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Chapter Text

“For his transgressions against the Firelord, Prince Zuko will be banished.”

“His banishment may be lifted if he finds the Avatar.”

‘Are you out of your mind?’ Iroh thought to himself, fighting the urge to scream and roar at his brother. Restraining his hands from reaching out and inflicting the same pain, the same torture his brother inflicted on his own child, was increasingly difficult. How did he and Ozai even come from the same individual? What went wrong for this sickening excuse of a human being to do such unspeakable acts to his own kid? How could the all-loving Agni bless a monster that even Koh wouldn’t dare to steal the face of ? Yet, even as his mind was swarmed with these bitter questions and insults, he knew the answers. In this family, he was the anomaly. Zuko was an anomaly. Azula was an anomaly. 

The child was merely thirteen years old, thirteen and barely coherent enough to understand the weight of his sentence. Having visited the patient in question, he knew that Zuko did not even have the energy to pack his own belongings. That task was delegated to his maids. All the boy could do was groan in the confines of his rickety bed. So completely disoriented by the magnitude of his agony and the medicine provided that his eye - the unharmed one untouched by that vulture’s fiery touch - frantically shook in its socket, darting from side to side, from nurse to nurse. Paroxysms of pure unadulterated fear were stark in its paranoid gaze. The doctors quickly learned to not stare back. Whatever volatile feelings stirred inside Zuko amplified. Outbursts of terror racked through the boy’s small form. Sedatives pumped into a child who should've been laughing with his sister, rather than lying on a hospital bed, containing more drugs than food. Zuko could not even shed rightful tears since those salty drops of water only intensified his suffering and his screams. Every high pitched wail stabbed him in the heart, a reminder of who he had failed. With every whimper and half-stifled sob, he was back in Ba Sing Sei and just learning about his son’s death. 

Iroh already lost one son, and now he was to mourn another. 

Why did he let Zuko into the war chamber? Why did he not mutter reassurances that Zuko was enough and did not need to partake in it? 

Why, when his thirteen year old nephew was shrieking from the way fire was gnawing off his skin, did he simply just turn away? An absolute coward, incapable of doing anything but twisting his head away from the tragedy he caused. 

Monster. 

Now, his second son was to be sent away from everything he knew, from everyone he loved. 

To chase a legend, a figure no one had seen for a hundred years. Did Ozai’s cruelty know no bounds, to give his impressionable son false hope? An insincere promise of love, of redemption? Zuko, who still looked up at him with hope and naivety that things would get better. How would he be able to cope with it all? 

The foul tyrant had even restricted him from following his nephew on his journey, proclaiming that he best be in the palace doing more useful stuff for his nation than pampering a pathetic banished Prince. Watching the tragedy unfold in slow motion was a new kind of torture: maids paced up and down the children’s hallway, packing away any memory of Zuko. Slowly wiping his existence from the palace as if they were scrubbing away a particularly stubborn stain on clean marble floors. Lugging his second child’s belongings and trinkets onto a contraption that barely deserved to be called a boat.

If an object could be at death’s door, the floating hunk of metal would be first in line - wheezing and whining under its own weight. The elderly prince winced as rust gnawed restlessly on the boat’s exterior, consuming whatever pristine metal remained with apparent gusto. Grating wails within the bowels of the boat, faltering hums of the engine and worrying clattering of the layers of metals haphazardly bolted onto the vessel culminated together in a cacophony of tumult and chaos. The commotion was sure to interrupt any sleep Zuko would have any possibility of getting - if it didn’t drive him mad first. 

Perhaps if the problem only resided on the quality of the boat, his worry wouldn’t be so great. 

Yet, the quality of the crew themselves was somehow worse: the group of people selected were a seething cesspool of traitors and criminals (though perhaps in his all-consuming panic he was being a bit harsh), that were discharged from their previous instalments for reasons that ranged from incompetence to helping the enemy to attempted or successful murder of their superiors. Zuko wouldn’t last a day, and maybe that was the point. Since the injury and the almost fatal infection somehow failed to kill him, Ozai decided to send him to die. Like shoving a helpless mouse-deer in front of a pack of wolves to get them to tear it apart. And if Zuko managed to survive the mutinies, it wasn’t as if a Fire Nation ship would be able to stop anywhere without being pillaged.

He would be all alone - helpless, friendless, weak. 

And Iroh, a Prince, a general whose name struck fear and trepidation into the souls of his opponents, was almost completely powerless to do something about it.

It was clipping the wings of a turtledove, then kicking it out of its nest to the wild forest below - expecting it to fall unceremoniously and tragically to its death.

Chapter Text

“Simply place any suitable clothing and items into this container and then leave it closed to be collected.” Akia’s supervisor instructed her and the others in her typical dreary tone, before leaving the chamber promptly to deal with other issues.

With faces that betrayed none of their confusion and intrigue, the three nodded in acknowledgement and began their task. Opening cupboards, meticulously removing articles of clothing and folding them into neat and compressed piles in their designated spot. The majority of the girls had the privilege (though that was definitely up for debate) of being in their current position for multiple years now, so all their curiosity about the prince and his room was tightly reigned in and cast aside in their minds. 

Better voiceless than dead. 

Better uninterested than crazed. 

When their impulsive thoughts to investigate grew too strong, they repeated in their wavering mind the infamous phrase that circulated through staff like a contagious disease: ‘Remember Kiko’. That poor maid, so utterly engulfed with pity, intrigue and paranoia that she was now an outsider. An uncomfortable shell of her former self, a ghost that drifted along the sidelines. With a thin pinched mouth seemingly sewn shut from the lack of sounds and words coming from it and white canvas where no happiness, joy, excitement or any variation of emotion that gave life meaning was ever painted. People whispered that the only reason she still wandered the corridors was the fact that she could still complete her job to some level of competency. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t punished for her inability to act as a dutiful puppet instead of a human. Whatever stripped her of her individuality, her life and personality hung over the remaining staff like a poorly concealed warning. Though, was it even meant to be veiled? Anybody could see the subtext.

This is what happens when you step out of line. 

Perhaps that was the true reason she was still there. A physical example of what happens to those with any remaining hope and humanity left inside them. A message that said ‘See this young girl? See what we did to her?’ and ‘We’ll do the same to you if you even think to do the same’. It worked, for the most part. Because although fear is a great motivator and tool for control, the power it exerts is relative to the person. Some forces can be greater than fear. And never forget, that to rule with fear is the most dangerous way to rule. Fear does not mean respect, it does not mean loyalty. It means that as soon as you show any display of weakness, the uneasy sheep you ruled over will turn into wolves, and tear you apart. Limb by limb. But for now, the fear holds strong. 

So the maid’s eyes steadily trained on the fabrics in their hands and the various small trinkets they were ordered to organise - never flickering even for a second to the surroundings. Such professionalism was ingrained hard into the very souls of these workers. Patriotism and the necessity to make ends meet regularly battled with the need for freedom and basic human rights with a large number of the employed individuals, but what could be done? The war required funds, and so most money produced was funnelled into the military - leaving little in the struggling leathery hands of the poor while filling the fat pockets of the rich. Shining illusions of a capable and prospering city remained in Caldera, the neat roads smooth and free of debris and rubble, the blooming trees filling the air with a sickly sweet aroma. But all the illusions in the world couldn’t hide the way light rays strayed away to avoid the depths of the alleys that slithered within the city, afraid of what horrors they would reveal huddling in the darkness. 

There were ample cracks in this porcelain facade. Cracks that a great portion of individuals could see, could comment on- but never spoke about, never uttered unless in total secrecy with those they trusted the most. What could they do with a both metaphorical and physical hand keeping them from accomplishing anything about it? So the girls who valued their jobs and lives and families bit their tongues and kept those dastardly treasonous thoughts to the very depths of their brains, the revolting bowels of the mind where the darkness whispers for vengeance and revolution. 

Except for Akia. 

Recruited a mere five months ago, the manners and expectations that were needed for all personnel had yet to be fully absorbed by the young woman. Her friendliness, bubbliness and little remaining innocence had yet to be entirely extinguished by the cold reality that was the royal family. In fact, unlike the other two women beside her, she had actually interacted with the young prince before. Spoken with him, in fact, regarding her brother’s memorial service and her distraught face after being unable to attend the event. For those moments, she had forgotten that she was speaking to a prince, one of the most influential figures in the whole nation, who could control her life with only a few words and gestures. For those few moments, he felt like a friend. How could she complain about her job to such a person? However, instead of the yells and consequent firing she expected, he patted her back in a show of comfort and murmured to her a ‘sorry for your loss’. That ‘from what you told me, it sounds like he was a great person and a treasure to this nation’. A whirlwind of astonishment and amazement kept her rooted to the ground, mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as her jaw lost all tension and fell lax open. 

After their brief interaction, they had become more acquainted and Akia had gotten the rare opportunity to learn a few things about the prince. 

1. He loved turtleducks. If Akia was asked to count the number of times she had been asked to fetch the boy from the turtleduck pond, she would fail. Either he would be shyly feeding the little menaces bits of bread, watching them in amusement as they played tug of war with a piece he forgot to properly break up, or he would be peacefully meditating under the tree looming over the pond. Strangely enough, her presence never caught him by surprise. Even with his eyes closed in his meditation, he would immediately open them the moment she appeared in the garden. No shock, astonishment, not even the slightest flinch or widening of eyes. It became kind of a passive game, seeing how quiet she could get her steps in hopes of actually startling him one of those days. She never won. 
2. He was sympathetic. Kind. Courteous in a way the majority of the royals weren’t. Saying please and thank you while others just barked orders to the staff as if they were well oiled machines created for the sole purpose of serving them. To many people’s horror (not hers though, she was an extrovert) , he was actually a bit of a chatterbox if you got to know him. Prince Zuko liked to natter off about things he learned to anybody that listened, and ask personal questions to those around him in his quest for friendship. Akia, after the initial incident, was asked about her birthday, if she had any other siblings and ‘if she wasn’t a maid, what would she like to be?’. Some questions were left unanswered, but Akia's unfortunate habit of just rambling on when requested sometimes got the best of her. So that was how one of the most powerful people in the whole nation found out that her birthday was on August 14th. 
3. He adored reading. If Prince Zuko was not training with whoever he was at the time, in lessons or sleeping, he had his face buried in a book in a small nook. Most of the time, Akia could not make out the cover - but she sensed that even the people of higher status had that inane human curiosity to seek out the forbidden. She could keep a secret. She would not tell. Whatever he muttered under his breath was too quick for the ear to hear anyway, and (no offence to the young princling) bored her instantly. 

If only she had the chance to know him better before he got banished. In hushed whispers in the darkest, most secluded corners of the palace, the staff murmured theories and rumours about the reasoning behind his banishment. Some exclaimed ‘treason!’ with frankly unearned confidence, some proclaimed that the prince’s punishment was none of their business and held their snooty noses high in conceited disdain (as if they didn’t ask the question first with a thirst akin to a parched man asking for water). Others, who were few and far between, explained shakily that the prince had protested against some inhumane military decision and then was burned by the Firelord for his transgressions. Everyone else sharply protested at this barbaric theory.

“The Firelord would never harm his own son!”

Yet this Firelord, and the ones before him, were responsible for the harm and deaths of many children, mothers and fathers. Was it so much of a stretch for them to harm their own?

And weren’t they witness, time and time again (though he was getting better at hiding it), to the poorly concealed burns on the boy’s arms? Audible wincing when his sister’s playful punches got a bit too close to healing skin, the staggering gait of the prince when he was locked in the ‘practise room’ for too long, glistening eyes that struggled to reign in the flood with lips bitten raw from his frantic attempts and growing anxiety. Who were they fooling? 

Even the Firelord’s favourite wasn’t exempt from the treatment.

The Firelord would harm anyone, step on anyone to elevate his own status and power. 

No matter the status.

No matter the age.

No matter the identity. 

Everyone failed to see that, and conveniently never really noticed when those who spread that horrifying rumour were never seen again.

“What do you think is the reason?” one of the relentless gossipers would ask Akia - at the time where even vigilance faltered, huddled around in the bowels of the palace. In those moments of rumour exchanging, faces would sparkle greedily for new information and mouths would open for hundreds of deceitful words to pour out in momentous heaps. Not a flash of remorse was given in that group for whoever the victim was in the given scenarios. Except a poorly executed ‘oh, that poor soul’ in a such completely flat and insincere tone that even the directors of Ember Island Plays would cringe. A mere thirteen year old was being banished. Stripped harshly from the only world he ever knew, thrust on a ship full of traitors and murderers who patiently waited for their chance for revenge. How completely shunned were they of Agni’s light that they so readily insulted the honour of a kid?

But what could she do, except remain silent?

As completely heinous as some of the individuals were, vultures picking off the rotted remains of whatever peculiar scene or scandal occurred, they were her coworkers. The only people she could really talk to in the crushing void of this Agni damned job. She didn’t have a mother to vent her troubles to, a sister or brother (not anymore) to quietly whisper forbidden rumours or friends to comfort her when the pressure got too much. Not even a boyfriend, to the judgemental horror of her ‘friends’. All of her remaining extended family were only seen at memorial services, and it wasn’t like she was close enough to any of them beyond a simple ‘how are you?’ and a standard comment on the weather. 

Returning to a house - not a home, for it didn’t provide the comfort and warmth that such a place required - completely lacking in everything should give the shithole even a spark of life was hell enough. 

Whatever variation of friendship she could get was good enough. Whatever joyful smile and arm thrown over her shoulder in comradery was good enough. Even if she was certain that the moment they calculated she was far enough, she was the subject of the scornful insults.

She would take what she could get.

‘But how about Prince Zuko?’ a small voice in the back of her mind lamented. ‘ Is he not your friend too?’

‘Does he not talk to you about your own interests, and treat you better than all the others combined?’ 

‘Shut up,’ she longed to shriek out at the naive whimpering in her head. ‘You can’t be friends with a Prince. We aren’t friends. We are simply acquaintances.’

Trapped in her tumultuous thoughts, she paused in her work. Hands suspended in the air, loosely gripping the soft fabric of clothes that drooped down towards the floor like empty husks that would never be worn again. Bronze eyes stared at the soft silk sheets on the Prince’s bed, completely blank as they failed to register a pale slender hand wave in front of her face until the impatient fingers flicked her forehead. Shock and pain brought her back into reality, as well as a shrill prattle her ears were unconsciously keeping out. It was a special kind of voice, one everyone who has ever lived would be aware of: a voice that only needs to utter a single sentence, a single word to bring your blood to a boil, cause your lips to purse and for your brain to think ‘oh shit, not them again’. For you it might be an infuriating colleague continuously prattling about their own issues as if you are their unpaid therapist. For your mother it may be an aunt who just can’t stop criticising her character and parenting. For a friend, it might be an overly friendly neighbour unable to mind their own bloody business. 

“Akia!” Zoku exclaimed, snapping her knobbly digits in repeated annoying succession directly in front of her eyes. “By Agni, stop your insufferable slacking and get on with your work.”

“You’re insufferable,” Akia longed to reply, if she didn’t value the flow of money her job produced. 

Instead, she did as she was told, if stopping briefly to rub at the sore mark the offending flick had definitely left on her sensitive skin. That would be there a while, and she internally cursed the simpering snobby bitch as she continued folding clothes into organised flat squares. 

Retrieve, fold, place into bag. 

Retrieve, fold, place into bag. 

Retrieve, fold, place into bag.

Retrieve, fold, place into-

Shit!

A booming thud that indicated a large mass had hit the wooden floor resonated in the chamber. The neat bundle of formal shirts tumbled to the ground alongside her with all the grace of a stumbling chicken-turkey - red and black articles scattering far and wide. Under tables, under the bed, and, oh Agni, directly in front of the queen bitch herself, who cried out as if she had slammed down her firstborn instead of some meagre clothes. 

“Akia!”

Even Eeso, who had been quietly and without pause performing her tasks, winced at the unnecessarily high-pitched scream. 

“I’ve got it,” Akia murmured, crawling on her hands and knees to retrieve the garments and place them on the bed for refolding. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“You should be!” Zoku sneered, not even bothering to help her out - instead simply standing haughtily and watching the girl struggle to reach for a shirt directly next to her foot. 

“These shirts are worth more than your own puny self could make in your entire lifetime !”

Always a joy to others, dear Zoku. 

The last top was located under the prince’s bed, a realm of relative darkness and surprisingly little dust. Only a very light layer of grey was present on the dark wood - that tickled her nose and threatened to make her sneeze and hit her head on the bed above. It clung to her hair, clothes and skin like an old friend, and her features tightened at how dishevelled she was going to look after she came out of the crawlspace: hair wild and free of the carefully and meticulously constructed hairstyle she spent hours perfecting, and uniform artistically decorated with irritating clumps of grime. Faintly, she could make out the outline of the shirt. A long thin arm reached out to grab it, not expecting a throbbing sensation to bloom on her lower arm and an unpleasant auditory assault on her senses of wood squeakily sliding on wood.

