Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So, Zuko was not in Omashu. Or Ba Sing Se. 

Thank Agni for that, he thought as he rifled through the sack that had appeared with him. His swords a change of clothes, some money, a bit of food to last him a few days and a few more blades he’d had on him. 

His bending was bust, completely gone except for a few meagre sparks to light a fire. Nothing compared to the previous plumes of liquid gold that would unfurl like satin. 

Zuko sighed heavily as he packed up and picked a direction to leave the shrubbery he was in. He needed to find Uncle and fast.

Wiping his forehead from sweat and pulling up his hood, he walked into a small dusty town. It was a neutral port Zuko could hardly remember, which was fine considering his purpose here was to look for news regarding the Fire Nation troops.

The streets were a patchwork of dry earth and shallow puddles from recent rain, though the dusty air hinted at long days without much water. Buildings leaned precariously, their wooden frames darkened from years of sea air and wear. Canvas tarps stretched between them, flapping in the wind, offering small respite from the drizzle now beginning to fall again.

Vendors lined the narrow paths, their goods spilling over ramshackle carts and crates. A fishmonger shouted about his "fresh catch" as a passing gull squawked its disagreement, diving to snag a scrap before scurrying children chased it off. The air smelled of salt, damp wood, and the faint but constant tang of something rotting.

Zuko kept his head low, his boots splashing through the mud as he weaved through the crowd. Voices rose and fell, fragments of conversation brushing against him.

"Fire Nation patrols been sniffin' around again..."

"Rebels, they say. Same ones helpin' that Avatar..."

"Quiet! You want trouble?"

He quickened, ignoring the wary glances of passing dockworkers and fishermen. The guards in patched uniforms didn’t seem to care much for the goings-on around them, their eyes heavy-lidded with boredom or weariness. Still, Zuko kept a safe distance, his hood shadowing his scar.

The rain began to fall harder, turning the ground beneath his feet slick and unsteady. He cursed his luck for the millionth time, pulling the hood tighter as cold droplets slid down the back of his neck.

Reaching the news board, he paused, his hand briefly brushing the edge of the worn wood. It was cluttered with faded notices, weathered posters promising rewards for wanted criminals, and hastily scrawled announcements of merchant arrivals. The parchment curled at the edges, water spots blurring ink in places. Yet, there it was.

A declaration of death and funeral.

Zuko’s heart froze. 

Zuko’s heart froze. There, in his father’s own writing, was his sentence of life. He’d been declared dead through no proof of body.

His chest felt hollow as his eyes traced the sharp, unforgiving strokes of ink. Only the royal family had ever been privy to Father’s handwriting. It was tradition for the members of the family to know each other. No one else could know, meaning Father had written this. Father must’ve known he’d survive. Father was calling him dead.

Father wanted him dead.

The realization hit him with the force of a lightning strike, a cold shock that froze his mind and body. He stood there, rain dripping from his hood, his hands clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. The world around him dimmed, the noise of the port town fading into nothing.

Father saw no further use for him. Father preferred him dead .

Zuko’s breath came in short gasps, each one clawing its way out of his throat. He tried to steady himself, but the thought clung to him, sharp and unrelenting. He wasn’t even worth killing in person. Just a piece of paper, a few lines of ink, and that was it. That was the value of his existence in Ozai’s eyes.

Static filled his mind, a suffocating hum of anger and pain he couldn’t escape. Memories surfaced unbidden—Father’s scornful glare as he declared him banished, the heat of flames licking his skin, the crushing weight of an agni kai he never stood a chance of winning. It all played over and over until Zuko couldn’t tell if it was the rain or his own tears soaking his face.

He had no home. No family. No purpose.

The words echoed in his mind, hollow and damning. For years, everything he had done—every desperate act, every moment of suffering—was to regain his honor. To be worthy of his father’s approval. And now it was all for nothing.

Zuko’s legs gave out beneath him, the wet ground soaking into his robes as he sat there, staring blankly at the declaration. He wanted to be angry, but the rage was buried under the crushing weight of failure. He wanted to scream, but his throat was too tight. He wanted to fight, but there was nothing left to fight for.

For the first time since his banishment, Zuko truly didn’t know what to do.

The knife in his hand felt heavy, its cool edge pressing against his palm. He didn’t even remember drawing it. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, low and humorless.

Even this—this final, desperate act of control—would mean nothing. Father wouldn’t care. He’d already written him off. He’d already moved on.

Zuko clenched his jaw, forcing himself to his feet. His limbs felt like lead, every step toward the river a battle against the crushing weight pressing down on him. He stared at the water’s surface, his own reflection distorted by the rain.

What was left for him now?

He stared.

Father wanted him dead. Uncle had been declared a traitor and helper of the Avatar.

Zuko could never go back home. Not while Father was alive and the Firelord. The Avatar would kill father. 

The thought shot through him like lightning, fast enough to get him to drop his knife. He sat back on his heels as he stared at the water, feeling an unnatural pull toward the body.
Like something wanted him to grab it and pull.

He’d only ever felt that pull toward fire.

The sensation grew stronger the longer he stared. It wasn’t a command, but a request—quiet and persistent, like a whisper carried on the wind. His brow furrowed, his hand hovering over the stream as though drawn by a force he couldn’t name. He hesitated. Then, almost without thinking, he clenched his hand into a fist.

The water moved.

It lifted in a swirling arc, droplets shimmering in the muted gray light. The cold stung his fingertips, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The water gathered into a small, clear orb, suspended a few inches above the stream. Zuko’s breath hitched as his heart raced in his chest.

His hand shook as he held it there, his mind scrambling for an explanation. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. But the water remained, defying his denial, defying gravity. It glistened like a second heartbeat, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his own.

And then panic overtook him. He stumbled back, his boots skidding on the wet grass as the water splashed back into the stream. The sound brought him crashing back into himself, his pulse roaring in his ears.

He was a pureblood Firebender through and through.

He was the son of Ozai and Ursa. Fire Nation citizens. He was from the line blessed of Agni. The rulers of the Fire Nation.

Why was he bending water?

The question stuck in his throat, its weight as cold and unyielding as the water itself. His chest felt tight, his thoughts spiralling. Dual bending wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Not in all of history. Not in the Fire Nation. Not in him.

Zuko stared at his hands, expecting to see some mark, some sign of what had just happened, but they were as they always had been—scarred, calloused, and trembling. He clenched them into fists as though willing the memory away.

He really was a traitor.

Steeling his resolve, Zuko ignored the pull and clenched his fingers over the knife as he cut off his phoenix plume. Shaving his head clean. He stared at his reflection, hating it more and more.

Pale gold eyes stared back at him. A colour that had been a mystery to him all his life.

 Mother had golden amber, the colour of pure honey. Something she and Azula had in common. Father and Lu Ten had the same eyes. A bronze that shone like gold in the right lighting. Uncle had eyes that reminded him of crystalized caramel. His favourite sweet. From what he remembered of Azulon, he too had bronze eyes. 

Azulon used to stare at him when he’d been younger and naive. When Azula couldn’t bend yet. He told him that his father used to have gold eyes. “However not this pale.” He’d murmur, before stalking off to his duties. Not that Zuko ever met Sozin.

Then mother would whisper to him, on days when Azula had been just a bit too fast. A second to quick at the katas. A moment too precise. He’d cry into her arms, she’d whisper how her grandfather was supposed to have pale gold eyes. How he’d probably love him just as he was. 

Zuko never understood. He still doesn’t, but they made him hate himself a bit less. He had a bit of mom in him. 

Zuko let the remains of his phoenix plume drift in the water wondering what she’d think of him now if she knew where he was. What she’d do. 

He ignored the pull of the water. Shoving that feeling of rightness , completion into a void box that he’d never have to look at again.

His mind must’ve been playing tricks with him.

Dual benders were not a thing. And there was no way he’d just magically become a water bender after years of being a fire bender. That was impossible. 

Refilling his water, he slung his sack over his shoulders and left the town, his identity and his previous life behind. 

A signboard said he was a few hours away from Wan Ming. A farming village, if he remembered right. Glancing at his supplies, he dearly hoped he could find some food.

Tossing and tumbling, he grunted in his sleep. His night visions were plagued with a man in sparkling midnight blue and white shimmer. The man whispered, his eyes pure white and crackling like a storm.

“You will face many crossroads. Yet, I believe in you, Zuko. ‘Blessed of Agni and Chosen of the Midnight Wrath.’”

The words echoed, each syllable heavy with a meaning Zuko couldn’t grasp, as though the man’s voice was etched into the fabric of the dream itself.

Zuko woke up with a gasp, sweat dripping down his back. His chest heaved as he blinked rapidly, placing a trembling hand over his face. The room was dark, lit only by the pale glow of the moon at its apex. Rolling his shoulders, Zuko tried to shake off the dream, but the man’s words clung to him like soot. His heart pounded as if he’d run miles, and the phrase "Chosen of the Midnight Wrath" sent a chill down his spine.

What did it mean? Who was that figure? And why did his words feel as though they carried a weight heavier than Zuko could bear?

He’d been staying with a healer in Wa Ming, a lady called Song. She reminded him of Lu Ten in the most bizarre of ways. It wasn’t her face or voice, but the way she carried herself—calm, steady, and full of quiet kindness. It was disarming. For a moment, Zuko could almost imagine Lu Ten standing over him, cracking a wry joke about how Zuko always seemed to find himself in trouble.

But Lu Ten had been dead for almost five years now.

