Johar moved slowly down the street, rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt to coax some warmth into them. He really should invest in some gloves, he knew. He'd been meaning to get around to it, but hadn't gotten the chance yet. He regretted it every time he went out. At least he had his scarf, which he'd recently finished knitting. He wrapped it tighter around himself.

He rounded a corner, and was struck by how busy this street was. For a cold morning like this, there were more people about than he would have expected. Maybe they were all heading to the Temple of Koh. It was a popular destination in this part of the city, which boasted a higher concentration of nonbenders than pretty much anywhere in the city.

Normally Johar skirted around the Temple. He had nothing against the monks and the valuable work they did, but their smooth, expressionless masks gave him the creeps. Today, however, he noticed some sort of commotion going on at the Temple, and curiosity got the better of him.

He drew closer, and gasped. The Monks were in a frenzy, ferrying injured citizens to and fro within the Temple. His heart hurt  as he saw burn victims lying on stretchers, screaming, in pain.

Help. We need help. You must come.

Johar jumped, glancing over as someone gently touched his arm. A shiver ran through him at the sight of a Monk, but he barely registered it. "I'll help," he replied. "Of course I'll help. Just point me in the right direction."

The Monk by the gate points to the Temple itself, where the burned victims are being rushed in.

There is another Monk inside. Almost comically, if not for the gravity of the situation, this one has atop their hood the folded white hat of a nurse. They speak, their voice a little higher than the Monk before it, but still with the same placid quality. "We are giving most a relief-of-pain," they say, and one can almost hear the sadness in their voice. "But there are some who suffer from burns of the third degree."

They lead the way to a far room. "You are a healer, yes?" It isn't really a question. The person inside the room is so burned they can barely moan their agony, a stark contrast to the screaming pain of those with less severe burns outside. "We have the herbs, but not the knowledge." They point to multiple apothecary drawers lining the walls. "A potion is required, to allow them to sleep. We must have the dead flesh eaten so we can apply the salve and dressings."

Another Monk is holding a glass jar filled with a pale substance that, upon closer inspection, are squirming maggots. Next to them, a third monk holds a pot of white salve and rolled bandages. They step aside and behind them is a table with a mortar, pestle, alembic, and anything else a healer and herbalist might require.

The person laying on the bed is covered head-to-toe in deep burns, whatever remaining clothes that weren't immediately singed by flames have been seared to their flesh. Their eyes — a vivid, almost caramel brown — are wide, and a low groan escapes their mouth, the burn too severe to allow them to open it in a scream.

The Monk designated as a nurse moves towards their bedside, murmuring something softly. The Monk with the jar shakes their head.

"We must hurry. Any questions, you are welcome to ask."

The Monk pointed itself, and with a small nod Johar stepped into the Temple courtyard. He'd gotten a small peek at it from the gate, but as he stepped inside, the full scope of the operation was revealed. Monks and volunteers dashed every which way carrying patients on stretchers or running healing supplies from one makeshift hospital station to the next. The healers moved with a sense of purpose, their faces taut. Johar stood still as stone, wanting to look away from the chaos but unable to do so. There were too many people hurt and screaming for help. Every cry he heard pierced him like a blade.

A flash of white caught his eye, finally snapping him out of the trance he'd been in. In any other situation, the sight of a nurse's hat perched atop the Monk's mask might have made him laugh. Right now, he was just trying not to cry. The Monk glided away toward a far room, and Johar followed, walking briskly to keep up. "Yes, I'm a healer," he responded to the Monk's question.

His face twisted into a grimace as he saw his patient. They were so completely covered in burns that he couldn't distinguish any of their features—except their eyes. Their eyes, wide as dinner plates, darted around the room as they moaned. Then, Johar's breath caught as their eyes found his and locked on. "I'm—I'm here to help," he choked out.
He turned as the Monks pointed to drawers full of supplies and a table laden with tools. The sight of these familiar items sent a wave of calm rolling over him. They had what he needed; armed with these tools, he could do some good. He nodded at the Monk's instructions, and strode over to the drawers, pulling several open at once. Distraught though he was, he couldn't help but marvel at the wide array of herbs in the drawers. There were more varieties here than he'd ever seen in one place. Even as he pulled out the ones he needed, he made a mental list of others he was missing from his own stock. Another time, when things weren't so terrible, he would have to come back and ask where the Monks had found some of the rarer kinds.

A bunch of herbs in hand, he turned back to the table. "Do you have—?" He didn't finish the thought; he didn't need to. He wasn't speaking to the Monks, and more to himself. He often talked to himself while working. It helped focus his thoughts. His first stop was a bowl of water on the edge of the table, where he washed his hands before moving to the mortar and pestle. As he ground several herbs together, he kept muttering quietly. "These to induce sleep…a pinch of this to make it deep…this should help with the pain when they wake…"

Once the herbs were ground down as fine as he could get them, he took the cap off of the alembic and poured them inside, along with some water. A nearby book of matches provided the necessary flame, and soon the concoction was boiling. Slowly, slower than he would've liked, the mixture evaporated, the vapors collecting in the cap before condensing and running down into the receiver. As he waited, Johar fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the table rapidly to get rid of excess nervous energy. He wanted to scream or sob or both. But neither would help his patient.

