Shyu (1x08; Avatar Roku: Winter Solstice Pt. 2)

Shyu's grandfather knew dragons.

He said they were majestic beasts who filled the skies with color, their scales like miniature sunsets. Shyu, of course, had never seen dragons, so he listened to these stories with the same kind of awe that most four-year-olds felt in the presence of their grandfathers' tales. As the old man spoke, his gray mottled eyebrows jostling over deep-set eyes, his hands would glide through the air, bringing the ancient creatures back to life in the shadows on the wall.

To Shyu, his grandfather was a dragon. Big-chested, deep-voiced, and exuding wisdom from every scar and crevice that marred his tanned face. When he wore the robes of the Fire Sage, he seemed to be engulfed in flames, and Shyu watched in hushed admiration as he directed grand ceremonies on the Crescent Isle to honor their great nation.

But his grandfather's tales always ended in a tragic tone, his voice falling slightly as he reached the conclusion of his story. Where were the dragons now, he'd ask, and Shyu would shake his seven-year-old head in worried anticipation. Gone, he'd then say, his great and proud shoulders heaving with a rumbled sigh. Taken from this world because of their majesty—because of their ferocity. The dragons were too magnificent for this world, and those who were less magnificent had felt compelled to hunt them—dominate them, control them as if it would in turn give them value. But it held no value to steal the dragons away. It simply made the skies less colorful.

And Shyu watched as his grandfather lost color. He faded with the years, the glaring gold of his deep-set eyes tarnishing to a dull bronze. The glorious crimson of his Fire Sage robes burned out to a feeble red, and his proud shoulders sunk with the weight of his worries. Just like the dragons, he dwindled away, until the last bright spark which had kept his heart so strong for so many decades flickered…then died.

As a fourteen-year-old boy, Shyu watched his father—now standing where his grandfather once stood—lead the funerary rites. He saw his father, a Fire Sage of great esteem and even greater merit, set the body of the Last Dragon aflame. For the rest of the night, they held vigil, and sang as the ash floated toward the stars.

His father didn't believe in such animals, for he had never seen them. Instead, he would tell Shyu about another, even more mythical being—the Avatar. He would talk softly as they rushed through the halls of the Crescent Isle Temple, only forcing Shyu to pause before the imposing doors that led to Roku's sanctuary.

"Remember who you serve," he would say quietly, and Shyu wanted to protest that he remembered none of this. These were the memories of others, passed down to him as stories. But then the memory of his grandfather would flash before his eyes, and he knew that even fantastic myths held a kernel of truth. Surely, someone as incredible as this Avatar Roku had lived, because someone as incredible as his grandfather had lived, too.

His father passed, as well, with a little less fanfare and a little less prestige. Shyu followed in his footsteps, taking upon himself the burden of doing Roku's will—of continuing the memory that he never really had. He would wait upon the return of the Avatar, as well as the return of peace, though he'd never known either. For, as Shyu reasoned, no one remembered the passing of the dragons. But maybe—just maybe—they'd eventually see their return.

And there his grandfather's story would truly end.