Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zuko’s at the end of a long day of meetings, a long day of sitting in one position with his back straight and chin high, a long day of pretending like his body and head don’t ache when Minister Chu clears her throat. 

“The last thing on the agenda,” she says, “is the developing situation in the Star Isles.”

Zuko straightens up even more—this time out of shock, not feigned decorum. “What?” Star Isles? “I wasn’t made aware of any situations.”

The minister shuffles her papers and looks at them under the gold rims of her glass. “Ah, no, you wouldn’t have been. This was only declared a high-level issue yesterday.”

“A high-level issue?” Zuko’s nostrils flare. “As the Fire Lord, I should know everything happening in the nation.”

The ministers shoot glances at each other across the table. “Ah, Your Majesty,” says the interior minister. “It’s impossible to keep you updated on every situation, I’m sure you understand. There are simply too many emergent situations each and every day, most of which are handled swiftly. I can assure you, though, that once something reaches a high enough level of importance we tell you immediately.”

“I’m aware.” Zuko grinds his back molars together and breathes in deeply. Four years of being the Fire Lord and they still doubt his competence. “We can discuss what counts as an appropriate level of ‘importance’ to reach my desk later, though. Minister Chu, please continue.” 

She nods. “Of course. The gist of it is there’s been some unrest, lately. The military should be prepared to move in if the situation can’t be soothed—”

“Military?” Zuko seethes; using the military against anyone, let alone his own people, is unfathomable. “No.”

“Your Majesty—”

“No.” Zuko bundles his hands and resists crossing his arms. The last thing he wants to do is look like a petulant child. “There are other avenues.”

For a moment, no one speaks. Then, Minister Chu, “Right.” She clears her throat again—an awful phlegmy sound—and turns back to the paper. “But there is unrest. Their growing season was short, this year. The summer was too hot and the spring too wet to lead to anything useful. On top of that, the stocks aren’t as full as they should be—the new minister’s mismanagement is to thank for that.” 

Zuko’s heart drums against his ribs. Governor Okada is Zuko’s personal appointment to the Star Isles. He was a merchant, from Star Isles himself, with a strong head and good heart. He cares about the people living there, unlike the old governor who was happy to sit back in luxury while the isles suffered. Okada was the right choice to bring the Fire Nation into a new era. 

Wasn’t he?

“A new report will arrive before the end of the week,” Minister Chu says, “which will outline the situation in further detail.”

Zuko nods curtly. The old governor had been close to both Azulon and Ozai. He was a bitter type of person—Zuko could tell that much from the few times they met—with a tendency to yell at his staff and held opulent parties on the monthly. 

The Star Isles hadn’t been without their strife. There always seems to be something plaguing those small and scattered islands. 

But, as far as Zuko is aware, there had never been food shortages under the old governor. 

As he scans the table, the ministers and assistants and clerks all wear bitter, pinched expressions. Are they thinking the same thing? The old governor did know a lot about management, at the end of the day. 

Zuko’s stomach churns. He should’ve had a slower transition of power. He should’ve given Okada time to learn. Instead, he’d thrown him into that position only thinking of the change that would come. Now, people might go hungry. Things might turn violent. 

“Fire Lord Zuko?”

Zuko blinks and looks up. The ministers around the meeting table are all staring at him, their eyes wide and intense. Smoke from candles hangs heavy in the air. Zuko’s heart drums drums drums. “We’ll end it here for today,” he says. “Minister Chu—have the report on Star Isles send to me the moment it arrives.”

 Her face wavers. “Perhaps we could have another meeting—”

“The moment it arrives.” Zuko bundles his hands in front of him and narrows his gaze. “Not a second later.”

That night, Zuko sits at his desk, one hand in his hair and the other curled around a letter from an Earth Kingdom ambassador. Zuko’s been invited to a wedding of some princess that he’s never even heard of before, let alone met. 

“Tengo?” Zuko says and turns to look at his assistant, who is currently loading empty plates from dinner onto a tray.

“Yes?

“Would it be unthinkably rude to turn down a diplomatic invitaion to an Earth Kingdom wedding solely on the basis that I don’t want to go?”

Tengo’s face scrunches up. “Um, maybe?”

Zuko sighs. He already knew the answer, really. Even to Tengo, who has no diplomatic expreience, the answer is obvious. Zuko will have to go; he has to show he’s committed to playing nice with the rest of the world. 

Sometimes, though, he feels more like a doll than a person. He simply goes where other people tell him to go, he smiles when he needs to, he makes neat and pleasing small talk with an endless stream of people who are important (somehow) and at least twice his age. 

What good is being Fire Lord if he can’t manage anything useful?

“You’re right,” Zuko says to Tengo as he drops the letter onto his desk. “If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll give you my reply to take to the postmaster on your way out.”

Tengo blinks. Despite the fact that he’s a few years older than Zuko and has been working with him since his coronation, there are still moments when Tengo gets silent and the awkwards practically radiates outward. 

Zuko finds it unbearable. Not that he blames Tengo—not at all, after what Zuko’s father had been like—but there are times when he simply craves that voice that sounds like Aang or Katara or Toph or Sokka or Suki. A voice that will tell him what he needs to hear, not only what he wants to hear. 

“What’s wrong?”

Tengo stratches the back of his neck. “I’m sure the postmaster has gone home. It’s, well, it’s kind late.” 

Zuko swears and leans over, glancing toward the window. Outside, the world is dark. Not dusk dark, even. The sky is black beyond his window. “Ah, sorry. I hadn’t realized the time. You should get going, too. I didn’t mean to keep you so late.”

“It’s fine,” Tengo says as he puts the last teacup on the tray. “I can stay, if you need—I haven’t even turned down your bed yet.”

Zuko waves him off. “I’m fine, thank you.” He’s twenty years old and spent years sleeping on mats and hay and, sometimes, even the ground. He can pull the covers on his own bed back without assistance. “If there’s extra pork buns, make sure you take some home, alright?”

Tengo nods, says his goodbyes, and slips quietly out the door. 

Silence echoes through Zuko’s apartment. It’s needlessly big and fitted with the most extravagant art and fine detailing and imported furniture and fabric. The light in the lantern flickers as Zuko leans back in his chair and massages a tense spot in between his eyes. 

No one had ever told him being the Fire Lord would be so lonely. 

Zuko doesn’t go to bed; he goes to the garden to watch the stars in the clear sky. For weeks now, there hadn’t been much by way of clouds, but the ever-present heat held a haze over the city that blotted out the stars. 

But it’s changing. The weather is turning to fall—to the rainy reason. Zuko can count the stars once again, the way he used to do when he was young. 

The way he did when he was on the ship, crossing the world with Uncle, searching for the Avatar. The way he did when he was wandering through the Earth Kingdom without much by way of direction. 

The stars overhead seem to be the only consistent thing in his life. They aren’t unchanging—Uncle had taught him about their movements across the dome of the sky over each night and with the seasons—but they are consistent. Predictable. Some people even devote their whole life to those mathematical charts, just so the next generation that came along can understand the world and their place in the grand motion a little more. 

What is Zuko leaving for future generations? He pushes his hair back, out of his eyes, and flops on his back in the grass. The stars keep shining. Those pinpricks of light. If any member of his staff was to come out and see him, they would all think how inappropriate it was for him to be out here like this. Some of them would even say it aloud. 

Because that’s the crux of it—he’s not suited for the role of Fire Lord. He never has been, he thinks. Not that greatness comes from within. It’s not inherent; Zuko doesn’t believe in things like that. But there is a difference between being raised for a role, being taught the ropes and given instructions and set up to thrive, and being thrust into a role that one was never meant to fill. All he’s done as the Fire Lord is fumble in the dark.  If things had gone the way they were supposed to go, he’d never be in this position at all. 

The role of Fire Lord should have been Uncle’s. And then Lu Ten’s. And then Lu Ten’s children’s. And on and on forever; Zuko should have only ever been remembered as a small blip on the side of the family tree. 

Maybe he could have done some good that way, he thinks. Above him, firebugs dance through the leaves of the apricot tree. They twist and twirl and float to the grass. Glowing embers in the night. 

In this alternate life, maybe Zuko could have done some good. Maybe he could’ve done something small and meaningful while Lu Ten was the one to change the world. 

Zuko sighs. The grass is soft and warm and it should lull him, but sleep feels like the furthest away thing in the world right now. 

First, it was Yu Dao. He nearly sparked another war trying to do the right thing. Now it’s Star Isles. And, of course, the countless mistakes in between. 

On top of all of that, it’s been ages since Zuko’s managed to see anyone. He saw Toph at a party a few months ago, but they’d only managed a brief conversation before he’d been pulled away and then by the time he was free again she’d already made her great escape. The last time he’d seen Aang was even longer ago at a meeting in Omashu and at that it was all business. They hadn’t even managed to get lunch before they were both onto the next thing. Sokka and Katara—that was even longer still. Over half a year. He can’t even remember the last time he’d seen Suki and she used to be an almost daily presence. 

They’d all sent letters. Many, at first. Fewer, as they all got busy. The letters are never the same, even when they do come. 

Zuko racks his brain. When was the last time he had a free afternoon with a friend? When was the last time someone actually talked to him ? And because they wanted to, not because they had to? 

No one ever told him how lonely it is to be the Fire Lord. 

A firebug drifts down from the tree as the breeze bends the branches. The small thing lands in his palm, warm and ablaze. 

Zuko sits up and stares at the little bug as it nestles next to his thumb. “You know what you’re doing,” he says to the bug. “You’ve got life all figured out, haven’t you?”

The bug flutters its wings. Zuko imagines that means yes. 

“Sometimes,” he confesses, “somethings I think the world would be better off without me.”

The breeze around him turns to ice and a chill arcs from the nape of Zuko’s neck down his spine. A moment ago, it had been pleasant. Now, he feels as if he’d jumped back in arctic waters. Goosebumps pebbled across his arms. 

The firebug snuffs out. One by one, the firebugs that had been dancing in the trees all blink away. 

“Hello?”

Something behind Zuko rustles. A chitter echoes around him, as if he were in a cave made of crystals. When Zuko spins his head to catch a glimpse of the source of the strange noise, the garden blinks away too. One moment there were trees and flowers and grasses and bushes. Now, he’s sitting in darkness. An inky sort of darkness, too.

He should be able to see, he thinks. There’s enough light. But there’s nothing. Nothing around him at all from sky to ground. He still feels like he’s sitting, but when he reaches his palm out, there’s nothing there, not even an invisible barrier. It’s as if he’s swimming in pure dusk. 

Zuko’s heartbeat spikes. He tries to scramble to his feet, but his body moves slow and strange, as if he’s trapped in tar. Instead, Zuko raises his hands, ready to fight. “Who’s there?”

Out of the darkness comes a light. A small flame, like that of a candle, flickers away before flaring and growing bigger. A campfire, Zuko thinks. Roaring away. Pleasant and sparkling. 

The fire twists. Part of it flares while the other side narrows. With a jolt, Zuko realizes it’s taking form and, at the same time, moving closer to him. 

His mouth parts in shock. “What are you?” he whispers and reaches out his hand as if he could graze the flame with the tips of his fingers. 

The flame lets loose a rain of embers in reply. Zuko snaps back his arm. The embers keep falling and, dully, Zuko realizes it’s like an animal shaking away water from its fur. 

No—not like an animal. It is an animal. 

A fox made entirely of flame tilts its head at Zuko. Its fur is red, its eyes yellow. 

Zuko doesn’t understand. 

The fox chitters. 

“You were calling before, weren’t you?”

It nods as it starts to move, starts to dance around in the darkness. 

“What—why?”

The fox comes to rest right in front of Zuko. “You’ve heard so many stories of spirits before—are you telling me you can’t recognize one when it’s right in front of you?”

The voice echoes strangely again, both outside and within Zuko’s mind. “You’re a spirit.” 

“I am.” 

“I—you—” he tries to find the right words, but they don’t come. 

“You believe this world would have been better without you in it.”

Zuko swallows, throat dry. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. It’s not the fact he doesn’t want to be in the world, now. It’s the fact that he thinks that history should have arced differently. He never should have been here in the first place. These choices never should have been his to make. 

“Well, would you like to find out?” The fox blinks and sheds more golden embers into the endless pool of darkness. 

“What?”

“Zuko,” it says, and Zuko’s chest aches when he hears his plain, unadorned name. “You wonder how this world might have been. Would you like to find out?”

“Yes.” The world all but falls out of Zuko’s mouth. 

And, with that, Zuko plunges into the darkness. Or maybe it consumes him. He wonders if it makes a difference who is falling into who. 

Something is burning. 

Zuko’s been around fire for long enough in his life that he knows this by the smell before he even opens his eyes. There’s a difference, fine as it may be, between an intentional fire and one that is out of control. 

The acrid smell fills his world as his body returns to him. He wiggles his fingers and then his toes. His eyes are still heavy, his head full of fog. 

Something is burning. 

Something has already burned. 

Zuko jolts up, the acute sense of danger rioting in his mind, and opens his eyes. 

Around him, the world is nothing but a burnt husk—the ground is black underneath him all the way to where it meets the blazing red horizon.

Chapter Text

Zuko forgot what it’s like to choke. 

It was a luxury. At one point, his lungs would burn daily. Now, it’s so overwhelming he can hardly function. The thick air scrapes his throat raw; his chest tightens in protest and each breath takes a marked effort. 

If Zuko’s being honest, he can’t be sure what is from the smoke that hangs in the air and what’s from his own rising panic. What the hell had he just done? Followed a spirit? Stupid, stupid. Not following strange spirits is, like, the first rule of dealing with spirits. 

“Hey!” he calls to the spirit. “What did you do!”

Whatever mess he’s gotten himself into, he’ll probably need Aang to get him out of. He’s the one who’s all connected with the spirits—Uncle, maybe, could also help, but Zuko would rather take a lecture from Aang over a lecture from Uncle. 

Well, he’d rather not be lectured by either of them, but he’s learned to cut his losses over the years. 

“Whatever you did—take it back!”

A hot breeze assails his face. 

“Please! I’m sorry.” Zuko’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean it,” he adds with a whisper. 

Zuko wipes his hair away from his forehead; he’s only been here a few minutes at most but when he pulls his hand away, soft, dark ash clings to his skin. He lifts his chin up, toward the sky. It’s so hard to make out anything clearly, but it’s not only smoke floating in the air. The ash is thick, overhead. For the second time, goosebumps pebble across his arms. 

How many people had seen these dark skies, this black snow before they met their end? Zuko swallows, dry. 

No. He can’t let this wild train of thoughts consume him, not now—there’s no time to let his dark thoughts paralyze him. Staying still in a place like this is death. If he wants to live, if he wants to get home, if he wants to figure out what the hell just happened, Zuko needs to move. 

He shifts around on his feet and squints toward the blurry horizon. His vision has never been the best as it is, and the air being thick as soup doesn’t help at all. His heart drums, drums, drums. The rapid beat echoes in his ears. 

“Hello!” he yells as loud as he can manage.

No one replies, not even the birds. 

Zuko cups his hands around his mouth. “Is anyone there?”

Again, he’s met with silence. 

The world is dead. 

No one is out in this wasteland. 

How did anything like this happen? It makes no sense, no matter which way Zuko tries to look at it. 

Once, Sokka had told him about the time he’d been taken by a spirit bear. He didn’t remember much of the encounter, but he did say that he recalled the world being strange and muted, dead and cold. 

Maybe, Zuko thinks, maybe he’s in the same position. But even at that, it can’t quite be right, because this world is the furthest thing from being muted and cold—it’s all ablaze. 

Finally, on the horizon, a light winks as the sun sinks. Zuko narrows his gaze.

In the half-light and smoke, he can’t be sure what’s real and what’s not. But as far as he can tell there is a light, a real one, in the distance. With the wasteland as flat as it is, though, Zuko can’t be certain if it’s just a short walk away or miles and miles in the distance. 

Either way, it’s the only lead Zuko has. Night is falling fast. He has no idea what kind of creatures—living or dead—are out here. If there are any, that is. Somehow the idea of being completely, totally alone is even more haunting than the alternative. 

Zuko pulls the fabric of his robes—the plain red ones he’d been wearing in the royal garden that are more suited to sleep than travel—over his mouth and nose. The sun is sinking rapidly; the entire sky glows where the sun sets. Zuko starts off in the opposite direction. 

He presses onward through the wasteland. 

There is nowhere else to go. 

Zuko’s feet ache. His light slippers aren’t suited for a long trek; they were barely suited for leaving his apartments in the first place. It’ll be no time at all until they’re worn through. 

When did he become so soft? He’s certain there’s a rough callus forming on the balls of his feet. It’s been so long since he had to walk like this, especially through the night. Exhaustion wears through to his bones—he’d been worn through as it was when he was pulled from the gardens. But now? He could pass out on the spot. 

There are two reasons that he can’t: the first being that there’s no water anywhere close by and if he rests before he reaches something it’s only going to be all the more difficult to move again when he wakes up; the second being that he’s almost reached the lights. 

Zuko shakes his head at that. Not reaching the light like that. At least he hopes not. The lights, the cluster of torches on the edge of the wasteland, are drawing nearer and nearer with every passing moment. He’s close enough now to make out that it’s a village. Tight-knit huts are gathered together on the edge of the ruin, standing in defiance of the destruction all around them. Even in this disaster, people are still clinging to life. 

Zuko takes a deep breath. His lungs rattle. The fabric he raised over his mouth is stained black and damp and Zuko cringes at the thought of what his irritated skin is going to look like after this ordeal. 

A shudder runs through his body. His eyelids are heavy; his legs tar. The little village is close and drawing nearer with every step, but it still seems so far. How long had he already been walking? Hours, at least. But it’s still the dead of night. Morning is far, far off. 

Maybe, Zuko thinks, maybe he could sit down just for a moment. Rest his eyes, his legs, his feet. Just for a moment… It will be fine. Won’t it?
Zuko sits in the dirt and ash. He pulls his knees into his chest and rests his chin on top of them. When did every part of his body start to feel so heavy? It’s as if every part of him—mind and body—has a weight strung to it. He coughs, light, and his ribs ache something awful. 

Wind curls around him. His hair brushes against his cheeks. He hadn’t thought about it too much before, but it’s loose and down and he doesn’t even have a scrap of ribbon to tie it up with. Does it even matter? Zuko’s got no idea if this is the Fire Nation, spirit world or living world aside. 

He coughs, again, harder this time and a splitting pain races through him. Smoke, even for a firebender, can’t be breathed in infinitely. Especially smoke from a fire, from destruction. It’s not pure flame; all types of shit are mixed in with it. 

In his hands, he holds up a flame. That fire is different from the husk of destruction around him. A kaleidoscope of colour dancing in the murky darkness. Heat. Life. Breath. 

Zuko swallows the dry lump in his throat—he can get through this. He can make it to the village. It’s not far off now. 

He just needs to rest his eyes first. Only for a moment. 

Only for a moment. 

“Oh, god, Sela,” a voice swims through the darkness. 

Zuko shifts as he comes to his senses, but the world is too far away. Everything he sees, he sees through a thick and dark veil. 

“You were right—it is a person,” says the person, a man. He has a straw hat with a wide brim and a cart attached to an ostrich horse behind him. 

“I told you I saw a light.” A woman, this time. 

A soft hand on Zuko’s shoulder. A snap next to his ears.  A gentle shake of his shoulder. 

“Are you alright?”
Zuko tries to reply, but the words that fall from his mouth are a garbled mess. 

“It’s okay.” The woman is thin, nearly skeletal, yet she moves all of Zuko’s weight with care. “Honey, help me get him up.”

“Are you sure—”

“What if it was Sensa?”

The man doesn’t speak, but a moment later a strong hand guides Zuko’s arm over the man’s broad shoulder and, together, the two help him toward their cart. 

“Where am I?” Zuko mutters through the fog as he rests. 

The woman reaches forward and wipes his hair out of his face. “Shh. It’s okay—we’re going somewhere safe.”

Zuko frowns. That’s not an answer, not really. The cart jostles him as they start to move before the motion rolls into a steady lull. 

“Where am I?” he repeats. 

The woman sighs. “You were out in the waste.” 

Zuko doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t have the strength to ask. The darkness is too warm and welcoming for him to resist it any longer. 

Again, Zuko wakes. This time, the world snaps into place around him all at once. He sits up with a jolt and takes in the setting one thing at a time—the thin cotton sheet wrapped around his body, the mat he’s resting on, the pillow behind his head, the wooden walls of a home he’s never seen before, the woman and man whispering at the table not far from him. 

The woman and man turn. Their faces are familiar, Zuko realizes, but he can’t place where he’s seen them before. 

“You’re up,” says the man. 

“I guess I am.” Zuko’s throat burns raw. 

The woman hushes him and hands him a water skin. “Don’t try to speak—not if it’s painful.” 

Zuko nods and accepts the water skin. The water inside is lukewarm, but Zuko drinks like he’s dying. Which, he supposes, he might’ve been. If these two hadn’t come along, he shudders to think about what would’ve happened. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

The man brushes the back of his head. His broad face doesn’t give away much in terms of expression. “We have a son, about your age. If it had him out there, we would hope someone would do the same.” 

That’s the crux of it, Zuko thinks. The only way that people can live: one good deed begets another. He’ll have to make sure these people, their kind hearts, are taken care of. 

“I’m Gansu,” says the man. 

“I’m Sela.” 

Zuko shifts under the blanket. “I’m Lee,” he says.

Sela smiles, thin and bright. “Well, that will be easy to remember. That’s our youngest’s name too.”

Zuko pales. The shock to his chest is as crisp as if someone had sunk their fist into his bones. “Lee?” 

“Yes, named after his grandfather, actually.”

Lee. Sela. The familiar faces—Zuko has seen them all before. 

He’s in the Earth Kingdom. 

These are the same people who helped him the last time he was wandering. They helped him when he was alone and lost. 

Last time, Zuko repaid them by bringing trouble to their town. Danger to their doorstep. He can’t stay, not now. Why is it his curse to bring the worst to the people who’ve bene the kindest to him? 

“I can’t stay,” Zuko mumbles. He pushes the blanket away from him and tries to stand, but his legs still ache and his breath catches in his throat.

Gansu reaches out to steady him. “Slow down, there. You didn’t come all that way to hurt yourself here, did you?”

A blush creeps up Zuko’s neck. 

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Sela asks.

Zuko searches for an answer, but it takes too long. 

“That’s what I thought. Here—lie back down.”

Zuko’s too weak to resist. The futon is soft under his back and the blanket against his skin feels like a dream—it’s only when he pulls it up, over his chest, that he realizes his hands leave dark streaks of ash against the fabric. 

Sela only shakes her head. “Once you’ve rested, you can clean up. There’s a washhouse out back. But first, we need to figure out where you came from. How you got out there.”

Zuko opens his mouth and clamps it shut again. How did he get out there? Wherever he is, he’s clearly not in the Fire Nation. Or anywhere he would recognize. And telling people he simply followed a spirit seemed like a quick trip to getting either kicked back out on the street or, on the other side, drawing sharp attention that he’d rather avoid.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I was at home and the next thing I knew, I was coming to in the field.”

“Hm.” Sela drums her fingers. “Nothing in between?”

“No,” Zuko says, less truthful.

“Did you hit your head, do you know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No one goes out there,” Gansu says. “It’s practically a death sentence to wander around out there. You’re lucky we found you when we did. People don’t end up there by accident.”

No, Zuko thinks, no they don’t. And there’s something in Gansu’s eyes—suspicion or distrust—that Zuko doesn’t like the look of. He won’t overstay his welcome here. The first chance he gets, he’ll leave. 

“If you are the same age as our son, you should be in the military, no?”

“Um,” Zuko starts. “I—I really don’t remember. But I am twenty.”

“So you should still be with the military, then.”

Zuko’s confusion must be plain, because Sela elaborates. “Four years of mandatory service for every man, starting on when they’re eighteen.”

“Oh. Right.” Zuko rubs his head. Mandatory military service? He’s heard, before, that some places have conscription, but he can’t think of anywhere that does. 

“When you’re up for it, we’ll get you to the local office. They might be able to find what division you’re missing from.” Sela shoots her husband a look that Zuko doesn’t miss. 

“I’ll go,” he says. He promises. He doesn’t want them to worry they’ll get in trouble for harbouring a deserter. “I wouldn’t leave my post.” It’s true, but he’s never had the choice. He could abandon his post all he wanted, but he could never not be a royal. That duty has haunted him since birth; the inescapable spectre of destiny.

“Well. Until then, get some rest. It’s nearly morning.” Outside the window, streaks of light paint the hazy sky. 

Zuko leans back and his eyes flutter shut. The world is comfortable and warm and, for now, he feels safe. Uncle always did say any problem felt more manageable with a clear head. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean it would actually be more manageable, but Zuko had to a least give it a shot. 

Sleep comes quick and painless, anyway, which is more than he can say for most nights in his bed that probably cost more than this entire house. 

When Zuko wakes, light is streaming in the window and falling on his face. Outside, the sky is still covered with a murky haze—light peaks through, but there’s not a speck of blue to be seen. 

Zuko goes to the washhouse in the back of their house. The water in the pail is black after he’s done with it, but at least his skin feels clean without the layer of dirt and ash clinging to it. 

Part of him wishes he could wash his clothes too (having clean skin doesn’t do much when he’s shrugging back into filthy robes) but he only has the one set and he’s not about to ask Sela or Gensu for anything more than they’ve already given him. 

Zuko stretches as he walks around the outside of the house, back to the door. In the light, he has a clearer view of the village. It’s larger than he thought—the cluster of houses stretches on in the opposite direction of the burnt husk of the wasteland. This house is the border between destruction and civilization. When Zuko squints, he thinks he can even make out some green grass beyond a far house. A farm? A pasture? Whatever it may be, it’s a good sign. The whole world isn’t like this. There are people. There is hope. 

He only needs to find his way back home. 

Zuko sighs and rubs his jaw. He’s been in bad situations before, he reminds himself. He’ll find a way ahead. Somehow. 

“Come on,” says a voice around the corner. 

Zuko turns and peaks around the house. 

A boy sits in the dirt. His face is close to the ground, his hands spread out in front of him. 

Lee. The real one. He was so, so young before that it even strikes Zuko how young he is still. Thirteen, maybe fourteen at most. Still tiny. Stilly wiry. Still determined. 

“Come on,” Lee urges again, moving his hands. 

Zuko’s about to speak up, to ask him what he’s doing, when the ground under his feet rumbles. It’s a tiny movement—Zuko wouldn’t have even noticed if he wasn’t expecting something to happen—but the ground shifts nonetheless. In front of Lee’s fingers, a small pillar of earth rises up. 

“ Yes, ” he breathes, pumps his fist, and then flattens the earth back down with this palms. 

Zuko turns on his heel. His face is hot—he shouldn’t have spied like that. As a kid, when he was just learning, the last thing Zuko ever wanted was for someone to watch him firebend.

But as Zuko rounds the corner, he all but runs into Sela. “Oh,” he says. “Sorry, I should’ve been watching…”

Sela doesn’t seem to hear a word he’s saying. Her brown eyes are wide. They flicker from Zuko to Lee and back to Zuko again. “What did you see?” her voice is low. Dangerous and determined. 

