War of Change | Book 3

7: A Blue Girl in Red

Art: Fire by Clare Elsaesser

The next few days were difficult for me. I still wasn't used to being a part of the group, especially with Toph around. We got along great, but Katara and the girl seemed to have a strained relationship. I was trying to stay out of the middle. I was still trying to come to terms with how much everyone had grown up. It was strange to see them operating just fine without my help. Of course, there were still a few problems that needed to be solved, such as some of Sokka's feelings.

He was having difficulty after another one of our team's demonstrations of our abilities. We'd been watching a meteor shower when one of the meteors got alarmingly close. Aang, Katara, Toph, and I had jumped into action to put out the fire. Sokka, on the other hand, had to babysit Momo. I really couldn't say I blamed him for feeling a little insignificant.

We tried to cheer him up with shopping, but Katara came up with an even better idea. We sent him to get a proper master just as the rest of us had. He wouldn't be taught bending but sword fighting.

Sokka spent a couple of days learning how to properly fight. While I wouldn't have minded joining, I knew this was his personal battle. It was a rather uneventful few days for the rest of us. Things felt extremely stagnate without our schedule master around. It might have remained that way, but Sokka soon returned and invited us to his master's house while he made his sword.

Once again, I was taken aback by a building in the Fire Nation. The shopkeeper who had directed us to Master Piandao in the first place had not exaggerated by calling his home a castle. The others kept an eye on Sokka, who was busy crafting the sword while I took a chance to explore what parts of the house I was allowed in.

I could feel Piandao's butler keeping a close eye on me. I was on the edge of being offended if I wasn't more interested in asking questions about various objects.

"What is this?"

I stood in one of the long halls, staring up at what were about a dozen paintings on the wall, each with two people – one being Master Piandao and the other being different each time. The others in the pictures ranged from young boys no older than thirteen to men nearly as old as Piandao himself.

"The master's few students," said the butler. "He takes pride in teaching the art but only to those who are worthy."

My eyes hesitated on one of the pictures in particular. It was one of the younger boys, his black hair pulled back into a high ponytail, contrasting against his pale skin. There was something so familiar about him, something about his eyes. What color were they painted? Orange? Yellow?

​​​​​​

"Who is this one?" I inquired, pointing at the frame.

​​​​​​

"Aw," the butler moved closer, a smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, "one of his most recent prodigies, Fire Prince Zuko. He was quite determined to learn."

My breath became hitched in my throat. My eyes widened as I looked at the man before turning square off to look at the painting.