Sea waves splashed the hull of a towering ship as it drifted through the open seas. The sound of Seagulls hovering above the skies relished the hundreds of well-armored men standing on board the ship, their black armors seemed simmering through the sun's light. Ahead of them was the unknown yet lined along with them were countless similar ships, in an intimidating manner did the horde of ships sailed onwards.
Inside the bridge of the very ship where our protagonist lays, amidst the presence of battle-hardened officers of the great fire nation navy, stands a teenage boy not a day older than fourteen. An air of steadfastness lingered through the room, little left for lightheartedness for they talked about none other than the victory that lay before them. A victory they hope to present to their nation's high leader— the fire lord himself.
"Let it be known in the year of the horse, a coalition led by the great Admiral Long of the great dragon fleet and Admiral Chan of the eastern fleet, have successfully conquered Omashu— a bastion claimed to be impregnable by the Earth Kingdom!" The leading colonel praised after a long speech, his eyes looking through each of the men's eyes, though stopped a little longer to the boy in front of him as they stared at each other.
The men cheered along with the Colonel, but none could compare to the enthusiasm the boy held before them. His father had conquered many lands for their great nation and many more to come after this conquest— and a greater honor to the boy, came from being a part of it, the son of Admiral Long fighting alongside his father. A hint of trepidation coursed through his skin, and he began to speak out of eagerness. "I'll be fighting in the front, Colonel." And it was enough to elicit silence in the room, and came disapproval.
None, however, would be able to stop the boy from claiming the so-called glory he longs for… For he was not aware of the scars of war or the pain it brings, he was too green to understand— and the Colonel knew it. "Your father would not approve of this," said the Colonel.
But the boy did not falter. "He will… after we win."
"Victory is assured, boy! The cost, however, is something the ember spirits are the only ones privy to."
A gleamer of anger flashed through the boy's eyes from the words labeling him a boy. A mere boy not fit for the battlefield, oh… how he shall prove the man wrong. "That is an order, Colonel, I shall fight alongside our men and not hidden in a corner of this forsaken bridge."
"Your father is my Admiral. You are nothing but a scion of his, Your words hold no power over me!" The colonel slammed his fist onto the table, a spark of flame along with it. "Men! Take the boy back to his quarters."
No chance was given for the boy to speak his mind. Before he could utter a word, two armored soldiers seized him by the arms and dragged him out of the room. Feng chose to comply, seeing no point in arguing or resisting their decision. Still, a small voice inside tried to reassure him: They're doing this out of concern… locking you away because they're worried about you.
He clung to that thought, hoping it might ease the tugging in his chest. Yet deep down, he couldn't silence the burning desire to join the assault. The idea of glory—of proving himself on the battlefield—tempted him. Who knows? he mused. Perhaps if I distinguish myself in this battle, they'll finally recognize my worth.
Feng's confidence was no mere bravado; it stemmed from years of disciplined training at the Royal Fire Academy. Under the guidance of relentless mentors, he had honed his skills to razor-sharp precision. That training now came into play. As they reached the corner to his quarters, With a quick and fluid motion, he executed an aerial flip, using his momentum to knock the two soldiers' helmets together. The sharp clang echoed in the corridor as they crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Breathing heavily but determined, Feng didn't linger. He moved swiftly, navigating the narrow halls of the ship until he emerged onto the deck. There, rows of men stood ready, gripping their weapons tightly as they prepared for the imminent assault. The air was thick with tension, the rhythmic creak of the ship's timbers barely audible over the distant roar of enemy artillery.
Without hesitation, Feng snatched a spare helmet from a nearby crate and slipped it on. The metal was slightly too large for his head, and it slid awkwardly over his brow, but it would do. He positioned himself among the soldiers, blending into the line despite being the smallest among them. No one paid him any mind; the chaos of the battlefield left little room for scrutiny.
A deafening whistle tore through the air, followed by the crash of a spiked boulder smashing into the sea beside the ship. The deck shuddered violently under their feet. Men braced themselves, gripping the rails as debris rained down. Feng's heart raced, but his resolve held firm. He tightened his grip on his spear, his eyes fixed on the distant shore where chaos awaited.
There was no turning back now.
"Men!" bellowed a captain, his voice cutting through the tumult like a blade. His uniform, distinct from the others, marked him as a figure of authority among the ranks. "Soon, our feet shall tread upon this cursed earthen soil, but fear not! For it is not our blood but the enemy's that shall nourish the land! For the Nation!"
