Chapter Text
*
Chapter 2: The Spirit-Touched Lake
When Dream opened his eyes, he was soaring through the clouds. He was flying, like he had always wanted to (like he had been too scared to do). He felt the wind in his hair, a gentle caress to his cheek, and a little breeze encircle him. There was nothing more freeing than the winds; the way they whispered in his ears, the way they asked him to join them in the sky. As he flew, he watched the land skip by beneath him. Trees, mountains, rivers, and valleys. Dream giggled as the wind pushed him through a cloud, then around a mountain, then over a bridge. He didn’t have control over where he went, but he knew, deep down, that the wind would never hurt him.
Before he knew it, he had travelled hundreds of miles. Large glaciers of ice approached from the north.
Dream never wanted to stop – he wanted to keep going. He wanted to keep flying forever; until he was past the most northern point, until he was past the end of the world, until he was among the stars – and even beyond that.
But the winds whispered to him. They told him he needed to stay grounded. They told him it wasn’t his time yet, for he would join the stars – one day – but not today.
Dream didn’t want to listen to the winds. He feared losing this freedom. But the winds settled and placed him gently upon the closest glacier.
The cold seeped into his bones. The sky darkened. The winds quieted.
Dream was standing on a frozen plain. There was nothing for miles in each direction. The air was so cold that when he breathed, it came out in puffs of fog. It froze his face with bitter crystals that stung like tiny shards of glass. Above him, the sky was a swirl of blues, greens, and purples – like a colourful fire dancing across the heavens. It felt distant and close at the same time.
He walked without sound. His footsteps didn’t disturb the snow. No prints appeared. No sound echoed.
As he moved forward, he saw shapes crystallising in the distance – towers of ice, mountains frozen, and vague structures made of packed snow.
Then he saw the person.
They were dressed in warm furs and calming blues. Their eyes were obscured by large white goggles. They were kneeling, hands outstretched, as water coalesced in mid-air. The water glowed blue, soft like moonlight over a glacier. Dream wasn’t sure how, but he could also feel the water, like he felt the winds. It felt like healing – like cool water on a fevered skin, like balm to a wound.
Dream took a step forward, entranced.
The figure gasped, losing focus.
The water dropped.
“Who’s there?” The figure demanded. Their voice was like silk, but with a strange accent.
Dream stepped again. “I –”
The ice cracked and the ground fell away beneath him.
He was plunged into darkness. No sound, no wind. It was eternal quiet. He fell forever – until he landed. He found himself in a room made of old planks and hay. The air smelled warm and stale. It was his parents’ old barn. And there, seated on a plank, was Blaze. His uniform was tattered. His eyes – sclera and all – glowed brightly, his mouth fallen open like a puppet. He looked possessed.
“The tides are changing,” Blaze said.
Dream tried to speak, but no words came.
“Remember this,” Blaze said, leaning forward, his voice so close it tickled Dream’s ear. “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
Everything went black again.
In the distance, small lights started to appear, one by one, until Dream realised they were oil lamps hanging on the docks. He was back in his old village. The Fire Nation ship was still docked. It was made of cold metal and stood tall and daunting. Blood red banners hung from the railings. Soldiers gathered in groups on the shore – shirts tucked, boots polished, swords at their sides.
He saw the officer from before and other important army people speaking urgently.
“… don’t let him slip through the cracks,” the officer was saying. His voice was like gravel. In the lamp light, his scar seemed even more jagged and raw. “If he’s the Avatar, the Fire Lord will want us searching for him. We need eyes everywhere.”
Dream tried to move, but he was frozen. His breath clouded in the air. His heart hammered.
Another soldier shook his head. “Sending patrols north? Might make the colonies anxious.”
The officer smiled, low and hungry. “They should be anxious.”
Dream tried to scream, but no sound came.
And then – the sound of pounding feet, as the soldiers began their trek.
His eyes snapped open.
Sapnap was still beside him, face smushed into Dream’s side. His chest rose and fell in the early dawn light. A few loose embers glowed from their weary fire.
Dream’s heart pounded. His fingers were cold.
He leaned over and shook Sapnap’s shoulder.
“Sapnap,” he whispered, voice tight. “Sapnap, wake up.”
Sapnap blinked awake, dazed. “What?”
“The Fire Nation,” Dream said, eyes darting to the trees. “They’re here. They’re here!”
He gripped Sapnap’s arm.
Sapnap sat up, pulling the blanket tighter. “What are you talking about?”
Dream swallowed hard. His hands were shaking. “In my dream – I saw them: Fire Nation patrols. They were looking for me. They’re coming …”
Sapnap’s eyes widened. “Dream …”
“I don’t know how far they’ve gotten.”
“Dream …”
“They could be here any second –”
“Dream!” Sapnap snapped. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked tired; his eyes were dull and foggy with fatigue, his hair was mussed, and he was covered in dried mud from their initial run.
Dream was hit with a wall of overwhelming guilt.
He had turned both their worlds upside down in a matter of seconds, and now the two were on the run. He might be the Avatar, the Fire Nation was looking for them – him, because of his bending, and Sapnap, because he was technically a deserter now – and they had nowhere to go.
Sapnap didn’t ask for this.
“And why,” Sapnap added shortly, “would they be looking for you? For us? We’re just … we’re just nobodies from a random colony.”