Finally, the potion was ready. Johar blew out the flame and lifted the receiver. Holding it up to the light, he swirled it around a bit and, finding it to his satisfaction, nodded. He moved to the bed, crouching to be at eye level with his patient. "Drink this, please," he asked, holding the potion to their lips. "It'll help you sleep, and take away your pain for a little while." His hands shook as he tilted the potion, the patient opening their mouth to allow the mixture to flow down their throat. With his other hand, Johar propped up the person's head to make it easier for them to drink. When they were done, he backed away, trying to smile and failing.

The potion worked quickly, the patient's moans quieting as they fell asleep. Johar watched the patient breathe for a moment, then turned back to the Monks. "The maggots, please." Reaching inside the jar, he pulled out a handful of maggots and gently, being careful not to squish any, placed the creatures on the patient's body, over the areas with the worst burns. The insects got to work immediately, eating the destroyed tissue. Knowing that the process would take a little time, Johar stepped back. He spoke to the Monks, but his eyes stayed on the patient.

"How did this happen? Did—did someone do this?"

The Monks watch in silence as the healer works, understanding innately that their responses are not required. They help the patient tilt their head so that the healer can pour the potion in, the patient moaning with effort to open their mouth as far as it can go — which isn't far at all.

Soon, the patient falls asleep and the healer spreads the maggots over the seared flesh.

The Monk-Nurse answers the healer's question, while their fellows step back and begin preparing another bed for a new patient.

"Many someones," is the response. "Tomorrow, as we do every year, we venerate the Faceless One. Many come to pray or leave offerings. Today we prepare the Temple, and our people come with food so we may make meals for the hungry, and bearing tools for construction."

The Monk-Nurse turns its eyeless gaze to the sleeping man, and when they speak again, the placid tone is replaced with anger. The room seems to grow dark and shrink around them, their voice echoing as if more than one Monk speaks.

"The benders came in their blues, greens, and reds. Loud. Mocking. They always do. There were many. There is a word the people of this City use..."

"Triad," another Monk supplies, their voice equally haunting and full of the fire of righteous anger.

"Yes," the Monk-Nurse agrees, "Triad. We did not see what happened beyond our walls, but soon we smelled the smoke, heard the crackle of flames and cries of the people. They came to us then, broken and bleeding and burned. Some are drowning from within." The Monk-Nurse pauses, then as if preempting another question, adds, "We used the telephone to ask for the police. They do not come. They never come. Not to the Temple."

Even as he watched the Monks prepare another bed and do the things that other healers did, Johar still worked to suppress a shudder as he stared at their masks. He wasn't too familiar with the Temple of Koh, but understood enough to know what the masks represented. He'd seen artistic representations of the Face Stealer, and it always made him uncomfortable to think of it. Of all the spirits to worship, he would probably never understand why the Monks had chosen that particular one. Koh took people's faces and had so many legs! It was more the stuff of nightmares to him than a divine being worthy of adoration.

But, looking around, he was reminded of the good that the Monks brought to the city's nonbending population. Their soup kitchens kept the poor fed, and that alone was admirable. They might be creepy, but that was forgivable in light of the aid they offered.

Johar shrank back as the Monk's flat tone became tinged with anger, and the room seemed to close in on them. The explanation shocked him, and he had to take a moment to breathe before replying. "Why would they do that?" He did not expect an answer. "I understand that the Temple makes some people uncomfortable, but that doesn't mean that any of your patrons deserve…this." He waved at the man lying on the bed. He opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but, as though they had read his mind, the Monk-Nurse spoke again.

Johar's jaw dropped. "The police won't help you? But that's…that's wrong!" he protested, his voice breaking. "The police are supposed to help anyone and everyone in the city. That's what they're here for!" Johar was not often angry. Anger was a damaging emotion, he thought, and not very useful. Usually, it tended to inspire actions that were better left undone. He tried to remain calm in the face of upsetting circumstances.

He'd passed by anti-bender rallies, heard the shouts of those who blamed benders for much of the evil in the world. Before, he'd never given them much thought. It was easy, he knew, to blame others for one's own problems, and resentment of those with bending ability was not uncommon. He struggled with that feeling himself sometimes, lamenting how much easier it would be to just float some water into the air and heal wounds that way. But in general, he'd never seen much reason to hate benders.

