Avatar: shackled earth

The days crept closer to the partial eclipse, each one thick with tension. Tomo spent every spare moment training in secret, pushing himself harder than ever before. Every breath of air he manipulated, every pulse of chi he sensed, and every hour spent deep in meditation were steps closer to freedom.

His skills had finally improved, though the progress was bittersweet.

[System Notification: Skill Level Up!]

Meditation, Level 4: Your focus has reached a new level, allowing you to better harmonize with your chi and the world around you.

Chi Sense, Level 3: You can now detect subtle flows of energy and even faint disturbances within your environment.

Chi Manipulation, Level 2: You've unlocked greater control over elemental chi, enabling moderate manipulation of air currents.

The notifications faded, leaving Tomo sitting alone in the shadows of the mine's ventilation shaft. A faint breeze stirred at his fingertips as he stretched out his hand. The air swirled around him in a controlled spiral, obedient to his will.

He clenched his fist, and the air stilled. Satisfaction flickered across his face, but it was short-lived. His progress would mean nothing if he couldn't use it to protect those he cared about.

His mind drifted to his mother. She had been his anchor in this desolate place, her quiet strength the reason he'd survived so long. The thought of leaving her behind was unbearable, but she had made her position clear before.

Still, he refused to give up. He would try again.

---

That night, Tomo made his way back to the miners' quarters, his steps heavy with doubt. The shacks were eerily quiet, most of the workers having already succumbed to exhaustion. He pushed open the creaky wooden door of their shared shack and stepped inside.

His mother lying down on her cot, her frail frame outlined by the faint light of a flickering candle. She turned to him, her face pale but her eyes warm.

"Tomo," she said softly. "You're back late."

He crossed the room and knelt beside her. "I was… busy."

Her gaze lingered on him, as though she could see the burden he carried. "You've been working too hard."

"It's worth it," he said quickly. "I've made progress, Mom. The plan is coming together. When the eclipse happens, we'll escape."

She frowned, her expression clouding. "Tomo…"

"Don't say it," he interrupted, his voice tight. "Don't tell me to leave without you again. I've told you—I'm not going anywhere without you."

Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch his cheek. "My sweet boy," she murmured. "You've always been so stubborn."

"This isn't stubbornness," he said, his voice rising. "It's survival. We're getting out of here together, no matter what."

She sighed, her hand falling back to her lap. "Tomo, listen to me."

He shook his head. "No. You don't get to give up like this. I've been training, planning, risking everything—"

"And I'm proud of you," she said, her voice firm despite its weakness. "But this place has taken too much from me. My body won't make it. You know that as well as I do."

Tomo clenched his fists, his throat tightening. "I won't leave you behind."

Her eyes softened, and she reached out again, this time taking his hand in hers. "Do you remember Lian?"

The question hit him like a blow to the chest. Of course, he remembered. Lian had been his first friend in the mines, a girl full of life despite the darkness around them. They had shared stolen moments of laughter, whispered dreams of freedom. And then, one day, he got into trouble and Lian had to plead on his behalf. Overseer Sho hadn't hesitated. He'd burned Lian alive, turning her to ash in front of everyone.

"I remember," Tomo said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You couldn't save her," she said gently. "And it wasn't your fault."

"I wasn't strong enough then," Tomo said, his voice shaking. "But I am now. I can protect you."

Her grip tightened on his hand. "You can't fight the overseers, Tomo. Not yet. And if you stay here, you'll end up like Lian. I can't bear to lose you, too. Not after i lost your father"

Tears pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. "I can't just leave you here to die."

"I won't last much longer, no matter what," she said, her voice breaking. "But you—you have a chance. A real chance to get out of here, to live. Please, Tomo. Don't throw it away for me."

The words cut deeper than any wound. He wanted to argue, to fight, to promise that he could save her. But the look in her eyes—the quiet acceptance, the unshakable love—stopped him.

His shoulders sagged, and a tear slipped down his cheek. "I don't want to leave you."

"I know," she whispered. "But you must. For me. For yourself."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of Tomo's quiet sobs.

---

When the candle had burned low, Tomo finally spoke. "If I go… I'll make it count. I'll survive, for both of us."

His mother smiled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "That's all I could ever ask for."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I'll live well"

She didn't answer, but the faint smile on her lips spoke volumes.

---

The next morning, Tomo left the shack with a heavy heart. The gang was waiting for him in their usual meeting spot, but he felt like a part of him had been left behind.

He couldn't afford to falter now. His mother's words echoed in his mind, steadying him. This wasn't just about him anymore. It was about everyone who had suffered under the overseers' cruelty.

As he slipped into the shadows, preparing to resume his training, he thought of Lian, and of his mother.

The partial eclipse was their chance. He wouldn't waste it.