07 MORTARS OVER ICE
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But it didn't blur.
It sharpened.
Behind him, Yue whispered. "Father...?"
And Chief Arnook — who was not a man easily shaken — swallowed once, his jaw tightening with that grim, quiet kind of fear that leaders don't like anyone to see.
"Come with me." He said. "Both of you. Now."
They slipped out of his chamber and into the frigid air.
The city buzzed around them, low and tense, but his father didn't pause.
He led them through the bridges and stairways toward the Great Hall, where the council met in times of crisis.
The guards were already double—posted at the entrance. They opened the doors without question.
And inside?
Chaos.
Controlled chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
Councilmen arguing in harsh whispers. Advisors spreading maps across long wooden tables. A handful of warriors already gathering in the center of the floor, checking armor straps and sharpening the ends of their spears with fast, efficient movements.
The moment Chief Arnook and his children entered, the room snapped into stillness like ice freezing solid.
"Close the doors." He ordered.
They slammed shut behind them with a boom that echoed deep in Hai's chest.
All eyes turned toward his father — including Master Pakku's, who stood off to the side with two of the senior warriors, his jaw clenched in the same way it had been earlier... though now it was for an entirely different reason.
Hai drifted toward the back wall with Yue, staying out of the way but close enough to hear everything. He felt her trembling beside him even though she hid it well. Her eyes kept flicking to the door, like she expected someone familiar to walk through it any moment.
Aang, maybe. Katara. Or even Sokka.
But none of them appeared.
Chief Arnook stepped to the center of the room, his voice carrying with the steady weight of a leader who knew the entire Tribe's future balanced on his next words.
"The Fire Nation approaches."
A ripple of dread moved through the hall — not a scream, not panic, just that collective, tight inhale of a people who had feared this moment for generations.
"They have crossed the horizon." He continued. "A war vessel of significant size."
"A siege-class ship, by the plume. Possibly more behind it." Pakku added.
The murmurs came alive again.
Hai's stomach dropped.
A siege ship. Not a scout. Not a raid. Something meant to break walls, not sneak past them.
Arnook raised a hand, and the room fell silent again.
"We must mobilize immediately. The warriors will assemble on the upper battlements to prepare defenses. Every man trained in arms will be summoned."
He nodded toward one of the senior waterbenders. "Sound the alarm."
The general struck a gong at the far end of the hall — deep, resonant, echoing through the entire city like a roll of thunder.
Outside, more gongs began sounding in response.
The whole Tribe snapped awake.
War.
Yue gripped Hai's sleeve tightly. He covered her hand without looking at her — because looking at her would make the dread twist tighter in his chest.
His father continued giving orders with a terrifying calm.
"All waterbenders not assigned to healing will aid the warriors. Ice barricades should be raised on the eastern ridge and reinforced immediately. Civilians are to move to the inner sanctum."
Master Pakku stepped forward then. "And what of the Avatar?"
The question hit the room like a thrown stone.
"This is the Avatar's fault! The Fire Nation wouldn't be here if not for him!"
Hai's eyes snapped up, furious. "That's not true!" He stood forward, moving away from Yue and towards his father.
"It is because of him," Another man insisted. "the Fire Nation wants the Avatar. They'll destroy every Tribe they reach until they find him."
"Banish him!"
"Send him away!"
"He'll bring their whole fleet down on us!"
"You forget yourselves," Hai said. "You forget our history. The Avatar is not our enemy. He is our only chance. We need him."
"He's right." Pakku's voice finally cut through the noise, sharp and cold.
It settled the room — not completely, but enough that the shouting ebbed.
Chief Arnook didn't waver.
"The Avatar will assist with the defenses," He said. "And if the Spirits bless us, he will be at the front line if we need him."
A low murmur rippled through the elders and councilmen. A few bristled. No one argued. Not with black ash already drifting past the high windows like a bad omen no one wanted to name.
The meeting didn't linger after that.
Orders were handed down quickly — battlements reinforced, canal reserves mobilized, families moved inward. Arnook waited until every leader had their assignment. "Go," He said.
And just like that, the council was dismissed.
The hall emptied in a rush of fur-lined cloaks and hurried footsteps. Arnook didn't linger. He turned immediately, motioning Hai and Yue to follow.
"Barracks." He commanded. "The waterbenders need to see their Chief before the fighting starts."
Yue nodded, pale but steady. Hai fell into step beside them as they moved through the chamber corridors, the air already vibrating with distant gongs and shouted commands. Outside, the city felt wrong — too loud, too fast, like everyone had collectively inhaled and forgotten how to breathe out.
They were halfway across the open square leading toward the eastern barracks when the sound hit.
Not a shout.
Not thunder.
Something deeper.
A split second later, the sky tore open an ugly, molten orange.
The first mortar hit.
The blast rolled through the city like a heartbeat gone wrong — too loud, too strong, arriving out of rhythm with the world.
