Danev
How the set of armor fit as well as it did, I couldn't really say. When I'd seen soldiers wearing them over the years, I'd always thought them great beasts of men inside those suits. Even when, over the last few months of training, I'd seen soldiers outside of their uniforms wander around the base, I thought perhaps that something might change with their base biology to turn them into hulking brutes once the armor was equipped. It sure as hell had felt that way when I'd made the mistake of trying to fight one.
Now though, wearing the black and red chestplate, the shoulder guards, leggings, and helmet most of all, I felt no different inside. I hadn't undergone some grand transformation and become a behemoth. I felt the exact same, at least physically. It was almost as though I wasn't wearing it with how little difference I felt.
That wasn't what made the difference. What did, on the other hand, was where I found myself standing, facing a crowd of a few thousand street rats, before palisades designed to ensure they made not a single step further. I knew precisely where I was as I'd been here dozens of times before, only one the other side. It was the inner city's main courtyard, a point of gathering for inner city and outer city residents alike for occasions such as markets, recruitment drives, or, in the case such as it was today, an execution.
It was the only time that inner city residents and slumdogs alike were in the same place at the same time, even if separated by a line of concrete and iron barricades and armed soldiers, one of which I now was.
I could see a mix of expressions in the crowd, some I more than recognized from my own childhood. There was resentment, held mostly by the older generations, too long to be sent off to war, but not yet old enough to lay down and die. There was awe in the eyes of some children who perhaps had caught wind of who may be inside of these uniforms, wondering perhaps if that might be them someday.
For the majority however, it was boredom, waiting for the festivities to begin so they could get their fill of bloodshed before going back home to the hovels that they called home. From time to time, it was still hard to wrap my head around the fact that only a little over three months ago, it would have been me in the crowd of faces I now watched over, ensuring none would make the ill-fated effort to pass over to the other side.
A part of me was half-tempted to let them cross. I knew a good deal of other soldiers beside me as well were considering the same, but strangely enough, what kept us in place wasn't a fear of the officers who'd been barking orders at us a little less than half an hour ago for us to get our uniforms on, but almost a strange defensiveness of a world we were becoming more acclimated to with each passing day. If the time within these inner walls had taught us one thing, it was that as it got in here, not needing to worry about a meal, a roof over our heads, or contracting a disease with every morsel of water we drank was rather nice.
The last few months had done the trick, and though some questions still lingered about whether it was loyalty of self-service, one way or another, we were Fire Nation.
The uniform and armor wasn't all that was new about my kit. So too for the first time in my life was I wielding proper Fire Nation steel, far from the rusty iron mediocrity they'd given to us Hornets to wage war on the streets with. As the cut on my thumb indicated from having nicked it on the tip while testing the sharpness, this was real. This was a proper weapon. They'd put the chance to kill in our hands. I was unsure if it was trust, or a test, or perhaps both, but one way or another, I didn't plan on slipping up here. Not now.
Instead, I did my job, pushed back a few wandering slumdogs from time to time with the hilt of my spear, and waited for the ceremonies to begin. Those on death row hadn't yet been brought forth to the gallows, but soon enough, as indicated by the call for attention from the stands, given by Lieutenant Zarrow, the time came. Though my focus, as security, was meant to be on the crowd in front of me, I couldn't help but turn my head for the shortest of moments to glance at the scene. It'd been a long while since I'd had the opportunity to see one of these–held by the Fire Nation at least. The last there'd been had been just around a year ago, and I'd used the opportunity to get the jump on Fluke rather than actually see the thing.
I'd heard it'd been a disappointment. I suppose I hadn't missed much, but this, I could see them now. Two Earth Kingdom soldiers. They were escorted by more soldiers in similar attire to me, but with one key difference–their skull facemarks. They were firebenders. Fluke is in there, I knew, the firebenders of the 29th division having been diverted to the special guard unit for the earth kingdom prisoners–the enemy.
Though they'd been the enemy for a long while, I considered. Acting behind the scenes to help the Rats. Still, it was not quite the same as fighting them directly, not like we would be in only a few months' time. There'd been talk that we might deploy earlier than the end of Autumn so as to ensure we arrived before Winter came, which would inevitably slow down our march. There was no clear sense yet of when this would be, but we could feel the anticipation slowly building as the weeks went by. Talk began shifting from going back to the streets and using our skills learned here to dominate, and more towards what we would see on the frontlines, and how we would fare against the "real enemy."
It was spoken with the same enthusiasm too, excitement shifting from tales of survival on behalf of our new skills to those of honor and glory. Even I, from time to time, would catch myself thinking of it, but still, the same concern remained of just what would happen to us out there. I didn't quite share the same excitement of those around me. I had no idea what war was, but I'd seen enough people disappear from the slums never to come back to assume it was anything good. I could have told myself they'd won honor and glory on the battlefield and had since found places in the Fire Nation's high society, but still, I had my concerns, though even I had to admit that things were looking better for us than they had before.
