Chapter Text
The silver brilliance of the full moon hung over the Forest Reserve like a watchful eye, turning the sea to liquid mercury. The manatee-whale ferry glided to a silent halt against the sand.
Kiyoi stepped onto the beach, her boots sinking into the wet grit. She was dressed in charcoal head to toe, a plate of treated leather over her dampened clothes. Her waterskin was slung across her shoulder, the gentle slosh of the water within a comforting anchor against her.
Behind her, Suki and Ty Lee led a unit of Kyoshi Warriors and Imperial Guards, their movements fluid and predatory. 'The fishermen reported the "spirit fires" on the eastern side,' Kiyoi whispered over the gentle waves. 'We conduct a sweep from the shoreline inward. Stay in pairs. Keep your eyes on the treeline. Move out.'
As the warriors fanned out into the silver-dappled shadows of the ancient trees, Kiyoi closed her eyes and took a long, steadying breath.
She pushed her awareness outward, tapping into the technique Katara and Toph had helped her name: Ripple Sight. Usually, it was a skill she could only use when submerged—a way to feel the shift of currents and the movement of creatures and boats through the waves. But tonight, the full moon was humming in the sky, and its pull was absolute.
On nights like this, the “ripples” weren't in the water. They were in the air, in the soil, and most potently, in the marrow of every living thing around her.
She wasn't sure if this heightened state was a natural evolution of her training or a dark, lingering residue of that night two years ago—the night she had been forced to bloodbend to survive. Whether it was the water or the blood that sang to her, she didn't know. All she knew was that since that night, the zenith of the moon meant she could no longer sleep.
In the palace, the full moon was a curse; she would lie awake, feeling the rhythmic pulse of her neighbours in their slumber, the rigid alertness of the guards in the hall, and the pottering presence of Sensen across the hall. She felt the palace not as a building, but as a hive of warm, pulsing life.
But tonight, the curse was a gift.
She crept through the undergrowth, her senses splayed wide. She ignored the frantic, tiny pull of the island’s toucan puffins and the slow, cool rhythm of the fire skinks in the brush. She was searching for two specific currents: one familiar and warm, a comforting rhythm, and another she imagined—jagged, scalding, and volatile.
The forest seemed to breathe with her. Every step she took was a question asked, waiting for the ripple of a human presence to answer back. Somewhere in this green labyrinth, Zuko was waiting, and Kiyoi was as unstoppable as the tide, coming to claim him back.
The rafters of the auction hall were a maze of dust and shadows. The Blue Spirit crouched on a crossbeam, his enraged breath held in his chest as he watched two handlers below. They were poking at the iron bars of a small cage with brass rods, laughing as the baby badger-mole whimpered and tried to burrow into the metal floor of its prison.
Patience, he told himself, though his blood simmered.
He watched a group of servants and heavily armed guards carry a lacquer-work chest to the staging area. They began to lay out silk cushions with a reverence that bordered on the religious. Zuko didn't move. He wouldn't strike yet; it was better to let them do the heavy lifting of opening the chest before he went for the goods.
He slunk through the shadows toward the holding area, a secure alcove behind the stage where parcels were being wrapped and tagged. He dropped silently behind the counter, moving with shadows. His eyes scanned the tags until they found the elegant calligraphy: Property of the Fire Lord.
He grabbed the bone knife, theatre mask and necklace, tucking them securely into his sack. The sound of a heavy latch clicking open drew his attention back to the staging area. The guards had finished unboxing the final items.
Zuko froze, his heart stopping in his chest.
There, resting on the cushions, were three relics that shouldn't have been within a thousand miles of this place: a carved wind-flute, a bronze wind-chime, and a set of meditation beads made of weathered wood.
The sight of them—stolen from the temples, likely during the same raids that had decimated Aang’s people—sent a jolt of pure, white-hot fury through him. This wasn't just greed; this was a desecration.
New plan. Actually steal the big-ticket items rather than just attempt to steal them. He was going to need a weapon. And luckily, he knew exactly where to find one.
He searched the shelf before him for Item number Two, spotting the rectangular parcel. Fortunately, it was marked for a “Mr. Chan.” Zuko’s lips curled into a dry grin; he remembered a certain asshole from Ember Island who shared that name. He tore back a wrap to reveal a pair of antique broadswords crafted in Yu Dao.
He already owned finer blades, but these were balanced, sharp, and perfect for the role he needed to play.
The guard stationed at the holding area still had his back turned, oblivious to the shadow behind him. Zuko didn't hesitate. He unsheathed the swords with a twin hiss of steel.
In one blurred movement, he crossed the blades in a lethal 'X' over the guard’s throat, the cold metal pressing against the man’s skin. Before the guard could react, he disarmed the man, kicking the guard’s spear across the floor.
The guard let out a strangled, terrified shout of ‘Intruder!’
Every head in the room snapped toward the holding area. Zuko didn't hide. He stepped into the light, the Blue Spirit mask snarling back at them.
The merchants in the main hall were still blissfully unaware of the chaos, but here, the air was electric.
Zuko remained deathly silent. He didn't need words; the twin broadswords and the snarling blue mask spoke for him. He sheathed one blade with a metallic shick, keeping the other pressed firmly against his captive guard's neck. With a forceful shove, he marched the man toward the velvet cushions where the Air Nomad relics lay.
Zuko held out the sack with his other hand. He gave a sharp, imperious nod toward a timid hostess standing by the display.
‘What... what do I do?’ she stammered, her eyes darting toward the half-dozen guards who had rushed into the room. They hovered warily, spears levelled, waiting for the slightest opening to strike.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, hooded figure slip into the room. Toph moved like a shadow. She reached the badger-mole’s cage. Her fingers danced over the iron lock, the metal pins inside reshaping themselves silently under her touch. She wasn't breaking it; she was re-authoring it, leaving no trace of a struggle.
Zuko realised the guards were too focused on their captive comrade to be truly compliant. He needed a different kind of leverage. He shoved the guard away and hooked an arm around the hostess instead.
The guards instantly stepped back, their faces pale. That was the reaction he needed—to them, the Blue Spirit was a demon of legend. He leaned down, his lips close to the girl's ear, and whispered in a low rasp that barely carried past the mask.
‘I am not going to hurt you,’ he murmured. ‘Hold the bag.’
The girl shakily took the sack, her hands trembling so hard the fabric rustled. She looked at one of the guards nearest to the artefacts—a man she clearly knew. ‘Jiro, please! Put the things in the bag. Just do what he wants!’
At her command, the guard didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his hands shaking as he placed the wind-flute, the bronze chime, and the meditation beads into the open bag. As the last item settled, a surge of relief and adrenaline washed over Zuko.
He walked them back a few paces, putting more distance between them.
‘Good girl,’ he murmured appreciatively into the hostess’s ear.
A small gasp escaping her as she shivered in his hold.
Zuko’s mind short-circuited for a split second. It seems the words had slipped out with a connotation he hadn't intended. ‘No! Uh… I mean thank—‘
He didn't have time to dwell on it.
CRACK.
The floorboards at the far end of the room exploded upward in a shower of splinters and dirt.
All heads snapped toward the source of the noise just in time to see the hooded figure and the baby badger-mole vanish into a yawning tunnel into the foundations.
Zuko snatched the bag and shoved the hostess toward the nearest guard, and in the same motion, slammed a theatre smoke bomb onto the floor.
A thick, cloud of grey-white fog billowed up, swallowing his form in an instant. Zuko didn't wait. He slung the sack onto his back and drew both swords, the steel singing as he deflected the wild, blind jabs of spears and swords through the haze. He moved by instinct and memory; his body a streak of black against the white smoke.
He reached the edge of the tunnel and leapt. He felt the rush of cold air as he plummeted into the darkness, and a second later, the sound of Toph’s earthbending rumbled above him. The earth surged, backfilling the hole with a heavy, final thud, sealing the demon and his treasures away from the world above.
The forest was a cathedral of silver and ink. The ancient trees were twisted into skeletal shapes by the moonlight. Kiyoi moved like a shadow through the ferns, her body humming with the lunar pull. Every drop of dew on the leaves, every pocket of mist in the hollows, felt like an extension of her own fingertips.
Ty Lee trailed half a step behind her, her footsteps entirely silent.
