Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The little prince is born.

A servant rushed through the courtyard, tripping over stray pebbles on the polished pavement. In the sky, there was no full moon to illuminate the gardens. The shadow of a new moon left unlit dark corners where no lanterns could reach.

It’s a sign.

They stumbled through Prince Ozai’s palace wing, before finally reaching a set of heavy, ornate doors. They waited for the guards to push the doors open and allow them into their master’s chambers, nervous anticipation flickering like the lamps that lit the hallways.

When the servant was finally given access to the rooms, they fell to their knees, forehead touching the cool floor, prostrating themselves in a bow.

“Prince Ozai,” they said, “your wife, Princess Ursa, has given birth. I regret to inform you that...unfortunately, the child did not make it.”

The prince dismissed the servant.

The lights flickered out.

It’s a sign.

Most of the residents of the Fire Lord’s palace will forget this in five years’ time, but Ursa could never forget the worst hour of her life; worse than the day she learned of her engagement, worse than her wedding night.

She had been in labor for nearly half a day, but her baby’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t breathing.

Why wasn’t her baby breathing?

“Princess Ursa?” the midwife called to her, “Princess Ursa, please, let us take the little prince. We must clean him and prepare for the funeral.”

Ursa’s hold on her son tightened. “No,” she whispered.

“Pardon me, Princess Ursa?”

“No,” she said again, with more conviction, more fire-tempered steel, “Let me hold him, I want to hold him.”

He had come early. The fire sages hadn’t predicted that Ursa would give birth at the end  of the monsoon season; they had planned for her to give birth in spring, when Agni’s strength would be kind. But her baby had come early, and now he was here in her arms, so small and soft, and he wasn’t breathing .

It’s a sign.

A Fire Nation princess wasn’t supposed to cry. Fire Nation royalty should be composed; they should always maintain their public image; they shouldn’t show weakness. The advisors and the nobility and her father-in-law all expected her to uphold her status, to act as the princess she now was, but, cradling her baby boy, Ursa couldn’t find it in herself to care.

A cry rang through the palace.

It’s a sign, they say. 

“Poor Princess Ursa,” a servant murmured, standing outside the chambers where grief-stricken cries wouldn’t stop.

“Her union with Prince Ozai must be cursed,” another whispered, “for their first baby to not make it. She is a fertile woman and royal blood is strong, how else could it have gone wrong?”

The midwife’s assistant shushed them. “Don’t let the Fire Lord or Prince Ozai hear of that! Do you want to be sent to the coal mines?”

On Crescent Island, Fire Sage Shyu stopped in his tracks.

“There is something wrong.”

There has always been something wrong, is what he didn’t say. Something has been wrong since we betrayed the Avatar. Something has been wrong since we stopped serving as spiritual guides and started serving the Fire Lord’s war instead. But this is something different, something separate from the usual wrongness.

“You are imagining things, Shyu,” the Great Sage replied.

Shyu watched as the other fire sages, master firebenders all in their own right, struggled to relight the foyer’s lights. No bending would come out, and no matches would catch fire. Even the oil lanterns refused to turn on.

“No,” he said, “the spirits are troubled.”

It’s a sign.

Prince Zuko breathed his last breath before he could even open his eyes.

There were no greater spirits to witness his short life. He was born in the night, where Agni held no reign and little power; he was born under a new moon, when Tui left the sky to visit La and answered no prayers; he was born to a sky full of clouds, covering the stars so that not even the smaller heavenly bodies could peer upon his face.

But he is not alone.

His ancestors’ spirits wait by the bed, their pale hands reaching out. The ghosts of Fire Nation soldiers (drowned in the ocean, buried under the earth, burned to ashes) traverse the world to bow in front of him. War prisoners who have long passed slip into the city to watch him. The malnourished carcasses of Earth Kingdom peasants and depleted bodies of the Southern Water Tribe’s benders wait in the courtyard. An entire race of air nomads sit on the palace’s roofs, the nuns holding steadfast to toddlers’ hands as monks circle the towers. Fire Nation citizens leave their family shrines.

The lesser spirits gathered for him.

And when he breathed his last breath, they cried.

Iroh was sleeping when his nephew died.

Years later, he will go on a spiritual journey to find his son, Lu Ten, and he will learn of the day that the spirits and ghosts and undead mourned so great that the sun was awoken from an eternity’s tradition.

Agni slept at night. That was the deal.

Agni would be allowed to rest, and the humans would have Tui and the little-sister-stars to guide their way. Some of the humans were even gifted with Agni’s fire, so that they could fill the night with bright light and continue their laughter and games while Agni slept. And so, Agni has never woken up before morning.

Yet, here they were.

Under the ocean, a twelve year old boy twitches.

Save him.

There is a woman and a baby cradled in her arms, and the baby is not breathing.

The little prince cannot die.

Save him, please save him.

There is a woman and a baby. The woman is crying because the baby will not breathe. The baby’s eyes will not open.

Don’t let this be his end!

Save him. Save him.

There is a woman and a baby who will not breathe, and they are both Agni’s children.

Agni knows that if the baby’s eyes open, they will be yellow. The baby’s eyes will be gold like molten pear drops, like the ocean’s horizon or the sunset sky. They will shine brighter than the morning sun and they will burn through shadows and darkness and night.

The little prince is destined for greater than this.

Save him!

Spirits do not converge for no reason. The lesser spirits, the spirits of the earth, spirits of people, they do not just stray from their graves and possessions. They certainly don’t convene for a baby. There are hundreds of babies born every day, after all. There are even more who are lost to the world.

Still, they flock to the little prince.

Please save him, they say. All hope will be lost if he dies.

The Avatar still lives, Agni reminds them.

They cry. But this one is ours. He is ours. Save him!

Ozai had not been pleased to have his sleep disturbed by the servant. So Ursa had finally given birth? In the middle of the night, of all times?

He would wait until morning.

But when the sun finally rose, Ozai’s mood had not improved. As he walked through the courtyard, soaking up Agni’s light, he did not feel rejuvenated. The monsoon clouds had finally cleared and the sun was unimpeded in its ascent through the sky, and yet Ozai felt that his fire was weaker.

When he reached the birthing chambers, where his wife lay, Ozai found the royal guards and palace servants all waiting outside the room. Even the midwife was outside, not daring to enter, though Ozai had no idea why since their job was to be inside the room to help Ursa give birth.

The guards and servants parted for him, watching with bated breath as he entered the room.

A baby’s soft cry greeted him.

Chapter Text

There is an old tale about the Fire Lord and his family:

Long ago, before the Avatar disappeared, before Sozin had declared war and told his citizens that they were fighting to share their greatness and enlighten the world, the four nations lived together in harmony. And before that, the four nations did not exist and the spirits were intertwined with the human world.

One day, in this ‘before’ world, Agni laid their eyes on a beautiful human, who lived in one of the lion turtle cities. The great spirit watched the human for many months, until a day came where the human had gathered their things and prepared to leave the lion turtle city with other villagers.

Fearing for their safety, Agni descended from the heavens and took a mortal form, so that he may travel with the human.

Agni dedicated so much time to the human that the two were inevitably in love.The great spirit had loved the human so much, in fact, that Agni sacrificed some of their power, forcing the sun to set every night and rest. 

Agni had blessed the human with a portion of their holy fire, which burned hotter and brighter than others’, and from that human, the strongest firebending family was born.

It was believed that they were so strong they could tame wildfires, stand against volcanoes, and bend lightning. Some even said that their very steps could scorch the earth. Others swore that their eyes were so captivating that people were all but helpless to orbit around them. They could commune with the spirits just as well as they could lead an army, and they could conquer nations.

As time went by, it was said that their fire was Agni’s judgement upon the world, and it would forever burn steadfast in his support.

Lu Ten’s little cousin was exactly that: little.

His dad had explained to him, shortly after Aunt Ursa gave birth, that Zuko had been born early, and would thus be smaller and frailer than most children. It also meant that his cousin might not be able to play with him.

