Avatar: shackled earth

Morning light filtered through the shutters of their modest room at the inn, the golden rays revealing the worn wooden floor and the pair of travelers stretched out in opposite corners. Tomo stirred first, groaning as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Sleeping on the floor wasn't my brightest idea," he muttered.

Ariya, already awake and seated cross-legged near the small window, glanced over her shoulder. "No one forced you to. There was a bed."

"Yeah, but you made it clear I'd wake up missing teeth if I tried to use it."

She smirked faintly but didn't respond, her attention returning to the village street below. It was a peaceful scene—vendors setting up their stalls, children chasing each other, and villagers going about their routines. For a moment, it felt like a world untouched by war.

But only for a moment.

"We need a map," she said, breaking the fragile silence.

Tomo stretched, yawning as he stood. "A map. Sure. We'll just stroll into the nearest shop, grab one, and be on our way. Easy."

"It would've been easier if you hadn't wasted half our funds on extra stew last night."

"Hey, I was hungry. And besides, the innkeeper liked me. I'm a charmer, remember?"

Ariya rolled her eyes but didn't press the point. The truth was, they were lucky to have found a village so untouched by the chaos spreading across the land. If they wanted to keep moving, though, they needed a plan—and that started with knowing where Kyoshi Island actually was.

The mapmaker's shop was a small, cramped building near the edge of the village square. Its walls were lined with rolled-up parchment, each labeled with faded ink denoting regions, cities, and territories. A faint smell of ink and aging paper lingered in the air.

Behind the counter stood an elderly man with a weathered face and sharp, observant eyes. He looked up as Tomo and Ariya entered, his gaze lingering on their travel-worn clothes and cautious expressions.

"Looking for something specific?" he asked, his voice rasping like sand over stone.

"A map of the region," Ariya said, stepping forward. "Something that shows the coastline and any islands nearby."

The old man nodded, rummaging through a stack of scrolls before producing one and unrolling it on the counter. "This should do. It's not the newest, but it's accurate."

Before Ariya could respond, the shop's bell jingled, and another customer entered—a man in his late twenties, his face hollow with exhaustion. He wore tattered clothes that bore signs of long travel, and his eyes darted around the room as if searching for threats.

"Excuse me," he said hesitantly, addressing the mapmaker. "Do you have any maps of the southern coast?"

Tomo, ever the extrovert, sidled up to him. "Planning a journey?" he asked casually.

The man glanced at him, wary at first, but something in Tomo's disarming grin eased the tension. "To Kyoshi Island," he replied, his voice rough. "It's one of the few safe places left."

Ariya looked up, her curiosity piqued. "You're heading to Kyoshi Island too?"

The man nodded. "Not just me. I'm traveling with a group. Refugees." He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the map. "People who've lost everything."

There was a weight to his words, one that made the shop feel smaller, suffocating. Tomo exchanged a glance with Ariya before turning back to the man. "We're heading that way too. Maybe we could travel together?"

The man studied them for a moment, then nodded. "Strength in numbers. You'll want to meet the others first, though."

The group was camped just beyond the village, in a clearing surrounded by towering oaks. As Tomo and Ariya approached, the hum of quiet conversation and the crackle of a small fire reached their ears. The refugees were huddled around the flames, their faces etched with weariness, but there was an undeniable sense of camaraderie among them.

"I am Ryoma," the man said, gesturing to himself as they arrived. "And this… this is my family now."

A pregnant woman sat on a blanket near the fire, her hands resting on her swollen belly. She looked up and offered a faint smile. "I'm Hana," she said softly. Her voice trembled, but her eyes shone with quiet determination.

Beside her sat a boy, no older than ten, his thin arms clutching a worn, stuffed turtle-duck. He didn't speak, his wide, haunted eyes darting to every sound in the forest. "That's Jin," Ryoma explained. "He… lost his parents when the Fire Nation attacked his village."

Tomo felt a lump rise in his throat. He crouched down, offering the boy a friendly smile. "Hey, buddy. That's a cool turtle-duck you've got there."

Jin clutched the toy tighter, saying nothing, but his gaze lingered on Tomo for a moment before shifting away.

At the edge of the group sat an older man, his leg wrapped in bandages and a crude crutch leaning against his shoulder. He was sharpening a knife, his movements slow and deliberate. "Taro," he grunted without looking up. His voice was like gravel, and his face was a mask of pain, both physical and emotional. "Used to be a soldier. Not much use now, though."

"You're alive," Hana said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "That's what matters."

Taro didn't respond, but his hand stilled on the blade for a moment.

There were a few others—an elderly woman clutching prayer beads, a young couple who clung to each other as if afraid the other might vanish, and a middle-aged man with burns scarring half his face. Each of them carried the weight of the war in their eyes, their bodies, their silences.

That night, as they sat around the fire, the group began to open up. At first, it was Hana who spoke, her hands absently rubbing her belly.

"My husband… he stayed behind to hold them off," she said, her voice breaking. "He told me to run, to save the baby. I didn't want to leave him, but… I didn't have a choice." Tears streaked her face as she looked down, ashamed. "I don't even know if he's alive."

Ryoma reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He's alive in here," he said, tapping his chest. "You carry his love with you."

Tomo and Ariya listened in silence, the weight of Hana's grief settling over them like a blanket.

Taro spoke next, his voice harsh but steady. "I fought for my village. Thought I could protect it. But when the fire came… there was no fighting that. I barely made it out alive." He gestured to his leg. "This is what I have to show for it."

"It's not your fault," Ryoma said quietly.

Taro laughed bitterly. "Tell that to the people I couldn't save."

The young couple, Mei and Haru, shared their story as well. They had been separated when their village was attacked, each believing the other was dead. They found each other weeks later in a refugee camp, their reunion bittersweet amidst the loss of their families.

Finally, Ryoma spoke, his voice heavy. "I was a farmer. Just a simple farmer. But when the soldiers came… they burned everything. My home, my fields, my family. All gone." He looked around the group, his expression softening. "But I found a new family. And I'll do whatever it takes to protect them."

As the fire burned low, Tomo and Ariya felt a strange sense of belonging among the refugees. They were strangers brought together by pain and loss, but in their shared suffering, they found strength.

Tomo lay back, staring up at the stars. "We'll get to Kyoshi Island," he said softly, echoing his earlier promise to Ariya. "We'll make it. All of us."

Ariya glanced at him, then at the refugees, her heart aching for each of them. "We have to," she whispered.