Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“You’ve wandered very far from home, Price Zuko,” Zhao said, spitting slightly over the word wander. He was openly grinning, black eyes pulsing with some sort of sick pleasure. At least, Zuko assumed it was a sick pleasure, because he was fairly sure that was the only kind of pleasure Zhao was capable of feeling.

Vampires weren’t nice. Why should they be? They weren’t built for love, weren’t built to be soft. Their clawed fingers and black eyes were shaped for hunting, killing. Everything about them was angles and edges and sharp enough to cut. They were beautiful, in the way dangerous things always are. But they weren’t warm. They weren’t soft. Rarely could a vampire be described as slippery.

Zhao was slippery. Zuko had spotted it the very first time he met, which was remarkable considering he’d only been six. The way Zhao fawned over Father, then looked at Zuko and Azula like they were bloodstains the moment Father’s back was turned. He didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t hold children in high enough regard to think they were worth hiding anything from. Forgetting, perhaps, that children grow.

Zuko remembered watching him, so deeply curious. Zhao had been the youngest Immortal, back then. Not even a hundred years since he’d Ascended. And not a member of the royal family, the priesthood, or the nobility. Zhao was a soldier. He stood before Zuko now dressed as a soldier, wearing the red and black and crass of his rank. Such a cliche that Zuko was sure he could pick up any military textbook, open to a random page, and find an illustration that looked exactly like Zhao. Well, almost like him. Soldiers were rarely Immortals. They were fresh faced, pink skinned. Zhao’s skin was bloodless white.

Zhao had also been a little older than most when he’d been granted Ascension. Forever thirty-four. That, too, had fascinated Zuko. That he could be the youngest Immortal while looking like the oldest. Well, the oldest except for The Great One, anyway.

Zuko was determined that he was Ascend far younger that Zhao had. Father had been twenty-four. That seemed ideal. Well, ideally Zuko would have been like his sister. Azula’s Ascension at fourteen was unprecedented. She’d looked so small upon the altar.

Zuko wondered how old the Water Tribe boy was. His cheeks immediately flushed at the thought.

“What do you want?” Zuko barked, as if shouting could dissipate the surge of heat radiating across his face. Stupid. Handling Zhao was a task that deserved more tact. But Zuko didn’t have time to waste on tact. Every second he wasted at the Encampment was a second he risked the Avatar slipping through his fingers.

“Oh, just concerned for my Prince,” Zhao said. His is black, seedy eyes lingered on Zuko’s forehead. Zuko spared a glance at Zhao’s unadorned forehead. The man’s military prowess had earned him immortality, but not a seat in the Coven of Agni. He hadn’t done much to conceal his grumbling when a recently unbanished Zuko had been tattooed while he had not.

“I’ll be leaving as soon as I’m re-supplied,” Zuko grunted.

Zhao just grinned. “Something looks… different about you.”

Zuko wasn’t naive enough to imagine that Zhao hadn’t noticed his tattoo’s sudden change from gold to red. Whether he knew that is was a symbol of Zuko’s rebanishment was a question. Zhao didn’t know the coven’s inner workings.

Zuko hoped he didn’t, anyway.

“I need weapons,” Zuko said, choosing not to indulge the comment. “Basic rations. And… a coat.” The arctic winds had been so cold.

“I’m sure the requisitions officer here will be honored to serve you,” he said, in a tone that made it clear he absolutely did not think anyone would be honored to serve Zuko. “So your father’s finally given you a mission.”

Zuko forced himself to take a deep breath.

Azula was always so good at reading people, quickly able to uncover the questions behind their questions. What was Zhao asking here? Did he know Zuko was banished? Was he trying to trick Zuko into lying about it, for some reason? To humiliate Zuko, probably. Or did he truly not know? Was he merely trying to get Zuko to reveal his secrets?

Slippery. Slippery.

“What are your orders, Commander?” Zuko asked.

Now Zhao smiled his true smile - ugly and terrible. “Your Father didn’t tell you about my promotion? It’s Admiral now.”

Zuko managed to speak through gritted teeth. “Congratulations.”

It actually hurt Zuko to say the word. Judging by Zhao’s satisfied smirk, he knew just how much.

“My Prince honors me,” he said in response.

“Well then. Admiral.”