Nothing, Zuko starts to say, but the words sound hollow in his mind alone, but he stops himself before the words even leave his lips. 

Why would Sela be worried about someone catching her son earthbending in the Earth Kingdom?

The reality of the situation sinks into Zuko’s stomach like a stone. Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. Worse than he anticipated. 

It can’t be, can it? He looks to the wasteland. The stretch of brunt earth spans all the way to the horizon and past it too. 

Zuko closes his eyes and raises his hands, palms open. “Your secret is safe,” he says to her. “I won’t tell. I wouldn’t do that.” 

Sela’s lips thin. 

Zuko wants to yell. He wants to ask why they’d take a firebender into their home—a firebender that might’ve been a defector, at that. Did they want trouble?

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Sela says and crosses her arms over her chest. She shifts her weight and blocks Lee from Zuko’s sight. 

A pang of guilt strikes through Zuko’s chest. Did she really believe that he would hurt her boy? After she saved his life?

The world is cruel, Zuko supposes. Often needlessly so. Zuko has no belongs to get from inside the house, so he only nods instead. “Tell me where the military office is and I’ll be on my way.”

“The other side of the village,” Sela replies. “Take the main road as far as you can and turn left. East.”

“Thank you,” Zuko says, even if she doesn’t believe it. “Thank you for everything.”

As he starts to walk forward, though, something clicks into place. 

Why Sela would help a lost soldier she suspected had deserted his post. Why they were curious about his role in the military.

Sela and Gansu weren’t afraid of Zuko bringing a particular brand of trouble—they were hoping for it. 

It’s all so obvious, in retrospect. Zuko swears. If Sokka were here, would he be proud of Zuko for figuring this out or annoyed that it took Zuko so long to figure out what would’ve been obvious to Sokka in ten seconds?

Either way, he’s not here now. As Zuko turns back, he catches a last glimpse of Sela ushering Lee inside their home and shutting the door. 

It could be worse, Zuko supposes. They could’ve killed him. He’s got no solid identity. No one looking for him. In a way, Zuko wouldn’t have even blamed them—their own lives were at stake and if they hadn’t helped him, he would’ve died out in the wasteland anyway. 

They’re good people. 

There’s no other way around it. 

Zuko wishes they weren’t. For their own sake. Acting like that is only going to get them killed. 

One day, he’ll help them. Zuko promises that to himself. Whatever the hell is going on, he’ll find a way to help these people who have helped him twice over—even if they hadn’t realized that. 

True to Sela’s word, the military office is a squat wood building at the other end of the village. Past its window is a green field—at least the whole world hasn’t been destroyed. 

When Zuko pushes open the front door, the half-sleeping man in fire nation armour at the front desk roses. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Zuko gathers his courage to start his well-practiced lie. It’s not a perfect choice (far from it) but this is the best option he can think of for the time being. This is the best way to find out what he’s gotten himself into.

“What are you here for?” The man wipes his nose with the back of his hand. 

“I’m Lee,” Zuko says, “and I think I’m missing in action.” 

Chapter Text

The officers can’t figure out where Zuko came from, in the end. Which isn’t a surprise, not to Zuko, he knows he isn’t from this world. He gave them a false name. He would’ve been more surprised if they somehow had managed to dig up some record of a Lee reported missing in action and found a squad where he would’ve fit in. 

But there’s no squad or anything of the sort. 

They ask Zuko where he’s from. “The capital,” he says truthfully. “My mother raised me, but she’s gone now.” Another truth. “As a teenager, I was raised by my uncle instead.” 

Once, he learned from Sokka that the best lies are truths. He’ll have to thank him for that, one day, when he gets back. If he gets back. 

“Okay,” the captain with a thin beard and eyes like embers says. He drums his fingers against his desk. “And this uncle of yours, where is he now?”

Zuko frowns. His chest tightens. “He—he’s not in the world, not anymore.” The way Zuko’s voice cracks isn’t a lie—where is Uncle? Back at home, is he searching for Zuko? Too many times Zuko’s been the source of all his strife. Uncle is old, now, and needs a break. 

“My condolences,” mumbles the captain, though he doesn’t sound very sorry. “So you have no family here so to speak of?”

“No.”

“And you don’t remember anything about how you got here?”

“No,” Zuko repeats, sticking to his story. “One moment I remember being in the capital, in a garden. The next I was waking up in the wasteland.” 

“Hm.” The captain’s lips turn down. He bundles his arms and leans in toward Zuko. “To be honest, Lee, I don’t really know what to do with you.”

“Me neither,” Zuko mumbles. 

“But the best course of action,” he continues as if Zuko hadn’t spoken, “is to get you back to the Fire Nation. There’s a military hospital there—you can convalesce. Train. Things will sort themselves out.”

“Right.” Zuko nods curtly, though he very much doubts ‘things will sort themselves out’. They never have before—why should they now?

“There’s a squad heading to the coast in the morning. You’ll go with them.”

“Right,” Zuko says again. 

And that is that. 

At night, Zuko’s given a small cot in a nearly empty barracks. There’s no real activity here—it’s just an outpost, more than anything. A few soldiers that protect the village linger in the bunks, playing cards, without much of a care. They’re firebenders—one lights tobacco with his finger. 

Thick smoke curls in the air and, once more, Zuko’s head feels light and his lungs tighten. All he wants is a break. Is that too much to ask?

He pulls the thin sheet around him and rolls to his side. 

“You wanna join in?” one of the soldiers calls. 

“No.”

“Suit yourself.”

Zuko stares up at the slats in the ceiling. There’s a window, too, not far from him. The night is black. There is nothing here. 

When day breaks, they march. It’s only a day's walk to the sea, or so they say. Zuko has nothing of his own, so they load him up with supplies from the company. At least he gets a uniform of his own to wear—he’s grateful to wear anything that isn’t his dirt robes. 

There’s no mirror for Zuko to look in after he’s changed and for that he is grateful. The uniform is standard military issue. How many men had he seen dressed this way? Even for himself, how often had he slipped into robes nearly identical to this? It would be different, though. Last time he’d worn a military uniform he was sixteen, mostly bald, and only scowled.

He was an angry kid. Now, he’s an adult. To see himself in shades of that again makes his stomach twist. The walk is a blessing, in a way; he has nothing to do but step forward and forward again and put all his thoughts out of his mind.

“You’re a quiet one,” the man to Zuko’s left, Shoko, says not long after they’ve started on from the village. He has a broad, sunny smile and light freckles splashed across his tanned face. 

“I don’t have much to say.” Zuko looks out toward the grassy fields. At least they’ve come this way and not back through the wasteland. The last thing Zuko needs is to be back in the ruin again. 

“Everyone has something to say. I mean—they told us you lost your memory. There has to be a story there.”

“I’m not sure there is.” Zuko rubs his forehead as he tries to figure out what to say. “Or if there is, I don’t remember it.”

Shoko lets out a pleasant bark of laughter. He’s Zuko’s age, or maybe a little older, but underneath the sunniness, he’s weary. Tired. Zuko knows that look, that exhaustion wearing around the edges of his eyes. “Well, hopefully they won’t make you start your service over again.”

“Yeah.” Zuko presses his lips together, not sure what to say next. There’s a small cluster of other men and women walking near them. What is the line, here? How much can he safely say? He’s too much of a stranger to this world, to this company, to know where the boundary is between what is said and what is left unspoken. 

“Well. Hope they get you sorted out. We’re on to the North, after this. I envy you—you’ll get all the warmth.”

Zuko nods, dully. And then— “Wait,” he says, “do you know where we are now? Where this is?”

“Sai Sutāto—that’s what’s on the new maps.” They walk forward. The sun is red behind the veil of hazy smoke. The air is heavy with burnt wood. 

“Of course,” Shoko says, dropping his voice to a whisper, “if you looked on an old map, we’re heading just South of Gaoling.”

Zuko’s heart stutters. Gaoling? There’s no way—it can’t be. Gaoling was a massive town. There should be a mountain range on the horizon, there should be fields of green grass and glassy lakes. 

There are none of those things. 

There is only destruction. 

Zuko swallows. Toph. Where would she be in all this mess? 

The company moves forward, forward, forward without stopping. 

“It won’t be long,” the captain calls back, “and we’ll be at the sea.” 

It isn’t long before they reach the sea. Vaguely, Zuko’s aware he should be paying more attention. Learning the names of the other soldiers. Figuring out the history of this place. Mapping the world—and its dynamics—out in his mind. 

Zuko does none of those things. Everything around him moves strangely, as if it's blurring together, and yet somehow he’s sitting outside of it all. 

Shock, he thinks. It must be shock. Exhaustion. Nerves. He needed a break before everything went to shit—now, the world seems like an impossible puzzle and he’s only got half the pieces. 

When they reach the port, though, at least there is a breeze. The cool, fresh air has a way of making the world seem new again. It washes over everything and pushes away the haze—both the literal smoke in the air and the clouds in Zuko’s mind. For the first time since he’s been here, a patch of blue sky peeks out overhead. 

“This is where we leave you,” Shoko says. “There’s an overnight ship heading to the Fire Nation. We aren’t shipping out to the North until at least tomorrow, maybe even the day after that. We’re waiting for another company to arrive.”

“Right.” They’d been talking about the North for a while now. Everyone had been. But did they mean Northern Earth Kingdom or North North. 

Zuko’s memory of the Northern Water Tribe is shaky, at best. He’d spent far more time in the South. He’d only been there three times—once immediately after the war and once for a diplomatic visit only a few months ago. And, well, he’d rather forget the first time he was there. 

All that was to say the place is still a mystery to him. Zuko hums. “Have you been there before?”

Shoko shakes his head. “No—not me. My sister, though, she spent some time there. Said it was like another world.”

The dry irony isn’t lost on Zuko. “Must’ve been confusing.”

“She said it was. Took her ages to adjust. Did you know in the winter, there are days the sun doesn’t rise?”

He is talking about the Water Tribe, then. Zuko had been in the South, once, for the polar night. The lack of heat, the absence of sun—even still, it sends a chill up his spine. “Must be awful.”

Shoko shrugs. “It’s not like there’s another option.”

He says more, after that. Some pleasant words. He wishes Zuko well on his voyage and Zuko does the same in return. Throughout all the empty words, though, Zuko’s mind is elsewhere: what the hell is the Fire Nation military doing in the North?

At the docks down the road, the gulls cry and screech. Zuko imagines closing his eyes, covering his ears, and disappearing entirely from this world. 

The ship they put Zuko on is more for cargo than passengers, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he prefers it this way—fewer people to pester him. The crew is barebones; some men haul on barrels, a woman checks the inventory of crates that, more likely than not, are full of some type of weapons. 

There are a few soldiers in the mix. A woman with her left arm in a sling and a thick bandage wrapped around her head. A man on a crutch. Another person who looks terribly young won’t look up, who will only stare at their boots. 

Zuko wants to know. Zuko doesn’t want to know. They’re all off to the same place, in the end, which tells him all he needs. 

Instead of finding a bunk like the others, he goes to the deck not long after they depart. The night is dark—so dark—and overhead the stars freckle the sky in a way he hasn’t seen in a long while. The water is glass and the ship sends dark ripples out behind it as it pushes on ahead. Seabreeze washes over Zuko; he breathes in and holds it in his lungs. 

If only it were that simple to clear his head, too. 

He sighs and sinks forward against the railings. Somewhere, not far, in that darkness is the Southern Water Tribe. His friends. What are they doing in this world? How can he find them?

Maybe it was a mistake to come with the military. Maybe Zuko should’ve taken off all on his own.
But he has nothing, not even knowledge on his side. Eventually, he’ll find his friends. He’ll find someone. It’ll work out. 

Right?
Zuko presses his palms to his eyes until swirls of colour dance in the dark. One step at a time. 

Further down the deck, the sound of boots on wood rings. Zuko freezes. It’s not like he’s not allowed to be out here, but he’d rather not be found. Rather not be roped into a conversation. 

As the steps grow nearer, harsh almost-whispers follow them. Two people, then. 

“I can’t believe it,” one, a man, says.

“I know.” It’s the woman from earlier, the one who was taking inventory. 

“It’s moving so fast. Faster than anyone expected.”

“Good. Then this will all be over.”

The man chuckles dryly. “Do you really think it will be?”

“Is anything ever? I don’t care—I just want to stay in one place for a while. The rest of the world can go to shit, for all I care.”
“What an optimistic take.”

“You know me, always a ray of sunshine,” the woman says. “I mean, come on, it wouldn’t have killed them to give us a few days leave in the capital.”

“You’re not wrong. It’s been ages since we had any break, let alone one at home.”

Zuko stays still. It seems as if they’ve stopped just around the corner and in front of the door to take them inside the ship. 

“What even was it, this time?” asks the man. 

“They raided some library in a desert, apparently. Rumour is they’ve finally brought the contents to the port and have called dozens of ships to bring everything that was inside back to the Fire Nation.”

“A library? We’re getting called out for that?”

“I know,” the woman’s voice is thin. “What’s the point when they’re going to burn half the books anyway?”

The man says something in reply, but Zuko doesn’t catch what it is—the squeal of the metal door drowns his words. Zuko’s stomach twists with his mind. Library? Something about that is familiar in a deep and uncomfortable way, but he can’t reach it right now. His head feels as if there’s a riot in every inch of his brain. 

Even with sleep threatening to drag him down, Zuko stays out on the deck a while longer watching the dark water hold the stars. 

The sun has risen and the day is hot by the time the Fire Nation capital comes into view on the horizon. Zuko can hardly believe it—he’d left that place (or a version of it) only a few short days ago. At the same time, it feels as if it’s been ages. Another life. Which, in a way, it is. 

The familiar rise of the volcano juts out of the ocean and scratches the sky. Songbirds chitter and dip into the water before rising up into the air once more. 

Zuko closes his eyes and, for a moment, he can almost imagine he’s really home. 

When they dock at the port, everything seems the same. When a cart takes Zuko and the other injured soldiers up the edge of the volcano, it seems the same. Zuko knows the dirt, the plants, the colours and smells, he knows the place inside and out. He could never forget it, he thinks. 

So when they pass through the city gates, it doesn’t take long for Zuko to realize that something is wrong. 

This isn’t the capital he remembers. 

The differences start small. From the cart, he can see the people walking in the streets, all dressed in brighter colours, in finer fabrics, all decked out in more gold and jewels than he would normally see at the heart of the capital, let alone at the edges. 

From there, the uncanniness of it all only grows. There are new buildings he doesn’t recognize—so many of them. Where there had once been low-slung shops and homes there are now lavish estates with golden trim on the doors. The streets are more packed than normal, too. There are dozens and dozens of carts, of carriages, of vendors all lining the streets. 

The city is so alive. 

Zuko should feel happy, shouldn’t he? This is a prospering nation.

But it’s all so wrong. 

From what he saw in the Earth Kingdom, it isn’t a far leap for him to understand why the Fire Nation capital is prospering. Why it’s dripping in excess. 

Every gem on every neck, every gold ornament adorning a home, every lavish carriage and fine parasol and glossy silk robe—the cost of it all is sickening. Zuko’s stomach rolls. He wants to yell; he wants to scream. 

How can the people in the streets laugh and smile? 

The woman—the one with her arm in the sling—lets out a small hum. “It’s been ages since I’ve been here,” she says. “I forgot how much I missed it.”

Zuko doesn’t speak, but the man with the crutches nods in agreement. “Me too. I mean, look at it all,” he says. 

Zuko does look at it all. 

The people in the Fire Nation are happy in a way he hasn’t seen in ages. 

The cart jostles as the wheels bounce against the stone roads. The silent soldier still doesn’t look up; their hair hangs limp around their thin face. A shadow in broad daylight. 

How many times must Zuko feel sixteen again? How many times must he realize he really understands nothing about this world? 

They reach the hospital in no time. It’s not far from the palace—the red walls rise high in the air, cutting it off from the rest of the world. It’s strange, Zuko thinks. For most of the people in the city, this is all they know of the palace. For Zuko, the outside of the walls are a site he rarely sees. 

The hospital itself is surprisingly peaceful for such a large building. Despite the fact it’s sitting on the end of a busy street it’s quiet and has a wide garden in the back, complete with cherry trees and a koi pond. There are a few people milling about, playing pai sho, sitting on benches, reading books. 

Most of them are injured. Well, most of them were injured—now, it seems they’re in varying stages of recovery. 

“Well get you sorted out,” promises the nurse with a rosy smile at the front entrance. Zuko can almost believe her—it makes sense they placed her at the entrance. Her positive energy is nearly infectious. 

“A doctor will see you today,” she continues. “But for now, you can get settled into your room. You can put away your things—” she cuts herself off and flushes deep red. Zuko has nothing, not even a small bag on him. “Well, you can get settled. Meet the others.” 

“Sure.” 

Another nurse helps the other and Zuko follows the rosy woman down a long hallway. The wooden floors are polished, gleaming. Soft light filters through the screen walls. In some of the rooms, muffled conversations come through the walls.

Eventually, they reach a door and the nurse slides it open. There’s no one there, but the room has half a dozen futons laid out—of which three look like they belong to someone—and, on the opposite wall, a large window that looks out to the garden. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” she instructs. “There should be some books on the shelf under the window. Please take any you like.”

Zuko doubts he will be truly comfortable, but at least he’s settled. For now. He can rest here. Figure out where things are going. 

When the woman leaves, he picks a bed close to the window and folds down the covers to claim it. There’s not much for books, but Zuko spies a book of classic poetry and sits down to read it. 

If he’s going to figure out a way home, he needs to rest. He needs to give himself a chance to get his head on straight. 

The rest of the afternoon slips by easily and he’s getting a bit bored of the section solely dedicated to haikus about flowers when the door slides open again and two men, Zuko’s age, come in. 

“Oh,” says the taller of the two. “Didn’t realize we were getting a new roommate.”

Zuko sits up and sets the poetry on his blanket. “I’m Lee. I, uh, I guess I’m a bit of a last-minute addition.”

The small one is seriously small—like, Toph sized—with the shadow of a beard around his jaw. “Aren’t we all?”

Zuko tilts his head, unsure what he means.
“It’s fine,” the taller says. “There was another guy here, before. Asahi is just bitter he lost his sparring partner.”

“So what if I am?” The short one, Asahi, goes to the futon on the other side of the room. He slips his otter robe off and when he does, Zuko gets a clear glimpse of the man’s back. 

It’s riddled with scars. Thick ones, crossing his skin. 

A moment later, he shrugs a plain tunic on and turns back around. “It’d be nice to have a week without someone leaving or coming.”

“Asahi,” the tall one whispers. 

“Whatever.” Asahi shrugs them off, sits on his futon, and grabs for a newspaper from the stand next to him. 

The tall one blinks at Zuko. “Sorry about him,” he says as he walks up to Zuko. “I’m Oda. Welcome.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Asahi says without looking up.

“Ignore him.”

“What? I’m just being honest. We’ll all be out of here before we know it.”

Zuko says nothing. Oda looks pale, drained. 

“Well,” Oda says as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s nice to meet you, anyway.”

Zuko sits there. He nods. What is there that he can say?  “The one who left—where did he go?” 

“Where do you think? Back to the Earth Kingdom.”

“Oh.” Zuko presses his lips together. “I, um, I’m sorry if I don’t know. I’m here because I’ve been having some problems with my memory.”

At that, Asahi looks up. His harsh features soften. “Oh.”

Zuko’s stomach curls with guilt at his lie.

“We’re all a little fucked up here, in one way or another.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“I almost lost my arm,” Asahi shares. “Earthbender caught me with a damn boulder. I haven’t been able to firebend properly since. I think they’re keeping me here until they’re certain it’s never gonna come back—until then, there’s every chance I could get sent out again.”

Oda hums. “Rumour is they’re going to launch another siege on Ba Sing Se before too long. They’re gonna need everyone who can fight if we’re gonna stand a chance.”

Another siege? Zuko feels as if he’s been struck. So, whatever has happened, at least Ba Sing Se hasn’t fallen yet. 

Asahi lets out a tsk of disbelief. “It won’t matter how many soldiers we have if someone keeps feeding them inside information.”

Oda shoots Ashai a death glare that Zuko pretends not to notice, but Asahi only shrugs. “What? It’s not even a rumour—that’s just a known fact. Someone’s been feeding Ba Sing Se our plans. It’s the only reason they’ve managed to stay independent as long as they have.”

Zuko nods, slowly taking in the information. If there is a spy—or any sort of organized resistance—there’s only one group that comes to Zuko’s mind that could be responsible. 

The White Lotus. 

Something inside him thrills at the chance to see Uncle. Even at the idea that Uncle would still be here, somewhere, putting up a fight. 

Zuko nods, pretending to understand. “This siege—would General Iroh lead it again?”

Oda and Asahi shoot a strange look at each other and, immediately, Zuko clamps his jaw shut. 

He’s said something wrong. 

“Lee,” Oda says softly. “General Iroh has been dead for years.”

Zuko’s heart drops through his stomach. “What—no. No. That can’t be true.” The world around him grows blurry at the edges; his vision tunnels in. 

“That’s barely history, dude. Like, it’s a basic fact,” Asahi says. He sounds almost bored. 

Zuko could punch him. “No, that can’t be true.”

“General Iroh died in the first siege.”

“No—no. He came back. He had to come back. When Lu Ten died, he stopped.”

Oda glances back to Asahi, who only shrugs as if to say ‘you deal with this’. “Lee,” Oda says softly. “I think you’ve got it turned around. General Iroh died in the siege. It was King Lu Ten who stopped it after. He’s the one who came back.”

Zuko didn’t think the tightness in his chest could grip him any further, but it does, somehow. “Lu Ten?” he mutters. Lu Ten is alive?

“Yeah,” Oda says. “King Lu Ten.”

Lu Ten. Alive.

Lu Ten. A… King?

“I’m lost,” Zuko admits in earnest. “Lu Ten is a king?” Did that mean Ozai wasn’t the ruler? Maybe this world isn’t lost after all. 

“He is,” Oda confirms. “Lu Ten—the King of the Northern Water Tribe.”

Chapter Text

Lu Ten. King. 

As much as that idea feels so viscerally incorrect, at the same time it also feels like the most natural thing in the world. After all, Lu Ten was always supposed to be the Fire Lord; in every memory Zuko has of him, Lu Ten stands straight and tall and talks in a soft but unyielding sort of way. Lu Ten always had a plan. Whether they were nicking extra sweets from the kitchens or practicing Firebending, Lu Ten always had a plan. 

So why shouldn’t he be a leader? He’s a good one, Zuko’s sure. Much better than he’d ever be. 

But the fact that he’s up in the Northern Water Tribe… a shiver runs down Zuko’s spine that he can’t shake off. 

“Hey, Lee,” Oda says to Zuko his first morning as they head for breakfast. “You good?”

Zuko nods but he isn’t good, not really, and he doubts that Oda is really expecting an honest answer anyway. He’s just asking if Zuko can get down the hall, if he can sit and eat breakfast, or if he’s going to unravel on the spot.

“I’m fine,” Zuko mumbles. 

That’s all he can be, in the end.

The first days in the hospital slide by too easily. Zuko welcomes the break. Welcomes it probably too easily, he thinks, but he does need the sleep after what he’s been through and it’s hard to turn down a place that’s offering a comfortable bed and three warm meals a day and clean, freshwater. 

The doctors check him out, poking and prodding, and determine that he needs rest and food and fresh air. Zuko’s showing signs of stress, they say. Anxiety. While they can’t find anything physically injured, it’s clear he’s had an awful shock—or, more likely, a series of awful shocks followed by prolonged stress. 

Which isn’t wrong even if it isn’t exactly right, either. 

“Well, just take your time here,” the nurse says, “we’re still trying to figure out where you came from and, as it stands, we’re not having much luck.”

Zuko nods along and agrees that he’ll stay. When he’s better, or at least more functional and less lost and confused, he has no doubt they’ll send him back out to a war front, even if they haven’t figured out where he came from in the first place. Asahi might be bitter, but he’s also correct. The Fire Nation is pushing all they can into this last hour of war—they’re seeing it through to the bitter and bloody end. 

Of course, Zuko has no intention of getting sent out again. But he needs a plan and, right now, he doesn’t have one yet. 

He’ll take a few days, a week, and then duck out in the middle of the night once he’s got a route figured out. That should work, he thinks. It has too. 

In the end, he’s really got no other choice. 

At dinner on his fourth night there, Zuko starts to push for information on the Southern Water Tribe. So far, he’s heard about the Northern Tribe, Ba Sing Se, the Earth Kingdom. But not so much as a whisper about the South, even when he was at the port at the Southern tip of the Earth Kingdom. 

Zuko’s not so dumb as to believe there’s not a reason for that. 

He broaches the subject, quietly, with Asahi. 

“So,” Zuko says quietly. Around them, the noise of the few dozen people in the hospital rises to the ceilings. Chopsticks click against plates. Someone laughs and the clatter of pans drifts over from the kitchen. Another person, still, is complaining that this is the third time they’ve served Udon this week. 

“So,” Zuko repeats. “I’m still trying to sort out my memory.”

“I’ve gathered that much.” Asahi has a newspaper in one hand while he eats with the other. He’s flipping through the pages too fast to be reading. 

“I’m piecing the world together. But, uh, there’s still one thing I’m not sure of.”

“Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much, something very special happens—”

“No. Shut up.” Zuko’s face warms. “It’s not that.”

“Good.”

“I—I uh, was wondering.” Zuko scratches his neck. “What’s going on with the Southern Water Tribe?” Zuko keeps his voice low, soft, and doesn’t make it look like a whisper; the last thing he wants is attention. 

Next to him, Asahi stops. He sets the paper on the table, lowers his chopsticks, and turns to Zuko. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”

Again, Zuko’s cheeks flush with heat. “No,” he insists. 

“Then shut up about it,” Asahi mumbles, rolls his shoulders, and turns back to the paper and his food. 

Zuko sinks, defeated. 

After dinner, Zuko heads to the gardens to clear his head. The conversation with Asahi rattled him more than he would like to admit—even if he hadn’t gotten an answer, he was hoping for at least a clue. 

Now he still has nothing and he can’t even ask. 

Zuko wipes his forehead with his palm. The night air always does good to clear his head. Wind whistles, soft and high, and the crickets have begun to chirp. Somewhere, far away, there’s another Fire Nation, another western wind, another batch of crickets chirping in the grasses and Zuko’s not there to witness any of it. 

He’ll find a way home. He has to. It was a mistake to trust the fox spirit—he’d known that as soon as the words left his mouth. But it’s too late to change that now, so Zuko has to press forward. 

Even if it all feels impossibly heavy right now. This world, the south, Lu Ten. It’s a maze and Zuko’s been thrown in blindfolded. 

If only he had Toph to guide him out. 

For now, though, Zuko settles on running through Firebending forms to blow off some steam—quite literally. There’s something mediative about the movements. He just moves ; he doesn’t have to think. 

