Firefly (ON HOLD)

Chapter 1 - Spark

Laughter.

It was the first thing Hong heard when he woke up, and it wasn't the kind of laughter that you'd expect to echo through such beautiful, peaceful surroundings.

The sun was just starting to rise, the birds were chirping, and a gentle breeze was blowing through the tall, green-leafed trees.

All in all it was a gorgeous morning, and Hong and his battalion had been enjoying it to the fullest extent—by sleeping in later than usual, of course—until suddenly, the laughter shattered the peaceful scene into a million pieces.

It wasn't the laughter of a child or the giggles of a prankster, nor was it the guffaw of someone who's just listened to a well-told joke.

No, this laughter was dark and sinister and frightening, despite the fact that it poured from the lips of a comely young girl.

Maybe, thought Hong, that fact was what made it so terrifying.

The Fire Nation soldiers scrambled up from their bedrolls and poked their heads out of tent flaps, all trying to figure out what by Agni was going on.

Hong, though, being a lower ranked soldier, didn't have a tent. In fact, Hong was so lowly ranked that his bedroll was on the farthest side of camp from the fire, and closest to the dark forest.

Hence, unlike his fellow countrymen, Hong could easily see the source of the laughter that had everyone so confused.

While the other soldiers looked around and shouted at each other and drew their weapons—some swords, some flames—and scratched their heads in bewilderment, Hong sat very, very still atop his once-inviting bedroll.

His eyes were locked with those of the aforementioned comely young girl, who was still laughing—well, it was more of a chuckle, really, Hong thought to himself. In fact, it was a chuckle, a never-ending chuckle that echoed around the clearing continuously. 

Her dark blue eyes, shadowed by the brim of a rice hat and gauzy veil, were filled with something malicious and determined that had nothing to do with amusement. Hong wanted to crawl back into his bedroll and never come out again... but something kept him rooted to the spot. The firebender had a sneaking, sickening suspicion that that 'something' was fear.

Or rather, absolute terror.

Because he knew exactly who the young maiden was.

He opened his mouth, speechless with shock but still wanting to warn his comrades; but before he could utter a syllable, the girl was no longer there.

It was as if she'd moved within the blink of an eye, disipated into mist only to reanimate directly beside Hong.

For the first time, he believed the rumors that this woman wasn't human. In fact, he was certain: she wasn't human at all.

And then, Hong couldn't really be certain of anything anymore, as he was knocked unconscious by a quick jab of the girl's fingers.

His last thoughts—as well as the words he'd wanted to speak—echoed in his dreams.

'It's the Lady of Death! She's here!'

**__**

I sit comfortably in the center of the—former—Fire Nation encampment. The sun has long passed its zenith, and the afternoon is turning to evening. All around me, unconscious Fire Nation soldiers are sprawled unceremoniously, dreaming of who knows what while I drink their wine.

Fire Flakes and sweet wine: the only two good things to ever come out of the Fire Nation.

I smirk to myself and take another swig from the bottle, surveying the mass of valuables I've piled in front of their long-dead fire. Some of it I'll have to sell, but most of it is already money or can be converted to money at a lender's. That's good—it means less time spent dealing with the black marketers that I hate so much.

They're nothing but a bunch of liars and thieves.

I summarily ignore the little voice in the back of my head that says I'm a liar and a thief. It doesn't know what it's talking about.

Too soon the bottle is empty, and I sigh as I stare at it. The glass is a deep red, blown into a pattern of grapes. It's beautiful... and it makes me sad.

How can those monsters make something so beautiful? It isn't fair.

With a growl, I smash the bottle against the log I'm sitting on.

In response, a couple of the soldiers near me groan and start to stir; standing, I stalk forward and kick them in their heads a couple of times, until they're unconscious again.

I grin with sick satisfaction at the thudding of my boot against their skulls.

Then, I pick up my rice hat from where it rests against the pile of goods that I've appropriated from the Fire Nation's army. Settling it securely on my head, I get to work.

I need to have all of this loot safely in my hideout by the time night falls—and that's not going to be an easy task.

**__**

On the other side of the world—well, almost—in a tiny village in the South Pole, the sun had already set, though for them the day hadn't ended quite yet.

Two people sat far away from the lights and peacefulness of their quiet home; viewed from afar, only their silhouettes would have been visible, high atop the ice wall that surrounded all that was left of the Southern Water Tribe.

One of them, a boy in his late teens, with dark blue eyes and sadness in his face.

And the other, a middle-aged woman with soft features and crystal blue eyes that had seen far too much pain.

The pair sat, silently, drinking in the night as stars wheeled above them.

"She'd be 16 today." The woman's voice was barely a whisper in the air, but the boy heard it easily, and nodded in response.

Carefully, he withdrew a candle from his pocket and handed it to the woman, who held it reverently between gloved fingers as the boy struck a flint against stone.

It took a few tries, but soon enough a spark caught the wick of the candle, and then it was burning brightly, cheerily, as if dancing just for them. The woman held it out to the boy, who wrapped a hand around hers on the stem of the candle.

They stared into the depths of that tiny flame, both of them remembering the person they'd come here to mourn. 

Then, when the wax was beginning to melt despite the frigid air outside, the pair held out their hands and released their burden.

The candle dropped toward the snow drifts on the other side of the wall, its flame flickering wildly before sputtering and, finally, going out.

The woman smiled, and took the boy's hand; with their shoulders set, they made their way down from the barricade and reentered their village, leaving the memories of their lost loved one behind.

In the snow outside the wall, within a hole formed by the fallen object, a spark glowed on the end of the candle's wick, stubbornly refusing to go out.