Hai barely had time to register the scream of metal before the impact tore into the outer wall.
Ice exploded outward in a blinding spray, shards arcing high into the air like shattered stars.
The ground bucked beneath his boots. Somewhere nearby, someone was knocked flat, breath punched from their lungs.
The defenders reacted instantly. Water surged upward from the canals and harbor, bending into a massive, desperate shield. It caught the worst of the shrapnel, froze midair under sheer force of will — and still, the shockwave slammed through it.
Hai staggered as if the city itself had struck him.
Yue cried out and grabbed his arm. He grabbed her right back, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt, as if that alone could anchor them to something solid. Her breath came fast and shallow against his shoulder.
Another boom.
Then another.
The sound wasn't just noise — it was pressure. It crawled into his chest, rattled his teeth, made his vision blur at the edges. The Fire Nation ship advanced towards the harbor mouth, its steel hull cutting the water with ruthless inevitability. Red banners snapped against the darkening sky.
Warriors shouted orders from the battlements, their voices sharp with urgency and already fraying. Waterbenders ran, skidded, threw up walls of ice to patch the fresh wounds torn into the city's defenses. Those walls shattered almost as fast as they formed.
People fled inward in waves — mothers dragging children who stumbled and cried, elders moving as quickly as their bodies would allow, faces tight with terror and disbelief. This wasn't supposed to happen this fast. The North had prepared for centuries, and still—
Still the mortars kept coming.
Hai forced himself to breathe.
In. Out.
He could see everything and do nothing.
That was the worst part.
He could feel the water all around him — the ocean, the canals, the frozen walls humming faintly with power — but none of it mattered.
Mortars didn't care about skill or discipline.
They didn't care how strong a bender you were or how long you'd trained.
They fell from the sky, and wherever they landed, something broke.
Another impact struck farther down the wall. The explosion sent a tremor through the ice beneath Hai's feet, deep enough that he felt it in his bones.
Helpless.
That was the word.
There was no formation to break. No enemy to charge. No clever counter to pull. You couldn't punch the sky. You couldn't outmaneuver fire falling straight down on your city.
All they could do was brace and pray the next one didn't land on them.
Hai glanced toward the harbor again. The ship was closer now, cannons already rotating, lining up their next shots with horrifying calm.
He imagined the Fire Nation crew below deck — faces lit orange, hands steady, utterly untouched by the fear ripping through the city they were dismantling piece by piece.
Another mortar launched.
Hai flinched before it even hit.
And then—
A blur of blue and orange cut through the ash-choked sky.
"The Avatar!" Someone shouted.
Hai's head snapped up.
Aang came down out of the clouds on his glider like a living spark, slicing through falling soot and firelight. The wind bent around him, howling into motion as he twisted midair. He snapped his staff sideways, and the air answered.
A roaring gust slammed into the glowing mortar mid-flight.
It veered wildly off course, spiraling away from the wall before detonating harmlessly in the harbor. Water shot skyward in a violent plume.
A sound tore out of Hai's chest — half laugh, half sob.
"He's here." Yue breathed.
The cannons adjusted instantly, tracking Aang's movement with terrifying precision. Another shot fired.
Aang dropped sharply, narrowly avoiding the mortar, but the Avatar didn't slow. He dove straight toward the ship, glider folding in tight as he vanished beneath the overhang of its metal hull.
People on the battlements shouted, some in triumph, some in fear.
"What is he doing?!"
For a split second, there was nothing.
Then the air exploded upward.
Aang shot back into view, riding a spiraling column of wind that launched him high above the deck. He snapped his arms outward, and the gust widened, slammed down, swept.
Fire Nation soldiers screamed as they were ripped off their feet. Some were thrown clear over the railing, vanishing into the icy water below. Others slammed hard into metal structures, weapons skittering across the deck.
Aang landed lightly, already moving.
He didn't stay still long enough for them to target him.
The wind howled wherever he went — short, brutal bursts that sent soldiers flying, knocked cannons askew, blew out flames. Fire sputtered uselessly against the sheer force of air ripping it apart.
Hai could barely follow him.
The ship rocked violently as another cannon fired — wildly this time — its shot tearing uselessly into open water.
Aang vaulted again, flipping backward as a gout of flame roared beneath him. He twisted his staff and pushed.
A concentrated blast of air slammed into the cannon line.
Metal shrieked.
Cannons tore free from their mounts, skidding across the deck like toys before smashing into the railing and dropping into the sea with thunderous splashes.
Cheers erupted from the Northern Water Tribe.
Hai didn't join them. Not yet.
The ship was still afloat.
And then Aang changed tactics.
He planted his feet near the ship's center, closed his eyes for half a heartbeat — and bent.
The ocean responded.
Water surged upward along the hull, not in a towering wave, but in a controlled, grinding force. It wrapped around the ship's lower edge, slowed it, dragged at its momentum. Ice crept outward where the water touched metal, locking joints, seizing mechanisms.