Instinctively, she pulled her injured appendage back to assess the damage, once again brushing against the offending object. Α loose plank? With the yellow hue of the lamps not quite reaching enough to illuminate the mystery, Akia reached out carefully with trembling fingers. Eventually, they grazed the familiar cold grooves of wood, pinching around the thin plank. Jostling it slightly in forbidden curiosity. Pushing it completely to the side with as much strength as the lowly stumps could muster, the minute explorers dipped into the little hidden crevice below. 

Shirt completely forgotten in Akia’s excitement and trepidation.

What was in there? What could Prince Zuko be hidi-

“Akia, find the shirt!”

Shit. 

How could she have forgotten where she was? How could she have forgotten the rules for the job? Was this how Kiko felt, greedily seeking for answers and the truth?

In one smooth movement, she wriggled herself a bit further inside, shot out her uninjured arm, grabbed the sleeve of the offending garment and yanked her body out of the area. Uncaring of how she must have looked to the two other girls beside her, who were already folding her other found shirts. Placing down the blouse with her shaking left hand while the other wiped her slightly sweaty face, Akia hardly acknowledged the crude insult that Zoku threw her way. 

How could she nearly jeopardise everything for something like that?

Did ‘Remember Kiko’ mean nothing? 

She needed to mind her own business. 

For both her and the prince’s safety.

So she whispered a garbled ‘sorry’ and continued her work, silent in a way Akia never was before. 

Better uninterested than crazed. 

Better voiceless than dead.

Chapter Text

“Zula.” a croaky voice, like that of a man nearly succumbing to his wounds, murmured. 

It was only one word, just two syllables, yet a shiver snaked down her body, causing all her useless limbs to pathetically twitch. Azula was strong, strong, not weak. Her heart was not thumping harder in her chest, with such increasing frequency that she was surprised it hadn’t freed itself from her ribcage and burst through her chest. Why was she sweating? Why was her mind screaming at her to run far far away and not turn back?

Azula is more powerful than those feeble desires: she would face whoever spoke her name with such familiarity head on! No matter how much her body implored her to do the opposite, fighting with such vigour that it was actually a challenge to assert control, she would face who this was head on. She was Azula, future Crown Princess and was absolutely fearless!

So she stared back.

Even Azula, master of her own element and body, could not prevent the aghast scream that tore through her throat.

Why did she look back? Not even Agni would have been able to look at that sight for more than a mere second!

Flesh, the colour of anger, the colour of stewing magma, bubbled and sagged - skin revoltingly absent from the display. Flashes of luminescent white bone could be seen through the madness, a stark contrast to the calamity around it, and it was creaking. Creaking as it stirred like an unoiled machine, with a sound so completely vile that it sounded as if every move was agony for it.

Yet, the apparent agony it was in didn’t seem to stop it. 

A single eye, unfortunately untouched by whatever cataclysm wreaked havoc on the rest of its form, took in Azula’s form. It bulged in its greedy endeavour, looking as if any greater effort would cause the pressure to be too great and the white organ to burst out of its leaking socket with a vomit-inducing squelch and onto the ground. If eyes were the windows to the soul, this window allowed the child to see the volatile mix of torture and sadness and undeniable sorrow inside it.

“Z-zula, it hurts so much,” the imposter croaked out wetly, a dark crimson liquid dripping from what remained of its lips as it spoke. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Please make it stop.”

“Why didn’t you do anything?”

“I thought you were strong.”

No.

She was strong. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a failure. Clutching her head, the young girl repeated her personal motto and reassurance. Thousands of times it had been ingrained into her that she was special. Unique. Better than everyone for her superior intellect and bending ability. ‘Azula is ahead of her sets’ and ‘Azula passed her all her tests with flying colours’ and ‘Azula can produce blue flames if she puts her mind to it’. All these compliments, all these yes men surrounded her and sung her praises at every turn.  Even Father, a man of few words, would grunt a few carefully chosen words that erred on the side of ‘well done’ occasionally. But with every sirupy word, everyone pushed more and more weight onto her young shoulders. Entire masses that she struggled to balance, struggled to hold without any assistance, since perfectionists don’t need a helping hand. Or rather, they aren’t offered one at all. After all, since you can do it so flawlessly on your own, why would you burden anyone else with trivialities? Perfectionism is a drug, a high that is chased by the passionate and stubborn who are hooked by the glamour and shimmers of the fantasy. Already, the virulent effects of this traitorous need were taking root in her body, her mind. And they did not stop merely at her.

“Azula is an entire set ahead of her age group, while you can’t even produce his own flames.”

“I would say that everyone has their strengths, like Azula, but you, it seems Zuko, are all weaknesses.”

“If only Azula had been born first, then this country wouldn’t have been cursed to have a complete failure like yourself as first born.”

Zuko had always been her biggest victim in her quest to be without faults. To be the strongest. The smartest. The greatest leader of them all. Yet in her goal, her narrow-minded pursuit, she had become the worst sister of them all. 

“Azula…”

The voice was closer now, and Azula could feel the sickening warmth of its breath on the back of her neck. Pungent odours of burning flesh wrapped itself around her head, tearing fragile senses apart and causing her throat to spasm again and again and again. 

“Azula…”

Please, please stop. She didn’t mean to. 

She didn’t mean to.

“Azula…why didn’t you help me?”

“You monster!”

And with those final words, the young girl was wrenched into the world of the living. Sweat stuck locks of hair uncomfortably to her forehead, and the young girl hunched over in the foetal position. Shaking so violently that her damp blanket shook with her, as if it too shared her fear, her anger, her sadness. Wrapping her arms tightly around her legs in an attempt to comfort herself, to ground herself to reality. Tears pooled behind the meagre curtain of free and messy hair strands, causing her vision to become hazy. Murky, with only faint outlines and colours visible. Muffling her heaves, her gasps, her cries behind her hands vice like grip, a thought came to her. 

I should go see Zuko.

Zuko would help like he always has.

But she couldn’t.

Now she was alone.

The worst sister in the world was alone, and maybe that’s how it should be.

Chapter Text

The next day proved just as uncomfortable.

“Zuko,” Azula called out in a sing-song voice, trying so desperately to maintain the facade of normalcy that she hardly noticed when it cracked slightly on the second syllable. “I’m in your room.”

For someone so warm and welcoming, Zuko was in some ways more guarded than her. Despite all his loving sibling talk and reassurance that she could tell him anything, he hardly offered anything of substance to his little sister. While chastising her for building a wall around her heart, he had constructed a castle around his. Entire mountains of stone separated him from the rest of the world. It was commendable, especially for such a complete simpleton who believed that turtleducks were the greatest animal to grace the world. 

But stone doesn’t stand forever.

It can be broken down, eroded by continuous forces up until it crumbles to the ground. So nothing amused Azula more than attempting to barge through his defences. To see what he was hiding with such a frenzy, so keen to shield it from the palace’s eyes that he even kept it from her. Someone she thought would be allowed to know what troubled him, someone who despite everything, did care for her brother. 

‘Did he have this rift with Lu Ten?’ the voice in her mind whispered, gleeful in how her heart faltered in its steady rhythm at the thought. ‘Or is he just like that with you?’ 

‘You monster!’

Like always, the eleven year old shoved those troubling maggots of thoughts in the back of her mind, and continued with her task. Poking at her brother’s belongings while giggling out her misdeeds. Slowly pushing small objects off his desk to clatter onto the floor like an attention seeking cat. Jumping on his neatly made bed till the blankets creased and it creaked slightly under the assault. 

But no one came. Zuko didn’t burst in to yell at her for coming into his room without his consent, or yank his possessions out of her hands with overwhelming force. Zuko didn’t mutter threats he would never carry out as he smoothed out the fabric of his blanket. Zuko didn’t slam open the door to chastise Azula for her inappropriate behaviour and usher her out impatiently while internally cursing at the audacity she so clearly inherited from her father. 

How could he? 

Chortles simmered down to faltering hiccups to uncomfortable silence. She was a prodigy. A genius. Why did she expect things to be normal when they were everything but?

Zuko, confined in a minute cell-like ward, surrounded by nothing but grey stone and looming ceilings like he was in a glorified grave. Zuko, wrapped tightly in blankets, unmoving except for the croaky gasps and heaves that rattled through his lungs as if they were made of paper. Zuko, with an injury that made what remained of her heart ache, that she knew (no matter how much her love for her father protested) he didn’t deserve. A brother with more kindness than he should have for everyone around him, more love than was ever needed for a monster like her, more talent than her father would ever know, didn’t deserve this. 

For one unguarded moment, her balance wavered, and she grabbed onto a nearby poster to rebalance herself. The action failed, and both Azula and the poster crumpled to the ground in a piteous heap. Wrinkling the fragile paper in her clawed fingers further, she rose to her feet. Shame at her lack of control bloomed in her chest, but disappeared just as quickly as it came.

Instead being replaced with confusion.

There were dents in the wall.

Behind the poster she often ridiculed her brother for having so brazenly placed, was a sizable indentation. 

Suspiciously bookshaped.

Carefully, she removed another poster.

Another dent, this time…more candle shaped. 

Azula tore down another poster.

And another. 

And another. 

Dent.

Dent. 

Dent. 

Whether they were little pokes into the not at all fragile material of the wall or entire craters, there were dents. 

With every discovery, her trepidation, anger and dread grew. 

Just what was her brother hiding?

Maybe she should check someplace else. Maybe in his closet. Maybe at his desk. But most likely, under his be-

“Princess Azula!” a wavering voice cried from outside the door. “It is time for your training.”

Said princess cursed under her breath.

For now the young girl made her way over to practise her katas, and made a promise to herself to investigate later. 

After all, whatever was there wasn’t going anywhere.

She would find out sooner or later. 

Returning in the dead of night (when even beasts and evil spirits need to sleep), Azula was able to effortlessly wriggle her body under the bed. Despite the dim light she wielded in her palm, she was easily able to locate the loose plank haphazardly sticking out of the regular pattern of wood. A bit too easily in her opinion. Pulling it carefully to the side - to ensure minimal noise was created - she saw the crevice. A tiny hole where her brother must have kept his secrets hidden. Azula peered inside, her heartbeat increasing so greatly in volume and frequency that she could feel it in her ears. Her trembling fingers became useless blocks of flesh that fumbled and groped around the hidden location. And inside was

Nothing.

Disappointment threatened to explode out of her in waves of merciless violence and shrieks. How could there be nothing? Plunging her hands inside the crevice once again, the heir searched in a frantic state of disbelief and desperation- all the corners, yanking at the base as if there would be a false bottom and all that was kept from her would come to light. How? How? This was a secret place, a literal hole in the ground. How could there be nothing? Sudden erratic spasms of pure frustration caused dust to lodge out and fall unceremoniously into her wrangled hair, embedding itself in her pristine clothes, but she couldn’t care less. She only cared about the truth at that moment. All other thoughts vanished. 

Did someone come here before her?

Ιf so, who?

Why was she always left in the dark?

Chapter Text

It would be rather ironic if  Princess Azula found out that while she didn’t know the truth, a random servant did. In the time between her exit from her brother’s room to her discovery of nothing at the dead of night, a person she had often deemed as unimportant made some important findings. 

Huzu, on her way to complete a mundane chore in the kitchens, had seen the most peculiar thing occur inside Prince Zuko’s bedroom. 

On her initial trip towards the kitchen (as per requests from the queen bitch herself), Huzu was greeted by Prince Iroh - a favourite between the staff for his perfect manners and cordial actions. It was hardly a riveting conversation, simply reciprocating a friendly ‘hello and good morning’ - yet that wasn’t the interesting part, the young woman had murmured to her friends and family after her shift. 

The interesting part was the place Prince Iroh was heading himself.

Prince Zuko’s room.

“But why is that interesting?” Aisazu whined, for once ignoring her book and paying attention to her sister’s words. Of course she would be deaf to the bills and taxes but be all ears for the gossip. 

“It is interesting because Zuko does not currently live inside his room. He is in a special ward to treat an injury he got while firebending.”

“Also, he is banished, so he is leaving the palace soon. I’m fairly certain it’s tomorrow.”

“Maybe he just wanted to help out to pack,” her girlfriend added to the mix, loosely invested in the conversation. “Afterall, the maids probably only packed the essentials, no personal items. Perhaps he just wanted to grab a book or good luck charm for him.”

‘She had a point,’ Huzu thought. ‘But I have yet to finish the story.’

“Yes, that’s a good point, my little firefly-”

“Don’t call me firefly.”

“Oh come on, you love it, my little gorgeous flame, the light of my life, my-”

“Stop being gross and continue with the story!” Aisazu cried, wrinkling her nose and gagging at the revolting display of ew, affection .

“Oh, is my”- Huzu batted her eyelashes, planting a dramatic kiss on Mykah’s flushed cheek, who jokingly tried to pull away - “ sincere love for my girlfriend disgusting you, dear sister of mine?”

“Even if you were kissing the most handsome and gorgeous person in the world, I would still be disgusted,” the offended spat out. “Kissing should be illegal.”

“Well, technically for us , it is illegal,” Mykah sighed. 

“Anyway-”

“So, I saw him walk into Zuko’s room, a little weird but not out of the ordinary.”

“ Hοwever, fast forward thirty minutes when I had finished my task and was heading towards my next destination, passing Zuko’s room yet again.”

“I thought the room was empty, until I heard shuffling from inside, like someone was searching for something.”

“So I just slowed down a little bit, checking to see who it was, security reasons and all-”

“ Huzu!” Mykah exclaimed, slamming a trembling hand down against the table in a deafening bang, mortification painted across her ashen features. “People get in trouble for a lot less than that!”

“Yes, a bit dumb of me, but I saw a flash of grey hair and knew it was Iroh.”

“Then, as I came to my senses and started to walk away - you know ‘out of sight, out of mind’ and ‘Remember Kiko’- I heard sobbing. Proper heaving cries, you know, the ones that cause your entire body to keel over and your heart to shatter completely.”

“Poetic.”

“Go on,” Aisazu beckoned, eyes blazing with excitement and wonder at the forbidden knowledge. “What happened next?”

“So, an hour passed, and my curiosity took the better of me. I took the long way round the palace so I could pass by Prince Zuko’s room again and see if Prince Iroh was still there.”

“And was he there?”

“Surprisingly? Yes.”

“So what was he doing?” Mikah leaned closer to her, anger and fear partially forgotten in her blinding greed for more information. 

“Well, all I could hear was the sound of him ripping paper off a wall, a few jumbled words, then firm footsteps that were preceded by a somewhat muffled thud.”

“Did he fall?” her sister mused to herself, stroking her invisible beard, the dork. 

“Maybe, but after a minute had passed, I made out faint shuffling.” 

“The groaning of wood when you put too great a weight on it. Some shockingly clear curses and some clattering.”

“Hey,” her sister remarked, eyes narrowing in recognition, “that kind of reminds me of when I drop something under my bed and have to go get it,”

“Of course you would know, butterfingers.”

“Screw you.”

“At least I get screwed,” Huzu taunted. 

“ Disgusting.” 

A horrified squawk more in place in a swan’s throat left the older sibling, who was now thinking how she sinned so terribly to not be an only child. 

“Get over here you prude!”

“ Make me!”

“Hey, hey!” Mikah slammed her hand against the table to disrupt the flicking match occurring between the sisters, pulling away her girlfriend’s hand with her left and pinching her cheek with the right. “Break it up!”

An outraged cry and scorned look of betrayal pierced through her. “Don’t pinch my sister, only I’m allowed to pinch her.”

“Oh for Agni’s- just continue with your story, love.”

“Fine.”

“After what I assume was susurrating of fabric against wooden planks and Iroh patting his clothes down-”

“Susurrating? Do you even know what that word means?”

“Patting his clothes?”

“Shut up, I know big words. There was the rustling of paper, a choked gasp, then silence.”

“Pure silence. Like I was certain that he could hear my breaths from outside my room, kind of quiet.”

“By that time, I left in quite a hurry so as to not arouse suspicion of my whereabouts,” Huzu continued choppily, gasping as if she had repeated the task of dashing through hallways and shortcuts to reach her destination. “Luckily, no one suspected a thing.”

“One last time I went back. And that time was the strangest.”

“Prince Iroh burst out of Prince Zuko’s room, knocking into me with quite some force,” Huzu stopped briefly to lift the coarse fabric of her sleeve, revealing a yellow-greenish bruise.“Carrying a notebook in hand with his face completely pale.”

“It was as if he saw a ghost.”

“He murmured some apologies so quickly that I could barely understand their meaning, and dashed down the hallway, completely driven by something.”

“Wait,” Mykah remarked, ever the smart one in their little group. “He entered the room holding nothing and then left carrying a notebook? Was that what he was looking for?”