It had been two years since his dad told him that, though, and Zuko was still considered “too delicate”.

For one, the palace servants never let him out in the sun.

It had started when Zuko was just born. Lu Ten remembered the subdued midday sun beating on his back, and how his fire had felt weaker than normal during his firebending lessons. His instructor had gotten impatient and dismissed him early, so he had scampered off to try and get a sneak peak at the newest addition to his family. 

Hiding behind a pillar, he had watched Uncle Ozai and Aunt Ursa emerge from the palace physicians’ office with a bundle of silks cradling the new baby. An attendant had rushed out after them, a parasol opened to shade Aunt Ursa and the baby in her arms.

Uncle Ozai had been so mad, but there was nothing he could do, not with the head physician’s orders and Aunt Ursa’s insistence.

But now, two years later, servants still made sure to shield Zuko with a paper parasol or large fans, or draw close the silk curtains in any room the boy entered. They tended to hold his hand and carry him around a lot, too, even though Lu Ten knew that Zuko could walk quite well for his age.

Uncle Ozai hated it. Lu Ten often heard the man grumble about inferiority and disgraces, and how Zuko shouldn’t be so weak.

Zuko’s only two years old, though, Lu Ten thought, toddlers aren’t that strong to begin with. Is it cause he hasn’t shown any signs of firebending-

With a great sweep, Lu Ten suddenly found himself face first in the dirt.

“You are spacing out, Prince Lu Ten.”

The boy groaned, turning over so that he was facing the sky. Agni’s rays shone bright, but his body didn’t soak up the sunlight the way it used to. This summer wasn’t as hot as it usually was, and while Lu Ten was grateful that he wasn’t sweating buckets, it felt weird to still be wearing one of his thicker robes in the middle of the dry season.

Above him, his instructor let out a deep sigh. “I suppose you should take a break for the day, it would do no good to practice while your mind is preoccupied.”

Lu Ten gave no response. He wondered if his cousin was wearing his spring robes, too. Zuko was always complaining about how hot it was, though.

A foot nudged his side and Lu Ten’s eyes opened, squinting in the light’s glare. “Do not let the Fire Lord or Prince Ozai see you rolling in the dirt, Prince Lu Ten. It is unbecoming of a future heir to the throne.”

At the mention of his grandfather and uncle, the boy shot up. His arm raised up in a rigid salute. “Yes, sir!” he said, before scrambling up and dusting off the dirt on his robes.

His instructor just chuckled softly and waved him away in dismissal.

The palace kitchens were always busy. They had to prepare the food for the royal guard that patrolled the grounds and snacks for visiting courtiers and courtesans, and of course there were the meals for the royal family that needed to be cooked, and there were always different palace staff stopping by to eat. It didn’t help that Prince Iroh made it his personal mission to annoy the head chef by constantly coming over for his tea or flirting with the pastry chef.

Kuzon had been a kitchen hand for only a few months. He was paid just enough to support his family back in his home village, and while he didn’t earn as much money as he hoped to, it was a good job, and he enjoyed it, most of the time.

“Kuzon! What kind of flutterbat dung is this?” The head chef vaguely gestured to the bowl sitting in front of the young man.

“They’re flaming fire flakes, sir.” Kuzon usually didn’t cook without supervision. Not because he was bad at it, or anything like that, but because he was often assisting one of the line cooks in preparing a vast array of meals. This was the first time he had cooked by himself since he was employed in the palace, and flaming fire flakes was one of the simplest recipes out there.

The head chef clicked his tongue. “You can’t just make them the way you normally do. These are for Prince Ozai’s son, Prince Zuko. Make a new batch, and halve the spices this time.”

With that, the head chef left, and Kuzon set out to make a second batch of fire flakes.

“Halve the spices? Is it really flaming fire flakes without kirachu peppers or mango-chilis? It might as well just be salted flakes.” Kuzon muttered under his breath.

A spoon whacked him upside the head. “Keep those thoughts to yourself, Kuzon, unless you want to be kicked out of the palace.” One of the line cook assistants said.

“But it’s true!”

The assistant sighed, taking the bowl out of the young man’s hands. “You’ve only been here for a short time, so you don’t know.”

“That the royal family likes bland fire flakes?”

The spoon whacked his head again. “No, you hot-head. Prince Zuko has a weak body, and the palace physicians don’t want him eating anything except for the approved diet.”

“Then why make fire flakes in the first place?” Kuzon felt like he was doing a fool’s errand.

Another kitchen hand joined in, poking the young man in the side. “You weren’t here when the young prince was born, but they say it’s a miracle he survived childbirth. We cater to his every whim because we don’t know if he’ll, y’know...”

“If he’ll what?”

A pinched silence settled between Kuzon’s two coworkers, their lips pursed and eyes turned downcast.

“Kuzon...you know about the old stories? About the babies born during monsoons?”

There are hundreds of stories about children born during monsoons, and each story has its own variation in each village. After Sozin had begun his quest to enlighten the savages and peasants outside of the Fire Nation, the superstitions had largely fallen out of favor, but pieces of them still remained.

(They say that the savage gods of the south steal them away in the night. 

They say that they lure them to the beaches and into the ocean, and the monsoon children are never seen again. The moon calls out to them, and because they are born at a time when their fire is weak and damp, they helplessly answer.

There are horror tales of toddlers who wake up in the middle of the night and walk into the waves, ignoring the pleas and cries of their parents, as if possessed; of bloated bodies found floating in rivers that flow into the sea.

In recent years, the savage gods of the south are replaced by the savages themselves.

They say that waterbenders can tell if one is cursed by Tui and La, and monsoon children who enlist in the Fire Navy are always the first ones to die.)

(They say that monsoon children are so disadvantaged, it is better to let them die as an infant.

Children born in the wet season rarely have a spark big enough to light a candle, and in a nation that needs its citizens to support its cause for world enlightenment, a nation that increasingly needs more of its citizens to enlist, non-benders who join the military have the highest fatality rates.)

(They say that restless spirits take them away.

The spirits must be grieving, or vengeful, or overcome with wrath, and because monsoon children are weak it must be so easy for the spirits to take them away before they can even open their eyes. Whether they need them for food or power, no one is sure why.

Some say they are dead relatives or soldiers, and they take the monsoon children because they are lonely. Some say they are the ghosts of Fire Nation enemies, air nomads or southern savages or Earth Kingdom peasants, who continue the war in their own sick way.)

There is no winter in the Fire Nation, just the monsoons. Children born at the height of the wet season were as touched by the spirits as those born near the summer solstice.

There were once old traditions centered around monsoon children. Different villages had different ones: festivals for more rain, dances for less; ancient songs for better health and a prayer for the fishing boats. 

But not all of them were in celebration.

(They are sacrificed to Agni, because they have no other use.)

“Those are just old superstitions,” Kuzon said, trying to wave off the others’ wariness. In spite of what he said, however, he didn’t add the extra spices to the fire flakes.

Most of the citizens in larger villages and port towns and trading cities didn’t believe in the old stories anymore. They had fallen out of fashion, and even Kuzon, who came from a small floating village that still paid homage to the Painted Lady, thought they were nothing more than folk tales.

But that did not reassure Kuzon. If anything, he felt as if a heavy stone had settled in the pit of his stomach.

Then the sudden clatter of kitchen pots broke through their pensive thoughts.

The three workers all jumped in attention, turning to meet their visitor.

“Are those fire flakes?” Prince Lu Ten said. His top knot was lopsided and his clothes were covered in a thin layer of dirt, indicating an intense training session.

“Your highness!” the line cook assistant exclaimed, prostrating themselves in a deep bow, “These are for your younger cousin, Prince Zuko. If you would like, we can make you a separate batch.”

“I’ll take them! I was going to visit Zuko anyway!” Lu Ten said, snatching the bowl from the kitchen hand.

Before anyone could protest, the young prince was already out the door.

