The Ocean of Flames: Immolation (Will Be Deleted) - siambre (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

This was a nightmare. It had to be. A nightmare, or she was dead, and this was hell.

Katara's pulse was beating in her ears, blocking out all other sounds, her vision cloudy with tears. She felt sick, weak, useless as she stared blankly at the lifeless boy in her arms—felt as though a knife had lodged into her heart, sinking deeper with every shaky breath she took. It twisted and ripped her to shreds with every tear she shed.

Smoke and the stench of burnt flesh wafted from Aang’s petite frame. His clothes were ruined from the lightning he’d just taken to his back, and he simply laid there on her lap, completely still and with his eyes closed, head lolled back, serenity cast upon his features—much like the moment he’d come out of the ice all those months ago.

The intervals between Katara's heartbeats got longer and longer as one second stretched out into a million, and she was helpless to do anything but kneel there on the wet, rocky ground and stare down at her friend.

“Aang,” she whimpered, her voice so weak and quiet she almost didn’t hear herself. “Aang, please wake up. Please.”

The sliver of hope that he’d actually open his joyful, grey eyes and assure her that he was okay slowly faded away as seconds, minutes, hours passed and he kept lying still.

But Katara didn't get to weep for her friend, didn't get to cry her heart out for what had been done to him, as a large object whooshed right past her head and crashed into the stone wall behind her, pulling her out of her misery and back to reality—back to the crystal catacombs of Old Ba Sing Se.

She let out a yelp and reflexively bent over Aang's body to shield him from the debris, then lifted her head up, her sight still misted with tears, to see bright lights flickering ahead of her, appearing and disappearing rapidly, and more large rocks flying in the air toward her—yet was everything still a flurry of images to her grief-stricken brain.

Her senses eventually began sharpening, though, and her mind started giving way to more than just woe and suffering. Her vision cleared of its fog and her surroundings gradually gained detail. She spotted an old man in green robes fighting off the Dai Li in front of her. He was shouting something. Was he shouting at her? Who was he? Why was he defending them? How long had she been kneeling here?

Katara's eyes darted to the people in the back, who were simply standing there, watching the whole thing go down. And that was when she saw him, glancing back and forth between her, Aang, and the old man, his eyes wide with worry and mouth agape.

That bastard. All of this was his fault, yet he had the audacity to look concerned?!

Then, as her gaze shifted to his sister standing beside him, staring at Aang with a smug smile dancing on her lips, Katara’s world suddenly got engulfed in red. Her mournful eyes narrowed, the sorrow in her heart turned into fury, and her mouth parched with thirst for revenge.

‘Azula,’ a voice inside her head hissed. 'She did this. She killed Aang.'

Rage churning within her body and soul, Katara carefully laid her lifeless friend down and set her palms against the water that had pooled on the ground. She closed her eyes and felt the moon’s power course through her veins, felt the push and pull of the water all around her—beneath her fingers, in the canals on her either side, the waterfall behind her...

Her eyes shot open and as quick as the lightning that had taken Aang from her, she bolted to her feet, circled her hands above her head, and extended her right arm forward in a straight line. The scream of rage and grief that escaped her lips nearly deafened her.

Every single drop of water in the catacombs suddenly rose high up in the air, forming a giant stream of water that encircled everybody in the catacombs. The water hovered above them briefly before descending upon them at lightspeed, turning into sharp ice daggers mid-air. The skirmish in front of her between the old man and the Dai Li came to an abrupt halt as everyone's attention diverted to her first and then to the barrage of ice daggers forging at them from all sides. The earthbenders immediately lifted up walls of earth from the ground for themselves while the firebenders created shields of orange and blue flames to melt the daggers.

For a moment, the whole place was silent—the only sound was coming from the waterfall behind her regaining its speed. Then two Dai Li agents that were not fast enough to guard themselves against her attack collapsed to the ground. They clutched their necks, chests, stomachs, and blood gushed from the holes in their clothes her daggers had created, turning their dark green uniforms black. They quivered in a growing pool of their own blood, gasping desperately for air, and Katara could do naught but stare at them.

Just like that, her anger receded as quickly as it’d come. Tui and La… What had she just done.

“Go!” she heard someone yell. It was the old man in front of her. “You've got to get out of here! I'll hold them off as long as I can!”

He was right, she did need to get out of here. Hooking one of Aang’s arms over her shoulders, Katara rushed over to the waterfall and lifted him and herself up with her bending. Fighting ensued below and more rocks nearly struck her, but she kept her gaze locked on the little flicker of light coming from the end of the tunnel leading them above. She couldn’t think about the atrocities she'd just committed, not when she was still surrounded by enemies. She had to focus on what was most important right now—Getting Aang and herself to safety.

-o-

Once they'd streamed past the mouth of the tunnel and were above ground again, Katara dropped Aang onto the stone pavement, careful that he didn't hit his head, and flopped down on her hands and knees beside him, out of breath. All the bending she’d done to get up here, not to mention all the other things that had happened in the past couple of minutes, had taken its toll.

‘You don’t have time to rest, Katara,’ the voice from before spoke up. ‘The Dai Li are on your tail. Get out of here!’

As much as she hated that voice, the waterbender had to admit it was right. Begrudgingly, she picked up her friend from the ground, then froze her remaining water that had seeped between the cracks of the cobblestones into an ice slide and hopped on to it, holding her lifeless friend close with one hand, bending the slide forward with the other. She made sure to take sharp turns and never slid down a single road for too long.

Before long, the unkempt houses and the lights of the street lanterns began to flash in her peripheral vision as she sped up to a degree that whenever she'd take a turn, she'd nearly lose her grip on Aang and drift off of the slide herself. But she didn't slow down—couldn't, for her friend's sake. If anything, she only gained more speed with each passing second.

The people on the streets she glided past were mostly drunk, joking around with each other and swaying as they walked. They did briefly glance at her—at the young girl with torn robes and disheveled hair, carrying an unconscious, blue-tattooed boy and riding an ice slide at break-neck speed—but didn't seem to care much, if the way they laughed it off and continued with their drinking was any indication.

With all the bending she’d been doing, as well as the smell of filth all around her filling her senses, Katara's head was starting to clear up. The most urgent thing right now was healing Aang. She wanted him to come back because he was her best friend, yes, but he was also the Avatar—he was far too important to die.

‘You can’t heal a dead person, Katara.’

No. She refused to think of Aang as dead. He was only… temporarily gone. She could still bring him back. She still had the spirit water Pakku had given her, didn't she? He’d said it had unique abilities—it could work.

In order for her to heal Aang, though, she first needed to find a place where no one would disturb them. There, she’d heal him and they’d figure out a way to get out of this city together. The plan was far from ideal, but it was better than nothing.

Going as fast as she was, it was difficult for her to look for a good hideout. She slowed down a bit and began scanning the environment. The single-story houses in shreds around her, the stench of filth in the streets, and the drunk men in worn-out clothes wandering about, not even bothering to step aside to avoid the waterbender surging at them on an ice slide, left no doubt that she was in the Lower Ring.

A small house at the far end of the street caught her attention. It had no lights coming from under its door, but even if anyone was inside, Katara would just freeze them to the wall and proceed with her plan. The only thing that mattered now was Aang, and she’d do anything to protect him. She’d already killed for him, hadn’t she? What was freezing someone to a wall compared to murdering them.

‘Come on, Katara, you can't think about this right now. Focus.’

Right. Katara agreed with the voice this time.

Coming to a halt before the door of the tiny building, she melted her slide and burst open the door with the water. It was a one-room house with some sleeping mats on the floor, a small chest to the right, and some firewood next to the wooden window to the left. She peeked her head inside to check if there was anyone, and to her delight, there was not a single soul. She quickly carried Aang inside and laid him face-down on one of the mats, then went and shut the door, and froze the water on the floor behind it, creating a sturdy barricade so that no one could walk in on them. Then, she went back to her friend and kneeled beside him. She took out the vial containing the spirit water from its place around her neck and bent the liquid outside, spinning it in circles above her palm.

The water began glowing and illuminated the dark room, finally allowing her a glimpse of the horror plastered on her friend’s back—A deep, scarlet, star-shaped scar smearing across his back. Katara's heart dropped at the sight. It looked like someone had carved his flesh out with a burning knife. She'd never worked with an injury this bad before. Could she really do this? Could she really heal him?

Yes, she could. She was going to heal him and he was going to wake up. He was going to be okay.

Holding back the tears beginning to burn her eyes once more, she placed the water above her palm against the horrid scar and prayed, “Please work. Tui and La, please wake him up. Please bring him back to me.”

When the glowing water disappeared into the scar, she gathered more water from the ice barricade, gloved it around her hands, and moved them back and forth on his back.

Looking down at Aang's scar, everything came crashing down on the waterbender. Her vision was flooded with their memories together, all of them now tinted with melancholy—He was lying on Appa’s head smiling at her dreamily, they were splashing Sokka with freezing water and laughing at how he growled to himself, he was blushing after she’d dressed up as an Earth Kingdom noble, she was healing a bruise he’d gotten while sparring with Toph, he was crying because everyone expected so much from him even though he was just a kid.

And he was just a kid. But now that kid was dead.

Aang was dead.

Her best friend was dead.

The built-up sorrow in her heart washed over Katara like a wave, drowning her in absolute despair. Hot tears poured from her eyes like rain in a raging storm and her whole body shook with her sobs.

-o-

Katara could literally feel her energy draining. That was the thing about healing—It required the healer to transfer their own energy to the patient. Normally, all it’d cause was a weird feeling in her bones or a mild headache at worst. But she'd been trying to bring Aang back for the past half an hour now and sobbing throughout it had weakened her already exhausted body.

First, her legs had become numb, so she’d pulled herself a mat and switched to sitting cross-legged rather than kneeling. Next, standing straight had begun straining her back, so she’d slouched her shoulders. Then, her arms had become too heavy to lift, so she’d stopped moving them and instead just set them down on the scar and continued healing her friend like that. And now a throb behind her temples was threatening to make her head explode, but this she didn’t have a remedy for. She wasn’t sure how long she could go on like this, it was getting harder just to keep her eyes open.

‘Alright, Katara, enough complaining. You have to get out of here. Think. What are your options?’

Well, they’d entered the city by train, hadn’t they? If any were going out the Inner Wall at this hour, she could—

‘Are you crazy? The Dai Li are after you. You can’t use public transportation!’

So, what? What was she going to do? Earthbend the walls down?

‘Think of another way.’

There was no other way. You either earthbent yourself out or used the trains. Without them, there was no exit from this spirits-forsaken place. Oh, how she wished Toph was here right now. It would’ve taken her approximately one second to get them out of here. Katara wished Sokka was here too, he would’ve known what to do.

‘Stop thinking about them—you’ll get yourself killed doing that. Come on, you don’t have time.’

Okay okay okay… Hmm… What would Sokka do? He’d say something like, “If you can’t go through a wall, then you go around it,” and then praise himself for being a genius for the rest of the day.

‘No use—Both the Inner Wall and the Outer Wall are circular. You can’t go around them. You can only go through, under, or over them.'

At that, Katara’s eyes widened. She could go over them.

Aang had told her just before the fight that he’d picked up Sokka and Toph on his way here. They were in Ba Sing Se! They were here! They were all here! She only needed to call Appa to where she and Aang were, and they’d come here and rescue them!

Her tears stopped instantly and her heart filled with hope. Maybe, despite all the odds, they still had a chance to make it out of this place in one piece.

While keeping healing Aang with one hand, she searched his pockets, pulled out Appa’s whistle, and blew the whistle as hard as her lungs would allow her.

Katara blew the whistle a few times, dreaming of her brother and Toph coming here on Appa and leaving this city together never to come back again, but paused when a bizarre tug in her blood took her out of the small moment she’d been having. It was the same tug she’d get while approaching a large body of water—only this time, the body of water was approaching her. She highly doubted a moving lake would suddenly appear in the middle of a city. No, this tug could only mean the number of people outside was increasing. There was no reason for such an increase at this hour of the night.

It was the Dai Li. They were combing through the streets in search of Aang and Katara.

They had to get out of there. Now.

Katara stopped healing her friend and tried to rise from her place, but her numbed legs gave out from under her and she fell onto her mat. Cursing under her breath, she got up and wobbled over to the closed wooden window. She opened it and looked at the sky. The crescent moon was shining bright in the night sky, contrasting beautifully against the starry backdrop, but there was no sign of her big, furry friend.

Damn it! She couldn’t escape on her own! Escaping on an ice slide would mean she’d have to use the streets since she’d need a flat surface to ride on—but if she did that, the Dai Li would spot them so easily she might as well light herself on fire and shout that Aang was here in this house with her. Without her ice slide, however, she simply couldn’t carry Aang and run simultaneously.

This left her with only two choices—She could either flee with Aang and face the enemy head-on, or leave him behind and save herself. The latter option she wouldn’t even take into consideration. If she were to fight the Dai Li on her own, though, she’d most definitely lose and they’d kill Aang… for real this time.

So she couldn’t leave him behind, but she also couldn’t take him with her?

Wait. What if… What if she did get caught, but Aang wasn’t with her when that happened? If the Dai Li spotted her on the opposite side of the city, their attention would be driven there—away from Aang. And while they'd be preoccupied with questioning her, Sokka and Toph would swoop in and rescue him. This way he'd be safe.

This was the only way he'd be safe.

And if it meant that Katara would have to rot in prison for the rest of her life for him to be safe, so be it—it was a sacrifice she was willing to make. Her mother hadn’t thought twice before sacrificing herself to save Katara, neither would she. She had to do this for her best friend, for the last hope for peace this world had left.

So it was decided, then—Katara would leave Aang here, get as far away from him as possible, and then get caught. Yeah… This was the new plan.

The waterbender went back to her friend and kneeled beside him. She gently brushed his forehead with her fingers, his skin cold and pale under her touch.

“I won’t let them get you, Aang,” she promised him, “I promise I won’t let them hurt you again.”

She took the whistle she'd placed on the mat beside him and blew it once more before laying it in her friend's palm, then folded his fingers over it with her own. She placed a soft kiss on his shut fingers and then another one on the arrow on his head.

Succumbing to the pain in her heart, Katara pulled her best friend into a bone-crushing hug, her tears soaking his ruined, orange shirt.

“Don’t worry about me, okay?" she whispered in his ear, her voice strained with the bitter reality of her situation. "And tell Sokka and Toph I love them.”

Knowing every second she wasted here put Aang in more danger, she laid him back on the mat, leaving a piece of her heart with him. She sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve, then got up and walked over to the small chest by the wall on her right. She shuffled through the clothes inside and took out a large, black shirt. Although it was too big for her, it’d make it easier for her to conceal herself in the darkness of the night. When she put the shirt on, it reached almost all the way down to her knees—just long enough to cover most of her blue robes but short enough that it wouldn't get in her way as she ran. She then took out two sashes. With one, she tied the large shirt around her waist to tuck in the excess fabric of her shirt, and with the other, she tied her hair in a low ponytail.

She was ready.

Katara went to the window once again and glanced back at her friend one last time. This might very well have been the last time she’d ever see him again. This house might very well have been his grave.

No. Aang was going to be okay. Sokka and Toph were going to save him. He was going to live. He was going to be okay.

She turned to the window, shut her eyes, and took a deep breath.

He was going to be okay.

When she opened her eyes again, the determination in them was as clear as day.

He was going to be okay.

With that, she jumped out the window, melted some of the ice behind the door, and made a new, smalled barricade behind the window before closing it shut from the outside. Now, it was now impossible for a non-bender to go inside—against earthbenders, however, there was nothing else she could do. Now, all she could do for Aang was running away from him.

-o-

When Katara jumped from one roof to another, nobody saw anything. When she came across a house taller than the one she was on, nobody noticed a girl scaling up the side of a building. And if she ever made a sound, she was long gone by the time anyone could check out what it was.

She made her way across a considerable portion of the Lower Ring like this, almost halfway across the city, in fact, dashing from one roof to another without stopping even for a moment to breathe. She'd seen a few Dai Li agents patrolling the streets in pairs, but thankfully none of them had noticed her. But now, as every fiber of her body burned and her limbs shook with exertion, it was only a matter of time before her legs would stop operating altogether.

Jumping from the roof she was onto another one ahead of her, Katara finally came to a stop on top of a two-story building, located on a corner of an intersection. And before she'd even stopped completely, she collapsed out of exhaustion, managing just barely to rotate onto her back before she hit the chilly tiles beneath her. As she laid there, panting heavily through her mouth, she gazed down the slope of the roof to examine the streets below.

A group of drunk men wobbling around with their drinks in their hands, singing their lungs out to an out-of-tune folk song and leaning on each other for support, broke the quiet of the night. But other than them, the roads were completely empty. The intersection wasn’t big, but the buildings to the front and the right of the waterbender were still too far away for her to jump to, and she didn’t want to risk turning left—she had to keep going straight, she had to get away from Aang. Up until now, she’d managed to avoid crossing wide roads. Now, it seemed she had no other choice.

Lucikly for her—perhaps the only good thing to come out of tonight—the building to her left had one less story than the one she was on. She could jump onto it, climb down, walk across the street, then climb one of the buildings on the other side and continue on from there.

Katara nodded to herself. That sounded like a solid plan.

Her lungs still felt as if they were on fire, but she paid no attention to them as she got on all fours and then up to her feet, struggling on the way. The muscles in her legs and abdomen pleaded with her to keep laying down, but she turned a blind eye to them as well.

The waterbender ran and jumped onto the other building, grabbed the edges of the roof, and dangled in the air before dropping into the dark alley between the two buildings. She waited for the loud group to pass, then darted across the street and entered another dark alley. Her eyes scanned the place. A big, what seemed to be a grain storage bin stood on the left, and the eaves of the building it was propped against looked climbable enough. She could get on the bin, climb the rest of the way, and resume running.

As she thought of these, two hand-shaped rocks materialized out the shadows of the right building, forging at her at light-speed. Katara gasped and lept to the side just in time to avoid her head getting bashed in by the rocks. Then, a Dai Li agent dropped down in front of her from the same place the rocks had come, andthe waterbender immediately got into a defensive stance while the agent did the same.

The two eyed each other, the tension between them almost tangible. Then, Katara circled a hand above her head, drawing water from the humid air above her, and froze it into small ice daggers before sending them flying toward the agent. Her goal wasn’t to actually kill the man—she’d never do that again—but to distract him long enough to escape, and it worked. Once the daggers gained enough momentum of their own, she spun around and sprinted back the way she'd come. Unfortunately for her, though, being as exhausted as she was, she could only run at a fraction of her usual speed. As she ran in the middle of the street, she peeked behind over her shoulder to see the agent running after her.

The agent stopped abruptly and punched his fists upward, and Katara heard the sound of earth moving ahead of her. She whipped her head around and saw a huge wall of earth emerging out of the ground and blocking the entire street. Her eyes widened and she tried to stop, but tripped over her own feet instead and toppled over onto the ground, scraping her palms and knees in the process.

She tried to get up and run away again, but the stone pavement beneath her wrapped around her hands and feet, binding her to the ground. The agent walked up to Katara and loomed over her, his hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted high.

“Where is the Avatar?” he demanded, his voice as cold as his eyes.

Katara glared at the man, then spit on his shoes with all the energy she had left in her body. “Screw you.”

Next thing she knew, the man’s fist had collided with her temple and her world had gone dark.

-o-

In a dimly lit room of an almost empty house in the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se, silence reigned but for the steady drip of melting ice in the doorway and window, and the faint, barely audible rasp of a weak breath.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Zuko had f*cked up. Big time.

He'd betrayed his uncle. Hisuncle.

He'd betrayed the man whose shoulders he'd wept on after his late mother—whose hand he'd squeezed as he'd writhed in agony after his Agni Kai, blind and terrified. Betrayed the man who had spent three years traveling the world on a shabby ship for no reason other than to shower his spoiled nephew with wisdom and guide him through his exile—who had crossed the whole of the Earth Kingdom on foot for him, lived in caves for him, bought him new clothes with their only money and spent nearly an hour dressing and doing his hair for a stupid date.

He'd betrayed the man who had believed in him when no one else had—who had loved him unconditionally when no one else would show him the slightest of kindness. Now that man was in prison, and it was Zuko who had put him there. And for what? For his honor? For his rightful place on the throne? For his father's praise?

"You shouldn't dwell on past mistakes, Prince Zuko,"Uncle's soothing voice echoed in his head, taking Zuko back to the days of exile on his ship. He could almost hear the clinking of a Pai Sho tile against a wooden table and smell the scent of jasmine tea that clung to the old man."To linger on the past is to shut out the present—and what joy is there in life if you do not enjoy the present?"

Uncle was right. As much as he didn't like to admit it, Zuko had done what he'd done. There was no going back now. Now, what he needed to do was look to the future—that was what Uncle would have wanted.

Zuko had his honor back now, or so Azula had said. Did that mean Father would accept him back now that he was more than just a stain on the family's reputation? Would Father finally love him? Or would he be disappointed in him for not being strong enough to capture the Avatar despite having so many chances to do so? Would he be angry at him for becoming a fugitive and living like a peasant? Would he burn him again?

So many questions whirled in Zuko's mind and he had not a single answer. And he didn't get the chance to ponder over them when the sounds of approaching footsteps pulled him back to reality, to the throne room of the Earth King's palace, by his sister's side, who sat triumphantly on the throne, quietly savoring her victory.

Zuko looked up to see the Head of Dai Li entering the throne room from the gigantic doors to the right. The man walked to the stairs of the throne and got down on one knee before the royal siblings.

"What is it?" Azula demanded.

"We've apprehended the waterbender, Princess."

The corner of Azula's lips lifted. "And the Avatar?"

"He wasn't with her. We are interrogating her as we speak. She says he's dead, but won't tell where the body is."

Azula briefly glanced to the side, brows knitting as she took in the information. "No. Those Water Tribe savages are loyal to their packs. She wouldn't leave him behind even if he were dead." She lifted her chin. "I want every house in the Lower Ring searched and every witness questioned. Spare no expense and leave no stone unturned. Also, do keep interrogating the peasant—she'll break eventually."

"Of course, Princess."

"Anything else?"

"There's been sightings of the Avatar's bison leaving the city. We have reason to believe King Kuei and the Avatar's companions were on it."

Azula exhaled a disappointed sigh. "Pity. They would've been excellent bait to lure out the Avatar. Oh well, I suppose the Water Tribe peasant will have to suffice." She fixed her eyes on the kneeling man. "If that is all, you may leave."

With a curt nod of the head, the man got up and went back the way he came, leaving the siblings alone once more.

Amidst all the things going on with his uncle, Zuko had completely forgotten about the Water Tribe girl. Now that he remembered, though—remembered the tenderness and concern in her eyes and the feather-light brushes of her fingertips against his scar—he wished she'd remained forgotten. His heart already ached for his uncle, he couldn't bear to think about another life he'd destroyed tonight.

"I hear that peasant is a pretty big hero for the enemy," Azula said, sitting with her back straight on the Earth King's throne, fists resting on the armrests, gaze fixed ahead. "Did you know her father is the chieftain of her tribe and she's the waterbending master of the Avatar?"

Zuko's shoulders slumped with the guilt pressing down on him.

She had a family. Friends. And she'd never get to see them again.

"Good for her," he responded flatly.

"Itisgood for her," Azula said, a note of malice present in her voice. "But it doesn't have to be goodonlyfor her, does it?"

Oh no. Zuko had heard that tone countless times in his childhood. And every single one of those times had ended with something terrible happening either to him or someone else. Something told him this wasn't going to end differently.

He turned to her fully, a feeling of dread worming from the pit of his stomach up his spine. "What're you saying, Azula?"

Azula crossed her legs, a smile forming on her lips.

"Soon, brother," she started, still gazing into the depths of the throne room, "the whole world will know Ba Sing Se fell to the Fire Nation, and even better, their precious little Avatar was killed. The enemy's safe haven and biggest hope, defeated on the same night… It'll devastate them." She leaned back on the throne. "But it won't be enough to break them. They'll just regroup and continue their rebellions elsewhere. If we want to break them,reallybreak them, we need to crush any sense of morale they have left."

She finally turned to him, her smile blossoming into a full-on smirk. "And you know whatcoulddo that?" The amber of her eyes was taken over by the black of her pupils. "Hearing that one of their biggest heroes became a whor* in the Fire Lord's harem."

The blood flowing in Zuko's veins froze that instant.

No. Oh, Agni no… The harem was… No one, no matter how grave their crime, deserved to be punished like that, least of all the waterbender. She... wasn't a bad person. She'd offered tohelphim—her archenemy. And she'd done that twice, in fact—first when Azula had shot Uncle and then again tonight in the crystal catacombs. Zuko may not have known much about her, but he knew she was compassionate, and it was her compassion that had landed her in this situation in the first place. She was only trying to protect her friend. If someone were to hurt Uncle, Zuko would've done the same.

It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve this.

"What's more," Azula continued, too caught up in her own world to notice the color drain from her brother's face, "since the peasant is a chief's daughter, the soldiers in her tribe may even attempt to rescue her without waiting for the eclipse!" She chuckled and her gaze shifted back ahead. "Oh, it'sperfect."

Zuko stared at her in disbelief. She was enjoying this. She was enjoying sentencing an innocent girl to a life of slavery.

He wanted to lash out at her, wanted to tell her she was crazy, that the waterbender didn't deserve this. But he knew better than losing his temper in his sister's presence—he knew he couldn't afford the consequences. So, instead, he kept his cool and recovered from his stunned state as best he could. What he needed right now was to change Azula's mind before it was too late, not lecture her on ethics or morality.

He racked his brains for a good enough reason to get the waterbender out of his sister's grasp.

"I say we use her as a bargaining tool to release prisoners of war," he blurted out, trying to keep his tone casual. "As you said, she'sveryimportant to the enemy. We can get thousands of our soldiers back—soldiers we'll need to enforce our rule here in Ba Sing Se."

At his voice, Azula snapped out of her thoughts, then shrugged. "After tonight, the enemy will be in shambles anyway. We'll use the eastern units to support the occupation, and after things calm down here, we can just go get the soldiers back ourselves. We don't need the peasant."

"But… if we move the eastern units, we'll leave a bunch of territory defenseless. What if someone tries to claim those lands while all of our soldiers are here?"

Azula rolled her eyes. "We'll move the western units there, Dum-Dum."

"But... then the homeland will be left open for attack."

She sighed. "We had an incredible victory here tonight, Zuko. People will line up to enlist in the army. They'll wanna be a part of history. The homeland will be safe."

sh*t. That was a good point.

"She's a Water Tribe peasant, Azula," he pleaded softly, pitching to her empathy as his last resort, even though he knew she wasn't very good on that front. "Father won't see her as anything more than a filthy savage. He'll never bed her and he knows no noble would want her as a gift. She'll stay a slave for the rest of her life."

Azula slowly turned her head to look at her brother, her smirk now replaced by a dangerous glare. "Why does it matter toyouif she's a slave or not, Zuko?"

His eyes widened. She was right, heshouldn'thave cared whatever happened to the girl—they were enemies, after all, not friends.

Folding his arms, he looked away. "It doesn't. I just… We already have enough servants in the palace. There's no need for one more mouth to feed. And I doubt she even knows how to hold a mop."

"Mhmm…" Azula's glare softened and she tilted her head slightly. "In that case, why don'tyoudeliver her the good news, Zuzu? She'd appreciate learning her fate from a familiar face rather than a stranger's, wouldn't you agree?"

What?! Zuko couldn't evenlookat the girl after stabbing her in the back, let alone tell her something like this!

'Calm down, Zuko. Don't do anything stupid. You're tired, go to your room.'

Deciding the voice inside his mind was right, he huffed and began his way toward the broken-down doors opposite the throne. "I'm not your servant, Azula. Go have one of your little agents do your legwork."

As he was about to take his first step down the stairs, Azula's sardonic laughter echoed in the empty throne room.

"Oh, Zuzu, don't tell me… Are youafraidof the peasant?"

Zuko stopped dead in his tracks, his foot hovering above the marble stair.

"It's okay, Zuzu," came his sister's mocking voice from behind. "I'm sure Dad won't mind hearing you're still a coward."

Zuko felt his cheeks burn, though he wasn't sure if it was of anger or embarrassment. He whipped around to his sister, his fists smoldering at his sides. She was examining her nails, her previous smirk back on her lips.

"I'M NOT AFRAID OF HER! AND I'MNOTA COWARD!"

Azula glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. "Why don't you prove it, then?"

"FINE!"

"Good." She uncrossed her legs and held her hand in the direction of the doors to her right. "The Dai Li will show you the way. Oh, and do tell the peasant I say hi."

Never minding whatever his sister was saying, Zuko practically flew down the stairs and stomped over to the doors.

Afraid. Ha! He wasn't afraid! He was going to show Azula who was afraid! He wasn't scared of some Water Tribe girl! He could face her! What was there to be scared of, anyway! All he had to do was look her in the eye and tell her she was going to become a slave for the family responsible for her mother and friend's deaths and be forced to clean toilets and scrub the floors and get treated like a rat for the rest of her life...

He could do that…

Right?

-o-

Zuko wanted to bang his head against a wall. Repeatedly.

He'd let Azula play him like a damn fiddle. She'd set a trap for him and he hadn't just fallen for it—no, that would've beenwaytoo smart of him—he'd dived into it headfirst! So much for not doing anything stupid! And the worst part about this was heknewsomething like this would've happened. Something like thisalwayshappened.

What was he even going to say to the girl? How did you tell someone they were to become a slave? What, was he going to go up to her and say, "Hey, remember me? I'm that guy that stabbed you in the back and helped kill your best friend! Yeah, hi! I know I'm the last person on the planet you wanna see right now, but surprise surprise, you're gonna be a slave! Congra-f*cking-tulations!"

Argh, why couldn't he have just stayed quiet?! He should've known there was no way Azula would've let…hergo without a— Agni, the girl had offered to heal his scar, but he couldn't even remember her name?! He'd heard her brother say it before… Arkata? Takara?

A man's voice coming from in front of him cut through his thoughts like a knife.

"State your business."

Oh, he must've arrived at the prison… Great.

Since leaving the throne room, Zuko had been blindly following a Dai Li agent down into the depths of the palace. Now that his focus was back on, though, he realized he was walking in a tunnel—the ceiling above a couple of heads taller than him, and the walls barely two shoulders apart. The old, moss-covered stones of the tunnel hardly reflected any light coming from the glowing green crystals mounted on the walls, and the side passages branching off to the left and right were all as dim and eerie as the one he was in.

Some steps ahead of the agent in front of him was a metal door and another agent standing guard in front of the door, marking the end of the tunnel. The agent leading the way stopped before the guard, causing Zuko to do the same behind him.

"Prince Zuko will see the waterbender," the agent said.

The guard didn't even look at Zuko. "She's being interrogated. Come back later."

"His Highness is here on Princess Azula's request," the agent said, and at those words, the guard's eyes darted to the Prince standing timidly in the back. He eyed him briefly before turning around to unlock the door and stepping out of the way.

The inside of the prison was made entirely of metal—the floors, walls, doors, curved ceiling, and even the little boxes on the floor with the glowing crystals in them,everythingwas metal. As Zuko and the agent strode through the short, narrow path that was this prison, their footfalls tore through its deafening silence.

The agent led the Zuko to the door at the opposite end of the passage that differed from the others, for it had neither a barred, square window at head level nor a rectangular opening on the bottom, presumably to slide food trays in and out of the cell.

Then the agent knocked on the door twice. "The prisoner has a visitor," he informed whoever was inside.

A deep voice came from the other side, muffled due to the door. "She's in an interrogation."

"It's the Princess' orders."

No response came for a few seconds, but then the door creaked open, revealing a huge man standing in the doorway. A rush of hot air radiated from behind the man and hit the Prince in the face, and instantaneously, a horrid, metallic smell overwhelmed his senses.

Zuko knew that smell well. It was blood. And judging by its intensity, there wasa lotof it.

Cold sweat began trickling down his back, the dread he'd felt earlier in the throne room returning to its place in his stomach.

This couldn't be good.

The man standing in the doorway wore a black outfit, covering him from head to toe. He also wore a black mask and a hood that left only his eyes that lacked any life in them visible to the outside world. He carried around him an aura of ominousness. And though his large frame obscured most of what was inside the room, Zuko was able to make out the top of the waterbender's head, hung low, from under the man's arm.

The agent moved aside as the man in black took a step toward the Prince, towering above the tiny boy that only came up to his shoulders.

"Make it quick," he told him firmly, then stepped out of the way, giving Zuko a full view of the girl sitting behind him.

And the icy terror brewing in his stomach exploded, paralyzing him to his spot.

The waterbender was seated in the middle of the room on a tall metal chair, secured in place by leather straps around her shins, wrists, and chest. Blood dripped from her mouth and the tip of her nose onto her black shirt. But worst of all, three thin pieces of metal were sticking out from under her fingernails, causing even more blood to trickle down the arm and leg of the chair and pool beside her foot. Her eyes were closed and she was as quiet as a spirit—the only evidence she was even alive, the faint rise and fall of her chest.

The sight of blood triggered memories in Zuko he'd sworn long ago to never revisit ever again. His heart skipped a beat and breathing suddenly became too difficult. His vision blurred and the world around him started to spin.

"Prince Zuko," the agent's voice came from hundreds of miles away, "Are you alright, sir?"

'I'm fine,' Zuko wanted to say, but his mouth wouldn't form the words no matter how hard he tried.

"Prince of the Fire Nation my ass," the man in black spat out. "Look at him. He's gonna faint like a little girl." He leaned back against the wall next to the door and crossed his arms. "Hey. Little girl," he called Zuko. "If you're just gonna stand there like that all night, I'm going back in. I don't have time for your sh*t."

Zuko ignored the man's insults. The waterbender needed his help—he couldn't just stand by and do nothing while the poor girl died a slow and excruciating death. Even if she was coated in blood.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he ordered his leg to take a step forward. He fixed his gaze on the floor, avoiding the girl sitting before him. His legs begged him to stop, to turn back and run, but he pushed through. Once his foot landed on the floor, he forced another step, then another one, and then another one until he was inside the room, and the door closed behind him.

A ghastly atmosphere reigned over the small room. There was a fireplace on the left that burned with green fire, heating up the room to a searing degree. Its crackling filled the quiet air and buried the place in a haunting green glow. There was a metal table on the right with more long needles, a pair of pliers, and a bloodied brass knuckle lying on top of it. And the walls, as well as the ceiling and the back of the door, were lined with puffy, black leathers—noise insulators, Zuko realized with dread.

They were alone now, the girl and him, but he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. Howcouldhe look at her when it washisfault she was here?

'Don't think about that right now, Zuko. She needs your help, so help her.'

Wounds. What Zuko needed to do now was tending to her wounds. Even in a sanitized infirmary, it wasn't uncommon for wounds to get infected, whereas this girl was going to be thrown to a prison cell without a single care for her health or hygiene.

Throughout his banishment, he'd witnessed numerous instances where the physician on his ship had burned the arm of a soldier to close and disinfect a wound—he could do the same with the waterbender, right? It'd be agonizing, but it was the only way to ensure a nasty infection wouldn't get to her.

'The wounds on her hands you can burn, but what about the ones on her face?'

Damn it… He had to figure out another way.

In the crystal catacombs, she'd said she had healing abilities and taken out a vial of water. Did that mean she could somehow waterbend-heal people? Would it work on herself too? Would it help with her pain?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Without looking anywhere near her hands, Zuko walked over to the unconscious girl. He gently lifted her head up with his thumb and bent pointer finger under her chin, her normally rich brown skin now almost as pale as his own, and let it lean back on the headrest.

Her whole face was coated in red with blood trailing down her left eyebrow, from the large cuts on both of her cheeks, from her broken nose, and from her split lip. Her left eye was swollen shut and beads of sweat had plastered the rogue strands of her tied back hair onto her temples. But what broke Zuko's heart the most were the two channels of fresh tears that had slathered the blood on her cheeks.

Gulping, he knelt down on the floor in front of the girl, not caring that the small pond of her blood was staining his robes.

"Can you hear me?" he asked quietly so as to not to be heard from the outside.

The only response he got was the crackling of the fireplace.

"Hey." He lightly shook her by the shoulders. "I need you to tell me how your healing power works so I can help you."

No answer again.

Zuko heaved a shaky breath. He was on his own.

Okay… So, first, he needed to figure out how this waterbending-healing thing even worked. Did a waterbender have to actively do the healing, or was it enough to just bring the injury in contact with water? Also, did it require that specific spirit water she'd told him about, or would any type of water do the job? Because if an unconscious waterbender and any sort of water could carry out the healing, Zuko might've actually had a chance to help her. He may not have been able to bend water to his will like her, but he could still pour it on her hands, couldn't he?

Getting up and going back to the door, Zuko donned his most princely demeanor before opening it. The agent that'd brought him here and the man in black were standing a couple of steps out in the passage, both with their hands behind their backs. They went quiet as soon as the Fire Prince appeared in the doorway, his back straight, shoulders pushed back, chin lifted.

"Go fetch me some water," Zuko ordered the agent with such authority, it would've made even his father proud.

The men blinked first at him and then at each other.

"You do know she's a master waterbender, right?" the man in black deadpanned, turning to him.

"And I'm a master firebender," Zuko lied. He was no such thing, but they didn't need to know that. When neither man stirred, he quickly added, "Besides, what better way to interrogate a waterbender than tormenting her with water she can't bend?"

At that, the men glanced at each other once more before the agent nodded to him and went out to the open door of the prison. After a minute of tense silence between the man in black and the Prince, the agent came back carrying a metal bucket in his hand. Without wasting another second, Zuko took the bucket, shut the door behind him, and placed it on the table beside the girl. Then, he took a deep breath to muster up the courage to finally look at her hands.

Her fingers were sprawled palm-down on the long, wide armrests, and bruises had begun forming along the tight bonds around her wrists. Her right hand was swollen to nearly twice its original size, the bones inside it clearly broken. The three needles in that same hand had ripped off her nails completely and, through the thin layer of raw skin and blood where the nails used to be, Zuko could see the silver lines of the needles tearing further into her flesh, almost all the way to the first joints.

His head began spinning again and he held on to the table's edge for dear life, acidic bile rising in his throat.

'It's okay, Zuko. You're okay. Just close your eyes and breathe. In… Out… In… Out… See? You're already better. Now do what you need to do.'

Right. Wiping the sweat on his hands on his outer robe, he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the anguished screams and the gush of yet more blood to come.

He reached for the needles to pull them out, but immediately jerked his hands back when the metals seared his fingertips with a sharp, hot sting. The scar on his left eye ached at the familiar sensation. The bright orange flame flickering above his father's fist coming for his eye, the same sight that had frequented his nightmares ever since the Agni Kai, suddenly filled his vision.

Zuko staggered back a few steps at the memory. He knew first-hand how indescribably agonizing it was to get burned—and his scar was only external, whereas this girl was being burnedfrom the inside.

Luckily for her, at least, he was a firebender—a firebender trained by the Dragon of the West himself.

Without hesitation, he set his right palm down onto all three needles at the same time. He hissed through gritted teeth and squeezed his watering eyes shut when the top layers of his skin instantly began melting off where the metals laid beneath his palm. The stench of burnt flesh joined the smell of blood in the air, but he didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he transferred his weight from his right foot to the left, pointed two fingers at the fireplace, and let the heat flow through him—through his right hand, up his arm, down to his stomach, and then out from his pointed fingers, just like Uncle had taught him to do when redirecting lightning.

Soon enough, hot air began streaming from his fingertips toward the fireplace and the metals beneath his hand gradually cooled down, though he couldn't really feel anything but pain anymore. As soon as the last fumes of the stream disappeared, Zuko dipped his burning hand in the bucket of water and groaned gutturally when it sizzled at the contact with the cold water.

When he felt a tiny bit better and his ragged breaths evened out, he took his hand out of the water to see three horizontal, blistering red lines ranging from one end of his palm to the other. But this wasn't the time to suffer right now—he still had to heal the girl before the men outside got suspicious of how long he was staying here. Besides, he'd survived getting nearly half of his face melted off—what were three little lines on his hand compared to that?

Zuko took another deep breath, readying himself for the horrifying screams to come, and wrapped his fingers around two of the needles.

Then he yanked them out.

-o-

She wasn't screaming. She wasn't screaming or crying or shaking or reacting in any way while blood gushed like a river from her fingertips. She simply kept sitting there as if nothing had happened, as if someone hadn't just pulled two needles out from inside her fingers.

Zuko knew she was unconscious, but damn… she wasoutout.

Regardless, he threw the needles in his hands to the floor, then grabbed the last one still inside her finger and pulled that one out too. Without missing a beat, he picked up the bucket on the table, poured some water on her bleeding hand, then placed the bucket down on the floor and circled his hands around hers to keep the water in. The blood on her hand immediately drowned the clear water in scarlet.

When nothing happened for a few moments, he began doubting himself, but an ethereal sound coming from inside his hands silenced his worries and the water started glowing a light shade of blue.

'It worked!'Zuko sighed a breath of relief.'Oh thank Agni, it worked… She's gonna be okay!'

It felt like it took years for the light and the sound to fade away, when in reality barely half a minute had passed. Once the healing was finally done, he saw, through the washed away blood, that her hand had shrunk back to its normal size, the bleeding had stopped, and the raw skin of her nailbeds now matched the complexion of the rest of her fingers, more or less.

The tiniest of smiles found its way onto his lips.

Encouraged by his small victory, he picked up the bucket again, poured more water down her face, and cupped his hands under her bleeding eyebrow. This time, the healing took less time to finish. Then he repeated the same procedure on her swollen eye, bleeding cheeks, and nose—of course while being careful to let her breathe. The healing on her face didn't work as well as it had on her hand since it was more difficult to hold the water in now, but her eyebrow and nose stopped bleeding, the swell of her eye shrunk somewhat, and the cuts on her cheek mostly closed into thin lines of scars.

While he was working on her split lips, a knock came from the door behind him.

"Hurry up, kid. I don't have all night."

Oh, how Zuko wanted to burn that man to a crisp right about now. Rather than responding in a very unprincelike manner, though, he kept healing the girl's lips until the last of the glowing dwindled away and the split turned into a small cut.

Now that he was done with her face, he took a step back from her. He still had some water left. If she had more wounds, he could heal them as well while he was at it.

His eyes began scanning down her body. They quickly stopped when a bloodstained, however, when a blue ribbon around her neck caught his attention. He recognized it instantly—he'd had it for a whole month, after all—and the taste of happiness in his mouth soured.

It was her mother's necklace—she'd said so herself when he'd tied her to a tree that one night—and it may have been the only thing she had left of her. But she was a prisoner now—all of her possessions were going to be taken away and destroyed, the necklace included. And even worse, if the Dai Li were to ever catch on to its significance, they'd destroy it right in front of her eyes to get any information out of her.

Zuko knew, from personal experience, that nothing on this wretched earth couldevercompare to watching the last object that tied one's dead mother to this world go up in flames.

He couldn't let anyone else go through what he went through. He wouldn't.

Reaching for the pendant, he undid its knot at the back of her neck and put it in between the layers of his robes for safekeeping.

Then, after pouring his remaining water on the blood-stained knees of her pants, he set the empty bucket down and looked at her. Her eyes were still closed and she was still far from what was considered a decent condition, but she seemed more relaxed and her breathing had become more prominent.

Now, the only thing left to do was putting an end to this drudgery. It was the least he could do for her.

Getting into his prince persona again, Zuko turned around and stepped out of the room. He closed the door behind him so the fact that the girl was in a better state wouldn't be noticed.

The men standing outside hadn't moved at all since he'd left.

"This interrogation is over," he told the man in black. "The prisoner is unconscious, you're wasting your time."

The man's eyes narrowed. "I don't take orders from you, child."

Zuko stood his ground against the giant man. "I'll talk with the Princess. I'm sure she'll agree with me." When he saw the man was obviously unconvinced, he added, knowing he'd probably regret this decision in the future, "If you don't hear from her within an hour, you may carry on with your work."

The man didn't say anything, choosing instead to keep staring down at the Prince, his ruthless, black eyes making Zuko feel like a worthless insect under his scrutiny.

"You have 30 minutes," the man snarled at last and then turned around and left the prison with big steps.

And with that, the clock began ticking for the Fire Prince.

