A/N: In light of the cruel cliffy last chapter and the fact that we reached over 1,000 reviews (OMG!), I would like to present the final chapter of The Black Games, early. :) Also if you are interested, I edited the last chapter with review responses. Enjoy!
"The phoenix hope can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite, revive from ashes and rise."
- Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
Chapter 35 - Victor
When I was about seven or eight, there was a snow day. Not like the normal winter snows of Province 9, but one where the snow consumes the streets and the houses, locking us up in a wall of icy tundra. I didn't have to go to school that day, and my dad couldn't go to work. Sokka and I found a way to dig out of our hut, and we decided to make a snow fort. We called it our "secret hideout" and we played in there all day. It felt safe inside our hideout, like the rest of the world couldn't see us, or hear us. They couldn't hurt us. The Capital didn't matter, nothing mattered, and for once, we felt free and safe. But as the day passed, it got cold, so cold I could barely breathe. The icy walls no longer felt safe.
I felt trapped.
My mind started to churn slowly, like a machine losing its steam, and I was so tired. I remember Sokka yelling at me, like he had something so important to say, yet I could barely keep my eyes open. I saw his lips moving, but I couldn't hear the words. I was too numb and cold, trapped inside an unbreakable force. Nothing could reach me.
Right at this moment, I'm back in the hideout, trapped in an icy cold that I cannot break free from. Guards and Elites are shouting at me, forcing me to move, dragging me away by the arm, but I can't hear or feel them. I can't even look at them. My eyes are frozen on the body a few feet away, a body that isn't breathing or moving. A body resting in a pool of blood.
You did this, a voice says to me.
That's when I heave. Nothing but bile comes up, and my body wretches and aches all over. I fall to my knees, my legs completely giving out. My vision blurs and tilts sideways, obscuring the arena. All I can see now is a red haze surrounding a body that remains oddly clear in my blurry vision.
An arm hooks under my armpit and drags me to my feet. Several feet away, a Guard lifts the prince gently into his arms. This is when my brain finally starts working again and I know I have to move.
Without hesitation, I bring up my elbow and upper cut the Guard holding me and lunge toward Zuko. I make it past another Guard—ducking under his arms, a swift kick to his torso—before two other Guards catch me by the arms and haul me backwards. I scream Zuko's name, over and over, my voice strangled and heavy with tears. His arm dangles from the Guard's hold, lifeless.
"Zuko!" I shout again, but he doesn't move. Doesn't acknowledge me yelling for him.
You did this.
I'm taken up into an airship. I fight and claw and scream every step of the way, but the grip of the Guards is too strong for me to break. Their armor too thick to penetrate. As the basket carries us up, my eyes are cast down, and I can see Azula's body lying across the ground, Zuko's golden crown sticking out of her back. Another Guard lifts her limp body into his arms. Her hair falls like a torrent of black water around her face, lifeless, out of control. A distant part of me notes she has such lovely hair, and it's a shame she never wore it down.
You did this.
My knees give out, and the only weight supporting me now is from the two Guard's holding me under the arms. It hurts, but not as much as my chest.
When we reach the airship, one of the Guards practically throws me into a room without a word. A swarm of white robed people surround me, too suddenly for my comfort. My mind automatically goes into defense mode and I lash out, striking the nearest person in the chest, sending her flying backwards into a wall. Another goes down with a backhand to the face.
I make it back to the door and launch it open. Despite the aching I feel all over and the fact that I know I'm currently not quite sane and hysterical, one thought rings clearly in my mind: I have to find Zuko before it's too late.
I'm out the door, sprinting. A person in white robes seems to materialize out of thin air, and I stare at her down the corridor of the airship. One person? No problem at all. I start moving forward, when something sharp pokes into my arm.
"Oh," I say, bewildered. I stumble into the wall, blinking away blackness, and the ship tilts. Someone catches me before I hit the ground, and then I see Zuko's face. His beautiful, strong, lovely face. Those golden eyes piercing right through me. But he's sad, bloody tears running down his cheeks.
You did this.
"I'm so sorry," someone whispers. I think it's me.
I don't remember going to sleep or blacking out, but when I wake, for some reason it feels like a surprise. I don't open my eyes. I focus on breathing in and out, the simple rise and fall of my chest, almost like I need to hear the sound to believe I'm alive. Burning light pounds behind my eyelids. When I finally crack an eye open, I'm blinded by white. White walls, white door, white flaming candles. No windows, no door handle, no way out. The air is sharp and sterile, nothing like the familiar smell of wood and smoke and nature of the arena. A distant part of my brain notes that I'm only wearing a sarashi under the covers. My hand moves to my throat.
