Darshi sat on her knees at a loss.

Her people were starving, each face more gaunt than the last. The hunting patrol was missing. They were late, and Darshi could only hope they had been delayed and not the worst. Her stomach grumbled, but she forced herself to ignore it. They were no longer able to get fish from the ocean. The Fire Nation shot flaming bolts at them whenever they tried. She figured they were tired of waiting for them to die off.

Jimin was staring a Hirami, a girl he’d had a crush for Darshi didn’t know how long. Years, at least. Hirami had always been the prettiest in the village, but even her beauty was being stripped away by the tolls of hunger. Her cheeks sagged, eyes sunken as she sat rolled in a ball huddling for warmth. She had been sitting like that for hours.

Darshi stood, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. It took all her strength, legs trembling like a newborn foal, but in the end she was standing in front of the Elder’s tent. As if they could feel her presence the slit of the tent opened, Elder Bourey watching her with those all-knowing eyes. He had contributed eight strong sons to the tribe and was a well-respected warrior in his day. About ten years back he accepted his role as elder, saying he’d accomplished all he’d wanted in life and now was ready to teach the next generation.

“Please,” she begged. “I just want to talk. I need guidance.”

He gave a resolute shake of his head.

Darshi took a step forward, losing her temper. They had no right to refuse her without reason. “What? You would rather have our people die off then to advise a woman on how to lead this village? Congratulations! Your wish will be granted!”

At that moment Darshi could care less the rest of the tribe probably heard her. She was at her wits end. She’d done everything she could, but they still threw her away like an old piece of spoiled lard.

“Let her in.”

Elder Aki stood in the doorway. She was wasting away like the rest of them beneath those thick furs. Part of her only felt like Elder Aki helped her because she was Jimin’s great-grandmother, but at this point Darshi wasn’t too prideful to take a hand out. Elder Aki pulled the tent flaps back, beckoning her with a finger crooked by age. “Come in, child.”

Darshi hurried as fast as her legs could manage, collapsing in the center and bowing to pay her respects. There were seventeen elders. One died yesterday from lack of food, the only sign being the empty seat cushion to the right of the room that sat open like a void.

“I’ve come searching for answers.”

None of them said a word, the only noise being Elder Bourey as he sat back down with a groan.

“Please, I know none of you approve of me, but I just want to keep our people alive. If there was someone else able to do this I would step aside with a happy heart.”

Not one expression crossed their faces. Darshi wondered if they practiced this in the ample spare time they had with one another. It was unnerving.

“It’s your duty to inform the chief when asking for answers! I might not be what was chosen, but I am all you have!” She breathed heavily, the anger ebbing away until all that was left was despair. Her head tilted towards the floor, trying to hide her tears. This was her answer. This was all they would give her. Rejection.

“We know you are all we have, child.”

Darshi wiped her eyes, sniffing as she traced where the voice came from. Elder Haya, the oldest and unofficial leader of the group. Even among the elders she was respected.

“The Southern Water Tribe is starving,” Darshi stated.

“We know that very well.”

“Then give me answers. Help me.”

For each second that passed her chest grew heavier. She was falling apart, this tribe was deteriorating. She need a hint, something to go on. Anything.

“Your strongest point has always been your creativity.” Elder Haya’s face was inscrutable, each and every line on her face harsh in the dark lighting. Darshi inched a bit closer to hear better, hanging onto every word.

“We have spoken about you many times in this tent," she admitted. "Even before we lost Chief Malu. Some people may say it’s your bending that shines, but I say it’s your creativity. When I looked at you as a child I saw change. I thought to myself, when this girl gets older she will not allow herself to be swallowed by tradition, and here you are.”

Darshi didn’t understand the point of telling her this. There was barely any tribe to save now. If they managed to keep any of their culture with people dying off by the day it would be a feat in itself.

“Your bending… it’s strong, yes, but it’s the way you utilize it that makes you so formidable. I think even without formal training you could go against one of our master water benders of the old and hold your own. All of that, you taught yourself. It’s the mark of a true master. You had very little basis to go on, and you created new techniques because of it.”

Darshi stilled, listening carefully to what Elder Haya told her. Perhaps there would be a hint, something behind the lines they were telling her that she could figure out. “Is there anything else you can give me?”

Elder Haya’s smiled, shaking her head with amusement. “Child, have you not been listening to what I’ve been saying?”

