Chapter 55 - Cicada, Mantis and the Oriole

Life was seldom perfect, rarely seamless or untroubled. But it could be ideal in quiet, unspoken ways. Often, it is only in hindsight that we recognize the grace of those fleeting moments when life felt firmly within our grasp. Many now yearn for such days, when existence flowed unburdened and the simplest joys, accompanied by sunlight on one's face, accompanied with the closeness of kin. It was all one ever needed.

Mayumi squinted against the harsh brilliance of the sun, its rays like needles upon the blue eyes, forcing her gaze aside. But in turning, she was met with a sight that never failed to warm her spirit. Just within the village's modest dojo, she stood watch over a cohort of junior warriors. The trainees moved in disciplined unison, their steel fans slicing through the air with practiced precision, a ritual preserved across generations, echoing the fierce legacy of Avatar Kyoshi herself. In the face of tradition and duty, not one among them dared to falter.

The task was ordinary, even repetitive. But it is essential. Though the excitement of instructing fresh recruits had long faded, the quiet satisfaction of passing down knowledge never lost its luster.

Inside the dojo, a circle of warriors formed a silent perimeter around a sparring match. Within it, her younger sister clashed with Kazuki. Sparks of steel and ferocity danced between them. A seasoned traveler might remark on the prodigious skill of these mere adolescents, how they wielded weapons and wits as if born to them. Unlike many of their peers in the vast Earth Kingdom who are thrust into conscription and handed a dull and expendable spear, these girls had trained since infancy, raised on tales of honor and sacrifice.

Yet no Kyoshi Warrior allowed such comparisons to distract from their duty. Here under the tenure of Lady Akahana, mediocrity is not just shameful, it is a threat to a sacred legacy. To fail is to diminish the memory of the very founder who had once molded fisherwives and homemakers into this island's fearsome protectors.

That tradition had never wavered. And as long as breath filled their lungs, it never would.

"Again!" Mayumi commanded, her voice calm but firm.

The match resumed at once. Satchiko lunged forward with a crushing sidekick, forcing Kazuki into a desperate sidestep. Steel fans collided in a blur of motion, each clash a sharp punctuation of their battle. Both were skilled beyond their years, trained to defeat foes many times their size, a standard rather than an exception on this hardened little island. Yet the disparity between them was unmistakable, inevitable even. The second daughter of a storied warrior bloodline pitted against a girl near the village pier. Talent, it seemed, flowed through Satchiko's veins like a birthright.

Thus, like the hundred times before, one of them would emerge triumph.

Parries and ripostes rang out in rapid succession. Neither warrior yielded ground, unflinching in their footwork. Satchiko, with calculated poise, forced Kazuki to overextend himself while she slipped past a swift fan strikes like water weaving through a broken sieve. Then with a sudden flourish, the brown-haired combatant snapped one of her fans shut and brandished it like a short blade, deftly turning aside Kazuki's slashes with practiced grace.

Exploiting the brief lapse in her opponent's defense, Satchiko struck cleanly at the waist, an attack that left no room for recovery. What followed was a flurry of unrelenting, circular motions. A relentless barrage of fan swats, simple yet effective, signature technique of Akahana's style. It was likely one of many secrets the matron had passed down to her own children.

Kazuki, already reeling from the twin-fan assault, was caught further off-guard when Satchiko delivered a surprise kick, bypassing the metallic defenses and breaking the rhythm of her counter. Though Kazuki had proven more than capable against ruffians and the occasional pirates, facing a fellow Kyoshi Warrior is a far more exacting trial.

Then in a sudden clash, the two locked their metal fans together, turning the duel into a battle of sheer strength. Which is a stark departure from their usual fluid techniques. Ironically, it is in this raw contest that Kazuki found her footing, enough to unsettle Satchiko. But the latter recovered swiftly, pushing Kazuki back and delivering another decisive kick to end the deadlock.

A chorus of metallic clangs accompanied Kazuki's fall as she tumbled gracelessly into the surrounding clutter. Mats, training gear, and ornamental decorations scattered around in a chaotic disarray. By some cruel twist of fate, a masked kabuto helmet toppled from its perch and landed squarely on her head, completely blinding the wearer.

"I can't see!"

Clearly, the Kamuy had a sense of humor for what is about to come next.

And thus, the match concluded in typical fashion. Though the matron was diligent in honing the skills of every student, it is clear she had lavished a little more attention on her own daughters.

"Help?" Kazuki murmured, voice muffled beneath a mound of wayward gear.

Suppressing a grin, Satchiko stepped forward to assist her beleaguered friend. Joined by two other sisters, they gently brushed away the offending clutter and helped Kazuki to her feet, removing the helmet that temporarily took away the girl's vision.

Alas, their rescue came too late for Kazuki's lunch, which is now a flattened rice ball and a once-pristine piece of salmon now lay as unfortunate casualties of the fray.

At first, Mayumi observed the entire episode in silence, her thoughts drifting to memories of her own youthful recklessness at Satchiko's age. Though the shadow of piracy never lingered far from their shores, fortune still allowed them moments of levity, brief interludes that reminded them of life's quiet beauty. Not every waking moment need be a descent into dread. A touch of mischief, when tempered by a good heart, is a tonic to the spirit.

"Enough," Mayumi's voice cut through the room at last. The atmosphere shifted at once, lightness giving way to solemnity. She strode across the tatami floor, eyes sweeping over the trainee for signs of injury. Only after ensuring the girl was unharmed did she turn her attention to the objects scattered and upended.

Fortunately, the worst casualty was merely a set of spare armor, a gift from the Kyoshi Warriors under Matron Oiwa's command. Bamboo training swords lay strewn across the floor in disarray, but none of it was irreplaceable. Still, as one of the seniors charged with the instruction and discipline of the younger ranks, a responsibility entrusted to her by the local Matron herself, Mayumi regarded safety as paramount.

Thus concluded another unremarkable day. While the others dispersed, drifting toward their respective duties or into the quiet chaos of youthful mischief, Mayumi lingered behind. Alone, she gathered the displaced armor and restored order to the dojo, sweeping the floors in preparation for the next day's drills. Though she and Orihime are burdened with the labor of mentorship, someone like her carried a subtle privilege many failed to recognize.

As she swept the woven tatami mats, her gaze occasionally wandered to relics of generations past. Aged metal fans and dulled blades, relics that had once belonged to some of the most venerated Kyoshi Warriors in history. Portraits lined the walls, each depicts moments of valor and legacy. Some captured in vivid color, portraying the legendary battle between their founder and the tyrant Chin. Others commemorated lesser known, yet no less noble triumphs from mere generations ago.

One painting in particular held Mayumi's attention longer than the rest. A sigh slipped past her lips. Her sister's belief that battle should be exhilarating and fun seemed harmless for now. But someday, Mayumi feared that perception might lead to outcomes far more perilous.

A shift in the air drew her attention. Footsteps echoed at the dojo's entrance prompted her to turn and bow with practiced grace. An older woman stood there, clad in armor and her face painted in the honored fashion. It was clear she had come with intent, not for the others, but to speak with the instructor herself.

"Matron," Mayumi greeted with respectful formality.

"At ease, daughter," Akahana replied with her usually firm voice. "There's no need for formalities on an afternoon like this."

Indeed, had Satchiko been present, the younger sister might have scoffed at the idea of bowing to one's own mother, even in public view. But today bore no rituals or ceremonies, no audience demanding solemn conduct. Just another quiet, unremarkable day on the island.

Their conversation was sparse, consisting mostly of routine reports. An account of that day's lesson, observations on the trainees, remarks on the steady progress of each aspirant. As expected, even the Matron found a rare peace in simply surveying the dojo's interior, her gaze lingering on relics of the past that serves as the living memory of previous generations. Among those storied figures also includes famed Suki herself, who had once trained beneath this very straw-thatched roof, surrounded by walls of wood and honor.

"How was your meeting with elder Akira?" Mayumi inquired, still holding the broomstick she'd been using. "What did the two of you discuss?"

Akahana, who bore little patience for idle talk, was chiefly preoccupied with matters of defense. She often met with senior Kyoshi Warriors and respected elders on this side of the island, balancing the burden of military readiness with civic duty. But for Akira? The Matron would occasionally reserve some time with that old woman over some tea, likely due to the history between the two. Though authority on Kyoshi Island is not passed by blood, no one questioned the benefit of the Matron's eldest daughter acquiring an understanding of local politics and tradition. Every lesson, even unspoken, had its purpose.

