Chapter Text

"Air. Water. Earth. Fire. My Grandfather used to tell me stories about the old days, a time of peace when the Avatar kept balance between the Air Nomads, the Water Tribes, the Earth Kingdom, and the Fire Nation. But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Avatar mastered all four elements. Only he could stop the ruthless firebenders. But when the world needed him most, he vanished. A hundred years have passed, and the Fire Nation is nearing victory in the War. The Truth is, he passed and was reborn into the Air Nomads, as my great-grandfather, Aang. He fought on till his death, but that was 55 years ago, and my people have been in hiding since. Some people believe that the Avatar was never reborn into the Water Tribes or the Earth Kingdom, and that the cycle is broken, as no Avatar has been revealed since. But I haven't lost hope. I still believe that somehow, the Avatar will return to save the world."

Avatar: The Prince of Destiny:

Book 1: Air

Zuko—my apologies—Prince Zuko was incensed when the Wani was Destroyed. Absolutely livid, one might say.

It had been nearly a full year since His ship, the Wani, had broken down quite spectacularly on the western coast of the Earth Kingdom—or was it Fire Nation territory now? He could not say these days.

The faithful ship had blown its engine.
It had nearly capsized—twice.
The ammunition stores had exploded.
And, as if insult required injury, it was attacked by a sea monster before finally running aground.

By all accounts, the Wani was now a dead ship. Not plausible to fix.
Only a desperate fool—or an insane lunatic—would attempt it.

Zuko—no, I shall not call him by his full Imperial title every time—was acutely, seethingly aware of this fact. While his crew moved about the wreck, miraculously still upright, taking stock of damages and losses, Zuko sat facing a tree. Incense burned before him in a futile attempt to soothe his near-boiling emotions.

He breathed in.
The flames rose.
He breathed out.
They fell.

But they flickered as they did so, betraying the temper he was barely holding at bay.

I suppose I ought to describe the image of this prince having such a miserable day indeed.

He was young—almost handsome—and felt thoroughly washed out at the ancient age of sixteen. A tragic thing, truly, for one who so clearly had no time at all ahead of him. He wore the standard army uniform and Armor of the Fire Nation, remarkably well kept despite the ruin behind him. In his lap an Adolensent Turtle Duck sat peacefully giving minor noises as he watched Zuko's ritual with interest. His head was shaved nearly bald save for the back, where his remaining hair was bound in a phoenix-tail knot—hardly his best look, but a declaration all the same.

Ridiculous, perhaps, to outsiders—as all foreigners were called in his homeland.

But the most noticeable feature by far was the scar.

A great, hand-shaped burn marred the left side of his face, swallowing his eye and stretching back toward what remained of his ear. It looked as though someone had seized his head and never let go. He did not enjoy it being noticed. Or stared at. Or, worst of all, silently judged as something he had somehow deserved.

This particular young man came from a storied lineage, though you will have to take my word for it—for now. I am understating matters, but only because there is a story to get to.

Prince Zuko was about to begin an unexpected journey. One that would change far more than he yet understood.

As Zuko was conducting his Breathing exercise, under the Tree, Iroh walked up.

Iroh!

If you had heard even a fraction of what I had—and I had heard far less than there was to hear—you would already be preparing yourself for something extraordinary. Stories followed him wherever he went, growing taller and stranger with each retelling. Which of them were true was difficult to say. What was certain was that Iroh now traveled with his banished—ever dramatic—nephew.

Zuko noticed him only at the last moment: an old man entering his periphery, on his unscarred side, carrying a tea set as though it were the most important cargo in the world. 

His hair was bound in a topknot, his crimson cloak resting easily across broad shoulders. A short, pointed beard framed his chin, matched by careful sideburns, and his amber eyes held a warmth that sat oddly with Fire Nation colors. He was plump—undeniably so—in the way of a man who had learned to enjoy life’s finer offerings. Perhaps too much, if his nephew were to be believed.

“Good morning, nephew,” Iroh said, and he meant it.

The sun was shining. The grass was green. And, against all reasonable expectations, they were not dead yet. Which is always a win to Iroh

Zuko glared back beneath his remaining sharp eyebrow.

“Good morning,” he grumbled. “What good is there this morning? Or have you gone senile?”