There was a tree that stood by the turtleduck pond in the middle of the courtyard. The tree had been planted before Sozin’s reign as Fire Lord, making it an ancient relic in its own right. It was Princess Ursa’s favorite place to relax before her son was born, and following his birth, the pond quickly became Zuko’s favorite as well.

So when Lu Ten passed by the courtyard and saw the small procession of servants, parasol and fans in hand, he waved enthusiastically, calling out his cousin’s name.

The young prince was always easy to find, whenever he went outside. A large parasol, rimmed with a sheer curtain, followed his every step, and there were at least two other servants that stood close behind with wide fans.

Zuko wasn’t allowed to be under direct sunlight. The royal physician said that he was too weak, and they were sure that his delicate skin would blister under the sun. It did not help that his temperature often ran high and he was constantly at risk of fainting from an overheated body.

Most of the palace knew this, which is why nothing seemed to be amiss when Lu Ten started to jog over to meet him.

But when Zuko, overcome with excitement, tugged out of his caretaker’s grasp and ran to Lu Ten, when he stepped out from under the protective shade, he did not falter or faint or blister.

Instead, the world burned around him.

Chapter Text

Firebenders run hot. It’s a universal truth that all Fire Nation children learn at an early age, and Azula has known it since before she learned how to talk. Firebenders are naturally warm and that’s just how it is; to wield flames in your body and bring them to life makes you a little warmer than non-benders.

From the few and growing fewer times that Father has held her, his hands have always been hot, like a tempered iron rod that has cooled down just enough to touch. Mother’s embrace, on the other hand, is not warm, but is instead cool like light rain at the end of the dry season. It's nice, and even though Azula wishes Mother were a firebender too, she's glad for the fresh breaks from the heat.

Her parents are prime examples of Fire Nation duality: the fiery fierceness of their soldiers and the calm dignity of their citizens. Azula has even heard Grandfather praise himself over their match. He calls them the perfect balance for the perfect royal family.

But if her parents are supposed to be the "perfect balance", their children are from that.

For one, Zuzu’s touch is burning.

Azula doesn’t have to hold his hand to know that. It’s obvious, because no one ever touches Zuzu. Mother doesn’t hug him or pat his head and Azula has never seen Father scold Zuzu with a sharp slap the same way he does when Azula makes a mistake with her firebending forms. 

It’s obvious, because all of Zuzu’s servants were actually guards who were proficient in firebending, and they all wore special gloves that were thick and flame-resistant, and why would firebenders need gloves to protect them from fire?

(She asks Lu Ten once, why Zuzu had guards for servants in the first place, when the guards’ duties were to fight others and defend the Fire Lord’s palace, not serve tea or hold her brother’s parasol. She asks him why Zuzu needs a parasol in the first place, because she's never had to use one and she doesn't want to.

He had laughed, rubbing the back of his head and allowing the long sleeves of his robes to reveal the years’ old burn scars on his arm.

Lu Ten tells her that her brother burned the old courtyard and everyone in it the first time Agni’s light touched his skin. 

Before that, the palace physicians had never let him out in the sun for fear of his health, and his Mother or the servants would carry Zuko wherever they went. He had always been abnormally warm, even before he was touched by Agni’s light, and everyone had worried that it was because he was sick or overexerting himself.

Then one day he had run out of their grasp to greet Lu Ten and a magnificent wall of flames erupted from his first step under the sun. Lu Ten had been the only firebender in the courtyard that day, and there was only so much he could do. The servants, who had been closest to Zuko, had to retire from the palace with third-degree burns all over their bodies.

He tells her that her brother’s fire is so great that no one can control it, not even her Father or Grandfather, and that is why he doesn’t go out in the sun or practice his firebending. In the unlikely case that Zuko does cause a fire, his guards will be there to help contain it.)

-

Kuzon the tutor, not to be mixed up with the Kuzon who works as a kitchen hand, is lucky to be employed by the royal family.

There’s really no use for him, as Prince Ozai has said on multiple occasions, because he specialized in religious studies and most residents of the capital city didn’t bother with any spirits aside from the Great Agni. However, he still finds himself working in the palace, dedicating two hours every day to teaching the young Prince Zuko.

It’s not like he’s Prince Zuko’s only tutor. There are others who teach math and science and history and literature, but Kuzon is different. It’s not something to be smug about, even as he greets the insufferable math tutor as he passes through the halls.

The thing is, as far as the newer staff of the Fire Lord’s palace and the general public know, Prince Zuko is a non-bender. It’s practically unheard of, to have someone born into the royal family and be unable to bend fire, but that not-quite-reality is better than the alternative.

And as Kuzon makes his way to Prince Zuko’s location, he is once again reminded that he is very much aware of the alternative.

Unlike the other tutors, he does not walk to Prince Zuko’s chambers nor does he find himself in the library. Instead, Kuzon greets a guard, clad in heavy, soot-stained gloves. 

The guard has never verbally responded to him, for all of the two years Kuzon has been teaching their prince, he only steps aside to wrap a blindfold over the tutor’s eyes. Together, with Kuzon firmly gripping the guard’s shoulder, they walk through a doorway and further into the palace’s inner maze.

When he is finally allowed to remove the blindfold, the tutor is standing in front of the royal family’s personal shrine. He takes care to murmur a quiet prayer to Agni before walking through the heavy doors.

Unlike other temples and places of worship, the personal shrine is deep underground, directly below the Fire Lord’s palace, and it can only be entered through a winding path of tunnels. 

There are no windows or airways to allow Agni’s light. There are candles and lanterns, he’s been assured, but they remain unlit, as the young prince’s guards have not been given permission to enter and Kuzon himself has no fire to bend. It leaves the shrine cold and empty with darkness, and it settles on his bones like wet ashes clinging to the hearth. In the Fire Nation, temples and shrines have always been brightly lit, with open walls and many-paned windows, paper lanterns and aromatic candles hanging off of every surface.

But there is no need for light in the shrine, neither man-made or natural.

In the middle of the room, sits a boy who burns brighter than a furnace.

-

Ursa is brushing her daughter’s hair when Azula asks the question.

“Why didn’t you let Zuzu go into the sun as a baby? He’s better now, isn’t he? Now that he’s been in the sun.”

It’s an innocent question, Ursa knows. Her daughter is a naturally intuitive person, and she’s just curious, like all children are. But no self-reassuring can stop the way her hands tremble.

(She is reminded of six years ago, when she was holding a baby who was too cold and then was suddenly too warm.

She remembers how Ozai’s lips had turned down into a nasty scowl when the palace physicians suggested keeping Zuko out of the sun, to make sure he wouldn’t suffer from heat stroke.

Let him burn up, he had scoffed. It would do him good to be under the sun, he’s a Fire Nation prince after all, and any child that can’t handle the sun is no child of mine.

That day had been the first and only time she ever yelled at him, the first time she spoke up against him and pushed against his will.)

Ursa takes a deep breath to calm her beating heart and places the brush onto the vanity table. Instead of pulling Azula’s hair into a high knot, she gingerly wraps her arms around the child and tugs her off the stool and into her lap.

As she lets her fingers slide through silky tresses, Ursa finds the courage to speak.

“Your brother was born early,” she says, and it is clearly not the answer Azula was looking for, because she squirms in dissatisfaction.

“Well, obviously,” her daughter says, “he was born before me.”

Ursa resists the urge to laugh. “He was born earlier than he was supposed to be. Zuko was supposed to be born after the end of the wet season, but instead he was born in the middle of it.”

“He’s a cursed monsoon baby!” Azula says, turning in Ursa’s lap.

“Azula!” Ursa scolds, as a small frown slips onto her face. “You shouldn’t call your brother cursed. And who taught you about monsoon babies?”

“One of my tutors mentioned it. He said that it’s unlucky to have babies during the wet season, and that when I’m grown up I should make sure that none of my children are born during a monsoon.”

The frown on her face deepens. “You’re far too young to be thinking about having children.” Ursa would have to figure out which tutor Azula was talking about. Hopefully it would be one of the ones that weren’t in her husband or father-in-law’s favor.