"Nothing too philosophical," Akahana replied after a pause, recounting her earlier talks with the elder. "We spoke of necessary matters, subjects the younger generation would likely find tedious." Her gaze drifted to the small altar tucked at the back of the dojo hall, where incense sticks were offered in reverence to Avatar Kyoshi. There is a fleeting moment of hesitation behind her composed facade. Subtle, barely perceptible to Mayumi. The glance was cautious, as if Akahana feared their words might carry beyond intended ears.

"There are only two other sisters nearby," Mayumi offered gently, sensing unease and attempting to reassure. "You can trust them."

But the words passed over her mother without visible effect. Instead, Akahana reached into the folds of her garment and produced a small cloth bundle, which she set down and slowly unwrapped. Inside are a few neat bento boxes, simple and travel-ready meals that were lovingly prepared despite the Matron's often firm exterior. As always, tea is a prerequisite for any private conversation, even if some in the village still claim that during the Matron's youth, she could empty two bottles of rice wine in a single day. Such contrasting image naturally doesn't seem believable to the two daughters, or any of the younger generation that only remember the Matron as a firm-handed and strict figure that ensure the village's peace.

"You can leave the cleaning for later," Akahana said, setting a cup beside the box. "After this, I'll find your sister and father to deliver their portions."

"Yes, Mother," Mayumi replied.

Both women sat at the far end of the room, cradled in the quiet warmth of its dim alcoves and sharing a pot of tea steeped in a compact cast iron kettle. Rare are such tranquil intervals, occasions that allowed Mayumi to indulge in the quiet discipline of tea brewing, a modest craft passed down from her father. He had once confided to her the quiet secrets of his homeland's method, a lineage of practice said to trace back to her paternal grandfather, a figure she had never met and likely never would.

Though not an expert, Mayumi wielded the kettle with competent grace, for this particular method of infusion is far more convenient than the intricate, ceremonial art of preparing matcha locally. With a practiced hand, she poured the pale amber liquid into her mother's cup, releasing a ribbon of fragrant steam that curled like incense toward the ceiling. Despite the heat, Akahana drank slowly, as if the warmth itself steadied her.

"It's only a few more days now, before you both set sail for a place so far removed from these shores," Akahana murmured, her voice tempered as a sigh veiled in solemnity. "I believe we must speak frankly about the dangers you may encounter, and how best to confront them." She gazed pensively into the translucent depths of her tea, then lifted her eyes to Mayumi.

Though her tone lacked anger, Akahana's expression bore its habitual severity, an unyielding face that seemed carved to command, whether she meant to or not. Years of stoicism, sharpened by the painted visage, projected an air of quiet menace. The effect was deliberate in the presence of foes, yet no less disquieting for friends and kin.

But beneath that lacquered mask of a warrior lay the heart of a mother, unblinded by the perils that waited beyond their island's serene borders.

Mayumi lifted her own cup and took a contemplative sip, the tea warming her throat. She cleared it gently, weighing her reply before letting it fall into the still air. "I see no cause for worry, mother. A modest voyage aboard a humble ship does not warrant such concern."

Akahana nodded once and drained her teacup in a single, deliberate motion. It is a reasonable observation. Though the warlord states sprawling across the mainland are eager to bleed one another dry, even the foolhardiest among those balkanized regimes hesitate to plunder neutral trading ships. In this roiling cesspool of civil wars and crumbling succession, such reckless piracy is reserved only for the truly imbecilic. "I suppose your assumptions are correct," she said. "You've grown swiftly. It feels like only yesterday you were small enough to cradle in a single arm."

But to ease a mother's fears, especially one whose children sail dangerously close to fractured and war-torn shores, it is a task bordering on the impossible. Pirates still prowled the waters. But Kyoshi Island remained, for now, a haven of calm in a tempestuous realm. Its people are simple and unambitious, more concerned with when to purchase their next jug of rice wine than with the political nightmare unraveling just across the waves.

But for the Matron, the most formidable Kyoshi Warrior of her generation, the mere thought of war sullying their sacred island is unbearable. The notion of blood-soaked fields and the tortured cries of kin echoing through smoke-choked valleys is enough to harden her jaw with grim certainty. If such visions failed to dissuade a soul from embracing the folly of war, then they are no better than uncivilized beasts, fools blinded by delusions of valor.

"Some of the village elders call me paranoid," Akahana admitted, her voice tinged with the bitterness of memory. "And perhaps they're not wrong. I wasn't exactly a model of humility in my youth." She paused to sip the tea, the steam curling around her expression as she glanced at her eldest child. "But just because the past has receded doesn't mean it cannot return. History, I've learned, is a patient predator."

Mayumi's gaze drifted to a painting hung upon the dojo wall, a timeless tableau capturing the moment their hallowed founder defied the tyrant and his so-called invincible host.

His legions was the mightiest the world had ever seen, boasting more soldiers and steel than even Ba Sing Se's imperial army. So vast were their numbers, they could drain rivers with their march and shake the earth beneath their armored feet. One by one, he subjugated the great cities of the Earth Kingdom, until only the capital remained. And then, in a show of arrogance befitting a mortal drunk on conquest, Chin the Conqueror turned his eye to the Yokoya peninsula, demanding that even the Avatar kneel before his uncountable army.

And what force, one might ask, stood against that near-invincible army and prevailed? Who among the living dared defy legions clad in fine steel, drilled to perfection and vast enough to blot out the horizon?

Outmatched in every measure, the ancestors of Kyoshi Island's folks rose nonetheless. They were no soldiers. Only farmers, fishermen and craftsmen, but they bore the unyielding resolve of those defending sacred soil. Yet for all their courage, the tide of Chin's hardened troops is still unstoppable. What could pitchfork and oars do against blades sharpened by conquest?

And yet, here is where the tale nourished both the innocent dreams of youth and the sober reflections of their elders.

Led by their indomitable Avatar, the people of Yokoya defied annihilation. Against all odds, they triumphed. It was not merely a battle, but a legend incarnate. A tale of a humble people lifted by the will of one resolute spirit and toppled the mightiest warlord of the age. To this day, paintings still adorn the walls of homes, temples, and training halls, commissions born of reverence. In them, Kyoshi and her steadfast followers are rendered in radiant light, their forms noble and serene, while Chin and his horde sink into shadow, monstrous and grotesque.

"Even if the world beyond our shores seeks to harm us," Mayumi said, her voice refusing to waver. "The spirit of Kyoshi herself will ensure their efforts crumble." It is a sentiment passed through generations, a sacred notion that in moments of dire peril, the Avatar would rise again, as protector and judge.

But to a woman like Akahana, such hope was no longer enough.

"I no longer have the luxury of placing my faith in hope," she replied quietly, subtly reminding Mayumi that as the wars raged right across the waters, the Avatar is still not found.

How many villages like theirs had been razed and plundered since the Earth Kingdom descended into turmoil? More uncountable than the stars they can see. So many sufferings have occurred since the realm's fracture that no chronicler could hope to keep tally. Kyoshi Island had survived, not by strength or cunning, but by sheer insignificance. They are a forgotten speck adrift on the sea, too remote and unremarkable to warrant attention.

Such sentiments stood at odds with the more romanticized ideals cherished by the younger generation. The vibrant murals commemorating Avatar Kyoshi's triumph against impossible odds stirred a fervent, almost sacred awe in the hearts of the youth who beheld only the splendor. There were many moments when Mayumi found herself caught in quiet reflection, questioning the integrity of her own counsel. How often had she warned Satchiko to temper the appetite for battle, even as a part of herself quietly yearned for the same thrill? The dream of glory and adventure, of recognition earned through blood and defiance. This dream is a seduction she could never fully silence. To be immortalized in songs and sagas, etched into the memory of an age worth envying. Just like the paintings within this training hall.

And surely, Mayumi thought, most would agree. Clashing with nameless pirates in these remote waters paled in comparison to the grand feats her foremothers achieved since the founding of their island.

In time, Mayumi reconciled herself to a bitter truth. The glory of days spent battling alongside an Avatar, unforgettable and resplendent, might never return for someone like her. For many years, no new incarnation had been found. Perhaps, from this point onward, the only remnant of the one who once wielded all four elements would endure solely in statues, whispered through incense-laced halls of ancient temples.

"There is no such thing as honor in battle," Akahana intoned gravely. "To chase meaning through senseless bloodshed is merely a way to convince oneself the dead did not perish in vain. But family… that is where true honor resides."

To defend their island and their peace is the noblest duty a Kyoshi Warrior could shoulder. They embraced it not out of thirst for prestige, but as a sacred duty. Yet honor, that elusive specter so shapeless and ever-shifting, had undone even the greatest heroes now immortalized in hallowed tomes. Even now, Mayumi could not help but sense the charged embellishments in the tales, which painted their revered founder in strokes too flawless to be real. With time, the myth grows glossier, and pliant history retold with a dusting of convenient nuance.