'We’ll find him, Kiyoi,' Ty Lee whispered. 'He’ll be alright. Zuko’s a survivor.'
'We need to be quiet,' Kiyoi hushed, her eyes darting toward a cluster of banyan-grove roots. 'Sound carries differently under the canopy.'
‘I know it’s hard, but try relax,’ Ty Lee reached out, her fingers ghosting over Kiyoi’s shoulder. 'I can sense the anxiety radiating off you. You should try to calm yourself; your chi won’t flow well if you have to fight. You’re wound as tight as a bowstring.'
Kiyoi slowed her pace, though she didn't turn around. 'I don't know if he is alright, Ty Lee. I just don’t know, and that scares me. If he is injured... if I am too late...'
'Azula is many things,' Ty Lee said, her tone shifting into something uncharacteristically somber. 'She’s cruel, and she’s tried to kill him in battle more times than I can count. But she doesn't do physical torture, not by herself anyway. It’s too... messy for her. She prefers manipulation and games. She usually wants to see people break from the inside first. I don’t think she’s hurt him…' Ty Lee paused, her head tilting as if listening to a memory. 'I don't think anyone else understands it, but in some twisted, broken way... Azula loves Zuko more than anyone.'
Kiyoi’s jaw tightened. 'Twenty percent more of zero is still zero, Ty Lee.'
'I’m just saying, this is all a game to her,' Ty Lee cautioned, her hand dropping away. 'I’m sure Zuko is fine. I’m more worried that it’s actually you she is after. You’re the one she can touch. Hurting you, hurts Zuko in a way a knife never could. I think that’s why she requested you for the exchange.'
'I know,' Kiyoi murmured, her fingers curling around the stopper of her waterskin. 'But she think’s I’m dumb enough to let her pick the field, she really is slipping.'
Ty Lee didn't answer immediately; she just watched Kiyoi with a soft, knowing smile.
'What?' Kiyoi asked, her tone defensive.
'Nothing,' Ty Lee replied softly. 'He’s just very lucky to have you.'
Kiyoi froze. The word lucky felt heavy, laden with a meaning she wasn't ready to examine while she was carrying the weight of a nation on her shoulders. She turned away, her face flushing, and pushed her Ripple Sight further into the dark.
She caught it then.
A pulse.
It wasn't the jagged, frantic heat of a predator or the cold, slow rhythm of a reptile. It was a slow, steady thrum.
Thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump...
Kiyoi signaled with a sharp hand gesture, pointing ahead. They both were silent.
She focused her mind, filtering out everything else. The presence wasn't moving. It was stationary, tucked away in a small crevice or a cave. The ripple was calm. She knew that specific pull. It was the sensation that carried from the surrounding rooms at the hour of the fourth watch—finally quiet. It was a body in total repose.
'They’re sleeping,' Kiyoi whispered, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Kiyoi drew a small, controlled stream of water from her skin, the liquid spiraling around her wrist like a shimmering serpent. She signaled Ty Lee to flank left. They moved in, inch by inch, the silver light revealing a small stone structure half-swallowed by vines—an old hermit’s cell or an outpost long forgotten.
The sudden chime of a bell sliced through the forest’s silence.
Kiyoi’s heart leapt into her throat as she spotted a pair of her warriors tripping a concealed wire meters to the right of her. Instantly, the calm pulse she had been tracking transformed. It didn't just wake; it ignited.
The hair on Kiyoi's arms stood on end.
Her body knew what that meant.
Kiyoi moved with a fluid, desperate grace. She threw her arm out, the ribbon of water from her skin lengthening into a shimmering conduit.
The lightning tore through the ferns, a jagged spear of lethal energy aimed directly towards the noise and pair of warriors.
She didn't try to block the lightning—she invited it. Her stream caught the bolt, the liquid glowing a terrifying neon blue as it crackled, suspended in a writhing watery prison. With a sharp, twist of her body, she redirected the charge away from the warriors and into a nearby mossy boulder.
The stone shattered with a deafening crack.
'Impressive,' a voice hissed from the darkness of the cell. 'I’d heard rumours, but to see it myself, I’m impressed.'
Azula stepped out of the ruins, her hair wild and her eyes burning with a manic, flickering brilliance. She looked thinner, her royal attire tattered, but her presence was like a live wire. Her gaze shifted, landing on the girl in the shadows.
'Ty Lee,' Azula said, her voice dropping to a terrifying, melodic purr. 'My favourite little traitor returns.'
Azula’s fingers snapped, and a concentrated blast of blue flame roared toward Ty Lee. Kiyoi stepped in front of it, her water forming a steaming shield that hissed as the fire died against it.
'You are outmatched, Azula!' Kiyoi shouted, the full moon lending her voice a resonance that shook the leaves. 'You’re surrounded. Yield.'
'Yield?' Azula laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. 'To a bastard and an acrobat? I think not.'
Azula threw both hands out, spinning in a blur of motion. She wove her latest, most dangerous technique: Ball Lightning. Zuko had told her about this; she had developed a technique to control the lightning once it had left her fingertips—a way to combat redirection. The sphere of crackling blue energy hovered in the air, erratically flying toward Kiyoi like a vengeful spirit.
Kiyoi didn't panic. She reached out, catching the sphere with a globe of water drawn from the very air.
Azula snarled and snapped her fist back, trying to control her creation.
The water boiled instantly, steam rising in a thick veil, but Kiyoi held her focus and her control. She forced the water to contain the electricity, her teeth gritted with the effort as Azula pushed the ball forward. But Kiyoi’s control over the water was absolute. With a violent heave, she flung the boiling, electrified water into the ground, dispersing the charge into the soil before instantly reassembling the puddle into a high-pressure whip.
She went on the offensive.
Streaks of fire lit up the surrounds like a passing lighthouse beacon. And Kiyoi let the darkness of the forest embrace her. She didn't fight like a typical waterbender; she knew firebenders were almost useless at close quarter’s combat. She sprang from behind the trees, swiping at the Princess with ribbons that misdirected her attacks and cut off her sweeping motions, limiting Azula to short blasts.
But the Princess was still formidable.
So Kiyoi did not fight fair. She used the moon’s pull to bend the very roots and vines beneath Azula’s feet as she flung sharp ribbons at her. Azula attempted to retreat, but roots lunged out, snagging her ankles and tripping her.
Before the Princess could recover, Kiyoi sent a massive wave of water crashing into her, throwing her against a tree trunk. Quickly Kiyoi moved in, pinning her arms above her head.
'Where is he!' Kiyoi screamed with fury, bearing her weight down on her. 'Where are you keeping him!'
Azula gasped for air, her head lolling against the bark. She looked truly confused for a heartbeat; her golden eyes blinked up at her and narrowed. A slow, delirious grin spread across her face. She began to chuckle, a low, amused sound that built into a full, echoing cackle.
'Don’t tell me sea urchin…' Azula mused, her smile stretching too wide. 'You’ve lost him? You’ve lost poor Zuzu?'
The Princess laughed so hard she choked, her shoulders shaking with genuine, malicious delight. 'Oh, this is better than any plan I could have devised! The Grand Advisor has lost her precious Fire Lord!'
'Tell me where he is!' Kiyoi pulled back and slammed Azula back again, trying to rattle the truth out of her.
'I haven't the faintest idea!' Azula spat, her laughter turning into a mocking sneer. ‘Have you checked where you last saw him? Haha, how long ago did you lose him, Urchin? Tell me, was he taken or... did he run away from you? Is he simply that bored with you?'
The shock of Azula’s words hit Kiyoi hard. The certainty that had driven her all day—the righteous fury that had sustained her—evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, sickening vacuum. If she didn’t have Zuko… who did?
In that split second of hesitation, Azula saw her opening.
With a feral snarl, the Princess swung her legs up and kicked in a fiery blast. Kiyoi rolled out of the way and Azula followed her, tackling her into the damp earth and decaying leaves. They tumbled in a mess of limbs, in a desperate, undignified wrestle.
‘You’ve wasted your time, Advisor!’ Azula hissed, her face inches from Kiyoi’s. A vicious snarl taking up her vision. ‘Whoever has Zuzu is probably just having a blast with him. I wonder… is he still in one piece? Hmm? Perhaps they’ve already realised how pitiful he really is and put him out of his misery!’
