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The Air Nomads genocide was well-thought-out, carefully planned, and wiped out most of their people. Keyword: Most.
Even though most of the air nomads had returned to the temple to celebrate the holiday (Hua’s Grandmother Min isn’t even sure which one now; it’s been so long), they were still nomadic people, and most celebrations ended up being a week or so long, a guarantee that everyone could make it.
The Fire Nation attacked on day two, the day of the Comet, Grandmother Min says.
The remainder of the air nomads, Hua’s great-grandmother Cepla included, went into hiding.
Great-grandmother Cepla told them it was difficult for everyone, to learn how to blend in with the Earth Kingdom citizens, or even the Fire Nation citizens.
Regardless, wherever we are, we find each other.
It is in our nature, Grandmother Min told me. We may be nomads, but that doesn't mean we are not fond of our people.
The artefacts the refugees managed to rescue are carefully hidden, away from any eye that isn’t an Air Nomad’s.
Even innocuous vases from the temples are tucked away, just in case a random visitor has more knowledge than expected about our people.
They struggled, with the second generation (Grandmother Min's generation), teaching them to practice their air bending only in secret, or if they’re not benders, like two of the children, to keep quiet about what is happening at home.
Shops begin to open in the community; with safe spaces to hide, just in case. Shop names have to go through a clearing process, ensuring no one accidentally puts the community at risk with an accidental pun or play on words.
Grandmother Min opened a bakery.
They make do, always careful, with weekly meetups to exchange information about what almost got them caught, and who is missing. I joined these meetings when I turned eleven.
It was heart-stopping the first time someone went missing, Grandmother Min, also an airbender, told me. No one knew what happened; we had no clue, her voice a whisper as she regaled me with the heartbreaking stories that are my heritage.
It was almost worse than the genocide.
At least then, we knew.
And then, they learned the horrifying truth.
The Fire Nation figured out that our people are nomads, and that there are still some of us out there.
Her grandmother says that the news of Air Nomad traps was spread quicker than a blink of an eye, and every person, bender or not, was made aware.
A few more people were still picked off, but it was better than it could have been. It’s a small comfort.
Some leave for Omashu or Ba Sing Se, cities that are quickly becoming two of the last safe places.
It’s how Grandmother Min ended up in Ba Sing Se, met my grandmother, and took in their son, my father, and established a new bakery with her family.
I was fortunate enough to inherit the airbending gift.
It’s hope, my father told me as he put me to bed, every night, like clockwork. It’s an assurance that even though the Avatar may not be here anymore, we are.
Sometimes, in the darkest parts of the night, I want to hate the Avatar for abandoning us, for abandoning his people, but he’s still ours, and to hate him is a struggle I’m not willing to fight.
And then, when I was almost twenty, rumours of a little boy in Air Nomad clothing started to spread.
At first, they’re whispers among the group, a young woman only a little younger than me who saw him. She isn’t a bender, and he was gone on an air bison before she could tell him that a fragment of his people remained, despite what the Fire Nation had tried.
We promise ourselves that if he doesn’t know after the war, then we will tell him.
The period between the Avatar finally resurfacing and the official end of the war is the most excruciating period I have ever had to wait.
Through the grapevine, I hear that still no one has made contact with the Avatar yet, and Sozin’s comet is coming soon, and then the Fire Nation finally overtakes Ba Sing Se, and my priorities shift.
It’s frustrating, knowing that one of our people is out there, thinking we’re all gone, that he’s that last airbender.
I ache to correct him, to reassure him that we, and many of our traditions, survived, though now woven in secrecy. That he’s not alone.
But my current priorities are managing Grandmother Min's bakery, training my children, not being discovered, going over and over the accounts, and just surviving, and the Avatar has to be put on standby.
We finally get an opportunity at Prince Zuko’s coronation, and quite frankly, it is quite possibly the last opportunity we’ll ever have, where our wily Avatar will be in one place so we can confront him.
The staff of the palace are allowed to bring guests, their families, and immediately all the non-benders who worked in the palace, whose job it was to keep an ear to the ground, just in case, always in case, reach out.
And we come.
Our Avatar is bound to be there.
Not all of us, but I do, leaving my sister in charge of my children.
She will be able to teach them if we do not return home.
I kiss their foreheads before I leave with my husband, also an airbender (who is only a friend, but the community was desperate for more airbenders, and while they won’t force anyone, it’s strongly encouraged to marry an airbender. I honestly didn’t mind; I wanted children, I didn’t particularly care who I had to marry to make it happen.)
The coronation is breathtaking, and our Avatar stands beside the new Firelord through it all.
I am wary (this is the lord of a nation who tried to eradicate us, after all).
Still, every single staff member we have, especially the one who managed to weasel his way into an advisor position, vouches for him.
These people have never let me down before, so although I’m reluctant, I agree to withhold judgment until I meet the young Firelord.
And something I hadn’t realised about our Avatar, is that he’s so young.
I had only half-heartedly listened to the rumours detailing how young he was, but now that it’s staring me in the face, it is much more difficult to ignore.
His eyes, though they have a maturity to them, are akin to that of a baby platypus bear. He had the enthusiasm to match as he flitted around the party.
I only had to exchange a glance with my husband to know that he was on the same page as me.
I, along with my husband, were, unfortunately, the ones elected to approach him; everyone discreetly watching from various positions around the room.
I am almost sweating, I’m so nervous.
This is vastly different from handling difficult customers or chasing people out of my family’s bakery with only a broom.
I have no idea how to handle it, and despite my warnings that I am almost certainly going to put my foot in it, everyone shrugged and said that they would too.
