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The air was eerily still as they climbed down off of Appa, setting foot on the stone balcony of the Southern Air Temple for the first time since the war. Katara hardly dared to breathe, lest she disturb the quiet. Aang’s face was unreadable. He stood still as the statue of Gyatso that she knew was just out of sight, staring blankly ahead. Katara bent the sweat off her palms and wondered if he was trying to mentally prepare himself for the carnage that was still to come. She wasn’t sure either of them would ever be ready.
A lifetime later, Aang finally turned his face to her, and her heart broke at the sadness and guilt that were heavy in his eyes. He offered a small smile and held his hand out to her. She took it, walking towards the front door of the temple, hoping he couldn’t feel her own nerves. He had put off his own healing for so long, for the sake of healing the whole world. He needed her to be the strong one, right now.
The moment seemed too heavy for words, so she squeezed his hand as they approached Gyatso’s statue. He returned the squeeze just before releasing her hand to bow to his old master. Katara mirrored his action, offering her own respects to the man who had been Aang’s biggest support in his old life. When he moved forward to airbend the lock and pushed open the heavy wooden door, it looked just like it had the last time they were there.
Katara had always felt a sense of awe at the Avatar, but now, knowing Aang the way she did, having spent the better part of a year fighting a war alongside him and another year trying to restore peace… Now the Hall of Avatars hit her even harder. Each of these men and women had had a life. They had loved, and been loved. They had fought battles and kept the balance of the world, but they had also been human and felt the full depth of that human experience. They had laughed and felt loss and suffered illness…
Thinking of Aang’s statue in this very hall—sometime hopefully long, long in the future—she wondered what future generations would say about him. She wondered who had loved and lost these Avatars of old. How they had reconciled the Avatar’s humanity and their Spiritual duty.
After a moment of respect, and, Katara suspected, seeking wisdom from his past lives, Aang led Katara through the curtains he had found Gyatso’s body behind the first time they were there. She struggled not to gasp at the number of Fire Nation skeletons that littered the ground around Gyatso, shocking red armor still firmly in place, and she squeezed Aang’s hand again to remind him that he wasn’t alone. No matter how hard the task that lay ahead of them, she was always and forever by his side.
She saw Aang press his eyes shut. He squeezed her hand back in thanks, but tears still leaked down his cheeks and his chin was trembling. A year or two ago, she might have feared him slipping into the Avatar State, but now she just pulled him into a hug and they fell to their knees on the ground together.
“I miss them,” Aang croaked out some time later, once the wracking sobs subsided. “I miss them so much.”
Katara rubbed his back and kissed the tip of the arrow on his head, completely lost for words. What could she even say? She knew how deep the pain of missing her mother was, and she was just one person. Aang had lost everyone and everything.
“Thank you for coming here with me,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “I don’t know if I could have done this alone. The temple is so full of memories.”
“Share them with me?” she asked, hesitant but hopeful. Aang had shared many things about his people, but they were all more general ideals, histories, ceremonies, and occasional anecdotes. He didn’t often share his personal memories. It was like talking about them would force him to remember. That they had been real—that they had lived and that they had died horrible, unfair deaths.
But this time, Aang did share. Over the next days and weeks as he and Katara cleaned the temple to prepare it for the Acolytes, he shared many memories. When they carefully removed the skeletons near the airball court, he told Katara about a particularly competitive game of airball which had caused multiple injuries to him and his friends. When they cleaned the kitchens, he told her about the time he and his friends had stolen a bunch of fruit pies and hid them in the elder monk’s beds, earning them all extra chores for a month. When they scrubbed ash stains out of the classrooms, he told her how hard it had been to be the youngest in his levels; how he missed his friends when they’d advanced him over and over again.
As they carried skeleton after skeleton out of the tallest towers, he told her how bittersweet his tattoo ceremony had been. How excited he was to see his parents and his friends from the other temples and how proud he had been, but also how different he felt and how it was the beginning of him being ostracized from his friends. How much weight he already felt on his shoulders after that ceremony. How much heavier it had gotten since.
Aang shared his memories, and it brought so much life back to these empty halls. Katara smiled every time she walked into the kitchen now, picturing a small gaggle of seven-year-old boys sneaking out with their arms full of pie when the bakers weren’t looking.