Kiyoi’s vision blurred with tears of shame and rage—and she added pain to the mix as she slammed her forehead into Azula’s nose. The brutal headbutt that sent a jolt of pain through her own skull but forced the Princess back. They scrambled apart, both gasping.
Kiyoi felt the power pulsing in her veins, feeling the blood in Azula’s heart, and for a terrifying second, she wanted to stop it. Stop her once and for all. But the second passed. She doused a wayward blast with a stream and surged forward.
The clearing was filled with the roar of bending.
Blue flames clashed against water that was no longer cool and controlled. It was boiling, steaming with the heat of Kiyoi’s humiliation. The mist rose in thick, white clouds as the two women traded strikes.
‘You had to be behind this, you’re lying!’ Kiyoi screamed, her water whip cracking against a tree trunk, shearing the bark. ‘You want the throne! You want the crown back! Who else would take him?’
Azula’s laughter was jagged. ‘The crown? You think I care about that old trinket? About the throne? You think that’s power, control?’ She spun, a kick sending a crescent of blue flame toward Kiyoi. ‘I don’t want to take his throne, Kiyoi. I want it to break him like it broke us all. I want to push him until he admits he is just like us. I want him to look in the mirror and see Father’s face staring back!’
Kiyoi faltered. This was a motive she hadn't anticipated.
Azula stepped through the steam, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly intimate whisper. 'Did he not tell you about our last fight? In the Tomb of the First Grand Advisor?'
Zuko had mentioned confronting Azula before she got away, but the details had been vague—more threats he’d shrug off, he had said.
'I told him my plans; it seems you weren’t in the loop, oh dear. Let me catch you up. After I told him I’d break him, I asked him if he’d made arrangements for his own beloved Grand Advisor,' Azula purred, delighting in sharing this with her. 'I told him he should make sure your tomb was just as grand. And he didn't tell you, did he? He kept it from you. He doesn't trust you with the truth.'
The betrayal stung worse than the threat.
‘But look at you!’ Azula taunted, her eyes dancing with manic glee. ‘To find me so quickly... the way you’ve mobilised the guard... the way you’re fighting now. You’ve been as ruthless and conniving as a true Fire Lord should be. Perhaps I don't need to change Zuko at all. I just need to force him to take your desperate advice more often. You have the heart of a tyrant.’ Azula’s grin widened, sharp and predatory. ‘It is just too bad the crown doesn’t suit you, bastard. You’re much better at being a monster than he is.’
The words felt like a brand. The stung because they carried the weight of a half-truth. Kiyoi had felt the darkness tonight—the cold, calculating part of her that had been ready to drown the world to find Zuko. She nearly sent a woman to prison this morning for just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been ready to stop Azula’s heart.
Azula’s hands blurred in the separation charge, her fingers sparking with the beginning of a strike. However, the Princess made the same mistake she always did. She assumed her opponent was as alone as she was.
The spark died.
Azula’s eyes went wide; she gasped, her knees buckling and her arms went slack at her sides. Ty Lee and Suki stood there, their hands still poised from the rapid-fire succession of chi-blocking strikes.
Azula hit the dirt with a dull thud, her body paralysed, though her eyes still burned with a frantic, absolute hate.
‘Good work, Kiyoi,’ Suki said, her voice grim as she and an Imperial Guard rushed over with a straitjacket. ‘You kept her right where we needed her.’
Kiyoi didn't answer. She stood in the centre of the clearing, the boiling water at her feet slowly seeping into the soil. She felt cold. She felt small.
‘She’s right about one thing,’ Kiyoi whispered, her voice trembling as she looked at the silver moon above. ‘Zuko isn't here. And we’ve lost a day looking for him.’
Toph turned back to him in the tunnel, her hand resting on the soft fur of the baby badger-mole. The creature let out a tiny, trilling snuffle, its nose twitching against the hem of her tunic.
‘Alright, Sparky, here’s the hand-off,’ Toph whispered, reaching out to snag the sack from Zuko’s shoulder. ‘I’ll guide the little guy to the villa and stash the loot. You’ve got a performance to give. Get back into your silks and sit in that box. Make sure you look sufficiently outraged when they tell you your precious purchases have been stolen.’
Zuko nodded, his heart still hammering a rhythmic cadence against his ribs—the Blue Spirit’s drum. With a stomp of Toph’s foot, he was shot up out of the tunnel into the gardens. With ease, he scaled the outer masonry of the auction hall, his fingers finding purchase in the salt-pitted stone. He slipped through a high hallway window and moved like a shadow back toward the royal box.
He didn't have time to fully disrobe. He rearranged his Fire Lord robes over the black, form-fitting stealth gear, tucking the mask into his sash and fumbling with the golden hairpiece until it sat straight. He sat down, breathing in steadily, calming himself and resuming the role of Fire Lord, just as the chaos in the main hall reached a fever pitch.
The auction had ground to a halt. Men were shouting, their voices cracking with outrage as they demanded the items they had bid thousands of ban for.
The reed screen fluttered open, and Kuon practically fell into the box, his face a mottled shade of grey. ‘Your Majesty... Miss Beifong... I... I am beyond mortified!’ He bowed so low his forehead hit the floor. ‘Your Majesty... a tragedy! A thief—a masked demon—has made off with your items! The bone knife, the theatre mask... all stolen!’
Zuko stood, his expression a mask of cold, regal disdain. ‘A thief? In an auction house that boasts of such prestige? Where were your guards?’ He pitched his voice to carry. ‘This is an embarrassment, Kuon. I came here expecting the finest on offer, only to find absolute disappointment. I should have you arrested for such an offence.’
‘Oh no! My Lord, Your Majesty! Please have mercy! I could not have foreseen—‘
‘Do quiet yourself, Kuon,’ Zuko rolled his eyes, tossing his hair over his shoulder. ‘It was a thought. I am on holiday; I am supposed to be in good spirits. Though your snivelling may further ruin my mood.’
Toph wandered in a moment later, her hand tracing the wall with a convincing, fragile hesitation. ‘Is everything alright?’ she asked, her voice small and meek. ‘I stepped out for some air... auctions are a bit dull when you cannot see the merchandise. What is all the shouting about?’
‘The security has failed, Miss Beifong, and I have lost my items. Fortunately, not the crown’s money.’ Zuko said, stepping forward to take her arm with exaggerated gentleness. ‘It seems your family’s standards haven't quite reached these shores. We are leaving.’
As they passed a frantic cluster of rich merchants, Zuko leaned in and murmured just loud enough to be overheard: ‘It is a pity. I imagine if there had been your metalbenders guarding the vault, that scoundrel wouldn't have stood a chance.’
The merchants exchanged wide-eyed looks. The seed was planted.
They maintained their masks of indignation until they were nearly half a mile away, hidden by the swaying sea-grass of the dunes. Then, the tension snapped. Toph let out a sharp, barking laugh that echoed across the water, and Zuko joined her.
‘A masked demon,’ Zuko wheezed, leaning against a palm tree.
Toph giggled, ‘I think he was actually crying.’
Back at the abandoned royal villa, the atmosphere was a world away from the gilded greed of Cinnabar Sands. The full moon glowed softly through the hole in the ceiling, and the baby badger-mole was happily snuffling through a pile of dusty furniture, its large, sensitive paws scraping the floorboards.
Toph sat on the floor, guiding the creature with soft, rhythmic thumps of her heel. She was feeding it bits of fruit she’d pilfered from the auction’s refreshment tray.
‘What if he wanders off while we sleep?’ Zuko asked, leaning against a pillar.
‘He won’t,’ Toph said, her tone uncharacteristically light. ‘Baby badger-moles don’t move much on their own. They’re like shadows; they learn to bend by following in their mother’s wake, feeling the shift of the earth she leaves behind. He’ll follow me because I move like he expects his mother to move.’
‘And how are you going to get him back to the Earth Kingdom?
‘You can send a message to Aang, and while we wait for him to show up with Appa, I was hoping you’d let him stay at your place for a few days. Twinkle Toes can fly us to the mountains, and I’ll get my students to help me reunite the little guy with his kin. It’ll be a good exercise for them.’