Dream paused. He took a deep breath. He locked eyes with his friend, green to amber. He knew that Sapnap knew the answer to that question. He just wanted Dream to say the answer aloud, to bring it to light, to admit to what they both knew and be the one to deliver the unfortunate news. Sapnap had always been like that; he couldn’t accept something unless it was staring him in the face. He wouldn’t believe something until Dream confirmed it. He wanted to live in his small world and believe everything would be okay, when really … well, that was the furthest possibility from reality.
But Dream didn’t resent Sapnap for it. If he had been allowed to be ignorant, he would be the same. But his mother had never let him live in ignorance. Not him.
“I think …” Dream started, then shook his head. “I am the Avatar.”
Sapnap let out a shaky breath. “You can’t be the Avatar,” he said, shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe it, “You can’t.”
“Sapnap –”
“If you’re the Avatar,” he continued, “they’ll kill you. You can’t die. You can’t.”
“Sapnap!” Dream said, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. “I’m not going to die. That’s not going to happen – not if I can help it. It’s the same way you’re not going to war – I won’t let it happen. As long as you and I are together … well, we can do anything.”
Sapnap sniffled. “But how can you promise that? This is the Fire Nation we’re talking about. They’re the strongest nation in the entire world. We only got away the first time because you … you went all glow-y and brought the entire sea down on top of them. Do you really think they’ll let that slide? That they’ll let the Avatar slip between their fingers? We’ll never stop running.”
Dream sighed. “I don’t know what to do, but …”
The wind whispered in his ear. It wasn’t words, but it was the intention that Dream could hear: The Fire Nation. They’re near. They’re coming.
Dream stood. The wind answered him – a low swell of movement, branches bending slightly, the fire being suffocated, and the shadows brushing them.
Flashes of light glowed in the distance between the trees.
“They’re coming,” Dream said. “We need to go. Now!”
Sapnap scrambled to his feet.
Dream held out his hand, and Sapnap’s pack flew from the ground into his waiting palm. Sapnap rolled and tied his blanket.
“Anything else?” Dream asked, voice hushed.
Sapnap was yanking on his boots. “Water flask, some rations – yeah.”
Dream tugged Sapnap’s pack onto his back, along with the only things he had carried at the time they had run: his flask, a spare cloak, and his dagger.
They slipped away from the dying embers of the fire.
*
They travelled for hours; they ran for some of it, but once they lost the flickering lights deep in the forest, they slowed to a trek that they were able to maintain for many miles. The sun had long since risen and had settled into its place at midday. The sun’s rays beat down on their backs relentlessly, making Dream’s skin freckle and even made Sapnap, who could usually handle long days spent working in the fields, start to sweat. Their feet were tired, with sores between their toes. They had finished their rations a mile back, the little bits of food having only been meant to supply Sapnap with an extra bite to eat on the voyage to the homeland.
Dream was ready to throw the towel in and declare that he wanted to stop and set up camp, when they stumbled upon the small sleepy village.
It was at the foot of a mountain range, in a hidden lake nestled deep in the valley, and surrounded by dense forests. Dream hadn’t even realised there was a village here, nor did he see it, until he and Sapnap broke the treeline and suddenly it was right in front of them.
It was strange sight to see.
The village was built on stilts, hanging above the lake. Small, but long, boats floated under and between the buildings, transporting goods and people. There was a main boardwalk that connected the centre buildings, and there were ladders and ports that easily allowed the boat passengers to move between boat to building. And despite the small, but quiet, bustle of people and boats, the lake stayed eerily still and silent, with barely a ripple along its surface.
Dream had never seen a village like this before; then again, he had never left his hometown, having been led to believe his destiny was working the fields, with dirt under his fingers and resolutely ignoring the whispers of the wind.
Sapnap sighed in relief when he saw the village.
“Oh, thank the spirits!” He exclaimed.
He made for the water, shedding his pack and shoes in the process. Dream meant to follow him. He wanted to dive into the cool, relaxing water, and wash the sweat and grime from his skin.
But something made him falter.
The water, as he observed before, was eerie and still. It was almost like … like a mirror, Dream thought, suddenly. He could see the trees and clouds reflected back in the water that did not move. He felt the winds stir uneasily, though they whispered nothing to him.
He grabbed Sapnap’s shoulder, stopping him.
“Maybe we shouldn’t jump into strange bodies of water.”
Sapnap scoffed. “I was just going to dip my toes in, Dream.”
Dream still hesitated. “Why don’t we check out the village, first? Maybe someone will let us stay the night. As long as they don’t know about … what we are.”
Sapnap side-eyed Dream. Still, he picked up his bag and shoes without complaint. “You mean that if they find out you’re the Avatar and I’m a deserter, they’ll turn us into the Fire Nation without a second thought? And then it’s game over for us?”
The way Sapnap said it – that Dream was the Avatar – without flinching, as if it were as simple as saying “I’m heading to the market, do you want anything?” – made Dream let out a breathless laugh.
“Yes, Sapnap. It’s ‘game over’ for us. So, let’s not do that?”
*
Dream and Sapnap followed the groaning boardwalks through the mist, boots creaking over old wood slick with lake fog. The village was little more than a scattering of stilted huts, their walls built from mismatched scraps of lumber and patched with tarps, moss, and paint that had long since faded from colour to memory. The water below was mirror-smooth, too still. Unnatural.
