The Threat of Children: Kid Archetypes in Fantasy and Sci-Fi

Kids throughout fantasy and sci-fi stories are cute, silly, and naive. They're also dangerous. We look at examples from Avatar: The Last Airbender, Star Wars and more.
Avatar: The Last Airbender, photo courtesy Nickelodeon
Avatar: The Last Airbender, photo courtesy Nickelodeon /
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Children play a unique role in fantasy and science fiction. Like young characters across all media, children in these genres endear themselves to audiences because they're cute, silly, or naive, qualities we associate with children in real life. Fantasy and science fiction, however, are two genres concerned with more than just real life. They imagine new or alternate realities, and in many of these realities, children aren't just sweet, innocent creatures. They pose threats to power great and small, individual and imperial. Whether they're challenging an empire or softening a witcher's heart, young people in fantasy/sci-fi disrupt the status quo.

In recent years, three kid archetypes have risen to prominence: The "Kid Hero," the "Kid Villain," and the "Kid Baggage. " The first two are self-explanatory, and the third I label with affectionate sarcasm. "Kid Baggage" refers to characters like Ciri (The Witcher), Grogu (The Mandalorian), or Azymondias (The Dragon Prince) who require protection from other characters. They are each complex characters in and of themselves, but helplessness plays a fundamental role in their character arcs, at least at first.

In this article, we'll examine each of these archetypes. Each role teaches us something unique about what it means to be young. Kids are messy, and it's not enough for them to save the world or change it. They have to grow up in the process. Understanding them better might help us grow up a little more, too.

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Avatar: The Last Airbender. Gordon Cormier as Aang in episode 101 of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Cr. Robert Falconer/Netflix © 2023 /

The Hero

Aang (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Fantasy stories ask questions like, "What would it be like to have magic?" or "What would it be like to ride a flying sky bison?" Fantasy creates whole new worlds for us to escape to and immerse ourselves in. By doing so, they free us from the constraints of reality, allowing us to imagine how we might make different decisions if we were just a little more...fantastic.

In the Four Nations of Avatar: The Last Airbender, there's no one more fantastic than Aang. He's the Avatar, the only person capable of bending all four elements: air, water, earth and fire. This unique ability comes with unique responsibility: Aang is "the chosen one," the person who must restore balance to the world, which means he must defeat the tyrannical Fire Lord.

Also, he's 12.

Aang is a soft-hearted, often silly child whose character arc requires him to grow up, mature, and take responsibility for his role as the Avatar. All of this builds up to his final encounter with Ozai, the ruler of the expansionsist Fire Nation. Everything Aang has endured through his journey has prepared him for this moment, but when he's faced with the reality that "defeating" the Fire Lord means "killing" him, he balks.

In the real world — and even in Aang's world — most would see killing Ozai as a necessary evil. Eventually, we grow up and accept certain difficult realities. We certainly don't want anyone to die, but in the context of war, killing seems necessary. Aang's reluctance to follow through with killing is understandable because he is so young, but overcoming that reluctance seems like the final step to growing up and fulfilling his destiny. Anything less would be a retreat into childish weakness and naivete. Yet it's Aang's reluctance that leads him to the Lion Turtle and, ultimately, to learn how to take Ozai's bending away, disarming him rather than destroying him.

Aang's persistent childlike-ness, his refusal to harden his heart to "the realities of the world," make him more powerful and more wise. His journey makes us wonder what decisions we've made to "grow up" and accept certain realities, as well as what we've surrendered by making those decisions. What wisdom have we sacrificed?

Stranger Things
Stranger Things season 1, Millie Bobby Brown as Eleven. /

Eleven (Stranger Things)

One of the many things that makes Stranger Things a great show is its ensemble of protagonists, spanning from elementary school age to adulthood. There's no denying, however, that Eleven is the heart of the show and its main hero. Her powers open the gate to the Upside Down, and it will (probably) be her power that ultimately saves Hawkins and the world. In some ways, Eleven is the origin of the show's conflict as well as its resolution.

Sounds an awful lot like being a teenager.

Eleven's powers make her a superhero, but they also attract malicious forces that cause her great suffering. Her surrogate father, “Papa,” turns Eleven into a lab experiment. Her adoptive father, Hopper, has much better intentions for Eleven, but even he keeps her locked away in a cabin for fear of people discovering and mistreating her. There is constant tension revolving around who cares for Eleven and how she gets to use her powers.

Through this tension, Stranger Things asks the question: How do we treat the power young people have? Do we try to capitalize on it? Do we treat it with skepticism? Do we fear it? Or do we embrace and support it?

As powerful as Eleven is, in every season of Stranger Things she needs help to survive (season 1), to find freedom (season 2), to explore her powers (season 3), or to regain them (season 4). One thing that makes the ensemble around her so wonderful is the way they stand beside her. Her friends and family might not do it right the first time, but, eventually, they have her back.