‘That’s fine, I’ve got something else to give Aang too, so that works.’ Zuko nodded with a grin. ‘Do you want to see the big-ticket item the Blue Spirit stole?’
‘Is that even a question?’ toph laughed
Zuko reached into the sack and carefully withdrew the Air Nomad artefacts. Toph reached out, her fingers ghosting over the weathered wooden beads and flute and the smooth bronze of the wind-chime.
‘Wow,’ she whispered, her voice softening. ‘Are these…’
‘Air Nomad relics.’ Zuko finished.
‘Aang’s going to be over the moon.’
‘I hope so. It’s the least I can do for him.’
They settled in for the night on a makeshift bed of pilfered pillows from Toph’s hotel room and their own folded over-robes. The villa was a wreck—the roof was half-gone, and the wind whistled through the empty window frames—but as Zuko lay down, he felt a profound sense of peace wash over him.
This was the most restful sleep he anticipated in months.
The beds in the Fire Nation Palace were too soft, too vast, and too lonely. They were designed for emperors, not for Zuko. In those enormous rooms, he felt as if the space around him was waiting to be filled. And for now that space was empty, cavernous, inhabited only by the ghosts of his father and grandfather.
He missed this. He missed the life of the quiet nights of their journey—the smell of a dying campfire, the scratchy wool of a bedroll, and the rhythmic breathing of his friends nearby. Or his uncle snoring. Or Kiyoi small sighs when she rolled over.
He especially missed that. It was always reassuring when Kiyoi used to sleep near him. Their bedrolls were close enough that he knew she was safe, that he could reach her if he needed to. Now she was in a whole other palace than him. A world away. And he couldn’t convince her to move into the Inner Palace, for her protection.
He missed her. He wished she were here sharing this adventure like they used to. The thought was a dull, persistent ache in his chest. He wondered if she was sleeping soundly in her grand bed, or if she was still awake, poring over the scrolls he had left behind.
‘I hope you’re doing well, Kiyoi,’ he murmured into the dark,
The Royal Palace of the Fire Nation felt like a tomb as the party returned. The moonlight that had empowered Kiyoi in the forest now felt like a spotlight on her failure. Azula was escorted in silence to her childhood suite.
Zuko had spent months renovating in a fit of hopeful, brotherly grief, ensuring the decorative screen on the windows was gilded but as reinforced as bars and the silk hangings were of the finest quality, yet the doors and locks were made of reinforced high melting point steel. He had wanted to give her a sanctuary that didn't feel like an asylum; he had wanted to give her back her dignity and home.
It hurt Kiyoi not to be able to share his hope in the matter.
Ursa was waiting in the reception hall, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. When she saw Kiyoi’s shadowed face, the hope died in her eyes.
'I’m so sorry, My Lady, he wasn't there,' Kiyoi reported dismally. 'We found Azula, but she was alone. She... she didn't take him, Lady Ursa. I am so sorry. I thought I was certain.'
'I want to see her,' she whispered.
Kiyoi hesitated. Her mind was already racing toward the war room, needing to summon the Minister of Information, the Grand Admiral, and the Captain of the Guard. She needed to treat this like a total state of emergency now; he had been gone for 36 hours.
But she looked at Ursa and saw a mother grieving. Her grief was a quiet, shattering thing, but she didn't collapse.
'I will oversee the meeting, she is volatile at the moment,' Kiyoi decided, her voice firm. She turned to Suki. 'Move Kiyi to the Fire Lord's private chambers. That room is the most secure in the palace, and there are no passages that lead to the exterior. Until we are certain Azula has no hidden accomplices and that we truly have caught Azula off guard, I want the Crown Princess’s safety to be our priority.'
Suki arched an eyebrow. 'You think she wanted to be caught? That this was a gambit?'
'Azula is rarely caught off-guard, Suki. We found her sleeping? It feels... too good to be true. I’d rather be overly cautious than be surprised.'
Suki nodded, ‘Okay, I’ll get Hina and Oku to watch her.’
Kiyoi escorted Ursa into the suite. Azula was on her massive bed in her straitjacket, still fuming. A single ankle shackle attached to a track on the floor to secure her. She lay across the bed, staring at the ceiling with terrifying intensity. But when she saw Ursa, she sat up immediately.
Ursa sat on the edge of the mattress, her eyes brimming with a tragic, unconditional love. She reached out, tentatively hugging the rigid girl. 'I am so happy to see you, Azula.'
Ursa held the hug for a long while until Azula scoffed, a dry, rasping sound. 'I’m sure you’re thrilled to see me like this. Bound. Beaten. A curiosity to gawk at.' She cut a sharp look toward Kiyoi, who remained like a statue behind Ursa, water skin uncorked.
‘That’s not what this is, my love,’ Ursa rebutted gently.
'They left me, Mother, just like you did,' Azula spoke with a hollow bitterness. 'My followers. My sisters. I am perfect. People like me… for a while. And then they hate me. Why do people always replace me? Why did you replace me?'
Ursa’s eyes saddened. 'Azula, I never replaced you. Me having a second daughter, dosen’t mean I did it to replace you.’
‘Father did though, didn’t he? I was born to replace Zuko. So he must have wanted to replace me with Kiyi,’ she bit out.
Ursa shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk to you about what your father thought or wanted, Azula. I never wanted any of you to feel like I didn’t want you. I wanted to protect you all. And I am sorry that I couldn’t. When I was banished, I had to protect Zuko and Kiyi. They needed me to do what I did that night. At that time… they needed me more than you.'
Azula’s expression shifted instantly, a light sparking in her golden eyes. 'Because they are weaker than I am! You spent all your time on the failures, the soft ones, while I was left to be strong!'
'You shouldn't have had to be so strong, so young,' Ursa whispered, her voice thick with regret.
'Then why don't they love me?' Azula cried, the first real tears tracking through the soot on her face. 'If I am better and stronger than Zuko, why does the world bow to him and recoil from me?'
'Because your superiority is a wall, Azula,' Ursa explained gently. 'You separate yourself from everyone by insisting you are above them. You feel alone because you have made yourself unreachable.'
'I am unreachable because I am better!' Azula snapped, the vulnerability vanishing behind a mask of regal arrogance.
'Did you feel your father loved you more than I did?' Ursa asked quietly.
'Yes,' Azula sneered. 'Because Father was perfect too. He understood strength. He didn't waste time on feelings or pity, like you or Zuko.'
'And did anyone love him, Azula? Truly?' Ursa challenged softly. 'Did they love the man, or did they simply fear the Fire Lord? Did you love him, or were you just terrified of being the one he turned his flames on next?'
Azula went deathly quiet. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Ursa brushed her hand through Azula’s hair gently. 'Oh my love, I wish I could have been a better mother to you before. I wish I could have left knowing I taught you that love isn't something you earn through competition.'
Azula’s lip wobbled, but she sniffed and shook her head, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. 'You’re only here because you think I’m withholding information on Zuko, don’t you? You’re only here because your precious son is missing. Maybe if Zuko dies... then you’ll finally truly see me.'
'No, I’m here for you, Azula,' Ursa said firmly. 'And I will be here for you every day if you choose to stay.'
Azula took a sudden, deep inhalation—a sharp expansion of the chest that Kiyoi recognised instantly.
Kiyoi unleashed a water whip, snagging Ursa’s waist and yanking her backward just as a plume of dull red flame erupted from Azula’s mouth. It wasn't the devastating blue fire she usually wielded, but a weak, flickering red—perhaps a desperate attempt at a technique she had never mastered yet.
‘My Lady, are you okay?’ Kiyoi stepped in front of Ursa.
Ursa was shaken, her hair singed at the tips, but she stood tall. She looked at her daughter—who was now panting, exhausted by the effort of the small flame—and spoke with a bravery that humbled Kiyoi. 'I hope to see you in the morning, Azula. Sleep well.'
Outside the room, the heavy iron doors groaned shut. Ursa leaned against the wall for a moment, the adrenaline fading into a deep, soul-deep exhaustion.
'Let me escort you to your quarters, My Lady,' Kiyoi said softly.
Ursa shook her head, a small, sad smile touching her lips. 'No, Kiyoi.. I am keeping you from the work that will bring my son home, aren’t I? I will find my way.'
