PROLOGUE
Zuko tried to keep his attention on the stars. It was proving to be quite easy, since they were the only source of light besides his lantern in the darkness that had swallowed the abandoned battlefield. As he stared upward, Zuko inhaled sharply as if he was trying to absorb a little of their beauty. He soon regretted his descision; he had just inhaled the perfume of death. The unholy stench, Zuko realized, was not concentrated in one location, but all around him like a sickening embrace.
He raised his lantern and peered into the darkness before him. The sight of misshapen and dark figures lying in the clearing of land caused Zuko to take a step back; he had wandered into the area of the actual battle. Being in the presence of corpses that he had seen lithe, furious, and alive just less than a day ago shook him. Slowly, Zuko began to walk back in the direction from which he had come, until he stopped himself.
For the past few weeks, the Fire Lord had felt the compulsive need to retreat from his demanding position in search of solitude at least once a night. This, he explained to himself, was not a way of shying from his duties, but rather a way to reflect upon the past to find an answer for an almost uncertain future.
Nine years after the fall of Ozai and the end of the Sozin's War, rebel forces had gathered enough support and resources to make a strong resistence movement against the current government. Only after several months, the rebels, now called Ozai's Children, were successful in the organization and spread of anti-establishment propoganda. Recruiting supporters of the Fire Nation-dominance ideals, like rich noblemen reduced to poverty after Ozai's fall and racist country-folk, was an attainable goal for the determined, which Ozai's Children were beyond anything else.
Rebel attacks, at first, were feeble. Bands of unorganized and untrained fire benders had little chance against the seemingly untouchable Fire Nation forces. But as time passed, Ozai's Children went under great change. After conquering many rural provinces and villages, it was fair to say that the originally unimpressive resistance now had a little less than half of the country underneath their command.
The struggle had reached new heights today; the fraction of the Fire Lord's army that was stationed near a fairly large village had barely been able to defend their post from a surprise attack. The fighters that the Royal Army encountered today were unlike any rebel forces seen before: they were smart, cunning, and (worst of all) evolving.
Although the royal troops had been victorious and forced the latter to retreat, it was a sign of horrible and possibly impending change.
Zuko sat down on the rough earth and set his lantern beside him. He proceeded to, or rather attempted, to clear his mind as he placed himself in a meditative state. Slowly, he relaxed every muscle in his body as he observed the thoughts that came to him. Inhaling deeply despite the unpleasant aroma, he clenched his fists tightly, and only released when he felt the skin of his palm would burst along with his lungs. Zuko repeated his actions over and over, until they became as much a part of his consciousness as his heartbeat.
He sensed a disturbance. Was this a titanic revelation? No, it was a sound. An organic sound, which was not of his own creation. Waking himself from his state, Zuko picked up the lantern and hunted the area that lay before him. Was it an assassin, marking his target in the dark? Impossible: not even his own garrison knew about his midnight escapades. The sound came again, more noticable this time, probably because he had moved closer toward it.
The sound, now able to be more accurately analyzed, was something of a pained moan. Zuko's realization led him to closely inspect the bodies that lay around his feet as he walked amongst them.
The dim orange of the lantern illuminated the mangled edges of each body, making every corpse seem so much more grotesque. As he started on his second round of the battlefield, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Not hesitating, Zuko ran to the fallen person, knowing that whoever it was was still alive.
The soldier released yet another gasp of pain and made fruitless efforts to flip over onto their back. Careful not to hurt whoever lay before him, Zuko gently slid his hands underneath their torso, and turned them over. The figure responded with labored breathing, and slowly turned their face toward the lantern.
Zuko felt a strong tightening in his chest. She was a woman, twenty years at the most, and had the gentle appearance of one not tainted with experiences that would weather her youth.
Fresh blood was painted on her face and dark hair, as well as dripping down from a burn wound on her body she gripped with her hand. The majority of her clothing and armour was charred and still carried the scent of fire. She opened her eyes to face Zuko, but it seemed that she was not looking at him, but rather peering into something within him.
"Haotzin..." she mumbled softly. She struggled to move her hand from guarding her injury to Zuko. Too shocked for words, Zuko gently placed the palm of his hand on hers.
"Promise---don't--tell" she managed to whisper. Zuko gulped and nodded. He brought his other hand to tightly grip the one he had been holding. The girl began to cough and her whole body convulsed as if to forcibly remove all the air that was left in her.
"Where is Mama, Haotzin?" she breathed, blood trickling down her mouth. "I---need to see Mama."
Zuko's breath became shallow. The events in his life that he knew he had come to terms with were not well hidden. Her teary pleas for her mother were instuments slowly scratching at his own scar tissue.
"She's not here." he responded hoarsely. Using as little force as possible, Zuko pulled her so that her head and torso lay in his lap, almost as if he were cradling an overgrown child. Her arms struggled to circle around his waist and she buried her head into his abdomen. He felt the heat of tears and fresh blood absorbing into his clothes.
"I want to---want it to---stop" she murmured in a whisper, gasping for deliverance. "Ma--mama!----Mama!." Strange noises, that seemed like a combination of sobs and rattling, escaped from her lips.
Zuko placed a shaking hand on the back of her head and stroked it gently while pulling her closer. "It will stop."
After a length of time, he noticed that her grip on him had nearly dissolved, and the strained breathing had stopped. Zuko sat motionless for several minutes, but finally lifted her body off and placed her on the ground. His eyes did not search for signs of life, but rather an understanding of what had come.
He noticed that her clothing wore the sign of the Children of Ozai- a red circle surrounded by a ring of smaller circles. It struck him that it so resembled the sun, the true source of firebending and life, despite the fact that the last hundred years of royalty had never ceased in their efforts to sully the true origins of the ancient art.
But Zuko did not entertain these notions long, for it was not the sun he was concerned with; it was the stars. The stars, in all their omniscient beauty, lay far ahead him in the heavens. The stars had also existed with him, for a pair of them belonged to the body that lay before him, seemingly encased in the face of an unknown soldier.
The black, lifeless stars were so different from the pale orbs that hung in the sky, but he could feel the distance from both. A distance he shamefully, yet desperately wished that he could attain.
This is a story I just developed, so many sorries if it seems a little..meh. In case the ending is confusing, let me attempt to explain it:
The last few ideas indicates the connections that everything in existence shares, and the desire we all feel (especially Zuko) to detach from our tiresome, earthly obligations. I hope I can maintain these thoughts as recurring themes in future chapters.