Zuko finds a spot in the gardens. There’s a little clearing that’s out of view from the windows of the complex, tucked behind a tree. He’s far enough from the flowers and bushes that he doesn’t think anything will catch. 

The world falls away and Zuko moves. As steady as the breath in his body, he directs the heat and energy through a path in his limbs and out through his palms, his heels, his lungs. Kick. Release. Bend. Stretch. Turn. Up. Down. Release. Release. Centre. 

Zuko lets the air fill his lungs right into the very bottom. 

He keeps on, this way, letting the movement work him until his muscles are sore and the sky overhead darkens in gold and orange embers. 

He straightens up, slightly out of breath, and worn through. He’ll sleep tonight, at least.

“Impressive,” someone says from down the path. 

Zuko tenses and turns. Underneath the tree, one of the doctors is watching him. It’s hard to tell her expression—her mouth is a line and shadows fall across half her face, leaving dark and unreadable plains. 

“Oh.” Zuko shrugs. “It’s nothing, really. Just getting in some practice.”

“Hm. I see.”

“Really. Just some warm-up.”

“You’re skilled.”

“Thanks.” Zuko looks down. 

She nods and says nothing more and Zuko watches her head down the path back to the main complex. His heart pounds. It would be nice, he thinks, if he could ever have a peaceful moment without someone watching. 

That night, Zuko’s nearly asleep when he hears the creak of the floorboards next to his bed. He bolts upright, hands out, and grabs for whoever is in front of him. Energy sparks under his fingertips, ready to be released with a bend of his arm. 

“Shit, dude, relax,” says Asahi’s low voice. 

Zuko lowers his hands. In the darkness—and it is so dark, there must be a reason there’s hardly any light coming in—it’s hard to make him out, but the small demeanour is a dead giveaway. Slowly, Zuko rubs his chest. The spot with the scar. He feels ancient at times like this, his chest staggers as his heart tries to settle. 

“You didn’t have to freak out.” Asahi rearranges his tunic.

“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles. 

Asahi waves him off. “Oda is playing Pai Sho with that nurse he likes, but he’ll be back soon. So this has to be fast.”

Asahi bites his lip; his eyes flicker toward the door. “No one talks about the Southern Water Tribe. Not anymore. When I was a kid there were regular ships that would head down there, but there hasn’t been a word in almost five years now. Just like that—” he snaps— “the ships stopped coming back. We went from what everyone assumed was a foregone conclusion to losing our troops.” 

Zuko nods, stunned. It’s heavy. It makes sense. 

“It’s taboo to talk about anymore. A national embarrassment. But—well, they still send ships. Unofficially, of course, but it’s not like we’ve abandoned it.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“If you go South, there’s no coming back. The South is where good men go to die.” Asahi’s eyes are wide, are wild. 

Zuko believes him. It might not have been very long that he’s known the man, but Zuko’s never seen him look this serious, this afraid, before.

“It’s the last place—” Out in the hall, a floorboard creaks. Asahi freezes on the spot and then pulls back. 

“Just—just forget it. Alright?” he whispers as he heads to his own futon. 

The room is too silent, after that. Zuko’s sure they’re both lying there wide awake and wired with energy. Time slips past and, eventually, Oda returns too. He’s quiet as he changes and slips under his covers. 

In the room, in the dark, all their hearts must be beating wild rhythms—all for different reasons. 

At breakfast the next morning, Zuko does his best to pretend to be normal. The oatmeal they’ve served is bland, but at least there are fresh peaches with it. 

Focus, he tells himself, he needs to focus and figure out a plan. 

He needs to get South. If the Fire Nation hasn’t been able to get access to the south for nearly five years, there’s a strong possibility that’s because of Aang. No one in this world’s mentioned the Avatar—even Zuko’s not dumb enough to bring up that topic, even in passing—but the timeline would roughly match up with when Katara and Sokka first found Aang. Is he keeping the South safe? Is he raising resistance?

It still doesn’t quite add up, though. Why would Aang be in hiding while the world was like this?

Zuko groans. The best way he can picture it, he needs to get himself sent South. But there’s a fine line, it seems, between the type of insubordination that would get him sent South and the kind that would land him in a jail cell (or worse) and Zuko doesn’t understand even remotely where that line’s been drawn in the sand. 

“Lee.”

Zuko glances up. In front of him stands the doctor who had seen him Firebend the night before. “Yes?” He presses his hand against this knee, tense. 

“We’re still working on trying to find where you might’ve come from.”

Zuko nods. 

“Do you have family here in the capital? Even distant family?”

“Uh, no. Not that I’m aware of.” He’d fed them the same half-truth about being raised by his mother and his uncle, neither of whom are around anymore.

“No one? You don’t need to stay with them or even contact them. We’re just putting the pieces together.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I really don’t. Sorry.”

The doctor’s sharp eyes give him a once over. “Alright then,” she says and turns to leave. 

Zuko scratches his head and glances at Oda, who is sitting next to him. His face is painted with a distant half-smile, no doubt on the account of the nurse with who he’d spent half the night playing Pai Sho with. “Was that weird?”

Oda looks at him. “A little,” he says with a shrug. Oda then stops eating. He turns his head in a curious sort of way—the way a young kid might look at an animal in the zoo. “Or maybe not.”

“What?”

“I mean—I’m sure someone has told you before.”

“Told me what?”
“Lee, come on.” The tips of his ears redden. 

“No, I really don’t know.”

“Okay. Fine.” Oda leans in. “Lee, dude. If it wasn’t for your scar you’d be the spitting image of Phoenix King Ozai.”

Oda says something else after that. 

Zuko doesn’t hear it. 

His heart races and his stomach turns and he’s certain he’s going to be sick. 

Phoenix King. It makes perfect sense—Zuko has seen the world. At some level, he knew what would have to have caused all that destruction. 

Ozai went through with his plan. 

He burned half the world and left the other half struggling to survive. 

But, selfishly, that’s not the part that disturbs Zuko the most. 

He also knows it’s true. At home, though, everyone knew better than to speak it aloud. 

Zuko wonders if he’ll ever be able to drive away the shadow of his father. 

Part of Zuko stubbornly believed that Oda was the only one to have noticed the similarities. 

Part of him also knows that’s asking for too much. 

All that is to say, Zuko’s not entirely surprised when the sharp-eyed doctor comes to find him on the seventh day of his stay. 

“Put something nice on, Lee,” she says as she drags him away from the spot of sun in the garden where he’d been reading his book. 

“I don’t have anything nice.”

“We’ll find you something,” she says as she walks ahead through the halls. 

“Why does this matter?” Zuko glances down at his robes. Simple—loose cotton in a shade of rusty red.

“Because,” she says, “you’ve been called to see the Phoenix King.” 

Chapter Text

As Zuko walks toward the palace, he shakes like a fucking leaf. His hands are trembling, his heart is jackknifing, his legs are weak. His mouth is dry. Ears ringing. 

“Lee?” the staff member directed to bring Zuko to his audience asks softly. She’s a small girl, though she’s probably at least in her midteens, with hair on the brown side of black. 

“It’s fine,” Zuko mumbles back in response. He smooths his pants—the more formal robes they gave him are silky and light red, but just a fraction too big for him. The sleeves come halfway over his hands. 

“Alright.” The girl walks ahead and Zuko follows as they reach the palace gate. How many times has he walked this path before? 

Zuko glances at the gatekeepers, but he doesn’t recognize either of the guards standing watch. They’re a tad older than most of his staff, probably on account of the fact that most of the younger men are in the military. They’ve got a hardened sort of look around them, too. Flat stares, deeply etched frowns, furrowed brows. 

As they step over the threshold, Zuko shivers. He should know this place, these gardens, those corridors. This is his home. 

Yet it’s not. It’s a twisted mirror. The plants that line the stone path aren’t neglected, exactly, but they’re not the full blooming beauties that Zuko has back home, either. It’s odd—he can’t put his finger on it. The palace is still beyond opulent (even more so than the version he’d left behind). The place is clean and tidy and neat. 

Zuko follows the girl around a corner. A group of maids hustle by, all with their eyes cast down at the ground. None of them are speaking. 

And, with that, it clicks into place. 

This palace is dead.

There is no heart. 

Zuko swallows, dry. 

Fuck. 

“In here,” the girl says when they finally reach a door at the end of a long corridor lined with the tapestries of past Fire Lords. 

It’s not just a door, though. It’s the door. How many times had Zuko stood here before, limbs shaking and gut turning? A bead of sweat trickles down his temple.

“Lee? The Phoenix King is waiting inside.”

“Right,” Zuko says. He wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic and pushes inside. 

A wall of blistering flame greets him. 

Instantly, Zuko feels his temperature rise and he wrestles it back down. The last thing he needs is for anyone else to see him as a sweaty, nervous wreck. 

“You may approach.”

The familiar voice is a knife in Zuko’s chest. It’s been a long time since he heard his father at all and even longer still since he heard him speak with that tone of arrogance and authority. 

Zuko closes his eyes. He raises his mental walls. He tells himself he can do it, he can get through. After all, there’s really no other choice. Besides—as lost as Zuko might be, his father has no power over him. Not anymore. Not physically, not literally, not emotionally.

He stood up to Ozai. Aang brought him down. If they have to, they’ll do it again and again. 

With his chin high, Zuko walks forward. His footsteps are soft, but they still echo off the stone in the nearly empty room. When Zuko reaches the base of the flames, he kneels down in a deep bow, his forehead touching the ground. 

The radiating heat pulses out from the fire. Zuko doesn’t look up; he doesn’t twitch. His lungs fill lightly and release again and he stays that way for one breath and then another. 

“Rise.”

Zuko does. 

When he looks up, behind the curtain of fire, he sees the silhouetted figure of his father. The high bun is adorned with a crown . The beard. The grand edges of his uniform. 

For a long, long time, this image has lived in Zuko’s nightmares and met him there. Ozai as the Phoenix King, Ozai as a ruler, and Zuko still being forced to bow before him. 

Maybe, Zuko thinks, maybe there’s something powerful about meeting the thing that haunts you head-on. This is a ghost no more. 

Zuko will not be afraid. 

Ozai might tell him to come, tell him to rise, tell him to bow, but Zuko is his own man. He has power over him no more. 

Zuko unclenches his jaw and squares his chest and stands taller than he ever here before. “Your Majesty,” Zuko says, hoping that this Ozai doesn’t know him well enough to catch the sarcasm laced in his voice.

“Lee. The doctors tell me you’re a soldier. Not sure where you came from.”

“No, Your Majesty. I woke up in a wasteland—no clue how I got there.”

“Hm.” Ozai shifts on the throne. “And before that? Where are you from?” His voice is sharp but emotionless. 

Zuko nods slowly. There are more than a million things he wishes he could say, but he has to stick with the story he’s given others. “I was born here, in the capital,” he says. “My mother raised me when I was a child, but she left before I even met my teens. After that, my uncle acted as my guardian. We spent some time as crew on a ship before he set up a tea shop in the Earth Kingdom.” 

Ozai says nothing. With him behind the wall of flickering fire, there’s no way to read his face. “And this uncle of yours?”

“He’s—he passed away.” Zuko catches himself. His voice shakes, stubborn in its sentiment. “In the war.”

“Hm.”

A streak of anger flares in Zuko’s core. Would he say something other than ‘hm’?

“Tell me more about your mother.”

Zuko nods, once. “I wish I had more to say. The truth is I can hardly picture her face anymore.

“I remember she was beautiful,” Zuko says. “I remember she was caring. But aside from that, I don’t know her. Not really.”

“What about your uncle? What did he say?”

Zuko opens his mouth, ready to say that Uncle wasn’t his mother’s brother, but he stops himself before he makes that mistake. Instead, he only shakes his head. “He never spoke of her.”

“Hm.”

Zuko grinds his molars together. 

“And your father?”

The question is open and pointed. Zuko looks up, through the wall of flame, and meets Ozai’s gaze. “I have no father,” he says.

Ozia doesn’t move. “I see.”

Zuko doesn’t move either. He refuses to bow, to backtrack, to try and make himself any less than he is. 

“The doctor spoke of your Firebending skill,” Ozai says. 

The classic pivot of the conversation, but at least Ozai accepts his answer. “That was kind of her,” Zuko says. 

“Lee, demonstrate your skills.” 

Zuko tenses. No, he wants to spit. He is trapped in a nightmare. He must be. It’s the spectre of his past—standing in front of his father or his grandfather, being ordered to show his skill, and failing failing failing. 

“A simple kata will be plenty.” He sounds nearly bored. 

Zuko gives Ozai a curt nod. He steps back, he shifts his weight to his left leg. Logically, Zuko thinks he should probably let his flames sputter. He should give a weak performance and let Ozai scoff and then go on his way, another mild disappointment in a busy day. 

Instead, Zuko lets his flames flare. Soft, at first, and then roaring. The rainbow of colours eddies inside and follows Zuko like a ghost as he turns. The control he has is fine, he knows. Raw power might always be impressive, but finesse leaves others breathless. Fire like flowers instead of fire like an ox. 

Zuko kicks his heel; the fire rises higher but stays close to him. As Zuko spins, he pulls it back in closer with a flourish. 

When Zuko stops, not even beaten, only breathing a little quicker, Ozai is standing behind the wall of fire. 

Zuko straightens up just in time for the wall of flames to extinguish in an instant. Smoke curls up in the air and the heavy footfall of Ozai’s boots rings in the chamber. 

Now, Zuko can’t breathe. Ozai moves closer and closer still until he finally stops only a few feet from Zuko. 

They’re the same height, now. Zuko looks straight into his eyes. They’re the exact shade of amber that meets him in the mirror. 

When Zuko was younger, the resemblances hadn’t been as stark, even if old advisors would mention in passing how much Zuko reminded them of Ozai at his age. Even at sixteen, with his hair shorn short, Zuko had been too gangly limbed on top of everything to see it on a daily basis (even if it did tease his mind from time to time).

Now, Zuko is grown. His frame has filled out. He shaved this morning, but if he waited a few weeks there would be a beard starting on his chin. 

He’s so much like his father. It stings—it always has, and it always will, but it’s worse now than it’s ever been before. This isn’t the Ozai with limp hair sulking in the back of a cell. He stands straight and tall; he clasps his hands behind his back and appraises Zuko like a prize animal. 

There’s something in the chin that’s different, but that’s about it. Zuko lowers his gaze to the ground and tries to stop the ringing in his ears from taking him down. 

“Remarkable,” Ozai says.

For a moment, Zuko’s heart keens. His whole childhood, he waited and waited to hear any sort of praise from his father. This is a moment that, at another time in his life, he’d prayed for. 

Zuko stamps it down. He’s worked so hard to heal, to learn he doesn’t need his father’s validation. 

But he still feels like a liar to say he doesn’t want it.
Even if Ozai is the opposite type of man he wants to be, there’s still a part of Zuko—a small, fragile echo of himself as a child—who craves that praise. 

Zuko’s throat is too dry. 

“Shame about your eye,” Ozai says casually. “It takes away from your credibility as a bender, you must be aware.”

Just like that, Zuko’s hollow again. Anger flares like the sun. “I was a child,” he spits. “And the man who gave it to me won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

“Hm. Is that so?”

Zuko locks his gaze on Ozai. “Yes,” Zuko says. No—he swears. He won’t hurt anyone ever again. 

“Very well then.” Ozai tips his head ever so slightly and starts to make his way back to his throne. “I have several more audiences this afternoon,” he says. “But tonight you’ll join me for dinner.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t refuse—there’s no way. Quite literally, he has no option. “I’d be honoured,” he says, hating his every word. 

“Good.” Ozai starts up the stairs, his boots clattering once again. “Dismissed.”

Zuko turns and walks away. The dark, cavernous hall swallows him up. The ringing in his ears never really went away, but the noise crescendos and his whole body riots in response. The exit is so, so far away. 

“You know,” Ozai says and Zuko pauses, but he doesn’t look back. “There’s a story that not many people know.”

“Oh?”

“Before Azula, I had a son. He was a sickly child. Didn’t make it through his first night. He was lucky to be born at all.” 

Zuko clenches his hands into fists. He still doesn’t turn. 

“His name would’ve been Zuko.”

Zuko glances back over his shoulder. The flames aren’t up yet, but Ozai is seated. “What a tragedy,” Zuko says. 

“Hm. Perhaps.”

With a wave of Ozai’s hand, the fire is back up. They flare higher than they were before; the orange tips lick at the ceiling. 

Zuko pushes out the doors, not entirely certain the rage in his chest hadn’t fuelled that fire. The hallway, at least, has windows. Sunbeams line the floor. Motes of dust hang in the air. 

This is far, far from fine. 

Zuko doesn’t get the chance to go back to the hospital and rest before dinner. Instead, he’s whisked off to the royal baths (and he’d be lying if he says he doesn’t enjoy the heat and steam and deep waters) and then, when he’s dry, taken to a tailor who hems his sleeves while a young man pulls Zuko’s hair into an acceptable military-style topknot. 

“This isn’t necessary,” Zuko mumbles. 

The man just makes a small noise of disagreement and pulls Zuko’s hair even tighter. The pins press against his skull; his hair is so tight that Zuko knows it won’t be long before he has a hairpin headache. 

And then, before he knows it, the same girl from before is leading him toward the dining hall. Zuko knows the way, but for now, he’s grateful for the guidance. The palace has swallowed him alive. All the shadows are foreign, all the hallways mazes. 

“In here,” she says and ushers him into the room. There are already a few people sitting around—mostly ministers and minor lords, among other faces Zuko doesn’t recognize—and Zuko’s directed to a seat near the long head table. 

“Here as the Phoenix King’s personal guest,” announces an attendant, “Private Lee.”

Zuko nods his chin as the muttering starts. No doubt they’re all wondering why he’s been invited to dine. Or maybe they can guess exactly why Zuko piqued Ozai’s interest. Either way, Zuko doesn’t want to hear. He sits and bundles his hands on his lap, his heartbeat pounding in his throat. 

The minister sitting next to Zuko shoots him a dirty look and wrinkles his nose. 

Thankfully, Zuko’s saved from saying anything when the attendant clears his throat again a moment later. “Her Majesty,” he shouts, “Fire Lord Azula.”

Zuko sits up as if he’s been jolted by lightning. Which, to be fair, isn’t exactly an unfair reaction to Azula. 

Azula walks in looking bored. She’s thinner than Zuko remembers her ever being—taut skin over her cheekbones, dark circles under eyes, dull hair. Azula plunks herself down in a seat to the right of the centre and doesn’t even acknowledge anyone else in the room. 

More than anything, Zuko thinks, she looks tired. Exhausted. Worn out. It’s so unlike his sister that, for a moment, he’s sure it can’t really be her. 

But her eyes are the same honey brown and her nose has the same slope. 

How long has she been pushing herself to meet Ozai’s impossible standards? She didn’t snap; she stretched herself out until there was nothing left. 

Zuko steadies his hand on his thigh. 

“His Majesty,” the attendant calls again, “Phoenix King Ozai.”

Ozai walks in and his robes swish behind him. He’s switched into something finer than what he wore earlier this afternoon and the golden flourishes on his shoulders would almost be comical if it wasn’t for the fact that Ozai’s smug grin sucked all the life from the room. He takes his place in the centre seat, the one with the high back, and a few of the other men and women around the lower tables nod at him. 

Normally, this is when the kitchen staff would bring out the trays and trays of food. But no one is moving. The seat to Ozai’s left is empty.

“And finally,” the attendant says. “Her Highness, Phoenix Queen Ursa.”

Zuko’s heart drops. Any nerves vanish in an instant—pure, white fear replaces them. No. His mom can’t still be here. She can’t be married to Ozai.

But she walks in. Her dress is lavish—all pink and gold and black. The braid that snakes around her head is more intricate than anything Zuko’s ever seen. 

Unlike Ozai and Azula, who didn’t look to anyone else, his mother’s eyes find Zuko. Zuko’s hope catches, just for a moment, as he waits for a flicker of familiarity and her familiar gentle smile. 

Instead, all he catches is a sliver of raw pain. Her eyes widen and her mouth parts but, in a fraction of a second, her face returns to a calm mask.  Azula looks worn out, but his mother? She hardly looks like a person at all. It’s as if she’s blank behind her eyes. 

Zuko shakes. 

Sometime in between Ozai’s welcome remarks and the food being served, something in Zuko’s mind clicks into place like a piece of a puzzle: there might be a way for him to leave this place, but there isn’t for everyone. 

If he leaves, everyone else stays. 

They’ll all be stuck in this world. In this nightmare. 

“Sir?”

Zuko blinks at the girl standing next to him. Her face is familiar—she works in the kitchen in his world, too.
“Would you like more sake?”

Zuko nods and she fills his glass but he doesn’t drink. He only stares at the drink and the fresh vegetables and fish and steamed bun on his plate. Fine food, but he can’t stomach any of it. 

Is this world even real? Is it all just a construct created by the spirit? None of it makes any sense. 

But the pain in his mother’s eyes was real. 

As the feast begins, Azula chats a bit with the minister next to her. She says a few things to Ozai. Her sharp laugh even rings out once. 

Zuko’s mother hardly looks up. She picks at her food. She nods politely when the Lords say something. 

She seems to be purposely avoiding looking even in the general direction of Zuko. He can’t blame her—in this world, she lost her only son. And, from her perspective, now there’s a boy sitting in front of her that’s close to the age her son should’ve been. A boy, a man, that she must believe to be proof of her husband’s indiscretion. 

Zuko had always wondered—as much as he shudders to think of his parents like that, he always wondered. The gossips of the courts usually kept such rumours away from his ears. 

But, well, there must be rumours. 

More than that—there must be instances (probably many of them) if Ozai is willing to entertain Zuko. 

Fuck. Zuko takes a long sip of sake and pushes that image as far out of his head as he can. Instead, he turns to one thing he hasn’t been able to make sense of—why his father’s invited him here. 

Illegitimate heirs are problems, usually, not guests. What’s Ozai playing at?

“So, Lee,” Ozai’s voice cuts across the room. 

Zuko looks up. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I was telling Minister Han here about your Firebending talent.”

Zuko burns, burns, burns. “Oh. I—thank you for your compliment.”

Ozai bundles his hands on the table and leans forward. “It’s a shame they can’t find which division you came from. Someone with your skill, it’s surely a special division.”

“I’m really not sure.”

“Hm. Yes. Well, Minister Han and I have been talking. We believe that someone with your talent shouldn’t be going to waste.”

Zuko’s heart picks up. Where is this going? “I suppose.”

“Suppose? Ha—it’s a certainty. You’re wasted, here.” The candles lighting the room cast deep shadows over Ozai’s face. 

All Zuko can smell is smoke. 

“We need to put you where you can make a difference.”

A blade of hope cuts through Zuko—maybe getting to the South will be easier than he thought. 

“You’ll be a Royal Guard,” Ozai says, “for King Lu Ten.”

Zuko’s mind goes blank. Northern? No, no, no—that’s all wrong. “Your Majesty,” he stammers, “I couldn’t.”

Ozai waves his hand dismissively. “It’s all but settled. In fact, there’s a ship leaving tonight. You’ll be on it.”

No, Zuko thinks as he nods. No, he won’t be. He can’t be. 

A few hours later—after painful small talk, after forcing himself to choke some food down despite his tight stomach, after trying to catch his mother’s eyes and send her a silent message that she would be okay, that he would make sure of it—Zuko finds himself on a boat once more. 

The water is smooth as glass and the night is dark and moonless, but the stars are as bright and numerous as ever. 

And they are going North. 

Zuko goes to his cabin and sits on the edge of his coat. He didn’t even have a chance; someone gathered his things from the hospital while a soldier brought him straight from the palace to the harbour. Even if Zuko tried to break away, he would’ve been either stranded on an island trying to evade the law or off into a great sea on a raft. 

Neither option was ideal. 

This one isn’t either. 

North instead of South—what a joke. 

Zuko bites his lip and leans back on his coat. At least he’ll get to see Lu Ten again. 

Maybe that will make all the difference.

Chapter Text

Zuko is cold. Freezing. His teeth chatter together; a random chill keeps running over his body. He’s wrapped himself in a blanket or three but his toes are numb and his fingers look discoloured and pale. 

Zuko is fucking cold. 

The last time he felt this way he was, what—fourteen? Thirteen? Whenever it was, the last time he’d been this cold was certainly before he’d mastered his firebreath. Since then, he’d been to the South in the dead of winter, he’d swam in the icy Northern waters, he stayed a whole night in a freezer in nothing but a tunic that didn’t even cover his arms and he’d been fine come morning. 

Now? Zuko feels awful. Achy. Confused. The cold shouldn’t get to him, but when he goes to pull on his firebreath he can’t muster the energy or focus to sustain it if he’s not actively thinking about it. Which is rather hard to do, seeing as he’s been rushed around the ship the last few days doing everything from swabbing the decks to feeding the engine. 

What a great time. 

Zuko flops into his bunk at the end of the day, fully worn out. 

It’s not just physical, though. He’s been tired before and his fire breath hasn’t failed him. It has to be mental. Emotional. 

Zuko closes his eyes and bites his lip. He really does feel like a teenager again—anger tears through his core and razes every positive thing in its way. 

How could the world turn out like this? Who let Ozai win? Why, of all things, is he going North when he needs to be literally on the other side of the Earth if he wants to find a way back home?

Zuko sighs and his breath clouds in the air. At least he’s justified in feeling so cold. What a nightmare of a place to be. 

The next day, late in the afternoon, someone announces they’ve reached the Water Tribe. The whole ship buzzes and Zuko can’t help but have his interests piqued too. It’s been some months since he’s been to the North, in his world, and he’s desperately (and a bit morbidly) curious to see what it’s like here. 

On the deck, the sky is bright and the water is clear and icebergs float past. A few small wooden fishing boats dot the sea, mostly clinging near to the cliff. 

The harbour of the Water Tribe draws closer and closer, but Zuko still can’t seem to make it out very well. Where are the grand walls? He should be able to see them by now, unless whoever said they were arriving was mistaken. 

As the ship comes around a bend in the landscape, though, Zuko realizes that no one was wrong. 

The grand walls of the Northern Water Tribe have fallen into the sea. 

The skiffs of snow left can barely be called gates, or a wall—just an ocean break, more than anything, that keeps the boats safe from the choppy waves of the Arctic sea. A small gasp escapes Zuko’s lips and, next to him, a woman chuckles. “First time seeing it?”

It takes Zuko a moment to realize she’s speaking to him. “Yeah,” he says. “I—I thought it would be different.”

“Really? What else would be up here?.”

A protest jumps out of Zuko’s throat before he can even think to hold it back. “A city—it used to be even grander than this. The whole place has been destroyed.” It really did look that way: destroyed. Beyond the gates, the icy buildings that once lined the waterways were levelled. All that was left behind were small mounds of snow and tents. Occasionally, a dark building with a curved rough rose up in the devastation; a clear mark that the Fire Nation was determined to stamp itself over a graveyard and call the land theirs. 

 This is no damage from a single battle. 

This is a clear, planned decimation. Zuko feels like he can’t breathe. 

The woman next to him chuckles. “What, are you talking about the old legend?”

“The entire city used to be made of ice. It is—it was beautiful.”