Both necklace's are gone.
I immediately try to sit up, but I don't get very far, because some sort of restraining band has my wrists tied to the armrests of the bed. My mind goes back to its animalistic state it was in during the Games and I panic, starting to thrash against the bindings, not caring how I'm breaking skin by trying to free myself. When the white door opens, that's when I finally stop moving; a woman in white steps inside the room, carrying a small silver tray. She eyes me warily, like I'm a wild animal that might attack if she gets too close.
"How are you feeling, Katara?" she finally asks, behind a pair of thick black spectacles that magnify her grey eyes. Those eyes immediately remind me of Aang.
I look away, knowing my voice will crack if I answer.
"I am assigned as one of your healers," she goes on patiently. "My name is Su."
Healer, I think, putting together the word with her robes. The people dressed in white. Not attackers.
Su looks a bit younger than my dad with a round, soft pale face. Brown hair is piled on top of her head into a tight bun. She seems unsurprised by my nonresponsive behavior. I wonder how many other victors she's treated. Are we all this detached and mistrusting?
The healer sets the tray on my lap and takes the porcelain lid off a serving dish. Steam rises from the broth, making my mouth water at the smell. Su takes the teapot and pours brown liquid into a small, delicately crafted cup. "This will help with the pain," she says gently. "Drink and eat slowly."
Funny, I haven't really noticed the aching until she mentions pain. I start to tell her I can't really eat anything with my arms tied, but she beats me to it. Gently, she starts undoing the tight knots around my wrists—I flinch under her touch.
She's not going to hurt you, someone says to me, and then I relax a little.
"There are two Guards outside your door," Su says reasonably, like this is a common thing I should suspect, "and quite a bit more down the corridor. I implore you to be sensible before you act brashly."
So, that's why she's untying me, then. Because I can't go anywhere even if I try to flee from this room. I eye the silver spoon next to my bowl, my mind whirling. A spoon could be useful as a weapon, able to dig slowly into the skin, painfully, drawing out the blood. I wonder if I could use it to pry open the door. Or, it could be used for the obvious, a much better eating utensil than dirty hands.
She's not going to hurt you.
I look away from the spoon.
"Drink," Su orders gently, rising with the bindings in hand.
I lift the cup and take a tiny sip. It's some sort of tea, a bit bitter for my taste.
"I've cleaned most of your wounds," says Su, seeming satisfied with my cooperation. "We've put a healing remedy into your blood stream, hopefully warding off any infection you might have gotten. You'll be a little sore for the next week, probably a couple bruises and a scar on the back of your neck and that cheek, but nothing serious. You did a reasonable job sealing the incision on your cheek—it would have been much worse if you hadn't had the supplies. You're very lucky."
Lucky. Not a word I'd use in any form of my life.
"Is my dad here?" My voice is weaker than I expect. I clear my throat, embarrassed. "Where am I?"
"You're at the Capital," says Su. She fidgets a little, tucking a piece of brown hair back into her bun. "Arrangements are being made for the deaths of the prince and princess, as well as your presentation as the victor. Your father will be watching from Province 9, and you will return to your home shortly after the ceremonies."
Suddenly the room is too small, and I'm finding it hard to breath. I swallow hard, my stomach twisting in knots. I'm glad I haven't touched the broth yet. "How long have I been here?" I ask.
"The Games ended three days ago."
Three days. I've been asleep for three whole days. Have I really, or did they keep me under on purpose? It feels way too long either way. Though, I suppose that's around the usual lag time between the end of the Games and the presentation of the victor. The Capital needs to tame us wild victors, put some food back in our bellies, and make us look like we've had the time of our life. Just another trophy to add to the shelves.
There's never been a royal death in the Games, though, at least not since I've been alive. My dad told me once that royal funerals are a public display, not the quiet, surrounded by close family and friend's type like we have in Province 9. Of course the Capital would take the time to prepare the funerals for not one, but two royal siblings.
Their prince and princess. The heir to the throne and his sister, killed by me, the victor of the Black Games. Was it a merciless twist of irony, or was fate just that cruel? It isn't a secret how much the Capital and Fire Provinces worship the Games. How they enjoys watching the bloodshed like it's the world's greatest entertainment. How do they feel now, though, losing their prince and princess to the Games?
