tw: Mentions of death, deals with an actual huge amount of grief
An eager young journalist with a thirst and penchant for sniffing out potential headlines gets fired from her job. Fortunately, her newfound friend Tadashi Hamada sets her up with a new one. Oh, and his cute younger brother who lingers around and compliments her? That’s a bonus.
“In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spiderman.”
ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ
Sokka x Reader
Can be found on AO3!
Status: Ongoing
tw: S/A (nothing too graphic), violence
MASTERLIST
Nishinoya
New Manager
A second year gets roped into the Karasuno’s volleyball team as their new assistant manager, courtesy of Tanaka. However, her shy nature is quickly bulldozed over once she meets an energetic libero whom brings about change in her routine.
But then again, change isn’t so bad, is it?
tw: none, SFW
Dating Nishinoya Would Include...
A few headcanons for our short king <3
The Mad Dogs
Spiderman Reader Leaving Gifts Headcanon!
Theatrics
BootyShaker9000
People-Watching
It’s a common hobby, and it’s helped you get out of small situations before. But when you’re stuck in a really dangerous one, who else is there to save you but an unexpected knight in shining armor?
Somehow though, you keep showing up over and over again around him, always in danger. He puts up with it, but the constant saving creates a small friendship between you two and along the way, you’ve somehow wormed your way into his heart.
tw: mentions of kidnapping, SFW
Neon Leon
101 Ways to Live
"Look, here's the deal. I'll protect you in exchange for your cooking. No room and board included." He holds out his green three-fingered hand to you, a lazy smile on his lips while he waits for your response to his final bargain.
You hesitate momentarily, mulling over the options in your head. You lift your hand, grabbing his in a firm handshake. "Looks like we've reached an agreement."
tw: Zombie Apocalypse AU, vivid descriptions of blood and gore, violence, eventual smut.
𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨
Happy Smurfin’
A shitpost I’m unironically proud of. FanArt by @highoffshrooms -> HERE!
Under the Streetlights
All you wanted was to take a walk, in the dark, alone. That’s a lie. You’re scared and afraid of the dark, so when your turtle in blue shows up, you’re relieved that you’ll be safe.
However, his brothers have something slightly different for the both of you in mind.
tw: none, SFW
Pregnancy Jitters
Morning nausea isn’t a regular routine you want incorporated in your everyday life. But when you you find out its cause, it might not be such a bad thing to deal with after all.
tw: none, slight(very slight!) NSFW
Liar
He wasn’t going to show up. He was never going to show up.
tw: angst, SFW
part two
Instinct
Leo just wants to bite you
Unwelcome Interruption
He just wants to rest with you, but his brothers keep preventing him from doing so. His solution? To not let you out of his arms.
Undercover Crush
When going undercover at April’s highschool to figure out what the Purple Dragons are up to, the last thing he expects is for their newest member to be this cute.
Favourite Things
Songfic(?)
Caught Red Handed
The Sun Festival, a celebration for the many. People flock to the busy streets for wares and game stalls alike, for the seven days it takes place - once every two years.
You're just a humble store owner trying to sell her freshly made pastries, though a troublesome(and very sneaky) thief manages to elude your sight every time, making away with four to five of them during each day of the celebration.
But not this year.
Oh, this year you would catch that thief red-handed.
2k12 Raphael Hamato
Softie
He’s only a softie around you.
tw: none, fluff, SFW
2k12 Donatello Hamato
Oblivious
𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫
When you’ve finally had enough, and a sudden confession changes everything.
2k12 Casey Jones
Weird
A careless bet turned serious, but there’s no way that he’s going to lose.
Just A Bet
When a bet with Raph turns far more serious than he expected.
Robin
When he realises he likes you
tw: none, SFW
𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨
Cole Brookstone
Infuriating Melodies
Being able to hear the songs your soulmates listen to is reassuring for most, especially with the distance signifying how far away they are.
Unfortunately for you, it seems that your soulmate’s taste in music is excruciating to the point of disdain.
Gift-giving is how you show affection, but nothing is good enough in your eyes for the Earth Ninja.
But flower crowns do look good on him though.
Familial Ties
Platonic Dad! Cole x Adopted Baby! Reader
Drummer Boy
A cute store assistant gives you drum lessons.
Holy Ground
Imagine a night when the famed ninja show up at your temple’s doorstep heavily injured. Of course, healing them comes first, but it’s what develops between you and the Earth Ninja that really matters.
Jay Walker
Lighting McQueen
You and Jay now have a running joke. Kachow.
Danny Phantom
It Started with a Kiss
When a simple dare becomes all too real for you. It’s just a kiss. That’s all.
a/n: i know this is a buttload of exposition but im having fun so who cares, anyway we're gonna realllyyy kick off the sokka x reader tag in the next chapter i promise. also, this chapter is dedicated to my best friend @theblindhag whom i love and adore and is currently going through something right now. i hope this helps to distract you in any way, shape, or form <3
“I don’t understand. If Aunt Wu is supposedly accurate, then why is there smoke coming off the top of that mountain?” Pursing your lips, you cross your arms as Shuon shrugs casually. “Look at it though, how is that supposed to be a good sign?”
“I don’t make the rules around here.” His nonchalant response makes you want to tear the hair off your head. After staying the night, you’d woken up to loud cheers. You’d asked Meng what was going on, only to be greeted by Aunt Wu who proudly proclaimed good fortune upon the village by reading the clouds above what you can only assume is a dormant volcano.
When you protested, the villagers began to give you strange looks until Shuon dragged you off elsewhere. “Look—” he states with a sigh, glancing around the forest to make sure no one else is around, “Aunt Wu’s predictions have always been right. That’s how things have always been around here. You’re just stopping by, right? Then you should leave soon.” His gaze is weary, a tiredness in his body that seems to weigh him down.
Now, you’re trying to convince him otherwise. But his deflective nature makes you pause, biting back more harsh words. Besides, what’re you even concerned about? This isn’t any of your business in the first place. It’s not like they’d listen, based on the subtle change in the way they’re treating you now as you walk through the marketplace.
Their once warm gazes now hold a glint of dissatisfaction. Even as you reach for an apple, the owner’s wary eyes make you hesitate, ultimately deciding to go without. You follow Shuon back to Aunt Wu’s hut, watching him sit down on the rattan mat that Meng had thoughtfully laid out to dry.
Your lips are pressed together, not liking the way he’s treating this. “Enough about fortune-telling,” he suddenly says, trying to inject a bit of light heartedness into the awkward space that fills the air, “what’re your plans after this?”
You gaze at a family that’s making their way down the street, a father holding up his daughter with pure joy while her mother looks on tenderly.
“...I’m going home.”
“Where’re you from, anyway?” His sudden interest doesn’t set off alarm bells at first. It’s only when he broaches the follow up question that your senses start to bristle. “And how did you escape the Fire Nation’s colony? I heard it’s impossible to. Anyone who does go in, never comes out.”
“I–” The words die in your throat. You stare at the ground, watching the ants crawl by in their own world, fingers automatically reaching for a bracelet that isn’t there. “It was difficult…Sacrifices had to be made. It’s a miracle I even survived the journey here.”
Silence falls between both of you. A bird caws in the distance. A bunny hops away at the sound of a snapped twig.
“I’m sorry.”
Looking up, your eyes meet with his. The warm sunlight tints them with hazel, and glints with guilt, sadness, and everything in between. “It’s okay.” The lie falls effortlessly from your lips, looking down at the hand he places atop yours.
Heat stings the corners of your eyes, reaching up to wipe away the tears that hastily form. It’d been too long since anyone had shown you this much kindness.
But you can’t let that sway you. Not now.
“You’re right though.” He watches you stand up, turning around with a forced grin. “I’ll depart at first light.”
Shuon mirrors your smile, holding out a hand toward you. “Let me help.”
— — — — — —
The marketplace you were in moments earlier has transformed into a bustling street. In the time you’d had that talk with Shuon, more villagers had opened their stores. Fresh produce, bolts of fabric, carved trinkets and steaming food stalls now lined the pathways, voices overlapping into a constant hum.
“Don’t go to Madam Li’s stall; she always tries to upsell her fruits.” Shuon lowers his voice dramatically, as if exposing some grand conspiracy. “Uncle Lai gives good discounts though. Just compliment his daughter’s drawing.”
You don’t even get the chance to respond before he grabs your wrist and drags you toward a nearby stall.
Skimming over the smaller sacks of rice and potatoes stacked neatly by the counter, what truly catches your attention is the uneven piece of parchment hanging from one of the wooden poles. Splotches of colour decorate the page in what vaguely resembles a turtleduck.
A large man turns around at the sound of his name. His eyes crinkle into crescent moons, though he quickly hides whatever smile threatens to appear behind a rough cough.
“Shuon.”
The acknowledgement is brief and gruff, but it doesn’t deter the boy in the slightest. He immediately begins piling a couple bags of rice and potatoes into his arms.
“Ten copper coins.”
“Uncle Lai,” Shuon begins smoothly, “have you met Kali? She escaped from the Fire Nation colonies.”
That earns you the stall owner’s full attention.
His gaze travels over you carefully, assessing without seeming outrightly suspicious. You resist the urge to stiffen under it. Shuon nudges your arm insistently, eyes darting toward the parchment overhead.
You stare at him blankly for half a second before understanding dawns.
Right. The drawing.
“Oh.” Clearing your throat, you gesture toward the hanging parchment. “It’s nice to meet you, Uncle Lai. I must say though… where did you find such incredible artwork?”
The immediate transformation almost gives you whiplash.
His chest swells with pride, one massive hand already reaching up to straighten the parchment despite it hanging perfectly fine moments earlier. “You mean this?” His voice softens considerably. “My daughter Kyo made it.”
Shuon nods enthusiastically beside you like it’s the greatest masterpiece the Earth Kingdom has ever produced.
Uncle Lai continues, completely ignoring the growing line behind you. “She’s only seven, but already showing remarkable talent. Reminds me of a painting I once saw while travelling Ba Sing Se as a young man.” He sighs wistfully. “Clearly inherited her artistic eye from me.”
You glance back at the drawing.
The turtleduck somehow looks less like a turtleduck the longer you stare at it.
“A natural talent,” you agree solemnly.
Shuon snorts into his sleeve.
“Hm.” Uncle Lai eyes you approvingly before waving one hand dismissively. “Five copper.”
You blink.
“Uh…Thanks.”
The moment the coins exchange hands, Shuon looks entirely too pleased with himself. “You see?” he whispers as you leave the stall. “Works every time.”
You hum absently, adjusting the weight of the supplies in your arms while mentally recounting your remaining money.
Most of it came from the Freedom Fighters, having snuck into the tent where they usually kept the money stolen from the multiple ambushed camps, or after going through the pockets of the corpses that fell to their blade.
The rest…
Well.
Zuko technically hadn’t noticed those coins disappearing from his room, so morally speaking, you preferred to think of it as borrowing.
…Indefinitely.
The market grows more crowded the deeper you wander into it. While Shuon stops to greet yet another villager, you quietly slip toward the tighter clusters of stalls, fingers brushing across displayed goods with practiced ease.
A small carving knife disappears into your sleeve first. A whistle follows shortly after from another unattended counter. You’re not entirely sure why you take it, but it’d come in handy somehow, right?
A compact sewing kit. That one at least feels practical.
Your heartbeat barely changes throughout any of it. Palace servants stole from one another constantly. It was simply a way of survival. This wasn’t the first time you’d done it, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last.
The scent hits you before the stall itself does.
Smoked meat.
You slow instinctively, gaze landing on strips of glistening jerky hanging from wooden hooks. A man turns them carefully over the firepit while seasoning crackles softly over the flames.
Your chest tightens unexpectedly.
Wei Yi’s smile flashes through your mind, recalling the days she’d sneak you some.
Before you realise it, your hand has already reached for your coin pouch.
Three copper coins.
Not enough.
Quietly, you let the pouch fall shut again and step away from the stall before the smell can drag you any deeper into memories you’ve spent years trying to survive. Shuon catches up, noticing the wistful stare directed at the smoked jerky.
“Are you gonna get some?”
You shake your head.
— — — — — —
The midday sun’s rays beat down relentlessly on your back as you pick up the white sheets, wringing them dry before hanging them onto the clothesline. Brushing away the beads of sweat gathering on your forehead, your hands move like clockwork, arranging each sheet neatly with clothespins before reaching for the next.
Aunt Wu had requested help with the laundry, and who were you to refuse? Upon setting down the newly purchased (and pickpocketed) items, you and Meng gathered up the blankets, robes, and other fabrics that needed washing before setting to work almost immediately.
Surprisingly, you don’t feel particularly exhausted.
Your body aches, yes, but in a familiar way. The repetitive motions settle naturally into your muscles, no different from the endless hours spent rehearsing dance routines within the instructor’s halls.
Lift. Twist. Fold. Step. Repeat.
The rhythm almost feels comforting.
You grab another dripping sheet from the basket before realising the remaining space on the line is too high to reach comfortably. Meng struggles onto the tips of her toes beside you with a grunt, fingers barely brushing the rope.
“It’s too high…” she huffs.
Without thinking, your hand hooks around the wooden support beam beside you. You pivot lightly onto the balls of your feet, body bending with practiced ease as your leg lifts behind you for balance, arching just enough to pin the sheet neatly into place without missing a beat.
Meng goes completely silent.
You blink down at her. “What?”
“How did you do that?” She blurts out immediately, pointing at you with open disbelief. “Your leg was like—” she attempts to mimic the movement only to wobble dangerously, catching herself with a yelp. “Spirits, are all colony people built differently?”
A laugh nearly escapes you at the sight. “I used to dance a little.”
“A little?” Meng repeats incredulously. “If I tried that, my legs would snap clean off.”
Chuckling softly under your breath, you reach for another sheet, though Aunt Wu’s voice cuts through the moment before you can settle back into the repetitive comfort of the task. “You move very gracefully,” she remarks, folding one of the smaller cloths into perfect squares. “And very uniformly.”
Your hands pause for only a fraction of a second.
“The spacing between the sheets, the folds…” Her gaze drifts toward the clothesline. Every sheet hangs evenly apart. Every clothespin aligned. “You handle fabrics more like someone raised around nobility than a prisoner.”
The sweat on the back of your neck suddenly feels cold.
Meng gasps softly, eyes widening. “Wait, really?”
You force your expression not to change, continuing your work before the silence stretches too long. “The colony I was kept in served higher-ranking officers sometimes,” you answer smoothly. “If things weren’t perfect, punishment followed pretty quickly.”
The lie comes easier than expected.
Aunt Wu hums softly at the explanation, though whether she truly believes you or merely chooses not to question it further, you can’t tell. Either way, it’s not a good sign. “All done,” you exhale, stepping back. “Is there anything else I can help with?”
She hums for a moment. “Yes. Would you be a dear and assist Meng with preparing more tea leaves? The clouds are telling me that I’ll have more visitors soon.”
Your lips twitch into a polite smile. “Of course.”
Meng gestures enthusiastically for you to follow her, leading you into a spare room which you guess serves as the pantry. Jars line the shelves, bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling alongside garlic and roots you can’t identify. The earthy scent hits you immediately.
“We need to lay these out before the sun sets,” the young girl explains, passing you a woven rattan tray filled with fresh tea leaves. “If they dry properly, Aunt Wu says it becomes more fragrant.”
“Hm.” Carefully balancing the tray in your arms, you follow her back outside.
The both of you settle beneath the afternoon sunlight, spreading the leaves out into thinner layers across multiple trays. The repetitive work quickly becomes rhythmic. Pick apart the clumps. Lay them flat. Turn the leaves over occasionally so they dry evenly.
Meng chatters beside you the entire time, mostly about villagers you’ve never met and stories you’re only half listening to, though every now and then you find yourself responding without thinking. A comment here. A quiet laugh there.
At some point, you realise you’re enjoying yourself. It’s an uncomfortable thought that nestles in the pit of your stomach, lingering with every word said after.
Still, you continue working quietly beneath the warmth of the sun, fingers brushing through fragrant leaves while the breeze drifts lazily through the village. Nearby, Aunt Wu hums softly to herself while preparing dinner inside. Someone further down the road calls out to another villager. Children laugh in the distance.
It’s peaceful.
It also makes your chest ache.
By the time the sun begins sinking behind the mountains, staining the sky in shades of amber and crimson, the tea leaves are nearly finished drying. Meng stretches dramatically beside you with a groan. “My back is going to fall off.”
“You barely did anything.”
She gasps in mock offense. “Excuse you? Moral support is very important.”
A quiet snort leaves your nose before you can stop it.
Dinner passes in a comfortable blur after that. Warm soup. Rice. The faint bitterness of fresh tea lingering on your tongue. You find yourself speaking a little more than usual, enough for Meng to beam triumphantly each time she manages to make you laugh.
But eventually, exhaustion catches up to you.
Your belongings sit neatly packed beside the sleeping mat by the time you finish preparing for bed. Supplies arranged carefully. Leftover money counted more than twice. Compass tucked safely away within your sleeves.
Ready to leave before sunrise.
Meng had nearly crushed your ribs earlier, hugging you goodbye in advance after learning you planned to depart the next day. “You better come visit again someday,” she’d insisted dramatically, eyes suspiciously watery. “I’ll introduce you to my soulmate and everything.”
The memory makes your lips twitch faintly against the pillow.
Outside, the village slowly quiets beneath the night sky. Crickets chirp softly beyond the windows. Somewhere in the distance, a lantern flickers out.
Your eyes grow heavier.
For the first time in a long while, sleep comes easily.
— — — — — —
The moon wanes overhead, pale light spilling across the cobbled path beneath your feet. You don’t remember deciding to walk, yet your body moves anyway, carrying you through narrow alleyways you knew like the back of your hand once upon a time. Familiar turns come instinctively. Past the shuttered market stalls. Past the crooked buildings leaning slightly into one another as though whispering old gossip. Past the alleyway where you once scraped your knee chasing after neighborhood children who never quite wanted to play with you.
The building stands exactly as you remember it. Paint peels from the walls, faded reds worn away to reveal uneven patches of grey beneath. One side of the roof still dips slightly lower than the other. The windows remain shut.
Your chest tightens.
The doorknob glints faintly beneath the moonlight, polished despite everything else.
‘Even if one does not have much, we must always look presentable, for we are Fire Nation.’
Your mother’s voice settles somewhere deep inside you.
Without thinking, your fingers trail against the doorway as you step inside, tracing over faint charcoal lines etched into the wood. Marks from years ago. Seven. Nine. Twelve. Fourteen. Your mother used to insist on measuring your height every year despite your complaints, smiling to herself whenever she realised you’d grown another inch or two.
The house is quiet.
Your toys still sit abandoned near the corner exactly where you remember leaving them, spare firecrackers hanging haphazardly above the emerald porcelain vase your mother treasured so carefully. She used to polish it every week, fingers tracing every painted detail with such gentleness that you’d once wondered if she loved the thing more than you.
The memory almost makes your lips twitch.
Almost.
Your footsteps slow as you move deeper inside. Once upon a time, your home had been filled with laughter, with noise and the sounds of growing up. From stern reprimands when your mother had caught you fiddling with her makeup, to the soft melody of Hanoh humming a familiar lullaby as she patted your arm, watching over you during the summer days when it got too hot and you fell sick.
The bedroom door sits slightly ajar.
You don’t remember crossing the room, only that suddenly your hand is resting against the frame.
Hanoh sits beside the bed, folding clothes into careful piles. The sight nearly knocks the air from your lungs.
She looks older.
Not by much, but enough to make you stifle an involuntary sob.
The soft fullness in her face has thinned, streaks of silver more noticeable through dark hair pulled loosely back. There are more lines near her eyes now too, carved gently into tired skin.
Three years.
Three years and somehow you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine what time might’ve done to her.
“Hanoh?”
Your voice comes out smaller than intended.
Her hands still.
Slowly, she turns, and the moment her eyes land on you, something fragile breaks across her face. Relief. Disbelief. The sort of expression someone wears when they’ve spent too long grieving something they weren’t ready to lose.
Her hands still against the folded fabric. Slowly, she turns, and the moment her gaze lands on you, something in her expression crumples so suddenly it makes your chest ache. Relief settles there first, followed quickly by disbelief, getting to her feet so abruptly the chair legs scrape harshly against the floor.
“There you are,” she breathes, voice shaking in a way you don’t remember from before. Before you can say anything, her hands are on your face, warm palms cupping your cheeks as though checking you’re really there. “Spirits above…” Her thumbs brush over skin far gentler than they have any right to be. “Look at you. You’re far too thin.”
The lump in your throat forms instantly.
Three years.
Three years, and somehow she still looks at you the same way she used to after long dance lessons, when your legs ached too much to walk properly and she’d sit you down with tea while rubbing ointment into your sore feet, pretending not to notice whenever you complained dramatically enough to get extra tang yuan. The ever-so-familiar scent of szechuan and star anise clings to her clothes as she hugs you close.
It’s a while before you’re able to speak, fighting back a choked sob as your fingers clench the fabric of her tunic.
I’m sorry. I love you. I didn’t want to leave.
“I missed you.”
Her expression falters.
“Oh, my little HuoHuo…” One hand leaves your cheek to smooth back your hair, careful fingers untangling strands with practiced ease. “I know.” A single thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away the tears threatening to fall.
For a moment, everything settles. The house feels warm again. Safe. Like if you stayed still long enough, your mother might return home from work carrying vegetables for dinner while Hanoh fusses over whether she’d had enough to eat for the day, chiding your mother’s thin frame.
But as you know well enough by now, good things in life never last.
The Fire Lord made sure of that.
The sound of marching approaches the door. It’s flung open before you can even blink, a rough hand grabbing your shoulder and pulling you back with such force that you hear something pop.
“I don’t want to go!” Your throat burns from screaming, struggling hard enough for someone to curse beneath their breath as they tighten their hold. “Hanoh!”
“No!” Her voice cracks as she pushes uselessly against one of the guards, tears already streaking down her face. You’d forgotten that part. The desperation in her expression, the way someone so small still fought like she stood a chance. “Please, she’s just a child!”
But no one listened.
Not to her.
And certainly not to you.
The memory shifts too quickly. Salt fills the air. The harbour comes into view. By then, exhaustion had hollowed you out enough to stop fighting, numbness settling into your bones as the ship slowly pulled away from the docks into a horizon stained with fire.
The sound of your name echoes through the skies.
You turn instinctively.
Hanoh stands at the port, struggling violently against the guards holding her back, tears staining her cheeks as she calls your name again and again, reaching for you despite the distance growing between you.
It takes a moment for your body to listen to your mind. “Hanoh!” The scream rips from your throat as you throw yourself against the railing, rope-bound wrists scraping painfully against rough wood in your struggle to climb over. Someone grabs you before you can even think, dragging you back hard enough to nearly knock the breath from your lungs.
“No! Let me go!” You kick uselessly, twisting violently enough for the ropes to burn against your skin. The harbour grows smaller. Hanoh’s figure smaller still, though she continues fighting, tears streaming down her face as she reaches for you like maybe—just maybe—she could still stop this.
Your name.
She keeps calling your name.
Something grabs your shoulder.
You jolt awake with a gasp, chest heaving so quickly it hurts. Sweat clings uncomfortably to the back of your neck despite the cold creeping through the room. For a moment, you can’t breathe properly, remnants of saltwater and splintered wood still lingering somewhere in your lungs.
Darkness greets you.
A silhouette greets you.
Remnants of terror flash through your system like lightning, overriding all self control as heat rushes instinctively to your fingertips. Fire bursts forward before your thoughts can catch up, crackling violently through the room.
Only to reveal a familiar face in its dim glow.
Shuon freezes entirely, one hand buried halfway inside your bag. His expression shifts too quickly to keep up with. Surprise comes first, eyes widening at nearly being set aflame.
Then his gaze flickers downward.
To the amber flames dancing between your fingers.
Back to you.
The change is immediate.
You watch the realization settle in piece by piece, confusion tightening into disbelief before something heavier sinks beneath it. Hurt. Betrayal.
Anger.
His lips part, and you can almost hear him say Kali. Instead, his fingers curl into fists, eyes narrowing as he all but spits:
Fire Nation.
Panic slams into you hard enough to make your stomach twist. Your feet catch awkwardly against the blankets as you stumble upright too fast, extinguishing the flame in one sharp motion.
No. NO. NO—this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here. Not after everything.
Before he can move, before he can shout, before he can do anything, your hands shove against his shoulders hard enough to send him stumbling backwards onto the floor with a startled cry.
Guilt flares briefly, but adrenaline swallows it whole. You grab your bag with shaking hands.. The strap barely settles over your shoulder before you’re moving, ignoring the sound of him scrambling behind you as you bolt for the door, pulse roaring too loudly in your ears to hear whatever it is he’s trying to say.
