.”

She shot him a glare. “Is this your idea of small talk?”

“I am great at small talk,” he replied, unbothered. “So, what brings a Fire Nation girl all the way out here? You running away from something?”

Nia snorted. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

Sokka shrugged. “I’ve been told I’m nosy. But also charming.”

Nia didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes stayed ahead, still scanning the unfinished buildings and half-paved streets. Then, with a tight voice, she muttered, “Let’s just say going back wasn’t an option.”

He gave a low whistle, sensing there was a lot she wasn’t saying. “Fair enough,” he said. “Everyone here’s got something they’re running from, or toward.”

She glanced at him. “And you? What are you doing here?”

Sokka grinned. “Oh, you know. Diplomacy. Inventing. Helping my sister set up schools. Occasionally falling off Appa in front of strangers. Very important Republic business.”

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been helping you all this time, and I still don’t know your name.”

She hesitated for a second, then replied, “Nia.”

“Nia,” he repeated, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. “Good name. I’m Sokka.”

“I know,” she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know?”

“You’re in, like, every propaganda poster,” she said. “Big smile, boomerang, weird battle pose. Hard to miss.”

“Guilty,” he said with a mock bow. “Don’t worry, the fame hasn’t gone to my head. Much.”

As they turned a corner, dodging a runaway wheelbarrow and a very angry goose-duck, Sokka glanced over again. “So, if you're not here to set things on fire… what are you here for?”

Nia huffed. “I came to work. Hopefully. I studied diplomacy and international relations.”

Sokka slowed a bit, clearly impressed. “Seriously? That’s awesome. We could use more brains around here. The city’s been a mess trying to get everyone to play nice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your job?”

He grinned. “Touché. But I’m more of a ‘wing it and hope for the best’ kind of guy. You probably have actual strategies and, you know, plans.”

“I had plans,” she said quietly. “Then life happened.”

Sokka tilted his head. “Well, hey, the Republic’s a second chance for a lot of people. Might not look like much now, but it’s growing. You could help shape it.”

Nia gave him a long look, surprised by the hint of sincerity. “That sounds like something someone would say in a recruitment poster.”

“Guilty. I helped write one once. It had glitter.”

She actually laughed, sh ort and dry, but real. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re secretly kind of hopeful,” he teased. “Diplomats don’t move to half-built cities unless they want to make things better.”

Nia didn’t reply, but the silence wasn’t cold anymore. Just… thoughtful.

They finally arrived in front of a leaning brick building with mismatched shutters and a wooden door that looked like it had been kicked in more than once. Nia stared at it, unimpressed.

“Home sweet home,” Sokka announced with a dramatic wave of his hand.

She gave him a look. “You sure this isn’t a barn?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Barns have charm. This one has... potential.”

Nia took a breath, ready to march up the steps, but Sokka cleared his throat behind her.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I know you just got here and you probably want to be alone and angry at everything for a while—which, fair—but the Republic Council is meeting tomorrow. You should come.”

She blinked at him. “Why would I do that?”

“You said you studied diplomacy. You clearly have opinions. And we need people who aren’t afraid to speak up, especially ones who aren’t thirty-year-old generals or Earth Kingdom bureaucrats with six titles and zero people skills.”

Nia snorted. “Let me guess. You want me to fix everything in one meeting.”

“No,” he said. “Just yell at the right people.”

She eyed him for a beat, then softened. “I'll think about it.”

Sokka grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you want. I didn’t say yes.”

He winked, walking backward down the street. “See you tomorrow, Ambassador Nia.”

She rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door, but the title lingered longer in her mind than she expected.

The moment Sokka disappeared around the corner, still rambling something about council meetings and the importance of "diversifying voices", Nia finally exhaled. The apartment door clicked shut behind her, sealing the chaos of the Republic outside.

It was small. Cracked tiles, creaky floorboards, and a single, grimy window that let in the heavy gray of late afternoon. But it was hers. For now.

She walked near the bed and dropped her bag onto the floor with a soft thud and slowly opened it. She unpacked in silence, moving as if the small creaks of the floorboards might echo too loud. First came the clothes: plain, folded tightly, smelling faintly of salt and ship wood. Then her notebooks, all worn at the edges from years of study and half-finished essays on diplomacy, unity, and peace, concepts that now felt naive in her mouth.

Then, slower, came the things that mattered, like her father’s journal. The leather was frayed, the pages fragile from being read too many times. She traced the cover with her fingers before placing it gently on the makeshift shelf by the wall.

Next, the photograph. Four people. Her mother’s sharp jaw, her brother’s wide grin, her father’s steady hand on her shoulder. Don't think about them, she told herself. This is your second chance. You don’t get to fall apart here. She turned it face-down almost immediately. Then came her brother’s knife, still polished, still sharp. She wrapped it back in its cloth.

