Post by Deleted on Sept 10, 2010 12:59:01 GMT -6
”Fire is destruction. It consumes all in its path, leaving nothing in its wake. But fire is also creation. It brings light and warmth to those who need them. I am—I must be—the balance between the two. Destruction alone is chaos. Creation alone is vulnerability. The middle is perfection.”
Kohaku opened his golden eyes and peered out at the world around him. Those his daily meditation was finished, the man remained silent. This was more out of force of habit than personal preference, however, as the Firebender had been traveling alone for quite a while now. Though he had gotten used to solitude, he wouldn’t have minded having someone to occupy his mind. Alone, the man spent far too much time lost in his thoughts. Kohaku closed his eyes again, and, as usual, memories filled up the darkness.
His mother’s face. Her long, black hair and pale skin, both of which the boy had inherited. His father, whose face was stern most of the time, but occasionally broke into a warm smile. Enjoyable afternoons spent playing around their house.
His first Firebending lesson. The man’s eyes flew open. That was one day he didn’t want to revisit. The lesson itself had been fine, but it had opened the gate to something much worse. He had been too young to understand the wisdom which his father had been trying to impart. As many young boys often were, Kohaku became obsessed with power. He saw fire only as a tool to hurt those who acted against him, and used it as such. At first there had only been small incidents—singed farm animals, blackened plants, and the like—but as time passed, the young man began to become a bit unhinged, and began to see bigger and bigger threats around him. His outbursts of Firebending got more severe, until finally the boy ended up badly burning a good friend of his. It was at that point that he knew that it was time to leave his home, before the city’s residents ran him out of town. So he fled.
Kohaku had been running from himself ever since. The Firebender had renounced bending and now wore black gloves to hide his hands and the pain he knew they could cause. An additional reminder lay hidden under bandages that wound their way around the man’s left arm: a self-inflicted burn, meant to make the golden-eyed man understand the effect his power had on others. Twenty one years he had been alive so far, and the last eleven of them had been spent finding ways to get by without bending. The task was difficult, but not impossible. And if it kept others safe from his vicious power, then the annoyance was worth it.
Tearing his mind back to the present, Kohaku stood and looked down at himself. He had exchanged the red clothes of his nation for a simple brown shirt and pants, but is skin and eyes betrayed his true heritage, which sickened him. The Firebender was ashamed. Ashamed of his bending, his ancestry, his nation. The war—Fire Lord Ozai’s mad attempt to rule the world—was pointless. Kohaku saw no glory in it. But with the return of the Avatar, the war might be coming to a close. If the Avatar was going to take down Ozai, Kohaku wouldn’t get in his way.
As if he could impede the Avatar anyway. The brown-clad man snorted. Who was he? A weakling, too scared of himself to even light a campfire. And, Spirits forbid he ever met the Avatar, even under amicable circumstances, he wouldn’t be able to say a word. Kohaku was horrible at talking to people, and was constantly mumbling. It was worse around figures of authority. To them, all he could do was look obedient. That was a problem that the Firebender needed to work on solving.
But for now, there were more important things to do, like move on. He had been camped in this particular clearing for too long. So, with a sigh, Kohaku did a last-minute check of his belongings, then shouldered his pack and began to walk. The world awaited him.
Kohaku opened his golden eyes and peered out at the world around him. Those his daily meditation was finished, the man remained silent. This was more out of force of habit than personal preference, however, as the Firebender had been traveling alone for quite a while now. Though he had gotten used to solitude, he wouldn’t have minded having someone to occupy his mind. Alone, the man spent far too much time lost in his thoughts. Kohaku closed his eyes again, and, as usual, memories filled up the darkness.
His mother’s face. Her long, black hair and pale skin, both of which the boy had inherited. His father, whose face was stern most of the time, but occasionally broke into a warm smile. Enjoyable afternoons spent playing around their house.
His first Firebending lesson. The man’s eyes flew open. That was one day he didn’t want to revisit. The lesson itself had been fine, but it had opened the gate to something much worse. He had been too young to understand the wisdom which his father had been trying to impart. As many young boys often were, Kohaku became obsessed with power. He saw fire only as a tool to hurt those who acted against him, and used it as such. At first there had only been small incidents—singed farm animals, blackened plants, and the like—but as time passed, the young man began to become a bit unhinged, and began to see bigger and bigger threats around him. His outbursts of Firebending got more severe, until finally the boy ended up badly burning a good friend of his. It was at that point that he knew that it was time to leave his home, before the city’s residents ran him out of town. So he fled.
Kohaku had been running from himself ever since. The Firebender had renounced bending and now wore black gloves to hide his hands and the pain he knew they could cause. An additional reminder lay hidden under bandages that wound their way around the man’s left arm: a self-inflicted burn, meant to make the golden-eyed man understand the effect his power had on others. Twenty one years he had been alive so far, and the last eleven of them had been spent finding ways to get by without bending. The task was difficult, but not impossible. And if it kept others safe from his vicious power, then the annoyance was worth it.
Tearing his mind back to the present, Kohaku stood and looked down at himself. He had exchanged the red clothes of his nation for a simple brown shirt and pants, but is skin and eyes betrayed his true heritage, which sickened him. The Firebender was ashamed. Ashamed of his bending, his ancestry, his nation. The war—Fire Lord Ozai’s mad attempt to rule the world—was pointless. Kohaku saw no glory in it. But with the return of the Avatar, the war might be coming to a close. If the Avatar was going to take down Ozai, Kohaku wouldn’t get in his way.
As if he could impede the Avatar anyway. The brown-clad man snorted. Who was he? A weakling, too scared of himself to even light a campfire. And, Spirits forbid he ever met the Avatar, even under amicable circumstances, he wouldn’t be able to say a word. Kohaku was horrible at talking to people, and was constantly mumbling. It was worse around figures of authority. To them, all he could do was look obedient. That was a problem that the Firebender needed to work on solving.
But for now, there were more important things to do, like move on. He had been camped in this particular clearing for too long. So, with a sigh, Kohaku did a last-minute check of his belongings, then shouldered his pack and began to walk. The world awaited him.