Now, though, he was angry. His entire body felt hot. His fingers were balled into fists, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. If this was what benders were capable of, perhaps those who hated them had a point. He tried to regulate his breathing as he spoke to the Monk-Nurse. "How else can I help? I want to do whatever I can."

"They never come," the Monk-Nurse repeats. An echoing 'never' sounds through the room as the other Monks chime in their agreement.

The doors to the room burst open and another person is carried in on a stretcher, clutching at his chest and trying hard to catch his breath. The Monk-Nurse steps forward and props the man up in bed, his legs dangling uselessly from his hips. Eyes wide, he tries to speak, but the Monk-Nurse shakes their head and gestures instead. Another Monk provides a stethoscope, and the Monk-Nurse listens carefully to the man's chest.

Wordlessly the Monk-Nurse hands the stethoscope back; it is replaced with a cotton pad and a bowl of brownish liquid. Lifting the man's shirt, they swab a small area. After a few seconds, they flick their fingers sharply against the skin. There is no reaction from the man, who is still struggling to breathe. The Monk-Nurse holds out their hand and is given a syringe attached to a rubber tube.

With one swift movement they puncture through skin; the man gasps as the Monk-Nurse draws out the liquid from his chest. Another Monk stands readily by with a bowl to catch the substance. The liquid is crystal clear: water. The kind one might find in a river, or from the tap, though there are no flowing bodies of water anywhere near the Temple grounds.

The Monk-Nurse passes off the task to another Monk before turning to the healer again.

"Work to heal," comes the reply, their tone once more calm. "We can do only this. We have no knowledge of herbs or medicine. The water healers will not come. They do not want to come. The people do not want them to come, either. Today will be long, and tonight shall be longer."

A fourth Monk materalises as if from thin air, holding a white coat out to the healer. "To mark you," says the Monk-Nurse, pointing to their hat. A few volunteers came into the room with reports.

All in all, there are a hundred injured. Fifteen of them, including the burned individual they had begun treatment of, are in critical danger. Five of the injured are young children with minor bone fractures. There are ten with water in their lungs, fifteen with broken arms and legs and possibly damaged spines, eight with second degree burns, and forty-seven with a combination of first degree burns and fractures.

The room seems to darken as the Monks consider this information. After a few moments, the Monk-Nurse issues orders sending Monks and volunteers alike to look after the wounded; then they turn to the healer.

"You may go where you wish, for now, to help whomever you think needs care first. We will accompany you." It is clear they are referring to themselves as a single entity. "What is your name? The Monks of Koh do not forget services rendered."

Johar jumped aside as another patient was carried in. He was going to step forward to offer assistance, but the Monks converged around the man, seeming capable of taking care of the situation without his help. So, though it frustrated him to do so, he stood by. His healing teacher had given him much advice in his time with her, and one thing she had stressed was never to get in the way, others or his own. Were he to try to reach in and help, he would probably just complicate matters. And right now, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

The Monks worked silently and quickly, draining water from the man's lungs. Johar seethed at the sight of the water. "What sort of person would use their bending like this?" he moaned, shaking his head. "Bending is supposed to be used to help people, and only defensively if violence is necessary. This is unbelievable."

The Monk-Nurse turned back to him, requesting that he heal wherever he could to compensate for their lack of medical knowledge. He nodded. "Of course. I'll help in any way I can." Johar glanced over as a fourth Monk entered the room and offered him a white coat. He took it, his expression grim. "I—thank you." He'd always wanted some sort of official healer garb, but had never imagined he would get it from the Monks of Koh. It seemed that the Face Stealer was smiling on him—though with what mouth, he shuddered to think.

Johar found himself struggling to breathe as volunteer reports came in. A hundred injured. And five of them children! Who would hurt children? Johar was frozen as Monks and volunteers filed out of the room to attend to the wounded. A couple brushed against him, but he felt nothing. There was a darkness growing inside him that threatened to swallow him if he gave it too much thought. He tried to push it down, focus on healing.

He nodded as the Monk-Nurse gave him leave to go where he wished. He took a step toward the doorway, but turned back as the Monk-Nurse asked his name. The suggestion of future repercussions for his actions today meant nothing. If the Monks wanted to speak with him at a later date, they were free to do so. At this moment, though, he had work to do.

"Johar. My name is Johar."

Then he was gone, back into the courtyard. He approached the nearest Monk. "Can you take me to the children?" he asked. "I'd like to help them as soon as possible."

The Monk looks at Johar with an unseeing face and nods. They motion for the healer to follow them and lead the way to a small room toward the front of the Temple. The room was clearly a meant to be used as a nursery, its walls papered with pastel colours and decorations of balloons and cuddly animals. There are ten children in all, some of them crying for their parents as they lay down in cots or sat in small chairs.

As if an apparition, the Nurse-Monk appears at Johar's side.