Akahana's gaze drifted to the painting mounted in the dojo. Its lacquered hues and artful composition cloaked the brutal cost of conflict beneath layers of romanticism. Their ancestors had been fortunate that Avatar Kyoshi herself had fought beside them. It is a rare privilege. One the rest of the world could not afford.

"It is oddly ironic," Akahana said while sipping her tea with quiet gravity. "Even I am surprised how much I behave like your sister in my youth. But I must admit, her pride is far more tempered than the fire that ruled me two decades ago."

The Matron's weary blue eyes, dulled with years and knowing, had already glimpsed the storm forming beyond the horizon. After the last Avatar was unexpectedly slain by the vanquished challenger whose name shall not be uttered, a frantic search was launched for the successor on a realm now cleaved by wars. Yet even for a woman whispered to have slaughtered the island's invaders with the ferocity of a berserker in her adolescence, not even such bloody renown could ease the terror nesting in a mother's heart for her children.

Suffering, in its cruel and uninvited way, can be a surprisingly effective teacher. Even if the lesson leaves behind a lingering ailment of despair.

"Mother, you're not wrong to worry about this journey," Mayumi offered once more, knowing she would likely have to say it again, perhaps many times to no avail. "But I have foreseen no conflict on our way to the city."

Akahana nodded, though the gesture was still hesitant, reluctant to surrender the unease. It was clear that Mayumi's prudence would need to balance the impetuousness of the younger sister.

"Keep watch over your sister," the Matron advised. "I doubt she will exercise the same restraint. The world beyond our shores is nothing like the embellished scrolls. You must be ready to protect her."

Mayumi inclined her head in a solemn nod. From the beginning, raising a second child had never been easy for their parents, especially one so spirited and unpredictable. From mimicking the Matron's feats by accidentally injuring their father's arm to weeping through countless sleepless nights, perhaps Satchiko's late discovery of her Earthbending ability was in its own way, a hidden blessing. And as the saying goes, why not seize a rare opportunity that might not only allow her to master Earthbending but perhaps even chart a coveted path as a scholar of repute?

The conversation gradually shifted, circling now around their revered founder, Kyoshi. As the village's Matron and the most esteemed Kyoshi Warrior of her generation, Akahana is among the few entrusted with the island's deeper secrets. Naturally, some truths are reserved for those who bore the mantle of age and responsibility. The youth, though growing older every day, is not always considered ready in spirit. And with so much knowledge passed down through the island's oral traditions, much remained cloaked in silence, never committed to ink and never meant for the uninitiated.

The two sat quietly for a moment, sipping what remained of their tea. Yet the Matron had not yet finished speaking. Her voice resumed with measured weight. For the journey to Ba Sing Se, though long and conducted entirely by boat, may not be the true trial. The real challenge lay not only in crossing the sea, but in what awaited within the city's walls. Or more precisely, who.

"What do you think of our venerable founder?" Akahana inquired, pouring herself another cup of tea. Truthfully, she had never posed the question so directly to her potential successor before. Most devotees of Kyoshi, especially among the younger generation, would offer nothing but unequivocal praise. Yet Mayumi, having tempered her own zeal over the years, chose instead to simply recite the legendary accomplishments chronicled.

The litany of their revered founder's deeds is long. In her youth, Kyoshi had already bested the infamous leader of the Yellow Necks in a duel that became the stuff of legend. She uplifted the common folk, quelling rebellions that threatened the fragile peace. And ultimately, she vanquished Chin the Tyrant, paving the way for reforms that reshaped the Earth Kingdom during the fraught reign of Earth King Jia Lun.

To this day, Kyoshi is remembered foremost for her indomitable strength, a quality so formidable that even her enemies dare not deny it. Yet her living legacy endures here, on this small and remote island where her disciples honor her memory through the steadfast preservation of tradition.

Still, the imminent journey to Ba Sing Se might compel the Matron. Well-versed in the secrets the elders keep about their venerated founder, she does wish to grant a measure of discretion. It would be folly to send her children to the city unprepared, unaware of truths too delicate for common knowledge.

At least, the less impulsive of the two sisters deserved to be entrusted with such forbidden insights.

"I have heard this many times," Akahana said, her voice edged with gentle reproach. Though rehearsed, Mayumi's response was sincere. In living memory, Kyoshi was perhaps the last Avatar to treat the Earth Kingdom with genuine fairness. Any flaws she bore pale when weighed against the magnitude of her deeds for the common people.

Here, even Mayumi's own sister had been lulled to sleep by bedtime stories, tales of Kyoshi's saga personally narrated by Akahana. Yet the Matron guarded the deeper truths, secrets passed down through oral tradition since the island's founding. Naturally, some locals might wonder about Kyoshi's personal retinue or the massive stone ruins standing in stark contrast to their predominantly wooden villages. But like certain things aged by time, Mayumi had learned not to question. The past was the past, and their beloved Avatar's reputation remained unassailable.

"Conversations such as this are only possible with someone like you," the Matron said softly. "I believe your sister may one day outgrow her boisterous nature, but for now, she is still too young."

Not even the fearless Akahana would dare question their founder's near-perfect status as a paragon. Beyond her own standing on the island, it would be nothing short of folly to demoralize a whole generation of warriors inspired by Kyoshi's illustrious legacy and had vowed to defend their home with unyielding resolve. Every village on the island boasted at least one wooden statue of Kyoshi standing proud in its square, a steadfast reminder of her impeccable example.

Which is why anything, even the faintest whisper that might cast a shadow upon their founder's image must be approached with the utmost care and reverence.

The Matron rose quietly, strolling toward the dojo's window. Outside, two young trainees are playing after lessons had ended. Mayumi followed her gaze to watch as one of them carefully arranged a butterfly-shaped target atop a wooden pedestal. The game is simple. Players took turns tossing paper fans, aiming to knock the delicate target down. Since Kyoshi Warriors are trained in the use of similar implements from an early age, it is perhaps no surprise that they display a natural aptitude, far greater than those in nearby coastal cities where some unfortunate women occupy a certain... occupation.

Perhaps in Akahana's mind, sharing this innocent moment would help soften the weight of what she is about to reveal, words that might be deemed sacrilegious by some.

"Our founder is not perfect," Akahana said softly, ironically echoing the sentiments of her far more cynical colleague. "But we owe her so very much."

Mayumi let the Matron pause, giving space for reflection and the careful weighing of unspoken boundaries. When a Kyoshi Warrior is revered as the strongest of her era, even the gentlest critique she utters about their founder must be measured with care.

Likely wary of angering both spirits and mortals alike, Akahana chose to reveal a secret known only to a select few on the island, an act that might already test the patience of Avatar Kyoshi herself.

At the back of the dojo stood a small altar's hall, where incense burned steadily in quiet homage to the Kyoshi Warriors who had come before. The names of some of the greatest were inscribed on delicate parchments affixed to the wall, demonstrating a legacy that inspired generation after generation of women to accomplish extraordinary feats.

With a hesitant breath, no longer able to conceal her intent, Akahana gently lifted a small, concealed panel near the altar, unveiling a hidden compartment. Inside rested two objects, never before glimpsed by Mayumi.

Mayumi narrowed her eyes sharply. Despite spending countless hours within the dojo's walls, she had never discovered this secret recess, likely a small and sacred trust passed down from one Kyoshi Warrior leader to the next.

One of the items was a stunning porcelain vase. Not just any vase, but a masterpiece crafted by the finest artisans of Ba Sing Se, the kind reserved for the highest echelons of society. Mayumi was awestruck, silently reckoning the vase's value might surpass the combined wealth of all the island's villages. Yet the fact that such a precious artifact was kept hidden here, away from the temple's public reverence hinted at origins far more complicated. Perhaps it is inconvenient to the simple tales told to the islanders.

Mayumi's gaze soon settled upon the second object, a curious glove fashioned from interlocking shards of stone, each segment joined with uncanny precision. It resembled a gauntlet, though its construction defied reason. However intently she examined its composition, she could not fathom how such an intricate artifact could have been forged, if such a craftsman even existed at all.

"This is an old relic," Akahana said about the gauntlet with reverence. "It predates the founding of Kyoshi Island itself."

With quiet ceremony, the Matron extended the earthen gauntlet to her daughter, allowing Mayumi to carefully cradle the object in her palms. Yet comprehension eluded her. It bore no obvious mechanism, no discernible purpose. Only the silent weight of forgotten history. And still, something about it stirred a memory. Fragments of old poems, cryptic verses extolling the might of the Earth Kingdom's imperial line. They spoke of sovereign thrones constantly imperiled by treacherous ministers and whispering servants. For all its grandeur, Ba Sing Se, the capital of a once-unified realm, had rarely exercised influence beyond its towering walls.

