The story of Umira

Plan: Potato Sack

After my long shower, I changed into my orange monk trousers that double as pajamas, and my comfy black wrap jacket that goes to my knees. I love the steaming hot water; I've mastered heating it as it touches my skin with my firebending, a little trick to ensure I don't run out of hot water. 

Descending to the dining room, the aroma of Aunt Pema's cooking hit me—it always smells like home, but the vegetarian edition.

"Wow, it smells wonderful, Aunt Pema!" I exclaimed as I joined the bustling dining table, where just one seat remained. It was wedged between Mako and Uncle Tenzin, who is at the head of the table as usual.

I walked annoyed to them and the memory of our shoulder bump was still fresh in my mind. As I squeezed past him to my seat, I couldn't resist and 'accidentally' bumped his back with my knee as I sat down. I couldn't help the small smirk that appeared on my face. It was petty, but satisfying. Plonking down with my cheeky grin, I faced him with an overly sweet smile.

"Hungry?" I asked Mako, my voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness, batting my eyelashes just to tease him a bit.

"Uhm, yes," he replied, sounding a bit flustered and annoyed.

"Great! Aunt Pema is a fantastic cook. Have you tried her food before?"

"Y-Yes, I have," he stammered, I smile and my eyes turn like a cat owl, I enjoy his slight discomfort.

Uncle Tenzin, noticing our interaction, decided to bring some order. "Let's give our thanks," he said, giving me a look to stop the theatrics and the teasings. I nodded giving him a reassuring smile, and clasped my hands as we all closed our eyes.

"We are grateful for this delicious food, for our happiness, for compassion, and for life," Uncle Tenzin led the prayer warmly. As we began to eat, the room buzzed with the lively chatter of conversation

Mako turned to me, his voice low but clear. "So, Sergeant Umira, how is it being a... Sergeant?"

"Why don't you ask my father? He was a commander," I replied nonchalantly while continuing to enjoy my meal.

"Well, you're right here, and he's a bit far. So, how is it?" he persisted, his interest seeming genuine this time.

I paused, putting my chopstick down, and looked at him. His earnestness caught me off guard. I thought for a while, to give him my honest answer.

"Uhm, well, it's hard and tough. It can be amusing at times, but mostly it's just stressful. You can plan a mission down to the tiniest detail, but you never really know how it will unfold. You don't know if you'll come back alive, or if all your people will. You can't be sure whether someone you spoke to one day might be gone the next, or whether you'll get to eat your next meal in peace—or eat at all. Once, I survived a week alone in the sand wastelands without food or water... so yeah, it's incredibly stressful. It's not for everyone, especially if you can't handle uncertainty," I explained, continuing to eat as I spoke.

Mako was silent after my response. When I looked up, his expression was a mix of awe and concern. "What? Were you expecting tales of glorious battles? It's never glorious... not when you're risking your life or the lives of others for a mission."

"I'm sorry, I just... I guess I had a different idea of what being in the army was like. I thought it was about becoming a hero or something," he admitted, his gaze dropping sadly to his bowl.

"Hero, huh?" I mused, a slight frown forming as I poked at my food. "I mean, sure, I've got my medals, but sometimes a shiny medal isn't enough. Why do you ask—thinking about a military career yourself?"

"No, not exactly. I just want to do something meaningful, something that helps people," he said, aimlessly stirring his rice.

I thought for a while at his words, "You could consider the police department. I've worked with them before; they're competent and committed. Plus, you don't need to be a metalbender to join, and you can stay local—no need to live on a base or ship, and you'd still be close to your family."