-o-

Zuko barged into the war room without waiting to be announced—to where he was informed his sister had moved on to after he'd left the throne room. His trip back from the prison had nearly used up half the time he was given, there was not a second to waste.

He wished he could've gotten the Water Tribe girl out of prison as well while he was at it, but he wasn't a fool—he knew he'd never be able to give the girl her freedom back. She was inevitably going to become a slave to the one man she hated more than Zuko—but at least, when he was done here, her misery will have ended… hopefully.

The vast warm room overlooked the somber scenery of the cityscape, its magnificent view parted with marble columns and short, green curtains hung between them. In front of him, Azula sat on a long marble table, legs crossed, an elbow placed on one knee, chin resting on her hand. She was staring at an enormous atlas of the world on the floor with lean red and green stones scattered across the map, while two statues representing the Earth Kingdom laid broken on the floor behind her.

The Head of Dai Li standing next to her nodded to him in acknowledgment while the Princess kept her gaze on the atlas.

"Did you know what they were doing to her?" Zuko asked as he walked up the steps to get on the same level as his sister, his tone neutral.

Azula looked up from the atlas, the ridicule in her growing smile also gleaming in her amber eyes. "Why? Did you faint again?"

There it was. She was doing it again, playing him. But Zuko had learned his lesson tonight—he wouldn't fall for her trap this time.

"She won't talk no matter how much you 'interrogate' her," he stated calmly, coming to a stop at the edge of the atlas across her.

She shrugged. "If you can't make someone talk, it means you're not pushing them enough."

Zuko shut his eyes as anger threatened to spill over. He gathered his thoughts and started again.

"You've pushed her enough. She's unconscious. She couldn't say anything even if she wanted to. Besides, there's no point in questioning her anyway. You shot the Avatar with lightning over an hour ago. He's either reincarnated into one of the Water Tribes already or has fled the city by now."

Azula leaned back on one hand and sized her brother up for a good second. Zuko could see the gears turning behind her eyes.

Then, she sighed dramatically. "Very well… Since itisa special night and you were so polite, I'll allow it." She looked at the Dai Li agent standing behind Zuko, "Take the prisoner to her cell."

The man bowed and turned to take his leave.

Wait. That was it? That was all it took to convince Azula? Zuko had hoped he could change her mind, but… he didn't actually think he could do it this quickly. Was she not going to attack him for telling her to do something? Tell him he was weak for pitying the waterbender? Threaten him by telling Father about this? Why would she be so nice? She was never nice, not unless she was playing into something.

As if in response to his confusion, Azula let out a small giggle just as the agent was about to step out of the room, causing him to stop and turn around.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said gleefully, holding up her hand. She smiled at the agent with an obviously artificial sweetness. "Please do make sure to give our lovely guest awarmwelcome to her new home, will you? We wouldn't want her to be left...unsatisfiedwith her stay here." She locked eyes with her brother. "Would we, Zuzu?"

Zuko tried his best to stay calm, but the anger in his voice was evident. "Youjustsaid you wouldn't hurt her."

Azula's brows furrowed innocently. "'Hurt her?" She theatrically put her hand on her chest. "Whyever would I wanna do that? I only said to give her a warm welcome. It's this thing called hospitality—not that you'd know anything about it."

She dropped her innocent act abruptly and gestured to the agent with her head to leave. As the man bowed again and walked out the door, her gaze moved back to the atlas in front of her.

"Now, if there isn't anything else, I have a city to rule."

Zuko knew his sister well enough to know that the conversation was over—anything he'd say from now would just be wasting his breath. He also knew he couldn't justify defending the waterbender any longer. If he kept going, it'd come back to bite both him and her in the arse in the future.

Another agent standing at the foot of the double doors opened the door for Zuko as he turned on his heels and began his way out of the room. He stared at the marble floors and pondered what his sister had meant by 'warm welcome'. Was that some sort of a twisted metaphor for 'go throw that girl into a freezing room and leave her there for all eternity'? Nowthatwas something he'd expect from his sister, not her actually caring about the girl's comfort or well-being.

As he stepped out into the hallway, still oblivious to his sister's true intentions, he heard her sing after him.

"Goodnight, Zuzu. Sleep tight."

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Katara looked around desperately, unsure where she was—an endless maze of twisting streets, lined with buildings casting menacing shadows everywhere. She was running away from… someone or something, though she couldn't remember from who or what.

“How could you do this to me?” someone said from behind her, not a single note of emotion present in it.

She whipped around to see her friend standing in the dark void, his pale skin contrasting the shadows, clothes burned just like the way she’d left him in that house. With white eyes and a glare, he gazed into her soul—instead of the combined power of the previous Avatars, however, it was death that gleamed in his eyes.

When he spoke again, his lips didn't move.

"How could you let them kill me?"

Katara tried to take a step toward him, tell him she was sorry, as if that would make a difference, but found herself paralyzed in her place when two sets of hands latched onto her legs, crawling up her shins like spiders. Looking down, she saw the two Dai Li agents she’d killed staring back at her, their eyes white just like her friend’s.

Their faces slowly turned purple, swelling and rotting, the elaborate weaving of the muscles underneath their skin surfacing as they decomposed before her. Their eyes began melting, the liquid trapped inside them trickling down their temples, leaving behind empty dark pits in their stead, and blood started dripping down their noses and out of the sides of their gaping mouths.

An endless flow of blood was gushing out of the wounds on their necks, chests, and stomachs—wounds her ice daggers had created punctured in their bodies. They left stains of black on their dark green uniforms and a growing pool of blood spreading on the ground, transforming the stones of the pavement beneath her feet into a crimson bog, pulling at her feet, sucking her under.

Cruel laughter echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once, and sharp pains assailed her, all over, with no apparent source. A Dai Li agent materialized from the shadows right in front of her, one that she’d never seen before. His hands were clasped behind him, head bowed down, face concealed by his wide helmet, yet the blood-curdling smirk on his lips was still visible from underneath. When he slowly raised his head, a pair of golden eyes came to light, one of them contorted by the scar around it into a permanent glare, the other gleaming with malice as he leered at her, his pointy teeth as sharp as knives.

The figure stood before her, enjoying the show as she sank waist-deep into the thick fluid. Then it suddenly lunged forward, too-hot hands spouting red and blue flames, cascading all over her.

Katara wanted to scream, wriggle out of the bruising grasp of the dead men, protect her face from the onslaught of fire, run away, do something, anything, but not a single muscle in her body would obey her commands—she could only stand there and watch the colorful flames whirl around her while her lungs filled with blood. The burning concentrated in her right hand, blinding her in a white, hot agony, and she drowned in the blood of the men whose lives she’d taken.

Her lungs slowly collapsed in on themselves and the inferno within her hand continued its rampage up her fingers. The scream swelling in her throat was smothered by the blood, inaudible in the hellish situation as she suffocated—but it managed to follow her into the waking world, into a freezing, pitch-black room, echoing off the walls.

Her heart was pounding a mile a minute in her ears as she laid there—wherever ‘there’ was—frozen in place, trembling with terror and with tears running down her cheeks even though she wasn’t crying. Cold sweat coated every patch of her skin despite the cool temperature of the room, and she was panting heavily as if to make up for those moments she wasn’t able to breathe in her nightmare. She could see, in her periphery, shadows dancing in the darkness of the room, circling her shivering body like runaway spirits from the Spirit World.

Katara waited for everything to pass, not that she had any other choice. This wasn’t the first nightmare she’d lived through, but it was, by far, the worst. At least now, though, thanks to her experience with these situations, she knew what to do.

Closing her eyes, she took deep, calming breaths. As her heart rate slowed down to a more reasonable tempo, she gradually became more aware of her surroundings.

The room wasn’t entirely pitch-black like she’d previously thought. A whiff of emerald green light spilled inside from the barred windows of the door, casting the room in a dim glow. And although this narrow, metal box of a room didn't have any windows to the world outside, she could tell by the lack of the power of the moon in her veins that it wasn't night-time anymore.

The next thing that her mind registered was the scratchy texture of the rough mat she was lying on and the thin, threadbare blanket that had been tossed over her, making her bare arms and legs itch to the point where she could have clawed her skin off to relieve it. When she recoiled and threw the cover off of herself as a reflex, the soreness in her limbs made itself known, pulsing out through her body with each breath she took.

Wincing from the unpleasant sensation, Katara inhaled sharply through her nose, which sent another stab of pain through her skull. The pain receded fairly quickly, but it lasted long enough for her to notice how odd it felt, like having a broken but partially healed nose.

Gradually, the aches and pains and stiffness on other parts of her face began surfacing in her nightmare-fogged mind—on her lips and left cheek, mainly. They stung and itched as if they too had been injured and partly healed.

How it was possible for a wound to be healed halfway, or why she’d be healed in the first place, she had no idea. She didn't even know how she'd gotten those wounds. The last vivid memory she had was of her getting caught by that agent that had chased her around the streets of Ba Sing Se. The events ensuing it were chopped up into bits and pieces, and the things she did remember were but a frenzied flash of visions. She wasn't entirely sure if they were even real or a product of her imagination.

The first memory she had taking place after getting knocked out was a brief sequence of her being dragged by her hair through… somewhere with a curved, metal ceiling and the man dragging her telling her to shut up. Judging by the throbbing at her scalp, she presumed that this really had happened. And then there was another flash of memory—a giant man in a black outfit standing by a fireplace, holding a long, lean piece of metal above green flames, demanding the location of the Avatar.

Katara didn’t remember what had happened after that, but, as the memory played in her mind, a twinge of pain in her vocal cords and a similar one in her right hand shot up to her brain. It didn’t hurt as much as her nose or lips, but it wasn’t the best feeling in the world either, and the fact that she could feel just how far the stinging went up her fingers didn’t help.

Grunting in pain, she clutched the stinging hand to her chest, still shaking with the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Once she was feeling less like she might pass out again, she sat up to inspect whatever was going on with her hand.

Her eyes widened in horror at the sight.

Somewhat hardened flesh had replaced three of her nails. On top of that, her palm was swollen and a strip of bruising was encircling her wrist. Three tiny, oval-shaped patches of scar tissue stood out at the very tips of her fingers, right under where the nails were supposed to be, as if something had been removed from inside them and then the skin around them had stitched back together. And the longer she gazed at her hand, the more intense the pain became.

Turning away from the grisly sight, Katara examined her other hand. It had the same bruising, but it wasn’t swollen, nor was it missing any nails.

Why not? It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the Dai Li had done to her to get to Aang, so why stop at only three fingers? Why not finish what they’d started? What, did they see that she wouldn’t spill anything and just… give up? But these were the Dai Li—they never gave up. Why hadn’t they continued doing whatever they were doing to her to the end? Also, perhaps the most important of all, if they had inserted something into her fingertips, how come those wounds didn’t hurt as much as the ones her face did?

As she kept examining her hands and puzzled over what had taken place, something else drew her attention. She was wearing a dress—a brown prisoner's dress with fraying, unhemmed edges that stopped right above her knees. A dress she wasn’t wearing last night. And she didn’t have her underwear on.

Her heart began pounding in her chest once again. Someone had to have taken her clothes off. She prayed to all the spirits out there that it was her who’d done that. It wasn’t impossible for her to have forgotten this, right? She didn’t have big chunks of memory from the night before—this could just be yet another detail her brain had chosen to discard. Besides, the Dai Li might’ve been horrible people, but they were just that—people. No onewith a beating heart would strip a girl naked while she was unconscious. That was just… No. They wouldn’t do that.

As her eyes continued moving down her body, checking for any other injuries or marks she couldn't explain, she noticed half-healed scrapes on her knees, more stripe-like bruises around her shins, and a dark stain on the brown fabric of her dress right where her legs met. She took a closer look at the stain, her brows furrowing. The lingering coppery smell coming from the blackish stain made comprehension dawn—blood. And her suspicions were confirmed when she lifted the skirt and saw rivers of blood that’d leaked from between her legs and then dried on the insides of her thighs, also staining the coarse mat she was sitting on.

This didn’t make any sense… It’d only been a week since she’d last gotten her period, and her moon cycle was usually pretty regular. But what else could this be? It'd explain her cramps as well. Well, now that she thought about it, she actually wouldn't classify what she felt as cramps, for they were considerably more painful—like a fire searing her from the inside instead of a simple throb—and a lot lower on her abdomen—all the way down at the opening between her legs, in fact.

And there was also this strange tenderness on her inner thighs. Squinting in the dim green light, she could just make out bruises on either leg. They were a strange shape, splayed and spider-like, sort of like hands, the same on each leg, but her dazed and pain-wracked mind couldn't grasp what they were, only that they were familiar, and that she should have known what they were.

Out of nowhere, an anguished scream echoed in her mind, a tearful plea of a girl begging for someone to stop, and a mental image of a Dai Li agent, the same one from her nightmare, flashed before her eyes. The imposing figure was standing in the doorway of the room she was in, staring at her where she laid on the mat, a malicious smirk gleaming from under his helmet.

Katara’s stomach turned over at the vision. Bile rose in her throat, and it was all she could do to swallow it back down.

Suddenly, a loud bang came from the metal door in front of her, clamoring thunderously in the empty room, effectively putting an end to her thoughts before they could even fully form. She flinched at the sudden sound and immediately covered up her exposed ladyparts.

Looking up, she saw an agent, a different one from the one in her visions, staring back at her from behind the barred window on the door. She couldn’t wrap her head around the reason, but the sight of a man in a Dai Li uniform sent ice-cold shivers down her spine, raw terror making her stomach churn.

“I’ll only say this once, so listen carefully,” the man said, and as he continued, an invisible weight pressed down on Katara’s chest, getting heavier by the second. “On Princess Azula’s orders, you’ll be given food and water every two days. You will finish your food within 5 minutes and then slide the tray under the door. When we're holding out the water to you, you will grab the bars on the door and drink it between them—try to let go of the bars, and all of your fingers will be broken one by one. You will sleep on your back with your hands outside the cover, palms open and facing the ceiling. You will not lay down during the day. You will not speak to yourself or sing or make any sort of noise. When you need to use the bathroom, you will knock on the door twice. If you don’t comply with anything we say, you’ll be punished severely. Understood?”

By the time he’d finished, the weight atop Katara’s chest felt as heavy as an arctic hippo, cutting off the air supply from her lungs. It was only after she’d managed to let out the shaky breath that had clogged up her windpipe that she was able to breathe again.

Another thunderous bang on the door, and she flinched again, a small yelp escaping her lips.

“I asked you a question,” the agent spat out.

Katara wasn’t stupid, she knew he wasn’t joking or exaggerating in any way—if she didn’t do the things he’d said, she really would be punished severely.

Without looking up, she shook her head in a small nod, then, realizing he wanted a vocal answer, managed to rasp out a soft, “Yes.”

“Good.” The man stepped away from the door. “Your first meal will be served tomorrow.”

Katara listened as his footsteps gradually faded away until a door not too far away clanged shut, and silence once again took the reins in her lonely prison cell.

Leaning back on the wall beside her, she brought her stinging legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, the burning at the pit of her navel seeming much less important now. She settled her forehead on the scraped skin of her knees with a heavy sigh.

Katara didn’t know where she was, or how many guards there were outside. And it wasn’t like she could gather water from the air, either—it was cold in the room, and cold temperatures didn’t hold as much moisture in the air as warmer ones.

Even if she somehow did manage to gather enough water, what was she going to do then? She couldn’t just take on a hoard of master earthbenders as powerful and dangerous as the Dai Li. Not when she had only a bubble of water to defend herself.

Say, the spirits were gracious that day and everything went perfectly according to plan and she got out of the prison, there were still the Inner and Outer walls of the city she had to get past before she was completely free—and this was assuming she was in the Lower Ring and didn't have to get past the additional walls of the Middle and Upper rings.

Her only chance to escape the city had been with Appa, with her family. And it was too late for that now.

She was stuck here.

Tears burned behind her eyelids and oozed down her nose, dripping onto the fabric of her dress where it laid bunched up between her hips and bent legs.

Aang was her only hope for rescue, and he was dead.

No, he wasn’t dead. She’d healed him. He was okay. Sokka and Toph had saved him. They were on Appa right now, roaming the skies, having fun and joking around like the old times… But they wouldn’t be joking around, would they? They didn’t know what had happened to her or where she was.

Oh, spirits… What if they thought she was dead? What would Sokka do? Would he stop eating again? After Mom had died and Dad had gone away for war, it’d taken Katara and Gran Gran an entire week to get him back on track with his usual diet.

Well, he wasn’t on his own, at least. Toph was with him. She’d force-feed him if need be. And Aang was there too. He’d tell him that starving himself because of Katara wasn’t what she wanted—that what she really wanted was for them to go to the Fire Nation and wipe the floor with the Fire Lord, not mourn after her.

For what could have been minutes or hours, the thoughts of her friends and family kept circling in her mind, making her feel forgotten and alone as she sat huddled in her empty prison cell, tears pouring down her face and her shoulders shaking with her sobs. The invisible weight from before returned in the shape of a hand, wrapping around her heart and squeezing it until it turned to dust.

Katara lifted shaking fingers up to her neck and thought of her beautiful mother, taking comfort in knowing that she was always there with her, no matter what.

But, instead of the engraved surface of the necklace she was expecting, her fingers grazed her bare throat.

Katara's eyes snapped open. She jerked upright and searched frantically with her hands for the necklace that was no longer there. Feeling nothing but her skin, she rocked forward onto her knees onto the metal floor beside the mat, not caring how her knees throbbed as she put her entire weight on them or how her intimate regions stung more than ever with her sharp movements. Her hands scrabbled over the mat, then rifled through the covers she’d thrown aside like a madwoman, panic growing in her heart and washing away any other feeling she might’ve otherwise had. When nothing came of her search, she lifted and shook the mat and the covers in the air, hoping desperately for the pendant to fall to the floor, but all of her efforts ended in vain.

Knotting her fingers in her hair in agitation, Katara gazed around the empty room, as if she could make the pendant appear out of thin air just by looking—but all she saw was the metal of the floors, walls, and ceiling, illuminated by the reflection of the green light coming from outside the door.

It was gone. The last piece of her mother was gone. Just like that. There was nothing left of her now.

As the realization set in, gravity itself became too strong of a foe, and Katara fell on her side, too overwhelmed with grief and despair to care about the cold metal floor pressing against her cheek.

They’d killed her again. The Fire Nation had killed her mother again.

Curling into a fetal position, Katara squeezed her eyes shut and keened in sorrow, her tears flowing down her cheeks more forcefully than before. Her sobs shook her whole body, her tears pooled on the ground beside her, and the quiet whimpers spilling from her lips got lost in the smothering silence of her prison cell.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Zuko let out a drawn-out sigh. All he wanted right now was to stay in his bed and be left to wallow in his misery all day, but here he was, on his way to a dining hall on the palace grounds because his sister had 'kindly requested' he be present at breakfast. Because of course she had—Agni forbid he might want to be left alone, in whatever peace he had.

His robes danced in the warm breeze as he followed a servant up the stairs to a lavish building. His gaze was cast on the marble stairs while he tried in vain to stop his thoughts from wandering off to the dreadful nightmare he'd seen last night. But no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't get the image of his uncle encased up to his neck in glowing crystals, turning his head away in disappointment, and of the Water Tribe girl standing in the catacombs they'd been imprisoned in, face devoid of emotion, blood gushing out of her face, hand, and even eyes, telling him he was the one that had done this to her, not the Dai Li.

The servant Zuko had been following reached the top of the stairs and the Dai Li agent standing guard at the entry of the hall opened the elegant double doors for the Fire Prince, who kept glowering down at the ground, while the servant stayed outside. Zuko decided to busy his mind with what he'd be having for breakfast instead of the horror he'd just woken up from. He hadn't eaten anything since leaving the Jasmine Dragon yesterday afternoon, and after fighting with the Avatar, not to mention all the things proceeding that with Uncle and the waterbender, he was absolutely famished.

"Well, well…" he heard his sister's snarky remark as he set foot in the building. "Look who's decided to grace us with his presence… We were beginning to think you'd ditched us, Zuzu."

Before Zuko could look up or even begin to wonder who these 'we' and 'us' were, a high-pitched squeal of his name reached his ears, and in the split second he was lifting his head to check out who was calling for him, a flurry of pink leaped in the air, landed right in front of him, then two strong arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down for a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey… Ty Lee…" he choked out through the suffocating arms wrapped around his throat. He patted his long-time friend on the back awkwardly as his way of hugging back and also as a silent plea for her to slacken her hold and let him breathe again.

Ty Lee drew back from their embrace with a huge grin splitting her face. Zuko doubted she was even aware she'd just strangled the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation—a treacherous crime normally punished by public execution.

"Oh, it's so great to see you again!" she chirped, squeezing his shoulders affectionately. "Wow, you've gotten so tall! How're you? How've you been? Did you travel to a lot of places? What was the weirdest food you tried? Ooh, you were at the Northern Water Tribe during the invasion, right? Did you see the Avatar turn into a giant monster and wipe out our entire fleet? And are the poles really as cold as they say? They say they have houses of ice there! That's crazy! I mean, doesn't the ice melt in the summer? Ugh, do you remember the summers back home? It gets, like, so hot. But I like the weather here. It's cool and the humidity is nice too. At least you don't start sweating the moment you come out of the shower here, amirite?"

A fed-up sigh sounded from behind her.

"Will you hush up, Ty? Let him breathe a little."

Zuko looked over his friend's shoulder to see another childhood friend, looking gloomy as she often had, seated beside his sister at a long, luxurious wooden table. The long locks of her jet-black hair she'd let flow down her shoulders framed her striking, somber features, and her porcelain skin glowed in the soft rays of the dawning sun. And while Ty Lee hadn't changed much over the years, the childish roundness of Mai's face had given way to a sharp jawline and even sharper slope to her nose.

Ty Lee turned around and put her fists on her hips. "What? Can I not be excited to see one of my best friends for the first time in three years?"

Mai rolled her eyes and went back to eating her breakfast. "Whatever."

Ty Lee looped her arm around Zuko's and began walking them to the table.

"Don't mind her, Zuko," she said, her voice having dropped to a conspiratorial whisper only he could hear, "she's missed you too." Her grin turned mischievous and she wiggled her brows. "She's missed you a lot."

Zuko looked at the girl in question again, who was staring down at her plate and calmly chewing on her food. She didn't seem one bit enthusiastic to have seen him. By the looks of it, she seemed more like they'd been hanging out every day and this was just another morning than seeing him for the first time in more than three years. But he didn't give much thought to it—he already had a lot on his mind, and stuffing his mouth with those delicious smelling dumplings he peeped on the table was his main priority at the moment.

As they neared the table, Ty Lee untangled herself from his arm and sat down across from Mai, and he walked over to the head of the table to sit opposite his sister, who'd been quietly watching the whole interaction and eating her meal, not a trace of emotion on her face. One of the many maids standing by the walls walked up to the young prince and lifted the golden lid off of his plate as he sat down, then went back to her spot beside the wall with practiced, silent steps.

Cozily settling down on his chair, Zuko went to pick up his chopsticks with his right hand, then realized his foolishness at the last second and switched hands.

"What's with the bandages, Zuzu?" his sister asked casually, focused on her food rather than him.

At her question, the other girls' attentions snapped to the bandages on his right hand—the hand he'd willingly burned the night before while helping the Water Tribe girl.

Ty Lee gasped. "Zuko! Are you okay?!"

Zuko hastily hid his hand under the table and uttered, "It's nothing. I'm fine," before going on to eat his food.

"Oh, so you bandage your hand for fun…" Mai said dryly.

Zuko sent her an annoyed look and took a bite out of his dumpling. "I just accidentally cut myself this morning. That's all."

Azula locked eyes with her brother. Although her face still lacked emotion, the knowing gleam in her eyes showed the true danger that stormed beneath her tranquil features.

"Cut yourself this morning, have you?" She tilted her head. "That's odd. I could've sworn I saw wounds on that very hand last night, after you came back from your little visit to that Water Tribe peasant."

Zuko froze, staring at his sister with wide eyes and the dumpling he'd been bringing to his mouth hanging in the air before his face. Then, as Azula broke into a smirk, his eyes shot to his plate and he cleared his throat. "You saw wrong."

Azula didn't take her scrutinizing eyes off of him as she set her chopsticks down on the table and interlaced her fingers before her, all the while Zuko was doing his best to look innocent—trying nonchalantly to eat his meal and staring at his plate and nowhere else.

"Funny how you should say that," she said, resting her chin atop her interlaced fingers. "The thing is, dearest brother, little birdies told me you asked for a bucket of water last night while you were visiting the peasant, and they said she was in a better condition after you left. Apparently, she even woke up for a while."

Zuko prayed to Agni the heat he felt spreading on his cheeks wasn't visible to his sister, even though he knew it wouldn't make much of a difference anyway—she'd always read him like an open book whether he showed his feelings or not.

He looked away. "I just wanted to wake her up and interrogate her myself, so I splashed her with some cold water. She must've woken up later."

"Mhmm…" Azula stared down at him with mocking eyes. "The human body works in such mysterious ways, doesn't it?"

Zuko opened his mouth, hoping he could somehow come up with a coherent lie on the spot, but his sister spoke before he did.

"But you needn't fret, brother," she said, breaking eye contact and picking up her chopsticks from the table, the danger behind her eyes having been dissipated. "Dad won't hear of this little incident. Me and my birdies will stay quiet. And you," she addressed the maids lining the walls over her shoulder, her voice suddenly as cold as ice, "none of you will speak of this to anyone. For your and your families' sake. Understood?" The maids gave her nervous curtsies and she turned back to her brother. "Oh, quit gaping, Zuzu. You're my brother—of course I'm looking out for you."

Only after a long second was Zuko able to pick up his jaw from the floor. He was overjoyed that she'd chosen to spare him from her—or worse, Father's—wrath, but at the same time confused as to why she would've done that. He'd never known her to be the merciful or caring type, and yet this was the second time she'd turned a blind eye to something treacherous he'd done in the span of less than half a day—the first being agreeing to end the waterbender's 'interrogation'.

Azula eyed her brother. "I see you need a minute to collect your thoughts. Ty Lee, why don't you fill little Zuzu here on what you've been up to all these years? I'm sure he's dying to hear all of it."

Ty Lee, who'd been glancing back and forth at the royal siblings anxiously, jumped at the opportunity to ease up the tense atmosphere that had gathered around the table. "Of course! Hmm… Where was I when Zuko left… Oh, right, I was still at the Royal Academy!"

And so she started jabbering on about how, once she'd graduated from the academy, she'd joined a circus and traveled the colonies in extreme—and mostly unnecessary—detail, waving her arms around in a grandiose fashion to dramatize her points.

While she babbled on in the background and the others finished their breakfast in silence, Zuko nodded and "Hmm"ed and gave one-worded replies at the times that felt the most appropriate. He was more focused on the fact that Azula had figured out that he'd helped the waterbender. She now had a strong case of blackmail to use against him, and the scars on his hand were all the evidence she'd need—though something told him Father wouldn't care for any evidence before declaring him a traitor and personally executing him.

Well, there was nothing Zuko could do about it now. As long as he didn't step out of line or anger Azula, he shouldn't have anything to worry about—or so he told himself. He might as well enjoy his expertly prepared meal. He may not have been awfully proud of how he'd gotten his status as the crown prince back, but he had to admit he'd missed these top-notch meals that came with being royalty, especially after nearly starving to death on multiple occasions in the last few months.

However, even though he'd muted out Ty Lee's ramblings early into her monologue, there was something else that kept drawing his attention away from his food, or rather someone else.

Having grown up as a prince and a soldier—a formidable one at that—he was trained to notice when he was being spied upon, hence he quickly caught the shy glances Mai was stealing from him. The first few glances he didn't understand, but as she kept doing it over and over again, he realized the reasoning behind her curious ganders—it was his scar. This was the first time she'd seen it. He'd been banished before anyone from home—with the exception of his physicians and uncle—could get a glimpse of the horror Father had wrought on his face, and he couldn't blame anyone for wanting to look at it. At least she didn't grimace or pity him, which was more than what he could say for most other people.

Besides, what other reason could there possibly be for her to check him out?

"And then, we crossed the Great Divide," Ty Lee continued, her food only half-eaten, "but there really wasn't much to see except for some big, ugly, crawling monsters, so I'm just gonna skip that part. After there, we went to this village, and it was in this forest that had all these huge trees with red leaves, and they were gorgeous. I wish you were all there too. Though I heard some lunatic blew up a dam there a little after we left and destroyed part of the forest. Why anyone would ruin such a thing of wonder is beyond me. Anywho, we stayed at that village for—"

"These are all very fascinating stories, Ty Lee," Azula cut in, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, "but as much as I'd love to sit here and listen to all of your wonderful adventures, I'm afraid Zuzu and I have to get going. We're expected at a war meeting."

Ty Lee's face fell and she murmured a quiet "Okay," while Zuko, who was midchew on a bite of dumplings, looked at his sister questioningly.

"We are?"

"Yes, Dum-Dum. You're the crown prince—your place is by my side while I secure our occupation of this great city. And stop speaking with your mouth full. Have you no manners?"

Zuko rolled his eyes, then tossed another dumpling into his mouth before getting up. The moment he pushed his chair back, all the maids curtsied, then they curtsied once more when their princess got to her feet.

"We'll see you two at dinner," Azula said to her friends, then turned to her brother. "Come, Zuzu, time to go."

-o-

After they left the dining hall for the war room, time flew by as they and the Head of the Dai Li discussed strategies for the enforcement of their occupation of the Earth Kingdom capital, along with the rest of its unoccupied lands, in meetings that lasted for hours on end. And before Zuko knew it, he'd had dinner with the girls, where he'd, once again, played the glancing game with Mai, while Ty Lee had continued telling stories from her time with the circus.

While the endless meetings had bored him out of his mind, at least they had kept him busy enough that he hadn't really gotten a chance to think of anything but moving troops around and deciding on the right time frame for them to secure their rule here and go back to the Fire Nation before they'd be 'invaded' in three months. But now, as he sat alone in his room, watching the moon rise over the magnificent scenery of the Upper Ring, he couldn't help but let the thoughts he'd been pushing aside all day to come forth—the thoughts of how, or if, Father was going to welcome him home, of how his uncle was faring in prison and just how much he hated Zuko now, and, of course, the Water Tribe girl.

Reaching into the layers of his robes, he took out the necklace he'd been carrying with him throughout the day. He hadn't wanted to leave it behind when he'd set off this morning in case a servant had stumbled upon it while tidying his room, and also because he actually kind of liked carrying it around. It was comforting, really, to know that at least one part of the waterbender was safe.

His eyes locked onto the pendant and his thumb grazed the intricate grooves carved into it, the rock cool and soothing beneath his touch. Despite his better judgment, he wondered how she was doing. Azula had said she'd woken up for a while during the night, so that was a good sign, right? But what if the healing he'd done hadn't helped with the pain and she'd woken up because of her agony?

What's more, there was also this 'warm welcome' his sister had ordered to be given to her. What if this 'welcome' was to be warm literally? There was a fireplace in that room she'd been tortured in. It was entirely possible for them to get her warm with that fire. Oh Agni… Had they hurt her more than they were going to originally? Had he done the wrong thing by trying to help her?

Thankfully for Zuko, a palace guard called from the other side of the doors of his bedchambers, breaking his train of thought.

"Prince Zuko. Lady Mai is here, sir. She is asking for an audience with Your Highness."

Zuko's brows furrowed. Why would she want to speak with him?

Quickly putting the pendant away in one of the drawers of his desk, he got up from his chair and clasped his hands behind him, hoping his false confidence would conceal his ongoing inner turmoil about the Water Tribe girl.

"Let her in."

No sooner had the last word had come out of his mouth than the doors opened to reveal Mai, standing tall and proud in the doorway, like a true noble should. And behind her, he caught a glimpse of a maid carrying a silver tray, though his friend's lean frame obscured what stood atop it.

Without waiting for him to invite her in as the palace rules demanded, Mai stepped into the room with her head held high, not even bothering to curtsy, while the maid stayed out in the hallway. And Zuko was happy that she hadn't curtsied to him—enough people already did that, and it unsettled him after living in the streets for months. And it was nice to know he had friends that saw him for the real him and not just his newly-reacquired title.

Mai stopped a couple of steps in, a tinge of eagerness betraying her stoic expression. "Hi, Zuko."

Zuko briefly glanced at the maid behind her before turning his attention back to her. "Hey."

His curiosity must've shown on his face, because a small, knowing smile appeared on her lips and she stepped aside, revealing the objects on top of the tray the maid carried—a large ceramic bottle with exquisite illustrations of colorful flowers decorating its white exterior, and two tiny ceramic cups and more ceramic plates topped with beverages laying beside it.

"Just thought we could do something fun to celebrate your return," she explained.

Ah. Zuko looked around his scarcely furnished room for a good place to host his guest, then turned to the maid once he'd found it. "You may place the tray on the desk."

As quiet as a spirit, the maid came into the room, did as she was told, then backed away until she was out in the hallway again, her head bowed at all times. Once the guards outside shut doors behind her, the two teenagers, now left all alone in the room, stared at one another awkwardly, grey eyes meeting gold.

Realizing she was waiting for him to start the conversation, Zuko cleared his throat and held a hand out toward the desk. "Please, come in."

As Mai began walking to him, he asked, "How're you?"

"Fine," she replied, her features returning to their blank indifference. "You?"

"Same."

Zuko didn't speak as she came to a stop beside the table, unsure what else he could say to get the conversation going. Fortunately for him, she was the one that spoke this time.

"So," she reached for the bottle and poured herself a cup, "are you gonna tell me what really happened to your hand, or should I keep guessing? Don't worry, I won't tell Azula."

Zuko unconsciously brought his injured hand behind him, out of her line of sight. "It's just a cut like I said."

"Uh huh…" She moved on to the second cup. Once that one was filled to the brim as well, she set the bottle down. "You know, you should ask Azula to teach you a thing or two about lying. It's a real life-saver."

He chuckled as she handed him his drink, but then he winced involuntarily when the pungent smell of alcohol that wafted from the transparent liquid in his cup reached his nose.

Agni, how was it even possible for something to stink this bad?

"You've never drunk sorghum liquor before?" Mai asked, raising a brow.

Feeling a little self-conscious under her questioning gaze, Zuko shifted uneasily on his feet, looking away. "I've… never really drunk any alcohol before."

She blinked. "Let me get this straight—You were out on the sea for three years with a group of ex-convicts as your crew, and you never once drank anything?"

Zuko shrugged. "My uncle always kept their 'unwanted behaviors' away from me," he said, making air quotes with his uninjured hand. "He also called alcohol 'desperate man's poison' and always talked about how 'many a great man has fallen out of grace because it.'"

"Huh..." Mai said, clearly impressed. "He seems like a wise man when you put it that way. Definitely different from what Azula told me about him."

"Yeah…" A tiny smile crept onto Zuko's lips as the many memories he had of Uncle sipping his tea and pumping out one proverb after another played before his eyes. "He is…"

He couldn't help but reminisce about his old ship, about sailing the oceans as he chased for any trace of the Avatar, about his uncle sitting at a table with a cup of jasmine tea in one hand and a Pai Sho tile in the other, about how he would softly chuckle at something a crewmate had said, or perhaps nothing at all—just enjoying the contentment that came with appreciating the simpler things in life.

Oh, how valued a moment was when it became a memory...

His beloved cousin Lu Ten might've been the one that had died in this so-called Impenetrable City, but he was no longer the only family Zuko had lost on these foreign lands.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he leaned back on the edge of the desk beside his friend, gazing down at the cup he held in his lap. He got lost in the dark abyss that was his mind, melancholic clouds gathering before his glassy eyes, the stench of the alcohol reduced to all but a weak inkling at the back of his head.

"My uncle… He was there for me even when I had no one else to turn to, and I..." he trailed off into silence, the rest of his speech dying on the tip of his tongue, too afraid to admit what he'd done to his uncle in return.

Because he was looking down at his drink, he didn't see Mai's expression morph into that of a worried one. He didn't see her looking to the side, contemplating what she was about to do, and a faint blush blossom on her cheeks. He just heard a soft thud as she placed her cup on the table and the swishing of her dress, before the black silk of her shoes entered his field of view, and a pair of lips gently brushed his.

Whatever Zuko had been thinking a moment ago perished that instant.

Their kiss didn't last longer than a second, but it was enough to paralyze him to his spot and wipe his mind blank. His mouth opened and closed silently, unable to produce speech, as she drew back. His lungs felt drained of air.

Mai's lips quirked upward. "Agni, Zuko, was that the first time a girl has ever touched y—"

"You kissed me!" he blurted out once his brain regained its functions.

"How perceptive of you."

Zuko gaped at her, then at the floor, and then back at her.

Was he dreaming? He had to be. Why else would she have done that?

Maybe he'd fallen asleep after coming back from dinner, and this was just another erotic dream of his. Most often than not, his mind would choose to torment him with much grittier things, usually with the darkest of his memories, but he would occasionally have these sorts of dreams as well. Yet whenever he did, it'd be with imaginary girls—not actual, living, breathing people. And while Mai was very beautiful, especially now more than ever, he'd never seen her as more than his sister's friend that threw knives and sulked a lot, or a friend of his own at best.

While these thoughts raced back and forth in his mind, Zuko lost control of what expression his face donned. But if the limited emotion Mai showed neutralizing in the blink of an eye was any indication, he'd say it wasn't the reaction she was hoping for.

"If you didn't like it, you could've just said so," she scowled, looking away and crossing her arms. "You didn't have to frown."

"No, no, I wasn't frowning!" He tried to reach out to her, but she stepped out of his grasp. Sighing, he placed his drink next to hers on the table and turned to her, his head hanging. "Mai, look. I'm sorry. I was… I just wasn't expecting it. And I guess I never thought you'd like me that way."

She huffed, shaking her head. "You really don't know a thing about women, do you?"

Zuko kept his gaze on the brown silk of his slippers, afraid of what her stone-cold face would hold. His cheeks burned as he gave a shrug of his shoulders.

A warm hand cupped his jaw, tilting his face up towards hers. "Well, consider this your first lesson."

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his once more, a bit more confident in herself this time. And after a brief pause, Zuko returned her kiss, leaning in himself, his hands gently settling themselves on the small of her waist, being careful to not let his bandages rub against her dress.

This wasn't at all how he'd imagined his night would go, but he was happy for the distraction from his otherwise depressing thoughts. And even though he'd never seen Mai as more than just a friend, the more he thought about it, the more appealing she became. She was smart, talented, pretty, and most importantly, she actually cared about him. Now that Uncle hated him, she was one of the only two people left on this planet that did that, the other being Ty Lee.

If she liked him, he knew she'd liked him for who he was, not for the power or the riches his title as the crown prince brought along.

If she liked him, he could like her back too.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Katara awoke from her nightmare to the sound of rushed footsteps in the hallway, approaching her cell. She didn’t, however, wake up screaming or trembling with fear like she’d used to. Now, in her second month of imprisonment—where she’d had nothing to do all day but lament on her friends and family, and try to piece together the events of that dreadful night back in Ba Sing Se—her nightmares, no matter how terrifying, just didn’t compare to the horrors that went on within her mind on a daily basis anymore. Instead, she just calmly opened her eyes, and if it weren’t for her tensed body and the tight grip she had on her sleeping mat, it would’ve seemed she’d had a peaceful dream to an outsider.

The first thing sleep-addled her brain registered was the absence of the noise from the ship's engines that she’d been hearing constantly for the past week, incessantly humming in the background. Rather, there was a noise coming from far away, like the engines were puffing air out. The ship’s course ahead had changed as well. More specifically, there was no forward movement anymore. And the second was the horrid stench of a week's worth of her vomit at the far corner of the room. There was no getting used tothat.

The sound of boots clinking on metal outside got closer and closer before stopping right before her cell. The door unlocked and swung open, and Katara, lying down right across from it, whipped her head away and shielded her face from the brisk light of the torches in the hallway.

Two sets of footsteps filled the silence inside the tiny room, echoing like thunder off of the walls.

“Get up!” one of them—a man—barked.

Katara withdrew her hand and squinted to see two large silhouettes walking toward her. Although their faces were cast in shadows with the light shining behind them, she could make out that they were not dressed in a regular Fire Nation soldier’s uniform, instead wearing a crimson, well-groomed suit with golden rings on their upper arms—and both wore wide bands around their necks made of leather. One of them was holding a black cloth in his hand, while the other carried a long, iron… thing that looked like someone had cut a circle in half and linked one end of the two halves by a hinge.

But as her eyes slowly readjusted to the light and she began noticing more details, her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. These men, with their toned, bronze skins the same shade as her own and eyes as blue as hers, were no Fire Nation soldiers—they were Water Tribe. They were her brethren.

Spirits, Katara must have truly been losing her mind, seeing hallucinations of her father’s warriors coming to rescue her and all…

As if to prove her suspicions wrong, the man with the cloth bent down and latched onto her arms. He pulled her up to her feet and then slammed her back against the wall with enough force that her vision blacked out for a beat and stars appeared before her eyes. Her head spun at the abruptness of the motion, and Katara gritted her teeth against the throbbing developing at the back of her head as well as the aching all over her weakened body—just one consequence of her continued malnutrition over the past two months.

“Wha—” she started, wanting to ask them what they were doing, working with the enemy, but her voice, hoarse from disuse, broke. And before she could clear her throat, the man on her arms shoved her toward the middle of the room and she toppled onto her knees, landing right in front of the other man with a grunt.

Looking up, she saw, through the fog before her eyes, the man with the metal object closing the distance between him and her with a step, lifting the object horizontally so it was level with her neck.

And it was only then that what it was dawned on Katara.

It was a collar.

They were putting a collar on her, like her people would a polar bear-dog.

Panic swelled in her heart. She began struggling with all of her depleted strength against the man holding her hands behind her back, whipping her head this way and that, trying to slip out from his bruising grip to no avail. Regardless of her efforts or how much she pleaded with them, the man with the metal wordlessly set one side of the collar against her throat and closed the other half around it, and the collar locked around her neck with a click.

‘No!’ Katara wanted to scream, but the rigid pressure on her throat stifled her and all she managed to let out was a guttural growl.

The same man then pulled something out of the sash around his waist—a small iron rod with a curved end that he inserted into a hidden lock on the inside of the collar at Katara's nape. He started twisting the rod, and with each twist, the collar closed tighter around her throat. She felt each individual bump around the inside of the collar digging into her skin, constricting her windpipe.

Breathing itself became too difficult, and she was left gasping for air. But the man didn't stop. He kept on twisting and twisting until the other man let her go, and she fell to the floor, clawing at the collar, heaving.

Then, even more horrifyingly, she began to feel the chi paths all over her body clog up—felt the power of the ocean all around her slowly retract from her limbs, like the tide receding from the shore.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She tried desperately to hang on to the last brink of her chi, of her old life—hold it back from fizzling out completely. But she could do nothing but lay there on the chilly floor, eyes wide, unable to breathe, as the last bit of her power dwindled away into nothingness.

All of a sudden, she felt naked, exposed, without her element coursing in her veins, like a vulnerable child caught all alone in a snowstorm with no way of knowing which way was home—so very weak and lost.

She felt powerless, utterly and absolutely powerless. Just as she'd had when her mother had died. When her father had left to fight in the war. When Aang had been shot.

In her weeping, Katara didn’t notice the men pick her up from the floor and tell her to shut up. Didn’t notice them pull a wool bag over her head and shackle her wrists. Didn’t notice being walked out of the cell and going up endless flights of stairs—her limbs functioned of their own accord now.

She did notice, however, the screeching of a metal door opening ahead of her. A rush of fresh air filled her senses. Brisk rays of sunlight penetrated through the tight weaving of the cloth over her head.

In contrast to the musty smell of both of her previous prison cells, this briny air tasted of salt mingling with soot from the nearby coal-fuelled ships. There was also a port with a busy marketplace buzzing hectically not too far away, with shopkeepers trying to lure folk into checking out their products and the noisy hustle and bustle of a crowd going about their day.

Katara stepped over the sill of the door, and a gentle, warm breeze swished through her ragged dress and unbound hair. She halted in her place, stopping the men with her.

The familiarity of the moment stabbed into her heart like a dagger. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to go back in time and relive even the most mundane of the moments with her brother and Aang, to travel from one village to another with them again and have the time of her life…

She closed her eyes and breathed in lungfuls of sea air, of her element that she no longer had command over, and it only drove the dagger deeper into her heart.