"Those... people," Mayumi asked slowly, her voice guarded. "Were they truly Kyoshi's responsibility?"

Doubt, such a quiet and deadly word. When spoken softly, it fractures legacies louder than any accusation. A single crack in the myth of the immortal heroine, and the flawlessness can never be made whole again.

The Matron's face betrayed little. And yet, without warning, she hurled the porcelain vase from the altar, allowing it to be shattered violently on the flagstones just outside the dojo. The sound rang through the air like a temple bell. Akahana had long cautioned her daughters against placing undue reverence on abstract ideals like honor. But some offenses, and betrayals of sacred legacy, could never be forgiven.

Footsteps answered the commotion. Two Kyoshi Warriors burst into the hall with drawn metal fans. Gone was their earlier mirth, their expressions had hardened into grim resolve taut with readiness. Even that reaction, the instinctive rush to defend spoke more volume than the treachery that surrounds Ba Sing Se's throne.

"Lady Akahana, is everything all right?" one of them asked urgently.

With preternatural calm, the Matron nodded. "I was merely discarding something unwanted."

The young warriors exchanged glances, bowed and withdrew. Mayumi, watching the porcelain shards glint in the light, needed no further explanation for the metaphor. Questioning her mother's outburst would only provoke a silence colder than stone.

"The family, and the will to honor our forebearers are what truly matter," Akahana said again. As Matron of the village and leader of the local Kyoshi Warriors, she held the legacies of those who came before her as treasures far greater than any material possession. Their honor, sacrifice and devotion, these are not things to be bartered or forgotten. And though her disdain for those who had sullied their founder's name had long hardened into open contempt, she had not allowed that fury to cloud her judgment entirely. At the very least, it had not kept her from imparting hard-won wisdom about that certain order which now operates within the heart of Ba Sing Se.

"Your concern for my safety and my sister's is not misplaced," Mayumi replied. "I hope you'll place greater trust in our judgment too. After all, even Chin the Conqueror was considered invincible by all until he wasn't?"

Perhaps those words, softly spoken yet edged with quiet strength, gave the Matron pause. After all, who else still honors Kyoshi's name if not them? And if a potter deems one of her vessels flawed beyond redemption, why would she wish for its continued existence?

...

Mayumi inhaled deeply, a faint smile tugging at her lips in half amusement. Even someone as cautious as she had underestimated the perils that lay beyond the island's shores.

A full moon now ascended in solemn grace, casting its silvery glow across the city. Yet its beauty offered little solace. Not only had she failed in her mission, but she may have drawn the gaze of those she once believed long vanished.

She lay sprawled across the wooden stage of Xilou, the theater where the famed lovers Oma and Shu once danced through memory and myth. For now, it would serve as her refuge. The minutes are few, and she dared not return to the courtyard house as doing so might implicate her sister.

Whatever pursued her was no mere lackey of the state. And yet, wherever her sharp gaze swept, those keen blue eyes could not discern even the faintest ripple of motion in the pitch-black world beyond.

Ironic, she mused. Years of rigorous training had refined her into a shadow, an ambusher of the unwary. Yet never before had she faced an adversary who mirrored her own skill so precisely.

The heavens cracked anew. Thunder rolled across the sky like the growl of some ancient beast, a grim reminder that fishermen somewhere may be drifting helplessly beneath a churning sea. But all Mayumi saw are empty rows of seats and silent wooden instruments, untouched and forgotten.

Fatigued from her flight, she drank from a waterskin, each swallow grounding her in the present. She pondered her circumstances, tracing back the chain of events that had led her here. As dangerous as the so-called Acolytes of San Bao spiritual movement may be, she reasonably believes that cities such as Ba Sing Se are more than enough to suppress whatever insurrection those zealots may design.

But the one named Huo, she must die at all costs.

The rain persisted in its gentle cadence, a soft symphony tapping against the clay roof tiles. It felt like a soothing rhythm in a night so tightly wound with dread.

Seated beneath the sloped roof of the opera stage, only a few errant drops found their way to the wooden boards. Mayumi raised her blade with quiet reverence, letting the falling rain cleanse the steel. She even gave it a slow, graceful swing, cutting through droplets mid-air. It may be a futile gesture, but in this hollow theatre, the moon is her only witness.

And then, the music.

The delicate twang of a zither, faint but unmistakable, drifted from the audience seats, where musicians and patrons should have long since departed.

At first, she did not turn her head. Perhaps it was disbelief. Or perhaps it was defiance.

She released a weary sigh, struggling to resist the cold dread now coursing through her veins. It clawed at her composure, yet she forced herself to remain still. Like a thief caught in the glare of daylight, uncertainty now governs every thought.

Perhaps she is the first Kyoshi Warrior in generations to be so thoroughly caught off guard. Her training, passed down through centuries from the time of Kyoshi herself, is meant to prevent such lapses. But now, faced with an enemy who seemed to wield the same martial traditions, she found herself confronting a challenge unlike any other. All she could truly rely upon is her resolve, and the bitter understanding that their founder had favored only one of her two great creations.

With steely calm, Mayumi leveled her blade toward the source of the zither's haunting melody. She waited, breath steady, bracing herself for the confrontation against the very group her mother had sworn her to avoid. And then, from the shadows, a glint of metal emerged. The distinct, sharply curved tip of a helmet. Slowly, a figure revealed itself, stepping forth as a specter would from a dream.

A wave of loathing rose within her, bitter and biting. Despite the years of discipline that had tempered her emotions, this sight rekindled a fury freshly inherited. For however noble the tree, one of its branches rot from within.

"Hello, Dai Li," Mayumi said coldly. Even uttering the name tasted foul. In response, she boldly showcased the pale white paint across her face, marking herself with the emblematic mask of Kyoshi, their shared founder.

Her grip on the blade tightened, knuckles paling. Across the way, the lawman remained seated, his helmet angled downward, the wide brim casting his face in shadow. He made no move to attack. Instead, his fingers that are clad in stone, hovered over the strings of the zither before him, poised with an eerie grace.

Then, a single note rang out. It was soft, clean, and deceptively beautiful.

What followed was stranger still. The figure began to play in earnest, each pluck deliberate and methodical. The music unfolded with solemn patience, then shifted, building into a sharp, fast-paced rhythm. Its cadence grew erratic, even hostile. Then it cut to a sound not meant to soothe but to unsettle. Every now and then, it fluctuates.

Mayumi bristled at the absurdity of it all considering this as nothing but an asinine game meant to mock her.

She waited, seething in silence at the sheer audacity of the performance. The music quickened, strings struck with increasing violence as the figure surrendered himself to the crescendo. Each note scratched at her ears like nails against stone.

And then, a sharp twang rang out. One of the zither strings snapped, recoiling with a harsh hiss and halting the discordant song in an instant.

Still poised upon the stage, Mayumi watched as the heavy quiet returned like a shroud. The zither's strings now lay limp, and the musician's hands, once steady and precise, displayed a flicker of unease. One of his thumb twitched involuntarily like a tremor barely perceptible. She couldn't see his eyes nor read his breath, but the tension in those earthen hands hinted at uncertainty, perhaps even fear.

Then at last, the figure shifted. Slowly and deliberately, he raised the helmet just enough to reveal the shadowed line of a chin.

Mayumi narrowed her gaze, bracing herself. She expected movement, but not what came next.

With barely a whisper of sound, the Dai Li agent launched himself upward from the ground, almost flying through the air with an unnatural ease that made her heart jolt. He landed gently onto the stage, absurdly light for a man clad in stone shoes by emitting only the softest click as rock met wood.

Instantly, Mayumi adjusted her stance, blade lifted and aimed squarely at him. Yet the Dai Li did not flinch, nor even acknowledge the threat she posed. He stood with the calmness of one utterly convinced of his advantage, as if her readiness was merely ceremonial.

What accusations would he conjure? She wondered. Espionage? Sedition? Charges serious enough to ensure she never saw the open sky again?

But instead, he spoke cordially, perhaps worst for the Kyoshi Warrior's liking.

"It is with great honor that I welcome a member of the famed Kyoshi Warriors to our city," the Dai Li said. "Though it is most regrettable that such hospitality must unfold under such unfavorable weather."

His words rang strange in her ears. Polished and careful. Each syllable rolled off his tongue with deliberate neutrality, but never warm with welcome.

Mayumi's brow furrowed, suspicion sharpening within her as he continued.