The words left his mouth sharper than intended, and the Turtle-Duck gave a quack of disapproval.

Almost immediately, Zuko turned back toward the tree, jaw tightening. “Sorry, Uncle” he muttered, eyes fixed ahead.

If Iroh took offense, he gave no sign of it.

“I meant only that I wished you well,” he said, smiling. “But even a bad morning can be a good one, if it gives us the chance to improve it.”

“All the same,” Zuko said, irritation in his voice, “if you don’t recall, my ship is aground with unfixable damage. The engine is gone, and—”

“—and all manner of cosmic nonsense that proves the universe is conspiring against you personally?” Iroh interrupted pleasantly. “Yes, Prince Zuko. There is no need to recite our list of troubles again.”

“Then speak your piece,” Zuko snapped, “or don’t waste my time, Uncle.”

Iroh’s expression remained untroubled. This time, Zuko did not apologize. 

“I've learnt where we are,” Iroh said. “I know of a village not far from here.”

“A village,” Zuko repeated flatly.

Iroh inclined his head. “A modest one. Quiet. Welcoming.”

Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose. “You interrupted my training to tell me this?”

“Not entirely,” Iroh replied. “I also wished to tell you that I am on good terms with the village headman. He owes me a rather significant favor.”

Zuko scoffed. “And what, exactly, is some backwater village supposed to offer us? We’re miles from even a minor port. We need supplies. Repairs. A ship.”

“Allies, for one,” Iroh said, far too casually for Zuko’s liking. “And perhaps a life-altering—ah—field trip, as some might say.”

“Life-altering? A field trip?” Zuko snapped, spinning on him. “Uncle, what the K’vsk are you talking about—”

“—Prince Zuko,” Iroh interrupted mildly, “your manners.”

“I have one quest,” Zuko shot back, his meditation flames flaring as he lost control of them. “One quest alone. Find the Avatar—”

“—who, as far as we know,” Iroh added evenly, “is guarded fiercely by the elusive Air Nation.”

“And!” Zuko pressed on, jaw tight. “Bring him—or her—to the Fire Lord. Restore my honor. Reunite my family. And go home.”

If it were not already obvious, Zuko was far less patient than he liked to pretend, also he was in desperate need of validation. For every detour felt like mockery, every delay like proof that the world itself conspired to keep him from redemption.

And though he would never say it aloud, he believed—firmly—that Iroh was wasting time. Not out of malice. Never that. But Agni help him, Iroh must be the laziest War hero to ever be saddled with.

“Assuming your father would even accept that as worthy of forgiveness,” Iroh said gently. “He has always been… resolute. I know of nothing that has ever truly swayed him.” Iroh sighed softly when Zuko scoffed in response. “But say what you will, Prince Zuko. Just do not be so quick to dismiss a lead.”

Zuko turned on him. “Whatever they’re offering—and I doubt it’s anything useful—”

“—they have offered information on the location of the so called Air Nation,” Iroh finished gently.

Zuko froze.

He blinked. Once. Then again. For a moment, even the world seemed to hesitate. His thoughts collided, scattered, refused to settle—while his mouth stubbornly failed him.

“What!?” he said at last, the word pulled tight as wire.

Iroh met his gaze with a cheeky, unmistakably smug grin.

“You told me to speak my piece or stop wasting your time, did you not?”

The Air Nation.

The coalition arrayed against the Fire Nation had been led, in no small part, by the surviving Air Nomads now the elusive Air Nation, founded by Avatar Aang, himself a survivor of Sozin’s Comet. The stories about them weren’t bedtime tales. They were battlefield terrors, allegedly. Wind that could flay a battalion, allegedly. Monks who vanished into the sky and came back with blood on their hands, allegedly.

They’d helped hide the Avatars before. Maybe the last two. If Zuko’s father's boasting of killing the Earth Avatar was to be believed.

It would take a madman to even consider—

…oh.

Right.

Almost on cue, something in Zuko clicked back into place. Control.

“Then what are we still doing?” Zuko snapped. “Move. Move!”

The incense was abandoned as he surged to his feet, already shouting orders to the men of his crippled ship. The Turtle-Duck gave a cry of annoyance as he was near flung from Zuko's lap. The crew stirred—begrudgingly, it must be said—as discipline reasserted itself.