She should be feeling the ocean all around her. Feel the water in the air. The blood of the hundreds of people shopping at the port. She should cherish the sunlight shining upon her, breathe in her first breaths of fresh air in months.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

How could she feel anything but despair, when a part of her very being had just been crushed to dust?

The hand on her right arm tightened, bringing her back to the present, and it pushed her forward. “Keep walking.”

The men walked her through what she assumed to be the deck of the ship and then down a ramp. And a couple steps later, her bare feet grazed the gravelly surface of near-burning hot cobblestones. Katara swayed as she walked, courtesy of spending an entire week on a ship. Then she was loaded onto a metal carriage like luggage and pulled down onto a bench inside. The man on her left knocked on the wall of the carriage—though it could’ve been the door for all she knew—and settled down beside her, squishing her between him and the other guard.

The carriage began moving with a jolt, rocking and rattling as it traversed a rocky road up a steep mountainside. As it carried on, the muffled noise of the port slowly faded away, until there were only the sounds of the wheels of the carriage trampling over pebbles, the galloping of the ostrich-horses pulling the vehicle, and Katara's stifled cries left.

-o-

Throughout the grievous, hour-long ride, neither of the men uttered a single word, and Katara quietly wept under her blindfold. She was bombarded with memories of her practicing her waterbending, both as a novice and a master, and she cursed at herself for taking her powers for granted.

Finally, the vehicle came to a gentle stop, and someone on the outside opened the door. The guards on her arms pulled her up with them, and jumped out of the carriage. Hesitantly, Katara extended one foot down, unsure how high up she was from the ground, but the men yanked her down from the vehicle and then into a standing position when she ended up almost stumbling to the ground.

They escorted her into a building. The air was hot and stifling as they walked down a long passageway, the ground beneath her feet cool and sleek, like the metal she’d become accustomed to. Except it wasn’t metal. It was stone—a lot like marble, now that she thought about it. But why would a prison have marble floors?

Never minding its illogicality, Katara stayed silent as the guards led her through numerous hallways. And as they continued walking, she began to hear footsteps pass them by, and they were soon joined by audible gasps and hushed whispers.

Then she heard a door open ahead of her, a really heavy one by the sounds of it. And after the trio passed through it and it closed behind them, the smooth terrain beneath her feet became fluffy, like the surface of a carpet—though why there would be a carpet in a prison, she didn’t know.

After taking several more steps forward, the men stopped and let go of her arms. They removed Katara’s shackles and she brought her now-freed hands to her chest, rubbing her already bruised wrists. Then someone snatched the cloth on her head without warning, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut at the sudden glare of light all around her.

She blinked a few times and squinted to see past the blinding lights. And as her eyes readjusted to the brightness, her surroundings gradually gained detail, and the throbbing on her wrists quickly lost its significance.

This room—no, this hall—was no prison. It was lavishly decorated, with porcelain vases at the corners and a gold dragon statue sitting atop an elegant wooden pedestal in front of her, right beneath a tapestry of the Fire Nation insignia hung on the wall.

To her left stood a number of girls, clearly of Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation origins, lined up in an orderly fashion with their own Water Tribe guard standing behind them at the ready. Some were a little older than her, and some younger than Toph. They were all clad in tattered rags similar to Katara's, but they lacked the collar she wore.

They all stood there for a few minutes without saying a thing, just looking around the room and at each other with fearful, wide eyes—though, in Katara’s case, it was confusion more than fear that ate away at her.

Then a double door on her right opened and a handful of young women poured into the hall, lining up against the wall opposite the girls. They were dressed in refined, scarlet robes, varying in quality and amount of layers according to rank, much like the maids Katara had seen at the Earth King’s palace.

Next, from that same door entered a cranky old lady, walking with an elegantly carved, wooden staff, gilded with embers and thumping on the carpet with her every other step, and all the women in the room curtsied to her while the men bowed. She was tall and pale like most Fire Nation folk, and carried herself with an air of royalty.

She stopped at the end of the line of girls, a couple of steps in front of Katara, and gestured with her head for the men to leave. Without a word, all the men bowed once more before leaving the hall in a single file from the door Katara had come from.

As the last of them marched out and closed the door behind him, the elderly woman placed both hands on the jeweled knob of her staff and lifted her chin.

“I am Matriarch Lin, but you will address me simply as ‘Madam’,” she began with a croaky voice. “I know you are scared and confused, so let me clarify the situation for you. You have been bestowed with the honor to serve in the Royal Harem of His Gracious Majesty, Fire Lord Ozai, and His Royal Highness, Prince Zuko. It matters not who you used to be before you came here. You are, from this moment forth, Fire Nation property, and you will act accordingly.”

She continued speaking, but her speech was inaudible to Katara’s ears. Her mind reeled with questions and her breathing hitched as the woman’s words slowly set in.

Serve in a harem? It was bad enough that she’d been brought to the rhino-lion’s den instead of a regular prison where security would surely be far looser, but a life of servitude? Of... Of slavery?! To her greatest enemies, no less?!

What had she gotten herself into...

“In a moment,” came the faint voice of the Matriarch from miles away, “you will be sorted into Lord Ozai and Prince Zuko’s harems. Know that your purpose here, first and foremost, is to serve them in any way they might desire, and you will not complain. Aside from them, you will also serve Her Royal Highness, Princess Azula, me, the maids, the eunuchs, and the concubines. However, you should note that if you are smart and play your Pai Sho tiles wisely, you can use this most incredible opportunity to your advantage. Obey the rules and satisfy your masters, and you just might become the future Lady to our glorious nation. Is that all clear?”

Murmurs of understanding sounded from the girls while Katara gulped, looking down at her feet, her throat constricting and heart pounding in her chest. She might still be fairly young, but she was no naive child—she knew what a harem was. What ‘serving a man in any way he desired’ meant.

Her stomach lurched and her hands began trembling. She closed her eyes, inhaled shaky breaths to calm herself, but neither did her any good.

She opened her eyes to the sound of the Matriarch's staff thumping as she walked up and down the line of girls, scrutinizing each one. The lines and wrinkles on her face creased further as she turned up her nose at them, before her gaze settled on Katara.

"This is the one the Princess wrote about?" she asked the maids standing by the walls, her cold eyes piercing through the waterbender's skull.

"Yes, Madam," one of them answered, head bowed low, hands clasped respectfully above her lap.

Lin raised her staff and tucked its dirty end under Katara’s chin, tilting her head from side to side, eyeing her cautiously.

“What Her Highness ever saw in you, I’ll never know…” she mumbled to herself. “I wouldn’t have let you near the palace if it were up to me…”

Putting her staff down, she turned her head to shout at one of the maids over her shoulder, “Ayuki. You're responsible for this pest. Make sure it gets civilized properly.” She speared Katara with her eyes, disgust and disdain gleaming in them. “I've named it Mikai.”

The addressed woman bent her knees in a curtsy. "Of course, Madam."

The Matriarch then whirled around, quite swiftly for her old age, toward another maid by the wall. “Tell the kitchens to hurry up. Their Highnesses will be back from their welcoming ceremony any minute. I will not have them dine without their dessert.”

“At once, Madam.”

With that, the old woman began her way out of the doors she’d entered from, her staff stomping on the carpet beside her feet. The younger maids curtsied one last time as she exited, leaving the younger people in the room all alone.

Without missing a beat, the maid she’d assigned to watch over Katara—Ayuki was her name apparently—straightened from her curtsy and sighed. “Alright, let’s get this over with… Those of you below the age of sixteen, take a step forward.”

Most of the girls, along with Katara, did as was told while the rest stayed in the back, still silently gazing around and at each other.

“You in the front row are Lord Ozai’s harem,” Ayuki told the room, “and you in the back are Prince Zuko’s. As Madam Lin said, you will all serve your masters however they want, and if Lord Ozai wishes, he can have all of you. Each day, a different group will work while the rest are attending their harem etiquette lessons. You’re all expected to perform to the highest standards. If the Madam is displeased, expect to be punished. Now,” she clasped her hands behind her, “take off your clothes and get back into line.”

If this were any other time, Katara would have objected. But the Fire Nation had already stripped her of everything she’d held dear—what difference did a piece of fabric make anymore? Besides, she’d long since let go of her pride during the days of her confinement, where the maids in the Earth King’s palace and female guards on the ship had taken her to the restroom and held her hands bound behind her as she relieved herself, their watchful gazes never straying away from her.

Hooking a finger into the wide neckline of her dress, Katara gave it a little tug, and her dress, once fitting the curves of her body, cascaded down her slimmed-down frame with ease and bunched around her feet on the carpet. She didn’t even attempt to cover her exposed parts. Similarly, the other girls quietly let their own clothes fall to the floor without protest, leaving them completely naked. Meanwhile, one of the maids standing closest to the double door on Katara’s left, opposite the one the Matriarch had used, pulled the doors open.

“Alright, ladies,” Ayuki said once everyone had gotten done disrobing and stepped into line like she’d ordered, “the healers will see you in groups of five. Make any fuss or complaints, and you’ll regret it.”

When no one moved a muscle, she clapped her hands to chivvy them along. “Let’s go, people! Let’s go!”

The girls were corralled out of the hall, the maids serving as the barrier to keep them contained. Ayuki strung along at the end of the line behind Katara, murmuring “I don't get paid enough for this,” under her breath.

Led by a maid at the front, the girls were walked down several narrow corridors with low ceilings, dotted along the walls on both sides a series of small, identical wooden doors, before the maid at the front finally stopped before one of them. She opened the door and ushered five girls into the room, some of the maids entering along with them, while the rest of the line was left to wait patiently until five more were called in.

The process went on quickly, and soon, the line had reached the four remaining girls, one of them Fire Nation, the other two Earth Kingdom, judging by their olive skin, and Katara herself waiting at the very end of the line. The remaining maids outside pushed them all in and closed the door after entering themselves. Five women wearing white robes were waiting in the packed room, all of them standing between the cots by the walls. They were much younger than the Matriarch, but no less regal.

Each girl was assigned to a healer by the maids and Ayuki followed Katara as she went to hers, stopping at the foot of the cot and watching her carefully with folded arms as the healer checked her eyes and teeth before moving down to her nude body, searching for any scars that might dampen her natural beauty. The healer halted briefly when she got to her right hand—it probably wasn’t everyday people came through here with three, partially regrown nails with vertical white lines passing through the middle—but didn’t react and carried on with her examination.

Once she was done, she walked over to the small table by the cot and opened the thick book sitting on top of it. She took Katara's name—to which Ayuki responded with ‘Mikai’ before the waterbender could open her mouth—her age and place of birth, jotting down the answers into the book.

Finalizing her brush strokes, the healer commanded her to lie down on the cot and open her legs wide, then kneeled between her naked, bent legs. And if Katara had felt violated before while the maids and guards had watched her empty her bladder, it was nothing compared to how she felt now with the healer prying at and touching her in the most inappropriate places.

Luckily for her, though, the woman got back up almost immediately and turned to the maid still watching them. “This one’s not intact."

Ayuki’s face darkened. Her gaze snapped to the waterbender, sparks of fury kindling in the depths of her brown eyes.

“You little whor*…” she spat out, uncrossing her arms and stepping closer. “You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?”

“I…” Katara stammered, shrinking in her place and fumbling to find the right words under the hateful gazes of both women, “I don’t kno—”

Ayuki’s palm collided with Katara's face before she could finish her sentence, the force of the slap whipping her head to the side and bringing tears to her eyes. “Don’t you dare lie to me!”

Katara’s cheek instantly went numb and twinged with the stinging of a million scorpion-bees under her skin. She felt rather than see the curious gazes of everyone else in the infirmary lock on her. Gritting her teeth, she cradled the tender area, looking at the maid while her eyes burned. Yet, despite the pain, she managed to hold back her tears—Katara might have been completely at these ashmakers' mercy now, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"What're you gonna do with her?" she heard the healer ask.

Ayuki rubbed her temples irately. "Princess Azula personally ordered her to be here. I can't just throw her out." She stared at the waterbender and sighed. “Get up.”

Katara bit her tongue to keep herself from talking back to the trot—she'd learned better than defying a superior. Instead, she obediently got to her feet, still holding her cheek, while Ayuki turned to the other maids and healers in the room staring at them. “Are you all done?”

After receiving affirmative responses, she ordered all the other girls to get up as well. They were walked out of the infirmary from the door opposite the one they had entered through and into more narrow hallways. They turned several corners before arriving at a room so hot, the moment its doors opened, the steam billowing from inside hit them in the face, and it was intense, almost suffocating even while they stood outside. A fresh, soapy scent filled the air, infused with a sweet-smelling spice.

The maids shooed the girls into the room. And as they stepped in, Ayuki grabbed Katara’s arm and pulled her aside.

“Listen here, heathen,” she hissed in her ear, “if you even think about waterbending in there or taking off that collar, I'll chop your hands off, you hear me?”

Exhaling a quiet breath to keep her calm, Katara forced a curtsy like the ones she’d seen the maids do, clasping her hands before her and politely bending her knees. Then she uttered a quiet, “Yes, ma'am.”

“At least you’re a fast learner,” Ayuki snorted bitterly. She pushed the waterbender into the room while letting go of her arm. “Now go clean yourself.”

Katara stumbled forward and nearly fell down to the slippery floor. She quickly regained her composure and looked around the room. Some of the girls from earlier were sitting quietly on marble bathing stools by the walls and washing themselves under the watchful eyes of the rest of the maids from before, while the ones in her group were searching for somewhere to sit. The underside of her feet burned on the marble floor as she cautiously walked over to an empty spot by a little Fire Nation girl, and the heat seared her bottom once she’d sat down.

As she poured near-boiling water down her hair, she couldn’t help but muse how easy it would’ve been for her to escape right now had she been here a few months ago. She could’ve escaped here and bent herself a wave all the way to the Earth Kingdom without breaking a sweat.

In Ba Sing Se, she had not a drop of water at her disposal—now, she had all this water beneath her fingertips, yet she was still powerless to do anything. Her heart broke at the thought.

Sensing Ayuki’s gaze on her, she immediately put an end to her thoughts and got to cleaning herself. She scrubbed herself with a block of soap, and had to press down hard to wash away all the sweat, grime, and dried blood built up over the months. Her hair, mussed into a frenzy, was even more of an ordeal to work with, and she didn’t get to finish untangling it before all the girls were ordered to form a single line at the front of the room where the maids stood.

They were all handed a towel to dry themselves and were finally given some clothes. For Katara, it was a red, sleeveless linen robe reaching down to her ankles with nothing to wear underneath, far too tight for her curvy frame even after having lost weight, and a pair of ill-fitting sandals too small for her feet. And as with all the other girls, her matted hair was left unbound.

“You lot will be attending chores around the harem today, and tomorrow, your etiquette lessons will start,” Ayuki told them, then assigned each girl with a duty and tasked Katara with cleaning chamber pots for the day.

The girls were escorted out of the bathing room and separated into smaller groups as they all went their own way with maids guiding them, while Ayuki took Katara to a room not too far away. When they entered, the maid lit up some candles with her firebending to provide light in the small room. Katara looked around at the filthy pots lying around, grimacing involuntary at the foul smell.

Ayuki leaned on the doorframe with her arms crossed and a cynical sneer on her face. “Well, go on, Mikai," she stressed Katara's new name, "those pots aren’t gonna clean themselves.”

Katara struggled to keep whatever was left in her shrunken stomach down and not snap back at the woman.

Look at her—Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, hero of the Siege of the North, waterbending master to the Avatar himself, stripped of her bending and dignity, and forced to clean the enemy's chamber pots…

It was humiliating. Utterly humiliating.

But this wouldn’t last long. That she was sure of.

Physically, she might be powerless now, but there was one thing that gave her all the power she’d need—the knowledge that her friends and family would be invading here, this very palace, in just less than a month.

What Katara needed right now was not to incite the wrath of these ashmakers but to lay low, gather her strength, and look for a way out of this collar. Then, on the day of the eclipse, when everyone would be under the impression she was nothing more than a broken, fragile little girl, she would break out of here and reunite with her family.

She just had to grit her teeth and bear this for a month. She'd made it through a night of torture and months of solitary confinement. She could do this too.

So she pushed past her churning stomach, picked up a brush lying around, and got to work.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

"Zuko, calm down," Mai said, arms folded across her chest, watching her boyfriend pace back and forth the massive hallway. "As long as you don't do anything stupid in there, you'll be fine."

Zuko scoffed, shaking his head and continuing his trotting, not even sparing her a glance. "Of course you don't understand."

She frowned. "Idounderstand. My parents aren't exactly the loving type either."

The Fire Prince stopped dead in his tracks, then turned to his girlfriend with a spiteful glare.

He was composed as he spoke, but the underlying venom in his voice was unmistakable, "Well, at leastyourfather doesn't burn half your face off for speaking out of turn, does he?"

Mai's face fell even further, and she looked away. Zuko continued piercing her with bitter eyes for a second, before huffing and picking up his pacing again.

They'd been bickering all day. And the day before that. And the weeks and months before that, too. They fought more and more often as time went on, especially as this day Zuko would be seeing his father for the first time since their Agni Kai drew nearer. And although this particular argument had been one of the milder ones, their words against each other grew harsher and more vicious with each round—and they were followed by long, sleepless nights, driven by guilt and shame for all that had been said.

He reached down to the belt of his armor and detached the metal flask of sake hanging from it. There was nothing good old alcohol couldn't fix. He'd learned that lesson well over the past two months since he'd started drinking.

"Yeah, just go ahead and drink your problems away," Mai grumbled from the wall she was leaning against.

Zuko gave her an irritated side glance but otherwise disregarded her remark, throwing his head back and taking a hearty gulp of his sake. The alcohol burned his mouth and throat, but he'd long since become used to the acrid sensation. He barely even winced anymore. And he wasn't worried about getting drunk on a mere flask of it either—his days of easy drunkenness were long past.

The giant Fire Nation insignia stood imposing on the crimson curtain that served as a door to the room that had changed his life forever, and everything he'd been losing sleep over these past months flooded his mind all at once. He had no idea what awaited him in that room. For all he knew, there could've been assassins in there, waiting to take him out the moment he set foot inside. Or maybe his father had really forgiven him, as Azula had said he would.

Zuko had been treated with the respect and luxury his title demanded ever since Ba Sing Se, and was given a hero's welcome at the welcoming ceremony yesterday, but what would they matter if his father didn't want him back? Zuko had let the Avatar slip away from his grasp multiple times—what if his father was still angry about that? What if Father was mad at him for becoming a refugee and living like a peasant, bringing only more shame and humiliation to the family's name?

Several minutes passed asthe Princecontinued marching up and down the corridor, sipping his sake again and again to ease his nerves, while his girlfriend watched from the side, shaking her head in disapproval. Then he heard the curtain of the war room billow open behind him. Murmurs of a hoard of men and their footfalls filled the uncomfortable stillness of the hallway.

Zuko turned around to find generals and noblemen of his father's high council exiting the room, quietly conversing with one another. The men walked up and bowed to him, to their crown prince. He stood around awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to respond, before pulling himself together and squaring his chest, nodding in return as a sign of mutual respect—even though these were the same people that had stayed silent during his Agni Kai with his father.

Some of the men stayed around briefly to give him their congratulations for restoring his title and honor—all of them so theatrical and fake it made him sick to his stomach—while the others simply straightened from their bow and went on with their conversations.

"Looks like your dad's meeting's over," Mai said once they were all out of earshot, watching them walk away. She pushed herself off of the wall to come stand beside him, and opened her palm before her in a demanding manner. "I'll take that now."

Zuko blinked at her. "Hmm?"

"Your flask." She co*cked a brow. "Or would you rather your father sees you with it?"

Oh. Right.

"Will you be waiting for me until I come back?" Zuko asked while handing the metal container over.

He already suspected what her answer would be, but he wanted to give it a shot nonetheless. Maybe, justmaybe, she'd see how much he needed her support at this moment.

To his chagrin, however, Mai rolled her eyes. "We were on a ship for an entire week, Zuko. I'm not gonna stand here for Agni knows how long when I can go home and rest instead."

Suppressing a sigh, Zuko slumped his shoulders and uttered a meek, "Okay."

"Azula invited me and Ty for breakfast tomorrow. I'll see you there."

The Fire Prince softly nodded and leaned in to give his girlfriend a chaste goodbye kiss. With desperation seeping out of his lips, he silently begged for her to stay here, to be there for him when he needed her the most. But his silent plea fell on deaf ears. Mai just stood there passively until he drew back, not even returning his kiss, as had become their norm. When he did, she offered her typical not-a-smile, inclining her head, before wordlessly turning and treading down the long hallway, leaving him all alone to face his father.

A set of almost noiseless footsteps approached Zuko as he gazed helplessly after his girlfriend, taking him out of his brooding—so quiet he would've surely missed it had it not been for his years of stealth training. Normally, he would've exploded onto whoever it was that had dared disturb his thoughts, but right now, he was only grateful for the distraction.

When he turned around, a servant was bowing low before him.

"Prince Zuko, His Royal Majesty Fire Lord Ozai will see you now," the servant said without rising from his deep bow, then stepped aside to clear the way to the war room.

In the blink of an eye, everything going on with Mai evaporated from Zuko's mind, dread quickly filling in the newly created vacuum of thoughts. He swallowed the lump that began forming in his throat. There was no point in standing around here anymore—if Father wasn't mad at him now, he certainly would be if Zuko made him wait, and there was no saying what would happen then.

Fear eating at his insides, he started his way toward the door. He stopped, however, a few steps ahead of the curtain and stared at the golden insignia printed on it. Only after taking in a deep breath could he truly steel himself and neutralize his expression to face whatever fate had been decided for him.

Letting out a quivering breath, he pulled the heavy flaps of the curtain apart and stepped in.

The war room was exactly as he remembered it—a grandiose hall with rows upon rows of grand columns, an ornately carved, sky-high ceiling above him, and, of course, the Supreme Leader of the Fire Nation sitting on an elevated throne behind a wall of flames, his face cast in shadows, right at the mouth of a painting of a golden dragon behind him. His heart pounding in his ears, Zuko cast his eyes on the wooden floor as he walked toward the throne, though his chin was still lifted high—he couldn't afford to appear weak in front of his father.

Once he'd reached the appropriate distance from the raised dais the Fire Lord sat on, he stopped, got down on his knees, and bent down until his forehead nearly touched the ground, kowtowing before his sovereign.

"You've been away for a long time," came the gravelly voice he remembered so well from above him, the same voice that had frequented his nightmares for as long as he could remember. "I see the weight of your travels has changed you. You have redeemed yourself, my son."

My son. Those words, those two words were all Zuko had ever wanted to hear from his father. He'd dreamt of them, of this moment all his life, the moment Father would finally come to love him. Yet it wasn't happiness he felt in his heart—it was inexplicable resentment, toward whom or what, he didn't know.

Over the roaring of the firewall, he heard the shuffling of clothes and then the smothering of a small portion of the wall of flames. He sat upright in his place at the sounds of footsteps walking down the stairs before the throne. And when he looked up, the Lord of the Fire Nation was towering above him, his hands clasped behind, staring down at the young prince with golden eyes that mirrored his, not a trace of emotion on his sharp features.

"Welcome home."

Ozai then turned and began circling around his kneeling son, like a predator would its prey.

"I am proud of you, Prince Zuko. I am proud because you and your sister conquered Ba Sing Se. I am proud because when your loyalty was tested by your treacherous uncle, you did the right thing and captured the traitor."

At the barb at his uncle, Zuko's expression morphed into a glare and he side-eyed his father, keeping his head low, but the Fire Lord concluded his speech without notice, coming to a halt behind his son.

"And I am proudest of all of your most legendary accomplishments. Youslayedthe Avatar."

Zuko's flew wide open.

"What did you hear?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as stunned as he felt.

"Azula told me everything. She said she was amazed and impressed at your power and ferocity at the moment of truth."

Before he could contemplate his sister's reasoning for lying about this, Ozai continued talking from behind him, his tone becoming icy as he went on.

"Though there was one other thing she said that I could not quite wrap my head around. She told me the Avatar's waterbending master was captured as well that night—yet you cut her interrogation short. You almost single-handedly end the Avatar, but lose your nerve over some enemy peasant?"

Zuko could feel his father's scrutinizing eyes sear the back of his head. He cursed himself for not learning how to lie before, and hated himself even more for thinking of the Water Tribe girl this way, but he had no other choice.

"She's in your harem, sir," he explained, more timidly than he would've preferred. "The men that were interrogating her aren't allowed to look, much less be left alone in a room with her."

When the Fire Lord didn't respond, when this didn't seem enough of a reason to intervene in harem business, Zuko squeezed his eyes shut and forced out his next words, "...And I thought you might want her in the best condition."

In the brief silence that followed, he felt his father's glare soften.

"You've thought well, my son," Ozai finally said, a little proudly even, then began walking again toward his throne.

Zuko discreetly gazed down at his right hand, at the three slightly faded lines of red, scarred tissue marking across his palm—relics of that horrid night in Ba Sing Se he'd helped the Water Tribe girl, forever ingrained into his skin. Ever since then, he'd done all he could to keep himself from thinking about her, hidden her mother's necklace somewhere no one would think to search and avoided looking at the scars on his hand at all costs.

All of his efforts had been to little avail, of course—she'd always found a way to slip into his nightmares and torment him throughout the day alike—but now, with the reminder of where she'd been taken to, he couldn't help but wonder about her, or more specifically, what would come of her now that she'd been brought to the Fire Nation on Zuko and Azula's ship.

Closing his fist, he stared up at his father walking back up the stairs. And as curiosity took over him, he let the question he'd been suppressing in his mind blossom into the material world, wording it so that it didn't seem suspicious and dreading its answer.

"Will you be enjoying your gift, Father?"

The wall of flames parted for its master as the Fire Lord passed through to get to his throne, his back turned tothe Prince.

"I will not taint myself with that filth," he replied at last, sitting down on the crimson cushion and turning to his son.

Zuko prayed to Agni the relief he felt washing over him didn't reflect on his face. He swallowed down the grateful sigh that threatened to break free.

Unaware of his son's relief, the Fire Lord gave him a cold look. "Did you need something else, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko ducked his head, recognizing the dismissal. "No, sir."

Keeping his eyes down, he politely got to his feet, bowed from the waist, and backed away, already resolved to go and find his sister, find out why she'd done this—why she'd lied to Father and given him the credit for killing the Avatar.

-o-

"Will that be all, Your Highness?"

"Yes." Azula waved her hand dismissively. "You may leave."

The maids that had readied the Fire Princess for bed and given her head and hand massages, curtsied before walking backward out of the door, leavingthe Princess alone. Azula rubbed her hands together to get the moisturizing lotion to absorb fully into her skin. She got up from her seat at the beauty corner of her bedchambers and crossed the gigantic room to get to her bed.

Slipping under the silk sheets draped over the enormous mattress, she rested her head on her soft pillow, closing her eyes, and began waiting for her brother. As soon as his audience with their father was over, Zuko would be coming here, questioning her about why she would've lied to Dad about the Avatar—and she wouldn't be caught off guard when that komodo-buffoon showed up.

She didn't have to wait for too long, as a pair of grouchy footsteps soon thundered outside her room, too aggressive to be belonging to any guard or servant.

Ah, little Zuzu… As predictable as ever… It was honestly a wonder he'd managed to make it this far in life.

The footsteps rose steadily in volume until her door swung open and the light of the hallway gushed into her room. A silhouette stood in the doorway.

"Why'd you do it?"

Azula smiled with her eyes still shut. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

Zuko stomped over to the middle of the room, stopping before the short set of stairs leading to her bed. "Why did you tell Father that I was the one who killed the Avatar?"

"Can't this wait until morning?"

"It. Can't."

Sighing, Azula opened her eyes. "Fine." She sat up in her bed and turned to her brother. "You seemed so worried about how Father would treat you because you hadn't captured the Avatar. I figured if I gave you the credit, you'd have nothing to worry about."

"But why?"

"Call it a generous gesture." She answered got out of her bed and began walking toward the door. "I wanted to thank you for your help and I was happy to share the glory."

"You're lying."

Azula shrugged as she walked past him. "If you say so…"

"You have another motive for doing this," he said, turning so that he could face her, "I just haven't figured out what it is."

The Princess stopped with her back to her brother, then stretched her arms above her and turned around, an innocent expression plastered onto her features. "Please, Zuko, what ulterior motive could I have? What could I possibly gain by lettingyouget all the glory for defeating the Avatar?"

Zuko narrowed his eyes. "Then why tell him I stopped the Water Tribe girl's torture if you mean well?"

Azula sighed again as she passed by him on her way back to her bed. "Did you forget how many prickle-snakes roam these halls, brother? You need to be able to lie on the spot to survive here." She sat down on the soft mattress, turning to him. "I was just giving you a quick trial."

"Your 'quick trial' could've gotten me killed!"

"But it didn't, so stop crying about it." She let out a heavy breath to indicate she'd be going to sleep now, then calmly laid down on her bed once more, getting underneath the sheets, and closed her eyes with a smile on her lips. "Sleep well, Zuzu."

With a scoff, Zuko whipped around. His furious footsteps thundered in the room as he stomped back out of her bedchambers.

But as he neared the door, the severity of his stomps softened, becoming inaudible almost. Then, right by the door, with his back turned to her, he stopped entirely.

"He called me his son," he said quietly.

Azula's eyes slowly peeled open, her smile waning. There'd been a few occasions in the past where he'd opened up to her—but ever since Mom's death, he'd built a wall around himself, never letting anyone in. She wanted to know what he was feeling, mostly because there could be something in there she could use for leverage against him later, but also because she did kind of care about him, though she would never admit to this, not even if someone held a knife to her throat.

So she stayed quiet.

Silence grew between the siblings as neither uttered a word.

Then, after a long second, Zuko exhaled a shaky breath. And when he spoke again, his voice wavered.

"He said he was proud of me and called me his son."

With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

And just like that, Azula lost all sympathy toward him.

Even if their father didn't know Azula had shot the Avatar, he knew the truth about who conquered Ba Sing Se, something neither he northeDragon of the West had succeeded in. And what had she gotten for achieving that? A couple lines on a letter from him congratulating her, which had just continued on to list her responsibilities to ensure the conquest's safety. That was it. That was all she'd gotten for doing the impossible. But now he'd gone and given Zuko—the weakest chain in the family, a disgrace in every aspect of the word—the honor of his affection simply because he thought that wimp was the one that had killed the Avatar?!

Azula bunched the silk of her sheets in her fist, her breathing getting out of control just like her temper.

The main reason she'd lied about who had killed the Avatar was so that their father would accept Zuko back without making a fuss, but he wasn't actually supposed to be proud of that dimwit!

Azula had worked all her life to earn Dad's praise, doneeverythinghe'd ever asked of her without question. She was his one and only child he could ever be proud of, could ever love.

Shedeserved his admiration, not Zuko.Shewas the prodigy.Shewas the mastermind behind Ba Sing Se's conquest.Shehad ended the Avatar cycle.Shewas the one that was there for him when he felt alone, that warmed his bed at night. Howdarehe be proud of Zuko after all she'd done for him!

She hadn't shed all that blood, sweat and tears while training to be where she was at today, hadn't suffered through all that pain in the days following the nights with her father just for him to pick Zuko over her. She'd done everything to please him, let him do all he wanted with her—going so far as letting him whip her, with actual and fire whips alike—just because she knew how much he loved her and enjoyed her screaming his name in bed, out of pleasure or otherwise.

And what had Zuko done for him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything Dad found so special in him washerwork.

Azula felt tears of fury gather at the edge of her eyes.

She pressed her face into her pillow. She wouldn't let herself cry over this. But as these thoughts kept whirling in her mind like a mad typhoon, her tears trickled down her eyes nevertheless, wetting her pillow.

How could Dad do this to her? How could he betray her like this?

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

A dark figure emerged from the shadows of the walls surrounding the Caldera Prison. He was adorned in a crimson cloak and was walking slowly with his head bowed low, veiled in the gloom of the night. Noiselessly, he passed through the gates of the prison, then stopped to lift his head and look up at the concrete monster that was built on the flank of a dormant volcano.

The intense glow of his golden eyes was dimmed by the dark bag under one of his eyes—the scar around his other eye didn’t allow for such actions—and his hair underneath the hood of his cloak was disheveled from tossing and turning on his bed. He scanned the rectangular openings on the curved wall of the prison, trying to figure out which one of them his uncle was residing in.

Just then, a guard patrolling on one of the balconies that spiraled around the building spotted him.

“Who’s there!” the guard shouted, but the phantom man wordlessly turned around and disappeared into the shadows once more.

-o-

Perhaps it was outrageous, maybe even a little insane, but Katara found a sense of freedom and release in the sea she gazed out at through the barred windows, glistening like liquid fire in the horizon under the dawning sun. It calmed her, soothed her nerves. And it invaded her mind with images of Water Tribe bannered canoes sailing those waters, with their blue sails flapping in the wind and her friends, family, and warriors of her tribe aboard, all of them armed to the teeth and ready for battle.

Did they know where she was? What had become of her? Who she'd been forced to serve?

Did they know she was alive, even if barely?

“Mikai!”

Katara snapped out of her thoughts with a gasp. She was back in the main hall of the gilded cages that were the Royal Harem, holding a tray of gruel and spices for seasoning, no longer a waterbender or even a human—just another slave to the Fire Lord and everyone else in his and his son’s joint harem quarters, existing solely to be exploited.

She looked around, gaze disoriented, and caught the angry eyes of Ayuki scowling at her from a few steps away. And in front of Katara was a small group of girls kneeling on crimson cushions around a low table and a lady-in-waiting standing behind them, all of them looking at her confusedly. She’d been serving breakfast to them before zoning out. She just hoped she hadn’t been out for too long.

“Mikai!” Ayuki yelled again. “Did I say you could take a break?! Get back to work!”

Katara curtsied hastily to the maid and the girls, still a bit shaken up from her unexpected trip down memory lane. This was the exact reason she’d banned herself from thinking of that night or her family long ago.

As she moved on to the next table in line, the delicate rays of the dawning sun poured in from barred windows, lighting up the vast hall in an ethereal glow. Loads of other slaves were hustling all around her to serve breakfast to the remaining rows of tables laid out in the hall.

Katara curtsied to another group of girls, then silently placed several of the plates atop her tray before them while they continued their conversation about fashion as if she was just some fly buzzing around them—definitely noticeable, but annoying and not worth paying attention to.

She would’ve burst a blood vessel over being treated like this had she been anything like her previous self—steadfast and defiant till her last breath. But she truly couldn’t care less what these people thought of her anymore.

That kind, proud girl she'd grown up to be was dead. The Fire Nation had killed her. Like they'd killed her mother.

So Katara kept her mouth shut as she set the spices on the table, not that she was allowed to speak to them unless spoken to, or look anyone in the eye. But she didn't mind. She liked working in silence.

For all of its hardship and cruelty, this was one thing she didn’t entirely loathe about the harem. Having just come out of a two-month-long solitary confinement, she didn’t want anything to do with people, really. It just felt… odd to constantly be surrounded by people, and even odder to be speaking to them. There was just something about having more than just the icy chill of her dark, lonely prison cell and her bleakest thoughts accompanying her that made her uneasy.

Her cell had always been quiet, and she'd always been alone, even with the guards constantly monitoring her. If she was honest with herself, she missed the silence, the eerie tranquility.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Katara finished pouring tea for the girls and curtsied again. While she was making her way to the next table, her stomach grumbled loudly. She was no stranger to starving, so she was able to stay composed against the more than inviting smell of gruel she’d been carrying around all morning, but spirits did she want to stuff her mouth with it, consequences be damned. And there was that one part of her, the ghost of her past bullheadedness, that kept reminding her she had to survive off the leftovers of the maids and had to consider herself lucky if she scored a mostly-eaten bread and maybe some uncooked potatoes on the side.

Of course, she didn’t do it. She never would. She didn’t complain either—couldn’t, for her escape plan’s sake. No matter how unfair the world was, no matter how she was forced to work day and night on just a few hours of sleep, how much the maids beat her during harem etiquette lessons in the name of correcting her technique, or how many times they insulted her and her heritage, she couldn’t stand up for herself. And that, perhaps, was what hurt her the most.

She would get her revenge, though. Toph could bend metal now, or so Aang had claimed right before he’d been shot. On the day of the invasion, she could simply bend Katara’s collar off, and that’d be it. Then, Katara would bring this palace down on everyone that had wronged her. She would wipe them all out, and wouldn’t bat an eye doing it.

A stoic expression plastered to her features, hiding the deadly storm that raged underneath, Katara stopped at the next table where three young women chatted with one another. She curtsied and bent down to place some of the plates on the table, her whole body aching from exhaustion, hunger and the beatings she’d taken especially to the arms.

“What’s this?!” the girl in the middle exclaimed as she was setting down the third plate, “How many times do I have to tell you damned peasants I don’t eat gruel! Go get me something else!”

Katara bowed her head lower and huffed lightly through her nose. True, she gave no mind to all the names these ashmakers called her, but it still hurt her pride to have to obey them. But she had no other choice—she was playing for the long run, and all of this humility would be worth it in the end when the time came for her to escape.

“My apologies, miss,” she replied politely and picked up the plates, “I will be back with another dish at once.”

She curtsied and turned to leave, but the same voice stopped her.

“Hold on a second…”

Katara turned back around to the trio, waiting wearily for another ridiculous order no doubt. To her surprise, she heard the girl snicker instead.

“You’re the savage from the Water Tribes, aren’t you?” The mirth in her tone was clear as day. “I’d heard you’d arrived. Mikai, is it? It’s such an honor to officially make your acquaintance.”

The other girls at the table giggled behind their hands. Only for a moment, Katara lifted her head to glance at the girl that was doing the talking. She was a lot older than her, probably in her early 20s, and was tall, slender and her skin was almost as pale as the marble floors—common traits Katara had found most Fire Nation nobility shared. Her chestnut hair and brown eyes were practically glowing in the sunlight, and her lips, painted red, were twisted up in a smirk.

“Likewise, ma’am,” Katara replied calmly, wishing the girl would just stop talking and let her go on with her work.

“I heard you’re the waterbending master of the Avatar. Or were, I guess I should say,” the girl continued amusedly. “You know, I’ve never seen waterbending in real life. We’d love a demonstration. Isn’t that right, girls?”

Her friends nodded enthusiastically while Katara gritted her teeth, her eyes still glued to her tray. Thankfully, the placid expression she’d donned didn’t betray her growing anger. She could let all the insults on her humanity slide, but she drew the line at her waterbending, or lack thereof.

Yet, somehow, she maintained her composure.

“I can’t waterbend, ma’am,” she admitted meekly, trying and failing to mask the pain in her voice. “Not anymore.”

A beat of silence, then all of the girls suddenly broke out into laughter. They didn’t even bother to hide their amusem*nt behind their hands this time.

“How does that even happen?” the brunette cackled.

Katara shut her eyes, her throat constricting at the memory of losing her bending. And she couldn’t answer the question. This wound was still too fresh.

“Got what she deserved,” said the girl on the left to her friends.

The brunette stifled her laughter with great effort, then pouted at Katara in fake sympathy.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “If you behave well, maybe the Madam will give you back your bending in the future.” She had to cover her mouth to hide her grin that was betraying her act, then quickly got back into character. “I mean, just look at the harem guards. They’re your kind. When they were bought from the slave markets, they were just like you—mannerless, feral beasts. But we educated them, and now no one bothers them anymore. So, what I’m saying is, you just gotta hang in there and hope you have what it takes to be a proper human. You can do it. I believe in you.”

“That’s enough, Shila.”

Katara turned in the direction the voice came from. A girl around her age, maybe a little younger, was approaching the table with a lady-in-waiting in tow. Her pale skin complexion, lean frame, and the way she carried herself so confidently gave away her origins as a Fire Nation noble, and having a lady-in-waiting warranted her as a Favorite—a mistress belonging to the Fire Lord's harem, it seemed, judging by her age.

“Or what?” Shila said as the girl and her handmaiden came to a stop beside the table. Shila's cunning eyes glided over to the waterbender and her sincere act faded away into a sly smile. “What’s she gonna do? Waterbend at me?”

Katara’s hold on the tray’s handles tightened into a white-knuckled grip. She opened her mouth to retort—and immediately blow her cover as the broken girl she’d worked so hard to preserve—but the newly-arrived girl spoke first, glowering with her hands on her hips.

“Oh, stop it, will you? We all know you’re just jealous because she actually might get to be summoned by Lord Ozai and outrank you, when the only chance you had of becoming a concubine was years ago before Prince Zuko was banished. Now he has a girlfriend, and you’ll never see his face. Stop harassing people just because you’re gonna rot away in here like the rest of us.”

Shila’s smile dropped instantly, and the girls sitting with her were left wide-eyed. Spite oozed out of her eyes as she glared at the girl and then at Katara.

Then, in the blink of an eye, her anger got completely erased from her face and she began smiling innocently again.

“I think you confused me and yourself, sweetheart,” she told the younger girl. “You see, unlike some of us, I’m not just some one-time fling. No man will ever use me, then throw me away like dirty laundry.” Her smile turned devious. “Just you wait till Zuko gets one good look at me. He’ll dump his girlfriend for me. And even if he doesn't, everyone knows they fight all the time—it’s only a matter of time before they break up for good. So no, honey, I’m not gonna ‘rot away in here like the rest of you’. I’ll be Fire Lady one day, and you will all bow to me.”

The girl simply snorted in response. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

Shila kept smiling, though the irritation behind her eyes was plain obvious.

“There’s no point in denying the inevitable, love,” she said at last, then waved her hand dismissively. “Now go away, both of you. You’re blocking my morning sun.” She turned to Katara. “Have someone bring us breakfast.”

Katara curtsied, as she was obliged to do so when receiving an order. She was perplexed as to what had just happened, why anyone in this cursed country would help her in any way. It was probably just another game they were trying to play on her—get her to trust them so that they can freely question her on Aang’s whereabouts, then get rid of her once they have the information.

She walked away from the table to pass on Shila’s order to someone, but didn’t make it two steps before a hand latched onto her upper arm.

“Hey.”

She turned around to face the girl that had helped her, eyes cast on her tray.

“I know you don’t know me, but I know you,” the girl said, letting go of Katara’s arm, “Well, I know of you. I meant I’ve heard tales of you.”

Katara’s brows knitted in confusion.

“My dad’s the general that attacked the Northern Air Temple,” the girl explained. “He told me he saw you taking on, like, six tanks at once. He hates you for destroying his stuff, of course, but I personally find you really amazing. I’m not a bender, but even if I was, I doubt I could fight off a single soldier!”

Katara glanced up at the girl. She was smiling—like actually grinning, not smirking or sneering like everyone else had done these past months. And she seemed sincere too. But Katara knew of another Fire Nation person who’d seemed genuine at first, and look where putting her trust in him had gotten her.

She lowered her gaze onto her tray and tried to seem as distant as possible. “Thank you, ma’am.”

An awkward moment of silence passed, then the girl offered the waterbender her hand. “I’m Liu, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you too, ma’am," Katara said, curtsying formally. She felt Ayuki's watchful eyes on her, telling her to resume her chores from over Liu's shoulder. "If you’ll excuse me, I should get back to work.”

She didn’t need to look at Liu to know her smile had faltered.

“Oh, okay,” the girl said, deflatedly drawing her hand back. “I’ll see you later, then?”

Katara curtsied again and uttered a faint, “Ma’am,” before walking away.

Maybe Liu actually was a good person and maybe she actually meant good, but Katara couldn’t take that risk. She couldn’t trust anyone anymore, especially not someone who was a daughter of a Fire Nation general. These people were all lying, manipulative fiends. They were the enemy, and they would always be the enemy.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

If there was anything today had shown, it was that Zuko had become a lesser man than he'd been before his banishment. He'd become a coward.

He'd been sitting here in this war meeting since a little after dawn, going along with the atrocities his father's high council was planning. Seated beside him atop the raised dais, his father and sister were also listening to the council and occasionally offering up an idea that was somehow even more inhumane than the last one.

He'd mostly stopped listening after his father had declared he'd be burning the entirety of the Earth Kingdom to the ground, as though the millions of lives they'd be taking were nothing more than just statistics. He simply couldn't stomach any more of it. And yet, he didn't speak up against the plans either, afraid that this meeting would end up with him in the Agni Kai Arena just like the last one. Coward.