Zuko gave him a curt nod, turning around - away from form the requisitions office, he’d need to double back later. He only made it five steps before Zhao said, “What do you need a coat for? Did his Highness send you here to take a stroll? Or…” Zhao’s pause was deliberate “…perhaps you are here to feel closer to your Uncle. I believe he established his Encampment, early in his career when he raided the Water Tribes? How long has it been since we lost him now?”

Zuko stopped in his tracks. He could hear the light clanging of metal as his shoulders shook, rattling his armor, feel his heart hammering in his chest. Uncle… he could feel, just for a moment, the phantom touch of his Uncle’s arm over his shoulders, guiding him out of the arena. Had Iroh established this Encampment? Zuko wasn’t sure. And he couldn’t ask, because Zhao was spot on. Two years ago, just months after Zuko had left him and returned to his Father’s side, Iroh had walked out into the open sun.

Vampires’ healing powers were truly miraculous. They could survive almost anything. Immortal even more so. But not the sun.

“I am a Prince,” Zuko said, voice shaking despite himself. He didn’t turn around. “I make my own missions.”

He took off again, not waiting for Zhao’s response. Walking fast. Almost running. He went and he went and he went until he was alone in a dark hall and he couldn’t breathe. It took a long, long time before he could convince his lungs to breathe.

—

“Are you okay now?”

Sokka blinked.

An orange clothed boy smiled as he flickered in and out of Sokka’s vision.

“What time is it?” Sokka asked, throat dry.

“Moonset,” came another voice, just out of his view. Katara.

Sokka sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m… fine,” he said. And he was, physically. Mentally… everything was a blur. “Where are we?”

“At sea,” Katara said.

It came back to him in bursts. Katara - grabbing his shoulders, navigating him slip-and-slide style over ice and snow until they reached the waterfront, Aang and or she blur at their sides as they went. Katara - quickly identifying an empty boat (there were so many, with more than half the village’s men away at war), and tossing Sokka below deck (which mercifully made the voices stop). He’s been in and out for a while after that. He knew she left. He knew she returned. He’d felt the rocking of waves and gone to sleep.

Despite the uncertain circumstances, Sokka felt a rush of pride. His fish-ster was a force.

Sokka sat up and looked around. It appeared he was still in that ship, in a cold, dank cargo hold made of wood and bone. Sokka could hear the rush of the waves they traveled through, feel the rhythmic rocking of the ship, like the vessel was breathing. Or being breathed on? That was probably more accurate. Wooden planks groaned as the water moved around them, but as far as Sokka could tell they were holding together just fine. He was dry anyway, which was a good sign. Katara had chosen well.

“Here,” she said, as she sat down in front of him and shoved a steaming cup into his hands.

More stinkweed. He took a gulp. “It tastes just like Gran-Gran’s,” he said, stomach suddenly sour with sadness.

“It is Gran-Gran’s,” Katara said. “She packed it up for us while we were doing… whatever we did.”

Sokka was aghast. “You went back?”

“I had to,” Katara said, her voice taking a stubborn edge. “You were right that we needed to get away, but… no planning? No supplies? And you, in the state you were in? I wasn’t launching us into the open ocean.”

“But Hama…” he sputtered.

“She isn’t omnipotent,” Katara said. “She didn’t hear all the things Aang told us. Meanwhile, you ran into the tundra without a coat on. It was worth the risk.” Her voice left no room for argument, whether Sokka agreed with her or not. “And luckily Gran-Gran actually thinks ahead, unlike someone. Food, camp gear, your ridiculous weapons pile… all here. I was in and out in less than an hour. We’ve been sailing ever since.”

Sokka’s mouth watered as she handed him turtle seal jerky.

So… yeah, Katara might have been right this time.

Sokka took a generous bite, his stomach instantly grateful. When had he last eaten? Who knew. Not when they’d returned from the mishepishu island. Maybe not since the day before.

He turned towards Aang as he licked his fingers. “How are you doing?”

Aang grinned. “This is my first time traveling by boat. I got seasick!”

He was clearly delighted about it. Sokka had numerous questions about how someone who only occasionally obeyed the law of gravity could suffer from seasickness, but… okay then. The world was weird. Sokka added it to the list.

He gave Aang a smile. “I’m glad you’re alright.” Then Sokka turned to his sister. “Where are we going?”

“Away,” Katara said. “I just… aimed North.”

Sokka nodded. Hama hated the North. Or, more specifically, she hated the city in the North. And all the Water Tribesmen who had fled there, abandoning their ancestral homes.

