A/N: I do not claim ownership over the respective franchises involved in the writing of this story.
He thought he would have gotten used to this by now.
He thought the scorching sun overhead wouldn't be much of a hassle so long as he had his trusty kasa on his head.
He thought that minding his own business would ensure him a safe trek through what was miles and miles of nothing.
He thought that if he just walked away from a couple of men in dirt-crusted capes, they'd be smarter and just let him be.
Nothing is ever really simple or easy.
Especially not for him.
He opted to be reasonable, pronouncing that he hadn't anything on him worth stealing save for a nearly drained waterskin, but one of them just snorted, his rotten, gap-toothed smile visible over the scarf wrapped around his neck. The guy lost an additional tooth coming forward to be a smartass to his face. After that, the others followed, but they threw sand his way instead.
The last one let out an undignified squeal as he went down.
On the ground, helpless, but still breathing, he could have done them in, but looting them for everything they had was a more productive idea, considering how much stuff they had hoarded on their - sand sailers, they called them. By whatever god was out there watching over the rock they called home, he would survive another day in this miserable place of stone and sand.
He ignored their angry cries. He ignored their threats. Hell, he even ignored the one who folded and begged him not to leave them in such a state. In return, he did them the courtesy of stripping them bare, but that only seemed to alarm them more; easier prey for the wildlings and all. If they only knew how long they would be stuck as living ornaments, maybe the guy would have had better luck just spitting into the wind.
And so, happier and wealthier, he went on his way through the rest of the desolate plains, half hoping to find a settlement to rest, and the other half hoping for even more moronic bandits to come along. He had been on the verge of boredom before that little encounter.
Hours later, he spotted a small procession in the distance. Refugees, by the looks, but he couldn't be sure. Trust was scarcer than water in these badlands, and nothing was ever what it seemed. Those who couldn't walk, such as the elderly, women, and children, rode ostrich horses. Only the able marched across the arid ground. A single camelephant was loaded with what could only be their belongings, flanked by two people. He kept marching forward, past the caravan, past the distractions, when his ears picked up a faint rustling in the distance, and he sighed as he realized what was making such a sound, as it quickly grew louder.
His feet moved of their own accord, and his fist soon struck the one who was threatening a mother and her infant to surrender what little they had. The second came close to disemboweling a young man bravely defending an elderly couple, disarming him and confiscating the offending blade he was wielding. Nice knife. Just as dirty, but no less sharp. It might come in handy, and its usefulness was proven a moment later when he sliced the third one that attacked him. All eyes slowly began to focus on him, but he couldn't afford to stop, moving quickly and precisely to neutralize as many as he could. The leader had already taken out what he believed to be the strongest of the refugees, after blinding him with some sand. It was cheap, simple, but effective.
"Get him!" The leader shouted as he pointed at what he recognized as the imminent threat. What was left of his dwindling circle of friends made a beeline for the interloper, desperation fueling their minds and bodies. He made short work of each, catching the man off guard and causing him to bend a wave of sand in a last ditch effort.
It stung a bit, but he suffered worse from training.
He went down like all the others.
As soon as the dust settled, he glanced at the group of refugees, some staring at him with wary, threatening eyes, as if daring him to follow the bandits' lead. Others were busy taking stock of each other and their supplies. Some had suffered injuries, but there were no casualties. The same couldn't be said for the bandits. Those who could still throw their weight around went to work securing the robbers with ropes. The one he had cut earlier was bleeding to death, but none of them bothered to help. None of them were in any position to be saints.
He caught sight of two men marching his way, both dressed in robes that had seen better days. The younger-looking of the two bowed his head. "Thank you," he said weakly. "Just...thank you."
The looks they gave him, eyes narrowed in apprehension, told him they were less than eager to hand out a reward or exchange for his help. He cared little for such after the haul from earlier, all safely secured in a satchel he clutched protectively to his body after retrieving it from the ground, having discarded it earlier before the scuffle. The only response he could give was a wordless nod.
He then turned to one of the still-conscious bandits and asked if they were part of the same group that had encountered him earlier. He presented a piece of evidence - an old-looking bracelet encrusted with precious stones. He planned to pawn it as soon as he landed in the next settlement. The man's eyes flashed with what could vaguely be recognition, but he didn't talk. It was enough.
One of the refugees was at least kind enough to give him some water. Not much, but just enough to get by.
He stayed a little longer, if only to make sure none of the bandits recovered enough to retaliate before the refugees left. One managed to bend some sand his way, but it was more of a splash than a stream. He lifted his leg to evade and fluidly kicked the idiot into unconsciousness.
None of the others dared after that.
When the refugees were finally far enough away, he repeated the ritual of stripping the men bare and taking everything they had. At least, everything that could be of use to him. There was the knife, which he decided to keep. There was some dried meat, though he forwent the ones that had sand on them and other contaminants that he'd rather not keep in mind. Some extra water, but again, he avoided what was clearly contaminated. Damn, were these sandbenders filthy.
