There were forty miles of uninterrupted Earth Kingdom coastline surrounding Wulong Forest, the site of the final battle of the Hundred Years War.

A battle that had pitched four children against hundreds of veteran Fire Nation soldiers and the Phoenix King himself.

A battle that the Fire Nation had lost.

Songs had been sung, statues had been built, and the world was slowly healing as it tends to do, but Wulong Forest still bore the scars of battle. The woodlands had been blasted, seared by fires drawn from the comet itself. Towering over the fresh growth of new plants stood the blackened trunks of ancient trees, mirroring the stone forest behind.

In the five years that had passed, seven hurricanes and dozens of lesser storms had smashed into the shoreline, bringing up the flotsam and jetsam of war. The Wretched Coast, it was now called, an airship graveyard. The great machines jutted from the ever-changing sand, scorched metal skeletons carving the landscape into unsettling organic shapes.

The new Fire Lord and the Avatar himself had worked to convince the Earth King to leave it as it was: a monument, both on land and under water, to the desolation of war. So no one could ever forget.

But somewhere within the wreckage was another monument, a much smaller one, but a monument nonetheless. A monument to a young man's wit, courage, and commitment to become something bigger than himself. A monument to hard-learned humility. A monument to mastery of an art that belonged to no one nation.

But its owner just called it Space Sword.

So, yeah. I've started a new story. In a new fandom. Hope you like. - essie