#circus tf

The Legacy of Kazan, the Fire-Eater

Kazan, a great Firebender and Strongman. Legendary in the Fire Nation as a national symbol of Strength and character. Having founded the original wandering Circus, Kazan would tame wild Platypus Bears or terrible Armadillo Tigers with his barehands.

Securing his name in legend, Kazan tamed a Dragon, earning him the title of Fire-Eater. Yet that was many generations ago now, but Kazan remain well loved. His famous bracers becoming an artifact of much desire, carried by the Wandering Circus to this day and put on display for special holidays.

“Must be nice,” Jiro muttered, staring up at the poster. “People cheering when you walk into a room.”

Jiro had come a long way to see the Circus while it wandered the Fire Nation's shores. Despite being a man, Jiro was frightfully average. Neither tall nor short, big nor tall. Neither handsome or ugly. He was simply Jiro.

And yet... Jiro would gaze in awe at the many acrobats and benders, how their talents would bring them fame and acclaim. Even the especially beautiful or ugly would garner attention and he burned with envy.

Looking up at a poster of Kazan, his huge muscles, finely groomed beard and chiselled features, he felt someone shoulder check him out of his revelry: "What does a guy have to do to be noticed around here?!" he cried out, hauling himself to his feet.

He looked around for a moment, seeing the people who'd knocked him over rush over to a huge tent where already Jiro could hear the gasps and cheers of an enraptured crowd.

Jiro thought for a moment; "Maybe I could find something... while everyone's distracted." he thought impishly to himself. Sneaking under one of the tents, he made his way to where the performers were set up, moving from small tent to small tent until he saw one that caught his attention and grinning to himself, he made his way inside.

Once inside Jiro's eyes flashed seeing a well-cared for tent and a heavy chest shoved under a table. The lock had rusted open. Peeking inside, wrapped in dark cloth, lay a pair of enormous bracers — black and crimson leather, gold-rimmed, each marked with a curling flame insignia.

He lifted one with both hands. It was absurdly heavy.

“How did anyone perform in these?”

The bracer warmed. Sparks crawled over the flame symbol.

“Ow—hot!” he cried out in shock as much as pain, nearly dropping it in surprised, but curiosity held him. Joking weakly to himself, he slid it onto his forearm.

The bracer snapped shut and Jiro froze.

“Wait—”

The second bracer rose from the chest on its own, turning slowly in the air. Jiro staggered back, waving his hand.

“No. No, I’m not putting on the other—”

It shot forward, wizzing through the air and clamped around his other wrist.

Firelight exploded through the room.

Jiro fell to his knees, crying out. His fingers twitched, then thickened. Veins rose across his hands. The bracers burned like living metal, like something alive. Like Dragon's breath.

A voice rolled through the changing room, deep, commanding and... amused?

“Small hands.”

Jiro looked around wildly. “Who said that?”

“But they will do.”

In the mirror, his reflection shifted. Behind him stood the shape of the poster come alive: Kazan, he recognised him from the posters, huge and smiling, his eyes lit like embers.

Jiro scrambled backward, but his arms swelled heavier. His sleeves stretched tight around growing forearms.

“Haha! At last, The Fire-Eater returns to the stage,” the voice said.

“No!” Jiro grabbed the bracers and tried to wrench them off. “Get off! I’m not your performer!”

The bracers tightened in response. They had found their prey and weren't going to release it so easily.

His body jerked upright as if yanked by invisible strings. His shoulders broadened. His back pressed hard against his shirt until the seams began to split.

“A performer belongs to the crowd,” Kazan whispered carefully.

Jiro stumbled into a table, reaching for something to steady himself. His hand closed around a massive iron weight, one he had watched three men carry earlier that evening.

He lifted it without effort.

The weight dangled from his hand like a toy.

“That…” Jiro whispered. “That was impossible.”

