14 VILLAGE IN SMOKE
━━━━━━
It smeared the horizon ahead of them, dark and rising, curling into the sky in a way that made his stomach drop. Too thick. Too fast. Smoke like that didn't come from hearth fires or cooking pits.
Hai shifted where he sat on Appa's saddle, squinting against the wind. "That's not natural."
Aang slowed Appa without being told. The great sky bison let out a low, uneasy rumble as they descended, wings catching the air in wide, controlled sweeps.
As the coastline came further into view, the truth revealed itself in brutal clarity.
Fire.
Thatched roofs burned openly, orange flames devouring wood and cloth alike. Smoke poured from shattered homes in thick, choking plumes. Fire Nation soldiers moved through the narrow paths below, metal armor flashing in the sun as they shouted orders and hurled fire at anything that still stood.
The village clung to the coastline like an afterthought—small, earth-walled homes clustered too close together, fields trampled under heavy boots. It wasn't a fortress. It wasn't prepared for this.
Hai's jaw clenched.
Aang's face went pale, eyes wide and fixed on the destruction below. "We have to help them."
There wasn't even a pause to consider another option.
"Appa." Aang said sharply.
Without hesitation, Appa descended fast, cutting through smoke and heat. Sand and ash whipped up as they landed hard on the beach just beyond the village edge. The moment Appa's feet hit the ground, the smell of burning wood surged around them—sharp and acrid.
Aang was off Appa's back before Hai's boots even hit the sand, staff snapping open as he launched himself forward on a burst of air that carried him straight into the village.
"Wait—" Katara started, then stopped herself and ran after him.
Water leapt to her call in uneven arcs, pulled hastily from the sea. The movements were familiar but not yet polished—too much force here, not enough control there. The water splashed and reformed, responsive but messy.
Hai noticed.
He didn't stop her.
There was no time.
Hai hesitated only a heartbeat—long enough for the heat to wash over him, for the roar of fire to crack through the air like thunder.
Fire roared.
The first blast streaked toward them from the left, wide and uncontrolled. Hai reacted without thinking, arms sweeping up as he bent water straight from the sea. A wall surged into place just in time, steam exploding outward as flame struck it and died with a violent hiss.
Hai stepped into the village.
Chaos surrounded him—shouts overlapping in panic, the crackling collapse of burning beams, the sharp hiss of extinguished fire. Earth Kingdom villagers ran past, faces streaked with soot and terror, clutching children and whatever belongings they could carry.
A child stumbled near him, crying, frozen in place as a roof groaned overhead.
Hai caught him by the arm, pulling him clear just as a beam collapsed behind them in a shower of sparks.
"Go," Hai urged, steady despite the noise. "To the beach. Keep moving."
The child nodded frantically and ran.
Hai turned—and nearly caught a blast of fire to the chest.
Katara intercepted it, barely. Water surged between them, thinner than Hai would've shaped it, but enough. Steam billowed, heat licking at their skin.
Katara shot him a look, jaw set. "I've got this."
Hai didn't argue. He pivoted, drawing more water up and outward, scanning for the next threat.
Aang tore through the center of the village like a living storm.
He moved fast—too fast for the soldiers to regroup—air and earth and redirected fire moving in concert as he disarmed attackers with sharp, efficient motions.
Flames curved away from homes. Spears were yanked from hands.
Soldiers found themselves airborne one second and face-first in the dirt the next.
Sokka burst into the fray at Katara's side, boomerang already in motion.
"Left!" He shouted.
Katara reacted on instinct, water snapping out in a wide sweep that knocked a soldier off his feet. The motion was rough, overextended, but Sokka was already there—boomerang striking the man's helmet before he could recover.
They moved together, not graceful, but effective. Sokka shouted directions, pointed out openings. Katara adjusted mid-movement, compensating where her control faltered. When her water thinned, Sokka dragged a fallen shield into place, blocking a blast meant for both of them.
"Again!" Katara said, breathless.
"I see it!" Sokka replied.
Hai joined them, water snapping into motion at his command—streams to knock soldiers back, shields to protect fleeing villagers.
Ice formed briefly beneath enemy feet before shattering to send them sprawling.
He placed his bending deliberately, surgically, closing gaps where Katara struggled and redirecting fire away from where Sokka fought on foot.
Fire Nation bending was never subtle.
Every blast was aggressive, emotional, overextended—thrown hard and fast, driven by momentum rather than precision.
And somewhere in the middle of it—between one flare of flame and the next—Hai felt the memory surface, unbidden and unwelcome.
A scarred face lit by firelight.
Anger sharpened into desperation.
A boy barely older than Aang, burning because he didn't know how not to.
Zuko.
The first firebender Hai had ever met.
The thought struck hard enough to make Hai falter mid-step. A fireblast skimmed too close, heat biting across his sleeve.
The fire here felt like that—wild, driven, hungry. Not disciplined. Not careful. Fire thrown like a weapon rather than shaped like a tool.
"Focus," Hai muttered under his breath, forcing himself back into the present.
He intercepted another blast meant for a fleeing family, water crashing down hard enough to leave the attacker sputtering in the sand.
Nearby, Katara froze a soldier's boots to the ground with a sharp twist of her wrist—too slow to stop him entirely, but Sokka barreled into the man's chest a second later, sending both of them tumbling.
They were winning.
The Fire Nation soldiers hadn't expected resistance—not here, not from waterbenders traveling with the Avatar. Their formation broke. Commands turned frantic. Fire went wide.