As the meeting dragged out from morning till late into the night, he felt his energy waning along with his firebending. His chest armor felt a hundred times heavier than its actual weight, pressing down on his shoulders like it was trying to sink him underground. So he was relieved when the meeting was finally declared over, and politely declined the generals and noblemen that wanted a word with him, alleging he was tired and needed to excuse himself. And he was—it'd been a long day—but more than that, he needed time to process everything he'd just witnessed.

His eyes were fixed on the floor and his lips were sloped downward in a scowl as he walked down the hallway, passing by Mai, who was leaning on the wall waiting for him.

"So, how did it go?" she asked, stepping in line with him.

"When I got to the meeting, everyone welcomed me," he said softly, without slowing down or looking up. "My father had saved me a seat. He wanted me next to him. I wasliterallyat his right hand."

"Zuko, that's wonderful! You must be happy."

He wished he was, but he knew he'd never quite achieve happiness. Moments of joy, maybe, but true happiness was a castle in the air for him—too good to be true, always one step out of his reach. But he couldn't complain. Cowards didn't deserve happiness.

The two teenagers stopped at the intersection of two hallways and stared up at the official painting of the Fire Lord looming over them, somehow appearing to be more daunting than in person.

"During the meeting, I was the perfect prince. The son my father wanted." Zuko looked down and closed his eyes. "But I wasn't me."

After a beat, he felt his girlfriend put a hand on the back of his chest armor. "Come, let's go back to mine. This place is miserable."

A little more than ten minutes and a quiet palanquin ride later, they were back at her house, in her bedroom. Zuko had taken off his armor the moment he'd stepped into the room, and Mai had taken out all of her throwing knives hidden inside her sleeves and boots and set them down on the nightstand beside her bed, right next to the bottle of sake and two small ceramic cups atop the cabinet.

They'd discovered, during their time together, a good old roll in the hay to be a solid remedy for stress. So they figured it'd be the perfect way to end the horrible day Zuko had had today… except Mai was drier than the Si Wong Desert, and Zuko was… Well…

"I'm sorry," he rasped meekly as he put his pants back on after minutes of trying to get hard without success and leaving his girlfriend unsatisfied. He hoped the flush of shame and embarrassment he felt creeping onto his cheeks wasn't visible to her in the dim candlelight.

Mai sighed, changing into her nightdress in front of him. "You don't need to apologize every time."

Zuko tied the straps that held his pants together, then flopped onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.

He didn't know what he'd done to anger the spirits so much, but he was certain Agni himself had cursed him. That was the only explanation for his utter wreck of a life.

What really drove the final nail in the coffin, though—even more than the unimaginable humility of not being able to stay hard, if he could get it up at all—was that no matter what he'd done, he'd never gotten his girlfriend to climax. Not once. Not even in their best of days. He'd never gotten her to moan his name like he'd overheard the crew of his ship boast about. He'd tried all the methods he'd read in the romance scrolls he'd found in the palace library—with his mouth, fingers, and whatnot—but nothing had worked. There had also been a few times where he'd seen her roll her eyes while he was doing his best to pleasure her, but he didn't want to think about them.

And with each passing day, something shifted between them, drove them further apart little by little. Now, every other one of their conversations ended in a fight, and she rarely ever got wet enough for him to be with her without hurting her. He was as much a disappointment in bed as he was in every other aspect of his life.

Zuko heard her quiet footsteps approach the bed. They stopped near where the nightstand was. First, a bottle being picked up reached his ears, then the warble of the liquid inside being poured.

"Could you pour me a glass, too?" he asked his girlfriend, draping a forearm over his eyes.

"No."

Blinking, he hoisted himself up onto his elbows and stared at her. "What do you mean 'No'?"

"Want me to pull up a dictionary for you?"

Zuko sent her a cross scowl—to which she paid no heed and proceeded to down her cup of sake in one go.

"Your drinking is getting out of hand," she told him casually when she was done, setting down the ceramic cup. "Someone needs to keep you in check."

Zuko's scowl morphed into a glower. "I have everything under control."

"Really." She turned to him and looked him dead in the eyes. "Is that why you wake up with a hangover every day?"

Zuko sat upright on the bed, his features slowly twisting into a glare. "I'm doing perfectly fine. Just give me the damn drink."

"No."

Huffing, Zuko shot up to his feet and stomped over to the nightstand. If Mai wouldn't give him what he wanted, he would get it himself.

But before he could, she stepped in his way, guarding the nightstand with her body.

"Mai, step aside," he ordered.

"No." The fierce glow of defiance and stubbornness shone in her grey eyes.

Zuko took a step toward her and glared down at her. "Get out of my way."

She lifted her chin. "You need to find better ways to cope with your problems. Downing half a bottle of sake every time things don't go well for you isn't the way."

Zuko felt his anger spike seemingly out of nowhere.

"Oh, it isn't?! You don't listen when I try to talk to you, and when you do actually listen for once, you write off everything I say! What the f*ck do you want me to do?!"

Mai seemed impassive as always, but her narrowed eyes betrayed the irritation that lurked underneath her stoic features. "Idolisten to you."

Zuko scoffed. "Telling me not to worry about my problems isn't exactly listening."

"Well, I'm sorry I can't be your therapist."

Zuko growled deep in his throat. "I don'twantyou to be my therapist! I just want you to be there for me when I need you!"

Mai glowered at him from under her lashes. "Iwasthere for you today. I didn't wait out there for Agni knows how long for nothing."

"Yeah, because Iaskedyou to! That's the f*cking problem!"

Mai stayed silent, crossing her arms and fixing her gaze on the window on the wall. Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose and paced back and forth in the room to calm himself. The bottle of sake that had started this fight stood idly in the back, entirely forgotten.

Then Zuko whipped around to his girlfriend, breathing heavily through his nose. "Why would you even kiss me in the first place if you didn't care about me."

"Of course I care about you."

"How about youact like it, then! I mean…" He panted, struggling to find the right words. "We've been dating for two months, Mai. Twof*cking months, and we neveronceheld hands! Is that something normal couples do?!"

Mai made a show of rolling her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Here we go again." She then sighed and met his glare. "What do you want from me? If you want a touchy-feely girlfriend, go date Ty Lee. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to babysit you all day."

Zuko's fists clenched so tightly his nails nearly tore into his skin. "What."

"Isn't that what you want? For someone to pat you on the back and call you a good boy every time you do something?" She charged at him and got into his face, her anger finally coming forth. "Well, guess what, the world doesn't work that way. So grow up!"

Zuko felt his breath get stuck in his throat as if her words had literally knocked the wind out of him. Pain flared in his eyes for a split second, before they hardened into stone.

"You think everyone has a happy childhood like you, don't you?" he seethed. "Your parents gave you everything you wanted in exchange for you to stay quiet. But me? Do you have any f*cking idea of the things I've been through?!" He took a step toward her, getting so close that he could feel her rapid breaths on his skin. "f*ck you."

Mai snorted derisively, a little spitefully even. "I wish youcouldf*ck me. Maybe I'd actually enjoy it for once."

Smoke rose from Zuko's fists. Low blow.

"If you didn't lay there like a sack of potatoes all night, I could! But that's all you ever do—you just lay there and sigh and whine and bitch about everything all day. You have no passion, no heart, no soul, no nothing. Youarenothing. You're just a big blah!"

Mai simmered before him, but didn't respond. She only glared back at him, her eyes cold and sharp like her daggers—his, livid with unfiltered rage. But if she was trying to seem intimidating, she was failing at it. Her breathing was getting heavier and it looked like she was on the verge of tears.

Exhaling heavily, Mai closed her eyes and turned away. "You're wrong," she said at last. "I do have a heart. But now I see you don't deserve a place in it." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Get out of my house. We're done."

"Good," Zuko spat. "I didn't wanna see your face again anyway."

Mai's furious eyes snapped to his. She snarled through gritted teeth, "Get. Out."

Zuko huffed in her face, then whipped around and stormed out of the room, his jaw clenched tight and nostrils flaring. The heat emanating from his body was so severe, if someone were to put a block of ice anywhere near him, he'd melt it in seconds. As he stomped toward the doors, they opened for him, hauled open by the servants on the other side. Without so much as glancing at them, he marched through the living room, then down the stairs and out the main door of the house. He was about to race down another flight of stairs outside when the voice of a servant stopped him.

"Will Your Highness be taking the palanqui—"

Zuko let out an infuriated roar and punched a ball of fire at the palanquin. The carriage instantly went up in flames and the palanquin bearers gathered around it jumped back at the sudden attack.

"There!" Zuko yelled at the servant trembling in terror. "Have fun with your palanquin!"

He continued on to sprint down the stairs and toward the palace across the desolate street. The palace guards rushed to open the gigantic gates of the palace for him, more erratically than usual. Similarly, all the maids, servants and guards unfortunate enough to come across him within the halls of the palace immediately stepped aside and kept their heads low and mouths shut to spare themselves from the wrath of their crown prince fuming through the hallways.

The moment he arrived at his bed chambers, Zuko slammed the doors behind him and made for the alcohol cabinet near his bed. Grabbing the closest bottle to him, he pressed the mouth of the ceramic bottle against his lips and downed a hefty amount of sake at once, then grimaced when the alcohol singed his throat. But he didn't mind the trouble. This was the exact reason he'd taken a liking to drinking in the first place—to be distracted by the horrible taste and sensations it left on his tongue and throat, and keep his mother, uncle, the Water Tribe girl and all of the problems he'd been having with Mai out of his mind. So what if it tasted foul? Alcohol was the only thing in this world that eased his nerves, and Zuko was forever grateful for it.

So, he wiped the excess sake dripping from his chin with the back of his hand, chugged another big gulp, then rammed the bottle onto the cabinet so hard, the ceramic shattered on impact. The liquid inside splashed all over his hand and robes, and the broken pieces of the ceramic splattered everywhere.

It took everything in Zuko not to burn down the palace at that very second.

He buried his head in his hands and folded in half to yell out all the curses in his lexicon at the top of his lungs. Then he straightened and began marching up and down the vacant spaces of his room, panting with fury. He reached up to the base of his hair that was pulled into a top-knot, yanked out his headpiece, then hurled the delicate ornament to the floor with full strength, and tangled his fingers in his shaggy hair.

Never had a piece of broken ceramic depicted Zuko's life so perfectly. He'd always ruined everything he'd touched—his mother's life, his uncle's life, the Water Tribe girl's life, his own life. It'd been a mistake to assume his relationship with Mai would turn out any different. Father had been right all those times he'd called Zuko incompetent and a failure—a waste of air and space, a disgrace to the royal bloodline, a living mistake.

Zuko wobbled over to his bed, shaking with rage, and collapsed onto the mattress. He just lied there, staring up at the canopy above, while his breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Closing his eyes, he gulped and let out a deep breath—a breath laden with frustration and guilt and shame and countless other emotions he couldn't name.

Regret filled the void in his heart left by receding anger. He replayed his fight with Mai behind his closed eyelids, and winced at every word that had come out of his mouth. He'd been too harsh with her, calling her heartless and all, just because she hadn't let him drink.

They'd fought and broken up plenty of times before, but this time had felt different. It'd felt final.

Zuko had ruined everything again. He'd driven off one of the only people that had held him dear. Again.

He lost track of time as he laid there mulling over everything that had gone wrong with Mai, round and round in his mind. Despite the late hour of the night, he was wide awake, and before he knew it, the warmth of the sun had started trickling in his veins. The shimmering sun poured into his room through the window by his bed soon after, and he was left without sleep once more.

-o-

In the days following his break up, it had become increasingly difficult to tell the Fire Prince apart from a specter with blood-shot eyes and a deathly pale face that roamed the halls of the palace. He wouldn't speak unless he absolutely had to, wouldn't look anyone in the eye, wouldn't eat more than a couple of bites out of his food, and he never would've gotten out of his bed every morning if it weren't for the servants banging on his doors.

But though suffering in the loneliness he'd only felt once before—after he'd parted ways his uncle in the Earth Kingdom—didn't get easier, the first morning had been the worst by far, if only for Azula and her theatrics.

"Again?" she'd asked in a mocking tone, one brow raised, when she'd inquired why Mai and Ty Lee had refused to show up for breakfast and he'd begrudgingly confessed.

She'd jeered at him for being incapable of maintaining a relationship for more than two seconds with the only girl that'd ever stomached looking at him. But then she'd given up after a few minutes when he'd had no reaction whatsoever to her jabs. He'd simply continued to play with his food in complete silence rather than blowing up like he typically would.

Yet, remarkably, Zuko still hadn't deterred from his daily routine of having breakfast with his sister, enduring a full day of private lessons on politics, military strategy, history, economics, and law taught by cranky old men, then locking himself up in his bedchambers to sulk all night and drink himself to sleep—just to wake up to a horrible hangover and repeat everything all over again. He'd get his much-needed sleep during the couple of hours reserved for his daily firebending training and lunch.

Now, shortly before dusk, he was walking back to his chambers from his last lesson of the day. The guards standing by the feet of the doors to his bedroom bowed to him. He bypassed them and locked the doors behind himself without paying attention. Once he was in, he nearly shred his robes apart until he was left in his nightshirt and pants that he wore underneath his daily clothes. Normally, he would've taken off his shirt as well, but there were too many people in the palace that could barge into his room, even if he'd locked the doors. Too many scars from childhood smeared his skin—he'd rather nobody saw them.

He picked up a bottle from the alcohol cabinet on his way to his bed, took a sip from his drink, and he sat on the edge of the mattress—his back propped up against the bedpost, head tilted back, eyes closed, and one leg stretched over the bed, the other dangling freely from the side. By the time the sun had set and the moon was riding high in the sky, the bottle in his hand was half empty, and he could feel drunkenness setting in.

He was still sitting in the same position on his bed, brooding over Mai and how much he must've broken her heart, when someone knocked on the door. He ignored it, hoping whoever it was would assume he was sleeping and go away. Exactly 30 seconds later, another knock came.

Heaving a sigh, he opened his eyes.

"What?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard from across the room.

From behind the doors came the gruff voice of one of his guards, "Forgive me for disturbing, sir, but Princess Azula has sent Your Highness a present."

Zuko's brows creased. "Why?"

"I do not know, sir."

Sighing once more, Zuko squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Just… leave it by the doors." He knew his guards had the keys to all of his chambers in case of an emergency.

As the doors unlocked and opened, he closed his eyes again. But then they shot open when he heard a pair of footsteps enter his room and the doors close behind it.Beforethe footsteps exited first. And he hadn't heard any gift being placed on the floor either.

He whipped his head to see a slender young woman standing before the doors, her head bowed low and hands clasped before her. But he'd moved too abruptly for the alcohol in his bloodstream, and had to wait for a moment or two for his dizziness to pass before he blurted out, "Who're you?"

Subtlety had never been his strong suit, and frankly, he didn't care. Azula had sent this woman—the same Azula who had, on multiple occasions, tried to murder him. Breaking up with her best friend could've very well been another reason for her to want him dead. Though, this woman didn't seem to be carrying any weapons on her—the scarlet robe she wore hung too tightly to her curves and left too little to the imagination to sport a hiding place for even the smallest of knives.

"I am Shila of House Yao, Your Highness," the woman said, curtsying. "I am a humble servant in your esteemed harem."

Zuko looked her up and down. Of course he was aware he had a harem, but this was the first time he'd actually seen someone in it. He'd been too obsessed with politics to pay attention to girls when he'd been given his harem on his thirteenth birthday as palace tradition demanded. Still, he'd heard many rumors of the girls in the Royal Harem throughout his banishment—most of them centering around their unearthly beauty unmatched by any other, and their prowess in bed that could make any man finish within seconds.

Zuko quickly shook himself out of these thoughts. He'djustbroken up with Mai not even a week ago—he couldn't be ogling at other women. Especially not this particular one that could've been an assassin sent to eliminate him.

"What're you doing here?" he demanded, sitting up straight and putting more authority into his voice.

"Princess Azula has asked me to extend her condolences regarding your relationship with Lady Mai, Your Highness. Her Highness said she was deeply saddened to see you in such despair."

Yeah, he was sure his adoring little sister would be sad to see him like this.

"Give her my thanks," he said, eyeing the woman carefully—well, as carefully as he could while the world spun and his head spun with it, anyway.

There were two ways this could go—the woman could either leave like he'd ordered, or she could stay and prove her true intentions as Azula's not-so-invisible hand. At least she was all the way across his bedroom—Zuko would be able to see any attack coming from a mile away, and defend himself in his intoxicated state. Hopefully.

For a moment, it seemed like she was going to take the latter route, as she defied his direct order and lingered in her place, her head still bowed respectively. But then, defying all palace protocol, she lifted her head and looked him right in the eyes, so unlike the submissive maiden she'd been a second ago and headstrong.

"Her Highness has also asked me to comfort you. Your Highness," she added as if it were an afterthought.

This, Zuko hadn't been expecting. Though he should've seen it coming—shewasfrom his harem, after all. But this could be a ploy for her to get close enough to strangle him, too.

He opened his mouth to dismiss her, but the words died on his tongue the moment her lean fingers came up to the sash wrapped around her waist and pulled one end of it. Her crimson robe slipped open at the chest, offering him a glimpse of the porcelain skin that laid underneath, then she slid the silky fabric from her shoulders and let it flutter to the floor in a pile of ruby-red at her feet, leaving her completely nude before his eyes.

Zuko's mouth turned dry and he felt his head partially clear up at the sight.

His heart began thumping in his chest, the possibility that she might've been here to assassinate him thrown out the window. He drank in her perfect breasts and the valley between her legs, gawking like an idiot, before coming back to his senses. He cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on his bedsheets.

"I have a girlfriend," he rasped. His voice was hoarser than usual.

"Do you?"

"Excuse me?!" Zuko snapped his head toward her, remembering one second too late that she was very much naked, and immediately looked away again.

He felt blood rush to his cheeks and down his neck, as well as his other, more southern regions. And he was having no trouble with it either, despite the issues he'd had with it during his time with Mai or all the alcohol he'd consumed tonight.

The woman's quiet footsteps sounded as she stepped out of the pile of her robe around her ankles and began a leisurely walk toward him, taking her time. "I asked if you really have a girlfriend, or do you just like to think that you have one. What do you think you'd be doing right now if youdidhave a girlfriend, anyway? Let me answer that for you—fighting, as you always did."

Zuko ground his teeth, yet he still couldn't bring himself to look at her, too scared that he might do something he'd regret in the morning if he did.

"How dare you speak to me like this. I'm your prince!" Although his tone held the power his title demanded, his face being the same shade of red as his bedsheets automatically undermined his authority, and the fact that he shied away from her intense gaze didn't help.

"You are…" the woman said, almost at the stairs that led up to his bed now. "But I've heard many things about you, and none of them paint you as the type that would punish someone for misspeaking. You didn't punish Mai for breaking up with you. You won't hurt me either. It's not who you are."

Zuko's hands formed fists where he'd placed them on the sheets, bunching the silk material in his grip. She was right—he never would hurt an innocent—but he didn't like it when people bragged about being right—it reminded him too much of his sister.

"You know nothing about me," he grumbled. "And stay out of my life. It's none of your business."

"Oh, but I'm afraid it is. Because, you see," she began walking up the stairs, "my father didn't gift me to your harem just so you can be with other women. You're mine, and I'm yours. That's our fate."

Succumbing to the filthy images plaguing his mind, Zuko glanced up at her. The moment his eyes left the spot on the sheets they'd sought refuge in, they locked on the smooth, round breasts that bounced with each stair their owner climbed. He swallowed thickly. His eyes remained on her, taking her in in all her glory before he tore them away to look up at her face. Her sneer was shining through the curtains her chestnut hair had draped over her face, clearly aware of the rousing effect she had on him.

She trod over to him, now on the same plane as his bed—and with her every step, Zuko inched closer to her, pushing himself off of the bedpost and planting his feet on the ground to face her fully. His breath hitched when she finally reached him.

"Don't worry, I don't bite," she purred, putting her hands on his shoulders and settling her knees on either side of his thighs to straddle him. "Unless you want me to, of course."

With her sitting right on top of his now-tended pants and her breasts brushing against his shirt, Zuko was a hair's breadth away from losing control. His fingers clawed at the sheets. One part of him that wanted to reach for her, to enact on his fantasies—but the other, more reasoning part evoked images of Mai, reminded him of how much more he'd be breaking her heart if he got together with someone else so soon.

But the logical side of his mind shut off when the woman inclined her head and planted an open-mouthed kiss on the crook of his neck.

"Let her go, Zuko," she whispered into his skin, then licked up the column of his neck. It was all Zuko could do to not melt into a puddle of pleasure right then and there. She played with the lobe of his unscarred ear with her tongue, and breathed against the sensitive skin, "Let yourself go."

Zuko tried to resist his desires. He really did. But he was a teenage boy in the prime of his adolescence, and there was a beautiful,nakedwoman sitting on his lap, licking him like that, thatwantedhim to touch her.

In the blink of an eye, his hands flew up to grab her waist, then he spun her around so that he was on top of her, and slammed her onto the bed. She gasped at the sudden show of force, but didn't get to react any more before Zuko crashed his lips to hers, fervent and hungry.

And he did just as she'd asked—he let his pent-up aggression and guilt tear through him, channeling it all into her, wave after wave until he'd collapsed onto the bed beside her in late hours of the night, spent. Whether he regretted this or not, he didn't know yet—he only knew that he'd slept just a little bit better than the previous night, and that was something he could always appreciate.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Zuko woke up to yet another day of headaches and nausea the next morning, the throbbing only intensified by the aching of the rest of his body. The dawning sun bleeding into his room was too bright for his overly sensitive eyes, the soft breaths of the woman next to him too loud.

Moving slowly, he untangled himself from the arm wrapped around his waist and sat up with a pained groan, rubbing his temples to relieve his migraine, his stomach a roiling mess. He stayed like that for a good minute, rethinking his life choices, before quietly scooching across the bed that was wide enough to accommodate a group of people lying side by side. Shutting his eyes, he swung his legs over the bed and buried his head in his hands, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he bent over, fighting nausea.

Maybe he should've listened to Mai about drinking too much.

Just thinking of his former girlfriend had his stomach churning even more wildly. The guilt set deep into Zuko's bones, finding a cozy home right beside the guilt of all the things he did in Ba Sing Se.

His thoughts were cut short, much to his gratitude, when he heard stirring behind him, then the shuffling of the bedsheets, approaching where he sat. Two arms looped around his torso and the weight of a head rested on his shoulder.

“Good morning, my dragon,” Shila murmured into his neck, sleepily rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “Did you sleep well?”

Zuko didn’t respond, mostly because he was afraid the bile in his throat would pour forth if he dared open his mouth, but also because he’d spent enough time around Azula to recognize blatant manipulation when he saw one, even in an intoxicated state like last night. He was no idiot—he hadn’t missed how she’d seduced him to get herself to be a Favorite. He'd seen the flame flickering behind her eyes, a fire that burned with an unbridled lust for power—his power that came with being royalty. In more ways than one, she embodied all of Fire Nation nobility—seemingly perfect on the outside, rotten to the core within.

In the absence of a response, Shila lifted her head and her hands glided up his back to massage his shoulders. Her bare breasts pressed against the back of his shirt.

“You seem worked up, my dragon,” she purred. With one hand, she continued massaging him—and with the other, she slowly began venturing down the front of his shirt toward his loincloth. Then she brought her lips to his undamaged ear. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

Zuko grabbed her wrists before she could get too far. He stood up, cautious not to move too quickly to avoid puking his guts out, and turned partially in her direction, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“I should go.”

He’d made sure to keep his voice level, to not come off as too stern but not too soft either, but he still must’ve flustered her, as she visibly tensed, her hands hung in the air.

“Oh, uh… Did I do something wrong? I thought you might’ve liked it.”

“No, no, I just… need to get ready for the day. That’s all.” Feeling a tinge of guilt at her nervousness, he quickly added, “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Is… that allowed?”

“It is if I say it is.”

Zuko felt the tension in the air ebb. Shila rose to her knees and cupped his face to turn his head toward her.

“You really enjoyed me last night,” she said, her brown eyes bleeding into his. “So you’ll be summoning me again tonight, yes?” It was more of a demand than a question.

He recognized this too—the tone, the wording, how she’d calculated every minute detail so he couldn’t turn her down without seeming like a complete asshole. No wonder Azula had liked her.

Yet, the thing was, he had enjoyed her company. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she'd gotten his mind off of his uncle and the Water Tribe girl and Mai, or that she'd let him unleash himself onto her without judging or being visibly bored. He didn't care that she might have faked her responses to his touches, that she might not have moaned had he not been the heir apparent to the throne—it’d felt just good to get validation out of his partner in bed for once, artificial or not.

Zuko tore his eyes away from Shila’s and gave her a tight nod. It’d felt good to know he wasn't a complete failure in bed like he was with everything else. And he wanted more of it. Agni knew he wanted it—wanted to receive any affection at all, even if it was out of greed.

And Shila knew it too. She'd wrapped her arms around him while he'd thrusted into her, hugged him while he was recovering after their latest session, whispered sweet nothings in his ear while he was drifting off to sleep... And Zuko hated it—hated that he was so desperate for love that he'd fallen right into her grip.

Her bruised lips tugged into a smirk and she leaned in for a kiss, but Zuko stepped out of her reach and began walking to the bathroom adjacent to his bedchambers, fed up with her games.

He was at the threshold of the bathroom when she called for him with a honey-coated voice, “I’ll see you tonight, my dragon.”

Zuko shut the door in her face.

-o-

By the time noon had arrived, Katara had been scrubbing the floors for hours. She could feel her knees bruising under her weight as she knelt on all fours and scrubbed and scrubbed until her hands almost fell off. The base of her spine—as well as the rest of her back and body—was burning, thanks to staying in the same position for so long. At least she'd thought to braid her horrifically matted hair before starting and now had one less problem to deal with.

Dunking the large brush in her hand into the bucket Ayuki had thrown into her arms, she wiped at one particularly stubborn stain on the marble floors of the communal harem quarters.

She’d missed the full moon a few nights ago, during one of her late-night shifts helping out with doing the entire harem's laundry. She had seen the moon glow magnificently outside the barred windows, but she hadn’t felt it. She hadn’t felt that surge of overwhelming power course through her veins as the moon rose higher in the sky.

Even when she’d been barely able to bend a bubble of water, that power had kept her awake at night. It had kept her going through thick and thin, through her mother’s death and her father leaving to fight in the war—through being ripped away from her newfound family, and the incessant nightmares of the Dai Li agents she'd killed and the one that smirked under his helmet.

Now that power lay dormant within her. In its place was a vacant emptiness that only existed to remind her of her mistakes and suffering.

“She’s back!” Katara heard one girl suddenly shriek.

All the concubines that were lazing about at the divans by the walls whipped their heads toward the harem doors. Following their gaze, Katara also took a look—to find Shila strutting into the hall through the gigantic set of doors, beaming with happiness. Some of the concubines jumped to their feet and rushed over to her, lifting the skirts of their exquisite robes so that they didn’t trip over them.

The women Katara had seen sitting with her reached Shila first. “Spill everything. Now,” one of them demanded while the rest caught up and gathered around Shila in a circle.

“My, my… I didn’t know you all loved me so much, girls,” she jested.

Although they stood some distance away, Katara could still hear them clearly. And maybe it was better that they didn’t bother to speak quietly. Shila had spent the night with that traitor prince—she could let slip vital information about him—any injuries or weaknesses nobody but one who had seen the whole of him would know—that Katara could then use against him when the time came.

“What was he like?” one girl asked while another added, “Is it true that he has a scar on his face?”

“Well, yes, he does have a scar—but he’s actually rather handsome if you can look past it,” Shila answered, then sighed deeply, dreamily. “You know, he was waiting for me with a rose in his hand when I got to his room. And there were rose petals on his bed and candles on the floor. He kissed my hand and carried me to his bed in his arms. It was so romantic.”

The girls cooed over her sentiments while the waterbender rolled her eyes, continuing to scrub the floor.

The other one of Shila’s friends asked, “How did you even get the Princess to choose you out of everyone else? I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m glad that you’re a Favorite now—but I didn’t think it’d actually happen.”

Katara practically felt Shila shrugging. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“Alright, ladies,” a maid interrupted, entering the harem through the same doors Shila had come in through. “Give our newest Favorite some space. She’s had a long night.”

Finally having removed the stain on the ground, Katara stood up sorely. Every last bit of her body ached as she moved on to the next patch of dirty floor. Her eyes flit up momentarily to see the maid handing a small porcelain cup over to Shila—contraceptive tea, she guessed. Katara looked back down at the ground that needed the cleaning, and hissed when her bruised knees made contact with the hard marble. Her fingertips stung as she grabbed the brush and got to work.

“Your new chambers in the Favorites’ suites are all ready,” the maid said once Shila had drunk the tea and handed the cup back. “Your possessions have already been moved and your lady-in-waiting is waiting for you there. Enjoy your new life.”

“About that…” Shila mused, “Is it possible for me to pick my lady-in-waiting for myself instead?”

The maid made a soft sound that affirmed her right to choose .

“Wonderful.” There was mischief in her voice. “In that case, I… choose… her.”

The harem fell silent, save for the quiet murmurings of the concubines still seated on the divans and the sounds of other slaves drudging away. Katara felt the attention of the group shift to her. Reluctantly, she lifted her head, and everyone was looking at her—Shila, especially, sneering delightfully, her eyes ablaze with spite.

The maid’s lips curled upward as she glanced at Ayuki over Katara’s kneeling form. “Will that be a problem?”

Ayuki snorted wryly from behind the waterbender. “Agni, no. I’ll pay you money to get her out of my charge.”

“Very well, then.” The maid turned to Shila. “The savage is yours. Just be careful she doesn't eat you in your sleep.”

Shila snickered and showed her perfect white teeth to the waterbender. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll be extra careful with her.” Her smirk widened as she jerked her chin in Katara’s direction. “Come on, Mikai, lighten up a little. I just gave you a promotion! You should be down on your knees, kissing my shoes! Though… I suppose you have the first part down already.”

Everyone around her cackled as Katara’s eyes narrowed and her grip on the brush tightened, struggling to resist the urge to throw it at Shila’s head.

'Don't, Katara,' her inner voice cautioned, 'You have only two weeks left until the invasion. Don't do it. Don't mess this up. It’s not worth it.'

Begrudgingly, she let her grip slacken and lessened the intensity of her glare.

“Let’s go,” Shila said, still chuckling, and nodded toward the stairs at the corner of the hall that led to the second floor of the harem, devoted specifically to Favorites.

Katara straightened in her place and got to her feet. She picked up the bucket and handed it over to Ayuki along with the brush, then followed the maid, Shila, and her closest friends up the stairs. They crossed paths with several concubines on the way—some of them full-grown adults, some younger than Toph—and passed numerous wooden doors on both sides of the broad hallway, all of them beautifully carved with illustrations of dragons and flames, and stopped before one of them down the hall.

Shila’s suite was a set of lavish and spacious bed and private bathing chambers worthy of a royal mistress. It seemed Katara, despite just having been 'promoted', would have to continue sleeping in the communal sleeping quarters with the other slaves, on her ragged, makeshift bed and her pillow that was so hard it might as well be a rock.

“If you’re done gawking at my splendor, vermin, go run me a bath,” Shila ordered, walking merrily toward her bed. “And you two,” she addressed her friends over her shoulder, “pour me some wine and bring me the chest that has my most beautiful robes in it. His Highness has summoned me again for tonight. I will look my best for him.”

Katara curtsied and carried out the orders of her new mistress, biting her tongue and imagining all the ways she’d get her sweet, sweet revenge one day.

-o-

The stillness in the hallway was almost unbearable. The royal guards stationed at the feet of the doors, faces hidden underneath their spiky helmets, hadn’t moved a muscle since Katara had arrived here yesterday evening—where she'd been standing outside that traitor prince’s bedroom, keeping her head low and waiting for her mistress without complaint, being the proper handmaiden that was demanded of her. The eunuch escort of the concubines, whose skin complexion was as dark and eyes blue as Katara's—undoubtedly a Water Tribe slave like her—was leaning against the wall beside her, occasionally fidgeting, clearly as bored as she was.

But boredom was the last thing on Katara’s mind at the moment.

There’d been a time when she’d thought she’d already been to the hells of the Spirit World and back, that nothing she'd witness henceforth could ever compare to the horrors she’d been through. What a fool she’d been.

It wasn't the blisters that had sprouted all over her feet over the past months, courtesy of her too-small slippers, that made her sick, though. And it wasn't the aching on her back and arms, or her dire hunger, thirst, or exhaustion either. No, these she could endure, no matter how arduous—but the sounds coming from behind the closed doors of the bedroom…

The starvation, drudgery, and even having needles shoved into her fingers paled in comparison to having to listen to the moans, creaking of the bed frame, and all the other noises coming from the other side of the doors. And the absolute worst, she could hear the masculine grunts and groans fused with Shila’s moans as well.

That was the real torture, and Katara could've ripped her ears right out of her head just to make it stop.

So she was eternally grateful when the screaming finally died out well into the night, and after a few hours of silence, the doors opened at last—by which time servants had lined up behind her in the hallway, also waiting for their master. Suppressing a sigh of relief, Katara waited some more for her mistress to step out of the room and be done with it all. She was already daydreaming about throwing herself onto her makeshift bed, which she doubted was more comfortable than the marble beneath her slippers, but she truly didn’t care.

Her short-lived happiness soured in her mouth, however, as seconds passed and still Shila hadn’t come out. Just as in the harem yesterday, she could feel eyes on her, blazing into her skin and clothes almost. Brows furrowing in confusion, she raised her gaze little by little and looked up at the doors—

Only to be met with two wide, golden eyes and a scar staring right back at her.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

She was here.

The waterbender. She was here. Outside his room. On his doorstep. Standing right before him, her head bowed.

Zuko’s lungs were out of air—his mind, a whirling tornado. He couldn’t breathe, or blink, or move.

The Water Tribe eunuch escort on her right, the servants behind her in a neat line, and the two royal guards next to Zuko were bowing low from the waist to him, but he paid no attention to them—he didn’t even see them.

It was only the waterbender that he could see—the girl he’d sentenced to a life of slavery, the life he’d stolen in the spring of her youth, the tormentor of his nights and days. Her. His past mistakes incarnated.

Her frame had shrunk down to nearly half the size he remembered. Her arms, out in the open through her sleeveless, crimson robe, were too thin and smeared with various shades of bruises—the rich brown of her skin faded, sickly. Even her braided hair, thrown over one shoulder, had lost its glow.

Although Zuko could only see half of her face from where he stood, the purple half-moon under her visible eye was unmistakable. Her hollowed-out cheek was marred with faded-out lines of scars, just like her brow and lips—remnants from the night she’d gotten captured, beaten, and tortured. On her bony right hand, clasped with the other on her lap, he spied the white, slim lines that tore across three of her now half-grown nails—twins, in shape, to the red scars marking his right palm.

And they'd put a collar on her. Leashed her like a feral beast.

Gone was the kind-spirited warrior that had bested Zuko time and again—standing in her place, a weary girl, undeserving of all the misery that'd been inflicted upon her. By him. By his people.

The thought nicked at an invisible wound in Zuko's heart. And he bled. He bled for all the suffering he’d put her through, for all the ways he’d wronged her, for letting her get treated like this despite knowing what was coming for her.

But then his bleeding heart shot up to his throat when her brows creased and she slowly began to raise her chin in his direction.

No, Zuko wanted to tell her. Stop. Don't look at me.

He couldn't bear to look her in the eyes again. Not after everything he'd done to her.

He wanted to hide. Wanted to shut the door in her face and be gone before she could see him. But his muscles wouldn’t obey his commands.

And once she’d fully lifted her head and her eyes met his, the curiosity in them was wiped out instantly, morphing into surprise and then unfiltered hatred in a fraction of a second.

Zuko had to swallow past the lump forming in his throat to breathe.

Much like the rest of her shriveling body, her eyes were different now as well. Dulled and dimmed, they were—compared to the lively shine he’d glimpsed as she’d battled him, and then gazed into when they'd been trapped in the catacombs underneath the Earth Kingdom capital.

Where once had swum compassion in those vast oceans, there was now only disdain and the thirst for revenge, lurking beneath the clouds eclipsing her eyes.

The cut in Zuko’s heart gushed forth. He bled out wholly now—bled until it felt like there was not a drop of blood left in his body.

The muffled mumbling of the eunuch escort echoed in some faraway part of his mind, but he couldn’t make out the words, or look away from the girl before him—from her scars, her slimmed frame, her hollow cheeks. From the burning rage in her eyes.

It was a tentative hand on his back that brought him back to his senses.

“Something wrong, my dragon?”

Zuko finally tore his eyes away from the waterbender. He turned to stare blankly at Shila, a silk night robe draped over her naked body, gazing at him with a tinge of worry swimming in her brown eyes. Then he turned back to the waterbender, who had now fixed her gaze on the ground, her jaw set firmly and fury seeping out of her seemingly calm figure.

“Oh, her?” Shila asked. She hugged him from behind and rested her chin atop the thick padding of his regalia, staring at the Water Tribe girl from over his shoulder. “She’s quite the sight, isn’t she? Mikai…” She snickered softly. “Such a fitting name for this monstrosity. At least she makes a good handmaid.”

Mikai. That was what they’d named her. A word taken straight out of the old Fire Nation tongue.

Zuko’s sorrow switched to anger in an instant.

His gaze snapped to the eunuch. “You named her ‘uncivilized’?!”

The man went rigid. “I—No, sir! It is Matriarch Lin that names the new arrivals, sir!”

Huffing, Zuko shook off Shila from his shoulder and ignored her cry of protest as he stepped over the threshold of his bedroom, eyes glued to the floor. And he felt the waterbender’s hateful gaze following him under her lashes as he walked past her, the eunuch, and the servants on his way out.

For all the openness and sky-high ceiling of the broad hallway, it pressed down on him. Caged him in an airless box.

He struggled to keep his steps and breathing steady as he walked.

He reached into the small, hidden pocket on the inside of his sleeve and took out the flask of sake he carried everywhere. Slugging down his drink, Zuko turned right instead of left and headed straight for his first private lesson of the day, skipping breakfast entirely—mostly just to avoid having to deal with his sister.

When he burst open the doors of the study hall, the elderly scholar reading a book inside nearly jumped out of his boots. The man scrambled to get up to his feet as swiftly as his old age would allow, and bowed low before his prince.

“Prince Zuko. Forgive my bafflement, sire. I had not been expecting Your Highness for another ten minutes.”

“I’m here now,” Zuko said flatly and took a seat on the crimson cushion across from the man—sitting cross-legged behind his own low-lying desk topped with thick books and blank scrolls to take notes on—and tucked his flask back into his sleeve.

“Very well.” The tutor sank back down onto his knees, shifting his weight onto his heels, and picked up the writing brush before him. “Let us begin.”

-o-

Zuko didn’t hear a single word the man said. Not that he wanted to, per se, but he simply couldn’t get the image of the waterbender’s scrawny figure out of his mind. Or the simmering hatred in her eyes. They drowned out all that he threw in their way.

It should’ve been him in the waterbender’s place. Not her. Not someone that had only been protecting her friend. It should’ve been him that endured everything she had—for betraying her and living a life of utmost luxury while she slowly withered away.

“Are you paying attention, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko looked up from the scroll he’d been staring absently at, lost in thought.

He sat upright and cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Perhaps you could tell me what we were studying last, then?”

He gave the man a dirty look. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

The teacher held his poise, a mask of calmness plastered to his wrinkled, age-spotted face, but he smiled tightly and gave his prince a slight bow of his head. “Of course not, Your Highness. As I was saying, in the period of instability during Fire Lord Zoryu’s reign…”

Zuko shut off the man’s voice again—this time, on purpose. And as soon as he did, the thoughts of the waterbender and the subsequent wave of guilt came crashing in once again, fiercer and more destructive than ever.

He propped his elbows on his low desk and wiped his face.

“Covering your face while someone is talking to you is unspeakably rude, Prince Zuko,” the tutor warned with a scolding tone.

Zuko drew away his hands to give him another, even dirtier look, but this time the old man didn’t yield.

Rolling his eyes, Zuko folded his arms and looked away.

“Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms are not princely behavior, sire—only low-borns resort to such primitive mannerisms. You must, as their prince, be above your subjects and their lowly demeanor.”

The Prince exhaled sharply through his nose.

“This includes huffing, sire.”

“Why don’t you just do your job and leave being a prince to me.” Zuko’s words came out as sharp as steel.

The man shut his mouth, clearly trying to contain his mounting annoyance, and bowed from the waist. “I apologize deeply if I have come off as disrespectful, Your Highness. It was not my intention to—”

He stopped speaking abruptly, his mouth hanging open, as Zuko pulled his flask from his sleeve and began drinking deeply.

“Prince Zuko!” he yelled. His mouth opened and closed as if he were at a loss of words. “What are you doing?! You cannot drink during my class!”

Zuko huffed a laugh, shaking his head, then got up to his feet and wordlessly made for the doors.

"You cannot leave in the middle of the course, sire!"

"Watch me."

He yanked the doors open and walked out. The tutor kept shouting at his back to no avail.

Zuko chugged his drink as he tracked back to his chambers. He didn’t have to speak to anyone as long as he was cooped up in there. He could brood and drink all he wanted without any disturbances.

But then he stopped suddenly halfway through, right in the middle of the hall, when a thought occurred to him.

What if the waterbender was still there? Zuko had told Shila she could stay in his rooms after he’d left and it hadn’t been long since he had. She could still be there—which meant the waterbender would still be standing outside as well, waiting for her mistress to leave.

Zuko couldn’t see her again. Not so soon. Possibly not ever.

He closed his eyes, contemplating his options. He could turn around and walk back to the study hall—to that tutor and many more that would come after him—or go to his chambers and risk crossing paths with the waterbender.

Suffering through a day of senseless babbling of ancient men and constantly being told how he should be living his life, or potentially facing the girl he’d stabbed in the back and left to wither away…

Zuko sighed, running a hand through his neatly tied topknot. This was impossible.

Unless…

His eyes darted open. There was one place he could disappear to—one that not even Azula or the most seasoned servants in the palace knew of. No one would bother him there.

He immediately whirled around and stomped down the halls he knew like the back of his hand. He turned corner after corner, watching his back and looking around to make sure he wasn’t being followed, and ignored the servants and maids he came across.

He only slowed down once he’d entered the narrow hallway he’d sneaked into so many times in his childhood. He counted the spiky torches mounted on the wall on his left as he walked past them.

Seven… Eight… Nine… There.

Zuko stopped and scanned his surroundings one last time to see if anyone was in the vicinity to see or hear him. Then, to the torch he would’ve had to jump to reach when he’d been little, he now gripped easily and pulled it toward himself.

A mechanism inside the wall clicked and the metal torch tilted down from the hilt. With a low rumble, the wall right next to the torch lazily slid open—to reveal the secret door and passage inside, just tall and wide enough to fit one person in.

The musty humidity in the air inside the passage hit him in the face—a sensation he still remembered vividly, despite the years. Zuko ignored the smell and walked into the darkness within, pushing the wall-door closed, leaving the passage in total darkness.

Zuko summoned a small flame above his open palm. Moss and cobwebs covered the worn-out stones on the walls and low ceiling. Just like he remembered.

Without delay, he began walking. He strode straight ahead, before following the left track in the forked pathway.

Zuko immediately recognized the marks he’d carved into the mossy stones on the corners he was supposed to turn, all of them now almost entirely faded away. And he followed the clues, treading into the depths of the palace until he saw the final mark, bigger and deeper than the rest, on a stone at waist level on the wall on his right. He stopped at the mark, reached down, and pressed the stone in. Yet another mechanism clicked inside the wall, before it slid open to a reveal tiny, somber room hidden behind it.

He hadn’t set foot in here since the day his mother had been… taken from him all those years ago, but it was the same as he'd left it, if only much smaller than he actually remembered. On the stone floor laid a number of open scrolls, huddled in one spot by the door, most of them filled with black-and-white drawings. A writing brush, an inkwell, and a partially melted candle lying beside them, all of it still in the same place he’d last left them.

Crazy as it sounded, he could see his younger self curled up by the wall, crying softly after Ozai had punished him for something that probably wasn't even his fault—and if he focused hard enough, he could hear the echoes of his whimpers.

