A/N: Hi again. Reviews would be divine :D

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender. It belongs to Bryke & crew

I am nameless. Whatever my name had been before, it is long forgotten. It didn't disappear in a flash of flame; instead, it faded over time, like a slow burning ember eating through my mind. And one day, when I woke up, it had floated away like cinders on the breeze. That scared me, more than I let on, because my name had been power. It got things done. It was going to take me places, my father always told me.

I guess I'm not going anywhere now.

-x-

Every moment of the day they stole my name has been branded into my memory. I can't even forget a single detail. Believe me, I've tried. But it won't happen. When your entire life changes, you remember that. Always. It'll drive you to the spirit's-damned edge, but it won't ever leave you alone.

The sun beat down on the fields, glared off the white marble walls of our home. Everyone had retreated into the cool shade, sipping fresh fruit drinks and complaining about the heat. The local wise man predicted it would only get worse. If only he knew how right he was.

-x-

Word came from some kids in the woods that a company of firebenders was headed towards the village. The kids tried to look tough and brave; they were earthbenders after all. But they were scared out of their minds. They still chose to join the other benders in town that were preparing to fight.

I looked on from the attic window. My parents and two sisters sat across the room, not wanting to watch the carnage that was sure to ensue. But I was young boy; death wasn't real to me yet, wasn't an actual possibility. I had absolutely no fears for my three older brothers that had joined the line of earthbenders readying themselves for the battle. In fact, I practically begged my father to let me join my brothers. I wouldn't even be near the soldiers; I could simply perch on a rooftop and target the firebenders from there. But he told me no, that I'd only get in the way, that I wasn't old enough to fight yet. So I stood at the window, muttering to myself that "parents are a pain."

I regret that with every part of my being.

-x-

When the soldiers arrived, it was no secret; no, it was a loud, messy affair. The earthbending "warriors" were scattered in an instant. The soldiers broke everything about them: their defensive positions, their resolve, their bodies. Every blast of flame they sent seemed to suck more and more water from the cracked earth, until every living thing was burned to a crisp, until the very dirt seemed to scream for any drop of moisture it could possibly drink up. It settled on the blood of the villagers, the very people who had trusted it to provide for them.

Seemed like you couldn't trust anything those days, not even the ground you stood on.

-x-

Behind me, my father was pacing, pausing every few steps to curse the Fire Nation. My mother gathered my sisters to her side and told them stories, her voice climbing quickly from a whisper to a near shout as she tried in vain to mask the screams of dying, burning people. And I stood with my eyes glued to the glass, unable to tear myself away from the slaughter. I could still see my brothers' crisp green and yellow clothing, covered in a fine layer of dust and spattered with minute drops of blood. But they were still moving, still fighting, so it would be okay. It had to be okay.

-x-

The men in crimson armor seemed to pour through the village gate like a wave without end. They held in their hands fire and steel, both being wielded with deadly accuracy. The young woman that worked for the seamstress fell with the slim blade of a spear pressed between her ribs, and the skull of one of the farmers that worked in our gardens was bashed in with revolting ease with a spiked club. Bodies clothed in green littered the ground, limbs tangled and life slipping away with every drop of blood that wet the ground.

It was starting to dawn on me then that we were losing.

-x-

A strangled cry filled the tiny room. I think it came from me. One minute, I saw my brothers standing with their backs to each other, surrounded by a ring of soldiers. With sharp movements, they eliminated one opponent after another. It looked easy. But then more soldiers appeared. Every time one fell, two more took his place. My brothers kept fighting; they would never give up without a fight. They were noble, in more ways than one.

That didn't really matter when a bloodthirsty torrent of flames burned them alive.

-x-

Something inside me snapped, like a coil wound too tight. I snatched up my quiver and bow, ignoring my father's bellows of rage and my mother's screams of anguish. Scrambling onto the roof, I nocked an arrow and let it fly straight into the fray. I did it over and over again until my fingers were raw and bleeding. But I didn't stop. Not when the bastards that murdered my brothers were still alive.

I didn't even hear them break into our house.

-x-

A shriek and a rush of sound like a gust of wind. I spun around, nearly falling off the jade-colored tiles. An orange glow filled the attic room, pulsing and throbbing like my own terrified heart. I realized then that the only explanation as to why fire was so evil was that it was alive. It moved, and destroyed, and needed air to live, just like the people who created it.