You wanted the Capital to hate the Games, a voice says. Congratulations, maybe you finally did it. Are you proud now?
I heave again, thankfully snatching the bin that's been placed by my bed in time. More bile, burning my throat raw. Su rushes to my side, pulling my hair from my face. When there's nothing more for me to throw up, not even bile, I sink back into the sheets, wiping my mouth and eyes. Someone is yelling just beyond the room, a rough, piercing sort of voice. A man's, definitely. There's a familiarity to it, yet I can't place it for the life of me. It's too distant.
"You need to rest," the healer instructs, fluffing my pillow. "I will inform your team you are awake, but I'm not sure if you're ready for visitors just yet."
Visitors? I brighten and force myself to sit up.
"Can I see them? Please?" I plead. "I'm feeling much better."
Su raises a brow and looks to the floor. In the rushed movements of my heaving, I must have knocked the tray to the ground, the broth spilling onto the floor in a clear puddle. Oops.
The male voice is closer now, just behind the door. It's louder, much more pronounced, and I finally recognize it.
"Pakku?" I murmur, straining in my bed. Su looks alarmed and starts shuffling toward the door. "Pakku!" I shout, louder this time. "I'm in here!"
The door bangs open before the healer has a chance to secure it. Pakku rushes in, a blur of arctic blue, and gives Su a piercing stare that could thaw all of Province 9.
"Is there a reason I was not informed my tribute is awake?" he asks her coldly.
Su stutters. "She has only just awoken, Master Pakku. She's not ready for visitors yet; she can barely sit up without losing her stomach!"
"I'm fine!" I argue, but they both ignore me. The two Guards the healer had warned me about stand intimidatingly at the door. I wonder briefly how Pakku managed to get them to open it, or if he had to use force.
"Your services are much appreciated, Lady Su, but I require a private word with Katara." He barely glances at me, but his eyes are a warning. "She will be of no more trouble, I assure you. I will send for you the moment she goes ill, but I daresay she deserves a little reassurance and normality."
I have no idea what he means. Su seems to, though. She gives a rough bow, mumbling under her breath. "You are always so impatient, Pakku," she scolds, and shuffles out with the two Guards.
When the door closes, Pakku stares at it a moment before turning to me. I can't read the expression on his face and find myself no longer worried about falling under his scrutiny. I raise my chin, squaring my shoulders—the best I can from my position— and look at him with an unflinching stare.
"You brave, stupid girl," he finally says, and by the heavens, I swear his lips twitch almost into a smile. "You proved me wrong."
It's like our very first meeting all over again. I remember him telling me I had to prove myself, and I had yelled back venomously. I sounded so childish then, like a little brat throwing a tantrum. It feels like the conversation happened so long ago.
"You were right, though," I say softly. "Tough isn't enough."
I finally get what he meant, what he had been trying to teach me all along. Being tough isn't enough to win the Games. It's so much more than that, so much courage, and hope, and perseverance. Being strong on the outside and the inside, never letting yourself surrender; not even when you want to. Suki was tough. Mai was tough. But it wasn't enough for either of them.
"I wish I wasn't." Pakku frowns, looking more lost than I've ever seen him look. "Doesn't really feel like winning, does it?"
And suddenly I'm lost in a sea of loss. I think of Aang, the way he died with a smile on his face, and I can only hope he got his wish, that his death did not hurt. I think of Toph, who bravely attempted escape, and may or may not have made it. Either way, she is dead to the world. I think of Sokka—my best friend, my brother—someone I can never replace, gone forever. I think of Zuko, the prince of the Fire Nation, watching the life leave his eyes as I ended it.
Even if I win, I still lose.
"No," I say quietly, a tear slipping down my cheek. "There is no victor in the Black Games."
The next day I'm allowed to see the rest of my team, now that I'm nearly fully functioning and not trying to kill anything that moves in my direction. June pulls me into the prep room of the Royal Plaza, and it's like a sense of déjà vu. Being back here makes me feel like I'm preparing for the Games all over again. I have to keep reminding myself it's over and I'm never going back into that arena again.
June had taken all my belongings once I was brought back here, keeping them safe for me. My satchel, Aang's bison whistle, my mother's pendant, Yue's necklace. There must have been nothing particular about Yue's necklace to her—or any of the healers, it seems—because she didn't say anything, but when I slip it over my head, I know it's different. I know what I have to do, too. The only question is how, and when.
