Dairin: The Stoneborn

Chapter 1: The Stoneborn

The earth had always spoken to Dairin. Long before he was old enough to understand what it meant to be an earthbender, he felt its pulse beneath his feet. His village, Zhaolu, lay nestled in a vast valley, surrounded by towering mountains that stretched like jagged teeth into the sky. The soil was rich and dark, the stone beneath unyielding, and it was this stone that shaped Dairin's life.

Zhaolu was a village in the time of the lionturtles, when the great creatures ruled over mankind, bestowing the power of the elements upon them only for survival. The people of Zhaolu lived under the protection of the Earth Lionturtle, who granted them the power of earthbending when they ventured beyond the safety of the village's borders. Inside the village, however, the power was returned, and only the skills of hands and tools were left to build their homes, till their fields, and shape their lives.

Dairin had been born beneath the shadow of the Earth Lionturtle's great city, built high into the cliffs to the east, a place of mystery and ancient knowledge that no villager had ever entered. From the time he was a child, he would watch the lionturtle's slow, deliberate movements along the mountain ridges and dream of the day he, too, might be able to bend the earth at will. But those powers were not given lightly, and certainly not to children.

At twelve, Dairin was tall and lean, his dark hair tied back, and his hands already calloused from working the fields. His father, Ojin, was a builder—a man who shaped stone with a chisel and hammer rather than bending. He had always told Dairin that true mastery of the earth came not from bending alone but from understanding it, respecting it. Ojin believed that strength was found in working with the land, not simply bending it to one's will.

"Remember, Dairin," his father often said, "the stone does not belong to you. It was here long before you, and it will remain long after. We are its caretakers, not its masters."

Dairin respected his father's words, but he could not help but long for more. The other boys in the village spoke of the power of earthbending as though it were something to be feared, something mysterious and distant. Dairin, however, felt it in his bones. He would stand in the fields and press his hands to the ground, feeling the pulse of the earth, wishing he could reach into it and pull that power to the surface.

One day, as Dairin was tending to the stone walls of a nearby terrace, he felt something shift beneath his feet. At first, he thought it was his imagination, but the sensation grew stronger—a low, steady rumble that seemed to echo deep within the earth. The ground trembled, and a crack snaked through the stone wall he had been repairing.

He staggered back, heart pounding, as the tremor subsided. Dairin looked around wildly, expecting to see others affected, but the village remained still. His father approached, brow furrowed.

"What happened?" Ojin asked, his voice calm but concerned.

"I don't know," Dairin said, glancing at the crack in the wall. "I felt... something. It was like the earth moved, but only for me."

Ojin examined the wall, his expression grave. "The stone is telling you something," he murmured, his voice low. "The earth speaks, but only to those who listen closely enough."

That night, Dairin couldn't sleep. The tremor had felt like more than just a quirk of the land. It felt like a message—a call. The Earth Lionturtle, whose shadow loomed over Zhaolu, had been watching over the village for centuries, and it was said that those who were truly in tune with the earth could one day receive its gift, even inside the village walls.

Dairin wondered if that was what the tremor had meant. Was it the earth responding to him, or was something else stirring deep beneath the land?