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bay217 · 7 years

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Chapter 1

Long, long ago, the four great lands fought the most brutal war this world has ever seen. Fueled by an imperialistic lust for power, Fire Lord Sozin attacked the other nations, the earth kingdom, the air nomads, and the water tribes. The war brought about many terrible tragedies, and many brave acts of heroism. Finally, when all hope seemed lost, the Hundred Year War was ended by Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Zuko, and a great era of peace was ushered in. People of all nations and all walks of life were united under the Republic of Nations and the leadership of Republic City. If this peace had lasted, then I would not be telling you this story. As it is, there is indeed a story to be told.** **

During the Hundred Year War, our world experienced a devastating extinction event. Countless plant and animal species were lost to the fires of conquest and conflict. What began as an initiative to resurrect the species of the old world granted us technology beyond what we had ever thought possible. Through the work of several talented geneticists and the grace of serendipity, the world was again filled with all the beautiful variety of life it had once sustained. Diseases were eradicated and no man went hungry. For the first time in history, the building blocks of life itself were in our hands. But that which had created such prosperity would soon show its potential for destruction. From the very creches that had given rise to Koalaotters and Pygmy pumas sprung the first of the Great Plagues. The plagues ravaged the world, destroying crops, causing the restored fauna to die of starvation, and leaving entire regions reduced to vast swirling deserts of dust and decay. Entire ecosystems came crashing down. Widespread famine and illness has killed countless. Were it not for a handful of sanctuaries, mankind as we know it may have been lost. The world is hurting. The world needs an Avatar…

[The Earth Kingdom City of Omashu]

“Last week it was four copper pieces!” Ong growled across the wooden booth. He grasped a sack of rice in his hand and glared at the man sitting behind the counter. Around them Kyu-Bak, Omashu’s enormous indoor marketplace, buzzed with activity.

“No four. Six today. Laws strong today.” the old man crossed his leathery, tanded arms over his chest stubbornly. He had the body of a beggar but the eyes of a businessman.

On any other day Ong would have tried to get the price down to at least 5 or else search out a better price at another vendor, but today he was already running late. He made a slightly disgruntled sound and forked over the money, taking the rice and winding his way back through the press of bodies.

He exited through one of the four massive doors to Kyu-Bak, his copper hair whipped by the powerful industrial fans groaning against the thick air of the city. Stepping out into the swelter was like walking into a wall of heat.

Out in the sloping, winding streets near the outer walls, high-speed transports built on the rails crisscrossing the city zipped overhead. The idea for the system was supposedly originated by the city’s king and a famous avatar in times long past.

Ong made his way through the communities adjacent to the great outer walls. Houses and less dignified shelters were built from mud-brick, sheet metal and wood against the wall itself, growing and overflowing as though the sector was a living thing itself. It was a place for the poor, adjoining the industrial district of Omashu. Walking through the streets Ong could almost smell the poverty. This was a scent, Ong thought, even sadder and more proximal than the stench of the emissions coming from the city’s industry. As if on cue, a fat-bellied exhaust pipe running from the heart of the city belched a cloud of smoke beside him.

“Ong!” his name echoed across a street clogged with trash and running children. He swiveled his head to see Nepa hurrying through an alleyway toward him. “Hey brudda, howzit eh?”

The man fell into step with Ong and they walked along the uneven path leading to Ong’s region of the vast slum. All the while Nepa whistled, his cheeks rosy and a smile on his face despite the grime besmearing his complexion and the poverty evident in his skinny limbs.

“Well then, what have you to say?” Ong asked impatiently. “Or did you simply wish to provide me a soundtrack for my walk home?” he teased.

Nepa chortled but shook his head, his face quickly falling into solemnity. “There are stirrings again. About clean water. Zone 3” he muttered. The slums on the outskirts of Omashu were informally divided into 5 zones, each representing a chunk of city perimeter that was often home to the lower class. “It has been so hot lately…” he added.

Ong nodded. “Is there immediate danger?” he asked. “What did Ravinder say?”

Nepa shook his head. “I don’t think it will become very violent yet, but the health concerns are mounting.”

“I will bring it to the attention of the council. In the meantime, ask the other zones to divert a small fraction of their water to Zone 3. Four is in Three’s debt since they recently absorbed some of Four’s population growth.” said Ong. “Thank you Nepa.”

The jolly older man nodded and started along the path to his own house. Ong looked after him, then called out “Hey! Nepa, your family will come tonight?”

Nepa grinned, looking over his shoulder “Half of the population of the slums is coming, man” he muttered “of course I’m gunna be there. The poor rarely have cause to drink. When there’s something to be joyful for, how can we miss such a chance, eh?”

Ong gave an exasperated expression, ever serious, even with regard to his children’s birthday celebration.

“Come now, this is an occasion most joyous. 10 years! Considering that there’s two of them, it may as well have been 20” he said as he headed away toward his own avenue of the slums.

For families in the poverty-ridden Zones, a child’s 10th birthday was often the only time they celebrated on account of something as trivial as the anniversary of one’s birth. In such disease and hunger-ridden times as these, more than half of all children died before they reached the age of 10, whether from sickness, malnutrition, or as a casualty of war or crime. However, it was widely accepted in the Zones that once a child reached the age of 10, they were much more likely to survive into adulthood.

Ong completed his trek home undisturbed. His was a mud-brick abode set on a small hill of earth, a couple hundred feet away from the rest of the slums and in slightly better condition. This was the only thing that distinguished him as a councilman. Elsewise, the sole representative of the Zones to the city council lived unremarkably, just as his constituency.