“You’re right!” How did her mind skip over that detail? Internally beating herself about the complete oversight, the twenty year old curled her hand around her chin not unlike a shrewd detective in a well-known Fire Nation theatrical musical. Thank Agni she had a girlfriend to balance out her stupidity. “But what could’ve been so horrifying to make the freaking Dragon of the West so panicked?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Aisazu declared, drawing invisible circles into the wood of their subpar table. “It’s not like you can ask him.”

Huzu barked out a humourless laugh.

Asking General Iroh, the prince who killed the last dragon, who nearly brought down the wall of Ba Sing Sei, why were you so terrified? 

What an interesting joke. 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“We’re left in the dark.”

Chapter Text

“Prince Iroh!” a stringy voice called out, trepidation filled to the brim in those mere three syllables. 

“What is it?” he murmured absentmindedly. His mind was burdened by the loss of his second child to the psychotic schemes of his brother, and a revelation that still after two days left him reeling. He had found out almost too late, and now he was dealing with the terrible consequences. At least he had a little time to do something, however small it might be. 

“It’s Princess Azula, please come with me.”

Azula?

“Very well.”

Upon arriving at the place of the woman’s distress, he barely had time to take the scene in before two small bodies barrelled into his legs with such a force that he almost fell over. Briefly peering down at their faces, he recognised them as Azula’s friends: Ty Lee and Mai. But the terror in their eyes - how their pupils constricted and seemed to have trouble retaining focus - made him pause. What happened? What could have possibly transpired for the girls to wear the same expressions as traumatised rabbits after escaping a ravenous wolf? Weren’t they playing, supposed to be enjoying themselves and taking advantage of their youth?

Perhaps the answer lay in the form of his niece, who stood alone in the vast garden - the crisp green grass now bearing gruesome black scars that marred its calming appearance. Even the vegetation surrounding the assault on nature seemed to be trembling, as though they feared they might be next. There were no more turtleducks in the pond: the little creatures most likely scurried off in a plethora of terrified quacks and frantic splashing at the first sign of violence. 

Then, there she was. 

Thick locks swayed in the slight breeze in front of Azula’s face, hiding her expression, her motives behind a curtain of dark brown, almost black just like his. Fine strands had rebelliously fled from their constraints, and circled the girl’s head like an ominous halo. Her left hand dangerously sparked with tell-tale flames and the roses, leaves on a nearby tree and bushes shook with greater intensity. Holding their breath as Iroh took in his niece’s demeanour. Near her feet, beads of red, gold and white resided, strangely untouched by the eleven year old’s rampage on the environment around her. Scattered about, playfully hiding behind blades of green and tarnished with clumps of dirt in their brief adventure in the wild. The string from which the small spheres had probably fallen from was firmly secured in Azula’s right hand, which jerked in unexplained anger and rage. No matter how great her wrath must have been, her right hand did not spark, did not smoke or even heat up, remaining cool while its neighbour continued its fiery threats. Such great control was commendable, but the ruthless training from which it was obtained wasn't.

Iroh had seen worse.

“Princess Azula,” he started slowly, aware of the fragility of the situation. “You are worrying your friends and your caretakers immensely, what is the matter? What is wrong?”

A bark roughly escaped from his niece’s throat, more at home in the mouth of an anguished canine than that of a young child’s. 

“Save your concerns, General Iroh, Zuzu is not here anymore.” she spat out with conviction, sneering suspiciously at the elderly man’s upturned eyebrows and pained grimace. A paroxysm of anger bubbling dangerously in her words. “You don’t have to keep on pretending.”

“I know you’d much rather be with him than me.”

“My concerns for you are real, Azula,” he murmured in a smooth soothing voice, syrupy and too sweet, too sweet to cover the overwhelming bitterness of his lies just like hers, just like Mother’s. “I love you both equally.”

“Bullshit.”

“Azula!” 

A shrill laugh echoed in the garden, all other sounds sharply cut off in fear of mixing in with the sound and creating a cacophony of paranoia and resentment. 

“I’m just amused by your ability to have a straight face while saying a complete fabrication,” she observed, looking at her uncle with such intensity that he was sure that she was mentally taking him apart, examining him until she concluded that he was a complete waste of space and time. “For a person so keen to play the role of the ‘lovable and trusted uncle’, you sure do love lying to children.”

“I’m being truthful,” Iroh pleaded, desperate to break through to the young girl so adamantly building walls around herself. 

“Lies!” she screamed, cracking the facade of the calculating shrewd daughter and revealing the grieving and unravelling Azula underneath, who roared out incandescent plumes of fire towards the offending individual. 

“The only reason that you even attempted to approach me, attempted to apologise was because of Zuko. The only reason you invited me to your stupid games and activities was because of Zuko. ”

“ Nothing was of your own accord, and now that he is gone, I am-”

She paused in her impassioned rant, staring into the patch of grass that housed the vividly coloured beads. They twinkled mischievously in the light of her feral flames. They were mocking her. Azula was sure of it. 

After an uneventful day that not even she recognised as her birthday, the six year old lumbered over to her room - tired of the facade, tired of the pressure, just plain tired. When she was not progressing at a rapid pace, or perfecting katas that others her age would struggle at, she got nothing. No praise, no affection, no attention. The only times when her father would even pace near his daughter was when she did something of use to him, something he could use to brag about or elevate his social standing. To feed selectively chosen words and propaganda into the impressionable girl’s ears so she would become more loyal to him, more controllable. Tying the strings onto the puppet’s arms. The only times when her mother would spare a glance Azula’s way was when she was misbehaving, or arguing with her favourite child. Because even though she tried the hardest in everything, being aeons better at firebending and school subjects than her brother, she was always second best to him in their mother’s eyes. Sometimes she couldn’t help but despise him. What did he have that she doesn't?

Then she would be cruelly reminded of what happens when you weren't Father's favourite, and the hatred shrank substantially. 

It was very hard to loathe your sibling when you could hear their distant screams from the training arena. It was difficult to do when your ears couldn’t help but pick up the sobs and pleads behind father’s ‘special room’, and then silence. That absence of sound was always the worst part, since it indicated that your brother had passed out from either the stress or the fear. And the crime your sibling committed for such an inhumane punishment? 

Not being a good enough firebender. 

There was no winning, even for the girl who was the best at everything. 

Shuffling behind her bedroom door stopped her spiralling thoughts, and made her heart begin picking up its pace. Living in a palace with a thousand eyes and ears made her senses finely tuned, aware of every whisper, thud or screech. Gingerly, she placed her ear on the door. Rustling of fabric against wood, obnoxious creaking indicating the presence of a person uncaring of being caught and soft murmuring of curses. She burst open the door, unsympathetic to how it slammed against the wall with pained shrieks and ricocheted back towards her. A surprised yelp exitted the intruder’s mouth. 

Of course it was Zuko.

Her brother visibly relaxed at her appearance like a deflated balloon, then beamed. In his hands was a plate supporting an almost lethal amount of her favourite red bean buns, which threatened to spill off the porcelain and splatter the bright sweet paste on her clean floor. By his knees was a small mass of objects wrapped generously with colourful paper and crudely garnished with red bows. Then, to finish the weird display off, was a card with giant letters surprisingly nicely spelling out ‘Happy Birthday Zula!’ - a tiny figure producing vibrant blue flames under it with a very toothy grin. 

“Happy birthday problem child!”

“If anything that’s you Zuzu,” she sneered, shutting her abused door and taking a seat in front of her brother. “What’s all this?”

“Your birthday surprise.”

“It’s terrible,” she remarked. “Did you have the turtleducks wrap the gifts?”

“Rude.I tried my best.” 

“You should apologise to the people who produced that paper for your crimes.” she snorted, snatching a bun off the plate and gorging herself on it as if she hadn’t eaten in months. “How did you even get these?”

“I asked one of the chefs to make some.”

“Look at you, mister popular.” Azula mocked, snickering at her brother’s offended expression. 

“I can just take these bac-”

The six year old snarled like a feral beast and with greedy fingers yanked the plate towards her - the tower of buns shaking dangerously at the sheer force as they teetered too close to the edge. 

“Agni above, I was joking!” he cried. 

His scandalised pout morphed into a shy smile as the atmosphere became lighter.

“So, I have a few gifts for you.”

“Clearly.”

“Oh for the love of- just open them.”

Azula smirked at the evident annoyance on her brother’s face and reached over the pile of sugary goodness towards the gifts. Each one was about the size of her palm, so grabbing them all in one movement was remarkably easy. Manoeuvring them on to her lap, she took their appearance in full.

Two minute presents, lumpy and poorly concealed, rested innocently on her legs. 

How…quaint.

She ripped open the first one.

And gripped what looked like a discount version of her in plushy form. Azula stared at the imposter’s button eyes, trying her best to convey disapproval and disgust on the outside to conceal the pure joy that bloomed in her chest at seeing a smaller Azula. 

She must have failed since she could feel her brother’s shit eating grin and smug eyes boring into her. 

Gently placing mini her next to her, Azula moved on to the next.

A bracelet - that from its flimsy string and roughly tied knot - was clearly homemade. Beads the colour of sunsets, the colour of clouds and the colour of her signature flames decorated the bracelet, shining blissfully in her bedroom light. 

“I’m not really a jewellery person,” she lamented, her words causing Zuko to slump forward dejectedly like a disappointed puppy.

“I can take it bac-”

“No, it’s mine!” she cried, twisting her hands towards herself and away from her brother as she rapidly shoved the offending garment on her wrist. 

Her action elicited a loud snort from him, and they continued bickering and eating buns - forgetting their problems in that brief time of happiness and contentment. 

Falling to her knees, blaze troublingly disappearing in an instant, pale fingers rapidly plucked the beads up from the ground and into her twitching palm. 

“ I’m all alone.”

If not for his impeccable hearing, he would’ve missed those three words. His heart wouldn’t have shattered at hearing that sentence, so potent in grief and sadness that it seemed to be affecting the wildlife around her - the grass by her feet wilting in kind. 

“Azula, you are not alone.”

“We will get through this together.”

Chapter Text

The floor was shaking.

He was awake, the floor was shaking and this time he was pretty certain that it wasn’t the medication’s fault.

Was he dea-

Pain so potent that he couldn’t help but groan and shake coursed through his body. His eyes stung with the righteous need to cry tears at the torture, but even in his disorientation and suffering, he knew better than to sob. The salty water only made things worse. So much worse. That didn’t mean it was easy to hold back the river threatening to shatter open the floodgates. It felt like his skin was melting off his bones, like molten lava existed in place of his facial tissues - the sensation so vividly similar to burning that he half-expected his nose to be assaulted by the pungent odour of smoke and cooked flesh. Zuko’s throat constricted in response. For a few moments, he was crouched in front of Firelord Ozai, howling as a fiery hand pressed into the curve of his soft face. For a few moments, his eye bored into a soulless pupil - what little remained of the iris seeming like a swirling snake, ready to go in for the kill-  desperately trying to convey his betrayal, his agony to an apathetic being. Then, those moments passed, and all he could see was the black of his eyelids. Fragile eyeballs trembled within the meagre protection of their sockets, too afraid to open their confines lest their greatest fears prove true.The young boy whimpered and gasped and very nearly screamed in his minute cot, damaging his already sore throat with every extra sound. Fortunately and unfortunately the battle in his body was so great he could only twitch in place. 

He wasn’t dead.

Disappointment washed through Zuko at the realisation. Anything was better than this hell of earth he was experiencing. Couldn’t Agni for once in his life show him some sympathy, some kindness he was forced to trudge through? It was that thought, rather than the tingling and prickling on his face, the uncomfortably heat resonating in his skin, the aching of his bones, that made the tears begin. And that act only made him shriek louder - louder than the calamitous bellows of the storm outside, louder than the mournful moans of the engine below him. 

Without warning, rough hands clasped at the bandages on his face, taking them off with precise controlled movements only a professional could perform. The pressure on the ruined flesh got lighter and lighter, until the white restraints were finally lifted - cold air rushing to touch the sensitive injury in a way that caused the young boy to wince. Not a moment later, a concerned hiss joined the cacophony of noises around him, then a quick mutter containing a multitude of curses he had not been privy to. 

That was the first red flag.

Fire Nation palace nurses do not curse. They simply communicate through fast back and forth remarks, containing terminology that made his head spin. They do not say shit or fuck or motherfucker. 

Where was he?

For the first time in a while, Zuko opened his eyes. Or eye, rather, but the mere thought of diving into that minefield caused his heart to soar to his throat, so he focused on the task at hand. Blurry shapes and hues gave way to an unfamiliar view of a metal ceiling, ambiguously coloured stains adorning the crusty surface, a far cry from the dreary plain walls of his previous hospital room (though that description was certainly far too generous to that prison). In the outskirts of his vision, a grey cabinet could be seen, its shelves glaringly empty even from his angle, containing one singular bottle of probably expired medicine. Every now and again, a gloved hand would approach him, applying cool salve to his flaring skin - this time in complete silence. Never once seeing the face of the medic, only glimpsing scarred skin peeking from the fabric of the glove. Once again, panic spread through his body like a virus, the clenching of his stomach and fast - too fast - inhaling and exhaling of his lungs. 

“Shit kid, you’re OK.” A warm pressure rested on his arm, the voice behind it muttering comforts. “You’re gonna be OK.”

That was weird, being placated by genuine words and not just empty promises. By the medic’s confident tone, it seemed that she really believed it.

But Zuko knew she was wrong.

He was not OK, and wouldn’t be for a long time. 

“W-where-” Why was speaking so hard, taking almost all of his energy to spit out just that word? Pathetic.“- am I?”

“You are in a sick bay.”

A sick bay? But that was the term for a hospital on a boat. 

His stomach sank.

The shaking. The cursing. The metal ceiling.

The sick bay.

He was on a ship.

He was banished.

“Does he know?” he asked with all his remaining power, body trembling from the sheer force of the anxiety and paranoia rushing through his veins. What little was left of his vision darkened at the edges. 

Did He know?

Was Zuko going to die?

Did he send him to his death?

“Does he know?” he implored once more, begging for his worst fear not to be true. 

“Does Father know?”

But no one answered, and Zuko fell unconscious once more.

“Does it hurt, doc?”

“Stitching this up?” Ukoza murmured, hands deathly still, tremor free as she manoeuvred the miniscule needle through numb skin, slowly but surely closing the once oozing gap of her unconscious colleague.  “No, he’s unconscious, can’t feel a thing.”

“Thank Agni.”

She scoffed, wrapping the slowly depleting bandages around the freshly done stitches. “Why are you thanking him? I’m the one who bloody carried out this procedure. If you are going to thank anyone, thank me!”

“Yes, thank you, oh so merciful medic.”

“You’re making me blush, shorty.”

“Seriously though”- the young man - just a mere twenty two years old - bowed, hiccupping in his attempts to stop his relieved sobs -“Thank you.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Arisu stammered in response, the fool’s tongue tripping over itself in its haste to deny her claims. Ukoza waved her hand, as if she was shooing away a pesky fly rather than a particularly panicked and annoying lover. “I don’t care who you like, as long as you leave my bloody patients alone to heal. He’s not gonna get better by you staring at him, that’s what the medicine’s for!”

“What medicine?” he sneered, throwing his arm out towards a pathetically depleted cabinet, housing a single measly bundle of bandages. “There’s nothing left.”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

“Who do you think is arguing with General Dickface-”

“Not so loud-”

“-about our rations, our goddamn medicine? Newsflash, it’s me!”

“And he still won’t give us jackshit!”

A gust of sighs escaped her exhaling lungs, and the woman who was far too done with the Fire Nation’s shit, with their bloody patriotism and war and views on profanities (it was how she let out her frustration, damn it!) just let her body collapse onto the rickety crappy chair. Her favourite pain in her arse gazed on, grinding his teeth in a way that made Ukoza wince in sympathy. 

Poor lad. 

He didn’t deserve this. Neither did the idiot in the makeshift hospital bed. Sure, maybe just a generic whack to the head for some common sense, but not a bloody stone to the shin.

She knew who did though.

General Dickface.

Refusing to call him his proper name had been a cathartic experience for her and many of her impressionable comrades, but the small act of secret defiance wasn’t enough anymore. Never in her life had the young woman ever felt such humongous feelings of hatred for a human being. Or urges to drop someone from a cliff. Seeing his poorly structured face (Agni certainly didn’t do him any favours, in that area and the downstairs department if rumours were to be believed) and hearing his simpering voice was enough to cause plumes of fury and disgust to escape her ears. 

It should say something that sometimes, she hated him more than the enemy beyond their camp. 

“Nothing in the head and nothing in the heart equals nothing special at all,” her mother used to warn Ukoza and her siblings when they still had hope and happiness inside them. 

If her mother’s words were to be believed - and she believed them alright - then a pile of reeking bat-dog shit had more value than that arsehole. 

And Ukoza had been in the army long enough to know two things:

• That there are no winners in war.