I gave my fiercest battle cry and ran across the roof, intending to jump through the windows and save my family, like the hero I thought I was. Instead, a soldier saw me coming. He punched into the air, releasing a jet of flame. I tried to duck, but I lost my footing. The clay roof tiles were already hot enough from the sun, and the soldier's fire just made it worse. My forearms blistered and burned when I desperately tried to gain purchase on the smooth tiles. It was too much.

I fell to the ground, blacking out when my head hit the wall.

-x-

Trapped. Stuck between three narrow walls that made a tiny alcove, and a shrub. It was dusk. My face was sticky with half-dried blood, and my arms were red and swollen. Faint tendrils of smoke were rising from something in the middle of the garden. A pile. A pile of bodies, charred, but not beyond recognition. The gardeners, the cook, the servants.

Above me, smoke drifted lazily from the attic. I didn't need to go into the room to see what was there- what was left. My mother, my father, my sisters.

My body convulsed, stomach heaving until I retched. I was sick until I passed out again, covered in vomit and ash and blood. And guilt.

-x-

It was dawn when I came around again. I forced myself up, closing my eyes against the death in the garden. The dried blood and puke crackled on my clothes when I tried to climb over the shrub. I just fell, letting the ground support me. But it smelled smoky, not earthy and fresh the way it should. I pushed away from it as fast as I could, tripping over my shoes. I ran frantically out of the courtyard, moving with my hands in front of me like a blind person.

Once I passed the gates, I saw them. The bodies of the people I knew, loved. The little boy that had been my second in command throughout every mock battle we had staged. My best friend. The little girl whose pigtails I pulled, but only because she was the only girl around here that didn't have cooties. My first crush. The old man that once gave me a cookie straight from the bakery's oven with a wink and a smile. Gone.

I kept running.

-x-

On the opposite side of our house, against the large stone wall, were my bow and quiver. Most of the arrows were gone or broken, but that didn't matter; they were easy to make. I was most worried about my bow, my prized possession. I gave the string an experimental tug, and it sprang back into place perfectly. I breathed a sigh of relief, a small smile on my lips.

Then I felt guilty. What was I doing smiling when everyone in the village was dead? I dropped to my knees, my vision blurring. Soon I was hysterical, sobs wracking my whole body, feral cries tearing from my lips.

-x-

I must have lay there for hours, because the next thing I remember, it was bright. The sun shone down on the village, hot and dazzling, like nothing happened. I sat up, rubbing my sandy eyes. My arms ached with every beat of my heart; the burns were bad. I ripped my fine tunic into strips, wrapping the wounds as best as I could. Then I lifted my head, gazing up and out at the village center. I had foolishly thought things would be better in daylight.

I was dead wrong.

-x-

At night, the villager's remains had been indistinct lumps. Under the harsh glare of the sun, there was nothing "indistinct" about them. I could see every gash, every burn, every drop of blood on their bodies. They were pale facsimiles of themselves, lifeless and still wearing the expressions of terror and pain they had died with.

I stood, gathering my quiver and bow in my arms. I backed away as slowly as I could, as if I were afraid to wake them. Silly me, you can never wake them. You can never have them back. They belong to the spirits now.

I turned and ran out of the village, into the woods. I ran until my lungs burned for air and my legs could barely hold me up. I collapsed in a heap, vision going fuzzy around the edges. Dusk was falling again, and idly, I realized I hadn't eaten in nearly a day.

-x-

Very little time had passed when I saw the person walking towards me. It was a boy, perhaps a little older than me. His skin was tanned, and his hair was an unruly mess. I remember grinning deliriously, wondering who in the name of the spirits had hair that looked like a wild boar-q-pine. But I didn't question it. I was just glad I wasn't alone anymore.

-x-

Years have passed since I met the boy who called himself Jet. I joined his Freedom Fighters, and we've been taking out Fire Nation troops ever since.

He was the one who gave me the name "Longshot" after watching me practice archery. I didn't approve. That stupid name doesn't tell you a single thing about me other than I'm good at shooting. And I am, but that's not the point. The point is I've lost my identity. I was a member of one of the richest and oldest aristocratic families in the western Earth Kingdom. The name "Longshot" doesn't do me any justice.

But that's the past. The family doesn't exist anymore, outside of me, and I don't even remember my name. Anyway, there are more things to worry about than a silly nickname, so I don't complain. In fact, I rarely speak at all. But in any case, why would I? What is there to say when your entire life has been stolen from you?

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. I was thinking of writing more of these stories about the other members of the FF. Any suggestions? And I hope you like the title change. It's kind of a play on words. Heh.