Chapter Text
King Bumi’s idea of "diplomatic preparations" looked less like a peace summit and more like a riot in a bakery.
"More rock candy!" Bumi screamed, sliding down the bannister of the palace's grand staircase. "And move the tables! If the delegates get too comfortable, they’ll stop thinking! I want the Fire Nation delegation seated on the chandelier!"
"Sir," a weary Earth Kingdom advisor sighed, clutching a scroll. "The Fire Lord cannot sit on a chandelier. It is a fire hazard."
"Fine!" Bumi huffed, landing with a thud. "Then put him next to the saber-tooth moose-lion. It’s shedding season. That should keep him alert!"
From the balcony, the Gaang watched the chaos. Zuko looked like he was regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment, and Sokka was taking notes on Bumi’s "strategic unpredictability."
"Alright," Sokka clapped his hands. "While the Mad King reinvents the concept of dinner, we need to get settled. Bumi gave us the East Wing. We guys can take the left, you girls take the right. No wandering off, Toph."
"I go where the vibrations take me, Snoozles," Toph declared, already marching toward the girls' quarters.
The guest room was massive, carved directly into the mountain stone. It had three beds, a stunning view of the Omashu delivery chutes, and absolutely zero privacy.
Toph immediately claimed the bed closest to the window. She kicked off her foot covers, earthbent the mattress into a rock slab ("Too soft," she muttered), and sprawled out.
Nia stood by the bed furthest from the door. She didn't sit, she placed her trunk on the floor and began to unpack with the precision of a surgeon. Robes. Folded. Stacked. Scrolls. Aligned. Left corner. Knife. Under the pillow. Handle out.
Katara sat on the middle bed, brushing her hair. She watched Nia work. "You know we're only staying for two nights, right?" Katara asked gently. "You don't have to organize everything."
"Disorganization leads to lost assets," Nia replied automatically. She smoothed a wrinkle out of her sleeping tunic. Her movements were fluid, silent, and terrifyingly perfect.
Toph burped loudly. "You're doing it again," Toph mumbled into her stone pillow. "Being a statue. Your heart rate is so slow it’s annoying. Are you even alive over there?"
"I am conserving energy," Nia said.
Katara set her brush down. She had been watching Nia for weeks. She saw the way Nia ate (small bites, never speaking with her mouth full), the way she stood (hands clasped, spine rigid), and the way she never, ever complained. To Katara, who had grown up wild in the snow, it looked exhausting.
"You have incredible manners," Katara said, trying to be complimentary. "Like... really perfect. Did your mom teach you that?"
Nia’s hand froze over her stack of folded robes. The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.
"Yes," Nia said. Her voice was hollow. "She did."
"She must be very elegant," Katara smiled, thinking of her own mother’s warmth. "Is she like you?"
Nia looked at the grey stone wall, but she didn't see the wall. She saw a room full of silk and silence.
***
92 AG (Nia is 10 years old) Location: The Tang Estate. The Tea Room.
The room smelled of jasmine and fear. Ten-year-old Nia sat on her knees on the bamboo mat. Her legs were screaming in pain. She had been kneeling for an hour. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back so tightly it pulled at her scalp, giving her a headache.
Across the low table sat Irina. Nia’s mother was beautiful. She was pale, like a porcelain doll, with perfect makeup and robes that cost more than a battleship. But her eyes were dead. They were the eyes of a woman who had learned that feeling things was dangerous.
"Again," Irina whispered.
Nia picked up the tea pot. Her small hands were shaking. The heavy ceramic felt like it weighed a ton. She tried to pour the tea into the tiny cup. Clink. The spout hit the rim of the cup. A tiny sound. A tiny mistake.
"Stop," Irina said.
Nia froze. Tears pricked her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mother. My hand slipped."
"We do not have 'slips'," Irina said. Her voice wasn't angry. It was cold. It was the voice of a ghost. She reached across the table and took Nia’s chin in her hand. Her fingers were freezing.
"Look at me, Nia."
Nia looked. She wanted her mom to hug her. She wanted her mom to say, 'It’s okay, go play outside with Seraim.' But Irina didn't hug. Hugging was messy.
"Grandmother Keres is in the next room," Irina whispered, her eyes darting to the sliding door. "If she hears the pot hit the cup, she will come in here. Do you want her to come in here?"
