Avatar-The Mandate of Heaven

Since taking up this work, her days had slipped into a routine that felt oddly reminiscent of her time on Kyoshi Island, quiet, methodical, and marked by a sense of inevitability. The difference now lay in the unrelenting pace. From dawn until dusk, her hands are steeped in suds, scrubbing the seemingly endless cascade of plates and bowls from the throngs of satisfied customers.

On one hand, she felt the weariness deep in the bones. This kind of backbreaking labor is no easy feat, especially for someone who had never held a formal job before. The toll it took prompted her to reflect on the future, on what life might look like once she finally settled down to carry forward the family's legacy. Unlike Satchiko, whose youthful ambitions burned bright with dreams of becoming a full-fledged Kyoshi Warrior, Mayumi's thoughts often drifted toward more sensible paths, ones that could ensure a lasting livelihood.

Fishing seemed like a practical option. After all, the people of Kyoshi Island relied heavily on the bounty of the ocean. Or perhaps she could aspire to become the village scholar like her father, a position held in great esteem, though one that would demand many years of dedicated study. Yet for the first time, she realized that aside from cooking and babysitting, her skills are limited when it came to earning a livelihood. If being a Kyoshi Warrior were as straightforward as being a mercenary with guaranteed pay, such concerns would be moot. But reality pressed on in ways she hadn't anticipated.

As Mayumi mopped the floor, a blaze suddenly erupted in the kitchen, yet no alarm stirred. Here, such chaos is as much a part of the atmosphere as the sizzling of oil or the clattering of metal pots. The head chef, Hu Sihui, a man seasoned by both years and relentless perfectionism, wielded the steel spatula like a master conductor commanding an orchestra of flames and flavors. Each stroke over the pot is a display of dominance, controlling a culinary tempest with the finesse of a deity, taming the unruly ingredients into sublime harmony.

Among all of Jin's kitchen brigade, no one could rival the head chef's seamless efficiency. It wasn't simply his swift hands or the precision of the technique that set him apart, it was the weight of history behind his spine. Any chef who had once served those perched on the throne had the privilege to grace the imperial palates, where appreciation was often fickle, and yet, excellence was demanded. The dishes crafted in those hallowed kitchens became legends, with reputations outliving even the past dynasties they had been created for.

In truth, the royal kitchen was a paradox of sorts, an institution designed to dazzle emperors and empresses, yet powerless to keep its secrets confined. When a chef retired, whether to the peaceful anonymity of the countryside or the bustling cities, they inevitably carried their recipes with them, releasing once-exclusive imperial delicacies to the hands of the common folk. It was through these artisans of the imperial kitchen that the flavors of the throne found their way into humble homes, transforming what was once luxury into local cuisines.

Mayumi, eyes darting from her work to the kitchen spectacle, entertained brief fantasies of elevating her own humble cooking skills to something worthy of income. Yet, standing amid such culinary titans, her talents felt woefully inadequate. She was no match for these seasoned chefs, whose mastery seemed eternal, the passage of time doing little to weaken their prowess. For her, time offered no respite, and the modest abilities would need much refining before they could even begin to stand in the shadow of such greatness.

She mopped the floor with care, deftly avoiding the legs of seated patrons engrossed in their meals of wine and local delicacies. The restaurant buzzed with the murmur of conversations, but one peculiar aspect of working here, especially with a clientele composed largely of the city's soldiers, is the constant stream of news from beyond Ba Sing Se's towering walls. While her own journey to the city had already exposed her and Satchiko to the harsh realities of war, many of these men had been watching the conflict between Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong since its earliest days. Daily updates flowed through the air like a steady drumbeat. Sometimes in massive campaigns involving combatants numbered in the hundreds of thousands, and other times, whispers of small skirmishes, brutal raids that seemed too insignificant to reach the ears of anyone outside the battlefield.

It was easy for such grim topics to spill freely from the mouths of those not currently fighting, safe behind the city's fortified defenses.

"I heard from my cousin, who watches the border," one of the armored patrons said with the weight of secondhand tragedy. "They say the Jianxinese managed to push back Xiao Zhong's elite units, but at a terrible cost. Thousands dead. He said the village they fought over is nothing but ash now. And yet, those Xiao Zhong troops are digging in, preparing for a siege as reinforcements pour in from the north."

It seemed that no matter the pain and devastation wrought upon one another, neither Jian Xin nor Xiao Zhong would yield even the most insignificant scraps of land. Their battles, gruesome and unrelenting, followed a cyclical pattern of destruction, where not even victory can bring respite. For the soldiers of Ba Sing Se, these endless wars had become little more than tavern chatter, a bleak undercurrent to their daily lives. They lamented the futile ambitions of these two neighboring states, whose pride and stubbornness fueled a conflict that bled the land dry, all the while leaving the countryside vulnerable to the scourge of bandits and roving cutthroats, occasionally breaching even the city's borders.

"Poor lads," one of the armored patrons sighed, resting a rice wine cup heavily on the table. "Sometimes I wonder, don't they grow tired of it? Can't they settle for some kind of peace?"

"Peace?" scoffed another, incredulously. "If those two ever worked together, they'd turn their armies against us in no time."

"Then let them try," a third soldier muttered while slicing through a thick piece of meat with deliberate force. "Huang Chao and An Lushan, are just two shortsighted wusses with more ambition than sense. They can squabble over villages and valleys all they want, but Ba Sing Se stands eternal. We have the numbers, the strength, and most importantly, the grain envied by the rest of the world. Sooner or later, they'll learn why this city is the true hegemon of the northern Earth Kingdom."

Though Ba Sing Se had thus far avoided being drawn into the wars between the countless states across the fractured realm, the peace that blanketed the grand city is precarious at best. Its unique position, a fortress of stability between two feuding neighbors, granted it a certain immunity. Neither Jian Xin nor Xiao Zhong dared provoke Ba Sing Se directly, knowing full well that to do so would invite the other into a formidable alliance with the city. Yet, there is a deeper, more delicate balance at play. The fall of either state, should Ba Sing Se decide to intervene, would have far-reaching consequences, unraveling the fragile equilibrium that kept the northern Earth Kingdom from descending into total chaos.

