Sons of Kyoshi

Depending on one's perspective, rain can be either a vexation or a soothing balm to the senses. Beyond the chill and the oppressive dampness that seeps into the bones, there lies an undeniable serenity in its rhythmic descent, a tranquility so often lauded in the musings of scholars and poets alike.

Suddenly, a deafening crack of thunder followed blinding flashes of lightning, sending tremors of fear through the fragile hearts of children. They scurried back to the refuge of their homes, clinging to their parents for comfort. Though the Lower Ring is famed for its teeming marketplaces and the throngs that fill its vibrant streets, only a scarce few dared to revel in the downpour. The once-lively avenues now lay in eerie stillness, the vivid hues of the city's life dulled beneath the oppressive gloom of a leaden sky.

As the citizenry retreated to the warmth of their humble dwellings, two silhouettes remained unmoved, lingering in the rain as though carved from stone. Water cascaded from their conical helms, bodies rigid under the relentless assault of rain. With dark robes soaked through, they bore the bitter cold in silence, hands buried deep in the voluminous sleeves of their garments. Despite the storm, they seemed impervious to the weather's venomous bite. For such discomforts were mere trifles, pinpricks against the skin, no deterrent to the banal duty to which they were bound.

The two figures stood vigil over the area from their elevated perch, their gaze sweeping the scene with a practiced disinterest. Little in the Lower Ring warranted their attention. It was, after all, a place far removed from the glittering grandeur of opulence. Yet, despite the imperfections of its huddled dwellings and narrow alleyways, the district provided a rare solace, a sanctuary from the ravages of the world that raged beyond the towering city walls. Much like in the aftermath of the last great war, this city had once again become a refuge for the desperate, a haven for those seeking to escape the horrors of marauding bandits and ruthless soldiers. Here, even a crude, hastily assembled hut is a far more preferable fate than the butchery that awaited beyond the gates.

Amid the ongoing conflict between the rival states of Jian Xin and Xiao Zhong, the influx of refugees is a constant stream. Most arrived weary, broken, their lives torn asunder by the relentless violence. One of the silhouettes turned his gaze toward a small home, watching as a father slipped through the door to be greeted by his family. From the threadbare garments they wore, it was clear their journey had been a perilous one, a miracle that they had made it to the city alive.

The faint aroma of plain cabbage soup wafted into the street, a meager meal being lovingly prepared by the mother inside. Bland and humble, it is a far cry from the extravagant dishes served in the royal kitchens. Yet within that modest home, there exist something far richer. It is something that the two sentinels, standing cold and distant in the rain, might never be allowed to possess.

And yet, that thought did not weigh heavily upon them. Perhaps in their own way, they were spared the pain of such attachments. For some, the absence of such burdens could even be considered a blessing, not a curse.

Though the warmth emanating from the family's window might stir a fleeting sense of envy, one would be wise to temper such sentiments. What appears as laughter, joy, and love, all natural for a family rejoicing in their survival, may merely be a well-crafted illusion, an artful facade designed to deceive. Such masks hide treachery, for even the most innocent-looking gatherings could conceal a wolf in sheep's clothing. It serves as a sobering reminder that the gravest dangers are not those that the behemoth armies of Ba Sing Se can vanquish, but those that creep insidiously, undermining the very foundation of empires. These perils are infectious, capable of toppling even the mightiest from within.

This is why safeguarding the city's peace demands a special kind of attention to detail, a vigilance that transcends naive optimism. Only the truly perceptive, those willing to abandon sentimental notions of human goodness, can truly maintain the delicate harmony of Ba Sing Se. Sentimentality cannot be allowed to trade away the city's stability. It is through the imposition of a harsh, unyielding order that even the simplest of pleasures, such as a meager bowl of stale cabbage soup can be enjoyed in peace.

The rain continued its ceaseless descent, each droplet sliding off their metal-tipped conical hats, soaking the green fur ribbon. At last, a momentary respite arrived as the figure with the small scar etched across the left jaw extended an arm. His hand, encased in stone, emerged from his drenched sleeve. It is a symbol of his brutal, unforgiving training, a safely guarded technique. As if recognizing the unwavering stillness of the earthen gauntlet, a dove descended from the grey sky, alighting gently upon the outstretched hand.