“Nice story, but it's only a story. Until the Fire Nation arrived there was hardly anything here.”

The rage in Zuko’s chest bubbles up and, again, the cold assaults his body. Even in the cloak they’ve given him, the ice still works his way to his joints and bones and scars. He closes his eyes and concentrates on his flame, on warming his body from the inside out. 

When he can feel his fingers once more, he opens his eyes. The ship is pulling into a small dock.

The woman who was next to him is nowhere in sight. 

The only building that looks somewhat like the Water Tribe should look like is the palace. The icy turrets rise into frigid air. When the sun catches at the right angle, Zuko could almost believe they were made of diamonds from the way they glitter. 

Inside, the architecture is the same too. Large, open hallways with even larger columns. The decor is different, though. Red silks line the walls. There’s a larger-than-life portrait of Ozai hanging in the main foyer and Zuko resists the urge to strike it off the wall with a little bit of extra power behind his flame. 

Instead, he lets himself be direct to the captain of the royal guard. The woman reads the papers he’s been sent with and then reads them again. 

“You were sent here by the Phoenix King himself?” she finally says, despite the fact that’s exactly what the letter reads. 

“Personally appointed,” Zuko replies. 

The woman drops the paper slightly and shakes her head. She’s tall, especially for a woman, with high cheekbones. “I didn’t know anyone was coming,” she admits, “but we’ll get you settled in nonetheless. I’m Sakura.”

“Lee.”

She nods and sets the letter on the desk under a smooth stone paperweight. Her office is, more or less, similar to the captain of the royal guard back in the Fire Nation with the obvious exception that these walls are made of ice. 

Must be a risky game, Zuko thinks. All these Firebenders under a mountain of ice. 

“Well, we’ll get you sorted out later today,” Sakura says. 

“Okay.”

She says nothing else. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she looks—-thoughtful? It’s hard to tell. Zuko isn’t sure what that turn of her mouth is supposed to convey. 

“Um, what should I do until then?”

Sakura smiles and Zuko really believes it’s genuine. “Well, if you’re going to be working as a royal guard, you should meet the royals, don’t you think?”

When Lu Ten died, Zuko took to asking the spirits to see him once more. At night, in his too-big bed, he’d stay awake and think of what he would do with Lu Ten if they had one more day together. At first, Zuko was stuck on the simple things—build another sandcastle together, play one more game of cards with him, prank Uncle one last time. 

As he got older, he never did stop thinking about what he would do if he could see Lu Ten again. 

Mostly, he just wanted to talk. 

He had so many things he wanted to ask Lu Ten, things about leading and war and the nation and being a soldier. 

Zuko spent so long imagining these things. 

Now, he’s being dragged through the hallways to see Lu Ten again and his mind is nothing but blank. If anything, Zuko’s wishing this wasn’t happening. 

Finally, Sakura stops in front of a door and raps on it. “Your Majesty, it’s Captain Sakura.”

A moment passes before a voice comes muffled through the metal—and this door is metal, this whole hallway seems to be reinforced with materials more friendly for Firebenders. “Enter.”

Zuko readies himself to follow Sakura in, but she shakes her head. “Wait here for a moment,” she instructs and Zuko only catches a quick glimpse of a massive bookshelf before the metal door slams shut again.

The door is too thick to hear anything that’s not meant to be heard. Zuko stands there, awkward, and shuffles his weight from foot to foot. 

Could he run? Should he? He’s been to the palace a few times before and the layout is more or less the same. Besides, all the staff seem to be Firebenders. He could get out fairly undetected, he thinks, and just make his break from there. 

The door opens again and Zuko jumps a little. 

Sakura eyes him oddly. “Hard to be a guard if you start like that.”

Zuko’s face warms. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

“Mhmm. Well.” Sakura steps aside. “Come in and meet the King.”

Zuko’s body is in knots. Each step feels like a marathon. He crosses the threshold and reminds himself to breathe. 

Inside, the massive bookshelf doesn’t just line one side—every wall is consumed by the shelves, save a small space for a door that Zuko can only assume leads to the main chambers. 

In the centre is a desk. 

And at that desk is Lu Ten. 

Lu Ten—he looks less like Iroh than Zuko expected. He’s wearing a pair of glasses; his hair has a few grey streaks at the temples. Uncle always said that Lu Ten was lucky enough to favour his mother. Zuko wishes he could’ve known the woman. 

“So,” Lu Ten says and Zuko’s heart melts. He’d forgotten that warm tone. “You’ve been sent by my uncle.”

It takes a moment for Zuko’s mind to catch up to the situation. He’s too busy staring at Lu Ten, at the light lines around his eyes, at the small scar under his lip. All those are new. “Yes,” Zuko says. “He, um I mean His Majesty sent me here to act as a Royal Guard.”

Lu Ten shoots a look at Sakura whose face stays still as marble. 

“And your name?”

“I’m Lee.”

“Lee.”

“Yep.” 

“And you don’t remember where you were from?”

“No,” Zuko says. “I woke up in the wasteland in the Earth Kingdom. They sent me to the Fire Nation to recuperate, but then His Majesty thought I would be better off here.”

“Hmm.” Lu Ten takes off his glasses, sets them on his desk, and bundles his hands in front of him. “Tell me, Lee, how did a lost an injured soldier like you garner the Phoenix King’s attention?”

The coldness in his voice is a knife in Zuko’s ribs. He never knew his cousin had the ability to sound like that, let alone look so intimidating. 

“My Firebending,” Zuko says. “They saw me Firebending and then I was given an audience.”

“Right.” Lu Ten pulls his hands back. “Well, I suppose they couldn’t have talent like that go to waste.” 

Zuko nods slowly. 

“Welcome to the North, Lee,” Lu Ten says. “The captain will get you set up and there are experienced members who will show you the ropes.”

“Right. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“The Queen is out today, unfortunately, but you can meet her later.”

Queen ? Zuko’s mind grinds to a halt. Lu Ten… married? 

Zuko supposes it makes sense. No one likes a King without an heir—god knows his own advisors have pressed him enough on that matter. 

But to imagine Lu Ten, married? Did they have children, too? No—no, probably not. Either Lu Ten would’ve mentioned it or Zuko would’ve seen it if there were any little princes or princesses running around. 

Zuko runs a hand through his hair. This is too much. 

“If that’s all, you’re dismissed.”

Zuko doesn’t have to feign being timid as he bows and follows Sakura out of the study. Numb, he listens to the clatter of her boots echo through the icy halls. 

Finally, they reach a far corridor of the castle. “Your room will be in here,” Sakura says as she gestures to one at the far end of the hallway, right before it turns down towards what Zuko is pretty sure is the kitchen. “The porters already brought your bags.”

Bag, singular, Zuko thinks. At the moment, he’s been travelling light. “Thanks,” he mumbles. 

Sakura nods curtly. “Settle in for the night. Dinner is in a few hours—I’ll send someone to collect you.” 

Zuko nods. He’s in no place to argue, not really. Part of him still won’t let go of the image of running away, hiding in the cargo bay of a ship, and making his way South. But even in his imagination, none of his daring escapes end successfully. For now, he’ll have to bide his time. “Thank you,” he repeats. “This is all new to me. I appreciate your kindness.” Even though Sakura hasn’t been particularly kind, Zuko’s found over the years that saying that to someone will usually get him some kindness in return. It strikes him how often people will try and make themselves into what others see. 

Sakura’s face softens. “It’s a good post, despite the cold,” she says. “And don’t mind the King too much. I know he’s serious, but it’s because he cares.”

Zuko nods, making mental notes. 

“The Queen really is his other half. She’s out in town now—public appearances pretty much fall solely in her domain. She’s got a gift. The people love Queen Yue.”

Yue—Zuko freezes again. Yue… As in the princess? The one who died? 

“She has her own security detail,” Sakura continues. If she noticed any difference in Zuko’s face, it certainly didn’t stop her. “So does the King. For the time being, we’ll probably get you to watch the gate, but we’ll smooth out those details later.”

From there, Sakura goes on with a few details that are both essential and mean nothing. Meal times. Stipend. Rules. They gloss over Zuko’s brain. 

How had he been so stupid? Yue—she’d be a perfect match. A marriage between them would mean that Lu Ten would be the king, still, while the Water Tribe got to keep their own figureheads in place. It’s obvious and brilliant and underhanded all at the same time. 

Eventually, Sakura leaves. Zuko stands outside his room for a moment too long. The gears of his mind turn and turn and turn. 

Even though Sakura instructed Zuko to settle in, he does not. He couldn’t if he tried. The room, surprisingly, is nice. Well, nicer than most quarters would be for military members. He’s not in a bunkhouse, for one thing, and the bed against the one wall is thin but long enough for him to stretch his feet out all the way without spilling over the end. On the other side, there’s a small desk, a wardrobe, and a window, which looks out over the ruined town to the harbour. 

Zuko draws the curtain shut and lights a lantern instead. 

Yue. He never knew her. He’d heard about her—from Uncle, from Katara, from Aang. From Sokka. 

Sokka didn’t mention her much. At first, it was only in passing, but then there was one night (a birthday, if Zuko remembers correctly) where Sokka opened up after a few glasses of rice wine. 

Sokka’s first love. The moon—literally, if he was to be believed. And someone who would do anything for her people. She’d die for them. Presumably, she married a Firebender to ensure they had some deal of protection; Zuko very much doubts their marriage is a love match. 

That kind of strength… it’s admirable. Almost. 

How much does a person need to make themself hollow to lead? 

Zuko doesn’t see himself ever being able to do that—he can’t picture a life where he lets himself become Firelord, fully and completely, and abandons himself in the process. 

Perhaps that’s why he’s always been a terrible leader. He’s had too much of his own heart in the game. 

As another guard comes and brings Zuko to dinner, he can’t stop thinking about it. 

As he eats the fish stew and bread, he can’t stop thinking about it. 

As the other men and women around him chatter away, it doesn’t leave his mind. 

Zuko’s sure they must all think him odd (which isn’t precisely wrong) but he’s too inside his own head to even attempt to be friendly and social at dinner and act like everything is fine. After the few days he’s had, he feels more like shutting down than anything else. 

Which, in retrospect, isn’t the best idea even if he is exhausted. 

At some point, the guard who showed Zuko the way to dinner disappears with a few friends and the others clear out or head toward the kitchen and Zuko finds himself alone in a maze of hallways with no clue which way is the right way back to his rooms. 

Great. He huffs. It’s his own damn fault, he knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The hallway he’s in could be anywhere in the castle and a glance out the window solves nothing; the sky is pit black and swallows up the landscape. Any hope of finding his way using cardinal directions is extinguished. 

Zuko swallows his pride. He’ll have to ask another guard. He’s seen them posted regularly enough that it shouldn’t be an issue, even if the crew seems to be much smaller than the one protecting the Fire Nation palace. 

Zuko heads to the end of the corridor and opens the heavy door. It swings out onto a balcony. Below, an icy river races past. The cold blast of air jolts him out of his mind. 

Raising his hand, Zuko brings up a small flame to light his path. Flakes of snow drift around him; the fire catches on the ice and the ice holds in the glow. 

With a frown, Zuko squints through the night. Does the path connect to another hallway on the other side? Or is it simply a long and narrow with only one door? It’s such a silly thing, but the palace is such a mystery to him still. How long would it take to learn the shortcuts? Could Zuko even afford to spend long enough here that he’d know the quickest routes and the secret passages?

A gust of wind howls around Zuko’s head and he winces, ready to turn back inside, when something catches his eye. At the end of the balcony, someone stands shrowded in the darkness. 

He didn’t see her at first. Her dress is midnight blue and a hood lined with dark fur covers her head. It's as if she's trying to disappear.  

“Hey,” Zuko calls. “Are you alright?”

It’s bitterly cold out, even if it’s barely snowing. A person can’t survive outside for long like that. 

The figure turns to look. 

And, in the darkness, his firelight catches a flash of white hair. 

Oh. Zuko steps back and stands up straighter. There’s only one woman (as far as he knows) with hair like that.  He bows deep. “Queen Yue,” he says. 

Her boots must be soft fur and leather because they make no sound as she draws near. “Please, don’t worry about those formalities,” she says, “you must be the new guard I’ve heard so much about. I didn't think I'd be lucky enough to meet you until tomorrow.”

Zuko feels his cheeks warm at the thought of others gossiping about him. More than anything, though, his chest tightens. In the North, the first time, he only caught a glimpse of her before she’d died.  Now, she’s real and standing right in front of him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you out here, Your Majesty.” 

“I thought I told you not to worry about formalities.” Yue smiles. Her voice is honey and her eyes are an ocean and her cheekbones are sharp—she’s got every bit of grace and elegance that one would expect in a queen. She’s come into her own. She holds her head high. “Especially not when it’s only us.”

Zuko blinks. Was there something husky in her tone there? No—he had to be imagining that. Exhaustion and the cold must’ve addled his brain. “I was just trying to find my way back. I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

Yue hums in response. “The palace can be confusing. There are plenty of dark corners one can disappear into.”

Zuko searches for a way to reply to that but finds nothing. “Uh, right. Well—well, I should be making my way back.”

“I can show you the way,” Yue says. She blinks and her eyelashes flutter and snowflakes cling to the dark lashes. “It takes getting used to, being here. Even when you are used to it… It’s lonely, at times. I like to come here to think.”

Zuko nods. The rush of the river floats up to his ears—even with the shored-up chunks of ice, there’s enough force that it keeps moving, even if it’s only a small stream compared to what it must be like when it’s free of ice. His fire makes the world glow and Yue, too. The light bronzes her skin and, when he meets her eyes, she smiles coyly. 

“Welcome to the North, Lee.”

It takes a moment for Zuko to remember that he is Lee. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” Yue says and places a soft hand on his arm to guide him forward. Zuko cringes under the touch. 

He must be misreading things, he tells himself. Yue is both the first love of his best friend and his cousin’s wife. On so many levels, every part of this is wrong. 

“If there’s anything you’d like to know, I’d be happy to tell you,” Yue says and hovers outside the door back into the inner palace. 

As much as Zuko wants to be out of this situation, he needs that edge. He’s lost, right now, with no hope of understanding anything. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’ve, uh, I’ve been having some memory problems.”

“I’ve been made aware of your situation.” 

“What happened here? I heard this city was grand. Beautiful. Like something out of another world.”

And, like that, any semblance of softness melts away. Yue drops her hand from Zuko’s forearm and stands stiff as a board. 

Zuko’s face drops. “I’ve misspoken.”

“There was a war.” Her voice is sharp. Hot. Anger, like embers, burns under the surface. “What did you expect?”

Zuko bites his tongue. “Yes—I know that. But—”

“But?” She lifts an eyebrow and, for a moment, Zuko thinks she’ll eviscerate him on the spot.

“Why not rebuild?” Zuko asks tentatively. “I mean, wouldn’t it be beneficial to everyone?”

“There are plans in place to develop a city once more supplies arrive from the Earth Kingdom.”

“But couldn’t you get some Waterbenders to fix them? You know, just reinforce the harbour walls. Mend the crumbled bridges over the canals. That sort of thing.”

Yue’s face shifts again; the plains of cold anger melt into shock. Her lips part. She steps back. “Lee…”

Zuko says nothing. 

“Haven’t you noticed? Look in the sky. There’s no moon. There hasn’t been in nearly five years.”

He looks in the distance, to the dark, past the ice floes on the river. More darkness greets him. Stars hang behind a curtain of steel grey snow clouds. 

How had Zuko been so caught up in himself that he hadn't noticed? How many times had he turned his head toward the sky, searching for answers, and missed the obvious one glaring back? 

“The moon spirit is gone,” she says and she hangs her head as though she’s mourning still, after all these years. “It died.”

The Fire Nation killed it.  Zuko presses his lips together and turns his head away from her. Yue, apparently, is ever the diplomat. Right down to the way she builds her sentences. 

“We can’t rebuild what we’ve lost, Lee. It’s gone.” Yue’s breath shudders and a broken laugh escapes her throat. “We’re going the way of the Air Nomads—without the moon spirit, there’s can't be such a thing as a Waterbender, is there?”

Chapter Text

Zuko lies awake. How can he not? Under the thick covers, he twists and turns and twists again. No matter how he positions himself in bed, he can’t get comfortable. The small room is cold, hollow, with a nasty draft that he could probably keep away if he cared enough to try, but after everything he’s been through he hardly feels like using his last dregs of energy to fight away the ever-present chill. Ideally, he’d sleep. Ideally, the blankets wrapped around him would keep him warm. 

Ideally, there would be Waterbenders. 

How was he so dumb? On the journeys he’d taken, the water seemed calm. He hadn’t noticed any tides, but then again he hadn’t been at the shore long enough to take note of such things. But the waves were smaller, he couldn’t deny that. Zuko didn’t think too much about how night after night had been moonless. He’d written it off as clouds or the new moon. 

How did he miss it? Zuko sinks his teeth into his lip and wipes his hair off his forehead. 

No Waterbenders… could it really be? Uncle had taught him again and again that the world needed balance. The world needed benders of all types. Was it possible that Firebenders and Earthbenders were the only ones that remained? (And, at that, it seemed the nation was determined to have fewer and fewer Earthbenders around with each passing season.)

Zuko flips to his side. But that doesn’t make sense, he thinks. There has to be something more to the picture. If there truly are no Waterbenders, the south would have fallen. But it hasn’t—or, at least, they are still putting up a hell of a fight. 

Zuko sighs and his breath creates a small cloud in the air. The Southern Water Tribe hasn’t fallen completely. 

How much of that could be because of Aang? He has to still be there, Zuko hopes. Maybe he’s holding out. Maybe he’s rallying forces. Finding a way to survive. 

Either way, as Zuko tries to sleep, the starlight of the moonless night streams in the window. Zuko’s gut is a pit of regret and shame. 

In the morning, Zuko washes his face with the cold water in the basin. His eyes and head ache from exhaustion. He’ll be dead on his feet all day, but he needs only to get through the day. One day at a time, he tells himself. Once he has more information, he’ll make a plan. Find a way down South—or, baring that, at least to Ba Sing Se. There’s enough going on there that he’d at least be able to have a brief respite from the arms of the Fire Nation. 

Zuko hums to himself as he dons his uniform. He smooths the wrinkles out of the sleeves of his tunic. He buckles his belt, though the leather is stiff and the metal is cold. Lastly, he pulls the thick, fur-lined cloak over his shoulders. Not that long ago he’d worn one nearly identical to this as he’d gone down South. Sokka, he remembers, teased him greatly for it—it was spring, after all, and Zuko was supposed to have his fire breath. 

Zuko, in turn, insisted he was wearing it as a sign of respect. Hakoda had gifted the cloak to him. How could he not wear it? It would be rude, plain and simple. 

(Besides, Zuko loved the way that one smelt of smoke from wood fires and had several loose hand stitches in the bottom left corner.)

It’s strange, he thinks now, how the smallest things can pull his mind out of place. As much as he might try to fall into routine, fall into place in this world, there will always be something whispering to him in the corner of his mind: you do not belong here.

Zuko pulls the new, stiff cloak tighter around his body. There is no scent on the fur, save a lingering smell of dust.

With his helmet under his arm, Zuko goes to his post. Today, he’ll start his duties as a guard. 

Day one of how many, he wonders. How many days until he’ll be on his way to something new. 

The first days on the job go by easily, all things considered. Zuko goes where they tell him to go. He stands still as a statue outside doors; he paces down hallways next to people he can’t get more than a few words out of. Chatty guards, Zuko supposes, are a liability. They need people to stand watch whose minds won’t wander, people who won’t start buzzing about gossip and conspiracies and what have you whenever they’re together. 

Logically, Zuko knows it makes sense. He’s never been one for small talk either. But he finds himself aching for conversation and desperate for the smallest sliver of news from the outside. He even misses Oda and Asahi from the hospital—Zuko hopes they’re doing well. He wouldn’t wish harm to come to either of them and Asahi’s comments, as bitter as they were, at least were something to pass the time. 

Zuko sighs as he stares out over the icy plains. The frigid wind blows over the tundra. The guard next to him shifts her weight, likely trying to hold down a shiver. They’ve got another hour at the gate before they rotate and the weather is only growing bleaker with each passing minute. 

Somehow, Zuko will find a way. 

The first days turn into the first week and the first week in the North turns into two and then into three. Zuko slots seamlessly in the pattern. Wake. Eat. Work. Wash. Sleep.  He still feels so out of place as he moves; the faces he passes in the halls and sits next to at dinner might as well be ghosts. 

 It’s all so wrong.

Each time he thinks he might be getting to know someone more, that he might be able to find a way to move forward, whoever he speaks to shuts down. No one wishes to speak about the war beyond repeating that, without a doubt, the Fire Nation will conquer all. 

Zuko needs to know more. He decides it after dinner one night near the end of his third week in the North. He’s memorized the hallways, now. He knows names and faces. If there was something obvious, he would have caught it already. Zuko needs to change his plan if he wishes to advance—Uncle taught him that once when they were playing Pai Sho. If a strategy is not working, then one must adapt. Change. Reevaluate. 

Clearly, nothing here would come to Zuko as easily as it had before. Before he reaches his small room, Zuko stops. He rolls his wrists and shoulders and neck, releasing the tight knots of tension woven deep into his muscles and joints. 

He needed to be proactive. Nothing would come passively. 

Instead of opening the door to the small, drafty room, Zuko turns on his heel. He heads down the corridor. The hour wasn’t late, but outside it had already grown dark and inky light swam outside the windows. What was left of the ice inside caught the glow of the fire and turned it into golden pools. Zuko wound his way through the hallways, left, right, then right again. Funny, how quickly he memorized it. Maybe a person can get used to anything, especially when there is no other choice. 

At the end of the corridor, he nods to the guards on duty. Outside the door to Lu Ten’s study, Zuko stops. He takes a breath, raises his hand, and raps his knuckles against the wood. 

“Enter,” a voice says a moment later. 

Zuko opens the door. The creak of the hinges echoes through the small space. 

In his chair at his desk, Lu Ten looks up. A pair of small glasses rest on his nose. His face, which had been neutral only a moment before, falls into a slight frown. “Lee,” he says shortly. Lu Ten gathers the papers he has spread out across the desk into a neat pile, sets them down, and turns. “What brings you here? Surely Sakura could help you with your needs.”

Zuko mentally swears. Typical—he’d walked into a situation without a plan. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Sokka scolds him for that. All this waiting he’s done and he still hasn’t managed to cobble together anything that makes sense. 

“Right,” Zuko manages. “Well, I wanted to talk to you.” He scratches his head. Even with the time he’s had to make sense of it all, he hasn’t gotten used to seeing Lu Ten alive and close. Since the first night, he’d only caught glimpses of his cousin from across the room, or spied him walking down a hallway, or glanced at him on a balcony. 

Now, he’s in front of Zuko once more. Frowning. He bundles his hands and takes a breath. Lu Ten is real, he’s alive, he’s breathing. 

Isn’t he? A stray thought bolts through Zuko’s mind—he wants to reach out and touch his cousin. He wants to make sure he’s corporeal. He wants to know that when his fingers meet his skin they won’t pass straight through him as if he were a ghost. 

“Well,” Lu Ten says, his voice dry and annoyed. “Sakura is the head of the guards for a reason. She’s more than competent.”

“Right. Of course.” Zuko’s throat bobs. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply that she wasn’t. It’s just that—well, this is sensitive.”

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah. Um. I don’t want her to know that I don’t like her.” Zuko winces as the words leave his mouth, but he’s already started to dig himself into the hole. No point flaking out now. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d like to be reassigned?”

“You don’t sound certain about that.”

“I would like to be reassigned.” 

Lu Ten lets out a small humph of disapproval. “Where to?”

“Uh,” Zuko searches his mind, but draws a blank. “Anywhere that will have me, really. I’m not particular. I’m a hard worker and a good hand on a boat.” A boat. Yes—that would work. If he could be assigned back to the navy, somehow, there would be more chances to slip away. 

“Your post here is at the request of the Phoenix King, you are aware of that, correct?” Lu Ten leans forward and narrows his mind. 

“Yes.”

“Well. I’m sure you can see how that puts me in a bit of a difficult position.”

“It does,” Zuko says and rubs the back of his neck. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why didn’t he make a plan? He’d mangled it all up again and, worse than anything else, Lu Ten seemed as annoyed as ever. 

“Lee.” Lu Ten purses his lips. “Have a drink.”

Zuko lifts his head and blinks. “Sorry, what?”

Lu Ten doesn’t reply; he’s already walking across the study to a shelf on the far wall. He reaches up and produces a bottle of sake and two glasses. “Please, join me.”

Zuko nods and sits in the chair across from Lu Ten. His limbs, he thinks, must be frozen. Everything feels distant and cool. 

Lu Ten pours two glasses, hands one to Zuko, and keeps one for himself. “Cheers,” he says and downs the drink. 

Zuko follows suit. The burn floods his throat, his gut, and then his mind in a pleasant sort of way. “Thanks, Lu Ten.”

“Of course,” he replies, his voice softer. “Though, most of my subjects call me Your Majesty.”

A wave of panic rises in Zuko. How could he have forgotten? “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Lu Ten waves his hand, though, and fills the glasses on the desk again. “I’ve never been one for much formality.” He hands Zuko the full glass again. “But, if I’m going to drop the pretense, I’d like to request that you do the same.”

“What?” Zuko blinks.

“What did you really come here to talk about?”

Zuko opens his mouth and shuts it again. The liquid in his glass is still—it reflects back the candle light and a distorted image of himself. Without waiting for Lu Ten to lead, Zuko tips it up once more and downs it with a shudder. 

“I want to ask you about your father,” Zuko says. “General Iroh.”

Whatever small warmth had crept into Lu Ten’s face freezes over. “What about him?”

“He can’t—he can’t really be dead, right?” Once the words are out of Zuko’s mouth, he can hear how childish, how desperate they sound. But, if there was anyone with a stubborn way of making it through the worst, it was Iroh. Maybe, maybe, he’d gotten away somehow. Zuko had a hard time imagining anyone else that could’ve had access to such high-level military info in the Fire Nation and would also let such information slip to the resistance. “I just need to know about Iroh—”

Zuko’s face pulses with pain as Lu Ten’s fist connects with the skin of his cheek. It takes a moment for his mind to catch up with what was happening—Zuko spilled back, out of the chair, and into a heap on the ground. 

Without thinking, Zuko pulls his fire into his hands and raises them up to fend off Lu Ten. His breath catches. He’d hit the ground hard; all of the air was forced out of his lungs and drawing it back in takes effort. Mostly, he tries to move despite being stunned. Lu Ten… his cousin had never so much as raised a hand to him before. 

Lu Ten doesn’t come for Zuko again, though. He stands there, steady and frightening. His knuckles are split. His chest heaves. On the desk, his glass of sake is knocked over and the liquor stains the documents. “Leave my father out of this.”

Zuko raises his hands to show he means no harm, but the fear and fright pulsing wildly through his body cause his flame to flare up even further. A line of colour pulses through the fire in his palms—purple and green and blue. 