Only then did Zuko hesitate. He turned back, awkwardly, meeting his uncle’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment. Then, searching for something—anything—appropriate to follow it, he added stiffly, “And… good morning.” 

He rushed off at once, thoroughly flustered. 

"Come on Lu!" he called out, as the Turtle-Duck, Lu, waddled after him, giving out noises of amusement.

Iroh watched him go, then chuckled softly to himself. His nephew’s social skills were—slowly, painfully—developing. And after years spent under the influence of a man who had prized cruelty over kindness, any progress at all, Iroh mused, was very good progress indeed.

Two years had passed since then

As the very small crew made their way toward the village of Madeup atop the ship’s komodo-rhinos—who had thankfully all survived the Wani’s destruction—Zuko took stock of their remaining belongings: his dao swords, his Earth Kingdom knife, his mother’s theater mask, the armor on his back—things that felt like necessities.

Iroh, inexplicably, had insisted on keeping the tea set and Pai Sho board and pieces. Zuko could not, for the life of him, understand why. 'Pai Sho is more than just a game.' Iroh had told him repeatably, utter nonsense.

Aside from that, they carried nearly seventy gold koban, forty silver koban, and a hundred and fifty bronze koban—which would have been perfectly convenient if Iroh had guaranteed they were headed to a Fire Nation colony, where koban actually had value. But, alas, no.

We could sell the rhinos, Zuko had thought. But they’re our only source of transport.
And Zuko would be damned before he sold any komodo-rhino—the pride of the Fire Nation cavalry—for mere coin.

No matter, Zuko thought. They’ll give us what we need regardless, under threat of—

It occurred to him, rather abruptly, that he had not the means to enforce his authority. Not really. Not even with his crew. Nor was he sure he had the heart for it.

Good thing he realized it when he did. The village gate loomed ahead just past a small stream, its sign proudly displaying the kanji: “Madeup Village! Home Sweet Fiction!”—likely a rare relic of the pre-war world.

Iroh chuckled at the pun. Zuko groaned.

“Did they really think that necessary?” he sniped.

“With all due respect, sir, new names are getting harder and harder to come by,” Captain Jee said.

Jee had effectively served as third officer on the late Wani—behind Iroh, who in practice was the ship’s XO, and Zuko, who technically held command by virtue of being royalty. He was about the same age as Iroh, with a real salt-of-the-earth weathered face.

Zuko had always thought Jee an upstart. Not in the loud, ambitious way—no, worse, in the way that made Zuko feel as though he were being measured and found wanting.

He couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that Jee was in on some unspoken ploy to waste his time, to bleed him dry of effort and patience.

Iroh, of course, would never do such a thing. Zuko would stake what little remained of his pride on that.

Jee, on the other hand…

Well. Zuko did not trust Jee. Nor, truthfully, the crew as a whole.

And yet, for all the suspicion that coiled in his chest, he could never bring himself to be cruel to them.

Weakness. Cowardice.

That was what his upbringing had taught him to call it—every moment he hesitated to put the crew in their “rightful” place.

After all, what good, caring father would tolerate a son who could not assert his superiority?

…Right?

So Zuko grunted out the minimist apology, and walked on, when another of his crew called out:

"Movement in the river!"

A boy surfaced from the stream laughing to himself, water streaming off his shoulders. He looked scarcely old enough to be roughly 11 or maybe 12, though if you mistook him for being younger, I hardly blame you. pasty faced, thin-limbed, all elbows and knees, his bare feet caked in mud up, up to his ankle.

His hair was the most peculiar thing about him—there was no hair at all, his head a near-perfect, shining dome.

He wore the simple, weather-faded clothes of an Earth Kingdom peasant, hitched up to keep them dry, and wrung out one sleeve with cheerful focus, as though soldiers shouting about movement in the river were no more concerning than a change in the wind.

Zuko frowned. Barely more than a child. He thought

“You! Stable boy! Where is the headsman of the village?”

“Nephew, manners,” Iroh chided.

Zuko rolled his eyes, "ugh. Fine! can, you, give, us, direction's, to, the Headsman and the tavern, we'll need lodging" he paused as if this next bit will be physically painful, "Please?"

