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The spirits danced along in a myriad of colors against the sky about ten years after the end of the war. Sokka had heard shouts from his fellow tribesmen and after he shared a look with his family, they had rushed out of their home together. Sokka had seen it immediately—it was hard not to with how the light of the spirits reflected against the ice and snow of their buildings. Sokka nearly dropped his cane, which he had been holding forward like a sword in case that there was trouble, as he stared up at the sky. His Gran Gran used to tell stories about how the spirits had danced in the sky at night, full of their ancestors who watched over them.
“They disappeared, just a slow trickle, before they were all gone, nowhere to be seen,” his Gran Gran had told him once when he was child as the hearth of coals radiated heat towards where their family was bundled close together to keep warm in the winter chill. “They're mourning us and the slow decline of who we once were. We used to dance and sing with the spirits, they were so beautiful.” Sokka had closed his eyes that night and tried to dream about what the spirits could look like.
Never had he dreamed of what it truly looked like. The spirits intertwined and shifted with so many colors and a light that, as Sokka glanced over at Aang who was telling Katara that he had heard of the spirits at the poles but had been disappointed when he had learned they were gone, reflected onto Aang’s pale skin.
“Wow,” Sokka laughed out. As the shock wore off, children ran about throwing snowballs and dancing, and as he watched some of the elders began to pull out qilaut drums from their homes, finding a steady beat to play in their excitement as they greeted the return of their ancestor spirits. As a child, he had only heard the drums played for celebrations of new life when the tribe felt that it was the only time they could let their guard down, but over the years the drums and dancing and singing was much more common and appreciated. He moved to catch sight of his Gran Gran, who was holding onto Bato’s arm and grinning up at the sky as tears fell down her face.
“They’re back,” she said, loud enough to carry to Sokka’s ears.
Sokka grinned and moved to dance along with the beat of the qilaut that reverberated in his chest with each strike, moving his arms and upper body as he joined the large group of dancers that had formed. They weren’t quite in a circle, but it was close enough to one. The tears on his face were matched with others as they basked in the moment and the light of the returned spirits. Not far off he could see Katara doing the fluid movements of a waterbender technique with some of the young bender children who trained with her, eight and ten year olds who carefully matched the movements Katara had long ago mastered. All the tiredness that they had for the day had left the moment they had seen the spirits and before long his father and a few of the other men pulled out arctic hippo meat to cook and hand out as celebration continued well into the night.
It was well into the celebration when Sokka finally had to sit down, his leg screaming at him, but he didn’t care much as he glanced up at the dancing sky, his hand idly massaging at his long ago injured knee. A part of him couldn’t help but wish that Zuko and Suki were here to see this. They had visited the Southern Water Tribe countless times throughout the years, but he couldn’t help but feel proud that through their hard work and dedication they had truly rebuilt the tribe to what it had once been. A warm body dropped down next to him and he smiled at Katara, who was grinning widely and had sweat along her forehead from all the dancing and bending movements she had done.
“We did this.” She said with a bubbling laugh.
Sokka chuckled and leaned against her shoulder. “I never thought we would even have a tribe to be proud of by now, not like the North. Yet, here it is. Finding Aang, traveling the world, it really had been the best thing we have ever done.” It was how he met Suki and Zuko, how they met countless of their friends, how they were able to unite the world to a more peaceful land and rebuild the South Pole into a habitable place full of tradition and dancing and a fun that Sokka hadn’t felt even back when his mom was still alive and his father had not gone off to fight the war. “Our children are going to grow up with all—this!” He gestured towards the sky with a half hysterical laugh.
Katara held out her hand and Sokka took it and held it as they stared up at the sky. “I was going to wait to tell everyone this, but… I’m pregnant.”
Immediately, Sokka moved to hug his little sister. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head as he felt his eyes water and he held her tight to him. Katara laughed and hugged him back. When he pulled away, he tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear and grinned at her. “You need to eat some more hippo, you tired yourself out and need to keep up your energy and body! Your body is prepping for a baby!” Katara laughed but obliged when Sokka went off to grab a bowl of meat, happily eating the arctic hippo meat even as she complained that he better not start mothering her.
“My child will be able to see the spirits of our ancestors for all their life. They’ll feel the beat of the qilaut in their chest and soul in a way we barely had.” Katara said quietly as she handed Sokka a strip of arctic hippo meat that he happily chewed on. Sokka could see streaks of tears on her face, but couldn’t say a word because he was crying too. Above them, the spirits danced on and on and laughter of his community, his tribe, his family, filled his ears.