The cold night air hits you hard the moment you stumble outside, lungs burning from how quickly everything had gone wrong. Your feet barely touch the ground properly before instinct takes over, carrying you forward. Branches snag against your sleeves as you push through the forest, uneven roots nearly sending you sprawling more than once.
You don’t turn around.
You can’t.
Your pulse pounds too loudly in your ears to hear much else, every sound behind you twisting into something worse. Footsteps. Villagers. Torches. Guards.
You’ve seen this before. Trust someone too long and suddenly your hands are tied to a ship headed somewhere you never wanted to go. Stay too long and people start asking questions. Let yourself believe you’re safe and something always rips it away.
By the time the trees begin thinning, your chest aches sharply enough to make breathing difficult. Salt reaches you before the water does, sharp and familiar against the back of your throat. A harbour sits ahead, smaller than the ones back home but enough. Enough to leave.
The boats rock gently against the docks, tied carelessly enough that desperation outweighs whatever guilt tries creeping in. You drop to your knees beside the smallest one, fingers fumbling against the knot hard enough to nearly curse aloud when they slip. “Come on…” The rope finally loosens. Good.
You don’t think.
Thinking is dangerous.
The boat nearly tips beneath your weight as you shove off harder than necessary, grabbing the oars with trembling hands. Water splashes unevenly as you row, movements messy at first before panic forces rhythm into them. One pull. Then another. Faster.
The shore slowly grows smaller.
Still, your heartbeat refuses to settle.
You row until your arms burn and the movement starts to slow without you meaning it to, exhaustion creeping in as the boat rocks more gently beneath you. The shoreline is still there, the cliff still visible in the distance, smaller now but not gone, and that alone is enough to make your grip loosen slightly as your breathing finally stops feeling like it’s drowning you.
With the panic fading, thoughts start to come back in pieces. Shuon. His face when he saw the fire. The way his expression shifted too quickly to miss, confusion turning into something sharper before you even had time to explain anything.
You press your fingers briefly against your temple, like that might push the memory back down where it was. Maybe you should’ve stayed. Said something. Anything. But even as the thought forms, it feels wrong in the same way his voice had when he said it.
Fire Nation.
Like it meant everything and nothing all at once.
The water is calm enough now that you can hear things properly again. A sound cuts across the distance, faint at first, then sharper as more voices join it. You pause mid-row, head turning instinctively toward the shore.
Lanterns.
Small at first, then more appearing along the cliffside, moving fast enough that your stomach tightens again before you can stop it. Even from here, you can hear the voices carrying over the water.
“She’d be better off dead than us finding her.”
Your fingers tighten around the oars without thinking. And you start rowing again.
It’s official. You hate nature, and nature hates you. The trees themselves seem to constantly get in your path, hitting you in the face during moments your guard is down. You’re not entirely sure how you even got in this mess in the first place.
Lost in the middle of another forest, and having gotten caught in your own rabbit trap.
I’m lucky I’m even alive right now.
The memory of the bed in your old room on the ship tugs at your heartstrings, the sense of longing almost too much to bear as you dangle upside down from the tree branch. You sigh. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to leave after all.
This is hopeless.
Taking a quick look around, a flame sparks on the palms of your hands, trying to focus so that they’d only burn the rope and not your clothes. Wouldn’t want to be caught in your undergarments after all.
It takes all of ten seconds for the ropes to snap, but you quickly realise how bad of a decision this is as you plummet to the ground. Landing with a solid thud, your back groans in response when you sit back up with a wince.
“That was a tough fall.”
Scrambling to your feet, your hands instinctively grab the dagger hidden in your boot. Your crouched position makes the sudden presence raise their hands in surrender, a nervous laugh echoing.
“Calm down, I just wanted to help.”
Squinting, you finally take in the person in front of you. Raven black hair fall past his ears in choppy waves, an awkward laugh falling from his lips. “Can I put my hands down now?” He’s dressed in the colours of the Earth Kingdom.
He takes your silence as a yes. After another moment of careful deliberation, you relax. The dagger’s shoved back into its sheath, and you approach him warily. “I’m Shuon.” He introduces himself.
“I’m…Kali.” You say slowly, taking his outstretched hand. He blinks, a concerned gaze roaming over the scratches on your arms, the shreds in your tunic, and the exhaustion in your eyes.
“Are you lost? Not that many people come into the forest unless they wanna go berry hunting.” His joking tone, coupled with the way he leans to the right to glimpse at the unsuccessful rabbit trap makes you take a step back.
Out of all the people you could’ve come across, you just had to encounter someone friendly. “I didn’t get lost. I escaped.” The excuse would buy some time, but now it’s just a matter of how much of a believable story you’re able to weave.
“Escaped?? Oh no… Were you a victim of the Fire Nation soldiers too? You should come with me. It’s not safe here these days. You can stay at the village where I’m from, I’m sure that they’ll take care of you.”
Seems like you wouldn’t need to exert much effort into coming up with something. This unsuspecting fool (possibly idiot?) would do it for you. “I’ll be fine,” you state decisively, turning around and picking up the snapped ropes that’d fallen to the ground. “I don’t need any help. I’ll survive on my own.”
You couldn’t risk another encounter with a group, much less an unfamiliar one. You weren’t sure what they’d ask from you in return, and it’d be difficult to keep up the facade. Plus, you’d only just escaped from one, and following this stranger would probably mean walking straight into another road cursed by the spirits.
“We have hot food and a warm bed…” His coaxing voice begins to irritate you, stuffing your belongings back into your bag.
“I said I’ll be fine.” You don’t know how much time it’ll take to reach the Fire Nation, but a detour would mean it’d be longer than you wanted.
“Did I mention we have hot water for bathing?”
You pause, limbs stiffening. “...Bathing?”
— — — — — —
“Getting my fortune read was not what I signed up for.” Shuon smiles sheepishly at your statement, turning away so he wouldn’t have to meet your gaze full-on. Coward. “I only came with you because you said there’d be hot water. I’m no Avatar, but since when did hot water mean getting my palms read?”
“You can’t come to the village and not see Aunt Wu,” he argues in turn, shaking his head in disapproval. “Besides, it’s just a quick stop. I’m sure that she can help you, especially since you’d just escaped from the Fire Nation colony that held you hostage.”
With a sigh, you watch as Shuon motions you forward, his excitement undeterred by your reluctance. His words echo in your mind. Escaped from the Fire Nation colony. He says it with such conviction, completely unaware of their bitter irony.
Villagers stroll down the lanes, offering friendly nods as they pass. It’s peaceful, an unnerving calm that seems to trigger some sort of fight-or-flight response within you. Bright lanterns line doorways, casting warm, flickering glows across the cobbled paths that lead toward Aunt Wu’s modest house on the edge of the village.
Your legs ache with each step, every movement dragging you closer to the ground. Weeks of exhaustion bear down on you, a reminder that your body hasn’t had real rest since — well, since everything.
The stress of fleeing, of hiding, of constantly looking over your shoulder feels like it’s etched into your bones. Even the warm bath that Shuon had promised and the simple meal you’d managed to eat last night feel like distant memories now, as if any comfort slips through your fingers the moment you try to grasp it.
As you enter the small, warm room where Aunt Wu awaits, your heartbeat gradually speeds up. The atmosphere is thick with incense and something else, something you can’t place. She greets you with a gentle smile, and despite your best efforts, you feel yourself tense up.
"So," Aunt Wu begins, studying you as if peeling back layers with just her gaze. “Let’s see what the spirits have to say.” A young girl with bushy hair and freckles quietly sets down two cups filled with tea beside you, taking a couple steps back with an emotion in her eyes resembling that of intrigued awe.
The words settle like a weight in your stomach, but you force a half-hearted shrug, hoping to mask your unease with a bit of humour. “Can’t say the spirits and I are on speaking terms lately.” It’s unfortunate that Shuon chose to wait outside for you. A familiar presence would’ve been better than none.
Aunt Wu’s smile widens. "Perhaps they have things to say nonetheless." She beckons you forward, gesturing for your hands. Against every instinct screaming at you not to, you extend just one, bracing for whatever lies ahead.
Your throat feels dry, each inhale scratching its raw surface. Your free hand scrambles for the cup, finally closing around it and bringing it to you to take a gulp. Hopefully the scalding burn of tea going down your throat would help somehow.
“You are a lost soul,” she states decisively.
The cup stops halfway to your lips, raising your gaze to see Aunt Wu nodding slowly. “I’m sorry?” You ask, hesitating to take a sip with the newfound sense of dread crawling in the depths of your abdomen. “What exactly do you mean by lost?”
“The clouds, dear! The clouds told me a lost soul would find their way to me. And thank the spirits you did. I can’t imagine what you must’ve been through as a captive of the Fire Nation.”
“A captive.” She blinks when you repeat her words. Glancing down, you reassess the raggedy shirt you have on, the once-vibrant greens now a faded, dull colour resembling that of vomit. Looking back up, you nod. “That’s right. I was a captive. I managed to get away from the Fire Nation colony they entrapped me in, but now…” You wipe the tears beginning to form in your eyes, your breaths stuttering.
“Oh dear… Please stay with us as long as you need. You poor thing…” She offers sympathetically, pouring more tea in your cup.
Giving her a small nod, you take a sip. “You know what? I know what’ll make you feel better,” she states decisively, leaning over and pulling out a small drawer. She takes out a set of cards, shuffling the deck with expertise.
“I’m sorry…What do you...What?” You blink owlishly, crocodile tears forgotten. Bewildered is one way to describe the swirl of emotions that rise as she lays them flat on the ground. “What do the cards have anything to do with…?”
“I’m giving you a reading, my dear! Most who travel here come just for my readings. I’ll give you one for free.”
A nervous laugh falls from your lips. You’re not one to be superstitious, but like you mentioned to her earlier, you’re already pretty sure that only bad clouds lay ahead. However, your eyes wander back down to the cards that lay on the rattan mat. Part of you is tempted to reach out, to accept the kind hand she’s offering (no matter how odd it seems right now).
“Alright,” you decide with a sigh. Your fate is already more or less shrouded by the hands of the spirits. What’s one confirmation of it after all?
“Ask 3 questions. They can only answer 3. No more, no less.”
“Fine.” The first question wouldn’t mean much, but you go ahead and ask it anyway. Perhaps a part of you is secretly hoping for there to be hope in the darkness, because there wouldn’t be a reason to ask it otherwise.
“Will I make it home?” She gestures for you to choose 3 cards, taking the ones you hand to her. She lays them flat, shifting the remaining cards to the side. Flipping all 3 over draws a loud hum from her.
When she looks at you, all you can feel is scepticism. What would her cards know about you anyway? All the stuff she’d said about the clouds earlier had already confirmed that she’s crazy.
“The spirits tell me that you will have to leave behind what was once rooted. A time of endings is upon you, but also a time of rebirth. Your path may lead you home, but beware: what awaits you may not be what you truly desire.”
The words die at the tip of your tongue, caught somewhere in the space between disbelief and curiosity. The air becomes hushed, solemness tinging the warmth the sunlight used to provide.
Endings? Rebirth?
“What I’ve always desired is to be home.” You speak with conviction, though Aunt Wu’s gaze makes you falter.
“You should do her soulmate next!” The young girl from earlier speaks up excitedly. You jolt from her unexpected response. She’d managed to blend in with the shadows so well that you’d forgotten that she was there in the first place.
You glance at her guilty expression when Aunt Wu glares disapprovingly, watching her shrink back into a quiet shell once more. You can’t help a small, amused grin; she’d do well in the palace with that stealth.
“Sure,” you set down the cup after taking a long overdue sip. “Let’s do a soulmate reading.” The momentary lapse in atmosphere had given you time, enough to steady the mask you’re struggling to maintain. “So, who’s my soulmate?”
This one you’d take a little more seriously. There’d been a tale passed down through the families back home, one of love. The red string of fate, they’d called it. Hanoh had read it to you every night when you were younger.
Following Aunt Wu’s gestures, you select three new cards from the freshly shuffled deck, watching as she flips them over one by one. Her expression shifts with each card — thoughtfulness, uncertainty, and…pity.
Finally, she looks back up at you.
“As warm as the place you have come from may be, I fear the flames of your past have singed you in ways you cannot heal with the cold in you. Fire will fight fire, and warmth will need warmth.”
“Being alone can be a good thing, but being together can bring forth change in ways you least expect. Always remember: the pull of your string is not one to be ignored.”
The words strike somewhere deep, the kind of place you’ve buried so far down it hardly feels like yours anymore. Fire will fight fire? The phrase rattles through your mind, both strange and unsettlingly familiar. Aunt Wu’s reading shouldn’t make sense, and yet…
A memory stirs, raw and unbidden, of bitter faces and mocking laughter echoing through the palace halls. The helplessness, the cold rage that twisted in your gut, and the ice that settled into your bones when you silently swore, that you’d find justice for your mother someday. You’ve spent years building walls around these memories, guarding against a pain so familiar it feels like part of you.
Now, though, those walls are beginning to crack. A hard lump forms in your throat, and your gaze falters, eyes threatening to mist over. You tighten your fists, as if grasping that old vow might keep you from shattering.
You’ve already shed enough tears for a lifetime; you’ve told yourself that more times than you care to count. But Aunt Wu’s words linger, stirring memories that refuse to stay buried.
Clearing your throat, you drink the last of the tea.
Its warmth does nothing to alleviate the unease in your stomach, getting to your feet. “I appreciate your readings, Aunt Wu. But Shuon promised that I could have a warm bath and a place to stay for the night, so I should go and find him to sort it out.”
Aunt Wu rises from her seat, her eyes holding a knowing glint. “I agree. You’ll need a place to stay. However, I believe I can offer a more suitable arrangement,” she says, gesturing around the small, warmly lit room. “You may stay here, and in exchange, you can help with a few small chores. It will do you some good to settle down, even if just for a short while.”
There’s a firmness in her tone that suggests she isn’t making a suggestion but rather a decision, and you hesitate, glancing around her humble home. “A few chores?”
She nods. “Nothing too much. You’ll help me prepare herbs, fetch water from the stream, keep the place tidy. I suspect you’re used to much harder work,” she adds with a knowing smile.
You return the smile, albeit a little wryly. “I’m afraid my skills might be… limited to a different kind of labour.”
Aunt Wu only chuckles, the sound light but wise, almost like she sees something within you that you aren’t quite ready to face. “No skill is too small, child. And I think you may find value in a few quiet days spent in the village.”
The idea of rest — true rest — is tempting, and the weight of exhaustion pulls at you even now. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, you think, almost convincing yourself as you nod in agreement. “The bath will be ready soon,” she says with a soft smile “and when you’re ready, we’ll see to those chores.”
The young girl comes forward, her earlier excitement ignited once again at what seems to be the prospect of a new roommate. “I’m Meng!” She introduces herself cheerfully, guiding you out of the room and toward the back of the house. “It’s great to meet you Kali! It’s going to be great, we can stay up talking about boys!”
You shift in discomfort, not wanting to hurt her feelings by declining her outrightly, but reluctant to accept her enthusiasm. “Right… I’m thinking of washing up first, though.” She beams up at you, undeterred by your mildly awkward smile.
“No problem! There’s already hot water inside, so take all the time you need. I’ll go tell Shuon you’re staying with us now!”
She leaves quickly, her clumsy steps echoing down the hallway. You can’t help a chuckle, pushing open the door she’d directed you to. A wooden tub sits in the corner, the room filled with steam that comes off a large pail of water. Another pail is right next to it. Upon dipping a finger inside, you discover it’s cold.
Not the most ideal, but it’ll do. A wry laugh falls from your lips, realising just how much you’ve been spoiled back home. With your natural firebending, hot baths in your room were common to the point that you’d grown to take them for granted.
Survival is more important than being pampered, you decide as you sink your body into the tub. You lower yourself into it, the chill of the water sinking into your bones, a stark contrast to the warmth you once knew. It’s uncomfortable, but you try not to dwell on it as you scrub at your skin with the rough washcloth provided. The brisk, unrelenting motions of your arms leave your skin raw, but there’s something cathartic in the harshness. You rinse off, then move on to your hair.
Your fingers comb through the ratted knots in your hair, hands slowing to a stop when you recall a memory so fond, one that you never thought to cherish till now.
The sensation of delicate hands massaging your scalp, the soothing care of Hanoh as she bathed you as a toddler, her soft laughter filling the air when you’d complain about taking too long in the water.
You can almost hear her voice, gently scolding you for dragging your feet or for the mess you always managed to make of your hair. Those were the days when the simple act of being cared for didn’t feel like a distant memory, a time when there was peace, when the weight of the world hadn’t yet settled on your shoulders.
You finish washing quickly, drying off with the soft cloth, your movements mechanical as you pull yourself together. A few more moments are spent in the stillness of the room, allowing the echoes of your memories to settle before you stand up, feeling the cool air rush over your damp skin. The cloth from earlier is draped over the door, and as you pick it up, you notice the fresh clothes Meng had left for you. The fabric feels unfamiliar but comforting in its simplicity.
Green.
You stare down at the dress she provided. As a dancer, the clothes you wore were light and breathable, designed for movement; silk and light cotton that fluttered as you performed. But this dress, while still light, is more modest, with a high collar that sits snugly at your neck and long sleeves that fall loosely over your arms. The bottom flares out gently, ending just above your ankles in soft pleats, offering ease of movement but in a more subdued, practical way.
Guess I’m Earth Kingdom now.
When you step outside, Meng is waiting patiently by the door, her eyes lighting up when she spots you. She takes in the sight of you, her gaze bright with admiration.
“You look so pretty!” she exclaims, her voice full of genuine excitement. You can’t help but feel a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth as her enthusiasm fills the air.
“Thank you.” The compliment feels…odd, when it leaves your mouth. “Where do I go now?”
“Well,” She ponders before her expression brightens. “Are you hungry?”
The growl that your stomach elicits is sufficient of a response.
— — — — — —
“How did you escape?”
The question, pure and unassuming, catches you off guard. For a moment, the biscuit in your hand falters as it nears your lips. You chew thoughtfully, buying time as your mind races to come up with a response.
Meng’s wide, innocent gaze lingers on you, and you feel the pressure mount. Calm down, you remind yourself. This is nothing compared to what I went through back at the palace. You swallow, pushing the memories down, focusing on the present. You’ve handled far worse.
You set the biscuit down, your fingers tightening around it as you choose your words carefully. “It wasn’t... a traditional escape,” you say, voice casual. “I was helping a friend. Someone from the village. They needed to get out, and I... went with them, just to make sure they were safe. A small group, through a hidden path. Quiet, unnoticed. The Earth Kingdom is far away, and there’s a lot of places to hide. After that, I just... kept going.”
She blinks, as if expecting a lot more than the story you just provided. But that’s how you got by with lies. Vague enough to keep people from asking questions, and just underwhelming enough to make them accept it as is.
Your lips twitch ever so slightly as you recall everything you’ve been through so far. Being a part of the Freedom Fighters… Encountering the Avatar and his group… The memory of the irritating water tribe boy makes your smile fall flat.
Meng blinks at you, clearly hoping for more details. Before she can ask, her face brightens, and she leans forward eagerly. “That’s so brave of you! Honestly, I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been, but you made it! You’re so strong and courageous.”
You nod, the words barely sinking in. Meng’s wide eyes are filled with admiration, and it makes your chest tighten. “Thank you…?”
But Meng’s enthusiasm doesn’t stop. She practically glows as she continues, her voice bouncing with excitement. “And you’re so pretty! Like, really pretty, you know? I mean, how could your soulmate not be able to find you? With a face like yours? You’ve got that air about you, but it’s soft, too. It’s like... like the perfect combination of strength and grace!” She breathes out, her eyes sparkling. “Honestly, anyone would be lucky to have you. I just know they’ll find you soon.”
You swallow, feeling a slight flush rise to your cheeks at her overwhelming praise. How could your soulmate not find you? She says it like it’s a guarantee, like anyone would be lucky to be with you.
You try to smile, but her excitement presses in, her words turning into a blur. I highly doubt it, you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you just nod along blankly.
“I don’t know,” you reply quietly, trying to wrap up the conversation. “I guess I’ll see when the time comes.”
Meng’s gaze drops, the corners of her mouth quivering with an emotion she’s trying to hide. “It’s just... I don’t think anyone would want me, though. Who would? I’m not... pretty like you. No one’s ever looked at me like that.”
Her voice trembles slightly, the usual sparkle in her eyes dimming. The bright, bubbly energy that had filled the room moments ago feels like a distant memory now. For a moment, she looks younger. Smaller, even, and you realize the weight of insecurity she’s been carrying.
Jealous? You hadn't expected that. You hadn't expected her to compare herself to you like this. You were too used to hiding your own vulnerabilities to notice someone else’s.
“I see.” Your lips press together, unsure of how to handle her sudden shift in mood. Meng’s cheery self seems to have withdrawn into her shell, gazing at the teacups as if they were the only things anchoring her to the current moment.
How were you even supposed to respond to that? Back in the palace, you never had to deal with any sort of romantic issues, nor listen to others. There was only the occasional gossip here and there, such as the palace maids fighting over one of the guards or stable boys to the point they’d find any excuse to be around them.
You were too busy watching your own back to allow yourself such luxury.
Hesitating, your hand nears her shoulder before patting it. She flinches away, rubbing her shoulder in discomfort. Oh. You’d used too much strength. Withdrawing your hand, you set it back in your lap, trying to think of the right words to say.
Were you even in a position to be giving advice in the first place?
Did you have the right?
“Well,” Meng laughs awkwardly, trying to shrug off the past few minutes. “It’s nothing. I’m sure Aunt Wu can help me. She’s always right, after all.” She collects the teacups onto her tray, only to stop in her tracks.
Your hand grasps the tip of her sleeve. “You will find someone.” Swallowing down the sudden rush of nervousness that follows, you push ahead. If you had a little sister, maybe you wouldn’t have turned out the way you are now. Maybe she’d be just as uncertain as Meng is, or maybe courageous. More courageous than you are.
Either way, you’re sure things would’ve turned out differently.
“In my…family, we have a saying,” you begin, watching her slowly sit back down beside you. Putting your wrist forward, you show her the bracelet on it. “Everyone has a red string. There are two ends to it. One is yours, and the other is your destined one. It will take time, but you will always meet them.”
Pausing, you let her take your hand, her eyes observing it with a sense of fascination. “But why red? Isn’t that the Fire Nation’s colours?”
Your breath hitches in your chest, thoughts racing in your head as you come up with an excuse. “Maybe my ancestors knew someone from there,” you joke, though it comes off lamely.
She nods, fully believing your words. “But what they were trying to teach me is,” you place your hands on top of hers with a reassuring gaze. “Have patience. Your destined will show up when you least expect them to. And when they do, chase after them with all your heart.”
A moment passes between you both. She sets down your hands, a glint of determination in her gaze. “I will.” She promises, grinning widely. Chuckling in amusement, you watch her leave the room with a spring in her step, shaking your head.
Who knew after everything you’d been through, you’d be giving love advice, of all things?
Well, they were giving you a place to stay for the time being after all, so who would you be if not grateful for their hospitality?
The quiet hum of the village outside draws your attention. The muffled sounds of laughter and chatter seep through the wooden walls, mingling with the occasional chirp of birds. You glance out the window, catching a glimpse of sunlight spilling over the rooftops. It’s inviting in a way you can’t ignore.
Pushing yourself to your feet, you decide to take a walk. There’s no destination in mind, just the simple need to stretch your legs and clear your thoughts. As you step outside, the warmth of the sun brushes your skin, and the gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers. The village hums with life, but it’s a soft one, lacking the chaos you’d grown accustomed to.
A few villagers greet you with kind smiles, some even stopping to ask if you need anything. You shake your head politely, thanking them for their offers. It’s not that you’re unused to kindness, but there’s an earnestness here that makes it feel... different. Genuine, maybe.
You wander past the small gardens where children play with sticks, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes. Nearby, an older woman tends to her herbs, humming a tune that feels older than the mountains surrounding the village. The simplicity of it all tugs at something deep inside you.
But not everything feels completely ordinary. There’s the occasional villager who seems a little too carefree, as if they’re detached from the worries of the world. You catch sight of one man, leaning against a tree and staring at the sky with a vacant grin, muttering something you can’t quite make out. It’s... odd, but not enough to disrupt the overall serenity.
As you continue your walk, the peacefulness of the village seeps into your thoughts, dulling the sharp edges of your usual unease. For the first time in what feels like ages, you wonder if maybe…just maybe, you could stay here for a little while. Not forever, of course. You’d already learned that peace wasn’t meant to last. But for now, the idea of a quiet life, however temporary, doesn’t seem so bad.