“I know they’d be proud of you,” she said one morning while she was cooking breakfast. Aang had been silently chopping up moonpeaches beside her to make a pie of his own, still trying to perfect the “gooey center” Gyatso was always so good at. He looked up at her, startled, and almost dropped the knife.
“I know I’ve told you before,” she went on, “but the way you were able to end the war without taking Ozai’s life, and the way you’ve been bringing peace to all the nations over the years since the war ended… sharing your culture with the Air Acolytes and helping the world restore balance… I just know they would be so proud of you.”
Aang smiled sadly.
“I know you’ll always miss them too, but… they’re not gone. They live on in your stories. In this place. In the mischief you and Toph and Sokka get into all the time…” Aang looked affronted and she shoved his shoulder playfully. “Yes, I know you’re not just ‘going to the market’ when the three of you are gone for hours and only come home with a handful of vegetables and some mysterious sacks that clank.”
Aang full-on laughed then, possibly his first real laugh since they had arrived at the temple. He set the knife down and hid his face sheepishly behind his hands, leaning on his elbows on the counter.
“And one day,” Katara continued, blushing vibrantly, “they’ll live on in the next generation. In our kids. In the lessons you’ll teach them and the trouble you’ll get into together and the values you instill. Your people aren’t gone forever, Aang. I promise you that.”
Aang’s head snapped up to look at her so fast, and his face was filled with so many different emotions, but before she could truly look at him and figure out what he was thinking, he surged forward and kissed her.
Kissing Aang had always been one of her favorite things to do, but she had held back from kissing him on this trip, unsure of whether he wanted that sort of intimacy during such a difficult time. She had offered many kisses to his head or his cheek, and innumerable hugs where she had clung to him, and he to her, but hadn’t kissed his lips since before they left Cranefish Town.
Now, though, as his lips moved fervently against hers, it seemed obvious that this was exactly what he needed, and she melted into him. He wove his hands into her hair—it always made her smile that he seemed to love her hair so much when he had none—and she clung to his back, eliciting a happy sigh from him.
The smell of their breakfast beginning to burn to the bottom of the pot startled them away from each other. Katara nervously tucked her hair back behind her ears as she stirred the rice mixture, but she could feel Aang still staring at her. When she scooped their breakfast into bowls and offered one to him, he was grinning besottedly. She couldn’t help but smile back.
“Thank you, Katara,” he said, pecking her on the cheek. “Thank you for helping me keep my people alive, and for reminding me that they never really left. I know their love lives on, but now their memory will, too, every time I tell their story.”
“I love you, Aang,” she said. “I hope that wasn’t too much… I just…”
“It was perfect,” Aang interrupted, placing a warm hand on hers and smiling. “It was exactly what I needed to hear.”
Several years later, though not as many as they had originally planned, Aang and Katara returned to the Southern Air Temple, proudly carrying their first child. Bumi was just a baby the first time they brought him here, but they visited with him many times over the years. Each time he asked more questions, but with every trip he also got more comfortable with the place and the different acolytes. By the time he was four or five, he was running around exploring the temple on his own whenever he could slip away from his parents.
Katara often laughed that the Southern Air Temple was Bumi’s favorite home, since they were still largely nomadic when he was small and didn’t have one ‘true’ home as a family yet. Aang tried to hide how much that meant to him. He knew Bumi was part Water Tribe as well and it was important to him and Katara that their children be included in both cultures. But it warmed his heart to see Bumi tearing through the temple the same way he had as a child, even though—and this always broke his heart all over again—Bumi was without any partners in crime.
Bumi’s favorite place to hide was the orchards, where the moonpeach trees flourished under the care of the acolytes and bananas, goji berries, and other fruits that could withstand the high altitudes grew in endless rows. He loved to climb a tree when he was tired of running, and enjoy the breathtaking mountain views along with a fruity snack.
One afternoon, Aang found him just as he’d picked the juiciest-looking peach from the tree. When he saw his father below him he tried to hide the moonpeach behind his back. Aang simply laughed.
“Don’t worry,” he said, picking his own peach and hopping up into the tree next to Bumi. He took a bite, juice dribbling down the side of his hand, and grinned. “I won’t tell.”
“Won’t we get in trouble?” Bumi asked hesitantly. He eyed the peach warily, as if it might have a secret connection with the acolytes and tell on him itself.
“Since when have you worried about getting into trouble?” Aang laughed incredulously. He took another bite. “Besides, when I used to live here, I used to get in trouble all the time with my friends.”