Maybe it was too obvious a choice, but… Sokka couldn’t argue with it. “We’ll go to Agna Qel’a,” he said.

“I’ve never heard of Agna Qel’a,” Aang said.

He wouldn’t have. The city hadn’t really existed three hundred years ago. Or if it did, it had just been a settlement not unlike Wolf Cove. But as the vampire’s raids had grown more aggressive, that had changed. There was safety in numbers. And even more safety in giant walls of ice. Probably half the Water Tribes’ population lived there now.

“You’ll like it,” Sokka said. “We have friends there.”

Deserters, Hama would call them. Sokka would have too, once. Now he wasn’t sure.

“I’ve been helping us along,” Katara said, wiggling her fin tipped ears. “We’re actually not very far. Maybe a couple of days?”

Sokka nodded. “We should lose the ship,” he said.

Katara looked at him with surprise. “And then we’ll get to Agna Qel’a… how?”

Sokka let out a preemptive groan. “Your way.” He wouldn’t enjoy lumpaguin water travel, but… it was effective. He and Aang would just need to hold their stomachs, somehow.

That made Katara grin. “Tomorrow,” she said. “You need some rest.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Sun sickness wasn’t something that lingers, the way an illness might. If he was awake when the sun was up it was there, unyielding. But as soon as the sun set, it was gone, like it’d never been there at all. But… Katara was worried about him. Clearly. And with everything she’d done to keep them safe there was no doubt in Sokka’s mind that she needed to rest, so he said, “Okay. Let’s try to keep going until the moon sets. Then we can get an Inn for the day. Gran-Gran packed money, right?”

That earned him a scoff. “Of course she packed money.”

Sokka had coins in his pocket, too, from selling Hama the beads. They’d be alright.

Katara handed him another jerky strip.

Spirits, it was good. He was going to miss Gran-Gran’s cooking very, very badly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Aang asked.

Sokka sighed. “I think I should probably be asking you that question,” he said.

“I’m alright,” Aang said, flashing a smile.

But how could he be? He’d lost everything. Sokka had almost been torn to shreds and he’d only lost one person.

He considered pushing the subject. If his dad were here, Hakoda would probably push the subject. Force Aang to open up. For reasons both compassionate (any boy who’d lost as much as Aang had deserved comfort) and strategic (they really needed to know where Aang stood; if he was going to stick with them, or if he’d be liable to just… float off). Say what dad would say, he thought to himself. Be nice.

“I…” Sokka began, failing already as he tripped over his awkward tongue. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. “Now that we have a second, I want to know more about the heart stuff.”

Aang looked immediately deflated, and Sokka felt his own stomach fall along with the corners of the boy’s smile. Aang quickly recovered, putting on a brave face. “There isn’t much to tell,” Aang said, voice straining with the effort to maintain a casual tone. “The monks told me that I needed to earn the hearts of the four nations. That once I had them, that’s when I’d be able to trigger the metamorphosis.”

“Metamorphosis?” Katara repeated.

Aang shrugged, a current of air pushing forward with the movement of his shoulders, pushing a loose strand of hair across Sokka’s forehead directly into his glasses. “The monks said to trust the process. That when the time came, I would just know.”

Sokka pushed his hair back into place. “Did they tell you how to acquire the hearts?” He asked. “We’re not talking…” He mimed holding a knife and mimicked a slicing motion, then with the other hand mimed squeezing and yanking.

Aang looked on with mild alarm. Katara rolled her eyes.

“Umm… no, I don’t think it’s physical hearts we’re after,” Aang said. “It’s more a spiritual thing.”

Spiritual. Spiritual stuff wasn’t exactly Sokka’s forte, but… he’d figure it out, he supposed.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. “I think the name might be a clue,” Katara said thoughtfully. “That… that… the one who was after you.” She swallowed hard. “He called you something.”

“The Avatar,” Aang said. “Whatever that means.”

Avatar. It wasn’t a term Sokka was overly familiar with, but he knew what it meant. An Avatar was a symbol, and manifestation. A vessel of the divine.

—

Zuko’s first lessons in the arcane arts hadn’t come from his father. They had come from his mother.

“Try now,” she’d said, covering his eyes with the flat of her hand. He was five. Almost. His arcane aptitude trials were weeks away. He hadn’t shown any yet. She’d come into his room late at night, her face bloodless white in the dark. She pulled him into her lap, and whispered. “Can you feel it, my little bat?”

