Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kaladin was doing his best to avoid the lighteyes in his caravan.

But he drew attention to himself. Not necessarily because of his eyes, but because of the scar that encircled one of them. A burn wound--that’s all it could have been, judging by the blistered skin that surrounded the eye, and the scabs. It wasn’t recent, but it rendered him just as much of a slave as the rest of this miserable lot.

Second-degree burn. Will require skin-grafting. Tend the wound with cool water. Treat with antibiotics.

None of his father’s instructions would be useful. Tvlakv preferred a dead slave over one that--as he saw it--would waste materials to be treated. If it wasn’t for his eye color, Kaladin doubted this man would even be alive.

Though “man” wasn’t the proper word to describe him. He was a boy, much like Kaladin. Maybe a year older than Tien, and for a second, Kaladin couldn’t help himself from wondering what had happened to him.

Storm him. It didn’t matter. They didn’t share similar stories, they shared similar scars. He was a lighteyes. That was the end of it.

Some of the slaves approached the boy at night, though, asking him questions. Where had he come from? Where had he gotten his scar? The same inquiries they used to plague Kaladin with. The ones that made him remember.

The boy barely answered. He claimed that he hadn’t come from anywhere. He had no home.

The men were unsatisfied with that. His skin was pale enough to mark him as a foreigner. His eyes were light enough to label him an outsider. And that scar . . . it said he had a past. One that, unlike Kaladin’s, could not be read.

“You should talk to him.” The windspren that had been following Kaladin flittered over to his shoulder. She started pacing on it, but not in a way that was anxious; her footfalls were so aimless, they almost were astonishing.

Flight, freedom. Those were not the attributes you saw in a slave wagon.  

Kaladin glanced at the foreigner from the corner of his eye. He was picking at his offered bowl with a grimace while the other slaves were scarfing it down. Pampered prince , Kaladin thought with a scowl, turning back to the bars.

“What would be the point?” He asked, his stare set on the bars, because it was easier to question a prison than a person.

“I don’t know. It’s something you used to do."

“Talk?” Kaladin challenged.

“Yes,” the spren confirmed. “You’ve had plenty of practice because I am a wonderful conversationalist. You should thank me. But talk to him. He looks . . . “ she trailed off, frowning so deeply that Kaladin couldn’t help himself from following her gaze. He looked over his shoulder to where the boy sat, slumped in the shadows as if he were one with them.

“Alone,” she finished. And Kaladin realized, for the first time, that he could barely see his scar in the shadows. It made him look younger. Less like a man, more like a boy. 

Kaladin grunted. “We’re all alone.”

The windspren shook her head. “You aren’t.” She stated matter-of-factly, and before he could protest, she pointed over Kaladin’s shoulder. “He is.”

Kaladin hesitated. How much would he have paid to save that boy’s life, before? Even if he was a lighteyes. In the time before he’d become a dead man; when there’d still been honor in the world. When he’d still cared.

The answer was obvious:

Everything.

He would have done anything.

“I’m not that person anymore,” Kaladin whispered. He looked away, so ashamed to admit aloud what he had lost: himself.

The windspren was silent for a moment before tilting up her chin. “No,” she agreed, and Kaladin deflated. “But you’re you. And he’s alone.”

Chapter Text

Zuko was used to questions. He hadn’t gotten good at avoiding them, just ignoring them. The fortunate thing about slaves was they were too tired to get mad. They prodded him, but only until their stomachs growled, reminding them that they were hungry. A few of them begged for his help, and Zuko soon decided that those were the worst kinds of people: the ones who looked at his eyes and his scar and his presence in the slave caravan, and still assumed he had privilege. 

Maybe he did, once. He’d had the privilege of a mother and an uncle, but not much else. Now, he didn’t even have his freedom. He couldn’t firebend, as he'd followed the Avatar to this world and wouldn’t risk exposing himself. Because there was one thing he held onto that the other slaves didn’t: hope in a future, hope in honor.

So maybe the ones who begged for his help were right to. 

Tonight, though, a stranger approached him. He had a look like someone from the Southern Water Tribe--almost all of the slaves did, though their eyes were dark instead of blue--and possessed a brand on his forehead that was separate from the rest of the slaves'. Zuko had picked up a bit on glyphs since coming here. This man’s read: Shash. Dangerous.

