Jet leapt for the trees and hooked his hand on a branch, swinging against and over it to vault himself higher into the canopy and away from the people chasing him.
"Get back here thief!" screamed one of them.
Air whistled behind him. Jet kicked against the nearest branch and shot away from where a boulder flew through but the sack tied against his back snagged, ripping open and out poured ill-gotten grain. Food that could have fed his little band of orphans for the rest of the day.
"Damned pest!"
More rocks sailed past, all of them dodged by a hair's breadth. Jet beathed in gasps between leaps and jumps and continued his escape. The sooner he got away the sooner he could fix the hole bleeding precious food. Earth benders were more difficult to lose in the forests since they couldn't set anything on fire. It was a good thing fire benders could only pursue him as far as their cities' walls. Fire benders were working together with what he used to believe were his people.
They were all traitors and murderers.
Jet pulled himself higher and higher into the canopy where rocks could no longer reach and the chaos of the dense foliage hid him from sight. He stopped on a high up branch and steadied his frantic breathing. Rocks crashed uselessly against the innocent forest, shaking his feet. His foothold held strong.
"It's only a matter of time until we get you." One of them spat.
Jet snuck a peak and saw the greedy pigs start walking back. What was it for these greedy pigs to lose a sack or two of rice? They didn't need all of that when there were so many going hungry around them. The Fire Nation was a plague against the world. Whatever they preached about peace was a lie built on mountains of bodies and lakes of blood. If he had a bow, he would have shot at them. And if he were any good, he would have killed at least one.
But the old man told him how killing was bad, not because it was wrong—but because it made him a target. As long as he hurt no one, then he would remain a thief. But the moment he killed, he would cease to be a man and become a mindless beast. His vengeance could not be enacted if he were hunted and dead.
Satisfied of his safety, Jet set down the sack from his back. There was a long gash through its length, and more than half was lost. He would need to go out more before the sun set. The older kids could hold out but the younger ones would not. He could cut his losses if it came down to it. But he needed people behind him if he wanted to make a difference.
Jet tied the sack to a knot made his way to their hideout.
He arrived to a circle of children huddling around a fire inside of a cave. It kept the rain away from them and the light hidden from view. They couldn't cut down any trees since they had no tools. They couldn't build any houses since they didn't know how. They could hunt, but the meat was too tough. They could forage, but they'd already lost two to poison. The old man only taught him enough to survive, not to keep others alive.
At best the few earth bender children he'd picked up could move some dirt and rocks, but not enough to make shelter with. The water benders could draw water, but they had to learn on their own that they couldn't always drink water they just found. They'd already lost so much, what was a few more.
Jet passed the sack to one of the older kids, a scruffy girl, who barked orders the moment it passed her hands as other kids took the food and set it by their little stockpile and over to the one pot they had.
"It's not enough," she said.
It never was. "I just need to catch my breath."
"Take us with you."
Jet knew he needed help. But he also knew they were dead weight for now. The old man told him only those who were not afraid could go with him when he went to steal. And that only those who were willing to kill should fight.
"Not yet," he said. They weren't ready.
"We need more food," the girl said. "I can help, Jet."
She wasn't ready, but he would lose more than he gained if he kept going like this.
He went out soon after once meals were passed around to the other children. Food used to move from the colonies further inland where they fed the moving Fire Nation armies. Food that could be raided by the Earth Armies and later he could scrounge from. But now those sources ran dry and he was forced to make his way to the independent villages. To the ones not protected by the Fire Nation. To the ones we broke away from both Earth and Fire to become their own, something new. Something weak.
Jet couldn't take from his real enemies, but they were just as guilty.
He took to the trees while she stayed on the ground, running. He watched for danger. She caught her breath. They travelled together with her lagging behind and dragging him down just as he expected. He couldn't leave her and escape on his own if it came to that. She was more valuable alive and keeping the others alive than dead. He needed her to be more useful. The old man taught him how to make people useful.
He dropped down to the trees in front of her.
"Did you see anything?" she said.
"No."
"We should be near the next settlement soon," she said between panting breaths. She was not yet useful. Because she was still afraid. She did not believe enough in anything, not in his vengeance or in anything when she'd left wherever she used to be and found him. She was only here because she had nowhere else to go. He needed to change that for her to be useful.
Jet drew his knife.
"I can't use you right now," he said.
She saw his short blade, eyes wide open. She took a step back and put her arms in front of her. "Are you going to hurt me?"
"If I must." The old man taught him that fear must be conquered for people to be useful to him.
"Why?" she asked, brows knotting together. Trembling.
"Because you are weak." He took a stance.
She grit her teeth and growled. "I am not weak."
The true path of vengeance knew to bow to the wind when it raged. It was firm only when it was time to be so.
He lunged towards her, with his blade held far back behind him, with eyes dead set on hers. Fear was the mind killer. It was the hand that shielded the eyes from the truth. It was the sudden steps back from a destiny for the taking. It was the thousand deaths before the one true death that only mattered.
Jet demanded the person in front of him declare who she was.
The girl punched with tear-stained cheeks clenched in anger, her eyes burning with pure honest rage.
Her fist cracked against his cheek.
He stopped and jumped back.
She cradled her hand against her chest. She did not know how to throw a punch. That could be fixed.
"I'm not weak," she spat.
"What is your name?"
The old man never gave his name. But Jet had learned on the last day that he was a fire bender. 'You can come kill me when you are ready, but you better make sure you succeed.' He knew he only had one chance to show his master how far he'd come. His vengeance would not let him settle on anything less than complete victory. There was no shame in taking what the enemy gave him willingly, but there was in failing both his master's expectations and his own.
Jet promised himself all those years ago when he took his first life that it would not be his last.
"Mitsu," she said, still in tears.
He passed her his knife, and took to the trees with one great leap, power filling his legs as he drew on the strength of his spirit. In the way his master had shown him.
She followed him up, landing awkwardly at a too thin branch. He caught her hand and pulled him to a safer foothold.
"Now you are no longer weak."
And he was no longer alone.