Zuko took a deep breath. Then another. “I… don’t know.” He said.

“You can feel it,” she said. He felt her breath on his ear lobe. “The ebb and flow, the pulse of the world. Arcane energies have their own heartbeat. You need to learn to let them flow through you.”

He breathed again. And again. And again.

His aptitude tests had gone horribly.

Technically he had passed. The Priors had identified just enough of an inclination towards the arcane that they believed Zuko could be trained to the coven standards. It had been the proudest moment of his life, until he saw his father’s scowl. He had passed the Priors’ tests, but failed his father’s.

–

Nevertheless, Zuko’s training began. It was no small thing, training as an arcanist in the Coven of Agni. There were lessons, the Priors’ stressed, that could only be learned by pain.

Yet, when Zuko thought about it, the lessons that had helped him the most had been gentle.

“Firebending comes from the blood,” said his Uncle, voice rumbling like the soft thunder of a summer storm. Zuko felt confused whenever he heard Iroh speak. He couldn’t understand his Uncle’s voice, so calm and steady and soft. Until one night he realized, it was pity. Iroh treated Zuko like a frightened firebat because he pitied him. How could Iroh not? Zuko was a useless, half-burned thing not even worthy to sleep on the floor of Iroh’s great house. And yet, Iroh had invited him in. Given him a bed. And though it had been centuries since the Great Immortal had taken his own breaths (immortal vampires didn’t need them), Iroh encouraged Zuko to breathe. “Breath brings life to the blood. Blood brings life to the body. Bodies - all of ours - breathe life into the world. Arcane energy comes from us, Zuko. Life is its source. We are its source.”

But Iroh didn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. So what was he?

–

In the dark hallway of the Southern Encampment, Zuko took a breath. Then another, then another. He tried again.

Tried to breathe in the energy of the universe.

Tried to breathe out his intentions into it.

Tried to picture the Avatar in his mind. Show me, he thought. Show me.

But all he could see, over and over again, was the Water Tribe boy’s face. Looking a bit pinched, a bit pale, and overwhelmingly sad.

—

“Has anyone ever mentioned that your aura is glowing?”

Zuko huffed.

Uncle would have told him to be patient. It was not this woman’s fault that he couldn’t perform a simple locating spell. That he’d wasted hours sitting in a dark hallway, doing nothing but failing over and over again. But she certainly wasn’t helping him. Her crystal teeth glimmered in the torchlight as she flashed him a soft smile. “It almost looks rosey,” she said. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Why?” Zuko barked.

She gave him a knowing look. “You’re about to have quite an adventure.”

I’m about to go home, Zuko thought. He had probably just tried to work magic too soon after his injury, that’s why his locating spell wasn’t working. He would relax. Try again. And while he did that, he would supply. “Sai blades?” He repeated. He needed weapons. He’d lost his in the snow.

“Of course,” the woman said, dipping her sparkling chin into a bow. “Let me show you what we have.” She turned, stepped back into the armory. The rock shards that should have been her hair - they had grown to approximate twin buns tucked just behind her ears, glimmered with each step. Zuko tried not to stare. Zuko had rarely seen cherufes growing up in the temple. The depictions he’d seen in textbooks were less than flattering. Bulbous rock monsters the color of ash, magma dripping from their ears and eyes like liquid blood.

Zuko didn’t know how the encampment had come to have a cherufe requisition officer. It really wasn’t a normal thing for anyone who wasn’t a citizen of the Fire Nation to staff their operations. But here she was. Not bulbous at all. And certainly not oozing with lava. She was shaped like a woman, a tall woman. But her skin… it wasn’t skin. It was rock. Green crystal, so pure it seemed to emit light. Her eyes were purple rocks, cut like gemstone. Her hair was purple, too, amethyst blooms popping out from behind her ears. When she turned her head, Zuko could see small shards of red and blue mixed it. They almost looked like flowers.

Zuko couldn’t tell how old she was. Not young, but not elderly. It was hard to tell. Normal skin sagged when it aged. What did rocks do? Grow smoother?

She returned from the back balancing three cases. She set them before her on the stone counter and opened them one by one.

“This is a special set,” she said, opening the first case.

The Sais inside were beautiful, a set of long, black blades, each sharpened to a point, with two smaller blades fanned out on either side of them. The hilts were encrusted with tiny rubies. Zuko scowled, “They’re brittle.”