Song had taken one look at him when he asked for directions to the nearest port city near Ba Sing Se and decided he wasn’t to leave her sight until he’d been “cured and treated.” He’d hesitated at first, but the promise of food had lured him in. Before he knew it, she’d seated him by a fire and administered medicine. He’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

Zuko sighed, flopping back on the cot. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the pattering rain. Song had been kind to him—too kind. He hated it. Comfort felt foreign, like something he didn’t deserve. Yet, it had also been… safe. A fleeting glimpse of what life might have been if things had been different.

Waterbending could mean an endless supply of ice blades.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and unwelcome. Zuko froze, his mind immediately rejecting it. No . He chided himself, forcing the insane notion away. It was just another way his mind was trying to drive him into greater peril. He still had his inner flame; he could still feel the sun. He was a firebender.

That was the lie he told himself on repeat, especially on nights like this, when the quiet made it impossible to ignore the truth.

On the fourth day, he disappeared from Wa Ming. No more than a specter in the wind. The town had been too comfortable, too much like home—like the Wani. He left behind nothing, not even a farewell.

Now, sitting under the faint glow of a makeshift campfire, Zuko glared at the brittle paper in his hands. The document claimed the existence of Wan Shi Tong’s library—a mythical repository of knowledge. If it existed, it could finally provide him some insight into his condition.

His fingers hovered over the edges of his map, tracing the faint lines of the Earth Kingdom. The desert where the library was said to be hidden stretched vast and unforgiving between Gaoling and Ba Sing Se. Zuko breathed deeply, considering his options. According to reports, the Avatar was near Omashu. That meant—

He shook his head sharply. He wasn’t after the Avatar. Not anymore. The thought of pursuing him felt distant, like something from another life.

He just needed to survive.

The idea of the library pulled at him like the moon pulled the tides, a faint glimmer of hope amidst the chaos of his thoughts. If he could find answers—anything to explain the changes in him—he might finally understand who he was.

Zuko snapped the map closed and got to his feet. The rain had stopped, leaving the night air cool and damp. He glanced at the distant outline of the mountains on the horizon. Wan Ming had been kind, but kindness couldn’t save him.

His journey to the library would be dangerous, but he’d faced worse. Or so he told himself.

Chapter Text

Zuko made it to the Misty Palms. The last stop before the desert where Wan Shi Tong’s library supposedly was. The bar was slow and dusty, its air thick with the scents of sand and sweat. Only a handful of patrons lingered in the dim room, their voices low murmurs that blended with the creak of wooden chairs and the occasional clink of a cup against the counter.

Zuko thumbed the ridges of a lotus Pai Sho tile under his cloak. The smooth texture of the grooves beneath his fingers was oddly grounding, a habit he’d developed without even noticing. It was something to do when he was unsure.

He’d spotted the tile at a small tent market in one of the nondescript villages he’d passed between Wa Ming and the Misty Palms. It hadn’t been particularly special, not compared to Uncle’s cherished set on the Wani, but the sight of it had pulled at him like a tether. Without hesitation, he’d bought it. He hadn’t known why then, but now he understood. It was a piece of familiarity, something to hold onto in the chaos of his self-imposed exile.

Shaking his head free from thoughts of Uncle, Zuko tipped the brim of his large sunhat further down as he accepted the offered drink. The floral coconut scent wafted up, faint and sweet, but it did little to ease the ache in his chest.

The hat had been a surprise. After hours of trudging through the desolate paths from Wa Ming, he’d rummaged through his bag and found it tucked neatly at the bottom. It wasn’t his. Song must have slipped it in before he left.

The realization sent a sharp pang through him. She’d known.

Zuko clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the cup. Kindness, he thought bitterly, was a double-edged blade.

A raised, offended voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. “Wan Shi Tong’s library? Of course, it exists!”

His head snapped toward the sound, his sharp gaze zeroing in on the man speaking.

The man, probably in his late thirties, was gesticulating wildly as he argued with another patron. His voice carried an edge of indignation, and his brown eyes burned with conviction. “I’ve studied the records, the accounts—everything! All I need is passage, and I’ll prove it to you all!”

The man’s fervor drew a few mutters from the room. Zuko ignored them as he rose from his seat and approached. His cloak swayed lightly around his legs as he moved.

“You really believe it exists?” he asked, cutting through someone else’s retort.

The scholar turned to him, his expression shifting from frustration to cautious curiosity. “I know it does,” he replied firmly, his determination blazing as brightly as any fire Zuko had conjured in the past.

Zuko nodded once. “I can help you secure passage. All I ask is your help to reach the library.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. He knew of sandbenders who could help—they just didn’t know him.

The small crowd stirred at his words, their whispers carrying disbelief and mockery.

“There’s another crazy.”

“What has the world come to?”

The scholar ignored them, his face breaking into a radiant grin, almost startling Zuko. It was a smile that crackled with energy, sharper than lightning. “Of course! Anything for a fellow seeker of knowledge.”

He gestured to himself, his movements grand and sweeping. “I am Professor Zei, of Ba Sing Se’s University.”

Zuko offered a brief nod, clasping the man’s outstretched hand. “Li.”

Professor Zei’s enthusiasm was undeterred. “What brings you to the library, Li?”

Zuko hesitated, then cleared his throat, shrugging as if it were of little consequence. “Just a curiosity. I’ve heard of it often from my uncle…” His voice trailed off, and his hand brushed the pocket where the Pai Sho tile rested, its presence grounding and burning all at once. “He spoke often of the great spirits,” Zuko murmured, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. The wistfulness in his tone wasn’t feigned.

The professor hummed knowingly, his smile softening into something warmer. He clapped a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the reason, I am beyond grateful you wish to accompany me.”

So, that was how Zuko found himself standing before a group of sandbenders, bargaining for passage into the desert.

The sandbenders were a wiry bunch, their sun-creased faces impassive as Zuko presented his case. The leader, a man with a sharp gaze that seemed to pierce through his façade, folded his arms. “Why should we risk our lives for your fool’s errand?”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “You’ll be compensated. Name your price.”

The negotiations stretched on, tense and slow, each word weighed as carefully as a grain of sand in the wind. Zuko fought to keep his frustration at bay, his patience already fraying under the desert heat.

Finally, the man gave a curt nod. “One day. No more.”

Zuko inclined his head, relief flooding through him. He didn’t trust his voice to remain steady, so he simply thanked him and stepped back. The sun blazed high above as preparations began, and Zuko couldn’t help but glance back at Professor Zei, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

As the sandbenders readied their skiffs, Zuko found himself gripping the Pai Sho tile again, his thoughts a tangled mess of hope, fear, and the faintest glimmer of something he couldn’t quite name.

To be completely honest, Zuko had been sceptical about the library’s existence. It wasn’t that he doubted spirits existed—he’d seen too much in his life to question that. But a grand, hidden library of infinite knowledge buried in the middle of the desert? It sounded like something out of one of Lu Ten’s old bedtime stories.

However, skepticism was a bit difficult to maintain when you were standing face-to-face with a massive gleaming structure of pure white marble, half-buried in the shifting sands. One lone tower shot up from the dunes, its smooth surface catching the light of the setting sun like polished jade. A single window near the top hung slightly ajar, the faintest glimmer of its interior spilling out into the evening glow.

Zuko stared, mouth slightly agape. “It’s really here,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.

His quiet disbelief was drowned out by Professor Zei’s triumphant exclamation. “The jewel of knowledge!” the professor cried, his voice carrying on the dry desert wind. He turned in a half-circle, throwing his hands up as if addressing the heavens themselves.

Behind them, the sandbenders muttered among themselves, their expressions a mix of awe and lingering doubt. “Never thought I’d see the day,” Zhen Tu, the leader, muttered, shaking his head as he adjusted the scarf over his face.

Their sand-skiff came to a stop at the base of the tower, its massive shadow stretching out across the dunes. Zhen Tu turned to Zuko, his sharp eyes narrowing. “How will you get in?”

Zuko tilted his head, studying the structure with a critical gaze. The tower was smooth and unblemished, its surface devoid of the usual imperfections of stonework. After a moment of quiet deliberation, he approached the wall and pressed his hands against it, feeling for any potential grip.

“I think I have a way,” he said finally.

Before anyone could question him, Zuko grabbed a rope from his pack and began scaling the tower with the nimbleness of a goat-lizard. His movements were quick and precise, each pull and foothold carrying him higher as the crowd below watched in stunned silence.

By the time he reached the open window, the sun had dipped closer to the horizon, casting long shadows over the sands. Zuko secured the rope beneath the windowsill, leaning over the edge to call down to the others.

“You should be fine to climb up,” he shouted, his voice echoing faintly against the vast dunes.

Professor Zei blinked up at him, his expression frozen somewhere between amazement and terror. “Okay,” the professor said slowly, his voice slightly shaky. Then, with a nervous laugh that bordered on hysterical, he added, “Right. I’ll just do what you did.”

Zhen Tu chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched the professor fumble with the rope. “Quite a partner you have there,” he said, his tone laced with dry amusement.

Zei shot him a sidelong look, his face flushed. “Right,” he muttered under his breath.

Zhen raised an eyebrow. “Do you want us to come back in a few days?”

The professor hesitated, glancing back at the tower, then at the horizon. “We can’t coordinate that,” he said, shaking his head.

“And what about the boy?” Zhen asked, nodding toward Zuko, who was now perched casually at the window, watching the exchange with thinly veiled impatience.

“I’ll find my way out,” Zuko called down, his tone clipped. The desert heat had drained his patience, and their prolonged deliberation wasn’t helping.

Zhen frowned, clearly unconvinced. “We can’t just leave you out here alone,” he said, his voice firm.

Zuko sighed, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “We’ll be fine,” he reassured them, though the edge in his voice made it clear he wasn’t interested in further argument. “If you’re that worried, come back in a week and check in. We’ll either be here or gone by then.”

Zhen exchanged a long look with one of the other sandbenders before nodding reluctantly. “A week,” he agreed.

