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It's early morning when Zuko has his first meltdown of the day. Something about one of the guards stepping on his foot. Or perhaps they aren't moving fast enough for his liking or they brought him food when he specifically said he wasn't hungry even though he hasn't eaten in days, or maybe the crew hasn't done anything at all. The fire prince would explode at a person for breathing the wrong way these days. Miko thinks it has to do with the banishment, but she isn't allowed to bring it up. Zuko forbids it. Which, she supposes, makes sense. The banishment from the fire kingdom had been the worst day of his life, she imagines. After all, being burned, dishonored, and publicly cast out was rather embarrassing and not something one can easily bounce back from. It's put him on edge every day since, and he's putting everything he has into completing the task he's set out to do, the thing his father claims will regain his honor, the thing he has to do before ever being allowed to set foot in the Fire Nation kingdom again -- find the Avatar. 

It's rounding on noon when he storms into her room, all flustered and untamed. His hair is pulled back with a red band in a long, black, silky queue, and Miko can't help but to wonder if he would be in a better mood if only he'd just loosen the band a bit. Perhaps, it's too tight and that was the source of all the mood swings. 

He's ranting something unintelligible, but Miko doesn't bother asking him to repeat himself. He never does. So, she just lets him get his frustrations out, calmly continuing the painting she's been working on for the past three days. 

The room's in disarray, books thrown across the floor, her bed in absolute shambles with the covers all kicked up and the pillow at the opposite end it's supposed to be. There's art supplies scattered everywhere, and Zuko has to mind his steps as he paces back and forth. In the corner there's a pot resting with colorful flowers shoved inside, something. Miko has sculpted the thing with her own two hands. On the bed side table there's a scroll being held down against the paint splattered wooden surface with two thick bricks. Beside it rests a bottle of ink and a pen. It's where she writes, but Zuko can't imagine how she gets anything done with the atrocity that is his little cousin's bed room. She hasn't even so much as bothered to fold her clothes. (At the very least she could order one of the hand maidens do it for her!) This is a princess's bedroom, (if she can even properly be called that considering she's adopted) it shouldn't be such a mess. It's shameful.

Zuko only stops his raving when he notices his cousin isn't even looking at him. He pauses his pacing, looks at her, his lips curling. "Are you listening?" 

All he gets in return is a soft, "Hm?" Of course. She hasn't heard a thing, she's too wrapped up in that silly little painting of hers. Her tongue is sticking out of the corner of her mouth, the way she always has it when she's concentrating, and she's always concentrating on something. Paintings, sculptures, poems, stories, music. That last one was especially irksome for Zuko. Oh, how he loathed those late night kokyu practices. It's bad enough she makes him listen to it all day, but does she really have to play at night when he is sleeping?  Never mind that she's gotten the whole crew and his uncle in on it as well. They've started a music night, every third moon. It's pathetic. 

She's got half her hair pinned up in intricate braids, the rest of it hanging loosely over her shoulders. He isn't sure where she'd gotten it considering they'd been sailing for days, years even, never mind that she's never stepped foot off the ship since they started, but at some point she'd added a pink flower into the already complex hairstyle. As if she couldn't get enough things to stick in her hair. Gold, flowers, even the brushes she paints with. She has a lot of things to begin with, not just for her hair, but in general. Little trinkets she's gotten from traveling so long, stuffed in whatever tiny space she could fit them. Zuko blames his uncle. He spoils her. 

It's because of this he knows he won't gain her attention any time soon, she's always so focused on her silly hobbies. Too focused on them, if Zuko has anything to say about it. They distract her from more important things, like cleaning her room. Or even more pressing, helping him find the Avatar. "Forget it," Zuko spats, storming out of the room. There's no point in talking to her anyway. 