"For the Nation!" the soldiers roared back in unison.
"For the Fire Lord Ozai!"
"For the Fire Lord Ozai!"
"For Victory!" The cry reached a crescendo, reverberating across the deck
Suddenly, the ship lurched violently as it struck the shore, the force nearly toppling the tightly packed soldiers. The lines shifted but held, and the command rang out: "Go! Move!"
One by one, the lines began to descend onto the beach, each man steeling himself for what lay ahead. Feng shuffled forward with the others, his heart pounding in his chest. From his place in the line, all he could see was the broad back of the soldier in front of him. The man's movements were stiff with tension, his helmet shifting slightly with every step. Then, piercing through the sound of crashing waves and shouts, came something else—the screams.
Agonized cries drifted over the chaos, clawing their way into Feng's mind. I can do this… I can do this… he repeated to himself, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.
Finally, the line in front of him stepped forward, revealing the battlefield beyond. The scene hit Feng like a physical blow. The beach was a vision of horror he would never forget: the churned earth soaked in blood, bodies mangled and broken, and the scent of death hanging thick in the air. Men were reduced to unrecognizable forms beneath the weight of boulders, their screams abruptly silenced. All the whispers of glory and power that had spurred him this far dissolved in an instant.
This isn't glory. This is hell.
"Fuck," Feng murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
"You're next, soldiers!" barked the captain. "Fight for the glory of our motherland!"
To hell with glory. But there was no turning back now.
With his line, Feng leapt onto the beach, his boots sinking into the wet sand. The cries of men, the clash of steel, and the thud of boulders striking the earth formed a cacophony around him. Ahead, the soldiers who had landed earlier scrambled to establish a defensive line, but their efforts were met with relentless Earthbender attacks.
Splash! The sound was sharp, sickening. Feng dared not glance to his side, but he didn't need to. The absence of the soldier's labored breathing next to him said everything.
Keep moving… keep moving… He forced his legs to propel him forward, his body moving on instinct. Another barrage of spikes ripped through their ranks, and men screamed as the earth itself seemed to rise and strike them down.
Feng's retinue thinned as they pressed forward, every step a battle for survival. His mind screamed for him to stop, to turn back, but his body refused to obey. There was no stopping, no escape. Only the faint hope of reaching that defensive line ahead kept him moving, the will to survive overriding all else.
By luck—or perhaps by the grace of the fire spirits—Feng managed to roll forward just in time to avoid the crushing impact of a massive boulder. The metallic clang of shields echoed in his ears as he tumbled to safety behind the hastily assembled wall. Others who had fought alongside him were not so fortunate. If he had hesitated for even a second, he would have shared their fate, reduced to nothing more than blood and dust.
"Get yourself together, kid!" a gruff voice barked.
A large hand seized the collar of his armor and yanked him to his feet. Feng stumbled but steadied himself, coming face-to-face with a burly soldier whose face was partially obscured by a dented helmet.
"You're one lucky bastard, aren't you?!" the man growled, his voice a strange mix of irritation and awe. "Now quit gawking and make yourself useful!" He took a glance at Feng. "A bender aren't you? Start blasting them with your fire then!"
The captain, who appeared to be from another ship, gestured sharply toward the enemy line. There was no time to argue or even think. Feng's armor bore the unmistakable insignia of a firebender—a blazing crest on his chest that marked him as both a weapon and a target. There was no hiding his role, no pretending otherwise.
Swallowing his fear, Feng complied. He stepped forward and unleashed a torrent of flame toward the enemy lines. The fire roared as it tore through the air, engulfing the figures in its path. His first kill was almost too quick to register—a figure crumpling into the dirt, their outline consumed by flames.
The second came soon after. Then the third.
At first, Feng counted each life he took, but the numbers blurred together in the chaos. He told himself he should feel something—guilt, sorrow, maybe even disgust—but there was no time. The battlefield allowed no room for reflection, only survival. The looming threat of his own death drowned out all other thoughts.
"Push forward!" the captain bellowed.
Feng's heart sank as the shield-bearers—the men tasked with holding the metallic wall—gripped their shields and began advancing. The wall groaned and creaked as they pressed forward, step by step, into the storm of enemy fire.