• That arseholes like him, with no morals or empathy, thrived best here - climbing the social ladder while using soldiers’ corpses as a stepping stool. 

“What are we going to do?” Arisu whispered, dragging a shaking hand down his ashen face. 

“I don’t know.”

And that was the truth. 

She really didn’t know what to do, and it was consuming her. Ripping her apart from the inside out as the anxiety gorged on her bleeding heart, the paranoia tearing at her head - making the medic’s hair fall out in concerningly increasing frequency. Every day felt…off, and despite her heart beating like it always did, it was like it no longer fit inside Ukoza’s chest. Like an imposter organ had come in her sleep and now dwelled in her body, thumping in an unfamiliar rhythm with all the wrong emotions. All the things that made her, well her, seemed to have vanished into thin air, and many times a day and countless times in sleepless nights she wondered who she was anymore. Because the little girl and young woman with all the determination, all the goodness and all the intelligence was gone, and here she was. A confused bumbling mess with more swear words than sense. How had it all come to this?

Once upon a time, she slept nine hours a day, and woke up rejuvenated and excited to start her then job. Now, that period of her life felt like a fairy tale, since Ukoza’s body got painfully used to operating on a mere 3 hours, often less than that when times got particularly tough. Because, unfortunately, there was only one of her, and way too many bloody people who didn’t have the foggiest clue how to compile the medicine, apply the bandages and treat the sickly patients who could do no more than whimper and cry.

And no matter how much she hoped to leave this Agni forsaken place, she probably wouldn’t if she had the chance. Because if she left, who would look after her people? Her second family, in that weird way that being in shitty situations brings people together over their shared longing of not wanting to die? It wouldn’t be General Dickface, that was for certain. If anything, it seemed that he enjoyed watching the haunted looks on her companions’ faces, how their bloodied hands twitched and how their legs dragged across the dirt - bending in a way that definitely wasn’t right. The sadistic prick. So, even if the choice was never hers to choose anyone, she was staying. 

Past Ukoza would definitely lose it if she found out just how quickly her choice was ripped from her, her friends, her rank. And she would scream out colourful vocabulary if she discovered it was all over the use of some ratty bandages. 

But she doesn’t regret it. Ukoza, in her whole fifty years alive on this unjust earth, would never regret wrapping the bleeding leg of a sixteen year old Earth Kingdom boy with all that remained in her inventory. A boy who was supposed to be playing with his friends, going out to places that his parents would scream to him about later, living his childhood rather than participating in that cruel bloodbath. And her past self would agree with her. 

Unfortunately, the high and mighty superiors did not, and here she fucking was, in a creaking mess of a ship with a Prince on a royal mission to capture the Avatar of all people. Oh Agni, if there was one thing she hated in life, it was authority. 

All her animosity however evaporated when she saw him wheeled in, almost the same hue as a fresh corpse, barely clinging to life. And that scar. Oh, that scar.

It takes a lot to burn a firebender.

It takes a lot to burn a person, period.

It takes a special mixture of cruelty, sociopathy and inhumanity to use your Agni given gift to physically deform another person for life. A simple injury due to an accident could be forgiven, but pressing your blessed flames up against fragile skin - with the malevolent intent to make someone scream, to submit, well, then there is no excuse. Nothing that can be said at all, because the gruesome scar left behind would do all the talking needed.

Because then your gift, your bending is tainted. 

Corrupted.

And if your bending, the thing you claim makes up the fundamentals of who you are as a being, is corrupted, what does that say about you?

Will you gaze into the light of what you’ve done, or huddle in the shadows, content with your eternal ignorance? 

Maybe others would disagree with her, arguing that bending was granted to individuals to allow them to harness power and control, but a blessing to you should be a blessing to other people. Ukoza’s own abilities were pathetically feeble, but she always used them for the betterment of others - heating food, blankets, medicine and starting fires. And that, in her opinion, was a hundred times better than using your flames against other people. 

So that was why all her hatred vanished immediately.

That poor boy, apparently not even a proper teenager, heaving and trembling due to a very deliberate act of pure malice did not deserve the abhorrence dedicated to the royal family. Especially when the whispers of a gossipy if slightly unhinged maid suggested that he too was a victim of their cruelty and quest for dominion. The distressed begging of whether ‘he’ (whoever that might be, though she could make a few disgustingly vile educated guesses) knew only added fuel to the fire. 

Ukoza may not know much. She may be left in the dark, but the woman was determined enough to strike a match to help bring everything to light.

Chapter Text

“This is fucking ridiculous!” Seaman Chen exclaimed, throwing down his mop with an unceremonious clatter. “What are we even supposed to be doing?”

“Just do as you are told, idiot,” Chen’s unfortunate acquaintance spat out, wiping the eternally grimy deck with so much force one might think that she is imagining hitting something else on the floor. “You’ve already done enough.”

“I said I’m sorry, what else do you want from me, woman?”

Almost tipping the bucket of water in her murderous intent to throttle him, Shange grabbed the pathetic mess of a man by the collar. Lifting him up off the floor as if he was a couple of grapes. “I want a proper apology, you revolting sack of fungus !”

“I want you to rot .”

Agni, how much her skin burned to be so close to his own. How much she had to hold her body back against twitching and just dropping the vermin back where he stood. Was evil catching? She didn’t want to find out. 

Shange remembered the days when he was a boy, when he was cute and bubbly and called her weird variations of her name in a sweet garbled voice unused to speaking. Sometimes she mourned the death of that adorable kid, who picked vegetables from her grandfather’s garden with way too much excitement and energy, bashing against her legs in his haste to beat her. Painfully reminiscing about summer days when they sunned like iguana-lizards on rocks, pointing out and giggling at the inappropriately shaped clouds. 

‘What happened?’ she thought, when she found out about the young Earth kingdom girls with bloody thighs and ashen faces, and the bragging to mostly horrified soldiers. ‘What went wrong for that child to turn into a complete monster?’

“Were the first a hundred bloody apologies not enough for you, you bitch?” he spat out, pulling her out of her thoughts. How he managed to look so high and mighty as an individual currently being choked by his own collar she would never know. “If anything, you also owe me an apology.”

“ What?”

“Heh-” He peered up at the woman’s reddening complexion, smiling a sleazy grin at how her pursed lips had contorted into an infuriated grimace, promising pain and suffering if he dared to open his mouth “-if you weren’t my cousin, I would be ripping you a new one.”

“Bold words from the man I’m this-” She freed one hand to press her pointer finger and thumb firmly together. “-close to tossing overboard for the tigersharks to eat.”

Chen frowned.

“Your fingers are touching.”

Baring her teeth in a display that would send the darkest of spirits retreating, she barked out a humourless laugh. Slowly advancing towards the edge of the ship, struggling cousin in hand.

“ Exactly.”

“Wait, wait, wait I was kidding, you know I was kidding, you wouldn’t do this to your poor little cousin would you, we’re family, come on Shange, we’re buddies-”

“ Buddies? ” she roared, slamming the slimy git’s body against the ship’s rails, her sheer strength producing an ominous creak and promise of a sizable dent behind the man’s bruised torso. That single word, a mere two syllables, catalysed a reaction so huge that the dragon in human skin had to physically swallow. Tongue smarting a little from the sparks of fire she had to keep down. After what he did, no matter what blood could tell you, they were not related. Shange refused. 

What was the saying again?

Blood is thicker than water. But that version was shortened. Robbed of its true meaning. The original was this: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Shange would keep that knowledge to heart. How predictable of humanity to cut and splice knowledge until it fits their views. Afterall, family is what you make of it. To be in a family is an honour. A sign of trust and love. And she had no trust or love for that snake, and would never for the rest of her life. There would be no forgiving and forgetting. 

“Yοu cost me everything with your cowardice and evil, dragging me down with you with your desertion and sickening crimes. And for what? Just to be lumped on a ship with Agni damned royalty and bloody criminals?”

“Our family has lost all honour, their reputation is in tatters because of you !” she started, every volatile feeling igniting like a blazing inferno. “Worst of all, you have ruined the lives of countless girls, who you bragged about to others like it was admirable, like it was a game!”

“Girls who were people, who didn’t deserve any of it. I would say people like you, but after what you did, you don’t get to be people. ”

“This is all because of you and you have the audacity to say that we are buddies!” 

“Seaman Shange!” a voice cried out behind the pair. Recognising the whiny know-it-all pitch, she grimaced. Not him again. “Release Seaman Chen and return to your duties, the both of you.”

Mourning the lost chance for peace and justice, Shange let her hand gripping the weasel’s collar loosen. At least the enraged woman got the satisfaction of watching him fall clumsily with a sharp thud that was music to her ears. Wincing at the dull ache of his knees, her cousin scrambled back towards his long forgotten mop, holding it in his pathetic hold like a weapon. She scoffed at the least intimidating scene she had seen all week. A baby armadillo was scarier than him. 

“How difficult is it to keep your head down and stay out of trouble, Seaman Chen?” the would-be murderer sneered. 

Silence infiltrated the area. An invader snatching all the noises of life from the surroundings. Even the winds halting in their whistling and playful waves slowing down in their steady rhythm and intensity at the unnaturalness of it all. They all stopped at the absurdity of a manipulative psychopath not bothering to defend himself. He was quiet for once, not even rising to the bait that he had been taking for all these years. Shange’s heart sank at the realisation. 

What was this bastard thinking now?

“The Prince is aboard, confined to his chambers, did you know that?” he whispered. “While we are breaking our backs to maintain this sorry excuse of a ship, he is resting like the pampered bitch he is.”

“Doesn’t that eat you up inside? Typical royals, leaving everything up to the common folk like the damn leeches they are.”

“But I’ll take care of it.”

“Just think about it,” Chen’s voice, so different from its nasally drawl, continued - slippery and smooth like an eel. It seemed in his monologuing, he had forgotten her presence and simply skipped to scheming outloud like a low-grade antagonist. “What have I got to lose? How famous would one get for killing a Prince? What money would they get for his cor-”

“Don’t you say another word. Don’t you say another fucking word. You’ve done enough, no need to add regicide to the fucking list. Agni almighty, do you have any idea how fucking insane you sound?”

“What brought this on?” Shange demanded, slamming a scarred hand close enough to the villain’s head that even in his creepy monologue phase, he flinched. “What sickening parlour tricks occurred in the swamp that is your mind for you to be thinking about this of all things?”

“Is it so insane?” 

Oh for the love of Tui and La-

“I don’t deserve the punishment I am getting from the nation that is supposed to serve me for just not wanting to fight. And I certainly don’t deserve the punishment I am getting from you for merely taking advantage of Fire Nation property that is naturally mine, and the Prince doesn’t deserve to be having a fucking lie in- ”

The natural pause of a finished sentence didn’t even get the chance to occur, as did his front tooth’s natural process of a full life. At the unpredicted force to his mouth, a high-pitched yelp broke the silence like shattered glass. Like a chick’s first leap into the world, the little white incisor flew through the air, landing with a harmonious tiny clink against the cleaned floor. Blood streamed from the new hole in Chen’s mouth. His hands leapt up uselessly to his aid. Meanwhile, Shange rubbed at her knuckles, frowning more at the fact that her hand had the unfortunate experience of touching Chen’s face and less at the fact that her cousin no longer had a complete set of teeth. The man was already not blessed in the looks department, and this new loss only emphasised his close resemblance to a stump-tailed macaque that she once got the fortune to see in a zoo in her youth. 

Thank Agni the snitch from before had gone. At least she had gotten this much. Now every time he would look at his reflection, he would get a nice reminder of the sweet but much lacking justice she and all those victims deserved. 

“There’s a lot more where that came from, you sick fuck.”

“I swear to all the spirits, Chen, if you do anything, I will be on you like a lion-tiger on a gazelle. Do you hear me?”

The blubbering mess nodded. Yet he purposefully turned his face away from the tensed woman beside him. So she couldn’t see that even in his pain, the corners of his mouth started to uptick at the thought of the coins that would flow in once the murder was done. The fame he would hold over his cousin who was always the smart one, the strong one, the capable one. Even his parents couldn’t help but compare him to Shange, continuously piercing him with comments like ‘Shange is always helping others out, why don’t you follow in her suit?’ and ‘Shange is so studious and dedicated to her craft’ and ‘Shange just broke records in her work, her parents are so proud’. If he could lord one thing over her, he would do it. His tongue ran over the new gap, tasting the familiar metallic taste of blood (this was not the first time he had been punched so he would shut up) and all his hatred for her rapidly grew. 

How dare she do this to him? After all he had done for her? How could she deform his perfect looks?

Just wait. Soon, he would commit his rightful regicide, and in a ship of murders and traitors, no one would dare to stop him. 

And after he took control of it, she would be the first one to go.

Chapter Text

While thoughts of mutiny lurked on the decks, down in the kitchen, all Chef Mizu was pondering was the energy and trajectory needed to throw the plate in her hands at her assistants. Gossips, the lot of them.

Mizu’s motto in life is ‘what’s done is done’. No use reminiscing on the past if it won’t help you in the present. To the outrage of her colleagues, she was not interested in sharing the reason she was stationed on the Wani. One part of it was due to the unsavoury memories that bubbled up with each mention of the incident, but the main factor was that it was none of their business. Seriously, did they have nothing better to occupy their time with? At moments like this, she felt all fifty eight years of her life. Younger Mizu wouldn’t have hesitated to share her story with these people, keen to make new friends and gain sympathy for her tragedy. But perhaps it was a good thing she was older now and knew better. Clamping her blabbermouth shut was a skill that needed harnessing. These vultures didn’t really care. Sure, they might ask about ‘how she slept?’ and that ‘if she needed any help, let us know!’, but she knew the truth. Kindness, generosity, comradery. For people like them, people whose work consisted solely of monotonous menial tasks, any of those qualities was a ruse. A trap. All they needed was a measly morsel, that they could then spin into a right little tale that would spread like disease in an environment such as this one. Maybe it was harsh to judge this group of young ones so quickly, but it was realistic. Trust should never be handed out quickly, but slowly and surely earned over time. 

At least they finally moved on, and were now prattling about the only hot topic available on this tiny ship: the Prince.

“He’s merciless, with a temper that nearly took his own life.”

“He is incredibly cold and detached, he won’t even leave his room to see the rest of the crew!”

“He is-”

“I heard-”

‘Oh dear Agni, take me out of my misery!’ Mizu longed to cry to the spirits up above. Was she this bad at their age? Was this just karma for all the times she used to join in the endless natter? All the prattling and chatting and high pitched chortles was making driving a knife through her ears more and more appealing. Likely, none of what their ‘mother’s cousin’s daughter’ and ‘best friend’s uncle’ said was true, but what did they care? All they wanted was a project, a subject to talk about and exchange theories about as if they were conversing about a play and not a person with real life thoughts and feelings and family. 

Mizu would be a hypocrite if she said that she wasn’t interested in the topic herself, but as a chef, she had a more reliable source of information. 

Food says a lot about a person, what they prefer and what they despise. It was a unique gift of hers, determining a person’s personality and character through their meals. After years of trial and error, careful cultivation and precision, she believed she had gotten it to a tee. Where gossip and connections seem to fizzle out or take a turn for the worst, a person always needs food. And they always have a reaction to said dish that she can then decipher. 

But so far, her once sure-fire way of getting to know a person was…failing to say the least.

Medic Ukoza approached her about the prince’s meals, mainly asking for plain meals, soups and herbal teas. Far from the lavish tastes of a prince, she was sure. Sometimes, the medic would return the dishes just as they were delivered, untouched and brimming with whatever soup or vegetable dish Mizu prepared. That sort of behaviour, no matter who it involved, always made her purse her lips and the fragile vein in her head to almost pop. At least this was somewhat expected. A prince rejecting food due to it not fitting his tastes and expectations. Not exactly unheard of. But the pinched look of concern and frustration on the medic’s face at those times just created more questions.

Staring down at the once steaming pig-chicken soup, carefully spooned into a bowl precariously balancing on a feeble tray, she waited. Ten minutes had already passed. 

Ukoza was late. 

She had been late a lot more recently. Any longer and the soup would be too cold to enjoy. Was punctuality no longer a virtue? 

Tired of it all, Mizu sighed, picking up the ray and relaying fast-paced instructions to the other workers. They paused in their heated debate to stare at her with owl-like eyes, dumbfounded at the sudden responsibilities thrusted upon them. Luckily, her back was turned to conceal her rolling her eyes. If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself. 

Mizu always considered herself to be a rational smart individual, so maybe that was why she took it particularly hard when she didn’t recognise blatant patterns or evidence. How the food taken to the prince was always light and easy on the stomach, and the fact he never approached her with his requests on his own. Opening the sick bay door to a frantic Ukoza darting across the room, hair clinging to her forehead as she raced from cabinet to cabinet, while a little boy, no older than fourteen, coughed and wheezed was a cold blast of memories and grief all over again. 

“I’m sorry miss, but there’s nothing we can do.”

