Chapter Text
If there was one thing Toph Beifong hated more than being told what to do, it was being bored.
Unfortunately, boredom had become a disturbingly regular part of her life.
The afternoon sun hung high overhead, baking the sprawling grounds of the Metalbending Academy in golden heat. Warm air drifted across the training fields, carrying the scent of dust, stone, sweat, and hot metal. The steady clang of metal plates echoed throughout the campus while instructors barked corrections at struggling students.
To anyone else, the academy probably sounded alive.
To Toph, it sounded repetitive.
Painfully repetitive.
Years ago, the idea of a place like this would have been laughable.
Metalbending hadn't existed.
Not really.
Not until her.
Not until a blind twelve-year-old girl had been locked inside a metal cage and refused to accept that it was impossible.
Back then, earthbenders all over the world had looked at metal and seen a wall.
Toph had looked at it and seen earth.
Now there were dozens of training yards.
Hundreds of students.
Entire buildings dedicated to teaching a skill she had invented.
People traveled from every corner of the Earth Kingdom just to learn from her academy.
It should have been exciting.
It should have been satisfying.
It should have made every day feel important.
Instead, Toph was bored out of her mind.
With her arms folded across her chest, she stood near the edge of the largest training yard and listened to the vibrations flowing through the ground beneath her feet.
The earth spoke constantly.
Students shuffled nervously.
Metal strips scraped against stone.
An instructor paced between rows of trainees.
Several heartbeats quickened whenever she turned her head in their direction.
Good.
Fear was healthy.
Fear meant they were paying attention.
A sudden metallic clang rang through the yard.
Toph didn't even flinch.
She knew exactly who had dropped it before it finished hitting the ground.
"Jin."
The vibrations froze instantly.
A few students nearby stopped moving as well.
"...Yeah, Master Toph?"
Toph sighed.
The sigh contained every ounce of exhaustion she felt.
"Pick it up."
The boy scrambled forward so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet.
Several students snickered.
Toph rolled her eyes.
Not that anyone could tell.
People always assumed blindness made her less aware of what was happening around her.
As if losing one sense somehow made the others disappear too.
Idiots.
The academy existed inside her head as clearly as any map.
Every vibration painted a picture.
Every heartbeat told a story.
Every shift in weight, every nervous twitch, every subtle movement revealed more than sight ever could.
Right now, the picture was depressingly familiar.
Thirty-six students.
Four instructors.
Three students trying their hardest.
Nine students pretending to try their hardest.
One student wondering if he could sneak away before the lesson ended.
And one student quietly contemplating whether metalbending was worth all this suffering.
Toph couldn't even blame him.
She was wondering the same thing.
Years ago she'd traveled across the world with the Avatar.
She'd fought Fire Nation soldiers.
Escaped impossible prisons.
Outsmarted bounty hunters.
Invented an entirely new bending style.
Helped save the world.
Now she spent her afternoons correcting foot placement.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
"Again."
A collective groan swept through the yard.
Toph resisted the urge to smile.
At least they hated this exercise as much as she did.
Metal strips rose into the air once more.
The students attempted to guide them through a series of controlled movements.
Attempted being the important word.
Toph could practically hear the mistakes.
One student was forcing the metal instead of guiding it.
Another was relying entirely on arm strength.
A third was distracted by something happening outside the academy walls.
A fourth wasn't even trying anymore.
Toph waited.
Counted to three.
Then sighed heavily.
"No."
The entire yard froze.
Several students looked as though they'd just been informed of a family tragedy.
"Master Toph—"
"No."
"But we didn't—"
"No."
"We haven't even—"
"No."
A chorus of frustrated groans followed.
One brave soul finally spoke up.
"What are we doing wrong?"
Toph tilted her head.
"Everything."
The student looked devastated.
"Everything?"
"Pretty much."
A few nervous laughs spread through the group.
Toph pointed toward them.
"You think metal listens because you move your arms around dramatically?"
Nobody answered.
"Because it doesn't."