"How long has it been since our peoples have previously met? A curious reunion to be sure, but these surroundings hardly offer the proper stage for a reception befitting our... esteemed allies."

Mayumi was no fool. Unlike the vast majority of her sisters, she possessed at least a dim awareness of the insidious stratagems once employed to erode this city's defense from within. Yet, thanks to the meticulous diligence of the chroniclers, the truth endured. The names of those who had actually betrayed Ba Sing Se's defenses during the great war had not been lost to time, but inked with unforgiving precision into the annals of history.

"Watch your tongue, you revolting eunuch," Mayumi snapped, almost imitating her own mother by having venom lacing each word. "Compared to the likes of you, any failures committed by my sisters and I are but ripples. Your treachery is the true rot at the root."

To her, such men are nothing but sycophants whispering behind the backs of monarchs, parasites clinging to thrones draped in borrowed authority. As a Kyoshi Warrior, she bore the teachings of a founder who wielded justice with her own hands, not through cowardice or shadows. No respect shall be granted to those who schemed behind silk screens

A light wind stirred the hem of the Dai Li agent's cloak, whispering against the unyielding metal of the helmet that still concealed his identity. Yet despite Mayumi's private grievances, it is clear this so-called guardian of culture had scant regard for trifles such as honoring the legacy of their mutual founder. At last, just as the Matron had forewarned, the sophisticated laws of Ba Sing Se began to bare their fangs. There is no dignified ceremony, only impersonal precision.

"The penal code of this harmonious city is not something to be trifled with," the Dai Li said with unnerving calm, confirming Mayumi's deepest apprehension. "By now, you should understand that to bear arms and imperil one of the few sanctuaries left on a realm ravaged by war is not merely foolish, but also deeply contemptible. Millions beyond the great bastions yearn for peace and order. I trust the notion of respecting local ordinances is not beyond you, especially given your own role as a guardian of your homeland."

Mayumi did not immediately retort. Her armor, weapons, and the golden headdress are all marks of legitimacy. Back home, she is authority and an enforcer in her own right. But such title unfortunately cannot shield her from being seen as a trespasser here.

"I was carrying out justice," Mayumi warned coldly. "You dare obstruct me?"

The Dai Li did not flinch at the challenge, nor did he waste breath rebuking it. Instead, he spoke with the iron composure of a bureaucrat who had delivered many such verdicts, reminding her that this is no provincial hamlet. In the eyes of any self-respecting enforcer, a woman brandishing an unauthorized blade is no less a threat than a wild-eyed zealot swinging a makeshift axe.

"Your earlier endeavor disrupted my duty," he said evenly. "As a civil servant and a fellow guardian who also upholds my respective heritage, I am no stranger to treason. And those who place their personal motives above the harmony of the city are, without exception, treated as seditionists. One would think that someone of your station might show some sympathy for the weight of my duty." He advanced two measured steps. "Relinquish your weapon, or stand indistinguishable from the outlaws and renegades you despise."

Fury twisted Mayumi's expression. To be likened to the very scum she had once fought is a humiliation she could scarcely endure.

"And what makes you think I stand on the same ground as bandits?" she challenged harshly. "Lest you forget, it was your kind who failed this city. While my sisters and I uphold Kyoshi's legacy with our every breath—"

The Dai Li agent interrupted without a word. From the voluminous sleeve of his robe, he produced two wanted posters and unfurled them with theatrical calm. The images are unmistakable, two women with fierce eyes and striking red and white warpaint stared out from the parchment.

"What trickery is this?" Mayumi demanded, almost too quick.

"Governor Yi is an inept and fatuous man," the Dai Li said flatly, devoid of respect but brimming with cold apathy. "Yet somehow, when it comes to certain matters, he exhibits a surprising tenacity. And generosity."

The posters bore an offer of gold so substantial, it seemed like a trap. Mayumi's eyes narrowed, questioning whether if this is a ploy of blackmail. Despite this insidiousness, she does not believe the Dai Li cares for coins.

Mayumi bit the side of her lip, tasting the metallic tang of frustration. The situation had turned swifty. Normally, she would have parried with diplomacy, softened the moment with wit or reason. But not now. Any gesture resembling submission would be a betrayal, which is an irony of irony considering honor has never been her obsession.

"Step aside, Dai Li," she said, low and final. "I've fought your enemies, not your people. If you truly see all and hear all, then you already know I seek no design on the city itself."

"And you are not mistaken," the Dai Li acknowledged. "But there is something you should understand about me specifically. A long time ago, during great war, there was a moment not unlike this. Although we both share the same venerable progenitor, fairness demands that I judge you not by your claims, but by the standard to which every soul within these walls is held."

Mayumi's fingers curled tighter around the hilt of her blade, waiting for the lawman to finish.

"I am not a risk-taker. Unlike certain virtuous figures held up as paragons of moral clarity, I am not swayed by the frayed threads of kinship or sentiment when upholding peace and stability. That includes you."

Before Mayumi could retort, the agent acted.

In the blink of an eye, he executed a stance unlike any she'd witnessed from Earthbenders before. It was almost too precise. There was a flicker, something small. Its speed made it nearly invisible beneath the starlit sky.

Clink!

Her treasured blade caught the projectile, deflecting it barely. Though no larger than a pebble, the impact sent a jolt up her arms. Both hands spasmed in pain, the reverberation biting deep into joints themselves.

She gasped, gritting her teeth against the ache, forcing both limbs to respond. With effort, she raised the blade more defensively, expecting a follow-up assault.

But the Dai Li stood motionless, observing her with unsettling calm.

"You exceeded my expectation," he said, face still hidden by the helmet's brim "Few face our strike with steel alone. Most without bending simply flee or dodge. I will give you my respect in that regard."

Mayumi's lips curled with contempt, openly comparing the Dai Li to those traitorous schemers who used palace intrigue to undermine the people. Such insult, she assume, perhaps stings more painfully when applied on servants of a state.

"You lowly eunuch!" she shouted once more, out of fury rather than calculation.

The Dai Li responded without a word. His sleeves fell away, revealing arms poised in motion. Earth-wrought hands flowing in a precise, fluid arc.

Then came the storm.

A torrent of earthen pellets exploded from his stance. Smaller than arrows, but faster, denser and far deadlier. A hail of death rained right toward her, each of them lethal enough to puncture flesh and bones.

This time, Mayumi was ready. Her blade flashed like a silver flame, parrying the incoming barrage as she was forced to give ground. Each impact struck with force beyond their size. Some grazed her armor, others glancing off her limbs. She winced, feeling the lacquer armor dent beneath the relentless strikes. Sparks and shards spun into the air as she deflected the assault.

Her muscles burned. Pain gnawed at both arms. Still, she moved, now twisting and ducking, until instinct demands her to change approach.

She pivoted, darting to the side, allowing the next wave to shriek past her. One shard nicked her cheek. Warm blood slid across cold skin.

Out of the chaos, she soon spotted a towering stage prop, a stone sculpture of a long-forgotten Avatar, half-shrouded in shadow. Likely part of an unfinished set, its massive form stood unused, yet solid.

Without hesitation, she dove behind it. The sculpture trembled under the renewed barrage, but held. She pressed her back to its base, breath heaving.

Staying behind cover, Mayumi spared a glance at the ruined stage. The once-proud wooden soldier mannequins had been reduced to splinters under the hail of precisely fired pebbles. Each one cracked and shattered, a visceral reminder to her that flesh and bone would fare far worse under such force.

But she is also no conscript. No raw recruit. She is a daughter of the greatest Kyoshi Warrior of this era. And dying on a stage, slain by a glorified bureaucrat is not the legacy Mayumi intends to leave behind.

The barrage ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Not a lingering echo of stone followed. Silence reclaimed the shattered stage.

Her earlier theory seemed confirmed. The Dai Li's strength relied on proximity to earth, and this Xiluo stage, built of wood and theatrical flourish simply starved him of it.

Still crouched in the shadows of the Avatar statue, Mayumi drew a slender throwing knife from her sash. With swift precision she sprang from cover, blade in one hand and knife in the other, seeking to turn his overconfidence into error.

But the Dai Li was waiting.

To her dismay, he had anticipated her deduction. From his half-spent gauntlets, tiny reservoirs of compacted stone remained. With a sharp flick of his wrists, another volley erupted. The air crackled with kinetic menace.

More wooden mannequins exploded around her, their limbs sent flying like debris. Mayumi charged through the storm, her sword flashing in frantic arcs to deflect what she could. She didn't scream, only growled through the pain with the lacquered armor denting further.