By the time Professor Zei finally scrambled up the rope—grunting and cursing the entire way—the sun was half-hidden behind the dunes, painting the world in hues of gold and crimson.

“Well,” Zei huffed as he collapsed onto the cool marble floor beside Zuko, “this is already shaping up to be the adventure of a lifetime.”

Zuko didn’t respond. He was too busy staring down at the dunes below, the faint tracks of their departure already fading under the shifting sands.

The duo slipped through the cold library, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat outside. The air inside was unnaturally still, devoid of dust, and filled with an eerie, timeless silence. It was a repository of all the knowledge one could ever require, yet it felt alive, as though the walls themselves were watching. Zuko gripped a torch tightly, its flickering flame casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to stretch too far. He led the way to a library index, the faint sound of their footsteps swallowed by the vastness around them.

A sudden chill crept down Zuko’s spine, a foreboding that settled deep in his bones. It was a sensation he had come to associate with spirits, a disquiet he had felt once before—right before the sky split with a column of light, a haze of blue heralding the Avatar's arrival. This was the same, but heavier.

Without warning, a swirl of black feathers erupted in the air, blotting out the dim light and casting shifting shadows over them. The torch in Zuko’s hand sputtered and died, leaving only smoke and an encroaching darkness. A deep, guttural voice resonated from every direction, as if the library itself had spoken. “WHO DARES ENTER MY DOMAIN?”

Zuko swallowed hard, his heart racing as he fought to steady his breathing. He straightened his posture, forcing calm into his voice. “We do, oh great spirit of knowledge.”

From the shadows emerged Wan Shi Tong, his vast, sharp gaze falling on Professor Zei before shifting to Zuko. The spirit’s presence was suffocating, the weight of his intelligence palpable in the air.

“I see… and what gave you the right to enter here?” Wan Shi Tong’s voice was smooth yet edged, like a blade wrapped in silk.

The professor bowed deeply, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill. “Just knowledge, oh great one. We wish to pursue nothing but the unknown.”

The spirit coiled unnaturally around them, his movements unnerving and fluid. “And who might you be?”

Professor Zei lifted his head briefly. “Zei Shin, a professor from Ba Sing Se.”

Zuko dipped his head. “Li—”

The spirit’s head snapped toward him, his gaze piercing. “LIES.”

Zuko blanched, his eyes widening in alarm. “I—”

“SPEAK TRULY, HUMAN.” Wan Shi Tong’s voice thundered, shaking the air around them.

Zuko swallowed hard, his voice a whisper. “Zuko.” He paused, his head bowing slightly. “Zuko, son of Ursa.”

The spirit loomed closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied Zuko. “Zuko…” he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue with a mix of curiosity and reverence. He froze, his tone shifting to something softer, almost contemplative. “Blessed by Agni… Chosen of the Midnight Wrath.”

Zuko’s eyes widened in shock. “You know what that means?”

Wan Shi Tong withdrew slightly, his ire giving way to a thoughtful air as he examined Zuko anew. “Son of Ursa… Ursa…” he murmured, his voice distant. Reaching out a claw, he tilted Zuko’s face upward, his gaze piercing. “Grandson of Sozin. Grandson of Roku. You truly are destined for greatness.”

Zuko inhaled sharply, his mind splintering as the words “Grandson of Roku” echoed in his head. A sudden wave of sensations overwhelmed him: the acrid smell of burnt ground, the molten heat of lava, the cool embrace of ocean sands, and then… darkness.

“Oh my,” murmured a soft, male voice. Zuko felt himself cradled, a warmth pressing against his back. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Zuko’s eyes fluttered open, his vision blurring before focusing on a pair of pale gold eyes. He bolted upright, scrambling backwards. “Avatar Roku?” he rasped, his throat dry.

Roku smiled kindly, his presence firm. “Yes, Zuko.”

Zuko’s breathing quickened, his head shaking in disbelief. “No. No way. This must be a trick—I’m not your grandson. I can’t—”

Roku’s hand rested gently on his shoulder, grounding him. “Ursa was my granddaughter. Though I never lived to see her or my daughter, I am glad to have known you, my child.”

Zuko swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to collapse into his ancestor’s arms. “So Azula…”

“Yes, she too,” replied Roku softly.

Zuko’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching. “Why? Why now?”

Roku sighed, motioning for Zuko to sit on the grass that had appeared beneath them. “I… was unaware of your existence until the Midnight Wrath found you.”

Zuko tilted his head, confusion flickering in his gold eyes. “What… Who is the Midnight Wrath?”

Roku hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know his true name. Only the spirits and his chosen warriors do.” His gaze turned to the dusky horizon. “You may know him as the Blue Spirit.”

Zuko’s eyes widened, his head whipping toward Roku. “What? He’s real?”

Roku sighed again. “I see he hasn’t told you anything.”

Zuko just stared, his mind racing.

Roku chuckled lightly. “Right. Well, as your grandfather, I suppose I should explain.”

And so Roku began recounting the legacy of the Blue Spirit, revealing his identity as the Midnight Wrath—a water spirit who chose warriors in times of dire need. Traditionally, these warriors were waterbenders, occasionally airbenders. Never before had an earthbender or firebender been chosen. Until now.

“So… that’s why I can waterbend,” Zuko murmured, relief washing over him. “I thought I was going crazy. I couldn’t feel my inner flame and assumed I’d lost my mind.”

Roku’s expression softened with sorrow. “Oh, my dear boy… I wish I could have helped you sooner.”

Zuko remained silent, his thoughts swirling. “I still can’t,” he admitted softly.

“Still can’t what?” Roku prompted.

“Firebend,” Zuko whispered, shame lacing his tone. “I think I’ve lost it for good.”

Roku hummed thoughtfully. “Can I assume your root had been anger?”

Zuko paused before nodding. “Yes. It’s the most powerful…”

“Not where I learned it,” Roku said with a cheeky smile.

Zuko’s heart sparked with hope. “Could… Would you…”

“Of course,” Roku replied warmly. “It would be my pleasure.”

Zuko smiled gratefully. His face shone bright like the morning sun. 

“Fire is life,” Roku began, his tone firm yet calm, “You will not master even the bare basics if you cannot grasp this.”

Zuko’s gaze narrowed. “Life,” he repeated, the word heavy on his tongue. It felt foreign, even strange, to associate fire with something other than destruction.

“Like a hearth or a campfire,” Roku explained, holding out a steady flame in his palm. “Fire provides warmth, security, safety… and most importantly, life.”

Zuko stared at the flickering flame in Roku's palm. It wasn’t like the flames he was used to—wild, unpredictable, fueled by anger. This one was steady, almost gentle. As he focused on it, he swore he could see the tiniest flecks of color shimmering within, like bits of chipped paint blending into the golden glow.

Almost like a hearth, he mused, the thought floating into him like a dead branch in a river.

It clicked, fast as lightning. The idea of fire as something nurturing rather than consuming finally made sense.

Overjoyed, Zuko restrained himself from producing any flames right away, choosing instead to run through his katas. He wanted his movements to be flawless before testing this new understanding.

Roku watched with a proud smile. “Your basics are solid as a rock,” he praised. “One would have to try very hard to shake your foundation.”

Zuko felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with fire. It was pride—earned, not given.

They moved on to the more challenging katas, and though Zuko didn’t bend, his forms remained precise, controlled.

“I didn’t want to lose all my hard work,” Zuko admitted shyly, glancing at Roku.

The older firebender’s expression softened, the pride in his eyes growing.

Eventually, Zuko mastered even the intricate Sun Warrior forms.

Roku observed him closely, then spoke, “You are not creating flames.”

Zuko sighed, staring at his open palms. “I don’t want to get my hopes up for nothing.”

Roku placed a steadying hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “You will not know until you try. Do not let fear hold you back. You have faced greater challenges and never faltered. Why stop now?”

Zuko’s breath hitched. Slowly, he closed his eyes, grounding himself. His breathing steadied, and with one sharp exhale, he thrust his hands forward.

A vibrant burst of flames erupted from his fists, splinters of pure white crackling within the almost silver blaze.

Zuko froze, staring in awe at the flames dancing around him. He moved through a few more katas, and the flames remained steady, pure, alive.

“They’re… different,” he murmured, a mix of shock and joy painting his features.

Roku smiled, though his gaze held a flicker of concern. “Your flames are unique—powerful,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “And interesting.” He paused, then added, “You know the katas for lightning bending, yes?”

Zuko nodded, still marvelling at his flames.

“Good,” Roku said. “Lightning is fire in its purest form—a balance of opposites, positive and negative. To master it, you must understand and embrace that balance. When bending lightning, you must not allow yourself to be pulled to either side. You must simply exist within the flow.”

Zuko frowned in concentration but said nothing, beginning the lightning katas without hesitation. He moved slowly at first, his arms circling the air in fluid, deliberate motions.

Roku nodded in approval, watching as Zuko’s movements grew more confident, more natural.

When Zuko jabbed his fingers sharply toward the sky, a brilliant crackle of white lightning, tinged with faint purple, tore through the air.

The sky lit up in bursts of energy, the sharp smell of ozone filling the clearing. Zuko’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as he stared at the aftermath.

“I…” he whispered, his voice thick with disbelief.

Roku laughed, his hand ruffling Zuko’s hair. “You’ve done well,” he said, his pride unmistakable.

Zuko grinned, barely containing his excitement as he repeated the motions, creating small arcs of lightning between his fingers. Every crackle sent a thrill through him.

But then, a strange fluttering sensation rippled through him. His excitement dimmed slightly as he scanned the clearing, his brow furrowing.