The brief pause during this maneuver gave Feng a chance to glance around. On either side, he saw identical formations of shield walls, each one inching toward the Earth Kingdom's defenses. Behind them, more soldiers braced themselves for their turn to march into the fray. The sheer scale of the assault was overwhelming, a tide of bodies moving steadily toward what felt like certain doom.
The fear clawed at Feng's chest, but he buried it beneath a single thought: Keep moving. Survive.
By the time the day ended, there were almost no Earth Kingdom soldiers left on the battlefield. The only remnants of their presence were the broken bodies scattered across the blood-soaked ground. Yet, the Fire Nation's victory came at a staggering cost. Thousands of their own soldiers lay dead, their lifeless forms mingling with those of the enemy.
The air was thick with the stench of death, mingling with the acrid smells of blood, piss, and shit. It clung to everything, saturating the beach with its foul presence. Under normal circumstances, Feng might have retched or even vomited from the sheer intensity of it, but now he only stared blankly at the ground.
He wasn't alone. The same hollow expression was etched on the faces of many soldiers around him. Some sat in silence, their eyes distant and unseeing, while others suddenly screamed as if they were still trapped in the heat of battle, reliving its horrors over and over again.
A flicker of light—a cinder from a nearby torch—pulled Feng out of his trance. He blinked, the surreal nature of it all rushing back to him in disjointed fragments. Only hours ago, he had stood tall on the bridge of the ship, brimming with confidence and anticipation. Then came the storm of projectiles, the desperate scramble for survival, and the unthinkable act of taking lives with his own hands.
With my own hands… He clenched his fists tightly, the faint tremor in his fingers betraying his calm exterior. There was no remorse in his heart, but there was relief. A small, almost shameful relief that he had survived.
"Glory," he muttered under his breath, his voice heavy with bitter irony. His gaze swept over the battlefield, taking in the lifeless forms of comrades and foes alike.
"Glory," a voice repeated from behind him, cold and sharp. "How does it feel to have your glory?"
Feng turned slowly, his body aching with exhaustion. The voice was stern, tinged with suppressed anger, but it also carried something else—concern, perhaps even relief.
Standing before him was Admiral Long, Feng's father, flanked by a retinue of officers. The admiral's armor gleamed even in the dim light, gilded with volcanic gold, a mark of his high rank and the trust bestowed upon him by Fire Lord Ozai.
"Father…" Feng's voice was weak, barely above a whisper. A flood of emotions surged within him—relief, shame, and a deep yearning for comfort. He wanted to throw himself into his father's arms and weep, to release the weight of everything he had seen and done. But he couldn't. Not here, not in front of these men. To do so would desecrate the sacrifices made by those who had died for their cause.
Admiral Long, however, had no such reservations. He strode forward and enveloped Feng in a firm embrace, his stern demeanor giving way to raw emotion.
"How could you do this?" his father said, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and anguish. "How could you place yourself in harm's way like this? I would never be able to face your mother if I lost you out here."
The admiral's arms tightened around Feng, and for the first time since the battle ended, the boy felt a crack in his resolve. A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his dirt-streaked cheek. It was the only tear he allowed himself.
"You can't, Feng," his father murmured, his voice softening. "You don't need to fight this war. Not like this."
Feng pulled back slightly, his expression firm despite the lingering exhaustion. "I want to, Father. I need to…"
There was no desperation in his voice, no plea for approval. It was simply a statement of fact, born from the resolve of someone who had chosen to see this war through, no matter the cost.
Admiral Long looked into his son's eyes, searching for something—perhaps a way to convince him, or a trace of doubt that could be nurtured into retreat. But all he saw was stubborn determination, the same fierce resolve that he himself once carried into battle.
With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand on Feng's shoulder. "Then may the spirits guide you, my son."
Victory after victory followed in the wake of the Fire Army's initial landing. Over the span of just two months, tens of skirmishes had erupted, alongside multiple clashes between the main forces of the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. The Fire Navy had docked their ships and transformed the beach into a sprawling encampment, fortified by thousands of disciplined navy men. This stronghold acted as the main supply base, a testament to their growing dominance of the region.
Feng had chosen to join the ground forces instead of serving directly under his father's command. He had been baptized by the fires of countless battles, each one etching its mark on his soul. Friends had come and gone in the whirlwind of war, their presence fleeting but deeply impactful. The bonds formed in the chaos of battle often felt stronger than those he had shared with his longtime companions at the Royal Fire Academy. These men, forged by shared battles, had become his brothers in arms.