The child seemed not to register them at first. Then he looked up, took in the Fire Nation armor—and went very still.

For a heartbeat, Zuko expected the usual cowering fear.

Instead, the boy’s brows furrowed.

“I could if I wanted Scar Face.” he snarked.

The audacity of this brat.

Behind Zuko, the crew stifled snickers. Iroh, meanwhile, did not look amused by the comment.

Zuko was baffled—then very cross.
Don’t make a scene, Zuko, he told himself.
And so he responded with what he hoped passed for grace and dignity.

“Listen here, you little—” He stopped himself, teeth grinding.
“I'll have none of that. I am the Prince, I'll have you know.”

“In what way are you my superior?” the boy asked, his snark suddenly replaced with mild curiosity.

“I am the Prince!”

“You look like a broke ronin,” the boy said, matter-of-factly.

“In what way?!”

“My grandfather said princes have dignified topknot crowns with well-groomed hair,” the boy said, squinting at Zuko’s awful haircut.
“That hairstyle of yours looks hideous. Why not just shave it all together?” Zuko's hair had been growing in patchy as he had little time to trim it on the road. So yes it was that bad.

“Oh, you are one to talk!” the wind was starting to pick up speed, the creek was ebbing and flowing harsher, and if you just paid attention the earth was subtly vibrating.

“Nephew, if I may,” Iroh interjected. “I already know the headsman—remember? His house is down the road. No further fuss needed. Let us leave the rhinos and avoid making a bigger scene,” he added sagely. At this the natural forces seemed to calm, though the Boy appeared to not notice. Zuko was off put on his part, but thought no more, no less of it.

Zuko steeled himself and turned back to the boy.
“Just see to our rhinos, and Lu” he gritted out. “You’ll get a bronze koban if you do well—and a smack to the ear if you don’t.”

He and the others did not wait to see how the stable boy took that. They turned away and shouldered towards the Headsman's house.

The headsman was, as Iroh predicted, exactly where he said he would be, and the party was quickly ushered into the man’s office. He was a lanky fellow with an outright ridiculous hat and what had to be one of the longest beards and bushiest eyebrows Zuko had ever seen. The man looked up at them with a hint of fondness—but Zuko, once again, was too thick to grasp why.

“Sit where you like. Is it sake, Fire-Spirits, or some food?” he asked warmly.

“Information,” Zuko said firmly.

“A game of Pai Sho would be lovely Fa Zhu!” Iroh replied sagely.

…What.

“Uncle, there is no time for—”

“Nephew, information can always be won at a game of Pai Sho,” Iroh said calmly.

The headsman, Fa Zhu smiled.
“Then let us begin.”

Zuko paid little mind, deciding to accept the headsman’s offer of some food. Other than vaguely overhearing something about the “White Lotus Gambit,” he was struggling to pay attention, as usual.

He found the front room mostly empty, except for a bald-headed monk, face down on the table. The young man looked like he’d seen better days. Zuko noticed the monk was holding a rather large cactus cup—and not a cup decorated to look like a cactus, but a literal cactus stem repurposed into a drinking vessel.

Weirdo, Zuko thought. He ruled out the possibility that the man was an Air Nomad monk; he did not have the characteristic arrow tattoos masters of Airbending were known to bear.

Thankfully, the young man was not Zuko’s only company, as a lovely, mature woman soon entered the room.

“Do you need something?” she asked sweetly.

“Just some food,” Zuko replied, a bit shyer than usual. “I don’t wish to be a bother.”

“No bother at all!” she laughed. “I can offer salmon from the river, boar, even some turtle ducks, if that’s your taste.”

“Salmon will do,” Zuko answered abruptly, not wanting to think of eating a Turtle-Duck. “Some food—and then it’s time to find the Air Nation. If your headsman actually upholds his oath to my uncle.” He glared as he said the last part.

At this, the woman seemed hesitant. Figures, thought Zuko. She’s sympathetic to the coalition, no doubt. Just my luck!

“Father is an honorable man,” she said, scowling. “I won’t have you question that. If he is bound by oath to your uncle, he won’t betray it.”

Zuko made a noise of conceding. “What is your price for the care of our rhinos?”