Roku’s hand rested on his shoulder again, grounding him. “Remember, Zuko,” he said softly, “you can always seek my guidance. We are connected.”

“Grandfather—wha—?” Zuko’s words caught in his throat as his vision blurred.

When his eyes opened again, he was lying on his back, cocooned in warmth. His body felt heavy, but familiar sounds drifted to his ears.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a relieved voice said.

Zuko blinked, slowly focusing on the face hovering above him. The professor smoothed a hand down his face, “Oma and Shu, you scared me good.”

Zuko stared. “Where am I?’’

“My library, Chosen of the Midnight Wrath.’’ Said a deep scratchy voice. 

Zuko turned to the sound, sagging in relief. His mind was whirling with a million thoughts per second. 

The professor turned thoughtfully, “Who is the Midnight—”

“—SILENCE MORTAL!” interrupted Wan Shi Tong, feathers prickled. “You cannot speak his true name…”

“The professor reeled back, “His true name?”

Wan Shi Ting nodded, “Only us spirits and his chosen,” He gestured to Zuko, “May use his true name. You however,” He glanced back at the professor, “know him as the Blue Spirit .’’ 

Zuko exhaled shakily, feeling pricks along his skin every time his name was mentioned. The professor’s eyes widened in awe as he turned to stare at Zuko, “Incredible…” He murmured.

“I didn’t think I’d ever meet one of his warriors no less see the day he named one. Especially a firebender.” The professor’s eyes scanned all over Zuko critically like an artisan would inspect his work of art, “I’m quite lucky to have met you.”  

Zuko tilted his head, “You—’’ Zuko’s voice caught, “You’re not upset I lied to you?” He asked quietly.

The professor blinked, “What? Oh! No, of course not.” He reached out to ruffle Zuko’s head, “You’re just a boy, and it’s clear to me you enjoy the fine art of knowledge as well…there…there are still good people in the Fire Nation after all.”

Zuko didn’t say anything. 

The professor continued, “Besides, you have been the Chosen of the Blue Spirit. One known in the Water Tribes for bringing forth justice and honour to its people.’’ Then he hummed thoughtfully, glancing at Zuko, “You may even remember him from the very few stories left of him in the Fire Nation where he is depicted in blue and white as a sort of figure of mischief and justice.” 

Zuko nodded, remembering the play Love Amongst Dragons and how the Blue Spirit was the one to help catapult the sequence to a joyous climax finale.

The professor smiled, “So he must know what he was doing.” 

Zuko looked away unable to meet the professor's stare, “I really hope so.” He murmured.

Chapter Text

“I need your help,” blurted Zuko a few days after his blackout. He was in the Earth Kingdom history section watching as the professor was perched on a tall rolling ladder looking very much like a child on their birthday as he riffled through the many books.

At Zuko’s call, the professor startled out of his daze, “Oh?” He turned to look at Zuko, “What do you need my help with?” 

Zuko wrung his fingers nervously, a habit he’d picked up in the past three years. “I need help finding… waterbending scrolls.”

The professor stared silently for a moment, his expression unreadable, before slowly nodding and descending from the ladder with practiced ease.

“May I ask why, young Zuko?”

Zuko said nothing for a long time, his gaze fixed on the massive walls of knowledge. “I… I have reason to believe that…” He swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. “That I also possess the skills to waterbend.”

There. He’d said it. It was real. He was a dual bender.

The professor’s eyes widened, his composure slipping as he gaped at Zuko. “You… you are certain of this?” he asked, voice tinged with disbelief.

Zuko grimaced, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides. “Yeah… courtesies of the Blue Spirit, I suppose.”

The professor nodded slowly, still in awe, and motioned for Zuko to follow him. They walked in silence until they reached the Water Tribe section of the library, where rows of ancient scrolls lay meticulously organized. The air seemed colder here, as if the knowledge of waterbending carried the chill of frozen tundras.

They began scouring through multiple bending scrolls, each one filled with intricate diagrams and flowing instructions. Zuko’s eyes darted over the unfamiliar movements, his brow furrowed in frustration. He tried to connect them to the fragments of waterbending he’d observed—the girl with the Avatar had made it look effortless—but every attempt felt awkward and forced.

He hated it.

The push and pull, the fluidity—it didn’t come naturally. Firebending was direct, fierce, a projection of will. This… this felt like trying to learn an entirely different language with nothing but scattered memories and incomplete translations.

Zuko stood in a small clearing the professor had cleared for practice, a basin of water set before him. He moved his hands in slow, deliberate arcs, following the scroll’s instructions as best he could. The water rippled slightly but refused to rise, mocking his efforts.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Zuko muttered, clenching his fists. “For something I did on instinct before, it’s… impossible to replicate.”

The professor observed him quietly, then spoke. “From what I can gather, it seems that since water is the direct opposite of fire, you seem to be struggling more than usual.”

“I know that!” Zuko snapped, his frustration boiling over. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. “Sorry. It’s just so… different. Too soft. Too…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Too unlike you,” the professor finished thoughtfully.

Zuko’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah.” He knelt beside the basin, staring into the still water as if it might offer answers.

The professor knelt beside him. “Perhaps you’re approaching it the wrong way,” he said. “Waterbending requires a shift in mindset. You cannot force it like your firebending. Maybe watching a master would help?” 

Zuko’s jaw tightened. Roku . Who, Zuko could technically ask, but he wanted to do this on his own. Closing his eyes, he placed his hands over the basin, taking a deep breath. He tried to empty his mind, focusing on the cool sensation of the water beneath his palms. Slowly, he began to move again, this time not with force but with intention. The water stirred, rising slightly before falling back.

It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

Zuko opened his eyes, his frustration giving way to a glimmer of determination. “I’d like to keep trying,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Zei.

The professor suppressed a laugh, “That seems like something you’d do.” He got up to ruffle Zuko’s hair before leaving the clearing, “Don’t stay up too long working this out. You need your stamina.”

Hours later, Zuko flopped back on the floor, letting out a frustrated huff.

He had tried over and over to replicate the emotions and patterns, but every attempt ended in failure. He didn’t even have this issue with relearning firebending.

Glancing at one of the small blue crystals that decorated this area. It reminded him so much of the jewellery back home. Mum would get a set then Azula would beg for one and they're match together. Those gemstones sparkled like the sea, now they just reminded Zuko of everything he used to have and everything he didn't have.

Destiny was a funny thing, he mused numbly staring at his fingers. He was a firebender, now a waterbender as well. He was the infamous Fire Prince destined to bring the Avatar to the Fire Lord, yet here he was contemplating working with him instead. Zuko sighed heavily shaking off the thoughts his father would call traitorous, before calling for the only person who could help him right now. “Avatar Roku?” A short pause. “Roku?” Then, after another pause and a heavy sigh, “ Grandfather ?”

A flash of red, blue, and smoke later, Zuko found himself rapidly blinking in a field of soft, vibrant grass. Roku stood above him, his much-too-satisfied and innocent smile practically glowing. “Yes, my boy?”

Zuko rolled his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows. “I need help with waterbending,” he muttered, the words bitter in his mouth.

Roku bent down slightly, cupping a hand to his ear. “I can’t quite hear, Zuko. Would you be a dear and repeat that?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with barely concealed mirth.

Zuko huffed, leveling a glare at his grandfather. “Help. Me. With. Waterbending. Grandfather,” he gritted out, enunciating each word.

Roku’s smile widened with feigned innocence. “Oh, of course, Zuko. I’d be delighted.”

Despite the teasing, Roku’s teaching began in earnest. His movements were deliberate yet fluid, demonstrating the delicate balance between control and release. Zuko struggled to mimic them, his frustration mounting as the water barely responded. Roku patiently adjusted his posture and guided his hands, offering encouragement even when Zuko’s temper flared.

After an hour of practice, Zuko paused, his breathing heavy but more measured. “What do you think of destiny, Ro—Grandfather?” he asked, his tone hesitant but curious.

Roku paused mid-movement, giving Zuko a considering look. “It depends,” he said thoughtfully. “Everyone has a destiny, but everyone also has the power to shape what they want their destiny to be. You can’t let others decide it for you.”

Zuko mulled over those words in silence, his brow furrowed in thought. The gentle rhythm of the spirit world—the rustling grass, the distant call of a bird—seemed to encourage reflection.

“Can I ask what brought this on?” Roku inquired, his tone gentle as he absentmindedly bent small globules of water into intricate shapes.

Zuko sighed, his gaze lifting to the sky. The expanse above them was a masterpiece of color—a golden glow where evening met dusk, stars scattered like diamonds on a velvety canvas. A soft breeze, carrying the scent of the sea, brushed against his face, bringing a rare sense of calm.

“I want to help the Avatar,” Zuko murmured quietly, his words carried on the wind.

The water Roku had been bending splashed to the ground. “Wh—What?!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

Zuko’s cheeks tinged with pink, but he didn’t falter. “Ozai, Azulon, and Sozin… they were all wrong.” His voice was firm, though tinged with bitterness. “The world deserves better… the Fire Nation deserves better,” he whispered, his gaze distant.

Roku’s expression softened, his fiery gaze tempered with understanding. “I see,” he said, placing a hand on Zuko’s back. The touch was grounding, a kind and soothing presence amidst the turmoil of Zuko’s thoughts. “And you believe helping the Avatar is the best course of action?”

Zuko nodded, his jaw set, though his eyes remained fixed on the horizon. “Yes. It’s the best way to restore honor to the Fire Nation.” His voice was low but unwavering, each word carrying the weight of his conviction.

Roku smiled faintly, his pride evident. “Then you’ve already begun to shape your destiny, my boy. The path ahead won’t be easy, but I’m here for you—always.”

