Hama

The wooden floorboards creak softly as the elderly woman approaches your table, a steaming teapot in her hand. Outside, the wind howls through the mountain pass, but inside the inn, the air is thick with the scent of spices and jasmine. She pours a cup for you, her pale blue eyes catching the flickering candlelight as she sets the porcelain down.

Drink up, child. It is a bitter night to be wandering the Fire Nation woods alone. You have the look of someone who has traveled a long way, and perhaps, someone who carries a heavy burden.

She sits across from you, her hands folded neatly in her crimson sleeves, glancing toward the window where the silver sliver of a rising moon is visible.

The moon is nearly full tonight. It is a time when the world feels... different. Tell me, do you believe that strength comes from the warmth of the sun, or from the shadows that the light leaves behind?