Zuko instinctively patted his side, reaching for dao swords that were no longer there. Idiot, he condemned himself. Was this what others thought--how they reacted--when they saw Zuko himself? 

The slave noticed the movement. He didn’t pretend not to. 

“Do you need something?” Zuko spat, more to fill the awkward silence than to actually ask.

The slave, however, deadpanned, “Yes.”

Zuko scoffed, glancing at the night sky and encircling his arms around himself. “Let me guess. You want your ticket out of here.”

“No. There’s no way out for any of us, except maybe you. But there’s also a reason someone scarred you. All I want to know is why they didn’t brand you. Unless they figured the scar would be enough.”

Zuko had noticed this slave before. He’d always been quiet--his eyes eerily more empty than the others'--so it was a shock to hear so much from him now. But this man . . . there was something about him that was different. Discerning. And his words confirmed it.

Zuko acknowledged him. “It was." His brows creased dangerously. "What’s it matter?”

“Clearly. You’re with us now,” said the slave, ignoring the prince’s question. “No one treated it?”

“No one had the time.”

The slave’s brows furrowed. “You’re a lighteyes.”

Zuko had heard that term so much lately. No matter what world he went to, he’d still be something to fear. If only Azula and he could switch places. She’d love a life like that. “So?”

“So, you’d be able to afford medical assistance.” The man’s tone wasn’t exactly what he’d expect it to be. It was more wistful about this; sad, almost, where others would have been accusatory. How dare others deign to have more than them?

Zuko’s thoughts went to his father; to the day of Agni Kai. “You would think,” he spat bitterly.

“Then why not?” He was surprising, for a slave. He didn’t prod for answers. He demanded them.

So they came, as rushed and as hot as fire. Zuko’s fists clenched. “Well, the thing about your father burning your face off is he takes his money, too!”

~

The boy’s eyes widened as Kaladin stood, shocked in the silence he’d made. The boy glanced from side to side, checking to see if any of the other slaves had overheard his outburst. He didn’t have much to fear in that regard; Kaladin had done as much as he could to ensure secluded socialization. That involved staying up as late as possible. Fortunately, this was something that Kaladin was used to--or could get used to--and judging by the circles under the boy’s unscarred eye, he operated in a similar way.

On Kaladin’s shoulder, the windspren gasped, and when Kaladin glanced over, he could have sworn there were tears welling in her eyes. He didn’t even know that spren could cry. “Oh . . . ” she whispered. “He is alone. I didn’t want him to really be alone.”

Kaladin gaped. There was no reason for the boy to be lying, and his lack of treatment confirmed it. He thought of his own father, who cared for the wounded for free. His own father, who would wish Kaladin dead before wishing he could kill. Because it yielded to results like this; soldiers with scars.

“That’s . . . “ Kaladin struggled to find words, and on his shoulder, his windspren waved her hands in a motion that prodded him-- continue. Kaladin panicked in the awkwardness, searching for something to say, but only managed, “That’s rough . . . buddy.”

The windspren buried her head in her hands.

Surprisingly, the boy’s brows creased, and he smirked just a little. “Yeah. Very.”

Kaladin sat down beside him. He took to scanning him over. His hair was shorter than Kaladin’s, the ends only brushing the back of his neck--it couldn't be used against him in a fight. He was hardened; his hands were calloused and rough--more trained than Kaladin would have expected, judging by how automatically he’d reached earlier for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“You’re just a . . . a child,” Kaladin acknowledged, awed. Sad. He’d felt more tonight than he had in a while.

“Well, you’re just a teenager,” the boy countered, seeming somewhat amused.

“So are you, I’m sure.”

Zuko nodded. “I’m sixteen.” Saying the number aloud didn’t make it sound impressive. It didn’t sound old, either. It made no mention of what those three years must have entailed. The searching. Three years without honor. That broke a boy, but did it make him a man? 

Kaladin hesitated, staring out, into the sky that was so dark, it seemed like death. “My brother was fifteen,” he whispered softly.

The boy didn’t miss a beat. “‘Was’?”

Kaladin kept staring. “Yes. Was.”