The small, feathered creature was delicate, oblivious to the world's machinations as it perched. Its stillness betrayed no alarm as the message bound to its slender leg was carefully untied.

"New errands, I presume," mused the second figure, idly chewing on a thin piece of straw. He waited with a lethargic patience, watching as the letter's cryptic contents are slowly deciphered.

The grim nature of their work, whether embraced or endured, had numbed their senses long ago. Years spent maintaining the city's fragile equilibrium had rendered them impervious to horrors that would break the minds of ordinary men. Even the weakest among their ranks had borne witness to sights no human should be burdened with. Yet, these things had long since become routine. Who are they, then, to comprehend true terror, having never known the simplicity of a frugal life? For them, fear is a tool, wielded like a mallet or a farmer's hoe, an instrument to be applied, not felt.

"You've guessed correctly," replied the more taciturn of the pair. His voice was measured, but despite his best efforts, he failed to entirely suppress the faint trace of emotion that crept into his tone, betraying a subtle flicker of something more beneath the surface.

The partner, his hands concealed within the voluminous folds of his sleeves, inquired further, words tinged with the faintest hope for a break from monotony.

"Are we to silence a minister who's wandered too far beyond his bounds?" he asked, almost playful. "Or perhaps some pompous dissident, drunk on the fumes of their own self-importance?"

These were hopeful musings, mere fantasies to alleviate the drudgery of their reality. For compared to the tediousness of their regular duties, such tasks would have been a welcome reprieve, offering a flicker of excitement. Though still burdensome, they at least would have resembled the more illustrious undertakings for which their predecessors had been trained.

"I must regrettably disappoint your anticipation," the scarred man murmured, though there was no mistaking the hint of genuine regret lurking beneath the surface. "It is yet another laborious toll we must bear."

As he revealed the destination detailed in the letter, his partner let out a barely audible sigh, a gesture so subtle it seemed more reflex than expression. For the location in question was none other than the infamous Loongkau, a point of such ill repute in the Lower Ring that even the most destitute souls would hesitate to seek refuge within its borders.

Loongkau, or whatever vulgar name the masses might assign it, is the very embodiment of squalor. It is a stain upon the city's underbelly, an affront to any notion of human dignity. It sprawled grotesquely, a haphazard and unsightly construction, where even the gods would shun the idea of housing their shrines, let alone mortals seeking a semblance of comfort. Only the truly desperate, whose options had long since dwindled to nothing, would choose to reside in that wretched, ungovernable labyrinth. The district resembled a festering wound, with crumbling, dilapidated buildings precariously stacked one atop another. It defied logic, gravity, and any sense of order. How such a grotesque monument to decay had not yet collapsed is a mystery.

The original inhabitants, if any remained, lived lives so pitiable that their mere existence seemed an insult. Loongkau had long since become a den of deceit and vice, where even the concept of honest labor was twisted and corrupted. Schools, once meant to cultivate young minds, had devolved into mere facades. By day, they hosted students, by night, they transformed into brothels, halls filled with unspeakable transactions. What had begun as a district for the poor had decayed into a cesspool of debauchery, a breeding ground for the city's most nefarious dealings.

Like all labyrinthine enclaves, Loongkau had become a breeding ground for infestation, an ideal sanctuary for thieves, smugglers, and other unsavory figures. Its maze-like structure, tangled and confounding, provided the perfect refuge, as though it were a fortress designed to thwart even the most intrepid of pursuers. No sane lawman had dared to venture into its shadowy depths in years, knowing full well that once inside, they risked becoming nothing more than cold, forgotten corpses, left to rot and be devoured by the vermin that thrived in the filth.

"I was under the impression that this place had been abandoned," the partner remarked with a voice mixed with surprise and disdain. "If even the name of the great institutor who pioneered our order couldn't extinguish their wretched existence, then surely they should know that a mere maze poses no obstacle."

