Merry Christmas and belated New Year. I'm sorry for the delay; tomorrow or tonight I'll upload part two, truly D:
Midday arrived calmly in the Northern Water Tribe, and with it people began to head outside. Food and clothing stalls overflowed with customers as Sokka wandered through the area.
He knew Aang wouldn't do absolutely anything to get Katara trained; at most he would protest a little and then shrink back under Pakku's gaze.
In his mind, plans began to flow.
How could he get Pakku to teach his sister? The answer was simple: in the series, Katara provoked him and instigated a fight.
But… was that really the best way?
No.
There were far more effective methods. Questioning his reputation, his skill, his strength, and his honor. In the North, Pakku was seen as an honorable and humble man; even he himself seemed to believe it, despite living in the palace and receiving excessive pay.
If Sokka challenged and questioned him publicly, in front of women who had suppressed their anger for not being allowed to properly learn waterbending, and in front of men who would urge him to fight for his nonexistent honor, everything would inevitably lead to a confrontation.
Three birds with one stone: Katara would learn waterbending, tradition would be broken, and women—and anyone dissatisfied with that rule—would recognize him as someone important.
In Sokka's mind, the plan began to take shape.
At least, until a resonance warned him of a presence that, although undesirable, was perfect for his plan.
Feigning ignorance, he turned a corner and collided with a guard.
"Hey!"
"Oh, sorry."
"Sokka?"
The princess stepped out from behind the guard upon hearing the southern boy's voice. Her heart, previously bored and monotonous, leapt at the sight of him.
"Oh, Princess, how are you?" Sokka asked cheerfully.
"I'm fine! I just came out for a walk."
"Good, though… don't you think so many guards kind of ruin the experience?" he asked playfully.
"That's true, but it's necessary to keep my daughter safe," a firm male voice replied, stepping out from behind another guard.
"Chief Arnook!"
"Hello, Sokka," the Northern leader greeted politely. "I must say, last night's music was something… wonderful. Hard to believe it came from your tribe."
"Heh, it's not that surprising," Sokka replied with amusement. "In the South we have a lot of free time and no old traditions holding us back, so we can afford to make that kind of music. Though, honestly, I'm the only one who makes it."
Arnook narrowed his eyes. He didn't understand how someone who showed intelligence and strength could be so imprudent. However, a contained laugh interrupted his thoughts.
"That was funny," Yue said, covering her mouth with one hand.
"Yue," Arnook scolded calmly.
"It really was!" she replied. "Anyway, last night was a lot of fun, Sokka."
"It was! It's been a while since I had that much fun," the young man lied without the slightest remorse.
"By the way, Sokka," Arnook continued, "I thought you'd be training with the warriors today. I heard Hahn invited you last night."
Sokka tilted his head for a few seconds, as if trying to remember.
"Oh, right," he finally exclaimed. "I went this morning. It was a pretty short training session; I beat Hahn quickly. He has initiative, but he lacks technique," he replied as if commenting on the weather.
Arnook, Yue, and the guards fell silent, surprised by his bold claim.
"You defeated Hahn?" Yue was the first to react.
"Yeah, it was pretty easy," Sokka confirmed with a laugh. "His moves were predictable and his defense almost nonexistent. I think even my sister could beat him."
Yue couldn't help but laugh.
"He is the best warrior of his generation," Arnook finally said, containing the irritation Sokka's words provoked.
"Yeah, I noticed when I saw the others training," Sokka finished, implying the rest were even worse.
"By the way, Chief Arnook," he changed the subject casually. "Yesterday you mentioned that some Fire Nation soldiers pretended to be the Avatar and came accompanied by supposed waterbending masters."
"Yes," the chieftain nodded. "They arrived in small canoes and demonstrated waterbending, claiming the young man with them was the Avatar. They even showed airbender tattoos. Trusting that, we let them pass. At first they did nothing suspicious; they just walked around the tribe."
Sokka listened carefully, though he found it hard to believe that people so proud of their wisdom hadn't suspected something earlier.
"But on a rainy day, the supposed Avatar's tattoos washed away," Arnook continued, "and we knew he was fake. After that, three more groups arrived, each better prepared, which made us doubt whether any of them were the real one."
For the first time, Sokka detected shame in the leader's voice.
"I see," he said. "Could you tell me what those waterbenders were like?"
Arnook was surprised by the question.
"Of course. They had dark skin, blue eyes, and wore Water Tribe clothing."
"No," Sokka corrected calmly. "I mean socially. Did they talk much? Did they look at the supposed Avatar strangely? How did they walk, how did they sit, how did they eat?"
Arnook took a few seconds to answer. The question seemed even stranger.
"They didn't talk much," he finally admitted. "They answered only what was necessary."
Sokka nodded slowly, as if it fit an invisible piece of a puzzle.
"They looked around a lot. Sometimes at the guards, sometimes at me. They were a bit strange, very reserved."
Sokka nodded. He thought they could very well be novice spies—or truly prisoners—and what the chieftain said next would confirm it.
"As for eating, they did it quickly," Arnook admitted. "Too quickly, and they enjoyed it. I thought it was normal for them to enjoy good food."
Sokka nodded once more.
He didn't smile. He didn't joke. There was no need to say it out loud.
Sokka took a deep breath through his nose. On the outside, he was still the same carefree young man from the South. On the inside, something had clearly tightened.
"So, do you think I could see the waterbenders?" the young man asked seriously for the first time, looking directly into the chieftain's eyes.
"Of course, but why?" the chief asked in surprise.
"I need to confirm something," he said seriously. If it was what he thought, it could benefit both of them. Sokka added this knowing that the man in front of him, who could pretend to be benevolent, was actually guided by whatever benefited him.