His exceptional martial skill and budding tactical acumen did not go unnoticed. Paired with his noble lineage, Feng quickly rose through the ranks, earning a promotion to captain of a hundred-man company under the 7th Regiment. This unit was commanded by Colonel Huang, a seasoned veteran and friend of Feng's father. The old man's reputation preceded him, and his presence lent both prestige and pressure to Feng's growing role.
Tomorrow will be a decisive day. A day that, if successful, would etch their names into the annals of history. Tonight, Feng stood before his men, their faces lit by the flickering light of campfires. These were men who, despite being decades older than him in most cases, looked to him with respect and trust.
"Tomorrow will mark the end of this carnage, brothers!" Feng's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. The men around him stirred from their seats, their attention fixed on their young captain.
He gestured toward the horizon, where the outlines of a massive city stood against the fading twilight. The city, perched atop a mountain of stone and sand, loomed as an unyielding fortress. "The enemy has failed time and time again to withstand our might. And now, we stand before the gates of their greatest stronghold. Beyond those walls lies our prize—our glory!"
A thunderous cheer erupted from the men, their voices filling the air with a raw, primal energy.
The following morning, a vast formation of Fire Nation soldiers assembled on the desert plain. Thousands upon thousands of black-armored warriors stood in disciplined ranks, their banners billowing high in the wind. It was an awe-inspiring sight, a testament to the might of the Fire Nation, yet the air was heavy with an uneasy silence.
The anticipation of bloodshed hung over them like a storm cloud. The quiet was oppressive, fraying nerves and amplifying the tension that gripped the soldiers. Feng felt the desert wind whip against his face, the grains of sand stinging his skin. The breeze grew stronger, forcing him to steady himself as it tugged at his armor.
The sand beneath his feet was soft, causing him and his men to sink slightly with every step. Marching through it was already a struggle—what would it be like when the assault began? His gaze turned toward the city in the distance. Even from this far away, he could see the massive catapults perched on the walls, poised to rain destruction upon their ranks. Thousands of defenders manned those walls, ready to repel the invaders at all costs.
Feng's heart pounded in his chest. He knew this siege would be hard-fought, brutal, and unrelenting. A part of him whispered that it might even be a massacre.
The war machines standing among the ranks offered a sliver of hope. These tundra tanks, designed by War Minister Qin himself, were said to be the pinnacle of Fire Nation engineering. Their steel frames gleamed under the morning sun, a symbol of unyielding power. Feng allowed himself to believe, for just a moment, that these machines would bring them victory. But at what cost? That question lingered in his mind, unanswered.
At the forefront of the army stood their general, a towering figure of authority. Even from his position, Feng could see the man gesturing emphatically, his mouth moving with fervor. Yet the howling wind drowned out his words. The orders, however, came swiftly enough.
"Prepare to march!" a rider bellowed as he rode past Feng's position, the general's flag flying high above him.
Colonel Huang raised his voice, his tone unwavering. "You heard the order, men! March onward!"
The march had begun with a rhythmic cadence of boots sinking into the sand, the weight of armor adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Feng's senses were dulled by the monotony of the march, but a growing tension crept into the edges of his awareness. It wasn't until the column ahead of him halted abruptly that he noticed the unnatural stillness. He followed suit, the soldiers behind him coming to a confused, uneasy stop.
The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy like a storm waiting to break. For a moment, the battlefield seemed frozen in time, as if the desert itself held its breath. Then, it happened.
A deafening rumble shattered the quiet, and Feng's eyes widened in horror as the entire line of soldiers in front of him was crushed into unrecognizable paste. The ground itself had risen, transforming into massive walls of earth that slammed down with devastating force. Blood and dust erupted into the air, mingling in grotesque clouds. The smell of death was immediate, sharp and metallic.
"Bumi has appeared!"
The roar of Colonel Huang pierced through the chaos, his voice filled with both urgency and disbelief. Feng's heart sank at the name. King Bumi of Omashu—legendary for his unparalleled earthbending and unpredictable tactics—was here.
Feng tore his gaze from the carnage, forcing himself to look upward. Standing atop a massive boulder was a hunched figure, his silhouette unmistakable even from this distance. With every fluid motion of his arms, the earth obeyed his commands, reshaping itself into weapons of destruction. Men were crushed beneath the weight of boulders or hurled into the air as the ground erupted beneath them.
