AVATAR: THE LONG ROAD

Prologue

Long ago, the Four Elemental Nations lived in Harmony. Fire, Earth, Water, and Air peacefully coexisted, with the United Republic and the Avatar keeping the balance between them. The Avatar, master of all four elements, was the universe's way of preserving harmony. Each Avatar not only kept the balance between human nations, but also mediated between the human and spirit worlds. More than seventy years ago, Avatar Korra saved the world from chaos and oppression, bringing forth an era of peace. We all took the Avatar's presence for granted. This peace has not lasted, and the Avatar is now gone. The weak and helpless must now look to other champions instead.

There was a brilliant flame in the field of darkness. Its tendrils were like molten gold, an intense richness that seared itself into the mind's eye. The fire rose and its outer tongues peeled away like husks from corn, revealing a bright flaming phoenix. The darkness slowly burned away to reveal a meadow filled with swaying rows of wheat under a blue sky. The phoenix took flight and soared. A flash on the horizon. A small boy appeared, skinny with dark hair and cinnamon skin wreathed in golden tongued flames. His eyes glowed with a blinding white light. Stuck into the ground before him was a silver sword, its hilt engraved with two dragons locked in embrace.

The Elders gazed intently at Arzu as she relayed her dream to them. The Guardian Spirits had answered their prayers and given her, the Shaman, a message. A warrior-a Paladin-had been chosen to wield the legendary Sword of the Dragons and save their tribe. Many of the Elders were skeptical of the sign. Had their ancestors really put their fate in the hands of a child? And surely they would have chosen someone capable of bending the elements?

"This is wrong. We cannot force a someone so young to shoulder our burdens," one of the Elders said. "Arzu is a young and untested Shaman. What if she misread this so-called-message?" said another.

Arzu was indignant. "It was exactly as I said. What else could it mean?" If you can draw another interpretation, feel free to share, she thought privately.

The Chief held up her hand, a gesture for silence. "Right now, our Shaman's dream is our only hope," she said. "We will stay on the lookout for signs of the Avatar. But until then, we must rely on what we already have."

Seven Years Later

The cackling embers of a small fire slowly died as the sunlight faded in. Around it sat a young boy, his gray eyes mirroring the amber glow of the flames. He cupped his hands to his mouth as the dawn wind sliced into his face and ears. His windbreaker was not enough. There was not a soul with him in the small glade where he camped, and that was how he preferred it. The oak trees around him gently swayed and rocked with the breeze. The only noise was the sound of leaves fluttering. Thick hulking trunks, towering above human and beast alike, had once been acorn small enough to fit in a child's hand. Only one in a few million are destined to grow into trees, and even fewer are destined to thrive. The ones who survive to adulthood become magisterial creatures, forever doing penance to the sun.

Ismail was not a child anymore. He looked at the acorn in his palm. The hands of a sixteen-year old dwarfed the fragile seed. Everything in my life is about to change, he thought. The quiet sanctuary where he camped seemed comfortingly removed from human contact, from human voices telling him what to do and how to act. His luminescent wrist pad spoke up.

"It's getting late," it said in a female voice.

"Yeah, I know that Naomi."

Ismail sighed, and slung his sword across his back. It was a treasured possession, as familiar to him as a part of his own body. It was certainly a part of his destiny. Ismail wanted to enjoy the solitude a bit longer, but he stamped out the fire anyway, in preparation to return home. There was a crackling footstep behind him. A sundried, wrinkly hand suddenly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ismail, it's time to go. The meeting is about to start," said Uncle Sai.

Why now? Can't they wait? Dejectedly, Ismail stood up and dusted off his pant legs. "Don't have a choice, do I?" he muttered.

He steeled himself for whatever exhaustive task the Elders were going to make him do. Damn this life, Ismail thought. Uncle Sai grabbed him by the shoulders and drew him close to stare into his eyes.

"I've watched my nephew grow so much," Uncle Sai said in a raspy whisper. "You are almost done. I know it." He drew Ismail into a hug. "The Elders are waiting," he murmured. "We need to go."

Ismail clenched his fists until they grew taught. The anger within him welled up alongside frustration, becoming a bottled-up pressure. He forced himself to relax. Not here, not now. Together, Ismail and his uncle made the lonely trek back to town, surrounded by chattering cicadas. As they exited the forest, farmland sprawled out on either side of them-magisterial fields of golden wheat. The dirt road was strangely devoid of other people, save for some resting farmhands sitting to the side in muddy worn-down fatigues.

"Were there always this few people around here?" Ismail asked.