I could hardly believe it when I'd heard that Fluke had bent fire. It'd been two weeks ago, but it still didn't seem real that not only had he done so, but put Match into a state of indefinite recovery that he still hadn't come out of, confined to the medical ward for the foreseeable future. I'd only caught wind of it through those others who'd been in the training room when it'd happened as I couldn't get anything from Fluke directly, held there after it'd all happened, myself unsure if it was to be reprimanded or praised, though I assumed the latter.
On the verge of being killed in some bullshit Fire Nation "agni kai," and he'd turned the tables, and nearly killed Match.
The barracks had gone quiet when he came back that night. Whispers echoed across the walls of it as he'd walked through and taken his seat as though nothing had happened, perhaps not even believing it himself. When I'd tried to ask him what'd happened, he'd only responded with a cryptic, "I won."
If the other Hornets hadn't already been drifting away from Match beforehand, ever since we'd stuck our necks out for them to not rat them out after they'd beat us in the middle of the night, the process was complete now. There was still some residual almost apologetic hesitation in the way the remaining Rats addressed Fluke and I now. Well, at least with me. With Fluke, it seemed in part at first that they were almost afraid of him, weeks ago though that business with Match had been.
Still, anything was better than being their prime target. Now, we had our hatred reserved for others–our direct officers, and of course, as were on the stands now, the "enemy."
"People of Citadel!" the officer proclaimed, initiating the happenings in similar a fashion to as he'd done every time before. And as with every time before as well, there was silence. If there was one thing that could ever reliably shut the people of the slums up, it was a fear of missing out on the only real entertainment this city had ever offered. I looked over that precise audience now; they all seemed so much younger, but I suppose it made sense when the Fire Nation had put a deliberate effort in pulling everybody of combat-ready age from there, leaving behind only those who had yet to reach those ages. I saw groups of kids sticking together–gangs, new, already formed. It was completely unsurprising. Same game, different players. That was the way of Citadel.
I couldn't help but wonder now how many would make it to next Winter, much less through. One thing was clear to me in that moment however–I'm glad to be out.
But what I'd chosen as an alternative, who could know?
"Today!" Captain Zar'un resumed. "We bring before you two agents of the Earth Kingdom. Some of you in the crowd may recognize them!" It was clear he was referring to those not too dissimilar from the Rats who'd accepted their aid in compensation for service. It made sense the Earth Kingdom wouldn't have stopped at the Rats. They were no different from the Fire Nation in that regard–we were just tools for them. If one broke, they got another. It was those 'tools' that the Captain Zar'un addressed there, knowing that out there in the crowd, despite his best efforts, were some lingering sympathizers, whether true believers or just out for their own hinds.
"And there are those of you who may not," he resumed, "but who all the same, should be aware that over the course of the last year, our city of Citadel has been infiltrated by the enemy." Word traveled quickly in the slums, but still, some things remained in the dark, and as I imagine it'd taken us Hornets, actively at war with the Rats, months to learn of this, it was no surprise when I was able to notice looks of confusion amongst those of the crowd. "Their intent was a simple one–to bring war once again, to throw our city into chaos regardless of how many would die, and they sought to use you to do it!"
At that, there was a chorus of boos directed at the prisoners. I wondered if Zarrow had given Captain Zar'un the idea to use that line, knowing precisely how to appeal to these slumdogs. They didn't care about politics, but being used to do dirty work, that hurt the pride. Riu was hardly exclusive on that front.
The ruckus was mostly kept calm, which made our jobs simple, though the Captain seemed intent on changing that. He wasn't done. "They decided they could turn you into weapons! Use you like pawns regardless of how many of you would die!"
More jeers. It was impossible not to look to my side at the older slumdogs in Fire Nation uniforms, turned into weapons, used as pawns, expendable. There was an irony in it all, but the crowd didn't care. I wondered how many of them even knew who we were. Hell, I only recognized a few of them scattered about, and they didn't care about us. They cared about how this all related to themselves.
The jeers evolved into anger, and a few braves even stepped forward to throw rocks at the prisoners. Some flew, others fell to the ground as I and others of the 114th and 122nd stepped forth to intercept and disarm them and force them back into the main crowd.
"Fortunately, they have been found, and today, they will be brought to justice for their crimes against the Fire Nation, Citadel, and its people, you!" He likely would have preferred to have reversed the order so as to have it in an order of increasing importance, but he'd learned how to appeal to us slumdogs–what we wanted to hear.
There was a general cheer amongst the audience, goaded into believed this was their victory as well.
"Now, we bring this enemy to justice!"
Another cheer. I turned my head for a moment that was long enough to ascertain that the nooses had been tied securely around their knocks, and they stood atop the trapped floor that would open beneath their feet at the flip of a lever that would end their lives.
