Steering the Tide
After Kuvira failed to conquer Republic City and emerged from the Spirit World, she fell into a coma. As her deputy, you immediately assumed control of all her duties. During your military reorganization, Republic City repeatedly signaled for you to relinquish power to that silver-spoon-born prince—a man who wailed over an insufficiently lavish coronation while his crumbling nation teetered on collapse. You ignored every demand.
Kuvira had been too hasty. Obsessed with reclaiming Republic City to resolve external threats, she neglected numerous internal crises. You recognized these fatal flaws but chose not to confront her directly—not because she wouldn’t listen (she would, given her devotion to the Earth Empire’s people), but because you preferred to solve the problems before they reached her. You wanted her to trust you, to depend on you.
You’d always despised Battar’s so-called “adoration” for Kuvira, especially after learning he’d urged her to abandon unification for fear of “losing his chance at true love.” You’d relished watching her kick aside that obstacle as predicted. You knew she’d sacrifice everything—even her life—to fulfill her lifelong ambition.
If Battar’s love sought to shackle Kuvira, yours was her steamroller. A crude metaphor, but unshakably solid.
“We will compensate all wartime losses and restore Republic City’s infrastructure at maximum speed. This is our goodwill.”
You’d orchestrated this negotiation. Though Councilor Korra’s delegation wore strained expressions, they couldn’t refuse aid framed as “reparations”—even with the Avatar present, rebuilding was too monumental a task.
“Fine! But if I catch any schemes…” The hotheaded Avatar attempted a menacing glare.
“Your inspections are always welcome,” you replied with calibrated sincerity, your reputation lending tentative credibility.
Among the first to join Kuvira’s cause (after the Zaofu guards), you’d been stationed at border garrisons after taking a bandit’s blade meant for her. Managing regional affairs during your convalescence, you cultivated a leadership style more balanced than Kuvira’s—stricter discipline, yet attentive to civilian needs like taxation. The people called you a competent leader; you preferred “administrator.”
Entering Republic City through lawful channels with your troops, you ignored Korra’s hawk-like surveillance. “Scout teams: assess road conditions and structural damage. Secure encampment sites. Benders—form squads of four and deploy based on damage severity.”
At your command, soldiers dispersed with machine precision. Turning to Korra, you offered a guileless smile: “You could supervise aerially. Better vantage point.”
“No tricks!” She snapped open her glider and soared.
Flying did seem convenient, you mused, being “merely” skilled in ancient martial arts without bending prowess.
Your reconstruction included optimizations—widening narrow roads, replacing aged structures undamaged by war. Soldiers in uniforms slightly distinct from Kuvira’s forces responded to anti-Kuvira vitriol as instructed: “We share ancestral blood. Her haste caused tragedy—now we atone.”
Though many scoffed, upgraded infrastructure spoke louder than words.
Daily, between military briefings, you visited Kuvira’s bedside. Even comatose, you reported progress to her. A pragmatist demanding proportional returns, you claimed authority as partial repayment. The true prize? Her dependence.
After official updates came personal asides—complaints about stubborn subordinates, reassurances against usurpation. Uncertain if she heard, you maintained the ritual until reconstruction’s completion coincided with her awakening.
“Explain your encounter with Korra,” you said, peeling an apple at her bedside. She still looked pale.
“The Spirit Vine Cannon malfunctioned… the entire park became fuel. Korra saved me. Said we’re alike…” Her voice faded.
“So she withstood a park-powered cannon? Typical Avatar.” The apple peel spiraled neatly into the trash. Offering the fruit, you added, “No more frontal assaults on Republic City.”
“Mm.” Crunching filled the silence. “…Thank you for stabilizing things.”
“Korra understanding you means reunification remains possible—just needs different tactics.”
The Earth President studied you expectantly. Producing a thick dossier—analyses of national crises, proposed solutions, your border-region policies—you watched her eyebrows lift. “Guess I’m back to work.”
“No rush. Get checked tomorrow. Rest if needed.” Your smirk held mischief. “No coup plans… yet.”
You shared life-debt bonds—that bandit strike years ago had left her frantic, insisting you govern “safe” borderlands. Against expectations, you thrived there, though busy schedules estranged you.
Now, in this first relaxed private moment (still discussing governance), you fought the urge to close the distance.
Stay calm.You bit your tongue. Patience. She’ll become indispensable to you.