Chapter Text
Year 76
At his low desk, Iroh dragged a finger down a sheet of coarse parchment. The collar of his travel robes scratched the back of his neck, the dark red fabric stiff with dried sea spray and coal smoke. A painted wooden block clattered against the floorboards, followed by another.
Dipping his brush into the inkstone, Iroh traced the flowing characters of a mainland family name—Rong—pausing to read the cramped margin note: Father detained. Bending offense. He moved his brush to a gold-edged ledger, copying the grain yield beneath the sharp strokes of a colonial governor.
A scrape of wicker against wood dragged his attention to the archway.
The play mat was empty, but the toy basket sat inverted on the floorboards, shuffling forward an inch. Two bare, dimpled legs protruded from beneath the rim, kicking to drive the basket across the floor.
"I hiding," a muffled whisper echoed from the rattan.
Iroh set his brush across the inkstone, pushing his chair back with a loud groan of wood. Through the archway, Sura lay sprawled across a nest of floor cushions in the sunlit solar, resting her swollen belly against the pillows.
"You are doing a terrible job," he said to the basket.
The bare feet pushed against the floorboards, scooting the basket forward two inches. "I hiding."
"I can see your legs," Iroh said, stepping around the desk. "And a basket does not crawl."
A sharp gasp sounded from the reeds as squished toes curled tight against the polished wood. Iroh lifted the basket by the handles and carried it to the low chair beside his desk. Two small hands instantly gripped the edge. Lu Ten pulled himself up, standing firm on the woven bottom with a deep scowl.
"You must pick up your blocks," Iroh instructed, tapping a stack of blank parchment. "If you put them back, you may help me. I need a drawing of a very strong ship."
Lu Ten stared at him for five seconds before giving a single nod.
"Good. A prince always honors his word." Hooking his hands under the boy’s arms, Iroh hoisted him over the rim to lower him to the floorboards.
But Lu Ten twisted sideways, using the loose hold as a pivot to lunge across the desk. His palm struck the edge of the stone inkwell.
The stone tipped, spilling a black puddle over the Rong family registry.
"Agni's—!" Dropping his son, Iroh lunged to drag the dry colonial ledgers away from the spill.
Lu Ten snatched the calligraphy brush straight out of the pooling ink and bolted.
"I gone!" his son yelled, bare feet slapping against the floorboards as he sprinted through the archway.
"Lu Ten! Put that down!" Tearing a blank sheet of parchment in half, Iroh scrambled to dam the black liquid spreading across the wood. "Do not wipe that on the silk! Stop!"
Through the archway, Sura grabbed the seat of Lu Ten's trousers and hoisted the toddler onto the daybed cushions. "Did you truly think that was going to work, dearest?" she called out over the sound of Iroh scrubbing the desk.
Lu Ten shoved the dripping brush toward her, splattering a drop of black ink onto the red fabric stretched over her thigh. Sura looked down at the dark stain blooming on the silk.
"Well," she murmured, brushing a thumb over the ruin. "That was my favorite skirt."
Catching his wrist to push the brush away, she pulled the boy closer to steady him. Lu Ten dropped the brush onto a pillow and pressed his smudged hand flat against the curve of her stomach.
"Baby the-e?"
"That is the general arrangement, yes," Sura answered, stroking the back of his hair. "Assuming you have not scared them away."
"Sura, take the brush from him!" Iroh called from the office, slamming the saved ledgers against the wood.
Lu Ten leaned his face closer to her stomach. "Baby sweep?"
Sura closed her eyes, leaning back against the cushions. "Yes. Asleep."
Lu Ten hovered forward, drawing a massive breath.
"WAKEY WAKEY!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, burying his mouth directly against her stomach.
Sura flinched, pressing a hand to her temple. The shrill scream vibrated straight through the archway, sparking an instant ache at the base of Iroh’s skull.
Dropping the ruined parchment, Iroh crossed the solar in three strides, hooked an arm around Lu Ten’s waist, and hauled the shrieking boy into the air. Black ink immediately transferred from Lu Ten’s forearms onto the collar of his travel robes.
