A full year had passed since his arrival in this world. Every single day, Sokka pushed himself to train relentlessly, preparing for any danger that might threaten him. Though he didn't need to sleep so little, he rested just enough to regain his strength, allowing himself to savor those rare moments of peace when the auroras painted the sky and the ice groaned softly underfoot.
He spent time creating happy memories with Kya and Katara - his new family and his greatest comfort in this place. With his father, he learned not just to fish and fight, but to read the subtle signs of the tundra: how ice cracked when it was unsafe, how snowdrifts hinted at coming storms. He mastered the art of tying knots that could hold against hurricane winds, and practiced handling boats until he could navigate blindfolded by the sound of waves against the hull. The weapons he crafted from bone and ice weren't as refined as steel, but they carried the spirit of his ancestors in their curved edges. His igloos, built with precise blocks of compressed snow, stood warmer and sturdier than those of grown hunters. It was primitive compared to his old world, but it was home.
Sokka knew he'd need these skills in the future. And with his remarkable ability to retain information, every lesson was firmly etched into his mind. His natural dexterity made tasks easier, especially the delicate work of repairing fishing nets or adjusting sail rigging. But what surprised him most was how his child's body adapted - muscles memorizing movements faster than his mind could process them.
As the days passed, he trained harder. When others slept, he practiced knife throws against targets drawn in the ice. He ran through the snow until his lungs burned, building endurance. His dedication paid off - by seven, he could outclimb boys twice his age, and his throws hit true nine times out of ten. Still, he pushed further, haunted by visions of fire on the horizon.
One day, while alone in a secluded spot near the glacier's edge, silently surveying the area where the ice met the sea, Sokka reflected on the events that might unfold. The wind carried the salt-scent of impending change. He vaguely remembered that the invaders would attack his village when he was around ten years old. Though he wasn't certain of the exact timing, the thought of losing Kya - her laughter, her warm hands mending his parka, the way she hummed old Water Tribe lullabies - made his chest tighten.
But his dark thoughts were interrupted by a snowball hitting him square in the face, so perfectly aimed it could only be one person.
"Come play, brother!" said a young Katara, her laugh sweet and mischievous as she peeked from behind an ice ridge, mittens already packing another snowball.
"Alright, run before I catch you, Katara!" Sokka shot back, laughing as he shook snow from his hair and gave chase with a snowball of his own, carefully underthrown so she could dodge.
Over the months, Sokka had learned to set aside his serious side and lose himself in their games. The Water Tribe village was peaceful in these fleeting years - the men worked the fishing lines and repaired huts while he and Katara built snow forts and pretended to be ancient warriors. Sokka made a conscious effort to push his worries aside, to memorize the way Katara's nose scrunched when she concentrated on a difficult snow sculpture, or how she'd gasp in delight when he showed her a new trick with his practice knives. These were the moments worth protecting.
As they played, another snowball struck Sokka's face - but then, he noticed something wrong. The snowball had left a gray smear on his parka. Ash was falling from the sky, mixing with the snow like some grotesque imitation of a festival's confetti. His heart lurched, a dreadful premonition gripping him as he looked northward, where the sky was darkening not with storm clouds, but with something far worse.
"I'm going to Mom," Katara said, her playful mood vanishing as she brushed ash from her sleeves, unnerved by the strange sight.
Sokka nodded, urgency and dread flooding his veins. He watched his sister run toward their home, then scanned the shoreline for his father - but neither he nor the other warriors were in sight. Fear twisted inside him. Had his mere presence altered events? Had something already gone wrong in this crucial moment?
Without wasting another second, he sprinted toward the village, his small legs pumping furiously. Along the way, he snatched two skinning knives from a cutting board outside Gran-Gran's hut. They were just medium-sized blades, not meant for combat, but they'd have to do if he faced the invader. The familiar weight in his hands steadied him slightly.
When he arrived at his home, the door hung askew, and a threatening voice reached his ears, colder than the deepest glacier.
"Who is the waterbender?" demanded the man, his fury burning hotter than the flames dancing at his fingertips. The acrid smell of charred wood filled the air.
Kya, who had hidden Katara under the heavy wooden table, glanced sideways at the man while keeping her body positioned between him and her daughter. The firelight reflected in her wide eyes, but her voice was steady when she spoke. "I'm the last waterbender!" she said, the words heavy with sorrow but also with resolve. "Take me as your hostage."
The man only smirked coldly, the expression twisting his scarred face. "Oh, but there will be no hostages today." He raised his arm, flames coiling around his fist like a serpent preparing to strike.
Just as he moved to attack, a furious cry shattered the silence. Sokka lunged from behind, both knives in hand, and drove one deep into the invader's shoulder - precisely where his armor didn't protect him, exactly as Hakoda had taught him about Fire Nation weak points.