Brushing aside the aching of the past in his chest, Zuko stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Lighting the candle by the scrolls, he walked over and picked up the drawings from the floor, skimming through each and every one of them.

They were filled with the figure-sticks of his mother, sister, uncle, Lu Ten, a couple of turtleducks botched to the point of unrecognizability, and even some skull-faced palace guards hanging back. His family were holding hands or playing together or firebending, all of them smiling merrily no matter what they were occupied with. The sun was shining down on them from the corner of the papers, also smiling.

Zuko felt his eyes burn at the sight—at this glimpse into his childhood, at how he’d been able to see the bright side of life even when his petite body had been overrun with bruises and scars, endowed oh so graciously by his own father.

That was another thing that stood out to him. There were no figures of Ozai in any of the drawings. He'd drawn all members of his close family, but not his father. Never his father.

Zuko loosed a heavy breath. He let the papers cascade to the floor, then closed his eyes, slumped against the wall behind him, and slid to the floor.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes—though whether they were of grief or fury at himself for letting everything come to be, he didn’t know. He leaned his head back against the damp stone wall behind and pulled out the flask from his sleeve. And he held back his tears, his throat constricting, as he drank his sake.

Zuko drank to his mother, to his uncle, to his cousin, to his sister’s innocence, and to the waterbender. To all the lives he’d destroyed and all the smiles he’d erased.

And when he’d shaken the last drop of sake out of the flask and onto his tongue, he threw the metal container to the corner, wrapped his arms around his legs, and dropped his head onto his forearms.

He sat there for hours, unmoving, memories of his worst mistakes and failures circling his mind, as the candle melted to nothing and the room grew steadily colder.

He buried his face in his hands, groaning, struggling to think of something, anything he could do to fix this mess. But, before, when he'd screwed up, it had always been Uncle who’d come to his aid, who’d known what to—

Zuko’s head snapped up.

Uncle. Maybe he would know what to do, some way to help, if Zuko could just get to him, make him listen...

Without missing a beat, he shot to his feet and nearly ran out of the room, leaving his flask behind in his haste—out into the palace that housed his greatest as well as his worst memories, to the prison he’d been too scared to step into the last time he’d visited.

-o-

“I brought you some komodo-chicken.” Zuko slid the box of food he’d stolen from the palace kitchens through the prison bars. “I know you don't care for it, but I figure it beats prison food.”

His uncle was sitting cross-legged on a tattered mat behind the bars, slouching and with his back to the Prince, his grey hair down and unkempt. He stayed silent. Didn’t move a muscle.

“I admit it,” Zuko went on, kneeling before the bars and eyes cast on the ground, “I have everything I always wanted, but it's not at all how I thought it would be. The truth is, I need your advice.” He grabbed the bars and gazed at his uncle’s back, feeling fragile, brittle, vulnerable in Iroh's presence. “I saw the waterbender today, Uncle. The Avatar’s friend. Azula put her in Father’s harem after she got arrested in Ba Sing Se. I saw her today and she was…” He hung his head in shame. “She looked horrible. And I put her there. I did this to her.”

When the old man still didn’t respond, Zuko looked up again. “Please, Uncle! I'm so confused! I feel like I'm losing my mind! I need your help! Please! Say something!”

Nothing. No reaction whatsoever.

Boiling fury swelled inside him.

Zuko jumped to his feet. “Forget it! I'll solve it myself! Waste away in here for all I care!”

With that, he turned on his heel and came back the way he came. He yanked open the metal door, breathing heavily through his nose and meaning to storm out, but he stopped, and he looked back at his uncle one last time, his hand lingering on the door handle—desperate for the old man to turn around and console him as he’d done countless times before.

But Uncle kept on sitting with his back turned, offering no response or sympathy at all. The same man that had pulled Zuko out of the pits of despair after his Agni Kai now sat still, quiet.

Zuko spun back around, another wound tearing into his already damaged heart, and slammed the door shut behind him. And as he did, he missed the solitary tear that trickled down his uncle’s face.

The sun had nearly set by the time Zuko had sneaked out of the prison, unseen by the guards, and night had fallen completely by the time he’d arrived in his chambers more than half an hour later, utterly drained of energy even though he hadn’t done anything throughout the day.

He stood in the entrance of his chambers, the doors closed and locked behind him. His eyes were glazed and he was looking at nothing in particular—just glazing over everything in the bedroom as he felt a hollow nothingness swell within him, stretched out across his heart and lungs too snugly for comfort.

His eyes finally focused on something, then he was moving before he even realized.

He strode over to the desk at the corner of the room and pushed the heavy, wooden table aside—until that one loose floorboard beneath one of its legs came into sight. Zuko crouched down, pulled the floorboard up, and looked down into the dark space beneath.

In place of the Blue Spirit mask he’d once hidden now laid a blue necklace atop his all-black attire, glistening like an isolated star in the night sky. Zuko hadn’t touched it, much less looked at it in months—with the exception of the few seconds he’d held it to place it here, in its new home.

He reached for the pendant and cradled it in his palm. And he traced the markings on the pendant with his eyes and thumb, losing himself in the gentle curves of the carved waves.

They stared back at him, seeming to taunt him, accusing him, vilifying him. They called him a thief. Not for stealing the necklace—no, for stealing the life of its bearer. Or was that the faint and fading echo of his own conscience, dying now without Uncle or anyone to give it life?

He looked up from the necklace, toward the alcohol cabinet across the room and the numerous ceramic bottles of sake standing on top of it. Gently, Zuko replaced the necklace underneath the floorboard and buried it in the depths of his mind alike once more, before he got up and pushed the desk back into its place.

He dragged his feet toward the cabinet, grabbed the bottle closest to him, and knocked it back. Then he set the bottle down and braced his hands on the edge of the wooden console, his head hung and shoulders slumped.

The sake burned his throat on its way down, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as Zuko wanted it to—as much as he needed it to. What he needed was a release of the tension he felt coiling in every fiber of his body. And there was only one thing on this planet other than alcohol that could give him that release.

“Guards!” he yelled across the room without lifting his head.

The doors unlocked and opened right away.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go to the harem and tell them Prince Zuko requests company.”

“Would Your Highness prefer your Favorite?”

Summoning Shila meant seeing the waterbender again.

“No.”

“As you wish, sir. I will let the eunuchs know.”

The doors closed again, and Zuko was left all alone in his vast bedroom, left to sulk in the dim moonlight that poured into his room through the windows. He picked up the bottle he’d drunk from and walked to his bed, gulping from it on the way, and didn’t bother to light any of the candles as he flopped onto the mattress.

Minutes passed by in a flash as he drank and drank, his elbows digging into his knees, replaying everything that had happened today in his mind. He’d almost gone through the entire bottle when the knock on the door he’d been waiting for came.

“Enter!” he shouted, then winced—his own voice too loud for his drunken, oversensitive ears.

As the doors opened and shut once again, Zuko looked up from the spot on the floor he’d fixed his stare on. His head spun a mile a minute, but he was able to make out the two young women standing before the doors, both clad in revealing and exquisite crimson robes, curtsying to him. Their porcelain skin and brown hair shone under the moonlight.

“C’mere,” he rasped, eyes half-lidded. And they obeyed.

He set down his near-empty bottle beside his feet. The concubines glanced at each other sidelong, grinning, but otherwise didn’t react as they reached him. They both settled beside their prince on the bed, one on each side, touching and caressing his bare arms and shirt and clothed thighs. He’d ditched his padded regalia some time before they’d arrived, just to make things easier.

Zuko straightened in his place and put his hands behind him on the bed. He looked at the woman on his left, beautiful beyond words as all concubines were. She was smiling at him, eyes locked on his lips and running a hand over his thigh. He felt her slender fingers slowly make their way up to his hardening parts and start untying his pants.

Without wasting another second, Zuko took her face in his hand and captured her lips with his. She moaned softly into his mouth and returned the kiss immediately, leaning in herself and darting her tongue between his parted lips.

He felt another set of lips on the crook of his neck, kissing and licking him in the sweetest places, and a hand on his chest. The hand drew lower on his abdomen, toward the knot by his ribs that held his shirt together.

His fingers latched onto the wrist on instinct. The concubine gasped at the sudden attack.

Zuko pulled away from his kiss and turned to face the woman on his right he was gripping. “The shirt stays on.”

She bowed her head. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Zuko let go of her wrist, then cupped her cheek and kissed her next. His hand on her cheek ventured south and wrapped around her waist to draw her closer. She looped her arms around his neck in return.

At the same time, he felt the other concubine finally undo his pants and pull them down. Then she slid down the foot of the bed to kneel before him and parted his knees apart with a gentle nudge.

When she lowered her mouth onto him, a guttural groan ripped out of Zuko’s throat, swallowed by the other woman he was still kissing. His head and entire body suddenly felt too heavy. The room spun, and he fell backwards onto the mattress.

And the moment his head hit the bed, he sank into blessed darkness, letting all his troubles drift out and away.

He’d deal with them later.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Zuko was his eleven-year-old self again. He was so tiny, so fragile, so unprepared for the cruel games of his fate.

Azula was walking right beside him. Her already pale skin was now ashen, face flooded with terror. She looked as nauseated as he felt.

The ecstatic roars of hundreds of people gathered in a crowd echoed off the walls from beyond the crimson curtain-door at the end of the hallway. Zuko, trailing behind his father's tall, broad figure as Ozai strode through the curtain, peered curiously at a man in an all-black garb through the parted flaps.

He was looking out over the unseen crowd, his back turned to the young prince. In his gloved hand, he held not a sword, as he once had, but several needles, all of them long, slim, and lethal. Then the man, as if sensing he was being spied on, slowly twisted his neck around to stare at Zuko, all without turning his body, like a cat-owl.

Their eyes met, gold meeting depthless black without whites at the edges, and suddenly the marble ground beneath Zuko’s shaking feet turned to liquid. He fell into the depths of the earth—fell and fell until he landed in a sea of pitch-black, eternal nothingness.

No. It wasn't pitch-black nor a matterless void. Not entirely. There was water all around him, dark and suffocating.

The murky waves rippled against Zuko’s tiny form, skimmed against him with sharp claws before tearing through his clothes and skin. They froze him. Burned him. Peeled his skin from his bones.

Everything around him turned red with his blood. But no matter how much he thrashed left and right and screamed, the agony wouldn’t ebb one bit. It only kept building.

His lungs filled with the water and blood around him. They consumed him. Drowned him.

The same, brutal waves whispered in his ear.

Liar. Traitor. Murderer.

Zuko knew that voice. Even as he was being ripped apart from inside out, he recognized it. It'd offered to heal his scar once. And it'd been haunting him ever since.

And then he saw her—right on the bottom of the sea. She looked the same as he’d seen her yesterday, features feeble and sickly—except her limbs, head, and torso laid severed from one another, spread out on the seabed.

Her unbound hair swayed in the waves above her decapitated head as she stared back at him, not a trace of emotion on her face. Her unblinking eyes gazed into his soul. Even in death, they shone a startling blue in the midst of blood.

Then Zuko heard someone else—a panicked, unfamiliar woman this time—calling for him from worlds away, shouting something. But as the last of his consciousness slipped from his grasp, eyes fluttering closed, it was only his mother's last words that he could hear.

Never forget who you are.

“YOUR HIGHNESS! WAKE UP!”

With a strangled gasp, Zuko bolted upright on his bed. His chest was heaving and sweat sucked his shirt onto him like a second skin. His knuckles were white as he clawed at the bedsheets, his entire body trembling, heart thumping a mile a minute beneath his chest bone. The midmorning sun reflected briskly off of the floor, blinding him.

He lifted his fingers up to his left eye—to his scar. He could still feel the ghost of the waterbender’s touch brushing it, caressing the coarse dips and valleys he’d let no one before or since touch.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?”

Zuko yelped and jumped back on the bed. He only now noticed the two nude women sitting on the bed with him, one cowering behind the other, both staring at him with worried eyes. Brown eyes.

He felt bile rising in his throat.

Zuko wasn’t even aware that he’d bolted down from the bed. He only knew that he was running—toward the bathroom, holding his mouth so he didn’t puke all over the floor. He shot through the open doorway, pulling up the toilet seat, and then sank to his knees and heaved.

The vomit came out in an endless stream. He knelt there for countless minutes, hanging on to the bowl for dear life, waiting for the retching to subside, for the lingering tremors to fade.

Then he slumped next to the toilet, scooting back until he was sitting up against the wall, and propped his elbows on his bent knees, out of breath. He leaned his head back on the wall and gulped, trying to bring his heartbeat down to a reasonable rate, hoping to find some peace of mind—but the moment he closed his eyes, he saw those unblinking, sapphire-blue eyes staring right back at him, as if her image was seared permanently into his mind.

Groaning, Zuko got up, washed his face and rinsed his mouth before heading out of the bathroom, a horrible headache pounding inside his head. He half walked, half hobbled over to the doors of his chambers and ordered the servants he knew would be waiting outside to bring him and the concubines breakfast—and more sake, too, as they'd gone through all three bottles in his room last night. Then he spun and wobbled back to the bathroom to take a quick, ice-cold shower, not sparing a glance at the concubines still seated on his bed, looking at him with concern.

He tried—and failed—to concentrate on the freezing water grazing his skin rather than the girl capable of bending it as he washed the sweat and other remnants of the previous night off of himself. By the time he’d dressed in a clean shirt and loincloth he’d grabbed from the adjacent dressing room and walked back to the bed chambers through another door, feeling slightly better, breakfast had arrived and the concubines were sitting around a round, low-lying table in front of his bed—also brought in by the servants.

Zuko sat down and ate with them—as much as his shrunken stomach would hold, anyway. None uttered a single word throughout, and once they were done, they moved back to the bed, grabbing a few of the renewed bottles on their way.

The sun rose and set as they went at it again and again, heedless of time passing, pausing only occasionally to rest and eat the lunch and dinner Zuko ordered for the concubines. Empty ceramic bottles laid abandoned on the floor and the bed.

Drunk out of his mind and watching the concubines make out with each other, Zuko felt lighter than he had in ages. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was adrift, that there was nothing tethering him to the earth anymore other than sex and alcohol. Or maybe it was the alcohol and lust circulating in his bloodstream, muddling his senses and reasoning.

Propping himself onto an elbow, he turned fully to the concubines, where they laid in their tangle of limbs beside him. He brushed his fingertips down the spine of the concubine that laid on top of the other, too burnt out to go on for the night himself. The woman opened her eyes and looked at him, then broke off her liplock, a haughty smile spreading on her bruised lips, and leaned down toward him to give him a long kiss.

Zuko buried his fingers in her hair, pulling her closer and deepening their connection. He got distracted, brows furrowing when a commotion of approaching footsteps sounded from beyond the doors of his chambers, but he disregarded them, thinking it a fuss the servants were making. Instead, he focused on the woman’s lips and tongue.

But then, a few moments later, the doors slammed open so hard the walls rattled, and the concubines screamed and scrambled to cover themselves with the stained bedsheets. Zuko whipped toward the doors, ready to give the intruder hell—

But his blood froze, drunken numbness vanishing instantly when he saw his father standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on him, face contorted in a murderous rage—a rage unlike Zuko had ever seen before.

Ozai's fuming gaze flitted to the concubines, and he snarled through gritted teeth, “Out.”

The women darted out of the bed right away and slipped into their discarded robes on the floor as fast as they could, while Zuko grabbed his loincloth atop the bed and put it on with shaky hands, his shirt still on. Once the concubines were dressed enough that they could go outside, they practically sprinted out of the chambers, pausing only for a fraction of a second to curtsy to their monarch and muttering a frightened “Your Majesty” before hurrying out.

The doors closed behind the Fire Lord. Zuko, finally done putting on his underwear, shot down to the ground before his bed and sank into a full kowtow.

“Your Maje—”

“Explain yourself,” Ozai snarled. The unfiltered fury in his tone made Zuko straighten in his place, head still bowed low. His father was panting through his nose, nostrils flaring. The temperature inside the room rose rapidly. “Explain why you walked out of your lesson yesterday, disappeared, then skipped all of your lessons today to drink and whor* around all day.”

“Fathe—”

“Did you forget that you are the Crown Prince?! That whatever you do reflects upon me too?! Are you so witless that you cannot foresee what my subjects will think if they hear of this?!”

“I’m sorry—”

“YOU ARE SORRY!”

Fists clenched tight at his sides, the Fire Lord stepped closer to his kneeling son. “You've always been sorry! I would've left you to die on the day you were born had it not been for your mother!”

Every word, every insult that spilled from his father's lips was a poisoned arrow aimed at Zuko's heart, eating away at it and leaving nothing behind. His eyes and cheeks burned, his nails clawing into his knees, but he stayed silent. There was no saying what would happen if he angered his father any further.

“Look at you,” Ozai spat. He sounded more composed, though he still breathed through his nose. “You reek of alcohol. You can’t even sit still without swaying.” He scrunched his nose in disgust. “Pathetic.”

He then lifted his chin and clasped his hands behind him, calming himself with deep breaths, the temperature of the room cooling steadily with them. “Be grateful to your sister I’m sparing your worthless life. But do not, for a moment, think that I will allow you to stain my name and the reputation of this great family any further. I will die before I let you turn my palace into your whor*house.”

His voice was as smooth as the night when he spoke again, “From this moment forth, you are forbidden from consuming alcohol.”

Zuko's head snapped up.

“No,” he whimpered, but Ozai continued without care.

“You will get up at dawn, attend your lessons without fail—”

“Father, please—”

“—do as your tutors say, and be back in your chambers by sundown. One of my guards will follow you throughout the day to ensure it.”

“Please don't—”

“You are not to leave the palace again until I deem you worthy.”

“I beg you—”

“I will allow you to keep your harem out of necessity, but you may only summon one girl at a time, once a week. Is that clear?”

Zuko swallowed past the lump in his throat. The weight of the new order of his life crashed down on him, pressed down on his lungs, suffocated him.

A life without alcohol. He wasn’t sure he could endure it. Endure the real world, the fallout of his past actions on a sober mind.

He couldn't breathe, couldn’t speak. Could only hang his head even lower, shoulders slumping with defeat.

Ozai eyed him for a moment. “Do you remember what I did to your mother?”

And just like that, all the grief and sorrow in Zuko's heart turned to ice, sake and everything else forgotten.

Blood. That was all he could see—so much blood it could fill the oceans ten times over. Blood, and death.

Desperate, pleading screams echoed in his head. His mother’s screams, begging Ozai to spare her children of the impending sight. Even on the cusp of death, she'd thought of them instead of herself.

Zuko lifted his head. His father’s lips had curled into a small, serpentine leer. The pride in his eyes, the sharpness of his features revealed the true predator that lay within.

It made something in Zuko shatter—made his nails dig into his knees.

He felt fury roil within him. Felt it take over him. And for the first time in his life, he stared his father straight in the eye—not crying or pleading for mercy, but with simmering anger seeping from every fiber of him. With a burning desire to get his mother's revenge, to annihilate the man that had taken her from Zuko and inflicted so much pain upon her before her death.

Ozai’s leer grew. “So you do remember,” he amused proudly. Then his expression returned to its icy rage. “This is the last time I will warn you, boy. Disobey me again, step out of line one more time, and your mother’s end will be merciful compared to what I will do to you.”

With that, he spun on his heels and marched out the doors that opened for him. As he tramped down the hallway, he motioned sharply with his head to his personal guards—toward Zuko, who still knelt before his bed, trembling with suppressed fury.

Two of the guards, ominous and unnerving with their scarlet helmets and uniforms, marched into his chambers. Zuko looked up at them, eyes narrowing with suspicion as the doors closed behind them and they kept walking toward him.

He rose to his feet, garnering strength from the floor to not fall over, as he was still very much intoxicated, and stared at the faceless men. “What's going on?”

“Shut your mouth,” the one on the left spat.

He stopped right in front of Zuko, and the other guard moved past and behind the Prince. Then, without warning, two hands looped under Zuko's armpits, lifting his arms above his head, rendering them useless, and pinned him in a headlock. Zuko struggled against the bone-crushing grip to no avail, too weakened by alcohol to make a dent.

“Let me g—”

The words caught in his throat when the fist of the guard in front of him collided with his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs.

He tried to double over, but the grip around his throat didn’t let him move an inch. Then another punch landed on him, this time to his chest, hard enough that he felt a few of his ribs crack on impact.

Zuko coughed and gasped for air. He could taste the copper of blood pooling in his mouth.

The punches kept coming and coming, striking his chest and stomach—never his face, never somewhere the bruises would be visible to the outside world.

But although they were vigorous, all he felt was the impact of the blows. The pain would come later—he knew from the previous times his father had beaten him—when his brain was clearer, of alcohol and adrenaline alike.

Perhaps it was this that got to him—this knowledge that he’d be in so much pain tomorrow that it would drown out his sorrows. That made him lift his eyes to the guard before him and bare his teeth in an insolent grin.

“Is that all you got?” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “My grandmother can do better than that.”

The man paused. Went deathly still.

Then waves of hot air wafted above his uniform.

“You little sh*t,” he spat and punched the Prince right across the face, sending him flying to the floor.

Zuko slumped to the floor, the headlock around his throat finally slackening to allow him mobility. The impact against the marble ground throbbed through his body. The arm he fell on would bloom purple later.

His vision became blurry. Ears rang. His head began spinning and his stomach churned from all the blows it’d taken.

Blood gushed from his nose, and he knew that his lips had busted open, but at least he’d been hit on his scarred cheek—there wouldn’t be much swelling.

The guard began kicking Zuko in the stomach repeatedly, cursing him out with every strike. Zuko coughed up the blood in his mouth and throat, reflexively curling into a fetal position.

Then, for no reason at all, he burst out laughing.

He laughed like there was nothing funnier in the world. Like getting beaten to a pulp was the most fun he’d ever had in his life.

He winced at every kick, but didn’t stop roaring with laughter as the beating got more intense, or when it fizzled out when the other guard grabbed his colleague’s arm and said, “That’s enough. Let’s go.”

Zuko couldn’t look up at the men towering above him as he clutched his aching stomach with both arms, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably with laughter. He only heard the man that had beaten him grumble a “f*cking maniac” under his breath before he and the other guard left the chambers, shutting the doors behind them.

Zuko kept laughing long after they’d left, unable to stop—only pausing every few seconds to cough up more blood and breathe. Blood continued streaming from his nose, chin, and the sides of his mouth, coating his teeth and the seams of his already crimson shirt in red.

He couldn’t stop laughing as he felt tears prickling his eyes. And he couldn’t stop when the tears began running down his cheeks, his lungs hollowing out.

The shake of his shoulders soon turned to sobs. And he cried. For what, he didn’t know.

He cried, coiling up further as the tears poured out of him. And he laid there on the floor, sobbing—beaten and scarred in more ways than one.

-o-

Everything hurt.

Every breath he took burned. Every minuscule motion sent shockwaves of agony up his spine.

The knock on his doors pounded through his skull like thunder. The opening of said doors was an avalanche, the noise making him cringe in pain. Before he could moisten his dry mouth and attempt to speak, a group of servants swarmed him and lifted him by the arms from where he'd cried himself to sleep on the ground last night.

A royal guard, one belonging to the Fire Lord’s procession, followed them in—tracked Zuko’s every move as the servants corralled him into his bathing chambers and readied him for the day. Zuko winced at the tight grip around his bruised arm, but didn’t say a word as they silently stripped him off of his loincloth and bloodied shirt.

He didn’t miss their haste, sidelong glances at each other as they washed his battered face and body, the aged and new scars and bruises smeared across his torso plain and clear for all to see. Zuko told himself he didn’t mind their pitiful looks—after all, these were far from the first scars his father had given him. And there wasn’t much he could do about it, anyway.

Once rinsed and dressed up by the servants, he forced himself along to the dining hall—to have breakfast and start off the day just the way his father had ordered him to. He didn’t take his eyes off of the ground as he trekked the hallways, the royal guard ever on his heels. But when he arrived at the dining hall, his sister was nowhere to be found.

She was late. Azula was never late to anything. Ever.

Zuko didn’t give much thought to it, however, as he took his seat at the head of the long table and waited for her. One of the servants standing by the walls brought him plates of gruel and salted vegetables, and filled his golden goblet with water. But he didn’t eat, didn’t even bother to pick up his chopsticks—he only sat there, gazing down at the steam wafting from his food.

After getting punched in the face last night, he doubted he could've opened his mouth wide enough to allow food in even if he had the appetite to.

He reached for the metal flask he always kept attached to his belt—only to find nothing but air occupying its space. It wouldn’t help to ask for sake from the servants either. They’d been ordered not to serve him a drop of alcohol, and none would dare defy a direct order from the Fire Lord.

Unconsciously, Zuko slipped one hand into his sleeve and scratched the inside of his forearm. It was a small, pointless gesture, raking his nails up and down his tender skin, but it helped quell his thirst for alcohol a tiny bit, and that was better than nothing.

Azula walked in more than ten minutes later, face grave. To a foreign eye, she would've seemed as perfect as ever, maybe a little tenser than usual, but Zuko saw through her act—saw the faint purple bags under her weary eyes, concealed with cosmetics, and the stiffness in her back and shoulders. He saw how she limped slightly as she walked to the other head of the table, how she struggled to sit down and sit upright on her chair.

She didn’t glance at him once as a servant set her food before her and she timidly picked up her chopsticks. And as she brought her food to her mouth, Zuko noticed a bruise on her neck, showing from just under the collar of her regalia that was identical to his—one that looked like purple fingers wrapped around her throat.

He could guess whose work it was, and why. Ozai had insinuated that she’d talked him out of killing Zuko. There had to be some sort of repercussion for her insubordination, and Zuko would rather not know what it was. He already had enough on his conscience.

They sat there for long minutes, Azula quietly chewing her food and Zuko just sitting there, scratching his arm, staring at nowhere in particular. Neither brought up what had happened last night. They didn't speak at all.

Maybe he should’ve thanked her for sticking her neck out for him, bearing the brunt of their father’s wrath, but she had to have an ulterior motive for it. She’d never do something that wouldn’t benefit her in the long run.

But before he could make up his mind, she’d finished her meal, so they both got up and left the hall in silence. Zuko went to his private lessons afterward, but they all flashed by in a blur, even though every minute that passed felt like an eternity at the time.

Between the craving of a good, stiff sake burning at the back of his throat threatening to overtake him, the overwhelming pain that lingered from his father’s punishment, and the constant nagging of his tutors on how he should be behaving, nothing that he'd been taught had sunk in.

He barely even remembered the walk back to his room. He just found himself sitting on his bed, the guard that'd been following him around all day having left him alone for the night. The words and faces of everyone he'd failed circled his thoughts, taunting and tormenting him, making everything seem hopeless and empty.

Bittersweet memories of his childhood played behind his shut eyelids. Memories of sitting by the turtleduck pond with his mother, hugging and laughing with her merrily—of him, his sister, and Lu Ten stealing food from the palace kitchens and feasting on them in the gardens until they were sick.

They seemed so long ago now. A lifetime ago. That had been a different life, a different Zuko.

This Zuko now was worthless—a worthless, vile, cowardly piece of sh*t whose existence only hurt the people he cared the most about.

He was a parasite, cursed to ravage anyone and everyone that strayed too close to him.

A sudden, sharp sting on his arm lanced through him, ripping him out of his brooding, like small knives tearing through the tender skin. He hissed, and when he looked down, drops of blood were trickling from narrow cuts stretching across the inside of his right forearm, and more blood coated the nails on his left hand.

How long he'd been scratching himself, or how hard he would've had to do it to draw blood, Zuko didn't know—and frankly, he didn't care.

Cursing under his breath, he got up and made his way to his bathroom to clean and bind up the newest addition to his wounds. And as he finished wrapping the bandage he'd found in the first-aid cupboard, he lifted his gaze from his arm to the gilded mirror hung above the sink.

For a fleeting moment, he saw a young boy smiling warmly at him in the reflection. He wore the same regalia Zuko used to wear when he’d been little, his jet-black hair tied above his head, his molten gold eyes shining brightly, full of life—no sign of a scar maiming his left eye.

Then Zuko blinked, and the child vanished.

Now, without any illusions to mask the bitter reality, he was left to stare at what had become of him. A perpetual scowl was etched onto his split lips, lines of scarring nicked across his nose, and bruises had bloomed below his scarred cheek. Only utter emptiness remained in his dreary eyes. It was a crestfallen boy standing in the shoes of the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. A mere shadow of the person he used to be.

Zuko braced his hands on the porcelain sink, hanging his head, closing his eyes.

How had his life come to this point? When had he failed in his promise to his mother? Forgotten who he was?

When had he become… this?

He supposed that, deep down, he already knew the answer—he just didn’t have the courage to admit it.

His mother had died for him. He’d been humiliated before the entire world during his Agni Kai, then gotten burned and banished from his home—bound to complete an impossible mission as his only way of return. His uncle and the Water Tribe girl were as good as dead because of him. And Azula… His heart ached at what Ozai had done to her, what he’d turned her into.

Their father had done this to her. Their own father.

But, really, Zuko wasn’t surprised. Ozai had never been one to hold back on his cruelty. Had never shown anyone but himself the slightest bit of affection.

This was the same man that had beaten his wife for as long as Zuko could remember. The same man that had then murdered her the first chance he got, and hadn’t had the civility to treat her death with respect. The same man that had held his burning fist in his own child’s eye while he'd screamed and writhed beneath him—held it there until he’d passed out from the agony.

What else could be expected from this man than beating his daughter as well, simply because she’d protected her brother?

And it was possible he hadn’t stopped at just beating her. A couple of times in his childhood, Zuko had walked in on Ozai standing behind a young maid or concubine bent over a desk or something else, the girl crying and clutching whatever was in her grasp. He hadn’t understood what that had meant at the time, but to think that Ozai would do the same to Azula…The possibility alone made Zuko’s blood boil. The possibility that not only had he let that happen, but it'd happenedbecause of him.

His fingers curled at where he still held on to the sink. Scorching anger stormed within him—anger at his father for all that he’d done, to everyone, and at himself for only now owning up to the truth, after having put everybody around him through so much suffering.

Ozai was a monster. He was a sad*stic monster that thrived on weaker people's misery. He lived off of it. Their fear and agony were his lifeblood. Always had been.

His father was a monster, and Zuko had been too blinded by his unconditional love and loyalty to him to take notice of it.

No.

Zuko had tasted real fatherhood with Iroh. Ozai was none of that. He was no father.

Zuko’s grasp on the sink tightened to the point that pain shot from all over his body, but he didn’t slacken his grip one bit.

This was the man he’d been trying to impress his whole life. This was the man he’d betrayed his uncle and the waterbender for.

Zuko lifted his head and looked in the mirror again.

He was a parasite.

And one had to root a parasite out, lest it carried on sucking the life of everything it came in contact with. Put a permanent end to it, so that it may never hurt anything ever again.

Zuko’s eyes sharpened. He saw the emptiness behind them fill with purpose and determination as he made his decision.

Without a second thought, he pushed himself off of the sink and marched toward his dressing chambers, never minding the stinging and throbbing that engulfed his limbs with every step. Waist-high, wooden wardrobes lined the walls of the chambers, luxurious accessories sitting atop them. Zuko went to the nearest wardrobe and began rifling through the drawers full of neatly folded crimson robes inside one by one, searching for the right clothes to honor tradition.

If he was going to die, he would do it according to custom.

A world without him, without the carnage and suffering he brought… It’d be a better place. A happier place.

There was no point in leaving a note—it would never leave this room, or be seen by anyone he cared about. And it wasn’t like anyone would care why he’d killed himself, anyway. Every damn soul on this planet hated him.

The public would be told that he'd died in a tragic accident. There’d be a mandatory, seven-day mourning period across the nation and a big, ceremonial funeral after that—but after the last of his ashes would dissipate in the wind, no one would think of him again. No one that would mourn him, grieve for him, care that he was gone.

His name would soon join those who have been lost to history. He’d be forgotten, as though he'd never walked the earth.

And that was just what he deserved.

Zuko pulled open one final drawer, and there they were—an all-white set of robes and pants with gold linings, preserved to be worn during a funeral. Moving swiftly despite his pain, he took off his regalia and put on his new clothes, then grabbed a spare shirt before heading out of the room to his bed chambers. He went straight to the desk in the corner and yanked the second drawer open.

Inside laid stacks of blank scrolls and writing brushes, and underneath them, hidden in a secret compartment, was a knife resting idly in its sheath. The knife Uncle had given him all those years ago as a gift.

A Crown Prince of the Fire Nation taking his own life with the blade of a surrendered Earth Kingdom general… How poetic.

Zuko snatched the knife and closed the drawer as he made toward the windows by the bed. He knelt down on the exact spot where he’d held his mother for the last time, where he’d spent months laying curled up after her death, weeping.

He gazed absently around his room, raking his eyes over the bed, the desk, the decorations bathed in the dim moonlight. These would be the last things he'd ever see.

Zuko then turned his attention to the wooden floorboards beneath him—right where his mother had knelt right before all hell had broken loose. He unsheathed the knife and tossed the sheath aside.

Never give up without a fight, the inscription read. This was a fight. Against himself, against his father. And he'd damn well prevail.

He’d been too weak and scared to stand up to Ozai when he'd ordered his mother dead, or when he had turned up in the Agni Kai arena instead of the general Zuko had spoken out against. But those days were no more. Zuko would take away the only leverage Ozai had left on him—his life.

He didn’t care what they’d do with his body afterward, didn’t care that they may not respect it like his mother’s. He only cared that he’d be robbing that monster of the satisfaction of killing Zuko himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of his mother one last time, as he put the shirt he was holding into his mouth and bit down into the fabric to stifle the cries of agony to come. Then he pressed the sharp end of the knife against his clothed stomach, gripping the hilt tightly.

He would be with her again soon. Her, and his cousin, Lu Ten. They would spend all of eternity together, away from the misery of the mortal world.

It’d all be worth it. The floors of this wretched palace would be drenched with royal blood again, and it'd be excruciating, gutting himself, but he'd be in control of his life for the first time in a long, long time—maybe for the first time ever. He would do something for himself for once. Be selfish. And he wouldn't live long enough to suffer the consequences.

In a way, he’d be getting revenge on himself on behalf of his uncle and the waterbender as well.

And it was this thought that got Zuko’s eyes to fly open.

The waterbender.

There was no way on earth she could get out of the harem on her own—even if she fought at full strength during a full moon. She was probably counting on the aid of her allies to free herself when they’d invade the capitol in less than two weeks—counting on aid that would never reach the palace, if the traps the high council set in place had something to say about it.

She could maybe get past the palace walls if she used the solar eclipse to her advantage, but she didn’t know about the labyrinth of tunnels that weaved through the mouth of the caldera the city was built on. She'd try to climb over the mouth and waste too much time.

Perhaps Uncle could break out of his prison, simply due to his sheer experience in combat and knowledge of the terrain—though it’d be challenging even for him, especially in his old age. But the waterbender… She’d be a mouse caught in a trap. The city guards would hunt her down effortlessly—swarm her like vultures around a carcass before she could make it halfway up the mountain.

Zuko lowered the knife and read the inscription again, his grip on the hilt loosening slightly.

Never give up without a fight.

No. He wouldn't give up. He'd fight for those he'd wronged—for Uncle and the waterbender. Break them out of their prisons and get them to safety, even if they loathed him or tried to kill him. He’d be strong for them.

This was his fight now. A new fight.

Only after getting them far away from these lands would he return to his old fight. Only after he was absolutely certain they were safe and sound would he finish it.

Only then would he pick up this knife again and relieve the mortal world of his existence.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

The spirits were testing Katara's patience, and she was on the brink of snapping. Or losing her sanity. Whichever came first.

“I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda worried when he spent a whole day with them,” one of Shila’s closest friends said, putting on the Favorite’s eyeshadow, “but whatever you did to him must have really paid off if he’s running back to you like this.”

Shila smirked, shifting smugly in her seat at the vanity in her chambers.

“I told you he didn’t care for those harlots,” she bragged. “They were just a one-time fling. I knew he’d come back to me. He loves me.”

The other friend, massaging Shila’s hand, arched a knowing brow. “I mean, how bad were they that he drank all day and night while they were right there?”

Katara blocked out their giggling and focused on brushing Shila’s silky, chestnut hair instead, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from whacking them all in the head with the brush if she had to listen to them gossip about that traitor prince for one more second.

Things only got worse once Shila was all ready, and she was off to the Prince’s chambers, Katara and the eunuch escort in tow. A royal guard outside the chambers knocked on the doors, informing the royal inside that his Favorite had arrived, and Katara could do nothing but linger outside by the wall beside the eunuch, praying for the night to be over as quickly as possible.

The doors creaked open and Shila stepped inside, greeting ‘her dragon’ with a sound kiss on the lips. In the following seconds, Katara waited for the doors to close and the torment to begin. But they opened wider instead.

“You,” came the Prince’s voice, so cold and commanding it could make mountains move. “Go get us some dessert.”

Katara’s hands clenched into fists where they were clasped before her. She couldn’t help but to glance up at him from under her lashes, head still bowed.

Ice-cold, golden eyes were locked on her. There were cuts on his lips, nose, and brow, and bandages wrapped around his forearm showed from the sleeveless crimson shirt he wore.

Exhaling a soundless sigh, Katara reigned in the desire to gouge his eyes out with her bare hands. No matter how much she would like that, she had to bide her time, play the submissive handmaiden everyone knew her to be until she broke free of her chains.

So she curtsied, albeit too sharply to be acceptable, then swiveled around and headed for the kitchens. She did her best to calm the rage that roiled within her while retrieving a tray of pies and two goblets of water, and returned to where her greatest enemy still awaited in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe with folded arms, and Shila stood back inside the room, also scowling and with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently.

Katara’s self-control deteriorated with each strenuous step she took toward the Prince. By the time she’d reached him, she was a coiled spring, ready to burst free at any moment and wreak havoc on everything around her.

She held out the tray to him, curtsying—biting her tongue to quell the insults that begged to be freed, wishing she could’ve drowned him in the goblets of water instead. He reached for the tray—and as he did, his hands wrapped hers where she held the handles.

Katara could swear her heart stopped for a beat.

Then her fury surged forth in all of its glory.

The world turned red as she snapped her eyes to his, baring her teeth in a snarl and—

She halted. Didn’t get to lash out at him for touching her, when, at that moment, a slip of paper inside his palm brushed against the back of her hand. It wiped her mind blank—her anger vanished wholly with it.

A note. It was a note. He was trying to hand her a note.

Katara looked at him— really looked at him for the first time since Ba Sing Se.

The ice she’d seen in his eyes earlier was nowhere to be found. There was something else in them now, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, like a light, soft and flickering—like hope and desperation.

Only when he pressed his split lips tightly and let some of that desperation show did she understand what it was. He was asking her—no, begging her to stay quiet. Silently telling her that he understood that she was confused, but that he needed her to go along with whatever was going on.

But he had to know the consequences of looking at, much less touching a member of his father’s harem, even if she wasn’t a concubine. That its punishment was public execution for both parties—especially if one of those parties was a crown prince, since it’d be perceived as an act of open-rebellion against the Fire Lord.

Why would he risk it? Why? Why? Why?

The sound of Shila pointedly clearing her throat ripped her gaze away from the Prince’s. The Favorite’s suspicious frown was locked on Katara, scrutinizing her and the Prince over his shoulder.

Katara didn’t glance at the favored concubine, give away the bizarre moment she’d just had with her archenemy. She forced a mask of indifference onto her face. Hurriedly, she curtsied and handed over the tray to cover up the slight jolting of the plates and goblets it held as she twisted her hand over to clutch the paper in her fist. The Prince played along with her—putting on a facade of disinterest and stepping back to close the doors on her, but not before sending a fleeting, grateful glance her way.

Katara took her place beside the eunuch, her mind still whirling with confusion. Not even half a minute later, the doors opened again and Shila stomped out of the room, huffing loudly through her nose. She stormed past Katara and the eunuch without deigning to look at them.

Curiosity gnawed at Katara as she followed Shila and the eunuch back to the harem. The paper inside her fist dug into her skin, daring her to read what was inside. She couldn’t reach the harem fast enough.

The eunuch left them at the entrance of the harem, and Shila demanded she be left alone once they got to her chambers. Katara was more than happy to oblige.

She nearly sprinted to a secluded section of the harem and stopped by a torch mounted on a wall. Glancing around the hallway to make sure not a soul dwelled about, Katara finally opened her fist and unveiled the tiny, folded piece of paper that sat in the middle of her palm.

She did quick work of unfolding it. Awaiting her inside was a message written with neat handwriting.

Meet me in the servants’ passage behind the royal spa at midnight. It’s really important for both of us. Destroy this after reading.

And it only raised more questions.

Why would he want to meet with her? What could he possibly have to say to her that was so important? What was going on?

Some logical part of her warned that this might’ve been a trap. Katara wouldn’t put it past him to invite her to meet, then report her to the maids—telling them she was having an affair, or was communicating with the outside world through a spy, or prove that she was willing to partake in actions behind everyone’s back.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d get her to believe in him just to pull the rug from under her at the last second. Or maybe he wanted to toy with her and take joy in watching her get executed.

Would he, though? That look she’d seen on him, in his eyes—that look that had begged her to accept the note and thanked her when she had… Was that something someone who wanted her downfall would do?

Of course, he could be acting—he was Azula’s brother, after all, and had succeeded in playing her before. He could’ve faked this whole interaction and riled up Shila by dismissing her almost instantly only to make his case seem more believable.

But would he, really? Would he actually go so far as putting his life on the line just to have a jibe at her misery? Why not just invite her to meet through a maid that he could easily silence with a sack of gold? It would serve the same purpose as this note. And it’d mean way less danger for him, too.

Katara felt as if her head was about to explode. And though she hated to admit it, there was only one way to get answers to the countless questions swirling in her mind—meeting him.

‘Katara,’ hissed her inner voice. ‘Did you forget this is the same guy that condemned you to this hellhole?! To a life of slavery?! How can you trust him again?!’

Katara wasn’t trusting him. She’d learned her lesson about Fire Nation and trust. No, she wouldn’t talk to him—she’d stay far away, only go there to see if he’d indeed show. It wouldn’t provide all the answers she needed, but at least it’d quell the burning curiosity churning in her stomach.

‘Stupid, naive girl. Leave it to you to fall for his lies again.’

Disregarding the scolding voice in her head, Katara looked both ways in the hallway and hastily tossed the note into the torch she was standing next to. She watched as the paper burned into ashes, then turned and started toward the kitchens. She couldn’t go into battle unarmed, so she snuck in and out without the chef sleeping in the corner noticing and ‘borrowed’ a knife sharp enough to cut paper. Just in case.

With the knife hidden behind the column of her forearm, she began stalking toward the rendezvous point, watching her back.

Once there, at the intersection of two short, narrow halls, Katara leaned against the wall that overlooked the passage the Prince had written about and started waiting. With no way of telling the time, she had to trust her instincts on how far off midnight might be.

She had to hand it to him—he’d chosen a good spot for a secret meeting. No one would wander anywhere near here at this hour of the night. But she didn’t drop her guard for one second, not even when she got too weary to keep standing and sat down with her back to the wall—weary but alert, no matter how much she wanted to rest. Always.

Minutes trickled into hours as she sat there, waiting, busying herself with the knife by trying to balance its hilt in her palm and inspecting the sharp edges. But with exhaustion setting deep into her bones and no sign from the Prince, she eventually decided she’d waited long enough. She no longer cared that it may not be midnight yet—she was just bored and so, so tired. It’d been a long day.

Katara sighed as she got up, muscles aching and joints popping loudly. She brushed dust off of her robe and turned to leave, huffing and cursing herself for wasting the only night off she’d gotten in weeks for something so pointless.

And that was when she heard it—the low groan of earth grating against earth. She felt its rumble in her bones.

Katara froze. Didn’t dare to breathe.

Then a pair of footsteps emerged from what sounded like inside the wall. They drew nearer—quiet but firm.

They could’ve belonged to anyone, Katara told herself. It didn’t necessarily mean it was him.

Slowly, without making a single sound, she turned to poke her head around the corner just enough to see who it was, hiding the rest of her body behind the wall.

It was him—alone and wearing a black outfit that reached up to his neck. He was walking out of a door-like gap in the wall, and there were no signs of weapons on him whatsoever—only what seemed to be the ends of a ribbon dangling from a gloved fist.