In the tumultuous era of warlords, even the mightiest hegemons had to tread carefully. Smaller states, sensing a shift in power, would not stand idly by while Ba Sing Se amassed land and influence. Coalitions would form to counter any entity that grew too powerful. For all its strength, even the great city had to acknowledge that unchecked expansion could ignite a broader conflict that even the mightiest fortress might struggle to withstand.

"Don't get ahead of yourselves," the oldest veteran cautioned, a man who experienced many battles. "Even if we went to war with one of those smallest states, I guarantee you that the bodies will pile so high they'd reach the heavens. Enjoy the boredom now. Relish it, because it's fleeting."

The somber mood lingered only briefly before the conversation, fueled by wine and rich food, shifted once more to lighter, though no less macabre topics. One group of diners spoke in hushed tones about the recent deaths of two more Airbenders, disciples of the venerable Master Tenzin. Over the past twenty years, many Airbenders had traveled east from their distant sanctuaries, seeking to bring peace to the conflict between Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong. Each time, they had entered the fray with noble intentions, convinced that they alone could quell the unyielding hatred between the two states. And each time, they met with the same tragic fate, their lives unceremoniously snuffed out in the chaos of war.

What made the soldiers' discussion so unsettling was the distasteful humor they found in it. The latest pair of Airbenders, which are the new replacements, had believed they would be the ones to finally stop the bloodshed. Instead, their deaths arrived even faster than the previous duo, setting a new record according to the restaurant's frequent patrons. Apparently, one of the two Airbending youngsters tried to organize a friendly parley between two opposing armies, only for that misplaced trust to be betrayed, used as a perfect opportunity to set up an ambush. Jian Xin formations rained down arrows that blocked the skies, killing thousands of Xiao Zhong soldiers and any peasants who were caught in the fray. Under such conditions, the two Airbending prodigies had nowhere to escape, died at the hands of those they trusted as well as their own childishness.

There is something unsettling, almost cruel, in the way how these soldiers laughed at the Airbenders' naivety, as though their deaths were mostly due to their own hubris, a joke to be told over a cup of wine. Yet, beneath the laughter, there is also an unmistakable undercurrent of cynicism, a bitter acknowledgment that in this world, even the most well-intentioned souls could be ground into dust by the relentless march of war.

"Why they even bother," one soldier jested. "While the Avatar was busy getting herself killed by some fool who had nothing better to do, her little harem arrived many years ago, and if they couldn't stop this little conflict, what do these kids in orange pajamas even hope to accomplish?"

Thunderous laughter once again circled the tables, musing how Airbenders can either be profoundly wise or exceedingly naive. But some of the armored patrons couldn't even force a tiny grin, silently eating. After all, many of these naive Airbenders who tried to stop the conflict between all the warring states are barely teens, some as young as nine. While it is commendable that Tenzin's disciples remain steadfast in their altruism, the warlords throughout the continent have a simple habit of dismissing benevolent words of distant strangers. In this case, to mediate between Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong requires an understanding of a language that permeates this tumultuous age, a language that the ascetics who commits to their way of pacifism isn't allowed to indulge.

Mayumi stifled a yawn, rubbing her eyes wide open as the evening buzzed with patrons enjoying their meals. While many dishes at this establishment are undeniably exquisite, the crowning jewel of the menu is the Ba Sing Se roast turtle duck. In a city teeming with restaurants specializing in this iconic dish, Jin's eatery has perfected it to an extraordinary level. With a head chef who once catered to royalty, decades of expertise have culminated in a secret recipe savored exclusively by the privileged few. Now, this restaurant has adapted the time-honored formula once enjoyed by the throne, elevating itself above its competitors and attracting patrons from all corners of the city. Affluent citizens from the Upper Ring often journey here, bedecked in vibrant brocades and elaborate jewelry, with some wealthy wives personally arriving in their ornate carriages.

Having observed the patrons since her arrival, Mayumi felt that the citizens of the city dined like royalty. While this may not be true for everyone, the vast farmlands and favorable climate yield two bountiful harvests each year, providing more than enough for Ba Sing Se to cultivate a rich culinary culture that caters to the affluent. While many across the continent yearn for a simple bowl of millet or rice porridge, within these walls, banquets overflowing with braised ducks abound.

After mopping the majority of the dining hall, Mayumi stretched her spine, easing the aches accumulated from a day of backbreaking labor. Yet true respite eluded her until the city's lights dimmed to darkness. She and her colleagues still had to tidy the establishment, scrubbing tables and wiping away spills. Although many soldiers indulged with their coppers and silvers at this eatery, they often proved to be troublesome diners, with a penchant for meat and wine. Many hailing from farming families, their first experiences in a restaurant frequently resulted in discarded bones and spilled beverages, all to the chagrin of the waitresses.

A barmaid became aghast as she cleaned a table. She uncovered a grave revelation, an earth-shattering discovery that could even eclipse the repudiation of a certain Firelord.

"Ugh! One of the customers hid a bone underneath the chair!" she exclaimed in frustration.

To make matters worse, they frequently uncovered leftover duck bones and chunks of food concealed beneath the tablecloths, daunting remnants of the patrons' careless negligence for the hardworking waitresses. While Mayumi empathized with their sentiments, her reasoning diverged. Animal bones could be repurposed as fertilizers, a practice the villagers of Kyoshi Island would never waste. With their limited resources, they could not afford to discard anything that could nourish the land despite the reliance on the ocean's abundant seafood. For them, every last grain of rice was cherished and savored.

The barmaid swept the bones into the bin, her annoyance directed at whoever had left them on the table. "Hiding under the tablecloth? That's a new low!" As she marched across the hall, the dining soldiers lowered their heads. It might seem strange that these armored men appeared intimidated by an irate woman, but perhaps it is a gentler fate, engaging in such trivialities is far preferable to the grim responsibilities of their roles.

Observing this scene week after week, Mayumi could only hope that her journey as a Kyoshi Warrior would not lead her down a similar path, one filled with the faces of fallen friends and family. While such burdens might have forged the strongest Kyoshi Warrior of this era, they are by no means a source of comfort.

She glanced over at her sister, who is seated on a wooden chair, slumbering across the table with an unadorned face buried in her arms. The sounds of Satchiko's snoring nearly rivaled the boisterous banter and laughter of the dining patrons, yet she remained blissfully undisturbed.

"Sister," Mayumi gently wake Satchiko, whose expression is one of sleepy confusion.