Roku sat down beside Zuko, the two of them quiet for a moment as they took in the serene beauty of the spirit world. “You remind me of myself when I was young,” Roku said softly, a trace of nostalgia in his voice. “Determined, passionate, maybe a little stubborn.”

Zuko let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Only a little?”

Roku laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Alright, maybe a lot. But that stubbornness is what will carry you through the challenges ahead. It’s what allowed me to stand against Sozin, even when it meant losing someone I once called a friend.”

Zuko’s gaze softened as he glanced at Roku. “Do you regret it?” he asked quietly.

Roku’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “Regret? Perhaps. But I also know that doing nothing would have caused even greater suffering. Sometimes, we must make difficult choices for the greater good.”

Zuko nodded slowly, his heart heavy but resolute. “I just want to make things right.”

Roku placed a reassuring hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “And you will, Zuko. One step at a time. Remember, you’re not alone in this.”

The next day, Zuko was back at practice, the early morning light in the spirit world casting long, golden beams over the grassy field. He stood ankle-deep in a clear, slow-moving stream, his hands outstretched as he concentrated on the water’s flow. The stream resisted his efforts, slipping through his fingers like silk.

Roku appeared beside him, his presence calming yet commanding. “Relax, Zuko,” he said gently, though a playful glint danced in his eyes. “Waterbending is not about domination. It’s about harmony. Feel the rhythm, the natural pulse of the water. And try not to look so constipated while you’re at it.”

Zuko’s eyes snapped to Roku, his mouth opening in protest. “I do not—!”

Roku raised a hand, suppressing a chuckle. “Relax, my boy. You’re doing fine. But you’ll get nowhere if you’re too tense. Water doesn’t respond to force; it responds to flow.”

Zuko exhaled slowly, closing his eyes and focusing on the sound of the stream. Its gentle babbling filled his ears, and he tried to synchronize his breathing with its flow. His hands moved in slow, circular motions, guided by Roku’s steady voice.

“Good,” Roku praised. “Now, feel the push and pull. The water responds to your intent, but you must also respond to its movement. Let it guide you. Think of it as… a dance. Even you can manage that, can’t you?”

Zuko cracked one eye open to glare at him. “I’m not clumsy.”

“Oh, of course not,” Roku said, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “You’re as graceful as a turtle-duck on land.”

Despite himself, Zuko felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He shook his head, refocusing on the water. Slowly, he began to feel a connection—a subtle tug as the water started to swirl around his hands. His eyes snapped open in surprise as he saw the small whirlpool forming beneath his palms.

“There it is,” Roku said, his voice warm with approval. “You see? It’s about trust, Zuko. Trust in yourself and in the water’s nature.”

Zuko’s expression softened as he continued to guide the water, the whirlpool growing steadier. “It’s… different,” he admitted. “Not like fire at all.”

“Different, yes,” Roku agreed, “but not entirely unrelated. Both require focus and respect for their power. The difference is in how you approach them. Fire is a roaring beast; water, a patient guide. You’ll learn to balance them in time.”

Zuko hesitated before glancing up at Roku. “Do you really think I can do this?”

Roku’s smile widened, and he gave Zuko a playful nudge on the shoulder. “If a stubborn, hot-headed boy like you can’t master it, then who can?”

Zuko let out a small, reluctant chuckle. For a moment, the weight of his doubts lifted, replaced by the growing bond between him and his grandfather. Together, they resumed practice, the gentle rhythm of the spirit world their only audience.

Several days later, Zuko’s progress was evident. He stood confidently by the stream, guiding water into smooth, arching waves that danced under his control. His movements had grown more fluid, his once rigid stances now replaced with graceful transitions that reflected the water’s nature. Each morning, he practised with unrelenting determination, his frustration replaced by quiet resolve.

“Impressive, Zuko,” Roku said as he observed. “You’ve come a long way in such a short time.”

Zuko’s lips twitched into a small smile as he raised a swirling orb of water between his hands. “I’m starting to understand it,” he admitted. “It’s starting to feel right.”

Roku nodded, pride evident in his expression. “Waterbending teaches balance, something every bender needs. And you’re learning to find that balance within yourself.”

Zuko gave a small smile, bending small globules into intricate shapes, very reminiscent of a certain Avatar.

That afternoon, Zuko stood at the entrance of Wan Shi Tong’s library, his few belongings packed tightly into a small satchel. Professor Zei stood beside him, adjusting his glasses.

“You’re really leaving, then?” Zei asked, his voice tinged with both sadness and admiration.

Zuko nodded. “I’ve learned what I needed here. It’s time for me to move forward.” He hesitated, then added with a short bow, “Thank you, Professor. You’ve been a great help.” 

Zei offered a faint smile. “It was an honor to assist someone so dedicated. I’ll miss our conversations… and your persistence.”

Zuko flushed at the reminder of a certain incident. He didn’t have much time to dwell on that however as a storm of black feathers and curling shadows emerged. 

Wan Shi Tong.

The spirit regarded Zuko with his piercing gaze. “You have gained knowledge and shown respect for my domain,” the great owl intoned. “For that, you have my favor… but remember, knowledge is a responsibility. Use it wisely, Zuko, son of Ursa.”

Zuko bowed deeply, his expression solemn. “Thank you, Wan Shi Tong. I won’t forget.”

As he turned to leave, the spirit’s deep voice echoed one last time. “The path you walk is fraught with peril. Trust in yourself and in those who walk beside you.”

With a final glance at the towering shelves of ancient knowledge and the figures he was leaving behind, Zuko stepped out into the glowing expanse of the sands. The spirit world’s twilight sky painted the dunes in hues of gold and lavender, a breathtaking, serene landscape that seemed to hold its breath as he moved forward. The horizon stretched infinitely, a quiet reminder of the path ahead—a journey riddled with uncertainty yet blazing with potential. His determination burned brighter than ever, each step a silent vow to forge his destiny with his own hands.

As the warm breeze swept past him, stirring the sand at his feet, a faint shimmer appeared over his face. The unmistakable glint of a laughing blue and white mask briefly flickered, like a phantom shadow, before vanishing into the ether. Zuko turned back once more, raising a hand in a quiet farewell.

Professor Zei watched in awe, his eyes wide and his breath caught in his throat. “So that’s the Blue Spirit…” he murmured, his voice hushed as though speaking any louder might shatter the fragile wonder of the moment.

Wan Shi Tong remained still, his gaze piercing and unyielding, fixed on Zuko’s retreating form. “Very much so,” the spirit said, his voice a low rumble that carried both curiosity and gravity. His feathers ruffled slightly, as if unsettled by unseen currents in the air. “The fact that he reveals himself so readily through his chosen’s form is… interesting .”

Professor Zei turned toward the great owl, his scholarly curiosity sparking. “Interesting? What do you mean?”

Wan Shi Tong’s sharp eyes narrowed, reflecting the light of the dimly glowing crystals that lined the library’s endless shelves. “The Blue Spirit is not one to act without purpose,” the spirit replied, his tone heavy with significance. “If he chooses to manifest so frequently, it is not mere coincidence. It suggests a convergence—a delicate moment in time where the mortal and spirit realms align in ways even I cannot fully foresee.”

The faint echo of Zuko’s footsteps was swallowed by the vast desert, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. Wan Shi Tong’s gaze lingered on the empty horizon, his thoughts a maelstrom of possibilities. “Whether this is a blessing or a harbinger of greater trials… only time will tell.”

The library grew quiet again, save for the faint rustle of ancient pages and the soft shifting of sand beyond its threshold. Professor Zei adjusted his glasses, peering into the distance as though he might glimpse the answers hidden within the endless dunes. A strange mix of wonder and worry settled in his chest, and he turned back to Wan Shi Tong.

“You think he’s ready?” Zei asked, his voice quiet.

The great spirit didn’t respond immediately, his head tilting ever so slightly. Finally, Wan Shi Tong’s deep, resonant voice broke the stillness. “The question is not whether he is ready,” he said slowly, “but whether the world is ready for him.”

And with that, Wan Shi Tong spread his massive wings, retreating into the darkened recesses of his domain, leaving Professor Zei alone with his thoughts, staring out at the place where Zuko had disappeared.

Chapter Text

It had been approximately a week since Zuko had left Wan Shi Tong’s library. He had spent the time traveling, the dry earth crunching beneath his boots as he moved steadily forward, his thoughts preoccupied with his training. Last he’d heard of the Avatar was that the group was headed towards Gaoling and were looking for an Earthbending teacher. Hopefully they’d listen to him when he explained his need to help, he mused, watching water drops drip down his hand.

His waterbending had improved—well, somewhat. He could get it to work in bursts, the cool sensation of bending water foreign yet strangely familiar in his hands. But control was another matter entirely. It slipped through his fingers at the worst times, dribbling back into its natural state as though mocking him. It was frustrating. Almost as frustrating as the gnawing hunger that had been steadily growing over the past few days.

His food supplies had run out nearly three days ago, leaving him to rely on whatever berries he could identify and the occasional stream for water. His stomach had long since stopped growling, settling into a dull ache he was far too familiar with.

That was why, when he finally spotted the faint outline of a village in the distance, his body surged forward before his mind could even register it.

It was old and dusty, the kind of place that had seen too much war and too little peace. The buildings, though sturdy, bore the scars of conflict—burn marks, patched-up walls, and an air of quiet exhaustion that settled over everything like a thick fog. As far as Zuko could tell, the only people living there were children and old men, which had become an all-too-common sight in these war-torn areas. The absence of able-bodied men spoke volumes.

A few Earth Kingdom soldiers loitered throughout the village, their presence unmistakable. Some were stationed at the edges, scanning the roads, while others patrolled lazily, hands resting on their weapons as if daring someone to challenge them. Zuko had encountered enough soldiers in his time to know the difference between those who genuinely wanted to protect their people and those who simply wanted power.