Bumi’s eyes widened, and he almost dropped his moonpeach. “ You?! You got in trouble?! But you’re the Avatar!”
Aang’s laugh turned darker. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know it back then. And,” he added, “I never really wanted to be.”
Bumi cocked his head to the side, studying his father for a moment. He took a bite of his peach, finally deciding it was safe to eat, then asked, “Why not?”
“Well,” Aang began, trying to put his lifelong struggle into six-year-old terms, “it’s a lot of work. And they wanted to take me away from my friends and from Monk Gyatso—remember his statue? He was my mentor. He trained me in airbending and in how to be a good person. But they wanted to take me away. I was a Nomad, but whenever Gyatso and I were done with a journey we always returned here. This place was my home, and… I didn’t want to leave.”
Bumi chewed his peach solemnly, mulling over his father’s words. “Being the Avatar is great—I get to help people, and make a real difference in the world,” Aang said. “But when I was twelve… I just wanted to play games with my friends and stay with Gyatso, the same way I think you would want to stay with me and your mom.”
Aang watched as Bumi pressed his lips together in thought. “But you did leave,” he said finally. “You don’t live here anymore.”
“You’re right, Boom,” Aang said sadly. He finished off the last of his peach and tossed the pit to the ground. “I ran away because I was scared, and you already know that Appa and I got caught in a storm and trapped in an iceberg.”
Bumi nodded, taking another messy bite of his own peach. Juices dribbled down his chin and onto his yellow and blue robes. “And then I woke up a hundred years later when your mom broke me out of the ice, and everyone who used to live here was gone. I couldn’t believe it. Your mom told me that the Fire Nation killed all of my people. And they did—it was a really sad time for me, but I didn’t have time to be sad, because we had a war to win.”
Bumi’s face contorted in anger suddenly. “Why would Uncle Zuko do that?!”
Aang stood gracefully on his branch, then floated over to the one Bumi was sitting on. He leaned his back against the trunk of the tree and pulled a sticky Bumi into his lap. Bumi immediately snuggled in. Aang wasn’t sure if this closeness was more for Bumi or for himself.
“Uncle Zuko didn’t. It was his grandfather, Firelord Sozin, who ordered the attacks on the temples. And that is a hard thing that Uncle Zuko has to live with. It was wrong, and horrible. Air Nomads believe that all life is sacred, and yet their lives were snuffed out so quickly because of hate, and because Sozin wanted power.”
“I hate the Fire Nation,” Bumi spat, crossing his arms.
“Oh, Bumi,” Aang sighed, hugging his son closer. “Don’t hate the Fire Nation. Everyone is capable of great good or great evil. Even me. Even your mom. We’ve both struggled with powers that could really hurt people.”
Bumi’s forehead crinkled. “But you wouldn’t hurt anyone!”
“I try not to, but I’ve wanted to before. Especially when I was younger,” Aang explained. “You’re not a bad person for wanting to make wrong choices—we all do sometimes. It’s what you choose to do that counts. One time, during the war, some people stole Appa from me, and I really, really wanted to hurt them. I almost did, too—your mom had to stop me and calm me down. It was really hard and really scary.”
“I’d fight anyone that took Appa, too,” Bumi countered, making punching motions with his arms and almost knocking them off the branch. Aang laughed at his enthusiasm.
“We love our big, fluffy bison don’t we?” Bumi nodded. “Where do you think he is? Do you think we could pick some peaches for him and Momo and bring them there?”
Bumi nodded so fast Aang worried his head might fly off. He hugged his son tight and floated them both down to the ground. Aang showed Bumi how to use his tunic to gather fruit, and together they picked a feast for their furry friends.
“Do you think they would’ve liked me?” Bumi asked as they entered the old bison stables. Momo immediately greeted them and stole a peach for himself. “Your friends? Do you think we could’ve played together?”
Aang blinked back tears, thinking about how much his friends would have loved this child. This child, who regularly pranked his parents when they weren’t looking. This child, who could eat fruit pie like there was no tomorrow. This child, who was astonishing at airball, even without the ability to airbend. This child, who loved music and dancing almost more than his father did.
“They would’ve loved you, Boom,” he finally said, once he’d swallowed the lump in his throat. They poured the rest of the peaches in the feed trough for Appa, who must have been out on an adventure of his own. “We all would’ve gotten into tons of trouble together.”
