Tomo didn't know where he was. His eyes blinked open, but the world seemed blurry, like a painting smeared with rain. The air around him smelled of dust and earth, and there was a sharp, metallic sting in his nose that he couldn't place. His body was heavy, aching—no, more like crushed. Every movement sent sharp pains through his limbs, and the weight of his own existence seemed to press down on him.
He tried to sit up, but his hands—no, his arms—didn't feel like his own. His fingers ached, raw and torn, the skin on them already bruising, swollen. They had been crushed, had they not? His whole body screamed for relief.
"Where am I?" His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.
His thoughts were a tangled mess. Who was he? What had happened? It was like he was dreaming and struggling to wake up, but everything around him felt real in the worst possible way. The pressure in his chest tightened. His heart raced, but he couldn't get his bearings.
And then, the sound of boots crunching against gravel broke through his disoriented thoughts.
A voice gruff with authority spoke, though it barely felt like it belonged to the world he was trying to understand. "You're alive, huh? Good. Get up."
Tomo blinked, trying to focus on the figure before him—The man stood in front of him, clad in dark red and black armor that gleamed in the dim light. His shoulders were protected by angular, flame-like shoulder pads, and his face was mostly hidden behind a sleek helmet, with a crest resembling a flickering flame. A long, dark tunic and sturdy boots completed the uniform. It was only then that the strange outfit clicked—it was unmistakably a Fire Nation soldier's uniform. He was a soldier, a firebender.
A fleeting thought passed through his mind—a thought that shouldn't have even existed: Wait. Fire Nation? Am I... is this the Avatar world?
It was the uniform. The Fire Nation symbol. The firebender standing before him, his stance as casual as if he were ordering someone to get up from a chair, not a battlefield. The moment the recognition hit, it was like a spark igniting in the fog of his mind.
No. No way. This can't be real. This isn't happening.
But as he took in the soldier's grim face, the cracked earth beneath him, and the oppressive heat in the air, the doubt remained only for a moment longer. This was the Avatar world. That's all he could think.
The disbelief hit him like a wave, so strong that it nearly knocked him back down. How is this possible? Transmigration? Is this some kind of joke?
Tomo's breath hitched, but he forced himself to focus. Get it together, Tomo. Focus.
The soldier's impatient voice snapped him back. "Get up. We've got quotas to meet."
He couldn't even process the words. His thoughts were still spiraling. The Fire Nation. The Avatar world. The fact that he might be dead. Or worse, that he wasn't dead, and somehow had been thrust into the life of someone else entirely.
He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt like lead, and the pain was so intense it almost stole the breath from his lungs. His body wasn't his. It was someone else's—someone who had been crushed, tortured, and now thrown into the fire. Someone who didn't have time for doubt, didn't have time for confusion. Only work.
Tomo stumbled, his hands pressing into the ground for support, as if his body remembered how to act even when his mind was still wrestling with disbelief. "I... I'm fine," he muttered, though it felt like he was lying to himself.
The soldier didn't wait for him to gather himself. He grabbed Tomo's arm, yanking him roughly to his feet.
"Move," he commanded, and Tomo, still reeling, had no choice but to follow.
---
Tomo stumbled along as the soldier led him through the wreckage of the mine. The once industrious pit was now a graveyard of stone and shattered earth, littered with the bodies of workers—no, slaves—who had given their lives for quotas that didn't matter to the soldiers or their superiors. The air was thick with the scent of dust, sweat, and the faint, bitter tang of blood.
This world. This life. Tomo could barely comprehend it. It was like a fever dream he couldn't escape from. But despite the overwhelming confusion, something nagged at him, something at the edge of his mind that refused to let him forget.
The soldiers, the firebenders, the way they moved, how they spoke—their world was the one he had only seen in stories, in animated images.
Avatar. Aang. Fire Nation. This... this is real. This is where I am.
But the doubts didn't dissipate. Am I dreaming? Did I really transmigrate into this world?
Before he could get lost in that thought again, the soldier stopped and motioned to a nearby shack.
"Get inside," the soldier barked.
---
Tomo barely noticed the small building. He barely noticed anything around him at all. His mind was still wrestling with his own impossible situation. As the soldier took him inside, Tomo's legs buckled slightly from exhaustion. They weren't his legs. This body was someone else's, someone who had lived and suffered here before him. But that man was gone. And now, Tomo had taken his place.
---
Inside the shack, a rushed patch-up job was done to stop the bleeding from his crushed palms and arms. It was crude, haphazard, and the pain was still sharp, but they didn't care for his well-being. They cared about numbers. About keeping the miners alive just long enough to meet their quotas.
"Done," the soldier grunted, wiping his hands on his trousers before shoving Tomo towards the door.
Tomo was left standing alone. The soldier didn't offer any words of comfort, no kindness. Just the order to get back to work.
But Tomo couldn't move.
His head was spinning.
His body was aching.
And the world? The world didn't make sense anymore. This wasn't supposed to be his reality. He wasn't supposed to be here.
But then, amidst the disarray of thoughts, something in the back of his mind cut through the fog.
No time to think about it now. Focus on surviving.
Tomo's feet moved before he could think. He didn't even know where he was going at first, but his instincts led him.
He found his way back to the small shack that was his home. The familiar sight of the weathered wood, the tattered roof, the dim light peeking through cracks in the walls—it felt real.
This is where I'm supposed to be.
But as the door creaked open and he stepped inside, his chest tightened. His mother lay in a bed in the far corner, pale and fragile, her face gaunt from sickness. But when she saw him, her eyes softened, and she smiled, her voice barely a whisper.
"Is that you, Tomo?"
His heart pounded in his chest. He could barely speak. The weight of it all, the recognition of his old life and the impossible truth of his situation, nearly crushed him.
"I'm home," he said, his voice rough with emotion, though the humor was still there, hidden behind the crack in his voice.
Her smile was faint, but it was enough. He had no answers. But for now, he didn't need them. Not yet.
---
The memories of Tomo's life—the original Tomo—hadn't come all at once, but as he spent more time in the familiar surroundings, they started to bleed through in flashes. A name. A family. A lost soul, perhaps, just like him.
He sat beside his mother, trying to ignore the tremor in his hands. He didn't know how to fix this world. He didn't know how to survive in it. But for her, for the family that had once been his, he would have to.
---
The night passed quietly. Tomo sat awake, his thoughts tangled, his heart heavy. His mind raced with the impossible, and yet... he couldn't deny it. He was here.
But how long could he last? And what did he need to do to survive?
Tomo knew one thing for certain: he wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.
With a forced grin, he whispered to the empty room
"Well, guess I've got a lot of work to do."