HOLY SHIT AN UPDATE

this chapter went through, no joke, at least twelve drafts. TOO MUCH. but i decided to cut it short at its natural end, instead of stick to my outline and clumsily shoehorn certain things into the chapter (which would've just bloated it, tbh).

A HUGE, HUGE, HUGE THANK YOU TO EVERYONE STILL READING THIS, FOLLOWING THIS, FAVORITING THIS, REVIEWING THIS; THANK YOU SO MUCH I'M SORRY THIS UPDATE TOOK FOR-FUCKING-EVE

anyway.


I. Revelations

All Korra can think about is the fish market.

She sits in the back of the police van, flanked by four metalbending officers, clasping her cuffed hands over her head as the police healer works on her ribs. They were bruised again by the fall onto the platform and it hurts to breathe.

The van doors are open and she can see Tarrlok and Bei Fong having a terse, hushed conversation with their officers several yards away, silhouetted by the gold light of the arena. They're talking about her, what to do with her, but all Korra can think about is the fish market - a memory so precise and clear that it overwhelms the rest of her thoughts, drags her out of the present and into the past…

Sunday morning. Korra is twelve years old. All around her are the sounds and smells of the fish market; men and women shouting, calling out numbers as they bid on fish, arguing over their catches. Overhead, the sun slants through the slats in the warehouse roof, pale and dusty. Korra stands stock-still, entranced, as the fisherman plunges his calloused browned hand into a tub full of grey eels. They lash their tails around his wrist, slip through his fingers; he grabs one and pulls it out of the tub, scattering drops of sunlit water across the floor of his stall.

Her canvas grocery bag hangs from her hand, its weight tight on her curled fingers. The fisherman pinches the eel between thumb and forefinger, just below the head, and with his short knife he cuts it in two. The sound of the knife going through the eel's neck and hitting the wooden board is a dense, thick sound: shunk. The fisherman sweeps the head away and tosses the eel body onto a tray, where it lies like a strip of wet black leather.

The eel beheading is rhythmic, artfully precise, and Korra can't look away. His hand splashes into the tub. He kills the eel, shunk. He scrapes the knife against the board. And again. Splash, shunk, scrape.

Korra was supposed to meet Noatak at the entrance fifteen minutes ago and he comes to find her, demanding to know where she's been, what is she doing? But no matter how much Korra tries to explain it, he won't understand why the eels fascinate her, or why their feeble wriggling between the fisherman's fingers horrifies her. They don't do anything. They just die. And they had disgusted her. They still disgust her.

But the fisherman's knife terrifies her. Even though she knows it's coming, Korra flinches anyway, as though unprepared, every time it slices through the neck and exposes the soft, grey-pink flesh. The knife flashes with an impassive violence and fills her with a stomach-churning dread.

And the feeling never really left Korra. She felt it every time the sun set and Noatak told her to go get ready, get dressed, we have work to do; she felt it and forced herself to look away whenever Amon turned human beings into demonstrations andlessons and examples, and she felt it on the platform tonight. But in a confused, mixed-up way: was she the eel or the knife - ?

Someone clambers into the van and Korra startles. The officer to her right scoots aside as Bei Fong takes a seat next to Korra, crossing her arms with a faint clanking sound.

"Finish up, Lai," she says, and the healer, a young, dark-skinned woman with bright green eyes, bends the glowing water away from Korra's exposed torso. With an apologetic glance, she tugs Korra's undershirt back down over her sarashi and midriff. Lai buttons the uniform, her fingers quick and nimble as they move up Korra's front, and loops the red scarf twice around her neck.

"She's good to go, Chief," Lai says, and then turns back to Korra. "This isn't the first time you've injured your ribs?"

"No," Korra says dully. "I broke them a few months ago."

Lai frowns, pursing her lips in displeasure.

"They were really poorly healed," she says. "I can only do a patch-up job right now, but you need a better healer, and soon."

"My dad's the one who healed me," Korra mutters, and everyone in the van, all the officers and Bei Fong, looks towards her in surprise.

"Are you saying Amon is a waterbender?!" an officer says; Bei Fong hushes him, narrowing her green eyes at Korra, her expression flinty. And for a fleeting moment Korra revels in victory - she knows all his secrets, his real name and his unscarred face and each truth behind his lies. She has the knife now.