Sura kept her hand pressed firmly against her temple, her eyes squeezed shut against the afternoon light.
Iroh let out a slow breath, blowing a stray strand of hair from his face. "Why would you scream like that?"
Dangling from his father's grip, Lu Ten stared back. "Wake baby to pway."
Iroh looked down at the cushions. Sura opened one eye, gave a slow, deliberate shake of her head, and let it fall shut again, sinking deeper into the silk.
Iroh shifted the squirming toddler onto his hip and walked back into the office to scrub the boy’s slippery fingers with a ruined linen cloth.
Lu Ten twisted, wiggling a hand free just long enough to grab his painted Komodo-rhino and slam the wooden beast down onto the center of Iroh’s freshly drawn maps.
"Mine!" he declared.
Iroh stopped scrubbing. On the unrolled parchment depicting the western coast of the Earth Kingdom, right in the center of the valleys, sat the painted rhino. A black thumbprint pressed heavily over the mountain ranges, permanently marking the paper.
Dropping the stained cloth, Iroh rested his calloused fingers over his son's ink-covered knuckles.
"Yes," he rumbled. "They will be yours indeed. Papa will name a city after you."
Lu Ten gave a single nod.
Having cleaned the worst of the ink, Iroh adjusted his hold on the boy and stepped back into the solar. "Is the ache still strong?"
Sura opened her eyes. "It passes quickly. Is the work ruined?"
"It is mostly salvaged," Iroh said, brushing his thumb over a drying streak of soot on his sleeve. "Nothing I cannot transfer into a new ledger tonight."
A sharp rap of knuckles against wood broke the silence.
A palace attendant stepped into the threshold, her composure wavering for a fraction of a second at the sight of the ink-stained family before she dropped into a bow.
"Your Highnesses," she murmured. "The Fire Lord approaches."
Sura let out a slow sigh, swinging her legs off the cushions to pull her red silk skirts down to her ankles. Iroh did not bother adjusting his robes; the damage to his sleeves was absolute.
Voices drifted from outside the apartments—a low murmur followed by tense silence. The quiet dragged on until heavy footsteps echoed into the room.
Fire Lord Azulon crossed the threshold, his gaze snapping immediately to the kneeling attendant.
"Leave. At once."
The attendant scrambled backward into the corridor. Azulon turned his attention to the solar, smoothing his tense shoulders into a cool, lethal calm as he looked at his eldest son.
Iroh lowered Lu Ten to the floorboards, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and bowed deeply from the waist. On the daybed, Sura rested her hands over her swollen stomach and inclined her head. On the floorboards, the toddler waddled straight out of the solar, disappearing into the office.
Azulon gave a brief nod.
"The three holdout colonies have been brought back to order, Father," Iroh said, straightening. "The western supply lines are secure. We will commence the grading for the paved routes—"
Azulon moved toward the armchair but stopped, his gaze locking onto the black ink sprawling across Sura's red silk thigh.
"Have you fallen into poverty, Iroh?"
"Father?"
"The Crown Princess is the highest-ranking woman in this dynasty," Azulon stated. "And you have her receiving me in dirty silks. Are you no longer capable of clothing your wife?"
Lu Ten slipped quietly past their legs, dragging a crumpled piece of parchment behind the daybed.
"Is he not taking proper care of you, dear niece?"
Sura’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh before she smoothed her expression. "Indeed, Your Majesty. He has been gone an entire month and did not bring me a single piece of jewelry."
Iroh stared at the massive, pale green jade comb pinned through her dark hair—the exact comb he had placed in her hands three hours ago. Looking from the foreign jade back to his father, he shook his head with a snort.
"Father, Lu Ten ambushed us with the calligraphy brush just moments ago," Iroh said.
”mmh.”
The Fire Lord peered over the cushions. On the floorboards, Lu Ten methodically pressed his ink-drenched palms onto the stolen parchment. Looking up at the sudden audience, the boy lifted both dripping hands into the air.