You pause near a small stream at the edge of the village, watching as the water glides over smooth stones. The world feels so far away here, its problems muted by the gentle lull of the current.
It’s enough to almost convince you to stay. To give you enough time to catch your breath and figure out your next steps.
You pull the compass from where you’d tucked it in the larger sleeve of your borrowed dress. The hinge squeaks faintly as you open it, revealing the needle wobbling in its circle before it steadies. The casing is battered, the brass scuffed and dull, but the needle itself remains sharp and steady.
It’s functional. Like you, maybe. Worn down but still working.
Zuko had given it to you during your first year aboard the ship, back when things were... complicated. He’d left it on the edge of his table after you’d brought him his dinner. “Take it,” he’d muttered, his back turned, pretending to be preoccupied with something else. “It’s second-hand. Don’t get sentimental about it. I don’t need it anymore.”
At the time, you’d hesitated. The Zuko you knew then had been short-tempered, sharp-edged, and far from generous. It wasn’t like him to give anything away. Suspicion had prickled at you, but something about the way his hands had lingered on the table’s edge had silenced your protests. You’d grabbed the compass and left before he could change his mind (or shoot fire in your direction).
The needle points southwest, the direction you’d always dreaded and longed for in equal measure. Home. The word settles heavily in your chest. At the time of escape from his ship, it felt like you could accomplish anything. You could storm into the palace and firebend right in that stupid Fire-Lord’s face.
Now though? The idea simply provides nothing more than amusement.
With a sigh, you snap the compass shut and tuck it back into your sleeve.
Southwest.
Brushing the dirt from your skirt, you stand and start toward the village’s edge. A passing villager tells you of Shuon’s location, so you head to the tavern he’d pointed out and enter. Chatter greets your ears, the curtain falling behind you as the sun sets behind a blanket of lavender clouds. You spot an open table near the corner, tucked away from the busier parts of the room. Your calves groan in thanks as you take a seat, a soft sigh escaping.
A server stops by, and you quickly order a simple meal and a cup of tea, something warm and filling to ground yourself after the day’s whirlwind. You tap your fingers against the table, letting the idle rhythm distract you, until a sudden, sharp exclamation catches your attention.
“Those Fire Nation devils, always scheming to burn us out of house and home!”
Your ears perk up, your fingers stilling. Slowly, you glance toward the group gathered at the center of the tavern, where a man is gesturing wildly, his voice rising with passion.
“You know they’re not done yet. Even if they’re quiet now, they’re just waiting for the right time to strike. It’s in their blood, to burn and conquer!”
For a moment you forget how to breathe, slowly tearing your gaze away and practically burning a hole through the table with how intensely you’re staring at it. It’s ironic, you think bitterly, a part of me still feels proud to be Fire Nation.
“If I ever met one of those Fire Nation people, those coal-blooded rats… I’d give them a good beating!” Rambunctious cheers erupt from his statement. He stands on the table with his mug raised high, spouting more insults toward your nation.
“I bet the Fire Nation women are low-borne,” another sneers, taking a swig. “Their filthy eyes and ears are always searching to please the Fire Lord. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t bedded half the population.”
Some others shout in agreement. “Those lava-leechers will never stop until they raze us all to the ground. If one ever came here…Well, we don’t have weapons for nothing, do we?”
It’s as if a knife pierces through your lungs in a single, clean stroke. You turn, hoping that the voice who said that isn’t the one you’ve come to know. “Those tyrants deserve nothing but death!” Shuon declares proudly, wiping the table nearby. His eyes meet yours, the corners of his lips curving into a cheerful grin.
“Hey!” He walks through the crowd, sitting opposite you. “I didn’t think you’d come.” Your heart sinks. Breathing is forgotten, staring blankly at the boy you thought was your friend. Shuon raises a brow. “You okay? What, is all this talk about the Fire Nation too much for you?”
He leans forward, his expression turning dark. “I don’t blame them. Most of us have horrible experiences with them. My uncle was one. His kids were killed by the soldiers when they invaded his village. He managed to get out, but he’s never been the same since. We found him in a cave, y’know. Starved, helpless, homeless.”
Each word cuts deeper into your entire being. If a single word makes it past your lips, it’d be ridden with guilt. He’s not your friend, he never was. He’s Earth Kingdom.
And you’re Fire Nation.
You never deserved a friend in the first place. The only people you can trust are you, and Hanoh. He’s only nice to you because you’d been a ‘captive’ of your nation. If any of them ever found out your true identity, he’d look at you just like he did a moment ago, only with pure, utter, disgust. You feel a chill at the thought, like there’s a hidden layer of ice beneath every time he glances your way.
The truth is, no matter how hard you try to blend in, you're still a Fire Nation child in a destroyed world. For people like him, there’s no difference between you and the soldiers who destroyed his uncle’s life. You’ve been trying to convince yourself it’s safer to stay alone, to keep people at a distance, but right now, the memory of Hanoh seems like the only warmth you can hold onto.
But if you slip, if any of them even begin to suspect who you are...you might just end up being the one starving in a cave, abandoned by everyone you once trusted. The people you’re starting to believe in? They’d sooner leave you to the dark than forgive anyone from Fire Nation.
Your hands grip the wooden cup tightly, as if breaking it would serve you a means of escape. For the first time in a long while, you have no idea what to do.
But Hanoh still waits for you back home. The thought is enough to make you choke on a ragged breath, rising from your seat. “I have to go,” you manage to get out, stumbling back in your haste to leave.
As you push past the rattan blinds and stumble back to your accommodation for the night, you miss the suspicion in his gaze that follows. “Something’s off about her…” Shuon mumbles, grabbing your cup.
The liquid sloshes against the rim, spilling onto the floor. He groans in disgust when some gets on his shirt, handing it to another with a grimace. He glances back to the entrance one last time.
It’s been more than a few moons since the Freedom Fighters had found you washed up ashore, barely breathing with tattered robes and scraped hands. You’d woken up to them taking care of your wounds, letting you join their crew after being mistaken for a water tribe refugee.
The first few words they had spoken to you were about their hatred towards the Fire Nation. As such, them being unaware of your true homeland was the best course of action to take. You’d initially tried to run away from them, but the presence of their leader stopped you from doing so.
Jet is his name, with dark and calculating eyes, scanned you with an intensity that seemed to strip away any pretence. It took all the energy you had in you to keep up the falsehood of being from the Water Tribe. Maybe it was due to the fact that you’re a girl (and a pretty one at that), that he decides to believe you and even recruit you into the Freedom Fighters.
It’d been an exhausting few weeks since then, and he’d relaxed a little more around you, even going as far as the occasional flirting. The dull throbbing of your injuries had eased during the time spent, but there wasn’t any opportunity to run away.
Any time you even brought up the mere mention, Jet would chuckle and brush it off, everyone else acting as if you’d been around them for ages. You gave up quickly. Instead of finding the opportunity to leave, perhaps the opportunity would find you.
Now, however, you’re currently camping out in the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike the camp below.
Fire Nation soldiers had set up a base near your hideout, and Jet had tasked Smellerbee and Longshot to spy on them, waiting for the opportune moment to take them out. Did you feel any guilt towards attacking them? Not particularly. Your childhood left much to be desired, and you had almost nonexistent loyalty to the Fire Nation itself.
You wait patiently among the rest, willing your body to stay completely still to avoid rustling the delicate leaves surrounding you. Your body stiffens even more, however, at the sudden voices you hear approaching the camp.
“Hey, Sokka’s instincts, would you mind-”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Look guys, I’m tired too but the important thing is that we’re safe from the Fire…Nation…”
Oh spirits. How did they get here?
You recognise the trio that stumble upon the camp at perhaps the worst timing, the boy’s voice trailing off once he spots all the soldiers around them. They instantly throw off their bags, running away. You hesitate, weighing the pros and cons of heading down to help.
Sure, one of them is the Avatar that would hopefully end the war, and the girl seemed to be pretty nice last time you saw her. But the boy in front with the ponytail? Last you remember, he had a stupid, smug smirk on his face when he flew off on that bison of theirs.
…Maybe he could use a lesson in survival.
You glance briefly at Jet, spotting a faint smirk on his lips as he holds his hand up, signalling to wait. Once the trio are surrounded by the flames with nowhere else to escape to, he tilts his head in intrigue when he sees the girl waterbend to extinguish the flame on the boy’s shirt.
“You? Won’t hurt us?” Upon hearing the captain’s words, Jet brings his hand down, Longshot acknowledging and firing a shot that hits the soldier in the dead centre of his chest. You roll your eyes, taking it as the signal to move.
Jet draws his swords, leaping down from the tree and landing on two guards. You join him by using a nearby vine, knocking out another soldier in your path. The both of you manage to take out a few soldiers before realisation hits, one crying out in warning that the rest are in the trees.
You spot a soldier about to swing his sword at the trio, running over and jumping, using your leverage to kick the soldier away. You land deftly in front of them, the girl clapping in admiration as you dust off the dirt that had gotten on your shirt.
“Avatar. Water Tribe people.” You acknowledge with a firm nod. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Hi! I’m Aang!” The kid introduces himself with a bright smile.
“And I’m suspicious.” The other boy frowns at you, taking a protective step in front of the two. “Get away from her.”
“Sure,” You shrug, “Talk to you later. Gotta fight anyway.” You gesture to the ongoing chaos behind, running off to join the rest. You make quick work of the rest of the guards, fluid but graceful movements from years of dance finally useful for real-life situations.
Your hidden weapon comes in handy, when a soldier manages to knock your usual one out of your hands. You arch backwards, narrowly dodging a sword to your face and plant your left hand firmly on the ground below you, using your right to pull out the hidden dagger in your boot and slash his arm at the joint. He cries out in pain, letting go of his weapon and grabbing his arm to stop the bleeding.
You’re about to knock the soldier out when Jet comes in and punches him firmly in the jaw, causing him to fall to his knees and collapse on the ground like a limp doll. “Thanks,” You say reluctantly. He accepts it with a grin, casually making his way to the girl whose eyes you swear just got bigger when he stops in front of her.
Figuring he had the situation with the Avatar sorted, you head over to Sneers who’s organising the rations that the soldiers had placed in one of the tents. “What’d they have?” You ask, nodding to the large crates he’s prying open.
“Not much. Just the usual chicken, dried pork, sausages…noodles! Score!” He cheers, lifting up the packets in the air like a newborn baby.
“Looks like we’ll be having a good dinner tonight,” You grin, noticing Jet gesturing to each member of the team. When it comes to you, you simply hold your arm up in a wave, pretending not to notice the glare that the older boy is giving you. Hopefully he won’t remember you.
You didn’t even remember his name either, so maybe it’d work out in your favour.
“That was pretty cool, the way you took out all the soldiers just now.” Aang makes himself known with his cheery question, as if he didn’t just witness blood being shed.
“Thanks. I try,” You smile down at him, suddenly getting the urge to ruffle his hair (or lack thereof).
“Sorry about earlier,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Sokka can be a little…paranoid.” You glance at the boy you can finally place a name to whose arms are crossed, staying far away from anyone while keeping a sharp eye on each person. Especially you.
“You really think so?” You joke, attention caught by The Duke who brings over a barrel. He uses a crowbar to pop open the lid, peering inside. “Jet, these barrels are filled with blasting jelly!” You call out, spotting the familiar bombs inside. You had your fair share of military knowledge, having stayed around Zuko on the ship who discussed his plans freely in your presence.
“And these boxes are filled with jelly candy.” Pipsqueak announces happily.
“Also good. Let’s not get those mixed up.” Jet chuckles.
“We’ll take these back to the hideout.” You begin loading the barrel onto the wagon that the rest hid in the greenery before your attack, Aang doing his best to help. You take the boxes from him with a laugh. “Easy there kid, why not get someone to help?”
“I’d ask Sokka or Katara but... They’re kinda occupied.” He admits. “Wait, you guys have a hideout?”
You wanna see it?” Jet overhears Aang’s question.
“Yes, we wanna see it!” Katara answers instantly with an eager gaze.
“Looks like we’re all getting a field trip.”
— — — — — —
“We’re here.”
“Where? There’s nothing here.” Sokka says sceptically, surveying the area with a suspicious gaze. Jet grabs a rope and holds it out to him. “Hold this.”
“Why, what’s this do?”
You watch, smiling ear-to-ear as the rope immediately pulls up, the boy’s yells echoing through the forest. “Grab ahold of me Katara.” Jet holds his hand out. She takes it eagerly, and he tugs her close to his chest before letting the rope pull them both up.
“Do they know we’re still here? They do, right?” You whisper to Longshot who just shrugs, bringing down the barrels of blasting jelly. Rolling them onto the platform takes little effort, stepping onto it and allowing the machinery to pull both you and the barrels up into the trees.
“It’s beautiful up here!” Katara exclaims, admiring the auburn leaves that surround the entire base.
“Beautiful, and the Fire Nation can’t find us here.” You stiffen at Jet’s words, almost bumping into Sokka who shoots you a withering glare. You chuckle awkwardly, scurrying off to your small tent a short distance away from the exit while the rest explore the hideout.
“So much for not being found by Fire Nation,” You mumble under your breath upon entering the tent. The pure irony of their entire movement being based on staying hidden from the very nation you’re from has given you amusement from time to time, but the scathing glares and dark words as they speak of how to destroy the people makes you shudder at times.
Sitting down on the small stool next to the makeshift bed makes a slight squeak, every muscle in your body tensing as you wait with bated breath. No other voices seem to be nearby, allowing yourself to carefully pull out the small bag you’d kept hidden away under a messy pile of spare parts and other things picked up in the forest.
What’s left of your few belongings remains in the tattered bag you escaped with, the once vibrant red now a dull scarlet, a product of the sea’s vicious waves. The pure panic that struck you upon waking up here for the first time had quickly subsided once you found your mother’s old bracelet tangled up at the bottom of the frayed ends.
The fabric dangles from your hands, a bright green bead that’d never lost its lustre remaining firmly in the middle. Your fingers stroke the ends, fastening it to your other wrist through the knot that you’ve re-tied countless times.
It rests on your bare skin, traces of a smile lingering on your lips. Allowing yourself a little more time, you stare aimlessly at the ceiling. The Avatar had found this group of Freedom Fighters, and with it, a Fire Nation girl. Not that they know it of course, but who’s to say they wouldn’t react negatively upon discovering this fact?
Of course they’d react badly. You scoff at yourself for even entertaining the possibility of otherwise. You wouldn’t put it past that Water Tribe boy to bludgeon you to death if he even had an inkling of a suspicion.
The small boy had caught you off guard at first though. Who would’ve thought that the one to ‘save the world’ would be someone who looked no older than the youngest maid in the Fire Lord’s palace.
A ribbon catches your eye from the corner of your room. You stand up, holding the remains of what you’d managed to snatch away from the other camp you’d raided before Jet and the rest burned it down.
A tiny part of your heart aches, realising that your gaze has lingered on it for a second too long. Letting it go, you watch it drop to the floor, the shadows consuming whatever colours there are left. Glancing at the tent’s entrance once more, you keep a keen ear out as you entertain the beginnings of an idea.
A very risky one.
No footsteps.
Good.
Inhaling shakily, you snap your fingers once, twice, then thrice. The tiniest of flames flickers to life on the tip of your finger. The way it bobs and sways with the gentleness of your slow exhale brings a soft smile to your face.
It’s been so long since you’d been able to do any form of bending. It’d been like suppressing a part of you; one that longed to be free and meet the sun once more. The green bead reflects the light of your flame, giving yourself the joy of a few more seconds before extinguishing it.
Fire Nation.
It’s a moniker you’ll never be able to escape, no matter how much you try. One day you’re bound to slip up. The best part? It’d be in a group of people who hate the Fire Nation to death.
Well, at least you’d die with the achievement of having gotten Zuko to drink alcohol.
The memory draws a chuckle, shaking your head in amusement as you remove the bracelet from your wrist, stashing it securely inside the wrapping that binds your chest. Heading back out, you’re surprised to see that it’s already close to the end of the day.
“There you are!” You take a step back at the sudden presence of a young boy who suddenly hangs upside down in front of you, with nothing but a vine to support his weight. “I was looking all over for you!”
“Bad Aang! What did I teach you about strangers?”
It’s almost painful, the way he tries to act like a big, tough leader. “She’s not a stranger though, she’s part of the Freedom Fighters!” Aang blinks owlishly at the older boy who frowns so deeply that you’re pretty sure it’s gonna become a permanent fixture in his face.
“That’s not my point.”
“He’s right,” You interrupt, ignoring the way he scoffs. “You shouldn’t trust people so easily, like Stocka here.”
“What did you just call me?” He says indignantly, his chest puffing up with pride. “My name is Sokka, Son of Hakoda from the Southern Water Tribe.”
Aang looks between you both, unsure of how to approach the conversation or even interject. A cold smile settles on your lips, maintaining your composure as you observe the skin on your fingers. “Right, right. So you’re like, a prince?”
“Huh.” As soon as his ego is somewhat stroked, he deflates slightly. “I suppose you could say that. I could be the lord of…”
“Snow… and ice…? Wow. I bet thousands of girls must be bending over backwards to meet you. That’s so weird, being around you must’ve lowered their standards.” You pipe up cheerfully, your barbed words practically a dagger striking through him with each word.
“So, are you gonna join us for dinner?” Aang asks hopefully. Your icy demeanour melts at his innocent smile, nodding your head. “Don’t worry Stocka, we’ll save a seat for you,” He adds, walking away with you.
Sokka’s face flushes with a mixture of anger and humiliation. He lets out a cry of indignance, though you ignore it and continue chatting away with Aang who’s more than excited to show you his airbending.
— — — — — —
Being on the receiving end of someone’s sceptical gaze isn’t the most ideal way to start off the night, yet here you are. Sokka’s jaw is tense, but his eyes burn with a calculative look that sifts through each word you speak, searching for the lies.
Though, his choice of weapon does help in not taking him seriously.
“Calm down, ice-brain.” Rolling your eyes, you take another mouthful of the stew that Smellerbee had made for dinner duty. “If you continue pointing your spoon at me, who’s gonna help feed you since you clearly can’t do anything by yourself?”
A snort breaks the silence, Sokka officially directing his glare toward his sister who instantly ducks her head, though the way her shoulders shake doesn’t help in hiding her intentions. You spot her breathing deeply, before looking back up with a calm smile. “Stop pointing your spoon at our saviour, Stocka.”
“Not you too!” He points at her in offence, accidentally flinging some of the soup onto her face. She reaches up and wipes it off her cheek with a blank expression, clear emphasis on the way she flicks it off her hands. He freezes, slowly lowering his spoon back to the bowl and continuing to eat with a grumpy scowl.
“Sorry about him,” She apologises with a weary sigh, pinching the space between her brows and massaging it. “He can be…a handful.”
“Please, I’m sure it’s harder on you, being blood-related and all.” You remark dryly, though the pity is your voice is very much real as you eye her pathetic brother shovelling the food into his mouth.
Sokka frowns, clearly unimpressed by your little jab. “Yeah, well, having to deal with a suspicious girl who won't even tell us the truth doesn't make it any easier.”
You arch a brow, meeting his gaze head-on. “Really? I haven’t exactly seen you around the forest much either, so you should take all of that,” you gesture to his entire being, “make like a fish, and swim away.” You lean back slightly, feigning relaxation, though the tension coils tightly inside you. You needed to stay on edge. Needed to stay focused on your escape.
He scoffs. “You just pointed to all of me.”
Katara sighs, clearly exhausted by the constant back-and-forth. “Would both of you stop? It’s not helping.”
You can’t help but cast a sideways glance at Jet, wondering if he’s picking up on the thinly veiled conflict between you and Sokka. His trust in you had come too easily, and while you hated the Fire Nation for its cruelty, you hated the idea of being used as Jet’s tool even more. You needed to escape—not just from this place, but from the tangled mess you found yourself in.
Sokka grumbles something under his breath, but his glare doesn’t leave you. His distrust, though annoying, wasn’t entirely misplaced. After all, you weren’t planning on sticking around.
Still, you couldn’t help but take one last shot. “Don’t worry, Sokka,” you say with a smirk. “I’m sure your sister will find a way to manage without you babying her every second.”
He opens his mouth to fire back, but the sound of Jet’s voice cuts through the tension. “You both make a great team.” His grin is wide, but his eyes settle on you with an intensity that’s hard to read.
Jet’s trust was suffocating. You knew he believed in what he was doing, but the longer you stayed, the more it felt like a trap closing in. You had to find a way out, but every glance at the darkened forest reminded you that freedom was only a fleeting illusion. The Fire Nation might be cruel, but at least you knew it. You knew your place in it.
But maybe not anymore. After what happened with Zuko, you’re pretty sure he’d place you under arrest if you were even within three li of him. And that’s if Uncle Iroh’s around. “So, what’s your story? I’m pretty sure the Avatar didn’t just make a pit-stop here to gather some firewood.”
Aang pauses his chewing. “We’re trying to get to the Northern Water Tribe, so I can find a teacher and learn waterbending.” Your heart all but stops, practically falling into the depths of your stomach as Jet vaguely gestures to you.
“You got one right here, don’t you?”
Letting out an awkward chuckle, you try to ignore the scrutinising gaze Sokka’s set upon you, like a hawk intently studying its prey. “Exactly! Katara, aren’t you teaching him anything? I don’t know what you learn from that guy,” you lazily gesture to Sokka once more, “but I don’t think it’s helping you get there.”
He frowns at you, still clearly suspicious of your true intentions. Luckily, he bites at the bait you’ve desperately thrown out in an attempt to steer the conversation away. “He learns a lot from me!” He protests, pointing his spoon at Aang. “Don’t you??”
Aang doesn’t answer.
Sokka’s mouth is let agape in shock, the smaller boy patting his shoulder gently. “Aw, don’t say that Sokka! If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have met all these great people!”
“Exactly,” Jet spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Stay as long as you need.”
“Unfortunately, we have to leave tonight.” Sokka huffs, standing up.
“Oh, of course! Wouldn’t want you to miss saving the world and all,” You smile brightly, excited at the prospect of them leaving so you’d (hopefully) never have to see him again. “Have fun! Safe travels!” You pick up the bag they’d left near you and hand it to him. “Bye bye now!”
“Sokka, you’re kidding me! I needed you on an important mission tomorrow.” Jet chuckles, and you notice Aang and Katara haven’t moved an inch from their seats. Your shoulders slump in defeat, and you toss his bag to the side with a huff with Sokka’s hand still outstretched.
He glares at you. “What’s your problem?”
“Don’t blame her, she’s just got a lot on her plate, ever since she washed up ashore from the water tribe. Besides, I thought you guys didn't have much bad blood, being from the same tribe and all.” Jet points out. You’re in the middle of swallowing your drink after sitting down, choking from his sudden revelation.
“I’m sorry, water tribe?” Katara asks you curiously. Now all three are looking at you, two of them with mere confusion, and there’s Sokka. “I didn’t know you were from the same Nation.”
“Those are Smellerbee’s clothes. She just borrowed and altered them.” Jet shrugs, scooping another spoonful of soup.
“Water tribe, huh?” Sokka marches up to you. He stops beside your frame, his shadow looming over you. The way he’s looking at you makes you want to shrivel a little inside, closing your eyes with a curse aimed at the spirits in your head. “Interesting. Who’s your chief?”
“Are you seriously being suspicious of her right now? She’s done nothing but help us since we got here, and you’ve done nothing but be a waste of air.” Katara scolds her brother who crosses his arms with an annoyed grunt. He reluctantly moves away from you.
She turns to you with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him, he’s kind of on the edge lately. His ‘instincts’ are how we ended up here in the first place.”
“No problem,” You manage to summon a brief smile, waving it off. “I’m just glad you’re safe from him now.”
“I wish,” She snorts, turning away to face Jet, getting distracted by his biceps. The sight makes you turn away, nausea hitting at the fact that she finds him attractive. Forcing it down though, your gaze finds its way back to the boy beside her.
His dark, tousled hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, giving him a roguish charm that draws attention. A sleeveless vest showcases his toned arms. You unexpectedly meet his eyes, warmth instantly flooding your cheeks when you realise that you’ve been caught staring.
All attention is drawn to you when you stand back up with a convincing yawn, lifting your arms in a stretch. “Wow,” You blink a couple times, “it’s been a long day. Guess I’m more tired than I thought. Night everyone!”
Upon walking away, everyone else resumes their activities, but you can sense two sets of eyes on your back. One being the water tribe boy as expected, but the other catches you off guard.
— — — — — —
Yet another night that’s spent in the same old tent, under the same roof as a bunch of kids who want nothing more than to tear down anything to do with the Fire Nation. It’s a wonder you even got any sleep the whole time you’ve been here.