"He's a liar," Korra says, with savage relish, "and yeah, he's a - "

Tarrlok chooses that moment to heave himself into the van, one boot on the step-bumper, broad and imposing in his task force uniform.

"Sorry for the delay. The press wanted a few words with me," he says, crouching under the low ceiling, and the van rocks slightly on the weight of his movement.

Tarrlok turns his head towards Korra, his mouth pulled in a thin smile, and Korra draws back as far as she can into her seat. There's an air of giddiness about him, an almost suffocating sense of satisfaction, like a wolverfox who's found a meal alive but no longer kicking.

Korra bristles as he leans in closer, too close, studying her face from a distance of only a few suffocating inches. She glowers at him, deadening all feeling except a dull kind of hatred: even in the darkness of the van, all the light coming in through the grated back windows, she can see Tarrlok has Noatak's same glacial eyes, like bright ice.

"You're not too happy to see me again, are you," Tarrlok says, and he gives her two quick claps on the cheek. Her anger resurrects in a flash.

She clenches her teeth and smashes her head solidly into his face, hearing a fleshy crack as her forehead connects with his nose - Bei Fong pins Korra to the wall of the van with an armored forearm across her collarbone as Tarrlok stumbles backward onto one of the officers, hand clapped to his nose, glaring at her with stupefied anger.

"I surrendered to Bei Fong, not to you," Korra growls, "get your hands off me, you scumba - "

"Shut those doors!" Tarrlok roars over his shoulder, and someone outside slams the van doors shut. An officer knocks twice on the front panel and the engine shudders to life. Tarrlok drops into the seat across from her, mouth hanging open, dabbing dark smears of blood from his nostrils with the side of his hand.

"Add assaulting a councilmember to her list of charges," Tarrlok orders in a thick voice. Lai starts to uncork her canteen of water and he shoots her a dirty look.

After a full minute Bei Fong drops her arm and Korra slouches into her seat, clutching at her side with a stiff hand. Her ribs are still sore and aching, her breathing coming in short, stilted gasps. The orange light of the streets slide down the walls and the officers' faces as the van rumbles through the city, and their expressions are stony, aloof.

"Continue. What were you saying about Amon?" Bei Fong says. Korra glances at her and then towards Tarrlok. Her uncle. He doesn't even know it. A family reunion in the back of a police van, with her in handcuffs and him with a bloody nose - she swallows the knot of apprehension in her throat but it just comes back up, her shoulders stiffening, as Tarrlok glares back. He doesn't look satisfied anymore, just hostile, with his cold eyes fixed on her and his hand braced on his knee.

"Talk, girl. If Amon tries to rescue you - " Bei Fong starts.

"No!" Korra says loudly. She can't, won't, go back to him. Her chest is tight at the thought of having to go back, not after all it took her just to leave.

She takes a breath, as deep as she can with her bruised ribs, and thinks of the man Amon tortured on the factory floor.

"Amon has been lying to everyone. He's a waterbender," she says, staring at her cuffed hands, and the way the light rolls off the gleaming links; "and not just a waterbender, but a bloodbender. Powerful enough that he doesn't need the full moon. It's how he takes people's bending away."

"That's impossible," one of the officers says, and Bei Fong dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

"It's not, Officer. In fact, it reminds me of the Yakone trial," she says, "it might be the same style of bloodbending."

"Utter nonsense," Tarrlok snorts, and Korra studies him for a second. He looks more hostile than he did before - a muscle jumping in his jaw, every line of his body tense with barely restrained menace. But she also senses fear, the helpless anger of a wounded, cornered animal. So he feels it too.

"And his real name? It can't be Amon, can it?" Bei Fong says. Korra tears her gaze away from Tarrlok.

"No. His real name is Noatak. He's from the North Pole," she says, "he ran away from home when he was fourteen - something bad happened between him and his dad, I don't really know what, but it really stuck with him…"

Bloodbending Mako into striking Bolin with the full, fatal force of his lightning, just to make him suffer - that was Amon. Healing Bolin, breathing life back into him, because no one, not even Mako, should be forced to watch their brother in pain - that was Noatak…

"Enough of Amon's sordid family history," Tarrlok growls, and Korra doesn't dare glance at him. To the others he might seem dismissive of her words, openly disdainful, but he's too much like his brother to hide it from her: a quiet, desperate plea for her to stop. She can only imagine the kind of death Tarrlok is dying right now.