"Most of the able-bodied boys and girls have been conscripted," replied his uncle. Uncle Sai quickly changed the subject. "I'm surprised you didn't ride your motorcycle out here," he said to Ismail. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a draw. "Naomi, can you give us a moment?"

"Sure thing." The glow of Ismail's wrist pad shifted from its normal neon-blue tint to a red-orange one, indicating that Naomi was in standby mode.

Now that they were alone, Uncle Sai turned to Ismail. "I don't think they're gonna lecture you like last time-the Elders, I mean. It's probably about the next phase of your training."

"Well, as long as I'm not being force-fed lessons on 'civic responsibilities and virtuous behaviour' by the Chief and her Hags, I can't really complain."

"Ismail, you did sort of deserve that. I mean, two-hours of continuous scolding wasn't what I had in mind-"

"They hardly gave me time to defend myself." Heat flushed throughout Ismail's body. They never did.

"Your summary of events was all they needed to hear. Now Ismail-"

"I can't believe they put the blame on me-"

"You beat up four kids outside the canteen, Ismail. I thought Chief Koh was a little harsh in her punishment, but you were still in the wrong."

No I wasn't. "All I did was shove them off after they made fun of me and Mei." She's one of the few people I have left. Ismail unconsciously rubbed the burn on his forearm that he'd acquired from the fight.

Uncle Sai sighed. "You broke Zane's arm and nose, and gave him a black eye. And don't get me started on what you did to the other three."

"This wasn't the first time they insulted us, y'know."

Uncle Sai took out his cigarette and turned to look at him, exhaling wisps of white smoke. "Then stop associating with them. I know you're following them around because you're trying to get even with'em for what happened at the Jade Cafe. It's petty revenge, Ismail."

"They deserved it-you've seen how Zane and the others act! They're a bunch of bullies."

"Trust me, they're getting their own talk-down." Uncle Sai suddenly halted, and turned to face Ismail. "But it's not about whether they deserved it. It's not about them at all. It's about you." He patted Ismail on the shoulder.

Ismail let his anger simmer, but he was too tired to argue back. The heat within him was fading, even as he remembered how Chief Koh had called him "a disgrace to the people of the Red Hills Tribe." Up ahead, the he saw the gate that marked his hometown. In giant black characters it read "WELCOME TO THE KASHI ABORIGINAL RESERVATION." Nestled on the coastal plains in the northwest -reaches of the Fire Nation, Kashi Reservation was home to one of the last vestiges of the Sun Warriors. This was where Ismail had lived his entire life.

The Sun Warriors had endured numerous calamities in their five-millennia long existence. From natural disasters like floods and famines, to persecution under the ancient Fire Lords, they trudged onward with their lives. An old adage of the Sun Warriors was, "The trunk must stand even if the branches are cut and the leaves plucked. As long as strong roots remain, new branches can sprout and new leaves can grow." This adage had been tested thousands of times in Sun Warrior history, ever since their ancestors, the followers of the Dragon-Spirit Tian-Zhu and her disciples Ran and Shaw, had first settled down. Eventually, the Sun Warriors were forced into hiding as the Fire Lords incorporated more and more of their land into their own domains.

Kashi was formed seventy years ago, when Fire Lord Izumi cordoned off tracts of land from ranchers and miners in the nearby Kashi Township and given it exclusively to the Red Hills Tribe of the Sun Warriors. Kashi Reservation and Kashi Town were often considered to be a single settlement due to their close proximity. It had a unique identity, for its culture was a blend between that of the aboriginal Sun Warriors and that of the Bhanti people, who were the majority ethnic group in the Fire Nation.

Uncle Sai smiled as they walked past. "When I was a young miscreant little turd like you, my father would say, 'you can kick all the shins you want, but don't come complaining when you don't have a best foot to put forward.' We should speak with Zane once your errand with the Elders is over."

"We already tried reconciling before."

"Well, we're gonna try again. I want the two of you to have a heart-to-heart. Life's too short for grudges, especially petty ones. Zane is not a bad kid, and neither are you." Ismail begged to differ, but he bit back a retort. Uncle Sai told Naomi she could come out of standby mode. The lights on Ismail's wrist-pad flickered back to its usual neon-blue tint.

Once he was past the gate, Ismail and Uncle Sai were nearly bowled over by a cloaked woman sprinting across the road. "Really ought to watch where she's going," he muttered. "She's probably trying to cash in her ration cards," said Naomi. "They're selling off some grain surpluses today."

Uncle Sai shook his head. "The situation just seems to get worse. Both the Republic and the Monarchy want to requisition our food."