More hours passed before he finally saw the miraculous sight of a village in the distance, but he kept his pace steady. The last settlement he had stumbled upon had been... less than pleasant. It certainly soured his mood to loot the place. The one he found now looked friendly enough. 'Enough' being the operative word to describe a couple of drunks having a good old-fashioned slap fight outside a bar, but he could always wet his parched tongue with the water on him. What was more urgent was to pawn his ill-gotten gains.
He didn't take much. Just enough to carry in his satchel without attracting unwanted attention. He presented it to a wiry old man, whose humble shop was little more than a rundown shack. The old man wore a monocle over his left eye, which he used to appraise the bracelet, pieces of raw ore, and an old necklace that looked like it was made of bronze.
"30 silver pieces," he said in a gruff, nasally voice. "That's all you get."
The bag weighed and sounded heavy as he picked it up from the counter, and with a sideways glance, the fine gentlemen waiting for him outside must have thought so as well. He ignored the knowing glint in the old man's eye, only that it seemed to convey a kind of sentiment that he was on his own once he stepped foot past the door.
They barely knew what hit them.
He found his attackers to be two; neither of them seemed to be a Sandbender. He felt no reaction from the old man now behind him, indicating that this was a regular occurrence, regardless of who came out on top.
"What do you mean my money's no good?!"
The loud, slightly obnoxious voice drew a glance from him with a turn of the head, and his gaze found a young man standing in front of an older, mean-looking man who could have used a hot bath, a gallon of soap, and perhaps a team of wise men to cleanse him of whatever evil spirit had seen fit to curse him with such plague-like filth.
"Listen, man, I haven't eaten in days," the young man kept pleading as he flashed what looked to be a piece held between trembling fingers. "This is all I have. Even a bowl of rice will do."
The man, grunting through phlegm and bile, did not yield in the slightest, his sweaty, fat body adorned with little more than a light tunic and breeches. "Rice?! RICE?! Every single grain of rice is worth more than gold around here, kid. You better be on some good cactus juice to ask for a bowl for only this much!" He pulled the piece from the boy's grasp and threw it past him, where it was quickly snatched by one of the nearby vagrants.
The boy, to his horror, saw this and panicked. "Hey, hey! Stop!" Giving chase, he ran as fast as his feet would carry him, but it was obvious from his emaciated appearance that he couldn't get far, and he soon slowed down before falling to his knees in surrender. The rest of the crowd turned away, if they hadn't already been ignoring the boy from the start. "Argh!" With a frustrated swing of his arms, the latter dove headfirst into the dirt, pounding it with his fist.
His lips curled at the pitiful sight, but it was no one else's problem. He took a moment to study the young man, who wore a blue tunic that was tattered and worn, covered in a layer of dirt and sand. Dirt caked over his knee-high boots, which were once dark leather but now light brown. There were wrappings around both forearms, but they were as tattered as everything else. The only item of interest was what was hanging from the side of his belt.
Narrowing his gaze, it appeared to be a blade of some sort.
"Water Tribe," he concluded from the colors. "Here?" To his knowledge, the Northerners were in a deadlock with the Fire Nation, neither side gaining ground over the other. The Southerners, last he heard, had been decimated by repeated skirmishes. Studying him once more, the young man could belong to either tribe, but from an educated guess, he could have only come from the South.
He walked past the battered Water Tribe teen, for they seemed to be about the same age, and decided that it really wasn't his business. Ten paces was as far as he got when he looked back at where the other boy lay, now face down on the dirt, prone and probably unconscious.
He stared in silence, lost in his thoughts.
Trust was scarcer than water in these badlands.
Kindness was even scarcer.
Later…
He managed to reach a barren area two miles from the village, finding a rocky outcropping for shade where he could set up camp while the boy rested on a blanket he had laid out for him. The young man had indeed lost consciousness due to dehydration and starvation, as evidenced by how emaciated he was, barely weighing a stone from being carried the entire way.
Night soon fell, causing the temperature to drop into the negatives once the moon was at its peak. A fire was all the warmth they had, aside from a few blankets he scrounged from the Sandbenders. He had given the other boy small sips from his waterskin, monitoring his condition by his pulse and breathing. He took out strips of dried meat and tore small pieces of it onto a pan. It would have been better for him to make soup, but he lacked the proper ingredients. The young man, now more alert, drank and ate slowly, quietly but gratefully.
When he weakly motioned with his head that he had enough, it was time to tend the fire, though it only needed some old wood he had scavenged from the village.
"Th...Than..." His voice was hoarse, weak; perhaps even weaker. He had been close to death, that much was certain, but after being given some nourishment, his will to live would have to do the rest.
"Don't talk," he said back. "Just rest." The young man did just that.
The first signs of dawn brought the breaking of camp, and the young man had recovered enough, or just barely. Grateful for the shade, he sat against the rock and munched on what was left of the dried meat. They would need to resupply, which his rescuer had done after returning from the village. The silver received had been an incredible boon, with nary a regret over robbing the Sandbenders.
"So, what's your name?" The young man, who had grown a bit stronger by noon, asked him the question so suddenly that it barely registered at first.
"Ken," he replied curtly, his tone conveying that he wasn't much of a talker, but the young man must have been without good conversation for a long time, as he seemed a bit anxious.
