Being Aang’s sister meant growing up in temples that touched the sky, in a life built on patience, detachment, balance.

And then the world ended. Or at least, it changed.

Ice. A century gone. War everywhere.

And suddenly, your life wasn’t air and silence anymore — it was mud, smoke, hunger, and people who didn’t understand you.

Especially him. Sokka.

You remembered the first time you saw him clearly. He stood in the snow like he owned it, spear in hand, suspicion written into every line of his body. Loud. Defensive. So certain he was right about everything.

You didn’t like him immediately. He didn’t like you either.

From then on, every day of traveling felt like friction. You always ended up right next to each other.

Arguing.

Katara would sigh. Aang would try to mediate. And you and Sokka would keep going like it was a sport.

Snide remarks became routine. Eye-rolls. Mutters under your breath that he definitely heard.

He called you “cloud-head.” You called him “meat-brain.”

It should have stayed simple. But it didn’t.

Because somewhere between the arguments, you learned things about each other you weren’t supposed to notice.

He always walked slightly ahead when things felt dangerous. You always noticed when he hadn’t eaten. He started directing plans around your abilities without admitting it. You started trusting his instincts even when you pretended not to.

You still couldn’t stand him.

That part didn’t change.

The Earth Kingdom village wasn’t supposed to matter.

Just another stop. Another mission. Another place passing through your life like everything else had since you left the temples behind.

But you stayed. Long enough for things to settle into something almost normal.

The villagers were kind. The problems were manageable. You even managed to pull off a successful mission — something about rerouting resources, helping rebuild, keeping peace where it was fragile.

And then there was the fortune-teller.

She watched all of you like she could see through skin and bone and straight into whatever you tried not to think about.

Her predictions were… unsettling.

Too specific sometimes. Too vague at others.

Sokka didn’t believe a word of it.

You told yourself you didn’t either.

But still, when she looked at you, you felt… seen.

The day everything shifted wasn’t dramatic at first. Just another mission.

Until it wasn’t.

Fire. Chaos. Houses collapsing under pressure that came too fast to stop. You moved instinctively — air bending, redirecting, pulling people out, stabilizing what you could.

Sokka was everywhere.

Shouting instructions. Dragging people out of danger. Moving like he always did when things got real — sharp, focused, terrifyingly capable.

You worked together without speaking.

You always did, when it mattered.

By the time it was over, the place you’d been staying was gone. Just… gone. Ash and splintered wood.

So they moved you. The palace. Temporary safety. Too clean. Too quiet compared to what you were used to.

Dinner was subdued. Everyone tired. The kind of exhaustion that sits in your bones and doesn’t leave when you close your eyes.

You washed up. Changed. Thought maybe, finally, you’d get a moment alone.

You were wrong.

There aren’t enough rooms,” someone said.

You felt it before you heard it.

“No,” you and Sokka said at the same time.

Absolutely not. You argued. Of course you did. And then the fortune-teller spoke.

“Some paths must be shared,” she said calmly. “Whether you like them or not.”

The villagers nodded like that settled everything.

Now you sat on opposite sides of the room. Same space. Same bed. Neither of you speaking. For once.

The silence wasn’t tense in the usual way. Just… tired. You adjusted the blanket, avoiding looking directly at him. He sat there for a moment longer, running a hand through his hair, clearly debating whether to say something. Eventually, he lay down — stiff at first, like you.

For a while, all you could hear was breathing. Yours. His.

“You okay?” he asked finally. Soft. Not teasing.