ATLA: Azlua

Phoenix City Part IX

The city still smelled of smoke. Three days had passed since the explosion, but the blackened husks of buildings and the faint sting of ash in the air made it feel as though the fire had only just been put out.

Ty Lee walked through the market square in a plain, dark red robe, her usual acrobat's colors tucked away. There were no banners, no escort in ceremonial armor — just a handful of guards keeping a respectful distance. She didn't want to look like a ruler. Today, she was here as one of them.

She stopped at every group she passed — the wounded resting on crates, the old woman cradling a pot of burned rice salvaged from her home, the boy holding his father's bloodstained scarf. She clasped their hands, listened to their stories, promised that those lost would be remembered.

By the time she stepped onto the small platform in the square, a crowd had gathered. Her voice carried clearly, though she kept it gentle.

"Three days ago, we lost fathers and mothers, friends and children. We lost neighbors, workers, merchants... pieces of our city. We cannot bring them back, but we can ensure their names will never be forgotten."

She announced the construction of a permanent memorial in the square — a wall where every victim's name would be carved into stone.

"Not a single one will be left off. We will remember them together."

Murmurs swept the crowd — some suspicious, but most approving.

That afternoon, Ty Lee met Haran in his workshop. The air smelled of stone dust and oil, the rhythmic tapping of chisels ringing in the background.

"A granite base," Haran said, sketching quickly on a piece of parchment. "Stone walls high enough to be seen from the street, room for every name you want carved."

Ty Lee nodded, but a thought tugged at her — a familiar one. Make them part of it. She didn't hear Azula's voice exactly, but she felt the lesson pressing against her thoughts. The more personal, the stronger the bond.

"What if..." Ty Lee leaned forward, "we set up a stall beside the monument. Let each person who lost someone engrave the name themselves."

Haran blinked. "That will slow the process."

"It will mean something," Ty Lee countered. "They'll know it's theirs."

Haran studied her for a moment before nodding. "We can do that."

She began dictating instructions automatically. "Renshu will—" The name stuck in her throat. The scratch of chisel on stone was suddenly too loud in her ears. She swallowed, forcing herself to finish without it. "...the guild records should have most of the names."

Haran pretended not to notice the pause.

--

That evening, Kaida stepped into Ty Lee's office with a scowl.

"Security is too light for this ceremony," she said without preamble. "If the rebels decide to strike again, we'll be scrambling to protect civilians."

Ty Lee didn't look up from the parchment she was reviewing. "It's light on purpose."

Kaida's voice sharpened. "Purpose? You're inviting disaster."

Ty Lee set the parchment down and met her eyes.

"If they attack during a memorial, the people will see them for what they are — the reason they can't even mourn in peace. And if they don't, then I get to honor the dead without interruption."

Kaida hesitated, jaw tight. "It's a dangerous gamble."

"I know," Ty Lee said softly, "but so is doing nothing."