Then Ursa reached out and surprised Kiyoi by pulling her into a warm, lingering hug.
'I am so glad,' Ursa whispered into Kiyoi’s hair, 'that my son had you as his friend in his darkest years, and that he has you now. I know you’re tired. I know you feel the weight of this world on your shoulders. But I know you will find him.'
She watched the Fire Lady Mother walk down the hall until Kiyoi stood alone in the corridor.
The atmosphere in the War Room was stifling; the scent of spent candles and cold tea was evidence of the tireless day they had all had. Kiyoi stood before the heavy oak table, her hands braced against it to keep her steady. Minister Yan sat opposite her, flanked by Captain Rin and Suki, all of them staring at the ransom note as if it were a riddle written in blood.
'We were completely misled,' Kiyoi gritted, her voice like the snap of a twig. 'I was so blinded by the hope that we had solved this, to consider other possibilities.'
Minister Yan adjusted her spectacles, looking at Kiyoi with a newfound, guarded respect. 'It was not just you, My Lady Regent, it is not your fault. It was a reasonable assumption. Regardless of the outcome, the capture of the princess is no small feat. I am... significantly impressed by your "researchers." My ministry has spent four months flailing in the dark, failing to produce a single lead on the Princess’s whereabouts. You found her in six hours. I shall be making a formal offer to employ your consultants; I sincerely hope they accept.’
‘As do I, Minister,’ Kiyoi nodded. At least something positive had come of this.
Kiyoi’s mind was a tactical map, re-evaluating every variable. 'If it wasn't Azula,' she prompted, her dark irises fixed on the other’s at the table, 'then who has the audacity, the skill, and the motive to snatch the Fire Lord from the heart of his own palace?'
Captain Rin leaned forward. 'The New Ozai Society. They are emboldened, well-funded, and they view Zuko as a usurper. It would be a victory for them to capture the Fire Lord.'
'No,' Yan interrupted dismally, shaking her head. 'The Society wouldn't bother with a ransom. They view Zuko as a stain on the lineage that must be bleached away. If they had him, they would have executed him within the hour and announced it and claimed responsibility for it. Now, if they had kidnapped the Lady Mother, Crown Princess or perhaps the Grand Advisor... they might ransom them to force Zuko to abdicate. But the Fire Lord himself? No, they’d want a corpse, not a prisoner.'
Suki crossed her arms, her brow furrowed in thought. 'What about an extremist faction from the Earth Kingdom? There are still purists who believe that the independent territories like Yu Dao and Cranefish Town are a theft of their soil. They have the motive to ransom the Fire Lord. And then there’s the kidnapping itself; earthbending was used to move through the palace grounds unseen.'
'If they were political extremists,' Kiyoi mused, her finger tracing the edge of the paper, 'they would have left a manifesto. Detailed instructions for the Council. Demands for the withdrawal of citizens or the ceding of land. They wouldn't ask for a secret meeting with me by the sea... I’m a waterbender, it’s giving me the advantage.'
Kiyoi stopped. As a thought landed in her mind like a heavy stone. 'We only think this is a ransom note because we interpreted this drawing as a sea urchin. We assumed it was Azula’s nickname for me.'
The others leaned in, frowning.
She picked up the parchment, her eyes narrowing. She looked at the cramped, messy text—the spelling was atrocious, the language vague, almost like a child just learning to hold a quill. The language was simple, and the message was a mix of pictures and words. It wasn't the work of a calculated revolutionary; it was the work of someone who found writing an irritating chore.
For the first time, Kiyoi turned the paper over.
There, on the reverse side, was a single, dusty smudge. It was a footprint. It looked as if someone had stepped on the parchment while it was on a dirty floor.
And it wasn't the tread of a boot, or the fine print of a slipper. It was a smear the unmistakable shape of a small, bare, foot.
A visceral, white-hot rage boiled in the pit of her stomach. Her knuckles turned white as she slammed her palms onto the table, the vibrations rattling the teacups.
'I am going to kill her,' Kiyoi hissed, her eloquent reserve finally shattering into a jagged, lethal edge. 'And then I am going to make Zuko wish he were dead.'
Minister Yan paled, taking a reflexive step back. 'Regent? You've found a lead?'
'I’ve found the truth,' Kiyoi spat. The cold tea on the table steamed away heartily as Kiyoi seethed. 'He wasn't kidnapped. He wasn't taken by force. He went willingly; he’s with Toph Beifong.'
Kiyoi turned toward Suki, her expression so terrifyingly calm that even the Kyoshi Warrior looked unsettled.
‘Suki, stand down the search teams. Captain Rin, tell the Navy to stop wasting coal. But do not—under any circumstances—lower the alert level of the Palace Guard.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Suki asked.
‘I am going to wait,’ Kiyoi whispered, her fingers curling into a fist. ‘He has to come home, eventually. And when he does—if I can keep myself from strangling him—I will impress upon him the seriousness of his little impromptu holiday and ensure that he never repeats this foolishness again!’
The afternoon sun beat down on the cobblestones of the Royal Plaza, gilding the crimson banners that snapped in the breeze. Beside him, Snuffles—the baby badger-mole—waddled along behind Toph. Its giant, sensitive nose twitching at the scent of the palace’s manicured gardens.
‘I’m telling you, Toph, once Aang gets here, he’s going to be ecstatic,’ Zuko said, his voice lighter than it had been in months. He adjusted the strap of the sack slung over his shoulder. ‘We’ll get Snuffles home, Aang gets his relics back, and the Southern Water Tribe gets a few less stolen treasures in the hands of Fire Nation merchants.’
‘And your debt to me is paid,’ Toph yawned, picking something from her teeth. ‘Just make sure you write to Twinkle-toes and tell him to bring the extra-large saddle. Snuffles is a growing boy.’
Zuko smiled. He was already drafting the letter to Aang in his head. He was also, more importantly, imagining the look on Kiyoi’s face when he gave her the knife. He knew she’d appreciate the craftsmanship, the southern style that mirrored her father’s. He hoped she would be delighted by the gesture, a way to bridge the distance that had grown between them during these long, stifling weeks of litigation.
But as they reached the main gates, the atmosphere shifted.
The Palace Guard didn't just stand at attention; they snapped into a formation so rigid it looked painful. Every spear was level, every eye forward. There was no casual nodding, no murmurs of "Welcome back, Fire Lord."
Captain Rin stepped forward. His face was a mask of granite, his jaw set so tightly Zuko thought it might crack. ‘Your Majesty,’ he acknowledged.
‘Captain,’ Zuko replied, his brow furrowing. ‘Is something wrong? Why is the guard on high alert?’
Rin didn't answer directly. He stepped aside, revealing Suki standing just inside the gatehouse. Her Kyoshi Warrior face-paint did not hide her expression. She looked at Zuko with a mixture of disbelief and a very specific, simmering irritation.
‘Suki?’ Zuko started, a cold prickle of dread beginning to crawl up his spine. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The Lady Regent is expecting you in the throne room,’ Suki said. She didn't bow. She didn't even move. ‘I am to escort you and Toph there immediately.’
‘Lady Regent?’ Zuko blinked. ‘The throne room? Suki, I have a badger-mole with me. He needs—’
‘The badger-mole will be seen to by the palace grooms, I’m sure,’ Suki interrupted, her tone final. ‘I suggest you do not keep her waiting, Zuko.’
The Lady Regent? Zuko racked his brain. Who was that again? It took him a moment to recall; Kiyoi. He had appointed his Grand Advisor as Regent if he was absent. He knew Kiyoi wouldn't be happy about his absence, but this was excessive—Toph had cleared this with her. Kiyoi had let him go; she had sanctioned this. But perhaps something had happened while he was away? He hoped not. Poor Kiyoi would have been very stressed, but he was confident she would have managed it. Upon seeing his safe return, he was sure her anxiety would ease, and they could then tackle the aftermath side-by-side.
Zuko glanced at Toph. She was unusually quiet, her head tilted to the side as she scanned the palace ahead. They began the long walk through the corridors, the silence heavy and suffocating. Zuko tried to catch Suki’s eye, to ask if his mother was alright or if there had been a coup, but Suki remained a silent, pacing shadow behind him.