“There has to be something, anything-”

“All the treatment that could be done has been done, ma’am, I’m sorry-”

Opening the door with too much care, that blasted man came out - the man who would forever haunt her dreams and nightmares for years to come- muttering under his breath. 

“We have no pulse, doctor.” 

A distressed wail coursed through her body, taking all her energy with it as she fell towards the floor - heart and soul fracturing into a million unfixable shards, never to be found again. Not her baby. 

Not her baby.

It was a miracle she didn’t drop the tray where she stood. Memories broke through the locks and barricades she erected in her mind, and finally, after five minutes that spanned for what felt like five centuries, Ukoza realised who else was in the room. Anger and annoyance were fleeting in her desperation for another helping hand, and the two worked together as if they had been doing so for years. After all, these things weren’t new to either of them. 

Only once the treatment was finished did Mizu think to ask any questions at all. And of all the thoughts spinning in her head at record speed, tearing her mind apart with her need to know, what came out first was

“How old is he?”

“Thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” she exclaimed, not sure why she was surprised, given the boy’s small stature. “How did he get such a scar at thirteen?”

The medic shrugged, and continued lamely tossing away old dirty bandages. “Don’t know.”

“But I’m sure you’ve heard some theories,” Ukoza bared her teeth, mockingly tilting her head at the chef’s imploring gaze. 

“He’s merciless, with a temper that nearly took his own life.”

“He is incredibly cold and detached, he won’t even leave his room to see the rest of the crew!”

Even when she took no part in the slander as she used to, the woman still allowed it to occur. Even as she knew the dire consequences of such cruel words and uncaring guesses, she never stopped them from spreading their falsities. Maybe because somewhere in her mind, she believed them. And it evidently showed, in the medic’s mocking tone that sliced into her sharply and let reality wash over her. It was times like these when, although her back and joints ached something fierce and the clear prominence of wrinkles on her skin starkly remained, she felt she hadn’t grown up past twenty. 

“Well, I guess it’s my cue to leave, isn’t it?” She could tell when she was no longer welcome. “But if you need any assistance, do let me know.”

“Good to know, short stack.”

Swearing is unprofessional, Mizu repeated to herself. 

“Noted.”

Chapter Text

Convincing people to join Chen’s murder mission was surprisingly a bit difficult.

Apparently, regicide was not a common thought amongst these criminals, as bitter as they might be. Some actually sneered and spat at him at his pitch, and others just told him to fuck off if he knew what was good for him. In fact, one person grabbed him by the throat and murmured that if he were to do what he planned to do, that they would come for him. Luckily, two brutes with delightfully little intelligence only took a bit of prodding and compromise that they would be second in command after he took over before they agreed to be on look out for him. 

So, on a strategically chosen night, they enacted their plan. Wandering the ship towards the prince’s room like a pack of wolves in a hunt. That simile is incorrect, he thought as they paced closer and closer to their destination, since it implied they were savage animals when in fact they were noble soldiers, carrying out what needs to be done. Soldiers that would be revered, at least him anyway. Once he did it, everyone would know his name. They would whisper and marvel at him, who successfully took a stab at the nation which had been conquering them for years. In the years to come, when the river of time has slowly washed away the names of thousands of nobodies, his legacy would still remain. Untouched and unyielding. His cousin would be a blip, only muttered by simpering family members while he would be the stuff of legends. Thank Agni for the dim light from the lanterns that concealed his growing grin, unfortunately revealing all of his shark-like teeth. 

It was quite ironic, thinking of Agni when he was about to brutally assassinate one from his lineage, but funnily enough, this man thought nothing of it. In such minds of men, even the mention of God and the consequence of sin does little to deter them. 

The only problem was that upon arriving at the place, knife in hand and door carefully swung open, the bed was empty. With a blanket lightly covered in a fine layer of dust. As if it hadn’t been slept in since the beginning of their journey. None of the walls were covered with lavish decorations as he would’ve imagined, not even a single propaganda filled poster hanging on the grey walls. There wasn’t a splash of gold or red. No jewellery to nick on his way out. Just a single ordinary chest of ambiguous contents. If he had not planned this for a week, he would’ve gone outside to double check if this was the right room. Both of the morons certainly did, scratching their heads with befuddled frowns and knitted eyebrows. That clearly caused a problem in their plans, before one of his goons remarked on the groans heard in the sick bay late at night. Chen was surprised that they realised it first instead of him, before rationalising that all their wins were technically his wins as the leader, so they advanced towards the sick bay. After all, where else could the illusive rat be?

“You guys wait outside,” he ordered, as his Agni given right as their superior, loosely emphasising each syllable with his blade. “I’ll do the deed, while you two prevent anyone from stopping me.”

Dumbo 1 easily agreed. “Alright then.”

“Hang on,” Damn it, Dumbo 2. “You saw the size of that bed in the Prince’s room. It’s not the right size for an adult.”

“Listen man, I’m all for destroying the monarchy, but children are a no go for me.”

Oh, give him strength!

“Really?” Dumb 1 remarked, raising his eyebrows at the other’s nod. “Yeah, man, I don’t condone child murder either.” 

What kind of flawed morals were these? 

“Listen to me,” Chen spat out as loud as he could in the silent hallway. “It was dark, you were mistaken. It was an adult’s bed, you were just far away so it looked small. You do want to be in charge of the ship with me don’t you?”

“Oh of course, if you are certain.”

Perfect.

“Good. Now I am going in.”

Gently pushing the door open, with as little pressure as possible so the damn hunk of metal wouldn’t give him away, Chen walked in. It was a usual sick bay, with the tell tale signs of a lacking medicine cabinet and subpar beds. The little moonlight protruding through the single window wasn’t enough to light up the whole chamber, but he was certain that he was alone. Except for a single figure in the centre, swaddled in sheets in a cot too big for him. Creeping closer was too easy, with his brilliant senses providing an especially illuminating experience. Rigorous slamming of uproarious waves against the hull of the ship, the traitorous  creaking of one of the tiles, the faltering breaths of the prince who deserved to die. Even with the lacking lighting, he could view everything with such wondrous detail that even his daylight vision could not compare. He did not need to use his flame to illuminate his path when all could be viewed in such brilliant clarity. Now he was finally close enough to view his target. 

And it was not what he was expecting. Even with all his superior intellect, he would not have been able to predict this.

So small. So young. If not for the bandages promising a serious injury under their comforting hold, the prince would have pure creamy skin. A sheen of sweat was apparent on his forehead, with his eyeballs frantically twitching in their sockets as if they could sense what was to come. Short scruffy hair, like that of a small dog’s sprawled out on the pillow below his head. His pink lips were slightly dried out and parted from the constant heaving and crying.

 He was beautiful. Perfect. Grinning at his find, the vile creature pulled down the thin blanket, yanking it out of the thirteen year old’s weak sickened hold. Maybe before the murder, he could have a little tre-

A sharp right hook connected with his chin, and the man stumbled back, clutching at his face. Flashes of dim moonlight revealed bloodshot eyes that could only have belonged to a medic, who had advanced from a corner in the room he swore he had checked. Only his instincts stopped him from receiving a fatal boot to the groin. 

A whoosh of fire propelled itself from shaking hands and very nearly succeeded in blinding the bitch, yet Chen overreached and stumbled. Centre of balance faltering in his urge for victory. For blood. The brief moment of weakness gave Ukoza a vital opportunity, and so a bone-chilling crack echoed in the ominously silent chamber. At the sound, the prince stirred, frowning slightly in his sleep. 

‘Fuck.’

Tell tale drops of blood, coating his tongue in a thin putrid layer as he bit his lip to stay quiet, but pig-like whines still escaped his throat. Black dots clouded his vision. He had to fight the urge to throw up, to collapse to the floor. He had to finish this. As well as the medic was putting up, gasps and wheezes rattled through her ancient lungs and her movements slowed. Some of his shots had actually landed and her left arm hung limply at her side. One carefully aimed fireball would be enough to knock her out. Or maybe it would kill her. He didn’t care. A terrified gasp hardly registered in his mind as he readied for the final blow. 

Chen breathed in. 

Or at least he tried.

The air around him didn’t cooperate. Oxygen refused to enter his lungs. To supply his muscles. His throat and ribs contracted, desperate for the one thing he had taken for granted. But he couldn’t. Prehistoric primal fear known to many hung over him, taking over his deteriorating body in its immense frigid hold. Pressure coiled around his lungs, squeezing the tender organ tighter and tighter and tighter like a colossal snake suffocating its prey for consumption.  He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. 

A large pressure collided with his chin. His brain jolted in his skull. Chen grappled at his consciousness but failed, and all quickly faded to black - his last view being of an adrenaline-rushed Ukoza wielding a large metal object. Only one thought existed before he truly lost consciousness and his limp body. 

Shit.

Ukoza, still reeling from her unexpected victory and shakily holding the thankfully unused bedpan, was able to make out muffled grunts from outside the door. Without missing a beat, she yanked open the door, catching the accomplices by surprise and knocking them out with the same humiliating bedpan to the weak spots of the head. All her training came back in an instant, and the girl with all the confidence and the intelligence set about tying up the assailants, carefully minding to keep their hands from firebending in their constraints. Lugging them to the deck was another task altogether. As well informing Lieutenant Kang of the matter. If she had not been coming down from the effects of adrenaline, she would’ve found his slack-jawed shock hilarious. 

The next morning came frighteningly quickly, and soon all the crew had woken up via the traitors’ protesting cries. Sympathy for the three was few and far between, largely consisting of the two larger men’s friends who demanded to know what was going on. Once the information had passed more rapidly than usual rumours, sympathy had plummeted to an all time low. Luckily, the Lieutenant had told the imploring crowd that the individuals would be dropped off at a nearby port for their transgressions, a harsh but fair punishment to almost all involved. Since the duo’s friends had agreed to join them at their destination, it seemed all had come to a close.

Except one person who refused to accept the consequences of their actions. 

“Shange, cousin, help me,” Chen implored, all but clasping his hands in his desperation. “This was a misunderstanding, the others, they forced me to do it!”

Teammates one and two certainly did not look pleased to be thrown under the bus, if the air heating up around them wasn’t enough of an indicator. And the livid grimaces contorting their features promised they wouldn’t forget it.

“They forced me to try to kill the kid, you have to believe me!”

“Kid?” the bigger one bellowed, the statement even surprising Shange. “You said that he was a man!”

“I’m begging you, please don’t let them drop me off with them.” Big, fat crocodile tears streamed down his putridly reddening face at the same rate as the rivers of snot down his chin. “They’ll eat me alive.”

Shange’s eyes crinkled slightly at his panicking words, a heartbroken pout twisting up her face as she knelt down beside him. The sight of the two, one with a waterfall of tears flowing from his bloodshot eyes to the floor and the other close by, was like something out of a theatrical drama. Wind playfully ruffled strands of the woman’s hair like the moment just before a heart-shattering mournful speech, and the mellifluous rhythm of waves crashing against the boat paused in anticipation. Gently holding his shoulder, a comforting weight on his trembling form, Shange leaned towards his ear and whispered

“Good.”

“Say hello to Koh for me when you get to the Spirit World, I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about, you vile two-faced bitch.”

And then she walked away. Floating on a cloud as Chen’s jaw dropped so far down you could see down his throat. 

Later that day, the Wani trudged into a port that didn’t reject them at first sight. A rare occasion that Shange greatly appreciated. Clearly Agni did care for justice. Maybe she was wrong to criticise him. The woman took great pleasure in assisting Orosun take the idiot three down to the town, even as the tiniest part of her mind screamed at her for her abandonment of her cousin. 

For once, it was easy to dispose of that voice. 

Shange learned a bittersweet truth. The sweet young boy who she played with was gone. That version of the person she knew now was dead and buried, and there was no point dwelling on who he used to be when the person he was now is what matters. 

Quite a few decided to join the disgraced trio, friends of her cousin’s betrayed teammates who did not hesitate to start unravelling the ropes tying them down. The final view as her rickety ship drifted off into the sunset was that of the little gang chasing Chen down, who stumbled his own feet and knocked over disgruntled residents in his need to escape. There was a single moment where he turned back and their eyes almost met, and maybe someone in the world with more sympathy would feel guilt at the fear in his eyes. 

But she wasn’t that someone.

All she felt was relief.

Chapter Text

After quite a lot of hectic weeks bound to a bed, Ukoza had given the OK for him to wander the ship. It would have been a lot sooner if not for an apparent attempt on his life, which he couldn’t for the life of him get much information of. According to his only companion on this ship, ‘a crazy hooligan broke into the sick bay and only due to my non-existent sleep schedule and the man’s poor eyesight are you here to be told the tale’. Riveting. The men involved in the act were dropped off at a nearby port, and now the rest is history. He didn’t even get any of the names of his would-be murderers. Zuko wondered if it was concerning that he wasn’t very surprised, or even the tiniest bit disappointed in their failure.

It would be difficult, she warned, to navigate his path normally due to the combined factor of his bandaged eye and literal weeks of lying down, but after a bit of practice he would be fine. The thirteen year old nearly cried tears of joy at her words. As lovely as the lady was, Zuko was excited to see more than just the poorly stocked cabinet and be treated to less stories about times when Ukoza got too drunk. Sure, the first five were entertaining, but the next ten got a bit repetitive. There were only so many ways one could say ‘I got drunk and set my superior’s tent on fire’. Maybe the treason should have caused more of an outrage or some kind of emotion from him (based on Ukoza’s shock at his blasé reaction), but he and Azula had done more shocking stuff at age nine and seven. Like the one and only time they dared to prank their father, but that horror show was too much to even begin to be described. 

And what better place to start that his assigned quarters?

For once in his life, Agni seemed to be looking down on him. There was no one to bump into on his short journey to his room, but maybe the one he should actually thank was Ukoza. She did say the best time to explore was now. Zuko couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she did in order to rid everyone from the route to his quarters. Blackmail? Whatever it was, he was thankful. 

Because who knew that despite all the practice, all the testing, he would still struggle? And that even in the relative privacy of the empty hallway, he was still ashamed? Ukoza had drilled into his head that the scar he had was nothing to be ashamed of too many times to count, but even hidden behind a wall of white, the dread and agitation grew. Sometime in the future, he would take the bandages off. And he would see what was underneath. Like his sister, Zuko shoved that thought deep down, pushed in a dark space in the furthest corners of his mind. A technique that never worked, yet was second nature to the siblings who needed to hide their feelings and doubts to survive. 

Pushing open the door with an embarrassing amount of effort, the sunlight pouring out of the only window in the room hit him directly on the face. Face wrinkling up in pain at the sudden temporary blinding, Zuko stumbled, finding purchase on the cool metal of the wall. The young boy rubbed his eyes, thinking about how Agni must be laughing up in the spirit world at him right now, before finally gaining his vision once more. Gingerly opening his eyes, dots of black still somewhat tainting his sight, he took in the room. 

Flinching slightly, the thirteen year old’s mind immediately flooded with memories. Nurses’ muttering about low survival rates. Heart-wrenching sobs from his uncle. Hot trickling of liquid sluggishly pouring from his ears from the intensity of his own screams. Seering torture of all his facial nerves being fried, like they were being plucked and pulled at again and again and again. Like his flesh was a bubbling plume of magma. No one really attempted to comfort him. To assure him that everything would be OK, that they would try their best like Ukoza did. Unlike the old woman, no one even tried to raise his spirits. No one even bothered to care, it seemed. Though faint, maybe made up memories of Azula’s haunted face with bandages in hand sprang to mind. 

Why did this room look so much like the medical prison he was confined in? 

The metal walls. The lone small bed. Even if the chest and desk wasn’t part of the ensemble in the chamber of nightmares he lived through, it didn’t matter. Though, the annoyingly positive side of his brain exclaimed, maybe going through the chest would help. Maybe there would be something, anything that would make this room more homey. Less like a reminder of what he went through and more of a space symbolising a new beginning. 

If only there was something!

With each boring garment of clothing, the storm of frustration and outrage brewing inside him grew. Uncontrollable urges to let his bending lash out, hurl the offending items against the wall in a whirlwind of fabric were close to erupting. Zuko didn’t know why he expected to find a beacon of hope in a chest clearly packed by maids who only put in the ‘essentials’. What exactly was he going to do with so many fancy robes? Go to a royal party held by spirits in the middle of the sea? Or maybe he could put them on for a relaxing trip in the nearest port and not get jumped the minute he was alone. The only useful prospect of such things was selling them, but even that thought made him hesitate. As much as he hated the palace, it had once been his home. The house of a few good memories as well as the bad. Zuko wanted some memorabilia. 

“Though this would definitely need to go,” the thirteen year old murmured to himself, wrinkling his nose at the gaudy robe with far too many colours in his hands, tossing it to the side. “This does not bring any joy.”