After Kya was born, Bumi was the one who excitedly showed her around the Southern Air Temple the first chance they got to visit. She was older than he had been on his first trip because Air Temple Island had finished construction shortly before she was born, and their parents had been busy establishing their new home and ironing out all the struggles in the newly founded Republic City. It also seemed that traveling with two children was not as easy as traveling with one, though they still managed it occasionally.
But Bumi didn’t mind. He carted a toddling Kya on his shoulders all throughout the Temple (at least, everywhere he could reach. Where he couldn’t, he would call in reinforcements by the name of Dad and they would glide to new and exciting frontiers). Kya took it all in with wide blue eyes and chubby, clapping hands.
As she got older, she took joy in daily meditations with her father, which seemed somehow more special—even sacred—when they visited his childhood home. Bumi would run off and explore or recruit the Air Acolytes for various games, but Kya would be sitting serenely right beside Aang. Even as she became more focused on her waterbending and healing training, and Bumi had left to go train with the United Forces, Kya still always made time for their morning meditation together. Especially when they visited the Southern Air Temple.
One morning, after they concluded a meditation session in the Patola Mountains, they exhaled and opened their eyes to a gorgeous sunrise of pinks and oranges painting the sky. Kya smiled. It always seemed like these times with her dad brought about magical happenings in nature. She was nine now—she knew it wasn’t magic or even because she was spending time with him, but it felt like it.
She treasured these moments with her dad that weren’t overshadowed by the family’s newest airbender, Tenzin. He was six and just really beginning training, but it seemed like Tenzin was always butting in on her time with her dad. Feeling frustration well up inside her, Kya crossed her arms. Of course, Bumi had said the same thing about her when she was younger, but that was beside the point.
“Something troubling you, Penguin?” Aang must have been eyeing her closely. He always seemed to be able to read her feelings like a book. Once, when she asked if he could read her mind or something, he had responded that her facial expressions were like looking in a mirror. Kya had her mother’s eyes and complexion, but her father’s spirit and mannerisms.
She huffed. “No,” she responded shortly.
“Are you sure?” Aang pushed back. He kept his tone gentle and inquisitive, rather than accusatory. Something he had learned over years of diplomatic struggle.
Kya rolled her eyes. “I just… Everything’s going to be different, now that Tenzin’s an airbender, isn’t it?”
Aang sat with this information. He would be the first to admit he had been both elated and terrified when Katara had told him Tenzin would be an airbender, but this was information he had known for years, now. Since before Tenzin was even born. Katara had a way of reading the chi of their children in utero that astonished even him. Despite his excitement, Aang had worried about how Tenzin’s abilities would alter the balance with their other children, both in terms of his time with them and their relationship with each other. He and Katara had spent countless hours talking it all over, but never really came to any satisfactory conclusions.
“How do you mean, different?”
“Ugh! Dad, you know what I mean,” she said, throwing her arms up at the brightening sky.
“Well, some things will be different, but others won’t,” Aang answered calmly and honestly. “Will I have to spend a lot of time on Tenzin’s training because there aren’t any other airbenders to teach him? Yeah, I am, and that might take some time away from the things we like to do together. For instance, he might have to start joining our morning meditation sessions at some point.”
Kya groaned and flopped backwards onto the stone floor. She watched as the newfound herd of bison began waking up and taking to the skies, answering her groan with some of their own.
“BUT,” Aang went on, “he doesn’t have to join us every morning. And we will still get to go on our own little adventures together. Tenzin being an airbender doesn’t mean I will love him more than you or Bumi. You three are my whole world, Kya.” Aang scooted closer and brushed her hair out of her frustrated face. “I love you so much, my little Penguin, and I promise you that will never, ever change.”
Aang had had this same discussion with her and Bumi before Tenzin was born, but now that the world knew Tenzin was an airbender, people had been making comments in earshot of his children that made them question their own worth, and it made both Aang and Katara furious. All three of their children were amazing, talented, and equally special, if you asked them. All three of them were both Air Nomad and Southern Water Tribe, regardless of bending abilities. But the press didn’t seem able to understand that, and now their older children were left feeling lesser than their younger brother.
Kya smiled half-heartedly up at Aang, then leaned her head into his large hand. “I love you, too, Daddy,” she said. “I just…” She took a deep breath, then sighed, shaking her head.