Unaware that the floor had been freshly mopped, Satchiko stood up abruptly, nearly slipping to the ground had it not been for Mayumi's quick intervention. This is followed with a thorough combing her disheveled hair and realigning the green robe by the elder sibling, a task that felt somewhat superfluous.

"Big sis, I'm fine," Satchiko insisted. "You're starting to act like mum."

"At least one of us has to," Mayumi replied with a hint of exasperation.

Though their perilous journey had come to an end, memories of their near-fatal encounters lingered fresh in Mayumi's mind, perhaps prompting her to adopt a more cautious demeanor. Understanding this, Satchiko chose to withhold the true reason behind her tattered student garment, attributing its state to a stray cat that roamed the institution.

"I brought you some snacks," Mayumi announced, presenting a bag of dumplings, leftovers from the restaurant's kitchen. "We don't have much of this back on the island, so you should try some."

Satchiko examined the dumpling with curiosity. It is true that Kyoshi Island lacked the fertile fields necessary to grow wheat, a staple for crafting dough-based dishes. The taste, however, is undeniably delightful. The rich flavor and texture of the meat differed markedly from that of the island's abundant seafood. She sank her teeth into the tender, boiled wrapper, greeted by the comforting combination of leeks, cabbage, and whatever meat had been used. Judging by the eager demeanor, it seemed a new addiction was taking root.

"Save some for later, sister," Mayumi advised gently. "Don't forget, we have a show to catch."

Satchiko swallowed the last morsel, recalling the importance of their upcoming endeavor.

...

When Mayumi informed Satchiko of Lady Te's generous offer, Satchiko was taken aback. Rather than logically accepting the chance for comfortable accommodations provided by those eager to repay the mercy of Avatar Kyoshi, Mayumi had chosen to reside in the crowded Lower Ring.

"You can be quite stubborn sometimes, big sis," Satchiko remarked, her mouth full of Ba Sing Se dumplings.

"I know. Perhaps I was just trying to emulate our parents, not wanting to be in anyone's debt." Mayumi glanced toward the entrance of a wide open-air courtyard, bustling with locals of the Lower Ring. "But my dear sister, there are experiences in this city that those in wealthy palaces seldom enjoy. Maybe when you're older, you'll understand."

Xiluo is one of many theaters nestled in the Lower Ring. Unlike the opulent opera houses frequented by the affluent of the west, these Earth Kingdom stage plays are more accessible to the masses, showcasing traveling performance troupes that retold iconic folk stories from thousands of years ago. For both sisters, coming from a remote island, this is their first encounter with such a form of entertainment.

A raised rectangular platform stood against a backdrop of rich green and gold hues, evoking a sense of imperial grandeur despite its humble materials. The stage floor, typically wooden, gleamed with a polished sheen. Flanking the stage are two intricately carved pillars adorned with auspicious paint patterns, adding to the ambiance. Above it all, a simple yet ornate arch bore ancient Earth Kingdom inscriptions that echoed themes of justice, morality, and honor, all common values embodied by the heroes of each tale.

As the sisters searched for available seats, Satchiko's gaze fell upon the musicians just below the stage. They appear to be local citizens, elderly individuals skilled in playing instruments such as gongs, cymbals, and zithers. Among them is also the suona, one of the Earth Kingdom's most iconic double-reed instruments, widely used in weddings, festivals, and funerals. Mayumi noted the suona's powerful volume, yet it possessed an unexpectedly charming quality, filling the air with its upbeat melodies.

For a while, their search yielded no respite. The theater is packed to capacity with locals eager to attend the performance. This enthusiasm is understandable. If anything could brighten the monotonous lives spent behind these walls, it would be an entertaining show recounting an iconic tale. Nothing could dampen the excitement of opera for both the young and old, not even the hellish wars that ravaged the world outside.

"Sister, look!" Mayumi exclaimed, pointing at a nearby building surrounding the massive courtyard, where little children perched on the roofs. Such a clever method of enjoying the show would be remiss if not imitated.

They made their way to an empty building at the rear of the seated crowd. Despite their modest clothing, the martial training they had received since birth had not dulled since arriving in the city. With no one watching, Mayumi approached the base of the structure. Joining her palms together, she propelled Satchiko skyward. After landing on the roof, Satchiko pulled Mayumi up, and they reveled in the unobstructed view of the stage.

"I have high expectations," Mayumi said with anticipation. "The last stage play I saw was in Chin Village."

"How was it?" Satchiko asked, intrigued.

Mayumi pondered her response before answering. "Let's just say they had a unique way of interpreting the tyrant."

Before any further deliberation could take root, an announcer stepped into the center of the stage, signaling for silence among the seated crowd.

"It's starting!" Mayumi whispered excitedly.

"My fellow countrymen!" the announcer called, waving and smiling brightly. "Tonight, we will experience a magical performance, a tale as old as the Earth Kingdom itself. Please welcome the talented men and women from Omashu, the Blooming Lotus troupe!"

An eruption of joyous cheers filled the air. Satchiko swallowed a piece of dumpling, her and Mayumi's eyes glued to the breathtaking scenery of lush mountains and serene rivers. The musicians began their lively performance, filling the space with vibrant music. Compared to the quieter musicians back home, the atmosphere here is electric, a sensation both sisters reveled in.

The rhythm quickened, signaling the arrival of twelve actors charging onto the stage. Six came from the left, while the others emerged from the right. Armed with prop weapons, they resembled real soldiers clad in colorful armor adorned with decorative ornaments.

In rage, their expression donned three colors, all eye-catching to the two sisters and the audience. The paints must be the work of artists, who mastered complicated strokes from brushes to exaggerate what would otherwise be plain faces. The two camp of actors stood silently, brandishing spears and exhibit the aura of organized and hostile mobs, reminding Satchiko of Xiao Zhong and Jian Xin. Their silence is finally broken when one of the leaders spoke. His tone is more exaggerated, imbued with angered emotions. He sounded imposing, likely due to the long dark beard which came with an elaborate robed costume. "Our two villages have been warring for many years, my old foe. Since we were still in the springtime of our youth, my people have been fighting for what is just and righteous!" The leader on the left proclaimed proudly, a deep-voiced middle-aged warrior adorned with three flags billowing from his spine. His face was painted with an intricate pattern of black and white, and he cursed his timeless adversary. "Your treachery and betrayal shall be your own misfortune!"

