Chapter One: The Second Beginning

The first year after the final battle had passed peacefully. The young Fire Lord had endeavoured to pay the appropriate reparations, make the correct apologies and had stood as a sign of hope for the Fire Nation. Even the three other nations, wary as they were, began to relax under the reassuring justice of Zuko's rule.

The friends had departed. Aang readily followed Katara back to the Southern Water Tribe's home in the South Pole. Sokka, equally as besotted as Aang, had practically stalked Suki home to Kyoshi Island and even Toph, despite protestations of boredom, had settled into a courtier's life with her parents.

Others, too, had taken their leave, though friends would never be an appropriate term for them. The old Fire Lord, Ozai, the cruel instigator of the war, destroyed by his inability to fire bend, had been found hanging from the ceiling of his cell by a knotted robe mere weeks after his defeat at the hand of the Avatar.

As for Azula, little was heard of her. For the majority, she was believed to have gone completely crazy (if she wasn't before), turned by the sudden death of father and her complete loss of power. For a trusted few: the guards posted twenty-four hours a day at her cell, Uncle Iroh, Zuko and Mai, her old friend and Zuko's lover; Azula was as dangerous as ever. From time to time they would visit the broken princess in her cell, sometimes she would ignore their presence entirely but at others she would talk. Azula, once the most powerful fire bender in the world, would hiss her curses through the 3 inch thick glass that separated her from her visitor. Spit would dribble out of her mouth as she tore her hair in clumps from her head. Had her few visitors not been privy to her raging tantrums they too may have believed she was the witless, defenceless girl everyone else believed, or perhaps hoped, she was. The truth was far more sobering. Her bending was powerful as ever and, proven by the numerous carefully devised escape attempts in the first month of her imprisonment, she still had her cunning.

So life continued, as few had dared hope it would. People were happy and life seemed idyllic. For the first year.

Without warning, the utopia the Avatar and his friends had so carefully crafted began to rip apart at the seams.

First came the famine. Food was scarce, certainly, but there would have been enough to sustain all of the kingdoms if only the peace of the last year had overcome the long-learned selfishness from the war. The Earth Kingdom was reluctant to grant rations to the Fire Nation having suffered at their hands for so long. They quickly forgot Zuko's earnest apologies and though the Avatar desperately entreated them to be kind, their bitterness ran too deep. The Water Tribes were more forgiving but their frozen environment rendered little enough food for themselves.

Then came the rebellions. A starving Fire Nation found unity in their pain and rose against their Fire Lord's request for calm. Foreigners in the Fire Nation were regularly attacked by bandits, rebel militia groups launched attacks on the coasts of the Earth Kingdom and the Earth Kingdom retaliated.

Last of all came the disease. It became known as the Fever of Life. Its victims, fit one day, would suddenly drop to the ground the next in a deep slumber. The slumber lasted four days until, as suddenly as the sleep, the victim would rise, vibrant and full of life. The colour would return to their skin and even the aged would be stronger and more energetic than they had even been before despite the raging fever battling within them. This final lease of life lasted a hope inducing thirteen days before the victim would stop whatever they were doing and die soundlessly, dropping to their knees as if to pray before slumping onto the harsh ground. No one was safe. Even the nobles, with the best healers their gold could buy, suffered their share of losses. Funerals across the nations were a daily occurrence and eventually, when space became a luxury, each nation turned, one by one, to the harsh reality of mass graves.

It was a cruel time to be alive when everyone feared to die. Crueler still after such a promising year of peace. The Earth Kingdom turned to old magic, trusting the movement of rocks and trees to give them answers. The Water Tribes looked to the Aurora, seeking hope in its dancing lights. The Fire Nation called on their oracle. Zuko was sceptical, he believed himself to be a man of logic and disliked the false hopes raised by this narcotised young woman. Soon, though, the cry of the people became too loud to ignore and he made the long trek to the home of the oracle and her keepers.

The oracle lived on a small Island on the far side of the fire nation called Kāi Míng, the journey was safe enough but covered a great distance. Councillors begged Zuko not to go, to leave his throne empty for so long could be dangerous in such treacherous times but Zuko's hands were tied; the oracle answered only to the Fire Lord or Lady of the time. He had to go.