He trod toward her, eyes fixed on the ground. The all-powerful front he’d put up in front of everyone had come down. This was the vulnerable side of him he’d only let her see earlier—a doleful boy with slouched shoulders, a battered face, and a scowl. It made him look younger than he was. Much, much younger.

Once at the middle of the passage, he stopped—didn’t tread a single step into Katara’s side of the hall. He lingered there for a while, still staring at the floor, patiently waiting for her.

He turned and leaned back against the wall when she didn’t come out—just continued watching him from afar, silent as a spirit. Minutes passed by in a flash as he kept on waiting and Katara kept on spying.

Then began the fidgeting and the pacing—again, never overstepping the invisible halfway mark of the passage. With his hand that didn’t hold the ribbon, he restlessly scratched the inside of his clothed forearm—the same arm Katara had seen the bandages on. He grimaced in pain as his fingers dragged along the fabric, but didn’t stop.

When that didn’t suffice, he buried his hand in his unbound hair—raked his fingers through it and paced the length of the hall and exhaled deeply and wiped his face and scratched his arm—

He stopped altogether, sighing, his back turned to Katara.

Then he looked over his shoulder. “I'd brought you a gift.”

Katara almost let a gasp slip and whirled back around the wall. Her heart began pounding in her chest. How long had he known she’d been watching him?!

“I know you hate me,” he continued meekly. “I don’t blame you. You have every right to be mad me. And I know I’m asking a lot from you to meet me. But I need to speak with you.”

Katara heard shuffling of fabric and then a light object being placed down on the ground with a soft clink.

“I’ll be waiting here again tomorrow night,” he said quietly, and began walking away.

Katara poked her head around the corner again. He was lumbering back toward the gap in the wall, and behind him, laying in the middle of the hall, was—

The floor tilted beneath Katara’s feet, her heart stuttering with joy and sorrow and relief and countless other emotions when she saw it—the familiar carved piece of whalebone attached to a deep blue ribbon she’d long believed to be lost, glinting with the blue of the glaciers of her home under the light of the torches.

-o-

“How did you get that?” Her flustered cry echoed in the hallway.

There was something awfully familiar about the question. The only things missing were the tree Zuko had tied her to all those months ago and some pirates.

Agni, he had so much to apologize for, didn’t he?

Zuko stopped a few steps away from the wall-door he always used, having expected a similar reaction from her more or less. He’d hoped he could’ve given the necklace to her himself, but after sensing her prying gaze on him since the moment he’d set foot in the passage, he’d decided perhaps she might not be very keen on that.

Loosing a shaky breath, he gathered the courage to turn around, slowly so as to not scare her away.

She stood grounded with her feet apart across the hall, out of the range of his firebending. One of her hands was curled around an object, the rest of it hidden behind her forearm. She looked as weary and scrawny as he’d ever seen her, if not worse. Rings of bruising peeked from above and below that hideous collar around her throat.

Zuko gulped to find his voice.

“They were gonna get rid of your things in Ba Sing Se,” he replied as softly as he could manage. “I took the necklace to protect it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why.”

“Because it belonged to your mother. I saw how you cared, and I knew you’d be devastated if something happened to it.” He neglected to mention that he knew just how devastated she’d be, and how he’d give anything to own something that belonged to his mother.

She snorted derisively. “You have no problem chucking me in here, but my mom’s necklace is where you draw the line?”

Zuko almost winced at the harsh truth.

“I tried to stop it,” he said quietly. “I tried to change Azula’s mind and get you back to your family, but she wouldn’t listen.”

The icy rage that seeped from her eyes burned deep into him. There was the girl he’d gotten a glimpse of outside his chambers almost a week ago.

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself all this time?” She took a threatening step toward him, tilting her head in disbelief. “That it’s only your sister’s fault I’ve known nothing but pain and suffering for the past three months? That you’ve done nothing wrong?”

Zuko tried to find the right thing to say, the right way to apologize. But he knew no amount of apology could atone for all the agony he’d brought upon her. So he opted to change the subject instead, to spare himself from her wrath.

“We shouldn’t stay out here for long. Anyone walking by can see us.” He turned toward the secret door in a silent invitation. “I know a place where no one will find us. I promise I’ll explain everything once we’re there.”

“Is that why you brought my necklace?" Every word was laced with loathing and bitter resentment. "To bribe me to go with you?”

“I only brought your necklace because it’s yours and you should have it.” Zuko trusted her to keep it hidden, and he was glad he sounded more confident than he felt. “You’re free to do as you wish,” he continued. “I won’t force you to stay, and I won’t stop you if you want to leave. But I’ll tell you that you’ll wanna hear what I have to say.”

Her glower softened ever so slightly, though her tense posture didn’t relax one bit. “Alright, then. I’m here now. Tell me.”

“I… think it’s best if we’re somewhere more private.” Zuko didn’t know how she’d react to him pledging his allegiance to her. She might explode on him and lead any nearby palace guards on patrol right to them. Better to be safe than sorry.

“Where no one can hear you kill me?” she bit out. “No thanks.”

Her believing he would want to kill her hurt Zuko more than he liked to admit. But of course she’d assume the worst of him—he’d given her plenty of reasons to.

“I know you won’t believe me,” he said, “but I don’t want to hurt you. I just wanna talk. Really.”

The waterbender regarded him warily. She turned her eyes to the ground, thinking. They flitted left and right as she contemplated her options.

Then lifted her chin. “Step back.”

Zuko paused at her sudden change in attitude.

“Do you want my trust or not?" she asked before he could form words. The bite in her tone had gained a sharper edge, and she seemed stiffer than before, if such a thing was possible.

Zuko complied after a moment’s reflection, backing away to the door in the wall to give her space. If this was what it'd take for her to come with him, so be it. She already hated him—there was no reason to incite more hostility.

She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she hesitantly stalked closer, snatched her necklace from where it still lay on the floor between them, and immediately backed away again.

She then tipped her chin toward the door. “Walk.”

Without objection, Zuko lit a ball of fire above his palm, careful that he didn’t startle her with any sudden movements, and walked into the dark passage, toward the secret room that he'd found solace in during his youth.

Damp, stone walls and air thick with humidity swallowed them in as the waterbender entered behind him and pushed the door closed behind them with a grunt of effort. The mossy passages guided them deeper into the heart of the palace, lit only with Zuko’s flickering flames.

He watched the uneven ground ahead of him as he walked, occasionally glancing up to follow the clues he’d left on the cornerstones of the tunnels. He kept one eye on the girl trailing timidly behind him—at least ten paces away from him at all times. He could feel the daggers of her glare between his shoulder blades. The tense silence drew his nerves taut.

“We’re here,” he rasped once they reached the final clue, facing the wall that bore the mark of the secret lever.

Zuko pressed the stone into the wall, glancing at the waterbender from the corner of his eyes, who had stopped a distance down the hall.

“You go in first,” she ordered as the door rumbled open, eyes forever glued to him—watching him, waiting for him to slip up. She held her necklace tightly in her grip, brushing her thumb over the carvings.

Zuko wordlessly strode into the tiny, dark room. Moisture trickled down the uneven stones on the walls, and the same stench of humidity in the passages hung in the air here as well. The drawings, blank scrolls, as well as the writing brush, inkwell, and the melted candle were all where he’d left them last, clustered together by the door.

He walked the short distance that it took to get to the opposite wall. Then, inhaling deeply, he turned around. The waterbender stood in the open doorway, in a positively defensive position, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

Zuko had rehearsed how to start this conversation countless times before in his chambers—but now, here, with her glare burning into his skull, he drew a blank.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced before," he blurted out without thought. “I’m Zuko.”

Her expression darkened. “I know.”

Zuko nearly recoiled at her steely gaze. It made him want to crawl back to his chambers for asylum, but he stood his ground.

“And what’s your name?” he asked gently. He was genuinely curious, too—he was sick of calling her ‘the waterbender’ over and over.

Her eyes narrowed, almost sharp enough to spear right through him. “What, you want me to call myself ‘uncivilized’?”

“No, no, I wasn’t—”

“Get to the point already,” she cut in sharply. “Why did you ask me here?”

Exhaling a heavy, shaky breath, Zuko forced himself to meet her gaze.

“I asked you here because I know you’re planning to escape the Fire Nation.” The waterbender didn’t react—didn’t even bat an eye. Zuko chose his next words carefully, mouth suddenly dry. “And I want in.”

To say that she was baffled would be an understatement.

It took her a few moments to process the information. She blinked rapidly, clearly trying to make sense of what she’d just heard.

“What?” she blurted at last.

Zuko gulped before repeating himself, “I want to escape with you.”

She looked him up and down.

“Is this some kind of a joke?”

“No, it’s… I’m serious. I have valuable information that can be of help to you.”

She blinked a couple of more times.

“Why?” she then asked. “You’re a prince. You have all the money in the world. Why would you wanna leave that behind? Your life is perfect.”

That last line struck a deep, lonely chord in him.

“My life is not perfect.”

She scoffed, bitterness slowly returning to her features.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed. “Having hundreds of servants doing everything for you and a different girl in your bed every night must be so hard for you.”

Zuko couldn’t keep the edge out of his tone as he hissed, “You know nothing about me.”

“I don't?” Her lips curled in ire, jaw clenching. She stepped closer. “I know that you’re a lying, manipulating, back-stabbing little pig that takes pleasure in watching people suffer.” She took another step. “I know that your uncle loved you, and you sold him out.” Another step. “I know that I trusted you, and you sold me out.” She stopped a few paces from him. “Is that not enough?”

Zuko shut his eyes, grimacing at her brutal candor. She was right to hate him, and she couldn't hate him more than he hated himself. Still, though, he felt as if he'd crumble under the weight of his guilt—as if the lump in his throat was her hands wrapped around his neck, suffocating him. Killing him from the inside and out.

He couldn’t meet her eyes as he muttered, “I’m sorry.” He truly didn’t know what else to say, what else to do.

“You’re sorry?” she spat cynically, accusingly.

Her breathing was becoming rapid, more and more out of control. Zuko could see the inferno of anger raging behind her eyes.

It was fury—pure, unadulterated fury that roiled within her. She was a storm in the making.

“Do you have any idea what I have to go through every single day because of you?!” she seethed through gritted teeth, stepping ever so closer. “What I’ve been going through for months?!”

Zuko gulped again. He didn’t have any words.

“YOU BETRAYED ME!” she finally snapped. Her cry thundered off of the walls, echoing inside the room endlessly. “YOU DON’T GET TO BE SORRY!”

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Zuko pleaded, desperate to hear that there was some way to do so. If she told him to burn the palace to the ground, he’d do it. He’d do anything.

“Hmm, maybe you could reconquer Ba Sing Se in the name of the Earth King! Or, I know! You could bring my mother back! Give me back my childhood! MY LIFE!”

The raw, ugly truth struck Zuko like a punch in the gut. And he didn’t get to release the breath stuck in his throat when she lunged at him like an arrow from a bow, a roar ripping from her chest.

He saw it coming. He saw it, and he didn’t move—didn’t stop her as his back collided with the wall and his skull nearly cracked open at the impact.

Pain shot from all over his still-bruised body, thrumming throughout, and it nearly put out the flames above his palm—but all of his thoughts refocused on the waterbender when she pressed a meat knife against the underside of his jaw, her other hand clutching his tunic.

“Give me one reason not to kill you,” she snarled through her teeth, standing so close that they shared one breath. The flames in his hand reflected in her fuming eyes, cast her face in shadows from below.

Zuko didn’t let her hatred go to his head. He still had a mission to carry through.

He calmed himself, taking deep breaths, remembering Uncle’s lectures on keeping his inner fire in check.

“Because I’m your only way out of here.”

The waterbender scoffed, driving the knife further into his throat. “That’s it? Is that really all you could come up with?”

Zuko gritted his teeth at the knife biting into his skin and the drops of blood he felt starting to trickle down his neck. He could've easily disarmed her, but instead, he looked her straight in the eyes as he uttered his next words.

“We know about the invasion on the day of the eclipse.”

It was as if life itself came to a standstill.

She stopped breathing. Turned deathly pale. Didn't blink.

“We’ve known about it for months,” Zuko continued, ignoring the warmth of his blood sticking to his skin. “The Earth King told Azula everything when he thought she was your ally.”

Seconds passed as she stood there, unbreathing and unmoving, just staring at Zuko. He could see her world collapsing in her eyes.

The pressure on his neck disappeared as she staggered back, a hand on her throat. Her breathing became quavering, strangled. The knife in her hand clattered to the ground.

She backed away until her back hit the opposite wall by the still-open door. Her wide eyes were fixed on the floor. Zuko wasn’t sure if she was aware she’d been moving.

“The traps are already in place,” he added grimly. “Anyone that sets foot here on that day will be—”

“Slaughtered,” she finished his sentence, meeting his gaze. Unshed tears lined her eyes.

‘Killed’ was the word he was going to go with, but yes, ‘slaughtered’ was more accurate. Massacred. Butchered like livestock.

“My whole family…” The waterbender slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. Her voice and Zuko’s heart broke when she whimpered, “Slaughtered.”

He considered telling her that the survivors would be sent to labor camps, but that wasn’t any better than death, was it? So he stayed silent, pressing his lips into a thin line in understanding and condolence—let her grieve for those she loved, those she would never get to see again.

She buried her face in her hands and wept quietly, shoulders shaking. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Dripped onto her robe. She looked so fragile—like she would shatter into a million pieces if Zuko dared touch her.

He’d known this part of his plan would be the hardest—he'd always been the one to react to tears, always needing to comfort the weeping person. But he’d had to do this. This was the only way she’d accept his help. He couldn’t yield to his feelings, not now.

The waterbender wept, adrift in her sorrow, and Zuko shuffled his feet awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself. Then she lowered her hands and bloodshot blue eyes stared at him from between her fingers, as if she’d only now remembered he was there.

“What do you want from me?” she croaked, letting her hands fall to her lap. Her voice was raw and thick with emotion.

Zuko gently sank to his knees, putting his weight on his heels. “I want to help you get out of the Fire Nation. That's all.”

The waterbender let out a bitter, mirthless laugh. She leaned her head backward on the wall as her laughter died down and stared down her nose at him, smiling sadly while tears trickled down her hollow cheeks. “Why would you want to help me? I’m your enemy.”

Zuko looked her dead in the eye. “That’s not how I see it.”

“Yeah?” She gave another short-lived laugh, sniffling. “And what do you see me as?”

“An innocent girl who was unjustly sentenced to a life of misery because of others’ mistakes, and is trying to fight an unwinnable war by herself.”

Her shoulders continued shaking with stifled sobs as she examined him.

“Then why do you want to escape?” she asked after a prolonged moment of silence.

“I told you. My life is not perfect.” Not a lie. But not the whole truth, either.

Despite everything, she still didn’t seem to believe in his sincerity, so Zuko began speaking before she could, blurting out what came to his mind.

“I made a horrible, horrible decision in Ba Sing Se, and you suffered for it. There's not a day that goes by that I don't regret it.” He bowed his head, one palm on his knee, the other keeping the fire lit. “I won’t beg for your forgiveness, because I know it’s not something you can, or will, ever give to me." He slowly raised his head. “So I offer my help to you. I won’t fight back if you want to kill me. I won't. I'll take whatever you'll throw my way. But please let me help you first. That’s all I ask. You won't see or hear of me again once we’re out of the Fire Nation. I promise.”

Not for the first time tonight, she was taken aback by his candor. She looked less defensive, less miserable. It was a step in the right direction.

Her gaze flitted to the scrolls and drawings on the floor across the open doorway. Then it wandered down to the necklace in her fist, thinking, devising.

Zuko could see the gears turning behind her eyes as they lingered there, her sobs and tears petering out little by little.

Suddenly, she snapped her head toward him, wiped away her tears, and shot to feet, Zuko quickly following suit.

“Fine,” she said firmly, chin lifted high as if she hadn’t just been bawling her eyes out. “I will escape with you.”

Zuko’s face lit up.

“If,” she then added, and his smile fell, “you let me send word to my family about the invasion.”

What little was left of Zuko’s smile twisted into a frown. “All of my letters go through the royal courier and are tracked. I can’t just write to the enemy.”

“That’s not my problem.”

Zuko sighed, running a gloved hand through his shaggy hair. He’d gotten her to come around, but at the cost of his confidentiality.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” he conceded. “But you have to understand—the letter might not reach them in time. The invasion’s in eight days, and a messenger hawk can only fly so fast. And it might get intercepted on the way, too.”

“I don’t care. You’ll send it.”

Zuko nodded earnestly. “I will.”

The waterbender eyed him for a beat before making her way across the doorway and crouched down to pick up the inkwell amidst the clutter of scrolls.

She held it out toward Zuko. “Melt the ink. It's dried.”

He came over and did as was commanded, briefly taking off one of his gloves to bend a tiny stream of fire at the splash of dry, black liquid, mindful of its wooden surroundings.

“Go stand at that corner,” she ordered once he was done. He did.

From where he stood at the furthest point of the room from her, he saw her grab a blank scroll from the cluster of his drawings and scribble a short but to-the-point message onto it.

THEY KNOW ABOUT OPERATION OVERLORD. CANCEL ALL PLANS. DO NOT ATTACK.

She made to get up, but stopped and set the scroll back on the rugged ground again to jot down one more message at the bottom.

Please don’t worry about me. I’m doing well. Words can't describe how much I love and miss you all. I will see you again soon. Take care.

As the last of the characters dried, the waterbender stood up and rolled the paper. She then stared at her necklace for a long moment. She closed her eyes, pressing the pendant longingly to her lips, before tying its ribbon around the scroll.

“Send this to General Fong's base in the Earth Kingdom,” she told Zuko, walking over and handing him the letter. “My friends and my dad’s fleet should be there by now. They’ll know who it’s from.”

Zuko took the letter—and the necklace with it.

“It might get lost in transit,” he said solemnly. He wasn’t talking about the letter, and she knew it.

She gazed yearningly at the pendant, as if missing it already. “It’s worth the risk.”

Zuko’s heart clenched for her as he tucked the letter into the sash around his waist. She'd just reunited with the only remnant of her mother after so many months, and now fate was tearing it away from her again.

“So,” she said, finally tearing her eyes away from the necklace, “let’s hear your master plan.”

Zuko stared up at her. "What master plan?"

The waterbender raised an irritated brow, crossing her arms. "Your plan on how to get us out of here?"

"Oh. Uh…" He cleared his throat, unconsciously standing up straighter to make up for his lack of confidence. "I… don’t really have a plan… yet.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “You did all this, but didn't think to come up with a plan?”

“I wasn't sure you'd show up!”

Zuko could see her mentally facepalming herself.

He cleared his throat again before she could scold him further. “We’ll meet here on the night before the eclipse—or we could meet at the same place we did tonight and come here together. I’ll have a plan ready by then.” He looked beyond her, at the dingy passage through the open door, then turned her attention back to her. “I won't be able to firebend during the eclipse, but neither will the palace guards. That's when we take them on. One of these tunnels opens out to the gardens. We could use that one so you'll have plenty of water to bend from the pond there.”

Now, it seemed, it was her turn to be awkward. She shifted uneasily on her feet.

“Something wrong?” Zuko asked, raising his sole brow.

“There’s… a bit of a problem,” she muttered, clearly getting more uncomfortable by the second.

Zuko stayed quiet as an invitation for her to go on.

She wrapped her arms around herself, took in a deep breath, and exhaled it sharply, averting her gaze. "I can't bend."

Zuko blinked. "Why not?"

"This collar." She motioned at the bulky metal around her throat. "It blocks my chi. I can't bend with it on."

Oh.

Well… That certainly was a problem. A big one.

Why couldn't things go right for once?

But maybe it could be reversed. Maybe. Hopefully.

He checked out the collar. “Do you remember how they put it on?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I think there's a lock on the inside of it or something. They inserted some sort of key into it and twisted it and I lost my bending. That’s all I remember.”

Zuko rubbed his jaw in pondering. “Well, we'll need your powers when we break out of the palace. I can't take on all the guards by myself.” He wiped his face wearily and raised his head. “I’ll find a way to remove your collar… and plan our escape.”

“And send my letter,” she added pointedly.

“And send your letter.”

A moment of strained silence passed between them before the waterbender stepped away, picking up her knife from the floor. “I should go. Shila probably trashed her room because you stood her up. I gotta clean it all up before she wakes up.”

Zuko couldn’t say he was particularly upset for Shila, but he nodded in understanding nonetheless. “I should go, too.”

The waterbender turned around without another word, knife in hand, and made her way out of the room.

“Thank you,” Zuko said behind her before he could stop himself. The girl stopped at the threshold and looked at him over her shoulder. “For trusting me,” he clarified. “I won’t let you down again.”

“I don’t trust you." Her voice was sharp as ever. She twisted from the waist to give him one final, icy glare. "I’m only doing this for my family. Nothing more. I could break out of here without you. Don’t forget that.”

Without another word, she turned back around and walked off, leaving Zuko all alone.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

That had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. She’d only pulled a knife on him once. And all that she asked of him in return for his aid was that he’d send a letter.

Easy enough.

Despite his father’s orders on staying in his rooms after dusk, Zuko only returned to his chambers in the dead of night—or morning, depending on how one looked at it. He slipped away from the palace via the passages built deep beneath the surrounding city, and snuck past the single guard stationed at the main gates of the messenger hawk station in the poorer districts of Caldera City.

He hauled himself up to the second floor by the shabby eave of the building and entered the station through an ajar window. Once in, he didn't waste time pulling the rolled-up letter from his sash and setting it down on a nearby table to scribble down a quick ‘To General Fong’s base’ on the outside of the paper.

He’d then went over to one of the many cages that dotted the walls and slid the letter into the tube attached to the back of a messenger hawk, before setting the bird free into the night sky through the window he’d entered from, hoping whoever got their hands on this message would be Earth Kingdom.

Now he slacked back to his bedroom, exhaustion settling into every fiber of his being. He'd think up ways to fulfill his promises to the waterbender once he wasn't feeling like he'd pass out at any moment.

Zuko closed the door of the passage that led to his chambers, dragged his feet to his desk in the corner, and buried his black clothes beneath the loose floorboard he used to keep the waterbender's necklace in, erasing all evidence of his escapade. He didn’t even finish changing into his nightclothes before throwing himself onto his bed.

Almost as soon as he’d closed his eyes, his servants and the royal guard that continuously tailed him barged into his room. Well, maybe not that soon, but it sure felt like it.

He didn’t whine or complain, however, as he dragged himself from the comforts of his bed into the bathroom to shower and then to the dressing room, where the servants readied him for the day. And he didn’t complain as he sat across from his sister at breakfast and endured her teasing on how awful he looked and how she should lend him some of her cosmeticians so that he could at least look somewhat presentable.

This was his routine now, and Zuko relished that. Routine was security. Routine was stability. Routine was predictability. And those were what he needed the most in his life—security, stability, and predictability.

Zuko focused on his meal as Azula continued her nagging in the background. Not that he had any appetite, yet he stuffed the dumplings into his mouth nonetheless. For Uncle and the waterbender, he told himself over and over. He had to be healthy and strong for them, regain the muscle mass and strength he'd lost over the months he'd been a refugee and in the past few weeks he’d refused to eat. He needed to be ready to fight when all hell would break loose during the eclipse in only a week.

He left the dining hall the moment Azula was done with her food, and headed for his first lesson of the day, stifling more than a few yawns on the way. The royal guard following him around the palace silently took a spot in some corner of the hall while Zuko sat through his lessons.

He knew the guard wasn’t there to just make sure he abided by the rules, but also to report his actions back to Ozai, tell him what an obedient little pet Zuko was being. But as long as he kept feeding Ozai lies and didn’t catch wind of what Zuko was up to in private, he didn’t mind the man constantly breathing down his neck.

And, if he was honest, he didn’t really mind the endless ramblings of his tutors, either. Not as much as he used to, anyway. He still didn’t like having to listen to them and take notes he’d have no use for in the future, but he did appreciate that it got his mind off of alcohol and prevented him from being able to scratch himself further.

Zuko had lived out the initial days of sweating and shaking and rapid heartbeat after being cut off from alcohol, although his hands still trembled from time to time. It’d been arduous, but he’d made it through—for Uncle and the waterbender. But that didn’t ease his craving one bit, nor did it fill the bottomless pit left by alcohol within him, bigger and emptier than before. It sat in the center of his chest, stretched out across his lungs too snugly for comfort—like a void, ever expanding and devouring.

And that was where his daily firebending training came in. While training, he could let go of his inhibitions, let his clear of its murkiness, let his inner flame surge.

The scorching summer sun gleamed briskly in the cloudless sky. Sweat trickled down Zuko's face, neck, and back as he punched and kicked wave after wave of flames at the two palace guards that stood in as his sparring partners. He’d explicitly ordered them not to pull their punches, and they had listened.

He deftly blocked multiple fireballs aimed at his chest. More fireballs whooshed past his head as he dodged to the side, then dropped down and made a low, wide arcing kick that spread a burst of flames aimed for the guards’ legs. The one closer to him tumbled backward to the ground, and the flames knocked the other off balance. Zuko immediately sprung back up and punched a fireball that was far more ferocious than it had any right to be at the unbalanced man. The guard joined his comrade on the floor, grunting in pain as he hit the marble.

“Excellent form, Prince Zuko!” the old instructor cheered from the sidelines, standing in the shade beneath the watchtower that overlooked the private training arena. He stepped out of the shade with a warm smile and a towel in his hand. Zuko lowered his fists that he’d kept aimed at the groaning men as the instructor came over.

“Very clever of you to aim for your opponent’s roots, sir,” the old man said proudly, handing over the towel. “Not many people think to do that.”

Zuko wiped away the sweat from his face and neck, panting to bring his inner fire back under control.

The instructor’s face wrinkled further in a broadening smile as he said, “You think like a true master, Your Highness. I am confident we, your humble subjects, will be blessed with yet another master in our royal family in no time!”

“Is that so?”

Zuko’s blood ran cold at the familiar voice.

He and the instructor both whipped toward the watchtower, toward where the almighty Fire Lord stood behind the maroon rails with his chin held high and shoulders squared, two royal guards standing at attention behind him. He looked down at the training arena with complete disinterest, his vacant eyes fixed on his son.

“Your Majesty.” The instructor bowed low from the waist. The men Zuko had bested immediately rose to their feet and mirrored him. Zuko struggled to keep his face blank as he forced himself to bow as well—bow to his mother’s murderer, to the man that hadn’t thought twice before mutilating his own son in front of hundreds, the monster that had put his hands on defenseless girls time and again.

“Tell me, Master Akozu,” Ozai drawled without taking his eyes off of Zuko, oblivious to the rage boiling up within him, “how has my son been behaving lately? I hope he hasn’t been slacking off again.”

“Oh, no, Your Majesty. Prince Zuko has been consistently coming to training on time and giving it his all. Agni has graced His Highness with the most incredible skills, wits, and dedication!”

Ozai’s lips curled into the tiniest of smirks—so small and fleeting, Zuko wasn’t sure if it was real or a trick of the light. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“His Highness could demonstrate the advanced sets, if Your Majesty would prefer,” the instructor suggested.

“No need. I’ve seen enough.” His expression gave nothing away as he eyed his son for a moment longer, before turning around and walking out of Zuko’s line of sight over the floor of the tower.

-o-

Zuko didn’t get a moment’s peace for the rest of the day. He strayed from his routine, adrift in the barrage of questions that throbbed behind his temples.

He’d been trying to come up with plausible reasons for why Ozai would’ve come to see him during training, or what he’d meant by ‘I’ve seen enough’ all afternoon. And there was also the question of what he was going to do with the Water Tribe girl. How was he going to get her collar off? How was she going to escape from the inescapable confines of the harem, especially once it’d go into lockdown right before the eclipse? What was he going to do with Uncle?

Zuko sighed as he put on his black garbs, back in his chambers and alone. The waning moon had long since come out to play, basking the room in its glow. He might not have known how to break the waterbender out of the harem, make a run from the palace together, and break his uncle out of his prison yet, but he supposed the questions pertaining to his father would be answered during the war meeting coming up in a few days. And as for the others… Their answers depended entirely on him.

Fortunately, though, by some miracle, he’d been granted an unparalleled opportunity concerning the waterbender’s collar. While he didn’t have a clue how to take it off, he did know someone that had a deeper understanding of chi-blocking than ‘Don’t get chi-blocked. It’s bad.’

Zuko snuck out of the palace once again, tucking his pillow under his sheets in case anyone came knocking in. His sister had mentioned in passing that Ty Lee had moved in with Mai, who had the whole house to herself since her parents and baby brother were still deployed in Omashu—or New Ozai, as Azula had renamed it. So that was where he would go, regardless of the risk of encountering his former girlfriend there.

He hadn’t seen neither Mai nor Ty Lee in weeks—and had actively prevented himself from thinking about Mai in particular. They most likely wouldn’t take him sneaking into their house in the middle of the night like a thief very lightly, not counting in the fact that he’d slept with other people only days after the breakup. But this had to be done. Even if they tried to kill him, he had to do it. For Uncle and the waterbender.

The passage he used opened into a dismal alley between two worn-down houses on the outskirts of the city. Quietly, Zuko climbed the side of one of the houses, and became a phantom among the living, cloaked in darkness. He became the wind.

He hopped from one roof to the other all the way to the inner, more prosperous circle of the city where the nobles lived, passing by numerous guards on patrol and groups of men that were either going to or coming back from a brothel, all of them drunk no matter.

Zuko forcibly ignored the men and the bottles some of them still carried—pushed down the burning desire to raid the royal sake cellar and lose himself to the careless bliss of drunkenness. He kept his gaze strictly ahead, shut out the lingering smell of alcohol on the men and their drunken laughs, and he didn’t stop until he’d reached the elegant manor behind another one that stood directly across the palace that shone like a beacon of power amidst the shadows, one he’d used to frequent not too long ago.

Zuko noted the lack of guards outside the house, though that wasn’t so surprising when Mai and Ty Lee could take down a whole platoon of soldiers without breaking a sweat. He also noted the absence of light coming from beyond the balcony doors of the guest room facing him.

Regardless, Zuko jumped and landed almost soundlessly on the balcony. He took out his uncle’s knife from the inside of his boot, and with a little help from his firebending, he sliced clean through the locks and entered the house. Putting the knife back in its place, he trod through the dark room, passing by furniture covered with white sheets, into the hallway. Maybe Ty Lee was staying in another guest room.

On his right, soft candlelight spilled into the hall from the master suite, accompanied by the humming of a sweet melody and the essence of a mix of cinnamon and honey. Ty Lee.

Another thing that caught Zuko’s attention as he stalked toward the bedroom, carefully avoiding the squeaky floorboards, was how eerily dark and quiet the house was, save for Ty Lee’s humming. This same house that had bubbled with vigor with its servants flitting around day and night was scarcely anything more than an abandoned manor nowadays.

Zuko gave his back to the wall beside the bedroom door and peered inside through the wide open doorway. Ty Lee was sitting on a stool behind the vanity across from the bed with ruffled sheets, adorned in a pink nightgown and braiding her hair. No sign of Mai, except the sounds of someone taking a shower coming from the right.

He had until Mai came out of the bathroom to gather whatever information he could.

Taking a deep breath, Zuko stepped into the doorway and cleared his throat to make his presence known. Ty Lee gasped and nearly fell out of her stool while whirling toward him. Then she was on her feet, in a fighting stance, within milliseconds, her hair half braided, half down.

“Zuko?!” she shrieked incredulously, straightening from her stance as he raised his hands in surrender.

He gave her a lopsided, apologetic smile. “Hey. Sorry for barging in like this. I… didn’t really have a choice.”

“How did you get in?! What're you wearing?! What happened to your face?! What’s…” She trailed off as she took him in, looking him over. “Zuko… Your aura…” Her face flooded with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Zuko quickly dismissed. He lowered his hands and shot a glance at the bathroom door. “Listen, I don’t have much time. I just came here to ask you some questions.”

“Oh... Okay. Um… What’s up?”

Zuko considered how to explain the situation without actually giving anything away. He couldn’t have her get hurt if someone tracked his actions back to her—couldn’t have the blood of another innocent soul on his hands.

“Have you ever heard of a chi-blocking collar?” he found himself asking.

Her brows knit in confusion, but she answered nonetheless. “I’ve read about it, yeah. Apparently, it was invented after some waterbender broke out of a prison and killed all the guards out of spite. Why do you ask?”

“Uh…” Zuko glanced around, trying to come up with something coherent. “Research purposes?”

Agni, he really did need to learn how to lie better.

“A—anyway,” he stammered slightly before she could respond, “do you know if there’s a way to take it off without a key?”

“Hmm…” She pouted her lips and put her fists on her hips in concentration, staring at the floor. “If I remember correctly, it has a lock on the inside and a little key that looks like,” she pointed a finger up and bent it from the first joint, “this. You put it in the lock, twist it a couple rounds, and the collar should come off nice and clean.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I don’t understand why you’re being so cryptic, though. You know you can tell me anything." Ty Lee closed the distance between them and put a hand on his arm. "Just because you and Mai broke up doesn’t mean we aren’t friends anymore, you know.” She playfully nudged him in the ribs—the unbruised ribs, thankfully. "It takes more than that to get rid of me."

Zuko ducked his head, avoiding her gaze. Maybe not everyone on the planet hated him as he’d thought—though now he sort of wished they had. It was bad enough that he was lying to the only person alive that cared for him, but to leave her behind knowing she might mourn him following his demise… That was another thing entirely.

The creaking of a door broke into his thoughts.

“Ty, who are you speaking to?”

Zuko and Ty Lee turned toward the bathroom, where Mai stood frozen in the doorway in a black bathrobe, eyes locked on the disguised Fire Prince.

“Oh.”

She wrapped her robe tighter around herself, turning slightly away, while Zuko mentally kicked himself for being so lost in his sulking that he hadn’t heard Mai finishing up with her shower.

They stood around timidly, looking anywhere but one another, until Ty Lee stepped in to relieve the tension.

“Hey…" She chuckled nervously. "Look at us… Old friends back together.”

Her cheerfulness didn’t last long, for they continued avoiding each other’s gazes and the silence grew tenser.

“…Or not.”

Zuko swallowed thickly. There was no backing out now.

“Hello, Mai,” he rasped, looking down at his gloves.

She turned further away, yet she didn’t fail to greet him with a sharp, “Hi.”

“You look well,” he said meekly.

All he got in response was a glare. There was no hostility behind it, however—just bitter resentment.

Zuko cleared his throat. He’d gotten what he’d come here for—there was no need for him to linger around and become Mai’s target practice for her daggers.

“I guess I should leave you two alone.” He turned to Ty Lee. “Thanks for the help. And… I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this. Especially Azula.”

The stress dwindled from her features and shoulders as she offered him a heartfelt smile. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”

Zuko glanced at his former girlfriend from under his lashes. “It was good to see you, Mai.”

She didn't respond, though Zuko could feel her gaze on him. He pondered whether he should push further, maybe make an attempt at an actual conversation, but decided against it in the end, settling for a curt nod in her direction instead, and left the way he'd come without another word.

-o-

Azula absolutely adored war meetings. True, they could get unbearably dull at times, but there was something about having a say in the course of the war that was so entrancing. And so what if she also got to sit above and look down on the most powerful men in all of Fire Nation? What was there not to love?

And this meeting today was no ordinary meeting, either. Today, she would be anointed as the new Fire Lord.

Her dad had told her of it the other night while they were together, of his ambition to establish himself a new title to rule the world after burning the Earth Kingdom to the ground during Sozin’s Comet. He hadn’t said who he’d be declaring as the new Fire Lord when she’d asked, but clearly it wasn’t going to be her dimwit of a brother, which only left her as an eligible candidate for the role.

Dad was only waiting to make the grand reveal in front of the high council—she was sure of it. She’d worked hard to get where she was, and now he was rewarding her with the greatest gift of all.

“All of the airships have been manned and loaded, the tents for the additional troops Your Majesty had requested have been set up outside the city perimeters, and the citizens are being evacuated as we speak. We are ready for battle, sir.”

Ozai motioned for the general to sit down, satisfied with the report. Azula sat to the left of her dad on the raised dais, while her brother sat on the right—bored out of his mind, if that scowl and his glazed stare were any indication.

“A glorious victory awaits us, gentlemen,” Ozai started with a booming voice. “In mere days, we will have obliterated the enemy and put an end to this war.” He raised from his throne, hands clasped behind him, and began walking down the stairs by the dais, languidly, taking his time. “But it is time we look to the future. Sozin’s Comet is almost upon us. And on that day, it will endow us with the strength and power of a hundred suns. With the enemy forces crushed and the Avatar dead, no one will stand a chance against us.”

Once at the bottom of the stairs, he began his way toward the world map the council members were sitting around. “When the comet last came, my grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin, used it to wipe out the Air Nomads. Now, I will use its power to end the Earth Kingdom permanently.” He stepped onto the map and trampled across the area that marked the Earth Kingdom. “From our airships, we will rain fire over their lands, a fire that will destroy everything. And out of the ashes, a new world will be born—a world in which all the lands are Fire Nation, and I am the supreme ruler of everything!”

The throne room burst into applause, and Azula didn’t hold back the smile that tugged at her lips. Bringing the entire world to its knees had been Dad’s biggest dream for as long as she could remember, and now he was only months away from achieving it. She couldn’t be more proud of him.

“History will never cease to speak of the man that ended the Avatar and conquered the world,” said one noble as the clapping died down.

Another noble gushed, “They will chant Your Majesty’s name for millennia—Lord Ozai the Great!”

Azula reigned in the bubble of jealousy in her gut at the man giving credit for the Avatar’s death to someone else. She wasn’t about to let some petty detail get in the way of one of the most important days of her life.

“Fire Lord Ozai is no more,” her father drawled as he came to a halt at the center of the map. He lit a ball of fire above his palm. “Just as the world will be reborn in fire,” he let the flames drop to the map, “I shall be reborn as the supreme ruler of the world.” Ozai stood amongst the knee-length flames that spread out to the edges of the table, too rapidly to be natural, licking the skirts of his crimson robe but never setting it on fire. “From this moment on, I will be known as,” he raised his arms, and the fire engulfed the world map and the wall of flames along the edge of the dais flared violently, “the Phoenix King.”

Like a field of wheat in a breeze, down the generals and nobles of the court went, kowtowing before their monarch. Azula carved the sight to her memory. It wouldn’t be long before they kowtowed to her, too—not as their princess but as their sovereign. She wouldn't be opposed to an even grander ceremony.

“If I may, sir,” a general said while straightening from his bow, “if Your Majesty is to be the Phoenix King, who will rule the Fire Nation?”

Ozai waved his hand, dismissing the man's words and extinguishing the flames in one swift move. “Don’t trouble yourself, General Shinu. I have already thought of a solution for that. I will declare a new Fire Lord.”

He pivoted halfway and turned his emotionless eyes to Azula. She reflexively sat up straighter on her cushion, her grin widening. Her heart started galloping in her chest and her head nearly spun with anticipation.

This was it.

This was her moment to shine.

Her dad returned her smile, though there was no warmth behind it. “I have decided to anoint…” His gaze slid across the empty throne. “My first-born and heir, Crown Prince Zuko, as my successor.”

Azula’s smile vanished.

“What.” The venom in her voice was enough to make anyone drop to their knees and beg for mercy—anyone but her father.

Ozai turned to face his generals, clasping his hands behind him once more. “Watch your tone, daughter.”

Azula’s breathing quickened along with her heart, leaving her dizzy. She whipped her head around to face her brother. He was staring back at her in shock, clearly as taken aback by the announcement as she was.

She turned back to her father, feeling disconnected from the scene, as if she was a spirit watching herself from afar.

This couldn’t be happening. Dad couldn’t have betrayed her again. He couldn’t have chosen her useless brother over her again.

“You... you can’t treat me like this!” She shot up from her seat. “You can’t treat me like Zuko!”

“Azula, silence yourself," Ozai warned over his shoulder, but she could barely hear him over the pulsing in her ears.

“But I'm better than him! He can't rule a country! He can't even rule himself!”

Ozai whirled toward her. “Azula!”

It was only then that her brain caught up to her. She'd raised her voice to her father, openly disrespected him in front of his council.

Last time someone had done that, they'd wound up burned, dishonored, and banished from their home.

Ozai's livid glare lingered on her, blazed through her as she lowered her head, her hands shaking at her sides—out of anger or fear, she didn't know.

With a piercing stare, he shut down the conspicuous murmurs of his council. "My coronation will be held once the invasion has been defeated," he told them coolly. "And as for my son," Azula followed his gaze to her brother, who sat inhumanly still on his cushion, gaping and wide-eyed, "his coronation will be after mine."

Malice gleamed in Ozai's molten gold eyes, and his face twisted into a lupine leer. “Long may he reign.”

Azula's heart sank. She was helpless to do anything but watch as the council kowtowed again and echoed her father's words.

“Long may he reign!”

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

The mumbling of the council and his sister's shouts were lost to the blood rushing in Zuko’s ears and his father's words ringing incessantly in his head. He was the heir to the throne. And this wasn't like before, where he was only named the heir because he was the firstborn. It was no longer only on paper, and Azula was no longer the one true heiress.

No. Zuko was the heir apparent. Through and through.

Now Ozai sneered at him while his council members leaned into a kowtow all around him.

“Long may he reign!” Their words thundered in the throne room.

Tradition demanded Zuko make a speech of his promises to the nation as the future Fire Lord, but all he could do was turn to face his sister. She was staring at their father, at the kowtowing generals and nobles, utterly defeated and so, so fragile.

Zuko’s heart clenched at the tears glistening in her eyes. He wanted to hold her in his arms like he’d used to, tell her everything would be all right, but all he could manage was a meek, “Azula.”

It was his voice that broke her out of her own daze. She slowly turned her head, eyes coming to his. She then looked at their father again, heartbreak written all over her face, before storming off to the passage at the side of the dais that was exclusively for the use of the reigning family.

“Azula!” Zuko bolted from his seat and ran after his sister. Their father didn’t stir, only indifferently watched them leave the throne room through the curtain-door of the passage. “‘Zula, wait!”

He flung flaps of the curtain open and sprinted into the empty, long hall. “Azula!”

His sister stopped dead only a few steps away and spun around. “What did you do.”

“I didn’t—”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” She charged up to him, inferno raging in her teary eyes. “How’d you do it? Did you suck his dick? Huh? Let him f*ck you? WHAT DID YOU DO THAT I COULDN’T!”

Zuko stared at her in disbelief, appalled that she’d even suggest he’d sleep with his father for personal gain.

“I. Didn’t. Do. Anything!” He flung his hands to the side. “I don’t even want to be the Fire Lord!”

“Sure you don’t,” Azula hissed.

Her eyes narrowed, fists smoldering at her sides.

"Dad doesn't love you," she spat through clenched teeth. "He doesn't even like you. Never has, never will. You only matter because Mom squirted you out first. But me… Everyone adores me. They fear me.” Azula stepped toward him, face scrunched up in fury. She lifted her chin and bared her teeth in asnarl. “Mark my words, brother. You'll regret crossing me. You’re gonna wish I let Dad kill you that night. I’m the ruler this nation deserves, and I will take what is mine.”

Searching his face for a few moments, she whirled around and marched down the hallway, each of her footsteps like lightning blazing through him. Zuko tipped his head back, eyes sliding closed, and muttered a curse under his breath.

Ozai had sentenced him to death.

-o-

Zuko scratched his arm absentmindedly, laying on his bed and staring up at the canopy above. He’d been mulling over his father's decision all day, trying to make sense of it all. Eating breakfast alone—his sister notably absent—and standing on a podium for hours with nothing to do while the royal tailor put together his Fire Lord regalia had given him plenty of time to ponder. And when he really thought about it, it didn't sound so outlandish.

First thing he'd realized was that this turn of events changed remarkably little for his plans, despite how everything might seem on the surface. The same couldn't be said for his sister, unfortunately, but for him, all he really needed was for her to wait until after the eclipse to strike, and not mess anything up in the meantime. He'd long be gone by then—from the Fire Nation and the mortal world alike.

And the second thing was that Zuko was, in his father’s eyes, a feeble-minded weakling—seemingly valiant on the outside, but one who could be puppeteered from half a world away no problem. It was who he had been for most of his life, and he’d pretty much proven that when he’d gotten his life back together in an instant, so to speak, after a single threat from Ozai. Meanwhile, his sister was cunning, formidable in every sense of the word, and, most importantly, ambitious.