The general of the Fire Army, a master firebender clad in ornate armor, launched himself skyward with a powerful jet of flame. His figure was a streak of red and gold as he flew toward Bumi, determined to confront the mad king head-on. The clash between them was fierce and immediate, their battle shaking the earth and igniting the air in bursts of fire and stone.
For a moment, Feng was transfixed, his mind caught in the surreal spectacle of it all. Then came another cry, this one sharp and filled with terror.
"Enemy cavalry!"
The voice snapped him back to reality. From the flanks of their formation came the thunderous sound of hooves. Earth Kingdom cavalry, hundreds strong, had appeared as if from nowhere, charging through the Fire Nation's flank. Their own cavalry was the first to fall, cut down by the sudden onslaught. Those who survived were scattered, their formation in disarray.
The enemy riders pressed on, surging toward Feng's position with terrifying speed.
"Brace your spears!" Feng bellowed, his voice rising above the din. His arms moved instinctively, gesturing to his spearmen. "Form the wall! Hold the line!"
The soldiers scrambled to obey, their movements chaotic but determined. Shields locked together, spears angled forward, creating a bristling barrier of steel and fire. The enemy cavalry slammed into the wall, the impact reverberating through the ranks. Men and horses screamed as they were impaled on spears or hacked down by swords. Some enemy riders managed to breach the line, only to be overwhelmed and cut down in the fury of the defenders.
Even as they repelled the cavalry, Feng's eyes were drawn to the distant gates of Omashu. They had opened. From within poured a flood of Earth Kingdom infantry, a seemingly endless tide of warriors rushing forth with bloodlust in their eyes. Hundreds became thousands, their numbers overwhelming.
"Colonel!" Feng called out, searching for guidance. His eyes found Huang, but what he saw turned his stomach. The veteran officer had just slain an enemy earthbender, but a thick spike of stone jutted grotesquely from his abdomen. Blood soaked his armor, staining its gilded edges a deep crimson.
"Feng!" Huang rasped, spitting blood as he urged his mount toward the boy. His face was pale, his eyes burning with a mixture of pain and resolve.
"Colonel, you're wounded! We need to—"
"I have little left in me!" Huang growled, cutting Feng off. He leaned down, grabbing the boy by the collar with surprising strength. "Gather the soldiers… and fight! No, retreat if you must, but save as many as you can!"
"Uncle Huang—" Feng's voice cracked, desperation clawing at his throat.
Huang's grip tightened, pulling Feng closer. "Live, Feng. For their sake, if not your own."
The colonel shoved Feng onto his ostrich horse before slumping lifelessly from the saddle. Feng barely had time to react as Huang's body hit the ground with a dull thud, his lifeless eyes staring skyward.
The enemy infantry was closing in, their war cries growing louder as they surged across the battlefield. Suddenly, the deafening roar of explosions filled the air. The Fire Nation's tundra tanks, positioned further back, had begun their barrage. Massive shells tore through the enemy ranks, sending men and earth flying. For a brief moment, the chaos seemed to tip in their favor.
Feng seized the moment. He urged his ostrich horse forward, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Rally to me! To me!" His voice cracked but carried across the battlefield, cutting through the fear and confusion. Soldiers began to respond, dragging themselves toward him. Some were bloodied, others limping or leaning on their comrades for support.
The battlefield was a hellscape of fire and blood. Explosions from the tanks lit up the desert like fireworks, but the enemy pressed on undeterred. Feng's heart pounded as he watched the meat grinder at the front lines, where Fire Nation soldiers fought desperately to hold back the tide.
He clenched his fists, his mind racing. Reinforce the front, or retreat? The thought of abandoning his comrades, of leaving them to die while he fled, filled him with shame. But the longer they stayed, the higher the casualties would climb.
"I will not be a coward," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "Nor will I disgrace their sacrifice."
Drawing his sword, Feng raised it high. The blade gleamed in the fiery light, a symbol of hope for those who still looked to him.
"Hold the line! For the Fire Nation!" he roared, and with that, he charged forward, leading his men into the fray.
His decision was made. If they were to survive, it would be through courage and unity, not cowardice. Feng would fight alongside his brothers, for better or worse, until the end…