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Chapter 2 - Edited
The aged hands of Old Man Bill glided across the worn bar stand with a steady rhythm, a testament to the countless years he had spent scrubbing and serving on that same counter. Each line etched into his weathered palms told a story of hard labor and perseverance.
Bill, a hulking figure, strained against the edges of his white shirt that strained to contain his muscles, accentuated by the light blue overalls he wore. His swollen and sinewy legs, a common trait among earth benders, commanded attention. The sunken gray eyes peered out from their sockets, as if searching for secrets in the flickering glow of the fireplace that cast an ethereal radiance upon his bald head.
Observing the scene before him, Bill absorbed every detail with his keen gray eyes. This bar, the solitary haven in the colony, hosted the same cast of patrons who had frequented it since its inception. He watched them intently, attuned to the clinking of glasses as weary miners and lumberjacks trickled in after a long day's toil. Occasionally, fortune smiled upon him when a noble from the Fire Nation or a skilled bender walked through the door, carrying with them the promise of generous tips or a chance to wager.
As Bill's eyes traced the grooves in the wooden floor, the soft creaking of the door jolted his senses. A presence washed over him like a tidal wave, instantly commanding his attention. His fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the table, leaving deep imprints as he studied the figure approaching. Muscles coiled, legs primed to spring into action, a hidden stone concealed in his pocket, ready to quell any sign of trouble.
With rudimentary laced brown worker boots, leaving trails of ash in their wake, the young man strode forward, captivating Bill's focus. Bill exhaled a weary sigh, torn between curiosity and indifference, as the youth began sifting through the assortment of bottles. A palpable energy emanated from him, but Bill dismissed it, shaking his head, determined to ignore the unsettling aura.
Clad in a brown jacket that clung to his frame, the emblem of the Fire Nation displayed proudly over his right chest, Ben's hand raked through his long strands of hair, sweeping them away as he settled onto a bar stool. Bill placed a glass of watered-down ale before Ben, his bulky form adjusting the seat to accommodate his imposing size. Bill leaned in, planting both hands on the table, his gaze firmly fixed upon Ben's face.
"Ah... hell, Ben. What the devil happened to you?"
Ben snorted, his fingers instinctively reaching up to his nose. The shock of discovering the blood trickling from it after Rin's punch seemed to startle him momentarily. But in an act of defiance, he shot Bill a thumbs-up, as if to say, "I'm alright," before wiping away the errant droplet of crimson.
Shifting his weight, Ben sought a position of comfort on the torn, leathery seat, remnants of years of neglect inflicted upon the bar by the Fire Nation, who cared little for its upkeep. His gloves, an unusual sight after a day's labor, remained steadfastly on his hands. Bill knew all too well the scars and burns etched beneath that leathery facade, souvenirs of a life marked by hardship and sacrifice.
Ben downed the booze with a swift, practiced motion, a warm glow spreading through him, accompanied by a mischievous grin that tugged at his lips. As he finished his drink, Bill hurried to refill his glass. The first one was always on the house, but from then on, it would be added to his ever-growing tab.
A flicker of flame danced before Ben's eyes, prompting his hands to dive into his pocket, retrieving a neatly rolled piece of tobacco. Green tendrils of mist clung to its frayed edges as he nonchalantly placed the roll between his lips, allowing the dancing match to ignite the tip.
Smoke billowed from his nostrils like an irate dragon, his grin widening with each exhale. "Finally... a few drinks and a couple of smokes, maybe I can forget a little more," he muttered to himself, his connection to the force gradually fading, as if whispered away. It was almost...
"Euphoric," Ben whispered under his breath, the words barely audible to Bill, yet enough to indicate that he was speaking to himself. Bill shook his head, well aware that the boy was an enigma. But then again...
Bill's mind flickered back to the streak of steel and fire that had cleaved through the sky, the sizzling lake he had swum across to reach the flying boat of steel and ash...
Shaking off the memory, Bill banished any desire to pry into Ben's origins. The truth was, he didn't want to know. Even if Ben were to reveal it in vivid detail, Bill doubted he could comprehend the intricacies of the boy's tale.
Taking another drag from his smoke, Ben absentmindedly ran his free hand through his hair. "Care to enlighten me about what happened?" Bill finally interjected, prompting a weary groan from the boy as he began to recount the events.
He delved into the minutiae, describing the fortuitous discovery of three healthy trees he had planned to cash in on. Bill rolled his eyes, sensing that luck alone couldn't account for such a find. Then came the confrontation, with Rin wielding an axe, attempting to bring Ben down. But Ben conveniently omitted the part about using the force to choke the old drunk.