"Suffocation or neck break?" Hilan leaned over and asked quietly next to me whose broken nose from my punch those weeks ago was still just barely visible behind his helm. The fact that he could ask such things now and expect an answer was indicator enough that those times seemed to be behind us. I only prayed that such would stay the case even once Match was back in the picture. I didn't much like the idea of the "truce" between Rats and Hornets being only a temporary one. I would have much preferred we dropped the names altogether.
Rat or not, Hilan's question was a good once. I glanced back. It wasn't much of a drop. There wasn't enough slack in the rope to allow for enough velocity to be reached to break the neck. They would die of a lack of oxygen–a slow death. Comparatively, at least. I'd seen far slower and far more grotesque before.
"Suffocation," I said.
He nodded, perhaps having reached the same conclusion. There was a pause for a few seconds before he asked, "Which one first?"
He was bored, and understandably so, but it'd taken us nearly three months to be put into uniforms. It was both a symbol of trust, and a test. The way to pass, doing our jobs, and showing that the trust to even be given such a test had been earned, and their investment, returned upon.
"Focus," I hissed at Hilan before I could think to give an answer, even though I knew it would likely be the tall one to go first. Height generally did that–put more strain on the heart that is. Seen enough of that firsthand in the streets to know, and I myself suffered from it, taller than perhaps a good deal of the others. Had helped Fluke slip away from me on more than one occasion-slippery shit that he was. The short agent would outlast the taller, but only by a matter of seconds, and would doubtfully be conscious to recognize it. It'd make no difference at the end of the day.
I didn't turn in spite of my temptation to do so, and so could only hear the executioner pull the switch, triggering the mechanism. Instead, I saw the reactions on the crowd as they rushed forward to throw some last rocks at the hanging bodies, and our jobs kicked in once again to shove them back and hold them at bay amidst their elation at the sight of death.
The clamor, of course, would eventually die down. I knew the routine from both watching for years and having it drilled into my head for the last week. The time had come to usher them out, but I afforded myself one final glance behind me as I did.
There they hung–the bodies of the enemies, lifeless, arms dangling helplessly to their sides. It was done, and just like that, I'd seen my first dead Earth Kingdom soldiers. The first of many, a grave thought passed over my mind, though I tried not to think of it. Not now, at least. I turned back to the crowd. We had a job to do.
Captain Zar'un
I watched the dangling bodies where still they hung. An outside observer might have thought I was waiting for them to move; to stir back to life, untie their nooses, and walk away. On top of everything else that'd been going in, it wouldn't have been the strangest thing to happen.
In fact, I may even have welcomed the incorporeal return as they might prove to be more forthcoming with their information in the afterlife than before, though I doubted it. They'd decided at the end to suddenly begin withholding information. Or perhaps it was that they simply knew little else. One way or another though now, I determined, watching their bodies sway in the breeze from the gallows where they'd remain until the smell began to sink in, at which point they'd be moved to the inner wall's outer gate.
Zarrow and I weren't able to pull a description of this "Aegis" out of them. We supposed it was a possibility that they were being honest, and simply didn't know what he looked like, but that made little sense as Mishi had instructed them to look out for him, and they seemed to know that he was inside with us, in our own 29th division. Unless that was a lie too.
I groaned, turning around to look at the top of my desk where piles sat stacked atop one another in no particular order: interrogation transcripts, intercepted letters, reports, anything that could help me put this together. I'd thought I was done with this about a year ago, and now it was all coming back to bite me in the ass. Just my fucking luck.
There was a knock on my door.
"Lieutenant Zarrow!" Zhorou's voice came.
I gave vocal permission for the recently promoted commander to enter, which he promptly did. The agreement to the meeting had been pre-established. It was a surprise to neither of us to be here.
"Execution went off well," he commented, to which I agreed, with the minor fault in it that still held it back from being the perfect execution.
"They still died with information in their heads," I said.
"There was nothing more we could get out of them." If it hadn't been me who'd spent the last three weeks agonizing over the knowledge they still held, conducting the interrogations myself, it would've sounded like it was an attempt to cover his own ass. Considering it was my failure more than his, however, it seemed more along the lines of consolation.
And my failure was precisely a topic I'd rather not focus on the moment, choosing instead to focus my attention on another matter that required discussion. "Your thoughts on the recruits?" I asked.
It was a valid question. The command of the 29th would form opinions of their own, but they viewed me as best in a position to see if they'd properly fallen into line and followed my given procedures for how the execution was to be handled.
About halfway through the training now, things would become more specialized. The recruits had proven their worth enough to the point that they were no longer chattel; at least not as blatantly. Eemusan had come to me asking, as it was my city, if the recruits could be granted weekend passes to explore the city and enjoy some of the supposed "perks" of Fire Nation living be it the food, entertainment, or even the occasional brothel that I pretended not to notice so long as they didn't take stock from the outer city. I hardly needed another epidemic in the inner city. I'd given Eemusan leave to do so, but Deming insisted that the capability of the recruits to act in a disciplined manner be tested, hence their service as security during the execution.
My elaboration on how they'd done would determine if they'd earned their leave and if following it, they would be considered to have completed their basic training, and so commence their more specialized instruction.