Their order, the most fearsome tool in Ba Sing Se's arsenal, is feared throughout the city's underworld. Even whispering the name of their legendary creator is enough to send shivers through the spines of the most hardened criminals across the continent. In recent years, the Lower Ring had experienced an unprecedented calm, with even the pettiest of thieves thinking twice before daring to commit a crime. The balance is easily maintained. Rolling heads, after all, is a small price to ensure harmony. Yet Loongkau, with its crude, ramshackle structures and ungovernable chaos, had become a final refuge for those too desperate, or too foolish, to leave behind their illicit ways.

"Let's make haste," the scarred man suggested. "Perhaps we are merely cleaning up the remnants." With a flick of the wrist, he set the dove free, and the bird took to the sky, disappearing into the stormy grey.

The two figures moved in unison, leaping from the rooftop with practiced precision, their motions as silent as shadows. They vaulted effortlessly off the clay tiles, bodies slicing through the rain-soaked air. When their boots made contact with the brick path below, the sound was no more than a faint whisper, a soft tap that might have gone unnoticed by even the keenest ears. For all their acrobatic prowess, they bore none of the flair of performers. Though swift and graceful, these movements were not meant for spectacle, but for efficiency. It is judgment, swift and unerring, that shall be truly delivered from the shadows that few dared to look into.

In perfect harmony, the two figures moved as one, hands comfortably hidden within the voluminous folds of their sleeves. Relentless rain continued to cascade over their conical helmets, yet neither made a comment about the miserable weather. Words between them were scarce, as trivialities were not only discouraged but considered a waste. Their trust in each other extended only as far as it is necessary to fulfill their appointed roles, nothing more.

It was a curious notion, that despite the stains marring their histories, figures like them could still find purpose within this city of walls and secrets. Some might view their continued existence as nothing short of a miracle, but most would agree it is far from an auspicious fate, hardly one worth celebrating. The founder herself, the legendary architect of their order, would no doubt be profoundly disappointed by the failings of their predecessors, the incompetence becoming a deep wound to her profound legacy.

If their existence is akin to one of two clay pots, it is certain that the potter who shaped them would have long since smashed them into a thousand pieces, then ground the shards to dust beneath her mighty heel. Yet here they remained, like forgotten relics, still serving their purpose in this labyrinthine city. Unlike the other creation, cherished and upheld as the pinnacle of her greatness, they were flawed but functional, a testament to the brutal pragmatism that governed Ba Sing Se.

Walking through the near empty streets, onlookers avoided them as if they carried a plague, fearful even of attracting the faintest of their subtle, seemingly harmless glances. To meet the gaze of these silent sentinels is enough to unnerve even the bravest of souls. A mother, upon seeing their approach, hastily yanked her child inside, the door slamming shut behind her. Even the sound of the closing door, though abrupt, felt restrained, fearing that too much noise might draw their attention.

Such is the brilliance of their organization's ruthless reputation. Their mere presence commanded reverence and dread, compelling their enemies to silently offer prayers to the benevolent Yang Chen Avatar, seeking absolution for sins that hadn't yet been punished. Yet these fears were not born of mere legend or superstition. There is truth behind the terror they inspired. Cloaked in secrecy, their eyes perpetually hidden beneath the brim of their conical helmets, wielding an unnerving power that is enough to reduce even the proudest to trembling cowards.

...

A tangled, grotesque mesh of buildings, stacked haphazardly atop one another, loomed before them. The two figures paused momentarily, as if to take in the full measure of this so-called 'residential' area. In the more eccentric minds of Zaofu's avant-garde, perhaps this architectural monstrosity could be considered art. But to most, Loongkau is nothing more than a glorified slum, the very face of Lower Ring destitution. Even from here, at a cautious distance, they could detect the stench. It is a putrid, toxic odor, so vile it might as well have the power to fell a badgermole ten times over.