She stomped one foot lightly against the ground.
The vibrations rippled outward.
"You bend with this."
Another stomp.
"The earth."
A third.
"The foundation."
Then she folded her arms again.
"Your arms are just there to make you feel important."
Several students exchanged confused looks.
One raised a hand.
Toph groaned immediately.
"Why are you raising your hand?"
"You were teaching."
"That doesn't answer my question."
The student slowly lowered it.
Toph nodded approvingly.
"Better."
The class looked exhausted.
Good.
Maybe exhaustion would finally accomplish what explanation hadn't.
A warm breeze drifted through the academy.
Beyond the walls, the city hummed with life.
Merchants rolled carts through crowded streets.
Construction crews worked on new buildings.
Children raced through alleyways.
Travelers arrived from distant provinces.
The world kept moving.
Everyone had somewhere to go.
Something to do.
Some adventure waiting for them.
Meanwhile, Toph was stuck here.
Teaching.
Again.
Every day felt exactly the same.
Wake up.
Train students.
Eat.
Train more students.
Threaten students.
Mock students.
Eat again.
Mock students some more.
Sleep.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Somewhere along the way, peace had become boring.
The realization bothered her more than she liked to admit.
For years she'd fought for this.
For peace.
For stability.
For a world where kids didn't have to grow up during a war.
Now she'd gotten exactly what she'd wanted.
The world was safe.
The nations were rebuilding.
People were happy.
And somehow she missed the chaos.
Not the war.
Never the war.
But the adventure.
The freedom.
The feeling that something exciting might happen tomorrow.
Because lately tomorrow always looked exactly like today.
And today was awful.
Then—
A new vibration entered the academy grounds.
Toph straightened immediately.
Unfamiliar footsteps.
Not a student.
Not an instructor.
Not anyone who belonged here.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The footsteps moved quickly through the courtyard.
Purposeful.
Light.
A messenger.
For the first time all day, Toph felt awake.
The messenger approached the training yard.
"Master Toph?"
Toph turned toward the voice.
"What?"
The poor messenger immediately hesitated.
Toph could practically feel his nervousness through the ground.
Good.
A healthy survival instinct.
"You've received a letter."
Everything changed.
Instantly.
The academy suddenly seemed less miserable.
The students became less annoying.
The day became less unbearable.
A letter meant news.
News meant something different.
Something different meant escape.
Toph held out her hand without hesitation.
The messenger quickly placed the envelope into her palm.
The paper felt cool and crisp beneath her fingers.
She turned it over once.
Twice.
Then paused.
A familiar scent lingered on the parchment.
Saltwater.
Snow.
Cold air.
A grin spread slowly across her face.
Southern Water Tribe.
Katara.
Well.
Now that was interesting.
Very interesting.
For the first time in weeks, Toph felt genuinely excited about something.
Maybe the universe wasn't completely determined to torture her after all.
---
Several thousand miles away, Fire Lord Zuko was having a significantly worse day.
Not that this was unusual.
Being Fire Lord sounded impressive.
In reality, it mostly involved paperwork.
Endless paperwork.
Mountains of paperwork.
Enough paperwork to bury an elephant.
Possibly two.
The Royal Council Chamber stood near the center of the palace, a massive room lined with elegant columns and decorated with centuries of Fire Nation history. Sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking the capital city beyond.
It was beautiful.
Zuko hated it.
Not because the room itself was unpleasant.
Because every time he entered it, someone inevitably asked about marriage.
Today was no exception.
"...the matter of succession remains unresolved."
Zuko stared blankly at the minister speaking.
The man was old.
Very old.
Unfortunately, age had not improved his ability to stop talking.
"The stability of the nation depends upon a secure royal line."
Zuko considered throwing himself through the nearest window.
The fall probably wouldn't kill him.
Unfortunately.
"We discussed this yesterday."
The minister smiled politely.
"Indeed."
"And the day before."
"Correct."
"And last week."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Zuko closed his eyes.
The scar around his left eye throbbed faintly.