It's mid afternoon when something big happens. Their ship is drifting along the waters of the south pole, rather aimlessly in Miko's opinion. (That's part of the fun, she thinks.) Every now and again a breeze washes over the fire nation crew; and they shiver in their boots. It's freezing. The crew is used to warmer weather. Glaciers are on either side of the ship, and the sun's glaring off of them, blinding the shipmates as they sail along. It's funny how much brighter everything seems when it's all one color -- white in this instance. For miles and miles that's all there is to see -- white ice and white water. Who knew water could even be white? It's beautiful. So, calm, tranquil. Miko makes sure to memorize every detail -- that crack in that wall of ice, the way the water laps ever so gently, that cloud drifting through the sky -- so she can paint it all later. It will make a stunning portrait, she's sure.  

There's a beam of light up ahead. It comes out of nowhere, shoots straight up into the sky; in the same instance a gust of wind washes over them, has everyone's teeth chattering. Miko draws her coat closer. It's beautiful, but it's freezing. The south pole was nothing like the warmth of the city back at the fire nation, the steaming valcanos, the heat of the sun. Where the water tribe is all white, the Fire Nation is all red. The colonies too. Red banners flying high in the sky, red silk for clothing. The fire is especially red, but it's also orange and sometimes yellow. Occasionally, it's blue, too. It's the only thing in the whole Fire Nation to have any sort of multitude of color. A sad realization, when one stops to think about it. Without color, Miko thinks the world is rather dull. There hasn't been much color lately, traveling aboard this dusty, old Fire Nation ship. It's all gray metal. However, one could argue that the rust provided some sort of rainbow-esque feel to the ship. Though, it is dull and lifeless -- and also red. Always red. 

The light dyes the sky a piercing blue for a moment, takes over every section of it, outshines those thick white clouds. It even somehow manages to paint their dull, gray ship a rustic sort of blue. The glaciers are also dyed for a second, but the light doesn't touch anything in the same way. It's multi-toned, a different shade every which way. The water is dark, endearing. The ice is light, uplifting. And the sky -- oh, how marvelous it looks! It's an unorganized assortment of blues -- indigo, azure, sapphire, cyan, ultramarine. It's definitely something Miko will paint later. 

Zuko's excited but not for the same reason Miko is. He stares up at the sky -- or more accurately that beam of light as it slowly begins to fade. "Finally." Without turning around, keeping his eyes straight ahead for a moment, keeping his eyes locked on that light lest it disappear before he gets the chance to figure out where it's coming from, he addresses Miko's father. "Uncle, do you realize what this means?" And when he's sure the light isn't going anywhere, and he's sure which direction it has come from, he turns to face his cousin and her father. 

Iroh sits cross legged at the center of the deck. He's wearing traditional Fire Nation battle armor -- the red breast plait, the matching shoulder pads. There's gray robes underneath. It's costmary clothing for an army's general, even if Iroh has been retired for quite some time now. His thinning gray hair is half pulled into a proper, traditional chonmage at the top of his head, his facial hair long but not scraggly. He is well taken care of, as all royalty should be. There's a table game set in front of him and a steaming cup of tea set at his side. Miko's perched on the other side of the table, opposing her father in their game of pai sho, watching him closely. He likes to cheat. "We won't get to finish our game?" His amber eyes meet his nephew's. There's a gleam there, where daylight reflects off the old man's irises. It's strangely calming, lively, like the sun itself. 

Zuko spins around again, staring at that blue light. There's a gleam in his eyes too, but it's not the same as Iroh's, even though both sets are the same color. It's much more hardened. "It means my search is about to come to an end." When Iroh and Miko sigh, it's simultaneous, and it's heavy. How long has it been since the Fire Lord had banished his own son? Since Iroh had insisted on tagging along, taking Miko right along with him? How long have they been in search of the Avatar? A year? Two? Three? Miko has lost count. It's only natural that Zuko should want to end the crusade and return home as soon as possible, to please his father -- that's all any child wants isn't it? The approval of their parents? But it seems as though they run into more dead ends than not. Miko wonders if the whole thing isn't just a wild goose chase. Perhaps, the cycle has been broken and there is no new Avatar. Perhaps the Fire Lord doesn't want his son back at all. 

Miko doesn't tell Zuko this. 

Zuko points to the sky, in the direction the light came from. "That light came from an incredibly powerful source. It has to be him!" 