Finally, he had spent it all, both hands now lay bare. The last shard bounced uselessly from her blade. Mayumi stood battered but unbroken. Yet she still hissed with pain as a small stream of blood tricked from her temple. She soon leveled the sword at the lawman she deemed as part of a people who brought disgrace to their shared heritage.

"A splendid display of swordsmanship," the Dai Li remarked. "Yet this performance of sedition must end. I imagine you spoke similarly to those who rudely intruded Kyoshi's island without permission."

Mayumi's eyes blazed. "Save your platitudes," she snarled. "Her name isn't yours to invoke."

Wordlessly, the Dai Li extended both hands, seeking the ground again for substance to reform his earthen gauntlets. But there is nothing. Only planks, nails and most abundant of all, wood. For all his meticulous intuition, even the most powerful benders cannot harness the power of hardened wood.

With a pained grunt, Mayumi hurled a knife toward the Dai Li's face without hesitation. But he merely dipped his head, allowing the steel to glance harmlessly off the helmet with a cold clang.

Unsatisfied, she lunged forward. Just she had anticipated, her opponent suffers from the universal frailty of benders. When stripped of their element, most are vulnerable. Their reliance on harnessing nature's weapon formed a hollow space where true martial prowess can reside.

At first, she landed a clean and deliberate swing, her blade slicing through his robe. It compelled the Dai Li agent to raise both arms in a futile attempt to shield himself

Yet, much to her surprise, he resisted with unexpected resilience. Drawing from Earthbending stances, he transformed both hands to suit combat in close-quarter style, redirecting her strikes with somewhat decent blows. A decisive punch to her wrist forced her blade aside just before it could carve into his shoulder.

Though she too had underestimated him, her superior training in melee combat soon reclaimed control. The lawman's elegant silk offered no protection against her flurry of jabs, each one landing on meridian points with surgical intent. No cry escaped him, no shocked gasps as she had come to expect from those who felt their chi unravel, just like all the benders she fought before. But such trivial matter does not earn her concern. Elemental dependency, after all, had brought low greater bending masters than this.

With a sharp kick to his shin, she drove the Dai Li to his knees. Seizing the moment, she raised her blade high and brought it down with ruthless finality, intending on severing not only his resistance but also destroy the blackmail he wielded like a dagger over her sister's fate.

"What?"

She froze. Not even in her most fevered imaginings had she envisioned someone catching a falling blade with their bare hands. Yet here he is, still kneeling and arms raised, unprotected palms wrapped around the steel.

Blood ran freely from between his fingers, but he held firm.

Stunned only for a breath, Mayumi yanked her weapon free and swept it sideways in a savage arc, aiming to cleave through silk and sinew alike. The brocaded robe and the silken cape, for all their intricate embroidery, would offer no defense against sharpened steel.

With uncanny timing, the Dai Li parried the strike, somehow producing a blade of his own. Though his grip on the sword demonstrated no mastery, it is competent enough to serve its purpose.

Mayumi jerked her head back just in time, the hiss of steel grazing past her cheek, close enough to sever a few strands of her long brown hair. They drifted through the air like fallen feathers, weightless remnants of a near miss.

As the clash of blades rang out, the Kyoshi Warrior sprang backward, reassessing her opponent's weapon. Judging by the appearance, it is a simple dao, a modest single-edged saber with a slight curve, reminiscent of a willow leaf. It is a useful weapon when slashing from the back of a steed.

Her fingers brushed the side of her face. When she looked, they came away streaked with red. The cut was shallow, luckily the wound isn't large enough for it to remain permanent.

"Since when did your kind take up the sword?" Mayumi demanded, fury simmering beneath her composure. "Aren't scheming courtiers satisfied with pulling strings from behind the throne?"

No response came except for the sabre darted forward like a serpent, and Mayumi deflected with a swift parry, riposting upward in a blur. Her blade struck the rim of his helmet, sending a metallic whine into the air. But the Dai Li didn't flinch. They closed again, blades meeting in a storm of strikes.

All around them, wooden training dummies splintered and fell, caught in the maelstrom of their duel. Neither paid them any mind. Sparks even burst from each clash of steel.

"Relinquish your weapon," the Dai Li agent said at last, halting his advance for a breath. "We need not be enemies. My request is not so different from your own duty as a guardian of Kyoshi Island."

Once again, no concession emerged. For any devotee of the Avatar, yielding to a Dai Li agent remains utterly inconceivable. After all, the Matron herself had warned. The greatest weapon of these so-called cultural guardians lies not merely in their esoteric Earthbending arts, but in their mastery over the mind.

Mayumi inhaled deeply, the chill of the rain-laced air stinging her lungs. Though the storm still wept over the rooftop, it did little to quench the fire seething beneath her skin. His insolence gnawed at all restraint, tempting a retaliation.

With a flick of her wrists, she summoned two projectiles and loosed them into the gloom. One found its mark, piercing the Dai Li's arm. Lacking immediate access to bendable earth, the Dai Li agent used a mountain-shaped stage prop as a makeshift shield, imitating the close adherence to Neutral Jing in combat. Unluckily for her, he is nestled amid some scattered shards of stone.

Sensing a fleeting advantage, Mayumi surged forward with the blade drawn, aiming to cleave through him with the force of her charge. But the agent moved with infuriating cunning. In a flash, he discarded his heavy cloak and flung it at her weapon, veiling her vision in a billow of damp fabric.

She tried to shake off the distraction, only to feel a punishing blow strike her hand. The sword wavered. Though she had already chi-blocked the Earthbender, some reflexes lay beyond the reach of pressure points.

In the frenzy of close quarters, she had overlooked a critical detail.

His boots.

Concealed by the darkish robe, they too were made from earth. With a brutal, whirling kick, he landed a devastating strike. Her armor groaned under the impact, denting inward with a sickening crunch. Had she been any lesser opponent, she would've been sent hurtling into death.

Instead, she crashed through a cascade of wooden props strewn across the stage, splinters flying as she tumbled. A grunt escaped her lips as she struck the boards. But miraculously, she rose with bones unbroken.

Just as she braced herself to stand and reengage, the Dao Li's rusty blade pointed at her throat.

"I've heard a few tales about the daughters of Akahana," the Dai Li stated. "One is impetuous, the other tempered. I assumed you were the latter."

There was no time to consider how this man had gleaned so much about Kyoshi Island. In a heartbeat, she lashed out, jabbing his wrist. The sabre clattered from his grasp and fall into hers. In one fluid motion, Mayumi crossed both blades at his neck, forming a deadly scissor poised to snap shut.

"While my death would be inconvenient to the city, it would be far more precarious for you," he said calmly, unfazed by the prospect of being killed. "But have you weighed the cost of killing a servant of the state? Even if your life holds little value to you, what about your sister's? Defiance is unwise, Kyoshi Warrior."

"You—!" Her hands twitched, both blades threatening to close. But the mere thought of her sister being the target of retribution alone is enough to dissuade this. Every building, every home and every alley in this city could know their identities as wanted fugitives and be incentivized by the incredible reward set by the state of Yi governor.

Nevertheless, Mayumi extended one of her blades and used it to gently tilt the Dai Li agent's helmet upward. Slowly and cautiously, wishing to discover who lies beneath.

But instead of the expected face of a person, she was greeted by a confronting visage.

Painted in stark streaks of black and white, the face beneath the helm resembled the stylized makeup of opera performers, eerily akin to her own methods of disguise. Yet this rendition is more than theatrical. It felt a bit haunting despite the artistic touch. The patterns heavily distorted his features, even more so than the red and white pattern used by the Kyoshi Warriors. It morphed him into something ghostlike, ceremonial and inhuman. But those eyes, they are unflickering, so devoid of movement they appear frozen in death.

The sight gave her pause. Just a moment is enough. In that brief lapse, the widening of her eyes betrayed her shock, an invitation the Dai Li required no second time. With fluid efficiency, he grabbed silken cape from the floor nearby and cast it skyward. It unfurled in the air like a dark sail, veiling the space between them in sudden shadow.

Mayumi moved to respond, but too late. The fabric wound itself around her swords, wrenching them from her grasp as the Dai Li twisted away and reclaimed his footing. With a casual flick, he discarded the weapons, letting them clatter into the gloom. Then closing his fists, he summoned twin gauntlets of jagged earth. All along he had been drawing on the scattered stone remnants beneath them, piece by piece.

Mayumi quickly repositioned herself further away. Without hesitation, she snapped open her golden war fans, icons of her order. Their polished surfaces catching what little light remained. Falling into the disciplined defensive posture taught to every Kyoshi Warrior, she drew a steady breath. However symbolic and elegant the two glinting weapons may be, deflecting life-ending earthen pellets may be a first.

