The air in the mines was suffocating, heavy with the acrid stench of burning coal and damp earth. Tomo wiped a streak of grime from his face, his hands raw and blistered. The cart he pushed groaned under the weight of the ore, but he couldn't stop. Stopping meant punishment.
"Careful there," came a voice from behind him. Lian stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on the cart's edge. "You look like you're about to collapse."
Tomo glanced at her and forced a smile. "I'm fine."
"No, you're stubborn," she said, her tone soft but firm. She pulled alongside him, her slender frame belying her strength. Together, they pushed the cart forward, the wheels grinding against the uneven track.
Tomo had met Lian only a few weeks ago, but in the mines, time stretched and twisted, days blending into one another. She had been assigned to his section after a cave-in claimed two of their team. Unlike most of the other miners, who kept their heads down and avoided forming attachments, Lian had reached out to him almost immediately.
At first, Tomo thought she was just trying to survive, like everyone else. But as the days turned into weeks, her small acts of kindness—sharing her water, shielding him from the overseers' ire, and even teaching him how to avoid overexerting himself—revealed a depth of care he hadn't expected.
"Why do you keep helping me?" Tomo had asked her once, after she'd covered for him when he failed to meet his quota.
Lian had paused, her gaze distant. "Because someone once helped me when I needed it. And because... I see something in you, Tomo. You remind me of my little brother."
He'd never forgotten the way her voice had wavered when she mentioned her brother, the pain she tried so hard to hide. It wasn't just pity that drove her—it was something deeper, something personal.
The settlement outside the mines was as bleak as the tunnels themselves. Tomo followed Lian through the crowded marketplace, his eyes darting to the gaunt faces of the miners and their families. The air was thick with despair, but Lian moved with purpose, her head held high.
"Stick close," she said over her shoulder. "And don't stare. The overseers don't like it when we look like we're paying attention."
Tomo nodded, falling into step beside her. They passed a stall where a vendor argued with a boy over a loaf of bread. The boy's voice cracked as he pleaded, holding out a handful of coins. The vendor sneered and turned away, leaving the boy clutching his money with trembling hands.
"Why is it like this?" Tomo muttered, his voice low. "Why doesn't anyone do anything?"
Lian sighed. "Because they're afraid. Because surviving feels like enough."
"Is it enough for you?" he asked, his gaze searching her face.
For a moment, Lian didn't answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "It has to be. For now."
The days that followed blurred into a haze of exhaustion and routine. Lian and Tomo worked side by side, their movements synchronized like the cogs of a machine. In the rare moments of respite, Lian shared stories of her family, painting vivid pictures of a life that felt like a distant dream.
"My brother used to say I was stubborn," she said one evening as they sat in the dim light of the barracks. "He said I never knew when to quit."
"Sounds like he was right," Tomo said with a faint smile.
Lian chuckled, a soft, fleeting sound. "Maybe. But stubbornness can be a strength. It's what's kept me alive this long."
Tomo nodded, the weight of her words settling over him. "You're stronger than anyone I've ever met."
She looked at him then, her expression unreadable. "And you're stronger than you think, Tomo. You just don't see it yet."
The collapse happened without warning. One moment, the tunnel was filled with the sounds of pickaxes striking stone; the next, the ground shook, and a deafening roar filled the air. Dust and debris rained down, choking the miners as they scrambled to safety.
Tomo froze, his heart pounding as he stared at the pile of rubble blocking the tunnel. He could hear faint cries from the other side—children, trapped and terrified.
"We have to help them," he said, his voice shaking.
"Don't be stupid," Lian snapped, grabbing his arm. "You'll get yourself killed."
"They're just kids!" Tomo protested, pulling away from her. "I can't just leave them!"
Before Lian could stop him, he was at the rubble, clawing at the rocks with his bare hands. The jagged edges tore at his skin, reopening old wounds, but he didn't care. He couldn't care.
"Tomo!" Lian's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. She was at his side in an instant, her hands joining his in the desperate effort to clear the debris.
It wasn't enough. The overseers arrived moments later, their shouts cutting through the air like knives. Sho, the firebender who ruled their section with an iron fist, stepped forward, flames flickering in his palms.
"Step away," he ordered, his voice cold.
Tomo ignored him, his focus unyielding. Sho's patience snapped. A whip of fire lashed across Tomo's back, sending him sprawling to the ground. The pain was blinding, but he tried to get up, his body trembling with the effort.
"That's enough!" Lian shouted, stepping between Tomo and Sho. Her eyes blazed with defiance, her hands clenched into fists. "You've made your point."
Sho sneered. "Careful, Lian. You wouldn't want to end up like him."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. For a moment, Sho seemed to consider punishing her too, but he finally stepped away with a dismissive wave. The firebenders left, their laughter echoing in the tunnel.
Lian knelt beside Tomo, her hands gentle as she helped him sit up. "You're an idiot," she said, her voice trembling. "But you're my idiot."
Tomo managed a weak smile, his vision swimming. "Thanks for not letting me die."
"Don't thank me yet," she muttered, her gaze flickering to the rubble. The cries had stopped.
In the dim light of the infirmary, Tomo lay awake, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Lian sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort.
"You didn't have to do that," he said after a long silence.
"Yes, I did," she replied simply. "Because you're worth it."
For the first time in years, Tomo felt a spark of hope. It was fragile, like a flickering flame, but it was enough to keep him going.
But that hope, too, was ripped from him.