Instead, he spun a tale of parrying the axe and overpowering Rin with his bare hands. As the words spilled from his lips, Bill observed Ben's trembling hands. No signs of scars or blood on his gloves, except for the smudge he had wiped off his own nose.
Bill shook his head, choosing not to fully believe the boy's account. He had tried prying into Ben's past before, only to be met with evasion and deflection. "Did you inform the foreman... you know?"
"About Rin?" Ben retorted, a forceful chuckle escaping his lips. "Nah, that would only bring more trouble. Besides, if I did, the other workers would tear him apart. We can't afford another murder here... remember what happened a few months back?"
Bill recalled the incident all too well. Two men had engaged in a heated argument during a mining shift, resulting in one of them raising his pickaxe and driving it into the other's stomach. The pickaxe had torn through flesh, leaving the wounded man to flee and feign ignorance. The Fire Nation, bound by their country's regulations, had conducted a routine investigation. They couldn't afford their workers slaughtering each other in one of their most promising colonies. It was detrimental to both business and morale.
The Fire Nation detectives conducted an exhaustive investigation across the entire island, effectively shutting down the mines in the process. However, this created a dilemma as the miners now struggled to find healthy trees to cash in on, exacerbating their unemployment woes. And to make matters worse, interlopers began encroaching on their prospects, leading to Ben frequently sporting black eyes and bruised limbs. His ability to locate valuable trees made him a target of resentment among the other miners and lumberjacks.
Eventually, the perpetrator was apprehended and sent to a Fire Nation prison. However, both the miners and lumberjacks were well aware of the potential for being screwed over if the Fire Nation got involved. Revealing what Rin had done would only invite vicious retaliation, leaving the old man battered and confined to the medical bay for months.
Ben let out a weary groan as he wiped a strand of hair from his brow. "Damn... I really need a haircut." He let out a slow yawn, his eyes tracing along the bar, fixating on a table. Miners and lumberjacks trickled in from their shifts, even the colony's doctor took a seat at the bar, signaling for a drink as Bill hurried to fetch a bottle from the top shelf.
Taking another sip from his drink, Ben felt his thoughts and memories gradually fading, like a candle that had burned too brightly. His eyes grew heavy, and he embraced the comforting sounds of clinking glasses and boisterous laughter.
"I'm telling you, son," a stern voice erupted from behind him. "Being a warrior for the Fire Nation would be the best damn thing to ever happen to you..."
Ben didn't turn his head, his gaze fixed solely on the array of liquor in front of him. His palms rested on the sides of his drink as Bill engaged in small talk with the doctor. It was wise to maintain good relations in the colony.
Ben had heard rumblings about this. The Fire Nation was recruiting more individuals into their cause, particularly non-benders from the colonies. Not the elderly or earth benders, but their children. Ben suspected it was a ploy to ensure loyalty, as an old man might seize newfound freedom and become a spy for the revolution, or someone like him could learn from the Fire Nation and join their army.
He didn't know the boy's name, just that he was another miner in the colony. With light chestnut eyes and curly brown hair cascading down his neck, he donned the standard gray and white attire of the miners. But the boy was so young, barely thirteen years old...
"The damn kid is still going through puberty! What the hell is the Fire Nation thinking... dragging children into their war like that? It's all sorts of wrong. Leave him be!" Ben's thoughts reverberated through his mind, his fingernails digging into the bar as he struggled to maintain composure. This was meant to be a peaceful afternoon, a time to forget everything and savor the smokes and the soothing drink.
Who cared? It wasn't Ben's place to meddle in someone else's affairs. If the kid had any sense, he wouldn't accept, deflecting their questions and extricating himself from the conversation. But if he listened to their half-hearted promises or became a seeker of glory, the consequences would fall squarely on his shoulders.
"Heh..." Ben's laughter, tinged with unease, reverberated through the air as his gaze remained fixed on the worn brown wood of the bar. His nails left deep marks, a desperate attempt to maintain composure. "It's almost like... I've heard something like this before."
The moment those whispered words escaped his lips, Ben's breath hitched in his throat. A chilling coldness enveloped him, causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end. Memories, like hungry rats feasting on a carcass, tore through him, their sharp claws leaving wounds that cut deep.
His eyes, vibrant and red as if...
