Deep into the Fire Nation countryside, an old man sat in his courtyard on his cushioned mat, legs crossed. He had a cup of tea in his hand and his eyes were closed. His long, white beard hung all the way down to his belly button. For a man of his age, he was in good shape. As a matter of fact, he was in good shape for a man 20 years his junior. As he sat and meditated, steam rose from his cup of tea. Soon, the scent of tea filled the entire courtyard. The man was the very picture of a peaceful old man. Many of the local townspeople thought he was some retired businessman from Republic City, or some well off noble related to the Fire Lord. No one guessed at what he really was.

As he sat there, a streak of fire blazed across the courtyard heading towards him. Without even bothering to move from his seated position, he sipped from his tea, and he exhaled. As soon as he did, fire hot enough to melt the stones in his courtyard spilled out from his mouth and met with the flames that threatened him.

His assailant however, had anticipated the failure of his first attack. So he had dashed forward, hurled himself into the air, and brought his feet down in a sweeping arc. A bright flame manifested at his heel and jetted out towards the old man.

The old man threw his cup into the air with his left hand and used the same hand to bat the stream of flames away. With his right, two fingers extended, he manifested flames in front of him.

His opponent hurriedly adjusted his plan of attack and swung his leg around so that he landed in front of his target, one foot extended, one bent. With barely a second's pause, he sprinted the last few feet towards the old man and threw a punch with devastating force behind it.

The old man chuckled as his assailant's fist stopped just short of his face. His two fingers had found their way to his throat, and were only awaiting his command to release the flames they manifested so easily.

"You are still too loud, Jinn," the old man said amicably. "As long as I can hear your attack coming, I will always defeat you."

"True, but how quiet would one have to be to sneak up on the Young Dragon?" Jinn replied, lowering his fist and sitting in the same position as his former teacher and master. "Although, I'm not sure how well the 'young' part of your moniker fits anymore."

The old man chuckles at his former apprentice's joke at his expense. "I may be getting on in years boy, but remember the most dangerous type of assassin is one that is still alive."

Jinn bows his head in acknowledgment. He remembers well the lessons he was taught, and how painful they could be. He had many years yet before he could pose a threat to his master.

"Not that I don't enjoy reminding former pupils of mine of their place in this world, but why have you come to see me, all the way out here?" the old man asked.

"I've been sent to kill you," Jinn replies simply.

After he delivers that short and simple statement, the old man doesn't speak for several long moments. He sips his tea and closes his eyes, as he let's the passing breeze brush against his face. A nearby bird chirps and the sound of leaves rustling is heard. "I see. So that time has finally come," the old man said just as simply as his pupil had stated his purpose.

"Yes. My father has decided to move against you."

Meanwhile, in Capital City:

The room was dark with only a few candles to light the large space. Ridiculous really, when you considered the remarkable availability of electricity and the lanterns it powered these days. But the dimness provided a grim atmosphere, which suited the nature of the meeting that would be taking place in just a few minutes.

Rei looked around the room at his fellow conspirators, and he was pleased to count his wife, his daughter, and his brother among them. It was yet to be seen if his own son could be trusted.

Other than his family members, there were a few lieutenants from the nation's military, and only one general. However, they were all dedicated to the cause.

A certain amount of time passed and everyone in the room began to look toward Rei, their fearless leader, to start the meeting.

"Friends, citizens of our great Fire Nation, the time is nigh for the culmination of all our goals and plans. If everything goes according to plan, we should have a new Fire Lord very soon." Rei began.

He paused to look around the room. Some of his people looked...joyful. But most- the smart ones- looked somber. The road ahead was a tough one, and they knew most of their compatriots would die in the upcoming struggles.

"General Rufus Li, how goes the campaign?" Rei asked.

"Wonderfully. Many of the people are talking about how different criminal organizations are running loose throughout the country. Perhaps more important are the nobles, and they are highly upset with the new Fire Lord. They think he's weak and has no edge or control over his citizens. 'Something must be done' they say," the general reported.

"Excellent. Keep fanning the flames of dissent. Our new Fire Lord is weak," Rei began in disgust. "He must be removed and replaced."