Lu Ten eyes Zuko and then turns his gaze down to his bloodied knuckles. He wipes them against the leg of his pant, wipes the edge of his mouth, and laughs. 

Zuko feels sick. A weight slides from his throat to the pit of his gut and stays there, unmoving. 

Lu Ten shakes his head. “You’ve been holding back on us, haven’t you?”

Zuko lets his fire drop. The study reeks of smoke and liquor. “I—Look,” he starts. What is he trying to say? How can he explain the immensity of it all?

Lu Ten, now, raises his hands in surrender. “Why don’t you drop the act and go ahead and do what you came here to do.”

“What?” 

“Or is it too early? Hm? Do you not have enough support yet? I’ve seen you around the palace, all alone with no one by your side.”

That comment cuts to his core but more than anything, Zuko is genuinely lost. He didn’t strike Lu Ten, but he’s making as much sense as someone whose head had been struck. 

“They’ve stopped giving me useful information, anyway. I’m not an idiot—I know why Ozai sent you.”

Lu Ten sinks back down in his desk chair. “Ozai wanted me to have a son, you know. I think he’d have taken any kid—shipped them to the Fire Nation to be raised, then kill me off once they were old enough. Install a regent until his perfect Grand-Nephew came of age. A way of ensuring Ozai’s line and still keeping the nation placated.”

Zuko blinked. What the hell was Lu Ten talking about? 

“You must’ve been a pleasant surprise for Ozai. A wild card, but a useful one all the same. Especially given my lack of kids for him to try and brainwash. You’re his spitting image—no doubt anyone would question your heritage.”

That might’ve hurt more than when he’d actually punched him in the face. “Lu Ten.” Zuko steps back, reeling. 

Lu Ten waves his hand. “Look. Promise me something, okay? If you’re really my cousin, do this for me.”

I am, Zuko wants to scream. I am, I am. Don’t you remember? We played together at the beach. We raced through the hallways. You would tell me stories when I didn’t want to sleep.

“Yue knows nothing.” Lu Ten meets Zuko’s gaze with fire. “Promise me that you’ll keep her safe and I’ll go down without a fight. Swear to me you won’t hurt her. She was just a kid when she was dragged into this. It’s not her fault. She was just a kid.”

So was Zuko. They all were, in the end. 

“I would never,” Zuko stammers. “She’s safe.” As he says those words, something else finally clicks into place. Lu Ten’s speech. His bizarre attitude. That cagey look in his eyes. 

 “I’m not here to kill you,” Zuko says.  “I’m just trying to figure out how everything fits together.” Zuko sinks to his knees and leans forward in surrender. How could Lu Ten, in any world, think that of him?

“What game are you playing?” Lu Ten crosses his arms over his chest. “Because I don’t have time for it. If you’re going to kill me, then do it. It’s not like I haven’t been expecting it for a while now. Just keep Yue out of it.”

Zuko stands and straightens himself up, his mind still reeling. Lu Ten is frowning at him, his expression blank behind his eyes. Outside, in the hallway, he hears footsteps. The guards. It must be them—they’d caused a commotion. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko mutters and does the only thing he can think of—he flees. 

The Northern Water Tribe at night is a sight to behold, even if it is far from the height of its glory. Overhead, stars swirl. Floes of ice catch the light of stars and cauldrons of fires. The wind howls and the air burns his skin, but the lights inside each home remind him that even in the dead of night and the heart of winter, people find a way to be together. 

Zuko wishes he could stop for a proper moment and take it all in. Instead, it blurs past him as he races through the streets toward the docks. There’ll be a ship there. There has to be; the Fire Nation is moving enough resources that something must be taking off in the morning. He’ll slip into the cargo bay and stay dead quiet. He’ll go wherever the ship leads him. 

His boots strike the snow. At a corner, Zuko nearly goes careening into a snowbank when his sole meets a patch of dark ice. Wildly, he throws his hands out to keep his balance but for a moment he’s weightless, falling, unsteady. 

Zuko catches himself and steals a breath. The cloud puffs up in the air. He needs to run, doesn’t he?  There’s nowhere to hide if he stays here. This isn’t like the Earth Kingdom where he could cut his hair and swap his robes and head out in whichever direction he so pleased, just falling into the masses and crowds. He stays in the city or he leaves on a boat. 

Or, he supposes, he could chance his luck on the tundra, but after what happened the last time he tried to do that he’s not too keen on that option. 

Zuko sucks in the fresh air and the cold feels electric. His lungs ache. His nose is numb. He leans down, places his hands on his knees, and lets his head hang while he catches up to the stunning pace of his heartbeat.

What was Lu Ten talking about?

Why had they stopped sending him useful information? 

Why did he seem so ready to die?

It didn’t make any sense when Lu Ten was talking about it all. He’d never seen his cousin that way—he seemed like a wounded animal. Desperate, one minute, and defeated the next. 

But with some distance, the pieces begin to slide into place. 

Lu Ten realized ‘Lee’ was Ozai’s son. That, Zuko supposes, wasn’t a leap. 

Lu Ten thought that ‘Lee’ was going to kill him. Usurp the throne. More than that—Lu Ten believed Ozai had sent him on purpose to do that. That was the only way that any of his words made sense. 

Oh. Zuko’s mouth parts. He stands up and looks around. No one is chasing him. There are no guards coming, no angry mob, nobody coming at him with fire or iron. 

Lu Ten knew he was going to die. 

The spy—the one feeding information about the Fire Nation to the rest of the world—isn’t Iroh. 

It’s Lu Ten. 

Silently, Zuko turns. Instead of heading out to the docks, he starts his way back up the snowy path to the palace. 

 Zuko drops onto Lu Ten’s balcony, hands raised. 

Inside, Lu Ten jolts up. He’s still fully dressed, but his head is loose and wild from its usual neat form. “What are you doing here?”

“Look, my name isn’t Lee. It’s Zuko. And I need to tell you where I’m from.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, Lu Ten doesn’t move. He’s still, frozen, and almost scarily so: his muscles are tight, his nostrils flare as he breathes out, his jaw tenses. 

And then, as if someone cut the strings pulling him taunt, he deflates. His shoulders ease; he shakes his head. He rubs his hand over the lower half of his face. At this moment, late at night, with hair loose around his shoulders and his usually perfect clothing dishevelled, Lu Ten looks old. 

Zuko presses his lips together. As a kid, he’d always thought Lu Ten looked old. Not because he actually was, but because Zuko was eight and his cousin was eighteen and when you’re eight and your cousin is eighteen they might as well be the most grown-up person in the entire world. 

But now Zuko is twenty and Lu Ten is thirty and, really, thirty isn’t as old as he used to imagine it. 

Lu Ten, though, looks exhausted. It’s as if every one of those years that had passed wore him down, etched lines into his skin, and placed new weight on his shoulders. 

“Come in,” Lu Ten says and gestures for Zuko to step inside his room. “I mean, what do I have to lose?”

Zuko nods. As he crosses over to the chairs gathered around a low burning fire, he feels numb. His legs don’t listen to his mind as he shuffles forward. Was the air always so dry? A lump catches in his throat. 

Lu Ten sinks down into one chair. Zuko sits across from him—the fabric is soft, plush, but he keeps his back rigid and clenches his hands together into tight balls. 

Firelight catches across Lu Ten’s face and casts a shadow along his profile. “So, Lee, or Zuko, or whoever you are—what was important enough that you had to come back to tell me?”

Zuko takes a breath. Words, suddenly, seem so terribly inadequate to sum up all the emotion caught in his heart. “I—well—I’m Zuko. That’s my name, my real name. And I’m your cousin.”

Lu Ten raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem surprised.

Well, Zuko supposes, that makes sense. Lu Ten already believed he was Ozai’s kid. “This is going to sound insane, I know, but promise me that you’ll hear me out to the end.”

“Why should I? I owe you nothing.”

“Because,” Zuko says, “because I think I know a way to end the war.”

That gets Lu Ten’s attention. He sits straighter, he leans forward, his eyes narrow. “Tell me everything, then.”

Zuko does. 

He tells Lu Ten about the spirit, the one who brought him to this world. He tells him about his journey through the Earth Kingdom, to the Fire Nation, and then up to the North. 

He tells Lu Ten about his world. The real one, in Zuko’s mind. How he’d been the Fire Lord, how the Avatar returned and restored balance, how the world wasn’t a burnt husk.

He tells Lu Ten how the North thrived. 

Lu Ten listens, listens, listens. He hardly moves in all the time that Zuko speaks (and Zuko speaks until his throat is hoarse) and when he does, he asks questions to understand the whole picture. 

When Zuko finally finishes—or, at least, finishes as much as he can—he slumps back in the chair, out of breath and words. 

“Well,” Lu Ten says. The fire crackles and, outside, the wind howls away. “That’s certainly something.”  Lu Ten’s face is hard to read. His mouth is a line; his eyes are far away. His muscles don’t so much as twitch. 

“You have to believe me,” Zuko pleads. 

“You’ve been through an ordeal. That much is clear,” Lu Ten says carefully. 

Zuko’s not an idiot. He can parse what that means: Lu Ten knows that Zuko’s been through something , only he doesn’t believe that the something is truly what Zuko believes it to be. 

“I’m not crazy,” Zuko stresses.

“I never said you were.”

“When we were kids, we used to go to Ember Island together. It was the best part of the year. Uncle would take us up to the caves—the ones where, when you walked all the way through to the other side, you came out at a swimming hole at the end of a waterfall. You said to me it was the greatest thing in the world.” Zuko swallows. “I was just a kid, but you were old enough to climb up the rocky edge and jump in. It probably wasn’t more than three or four meters up, but I thought it was incredible. And when you jumped, you said it felt like—it felt like fly.” Zuko gathers the fabric of his robes in his hands and clenches his fist around the balls. With the fire burning and the thick cloak still on his shoulders, the room is uncomfortably warm. A bead of sweat trickles down the back of Zuko’s neck. 

Lu Ten still doesn’t react. He sits there, his gaze angled down, his hands bundled together. “I never told anyone about that place,” he says. 

“I know. You didn’t have to. I really am who I say I am. Please.” Zuko’s lip trembles but he stops before the shakes get away from him. “I have nothing to gain from lying.”

Slowly, Lu Ten lifts his head. “You really are my cousin, then? Not just by blood but by, well, by whatever you would call that?”

“Yes.” Zuko’s voice curls up like smoke in the air. “You were more like my brother.”

At that, Lu Ten cocks his head to the side. “Were?”

Now, it’s Zuko’s turn to stay frozen.

“What happened to me in your world?” 

Zuko shakes his head, his heart in his throat. His hand trembles in spite of himself and, once again, he’s eight years old, in an endless dark hall of the palace, getting the news that Lu Ten had died. Even then, as vast as his misunderstanding of the world had been, he knew that death was forever.

At least, he thought he had. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Slowly, Zuko nods. “In a siege of Ba Sing Se.”

“Hm.” Lu Ten shifts in his spot. “That couldn’t have been pleasant.”

“We were told you died quickly. Without suffering.”

“I didn’t mean for me,” Lu Ten says. 

Without realizing fully what he’s doing, Zuko stands. 

Lu Ten meets him. 

Fire keeps crackling and wind keeps blowing and Lu Ten wraps his arms around Zuko and holds him tight. Zuko holds him in return. How many nights had he spent imagining this moment? He didn’t think it could be real, that it could be true. In his fragile and childish heart—then and now—he stamped down this image whenever he dared to dream it. 

Zuko curls his hand into a tight fist around the fabric of Lu Ten’s tunic. It’s soft and warm and smells like soap. Like Lu Ten. 

“I’m here,” Lu Ten says. His arms stay around Zuko as tight as ever. 

Are you? Zuko imagines Lu Ten as smoke. Real, of course, but ephemeral. Will Zuko turn to find him disappearing in the wind?

“I’m here.”

Zuko nods. As a kid, he came up to Lu Ten’s waist. Now, he notices for the first time, he’s taller than Lu Ten. All the same, his skin is warm and, if Zuko listens carefully, he can hear Lu Ten’s heart thumping away in his chest. It sounds like home. Homehomehome.

Once Zuko finally pulls away and wipes his eyes, Lu Ten goes and sends for a tray of food to be brought to his room. They have a lot to discuss—they’re going to be holed up in his chambers for a while. 

Lu Ten, in the meantime, paces around his chambers. He pulls a map of the world out of the shelf and spreads it across a table and then drops several heavy books down next to it. He pulls out a small notebook, too, along with a bundle of letters tied together with twine. 

It’s not long before a knock sounds at the door. Lu Ten is still hunched over the table, muttering something under his breath, and Zuko hesitates. “Um, should I?” He gestures to the door. Can people know he’s here? 

Lu Ten nods, still half-distracted, but the knock comes again and Zuko supposes a guard in the King’s chambers isn’t necessarily incriminating. 

Zuko opens the door, expecting to see someone with a tray overflowing with food and fruit that shouldn’t be possible at this time of year and this latitude, but that’s not the sight he’s met with. Instead, standing in the doorway in a flowing blue gown is Princess—no, Queen Yue. Her white hair is wound around her head in an intricate braid; she stands tall and, Zuko realizes, they’re nearly the same height. 

“Well,” she says softly, “are you going to invite me in or should I just wait out here?”

Without answering, Zuko steps aside. Yue walks in without another word and comes up to Lu Ten’s side by the map. “What are we looking at?” She clasps her hands together and purses her lips. 

Zuko stands there. He’s certain his brain must be on fire. It has to be. Yue… The last and only time he really spoke to her was the night on the balcony, the night she revealed what had happened to the moon. She’d been flirting with him. He’s nearly certain of that fact. Since then, they haven’t spoken a word, but it would be impossible to miss the way she batted her eyes when they passed each other in hallways or the way she would steal a glance across the room at dinner. 

Now, she’s standing next to Lu Ten as if nothing changed. She peers at his face, searching for something, and then her gaze flickers back to Zuko once again. 

Zuko takes what he said back—his brain isn’t on fire. His whole body is. He’d rather be a puddle, melting into nonexistence on the floor, than the blaze in the middle of the room that everyone is staring at. 

“So,” Yue finally says. “Are either of you going to fill me in?” 

Lu Ten finally looks up from his map and it’s as if he’s noticing the rest of the room for the first time in ages. Red floods across his face; he looks at his shoes. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It seems, though, that ‘Lee’ isn’t who he claimed to be.”

“Oh?” Yue lifts an eyebrow. 

Lu Ten nods curtly. “I’ll fill you in,” he says. 

And Lu Ten does. 

Zuko stands by the door, rooted to place on the floor, as Lu Ten recounts what Zuko had only told him a half-hour earlier. An abbreviated version, but one that still seems to cover all the important bits. Yue nods. Yue frowns. Yue narrows her eyes. Entirely, she’s different from Lu Ten and his stoic demeanour. 

At one point, there’s a knock on the door again, and Zuko opens it to find the food Lu Ten had requested. It is overflowing with bread and meat and fresh fruit that should be impossible considering their present circumstances. Zuko stares at it. It’s not like he’s been eating badly the last few weeks (far from it) but it’s been a while since he’s seen a spread like this. As much as he wants to eat, though, his stomach is a tight knot of anxiety. 

In the end, he settles for sitting at the table in Lu Ten’s apartment. He tries to eat a grape. It’s too sweet, overripe, and catches in his throat on the way down. 

“You should eat,” Lu Ten says to Zuko as he finishes recounting what he knows to Yue. “Whatever is gonna come next, something tells me we’ll all need our strength.” 

Zuko gives him a dull nod and reaches for a piece of bread. While Lu Ten comes over to join Zuko, Yue hangs back. 

“This is all true?” she asks. Zuko can’t tell if it’s meant for him, Lu Ten, or the both of them. Or, perhaps it’s neither of them. Maybe she’s asking herself. 

“It is,” Zuko says anyway. “I know it sounds like I’ve taken a blow to the head, but I promise. This is true.”

Yue blinks and leaves her eyes closed a moment too long. “Well. I’m not sure if I’m sold. Not entirely. But I told you, Lu Ten. Lee—or Zuko—whoever he is, he’s good.”

Lu Ten’s mouth is full of an orange slice, but he nods. “You were right about him. I’ll give you that one.” 

Zuko turns to both of them, feeling a step behind. 

“That first night we met,” Yue says. “I was shamelessly flirting, but you didn’t take the bait. I told Lu Ten there was more to you than we were thinking.”

“Wait— what? ” Zuko’s cheeks burn. “You—you—you—”

“We needed a way to get closer to you,” Lu Ten says simply. “This was the easiest way to find information.”

“If you were really after the throne, I don’t think you would’ve bolted after our meeting that night.” Yue shrugs and joins them at the table. 

“So you both knew?” It’s a small relief and a small humiliation. Yue wasn’t trying to cheat on Lu Ten, but every word she said that night was probably carefully crafted. Zuko hadn’t expected a thing. 

“That’s neither here nor there at this point,” Lu Ten says. “You proved yourself loyal—or, at least, respectable. But if we’re going to succeed, we need to come up with a plan that will carry us forward from here.”

Zuko sits up straighter. “I think I need to get to the South,” he says. “If I’m right, and I really hope I am, then the Avatar will be there. In my world, Aang was the key to stopping the war. Without him, we could make some progress, but we’ll never take down my father.”

Lu Ten leans back further into his seat and rubs his brow. “I don’t know anything about the South,” he admits. 

“Neither do I, I’m afraid. We’ve been cut off from our sister tribe for much too long in this war. Even before Ozai, it had been years since we’d heard any news. Now, there’s little chance of anything ever coming through.”

Zuko nods solemnly. “We can’t defeat the Fire Nation on our own. If there’s one thing that I know, it’s that we have to work together. With the other nations—with whoever we can find that’s willing to help our cause.” The firelight is growing low; long shadows cloak the room. “A man much wiser than me once told me that the greatest illusion of the world is the illusion of separation. We’re all in this together. We need to build a resistance.”

Lu Ten’s face is pale. Zuko can’t tell if it’s from fear or exhaustion or both. “There’s a resistance out there, small as it may be. I have a contact in Ba Sing Se. I send them what I can.”

“So you are the spy then?”

“Yes. I am.” Lu Ten looks away, toward the fire. “I never wanted it to come to this. I don’t want the Fire Nation soldiers to die, but I don’t want the innocent people of the Water Tribe or the Earth Kingdom to perish, either.

“Once, I might have ignored it. I might have done what I was told. But destruction like this? It can never be a good thing. Never. And I can’t simply blindly follow Ozai, either. If I did, I would be every bit as culpable as him. Evil isn’t some monstrous, dark thing detached from humanity. It’s in the ordinary, banal things we do every day. So, if we want to stop it, we have to stop it in our ordinary, everyday lives.” Lu Ten draws in a sharp breath, as if he’s unsure of his words. Yue gently lays her hand across the back of his. 

Those words turn over in Zuko’s head as he sits there, their weight immeasurable. “How do I stop it?” he asks, desperate, like a child. 

“I wish I knew. But the best lead I have is Ba Sing Se. The person I correspond with—we use coded letters by hawk and by ship—they go by The Owl. They have other connections, too, it seems. Smart people around the world quietly making their contributions.”

The information hangs over Zuko’s head. There’s so much to all take in, so much all at once. “I should go to Ba Sing Se,” he finally says. It’s the only logical next step. There’s nothing gained by him waiting here. There’s no clear or easy way to get straight to the South. Ba Sing Se is a step in the right direction, even if it’s a step into unknown territory. 

“I think that would be for the best,” Lu Ten says. He gives Zuko a solemn look.

Zuko swallows. Why does he feel like his execution warrant has just been signed? Lu Ten would never hurt him, not on purpose, but whatever scheme they’re about to attempt is risky and brash and borderline idiotic. 

It’s also the only way to halt the endless machine of war. 

“I’m not the best for covert ops,” Zuko admits, “but I’m sure we can make it work.”

“We can fake your death,” Lu Ten says. “That way, no one will look for you—”

“And where am I supposed to be in all of this?” Yue says. Her voice is sharp and her brow is creased and she leans forward in her spot. 

“Here. Safe,” Lu Ten says. 

“I’ve played my part for years, now. These are my people. What kind of leader would I be if I sat back and let everyone else take the risks to save them?”

“Yue,” Lu Ten says, “it won’t be safe.”
“You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you think I don’t know that you know that?” Lu Ten’s voice flares. “I’m not—I can’t watch you get hurt because of our mess.”

Yue looks as if she’s about to say something, but she stops, shakes her head, and pushes a loose strand of her hair back into place. “This isn’t just your mess, you know. I’m as much a part of this world as anyone else and, my whole life, I’ve been parading around these halls, smiling, and promising everyone that things will be better one day when I really have no clue if that’s true in the slightest. If I have the chance to make that true, even a little bit, I have to take it.”

Lu Ten reaches for her hand, again, and squeezes it. “I—I know. I understand.”

“Besides—Zuko stands a better chance in the South if I’m by his side.”

Zuko hadn’t thought of that before, but she’s right. Having a member of the Water Tribe by his side will add to his credibility—they’re unlikely to take the word of a Firebender showing up on their shore in the middle of a war.

They all sit there in heavy silence. Something in the air feels electric, as if it’s come to life, and Zuko knows in his core that, after this, things are going to change. Whatever threshold there was, they crossed it tonight. There’s no way to go back. And, even if there was, it would be unwise to do so: if Ozai suspects Lu Ten’s been leaking information, then his days are numbered even if it’s not Zuko who will finish the job. 

At times in life, everything shifts all at once. How long had Lu Ten, had Yue, had the whole world been ready for a piece to move, for the world to shift? But as long as they’ve been waiting, as long as they might’ve hoped for a moment like this, it’s easier to cling to the comfortable past. It’s easier to not change or to believe that, somehow, the world will sort itself out.

“We should still fake your deaths,” Lu Ten says. “I don’t know if anyone will buy it, but it will give you some extra time at the very least.”

Zuko nods. His heart thumps against the cage of his ribs. A night with Lu Ten and, now, destiny or fate or maybe his own damn choices are tearing them apart once more. “We’ll leave before first light.”

In the end, the cover story they decide on is that Lu Ten caught Yue and Zuko having an affair and instantly put them both to death. It will explain the secrecy, at least, and it might buy him enough respect from Ozai to get him to back off for a short while. 

Or, it might anger him enough to come up to the North himself. There’s no way to know for sure. 

“We need disguises,” Yue whispers as they frantically pack their things in the cover of night. 

She’s right. Neither of them are exactly inconspicuous in a crowd. 

In the end, Yue finds a simple dress for herself, a warm but worn fur cloak, and dye that will turn her hair warm brown. 

For Zuko, it’s a little harder. He could dress in peasant garb or the finery of a king, but that’s not going to hide his face. They find him a cloak with a larger than normal hood, along with an old set of Lu Ten’s wiry glasses and, together, they draw a little attention away from his face. 

Zuko stares at himself in the mirror of Lu Ten’s chambers. His hair is long, longer than it’s ever been in his life, reaching well past his shoulders. Zuko runs his hand through it and it shimmers in the light. 

“Lu Ten?” he asks. 

“Yes?”

“Where do you keep your razor?”

The cold air washes over Zuko’s mostly bald head. The last time it had been this short, he’d also been on his way to the Earth Kingdom, desperate to hide among the masses. Funny, how life likes to play the cruellest of jokes. 

Zuko rests the urge to run his hand over his spiky hair. He keeps his hand around the strap of the small bag Lu Ten gave him as he walks with Yue through the dawn toward the docks. There, there’s a transport ship. With the papers and money they have, they’ll be able to secure a place to the edge of the Earth Kingdom. After that, they’re on their own to Ba Sing Se. Zuko pulls up his hood to block his face from the workers and, next to him, Yue reaches down and grasps his hand. Her palm is sweaty. Zuko doesn’t miss the way she’s shaking. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. 

“Don’t be.” Zuko is nervous, too. What waits for them, in that great unknown?

“There’s no turning back now, is there?”

“I don’t think so,” Zuko says, but as he says it, he glances back over his shoulder. The dawn holds pinks and purples in the grey dome of clouds. The small streams of light illuminate the palace as it rises above the city. 

Soon, alarms will sound. Soon, the city will learn of Yue and Lee’s treachery. The plan they have set in place is in motion—a ball of snow rolling down a slope before it turns into an avalanche. 

But for now, somewhere within those great, ice halls, Lu Ten is alone, without allies, without family, and distrusted by both sides of the war. 

Zuko whispers a prayer that they’ll see each other once more. 

Chapter Text

Time passes in a blur. Zuko is numb the whole time and, beside him, he guesses Yue feels the same way. They talk little. What is there to say? Everything is either too giant to even begin to speak of and pleasantry about the weather or the sun or her new hair seems so thin and pointless. 

They got off the ship from the North when it first reached the edge of the Earth Kingdom. They could’ve stayed on longer—they could’ve tried to follow it down the coast until they reached a village with a more clear path to Ba Sing Se, but they both decided against it. For them, for now, it was better to not be known. To not make connections. To never stay too long in any village or get too friendly with any travellers they meet along the road. 

They travel for a week and then two.

They start to talk about things like the weather or the people they meet along the way. Sometimes, in a moment when panic doesn’t have as tight of a vice gripped around their hearts, they laugh. After walking alongside each other in silence more often than not, conversation in the bridge that they have left to cross. 

On the fifteenth day of the journey, they reach a small village in the plains of the Earth Kingdom. It’s not much, but there are some roads and buildings and a few farms pressed up against the trees to the East. Here, it seems, Ozai’s destruction didn’t reach them. At least, it didn’t devastate their entire world.

That night, in a small room in an inn, Yue turns to Zuko and frowns. “Are we ever going to get to Ba Sing Se?”

Zuko bites down on his lip. The light from the stars filters into the room and illuminates the floorboards—a low cloud seems to trap in lights from the village, too. In the darkness, it’s easier to hide, and now Zuko feels exposed and unsettled. “We will,” he promises.

Yue’s sitting in the chair next to the window, winding her hair into a simple braid. Her hair is still dark from the dye, but Zuko’s got a few glimpses of white roots. His hair, too, isn’t as prickly as it was when he first cut it. Even still, he finds himself often running his hand over his skull and mourning his long hair. 

Yue twists her fingers through her hair. “Even when we get to the gate, how will we get in?”

Zuko swallows. He’s thought of that—he’s thought of that again and again. Ba Sing Se is so far. There are so many barriers. Getting inside seems entirely impossible and getting inside isn’t even the end goal of their journey. Getting inside is just the start. 

“I don’t know,” Zuko admits. “I’m sure Lu Ten will arrange for something.”

Yue nods in agreement, but her eyes don’t quite reach his, and that says enough. Silently, she moves from the chair under the window to the bed. 

It’s been their unspoken agreement that Zuko will keep taking the floor. He doesn’t mind—he only needed to look at Yue’s eyes the first day they landed in the Earth Kingdom to know she needs the small comfort more than she does. He forgets, sometimes, how sheltered of a life she’s lived and Yue doesn’t ever bring it up, either.

