PROLOGUE

"Twas a cent'ry ago

When the winds did blow

And the Wind Folk roamed

Hither, to, and fro.

And the world was still

Like a glassy rill

Til the day that the skies grew dark.

The Scion did fall

And the horns did call

And they cried their grief

To the mountain halls

Of the King of Earth

And the Water Tribe's berth

But 'twas Fire who would leave his mark.

And the Fire Lord

He unleashed his horde

And the world was aflame

And the dragons roared

And the Wind Folk fought

And allies they sought

But they found none who would come.

So the Wind Folk died

And the world cried

For she'd lost a child

To the burning tide

And three peoples remained

And the ground was stained

With the blood of many brave ones.

But there is one hope still

If we have the will

To believe the Scion

Will return, so until

He delivers us all

From our pain, stand tall

And fight the good fight for the Scion!"

Celia's voice seemed to echo in the chilly night, and even as her voice finished singing the last words her fingers continued to dance across the strings of her lute, weaving an intricate series of harmonies that swam into the ears of every listener. After a moment, her lute finally fell silent as well, the strings still ringing softly. There was a moment of spellbound silence, immediately followed by crushing, enthusiastic applause. Celia felt blood run to her face as she smiled and took a polite bow, before looking back to her audience. The age disparity was obvious-everyone was either under the age of twelve, or over the age of fifty. Despite the warmth she felt in the moment, she felt a small pang of sadness as her brilliant blue eyes scanned what was left of her tribe. So many brave men and women, gone…she thought forlornly. The applause died down, and Wesley, the eldest man in the village, tapped his walking stick on the ground to attract her attention.

"That was a lovely song, Celia," he said warmly. "Is it new?" Celia smiled gratefully that someone was paying such close attention to her work.

"Yes," she said proudly. "I call it, 'The Ballad of the Scion and the Fire Lord,' and it's not finished yet." The old man scratched his bald head for a moment.

"Why haven't you finished it yet?" he asked politely. Celia smiled even more enigmatically, and strummed a soft chord on her lute.

"I'll write the rest of it when I meet him," she said confidently. Many other villagers offered their own praises for the song, and after a few more minutes the entire crowd dispersed. It was getting late in the evening, and both the young children and old men and women were getting tired. Soon enough, Celia stood in the middle of her tiny village, alone and clutching her lute. It wasn't for too long, though; she could hear the sound of boots scraping along the ground behind her. She turned around to see her older brother, Jack, striding toward her, his bow slung nonchalantly across his shoulders.

"Did you perform it for the whole village?" Jack asked as he approached her. Celia nodded.

"I did."

"Oh? What'd people think of it?"

"They liked it well enough," Celia began airily. "I bet it would have been even better, though," she added pointedly, "if you'd been there to hear it." Jack waved her comment aside.

"I've heard it so many times from you practicing it in our hut," came his easy reply. "I haven't been missing anything. Besides, somebody has to keep watch, and I'm the only able-bodied man left in the village." Celia looked up and down her brother. Lean, with her same keen eyes, and certain fine facial features, he nonetheless had not yet shed that air of boyishness that his affable personality only seemed to underline.

"Man?" she snorted. "At this point, you're closer to being an otter-duck than a man." Jack rolled his eyes.

"Har har," he said. "Get in your laughs now, but you guys all need me more than you know. I'll have you know that I found something a bit disturbing while I was keeping watch today." Celia's smile faded quickly. Jack might have taken his job a bit too seriously, but nonetheless she couldn't help but be troubled.

"What? What is it?" she pressed. Jack dug into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out a small handful of a vile black powder.

"Soot," he said. "That means ships have been around. Water Tribe ships are powered by wind and hydromancy, while ships from the Earth Kingdoms work on wind alone. This soot means there's a ship in the area, and it belongs to the Dominion of Fire's navy." Celia shuddered. The last thing she wanted was for the Dominion to come in and shatter the fragile existence she and her tribe had eked out for themselves on their remote part of the Southern Water Tribe's island.

"Why do you think they're here?" she asked.

"This place doesn't offer them any kind of war advantage," Jack said as he shook soot off his hands disdainfully. "If they're here, then they're after something specific, and probably something valuable."

"Well, what do you think they're after?" Celia asked. Jack shook his head.

"I don't know."

On board the ironclad ship designated the Burning Blade, the crew moved hurriedly to keep sailing at full speed. Prince Diego, master of the ship, had made port a few days ago, and when he had returned, he had claimed to have new bearings, bearings that they should make for immediately. And so it was that in a span of three days, they'd crossed the vast distance from the inlets of the western Earth continent's coast to the warm south seas that the Southern Water Tribe called home. A thick cloud of black smoke billowed out behind them, and the sea's surface was rent apart by their wake. But Diego was in one of his driven moods, and that brooked no disagreement from the crew.

The prince in question had taken up his usual place at the lanced prow of his ship. He was tall, broad of shoulder and chest with the fine bearings of nobility. His clothes were elegant, and his black hair spilled down to his shoulders. In truth, he would have been a very handsome young man, were it not for the most prominent feature of his face. The area surrounding his left eye was coated in vicious scar tissue, a shade of reddish-pink so angry that it looked as though it were trying to devour the rest of Diego's patrician face. He had a look of strong resolution, and his hand toyed with the finely-crafted handle of the rapier thrust into his sash. When he got to staring out at the sea like this, he would seldom talk, and he would not move at all; he only broke his silence to tersely give instructions to his crew, and would then resume his contemplation. It had become something of a joke among the crew, who secretly held contests to see who could best imitate Prince Diego's intense stare.

Lumbering across the deck was the one man who could dare to even look Diego in the eye when he was in this mood: the venerable General Inigo. He had the look of a great man gone to seed, and his military fineries barely accommodated a paunch that had most certainly not been present during his glory days. Stroking his grey beard with one hand, he laid his other upon the shoulder of his brooding nephew. "We have been sailing nonstop for three days, Prince Diego," his low, drawling voice began. There was a strangely calming quality to it, as though somehow his voice had absorbed the relaxation abilities granted by his favorite beverages, tea and fine wine. "Are you sure you know where you are going?" Diego glanced back at his uncle, and then nodded.

"I'm completely sure, uncle. I received some good information at that port. Rumors. Things that could add up to our target. My ticket home, and my path to redemption. The Scion." He practically spat the last word, and Inigo was somewhat troubled; Diego was showing a remarkable degree of hatred for a man that he had never even met.

"Calm yourself, Prince Diego," he said evenly. "If we do indeed find the Scion here-"

"-We will," Diego interjected bluntly.

"-then it will not do," Inigo continued, "for your emotions to be in disarray. You must be in control for your pyromancy to be at its very strongest, remember?" Diego was quite still for a moment. Then, suddenly, he whipped around with the speed of a striking viper and from his outstretched hand he shot forth a great gout of flame, one that flared up brightly as it roared through the air, before ultimately dissipating. Diego folded his arms over his chest.

"I am in control," he said firmly. "And my pyromancy is stronger than ever. This Scion may be a master of all four branches of elemancy, but he will never have faced the likes of me." And with that, he turned himself back to the prow of the ship, staring down as he watched the ship's thin keel cut through the glassy surface of the water. He gripped the iron railings of the prow tightly, barely able to contain his excitement. He knew this was it, he could feel it.

Today was the day that he would finally find the legendary Scion. And when Prince Diego found him, everything would be right.