The other boy hummed. "Sokka."
"...You Water Tribe?" Ken asked back.
Sokka shrugged his shoulders in the affirmative as he studied his savior in turn - a gray tunic with the sleeves secured by wraps. The same went for the gray pants, and his shoes were made of rather thick leather. His entire wardrobe was simple, but practical. He had yet to gain a full glimpse of his face because of the kasa, but he seemed friendly enough.
"If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already," Ken said as he cooked some rice in a pot for congee.
Sokka slowly released his grip on his weapon hidden under the blanket, but his guard remained steady. Stone-faced, he kept an eye on this...Ken. "Sorry, but I can't really be too careful. Not after..."
Ken stirred the pot as he made another educated guess. "Slavers?" From the flinch he earned, he was on the mark.
Sokka's lips thinned, his jaw clenching in what might have been brewing anger. "Pirates…"
Ken paused in his stirring. "Pirates?" Sokka's voice was soft, more of a hiss, the venom unmistakable. "You were captured by pirates?"
The Water Tribe boy nodded. "Captured, and destined to be sold," Sokka said with a little more anger. "I…my friends…"
"Captured, too?" Ken guessed still, but refuted with a shaking of Sokka's head.
"I managed to escape," he revealed.
"How?" Ken asked, though his tone lacked interest.
Sokka seemed to hesitate before opening his mouth. "I kept my boomerang under my tunic."
"Boomerang?" Sokka pulling out the weapon served as an answer.
"Stabbed the guard," Sokka admitted quietly, without emotion. "Took the keys and ran. Ran until I didn't even know where I was going anymore."
"From the way you're speaking, you didn't expect to find yourself here," Ken remarked dryly, guessing that he had been drugged while in captivity. "Where were you last?"
"A port town," Sokka revealed shakily. "Me and my friends were buying supplies when we came upon a ship that had docked. One of the crew members, the barker, said they had exotic goods from around the world." He bitterly scoffed at the memory. "Should have figured."
Ken was quiet as he poured some of the finished congee into a bowl and handed it to Sokka. "You couldn't have known. What about your friends?"
Sokka allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips. "They escaped after I drew the pirates to me. There were too many, so I had to do something fast."
"Hang on," Ken said as he raised a hand, the other holding his own bowl of congee. "Shouldn't have they found you by now? I bet they're looking for you."
"That's what I thought," Sokka admitted as he ate. "But after getting my bearings, I couldn't even make heads or tails of where I was or how long it's been, only that this has to be somewhere around the Earth Kingdom."
"The Si Wong Desert."
"What?" Sokka looked up from his bowl, eyeing Ken inquisitively.
"We're in the Si Wong Desert," Ken elaborated. "It's in the very middle of the Earth Kingdom. The hottest, most arid place anyone could ever find themselves in."
Sokka looked like he had just been given the worst possible news. "Th-That's gotta be miles from where I was!" He looked down at the ground with a glare, past his bowl, which he squeezed with what little strength he had and managed to spill what was left of its contents. Soon, however, he reorganized his thoughts and focused on what he had to do. "I-I have to get to a city! A real city! Not...whatever that shithole was!"
Ken clicked his tongue after finishing his meal. "That'll take a while. The only decent place to get help would be Omashu, which is where I was headed."
Sokka's face brightened with hope. "Omashu... that... that's probably where they are!
Ken quickly grounded him. "Easy. We can't be too sure. For all you know, they're still back at that port town, waiting for you."
Sokka shook his head, re-energized by the thought of reuniting with his companions. "No, they wouldn't. We had to go to Omashu in the first place because..."
Ken tilted his head as if he wanted the boy to finish his sentence. "We just have to go to Omashu," Sokka went on. "Even if they're not there, it's still a safe place. I can just stay and wait for them." He then lifted his gaze to the mysterious youth sitting across from him, suspicion still brewing behind his stare.
Ken remained silent, his thoughts swirling around the boy's words and intentions. He set the bowl down as he removed his kasa to scratch his head, his dark hair cut short. It was then that Sokka had a better profile of his rescuer's face. Handsome; though certainly not as handsome as him, with slightly tanned skin from his time in the desert. His breath caught, however, as he took in the eyes.
The same color as the flames that were dancing between them. One could have taken it as a trick of the light, but he could never forget such eyes. Not ever.
Fire Nation.
He flashed his boomerang with renewed force and hostility, the sharp end facing his enemy. After jumping to his feet, he assumed a fighting stance, placing some distance between himself and the still oddly relaxed youth. Ken didn't bother as he continued to scratch at his head, then down at his chin; he had to give the boy some credit for regaining enough strength to stand, if only barely.
"What's wrong?" Ken didn't look at him. He didn't need to, nor did he feel the urge to elaborate as Sokka was more than happy to do the honors.
"Shut up!" the Water Tribe snapped, some spittle flying out, his eyes flickering frantically as if fearing others were hiding nearby. "Shut the hell up, Fire Nation scum!"
Again, Ken didn't respond, or gave the kind of reaction one would expect. He had heard people call him that before. Admittedly, it had stung a bit the first time, but he did previously lack the proper context as to the why.