“I don’t want children anyway!” Azula says. “But what does Zuzu being born early have to do with the sun?”

“Because he was born early, your brother’s body is weaker than yours. We were afraid that if he was out in the sun he would faint, and even though that’s not the case anymore, he still has to be careful with his health.”

The young girl doesn’t respond this time, but she hums thoughtfully. Her legs are swinging lightly, not even close to touching the floor.

Azula is warm, Ursa can’t help but think, like the fireplace of her old home in Hira’a or Ikem’s embrace on cold, stormy nights. She’s just warm, not repulsively hot like Ozai nor blazing like Zuko.

Her daughter scares her sometimes, when she gets that look in her eyes that is so clearly from Ozai; it's piercing, perceptive, like she's analyzing every shift in tone and listening to the flutters of others' heartbeats. It's the result of being raised surrounded by stifling court life, the pressures of royalty already bearing down on her unknowing shoulders. Ursa fears for the day where she will no longer be able to look at Azula and see her daughter, fears that one day she will lose this child too.

And if Ursa holds Azula a little longer, a little tighter, then no one has to know.

Chapter Text

Prince Zuko rises with the sun.

It does not matter that the wide windows of his bedroom are covered in many curtains, heavy and darkly colored and accented by a thousand bolts of thin red silks, the young prince has always woken with the sun.

It doesn't even matter that it is still dawn, that the sky is still bathed in the calm hues of nighttime and the moon still rests in the clouds above the horizon. As soon as a single ray of Agni’s light graces the heavens, Prince Zuko is already awake.

Courtiers and courtesans like to gossip about it, how magnificent it is that their prince is finely attuned with Agni, how he must be so dedicated to wake so early just to witness the sun's full ascent into the sky.

It’s an absolute nightmare for the kitchen staff.

Most of the kitchen staff aren’t firebenders; they aren't naturally inclined to wake at sunrise. And even though they are used to waking early in the morning to prepare breakfast for everyone, waking before twilight is a feat all on its own. Many have complained of lost sleep and fingers lightly burned or nearly cut in their sleepy daze to prepare the young prince’s breakfast.

Which is how Kuzon the kitchen hand finds himself making breakfast in a dimly lit kitchen. He has no company save for the moon above, a single candle lit on the countertop, and one of Prince Zuko’s personal attendants lurking in front of the kitchen doors and watching his every move.

Kuzon was one of the few kitchen staff from the countryside, and thus, was used to forcing himself out of bed no matter the position of the sun in the sky. After all, komodo chickens didn’t care how much sleep he got the night before, and even though the young man no longer had to care for farm animals, old habits were hard to break. 

Once the head chef learned that he had no problem with waking extra early, Kuzon found himself one of two staff members on rotation for cooking the prince’s breakfast.

“What do you think? Would the young prince like flaming fire flakes for breakfast? Or are the physicians still not allowing it?” Kuzon muses aloud. 

He already knows Prince Zuko’s diet by heart. After many years of lectures and scoldings, it would be remiss of him to not have it memorized: ash banana bread and a diluted pepper soup, komodo dumplings without chilis, smoked sea slugs on top of boiled cabbage. Occasionally, the kitchen staff will try to sneak him some snacks, like a small bowl of mild fire flakes or a fruit tart, but Kuzon has a feeling that the palace physicians have been on the head chef’s case about them.

It doesn’t stop them from trying, though.

“Ah, I’ve been working on a pastry that one of the new servants brought from the colonies. She called them mooncakes, and the recipe she gave me has no spices in them, but apparently they’re really good. Maybe Prince Zuko would like to try them someday.”

Of course, he needs to get them approved by the head chef first, and maybe even the physicians in case the young prince was caught eating them, but it would be a small price to pay for a satisfied child. Maybe he could make them for Princess Azula, too.

“They are,” a raspy voice says, startling the kitchen hand.

The knife that was in Kuzon’s hand falls out of his grasp and clatters onto the kitchen counter. Holding his hand over his heart, he turns to face the only other person in the room.

“The mooncakes, I mean. Prince Zuko would like them,” the attendant says. He’s not looking at Kuzon, even though he usually stares at Kuzon while he works. Instead, his eyes shift towards one of the kitchen’s many windows and further still to the moon slowly climbing down to the horizon.

It’s the first time he has heard the attendant talk. The man in front of him has always been in charge of supervising Kuzon while he cooked the prince’s breakfast, yet not once has he heard his voice. It was always Kuzon’s voice that filled the kitchen, muttering complaints under his breath, reprimanding himself for forgetting an ingredient, talking about nonsensical things while he waited for the ash banana bread to finish. Until now.

Kuzon turns back to the countertop, picking up the knife and returning to his task of cutting up mangos. “You think so?” he asks.

“I’ve heard they’re good luck for monsoon children in the colonies,” the attendant responds.

Now that Kuzon can hear him more clearly, he swears there’s a lilt in his inflection, the same one the new servant had.

He doesn’t have a name, not really.

Before his father found him and took him to Caldera, he was called “runt” or “street rat” or “boy”. His mother never named him (couldn’t name him, when she was dead), and his grandparents never bothered with him except to berate him for eating too much of their food.

Then, he started to bend fire and his father showed up and took him away. He brought him to Caldera and put him in school, where they called him Kuzon, son of General Li to his face, and Kuzon, bastard son from the colonies to his back. Even now, he still hasn’t managed to get rid of his accent.

It’s only because of his father that he has a place in Caldera’s society, that he hasn’t been shipped off overseas to fight in the Earth Kingdom. It’s because of his father that he has this cushy job, watching over Prince Zuko and, currently, bringing breakfast to the young prince’s room.

Out of all of Prince Zuko’s personal attendants, he has been with him the longest. He’s quiet and he doesn’t like to talk, so it’s no surprise that he ends up being one of the men that’s always tasked with directly interacting with the prince. After all, Prince Ozai doesn’t want his son being influenced by commoners.

When he reaches the prince’s room, he nods to his coworkers who are standing guard in front of the chamber doors. They nod back to him, out of courtesy, before opening the doors for him and allowing him to slip through.

He finds that the young prince is already awake.

Prince Zuko sits atop the downy bed, his many blankets all pushed aside, and he stares towards the covered windows that make up the eastern wall of his room. His gold eyes are still bleary with sleep, but there is something in them that is unsettlingly focused. It is reminiscent of Prince Ozai’s wicked glare when he knows he’s gotten his way or the curious gaze of Princess Azula when she is watching the palace’s inhabitants flitter through the courtyard.

Internally, the attendant admits that he has no idea what could be weighing on the young prince’s mind to make his eyes glow so bright.

(That was a lie.

Kuzon has Prince Zuko’s daily itinerary memorized like the back of his hand. He knows all there is to know about the prince and he could probably accurately guess what thoughts plagued his mind.

After breakfast, the prince has lessons all the way until lunch. He’ll have a short break where he can visit his mother or talk to his sister or relax by the turtle duck pond in the new courtyard, and then he’ll finish his lessons in the library before heading down to his family shrine. The prince will stay there for three hours and at the last hour the tutor will leave and Prince Ozai will come down to observe him. 

By the time he comes out, Prince Zuko will be exhausted and Kuzon and the other attendants will escort him back to his room for a light dinner before he takes a bath and passes out atop his bed.

The cycle will repeat the next day and Kuzon will perform all of his duties as he has always done, forever by the prince’s side.)

(The only thing Kuzon doesn’t know about Prince Zuko’s day is what goes on in the family shrine.

It bothers him more than it should.)

When the prince finally notices Kuzon waiting patiently at the door, the sharp look in his eyes dissipates as he acknowledges the attendant.

“Is that breakfast?” Prince Zuko asks. It is the same thing he says every morning.

Kuzon doesn’t answer him. Instead, the young man bows, arms extending forward in a show of offertory. And before the prince can get up, he makes his way over to his side and sets the tray of breakfast on a table that is pulled out to the side of the bed. Wordlessly, he pours out of a cup of tea.