Finally, the necklace. It was simple: a thin red cord with a carved flame-shaped stone. She let it dangle between her fingers for a long moment before slipping it over her neck, the stone warm against her skin, as if it still carried his voice.

She sat on the edge of the low bed, staring at nothing for a moment. A new city, a new life, and still, her ghosts had found room in her suitcase. To evade more memories, Nia quickly stood up and started to put everything in its place. She took her clothes out and hung them in the small, old looking closet next to the bed, shaking them to get any dust out, as if the closet itself wasn’t filled with it. After that, she neatly placed all of her books on the tiny shelf nailed to the wall above the desk. She didn’t have too many of them, so they all fit perfectly in a rigid order.

Once that was finished, Nia placed her old essays and brushes onto the tiny table that was supposed to be her desk, neatly placing them so that nothing was out of order. Finally, it was time to place the other belongings, like the photograph, her acceptance letter, and her brother’s knife somewhere. Her golden eyes carefully scanned the room, looking for something that could work as a safe for now. She spotted a small drawing at the bottom of the closet. It was the perfect size, and bigger than expected. She opened it and dropped the possesions there. After that, she shut it tightly and headed to the small kitchen that was a short distance away from her. The cupboards were obviously empty, but at least weren’t dusty like the other pieces of furniture. Nia’s stomach rumbled as she looked at the small stove, and remembered that she hasn’t eaten anything in hours, which led her to the conclusion that it was a good time to into the market and buy some supplies.

Nia left the apartment once more, and closed it with its key, making sure it was locked. She stepped out into the streets of the Republic, the weight of the unfamiliar air pressing in on her. The streets were alive: busy, noisy, crowded with vendors hawking their wares, and children darting through the maze of people. It felt like a chaotic mix of her past and an uncertain future, and she couldn't shake the feeling of being just another face in the crowd.

She passed a fruit stall, the bright oranges and reds of the produce vivid against the backdrop of gray stone buildings. Her stomach growled, reminding her of her need to buy something to survive here. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to make this city work. Everything about it was still foreign, still raw.

As she moved down the street, a stall of colorful scarves caught her eye. They reminded her of something… someone. She froze for a moment, the fabric swirling around in a hypnotic dance, and then the memory hit her.

***

She was way younger then, back in the Fire Nation. The market had been crowded that day too, filled with the sounds of people haggling over fruits, textiles, and trinkets. Her father had been standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders, guiding her through the crowds. He’d stopped at a vendor who was selling silk scarves.

"Choose one," her father had said, his voice warm, a little softer than usual.

Nia had picked one of the deepest red scarves, the color of flames in the early morning. Her father had smiled, that rare, genuine smile, and bought it for her.

“A gift for you, little flame,” he’d said, his hand brushing her hair. He paid the vendor and they walked past the rest of the stands. The little golden eyed girl placed the silk scarf around her neck, and smiled back at the man holding her small hand.

***

Nia’s fingers brushed against the stall now, the bright scarves in front of her a stark reminder of the man who had once called her "little flame." She swallowed hard, the sting of that old, unhealed wound creeping up her throat. The red of the scarf reminded her so much of her father, of days that seemed too far gone. She wanted to reach for it, to feel the warmth of a memory that had long since begun to fade, but the weight of it, the memory, was too much. She pulled her hand away, letting it fall to her side.

"Not today," she muttered to herself.

Instead, she walked a little faster, the vibrant colors of the marketplace fading into the background. The noise, the jostling of people, the clamor of voices, it all became distant as her mind returned to the reality at hand. She needed food. She needed something to ground her here, in this place that felt so foreign and cold.

The market was brimming with fresh produce, cured meats, and dried herbs. She picked a few items at random: some rice, bread, a few pieces of fruit, and a few vegetables. She paid the vendor without much thought. The transaction was swift, a reminder of how much she preferred the simplicity of buying what she needed and moving on. The food didn’t make her feel at home, but it was something she could control, something that didn’t stir up any memories of the past.

Once she’d gathered what she needed, Nia made her way back to her apartment, the weight of the baskets in her hands grounding her. She was still miles away from figuring out what the Republic had in store for her, but for now, she had food, and that was enough.

Back in her sparse apartment, Nia set the food on the small table, the silence of the room settling around her like a heavy blanket. She sat down, picking at the rice and bread, but not really tasting it. Her eyes drifted to the walls, where the flickering light from a nearby candle cast long shadows.

The quiet was too much, the solitude unbearable. Her mind wandered, drifting to a time when she had never known such loneliness.