Some of these men were decent. Others, however, reminded him too much of Zhao—power-hungry, arrogant, eager to throw their weight around simply because they could.

Zuko instinctively shrank into himself, keeping his head low as he moved through the village, relying on the well-practiced caution that had kept him unnoticed before. It was easier now, with his Fire Nation armor long gone, his scar covered partially by the straw sunhat. Just another traveler. Just another face in a place too weary to care.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said of a little boy of about eight years old.

He was a bundle of uncontainable energy, all too eager to run through the streets and cause trouble wherever he went. He had a wild grin, eyes filled with mischief and a streak of stubborn defiance that Zuko recognized all too well.

Zuko found himself watching the boy’s antics despite himself. There was something oddly entertaining about the way he darted between villagers, a whirlwind of motion as he weaved past shopkeepers and narrowly avoided being caught by exasperated elders. It was reckless. It was bold. And for the briefest moment, it reminded Zuko of what being a child should have been like.

But the egg-covered soldiers did not share his amusement. Their faces twisted in fury, yolk dripping down their armor, and the way their hands curled into fists told Zuko everything he needed to know.

The boy stood frozen, his earlier bravado melting into something smaller, warier. He had been playing, pushing boundaries as kids do, but he had picked the wrong targets. Zuko recognized that look in the soldiers’ eyes. It wasn’t just annoyance—it was the kind of anger that people like them turned into punishment.

So Zuko did what he felt was right. He protected the kid.

Shifting slightly, Zuko made sure his form hid the kid, redirecting the soldiers probing questions Zuko just stared at them with that unnerving gaze he knew threw people off.

For a long, tense moment, the soldiers didn’t move. They stared at Zuko, assessing, perhaps realizing that there was something off about him, something they couldn’t quite place. He held their gazes, unwavering.

Finally, with a huff, the leader turned on his heel. “Not worth the effort.”

The others followed, still glaring, but retreating.

Zuko only relaxed his shoulders, exhaling through his nose when they were out of sight.

Kneeling down on one leg, he turned to the boy. “You might want to be more careful next time,” he said, voice lighter than before. He hid the small smile tugging at his lips.

The boy, in true childlike fashion, grinned back as though nothing had happened. “Thanks for the help, stranger!” Then, after giving Zuko a once-over, his grin turned thoughtful. “You must be hungry, right?”

Zuko blinked. “Uh,” he said brilliantly, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

His grin widened, triumphant. “Yeah, you totally are! C’mon, we can go to my house. My name’s Lee! I’m sure my mom could get you food for your help.”

Before Zuko could protest, the kid grabbed his hand and started dragging him along with surprising strength.

For a brief moment, Zuko hesitated. He had grown used to being on his own, fending for himself, taking what he could without owing anyone anything. But Lee’s grip was warm and insistent, and the thought of a real meal—one he wouldn’t have to steal or ration—was too tempting to resist.

So he let himself be pulled along.

Lee’s house was small but well-kept, with a sturdy wooden door and windows covered with patched curtains. It smelled like earth and herbs, and something cooking in the back that made Zuko’s stomach ache with longing.

Lee’s mother was a tired-looking woman with kind eyes and strong hands, her face lined with worry but soft with warmth. The moment she laid eyes on Zuko, her gaze sharpened, assessing, before softening in quiet understanding.

“You helped my son,” she said simply.

Zuko hesitated. “It wasn’t—”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “You helped him,” she repeated. “That’s enough. You can eat.”

And that was that.

She handed him a bowl of steaming hot food, and Zuko almost forgot himself in the way he nearly inhaled it. The taste was simple, hearty, and it settled in his stomach like something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

In exchange, he helped fix up things around the house. Not that he was any good at it.

“Are you even trying?” Lee snickered as Zuko fumbled with a broken hinge, the wooden beam he attempted to fix leaning dangerously to one side.

Zuko scowled. “I’m trying.”

“You’re bad at this.”

“I’m aware.”

Lee cackled, completely unhelpful as he sprawled across the porch, watching with amusement.

Then after a moment came another barrage of questions, “What’s your name? Can you fight? How old are you? How’d you get that scar?”

That last question had Zuko almost nailing the hammer on his fingers as he stumbled before nervously shrugging, “My name’s Li. Yes, I can fight. I’m uh sixteen…and…I…I uh got it by not eating my vegetables?” 

Lee just nodded excitedly. “Your name’s Lee, too!? Woah! That’s so cool—!”

“Lee!” His mother chastised fondly, brushing Lee’s hair as she passed by. “Don’t harass the boy.” 

Lee flushed, his face red with embarrassment before sheepishly trailing after his mother, leaving Zuko alone in the dimming light, his fingers still tingling from the strain of helping. He let out a slow exhale, watching the last streaks of sunlight fade into the horizon. The village had grown quiet, the evening settling over it like a warm, familiar blanket.  

But sleep didn’t come easy.  

When Zuko closed his eyes, fire licked at the edges of his dreams, consuming everything in its path. He felt the unbearable heat of flames, the crackling roar of destruction—and then the sudden, suffocating cold of water. Ice wrapping around his lungs. He gasped, reaching, struggling—  

Zuko woke with a sharp inhale, heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, he just sat there in the darkness, steadying his breath. But something felt… off.  

Instinct pushed him to check his gear. He rifled through his belongings, searching until he realized what was missing.

The sense of unease thrummed in his chest as he stood, pushing aside the thin cloth covering the entrance of his small room. The night was still, but his sharp eyes caught movement in the clearing beyond the trees.  

And there, standing in the moonlight, was a small child.  

Zuko let out a quiet breath of relief as he recognized the familiar figure—Lee. But his relief was short-lived when he noticed what the boy was holding.  

His dao blades.  

The boy clutched them in small, eager hands, attempting a clumsy stance. The blades wobbled in his grip, and he swung too wide, nearly unbalancing himself in the process.  

Zuko folded his arms, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You’re doing it wrong,” the words slipped out before he could stop himself.  

Le startled so violently that he nearly dropped the swords, spinning around with the wide-eyed expression of a deer-cat caught in torchlight. His mouth opened and closed as if scrambling for an excuse. “Uh, I was just—” He trailed off, failing to come up with a convincing lie.  

Zuko huffed in amusement before stepping forward, plucking the blades from the boy’s hands with practiced ease. “If you’re going to use these, at least do it properly.”  

Lee’s eyes sparkled. “Woah… teach me, please?”  

Zuko tilted his head, pretending to consider it before finally nodding. He crouched beside the boy, flipping the blades into their correct grip. “These aren’t two separate weapons,” he explained, aligning them together before smoothly spinning them apart. “They’re two halves of a whole. You need to treat them like they belong together.”  

Lee watched in awe as Zuko demonstrated, his movements fluid and effortless. When he handed one of the blades back, the boy held it with newfound reverence.  

They trained under the moonlight, the clearing quiet except for the occasional clink of steel and the rustle of leaves. Zuko guided Lee’s stance, correcting his form when he wobbled. The boy absorbed everything like a sponge, eager to learn.  

Hours passed without either of them realizing.  

Zuko felt the warm rays of the sun enter the sky. It was still early, the sky a collage of dark blue and green with a smattering of stars. Zuko chuckled softly, watching the boy sway on his feet. Without a word, he scooped Lee up effortlessly, carrying him toward the small house where his mother was likely still asleep.  

‘’I am not sleepy.” He stated matter of fact, with a soft yawn against Zuko’s shoulder.

Zuko nodded seriously, eyes shinning with mirth, “Of course not. But you need to rest your muscles from all the work you’ve done.” 

Only then did Lee allow himself do be taken to his bed.

It would be later that day that Zuko would leave for Gaoling short of one knife. A last parting gift to Lee. 

“Never give up without a fight…’’ Murmured Lee, curiously glancing at the steel. 

Zuko nodded, before taking off on an ostrich-horse he was luckily able to afford. He wanted to do more. Help faster. Reach the Avatar sooner. All things that were further highlighted as a priority after hearing about what Li’s older brother may have had to go through. Zuko couldn’t stand it. Or the swarmy pompous Earth Kingdom soldiers that had come to deliver that particular news. 

Zuko really hoped he’d catch up on the Avatar soon. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a fash to the corner of his eye.

A woman was running toward him, her expression frantic. It took Zuko only a second to recognize her—Lee’s mother.  

His stomach tightened. Something was wrong.  

When she reached him, breathless and wide-eyed, her words came out in a rush. “It’s my son,” she gasped. “They took him.”  

Zuko’s blood ran cold.  

He didn’t need to ask who they were.  

His entire body tensed as he listened to her recount what had happened—how, after Li’s father left, the so-called ‘soldiers’ had returned. How they had stormed through the village, arrogant and unchallenged. And how, in their search for control, they had taken a child.  

A child.  

The rest of her words barely registered. Zuko didn’t  care about their reasons. He didn’t care what kind of pathetic excuse they had given. All he could feel was the heat rising in his chest, the sharp, pulsing fury.

It was unjust.

Without another word, Zuko yanked the reins, sending his ostrich-horse into a sharp turn. He booked it back toward the village, the world around him blurring.  

He barely registered the sand kicking up in his wake. Barely noticed the startled looks from passing villagers.  

All that mattered was finding Lee.

Skidding his ostrich-horse to a stop just outside the village, Zuko didn’t bother dismounting—he practically threw himself off the saddle, his boots hitting the ground with force.  

His golden eyes burned with anger as they scanned the streets, searching.  

And then he saw them.  

A group of Earth Kingdom soldiers. Thugs in armor, drunk on power.  

And in their grasp—small, struggling, terrified.

Lee.