He wasn't sure if it was stress or divine punishment.
Possibly both.
When he finally opened his eyes again, the entire council was still watching him expectantly.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
As though one day he would suddenly announce that he desperately wanted to spend the rest of his life attending royal banquets and producing heirs.
"I am twenty-one."
Several council members nodded.
"Precisely."
"That's not old."
"It is old enough."
Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose.
The urge to scream intensified.
The Fire Nation was rebuilding after a century-long war.
Entire regions required economic support.
Trade routes needed protection.
Diplomatic relationships demanded constant attention.
There were countless issues deserving discussion.
Yet somehow every council meeting eventually became about his love life.
Or lack thereof.
Mostly lack thereof.
"With respect, Your Majesty," another minister began carefully, "future generations require certainty."
Future generations.
There it was again.
The heir conversation.
Always the heir conversation.
As if children could magically solve every problem facing the nation.
Zuko took a slow breath.
Then another.
Then a third.
The techniques Uncle Iroh had taught him remained useful.
Mostly because they prevented him from setting things on fire.
Usually.
"I'll consider it."
The words immediately brightened half the room.
Zuko regretted saying them.
He hadn't meant them.
Not really.
But it was the fastest way to end the discussion.
And at this point, he would have promised to consider marrying a badgermole if it got them to change the subject.
A mountain of scrolls landed on the table in front of him.
His brief relief vanished instantly.
Paperwork.
His true enemy.
Not Azula.
Not Ozai.
Not political rivals.
Paperwork.
The undefeated champion of his suffering.
"Trade reports," one advisor explained.
Another stack appeared.
"Harbor inspections."
Another.
"Provincial budgets."
Another.
"Military assessments."
Another.
"Correspondence."
The pile continued growing.
Zuko stared in horror.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered that exile hadn't been so bad.
At least exile involved fewer documents.
The chamber doors suddenly opened.
A messenger entered.
For the first time in nearly an hour, something interesting happened.
The messenger bowed respectfully.
"A letter for Fire Lord Zuko."
Zuko accepted it immediately.
The seal felt familiar.
Very familiar.
Southern Water Tribe.
A small smile appeared before he could stop it.
Katara.
Now that was a welcome surprise.
Anything was better than paperwork.
---
The Southern Water Tribe had changed so much over the years that sometimes Katara barely recognized it.
When she was younger, the village had been little more than a handful of snow-covered buildings huddled together against the endless cold. Resources had been scarce. Many of the men had been away fighting in the war. Every day had been a struggle to survive.
Now the tribe was thriving.
New homes stretched farther along the shoreline than ever before. Freshly constructed docks reached into the icy waters where fishing boats bobbed gently against their moorings. Children raced through the snow-covered streets without a care in the world while merchants and travelers moved between buildings carrying supplies from distant nations.
Life had returned to the South Pole.
Real life.
The kind that wasn't overshadowed by war.
Katara often found herself stopping just to listen to it.
The laughter.
The conversations.
The sounds of a community growing stronger every year.
It was everything she'd once dreamed of.
Which was exactly why she wanted to share it.
The afternoon sun reflected brilliantly across the snow outside the family home, casting pale light through the windows as Katara sat at the large wooden table near the center of the room. Several sheets of paper lay neatly arranged before her alongside an ink pot and brush.
Across from her sat Sokka.
Or more specifically, Sokka was occupying a chair while consuming enough food to feed an entire patrol.
Katara had long since stopped questioning how her brother managed it.
Some mysteries simply weren't meant to be solved.
Sokka finished a bite of fish and looked up.
"What are you doing?"
Katara didn't glance up from her letter.
"Writing."
Sokka frowned.
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It literally does."
"No, that's what you're physically doing. I'm asking why."
Katara finally looked up.
Sokka's expression was completely serious.
She resisted the urge to throw something at him.
Barely.
"My birthday is in three weeks."
Sokka blinked.
"Oh."
A moment passed.
Then another.
Then—
"Oh."