The villagers were polite, but distant.
Dream learned from a local at the front of the docks – who shifted uneasily when they approached and wouldn’t make eye-contact – that the village was called Mirrorwater, because of how perfectly the lake reflected the sky – even when the wind blew.
He felt it was an apt descriptor.
Most of the locals didn’t want anything to do with the strange outsiders who had shown up unannounced. They moved around Dream and Sapnap like water split by stone, not even acknowledging their existence, stepping into their small boats and gracefully paddling away.
The only one who truly welcomed them was Ember; even then, “welcome” was a strong word to use.
She stood at the edge of the dock, wrapped in a threadbare shawl, skin wrinkled and eyes sharp as coals still burning low. She didn’t ask for their names. She didn’t ask why two boys, as young as them, were traveling alone; though her gaze lingered on them long enough to make Dream feel like she already knew everything anyway, no matter how absurd that thought was.
They lied to her, of course. They told her they were just a pair of friends – adventurous, curious, born to see the world.
“Just trying to see more of the colonies,” Dream had said.
Ember had only nodded once and said, “Then stay the night on the dock, not in the village. And do not touch the water. No matter how much it calls to you.”
She said it without drama, without flair. Just firm and final.
Dream wondered what she knew that the winds didn’t.
Now, inside her home – a squat hut on stilts nestled deeper into the heart of the village – the boys accepted a small bundle of rations. Hard bread, smoked fish wrapped in cloth, and a flask of clean water that smelled faintly of lemon balm.
“You may come back for more in the morning,” Ember said. “But don’t mistake my kindness for safety. I can’t house you. The water is patient, but not forgiving.”
Dream didn’t know what she meant, but he nodded. “We understand. Thank you.”
Ember watched him with unreadable eyes. “Do you?”
The winds, though restricted inside the hut, murmured uneasily. Dream bristled.
Sapnap, of course, didn’t notice the weight of the words. He was too busy glancing around the room – Ember’s hut was unlike anything they had seen in their village.
It was dim, smoky from a coal-burner in the corner, but the walls were decorated with tattered old scrolls and emblems – unmistakably Fire Nation in origin. A polished bronze sunburst hung crookedly above the hearth, its centre blackened by old flame. Red silk draped from the rafters, bleached pale by time. On a low shelf sat an old fire bending candle holder, cracked along the top, but unmistakably ceremonial.
Sapnap’s curiosity flared – this wasn’t just Fire Nation history. It was bending history.
“You were –” he started, stepping toward the candle holder. “You are a fire bender.”
Sapnap didn’t see the way Ember’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t see the way her head tilted slightly, perceptive. Dream’s eyes widened. Sapnap reached toward the shelf with a fascinated grin. Dream grabbed his wrist.
“Come on,” he said quickly, voice too loud in the small space. “We should set up outside before the light goes.”
Sapnap blinked at him. “But –”
“Now.”
Something in Dream’s voice – whether it be the quiet panic, or the firmness – made Sapnap go silent. Because, in the end, Sapnap always listened to Dream.
Dream tugged him out the door, offering Ember a too-quick bow of gratitude. She said nothing as the door closed behind them.
*
They walked in silence along the boardwalk. The sky was a purple bruise above, the lake gleaming silver through the planks beneath their feet.
“You could’ve asked me,” Sapnap muttered, finally, once they were out of earshot.
“Asked you what?” Dream didn’t stop walking.
“If you thought it was a bad idea to touch the candle. She would have told me if she didn’t like it. Grabbing my wrist like that –”
“Do you want to get her arrested?” Dream snapped, spinning on him suddenly. “Or us?”
Sapnap recoiled. “What?”
“She’s Fire Nation,” Dream said, voice low. “She was a bender, probably. You know that kind of candle is used for fire bending meditation. Maybe she served in the Fire Army, maybe not. But she was giving us weird looks, almost like … she knew.”
“That you’re the Avatar?”
Dream shushed Sapnap harshly. “Don’t say that so loud!”
Sapnap blushed.
“But … no. Think about it. If the wrong person hears word about a Fire Nation boy who isn’t in uniform, they’ll put two and two together. Especially now that the army’s drafting younger and younger. You’re a fire bender of age, Sapnap. That means you’re property to them. What do you think they’ll do when they find out you’re a deserter?”
Sapnap blinked, the words sinking in slowly. “You think if I’d said something, or shown anything, she’d have turned me in?”
Dream thought about his mother. He remembered her words about Blaze, the Fire Army deserter; they had been harsh but ringing with truth.
“If he knew who you were – what you could do – he wouldn’t hesitate to give you up within seconds,” she had said.
“You don’t know that,” Dream had protested.
“Yes, I do,” his mother had said, “Because I would, if it meant keeping you safe.” She had looked down upon him with baleful eyes. Despite her resentment, she had confessed: “I did it to protect you. One man dies so that you live. I won’t apologise for that.”
“He wasn’t going to tell anyone,” Dream remembered saying.
“You can’t know that. You think people stay quiet just because you fed them a few crusts of bread? You’re not a child anymore, Dream. The world is not kind to people like you. It’s not kind to anyone.”