Eleven isn't the kind of superhero many of us would like to pretend we could be. There's too much pain in her story. The world of Stranger Things is a frightening one. But the way her friends and adoptive family respond to her pain and her powers does give us something to aspire to. We want to believe we would respond to Eleven the way Mike, Will, Dustin, and Lucas do, or the way Hopper and Joyce do.

If we let it, Eleven's story leads us to contemplate the young people in our own lives who walk a daily tightrope between power and pain. Do we ignore the forces they struggle against, pretending they aren’t real? Do we try to use their power for our own benefit? Or do we align ourselves with their struggle, supporting them and fighting alongside them?

Everyones Enemy
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The Baggage

Ciri (The Witcher)

Disclaimer: The following section examines Ciri as she's depicted in The Witcher television series, streaming on Netflix. It does not include the breadth of her story in any of The Witcher novels or video games.

Princess Cirilla of Cintra is tearing apart The Continent of The Witcher. Literally, her scream in season 1 creates a seismic-level rift in the ground. Figuratively, her very existence leads to invasion, war, and infighting amongst nations and mages alike. She has the ability to create inter-dimensional gateways and spends some time possessed by a malicious demon witch. At any given point in the series, Ciri poses a physical and existential threat to everyone, including herself.

But the person she poses the greatest threat to is Henry Cavill...I mean, Geralt of Rivia, the professional monster hunter who has become her surrogate father.

When we first meet Geralt in The Witcher, the most fitting word to describe his relationship with the world around him is "detached." He goes about his business of hunting monsters for money and does his best to resist the temptation to get roped into the geopolitical nastiness unfolding around him. When Triss Marigold, a mage, asks him in "Betrayer Moon," "Is that all life is to you, monsters and money?" Geralt replies, "It's all it needs to be."

In the very next episode, however, Geralt accidentally forges a connection with Ciri, even though she isn't born yet. He entwines his destiny with hers through the Law of Surprise, but he immediately rejects this connection. Instead, he leaves Cintra and goes on living his life, doing witchery things like hunting monsters for money and getting annoyed by Jaskier the bard. Despite his insistence on remaining detached from everyone and anything not named "Roach," Geralt's journey ultimately stitches him back to the world and the people in it. He is led back to Ciri.

When Geralt returns to Cintra to protect Ciri from the invading army of Nilfgaard, he declares, "I can't be bought." We see how his sense of obligation to Ciri has softened his previous callousness. The transition may make him a little less of a witcher, but it makes him a hero worth rooting for.

Children stitch us to the world. They are a threat to selfishness and, in Geralt's case, willful ignorance. We have an obligation to them, and that obligation can mean upheaval. If you've ever walked through a household with a four-year-old, you understand this. Protecting Ciri requires Geralt to face physical danger, but, more importantly, it completely reorients his character around a different set of priorities.

If we're as brave as the White Wolf, young people in our real lives — our children, nieces and nephews, students, and neighbors — can have a similar impact on us.

THE MANDALORIAN, Season 3
(L-R): Peli Motto (Amy Sedaris) and Grogu in Lucasfilm's THE MANDALORIAN, season three, exclusively on Disney+. ©2023 Lucasfilm Ltd. & TM. All Rights Reserved. /

Grogu (The Mandalorian)

Grogu, a.k.a. "Baby Yoda," is a walking (kind of), talking (sort of), plush toy. Technically, he's 50 years old when we meet him in The Mandalorian, but he's still very much a child. Although he is strong with the Force, Grogu requires Din Djarin's protection and, eventually, his mentorship.

Grogu is about as cute as anything can possibly be, which is partly (mostly) what endears him to us as viewers, as well as to Din Djarin. Leaving Grogu to fend for himself would be like turning your back on a labradoodle puppy.

Grogu’s character functions very similarly to Ciri in The Witcher: Djarin risks death to protect Grogu, but the more dangerous threat Baby Yoda poses to him is connection. Mando is skilled at deflecting blaster fire, but agonizing over the proper way to care for his ward is not something his Beskar armor can help him with.

The experience of becoming an adoptive father ultimately pushes the Mandalorian to question the very creed he lives by. He risks (and eventually suffers) expulsion from The Children of the Watch in order to protect Grogu. Although he eventually redeems himself and rejoins the Mandalorians, Djarin is a changed person because Grogu has shifted his priorities.

We often associate growing up with steeling ourselves against the world. We put on armor, which makes us strong and helps us overcome our own struggles and insecurities. Children, however, challenge us to be vulnerable, and that requires us to shed our armor at times.

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Barriss Offee (Meredith Salenger) from Star Wars The Clone Wars. Image credit: starwars.com /

The Villain

Barriss Offee (The Clone Wars)

I love seeing bumper stickers that read, "Baby Jedi on board" or "Baby Rebel on board." For obvious reasons, I've never seen one that reads "Baby Sith on board."