After I bear an hour of painful skin scrubbing, Nina and the other artists get to work on my hair and make-up. While I complained here and there last time, I endure the entire ordeal without a word, listening to their mindless chatter. Somehow complaining about being cleaned and dressed up seems trivial in comparison to what I've faced in the last few weeks. Once I'm plucked and ready for dinner, June slips a red and gold dress over me. I raise a brow at her, at the colors, at the design of it all.
"Didn't know I was turning into a bird," I say, because the skirt of the dress looks like silky red feathers, sparkled with flecks of gold.
"Well, you sort of are," says June. "After your little stunt with the phoenix, the Capital went crazy. You were suddenly the favorite, the underdog. They kept calling you the Phoenix. The way you never die—rise from the ashes and all that."
I run my hands down the smooth texture of the dress, frowning in the mirror. I don't look like me at all. Not because of the small, thin scar on my cheek, the make-up, the dress or the hair—it's just me in general. My cheeks are hollow, the lines in my face more prominent and sharp. Blue eyes piercingly cold without an ounce of warmth. There's an edge and hardness to my reflection, and I'm not smiling. I wonder if I ever will again.
I turn away from the mirror.
"What about Zuko and Azula?" I force myself to ask. "Surely they were the favorites."
"Oh, they were, but you were as well. So you can imagine the buzz around here those last couple of days and—" She pauses in the middle of tying up the back. I see the hesitation in her eyes, reflecting back at me. Tough, blunt June, looking hesitant. Something I never thought I'd see. "Listen, about Prince Zuko…"
I step out of her reach, because somehow standing still is too hard. "Let's just not talk about him. Or the Games at all."
"Are you sure?" June purses her dark, red-black colored lips.
No. Because I want to save Zuko, and I don't know what to do, but I know you'll think I'm crazy. Because if I do manage to save him, I'll probably break a dozen laws and be put on some sort of assassination list. Because bringing back the dead is impossible, and even if I can, I have no plan afterwards. And I can't drag you into my madness.
"I'm sure," I say.
The rumble from the crowd reminds me of a stormy night back at home. Just beyond the double doors awaits the people of the Capital and surrounding Fire Provinces, the ones who can pay to come out and see me, the victor. My team has just been announced, and I'm up next. I can hear the sharp voice of Fire Lord Ozai, but can't quite make out his words. His speech must be terribly awkward. He must show support of the Games by supporting me, but at the same time, it might sound like he's dishonoring the death of his children. The children I killed.
I'm glad I'm not in his position and quite frankly, I really don't want to face him. Or the Capital, for the matter. I feel so nervous and sick I can barely stand still. Around me is a half dozen Guards. On the balconies of the Royal Palace are more Guards. Hama and Pakku tell me there's never been a more controversial victor than me. Half the world loves me, half hates me.
I don't blame them. I feel conflicted about myself as well.
I don't have to give a speech but I'll be interviewed by Qin Lee again. I'm hoping this will be my last time. I haven't really thought of it before now, but since I'm a victor, I'll be up for consideration of mentoring upcoming tributes for Province 9—sixteen, does that make me the currently youngest victor?—and I'll have to come back to the Capital again if I'm chosen. The Games never really end for me, do they? The sheer thought of having someone's life in my hands makes me want to scream and run away.
The sound of bending metal breaks through my inner dilemma and I glance over my shoulder. The Guards surrounding me are bent over in a bow of respect at the approaching figure, the one coming straight towards me.
He's about the height of my brother. Wide frame, stocky, muscles showing beneath red and black armor. Pale skin with glimmering gold eyes, and black hair pulled back on top of his head. His face is familiar; the resemblance is there, but that's not what makes me stare. It's what's on his head that makes my stomach twist in guilt, shame, and torment.
"Lady Katara, we meet at last," says the figure, holding out a hand. "Officially, that is. I am Prince Lu Ten."
"I know who you are." The words fly out before I can stop myself. I thrust my hand out eagerly to make up for my outburst and give a shaky, awkward sort of bow. "I mean, who doesn't?"
"The same can be said for you, of course," says Lu Ten, forcing a very tight smile. "Our newest victor. I believe congratulations are in order."
His politeness is astounding, even if it's strained. He must be furious with me for killing his cousin—no, wait—cousins. Can I blame him? My eyes wander back to the shining gold on his head.
"You're wearing Zuko's crown," I say, thinking aloud, feeling a little sick when I consider how bloody it's been and where it's been.