"Hi!" he chirped.
Azulon beckoned with one finger. "Stand up. Come here."
Lu Ten pushed himself up on wobbly legs and waddled out into the sunlight.
Pointing a rigid finger at the splatter on Sura’s skirt, Azulon looked down at the two-year-old with the same grim seriousness he used with his generals. "Have you been naughty? Did you stain your mama's silk with the brush?"
Holding up his ink-stained hands, Lu Ten confessed immediately. "Bwush for mama."
The deep lines around Azulon's mouth twitched with strain. "And why would you do that? You have stained her silk."
Lu Ten tilted his head all the way back. "Pway with baby." He pointed a black finger toward Sura's stomach. "Baby, see bwush."
Azulon let out a long breath. "Your mother is to remain pristine. Clean. There will be no dirtying your mama."
Jutting his stomach forward, Lu Ten pushed his bottom lip out and kicked a bare foot into the air. "Baby kick. Baby pway now."
"Do not play with ink near her," Azulon ordered.
Slipping a hand inside the fold of his dark sleeve, wax paper crinkled in the quiet solar. The Fire Lord pinched a candied sweet between his fingers, popped the wrapper off with his thumb, and dropped the red sugar directly into Lu Ten’s waiting, ink-covered palms.
"You must purchase better skirts for your wife, Iroh."
Lu Ten shoved the candy into his mouth and bolted toward the office.
On the daybed, Sura pulled herself up against the pillows. "Uncle. Did you just give Lu Ten a sweet before our midday meal?"
Azulon settled back into his seat, arranging the dark folds of his robes over his knees. "I have no idea what you mean. I am the Fire Lord. I have no business bringing sweets to bratty little princes."
"Regarding the supply lines—" Iroh started.
"Have your bags been unpacked?"
"Only partially, Father. My attendants were—"
"Good. Tell them to leave the trunks exactly as they are." Azulon smoothed his hands over the armrests. "You will depart following the midday meal. A ship is already provisioned at the caldera docks. You are sailing west."
Iroh lowered himself onto the padded stool opposite the armchair. He had walked off his vessel mere hours ago; the dried salt of the western sea still chafed his collar.
"Is there a rebellion in the new territories?" he asked. "A sighting of the Avatar?"
Azulon withdrew a tight cylinder of dispatch scrolls from his sleeve and tossed them onto the low wooden table with a sharp smack.
Snapping the red wax seal with his thumb, Iroh unfurled the reports, scanning the cramped calligraphy of the coastal commanders.
On the daybed, Sura adjusted the silk pillows. "A dragon?" she asked, catching sight of the imperial beast-warden crest stamped at the top of the parchment. "There has not been a confirmed sighting in five years. Not since that ambitious new general dragged that severed head into the banquet hall during our wedding feast."
Azulon gave a single, curt nod. "You will trace the path from the western coast to the island. You will investigate these reports. If the beast is there, you will strike it down. And you will take the glory, Iroh. You will return with the title of Dragon."
Iroh dragged his finger down the length of the dispatch, reading the coastal scouts' frantic descriptions a second time.
"Father, the scouts describe a silver beast," he said, tapping his index finger against the ink. "This must be a frightened colonial's exaggeration. A trick of the clouds catching the sunlight. Dragons are born of Agni. They are either crimson, or cerulean." He looked from the scroll to the Fire Lord. "There is no such thing as a silver dragon."
"Perhaps it is merely a wild rumor spinning out of control," Azulon mused, leaning back into the armchair and interlacing his fingers. "A storm cloud mistaken for a myth by undisciplined men. Or perhaps it is something else entirely." He held Iroh's gaze. "Either way. You will sail west, and you will find out."
Rolling the impossible description closed, Iroh bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
Azulon pushed himself up from the armchair. As he smoothed his dark robes, the rapid slapping of bare feet echoed from the office. Lu Ten trotted back into the solar, marching directly up to the Fire Lord and opening his ink-stained palms.
Azulon simply lifted his own hands, turning his empty palms outward to show there was no sugar hidden in his sleeves.