"You're not getting him..." Sokka seethed with more venom, eyes set in a glare - vicious, dangerous - if there was so much as a muscle twitch, steel would be drawn to flesh.
Ken blinked, turned his attention back to the now hostile boy and asked in what was genuine puzzlement, "Him who?"
Sokka chuckled - breathless, exhausted, and maybe a touch deranged. "You really think you played me, huh? You must think I'm stupid."
Ken kept his features even. "Pretty stupid. What with you drawing a weapon on me for no reason."
"I said shut the fuck up!" Sokka roared, his anger rising even higher. "There's no way in hell you murderers are getting your hands on the Avatar!" His gaze faltered briefly, regret filling him for letting that tidbit slip, but that hardly mattered when he was facing someone who was clearly the enemy of all the other nations left after the massacre of the Airbenders a century ago.
Ken remained calm, infuriatingly so. Treacherous thoughts raced through the boy now known as Sokka, wondering if this had been an elaborate ruse, if he had been recognized from the wanted posters that had undoubtedly been circulating since their first encounter with the butchers who had ruined his home, destroyed his family.
"The Avatar," Ken repeated, testing the words. He had heard some wild rumors floating around lately. News was slow, but gossip was fast. Weeks ago, a contingent of Fire Nation soldiers had encountered a boy who could Airbend. Allegedly, and at the South Pole. According to tradition, the last known Avatar was a Firebender, which only meant that the next would have to be born among the Air Nomads, which was damn near impossible since they had been wiped out by Fire Lord Sozin a century prior, which kicked off the still ongoing war. Unless there had been survivors. "You're traveling with the Avatar?"
"What part of shut the fuck up don't you understand, asshole?!" Sokka continued to rage after taking a few more steps back, the panic spilling out from every pore as his mind and pulse raced. He had already been captured by pirates, separated from his friends - his sister. He didn't want to be made captive again and interrogated, then burned alive for their sick entertainment. In a snap of movement, he turned on his heel and ran before falling forward not five steps far from his rescuer turned captor.
That is, if Ken was really intending to hurt the boy. He knew that whatever he said would be taken as a lie, so he was a bit torn between explaining himself or just letting the Water Tribe believe what he believed.
"Damn it…" Sokka hissed, his strength having left him too soon.
Ken sighed through his nose and decided to clean up and get ready to leave. Oh, and maybe take Sokka with him. After all, they were heading for the same place. He could use the company. Before long, the Water Tribe boy heard footsteps edging closer until a pair of feet stopped right next to him. "Look, I'm gonna go ahead to Omashu. If you want to come along, be my guest. I have plenty of food and water for the both of us."
"Fuck off," Sokka hissed back.
"I'm not with the Fire Nation," he said in a noncommittal tone, knowing how it would be received.
"Can't...trust..." Sokka muttered half-deliriously from the waning adrenaline or suspected poison from the food, wanting to run his boomerang right through the bastard's foot, but he could barely lift the damn thing. "Just…get on with it."
Ken closed his eyes and darted them to the side once they opened. "Suit yourself," he said. "I'm gonna go ahead to Omashu. Maybe say hello to your friends when I get there."
Expectedly, Sokka glared at him hatefully, which was returned with a cheeky smile before he continued on his way. It would be an hour and a half before he found the Water Tribe boy following him. From a distance, of course, with boomerang still on hand. He deliberately slowed his pace, partly to get as much fun out of this as possible, but also to keep an eye on the still recovering boy, who genuinely couldn't keep up as much. As the sun crested, he was tempted to share some of his water, but knew that he would be refused, most likely on suspicion of poison. Worse, the guy might just tear the waterskin open using that boomerang of his. There was no way he would risk losing such a resource.
He stopped for a break, and Sokka was still there, hiding behind a smaller rock that offered no shade. The reprieve was short, just to wet his tongue and chew on some of the dry meat he had bought from the last settlement. Again, he was tempted to leave some for Sokka to pick up, only to undoubtedly be rejected with the same suspicion. Those with bleeding hearts often met their end in the literal sense, for the Si Wong Desert was beyond anyone's governance, leaving its inhabitants to survive and adapt in their own way. One's own life was their own responsibility. Anything less was a death wish.
This little song and dance went on for about another day before the Water Tribe boy finally gave in, leaving him with little choice but to eat a strip or two of dried meat, imbibe a cup of water, but no more. All the while, he had been on the alert for others. Fire Nation soldiers, spies, anyone. His search yielded none such people, except for that same cheeky smile.
Neither spoke a word to the other, their actions saying enough. Three days passed, and with the ever-torturing desert testing them, the two came to a sort of truce. Sokka maintained his suspicions, which Ken honestly thought was wise, as being too trusting was its own poison.
Not that he had any intention of proving such mistrust.