***

The image came unbidden, a memory from a time when the table had been full, and laughter had filled the air. She saw her father sitting at the head of the table, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight, his deep voice laughing as he cracked a joke about her brother’s latest antics. The smell of freshly cooked food, hearty and warm, filled the air, and the sound of silverware clinking against plates was the only music they needed. Her mother sat beside him, her eyes bright with amusement, while Nia and her brother exchanged playful glances.

"You two better stop fighting over that last piece of fish," her father said, his voice warm but firm, "Or I’ll take it for myself."

Nia laughed, remembering how her brother had rolled his eyes, but still handed over the fish without protest. The table had been full—of food, of life, of love. The kind of life she hadn’t known in years.

***

That however, was before; before the war; before everything changed. Now, she sat alone, picking at the food in front of her, the silence pressing down on her chest. Her father’s laughter, her mother’s smile, all gone. She could still see them in her mind, as if they had never left, but that only made it worse. She took another bite of food, this time with more force, trying to push away the ache in her chest.

No time for nostalgia; no time for grief. She had a new life now, and she would build it, one step at a time. But the loneliness, no matter how much she fought it, was still there, waiting for her in the quiet moments, the ones she couldn’t fill with anything but memories.

The rice was cold by the time she finished it, but Nia didn’t care. She cleared the table with mechanical precision, washed the dishes in silence, and returned to her desk. Her small stack of papers and notebooks lay there waiting: half-written notes, essays, and theories on postwar diplomacy and cultural integration. She lit another candle and sat down.

Nia ran her fingers across the pages, eyes tracing her own handwriting. It was neat, assertive, filled with underlines and margin notes. The kind of writing born from long nights and passionate debates.

And just like that, another memory returned, warm, dimly lit, filled with quiet voices and rustling papers.

***

She saw herself seated at a library table, ink smudged on her fingers, sleeves rolled up, eyes heavy but alive. Across from her sat Akiko, her closest friend from university, whispering frantic reminders before a big oral exam. A pile of scrolls towered between them, and the window nearby let in the soft glow of moonlight.

“You’re gonna get yourself sick at this rate,” Akiko murmured, tossing a roasted peanut at her. “You haven’t even blinked in five minutes.”

Nia had grinned, rubbing her temples. “If I can get through this paper, I swear I’ll sleep for a week.”

They had stayed like that for hours—two minds deep in thought, driven by dreams of changing the world with their knowledge.

***

Nia’s eyes returned to her present notes. They were still full of ambition, but now the silence was different. No late-night friend. No laughter. Just her, and the echo of what used to be.A soft breeze stirred the edges of her notes, snapping Nia out of the memory. The warmth of that library, of Akiko’s laughter, was gone. Replaced by the quiet hum of the city at night.

She stood up and walked over to the small window, pushing it open. The air was cooler now, cleaner than earlier. Outside, the Republic shimmered faintly under lanterns and streetlights. Distant voices floated up from alleyways, vendors still selling late-night skewers, children playing, footsteps on cobblestones. The chaos of the day had settled into something steadier, like the heartbeat of a tired but stubborn city.

Nia then realized… It reminded her of those nights back in Shoji.

***

Nia traveled back when she was just a girl in the distant Fire Nation city, not the capital, but one of the old industrial giants tucked between mountains and flame-lit rivers. It was the kind of place where smoke always hung low in the sky, where factories roared day and night, and universities rose like proud islands in a sea of soot.

She worked at a tea house near the university’s southern gate. The owner, a wiry old woman named Madame Aru, had a sharp tongue and a soft spot for struggling students. “You pour tea like a diplomat,” she’d say, watching Nia steady a tray with one hand and slip through crowded tables without spilling a drop. “Polite, but with enough fire to keep fools in line.”

There was one customer she remembered most: an old Fire Nation captain, always seated in the corner with his cane and weathered cloak. He never said much, just nodded at her and left a silver coin, every time, no matter the bill. One night, when the tavern was empty, he spoke: “Study hard. War is too expensive. We need smart women, not more soldiers.”

She never even learned his name, but the weight of his voice lingered longer than most of her professors.

***

Now, standing by this unfamiliar window in this crumbling new city, she let the memory settle into her chest.

Maybe it wasn’t the Republic she believed in, but in second chances, and this place, flawed as it was, still held space for that.

She sat cross-legged, pages spread like wings across the floor. Reports on post-war diplomacy, firelit notes scribbled in the margins, old texts she'd smuggled from university shelves when the librarians weren’t looking. Her fingers moved with muscle memory: flipping, underlining, annotating. The hours passed unnoticed, the city outside humming in the background like a lullaby she no longer heard.

By the time she glanced at the clock on the wall, it was nearly midnight.

Her eyes were burning, her back ached, but her mind buzzed with that familiar, dangerous focus, the kind that used to carry her through all-nighters during finals week.