Unfortunately, the noise outside startles you awake. It’s been awhile since you’d slept so lightly, the last time being when you’d just gotten exiled. Fun times, you smile grimly. Making sure that all your stuff is stashed away securely, you push past the tent flap and step into the sunlight.
As you prop your hand above your eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness, you hear a loud whoop. Aang is free falling, having jumped from a branch high above. A glider pops out from the staff he always carries around, manoeuvring smoothly around the multiple branches and leafy surprises the trees always had in store.
You watch him with a small smile, until he spots you and beams. His hand waves excitedly, slowly descending till he lands in front of you. “Someone’s cheerful today.” You ruffle his head until it suddenly hits you that all you’re feeling is skin.
Retracting it with a sheepish smile, he grins up at you regardless. “I don’t mind it.” Embarrassment isn’t how you wanted to start the morning, but now that it’s over and done with, may as well get some breakfast.
Eating breakfast in the form of bread and bland leftover stew is still a drastic change as ever from the flavourful spices of the dishes cooked many a time in the ship’s kitchen. You disguise the disgust with a forced smile, swallowing down the dry bread and taking a swig of water from the canteen you’d tied to your waist.
“Morning meeting’s starting,” The Duke reminds you. You finish the remains of your breakfast in a hurry, unable to hide the groan that slips out from the tacky texture. You stand up with your bowl in hand, noticing Sokka making his way over.
Embarrassment might have been how you started off your morning, but who’s to say a little humour wouldn’t help?
Pushing past him without so much as a muttered apology, you shove the empty bowl into his arms without an explanation. He’s left gawking at your back, looking from you to the bowl, then at you once more as his expression morphs into one of annoyance.
The irritation sound he makes is enough to make you smile, rushing over to the tent. However, the tent flaps flutter slightly, the morning breeze carrying hushed words that make your movements stutter to a stop.
“You’re sure the dam is weak enough?” Jet’s voice is low. You move a small step away from the entrance, heart pounding as you strain to catch more of their conversation.
“Yeah,” Smellerbee replied, her voice uncertain. “But Jet, are you sure about this? We’re talking about an entire village. Not everyone there is a soldier.”
“They’re Fire Nation. Every one of them is responsible for the suffering they’ve caused. Do you think they care about the lives they’ve destroyed? We flood the village, wipe them out, and send a message. It’s the only way to make them pay.” His response is cold and immediate, sparing no thought for the innocent.
It’s enough to make the blood in your veins turn to ice.
Flood the village? Wipe them out?
Smellerbee’s hesitant voice is small, almost afraid to say her thoughts.. “But… Jet, there are families down there. Kids. They didn’t choose this war.”
A long silence follows before Jet speaks again, his tone colder than before. “Collateral damage. Every war has its casualties. If we don’t do this, they’ll keep coming. This is the only way to protect what’s left of our world.”
You’re not sure if you’re still breathing at this point.
The boy who’s supposed to stand for freedom and justice now sounds like the very monsters that live within the walls of the palace. Countless whispers of palace officials discussing the lives of their subjects as if they were mere fodder for entertainment.
But... Is he wrong?
Collateral damage...
The words echo, twisting in your mind, but part of you feels a sick understanding. The Fire Nation has destroyed everything. Your home, your family, your future. Haven’t they earned this? They’ve caused so much pain, left so many scars.
Maybe he’s right.
The thought that follows doesn’t catch you off guard as much as you’d expected it to, an odd calm taking over when you picture Ozai’s face warped into the very picture of despair as his kingdom burns before him.
With you at its forefront.
But then, another thought cuts through the haze. Innocent people. Families. Kids. You picture them—faces you’ll never know, lives that aren’t part of the war but will be shattered by it.
Your chest tightens with uncertainty, the earlier sensation now washed away and replaced by a lingering sense of doubt.
Do they even deserve your sympathy?
The Fire Nation has hurt you, and so many others. Maybe this is justice. Maybe this is the only way to make them understand the suffering they’ve caused. Isn’t this what war does? Forces hard choices on all of us?
But even as you think it, a knot of guilt settles in your stomach. If we start doing what they do, if we make excuses for harming the innocent, are we any better than them? You bite your lip, torn between the deep-rooted hatred that still burns inside you and the flicker of doubt gnawing at your conscience.
Jet’s voice comes back to you, firm and resolute. “This is the only way to protect what’s left of our world.”
Our world. The words feel distant, hollow. It’s ironic, really. What good is a world without the people you love to live it with you? A world built on the backs of innocents, on blood and destruction? You swallow hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on your chest.
You could tell someone—stop this before it’s too late. But you hesitate, hands clenched into fists. Maybe it’s not your place to stop it. Maybe the Fire Nation deserves this. Maybe they need to know what it feels like to lose, to suffer.
Shouldn’t they suffer, too?
The silence stretches as the battle rages inside you. Your heart screams at you to do something, to stop this madness, but the anger—the deep, festering anger—tells you to let it happen. Let them feel the pain you’ve felt.
But then, you take a shaky breath, feeling a chill spread through you.
If I let this happen, what does that make me?
Taking a deep breath, you back away from the tent flap and turn, your mind racing with a singular thought: Get out. Get away from here.
There’s only one way to survive, and that’s to run.
Unfortunately, the spirits seem to not be on your side. Just as you turn, prepared to sprint off away from the forest, you bump face-first into something warm and solid. Groaning, you shove off whatever’s in front of you as an automatic reflex, flinching when your hand meets skin.
“What the- are you kidding me right now?”
Just great. First you overhear a plot to murder an entire village right after a less than satisfactory breakfast, and now the water tribe boy looks like he’s about to fight you. Maybe the little prank you pulled this morning might have contributed.
“Sorry,” your rushed apology draws his attention, grabbing your arm before you can run off elsewhere. You glance up, already annoyed. “What do you want? I already apologised.”
“Exactly,” he snorts, scanning you up and down with a sceptical raise of his brows. “You? Apologise? Are you okay?” He looks from you to the tent flap suspiciously.
A cold sweat runs down your neck, eyes darting anywhere but at him as you try to compose yourself. “I’m fine,” you snap, snatching your arm away. “I’m just…hungry?”
“Right,” he says slowly, the memory of your empty bowl being shoved into his hands simultaneously coming back to the both of you. “Hungry.”
“That’s not- why am I even talking to you?” Running a hand through your hair in frustration, a sudden chill makes your heart stop, turning to see Jet outside the tent. He’s waiting patiently, though now you can spot a dangerous glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Hey, we’re waiting on you both. Come on in.”
Hesitating, you glance at Sokka who brushes it off, shrugging as he walks over. Jet gives you an ominous smile, heading inside first. Your fingers slowly curl into a fist, trying to calm your pounding heart.
You can’t let them know that you’d overheard everything. You can’t risk it. Not now.
So, you square your shoulders and take a deep breath, walking straight into the tiger’s den.
Everyone else is already assembled, standing in their usual positions. You move to stand beside Smellerbee who raises her brows at your presence. “Why’re you here?”
“I wasn’t aware that she’d been kicked out from the Freedom Fighters.” Jet speaks, his voice commanding attention from the group. “Otherwise, what rule is there that prevents one of us from being around?”
Buying into his words, they all nod. Save for Sokka of course, who merely stands to the side with dissatisfaction. Now that the issue of your attendance is sorted, the briefing begins. You pay attention, but occasionally get distracted by the sounds the water tribe boy is making with every word, mocking Jet’s instructions.
After the meeting concludes however, you’re quickly approached by the very person you’re trying to avoid. You can sense his eyes on you from the very beginning, trying not to let his gaze get to you as you head to the exit as fast as you can.
It truly seems that the heat of fortune abandoned you along with whatever miniscule amount of luck that’s gotten you this far. Your footsteps falter at the call of your name, turning to see Jet.
“Yes?”
Even a single word is barely able to brush past your lips without the slightest of trembles. If he notices, he doesn’t bring it up as he grins. “I’ve got another mission for you. Follow me.”
Against your better judgement, you follow. Wrestling with the already existing knot of unease in your chest, your instincts practically scream at you to get out. “I’m guessing this isn’t another supply gathering mission.” The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, covering your mouth as your eyes widen in pure shock.
Luckily, you’re already in a secluded area of the hideout (probably not a good thing, in retrospect). “You’re right,” he turns, his expression dark as the air suddenly grows heavier, “it’s not.”
Oh, sparks. I’m gonna be murdered, aren’t I.
The tension twists tighter as Jet begins explaining his plan—something more dangerous, more extreme. You try to focus, but your mind races with doubts and fears. This isn’t right. The Fire Nation may be the enemy, but this... this feels like too much.
However, this isn’t the right time to escape. It’s not the right time to speak up about anything. The best chances of your survival would be to play along for now, and run when an opportunity presents itself.
If it doesn’t…well, you’d just have to make your own.
So you follow along, making sure to stop by your own tent to pack everything you own and stashing it away under a pile of leaves near the tree you’d already marked a while back after claiming you needed to relieve yourself. That excuse had been enough for Jet to let you slip deeper into the forest, away from their watchful eyes.
Now, though, they’ve cornered Sokka, who’s discovered their plan. It’s incredible, really. You can’t help but think that this actually makes things easier. With the Avatar and his companion distracted, the only person left to finish off is him.
“There are people living there, Jet. Mothers, fathers, and children.” Sokka’s voice rings with conviction as he spots you trying to hide behind Pipsqueak. He takes a step closer, meeting your gaze, and you flinch at the intensity of his stare.
He hones in on that lapse of weakness, trying to continue making eye contact whilst arguing against Jet. Without realising it, your fingers curl around the handle of your dagger, your eyes fixed on the ground beneath.
“I can’t let you warn Katara and Aang. Take him for a walk. A long walk,” Jet scoffs. He pauses when you step out of Pipsqueak’s shadow, approaching the three of them with daggers in hand. He allows the ghost of a smile to shadow his lips, raising a questioning brow when you stop them.
“Wait,” they stop at your sudden call. Sokka glares at you, hints of hurt and betrayal in his eyes. However, your own are passive when you glance down at him, tucking the daggers away. “I’ll come too.”
A moment passes before Jet nods. “Meet us back at the reservoir.” He states simply, leaving without another glance back. Pipsqueak holds on tightly to the boy’s arms, ensuring he wouldn’t get the chance to run away while Smellerbee bound his wrists.
The trees all look identical. If you weren’t with the other two more seasoned fighters, you’d have gotten lost multiple times over. “How can you do this? How can you just stand by and watch innocent people die?”
“They’re not innocent,” You spit back, barely managing to hide the grimace on your lips. Luckily, Smellerbee and Pipsqueak were in front, trusting you to hold the fort down at the back.
Sokka had been relentlessly trying to raise even the slightest ounce of sympathy, hoping that perhaps one of you would release him from his binds. “So much for being one of the good guys,” he hisses.
The tense movements of Smellerbee’s arms and Pipsqueak’s gritted teeth reveal all you need to know. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself before lifting your hand and swinging with all your strength.
A loud slap echoes through the recluse forest, Sokka stunned into silence as the other two turn in pure shock. He lifts his head with blank eyes, processing through the large red handprint on his cheek. “One more word out of you and I’m going to throw you into the river with a heavy rock tied to your ankle. Not even your sister will be able to save you.”
His parted lips that are about to hurl an insult at you shuts immediately, pure hatred and anger in his gaze. The corner of your lips lifts in amusement. “I’ll take care of things here.” You address the other two who nod silently, unable to refute.
You grab the excess rope from Smellerbee’s hands, dismissing them with a nod as you continue to trudge ahead, yanking the now silent boy behind you. Finally, a red imprint on the trunk of a tree catches your eye.
A while back before the Avatar and his group showed up, you’d done a little exploring of your own, having marked potential escape routes with red. The colour was easily camouflaged with the burnt orange leaves, making it perfect to use.
Plus, with the Freedom Fighters under the impression that you’re from the Water Tribe, it’d never occur to them that you were the one to place the markings. At the most, they’d probably jump to the conclusion that Fire Nation soldiers were around.
“What is your problem?!” Sokka yells at you while you tie him to the tree. It’s taking all the willpower you can muster to not punch him in the abdomen so he’d be less quiet. It’s unfortunate that the impact from your earlier slap had worn off, but you didn’t really feel like doing it again.
He does, however, quieten a little when you smile sweetly at him, showing no trace of compassion as your fingers grip the rope, tying it extra tight to the point the wind is knocked out of his chest.
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” He scowls, trying to use his tightly bound feet to kick up at your ankles. You shake your head, glancing around before deciding that he could suffer for a short while longer before putting your plan in action.
You squat down, picking up a branch and using it to draw tiny doodles in the dirt. “You know, your instincts aren’t totally bad.” Despite his anger and obvious hatred for the enemy, his ears practically perk up at the compliment. “But you just have to change…this.”
“You just gestured to all of me,” Sokka huffs. “What’s that matter to you anyway? You’re just a traitor.” He practically spits the last part in your direction with narrowed eyes.
How did he even make it this far?
Dismissing the question with a shake of your head, you stand back up and take a step closer. His face is inches apart from yours, trying not to reveal his discomfort by looking anywhere except you.
You study him closely, using a finger to poke his cheek. “What’re you even doing? You’re supposed to be the bad guy.” He says sarcastically. “Do I have to tell you what to do too?”
“If your instincts are so good,” his breath hitches when you lift the tip of your dagger, brushing it against his shoulder, “you should’ve figured out who I was earlier.”
Watching him squirm is enough for now. Hopefully this would discourage him from following you. Placing the dagger back in its sheath, you walk behind him. No one else seems to be around, you decide, scanning the forested area you’re in. It should be safe for now.
You hold up your index finger, willing the small flame to dance atop of it. Fire comes to life, tiny but powerful in the right hands. This time, those hands are yours. You bend down and hold your finger against a few of the binds, letting the rope act as fuel for the controlled flame on your finger as it eats away at the material, loosening them slightly.
Surely that would be enough for him to escape, right? Unless he really has no muscles…likely possibility, but still.
A gasp cuts off your train of thought, and you flinch when you spot his wide eyes. “Fire Nation.” He barely whispers it aloud before you instinctively react, slapping his cheek harshly. “Ow!” He groans.
“One more word and I’m leaving you to die.” You threaten lowly, taking a step back.
He nods with a scowl, though it’s not like he has any other choice but to agree. “Fire Nation.” He mutters, barely within earshot as you begin to walk away. A sigh pushes past your lips, choosing to let it go.
Maybe it was a bad decision to let him go. Remnants of Jet’s plan lingers in your memory, squeezing your eyes shut as you bend down and pick up the hidden bag from earlier, hoisting it onto your back and starting your trek out of the forest.
However, the thought still haunts you. It’s not your position to do anything, you remind yourself. Surviving is hard enough, helping others only adds to it. Besides, you’d already made your peace to be the bystander in this situation.
But was saving Sokka part of your plan in the first place?
A shaky breath escapes, staring up into the clear sky, partially shrouded by the surrounding trees. All you have to do is keep going, to keep running. That way, you’ll live to see another day in a world which doesn’t want you to.
Whether it’s guilt or curiosity driving you, your feet move faster than your thoughts as you race back toward the cliff overlooking the Fire Nation village. The sunlight filtering through the leaves up ahead beckons you—just a few more steps, and you’ll know for sure.
Your breath catches in your throat, and before you realize it, the world tilts violently. The ground rushes up to meet you as you stumble. A quick glance down shows a tree root having caught onto your foot, causing your fall.
Face, meet ground.
Pushing yourself off the ground with a soft grunt, you pause right before pushing past the bushes as familiar voices drift to you on the breeze.
“The Fire Nation is gone, and this valley will be safe.”
A mild pang resounds in your chest, fingers clenching the hem of your shirt. Your right hand lays flat on the trunk beside you, eavesdropping on the conversation right next to you. Crouching slightly, you squint past the leaves to see Jet pinned against the very tree you’re leaning against, covered in ice that creeps down his arms and legs.
“It will be safe, without you.”
Inhaling sharply, you duck back down behind the tree, the rustling covered by the growl of whatever animal it was that Sokka’s now sitting on. Katara’s voice is filled with pure joy as she cries out her brother’s name in relief.
“I warned the villagers of your plan just in time.”
“What?”
As much as you hated to admit it, maybe releasing him was the right course of action after all, even if it wasn’t in your initial plan. Realising that the corners of your lips have lifted into a smile, you instantly frown, trying to scrunch your features into anything but.
“At first they didn't believe me. The Fire Nation soldiers assumed I was a spy. But one man vouched for me, the old man you attacked. He urged them to trust me, and we got everyone out in time.”
Hearing his testimony draws a soft chuckle from you, covering your mouth quickly in shock. Your body tenses, ready to sprint away in case they heard you. Luckily, Jet’s outraged reply draws their attention instead, your chest practically collapsing in on itself in relief.
“Sokka, you fool! We could've freed this valley!”
“Who would be free? Everyone would be dead.” Sokka voices the very thoughts that beare themselves in the forefront of your mind, nodding in agreement.
“You traitor!”
“No, Jet. You became the traitor when you stopped protecting innocent people.”
Unable to contain your curiosity, you bend down and peer through the leaves once more to catch a glimpse. Unfortunately, your mother’s bracelet that you’d adorned on the way here snags on one of the branches of the shroud of leaves.
As you fumble to free it, a small twig snaps off in your hand.
You freeze. The loud crack reverberates through the air, and dread curls in your stomach. Glancing nervously at the opening in the leaves, you debate whether to keep watching.
Maybe it truly is curiosity that will kill you one day, you decide.
Steeling yourself, you peer through the gap again—only to lock eyes with Sokka.
Your breath catches, your lungs refusing to work for a beat. Panic flares. You flinch, snapping back into motion and running in the opposite direction. Did he see you? You’re not sure. The blood rushing in your ears drowns out any rational thought as your feet fly over the forest floor.
Maybe he didn’t. Maybe they were too distracted to notice.
Even when you finally stop, chest heaving and sweat dripping down your face, your heart refuses to calm. You hold your breath, listening for the sounds of pursuit, but there’s only the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves. No one’s following.
Exhaling sharply, you take a moment to collect yourself.
Whatever. You’d done your best and so did they. It’s just better judgement on your part to have helped him, after all. So in a way, you’re the one that saved the village, right?
Right.
The thought cheers you up a little. You adjust your bag, pull out your compass, and check the direction. The needle wobbles before settling west. It’s almost hard to believe you ran into the Avatar and his group. Of all the people in the world… What were the odds?
How would Hanoh react if she found out?
Maybe she’d hit your back with a frown, chiding you for not being more careful. Or maybe she’d laugh and pat your head like she used to before you got banished. Maybe she’d ask why you didn’t go with them.
Sokka’s sharp blue eyes flash in your mind, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. That Water Tribe boy is by far the most irritating person you’ve ever met—second only to the self-proclaimed Crown Prince, of course. Not that you’re particularly fond of either of them. Sure, Sokka’s reactions were amusing, but only for a moment’s distraction.
Besides, it’s not like you’ll ever see them again.
Annoyance doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when Zuko assigned you to be the ship’s cook as punishment for the rudeness displayed after you’d found out he’s teamed up with Zhao.
Either way, you’d be cooking the best dishes you’ll ever make for yourself, while petty much giving him nothing but scraps. The thought of this mini payback makes you chuckle lowly, not noticing Iroh’s presence until you turn.
The sudden sight of him makes you shriek, placing a hand over your racing heart in an attempt to calm it. “Spirits, Uncle Iroh! I could’ve burnt you or something!” The spatula you hold is more than enough of a threat, lowering it from its initial pose above your head, ready to swing.
“I just came to see what’s for dinner,” Uncle Iroh lowered his hands that were lifted in surrender, casually strolling into the kitchen and picking up a ladle. He glances at the ingredients you’ve spread out on the table, raising a brow when you grab an onion and begin to slice it. “Stew or noodles?”
“You know I eat nothing but noodles,” you snort, blinking rapidly as the onion gas causes involuntary tears to form in your eyes. “Besides,” tossing the now sliced onions into the wok brings a sharp hiss, “I doubt the Crown Prince will be pleased to see you chatting with someone who’s drawn his ire.”
This draws a chuckle from him. “And I am his uncle. Do you think I would be affected?”
Sizzles fill the air in place of a response, though the sadness in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “I know he can be…difficult, but please understand that-”
“I’ve been understanding, Iroh.” Words filled with bitterness finally spill from your lips, a testament to how long you’d been holding in your feelings. A sharp exhale brings your focus back to the onions that slowly begin to char in the wok. “Water has its destination.”
The air grows still, your turned back signalling an unspoken sign for him to leave. “I see,” He says at last, the lantern casting his shadow in the doorway. “I look forward to dinner.” You wait for a while longer to make sure he’s gone, confirming it when you turn to grab the sliced pieces of raw mushrooms to toss into the wok.
Recalling how visibly frustrated you were with Iroh moments earlier makes you sigh, wishing you hadn’t made your feelings so evident. However, you can hardly blame yourself for feeling this way after all, especially with how much you’ve tolerated over the years.
The most recent incident with the Avatar made you reach your tipping point.
Water reaches its destination.
The very proverb you’d brought up to Uncle Iroh now mocks you in the corner of your mind.
He’d been the one to teach it to you, after all. It had been a year and a half ago when you stormed into his cabin and slammed the door behind you, having been subject once again to Zuko’s pride and stubbornness that refused to let him see common sense.
“The Avatar is dead, why can’t he just accept that we’re never going home?” you had cried out, pacing the floor, not realizing that you were in the wrong cabin. “Was he banished for being such a thick-headed numbskull? Yes! Was he banished unfairly? Also yes!”
A groan of frustration filled the air as you slammed your fist against the wall. “I can’t even hit him because he’s the Crown Prince!” An idea occurred to you, raising your head with a small smirk. “But we’re not in the Fire Nation anymore…”
Just then, you finally noticed the red decorations around the room. The sheer amount of colour was more than enough for you to realize that something was very, very wrong. Taking a small step back, you finally heard an odd noise behind you.
You quickly turned, almost frozen in place once you fully processed General Iroh sitting a short distance away, calmly grinding his ink tablet and dipping his brush. He showed no sign of distress at having been interrupted, raising his head with a collected yet wise gaze.
“I’m so sorry, General Iroh!” Finally recovering your senses, you dropped to the floor and bowed deeply with your forehead touching the ground. Even though you had been told of his generosity to his subordinates, it was never the same thing when faced in person.
“It’s quite alright. I understand. Besides, water has its destination.”
“Wha-?” You cut yourself off quickly, lowering your gaze (and head) back to the floor. Sure, you might be a defiant servant with the occasional accident, but it didn’t mean you wanted to lose your life. Besides, you had someone important waiting for you to return.
You couldn’t afford to die here.
“Once one’s patience has been exhausted and circumstances align, things will naturally come to a resolution or conclusion. It suggests that one should wait for the right moment to act decisively rather than continuing to tolerate an intolerable situation indefinitely,” he said wisely, setting down his brush and beginning to grind more ink.
“And as for hitting Prince Zuko, well, I’m sure that can be arranged.” You lifted your head in surprise, taken aback by his words. “He does need a sparring partner after all.”
“I would be honoured,” you managed to muster, slowly standing back up. A hint of mischief was in his smile as he raised a brow at your reaction. “I’m eternally grateful for your mercy, General.”
“Please, as you mentioned earlier, we’re no longer in the Fire Nation. You may refer to me as Uncle Iroh.” The mere reference to your earlier outburst shot a chill up your spine, and you tensed visibly in fear that he might be offended.
Warmth flooded your ears in embarrassment, wishing you had burst into anyone else’s cabin but his. Then again, no one would have been as kind as he was.
“I could never!”
“Then I will make it an order,” he stated simply, chuckling at the comical way your eyes widened.
You exited his room afterwards with a sense of bewilderment and awe, hands grasping your neck in disbelief that you still stood there alive. Walking back to your actual cabin this time, you recalled the new proverb he had spoken about. “Water reaches its destination…” you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head.
— — — — — —
If there's one thing you’ve learnt about Zuko, it’s that he abides by the rules to the point it makes you wonder how you’re even alive after insulting him to his face countless times. ‘Hothead’, ‘Poopface’, ‘Steamboat without an engine’, and ‘Hot air’ were among those insults that would’ve been enough to land you in jail if you’d been back home.
Wow, you realise, is that seriously the extent of my insults? I could do better.
However, what used to be such a stupid trait of his would prove useful in your plan to escape. A couple of barrels tucked away in the corner catch your eye upon preparing the number of bowls for the crew’s dinner. You’d already eaten your share of food, making sure to take the best bits of meat for yourself.
Wandering over out of curiosity, you grab the barrel and twist the top, surprised when you hear the liquid sloshing around inside. Moving closer to it and taking a whiff makes your nose wrinkle in disgust.