Both men knew well why they had been summoned to this forsaken place. Though largely abandoned, Loongkau remained a festering den where the dying remnants of the city's criminal underworld, daofei, outcasts, and lawless stragglers, clung to survival. Ordinary lawmen are hopelessly outmatched here, powerless against the dangers lurking within the crumbling walls. The narrow, suffocating passageways of Loongkau demands a level of skill beyond the grasp of regular patrolmen, whose lack of Earthbending expertise left them vulnerable to both the maze-like architecture and the lurking threats. A mere patrol in this place will become prey, lost within the unholy labyrinth, with no chance of escape.

Yet, the regular daofei are not their primary concern. Common criminals and regular dissidents fell under another jurisdiction. The threats they had been tasked to handle is of a different nature, primitive in ferocity, but far more infectious.

They entered what might have been considered the front entrance, if such a thing could be identified in this chaotic maze. Stepping forward, the dim light from the outside world faded behind them. The narrow alleyways is suffocating, air thick with rot and decay. Though abandoned by the majority of Ba Sing Se's citizens, Loongkau is not without inhabitants. Within its claustrophobic rooms and filthy corridors, unseen creatures scurried. Giant rats, no doubt, large enough to feast on the carcasses of any unfortunate souls who found themselves swallowed by this forsaken pit.

Each step they took echoed against the hollow walls, a reminder that here, amidst the grime and the dark, they may not be alone. What might have sent ordinary lawmen fleeing in terror did nothing to ruffle their composure. As they continued the grim task, they passed a lifeless body, its neck encircled by a stone gauntlet. The presence of scattered stone fragments suggested that the deceased had been an Earthbender, one who had offered fierce resistance against the unyielding authority of Ba Sing Se. The queue braid is noticeably cut from the body. Such is the fate of those who dared defy the city's stringent laws, an unfortunate end, yet one not entirely unearned.

The oppressive darkness of the labyrinthine corridors swallowed the last vestiges of daylight, and the distant roar of the rain outside is silenced. In the obscurity, a faint, flickering light drew their attention. They approached and discovered a lantern, still burning with an hour's worth of candlelight. It is a small, yet significant beacon in the engulfing gloom.

"It's them again," the partner murmured, eyes narrowing at the symbols and words scrawled on the nearby wall.

With the lantern's dim glow casting eerie shadows, they scrutinized the graffiti, which bore the hallmarks of their adversaries' handiwork. The text is reminiscent of the seditious poems and cryptic writings they had seen before, typical of fanatics who could not come to terms with reality. Most importantly, these are delusions of those who sought to challenge the city's order.

As they examined the wall, the content remained as troubling as ever, a stark reminder of the constant struggle to maintain control over the restless, rebellious elements that lurked in the city's darkest corners.

The scarred man sighed, a sound of resignation that spoke volumes. "Indeed, it's them again," he muttered, tinged with weary familiarity. The routine had grown all too predictable. In previous dynasties, their assignments had been far less tiresome, involving elaborate investigations into matters such as witchcraft within the royal palaces.

On the wall before them, a series of crooked, almost serpentine drawings marred the surface, accompanied by the rambling, dogmatic verses of the writer. The markings were the signature of their ever-present adversaries, scribbled by those who clung desperately to their fanatical beliefs. Each symbol and verse are a testament to the discontent and ideological fervor that pervaded the city's underbelly, reflecting a defiance that, though tiresome in its predictability, still required their attention.

Only with the true Master can you be saved. Only forsaking the idols can you be free. Only be part of the true shepherd's flock can you be happy. Repent, for his righteous heavenly army shall shatter the walls of Ba Sing Se and break its chains.

Such fervent proclamations are accompanied by crude drawings. Among them, a vague sketch depicted a figure atop a war chariot, its wheels enshrouded in flame-like whirlwinds.

The two enforcers arrived at their own conclusions. It was clear that the writer was driven by an unyielding conviction. Yet, the artistry of the drawing left much to be desired. an uninspired depiction that barely registered as competent. The second enforcer couldn't help but find the lack of skill amusing.

"As expected of dregs clinging to a philosophy of such negligible sophistication," he commented with a trace of derision. "It's almost comical to think that anyone would be deceived by a religion fitting for desert goat herders. Laughable indeed."