Reaching into his tunic, Lu Ten pulled out the painted Komodo-rhino and thrust it into the air toward his grandfather. The wood was jagged, the legs disproportionate, and the painted scales a muddy green. The front horn sat off-center.
"Did you carve this yourself, Iroh?" Azulon asked amused, staring at the lopsided toy. "The craftsmanship leaves much to be desired."
On the daybed, Sura adjusted her pillows. "Prince Ozai made that. He carved it himself and gave it to Lu Ten for his first birthday."
Azulon flicked the back of his hand against the ugly wooden beast, knocking it from the toddler's grip. It clattered across the floorboards. Offering Sura a curt nod, the Fire Lord turned back to Iroh.
"You have your orders. I expect the beast slain and a full report on my desk by the turn of the next moon."
He walked out of the solar.
Iroh let out a long breath as the heavy footsteps faded down the corridor, his fingers catching on his salt-crusted collar as he rubbed the back of his neck.
Iroh shot a look at his wife before he walked towards his bedchamber.
In the adjoining bedchamber, Iroh jammed a fresh crimson tunic into his canvas travel sack alongside leather map tubes, spare bowstrings, and a whetstone. Sura stood quietly in the doorway, resting her hands over the swell of her stomach as she watched him work.
"If we catch the northern drafts off the coast," he said, grabbing his steel bracers from the dresser, "we can hit the northernmost garrison first. Work our way south and interrogate the scouts."
He waited for her to point out the impending monsoon season or the lack of fresh water at the southern ports. But she said nothing. When Iroh looked up, she was leaning heavily against the doorframe, the dark circles beneath her eyes stark against her pale skin.
"Let Ozai take the fleet," she said. "You stepped off a ship this morning. You do not need the title of Dragon."
Dropping his bracers into the sack, Iroh shook his head. "Ozai is untested on the open sea. He would not know how to command a ship, let alone track a myth."
"What if there is a dragon?"
Reaching for the brass buckles of his bag, he answered without hesitation. "Then I will kill it. I will take the glory, and I will lay its head at your feet."
"I do not want a severed head at my feet." Her voice dropped to a quiet edge. "They gave us the sun, Iroh. We learned our most sacred way of life by watching them breathe. Why must our greatness always require destroying the things we revere?"
Iroh yanked the leather buckle shut.
"Because the Fire Lord ordered it. There is no questioning it."
She did not question it.
Pushing herself off the doorframe, her red silk skirts rustled against the floorboards as she stepped back into the solar, hooking her hands under Lu Ten to hoist the ink-stained boy onto her hip.
Iroh dropped the travel bag.
"Sura, do not walk away from this," he said, following her. "I will be back long before the birth. Two moons. Three at most."
She carried the boy toward the outer corridor. Lu Ten peered over her shoulder, a red sugar stain smeared across his chin.
"Think of the future we are building!" Iroh called after her. "When this war is won, you will stand before the people as their Fire Lady. Our family will hold the title of Dragon. The glory of this campaign will belong to every man, woman, and child in a unified world. Just—" He stopped, his breathing heavy. "Sura, please. Talk to me. You cannot let me sail with you mad at me."
She stopped in the center of the room, adjusting Lu Ten’s squirming weight higher against the swell of her stomach before looking back over her shoulder with clear, calm eyes.
"I am not mad, Iroh," she said, her voice a hollow echo in the large room. Glancing down at the black stain ruining her skirt, she brushed a thumb near the grease on Lu Ten's face. "The sun is high. Our boy needs a bonnet, and we both require clean silk. We will meet you at the docks for the farewell."
Iroh searched her face, but the mask of the Crown Princess remained flawless. He gave a single nod. "Thank you," he breathed.
Pausing at the sliding doors, Sura looked back over her shoulder.
"If you must truly kill a dragon to claim its power," she whispered, the sound carrying across the quiet room, "look it in the eye before you strike. Acknowledge that the glory will not come from you. It comes from the sacred beast that gave us the sun."