Baijiu. Insanely strong liquor that you’d been subject to drinking occasionally with Hui Ge. Sailors love it, elders even more so. The taste itself is horrible, but once you get past it, the burn is rather pleasant.
Your alcohol tolerance isn’t the highest, but it’s somewhat bearable with experience aiding you. Closing it, you shift it to a more comfortable position to introduce it to the crew for dinner. You just know they’d love this.
However, who’s to say that only the crew can drink it?
An idea takes root in your mind, glancing from the dining area to the barrel, then to the space at the head of the table. It lays empty, perfect for a single person whose authority commands the entire ship.
He probably wouldn’t have the highest alcohol tolerance, would he…? You strongly doubt that he’d ever consumed alcohol before, much less been anywhere near it. He could potentially be…a lightweight.
Using it to your advantage does seem like a rather spiteful move, but you’d already made your peace with it earlier. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do to go home again.
Nothing.
— — — — — —
“Is this…dinner?” Zuko stares down at the bowl you plop in front of him with a carefree smile. Faux cheerfulness masks the bitterness behind your expression, glancing at the other members of the crew who remain standing.
You frown at his clear scepticism of your cooking, squinting at the soup. It looks perfectly fine to you. Sure, maybe the meat’s a bit overdone, and maybe the soup might be a tad bit too spicy, but other than that, you couldn’t ask for anything better!
“Well, you could always…make it yourself.” Hui Ge’s shoulders stiffen instantly in the corner of your eye, but you ignore it in favour of crossing your arms and leaning on the table. What would Zuko do about your impertinence? Fire you?
Apparently, Zuko must have reached the same conclusion. He sighs, pretending not to have heard your snide reply. He picks up his chopsticks and begins to eat, a silent signal for the rest of his men to take their places around the table. You watch in satisfaction, heart thrumming in anticipation for what’s to follow.
He’s already feeling guilty enough for subjecting you to cooking for the entire crew. Even though you may not be friends, you’ve been around him long enough to pick up on subtle traits at the very least, and you intend to use it to your full advantage. So when you knock on his door and meekly ask him to have dinner with the rest of the crew, you’re initially met with doubt and uncertainty.
Once you bring up the argument and his own words said, however, his tightly-pressed lips hint at a grimace. As such, it took almost no time at all to convince him to head below deck. After all, what would he do? Turn down someone who used to be his ‘friend’?
Once everyone’s seated after taking their utensils and bowls of beef noodles, the time has come to be patient. “Not enough salt,” Hui Ge grunts softly. You elbow him under the table in response, though it doesn’t affect him in the slightest with his large build.
“I put salt, it’s just that you guys eat too many salty things that your taste buds are dead,” You scowl. Your response must’ve been funny though, as he lets out a rambunctious laugh right after.
It stuns Zuko momentarily, chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth as Hui Ge slaps a hand over his mouth. However, the prince shows no sign of discomfort, choosing instead to continue eating.
Eyeing the way he grips his chopsticks a little tighter, and how his eyes dart around slightly, is enough to confirm his discomfort. Grinning, you pretend to chuckle, finally breaking the ice as everyone else starts to relax a little more and talk about trivial things.
There’s still a sense of awkwardness in the air though, but you know just the solution to fix that. “Where’re you going?” Hui Ge asks, seemingly grabbing Zuko’s attention at the same time with his question.
“Well, considering that it’s Prince Zuko’s first time dining with everyone…”You trail off, rolling out a huge barrel. The alcoholic liquid inside sloshes back and forth with the motion. You lift it with help from Hui Ge, placing it down on the end of the table. “I think it calls for some form of celebration, don’t you think?”
You’re instantly met with cheers, but one of the men pipes up with a question. “But will Prince Zuko allow it?” The loud cheers die down quickly, everyone turning to look at the head of the table. You lean an elbow on the barrel top, raising a brow in interest.
“Yeah Prince Zuko, surely you’d let your subordinates drink a little bit. Especially after considering what they’ve all just been through. Interrogations and all.” You wave a lazy hand in the air, though your gaze is filled with pure defiance. Silence falls over the room, everyone waiting with bated breath for his final verdict.
After long last, he looks up from his bowl with a sigh. “You may drink.”
Everyone rejoices with his approval, a few soldiers running to grab the proper baijiu glasses and handing one to him with their head bowed. You get one of the crew to crack open the barrel top, using a ladle to scoop out the baijiu and pour it into its proper ceramic jug Uncle Iroh had so graciously provided at the beginning of the voyage.
Zuko picks up the glass with interest, turning it around in his hands as he inspects the delicate details. It’s honestly cheaply made, but at least it’s enough to intrigue him while you busy yourself pouring the alcohol for everyone.
Rambunctious laughter fills the cabin, everyone heading back for seconds. Helmets are off, Zuko’s at the head of the table, and food is making everyone feel at ease. It’s all falling into place.
Once the words painted on the barrel in bright red are proudly displayed upon moving the barrel to the middle of the table, excitement supercharges the air. “Praise to the Fire Nation!” A soldier calls out, lifting his baijiu glass in the air. Everyone else follows suit, and you pick up yours as well.
“It’s baijiu, Zuko. C’mon, we’re at sea! There’s no one here to punish us for trying a little sip.” Your coaxing seems to work, his narrowed eyes relaxing somewhat when you take a sip from his cup. You lick your lips with a satisfied smile, handing it to him. “See? Nothing to it.”
He brings the cup to his mouth and tilts it, swallowing the alcohol with a disgusted scowl. It’s easy to tell that he does feel some form of guilt towards you — he accepts your encouragement to drink without much hesitation after all.
Bright laughter and cheerful smiles seem to bring the atmosphere to a head, everyone now challenging each other in an attempt to see who can drink the most. You’re constantly by Zuko’s side, ensuring that he’s sipping away from his special little cup and occasionally eying the exit.
Escape is only a lifeboat away.
Time passes by so slowly, but it’s only a matter of minutes before Zuko’s already more or less wasted beside you. His head is on your shoulder mumbling things under his breath. You couldn’t care less about what they are.
What’s more important is the number of people that are passed out in the cabin, some lying on the floor while some are in each other’s laps.
You push him off you, the slightest bit of compassion in your conscience helping him lay down in his chair. His head lolls to the side, blinking groggily as he tries to regain his senses. Hiding a laugh, you adjust his arms so that you can move away successfully.
“Wh-wha-?” Wrinkling your nose, you fan the space in front of you to rid it of the alcohol in his breath. He’s going to wake up with one hell of a headache. You grin. Serves him right.
Heading toward the exit, you lean down and grab the bag you’d securely tucked behind the mess of extra chairs and objects they’d casually tossed aside.
The door swings open without a hitch, the slightest of creaks making you freeze. Fortunately, they’re all still sound asleep. The exhale of relief that leaves your chest almost makes you keel forward, every muscle in your body tense. If anyone caught you trying to escape, there’s no telling what would happen.
The lifeboats sit in the corner of the ship’s upper deck, gently rocking and swaying in the sea breeze. The rough texture of the ropes scratches against your hands mercilessly, as if warning you of the dangers ahead. The skin blisters and splits open on certain areas, drawing blood to the surface.
Ignoring all the pain, you climb inside and lower the lifeboat into the water. It hits the surface with a loud splash. Drops of seawater land on your face, and you use your shoulder to wipe them away roughly before grabbing a knife stowed away in your left boot.
Sawing through the ropes takes more time than you expect, especially since it’s already night. The moon itself is shielded by the clouds in the sky as if someone painted over it.
Surely some light wouldn’t hurt, right?
A small flame flickers on the tip of the ring finger and pinky on your left hand, guiding it toward the almost-sawed-through ropes. Gritting your teeth, you use the remaining strength you have to finish the job, panic spurring you forth when you hear a few shouts above you.
Finally, the ropes snap. You collapse on the boat, muscles aching with exhaustion. However, there’s no chance to rest. Distance is what you have to put between you and the ship. So you grab the oars, ignoring the pain in your hands that scream for mercy.
The waves seem to be on your side, gently guiding the boat in a specific direction. Maybe the spirits are truly with you today. Hunching down, you stash your bag between your calves and focus on rowing as fast as you can.
After what seems like hours, you set down the oars and allow a moment of peace, glancing around with the alertness you’d honed in the palace, having hidden behind corners and passageways when someone important came around.
The cold wind of the night brushes past your ear like a whisper, arms and legs starting to shiver. Luckily, you’d thought ahead and packed a change of clothes that had much duller colours compared to the prominent red fabric on your shirt.
After getting changed, you pull out the water tribe cloak Zuko had gifted you, wrapping it tightly around your cold body. Taking a deep breath, you stare into the abyss of darkness under the water surface.
It’s now or never, you suppose, dropping the clothes you’d changed out of into the sea, watching it sink down further and further until you can’t see their vibrant red.
The clouds overhead pass by, allowing the gentle beams of moonlight to shine down. They reflect off the waves, resembling jewels and gems you’d heard about in stories. It’s beautiful. Breathing in deeply, you lay down in the boat, staring up into the night sky.
You feel light. It’s as if a cannonball that had been strapped to your chest is gone, sunken below the sea so deep that it can no longer be found. Suddenly, breathing is a little easier, and thoughts are a little clearer.
A huff of disbelief falls from your lips, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. The ship is no longer within view, and it feels as though an invisible shackle has finally been unchained from your very being.
You’re free.
“I’m free,” you mumble to yourself as if saying it out loud would solidify it even more. Staring back at the dark horizon, giggles erupt from your chest and you take a moment to stand up. Cupping both hands around your mouth, you shout it into the sky, pure happiness in your voice.
After the mini-celebration, your excitement dies down and it’s time to decide which way to go. The vast darkness doesn’t even feel as scary as you thought it would, deciding to just row until you see land. Then, you can make your way back on foot or hijack a horse.
You stare at the grey clouds passing overhead, noting their ominous colour. That’s not a good sign, especially for someone who’s on a mere lifeboat out at sea, with little supplies and limited rations.
a/n: super short chapter but the next few are much longer, especially chapter 6. it's already at like 4k words rip
The scent of soot hangs heavy in the air, almost like a cloud of fog that you inhale with each breath. The tips of your ears are still tinged pink, having suffered from some frostbite as a consequence of diving into the freezing waters of the South Pole without thinking.
Although firebenders have a naturally higher body heat than others, it didn’t protect you from the cold of the South Pole. After Iroh had pulled you out of the water, you’d passed out in your cabin and developed a fever.
Zuko had visited once while you were asleep, having given you a thick coat he’d somehow gotten during his fleeting meeting with the Water Tribe. You didn’t ask any questions, and he never answered any.
Just the way you both preferred it.
You recovered after a while, the coat your new favourite item to wear to tolerate the chilly night breeze during your shift. However, Zuko had become more distant before, and somewhat angrier. You’d been trying to figure out why, but he’s been something of an enigma since day one.
Was it because you’d prioritised saving him over capturing the Avatar?
The possibilities are endless. You know him well enough to understand that there are a million reasons why he could be angry, and maybe only a quarter of them have you as the cause.
Now though, you’re heading down the ship’s platform. The scuffle with the Avatar had left the ship damaged, and you’d hastened to the closest Fire Nation colony for reparations. You walk behind Iroh, Zuko ignoring your presence.
“Uncle, I want the repairs to be made as quickly as possible. I don’t wanna stay too long and risk losing his trail.”
“You mean the Avatar?” You pipe up, only to flinch when he turns to you with a glare.
“Don’t mention his name on these docks,” He says lowly. “Once word gets out that he’s alive, every Firebender will be out looking for him, and I don’t want anyone getting in my way. Not after what you did, you imbecile.”
Your jaw drops in shock, parting your lips to ask him what exactly gave him the right to insult you. However, another sneering voice interrupts you from speaking. “Getting in the way of what, Prince Zuko?”
Zuko stands with crossed arms, eyeing him warily as he nears. “Captain Zhao.”
“It’s commander now,” He corrects with a smug smirk. “And General Iroh, great hero of our nation.” He makes it a point to ignore your presence, which makes sense. You remain quiet, but don’t bother hiding your distaste for the man with a roll of your eyes.
“Retired General,” Iroh amends with a smile, bowing slightly. He glances back at you, clearly amused by your reaction. He turns back to continue the conversation with his nephew and Zhao. Warmth spreads through your chest, touched that he’d checked on you.
“The fire lord’s brother and son are welcome guests anytime. What brings you to my harbour?”
“Our ship needs repairs,” Iroh gestures to the destroyed front of the ship, Zhao’s eyes widening slightly in shock as he processes the sight.
“That’s quite a bit of damage,” He remarks.
Another soldier catches your eye, the jade pendant that had escaped from his armour dropping onto the ground. It lays there without anyone noticing, not even the soldier that dropped it.
You glance at the three of them still engrossed in their conversation. Hesitating, you take a moment to consider what to do next. Ignoring it would be wrong, obviously.
Which is exactly why you sneak away and pick up the jade pendant, turning the smooth stone over in your hands. Holding it up, you squint slightly to check the quality. Sunlight passes through the stone easily, enhancing the vibrancy of its rich green hue.
Turning it over, you spot something etched into the top.
‘ 福 ’
“Fu…” You mumble under your breath, tracing the engraved character. You chuckle softly. What an irony. To carry something as simple as luck and fortune on you while waging a war is hypocritical in itself.
But then again, you realise, someone must’ve given this to them. It could’ve been their parents or their significant others, or maybe even their child. Your hand automatically goes to your wrist, feeling for a bracelet that’s stowed back in your cabin.
You stare at the jade, the temptation to sell it and procure money to sneak back into the Fire Nation almost overwhelming. It’s easy; you just have to bring it with you back on board and stop at a different town to pawn it over.
They’d give you like, what, a few hundred yuan? Maybe a thousand if you’re lucky. Either way, it’d take you back home without the need to go through all this. The only thing you’d have to do is lay low and pretend to be dead so that the Fire Lord won’t catch on.
You grapple with these thoughts for a few more minutes, looking up when Iroh calls your name. Hesitating, you glance back down at the jade in your hands. You can almost smell the money that you’d get from selling it.
Iroh calls your name once more, gesturing for you to come back. Pausing, you finally make a decision. You run back to catch up with them. Turning back, you witnessed the same soldier who had lost their jade pendant moments ago now clutching it tightly in their hands, a radiant smile adorning their face.
“I thought I lost it!”
— — — — —
“I’m pretty sure I asked for a vacation, not an interrogation,” You mutter to Hu Ge who’s standing next to you. He shrugs, though the worry in his eyes remains. Iroh had instructed you to head back to the ship while he and Zuko would meet with Zhao.
Once you arrived though, you’d been shoved with the rest of the crew to stand in line on deck, various armed guards poised and ready to attack in case there was a ruckus. Someone you assume to be their captain - or at least has some form of authority, had been going down the line, interrogating each crew member about how the ship got damaged.
One by one, each member revealed that Zuko had found the Avatar and tried to keep him hostage but failed. With every matching testimony and the interrogator growing closer to you, your mind begins to race.
Do you say the same thing as everyone else? Or do you lie, and protect Zuko?
“There’s no point in lying,” Hu Ge grunts beside you, keeping his voice low. “If you’re the only one to say differently, you’ll be thrown in jail and you’ll never get to see the light of day again. You know how they treat traitors here.” You didn’t need confirmation for a shudder to travel down your spine.
You knew perfectly well exactly the sort of treatment you’d receive.
“I know you’re close with him, but you have to put yourself first. You have to survive.” He stares straight ahead, catching the eye of a guard who points their spear at you with a suspicious gaze. “There’s no use dying here.”
“No colluding!” The guard shouts, racing over and grabbing Hu Ge’s arm. They haul him away, punching him in the stomach. “And you,” Another says menacingly, his painful grip on your wrist starting to discolour the skin. “What do you know about the Avatar?”
You want to deny everything, to say that you’re just as clueless as they are. But it’s too late. It’s all or nothing.
“The Avatar is alive,” You confirm, defeatedly accepting the harsh shove that he gives you, your back bumping against the wall. “He’s on the run now, with two companions… We tried to capture him, but he broke out.”
The main interrogator laughs, the rest of the guards breaking into peals of laughter as well. Your arms tense, hands clenched into fists as you battle the urge to kick them all where it hurts. Once their amusement dies down, they get back to interrogating the rest.
Hu Ge is shoved back next to you, bruises now littering his arms. “Good job,” Hee wheezes out through a painful cough, the soldiers now leaving the both of you alone now that they got the information they needed.
You stare down at your wrists, wishing more and more that you were anywhere but here. “Yeah.”
— — — — —
Surely Zuko wouldn’t know that you had also revealed the vital fact that the Avatar’s alive, right?
Wrong. As soon as he got back on the ship, he’d shoved you aside with a harsh push, not sparing a single glance at your pained cry. You stand back up with a wince, giving Uncle Iroh’s hand a grateful squeeze before narrowing your eyes into a glare at Zuko’s back.
“What was that about?” You walk up to him, hands on your hips and doing your best to ignore the stinging pain in your shoulder. He ignores you (no surprise there), looking down at the map in his hands.
Rolling it back up, he continues walking. You match his pace with quick steps of your own, trying to catch your breath as your pride stokes the budding flames of anger in your heart. Very mature Zuko, ignore the only other person that cares for you on this ship.
“Set sail immediately,” he commands upon reaching the ship’s bow, “We’re going after the Avatar.” The crew heed his orders, the ship beginning to depart. “And you,” He turns to finally address you, eyes narrowed into a glare. “You told Zhao’s men that the Avatar is alive.”
“I’m sorry, I think I heard wrong. You can’t seriously be blaming me for that.” You scoff in disbelief, though you quickly regret it when his jaw visibly tenses, his breaths heavier with each word that leaves your lips. The rest of the crew avoid looking directly at you. Having Zuko’s anger directed at just you instead of them is a far better outcome than their potential doom.
“It was either admit it, or be charged for obstruction of their duty! I could’ve been thrown in jail, Zuko!” You argue, faltering as he fixes you with a chilling glare. At this moment, calling him by his name is a mistake. You’d crossed the line, the boundary between your position and his becoming blurred.
“You’re on this ship because you’re supposed to aid me in his capture, not to have a holiday. Or have you forgotten that you’re banished?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you regard him warily. His words hurt, pressing on a sore spot that he knows perfectly well exists.
“I haven’t forgotten,” you frown, now regretting further having opened up to him over these three years. But he’d probably let go of this;you’re friends. “But that’s not the reason I was banished. Your sister framed me for something I didn’t do.”
His fists are clenched at his side, the skin on his knuckles turning pale. “Yeah, and look where that got you. You’re my subordinate. You’re supposed to take orders. Otherwise, get off my ship.”
That stuns you. The rest of the crew pretend to be preoccupied with their own work, but their ears are peeled for any sign of a physical confrontation. Silence falls over you both, Zuko’s chest rising and falling as he stands firm behind his words.
You know perfectly well that his pride refused to let him apologise, or regret what he said to you. Usually you’d let it go, but all that coming from someone you truly regarded as a friend stings.
Instead, you force a sarcastic smile on your lips, trying not to let the fury bubbling within you to show on your face. The best thing to do for now would be to lay low and wait. The opportunity would come sooner or later, to finally leave all this behind. You can’t do that while you’re on a ship.
“Fine.” Your words are curt, refusing to give him even the most basic of pleasantries as you bow with a hand over your heart. “I’ll help you capture the Avatar, Prince Zuko.”
a/n: i just realised that lots of people think this is a zuko x reader. i apologise, it is not. it's just lots of buildup before we actually get to the romance lol sorry
The sight of the wooden ceiling above your bed has grown familiar to you over time. You’d grown used to the rickety motions of the ship, though your first few days consisted of being completely motion-sick.
You stumble to the kitchen, stomach growling in need of sustenance. Wincing when you accidentally put too much pressure on your ankle, you carefully lift it and do a quick rotation, checking if it’s in the process of healing from your spar the other day with Zuko.
The both of you had grown a little closer than before banishment. It took a while for him to warm up to you, but with Iroh’s assistance and your persistent presence, he began to open up a little more. The old man would constantly invite you to play Pai Sho with him, have tea, and chat. He’d also drag Zuko along and make you play against each other, only to cackle when either of you lose.
Pushing past the kitchen door, the smell of spices hits your nose and makes your mouth water in anticipation. “Beef noodles?” You ask, recognising the broth in the large pot. The wok sits idly at the side, waiting to be used to stir-fry more veggies. Hu Ge, the chef, eyes you suspiciously, sliding across a bowl. “Come on, you know I love my leafy greens.”
He adds some more blanched vegetables to your bowl, the spicy oil settling in each nook and bathing it in red. “Thanks, Hu Ge!” You call out as he leaves, grabbing a pair of wooden chopsticks and digging in.
You’ve just finished your meal when you notice another bowl filled with slices of spicy roast duck on the side, noting that the multitude of peppercorns on it can only be consumed by one specific person. You bring the bowl up to the deck of the ship where General Iroh is training Prince Zuko, the former welcoming you warmly upon seeing you.
You hand the General his bowl, noticing the frustration in Zuko’s eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Zuko says bitterly, walking away and taking up his telescope once more to keep an eye out for the avatar.
If the avatar is even still alive, that is. The whole point of your banishment is infuriating. You knew full well about his real reason for banishing Zuko, and you just happened to get lumped in as collateral damage.
Fun.
“It’s been three years, Uncle Iroh, wouldn’t he know by now that the avatar doesn’t exist anymore…?” You mutter wearily, noticing the dark purple rings under General Iroh’s eyes that hint at his actual exhaustion. You’d run into him a few times when you couldn’t sleep, realising that he’d regularly keep Zuko company during sleepless nights.
Iroh pauses between mouthfuls of roast duck chewing thoughtfully. “Who knows? Are you going to be the one to tell him that?” You shake your head immediately with a wry smile. He merely chuckles.
— — — — — —
It’s your turn to be on the lookout with Zuko. Yawning, you survey the open sea and begin counting the number of glaciers out loud in an attempt to liven up the atmosphere. “That’s thirteen so far. Wanna bet that we’ll find one taller than the one we passed by two days ago?”
You’re unphased by Zuko’s blatant ignorance of your rambles. The both of you have grown used to each other’s habits over time. In the beginning, you were too scared to even move in front of him, not knowing when he’d throw a fit at you for distracting him.
Eventually, though, you would grow bored and ask him questions about himself. After all, you’re with a prince. When else would you find out more about royal life?
Spoiler alert: Royal life is not fun.
Interactions had grown from small questions to discussions about whether noodles were better than rice, to the occasional spar and Pai Sho matches. Currently, you’re in the lead. He’s a sore loser though, so it’s just a matter of time before he demands a rematch.
“Do you think we’ll be having any soup today?” You ask thoughtfully, playing with the flame on your fingers. You shiver when the cold breeze brushes against the bare skin of your hips, regretting not having brought along a coat.
Firebenders like both of you tended to have a warmer body heat than others, but that didn’t protect you from how cold the South Pole is. How he’s on deck without any outer layers is a feat in itself.
Just as you begin to debate with yourself whether you should request some hot soup, something unexpected happens.
An ear-piercing whistle breaks through the silence. A singular light is shot into the air, and you recognise it as a signal flare, only used when in trouble or to attract attention. It tints the sky pink as if forecasting the terror that would soon follow.
Zuko holds up a telescope, falling silent as he focuses. “The last Airbender. Quite agile, for his old age.” The playful and calm atmosphere from before is gone, now replaced by something far more serious.
He turns to face an officer standing guard at the door to the stairs that lead down into the cabins. “Wake my uncle!” He orders sharply in a raised voice, “Tell him, I found the Avatar.” Focusing on the telescope once more, he quickly adds. “As well as his hiding place.”
There’s no way.
“Are you sure?”
He glares at you. “Are you doubting me? What happened to your resolve?”
“I just…” Your gaze hardens, steeling yourself. “I know. Let’s just get this over and done with. The faster we secure the Avatar, the faster we get back home.”
He grabs his helmet and puts it on. “If they’re housing the Avatar and hiding him from me…” His eyes narrow, filled with cruel intent. “Then they deserve much worse than a simple greeting.” You merely sigh. It’d be a lie to say you’re not affected by how cold he sounds, but your humanity isn’t a priority in this situation.
What matters is getting back home. To Hanoh.
All trace of the Zuko you’d come to know over the past three years on this ship is gone, and in front of you is someone filled with resolve to do whatever it takes to regain his father’s approval. You can hardly say that you turned out any different though.
“I’m going to capture the Avatar and restore my honour,” He declares with a glare that could melt steel. “And you should stay on this ship. You’ll get in the way.”
Okay, rude much? He may be a prince, but he sure doesn’t act like one.
