Avatar the Last Airbender: Jedi Outcast - Book 1 - Prodigal Butcher

Chapter 1 - False Jedi

Ben had no purpose, and a part of him didn't really care. But being burned alive didn't sound like a desirable fate.

Lumberjack work wasn't much better. During the colony's establishment, an intoxicated fire nation soldier caused a disturbance at the local saloon. The details were hazy, but the aftermath was undeniable.

An island-wide forest fire consumed the lush trees that served as raw materials for the fire nation's war machines. Many were destroyed or charred beyond use as stable fuel. However, some trees, like the ones Ben cut down, defied the flames, proving surprisingly resilient. Making money on the island required either an abundance of coal ore or healthy wood that could be exchanged for coins.

Ben felt the bite of the axe, the satisfying thud as yet another tree surrendered to his efforts. He followed the same routine, working tirelessly. Unlike the other colonists, he was a refugee, a survivor of a different war.

Narrowing his eyes, Ben navigated around the bitter memories that persistently plagued him in this place. They always managed to find a way to distract him from his goals. Yet, his goals were simple enough.

Wake up, work, and cash in on the day's earnings. Head to the bar, drown his sorrows, and repeat. It was a wretched existence, but for people like Ben, who sought refuge from their haunted pasts, it offered solace and the blissful absence of responsibility. It became their sanctuary.

In this place, nobody knew who you used to be or the crimes you had committed—the monster you had allowed yourself to become. As he struck the axe into the third tree he encountered, it dawned on him that he wasn't the only one who had fought in a war that felt this way. And he doubted he would be the last.

As the third and final tree yielded to Ben's power and strength, he began the process of bringing them together, stacking them like a child playing with blocks. His weathered gloves deftly unraveled the twine looped around his belt. The thin but sturdy string was capable of bearing the weight of the logs. With a few deft maneuvers, Ben circled the wood several times, expertly securing the structure with his skilled hands.

The goggles, once shielding his eyes, now hung loosely around his neck as Ben rose from his crouched position. The day's work was complete, and all that remained was to transport the trees to the factory. The wood cutter there would process the timber on his behalf. Ben wouldn't need to stick around for that part. Having a haul of three healthy and stable trees was quite the stroke of luck. He possessed an uncanny knack for locating such resilient specimens, trees that could withstand the ravages of fire.

When Ben wasn't present, the other men at the bar would jest about his special talent, the ability to find lost things. It was a gift, according to them.

Suddenly, Ben's ears pricked up, sensing a presence nearby. He detected the scent of watered-down beer, followed by a trail of muttered curses. Ben gripped the axe toward the end, the blade resting lightly on the ground, preparing himself to confront the intruder. A sigh escaped his lips as he laid eyes on the person who had decided to disturb him.

"Oi... Ben!"

The drunken voice reverberated through the valley, causing Ben to instinctively cover his ears. He didn't respond or offer a wave in return. Instead, he simply threaded his right hand between the twine and began to pull.

He didn't wish to waste time or draw further attention to his haul. So, with the twine attached to the logs, he lifted the weight and began dragging the wood towards the factory.

It was Rin—a weathered old man who had been on the island for as long as Ben could remember. According to rumors, Rin had arrived with his family at the onset of the war, hoping to establish a career and provide for his children's education. Nearly thirty years had passed, and he was still here. A familiar face at the bar, but Ben couldn't say much in that regard either. At fifteen years old, just a month away from turning sixteen, he himself had a tab to settle at the establishment.