"Or it's just celestial lights…" Iroh says. He doesn't mean to discourage his nephew, just doesn't want him to get his hopes up only for them to be squashed once more, like a sells man's cabbages getting crushed under the weight of a very heavy mail cart. (A strange simile, but Iroh stands by it.) It has happened time and time again, and Iroh doesn't think he can bare watching his nephew's dreams be squandered any more. "We've been down this road before, Prince Zuko." 

Miko raises an eyebrow. It's a perfect arch over her eye, just like one of those elegant strokes she so often makes in her paintings. "Who says the Avatar is a he, Cousin? He could be a she. There have been female Avatars before." It's not mean or condescending. It's not patronizing. She's not trying to upstage him with her knowledge or make him feel inferior, just stating facts. There have been female Avatars, Avatar Kyoshi for instance. She's matter-of-fact -- like daughter, like father. 

Zuko ignores her. "It's him," he says again. 

"I don't want you to get too excited over nothing," Iroh tells him, placing a tile down as he and Miko continue their game. "Please, sit. Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming Jasmine tea?" He gestures at the pot sitting on the table next to the card game. 

Zuko explodes, a scowl forming on his face. It makes that nasty scar of his on the left side of his face flare up, contorts it so he looks rather mean. His left eye is much smaller than his right, red and blotchy from where his burns haven't quite healed completely. "I don't need any calming tea! I need to capture the Avatar!" As if to prove his point or maybe to remind his uncle who was in charge, he calls out to the crew. "Helmsmen, head a course for the light!" 

It takes around two days to reach the light's location. In that time, Zuko grows more and more restless. He refuses to sleep, despite Iroh and Miko's fruitless attempts to coax him to bed. He doesn't listen to Uncle Iroh during fire bending training, insisting he's ready for the advanced drill set when Iroh claims he's too impatient to even learn the basics. In the same amount of time Miko has also completed her painting -- it's a gorgeous family of turtle ducks. Miko tries to gift the painting to her cousin, remembers turtle ducks being a favorite animal of his when they were little; Miko thinks Zuko will appreciate it. He doesn't. He shoves it back in her face and threatens to burn it if he sees it again. She also begins her new glacier paintings. 

Zuko wakes Iroh as dusk settles in on the second day, drags Miko away from her paintings in a hurry. He's found the Avatar -- something about a flare coming from an old Fire Nation warship. He's also found his hiding place -- the Southern Water Tribe village. The servants prepare him for battle, dressing him in the Fire Nation's modern armor -- the spiked helmet, the light weighted breast plaits. They're quite boring, but at least they're more aesthetically pleasing than some of the previous war uniforms. 

Miko stays on the deck of the ship, but she's able to see everything below. The ship's broken through the ice where it's docked; there are cracks all throughout the Southerners' village now -- a small, modest arrangement containing mostly subpar tents and barely sustainable watchtowers sculpted from the snow. The people are mostly women and a handful of children, but there are two kids around her and Zuko's age bracket -- a girl, maybe fourteen, and a boy, most likely sixteen, like Zuko. 

Miko frowns. Is that all? She looks around the landscape, as her cousin and a handful of Fire Nation soldiers -- what few were spared to assist him on this journey -- lower the ship's draw-bridge and make their way down to the water tribe. There's nothing else. No hidden igloos or warriors in hiding, waiting to get the drop on the Fire Nation. It's just these children and women and those teenagers. The realization deepens Miko's frown. She has always thought the water tribes were much larger, vast, stunning. This place is rather underwhelming, disappointing even. 

The boy, the teenager who seems to be the only readily available warrior judging from the war paint poorly smeared over his face, (perhaps he'd done it himself in a hurry when he spotted the Fire Nation's ship approaching?) charges Zuko and his men with a shout before the fire prince even steps off the ramp. Zuko easily tosses the boy over the side, though; the boy lands harshly in a pile of snow, head first. Miko winces. 