“I’ve been listening. You think I’m creative, and that’s great, but that doesn’t help us right now.”

The elder took a halting breath in, her nose flaring as if trying to stop her frustration from showing. “Since the very beginning the Elders are who our tribe has leaned on. We have infinite knowledge, the experience we gained through our own lives and that of those before us. This system has helped us survive, was our greatest resource. But there comes a day in all our lives when what once worked no longer does.”

She placed her hands on Darshi’s cheeks, kissing her forehead. Her lips were paper thin and cold to the touch. “It is you that will keep us alive. You are the one that pulled us out of the snow and forced us not to accept what was given to us. You were the only person who stepped forward and fought not only for yourself but your tribe. The future of the Southern Water Tribe no longer resides with us. It resides within you. It is your responsibility. You do this not because you have to, but because you choose to.”

Darshi’s mind roiled in an uproar as the elder uprooted every belief the tribe had taught her since infancy. They weren’t ignoring her to make a point. They were doing it because they believed in her ability to keep them alive. They thought Darshi was what was best for their people in this time, so abstained from giving any advice out of fear they may ruin whatever strategy she may come up with.

She didn’t even think her parents had that much faith in her.

All of their culture, the future of their children, all of it was up to Darshi. That responsibility was smothering, but she still accepted it. Not because she had to, but because like Elder Haya said it was her choice.

She gasped, pulling herself off her knees. “I’m so sorry! I have to go! I think- I think I’ve thought of something.”

Darshi left the room in a flurry of fabric and Elder Aki cracked open an ancient eye, a secretive smile playing on her lips.

When Namjoon woke it felt like death had come for him.

As if someone had brought the grip of a scimitar against his head repeatedly and then screamed into his eardrum until it went numb. If this was what dying was like he didn’t think it was fair. Why should death be more painful than life? He let out a groan, trying to wipe the grit from his eyes. He froze when he felt something encompassing them. Another tug revealed the bite of cold metal against his wrists.

“I see you’ve awaken.”

Namjoon struggled to place the voice, still disoriented, but could not think of anyone who spoke like that. The smooth, calculated tone; the disregard for any emotion. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. A half rusted, metal ceiling with bolts drilled in was revealed. There were only two civilizations that used such technology.

The Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom.

He prayed to the ancestors it was the latter and this was all a misunderstanding. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate and turning towards the source of the noise. If Namjoon wasn’t so confused and bewildered he might have done a double take.

A man stood before him, his top knot decorated with flames of gold. His shoulders were broad, roped in deep reds and trimmed in even more of the precious metal. He was above average in height, although didn’t think he was taller than himself. His eyes were the color of freshly grated turmeric with monolids that were perfectly symmetrical to his face. Namjoon comprehended the situation quickly, yanking on the metal shackles around his wrists.

“How?” Namjoon whispered, fearing the worst. He didn’t understand how he could sleep through an entire war, and why no one would wake him for it.

“That is inconsequential,” the man brushed off. His face was cold, but there was a beauty to it. Each feature was delicate, the perfect picture of aristocracy. The look Namjoon had lost when his grandfather decided to value strength and resourcefulness to blood lines. Not that Namjoon mourned that. There were bigger problems then how attractive he was to the world.

The man picked up a stray trinket, rolling it in the palm of his hand. “Let me introduce myself. I am Crown Prince Seokjin of the Fire Nation. You are Prince Namjoon of the Northern Water Tribe. Now that we are acquainted let’s get down to business.”

Then everything made sense. With Namjoon’s mind so scrambled he hadn’t even noticed the royal fire crest on Seokjin’s headpiece.

“My people?” Namjoon pressed, voice cracking.

“Fine, for the time being. Not for long without their prince, I presume.”

Namjoon felt true panic realizing his situation. There was no one at home capable of ruling the Northern Water Tribe. He had no cousin’s or distant relatives. Uprooting Namjoon would leave the entire city shaken. Nobles would begin fighting each other for the coveted title of Chief, each one more sure than the last they deserved it. Namjoon knew these people. He had grown up with them.

The city would be in utter chaos.

“I see you finally understand. I was told you were no idiot. I am pleased.”

“You’re a smart man,” Namjoon said finally. This was war, and war did not always have to be fought on the battle fronts. The Fire Nation Prince had superseded i