Though it is tempting to dismiss these zealots as mere simpletons, history had shown that such fervent movements had the potential to topple even the mightiest of empires. A strong state might be built on the foundations of formidable armies and astute ministers, but unchecked, pervasive beliefs could fester like a poison, undermining the people's loyalty and weakening the very fabric of the state.

The two figures continued their silent pursuit, following the trail of crimson footprints through the labyrinthine maze. Their path led them to a flight of stairs, which ascended to a simple wooden door.

Without a moment's hesitation, the scar-faced man pushed open the door. Though they remained cautious, they did not anticipate encountering significant resistance.

The door creaked open by itself. They instinctively readied their earth-encased hands for any potential threat. But apprehension quickly faded upon discovering that the door had been blocked by a lifeless body, slumped unceremoniously against it.

"Lacking in manners," the partner remarked with a hint of disdain.

With a respectful nod, they stepped over the corpse and proceeded through the doorway. Inside, they found an enclosed space littered with the bodies of both men and women, all evidently involved in some form of ritualistic practice. The scene was grim, a tableau of death and decay.

In the center of the room lay a small circle of rocks, evidently a makeshift altar. Given the persistent sound of rain above, it is clear that they are on an upper floor of Loongkau, with a hatch positioned just above the altar, presumably leading to the roof. The rain's rhythmic patter is a stark contrast to the stillness of the room below, underscoring the eerie quiet of the ritualistic aftermath.

Among the fallen, each clutched a small knife in their hands, a symbol of either their last stand against intruder or a remnant of their earlier ritualistic activities. What set them apart from other dissidents is the palpable willpower etched across their cold, defiant faces. There is no trace of fear here. In ordinary circumstances, merely encountering the notorious enforcers of Ba Sing Se would be sufficient to dissolve the bravest resolve.

"I wonder what they were doing," one of them asked.

"Trivial matters, no doubt," replied the more callous of the two.

It is likely that these zealots had been engaged in some form of ritualistic offering to their so-called deity, a somewhat frequent discovery in previous encounters with such fanatical groups. The irony is not lost on them. This new spiritual movement condemned other beliefs for similar practices, yet it is clear that their own rites mirrored those they purported to denounce, differing only in the object of their veneration.

"Whoever this Master they hold in such high regard, I doubt he is even real," the partner scoffed. "Even if he is still alive, there are no signs of prayers being answered here."

Their derision is evident, but beneath the mocking words lay a deeper understanding of the futility of such fanatical beliefs. These zealots' fervent devotion had led them to their end, and their empty ritual stood as a testament to the hollow nature of their faith. Different perspectives colored their responses to the grim scene. There is a certain sadistic irony in finding a perverse satisfaction in the punishment meted out to those driven by fanaticism.

A droplet of water fell onto the scarred man's arm as he held the lantern, which has extinguished. Given the relentless thunderstorm outside and the height of the room's solitary window, he surmised that the roof must have succumbed to disrepair, allowing rainwater to seep through the weathered ceiling.

Instinctively, he reached to wipe the moisture away, but hesitated when noticing its unsettling hue. The dim light from the window, though insufficient to illuminate the entire room, is enough to reflect off the liquid and reveal its crimson color.

Another droplet landed on his helmet, its red tint stark against the metal. Looking upward, he is met with a horrifying sight, an unrecognizable mass of flesh, bound tightly in metal chains and suspended from the ceiling. The anguished expression frozen on the face of the unfortunate soul seemed to convey an agony that transcended mortal suffering, a testament to the torment endured before death claimed him.

Typically, such chains were employed to capture Earthbenders. Yet, in this grotesque scenario, they had been repurposed to extract blood from a living dissenting victim. A ring of earth encircled the corpse's head, the final, horrifying expression of terror etched into the dead man's face serving as his last, desperate cry for relief.

"Not the most charming creation," the partner remarked dryly, as though critiquing a piece of art. "I personally do not relish the sight of such a grotesque display."