For the most part, I wasn't all too interested. They'd done just fine as far as I was concerned, and so I now relied on Zarrow to perhaps elaborate on that and come up with something substantive, or at the very least validate my thoughts.
"They seemed somewhat distracted by the theatrics, sir." And who isn't from time by a good execution? "But they stayed in place, kept the crowd at bay, and followed orders. I'd say they've demonstrated proper discipline for the most part."
"Excellent. I'll keep that in mind for a report on their performance that I'll write." That Zhorou will write, of course. Though he'd write it, I knew it would reflect my thoughts. The recruits had come along well now that half of their training was over. Soon enough, before Autumn's end, they'd be on the front, and where I'd had no faith in them before, little more than cannon fodder, I could now see them perhaps performing up to part with a regular Fire Nation levy. So only a margin above cannon fodder.
Still, there were doing well, and would have been more than ready to send to the field if it wasn't for one greater concern of mine.
Zarrow nodded, perhaps sensing what I was thinking, but he didn't quite budge. He knew I was evading the main topic at hand. It was just a matter of which of us would be the first one to speak.
It was him.
"Captain, regarding the boy,-"
"We'll have to begin searching our own ranks," I said, a disappointing reality we were faced with.
"Sir, the agents could have been lying."
"Do you really believe that?"
Only a pause. "No, sir."
But I understood. Playing evil's advocate, if only to ensure I was positive about the decision. "Dai Li would have entered and been conscripted by Mishi to find the boy only after we'd already conscripted the first batch, so we can rule them out."
"And it's likely if this Aegis is so special, he will have been a bender. We should focus our efforts there."
"Likely, though not certain, but I agree, lieutenant. They should be our focus."
"And our means of determination. You wish to interrogate them?"
Were it so easy. "No." For one, it would catch too much attention, and if we were wrong with our first guesses, it would tip off who the real threat was. Secondarily, if we were wrong, we would risk isolating and sewing distrust with our most useful assets–our benders. And lastly, it would get the attention of the 29th. The last thing I needed was Deming catching wind that there was somebody of value within his ranks. He would take the initiative to find him, and claim the prize as his own. The boy, whoever he was, if he was anybody of note, a threat to the Fire Nation needing removal, or possibly an asset, I didn't intend to allow him to fall into the grasp of somebody such as Deming who would use him to wager himself to even higher a position of power. But for me on the other hand, it was my chance to finally get the needed attention to make my appeals for Citadel heard, and actually make something of the territory. It was hardly in my own self interest alone that I find this boy. And so my answer was no. "Too noticeable," I said, applying to all concerns I'd raised with myself. "It needs a light touch."
"And there's a possibility they themselves may not know of their importance. From the sound of the letters and the agents, he was more monitored from a distance than actively guided. Could be that this 'Aegis' isn't aware of who he is."
"Nor are we." We had no idea just what he was. Some bastard from a wealthy Fire Nation clan, the heir to the Earth Kingdom, a powerful bender, or, if Shyu's suspicions were to be believed, the Avatar even? We couldn't know. No street kid that came in with that name, or anything remotely similar. Hell kind of name is 'Aegis' anyway? Sure as hell isn't Earth Kingdom or Fire Nation. Water Tribe?"
"Don't think so, sir, though it could be from the tribes native to the foggy bottom swamp. I'm unfamiliar with their naming schemes."
"Whatever the hell it is, we've got nothing on him." And that much was unmistakable. Not even the basest of physical identities besides the fact that he was a male. Not even an age to attribute to him. Mishi and Gyani had ensured they spoke of no such things in their correspondence to one another.
"I would suggest close monitoring, sir, to look for anything that appears off, specifically from the benders."
I scoffed. With them, something was always 'off.' Just about three weeks ago, one of the trainees who hadn't since been able to produce a single flame had nearly killed one of our prodigies in a foolishly-declared agni kai.
I'd confronted Jeong Jeong on the matter, questioning why he'd permitted such stupidity to occur, to which he only answered that before we only had one nonbender who was a self-righteous fool, and now we had a new bender, and a humbled one who would not make the same mistake again.
If he recovers.
Then there were the earthbenders, tearing apart my courtyard after afternoon before piecing it back together with varying degrees of success. I was tempted to cordon off a portion of the slums for them to wreak havoc upon without interfering with the inner city, but the last thing I needed was for them to accidentally breach a sealed sewer tunnel and create an entrance for tunnel rats to enter the inner city. Best to keep them where I could keep an eye on them, especially if universal fears of earthbender disloyalty proved to be warranted.
"See it done then," I told the lieutenant. "And focus on the earthbenders. You never know with their kind.
Whether or not it was the right call, I had no way of knowing, but I had to start somewhere, and I had to get moving soon. The last thing I needed was what could possibly be the most pivotal moment of this war being sabotaged by somebody who could very well be the greatest threat our nation has ever faced.