Digging his hands into the chest, all but plunging himself into the ocean of clothes and meaningless trinkets, he didn’t expect his hand to hit something familiar. Something that tickled the skin of his hands, with edges that scratched at his fingers. Something almost overflowing with paper. He pulled it out. And nearly dropped it immediately, doing a frantic scramble that would have his sister cackling. ‘Not that she is here, or you will ever see her again,’ his mind helpfully contributed. 

His airbending journal.

Just as messily stuffed with stray pieces of paper, smothered underneath it all. 

Stopping briefly in its shock, his heart then rammed itself against his ribcage. Uncaring of the toil its desperation to escape its fleshy prison was taking on the rest of Zuko’s body. Useless fingers threatened to loosen their grip on the item and cause it to slam against the floor. Tremors took a merciless hold over his body, and a stream of unease and icy cold slithered down his spine to his feet, which didn’t know whether to run or hide, so instead remained rigidly planted to the floor. All the control he so adamantly clinged to simply yanked itself from his grip, and howling gales threw themselves against the rickety walls with worryingly increasing frequency. He had to stop. He had to get a grip. He had to be better. 

But he couldn’t, and that just made everything worse.Panic, fear, trepidation wiped his mind clean of everything but pure unfiltered paranoia.

Who had put it there?

Not father, otherwise he would be dead, not on a ship. 

Probably either Uncle or Azula, and Zuko didn’t know who he preferred knowing.

Oh dear Agni, what would they think? What would be going through their minds at the fact, at the laughable joke that the spirits played on him?

Did they no longer love him anymore?

As soon as they learned the horrifying truth, did they simply not care? Would they betray him? Or would something happen to them?

Lu Ten’s smile and warm hugs that he would never again come to experience came to mind.

Vision becoming glassy and clouded, Zuko bit down on his lip. Hard enough for the shock of the pain and the sudden taste of blood to help ground him a little bit. The gales became zephyrs, and although horror was still very much ruling his mind, at least he was a bit more coherent. Whoever did find out clearly still cared about him. They didn’t tell his father, due to the evidence of him being alive, and they even returned his airbending journal so he wouldn’t be caught by others.

Whether it was Uncle or Azula, he had an ally.

Sοmeone who cared.

And now he was crying for a whole different reason.

Crying tears of gratitude and relief.

He wasn’t completely alone.

Chapter Text

“I’ve got a favour to ask you.”

“It's unfortunate that manners are also victims in this war,” Mizu proclaimed in a tone practically swimming in sarcasm. “Would it kill you to start with 'good morning’ or ‘please’?”

“Yes, I’m allergic. So anyway, I was wondering whether Zuk- I mean the Prince could hang out here for the day.”

“There’s no way you are allergic.” The frowning chef emphasised with an accusatory poke of a spoon. “Sure, but the prince is his own person, you know. He might not want to spend all day in this dump.”

“Yeah, but it could be good for him.”

“Good for him?” Mizu spun around, eyes sparkling in an emotion that made Ukoza instinctively step back. “Surrounding the boy in a bunch of nattering raccoon-gooses in an enclosed space full of knives would be good for him?”

“He’s too bloody shy for his own good. He needs to connect with the crew if he is going to be a proper leader.”

“He’s thirteen. Why are you even getting involved? You’ve gotten attached haven’t you?”

“What?!” Pupils almost swallowed in the sea of white, Ukoza’s voice rose to pitches too high to be anything but confirmation of Mizu’s claims. Causing the woman to clap her hands together and snort in poorly veiled amusement. 

“I mean, can’t blame you, even if he’s a bloody royal, he is rather like an injured pup isn’t he?”

“Shut your fucking trap if you know what’s good for you.”

“Swear at me all you want, but you can’t fool me,” the chef murmured, smothering an indignant chortle behind a gloved hand. 

“But bring the boy over, why don’t you? Maybe we’ll have some fun.”

If only she knew how right she was.

Her second impression of the prince did not disprove her comparison of him to an injured puppy. With his small frame, half-bandaged face and distrustful eyes, it took all of her self restraint to not make the thirteen year old (because he was thirteen, thirteen with a bloody burn scar taking up most of his face ) sit down and force food down his throat to put some meat on his bones. At least the medic’s lack of manners did not rub off on him, since he was surprisingly polite and cordial in his actions and words. Offering to help her with the cooking and cleaning, the request nearly causing her to drop the pan she was holding. When Ukoza said that the prince would be staying with her for the day, she expected him just to stand around and watch while the rest did the work. After all, why would royals get their hands dirty doing ‘common work’? But he was determined to do something, stubborn like a mule to make himself useful. Eventually, she gave him the small role of drying and putting dishes away. It was a surreal experience, doing chores with a banished prince, someone so above her in terms of status that she couldn’t dream of reaching that high. Yet here she was, passing wet plates over to the boy who could control her life in a snap of his fingers, like it was just a regular Tuesday. It was strangely domestic, and she had to mentally push the memories away with a broom to stop herself from breaking down over the stack of dishes. Even the other cooks were strangely quiet, refusing to open their mouths to gossip even a little bit. Mizu longed to laugh at the misplaced fear of this thirteen year old, who currently had all his attention on wiping a large bowl with a towel. Unaware of the tension his mere presence had brought in the galley. 

But one common thought permeated through the room, too loud to even be kept confined in people’s heads.

‘That’s the prince? But he’s so young.’

Eventually, the tension cracked and conversations gradually started, though with carefully chosen words. 

It figured.

Prince Zuko would need to do something in order to gain a place in this crew, a standing of trust and respect.

And, with the grim frown on the boy’s face, it seemed he knew it too.

Chapter Text

“My Prince, where would you like to go first?” 

The royal stared directly into Orosun’s face, with such intensity that he was certain the young boy was seeing right through him, picking him apart and (like all the other royals) deemed him unfit for his task. Telling the boy about his mission had been taxing enough, with a whole ten minutes of silence with him staring at Orosun like he had just announced that he was in fact Agni himself. He couldn’t blame him, it was ridiculous. Utterly stupid.Finding the Avatar in order to regain his honour? What a painfully obvious ploy to get the prince never to return. It did make him wonder, what exactly did the boy do to garner such a punishment. Glancing down momentarily at the map, a thin pointer finger brushed against the expanse of fragile paper and stopped suddenly on its journey. 

“The southern air temple,” Prince Zuko muttered. “That would be the best start.”

Seriously? He longed to laugh, to let his incredulous feelings escape at the sheer naivety and ridiculousness of the task. 

The Avatar was gone. 

Dead for a hundred years.

Was this kid really going to try to catch a legend?

“I’m aware of the ridiculousness of this plan.” Prince Zuko stated, narrowing the eye not swamped in bandages at the befuddled man. “But shouldn’t we at least look like we are doing what we are told? Just a lame attempt?”

The boy was somewhat right, but that didn’t mean he liked it. 

“Southern air temple it is, my Prince.” Orosun chirruped in an obnoxiously fake voice that made even the ever oblivious Zuko flinch. 

“I’m glad that we have come to an understanding.”

‘That’s not what I would call it’, the thirty year old thought to himself. ‘But what can you do?’

Just as stubborn as his cousin, he bitterly reminisced.

Chapter Text

Zuko spent the first thirteen years of his life in a metal cage disguised as a regal palace, tormented by his own father who possessed no empathy, love or soul. Yet one of the most terrifying images of his life was of a fifty woman jumpscaring him just as he was about to turn the corner on the ship, stinging salve in one hand and a shaking fist in the other. Years from that moment, he still would be able to recall the slightly unpleasant odour permeating from the container, the knitted eyebrows almost forming a ‘V’ in their annoyance and the booming ‘found ya!’ ricocheting off the groaning ship walls and onto his fragile eardrums. 

And his younger self’s primary thought being ‘oh shit, here she is’.

“You can’t make me.”

“On the contrary, you little turd,” Ukoza barked. “Prince or peasant, you are going to put on this salve.”

“It hurts.”

“I know it does,” She did, she really did, with her own multitude of scars dotting her arms and legs. “That’s why you need to put it on. You don’t want it to get infected again do you?”

Adorable pouting turned to pained grimacing, and the little royal trudged behind her as they travelled back towards the sickbay, hanging his head low and dragging his feet as if she sentenced him to something awful. Sitting on the cheap material of the bed that crinkled under his weight, Ukoza got to work, unravelling the bandages in a precisely controlled manner that reminded Zuko of her years of expertise in the first place. Then she tentatively reached towards the metal container. Diving her pointer finger into the carefully constructed salve, she nearly combusted from the urge to roar with laughter at the displeased look on Prince Zuko’s wrinkled face. 

Like he had sucked on a lemon. 

It was at this moment that the thirteen year old realised how long he had gone without seeing his own face. 

Was she doing this on purpose?

How bad was this scar?

But time in the palace taught him to swallow down any defiant questions, so he said nothing. 

She was right. He needed that salve to get better, to get stronger and get back up on his feet. So much time had passed while he was unconscious in the sickbay. Who knew what had happened beyond this rickety boat, what events occurred in the palace, if Azula was OK? 

Azula.

Guilt spread through him like a virus, taking shelter in his hiccuping heart. Was she OK? Alone in that place, without him as a buffer between her and Firelord Ozai? He didn’t even have the opportunity to send her a letter explaining that he was, well not alright, but living at least. Did she think he abandoned her? 

He needed to get better, for her at least. 

“I’m sorry for my childish behaviour,” he bowed to Medic Ukoza, hoping it wasn’t low enough to suggest him being disingenuous. “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”

“It’s alright kid, I needed the exercise. Don’t do much between these metal walls except sit on my fat ass, you know?”

“That’s not true, you make the medicines, you…yell at the others when they are not doing their jobs.”

Ukoza laughed, for once on this ridiculous journey an actual genuine laugh that grated on her sides and caused tears to grace the corners of her eyes. 

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth, I do that a lot.”

Prince Zuko, now officially dubbed a royal pain in the arse, but her royal pain in the arse, beamed at her acceptance.

Finally tightening the last piece of bandage, she ruffled short scruffy hair and flicked the outraged preteen on the forehead, officially deeming him properly treated for the day.

“Now remember-”

“Don’t get the bandages wet, or dirty, and don’t try to take them off by myself yet.”

“Good. Goodnight, Princey.”

If only the woman saw that the retreating figure had his fingers crossed.

Chapter Text

As much as medic Ukoza tried to stop him, he would see it. 

He had to.

The dread multiplied with every second his shaking fingers uncoiled the white wrappings, pressing down on his heart as he got closer and closer to the truth. On the ground, a measly inch of bandages coiled into a rapidly growing pile, sinister in its appearance like a pale snake patiently waiting before striking. Zuko could swear that the room was alive, for all noises halted - the creaking floorboards, the gentle thumping of waves against the metallic walls, the humming of the engine. Like it was holding its breath in suspense. 

Waiting for the fall. 

All that could be made out was the heavy battering against his ribcage, as if his heart was a prisoner that longed to run away from the tragedy that was about to unfold. To avoid the inevitable pain and toil that would be brought. But that simile is incorrect, since it implies that it is merely a comparison when it is in reality a fact. His heart, his soul had almost always been a prisoner inside his body, pounding against its confines and screaming to be released. It could not live like this any longer, he could not live like this any longer. Governed by fear and paranoia surrounded by danger, threats and few allies who his mind incessantly insisted would stab him in the back. Why were things continuously getting worse? What did he do to offend Agni so strongly? Was this punishment for the actions of his ancestors? But he wasn’t his father, or his grandfather. He was sure of it. He would never become them. He would rather die than be like them. 

With each quickening inhale and exhale that enveloped his brain in a blurry haze that restricted coherent thoughts, he continued. Almost there. Almost there. Vibrating stumps of flesh that struggled to cooperate were becoming more clumsy in their quest, ripping the fabric slightly. His body couldn’t take this tension anymore, he had to kno-

A blood-curdling scream echoed in the small chamber, permeating through metallic walls and floors in its terrific intensity. More at home in the throat of cornered prey than that of a young child. Tumultuous shrieks of unbound horror reached through the room’s confines to spread despair - like dark spirits sinking their claws into people’s minds. The ship was compressed and useless enough that it was certain that everyone experienced that horrific assault on their senses, and guaranteed a vastly unwelcome jumpscare to all holed up inside the vessel. The crew definitely took into account uproarious clattering, the crashing of a body onto the ground and the sharp tell-tale shattering of fragile glass against the hard floor. Then, a silence. A false tranquillity before the howling and sobbing began once more, a waterfall of noise that washed down on them. It was raw terror, anguish, and shock culminating in a singular screech - too similar to that of a wounded rabid animal prepared to gnaw its own limb off in hopes of salvation. 

The uneasy bystanders would have liked to say that they were grateful when the deafening bawling stopped, but in actuality, they found the hiccups and muffled whimpers worse. 

Yet, what could they do?

Yes, their relationship with the Prince was beginning to be built, but how could they approach him? Many didn’t know how to comfort a distressed child, let alone a royal one. Some were simply content to mind their own business, and press down their guilt and helplessness into the corner of their minds. But one person couldn’t ignore it. After his brief stupor, he staggered towards the bedroom, stumbling over his own feet in his desperation. He recognised that distress, he had gone through the very same. Shrieked with the same horror that refused to let him rest. Cried in the same shattered high pitch.

Orosun knocked on the door. 

“Prince Zuko?” he exclaimed, trying his best to keep his tone as low and comforting as possible. “Everything alright there?”

He could hear himself breathing in the silence. Short frantic gulps of air with just as rapid exhalations. 

“I’m coming in.”

Opening the surprisingly heavy door, Orosun’s eyes took in many things at once. The messy heap of bandages laying haphazardly on the ground. Fractured remains of an ornate mirror dangerously clattered around the room. Droplets of dark red splattered on shards of glass, handprints the hue of nightmares starkly contrasting against the grey of the walls and floor. 

And a hiccuping thirteen year old in the darkest corner, face buried in his knees as his body shook with the force of his sobs. He didn’t notice the man in his room, too caught up in his despair.

“Prince Zuko.”

At the sound of his name, the boy’s head swung upwards, away from his cocoon of safety. It took him two seconds to realise his mistake, but it was too late.

Oruson saw it.

How could he miss it?

Heart and stomach leaping to his throat in a single moment, the man attempted to hide his pure alarm at the gruesome injury. Could he even say it was fortunate that he had seen worse injuries, worse fatalities that allowed his attempt to be successful? Because why on Agni’s earth would it be fortunate that a young man like him was able to get somewhat used to the horrors of war? The putrid happenings in the bowels of the earth, where your autonomy was stripped away and you were reduced to a tile on a Pai Sho board. Where he had to comfort individuals who were often younger than him, children, who were forced to involve themselves in a war they didn’t truly comprehend. And more often than not, those few moments of humanity, those few moments where they were seen and heard were the last he would hear from them. 

His long stewing hatred of Fire Nation authority only grew, blossoming into a loathing so strong that it often felt like that was the only thing that kept him afloat. 

That was why seeing Prince Lu Ten was like a blade to his chest.

Being made to watch over a person that was part of the institution he so desperately abhorred was pure torture. A knife in his back. Until it wasn’t. Because Lu Ten - unlike so many others of his calibre - knew the errors of his ways, the despicable nature of the war they were participating in. The prince listened, watched with a straight face one drunken night as Orosun ranted about his views on the Fire Nation, critiqued the system in which people like him thrived so much off the backs of people like Orosun. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t butt in to defend himself with a haughty and offended ‘Well, actually ’ like those of much less status than him tried to simper out. He just listened, and at the end of it all, agreed with him. 

Softly stating that those who benefit in an unjust system often feel as though equality is oppression.

That was the moment things started to change, and he gained a friend.

Then, Agni looked down on him and decided he had it too good. 

So he was forced to watch someone he admired and liked die. Once again. 

Did he learn nothing?

And no amount of time would ever make him forget it.

Leaking pools of blood advancing towards his weathered boots - seemingly infinite in its steady flow no matter how much he tried to stop it. The pale cream colour of bones visible through the wreckage, dyed pink and then stark red with the tell-tale metallic liquid that soldiers fighting earthbenders were uncomfortably familiar with. Sickening crack that forever resonated in his skull, repeating its horrifying knell in his ears on the worst of nights. At the darkest hours, behind shut eyes, he would live all his worst moments, all of them eventually leading to that one. The one he could’ve prevented. 

Frantic shrieks of a voice that sounded awfully like his own howling for a medic.

The final few murmurs before his friend passed away. 

He saw it all. 

And he would continue to see it till the day he died.

Keeping it together was impossible, as viewed by his superior officers, so he was sent away. The dam had finally broken, floodgates burst open to release a lake’s worth of trauma and grief and rage and sorrow. Passings of his family, his close and not so close friends, and finally his best friend Lu Ten. Agni loved to hate him. Probably if his father was still alive he would prattle off about how ‘Agni gives his toughest battles to his toughest soldiers’. Bullshit. Don’t the toughest soldiers deserve a fucking break? 