Prince Zuko picks up one of the mooncakes that the kitchen hand had prepared. “What’s this?” he asks. 

The pastry is lumpy and it doesn’t have the same decorative shapes and patterns like Kuzon remembers. It had been hastily and clumsily made in an attempt to get them done on time, but the kitchen hand had let him taste test it, and even in its misshapen form it was still the delicious treat that Kuzon once treasured.

He thinks of days spent hungry, begging the street vendors for a little food before crawling back to his grandparents’ house through the back streets and alleyways of the port city he once called home.

He thinks of how Prince Zuko could probably navigate the underground tunnels blindfolded, how, after every lesson in the family shrine, he walks back to his room as if possessed, eyes drooping and breaths falling deeper and slower.

It’s far from a similar experience, but Kuzon feels like the prince would understand him, just the same.

He offers Prince Zuko a small, shaky smile. “It’s good luck,” he tells him.

-

When Ozai walks into the family shrine, Zuko stops meditating.

The boy cannot produce flames, will not produce flames. The thrice-blasted tutor that doesn’t do his job correctly can’t even tell him if it’s because Zuko needs to be under the sun or if it’s because he’s still afraid after what happened last time.

How frustrating it is, how disappointing it is, that Ozai’s heir apparently has so much power that he can’t use.

“Boy, what did you learn today?” he asks, standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest.

This close, Ozai can practically feel the raw energy that Zuko emits. It is like standing under Agni’s light, but a thousand times more intense, as if he is barely containing himself and will overflow with a single push. It makes the boy feel warmer than any ten firebenders combined.

Zuko fiddles with the hem of his robes, his stare not quite meeting his eyes in a way that is wholly unacceptable for a prince of the Fire Nation.

“I learned a prayer for each of the gods and each of the great spirits,” Zuko says, “So that I can ask them for guidance and blessings.”

(How insolent that tutor is, Ozai can’t help but think. As if any of the other gods were as important as Agni. That man ought to be fired and flayed. What use does a prince have for blessings from other spirits? What is the point of guidance from a god that is not our own? It’s an insult to our patron god and an insult to our nation.)

“Stand, Zuko,” Ozai commands.

Zuko stands. He can at least do that right.

“We will go through the basic katas again.” Ozai turns and walks away from him. The room becomes awash with a golden glow as he lights the many candles around them and allows his fists to be encompassed by his own flames. “And this time, you will bend fire, whether it be your own, or another’s.”

Chapter Text

There’s a Fire Nation tradition, originating before the first Fire Lord, to light a candle each time you visit a loved one’s resting place. The candle should never be put out unless by natural causes, and it is best to encourage its flame until all that is left is shiny, dripping wax. It doesn’t matter if your loved one’s ashes are stored in a nearby shed or a personal shrine or a communal temple, there must always be a candle with you whenever you come to pay your respects.

It’s a sign of devotion: to mourn for someone and still burn with passion, to grieve and still have hope that the light of their memories will light your journey through life.

In rural villages, grandmothers will tell you that the candles ward off the spirits, that their flames symbolize that we are still thinking of them and that, no, a reminder of their presence with sudden sickness or misfortune is not necessary. In the major cities, some say that the candles provide the dead with warmth, so that they can continue living on in our hearts.

Even the nobility do not dismiss the tradition. Those who can afford to do so take care to visit their family’s personal shrines at least once a week, with new incense and scented candles from foreign ports. The royal family themselves buy enough candles to light the streets of Caldera, and artisans practically fight each other just to have their candles presented for the Firelord’s consideration.

The lighting of the candles is an indulgence. It’s one of those things that the Fire Nation doesn’t really need―after all, who needs candles when they can conjure fire with their own hands?―but the tradition persists regardless.

(“So that our love will linger a little while longer,” Mother told him once.

He had been five and Azula had been three, taking a nap on Mother’s lap. He had officially started his studies as a prince, at Father’s insistence, and he was no longer able to spend as much time with Mother and Azula as he wanted to. 

A candle made of cinnamon and citrus oil was perched on the table between them. He remembered being entranced by the way the trail of smoke delicately curled, caressing the air.)

(He doesn’t ask why Mother lights a candle every day. He doesn’t ask why, every time he visits her personal quarters, there is a candle burning steadfast by a framed painting of their family, a murmured prayer falling from her lips, halting once she sees that he’s entered the room.

There is a look in her eyes, nowadays, whenever she sees him. He can no longer control the furnace burning under his skin, and she can’t touch him without recoiling on instinct. 

They are so close, and yet, so far away.)

Zuko has never lit a single candle in his family’s shrine, and he’s beginning to wonder if maybe that is why he still can’t firebend.

(There are dreams, mottled and hazy, of a wall of fire surrounding him and people screaming and cousin Lu Ten reaching for him, but no one will speak to him about it, and so they remain as dreams.

But some nights, when he wakes up from the dreams and can't go back to sleep, he imagines that he looks up at a burning courtyard and panics. The fire circles back into him, and his heart is so heavy and warm, his body is racked with the ghost of a fever.)

Zuko is really warm, warmer than other firebenders, and according to Father and Azula and Grandfather Sozin, only a firebender could have a body as abnormally warm as his. So it’s not like he doesn’t have the gift for firebending.

It takes uncomfortable prodding and observations from the Fire Sages to learn that there is something wrong with his inner spirit. And it takes an unfortunate religious ceremony to learn that it is not something their Fire Nation-centric spiritual knowledge can deal with alone.

Which is how Zuko finds himself in his family’s personal shrine every day, praying to the gods of all of the nations, learning about the great and minor spirits, performing religious ceremonies unique to every single Fire Nation village and even a few rituals from far-away lands. It might be heresy, to seek guidance from a spirit that is not Agni, but Zuko has been eavesdropping on the courtiers and courtesans, and apparently the Fire Sages have not heard from Agni in a long time.

(The shrine is also the most sacred place in Caldera that isn’t bathed in sunlight, and is thus the only place where Zuko can attempt firebending without people tensing up and fretting over him.)

However, despite the fact that he’s been meditating and praying for nearly four yearsㅡand it is so hard , being young and full of energy and having to sit still to meditate ㅡall Zuko can do, at most, is regulate his body temperature and emit a faint, warm glow.

It’s frustrating, because his little sister can already firebend, and Zuko can’t even light a single candle.

His only respite is the fact that, now that he can temper the boiling heat underneath his skin, at least he can touch other firebenders: at least he can hug Azula for a few moments, at least he can hold cousin Lu Ten’s hand, at least he can relish in the feeling of Uncle Iroh patting his head when he passes him in the palace’s hallways.

(He can’t hug Mother; even now his body is still too warm for non-benders, but Zuko is working on it.)

Professor Kuzon reassures him that he’ll figure it out.

“There’s bound to be a spirit that can help you,” he tells Zuko, “And you are so diligent in your prayers, Agni must hear your plight eventually.”

“Be patient,” he reminds him, “There are Fire Sages and religious scholars who go their whole lifetime without hearing directly from Agni.”

“Do not worry,” he says, “you are young and have already learned so much. That is something to be proud of, firebender or not.” 

And Professor Kuzon says it with such conviction that Zuko feels as if it must be true. So, he continues to meditate and pray and work hard on his studies, like the prince he is.

Father, on the other hand, is anything but satisfied.

It starts, as it usually does, with Father walking in to find Zuko meditating, the soft, thrumming hues of orange and yellow surrounding him, but no fire in sight.

Zuko has been meditating in front of the same hundred candles for years, controlling his breaths and trying his hardest to light one of them, any of them. Even now, however, there is still something stopping him from managing even the tiniest of flames.

Something is off today, Zuko can feel it. He hesitates to admit it, but it feels like the spirits are restless. It leaves him with the thought that maybe today will be different. Maybe Father will come down and instead of making him practice katas away from the palace physicians’ scrutiny he’ll smile and ask him about what he learned today and will pat his head the same way Uncle Iroh does.