“Have it your way, prince know-it-all.” Shrugging, you just focus on the sunrise instead. A moment of silence passes between you both, an acknowledgement of his order. “You better not get hurt.” He lets your earlier comment slide, testament to how much he’s grown to tolerate you.
He lowers the telescope, regarding you with eyes that practically command respect for his authority.
“I won’t.”
— — — — — —
The cabin is quiet as you begin to pack your stuff, taking a simple bag would be enough to hold all your treasured possessions. There isn’t much to bring home aside from some clothes, your ribbons, some money, and some accessories you can trade.
You pick up a bracelet that sits on the side of your table, staring at it with a sad smile. The intricately woven strings once bright and vibrant have faded over time, unravelled bits here and there. It’s the main reason you stopped wearing it around, afraid that it might break and fall somewhere without your notice.
It’s your most treasured belonging. It was a birthday present, given to you in the same year your mother passed away. She and Hanoh had presented it with gleeful smiles, having worked on it together during their spare time.
You’d worn it every day, only taking it off when you bathed and during the mourning period after her death. It’s the only thing left that connects you to both of them, the only thing serving as a reminder of what you’re living so desperately for.
You miss her.
All of your mother’s items were stored inside a box that Hanoh had by her bedside table, and you’d occasionally open it and carefully examine the accessories inside with an almost childlike curiosity. Hanoh would always talk about how you looked so much like your mother, promising to hand you the box when you were old enough.
Now that Zuko’s about to capture the Avatar, it’s like a ray of hope shining through the narrow doorway you’d kept closed for the past three years. Day after day was practically torture, and all you wanted was to go back to your battered room, and have dinner with Hanoh again. She’s the only one you have left.
No matter the means, no matter the actions you have to take, you’d get home.
That’s a promise.
A loud ruckus from outside jolts you out of your thoughts, stashing the bracelet securely inside the bag. Fear grips your heart, creeping up on you like frost as you conclude that something’s wrong.
Rushing to the hull of the ship, you look down to see Zuko firebending at the tribespeople. Screams echo through the air, a boy you assume to be the Avatar directing the flames away from them. A tinge of self-doubt stings your heart, but you push it back down and ignore it.
He looks young; oblivious to the world’s current state of affairs, probably. A blue arrow etched into his skin atop his head is a tell-tale sign that he’s an Air Nomad. You vaguely remember Hanoh telling you long ago how the Air Nomads chose to live peacefully when they were just as powerful as any other nation.
This kid is the Avatar…?
Subconsciously holding your breath, you watch as he willingly follows Zuko and the rest of his soldiers into the ship, the doors lifting and closing with a loud clang. You begin to pace back and forth, picking at your cuticles as you try to calm your conflicting thoughts.
This is a good thing, right? With the capture of the Avatar, you can finally go back home. You can see Hanoh again. You can live out the rest of your days in peace.
However, you know deep down that if you hand him over to Ozai, he’ll do far worse than anything you can imagine. The Fire Lord you know is ambitious, ruthless, and merciless to whoever he deems unworthy of being alive.
Unfortunately, most people who fall into that category are the other nations. But what would that matter to you? You’re just a dancer - a maid from the palace with no power. There’s nothing you can do.
“This staff will make an excellent gift for my father.” You move away from Zuko’s sight just in time as he walks onto the deck, hiding behind a tall soldier as he speaks. Iroh notices this, raising a brow inquisitively. You hold a finger over your lips, silently pleading with him to not address you. Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he gives you a single nod.
“I suppose you wouldn’t know of fathers, being raised by monks. Take the Avatar to the prison hold, and take this to my quarters.” He orders, the ship beginning to set sail for the Fire Nation. Iroh notices you trying to slip away, distracting his grandson so you can sneak back down into your cabin.
— — — — — —
Turning when the door creaks open, you’re stunned when you see who else but the Avatar holding the door. Shock registers itself on his face as you bolt to your feet. “Wait!” Your cry goes unheard as he slams the door shut, your outstretched hand faltering as you process that the Avatar is loose on the ship.
It’s time to make a choice. Go home to Hanoh, or help the Avatar escape far away from Ozai.
Pressing your lips together, you set down the bag and open the door, taking off and running after the Avatar. The hallways are filled with soldiers searching for the escaped prisoner, and you run over to help.
Where could he have gone?
He couldn’t have gone far. The lower deck is like a maze, and there’s little space to fight in the narrow corridors filled with pipes. If you were brought on board a ship as a prisoner, what would you do…?
Your steps slow to a halt, looking at the stairs leading up to the control room. Hoping that your hunch is right, you run up the stairs only to see Zuko jumping off the balcony, the Avatar on his glider mere inches away.
“Zuko!” You cry out, ice-cold fear filling your lungs in that split second, running out onto the balcony. Luckily, he manages to grab the Avatar’s ankle, the both of them falling onto the ship’s bow. “Oh, come on!”
A loud growl makes you look up, your breath hitching when a large flying animal with 2 riders swerves toward the ship. Zuko takes the opportunity to firebend at him, the latter doing his best to deflect the blows.
Do you jump off the balcony and help Zuko, or run back down and waste precious time?
Amid your dilemma, a sudden movement catches your eye: the Avatar teeters on the ship's edge, dangerously close to plunging into the ocean below. Zuko stands nearby, a look of triumph etched on his face, fists tightly clenched. He notices you and offers a nod of victory, his gaze locking with yours.
A sigh of relief falls from your lips, your knees giving way as you collapse on the wooden floor.
He’s captured. You can go home now.
Your joy is short-lived when something bursts through the surface of the water as you’re trying to fathom the cruelty he’s just displayed. The Avatar rises in a cocoon of water, his eyes and tattoo glowing brightly in an ominous manner.
How is he alive??
He lands on the bow and waterbends a forceful ring that knocks Zuko and a plethora of soldiers that join him off the ship.
“Zuko!” Your heart is pounding, the sound filling your ears as you gather your courage and dive off the balcony into the ocean below. At that moment, you didn’t care about the Avatar or the fate of the world.
All you want is for your friend to be safe.
Ice-cold water stings your skin, and you almost let out a cry from the drastic temperature change. Forcing your eyes open, you search desperately for Zuko. All you can see, however, are just soldiers struggling to kick their way to the surface.
Where is he?
Panic swells in the form of burning lungs, your limbs getting heavy from the numbness the cold brings. Panic soon turns into fear when you still don’t spot him, finally swimming back to the surface and breaking through the water with a loud gasp.
As you’re gulping in mouthfuls of sweet, sweet air, your vision clears and you see the very boy that you’re searching for, hanging off the side of the ship. He’s grabbing the anchor’s chain, clutching it tightly to keep from falling. Although he’s in a precarious situation, you can’t help but smile widely in relief.
You’re alive. He’s alive. You’re both alive.
The flying animal that you’d seen earlier departs from the ship, Iroh helping Zuko up. A pillar of flames is soon shot toward them, but it backfires when the Avatar airbends it away and redirects it to the walls of a glacier. The ice soon comes tumbling down from the heat, burying the bow of the ship.
You watch the three of them fly off with pleased grins, shivering from the cold. You begin to paddle closer to the ship, hearing a familiar frustrated groan. Peering up from where you’re afloat in the water, you raise a fist and pound the side of the ship, hoping to attract their attention.
Moments later, Zuko’s face looks down at you, annoyance filling his eyes when he realises it’s you. He moves away without another word, only to be replaced by a rather amused Iroh. He lets out a loud chuckle, signalling to one of the crew to help you come back up.
You wave back sheepishly. “Got any room for one more?”
𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 - 流放
𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 | 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀
a/n: t.w: Mentions of sexual assault in the middle of the chapter, please do not read if you're uncomfortable with it.
Another day, another basketful of laundry to wash, hang dry, and steam to perfection. The sun is no foe to underestimate either. On some days you’re grateful, because having its strong rays dry the clothes quickly means less work in between, while other days almost give you heatstroke a couple times.
The day after you were informed of your mother’s passing, you reported to Mei Yi, the head maid of the palace who had then proceeded to loudly identify you as the daughter of the dead dancer. It stung, of course, but you promised yourself not to cry.
But that didn’t mean it was easy to hold yourself back from launching at the grown woman for a fistfight.
She had assigned you only the hardest chores of scrubbing the floors of the Grand Ballroom, and hand washing all the Prince’s garments. You had a difficult time; your muscles constantly aching after work when you got home to Hanoh.
Hanoh was nothing short of an angel like always, constantly taking care of you and making sure you had a full meal when you got back home. She’s the only reason why you survived up till now.
Your mother wasn’t able to have a proper funeral, but Fire Lord Ozai had allowed for you to create a small shrine in your home. It didn’t mean much though. You were too poor to afford a portrait, and her body was never recovered from the palace. All he allowed to be sent back were the accessories and garments she’d worn.
Now, her necklace dangles from your neck as you carry the basket of dried laundry back to the main steaming room, where all wrinkles would get steamed out by other maids. On the way back, a couple of them say hello, having gradually warmed up to you after witnessing you scrub the floors and accomplish all of Mei Yi’s unfair tasks without complaint.
It was worth it to see her astonished expression at the spotless floor.
Meals had also improved, from the first one being quarter of a loaf of bread and barely any soup being carelessly thrown to you, to an actual plate of rice with vegetables and some meat on the occasional good days.
The cooks had taken pity on you, and it definitely helped that you were nothing short of scrawny after a couple weeks of pathetic meals being served. Rumours of how Fire Lord Ozai had favoured your mother circulated throughout the palace, but no one was allowed to speak of her after her death.
“Where’re you off to again, Wildfire?” Wei Yi, one of the cooks asks as you walk past the kitchen’s open doors. She dusts off the flour on her hands from making the pile of noodles on the side of the counter, walking over with a small packet.
“You know me, the usual laundry drill. Mei Yi decided to give me the honourable task of washing the clothes of our nation’s rising suns,” You answer sarcastically, holding up the basket of red and gold clothes to prove your point.
She chuckles, handing you the packet in her hands. You open it and look inside, eyes wide when you see the dried deer meat she’s prepared for you. Making sure no one else saw, you stuff it in your pocket and give her a thankful nod.
“Go easy on my cousin this time, won’t you?” Wei Yi jokes. You shrug nonchalantly, though a smile plays on your lips.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Attagirl.” It was during the third week of Mei Yi’s harsh words and utterly hard to please standards that Wei Yi had taken a step forward, defending you. You’d been shocked to find out that they were distant cousins, which was why after that day the difficult tasks were reduced.
Ever since then, Wei Yi had taken care of you in small ways, and it took about a few months for you to completely open up to her. Majority of the maids still kept a wary eye on you, but the bullying had stopped after you exposed another maid for talking blatantly about the Princess.
You then solidified your position as not one to be messed with when you managed to get the attention of Fire Lord Ozai. It was simple enough. He had power, and you needed some. All it took was framing a maid for poisoning his meal. She deserved it though, for talking about your mother the way she did.
Physical wounds may heal, but the wounds on your heart won’t.
If only your mother could see you now.
Time passes quickly, and your 13th birthday is already coming up next week. The first few birthdays without your mother were spent locked up in your room, unable to bear the thought of growing older without her. One day though, you decided to try drawing a portrait of her, and that finally got you out of the room. From then on, you’d always have a birthday cake in front of the small shrine in the living room, imagining her singing happy birthday to you.
Your chest aches at the thought of her, shoving down all emotion that starts to arise in your chest at the memory of her laugh that seems to echo in the halls of the palace. When you close your eyes, you can almost imagine her running down them with your hand in hers, introducing each and every corner when she danced for the Fire Lord on occasion.
“Delivery,” You announce, placing the basket on the table next to the door. The other girls give you a mere glance of acknowledgement, continuing to do their work. That’s fine. You’re used to it. It’s not like they’d simply warm up to you, not after what you did to some.
You leave without so much as a glance back, heading to the lessons Ozai had commanded you to take. Maths, calligraphy, and history were the main three, while the one that took up the most time was dance. Clearly, he wanted you to follow in your mother’s footsteps considering that he’s made you perform in front of him and his ministers regularly.
You hated the smug smile on his face every time, high on the knowledge that he could say a single word and you would end up with a fate exactly like your mother’s. Your dance teacher is different, treating you like an imbecile and working you to the bone. The first time you had a class with her, she’d forced your legs wide open and pushed your pelvis to the ground, forcefully making you do the splits.
It hurt like hell, but now you’re grateful since it occasionally comes in handy during chores.
“Have you never been taught to be punctual?” You secretly roll your eyes at Mei Yi’s shrill voice, following her pompous figure to the dance academy located near the palace. “It’s already been 4 years, and you’re still the unruly child that showed up at the doorstep. You should be grateful to your mother I suppose, since his Majesty’s favour still continues after her death.”
You automatically tune her out as you walk, unbothered by the same speech she’s been reciting for 3 years. You wonder if she’s written it down somewhere for her children to keep saying.
Soon, the prominent signboard of the academy comes into view, and you all but race toward it. She huffs and snaps her red parasol shut, glaring at you. “Mind your manners you urchin, or you might stain the name of the palace!”
‘Oh, a thousand apologies, I didn’t get the chance to learn about them before the Fire Lord killed my mom.’ You bite your tongue to keep the words from coming out, but she can sense your impudence coming from a mile away, so she merely huffs and turns around to leave.
Once she’s out of your sight, you heave a sigh of relief, going through the doors. This might be hell, but being around her is pure torture.
“You’re late.”
Never mind. Being here is infinitely worse. You wince at your instructor’s strict words, watching her approach you with a dissatisfied look. “I’m sorry, I rushed over as soon as I could, but-”
“Did I ask for excuses?”
You press your lips together, lowering your head. “No, Ms Wu.” Luckily, she walks away and you exhale shakily. You’d never get used to this. Today must be a good day though, since she didn’t continue scolding you. On some days it’d escalate to full on rants shouted at your face.
She sits on a chair in the corner, watching you with a sharp eye. “Do your drills.”
You obey, taking the ribbon and doing a couple of stretches before beginning the routines she’d drilled into you. Your muscles are on autopilot, legs stiff and hands relaxed as you lift them up and do a spin.
“Again.”
You begin from the start once more, trying not to let her dissatisfaction get to you. However, you don’t even get halfway through before she interrupts.
“Again.”
You try to fully focus this time, inhaling deeply to calm your raging thoughts.
“Again.”
You’re used to this. You can take it.
“Again.”
It’s only an hour, it won’t be long.
“Again.”
In the end, it takes 64 run-throughs before Ms Wu is finally satisfied. She releases you with an icy stare and dismissive wave, letting you go back to the palace to perform yet again for Fire Lord Ozai.
You’d gotten changed and some maids had helped with makeup and hair. Hoping that you’re not late, you race through the hallways and down to the main dining hall, where Fire Lord Ozai, his ministers, and hired musicians wait for your presence.
“You’re late.”
Oh no. You immediately bow your head, trying to catch your breath as you apologize to him. The sight of you grovelling at his feet for mercy is a guaranteed escape from further punishment. You confirmed this when you saw the twisted grin on his face when you peeked at him through your sleeves.
Thankfully, this time is no different. He dismisses it with a wave, though his eyes glint dangerously as his gaze settles on you. Proceeding to ignore him and everyone else like you’d done every time, you raise your hands, getting into position.
As the first note rings through the air, you dance.
Twirls and spins are the least of your worries, all your previous anger and frustration at Mei Yi, Mrs Wu, and the group of people watching vanishes. Somewhere in the dance, your eyes close, imagining how your mother felt while doing the exact same thing.
Was she scared? Terrified? Had she always given her best regardless? Did she truly love what she did? How would she react to seeing you now? Questions are meaningless in the face of reality, but it’s little comfort to feel her presence through your fluid movements and graceful steps. Maybe she’d even be a little proud.
Would she really?
Your eyes snap open as the song ends, rapidly trying to catch your breath once more. Your gaze automatically lands on Fire Lord Ozai, hands clasping together under your long sleeves and praying desperately that he’d be satisfied with this performance.
His cold eyes look at you for a long while. Not even his ministers dared say anything, though they all gave you applause at the end. But their opinion didn’t matter, not when the Fire Lord enjoyed toying with your life as if it were mere string unravelled from a neat ball of yarn.
He gives a single nod, no other indicator of whether or not he’s pleased. That’s okay. It’s more than enough to know that you’re able to live for at least another two weeks. As you make your way out of the hall, you’re stopped when someone tries to call out to you.
Your steps slow to a halt, waiting for the official to catch up. He’s decently handsome, with dimples and a strong build. He leans against the pillar next to you, taking a moment. You raise a brow, curious of his intentions. No other person would approach you besides the maids when they needed something done.
“Can I help you?”
He stands up properly with a cocky grin. “I’m here to make you an offer.”
“An offer?”
“Yes,” He suddenly takes your hand in his, causing you to flinch when he plants a kiss atop it. “One that you will like, I’m sure. Haven’t you ever dreamed of being outside the palace walls? I can provide you with that. You see, I was captivated by your dancing ever since I first laid eyes on you. You’re stunning.”
“Oh…” You’re not entirely sure whether to feel disgusted or flattered. You’d never been complimented by anyone before, be it for dancing or anything else. What are you supposed to do? How’re you supposed to react? “Thank you…?”
“Which is why,” He suddenly pulls you close to him, your entwined hands the only thing between you two as you gasp, “You should marry me.”
It takes a moment for you to register his words. “What?”
“Be my wife.”
He’s completely serious about this, you can tell from his gaze. But his eyes drop from yours to your neck, his other hand on your waist and slowly tracing down to your hips. “You can get everything you’d ever want,” he whispers into your ear, “Freedom, riches, power…All you have to do is marry me.”
This is wrong. Something’s wrong. This isn’t the type of marriage Hanoh would tell you about. This isn’t one of love and promises for a better life, this one is filled with leers and dark words that try to tempt you over to him.
His fingers are dangerously close to your butt. In his overconfidence, his grip has loosened. You take the chance to shove him away, using the one card you’ve kept hidden up your sleeve.
You firebend.
Flames devour his hand, eating away hungrily, and it only burns brighter the more hatred you allow the fire to use as its kindling. Your entire being is repulsed by the sight of him, relishing in the way he falls to the ground with a cry, cradling his burning hand.
“You’re disgusting.” You manage to say, feeling icky all over. “You just want to own me. I’m only 13, you creep! I hope you die!” You hawk a gob of saliva and spit it at him, watching it land on his cheek. “If you ever try that again on anyone, I’ll make sure your hand isn’t the only thing gone.” You say icily, walking away before breaking into a run.
The door slams shut behind you. Making your way to the pail next to your bed, you grab the soap and washcloth, stripping down and starting to wash yourself, scrubbing away at the pale skin. The motions are repetitive, yet they’re not enough to rid the slimy feeling of that disgusting man’s touch.
The more you scrub, the more disgust you feel. The washcloth isn’t enough. You resort to using your fingernails, letting them dig away at your skin as you scratch obsessively. Beads of blood bloom from the scratches you inflict, only stopping when the soap stings the open wounds.
It’s only then that you bring your knees close to your chest, letting the tears fall.
— — — — — —
“What do you mean Zuko was in an Agni Kai?”
“I’ve told you not to refer to the Prince with his actual name! You’re lucky no one else was around to hear that, or you’d be thrown in prison,” Wei Yi scolds, reaching her hand out to lightly hit the top of your head. She’s surprised when you flinch away, a reaction she’s never seen from you. You uncomfortably adjust your uniform, averting your eyes.
She retracts her hand, letting it go as she hands you yet another little treat. You don’t bother to check it before putting it in your pocket. She raises a brow, suspicious. “Did something happen?”
You pause, shoulders stiffening when you recall the events of yesterday. Shaking your head helps to shove those memories down for now, looking back at her. “...No, I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little ill.”
“I told Mei Yi not to work you to the bone,” Wei Yi sighs, leaning back as she chops up more vegetables. “There’re other maids for a reason.”
“It’s fine. But what was that you were saying about Zu- the prince, getting into an Agni Kai? I thought he’s still under training.” You ask, handing her another knife.
“I’m not sure. All I heard was that he and his father got into a dispute, and it didn’t end well for him. You and him are on good terms, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say good…” Besides Wei Yi, the next person to have shown you kindness, no matter how small, was Prince Zuko. The first time you met him was in the garden. He was staring aimlessly at the sky, oblivious to the lack of sandals on his feet. You’d rushed over and informed him that only the Crown Prince and Princess were allowed inside.
He looked at you blankly, answering you with a simple ‘I know’. That’s when you realised whom you were talking to. You’d apologised, of course, bowing your head repeatedly and begging for your life to be spared. Instead, he gestured for you to come over and sit next to him.
Sitting next to him was terrifying, but being away from your gruelling work made it seem like a luxury. The gentle breeze caressed your faces as he opened up about his mother, finding solace in a complete stranger. It was a moment of bonding between you both, having lost your mothers to the same person.
His duties with the crown and your desperate attempts for survival made you drift apart, childhood innocence now lost with the years that pass. In the end, you’re left with simple acknowledgements, small nods, and glances of recognition across hallways. Status halted your budding friendship, but it didn’t mean you felt nothing upon hearing the news.
Wei Yi nudges you. “I hear the guards are changing shifts soon. Sometimes there’s a small gap in between, enough for a maid to take a drink of water to him.” She pretends to not notice you leaving, dutifully tending to her own preparations.
His bedroom is located on the floor below his father’s, signifying his status as the Crown Prince. True to Wei Yi’s words, no guards are around when you reach, so you pull open the heavy doors with all your might and quietly enter.
The room is grand as expected, with red and gold decor all over the walls. Small dragons are etched into every corner of the room, the beautiful art on the window blinds leaving you speechless.
“Who’s there?”
You reveal yourself, stepping past the curtains around the bed. You press your lips together to hold back the gasp when you lay your eyes on him, but the sharp inhale makes him scoff. His left eye is heavily bandaged, a faint red staining the gauze right on top. Bruises and faint burns cover his upper body, but those would heal in time.
His eye on the other hand, you aren’t so sure.
“It’s you.” He sounds exhausted, drained even. There’s an emptiness to his words, a hollowness in his eyes. It’s a sharp contrast to the proud ego he’s displayed walking through the palace. Whatever happened in the Agni Kai must’ve broken something inside.
“What happened to you…” Your whisper makes him grin bitterly.
“What does a lowly maid need to know?” You flinch at his harsh words. But he softens, realising that he’s lashing out at the wrong person. “My father happened.” He admits, looking away from you. “I made a mistake.”
Whatever he’d seen back then to make him confide in you, he must’ve seen it again because he continues. “I went against him. I- I didn’t mean to insult him, but he said that I stained his honour and mine. All those years of training, of being his son and for what?” He chuckles angrily, clenched fists at his sides.
“I got banished. Now, I’m not allowed to return until I find the Avatar and I swear,” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling. “I will find him.”
You remain silent throughout, letting him speak. You’re here to just see how he’s doing, but somehow, he’s doing so much worse than you thought. There’re no words you can offer to ease his pain, and as a maid, there’s nothing you can do to help either. You don’t have any power.
“I don’t know what you did to get on his bad side,” your eyes slowly widened at his words, “But it was bad enough for you to get banished with me.”
“Wait, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” You chuckle nervously, eyes searching his for an answer. You find none. Getting to your feet, the only thing on your mind is fear.
Crippling, paralysing fear.
That same fear grips its dark claws into your heart, digging into it with each passing second. The guards are surprised when you push past the doors and run to the Throne Room, confusion and anxiousness slowly taking hold of your body.
What did Zuko mean? How did you get on Ozai’s bad side? You’d done everything to keep it right, to gain some form of power to ensure your life would remain untouched. You barely reach the Throne Room before the guards pin you down onto the floor. You land with a pained cry, your hair splayed around you as hot tears form in your eyes.
“Stop.”
A single, commanding voice is all it takes for the guards to get off you, standing to attention as the Fire Lord himself approaches. You push yourself off the ground, but don’t dare to look up at him as you bow.
“Fire Lord Ozai, I received some very distressing news that I need to clarify with you.”
“Speak.”
This is your chance.You find it hard to swallow, but you have to push ahead. Surely this must be a mistake. You’ve been nothing but obedient. You could’ve fought back, could’ve run away from the palace after he killed your mother. Instead you bowed your head, submitted to him to ensure your life and Hanoh’s remained untouched.
“I was informed that I am to leave with Prince Zuko to hunt for the Avatar. Surely this must be a mistake-”
“What’s wrong with my order?”
At that, you raise your head in shock, a guard moving to push it back down before Ozai stops him with a single look. “So the words are true? I am to leave with Prince Zuko?”
He frowns, regarding you with nothing more than apathy. There’s no need for words for the confirmation to ring true in the silence, your heart racing as fear finally takes hold. Sweat trickles down your neck, breathing shakily.