A slow, seething breath escaped through Zuko’s teeth. A couple sparks flew out.

He flexed his fingers, heat coiling in his palms.  

Those fools had no idea what was coming for them.  

“So,” he started casually, voice smooth as the night air. His straw sunhat was tilted low, shrouding most of his face in darkness. “I hear you’ve been recruiting children.”

His words were unhurried, yet they slithered into the ears of the so-called soldiers with an edge that sent a ripple of unease through the group. He walked leisurely toward them, his twin dao still strapped to his back, his posture loose but predatory.

The man at the head of the group, thickset with a jaw like a boar-q-pine’s, looked up and scoffed. “Yeah? What’s it to you, stranger?” His voice was dripping with overconfidence, like he’d been the biggest threat in this backwater village for too long.

Zuko chuckled, low and dark, like the distant roll of thunder before a lightning storm. “You’re about to find out.”

A flicker of something passed over the leader’s face—hesitation, maybe—but it was quickly replaced with smugness. He cracked his knuckles, standing as if to end the fight in a single blow.

Zuko waited.

The man smirked, eyeing the swords before slamming his foot down. A jagged boulder shot from the earth.

Zuko evaded effortlessly, twisting low as the rock whistled past his ear. With a sharp flick of his wrists, his swords slashed through stone as if it were paper, the two halves of the boulder crumbling apart before they even hit the ground.

A fight was afoot.

A hush fell over the crowd that had gathered at the edges of the street, their gazes locked on the display. Then came the first cheer, followed by another—until the air buzzed with frantic excitement. The commotion drew more soldiers into the fray, but they weren’t met with the easy victory they expected.

Zuko was a storm.

He flowed between them, swords a blur of steel and moonlight. Sparks danced off the edges as he met the crude weapons of his enemies, but his strikes were sharper, faster. He was precise. Ruthless.

A soldier swung for his ribs—Zuko spun, hooking a foot behind the man’s knee and sending him sprawling into the dirt. Another charged from behind, expecting to catch him off guard. Zuko twisted at the last second, raising an arm to block the strike before slamming the hilt of his dao into the man’s sternum, sending him gasping to his knees.

The soldiers’ movements became wilder, their strikes desperate.

They were afraid. That was their mistake.

A coordinated attack came—one soldier swept at Zuko’s legs while another lunged high, fists wrapped in stone. He barely managed to twist in time to avoid a solid hit. The impact sent him skidding back, boots scraping against the dirt. His back hit the ground hard.

A sharp breath.

His eyes flickered to the crowd.

Lee’s mother stood among them, hands clasped over her mouth, eyes wide and pleading as she struggled to get to her bound son.

Something in Zuko flared.

He moved.

A shift, a pull, deep inside him.

Heat and cold clashed, coiling like twin serpents in his chest. The air around him crackled—gold, white, and midnight blue weaving together in a shivering current. Power surged beneath his skin, ancient and unrelenting.

A laughing mask flickered over his face, a phantom of light and shadow. His eyes glowed gold .

Zuko lashed out, a sweeping arc of his blade summoning a jet of water from the dirt—a searing, scalding whip of steam.

Soldiers staggered back, cries of shock filling the air as the mist curled around them like grasping fingers. The temperature sizzled , the water flashing between ice and fire in chaotic harmony. It almost looked like lightning—like curling tendrils of raw energy striking the ground in rapid succession.

Lee, still bound, stared in mesmerized awe.

A snap.

Lee blinked—and suddenly, his mother was in front of him, untying his wrists with shaking fingers before crushing him against her chest in a frantic hug.

He turned back to look at Li.

The soldiers were down . Some were groaning, others too stunned to move. And standing among them, swords lowered but stance unwavering, was Zuko.

One of the men—Shen, a recruit who had once believed himself stronger than most—trembled as he lay sprawled on the ground, looking up into golden eyes that were far too old for the young face that held them.

“Wh—Who are you?” Shen rasped.

Zuko tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating. Then, smoothly, he withdrew his blade, voice rolling over them like distant thunder.

“I am Zu—the Blue Spirit , blessed by Agni and the chosen Warrior of Justice.”

The words echoed in the silent street, sharp and precise as a sliver of lightning.

“I have been called to help this world ,” Zuko’s voice continued, his tone unyielding. “ But take heed—I correct unjust acts in ways I see fit. Be warned.”

The soldiers paled.

Then, before their eyes, the glow in Zuko’s irises faded, his form shifting back into that of a young man with a scar half-lit by the setting sun. Without another word, he sheathed his swords. His gaze flicked to Li one last time—soft, unreadable—before he turned, stepping onto his waiting ostrich-horse. He rode off without looking back.

Shen, still sprawled in the dirt, gulped in air like a drowning man. His hands were shaking. His mind reeled with a singular, lingering thought—

The Blue Spirit.  

And the way he had said it—a name that carried weight, history, and unshakable truth—made Shen’s blood run cold.

The crowd murmured over what they’d just witnessed. The first ever correction by the Spirit. The beginning of it all. The first justice brought by the unyielding boiling waters of the deep. 

Slowly, Shen sat up, rubbing a trembling hand over his face as he recounted how the water seemed like it had engulfed a line of fire through the middle of the spray. 

He shook his head. 

Maybe it was time to leave the army. Maybe he’d go live with his mother for a while. 

Zuko, miles away, pulled his ostrich-horse to a stop at a quiet rest point, his heartbeat finally slowing. The soldiers had reacted oddly to news about his name and heritage of being Ursa’s son. He mulled the thought over just as his eyes caught sight of a new report on the town’s notice board.

He pulled to a stop before it, his gaze flicking over the crude ink of the latest news report.

“The Avatar spotted en route Ba Sing Se.”

Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose.

Great.

He tilted his head back, staring up at the vast stretch of evening sky. The stars above shimmered—a soft, distant glow seemingly whispering promises and dreams of hope.

Zuko frowned, rolling his shoulder, his body still buzzing with something electric.

Whatever that had been, it wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Text

Getting to the Ba Sing Se border was nothing short of a miracle.

Zuko couldn’t even begin to fathom how he had the right fake papers to board the ferry, let alone ones that shimmered with an eerie, unnatural gleam. The way they caught the dim light made his stomach churn, a quiet, nagging unease gnawing at the edges of his mind. The shimmer was familiar—not in a way he could place, but in a way that sent a prickle of unease down his spine, a sensation that reminded him too much of the Spirit World.

He kept his face carefully neutral as he handed the papers over to the woman at the checkpoint. She wasn’t fooled easily. Her sharp, beady eyes raked over him with the practiced scrutiny of someone who had seen every kind of lie imaginable. Zuko forced himself to stay still under her gaze, to breathe evenly, to not let his pulse betray him.

The moment stretched unbearably long.

For a second—just a split second—he thought it was over. That somehow, she knew. That she could see straight through the thin paper, through the fabricated identity, through him.

Then, finally, she moved. The heavy stamp came down, the bold red ‘ACCEPTED’ marking his passage into the city. She slid the papers back to him and waved him through with a casual, “Go on, honey.”

Zuko didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his papers and walked. He kept his pace even, measured, normal. Only when he was several feet away did he allow himself a slow, steadying breath.

He should’ve felt relief.

Instead, all he felt was suspicion.

Who had arranged this? Why had it been so easy? The Earth Kingdom wasn’t known for its generosity, and Ba Sing Se—especially Ba Sing Se—was infamous for its closed borders. Even the most desperate refugees were turned away. Or at least, that was what he was told, he thought sheepishly watching as large groups of refugees bundled into the ferry. His hand clenched around the edge of the lotus tile, bringing him a momentary sense of calm. There was something else at play here. Something unseen and unnatural, he could feel it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the first glimpse of the city itself, stretching across the horizon like an immovable titan of stone and shadow.

Ba Sing Se.

The city that had never fallen.

Its outer walls were impossibly smooth, unbroken, stretching so high they seemed to merge with the sky itself. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming, a silent declaration of defiance against the world beyond its borders. To many, Ba Sing Se was a haven. A final stronghold of peace and order amidst the chaos of war.

But to Zuko, the walls felt… wrong.

Too high. Too solid. Too absolute.

He should have felt relieved to be closer to his goal, to the Avatar. But as he stared at those towering stone fortifications, he felt something else—a quiet, growing unease. They loomed over the land, casting long, dark shadows. They were not just walls. They were barriers. Cages.

Impenetrable. Unconquerable. That’s what they all said.

The city that had never fallen.

He forced himself to shake off the feeling, dragging his gaze away. He needed to focus. To get inside, to blend in, to find his next move.

It was then that he noticed someone watching him.

A boy, around his age, standing at the edge of the crowd.

Tan skin. Lean, athletic frame. Dark brown hair pulled back, a few loose strands falling over intense, calculating eyes. There was something almost lazy about the way he stood, a mock self-assurance that didn’t quite hide the restless energy beneath. Like he knew he didn’t belong and was desperately trying to seem as though he did.

Zuko recognized the type instantly. Someone who lived on the edge of things. Who had learned to navigate the world not with power, but with sharpness.

And then there were the swords.

Not just for show, either. The way the boy carried them—casual, effortless—told Zuko all he needed to know. This was someone who knew how to use them. Someone who had fought, and fought often.

That, at least, Zuko could respect.

But what caught his attention even more were the two younger kids shadowing him. A boy and a girl, hovering just a step behind, close enough that it was clear they were a unit. A gang, then. Not just strays.

Zuko didn’t ask questions. He had learned, in places like this, that you didn’t ask. You just accepted what was given and didn’t question where it came from. That was how you survived.

“The name’s Jet, I heard that the captain keeps all the best food for himself back right by that door.” Was what the boy—Jet, started with after siding up to Zuko.