“Oh?” the cherufe said. “What makes you say that?”

“Never trust a colored alloy,” Zuko said. “Show me the next.”

She closed the first case and pushed it aside before turning her attention to the second.

They weren’t much better. They were made of a pure metal at least. Unfortunately, that metal was gold. “These are ceremonial,” Zuko hissed.

“They’re wonderful for spellcraft,” the cherufe said. As if she would know. The arcane arts were practiced everywhere, but they weren’t held in the same acclaim within the Earth Kingdom as the were in the Fire Nation, or even the Water Tribe.

“They’re not,” Zuko declared. He was the son of the High Priest of the Coven of Agni. He would know. Zuko probably had more mystical knowledge in the tip of her finger than the crystalline woman before him had in her whole body.

The cherufe woman closed the second case without comment.

The third set wasn’t amazing, but it was better than the first two. The blades were simple, maybe a little dull, but made of solid steel. “These will do,” Zuko said. Then, because he knew his Uncle would have wanted him to, he added, “thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Prince Zuko,” she said, closing the case and pressing it into his hands. “You’ve gotten big.”

“I… what?” Zuko sputtered, his heart giving a nervous flutter.

“I knew your mother,” the woman said. “And your father too, I suppose. You were a toddler, you wouldn’t remember.”

Zuko swallowed thickly. “But you’re…”

“A cherufe?” She said, tilting her head. “My Mother is the Priestess of the Dawn’s Edge Coven. Or was, may Agni keep her.” Zuko frowned. He had heard of things like that happening, children conceived on the battlefront, most taken care of before they could be born. That this woman’s mother would have her, a cherufe bastard, and then somehow become a Priestess? That would be quite a story. Zuko expected that the woman was about to begin telling it. But she wasn’t. Instead, she smiled, so softly, and said, “Ursa was part of the Dawn’s Edge Coven, too.”

Ursa. Zuko couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone say her name.

“I’m afraid I do need to charge you for the blades,” the woman said.

Zuko could feel his throat closing. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. Didn’t know how to steer the conversation back to where it’d been, to get that woman to say her name again. “I…” he stammered. “I…”

She waited.

Zuko wasn’t sure what she was waiting for.

Oh, the money.

A bit of dread in his stomach brought him back to reality.

It made sense. He wasn’t part of the unit stationed here, it’s not like he could use their account.

Zuko’s cheeks flared hot with embarrassment. He’d thought through the supplies in his bag so carefully. Arcane accessories. Weapons. Clothes. It was just that… at the temple, he never had to think about money.

But maybe… he pulled out the blue purse - Uncle’s old blue purse, he’d almost forgotten that he’d grabbed it - and spilled the contents onto the counter. They were… more meager than he expected. Zuko could feel his heart quicken. “I…” he began. There were a few coins. Not enough, but… some. Coins and… candies? Trust Uncle to have carried candies around when he didn’t even need to eat. “I can put down a deposit now, and open an account.”

The cherufe didn’t seem to be listening. Her gaze was focused on the counter, a crystal finger pointed forward. She started pushing coins around, haphazard, until she saw something that caught her eye. She picked it up.

It was a game piece.

Not even a nice one. A small wooden disc, barely wider than a silver piece. Its surface was scratched. Its paint faded, but Zuko could still make out the image: a blue lotus flower.

She hummed. It sounded vaguely like rocks clinking.

Zuko forced himself to take a deep breath. He needed to stay calm. But it was hard when everything had grown so strange, so quickly. When there was a woman before him who had been born in the Fire Nation, but who was cherufe. Interested in one of Uncle’s random trinkets. And she knew his mother. And she just… showed up… on a day when he’d been thinking about them, both of them. Been allowing himself to think about them. Even though he knew how dangerous it was, to remember.

“You should keep this,” the woman said, putting the game piece on the table and pushing it back to him. “You should go now. Trust your heart. Go where it guides you.”

“My heart?” Zuko repeated.

“It’s already shown you the way.”

Zuko stared at her, frozen.

When he didn’t move, she put the coins and the candies and then at last the game piece back into the bag and thrust it into his hands.

–

Zuko sat before a candle this time. Closed his eyes. Breathed.

He just kept seeing the Water Tribe boy.

Saw him sitting in a dark, rocking room.

Saw him walking a rocky show under the starlight.