Azula was loyal to their father, yes, but how far would that loyalty really go when she herself saw that Fire Lords could create themselves more powerful titles on a whim? What if, one day, envy got the better of her and she started looking for something more? What if she wanted not only the Fire throne but the one Ozai would be sitting on, too?

Was that not precisely why countless siblings have slain each other in the past? Why countless rulers have ordered their children executed? Because they had eyes on something that they believed was rightfully theirs?

Ozai’s options had been between a gullible wimp and an unyielding force. An unyielding, but greedy force. Choosing the former option had been the safer alternative.

Or, perhaps, he just wanted to get rid of his embarrassment of a son without having to get his hands dirty—either by putting him on the throne to showcase his incompetence to the entire world, knowing for certain that it wouldn't take long for some brave soul to drag his corpse down the steps of that very throne, or simply by giving him what his sister had been striving for her whole life on a silver platter.

Whatever his father’s intentions were, Zuko would never know for sure. What he did know was that he needed to be more careful from now on. Azula’s eyes were on him. There was no room for error.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

He huffed a breath. If this was another servant asking him to partake in meaningless preparation for a coronation that would never happen, Zuko would seriously start resorting to manslaughter from now on.

"What?" he yelled across his room.

“Lady Mai is outside, sir,” came a guard's voice. “She said Your Highness was expecting her?”

Zuko jolted upright on the bed. Mai was here? Why? Was it an emergency? No, that didn’t make sense. Why would she come to him if it was urgent? Why not go to Azula?

Maybe she was here to settle her long-overdue score with him for moving on from her so quickly.

Shaking his head, he dismissed the questions. Whatever it was, he could handle it. He would have to, if he was truly brave enough to escape the Fire Nation.

“Yes, I was expecting her,” he told the guard, sliding off the bed to stand up and squaring his shoulders in a false sense of confidence. “Send her in.”

The doors opened a moment later to reveal the lady in question, looking as noble and stoic as ever with her chin raised and eyes locked on him. She moved inside while the guards outside pulled the doors closed behind her.

It was arduous work not to cower under her stare. The tension of all that’d happened between them, how catastrophically their relationship had ended in addition to all of their fights before that, hung in the air between them—charged it up to the point it was almost physically intolerable.

Zuko was the one to break eye contact first. He racked his brains to find the right way to ask why she was here. Or should he apologize first? Yeah, that would probably be the wiser choice.

He licked his lips nervously and stared at his shoes. “Mai, look, I’m so sorry for everything I said in our last fight. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re a wonderful person. I was just really angry and I got ahead of myself and—”

“Relax,” Mai cut in flatly. “I’m not here to fight. I just wanna talk.”

Zuko stood straighter. At least she'd spared him from that conversation.

He hesitantly raised his gaze. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “You were a major ass for saying all those things to me, but yes, I do forgive you.”

A feeling of solace pooled in Zuko’s stomach and branched out to the rest of his organs, spreading warmth and life to his cold, dead heart.

“Thank you,” he muttered quietly, inclining his head in a bow.

“Don’t thank me—Ty Lee’s the one that convinced me holding a grudge won’t solve anything.” She crossed her arms. “Now that that’s over, are you gonna invite me in, or are we gonna stand here forever?”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Zuko held out a hand to his bed for her to sit.

“So,” Mai started as she crossed the room toward him, “I hear you’ve been making good use of your harem recently.”

Zuko’s whole body went rigid. He’d been right. She was here to tell him off.

Did she also want to get back with him? How would that even work, with him seeking his way out of the Fire Nation while she was fully devoted to it? Not to mention, he didn’t have feelings for her anymore. He never really did, if he was honest with himself. He’d always valued her company, but his feelings for her had never gone beyond basic friendship—even when they’d been dating, even when he’d told himself he reciprocated her feelings.

And, frankly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back to the days of fighting over any and everything with her, either. He already had enough on his plate as it was.

“Mai…” He rubbed the back of his head, mind whirling to find a way to reject her without hurting her. Agni, he’d just made up with her, and now he was going to break her heart agai—

“Zuko, stop,” Mai cut through his thoughts, walking up the stairs before his bed. “I wasn’t berating you. We broke up. You’re free to date, or do, whoever you want.”

A weight lifted from Zuko’s shoulders.

Mai sat down at the edge of the mattress. “It’s… actually what I came here to talk about.”

She lowered head, pale hands twisting together. Zuko frowned. It wasn't like her to avoid eye contact, or to act nervous at all.

“What’s going on, Mai?”

She stared at him, looking like a timid cat-deer beneath her disinterested exterior, so unlike the uncompromising girl she was. “Before I start, I need you to promise that whatever I say never leaves this room.”

Zuko sat next to her. “I promise.” And he meant it.

Mai stared straight ahead. She seemed paler than usual, and she swallowed hard, like she was gathering courage. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Okay…” Zuko trailed off in an invitation for her to go on. What was so important that it got Mai keyed up?

She released a shuddering breath and finally looked at him. “It’s Ty Lee.”

“Oh.”

Well. He hadn’t expected that.

“I was in a really bad place after our breakup,” Mai went on before he could gather his thoughts, “not because I regretted it, but because I felt… relieved, like I was free to do whatever I wished for the first time in my life. I knew it wasn’t the same for you—Azula told us how bad your drinking got—and that made everything that much worse. So, one night, while Ty Lee and I were alone at mine together, I wanted to get a little drunk. We drank, and drank, and…” She looked away, a shy smile blossoming on her lips—one Zuko had never seen on her. “Well, one thing led to another, and I woke up next to her the following morning. We’ve been living together since.”

“That’s why there weren’t any guards and servants at your house,” Zuko mused, “you dismissed them so they wouldn’t see you two together.”

She huffed a brisk laugh. “Yeah. My parents would have a heart attack if they heard I’m with a girl and we use their bed. Ty’s would, too. And let’s not forget that two highborn girls dating each other would be the scandal of the decade and illegal, thanks to your dear great-grandfather. I think you can see why we wanted to keep it a secret.”

Ty Lee and Mai had always been close—closer than either of them were with Azula—but Zuko had never thought they would actually like each other romantically. The possibility that they might fancy girls hadn’t crossed his mind once.

It certainly explained a lot of things, though—like why there’d been no real compassion behind their kisses, their touches. Why he’d never gotten her to climax. Why the only measly reactions he did get from her were when his head was between her thighs or he was taking her from behind, when she didn’t have to see his face.

For so long, he’d blamed himself for everything, for her being dry and him having difficulty getting hard—that it was his scar that turned her off and that he was incompetent and a disappointment. But now he understood that there was nobody to blame. It was just not him that she wanted to be with.

“So why are you telling me?” he asked.

“Ty and I had a long talk about you after your ‘visit’ the other night. You’re the only person we know that wouldn’t shame or hate us for being who we are. We thought you deserved to know.”

Zuko found himself returning her smile. Then a terrifying thought occurred to him.

“Wait. Did… Did I make you gay?!” Had he been that bad of a boyfriend?!

Mai let out the most profound laugh he’d heard from her yet, almost as loud as normal laughter.

“No, you idiot. I’ve never liked boys.”

Zuko blinked. “But… you kissed me first.”

“No offense, Zuko, but you’re the only boy I was ever allowed to talk to, and my parents have been conditioning me to marry you since the moment I was born. I didn’t even know I could like girls until a few years ago. But you did help me realize it, so I guess I should be thanking you for that.”

From there, their conversation gradually shifted into catching up on what they’d been up to since their separation—Mai doing most of the talking while Zuko patiently listened—and reminiscing about their childhood, even cracking a few jokes about their disastrous sex life and all the fights they’d had while dating. A welcome release from the intensity of the last few months.

Zuko let his chuckle at one of Mai’s jokes ebb away, his smile remaining caught on his lips. Watching his old friend talk about how boring living in Omashu had been, the future didn’t seem as bleak as it used to. Against all the odds, he’d made up with the only friends he'd ever had, convinced the Water Tribe girl to escape with him, and had a plan to rescue Uncle as well.

He could do this. Despite his sister’s vow of vengeance, Zuko could get everyone out of here in one piece—maybe even Mai and Ty Lee, too, if they showed any hints of wanting to leave the Fire Nation.

There was hope for a better tomorrow.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Growing up, Gran Gran had repeatedly said that destiny was like an ocean, always changing and unpredictable. For the longest time, Katara had interpreted that as it making her life a living hell by taking away everything she loved—her mother, father, and more recently, her freedom. Then she’d met Aang and thought that maybe this was her destiny—traveling to far corners of the globe she didn’t even know existed and saving the world.

If, only last week, someone had told her that she’d build an alliance with the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation of all people to break out of this gilded prison, she would laugh in their face. And yet, here she was, sneaking out of the communal sleeping quarters she shared with the other slaves to meet the very prince that had condemned her to this fate.

Unpredictable destiny certainly was.

Tiptoeing around the rows of girls asleep in their makeshift beds, Katara quickly and quietly slipped away from the quarters with the knife she’d stolen from the kitchen hidden behind her forearm and her pillow tucked under the sheet of her own so-called bed. It pained her that she’d be leaving them behind to rot here when she fled the Fire Nation tomorrow. She had contemplated letting them come with her, but this was a mission too important to jeopardize. Getting out of here and winning the war was her best and only chance of helping them.

She avoided any noise she heard on her way to the rendezvous point, constantly looking over her shoulder, as she wasn’t allowed out of the sleeping quarters after nightfall unless she was working.

“Give me one reason not to kill you.”

“I’m your only way out of here.”

Those were the words that echoed in her head while she walked, round and round, whirling in an endless, vicious cycle. Yet they didn’t make any sense at all. Nothing about this made sense.

She’d spent all of her waking moments since that ludicrous night with the Prince praying that her letter had reached her family and worrying that it hadn’t, worrying that she’d been wrong to trust the traitor prince with sending it. And even more than that, she’d thought of everything he’d said that night, everything he’d done—his apology, the sincerity in his demeanor, the earnest glint in his eyes…

But despite that, all he’d given her for his reason to escape was that his life ‘wasn’t perfect’, whatever that meant. As if that was enough justification for wanting to give up a life of literal royalty to live on the streets without a coin to spare. And why would he promise to remove her collar? How would he know she wouldn’t kill him the second she’d gotten bending back? Maybe she never could get her bending back, maybe this collar had blocked her chi permanently, and he wanted to give her the hope of regaining her power, only to rip it away from her at the last second.

Even so, why hadn’t he hesitated to turn his back to her while he was taking her to the secret room? Even if he didn’t see the knife she was carrying, why would he leave his back exposed to her in the first place?

“I’m your enemy.”

“That’s not how I see it.”

Katara banished the memory from her mind, shaking her head. Whatever his evil plan was, he’d made it pretty clear that he wouldn’t act on it until they were out of the Fire Nation. For now, she needed to focus on what was important.

This was her last night in this hellhole. Her last night as a slave. She would be out of here tomorrow. And after that, she would reunite with her family. She would see them and hug them and laugh with them again.

The thought put a smile on her face as she turned the corner to the designated hallway. One day. That was all that remained between her and her freedom. Just one more day.

Her smile soon dimmed, however, when she came face to face with the Fire Prince leaning against a wall in the middle of the hall, arms crossed and dismally staring at his feet, waiting for her. He was dressed in black, and held several rolled-up sheets of paper in a gloved fist and an unlit iron torch in the other.

He looked up when she came into view, then he pushed himself off of the wall and turned to her, a reluctant smile of his own appearing on his lips.

“Hi.”

“Did you send my letter?”

He was taken aback at the bite in her tone, his smile faltering. His mouth opened and closed, and after a few tries, he gave up on whatever he was going to say and opted for a curt, “Yes.”

Katara felt a wave of relief wash over her, though she wouldn’t let it show on her face. Whether the letter reached its destination or not, they would find out tomorrow—when her family would either walk right into a massacre, or the traps the Fire Nation set would have been for nothing. She prayed for the former.

The Prince shifted awkwardly on his feet. “We shouldn’t stay here for long. Anyone walking by can see us.” He held out a hand toward the opposite wall dotted with mounted torches, the secret door they’d used the previous night buried behind one of them. “Shall we?”

Katara followed him through the dark, dingy passages once he opened it, lit only by the light of the torch he carried. She kept her distance from him, always alert and ready to whip out her knife at a moment’s notice if need be.

He took her to the same tiny room as last time—but unlike last time, he shut the door behind her, effectively eliminating her only means of escape. Katara held her knife tighter.

“I figured out how to remove your collar,” he said while setting the papers and the torch on the ground, “and I figured out how to get us out of here.”

She crossed her arms. “And?”

He stood up straight. “And, well, I thought maybe I could take off the collar first and then explain my plan, if that’s alright with you.”

Katara shrugged a shoulder as uncaringly as she could manage. On the inside, however, her heart swelled with something other than desolation or grief or hatred for what felt like the first time in a lifetime. It swelled with hope and joy.

The Prince stepped toward where she stood in the middle of the room, reaching into the sash wrapped around his waist. “I asked around how those collars work, and you were right—there is a hidden lock in it.” He pulled out an object from his sash. “So I found this thing that I can forge to the shape of its key.”

Katara took in the tiny rod he was holding, about the size of his palm, reflecting the light of the torch on the ground. It looked nothing like a key, but neither had the one the man that’d put on the collar used. Who was she to judge.

“Okay, then. Forge it and give it to me. I’ll take it off myself.”

The Prince opened his mouth and shut it, clearly conflicted on saying something again.

She huffed. “What is it.”

“I, um…” He cleared his throat. “I need to be able to feel the lock to do that.”

Katara cut him the coldest glare she could. She uncrossed her arms and readjusted her grip on the hilt of her knife to bring it to light from behind her forearm. “You really think I’ll let you anywhere near me?”

He glanced at the knife and raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe.”

He sighed. “I know you don’t trust me, but I can’t help you unless you cooperate with me.”

Katara contemplated her options—let her distrust rule her judgment, or give him a chance and regain her bending in return…

“Fine,” she spat. She pointed her knife at his nose. “But you stay in front of me.”

“I’ll do whatever is most comfortable for you.”

Katara didn’t take her eyes off of him as she lowered the knife and the Prince cautiously closed the distance between them, taking off one of his gloves to do the firebending that would give shape to the rod.

He stopped only a breath away, his hands still up. The torch behind him cast his face in shadows. “May I?”

Katara didn’t back down from his intense stare, face to face with her greatest enemy. Last time they’d stood this close together, she’d made the worst mistake of her life and he’d taken full advantage of it.

She gazed at those molten gold eyes gleaming amidst the shadows. “Make one wrong move, and you’re done.”

His eyes darted to the knife she held pressed right against his groin, and they lingered there before finding her face again, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything, though—only clenched his jaw, looked past her, and encircled his arms around her neck in a wide arc to reach to the back of her head, never touching her.

Katara was rigid as a statue in his almost-embrace, shoulders stiff and back ramrod straight. They stood so close that she could feel the warmth seeping from him and smell the hint of smoke and citrus clinging to him.

Unlike her, he seemed oddly calm as he gently nudged her braid aside, over her shoulder and in front of her. Although she couldn’t see what he was doing, she could tell by the sudden onslaught of hot air at her nape that he’d begun the forging.

She sucked in a breath when he slid the forged rod between the tender, bruised skin there and the collar.

“Sorry,” he murmured and paused briefly before sliding it further down in his search for the lock, much slower this time.

Katara clenched her teeth and dug her nails into her palm against the stinging, powerless to do much else. She was relieved when he finally did insert the makeshift key into the lock, but the relief didn’t last long, as he began to twist the key, sending even more bolts of pain drilling through her skull. Katara hissed and grunted lowly, squeezing her eyes shut.

The distinct sound of metal unwinding accompanied his twists. And with each twist, the crushing grip the collar had on her throat slackened the tiniest bit and she could breathe a little easier. Little by little, inch by inch, the bumps on the inside of the collar retracted from the pressure points they’d been digging into for weeks.

With each twist, small streams of chi started oozing into her bloodstream, like water leaking through the cracks in a dam. They bestowed her with the warmth and life she’d been lacking for the longest time.

Then the Prince twisted the key one last time.

The lock clicked audibly.

He pulled the two halves of the collar apart.

The collar slipped from her neck and clattered to the floor.

All of a sudden, the dam inside her burst, and weeks worth of chi gushed forth at once. It expanded out like thousands of tiny spiderwebs, storming in to fill the void left in her chi paths, her blood, her limbs. It shot down her spine to her toes and then back up to the crown of her head.

Her heart somersaulted in her chest and a sense of lightheadedness made her head spin. Her grip on the knife vanished as her vision blurred, then her knees buckled from beneath her, a dazed sigh slipping from her lips. She plunged to the floor, numb and futile against the chi thrumming in her veins.

Two warm arms latched onto her just before she hit the ground, wrapping hastily around her torso, but failing to keep her upright against the full force of her weight. Katara didn’t register that she was falling, much less that someone was breaking her fall, lost in the bliss of the moment, of the superhuman might of her power. She only felt warmth envelop her, inside and out, and her knees ram into jagged stones as she hit the ground. Within her, she felt her horizons expand further than ever before.

She felt alive again.

Without opening her eyes, Katara took a deep breath and placed her palms on the cobblestones beneath her. Underneath them, she could feel the water trapped in the moss growing in between the stones. Around her, she could feel the water in the humid air. Beyond the walls surrounding her, she could feel hundreds of people in various parts of the palace, their shapes fuzzy and vague, but there. And above her, way above the ceiling and the clouds, she could feel the moon—her companion and only remaining friend, Yue.

She’d never felt power like this before, raw and hungry, searching ravenously for release.

Katara opened her eyes and stared at her trembling hands, turning them over again and again. She felt tears gather at the edges of her eyes. A grin split her face.

She’d gotten her bending back.

Katara laughed. The noise that came out of her was somewhere between laughter and a sob, but she didn’t care. Tears ran down her cheeks freely, but she didn’t care.

She'd forgotten how to smile, how to laugh, how to be happy... She remembered her terror at the moment that collar had been forced onto her, and she laughed in its face.

She’d gotten her bending back.

Someone called for her, but their voice was muffled in her ears, words incomprehensible. Katara blinked her tears away and laughed some more.

She’d gotten her bending back.

The same voice came louder though still hollow. Katara turned her head in the direction of the sound, a wide grin still plastered to her lips. Through the mist before her eyes, she saw a boy sitting beside her. He had his arms draped tightly around her, keeping her upright. Something like worry and confusion swam in the depths of his golden eyes.

That was when Katara’s grin fell, her childish giddy evaporating instantly.

Golden eyes.

It wasn’t just anyone holding her. It was him.

His lips moved, though no sound came out of them for the few seconds that it took her to register whose arms she was in.

“Are you okay?” his delayed question said. “You fell pretty hard.”

A sharp throbbing in her knees reoriented Katara’s dizzy mind, but it was another realization that really pulled her together.

She was crying. In front of him.

This was her third time ever having a civil conversation with him, and she’d cried in every single one of them. The first time she’d done that, he’d ruined her life. Who knew what he’d do now that she’d shown him vulnerability two more times after that?

Stupid stupid stupid.

Katara jerked out of his hold and scooted away, wiping her tears of joy with the back of her hand.

“I’m fine.” She tried to put as much composure behind her words, but they came out thick and raw with emotion.

The Prince reluctantly lowered his hands to his lap, watching her sympathetically. “It’s okay to cry. I won’t hold it against yo—”

“I said I’m fine!”

He heaved a sigh. “Whatever you say…” He then reached for the collar resting on the ground before him, her knife right beside it, and picked it up. “Then you need to put this back on.”

Katara gave him a death stare.

“Not all the way! Just enough to fool people that nothing’s changed. Everyone thinks you’re chi-blocked. We have to keep it that way.”

It was a good idea, Katara couldn’t lie. Conceal her powers from the world, then knock them sideways when the time came to escape. Hit them hardest when they were expecting it the least.

She nodded and he scooted over to her on his knees without wasting time, collar in hand. Just like the men that’d put that leash on her, he set the collar against her neck and closed the other half around her throat—only, he stopped once the lock clicked. He didn’t touch the key once.

Whereas the collar used to sit on the base of her throat, it now hung from her neck like a loose necklace, bearing most of its weight on her collarbone.

“How does that feel?” he asked, backing away. “Can you still bend?”

Standing so close to him, looking into his eyes, Katara became aware of another source of water nearby—right in front of her, in fact. There, beneath his flesh, she could feel his blood circulating. She could feel every vein, every muscle, every steady beat of his heart pumping alongside hers.

His blood called to her. It whispered her name. Challenged her to wield it—to pull it, push it.

All she had to do was reach, and his blood would bend to her will. He would be hers.

“Yes,” she answered coldly. Yes, she could bend.How much she could bend, however, she would not say. She’d already revealed too many weaknesses—there was no need to disclose her strengths, too. He would have to find out with everyone else.

The Prince regarded her for a moment, before turning toward the papers he’d brought with him. “Then we should get started with the plan. We don’t have much time.”

-o-

Several hours later, they sat opposite each other with a couple of maps splayed out between them, Katara having let down her hair to cover as much of the collar as she could.

“Okay, tell me what you’re gonna do. Start from the beginning.”

“Seriously? Again?”

“Yes. Again. You’ll keep repeating it until you can recite it in your sleep.”

Katara sighed. There was no getting out of this, was there.

“Right before the harem goes into lockdown tomorrow, I’ll tell Shila I forgot to bring one of her jewelry boxes to the bunker with us and ask to go back to her room to retrieve it,” she began. “If someone sees me, I’ll tell them I’m on duty, and if they don’t believe me, I’ll incapacitate them and lock them in a room somewhere. Then I’ll follow the marks you left on the walls to come here, and we’ll wait for the eclipse together. Once the eclipse begins, we’ll go to the war balloon base and—”

“Show me where it is on the map.”

Katara sent him an irritated look, but pointed to an area on the map of the palace nonetheless. “There, behind the eastern gardens.”

“And how do we get there?”

She showed the right sequence of the secret passages on another map he’d drawn by hand that opened to the launching pad of the war balloons. “We follow this path.”

“Good. Go on.”

“We defeat the soldiers there, steal a balloon, and get out of here.”

“What do we do if that doesn’t work or we can’t defeat them in time?”

“We go to the turtleduck pond here,” Katara said, pointing at the greenery on the map of the palace. “I gather as much water as I can and use that as a platform to hoist us over the outer walls. I’ll follow you through the city and the caldera, and when we reach this uninhabited shore here, I’ll bend us to safety—first to your family’s summerhouse in Ember Island to gather supplies and find a canoe, then across the ocean to the Earth Kingdom.” She leaned back on her hands. “Was that good enough for His Highness?”

He folded his arms. “It’ll do.”

“What I don’t understand is, if there’re tunnels inside the palace and the caldera, why don’t we just… sneak out, go to the port through the caldera, and get on a ship to the Earth Kingdom? Seems like it’d be much less complicated.”

“Yeah, but the port will be in lockdown, too, and Ozai ordered extra troops to guard the goods and the ships, which means not only will we stick out like a sore thumb as the only civilians there, there’ll also be more people to detect us. The war balloon tactic will be easier for us, anyway—most of the guards there will be deployed at the other base outside the city to man the airships for the invasion. Besides, there’s one more thing we need to do before we leave the Fire Nation.” He pointed to a place on the map of the entire city. “Caldera Prison. We’ll rescue my uncle from there.”

Katara put her fists on her hips. “Oh, so you conveniently left out the part where we’d be breaking into a prison during the million times you outlined your plan?!”

“We won’t be breaking into the prison. I will.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why—am I not strong enough to go with you?”

“You are, but I need someone to guard the balloon while I’m away.”

Oh… That made sense. But of course Katara wouldn’t tell him that.

“Well, what if the prison guards see me and I can’t beat them back? What then?”

He looked her dead in the eyes. “Then you run. And you don’t look back.”

The speed with which he replied caught Katara off guard. He hadn’t even stopped to think what his words implied.

“But…” She sat straighter without realizing, the edge in her tone receding. “If I’m not there and you’re caught… They’ll kill you. Both of you.”

The Prince’s eyes slid back to the map. His face was granite—didn’t reveal a single thought. A mask of indifference fit for a true crown prince.

“I know.”

The complete lack of emotion in those two words sent a chill down her spine. He’d meant it. Really meant it.

“What about your uncle?” she asked far too tenderly. “Wouldn’t he want to live?”

“He won’t be happy about it, but he’ll understand that it was necessary for your freedom. He won’t object."

To that, Katara had nothing to say. He could be lying, and she could be making another colossal mistake believing him, but if he was indeed telling the truth, if he was actually willing to trade his life, his uncle’s life, for hers… That changed everything.

In the face of this revelation, she didn’t know how to react—didn’t know whether she should dig deeper or leave things here. All she could do was sit there and gape at him.

He sent her a fleeting glance when the silence drew out, then cleared his throat and reached for the maps.

“It’s getting late,” he said and Katara shut her gaping mouth. “We should go before anyone notices we’re missing.”

While he was busy rolling the papers, she turned her attention to the huddle of scrolls by the opposite wall that she’d been eyeing all night. Even from here, she could make out the messy sketches on them.

Katara raised from the floor and strode over to them, heedless of the Prince’s gaze on her, and picked up the ones with the doodles on them. They were a child’s drawings without doubt, of people and places and some sort of animals, all of whom botched and sloppy. Some part of her wondered what a child would be doing in these dark dungeons at such a young age, isolated from the whole world, but something told her she really didn't want to know.

Katara turned toward the Prince. He’d gotten up as well and was brooding with his arms crossed and head bowed, facing away from her, from the drawings.

“Is this your family?” she found herself asking.

His only response was a belated nod, barely perceptible in the dim light.

Katara’s eyes glazed over the stick figures. One was short and had a line sticking out of its head like a ponytail, laughing and playing with the unrecognizable animals. It had to be the Prince. Another one—also short and with a ponytail, but a girl this time—was firebending next to him and a woman with long hair. Azula and, what Katara assumed to be, their mother. The last figure was a man with a large belly, laughing along with the Prince and a young man.

But, as far as Katara could tell, none of the figures resembled the Fire Lord—or, at least, none like what she envisioned a Fire Lord would look like.

“Where’s your father?” she blurted without looking away.

A beat of silence.

Then his voice came, quiet but firm. “He’s not my family.”

There was a tinge of sorrow in his voice that made Katara raise her gaze from the papers. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, as if to subconsciously protect himself—not from her, but from the bitter reality of his life. It reminded her of the confused boy she’d spoken to in the Crystal Catacombs of Ba Sing Se, the same boy that had gotten her to drop her guard and open her heart to him.

Open her heart, and get betrayed.

Katara came to her senses at the reminder of his treachery. Why should she care about him or his family issues? He was the root of all of her problems—of her nightmares and sleepless nights, of her torturous servitude to her enemies, of the visions of the man with needles and the Dai Li agent that smirked down upon her day and night.

He was her enemy, and he would always be her enemy.

The Prince must’ve noticed the shift in her character, as he bent down, tucked the rolled maps under his arm, and grabbed the torch. “We really should get going.” He didn’t wait for an answer before heading for the wall-door and opening it for her. “I could walk you back to the harem, if you want. You know, show you the path you’ll take tomorrow and stuff.”

Normally, Katara would’ve opposed his request, and he had shown her the path hundreds of times already, but she didn’t want to spend hours wandering around the passages like last time, blind and scared of the punishment she’d receive if she didn’t clean Shila’s room in time. So she set the drawings back down on the ground and nodded.

If he tried to do anything funny, she could simply bend the water in the air through him. Easy as that.

Her knees throbbed and stung as they exited the room together, but Katara didn’t mind it much. She had her bending back now—all she needed was a little bit of water and some privacy, and she could heal whatever the damage was.

Could her bending heal the damage months of anguish left inside her, too?

“Do you know where all these tunnels go?” she asked to distract herself from that thought, passing by empty passages shrouded in darkness.

“Most of them, yeah,” the Prince answered, leading the way. “They go almost everywhere in the palace—the harem, kitchens, gardens, royal suites… One of them even goes to the Fire Lord’s suite, though no one but my father actually knows which one goes there or how to get to it, since he’s the one that ordered it to be built.”

Katara’s brows furrowed. “Well, what about the architect that designed it? Or the workers that built it? Wouldn’t they know which tunnel led where?”

“They would. That’s why he kept the architect locked in a room, chose illiterate workers and cut off their tongues before construction started, then executed them all after it was finished.”

Katara froze in her place and stared at the back of his head, mortified. He paused a few steps ahead, too, and turned to her. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really. This was the Fire Lord they were talking about—lord of the nation that had taken everything from her and shown no remorse.

“What is wrong with this place,” she muttered under her breath and began walking again.

He breathed out a chuckle as he got going once more. “A lot of things.”

They didn’t speak again until the Prince turned the final corner to a dead-end, and Katara stopped behind him. He went up to the solid wall ahead and set down the rolled maps under his armpit.

“The lockdown tomorrow will be chaotic, so,” he reached up to a stone on the wall, “even if Shila doesn’t let you go anywhere, just run away when she’s not looki—”

“Wait!” Katara shouted just before he pressed the stone in and opened the door inside the wall. He whipped his head toward her, taking his hand away from the stone.

Katara walked up to him and stopped by the wall. The faint tug in her blood she’d felt a moment before grew stronger with each second.

“There’s someone out there,” she whispered to the Prince.

He glanced back and forth between her and the wall, then whispered back, “How do you know?”

“I can feel their blood.”

That was all the explanation he would get.

His eyes widened in a mix of shock and intrigue, but he didn’t remark on it—he only stepped into a defensive bending position alongside her and listened as that someone beyond the wall drew nearer, and then farther, until it was safe for them to move again.

“Okay, they’re gone,” she said and let herself relax.

Beside her, the Prince stepped out of the position as well, though his cautious side-glance didn’t leave her. He finally pressed the stone in and the door inside the wall groaned open, grating gravely against the marble floor. The sweet essence of soap coming from the harem baths down the hall welcomed them, replacing the smell of moss and burning torch inside the passage they stood in.

“So, uh,” the Prince said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Katara stared straight ahead as she inclined her head in a curt nod.

“Try to get some rest,” he added tentatively. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a big day. You’ll need all of your strength.”

“Don’t you worry about my strength. I have plenty.” With that, she made to step into the hallway, but she lingered at the threshold.

“Katara,” she said after a few seconds, still staring ahead.

He stared at her in confusion. “What?”

She turned to him and looked him in the eyes. “You asked me what my name was the other night. It’s Katara.”

If they were to be partners in crime, he may as well know her name.

Then, without so much as a ‘good luck tomorrow’ or goodbye, she turned and left, leaving the startled prince behind once more.

-o-

Shila hated nights. It was always so quiet and still, the whole palace asleep. It was good that she could have peace of mind from time to time, but it also meant that these depressing, empty hallways were even creepier than usual, like the vengeful spirits of those who’d been wronged within these walls haunted them, breathing over her shoulder, never going away.

She had to put up with it, though. Her parents would kill her if she ruined this unprecedented opportunity she’d been given—her road straight to the Fire Throne.

That was what she reminded herself, the future promise of the most powerful throne in the world, as she strode through the palace to her destination. And that was what she reminded herself when she stopped before the wooden door of some random supply room in the outskirts of the harem.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, knocking the same sequence she had been for weeks. The door unlocked almost immediately and creaked open to reveal one of those faceless crimson demons that called themselves royal guards, holding a torch in one hand and the door handle with the other. Behind him, on the far side of the small room, stood a lady surrounded by dozens of rolls of silk that painted the walls in all shades of red, her back turned.

The guard stepped aside to allow entry, then locked the door again after Shila entered the room. She lowered her head and curtsied before her superior in the skilled manner of a Favorite—soon to be Fire Lady, hopefully.

The lady let go of the roll of maroon fabric she’d been assessing and clasped her hands behind herself, still facing away.

“Talk.” Her tone was commanding and devoid of emotion, fitting of her title.

“She snuck out again, ma’am,” Shila said. “I checked her bed, but she’d stuffed it with her pillow and left. And she wasn’t in any of the harem baths or restrooms.”

“And what of your other target?”

“I did as you said and used the secret passages to get into His Highness’ chambers. He wasn’t in his bed either.”

The lady snorted sardonically. “Looks like he’s building himself a new harem.” She shook her head in disappointment. “That moron always has been so senseless.”

Shila tried not to let the words sting. She didn’t know what someone like Zuko would ever see in that vermin, but whatever was going on between them would soon come to a tragic end anyway. Now that Mikai’s little secret was out, she wouldn’t be a thorn in Shila’s side for much longer.

A conniving sneer dancing on her lips, the lady turned around. Her amber eyes were gleaming with malice. “You’ve proven yourself a valuable asset, Shila.” She held out a sack full of gold to the Favorite. “Here. For your trouble.”

Shila suppressed a smirk as she stepped toward the lady and took the sack with both hands.

“Thank you, Princess Azula. It’s an honor doing business with you.”

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Katara.Thatwas her name. Not Mikai, not 'the waterbender'. Katara.

It felt strange put an actual name to her face. And it felt stranger to think that she'd shown him the slightest hint of trust in giving him her name. He knew it was nothing major—she probably hadn't even seen its significance at the time—but he took it as a sign for the possibility of earning her forgiveness. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, she could come around to view him as more than the villain of her story who turned her life into a living hell.

Zuko wouldn't let her faith in him be misplaced. He might've stayed up almost all night, and the possibility that something might go wrong at any point of his escape plan weighed down on him, but he felt lighter than he'd had in ages. Katara trusted him. As long as he breathed, both she and Uncle would be far, far away from here by the end of this day.

He would do what was right for once.

Trekking through the palace to have a final breakfast with his sister, Ozai’s spying dog in tow, Zuko carried his headpiece and chest armor proudly, as was expected of the future Fire Lord who was about to command the aerial counterattack that would blow the invading forces to pieces.

After the breakfast, he would sneak out into the city to visit Mai and Ty Lee, and test the waters to see whether they would actually want to escape with him. If they understood and agreed, he would help them slip into the palace and wait for Katara together. But if they didn’t… Well, he didn’t want to think what would happen then.

When Zuko’s arrival was announced to the dining hall, his sister was sitting at one end of the unnecessarily long table with no plates before her, dressed in an identical armor, and reading a book with a golden goblet in hand. Behind her, a flock of servants and maids lined the walls, and royal guards covered every corner of the hall, all as usual.

Azula paid no heed to him as he made his way over to the seat at the other end of the table, roving her eyes over the pages while he took his seat. She only acknowledged his existence when the servants began to whirl around him, pulling his high-backed chair for him, serving plates of main and side dishes to him, pouring water into his goblet.

“Good morning, brother,” she said flatly, casually swirling her goblet while reading.

Zuko sat down without replying and the servants soundlessly went back to where they were standing by the wall. In the absence of a response, Azula’s eyes slid to him over the top of her book.

“Why, I’m doing perfectly fine, thank you for asking,” she quipped. Her face scrunched up as she gave him a once-over. “You, however, look like you could use some sleep. It’s not fit for an heir apparent to walk around looking like a prickly panda-bear.”

Zuko scoffed, picking up his chopsticks. He didn’t bother to look at her as he snapped back, “What’re you still doing here if you’re done eating? Don’t you have other places to be?”

Azula let out a curt laugh, swirling her drink again. “Is it a crime for me to want to spend a little time with my only brother?”

“Don’t act as if you like me,” he muttered, cutting her a glare under his lashes while putting vegetables onto his plate. “You hate me. You’ve always hated me.”

“Not true. Remember when we used to play in the gardens when we were little? I seem to recall you having fun chasing me around.”

“Yes, and I recall you setting a general’s robe on fire and blaming me for it. Father almost broke my hand for that.”

Azula groaned and rolled her eyes. “Agni, you’re cranky today. What’s got you so riled up? Something kept you up last night?” She raised a brow, the corner of her lips tugging into a small, wicked smirk. “Maybe it was someone…”

Zuko tore his gaze from hers, focusing instead on collecting more food onto his plate. It was hard enough lying directly to her face—he couldn’t do it with her staring into his soul too.

“You have full authority over the harem, Azula,” he replied, maintaining his cool as much as possible. “You know I wasn’t with anyone last night.”

Azula raised her drink to her lips. The knowing gleam in her eyes pierced him over the rim of the goblet.

“So I do.”

The dining hall lapsed into silence in the seconds she took a sip from her drink and went back to reading, the myriad of servants and maids lined by the walls quiet but attentive to their royals’ needs. Relieved that she’d dropped the topic, Zuko picked up a sliced piece of komodo sausage from his plate.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I’m reading?” Azula asked just as he was bringing the food to his mouth.

Zuko exhaled a deep sigh, dropping the sausage back onto the plate. “Can I please eat in peace?”

“What, I’m just making small talk. You can eat and listen at the same time.”

Zuko sighed again, now in defeat. He would need strength to get through today, and he couldn’t do that if he missed breakfast because he was too busy arguing with his sister.

So he dug into his food—but Azula chimed in once more before he could take a bite, “Well, since you clearly lack basic dining manners, I’ll tell you that I’m reading. It’s Love Amongst the Dragons.”

Zuko went rigid at the mention of their mother’s favorite book-turned-play, the sausage hovering midway to his mouth. He took a closer look at the book in her hand, only now noticing the characters carved into the thick leather cover.

His appetite suddenly gone, he put his food back on the plate.

“I have no clue how Mom could read this and make us sit through its play every year,” his sister continued carelessly, eyeing the book with distaste. “It’s horrible.”

Azula’s gaze flitted to him, to where he sat frozen in his seat, staring at his plate with glazed eyes.

“Aww, still hung up on dear old Mom, are we? How adorable… Of course, I would miss her too if she raised me as her little milksop.” She set the book on the table, then pouted with false innocence and batted her eyes. “Why don’t I find you a nanny, Zuzu? Maybe she can play mommy for you. You can suck on her tit* and do with her all you want.”

Zuko’s hand curled into a fist around his chopsticks. His jaw ticked, and he felt all the churning, aimless rage he’d rid himself of over the past few days resurface in his mind.

“She was your mother too,” he gritted out. “Have some respect.”

Azula snorted, swirling that damn goblet in her hand again. “Excuse me if I won’t mourn for some treacherous whor*.”

One moment, Zuko was sitting—the next, he’d shot up from his seat, sending his chair flying back and toppling to the floor. The wooden chopsticks in his grip turned to ash in a fraction of a second, and the servants by the walls jumped back, gasping. Azula, on the other hand, looked on with venomous pleasure dancing in her amber eyes, completely indifferent to his outburst.

“Apologize,” he spat. The temperature inside the hall started rising with the heat emanating from his body.

“Whatever for? She is a traitor. Need I remind you she killed Grandpa?”

“I said,” Zuko seethed through clenched teeth, “apologize.”

“Careful, brother,” Azula warned coldly, her smirk gone, but the amusem*nt in her eyes all too bright. “What would people think if they heard their future lord defended the murderer of another?”

Zuko’s fists clenched hard enough that his nails almost pierced his skin. She wasn’t going to apologize. He’d never heard her utter the word ‘sorry’ before—she certainly wasn’t going to say it now.

Huffing a breath of smoke out of his nose, he whirled and stalked from the room without having had a single bite out of his breakfast, simmering. The guards at the doors bowed and hauled the doors open just in time for him to storm out.

But just as he was about to step into the hallway, Azula’s voice sliced through the blood rushing in his ears.

“Oh, by the way, it’s awful what happened to that Water Tribe peasant this morning.” She heaved a theatrically dramatic sigh. “Such a shame. She was a nice girl.”

Zuko stopped dead in his tracks. In the span of a millisecond, his mind was emptied of all thoughts but one.

Was.

He turned his head and asked his sister over his shoulder, “What?”

“You haven’t heard? The whole palace has been buzzing about it.”

Zuko turned to her fully, worry beginning to gnaw away at his stomach. “What’re you talking about?”

Azula shook her head in obviously feigned sorrow. “Oh, it’s terrible… Truly tragic.”

His heart began to speed up. The memory of Katara sitting in a small, green-lit room plagued his mind, beaten, unconscious, and with needles sticking out from her fingers. It was immediately followed by the memory of her clamped over the dead Avatar in the Crystal Catacombs, and then with the image of the bruises on her arms and around her neck, beneath where her collar used to be.

Zuko stared at his sister. The obnoxiously fake concern on her face and the repulsive gleam in her eyes chilled him to the core.

“What did you do.”

Azula had the audacity to get offended. “What did I do? Come now, Zuzu. You’re so quick to blame me for everything.” She huffed a chuckle. “You’ll trip over a rock and blame me. I should say, it’s really starting to hurt my feelings.”

Zuko stepped toward her, eyes narrowed into slits and fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t f*ck with me, Azula. Where’s Katara? What did you do to her?”

A light flared in Azula’s eyes when Katara’s name came out of his mouth. She’d always been too attentive, too cruel, waiting to strike where it did the most damage. She’d always been good at that. So of course she’d caught that he’d said Katara’s real name before he himself realized it.

“Katara, is it?” she drawled, taunting him, wearing out his already thin patience. “Tell me, brother—did you exchange names before or after you got between her legs?”

Zuko took another step, breathing through his nose. Smoke began to rise from his hands. “Answer the question.”

Azula’s lips curled into a victorious smirk. She tilted her head to the side to address the servants over her shoulder, gaze never leaving his, “You hear that, folks? He doesn’t deny sleeping with her.”

The combined effect of exhaustion, hunger, and annoyance had pushed Zuko beyond the point of comprehending her words. “I’m warning you, Azula. Tell me where she is right now.”

“Or what?” she finally snapped. Azula leaned back on her seat, crossing her legs. “What’re you gonna do, Zuko? Burn me like Dad burned you? Please. Let’s not pretend you have the balls to even talk back to me.”

The hall fell silent, the only sounds disturbing it being the servants sharply sucking in air. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko could see all of the guards exchange looks with each other and shift into offensive firebending stances little by little. Meanwhile, he himself was rooted in his place, tense as a bowstring.

Staring at the smug expression on Azula’s face, he forgot all about the escape plan. He forgot that he had to remain calm and not give in to her games. But he couldn’t hold himself back any further, not after she’d insulted their mother and possibly killed Katara—not as anger curled hot and unstoppable in his gut, like a blazing inferno that wanted to burn him from the inside out.

A growl ripping from his throat, Zuko pounced across the hall to his sister. He smacked the goblet from her hand, lifted her off her seat by the throat, and slammed her flat on the table so hard that the dishes on his side jumped. Her wine spilled all over the floor and the maids yelped, but Azula was unfazed, save for having the wind get knocked out of her on impact.

“SPEAK!” he roared, one scorching hand wrapped around her throat, not so tight that he strangled her but tight enough to let her know he wasn’t f*cking around, and the other smouldered by her head. She could easily fight him back, overpower him even, but did nothing of the sort—she only laid there on her back, sneering.

The guards simultaneously darted forth from their posts, palms aimed at him, ready to attack.

“Step away from her immediately!” one of them yelled.

Slightly twisting her neck under Zuko’s grip, Azula shouted at the guards, “Get out! All of you!”

They faltered, glancing at one another again. “Ma’am?”

“OUT!”

The maids and servants obeyed happily and slipped out of the hall as quickly as possible, fearing the collective wrath of their prince and princess. The guards hesitated for a moment, before following them out and closing the door behind them.

“Where is she,” Zuko snarled through his teeth as the last of them left, blood boiling in his veins.

Azula turned to him, the vile shine in her eyes brighter than ever, like she took pleasure in making him nearly suffocate on his fury. “Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy.”

Zuko curled his fingers tighter around her throat, pressing down hard on her pulse point. He wished he was more like her, like their father. He wished he could hurt her more, burn her, make her suffer for once.

Instead, he could only hiss at her, low and lethal, baring his teeth, “I won’t ask you again.”

Azula’s facade finally crumbled as she began gasping for air. She grimaced and her hands latched onto his wrists.

“Fine,” she choked out under his iron grip. Zuko slackened his hold just enough that she could speak freely. She coughed before meeting his eyes. “Last I heard, she was in the harem, getting prepared for her execution.”

Zuko’s brain stuttered for a moment while his thoughts caught up. He could only stand there, paralyzed to his spot. Cold, bleak terror settled heavy in his chest.

