Even with the defeat of two mad rulers, the world was not healed.

In the Fire Nation’s Capital City, people whispered in the streets. Not the whispers of a sister to a sister, or a friend to a neighbor – these were things that no one would dare to speak aloud.

Not yet, at least.

“The prince didn’t fight fair,” one man opined quietly to a small group in the market square. “Princess Azula should have won that Agni Kai, and she would have, if that waterbender hadn’t interfered.”

“Oh yes?” hissed another. “You’d live under that crazy harpy? Another hundred years of war? No thank you.”

“So my Liu and Zhang gave their lives fighting for our nation in vain?” A woman crossed her arms. “The prince stopped us at the brink of victory.”

“It’s that uncle of his who put such mad ideas in his head,” murmured the first man again. “Dragon of the West, my foot.” He spat on the ground.

“Yes, cousin Dola is well, thank you!” said the woman, a little too loudly, as a pair of royal guards passed by. After a few more insincere queries regarding familial relations, mutual friends, and the weather, the small group drifted apart.

But there were many, many more groups like it spread throughout the city and the nation.

…

In a hidden facility on a tiny island, a girl sat in the corner of a room made all out of ceramics. Ceramic floor, ceramic ceiling. Furniture made of ceramic. A week ago, she had convinced herself that they were putting ceramic in her food, as well. Trying to poison her, no doubt! That had caused some serious damage – to the orderly who’d been sent in. She didn’t think she’d be seeing that one again anytime soon.

It wasn’t fair, she thought sulkily, she’d barely damaged him at all. Not with her hands chained up so close together like this – it kept her from doing anything fun. From doing anything like what she’d done for Zuzu. Like what she’d do to him again when she escaped.

She lolled around in her ceramic chair, hands hanging limply down between her knees. Bored. Bored again. She was always bored. She cast around her scattered mind for something entertaining, anything amusing, and hit upon a song she’d heard once before. Wrapping her arms around her knees as best she could with her limited mobility, she sang to herself:

“Heart of my heart

Bone of my bone,

To bring you home again

I’d overturn every stone

I’d part the sea

to find what’s true

anything to bring me

close to you.”

She rocked back and forth, laughing helplessly, as licks of fire danced around her mouth.

…

In the middle of a wide grassy field in the Earth Kingdom, a woman and a man were deep in discussion. Around them, their children danced and cavorted, herding turkeyducks into their pen at the base of their family’s windmill.

“I don’t think we can risk it,” said the man, with a not-so-subtle glance at the children. “We don’t have any guarantee that we won’t be alone – and exposed.”

“I don’t think we can risk not risking it,” his wife retorted. “Look at your children. Are you going to deny them a chance at their full birthright?”

“Don’t put it like that,” he said uncomfortably. “I’m just scared. For them. And for us, too.”

“It’s worth it,” she said stubbornly, and took his hand. “We should know why, of all people.”

“I suppose.” He looked out at the children again. “Now the only question is – how do we tell them?”