Katara sighed.
"Yes, Sokka."
"Your birthday."
"That's generally what I just said."
He pointed at the letters.
"You're planning something."
The suspicion in his voice immediately made Katara defensive.
"Why do you sound worried?"
"Because every time you have an idea, I end up involved."
"That's not true."
Sokka stared.
Katara stared back.
Several seconds passed.
Neither spoke.
Eventually Katara groaned.
"Fine. Sometimes."
"Most times."
"Occasionally."
"Always."
Katara ignored him.
She dipped her brush into the ink.
"I want everyone to come visit."
The room fell silent.
Sokka slowly lowered his food.
"Everyone?"
"Yes."
"Everyone everyone?"
Katara rolled her eyes.
"How many definitions of everyone do you think there are?"
His expression became increasingly alarmed.
"Katara."
"What?"
"You mean Aang."
"Yes."
"And Zuko."
"Yes."
"And Toph."
"Yes."
"And whoever else they drag with them."
"Potentially."
Sokka stared at her as though she'd announced her intention to wrestle a polar bear.
"Why would you do this to me?"
Katara blinked.
"What are you talking about?"
Sokka sat back dramatically.
"They bully me."
Katara immediately laughed.
Not because she intended to.
Because the statement itself was ridiculous.
Sokka looked offended.
"See? You're doing it too."
"No one bullies you."
"They absolutely do."
"Who?"
Sokka looked horrified that she even had to ask.
"Aang."
Katara raised an eyebrow.
"Aang?"
"Yes."
"The nicest person in the world?"
"He laughs at me."
"Because you're funny."
"He laughs a lot."
"Because you're funny a lot."
Sokka pointed accusingly.
"Exactly."
Katara buried her face in her hands.
Living with Sokka required a level of patience that deserved recognition.
Perhaps even awards.
When she finally looked up again, her brother was still pouting.
"That's not bullying."
"It feels like bullying."
"No."
"It does."
"No."
Sokka crossed his arms.
"Fine."
Katara returned to writing.
The silence lasted approximately thirty seconds.
Then Sokka spoke again.
"And Zuko definitely bullies me."
Katara nearly dropped her brush.
"What?"
"He judges me."
"He doesn't."
"He does."
"He really doesn't."
"He absolutely does."
Katara stared.
Sokka pointed dramatically despite nobody asking him to elaborate.
"Every time I say something brilliant, he gives me that look."
"What look?"
"The look."
Katara frowned.
"What look?"
"The look that says, 'Sokka, you're an idiot.'"
Katara considered this.
Then considered it some more.
Then she started laughing again.
Because Zuko probably wasn't making any particular face.
That was simply what his face looked like most of the time.
Sokka looked deeply offended.
"I don't know why this is funny."
"Because it's ridiculous."
"It isn't."
"It really is."
Sokka opened his mouth to continue arguing.
Unfortunately for him, another voice interrupted.
"Katara's right."
Both siblings turned.
Their grandmother stood near the doorway carrying a basket of folded cloth.
Sokka immediately pointed.
"Gran Gran."
"Yes?"
"They bully me."
Gran Gran didn't even hesitate.
"No they don't."
The betrayal visibly wounded him.
Katara laughed so hard she nearly knocked over the ink pot.
Sokka looked between them.
Then toward the ceiling.
Then back at them.
"I live among enemies."
"You live among your family," Gran Gran corrected.
"Same thing."
"No."
"Pretty close."
Katara shook her head.
Some things never changed.
No matter how old they got.
No matter how much the world changed around them.
Sokka remained Sokka.
A comforting thought.
Even if it was occasionally exhausting.
The afternoon passed peacefully after that.
Katara finished writing the letters one by one.
The first was addressed to Aang.
It had been months since she'd seen him in person. The responsibilities of being the Avatar kept him constantly moving from one corner of the world to another. Whenever they did manage to meet, it often felt as though he disappeared again almost immediately afterward.
The second letter was addressed to Zuko.
Being Fire Lord left him even busier than Aang.
