"The harvest has past; the summer has ended, and we are not saved." (Jeremiah 8:20)
I was a child when I truly glimpsed war for the first time. I was ill prepared for the brutality of it, and am plagued still by the memories of my village aflame. My story is like that of countless others, but unlike the majority, I immersed myself in the war.
At fourteen, I believed myself to be a woman. Little did I know what a child I was. Foolish and naïve, I journeyed with the avatar about the world. And despite all the atrocities that I witnessed, I still believed that every human was innately good; that everyone deserved a second chance.
We escaped from the clutches of the Fire Nation more times than I can count. Then, I had believed it to be a product of our skill. Now, I realized that it was sheer luck. We were children, after all, and those that sought us were seasoned generals.
In my idealism, I had believed that we would win the war with the same ease that we won the insignificant skirmishes we partook in. I believed that the banished prince of the Fire Nation would remain our ally, and give us the aid we needed to kill his father. How wrong I was.
The day of the Black Sun dawned far too quickly, and by noon I realized the truth: it was a massacre. Suki was the first to fall, followed shortly by my grieving brother. Toph lasted until the late afternoon, but she couldn't sense the bombs dropped from the air. I had been witness to each of their deaths. Aang, Zuko and I made it to Ozai's throne room, determined to avenge the deaths of our family members.
Zuko betrayed us. I had trusted him, loved him even, and he handed us over to his father on a silver platter. The hands that had held me so close several hours before shot a lightning bolt at the avatar. Aang hadn't seen it coming; he died instantly.
Childishly, I had always believed that love was eternal, that good would triumph over evil. That day, I was forced to face the truth. My beliefs were the foolish ones of a little girl.
The war was over, and we were not saved.