Municipal authorities had started issuing ration cards seven years ago. Yellow for grains, blue for dairy, green for vegetables, orange for fruit, red for meats, white for oils, and so on. Until the last decade, Kashi had remained relatively unaffected by the social chaos engulfing the Fire Nation, despite growing tensions between the Monarchist and Republican factions. Back then, transients wishing to escape the chaos in the Central Provinces had already been flowing into Kuzon province, where Kashi was located. Although Kuzon had only three cities with more than 300,000 people, one of which was the capital Haijing, there had been enough room to house most of the refugees in the initial wave. While most of the the Fire Nation's wealthy fled to Republic city, the poor fled to Outer Provinces like Kuzon by rail, car, or river barge. These people, benders and non-benders alike, sought to escape the constant protests, riots, street clashes and martial law in the Fire Nation's Central Provinces.

The young Ismail had watched these refuge-seekers with curiosity whenever he left Kashi Reservation to head into Kashi town proper. Old and young alike, wearing weathered, faded mustard-yellow clothes caked with brown and khaki splotches of mud and dust, walked by with eyes forward as if in trance. Once, during a grocery trip, Ismail saw a lame man, a gray-haired refugee, hobble to a breadline with his bandaged hands clutching a gnarled walking stick. "It's rude to stare" his mother said, tugging his shirt lightly to get him to follow.

"Why's he like that?" Ismail asked in his tinny voice.

"People get hurt for various reasons. But it's not our place to judge him."

"Did he deserve it?"

"That's enough, Ismail," his mother said coldly. It was a small rebuke, but he felt ashamed for some reason upon hearing these words from his mother. Ismail felt Naomi would've been more understanding.

Nevertheless, for a time there were few changes felt in Kashi save a host of new faces. Kuzon province was, after all, a broad and fertile plain fed by the Kuzon River, which trickled down from the Dragon Mountains to the ocean. Food had been abundant. For three years, the newcomers and the natives of Kuzon had coexisted peacefully, if not always cordially. But in the last seven years, tidal waves of refugees had swept in as the Fire Nation government began to fracture. The distant thunder of artillery echoed along the plains; their flash periodically lit up the night skyline. Forces aligned with the Republicans and Monarchists fought in countless skirmishes around Kashi, even though officially, both sides were convening diplomatically in the capital.

Air raid alarms blared at least twice a week. Kuzon province became an overcrowded cauldron within a week of the arrival of the first large-scale refugee wave. This was even as thousands of people were being peeled away by the Republic and the Monarchy-both of whom had strongholds in Kuzon-for military service. Most of the townsfolk and city-dwellers were taken by the Republic. The Monarchy primarily conscripted people from the countryside. Kashi did its best to remain neutral, but this was becoming increasingly difficult.

Where were their ancestors to guide them, the people of Kuzon asked? Where was the Avatar, the restorer of balance?

The spirits inhabiting the wildlands in the Dragon Mountains were divided on whether to help the congregating humans. Some spirits journeyed down to the plains where the humans lived and aided them by gathering supplies or offering services. Some spirits stayed in the mountains and hissed and spat at humans walking by, warning them to stay away. But most spirits were indifferent to the plight of the humans, just as the humans had been indifferent to the plight of the spirits. And since Kuzon was essentially cut off, administratively speaking, from the central government due to ongoing war, there was little hope of receiving outside aid.

"Can you show us one of your fire tricks again? Pleeeaaaaase?" The group of children looked expectantly at Arzu, who was about to leave her home. She sighed.

"The same one?"

"Yes, yes please!" The children excitedly chorused.

"Oh, alright. But I have a meeting with the Elders soon, so I can't do too much." Arzu took a breath, drawing upon her chi reserves, and willed flames into existence over her outstretched hands. To Arzu, firebending was as easy as breathing. She began to "juggle" the balls of fire, which, as usual, utterly entranced the youngsters. She added a third ball of flame to up the ante for a few seconds. Then, the flames burned out as if a switch had been flipped. "Sorry guys, I gotta go," she said. The children said their usual "Aww man!" and made their usual groans, before finally dispersing. Her companion, a Wolf Buzzard named Ting popped out of the doorway to accompany her.

"Quite the entertainer, huh?"

Arzu turned around to see Jin, her former spiritual teacher. She smiled. "Just some parlor tricks to keep them occupied." Jin handed her a ration ticket. "For breakfast."

"Thanks, but I already ate."

"Alrighty then. You're missing out on the ersatz bacon though."

"Nah, it's the acorn coffee that really sates my palette."

"I thought it was the sawdust wheat buns?"

"I got tired of those."