"What else do you want to know?" Korra says, looking at Bei Fong, and she crosses arms, her gaze roving over her officers' faces.

"Weaknesses in his bloodbending technique," she says, and Korra shakes her head.

"Nothing," she says. "His bloodbending is - it's - it just - it feels like you're being stabbed from the inside out, like your own body hates you and is trying to kill you but you just have to wait it out…"

Korra curls a hand over her face, the chilled ache of bloodbending still lingering in her muscles, and tries to force back the sick feeling. He did that to her. Her hands are numb, they don't feel like part of her body, and he did it just to make the point that he owned her.

"He did it to me tonight," she chokes, "on the platform. While he was making his speech. And I'm his own daughter - "

"Officer Altan, do me a favor and stop the van," Tarrlok says suddenly, and Officer Altan doesn't move but glances towards Bei Fong, who frowns in suspicion.

"I said stop the van," Tarrlok says, and instead of waiting for Altan to knock on the front panel he rises out of his seat and leans over him, hitting the front panel twice with the flat of his hand. The driver on the other side brings the van to a lurching stop, the momentum pushing them all forward. And before anyone can fully recover Tarrlok shoves past them, shoulders the back door open with sheer brute strength, and stumbles out onto the empty street.

"Tarrlok!" Bei Fong shouts, jumping to her feet and leaning out of the van, but he swings his head from side to side and swerves down an alleyway, disappearing into the gloom between the tall brick buildings.

"What on earth is going on with that man?" she mutters. Korra's neck feels uncomfortably hot under her clothes. She has a pretty good idea.

"I'm going to speak with Officer Kazuo up front," Bei Fong says, "watch her. Bolt her down if you have to."

She moves to step out of the van but Korra reaches out and grabs her by the elbow.

"Chief Bei Fong, I want to talk to Tarrlok. Alone," she says, and Bei Fong furrows her brows in response, skeptical.

"Please," Korra says, "I won't escape."

Bei Fong purses her lips in thought, her eyes never moving away from Korra.

"Alright. Get out," she says, and as soon as Korra's boots hit the asphalt Bei Fong grabs Korra by the wrist, uncuffs her, and twists her arm behind her back, replacing the cuffs with a sharp clack of metal. Then she marches Korra towards the alleyway, her hand in a vice-like hold on the back of Korra's neck. The street around them is quiet, shrouded in a pale, distant mist, and all the buildings are dark with deep brown shadows and blackened windows. A siren comes from far away, wailing thinly over the rooftops, and the orange streetlights slides off Bei Fong's armor as they step onto the sidewalk and face the alleyway.

"Tarrlok, the kid wants a word," Bei Fong calls out, pushing Korra forward, and then she stays to wait, her hands braced on her hips. There's no response from Tarrlok and Korra yanks the cuffs with an irritated grumble as she creeps into the alleyway. Passes a dumpster and a small mound of rubbish, goes far enough in that the streetlight gives way to a midnight gloom of grey shapes.

She hears a wet, disgusted cough and takes a few more tentative steps into the alleyway. Tarrlok is doubled over, supporting himself with one forearm on the brick wall, and as she comes closer he heaves again and throws up the rest.

He straightens up and turns around, his face twisted into a grimace.

"What the hell do you want?" he says, tugging out a handkerchief from somewhere in his armor and wiping his mouth with a slightly shaking hand. Korra bites her lip, wondering how to voice her overwhelming sympathy, if he thinks the same way Noatak does - compassion is a weakness, bestowed only on the weak - and if he wants any sympathy at all. It doesn't look like it.

"You know what it feels like too," she says finally, and sways back but holds her ground as Tarrlok moves closer and looms over her.

"And what of it?" he snaps.

"I'm sorry," she says.

Tarrlok lets that linger for a few moments. He looks away, searching the wall with his gaze, as though there's a script he can follow written somewhere on the bricks.

"Terrible feeling… the most unimaginable pain," Tarrlok murmurs.

He has the same glassy, distant look Noatak had when Mako placed himself in front of Bolin: still here but standing in a different time and a different place, seeing something else.

Tarrlok glances back at Korra.

"I thought my brother was dead. No, I hoped it, just so he wouldn't have to live the way I have," he says, "with this loathsome skill and the loathsome memory of our father. And it was worse for him."

And he spits at the ground, punctuating his contempt. So even Noatak himself had been held under the knife once, felt the edge against his neck. And maybe they were still feeling it, all three of them.