"Ah, yes," says Lu Ten, a little guiltily, his façade wavering. "Well, this crown actually belongs to the Crowned Prince of the Fire Nation. As you killed the last one and his successor, I am the last of the royal bloodline, and heir to the throne now. I suppose it's a good thing you can't go back into the arena and I'm too old, huh? Otherwise I might be in trouble."
His bluntness almost shakes me. He's angry. I can see it brewing behind his golden eyes. Maybe he doesn't believe in the Black Games. Maybe he's angry his uncle sent his cousins into the Games in the first place. Maybe he's angry at me for killing them. From his perspective, I'd hate me, too. I hate me from my own perspective. I wonder, though, if he'd believe my true motives, if I could trust him enough to tell him. He was Zuko's cousin, after all. Won't he want to help save him if there's a way? Surely he will.
But not here.
Suddenly, a loud burst of applause from behind the doors shakes the ground, and I feel my heart jump into my throat.
Lu Ten holds out an arm, ever the gentlemen. "I am your escort for the evening, for your protection, of course. Wouldn't want anything bad happening to our newest victor, would we?"
"Your concern is gratifying," I say dryly, but slip my arm into his anyway, "but I can take care of myself."
"You sure can," he says, and then the doors open and we're stepping in front of the cheering crowd.
I have to squint and shield my eyes with a hand, the bright glow of the fireworks blinding me. They're shooting off in all directions, echoing against the roaring crowd. There's so many faces below the plaza that I'm immediately overwhelmed. So many Watchers, Guards, citizens. I can't make out the booing from the cheering. A man breaks through the ranks, carrying a long sword and shouting at everyone to get out of his way, charging, I'm sure of it, at me. He barely makes it fifteen feet when a Guard knocks him to the ground with a punch to the throat.
It's too much.
"I don't want this." I feel myself starting to pull back but Lu Ten tightens his grip, halting me.
"Why?" He looks sideways at me, his eyes very cold despite the warmth of color. "You've earned it."
I turn back to the raving crowd. Step up and claim your prize, Katara. Only, I don't feel like I deserve a prize. I don't feel like a victor at all. I feel like I've lost everything. Not just people I care about but parts of myself. I should have never won the Black Games. I should have taken my life, just to show the Capital that I'd rather die than participate in their little game.
When Lu Ten leads me forward, I feel despair wash over me, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. People are screaming at me. Some are ecstatic, holding up blue Province 9 flags and cheering my name, others are furious, cursing and throws fists into the air. Yet somehow above the loud jeering from the crowd I manage to hear it. A stunning, silky melody that rings crystal clear. The crowd hears it too, and starts to quiet, glancing up at the sky.
That's when I see it. A flash of crimson and gold against the last burning embers of the sky. A phoenix. And she's singing beautifully. Despite how horrible I feel, the song is so beautiful and personal that I almost smile, feeling like she might just be singing for me.
A sudden rush of affection floods into me: I see my dad, my brother, an imagined face of my mother. Those who love me, and those who will love me, no matter what I have done. And somewhere in the phoenix's song, I feel hope, and I can hear another voice in my head saying you can do this, Katara.
I lift my chin proudly against the last dying sounds of the phoenix's song, prepared to face the Capital, to face whatever may come, because I will not surrender now and I will bring him back.
If a phoenix can rise from its ashes, so can I.
A/N: Wow, we finally made it to the end! I can't believe it. I just want to say THANK YOU to everyone for sticking with me through this story. I cannot express my gratitude for your enthusiasm and positive feedback. It kept me writing, honestly. I've been blessed to have such wonderful readers, so thank you for that.
About the sequel: As a reminder, it's called The Rise of One, and will begin a few days after this chapter ends. I need to plan it out properly before I post anything. It's a more complex plot than this story was, so please be patient. :P Remember you can always follow me on Tumblr. Since I won't be editing this with questions you might have AFTER reading this final chapter, Tumblr is the best/easiest place to ask. (And I love answering your questions!) Now, I'm hoping to post chapter 1 in May. So a couple of weeks. There will be shipping, there will be action, there will be a new "gang" so to say. I'm very excited about it!