"Ha!" The elder on the right retorted with a sharper tone, mocking his opponent's sheer hubris. With a dramatic stroke of his beard, he launched an equally scathing insult. "Those are the words of a Badgermole! Ever blind, ever cowardly as they hide beneath the earth! The Earth Spirits will know it is our village that stands in righteousness!"

Suddenly, the musicians quickened the tempo, and the drums thudded ominously as both sides enter into battle. The choreography of the warriors' duels unfolded in perfect synchronization. Each movement executed with style. They performed flips, rolls, and agile dodges, evading dangerous stabs with effortless grace. It was astonishing that they are mere actors, not real soldiers on a battlefield.

"It's like… they're dancing," Satchiko remarked, captivated by the graceful formations.

"Yeah, they are," Mayumi replied with a soft smile.

Regardless of their affiliations, the tale of Omashu is a spectacle to be enjoyed by all. As the two opposing leaders clashed with their jian blades, engaging in what appeared to be a duel between two great military commanders, the flags attached to their backs waved dramatically as they moved in circular motions around the stage.

"The thief may be strong, but his resolve wavers!" shouted the performer on the right, parrying a strike before swiftly riposting.

The two leaders prolonged their duel, their movements a blend of skill and artistry, until the leader on the left is disarmed, finding himself at the mercy of his foe.

"I may have lost this fight," the man's powerful voice bellowed. "But my children, and their children, will continue this war until our village triumphs!" His opponent raised his sword, preparing to deliver a final blow. But just then, the musicians shifted the pace and tone of the music, transforming it into a fast yet somehow graceful melody.

Swift as a coursing river, with the force of a great typhoon, she burst onto the stage, embodying the strength of a raging fire. A gentle-faced figure emerged, accompanied by a rapid crescendo of music. A young female warrior charged into the fray, spear slicing through the air as she deftly blocked the lethal strike.

It was a daring maneuver, one that spared the leader from the left. While the crowd erupted in exuberant cheers for the timely rescue, Satchiko stood in stunned silence.

"Hold on… isn't that our face paint?" Her finger pointed toward the actress adorned in a strikingly similar pattern. The only discernible difference lay in the lighter shade of red encircling the eyes.

Clad in a costume reminiscent of an ornate armor adorned with heavy cord and plaque, the actress was further embraced by a flowing silken robe and a resplendent headdress. The ornamentation worn on the head boasted an abundance of green pompons that swayed and danced with the actress's spirited movements.

"Back off, villain! Unhand my father!" The woman cried, clashing her spear against the foe's sword.

Caught off guard by this unexpected intrusion, the leader to the right signaled a hasty retreat, apprehensive of the possible reinforcements.

"Retreat! Fall back to the village!" the leader commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. His followers hastily obeyed, scurrying out of the audience's view. The young warrior woman, now assured that safety had been secured, rushed to her leader's side.

"Father, you're hurt!" she exclaimed. Yet, despite her evident concern, the exaggerated expressions remained, a hallmark of Earth Kingdom theater. "Everyone, escort him back to our village!"

The chieftain, whose specific face paint pattern is entirely dark with white accents around the eyes, steadied his daughter's fervor with a firm reassurance. "Oma, now is not the time to fret over trivialities. The enemy is in retreat, and our reinforcements will arrive soon. It is only a matter of time before we eradicate our nemesis from this earth!" His voice boomed with conviction, but demeanor softened as he turned to the armored woman. "However, until then, I am assigning you to a scouting mission. You must seek out the enemy and uncover every weakness and secret they possess. Remember this, they are the ones who killed your mother. I can entrust no one else with this vital task but you. I know you will not fail me."

The woman bowed deeply, accepting the weight of his orders with resolve.

The musicians struck up the exit music, signaling the actors to leave the stage. Oma, however, remained, gracefully pursuing the retreating enemies. She danced to the right side of the stage, her form eventually vanishing from view. As the curtains began to close, the audience erupted in applause, their appreciation for the opening sequence ringing out, both sudden and straightforward.

"Was that really Oma?" Satchiko asked, her mind swirling with the events that had just unfolded. "I must say, her black hair is strikingly long. But did you see her makeup?" She nagged at Mayumi, who is busy trying to finish a dumpling. "I had no idea there are others who copied our face paint."

"Actually, many troupes throughout the Earth Kingdom use that face pattern," Mayumi replied, met with Satchiko's astonished gaze. The latter had never been well-acquainted with the broader world.

Even among the older Kyoshi Warriors, the precise origin of their iconic war paint remains shrouded in mystery. While its inspiration is clearly drawn from theatrical performers of the mainland, some speculate that it may have a more sinister origin linked to the legacy of Avatar Kyoshi herself. Yet, there is an inherent elegance to it all. Each Kyoshi Warrior embodies the essence of a performer, treating the world as a stage and gracing their enemies with dances of vengeance.

"Let's just focus on the play," Satchiko suggested, curling her arms and legs into a tight ball, a posture that didn't escape Mayumi's notice.

The scene unfolded against the backdrop of a towering mountain, where a solitary tree stood proudly at its peak. They watched as a male actor, clad in a light blue robe, ascended toward the summit.

The man, his topknot signifying a scholarly disposition, sighed wearily, a note of frustration creeping into his tone. He seemed less a warrior and more a vulnerable scholar. As his dialogue resonated through the theater, the musicians conjured a melody that was both pleasant and melancholic.

"The world's pain knows no bounds," he lamented. "Like morning dews, one can expect all to be taken from them." He approached the tree, standing beneath its branches and plucked a leaf, carelessly casting it to the wind.

"I think that's Shu," Satchiko whispered, barely above a murmur. Mayumi nodded in response and rewarded her with another dumpling, as if to celebrate the correct guess.

As the music quickened, transforming into a familiar entrance motif, Oma, draped in a flowing green robe, slowly emerged from the left. Shu turned to greet her.

"Who are you?" Shu inquired, striving to maintain a calm demeanor. Despite the exaggerated expressions typically expected in this form of performance, it was evident that he felt a twinge of intimidation, refusing to step back from the tree. In Oma's hands, her spear held a weight of significance.

Oblivious to the man's true identity, Oma replied earnestly, "My name is Oma. And just who might you be?"

"Shu."