"An interesting choice," they murmur, seemingly to themselves, before gesturing to the nearest small child. Somehow, the children do not seem perturbed by the Nurse-Monk's featureless mask. One small girl, no more than seven years of age, reaches out and clutches the Nurse-Monk's sleeve with one hand, her mouth sucking on the thumb of the other. Her nose is taped to ensure that the bones set properly.

"We have been unable to see to the children very quickly," the Nurse-Monk admits, patting the small girl on the head. "This little one was our first patient. The other children came later, but there were so many more grievously injured. And we have been unable to find their parents. " The silence that follows is brief, but full of unspoken trouble. There is a good chance that the children's parents are among the critically wounded.

The small girl stares defiantly at the healer, her back rigid, lower lip jutting out. "A big mean man threw a rock at me!" she said, her voice shrill and daring anyone to challenge her. "Grown ups aren't supposed to hit kids. What a loser!"

Some of the other children nod, though the others are too busy crying. The ones who cry have their legs or arms set in splints, but the bones had clearly not been set. The Nurse-Monk brushes a hand over one of their heads. "There are plaster and bandages in the cupboard. We would have set the bones, had we the knowledge."

They bow to the healer, then gesture to their person. "Please instruct us."

The small girl sucking on her thumb raises finally lets go of the Nurse-Monk's sleeve. "Me too! Me too! I want to help!"

Yuji did not make it to breakfast this morning. He knew the Monks wouldn't mind.

Dragon Flats seemed half a city away. Each pounding footfall reminded him of wasted time, each pounding heartbeat of flashes of anger going unresolved. Hot mist burst from his lips as he ran, fading lifelessly in the frigid air. "Attack" seemed to ring between his ears, though it had not been spoken aloud. Panic kept trying to scatter his thoughts.

The article in the Times had stunned him. He was torn between rage and sorrow; their warring left him feeling hollow. It was as if everything before this point was a step removed from him. The anti-bending rallies, Amon's nonbender uprising, it was all just... words. Even the murder of the chief of police didn't feel the same. He was a bender, you know? And not just any bender: he was sure to have made enemies in his lifetime. It wasn't all that unexpected. But now... the danger was there, as if the monster you thought was under your bed came scratching at your door one day.

The temple appeared before him, seeming to materialize in the peculiar way that its inhabitants tended to; and indeed, one stood in the forefront, their unspoken plea ignored by the early morning passersby. Any fear or mistrust or discomfort he felt about the Monks must be set aside now. His boiling blood steeled him against the biting cold.

He approached the Monk, bowed quickly, and breathed, "Where do you need me? I'm not a doctor, but I can help."

After the spartan nature of the first room, the decorations in the nursery room were a welcome sight. Johar was not in a smiling mood, but it was an amusing thought to imagine the faceless, somber Monks painting pictures of polar bear dogs and fire ferrets for the kids.

Less welcome, however, was the sight of ten children, all of them injured to some degree. None of their injuries seemed life-threatening, which brought Johar some relief, but his heart still hurt looking at them. None of them should have needed help in the first place. That someone would willingly hurt children…that was, without a doubt, the worst sort of person.

Suddenly, the Nurse-Monk was there with him. Johar jumped. He hadn't seen them follow him over, but there they were. They muttered something he couldn't quite catch, then spoke louder, explaining the situation. "You haven't found any of their parents yet?" Johar asked, his voice trembling slightly. Sorrow and anger tore at him in equal measure; he kept his emotions in check, but barely.

Fortunately, at least one person in the room had managed to put on a brave face. Johar chuckled a little as the little girl called her attacker a loser. The forced laughter came out as more of a sob. "A loser is exactly what he is," he agreed, before looking to the cupboard the Nurse-Monk indicated. Setting bones was not a difficult task—and would be easier in these cases, where the bones were only fractured, and not fully broken. But still, he didn't relish the task of causing these children any more pain, even if it was necessary.

But he had come here to help, and help he would. Nodding at the Nurse-Monk and the little girl, he walked over to the cabinet to retrieve the plaster and bandages, then picked his first patient: a little boy who looked to be about eight years old. He sat on a bed sniffling quietly. His right arm was cradled to his chest in a splint. Johar walked over to the boy and, crouching down to look him in the eye, offered a smile. "Hello there," he said, faking cheerfulness he did not feel. "I'm Johar. What's your name?"

The boy sniffed loudly. "Fai," he muttered, eyes on his feet, which hung off the edge of the bed, kicking through the air.

"Nice to meet you, Fai," Johar replied, trying to widen his smile. "I'm here to help you feel better. Can I see your arm, please?" Fai hesitated, staring at Johar for a long moment, but then seemed to conclude that the healer meant him no harm and offered his right arm, wincing as he moved it. Johar needed only a quick glance at the arm to see that, though the fracture was small, the bone would need to be set so the arm could heal properly. That would not be pleasant. Turning to the Nurse-Monk, he held out the plaster and bandages.