Had she ever spent a night away from the palace until now? It seems unlikely. She’s never left the Nothern Water Tribe, either, but now she’s in some tiny village that isn’t big enough to place on maps, sleeping on a hard bed, a world away from her home with the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

Zuko doesn’t know how she keeps it together. But, as always, she remains composed. 

Zuko’s had enough experience travelling. He’s crossed the world and slept on floors and, at times, was certain he’d die. And, despite all the practice he’s had to lead up to this, Zuko still feels like he’s holding on by a thread. Whenever he looks at Yue, she’s unphased. 

Besides—she usually throws him a blanket. The floor isn’t too bad at the end of the day. 

Three days later, they’re in a town. Someone had told Zuko the name, but it simply blended together with the barrage of other information that lead nowhere over the last weeks. 

His feet hurt. The shoes are comfortable enough, but for the amount of walking they’ve done, no amount of comfort could stave off the aches and pains. When he looks in a mirror, too, his cheekbones are more pronounced and the bag under his unscarred eye seems deeper and darker with every passing day. 

Yue, as always, says nothing. Zuko doesn’t miss the bags under her eyes, though, or how slow she moves in the mornings. 

But in the town, they spot a small shop huddled against the edge of the street. Zuko’s pockets are still lined with the coin that Lu Ten gave them (and Yue’s got her own fair share tucked away in a pocket of her dress) but the money won’t stretch far with the way that vendors jack up the prices along the road. 

Outside the shop, though, there’s a Pai Sho table. And, in the chair, an old woman is half-asleep in the sun. 

Zuko turns to Yue. “I’ve got to try something,” he says and goes and takes the place on the other side of the board. 

The woman rouses from her nap and raises an eyebrow at Zuko. 

Zuko clears his throat and strains to remember those words Uncle said all those years ago. “May I have this game?”

The woman nods and gestures to the empty board and pile of tiles sitting next to it. “Guest has the first move.”

Zuko’s hand hovers over the tiles, over the possibilities. Finally, he spots what he was searching for, pulls it free, and places it in the centre with trembling fingers. 

The woman doesn’t react. She leans back in the chair and tilts her head toward the sun. 

Zuko’s heart falls. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. It was a long shot, after all. 

Then, “I see you favour the white lotus gambit. Not many still cling to the ancient ways.”

Zuko steadies himself—he’s half-certain he might fall out of his chair. “Those who do can always find a friend,” Zuko says, his mind buried with his uncle in the past. 

“Then let us play.” The woman makes the next move. 

And they do play. 

The game unfolds, tile by tile. Yue stands at Zuko’s side and clings to the back of the chair, clearly uneasy with the fact she’s not in tune with the dynamic unfolding before her. 

When the game ends, when the tiles on the board bloom into a flower, the old woman cracks a smile. “Come,” she says and gestures toward the inside of the shop. 

Zuko and Yue follow her in. The inside is packed with people, drinking and eating and playing cards and Pai Sho. The woman winds her way through the patrons, smiling and nodding at a few of them as she moves. 

Finally, they duck into the back storage room. The shelves are lined with cans and produce and bags of rice. The air is heavy—a thick layer of dust coats every surface. Yue lets out a muffled cough into the sleeve of her dress. 

“You’re Lee, yes?”

“Yes,” Zuko says. 

“I was told you were likely to be in this area.” The woman bends down and reaches toward a crate full of potatoes. Zuko reaches to help her, but she swats him off and clicks her tongue. 

She pulls out the crate and presses her hand against a grove in the side of the wood. A false bottom opens up—a tiny wooden drawer splits open and, inside, it’s packed with papers. 

“You’re trying to get to Ba Sing Se, yes?”

“Yes,” Yue confirms. 

“Here,” the woman pulls out a bundle of papers. “These should do.”

She hands the papers to them and Zuko stares at the notes. It’s official documentation—a birth record of a man, Lee, born in the Western Earth Kingdom. 

He glances at Yue’s papers—hers show a record of a woman, Fen, born in the Northern Islands. 

“How did you know my name?” Zuko asks.

“I didn’t. I’ve had those for a while, ready to give to whoever needed them. Everyone uses Lee as a fake name.”

Zuko feels his face warm. He glances at the birthdate, too. “I’m not thirty,” he grumbles. 

Yue nudges his side with her elbow. “Thank you,” she says to the woman, bowing deeply. 

Zuko follows suit. 

“I am also passing on the message that the Owl will meet you in Ba Sing Se upon your arrival. I’m afraid I don’t have any more information than that.”

Zuko nods. It’s not much, but it’s more than they’ve had for a while now. 

In the low light of the storage room, it’s hard to make out the woman’s features precisely, but her dark eyes are warm and watery. “I’ve heard what you’re doing is important,” she says.

“It is,” Yue replies. 

“We hope so, at least.” Zuko’s heart slams against his stomach. 

“Good luck,” she says and leaves it at that.

Zuko mentally tacks on the unspoken second part of that phrase: you’ll need it. 

They arrive at the water crossing to Ba Sing Se in another three days. He’s so exhausted he feels nearly delirious; Yue must be the same. As they stand in line with the other refugees, she reaches for his hand and Zuko lets her hold it. He’s so worn that he nearly forgets to be nervous, but her steadiness next to him bolsters his confidence. 

“Next,” comes the worn voice of the bureaucrat sitting at the desk. 

Finally, Zuko and Yue step through the crowd of people. A kid is wailing somewhere behind them. People are shouting. Zuko wonders if it’s really possible to be swallowed by a crowd. 

Yue hands their papers to the clerk. He eyes them; his face is stone. 

Zuko’s legs start to shake. What if he realizes they’re fakes? What if the officials catch them? He might’ve done this once before with Uncle, but that was literally a different world. And, if they didn’t like members of the Fire Nation before, they have all the more reason to hate them now. He closes his eyes and tries to push down the panic swell in his chest. 

Yue’s grip on his hand tightens. Steady, she’s saying, steady. 

The clerk looks up. 

He reaches over, picks up a stamp, and presses it once, twice on their papers. He hands them back. “Next boat leaves in twenty minutes.”

Zuko takes them, still half numb. 

“Next,” the guard calls. 

Yue practically has to drag Zuko away; his mind is so caught in the layers of his past that he can barely recognize his present. 

They reach Ba Sing Se without incident. Zuko’s still half in a trance. He can’t believe it worked; he’s still waiting for someone to catch them out, for someone to point a finger in his face, for someone to yell out his true identity at the top of their lungs. 

He doesn’t blame himself. The first time he did this, someone had figured out they were Firebenders only moments after arriving. He has to keep a tighter cap on his abilities this time—no Firebending for anything short of life or death. Maybe not even that. Sokka and Suki were always going on about how benders were overreliant on their bending skill, both in combat and in everyday life. Zuko makes a mental note to get his hands on a good sword as soon as he possibly can. And a flint, too. 

When they reach the city, though, Zuko sucks in a breath. 

This isn’t the Ba Sing Se he remembers. Even in the lower ring, he’d gotten used to life. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was enough for him and Uncle. 

But this isn’t the lower ring he recalls. 

The city is packed. People crowd the streets. The wood on the buildings is rotting; there are vendor carts crammed into every possible inch of free space. 

Yue shifts on her feet, probably uncomfortable. There are so many people packed into the small space. Zuko can’t blame her—even for him, this is a shock. In all his planning, he hadn’t considered the fact that Ba Sing Se being one of the only safe havens left would mean that the already busy city would be even more crowded than it already was. From his first glances, it seems as if half the Earth Kingdom’s stuck inside the first wall. 

Zuko shakes his head. That can’t be all true, he tells himself. There has to be some farmland left over. This place is busy because it’s the entrance, he tells himself. There has to be a place where they can find peace, even if it’s only for a moment. 

He glances at Yue. Her face is blank; her eyes stare far away. 

If he thought he was unprepared for this sight, Yue is only doubly so. “Where do we go?” she asks. 

Zuko frowns. He wants to rush around the town and search for Pai Sho tables. He wants to find the owl. He wants answers; he wants them immediately. 

But, right now, he can’t rush in without a plan. They’ll burn themselves out or they’ll get found out. 

“We need a place to stay,” Zuko says. He stares out at the street ahead of them, at the chaos unfolding. 

Yue nods her head, slow. “We need a home.”

Home. The word rings empty in Zuko’s mind. Home. She’s right, of course she’s right. They need a place to stay, long term. 

And what can he call that besides a home?

Chapter Text

Home. 

This is home. For now, at least. Zuko runs the word over on his tongue. It sits strangely against his teeth— home. 

Home is the Fire Nation, but not this Fire Nation. Home is the palace. The ship he spent so long on with Uncle. Their first apartment back in Ba Sing Se all those years ago. 

And now home is another apartment in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se. Somehow, this one is even worse than the one he shared with Uncle. The room is narrow and not long enough. The walls are wooden but thin as paper. Sometimes, when Zuko lies awake at night, he can hear the neighbours coughing and babies crying and other unpleasant noises making their way through. He’ll shift uncomfortably on his mat and try not to look at Yue on her tatami mat, the nice one, who must be just as uncomfortable and wired as him. 

But the apartment is theirs. They have a small stove and a water basin and even a narrow window against the back wall. They paid the deposit with the money from Lu Ten and now the rent—which is much too high for what they’re getting—they’ll have to coble together. Somehow. Yue will mend clothes. In the morning, Zuko plans to walk to every tea shop in the area and see if one of them will take him on. No shop will pay him what he’s worth, but the choice is to be underpaid or not paid at all. 

They have a rough over their heads. Some food on the shelves. A few warm blankets and a comfortable place for Yue to sleep and one for Zuko that isn’t terrible. 

What more could he ask for right now? Really, Zuko thinks, really he shouldn’t expect anything. 

After all, it’s his fault he’s in this mess in the first place. Why had he talked to the spirit? He should’ve simply ignored it, or told it off, or at the very least sent it scampering along to bother Aang instead. 

Aang. That’s another thing. Zuko sighs as he shifts to his left side. Someone in the apartment next to them coughs. Outside, people are shouting in the distance—fighting or having fun, he can’t tell. 

It’s so lonely here. 

Back at home, he had everyone, even if they couldn’t always be right at his side. Now, there’s no one. Not really. His friends are dead and gone for all he knows. 

Zuko runs his hand over his face, pushes off his blanket, and crosses the creaking floorboards to the small window. The ledge digs into his forearms as he hangs his head out and tries to breathe in, but the air outside is even hotter and denser than inside. The Fire Nation had a pleasant sort of heat; here, it’s too muggy and the breeze reeks of trash and urine. The little alley behind their apartment separates them from another block of apartments, all sitting overtop a row of restaurants and shops that spill their runoff here. 

All in all, it could be worse. Zuko takes another breath, deep, and pushes the air out of his lungs until his chest feels empty. A night like this, he’d love to let a coil of smoke out in the air and watch it dance up toward the inky sky. But he can’t—even if he can’t see anyone watching, in a city like Ba Sing Se someone always is. 

“Zuko?”

Zuko turns. Yue sits on her mat, her knees curled into her chest. The fabric of her nightgown pools around her body and her darkened hair sticks to her skull with sweat. 

“Everything okay?”

Zuko pulls back from the window. He turns his head and nods and gives her half a smile. “Just thinking,” he says as he heads back to bed. 

For a moment, Yue says nothing. And then, “Anything you want to share? Get off your chest?”

On his tatami mat, staring at the ceiling, Zuko can’t see her face. Can she see his? Does she notice the fine lines? Zuko sighs. Maybe, once, he would’ve said yes. Maybe, in another life, they would’ve been friends. 

Instead, he simply closes his eyes. “It’s alright,” he says. Maybe, one day, he’ll know her well enough to turn to his side and share. 

Three days later, Zuko has a job secured at a tea shop in the lower ring. It’s not one of the nicer ones—those ones all turned him away without a second thought—but the owner seems honest enough and the wage is decent. The walk to the shop takes half an hour. It could be shorter, but Zuko figures he’s liable to get a knife in his gut (or back or shoulder or, well, anywhere) if he winds through one alley and it really isn’t worth the risk, especially when he can barely fight back. 

So the long route it is. After his third day of work, after falling into the old routine fairly easily, he trudges back through the bustling streets of Ba Sing Se. It’s odd how his body remembers the way he used to make himself so small. He’s not a king here. He ducks his head instead of lifting his chin high. He has to be quick with words of apology and even quicker on his feet as he flits around the shop, dropping off more hot water to one table and pastries to another. By the end of the day, his feet ache through his ankles and his back is soaked through with sweat. 

There’s no possibility of a cool breeze in the lower ring. The buildings are packed too tightly together for anything more than the faintest stream of air to pass through and, even if he did move beyond the city out into the fields, there would still be the walls to contend with. 

Today, though, the heat is even more oppressive than usual. The air is stifling and smells heavy, like smoke, though when Zuko looks around the busy street there doesn’t seem to be any fires, only market stalls with clothing, beads, and spices, screaming children, and a few too-full apartments. 

It isn’t until he’s nearly home that the sun finally peaks out in the space between two twisted, wooden shops that he sees what’s wrong—the sun is red. The haze isn’t from the city, it’s much worse. Much deeper. The whole world must be bathed in dense smoke. 

Next to him, the shoemaker is sweeping off his porch (a losing battle) but Zuko still turns to him. “Have you seen this before?”

The shoemaker shrugs. “Eh, a few years back it was bad. The whole summer was like this, more or less. You must be new here, though. We get a few days like this every year. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?”

“It goes away, eventually.” 

Zuko frowns. “Why does it start?” he asks, even though he fears he knows the answer. 

“Dunno.” The man wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. In the street, people are laughing and, distantly, someone even sings. “Heard all sorts of different reasons. An angry spirit. A fire in the forest. No one can say, really, but it’s nothing we need to worry about.”

There’s nothing for them to worry about, Zuko thinks bitterly. Even with the city cramped and chocking itself out and on the verge of collapse, there is no war in Ba Sing Se. 

When he gets home, Yue is sitting under the window, meaning a dress. “I got work,” she says, “from the neighbour. I had to undercut the seamstress’ rate—which she better not find out about—but it’s better than sitting around all day.”

Zuko nods and sets his meagre wage on the table. They need all they can get. From there, he flops to the ground, exhaustion crawling out of his body. He thinks he could sleep here, like this, without so much as a mat or blanket. 

“Plus,” Yue adds, almost cautious, “it’s good for me to get in with the local woman more, I think. Their information is invaluable.”

She’s right, he knows. As much as he can try to listen in the streets, or wander around looking for signs, they also need a lead about where to start to look for the White Lotus here. To find The Owl. 

Yue is smart. She’s cunning, too, and a lot more subtle about it than Zuko could ever be. Not for the first time, he feels that sharp ache in his chest when he thinks of what she could’ve been to him: what would the world have looked like if she was his contemporary, leading the North?  In his world, that possibility was yanked away. In this world, though…

Zuko sits up. “We need to make a plan. We’ve gotta find out what we need to know.” 

Yue sets the dress on her lap and frowns. “Of course we need to, but can we really right now?”

Zuko’s skin crawls. The restlessness deep in his chest doesn’t want to be quiet. “No,” he admits softly. There’s no way to rush this—if they misstep, they’ll just end up at the door of the Dai Li. He crosses his arms behind his head and rests back on the floor. 

“In time,” Yue says. 

Zuko politely doesn’t point out the quiver. 

A month passes, just like that. 

The summer days get hotter. The customers are all the same, more or less. Some are fine, others are less so. If Zuko’s hands were less immune to the heat, he’s certain his palms would be lanced by half a dozen lines from hot kettles and boiling water. But he takes home his wages, his tips, and on the odd occasion, small parcels of the cheaper blends that his boss is looking to clear off the storeroom shelves. 

Yue takes in more clothing to mend. Shirts, skirts, that sort of thing from the neighbours. Nothing too fancy or detailed. She always makes less than her work is worth, but it keeps the people coming to her and also ensures they’ll stay quiet about the ‘newly wed’ trying to make some extra coin. 

Zuko comes home one day to find that Yue isn’t under the window doing her mending as she usually is, but instead in the small kitchen viciously scrubbing a pot. “Zuko,” she says as soon as he walks in. She leaves the pot and dries her hands on the small towel. Her nails are bitten down to their bases and the white roots of her hair have started to poke through—Zuko mentally makes note to buy more dye, preferably near the shop where no one will recognize him. 

“What’s wrong?” His feet ache and he’s certain his shoes have rubbed blisters against his heels, but that worry fades to the back of his mind. Right now, all he focuses on is Yue’s face: her pinched mouth, her teeth digging into her lip.

“Someone came with a shirt yesterday,” she starts. 

Zuko says okay and urges her on.

“It was the baker’s wife, I think.” Yue twists her fingers together. “But that’s not important. The important thing is what I found sewn into the seam. Here,” she says and reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a thin and brittle scrap of paper wound tight in a roll. 

Carefully, Zuko takes it. The paper feels like a butterfly’s wings and, for a moment, he’s certain it will rip apart in his fingers. 

“Open it,” she urges. 

Zuko does. He spreads out the paper, holds it up to the sun, and squints. His eyesight has never been the greatest and the script is minute. 

He narrows his eyes further. The sun illuminates the paper and makes the black ink stand out in stark contrast. “Is that…?

“I think so,” Yue says. 

It’s a date and a location. This Sunday morning. Somewhere on the far West side of the lower ring. 

“Are we sure this was meant for us?” Maybe, Zuko thinks, maybe the baker’s wife was having an illicit affair. Or selling drugs. Or something else entirely. 

Yue mutely nods her head and bends over, toward the small pile of clothing she’s been working on. She holds up the tunic top—it’s a simple thing, grey fabric with a small fastening at the collar and a mended hole on the side. “Look,” she says and points to the button. 

There, carved delicately into the bone, is an etching of a flower. 

Of a White Lotus. 

Zuko’s heart leaps against his rib cage. 

This, finally , just might be it.

The walk to the address takes over an hour and by the time they reach the location on the paper—a small cafe, big surprise—both Zuko and Yue are wilting in the heat. Even though it’s early, the day is properly stifling. 

Yue wipes the sweat from her forehead and neck with a small cloth that she puts back into her bag. Zuko wishes he’d thought of something like that. The best he can manage is to discreetly wipe his head with his sleeve and hope that he doesn’t look too dishevelled, even though his hair is short, cropped nearly to his skull, it’s probably shiny with sweat. 

“Table for two,” he says to the owner who directs them to a place near the front window. 

They sit at the table, order a pot of tea, and look out at the street. It’s still the lower ring here, still overcrowded and cramped to an unbelievable degree, but his area does seem higher end. Nicer shops. Cleaner streets. The buildings seem more solid. 

When the tea comes, he pours it. Yue sips, polite, and makes a comment about the heat. 

Zuko replies with how unseasonably warm it’s been. Their words are tight, wooden. His nerves are wound in a tight coil, ready to spring free. Yue’s must be, too.

They need to get better, though. To anyone in this shop, perhaps they’ll simply think they’re on a first date. But if they were out in their own neighbourhood, they would certainly get their neighbours whispering. Zuko rubs under his eye. Why is everything so difficult? One wrong step and they’ll be in even deeper than they already are, with no allies to dig them out. 

Yue clears her throat and sets her cup on the small plate. 

Zuko pulls her attention back to her. 

“Is there anything else you need to do today?” she asks.

“What? No?”

Yue’s face stays neutral. “Are you certain? I swear there was something else you mentioned… I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

Oh. Zuko mentally scolds himself. She’s asking about the time. True, they have been here for nearly an hour making stilted conversation and ordering more hot water for their tea. Both of them have watched over the shop and street with careful eyes. How will they know the signal? No one here is playing Pai Sho. There’s nothing obvious. 

But they can’t stay here forever. The thought of leaving without making progress sends a cold bolt into Zuko’s heart. What if their contact was caught? What if it had all been a misunderstanding after all? What if, what if, what if?

Yue’s hand rests on his wrist and jolts him from his spiral. “ Hey, ” she whispers, “it’s alright.”

Zuko nods dully. The cafe isn’t as busy as the shop he works in, but today it feels practically thunderous. “Thank you,” he manages. 

The day passes. The sun crosses the sky. They order another pot of tea and pastries, even though it’s a stretch on their tight budget. Zuko shakes—whether it’s from nerves or the caffeine, he’s not sure. 

Eventually, the owner comes over to clear away their plates. Zuko tenses. Are they about to get shooed out to make room?

“Did you enjoy the blend?” he asks.

Zuko’s eyes flicker toward the man. He’s balding, though he can’t be much older than them, with eyes that seem somewhere between the distinct green of the Earth Kingdom and the Water Tribe’s steely blue. Though Zuko supposes that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, not in a city like this. 

“It was lovely,” Yue says with a smile. “Quite an exquisite blend.”

The man nods curtly. “You’ll have to come back. If you liked that, we have another you’ll likely enjoy. Green tea with white lotus.”

Zuko’s mind jolts back to life. “That certainly sounds unique. Must be hard to get.”

“Not too hard, if you know the right people.” 

Zuko’s eyes flicker to Yue, who looks as calm as ever, and then back to the man. This must be it, he thinks. But what should he say? The only code word he’s ever heard specifically applied to Pai Sho and if he were to try and use that now, it would only come out stilted and forced and awkward. But he can’t be direct, either, that would risk exposing them. There has to be a way to get at what he wanted to express—

“That sounds incredible,” Yue says, “any chance we could try a sample now?”

“Of course, of course.” The owner smiles and waves them to stand. “I’ve got some in the storage room right now.”

Yue stands up and follows the owner toward the back. It takes Zuko a moment to gather his courage. No one else in the shop is looking—all the other couples and families and friends are all too absorbed in their own conversations to throw a glance their way—but it feels like every prying eye is staring them down. 

What if it’s a trap? Zuko’s heart pounds in his ears as his feet fall on the floorboards. What if the Dia Li are waiting behind the door to take them away? Or Fire Nation spies? Or anyone, really? 

The door to the back slides open and Zuko follows Yue and the owner into the kitchen. From there, it’s a sharp turn toward the curtain that the owner pulls back. 

And then there are steps. Zuko curses. Of course, the storage room would be underground. It makes sense. But as he descends the wooden stairs into the cool darkness, he can’t help but feeling like he’s walking into his doom. The sweat clinging to his neck and chest suddenly feels freezing and wrong. Maybe he preferred the oppressive heat after all.

“You found them?” comes a voice from the darkness. 

Zuko squints, but he can’t make out who is sitting there. 

“I did,” says the owner. He reaches for something from the shelf and then turns to Zuko. “Can you give us a light?”

For a moment, Zuko doesn’t understand. His mind and heart are racing; he can’t make out anything in the darkness. Finally, though, he realizes that the owner is holding a candle next to him. “I, uh, I don’t have a flint,” Zuko stammers out. 

“Well, given that you’re a Firebender, I doubt you’ll need one,” says the voice in the darkness, his tone light and humourous.

Zuko feels Yue tense up at his side. They’re in a cramped cellar, away from a crowd. They know he’s a Firebender. This is, perhaps, the very definition of being backed into a corner. 

Zuko sighs. He holds out his hand and lets a small flame curl out toward the wick of the candle. Even with such a small spark, the relief is palpable. Holding his fire inside for so long only lead to his muscles getting tighter and tighter and his mind getting weary. 

The candle flickers to life. It’s not much, but it’s enough to illuminate the storage room—dusty shelves, bags of tea and rice, and the three people all gathered close together. Long shadows fall over Yue’s face. The owner looks serious, tired. 

And the mysterious voice: a man, maybe in his 40s, with kind brown eyes and a warm smile despite the lines that wrinkle around his eyes. “Forgive me for all the cloak-and-dagger,” he says. He rubs his palm against his chin. “We can’t be too careful.”

“You,” Zuko starts, “you’re The Owl?”

The man nods. “I am.”

After all this time, it hardly feels real. Here he is, though, the mysterious man who’s done so much to help the war. Just a normal-looking guy, unassuming and calm. 

“Please, though,” the man continues, “call me Professor Zei.”

Chapter Text

“Professor Zei,” Zuko repeats, the words strange on his tongue.

The man nods. “You’re the right age. If anyone overhears us talking, they’ll assume you’re students.”

“And you are a real professor?” Yue asks. 

He chuckles dryly. “Technically, yes, but I don’t know if I could morally say that anymore. Everyone has come down hard on us—the University’s hands are tied in terms of academic freedom. We teach what they want us to or we’re cut. Any of my colleagues with half a backbone walked away but, well,” Zei says and sighs, “well, I can’t afford to lose the access that my position offers. So I’m still there.” He smiles, almost wistfully and painfully fake. 

Zuko nods in understanding. He remembers all too well trying to get the Fire Nation schools to change what they were teaching… In some of the outer regions of the nation, he doubts the teachers have changed their tone much at all. Change is a slow march, at best of times, and curtailing education is one of the best ways the powerful can make sure the procession never reaches their doorsteps. 

“You’re working with the White Lotus?” Zuko asks.

Zei nods. “We’ve been receiving and sending information when we can. It’s been hard, lately, and it’s only going to get harder. I want you to know what you’re getting into. We can’t afford people who will walk away the moment things get difficult.”

“We won’t,” Yue says. “We’re in this with everything we have.” 

They are, they absolutely are. There’s no turning back from this; not now, not ever. 

“Good,” Zei says. “We don’t have much time today, but you are not alone. There is a meeting coming up in a week—there’ll be more details there and then.” He gestures to the shopkeeper, who scribbles something on a small scroll and hands it to Zuko with a tin of tea. 

For a moment, Zuko blinks in confusion. When he looks closer, though, it becomes apparent—the information written on the card isn’t the information about the tea. It’s the date, location, and time for the next meeting. 

“You should be on your way for today,” the shopkeeper says. “Before anyone notices your absence.”

Zei nods in agreement. “The resistance is out there, even if it isn’t always apparent. The information from the North has been instrumental in making sure that we stay this way.”

Yue and Zuko both nod slowly. Zuko can’t help but wonder if Yue also feels like she’s been sentenced to death. It’s not that he’s unwilling to join—he always knew this would be risky, too—but until now, there had been an element of it all that felt unreal. As if he were only playing pretend. 

“Before we leave,” Zuko asks, “I need to know—do you have any connections in the Southern Water Tribe?”

Yue turns her head at that, too. 

Zei’s face falls. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry. It’s been two years since we’ve gotten anything out of there. A few times, we’ve attempted to make contact but there’s no way of knowing if our messages were ever received.”

It’s what Zuko was expecting and it still comes as a blow all the same.

“Right,” Yue says, her voice tight. That’s her family too, albeit distantly. She gestures to Zuko and together they both start to make their way to the cellar stairs and back up to the cafe. 

“Wait,” Zuko says halfway up. He turns over his shoulder to the two men in the storage room. “One more thing.”

“Yes?” Zei says. 

Zuko opens his mouth. His throat is dry—there’s a lump caught halfway between his head and his chest. “General Iroh,” he says softly. “What do you know about him?”

“Iroh? The prince from the Fire Nation?”

“Yes.” He purses his lips. 

“Not much, I’m afraid. Should I know about him?”

Zuko tries to take a deep breath, but it catches. “He—is he in the White Lotus?”