Nia’s eyes widened. She shook her head frantically. No. Grandmother Keres hit with a cane. Grandmother Keres yelled about honor and clumsiness.
"Then be a stone," Irina commanded. She smoothed a stray hair from Nia’s face, but there was no affection in the touch. It was like she was fixing a crooked painting. "If you are soft, the world will break you. If you are loud, the world will find you. You must be silent. You must be perfect. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother," Nia whimpered, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek.
Irina sighed. She took a silk handkerchief and wiped the tear away. "Don't cry," Irina said flatly. "Crying makes your face puffy. It makes you look weak. If you are weak, you are efficient to remove."
Irina placed the teapot back in Nia’s trembling hands. "Pour it again. And this time... do not exist. Just pour."
Nia took a breath. She choked back the sob in her throat. She imagined she was made of ice. She imagined she had no heart, no legs, no fear. She poured. The stream of liquid was silent. Perfect. Irina nodded once. A tiny, imperceptible movement. "Good," she whispered. "Now. Do it for another hour."
***
"Nia?"
Katara’s voice snapped her back. Nia blinked. She was still standing over her trunk. Her hand was gripping the silk fabric of her robe so hard her knuckles were white.
"You okay?" Toph asked, sitting up. "Your heart just did a weird skip thing."
Nia released the fabric. She smoothed it out, erasing the wrinkles she had made. "I am fine," Nia said. Her voice was back to the "Council Voice." Smooth. Detached.
She turned to Katara. "My mother taught me that presentation is a weapon," Nia said simply. "If people are looking at your manners, they are not looking at your intentions."
Katara frowned. It was a sad answer. It sounded like something a soldier would say, not a daughter. "Oh," Katara said quietly. "Well... she sounds... effective."
"She survived," Nia corrected.
She closed her trunk with a soft click. "I am going to check the security perimeter before the feast," Nia announced. "The King’s goat-gorilla is a liability."
She walked out of the room before Katara could ask another question. She walked perfectly. Her footsteps made no sound. Her back was straight. Just like a doll.
Toph laid back down, frowning. "You know," Toph muttered to the ceiling. "For someone who isn't an earthbender, she sure knows how to build a wall."
"Yeah," Katara sighed, looking at the perfectly folded robes Nia left behind. "But I think she's trapped behind it."
The door clicked shut behind Nia. Katara stared at the stone floor, her brow furrowed. She picked up the hairbrush Nia had aligned perfectly on the nightstand. "That wasn't normal," Katara murmured. "The way she shut down... it was like a switch flipped."
Toph rolled over, kicking her feet in the air. "It’s not a switch," Toph said, her voice unusually serious. "It’s a barricade. When she started talking about her mom, her heartbeat didn't speed up. It stopped." Toph frowned, tapping her chin. "I’ve felt liars, I’ve felt scared people, I’ve felt angry people. But Nia? She feels like she’s holding her breath. Like... if she lets it out, she’s gonna shatter."
"Her mom told her not to exist," Katara whispered, realizing the horror of it. "Just 'pour the tea.' Just be a tool."
"Well," Toph grunted, punching her pillow into a better shape. "Someone needs to tell her that tools don't eat ration bars in their boots. She’s messy inside, Katara, and she’s trying so hard to hide it."
Katara looked at the door again. She felt that familiar tug in her chest: the need to comfort, but she knew waterbending couldn't fix this. "I wonder what she was like," Katara said softly. "Before she learned to be a stone."
The wind in Omashu was strong. It whipped around the high peaks, tearing at Nia’s robes, pulling strands of hair loose from her severe bun. Nia gripped the stone railing. Her knuckles were white. She was breathing in a specific rhythm. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
Don't cry, Irina’s voice whispered in her ear. Crying makes your face puffy. Crying is inefficient. Salt ruins the makeup.
Nia squeezed her eyes shut. The pressure in her chest was unbearable. It felt like the lightning was trapped in her ribs again, buzzing, burning. She wasn't crying because of Irina. She was crying because for a split second, looking at Toph and Katara bickering over the bed, she had remembered what it felt like to be loud, to be messy, to be loved.
She gasped, a ragged, ugly sound, and pressed her forehead against the cold stone railing.
***
90 AG (Nia is 8 years old) Location: Ember Island. The Private Beach.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and purple. The sand was still warm. Nia was running. She wasn't walking with "proper posture." She wasn't gliding. She was sprinting, her bare feet kicking up sand, her hair a tangled disaster of salt and wind. She was laughing so hard her ribs hurt.