Dream thought about Blaze’s wild, panicked eyes, when he had initially found him. He thought about Blaze’s stories of being in the army: the comradery with his fellow soldiers, the pride of fighting for his nation, the horror of seeing his friends die at the hands of the enemy. He remembered Blaze’s will to live, and how that had been seen as cowardice in the face of war. That kind of instinct to survive … Blaze would have done anything to stay alive. Would that have included betraying a friend who had given him a few pieces of bread and simple sips of water? Maybe. But Dream knew that kind of risk wasn’t worth it. Not with this.
Finally, Dream said: “No, I know that she would have turned you in.”
Sapnap didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
Dream looked out over the water.
The weight of the realisation settled like wet ash.
They reached the edge of the village where the last slanted dock curved into a small landing platform. The wood there was less stable, warped from time and neglect, but it was dry enough. Dream dropped the bag Ember had given him with a soft thump and began to strip his cloak.
Sapnap crouched nearby but didn’t unpack.
“She gave us food,” he said quietly.
“She didn’t have to,” Dream replied.
“She could have turned us in, but didn’t.”
“She still could.”
Sapnap didn’t argue. He looked out over the water – the lake was motionless. Too perfect.
“You really think she knows?”
“I think she guessed.”
A long silence.
Dream laid out his cloak as a sleeping pad. He sighed tiredly: “We should sleep, Sapnap. We have a long journey ahead of us. Get some shut eye.”
*
The air had cooled, but the night was still heavy with summer heat – the kind that stuck to the skin and made sleep difficult and restless.
Dream had fallen asleep easily. His breathing had evened out quickly, his head turned to the side, his eyes occasionally squinting with the dredges of dreams. Sapnap lay next to him in his bedroll, arms folded behind his head, staring up at a sky scattered with stars.
He couldn’t sleep.
The boards beneath him felt sticky with humidity. His back itched. The stale sweat from the day’s march still clung to him, and he kept thinking about the lake – how dark and glassy it had looked beneath the moonlight. How still. How inviting.
Ember’s voice echoed in his mind: “Do not touch the water. No matter how much it calls to you.”
Sapnap huffed. Elders always spoke in riddles. He sat up slowly. Dream didn’t stir. His friend was out cold – but of course, he was. They had been walking on foot for miles, and Dream had been the one to offer to carry Sapnap’s pack after the first couple miles. Not to mention, Dream always had that strange talent for falling asleep fast, like flipping a switch. Sapnap had always been envious of how easily his friend slept. He watched him for a moment, then rose to his feet with as little sound as he could manage.
The dock creaked softly under his weight.
The lake waited for him. A pale ribbon of moonlight shimmered on the surface, perfectly still, as it had been ever since they stumbled upon Mirrorwater.
Sapnap pulled off his boots, then his tunic; his pants followed until he was down to his underclothes. The air kissed his skin, cooler now, enough to raise a trail of goosebumps down his arms.
He stepped to the edge of the dock, took one breath in, and dove.
The cold was a shock, but not painful. It wasn’t biting. It was more like relief.
Sapnap surfaced with a soft gasp, blinking the water from his eyes. The water tasted strange – not like the salty sea of home, but faintly earthy, faintly bitter.
He kicked forward, slicing through the water in smooth, confident strokes that only someone growing up on the coast would do. He swam far out, where the dock lights faded behind him and the stars were reflected in the lake, a perfect twin sky turned upside down. At first, he scrubbed at his arms and back with his palms, trying to wash away the grime and sweat. But time slipped away from him. Even once he felt clean and refreshed, the water enticed him to stay longer. It was so refreshing; it was like a balm. He floated on his back for a while, watching the stars, the water hugging him like a second skin.
He dove again, deeper this time. The water thickened around him the lower he went, never reaching the bottom, shadows brushing his shoulders, his arms. He opened his eyes under the water, and though he saw nothing but darkness, it didn’t scare him.
Not until something brushed against his ankle.
Now, Sapnap didn’t like to think of himself as a coward. He was plenty brave. But he jerked back at the touch, heart hammering. It could have been a plant, a fish, a drifting branch – but something about the touch was wrong. It hadn’t been passive. It had felt curious.
Panicked now, he kicked up toward the surface, his lungs aching. He burst from the water with a harsh inhale and spun, treading water and scanning the black ripples around him.
Nothing.
The lake was smooth. Silent.
He paddled back toward the dock in quick, splashing strokes, dragging himself out onto the wooden planks, where his wet skin glimmered faintly in the moonlight.
He sat for a long moment, catching his breath.
Then he laughed – sharp and nervous.
“Just a fish,” he told himself. He shook his head. “Just nerves.”
He pulled his clothes back on, still damp, and padded back toward the makeshift camp beside Dream, curling into his bedroll with a shiver.
*
He dreamed of fire.
But there wasn’t the warmth that usually followed a late night by the fireside, sitting with friends and family. There wasn’t the light from the sun in the sky, burning with the strength of Agni. Instead, it was a field burning under a skyless black. The flames were white and endless, and the world cracked like dry earth underfoot. A sun rose, but it was wrong – too large, too dark, a black sun that cast no shadow.
Whispers curled around him like smoke. Not words; not at first. Just impressions – shapes and names he didn’t know. Grief he hadn’t lived. A pull he couldn’t explain.
Then: “We see you.”