After weeks of travelling at the Fire Lord arrived at Kāi Míng, safe excepting a few skirmishes with rebels. He was greeted at the door by one of the keepers, a frail old woman wrapped in layer upon layer of burgundy fabric despite the constant heat of the Fire Nation. She bowed low before her Lord but kept her serious eyes fixed on his face the whole time. She spoke with a heavy accent retained from times long gone. Keepers of the Oracle, along with the Oracle itself, were selected at birth and raised on the remote island by the Keepers they were destined to replace, as few as five people at a time in the entire world might speak the dead language of the Oracle. They would train for years in the art of translation, a bitter training with harsh punishments and few rewards. Oracles and Keepers alike were only ever women; the magnificent beauty of the Oracle juxtaposed against the seemingly innate scowl of the Keepers. Zuko found the whole affair slightly barbaric. The sombre atmosphere of the island made any outsider feel ill at ease immediately as they set one foot on its soil; Zuko was all too aware of how very alone this island was.

The Keepers used words sparingly and so wasted none on small talk, in silence Zuko was lead to the inner court. The court was undeniably mystical. A thick mist hovered above the ground despite the clear night sky above, lights glowed in the corners without any apparent source and then, in the very middle, surrounded by a ring of blue fire, there was the Oracle. Zuko, sceptical as he was, couldn't help but gasp at the beauty of the young girl. She could have been no older than him but she somehow looked ageless, timeless. Her hair flowed, black as night, about her shoulders and seemed to glitter as if the stars themselves had chosen her as a worthier canvas. Her eyes burned an unnatural red matched only by the colour of her lips and black swirls and markings curled their way down the left side of her face. Lying on the floor, barely covered by her simple red dress, legs and arms stretch awkwardly, she looked like some broken angel. Despite the attention Zuko paid to the girl, she took no heed of him.

They waited.

After standing silently for half an hour Zuko grew impatient. He was just about to demand the Keeper make the girl speak but as soon as he opened his mouth the Keeper raised her hand and put her finger to her lips before pointing to the scene before them.

The smoke from the incense, once drifting aimlessly around the court, now seemed to localise its attentions to the helpless creature on the floor. It swirled around her, almost wrapping itself in ribbons about her form until suddenly the girl arched her back with a gasp. Her hands clawed at the floor and her eyes widened, she panted for breath and Zuko stepped forward to help her, again he was stopped by the Keeper's raised hand.

"Essensio direy calahna

Inshka hassen, Amahteh elka.

Ma dio isonah vincensio alanah

Tes Passiah ignorsa es Sooneh, laure eela."

The girl dropped to the ground. Unseen Keepers hurried from dark corners to carry the girl to some hidden chamber, Zuko looked to the one who had lead him to the Oracle. He found the old woman on her knees muttering to herself while drawing shapes with her finger in the sand. Zuko stared at the drawing, trying to make sense of it since the woman seemed in no rush to talk. He could make out a smooth shape, like a tear drop in the centre of the drawing, the shape was surrounded by what looked like curling flames. So focused on the drawing was he, that Zuko didn't notice the woman now looking intently at him. She peered inquisitively into his eyes before taking a deep breath and intoning solemnly the words of the Oracle.

"The Shadows are calling Chaos to hand.

An Enemy will rise, Friends must stand,

But two alone will win the fight,

When Fire burns with Water, there will be light."

She paused but just as Zuko was about to vent his frustration at the cryptic rhyme she spoke again.

"You're time is running out Fire Lord Zuko, in one year the planets will align and your enemy will strike. Walls will not keep this monster out nor arms defeat it, you must find the cure. The Oracle gave you this to help you' she pointed to the drawing on the ground, 'go now, you're losing time standing here.' And with those words, the woman left.

Zuko stormed from the building but allowed himself the satisfaction of an enraged scream only once he was far enough away that no one would hear. The Keepers were meant to translate the Oracle but Zuko had more questions than ever. His only hope was that the monks at the Fire Nation's Temple would shine more light on this promised 'cure'.

p.s. Guess which movie I've been watching recently.)