“Excuse me, Avatar?” He jumped from his position on the wall, airbending softening his landing a bit. I mentally noted the trick.
“You can call me Aang!” He waved off his title easily with a grin brighter than sunshine. He’s adorable. “How are you enjoying the party?”
I smiled, and for once, it reached my eyes. “Quite well, but, um.” I hesitate, unsure how to go about this. “You know how your people were nomadic?” Is what comes out, and it takes all my strength to not smack my forehead in despair. My husband squeezes my hand reassuringly. Our Avatar’s smile faded, turning instead into a frown, an expression that doesn’t look quite right on him. Before he can say anything, I interrupt, ploughing on ahead. “They were nomadic, so some survived.”
A sad glint is now gleaming in his grey eyes.
Grey eyes that I have too, and why can’t he see it? “Thank you, but I’ve travelled all over the world and not seen or heard anything, so…” He trailed off, his eyes distant with a grief few can understand.
A grief I watched my grandmother struggle not to pass down. A grief my father inherited, that I inherited.
To respond, I hit him with an airblast.
If my words won’t get through to him, then maybe this will.
His response is a blink, a slow one. When he asked me to do it again, voice trembling, I did, albeit gentler, and he flew, quite literally, into my arms.
He’s older than my three children, but not by much, and I cling to him almost as tightly as he does to me.
I don’t even care about the growing wet patch on my shoulder.
When he pulled back, the question of whether there were more of us tumbled out of his mouth.
I smiled and pointed to my husband, who made a small tornado, and Aang, the sweet turtleduck, was overjoyed. But before he can run off to tell his friends, the others start coming over, though not the non-benders, who are still positioned around the room.
Our benders show him a few of their smaller moves, and our grey eyes all match.
It was a big thing during the war.
Now, it’s a relief to the one who saved us.
“But I looked.” He kept saying, still in my arms. His voice trembled, tears welling up in his eyes. “I looked!”
“We have spent a century hiding and learning how to blend in,” I consoled him, and my husband nodded along with me. “You weren’t going to find us after only a week in each town.” It’s a comfort to him, at least.
Aang’s friends do show up, though as a result of the crowd we have inadvertently formed around him instead of our young Avatar calling them over, and we part to let them through, though the Firelord, we do with some reluctance.
We can fight our way out, if necessary, and our non-benders are keeping their distance until we’re sure.
There are more cities where we can hide, now.
The Water Tribe girl was already kneeling to bring Aang into her arms, but he only clutched tighter to me as if I might disappear if he let me go. Her face was surprised.
By the time the earthbender (casually circling rocks through the air), the Kyoshi warrior, and the Water Tribe boy show up, she has exhausted every avenue of convincing him to let go of me that she seems to have.
“Aang?” He doesn’t pull back, but his ears prick slightly. “Is everyone here?” That made him pull back, and he glanced around. I could see him mentally going through the checklist of his friends before he nodded at me, and promptly reburied his head.
It’s my husband who explains our great-grandparents' story, as well as ours, this time, in more detail than I did. About how not everyone was at the temples, how everyone who was left went into hiding, how we reached out and found each other, and the little ticks that helped.
Our shops, how we practised in secret in the dead of night, in only the bunkers and basements we built under our homes, our weekly meetings, our secret community. I can tell Aang is listening, but I don’t press him to bring his face out of my shoulder; this is a lot.
The Water Tribe girl was crying by the end of it, and the only one who didn’t seem far behind was the earthbender who had a small smile on her face.
The new Firelord is beaming, his face crumpled in relief. He doesn’t seem keen to kill us or imprison us, so I’ll take it.
“I am glad that the Fire Nation did not succeed in the genocide of your people.” He told me, and even though I wanted to snap at him, I forced a smile. We’re here for Aang, not for him. He’s ours.
“Me too.” And there was only a little venom on my tongue, but it was enough for Aang to pull back and frown at me. I mumbled out an apology to the new Firelord, who could only say he deserved it until Aang twisted to frown at him too. Our eyes meet, and we share a commiserating smile.
Perhaps this new Firelord isn’t so bad, after all.
Aang of course, wants to know where we’ve been hiding the past few years and is only mildly distraught to learn that in several of the cities he was in, so were we.
I don’t mention the numerous attempts to contact him. My reminder that he was only there a short amount of time doesn’t dissuade him, and it was Toph, I learned her name was, flicked one of her rocks at him.
“Are you going to sulk, Twinkle Toes, or are you going to appreciate that you still have your people with you?” Tough love. I approve. Aang jumped up with a grin and began regaling us with stories of the before times (apparently he had been frozen in an iceberg because, of course, he was), and we in turn told him about the way the community adapted. We warned him about the traps that the Fire Nation set, just in case.
To my surprise, the new Firelord asked us to tell him where they were, so they could be taken down as soon as possible, and the artefacts returned to us.
He also insisted on returning several scrolls to us that he had pilfered from the temples, and if the young Firelord hadn’t been determined to return them, I would have seen red.
Many of us are unsure about moving back into the temples, as Aang so clearly, desperately wants us to do, but it’s finally an option, a hard-won one at that. And perhaps one of my children would like to do that.
Aang is over the moon excited to know that there are child airbenders, and as the only master airbender left, he immediately promises to help us hone our airbending.
I chuckle, squeeze him into my side, and say that would be nice, but we refuse to claim his time. We can teach each other, just as we have from the beginning, and of course, Aang is welcome.
I’m unsure what the future will contain, but I know it will be brighter.