"Do not heed the words of the Jedi Council. The Republic will crumble if we do not act swiftly. The Mandalorians have already seized three systems along the Rim. They will only grow stronger with time."
Wooden chips clung to Ben's trembling fingers, his hand curling into a fist as he took a shuddering breath. His face contorted, crumpling like a ragged piece of paper.
Malak... that pompous fuck. He had been the one to recruit Benjamin, seducing him and the others with grand speeches of honor and glory. He convinced the young apprentices that the Council was misguided and mistaken... comparing them to the relics of the past during the time of Exar Kun.
Ben remembered his awakening under his new master and his proficiency in the darker arts of the Force. The allure of battling a new enemy and being hailed as a hero was impossible to resist. Perhaps it was the blood of Mandalore coursing through his veins that ignited his thirst for combat.
"What the hell am I thinking... God. It's been years since Ma told me that fairytale. I am no son of Mandalore, and I am neither a Jedi nor a Sith. Hell... I'm not even a warrior. I'm a disgrace to the battlefield."
His gaze fixed on the table, memories of a life he had left behind flooded his mind, memories he had tried to suppress during his time as a Jedi. Images of a woman's face lingered, a face he couldn't quite recall. "I wonder... what would Mom think of what I've become..."
Ben's eyes remained locked on the wooden surface, his fingers still clawing into the table. Even the bottles along the bar seemed to tremble, caught in the wake of his turmoil.
"It'll be fine, kid. It's gonna be one hell of an adventure!"
The Fire Nation recruiter burst into laughter, accompanied by another hearty chuckle. But Ben didn't bother to turn around, oblivious to the presence of another companion nearby. He didn't care... every ounce of his self-control was focused on restraining the urge to march over there and smash the guy's head in with a fucking bottle.
Bill...
After exchanging pleasantries, Bill's gaze settled on Ben. It hit him like a blast of unnatural heat, sickly and unsettling. His eyes widened with concern as he observed the hate and anger etched upon the boy's face. A sense of foreboding took hold.
Bill already knew that Ben had a temper, one that only grew more volatile with each drink. He was about to intervene... but it was too late. Like an explosion, Ben's mouth twisted into a snarl, his voice erupting in a howl as he shot up from his seat with such force that he split the chair in half.
The sudden display of power left Bill momentarily frozen, his eyebrows shooting up in astonishment as he witnessed sparks of ember ignite the torn fabric, crackling with an electric energy reminiscent of lightning.
"How 'bout you leave the kid alone... go bother someone else with your meaningless war!" Ben's voice reverberated through the bar, slicing through the air like a honed blade. The Fire Nation recruiters turned their gaze towards the boy, taking in his towering presence.
Two men stood before him, clad in light red tunics, each displaying the emblem of the Fire Nation on their chests. The shock of a worker standing up to them widened their eyes. Ben wasn't naïve; he knew the tension between the Fire Nation and the workers.
The majority of workers were Earth Kingdom refugees, toiling away for the Fire Nation like prisoners, earning a paltry paycheck. Yet the recruiters scanned the bar's occupants, expecting compliance. But instead, they were met with sneers of disgust. Echoes of encouragement filled the room, urging Ben to give them a beating.
Sweat dripped from the man wearing glasses, frantically wiping them with the hem of his shirt as he stammered out a feeble response. The other man, his head covered in a thick mane of black hair, studied Ben.
His eyes roved over Ben's imposing frame, assessing the boy's height and athletic build. He began devising a plan, aware that this kid would be of no use in the Fire Nation infantry. He would merely serve as cannon fodder.
However, a sly grin curled across his face as he contemplated how to change the boy's heart. There were quotas to meet as recruiters, with pay bonuses for each warrior they persuaded to join their armada.
"Listen, as a miner in this colony, you already bear a heavy burden for the Fire Nation and our Fire Lord. How would it feel to travel the world and..." The recruiter's words were cut short by Ben's snort, the sound slicing through the air like a whip. "I don't give a fuck about your shitty war or the Fire Lord. Leave the kid alone."
Ben's command reverberated, causing the miners and lumberjacks to rise from their seats, some extracting shivs or other makeshift weapons from their pockets. However, none were directed at Benjamin. Their hate and anger were solely aimed at the Fire Nation soldiers.
Ben's own hatred towards the Jedi, the Mandalorians, and the war in general radiated like a blast of searing heat, drawing the crowd closer, luring them with his frenzied rage. An invisible force seemed to guide them, urging them to act, to follow the boy and his maddened fury.