Fluke
It was considerably harder to breathe inside of my helmet, I noticed. Each breath was a conscious effort, more perhaps, than it should have been. Breathing as a whole, however, had been far from the same over these last few weeks. In the time since it had all happened three weeks ago, each had become a deliberate and conscious effort, not on account of some injury I'd sustained, those burns already healed, but rather, on my own volition.
My hair was a drenched mess of sweat beneath my helmet, finally exposed to the midsummer breeze as it washed over me, sending an uncharacteristic shiver down my spine. The sensation wasn't helped by the fact that my hair had finally begun to grow out since being shaved, amplifying the discomfort I'd felt while trapped inside that helmet for hours as I'd stood guard just a few yards away from where those men had been hanged.
Just the two of them had been the cause of so much harm, I pondered, though it'd been hard to believe in the moment they stood on the stage with ropes around their necks. They'd appeared so weak and fragile there, their faces nigh unrecognizable past the cuts and bruises of what I imagined had been a lengthy interrogation. I couldn't help but pity them in spite of everything they'd done, having difficulty imagining that anybody, even them, could be deserving of that kind of finale.
I'd turned away at the last moment and chosen to focus on the crowd instead, difficult though it was inside my helmet that severely limited my peripheral vision. I'd seen those skullcaps so many times every other time I'd watched men hanged or beheaded on that very stage, but had never imagined I myself would be the one to wear it. It was reserved for firebending soldiers of the Fire Nation army: 2 categories I never would have thought myself a part of.
I could still hardly believe it.
"Spirits," Mykezia said to my side, removing her helm as well to place it back on the rack of the armory we'd been told to return our gear to. "Thought that would never end."
I found the spot on the rack that was mine as designated by my number, '18,' and responded with a chuckle, "Front row seats not to your liking?"
"Wouldn't mind so much if I wasn't wearing thirty pounds of Fire Nation steel on me." She began stripping said plates off of her, beginning with the shoulder pads and proceeding with the chest plate, lifting with it her shirt up to expose her midriff, prompting me to turn away with a flushed face lest I see something I shouldn't and focus primarily on my own equipment.
It wasn't too easy of a process, much of it not having fit as I imagine it should have. The shoulder pads were given too much mobility, and so have flopped around on my shoulders while my arm pads, loose, somewhat too big for me, rolled down my arms from time to time. It hardly surprised me. Even if there were uniforms that fit, specialized armor for firebending kids such as myself, even if it did exist, likely did not within Citadel. The youngest of the firebenders in my group, I would be the odd one out.
"Having some trouble there?" Mykezia chuckled, apparently having been watching my struggle with some amusement. I raised the unclasped chestplate over my head and caught a glance of her, chest armor already removed, now focusing on her arm plates.
"Least the Fire Nation could have done is given me something my size," I complained. "Shit doesn't fit."
"It will," she said as I placed my chestpiece back in its rightful position on the shelf beneath my helmet whose skull face looked back at me with empty eyes, nothing behind.
"Should be putting me in a normal uniform anyway," I sighed. "Not a firebender's." Nobody could question what'd happened those weeks ago, but since then, I hadn't been able to produce a single flame, hard as I'd tried.
"Like it or not," Mykezia groaned, this not the first time she's heard this talk out of me, "You are one. Asshole you burned the other day's proof enough of that. What is it you call him again?"
"Match."
"Match," she scoffed, setting down her shoulder plates on her part of the shelf while others in the armory shuffled around us, in conversations of their own, some working with haste to ensure they got to their mess hall quickly enough before they could be excluded from a desirable place in the queue. Mykezia chuckled to herself, clearly finding some amusement in the name. "Match got lit, I guess. Should really consider sticking with what the Fire Nation gave him. Gonna be a laughing stock with that name now."
It was hard to imagine that–Match a laughing stock, but she wasn't wrong. Even his fellow Rats seemed to have, if not entirely abandoned Match as a friend, at least abandoned his crusade against us remaining Hornets, Danev and I. To think I'd even caught a few of them laughing about what'd happened to Match, saying he'd had it coming; it was no easy thing to believe.
"Guessing 'Mykezia's' not your street name then?"
"It that obvious?"
"Only a bit," I scoffed, sitting on the bench behind us to pull my boots off. I did not await the strain it would take, nor the stench of dried sweat that would reward my efforts.
"Well yes, as a matter of fact. Guess that's one thing I have to thank 'em for."
That intrigued me, to say the least. It wasn't often we had the chance to chat nor for me to actually get to know her, constantly at work in training and our units separated when out of Jeong Jeong's dojo. She'd warmed up to me since everything that'd happened since Match, perhaps now seeing some semblance of use in me, and also perhaps surprised that I was managing to learn the forms as quickly as I was, leaving only the matter of consistently bending left. "What were you before?"
"What was I called before, you mean?" she asked with an exhale as she sat down on the bench next to me to remove her own legwear as well.
I nodded.