She exhaled, slow and deep.

"Break," she muttered aloud, voice hoarse from hours of silence.

She stood up, rolling her shoulders, her bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor. The apartment creaked as if acknowledging her movement, and she wandered to the small kitchenette, pouring herself a glass of water. She stared at it blankly for a moment before drinking. Outside, thunder rumbled softly in the distance, promising rain.

She leaned on the counter, eyes drifting back toward her papers. “Fifteen minutes,” she whispered. “Then back to it.” But she knew, this night, and this city, weren’t going to let her rest that easily.

A sharp knock rattled Nia’s front door. She froze mid-step, still holding her cup of water. Midnight. Who would be knocking now?

She set the cup down and opened the door cautiously.

An older woman stood there, wrapped in a worn green shawl, hair streaked with gray and eyes sharp as flint. “You’re the new girl in 3B, right?”

Nia nodded slowly. “Yes. Is something wrong?”

“Just thought I’d let you know: if your pipes groan at night, it’s not a ghost. This building’s older than most people think it is. No hot water after 10, either.” She sniffed, eyeing Nia’s face with a critical but not unfriendly expression. “You from the Fire Nation?”

Nia’s jaw tensed, but she gave a small nod.

“Huh,” the woman grunted. “You’re far from home.”

“So are most people here, I guess.”

That earned a short, tired laugh. “Too true.”

There was a pause. Then, with a surprisingly gentle motion, the woman held out a small, wrapped container. “Steamed buns. Not much, but better than whatever dried junk the corner store sells. Just… watch your wallet out there.”

Nia blinked. “Thanks. I- really.”

“Don’t mention it. I live across the hall. If you hear shouting, it’s probably just the couple downstairs… or me.” She turned to leave. “Welcome to the Republic.”

The door closed softly behind her, and for a moment, Nia just stood there, buns in hand, blinking at the empty hallway.

Nia sat back down at the tiny table, unwrapped the warm bun, and took a bite. It was simple: fluffy, savory, a bit peppery, but good, the kind of comfort food that filled more than just her stomach, but halfway through the second bite, the taste snagged something in her memory.

***

She was seven again, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, her father kneeling beside the stove. He always made buns on days when work was slow. "Fire-fed and full-bellied," he used to joke. Her mother would roll her eyes, but secretly loved them. Her brother would sneak extras and claim it was part of his training.

They were all laughing. She remembered the warmth of the room, the golden light, the clatter of chopsticks, the way her father's calloused hand ruffled her hair as he passed her a plate.

***

The memory faded like smoke.

Nia blinked hard and set the half-eaten bun aside. It was too much.

She pulled the journal closer, flipping through pages she’d already read, trying to lose herself in old theory notes and diplomatic essays. The focus came easily, too easily, almost like muscle memory, and more pages blurred into hours.

Sometime around one in the morning, her vision started to swim.

She sighed, marked the page, and pushed the book aside.

Sleep.

She undressed slowly, got under the thin sheets, and turned onto her side.

Her eyes didn’t close right away.

***

She stood alone at the docks, the salty breeze tugging at her coat. The sky was still dark, but the edges of the world were beginning to glow with the first signs of dawn. Her suitcase rested beside her, half-open, like it still had time to change its mind.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

“Nia!”

She turned, and there they were—Ren and Akiko, winded from running, still in their pajamas. Akiko’s eyes were red, and Ren clutched a thermos like it was a lifeline.

“You weren’t gonna let us say goodbye?” Ren’s voice cracked.

“I didn’t want to make it harder,” Nia said, her voice low. “I barely held it together packing.”

Akiko rushed forward, grabbing her in a tight hug. “Then don’t go. Stay another week. Hell, just one more day.”

Nia shook her head. “I can’t.”

“But you don’t have to go there. To the Republic, of all places-” Akiko's voice trembled, almost pleading.

“I do,” Nia said softly. “There’s nothing left for me here.”

Ren stepped forward, setting the thermos in her hand. “It’s your favorite. For the trip.”

Nia took it, fingers tightening. “Thanks.”

They stood there in silence for a long moment, the ship’s horn blaring in the distance.

Akiko wiped her eyes. “Just... promise you’ll write.”

“I will.”

Ren looked down. “And come back. Someday.”

Nia didn’t answer.

The ship’s crew began calling passengers aboard.

With one last glance, she picked up her suitcase and walked toward the ramp. She didn’t look back. Not when the wooden steps creaked beneath her feet. Not when the sea swallowed the port.

Only when the wind grew cold and the shore began to fade did she whisper to herself,

“Goodbye.”

***

Tag list: @u1ala

#atla zuko #atla oc #atla fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #zuko x oc #original character #atla

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