She approached the tree, her spear angled away from him, revealing a cautious curiosity. As Satchiko observed their face paints, she noted their striking similarities. The younger characters in the play bore patterns reminiscent of the Kyoshi Warriors, while the more elaborate and jagged designs adorned those in positions of power.

After an extended exchange between Oma and Shu, a revelation emerged. Despite their fated encounter, the truth proved difficult to grasp.

"You hail from the village of my enemy. I should be killing you. Yet I do not sense your aura as a threat." Oma is visibly conflicted. For the first time, she faced an enemy who did not wield a sword. In a moment of vulnerability, she dropped her spear and instead picked up a slender branch adorned with delicate pink flowers.

Shu placed his left hand gently against the tree, waiting as Oma approached him.

"War brings together strangers who know nothing of each other and thrusts them into conflict. I resent this reality, yet I wish for something different between us." He extended his hand to Oma, hoping she would accept it. "If you wish to kill me, then so be it. But I must ask, is peace truly unattainable? Are we humans as evil as the spirits claim we are?"

Satchiko watched, bewildered by the unfolding drama. The fierce warrior, Oma, seemed to accept Shu. Yet, judging by her sister's expression, Satchiko sensed that Mayumi grasped the deeper themes and subtle messages in this moment.

As the scene drew to a close, the curtains slowly obscured the stage, leaving the audience with the poignant image of Oma and Shu standing together on the mountain that separated their villages.

While the pacing of their romance felt somewhat swift, it was nonetheless acceptable. After all, Satchiko and the others knew that the two characters were destined to fall in love, there was little surprise in this ancient tale.

"Well, that was quite dramatic," Satchiko remarked.

However, Mayumi disagreed, captivated by the theme of two enemies falling in love, a classic romance trope that just refuses to die.

The next scene shifted to a skirmish between the two villages' forces. From the dialogue, it was clear that the battle had erupted days after Oma and Shu's last encounter. Understandably, Oma fought with hesitance, her heart weighed down by the fear of harming Shu's friends or relatives. If her father were to discover her secret meetings with Shu, the resulting scandal would be nothing short of earth-shattering.

...

"Absolutely not!" The tribal leader of Shu's village thundered, shattering a clay cup against the floor. "I forbid you to meet with the enemy's daughter!"

"But Father," Shu implored, kowtowing to his knees. "Our village has been at war for generations, the reasons for the enmity have faded into obscurity. If I can forge a bond with her, surely peace is possible for the rest of us."

"Insolence!" The leader's fist struck the table with a force that sent splinters flying. "How dare you value a mere woman over the welfare of our village! Do you not comprehend how much territory we have already lost? I decree that you shall never meet her again, or you will no longer be my son!" With that, he stormed away, exiting the stage and leaving Shu to wipe away the tears in silence.

It was a bitter realization, no one can choose their parents.

"I should have seen this coming," Shu murmured, rising with a heavy heart. He was no warrior, and nothing seemed capable of mending the senseless bloodshed that plagued both sides. "Pride and foolish ambition consume the hearts of men, blinding them to the pain and suffering wrought by war." He sighed, grappling with the folly of his own kind.

The play continued for about an hour, reaching the moment when Oma and Shu sought to reunite once more.

...

"Stay behind me!" Oma shouted, brandishing her spear at a giant Badgermole, its silhouette cast against a large paper frame as a shadow puppet.

The beast erupted from the ground, emitting an artificial roar designed to heighten the tension. Whether the sound is accurate or not, the two Kyoshi warriors could not discern. Candidly, they had expected a sharp squeak rather than an intimidating growl.

After all, the troupe could hardly stage a real one.

Just as Oma prepared to plunge her spear into the creature's heart, the stage was graced by the soothing melody of a bamboo flute. It was Shu, who had pulled out his instrument and began to play softly, pacifying the Badgermole. The beast lowered its massive claws, its aggression dissipating in the face of Shu's gentle music. In that moment, the two humans forged an unexpected friendship with the creature, all thanks to Shu's musical talent, which proved more effective than weapons in this instance.

Not all conflicts can be resolved through violence, sometimes a different approach is required.

...

The Badgermole is one of the four original elemental masters. It was through them that Earthbending was imparted to humans.

Oma and Shu gradually developed a profound understanding of these subterranean creatures. The two lovers learned to feel the earth, just as the Badgermole did. With a love as enduring as the mountains that divided their villages, they soon mastered the bending art, allowing it to become a beacon for their forbidden relationship. In secret, they met within the intricate labyrinth of tunnels beneath the Kolau Mountains, far removed from the conflict and prejudice of their respective villages. Anyone who attempted to follow them would be forever lost.

"Shu, how long do you think we can continue like this?" Oma asked, her voice heavy at the thought that this is the only sanctuary for their companionship. She leaned against her lover's shoulder as they sat together on a chair fashioned from stone. "Do you truly believe that one day everyone will accept us?"

It would be a formidable challenge to keep their secret forever. Sooner or later, their families and friends would unearth the truth.

Shu hesitated, knowing the odds are stacked against them. The two warring factions are too stubborn, too deeply wounded. This conflict had exacted a heavy toll on their lives, and there seemed to be no path for reconciliation. The idea that everyone would simply lay down their weapons and embrace peace felt like a distant dream. An impossible dream.

"I refuse to accept that our love can only thrive in darkness," Shu said, tightening his grip on Oma's warm hands. "I promise you, the world will no longer judge us!"

Mayumi's eyes wandered to the stones above the cave, they shimmered with a soft luminescence, reflecting the strength of their love and affection. Her mother always said that a flower blooming in adversity is the rarest of all. Even if the entire world condemned Oma and Shu, they would not allow such judgments to sever their bond.

As the musicians began to play a familiar melody, the two actors took to the stage, dancing gracefully to lyrics that stirred a wave of enthusiasm among the crowd.

Mayumi could have sworn she had heard this tune before. During their time with the Kheshig, one of the musicians had performed it. But this specific piece of music is also a famous one amongst Earth Kingdom masses.

"If my memory serves me correctly, our esteemed great-grandmother adored this song!" Mayumi exclaimed, savoring every note of the orchestra. Sharing her foremother's love for such exquisite music, she turned to her sister, eager to see a similar reaction.

