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They were son and daughter of the Sun
Blessed were the year-round days of warmth
Soothed by the pleasant airs of the nights
In lands where the heat pumped energy in their veins,
Though their energy admitted no captivity
And ran in fierce search of freedom
Moving an entire nation towards greatness,
Moving one ablaze boy towards his true destiny,
Moving one stoic girl towards what stirred her soul,
That was the cycle of the people of Fire.
When rain paid visits to the cobblestone alleys
Filling the air in suffocating humidity and inebriating the senses
The nation slowed down
The boy recoiled his fire and promptly started missing the rays of light
The girl, forced to put aside the company of her daggers, cursed the crying skies
For the sultry temperatures were never at fault, no
No person dared pose criticisms to their fountain of life
While fans doubled the efforts to bring comfort in between sips of the afternoon tea
Ingested as if to purify the system and liberate the energy in pearls of sweat.
The Water — the real enemy — would take all the blame.
Battles that had been fought in the seas had been won through fire
A banished prince could never feel at home in the waters
Nor their salt could heal his wound,
Nor their fury could befriend his chaos,
Nor their arms, lulling the wooden vessel,
Could replace a mother’s cradle
All the boy ever felt was the endless winter attempting to douse his relentless fire
And a young girl — in her yet feeble knowledge of the world
Nurtured rage against the oceans for driving them apart
For swearing to carry her lover — and what could such tender years know of love — further away
Into oblivion
Instead of hating the red flames responsible for his torn face and their shattered future
The well-mannered lady would grow to understand, but in the meantime
Frozen was her heart when vivid memories of his fire weren’t around.
Oh, what an heresy was the absence of heat, of colors!
An entire palette in grey
An entire year of cold
Said to exist in the poles as but a reminder of the indispensable nature
Of Fire
My Fire Lady, invites the crowned ruler of islands left behind
Are you ready for your first snow?
His always warm hand helps the woman past the ship’s door
Another round of sharp wind bites skin and invades nostrils
Dawn welcomes their breaths with a decorated sky, at last
Wearing long red robes, their colors contrast the towering silver walls, and
Their long dark hairs whip the pale landscape.
She spots the smile on his lips
Unaware that it has captured her reaction before her mouth had the chance
To profess any distaste.
She drops a half-hearted comment
On the impertinence of ice to offer nothing for the sun to illuminate
His mesmerized face urges her to fathom his thoughts
In order to share of his moods
What is there to smile about a place which has only brought him anguish, she asks
How foolish of his lover
An exception has formed into his heart, now, upon seeing it through her eyes
For their gleaming golden tones are
Wordlessly qualifying the falling flakes
As the most ethereal thing she has ever seen,
Unable to deny the elegance in their dance,
Stolen by the crystalized shuriken they bring her as a gift.
A wild woman, she was,
Nonetheless tamed into a composed figure of equally pale and ethereal features
Who, upon facing the enemy,
Showed not intimidation — but awe!
As the energy in her veins didn’t bend flames
But yearned for novelty
May the promised challenges she had heard from his stories
Surpass the dull air of winter
Or the long hours of diplomacy, the lady hopes
Ah, the Fire Lord knows,
The best part awaits her once they set foot in the ice nation.