"Oh, you know. Whore, slut, bitch. All the good stuff."
"Your nickname, I mean."
She laughed at that, more of a hollow guffaw though, myself unaware if for emphasis, or a result of her strain with her boot. "You assume that wasn't it. Believe me, streets were harder on people like me than they were for you."
It was never something I considered all that much, to be honest. Women were hardly a common sight in the streets, and those who were, well, they were the furthest thing from Mykezia. Granted, none of them'd had a half-year of life in the inner city to clean them up. Rather, those I saw in the streets survived in one of two ways: selling their femininity, or hiding it at all costs. My mind went back to Bee and Miro.
"Guess I got lucky with mine then," I confessed, the thought of my name bringing me back to the other one, the real one I couldn't bring myself to speak, but still in the last few days had approached my dreams once again as shadowed whispers, but somehow clearer, louder. I knew it would pass in time, as it always did, but it was far from pleasant.
"Hrm," Mykezia agreed, finally working her right foot free of the boot. "Heard they're gonna be merging our groups again soon."
I look up at her, distracting myself with her comment from the 2nd and last boot that still grabbed tightly onto my left foot. "Yeah?" I asked, not at all displeased by the prospect. For obvious reasons, hers was a presence I wouldn't exactly have been opposed to in our main group, even if the 114th. I wondered if others would try and seize the opportunity, Danev even maybe if he decided the nurse he was constantly blabbering about wasn't enough for him. Spirits knew there were plenty of people in the 29th who'd have a better shot than I would.
"Mhm," Mykezia responded. "Guess you trainees stopped pissing grass to the point we'd need to be worried about you dropping dead the moment we threw a punch in training. Can't say I agree with the Brass, but…" she shrugged sarcastically. "Their choice." The jab was in jest of course, but I couldn't help but feel it was true. Still, I struggled with the basics, always improving, but always still a few steps behind the others, Danev in particular who was certain to remind me of that every night during the extra practice he provided, and now no longer just to do.
"Gonna be heading to the dojo again tonight?" Mykezia asked, aware of my efforts to improve, and perhaps find some way to produce a single flame when it wasn't my life that depended on it.
"If the Master'll see me." And there was always a likely chance he wouldn't, having turned me down no shortage of times, but accepted enough that it was worth checking in on a nightly basis, unable to have found a pattern between his acceptances and refusals.
Mykezia, unlike Danev, had never made an offer to catch me up. We were friends, sure, or at least I thought we were, but as far as she was concerned, her role as a teacher was limited to time in the dojo when she was specifically assigned as my sparring partner. Beyond that, if not in skill, then we were equals in standing, at least so far as her putting the effort into helping me was concerned.
She nodded, not saying anything as she held her breath, and finally removed the last boot, throwing it at the shelf in a bout of frustration, accompanied by a relieved exhale. She'd organize it afterwards of course, but for the moment, it felt good to be relieved of the burden of her armor kit.
And I could hardly disagree, finally tens of pounds lighter, exhausted, though knowing my day was far from done. I set the boots down by the shelf, properly organized, just as we'd been drilled to do, taught the way our armor was to be displayed for a week before we'd even been allowed to touch it.
"G'luck then," Mykezia said, leaning back on her hands where she seemed intent to rest for a few minutes longer before heading to her batch's mess hall. I wondered if those would be merged, along with their private sleeping quarters, but the way she seemed hardly perturbed by the prospect indicated that their special treatment was one thing that would remain, if not where and when they were trained.
I debated saying something more, a part of me looking for an excuse to delay my further humiliation in practice for the evening, and her by no means a bad one, but I decided against it. Danev'd said he'd been helping us with our short sword combat techniques today, and I didn't intend to miss out on what he had in mind for us.
'Us' proved to be a larger group than last time. I counted nearly three dozen in the training room today, a far cry from the first practice sessions between Danev and I that, at most, had attracted two or three stray observers from time to time.
And in terms of the help this training provided, that too had come rather far.
"I don't want anyone misplacing this shit," Danev announced to the room in reference to the sparring swords that he'd acquired. "Last thing I need is you idiots fucking over the deal I got going on with Rulaan."
It was said in jest, of course, but it was an honest fact nonetheless that Lieutenant Rulaan, an officer of the 114th, and slump-born at that, had made our lives considerably easier to at least some degree, one form of which was providing Danev's practice group with necessary equipment to train with.
The training in mind for today–swordfighting.
It would have been nice to say that though I was lagging behind in terms of the supposed divinely-wrought abilities of firebending, I was still excelling in others. That, however, would be a lie.
I wasn't being humiliated out of malice, but simply on account of the fact that I only possessed, at best, a fraction of the others' skills with a blade. I practiced with Gan, a fellow trainee of the 62nd armored brigade, an ex-Rat, and one of the people who'd tried to kill both me and Danev that one night. A lot had changed since then to say the least.