The two of them walked towards the Town Hall, where the Elders adjourned. "The United Republic should be helping us," Arzu murmured. "They don't have the time to deal with a small tribe in the Fire Nation's backwater," said Jin. What a bunch of buffoons. The United Republic exists to help people of all nations-what use is it if it can't feed some folks caught up in a damn war?

The detritus of a nation ravaged by war could be seen everywhere in Kashi town. Occupying the main plaza and surrounding alleys was shanty-town constructed from corrugated sheet-metal, wooden planks, plastic debris, cloth, oil drums, sandbags, homemade bricks, hay, and innumerable other things scrounged up from the dump. Its streets were constantly damp and crawling with Ratshrews. Strange and previously undiscovered odors wafted about, acidly assaulting Ismail's eyes and nose. This town-within-a-town was referred to as the "Gray Zone," although its color was actually a smattering of grays, purples, teals, charcoals, reds, blacks, and browns, depending on the time of day and weather. Uncle Sai told Ismail and Naomi that they would have to walk through an alley bordering the Gray Zone to get to the town hall. "Be on the lookout for the sick," he cautioned. "They should have been quarantined, but Pentapox transmits quickly."

This alley, cordoned between a chain-linked fence and an abandoned warehouse, was actually more of a trail. It was a slog through beggars, ration-card hagglers, swindlers ready to take advantage of desperate refugees, and others who lined the paved road. The Zone had its own marketplace, entertainment area, waste collection points and commons. Its inhabitants-refugees, smugglers, human traffickers, the sick and wounded, and military deserters, among others-had created councils to handle their own services. There was a decision-making board, a law enforcement council, an education council, a supply acquisition board, a liaison group that worked with Kuzon officials, and a sanitation council. The last one wasn't very good at their job.

I can't look them in the eye. I can't I can't I can't I can't! Ismail was embarrassed, ashamed really, to be in the presence of the inhabitants of the Gray Zone. A hundred desperate phantoms examined him and his uncle, both of whom had donned sanitary masks. Ismail mentally prayed. Stop staring. Please.

Ahead of Ismail, in the center of town, sat a squat and elegant ziggurat richly decorated with ochre tapestries. The town hall's exterior was a rather tacky imitation of a true Sun Warrior ziggurat; not surprising considering that it was built by the Fire Nation government rather than the Sun Warriors themselves. The Sun Warriors were constantly reminded of Fire Lord Izumi's compassion, generosity, virtuousness and greatness every single day thanks to the sizeable engraving of her face on the pyramid. Uncle Sai paused at the entrance. "Alright, good luck Ismail. I'll see you when it's over," he said. Ismail stepped into the square opening that was the entrance into the hall. Inside, the Elders waited.

Arzu watched the Elders assemble and prepare for their meeting from a balcony inside the Council Room. She had not slept last night. Ting rested her head on her lap and whimpered.

"I'm alright, girl. Just exhausted, that's all."

She had been racked with anxiety ever since the Paladin had been chosen. Some of the Elders had been skeptical of her choice, but Chief Koh's endorsement of her convinced them to back Arzu's dream. The whole weight of the tribal leadership pinned their hopes and dreams on someone she had chosen. Meanwhile, conditions for her tribespeople got worse and worse. Every month, the Elders made sacrifices at her temple, hoping for an end to food shortages, and end to conscription, an end to the war. Spirits please, Arzu had prayed every night, let my interpretation of your dream be correct.

"Welcome back, Ismail." The greeting echoed in the circular Council Room, and seem to hang in the air. Ismail sat with both legs tucked under him. They were already beginning to numb. He felt tiny sitting on the richly mosaiced floor, which was about twenty-five feet in diameter. The mosaic depicted the twin dragons Ran and Shaw being locked in a harmonious, flowing dance with ringlets of fire emanating from their mouths, similar to the design on the hilt of Ismail's sword. He had to tilt his head up to see the seventeen red-robed figures of the Tribal Elders, seated in a large semi-circle some eight feet above him. In the center sat the Chief. They were learned but out-of-touch men and women-wise, but not in a way that was useful in modern times. They were not bad people by any means, but Ismail had grown weary of their tight-handed control over his life. The Elders he liked the most were the ones who had directly overseen his training. They did not know him as well as Uncle Sai or Naomi, the AI he had come to see as his best friend, but they knew his limitations, his strengths and weaknesses, and wants and wishes quite well.

Columns of sunlight, courtesy of large circular windows, streamed in between the seated individuals and beat down on Ismail.

"Your training is almost complete," Elder Zhang said in a demure, but subtly friendly tone.

For the first time my life, I wish it weren't Ismail ruminated bitterly.

