[[Author's intro: This is a companion piece to my other fic, Assault on the South. The two will see new chapters released as they are completed. They were originally part of the same story but I found they work better separately. Bits of each story will make their way into the other, so for the full experience, I'd advise reading both. This chapter is present in both as I feel it is necessary to the narration of the main story. The rest of the stories are significant, but would hurt the pace of Assault if included with it like I originally planned.]]

Chapter I:

Loss and Again

My parents were a wealthy pair towards the northmost side of the Earth Kingdom, in the small community of Rashon, wholly populated by socialites who shipped its rich resources, minerals and gemstones to Ba Sing Se. Nothing much ever went on there, with every building formed and fortified like an impenetrable fortress daring any vagabonds to disrupt its idyllic atmosphere, a large, steel gate surrounding the entire town. My childhood was filled with toys and candies and the many sweet things available to the Earth Kingdom's elite. And raised in that kind of environment, I was sure everyone else lived much the same way.

At least until the days I began to venture a ways outside the community. I remember the first day I saw the worn, weak earthbender, his body covered in mud, blood and sweat, his feet covered in blisters, walking away from the gem-filled mountains to the north of our village. And saw him as he collapsed.

"Mister? Mister are you okay?" I asked, offering him a hand.

"I'm… I'm-" he let out a painful wheeze. "I'm fine kid… Long day in the mines. That's all."

"Why were you in the mines all day?" I asked.

"Herbologists are expensive, pal. And my kids need their medicine."

"You're not even wearing any shoes!" I protested.

"Yeah, well maybe if I work a little harder I can save up for some new ones."

He was the first man I ever saw walking away from those mines, but certainly not the last. When I asked my parents about it days later, they told me he probably worked for someone in our village. That even if things seemed down for him now, he could surely work his way up someday, he just had to handle his money carefully, like my family had. The irony of a broken man digging out diamonds and gemstones still strikes me even to this day.

My parents and the rest of the elite owned the mines and paid their workers only a fraction of the fortunes they brought out with them each day. Anyone found attempting to smuggle those riches was eventually caught and harshly punished. And with the constant danger and weakness the workers always found themselves in, their meager payments only barely kept them alive. The difference between the elite of my community and slavedrivers was a loose technicality.

I don't know how I could have possibly been surprised when I awoke when our house was set aflame in the middle of the night.

If I had to guess what exactly transpired beforehand, it would be that one of the foreman from the mines, the only ones with a key to get past the gate, had finally decided he had seen enough for the hypocrisy and abuse my parents and the other mine-owners were partaking in. I don't think any of them were firebenders themselves, and the fire was probably started by some of the explosives they used to make their way through the mines. Regardless, I remember being pulled from my bed by my mother, screaming about the grave danger we were in. She carried me to the outside as the chaos ensued, the smoke felling my nose and lungs and threatening to pull me into darkness.

I saw the oppressed workers screaming and bending with all their might. Houses were torn apart, fires were set, it was a destructive and merciless scene. I could see the dirty men, women and children rushing to the storehouses and running off gleefully with armfuls of gold and diamonds, running away to build better lives for themselves after the horrors my family had rot upon them. With another inhale of smoke, I was rendered unconscious.

When I awoke the next morning I was somewhere else. Somewhere stone, cold and ancient, by the looks of it. I was lying on a mat on the ground, and after my eyes adjusted to the brilliant glare of the sun, I saw about half of the adults and children of the town standing in a small crowd along with another figure. Someone who, until that moment, I had only heard the faintest words about. He was a tall, dignified looking man with a brown beard and a shaven head, a blue tattoo of an arrow running down the center.

In spite of the always cheerful and charming stories I had been told, Avatar Aang at this time bore a scowl and a voice that shook with contempt.

"How many in your village were killed in that raid?" He demanded. "How many of your friends and family suffered and died because you were too consumed in your own greed to allow your workers the bare necessities of life?"

"You're blaming us?! We were the ones attacked!"

"And from what you all have told me, you have been preying upon the weakness of your servants for far too long," The Avatar replied. "What they did was wrong, they have now done terrible things. But you paved this path yourselves… And maybe you can begin your road to redemption here." He motioned to the place that surrounded us, saying, "I brought you all, atop my bison, to the Northern Air Temple. The air acolytes will help treat all of you for your wounds, and you may remain here to recover. But you should know your entire village was leveled by that assault. If you wish to use this temple for shelter, you will abide by our ways. Otherwise, try and make something better of your lives when you leave."

…

I arrived in that temple when I was eight years old, and remained there for my next seven. I would often hear the people of my village complain about everything involved in our stay. The way the acolytes forbid the eating of meat, the discomfort in the sleeping quarters and the general rejection of creature comforts. Such was this disdain that I hid that part of me secretly liked the simplistic lifestyle and philosophies of the acolytes. I enjoyed attending the classes and lectures the gurus taught, and worked off a lot of the weight I had carried from all those sweets practicing yoga and martial arts.

More than anything else, the acolytes taught me what a simple place the world can be, if you permit it to be. When my mother once asked me how I could possibly be happy with everything that had been ripped from our hands, I told her it was because I had accepted what had happened in the past. That pain and suffering exist, but by lingering, we only prolong it.

