Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time P’Li bent fire, she was a year old. She accidentally burned the tablecloth, but her parents were so proud of her that a small hole didn’t matter to them.It’s not like they could be mad at a baby who didn’t know any better anyways. 

 A few years went by and her father was called out to war. After Firelord Ozai rose into power, warlords thrived in the new chaotic conditions, waging war against each other for favor with the Firelord. Ozai encouraged the warlords, knowing that if the public focused on the warlords, they wouldn’t be able to realize all the shady things happening within the palace walls. P’Li and her mother waited for her father to return, but knew the likelihood was slim. 

The now six year old wandered the field, looking for pretty flowers to bring to Mama. She grabbed a pretty white flower and walked over to their house. Her family wasn’t poor, but they weren’t rich like the lucky ones in the village. They could afford food everyday without worry. 

“I have a gift for you Mama,” she said, presenting her flower with pride. 

“It’s beautiful! Thank you sweetie,” Mama said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. She frowned, noting that her head was feeling warmer than normal. 

“Are you feeling okay? Your head feels hot,” she asked, voice laced with concern. In their village, disease spread like a wildfire, no matter how hard she tried to keep her family safe. 

“I feel kinda dizzy and hot,” she said, the room starting to spin around her. 

“Drink some water,” Mama said, hiding her concern for her daughter. She had to be strong. “You’ll feel better soon.”

That night, P’Li woke up with a sudden start. She screamed as pain overtook her. Her small body shook with pain and stress, she couldn’t stop shaking as her temperature fluctuated wildly. One second she was raging hot, the next ice cold. She whimpered and weakly cried out for her mom. 

Her mother ran to the local healer, pounding on the man’s door at an hour so late almost all were in bed. Eizera hated bothering people, but when it came to her kid everything else was second. The man sleepily opened the door, startled into being awake at P’Li’s cries. 

“How long has she been like this?” the man asked, placing a hand on her forehead. 

“She had a hot forehead this afternoon, but I just thought it was a normal fever. She went to bed and woke me up with her screaming. P’Li couldn’t stop shaking,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got her now,” he said, trying to calm the frantic mother. “Is she a strong bender?”

“Yes, abnormally so. She began showing signs of bending at just a year old.”

“Interesting. It’s a very rare case but there’s a possibility…no that’s ridiculous,” the man said, trailing off from his original thought. 

“What could be wrong with her?” 

“It’s not that something is wrong with her. Some firebenders are abnormally strong and a very rare few are blessed with the gift of combustionbending. My father was a healer and treated a boy with the same symptoms as P’Li. He ended up becoming a combustionbender,” the healer said. 

“Okay…what can we do?” Eizera asked, dread rising in her at the man’s somber face. 

“I’m afraid we have to call Yamo. I hate to say it, but he’s the best one to turn to,” the man said.

“The fucking warlord? Why the fuck would I give my baby up?” she asked, anger rising in her. 

“Eizera calm down and listen to me carefully. Combustionbenders are very susceptible to injury. She won’t be able to safely learn her abilities on her own. I hate to admit it, but Yamo may be the only person that I know of with experience with combustionbenders. If P’Li tries to learn on her own, she might blow her own head off by accident,” he said with a sad sigh. “Trust me, I wish I could give you a better solution.”

She looked at her shaking child, hating herself for even considering this. She didn’t want to give the only piece of her family she had left, but if she didn’t she might die. “I don’t want to, but if I don’t she’ll probably die right?” she asked, tears in her eyes spilling over. 

“I hate to say it but yes. Do you want me to write to Yamo?” the healer asked, leaving the final decision in her hands. 

“Do it,” she said, holding her daughter closer. The man gave a somber nod and quickly wrote a letter, selecting the fastest messenger hawk to travel to Yamo. 

A few days later, Yamo rode into town with a small group of his most elite and trusted soldiers. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, hiding his face under a bandana and only traveling with six others. He stepped off his ostrich horse and knocked on the healer’s door. 

The healer opened the door, ushering the group inside. Eizera watched the men take her daughter away, tears rolling down her face. She hated herself for letting them take P’Li away, but if she didn’t her sweet daughter would die. At least this way her daughter had a chance. 

Yamo took advantage of P’Li’s young age to mold her into an elite assassin. He taught her how to use and control her combustiobending, beating her when she messed up. P’Li quickly learned to master new skills and molded herself into the weapon she was forced to be. 

Politicians and other warlords didn’t suspect the nine year old asking for directions. They let their guard down, allowing P’Li to swiftly kill them without commotion. She was able to flee the scene and if caught, the guards accepted her innocent, teary eyed story of being in the wrong place at the wrong time without hesitation. 

As the years passed, her missions became harder and she felt less human. One day, she was ordered to destroy a village that sounded somewhat familiar to her, but she didn’t question Yamo. She learned long ago that questioning things brought nothing but pain. 

P’Li walked into the village, noting some of the people looked familiar to her. Nobody recognized her though. She grew taller than anyone had anticipated and with her new tattoo and clothes, she was unrecognizable as Eizera’s daughter. Dread grew as she realized that this was the village she called home for the first six years of her life. 

“I can’t do it,” she said softly. “I was born and raised here.”

“What was rule number four again?” Yamo asked. 

“Don’t question your mission and complete it at all costs,” she recited flatly. She couldn’t forget the lessons if she tried, the rules beat into her physically and mentally. 

“That’s right. Now I know this might be hard for you, which is why you’re going to have help. Fire, ” Yamo commanded. 

The soldiers that traveled with her nodded, bending fire between their hands and letting the flames devour the houses in the village. P’Li’s nose filled with the scent of burning timber and burning flesh. She heard the villager’s screams and their wet sobs as their lives ended. 

She felt disconnected from her body as she obeyed Yamo, blowing up buildings and killing whoever he told her to. After a few hours, everyone in her former village was dead except for her. She stared at the dead bodies, feeling something inside of her break. 

P’Li followed the road to where she used to live with her Mama, Yamo trailing close behind. She noticed the new grave by the house, realizing that her Mama must have died sometime in the last decade or so. She sank to her knees, watching as Yamo set the hut on fire. 

She watched her childhood home go up in flames, ash falling from the sky like a thick gray rain. P’Li watched as her village burned. A small white flower, just like the one she brought her Mama all those years ago, burst into flames in front of her eyes.

P’Li could never go home. There was nothing to return to and the small child that she carefully kept hidden inside of her died the same day she saw her village go up in flames. There was nothing left for her.