"I'm gonna get you!" Seraim was chasing her. He was 18, tall and awkward, holding a bucket of water. He was laughing too, his usually sad eyes bright with mischief.
"No!" Nia shrieked, delighted. She tripped over a piece of driftwood. She didn't fall gracefully. She face-planted. Hard. Into the wet sand.
If she were in the Tea Room, this would be a disaster. Keres would have caned her. Irina would have sighed at the dirty clothes, but she wasn't in the Tea Room.
Strong hands grabbed her under her arms and hoisted her into the air. "Gotcha, you little sand-crab!"
Nia squealed as she was swung up onto wide shoulders. Her father, Commander Shareen, was a giant of a man. He didn't have the sharp, cruel angles of the other Fire Nation officers. He had a broad, bearded face and laugh lines around his eyes. He smelled like campfire smoke and sea salt.
"Are you hurt?" her father asked, checking her scraped knee. "I'm okay!" Nia chirped, wiping sand off her face, leaving a muddy streak across her nose. "Did you see me run? I was faster than the wind!"
"Faster than a dragon!" Her father agreed, bouncing her on his shoulders. "Seraim, you're losing your touch. Your sister is outflanking you."
Seraim jogged up, panting, dropping the water bucket. "She cheats, Dad. She uses the terrain."
"That's called strategy, son," Commander Tang laughed. A deep, booming sound that vibrated through Nia’s chest.
He walked them down to the water’s edge. He sat Nia down on a log, but he kept his arm around her, pulling her close. He didn't care that she was sandy. He didn't care that her knees were scraped. "Look at that," her father said, pointing at the horizon where the sun was touching the water. "Do you know why the sunset is beautiful, Nia?"
Little Nia looked at the colors. "Because it's bright?"
"No," her father said softly, brushing the messy hair out of her eyes. "Because it's messy. The colors bleed into each other. The clouds are broken. If the sky was just one perfect color, it would be boring."
He kissed her forehead. "Never be afraid to be messy, Little Flamer, that's where the fire lives."
Seraim sat down next to them, his shoulder close to his dad’s left shoulder. Nia leaned on the other side. For a moment, there was no war, no Keres, no politics, just the three of them, a warm pile of humans watching the world end and begin again.
"I'll always protect you guys," Seraim murmured sleepily.
"And I'll protect you!" Nia declared fiercely, puffing out her chest. Her father pulled them both into a crushing hug.
"And I," he whispered into her hair, "Will love you no matter what, even if you fall, especially if you fall."
***
The wind howled. Nia opened her eyes. The sunset was gone. It was dark. Her father was dead. He had died in an ambush two years after that day on the beach. Seraim was dead. He had died at the Siege of Ba Sing Se, protecting a cousin who didn't deserve it.
Nia was alone on the balcony.
She reached up and touched her cheek. It was wet. She had failed. She had cried.
"Inefficient," she whispered to the empty air. Her voice cracked.
She wiped her face aggressively with her sleeve, scrubbing away the tears until her skin was red. She took a deep, shuddering breath. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
She straightened her spine. She smoothed her wind-blown hair. She locked the memory of the warm sand and the deep laughter into a box in the back of her mind, wrapped in chains.
She fixed her collar. She assumed the stance of the Diplomat. "The feast," she said to herself, her voice cold and steady once more. "Focus on the feast."
She turned and walked back inside, leaving the ghost of the little girl on the balcony.
***
The Grand Dining Hall of Omashu.
The doors opened. Nia walked in. She was flawless. Her hair was re-pinned. Her robes were smoothed. Her face was a mask of polite indifference, but inside, she was screaming.
The Dining Hall was a nightmare. Instead of a long table, Bumi had arranged the tables on floating rock platforms that drifted aimlessly around the room. You had to time your jump to get to the salad. The centerpiece was a massive pile of Jennamite (creeping crystal rock candy) that appeared to be slowly growing toward the guests.
"Nia!" Sokka waved frantically. He was currently clinging to a floating rock that was spinning slowly. "Don't eat the purple berries! They scream when you bite them!"
Nia assessed the room. She calculated the trajectory of the nearest floating platform. She timed her jump. Step. Leap. Land. She landed gracefully next to Zuko.
Zuko was sitting on a relatively stable rock, staring at a plate of what looked like glowing tofu. He looked up when she landed. He didn't look at her robes. He didn't look at her hair. He looked straight at her eyes.