For them, blood had become mundane, their senses dulled by years of exposure to the macabre. Their counterparts, those who dealt with disloyal elements within the bureaucracy and military, had likely encountered even more gruesome scenes. Training from their malleable youth had molded them into beings accustomed to the darkest facets of human nature, witnessing fratricide, murder, and even the transformation of dissidents into mere, mindless husks through the most closely guarded techniques. While many had become indifferent, some developed an unsettling fascination. Beneath the partner's seemingly unimpressed facade lay a preference for traditional methods, techniques steeped in centuries of fear and revered in Earth Kingdom literature. Even seemingly innocuous objects, like a drop of water, could be wielded to induce terror.

Suddenly, both enforcers turned in unison, alerted by a faint, disturbing sound, a muted cough. After reigniting the lamp, they approached the darkest corner of the room with measured caution. The lantern's light revealing a troubling sight as they drew nearer.

The scene before them is both puzzling and astonishing, eliciting a mix of worry and reluctant relief. Above all, it seemed to be the reason behind their current task.

Small infants lay quietly in their cradles, peaceful slumber suggesting a divine protection ensuring their undisturbed rest. For a brief moment, even the stoic enforcers, their conical helmets casting shadows over their faces, allowed their usual impassivity to waver in the face of such an unexpected sight.

The more seasoned of the two sighed deeply, acknowledging the difficulty of suppressing dissidents who veiled their subversion with religious zeal. While the duty of safeguarding the cultural heritage of Ba Sing Se is diligently upheld, eradicating those who clung to such lunacy involved more than confronting perplexing scenes. Given their specific mandate to root out dangerous witchcraft threatening the state, their tasks are bound to delve into the bizarre and unsettling.

"Summon the local lawmen, we will need their assistance."

As the scarred man turned towards the doorway, he was met with the silhouette blocking the entrance.

The two enforcers fell silent, the limited reach of room's light casting the figure in shadow, obscuring their identity.

When confronted by Ba Sing Se's most notorious enforcers, one would expect the natural response to be overwhelming fear, potent enough to paralyze any instinct to fight or flee, followed inevitably by a submissive surrender to the state's stern custodians.

Such reactions are typical of those with a grasp of sanity. However, among the ranks of seditionists with whom they contend, sanity is a rare commodity. This lack of reason often proves to be a significant inconvenience.

"I will pass the Master's test! I will inherit this land!"

With a cry that echoed through the room, a man hurled himself at the enforcers, his defiant shout a predictable prelude to the reckless assault.

The two enforcers readied themselves with practiced precision, bracing for the anticipated attack. Adapting specific stances with calm efficiency, they prepared to neutralize the audacious figure who naively believed that a mere makeshift knife could overcome Ba Sing Se's guardians. Their earthen gauntlets, a testament to their organization's most closely guarded secrets, is both versatile and deadly. This refined and controlled form of Earthbending stood in stark contrast to the raw and brute force often seen in less disciplined practitioners, making it more than sufficient to subdue a lightly armed adversary.

"Amusing!" one of the cultural guardians sneered, a hint of derision in his voice. "To think that a mere miscreant would even dare to entertain the notion of overcoming us, a truly lamentable display—"

But before he could finish, the fanatic surged past them, his sudden movement catching them completely off guard. They had anticipated the man's knife would swing, creating a moment to encase his arms in a solid cuff of hardened earth. This new maneuver seemed as irrational as a novice's desperate gambit in a Pai Sho game, an unskilled attempt to bewilder a grandmaster.

Yet, this is no mere game of Pai Sho. The novice's actions are not merely misguided but dangerously deliberate.

The zealot surged forward, fevered and fanatical, towards the defenseless infants, their soft breaths undisturbed in the cradle of sleep. In his trembling hand clutched a knife, poised to commit an atrocity so heinous that even the most seasoned cultural guardians, steeped in the gravest specialization of their order, could scarcely have conceived it. The unspeakable crime of infanticide.

Just as the blade hung mere inches from its innocent target, a lone gauntlet of earth hurtled through the air, snaring the zealot's arm in a tight grip. It twisted his body with a sudden, violent force, flinging him against the cold, unyielding stone of the wall. The knife-bearing wrist is pinned in place, malicious intent thwarted in the blink of an eye.