Satchiko covered her ears in dread, hoping to shield herself from the sounds that filled the air. It was strange how a song celebrating love and passion could evoke such division, tearing the world asunder between those who appreciated its beauty and those who perceived it as a torment. Curiously, their great-grandmother's husband also seemed to disdain this melody, and the hereditary is obvious.

"Are they done yet?" Satchiko asked, her voice laced with desperation for the music to cease.

"Not yet," Mayumi replied with a smirk, gently smoothing her sister's back in an effort to ease the discomfort. She considered herself fortunate to possess such exquisite taste in music. The tune harmonized beautifully with the choreography and the unfolding story, provoking a tinge of envy within her. As the eldest daughter of a village chief, she was beset by numerous suitors, most drawn by infatuation with her beauty and the advantages of courting a prominent family. Thankfully, she had the choice to reject them all. Despite being the most beautiful among her peers, Mayumi found this blessing somewhat hollow, troubled by the absence of true love. All she wanted is someone who could genuinely stand by her side.

In the end, Mayumi recognized her own shortcomings regarding the complexities of life. Aside from the primary duty to protect her sister, a cherished responsibility, she rarely took the time to contemplate the true nature of settling down and continuing the family lineage. While love could hinder duty, Aunt Meng's prophecy lingered in her mind, suggesting that perhaps her concerns were unfounded. Considering her seniority, assuming the mantle of household matriarch did not seem a terrible fate. Yet, it would be a lie to claim that she did not yearn for the kind of fated meeting described in Earth Kingdom literature, a narrative that while undeniably romantic, felt painfully cliché among lovesick scholars with nothing better to occupy their minds.

She felt a gentle nudge from Satchiko, reminding her to pay attention to the stage. Lost in in thoughts, Mayumi realized the scene had shifted to Shu, who found himself surrounded by his father's soldiers.

Shu was being forced into an impending battle, and Mayumi knew all too well where this would inevitably lead. As he attempted to defend himself with basic Earthbending, four arrows suddenly pierced through the air, impaling him ruthlessly in the chest. The music played a somber melody as he collapsed to the floor, succumbing to his wounds.

In the end, Shu had proven to be nothing more than an idealistic dreamer, one who saw the world for what it could be, rather than accepting the circumstances. Mayumi sat in quiet contemplation, while beside her, Satchiko noisily chewed on yet another dumpling.

Gasps echoed through the audience as Shu's lifeless form lay motionless on the stage. Though these characters existed only in a story, perhaps even a fictional one, it was remarkable how such literary creations could take on a life of their own, enduring their own deaths.

The injustice of it all stirred the crowd. Some, moved by Shu's tragic end, jeered and heckled at the senselessness of his fate. Their outbursts only quieted when the elders, maintaining decorum, intervened to calm their emotions.

"It's stupid," Satchiko muttered between mouthfuls. "Both villages are idiots. Shu would still be with his girlfriend if it weren't for their dumb war."

"Indeed," Mayumi agreed, though her attention was more focused on Satchiko's expression than the unfolding drama. No matter how much her younger sister tried to conceal her thoughts by devouring dumplings, there is more behind those words than simple disdain for a story.

Satchiko's green eyes, though fixated on the stage, are devoid of their usual spark. Beneath casual remarks lay something far more deliberate, almost lifeless in their scheming stillness.

...

Oma knelt before the small mound of earth, Shu's grave.

How could Yin exist without Yang? Light does not conquer darkness, both must coexist in balance, as all things should. Had the two villages not succumbed to their petty feuds, perhaps fate would have woven a more blissful ending to their story.

"You made me a promise, but you did not keep it," Oma murmured bitterly.

Though Earth Kingdom opera was known for its exaggerated expressions, emotions like sorrow and anger still demanded a level of authenticity, something that required years of practice to master. In a single moment, the actress managed to convey both grief and rage in a way that deeply impressed Mayumi.

With renewed resolve, Oma stood and declared her ambition, to fulfill Shu's dream of a future where the blades of war would be shattered. Love, after all, could be both a form of madness and a powerful force to inspire the broken. As the final words hung in the air and the curtains closed, Satchiko appeared unexpectedly captivated by Oma's vow to end the senseless conflict.

Just as she turned to Mayumi, likely seeking another dumpling, she noticed something surprising. Her older sister, usually composed, had been moved by the raw emotions of the performance. Silently, Mayumi handed her a dumpling, dabbing her teary eyes with a handkerchief.

"I... never saw you cry before, big sis," Satchiko remarked, her voice soft with surprise. "It's just a play."

"Yes, and that's why they're written, to make us feel," Mayumi replied, her tone calm but revealing a deeper reflection.

Satchiko said nothing in response, unable to counter the statement. It wasn't the play, after all, that weighed on her spirit. Reality itself felt far more burdensome. At least in sleep, she wouldn't be troubled by the guilt of the past.

The crowd stirred with anticipation as the curtains opened once more.

Oma now stood at the center of the stage, clad in a silken dress intertwined with ornate armor. Warriors on both sides of the conflict looked on, their faces tense with expectation. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her arms in a grand, exaggerated Earthbending stance.

"You have finally come!" her father exclaimed with relief. "Quick, use your powers and wipe out our hated enemies!"

His words sounded more like a command to a soldier than a plea to his daughter. Oma resented every ounce of it, the bitterness of war, the endless cycle of hatred.

"It was your father and his men who killed my son!" the leader of the other village shouted, attempting to stoke the flames of discord. "Avenge Shu! It was his dying wish for my people to secure everlasting victory. As his concubine, I demand you honor this and crush our enemies."

"We both know that's a lie. Shu never harbored such meaningless ambitions." Oma hissed, voice sharp and filled with scorn. "As his father, it seems you never loved him at all."

The music swelled into a grand crescendo, heralding Oma's next move. She extended both hands outward, chest rising as she inhaled deeply. For someone who had lost both her mother and her true love to the senseless violence of this conflict, it took immense strength to restrain the rage. The war had extinguished all kindness, reducing humans to something lesser than wild beasts, bereft of morals and stripped of conscience.

In one thunderous display, her voice rang out, dominating the stage and striking fear into all who listened.

With a single, effortless motion, Oma raised mountains. Shadow puppets behind a massive paper backdrop depicted the towering peaks, evoking a feat of Earthbending so legendary it might have surpassed even the power of Avatar Kyoshi.