She stepped through the threshold, closing the door shut behind her.
Left alone, Iroh hauled his heavy canvas travel bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the royal apartments.
As he walked down the shadowed corridor of the private wing, a familiar voice drifted off the stone walls.
"...always the same excuse," Ozai was saying, the words clipping the quiet air. "He claims my naval strategies are untested. How am I supposed to test them if he never allows me to set foot on a ship? He just wants me locked in the capital."
Rounding the corner, Iroh found Ozai leaning against the carved wooden paneling beside Lady Ren. The pale pink silk of her formal robes, her fingers gently folded the stiff collar of Ozai's tunic.
At the clack of Iroh’s boots, Ren dropped her hand instantly. Her round face flushed as she took a swift step back, lowering herself into a deep curtsy with her grey eyes lowered to the floor.
"Crown Prince Iroh."
Pushing himself off the wall, Ozai folded his hands into his sleeves and offered a stiff bow.
Dropping his canvas bag to the floor, Iroh stepped forward, a broad smile breaking through his beard as he pulled his younger brother into a two-armed embrace.
"You have grown taller than me, brother!" he laughed, stepping back to grip Ozai's shoulders. "I have barely been gone."
Ozai glanced pointedly at Iroh’s thick, muscled chest. "And you seem to grow wider, Iroh."
Chuckling, Iroh released him and wrapped his arms around the girl for a brief embrace. "Lady Ren. You look lovely in those silks."
Ren smiled. "Thank you, Crown Prince. Though it is a pity you must depart so soon after returning." She turned, looking expectantly at Ozai.
A heavy silence hung in the corridor.
Ozai crossed his arms, shifting his gaze to the stone floorboards with a flat hum. "Duty calls him, it seems."
Beaming at them both, Iroh rested his hands on his belt. "I have not forgotten either of you on my travels. Ozai, there is a chest waiting in your chambers. And of course, I have not forgotten you, Lady Ren. For your eighteenth birthday, I instructed a servant to deliver a gift directly to the Captain’s quarters."
Ren bowed deeply. "You are too generous. Thank you." She cast a last glance at Ozai, who kept his eyes fixed on the floor, before murmuring, "I shall take my leave. Good voyage My prince... Prince Ozai."
"Before you take your leave," Iroh asked, gesturing over his shoulder. "If you cross paths with Lady Ling, could you ask her to bring a fresh tray of food to the solar this afternoon? Ensure the crown princess eats."
Ren nodded, curtsying one last time before walking down the hall, the pale pink silk of her skirts rustling against the stone.
They stood in the corridor, listening to the silk fade into the distance. The quiet stretched out until both brothers opened their mouths at the same time.
"Is the Crown Princess not nearing her time?" Ozai asked. "Why sail so far?"
"Why in Agni's name have you not proposed yet?" Iroh demanded.
Ozai dragged a hand down the front of his uniform, letting out a sharp exhale. "Do not start this again. Do you not have some epic myth to go hunt?"
Iroh stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I know the last time was awful. But when I return, you must go to Father again. Formally request to court her. I will go with you, and I will back your suit. Father will not say no if I stand beside you."
Ozai’s fingers clamped around his own forearm, bunching the dark fabric in a white-knuckled grip. "Drop it, Iroh."
Ozai stared at him.
“Her father’s province grows wheat, not warships,” he said. “You married for love because Father allowed it. I don’t have that luxury.”
“Luxury?” Waving off his hand, Iroh leaned in closer. "You forget Sura, and I saw you two kissing on Ember Island, four years ago?”
Ozai swept the shadowed arches of the colonnade for Imperial Guards.
"Keep your voice down," he hissed, stepping toward his brother.
Iroh pointed a calloused finger squarely at Ozai’s chest. "So you are still kissing in the shadows."
Ozai went perfectly still.
“Then stop sneaking around and marry her. You are twenty now, and she has been of age for two years now; she will get married sooner rather than later, to you, or someone else.”
A thin wisp of gray steam hissed from Ozai's nostrils, the air between them warping with dry heat.