But as Ben spoke, he noticed a shift in the other recruiter's eyes—the one with the thick glasses. The mention of the Fire Lord caused him to bite his lip. A steady grin formed on Ben's lips as he planned the next phase of the conversation.
Ben turned his gaze back to the crowd. "The Fire Lord, you say..." The recruiter with glasses locked eyes with Ben. "That fuckin' coward. Why should I bear a heavy burden for a prick like him?"
Ben twisted his words, and the crowd softly cheered, their hands pumping into the air as waves of hate and anger washed over them. He aimed to manipulate them, to have them throw the first punch.
The recruiter with glasses snarled, taking a threatening step toward Ben, while the other Fire Nation representative intervened, attempting to restrain his companion. Ben caught a whiff of the brandy clinging to the recruiter's breath. "You filth don't know!"
'Well, that escalated quickly,' Ben chuckled inwardly, pleasantly surprised at how swiftly the drunk recruiter's anger had surfaced. Oblivious or too intoxicated to realize the lack of support from the surrounding crowd, the recruiter turned towards them, forgetting his intended argument with Benjamin. Even his fellow recruiter tried to grab his shoulder, desperately attempting to prevent his friend from making a regrettable move.
His attempts were in vain as the drunk recruiter shrugged off his hands, redirecting his attention to the crowd. "We give our lives to protect you, and you don't give a shit! You don't care about all we've done for you... providing homes and work!"
Once again, the recruiter locked eyes with the other, his fingers digging into the man's shoulder muscles, attempting to forcibly pull him out of the bar. And the recruiter had a point, in a way. Ben wasn't from here and had never truly cared about the war, simply yearning to be forgotten and left to die in peace. But the others harbored a deep-seated hatred towards the Fire Nation, one that had festered in the cracks of history and time.
It didn't take long for a bottle to be hurled from the crowd. Ben snapped his head around, his senses honed, and took a step back, narrowing the distance between him and the incoming object. The crack and whoosh filled the air as the bottle struck the recruiter's face, shattering his glasses upon impact and sending him crashing to the floor. The resounding thud echoed like a war drum, and concealed weapons emerged from the miners' grasp.
Ben remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the cringing recruiter, while the workers, fueled by anger and vengeance, closed in, ready to tear through the two Fire Nation representatives. In their eyes, it was the Fire Nation's fault—loss of homes, lives, and families—all consequences of the relentless war. A mixture of hysteria and Ben's concealed power propelled them into a frenzied rampage, until...
A powerful blast of earthbending erupted in front of Ben, a colossal pillar, over three meters in size, materializing in the center of the room. The thunderous boom and ensuing destruction halted the workers' advance, some even slipping on the floor from the sudden shock.
"Everyone... out!" Bill screamed, his earthbending stance unwavering, asserting his authority as the crowd began to shuffle toward the exit. Ben took a step forward, preparing to head back to his apartment, only to be met with Bill's disapproving shake of the head.
Reluctantly, Ben groaned and reclaimed his seat on the barstool, knowing that such a conversation would take a considerable amount of time. He slid back onto the stool he had occupied earlier, only for his eyes to widen as he stared at it, embers flickering from the cotton fabric.
Sweat formed on his brow once again as Ben's gaze traced along the cloth. 'It can't be... it has to be impossible!' The thought consumed him as he carefully returned the stool to its previous position, desperately hoping that no one would pay it any mind. Hoping that amidst the chaos that had ensued, it would go unnoticed.
"What the fuck was that..." Bill exclaimed, his words escaping like a gasp of air. He rubbed his temple, the stress of the past five minutes etched across his face. Bill slammed both hands down heavily on the wooden surface, causing the bar to emit an echoing creak. Ben's mind raced, desperately seeking a way to navigate the conversation. 'Maybe if I play dumb... or steer the discussion elsewhere.'
But Bill shook his head, dismissing Ben before he could utter a word. "...and don't even think of trying to change the subject."
Ben scoffed, crossing his arms defensively, while Bill let out a weary sigh. He poured a glass of alcohol and downed it in one gulp. "I'm worried about you, Ben. Tonight, what you did..."
"What I did!" Ben forcefully chuckled, taking a swig from his drink. "You think I caused all that chaos... come on, Bill." His voice dropped to a soft whisper, but the sheen of sweat on his brow did not escape Bill's notice.
"The recruiters were trying to rope in a damn kid for their fucking war. What did they expect... for people to be cool with it? They're spewing lies, telling this kid that war is some sort of adventure. War... war is hell!"