Satchiko is awestruck, couldn't help but wonder if Oma had once been an Avatar herself. She glanced at her own palm, where a faint scratch remained from her childhood, a reminder of the time she had tried to grasp her mother's heirloom metal fan. It is regrettable that the childhood enthusiasm hadn't been directed at nurturing her own innate Earthbending.

On stage, Oma stood atop the tallest of the mountains, gazing down upon the small, cowering figures below. The warriors of both villages dropped their weapons, overcome by awe and fear, realizing the futility of angering this now emotionless force of nature. With the bright sun shining behind her, she spoke the final lines of the play.

"Why do we fight?" Oma asked, her voice echoing across the stage. None dared to answer, because none could. "Is it for our meaningless pride? Our misguided intentions?" The silence persisted, heavy with guilt and uncertainty. Undeterred, Oma continued, sharing a vision for a world yet to be. "Shu was my everything. He alone believed that our two villages could live in peace and harmony. Such a peaceful soul, yet he met an undeserved fate. Lamentable, truly a sorrowful end."

The performers, burdened by guilt and shame, bowed their heads as Oma declared the war over. The music shifted to a tranquil melody, its tone gentle and soothing, as the two villages symbolically began to work together. Side by side, they helped her raise a great city atop the mountain, one with towering walls and structures that seemed to climb toward the heavens, a testament to what could be achieved through unity rather than division.

This tale came to its bittersweet conclusion, an ending beautiful yet tinged with sadness, as timeless as the Earth Kingdom itself. Though the precise lyrics of this ancient tale had long been lost to time, some in the audience sang along, their voices faltering but sincere, offering flawed yet commendable attempts to capture the essence of the story.

And so, two lovers, forbidden from one another, the war divides their people, and a mountain divides them apart. They built a path to be together, one which led to the two tribes building one of Earth Kingdom's greatest cities.

They call it Omashu

...

Despite the moon's steady ascent, the city of Ba Sing Se lingers in the embrace of light, reluctant to yield to the night. Lanterns flickered like stars in the labyrinthine streets, casting a warm glow over the Lower Ring. As the sisters strolled toward Mayumi's temporary dwelling, they spoke softly, reflecting on what they had witnessed, an ancient tale retold with inevitable sentiment.

The most humorous part of their conversation came from Satchiko's musings about the Badgermoles, whom she believed to be Earthbending teachers to people. If the legends were true, then surely every non-bender would soon be lifting stones by sheer force of will. In retrospect, it would be a greater blunder if certain scholars dared to taint this iconic origin with their own ridiculous theories.

"You saw that headdress she's wearing?" Satchiko remarked with a smirk. "And that armor, I wouldn't mind strutting myself in something like that."

"You'd cause quite the stir," Mayumi teased. "But is that very all you want to do?"

Mayumi's question made Satchiko falter for a brief moment, her face tightening into a fleeting grimace before she masked it with another bite of dumpling.

"Big sis, you know I promised not to be reckless," Satchiko replied quickly. "Besides, isn't the Avatar supposed to mediate conflicts between people? If Oma wasn't the Avatar, how could she have stopped that war?"

Mayumi remained silent, her uncertainty lingering in the air. She was hesitant to fully accept her sister's reassurance but found some solace in Satchiko's vow. For those who meddle in matters beyond their control, there is always a price to be paid.

Their quiet walk came to an end as they approached a three-storied building. The courtyard, square and cramped, held two smaller houses, lending the space a cluttered, almost stifling atmosphere. Mayumi led Satchiko to the second floor, pulling out a rusty key with a bow shaped like an Earth Kingdom coin.

Inside, the room felt tight, the space modest. A small cooking station huddled in one corner, near a window obstructed by a tree whose branches blocked most of the light. The place is humble, but it is theirs for the moment.

"You live here?" Satchiko asked, her eyes scanning the modest room. It wasn't exactly in disrepair, but it lacked the space one might hope for. A small closet held Mayumi's belongings, with just enough room in the center for a sleeping mattress. Like any Kyoshi Warrior who cherishes her armor and blade, Mayumi had her prized equipment displayed meticulously along one wall, positioned beside a towering stack of bamboo steamers. The empty armor stood like a sentinel, gathering dust over the course of the month. The curved blade and golden headdress, equally important, shared the cramped space, their presence almost radiating an aura of a museum exhibit.

Satchiko took a cautious step forward. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet, and the cracks in the walls, once subtle, now seemed more pronounced. It was clear the landlady had been negligent in the upkeep of the place.

After a long day of work, Mayumi wordlessly lit a candle with an old sparking stone and ignited a small flame in the stove's fireplace. She moved with quiet efficiency, setting a wok over the fire as oil hissed in the pot, far too large for Satchiko to hold with one arm.

Satchiko's gaze drifted toward the doorway, where a string of garlic hung. Without breaking her rhythm, Mayumi marched over, plucked a single clove, and returned to the stove. Instead of the small cooking knife Satchiko is accustomed to seeing on Kyoshi Island, Mayumi wielded a large rectangular cleaver, more suited for a bustling restaurant than a modest kitchen. With a swift and practiced motion, the flat of the cleaver came down on the garlic, crushing it effortlessly and peeling away the skin in one smooth action.

The crushed garlic hit the boiling oil with a loud sizzle, filling the room with its sharp aroma. Mayumi moved with quiet efficiency, reaching into a nearby drawer to retrieve more ingredients, eggs, meat, and, most importantly, white rice.

"Big sis," Satchiko asked hesitantly. "H-how much did you spend on all this?"

The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken worry. These ingredients are far from ordinary on Kyoshi Island, where the ocean provided most of the islanders' nourishment. Tiny eggs are harvested only once a year from migrating birds' nests, a rare treat. Meat is even rarer, as there is no land for large livestock to graze. And white rice, a precious commodity, its price dictated by the whims of distant merchants more than happy to charge exorbitant rates.

"Oh, it wasn't much at all," Mayumi replied casually, pouring the ingredients into the wok without a hint of concern and stirred them with a metal ladle. "Quite cheap actually. I've got a whole basket of eggs just sitting over there. Although, it seems fish is a bit pricier in cities."

Satchiko blinked in mild surprise.