She stared down the Dai Li agent, whose newly forged gauntlets of stone poised themselves to unleash another storm of razor-sharp shrapnel. This time, no conveniently placed mannequins remained to serve as unwitting shields. Though Mayumi seethed at the audacity of her opponent, she could not deny the grim truth. Prolonging the skirmish might not end in her favor.

Yet, in the stillness between breaths, she recalled her father's peculiar way of resolving conflicts. In her youth, she had tried to absorb his techniques whenever the issue of resolving disputes arises, though they are balanced with her mother's indomitable sense of resolve, a quality sharpened in the crucible of confrontation.

The Dai Li struck rapidly, his fists shifting back and forth as he propelled jagged shards from his gauntlets that are deadlier than any knives she could throw in return. With her twin golden fans, signature weapons of a Kyoshi Warrior, Mayumi swatted them away.

The barrage of pellets drove her backward, forcing her into a low crouch. One knee struck the floor as a shard whistled past her cheek.

Noticing the Dai Li suddenly dashed towards her, she rolled aside just in time. Where she'd stood a heartbeat before, his stone-bound foot came down like a hammer, splintering the wooden floor with seismic force. A blast of dust exploded outward, cloaking his position in a fog of debris.

Two metal chains lashed out from the obscurity, serpentine and precise, aiming to ensnare. With a sharp flick of her wrists, Mayumi deflected them, the steel links ricocheting off her golden fans. A moment later, one of the Dai Li's gauntlets came hurtling toward her, a solid clump of compressed stone. She crossed her fans just in time.

The projectile shattered upon impact. But so did her stance, with the force throwing the Kyoshi Warrior off her feet. She coughed, spitting out a small mouthful of blood. Gritting her teeth, she climbed back up with unsteady determination, trying to mask any signs of injuries in order to stave off resemblance of weakness before the slowly encroaching Dai Li.

He advanced, iron chains readying once more for the final bind. But before he could utilize the chains of ensnarement to finally close this meagre disagreement, Mayumi suddenly withdrew both golden fans, snapping them shut and lowering them at her sides. The gesture was subtle, but unexpected.

The Dai Li halted. Though his expression remained composed, molded by whatever brutal conditioning had forged him, a flicker of confusion slipped through the stillness.

"I assume you have something to say," he said evenly, the chains retracting into his sleeves with a quiet rattle. "But I must emphasize once more. Those who violate Ba Sing Se's penal code, including citizens bearing unsanctioned weapons, must be prosecuted without exception. I believe you too would hesitate to permit armed outsiders roaming freely on your island."

"But this outsider is prepared to offer a compromise," Mayumi replied, wishing to frame this as a negotiation. "A fair and reasonable agreement, in exchange for one guarantee, my sister's safety."

The Dai Li agent allowed his hands to settle comfortably within his voluminous sleeves, assuming the emblematic and recognizable posture so iconic to the secret police.

"Is this an attempt at bribery?" he asked in a glacial manner. "This city did not endure into this age of perpetual bloodshed by indulging self-serving incumbents. Had you personally borne witness to what became of those who entertained such delusions, it is doubtful you would resort to such a brazen tactic. I would have you know, not even an entire city's annual revenue would be enough to purchase my loyalty."

Mayumi measured her words with the precision of a blade being drawn in silence, trying not to reek the earlier contempt towards the lawmen who had sullied the legacy of their austere founder. And yet ironically, the path she now contemplated ran adjacent to theirs. In a surprising pivot, she presented herself as an appendage to the Dai Li's ever-watchful presence in Ba Sing Se, a modest extension of their vast surveillance apparatus. When carefully pitched, it would appeal to the very heart of their enduring purpose.

It is a very dangerous gambit, one built on calculated assumptions and tenuous deductions about what an outsider might glean of the Dai Li's true capacity. Before departing Shan's residence to confront the looming threat to her sister's safety, she had even entertained the possibility that the Dai Li had faded into irrelevance, their order quietly dissolved or demoted to some ornamental office. Yet if their purpose as eyes and ears to those nestled near the throne remains intact, then perhaps she might forestall their pursuit by begrudgingly rendering herself a useful pawn. After all, what self-respecting secret police force would permit a household of rising influence to remain unwatched, especially when there is a newly acclaimed scholar with the potential to ascend into the city's ministerial elite?

For the first time in her life, she is committing a thoroughly dishonorable act, one her mother, grandmother, and even great-grandmother would undoubtedly condemn with withering disapproval.

"The White Scholar lives alone," Mayumi said to the Dai Li. "Let me be, and I will be the eye that watches him."

The Dai Li remained utterly still. With a face obscured beneath the stylized austerity of black and white opera paint, Mayumi could not guess what inscrutable machinations stirred beneath that theatrical facade. But she knew this much, the chance to place a mole inside the home of a nascent power is not merely pragmatic, it is irresistible.

"So, you wish to become an informer, openly eavesdropping on your benefactor?" The Dai Li officer shaped his words with surgical precision, casting them as an accusation rather than a mere question to burden Mayumi with guilt, one she could hardly reject. But even from a young age, she had learned that personal honor is a currency with shifting value, ever more worthless than when weighed against the lives of those she loved.

Reluctantly, she gave her answer. A quiet and hesitant yes was all that can be shamefully mustered.

She had expected derision, mocking her for betraying and employer to serve personal hidden interests. Instead, his response unsettled her in an entirely different way.

"This is a realistic outcome," he said, void of judgment. "I've witnessed no shortage of would-be traitors surrender their convictions the moment consequence caught their scent. If my meagre words can offer you any solace, it is that your concessions are far less repugnant than the self-serving choices others have made, many without the reasonable justification you now possess."

Mayumi's composure wavered, but she has no time to ponder his words and pressed on. "And what of my sister's safety?"

The Dai Li agent had declared that matters of the city's security is not the sort of concern befitting someone of her station. Though the two wanted posters are nowhere to be seen within the city, it remained to be seen what asinine ploy the Dai Li might yet devise in their ever-enigmatic game.

"All who dare undermine the city's penal code will be punished," he reiterated. "That includes arrivals who incite unrest." The warning was simple, but its insinuations are clear. Whatever fate awaited Huo, leniency is not in consideration. And should Mayumi continue to overstep the same boundaries prescribed to her, which includes meddling in matters exclusive to the city's cultural guardians, she would not be spared the same outcome. "We understand you Kyoshi Warriors do not wish someone like me to host a formal welcome, hence your decision to enter the city quietly. But even so, we share the same roots. And if a guest comes into a household and dishonors the host, then perhaps the blame lies not only with the guest, but with the one responsible for their upbringing."

Mayumi nearly lashed out at the veiled slight against her mother. But she restrained herself, clenched fists being the only outward display of her anger. To indulge in wounded pride now would only endanger her sister further.

Soon after, the Dai Li officer once more demanded the surrender of all her weapons. It is a painful act. First, she relinquished her prized blade, the very extension of her years of discipline which also happens to be her most expensive possession. Then came the twin metal fans given to her in childhood, perhaps the most iconic part of a Kyoshi Warrior's equipment. And still, the Dai Li was thorough in the demand, requesting Mayumi hand over the hidden knives and concealed throwable stars. Nothing escaped scrutiny.

"If we have need of you, you will know," said the Dai Li. Without another word, he drew the damaged silken cape once more across his own shoulders. Then with deliberate grace, he stepped down from the raised platform and touched the earth. In the next breath, he was gone, propelled into the air with uncanny ease and vanishing over the rooftops like a shadow swallowed by stone.

Mayumi remained still for a long moment, staring at the space he had occupied. To think such an ordeal could begin and end so swiftly did not set her mind to rest. Much to their detriment, the Dai Li's blackmail proved insidious, a venom-laced Pai Sho move that cornered her into a precariously inescapable position, compelling swift and reluctant compliance.

She hissed through her teeth, arms still aching from the earlier scuffle. The Dai Li had not relied on brute force commonly seen on most Earthbenders. No monumental boulders or ground shattering attacks. But somehow, it inflicted more injuries in a way that brute violence never could.

A gong rang in the near distance, echoing across tiled roofs and narrow alleys which signifies the steady toll of the city's vigilant timekeepers. Hearing it reminds her that Ba Sing Se had its own rhythm, indifferent to the battles fought within it.

Mayumi gathered herself slowly, each breath a quiet rebellion against the shame she carried. The charade had ended, but the consequences lingered. Time after all is a precious thing. And in a city like this, no one wise lingers alone for long.

...

The Mantis stalks the Cicada, unaware of the Oriole behind.