The few letters they'd exchanged recently had been filled with discussions of council meetings, diplomatic negotiations, trade agreements, and increasingly frustrated complaints about paperwork.
Katara smiled while thinking about it.
Zuko had once spent years chasing the Avatar across the world.
Now he spent his days fighting documents.
Life was strange.
The third letter was addressed to Toph.
Katara could practically hear the inevitable complaints already.
Toph hated travelling according to schedules.
She hated plans.
She hated organized events.
She hated being told where to go.
Which naturally meant Katara fully expected her to arrive.
Probably while pretending she didn't want to.
Possibly while insulting everyone involved.
But she'd still come.
Because beneath all the complaints and stubbornness, Toph cared about her friends.
Katara knew that better than most.
By the time the final letter was finished, the sun had begun sinking lower in the sky.
Golden light reflected across the snowfields outside.
The village glowed.
Katara gathered the letters carefully.
Three pieces of paper.
Simple invitations.
Nothing extraordinary.
Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this gathering would be important somehow.
Maybe it was simply because so much time had passed since all of them had been together.
Or maybe it was because life seemed to be changing for everyone.
Growing more complicated.
More distant.
Friendships required effort now.
Schedules.
Planning.
Responsibilities.
The carefree days of travelling together were long gone.
That realization saddened her more than she expected.
Perhaps that was another reason she wanted everyone together again.
To remember.
To laugh.
To spend time with the people who had changed her life.
Before adulthood carried them even farther apart.
Outside, several messengers prepared their supplies for long journeys.
Katara stepped into the cold evening air and handed over the letters one by one.
The messengers promised they would be delivered quickly.
She thanked them before watching them depart into the fading sunlight.
One headed west.
One north.
One toward the Earth Kingdom.
The letters gradually disappeared into the distance.
Katara stood quietly for several moments after they were gone.
The icy wind tugged gently at her hair.
Behind her, she heard the familiar sound of Sokka opening the door.
"Do you think they'll come?"
Katara smiled.
For the first time all day, there was no teasing in his voice.
Just genuine curiosity.
She looked toward the horizon.
"I think so."
And somehow, she knew she was right.
Far away, a bored metalbending master was looking for something interesting.
A frustrated Fire Lord was drowning beneath paperwork.
An endlessly busy Avatar was travelling the world.
None of them knew it yet.
But everything was about to begin.
---
The letter reached Aang first.
Which wasn't surprising.
Finding the Avatar was usually easier than finding anyone else in the world.
Even when he wasn't trying to be found.
The messenger located him in a small Earth Kingdom village nestled between rolling green hills and towering mountains. Aang had spent the last three days helping settle a dispute between two neighboring communities over irrigation rights. It wasn't nearly as exciting as fighting Fire Lords or stopping world-ending disasters, but that was the reality of being the Avatar during peacetime.
Most problems weren't solved with epic battles.
Most problems involved listening.
And meetings.
Far too many meetings.
Aang sat cross-legged atop the roof of a modest inn as the sun began setting over the valley below. Warm orange light painted the landscape in gold while a gentle breeze drifted through the village streets.
For a rare moment, everything was peaceful.
Then Appa sneezed.
The enormous sky bison's sneeze shook half the rooftop.
Aang laughed.
"Feeling better, buddy?"
Appa snorted.
A messenger climbed onto the roof moments later, looking significantly less graceful than the flying bison.
"Avatar Aang?"
Aang turned.
"That's me."
The messenger handed over a sealed envelope.
Aang immediately recognized the handwriting.
His face brightened.
"Katara."
The messenger blinked.
"Uh... yes?"
Aang was already opening the letter.
Months.
It had been months since everyone had been together.
Not because they didn't want to see each other.
Life simply had a habit of pulling them in different directions.
Aang's smile widened as he read.
Twenty-first birthday.
Southern Water Tribe.
Everyone invited.
Simple.
Perfect.
Exactly the sort of thing they all needed.
He leaned back against Appa's side and stared toward the distant horizon.
