Chapter 4:

For the next half hour that followed, food was shoveled with a sad attempt at politeness into the boy's mouth with distinct, hungry gusto, and the tea and water which had been served in crafted red ceramic cups had been guzzled immediately. Kiku, from across the dining table, giggled in apparent amusement at the spectacle as her mother shot her warning glares that silenced her as quickly as the boy's tea vanished. Then the five-year-old child nibbled on slices of mango as she watched the boy eat. The room was devoid of conversation; only the sounds of chopsticks tapping together, wooden spoons scraping the bottom of stew bowls, and tea being sipped remained.

The meal neared its conclusion, and Aoi finally said, "Does Yumi know you're gone, Aang?" The boy's response consisted of shoulders lifting in an indifferent shrug as his lean form lounged back, for he still knew nothing about Nikkou. From what the boy had observed during the short hours he had been in Nikkou, both hostility and friendship remained absent from the people he had encountered, save for Aoi and Kiku. "I suppose she would be searching for you and Kiku," Aoi said as she leaned forward toward the candle in the center of the table and pursed her lips to blow it out.

Kiku lunged forward and flung out an arm to stop her mother. "Wait! Can I do it?" she asked excitedly, and Aoi nodded with a smile. "Watch this, Aang." Kiku's arms flew up and were withdrawn in an odd movement that the boy recognized as a Lightbending technique as the girl puffed out her breath to blow out the candle. There was an exaggerated pause before she broke into a fit of jubilant laughter and announced with glee, "I'm a Lightbender!" Soon the dining room filled with laughter as Aoi and the boy joined in. The joyful din concealed a rap on the door.

A firmer knock on the main door silenced their howls to dispersed chortles, and heads turned as eyes scanned through the main room at the front door.

Now, an angered fist pounded on the front door.

Silence fell upon the homes interior, and curious glances were exchanged around the dining table.

The angered fist pounded again on the door, and shouts sounded from the ally. "Grant the Light Elites entrance!" an authoritative feminine voice shouted from the steps.

Aoi's eyes widened and the boy heard her whisper in awe and fear, "The Light Elites!" Slowly, she rose to go to the door. Her hand waved at the two children. "Stay seated," she whispered, "I'll find out what business they have here."

As if the people on the other side of the solid wooden door had heard, the woman's voice continued and said, "Jurou wishes to speak with Avatar Aang! Open up if you do not wish havoc upon your home!"

The boy's heart nearly skipped a beat at the calling of his proper label: Avatar. He knocked his chair to the stone floor, leaping to his feet in a panic. Simultaneously, a strong kick snapped the door's lock, and the door flung open with a bang. Nearly a dozen warriors, both men and woman clad in yellow uniforms, surged into the room, the torrent of a flood. Aoi and Kiko scrambled back, wide-eyed and astonished, staring at the boy as if seeing him for the first time. They had not known his true identity. The boy readied an Airbending stance, and the warriors surrounded him in a preplanned circle around the room, dutifully heedless of the family huddled together in the corner. A young woman stepped forward, stabbing blue eyes focused on the Avatar, merely a boy longing and searching for a normal childhood that was now simply fantasy. "Surrender yourself; you are no match for us, but we have no intentions of bringing harm to you. Nikkou's leader Jurou demands that we take you to him," she said in a stern, yet steady voice.

The boy hardly flinched, and responded icily, "No, you let me see my friends now!" The warriors inched closer when they saw that the Avatar would not back down. Such force in the first place would have been unnecessary, but this ridiculous entrance tipped the boy over the edge. If they could not trust him, he would not trust them.

"Step down," the woman said again, "and we will have no reason to harm you."

The boy had heard this threat too many times in his life to take it seriously, but the boy's amusement from the woman's threat was pushed away quickly by the situation surrounding him, masked as warriors. Instead, anger slithered through his veins, vanquishing the amusement and joke in this particular circumstance. Without another moment's hesitation, the boy dropped low the floor and swung a leg in a low kick, and wind was summoned from the room. The power rushed in a current and slammed into the warriors who were thrown brutally off their feet. As soon as the attack completed itself, the boy blinked and opened his eyes to velvety blackness. Astounded, he stepped forward. His foot came in contact with what must have been a chair leg, and he stumbled blindly forward. His arms flung out to catch his fall before landing on Aoi's shattered ceramic dishes, a shard now perforating through his right wrist. An anguished howl echoed through the room before his arms were seized by violent hands, and his head was pressed into a wall. Colors swirled behind his eyes. He could see again and suddenly became aware of warm blood seeping from his wrist down to his numbing fingertips where it dribbled as dark ooze to Aoi's floor.

A man held him tightly. The woman entered the boy's sight. "Arata, release him! He's injured." The man stepped away from the boy. Knowing he had already lost, the boy ceased attacking and sunk to his knees, air rushing through clenched teeth in a pain hiss as he gripped with a trembling hand his bloodied arm. The authoritative woman rushed to his side and took hold of his wrist with a firm grip. With her other hand, she gripped the triangular, ceramic shard boring through his wrist and piercing through to the back of the joint. "Close your eyes," she ordered, and the boy quickly obliged. With one, hasty movement, the woman jerked the shard from his wrist, and the boy bit his cheek to prevent himself from screaming out. Blood gushed freely, oozing as a warm liquid to a dark puddle on the floor, and the woman tore stripes from the bottom of her white, cotton undershirt, tying them tightly around his wrist. As she worked, she hissed, "Aang, Jurou will not be happy about this, but if he wants to speak with you, a sliced wrist will not stop him. You understand?" The blood was scrubbed harshly off of his other hand by remaining stripes of cloth. The woman took his hand and pressed it over the bandaged wound, and said, "Put pressure here, and don't stop or it will continue bleeding. We're taking you to Jurou."

Author's Note: I give thanks to TTAvatarFan for the nice review. I accept any type of review, even Flames, so please don't be afraid to share your thoughts on the story.