Genocide. An entire race of people gone in just a day. Wiped out. Destroyed. Vanished. Lost.
But not forgotten.
It was only a few hours before the ships would arrive on the island when the people heard news of the genocide. Furious, devastated and disgusted the people rallied to protect their peaceful neighbours. A force of barely two hundred men stood along the banks of the island, spears and swords in hand, waiting for the enemy.
The battle began at dawn, and lasted till mid afternoon. Valiantly the men fought, and died. So many died. The shore was stained red, bodies lying in the sand and the smell of burning flesh was rumoured to be smelt as far as the Southern Water Tribe. Not a sole survivor from the beach, to the village to the temple they had tried to protect.
It was a story that not many knew, for what was a few hundred men from this village when thousands of Air Nomads were lost? A hero's death overshadowed by the despair the people felt.
Betrayed by their brothers, a nation of people they considered to be their friends. Shock spread through the people. Women weeping for the lost, men angry for the massacre and children frightened for the future.
It would be only a few days later that the Fire Lord, standing on his balcony out looking to the East, would receive a letter declaring war on the Fire Nation. The Earth Kingdom, the land of the enduring and the brave, would seek their revenge.
A week after that, another letter arrived at the palace when the Lord was in his study. Passed to him with a blue seal, another letter announcing war on his nation. The Water Tribes, the lands of the adaptable and the protective, stated their anger.
It was a small oversight; it was unexpected to the old Fire Lord, who believed that the conquest would be a mere matter of marching. The king was not expecting a resistance.
The Eastern Rebellion started with a group of two hundred brave men, and grew to millions of furious and unwavering soldiers.
What started out as mere hours would turn to a century of war.