The world felt strangely quiet lately.
Peaceful.
Not boring exactly.
Just different.
For most of his childhood, every day had carried urgency. There had always been somewhere he needed to go, someone he needed to help, some crisis demanding his attention.
Now those moments were rare.
Not nonexistent.
But rare.
Most days involved diplomacy.
Mediation.
Travel.
Advice.
Paperwork.
Oddly enough, being the Avatar came with paperwork too.
Not nearly as much as being Fire Lord.
Zuko had written entire letters complaining about that.
Aang chuckled.
He could practically imagine Zuko's reaction to receiving Katara's invitation.
The Fire Lord would probably stare at it for ten minutes before pretending he wasn't happy about it.
Then he'd immediately start planning the trip.
Because beneath all the royal composure and endless frustration, Zuko missed them just as much as everyone else.
Aang folded the letter carefully.
The answer was obvious.
He was going.
Of course he was going.
Nothing short of a natural disaster was going to stop him.
Appa grunted.
Aang patted the sky bison's fur.
"Looks like we're going to the South Pole."
Appa seemed entirely unconcerned by this information.
As usual.
---
Meanwhile, in the Fire Nation, Zuko was losing a battle against paperwork.
Again.
The council meeting had finally ended.
Unfortunately, ending the meeting had only created a new problem.
Now he was alone with the paperwork.
The stacks towered across his desk like miniature mountains.
Threatening mountains.
Evil mountains.
Mountains specifically designed to ruin his day.
The royal office was quiet except for the scratching of his brush against paper and the occasional crackle from a nearby brazier.
Outside the windows, evening slowly settled over the capital.
The city glittered with thousands of lights.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
Far more enjoyable than what he was currently doing.
Zuko signed another document.
Then another.
Then another.
After the fifteenth consecutive trade report, he began questioning reality itself.
Surely there weren't this many merchants in the entire world.
At some point, someone knocked on the office door.
Zuko didn't look up.
"Come in."
The door opened.
"Your Majesty?"
A servant stepped inside.
Zuko continued signing documents.
"What is it?"
"A letter."
His brush stopped moving.
Immediately.
The servant smiled knowingly.
Everyone in the palace knew how much Zuko hated interruptions.
The fact that he looked interested at all was unusual.
The servant approached and handed over the envelope.
Zuko recognized the handwriting instantly.
Katara.
For the second time that day, a genuine smile appeared.
A rare enough occurrence that several palace servants later spent an entire evening discussing it.
Zuko read the invitation slowly.
Then read it again.
And once more.
Not because it was complicated.
Because it felt strangely nostalgic.
A birthday celebration.
A simple gathering among friends.
Nothing political.
Nothing diplomatic.
No council meetings.
No ministers.
No discussions about heirs.
Just friends.
The idea felt almost foreign.
Zuko leaned back in his chair.
The office suddenly seemed much quieter.
For years after the war ended, he'd thrown himself into rebuilding the Fire Nation.
There had always been another crisis waiting.
Another decision requiring attention.
Another problem demanding solutions.
He rarely stopped moving.
Rarely stopped working.
Because if he stopped working, he started thinking.
And sometimes thinking was worse.
His gaze drifted toward the city outside.
The Fire Nation was healing.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But it was healing.
For the first time since becoming Fire Lord, Zuko realized he couldn't remember his last actual vacation.
Not an official trip.
Not diplomatic travel.
A real break.
One spent with friends.
One spent laughing instead of negotiating.
One spent living instead of ruling.
The realization surprised him.
Perhaps because he hadn't realized how much he needed it.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
The office door opened again.
This time it was a council aide.
"Your Majesty, the ministers would like to discuss—"
"No."
The aide blinked.
"But—"
"No."
"They haven't said what the topic is."
Zuko folded Katara's letter.
"It doesn't matter."
The aide looked confused.
"What should I tell them?"
Zuko smiled.
The expression carried a dangerous amount of satisfaction.
"Tell them I'll be unavailable."