The next morning, Lian stood in front of Sho, her hands trembling but her voice steady, though soft with desperation. "Please," she said, her gaze lowered but firm, "Tomo's wounds need treatment. He can't work like this. If you let him rest, I swear I'll make up for his labor."
Her words were calm, respectful, almost pleading, but the courage it took to stand before Sho was palpable. Sho's eyes narrowed, his cruel smile returning as he leaned against the entrance of the overseers' quarters. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze studying her.
The first time Lian had spoken up, Sho had chosen to let her go. Not out of kindness, but calculation. He enjoyed watching the flicker of fear in the miners' eyes when they saw someone cross the line and live to tell the tale. It was a reminder that mercy was a whim he controlled, and just as easily revoked. But today was different. Today, the firebender was feeling particularly vindictive.
"You again," Sho sneered, stepping closer. "First, you dare to stand up for the boy when he disobeys me, and now you think you can bargain with me?" He let out a low chuckle, his flames flickering to life in his palm. "You must think you're special, Lian. But you're not. You're just another worm groveling in the dirt."
Lian flinched but didn't back down. "It's not about me. It's about him. He's just a boy—"
Sho's hand shot forward, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look up at him. "And you're just a fool," he hissed. "But you're right about one thing. That boy needs to learn. And so do you."
He released her with a shove, and Lian stumbled back. Sho turned to the gathered miners, his voice booming with cruel authority. "Everyone, gather around! It seems our little Lian here still hasn't learned her place. Well, today, she will."
Tomo, still recovering in a corner of the infirmary, heard the commotion and tried to rise, his body protesting with searing pain. "Lian... no..." he croaked, his voice weak.
Two guards entered the infirmary and dragged him out, ignoring his struggles. By the time they forced him to the edge of the gathered crowd, Sho had already ignited his flames, the orange glow casting menacing shadows on the walls.
Lian stood in the center, her face pale but her expression defiant. "You don't have to do this," she said quietly, her voice carrying more strength than before.
Sho only smirked. "Oh, but I do. You see, mercy makes people forget their place. And I can't have anyone forgetting who's in charge." His gaze shifted to Tomo, who was held firmly by the guards. Sho's smile widened. "And you, boy. You're going to watch. You're going to listen. Because this is what happens when you make people care about you."
"No!" Tomo shouted, his voice hoarse with panic. He fought against the guards, but his body was too weak, too battered. "Leave her alone!"
Sho ignored him. With a flick of his wrist, the flames in his hand surged forward, engulfing Lian in a blinding wave of fire. Her scream pierced the air, raw and filled with agony, and it cut through Tomo like a blade.
"Lian!" Tomo's voice cracked as he struggled harder, tears streaming down his face. The other miners averted their eyes, their faces pale and stricken, but no one dared to intervene.
When the flames died down, all that was left was a blackened patch of earth. Sho turned to Tomo, stepping closer until the boy could feel the heat radiating from him. "Remember this, boy," Sho said, his voice cold and merciless. "No one will save you. Not her. Not anyone. The sooner you accept that, the longer you'll survive."
Sho straightened and motioned for the guards to release Tomo. He collapsed to his knees, his body trembling as he stared at the charred ground where Lian had stood. Her scream still echoed in his ears, a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The crowd began to disperse, their silence heavier than the air in the mines. No one dared to meet Tomo's gaze as they returned to their work, leaving him alone in his grief.
Tomo knelt there for what felt like hours, his mind a whirlwind of rage, despair, and guilt. He had already lost so much—his freedom, his mother's health—and now Lian, the one person who had stood by him, was gone too.
Sho's words echoed in his mind: No one will save you.
But deep down, beneath the crushing weight of his despair, something stirred. A spark, faint but steady.
"I'll save myself," he whispered, his voice trembling but resolute. "I'll save myself... for her."
Tomo walked back to their shared quarters in a daze. His limbs felt like lead, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess. As he entered the small, dimly lit room, the faint scent of sickness filled his nose.
His mother, bedridden and frail, was still lying there. The blankets around her had slipped, revealing the sharpness of her bones. Her breathing was slow, shallow, with her eyes shut soundly asleep.
For days, Tomo wandered the mine in a daze, his thoughts consumed by grief and rage. He thought of Lian, her bright eyes now forever closed, he thought about his mother who was slowly dying, it left a hollow ache in his chest. The world felt empty, but the more he thought about Lian, the more it gnawed at him, pushing him beyond the depths of despair.
But as the days passed, his despair gave way to something else—a quiet, smoldering determination.
Tomo retreated inward, focusing on his meditation. It had been something to hold onto in the chaos, a means of finding a shred of peace. It had been hard at first, but now he was used to the stillness. The hours spent alone in his mind became his refuge.
Days turned into weeks as he honed his focus, ignoring the hunger and pain. Each session felt like an eternity, but he refused to give up.
Finally, one night, a familiar ding echoed in his mind.
[Meditation] has leveled up: Level 2 (Experience: 0/200)
Tomo's eyes snapped open, his breath catching as the air around him seemed to shift. It was barely anything, but he felt it—a faint stirring at his fingertips. The air trembled, as if it too was waking up. He raised his hand, and a small breeze danced around him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Tomo's lips curled into a bitter, weary smile. "I'll keep going, Lian. For you."
He knew he had to hide his airbending. The Fire Nation would kill him if they suspected he was anything more than a broken miner. But for the first time since arriving in this world, Tomo felt a glimmer of hope.
He wasn't powerless. Not anymore.