Naturally, such overt displays of Earthbending is anything but subtle, rousing the infants from their slumber. Their anguished cries filled the room, a cacophony of distress that underscored the gravity of the situation. Amidst the turmoil, the scar-faced enforcer of cultural heritage advanced with a measured, imposing gait. His eyes, obscured by the brim of the helmet, locked onto the zealot's.

"Be grateful for my mercy," he intoned. "The flesh is weak, so please do not test my patience."

The fanatic, though bound and momentarily subdued, held onto his defiant demeanor. Yet, as the scar-faced enforcer's gaze bore into him, the unwavering conviction in the zealot's eyes wavered. The steely stare managed to pierce through the zealot's layers of fanaticism, casting doubt upon his once unshakable resolve.

The earthen gauntlet, an extension of the enforcer's will, not only restrained the zealot, but conveyed its own stern message. Blood seeped slowly from the fanatic's wrist, trickling down and staining the individual tiles of the gauntlet. Each drop is a silent testament to the fierce struggle and the relentless justice that now held him captive.

...

The zealot was forcibly hurled to the ground, landing at the feet of arriving local patrolmen who had reached what is purported to be Loongkau's entrance. Bound by solid earthen cuffs that rendered him entirely harmless, and with his mouth sealed by a constricting earthen muzzle to stifle any absurd utterances, he is now a powerless figure.

"Constable Bu Kuai," one of the cultural guardians commanded with an authoritative edge. "Retrieve the bodies, rescue the others, and transport them all to the Inner Palace Depot."

Handed a meticulously drawn map detailing the labyrinthine interior of Loongkau, the local law enforcement leader bowed in acknowledgment. Though his subordinates displayed visible reluctance to venture into Loongkau's depths, their hesitance was swiftly quelled by the reminder of the grave penalty for incompetence, a crime as dreaded as it was unforgivable.

Despite their relative ineffectiveness compared to the city's feared and covert secret police, the local officers are still indispensable. For even the most formidable steed relies on the humble grass for sustenance, so too do the elite forces depend on the diligent, though often less glamorous regulars.

The patrolmen diligently executed their orders, some remaining to guard the subdued zealot while others began their grim task. With the matter of immediate concern addressed, the two cultural guardians departed, presumably to attend other state affairs.

"You know," began one of the cultural guardians contemplatively. "Speaking of Loongkau, it brings to mind a story of a young, impetuous couple. In their folly, they sought to elude the girl's family, a noble but ultimately vain effort. Their attempt to remain hidden proved futile, and they were apprehended in the act. The boy faced severe repercussions, and in the end, neither of them lived to see the resolution of their plight, forever separated."

The scar-faced guardian regarded his colleague with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. "Why are you sharing this with me?"

"I'm merely a humble man fortunate enough to serve alongside you," his partner replied, though his tone held a notable absence of camaraderie. "In recounting this recent history, I hope to impress upon you the gravity of your situation. It would grieve me to see you meet a fate akin to that hapless young man, consumed by his own desires. However, take heart. Even from such deep mire, there remains a chance to emerge unscathed."

The thinly veiled reminder, warning, and threat were not lost on the scar-faced cultural guardian, who refrained from dismissing his colleague's distasteful remarks. In their line of work, clinging to trivial attachments can be perilous, a single misstep in their harshly meritocratic world can swiftly lead to one's downfall.

It is an ironic turn of events. Despite the dire circumstances, a consequence of past errors, the scar-faced man once bore a demeanor more akin to his current colleague's. Perhaps his fervor had waned with time, yet the necessity for the city's so-called cultural guardians to continually reinvent themselves remained unchanged. To outshine their weak and discredited predecessors, who had become the scorn of all beneath heaven, the new generation must master a stoic resolve, free from the shackles of fear and emotion. Only by abandoning these hindrances could they truly hope to protect the city from its internal and external adversaries.

"Shame is not without its merits as a tool for addressing egregious failures," the partner remarked. "Have we not been schooled in the deep humiliation of our inept predecessors? Such chastisement has only tempered us, transforming us into the very gravediggers for those who would seek to undermine Ba Sing Se."