This ancient Earth Kingdom proverb remains as pertinent today as ever, especially in the delicate art of political strategy that governs the existence of warring entities, big and small. Yet its wisdom extends beyond the battlefield or governance. Even those sheltered within the imposing walls of Ba Sing Se would do well to heed this cautionary lesson. Never grow complacent, no matter how secure or advantaged you believe yourself to be.

Shan set down his ink brush, neither satisfied nor disappointed with his latest work that literally depicts this proverb with the three creatures in question. Even the feathers of the oriole bird were drawn in great detail. Yet, the scholar regarded the freshly painted scroll with measured detachment, the ink still wet beneath his practiced gaze.

As a Zhuangyuan, the highest academic honor attainable before one might ascend to sagehood, he remained ever vigilant against the unpredictable winds of fate that might one day topple even the most learned scholars. History unfortunately has no shortages of those.

As for him, such worries could not simply be postponed for another time.

Right as he was about to clean his inkstone, an important part of a scholar's kit to grind ink, he heard the front gate creaked open. It is followed by the slow groan of the western siheyuan western chamber. He is only grateful that this uncomfortable noise occurred after he completed the artwork.

Moments later, the White Scholar emerged from his private quarters, catching sight of Mayumi as she hurriedly exits from her room donning her usual garb.

"Shan," she addressed him formally. "My apologies for any inconvenience my absence may have caused."

The scholar simply nodded once in acknowledgment, a silent reassurance that no trouble had arisen while he was engrossed in completing a commissioned artwork. Though he had already assured the new hire that dinner was prepared, action spoke louder, especially to someone unaccustomed to the rhythms of Earth Kingdom city life.

A sharp knock echoed against the gate of the walled residence, repeatedly. Duty bound, Mayumi approached and opened it, though hesitation lingered in her movements. In the Upper Ring, not all visitors bore goodwill. Danger often disguised itself in the mundane.

At the threshold stood a boy, no more than a youth, clutching a curious wooden container unlike anything Mayumi had seen before.

"Hey, you weren't here before. Where's that bookworm?" The boy blurted, brow furrowed in confusion. Without waiting for an answer, he extended a neatly crafted square basket, its appearance oddly elegant.

Mayumi took it, a flicker of unease tightening her grip. So much had transpired this night that lowering her guard felt perilous. The warmth radiating from the basket's surface sent a shiver through her skin, driven by caution and instinctive fear. She almost succumbs to the urge to flung it away, suspecting some concealed trap or an explosive device. But then, the boy's next words, though brash, calmed her suspicions slightly.

"That'll be five silver coins," he said bluntly, hands outstretched expectantly.

"W-what?" Mayumi blinked in confusion, the boy's meaning lost on her.

The youth's patience frayed. "Lady, there's no such thing as a free meal under heaven! Pay up, or I take back the delivery!"

"Delivery?" she echoed, more puzzled than ever. "You mean this is... food? That's outrageous! Five silver coins could buy more than some of Grandma Jin's best dishes!"

Before the inexperienced retainer could hurl herself into the earthshattering battle known as bargaining, a skill she had gradually picked up from the shrewd women of the Lower Ring markets, the White Scholar chose to end the charade before it could so much as graze his reputation. As one might expect from a man whose lucrative craft as a renowned painter insulated him from the common man's worries, five silver coins meant little more to him than dust on a silk sleeve.

With a gracious nod, Shan even handed the boy an extra few coins as tip, prompting a grateful yet brisk departure. This is indeed an uncommon sight in the Upper Ring, as the practice seem almost exclusive in a particular state which still leeches in the west of this war-torn realm.

To spare herself further embarrassment, Mayumi placed the wooden container carefully on the courtyard table. Lifting the lid, a cloud of warm steam escaped, releasing the inviting aroma of freshly prepared food. Astonished, she examined the container more closely, curiosity piqued by the ceramic lining concealed beneath the wooden exterior. Perhaps this is the secret to its warming magic.

Made from ingredients unfamiliar to her, the three plates of food and a small pot of soup showcased this city's abundant geography, with its sources drawn from both fertile land and bountiful seas.

"These are simple meals," Shan remarked casually, gesturing toward the wooden container. "As for the vessel, it's just a modest luxury favored by the Upper Ring." He retrieved a pair of polished silver chopsticks and began to eat with practiced ease. "Help yourself."

Mayumi hesitated, struggling to savor the meal with a clear conscience, weighed down by the debts she owed the scholar. Yet hunger waits for no one. She took a bowl of rice and settled down, lifting morsels with caution. She strove to blend refinement with humility, trying not to sacrifice her humble roots. But such subtleties likely held little meaning for Shan, a young scholar indifferent even to the grandeur of the Upper Ring's most distinguished households.

As Shan quietly and elegantly ate, Mayumi reached for what appeared to be dumplings, a type of shumai with delicate parcels of gold-hued dough. Biting through the thin skin, she discovered a tender seafood filling, likely finely minced prawns wrapped in the yellow flour sheet that remains open at the top. The steaming process had slightly firmed the meat's texture, yielding a soft but resilient bite. But the dish's refinement still struck her. It is a world away from the rustic fare of her village, where seafood is either consumed raw or boiled simply into stews and soups, leaving ingredients unmistakably recognizable.

Perhaps this shumai had been prepared with Shan's reputed distaste for seafood in mind. But even without the ocean's original flavors, the scholar surprisingly ate a one piece without complaint.

Mayumi then turned her attention to the next dish, which is a blend of spinach and tofu. Coming from an island where fish is the staple sustenance, a diet centered on plants is foreign and scarce. Few in her village bothered cultivating crops when the ocean's vast harvest is so readily available with schools of salmon, mackerel, and more within reach. Yet here in Ba Sing Se, soybeans and fresh vegetables might be even more plentiful, commodities that would have been considered rare and precious back home.

Mayumi fought to maintain her composure, nearly mirroring her sister's lack of restraint in the wake of exhaustion and hunger after a battle. Once again, Shan paid her no mind, his attention fixed elsewhere. The White Scholar appeared to favor the plate of minced fried meat, though his impassive expression betrayed none of his preference. Modest by Upper Ring standards, this dish is a quiet luxury. This is because the ability to even fry meat in cooking oil rather than animal lard is a luxury most commoners on the continent could scarcely dream of.

With hesitant grace, Mayumi used her chopsticks to lift a portion of the meat, intending to place it in her sister's bowl, only to remember that Sachiko is not here.

"The soup may be difficult at first, but it's one of my favorites," Shan remarked, dipping a small scallop-shaped ladle into the bowl and filling his silver vessel with a broth that shimmered with strange hues. The concoction's ingredients is no doubt costly. Including the meat of a dark-hued pig chicken breed with white feathers, the broth was also infused with ginseng, wolfberries, rhizomes, liquorice, dried longan, and even angelica root petals floating delicately on the surface.

The broth's unusual color unsettled Mayumi initially, though its earthy aroma invited curiosity. Tentatively, she sipped. The flavor was subtle, intriguing enough to coax another taste. Despite the recent brush with death, she found a quiet solace in this simple act of nourishment. Perhaps the salt and oil had been applied sparingly, a deliberate choice to temper the broth's intensity and honor the Upper Ring's predilection for delicately balanced flavors.

There was another anomaly Mayumi could not ignore. Shan, a distinguished scholar of the Upper Ring and a man of considerable repute, displayed no hesitation in sharing a table with a mere retainer. Such a casual breach of protocol would have unsettled most, especially the Earth Sages themselves who emphasized strict hierarchies.

Yet these trivial social codes seemed inconsequential to the White Scholar. Instead, he inquired lightly about her recent outing to Hong Xiuquan's teahouse. Though unfamiliar with the place himself, he clearly understood the importance of not pressing for details.

"The journey was safe," Mayumi lied smoothly, with the pair of blue eyes not even daring to look at him. "I managed to complete what I set out to do."

She kept her voice steady, the labored breaths beneath her calm facade hid the toll the night had taken. Bruises hidden beneath layers of fabric showed the narrowed evading of the earthen pellets that felled countless zealots in the Lower Ring. She found herself wondering how the cultural guardians might cover up the rotting bodies, even if they lie in a remote part of the city.

"Good to hear," Shan replied with his customary formal detachment, yet his focus never wavered from expertly picking the meat from the bones with his chopsticks. Frankly, his question was likely done out of courtesy. "I shall return to my studies and resume my work. Finish your meal. Pao Tui will come back later to retrieve the container."

With that, the White Scholar rose and moved toward his private quarters. But before crossing the threshold, he paused and turned, announcing the plan for the following day.

It would be Sachiko's first day as a student under the tutelage of the White Scholar.