Chapter Text
Within a quiet little village, in the eastmost part of the fire nation, with a single torch illuminating a small hut, a new mother came to be. Her eyes filled with love and adoration as she lay next to her newborn.
โYou are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
Youโll never know, dear
How much I love youโ
Her voice lulled the child to sleep as her hand rubbed small circles on the baby's belly.
โPlease donโt take
My sunshine awayโ
Once Fire Lord Azulon assented to the throne, he passed down a โNation's Calling.โ
The Fire Nation child soldier program.
Children from unsavoury backgrounds or children from the slums were forcibly taken by the โcollectors.โ To be trained in the art of combat and strategy.
For the greater good of the nation, those of the middle class and higher are more than accepting of the small sacrifice their people must make.
Your breath came out ragged as you dodged another punch to the face. The sudden movement makes you lose your balance as it provides an opportunity for your instructor to strike.
His foot landed hard on your stomach, you could taste your evening rations in your mouth.
Wheezing for air, you roll to the side. For every five of your strikes only two lands. And for every two, one of your instructorโs attacks lands a hit.
โNot bad, but you need to be faster than that to get your next badge, trainee number 076.โ His grip on your arm is as tight as a vice. Pulling you off of the training ground for the next group to start their training. โFor your age group, youโre not half bad.โ
His praise meant nothing to you.
Throughout your years within the camp, it has been drilled into your and your peersโ heads that you along with the instructors are nothing but tools. A tool that must be sharpened and refined, only to be replaced and thrown away once they outlived their use.
You yourself have gone through a couple of instructors this past six years.
The earliest memory you have is being branded by your identification number. Trainee Number 076 from the first battalion second training company fourth squad. That is what you are, nothing more and nothing less. A child soldier groomed to serve the royal family. You are to serve and protect the great Fire Nation and those who rule it.
Failure is not an option.
โ076,โ your attention was brought back up to the older male, โI want you to focus more on your footwork. You can stay calm under pressure, thatโs good, but your reaction is a bit off.โ He explained.
The room he brought you to looked like an empty basem*nt. Metal flooring, no windows, and nothing flammable in sight. โBut donโt worry, weโll work on it now.โ
Before you could ask him anything, he shot a fireball at you. You felt the heat graze your cheek.
The blast illuminated the room just a bit before it went dark once more. The smell of burning hair lingered as he got into an offensive stance. His eyes glistened with something that made your skin crawl.
Taking a deep breath, you readied yourself for yet another rocky night.
It was a couple of months shy of a full year since the union of Prince Ozai and Princess Ursa when wonderful news fell upon the Fire nation.
The princess is with child.
Pleased with the news, Fire Lord Azulon looked back to the report he had been receiving on the progression of his camp. Collecting the scroll for the top nine candidates, he ordered his son, Prince Ozai, to go and take his pick for his wife.
The last assignment for the children to finish their training was to take out their prospective mentors once they had earned all their badges. Their accomplishments will be announced through a gold phoenix pendant that will be displayed on their chests. Depending on how detailed the phoenix is, the higher the ranking and skilled the soldier is.
Adored by your pendant, you stand by along with eight others. Each with differently defined pendants, only one that had the same details as yours. Red ruby eyes, each feather of the firebird carefully crafted and soldered, its beak shined and polished, talons sharpened and refined.
As you all filed in attention, the prince of your proud nation stood. Eyes sharp, carefully inspecting each and every one of you. He points at you and the one next to you. Ordering that the two of you to duel, to once and for all, know who exactly is deserving of the golden phoenix.
The next time you saw the prince and your supposed opponent was at the arena. The prince with his advisors and guards sat atop of the stadium.
Once the bell had been rung, the duel began.
Blow after blow, you masterfully evaded all of his strikes. Outside of the roaring flames and the occasional grunts and pants, the arena was in complete silence.
Nausea, fatigue, muscle ache, and overuse of your bending. Your wrists and arms sore from sporadic movements, legs aching as you drag each knee over hard molten rocks to evade and block. Bringing your fist forward, you shoot a blast of flames right past his nose.
And in a single moment of his panic, you took advantage, bringing your foot up, you slam it against his chin. You feel a crunch under your boot as you see his jaw move to the side at an unnatural angle. With a swollen chin and bleeding gums with missing teeth, your opponent now lay unconscious on the ground.
A pool of blood with bits of pearly whites was the only thing your eyes could focus on. The scent of iron and burnt flesh fills the air as the sounds of the roaring flames are now replaced with those of the roaring crowd.
With a sigh, you raise your fist in the air. Scarred, worn, burnt hands, stained with years' worth of blood and shame. Bright red blood cascaded down your forearm, the sticky liquid became your only source of warmth in the cold autumn air.
Like the warm-colored leaves falling from their trees, your own warmth drips down, one by one to the ground.
As your reward, you were taken to the palace. Rewarded by the honor of being the guard of the nationโs mother. Protecting her from any harm that may threaten her wellbeing.
076, the number that was branded onto your face, the number that serves you as your name, was now painted onto the black vale you wore over your face. Dressed in your new uniform, you stand in front of her Highness, Princess Ursa.
โI have prepared a gift for you.โ With a smirk, the prince places a hand on your shoulder, and immediately, you salute. Your vale brushes against the tips of your fingers as you bow to the princess. โSince you are carrying my heir, we have decided it would be best to give you a guard.โ He looks down on you as he continues, โ076 here has been under training since the age of three. I have personally seen her capabilities so I know that she will do a fine job.โ
Not a word left the womanโs mouth, she didnโt even look up to see either you or the prince. Quietly, she nodded a thanks to the prince.
There was only one word to describe the princess, pitiful. She was utterly pitiful. Something that a queen of a powerful nation such as yours should never be close to.
For the past month you have been with her, ready to be at her beck and call, you noticed how beautifully pathetic she is. You know you shouldnโt be thinking such blasphemous things but how can you not when those forbidden thoughts are taking form right in front of you?
As you stand on guard by her Highnessโs chambers, watching as the maids attend to her, you clench your fist.
No matter how many jewels they decorated her with or how expensive or how high-quality silk she may wear, the blatant sadness in her eyes was like a bucket of waste splattered on a canvas. Yet no one, like you, has spoken a word about it. The closest thing to joy was whenever she was alone in her room when her hand gently patted her own pregnant belly. Something close to a smile would be present on her lips as she hummed a tune.
The tune itself was slower than the one you know.
The maids left once they finished attending to the lady. Now, it was just you and the princess. You noted that there wasnโt a tense silence in the room.
โ6, sit down for a bit. Youโve been standing there for five hours now.โ Fortunately, the month you spent with her wasnโt for naught. You could tell that she has been slowly getting accustomed to your presence in her everyday life.
You nod and walk up to her. She looks up at you from her vanity chair, her eyes once weary now more at peace.
Kneeling, you sat on the floor. Hands neatly folded on your thighs as you hang your head low, awaiting for any more instructions.
You feel warm fingers on your jaw as it guides you to look up. As she slowly peels your veil off, for the first time, you let out a sigh as a cool breeze hits your face.
You watch her as her eyes take in your face. Her thumb runs on the branded number on your cheek as a dull ache spreads from every heartbeat in your chest.
She furrows her brows, and the scarred tissue on your face makes her heartache. What horrors have you faced at that camp? What tortures have you gone through for the sake of this accursed nation? And what poor souls have gotten their dear child stolen from them?
She felt pity for you, sorrow that you were robbed of love. Pain from the countless scars and burns on your young skin. Guilt for the empty eyes that are staring up at her.
And happiness that she has you by her side.