When Professor Kuzon leaves and Father enters the shrine, he asks Zuko what he learned today, but he doesn’t smile and he certainly doesn’t pat his head.

(Zuko knows a prince shouldn’t feel dejected and mope, but he can’t help it.)

Then Father is lighting all of the candles and lanterns at once and a great fireball is being hurled at him.

In the moments before the fireball, Zuko’s world is filled with amazement and awe.

He’s never been able to see the family shrine in its full entirety, not when he and Professor Kuzon don’t have the means to light all of the candles and lanterns and his guards aren’t allowed to enter the room. 

But when Father fills the room with the bright glow of his fire, Zuko is able to make out the carvings on the pearly walls. He can see the golden ornaments in the pillars, and the silk paintings of past Firelords, framed and hanged in neat rows. Their ashes are stored in elaborate and lavish containers, made of glass or steel or precious gems, luxury items that can only be bought from the most prominent of Earth Kingdom merchants.

It is a wonder that is quickly disrupted by the fire Father throws at his face.

He doesn’t even have time to dodge it.

The fire fills his vision with red, red, red, and for a moment Zuko is too hot.

It feels so wrong. It makes him want to scratch and claw at his skin until it’s raw, makes him want to curl up into a ball and writhe on the floor. There is something crawling through his body, worming its way to his throat, and, belatedly, he realizes that it’s a cry for help.

Zuko almost can’t stand it.

(He’s felt like this before.)

-

When Zuko opens his eyes, his clothes are slightly singed and his skin is tinged pink. Not a hair is out of place and instead of feeling as if his skin is melting off of his bones, Zuko just feels like he ate an entire bowl of flaming fire flakes (and not the mild ones that the kitchen staff normally prepare for him). There is soot in a perfect circle around him and, stupidly, all he can think about is how sad he is to see how ruined the polished floor is.

Father looms over him, a scowl pulling at his lips.

“You didn’t use any of your katas,” he says, “It is shameful of a Fire Nation prince to cower and cry.”

He looks like he’s gearing up for another lecture, and Zuko forces himself to sit up straight so that he can listen to whichever lesson Father has decided to teach him today.

(A small part of him, tired and sounding older than any child should, laments that all of Father’s lessons have primarily been physical.

He had no real need for lectures, after all, when he could just beat it into Zuko through katas and spars, all meant to bring out Zuko’s flames.)

“It is disappointing that the first thing you have learned is a defensive move. Be glad that I am in a good mood and my firebending feels the strongest it has in years. Blocking fire of my caliber is not easy, I am almost impressed,” Father tells him. He moves forward and places his hand atop Zuko’s head. “You are dismissed for today. Tomorrow, your religious lessons with Professor Kuzon will be replaced by firebending lessons with the Fire Sages. Now that you have shown some ability, you no longer need to learn such frivolous things.”

Father lingers a little longer than he normally would and Zuko cannot help but lean into his touch.

(He tries not to think about how he’ll never have another lesson with Professor Kuzon ever again.)

“Yes, Father,” Zuko says, and then he is left alone in the family shrine.

Chapter Text

In Caldera, everyone wakes at sunrise. From the nobility in their towering estates to even the poorest street beggar, Agni’s light has always stirred Fire Nation citizens from their dreams. 

It’s been harder, in recent years, though no one could tell you why. There have been far too many instances where a whole neighborhood has collectively agreed that their eyelids were too heavy despite the morning light or a nobleman has thrown out all of his expensive silk drapes because they obscured the sunrise when in the past they had never been a problem.

But it doesn’t matter as much, waking at sunrise is still a habit that is hard to break.

No, what matters more is the daily news that circles the streets of the city.

“Have you heard?” a baker says to the servant buying bread for their master, “Prince Zuko wakes extra early just to watch the sunrise.”

“I thought all of the royal family did that?”

“No, no,” the baker says, “The royal family wakes at sunrise like the rest of us, it’s only Prince Zuko who wakes at twilight.”

The servant laughs, throwing a hand up in dismissal. “And where did you hear that information? Surely my Lord would have heard of it before a baker ever would.”

“I’ve got friends who work in the palace kitchen, you know! They’ve gotta wake up early to make his breakfast, can’t let a member of the royal family starve, after all.”

The servant hums thoughtfully. “Isn’t that quite inconsiderate? Waking up before twilight, even you couldn’t manage that everyday. I can’t imagine how his staff are faring.”

“I don’t know, don’t you think it’s inspiring? It really shows our prince’s dedication, waking up to greet Agni so early like that,” the baker replies as they hand the servant a basket of fresh loaves.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Across the market square, a group of children make their way to school.

“Why do you smell so funny?” one of the girls asks, pinching her nose and glaring at her friend.

The boy just harrumphs, puffing out his chest and crossing his arms. “I started taking care of the family shrine every morning now,” he informs them.

“That doesn’t explain the weird smell!”

“Don’t you know?” the boy says, practically glowing with pride, “I light jasmine incense cause that’s what Prince Zuko uses!”

“Nuh-uh!” one of the other boys exclaims.

“Uh, yeah!” the boy retorts.

“Why does it even matter what incense the prince uses? We don’t even know what kind of candles Crown Prince Iroh uses,” a girl says.

The boy rushes to the front of the group and turns to all his friends, pointing an accusatory finger at all of them. “Don’t your parents tell you guys anything? Prince Zuko is our age and he’s always tending to the royal shrine and temple! If I can get a job at one of the temples, maybe one day I’ll meet him!”

The group lets out a collective, “oohh,” staring at each other and nodding in agreement and understanding.

“Wait!” one of the smaller boys says, “what’s a prince doing, caring for a shrine and temple? Isn’t that job for the fire sages and the priests?”

A hush falls over the group. One of the girls pulls the small boy to her while the other children huddle around them, forming a barrier from the adults’ prying eyes and ears.

“You mean you don’t know?” the girl whispers.

“What? Know what?”

“They’ve never made an official announcement, but my parents and my big brother say that Prince Zuko can’t firebend.”

“But he’s a prince! Everyone knows that the royal family are the best firebenders!”

“Shh! He just can’t, okay? No one’s ever seen him firebend.”

A guard approaches her colleague, hitting him over the helmet when she realizes that he fell asleep while on duty.

“Ow! What was that for?” the young man exclaims.

“You know what.”

“It’s not like anyone ever approaches this gate. Everyone always wants to go through the gate by the temple.”

“If you wanted an easy job, then you should have applied to be part of Prince Zuko’s guard,” the young woman tells him as she takes her place in front of the palace entrance.

The man snorts. “Then I’d just be a glorified servant.”

“Yes, well you’re a glorified badger-monkey statue.”

“Rude!”

A group of children walk by them. They’re just close enough that they can hear them rambling about schoolwork and yesterday’s classes. A moment of silence passes between the two.

“I hear the prince treats his guards nicely though,” the woman says, after the children have walked away from sight.

“Oh yeah?”

She hums. “Apparently, he inherited his mother’s personality.”

“It must be all that studying and praying he does. I don’t know why he’s always studying so much, though.”

“If you were part of his personal guard you’d know. Although…”

“Although?”

The young woman turns her gaze to the sun in the sky. “I heard the prince has been spending a lot of time with the Fire Sages.”

“You think the prince is studying to become a priest or something?” the man asks.

His colleague doesn’t answer, just turns her head so that she’s watching over the streets in front of her instead.

“Can you imagine that? A blood-born royal family member that isn’t involved in war.” He can’t help but laugh.

It’s silly. It’s ludicrous. Just saying it aloud is probably borderline treason.

It’s probably the funniest thing they’ve heard all morning.

An old matron tugs her granddaughter through the streets, steadfast in her refusal to listen to the young girl’s whining and begging to stop by a stall for a treat or go into one of the shops to look at the pretty jewelry they’re selling.

“But grandmother!” the girl groans, tugging at the woman’s sleeve, “I don’t want to go to the temple!”