They were red, the kind of red you get when you scrub your face with a rough sleeve to hide the tears. Zuko stiffened. His hand moved instinctively toward hers under the table. "You okay?" he murmured, low enough that Toph (who was upside down on the ceiling) wouldn't hear.
"I am fine," Nia said. Her voice was brittle glass. "The wind on the balcony is... irritating to the eyes."
Zuko didn't buy it, not for a second. He knew that "wind in the eyes" was an excuse for 'I just remembered something terrible' . If he pushed her now, she would shut down completely, so he did the only thing he could do.
He reached for the teapot in the center of the table. "Here," Zuko said quietly. He poured a cup for her. He did it clumsily. He spilled a little on the saucer. It was the opposite of Irina’s "Perfect Pour." It was a Zuko Pour, messy, well-intentioned, and warm.
Nia looked at the spill. She looked at Zuko’s scarred hand holding the cup. Her chest loosened, just a fraction. "Thank you," she whispered, taking the cup. The heat seeped into her cold fingers.
"WELCOME!" King Bumi bellowed, dropping from the ceiling and landing in his throne (which was also floating). "Tonight, we celebrate... COOPERATION!"
Bumi snapped his fingers. The Jennamite in the center of the table exploded. Shards of rock candy flew everywhere. But they didn't hit the ground. They hovered. Then, they formed into little rock-candy golems.
"Dinner is served!" Bumi cackled. "But first, you must CATCH IT!"
The rock-candy golems started running. "My dessert is escaping!" Sokka shrieked, diving off his chair.
A rock-chicken ran past Nia. She didn't move. She just stared at it. "This is not a dinner," Nia said flatly to Zuko. "This is a hunting exercise."
"Just grab a drumstick," Zuko sighed, catching a flying bread roll with one hand. "Before Toph eats the table."
Suddenly, a massive platter of Roast Duck-Pigs floated by, but the Duck-Pigs weren't dead. Well, they were cooked, but Bumi was bending them to make them dance. "Dance for the Fire Lord!" Bumi shouted. The ducks began to do the can-can.
Nia stared. She blinked once. Twice. The absurdity of it, the dancing ducks, the screaming berries, Sokka chasing a rock-candy man, crashed into her grief.
A tiny, strangled sound escaped her throat. Zuko looked at her, panicked. "Nia?"
She wasn't crying, she was laughing. It wasn't a polite chuckle. It was a sudden, snorting laugh that she immediately tried to cover with her hand. "The duck," she wheezed, pointing a shaking finger. "It's... it's doing a high kick."
Zuko stared at her. He had NEVER seen her laugh, or even smile. He grinned. A real, dorky grin. "Yeah," Zuko chuckled. "It's got better form than Commander Zhao."
Nia snorted again, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. "This kingdom is ridiculous," she laughed, the sound wet and relieved. "It's completely insane."
"It is," Zuko agreed, sliding a plate of (non-moving) rice in front of her. "Eat, before the rice decides to fight you."
Under the table, he kept his knee pressed against hers, like a solid anchor in a floating room. Nia ate, and for the first time that day, she didn't feel like a ghost.
***
Nia couldn't sleep. The stone bed was fine, the room was quiet (except for Katara’s soft breathing), but her mind was loud. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tea cup, she heard the clink, she felt the cold phantom of Irina’s hand on her chin. Don't exist. Just pour.
She slipped out of bed. She grabbed her outer robe, wrapping it tight against the mountain chill, and stepped onto the balcony. She didn't make a sound. She didn't open the door; she slid through the gap. She walked on the balls of her feet.
"You're doing it again," a voice drawled from the shadows.
Nia froze. Toph was sitting on the stone railing, her legs dangling over the terrifying drop into the chasm below. She was kicking her feet back and forth casually.
"Doing what?" Nia asked, her voice a whisper.
"Walking like a ghost," Toph said. She turned her head, her milky eyes staring blindly at Nia’s chest. "You move like you're trying to sneak past spirits. It’s annoying. Just walk like a person."
Nia walked to the railing. She stood three feet away from Toph, a respectful distance. "Insomnia is inefficient," Nia deflected. "I thought the fresh air would reset my circadian rhythm."
Toph snorted. She picked at a callous on her foot. "You use big words to hide small feelings, Lady Nia." Toph slapped the stone railing beside her. "Sit. You're blocking the wind."