Sapnap turned in the dream. A face waited in the smoke. Or maybe it was more than one? They shifted like oil on water; there were too many eyes, no mouths, and the hint of claws curling.
“Burn with us.”
He screamed. In the dream – and out loud.
“Sapnap! Wake up! Sapnap!”
Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him. The dream cracked like glass, and he bolted upright, gasping. Dream was crouched beside him, his skin pink in the rising sun. His hands gripped Sapnap’s shoulders, eyes wide.
“You were screaming,” Dream said. “You wouldn’t wake up.”
Sapnap was panting, his heart galloping behind his ribs. His clothes clung to him with damp, unnatural cold. Then he noticed something else.
His breath was fogging in front of him.
In humid summer heat.
“I …” He started, but his teeth chattered. “I just … I went in the lake. I thought –”
Dream jerked back. “You what?”
“I was hot. And tired. I didn’t go far, just swam a little, and –”
“You ignored the warning?” Dream demanded. He stood, pacing a few feet away, hands in his hair. “She said – she said not to touch the water. That it calls to you. The winds – they said the water was bad. Even I could feel something was wrong. How could you not have felt it?”
Sapnap knew Dream was an air bender, but surely, the wind didn’t speak anymore than water could call to him. He dropped his head into his hands. “Something touched me.”
Dream froze.
“It grabbed my ankle. It didn’t hurt. It just … it scared me.”
Dream crouched again and touched Sapnap’s arm – then recoiled.
“Your skin is freezing.”
“I know,” Sapnap whispered. “It’s not going away.”
He looked up at Dream, face pale, lips slightly blue.
“I think something followed me out.”
*
The morning sun rose pale and tense above Mirrorwater, sending marsh fog curling across silent boardwalks. No one was up yet. When Dream dragged Sapnap to Ember’s hut and banged on the door desperately, the old woman answered with narrowed amber eyes. She was still in her sleep clothes.
But then she took in Sapnap’s condition and demanded, “What did you do, boy?”
“First,” Dream begged, Sapnap’s weight hanging off his shoulders, “do you have a bed for him?”
Ember, despite her sharp voice and angry expression, didn’t hesitate to allow Dream and Sapnap into her home, this time for more than just rations.
Once Sapnap was situated on a cot, Dream stood, face tight. He told Ember everything he knew: Sapnap’s late night swim, the unseen touch beneath the water, and the nightmares. He shared the subsequent symptoms, like Sapnap’s ice cold skin, his breath fogging despite the warm weather, and strangely enough, his eyes were dulled and grey, unlike the bright amber they usually were.
Ember listened without interrupting. When he finished, she let out a shaky breath.
She looked at Sapnap like he was a ghost, then turned toward the window. Dream had the odd feeling that she was only pretending to watch the sun rise.
“That lake was never ordinary.” Her voice was soft but heavy. She hung her head. “Mirrorwater was built on a sacred spirit bridge. Before the war, the Avatar of that age – one of the last Avatars known – sealed it, trapping a spirit beneath the surface. When they trapped the spirit beneath the surface, the spirit became angry. The spirit fought. They resisted. They tried to break through the seal, but it was hopeless. Even spirits bow to the Avatar.”
Dream’s heart rate sped, but Ember continued.
“No one knows why the Avatar decided to seal the bridge. No one knows why they trapped the spirit. But ever since then, the spirit has become unstable. Dangerous. If you disturb their rest – even accidentally – by disturbing the water … you’re marked. Haunted. And every time, you’re taken.”
Sapnap whined softly. Dream dropped to his knees next to the cot, cradling his friend’s cheek in his hands. It was ice cold despite the sweat dripping down his forehead.
Ember watched Dream with an unsettling gaze. When she spoke, her voice quivered.
“I lost someone to that lake,” she whispered. She closed her eyes. “Her name was Soleha. She was my partner in life, much like you and your companion.”
It took a moment, but Dream realised what she was implying. He faltered.
“Uh, no, we’re not like that –”
“My point,” Ember interrupted, “is that this has happened before.” She pursed her lips in a frown. “We were young. A group of boys – kids, really – mocked us. One pushed Soleha. They were just teasing, like all boys do, but she fell in. I tried to save her, but … the water was dark. Soleha called for me. I tried to pull her out, but she slipped away. She turned cold fast. Her colour drained. She died on the third night.” Her chin trembled. “You disturbed the lake. And now that spirit has crept into your friend.”
Tears glistened in Ember’s eyes, but she didn’t wipe them. She stared down at Sapnap’s still body.
“There’s no cure,” she said, voice marred with grief. “Not for Spirit Sickness. Not anymore. Not since the Avatar disappeared.”
Dream’s breath caught.
“Spirit Sickness erodes the body, soul, and memory. It’s fatal.”
Dream gasped. Belatedly, he realised his cheeks were wet. Ember gently pressed a hand to his shoulder.
“Come,” she said. “Let us boil some water for the cloths, so we can relieve the chills while he sleeps. It is the most we can do for him, relieving his symptoms.”
Dream, feeling hopelessness in his chest like a pit, was unable to do anything but follow Ember.