“Mind your manners, child!” the woman says, pulling the sleeve out of the girl’s grasp and instead gripping fiercely onto her wrist. “I heard from a passing merchant that the prince would be visiting the city temple this morning, this is your chance to bring prestige to our family name.”

The girl’s whining seemed to increase tenfold. “I don’t care about some stupid temple, grandmother!”

“Hush, child!” The woman tugs on her granddaughter’s wrist. “If you befriend the prince, you will have a higher chance of marrying him once you are older, and then you will be a princess.”

“But grandmother! I already go to the same school as Princess Azula, and all my classmates said that her brother doesn’t even go to the Royal Fire Academy for Boys ‘cause he isn’t smart enough! I don’t wanna marry someone who’s dumb!”

The woman’s eyes widen, and she pulls the young girl to the side, glaring at her and harshly pinching her cheeks. “Do not say such things in public!” she berates, “Prince Zuko has poor health and receives private instruction within the palace walls, and even if he were as ‘dumb’ as your friends say he is, you shouldn’t speak of the prince that way!”

“But why would I marry someone with bad health, grandmother? Isn’t that bad luck?”

“Just be quiet. Do not speak when we go to the temple.”

A noblewoman lifts up a bolt of silk, scrutinizing it with her dark eyes.

“How much did you say this was?”

An attendant peeks out from behind the corner, before rushing over and gently taking the silk from the woman’s hands.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, someone has already ordered our entire stock of this silk,” the attendant informs her.

“Oh? Then why is it still out here on display?”

The attendant flushes with embarrassment. “I didn’t have time to put it away earlier, it was an oversight on my part, I apologize,” they gesture towards another rack of silks, “Perhaps one of these might be of interest? Or if you’d like you can place an order for one of our future shipments?”

The noblewoman huffs. “How much did they pay for it? I’ll pay double, don’t worry.”

“I’m afraid I cannot sell it to you ma’am, the royal family bought it.”

At the mention of royalty, the woman’s thin eyebrows raise, clear interest shining through her face. “Why is the royal family buying from your store? They have their own personal provider, do they not?”

“Yes, ma’am, but our store is the only one in Caldera that has this kind of silk.”

“And what makes this silk so special?” the woman prods. If this silk was highly sought out by the royal family, then that was even more reason to buy it.

“It’s the thinnest silk you can find anywhere in the Fire Nation and its colonies, it's only made in the home village of the owner of this store, and he periodically travels back home to get more,” the attendant unravels the silk a little, to show how thin it is, “The royal family has been buying it for Prince Zuko’s clothes.”

“Ah, so it’s for Prince Zuko,” the woman says, “I have heard that his skin is very sensitive. He’s always under that parasol of his or sitting in the shade whenever I happen to visit the palace.” She turns to the attendant, pinning them down with her stare. “Would you say that this silk has any healing properties?”

“Healing properties, ma’am?”

“Yes, healing properties. Prince Zuko is sickly, I hear, so there must be a reason why he only wears this kind of silk nowadays.”

“Oh, well, I guess? The owner would know more, but he left last night for his home village.”

“Great,” the noblewoman smiles, “I’d like to make an order from your future shipments, then.”

-

One of his neighbor’s sons stops by, carrying a basket of fresh fruit and kindly offering some to him. 

“Professor Kuzon? Is it true that you used to tutor Prince Zuko not too long ago?” the young man asks. He was the youngest child of the old couple living across the street and he was being shipped off next week, having volunteered to join the military because his father was a renowned captain back in the day.

Kuzon knows this because the boy’s father had stopped by and asked him what sorts of prayers and offerings he should give to Agni (and any other god or great spirit that would ensure his son’s safe return). Of course, he dutifully gave the man a list of everything he thought would help, and even promised that he would include his son in his prayers as well, but there was no guarantee when it came to war.

“Yes,” Kuzon tells him, “I was his religious studies teacher until the Fire Sages took over those lessons.”

The young man’s eyes widen. “So then, is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That the prince is studying to become a priest or a Fire Sage? Ah, but I guess he can’t become a Fire Sage if he can’t firebend…”

Kuzon gave the boy an incredulous look. This was the first time he was hearing any news of this sort. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“Oh, uh, I have a friend who works in Prince Zuko’s personal guard. He said the prince stopped receiving lessons from all the other tutors as well and he is only learning from the Fire Sages now. I thought that that must mean that he’s focusing solely on Agni and the spirits, since he can’t learn firebending from them.”

(Kuzon thinks of a young boy sitting in a dark shrine, emitting a warm yellow glow that waxes and wanes with his every breath. He thinks of golden eyes that shine as bright as a candle, closed in concentration as he tries to listen to the spirits’ songs.

It is true that Kuzon has never seen Prince Zuko firebend, has watched the boy struggle in an attempt to light the many candles scattered throughout his family shrine, but…

There must be something there, right?)

“Professor Kuzon?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, my boy, I must have spaced out,” Kuzon says. He taps his chin, sorting through his thoughts. “I was unaware that the prince would be going that route. If he were, his father, Prince Ozai, certainly never made that clear.”

Kuzon leaned forward, beckoning the young man to come closer.

“In fact,” he whispered, “Prince Ozai did not seem keen about my teachings. I do not know what Prince Zuko is learning from the Fire Sages, but I believe that it is not what it seems to be.”

The young man nodded, thanking Kuzon for his input and wishing him a good day.

Kuzon waved him off. He watched as the boy crossed the street to his parents’ home, stopping to talk to one of the girls who lived a few houses down.

The news would be circling through the streets of Caldera before the sun even set.

Chapter Text

The Fire Lord’s throne room is the most decorated and opulent part of the palace, second only to the family shrine underground. Courtesans like to claim that the foyer’s columns were carved from dragons’ bones and plated with the gold and gemstones of their hoards. Merchants far and wide whisper of its million-threaded rugs dyed with the crushed flowers of a rare chili plant only found on the side of a seaside cliff. 

Even Lu Ten, born and raised in the palace, could not help the overwhelmed feeling that rushed over him as he sat beside his father in front of Grandfather’s throne.

Or, perhaps, maybe the overwhelmed feeling was because of his Uncle Ozai.

It is a family meeting, because Grandfather does not like talking about bending or business during meals (a remnant from Grandmother, may Agni light her path). Lu Ten personally finds them drab and dull. Family meetings are not serious enough to be matters of importance in the war room, nor are they lax enough for Lu Ten to entertain himself and his cousins with stories, but they happen anyway since Grandfather is adamant about meal time rules and Uncle Ozai is always insistent on requesting a family meeting at least once a month.

Nearly every time, Uncle Ozai uses family meetings as a way to show Azula’s prowess. She is a firebending genius, a natural, a prodigy like no other. Lu Ten is almost scared to think about how far his cousin will advance by the time she reaches his age.

This time, however, it is different.

Ever since Zuko’s education was handed over to the Fire Sages working in the palace temples, Lu Ten has seen his cousin less and less. With the tutors, he was at least able to drop by during any lessons in the library or his rooms, but the royal temples followed a stricter time schedule and a specific itinerary. Lu Ten did not even know what the itinerary entailed outside of any public rituals and ceremonies. Not even Aunt Ursa or Father were sure what Zuko was doing.

“As you know, Zuko has been studying under the Fire Sages for the past few months,” Uncle Ozai says, his head bowed just low enough to show the proper respect. “It is time I present what he has learned.”

When Lu Ten glances at his cousin he can see the way his fists crease the soft silks of his robe. There is a tension in Zuko that barely peeks through his upright posture, but it is there nonetheless. 

“Stand, Zuko,” Uncle Ozai says, and Zuko stands.

Lu Ten watches him and can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. He finds himself running a thumb against one of the faded burn marks under his sleeves, but it does nothing against the heavy feeling settling in his stomach, like lightning that has been sitting for far too long.

There is a hush that hovers over everyone, only the hiss of smoke from the flames of Grandfather’s throne to fill the accompanying silence. Uncle Ozai faces Zuko and assumes the stance of a simple kata.