The boy watched Kaladin, and his eyes--which had looked so fierce, so harsh; so surrounded by fire--softened. He stared at him with a mourning of his own that surfaced in his eyes like a funeral pyre. 

“That’s rough, buddy,” he echoed hoarsely.

“Yes. Very,” Kaladin managed, his own voice close to breaking. That shouldn’t have been uncommon. All of them were slaves for a reason; every single one of them had a story, a reason to cry. But it’d been so long since he’d felt anything. It was better not to. 

“I’m Zuko.”

Kaladin blinked. He hadn’t heard a name in a while. Slaves weren’t supposed to have them. Numbers were supposed to replace identities.

“Kaladin,” he said.

Chapter Text

“Those men,” Zuko whispered in the slave caravan beside Kaladin. He was referring to Tvlakv and the other slavers, who had taken to beating one of the men who hadn’t roused himself in a while. “They don’t have any honor.”

Kaladin tore his eyes away from the sight, dousing the feeling that surged within him, the one that urged him to fight. Zuko’s stare had shifted as well. His brows were creased and his gaze was intent, thinking hard as if he were conflicted by what he’d just said. 

Kaladin’s shoulders bowed as the ragged screams torn from the man’s throat worsened. They’d stopped the caravans for this, too drunk to remember that they'd once had a destination. Kaladin couldn’t imagine what his father would say, so he only said what he could.

“Honor is dead.”

Zuko set his gaze firmly ahead. “Not so long as the Avatar lives.”

Kaladin looked up. “The what?”

Zuko's good eye widened like he'd realized too late that he'd said too much. “The Avatar," he repeated a bit hesitantly, his stare set on the prison bars. "He . . . he’s my reason for living. He’s why I’ll never give up.”

“Yeah, but . . . what in the storms is he?”

“He’s . . . he’s kind of like a god. A really annoying one.”

“I didn’t take you as the religious type,” Kaladin answered honestly.

Zuko’s brows creased. “I’m not!” He snapped a little too loudly. Across from them, one of the slavers looked up.

“Great. Idiot,” Zuko muttered to himself, scooting back. There were too few places to hide when your home was a cage. Kaladin didn’t even bother trying. Although now, something surged within him. Something that frightened Kaladin. It was something from his old life; a feeling almost foreign. It was care. An instinct, now, to protect Zuko--to keep the slavers away from him. That was a problem, though, when his intervention was deadly. When it killed everyone except for him, as it had all of those times, in that life from before. 

But the slavers were approaching, now, Tvlakv at the head. Bastard. He was the one who called the shots while being too cowardly to serve the blows. 

“Talkative today?” Tvlakv called at the caravan. No one responded. Zuko’s arms were folded around himself, as if to contain his own fuming. 

“Hmm. Quiet, now.” Some of the slavers beside Tvlakv chuckled. “Which one of you was that?”

Again, silence filled the air, tense as a note trembling on a string.

“Who yelled?” Yelled Tvklav.

The slaves started to stir. Though many of them clung to the fantasy of Zuko as their ticket out, the simple fact was that Tvlakv was drunk now. And slaves were scared always.

One of the slaves opened his mouth to speak right as Kaladin interjected, “It was me.”

Tvlakv’s eyes widened with understanding. “Ah. Lordling.”

“Bastard,” Kaladin greeted.

Kaladin’s windspren flitted around him, flying more anxiously than she ever had before.

~

What was Kaladin doing?

Idiot, idiot, idiot! Him and Kaladin! But Zuko especially. What had he been thinking, mentioning the Avatar--

And now--

Zuko glanced at the other slaves, at their eyes. They were wide in their skulls, terrified, and all at once, it seemed as if they shifted to look at him.  As their ticket out.

He couldn’t expose himself. But he couldn’t let somebody else die for his mistakes, either. He couldn't. Not when they didn’t deserve it. 

Zuko watched Kaladin’s form hobble slowly out from the safety of the caravan. He looked at his hands, which were already flickering with flames. Then again, at the open door. 

Ticket out.

As the slaves in this world said, storm it.

“Wait!” Zuko cried, propelling himself forward, lunging at the door just as it slammed shut.

