The morning after felt heavier than the night.
The refugee camp was a hollow place, filled with silence that weighed more than screams ever could. Smoke had long faded into the cold dawn air, yet the scent of ash still lingered, clinging stubbornly to clothes, hair, even skin. Children sat in clusters, some staring blankly into nothing, others crying softly with no tears left to shed.
Alex sat alone. His small hands clutched his knees, his head lowered, his breath shallow. He had spoken words the night before a promise, a vow to live on but the reality of the day made it feel fragile. His chest was tight, his heart heavy, and the emptiness of loss pressed down harder with the light of morning than it had in the cover of night.
His fingers brushed the dirt at his side, tracing meaningless shapes, desperate for distraction. But all that came to him were memories his father's final stand, his mother's last smile, his sister's laughter, now silenced forever. Each thought was a blade carving into him.
Then, a shadow fell across him.
Alex lifted his head slowly, expecting perhaps one of the Fire Nation soldiers who guarded the survivors. Instead, what he saw was a girl about his age, maybe a little older. Her long hair was the pale brown of autumn leaves, her eyes a soft green, trembling with concern. She clutched a thin blanket around her shoulders, its edges frayed and dirt-stained, but her presence felt strangely warm, like a candle in the dark.
She knelt in front of him, tilting her head slightly. "You're… crying."
Alex blinked, startled. He quickly rubbed his face with the back of his hand. "I… I'm not." His voice cracked, betraying him instantly.
The girl didn't press him. She simply sat down across from him, folding her legs and hugging the blanket closer. For a moment, she didn't say anything. She just looked at him, her gaze calm, not pitying, not judgmental. That silence was gentler than words.
Finally, she spoke. "My name is Mira."
Alex opened his mouth, then hesitated. His throat felt tight, but he forced the words out. "…Alex."
Mira's lips curved into a faint, fragile smile. "It's nice to meet you, Alex."
Her tone was soft, careful, as though she was handling something delicate that might shatter at any moment. Alex lowered his gaze again, not knowing how to respond. He wasn't used to someone speaking to him without suspicion, without mockery. Since arriving here, most of the children had avoided him. Some whispered that he was strange, others that he didn't belong.
But Mira… she simply sat with him.
After a moment, she reached into the folds of her blanket and pulled out a small piece of bread stale, hard, barely edible. She held it out to him.
Alex shook his head. "I-I'm not hungry."
"You should eat," she said quietly. "If you don't eat, you'll get weaker. And if you get weaker, you can't keep your promise."
Alex's heart skipped a beat. He froze, staring at her. "…My promise?"
Mira nodded, her eyes steady. "I heard you. Last night. You said you'd live. You said you'd grow strong enough to protect the ones you love."
His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized anyone had been listening. Shame burned in his chest, and he looked away. "You shouldn't have heard that. I… I was just…" His voice faltered. He didn't know what he had been. Crying? Begging? Fooling himself with impossible dreams?
But Mira didn't laugh. She didn't tell him it was stupid. Instead, she pressed the bread into his hands, her fingers brushing his for a moment warm, insistent. "I think it's a good promise."
Alex stared at the bread in silence. The lump in his throat grew heavier. Slowly, shakily, he lifted it to his mouth and took a bite. It was dry, tasteless, rough against his tongue but Mira's presence made it feel different. Less empty.
For the first time since the village burned, he didn't feel entirely alone.
The day stretched on. The Fire Nation soldiers moved among the children, organizing supplies, tending to wounds, keeping order with cold efficiency. Alex watched them warily, uncertain whether to trust them or fear them. But Mira stayed by his side, as though she had decided without question that they belonged together.
When some of the older children sneered at him for being "too weak to fight," Mira was the one who stood between them, her small body shielding him though she trembled herself. When he sat in silence, drowning in memories, she spoke of small things the way the wind whistled through broken tents, the way the fire sparked like tiny stars. She wasn't trying to erase his grief. She was simply reminding him that the world hadn't ended completely.
And when night fell again, and the weight of sorrow pressed down hardest, Mira leaned close, her whisper almost lost in the rustle of the wind. "You don't have to carry it all alone, Alex. If it's too heavy, I can carry some of it with you."
Alex's vision blurred. He clenched his fists, his voice raw. "…Why? Why would you do that for me?"
Mira's gaze was steady, though her eyes shimmered faintly with tears of her own. "Because someone should. And because… if you fall, then who will keep the promise?"
The System chimed faintly, a whisper only Alex could hear.
[Ding!]
[New Bond Detected: Mira – Childhood Companion.]
[Bond Effect: Emotional Stability +5%, Willpower Growth +1.]
Alex inhaled sharply, the glow of the interface fading quickly. He almost laughed through his tears. Even the System acknowledged her.
His small hand trembled, then slowly reached out. Mira's hand was waiting, warm and fragile, yet firm when their fingers intertwined.
In that moment, beneath the weight of loss and the shadow of war, Alex found something precious not strength, not yet, but a reason not to collapse.
The ember in his chest, born from tragedy, flickered brighter.
And it was Mira's presence that shielded it from being extinguished.
By the time sleep finally claimed him, Alex's tears had dried, and for the first time since the night of flames, he dreamed not of fire and screams… but of sunlight breaking through smoke.