Set at the end of Book 1. Nonspecific character. Oneshot.
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I am alive.
Every moment, it echoes in my mind. I cannot let myself forget. I am alive.
I repeat these words in the morning, though I feel I do not need to. I remember them when I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, when I see Republic City in all its glorious light. I remember when I hear rain falling softly, and when I reach out to grasp the wild wind, twisting and flying. I remember when I feel the earth, solid and strong beneath me, or when I stand overlooking the bay, with its shifting and shining waves.
When night falls, I forget.
I tell myself that I still live, that energy and blood and essence still flow within me. But when the cold sets in, and darkness overtakes the City, and the moonlight seems to chill my very soul, it is difficult to believe. Lanterns and machines now give the city light, but their glow is harsh, somehow oppressive. I wish that I could simply sleep the nights away.
I cannot. Dreams fill my mind, not of horror and pain, but of wonder and joy. The return to reality is, in itself, the pain.
There is no way to explain what it was like to bend the elements. To manipulate the world itself, to impact the universe with my existence... I cannot describe this to you. If you do not know, you cannot possibly understand.
You want to know which?
...Does it really matter? The element that I experienced, that I lived, that I was a part of, and was a part of me? Each is a gift. Each becomes a cursed memory when it is taken.
Earth, we are told, is the element of substance. To lose earthbending would be to lose one's very identity. Weakness where there was once strength, unknown fear instead of direction. Drifting through life without an anchor, without anything to claim as one's own.
I do not know how waterbenders fared when their bending was taken. Perhaps they were stagnated, incapable of moving forward without the sense of change that the element embodies. Or maybe they could no longer feel the balance in the environment. I cannot imagine a fate worse than to have known the unity of nature, and to know it no more.
I would not wish for anyone to lose their connection with the air. Better to have never had the ability at all. Peace and freedom- what would it be like to be stripped of these things? Trapped and tormented, restrained without rest, cut off from the spiritual energy of the world...
Do you really want to know?
It was fire. I could feel its power in me, always. As natural as breathing.
Again, I cannot explain what it was like- the fire itself. But try to envision this. A sensation of heaviness about you, at all times. Your arms are leaden and useless. Stone encases your legs. Weight, crushing weight is straining at every part of your body. It is a burden simply to stand. You are- or rather, I am- drained of all energy.
But imagine the weight being lifted.
That is firebending.
And it was torn from me.
Does it need to be said, that fire is the element of power? Of will? I did not simply lose the ability to bend fire. I was broken in every sense- my spirit was crushed. More than anything in the world, I wanted to regain my bending. I could not.
Do you understand? I had a goal. I could not achieve it. For the first time, it did not matter how strong my will was.
When I realized that, I knew I had truly lost everything.
I realize how arrogant this all sounds. I know how foolish it must seem, to lament a lifestyle that most will never know. For that, I am sorry. But it is not simply about firebending.
It is about him. Amon. I will never hate anything- man or spirit- as much as that man. I was not alone, of course- he took the bending of countless others- but that only makes me despise him all the more.
He did not fight me. I was defeated by another man, one who attacked with staves, shrouded in lightning.
He did not speak to me. Nothing, not a word to explain why, as if I was beneath him.
He did not even face me. I was restrained by his followers, and he stood behind, taking away my bending without showing me his face.
But I suppose it does not matter. I am told the man, the monster, the coward, wore a mask.
And then he died.
I knew of the explosion in the harbor. Everyone in the City did, before long. When the news spread, I did not feel the vengeful satisfaction I thought I would. I felt nothing. My revenge had been stolen.
Even in death, Amon continued to take what I valued most.
But I hear stories of the Avatar. Stories of benders, regaining what was lost. She has brought something to this City, more than fire and water. She has brought us hope.
But the City is crowded. The world, vast. And the most famous woman in the world is in no small measure of danger herself. I may never meet her.
And yet, the hope that I might is enough to destroy me. It is tenuous, unknowable, and fragile. It is a hope that hurts, with the pain of harsh light and freezing water. But I believe it is better than feeling nothing at all.
When night falls, when the heaviness returns and the cold finds me again, I try to remember.
I am alive.
The weight bears down on me, and I need all of my strength just to stand.
I am alive.
I fear that I can never regain what was lost.
I am alive.
...But I look at the City, and I see its people. Living their lives. Smiling. Laughing. Benders and non-benders alike, working together and experiencing the world.
I am alive. Amon is not.
That will have to be enough.