Saw him laying down on a cheap straw mattress, looking up lazily at the ceiling before he turned on his side, closing his eyes.

He was the Avatar’s protector. Perhaps the Avatar’s great magics were countering his own, but it was no matter. The cherufe woman was right. Zuko’s heart was showing him the way.

Zuko would do this. He would find the Avatar. He would prove himself to his father. He knew, in his heart, that he could, he would, do this.

He watched the Water Tribe boy sleep and knew exactly how to find the Avatar.

–

Sokka knew before he opened his eyes that he wasn’t alone.

And not in the “I know there’s a tenjoname standing in the corner, licking the ceiling, that’s going to disappear the second I light a candle” type of not alone (spirits, Sokka’s world was so weird).

This was definitely a “there is someone standing in the room trying to breathe really quietly so that I won’t know they’re there” type of not alone.

And it wasn’t Katara, he would recognize her, even half asleep.

And it wasn’t Aang, because Sokka didn’t feel a light breeze coming from nowhere.

Then Sokka smelled it. Blood and smoke and peony .

“You.” Sokka didn’t so much speak the world as growl it.

“Good evening,” said the vampire.

Sokka could see him now in the low light, standing in the far corner of the rented room. It was damp and drafty, the darkened spots in the ceiling a classic tell that it was infested with ceiling-lickers, and probably other annoying but benign monsters. Sokka had thought it was well chosen, a town almost four miles away from where they’d dumped the ship. Apparently not.

“Don’t try to struggle,” the vampire instructed. “You’re bound, in more ways than one.”

Sokka wasn’t surprised to notice the tug of rope against his wrists and ankles. He was slightly surprised to feel the press of something else against him… a spell? He felt it laying on him like a manacle, though how it bound him exactly was unclear. He was distracted, just a little, by a buzzing in the back of his brain. Sun sickness.

“It’s day?” Sokka muttered, momentarily too bewildered to keep his wits.

“Barely,” the vampire responded.

Sokka hadn’t even thought to wonder about why the vampire was guarding him, but now it made more sense. Aang and Katara were away doing daylight things. Maybe having dinner - which was rude of them, eating fun things without him. The vampire was guarding Sokka because he was the only one here.

It wasn’t killing him for some reason. That was… confusing. But helpful.

It was better dressed this time than it had been during their last encounter, dressed in a blood red coat lined with dark gray furs. Distantly, Sokka wondered if that fur was dyed or harvested directly from a gray wolverine.

Spirits, his mind went to ridiculous places. The coat wasn’t important right now. What was important was killing the vampire wearing it. Sokka squirmed, pressing his body against bonds both visible and invisible. When he moved his arms too wide, he felt a little shock.

Ah, some sort of invisible electrical net.

Gran-Gran had cast a spell or two like that, trying to catch Sokka sneaking off in the night. Gran-Gran wasn’t especially known for her arcane skills, but that spell had been… effective. Sokka was half certain he had a tuft of hair in the back that still stood on edge.

Okay. So he wasn’t able to wiggle his way out. Not yet anyway. And he had no weapons. Unless he counted his blanket, which was currently wrapped neatly around his shoulders. Had the vampire bound him and then… tucked him in? Sokka was kinda grateful if that was the case. The room was cold.

He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t attack. That left him only one option. “Can’t say I expected to see you here,” Sokka said, ignoring the way his chest felt tight as he drew in breath to form the words. “Given you were buried and bleeding to death.”

The vampire answered with a grunt. “It takes more than that to kill a vampire,” he said.

“It wasn’t hard,” Sokka goaded. And he hoped his voice came off more as mocking than desperate. His voice was the only weapon he had. “The stake slipped in so easily. Missed the heart unfortunately, but don’t worry, I’ll do better next time.” He grinned. The vampire only scowled. Sokka decided to keep pressing. “Did it scar?”

“Of course it didn’t scar,” the vampire said irritably. “It wasn’t silver.”

Oh. So, silver could scar vampires. That was good to know. Sokka could have sworn silver was a weakness of some other monster. It could be hard to keep track.

He took a breath. Vampire lore was not the most important thing right now. The most important thing was to keep the vampire talking.

To keep him distracted.

“I’m Sokka,” Sokka said

That had the intended effect. The vampire nearly jumped. “I don’t care what your name is,” he huffed.

“Well, I guess that’s one of the big differences between you and I. I prefer to be on a first name basis with the people I murder,” Sokka said.