They were a few dozen paces from the great doors of the throne room when Toph suddenly stopped. She caught Zuko’s arm, her fingers digging into his bicep with surprising force.
‘What is it?’ Zuko asked, his heart beginning to thud against his ribs.
Toph’s milky eyes were wide. She was “looking” toward the throne room, her feet shifting on the polished obsidian tiles. ‘Sparky... If I were you, I’d hold off on giving Kiyoi that knife.’ She took a shaky breath. ‘She is not happy.’
Zuko looked at the heavy doors. The dread that had been a prickle was now a cold, drowning wave. ‘Toph... you did clear this with Kiyoi before we left, right?’
‘I told her!’ Toph defended, though she sounded a bit less certain now.
‘How did you tell her?’
‘I mean… I left a note, I drew the sun! The waves! The money! I told her we were going to the beach for a business meeting and we’d be back in two sundowns!’
Zuko closed his eyes. He pictured Toph’s version of a well-worded message.
‘Oh, no,’ he whispered.
The doors groaned open.
The throne room was dim, lit only by the flickering eternal flames in the dragon sconces, reflecting off the ornamental water basins. At the far end, sitting not on the throne, but standing at the top of the dais, was Kiyoi.
She was in her formal, high-collared advisor’s robes, her hair pulled back in a knot so tight it looked like it was pulling at her skin. She was perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her. And as she stepped into the light, Zuko realised with a jolt of pure terror that Toph was right. He definitely shouldn't give her the knife. Not today. Perhaps not this decade.
‘Your Majesty, welcome home,’ her voice was a masterpiece of eloquent restraint, yet it carried the temperature of a Southern ice floe. ‘How was your business meeting?’
Zuko opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked at Toph for help, but the Greatest Earthbender in the World was currently busy trying to blend into a nearby pillar.
Kiyoi didn't move. She didn't even blink. Her dark irises were like two black holes, swallowing the light as they bored into him.
'The business meeting was... productive,' Zuko managed to say. He tried to summon the Fire Lord’s authority, but it withered under her dark, unblinking gaze. 'We, uh, we brought back some things. Important things. And a... guest.'
'A guest,' Kiyoi repeated. The word was a slow, icy drip of water hitting a stone. 'The badger-mole?'
'Yes! His name is Snuffles,' Zuko added quickly, hoping the cuteness of a baby animal might soften the blow.
It did not.
Kiyoi’s head tilted, just a fraction of an inch. 'Snuffles?'
'He’s a baby, he was poached!' Zuko added, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture. 'He was being auctioned off! Toph and I had to—'
'Oh, I know what you had to do,' Kiyoi interrupted. The ornamental water basins lining the room rippled, the surface tension bowing upward as if the water were straining to reach her. ‘You felt you had an excuse to abscond from court on a holiday. But how thoughtful and gracious of His Majesty to bring back souvenirs.’
'Kiyoi,' Zuko started, his voice cracking slightly, 'I... I can explain. It wasn't a holiday. We had a lead on some stolen artefacts—Air Nomad relics! As well as Snuffles. Toph said she left you a note. I thought you knew. I thought my absence was explained!'
Kiyoi finally moved. She reached into the folds of her sleeve and produced a crumpled, dirt-stained piece of parchment. She held it with rage so refined it looked like the stillness of a pond.
'This?' she asked. 'This comprehensive missive of yours?'
Zuko stepped forward and took the paper. He read the words, “Borrowed him for a business meeting. In two sundowns you can have him back.” Then he flicked his gaze over the drawings at the bottom. He saw the spiky circle Toph had intended as a sun, but it was more sea-urchin like. He saw the waves, the frowning face, and the crude drawings of coins.
'Toph,' Zuko whispered, horrified.
Toph folded her arms indignantly. ‘Hey, your office said you don’t accept stone slabs, and I put a lot of effort into that note.’
Zuko swallowed. Kiyoi had every right to be furious. 'Toph, this looks like—'
'A ransom note!' Kiyoi’s voice finally broke its restraint, rising into a sharp, jagged edge. 'I spent thirty-six hours believing you had been snatched from within the palace walls! I mobilised a naval blockade. I put the Palace City under Marshal law. I locked down the Inner Palace. I have terrorised innocents, dragged experts and consultants into a war room and sworn them to secrecy—‘
‘Kiyoi, I—’
‘I am not finished, Your Majesty.’ She cut him off and stalked closer. ‘I have had to look your mother in the eye and tell her you are missing and that I do not know what condition you will be found in, I have confined one princess to the royal apartment. And hunted, duelled and interrogated the other because I thought she was holding you for leverage!'
Zuko’s face went pale. 'Azula? You found Azula?'
'Yes, we have captured her,' Kiyoi hissed, stepping down from the dais until she was inches from him. He could smell the salt and smoke still clinging to her; see dirt and soot on her face, and a leaf in her hair. ‘I used every resource I had. I spent the night under a full moon, using every ounce of my strength to fight because I was certain that you were being tortured or dying. I nearly killed her, Zuko. I felt the pulse of her heart and I wanted to stop it because I thought she had taken you.'
She took a long, shaky breath, her dark irises shimmering in the firelight. She let out a short, hysterical laugh that didn't reach her eyes. 'And all the while, the Fire Lord wasn't being tortured. He wasn't in a cage. He was... at the beach?'
'Kiyoi, I didn't know. I thought this was okay with you—'
'That is the problem, Zuko, you thought, but you didn’t go further than that,' she cut him off, her voice dropping back to that deadly, quiet calm. She appraised him head to toe as if looking for an injury, but Zuko felt like a man being measured for a coffin. 'You thought. You didn't consult your council or your family. You didn't inform your Advisor—your best friend. You just... went. And I know you didn’t give it much thought because you wanted to leave.
'The next time you decide to go on a retreat, you will ask. You will provide a map. You will provide details of who you are with and a three-point extraction plan. I understand you may need a break from this. I understand our friends need us, Zuko. I know the Crown has its pressures, that you need to step away every now and again. But if you put me or your family through even a fraction of what you have put us through these few days, again...'
She leaned in closer, her voice inaudible to the rest of the room, hissing over his ear. 'I will bury you so deep in paperwork you'll forget what the sky looks like, and then I will resign and move somewhere far more agreeable for my health.' She pulled back, her expression smoothing into a mask of perfect, polite Fire Nation decorum.
Zuko swallowed. Hard. He looked over at Suki and Rin, who were standing by the door. Suki was biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh, while Rin looked like he was witnessing a sacred execution.
'Am I clear, Fire Lord Zuko?' Kiyoi asked.
'Crystal,' Zuko whispered.
'Good.' Kiyoi turned on her heel, her robes snapping with the force of her movement.
'I am sorry,' Zuko whispered, earnest and apologetic.
Kiyoi stared at him for a long beat. Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second, the mask slipping to reveal the exhausted girl underneath. But then, she straightened her spine.
'Minister Yan is waiting to discuss the formal arrest of the Princess,' Kiyoi said, her voice returning to that cold, professional rasp. 'Captain Rin and Suki need to know if they can return the guard rotations to normal. And I suggest you think of a far better apology to give your mother on your way to the royal apartments.' She turned her back on him and moved to leave the room.
He swallowed and withdrew his reaching hand. 'Kiyoi, please—'
‘I am going to try not to collapse as I walk to my quarters,’ she whispered, her voice finally fraying at the edges. ‘I am going to bathe; I am going to eat; and I am going to sleep. And I am going to do that now, before I forget my station and do something we’ll both regret.’ She paused, her back still turned. Her silhouette remained a sharp, dark line against the fire-lit walls. ‘My Lord, I do not wish to see your face for at least forty-eight hours. I suggest you spend that time considering why a Fire Lord requires a Grand Advisor, if he intends to act without her.’
And with that, she left
The heavy bronze doors hadn't even finished echoing before Toph let out a long, low whistle. She stepped out from behind the pillar, her head tilted toward the door Kiyoi had just vanished through.
‘Well,’ Toph murmured, her usual bravado sounding a little thin. ‘You weren't kidding, Sparky. You’re lucky to be alive.’