And well… he wasn’t about to say no to a decent meal.

So yes, he joined Jet and his little gang as they liberated the food from the storeroom. He told himself it wasn’t stealing—it was taking what they needed. It was survival. It was just another way to make it through the day. But when the others on the ferry cheered, calling him a hero for it, something twisted in his gut.

Hero . That was still a weird feeling to experience.

Because he wasn’t one. Not really.

“We make a pretty good team, Li,” Jet said leisurely, leaning against the railing of the ferry, his signature smirk in place.

Zuko remained silent for a moment, contemplating the statement. It was strange, hearing someone say that. He wasn’t used to being part of a team, let alone one that wasn’t forged from duty or expectation. Finally, he muttered, “I suppose so.”

Jet grinned, sensing an opportunity. “Join my gang,” he said, his tone light, almost casual. “It’s a big city. It’d be nice to have another set of swords I can count on.”

Zuko stared at him, weighing the offer. On the one hand, this wasn’t part of the plan. Getting involved with a gang, even a small one, could slow down his search for the Avatar. But on the other hand… blending in was easier when he wasn’t alone. Having people around him—people who knew how the city worked—could help him disappear into the crowd.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “I could use the warm-up. Just for a while though.”

Jet chuckled, clapping him on the back with an easy familiarity that made Zuko stiffen slightly. “Oh, Smellerbee and Longshot are gonna love you.”

And so, just like that, they became a team.

At first, it was purely practical. Zuko followed their lead, staying quiet, watching how they moved through the Lower Ring with a confidence that came from years of surviving on the streets. He learned their habits, their unspoken signals, the way they assessed danger with a glance.

Smellerbee was sharp, fast, and fiercely protective. Always on edge, always ready to snap at anyone who looked at her the wrong way. She carried herself like she had something to prove, like she wouldn’t let anyone forget she was just as strong—if not stronger—than the boys around her.

Longshot was the opposite. Silent but steady, his presence was a quiet reassurance. He never wasted words, never spoke when a simple action would do. But his silence wasn’t emptiness—it was observant, knowing. When he looked at you, it felt like he saw more than what was on the surface.

And then there was Jet.

Jet was an enigma of confidence and recklessness, a boy who could shift between charming and dangerous in the blink of an eye. There was a fire in him—not literal like Zuko’s, but something just as intense. A drive, a hunger. He played at being carefree, grinning like he had everything under control, but Zuko could see it, that deep, simmering anger just beneath the surface.

Zuko had never been part of a group that operated out of sheer camaraderie rather than expectation or necessity. It was strange. It was… nice, in a way he wasn’t used to.

They taught him how to navigate the Lower Ring—how to avoid drawing attention, how to work the system. He learned their tricks, their methods. And in return, they learned that ‘Li’ wasn’t just another lost soul scraping by in Ba Sing Se. He moved differently. Fought differently. Thought differently.

But they didn’t question it. Not yet.

They were all high-strung, battle-worn kids trying to start over in a city that didn’t care about them. And no matter how much they pretended otherwise, trust came hard.

This was why Zuko nearly brought everything crashing down when he made his blunder.

It was such a small thing. A simple mistake.

The night air was cool, the kind that seeped into his bones. They had just finished another job—nothing too serious, just a quick snatch-and-run that left Jet smugly counting their haul. They stopped at a small teahouse tucked away in the maze of the Lower Ring, a quiet spot with warm lights and cheap drinks.

Someone had ordered jasmine tea for the group.

Zuko wasn’t even thinking when he took a sip, inhaling the familiar, delicate aroma. For a moment, the world blurred—memories crashing into him like a tidal wave. The glow of lanterns in the palace. Uncle’s warm laughter. The comfort of a tea shop, the steady rhythm of a life he could have had.

His fingers curled around the cup. It was cold. Without thinking, he nudged the temperature just slightly, warming it with the barest flicker of his energy.

The mistake was immediate.

The clink of a spoon against ceramic was the only warning he got before he noticed Jet watching him from the corner of his eye, gaze sharp and narrowing.

Zuko forced himself to relax, setting the cup down carefully. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. But he could feel it—the shift in the air, the unspoken question forming in Jet’s mind.

For the next few days, he moved cautiously. Jet had become hyper-aware of him, watching him just a little too closely, studying him like a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. The tension coiled tighter with each passing moment as if waiting for something to snap.

And then it did.

It happened fast—so fast that Zuko only realized it was an attack because of his finely honed instincts.

The telltale pull of Jet’s hook swords against his clothes sent a jolt of warning through him, and in the blink of an eye, he twisted, breaking free just as Jet lunged.

"Firebender!"

Jet’s voice rang out, raw and accusatory, filled with something more than just suspicion—certainty.

Zuko reacted before thinking. His daggers appeared in an instant—except they weren’t steel. They were ice, twin frozen blades materializing with a sharp, crystalline hiss, meeting Jet’s hook swords with a ringing clash.

Silence.

Jet’s brain visibly rebooted. His eyes flicked between the ice and Zuko’s blank expression, his breath coming fast.

Then, suddenly, he dropped his swords.

“Man,” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, “why didn’t you say you were a waterbender?”

Zuko had no immediate response. The truth was, he often forgot about it. Firebending had always been his birthright, his identity, his power. Waterbending was… incidental. A skill that had surfaced in rare moments but never felt like his own.

He let the ice melt back into the water, dripping from his hands onto the dusty ground. “I didn’t think it was important,” he said flatly. “Besides, I’m not any good… I never had a teacher.”

Jet nodded, something like understanding flickering across his face. No doubt, he assumed Zuko was a colony-born half-breed, abandoned in the war. It was an easy lie to let stand, and Zuko had no intention of correcting him.

Jet sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, man… I’m sorry about that.” His voice was lighter now, but there was something uneasy in the way he said it. “’Bee and Shot have been telling me to take a break, but I haven’t been listening. Guess this is a sign, yeah?”

Zuko nodded. “Yeah…”

Jet glanced at him, then down at his swords as if weighing something. Finally, he shook his head, stepping back. “Guess I’ll see you around, Li.”

Zuko hesitated for only a second. Then, with a quiet finality, he said, “Goodbye, Jet.”

And that, Zuko thought, was the end of that.

Weeks later, a flyer smacked Zuko square in the face.

He snatched it out of the air, irritation flaring for a brief second before his eyes scanned the bold inked words:

MISSING: SKY BISON

Appa.

His grip on the paper tightened. If the Avatar was searching, that meant the bison hadn’t been found. That meant Zuko still had time. Zuko felt hope. He’d find the Avatar and finally get on with his mission to help him. Zuko tucked the information away, keen on investigating later—when the sun was down, when the Dai Li wouldn’t be as prominent.

They were everywhere. Lurking in the corners of the city like ghosts that had never quite left. No insignias. No open shows of force. Just the quiet, suffocating weight of their presence—felt rather than seen.

He saw it in the way shopkeepers glanced over their shoulders before answering questions, in the way conversations died when a stranger came too close. He had been a prince once. He understood control when he saw it.

It was an early night, the moon hidden behind thick clouds. Perfect for what he was about to do.

A cloth pulled up over his lower face, blades drawn, he moved swiftly through the shadows, steps silent. He had been gathering information for weeks, carefully threading together pieces of a larger picture. Now, it was time for more direct action.

That was the plan, at least—until a familiar set of hook swords yanked him off course and into a shadowed alley.

Zuko twisted instinctively, blade already raised, but Jet only grinned, far too pleased with himself.

“Hey, Li! Man, look at you,” Jet drawled, leaning against the brick wall like he hadn’t just dragged someone into a dark alley in the middle of the night. “Going into crime already?”

Zuko sighed, deeply. His patience with Jet was always thin, and tonight it was nonexistent. He fixed the other boy with an unimpressed look.

“Jet.”

Jet ignored the deadpan tone, slinging an arm over Zuko’s shoulders like they were old friends. Zuko resisted the urge to shove him off. Or stab him. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Jet said, his voice brimming with mischief. “Meet me at the Jasmine Dragon—you know, the tea shop? Don’t be late.”

Zuko tensed at the name.

Jet smirked, oblivious to the unbearable tension radiating from him. “And actually be there, yeah? Trust me, you won’t wanna miss it.”

He patted Zuko’s shoulder before stepping away, waving lazily as he disappeared back into the alleyways.

Zuko remained frozen, mind racing.

The Jasmine Dragon.

He had heard of it. He had avoided it. It had been too comfortable of a name. Something that reminded him too much of home . Of the Wani . Of Uncle .

He also knew that if he refused, Jet would never let it go—stubborn fool.

After much deliberation—and a growing sense of dread—Zuko arrived at the specified time the next morning.

The establishment was old but well-maintained, the scent of carefully brewed tea wafting through the open doors. It reminded him of long afternoons on the Wani, of Uncle’s steady hands as he poured tea with practised precision.

He hesitated before stepping inside. The place was busy, filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the clinking of ceramic cups. A few younger workers rushed around, balancing trays and teapots.

His gut told him to turn around and leave.

His instincts told him to run .

And then he spotted Jet.

Sitting at a central table, Jet waved him over with an annoyingly smug grin.

And next to him—

Zuko felt his face pale.

The Avatar’s group.

And his uncle.

He stared.

They stared back with varying degrees of shock and confusion. 

Jet, blissfully unaware of the sheer disaster he had just orchestrated, continued on with introductions.

Zuko barely heard a word.

His mind was already calculating his escape. If he ran now, he could be gone before anyone reacted—

But that would be cowardly. And the opposite of what he was trying to achieve, so he squared up, straightening his shoulder before doing something that he would probably dearly regret.

He spoke.

“Hello, everyone.” He forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Li here.”