As they walked along the street, the scar-faced guardian contemplated his colleague's insights, acknowledging the truth in his observations. The history of their organization, which had yielded varying degrees of success in safeguarding the city, underscored their current adequacy. Their role as cultural guardians is not merely ceremonial, but crucial in preserving Ba Sing Se's cultural heritage. Its mausoleums, statues, and palaces, all of which were bequeathed by the woman who had trained their forebears. Their duties extended beyond mere preservation. Encompassing the spiritual well-being of the city's populace, they are also tasked with eradicating any insidious influences before they could fester into an untamable forest fire.

The Earth Kingdom's religious landscape is as varied as its vast geography. With a pantheon of deities to choose from, the spiritual practices across the continent are richly diverse. Apart from the nebulous concept of a righteous entity known as the Heaven, there are numerous deities and spiritual figures that people revere. Local citizens might dedicate their worship to benevolent spirits or deified cultural heroes from their region, while Air Nomad shrines and temples are scattered across the land, with many peasants holding the Airbending nun, Yang Chen Avatar, in profound veneration. Additionally, small ethnic tribes, residing apart from the major settlements, honor the gods and myths central to their own unique traditions and legends.

Despite the rich tapestry of spiritual diversity, the state has historically prioritized other matters over the management of religious practices. The Earth Monarchy of bygone eras scarcely concerned itself with the varied beliefs of its subjects, so long as those beliefs did not challenge the authority of the throne. Although the syncretic nature of Earth Kingdom religions, creating a semblance of harmony, this apparent luxury underestimated the potential for human folly.

Cults, or heterodox teachings, as viewed by the two cultural guardians, have persisted in various forms throughout history. From obscure sects to religious uprisings that have claimed millions of lives, no effective government could afford to let disruptive ideologies flourish unchecked. While the majority of cultural guardians focus on quelling sedition within the military and among literati ministers, a portion is devoted to countering unauthorized spiritual gatherings. Their vigilance is driven by the understanding that unchecked religious movements can sow the seeds of dissent and ultimately jeopardize the stability of the state.

The cultural guardians' eyes extend well beyond the city walls. Many years ago, they became aware of a nascent spiritual movement known as the Acolytes of San Bao. Initially, this movement appeared benign, offering a message of salvation and the promise of an end to all suffering beneath the heavens. However, prolonged scrutiny revealed a more concerning trait. The Acolytes harbored a profound disdain for all other beliefs, denouncing unfamiliar deities as malevolent entities, entailing a world where only their faith and singular object of veneration would prevail. If that happened, would there still be the four nations?

Such ideologies are inherently perilous, exacerbated by the movement's rapid proliferation. The reports emerging from their activities are increasingly alarming. The Acolytes of San Bao have activities across the globe. From the frozen tundra of the South Pole to the verdant island chains of the Fire Nation, seeking to expand their influence and cultivate new followers. Some minor and remote cities on the mainland continent have already succumbed under the sway of this new movement, growing powerful enough to even be a minor thorn to neighboring warlord states.

The Acolytes of San Bao, driven by a fervent animosity toward all beliefs save their own, possess a capacity for subtlety that can be as insidious as it is potent. The impenetrable walls of Ba Sing Se are of little defense against a threat that manifests not as an army, but as an ideological contagion. For ideas can indeed be weapons, and the most dangerous among the populace have the potential to bring down an entire nation.

"Care for some food?" the scar-faced guardian inquired, offering a gesture of camaraderie.

His colleague, however, remained impassive, showing no visible reaction. Despite their carefully cultivated inscrutability, a product of both their rigorous training and the demands from their superiors, the partner did not outright decline the offer. As the ancients wisely noted, the masses are perpetually driven by their hunger, and no divine being can alter the fundamental truth that mortals must eat to survive.

Moreover, Ba Sing Se's renowned cuisine has captivated the world, making it a disservice for its citizens to overlook its splendor. As for the children to be delivered to the Upper Ring, their fate will undoubtedly be more merciful than if they had remained in the care of those so-called parents.

End of Chapter Notes:

-The canon Loongkau is based on the now demolished Kowloon Walled City.