“Just what, Penguin? You can tell me.”
Kya sat up, holding her dad’s hand but keeping her eyes trained on the floor. “I just don’t want you to stop meditating with me,” she said finally. A big tear escaped and splashed onto the stone. Kya sniffed. “It’s the only time I really feel like I’m part Air Nomad like you.”
“Oh, Penguin,” Aang choked, gathering her small frame into a crushing hug. “You are half Water Tribe, and a phenomenal waterbender, but you will always, always be half Air Nomad, too,” he said. “You love eating curry and fried tofu and fruit pie just like all my friends did over a hundred years ago. You have learned our songs and games. You are the freest spirit I think I’ve ever known. And better at meditation and breathing exercises than any of the acolytes I’ve trained. You pull pranks on the other acolytes—and on Tenzin, don’t think I didn’t notice—in just the same way that my friends and I did on the elder monks.
“I don’t know what the future holds for you, Sweetie, but I do know that your heritage—both sides—will always be a part of you. The way you connect and identify with it may grow and change, just like shifting currents, but that doesn’t change who you are inside.”
“Promise?” Kya asked quietly, her lip puckered out and her blue eyes somehow seeming even bigger than they already were.
“I promise,” Aang insisted, hugging her even tighter.
They sat together for a comfortable moment before Kya sheepishly said, “I’m sorry for pranking Tenzin, Daddy. I just…”
Aang laughed. “Oh, don’t apologize,” he said. “Between you and me, your brother could use a few lessons on the Air Nomad philosophies of fun and freedom. You—and Bumi, too, when he’s home—are excellent teachers.” He winked and Kya dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“Tenzin, it’s okay. You’re going to get this. You just need to loosen up a little.”
“But I can’t! Everyone is depending on me! If I can’t do this air shield… What if I never master airbending? What if no one can teach the next Avatar? What if I fail?!”
Aang wrapped his eleven-year-old son in a giant hug. Tenzin tried to fight him off to keep practicing, but Aang held firm. After a few moments of struggling, he felt Tenzin resign himself to the hug, even if he wouldn’t lift his arms to hug him back.
Aang had tried to bring Tenzin here, to the Southern Air Temple, on a solo-trip to help him unwind. He and Katara had shared many concerned glances over dinner recently when Tenzin would bemoan how poorly he was doing in airbending or how he was letting the world down. Kya was fourteen now and often out with friends when given the chance, so many of their meals had just been the three of them, and the adults were becoming concerned with what they heard.
“You won’t let anyone down,” Aang insisted. “Not just because I know you can do this, but because it’s absolutely okay to fail. Failing is part of learning. And if you don’t manage to master airbending before I die and the next Avatar is born, I’ll just come back and take over their body to keep teaching you.”
“You can do that?!”
Aang shrugged. “Kyoshi and Roku both did it to me during the war, so I assume so. I’ll figure out the details later.”
“How can you be so… so…”
“Unconcerned?”
“YES!!!”
Aang guided Tenzin over to a nearby bench and sat him down, taking the seat next to him. “Tenzin, I’m going to let you in on a little Avatar secret.”
Tenzin turned to his father, wide-eyed in anticipation.
“There are many things that worry me in this life, but the return of airbending is not one of them. I miss my people, but when airbending returns, both with you and with any future airbenders, it’s going to necessarily be different. We don’t have a whole Nation anymore, and I made peace with that a long, long time ago. So, no matter how far you get on your airbending levels, you’re that many levels farther than anyone else in over a century. And that’s pretty amazing.”
Tenzin’s shoulders fell, and he rolled his eyes. He started gesticulating wildly with his hands. “That’s not good enough, Dad!” he shouted. “If I’m going to be the leader of the Air Nation after you die…”
“Let’s just hold off on that a minute, okay?” Aang gently lowered Tenzin’s still-raised hands. “I’m not planning on going anywhere for a long, long time. And you’re still only eleven.”
“Well, you were already an airbending master by now.”
“Tenzin,” Aang said firmly. How could his own son not see? “You. Are. Not . Me. You are Tenzin . And that is enough. More than enough! I need you to understand this. Airbending is not about pressure and expectations and stress. Airbending is about fun and freedom. You will master airbending much faster once you understand the last two concepts. But no matter what pace you go, that is the perfect pace for you and that is the pace we will take.”