"Who are you really?" Sokka found himself asking, the two of them sitting around a fire Ken had made with his bending, seeing no point in hiding such a detail. If there was ever a reliable element to have in terms of survival, Fire was by far the most versatile. Oh, Earth and Water were nice. The former could be used for shelter, hunting, and it was a bending art that had the most abundant and available resource at its disposal. Water, while equally as versatile, had its critical limitations. Unless there was a solid water source, or one was skilled enough to draw moisture from the air, having almost nothing to bend was about as superfluous as anything could be.
Ken made a show of considering his answer, humming while nodding his head from side to side. "Kenshiro," he replied. "But my friends just call me Ken. What about you? Is 'Sokka' not your full name?"
'Sokka' gritted his teeth, his scowl threatening to become permanent. "Are you a soldier? An undercover spy? Is that why you're going to Omashu?" If he could regain his full strength, he might be able to take him on, but not without effort. He was well aware of his non-bending status, but his martial skill might just be enough. A cheap shot, a surprise attack, whatever it took, he'd bring this bastard down.
"Well, I haven't really been to the Fire Nation in a while, so I'm none of those," Ken, or Kenshiro, refuted casually. He didn't care if people believed him or not. He answered with the truth, for he hadn't been to his old home in years.
Not since…
"Never got the chance to enter the Military Academy, or go into the super secret training program for spies," he grinned just as cheekily at the latter part. "What about you?"
The Water Tribe boy turned away, unwilling to reveal anything. In the back of his mind, he was curious why this 'Kenshiro' hadn't disposed of him, or worse, tortured him for the Avatar's whereabouts. Perhaps it was some kind of play, a psychological game. A way for him to let his defenses down. Ken allowed the silence to return, no further banter between them, the only sound being the crackling of the fire. They had set up camp near a group of broken-down sand-sailers that had no shortage of the driest wood available. Sokka had said nothing more, but his mind had been filled with plans and strategies against the Firebender. On a previous night, he had tried to slit the bastard's throat while he slept, creeping stealthily until the edge of his boomerang was just above the carotid artery. His effort was rewarded with a near heart attack as Ken, as if coming out of a truly terrifying nightmare, snapped his eyes open and screamed at the top of his lungs, seemingly echoing into the vast expanse of the desert. The second attempt was no better.
Irritatingly, Ken had been nothing but dismissive, as if suggesting that the Water Tribe boy wasn't a threat. His mind kept racing with treacherous thoughts of what he could do, how he could find his way back to his friends. These thoughts, along with his vigilance against his captor, had robbed him of much-needed sleep. He would doze off from time to time, forcing himself to wake up with a start or pacing to keep his mind and adrenaline going. He would give in, but each time he awoke, he was alive, unblemished, untouched.
He wasn't sure if this was all a ruse or an elaborate ploy, but he couldn't take any chances. Not when he had the opportunity to be so close to the enemy, watching their every move.
Three days later…
Sokka wobbled as he took tired, directionless steps, the hot sun continuing to beat down on them apathetically. Hunger and dehydration had returned with a gleeful vengeance, their supplies exhausted after what must have been days of travel. Kenshiro walked ahead of him, his gait more steady and purposeful, as if he knew where they were going.
"Ho...how much...further?!" Sokka huffed out, his throat as dry as the ground they were walking on.
"Just a little more," Kenshiro replied flatly, conserving as much of his energy as possible per his training, keeping his breathing and pulse steady. All five of his senses were focused, sharpened by the adrenaline and endorphins coursing through his body, the discomfort lessened by the numbing effect of the natural painkillers. It was all he could do as he had given the last of his rations to Sokka, who lacked the same conditioning he had. Still, even he would eventually reach his limit.
"Just hold on," Kenshiro went on. "There should be a town up ahead. Just keep following my lead."
Sokka drew in short breaths, the heat prickling his bare skin after he removed his tunic and wrapped it around his head to keep cool. "You... you would... like all that, wouldn't you?" His eyes unfocused, he looked in the direction where he thought Kenshiro was. "But I won't fall for... such an obvious trap. I'm... smarter than the average polar bear. Eheheheeeh!"
Kenshiro ignored the ramblings that had been going on for a few hours now. He could take the guy's barbs any day, but if he had to play a one-man audience to another delirious song about penguin seals, he'd take his chances with the people lying in wait for them.
They were all behind a few outcroppings scattered around the area, though he did not sense too great of a killing intent. He had been ambushed before. Most were simple, the usual coming up from behind to stab or strangle him. Some were less straightforward or elaborate.
"Wha-?!" Sokka cried out as the both of them were suddenly launched off the ground. Ah, the old springing net trap. He had wondered when he was gonna go through one of those again.
His face met the sole of Sokka's boot, but he could still make out footsteps as several figures shuffled nearby. After pushing the offending limb away with his forearm, he peered through the net and saw that they were men wielding clubs, sticks, and spears. From their appearance, they didn't have the typical sandbender chic, wearing more varied tunics and kimonos, so they could only be village defenders.
"I knew it…" Sokka mumbled, his words slurred. Making a fist, he softly hammered at Ken's chest in the limited space of the net. "Say your prayers…you…"
Days later…
Sokka awoke to a blurred view, his vision swaying before it adjusted to the limited light from the beam filtering in through a small window. He blinked, a hand reaching up to rub at his head, the dizzying aftereffects of being under the sun for too long still lingering. He took a moment to collect himself, blinking quickly before flicking his gaze left and right.