The house was abuzz with activity. Various women of the community were hurrying about, baskets of dark brown breads in their hands or mismatched tablecloths piled in their arms to just below eye-level. Meanwhile children ran about, some helping to carry things and others just getting in the way underfoot. A few men from the slums who were close to Ong were busy smoking meats over a fire in the back, a rare treat.

In the middle of all of the commotion stood Leah, Ong’s wife and the lady of the house. She was confidently directing workflow despite the chaotic nature of such a ceremony.

Usually a child’s 10th birthday was a pretty ritualized occasion, a large family gathering. However, considering Ong’s position in the community, this celebration was an even bigger deal, with more than two hundred people expected and several times that number of wellwishers to stop by in the coming week. However, it was not just daddy’s career which drew such fuss over this particular celebration. Rather, this was the birthday of two very special children…twins.

In the city of Omashu, there was much superstition and honor surrounding twins. For reasons undetermined (although most definitely relating to the rampant pollution) the birth of twins was much more rare than it had been in times past. Couple this with high child mortality rate, and rarely did a set of twins live to their tenth birthday.

On his way through the bustle toward his wife, Ong felt a hand grip his arm. “Onnnng darling.” a raspy old voice called him. “Hello Aunt Mimsy” he said.

“Such diamonds, such jewels!” the short, sturdy woman crooned. “Born in the honor of Omashu’s namesake. I never thought I’d live to see twins grow this old ever again. This is a joyous day indeed!” she twirled off without waiting for a response.

Twins, and especially a boy and girl, were believed to represent reincarnations of Oma and Shu, after whom the city was named and who were so close in their lives that they were said to be reborn together, at the same instant so that their spirits would never again have to be apart. Because of this, Ong’s two children had always meant something important to the community.

Seeing Ong, Leah beckoned him with a smile. “There you are, my breadwinner.” she said. As he grew closer her smile dropped and she squinted at him. “You’re late” she scolded.

“And you let Aunt Mims get to the rice wine,” he countered.

Leah’s coy smile returned as she kissed her husband. “And you’re late. Your children are in the house, but be careful, your mother is in there too and she’s barricaded the door”

Ong nodded knowingly and brought the bag of rice he’d been sent out to acquire into the kitchen. The room was small and filled way past capacity with women fixing dishes, rolling dough, and boiling water. It was a delicious smelling sauna packed with people and Ong breathed a breath of relief once he’d made his way through.

Making his way through the cooler part of the house, he went down a hallway only to be met almost immediately by his mother, a small woman with fierce eyes whose smile was hardly diminished by her missing teeth. She was a formidable woman, as Ong had learned through growing up under her watchful eye.

“Now mother, I know what you’re going to say but they’re my children and I think I have a right to wish them a happy birthday before they’re on display for our neighbors!” he came out strong. You really had to catch her off guard, he’d noticed, otherwise she was stubborn as a mule-turtle (although he’d never quite understood that saying).

Ong’s mother patiently waited out his indignation with one eyebrow raised. “Relax,” she said gently “They’re ready.”

“Oh,” Ong smiled sheepishly and edged past her toward the twins’ bedroom.

“I don’t know who you think you were talking to with that attitude Ong, certainly not the woman who gave birth to you and raised you!” she called after him.

Inside their small room, Myr and Hiko stood before him, smiling up at their father. The twins were dressed in their finest clothing.

For Myr, these were a shimmery kimono-like robe that had been handed down through the family and silk-slippers. Hiko was dressed in a black hakama, and a navy blue top which bared the top of his chest. The most remarkable thing about the children though, was what his mother had done.

Myr’s arms were bare, but extremely intricate designs adorned her tan forearms and halfway up her biceps. Her eyes were daubed with a gentle reduction of a black-juiced berry to make her eyes appear more sly and wise. Her cheeks, just losing their baby fat, were delicately powdered.

Hiko’s face and all of his visible skin was adorned with thin white lines of heiza, an herbal mixture that smelled a bit musky. The designs, though markedly different from his sister’s, were equally as complex. They gave his skin the appearance of having been chiseled and angled, as though cut from the earth itself.

Ong smiled back down at his children. He was at once filled with happiness at their vitality and the promise in their eyes and melancholy that they had been born into such a troubled world.

“Daddy the kimono itches my belly” Myr said, expertly (although inadvertently) diffusing the moment.

Ong laughed at her and ruffled her hair, which elicited a tongue click from his mother in the doorway. “You look pretty though” he assured her.

Myr turned and examined herself in the small, smudged mirror that rested against the wall in the twins’ shared room. She moved from side to side and looked over her back too. “Well, that’s true.” she said, smiling a toothy grin. “I look like a princess”

Hiko flexed his essentially nonexistent muscles. “I look like a man!” he growled. “An earthbending fighter!” he exclaimed, leaping into an exaggerated fighting pose.

“Yeah right!” Myr said, rolling her eyes as Ong shot Hiko a scolding glance.

“You’re not an earthbender Hiko.” he said quickly. “Well, everyone will be here in a few hours so try not to smudge your heiza or dirty your clothes. You can be the official tasters for whatever they are making in that kitchen” he said, trying to give them an incentive to stay inside. It expected that at least most of the guests see them first when they made their appearance later that night.

“Oh, and happy birthday” he said, remembering on his way out. He knelt and gave them both hugs. “I love you”

When he stepped back outside the grounds had become doubly as busy, something Ong hadn’t thought possible. A few makeshift tents had been erected on the grounds and lanterns hung from each of their supporting poles. The sun had begun its descent and everywhere people buzzed with the excitement of celebration. It was going quite the party.

Nepa was right, the people of the slums rarely had reason to come together and celebrate. This wasn’t just a birthday party, but a celebration that somewhere, in the midst of a broken world, there could still be hope.

#ATLA #Avatar #avatar the last airbender #legend of korra #fanfiction #fanfic

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