The ship lurched hard to one side.
Fire Nation crew scrambled, slipping on suddenly slick metal. Someone shouted an order — panicked, too late.
Aang swept his arms again.
The water froze solid.
A sharp, awful crack split the air as part of the hull fractured under the strain. Steam billowed. Fire flared, then choked and died.
The engines screamed — once — and then went silent.
The ship tilted further, grinding against the ice as it began to sink sideways into the harbor.
For a moment, the Tribe held its breath.
Then the battlements erupted.
The sound tore loose all at once — cheers breaking open like something finally gave way.
Warriors shouted Aang's name until their voices cracked.
Someone laughed, sharp and hysterical, like they'd forgotten how not to.
Someone else dropped to their knees right where they stood, hands pressed to the ice, crying without shame.
Hai sagged against the railing, chest heaving.
His hands were shaking so badly he had to curl his fingers tight around the cold stone just to keep them still.
He'd stopped it.
Aang had actually stopped it.
The Fire Nation ship lay crippled just beyond the harbor, half-embedded in ice, smoke pouring from its ruptured hull. Flames guttered weakly along its deck before dying out entirely. The cannons were silent. The banners hung limp.
Out beyond it, the remaining ships slowed.
They didn't flee — not fully — but they pulled back, retreating just far enough to be out of reach. Waiting. Watching.
That was worse, somehow.
The sun slipped lower behind the ice cliffs, staining the sky in bruised purples and blood-warm orange. The city glowed in that strange light — cracks spiderwebbing the outer wall, smoke drifting upward in uneven columns, people still running even though, for now, the mortars had stopped.
Aang rose back into the air, circling once above the Tribe.
Hai tracked him instinctively, heart still hammering. From up there, the Avatar looked impossibly small against the sky — a single figure suspended between fire-dark clouds and a wounded city that suddenly felt very fragile.
Then Aang tipped forward and came down fast.
He landed hard near the inner battlements, boots skidding across the ice before he caught himself with his staff. The impact echoed, sharp and final, like a period at the end of a sentence no one was ready to read.
Arnook was already there, flanked by guards. Yue broke free from her father's side without thinking, boots slipping as she ran.
Hai followed her.
Up close, Aang looked... wrecked.
His shoulders sagged like they were finally allowed to. Ash streaked his face and clung to his robes. His chest rose and fell too fast, breath coming in shallow pulls he clearly couldn't slow down. His hands trembled faintly where they gripped the staff, knuckles white.
Katara appeared at his side in a rush of blue, skidding to a stop and grabbing his arm.
"Aang," She breathed, relief flooding her voice. "You're okay—"
He swayed, just slightly.
She tightened her grip instantly. "Hey. Hey, sit. You need to—"
"I'm fine." He said automatically, but it came out thin, breathless. He didn't pull away, which said more than the words ever could.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The noise of the city pressed in around them — distant cries, shouted orders, the crackle of ice being reforged along the walls. Somewhere, a child was sobbing. Somewhere else, someone was praying out loud.
Arnook inclined his head upon approach. "Avatar Aang."
Aang straightened as much as he could and returned the nod, then looked past him toward the harbor.
At the smoke.
At the ships.
His jaw tightened.
Aang dragged a hand over his face, smearing ash across his cheek. "I can't take them all out. Not alone." He added, almost to himself.
Hai stepped forward before he fully realized he was moving. "Then we'll help you."
Aang looked at him, surprised — then grateful, in that way that hurt to see.
"And the Spirits," Yue said softly. "If there is any hope left, they will know."
Katara frowned. "What do you mean?"
Yue exchanged a look with Hai — one of those quick, silent conversations that came from a lifetime of shared fear and shared faith.
"There is a place," Yue said. "A sacred place beneath the Temple. Where the Moon and Ocean Spirits dwell."
"The Spirit Oasis." Hai added.
Aang's eyes widened. "You think... they could help?"
"Maybe," Yue said. "Maybe not. But if the world has ever needed them—"
She didn't finish.
She didn't have to.
Arnook had been watching from a few steps back, arms folded, expression carved from ice. Now his gaze sharpened, calculating.
For a long moment, Hai thought he might refuse.
Instead, he inclined his head. Just barely.
"Go," Arnook said. "Before the next wave arrives."
No one argued.
The crowd seemed to understand, in that quiet, dreadful way people do when they know something bigger than them is unfolding. Warriors turned back to the walls. Waterbenders resumed their work. The city braced itself.
Aang folded his glider, hands trembling with fatigue.
Katara stayed at his side without question. Yue placed a light hand on his arm, steadying him. Hai moved behind them, already scanning the shadows, already feeling the pull of something ancient and waiting.
The four of them turned toward the temple staircase.
Behind them, the sky burned.
Behind the walls, the ocean churned.
And far out on the horizon, the Fire Nation fleet multiplied — a second night rising, slow and inevitable, toward the Northern Water Tribe.
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