"This is a two-person job," he explained. "I'm going to do something called traction." He directed his explanation to all three participants in this procedure. The little stared at him with wide eyes, her thumb momentarily forgotten. "Basically, I'm going to pull on Fai's arm to stretch the bone out so it can settle back into its proper place as it heals." He pointed to the Nurse-Monk. "When I tell you, be ready to put bandages and plaster around the arm to hold it in place." Next he looked at the little girl. "And I need you to help cheer Fai up. Can you do that for me?" The girl nodded, her head bobbing up and down rapidly.

Johar took in a deep breath, then turned back to Fai. "I won't lie to you—this will hurt. But it should be over quickly. Are you ready?" Fai did not look ready, but he nodded slightly. Johar tried to smile again. "I'll be as gentle as I can," he promised. He looked back at the Nurse-Monk and the little girl. "Let's get started."

Immediately, the girl approached Fai and started jabbering at him, telling him some story she'd made up about a magical badgermole. Johar didn't pay it any mind, just glad that Fai would have something to focus on. He took hold of Fai's arm just above the wrist. "Here goes…" Gently, he began to pull on the arm, gradually increasing his force. He could tell that Fai was trying not to cry out from the pain, but the boy's eyes welled up with tears, and he let out a small whimper. Johar felt terrible hearing the sound, but kept pulling until he thought the bone was in its proper place, or as close as he could get it. He did not look away as he spoke to the Nurse-Monk. "Bandages, now, and then the plaster. Quickly." He did his best to hold Fai's arm completely still. This time, when he smiled at the boy, it was genuine. "Almost done. You're doing great."

By the gate, the Monk is still reaching out to passers-by. Some stop, but most are shrugging them off, eyes wide with fear.

If the Monk is surprised when the young man approaches them first, they don't show it. Instead they pause and there is the distinct impression they are giving the young man a once over.

"Ah... You are Yuji." It wasn't a question, and they bow in return. They seem to contemplate something for a moment before continuing. "We need to know who has been injured. Begin with the children in the nursery — collect names, ages, and if possible, next of kin. Supplies are in the office."

There is already a Monk in the office. Conveniently, a stack of paper on a clipboard and several pens lay on the big desk at the far end of the room. The Monk in the office looks up briefly. "Our priority is to find the parents of the children." They seem to pick up where the Monk at the gates left off. "And to arrange for a relative to claim them, if necessary." Why it might be necessary, the Monk does not elaborate.

---

The Nurse-Monk moves quickly, wrapping the little boy's arm with a surety that seems almost inhuman. As they work, they instruct the small girl to fill the small toy tin bucket with water from the tap and to bring the toy shovel. When she returns, the Monk pours the plaster powder into the water and tells the girl to stir with the shovel. Her eyes light up, and she sets to work, her brows furrowing together in concentration.

"We do not believe that the burn victim will survive," the Monk says in an undertone, too soft for the children to hear. "Perhaps for a few days, but they are the only one with burns covering their whole body." The quiet, neutral voice sounds as if it is on the verge of sadness. "The others have a chance, despite their critical condition."

The plaster is ready in just a few moments, and the Nurse-Monk hands the bucket to the healer carefully. Suddenly, they look up and turn their empty face to the door as if expecting someone.

Yuji had no time to question how the Monk knew his name despite frequenting an entirely different temple. He simply had to chalk it up as good organization, and rushed in. The office was surprisingly easy to find (unlike that in his location) and a Monk there greeted him in a way that made the young man wonder if he wasn't actually talking to the same Monk.

The Monk continued explaining as he hastily shed his heavy coat and hat - the temple was, thankfully, a reasonable temperature - and rolled up the long sleeves of his shirt. He picked up the clipboard and pen, shoved a few extras into a trouser pocket, and turned to the Monk. "Thank you, revered one, I will do my best," he inclined his head, "You'll know where to find me if you need me."

He realized as he rushed to the nursery, dodging bustling Monks, darting past the dazed and injured, and skirting by the flustered few volunteers, that he wasn't sure why he would say such a thing, other than that it was true. He couldn't explain it, but he had an intuitive sense that, no matter where he was, if he was needed, he could be found.

After arriving at the nursery - the sound of little voices told him as much - he took a moment to relax, breathe, brush the hair from his face, straighten his collar. Yuji never minded working with children; all you have to do is look and act calm. He stepped into the nursery, and watched what appeared to be a healer working to set a child's bone, speaking softly to the boy as he requested the help of a Monk. The pained look on the little boy's face wrenched the young man's heart. The way the girl helped out so bravely was both sad and beautiful. But still he observed, careful not to disturb the process and startle healer, helper, or patient.