Nia hesitated. The railing was narrow. The drop was lethal. Safety violation, her brain screamed. But she climbed up anyway. She sat next to Toph, legs dangling into the void.
"You asked me earlier," Toph said, not looking at her. "About the 'Heavy Step'."
Nia looked down at her hands. "I did."
"Most people," Toph explained, wiggling her toes in the air, "carry their weight in their hips or their shoulders. Soldiers carry it in their chest, cowards carry it in their knees." She turned to face Nia. "You carry your weight in your bones. You walk as light as the air, so no one hears you, but when you stand still? You feel like you weigh a thousand tons. Like you're rooted to the spot because if you move, something bad happens."
Nia gripped the edge of the stone. The accuracy was suffocating. "My mother," Nia said quietly. The words felt heavy on her tongue. "She didn't like noise. She didn't like mistakes. If I moved wrong... I was corrected."
Toph went still. The playful smirk vanished. "Corrected how?"
"With silence," Nia whispered. "She would look through me, like I wasn't there, for days, until I was perfect again." Nia looked out at the dark peaks of the mountains. "Being invisible was the only way to be safe. If I was a ghost, she couldn't be disappointed in me."
Toph was quiet for a long time. She kicked her heels against the stone. Thump. Thump. "My parents didn't want me to be a ghost," Toph said finally. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. "They wanted me to be a doll."
Nia looked at her. "A doll?"
"Yeah," Toph scowled. "Because I'm blind, they thought I was made of sugar glass. 'Don't walk there, Toph, you'll fall.' 'Don't touch that, Toph, it's sharp.' They hid me from the world because they thought the world would break me." Toph clenched her small fist. "They loved me, but they didn't know me, they just loved the helpless little girl they invented."
Nia felt a strange pang in her chest: a connection. "My mother didn't think I was helpless," Nia murmured. "She thought I was a weapon that needed polishing, but... the result is the same, isn't it?"
Toph nodded. "Yeah. A cage is a cage. Doesn't matter if it's made of gold or silence."
Toph leaned back, resting on her elbows. "That's why I ran away," Toph said. "I'd rather eat dirt and travel the world than be a perfect little doll sitting on a shelf."
She turned her face to Nia. "Why did you run away, Nia? You didn't run to join a circus. You ran to... administration."
Nia let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I didn't run away, Toph. I survived. My father died, my brother died, and my mother... faded. The estate was empty." Nia looked at her hands, the hands that could generate lightning, hands that could kill, hands that could balance a budget. "I joined the Council because rules make sense. Rules don't leave you. Rules don't die in a war."
"Boring," Toph declared, but there was no heat in it. She reached out and punched Nia in the arm. It wasn't a hard punch. It was a solidarity punch. "You know what your problem is?" Toph asked.
"I have several," Nia noted.
"Your problem is that you're still waiting for permission to make a sound," Toph said. She stood up on the railing, balancing effortlessly on the precipice. "You're not in the Tea Room anymore, Nia. The old lady isn't watching. Your mom isn't watching."
Toph took a deep breath and screamed into the night. "AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" The echo bounced off the canyon walls. AHHH-ahhh-ahhh.
Nia jumped, nearly falling off the ledge. "Toph! People are sleeping!"
"Let 'em wake up!" Toph grinned, feral and free. "Come on. Do it. Scream."
"I... I cannot."
"Do it!" Toph stomped her foot. "Let it out! Or I'm gonna earthbend this balcony and dump you in the chute!"
Nia looked at the darkness. She felt the pressure in her chest, the grief, the fear, the anger at her family, the anger at herself for crying. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
"Pathetic," Toph whispered. "Try again, from the gut. Like you're ordering a soldier to sit."
Nia closed her eyes. She pictured the tea cup. She pictured Irina’s cold eyes. She pictured Keres’ icy glare. She pushed the air from her diaphragm.
"AH!" It was a short, strangled shout.
"Better," Toph nodded. "But that was a mouse sneeze, give me a badger-mole roar."
Nia stood up on the railing next to Toph. The wind whipped her hair. She thought about everything she had lost. She thought about the unfairness of it all. She took a massive breath.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
It ripped out of her throat. It was raw. It was ugly. It was loud. The echo thundered back at them.
Nia stood there, panting, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her throat stung. She waited for the punishment. She waited for the cane, but nothing happened, just the wind, and Toph.