The 75th Annual Black Games in order of death
Nato - Province 10 - Killed by Suki
Ming - Province 10 - Killed by Chan
Nori - Province 11 - Killed by Jet
Song - Province 6 - Killed by Chan
Akio - Province 3 - Killed by Longshot
Dachi - Province 12 - Killed by Mai
Maya - Province 4 - Killed by Haru
Longshot - Province 4 - Killed by Suki
Jiro - Province 5 - Killed by Sokka
On Ji - Province 3 - Killed by Toph
Haru - Province 7 - Killed by Matsu
Smellerbee - Province 6 - Killed by Mai
Chan - Province 2 - Killed by Zuko
Aang - Province 11 - Killed by Azula
Matsu - Province 8 - Killed by Zuko
Mai - Province 2 - Killed by Azula
Jet - Province 6 - Killed by Katara
Sokka - Province 9 - Killed by Jet
Toph - Province 8 - Killed by unknown
Ty Lee - Province 5 - Killed by Suki
Suki - Province 12 - Killed by Azula
Azula - Province 1 - Killed by Katara
Zuko - Province 1 - Killed by Katara
Katara - Province 9 - Victor
anon: "NOOOOO! Zuko can't die! He just can't! He has to live!" - This seems to be the overall consensus, haha. I did find it amusing how many people wondered if Zuko was going to be okay. Most people don't recover from being stabbed in the heart..lol. He's not walking away from that one, especially after taking the lightning.
Crazichi123: "I LOVE Azula and Zuko's relationship in the series. It's so deep and complicated and nothing like siblings should be. This chapter really portrayed that very well." - Thank you! I love their relationship, too. With this story I was inspired by the Joker and Batman in The Dark Knight when the Joker says "I don't want to kill you! What would I do without you? You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won't kill you because you're just too much fun." Azula wanted the throne, but she didn't want Zuko to be dead for her to claim it. Not because she loved him, exactly, but because she wouldn't know what to do without him to pick on, taunt, mock, etc. It really is an odd relationship lol.
"I was REALLY sad when both Cato and Azula died, even though they were the villains and I really wasn't supposed to be." - I was sad Cato died as well. I personally didn't like the fact that the Careers were supposed to be the villains, just like I don't consider Azula a villian in this story, either. She's "against" Katara, true, but so are the other tributes. Everyone is a pawn, fighting for their life. The real villain is Ozai and the capital, just like Snow and his capitol. I made a huge defensive post about the Careers on tumblr so I'm not going to go into it here...haha. But yeah, Katara realizes Azula isn't the villain too, I think, which is why she feels bad about killing her. I'm not sure Katniss felt bad about killing Cato.
MayMay7: "Okay so, she stops his heart and waits for the cannon, then she will be the winner, before healing him like a boss. Right?" - Well, even if the water did appear, and it does have the ability to bring back someone's life (which we don't know either for sure), Katara couldn't have done it in the arena. Otherwise this story would have ended very badly. :P (Or worse, depending on how you see the ending)
Alexia Udinov: "Promise if you ever do publish a book to let us know the title and your pen name" - I will for sure! :)
Patmaheiny: "I also love the references you made to actual Azula/Zuko showdowns from the show." - Thanks! That was really a huge inspiration for this chapter. I wanted to tie that with this. :)
Ciel: "Katara outwitted Azula here just as she did in the last episode of Avatar." - Yes! Another thing I wanted to keep similar with the final Agni Kai from the show. Katara could never beat Azula with pure skill, but she's clever, like Sokka. And Azula underestimates those who are not as physically powerful as her.
PLacId: "I seriosuly thought she was going to kill herself..." - A lot of people thought this, apparently! lol I've read a couple of reviews where they said they had to re-read it because they thought Katara killed herself. She could have, I suppose, but Zuko was already dying. I'm not sure he could have been saved in time. Katniss pulls the berry stunt so they have no victor, but Ozai wouldn't have stopped Katara from killing herself. If there's no victor, there's no victor. But there could only be one.
Dakota: "Woah...I thought you couldn't use the tokens as weapons?" - Technically you could take off your shirt and use it to strangle someone to death, lol. Anything can be used as a weapon, but the tributes couldn't bring items into the arena that are CREATED as weapons. Like knives, swords, etc. They can, however, have them sent in as gifts from sponsors.
AnnaAza: "Katara killing Zuko, I think, was an act of mercy. He was suffering, and he was right." - Exactly. There really was no other way. :(
Serenity Jones: "I thought Katara would use her healing thingy for Zuko, and... and..." - This is where the problem lies, and the point Zuko made as well. And then what? lol
ChaosHasCome: "If you were to publish a novel right now, at this minute, I would not hesitate to read it. You could probably write about the inner mechanics of a toaster and make it sound interesting." - HAHA I will keep that in mind! The inner mechanics of a toaster...lmao.
One last thank you to everyone! Until next time...:)