"I know this will sound cliche," the Elder continued, stroking his trimmed white-speckled beard, "But… You should be very proud of yourself Ismail. You have almost mastered the Sword of the Dragons." His voice reverberated in the large, domed room. Several of the Elders nodded. Ismail fidgeted and shifted his legs uncomfortably. The sunlight was becoming unbearable for it seared into his skin.

Chief Koh leaned forwards, causing light to shine onto her wrinkled face under her hood. She drew a silent breath. "Ismail, we have had some discussions…" She paused to find the right words.

Yes? And?

Koh spoke up again. "We know you have some disagreements with your duty." She paused to lick her lips, then continued. "I just want to say that the tribe had to act, given the dire circumstances. The Fire Sages had no luck finding the next Avatar. They'd been looking ever since Korra died eleven years ago. Recently, we've received important news, which is why we've called you here. But back then, we could not afford to wait, so we prayed to our ancestors and to the Guardian Spirits for help. They were our only source of guidance. They chose you, Ismail."

"You're putting a lot of trust in the weird shaman lady's words," Ismail said. How are outdated superstitions supposed to save us? Ismail, a non-bender, had somehow been chosen as the Paladin of the Sun Warriors when he was six years old. The Paladin was considered to be the greatest fighter and journeyman of the Sun Warriors, meant to find threats to the tribe and defeat them, hence the name.

Chief Koh bowed her head. "This responsibility was unfairly forced upon you, and you have suffered for it. No child should have their future decided for them, even by our Guardians. But our ancestors and our Guardian Spirits would not lie to us. Still, I want you to know that we'd rather let the Avatar shoulder our burdens instead of you."

Gee, thanks. You can't seriously believe that in times of need, some ghosts are just going to parcel out prophecies and find a savior among the dwindling masses. Ismail opened his mouth unsteadily. "You took away my life" he said, looking at no one in particular.

Chief Hong, a middle-aged woman who had helped train him, spoke up. "You're right. We forced the burden of our tribe, and of the refugees, onto you. While children of your age were out playing and enjoying their lives, we forced you to learn how to fight and survive. We took away your choices, your freedom, your passions. No apology could make up for all of that, but…" Chief Hong paused. "We are sorry, Ismail."

Bullshit. "No use apologizing," Ismail murmured, "for what's already happened." Chief Hong opened her mouth to speak, but froze, unsure of what to say. "You are our sword and shield," she said quietly, "our last hope."

"I'm just one kid."

"You are not alone. We will always help you in any way we can."

Ismail did not respond; he had heard that statement thousands of times. He sighed, and touched the Sword of the Dragons slung across his back. Its spirit-vine grip was comfortingly firm to the touch.

"Anyways," Chief Koh said awkwardly, "as I said, the reason we called this meeting is because we have received important news. Two days ago, the Fire Sages received a sign at their temples." She paused, and looked at the Elders, right and left. The Elders silently nodded. The air was devoid of sound.

"The Avatar has returned, Ismail."

At the sound of those words, the air seemed to dry up and freeze. The Avatar… The Avatar. "The Avatar…" Ismail breathed. "No way." Ismail had grown up hearing the legendary exploits of Avatar Korra and Avatar Aang, how those keepers of balance had saved the world. Avatar Aang had defeated the Fire Lord, ended the Hundred Year War, and founded the United Republic. Avatar Korra had fended off numerous threats ranging from Dark Spirits, to Bloodbenders, to giant robots, and had opened the spirit portals. Her legacy was several decades of prosperity and harmony, both in the human realm and between humans and spirits.

"The Avatar's help is desperately needed here," one of the Elders said. "But we only have a vague idea as to where he is. Our contacts in the Fire Sages tell us there is a great deal of spiritual energy concentrated around Republic City. The White Lotus already has a presence there, but they have not found anything yet."

"So you want me to go to Republic City to find the Avatar?" Ismail asked.

Arzu remembered how her heart had skipped a beat when she heard the news. The Avatar might be in Republic City? It was hard enough trying to get to the Fire Nation's capital due to the ongoing chaos. Getting to Republic City would requires several months of preparations, such as finding a "travel guide" willing to illegally smuggle someone into the city. Then the challenge would be navigating the city itself. Republic City was a sprawling metropolis home to fourteen million souls and encompassing seven boroughs and multiple sub-levels. Trying to locate a very specific individual in such a massive space would be a gargantuan task. And our only resources for finding him are me, Ismail, and the Sages.

Guys, this is my first story. Constructive criticism is welcome! Feel free to leave a review. This is my first time posting here.

I just recently made some edits on the first paragraph, where Arzu is talking to the Elders. I have a second chapter in the works.

Edit: Formatting