It was said that you only had to look into someone's eyes to know which of the four nations they were from. This wasn't always true, at least for the casual observer. But for those who knew what to look for, who could truly see, it was.


The people of the Water Tribes had blue eyes. Blue like the ocean, blue like rivers and streams, blue like the night sky with the moon. Even the members of the Foggy Swamp tribe had blue eyes, though their eyes were not the blue of the clear polar water like members of the Northern and Southern tribesmen, but rather the mirky blue of the swamp.

There was one girl of the Southern Water Tribe, with eyes that embodied water. In a world ravaged by fire, people had forgotten the power of water. But a glance into her eyes and people remembered rainstorms, waves, and tsunamis. People who scoffed at the rumor of waterbenders who bent the very blood within a person looked into her eyes and realized with a shudder that it was true.

Her brother's eyes were no less blue, but it lacked the raw power of his sister's. People saw his eyes and dismissed him as a nonbender, as weak. They saw no bending and did not see that while he had no control over the element, he was water. His noise, the babbling of a stream, disguised the insidious trickle of his cunning. Water is crashing power, but it is also subtle and clever power.


The eyes of the people of the Earth Kingdom were diverse, like them. The warm green of the grass, the cool green of crystal, brown like earth, or black like a stone. No matter the color, the eyes were unwavering and determined.

The island warrior girl's eyes were black-grey, calm as a rock. She held no sway over the earth, but she refused to let that stop her, proving her affinity to it. She wore the robes of a warrior, childhood long gone. She strained but refused to crack or buckle under the weight of her leadership.

The daughter of a wealthy family, another girl wondered what eyes looked like, what colors looked like. Her own were clouded over, whatever color she would have had unknown, covered by blindness. The unresponsive eyes were perceived as a weakness, but she refused to accept that. She reached into the earth, waited and listened, and told it in no uncertain terms that it would obey her commands. She stopped her bare feet on the earth, shifting rock and feeling all.


Fire Nation eyes were deeply entrenched in the lore of their land. Some had eyes of coals, flames lurking. Others had warm red-brown, reminiscent of burning wood. And a rare few had eyes of gold. Gold was the color of royalty and eyes of that color indicated royal blood, descendants of Agni's chosen. No matter the color, all radiated power.

The Fire Lord's eyes had gold, though not purely. Some, in the secret corners of the land, whispered that the royal line had become tainted, had lost Agni's blessing. The even braver said that the royals had not had pure golden eyes since after Sozin and the beginning of the war. Stories circulated of an Agni Kai, where the Fire Lord put a flaming hand to his own child's face, and dissent grew. Few had ever looked at the power and destruction in those eyes and said ,"No."

The Fire Princess's eyes mixed gold and brown, just like in her father's eyes. It was carefully balanced, controlled to keep from chaos. Despite this, they shone brilliantly, in all senses of the word, the bright color contrasting with her pale, unmarked skin, and clashing with her blue fire, the discord between the two almost making sense.

When people looked at the Crown Prince's eyes, they rarely looked at the eyes themselves. They looked at the red scar covering the left eye, reaching up to his hairline and over his entire ear. But some looked beyond, beyond the scar to the pure gold eyes. They thought of a war meeting, of a general who wanted to use young soldiersーchildrenーas bait. Of a thirteen-year-old prince who said no to the needless slaughter, who spoke out of turn in defense of his people. Of an Agni Kai, where a son refused to fight his father, of a father and ruler who scarred a fiery handprint into his son's face forever. They thought of their little prince, with warm golden eyes of power and love for his people, and thought that maybe Agni had blessed the royals once again, had given them one worthy of ruling.


The eyes of the Air Nomads were black. Some said they looked like the night sky, the sky of winds, and storms. Like the wind, they were free. Their eyes looked wise, detached from the world. Some said that they took the detachment too far, that when you looked in the eyes of some nomads, most often the monks, they looked more like glass marbels than living eyes, removed from all around them. Then a comet streamed across the sky and with screams and burning, the Air Nomads disappeared.

A hundred years later, a young boy looked at the world with Air Nomad eyes, eyes that held the best of the extinct people. His young black eyes were wise, free and frolicky, detached from petty squabbles of the world without being apathetic to suffering. And despite having eyes that were so Air Nomad, his eyes held oceanic depth, stony determination, and fiery life. Before the massacre, Air Nomad monks of the Southern Air Temple wondered how they had not seen it. How they had not seen that the boy who so clearly united the four people in himself, was the Avatar.