“Not for me.” Kazan spoke, "I was the first to show strength as a virtue. To embolden the Fire Nation's flame and shine it everywhere I went. "

His jaw tightened. His brow grew heavier. In the mirror, his face sharpened, becoming stronger, harsher. He touched his cheek with trembling fingers.

“My face…”

“A strongman must be seen from the back row.”

His hair spilled longer down his shoulders, pulling back into a performer’s tie. Dark facial hair spread neatly along his jaw and chin. His chest expanded, tearing the remains of his shirt away. Body hair darkened across his broadening torso as the bracers dragged him toward the costume rack.

Red and black fabric whipped around him like liquid flames.

“No!” Jiro shouted. “I don’t want to go out there!” he said, internally berating himself for wanting more. For wanting to be the centre of attention instead of enjoying the side-lines.

His old clothes ripped apart and in its place a strongman’s performance costume wrapped around his waist, flame-marked and theatrical. He was larger now, powerful enough to shake the floor simply by stepping.

“You already are” Kazan said.

The room dissolved as Jiro's head spun. He found himself standing in an ancient circus ring under war banners and flame-lit towers. A crowd roared from the darkness.

“KAZAN! KAZAN! KAZAN!”

“No... That isn’t my name,” Jiro said, covering his ears.

Kazan stood across from him, enormous and calm.

“There is always a crowd.”

Visions burned through the air: ancient Fire Nation performers kneeling before Kazan; smaller men wearing bracers like Jiro’s; bodies swelling, fear turning to pride. Some bent iron. Some lifted stones. Some breathed fire before cheering spectators.

“Long before” Kazan said, “I trained firebenders beneath war banners and flame-lit tents. Weak men came to me trembling. I forged them into spectacle.”

“You changed them,” Jiro said, horrified.

“I burnt away their weakness. I forged their bodies and minds.”

Jiro backed away. “I’m not your student!”

Kazan smiled.

“No.” The word struck harder than a blow.

“You are my return.”

Jiro snapped. For one bright moment, he found his courage. He clenched his huge hands and shouted into Kazan’s face.

“I don’t care how strong you were! This is my body!”

The sound of the crowd dimmed, like it was some imaginable distance away.

Kazan raised one bracer-covered hand. “No,” he said. “It is the body the bracers remembered. The one the Dragon's burned into it."

The bracers ignited.

Fire surged through Jiro’s wrists, up his arms, into his chest and skull. The crowd’s chanting crashed over him like a wave. His shadow stretched across the ring, growing broader, taller, until Kazan’s shadow swallowed it whole.

Jiro’s mouth opened, he wanted to curse, to accuse, to say anything! But he couldn't. As if the fire was burning up all the words he was going to say. Instead, he felt other words coming, ones that weren't burnt up...

“I… I am…”

Kazan leaned closer... “Say it, say it now!"

Jiro’s fear cracked. His eyes burned. His posture straightened. His expression shifted from terror to triumph.

“I am…! KAZAN!”

The changing room returned.

The transformed man stood before the mirror, no longer shaking. His body was massive, brawny, hairy, and powerful. His hair fell long behind him. His beard was tidy and proud. The bracers glowed on his wrists as if they had always belonged there.

The circus master and two assistants peeked through the doorway.

“Jiro…?”

The strongman turned with a slow smile. “That boy has left the ring.”

The assistants recoiled. The circus master swallowed.

The man rolled his shoulders and started toward the tunnel, firelight rippling across his chest.

“Tell them Kazan himself performs tonight.”

In a blink that might have been a second or an eternity, he stepped into the great tent once more and The crowd gasped, then erupted.

Kazan spread his arms beneath the blazing lights, the background dim behind him, every eye fixed on his reborn form.

“KAZAN! KAZAN! KAZAN!”

He smiled wider.

“Louder.” he roared, and the crowd responded.

The bracers had found a body and The Fire-Eater had found his stage.

----

I wanted to spend a little bit more time on this one than usual. Better than it being just another King, I wanted to mix it up a bit.