The vampire let out a sound that was almost a laugh. “You didn’t ask me my name before you threw your spear in my throat,” he said.

“That was a graze,” Sokka protested.

“You didn’t intend for it to be a graze,” said the vampire.

Which was true.

Distantly, Sokka could feel his headache begin to ease. It hadn’t gone away yet, but… the vampire had been telling the truth, it seemed, when he said it was barely day. The sun was starting to descend.

It took a considerable amount of effort to breathe in a way that could mimic normal human breathing. Every inch of Sokka’s skin was crawling, itching with a desire to move, but he couldn’t. The vampire was still just standing there in the corner of the damp room. In a shadowy corner that Sokka was realizing was a bit too shadowy, the vampire must have cast some spell that was messing with the light. Sokka would have seen through it if he’d been wearing his glasses, but of course he hadn’t kept them on when he went to sleep. Maybe he would now. The magic… It was impressive. Sokka had never even attempted anything like it with his alchemy. He sold rings that could hide a zit, which sold well, but to change the way light itself fell… that was difficult. Sokka wasn’t just dealing with a powerful warrior (and the vampire was a strong fighter, despite his loss). Sokka was dealing with something approaching a wizard. Great. That didn’t make him more nervous or anything.

“So…” he continued, trying to peirce the shadows to find the vampire’s eyes. “Are you going to tell me your name or not?”

The vampire raised an eyebrow - his only available eyebrow, the one on the right side of his face. Sokka hadn’t had time to take it in when they’d been trying to rip each other in half but… he was… not pretty, that wasn’t the right word. Striking? The pale skin. The pitch black eyes with shimmering gold irises. The sharp point of the chin. All framed by raven feather hair. He was so unlike anyone else Sokka knew. And despite the danger, despite the fact that this was a literal vampire, the embodiment of all evil… it wasn’t a bad face to look at.

“You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?” Sokka continued, forcing his eyes down for a moment. “Hmm… maybe… Lee?”

“Lee?”’ The vampire repeated, incredulous.

“There are lots of Lees. I’ve met three Lees today,” Sokka said, which was somewhat true. The innkeeper was called Lee and his son was called Wei Lee, so… close enough.

“Lee is an awful name,” the Vampire said.

“It’s traditional,” Sokka said.

“It’s boring,” the vampire said

“It’s classic,” Sokka insisted.

“Classic doesn’t mean it’s not awful.”

“Well it’s what I’m going to call you unless you give me your name. Lee.”

The vampire snorted, glaring at him.

For a moment, Sokka reconsidered his tactics. For some reason, the vampire hadn’t killed him. It’d immobilized him, but it hadn’t killed him. It was content to let Sokka sit around until Katara and Aang returned. Or til Aang returned anyway - Sokka didn’t think it cared about Katara. It knew Aang was special. Whether that was just because Aang was a sylph or whether the vampire somehow knew about spirit magic, Sokka could only guess. And it didn’t matter. What mattered was - the vampire couldn’t capture Aang, he just couldn’t. And since Sokka couldn’t protect anyone right now, that meant when Aang and Katara returned they would have to fight the vampire on their own. So, better to fight a distracted opponent than a focused one, right?

Except… Sokka had overshot. The vampire didn’t look distracted. He looked murderous. And all that murder energy was directed at Sokka.

He was - as Gran-Gran had always warned Sokka that he would - talking himself to death.

“Zuko,” the vampire grunted.

“Zuko,” Sokka repeated, feeling it in his mouth. It was a soft name. Sort of round maybe? Zuko.

Zuko was watching him. Well, he’d been watching Sokka the whole time but this was different. He was waiting, Sokka could see it in the stiff way he held his neck. Zuko was waiting for Sokka to have some sort of reaction. To what? Offer approval? To say, ‘yeah, Zuko’s a much much better name than Lee?’ Which it was but… what?

“I’m not going to kill you,” Zuko spat out in a rush.

“You probably should,” Sokka said, holding his wrists up, and getting a little jolt from the electricity spell for his trouble. “As soon as I figure this out I’m going to try to kill you.”

“You won’t be able to,” Zuko said

Now it was Sokka’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I got pretty close last time.”

“I was having a bad day,” Zuko insisted.

Sokka let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah? Let me guess. You only got to eat two people instead of three that day. Tragedy.”