Zuko paces in front of the women and children, and though he's not facing her, Miko can tell he's scowling. He's demanding to know where they're hiding the Avatar. His scar's mostly hidden by that helmet, but it's still clearly visible; it's nasty, again making his left eye much smaller than it really is. It makes him scary. Or maybe it's the way his voice carries all the way up to Miko on the ship's deck even though he's several feet below her now. It's sharp, cuts her deep, right to the bones. She doesn't like when he talks that way. 

Miko grips the railing when Zuko rips an old woman away from the teenage girl; he holds her by the hood of her thick parka. He's too focused on the Avatar, he can't see what he's doing to these people. Or maybe he just doesn't care. "He'd be about this age. Master of all elements?" His voice is loud, impatient. But there doesn't seem to be any water benders amongst this tribe, much less the Avatar -- if there were benders, surely they would fight back. 

"I know you're hiding him!" Zuko's shout echos, and a chill runs through Miko's back. She's not sure if it's due to the cold anymore. He tosses the poor old woman back to her tribe, bends a wave of fire so that it arches over the villagers, ventures all too close to the faces of those children. Very nearly gives them scars to match his own. What is he doing? They aren't soldiers. They aren't dangerous radicals, the way she's learned from school in the Fire Nation. There's no spark of defiance or hint of fight in their eyes. It's just fear and terror. They know they're going to die. 

And that's what startles Miko the most. Zuko will kill them if it means taking the Avatar. She doesn't want to admit it, but it's true. The Avatar isn't among the water tribe, though. These people will die for nothing. Zuko has lost all sense. 

The boy from earlier manages to free himself from the clutches of the snow. His war paint is mostly wiped clean now, but he's still got that determination in his eyes -- he's the only one that does. He charges Zuko from behind again, but the element of surprise is ruined as he lets out another piercing scream. Zuko turns, and with one swift movement he's flipped the other boy over his shoulder, slams him to the ground on his rear. The boy still keeps going. Miko wishes he wouldn't. It's hard to watch. 

Nevertheless, he's rolling on to his knees, tossing a strange curved weapon -- Miko has never seen anything like it before. Zuko ducks, and the thing goes flying into the air before Miko even gets a close look at it. She feels it when it soars past her ear though. 

There's a child with a spear now. It's much too big for him to carry, and for a moment Miko's heart stops. He's not going to try to take Zuko on too is he? Much to her relief, the child only throws the spear at the teenage boy who's been trying so hard to stop Zuko  -- throws it as best he can, anyway. The little boy's too little to toss the weapon very far. The older boy catches it easily anyway, charges again.  

But once more, he's stopped. He doesn't even get to land a hit on Zuko before the prince catches the end of his weapon, rips it off. Or perhaps he burns it off with his fire bending, Miko can't tell from where she stands. She's not really watching closely enough, too focused on how Zuko snatches the spear away, smacking the water tribe boy in the head a few times before he falls over again; and then the prince snaps the spear in half, tossing both broken pieces into the snow. He's going to kill the water tribe boy isn't he? 

But something bizarre happens next, changes the water tribe boy's fate. There's a glimmer of light in the distance, and something's hurtled by Miko's ear again -- the same weapon the boy threw earlier. It came back? What kind of weapon retrieves itself? She's never seen it before, but then again she doesn't know a lot about weapons. Not like Zuko and her father do. The weapon hits Zuko in the back of the head, but he's protected, mostly, by his helmet. (Though, it does spin around his head once.) The weapon lands in the snow -- it's blue, but that's all the more detail Miko can see from the distance she's at. 

Even stranger, Zuko's knocked right off his feet, just as fire ignites in his palms, curls around his fists, the flames taking the shape of two, sharp daggers. He's ready to slaughter these people… And then there's a blur of color -- yellow and orange, black and white. It's a boy. Is he sledding on a penguin?  What even..?

Why haven't I thought of that? Miko wonders.

 The creature tosses the boy off when they skid to a stop in front of the water tribe, waddles away as he exchanges a few words, Miko can't hear what, with the first, older boy. Meanwhile, the Fire Nation soldiers hull Zuko to his feet -- they've just been standing there, holding back. Zuko's lost his helmet in the snow, but he and the soldiers surround the new boy anyway. 