The woman softened her expression. “I wager none. My father speaks highly of your uncle, you see. Is my boy seeing after your rhinos, or has he run off again?”

“He’s seeing to them,” said Zuko. “You seem to have no custom.”

“Half the town and farmlands have gone to travel to the Air Nation,” she explained. “There seems to be a grand celebration of some kind the day after tomorrow. My own son would have gone as well, if I allowed it. When I am headsman after my father, he will be headsman after me—but the boy would sooner swagger about with the soldiers of the Earth King, boasting how he’ll drive the hated Firelord’s armies back—if he were an Airbender.”

Zuko’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why do you share this with me? I’m clearly Fire Nation.”

The woman studied him with a distinctly motherly gaze, leaving Zuko uncomfortable with the strange feeling—what was it? Genuine concern… recognition?

“You seem like a young man with honor, who'd never break his word. And again My Father speaks highly of your uncle, who vouches for you clearly.”

“I have no honor,” Zuko responded firmly, signaling that line of conversation was over. "but my Uncle has it in spades, even when he irritates me."

Across the room, the young monk raised his head from the strange substance that had pooled onto the table from his cactus cup. He looked sallow and flushed, and vaguely familiar to Zuko—but from where, he was not sure. He rubbed his mouth, blinked at Zuko, and said,

“I dreamed of you.” His hand trembled as he pointed a finger. “Stay away, great-grandfather, do you hear? I cannot bear to shame your legacy in front of you!”

Zuko stared at him, baffled. Oh… I hope to never encounter whatever he had!

Fa Zhu’s daughter leaned in close. “Don’t mind him. He and his brother came in early this morning like this, clutching his… so-called cactus juice. We’re sheltering him and his brother here until he recovers, and he’s been entertaining us with his wild visions ever since. Now, I’ll see to your food—have a seat, and some tea, for spirits’ sake!”

“Food?” The monk made the word an obscenity. He staggered to his feet, one hand on the table to keep himself from falling. “I’m going to be sick,” he announced. “Spirits be good, I need some… some… washer—yes, water. Goodnight, great-grand!”

“It’s not even midday!” Zuko said in disgust.

The Monk lurched unsteadily from the front room, and Zuko heard him climbing steps, singing under his breath.

A Weirdo indeed. thought Zuko. But why did he think he knew me? and why His Great Grandfather. He pondered that for a moment over his tea.

As Agni’s sun arched across the sky into sunset, Zuko took his meal, which was indeed a filling one—and far better than he cared to admit. He felt the energy granted to all firebenders by the sun dim within him. Here’s to being an even weaker firebender than I was in the daylight, he scowled to himself. This self loathing far too routine for Zuko was interrupting With Lu bursting into the house Quacking what Zuko could only imagine was frustration or some obscenity over something.

“What’s wrong, Lu?”

“Quack! Qua—quack!” Lu fluttered his feathers, clearly agitated. He began pacing between Zuko and the door, almost as if urging him to follow.

Zuko frowned as he looked toward the door. He decided to follow his childhood pet out of the house. As he did, a loud snort echoed—one that could only have come from the party’s rhinos.

“Easy, boy!” a boy’s voice tried to whisper, though it was loud enough for Zuko to hear. His frown deepened, and he quickened his pace.

He found the boy from the creek mounted atop his Komodo-rhino, wearing his helmet and a jumble of spare armor parts. The helm clearly didn’t fit; the boy had to tilt it back on his bald head just to see. The armor pieces were mismatched, some even worn on the wrong body parts. He held the rhino’s reins incorrectly and looked utterly foolish—and for once, Zuko couldn’t keep his stoicism. Not because he wanted to laugh, more so he was genuinely concerned if anything.

The boy looked up, flushed. “Good evening, sir,” he said, smiling as innocently as he possibly could.

He failed.

“Get down from there!” Zuko called, a note of panic breaking through. “That’s a war rhino—not some tame boy's calf!”

The boy frowned, almost offended at the implication—that the beast beneath him was nothing more than a weapon with legs, rather than a living creature that deserved better than a battlefield.

“He’s been calm,” the boy countered, bristling. “Doesn’t seem the type to be dangerous!”

“All the same,” Zuko snapped, “you should be thankful he hasn’t bucked you off and stomped you into the ground. Now—close your mouth, take the armor off, and get down.”