"Maybe things would be different if my mother hadn't died," Korra says tonelessly, as images drift by in her mind - her oldest fantasies of her parents on the promenade, young and happy and hand-in-hand; her parents cooking in the kitchen, Noatak serenading to the radio in his rich voice as she laughs; her parents long after midnight, her mother coaxing her father to bed, don't work so hard, you have everything you need. Maybe he'd hoped she could change him. Maybe. All of her dreams begin with maybe.

"And he still had me. But even I couldn't help him," she adds, with a twinge of sadness, vibrating like a plucked string deep and low inside her chest.

Tarrlok is staring at her. There's something in his expression she doesn't like, a fascination colored with pity.

Without warning, he puts his hands firmly on her shoulders and Korra takes a step back, trying to shrug out of his grasp, her heart jumping into her throat. It's just the kind of thing Noatak would do.

"There was nothing you could do. Noatak was beyond help before you were born," Tarrlok says grimly. "There's something you should know about - about our father."

With a visible effort he steels himself. The darkness of the alley seems to close in around them, colder and denser, and a shiver runs down Korra's spine.

"His name was Yakone, and he was a bloodbender who almost took over this city… but Avatar Aang took away his power. He found it again in hatred, an obsession with revenge, and he drove us towards vengeance in his name," Tarrlok says, his voice raw, each word another inch of an old wound reopening.

Korra gapes at him, her gut clenching.

"You mean, against the Avatar? Against me?" she says, almost breathless with shock.

"'You will destroy the Avatar. You must avenge me. That is your purpose in life,'" Tarrlok says, and Korra feels the blood drain from her face.

"But Noatak realized that nothing, not even our bloodbending, is more powerful than the Avatar. Even the strongest bloodbender ever known was powerless before the Avatar state."

Korra takes a step back, and another, as though distance will save her from the blunt force of his story.

"But I'm - but I'm his daughter, that's all different now," Korra stutters. "He wanted me to stay, he tried so hard to make me…"

Her confusion overwhelms her and Korra stares at him, mouth slack, unable to find any words at all. Noatak was raised to destroy her? Beyond help before she was born, Tarrlok said, but her father doesn't want to destroy her… just control her, and keep her at his side -

"There's something else," Tarrlok adds abruptly. Korra doesn't even have time to askwhat before he turns her around and takes her back to Bei Fong, still standing just outside the alleyway.

"Done with your chat? Anything you care to tell me?" Bei Fong says, tugging Korra away from Tarrlok by the upper arm, and he huffs through his nose

"No. Take the girl to Katara. Do it now," he says, all traces of his distress gone. It's almost impressive how quickly he pulled himself back together, with familiar ease.

"Are you sure?" Bei Fong asks incredulously, as she looks from Tarrlok to Korra and back again, her hand gripped tightly around Korra's arm.

"Yes. Now. And I need a detachment of officers," Tarrlok says. He's already starting to walk back towards the van, his steps picking up a brisk, urgent pace.

"Wait, what's going on?" Korra says loudly, as Bei Fong pulls her at a trot. "Tarrlok! Why are you taking me to Katara, tell me the rest - "

Tarrlok swivels sharply on his heel, pointing his finger squarely at her, and she barely avoids being jabbed in the face.

"Be quiet. Not a single word," he says, and Korra doesn't miss his furtive glance at Bei Fong. So he still wants to keep his secret. Fine.

"And my officers? Where are you going?" Bei Fong says in a stage whisper; she hasn't stopped scanning the street since they left the alleyway. It's still mute with late-night fog and the van engine growls as it idles nearby, a steady, low rumble. Korra feels the same unease: they're exposed out here, in the middle of the city.

"Your address," Tarrlok says, with a nod to Korra. Even in her growing turmoil, she understands. She would be curious too.

"Apartment 704, 118 Plum Blossom, Ninth Borough. All of our stuff is there," Korra says.

"Alright," Bei Fong says, "but Katara? Right now?"

Tarrlok pauses, stiffening. For a second he looks identical to Noatak, with the same arrogant, pensive look, his mouth curved in a shallow scowl and his eyes hard and clear. And just like Noatak, there's nothing indecisive or hesitant about Tarrlok's expression. He is merely deciding an outcome.

"Yes," he says. "Put her mind at ease."