Bill took a deep breath, contemplating his response. He knew Ben wasn't from here; he understood the potential psychological toll that war could take on someone. He could sit and talk with a war veteran who fought against the Fire Nation, but he had no inkling of the horrors Ben had been forced to endure. The boy was already a mess, teetering on the edge of alcoholism and chain-smoking. Bill was well aware of his sleep issues, to the point where involving the doctor seemed like a necessary step. Yet Ben refused to sit down and discuss his feelings.
"A weakness... relying on others," were the words Ben had spoken when Bill suggested seeking help. If Ben didn't want it, what more could be done?
"It's not my fault things got out of hand," Ben retorted, his words snapping Bill's focus back to their conversation. The boy either failed to grasp the gravity of the situation or was playing dumb once again. Bill shook his head, disappointment etched on his face. "Maybe, maybe not. But this is on me. Ben... I need to understand what just happened. I never pried for information; I saved you from that..."
"Don't..." Ben cut him off sharply, fully aware of the topic Bill was about to broach. All he wanted before this confrontation was to forget. He didn't want to delve into it any further. "I don't want to talk about where I came from. I told you that morning after you saved me... all I wanted was a place to disappear, to be forgotten."
"Yes... I understand, Ben. But today, you choked out Rin, and I know it was self-defense. And tonight, with the crowd... it was just..."
"Why do you care so much, goddamn it, Bill!" Ben snapped, his voice on the verge of launching into a full-blown tirade. He wrestled with the idea of storming off the stool, desperately yearning to escape. "This isn't the first bar fight I've been in. This isn't the first time a crowd has been pissed off at the Fire Nation. What the fuck do you want from me?"
"You were angry, Ben. Angrier than I had ever seen you before," Bill began, his words carrying the weight of the moment. "You always walk away, never getting involved. But today... it was like being struck by a raging bull. The intensity radiating from you was palpable, and the crowd responded in kind. It turned ugly, Ben. It was as if they were feeding off your rage and hate. You unleashed waves of hatred towards the Fire Nation and the war, and we were all swept up in it, like a tornado or a tsunami. Even... even me. It felt like I was fighting as a revolutionary again, as a freedom fighter!"
Ben's sweat poured down from him, a refusal to accept or take the blame etched across his face. He seemed desperate to avoid it somehow, to escape the weight of responsibility.
"That's impossible... it has to be," Ben protested. "I cut myself off from the Force. I severed that connection. So why do I still struggle with the dark side, even after all this time?"
Ben's relationship with the Force was complex. After Malachor V, during the civil war, he felt an emptiness within him, a wound in the Force.
"I think you shouldn't stay here anymore," Bill declared, his voice firm and unwavering. The weight of his words nearly knocked Ben off his chair. 'Are you... are you abandoning me too, Bill?'
Bill noticed the dip in Ben's mood, but he knew he had to continue the conversation. "Ben, you're what... fifteen, maybe sixteen. You have your whole life ahead of you. I don't know why you ended up on this world or why you possess these strange abilities. But... your destiny isn't here on this miserable colony."
Ben shook his head, avoiding Bill's gaze. He simply didn't know. As he tried to untangle the complexities of his issues, he did want help. Deep down, he knew he needed someone to talk to. But he was afraid.
What would Bill think if he truly revealed everything? What would he think if Ben told him about abandoning his order to fight against the Mandalorian threat, about losing himself in the war and becoming a monster? "This place... it's where those who wish to be forgotten come. I fit in here. I don't want to leave."
Bill slammed his hand on the table, the sudden noise causing Ben to start. "Ben, are you really okay here? Are you genuinely happy? How many years until you die from alcohol poisoning or suffocate from the smoke in your lungs?" Ben remained silent, his gaze fixed on the table as Bill unleashed his frustration. "Why... why are you so content with this life? You're so young."
"You wouldn't understand... you speak of war and freedom, but you don't know the price of such things!" Ben shot up from his seat, his legs propelling him toward the door. "I don't want to get involved in another war! I have no desire for the Mandalorians, the Jedi, or this Fire Nation!"
"All I want, all I've ever wanted, is some peace and quiet! I don't care about this world... I don't care if the Fire Nation burns it all down, and I couldn't give a shit!"
Ben stood tall, ignoring Bill's calls to come back. The crisp evening air embraced him as he struggled to take the next step. Yet, he hesitated, as he always did. Always... hesitating.