The vampire’s face made a weird spasm.

What part of what Sokka said had hit a nerve?

“I’m not the first person who’s tried to kill you,” Sokka said, his eyes tracing the vampire’s face, his cheek. “Guess that person was smart enough to bring their silver. Thanks for the tip, by the way.”

Sokka could tell by his blank, angry stare that the vampire didn’t pick up on what he was implying immediately. But when he did, it - Zuko - raised a hand to touch his scar.

“It’s ugly,” Sokka said. Which was… true and not. It was monstrously large. But the way the skin swirled and flowed… Sokka had seen worse scars after the raid. “Huge. And I bet it really hurt. Spirits, I wish I could have been there to see it. To see you bleeding.”

It was clearly a sensitive topic, based on how the vampire’s nostrils flared. For a moment, Sokka worried he’s gone too far again. Then Zuko drew a shuttering breath.

“You’re a poor warrior, to know so little about your enemy,” Zuko drawled. “Not able to tell the difference between a silver and a sun scar.”

“Sun?” Sokka repeated.

Sokka didn’t really care where the scar came from. Curious, sure, but it didn’t really matter. What mattered was if he could get the vampire - Zuko - to tell the story, then he’d be very, very distracted.

The room was growing slightly darker. The sun really was starting to set. Zuko was little more than pinpricks of gold in a dark shadow across the room.

“We have a… weakness in common,” he said, and Sokka swore he could hear the vampire smile. “At least mine is natural. Your curse clings to you like a second skin. What gave you that? A xiezhi?”

It was Sokka’s turn to be caught off guard.

“You make it worse, you know,” Zuko continued when Sokka didn’t immediately respond. “That kind of moon curse is supposed to be short lived, but I can see how it’s burrowed into you. Doesn’t happen by accident. You’re clinging to it.”

This vampire was going to die.

As soon as Sokka could get his limbs free, Zuko was going down.

“I’m going to kill you,” Sokka said. “I hope it’s a slow death.”

Now the vampire did laugh. “I’m going to live forever.”

Sokka took a breath. It should have been harder. He should still be terrified, but anger has pushed that aside. Fuck waiting for Katara and Aang. Sokka tried to kick his feet, then cried as a jolt from the spell tore through his legs.

The vampire laughed again. “See? I don’t need to kill you. You’ll kill yourself.”

“I’m going to drain all the blood from your body,” Sokka hissed.

The vampire gave another snort. “Oh? Are you a vampire now?”

“Die,” Sokka spat, trying again to free his legs. He kicked them and spirits it hurt but he did it again, again, again. The spell reacted to each movement, pressing into him with a terrible crack. By the fourth kick Sokka couldn’t feel his legs anymore. By the sixth he was starting to feel it in his chest. He gasped - then panicked as all the air seemed to have been pushed out of his chest, which tingled and cracked as an unnatural energy jolted in the middle of his body. He tried to breathe, tried to breathe, tried to breathe but his muscles didn’t work. A sudden black clouded his vision. There was the sensation of everything tilting even though he was flat on the ground and -

It stopped. Sokka could breathe.

As he did, he felt a weight. The shape of a hand.

Then suddenly his eyes worked again and there he was. The vampire looming over him, right palm pressed into Sokka’s chest. The golden irises dancing like flames just inches above his own eyes.

“Don’t actually kill yourself,” Zuko again, his face so close that Sokka could feel his breath. “That would be stupid.”

He’d lifted the spell, Sokka realized.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sokka said. “Why do you want me to live?”

Zuko didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just hovered there, his hand still resting on Sokka’s chest. Sokka could feel the pinch of his fingernails pushing against the fabric of his shirt, pickpricks that dug in just a little with each inhale. His face hung over Sokka’s like a half moon, the too white skin almost shining, lips slightly parted as he breathed through his mouth. “You’ve seen humans die,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving Sokka’s. “But probably not as many as I have.”

“I bet you’ve killed thousands,” Sokka whispered back.

“I never kill them.” Zuko’s voice was so low it was almost inaudible. “I just see them die. Over and over again. See their skin go white as their blood leaves their bodies. See the moment the spark of life extinguishes in their eyes.” He pulled his bottom lip in with his teeth. Sokka could see the fang glittering on the left side. “Your eyes,” he said, “Blue. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

There was a rush of wind. Sokka’s shoulder exploded in pain as he crashed through the window and into the night.