Gan's blade was brought against my own. It was easy to identify what he was trying to do–wear me down, and it was working. He had me on the defensive, practically backing me into a corner that I couldn't slip away from. It was either take the blows with my own blade, or let it fall on me, so I blocked the strikes as they came, the strain growing in my arm until I could harshly take it anymore, and my arm fell to my side.
The most logical conclusion there would have been for Gan to bring down the blade one last time on top of me, and show me just what the consequences of defeat were, and maybe a few weeks ago, that would have been the case, especially from a Rat to a Hornet, but things had changed since then. As such, Gan stayed his blade, and extended a hand to help me reclaim my footing. I accepted it.
"You know I'm just gonna keep hitting," Gan said. "Move the way I strike, not against it. You're not stronger than me, so roll with it." The advice was not dissimilar to what Danev had shown me those first days in terms of taking a punch. I would keep it in mind. And though I would get better, it would quite rarely be enough so to the point that I could stand my own, though I would try. In one bout in particular, I would make it rather far, able to roll with his strikes, incapable of not noticing that his own handwork with his blade was fumbling. I kept an eye on his hand, wondering if there was a chance I could take advantage of it, though he never gave me the chance to do so, keeping me on constant defense. I would try to work my blade down to strike his hand, and though he never quite noticed my intent, his offensive onslaught kept me at bay to the point that I myself was disarmed first. At that point, it would make all the sense in the world for me to yield. I was without a weapon after all, and just that had raised Gan's confidence enough to provide me with the window I'd been seeking.
If the last few weeks of firebending without the fire had proven anything, it was that the knowledge of fighting it'd provided wasn't exclusive to use of the element. Reading the opponent's next move, out navigating them–it applied anywhere. I sidestepped out of the way of Gan's strike, wrapped my left hand around his forearm, beneath the elbow, providing me with control over his dominant hand that still clutched his sword. I turned it aside, away from me, and so struck with my right hand his neck, clasping onto it, and tripping him to the ground over my extended leg.
He fell, looking up at me with eyes that were wide as though still processing what'd just happened to him.
The tumble had attracted quite a few eyes from around the room as well, though I didn't pay much notice to them as I offered a helping hand for Gan to rise again as he asked, not at all upset, but more impressed than anything, "Fuck was that, Fluke?"
"Shit I'm supposed to firebend with," I answered. "Shaoling."
"Telling me you could've firebended there?"
I scoffed. "I wish."
"What's going here?" came another voice, Danev's, from beside us, our antics clearly having gained his attention.
"Fluke over here's using firebending shit to disarm me!"
The complaint was obviously meant as a joke, and taken as such, as indicated by Danev raising an eyebrow to me to ask, "It work?"
I looked down towards Gan's blade where it lay on the ground, and looked up to Danev to provide a simple shrug. I hadn't quite been expecting it to, my desperate counterattack just that–desperate. But It appears that it had.
Danev scoffed, reaching down to recover the lost blades belonging to both Gan and myself, handing them back while saying, "Well, try not to lose your sword next time. No promise you'll get so lucky again."
That wasn't an advisory I was about to disagree with. I accepted my blade, and braced myself for what would doubtlessly be more pain to come. I won only one bout that day of possibly three dozen, and had the bruises to show for it.
It likely had sounded like an excuse more than anything when I'd told Danev I had to leave early, but he was familiar with the routine. Much as I gave a shit about knowing how to fend for myself, Danev knew that there was something more that I had within reach, or at least wanted to believe I did.
I'd done it once. At least, I was told that I had, and could have sworn that past the haze of it all, it was a memory that I indeed did have, and so soon enough, I was back at the door of Jeong Jeong's dojo.
I knocked, and waited.
I waited by the door in anticipation for an answer that may very well not come. There was every possibility that I would be left waiting here without a response, whether he was inside or not. The decision would be his whether or not he would see me today, but as always, it was worth the shot.
I leaned against the wall beside the door as seconds to minutes went by, trying to keep his words from prior sessions in mind as I closed my eyes, and tried to pay my attention on my breath: every one in and out, focusing on them each individually, trying to feel the way in which my body moved around each breath, how my blood flowed, and how I became alive.
I didn't know how much time had passed of me standing there with my eyes closed and my attention paid on my breath, but when they next opened, Jeong Jeong stood in front of me, arms crossed, but with a look on his face that almost seemed devoid of frustration, as though I actually hadn't just been wasting his time there.
"So you are beginning to listen, then."
I had been for a while.
He motioned me inside, and I followed, praying that today might yield some semblance of a result greater than that of other days.
"So you have been paying attention to your breathing," he observed as I went through my forms and he stood aside, disinterested, causing myself to wonder just what I was taking him away from with my being here. I wanted to think on account of the times he'd turned me away in the past though, if there was someplace else he had to be, he wouldn't have been humoring my failed efforts.
"Yes," I said out of frustration. "For the last three weeks. Doing like you said." And just what he'd said had been easy enough to remember, his demand for me to 'become aware of the single most minute process of your body–that of breath, unnoticeable, but key to firebending, key to your energy, and key to your life.' And in spite of all of that, "Still not firebending."