Zei shakes his head. “The general died in a siege nearly a decade ago now. As far as I know, he was never involved in any of the White Lotus’ dealings.”

“Are you certain? Is there someone else here who might know more? Someone who has been here for—”

“Zuko,” Yue mutters and pulls gently on his hand.

Zuko swallows. “Nevermind,” he says and thanks them for their help. Numbly, he follows Yue up the rest of the stairs. Her steps sound like thunder on the wood. 

Back in the shop, the world is too bright and too loud. The air is too hot, smothering. Around his neck, the collar of his shirt is tight enough to strangle him and every piece of fabric that brushes against his skin pulls and catches. 

“Lee?” Yue says as they walk outside in the street. 

Zuko wipes at his eyes. The pollution burns and stings. “Everything is fine,” he tells her.

Everything is fine, he tells himself. 

Back in their apartment, Zuko pulls out parchment and writes to Lu Ten while Yue turns to patch a dress. 

It takes ages to translate his message through the code, simple as it is. Made contact. We’re alright. Nothing new to report. 

When he’s done, or mostly done, Yue takes her turn and scribbles a small postscript. From the outside, it looks like a simple letter to a friend, detailing ordinary comings and goings. Zuko addresses it to a man in an Earth Kingdom colony who may or may not exist. He can only trust that from there, the rest of the White Lotus will do their part to get the letter on to Lu Ten.

Later,  that night, Zuko and Yue sit by candlelight and eat cold noodles. They aren’t terrible—honestly, they’re quite good—but they sit like rubber in his mouth. 

Since they’ve been her, since Zuko has been in this world, he knows he’s lost some of the muscle that he worked so hard to build. When he looks in the mirror his face is thinner, cheekbones more pronounced. He wants nothing more than to let go, to train with all his fire and strength, and then come back to a hot bath, a grand meal cooked and laid out on his table for him, and a soft bed with silk sheets.  When did he become so spoiled that he ached for luxury?

“You know,” Yue says, pulling him from his thoughts, “you’re different than I expected.”

Zuko raises his eyebrow. “I am?”

“You are.” She dips her head and brings her chopsticks to her mouth without looking up.

“Are you going to tell me how?”

Yue takes another bite. Around the edges of her eyes, the skin creases in crow’s feet. “No.”

The days pass in a blur. Zuko walks to the tea shop each day while Yue mends clothing and chats away with the others in the neighbourhood. As much as Zuko’s feet ache at the end of the day, he wouldn’t trade places with her for the world. They don’t want their neighbours to be suspicious of them, but getting too close is dangerous at the same time. Her job is the more difficult of the two and besides, the boiling water and hot kettles don’t singe Zuko’s fingers. Things could be much worse. 

Still, it makes Zuko feel half-mad. The days are long, so long, and he’s so helpless. All he can do is wait tables and scribble down orders and sweep the floor of the shop. The hours, days, tick by and he can’t do anything. He’s stuck—there’s no other way around it. 

Maybe, Zuko tells himself, if he received a reply from Lu Ten things would be better. At least then he’d know he’s not hopelessly alone. A letter would be a small but clear confirmation that he isn’t the most useless rebel in the entire world. 

At first, it’s too soon to even begin to hope for a letter. 

But one week slips into two, then three. Four. Yue dyes her hair again, covering her white roots and turning them to a warm brown. 

When he runs his hand over his scalp, his hair is no longer prickly and short. The edges have grown long around his ears and, in the heat of the summer, the bottom curls against the nape of his neck. 

And still, nothing arrives from Lu Ten. They receive no word at all, not from anyone. 

In their cramped apartment—which now at least has a painting on the wall that Yue bought at the market—Zuko stares at the tin of tea from the professor. The cramped writing. The date for the meeting is next week and it can’t come soon enough. 

“It’s okay,” Yue says, though her voice sounds hesitant. 

“But what if it’s not?” Zuko’s tongue sits strangely in his mouth; the words are hard to even from. What if they’re not okay? What if they’re simply stuck here, in this great city? Are they in for a lifetime of trying to get back out again? 

“We’ll find a way to make it okay,” Yue promises. “I don’t think either of us could ever let this all go without a fight.”

Eventually, the day of the meeting arrives. Though it had been nearly six weeks since their meeting with Zei, and the time dragged long in between, Zuko still finds the day arrived too quickly. He needs another day, week, month, to figure it all out. But he also suspects that no amount of time could ever make him truly ready to jump headlong into the rebellion, the White Lotus. Even the first time around, with Aang and Katara and Sokka and Toph and Suki, he hadn’t been properly part of an organization. They were just a bunch of kids trying to figure out how to stop a war. And how cruel was that? 

But now, now it’s real. He has responsibilities. There’s a whole web of connections to navigate—they can’t just go off on their own, doing whatever they think is best. They have a part to play in the order of all things. 

“Ready?” Yue asks in their apartment. She fixes a strand of her hair and pins it back into place. It’s not her usual style—it’s more plain and nondescript. 

Zuko straightens his collar and swallows the lump in his throat. “As I’ll ever be,” he mutters and, together, they walk outside, ready to face the unknown. 

The meeting is held in the most cramped quarter of the outer ring. As they walk, Yue stays closer to his side than she usually does and Zuko too is grateful for the reassurance of having another person to watch his left. There are seedy characters in this area: dozens of pickpockets and thieves and, in general, characters who look as if they’d been through hell and back and were about to make that everyone else’s problem.

A harsh yell splits the din and Yue clutches Zuko’s hand and Zuko holds it tight, for his sake as well as hers. The sun is low, almost set, and above the tops of the wooden buildings spilling smoke into the air the sky glows orange. 

“It’s better than it looks, you know.”

Zuko jumps at the voice and spins around, ready to pull up his fire and pushing it down all at the same time. 

Behind him, though, is Zei. He raises his hands to show no harm. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles. 

Zuko eyes him, but lets the tension fall away. “I wasn’t expecting to see you yet.”

“It’s just up ahead,” he says and gestures with his chin. “Besides, it’s always wonderful to see my students.”

Yue nods slowly and Zuko mentally thanks her for picking up his slack. He’s still on edge; every part of his nerves is stressed to their limits. 

“But like I said,” Zei said, “it’s safe here. Everyone minds their own business. It’s the upper rings you have to watch out for. Up there, you might be able to wander through the street freely, but your neighbour will sell you out after having you over for tea.”

Zei slips his hands into his pockets and Zuko follows him toward a bar at the end of the street. As they weave through the crowd, a trail of sweat runs down Zuko’s neck. With the setting sun, it’s not even that hot anymore. 

Eventually, they find their way inside. The bar is rundown and has a small collection of patrons sitting in the front room, sipping from cups that look as if they could use a good wipe down. 

The woman in an apron chatting with a couple at a table looks up. “Zei,” she says. 

A soft pink tinges Zei’s cheeks. “Ming. Good to see you.”

“They’re playing Pai Sho in the backroom,” she says and without another word turns her attention back to the couple at the table. 

Yue shoots Zei a pointed look. 

“Come on,” he mutters and leads them into the back room of the bar. 

In the backroom, the first thing that hits Zuko is the smoky smell. There are candles burning and incense too. In a way, it reminds him of home. 

The light is also dim. No windows; only the small flickering candles around the room shoot off light. Long shadows fall on the wooden floors. Maybe a dozen people are gathered around the tables, staring intently at the tiles.

Among them, a familiar face sparks Zuko’s heart. Jeon-Jeon. That old Firebender is alive and still fighting, even if he does look worse for wear. 

As Zuko takes the cue and slides against the far wall with Yue. His heart pounds through his ears. This time, it’s he who reaches down his hand and finds Yue’s and holds her tight enough to keep him steady. 

Zei clears his throat. “I think this is everyone,” he says. “Let’s begin.” 

They start small. A few people report on the letters they’ve sent, or suspicious behaviour they’ve noticed, or inklings of political knowledge they’ve gleaned. One woman even managed to secure a handsome sum to send out to the small cells of the resistance still working in the ravaged areas of the Earth Kingdom. 

Through the whole thing, Zuko’s heart goes wild. His gut is a tight knot, his head, a drum. But if anyone questions why he’s there, no one voices it. No one even shoots a second glance in their direction. 

Really, all in all, it isn’t as bad as Zuko expected. This time, no one is hauling him out in the street and accusing him of being a Firebender. 

Eventually, after all the members have made their rounds, Zei stands up at the front again. He looks a little tired, Zuko thinks. Dark bags hang under his eyes. His back is stooped forward. 

“I do have something important I wish to share,” he says, his voice firm but weary. “Something that has serious potential to change the tide of the war, if I’m right about it.

“As you know, I’ve been combing through the materials we were able to save from Wang Shi Tong’s library. It’s been a long process, and a process that I honestly wanted to give up on at times.” Zei takes a breath and closes his eyes for a moment. “And, for a long time, I feared it would be a fruitless endeavour.

“But, thankfully, I’ve been proven wrong.” 

At that, a murmur ripples through the small group. Yue tightens her grip around Zuko’s hand and Zuko draws in a quick breath, sits up a little straighter. 

“I’ve found a document,” Zei continues, silencing the murmurs, “that suggests that Firebenders lose their ability to bend during eclipses.”

He continues on, explaining the document he found and the anecdotes of a day the sun blotted out a few years ago. The group seems skeptical; Zuko can’t stop the crawling feeling he’s an idiot. Of course, that would work. It worked the first time, didn’t it? The only reason the Fire Nation hadn’t lost then and there on the day of the Black Sun was because the others hadn’t had enough time to prepare. But now, with time and resources and coordination, it could possibly work.

“I just don’t know,” one woman says, pulling Zuko from his spiral. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Zei—I’m sure your research is sound—but there’s a big difference between reality and some facts written in ancient books. What if it’s a legend? A myth? Are we supposed to stake our whole plan on a single possibility?”

Zei keeps his head up, but Zuko doesn’t miss the way he braces his shoulders. “It’s the only possibility,” Zei says. “Even if we can’t be entirely certain, at least it’s a chance.”

The small room hums with nerves. No one says anything—Zei is right. It is a chance and for them, a small chance is more than they’ve had in a long time. 

But Zuko can’t sit with the guilt of letting them think it’s only a chance. “It’s true,” Zuko says, his voice even scratchier than normal. “When the sun turns black, Firebenders can’t access their fire. It’s brief, almost too quick, but there are a few minutes of totality that would cut off the flames.”

Every eye of the small group is on Zuko and the room is suddenly much, much too warm. 

“And how do you know, hm? Zei might’ve vouched for you, but you’ve done nothing to prove that to the rest of us,” says a man with a long bread leaning against the far wall. 

Yue, too, is even shooting Zuko a hesitant look. 

Zuko turns to them, takes a breath, and holds up his palm. For a brief second, he debates putting it back down and spinning an anecdote instead, but his courage wins out in the end. Flames roar to life in his hand; fire full of warmth and colours.

The woman sitting near them jumps back and, again, whispers of displeasure spin through the room. 

“It’s true,” Zuko says as he kills the flame. “It’s no different from how the Waterbenders lost their abilities with the moon. It’s all connected, in the end.”

It’s the illusion of separation, Zuko remembers Aang telling him one warm spring night. Everything is connected; nothing is as different as it might seem. Maybe this world, too, isn’t so separate from his home. 

“Well,” Zei says somewhat awkwardly. “That settles it then. It will work.” He clears his throat. “It might not be a true eclipse, but based on my calculations, there will be a comet that transits between the earth and the sun. It should blot out the light enough to mimic an eclipse.”

A murmur ripples around the room. 

"And when are we looking at? We need enough time to rally the troops."

Zei nods and frowns. "From the calculations we're doing, it looks like six years."

“Six years?” Yue whispers. It’s not loud enough for the whole room to hear it, but Zuko certainly does.

The woman next to them, though, speaks up too. “We might not be able to wait that long,” she says to the group. “We’ve barely been holding the line as it is. Who knows where we’re we’ll be in another year? Another two? The city is at its limit and the land is dying.”

“It’s the only option,” Zei repeats.

For the second time in the short window, Zuko feels like an idiot. “It might not be,” he says and, for the second time, earns himself skeptical looks and pointed stares. “There’s a possibility we could stop it all if we could find the Avatar.” If they could find Aang. 

“The Avatar’s a myth,” the bearded man shoots back.

“No—” Zuko tries.

“If he’s not, why hasn’t he stepped in?”

Zuko is about to explain it all. He has the whole of it sitting on the back of his tongue, ready to roll off, when an ear-splitting bang rips through the room. 

Before he can even get out another word, all hell breaks loose. 

Chapter Text

As many times as Zuko’s world has been turned upside down, he thinks he’d be used to it by now. 

He never is. 

After the bang comes a wave of motion that knocks him off his seat and onto his back. The world goes dark. A deep ache resonates in his chest and his molars rattle. Part of him is vaguely aware that he’s crushing the legs of the woman who was sitting behind him, but when he tries to move, a wave of dizziness washes over him and holds him still. 

“Lee,” Yue says and pulls at his arm. 

Zuko tries to blink. The world is still dark. 

No. Pain swells in his chest. Not again—this can’t be happening again. 

He yanks his hand away from Yue and reaches for his head and presses his fingers against his eyelids. 

There’s no new damage. Not physically, at least. Not externally. But what if he hit his head? He’s heard about that happening before. Or what if—

“I think,” Yue whispers and her voice cracks, “I think someone put up a wall.”

Zuko blinks. Behind him, a few people cough. Shuffle. He untangles himself from the bodies around him and sits up.

“Everyone alright?” a voice calls out and in return, hums and affirmatives sound off. 

“I’m holding us steady for now,” someone, possibly the woman not much older than him who collected funds for the rebels, says. Her voice strains with effort. “Someone is trying to get in. It won’t be long.”

“Right,” Zei’s voice comes from the darkness. “Lee, can you give us a light?”

Zuko nods, forgetting they can’t see. He lets the smallest of flames spark up from his fingertips and, finally, the world comes back into view, albeit clocked in long shadows. 

The woman is indeed holding a wall of solid earth up where the door connecting to the bar used to be. Her round face is scrunched in concentration; a bead of sweat rolls down from her brow.

Around him, everyone else is getting to their feet. Dirt clings to faces and clothes. The heat of their bodies and the weight of their nerves cloud the air. Distantly, through the wall of dirt, people are yelling.

Zei—whose cheek is now black and a gash rips across his forehead—turns back to the group of them. “No other Earthbenders?”

The crowd shakes their heads.

Of course there isn’t. Too many of the benders all got hauled off to prisons in the middle of the ocean. It made sense that, of the people who reached Ba Sing Se, only a small handful would be able to bend. 

“Right, okay then.” Zei draws his head high and for a moment, something much tougher, much deeper and stronger, shines through his bumbling professor facade. “We don’t have long. But do you really think that the Avatar is real? That he could help?”

In Zuko’s palm, his flame dances with the dragon’s colours. The same way that Aang’s does. “Yes,” he says, more confident than he’s felt in a long, long while. “I’m sure of it. He can take Ozai’s bending.” 

Zei nods slowly and his eyes flicker around the group. “And Bora, you have my papers on the eclipse? The comet?”

A small woman on the other side of the room nods. “Yes, of course, why—”

“When I count to three, Lee, you’re going to blast through the back wall, okay? You can do that?”

“I can, but why do I need to?”

“Blast through the wall. Everyone, take cover. We’ll reconvene when it’s safe, alright? Bora. Keep the papers safe. And Lee, you’re going to need to start working on a plan to find the Avatar.”

The weight of it sits on Zuko’s shoulders, heavier than the whole world. He wanted to find Aang, no matter what. But being told to do it all over again? He can barely take a breath. 

“One,” Zei says. The woman holding the earth up lets out a grunt of effort. 

“Wait!” Zuko says. 

“Twothree,” Zei yells and Zuko has no other choice but to kill the flame, turn to the wall and let out a torrent of fire. 

The wood gives way easily; it splinters out into the dusk-cloaked alleyway and the members of the White Lotus follow, spilling out into the street. 

Zuko runs with Yue at his side and his heart in his throat. It thunders away, drowning the calls and yells. Chaos swirls all around him—he doesn’t know this area and he can’t make sense of it one way or another. 

“Dai Li!” someone shouts but before Zuko can even react, the woman who was behind him in the meeting is clashing against the man with her sword. Are they surrounded? It would make sense if they were. The Dai Li wouldn’t be so careless. 

“GET OUT,” the woman yells back as she swings her sword again and Zuko feels the weight of his own dao missing in his palms. 

The alley is dark and cramped. Further down, toward the light, there are gawking heads turning to look at the fuss. 

But, as Zuko whips his head around, so far he can only see the one Dai Li. “Come on,” he says to Yue and Bora and ushers them forward, toward a small gap between the shop on the other side. Through the narrow walls, he can make out lanterns on a street. 

“Where’s Zei?” Yue says, frantic. Her hair is loose, falling from its braid. Her bottom lip is split and swollen and her dress is covered in dirt down the side. “He’s still in there!”

Bora shakes like a leaf. A tear runs down the seam of her tunic and her cool brown eyes are wide. “No,” she says. “He asked me if I had the eclipse papers for a reason. He—he knew.”

Zuko stands still, afraid to move.

“Come on,” Bora says and starts running toward the gap between buildings. “I know this city. Follow me.”

Yue and Zuko oblige. Bora slips in between the tight walls, turning to maneuver through the space. Zuko lets Yue go next while he brings up the end, ready to fire back if needed.

Through the dim light, he takes one final glance at the bar, at the destroyed wood, at the dark void of the backroom. 

He wrenches his head away and focuses on moving forward. Shouts and crashes echo in his ears and heart. 

Zuko follows Bora in a blur. She turns around corners and cuts through a market and takes them through narrow alleys. They keep moving forward and Zuko forces himself not to turn and look back. Around them, the city moves as it always does. Don’t they know what’s just happened? How can they sit at tables and drink, or walk with friends, or get food from booths, all oblivious to the fact that there is something terrible and rotten in the core of this place? Do they even care?

“Here,” Bora finally says as they come up on a small row of apartments, the bottom level of which has glowing paper lanterns next to the door and lights on inside. Now they’re stopped, Zuko can see it’s a nice area of the lower ring. Still simple, but less cramped. She smooths her hair and wipes off her tunic. “Clean up a little.” 

Slightly out of breath and standing to the side of the street, Zuko and Yue do as they’re told. She pulls her hair from her braid and ties it up simply; Zuko wipes his clothes as clean as he can with his hands and rubs the sweat and dirt off his face and onto his sleeve. 

“Just follow my lead,” Bora says and pushes open the door. 

Zuko follows her in with Yue at his side. 

It’s a restaurant, he realizes too slowly. A few patrons are hanging around, eating bowls of rice and curries or noodles or sipping on drinks. 

A woman with a tray in her hands looks up. “Bora,” she says, “we didn’t think you’d be around until next weekend.”

Bora smiles and after the woman sets the tray down, gives her a hug. “I was in the neighbourhood so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.” In spite of everything, his voice is even. If Zuko didn’t know where they’d just come from, he doubts he would’ve heard the hint of shakiness. 

“Mom,” Bora continues, “these are my friends from university.” She gestures back to them. 

Awkwardly, Zuko raises his hand. “I’m Lee.”

Yue introduces herself too, much more smoothly. She even compliments the restaurant. 

Bora’s mother waves it off, but her cheeks do colour faintly. “Here,” she says. “Please, take a seat. You all look like you could use a good meal! And a break too, in between all that studying.”

Numb, Zuko lets himself be led to the table by the window and sits with Bora and Yue. In the distance, someone is playing music. A group of friends who look like they could also be university students are laughing and chatting and drinking next to them. And, somewhere across town, Zei is probably in the hands of the Dai Li. Who knows what happened to the rest of them—did anyone else manage to get free?

“It might’ve been a mistake to come here,” Bora mutters. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Yue nods. “Sometimes all you can think of is home.”

Bora’s head hangs low. Her eyes water. “I’m a student at the university,” she explains, “I met Professor Zei there, even though he teaches anthropology and I was studying astronomy. I took a class at a friend’s recommendation.

“There’s not a lot of people from the lower ring who study there. Hardly any at all really,” Bora explains in a hushed voice. The background chatter of the restaurant works well to drown out their voices, but Zuko suspects she’d rather not risk her mother overhearing it all. 

“It’s easy to think that all that matters is science. Or even philosophy, or any subject. But what’s the point in any of it if it’s detached from people? Professor Zei understood that. It’s important to study, it’s important to learn, but at the end of the day all that knowledge does no good if it just stays in the ivory tower.”

“You’ve been helping the professor?” Yue summarizes.

Bora nods. “There’s a few of us who do. The ones who get it, you know?”

“And you have the records of the eclipse?”

“Yes. The date and location and time. It’s in my apartment with my textbooks and work. If anyone saw it, they would just think it’s another calculation.”

Yue and Zuko both nod at that. Before they have a chance to say much more, Bora’s mother comes by with a pot of hot tea and a platter of dumplings and Zuko’s stomach growls. Tonight, they’ve been through so much. Even before they went to the meeting, the nerves tangled in his stomach didn’t let him choke much food down. 

“Enjoy,” she says with a smile. Her face is so much like Bora’s they could nearly be twins, only soft lines and sunspots are etched onto her face and, as small as Bora is, her mother stands shorter still. “You young folks work too hard. It’s good to see you taking a break once in a while. I swear, last time I was at Bora’s apartment she had nothing to eat but a bag of rice and not even a pot to cook it in!” She chuckles at that, and Zuko lets himself laugh too, even if it’s the last thing in the world he feels like doing. 

“Mom,” Bora grumbles, her cheeks red. “I was on my way to the market when you came over that day.” 

Her mother ruffles her hair before heading off to get another round of drinks for the table next to them.

“She has no idea what you’re really doing,” Yue says. 

“I’d like to keep it that way, as much as I can. The less my parents know the better.” 

Zuko sits with his hands in his lap. If Bora really has the information that’s that essential, if she really could change the course of the war, she can’t stay here. Her parents would be the clearest targets. If she wants to be effective, if she wants to make a change, she’ll have to cut herself off. 

And, judging by the glum look on her face, she’s realized that too. Is that why she came here? To see her parents one more time? 

“Do you really believe in the Avatar?” she says. 

Zuko nods. If he believes in anything, he believes in Aang. “With all my heart.”

“Then you need to do what Zei said. You need to find him. If you can, give him the information you can about the eclipse.”

Zuko agrees. “We have to be careful, though. We can’t let that information fall into the wrong hands.” Even without Firebending, the Fire Nation would still be a force to be reckoned with, especially if they had warning and time to prepare for the ‘surprise attack’. The first time, that’s part of why the plan didn’t work. 

Bora purses her lips. “I agree. But the thing is that Zei might’ve oversold what we had.” She brushes a strand of hair back from her face and looks down at her plate. 

“What?” Zuko jolts up. He hardly knew that man at all, but would he really do such a thing?

Bora nods slowly. “What we have is good. He didn’t lie he just…overexaggerated. Maybe.”

“Bora…”

“We have the information. We have the date, roughly. And now we have confirmation that the eclipse will stop the bending. But we don’t know the precise time and location yet. It’s a lot of work to calculate, especially when doing it in secret.”

Zuko closes his eyes and lets the hot wave of anger simmer back down. “How long will it take you to figure out?”

“Without Zei? Weeks, at least. Probably more if I have to be extra careful to not draw suspicion.”

Zuko sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Weeks. Maybe more. Again. How long will they be stuck here?

But Yue leans forward. “What if you gave us your data?”

“What?”

“I’m no astronomer, but you figured it mostly out, right? What if you gave us the information you used to predict it. A formula. We can solve the last bits. And we’ll hold the values separately, too, so that way it’ll work as a failsafe, but if something happens to us, the Fire Nation won’t be able to solve it but there still could be a chance of getting it to the rebellion,” Yue explains quietly.

 It’s no guarantee—not in the slightest—but there is at least a chance that this way they could get out the information with less of a risk of the data falling into the wrong hands. “Could the Fire Nation also put the rest together?”

“They could if they know what they’re looking at,” Bora confirms. “But if they don’t know, or if we’re able to obscure it, there’s a good chance they won’t be able to crack it.

“If you find the Avatar and the rest of the rebellion, though, you’ll need to find someone who can finish it. Someone who will understand what to do with the Besselian elements to determine the date and equation of the next eclipse. You know, someone who knows what to do with the radii of the penumbral and umbral cone in the fundamental plane, shadow cones, ephemeris hour angles, all that stuff. Without access to a university, finding someone who could put the pieces back together would be hard.”

Immediately, one face flares up in Zuko’s mind. A face and a warm sarcastic voice and a boomerang that too often cuts too close to his head. But it’s still a huge ‘if’. There are so many elements in motion and Zuko can’t be certain Sokka is even in the rebellion at all, let alone in the south. “There could be someone,” he says. “If he’s around, he could put the pieces together.” 

Bora nods. She pushes the dumplings towards them. “Might as well eat up, then. It might take a while to write everything down.” 

As Bora goes to get paper from her mother and some data she hid away in her childhood bedroom in the apartment above the restaurant, Zuko tries to eat. At first, the food tastes rubbery and wrong. The stress of everything tightens his gut and shuts it down. But, as Bora comes back and starts to work and her mother brings around more food and tea and praises them for working so hard, for studying even when they’re at the restaurant. 

Yue nods and chats. Zuko stares at the equations Bora writes out in neat script. She explains it to them when her mother leaves in broad strokes. Zuko nods along, hopelessly committing as much as he can to memory to pass along to Sokka. Or, he supposes, if not Sokka then someone else. Bato is also sharp, though Zuko wasn’t entirely sure if this would be his area of expertise, but at least back home he knows the stars more than anyone—his navigation experience could translate. There is probably a small handful of Water Tribe folks down in the south who could work it through. 

That is, of course, if they can get there at all. If the Water Tribe is still there.

Zuko eats more than his share. He drinks water and tea and even coffee to fight off the exhaustion nipping at his brain. 

Eventually, even the table of friends next to them clears out and they’re left alone in the restaurant. 

“Bora, honey,” her mother says through a yawn. “Lock up when you’re done.” And with that, she blows out a candle and heads into the backroom. Her footsteps disappear and then eventually sound softly through the floorboards upstairs. 

Bora bites her lip and stares down at the two pages of equations laid out between them in the midst of empty plates and half-full cups. “This should be enough,” she says. “Keep them safe and dry.” 

Zuko and Yue nod. Yue takes the papers and rolls them up, for now, before tucking them into her small bag. 

“You should leave the city,” Bora says. “Sooner, rather than later. Tonight if you can—don’t even stop at home.” 

Zuko looks to Yue. She stares back at him, her eyes wide. They both knew this was coming, of course they knew this wasn’t forever. But to not even go back to their apartment?

Bora tears the bottom off a piece of paper and scribbles an address down. Zuko recognizes it as somewhere far, far out in the lower ring—somewhere closer to the outlying farms. 

“Getting into Ba Sing Se is hard enough. Getting out is another story. If you go there—and bring as much coin as you can—they’ll get you out. Go as soon as you can.”