There is fire.

There is fire, and Lu Ten feels like he is young again, carefree and energetic, rushing through a courtyard to greet his cousin with a bowl of his favorite fire flakes.

There is fire, and it is golden and red and angry in the way that Lu Ten has always associated with his Uncle Ozai, but never before has it felt so wrong, so sickening, so mad.

There is fire, and yes, they are firebenders, but it is being used in a way that was never meant to be, directed towards someone who was never supposed to face it.

There is fire, and the burn marks on Lu Ten’s arms throb so much, he might throw up.

There is Zuko.

Zuko is still there.

The fire is gone, but Zuko is still there?

Zuko is still there!

Without any thought for propriety or manners, Lu Ten is jumping out of his seat and reaching for his cousin. He leans down so that he is eye-level with the kid, cradles his face in his hands.

Zuko’s face is pinker than normal, like he was in a hot bath for too long or was rubbed raw with ginger soap. His body is so hot that Lu Ten will probably need to dip his hands in the pond later. There is the smolder of smoke and burning ash clung to his hair and his little cousin is not smiling like he usually does.

But Zuko’s eyes are bright and he is breathing; his heartbeat is steady. Zuko is still there and that is all that matters.

“He still refuses to use offensive bending, but as you can see, he has made progress overall,” Uncle Ozai has the audacity to say, and all of a sudden it is like a dam has been blasted through.

Aunt Ursa starts crying, wailing, hands reaching out for Zuko even though she knows that she cannot touch him without burning herself.

Azula looks torn between fright, because her brother was just set on fire, and admiration, because her brother was just set on fire and he is still standing.

Father is not yelling, but his voice is raised, questioning his younger brother and reprimanding him all in one.

“Enough!” Grandfather says. Everyone is still again. “Ozai, explain.”

“I have tasked the Fire Sages with teaching Zuko firebending outside of his studies, he cold easily become a powerful tool for the war effort...”

And once again, the uproar resumes.

Lu Ten takes the chance to grab Zuko and Azula, and sneaks out of the room.

-

There are pathways and tunnels and corridors all throughout the Fire Lord’s palace. They are remnants of older times; open hallways converted into hidden passageways after one of the wings of the palace was expanded, stairs that lead into rooms that no one remembers.

Lu Ten knows a fair share of the secret halls like the back of his hand. He was never interested in them as a child, but Azula loved to play hide and seek and he did not want to be known as the prince who continuously lost to a little girl at a child’s game.

It is in one of those secret halls that he finds himself in now, dragging his younger cousins with them. This one he actually uses fairly frequently, if only because it is the best route for sneaking outside.

Azula is babbling, poking and prodding at Zuko and asking her brother how he managed to do that and if he could show it to her so that she could learn it too.

Zuko has yet to speak.

It’s okay, though. Lu Ten isn’t sure what to say either.

When they eventually reach one of the gates Lu Ten sticks his head out first, making sure that the guard that is usually stationed there is sleeping like they normally would.

“Ah, wait.” Lu Ten turns around and shrugs off his outer robe, draping it over Zuko.

Then they are slipping past the gate and the slumbering guard, disappearing into Caldera’s alleys.

-

Lu Ten buys his cousins molten pear drops and candied pineapple peppers. He lets Azula guide them through market stalls, wandering to wherever her heart contents. They’re not too far away from the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, and Azula relishes the chance to explore the streets in person instead of observing from her palanquin.

Zuko follows close behind, a hand on his older cousin’s pant leg. The farthest he has been from the palace is the city temple, but he has never gone anywhere else. The streets of Caldera are as new to him, a Fire Nation prince, as they would be to someone from the countryside or the colonies.

“Anything catch your eye, Zuko?” Lu Ten asks as they wait for Azula to finish heckling a stall owner.

His little cousin looks torn. “Why did we leave?” he asks.

“Ah, I don’t know, it was just a spur of the moment thing. But I figure you deserve a break, right?” Lu Ten gives him a reassuring smile.

Zuko must be in deep thought, if the way his eyebrows scrunch together are any indication. A moment passes. Eventually, he nods and decides to run over to Azula; whether he is going to intercept her argument with the merchant or join in, Lu Ten isn’t quite sure.

(Truth be told, Lu Ten knows exactly why he snuck out of the palace with his cousins: he is a coward.

He does not know what would have happened if they stayed. What if Uncle Ozai had more planned for Zuko? What if Grandfather approved of it? These decisions will be made regardless whether Lu Ten is there or not, but he is afraid to know the outcome so soon.

At least until the equinox, at least until he joins the war effort and is shipped off to Ba Sing Se with Father, he wants to pretend that things are relatively okay. On Agni’s light, let his parting images of his little cousins be of their smiling faces.)

Azula manages to wrangle three cups of ash banana cider from the stall owner, thanks in no small part to Zuko.

Lu Ten loves his cousins.

They stroll idly through the city streets, watching as the sun begins its descent behind the horizon. Their carefree laughter and the cider warms their bellies, until Zuko is pink from happiness instead of heat. It is a good look on him, and Lu Ten regrets that he does not see it more often.

They pass by fountains and lamp lighters and school children that don’t quite recognize them as royalty, until they eventually find themselves standing in front of the city temple.

Zuko has been here a few times, to perform rituals under the watchful eye of the Fire Sages and the local priests.

His little cousin insists that they stop and pay proper respects, much to Azula’s chagrin. In front of an altar, Zuko kneels, whispering prayers to Agni and gods and spirits that Lu Ten hardly remembers.

Lu Ten stands a few paces away, holding Azula in his arms as she steadily drifts into sleep.

(A prayer for Caldera’s mother. May your children work hard and rest well. May you be bountiful and warm.

A prayer for the little-sister-stars. May you shine just as brightly. May you guide our way to victory; guide my people home.

A prayer for Agni. May your strength return at the equinox. May your fiery blessings bathe the brave soldiers who leave for the war. May spring and summer come with your renewed vigor.)

(A prayer for Grandmother. May you rest peacefully in Agni’s warmth and find solace in the little-sister-stars.

A prayer for the aunt I have never met. May you watch over cousin Lu Ten while he is away.

A prayer for the soldiers that did not return. May you find your way back home.)

When Zuko is finally done praying, the sun has set and all of the street’s lanterns have been lit. The streets are steadily emptying; children take shelter from the night and workers make their way back home.

Azula has long been fast asleep. Her drool is dripping onto Lu Ten’s shoulder, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it, with his own eyes drooping and his mind becoming foggy with fatigue.

Zuko stands and the tension that had remained since the family meeting has finally dissipated. His posture is straight and his gait is steady.

When Lu Ten looks into his little cousin’s eyes, it is like he is looking into the sun.

All of the royal family members have golden eyes. It is a sign of Agni’s blessing, as the messengers of Agni’s justice and wrath. But Zuko’s eyes are unnerving in the evening’s dark. 

They are brighter than starlight on a clear winter night, brighter than the many candles of the palace’s eight courtyards combined. Like a beacon or the lure of a lighthouse, Zuko’s eyes shine, fixated in some unseen spot in the distance.

Lu Ten cannot tear his gaze away.

(From the corner of his eyes, he can almost see the gathering of people who are not really there. A grandmother he has not seen in a long time; a mother he hardly remembers; friends that never made it back from the frontlines.)

The unlit candles of the city temple are suddenly awash with light.

-

Lu Ten sneaks back into the palace with his little cousins, bringing them straight to their family’s wing where Aunt Ursa nervously waits.

He endures the scolding from Father and greets Grandfather goodnight. He pointedly does not say anything to Uncle Ozai.

Lu Ten does not speak of what happened in the city temple, in the cover of night under the full moon and the cloudy sky. He reminds himself to call for a guard the next morning and arrest an unfortunate priest who happened to be making their rounds while they were there.

No one can know, especially not Uncle Ozai.

He will take this secret with him to the grave if he has to.