Chapter Text

As a slaver’s product, Kaladin was more unconcerned than he should have been. On any hand, he figured it was better that he handle a beating than anyone else. 

“Tell me if there’s any real danger,” he muttered to his windspren, who nodded. A spren couldn’t be sick, yet she looked like she was on the verge of vomiting. “I’m scared, Kaladin. I don’t want to die.”

Kaladin’s brows creased at that. In this scenario, how was she in any danger of dying?

Then again, she was with Kaladin. And everyone else he’d ever cared about had ended up that way. 

“Careful,” Kaladin warned at Tvlakv’s approach. “You’ll find it difficult to sell a slave that’s been injured.”

Tvlakv scoffed. “With where you’re going, all you’ll need are your legs. And even then, it won’t matter at all.”

Kaladin’s brows furrowed, puzzled. It was obvious that Tvlakv was referring to the slave market, but why would he need his legs intact? Why not arms for heavy labor?

The slaver was continuing in his approach when Zuko lunged himself frantically against the bars behind Kaladin. “Wait!”

Storm him. Storm him.

“Wait! It was me, I--I spoke out of turn--”

“Storm it, Zuko!” Kaladin snapped.

Normally, a slaver may not have paid this interference any attention. But Tvlakv’s eyes latched onto Zuko’s, and remained trained on his scar. He smirked. “Two lordlings.”

“Let me out of here,” Zuko demanded.

Tvlakv’s eyes twinkled. “As you wish.”

Storm it, storm it, storm it. There were too many slavers. Too many to take on single-handedly, especially without a weapon. And there wouldn’t be a point in doing so, there was never a point --not when there were brands on all of their foreheads, one of which marked him as dangerous. If he tried anything, it would just end in another massacre. Storms! Another.

Kaladin could barely hear the click of the cage unlocking above the hammering of his own heart. No. What did he do? If he tried to help, Zuko would die like all of the others--like Dallet, like Tien. If he did nothing, Zuko might die anyway.

Zuko stepped out from the caravan as Kaladin's shoulders sagged, and his windspren pointed to something from behind. “Kaladin!” She insisted, her eyes wide. “Look!”

He didn’t need to.

He smelled the smoke first.

~

Zuko feared fire. It was difficult to tame, difficult to control. In his world, the other nations loathed the Fire Nation like no one else. He couldn’t blame them. In a way, he did too.

Those who didn’t know fire did not fear it worse. They assumed they did due to the shock value. Fire was sudden; unexpected, and--of course--roaring. But those like Zuko--the ones who were surrounded by fire the most--knew why it should be feared.

He should know. He had the scar to show for it. 

~

“Storm it, Zuko, storm it!” Kaladin muttered, scrambling to search for one of the slaver’s keys. Lighteyes. Lighteyes!

The slavers, of course, had scurried off at the first sight of superstition, carrying the keys with them. Bastards. 

Kaladin ducked low, coughing, searching for clear air. His mind went to the slaves who were compacted together, prepared in a perfect oven. And in that moment, he hated Zuko.

With his eyes watery--smoke shrouding his sight like blackened stormlight--he wouldn’t have noticed any of the slavers in front of him if it wasn’t for his windspren--a single bright dot in a sea of blackness--shouting, “Kaladin! Look!”

It was difficult for him to decipher anything, but if he blinked enough, there seemed to be a silhouette in the smoke. It was broad, too broad to be anyone else. 

“Bluth!” He coughed. “Give me the key!”

The man coughed in return, turning to run further.

No. Kaladin hobbled after him, away from the smoke. He couldn’t fight him, not like this. Not with his lungs so polluted. Not when Kaladin was already so weak.

“Please,” Kaladin screamed at the man’s retreating form. “Please! Do the right thing.”

There was a moment of indecision, one where Kaladin fully expected the man to continue in his retreat.

But the slaver halted in the smoke; hesitated. Then, he jiggled something out from his pocket, and tossed it at Kaladin. 

The key chain slammed hard against Kaladin's wrist. Kaladin screamed raggedly as it scorched against his skin, incinerating flesh. The sudden, white-hot pain of it nearly crippled him to his knees. 