"Where...?" He croaked, realizing he was in the confines of a room with a...cage? "Fire Nation..."
"Nope." He snapped his head to where the voice came from and found none other than Ken leaning against the opposite wall, munching on something, the audible crunch making his ears burn. "Not this time, I'm afraid."
Puzzled, Sokka muttered in a curt, desperate tone once all his focus landed on - "Wha…What's that you're eating?!"
Ken paused in his chewing. "Really? That's really the very first thing that-
"Just give me some before I black out again!" Sokka insisted more forcefully, his voice hoarse, a trembling arm reaching up.
Ken, staring at Sokka's condition, relented and threw the half-eaten fruit in his direction. The Water Tribe boy inched closer before it even hit the hard ground, bouncing once with an inaudible thud. He snatched it with a flick of his arm and gnawed at it like a rabid pheasant squirrel. "Mm! Mmm! Sweet nectar, how I have missed you!"
Ken chuckled as he watched. "Well, well, Sokka the Paranoiac eating what could be poison. Careful you don't choke."
"Shut up!" Sokka spat through a mouthful, then shoved the last of the fruit into his mouth, seeds and all. Licking his fingers for good measure, he let out a relieved sigh and dropped onto what he realized was a blanket. Silence returned to the room, soon broken by a light snoring as Sokka fell asleep. Ken decided to let the other boy get some proper rest. Hours later, Sokka had recovered enough strength to lean against the opposite wall from the wandering Firebender. "Where are we?"
"A village," Ken answered, relaxing in his own corner with his arms folded over his chest, leg propped on the other knee. "Tossed us into this cell soon after they caught us. Guess they're not taking any chances."
"Well, yeah," Sokka scoffed. "They have to. What with guys like you running around."
A thin grin danced across Ken's lips. "Your average Fire Nation soldier would think twice before taking a stroll through these deserts. Nothing to gain except getting ambushed or dying of heat, which would be redundant as hell. No. What these good people have more reason to worry about is your typical bandit. Thieves who want to plunder them for food, water, and other valuables."
"Like you?" Sokka maintained.
The grin changed into a full smile. "Maybe. If I was feeling particularly desperate." This earned him a glare. "To be fair, you have to do what you can just to get by."
"It wouldn't even be like this if it wasn't for the war. The Fire Nation's war!" Sokka seethed, the hand propped on his knee closing into a fist. "Do you have any idea how much the South suffered? Or what's left of it? We had to put up with constant raids! Many were killed or captured. My father had to leave with the rest of the men in our village to fight them head on. It's been five years since then."
Ken didn't react, his body language unreadable. "Cool."
Sokka blinked, surprise coloring his expression, wondering if he had heard right as he slowly shifted his gaze to the other boy. "What?"
"I said," Ken began again, "that I think it's cool that he's out there, doing what he has to. Better than nothing or just waiting to die."
Sokka sat frozen for a moment in what could have been disbelief, then indignation. He scurried out of his corner and lunged at his cellmate, grabbing him by the crook of his tunic. "You son of a bitch, you think this is something to be proud of? My father out there, risking his life and the lives of our tribesmen for a war your country started?!"
He tightened his grip, his blood boiling with anger at such a dismissive remark about the sacrifices his people had to make just to live, to defend what was left of their home. He leaned close, close enough that Ken could feel his warm breath. "You people are monsters! Demons who burn down everything in your path, not giving a damn about those who bear the brunt of your carnage! If I..." Sokka bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing. "If only I had been stronger..."
Ken's eyes flicked back to the other boy. "You lost someone." A fist connected with his cheek as soon as the words left his mouth. Another, then another, stopping only when his attacker was out of breath. Sokka glared down in disgust at the boy who had been his companion on their little journey.
Tears had streamed down the Sokka's cheeks throughout the attack as he weakly released his grip and sank to his knees. Hours would pass in silence between the two, with the Water Tribe boy calming down, though what remained of the former tension still hung over them.
Kenshiro, now sporting a bruise on where he had been struck, just leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed, meditatively closing his eyes in silence. That was until he opened them, sensing someone - no - several people approaching.
They came into view through the cage, counting four in total. The one in the lead appeared to be the oldest, bald, and with stress lines around his eyes. He was wearing a tattered brown kimono with no other accessories. The two other men were younger, both with a full head of hair. One had a beard, while the other only had stubble. The fourth, and youngest, was a mere little girl, with short brown hair. She was wearing a pink tunic with sleeves and brown ku trousers. Held between her tiny hands was a tray with two bowls of simple rice gruel and two cups of water. An older woman had been the one delivering food to their cell in the days before Sokka awoke, with Kenshiro having to care for the other boy by giving him sips of water and gruel. The fruit had been a treat that they provided on a whim, but food was scarce enough as it was.
Kenshiro eyed the group with a taciturn mien, not giving anything away with his body language. The very instant they caught the color of his eyes, they rushed him into this cell, and while his companion seemed to be of the Water Tribe, they suspected it was part of a ploy to have the young man vouch on their behalf.