Back into the van. The next time they stop, they're at the harbor patrol docks. Bei Fong takes two officers with her and crosses the bay with Korra, the motorboat clipping the ink-black waves, kicking up sprays of cold seawater. By the time they reach the top of the stone staircase on Air Temple Island Korra is only half-awake, her exhaustion dragging her senses down like a drug. It was only yesterday she left the underground complex, after three days locked inside the cell; and it was only a few hours ago she knelt on the arena platform in front of the crowd, locked inside herself. Her ribs hurt with an ache that pushes out every other thought.

Finally they take Korra to a warm place, a kitchen by the smell of spices and fruit. A woman in bright orange robes wraps a blanket around her as Bei Fong talks to Tenzin and the officers stand like dark stains in the brightness of the light. Every time Korra tries to ask what they're doing here, the woman shushes her in calm, gentle tones.

"Just tell me already," Korra mutters, as the woman guides her to the stove. The pocket of warmth makes her realize she's cold, frozen to the bone, and also makes her wish Mako were here to hold her like he did that one night when she woke him up, every bad thing burning and flaking away like a newspaper held to a candle, but he's not here because she told him to go and her mouth tastes like ashes.

"Can't you see she's exhausted? Not tonight. Not now. Put her to bed and let her sleep," Katara says, and Korra wants to know what, put her mind at ease how, just tell her now. But the moment Bei Fong takes the cuffs off, Korra sinks onto the bed and falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, fully dressed, every single minute of the last five days settling heavily into her body.


Korra sits slouched on the chair, her forearms on her knees, stripped down to just her sarashi and a pair of drawstring trousers. Her clothes, reeking with the raw smell of dirt and sweat, are piled into a wicker basket at the foot of the bed. Katara gathers Korra's loose hair and pulls it over her neck so it hangs by the side of her face in a coarse, unwashed mane; and then she wordlessly sets to work. Every healing touch of water is so careful that Korra grits her teeth and tries not to flinch when she feels them.

She slept until late afternoon, when the dusty gold light was sliding down the walls into the shadows, and when Korra woke up Katara was waiting for her with a basin of clear water and a roll of bandages. The bedroom is wide with a low ceiling, simply furnished, with a blue sliver of ocean visible through the window, and the sky outside is a swiftly darkening shade of violet.

Katara sighs as she runs a handful of glowing water down the side of Korra's ribcage, a deep, disappointed sound. Korra winces as her bruises call out and glances over her shoulder at Katara. Her lined, leathery brown face is heavy with weariness.

"Is something wrong?" Korra asks.

Katara stops and rests her hand on Korra's bare shoulder blade.

"I heard about how you jumped out of the airship. And I heard a few other things, too. You're a strong girl…" she says, her hand shifting slightly as though to confirm the strength and sturdiness of Korra's muscles, her willpower; "but this world is cruel to its children."

"I'm not a child," Korra says immediately, and Katara heaves another sigh.

"You were never given the chance to be one. That's where the cruelty is," Katara says, resuming her healing with a burble of water, and the warmth spreads comfortably over the sides of Korra's back. Her bending is expert and Korra can tell Katara treats it more like an art than a weapon.

"You're also not the first young person I've had to heal in the past few days," Katara adds, her fingers skimming the top edge of Korra's sarashi. "Would you be alright if I removed this?"

"Go ahead," Korra says. She folds her arms over her breasts as Katara gently unwraps the bindings and pulls them away; and she exhales with relief at the sudden release of pressure.

Something clicks together in her mind, two things Katara said, and Korra's eyes fall on Mako's scarf, folded neatly in fourths atop her clothes. She is not the first young person Katara's healed… and her heart beats a little quicker.

"You mean my friends?" Korra says, "Are they okay? Is he - is my friend all right? I just, I j-just - "

Her breath sticks in her chest and her thoughts break like a glass bottle shattering on a floor, images spilling out - she stands in a doorway deep inside a mountain and Mako is thrown against the wall, his hands bound and his face darkened from bruising, his breath ragged, her name an invocation. Did he wonder if he was going to die there on the floor? Did he blame her?

"Yes, your friends are safe. And the young man you rescued is under my care, healing here on the island. He will be fine," Katara says, giving her shoulders a soft squeeze of reassurance, but Korra cups her hand over her eyes as she screws them shut, feeling heat rise behind them, her composure crumpling.