Toph was grinning. A genuine, impressed grin. "There she is," Toph whispered. "I felt that one in my toes."
Nia looked at Toph. A small, shaky smile touched her lips. "It... felt efficient."
"It felt real," Toph corrected. She hopped down from the railing. "Go to sleep, Nia. You're loud enough now."
Toph had just turned to walk back inside. "Wait," Nia said.
Toph stopped, but didn't turn around. "What? Gonna scream again? I think you woke up the neighbors already."
"You said I carry my weight like I'm afraid the world will break," Nia said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it had changed, because the tremor was gone. It was replaced by a low, vibrating hum, like the tone of a wire pulled tight. "I don't walk light because I'm scared, Toph. I walk light because I am heavy."
Toph turned around slowly. Her eyebrows knitted together. "What are you doing?" Toph whispered. "The air just got... tight."
Nia didn't answer. She dropped into her stance. It wasn't a standard firebending stance. It was the "Rehab Center" stance. Feet together. Spine rigid. Shoulders locked. She took a breath. The Girl Who Wants to Die. (Left hand). The Girl Who Is Afraid. (Right hand).
She moved her arms. It wasn't a fluid circle like Iroh. It was a sharp, jagged snap. She tore the energy apart inside her stomach.
ZZZZZ-CRACK.
The air on the balcony instantly smelled like ozone and burnt rain. The hairs on Toph’s arms stood straight up. Between Nia’s fingertips, a ball of blinding, pure white lightning thrashed and screamed. It sounded like a thousand birds chirping at once. It lit up the entire mountainside, casting long, sharp shadows against the palace walls.
Nia didn't fire it, she held it, and she stood there, illuminated by the ghostly white glare, her face completely calm, controlling a force that could level a building.
Toph took a step back. For the first time ever, the Blind Bandit looked genuinely rattled. She couldn't see the light, but she could feel the heat, but it was not heat, it was cold. The fire was hot, but this felt like ice that burned. It felt like the air was being sucked out of the world.
"What is that?" Toph yelled over the buzzing sound. "That’s not fire! That feels like... that feels like the sky falling down!"
"It is lightning," Nia said. Her voice was distorted by the energy, sounding hollow and metallic. "White lightning. It requires a total absence of emotion, a total separation of spirit."
She looked at the writhing energy in her hands. It was beautiful. It was lethal; it was her pain given form.
"I don't need permission to make a sound, Toph," Nia said, looking at the blind girl through the blinding light. "I stay quiet... because this is what happens when I don't."
Nia looked up at the sky. She released the lock. She pointed two fingers at the clouds.
BOOM.
The bolt shot upward. It was a razor-thin line of white destruction. It pierced the clouds instantly. A second later, the thunderclap shook the entire city of Omashu. The delivery chutes rattled. The windows vibrated. It was the loudest sound Toph had ever heard.
Nia lowered her hand. Smoke curled from her fingertips. The silence that followed was heavy.
Toph stood there, mouth open, her bangs blown back by the shockwave. She earthbent the ground to steady herself. "You..." Toph stammered. "You're a lightning bender."
"I am," Nia said, smoothing her robes, returning to the 'Statue.'
"But... Azula felt sharp," Toph said, shaking her head, trying to process the vibrations. "Ozai felt heavy. You... that felt sad." Toph walked up to Nia. She reached out and poked Nia in the chest. "That was the saddest, coldest, scariest thing I have ever felt."
Nia looked down at Toph. "It is the only thing that belongs to me," Nia whispered.
Toph paused. Then, a massive, feral grin spread across her face. She punched Nia in the arm again. Harder this time. "Okay," Toph laughed. "You are definitely cool, but if you ever do that while I'm sleeping, I will bury you in a hole."
"Noted," Nia said dryly.
"Come on, Stormy," Toph yawned, heading back to the room. "Let's go back to bed. I gotta tell Sokka you're a human taser. He's gonna freak out."
Nia stayed on the balcony for one more second, smelling the ozone on her hands. She felt lighter. The secret was out. The ghost had screamed. And the world was still standing.
Toph walked back into the room, leaving Nia alone on the balcony. Nia touched her throat. It was sore. She looked at the moon. For the first time in years, she didn't feel like a ghost. She felt like a girl who had just made a very loud noise, and the world hadn't ended.
She stepped off the railing. Her step was heavy, and she didn't care who heard it.