They had tried to bind his hands and feet to prevent him from pulling off any bending, but they found his discarded shackles the following day just outside the cell. The entire village had been stirred into an uproar once word spread despite efforts to keep his presence unmentioned, and with the repeated attempts to bind him resulting in failure, they were resigned to simply keep him behind lock and key. Curiously, the firebender did not once express any hostility, nor did he open with any threats. All that ever came out of his mouth was concern for his companion, asking for extra rations and water. He even forewent portions for himself just to help nurse the other boy back to health. It would seem his efforts were rewarded when the same boy was sitting hunched against an adjacent wall, his head down.
The old man, who must have been the village elder or leader, studied them as he asked, "I trust you two are now a lot more inclined to talk?"
"What's there to say?" Kenshiro said idly. "I'm sure you've already drawn your own conclusions. No need to waste any of our breaths."
The elder was quiet for the barest of a moment. "I'm certain you know full well why, young man."
Kenshiro grinned despite himself. "Oh, I do. Nothing I haven't heard before." This earned him glares from all three men, though the child remained silent, not moving a muscle, which slightly unnerved Sokka as he observed her. She looked almost like a doll.
Soon enough, however, there was a shift in the elder's expression. "You and your friend will be free to go this later afternoon."
This expectedly instilled surprise in Sokka, but not Kenshiro. "You don't want any trouble," the latter mused.
"It seems you don't either," the old man admitted. "My name is Haerang, and I run this settlement. It is a simple but livable village. The people here want nothing to do with the war, and even less with other disaffected people. A number of refugees have already settled here."
"No more mouths to feed," Ken realized. "You've been getting complaints, I take it. Why not make it easy on yourselves and just execute us?"
Haerang stared at the young man for a long stretch, then flicked his eyes between him and Sokka. "Though it might take some weight off our shoulders, I would rather not invite such ill into our quaint little home. Nor would we so shamelessly resort to murder to solve all our problems."
Kenshiro could feel a weight under the man's tone, with a hint of resentment. "So, what verdict have you reached?"
"We will give you supplies before sending you on your way, but nothing more," Haerang replied. "Your destination?"
"Omashu."
The men exchanged glances in silent consideration. "Omashu is a three-day journey from here. Ideally, two. We will give you two days' worth, provided you ration wisely."
"Deal," Kenshiro agreed. "That's all we wanted in the first place."
"Many others have claimed the same," Haerang replied curtly. Then he motioned with his hand for the girl to step forward. "Consider this your last meal here."
Kenshiro grinned but remained silent. Whether the man was keeping them on their toes or just giving them false hope, the only thing that mattered was their survival. They had to eat. The girl approached with slow, deliberate steps, her expression barely changing, not having made a sound or uttered a word.
"What's wrong with her?" Sokka asked quietly. Just something about her eyes that made him uneasy; something vaguely familiar.
Haerang's gaze went down to the girl, his face furrowed in sympathy. "The girl is not originally from this village. She had traveled with a group of refugees that found their way here. She was without family, but cared for by the group. She…has not spoken a word since."
"Can she at least write?" Kenshiro asked just in case; more from experience.
"Surprisingly, yes," Haerang replied, which caused some surprise among the boys. Literacy was not common among peasants, let alone girls. Unless they belonged to a wealthy family or were studying for a specific job, such as in the government, the chances of someone so young having such skills were slim to none. "She can write her name, at least. Kiyi."
Kenshiro's eyes landed on the girl who was pushing the tray through a gap under the bars. He smiled and offered a slight wave in greeting. "Hello, Kiyi. I'm Ken." He jerked a thumb to the other occupant. "That's Sokka." Sokka on his end watched the girl carefully, and she was so much closer that he could finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.
"She's…"
Haerang nodded. "She is of the Fire Nation, or perhaps one of their colonies here in the Earth Kingdom. Still, we do not hold that against her. The refugees she traveled with still took care of her as if she were their own. Of course, there are those who want nothing to do with her, but so far no one has mistreated her."
Both Ken and Sokka studied the girl, taking in everything about her as she stood to her full height, but what caught their attention the most were her eyes.
The girl had seen hell.
From her body language alone, it would seem that she did not have an easy life. Sokka should have felt the same resentment, but he just couldn't bring himself to hate a child, especially when she looked to be about the same age as the other village children back home. No, he would not stoop to such a level, for even his father would disapprove. His grudge was only with the Fire Nation and those who had wronged them directly. Not those who were too young to even defend themselves. Haerang and his companions soon left, but Kiyi stayed, if only to retrieve the tray when they were done.
And to keep an eye on them in case they tried anything.
After they finished eating, Ken was the one to shuffle near to pass back the tray. A gentle smile was on his lips as kind eyes met Kiyi's. "Thank you for the food. My friend and I feel much better now."
Sokka scoffed. "Speak for yourself. And we're not friends."
Ken's smile widened with that familiar cheekiness as he turned to him. "Aw, come on Sokka, buddy! After everything we've been through? Don't tell me none of it meant anything."