And now he was here. Demoted to a barely functioning ship, a boat housing another Prince who was supposed to find the Avatar. It felt like a massive joke, and Orosun longed to shake his fist at Agni and yell out ‘Are you laughing up there? Is it funny?’. Of course he was given minimal time to grieve, and almost every night his mind flipped back to Lu Ten - his comrade, his friend who had the most violent death of all - in those last few moments.Of course, his mind liked to spice things up: images of his cousin Uso succumbing to his infection after promising to marry his childhood sweetheart, of a young soldier Desun hallucinating that he was seeing his brother who was killed the night before and hundreds of others swarmed his brain like murderous wasps. Stinging him again and again and again, pumping his blood with poison that tore him apart, bit by bit. Even though the rational part of him screamed at him to stop weeping in an unfamiliar territory where such weakness might be preyed upon, he couldn’t control the flow of tears streaming down his face. Often, his pillow was too wet to even rest on. The cycle of agony continued until that yell, that shriek, and his promise to Lu Ten echoed in his mind. 

“If you ever get to see him, please look after my cousin for me.”

Ever since Orosun stepped onto the pathetic excuse of a boat, he had a particular vision of what to expect from the prince. Lu Ten, as lovely as he had been, was an exception, a ray of sunshine between the tempest of horrific morality that was his family. So, the picture in his mind was of an eighteen year old jackass, coupled with a grin that screamed of self importance and arrogance for the whole world to see and a burn - signifying his treasonous behaviour.  

He didn’t expect a child, merely thirteen years of age with bandages covering half of his face. 

None of them did.

Agni, he was just a child.

Some of the crew members saw their hatred simmer slightly at the sorry sight, but plenty of others didn’t care. One apparently even tried to murder the kid while Orosun was unconscious in bed. Luckily, the fool was stopped rather ferociously by the medic (the image of a mama wolfbear protecting her young instantly came to mind at the description). Orosun had the pleasure of abandoning the would-be killers at a nearby port, and that was when his shame grew. One of the two promises he had promised to Lu Ten was already broken. He had to be better.

What did the prince do for his father to banish him so brutally? Without any help, alone on a ship without any friends or family? 

Viewing his scar in all its horrifying appearance, Orosun concluded that there was nothing in this world that a thirteen year old could do to deserve having nearly half his fucking face burned. Nothing that deserved losing vision in one eye and hearing of one ear, that would affect his depth perception and how he could communicate with others for the rest of his life. Nothing that deserved the crippling of his mental health as he inevitably went through the harsh recovery process.

Nothing.

Anger bubbled up too high as his thoughts spiralled more and more, and he turned his head to the ground to conceal how his eyes burned with the need for vengeance and justice. Perhaps he could fool himself into thinking that that was all that was burning inside him.

“How can I go on like this?” Prince Zuko whispered, almost too quiet to be picked up, turning to hide his face from the other man. 

“I have lost part of my hearing, part of my sight” - he brought his shaking appendages close to the healing skin, almost close enough to touch, before yanking his hand away as if it was still burning - “ my depth perception, my peripheral vision is terrible and I can’t hear anything from my left ear.”

“I failed. I tried so hard and I failed .”

“What did I expect? I’m a failure and he’s rig-”

“Prince Zuko, you are not a failure.” Orosun cut in sharply. “You are a survivor.”

“I understand that you are in a new environment, with scary new people, and if you just want to be alone, tell me and I will leave,” he began.

“Given what you’ve been through, it is OK to be scared, confused and angry,” the thirty year old murmured. “Your emotions are valid.”

“But what has happened to you doesn’t define who you are” - Orosun turned to face the small prince, understanding and kindness brimming in his gaze - “and you did not deserve it. It isn’t your fault.”

“So if you need help, or simply to talk, just holler at me, OK?”

Silence.

He didn’t say something wrong, did he? Based on the fact that the young boy was quiet, maybe. Oh sweet Spirits why did he not pick his words better, he was such a foo-

“I”- the single word cut through the quietude like a warm knife through butter, even if it wavered slightly as if the speaker was considering if they should continue at all - “ I just don’t understand why he did it. Why did he have to scar me like th-”

Orosun’s heart faltered during those two sentences. 

“Excuse me, who gave you that scar?” 

“My father. Did you not know? It all started when-”

Prince Zuko’s voice was shaky, completely gone at times where the nerves and trauma took over, but he continued telling his horrifying experience. With every stuttering sentence, with every word choked out of heaving lungs, he swore that his max level hatred for the Firelord tripled in size. Head ringing and brain seemingly vibrating in his skull from the terrifying truth and revelations, his vision tinged the colour of pure unfiltered rage. Blood dripped generously from where blunt nails sunk into skin. Skin that was marred from the constant pressure. Dear Agni. 

Of course he didn’t know. Of course no one knew. Because if the Firelord’s cruelty extended to even his children, there would be riots. Chaos in the streets. All the revolutionists hiding would point up to cry out ‘I knew he was a monster!’ and demand for his head on a silver plate. Sure, the royal family were known to be strict, but discipline was sending your child to bed with no dessert, taking away their distractions, banning them from going out for a few day s. Not burning their face in front of a live audience to see. It would be an outrage, a scandal! Even the most loyal supporters would fumble to find an excuse for that. If his own son disapproved of his actions, then -

Well, he knew what would happen. 

That was why the rumours varied so much, leaping entire leagues from one claim to another. 

Explaining as such to the confused prince was heartbreaking, and the look of weary resignation and understanding tugged on the one remaining heartstring the man had left. 

Spirits, he was too young to have a look like that. 

“Hey,” Orosun muttered, wincing internally at the flinch Prince Zuko that coursed through the thirteen year old’s body at his sudden loud exclamation. “No matter how much it feels like it, you are not alone.”

“You have the medic, who clearly cares about you if probably dead Chen is anything to go by,” Zuko winced slightly at the nonchalant mention. “And me.”

“My experiences with others and myself in the Fire Nation army situated outside the wall of Ba Sing Se have allowed me to have a better understanding on trauma and grief, so if you need any help-”

“Ba Sing Se?” Prince Zuko started, furrowing his eyebrows in brief confusion and recognition. “And your name is Orosun?”

“Yes, do you know any others?”

“The Orosun who put bugs in my cousin’s boots the first time they met him?”

He paused slightly, furrowing his eyebrows at the knowledge that the boy wasn’t supposed to have. “How do you know about that?”

“The Orosun who gets really political when he is drunk and once tried to fight a tent for ‘eating his friends’?”

“Now hang on a minute-”

“You are that Orosun? Lu Ten’s”- the young boy’s voice wavered for a second - “friend?”

“That bastard,” the thirty year old cried out, an outraged laugh forcing itself out, then a stifled sob. “He did complain about me in his letters.”

“He was a bit of a menace. Were you…there when he…?”

“Yeah, kid.” he sighed, putting his head in his hands. “ I was there.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” the prince murmured.

“Hey, aren’t I supposed to be the therapist?” Orosun joked.

“I’m a pretty good therapist too.”

“You are thirteen, you aren’t supposed to be a bloody therapist.”

“And you”- Zuko goodnaturedly pointed a shaking finger at the man’s chest - “are supposed to be a good influence on the youth.”

He supposed that was true.

Zuko’s smile faded, giving way to a thin grimace and then a sigh. “I don’t know what I am meant to do.”

“That’s okay, you can figure it out as you go along. No one expects you to know everything.”

“I suppose so…”

“I do have a question for you though.” Orosun wrung his hands together, eyes moving around to look everywhere except the prince. 

“Why do you want to go to an air temple? You…do know that we aren’t going to find the Avatar there, right?”

“I know. I just want to see something with my own two eyes.”

“Good enough for me, Princey, just know that Ι am here if you need me. No stray fireballs or broken mirrors, OK?”

“OK.”

Easy enough, since it was actually an airball.

Technicalities were great.

Chapter Text

Things didn’t magically get better after the talk. That’s simply not how recovery works. People build themselves back up slowly and steadily, with frequent blips and doubts. Zuko was not different. There were good days and there were bad days. It just so happened that now the good days outnumbered the bad. With people who cared, a steady support system and new improving relationships with the rest of the crew, things were finally looking up. 

Hanging out in the galley in the mornings was ingrained into his schedule, as were his riveting chats with the softening seamen who also found comfort in the room. Arguments were frequent, but were vastly different from those in the castle where one wrong sentence had a crippling effect on the rest of your day and possibly life. Arguments on the ship were different, largely meaningly and simply started out of boredom to get the bowl rolling. Often, people would take stances they didn’t actually agree with to get on each others’ nerves. It was very much walking into the chamber and up to the small group of young adults, and saying something along the lines of ‘Dragons sleep like bats. Let’s discuss’. Quite a few times things would get heated, with a punch by Seaman Ruji being thrown after someone dared to insinuate that turtleducks were ugly. Zuko, although not the biggest fan of violence, was not proud of the snort that escaped his throat at the act.

Learning to deal with his injury was a journey. A difficult journey that he refused to give up on. There were days when he would wake up in the middle of the night, as his scar felt like it was burning. Days where even the slightest of light caused him to wince, headaches wracked his brain and his appetite abandoned him completely. Days where he was like a rabid porcupine, easy with insults and retorts, leaving everyone irritated with him. But by Agni he was trying. Going through the airbending exercises in his journal in the relative safety of his room each night, careful to be quiet and not make any suspicious noises. That’s not to say he was successful. One embarrassing night of experimentation, he accidentally propelled himself too fast with too much power and ended up with an ear-shattering slam echoing throughout the ship. Sure, a cocoon of air stopped him from taking too much physical damage, but the sheer mortification that enveloped his mind took too long to dismiss. A sudden knock on his door with a muffled ‘you, alright?’ following the act only highlighted his shame. Quite a few mentioned it the following day, and Zuko just wanted to melt into the floor and never return.

At least he could practise his sword fighting and gymnastics out in public. It was refreshing to not be confined in a tiny room but feel the breeze flowing through his growing hair and the sun’s warmth a balm on his fragile skin. He even became friends with Seaman Ysona, who had previously worked in a circus as an acrobat who was all too pleased to have a pupil who did not mock her passion. Her only condition was him calling her ‘sensei’, and allowing other crew members to join in. Unsurprisingly, very few did, and instead watched from the sidelines as Ysona talked him through each act, correcting his form as she did. With her bubbly attitude and speedy comebacks, Zuko missed Ty Lee even more. How she would’ve adored learning from someone who had her dream job. Ysona praised him for his quick learning, and often he got treated to the hilarious sight of one of the woman’s friends failing at a move because they thought ‘if a thirteen year old can do it, I can do it too’.

“Who taught you before?” the former acrobat asked him one day.

“My friend Ty Lee,” Zuko answered, smiling softly at the thought of his happy-go-lucky friend. “Her dream is to work at a circus one day.”

“Well, if she was able to teach you all that you know, she will definitely succeed.”

Everything for once was going well. He should’ve expected what came next.

Zuko hated violence. He hated crimson puddles of blood that were never meant to be shed. Hated human beings being used as replaceable pieces in people’s crazed paths towards personal glory and wealth. All the glittering jewels and high status titles in the world don’t mean a thing when they have been paid for by human lives, the most valuable thing of them all. All the time, the young boy would tell himself to hold it all in. To ball up all the anger, wrath and bubbling rage for justice in a little space in the back of his mind. Peace would come through. Kill them with kindness. Then you would trigger that human empathy and they would realise the error of their ways. 

But that can fail.

Because for certain individuals, there is a hole where their morality and compassion is supposed to be. And at those difficult times he would realise that - that peace would ultimately stop being an option, the ball would start to unravel, or even grow to his abject horror. Sometimes, his feelings would win. Triumph over his mantra of ‘calm,calm,calm’. There are no combination of words that could ever describe how he felt first finding out about the genocide with his cousin. Forgiving and forgetting is easy when the action isn’t cutting you and others so deep that the blade reaches down into your soul. This man. 

This Commander Zhao.

He had never heard of this man, and he could’ve gotten through his whole life without needing to hear about him. How he mourned that loss! The commander first boarded the ship in order to converse with Zuko and his lieutenant, and somehow, within ten minutes of him being on the ship, he had gotten everyone to hate him. It wasn’t that this man couldn’t feel the murderous intent wafting from every direction towards him. In fact, he seemed to relish it. The fucking weirdo. Walking as if he was Agni’s gift to this world, when in fact he was proof that Agni had begun to abandon them. As if insulting Zuko indirectly wasn’t enough, now he was going after his crew. 

This man. This putrid mess of a man somehow knew how to press all of his buttons. Peering judgemental eyes, slow purposeful plod, lips constantly dripping with poison disguised as honey. Commander Zhao was the stereotypical blueprint of a moral-less member of authority, right down to his stupid goatee that did absolutely nothing for his face. It was men like this who didn’t care if people lived or died. Who don’t blink if whole regiments are wiped out. It was men like this who allowed the war to continue. Causing communities to fracture. Entire communities to be forgotten, erased from history. Families to be torn apart. It was men like this who caused Lu Ten’s death. The Avatar’s death most likely. Although many called him foolish and naive, he was realistic. Even as there was an inkling of doubt in Zuko’s mind, the young boy was aware of the strong likelihood of the Avatar’s death and unlikely return to the earthly realm. Was the Avatar spirit, master of all the elements and balancer of the world, hidden in the spirit realm, in fear of what is being created? 

Zuko couldn't blame it if it was. 

Watching as the general continued his blatant insults, his patience thinned even more. Zhao would probably consider killing a spirit if it managed to improve his reputation or give him a promotion. On second thought, probably he wouldn’t think twice to kill a spirit, even if it was Tui itself. Maybe it is typical of the human mind, after so many tragedies and seemingly endless pain, to find an individual to pin it to. Zhao did tick all the right boxes in the subconscious blame list. So incredibly hated that even his own colleagues looked uncomfortable in his presence. Check. Lack of morals. Check. Unlikely to be missed. Check.

“Commander Zhao, forgive me for the interruption, but I see that you have no useful input that could help with my mission, nor any that could improve my crews’ capabilities which clearly outnumber your own. Could you please leave?”

Oh, how the vein on the man’s forehead swelled up, and his skin flushed to such a deep red hue that it could almost sing the Fire Nation national anthem. Around him, everything came to a standstill, with Seaman Ysona stifling a laugh so unsuccessfully that her face was even redder than the offending man’s. Orosun looked ready to slap Zuko upside the head, and even the woman behind Zhao nearly dropped her clipboard in surprise. Though even she was hiding a smile.

“Prince Zuko, you are clearly young and know nothing of the art of war. I suggest taking my advice while I’m generous enough to give it. Do not test me.”

“Well, I thank you for your valuable advice that I will dearly treasure and proceed to not follow.”

Gritting his teeth, a growl narrowly escaped Zhao’s throat.

“Such insolence! Since you think of yourself as such a critic, Prince Zuko, I challenge you to an Agni Kai!” 

“An act of complete disrespect!” Firelord Ozai interrupted, his exclamation so filled with fury that the flames around him roared with anger alongside him. “You dare challenge General Yuko?”

“Please father, forgive me!” the thirteen year old pleaded. “I don’t wish to fight you! I had the Fire Nation’s best interests at heart.”

“You shall learn respect.”

The palm grew hotter. Too hot. No, there was no mercy-

“And suffering will be your teacher.”

“Zuko.” Orosun broke through. “You don’t have to do this.”

But Zuko did. Zhao’s eyes were a cheap knockoff of his father’s, and his malicious intent was less of that of Azula’s on a good day. His stance was rubbish, even from Zuko’s untrained eyes, and far too open. This was a man with more confidence than skill.

Zuko could win. 

Compelling his limbs to stop shaking, his mind to stop reeling, one thought echoed in his head. 

‘He is not Ozai. You can win.’

“I can do this.”

“Alright,” Orosun announced, doubt clear in those two syllables. “Remember your basics.”

“This will be over quickly,” Zhao murmured, as he turned around from his crouching position. Malice was so potent in his gaze that even the younger man’s eyes narrowed. This would not end well.

Immediately, two balls of fire soared towards the thirteen year old, so close to the flesh of his cheek that he could feel the warmth as they blazed by him. He flinched. A costly decision that allowed Zhao to get closer with a blade of red and orange that he barely was able to dodge. Fuck.

“Not using your flames, Prince Zuko?” Zhao goaded, smirking at the slightly overwhelmed look in the boy’s eyes. How the light of his fire illuminated his fear. His panic. 

Continuously, the man burst forward, one strong stride after the other with an inferno blooming from his fist. Each flame caused Zuko to contort his body further and further, twisting around the fire with superior agility. However, even from the sidelines he could hear the doubt and suspicion bubbling.

“Why isn’t he using his fire?” he heard a voice murmur in the distance. Further questions blended into a single cacophony of confusion that he couldn't ignore. It felt like a cloud of voices was swarming his head, disorienting and slowing him down. 