*
Sapnap lay in Ember’s hut like a fading flame – pale, shivering, too cold under blankets that Dream kept straightening. Ember stood by the window, her gaze distant. She didn’t offer to take Sapnap to a healer, if the small village even had one – only food and warm tea, warning Dream for the nth time: “The village will shun you if they learn the truth about the Spirit Sickness. They treat the lake as taboo. It’s better we avoid the ugliness. Say your goodbyes in peace.”
Dream pressed Sapnap’s hand into his own, his heart in his throat. Ember’s words meant little. Sapnap didn’t deserve to die. Not like this. Never like this.
While Ember tended to Sapnap, Dream left the hut and headed toward the docks. The boardwalk groaned beneath his steps. Mist drifted low, curling over the water. He felt the pull toward the water, stronger than before. Standing on the edge, he inspected the lake.
It didn’t look like much.
It was eerily still, as always. It was quiet. It reflected the sky like a mirror. None of these observations were new, nor did they help Dream.
Ember had said only the Avatar would be capable of breaking Spirit Sickness, but Dream didn’t know how to be the Avatar. He didn’t even know he was the Avatar until two days ago. He doesn’t know how he accessed the Avatar State before, on the docks in his village, where he stopped Sapnap from boarding the boat to war. Though he doesn’t know how, he tries again – to enter that state of righteous fury, of protecting another – to try to commune with the spirit under the lake.
He’s the Avatar, after all. Everyone knows the Avatar is the bridge between the two worlds. He should be able to talk to a simple spirit.
He had no luck.
He couldn’t enter the Avatar State on command.
He had no idea how to access the Spirit World.
Dream hung his head in defeat and kicked a rock into the lake. It rippled once, then stilled again; it was unnatural. It was part of a world he didn’t think he would ever understand – or truly be a part of. He felt bile rise in his throat, and he turned away from the lake.
On the second day, Sapnap’s condition worsened. His previous symptoms persisted, but now he let out sparks uncontrollably – like he couldn’t control his fire bending – and sweat glistened on his forehead. His breath rattled. He was stuck in sleep, unable to be woken, and tossed and turned in his cot with nightmares marring his features. The sheets needed to be changed every few hours, and Ember pressed warm cloths to Sapnap’s chest and cheeks.
Dream spent the day yelling at the lake.
He walked the perimeter, pacing back and forth. He kicked rocks into the lake, just to see the water ripple, just to catch a glimpse of whatever was beneath the surface.
He screamed, he pleaded, he threatened, and he begged.
Nothing answered him.
On the third day, Dream paced the boardwalk. Ember watched him from the window. At noon, Ember grabbed Dream by the arm, her nails digging into his skin, and hissed: “You better smarten up, boy!”
Dream stared at her with a dead expression.
With something like regret burning in her eyes, Ember’s words softened. “Stay with him today. Say your goodbyes while you can. I didn’t get the chance. I wouldn’t want you to suffer the same regrets I did.”
So, Dream takes over caring for Sapnap. He presses hot cloths to Sapnap’s skin, watching the steam curl up over his body from the difference in temperature. He hangs the sheets to dry. He pushes back Sapnap’s hair from his forehead, slick with sweat, and pushes his fingers to Sapnap’s pulse, if only to reassure himself that he was still there, however tenuous his hold on the waking world was.
Ember watches him with pity, and it makes resentment build in Dream.
It wasn’t fair.
None of this was fair.
He and Sapnap should be back in their home village, skipping their work like the reckless teenagers they were, fooling around and doing whatever they could to savour the last few years of childhood. Dream should be at home, cooking with his mother. He would tease his siblings about being banned from the kitchen. He would be absently listening to the winds whisper in his ears. He would portion a little bit of food while his mother wasn’t looking to save for later, so he could share it with Sapnap (who was hopeless in the kitchen). Sapnap should be eagerly learning about fire bending and building his skills slowly; he wouldn’t be burdened with the war, or expectations, or the history of their nation.
Dream thinks about all of this and more, before finally, he breaks.
He stands from his position beside Sapnap’s cot, and he turns to Ember. He can’t stand seeing the pity in her eyes. He doesn’t want pity; he wants to save his friend.
“You said only the Avatar could break Spirit Sickness,” he started.
Ember nodded. “Yes, but the Avatar has been missing for a century.”
“But …” Dream hesitated. He thought about a scared soldier, an angry mother, and the power of secrets and words. He decided, after a moment, that regardless whether Ember turned him in, he would rather spend a century rotting in prison than live another day without Sapnap. “But what if the Avatar was here?”
“Boy, I know you hope for your friend, but there is no hope. There hasn’t been, for a long time.”
Dream took a deep breath.
“No, I mean – I’m the Avatar.”
At first, he could tell that Ember didn’t believe him. She was looking at him with a skeptical expression, brows drawn tight, and lips turned downward. She shook her head. “That’s impossible. The Avatar hasn’t been seen since before the war. How could you, just a boy, be –”
Her words died on her tongue as Dream bent the winds, making the sheets on the line ripple and the shutters on the windows flutter.
“You …” She looked lost. “You’re an air bender?”
Dream nodded.
“I went into the Avatar State two days ago. I didn’t know before then. But please …” Dream dropped to his knees before Ember, desperate. “If you know – if there’s any way to reach the spirit under the lake, to break the Spirit Sickness – tell me. Please. I can’t lose Sapnap. I can’t.”