"Alright, one of my guards will accompany you."
Sokka and a guard nodded as they headed off in an unknown direction.
In Sokka's mind, questions and ways to help began to form, in case they really were people from his tribe.
"It's here. I'll wait outside for you," the escort said seriously.
The young man nodded as he entered the prison. His first impression was "cold": ice walls with little illumination from torches.
Without a doubt, the temperature in that place must have been torturous, although Sokka had stopped feeling cold years ago.
However, what interested Sokka most were the people imprisoned. There were men who looked emaciated, some who looked strong, and there were elders. All had cold gazes, but their expressions varied between anger, sadness, and resignation.
"This place is pretty full for somewhere so peaceful… not to mention it's better than the one back home," Sokka thought calmly as he walked down the immense corridor.
Until he finally stopped in front of several cells—eight cells with two prisoners each. They looked more worn than the previous prisoners, but at the same time more alive; the hope in their eyes was clearly visible.
Sokka observed them—their bodies, their postures—and the prisoners returned his gaze.
The young man standing before them was imposing: his straight, firm posture and cold yet analytical eyes were more terrifying than those of the soldiers who held them captive.
But not more terrifying than hers.
"So, how does this prison treat you?" the young man asked calmly as he observed the padded blankets and sleeping sacks.
"Well…" replied a man who appeared to be about fifty years old, cautiously.
"Just 'well'? Come on, I came all the way here to chat, and all I get is a 'well'?" Sokka complained incredulously.
"I… we've been treated well. We have food and a comfortable place," the man answered, increasingly uncomfortable.
"And the guards?"
"They… they are good."
"Yeah, you should ask those Fire Nation bastards how they treat them," a burly man said with amusement.
Sokka smiled—finally someone who didn't hesitate to speak. "Since I don't see them here, I'll assume they're worse off," he said jokingly. The heavy air in the cells began to ease, and the pressure seemed to lessen.
"So, the food is good?"
"It's the best I've eaten in years," one said sincerely.
"It tastes better than back home."
"I've already forgotten what home food tastes like," said an old man, his voice oozing sad nostalgia.
"So you really are from the South," Sokka clapped with a smile. "Now the question is, from which part?" he asked seriously.
"It seems this Northerner finally realized we're not from the Fire Nation," the robust, bearded man exclaimed with fake relief.
Sokka remained silent, as did the others.
The men were confused. "What does he mean by 'which part'?"
And Sokka analyzed that man—the disdainful, irritated way he said the word "Northerner," that tall, robust body of muscle and fat. He felt he knew him, but couldn't remember from where, so he closed his eyes.
Shaping his focus and chi, he entered his mental palace, searching through the images of his memory. He reviewed the chapters and characters of the series but found nothing, nor from his first year in the tribe.
So he searched his memory of the comics. There he found him—the antagonist of the North and South comics, Gilak, a man extremely patriotic and proud of his roots.
But there was a problem: that pride was his downfall. Arrogant, with a backward idea that only the strongest should rule. People like that were the stupidest thing in this world, and the ones he hated most. Paradoxically, they were also the ones who benefited him the most.
With Gilak's profile and that of the others in mind, he finally spoke.
"I'm not from the North. Do you really think someone from this place is smart enough to figure that out?" Sokka asked with amusement. "Still, you haven't answered me. Which part of the South are you from?" This time, Sokka's face turned serious, and the already cold temperature seemed to drop further.
"I'm from a settlement in the mountains," the old man replied nostalgically.
"From a small village in the northern area."
"From the mountains too."
Sokka carefully observed each of them and recalled the locations mentioned. They were old settlements, poor in resources—of course, Sokka made this comparison with his former tribe before he took command.
"I'm from the main tribe. All the men left for the war to prevent more attacks on the village. Are you from there too? I don't remember there being another man there," Gilak asked with concern, apparently not recognizing Sokka.
"You did a terrible job," Sokka replied calmly.
At those words, the robust man glared at him furiously. "Brat, we went to war to protect the tribe! And you say we did it wrong?! You're a man too—why didn't you go with us, coward?!"
Gilak's shouts echoed through the icy prison. The southern prisoners, frightened, agreed with him.
"Coward?" Sokka questioned. "No. A coward is abandoning and leaving your tribe defenseless in the name of peace. A coward is leaving a village full of women and children without protection, without exterminating the beasts that lurked, waiting to attack."
Each word that left his mouth grew more saturated with fury. "No, the cowards are you. While you ignored your responsibilities to us, I stayed. I spent months recovering from mortal burns, only for the beasts to attack again shortly after, leaving me injured once more."
Gilak, who had been staring at the young man with visible rage, seemed to understand something. His frown turned to surprise when he finally recognized the hairstyle and the subtle inflections in the young man's voice. "Sokka…" He didn't ask—he stated it, realization dawning.
"I stayed because I had no choice. I fought, and I protected them from the cold and hunger."
"Sokka, we… we thought they would be fine, and we managed to drive the Fire Nation away from the tribe."
"No, you didn't. They came back from time to time, and I spent the last year fighting them, protecting the straggling Southern tribes."
"My family!" a man exclaimed as he realized the meaning of his words.
"I don't know who your family is, but they're probably fine. I can't guarantee that all your families are alive, but I can assure you that most of them are. I rebuilt the tribe and managed to unite the straggling ones."
"But only the chief can do that!" Gilak exclaimed—not out of anger, but because that tradition was deeply ingrained in him.
"And I am. When no news came from you, they chose me, and when I saved the other tribes, they recognized me as their tribal chief. If any of you are against that, we can settle it later—once I get you out of this antiquated place."