But before Bluth ran, he hesitated again. He fished in his pocket, tossing something to Kaladin as if on second thought, the way one would serve scraps to a lost dog.

Kaladin didn’t catch this. It rolled towards him, and delirious against the pain, Kaladin barely made out the shape of a single sphere. It was bright. Infused with something that wasn’t fire.

Kaladin breathed in.

~

Slaves scrambled like rats let loose from their cages as far from the fire as their legs could carry them. Voices carried in the wind, screaming of Voidbringers. The smoke was cast high to the sky. It would be spotted like a beacon; a banner from miles away. 

The slaves would have to pay for this. It was something Kaladin knew all too well; a concept a lighteyes could never understand. Once again, the world had burned to let Kaladin live. Kaladin alone. Storm it! He never learned. He could hear his father’s voice in his head, chiding at him not to care so much. He never learned.

He scanned the expanse. Slaves scurried in every direction, all of which would lead to dead ends. Not now, but soon. That was the problem with slaves. They only saw the short-term. They scampered from a bonfire, but hurried towards a woods that would burn and blaze. 

Kaladin’s legs gave out beneath him, and he fell down to his knees.

He saw the full picture, the way he would spot strategies in a battle. This, he saw, was the cost of caring. 

Chapter Text

Zuko found Kaladin after the flames died down.

It took a while for that, and while he waited, he thought of the Water Tribe girl who could have saved the world from Zuko in seconds. It'd been a year since he'd seen her. He had betrayed her, too.

Kaladin was kneeling with his shoulders bent in the middle of the Plains. Zuko took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Kaladin grunted. “At least.”

Kaladin knew his intentions had been honorable. Zuko didn’t need to repeat them. “Maybe some of them will get away,” he tried.

Kaladin didn’t sound angry when he responded. “No. They won’t. Their slave brands will give them away. Even if they attempted to defame themselves, you were sold into slavery with just a scar, and you were sold as a lighteyes. No one will believe them because no one will care enough to. They’ll be executed. I won’t. But I won’t be able to save them. I’ll be alone.”

Zuko swallowed, shame rising in him. It clogged his throat; stained his cheeks crimson. “I’ll stay with you,” Zuko croaked weakly. Finally, Kaladin looked at him, and when he did, Zuko could finally see how haunted his eyes were. “Then you’ll die, too.”

They stewed in that silence, one of them sitting, the other standing, until Zuko felt the flickers of flames at his fists. He began to pace. “You know what your problem is?” He snapped. “You’ve given up! You give up before you’ve even tried.”

“I have tried.”

“Yeah, maybe. But you don’t give up. You don’t--you’ve given up! I’ve been searching for years--across worlds--for something that everyone said wasn’t even real.”

Kaladin didn’t look up. “What for?”

“Honor,” Zuko bit out fiercely.

“Honor is dead.”

“You’ve said that--”

“Honor is dead,” Kaladin repeated. “Are you looking for it? You won’t find it. Who’s going to give it to you?”

Something ticked in Zuko’s cheek. “My father.”

“Your father who burnt your face off?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand!” Zuko retorted hotly, his words rising with a callousness like fire. “I doubt your father ever taught you anything about honor since you refuse to stand up and fight!”

A sudden intensity overtook Kaladin, one that wasn’t there before. “My father is the one person with honor!” He shouted. “The only person. Because he chose to be good. To do what was right. He’d help anyone, no matter what. He wouldn’t--he wouldn’t kill. Can you say the same?”

The words were like a slap in the face. Zuko stepped back, swallowing tears. He thought of his uncle insisting that there was good inside of him. He thought of towns on fire, and of slaves sentenced, captured like the Avatar.

“No,” he whispered.

Kaladin let loose a breath. His shoulders slumped, and his eyes were dark--not because of their color, but due to defeat. “Me neither,” he admitted--and with Zuko gaping at him wide-eyed--whispered, “so you see. Honor really is dead.”

Kaladin was miles away, so he almost missed it when Zuko cleared the cough from his throat and sat down beside him. Zuko tapped on his shoulder until Kaladin finally looked up.

“Well then,” he said determinedly. The world ahead of them was scorched, in tatters, and yet there they were. Scarred, but still there. “We’ll have to see what we can do.”