Ember eyed him carefully, as if debating her choices. She looked over at Sapnap, who was still asleep in the cot, having worsened throughout the day. She inhaled slowly, lips pressed tight. She closed her eyes.
“Fine. I will help you. But once this is over, you must leave. I will not harbour the Avatar any longer than I already have.” Dream opened his mouth to protest, but Ember held out a hand. “I will not invite trouble where it is not needed. You will leave with what I have given you.”
“And what will you tell the Fire Nation?” Dream asked. “They will come, eventually. They’re chasing us.”
“What will there be to tell?” Ember said. “You will be gone.”
And Dream let out a breath.
*
The lake was quiet as dusk bled into night – colours of bruised lavender and dying flame washing across the lake’s mirror-smooth surface. Not a single ripple broke it. No breeze stirred. The world seemed to be holding its breath. Dream stood at the edge of the lake, his boots dusted in pale clay. Ember stood beside him, her face lined by age and bitterness. In her hands, she held three squat candles and a small clay bowl.
Behind them, the village lay quiet, unaware – or perhaps unwilling to notice – what they were about to attempt.
“You’re sure?” Ember asked, without looking at him.
Dream didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”
Her eyes, the colour of old fire, flicked to his. “Perhaps you can save your friend,” she said softly, “the way I couldn’t save mine.”
Dream didn’t know what to say.
Ember knelt and placed the bowl on the dock, right where the light of the dying sun painted a path across the lake. She lit the candles with a snap of her fingers – fire blooming at her fingertips with precise grace.
“Spirits aren’t like us,” she explained. “They don’t come for logic, or reason, or mercy. They come for attention, for curiosity, for … hunger. They are unpredictable. It is good to have a healthy fear of them.”
Dream swallowed.
“There are many ways to summon the spirits. But I only know one ritual that ever worked,” she said. She stepped back from the candles. “This is all I know,” Ember whispered. “May it be enough.”
For the first time in three days, the lake stirred.
Ripples rolled outward from the centre – not from the wind, or fish, or anything natural. They were too slow; too deliberate. It was as if something were pressing against the water from below. It was gentle at first, then sharper – faster. The water churned.
Ember stumbled, her hands trembling.
Dream took a step back as the water swelled and surged – without sound, without splash. It was rising. A shape moved beneath, pressing against the surface, like something was trying to climb out but couldn’t. Dream’s heart thundered.
Then: a voice, soft as silk, dragged across broken glass, threaded through the air.
“Come to me, Little Avatar …” The voice cooed. “Come … and let us meet once again.”
Dream locked eyes with Ember.
She didn’t speak. Her expression was scared.
Dream’s body moved before his mind could stop it. He took off his outer robe and stepped to the edge of the dock, toes curling over the wood. The water pulsed below, whispering promises.
“Wait,” Ember said.
Dream looked back.
“If you don’t come back –”
“I will,” he said. His voice was surprisingly steady.
Then, without another word, he dove.
The water swallowed him whole.
At first, it was freezing – far colder than it should have been for late summer, in a Fire Nation colony close to the coast. The deeper he sank, the darker it became. Sounds dulled and light dimmed. His body grew sluggish, but his mind stayed sharp.
Until … he blinked, and the world inverted.
He was no longer submerged in water, not exactly. He was beneath it – but also beside it. He was in a realm where the lake stretched out in all directions like a cracked mirror, suspended in an endless, starlit void. The wind was silent; Dream couldn’t hear anything.
Somehow, he knew: it was the Spirit World.
And then he saw them.
The spirit stood at the centre of the mirror lake, draped in robes of shadow and starlight, with eyes like molten amethyst. Horned, winged, without a form that Dream could fully comprehend. They shimmered and twisted angrily – all edges and memory – like a dream just out of reach. Their colours flashed and inverted, purple and black and void.
“You Avatars are all the same,” the spirit hissed, voice bitter and graceful, like frost growing across glass. “You only know how to throw your weight around.”
“I’m not … I’m not here to do that,” Dream stuttered. “I’m here to save someone.”
The spirit laughed. It was a sound full of hurt. “Save someone? Now you care to save someone?”
“What are you talking about?” Dream demanded.
“Tell me, Little Avatar – do you know what this lake once was?”
Dream nodded. Ember had explained it to him. “It was a bridge between the Spirit World and the physical world.”
The spirit scoffed.
“A bridge? Is that all they remember now? Of course.” The spirit twisted and spun through the void, making Dream feel dizzy. “No, Little Avatar, this place was sacred: a site of pilgrimage. It was a sanctuary for your kind to come speak with mine. I was its guardian. ‘Atka,’ they called me. I judged who passed, who communed, and who returned.” The spirit – Atka – paused. Their voice darkened. “Until one day, she came.”
Dream could hear the shift – the sorrow beneath their anger.
“She was unlike the other humans. She didn’t seek power, or ask for glory. She didn’t need healing. She only asked for company. She saw me and did not flinch. She was my Sunshine.”
Atka’s form softened, their colours dimming, just for a moment.
“And one night, she came running – chased, begging, terrified.”
Dream’s chest tightened.
“I did what I could to protect her, but she was human. She needed things I could not provide. She needed food, shelter, and warmth. When she left, they found her. They took what they wanted. And when I found her again … when I felt her broken spirit call to me from the edge of death … I did what any spirit would do when faced with such grief.”