The Monk looked up at him as if he were expected, and Yuji nodded to this one as well. He had no doubt that the Monk knew his purpose there. He stepped up and knelt near the girl who had helped mix the plaster, setting the clipboard, seemingly forgotten, on his lap and smiling. "Hello," he began, very calm, trying to sound relaxed. He chose her first, since she wasn't shy. If the other children saw that she could trust him, then perhaps they would be more likely to offer him information. He worked his brain to remember if he'd heard the boy's name. "You were such a good helper, and you've been so brave for Fai."

He paused a moment and held out a hand for her to shake, and didn't mind the specks of plaster stuck to her well-sucked thumb. "My name is Yuji, and I want to help too. Can you tell me your name? I'd love to tell your mom and dad what a strong and helpful girl you are."

The Nurse-Monk was quick to respond, wrapping bandages around Fai's arm in intense silence. Without looking away, they sent the little girl to get water for the plaster, which she sped off to do. Throughout, Johar kept his focus entirely on his patient. Both hands held Fai's wrist to keep the arm in its proper place as the Monk-Nurse applied the bandages.

Then, the Monk muttered to him, their voice quiet and tinged with something he couldn't quite name. It might have been sorrow, but, as aloof as the Monks were, were they capable of such emotion? Johar's breath left him in a sharp hiss as the Monk relayed the dire prognosis. When he'd left, the burn victim had seemed, if not well on the road to recovery, at least to be taking the first steps. But, as badly burned as the victim was, this had always been a possibility. There was no time to grieve. This would not be the first patient he'd lost, nor the last. But Fai still needed him, as did the other victims of the attack. There was no point in focusing on those who were beyond his help.

The plaster was soon mixed and ready to apply. Nodding his thanks, Johar took the bucket from the Monk with one hand, keeping the other on Fai's wrist. Using his free hand, he scooped some of the plaster up with the shovel and poured it onto Fai's arm, starting at the point of the fracture. He smoothed the plaster out until it completely encased the fractured portion of Fai's arm, then slowly let go of the boy's wrist. The arm didn't shift any as he let go, and he nodded at that. "Good, this will hold while I apply the rest." He aimed a smile at Fai. "You know, you're one of the bravest patients I've had. I've treated adults who weren't hurt this bad and wouldn't stop crying."

Fai stared at him with wide eyes. "Really?"

"Really." Johar continued his work with the plaster, covering a good few inches of Fai's arm both above and below the fracture. "Kids are usually better about getting hurt. We grown-ups don't play enough, so we don't get hurt much. So when we do, we don't know how to deal with it. I wish more of my patients were like you."

He smoothed out the last of the plaster cast, and nodded in satisfaction at his handiwork. "All done." He gently patted Fai's hand. "You'll need to sit still for a little bit so the plaster can dry. It shouldn't be more than ten minutes or so."

Fai eyed the cast, wrinkling his nose. "How long do I hafta have this for?"

Johar actually managed to chuckle at that, just a little. "Not that long. You only have a small fracture. If you're careful with your arm, you should only need the cast for a few weeks, maybe a month."

"A month?!" Fai recoiled. "That's forever!"

Johar shook his head. "I know it feels like a long time, but trust me, it'll fly by." He wagged a finger in Fai's face. "Just make sure you're careful, okay? If you play too rough, your arm won't heal quickly or properly." Pulling back the chastising finger, he instead extended his pinky. "You promise you'll be careful?"

Fai was silent for a moment, his feet kicking in the open air beneath him, then nodded slowly, gripping Johar's pinky with his own to seal the pact. "Promise."

"Good." Wiping his hands of excess plaster, he stood and turned back to the Monk. He had not heard anyone else enter the nursery, but now there was another man there, talking to the little girl. Good. If he needed to help these children on his own, he would, but having someone else there, even just to talk to the kids, would be a blessing.

"I'm Anvi Sanjesh," says the little girl, sticking her hand out to Yuji. "My daddy's name is Malik. I don't have a mommy any more, she went to the Spirit World when I was a baby. I don't know where daddy went, though."

Other children also volunteer their names and their parents names, with one exception of a small boy with a broken leg who gives his grandparents' names.

When the all the name-taking and plaster applications are finished, another Monk enters the nursery. While there's nothing particularly agitated about the Monk's tone or movements, a dark shadow seems to follow them in.

"The burn patient in the far room," they say, "has begun having fits."

The Nurse-Monk simply shakes their head. "We do not have the medicine to combat it. Turn them on their side and during periods of calm, wipe their mouth and make sure it is clear. Time how long each fit lasts. If it is more than five minutes..." they glance down. The children are wide eyed, hanging onto their every word. Nurse-Monk pats Anvi on the head gently. "If it is more than five minutes, please let the Monks in the Chamber of Echos know. They will come to his bedside to say a prayer."

Anvi is shocked. "A prayer?" she says dubiously. "What good is that if they're sick?"