Zuko stares at the paper. He nods. They have to do this; there’s really no other choice. As much as he might want to wait and plan and try to map it all out perfectly, there’ll never be enough time to prepare for the unexpected. 

“Good luck,” Bora says as they walk to the door. “The White Lotus is counting on you.”

Zuko steps out into the street. The stars are high and the world is quiet. It’s later than he anticipated. A cool breeze rolls through the narrows of the buildings and lifts the sweat-damp tunic fabric away from his neck. 

“Good luck to you too,” Yue says. “And, Bora, be safe.”

Bora nods. In the dim light of the last candle in the restaurant, she suddenly looks very, very young. “Those who favour the White Lotus gambit can always find a friend,” she says with a wan smile. 

She closes the door and the last glow of light in the restaurant puffs out. The scrape of a metal latch against the wood rings out. 

And Zuko and Yue are alone. 

Bora warned them not to go home. 

Zuko and Yue do anyway. They take turns changing into fresh clothes while the other keeps watch. From a slot in the wall covered by the table, Yue retrieve the pouch of coins from Lu Ten. Their time here bit into their savings, but there’s still enough to carry them forward. Yue splits them between the two. Zuko finds two small tins, ones meant for tobacco, and they each put their papers inside. It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep the rain from touching them. 

There are more things that Zuko wishes he could take. A blanket. A mat. Food for days. But in the end, they only bring what Yue can fit into a bag small enough that it simply looks like she’s out for the day and what he can fit in his pockets. 

“I didn’t think I’d miss this place,” Yue whispers as they walk through the dark hallway back down to the street. 

Neither did Zuko, but here he was, his heart heavy and his mind buzzing. He thinks of the little place, full of clothes that will become moth-eaten and food that will rot, and, one day, a letter might arrive from Lu Ten and no one will read it. 

What a way life tends to go.

It’s a long walk to the location Bora gave them. Zuko’s feet and ankles ache. The adrenaline wears off and leaves only exhaustion behind. Yue says nothing, as she always does, but Zuko doesn’t miss the way her steps have started to drag. 

Eventually, when the wall turns from a blip on the horizon into a giant that rises above their heads and casts a shadow in the dawn, they come up on the fields. The dirt is thin and dry. It hasn’t rained in ages—the years and years of crops on the same dirt must’ve sucked out all the nutrients. Late in the summer like it is, the fields should be full and ready to harvest. Instead, there’s hardly anything out here. 

Finally, when they’re no more than a few fields away from the base of the wall, they come upon a small group of buildings gathered together at the edge of four fields. A few houses, a shop, a barn. Sometimes, Zuko forgets how unfathomably big the lower ring is, but the truth is that it’s so giant and sprawling that people can live all sorts of lives within it without ever leaving. 

The sun is up, now, but his exhaustion hasn’t waned.

Yue lifts her hand to shield her eyes. “Looks like it’s the shop,” she says. 

Zuko looks down at the paper again. She’s right. He holds the paper between his pointer finger and his thumb and turns it to ash.          

The shop, like most things in the lower ring, is falling apart. It looks like a small sort of general store for the folks out here on the farms, but the apples in the bin at the front are shrivelled and bruised and there’s a healthy layer of dust lining the windowsill. 

When Zuko pushes the door, it swings open and rings a bell. The rest of the store is in a similar state: empty shelves; damaged fruit; ancient bags of rice. 

At the front, a tall man with arms the size of Zuko’s head looks up from a ledger. His head is completely bald and reddened by sun. “Haven’t seen you around here before,” he says, his voice gruff. 

“We’re not farmers,” Yue replies. “We’re newlyweds, actually. We’re trying to start a life, you know? But our apartment here is so small. There aren't a lot of opportunities for us either. Nowhere to go.”

The man eyes them and sets down his pen. “You’re feeling trapped?”

“Yes! Exactly.” Yue nods along. 

“It’s not cheap to get out of a rut.” The man looks down and flips a page. 

Zuko takes the cue and pulls his coin purse from his pocket. The coins clink together. “We’ve saved to make it work.” Is this the man who will help them? Bora didn’t specify exactly what this all would entail: they’re in the dark.      

The man lets out a throaty hum. “I think my assistant can help you.” 

Zuko’s heart skips a beat. 

“She’s picking up a delivery right now. Sit tight.”

Zuko has no choice but to listen. With Yue at his side, they slowly move through the store, browsing the products. A farmer comes in and actually buys some apples. Zuko examines the sweets on the wall.

And, finally, the bell rings again. 

In the frame of the door stands a small figure, her arms weighed down by bags of grain stacked so high they obscure her face. 

“Next time,” says a voice that makes Zuko’s heart beat even faster, “you can pick up your own damn grain.” 

With a grunt, the small girl sets down the bags. 

And there is the face that Zuko knows so well. 

Toph Beifong—dustier, wilder, but still undeniably Toph—dusts off her hands on her shirt and turns with a broad smile. “So,” she says to the man at the front, “are those new clients I hear?”

Chapter Text

Zuko almost says her name. It would be so easy to call out ‘Toph’, to yell in disbelief, to pull her into a hug she would pretend to hate while squeezing him back all the same. 

But this Toph is not his Toph. 

Zuko clamps his mouth shut and prays that the old, rickety floorboards are enough to dampen the vibrations of his racing heart. 

“These two are looking for a new life,” the clerk says. 

Toph lets out a small hum of interest. “That’s not cheap, you know,” she says.

“We can pay,” Yue replies. 

Zuko tries to agree, but he can’t seem to find his voice—it’s run off somewhere, along with his courage. 

Toph crosses her arms over her chest. She’s not wearing shoes, apparently that much doesn’t change, but her usual green tunic is replaced with a loose brown shirt and matching pants. It’s strange to see her hair pulled back in a simple headband-less braid. Even her bangs are grown out, giving a clearer view of her eyes than Zuko’s ever seen before. “This is a one-way trip, you understand? I get you out and that’s it. If you change your mind and want back in, you’re on your own.”

Zuko nods furiously but finally finds his voice. “We know,” he says. “We’re prepared for it.” 

“We’ll leave tonight, then. Lucky for you I’ve already got plans to take another couple.”  

Zuko hesitates. All things given, leaving tonight is perfectly fine. But that also means they have a whole day to kill and no energy and they’re currently far from the hub of neighbourhoods in the lower ring. 

“Do you have a place we could stay in the meantime?” Yue asks. 

Toph’s mouth curls up. “Sure,” she says, “but it’ll cost you.”

Some time, in some other life, Zuko swears he’ll get her back for this. Wringing them dry before wringing them dry. But after he hands her the coins, she leads them across the dusty street into a small wooden farmhouse, and then down the hall to a bedroom with two narrow cots, and as Zuko lies down for the first time in over a day, he’s simply too tired to care. 

Sunlight slips in through the gap in the grey, worn curtain and fills the room with motes of dust. In an instant, Zuko’s asleep all the same. 

When he wakes later, he doesn’t know how much time has passed. His face is warm; drool clings to the edge of his mouth. He wipes it on his sleeve and sits up in the tangle of the blanket. The room is even warmer and sunnier now than when he first went to sleep, but Yue is in the other cot still lightly snoring away. 

Looking around, now, it’s clear this room is meant for a kid. Kids. There’s a small basket with wooden blocks and carved animals against the far wall. The quilt on the end of Zuko’s bed is colourful and roughly stitched. 

Careful not to wake Yue, he extracts himself from the twisted blanket and tiptoes out into the hall. Only now does it occur to him he should have offered to keep watch while Yue slept, or at least inspected the room and the area before he let himself fall unconscious, but it’s Toph. How could he not trust her? 

While he doubts that any version of Toph would ever intentionally harm innocents, a small, frightened part of Zuko wonders if this Toph, a more calloused, roughened Toph, would be fine to take their money and run. 

He’d rather not think of that. 

In the kitchen, someone is scrubbing a pot. Zuko freezes; should he have left the room?

“Are you with Toph?” says the person at the sink and, now Zuko has a moment to take the figure in, he realizes the boy is about their age, maybe a little younger. 

Zuko nods and the boy gestures to a cupboard. 

“There’s some fruit in there. Help yourself for now—dinner is still a few hours away.”

Zuko’s stomach rumbles and he doesn’t wait to take him up on the offer. In the cupboard, there’s not much, but he does grab a ripe mandarin. Zuko sits at the table and works the peel open with his fingers. “It’s past midday, then?”

The boy nods. “You’ve been asleep for a few hours.”

The orange is ripe and sweet. Zuko eats half and saves the other half for Yue, whenever she finally wakes.

“So,” Zuko says slowly, eyeing the boy who hasn’t looked up from his dishes. His dark brown hair hangs free around his shoulders and his shirt is simple but much newer looking than anything Zuko’s used to seeing around here. “I’m Lee, by the way.”

The boy looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Hi Lee,” he says and turns back to his work without introducing himself. 

Zuko presses his lips together. He doesn’t seem much in the mood for conversation, but his curiosity wins out. “How do you know Toph?”

The boy sighs, sets down a pan, and turns while drying his hands on a towel. “Ji-Hoon, who runs the shop, he runs a boarding house here. Takes us in in exchange for help in the shop and the fields.”

Zuko nods along. “And the room I was in…?” Taking in teenagers, young adults is one thing, but surely the man didn’t put kids to work?

The boy snorts. “His ex-wife and two children live in the middle ring. Kids come to visit sometimes.”

“Right,” Zuko mutters and turns away, his face warm. “Wait, is Ji-Hoon a farmer then or is he from the middle ring?”

“The middle ring,” the boy says. “His father was a trader throughout the Earth Kingdom before things got strict. But Ji-Hoon keeps the business going if you know what I mean.” He winks.

It makes sense, Zuko supposes. What place would be better than this to move people out of Ba Sing Se and smuggle products in?

“He’s a good man,” the boy says, almost defensively. “He takes good care of us. He’s doing what he needs to do to make a living.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” Zuko replies, although he’s not entirely sure about that. Ji-Hoon clearly has no problem with Toph taking an arm and a leg to move people in and out of the city, and charging as much as an inn just for a nap and some food. But Toph is just as much a part of it as anyone else. 

Time passes in a quiet sort of comfortable way. Yue wakes up not much later and, not long after, the boy (who easily introduces himself to Yue and takes extra care to dot on her) makes them some rice and curried meat for dinner. Zuko doesn’t miss the way he slips an extra scoop of food to Yue. Even though she’s not really his wife, even though he’s not interested in Yue that way in the slightest, Zuko still clicks his tongue and frowns at it all. As it is, they’re in a vulnerable position. The last thing he needs is someone coming in and making it more difficult for them. 

Yue, as always, takes everything with grace. She smiles and nods cooly but still politely. 

Zuko can’t help but roll his eyes. 

The food isn’t incredible, but it’s filling at the very least, and that’s all he can ask for right now. Who knows how long it will be before they get a proper meal again? 

Before he knows it, though, the sun starts to set. 

Another couple arrives at the house. Zuko expected them to be similar in age to Yue and him, but they’re not. No—they look old enough to have children his age. Everyone wants out, he supposes, everyone wants out for one reason or another. 

Not long after the couple arrives, Toph and Ji-Hoon come in for the shop. Toph scarfs down her portion with all the grace she usually possesses and it takes everything in Zuko not to let out a snort. The couple keeps whispering to each other, but aside from a few pleasantries, they say nothing to Zuko and Yue. Just as well, if Zuko’s being honest. He doesn’t have it in him to chat away and they’re all nervous enough (well, maybe minus Toph). 

When Toph finishes her bowl, the sun is down. Blue twilight paints the sky. She wipes her mouth on the back of her sleeve and looks up. Her face splits into a grin. “Well,” she says. “Are you ready or what?”

Huddled together in a small group, they walk toward the wall. It takes longer than Zuko expects; the behemoth grows larger and larger until they’re completely underneath. They lose the last murky sunlight and even the lamps from the farmhouses fade until they’re nothing more than pinpricks, like lightning bugs, on the horizon. Wind rustles the grasses and stalks in the fields but the world out here is still, still and quiet. It’s been much too long since Zuko heard proper silence and now it threatens to drown him. How can nothing consume him like this? 

He shivers. A few stars poke out in the sky. Much, much further in the distance, he can make out the hub of lights that is the city-propper in the lower ring. From afar, where he can’t see the crowding and crime and corruption, it’s almost beautiful. A little ring of lights, huddled together in spite of everything. In spite of the war and destruction, the people still remain. They’re in their homes, falling asleep next to their lovers. Or eating with friends, talking with family. Somewhere, Bora’s there, trying to finish her calculations. The resistance is gathering. 

From outside of it all, it really doesn’t feel so hopeless. 

“Alright,” Toph says when they’re finally a stone’s throw from the base of the wall. She claps her hands together. “It’s not far underground and I’d tell you to stay with me, but that really doesn’t matter since there’s nowhere else that you could possibly go.” 

She laughs at her own joke and the ground rumbles underneath their feet. The reverberations echo in Zuko’s core. A hole, slim and narrow enough for one person, opens before them and Toph steps down into the darkness. 

“Wait,” the woman from the other couple says, “don’t you have a lantern?”

Zuko hopes so too. Even though there’s not much light out here, at least they have the stars and a city in the distance and a cool breeze. Down there? It’s going to be black as death and hot as hell. The thought of those narrow walls around him and nowhere to go but forward sends a wave of panic up. 

“What? You can’t handle not being able to see?” Toph crosses her arms over her chest. 

The woman shoots a look at her husband. His face, too, is sunken and pale. Undoubtedly, Toph can feel the panic in their heartbeats. 

“If you can’t handle it,” she says, “you turn back now. Okay?” 

They stare at each other. Zuko understands their fear, their hesitation. He really does. 

“We’ve come so far,” the woman finally says, “we’re not turning back now.” The look on her face is anything but convincing. 

“Good,” Toph grumbles and without looking back, they start down the slope into utter darkness.

Zuko was right to be worried. He can’t see a thing, not even his hand in front of his face. The air is stale and muggy down here. None of them speak; they just shuffle forward. Zuko keeps his hands braced against the sides of the walls—logically, he knows Toph is keeping the path clear, but his brain can’t fool his heart into not feeling fear. Especially not when Toph is simultaneously opening the tunnel ahead and closing the path behind them as they move, giving them only a short span of space. 

Behind him, he’s fairly certain from the soft rumbling that Yue has one hand on the wall too. Her other hand clings to the hem of his shirt. 

Zuko’s gratefully for it. They’re tethered together, even in such a small way. They won’t lose each other in the dark. 

Behind Yue is the couple, though Zuko’s not entirely certain of their order. No one says anything. Laboured breaths and the echo of footfalls fills the tunnel. 

And leading the way, Zuko can feel Toph moving along as if she’s out for a Sunday stroll. Which, Zuko thinks, probably is about the same for her as this. If anything, she’s probably more comfortable down in the guts of the earth like this. No loud noises or other people or strange smells to distract her. Just Toph and her little world of dirt. 

They keep moving forward. It feels like ages, but Zuko knows it can’t be that long. Judging distance is hard, especially since he can’t be certain how thick the wall is, but all in all, he estimates they don’t have to go very far underground. They are moving slower than normal, though, but even at that, he can’t imagine they’d need to walk much more than half an hour in darkness. 

“You all alive back there?” Toph calls, her voice dripping in amusement. “It’s pretty damn quiet.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. He’d like nothing more than to bop her arm and tell her off for indulging in the joke, all while letting her have it at the same time. But this isn’t his Toph, so he simply says, “I’m fine.”

A chorus of agreement comes from behind him. 

It’s Zuko’s turn to almost laugh. The whole thing is so absurd. How can any of them be ‘fine’? They’re walking out of a city in a pitch-black tunnel, led by a sixteen-year-old smuggler to who they paid an arm and a leg. Behind them is an overcrowded city under strict control; ahead of them is a burnt husk of a world, an endless wasteland.

But, yes, he is fine in spite of it all. 

Somehow, Zuko thinks, people find a way to survive. They find a way to push ahead, to carve a trail, to come out on the other side of hell despite the depths of it. Not perfect, never perfect, maybe there’s not even such a thing as perfect, but they come out of it all the same. 

Zuko turns the thought over in his mind. 

And as the ground begins to ripple, as Toph calls for them to stop, as the earth starts to shake loose above his head, a brief thought crosses through Zuko’s find before he jumps into action: he jinxed it all by daring to hope. 

Everything happens so fast and the world is so dark that Zuko struggles to make sense of it all. 

One moment, they’re moving smoothly along. 

The next, the world is crumbling. 

“I said stop!” Toph screams back at them again. 

Zuko raises his hands over his head to protect himself from falling dirt. Yue huddles closer, but her hand on the hem of his tunic stays firmly in place. “None of us are moving,” Zuko says. 

And it’s true, they’re not. How could any of them make the earth move anyway?
“Shit,” Toph yells, “shit. Shit. Fuck.” With a grunt, the earth steadies. 

“What’s going on?” the man calls. He’s in the very back of it all, Zuko realizes with a frown. 

Zuko thinks he knows. And, judging by the way Yue’s grip around his shirt has shifted from something to loosely guide her to a desperate hold onto a lifeline, Zuko bets she’s figured it out too. 

They were stupid to think they weren’t being followed.

Bora told them not to stop at their apartment before leaving. Zuko had scouted the area. He didn’t think they were followed. But they must’ve been. 

What did that mean for Bora, too? 

Panic sears across Zuko’s mind, but he can’t afford to give in to the oblivion of distress, not now. Now, he needs to fight. 

“Toph! Give us more room!” The rattle of the ground echoes in his ears and drowns his voice. “TOPH!”

“I got it!” she snaps back. “Don’t distract me.” 

If they’re stuck like this, all in a row so narrow they can barely turn, they stand no chance.  

Again, the whole earth rattles as if giants are fighting above their heads. Out of the blackness, dirt crumbles away from the top of the tunnel and rains over Zuko, coating his hair and even sticking to his lips. He braces his hands against the walls as if that would somehow steady him, but there is nothing to grip except soil.

The older couple shrieks and the next thing Zuko knows, the weight of Yue is pressing into him and sending him toward the ground. 

“Calm down,” Yue yells back to them, but it’s too late—they’re trying to push forward, to get closer to Toph. 

There’s not enough room. No one could pass each other in a tunnel like this; Zuko can barely manage a half a step forward before the force of it becomes too much. 

His chin meets the ground and his teeth snap together, catching his tongue in between the clatter. The weight of Yue and the couple presses him even deeper to the ground and pushes the air out of his lungs.

Yue tries to calm them. Her smooth voice is a mantra, repeating over and over again that everything is under control, the couple only needs to stand up. 

But the earth keeps shaking. Toph is grunting with effort. 

Zuko can’t even count anymore the number of times he’s been inches from death. If this is the one that sticks, he thinks, at least he’s already six feet under. 

“We’ll get through this,” Yue says, muffled and between raspy breaths. Her weight is pressing him down, into the dirt, and at the same time, she’s trying to push herself back up onto her feet. 

Zuko doesn’t know who she’s speaking to. 

“There’s a whole world out there,” Yue says. “Are you—” she tries to breathe and lets out a sputtering cough— “are you going to let it go that easy?”

Damn it, Zuko thinks. Damn it all. He’s tired and hungry and now poor to boot, stuck underground, with literally nowhere to go. He can’t even unpin his hands from under his body. The earth around them is about to collapse. 

But out there there’s a city of warm lights surrounded by walls that nearly graze the sky. There’s an ice palace in the north and a village that’s still there, despite how many times someone tried to flatten them out and, on top of that, their queen is out here, just as poor and dirty and tired as him to save her people.

And down in the south, no one knows what’s going on. There could be everything; there could be nothing. But Zuko’s got a tin in his pocket that holds a paper full of mathematics that makes Zuko’s brain burn and no one— no one —is going to get it there if it’s not for him and Yue. 

So, right now, Zuko doesn’t have the luxury of defeat. Even if he did, he’s beginning to think he might not welcome it. 

“TOPH,” he calls. As the air leaves his lungs, it becomes more clear that he won’t be able to make the space to take any more in. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS ALONE.” His lungs burn and ache. If he could see anything besides tar-black, he’s certain it would be swimming. “GIVE. US. ROOM.” 

Toph doesn’t say anything. 

But, through the darkness and quaking earth, a small whimper comes. 

And Zuko can finally breathe again. 

The space around them opens, no longer a narrow tunnel but a small landing. The pile of weight from everyone falling forward isn’t pressed just against Zuko—the couple roll off and Yue, too, slides off and collapses next to him on the ground, panting and coughing. 

A hacking cough escapes Zuko’s lungs and the air is damp and warm but at least his chest can expand again, even if there is a startling jolt of pain in his right side. In the darkness, Zuko presses his hand to his side. He winces. The spot is painfully tender, surely bruised, and more likely than not broken. 

But at least he has space to move. His heart thundering and mind narrow, he jumps to his feet and pushes the flares of pain aside. He hauls Yue up too, both of them awkwardly grasping in the darkness. 

For a moment, Zuko thinks they’re alright. They’ve gotten back on their feet. They’re regrouping. They can escape. 

But between one second and the next, the ground rumbles and the earth shatters away and a flood of lamplight washes into the tunnel. Zuko’s eyes burn—especially his left, which has always been sensitive. He winces and turns. 

Behind him, Toph lets out a cry. 

More dirt cascades down. Zuko lifts his hand above his eyes to shield himself from the light. 

The Dai Li are here. 

Fear and panic flash across the older couple’s faces. 

“RUN,” Zuko yells to them, but it’s too late. In the back as they are, they’re the first people the Dai Li reach. 

There must be ten, maybe a dozen Dia Li, all in black and shifting the earth around their bodies. Before Zuko or Yue or Toph can react, the couple is gone behind a slab of stone—tucked into the hands of the Dai Li. 

No. Dread, like a stone, weighs down in Zuko’s stomach. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This was their ticket out. Their chance to move forward. And they were so, so close. 

Mentally, Zuko runs through a plan to get the couple back. If he could get Toph to cut them all off, maybe Zuko could take the Dai Li and—

The ground shifts again, knocking Zuko off balance. At least he can see this time; he doesn’t completely fall on his ass, but he is sent to his knees. 

This time, though, the movement isn’t coming from the direction of the city. It’s coming from Toph. 

It takes Zuko a painfully long time to realize that this isn’t a grand plan she’s starting to save them all. 

Toph is running away. 

She’s running away and leaving the rest of them behind to save herself. “TOPH!” Zuko swears and grabs Yue’s hand and starts to run as fast as he can in her direction. If they lose Toph, they’re really, completely fucked. “Toph—don’t you dare leave us here,” he calls. 

The one advantage they have over the Dai Li is darkness. The Dai Li need light and space to work as a team but in the narrow path Toph carves and closes up, there isn’t much of either. 

Once more, the world narrows as Toph pinches the earth closed behind them. It’s messier this time, with dirt and loose soil raining down as she works. As fast as she can close it up, the Dai Li tear it open once more. They’ve pinned down their location now and Zuko suspects that Toph is directing more of her energy into opening an escape route rather than holding them off.

A deep rattle tears through the cavern. Rocks tumble free from above and, ahead of him, Toph’s gait changes. Did she stumble? She couldn’t have—

“Zuko!” Yue screams from behind him. Light tears across their world. 

Zuko glances back and the images hit him in succession: Yue’s face, streaked with dirt and terror; the earth ripping apart at the seams and being thrown back; a dozen men clad in black, narrowing in on them.

“DUCK,” he yells to Yue and, immediately, she does. She pushes herself forward and folds herself down and Zuko plants his feet firm. He sticks out his hands. 

Fire reigns free. 

Enclosed like this, the hot backdraft of his flames wash over his skin and push back his short hair. Next to him, Yue scrambles around and jumps back up. He can’t see her, he can only hold the flame, but her footsteps move toward where he thinks Toph must’ve stumbled. 

The Dai Li yell. They’re panicked. They try to gather, try to shift the earth, but they weren’t expecting this—Zuko’s thrown their whole plan into disarray. 

He grits his teeth and lets out another torrent of fire. Come on, he thinks and prays his plan will work. 

A bump, like a wave, rises in the ground and pushes him back. Zuko digs his heels in further. Come on. 

Toph yells. Stone wraps around Zuko’s feet and steadies him even more. He keeps his hands steady and tugs on his inner flame. 

After so long without it, using his fire feels like breathing once more. How could he have ever believed this wasn’t his to use? It’s as much a part of his body as his fingers, his eyes, his lungs.

Come on. Zuko narrows his gaze. He is also, unfortunately, out of practice and tired and stressed. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold it. 

And then it happens. The Dai Li, in their panic, try to close him off with a wall of dirt and stone. 

Zuko turns it molten.

The ground turns into liquid sludge and spreads out, in a puddle all around them. It’s not earth. It’s not fire. It’s something in between. Most importantly, the Dai Li can’t bend it. 

Zuko stops his fire. His lungs and ribs and head ache. He draws in a breath and the acrid smell fills his nose.

“Toph,” he says and glances back. Yue’s holding her up, one arm draped over her shoulder. “We need to move this—the magma—together. Can you do that?”

Toph’s face is ashen—both figuratively and literally. “I’m more worried if you can keep up with me,” she spits back and in spite of everything, Zuko nearly laughs.  

“We need to keep it around us. Like a—a dome,” Zuko desperately explains, “it’ll keep us safe until we get to the other side.”

Toph nods, shrugs Yue off, and raises her hands. 

Together, they pull the magma around them. The heat is nearly unbearable. 

But Toph’s face scrunches up and they’re moving once again. Zuko’s seen her do this before—she’s pushing the earth forward and away at the same time, sending them along at a breakneck speed. 

She really is the best Earthbender in the world, Zuko thinks. Bar-none. 

The tremors stop and give way to smooth movement. It doesn’t take long, only a few minutes, before Toph turns to him and says: “Up.”

Zuko bends the fire in the magma upward as they rise. 

“You can let it go,” Toph says. 

On the count of three, Zuko does. 

The magma—or is it lava?—explodes away from them and cool air washes over them once again. Zuko blinks. There are stars above them and trees ahead. Grass swaying in the night. Crickets chirping. 

Yue looks at him, her mouth parted and shoulders heaving. She wipes a strand of hair away from her face. 

Toph carries them forward, further into the trees on a platform of dirt. The world whirls past, on and on. Wind whips through Zuko's short hair and the trees shift past so fast it sends a wave of nausea through his stomach when he tries to find a fixed spot to look at. 

Eventually, finally, they roll to a stop in a dark thicket. Trees blot out the stars. Everything is silent, eerily so. 

Toph is panting. Her hands rest on her knees and her head hangs forward. 

“Should we keep going?” Yue asks. 

Toph shakes her head. “They won't go this far from the walls.”

Zuko swallows and nods. That makes sense. If there’s no war, no problems on the outside, why should the Dai Lee care what happens? 

But that doesn’t make any sense, he thinks. “Wait, but then why did they try and stop us from leaving—”

Zuko doesn’t even get to finish his question before Toph straightens up, turns to him, and slugs him across the face. 

She always did have a hell of a right hook.