By evening, Teorin is still hunched over his busted portal core, sparks spitting every time he touches the housing. His jaw is tight enough to crack stone. Dinner is a quiet affair. Katara ladles stew, Sokka complains about the lack of meat, and I am trying to see how many dumplings I can balance on my forehead before gravity wins.

  Because what better way to keep an eye on your best friend than to look like you are clearly not keeping an eye on him. Is there any other way, really?

  Teorin sits away from everyone. He doesn’t even glance up from his device at my antics, hands still working the battered housing as sparks hiss faintly. Aang slowly approaches him and sets a bowl down beside him. “You need to eat.”

  Teorin blinks, as if surprised the food’s there at all. After a beat, he sighs, sets the tool aside, and takes the bowl. “Thank you.”

  A leaf drifts down from the branches overhead, twisting lazily through the firelight. Teorin flicks his fingers, and a ripple of pressure nudges it aside.

  Aang stares.

  Teorin pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “What?”

  “It’s just—” Aang’s voice is soft, almost reverent. “For a second, it felt like... when the monks were still around. Back home, they’d use the air like that. Just little things. To keep life moving.”

  Teorin sets the bowl down, studying him. “The monks?”

  “They’re gone,” Aang says, eyes fixed on the leaf now spinning in the dirt. “All of them. I was supposed to have teachers. Family. Instead it’s just me. Sokka and Katara are... They are great, but...” His throat works. “I guess I just wish I had an older brother. Someone who understood.”

  For a long moment, Teorin is silent. Then he leans back, exhaling slowly. “I have four. Brothers, I mean. All older.”

  Aang’s head snaps up. “Four?”

  “Yeah.” Teorin’s tone is matter-of-fact, but his hands are tight around the bowl. “Our father died when I was nine. My oldest brother walked out not long after. He never looked back. The rest of us... we tried. But it wasn’t the same. Not without both of them.” He glances at Aang, voice low. “It’s not the same as what you lost, but I know what it’s like to feel alone and abandoned.”

  Aang swallows hard. “That… that’s exactly it.” His eyes shine in the firelight, wide and earnest. “Maybe... maybe you could be like a big brother. Just for a little while until you can go back? And we can help with your portal?”

  Teorin huffs, almost a laugh. “Careful what you wish for. Older brothers mostly annoy you and tell you what to do.”

  Aang grins. “Sounds perfect.”

  For the first time all evening, Teorin smiles. Small, but real.

  I immediately ruin the moment by knocking three dumplings into the dirt and declaring, “See? Performance art!” Because heaven forbid anyone has sincere bonding time without me providing background chaos.

  And maybe because I’m afraid Teorin will start malfunctioning if things get too mushy.

  Teorin rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.” He studies Aang for a few seconds. “That staff you were carrying. It looked... odd. What is it?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Aang grins. “It’s my glider. Want to see?”

  Teorin nods.

  Aang runs over and retrieves his staff, proudly displaying it to Teorin.

  I chime in. “Can you fly with that thing?”

  Aang smiles and nods.

  I incline my head towards Teorin. “He can fly too, you know. Don’t let his demeanor fool you. Flying is about the only thing he gets excited about.”

  Aang blinks. “Really?”

  Teorin sighs. “Lev.”

  “Just saying. You love it.”

  Aang is practically vibrating. “Do you have a glider too?”

  Teorin shakes his head, standing and tugging at a set of catches on his jacket. “Not exactly, but... close.”

  With a sharp snap, fabric and frame unfold like paper magic, springing out from hidden seams. A wingspan blossoms around him: twenty-five feet of origami-like folds that shimmer faintly in the firelight.

  Sokka yelps. “WHAT. That was hiding in your coat?!” He’s halfway across camp in an instant, circling Teorin like a hawk. “Wings. You have wings in your jacket. That just—just sprang out. How does it even hold weight? Do you have gears? Pulleys? Oh, oh, is that a tension spring?!”

  Teorin stumbles as Sokka prods at one of the wings. “Yes. Springs. Pressure locks. All mechanical.”

  “Mechanical?” Sokka echoes, eyes wide. “Like no engines? No power source?”

  “None,” Teorin confirms. “The place we come from... you can’t rely on circuits. EMP blasts knock them out.”

  “Circuits?” Sokka asks.

  Teorin pauses. “You don’t have those here? Ignore that then, but no power, just mechanics.”

  Sokka looks personally offended. “You mean to tell me your coat is a giant spring-loaded flying machine and you just wear it around like it’s nothing?!”

  Teorin deadpans, “Yes.”

  From the sidelines, I point with my dumpling. “This ends with Sokka stealing Teorin’s jacket in his sleep to make blueprints. Calling it now.”

  Toph smirks. “Oh, he definitely will. He’s already plotting.”

  Sokka glares. “Am not.”

  Aang is too busy beaming to pay attention to their banter. “That’s amazing.” He tugs on Teorin’s jacket. “You’ll fly with me, won’t you?”

  Teorin studies the clearing. For once, there’s a flicker of anticipation in his eyes like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “Just once around the ridge,” he says, but his voice carries a spark that’s rare for him.

  Aang’s grin could light the whole forest. “Yes!” He snaps his glider open, wood and cloth unfolding in perfect counterpoint to Teorin’s origami wings.

  They sprint side by side into the clearing. Wind roars, fabric snaps, and then—

  Aang is airborne.

  Teorin points his hands at the ground blasting pressure out. It slams into his wings, shooting him into the sky. The air catches, wings snapping taut. Teorin doesn’t just glide; he calculates. Every shift of his body redirects the pressure around him, dragging lift where he needs it, bleeding it off where he doesn’t.

  Beside him, Aang loops and spins, letting the currents toss him like a leaf. Teorin slices clean lines through the same air, a razor to Aang’s brushstroke. He dives hard, then shifts the pressure in a ripple, pulling himself back into the climb with impossible sharpness.

  Aang whoops, trying to mimic him, and nearly stalls. He rights himself at the last second, laughing breathlessly. “That was incredible! You fly like... like you built the air yourself!”

  Teorin glances over, the wind tugging at his hair. There’s a flicker of pride in his eyes, rare and unguarded. “I sort of do. My body stores pressure, and I use it to shift the air around me.” He rolls once, quick and precise, just because he can.

  From the ground, I yell, “Translation: he’s showing off!”

  Teorin doesn’t deny it. For once, he doesn’t have to.

  They touch down in the clearing, Teorin folding his wings in with a sharp hiss of springs and fabric. Aang tumbles to a stop beside him, glider snapping closed.

  Before Teorin can even straighten, Aang throws his arms around him.

  Teorin freezes, blinking down at the top of Aang’s head like he’s just been ambushed by something more bewildering than any portal. His hands hover in the air, uncertain.

  Then, slowly, he caves, resting one arm around the boy’s shoulders, steady and awkward and a little too careful.

  “You’re really the best,” Aang says into his jacket.

  Teorin exhales, a quiet huff of breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Careful what you wish for. Brothers are a lot of trouble.”

  “Perfect,” Aang says, grinning up at him.

  From the fire, I clap my hands together. “Aw. Look at you. Actual character development. I’m so proud.”

  Teorin glares over Aang’s head at me, but the arm stays where it is.

  From the shadows at the treeline, a pair of eyes narrow. Zuko grips the hilts of his dual swords, jaw tight. “So the Avatar isn’t the last,” he whispers. “There’s another Airbender.”