"Do not get involved," Ozai warned.
Iroh dropped his hand, watching the steam rise.
Smoothing his features into a blank mask, Ozai took a step backward. "I wish you success on your stupid hunt. Farewell."
He turned on his heel, his long strides carrying him down the stone corridor until Iroh was left alone with his luggage.
Two months later
A roaring cyclone of raw energy swallowed the stone pinnacle of the ancient ruins. A shifting spectrum of light tore upward into the sky. Violet bled seamlessly into cerulean, fracturing outward into emerald, white, and searing yellow. The heat washed over the high terrace in pulsing waves, illuminating the jungle canopy below.
Standing at the apex of the stone stairs, dwarfed by the inferno, Iroh looked down at his trembling hands. The colors danced across his palms. Sura's quiet voice cut through the roar of the flames, echoing in his memory:
Why must our greatness always require destroying the things we revere?
Closing his hands into fists, Iroh tilted his head back to face the two colossal, serpentine deities coiling through the shifting vortex. He pressed his right fist into his open left palm, bowing low from the waist.
"I will return to the capital and tell the Fire Lord the beast is dead," he yelled over the fire. "The world will believe I struck the final blow. Your secret dies with me."
Straightening his spine, he looked at the red and blue scales weaving above him against the bruised purple light of the western horizon.
"What will happen now? There are only the two of you left."
A deep vibration dropped directly into his mind, echoing against the inside of his skull.
You may go now, Iroh.
Iroh stood perfectly still, waiting for the rest. He waited for a deeper truth, a philosophical revelation, or a simple acknowledgment of the tremendous lie he was about to carry.
The vibration faded into the roar of the flames.
Iroh gave a stiff nod and began the long descent down the steep stone steps.
At the base of the ruins, the Sun Warrior Chief stood waiting in the gathering dusk. As Iroh’s boots hit the jungle floor, the Chief reached out, pressing a jagged section of an ancient, petrified horn into Iroh's hands—the proof pulled from the catacombs, required to sell the lie to Azulon.
Shifting the bone against his hip, Iroh opened his mouth.
"You may go now, son of Azulon," the Chief said.
Iroh stared at the man. Turning his back on the tribe, he marched into the darkening jungle canopy toward his waiting soldiers.
An elder stepped up beside the Chief, watching the red-armored prince vanish into the foliage. "Will he understand?"
The Chief kept his eyes on the dark tree line. "Not today."
Turning away from the path, the Chief offered a sharp nod to two young warriors waiting by the eastern wall.
The youths broke into a sprint. Grabbing the thick vines draped over the sheer face of the mountain, they scaled the rock quickly, pushing past the tree line toward a shallow alcove cut into the cliffside. The sunset burned out, plunging the sky into a bruised indigo.
As the lead warrior pulled himself over the ledge, a deafening, guttural shriek tore from the cave, followed immediately by a blast of swirling orange flame. The fire scorched the stone mere inches above the youths' heads as they threw themselves flat against the rock to shield their faces from the blistering heat.
A creature tore itself from the shadows.
Brutally muscled, the beast slammed two thick hind legs onto the rock edge, its dark claws gouging the stone. Colossal, leathery wings folded against its sides in place of front limbs. Thick, overlapping plates of hammered, metallic silver covered its body, catching the last ambient light of the dusk.
With a concussive thrust of its hind legs, the silver beast launched itself off the cliff. Its wings snapped open with a sound like tearing canvas, beating the air into a gale. Shrieking again, it rocketed away from the island toward the dark horizon of the western ocean.
From the other side of the island, a chest-rattling roar rumbled through the jungle—one of the serpentine masters answering the silver creature's departure.
Above the ruins, the first stars pierced the indigo sky, framing the metallic silhouette as it shrank against the night.
Clinging to the ledge as the wind whipped their hair across their faces, the two young warriors lifted their heads. They coughed through the lingering smoke, crawling forward over the hot, scattered ash to peer into the back of the alcove.
Resting in the center of the smoking volcanic nest was a single dragon egg