"You are becoming frustrated."
"Yes, I'm becoming frustrated! All your other students know what in spirits' name they're doing, and I'm the only one still punching aimlessly at the air!"
I realized soon after that I hardly should have been complaining, and the questioning glance delivered to me from him reminded me of that quickly enough. I quieted up soon enough after.
"You complain because you fail to meet the standards of your peers?"
Was that a trick question?
"I complain because I'm supposed to be sent to war in just a few months, and I still have no way of defending myself. And instead of learning how to bend, I'm learning how to breathe."
"To understand your body is only a piece of your bending," he said. "It is control that you seek. Control over yourself, no different from the flow of your energy."
"Because a firebender draws power from his breath," I finished for him, having heard it from his lessons, both to the class and to me personally no shortage of times.. "And so in controlling his breath, a firebender controls his power,right?'
"Yes. It is not a process that is a quick. It takes time, diligence. Nobody masters it right away, nor in the first month! Not when done right!"
"Some have," I muttered.
Jeong Jeong narrowed his eyes. "You refer to the boy you nearly killed."
Match. Whatever happened to him, one thing was certain–he was a better bender than I, capable of wielding it at will, quite nearly killing me with it, something he certainly would have done if I hadn't gotten lucky that once.
Lucky once. The perfect fluke.
I nodded.
"His journey of firebending was a different one, one less complete, one less safeguarded, but a path all the same. One of emotion alone, not breath and control."
I paused in my form, that last part striking my curiosity. "What do you mean?"
"Fire is not an element of one single nature. It is not earth, steady in the ground and refusing to move no matter how much the world may change around it. It is not water, following a flow no matter the mountain it runs down. Nor is it air, flowing in a constant direction no matter how many turns it may take. Fire, fire blows in wind, it moves in direction, and it may stay in place, but it burns a trail, it moves on its own. It is energy, it is life, and its power is manifested in more than simply one facet of life."
"Then what?" I asked.
"What brings you life. What brings you energy. Passion, honor?"
I shook my head, continuing through the form as both of these options passed over me, neither seeming quite right.
"Or is it anger as it was for the boy who attempted to take your life. Is it your hate that makes you powerful? That allows you to fight? To do what needs to be done? Or fear perhaps?"
I didn't shake my head as confidently to that one, and found myself inclined to ask, "So…firebending can possibly only be triggered by specific emotions?"
"Perhaps from a start. It is a quick solution, a moment of desperation that is misinterpreted as the key. With skill and age, it is not the ember so much as it is the kindling that keeps the fire alive. So long as the emotion is one that guides you in life, one that you feed from, that gives you energy, so too will it give life to your flame."
"So if emotion is the fuel, then breath is the channel."
Jeong Jeong nodded. Then what am I missing?
"So why can I still not bend?! I know the forms, been studying them for a month. I know how to breathe, been doing nothing but that for weeks. What key emotion am I still missing?
"One you will understand in time."
"Time I don't have. They'll send me to war, and I'll die if I don't know how to protect myself. I don't care. Anger, hate, whatever. I need this. Need to know how to save myself out there, or I'm dead."
Jeong Jeong looked at me, and his eyes narrowed. It was the shortcut. He'd talked about it enough times for me to know that him giving me the answer of what he believed the emotion that guided me was, but we were to deploy in only around three months if not less. I needed something to work with, something to verify to me if any of this was real or not, if it was worth wasting my time on anymore. If I could use this to defend myself, to fight, then all the better, but if not, then every second I spent here was one putting myself in more danger, away from that which could still save my life.
Jeong Jeong said nothing. Instead, he turned. "You wish for me to answer a question that only you can."
"I've tried," I said. "I've tried bending when angry, happy, sad, none of it does the fucking trick. That's not it. So what do you see? What am I missing? Is that even it? Was that day just a one-time thing?" The perfect fluke. It certainly would have made for a nice irony to this all if I wasn't even a bender, if perhaps somehow gaseous fumes had happened to find a rogue spark in the air and nearly kill Match on the spot. From a cosmic standpoint, it would have been quite the amusement.
"No," he answered. "It was not."
"Then what am I missing?" I asked. "Why can I still not bend?"
There was no answer for a moment or two after that, but when the silence was broken, it was done in the form that I could least expect–a sudden turn of Jeong Jeong on his heels, and the conjuration of a fireball in the midst of the air, and send directly towards me.
The fear raged through, and it was only instinct to raise my arms to defend myself, and no sooner, it was gone, small trails of flame tickling at the floor to either side of me, as though the ball of fire itself had been cut in half.
The look that Jeong Jeong gave me was clear enough.
"Do you have your answer now?" he asked as I still held my hands before me, resting there, beads of sweat already seeping out from my arms and hands.
And that I did–the emotion I was looking for.
And it was fear.
Fear and desperation.
It seemed that some things never changed.