On certain mainland cities, where vast farmlands stretch for miles, there are no shortage of agricultural goods or meat from grazing animals. But fish, perhaps due to the giant walls of Ba Sing Se, required more time to transport, causing prices to rise by the time it reached the heart of the city. Nonetheless, Satchiko's focus soon shifted, her mouth nearly watering as she watched her sister stir-fry the ingredients with ease, mirroring the chefs she'd seen at Jin's eatery.

Unlike the slow-cooked stews back home on Kyoshi Island, this dish came together swiftly, the ingredients sizzling and melding in the heat. Before long, Mayumi poured the fragrant mixture onto a large plate, presenting her simple yet satisfying creation to a hungry Satchiko.

To Satchiko, the dish seemed fit for a noble, its rich ingredients and hearty portion a world away from the seafood and humble meals of their island.

But Mayumi smiled as she placed the plate down. "This? It's just a quick snack around here. Most people use leftover rice to add more flavor."

"L-leftover rice?" Satchiko whispered, disbelief at those words.

Food is a precious commodity, a luxury not everyone could afford. During their journey, hunger had been an ever-present companion. Yet here, within the towering walls of Ba Sing Se, the common folk seemed to possess the luxury of leaving food uneaten, a stark contrast to the realities they had encountered.

Even the name of this dish felt unremarkable, far from the grandeur of palatial feasts or the ceremonies of ornate temples. The masses simply called it fried rice.

Noticing the contemplative expression on her sister's face, Mayumi gently urged Satchiko to dig in. While their people are familiar with the idea of mixing various ingredients in their cuisine, stewing wild vegetables and beans until the water evaporated, they had never indulged in such a lavish combination of eggs and rice in a single meal.

Satchiko scooped a portion into her bowl and took the first bite. In that moment, flavors she never thought would coexist danced on her palate. Although still struggling to adapt to life in the city, the culinary delight of this historic capital is a welcome solace. While it was unfortunate that the delicacies of the ocean came at a higher price, at least she could savor a cuisine that had endured for thousands of years.

"It's good," Satchiko exclaimed, her eyes widening after a hearty swallow. "Different from the Elephant Koi citatap, but still tasty."

It didn't take long for her to finish her first bowl of fried rice and eagerly request a second serving. As Satchiko surrendered to her usual voracious appetite, Mayumi couldn't help but smile at her sister's enthusiasm.

"You always look cute when you eat," the older sister mused, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Satchiko froze at the remark. While such comments were commonplace back on Kyoshi Island, the playful statement felt unexpectedly disarming here, leaving her momentarily forgot how to respond. They have truly spent too long away from their home.

"Just eat up," Mayumi reassured her with a grin, savoring her own portion. "Your mind needs all the food it can get for studying."

Satchiko complied, even deciding to help clean the bowls and plates after their sumptuous dinner. As she returned the dishes to the closet, something pale caught her eye, a curious object nestled among the clutter.

"What's this?" Satchiko exclaimed, pulling out the oil-paper umbrella, captivated by its exquisite painting. Even to an untrained eye, the quality of the parasol is apparent, surpassing the mundane wares typically found in their modest lifestyle. It seemed inconceivable that Mayumi would spend money on such a frivolous adornment, especially considering the austere values upheld by their fellow sisters.

Mayumi looked up from her task of cleaning the wok. "Oh, this? It was given to me by a stranger I met on a bridge."

Satchiko's gaze darted between the umbrella and her sister, curiosity piqued.

"It's not what you think it is, my dear little sister," Mayumi said carefully, sensing the mischief brewing in Satchiko's green eyes.

"Did he give you a purple flower?" Satchiko blurted, a teasing lilt in her voice. "If not, then it's ironclad proof that Aunt Meng's fortunetelling is nothing but a sham!"

Mayumi breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that Satchiko is more interested in this lighthearted debate over superstitions and divination, a trait that seemed to have been inherited from three generations past.

"No, sister, but he does seem slightly... unorthodox."

"If he's good-looking and nice, then there's nothing for you to fear," Satchiko assured.

Mayumi grimaced, unsure how to navigate this embarrassing line of conversation. At least such a situation didn't unfold back on Kyoshi Island, where their fellow warriors would have relished the opportunity to dissect this new revelation into an avalanche of gossip, mostly at their weekly tea parties.

As the candle's light flickered and dimmed, the two sisters unrolled the thin sleeping mattress. Burrowing herself beneath the thick layers of sheets, Satchiko glanced over to find Mayumi sitting upright on the floor nearby, diligently working on some simple sewing. The damage to her student garb is still repairable, but it required meticulous attention.

Lying flat on the mattress, Satchiko felt a swell of words struggling to escape her lips, thoughts swirling in the quiet space.

"It should have been you, Mayumi," Satchiko said, almost laced with remorse. "If only you were the one studying here, wearing this robe fit for an aspiring student. Things would be so much better, since you were never meant to be cleaning plates in some restaurant." She paused, summoning the courage to articulate her remaining thoughts. "I robbed you of this opportunity."

The dim candlelight illuminated only half of Mayumi's mundane face, which didn't seem keen on delving into the issue. In the eyes of the older sister, the issue was already settled. While it is true that Mayumi possessed a natural talent suited for the studies of an Earth Sage, the inconvenience of being born a non-bender had never crossed her mind.

It struck Satchiko as strange that Ba Sing Se University reserved scholarships solely for Earthbenders, only to inundate those fortunate enough to attend with mountains of ancient texts rather than practical Earthbending training.

"You think too much," Mayumi said softly, barely above a whisper. As she threaded a needle and carefully closed the tears in the robe, Satchiko watched in silence, her heart heavy with unspoken thoughts. In the realm of wisdom and proverbs, Mayumi often felt overshadowed by their parents and village elders, yet she possessed insights of her own.

"Does the tiny industrious ant ever truly know its worth?" she continued, her hands deftly working. "They toil endlessly, yet their efforts seem insignificant from their meager perspective." Once she finished mending the garment, she folded it neatly before joining Satchiko on the mattress. "But that's a lie, because even the smallest acts we perform can amount to something valuable."

With a simple motion, Mayumi blew out the candle's flame, plunging the room into darkness.

"Sleep well, sister."

End of Chapter Notes:

-Hu Sihui is court therapist and dietitian during Mongol Yuan dynasty, author of the cookbook Yinshan zhengyao.

-The stage performance combines both Beijing opera and Chinese style shadow puppetry.

-Citatap is pounded food in the Ainu cuisine.