Children don't often play villains. Even in movies and shows for children, the villains are usually adults (which is worth reflecting on, but that's a different article). One of the few things most of us can agree on is that we don't want to see young people responsible for inflicting lasting harm to others. Children are our real hope for building a better world, which is why true kid villains make for intensely tragic characters: Our hope for them gets snuffed out. Such is the case with Barriss Offee.

Barriss Offee is a friend and ally of Ahsoka Tano in Star Wars: The Clone Wars. They work together as Jedi apprentices and young Jedi Knights. Somewhere along the way, however, Barriss loses her way and betrays the Jedi. She orchestrates an attack on the Jedi Temple and frames Ahsoka for the crime. Eventually she is caught by Anakin, but not before permanently undermining Ahsoka's trust in her master and the Jedi Order in general.

Barriss' capture, however, comes with a moment of significant irony. When she confesses to the Senate, she calls the Jedi "an army fighting for the dark side." Not even Offee realizes the full truth of her statement, but she is 100% correct. The Clone Wars were instigated and perpetuated by Palpatine as a way for the Sith to undermine the Republic, seize power, and destroy the Jedi.

Barriss reacts to her insight through terror and retribution, which is inexcusable. However, she assessed the situation surrounding the Clone Wars with a clarity not even the wisest Jedi Masters were able to see. In media, literature, and real life, children often see with clarity and conviction adults lack, for better or worse. This is what makes Barriss' downfall so tragic: She is almost right, and we, the viewers, are left wondering how things might have worked out differently for the galaxy if Barriss had chosen to use her insight for the light side rather than the dark.

It's heartbreaking when anyone in any galaxy succumbs to hatred and violence, but when a young person loses their way, it comes with an additional layer of tragedy. In Barriss’ case, that tragedy leads to dramatic repercussions not only for her but for characters throughout the Star Wars universe. These shockwaves are still playing out before our eyes.

Barriss' betrayal prompts Ahsoka to leave the Jedi and abandon Anakin, something we watched her reckon with during the first season of Ahsoka, many years later. Now, Disney has announced a new series called Tales of the Empire, where it looks like Barriss will descend deeper into the dark side. If this turns out to be true, what additional damage will she wreak on the galaxy? How much more will she scar her own heart with hatred?

We don't know yet what will become of Barriss Offee, if she will find redemption by her own hand or another's. But her story thus far reminds us that children grow up and become something. They can become a threat to the Empire or a threat to the Rebels. How we train them often determines which path they'll choose.

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Avatar: The Last Airbender. (L to R) Arden Cho as June, Dallas Liu as Prince Zuko, Paul Sun-Hyung Lee as Iroh in season 1 of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Cr. Robert Falconer/Netflix © 2024 /

Zuko (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

On the rare occasions we do encounter a kid villain, we usually ask two questions: What happened to them? And how will they be saved?

For Barriss Offee, we don’t know the full answers to these questions. It’s part of what makes Tales of the Empire so exciting. But there’s another character, in a different galaxy, whose character arc is a patient, beautiful, three-season-long answer to both questions: Prince Zuko, the son of Fire Lord Ozai.

We spend most of Avatar: The Last Airbender hoping Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph will either escape Zuko or earth-bend a rock straight in his angsty face. In between those moments, however, we learn why Zuko started hunting the Aang in the first place.

Before the events of the show, Zuko's father challenged him to a duel for disrespecting a Fire Nation general. By the end of that duel, Zuko was defeated, scarred, and exiled from the Fire Nation until he captured the Avatar. You don't need to be an expert in attachment theory to understand how messed up that is. Given his brutal upbringing, we quickly learn to empathize with Zuko and root for him.

It's not uncommon these days for our villains to have backstories of physical, psychological, or emotional abuse. These backstories humanize villains and even make us sympathize towards them. With both children and adults, these traumas are presented as rationales, as explanations for why this person acts the way they do. But with adult villains, we don't actually believe the person can still change, or even want them to. Even if the villain has a last-second change of heart, it usually happens right before they die.

When we learn Zuko’s backstory, however, we still have hope. Real hope. He's still young, we think. He has time to figure it out. He still has Uncle Iroh. Zuko's story is a reminder that young people with scars can still learn to love and live well. Even when kids seem like villains, they can still become heroes if we don’t give up on them.

The Threat of Change

Other than their age, the young characters above have one thing in common: they have great power. It would be easy to connect their stories to one last young hero who learned from his Uncle Ben, “With great power comes great responsibility.” But in these stories — as in real life — children rarely walk a straight path. They must question the nature of responsibility itself to figure out who they are and what path they'll walk.

As their hearts and minds grow, they change the hearts and minds of their friends, family, and enemies. They change the continent, the world, and the galaxy.

And they challenge us to do the same in our own world.

Next. All 6 books in James Clavell's Asian Saga (including Shōgun) ranked worst to best. All 6 books in James Clavell's Asian Saga (including Shōgun) ranked worst to best. dark

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