“Why?” You cry out as he turns to walk away and resume his duties. You inhale sharply when you spot a familiar face holding the scroll Ozai had been looking at moments earlier, recognising his leery smirk as the official who had tried to assault you only yesterday. Now, he stands tall and proud next to the Fire Lord.
“Must I explain myself to you, a maid?” Ozai’s cold words turn the atmosphere into one so thin you can barely breathe. But as soon as you see the amused glint in his eyes, you realise.
He knew. He knew about everything.
He knew, and used it as an excuse to get rid of you.
“Wai-” Your arms are grabbed by the guards once Ozai’s interest is gone, uncaring to how harshly they grab you. Your head is muddled, all thoughts crashing into each other with no sense of order.
What had all your effort been for? What had all these years done?
“Princess Azula!” The official calls out in greeting, the young princess entering with her entourage.
“Father,” She greets him, spotting you in the corner. Her lips twist into a disgusted frown, “Why is she still here?”
“She was just about to leave,” The official assures her with a smile.
“Good. Trash should be taken out anyway. I suppose it gets passed down in the family.” She snickers, sauntering over to you and taking a lock of your smooth, raven-black hair in her hands in admiration. “Pretty. But you,” a single flick of her fingers has a controlled flame dancing atop her fingertips. “Don’t deserve this.”
Before you can react, she cleanly cuts off your hair, letting it fall to only your collarbones. Discarding the cut hair carelessly to the floor, a servant rushes over with a clean cloth for her to wipe her hands with. “There,” She tosses it at you with a smile, letting it hit your cheek. “Now you look exactly like your mother did.”
The guards begin to haul you away. You’re too stunned to react, limbs limp in their hold. Your voice is gone, all words dead in your throat. That final line had hit you where it hurt the most. “One last thing.” You don’t bother lifting your head up, all hope within you extinguished.
On the night of the winter solstice, you were born.
As soon as your name left your mother’s lips, she collapsed from exhaustion. You were then wrapped in a swaddle of blankets by the kind nurse who agreed to help when your mother pounded on her door, with her water broken and tears streaming down her cheeks.
She had then gone into labour in the nurse’s house and finally gave birth to you after hours upon hours of extensive labour. You vaguely remember the full moon that night. It was luminous and cast its soft beams of moonlight down onto you from the tall windows of the nurse’s home.
She’d taken a long time to heal, and even longer to go back to work after giving birth. If not for Hanoh, you’d both have starved to death on the streets. Sometimes though, you spotted a sad look on Hanoh’s face when she looked at your mother leaving for the palace. You never thought much of it.
Besides, why would you? As long as you have a roof over your head, food on the table, and both of them, you’re content as is.
Time passes by quickly when your days are filled with mere thoughts of when your next meal will be, along with what toy or trinket your mother would bring back from her excursions from the palace. Many mornings she’d lay down next to you on the rickety bed, and you’d both wake up around the afternoon.
You’d been taught how to do chores since you could walk, with Hanoh instructing you on how to handle peeling potatoes with a small knife. One can only imagine your mother’s outrage when she returned to your bandaged hand full of nicks and scrapes from amateur handling of the knife.
That day, they both got into a fight, and the sound of your crying was the only thing that stopped them. After that, they never argued in front of you again. Hushed whispers with barely concealed anger was the most of it.
You were only ten when you were brought to the palace for the first time.
Your mother calls out to you, and the very mention of your name makes you flinch. The times she used your full name were rare, and this was no exception. Usually, she’d call you BaoBao, a nickname filled with affection and love.
“Yes, mama?” Her hands brush against your ear, tying up the silky strands of hair with a simple red ribbon. She fastens the knot with a satisfied smile, placing her hand on your cheek and cradling it.
You tilt your head, unsure of how to react. You study her face, trying to discern if you did something wrong. Her eyes are weary, you notice, with tiny wrinkles beginning to appear on the corners of her eyes. Her skin is still as dewy as ever, though hints of age and exhaustion begin to dim that glow.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Listen BaoBao, we’re going to the palace now. The Lord wants to see you.”
The mention of the Fire Lord is enough to make you stiffen, taking a step back and shaking your head unsurely. “Don’t wanna.”
“Please, BaoBao?” You can tell that she’s a little desperate, from the way her smile becomes more forced. The feeling of desperation is unfamiliar to you, but you can tell that it’s important to your mother.
“...Okay,” You agree, tugging on the hem of your shirt. The material is patchy in some places, a testament to the number of times that she’d sewn together and mended the tattered shirt over and over again. It’s not the prettiest shirt in your wardrobe, but it’s your favourite.
“Thank you,” She breathes a sigh of relief, her fingers gripping your forearms a little too tightly. It’s painful. You wince, but no expression of pain escapes past your lips even if it hurts. You didn’t want to make her sad. Not after the many times she’d come home with tears in her eyes, sobbing quietly in the corner of your room.
Ever since you could remember, you grew up in the same house as the nurse who had helped your mother give birth to you. While your mother went to the palace every day, Nurse Hanoh took care of you, from feeding and changing your clothes to even reading and writing.
You never questioned why she had taken you both in so readily, and neither did your mother. Once, you had questioned if she was your grandmother, but all she did was look at you sadly in response. Mother just told you to never ask again.
The guard brings you both to the palace after she dresses you in a new shirt you’d never seen before. The golden colour reminds you of the sun, and decorative swirls around the hem are pretty enough to keep you distracted. The material is smooth, unlike the small itches you’d get from your usual clothes.
“Now BaoBao, do you remember your manners?” Your mother asks with a shaky smile as you follow the guard to the Fire Lord. You nod enthusiastically.
“Auntie Li said I was a good girl yesterday for helping her carry her stuff inside!”
Her shoulders relax significantly, gazing down at you warmly. “That’s my daughter.” Her smile falls when she notices where you are, her grip on your hand tightening.
You copy her bow, keeping your gaze on the ground, looking anywhere but at the person right in front of you. “My lord.”
The throne room is vast, his throne right at the front and centre above his subjects. His presence is overwhelming, almost frightening. The neighbourhood kids had always whispered scary tales about the Fire Lord, sometimes to the point you’d get nightmares.
It takes everything in you to not cry. But you can’t, not now. You have to keep it together for your mother.
“You may raise your heads.” His commanding voice rings throughout the room, demanding attention and respect. You slowly look at him, biting on your lip as you try not to cry. Your mother notices, gently pulling you closer and giving your hand a small squeeze.
“It’s fine,” She murmurs, keeping her eyes directed at him.
He scans you up and down, a sort of bored satisfaction in his eyes as he sighs. “Dance for me.”
Your mother starts to move, letting go of your hand. However, a single gesture from him makes her stop, glancing from him to you. “My lord,” She begins, the shakiness of her voice betraying her, “She is only eleven. She doesn’t know-”
“Dance.” He repeats coldly, his gaze remaining solely on you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that only bad things awaited if you disobeyed. So, you clumsily copy the movements you’d seen your mother practice at home, almost falling flat on your face had she not helped to catch you.
“I apologise, my lord.”
“Perhaps she may need lessons,” He muses from his throne, before raising his hand in a dismissive wave. “You may leave.” The guards approach you, your mother flinching before she realises that they’re headed for you, not her. Regardless, she stands in front of you protectively, shielding you from them.
“My lord, I apologise for her disrespectful behaviour. I shall bring her home to ensure her education is no longer put off.”
You didn’t understand most of the words, to be honest. All you can see from behind her flowy dress is the mild intrigue in the Fire Lord’s eyes. He looks directly at you, for the first time since coming into this room.
Needless to say, you avert your gaze, your entire body shaking in fear that you might be separated from your family if even the slightest of mistakes is made. To your relief, the guards pause from yet another gesture from him.
“I see. You are both dismissed.”
— — — — — —
You were only eleven when your mother died.
It’d been a normal day like no other, with you doing the chores as usual. A couple of months had passed since the visit to the palace. Nightmares had plagued you for a week, waking up each time with a cold sweat all over. They eased off though, when your mother began bringing home more trinkets and toys for you, seemingly more lavish each time.
She always said it was because they had given her more money in exchange for her dancing, and true to her word, Hanoh would find piles of coins beside her bedside table to buy more food and groceries. Life was good.
That is; until the soldier showed up at your front doorstep.
“What?” You breathe out, all feeling in your legs gone as soon as he delivers the news.
“Your mother has been executed in the name of the Fire Lord, for showing him disrespect and stealing the princess’s treasured belongings. He has, however, shown you mercy in the form of becoming a maid in the palace. You are to report to Mei Yi first thing in the morning.” The guard replies stiffly, turning around after delivering the news.
“No…” Hanoh whispers in horror from beside you as you sink to the floor together. It’s hard to accept what you’re feeling right now, all of Hanoh's words rendered mute as silence overcomes all your other senses. The ground is all you can see - all you can even focus on, but even that’s blurry. You can sense her warm hands on your shoulders, holding you close to her, but something’s different now.
like i know the new modern electric ones are kinda alright and 'safer' but this shit is TERRIFYING bc i have the one thats used on the stove and the hissing sounds scare me so bad i have to escape from the kitchen every time
even right now im hiding out in the toilet so that if anything happens at least i die unbloated after taking a shit
“I don’t understand why he won’t just—UGH.” Flopping onto the covers, you toss your phone away with a lazy flick of your wrist. It lands on the carpeted floor, one that you’d only recently installed in your bedroom.
Having spent so much time at the monastery lately, it’s a wonder your dad didn’t have more snarky remarks to add on when he glimpsed you heading into your bedroom with a bunch of rolled-up fuzzy carpet and a box of tools. Besides the occasional sarcastic exclamation of “I have a daughter??” or “Thought you ran away last year and left your espresso machine behind”, you damn near lost your mind when Lloyd texts you about his near-death experience in the maze.
Even his teammates kept you updated more than he did.
It’s infuriating—yet you know it’s pure irrationality at this point. One kiss doesn’t mean anything, you know that. You know that perfectly well.
So why do you already miss him this much?
“Stupid Brookestone,” you huff, turning to lie on your back. Just one text wouldn’t have hurt. You’re not even asking for much, not even a single phone call.
His easy grin flashes through your mind, unbidden. Before you can blink, the innocent pillow lying next to you is left with a deep dent, and you hastily unclench your fingers, removing the culprit.
There’s no use mulling about this.
Grabbing your hoodie and keys, you stuff them into your jean pockets and head out to the living room. “Going to abandon us again?” Your dad leans against the doorway leading into his office, raising a brow when he sees the scowl on your face. “Don’t tell me. Is it him? Need me to talk to him, mano to mano?” He pushes up his sleeves with an offended look.
“What does that even mean—?” You shake your head, choosing to leave the subject matter alone as you sit on the ledge, tying your shoelaces. “It’s not him. I’ll be back for dinner.”
“Sure,” he scoffs, pointing his pen at you. “If you even think about staying overnight again., I hope that you remember the birds and the bees.”
Your nose scrunches in disgust. “I still remember when people called me weird because you taught me that the birds ate the bees and puked out a baby.”
“Say what you will, but that stopped you from going around kissing randos off the street,” he replies simply.
You close the door behind you.
The warm sunlight kisses your skin like a long-lost greeting, which it probably was, seeing as you’d been cooped up for a while at home. Between the commute to school and back home again, it’s a wonder you didn’t get scurvy or something. The bustling street is a welcome white noise, opting to walk without earbuds.
You take a right turn, no plan in mind until a brightly lit neon sign catches your eye. The idea takes root in your mind as you pull out your phone and dial a familiar number.
“ ‘Sup?”
“Remember how we had to interview someone famous for our previous project, and we ended up interviewing Papa?”
“...Yeah? What about it? Did we flunk? Can’t be though, he’s a genius businessman,” Holly lapses into a ramble. Before she can ponder the type of font used for your upcoming presentation, you interrupt her.
“Meet me at Borg Industries in half an hour.”
“Wha-? Okay, it’s about time for Leo to get babysitting duties anyway.” In the background, you can vaguely make out her brother’s protests as a baby is placed into his lap while Mario Kart blasts on.
The line goes dead, and you quickly scroll down to find a new message waiting patiently in your notifications.
Flameo [ 12:46 PM ]: That’s just tragic. Why not just text him first?
Flameo [ 12:46 PM ]: Also, you’re on my team again next Game Night. We drew lots
Handing over a five-dollar note, the hotdog stall hands you a freshly boiled hotdog nestled in its bun with plenty of mustard, ketchup, and chopped pickles. Taking a large bite, you carefully balance your phone while typing a response.
Sour lozer [ 12:46 PM ]: a. Im not texcting him first bc no
Sour lozer [ 12:47 PM ]: b, who riggged iy???
Flameo [ 12:47 PM ]: who died and gave u a stroke?
hitdog [ 12:50 PM ]: …has there been any updates from them yet?
Flameo [ 12:51 PM ]: nah, just text him urself??
Flameo [ 12:51 PM ]: wait lloyd just said that theyre on the way back
Flameo [ 12:51 PM ]: wow, hes rly texting anyone but u huh
hitdog [ 12:52 PM ]: hes so dead
The phone buzzes with another notification, and you dust off the hotdog bun dust from your hands, tapping the screen hurriedly to see another message from Jay.
kaCHow [ 12:53 PM ]: i heard the news :(
birdie [ 12:53 PM ]: ?
kaCHow [ 12:53 PM ]: that ur on kais team lololol. LOLOLOLOLOL.
birdie [ 12:53 PM ]: we could also just team up
kaCHow [ 12:53 PM ]: couldnt do that to nya, sry :( (not sry)
birdie [ 12:54 PM ]: is this bc im not a ninja\
kaCHow [ 12:54 PM ]: no its bc cole is annoying enough already when yall make goo-goo eyes at each other during game night, i dont wanna barf againnnnn
birdie [ 12:54 PM ]: ???!?!?! ive literall y never done that
kaCHow [ 12:54 PM ]: whatever u say…gotta admit tho, heseems really excited to be back sooner than expected
Locking the screen, you stuff the phone back into your jean pocket, burying all the frustration and reluctant anticipation along with it. Holly waves at you from across the road, having gotten off the bus moments earlier.
“So why’re we here?” She asks, leaning against the traffic light. You gesture to the gigantic building a few blocks down. Holly glances sceptically between you and the headquarters of Borg Industries. “That answers nothing.”
She follows you regardless, stepping foot hesitantly between the doors. You wave at the security guard nearby, whose eyes spark with recognition when he sees the girl beside you. “Ms Holly,” He greets with a friendly nod, turning to you. “Here to see Mr Borg again?”
“Yup,” you say cheerily, and he nods to the receptionist who presses a button, the private gantry usually reserved for high-profile guests swinging open to welcome you.
The metal detector goes off, triggered by the bracelet around your wrist. Holly also triggers the machine, sirens blaring as she struggles to rip off the metal charms around her belt loops in mortification as everyone stares on, yourself included.
“Kill yourself,” she grumbles, swiping at your shoulder with her cheeks still flushed with a vibrant scarlet hue. You playfully dodge, pressing your lips together to suppress the mischievous grin. “You could’ve told me about it—I’ve literally never been through there before.”
“I could’ve,” you reply with a shrug.
She whacks you.
The lift doors open with a ding. Various gears, wires, and tools clutter the floor in what can only be described as an amalgamation. “Cyrus…?” You call out cautiously, taking a tentative step. Holly follows closely behind, her hands gripping the hem of her shirt as her eyes dart around, taking in every aspect of the office.
The man himself is hunched over one of multiple workstations, tinkering away while muttering under his breath. You tap his shoulder lightly, flinching when he startles.
“Wh—oh!” Cyrus Borg whirls around in his chair, goggles slightly crooked on his forehead, before his face brightens in recognition. “Well, hello again!”
“It’s me,” you reaffirm with a nod, taking the hand he holds out warmly. Your lips tilt into a slow grin. “This time without any safety gear, so maybe it’s time to call a lockdown on the place.”
“That soldering iron incident was not your fault,” Cyrus says immediately, pointing an accusing screwdriver at the ceiling as if defending you to an invisible court. “The table was unstable.”
“You said gravity was a scam.”
“It is a scam.”
Holly stares between both of you with poorly concealed disbelief. “You know Cyrus Borg?” she blurts out before she can stop herself.
He finally notices her standing there and straightens instantly. “Ah! A guest!” He beams, extending his hand enthusiastically. “Cyrus Borg, founder of Borg Industries, technological genius, and occasional victim of workplace accidents.”
Holly makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and a gasp before grabbing his hand with both of hers. “I know who you are.”
You snort loudly.
“No, like, I know who you are,” she corrects quickly, mortified by how insane it might’ve come across. “I mean—not personally, obviously, but your work with prosthetic tech and transportation systems and—”
“She’s a fan,” you interrupt helpfully.
Holly elbows you hard enough to make you wheeze.
Cyrus, however, looks delighted. “Well! It’s always wonderful meeting someone with excellent taste.” He gestures proudly to himself before turning back toward Holly with genuine curiosity. “What’s your name?”
“Holly.”
“Holly,” he repeats warmly. “Any friend of this menace is welcome here.”
“Wow,” you mutter. “That’s actually offensive.”
“You flooded one of my labs.”
“It was one time.”
“It was carbonated.”
Holly bursts into laughter before she can stop herself, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. Cyrus looks far too pleased by this development.
“Yes,” he says, nodding sagely. “That was my exact reaction.”
Your lips part in a silent gasp. The betrayal stings deeply.
While the two of them continue chatting, Holly’s attention drifts around the office again. Her eyes widened at every half-built invention and floating hologram scattered across the room. A corner houses mechanical limbs suspended from charging docks, while another has tiny drone prototypes zooming around aimlessly until one flies directly into a wall.
He points at it without even looking. “Prototype thirty-four. No survival instincts whatsoever.”
The drone sparks sadly on the floor.
Holly looks moments away from passing out from excitement. “This place is insane,” she whispers.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about it this week,” Cyrus replies proudly. “Either way, it’s good to have another soul in the lab besides myself. May I offer you something to drink?”
Holly’s still starstruck, so you supply yet another answer. “Yeah, could we just have some water?” He wheels back over with a small tray, and you grab the two glasses on it, pressing one into your friend’s hands.
Holly accepts it absently, though her gaze keeps darting between you and Borg with increasing suspicion.
“…Okay,” she says eventually, narrowing her eyes. “I have to ask. How do you know Cyrus Borg? And since when were you close enough to be visiting his lab regularly?”
Cyrus pauses mid-sip.
You pause mid-sip. “Oh, uh.” You clear your throat, exchanging a look with him. “A friend of mine knows him.”
“Mhm,” Holly hums slowly. “You mean, your soulmate, the Earth Ninja?”
Coughs sputter forth from your chest, tears stinging harshly in the inner corners of your eyes as you grab the nearby ledge, forcing down the remnants of the sip of water you’d just taken. Cyrus startles so hard he nearly drops his own glass. “Good heavens.”
Your coughing fit grows worse at Holly’s completely unapologetic expression. She waits patiently while you recover, leaning back in her chair with the smugness of someone who just solved a murder case.
“How,” you rasp out eventually, clutching your chest, “did you even come to that conclusion?”
She blinks. “Because the internet exists?”
“That’s somehow more terrifying.”
“No, seriously,” she says, sitting forward now with a newfound eagerness. “The fansite I follow constantly speculates about the ninja’s soulmates. Like, constantly constantly. There are entire threads dedicated to it.”
Borg looks fascinated. “There are?”
“Oh yeah. There are charts.”
“…Charts?” you repeat weakly.
“Flowcharts,” Holly confirms. “Timelines too.”
You stare at her in horror.
She shrugs unapologetically. “Hard to miss multiple headlines of the ninja saving Cyrus Borg, or multiple collaborations—”
“Our sales did improve exponentially well after we filmed the ads…” Cyrus muses thoughtfully.
Holly turns her gaze back to you. “Then you told me you were taking lessons from Master Wu, which is already suspicious enough—”
“It is?”
“Yes,” Holly says flatly. “Normal people don’t casually go ‘sorry I can’t hang out today, I’ve got lessons from one of the most famous masters in the world.’”
Borg snorts loudly into his drink.
You ignore him. “I did not say that, but it still doesn’t explain the soulmate accusation.”
Holly gives you a look. “You literally asked me, quote, ‘How should I be feeling if my soulmate is in danger and I can’t do anything about it?’”
End me. Bury my body so deep it hits rock bottom, then keep digging.
“…I did say that.”
“You also asked if it was normal to get physically nauseous when they were hurt.”
Borg slowly lowers his glass.
“And,” Holly continues mercilessly, counting on her fingers now, “you keep reacting weirdly whenever the Earth Ninja gets mentioned.”
Your soul briefly leaves your body.
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
“It genuinely wasn’t hard to figure out,” Holly finishes with a shrug. “I just didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”
Borg looks between the both of you, deeply entertained. “This is significantly more dramatic than my usual Tuesdays.”
You place the glass down on the coffee table, clearing your throat and trying to regain your composure as if she hadn’t just ripped the band-aid wide open. “Even if this were true,” you begin slowly, shooting Cyrus a scathing look. He turns away, but you can still see the ghost of a smile on his lips.
The bastard.
“I’m not confirming anything, so this is purely a hypothetical thing on your end.”
Holly looks on in amusement as you fumble for the right words to navigate yourself out of the situation. “If you say so. Either way, I still get to meet Cyrus Borg, so this is already pretty cool.”
“We would, however, appreciate it if this erh—hypothesis remains here.” He finally speaks up.
“Of course, we’re friends after all. She can’t help that she’s got a horrible poker face.”
You stare at the ceiling, pleading for divine intervention while Cyrus relaxes visibly with a smile. Makes sense. After all, he’d been the one using his considerable influence to prevent any news articles about both of you from spreading.
Before you can retaliate, her phone buzzes loudly in her lap.
The grin drops from her face.
“…Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You glance over. “What?”
“My brother.” She groans dramatically, swiping on her screen. “Okay, actually, no. Worse. My brother is ignoring the instructions I gave him before leaving. I downloaded our baby cam app to make sure he’s not killing our sibling. Guess what? He just might.”
“That sounds like a very normal sibling interaction.”
“No, because he only ignores me when he’s doing something stupid.”
“That somehow narrows it down to absolutely nothing.”
“Exactly.” Holly points accusingly at you like you’ve finally understood her suffering. She quickly types out a message, waits three seconds, then slumps further into the couch. “Yep. Left on read.”
She suddenly perks up, turning toward you with narrowed eyes already full of scheming. “Wait. Can I borrow your phone?”
“…Why?”
“He won’t pick up if he sees it’s me.”
“And he’ll pick up from an unknown number because…?”
“It’s a sibling thing.”
You hesitate for a moment before sighing and fishing your phone out of your pocket. “If you get me murdered by a scam caller, I’m haunting you.”
She gasps, clutching the phone to her chest. “The trust you place in me is beautiful.”
“It’s actually the opposite of trust.”
Holly ignores you entirely and stands up from the couch. “Uh, Mr Borg? Where’s the restroom?”
“Second door down the hallway on the left,” he answers easily, gesturing with a screwdriver still in hand.
“Awesome, thanks.”
You frown as she speed-walks out of the room with your phone already pressed to her ear. Something about the entire situation felt a bit off. Maybe it’s because I’m an only child. You brush off the odd sensation, picking up a random trinket on his desk and fiddling with it.
“That friend of yours is rather sharp,” Cyrus comments, settling his goggles down before taking a sip of his coffee. “I’d recommend her to apply for my programme. We need more of those minds around here.”
You huff out a laugh. “Her mom actually used to work here, y’know. I think she was a janitor before she got pregnant and resigned.”
“That’s unfortunate.” His expression softens thoughtfully. “I should revisit our maternity policies. Feel free to let her know they’d both be welcome here anytime.”
Then his gaze flicks back toward you.
“You, however, seem considerably more troubled than during your last visit.” He folds his hands together. “Does this have something to do with him?”
You groan immediately, dragging both hands down your face.
“Is it really that obvious?”
“To me?” Cyrus tilts his head. “Painfully.”
“Oh, my God.”
He chuckles quietly while you sink further into the couch cushions in defeat.
“It’s just…” You hesitate, picking at the sleeve of your hoodie. “I already hate that they throw themselves into danger every five business days, but now it’s somehow worse because I actually know what’s happening.”
Cyrus listens without interrupting.
“And everyone’s been really considerate about it too, which somehow makes it more annoying,” you continue with a frustrated laugh. “Nya updates me. Lloyd checks in. Jay literally sent me a thumbs-up emoji followed by a random picture of a bird this morning.”
“That sounds like him.”
“But Cole?” Your voice catches before you can stop it. “Nothing.”
The room grows quieter.