"Gah!" the soldier roared, stunned and enraged as his fire attack went wide, scorching the ceiling instead of its intended target. The sudden movement sent pain shooting through Sokka's arms - the knives were heavier than his practice ones, and his child's muscles strained with the effort.
Sokka didn't stop. He struck again while the man was off-balance, plunging the second knife into the soft spot below the ribcage where armor plates overlapped awkwardly. The firebender roared again, this time in genuine pain, and tried to grab him, seizing his left arm in a grip that would leave bruises for weeks. But Sokka had practiced this exact scenario a hundred times in his head - he twisted his wrist as Hakoda had demonstrated and managed to slash the man's cheek before the enemy could fully defend himself.
The soldier screamed, one hand flying to his face where blood welled between his fingers. Both Kya and Katara - still hidden but now peering out from under the table - watched in horror, their faces pale with shock. Kya stood frozen, speechless at the sight of her small son fighting the armored invader. The smell of burned flesh and blood mixed nauseatingly in the cramped space.
With renewed fury, the firebender hurled a fireball at Sokka with his uninjured arm. Desperate, Sokka threw his last remaining knife, barely deflecting the attack - but the flames still surged toward his mother. Without hesitation, the boy threw himself in front of her, taking the brunt of the blast to his chest, abdomen, and one forearm. The pain was unlike anything he'd imagined - like a thousand needles of pure heat piercing his skin simultaneously. Even so, Kya suffered severe burns on her arms, thighs, and stomach where the flames licked past his small body.
Wounded and with the tribe's warriors' shouts growing closer outside, the invader chose to flee, blasting a wall of fire to block those rushing to help. The heat wave sent Sokka stumbling back, his vision swimming with black spots.
"Kya!" Hakoda's voice cut through the ringing in Sokka's ears. The man had spotted smoke pouring from his home while returning from the fishing grounds. Without wasting a second, he ordered the men to chase the firebender while he sprinted toward his family, his heart pounding louder than the waves against the shore.
"No... Sokka! Kya!" he cried in despair upon seeing his son and wife's burned forms. The sight of Sokka's charred parka and Kya's blistered arms made his voice crack. "This can't be happening!" He fell to his knees beside them, hands hovering uncertainly over their injuries.
Despite the horrific damage, they were still breathing - shallow, ragged breaths, but breaths nonetheless.
"Sa... save Sokka first," Kya whispered weakly, her voice barely audible over the crackling of lingering flames. She tried to reach for her son but found her arms wouldn't obey.
"Help me!" Hakoda yelled to the villagers now gathering outside, carefully lifting his son, who was breathing faintly but remained unconscious. The boy's normally tan skin was an angry red where the fire had touched it, already blistering in places.
The tribe's healers arrived moments later, their faces twisting in horror at the wounds. Sokka had severe burns across his chest, abdomen, biceps, and one forearm, while Kya suffered third-degree burns on her legs, arms, and stomach where she'd tried to shield Katara. The smell of burned flesh hung heavy in the air.
"Katara!" Hakoda called suddenly, not seeing his daughter in the crowd of gathering villagers. His panic rose until he noticed the trembling of the heavy table. There, clinging to one of its legs like a lifeline, was a terrified Katara, her wide eyes reflecting the firelight.
"Come here, Katara," he said gently, scooping her up and covering her eyes to shield her from the gruesome scene. Her small body was shaking violently, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
But it was too late - Katara had already seen everything. The attack, her brother's intervention, the flames, the blood. She was in shock, her small body trembling before she finally broke into quiet sobs, struggling to process the horror she'd witnessed. Hakoda could feel her heartbeat racing like a trapped bird's against his chest.
"They'll be okay... they'll be okay," Hakoda repeated, more to reassure himself than her, rocking slightly as he held her close. The words sounded hollow even to his own ears.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream tore from Sokka's lips. Far from peacefully unconscious, he was in deep shock as the healers began treating his wounds with warm water, sending waves of agony through his small body. The healers worked as quickly as they dared, their own tears mixing with the medicinal waters as they peeled away burned fabric from seared flesh.
"Sokka..." Kya murmured weakly from where she lay nearby, fighting through her own pain as the other healers worked on her burns. Every instinct told her to go to her son, but her body refused to move.
The healers held Sokka firmly, their faces masks of grim determination even as tears streamed down their cheeks. They worked as gently as possible, but burns this severe required painful cleaning. The boy's screams echoed off the ice walls, each one a knife in Hakoda's heart.
"He'll be alright..." Hakoda whispered into Katara's hair, covering her ears to spare her more anguish even as his own eyes burned with unshed tears. The healers had assured him the pain meant Sokka's nerves were intact, that he could still heal, but seeing his son like this was almost more than he could bear.
That day, the village was plunged into a heavy silence between Sokka's agonized screams. The usual sounds of children playing, women working, and men preparing boats were absent. Even the wind seemed to still in respect. Kya's life was no longer in danger, though her scars - both physical and emotional - would remain forever. But the uncertainty of Sokka