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“That will be all, General Fung. You are dismissed.”
Fung hastily rolled up the map of the Fire Nation’s battle movements and bowed deeply. He dared a glance upwards, trying to see if Ozai was pleased or not. But there was no way to tell. Ozai’s face was shrouded in shadow, his towering golden throne walled by roaring fire. The carvings of dragons slithering across the walls seemed to glare at Fung. Every piece of this room was crafted to radiate fear.
Fung hastily backed out of the throne room, never turning his back to the Fire Lord.
Ozai turned his attention to the one man left standing before him. “Have you more to report, Commander Zhao?”
A smile curved Zhao’s mouth. As crafty as it always was, but here, with a hint of something more. “You can drop the act, Ozai.”
After a moment, Ozai laughed softly. A while ago, Zhao had realized he was likely the only soul who had ever heard Ozai laugh. That fact never failed to make something flutter in his heart. Ozai flicked a finger, and the curtain of flame surrounding him parted, allowing him to step down from his throne.
Neither of them could hold back any longer. They rushed towards each other, lips meeting. Zhao drank in everything about the Fire Lord: the taste of his lips, the smoky scent that still clung to him, the warmth of his robes. He ran his fingers through Ozai’s long dark hair, undoing the topknot and tossing the crown to the floor. And in that moment, Ozai had never cared for his crown less.
“I missed you,” Zhao whispered against his lover’s cheek.
“I missed you too,” Ozai murmured. “You always leave for so long.”
“I do it for you. All of it.” And Zhao wasn’t lying. Every Earth Kingdom city he bombarded, every Water Tribe ship he sank, he did it because he knew adding each scarlet mark to the map made Ozai’s golden eyes light up. And Zhao would give anything in the world to see that.
They held each other for a long time in the silent throne room. It was one of their few safe places. If word got out that the Fire Lord had fallen in love with his commander, it would be a scandal. No one would understand. So they met in shadows and in stolen firelight, wishing that they could love each other in the sun. Maybe in another time. For now, this would be enough.
“Are your Fire Lord duties done for the day?”
“They can be.”
“Make them.”
Zhao kissed Ozai deeply once more. The fire reignited in his core, and he could feel Ozai’s skin become fevered as well. Their bodies pressed together, burning together.
The candles were burning low so late into the night. But for Ozai, the brightest star was lying next to him. He ran his hand along Zhao’s jaw, letting the scruff scratch him. He watched Zhao’s chest rise and fall slowly with each breath. “You’re beautiful.”
Zhao opened his eyes and smiled sleepily. “I’ll accept the compliment, my lord.”
Ozai never wanted this night to end. “When do you have to leave again? I could move some troops around, put someone else--”
“No.” Zhao sat up. “I want to go back to the war.”
Ozai sighed. “Every time, I get scared you’ll get hurt, or--”
Zhao placed his hand on Ozai’s cheek. “Don’t, my love. I’ll be safe. I’m doing it for you. We’re so close to taking the Water Tribes.”
The Water Tribes, in Ozai’s grasp. Ozai had dreamed of that moment. So why did the thought now give him a sickening feeling? “As long as you come back.”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“Then it will be done. Anything for you.”
Ozai raised his eyebrows. “Anything?”
“Anything. I’ll give you the world. I’ll….I’ll give you the moon.”
Ozai laughed, but there was nothing but earnest sincerity in Zhao’s eyes. “I don’t need the moon. I just need you.” He wrapped his arms around Zhao. “No more of that for tonight. Forget about the war and just be with me, my cutie wutie fuzzleboi.”
Zhao’s face flushed at the embarrassing pet name.
“You don’t like that?” Ozai nestled closer to him. “How about admiral, then?”
“I could get used to that.”
That was what Ozai chanted to himself as he fell asleep. Come back to me, my admiral.
Zhao didn’t come back.
Ozai only remembers the day in bits and pieces. When even from his palace, he saw the moon turn the color of blood. When the messenger came, telling him the words that only existed in his worst nightmares. That messenger was ash now. That room was still a smoking crater.
Something inside him twisted and broke that day. Something else appeared. Something that blazed like a sun inside of him, threatening at all times to explode outwards, to incinerate everything, to incinerate himself. Ozai didn’t know if it was anger, or grief, or hatred. He only knew that it was the only thing that kept him from drowning now.
They say Zhao was killed by a child. The Avatar. Conspiring with spirits to slaughter the only sun that glowed for Ozai.
The comet streaked across the sky, leaving behind its bloody, burning trail. It looked like a piece of the heavens had fallen. Ozai breathed in its power. He felt the flame ignite inside of him, filling him. Sheer, ultimate power. At last, he would claim his destiny. Only one more obstacle stood in his way.
A tiny figure, silhouetted against the ashy sky. The Avatar. He seemed impossibly tiny. How had this weakling destroyed his Zhao?
The comet’s power burned inside of Ozai, but compared to what had burned inside of him at Zhao’s every touch, every kiss, the comet may as well have been a dying ember. The flames roiled inside of him, turning white hot. This child had taken everything from him. He would return the favor.
For his admiral.
The fog.
There was nothing but the fog.
What was his name? What was he doing here? He couldn’t remember.
There was only the fog.
He whispered to himself, muttering, chanting words that no longer meant anything to him. Zhao. Moon slayer. Conqueror.
Only monsters kept him company. Monsters with arrows on their heads and ghostly beasts at their call.
Others had passed through before. He had seen them. But they had faded now, into ghosts indistinguishable from the mist, moaning incoherently, lamenting grievances that no longer mattered.
That hadn’t happened to him yet. Because there was still a face seared into his mind, one that he refused to let go of, one he refused to let the fog claim. A sharp face, long black hair, burning golden eyes.
I’ll come back. Wait for me. I’m coming back.