Zuko didn't move. He felt as though he’d been hit by a boulder and was only just now realizing he couldn't breathe. ‘She’s usually the most composed person I know, to see her like that... Toph, why didn’t you talk to her before—Argh!’ he gritted, then sighed, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where Kiyoi had stood. ‘No—this is my fault, I should have told her personally.’
‘Zuko, I’m… sorry.’ Toph said, and for once, there was a note of genuine apology in her voice. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve actually talked to her. I forget sometimes that you’re not just a hothead with swords and a bad attitude anymore. You’re my friend, but I forget that you being the Fire Lord means people actually... you know, need you for stuff. Important stuff. My bad.’
Zuko let out a long, ragged sigh, finally slumping onto the steps of the dais. He felt the weight of the sack on his shoulder and felt a pang of irony. He’d done it all for his friends, but he’d hurt his closest one in the process.
‘It’s not just you, Toph,’ Zuko said quietly. ‘I wanted to go. I’m glad we had the trip—Aang needs those relics, and Snuffles needs a home. I think... if I had just sat her down and explained it, she would have let me go. She’s pragmatic. She knows I need action every now and again. We just have to be clear. No more ransom notes.’
Toph gave a small, jerky nod. ‘Yeah. No more ransom notes. But heres to more adventures. I had fun… even if it ended like this.’
‘I have to go to my mother,’ Zuko said, standing up with a heavy effort. He looked at Toph. ‘Go settle Snuffles in the stables and head to your usual rooms; someone will bring you dinner. I’ll send the hawk to Aang. And think of how to fix this with Kiyoi.’
The silence of the palace, once a source of irritation, now felt like a heavy shroud. Every guard he passed seemed to avoid his gaze—not out of a lack of respect, but out of a somber, shared exhaustion that he hadn’t earned.
He reached the doors of his mother’s suite. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the dark wood. He had faced Agni Kais and the wrath of the Fire Lord, but the thought of seeing the disappointment in Ursa’s eyes made his stomach churn.
He pushed the door open.
The tension in the room snapped instantly. Kiyi, who had been sitting listlessly on a floor cushion, let out a high-pitched shriek of pure joy. ‘Zuko!’
She scrambled to her feet, her small slippers thudding against the rugs as she threw herself at his knees, nearly toppling him. Zuko caught her, lifting her into a fierce hug, his heart aching at the simple, honest relief in her voice. Over Kiyi’s shoulder, he saw Ikem stand up from a chair near the window seat. The man looked haggard, his face etched with the strain of the past few days, but he offered Zuko a weary, genuine smile.
‘It is a relief to have you back, Zuko,’ Ikem said, his voice steadying the room. ‘More than I can easily put into words.’
Ursa stood slowly from her window seat. Her face was pale, the skin beneath her eyes bruised with a fatigue that no amount of sleep would quickly fix, but as she looked at him, a radiant, tearful smile broke through the exhaustion. ‘Zuko,’ she breathed.
She crossed the room in a blur and embraced him, holding him so tightly he could feel the tremor in her hands. For a long moment, she simply breathed him in, her head resting against his chest, confirming the reality of his heartbeat.
‘I’m home, Mother,’ Zuko whispered, his voice thick. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Ursa pulled back, her hands moving to his shoulders. She was happy—deeply, visibly happy—but as the initial shock of relief faded, the conflict surfaced in her eyes. The mother who loved him was warring with the woman who had lived through the terror of the last thirty-six hours.
‘I heard the bells,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘I heard the gates. You are truly unharmed?’
‘I’m fine,’ Zuko said. ‘I... I was never in danger, there was a miscommunication. I was with Toph.’
The joy in the room dimmed just a fraction, replaced by a heavy, questioning silence. Ursa’s hands dropped from his shoulders. ‘With Toph,’ she repeated. ‘Doing... what?’
‘There was a baby badger-mole being sold at an auction on Ember Island. And some Water Tribe artefacts and Air Nomad relics. Toph wanted my help to recover them. I didn't think it would cause this. I didn't think...’
Ursa turned away, walking back toward the window, her silhouette framed by the dying light. ‘When your father used to leave without a word,’ she said, her voice a quiet, haunting melody, ‘it was a relief to some extent, but I dreaded his return. I spent years learning to live in the silence of his absences, Zuko. I learned to fear what the return would bring.’
Zuko winced as if he’d been burned. ‘Mother, I am nothing like him.’
‘I know you aren't,’ Ursa said, turning back to him with a sudden, sharp intensity. ‘But for two days, this palace felt exactly the same as it did when he reigned. Fear in the halls. Whispers in the corners. And your Grand Advisor...’ Ursa paused, her expression softening. ‘Kiyoi did everything she could to keep the court from finding out, to find you and Azula a swiftly and quietly as possible. She stayed in this room with me. She held my hand while I wept for you. But I know she feels like she has been a tyrant. She was so scared, Zuko, not only of losing you, but of herself.’
‘I made a mistake,’ Zuko admitted, his head bowing low. ‘I forgot that I’m not a fugitive anymore. That I’m not… just Zuko. My actions don't just affect me.’
‘You are right,’ Ursa reached up and cupped his face. ‘The crown is not a trinket you can take off when you want to go on an adventure. It is a promise to your people—and to those who love you. I am glad that you are home and safe, and that you have learned this lesson, even if it could have been avoided. You’d better apologise to Kiyoi, that poor girl.’
Zuko nodded, his throat tight. ‘Kiyoi... she told me she doesn't want to see me for at least forty-eight hours.’
Ikem stifled a rogue chuckle. ‘Well, I suggest you use that time to think of how you’re going to make it up to her.’
Ursa turned and shot Ikem a look.
Ikem shut his mouth and shrugged in defence.
Then, Zuko remembered the sack still slung over his shoulder. With trembling fingers, he reached inside and pulled out a bundle wrapped in protective silk.
‘I got this for you,’ Zuko said, his voice soft. ‘I saw it at the auction and I couldn't leave it there. It didn't belong in a merchant’s collection.’
He unwrapped the silk to reveal the Dragon Empress theatre mask. The seasoned cedar glowed with a rich, deep lustre, the pale blue paint and gilded features of the Empress stood out as both fierce and beautiful.
Ursa gasped, her fingers ghosting over the mask. ‘Oh wow...’ she whispered. It was a piece of her home, a connection to the stage she had loved long before she was a prisoner of the crown. ‘Zuko, this is... it’s exquisite.’
‘It’s a piece from Hira’a,’ Zuko said. ‘I wanted you to have something from there. Just... a piece for you.’
She looked at him. ‘It is beautiful, Zuko. Truly. And I will cherish it.’ She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘But no treasure in the world is greater than knowing my son is safe and he is home.’
Zuko bowed his head, the weight of the crown feeling heavier than the mask ever could. ‘I promise, Mother. I won't leave you in the dark again.’
Kiyi, sensing the shift in mood, tugged on his robe. ‘Can I see the badger-mole now? Suki said he’s as big as a dragon moose!’
Zuko managed a small, tired laugh, reaching down to ruffle her hair. ‘Soon, Kiyi. I have a lot of letters to write first. And a lot of thinking to do.’
Zuko sat at his desk, the surrounding floor littered with crumpled balls of parchment. He had tried to start the letter four times. “Dear Kiyoi, I am a fool...” was too blunt. “To the Lady Regent, regarding my conduct...” was too formal.
He was reaching for a fifth sheet when the heavy thud of running boots echoed in the corridor. A guard burst into the room, chest heaving, his face pale under his helm.
‘Your Majesty! Captain Rin sent me. There has been a... a development. With the Princess.’
Zuko was on his feet before the guard could finish. The peace of the last hour evaporated.
Across the palace, Kiyoi’s apartment smelt of Port Sozin tea and rose water. She sat on a low stool, her eyes closed, feeling the rhythmic tug of a comb against her scalp. She had just started washing her hair to prepare for the bathhouse.
Sensen, her elderly lady-in-waiting, was fussing over her with a maternal sternness that brooked no argument. Sensen was mute and deaf, but her silence was its own kind of language—a huff of breath meant 'sit still,' and a sharp tap on the shoulder meant 'stop worrying.'
The peace was disturbed by a polite rap on her door.
She sighed, her eyes still closed, and used a weary hand to sign 'Someone at door' to Sensen.