The boy pouted, but complied. The Komodo-rhino snorted again, stamping one massive foot, as if offended at being underestimated by the boy.

“What did you think you were doing?” Zuko demanded, irritation slipping through his restraint.

“How can I tell you,” the boy said, wriggling free of the armor pieces and letting them clatter to the ground, “with my mouth closed?”

Zuko blinked, thrown off for half a breath. Then his scowl snapped back into place.
“You can open your mouth to answer,” he said flatly. “Now put the armor back where you found it. And my helmet. Did you feed the rhinos, as I asked?”

The boy tilted his head, considering. “Pretty sure you did everything except ask,” he said, with innocent certainty.

“Well? Did you?”

“Yes,” the boy said, lifting Zuko’s helm off his own head and handing it back. Then, almost casually, he added, “You’re going to the Air Nomads. Why?”

He said it with such certainty that Zuko knew he wasn’t asking.

“What does it matter to you?” Zuko replied, snapping his fingers as fire bloomed in his palm—a clear warning to back down.

Never—never, and he truly meant it—had Zuko expected an outsider to stare at his bending with awe rather than fear. In a time of war, one expected defiance… or terror. Earth Kingdom peasants either clenched their fists or shrank away.

But awe?

Sadly, the awe vanished as quickly as it had appeared—replaced by concern and defiance.

“What will you do to them,” the boy asked, voice hardening, “sell them out to the Fire Lord?”

“I’ll go there to capture the Avatar and the Air Nation,” Zuko snapped. “Restore my honor in the eyes of my father—”

“That’s your plan?!” the boy cut in, incredulous. “Just walk into the Moving City, grab the Avatar, and successfully escape with them? Somehow?!”

“I can take the Avatar,” Zuko insisted. “I’m sure of it. It’s just some fourteen-year-old kid!”

“What? You think they’re an Air Nomad?” the boy shot back. “We’d have heard about that by now.”

“And you’d have heard if they were a firebender by now,” Zuko retorted almost like he was denying something. "And what would you know? you're just a child!"

The boy looked up at him, genuinely puzzled.

“Well… you’re just a teenager. What’s your point?”

“As amusing as this banter is,” Iroh cut in, his voice arriving before Zuko noticed him, “the boy speaks sense. It would be quite foolish to simply walk in.”

“I would not just walk in!” Zuko snapped. “I’d sneak in, obviously.”

Iroh lifted a brow. “Through what? Secret tunnels that conveniently appear beneath a flat grassland?”

“How did—!?” Zuko and the boy blurted at the same time.

The boy froze, clamping his mouth shut as if he’d nearly said too much.

Zuko, too busy in his haste, didn’t notice.

“Never mind—I know what you’re going to say!”

Iroh only chuckled. “I’ve secured passage to the fabled Moving City. Hardly more than a day’s ride.”

“Take me with you!” the boy said at once, standing a little straighter.

“Absolutely not,” Zuko snapped, then rounded on Iroh. “How many of our party are coming, Uncle? And I assume you have a plan that doesn’t involve… walking in the front door.”

Iroh smiled. “You wound me, Nephew. I was at least considering knocking first. Or asking permission to enter.”

He reached into his sleeve and produced three blue sashes, each fastened with a silver pin shaped like a lotus.

“Lieutenant Jee will be the only one accompanying us. Raya, Sanji, and Oda are returning to the Wani with a few village hands—to see if she’s truly as unsalvageable as we feared.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “That’s a moot hope, Uncle. And you know it.”

"Jee, You, and I will don these sashes, in this way, they'll know we come as friends." Iroh continued.

At this the Boy looked confused and all together shocked at the ease of this apparent plan. "With your Fire-nation armor still on? They will surely see right through your disguise!"

Iroh just simply chuckled at the Boy. "It is no disguise young master, we are friends to the Air Nation." he said as rather a mater of fact.

“Since when?” Zuko asked, incredulous.

The boy’s eyes lit up. “You are?! Then I am going with you!”

"No." snapped Zuko

"Please?"

"NO!"

"Oh Come on!"

"We'll get our rest and move out tommorow, but you are staying here." Zuko said as if that was the end of it.