The Nurse-Monk kneels down and, in an uncharacteristic show of gentleness, runs their hand through Anvi's short brown hair. "The prayer will help their spirit find their way to the Spirit World," they say. Their usual tone hasn't changed, but it is almost kind. "And the Faceless One shall know they are his, and will allow them passage."

The little girl's eyes grow wider. "They're going to the Spirit World? Like my mommy?"

"Yes," comes the reply. "Their Spirit will live forever in the Spirit World, free of hurt and disease, but their body will go to sleep forever."

Anvi looks as if she is about to cry, but instead takes a deep breath and furrows her eyebrows. "Can I help?" She tugs on Yuji's arm. "Can I come with you?"

The Nurse-Monk's head turns slightly, but they pretend they don't hear Anvi's request, silent approval with plausible denial. "There are more patients on the grounds," they tell Yuji. "Begin with them, before seeing if these childrens' next of kin are ... in the rooms." The critical-injury patients, they meant.

"Now that the children are cared for, where would you like to go?" The question is directed to the healer.

---

OOC: Feel free to mill about / interact with each other. I'll bring the Monks in at an appropriate time. Just remember: large scaled attack, many injuries all over the temple grounds. There are more injured than monks and volunteers.

Yuji began to write down the young girl's information, pleased that she gave it so willingly. "Anvi, that's what I'd like to do," he said kindly, concentrating on keeping his handwriting neat while scribing as quickly as possible. "We're going to help find daddy."

The children began offering their names, thankfully (Spirits, bless them, he thought) one at a time, providing their ages and the names of family members. His hand raced as he flipped from one page to the next, and sometimes back if a child offered an additional name, and he kept an ear peeled. The healer was keeping the boy, Fai, occupied, playfully joking with him. But as the information began to flow more slowly, another Monk arrived, bringing bad tidings. And in a stroke of stunning humanity, they knelt before Anvi, stroked her hair. Yuji watched, just aware enough to not gape. The Monks were certainly kind enough, but he had never seen one perform such a display of compassion. It bordered on affection.

He listened, very carefully, as the Nurse-Monk spoke to the girl, talking of the Spirit World and Koh. Yuji couldn't say that he believed... but Anvi seemed to calm down. She began to tug at Yuji's arm, pleading with him to take her along. As she yanked on his wrist, he received instructions to go to the grounds next.

He nodded, understanding, and looked back down at the girl. "Okay," he began, gentle and serious. "But if you want to be a helper, you have to be a good listener, all right? Sometimes, helping means doing what somebody asks." He slipped the pen back in a pocket, and offered his hand to Anvi. She grasped it, and he couldn't help but feel how eager and anxious she was. He'd bring her back here if he needed to tend to the more severely injured.

Yuji then looked up at the healer, addressing him after the Monk. "I'm Yuji. If you need help, ask for me. I'll do what I can." He wouldn't ask the healer for his time - there were many, many people who needed it more. Then again, everyone was injured.

"Let's go, Anvi," he murmured, and led the girl out of the nursery, avoiding rooms of the severely-hurt, making a bee-line for the office, where his coat hung. He snagged it and borrowed what appeared to be a spare child-sized coat for Anvi, helping her fasten the buttons and don gloves before leading her to the grounds.

His heart fell at the scene. Strewn haphazardly all over the yard were dozens and dozens of people, many huddled in shabby blankets and shuddering in the cold, or lying eerily still on a thin mat. A few had taken shelter under the roofs of pavilions, more hadn't bothered. A single Monk was attending the burns of a single woman, and there were no volunteers in sight. Some of the injured were tending to the more gravely-injured in the ways that they could. He surveyed the scene, thinking, and Anvi shivered at his side. He gently squeezed her hand.

"Okay, Anvi, here's what we're going to do." He knelt so she could see what he was doing. "Do you know how to read?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, looking very serious and somewhat indignant at the suggestion that she couldn't. "I know how to write, too!"

"Good," Yuji smiled, and he handed her half of the stack of filled-out forms, those that read the names of the children and their missing family members. Anvi, of course, held her own. "I'd like you to come with me. I'm going to start talking to people and seeing what they need, okay? What I need you to do is see if you see their name on any of your papers. I can help you read the names, if you want me to." He didn't tell her that he at least knew the names of the injured children. If one were mentioned, he wouldn't have to read it from their sheet. But he had to let her help somehow. "If you see daddy, let me know, okay?"

She grinned at him, excited to help despite everything. "Got it!"

He got to work, meticulously writing down each person's name, asking if their child was missing, Anvi shadowing him, seeing what they needed before moving on.

There is another Monk at Yuji's destination. This Monk is tending to a burned woman. Her injuries, luckily for her, are not as extensive as the person's in the far Temple room. However, she will never forget this attack, its evidence permanently burned onto her skin. If she were rich, she would be able to afford the extensive cosmetic surgery that would allow a skin graft to replace the scarred flesh, but her worn garments of poor quality cloth clearly indicate that she is not so fortunate.