"My dad was going to kill him, he hurt him so badly," she breathes, palming the wetness away from her face, her skin feeling hot and strained; "but maybe that was - that was only a matter of time, they saw his face, they saw him bend - and I - I thought being their friend would protect them, but now I don't think he ever meant to let them live in the f-first place…"

Her mouth, her throat hurts with the effort of trying not to cry - they're safe, Mako is healing, that's all that matters - but he needed more than his old, frayed scarf to keep him safe and she couldn't do it, she couldn't stop her father - and Korra can't stop herself either, or the dry, hoarse sobs stuttering out of her. There's a faint splash as Katara bends the water back into the basin and she steps around the chair, one arm around Korra's shoulders. Korra shies away when Katara puts a hand on her cheek but it's okay, this is Katara, and Aang is telling Korra from somewhere deep inside of her that she can trust Katara.

"And he doesn't care about how I feel, he just got jealous and took it out on Mako - I know he loves me but why does he have to love me like that? I don't get it. I don't get it," Korra says, searching Katara's eyes for an answer. But an ugly, harsh sound jerks out of her chest, her body shuddering as Katara gathers her in a hug, and Korra starts to cry.

She sobs like that for a long time, with her face hidden in Katara's blue shawl as Katara holds her close. And each breath hurts like she's forcing shards of bone from her lungs, sharp and splintered, but it has to come out. He has to come out.

Korra lifts her head, her face still streaked with tears.

"Tarrlok said you had to tell me something. To give me 'peace of mind.' What did he mean by that?" she says. Katara looks at her with steel in her eyes, a sudden fury, and Korra remembers all the stories she's heard about this woman: she fought the Hundred Years' War when she was just fourteen.

"He was wrong to say that," Katara says coldly, "I can't promise that this will bring you peace. It might just bring you more anger."

Korra bites her lip, a shadowy fear stealing into her heart. But Katara takes Korra's hand and clasps it between hers, her expression locked in memory, mulling over some distant anger of her own. Then her eyes soften.

"But it might also bring you hope," she says, and Korra nods.

"Okay. Tell me."

"Do you remember anything about your mother?" Katara says, and Korra is momentarily taken aback by the question.

"Almost nothing," she says. The memory of her mother's face, framed in fire, is not for sharing.

"I see. And Amon tells his followers a firebender killed her… and told you that it wasyour firebending," Katara says, and Korra bristles, feeling a surge of panic deep in her gut. How does Katara know that? Asami must have told her. But no one is supposed to talk about it, except him, and only because people needed to know - what bending could do, how bending could ruin a family, how bending could kill a man's soul but leave him still breathing.

"Did you ever wonder if he was telling the truth? If an untrained child could really kill an adult woman?"

No, Korra never did wonder that. She had just accepted it, the way she had just accepted most things he said.

"Korra, that man lied to you," Katara says quietly. "You didn't kill her. He is the only person who ever harmed your mother. This is the truth: Amon is not your father. Amon is a man who, fourteen years ago, stole a child from a young couple in the South Pole, after trying to murder them both. But your mother survived."

Korra opens her mouth - but she has nothing to say. She has no breath with which to say anything. All of the air is gone from her body. Her blood might as well not be flowing, her heart not beating. There is just - emptiness.

"And I know this because I was in the South back then. I'm the one who healed your mother's wounds. She told me a masked man broke into her home and took her child, a girl she said was the Avatar. The moment Tenzin told me that the Avatar had been found in Republic City, and who her father was, I knew. You are that girl."

Katara's hold on Korra's hand is tight, painfully tight, like Korra will collapse if she lets go. But for some reason, all Korra can think about is the fish market - how the eels stopped moving once the fisherman laid them flat on the cutting board, their gills fanning open, their eyes dull with terror. They stopped struggling long before the knife finished its short, shining arc through the air because what could they do against the fisherman? What could they do against the strength of his grip, the knife in his hand?Nothing, a feeling she knows too well; there is nothing they could do…

And there are so many things coming together in her mind, the truth a storm whipping waves across the surface of the sea, dislodging memories from the depths in which they'd been hidden. Noatak, frozen with terror as a divine light came into her eyes and all the elements of the world bowed to her command. Amon, forcing her to kneel on the platform, his show of total control over the Avatar, because not even the strongest bloodbender could fight her power…

He is afraid of her. She is the fisherman.


welp that's all for now folks.

next chapter korra reunites with her friends and some other stuff happens too