"Unavailable?"
"For several weeks."
The aide looked horrified.
Zuko enjoyed every second of it.
---
The following morning found Toph exactly where she'd been the previous morning.
Standing in a training yard.
Surrounded by students.
Questioning every decision that had led her to this moment.
The academy was already busy despite the early hour.
Metal clanged.
Earth shifted.
Students practiced.
Instructors shouted corrections.
It was exactly the same as yesterday.
And the day before that.
And the week before that.
Toph had once believed creating a metalbending academy would be exciting forever.
She had been very wrong.
A student stumbled during practice.
Toph immediately sensed it.
"Balance."
The student corrected himself.
Another shifted too much weight onto her back foot.
"Balance."
A third overcompensated.
"Balance."
The girl groaned.
"That's all you ever say."
Toph smirked.
"If you listened the first hundred times, I wouldn't have to."
Several students laughed.
The girl looked offended.
Toph considered that a victory.
The morning dragged on.
Then the afternoon.
Then somehow the afternoon dragged even more.
By the time she finally retreated to her office, she felt as though she'd aged ten years.
Teaching was exhausting.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Students asked too many questions.
Thought too much.
Complained constantly.
Toph dropped into her chair.
A familiar vibration approached.
One of the academy assistants.
"The letter again?"
she asked.
"Actually, yes."
Toph grinned.
Now that was interesting.
The assistant handed over Katara's invitation.
Toph had already had it read aloud twice.
This made three times.
Not because she couldn't remember it.
Because there wasn't much else to do.
The assistant cleared his throat.
"Would you like me to read it again?"
"No."
A pause.
Then—
"Maybe."
The assistant laughed softly.
Toph pretended not to hear him.
As the familiar words filled the room once more, she found herself smiling despite every effort not to.
A gathering.
The entire group.
Together again.
Spirits.
It had been too long.
Everyone was scattered these days.
Aang was constantly travelling.
Katara spent most of her time rebuilding the Southern Tribe.
Zuko was buried beneath royal responsibilities.
Even Sokka seemed perpetually busy.
And Toph?
Well.
She was trapped teaching.
A fate she increasingly viewed as cruel and unusual punishment.
When the reading finished, the assistant waited.
Toph crossed her arms.
"You can stop hovering."
"I wasn't hovering."
"You were."
"I was standing."
"Same thing."
The assistant wisely chose not to argue.
"Are you going?"
Toph immediately answered.
"No."
The assistant wasn't convinced.
Neither was Toph.
The problem was that she wanted to go.
Obviously she wanted to go.
The idea sounded infinitely more appealing than another month at the academy.
But admitting that would require acknowledging she missed everyone.
And Toph wasn't particularly fond of acknowledging feelings.
Feelings were inconvenient.
Messy.
Annoying.
A lot like students.
The assistant waited.
Toph sighed.
"When is it?"
"Three weeks."
Three weeks.
That was plenty of time.
Plenty of time to prepare.
Plenty of time to organize things.
Plenty of time to pretend she wasn't excited.
Toph stood.
The chair scraped backward.
"Tell the instructors they're in charge while I'm gone."
The assistant smiled immediately.
"I thought you weren't going."
Toph pointed at him.
"Say another word and you're cleaning the training yard for a month."
The assistant wisely remained silent.
Toph smirked.
That was what she thought.
---
Across the world, three separate decisions had been made.
An Avatar packed his belongings.
A Fire Lord postponed responsibilities.
A metalbending master escaped her academy.
Meanwhile, Katara remained blissfully unaware of any of it.
She spent the following week preparing for a birthday celebration she expected to be simple.
Relaxing.
Peaceful.
A chance to reconnect with old friends.
If she had known the chaos her invitations would eventually create, she might have reconsidered.
Then again...
Knowing her friends, probably not.
After all, some things never changed.
And no matter how much the world evolved, no matter how many years passed, gathering Team Avatar in one place was always the beginning of an adventure.
Whether they wanted one or not.