"The Fire Lord still has his Wrath," a voice spoke out. The voice belonged to another of his key allies, so he let the interruption slide...this time. "He may be getting old, but the Young Dragon is still very much a threat."

"Are you still going on about that old fool, Jet?" Rei snarled. "Ryuu has been a thorn in our side, yes, but it's time the Young Dragon was slain. We have someone working on this as we speak."

Meanwhile, in the countryside, a few miles from Ryuu's home:

Fire Lord Roku was not pleased. He listened intently as one of his lieutenants reported to him. He had hoped he could spend his vacation time uninterrupted by talk of rebellion, but it turned out that hope was unfounded. As he knew it would be.

"A few of the nobility have been grumbling, but none have joined up yet. Only one general has betrayed us."

Roku nodded his head and stayed silent behind his wall of flames. The heat helped him to concentrate. The growing criminal element was becoming an increasing problem, one he had to solve soon. Something he had to fix before he finished off the rebels.

"The Brotherhood has served me well on this day," Roku praised. "Continue your good service and bring me the head of the Fire Nation's cabal," he ordered. He knew it would be a difficult task, but he was sure his men could handle it. It was what they were trained for, after all.

"Yes, my Lord," his lieutenant said. He rose and quickly exited the Fire Lord's chambers.

The next year was going to be an interesting one in the Fire Nation, Roku sensed. The heat of the flames seemed to double, then triple. From the flames, he thought he saw something...a vision. An aging dragon burned alive, and from its flaming corpse, a new, more powerful dragon emerged.

***

(Side note: this story is set many years after Korra, let's say 50 years. So they have more tech like telephones and commercial and passenger flights, but no cellphones and computers yet. That's the era we're in right now. -johnjo719)

Manjaro the Manslayer stood a head-and-a-half higher than most men- even Finnrick the Fine. So with his broad shoulders, strong voice, and the studded mace he carried as his weapon, what he said carried weight with those around him. Especially when he was angry. His temper, backed by his mace, is what gained him the name Manslayer. So when Manjaro was angry, men were wary. When the person he was angry with stood their ground, they said a prayer to the gods for the fool’s soul. When the fool seemed unconcerned, those watching trembled with adrenaline, knowing they were about to witness a brutal death.

Such was the case aboard the karve, currently making its way across rough seas to a patch of swirling water. All men held tightly to their oars as they watched Manjaro yell into the face of their passenger- a man they called Draco. They called him this because of a necklace of teeth hanging across his bare chest, which he claimed came from a dragon. He had no hair on his head, a long, thick mustache that curved around his mouth and drooped down past his chin, was only a head shorter than Manjaro, and he was seemingly as unaffected by the cold as he was by Manjaro’s anger. He was the lone escort of a queen who had commissioned them for the trip, who currently rode in the hold with the livestock. An arrangement which was not to the men’s liking, and which Manjaro finally decided to speak up about.

“It’s bad luck for a woman to be aboard! We’ve lost five men to the raiding party, just out of port! Two to the waves! Three to the cold!” The men grunted their support with each count, and continued to do so as he listed the casualties so far. “Two disappeared in that damned thick fog we had a couple of nights ago! We lost one in the attack of the giant devilfish! And one went into the hold for supplies and never came back out again!”

Draco stood casually, with his fists on his hips, waiting for Manjaro to finish. Then he said, “I killed the man who entered the hold.” Everyone went silent at that, including Manjaro.

From his position overlooking the men at their oars, Finnrick spoke up. Not bothering to hide the anger in his voice, he challenged, “What did you just say?”

Draco looked at him with no more concern than he had for Manjaro. “I told you I would bring out whatever supplies were required by the crew. The terms of your commission included that no one may enter the hold. None may lay eyes upon the queen. He did both. So I killed him.”

The crew remained silent. Manjaro still stood, seething, chest heaving with his anger. So he smiled when Finnrick said, “Manjaro, kill him and throw him overboard. Then guard the hold for the remainder of the voyage.”

The massive Viking closed what little space there was between himself and Draco, and through gritted teeth, he said, “Now, Draco, you find out why they call me Manjaro the Manslayer.” Then he heaved the mace into the air, and brought it down with an angry roar.