Her execution.

The words echoed in his head.

His mother’s screams, the swing of a sword, and a bloodsoaked executioner’s block flooded his thoughts. The roars of bloodthirsty mobs filled the clear sky, and rivers of crimson blood contrasted the marble floor, dripping slowly to the stairs below. Then it was the haunting image of Katara that he saw, of her lying at the bottom of the sea with her head and limbs severed, unblinking eyes locked on him.

The hand Zuko had around his sister’s throat uncoiled on its own accord. He stumbled back a step as the world shifted from beneath his feet, unable to breathe or blink. Azula seized the opportunity to raise herself onto her elbows, still breathing roughly.

“Go, Zuko,” she said coldly, rubbing her throat. “Don’t let her end up like Mother.”

That was all the incentive Zuko had needed. He turned and rushed out of the hall, his limbs moving on their own. A barricade of royal guards awaited him outside the doors, but they dissipated upon Azula’s order to let him pass.

In his hurry to tear through them and the servants in the hallway, he missed his sister sit upright on the table and chuckle to herself, missed her shake her head in disappointment and mumble to herself, “Too easy.”

Time slowed as Zuko ran, ran, ran to the harem, pulse beating loudly in his ears, the faces he shot past blurry. All he could see were Katara’s eyes that would be shut forever—all he could hear, her harrowing cries for mercy. He couldn’t help imagine her bent over the executioner’s block exactly where his mother once had, tears pouring from her face like waterfalls.

Zuko had been too naive, too weak to protect his mother. He wouldn't let the blood of an innocent soil the earth again. Not again.

What if he was too late? The question echoed in his mind, poisoning his thoughts. What if he’d failed again?

No, he wasn’t too late.

He couldn’t be. He simply couldn’t.

Having sprinted through nearly half the palace, Zuko couldn’t slow down in time to round the final corner to the harem and slammed right into the opposite wall. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to lean against the wall and catch his breath, panting heavily. During that moment, he drank in the magnificent sight that were the harem gates towering high above him, grand and noble. A painting of his father in a gold frame was hung above them, looking down on everyone that entered.

Two royal guards stood at the feet of the gates, and behind them, beyond the wide open gateway, maids and girls of all ages strutted this way and that, going about their day. The guards’ attention snapped to Zuko the moment he appeared in the hallway, and they shot a look of confusion at one another when they realized who it was that’d shown up.

Pushing himself off of the wall, Zuko puffed out a breath to try and pull himself together. He started to march toward the men, cold sweat trickling down his temples and back. The guards immediately turned their attention back to him and stepped sideways to block the gateway.

“Halt!” the one on the right barked. “No man but Lord Ozai may enter the harem.”

Like that would stop Zuko.

“Get out of my way, and I won’t hurt you,” he snarled at the men, but they didn’t back down.

“Please don’t make this difficult, sir.”

Zuko didn’t slow down one bit. He would burn through the palace if he had to.

He lit a ball of fire in one clammy hand as warning. “Move.”

Both men instantly got into defensive stances. “This is your final warning, sir. Turn back now.”

If violence was what they wanted, then violence was what they’d get.

Zuko balled his hands into fists just a few paces away from the men, taking his breathing under control in preparation for firebending—only for a middle-aged maid to appear behind the gates and cut right in between them.

“What’s all the noise?” she asked in a nasal voice, then her eyes widened as far as they would go when they landed on the battle-ready Fire Prince.

The distraction was his opportunity to strike.

Without wasting another second, Zuko launched the flame inside his palm directly at the woman, not to actually harm her, but for one of the men to jump in to protect her. His plan worked—the woman shrieked and the guard on the left leaped in front of her, easily deflecting the attack. Zuko darted at the opening the man left on his side, shooting another fireball at where the trio was now huddled together, knocking them all off-balance.

More feminine screams grated on his ears as he launched himself into the main hall of harem, grabbed the handles on the gates, and hauled the heavy doors shut right as the guards were pushing the woman off of them and darting at their prince. They tried forcing the thick, wooden gates open and then began banging on them when it did nothing, shouting out curses and orders to call for back-up, but Zuko had long locked them out.

When he spun around, he was met with countless wide eyes staring at him in shock, frozen in the midst of eating breakfast, serving it, having a casual chat by the barred windows, or overseeing everything from the sides. In an instant, they flew to their feet to curtsy to him, while Zuko stepped forward and scanned their faces.

Brown eyes, green eyes, women, girls, even children… They all blended into each other as he spun round and round, heart hammering in his chest. But there was no sign of the blanched brown skin he sought.

She wasn’t here.

“Prince Zuko!” a croaky voice piped up from his right.

Zuko whipped toward the sound to find the matriarch of the harem emerging from behind a group of maids not too far away.

“You cannot be here!” she exclaimed as she scrambled to him as fast as her old age would allow, the jeweled staff she carried everywhere clinking on the ground. “You must leave at once!”

“Where’s Katara?” he demanded while the guards continued to bang on the gates behind him.

Madam Lin came to a stop in front of him, curtsying. “I’m… afraid I do not know who—”

Zuko cursed under his breath. “Mikai! Where’s she!”

“I— I presume she is in Mistress Shila’s quarters upstairs, but—”

Upstairs. With Shila.

Zuko spotted a staircase at the far corner of the hall, and without a second thought, he bolted for it, heedless of Madam Lin’s pleas for him to leave. Everyone in his way rushed aside to make room for him, as did the ones on the staircase.

Storming up the stairs two or three steps at a time, he gave another round of scare to the concubines and maids in the hallway he’d turned up to upstairs. The hallway stretched on seemingly forever, dotted with elegant doors on either side. More importantly, no screams nor any sounds of struggle disrupted its serenity.

“Which one’s Shila’s room?” he asked the closest maid standing to him.

The woman dropped to a curtsy, visibly alarmed. “It is the fifth door to the left, Your Highness.”

Zuko didn’t wait another moment to race toward the said door, breezing past all who stood in his path. His heart pounded louder and louder the closer he got to it.

He slowed down only once he was a couple of paces from the door, mouth dry as a bone. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the fight of his life, as well as the bloodbath he might witness inside. Then, without stopping, he kicked down the door.

The sight that greeted him rooted him to his spot in the doorway.

She was here. Katara was here.

And she was unharmed.

In the brisk, open space that was his Favorite’s lavish bedroom, there was no one but Katara and Shila, and not a single thing was out of the ordinary around them—no men with swords, no signs of danger, no nothing. Just Katara finishing up dressing Shila for the day ahead.

They gasped when Zuko barged in without warning and flinched back a step. It took them both a second to recover from their shock—Shila blinked a few times, mouth hanging ajar, while Katara bowed her head as per protocol, albeit still stunned.

It was only a few moments before Shila pulled a coquettish but slightly puzzled smile onto her face and fluttered her lashes. “My dragon! What a pleasant surprise that you would come all the way here to visit me.”

An unexpressed question laid underneath her honeyed words: What’re you doing here?!

Zuko barely looked at her, his eyes fixed solely on Katara standing behind her.

“You’re… okay.” His words were ragged, interrupted by his heavy breathing.

Katara’s brows creased further and she briefly lifted her chin to glance at him, baffled, but did nothing more. Shila followed Zuko’s gaze to Katara.

“Of course I’m okay,” she chipped in as silence stretched out, chuckling stiffly. “It’s always a delight to see you.” She twisted her neck to glare at Katara over her shoulder. “Are you blind?! Go wait for me outside!”

Zuko only then acknowledged Shila’s presence, and stared at her blankly while Katara gave her mistress a half-baked curtsy and stepped around her to leave the room.

“Where’s the executioner?” The words escaped him without thought.

Katara froze in her place and Shila’s smile slipped. They blinked at him, then at each other.

Shila turned to him. “The what?!”

Even Katara had fully lifted her head, pure confusion written all over her face.

Zuko glanced between the two, still panting and starting to question what was what himself.

“The executioner!” he repeated hectically, then looked at Katara. “Azula said you were…”

It was only then, after breaking practically every rule in the book and actively seeking a member of his father’s harem, that realization dawned on him. It struck him like a flying boulder to the guts, sucking the air from his lungs and the color from his face.

Azula always lies.

Katara was alive. She was safe. And she would’ve remained safe had Zuko not intervened.

But now… Now he’d signed their death sentences with his own hands.

No sooner had the chilling reality sunk in than the sound of heavy footfalls down the hallway reached his ears. He turned his head, eyes glassy, to see a hoard of royal guards thundering up the stairs and everyone in the hallway scurrying to the sides to make room for them.

Zuko didn’t have time to lament over his past decisions. Nor did he have time to ponder his future actions. Not here. Not now.

He had to make that time himself.

His limbs began moving before he could fully command them. He shot into the room, pushed past Shila, grabbed Katara tightly by the wrist, and darted to the private bathroom inside the chambers. Shila yell in protest, but he ignored her completely as he dragged Katara along with him with almost no resistance, then shoved her into the bathroom before entering it himself.

Here, he could contrive a plan to get them both out in one piece.

Katara whirled to him while he locked them in. “What the hell are you doing?!” First time she’d spoken to him all morning.

He paid no attention to her as he took in the room, his heart in his mouth. Morning sun bled into the wide room through barred windows on the left, reflecting off the polished floorboards and the gilded, half-filled bathtub in the middle. A matching sink and a couple of vanities with soap bars, towels, and makeup products on top stood by the walls, but other than them, there was nothing to barricade the double doors with.

Zuko then diverted his attention to the windows. The harem was on relatively lower floors of the palace—if they were lucky, if the drop wasn’t too bad, he could melt the bars and they could flee through there.

But that was the thing. He was never lucky.

Zuko hurried over to the windows and looked down to the gardens below. Lo and behold, not only were there trenches dug right beneath the windows, there were spikes at the bottom of the trenches, placed there specifically to prevent these types of situations.

The whole harem was a deathtrap.

They were stuck here.

In a fit of rage and despair, Zuko let out a roar of frustration and punched the wall next to the window frame with all of his strength. The sound of his fist slamming into the marble wall got drowned out by the extensive range of curse words now spewing from his mouth. He punched the wall again and again and again, cursing himself and Azula and Ozai and anything and everything that came to mind.

It was all his fault. He’d been too blind and stupid to notice Azula’s scheme, and now Katara was going to pay for it. She was going to pay for it with her life.

Zuko should’ve killed himself that night. Then, at least, Katara could’ve lived.

Behind him, as if sensing his thoughts about her, Katara called for him, “Will you please tell me what’s going on?! Aren’t you prohibited from entering the harem?!”

Zuko ceased his punches. He was out of breath, and his knuckles were flayed and bloody.

He didn’t feel pain, though—he felt nothing but crippling fury and guilt and regret.

His back turned to her, he pressed the heels of his trembling palms against his eyes and groaned with self-contempt. “I f*cked up.” Admitting the truth had him slumping his shoulders in shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Wha—”

Her sentence was cut short when muffled footsteps poured into Shila’s room on the other side of the doors, demanding Zuko’s location from Shila, which she disclosed right away. They started banging on the doors moments later.

“Give it up, Prince! You have nowhere to run!”

Turning around to face Katara, Zuko ran his hands through his tied hair, trying desperately to think of something, anything, that could get them out of here. Trying, and failing miserably. Meanwhile, Katara’s eyes were glued to the water in the bathtub.

They slid to him. “We can take them on.”

Her tone was as stern as it was confident.

Zuko shook his head. “No. We can’t. Not without the eclipse.”

There were already almost twice the amount of soldiers in the palace due to the invasion, and now the harem was going to go into lockdown, which only meant more guards for them to overcome. They couldn’t fight them all.

“So what do we do?”

Zuko didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

The banging on the doors did nothing to ease his nerves as he paced up and down the room like a madman, continuing to rake his bloodied fingers through his topknot.

They were going to be executed, both of them. And this was no evil trick of his sister’s, no lie, no deception. It was their future. Their future and their end.

When they’d be dragged out to the Coronation Plaza to meet their end in the same spot his mother had met hers, would the sky be cloudless again? Would the sun shine down on them one last time as they breathed their last breath? Would the birds chirp them farewell? Would the canals that flanked the plaza run red with blood once more? Would Ozai or Azula even bother to come and watch them—

Zuko froze in his place.

Canals.

There were canals at the plaza. Canals full of water.

His eyes darted to Katara. She was staring at the floor, brows furrowed, fidgeting with her hands.

“I know how to get you out.”

Katara looked up from her feet.

“There are canals at the execution site,” he began as he trod across the room to stand in front of her, the banging on the doors getting louder by the second. “By then, Ozai will think we’re together. He’ll wanna torment me as much as possible before I go, so he’ll kill you first and make me watch. When you're led to the executioner’s block, you’ll be far enough from everyone else that you can make a run for it before the guards can burn you. That’s when you bend the water in the canals and escape. I’ll hold off the guards as long as I can.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and gazed into eyes. “Remember the tunnels inside the caldera you memorized? Use them to go to the abandoned shore we talked about and get out of here.”

“What about you?”

Zuko would still die, but he’d die knowing he’d saved a life. That was what mattered.

She had to live.

“I’ll manage. But promise me you won’t waterbend until then. You can’t let anyone know you got your powers back, or they’ll put the collar back on. Okay? Promise me.”

Katara swallowed and nodded. She then opened her mouth to reply, but the doors burst open before she could utter a word. Zuko spun around and shoved her behind him as guards swarmed into the room, barking at them to get down on the ground. They stepped into two ranks at the doors in practiced, military fashion, blocking the exit and holding out their palms, prepared to incinerate their target at the drop of a hat.

“We surrender!” Zuko shouted. He raised his hands to prove his point. “We will not resist arrest. We surrender.”

“ON THE GROUND NOW!”

Zuko slowly dropped to his knees as ordered, hands raised, and nodded to Katara to follow suit. The moment their knees touched the ground, the guards broke formation to apprehend them. Two of them grabbed Zuko’s hands and forcefully bound them together at his back with the iron shackles they carried on their belt, and two others did the same to Katara behind him.

The men linked arms with him and hauled him off the floor. While the guards started carrying him out of the room, Zuko twisted as much as he could to get one last glimpse of Katara. Her own guards had pinned her face-down on the ground, knees on her back, putting on her shackle. She raised her chin to return his look, fear etched to her face.

“Don’t hurt her!” he yelled at her guards. “She didn’t do anything! She’s innocent!”

They disregarded him entirely, while his own guards grabbed his hair and forced him to look away from her. Zuko was helpless to do anything but obey them and let them drag him off to the palace dungeons, half of the remaining guards in the chambers trailing after them.

He’d failed.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Katara wriggled beneath the guard’s knees as they put on her shackles. Her limbs were already fragile from months of hunger and exertion—if they pressed any harder, they could very well dislocate her shoulders.

She ground her teeth against the sharp pain. “You’re hurting me!”

The guards disregarded her completely. They lifted her off the floor by her arms once the shackles had been locked in place, causing her to shriek in pain. Their grip was tight around the bruises on her biceps, beaten into her for improper harem etiquette. Her muscles screamed in protest while the men walked her out of the bathroom.

The bedchambers were flocked with guards—two at the door, one in front of Shila where she stood behind her bed, and three more by the walls. Shila was gaping at Katara in shock, and to the side, a group of maids and concubines had gathered at the door, peering inside and whispering to each other.

The group stepped aside as Katara was hauled unceremoniously out of the chambers and ushered toward the stairs, the rest of the guards trailing behind her. Everyone’s attention in the hallway was locked solely on her—the culprit who’d gotten the Heir Apparent arrested.

The unmistakable clinks of a staff on marble sounded from ahead, and a moment later, Madam Lin appeared at the top of the staircase not too far away. The guards gripping Katara’s arms halted in their places while Lin charged toward them.

“I will only ask this once, and you will answer in full honestly,” she spat without slowing down. “Why was His Highness looking for you?”

“I don’t know!” Katara tried to plead. “He just burst inand—”

A firm slap across the face silenced her, hard enough to whip her head to the side. She would've toppled over, too, had it not been for the guards holding her upright. Her cheek burned, and she had to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from making a noise.

Lin took her chin in a crushing grip and stared into her eyes.

“Do you know what we do to liars here, pest?” she snarled.

With her free hand, she conjured a stream of fire and held it before Katara’s face to see. Katara went rigid, her pulse spiking. She made to flinch back out of reflex, but the guards wouldn’t let her budge.

"Please! I don't know anything! I swear!"

It was her eyes watering from the slap that made tears trickle down her cheeks, Katara told herself. She wasn't crying. Those weren’t real tears. They weren’t.

Lin’s eyes burned into hers, lips curling with revulsion. She snuffed out the flames by closing her fist.

"A few nights in the dungeons ought to loosen that tongue," she grunted, wiping the hand she’d touched Katara with on her robes. She fixed her gaze on the guards in Katara's arms. "I want her kept far away from His Highness."

While they nodded, Lin turned around to lead the way and barked more orders at the maids in the hallway to tell the eunuchs to begin with Katara’s arrest documents. The guards spurred Katara forward as Lin started down the stairs.

The main hall was brimming with hundreds of maids and concubines exchanging nonsense gossip and rumors. It all came to an abrupt end, however, the second Madam Lin, Katara, and the entourage of royal guards appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing to scurry away like a pack of rodents and form a narrow path from the stairs to the harem gates, curtsying to their matriarch once they’d gotten to their places.

Katara lowered her head while the guards tugged her along the path, her cheeks wet and flushed. Still, it was impossible to escape the scrutinizing stares following her and the horrors that were being muttered in her face.

“whor*.”

“slu*t.”

“Did you see how he was running for her?”

“—heard she bewitched him.”

“Why would he even go near that thing?”

Her tears weren’t real, Katara told herself again and again. They weren’t real. She wouldn’t let these people get to her so easily.

She raised her gaze from the floor when she felt a familiar pair of eyes on her. Up ahead, on her left, the concubine that'd once spared her from Shila's ridicule stood among the front row of the crowd. Lui, she recalled her name was.

Over the weeks, she’d caught Lui watching her work several times, and the concubine had smiled warmly when Katara had met her gaze each time. The warmth and friendliness she’d associated with Lui's features were no longer there, however. Now, there was only pity. Pity, and sorrow.

Katara averted her eyes as she and her guards passed by her. With everything going on, there was no room to think about anyone, least of all a Fire Nation noble.

Nearing the end of the path, Madam Lin stopped a few steps short of the gates and turned to watch the guards escort Katara out of the harem, palms perched on top of each other, resting on the jeweled knob of her staff. Katara kept her head down as she was practically dragged through the palace and down endless flights of stairs, turning a deaf ear to the curious whispers of anyone she came across.

They finally leveled off after what had to be a thousand stairs, leading to a dingy pathway with old stone walls, similar to the hidden passages she’d memorized like the back of her hand. The occasional torches mounted on the walls provided just enough light to bathe the path ahead in a haunting glow, the walls themselves moist with the humidity and covered in moss.

A thick, barred iron door stood at the end of the pathway, a palace guard behind it. The man quietly juggled a chain of keys and opened the door, stepping aside to allow for the passing of Katara and her entourage. They passed through two more barred doors before turning the corner to a long, narrow hallway. A handful of rusty doors with peepholes, waist-level gaps for food trays, and keyholes dotted the wall on the left. The whole place was empty and deathly quiet, save for another unit of guards locking the door nearest to the entrance.

As Katara’s entourage passed by that door, she tried to glance in through the peephole, see if it was the Prince they were locking up in there—but the guard locking it shot her a look and slid the peephole shut.

Her guards led her down the hall, stopped in front of the very last door, and took off her shackles before shoving her in. Katara nearly fell to her knees from the force of the push between her shoulder blades, and the door slammed closed behind her with a clang that thundered in the tiny cell.

Her new home for the foreseeable future was barren of anything but a sleeping mat and the distinct smell of prison she remembered all too well from Ba Sing Se and the ship she’d been carried here on.

Heaving a sigh, she crossed the cell in a few steps and flopped onto the mat. All those beatings, the dehumanizing derisive comments, and endless days of slaving she’d endured, and she’d still ended up right back on square one—in prison. The coarse texture of the mat bit into her arms as she laid down on her side, an arm bent beneath her head, and gazed into the sliver of light oozing in from the gap between the door and the floor.

In the harem, she hadn’t had the energy to think about her past, nor was she ever alone with her thoughts, always forced to be around someone. First, it was Ayuki and the concubines, then Shila and her friends. Even while sleeping or bathing, she’d been surrounded by maids and slaves. The only times she’d ever truly been alone was while she was going to or coming back from meeting with the Prince—and even those moments of privacy had been lost to wondering what he was up to this time.

Now, caged in by stone walls, she had nothing but her thoughts.

Today wasn’t supposed to go this way at all. She was supposed to be out there, fighting tooth and nail for her freedom. She was supposed to have the wind blowing in her face as she roamed the skies on a stolen war balloon, feel it rake through her hair and dress, cherish her first moment in a month without a collar or shackles weighing down on her consciousness.

It’d all gone wrong. So, so wrong.

What on earth had possessed the Prince to throw their entire plan out the window like that? No, not just their plan—their lives. He’d been so careful to keep their interactions a secret up till then, so why expose them when it mattered the most?

He had proposed a way out for her afterward, but even he hadn’t sounded certain it’d work. He’d known as well as her that she didn’t stand a chance on her own.

He’d known the truth, but hadn’t dared to admit it to either of them—the truth that she was going to die, regardless of whether she made a miraculous escape from the execution site or not. That she wouldn’t make it two steps out of there before getting caught.

She’d seen the fear in his eyes as the guards had dragged him away. Seen the regret, the despair. And that’d been all the confirmation she needed.

She was going to die.

Katara rolled over on the mat, facing the wall and pulling her knees to her chest. A weight pressed down on her lungs. The quickening beats of her heart were reverberating throughout her body.

Through having her bending and humanity ripped from her, it was only the far-fetched dream of reuniting with her family one day that’d kept her going. To see their faces one more time, reach a hand out and be able to feel them, make more of the memories she’d exhausted long ago. But she’d never get to see them again. She’d never get to hold them in her arms and etch their scents to her brain like she’d been yearning to.

Because she was going to die, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Her throat tightened, making it impossible to breathe or gulp. She curled further into herself, trying to get her breathing under control to no avail. Her hands were beginning to tremble, and she could feel the heat seeping from her body despite the fairly warm temperature of the cell.

Her escape plan had relied entirely on the eclipse and the element of surprise. Without them, it wouldn't make a difference if she had—

Oh spirits, the eclipse.

The invasion. Her family.

Had they gotten her letter? What if they hadn’t? What if it’d been intercepted?

What if she'd been too late?

Her stomach churned. Cold sweat coated her all over. And the chi lurking in her veins leaked through the cracks of her consciousness, slowly turning the air around her as chilly as she felt at the core. The moss on the wall started to freeze over, a sheet of ice blanketing it in white.

Were they on their way here now? Had they been captured already?

No, they wouldn't be captured. She'd never known the Fire Nation to be so merciful.

They were going to die. Her family, her friends—everyone she’d ever loved. They were all going to be slaughtered because she hadn’t been quick enough.

Katara’s head was a whirlpool, spinning without a center. She tried to hang on to the threads of her fading memories, of her family’s faces and laughter and their voices—but they spilled from between her fingers like water, and she was sucked into the maelstrom of her thoughts.

Coarse ridges of a scar skimmed the pads of her fingertips, gold eyes melting into hers. He was warm beneath her touch, and his eyes were so open, so vulnerable, so tired and confused. Those were not the eyes of a monster. They couldn’t be.

Aang was lying in her arms, smoke and the stench of burnt flesh wafting from his body, his chest unmoving. She was healing him, but it made no difference at all. She had to leave him behind—him, and her life.

A man dressed in black was standing before a fireplace, holding metal needles above a green fire. She was bound tightly to a high-backed chair, the leather straps around her limbs bruising. “Where’s the Avatar?” he was asking. “Where did you hide him?” There was an overwhelming pain in her right hand, a white-hot agony that nearly made her vocal cords tear from screaming. She was begging the man to kill her and end her misery.

Katara couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her vision was blurry. Untameable tremors were rocking through her body.

Was she dying? Was this what death was like? All-consuming and deranging?

Was she going insane?

Maybe she should die here—reunite with her family in the Spirit World right this instant. Better to die now with honor than to have her death become an entertainment for the enemy.

She shut her eyes. The walls were closing in on her, suffocating her. The cold air was stabbing into her skin. Her ragged breaths were condensing before her face.

This was Ba Sing Se all over again—the cold, the fear, the dread. Another prison cell, another set of deadpan guards. Even the stench of blood and death was the same. For all of their differences and warring, the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom weren’t so different after all.

She was back in Ba Sing Se, cool metal beneath her touch, emerald green light bleeding into her cell. She could feel people lurking in the shadows behind her—feel their stares burning into her back, hear the blood leaking from where her ice daggers had speared through them dripping to the floor, smell the stench of their rotting flesh.

Among them, standing in the open doorway, was another figure, face veiled behind a wide helmet that only exposed the appalling smirk on his lips. Then that figure was kneeling on one knee right behind her, sneering down at her, the ghost of his breath brushing her shoulder.

“NO! STOP! PLEASE!” someone was screaming. Was it her? Was that her pleading?

Katara gritted her teeth so hard her jaw throbbed, nails cutting into her arms. Tears were rolling down her face. Her breaths were stuck in her throat, heart pounding like a drum against her ribs.

She had to calm herself. She couldn’t let her past consume her—drive her mad. They were only memories. They couldn’t hurt her. Not anymore. She needed a clear head for a new escape plan.

She had to breathe. She had to calm down.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Katara tried her hardest to unlatch her hands from her arms and take a deep breath. Her nails, jagged from months of neglect, left her arms with bloodied crescents imprinted on her skin.

She then let go of her breath, chest caving in, before inhaling deeply again. Katara locked in all the painful memories and shoved them to the furthest depths of her mind, never to be revisited again.

Breathe in, and out, she repeated in her head. In, and out.

The tremors gradually died down, and the ice on the moss was melting away.

Her family had gotten her letter. They knew of the Fire Nation’s trap.

They were far away. Alive.

They were alive.

They were safe.

She was safe.

She’d find a way out of here. She always did.

-o-

Zuko sat leaning against the wall of his cell, knees pulled up and elbows resting on them. Blood from the reopened wounds on his forearms had long seeped through the sleeves of his shirt, stained them beyond repair. Now, he calmly—almost hypnotically—watched his fingers flexing in and out of a fist in front of him, and winced as the skin around his split knuckles drew taut and the muscles in his hand and forearm burned each time.

He didn’t mind the pain, though. Quite the contrary, he welcomed it. After what he’d done that morning, he deserved it. He deserved everything that was coming for him.

He’d felt his inner fire dwindle and flare back up as the eclipse had come and gone, and clawed his nails into his forearm while waiting for lunch and dinner that hadn’t come. He didn’t protest—he’d gone days without a single bite of food when traveling on his own in the Earth Kingdom. He just wished he had something strong to loosen the tightness in his chest.

One bottle of sake. That was all he asked for before he died. Just one last chance to have sake sear its way down his throat, to be freed from his burdens and lose himself in the drunken haze he’d missed so dearly. If he scratched himself hard enough, though, if he could make himself hurt, maybe the pain would make the cravings go away.

He stopped the flex of his fingers at the sound of a door being opened down the hall. A too familiar female voice roared, demanding where he was, then his door was being unlocked.

Zuko sighed, tipping his head back to rest against the wall. What did she want now?

The door flung open to reveal his sister standing in the hallway, absolutely livid. She stormed into the cell, chest rising and falling rapidly, and the door closed behind her.

“Was it you?” she seethed.

Zuko stared down the slope of his nose at her, brow knitting. “What?”

Azula stopped a few steps away, breathing sharply through her nose.

“The invasion. It didn’t happen. No one showed up.” Her fuming eyes narrowed into slits. “It’s almost as if the enemy knew we were waiting for them. Don’t suppose you’d have any guesses as to how they could’ve gotten hold of that information. You might mingle with Dad’s harem, but surely you wouldn’t go that far.”

The tightness in his chest uncoiled a tiny bit. So they had gotten his letter and backed off from the invasion in time. Zuko might’ve condemned Katara to death, but he’d at least been able to spare her family and friends from a massacre.

He met his sister’s fierce glare head-on. There was no more need to lie—he was going to die regardless if he told the truth or not.

“Actually, I would,” he said casually. “I told Katara about the invasion, and she wrote to her family to abort it. I sent the letter to them myself.”

Azula puffed a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course you did. You imbecile.” Her irate smile dissolved, her eyes two spears piercing through his skull. “Do you realize what you and your harlot cost us today? This victory could’ve won us the war.”

Zuko clenched his teeth at the insult at Katara, hands balling into fists. “Watch your mouth.”

Azula scoffed, shaking her head incredulously. “You don’t even care about the Fire Nation anymore, do you. Unbelievable.”

Zuko averted his eyes, jaw set tight. It’d been quite a while since he’d lost interest in politics—in anything other than getting Uncle and Katara out of here, really. And frankly, he no longer cared about the war—he only cared that Ozai lost.

Azula tilted her head, gaze locked squarely on him. “Are you going to explain how you also managed to get Uncle out while you were locked up? Or did you plot with the enemy for that, too?”

It took a moment for Zuko to register her words.

He blinked. “Uncle escaped?”

“Yes, dimwit. That’s what I just said. He broke out during the eclipse and vanished without a trace. You and I both know that miserable old cretin couldn’t pull that off on his own, so you’re gonna tell me who helped him.”

Zuko felt his chest ease further. All this time, he’d been perfecting a plan to break in and out of Uncle’s prison without being spotted, and Uncle had just gone and broken loose on his own. Zuko could only hope he’d found safety as well.

“I don’t know how he got out,” he said. “If he had any help, it wasn’t me.”

Azula sized him up. She must’ve seen it on his face that he was telling the truth, as she lifted her chin, and her rage receded behind a carefree guise.

“Oh well.” She shrugged a shoulder. “We’ll find out who it was sooner or later, and we still have the comet ahead of us to win the war, not to mention all the other traps we can set with your harlot. Bet she’ll prove a lot more valuable as bait rather than a servant.”

Zuko shut his eyes, inwardly cursing himself. Of course they wouldn’t let Katara off the hook so easily. Him, they could make an example of. But Katara—her death wouldn’t mean anything to the common folk. It’d be foolish of them to let her worth for the enemy go to waste. And to think he’d made her promise to lay low and hide her powers… She’d be escorted out of her cell thinking that would be the day she broke free, only to have that dream crushed to dust when her family and friends would be murdered in front of her instead.

He truly was an imbecile—the biggest one there was.

“As for you,” Azula continued coolly, a hint of amusem*nt in her tone, “all of your titles have been revoked, your assets and personal belongings have been confiscated, and your execution will be held publicly tomorrow at noon. Your final meal will be served in the morning. And before you ask—no, you can’t ask for sake. Dad’s already seen to it that you won’t have access to alcohol.”

Zuko scoffed. He’d be surprised if Ozai had forgone his last opportunity to torture him.

“Why today?” The question slipped from him before he could stop it. He lifted his chin to stare at her. “Why did you have to do this today? Why not yesterday, or tomorrow?”

Azula arched a mocking brow. “You have to ask?” She let out a snicker, shaking her head in disappointment. “I see I’ve been giving you far too much credit.”

Slowly, she lowered herself onto one knee so she could be at level with him.

“Well, for one, I wasn’t certain where your loyalties lie and couldn’t risk you compromising the invasion, so today was the latest I could wait till you showed your true colors. Then you met that peasant last night— for the second time, might I add—and I knew you were either screwing or plotting our demise with her, and that you’d be too tired to notice me setting you up this morning. Truth be told, it was a coincidence that everything aligned so spectacularly.”

Zuko pinned her with a glare. “You were spying on me?”

Somehow, that wasn’t very surprising.

“Of course I was spying on you,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a war zone out there. I did what I needed to do to survive.”

“Why’d you have to get Katara involved, then? What did getting her captured do for you? You could’ve turned me over to Father for something else.”

Her lips curled into a cruel sneer. “But then it wouldn’t be as much fun, would it? Seeing you so desperately try to protect her was awfully entertaining. Loads better than I’d imagined, honestly.”

Zuko’s face twisted into a deep scowl, his eyes narrowed. “You’re sick.”

“Yes, you’ve been saying that for years.”

Azula rose to her full height and stared down at him. “Funny thing, life, isn’t it? You never know where it’s going to lead you.” She turned and began heading for the door in long, languid strides. “Of course, I’ve known from the start that yours would end much sooner than mine. We never could coexist, you see. One of us had to go—and, you being the weaker one, it was always quite obvious who it was gonna be.”

She knocked on the door once and turned to cut him one final, sinister half-smile. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, though. That’s just how nature is. Nothing personal.”

The door opened with a screech and the cell filled with light once more. Zuko squinted against the brisk beam of the torch hung directly opposite from his cell.

Even with her face shrouded in shadows, Azula’s eyes were shining.

“Farewell, brother,” she drawled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She stepped out into the hallway with a smirk on her face—and halted abruptly as another pair of footsteps stopped just outside the cell.

Azula looked the person over, glanced at Zuko, then walked away without saying a word, all but shouldering past the person. A moment later, a silhouette appeared in the doorframe, long robes swishing. Jet-black hair glistened in the torchlight, gathered into two buns at the top, the rest let loose.

Nose high, the person stepped in, and the door swung closed.

“Mai,” Zuko muttered and scurried to his feet, wincing as his injured hand and forearm revolted sharply against the sudden movement.

“Hello, Zuko.”

Although he still couldn’t quite make out her face, Mai’s tone was as poised as ever.

“What’re you doing here?” he couldn’t help but wonder.

Her face gradually gained detail as his eyes adjusted to the dark again. Her expression was tight, contrasting against her typical stoicism, the corded muscles of her neck taut.

“Azula invited me and Ty over to stay the night and go to your execution together tomorrow,” she explained, hands folded before her. “I wanted to talk to you before that.”

Zuko hung his head, unable to look her in the eye.

He kicked a pile of dirt with the tip of his boot. “Where’s Ty Lee?”

“In the palace infirmary, asleep.” Mai lowered her head and swallowed thickly. “She’s been crying all day, so I had her pumped up with sedatives. The healers say the effects should wear off in a few hours.”

Zuko's chest tightened. He wasn't just going to die tomorrow—he was going to kill Mai and Ty Lee's only true friend as well.

He really should’ve killed himself when he’d had the chance. No, scratch that—he shouldn't have even been born in the first place. Certainly would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble.

“How’re you holding up?” Mai asked, raising her head.

Zuko shrugged. He felt her taking him in.

“What happened to your hand?”

A bittersweet feeling squeezed at his heart. That was one of the first things she’d asked him in Ba Sing Se, why his hand had been bandaged. He turned his injured hand over so the three horizontal stripes marking his palm faced him.

“Nothing,” he answered, just as he had then.

They fell into silence. Zuko actively avoided her gaze, brushing his fingertips over the scars on his palm.

“Why’d you do it?” Mai finally broke the tense quiet, a touch of strain in her voice.

Zuko let out a laden breath and ran his unharmed hand through his shaggy hair. He wished he had an answer. He truly did.

“Fighting the guards and breaking into the harem?” Mai asked as she took a step toward him. “What were you thinking?”

His mouth shaped words as he searched for the right answer, though no sound came for a few moments. “Azula said Katara was in danger and I just—I don’t know. I panicked. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Mai was still for a moment. “Who’s Katara?”

Ah. Right. Mai wouldn’t know her name.

“The Avatar’s friend,” he clarified.

He saw from the corner of his vision that her mouth fell slightly ajar. “You did all that because of her?”

Zuko pressed his lips into a line at the blatant accusation in her question. She was right. He couldn’t disagree.

Yet there was no feasible way for him to explain why he’d done everything he’d done. Not to her. She was a close friend, yes, but it was precisely her difficulty with empathy that’d led to the downfall of their brief romance. He didn’t blame her for it—it was her parents who had made her lock up her emotions for her entire life, after all—but she wouldn’t understand the responsibility he bore for Katara’s well-being. He’d put her in here, and it was his duty to get her out in one piece.

So he remained silent, dropping his head lower to stare at his boots.

“You could at least look at me when I’m speaking to you!” Mai’s words stung like acid—but, more than that, it was how she’d raised her voice that made him raise his gaze from the stone floor. Even when they’d argued, she’d rarely outright yelled at him.

The facade of apathy she put up unfailingly was starting to wither. Through the cracks, she let slip the furrow of her brows, the scowl on her lips, and the light quivering of her chin. And her eyes… Sorrow, fear, and anger swam in their depths.

“Mai…” he breathed, but she ignored him.

“You finally get your life in order, and then you throw it all away for her?!”

Zuko’s heart shattered into a million pieces at the tears lining her eyes and the waver in her voice.

“Mai,” he said again, gently holding out his arms to her as he stepped closer. “Please don’t cry.”

She closed the distance between them and shoved him by the chest with a snarl on her face. “You IDIOT!” She shoved him again. “YOU’RE GONNA DIE!”

Zuko stumbled back half a step each time she struck. "Mai—"

She shoved again and again without giving him the chance to speak. "HOW COULD YOU LET AZULA DO THIS!"

"Mai, please—"

"—ALWAYS TRYING TO PROVE YOURSELF—"

"Mai, I’m sorry—"

“WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST WALK AWAY FOR ONCE!”

When his back hit the wall, she switched the shoving for punching him in the chest with the outside of her fists. “WHY'D YOU HAVE TO BE SO DAMN STUPID!”

“Hey. Hey,” Zuko kept repeating calmly, hoping to soothe her. He grabbed her wrists to refrain her from punching him and tried to catch her eyes, but found them shut, tears flowing freely from her face.

“Mai…” He couldn’t hold back the slight tremble in his voice. “Please… I’m not worth your tears.”

A whimper came out of her, and she sagged against him, arms tucked between the two of them. Her punches became no more than feeble thumps against his chest, and she broke down entirely.

Zuko let go of her wrists and wrapped his arms around her. He felt his own eyes burn and throat close up as Mai sobbed her heart out in his embrace, curling the front of his tunic in her fists. He caressed the hair at her nape and rested his cheek against the top of her head, glazed eyes locked on the door behind her. He’d never seen her be so sentimental before, never seen her cry, and it hurt all the more.

She kept slurring out inaudible words through her sobs, tears wetting the fabric over his shoulder. Zuko did the only thing he could to calm her—tightening his arms around her and murmuring into her hair that it was okay, that everything would be alright.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he hadn’t been planning on living for long anyway.

Zuko held her as she broke free of her restraints and let herself feel. He held her through her heart-wrenching weeping, whimpers, and the somber silence that followed once she ran out of tears to shed. She hung onto his tunic as her sobs subsided, head tucked in his shoulder.

Mai withdrew from him only after a long minute, sniffling and wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands before her, swollen eyes glued to the floor.

“I should go check on Ty Lee,” she said quietly, voice thick with tears. “She’ll be worried if she wakes up and I’m not there.”

Zuko gave her an understanding nod, lips pressed tight.

Mai raised her head to look him in the eyes. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

It really was, wasn’t it. Next time he’d see her, she’d be watching him kneel over a marble block in front of hundreds of people, his nape bared to the executioner’s sword.

“I guess it is…”

Zuko resisted the temptation to draw her into another hug. She’d never been the physical affection type. Instead, he bid his farewell the only way he knew how.

He inclined from the waist and placed an open palm perpendicular to his fist—the highest form of respect one could receive in the Fire Nation, especially coming from the Crown Prince. Former Crown Prince.

“It was an honor making your acquaintance,” he said, head bowed. “I hope, one day, you can forgive me for all the pain I’ve caused you.”

Mai’s throat bobbed as she swallowed and swiped away another tear. She bent her knees in a curtsy.

Her tone was reserved when she spoke. “Likewise.”

They rose from their bows and their gazes met. Behind her eyes, Zuko could see her rebuilding the mental walls she’d broken down, laying brick after brick around her feelings, locking them up so she never showed emotion again.

“Goodbye, Zuko,” she muttered, her voice finally back under control, though the sullen edge to it still persisted.

Zuko forced a small, sad-tinted smile to his lips. “Goodbye.”

Exhaling sharply to brace herself, Mai turned around and strode toward the cell door like nothing had happened, chin high, spine straight, shoulders pushed back—an epitome of nobility. The only indications that she’d been crying at all were her bloodshot eyes, and the flush on her cheeks and nose.

Zuko watched her raise her hand to knock, then pause for a moment while she took another deep breath and released it. Then she knocked on the door, and left without looking back.

-o-

Katara twirled a tiny stream of water she’d drawn from the moss on the wall, weaving it between her fingers in an absent-minded loop in front of her face, her back turned to the door.

She’d imagined her first bit of waterbending in a month would be raising the oceans rather than tossing this puny bubble around, forced to hide it from view, but she’d take what she could get. Anything to feel a part of her old self. And to find an ounce of release from the power tingling beneath her skin, slithering through her veins in search for an outlet, and pretend that the walls of her stomach weren’t sticking to each other from hunger.

Katara ceased waterbending when the screeching of a cell door far away grated on her ears, letting the bubble hang suspended in the air. The shouts of a man commanding someone to stand up ensued.

The only thing she’d heard outside all day was an inmate receiving two visitors back to back—though, considering one of them had called the inmate ‘brother’, she could make a guess at who they’d come for. That, and she’d know Azula’s voice anywhere. The current noises seemed to be coming from a similar distance, although it was difficult to tell with all the echoing.

From the commotion emerged two, heavy footsteps approaching her own cell, and Katara dropped the bubble entirely, letting the water splash onto her sleeping mat. It couldn’t be a coincidence that both she and the Prince were being called upon at the same time, least of all in the middle of the night.

Were they being taken to the execution site already? But… wouldn’t it make more sense for their executions to be held during the day, when lots of more people could attend the ceremony?

Her door unlocked and swung open. Katara turned over to face the door, blocking the light with a hand before her face. A figure stood tall in the doorway, casting his shadow over her.

“Get up!” His command boomed off of the walls.

Katara raised herself onto her elbow, squinting. “What’s happening?”

“What’s happening is you were given the opportunity of a lifetime.” He surveyed her from head to toe. “Tidy up. And be quick. You’ve been summoned by His Royal Majesty, Fire Lord Ozai.”

Chapter 18: *Author's Announcement*

Chapter Text

A/N

What?! I’m still alive??!!! Damn, miracles do happen.

Before you start wondering why I’m babbling nonsense to you instead of giving you the last chapter, I’ll tell you. I’m rewriting the entire story. I’ve already posted the revised version as a separate fic, and I’ll be deleting this one soon. You can find the link here (if it’s not working, the fic is also on my profile with the title “The Ocean of Flames (Revised Version)”). A detailed explanation of my decision process is below if you’re curious.

There’s an old saying in my native language that goes like “Whenever you turn away from loss, there is gain.” That’s basically the principle behind this decision.

I was unhappy with a lot of things in the old version of the fic (imagine how bad things were for me that I went on hiatus for 2,5 years lol). My mental health was in a terrible state when I started this fic, and I realized a little too late that I couldn’t do justice to the “Katara’s sexual assault” plot. It’s just too important of a topic, and I didn’t want to belittle its magnitude or anyone’s personal experience by doing a half-assed job of it. There were other major stuff I wanted to change/remove too, and I also couldn’t do those without completely messing up the plot. The final reason was that I just didn’t like my overall writing and the speed of the narrative. I like to think I’ve improved upon them now :)

What I’m trying to say is, I essentially wrote myself into a corner. That’s why I wanted to rewrite the entire fic — to start anew with a clean slate and tell a better story, one that didn’t overwhelm me while writing. I genuinely hope you can understand my situation and that this inconvenience won’t discourage you from continuing this journey with me. I just couldn’t see a way out for this fic with its old version.

My original plan for the revised version was to post all chapters at once as a gift for your outstanding patience and empathy. The first 8 are already written — I just have to proofread them before posting — and I’m currently on chapter 9, but I’m feeling the writer’s block creeping in again. Instead of leaving you hanging for even longer, though, I thought that sharing the finished chapters would be a better choice.

Whew that turned out to be a lot longer than I expected lmao. I guess that’s what happens when you hold all that in for several years.If you’re still reading, thank you for being my confidant <3 I’ll hopefully see you on the other fic :D