Tenzin huffed. Aang could tell this conversation was getting nowhere today. “It’s about time for dinner,” he offered. “How about we go up and have some noodles with the acolytes.”
Aang saw Tenzin perk up then. Aang knew that the acolyte’s love and praise of his youngest son not-so-secretly gave Tenzin the self-esteem boost he needed in times like these. He watched as Tenzin transformed in the presence of the acolytes into a true leader; charismatic and talkative, supportive of their thoughts and endeavors, listening to their concerns, and laughing with them. If only the Tenzin from the training dojo could see this Tenzin.
As dinner ended and the conversations carried on into the evening, Aang had an idea. He stood up and tossed an airball at Tenzin. At first, Tenzin looked affronted. He caught the airball, but just stared, stunned, at his father.
“Toss it back!” Aang yelled, racing across the dining hall so that Tenzin would have to put a decent amount of force into his throw.
Tenzin stood hesitantly. But then he looked around at all the overjoyed faces of the acolytes who couldn’t wait to see a masterful display of airbending, and Aang saw his face harden with confidence. He squared his jaw, quirked a smile, and fired the airball back.
“Yes!” Aang cheered, firing it back over and over again with increasing difficulty and skill. Tenzin handled it perfectly. Eventually Aang dissipated the airball and moved onto other techniques. He created an air funnel, the way he had on the prison ship during the war, except instead of firing coal he shot out moonpeaches from a nearby bowl for Tenzin to catch and shoot back. He demonstrated air shields one more time, then sent blasts Tenzin’s way and watched as he responded with an attempted air shield of his own. It was shaky, and Aang’s airblasts sent Tenzin back several feet, but he still stood his ground.
The acolytes roared with glee. Aang saw realization dawn on Tenzin’s face.
“I did it,” he said quietly. “I finally did it.” Aang smiled and hopped off the table, hurrying to the kitchens and bringing out several fruit pies to celebrate.
After the acolytes had gone to bed, Aang and Tenzin sat around a fire outside, gazing at the stars.
“I’m proud of you, Tenz,” Aang said. “You had fun in there!”
“Yeah,” Tenzin agreed, still sounding a little dazed. “I guess… when we’re training… I usually think too much about everything. And then I get overwhelmed and I can’t do it.”
“The world has been putting so much pressure on your shoulders since before you were born,” Aang said darkly. “But that’s not what airbending is about. I’m so, so sorry that this is how it has been for you. That you have to be one of only two airbenders in the entire world. It’s not fair to you to have to learn this way. You should be playing airball with a whole team of airbenders, and skipping lessons to toss fruit pies on me and the other elder monks.”
Tenzin looked at Aang like he had three heads.
“Okay, I won’t push it,” Aang laughed. “But still. You should be learning by having fun. By playing around with airbending and seeing what you can do. I’m sorry your experience has been so different from mine and that that makes it so much harder.”
“It’s not your fault, Dad.” Tenzin was staring deep into the crackling fire. “But… I’ll try to loosen up more. I get so focused on everything I still have to learn, and I do have a lot to learn still…”
“You don’t have to learn everything, all at once, though,” Aang argued. “I’ve been teaching the history and the culture to the acolytes for decades now. You’re only eleven. Take some time to have fun and be a kid.”
Tenzin sighed.
“And remember that airbending is only part of who you are. You are still half Water Tribe, too, you know, even though you’re an airbender. Just like Kya is half Air Nomad even though she’s a waterbender. And Bumi, too—all three of you are a beautiful mixture of water and air and everything that goes with that. Your mother and I are beyond proud of you all.”
“The world only sees me as an airbender, though,” Tenzin said, frustrated.
“Don’t let the world decide who you are.” Aang came around and put a hand on Tenzin’s shoulder. “ You have to figure that out for yourself.”
Tenzin smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Now come on, let’s get to bed,” Aang said, extinguishing the fire with a swipe of his hand. “We’ve got more playing to do tomorrow before we head back to your mom and sister.”
As Aang followed Tenzin up the stairs of the temple dormitory, he worried about his children and the world he would leave behind to them when his time came. Had he done a good enough job instilling the values of his culture in them? Including them in his culture? Reinforcing the values of Katara’s? Would each of them know how loved and cherished they were, regardless of bending?
Aang supposed, like any parent, he could only do his best and pray to the Spirits that that would be good enough.