“What did you do?” Dream asked, barely a whisper.
“I killed them.”
Dream took a step back at the vitriol in Atka’s voice.
“I drowned them. I flooded the whole valley. No human was ever to pass the bridge again, not after what they did to my Sunshine. But then … the Avatar came.”
Dream didn’t want to hear any more. He didn’t want to hear what he did in a past life. He didn’t want to know how this story ended. Atka’s grief practically choked the air. But Atka continued anyway. “The Avatar came,” they repeated, “not to ask what happened – not to grieve with me – and not to mourn the girl who once sat at my side and made me laugh. No … the Avatar came to fight. To seal the bridge. To bury me beneath this cursed mirror.”
Atka’s voice shook with barely concealed rage.
“And now, I sleep beneath their shame, and your kind builds villages over her bones. As if this was just any other cursed lake.”
Dream swallowed hard.
Atka fell silent. They stared at Dream, and Dream didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth, and he almost choked on a sob.
“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly.
“The Avatar apologises!” Atka shrieked, almost with glee. “After nearly a century, I finally get my recompense. But it is far too little, far too late.”
“I’m sorry,” Dream said again. “I’m sorry we forgot. I’m sorry they hurt her. I’m sorry we didn’t listen.”
Tears burned in his eyes. He couldn’t stop them. He dropped to his knees.
“But I’m begging you,” Dream said, “Please don’t take him. Sapnap is all I have left. He’s … he’s my Sunshine. If you just let him live, please …”
Atka tilted their head curiously.
“And what would you give me, Little Avatar?”
“Anything,” Dream breathed.
“Even your life?”
Dream closed his eyes. He trembled. It had just been days ago that he was running for his life, hoping for a future that was uncertain. But that wasn’t a future he wanted, not without Sapnap. He bowed his head. “If that’s what you want. I’d die in his place a hundred times over.”
Atka studied him for several long moments, silently. Finally, the air seemed to soften around them.
“There is humility in you. That is rare in your line.”
They paused.
“But death is simple. It is easy. It is done. Living – truly living – is the harder path. Before death, you must first have the courage to live.” Atka’s form began to shimmer – colours shifting from stormy violet to gentle sunrise gold. “I have lived too long and held onto my resentment for far too long. I am tired without purpose. I wish to see my Sunshine again.”
Dream looked up, startled. “You mean …”
“I do not want your life, Little Avatar. I want your help. Set me to rest.”
“I don’t know how,” Dream confessed.
“You are windborn,” Atka said, as if this would mean something to Dream. “You carry the winds in your blood. The winds always carry you home.”
Dream frowned. “But … I can’t hear the winds here. I can’t feel anything.”
“Try.”
So, he did.
Dream closed his eyes. He could hear nothing; no gentle breeze, no caress to his cheek, and no laughter carried off in the distance. But he reached deep into the place inside himself that he always carried – a place like the breath before motion, the hush before the storm.
And something stirred.
He opened his eyes.
They glowed, casting pale light upon Atka.
A breeze, impossibly soft, rustled through the mirror-lake realm.
Dream was surprised to see Atka smile.
“I can see my Sunshine,” they whispered. “I can hear her laughter once more.”
And then their form broke – not like shattering glass, but like dandelion fluff catching the wind. They unraveled into threads of golden light, drifting upward, dissolving into the air.
“I thank you, Little Avatar,” Atka whispered.
The last of Atka’s light brushed his face.
And then the world snapped.
Dream gasped – lungs burning, body cold – and suddenly, he was fighting through the deep waters of the lake. He broke through the lake’s surface, coughing and spluttering. Moonlight burned his eyes.
Ember was on the shore, hauling him out with surprising strength. He hands gripped his shoulders like iron.
“You idiot,” she hissed. “You were under for hours!”
Dream blinked. “No … I was only down there a few minutes.”
Ember pointed to the sky. Stars glimmered high above them.
“It’s past midnight,” she said. “I thought you’d been taken.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “What happened down there?” She demanded. “Did you meet the spirit?”
Dream, still soaking from his dip in the lake, shivered in the midnight air. Suddenly, he felt tired. He was so tired. The last three days had been exhausting, and visiting the Spirit World – discovering what his past lives had done – sapped his energy. He looked away from Ember. He could still feel Atka’s grief deep in his chest. “They’re gone. They won’t be a problem anymore.”
He didn’t tell her the rest – not because he couldn’t find the words, but because there was too much to say. Besides, there was something more important to focus on: Sapnap.
*
Back in Ember’s hut, Sapnap still slept, his skin pale but no longer ghostly. Dream sat by his side, shoulders slumped, exhaustion thick in his bones. He had been waiting for Sapnap to wake for hours. As the first rays of dawn pierced the horizon, Sapnap stirred. He blinked, slow and confused.
His lips cracked. “Dream?”
Dream sat up straighter, heart in his throat. “I’m here.”
Sapnap’s eyes – amber again, no longer dulled – flicked to him.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he muttered.
Dream laughed. It cracked halfway through and turned into a sob. He wiped his face with the heel of his hand. “You have no idea,” he said.
And then, as sunlight filtered through the cracks in the shutters, Dream closed his eyes.
Sapnap was safe.
That was all that mattered.
*
*