Sensen let out a sharp, protective huff, setting the comb down and passing Kiyoi a towel and marching to the door. She pulled it open intending to shoo away any intruder, but she stopped when she saw Ty Lee standing there, in her uniform, looking uncharacteristically somber.
‘I am so sorry to disturb you, Kiyoi,’ Ty Lee said, her voice small. ‘But I’m here to guard you. Suki’s orders. Azula... she’s gone. She escaped.’
Kiyoi’s eyes snapped open. The exhaustion didn't vanish, but it was forced into a corner. She simply groaned.
‘Of course she did,’ Kiyoi muttered.
She stood, ignoring Sensen’s disapproving stare, and pulled on a casual robe. Her hair was still damp, clinging to her neck in dark, wavy cords.
‘Kiyoi? Where are you going?’ Ty Lee asked. ‘I’m supposed to guard you.’
‘Well, I guess you’ll just have to follow me then,’ Kiyoi sighed, grabbing a fresh wrap. ‘We are going to Azula’s suite. Tell me everything on the way.’
Sensen trailed behind them like a stubborn shadow, carrying a drying towel in one hand and a small porcelain bowl of Kiyoi’s favourite confection—Fire Gummies—in the other.
‘Ursa visited her for breakfast,’ Ty Lee explained as they hurried through the halls. ‘They shared a meal. We delivered lunch a few hours later, but when the guard shift happened and we checked the room, the tray was never touched, and she was gone. There were no sounds that were suspicious or smell of smoke.’
‘Was she still in the straitjacket after breakfast?’ Kiyoi asked, her mind already cataloguing the details, Azula had been gone for at least three hours now.
‘No,’ Ty Lee replied, quirking a brow. ‘She didn't have it on at breakfast either. I don't remember who took it off last night, but we only put it on when we are moving her, and since the ankle-track is enough when she is in the room. The chain is long enough for her to move, but not to reach the door or the windows.’
‘So she was unbuckled last night,’ Kiyoi mused. ‘And no one saw who did it?’
They entered the Princess’s suite. The room was deathly quiet, the silk hangings fluttering in a draft from an open window. The security screen lay intact on the floor. Somehow she had unbolted it from the windowsill. Kiyoi walked straight to the ensuite and peered inside the bathtub. Inside lay the charred and damp remains of the straitjacket—burned from the inside out.
Just then, the doors swung open. Zuko arrived, flanked by Captain Rin and a visibly shaken Ursa.
Zuko’s gaze landed on Kiyoi—her wet hair, her tired face, and the sheer weariness in her posture. His expression softened into a look of intense guilt. ‘Kiyoi, I... I am so sorry. You shouldn't be here. Go back to your rooms, let me and Rin handle this.’
Kiyoi opened her mouth to deliver a stinging remark about handled situations, but her eyes drifted past him. She looked at Ursa.
The Lady Mother’s hair was usually held in place by the ornate gilded pin and flame headpiece, like she had the night before. But today the pin was wooden, a subtle discrepancy that most would miss, but to Kiyoi, it was a confession.
In an instant, the puzzle clicked. The hug in the suite last night—Ursa’s hands at Azula’s back, undoing the buckles under the cover of a mother’s embrace. The missing hairpin, likely given to her at breakfast, was used to pick the lock on the ankle shackle and smithed into a screwdriver to unbolt the screen. Ursa had asked her daughter to stay, but gave her the opportunity to go.
Azula wasn't lurking in the shadows. She wasn't a threat. She was a bird given the open sky. If she were after vengeance, she would have taken it by now. Her mother had set her free, and Azula had chosen to vanish rather than burn the palace down.
Kiyoi met Ursa’s eyes. For a fraction of a second, a look passed between them—a silent question and a frantic, pleading answer. Ursa’s gaze darted away, her fingers trembling against her robes.
‘I don’t think she is a threat at the moment,’ Kiyoi said, her voice projecting a calm she didn't entirely feel. ‘Azula wants freedom more than she wants revenge right now. She would have made a move by now if she wanted to. I don't believe she’s lurking.’
Zuko frowned, his hands clenched. ‘I’d be more comfortable if you kept a guard, Kiyoi. For your safety. Just until we’re sure.’
Kiyoi looked at him, a flicker of her usual wit returning to her eyes. ‘If it would ease His Majesty’s mind to know his friend is safe,’ she said, her voice dripping with mock-reverence, as she reached for the bowl of fire gummies in Sensen’s hands. ‘If it would help him rest after such a harrowing ordeal at the beach... then fine. I shall keep a guard.’ She popped a gummy into her mouth and offered the bowl to Ty Lee, who took one with a grateful grin.
Kiyoi then turned to Sensen and made a series of quick signs. 'Room service. For three.'
Sensen nodded firmly and prepared to march them back to Kiyoi’s quiet sanctuary.
The next morning, the palace was quiet, though the tension of the previous night had settled into a weary sort of calm. Kiyoi sat at her low table, her hair flowing over her shoulders, waiting to be braided, sipping a cup of dark tea. Ty Lee was across from her, stretching her legs over her head as she read a novel.
A soft knock sounded. It wasn't the heavy gauntlet of a guard or the frantic rap of a minister.
Sensen opened the door to find a young page standing there, holding a lacquered wooden box.
Sensen took it, gave the boy a quick nod, then shut the door. Sensen sighed heavily and shook her head wearily as she placed the box on the table before Kiyoi.
‘So…who’s it from?’ Ty Lee sang in a knowing tone.
Kiyoi set down her tea. Her heart gave a small, traitorous thump against her ribs, eyeing the single roll of parchment sealed not with the seal of the State, but the small, simple flame Zuko used for his private correspondence.
Kiyoi looked at the box first. Inside, resting on a bed of dark wrapping and polishing cloth, was a bone knife. The hilt was carved from the tusk of a tiger whale, carved into a sculpture of a tiger seal with fluid, rolling wavelike lines. The blade was sharpened and polished until it gleamed like pearl. It was beautiful and undeniably from the Southern Water Tribe. It was a piece of the heritage she often felt so disconnected from.
She picked up the letter. Zuko’s handwriting was always neat, but his characters were always leaning as if they were trying to run off the page, but this was written with a careful, deliberate hand.
Kiyoi,
I know I have at least thirty hours of silence remaining. I intend to honour them. But I could not let the sunset twice without telling you that I understand and you have every right to be furious with me. I see the weight you carried while I was gone, and I am sick with the knowledge that I added to it.
You are right, I was careless because a part of me wanted to be. For a moment, I wanted to forget that every choice I make now has a shadow. I forgot that now when I vanish; I don’t just leave a throne empty, I leave my friends and family alone in the dark. I am still getting used to the fact that people worry about me—not just the throne, but me, Zuko.
Suki told me what Azula said to you, and my mother said you were really hard on yourself about the way you handled things. Please listen to me: Azula sees a monster in you because she cannot understand a heart that is ruthless out of love rather than malice. You are cunning and calculating, but never cold. You are not her. You are the reason this palace still feels like a home and not a maze. If you were a tyrant, I would not be so terrified of losing your respect.
The knife in the box is from the Southern Water Tribe. It is not a bribe. It is a gift I intended to give you yesterday, but I feared for my life (that is a joke.) I saw it at the auction, and I couldn't leave it there. It looked like something your father would have crafted, and I wanted it to belong to you. (And I know you are in need of one.) I hope, when you are ready to speak to me again, you might carry it.
Rest well, Kiyoi. I will be in the War Room when the clock runs out, waiting to be buried in that paperwork you promised.
Your very apologetic friend,
Zuko
Kiyoi read the letter twice. She looked at the knife, then back at the parchment. The “Your very apologetic friend” was smudged slightly, as if he’d closed the letter before the ink was entirely dry. She let out a long, slow breath. The icy weight in her chest didn't vanish, but it began to melt. She picked up the knife, testing the weight of the hilt. It was perfectly balanced in her palm. She smiled.
‘Whoa, that’s pretty,’ Ty Lee marvelled. ‘Is it an apology from Zuko?’
‘It’s a gift.’ Kiyoi corrected, then her lips twisted up in a wry smile, ‘It is pretty… But not pretty enough to tempt me. I intend for him to serve every second of those 48 hours.’