Sokka gritted his teeth. "We. Are. Not. Friends. Get that through your head or so help me-!"
"Hmf!"
Kenshiro glanced back at the child, who had a lopsided smile on her lips, their little exchange having amused her. Upon garnering their attention, she clapped her hands over her mouth. "See? She seems to think so."
Rather than argue further, Sokka just shook his head. Kenshiro shrugged and returned his focus back to Kiyi and asked gently, "Can you really not speak?"
Kiyi stared at the boy, her smile leaving her, but not his, their amber eyes maintaining contact. Without a word, Ken reached out through the bars, both hands slow but steady. "Easy," he said, sensing some fear from the girl, "this isn't going to hurt. I promise."
Kiyi should have been suspicious of what the boy had said, should have been wary of what he was doing, should have walked away or run back to the adults, but for some reason, looking back into his eyes, she could not sense the slightest bit of malice. There was... a kindness, a warmth that was familiar to her. Sokka quickly rose up to one knee. "What are you doing?" Was he going to try to take the girl hostage? He didn't have time to sort out such thoughts before he moved, fearing what kind of trouble this might cause for them.
Ken, however, was done as soon as he felt a hard grab of his shoulder, retracting his hands back after his fingers had only brushed the back of the girl's neck. "There. That should do it. The rest is up to you."
"The rest - what did you do to her?" Sokka asked forcefully.
"I just cast a spell," Ken answered with a grin. "A spell that might just help her speak again."
Sokka didn't know if he should take such words seriously. "Okay, spill! Is this some kind of super-secret Firebender mind trick that spies use to pass messages to each other?"
The Water Tribe boy's words drew identical strange looks from both Ken and Kiyi, with the older Fire Nation boy asking, "Was there cactus juice in that water?"
"N-No! Gah!" Sokka threw his hands in the air and slunk back to his corner in frustration. "You know what, forget it. You Firebenders can keep having your secret mind conversations if you want."
"Sokka, how and where do you come up with this stuff?" Ken deadpanned, since this wasn't really the first wild and nonsensical accusation the other boy had cooked up about Firebenders.
"Yeah, well, the burden of proof is on you, pal!" Sokka shot back, turning away as he curled up.
"And here I thought you said we weren't friends," Ken continued to quip, drawing a giggle from Kiyi and a snarl from Sokka. Kiyi would leave after the tray was handed to her, leaving the two boys alone with each other.
"What did you really do to her?" Sokka asked, pushing aside his more outlandish theories to ask more directly, suspicion mixed with curiosity.
Kenshiro turned away from staring at the window, pulled out of his thoughts. "Ever heard of Chi Blocking?"
"Chi...Blocking?" Sokka tested the words.
"Didn't think so," Kenshiro admitted with a shrug. "It's not that well known, and for good reason as far as benders are concerned."
Sokka's curiosity was stoked. "Why?"
"Because, trained in the art, you can temporarily shut down someone's bending," Kenshiro revealed, earning no small amount of shock. "You can even render them paralyzed to boot."
Sokka's mouth hung open, his mind trying to reconcile what this...'chi blocking' was with everything he knew about bending, since his sister was a Waterbender herself. "Whoa, whoa, wait! Back up a second. Are you telling me that there is a way to... take away people's bending?"
Kenshiro snorted. "It's only temporary. By hitting precise pressure points, one can block the chi needed to channel one's control over the elements, as well as paralyze the muscles. If you're a non-bender, it can even the playing field. That is, if you're skilled enough to get close."
Sokka shook his head in disbelief. "Hang on. Aren't you a bender, too?"
"Yeah?" Kenshiro confirmed. "And?"
"Then…should you really be…?"
"There's not really a rule saying that benders can't learn it," Kenshiro pointed out. "If anything, it makes me more well rounded, and I'm not caught off guard. It's better to be versatile in as many fields as you can learn."
Sokka shook his head once more. "And, what, you…blocked Kiyi's chi? Is she even a bender?"
"She is," Kenshiro revealed. "And no, I did the opposite, actually. I could tell that one of her Meridian points was blocked."
"Meridian points?"
"Ever heard of acupuncture?"
Sokka shrugged. "Who hasn't? That's where you stick needles into people, right?"
"That, or you can simply make a precise enough strike to produce the same result. Normally, these pressure points are stimulated to help treat ailments and promote health," Kenshiro elaborated further. "It is said that there are at least four hundred in total hidden within the human body. However, that number is slightly off. There are actually about seven hundred. With sufficient training and experience, one can do more than suppress one's bending or heal. A lot more."
Sokka blinked, disbelief washing over him. "A…lot more?"
"Yeah," Kenshiro said. "Maybe I'll show you when I-"
His sentence was cut off when they heard the door to the jailhouse they were held in slam open, and a young man ran into view outside of their cell, the sounds of keys jiggling accompanying his arrival. "Both of you. Out!"
Both boys snapped to attention, rising to their feet at the urgency of the words as the young man was frantically opening the lock. "What's wrong?" Kenshiro asked tersely.
The young man had a wild, panicky look in his eyes as he answered with, "Bandits!"
A/N: One-shot.