Draco caught the head of the mace in his hand, stopping it’s swing. Manjaro gaped. The escort, still unconcerned, said, “That would be impressive, boy, if I were a man.” He then hit Manjaro in the chest with the flat of his palm, shoving him several paces backwards, where he fell over the first row of oar benches. “And I’m tired of telling you: my name…is Heironymous.”

Manjaro started to get up when Finnrick called out, “We’re here!”

The men looked out at the swirling water. “What do you expect to find here?” asked Finnrick.

As if in answer, a giant beast rose out of the water, it’s long, gray neck towering over the ship. Heironymous answered, “That- Leviathan.” Looking to the mage, Ulrich the Unnatural, he asked, “Do you have the item I entrusted you with?”

Ulrich produced a small glowing spike and answered, “It is here.”

Heironymous took the spike, looked at Leviathan, and said, “Wait for me to return.” He then ran for the stern of the ship, jumped to the rail, and bounded off at the beast. Both roared hellishly, drowning out the sound of the wind and waves.

“What the hell is he?” Manjaro whispered, clearly in awe.

“He’s a dragon,” answered Ulrich. “Now watch.”

“Row, men!” commanded Finnrick. “Get back from this beast!” Manjaro and Ulrich took a place at the benches, and all leaned into their oars, happy to put distance between them and the battle.

Heironymous was clinging to the base of the beast’s long neck, and did not go unnoticed. Leviathan swung it’s massive head downwards, trying to catch Heironymous in his jaws. Undeterred, Heironymous swung his fist in a backhand, knocking the sea dragon backwards, if only slightly. Leviathan roared in anger, and Heironymous fell into the surf. Leviathan lost no time in diving after him.

The crew watched the water anxiously, the area still frothing and swirling, and now angrily bubbling with the activity underneath the surface. Then the water broke suddenly, and Leviathan came towering out of the water again, and now grappling with a second beast, this one a deep, dark purple. The men gasped, and then Manjaro shouted, “Look! The new one holds the glowing spike!”

Finnrick, his blond locks dancing in the high wind, looked wild eyed on Ulrich. “What in the name of the gods is happening here, mage?”

“That’s Heironymous!” declared Ulrich. “This is his true form, Finnrick!”

Finnrick didn’t speak for a second. He just looked out at the battle. Then he looked back again and said, “Then the queen…”

“…Is also a dragon,” concluded Manjaro. “That explains the livestock, and why their lowing grows less and less as the voyage goes on.”

They turned their attention back to the battle, the dragons still grappling with each other, long necks alternately intertwined in struggle and then swinging away at each other’s bodies. Powerful jaws clamped down again and again on their adversaries. Fearsome roars raged over the storm, and bursts of flame lit the sky. The crew of the karve looked on anxiously, hoping for Heironymous’ victory, but only because he was at least the beast that they knew.

Finally, Heironymous swung the talon gripping the spike backwards, and then plunged it into the heart of the beast. Leviathan roared in pain- its loudest yet- and bit down once more on Heironymous’ body, before finally succumbing. His coils slackened and he fell beneath the waves. The crew saw what appeared to be several glowing items falling into the water with him. Heironymous dove after him.

Long minutes passed, and the water continued to churn and swirl. Then it began to calm, and still, Heironymous did not reappear. They waited silently, peering out into the now dark night that hung over the sea.

Finnrick was about to order the men to turn back towards port, when they heard something bump the side of the ship. Then Leviathan’s head swung over the rail, and thudded onto the deck. His mouth fell open, and several glowing spikes tumbled out, of various colors. Heironymous, back in human form, pulled himself up over the rail, and found himself looking at the Manslayer. Manjaro gripped his hand firmly, and helped him onto the deck of the karve.

Looking at Finnrick, Heironymous said, “This is what we came for. Let’s head back.” With that, he gathered the spikes back into Leviathan’s mouth and dragged the head into the hold. Ulrich pulled the hold door shut behind him, careful not to look inside.

The crew was silent for a minute, and then Finnrick called out, “Heave to the oars, men! We’ll raise the sail when the storm dies down! Row!” The men pulled to the oars, and started the jouney home.