The Monk does not look up as they move amongst the injured, taking down names and seeing to their needs. There is an echoing refrain: food, water, blankets, something to dull the pain. Some some reject pain medication, instead insisting they be given to those in greater need, and asking for whiskey or brandy instead.

At Yuji's next destination, there is a man lying very still in a stretcher, but Anvi lets out a small cry of recognition.

"That's our neighbour!" she says, rushing forward. The man opens a bleary eye at the sound of her voice and offers a weak smile.

"Little Anvi." Her name is no more than a whisper on his lips. "They hit me in the head so I'm a little dizzy. Try not to move so much for me, okay?"

Anvi nods, but she has a hard time complying. "Where's daddy?" she asks.

With effort, the man sits up. Out of nowhere a Monk glides forward. "You should rest," they say evenly, preventing the man from sitting up. He sighs, but settles back down.

"I don't know, Anvi," he says softly. "We got separated in the fight. I think I saw him being taken inside." He exchanges a meaningful glance with the Monk's eyeless mask, and the Monk ushers Anvi over to another patient, helping the small child with her papers.

The concussed man reaches for Yuji's arm and tugs him closer. "Her dad's name is Malik. I ... I think I saw him on a stretcher, but he's bad, man. Really bad. They covered him up but it's like they melted his face off. Don't let her see."

Johar waited a couple minutes by Fai, making sure the plaster was drying properly. As he moved on to his next patient, Yuji did the same, collecting the names of the kids' guardians. That was good of him. They'd just have to hope that the names he collected could be put to good use reuniting separated families. With any luck, the parents of these unlucky children would be healthy enough to come when Yuji found them. The kids had already been through enough; at least they should have their loved ones to make them feel a little better.

For his part, he moved with grim efficiency from one child to the next, setting bones and applying plaster as necessary. It was easy to get lost in the steady rhythm of his work, and soon he had finished helping the children all that he could. He stood by the last bed, wiping bits of plaster off his hands, when another Monk came gliding into the room. The Monk brought bad tidings—of course they did. Johar gritted his teeth as he was reminded yet again of his failure to adequately help the burn victim. The Nurse-Monk's response was restrained for the children's sake, but their meaning was obvious. The burn victim was not long for this world.

But there was nothing for it. All he could do was continue helping everyone else. Maybe that would balance out this loss. It probably wouldn't.

Johar nodded as Yuji spoke to him. "Thank you." He smiled at the other man. "My name is Johar. I'll try to take you away from your duties, but I'll call if I need you." Then Yuji was gone, and Anvi with him. It was just him and the Monks. The Nurse-Monk asked where he'd like to go next. Johar looked around the wall, at its colorful decorations and pastel walls. Staying there wasn't an option, but it would've been nice not to have to go back out into the chaos of the courtyard. But that was where he was needed.

"The burn victims," he finally said. "I'd like to help them next." The patient in the far room might be beyond his help, but the rest were not. He wouldn't fail them.

Anvi's shout rang out, startling Yuji. It sounded wrong, echoing across the yard, a glimpse of joyful recognition amid the solemnity. She rushed over to the injured man, and the young nonbender watched and listened. The injured man's words made his heart sink. "I think I saw him being taken inside," were his whispers, and Yuji was grateful that the Monk led Anvi away, if even for a moment. "Inside" was where the most seriously hurt were isolated. "Inside" was very, very bad.

He sighed deeply, not realizing he'd been holding his breath, and knelt beside Anvi's neighbor, who beckoned to him. "Her dad's name is Malik," he began, voice gravely soft. "They covered him up but..." Yuji heard the words, but his brain didn't seem to want to process the information. Jaw clenched, stomach churning, he nodded at the man and glanced over at Anvi, still so determined to help the Monks, help the wounded.

"Don't let her see him.

Dutiful as ever, Yuji wrote the man's name (Rahul) and information down, as he would with the others.

"Do you know where the rest of her family is? A grandparent or aunt or uncle? Are they in the city?" he asked, trying to use a gentle tone with the man. "We'll need to make contact with them as soon as possible." Even if the father, Malik, pulled through, he would be in no state to care for Anvi, not for a while. He wondered if it was the same burn victim that the Monks were talking about earlier.

He'd need to tell her. Malik had told her that her mother was in the Spirit World. Maybe she connected that concept with death? The Monks had described it as "sleeping", he recalled... But wouldn't that give poor Anvi the idea that one might wake up? He furrowed his brow, thinking of big brother. For Yuji, it had been better to assume the fool was dead than hold on to some false hope that he might return some day. He'd been older than Anvi, for sure... Still, the idea of leading the child on in that way... It didn't seem fair...