One by one, they retreated, pulling back toward the shoreline where their boats waited.
Aang chased them just far enough to make the point—air slamming into their backs, knocking them into the surf before he stopped and let them flee.
Within minutes, the last of them disappeared in a smear of smoke and churned water.
The silence afterward rang painfully loud.
Only the crackle of dying fires remained, along with the distant cry of seabirds startled from their nests.
Hai lowered his arms slowly, chest rising and falling as adrenaline drained away. Around him, villagers emerged from hiding—wide-eyed, shaken, alive.
A woman clutching a young girl bowed deeply, tears streaking clean paths through soot on her face. "Thank you," she said, voice breaking. "Thank you—spirits bless you."
Others echoed her, gratitude rippling outward in hushed murmurs and clumsy bows.
Aang rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking his age again. "You're safe now," he said gently. "We won't let them hurt you again."
Katara was already moving, kneeling beside the injured. Water glowed faintly around her hands as she healed burns and cuts with careful concentration. Her brow furrowed, movements slower now, less precise—but she didn't stop.
"Easy," Katara murmured, more to herself than the woman. "This might sting a little."
The woman nodded, jaw tight, gripping the edge of her shawl.
Katara focused, drawing warmth into the water, guiding it the way Gran-Gran had taught her—slow, steady, patient.
The burn was angry, red and raw, and Katara could feel the strain immediately.
Healing always took more from her than she expected, like reaching into herself and pulling something vital free.
She swallowed and pushed through.
The woman hissed, then slowly exhaled as the pain eased.
"Thank you." She whispered, eyes shining.
Katara smiled tiredly. "Rest. Try not to move too much tonight."
She pulled her hands back, water slipping away, and nearly sagged forward. She caught herself just in time, planting one hand on the ground.
"Katara."
Hai's voice was close. She hadn't noticed him approach.
"You okay?" He asked.
"I'm fine," she said automatically, then sighed. "No, I'm not. But it's fine."
She pushed herself to her feet and glanced around. There were still people that needed healing—children with singed sleeves, men with burns creeping up their arms, a young boy whose hair had been scorched unevenly.
Katara's chest tightened.
"I can't get to everyone," she said quietly. "Not like this."
Hai stilled.
"I can't help." He said.
Katara blinked. "You—what?"
"I can't heal," Hai repeated, voice steady but low. "I was never taught how."
The words landed heavier than she expected.
Katara frowned. "But you're a master waterbender."
Hai shook his head once. "I was trained to fight. Control, pressure, force. Defense and offense. Healing wasn't part of it. That was always only taught to the women of our tribe."
"That doesn't make sense," Katara said before she could stop herself. "Healing is waterbending."
"It's a part of it," Hai corrected. "One I don't have."
He looked away. "Where I grew up, you learned how to survive first. Everything else was... optional."
Katara studied him, really studied him—the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled slightly, like they were always ready to react.
"Oh." She said softly.
The silence stretched.
"Well," Katara said finally, squaring her shoulders, "then we fix that."
Hai looked back at her, brow furrowing. "Katara—"
"You're going to teach Aang," she said, cutting in. "You're going to teach me. Which means we're going to be training together, whether you like it or not."
She gestured toward the villagers. "And I can't do this alone. So if you don't know how to heal, then I'll teach you."
Hai hesitated.
"I'm not good at it," he said. "I don't—healing requires a different kind of focus."
Katara huffed, exhausted but stubborn. "So does fighting. You didn't know how to do that either until someone taught you."
"That's not the same."
"Isn't it?" she challenged. "Water responds to intent. That's what you told Aang, right? You can't tell me that stops being true just because the intent is gentler."
Hai opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Katara softened her tone. "You don't have to be perfect. You just have to try."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he exhaled slowly. "All right," he said. "Show me."
Katara's shoulders relaxed immediately.
She led him to a young man sitting near one of the lantern posts, cradling his forearm. The burn wasn't severe, but it was painful—skin blistered, red and swollen.
"This is a good place to start," Katara said quietly. "Nothing too deep."
Hai knelt across from the man, movements careful, uncertain in a way Katara hadn't seen from him before.
She guided his hands, correcting his posture gently. "Don't pull the water," she said. "Invite it. Like you're asking it to listen."
Hai closed his eyes briefly.
The water stirred.
It wasn't elegant. It wavered, shimmered unevenly—but it responded.
Hai's jaw tightened in concentration. Sweat beaded at his temple.
The man gasped softly as the water touched his skin, then relaxed as the pain dulled.
Hai pulled back almost immediately, breath sharp. "That's all I can manage."
Katara nodded. "That's enough for now."
They worked together for a while after that—Katara taking the more serious injuries, Hai assisting where he could, learning slowly, carefully. He didn't say much, but he watched closely, absorbing every correction she offered.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up with them both.
Katara sank down onto a low stone wall, rubbing her eyes. "I think that's all I've got."
Hai nodded. "You did well."
She snorted. "I was sloppy."
"You were effective," he said. "There's a difference."
Katara glanced at him. "You sound like a teacher."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "Unfortunately."
She studied him for a moment, then said, "If you're really going to teach us... then it goes both ways."
Hai tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"I help you with healing," she said. "You help me with control. I know my forms aren't great yet."
"They'll improve. It's not something you can learn overnight." Hai said.
"Not unless I work at them," she replied. "So... we teach each other."
Hai considered that, eyes drifting toward where Aang sat with a group of children, laughing softly as he bent small gusts of air to make lanterns sway.
"Then our first lesson starts tonight."