Needless to say, my parents, and much of the rest of my destroyed village, did not share the philosophies of the acolytes. There was only so much of that simplicity they could stand.

Four years into our time there, I was again awoken in the middle of the night, this time by my mother.

"Zaheer…? Zaheer wake up. Wake up! We're leaving this place."

"Wha… What?"

"Your father and I have packed. We're finally leaving this temple. We're going to rebuild our lives."

"But… But we were already rebuilding our lives. The monks took us in."

"And then took away our choice in the matter," my father retorted. "They'd like us to be trapped here forever, Zaheer. But we're not like them. We have lives to live outside these walls. And we finally have the means to do it. Come on son, we're leaving."

It was then, after scratching my eyes, that I saw their carrying bags and my heart sank. They were full of the small, meditating idols that decorated the temple and a number of worn old scrolls. Antiques and precious valuables of the airbenders.

"You're… You're stealing from them?" I asked weakly, tears forming in my eyes.

"There's enough here to rebuild what we lost," my father said. "We can go back to the outside, back to living the good life!"

I remained in that devastated state for a few seconds as my mother grabbed me by my arm and pulled me out of bed, but with a yank I forced myself free. Tears were streaming down my cheeks and I couldn't control my voice. I began to scream, painful and shrill.

"You're betraying them! The people who saved you- Who took you in- This is how you repay them?!"

"Quiet Zaheer!" My mother hissed. "You'll wake the monks-"

"I hope I do!" I yelled back. "You… You're monsters! Greedy monsters who only care about being rich again! No matter what these people have done from you, you're going to-"

My father stepped forward and struck me across the face, issuing a, "Quiet!" Of his own, grabbing me by my shirt and dragging me towards the outside.

"Help! Help!" I screamed. "Someone, anyone, help!"

By the time we stepped out into the cold of the autumn air my father had thrown me to the ground, one eye twitching in anger. I knew how to counter and escape from them, I could have fought back. But they were my parents. Once my caring, spoiling parents. I couldn't possibly fight them. But they could fight me if it meant leaving the temple and regaining their fortune.

But at last my cries of pain were met with some kind of response. At least half a dozen monks, probably meditating before sunrise, appeared in the temple's courtyard, looks of absolute disgust and anger upon their faces.

"This is how you repay us?" One asked. "After we gave you shelter?"

"You forced us into a prison!" My father barked back. "Look at you, defending a culture that isn't even your own! Well we have had enough."

"You have always been free to leave whenever you wished," another monk said. "But set down that bag and those artifacts. And let the boy go."

"You don't tell us what to do with our son!" My mother objected. At this moment, I pushed to my feet and ran, sobbing in pain and anguish, to one of the monks, clinging to his robes before furiously looking back at my parents.

"I'm not your son!" I shouted. "Not anymore! All you've ever done was try and control people! Well you're done trying to control me!"

In spite of their former resolve, this cry seemed to weaken my mother. "No… Zaheer listen to me. We've never tried to-"

"All you care about is power!"

"No," my father said, trying to maintain his composure. "Zaheer, all we ever cared about was you-"

"Then you should just have made lives for yourselves here. And if you really mean it, you'll leave and never come back!"

Both of my parents remained frozen in place as they stared at the monks and back at me. Slowly, my father set down the bag of stolen idols and raised his hands. "Zaheer… Look at me… Zaheer… I'm giving them back… Please… Don't act like this."

"I don't care if you give them back," I said with some struggle. "You've done enough. I'm not going with you."

Silence, save for my sobs, overtook the courtyard for a few seconds before my mother pleaded, "Please… We've made a grave mistake. Take everything back, we'll stay. We won't complain anymore… Just don't separate us from our son-"

"I AM NOT YOUR SON!"

"You have committed a grave act on this night." The monk who held me said. "With or without your son, you would be banished from our temple for this until you can prove you have overcome the actions that have made you this way."

"Then isn't leaving us without shelter penance enough?" My father demanded. "How could you separate us from our son as well?!"

"We had no intention of separating you from your son. Those were Zaheer's words. Not ours."

"… Son…"

"… Zaheer…"

"… Leave. And don't ever come back."

Those were my last words to them and the last look I have them. I could hear their screams of struggle and resistance thereafter as the monk led me away, a caring hand on my shoulder.

"I am so sorry, Zaheer."

"… Pain exists. It is only by lingering that we turn it into suffering." I said weakly. It took everything in my being to not sob harder. No matter what I had said or how I had behaved, something had still just disappeared from my life. Forever.

"… I know it cannot do much to help you now. But there is an old airbending saying. 'In order to maintain balance, something must be lost by every gain. But something too is gained in every loss'."

With a brief wheeze and choke I said, "Than I hope I gain a lot. Otherwise I'll never keep balance."

The old monk showed me the saddest smile I have ever seen in my life. "You will, Zaheer. Guru Laghima said so."

…

By this point P'Li had fallen asleep at my side. There was more that had led me to this point, more gains, more losses and a far longer search for balance. But that was enough for one night. After all, there was much work to be done in the morning.