He had no fire. What was he supposed to do? How would he win?

With panic stalling his movements, each blow was getting harder to dodge. 

Think. 

Think!

What could he do? 

What could air do against fire that looked like firebending? That wouldn’t raise suspicion? 

Once again, he turned his head to the side as a missile of condensed flame barely missed him. Watched as the streak soared for a few metres, before going out completely. As Zhao could no longer supply it with energy, it fizzled out. 

It hit him.

Fire needed air. Without it, it would die. He could douse the flames before they even came near him. Like blowing out a candle. 

He knew what to do.

And with that knowledge, with that plan, all tension left his body. His limbs loosened completely, and all unease left his gaze. He felt light as a feather. Free in all his movements.  

At the sight, Zhao hesitated slightly. What had changed? It didn’t matter, he would win. The boy was a fool, inexperienced and cautious. One more stream to the chest would incapacitate him completely, and he would have his victory. He smiled at the thought, at the mental image of the prince collapsed on the ground, at his feet. And let out a burst of flame.

That travelled less than a metre before being extinguished completely. There was a brief silence that no sound dared to break, then a stifled snort from somewhere in the crowd. Zhao’s face burned in sheer embarrassment. Why did that happen? That was a fluke. His flames weren’t that weak. 

Once again, he tried to let out streams of fire. And each time they would go out pathetically quickly before they even reached his opponent. And each time, there would be even one snort in the crowd. How could this be? He was a master, Agni damn it!

Flustered beyond comprehension, he noticed too late the young prince running towards him at a speed no human should be able to do. Maybe, if he did, he could’ve avoided the punch to the face. There was a crunch, a collective ‘ooo’ that permeated through the crowd (though funnily enough, no sympathy) , and tears in his eyes. Flimsily dragging his hand to create a lash of faltering flames, Zuko quickly bended backwards, quickly doing a backflip to avoid the strike’s long range. At the movement, the crowd erupted in cheers - Υsona the loudest in her cries. 

Zhao grimaced, trying to push through the pain of his broken nose. How could he be unable to hit this royal brat? He wasn’t even using his bending! Striking again and again and again, with fire stuttering at the metre mark, too far to cause harm to his opponent, his anger boiled. Rushing with all of the grace of an enraged bull, infernos hot enough to scar in each hand, he surged forward. The little turd directly in front of him. 

For a second. Jumping over the man, Zuko quickly twisted his body to face Zhao when he landed. Then, with precisely controlled jabs of his forefinger and thumb, he hit the man’s pressure points, leaving him with no time to react to the action. Just as Ty Lee taught him.

One. Two. Three. 

Like jelly, Zhao’s muscles relaxed. He fell like a marionette whose strings were cut. All his joints felt like they were made of melted wax. His fingers twitched, calling upon his inner flame to no avail, and he felt cold. Disconnected. Paralysed. Staring at the weakling above him who stood poised to let his fist connect with his chin. 

“What are you waiting for? Do it.”

“No.”

“No?” he scoffed, as self-righteously as one could when completely unable to move. “Your father raised a coward.”

Zuko didn't dignify that with a response.

“Next time we fight, I won’t hold back.”

Then the prince turned away, and was promptly barrelled into by members of his crew who whooped and cheered and demanded ‘how did you do that?’. There was no way he would lose to the likes of him! He had cheated somehow!

Gaining the slightest control over his body once more, Zhao let out a massive gust of fire poised directly at the grinning youth.

Which was promptly doused by Orosun, who grimaced at the Commander’s cowardly actions.

“Pathetic. So weak that Prince Zuko didn’t even need to use his bending to defeat you. Now you are dishonourable even in defeat.”

“Even as a banished prince, Prince Zuko has more honour than you.”

The commander growled at the insult, and quickly barked at his assistant to help him to his feet, before running back onto the ship with his tail between his legs. Orosun did not hide his bellow this time, which clearly the other man heard and turned red in response. Everyone did, all the while congratulating the kid with hair ruffling and demanding to learn what he called ‘chi blocking’.

“Did you mean it?” Zuko asked when he managed to escape the crew’s acts, hair sticking up like a scarecrow.

“Yeah, I meant it.”

The little prince blushed slightly in response, muttering a ‘thank you’ before making a beeline for his room. 

What a little spitfire.

But how did he manage to jump that high?

Chapter Text

Ever since Azula was born, she knew she was special. Or rather, she was constantly reminded of it by her father - who boasted of her talent and intelligence to all who were close and high of status.

Azula is five katas ahead of her classmates.

Azula got perfect marks on the notoriously difficult military history exam.

Azula -

Azula -

Azula -

In the beginning, the young girl was delighted to have this praise from her father - overjoyed from the attention that she never got from her other parental figure. That was until she realised that even though she was the subject of such positive comments, it was never about her. It was never about her as a person.

It was about her as an asset.

Azula as a tool for her father’s plans.

And as that realisation took hold, coldness bloomed in her chest and froze her heart over - leaving it a desolate husk, a useless organ incapable of igniting that flicker of hope ever again. Frigid ice settled her frown and cemented an expression of discontent. She told herself that that didn’t bother her. That deep down she always knew the statement to be true, so she didn’t love her father. She only saw him as an asset too. A way to get to the top. 

Azula always lies.

And as soon as she made peace with that statement, something changed. It felt as if a switch had been flicked. It felt like something was different. Her skin felt tighter over her body, as if she had grown with this realisation. The hole in her chest enlarged - gorging itself on the remainder of her innocence and naivety. 

However, that wasn’t even the most prominent change. 

What truly made the difference were her flames.

They burned a luminescent blue - more stark than the gentle hue of the sky, more vivid and lively. Once again, people took it as a sign of her proficiency. And it was, since she had long since passed the master stage of her bending. Yet people forget the negative correlations of the colour blue. It can portray coldness, unfriendliness, aloofness. Detachment. Lack of emotion. Yet all people cared about was Azula the asset, Azula the tool. Never Azula the person, Azula the young girl. 

She was a monster after all, and monsters didn’t have feelings.

Even the monster mourned the loss of her brother, and in the dead of night, hugged her brother’s forgotten turtleduck plushie. Praying to Agni for him to come home.

Chapter Text

Arriving at the temple occurred with little fanfare, if the groans and whines of the crew were anything to go off. At least they felt comfortable enough to say their complaints around him, and not just whisper them in secret when they thought he was too far away to hear them. Despite his injury severely affecting his ear, he still had another one working just fine. Now discomfort and what little fear of royalty remained was gone, and many individuals came up to him to critique his destination choices with sometimes colourful vocabulary, and determination filled remarks such as ‘I’m not going up there, you can’t make me’. And sure, he was a little annoyed and disappointed at the complete lack of enthusiasm, but they were right. He couldn’t make them go up the mountain, even if he was of a higher rank than them. Even if he did, he doubted they would travel very far. Above anything else, he didn’t want to be like his father - forcing others to do what they wanted despite their refusal. They would get their choice.

At the end of the day, this was his mission, and it would be best if he had as few volunteers as possible. 

And that wasn’t very difficult. 

The sheer size of the mountain they needed to climb, paired with the dangerous paths that were more suited for airbenders who could jump high and not firebenders who were mostly out of shape, meant that the ‘no’s came flooding in. Most just stayed on the ship, doing odd jobs or just taking their scheduled breaks. Orosun, however, and a weirdly chipper woman ‘just call me Uyomi’ decided to take up the challenge and try to follow him up as he trekked up the colossal giant of rock. The first hour, the two conversed between themselves while Zuko pondered his game plan once he finally got to his destination - the various rooms he would visit to record the history in a cleverly concealed notebook, exploring the grounds with awe during the end of his excursion before leaving quickly. 

If only the second hour could have passed in the same peaceful manner. While Zuko’s stamina and subtle airbending allowed him to continue the journey in a fairly calm and collected pace, if not slightly out of breath when the jumps were too many in frequency, the same could not be said for his companions. Orosun was not a very good actor: for all his jabs at Uyomi’s lagging trudging and concerning pants, he was there beside her, almost dragging his feet and sweating like a catpig. It seems it was mountain 1, Fire nation navy 0. The young man was so completely fatigued that he tripped over his own foot and tumbled embarrassingly head first into the dirt - to Uyomi’s apparent delight, then horror as she followed in suit. With that note, the two adults decided to call it a day and stay where they were. Stating that they would wait there for the Prince (or Princy as Orosun affectionately dubbed him) to return after he completed his mission, though perhaps the verb stating is being incorrectly used, since it implies a sense of clarity and control, of which the two had none. 

So the third and final hour, Zuko walked alone, enjoying the melody of chirping birds, rustling grass and playful winds plucking on the fickle branches of trees. It had been a while since he had truly had time to himself, without the fear and paranoia of being spotted and ostracised by others and the need to hide who he truly was. Here, he was free. The young airbender had to fight against his own body to stop the tears of relief bursting to be released, before realising, what was the harm? So he laughed as abundant water blurred his vision, laughed as his steps came to life and with every plod he soared higher and higher towards the clouds. No one could see him. No one could chastise him. No one could out him. He was free. On this mountain, away from everyone who ever hurt him, he was free. 

Whooping, he allowed his training to take over, chortling as he raced higher and higher up the mountain, at speeds he never dared to try out, leaping with all his might and taking the opportunity to blow stray bits of debris, red fabric and metal down into the depths below. Curiously making hurricanes of leaves in his wake. His lungs and muscles - even with his excellent control - eventually pleaded for movement to stop, or at least slow down, so begrudgingly, he listened to his body and allowed his sprint to become a leisurely plod once more. With every step, excitement threatened to burst through his chest. The temple, once simply an oblong block of stone in the distance, was now just a light jog away. Heart thumping so loudly that it muffled all other noises, Zuko couldn’t help but let a wide grin stretch his lips. 

Finally he would be here.

Just a few more steps and-

He emptied what remained in his stomach on cold stone tiles, the mixture of bile and half-digested food splattering messily by his feet. His throat burned from the sensation, numbing his tongue slightly as the thirteen year old staggered backwards, nearly toppling down the steps he spent so long climbing up. Tears of joy and relief dried up, and new tears, tears of horror and sadness and grief took their place - gushing down the boy’s cheeks until his face was soaked and his lungs ached in protest of the constant heaving. For a few minutes, his throat constricted. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. His circular muscles contracted to such a degree that his pupil was a mere dot of black against a sea of white, trying to take in as little as the horrific scene in front of him as possible.

Bones.

Why were there so many bones?

Skeletal remains littered every surface, some covered in tattered orange clothes with belongings cradled loosely in their dead palms. Jaws hung open in eternal shock and agony at the injustice that had happened to them, with the area around the eyes sporting shallow cuts and scratches, likely the fault of birds who had long since migrated elsewhere, away from the carnage. Not all the skeletons were donned in orange rags. A few sported metal helmets and the tell-tale uniform of a Fire Nation soldier, the cursed emblem haunting him - burning the image into his brain, his heart, his soul.

Some skeletons were too small. Their arms were too minute to have supported weapons, legs too short to run away and hide. Some hands were too tiny, a few holding odd trinkets that rolled onto the stone tiles. Shaking to the point he was certain that he too would join the bones on the floor, he picked up a fragile skull - despite the urgent screaming of his mind for him to stop, to run and get out of there. 

He was right. 

It fit perfectly in his hands, and that fact quickly killed the voice inside his head that whispered the goodness of the Fire Nation, that he was overreacting and that it was all propaganda. On autopilot, he gently placed the skull back down with as much care as he physically could into the action. 

Oh Agni.

Shame at his behaviour, at the horrid puddle of his half-digested lunch bloomed in his chest. Then, it grew bigger as the realisation that the nation he had previously been proud of, had been defending even as his doubt grew ever stronger, had been preaching its righteousness and superiority had done this. This was no battle. This was a massacre. A genocide of a peaceful nation that had no Air Army, that did not believe in violence and was ruthlessly and mercilessly wiped off the face of the earth for a man’s thirst for absolute power. Mortification, regret and remorse rolled off the young boy in waves, who despite having his hands pressed harshly against his face, couldn’t stop staring. Children. There were children who were trying to get away, run away as far as possible clutching what few belongings they had, who failed against opponents who did not question their tasks, who did as they were told with apathy and murdered the kids where they stood. He at least hoped their deaths were quick and as painless as possible, but he knew in his heart that most of them weren’t. They suffered agonising pain and torture that coursed through their body, burning their tissue and then their nerves, at which point the pain would lessen, but  they would still have cried out before finally succumbing to their injuries, or choking on the fumes the deadly fire produced. Zuko knew the pain of being burned on purpose, but it was nothing compared to the tragedies these airbenders had faced. 

Even if he knew the answer, the question ‘why?’ echoed in his mind. How could anyone do this? How could anyone be told to do this and follow through? How could anyone look at fleeing children, likely with red eyes and wet cheeks as they ran and turned their flames - their Agni given flames - on them? And then leave the dead and the dying as they were, without any kind of burial, without any kind of respect, without any kind of honour ? Even their own soldiers who died for their righteous goal were left behind - corpses uncared for and remaining at the exact spot they rasped out their last breath. 

Fury erupted from his chest like a volcano, its culminating power ripping through him in a way he had never experienced. Monsters. Only monsters could have done this. Even dark spirits wouldn’t dare embark on what these monsters had done. Monsters, monsters, the lot of them. They should all pay for what they’ve done, go through the same torment the airbenders went through until they cry for mercy, for ‘no more!’. His vision reddened, and Zuko got the sudden urge to pick up the Fire Nation soldiers’ bones and dump them into the depths below.

That thought brought him out of it like a bucket of cold water, and his guilt weighed down on him even more. What was he thinking? Stomach aching in horror of his evil thought, the thirteen year old sunk to his knees. He wouldn’t be like them. He wouldn’t. But even if he wasn't going to be like them, his rage threatened to consume him. 

Picking himself back up was difficult, but overwhelming practice over the years made it easier every time. He needed to give these people proper respect and honour in their deaths. 

His initial goal forgotten and soul a little bit older, Zuko got to work.

Chapter Text

Burial was out of the question, for starters. With so many people to lay to rest, there simply wasn’t the space, and travelling down to the bottom of the mountain to bury them at the bottom was not very time effective - especially with the crew’s limited supply of food and water. He had a week at most. 

With no resources in the temples on how airbenders did treat their deceased, it was difficult to determine what way was best to show respect to their culture and way of life. For the Fire Nation soldiers, it was easy enough. Cremation. Zuko had attended enough funerals in his years to know how he needed to perform the ceremony. Of course, he considered doing the same for the airbenders, but he ultimately decided that he would give it a bit more thought - and that cremation would only be done if no other method was possible.  

It had taken the little prince three days of non-stop working to empty the temple of all the bones and place them outside. To his worry, he found that the initial horror and grief at seeing a new body ebbed each day. Was he really getting used to this? Shoving his concerns and self-deprecating thoughts deep inside his mind (a family classic), he continued his task - gingerly lifting the discarded bones and placing them in the courtyard. He had almost finished the entire temple when he saw it.

A minute room, on the outskirts of the temple, hidden from the world by a single lonely cloth. Had it not been for the single second when the rag’s dance in the wind faltered, revealing a space behind it, he would’ve completely glossed over it. Pushing aside the meagre curtain, Zuko ventured inside.

Immediately his skin broke out into goosebumps, but the young airbender quickly regained control over his temperature. For a few seconds, all was black. Then, there was light and he couldn’t contain his gasp. This room was different from the others. The first thing his eyes took in were the many Fire nation soldier corpses, specifically the placements and injuries. All soldiers had broken ribs, courtesy of the airbenders fighting back against them, but these soldiers’ ribs were completely shattered, with fractured femurs and craniums to match. Pity couldn’t help but temporarily blossom in his chest at the inevitably painful deaths these people had endured. Remains clumped towards the wall, forming a half circle and huddled in the darkness of the small chamber as if the light saw what they had done and refused to grant them its warmth and kindness. Sun rays poured through a crevice in the ceiling directly onto the most mysterious figure Zuko had ever encountered: a single airbender, arms outstretched with a beaded necklace resting on their chest. 

Whoever this was, they were powerful. Strong enough to have killed all those firebenders by themselves, likely wave after wave of air slamming their opponents into the stones behind them, or stealing the breath right out of their lungs. Whatever they did must have destroyed them in the process, since they were there amongst their foes. Zuko crept closer, stepping carefully over stray helmets and pieces of armour to take a closer look. For a while, he stared at the body of this master airbender, wondering who he might’ve been, his life before his tragic death. 

Did he have a family? Who were his friends? 

What was his name?

If I practised airbending long enough, would I ever be that powerful?

Gazing on the necklace around the man’s neck, Zuko sighed.

He would never know. 

But the thirteen year old refused to let this man lay in the dust of the room where he perished. 

He would be honoured in his death.

Zuko made sure of it.