He's got a long staff, swings it around with all his weight; the snow soars. It's an avalanche in reverse, shooting upwards from the ground, knocking the Fire Nation soldiers right off their feet, buries them deep. The attack leaves Zuko steaming, both literally and figuratively. At first Miko thinks it's a water bending technique, but then she takes notice of what he's wearing. The yellow and orange robes of the monks -- of the Air Nomads. Then, there's those tattoos -- she can see them even from the distance. Bright blue arrows painted over the top of his head, across his arms, his legs. The last thing she realizes: his stance is all wrong for water bending. She doesn't know much about it, but she knows their form is different. Their arms are closer to themselves, their movements fluid. His are quick, breezy. He's very light on his feet, perhaps too light. There's moments in which she's sure they're not even touching the ground. 

 Her eyes widened. It can't be… But it is. It's obvious, even though she's never seen it done before, the boy is air bending. He is the Avatar. Zuko was right. The light… After all these years… He'd found him. Still, something isn't right. This boy has the appearance of a twelve year old; sources say he should be well over a hundred years old by now… 

"Looking for me?" There's something light hearted in the way the Avatar speaks. Miko hasn't seen many battles in her short, fifteen years, but she thinks this is strange. The Avatar wears a small grin too, big and childish, as if they were friends playing a game of Hide and Seek and not enemies about to fight to the death. Did he even realize they were in the midst of a war? 

"You're the airbender?" Zuko shouts. He almost sounds affronted. "You're the Avatar?" 

The two circle each other, the Fire Nation warriors standing off to the side, (they've dug themselves from the snow) awaiting orders of attack. "I've spent years preparing for this encounter, training, meditating. You're just a child!" Zuko's voice rises with every word that slips from his lips. Steam rolls from his pale skin, somehow making his complexion even lighter; that red, burnt tissue a stark contrast with the rest of his face. 

"Well, you're just a teenager," the boy tilts his head to the side. That grin never leaves his face. He's so calm, cheery, Miko almost forgets this is a serious fight. Almost, but not quite. 

Zuko shoots fire from his hands, long, extended flames reaching across the battlefield; Miko can feel the heat from the ship's deck. The boy's twirling his staff, air bending -- actually air bending. There's a rush of icy wind; it mixes with the hot flames, the two elements contradicting each other. The air spins the fire, embers circling for a moment, going out, but not before they fly over the villagers' heads. 

The children's screams are shattering, they echo over the village, up the glacier walls, to the ship's deck, rattles the iron rails. The Avatar frowns, finally, glances behind him at the water tribe villagers. They're huddled together. The children hide their faces, the teenagers and women shielding them with their own bodies, chins tucked down into their parkas. The Avatar air bends the fire into the sky, away from the villagers, away from the children. He spins his staff in his hands one last time, stops, jabs the weapon at Zuko. "If I go with you, will you promise to leave everyone alone?" 

Zuko nods, and just like that the Fire Nation soldiers turn tail and leave, Zuko at the front, dragging the Avatar with them. Miko's eyes remain on the villagers. They're watching the Fire Nation take him away, watching with tears staining their cheeks, hands trembling at their sides. Many of the children are still crying. Miko can't understand it, if they are indeed the enemy then she shouldn't care about their fates -- that's what she's been lead to believe -- but her heart aches. There's something else bothering her about this moment, but she can't put her finger on it right then. Her mind's whirling. 

The teenage girl, the only one in the Southern water tribe it seems, runs forward. She stretches her arms out, shouts, "No, Aang!" Aang. Is that the Avatar's name? Fitting, as it means 'peaceful soaring.' "Don't do this!" 

"Don't worry, Katara," he says loud and clear enough Miko hears too. "I'll be okay. Take care of Appa for me until I get back." Was he already plotting an escape? Who is Appa? Are there more Air Benders with him?

"Head course for the Fire Nation," Zuko orders. Apparently, he hasn't caught the meaning behind the Avatar's words, or maybe he just doesn't care enough to hear what he has to say. "I'm going home!" Maybe that's all that's on his mind.