You stare down at your hands. The words continue to spill forth past your lips, the sinking feeling in your chest only growing heavier. Yet, you can’t seem to stop. Maybe it’s because Cyrus had become a sort of uncle-like figure, or maybe it was just the lack of a frontal lobe.
“I know he’s busy. I know he’s probably fine. But every time my phone buzzes, I keep thinking it’s gonna be someone telling me he didn’t make it back this time.”
The words settle heavily between you.
Cyrus’ expression loses its teasing edge entirely.
“And the worst part,” you admit more quietly, “is that I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with that feeling.”
For once, Cyrus doesn’t answer immediately.
He simply watches you with the kind of understanding that makes your chest ache.
“You care about him,” he says gently. “Far more than you intended to.”
Your throat tightens.
Before you can respond—
CRASH
The glass wall beside you explodes inward.
You barely register the sound before something metallic clatters across the floor between you both.
“Huh?” You blink at the cylinder rolling to a stop. It hisses. Bright green smoke erupts violently from its core.
“What the fu—”
The gas hits your lungs instantly.
You double over, coughing, eyes burning as the smoke rapidly swallows the office whole. Somewhere beside you, Cyrus curses under his breath while wheeling himself backwards toward his desk controls.
A shadowed figure drops down from the skylight just as Cyrus slams a hand down on a button.
“SECURITY CODE ALPHA ACTIVATED.”
Pixel’s voice blares from hidden speakers, loud sirens following suit. Metal shutters slam down from above on every ceiling-to-floor window. The lift doors leading into his office slide open, countless security droids pouring in.
A vent overhead roars to life, sucking the thick green smoke upward in violent spirals. Your lungs ache from the coughing fit, throat raw as you force yourself upright against the couch. The blood in your veins runs cold the moment you look up.
A familiar, lean figure stands.
The kabuki mask concealing their face is painted in warped reds and blacks, the carved smile stretched too wide beneath hollow eye sockets. The sleeves of their dark clothing are rolled just enough for you to see the metal gauntlets wrapped around their forearms.
The same gauntlets from the museum.
Your pulse stutters.
No. No, no, no.
Instinctively, your hand flies toward your pocket for your phone. All that greets you is emptiness.
Right.
Holly still has it.
“Shit.”
The masked figure tilts their head slightly at the sound, almost amused. The first security droid lunges. It doesn’t even get close.
The thief sidesteps with terrifying ease before driving one of the gauntlets clean through the machine’s torso. Metal crunches. Sparks explode violently across the room as the droid jerks mid-motion.
In a single, swift movement, the figure rips downward.
The entire front half of the droid tears open with a nauseating screech of twisted steel and exposed wiring.
The second droid fires.
The thief grabs the first machine’s ruined corpse and swings it forward like a shield. Bullets ricochet uselessly into mangled metal before the figure launches the carcass across the room.
It slams into the second droid with enough force to send both crashing through a glass workstation.
Cyrus swears under his breath beside you.
A third droid rushes in from the hallway, somehow managing to grab the intruder from behind.
For one hopeful second, you think it might work. The warning dies in your throat when you spot the gauntlet glowing an ominous red, the words leaving you too late as the droid’s arm is ripped clean off before the thief drives an elbow backwards straight through its optic lens. Black fluid sprays across the floor while the machine convulses violently.
Your stomach twists.
The thief straightens slowly amidst the wreckage, shoulders rising and falling once.
Then, they look directly at you. The lift doors slide open once again, and more security droids spill out. The thief continues to make quick work of them, while cold sweat runs down the back of your neck.
Every instinct in your body screams danger. You have to do something. Anything.
“Catch!”
You barely react in time as Cyrus throws something toward you.
A metallic cube spins through the air.
“What the hell am I supposed to—”
The second it touches your palm, the thing unfolds violently. Metal plates snap outward with a loud CLANG. You nearly drop it in shock as mechanisms shift and lock into place, transforming into a sleek bronze sword with glowing lines running along the blade.
“What the fuck?!”
“Experimental prototype!” Cyrus shouts proudly from behind overturned furniture. “Still ironing out the bugs!”
“That’s not reassuring!”
The thief moves.
Pure adrenaline takes over.
You throw the sword upward instinctively to block the incoming strike, and your thumb accidentally slams against a trigger embedded in the hilt.
A pulse of energy erupts from the blade.
BOOM.
The blast misses the thief entirely and instead detonates one of the overhead lights.
Glass rains down everywhere.
“Oh my God.”
The room plunges partially into darkness. The remaining lights flicker weakly overhead, illuminating the office in unstable flashes of white and shadow.
The masked figure pauses, slowly turns their head toward the shattered light.
You tighten your grip on the sword despite your shaking hands.
Okay.
Panic later, survive first. I can’t be petty with Cole if I die now, can I?
The thief shifts into a stance.
“Why’re you doing this?” You ask, despite everything else in your body practically screaming at you not to. “What’s the whole point? Why me? Why my picture?”
“You sweet thing,” they coo, catching you completely off guard. Their voice is distorted beneath the mask, warped by a metallic undertone that scrapes against your ears unpleasantly. “Still trying to make sense of all this.”
“That’s generally how stalking works, yeah.”
An amused laugh rings throughout the office. They make quick work of another droid that charges at them, easily tearing off its head from its body with a single swipe. The dismembered head drops to the floor, making you flinch slightly.
Before you can brace properly, they lunge.
You react on instinct alone. The sword flies upward with a loud clang that rattles painfully through your arms as the gauntlet collides against the blade inches from your face. Sparks burst between the metal. The sheer force behind the strike sends you stumbling backwards across shattered glass.
Holy fucking shit. They’regonnakillme.
They straighten leisurely, shoulders loose, almost casual as they watch you struggle to regain your footing.
“Aw,” they mock sympathetically, “don’t tell me that’s all the ninja’s little pet can do.”
Your eye twitches.
Okay. Maybe violence is the answer.
They swing again, aiming directly for your ribs this time, but years of kendo drills kick in before panic can fully take hold. Pivot. Redirect. Don’t fight strength head-on. Your body moves almost automatically as you sidestep and bring the blade around in a clean arc.
The thief blocks.
But the impact actually forces them back a step.
“Oh?” Their voice perks with interest.
You don’t give them time to recover. The next strike comes faster, then another, your shoes skidding against the floor as broken glass crunches beneath them. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re dimly aware that Cyrus is yelling something at you from behind the overturned desk he’s taken cover behind, but your focus narrows entirely onto the figure in front of you.
Steel crashes against metal in rapid succession.
The thief parries lazily at first. Almost playfully. But then their movements sharpen slightly, enough for you to notice. “You’ve trained,” they murmur, ducking beneath your swing. “Not professionally enough to take me down, but enough to survive.”
“Wow,” you breathe, narrowly avoiding another strike aimed at your throat. The sharp blades leave a whisper of near death, barely nicking the skin. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
The thief laughs again.
God, you hate that sound already.
They vault over a desk with irritating ease, landing lightly atop it before crouching there like some kind of deranged gargoyle. Papers drift slowly through the air around them while emergency lights flash red overhead.
“You hesitate before committing to your attacks,” they observe conversationally. “Your shoulders tense first. It gives you away.”
“Well, sorry,” you snap, circling carefully. “I usually don’t practice attempted murder during office hours.”
The pair of eyes behind the mask gleamed with interest.
You barely dodge in time. The gauntlet slams into the ground where you’d been standing moments earlier, the tiles exploding apart from the impact. A chunk of debris catches your cheek sharply enough to sting.
Your hand flies up instinctively. Something warm trickles down your fingers.
Blood.
The thief notices.
You know they do because their movements pause for just a fraction of a second. Unfortunately for them, that’s all the opening you need.
You swing hard toward their side. This time, the blade catches properly, slicing through fabric near their arm.
The thief hops back immediately, landing several feet away. A warped, yet delighted laugh escapes them. “Not bad! You’ve got potential. Not like it’s much, but it’s still more than I expected.”
“Shut up,” you bite back through gritted teeth. The cut stings, but your grip doesn’t loosen. Your thumb finds the trigger again, steadying yourself before hitting it.
The blast erupts from the sword with the same heavy impact as before. This time, you catch the slight widening of the thief’s eyes before they twist away, narrowly avoiding the strike as it tears straight through the metal shutters behind them.
Your stomach drops.
A gaping hole now yawns where reinforced steel used to be, cold wind rushing violently through the office.
The thief looks at the destruction, then at you. Their eyes curve into crescent moons.
“Oh, you are fun.”
Before you can retort, they leap onto another workstation with inhuman agility. Something small leaves their hand, clattering against the floor near your feet. Another metal canister.
But this one beeps.
“Oh, you bitch—”
You barely manage to throw yourself behind the overturned sofa before the explosion detonates.
The force slams into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. Heat rushes over your back as glass shatters somewhere overhead, followed by the awful screech of twisting metal. Your ears ring violently, drowning out everything else into one long, unbearable whine.
For a few terrifying seconds, you can’t hear anything. You can’t even think. Can’t even breathe. You cough hard against the smoke, blinking through watering eyes as dust rains from the ceiling. The sofa shielding you groans ominously, half its frame charred black.
Of all places to go out, you think wryly, it had to be in a lab.
Still wheezing, you slowly lift your head over the edge of the couch.
The office— or whatever remains of it- is completely and utterly wrecked.
One of the workstations burns in the corner. Sparks shower wildly from exposed wiring overhead. A security droid lies split open near the wall, oil leaking across the floor in thick black streaks.
Through the haze, you spot the thief making their way across the room. Your breath catches.
Something’s clenched tightly in their hand.
A drive? A container? You can’t tell from this distance.
They fire a grappling hook upward toward the gaping hole your weapon made. The cable catches instantly, going taut as they begin ascending with practiced ease.
“HEY!” Your voice comes out hoarse and half-broken.
The thief pauses midway. For a brief moment, they turn to look directly at you through the smoke. Their lips part, mouthing something.
You can’t hear it over the ringing in your ears, but you swear you know exactly what they’re saying from the curve of their lips.
Catch me if you can.
And then they leap off into the setting sun.
— — — — — —
“You might not be comfortable with murder, but I am.”
Cyrus sighs, patting the seat next to him. After the thief had escaped from his office/laboratory, both of you had relocated to the medbay on a lower floor. Holly had been trapped in the restroom during the lockdown, unable to escape and going mad with worry.
She’d also been patched up in the medbay, having sustained a scrape on her right arm from having banged it against the sink in shock when the alarm was activated. She’d also returned your phone and departed for home after making sure that you were alright.
Granted, she did pay a little more attention to Cyrus than you, but still. It’s the thought that counts, right?
The cut on your cheek had to be stitched together, one of the nurse droids gently placing gauze over the stitches with some adhesive tape and advising you to let it heal. “Our new patented ointment contains nanobots that help heal it from the inside much faster—you’ll be fine by tomorrow!” Cyrus declares proudly.
“A scar would look kinda cool though.” You scan your face in the mirror he holds up. Besides the other minor scrapes and cuts, you were relatively unharmed. “You didn’t have to waste all that expensive stuff on me.”
“Please.” He waves dismissively. “Your mother, Emily, would kill me—”
“Not my mom.”
He pauses, the slightest flicker of guilt crossing his face before he inclines his head. “Emily,” he corrects smoothly, “would kill me.”
The police arrive soon after.
Everything afterwards feels blurry in a way you can’t quite explain. Officers swarm the building. Security droids haul damaged units away in smoking pieces. Questions are thrown at you one after another while your ears still ring faintly from the explosion.
You answer them somehow.
Cyrus handles most of the talking, thankfully. Every now and then, you catch him exchanging tense looks with officers whenever the topic of the stolen item comes up, but whenever you ask directly, he only offers you an uneasy smile and says, “It’s better if fewer people know.”
Which is a horrible answer, actually.
By the time the armoured car drops you off at home at Cyrus’s insistence, exhaustion clings to your body so heavily you almost don’t register the dimly lit kitchen light. The smooth wood of the doorknob to your room barely brushes past your fingertips before someone calls your name.
Your entire body tenses. “Yes…?” You respond warily, not daring to turn around.
“Can we chat for a sec?” Your dad calls from the kitchen.
“Not tonight, sorry! Really tired from today’s lesson with Master Wu.”
“But you don’t have a lesson to–” You shut the door behind you, making sure to lock it before slumping to the ground with a sigh. Your phone buzzes with a message.
nico [ 08:39 PM ]: we still on for tonight?
Crap. You almost forgot about your monthly playtime with Nico. You’d been video chatting with the rest as often as you could, but with everything piling up the last couple of months with mysteries, villains, and university, they’d dwindled down into silence.
You take a breath.
plod [ 08:39 PM ]: yeap, give me like 10mins
A shower. A shower with hot water, fragrant soap, and body lotion is all you need right now.
True enough, once you emerge from your bathroom in your ratty pyjamas, it feels like the world’s pressures have been eased off your shoulders. You sit down in the spinny chair, massaging in the hair oil Nya had gifted you a while back when you complimented her haircare.
The laptop emits the unique ringtone you’d set for Nico, the melody of Macarena on the bongos filling the quiet. Clicking on the green icon, Nico’s dead gaze fills the screen. He takes in the gauze on your cheek, the scrapes on your arms, and the dark circles under your eyes.
“Spill,” he states simply, leaning back in his own gaming chair.
And so you do, telling him about everything from the moment you first met Cole, to discovering the photo of you in the failed reconnaissance mission of the abandoned hideout, to Cole meeting your dad and Emily.
He listens patiently without interrupting. “So.” He sits forward. You raise your brows. “This is what happens when you’re not under parental supervision, huh.”
“Pretty much.”
“Does anyone else know about all this?”
“Just you.” He chuckles at that.
“I’m honoured. Wanna vent with some Minecraft mobs?”
You’re once again reminded of why he’s your favourite.
It’s nearing midnight when you're on your 10th mob of skeletons, as a tapping sound breaks your focus. You remove your earbuds, displeased. Turning around, you’re taken aback by the sight of your soulmate waving at you through the window with a smile.
You don’t bother to watch it fade as you turn back around to continue playing with Nico. The tapping continues, soft enough not to warrant your dad breaking down the door for the source of the noise, but loud enough to catch Nico’s attention.
In the reflection of your mirror, you spot displeasure flitting across Cole’s face when he sees Nico on your screen. “Is that him?” Nico asks, a breathy chuckle escaping when he sees the annoyance in your eyes. “You should probably go. I’ll continue farming. Same time next month?”
“Always.”
You finally hang up, standing up and walking over to your window. Cole’s face lights up as you approach, only to frown when you simply unlock the window and open it slightly. He hops off of Rocky and follows behind you, only to be even more taken aback when you plop down on your chair.
Crossing your arms, you regard him with an impassive look. “What do you want?”
He parts his lips, then presses them together. Uncertainty flickers across his face, and you can practically see the gears in his head creaking to life.
“...I’m back…?”
“Oh.” You scan him briefly, noting the lack of injury. “I hadn’t noticed.” The space between his brows creases, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Good to see you again, I guess.”
“Okay, what’s wrong?” He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall next to the window. When you remain silent, he sighs and crosses the room instead, grabbing the spare spinny chair near your desk. The papers filled with scribbled notes and drawings slide off as he sits.
Your chest aches suddenly, finding it hard to swallow. “Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur, turning your head away.
The stuffed porcupine from the claw machine stares back at you from atop the bed. Crooked, lopsided and weirdly judgmental. You frown. How dare you.
Another sigh.
Cole scoots closer instinctively, his hand reaching toward yours before he suddenly pauses. His fingers hover there for half a second before withdrawing completely, leaning back in the chair instead.
The motion stings more than you want it to.
Silence settles between the two of you, thick and uncomfortable. You can sense his fixed gaze on the gauze covering your cheek. Questions are probably filling his mind right now, itching to ask what happened while he was gone.
It doesn’t mean you were ready to answer.
“You gonna talk to me,” he asks finally, voice quieter now, “or keep staring at that ugly porcupine like it personally offended you?”
“It knows what it did.”
His lips twitch slightly, but it fades almost instantly when you still don’t look at him. “Seriously.” His tone lowers. “What happened?”
You shrug. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Your shoulders tense immediately at the sharpness in his voice. Cole notices it too, regret flashing briefly across his face, only for frustration to take hold. “You’ve barely looked at me since I got here,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “And your hands have been shaking this entire time.”
“They are not.”
“Look at me and deny it then.”
You curl them tighter into your sleeves on instinct. Damn him. A humourless laugh leaves your throat. “Congrats, Sherlock. Want a medal?”
His jaw tightens. “Why’re you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“This.” He gestures vaguely between both of you. “Whatever this whole thing is.”
You stare at the carpet. “Maybe I’m tired.”
“Yeah?” His voice rises slightly. “And maybe I’m not stupid.”
Something bitter twists in your chest. “Good for you.”
The chair creaks as he leans back, eyes narrowing. “Okay, now I know something happened.”
You stay silent.
“Were you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you really going to lie to me?”
Your throat tightens painfully. “I said I’m not. Not anymore.”
Cole studies you for a long moment before speaking again, quieter this time. “You know you can tell me things, right?”
The concern in his voice almost makes it worse, because you know that he truly means it.
And that’s exactly the problem.
“You can’t keep throwing yourself into danger like it’s nothing,” you snap suddenly, finally looking at him. “Do you even hear yourself half the time? ‘Oh yeah, we almost died to a spider, but hurray for the power of friendship!’”
His brows furrow. “How’d you kn—what’s this really about?”
You laugh weakly, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m serious, Brookestone. One day you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“And?”
The word hits you like a slap.
“And?” you repeat incredulously. “That’s your response?”
“It’s part of being a ninja.”
“And I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”
His expression shifts slightly at the crack in your voice. You hate that he notices.
“You think this is easy for me, either?” he asks. “You think I like leaving knowing there’s a chance something could happen to you while I’m gone?”
Your breath catches.
He stands now, frustration finally bleeding through fully. “You shut me out the second I walked in and won’t even tell me why!”
“Because I’m tired of feeling useless!” The confession tears itself out before you can stop it. “I’m tired of sitting here waiting for updates while you all go risk your lives, and I can’t do anything except hope none of you dies!”
Silence crashes down heavily between the two of you.
Cole’s stare softens for half a second before hardening again. “Something happened,” he says quietly.
You look away.
It’s enough confirmation for him to press harder.
“Did someone come after you?”
The silence stretches on. His voice sharpens instantly. “Did someone hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I said I’m fine!” Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them flow. Forcing it out wrung every bit of whatever remaining willpower you had left.
Cole flinches slightly before frustration overtakes him entirely. The cushion in his hands crumples beneath his grip. “Would you stop saying that when it’s obviously not true?”
His fist slams against the cushion with a muffled thud.
The sound rings through the room louder than it should.
Cole freezes too, chest rising sharply as realisation flickers across his face. But the anger doesn’t disappear. If anything, it just looks worse now that it’s mixed with guilt. “I—” He pauses, looking down instead. The pillow slips from his hands onto the floor with a muffled thud.
The silence afterwards is gut-wrenching.
You watch him lean forward, elbows resting on his knees as he drags a hand down his face, letting it rest in his palm. Your own breathing still hasn’t settled properly either. The room feels unbearably warm.
“I shouldn’t have yelled,” he mutters eventually.
You stare at your lap. “You were right to.”
“No.” He shakes his head once. “I wasn’t.”
Your throat tightens painfully. What used to be anger had turned into a mix of bitterness and defeat, settling thickly in your chest.
“I almost called you,” you admit quietly.
He looks up instantly.
“When the attack happened today.” Your laugh comes out strained. His eyes widen, clearly about to ask more questions. “My first thought was literally you, which is stupid because you were probably off falling into a death pit somewhere.”
“Wow,” he exhales softly. “You really think highly of me, huh?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” His voice softens. “You should’ve called.”
Your eyes finally meet his. “And distract you while you were on a mission?”
“I still would’ve picked up.”
The sincerity in his voice makes something ache deep in your chest. You look away first.
Of course he would’ve. That’s part of the problem.
Cole studies you for a long moment before slowly straightening up. His chair creaks softly when he shifts closer again. His hand lifts slightly before pausing halfway, almost like he’s asking permission without saying it aloud.
You let him.
His fingers slide carefully between yours, warm and calloused and familiar enough now that your body instinctively relaxes despite yourself. Relief flickers briefly across his face at the lack of resistance.
“C’mere,” he murmurs.
You don’t even realise he’s standing until he gently tugs your hand. Your chair rolls backwards with a squeak that would usually embarrass the hell out of you, but right now you’re too exhausted to care.
Cole guides you toward the bed quietly, still holding your hand the entire time, like he thinks you might disappear if he lets go. The mattress dips beneath both your weights when you sit down beside him, shoulders brushing lightly.
For once, neither of you speaks immediately.
Your joined hands rest between both of you, his thumb brushing absentmindedly across your knuckles in that familiar soothing motion he always does. This time, you don’t pull away from it.
“I really hate this soulmate stuff sometimes,” you whisper suddenly.
Cole tilts his head slightly. “Why?”
A weak laugh escapes you. “Because it feels unfair.” You swallow thickly. “I mean, look what happened to my parents. They were soulmates, but they didn’t get their happily ever after like everyone else. And this…us, what if we end up like that statistic? What if you just go and die on me while protecting the city? Or maybe even…” The words catch in your throat. “Or if you fall for someone else instead?”
His thumb stills briefly against your skin. A moment passes, but it doesn’t feel as heavy as before.
“You think I’m not scared?” he asks quietly.
That catches you off guard. You glance at him properly for the first time since he arrived. The exhaustion lining his face suddenly looks older somehow. Like a burden he’d been carrying for so long that it’d become part of him.
“You hide it better.”
Cole huffs softly. “Trust me, I really don’t.” His gaze drops briefly to your intertwined hands. “Every time I think about you during a mission…Every time I have to leave…I was just fine before, y’know. I never thought about it since my mom passed away. It never really seemed to matter. My dad was too focused on trying to mould me into something else, so we never gave ourselves time to breathe. And with the whole ninja thing,” he gestures offhandedly, “I never did.”
Something fragile inside your chest twists painfully.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” His lips twitch faintly before fading again. “Kinda sucks.”
You stare at him for a second too long before resting your head carefully against his shoulder with a tired exhale. His grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, and he leans back against the wall behind your bed, letting you settle against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Talk about trauma,” he mumbles. A breathy chuckle leaves you. Looking up, you fall silent at his glassy eyes. You reach up, cupping his cheek and brush your thumb against his cheekbone.
A tear falls.
“Our timing sucks.” He huffs out a laugh at that, his hand reaching up and covering yours.
“Pray tell.”
“I’m just saying. We could’ve at least met under normal circumstances.”
“And do what?”
Your lips tilt up into a smile. “I dunno. Grocery shopping. Bump carts dramatically. Fall in love like normal people.”
He snorts. “Please. You’d be too bored for that kind of life.”
Your lips part in an offended gasp, sustaining it for all of two seconds before both of you dissolve into quiet laughter.
Eventually, the adrenaline from the day begins to ebb away, exhaustion settling heavily into your bones. Your eyelids droop. Cole shifts beside you, and for one stupid, dangerous second, you think he’s going to kiss you.
Instead, he gently presses his lips against your forehead.
“I’ll interrogate you about your cheek tomorrow,” he murmurs against your hair, arms tightening around you slightly.
You hum in response, too tired to form anything coherent. His heartbeat thrums steadily beneath your ear.
Right before sleep fully drags you under, a question pops into your mind, tumbling past your lips.
This just doesnt make sense??? Idk what else to say. Nor do I know how it's humanly posible to give a character ONE line and one line only.
In the okoo teaser trailer, we see the scene where Pixal appears and Zane is whining about his lost elemental power blahblahblah. Then we have Pixal who is listening to his rant about his elemental power.
What does she say???
"Okay"???
Some random nindroid nonsence right back?
And what about after that? Does she just choose to leave without saying a word? Without saying goodbye to Zane? The nindroid who hasnt seen her in 10 YEARS!!!
Or maybe they would just wave each otehr goodbye and Pixal would depart but that doesn't make sense either! They're *nindroids*. They should say goodbye or somehting right???
Or Pixal tells Zane that she's gonna leave and just... leaves. But then what about Zane's rant to Pixal? Does she just ignore that? Unless the leaker is wrong, or she just says it all in one line and i'm just tweaking.
Maybe she just drops her line than the scene switches. And the next time we see Zane, Pixal has either left him or been kidnapped or something (wouldnt put it past the writers to do that).
Last week I asked my dad if he remembers sneaking me into the cinema to see Deep Rising in 1998. He said he thought so but didn't remember which cinema it was. He was stunned that I not only remembered the exact cinema but also the time of day and the shirt I was wearing.
Today I forgot what someone told me over the phone even though the conversation ended 3 seconds ago.
